Chapter Text
Daenerys had been within Winterfell’s castle walls for less than a full day and had spent the last two candlemarks hearing nothing but groaning and complaining from the northmen and the free folk. Between the heavy snowfall that made everything so wet and the untrusting glares and whispers of the northern natives, the platinum haired woman had just about had enough.
She was used to people being suspicious of her motives and doubtful of her claim to the throne. It wasn’t the worst of obstacles. Having three dragons made the process of convincing individuals of her power go a lot more smoothly. There was no denying the blood of dragons flowed in her veins when she arrived to battle on the back of Drogon.
But here, in the North, everything was so different. These people were more closed off than any she had met before. The Targaryen thought, of all times, the oncoming war with the undead might make the living easier to get along with. Apparently, she thought wrong.
Jon was of little authority, regardless of the King of the North moniker he had been gifted. And the only real figurehead among the castle, Lady Sansa, seemed to distrust her more than anyone else present. Every potential strategy she proposed for dealing with the white walkers was stonewalled by Sansa’s disapproval or outright dismissal. Daenerys felt like she was getting nowhere on any front, living or dead. Tyrion had advised her to be patient and that it would just take time for these people to come around, but time wasn’t a luxury they could afford. It was clear that she wasn’t welcomed here, even if her assistance was desperately needed.
In hopes of having a moment to herself for reprieve and to regroup, Daenerys managed to sneak away from her advisors and the other leaders while they were in a heated debate in the dining hall. With no real sense of direction, she looked for the closest isolated place and wound up in the cellar.
No sooner had she stepped through the entry way, had her foot made contact with something solid, yet soft. The platinum haired woman jerked her head downward to find what was blocking her path. There, laying at her feet comfortably, was the largest wolf Daenerys had ever laid eyes on. She wasn’t sure how she hadn’t seen it before entering the cellar. Although, it was rather dim down here, besides a few scattered torches mounted on the walls. The wolf was looking up at her with deep brown eyes, seemingly unbothered by the visitor.
“You might want to watch your step. I know Nymeria’s no dragon, but direwolves can be a handful all on their own. Trust me.”
The dragon queen startled at the unexpected voice. She never would have guessed someone else was down here. She hadn’t heard a single footstep or even soft breathing. Hand to her chest in alarm, Daenerys searched in the direction of the voice. When violet eyes met stone-colored gray ones, she wasn’t quite sure what to say.
“Direwolf?” she asked in confusion.
The room’s other occupant stepped closer, “I’m guessing you’ve never seen one before? Even some northerners haven’t. They’re not easy to spot, especially when they don’t want to be seen.”
The platinum haired woman felt like the stranger was speaking in riddles. It was as if she was speaking of more than just the wolf.
Lost for something better to add, Daenerys offered, “I would assume differently, based on their size.” She quirked an eyebrow in question at the wolf still comfortably resting at her feet, who’s ears perked up, as if she knew she was the topic of discussion.
Knowing smirk in place and hands clasped behind her back, the owner looked from the direwolf to her conversation partner, “And you would assume wrong, Your Grace.”
As an involuntary smile started to form on her lips, the queen responded, “I appear to be at an unfair disadvantage. You seem to know who I am, yet I know not who you are…” She paused at the end of her statement, waiting for the other woman to answer the unasked question.
The gray-eyed stranger didn’t take the bait, entirely too at ease with the lull in conversation.
Feeling very much the opposite, Daenerys resumed, “You do not have to tell me who you are…but I could venture a guess, if you’ll allow.”
Dark eyebrows rose in surprise, the stranger caught off guard by the teasing tone of the platinum haired woman’s words. “You could try, yes,” she agreed.
Taking on a more serious countenance, Daenerys vocalized her thoughts, “Based on your attire, I can only guess that you are a native here. Your jerkin appears to be both sturdy and warm, perfect for the northern lifestyle. And it also looks to be well-worn, as if you’ve owned it for a period of time.”
The dark haired woman opened her mouth to speak, no doubt to give a rebuttal, but the Targaryen cut her off.
“But there are more tells, like your light skin, for example. I’ve never seen such pale complexions as those of northern folk. And your dark features, like your hair, are also a dead giveaway,” the dragon queen elaborated.
“Your Grace, if I may, none of those things provide sturdy support for your theory. People of a variety of colors and backgrounds surround Westeros. Surely, you have not seen every manner of person there is to see? How are you to know that there are not other people of such light skin tone somewhere else?” the woman asked, looking confident that the Targaryen would be stumped.
Undeterred, Daenerys continued, “And your self-assured demeanor leads me to believe that you’ve spent too much time around nobles for their status to have any effect on you anymore. Which begs the question, why would you be surrounded by nobles so regularly to the point that you get used to them? Unless…you are a noble yourself.” She let her last words hang in the air for a moment. Almost like an afterthought, she added with a smile, “Not that your steel-gray eyes and direwolf didn’t give away your connection to the Stark name. Don’t look so surprised. It’s only logical that I know of the most prominent houses of Westeros if I am going to rule it. That, and your brother speaks of you often. I believe introductions are in order. It’s nice to finally meet you, Lady Stark.”
The other woman allowed a brief glimpse of shock and approval to pass her features before resuming her closed off look, “An impressive deduction, but I believe you’re wrong on one count, Your Grace.”
“Oh?” Daenerys asked, puzzled.
After making meaningful eye contact, the darker haired woman enlightened, “For I, Arya Stark, am no lady."
At that, she offered a short nod before grabbing her bow and quiver of arrows that she left sitting on top of one of the cellar’s wooden barrels and made an abrupt exit. Nymeria quickly rose and trotted after her master out the doorway.
Daenerys had no idea what to make of the exchange. She was left standing, suddenly alone in a dark cellar, feeling even more muddled about the North and its people.