A Dragon Raised Snow

Meereen (Arya/Aegon) Ch - 62

Arya

The shining blistering sun, suffocated her as her ship slowly, almost painfully made its way to Meereen's docks. She felt herself incapable of sitting still or thinking straight, the nervous of seeing her older brother setting in, washing away the walls she had built up during her time at the house of black and white. He was one of her last relation's in the world and she didn't want what happened to her mother and Robb to happen to him, she didn't want to be too late,. She didn't want to have to go back to being alone and putting on the mask of No one. Her fear of loosing her brother adding another layer of anxiety to her already amounting nerves.

Her nerves were subsidized when she pictured the shy boy she had grown up with, the boy who would lower his head as soon as he caught the gaze of her mother or nervously skirted around Winterfell trying to keep hidden. The brooding and sulking boy who hid in corners. The stories she had heard about him made it hard to match it to the boy, her mind making it hard for her to rid herself of the boy she had known and picture the confident man he had seemed to become.

He was the leader of the Brotherhood a far cry from the boy she remembered. It showed in the letters she received from him, she wondered if he got hers all those years ago. She wondered if he knew what was happening, if he cared. Of course he cared, she chided herself, he always cared. But did he know, did he know their whole family was gone, destroyed because of one small decision to go the Kignlanding all those years ago. She was resentful of it, but she also knew there was not point trying to change it, it couldn't be helped only lived and accepted.

She was still a little bitter from how he left and how he said goodbye. She had been sad and disappointed, but it was all overshadowed by how much she had missed him. She knew she couldn't stay mad at him and shouldn't stay mad at him and let it come between them, she only had a few family members left and he was one of them. All she wanted to know now was why and if he was okay and she had already got the answer to the second.

Arya didn't know what to expect when it came to her brother and she knew not to be disappointed if he is what she wanted him to be, she knew he would be disappointed with the person she had become. She could imagine the horror and shock on his face when he found out every little dirty detail of what she had done or suffered, she would dream of her father some night's, picture him watching over her but he was not proud he was disgusted by what she had done. It was for the good of her family, it was to avenge what others had done to them, she would tell herself to help ease the guilt.

She missed her childhood and she missed her brother's and sister, she wished she could go back to the day they left and change it somehow, so her brother wouldn't leave and her father wouldn't go to kings landing and end up with his head on a spike. She had heard that her sister had killed the bastard prince Joffree and she had actually been surprised Sansa had it in her. She still thought she was still under the Queens thumb, she remembered her standing there next to the I her nice gown with her nice hair watching as they sentence their father to death. She didn't blame Sansa though, she was a child just like her there was nothing she could have done.

Jon seemed to have been through a lot if the stories were any indication, he seemed to have been put through his paces overcoming them by sheer perseverance and determination and the teaching there father had shared with them growing up. He was even said to be the sword of the morning come again, carrying two Valyrian steel swords and scars of his trials. She wanted to see for herself the true extent of his talents, she had seen a glimpse when they were younger and would secretly train, but now both of them were older and had improved their swordsmen skills.

She stepped up to the bow of the ship, the sea splashing against the hard wooden surface of the side of the ship, spraying droplets of salty water over the railing, leaving the lasting overbearing stench of salt in its wake. The wind blew forcefully as the ship crept closer and closer to its destination, blowing through the hair not secured at the nape of her neck, leaving it disoriented. She placed her calloused hands on the railing of the bow, her fingers caressing the hardened wooden surface, its sharp splinters prickling her finger tips.