the thaw. [arya stark]

v. farewell, jon snow

CHAPTER FIVE:

FAREWELL, JON SNOW
his dragon will do what
he could not.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

...TWO DAYS LATER, and the matter was infact well and truly settled. Ravens had been sent, clothes packed, and any briefings, preparations, or warnings made — rendering Valeria Targaryen (in her own most esteemed opinion) ready for whatever Winterfell, and the North, would hold.

But, if the truth were to be told, as it always must —Valeria Targaryen had been deceived — for she was truly not prepared for, or even vaguely close to comprehending, the myriad of cards that layed within fate's ever—withering hands, just begging to be played, screaming out to be deployed by the universe, and then swallowed by the ever—ebbing tide of existence only to wash up on the calamitous, stormy, shores of Valeria Targaryen's reality.

There was some consequence yet hanging in the stars, but what kind? It is said that violet delights often have violent ends — but was Valeria Targaryen's life really one of these sad tales? She'd always forged her own fate, carved her own life from the universe's bedrock — no matter the blood, sweat, and tears it had cost her. But something told her, deep within the blackened chambers of her tarnished heart that this time was different, and that for some reason, she wasn't the one in control here.

In truth, the war against the Night King was a mere catalyst in Fate's larger plan, and, unbeknownst to Valeria — if was to be her very arrival at Winterfell that was it's first, and final, turning point.

Valeria stood upon Dragonstone's towering cliffs, a strange sensation creeping across her heart as she pondered the overwhelming idea that plagued the hallowed halls of her mind — the inescapable thought that the next time she'd set foot in this place, everything would've changed.

Just metres from her, was Viserion — one of three of Daenerys's children, and the one that Valeria had been lucky enough to grow so very close to. His scales were a tarnished cream, yet his horns glinted in the midday sun like they were made of gold, and
his animated mouth was marked by a series of ragged, enormous teeth — each shining black daggers, different to, yet not unlike his claws, which were more similar to sickles; long, curved, and most importantly — sharp.

The Dragons's eyes were two pools of molten gold, and, on the rare chance that a man beholded his flame (and lived to tell the tale), he would find that it was pale gold laced with red and orange. Viserion had a roar that could send a thousand lions running, and was notoriously the most vicious of his brothers — a fact that proved to be quite ironic, as he treated Valeria like the most precious cargo possible, and had never once harmed her.

"Quite a sight." Jon Snow, whom had insisted on bidding her farewell, spoke — earning the faintest trace of a sad smile from his newest friend.

"This is Viserion." She told him. "Named for my brother, Viserys. Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened — and I killed him. His dragon does what he could not." She paused, tilting her head as she made to the Northman more closely, a blunt, even crude sense of nonchalance shining in her violet eyes. "There's no reason for you to be here, friend, so why are you?"

"This." He responded, two cold hands diving into the folds of the black furs he had donned to brace the Winter chill, and then, after a moment, emerging, holding what looked like three sealed letters — each marked with the names of his siblings. Passing them to Valeria, his confidence seemed to falter, as something that looked auspiciously like sadness crossed his lined face. "When you get there, tell my family I love them."

"You couldn't have just sent a raven?" Valeria, ever the cynic, quizzed, sighing as she accepted the letters nonetheless, before quickly concealing them within the small travelling sack that lay strung to her hip.

"These are words far too important for ravens." He told her, sadly, and Valeria offered him what little condolence she could — nodding.

"I understand." She muttered. "Good luck on your quest, Jon Snow — and do try not to need my help." She inhaled sharply, a small grin washing over her face as took two steps closer to the Northman — embracing him in a firm hug as she whispered; "Before you leave, be sure to tell my sister you love her too, will you."

Valeria's grin only widened as she turned, skipping wickedly away from him as she made her way over to the nearby Dragon, who, at her arrival, dutifully extended his left wing, allowing Valeria to mount his luggage—adorned back with a rather impressive degree of grace.

From Viserion's back, Valeria watched on, amused, as Jon's cheeks flushed a flaming crimson at her insinuation — rendering his sharp face a single, bright, strawberry—coloured rose amongst Dragonstone's cliffs of ivory snow.

At the a smallest kick of Valeria's left leg, and a few encouraging whispers, Viserion lifted his wings from the ground, rearing his head in a deafening roar as his wings began to beat, and beat, and beat — until eventually, a miracle occurred, and the colossal beast took flight, leaving Jon Snow standing in the snow, awestruck, and Valeria Targaryen well and truly on her way to Winterfell — the place in which the fate of the world would now be decided...

AUTHORS NOTE!!
UNEDITED (26/05)
jon & valeria have my heart.