the thaw. [arya stark]

vii. charming little lady

CHAPTER SEVEN:

CHARMING LITTLE LADY
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

...SANSA STARK WAS THE LADY OF WINTERFELL, and nothing, not even her Brother's return could change that o' so irrevocable fact. Yes, Bran Stark, not Sansa was indeed the rightful Lord of Winterfell (a title that his sex, and his sex alone, had afforded him) — but Sansa, upon the very instance that she had been afforded a place on her forefather's centuries—old, wrought iron, seat had just known that she was born to rule the North. Born for power.

It was as if fate had carved out the seat just for her, as if every moment of her existence, every breath, had been exclusively in preparation for it — and it was no secret, too, for all the North knew it. Not only was she a good ruler, revered all across Westeros's largest Kingdom, but an honourable one, too — the latest, and last, custodian of a hereditary goodness that lurked within her families veins, but also smart, and not afraid to use, or perhaps more importantly exploit Westeros's raging darkness.

But alas, a storm was coming for Winterfell — a storm in the from of Valeria Targaryen, whom had arrived mere hours after the raven notifying the keep of her intentions to travel there, and on the back of a dragon, no less.

And, like all storms, nothing, not even years of hearing various...colourful...tales of the silver haired Princess from across the narrow sea could prepare Sansa Stark for what was to come...

It had been a tranquil afternoon at Winterfell, and the hums of steelwork, sparring, and plucked bowstrings filled the yard, where Arya Stark had been so calmly sat, entirely oblivious to the ashened raven that just metres from her, in the library, her sister Sansa had received hours earlier, yet was still pawning over with Littlefinger — the pair having been sent into complete shock and horror at the news.

Arya's moment of tranquility, however, had been disturbed — and by a most fascinating sight at that. A glaring screech permeated the frosty air, and, mere moments later, a looming shadow crossed the crisp, snow—covered yard, a shadow that, upon closer inspection, Arya determined was in the distinctive, yet terrifying, shape of a dragon.