they say that when a targaryen is born, a coin is flipped and all the world stops. for in that single, fleeting, moment the fate of the world lies in that childs' hands. who lives, who dies - everything - can be made or broken by their shrill scream...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER TEN:
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE LAST PERSON IN THE WORLD ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
...IT WAS RAINING. Torrential, fat droplets of icy water fell like rocks from the heavens, reducing the infamous keep of Winterfell to nothing but floodland, and forcing its small but spirited population to flee the tempestuous skies, abandoning their homes for the great hall, where a small city currently sat — hundreds of Northerners sprawled out across it's cobbled floors, eyes wide and breath baited as they cowered away from the storm like children.
From her usual seat, Arya Stark remained silent, resigned to watching over her people's desperate attempts at normalcy in that crowded space — watching their laughter, their tears, their joy, their fear — everything that she could never have, laid out in front of her, close enough to reach out and touch, yet just too far to snatch for herself.
It was sad, yes, but she'd done this to herself — poured her soul out onto those black and white steps, let herself become like this in the name of some semblance of power — power which in hindsight, she wasn't even sure she'd truly wanted in the first place. She was broken — fractured — but it had been her own choice, the blood was on her hands.
But alas, Arya's moment of thoughtfulness was soon drawn to a close as a thunderous crash sounded through the hall, and its gnarled, inch—thick oak doors were flung brutally open, revealing Valeria Targaryen in all her gilded glory. She was soaked through, her grey hair entirely tousled, strewn all across her worry—stricken face, and her wet clothes sticking to her skin as she walked — no, ran — forwards, the ivory white scroll clutched in her ring—clad hands growing more and more evident as she drew ever closer.
Despite whatever dire circumstance had brought her there, this was a sight that Arya feared would be burned into her eyes for years to come — the Targaryen Princess as wildly dishevelled as she'd ever see her, marching towards her with an urgency so tangible Arya could almost taste it.
![the thaw. [arya stark]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/258334519-64-k919364.jpg)