the thaw. [arya stark]

xxiii. take a guess

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE:

TAKE A GUESS
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...STRANGE WHISPERS had begun to circulate about the Nothern camp, faint traces of truth and fiction flitting from mouth to ear to mouth again all through the bleak twilight. Starved soldiers whispered that the Dragon princess, Valeria Targaryen, had washed up on those cruel shores — a white lady tainted red, knife baring and bloodthirsty as she demanded to know the whereabouts of the only man whom none of them could lead her to, the Lord Varys. She was a predator on the hunt, it seemed, her whispered striking a terrible fear into the very heart of the camp, whose usually steely inhabitants had slept alongside their blades that night, candles lit as they grew to fear not the shadows, but rather what — or who — laid within it.

Jon Snow, whom could hardly believe nor fathom what he was hearing, had sought out the spider himself at the very inception of these rumours, dragging the disgraced eunuch into his tent where they now sat — crouched round a great fire as they contemplated what on earth to do next. They knew not whether Valeria had come to kill, save, berate, or praise them — yet they found themselves caring not. Whatever it was, it seemed, it couldn't be good.

A force of eight of their greatest (living) guards flanked the outside of the tent — each armed to the teeth as they made to protect their Lord — but neither Jon nor Varys could bring themselves to sleep, for they knew in their heart of hearts that Valeria Targaryen could not and would not be stopped by these men. She was terrifyingly relentless, in that sense, a threat beyond words or comprehension.

Jon found himself crouching, his right hand wrapped firmly round the hilt of his sword as he prepared to wait out this storm with the usual steeliness, his hopes of doing so quickly disbanded as the canvas doors of his tent were suddenly flung awry, and Valeria Targaryen herself entered — as brazen and unbothered as ever.

A single guard stood before her, struggling to break free from her iron grip as his pulsing throat just skirted the blade of a curious knife. A knife that, upon closer inspection, Jon Snow concluded was all too similar — how so, he couldn't yet determine, but one thing was for certain — he'd seen this blade before, and not in the hands of Valeria Targaryen.