The Dragon & The Wolf (Daenarya)

chapter 15

When the trenches came into view she was at Jon's side. Many were already waiting for them, having been sent out days and hours earlier to prepare. Upon reaching her destination she dismounted the horse and slapped it on its rear quarter, startling it and sending it running in any direction it chose. "You aren't fighting on horseback?" Davos asked. Like Jon he wore heavy armor, a distinct difference from the high-quality leather she had under her common clothes, coat and furs.

"It would only get in the way," Arya explained confidently. "I'm better on my feet."

She knew Jon and most of the commanders would never decide as she had. They intended to stay on their war-horses for as long as possible. She could see why. They'd been trained for it, plus, it gave them extra height, extra separation for when the ground was saturated in Wights. On a battlefield so large, it also made it possible for those with the skills to turn the battle at key moments to travel further, faster than they ever could on foot. Lastly, a stomp or kick from a horse would hurt the Dead as surely as it would any man or woman on their side.

"Are we ready?" she asked Jon. He'd had a Valyrian Steel blade inserted into the base of the sword Lord Commander Mormont had given him. He wore it on his back while from his belt hung two knives each with dragonglass for the blades and an equally rough-looking dragonglass hatchet. It also made her happy to see he wore the medallion she'd given him openly, on the outside of his armor.

He smiled at her, as if it wasn't likely they'd both be dead before day's end. "The trenches are dug, and the wildfire is being poured as we speak." He pointed, and her eyes looked out to see six different groups carefully setting the volatile liquid into their traps. "The Dothraki bowmen apparently fought to determine who would have the privilege of igniting it," he said shaking his head as he imagined the strange custom.

Strange or not, Arya would have bested a man the size of the infamous Khal Drogo for the chance to be considered. She wasn't even that good with a bow, but that was a minor detail. "They do know they'll likely be killed when it explodes right?"

"They do, and they don't seem to mind." Arya's admiration for the savages doubled. They both watched in silence for a few minutes. "I think we're ready," he said, "as ready as you can be for something like this anyway."

"Father would be proud of you," she told him. "He couldn't have done better himself." Under other circumstances she might have enjoyed the stunned look on his face, but she was serious, and she wasn't finished. "Not even father and Robb together could have accomplished what you did. You brought the whole North together, you won back our home and now you're going to save the whole of the Seven Kingdoms from a fate worse than death."

Jon was visibly touched by her comments. "He would have been proud of you too," he said, ruffling her hair playfully. "I never would have thought of using wildfire and trenches as you did, no soldier would. If we are to have any hope of winning at all, it'll be because of you Arya."

She rarely disagreed with Jon, but this would just need to be one of the few. Her father wouldn't be proud of her. After all she'd done, she'd shamed him so many different ways, she lost count. She regularly begged for his forgiveness when she was under the Weirwood Tree. She hoped that he remembered her as she was, and not the thing she'd become after he was gone. It was one of her greatest wishes that before she saw him again, if she did, that she'd have the opportunity to redeem herself. It was unlikely. It would take a monumental act to right her misdeeds. Maybe this was it. Maybe today was her day.

The sky was a clear blue and although it was cold, the sun was shining. It was a good day for thousands to die, if there was such a thing. She was chatting casually with Yara and Theon when she noticed the darkening. She looked up and felt the first gusts of blowing snow on her face. They had come.