GOT: P Chapter 23

The tent was filled with argument. Men talking over men until the Greatjon smashed the table with his fist.

"Here's what I say to these two kings," he growled. "Renly's naught to me, nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule me from some flowery seat in the South? Even their gods are wrong. We bowed to dragons once..." he spat. "and the dragons are dead."

A woman's voice from the flap. Soft, sweet and elegant in a way.

"I beg your pardon, m'lord."

The guards stepped aside. Rhaenys came in with two Northmen at her back. Arya slipped from her shadow.

Robb stared one beat, then moved. "Arya."

She hit him hard. He folded round her. Catelyn was there a blink later, dragging Arya in. No words for a moment. Just breath. Hands in chopped hair. A mother holding on.

Silence settled. Swords stayed sheathed, but thumbs found guards.

Rhaenys stood easy. Hood back. Violet eyes took the room like she'd walked into worse.

The Greatjon's stare met hers. He didn't blink.

"Not all dragons are dead," she said. Plain. "I'm here. My brother lives. My aunt and uncle lives."

That cause silence followed by murmur. Men measured her and each other. No one laughed.

Catelyn straightened, voiced everyone's thought, cautious. "Your name."

Rhaenys looked to Arya. The girl set her jaw. "Rhaenys," Arya said. "Rhaenys Targaryen."

Murmurs grow. Chairs scraped. Someone swore under breath. A Lord's hand twitched to his sword; his neighbor caught his wrist.

Rhaenys didn't raise her voice. "I must ask, m'lords. Do you still bow to dragon?"

Robb's eyes narrowed. "What if we don't."

Outside, a single shriek tore across camp high, long, far. Horses tossed. A few men flinched despite themselves. The outriders who'd brought her in went still. They'd heard that sound up close, they knew that sound.

Rhaenys didn't look away from Robb. "Lord Stark," she said, level, "I've no wish to make a worse mess of your night. I've no wish for my brother to hate me. He's little enough family left."

Robb looked confused as his brows tightened. "What do you mean..."

"It's already dark," she cut in, the edge soft but firm. "I trust the North holds to guest right."

Silence. Torches hissed. Outside, a vast shadow turned once over the camp and was gone.

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The tent they gave Rhaenys was warm and close. One candle. Rough wool walls, the sound of men and horses outside.

Arya slipped in first, quick and quiet. Rhaenys followed, tugging the flap down.

For a moment they just looked at each other.

“You’re Targaryen,” Arya said, voice low and flat with the day still on her. “And you didn’t tell me.”

Rhaenys set the candle on a crate. “And you’re Stark,” she answered, mouth tugging, “and you didn’t tell me.”

Arya blinked, then huffed. “I’m… I had a name.”

“I heard it,” Rhaenys said. “Arry. Suited you well enough.” She tilted her head. “Rhaenys suited me, once.”

Silence again. Arya’s shoulders eased a finger’s width.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Watching.”

“Where?”

Rhaenys glanced at the canvas roof. “Somewhere in the dark. He likes high places.”

Arya stepped nearer the candle, hand to the flame like she wanted to feel heat that didn’t scare her. “He’ll come if I shout?”

“He comes before you need to,” Rhaenys said. “That’s his trick.”

Arya nodded like she wanted to argue and couldn’t find the angle. “All right.”

Rhaenys pulled a blanket off the cot and shook it once. “Sleep, Lady Arya. We’ll talk more when our heads are straight.”

Arya made a face at “Lady,” then crawled under the blanket without another word.

Outside, the camp’s noise ran down to murmurs.

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I hovered high above the Stark lines, steady in the wind.

A yearling deer hung limp in my talons, the hide still smoking where I’d burned it clean. I tore off a strip and swallowed it whole.

Below, tents.

One stood out, two shadows behind the canvas, moving by candlelight. I watched that one. Still. Quiet.

The kill was done. For now, I waited. Eyes on the right door.