Chapter 397

Witnessing the Mad King’s daughter descend from the sky on a dragon, land in the largest open space in Crown's Rest, and then be escorted by her mentor into the castle—ultimately welcomed into the tower on the lake’s central island—Arya Stark felt a pang of anxiety for the first time.

From the days when she was a little girl with nothing but a head full of knightly fantasies, her mentor, Aegor, had been her idol. Back in King’s Landing, while her father was preoccupied with his duties as Robert Baratheon’s Hand—cleaning up the messes left behind by the drunken king—Aegor had filled her otherwise dull days with excitement and adventure. For the young Arya, his world as the Night’s Watch’s Chief Logistician seemed dazzlingly vibrant and full of wonder.

She didn’t understand the complexities of bonds, industries, high-risk ventures, or innovative weaponry. All she remembered was following Aegor around the capital, exploring places she’d never been, meeting people she’d never have encountered otherwise, and enjoying countless happy moments.

Those were the happiest days of her life.

To her young mind, Aegor was the most romantic adventurer, the bravest White Walker Slayer, the most capable officer in the Night’s Watch, the kindest and most patient sword instructor, and the most inventive playmate.

Of course, as she grew older, she began to understand how much of her perception was shaped by the naïve, subjective imaginings of a little girl. Aegor wasn’t the undefeatable swordsman or infallible genius she’d once believed him to be. He wasn’t tireless or all-powerful. He was just an adult—a smarter, kinder, more understanding adult than most, and, of course, a bit more handsome.

But their bond had been forged, and far from diminishing, his image in her heart only grew with every challenge and crisis that followed.

During the chaos of the Iron Throne’s succession, when a foolish mistake had separated her from her family and thrown her into the bloody, terrifying world of adults, it was Aegor who risked everything for her. Though the Night’s Watch was sworn to neutrality, he had abandoned his position, carefully hidden his identity, and personally ensured her safe return to her family.

Later, when the Ironborn invaded the North, turning her homeland into a perilous warzone, Aegor again came to the rescue. He led an army from the Gift like divine reinforcements, drove out the invaders, reunited Robb Stark with his forces, and restored the North to the home she loved.

Arya knew Aegor’s actions were motivated by many considerations, but she chose to believe it was all for her. To her, he wasn’t just a close friend anymore. He had become her greatest protector, a pillar of stability in the North. He filled the void left by her father’s death and kept her from sinking into despair or losing her sense of security.

But alongside this bond came feelings she rarely allowed herself to examine—feelings too private to share with anyone.

On the journey back from King’s Landing, Arya had experienced her first moonblood. It happened among a group of men, leaving her mortified and in pain, both physical and emotional. That night, it was Aegor who had held her close, cradling her in his strong arms, whispering comforting words until she fell asleep. Wrapped in his warmth, she felt an unfamiliar, dizzying sense of comfort and closeness.

It was then, for the first time, that Arya became acutely aware of the difference between men and women. To her, Aegor was towering and invincible, his body like the perfect hearth created by the gods. His scent, though not fragrant, was unexpectedly soothing. In his arms, she felt as though she could melt away like snow under the sun.

Looking back, Arya doubted that moment had meant anything to Aegor. He likely found her messy, difficult, and far from endearing. But to Arya, it was a defining moment—one that marked her transition from child to young woman. From that night on, her admiration for Aegor began to blend with something deeper, more complex. It was no longer just hero worship; it was the budding of a young girl’s affection for a man.

She didn’t believe her clever mentor could be oblivious to her feelings. Yet Arya also understood that, to Aegor, she was just a child—a Stark girl whose admiration was more a complication than a compliment. He couldn’t acknowledge it, let alone reciprocate.

She knew her place. Aegor had his world, his responsibilities, and his ambitions. She couldn’t always be his priority. Her efforts to follow him into the adult world, to earn his attention and approval, often felt futile. He was an adult; it was natural for him to be drawn to women like Nina, Melisandre, or even Asha Greyjoy—women who were more mature, confident, and, most importantly, “safe.”

Yet Arya didn’t feel sad or defeated. Aegor was bound by the Night’s Watch’s vows. He couldn’t marry or leave the Gift, so she never had to worry about losing him to someone else.

And she had time. Time to grow, time to mature, and time to become someone he could see as more than a little girl. She believed in her uniqueness to him. She was his only student, his Stark girl, and someday, she would be the woman who stood by his side.

But now, watching Daenerys Targaryen descend on a dragon and be escorted by Aegor into the tower, Arya felt something she’d never experienced before: jealousy.

Daenerys wasn’t just beautiful—she was breathtaking. She wasn’t just powerful—she was the Mother of Dragons. She had an army, three dragons, and a legitimate claim to the Iron Throne. She could even, if victorious, pardon Aegor and release him from his vows. She was everything Arya could never compete with, no matter how much she grew or how hard she tried.

For the first time in her life, Arya felt despair. The jealousy she felt burned so hot it bordered on hatred.

But then, she had a realization. This wasn’t about jealousy. Daenerys Targaryen wasn’t just a rival for Aegor’s attention—she was an enemy of the North. Her father had murdered Arya’s grandfather and uncle. Her war against Stannis threatened the peace and stability of Westeros.

Aegor was making a mistake by entertaining her presence, and Arya realized it was up to her to fix it. She wasn’t a knight, but she could be something else—a protector, a weapon in the shadows.

She would kill the Mother of Dragons.

Arya returned to her room, where she found her small sword, Needle. She held it in her hands, feeling its weight and purpose. Tonight, it would taste blood for the first time—the blood of a queen.

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