"Storm ahead, and not a nice one, captain." Ridnell reported, his voice trembling.

"How far out?" Arya asked the crew's skinchanger.

He reentered his seabird, his eyes going white for a moment.

"Tonight, captain. We will reach it tonight."

"Can we bypass it?" Arya asked.

Ridnell shook his head, "Too large, captain. We're already on its edge with our current course."

"Very well, steady on and we'll have to ride it out." Arya said confidently. She called over her first mate and told him to prepare the ship for the worst. He began to bark orders to the crew and within an hour the ship deck was transformed from its usual state to something much barer.

Arya knew the journey had been too mild, too easy. Something was bound to happen after such strong winds at their back and more cloudless skies than grey ones. They were weeks beyond the known world, having passed the far islands of Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys twenty sunsets ago. The compass still read west, though its pull seemed to be less reliable each day they ventured deeper into the Sunset Sea. As if they approached some shift in the world's balance, some magic of sorts. Something entirely unknown.

Arya knew she should be afraid as her first mate was every time he glanced at the compass, but she was exhilarated by the prospect of something so unknown. Out here, where sparkling waters stretched to every horizon surrounding them, everything was untouched and new. They would all die as the first to this part of the world, the first to discover it. Compared to death by starvation or cold, by blade or arrow, or worse yet, to die and be reborn a wight—no this would be the preferred way to die. Out here where the world was open to anything and anyone. Arya saw no reason to be afraid of that.

They sailed on and the blue sky grew orange, then pink, finally settling into a dull grey hue until the winds began to pick up and the first drops of rain fell. The light was entirely gone, shrouded in a thick cloud, swirling about them. It entranced Arya at first, a swirling cloud flinging out water from the sea. It was unlike anything she had seen. Then suddenly it became more, taking form, touching down on the water. Shouts arose from her crew. The gales caught one of their small sails that had not been lowered yet, thrusting the ship wayward. Arya slammed into the railing, the wood painful on her hip. A bruise would be present in the morning, she knew, if she made it through to the morning.

She began to bark out orders, urge on the crew to continue their work in maintaining the ship's integrity. The squall worsened, churning the waves until they crashed overboard. The first few were mild enough, but then it became all too much, and the first mate ordered her below.

"I will not abandon my crew!" she screamed through the storm keeping the wheel steady with some effort.

"You must and you will!" he bellowed back, running off to help a sailor who had flung over the railing in the latest wave.

Arya longed for Yara Greyjoy's expertise, and not for the first time on this journey. She would know what to do to survive this. Unfortunately, she was in the Iron Islands and Arya alone would have to captain her crew through the storm. She steeled herself and surveyed the deck and surroundings. Ridnell thankfully was nowhere in sight, long since gone below with his seabird. She pieced together what needed to be done to bail out the flooded deck and screamed out orders to her shipmates. They obeyed in hurried actions, but it was not enough. The storm was more than their ship could take.

Arya braced herself as another wave crashed over them. When it receded, the noises were quieter and she glanced out with concern, finding half her crew swept away. Panic overtook the remainder, and as she looked ahead, she understood why.

The sea formed a whirling cyclone downwards into its very depths, a whirlpool of sorts, but more massive than she imagined possible. Desperately Arya yanked hard on the wheel, guiding the ship away from the certain doom. It was too late though, the current pulling them in more rapidly than she could steer away. Several men dove overboard in an attempt to avoid the impending destruction of the ship. Arya saw no purpose in this. Better and quicker to die in an unbelievable whirlpool than floating at sea until you drowned or became too dehydrated to go on.

She pulled out the compass again, as holding onto the wheel became useless. Its arrow spun around furiously enough that she shoved the instrument back in her pocket. The ship circled so the aft dipped into the whirlpool first. There was no time to make any speeches to her remaining crew. Instead, as the ship began to descend in a rushing clockwise rotation, Arya closed her eyes and murmured a farewell to her living siblings, Jon included. A deafening crack of wood sounded as the hull shattered, and Arya opened her eyes to find scared faces then surging white water and finally darkness.

As the broken ship slipped beneath the sea, she murmured with peaceful resignation, "Valar morghulis."

/\/\/\/\

Claire Temple had seen many things in her time as a nurse in New York City's public hospital system, but none of them compared to what she had seen in her off time. She had been one of the lucky ones when Thanos snapped his fingers the first time. She had been blipped. Lost five years of time but hadn't had to suffer like those who remained. She hadn't had to live through that depression, that void. It was a relief, to be honest, after everything she had dealt with concerning The Hand. And according to Matt Murdock, someone had taken on the members of The Hand who weren't in the Blip. Had served them a form of justice that solicited no jury. She assumed it was an Avenger, not the Iron Fist or Daredevil since Matt told her about it, but who knew these days. She certainly hadn't asked Matt for details. The less she knew, the safer for her. She might have asked Luke if he did it, but he too had been blipped.

Life had been mostly normal since she, along with half of the Earth's population, had been restored to existence, so she was not entirely expecting the enigma that lay unmoving on the gurney she met at the ambulance with the other ER team members at Metro-General Hospital that Tuesday morning.

"Female, Caucasian, late teens or early twenties. No ID. Stable condition with fluids, just normal near-drowning conditions and mild hypothermia. Major bruising on her hip but no lacerations. Some old timer in Red Hook found her washed up on the beach during his morning walk with the metal detector." the EMT explained as they wheeled the patient into an emergency room.

After their bed to bed transfer, the EMT grabbed something that clanked metallically and showed it to Claire, "The beach comber noticed our Jane Doe because of these."

Claire's eyes widened at the elaborately crafted dagger and skinny sword, if it could even be called a sword.

"Those are some accessories." she noted dryly.

"She was wearing this." another EMT continued, showing Claire what looked like a leather breastplate. "Maybe some sort of cosplay or Renfaire?"

Claire gave the EMTs a nod, "Thanks."

The EMT team left with their gurney once the patient had been fully transferred to the hospital's monitors and IV drip. Claire looked at the patient who was now dressed in a hospital gown, her damp Renaissance period garb stored in a hospital-issued plastic baggy except for the breastplate, which hadn't fit. The weapons had been confiscated and moved to Metro-General's weapons closet, which was fairly full year-round despite the police cleaning it out weekly or more, depending on the need for evidence.

The girl had a long face, short brown hair, and a worried expression despite being unconscious. Claire looked over the paperwork the EMTs left with her and glanced at the heart rate monitor. It started to spike mildly. The patient was waking up.

"Where am I? What happened?" the patient exclaimed. Her voice was rough, presumably from the salt water scratching her esophagus, but even so her accent was notable. Something European, as if English was not her first language, despite that she spoke it upon waking.

Claire startled at the patient's surge of energy, recovering to say, "New York. You were found on the beach this morning."

"The beach? I'm on land?"

"Yes, you're in New York City in a hospital." Claire explained.

"A what?" the patient asked, furrowing her brow.

Her heart monitor was racing now, beeps loud and frequent. She looked all around in horror.

"What is this witchcraft? What's going on?" the patient exclaimed. The monitor beeped faster, and the patient covered her ears with her hands and squeezed shut her eyes. "What is that?!"

"It's a heart monitor. It's meant to help you." Claire said, then put a hand on the patient's wrist and said softly, "Listen, you're all right. You're safe."

The patient calmed some, the beeps slowing as proof. She opened her eyes again and Claire could tell she was processing her surroundings as if she had never seen electricity before but didn't want to show her ignorance. Probable options ticked off in Claire's mind… human trafficking, refugee. The girl's English was accented after all.

"What happened to my crew? My ship?" the patient asked, and Claire's theories went out the window. Maybe she was the one trafficking the others.

"I don't know. They only found you on the beach. They may have washed up elsewhere. Where were you headed? What happened?" Claire asked.

"We were headed West, into the unknown. There was a maelstrom, and a whirlpool swallowed us. That's all I remember." The patient explained, sitting up now. Her eyes widened as she could see out beyond her immediate bed. "What in the godswood is this place?!"

"It's a hospital. The ER." Claire said patiently. Confused ER patients were standard fare.

"What is a hospital?"

"What?" Claire furrowed her brow.

"A hospital – isn't that what you called it?" the patient said.

"Yes, a hospital. It's a place where you heal people." She explained. Perplexed, she asked, "Where are you from? What is your name?"

"So, are you a maester? You're awfully young—and awfully female. How interesting your kingdom would allow such things!" the patient continued.

"What is your name?" Claire asked again, mentally readying herself to call in a transfer to Psychiatric.

"Arya Stark. Do you even know of the Stark family here?" Arya furrowed her brow.

Claire let out a breath. Tony Stark's public vigil had only been a month ago.

"I know the Stark family." Claire said.

The girl nodded knowingly, and Claire wondered… could this girl actually be related to the Tony Stark somehow? The rumors were he had a daughter, but no one had seen photos of her. Claire always assumed she was born during the Blip, and would be no more than five years old, but she had been wrong about many things before. And she had witnessed many things before that had been and still remained unexplainable.

"Where are you from?" Claire asked.

"The Northern Kingdom in Westeros." Arya explained. "Listen, I need to find my crew. You said we're where again?"

"New York City,"

"I've never heard of Old York City. Is it on your continent?" Arya frowned.

"No, York is in England, across the ocean." Claire explained.

"I am from across the ocean. There is no England there. Unless... what ocean do you mean?"

"I think you may be confused. I am going to check you for concussion." Claire pulled out her penlight to check the patient's pupil dilation. A sense of déjà vu washed over her as she wondered how the paramedics missed this. "Miss Stark, are you blind?"

"Call me Captain Stark, please. And no, not anymore." She said and moved to swing her legs over the bedside opposite Claire. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find my crew."

"Wait, you can't—" Claire tried, but Arya was up and the IV ripping out of her hand. She rushed around to stop the bleeding and guide the patient back to the bed, which quickly proved to be a mistake. Arya was swift and deft, taking Claire down in a single blow. She grabbed her bag of clothes and breastplate then ran from the room before Claire could even yell for help.

When Claire found her footing, she hurried directly for the weapons closet. The guards were both on the ground, unconscious, the door ajar. She opened it slowly, but no one was inside. The black metal of guns gleamed off the fluorescent lighting overhead and Claire saw the dagger and sword were gone.

"Damnit!" she muttered, then knelt to check on the guards. Another nurse had arrived by then, along with the police, and she gave her statement briefly and explained what the girl looked like. As an officer called in the APB on his radio while the others ran outside to try and catch this Arya Stark, Claire slipped away to a far hallway that was closed for asbestos containment. It was her sanctuary at the hospital.

The phone rang only twice before Matt answered in a gentle, concerned voice, "What is it?"

"Something weird just happened. I need you to find someone before she hurts anyone. I don't think the cops stand a chance." Claire said.

"Are you hurt?" Matt asked.

"No, no, I'm fine. Just worried what she might do. She seems delusional." Claire hesitated, not wanting to bring this up after everything he'd endured. But the pupils had been telling, something wasn't right about this girl. "Matt, I think she might be one of Stick's."

"Stick's or The Hand's?" Matt asked.

Claire flinched at the mention of the organization.

"I don't know. She knew how to fight. Her pupils didn't dilate, but she said she isn't blind anymore. So, stroke or brain tumor, right? Maybe. She seemed too physically capable for that, even if the other symptoms presented." Claire said.

"Did she give any indication where she might go?" Matt asked. His voice was tight, the way he spoke when his mind shifted from Matt Murdock to Daredevil.

"They found her on the beach at Red Hook. She told me she was a captain and kept asking about her crew. Said there was a massive storm. She assumed she crashed, but…"

"But the weather was clear all night. Okay, well, I'm on it." he assured Claire. "What's her name?"

"Arya Stark. Acted like she's from the Stark family."

"As in Tony Stark?"

"Yeah…" Claire said. "Oh, and she's armed with a fancy dagger and tiny sword."

"Tiny sword? Anything else?" Matt chuckled.

"Leather breastplate. She's short, brunette—not that you need to know that."

"Brunettes blend in easier in crowds and draw less reaction from others. Any info helps, Claire." Matt said.

"Right, well, short, brunette, long face, boyish. Fast runner and she seemed to just disappear after she hit me." Claire listed off. "Oh, and Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"She's scared."

"Thanks." he said and promptly hung up.

Claire tried to steady her breathing as she slipped her phone back in her scrubs' pocket. Normally she'd write this Arya Stark off as total Psych Ward material, but something else was going on. She could feel it.