Chapter 8:

Arya was Cat and Cat was Arya Stark, but Cat had fought for years to be the person she was now; accepting her past was harder than simply saying she did. (Not thinking about it helped a lot more than she'd admit).

No matter how much Ser Waters wanted to know, how much he tried to wheedle out of her; Cat bit and snarled and scratched, the savageness that had kept her alive all these years rearing its head.

Certain parts of her past before Braavos were lost to her still; parts that she heard whispered every time she walked past the kitchens, only for the servants to hush as she did. She did not remember them, did not want to.

She sat in her rooms now though, gangly legs tucked to her chest and her arms circled around them, pulling them tighter. Lanna was off somewhere-probably with the bastard, she'd ordered them both away this morning when she'd awoken- and this left Cat to her own devices. It was never a good thing.

Cat's head jerked up at the sound of knocking on her door. "Yes?" Even to her own ears, her tone sounded haughty, but the voice on the other side of the door answered regardless.

"Lady Stark?" It was a woman's voice.

Cat sighed, untangled her legs. "Come in."

The woman did, revealing a girl not much older than Cat herself. Messiandei, if Cat recalled correctly.

"My Lady," she said, hands held in front of her. "Ser Barristan requests your presence for Her Grace, Queen Daenerys, in the gardens."

Cat wandered to the gardens once more, in search of the Dragon Queen. She and Cat had matters to discuss.

Daenerys Targaryen wasn't all that hard to find, in fact Cat found her quite quickly; and she was sitting with her knights, the Tyroshi, and Lord Connington.

Cat eyed the Griffin-lord's arm and noted that even in this weather he wore long sleeves. Cat would have been dying from the heat-was dying from the heat- but Jon Connington seemed unaffected. It was a good lie that was given away by the sweat laying along his neck.

Cat flicked her eyes back to the Little Queen. Daenerys Targaryen did not appear to like Cat's sudden appearance at all, if the down-turned pull of her mouth was anything to judge by, but her words were pleasant enough.

"Lady Arya, what brings about this visit?"

Cat let her arms hang loosely at her sides, made her face twist into a smile as she bowed. Not curtsied. Never curtsied. Ser Barristan Selmy was the one who spoke next, cutting Cat off.

"I called her here, Your Grace."

Daenerys Targaryen frowned up at the old man, but accepted this with but a twitch of her eye. She turned to Cat with a smile as fake as Cat's own.

"My Lady," she said, smoothing down her violet silk skirts. "I had thought to tell you this news in private later, but…" With a sigh, the Little Queen said, "There has been talk of the Lady Sansa in the Vale."

Cat froze, felt her insides squeeze painfully until she couldn't breathe. "My sister...You know exactly where she is?"

.

.

Cat was going to have to stop sleeping if her wolf-dreams would not abate.

Nymeria padded alongside Thoros of Myr now, no better than an average hound, and it was discerning to say the least. What God, in its right mind, had given the drunk this power?

But that wasn't what frightened the girl or the wolf; it was the scent of an old memory.

The Lady Catelyn sat in the cart, a dark hood drawn over her face. Cat was horrified, and clawed her way out of the she-wolf's head as fast as she could; she'd pulled her mother's body from the river years ago, she didn't need to know she wasn't quite as dead as she should be.

But Nymeria knew who it was; it was a scent that reminded her of Winterfell.

Cat awoke with a jerk, sitting up and gasping for breath. Lanna blinked sleepily in the darkness by her side, grumbling something about it being too early before waiting for Cat to respond.

"Cat?" The blonde asked, hand reaching out to touch the younger girl's leg. "Cat, are you alright?"

Cat frowned and bit her lip. Should she tell her? Cat knew the dreams to be much more than that; than just dreams. They were things happening in some part of Westeros, she knew, probably the Riverlands or some such place judging by the constant roar of a river nearby in them. But when had Lanna ever betrayed her trust? A foolish thing, sentiment and the idea of loyalty, but Cat needed this.

She drew her legs up towards her chest, slim fingers playing along a fraying piece of her trousers. Cat's words were Braavosi when she spoke. "I...I dreamt of my mother."

Lanna hummed, the sound distracting Cat from her nightmare. "Was Lady Stark very beautiful and fair?" The blonde gave back in the same tongue.

Cat blinked, scratching her nose. "To me and my trueborn siblings, yes I suppose she was; though she never wanted me mucking about with swords and the like. But to be fair, I was a horrid child."

Lanna laughed, snuggled further into the featherbed. "For true, Cat!" She said, sleepy mirth in her tone. Lanna yawned and then continued. "You said that she was kind to you and your trueborn siblings…" she yawned here again, and when she found her voice again, it was barely audible at all. "Did you have natural siblings….as well?"

Cat clamped up at the mention of Jon Snow, but it was no matter really for Lanna had already slipped off into sleep. With a sigh Cat lifted herself from the bed; she wasn't going to get another wink of sleep tonight.

Most of the guards were asleep as Cat snuck past on light feet, the night air decidedly much cooler on her skin than that of the day.

Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one to think of this, apparently. Aegon Targaryen stood by the tables and benches of where people supped and broke their fast, his tanned skin giving his hair an ethereal quality it otherwise lacked while in the light of the sun, and not that of the moon.

Cat fought the urge to smirk when he jumped at a deliberately heavy footfall on her behalf. She took in his appearance; from his dishevelled and rumpled clothes to his sweat-slicked hair, and then threw her head back and laughed.

The prat king jumped again, and moved to cover her mouth with his hand but Cat jerked away quicker than he could.

Cat knew that there was mischief in her body language as she stated, "You slept with Arianne Martell."

Aegon drew back, appalled. "I did not."

Cat blinked slowly at him, and tilted her head just so to convey her level of disbelief. "You did," she insisted. "Do you think I don't know what a man looks like after he's been with a woman?" Cat looked back to the Towers. "And you've come from the direction of the Princess's chambers, you idiot; if you want to fool me, at least try."

Aegon scowled, gestured wildly for a moment and then stopped. "Fine."

Cat laughed again, and drew herself up onto the semi-walls of the gardens. She kicked her legs out as she thought. This reminded her of their talk back in Pentos when he looked to have given in to something.

"Did you agree to marry Arianne Martell in your uncle's place?" She blurted out, because, well, it made sense.

Aegon blinked, opened his mouth to say something, frowned and sat at her feet. "How in the seven hells did you piece that together?"

Cat shrugged, kicked her legs out again, narrowly missing the King's head. "You'd be surprised at how much the kitchen staff pick up." She bit her lip and then pressed, "Well, did you?"

Aegon leaned his head back and stared up at her. "Well, yes."

"Just don't go getting any bastards yet, Your Grace," Cat warned. "I don't think your aunt would be too pleased to have the King of Westeros being too much like a particular forefather." With that, Cat slipped off the wall to seat herself beside him.

Aegon gave her a lopsided smile. "We have to stop meeting like this."

Cat snorted and pushed his arm, and said, "In gardens or at night in general, Your Grace? Because it is unseemly for a man of delicate tastes, such as yourself-"

"Hey!"

Cat broke off and laughed.

.

.

Cat snarled. "Why is he to leave to fight, but I am not?" The bastard rolled his eyes as he took her in, and Cat sneered up at him. "I can fight!"

Jon Connington was saddled up beside the prat king, and he did not look to be in the mood for Cat's argument. But then, whenever did he?

It wasn't he who spoke though. "Because you are a Lady."

Cat snorted, sent a bemused glare towards the Little Queen. "Do I look like a Lady to you, Your Grace?"

Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah bristled at her tone, but there was a twinkle in Daenerys Stormborn's eyes. She finds this amusing, does she? Cat cocked her head to the side the same time that the Queen answered, "No, Stark. You look and act the part of a beast most days."

Cat glanced up at the bastard, who looked as confused as she felt. Cat let her eyes lazily drift back to the Little Queen. "Was that sarcasm, Your Grace?"

Daenerys Targaryen let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose before letting her calm mask slip back into place. 'A Lady's mask is her amour', Catelyn Stark used to say, and Cat thought Daenerys' to be perfect when put to work.

"You are not to join in the battle, Lady Stark," Daenerys degreed, chin held high. Cat opened her mouth to continue her argument, but the khaleesi held up a hand, eyes flashing. "But," she continued, "you are to be in my personal guard."

Cat paused, frowning in puzzlement. She hadn't seen this coming. Pleased that she would no longer be interrupted, Daenerys continued. "You are quick with a blade, I have seen you practice and you are quite skilled." Daenerys glanced quickly over to where her Unsullied and Freedmen were gathering. "But you have no training when it comes to war, Lady Arya. It would be to kill you to send you out there with the rest of my army. It would be better for you to stay by me."

Cat narrowed her eyes at the bastard, who wore a smirk, and then turned back to the Little Queen. "If I am to sit this out, so to speak," she said. "I would have my guard with me, Your Grace."

Daenerys nodded, allowed her that.

Cat scowled as they turned and walked away. The bastard threw his head back and laughed, and did not bother to dodge the elbow thrown at his ribs. His armour sent an unpleasant shock up her arm and Cat clenched her teeth.

Cat glared daggers at him, but did not rub her elbow. "Shouldn't you be off looking for Lanna?" She snapped spitefully instead, turning away from him and towards the caravan she was to accompany.

Ser Waters kept up with her easily, of course, laughing all the while.

"Are you jealous?"

Cat felt embarrassment creep up her neck and settle in her cheeks. "I couldn't give three shits about who you fuck, bastard."

That shut him up.

Tyrion Lannister wasn't allowed to fight either, and Cat found solace in this fact. He chose to ride beside her on the way to Starfall, and sat in one of the seats in one of the tents now; face sombre in the candlelight.

Cat was pacing. It wasn't a nervous one, no, it was pent-up frustration at being forced into not fighting.

"If you keep that up, there'll be holes in the ground by morning." Daenerys' tone was mild, but her face was calm. Cat flicked her eyes up from her boots, and settled her face into an indifferent mask.

"How can you stand it?" she asked, unfolding her arms from behind her back. "The waiting."

The Dragon Queen frowned at her. "I ignore it-"

"No, that's not what I meant." Cat interrupted, and Daenerys' expression faltered for a moment into irritation. "I meant, that those are your men out there; how can you not fight alongside them?"

Daenerys Targaryen blinked, clearly thrown for a loop before she narrowed her eyes and said, "And what would you know about that?"

Cat shrugged, seating herself by the fire. "My brother Robb…He would fight alongside his men." Cat frowned into the flames. "And you are about to send yours off to their potential deaths. Don't you feel even the slightest bit guilty for it?"

It was widely known that the Dragon Queen and Arya Stark did not get along. So how was this happening?

Daenerys Stormborn frowned too, and said, "I will have Drogon in the battle. Not very many of my army will perish."

Cat snorted, settled herself down onto her mat. "Ever the Queen, I see."

Daenerys Targaryen gave her a serious look, violet eyes nearly blue in the lame light. "I am because I have to be."

Cat rolled her eyes and then closed them to sleep. And not at all because you want to, she thought, sarcasm leaking in. The last thing she hears before slipping into oblivion is the milling about of soldiers in the dark and the Imp humming a tune Cat is sure she'd heard in the childhood.