Chapter Text
Daenerys had arrived in the northern stronghold of Winterfell just over a month ago. The Dragon Queen had found adjusting to the harsh climate of the north a struggle to begin with, she had felt the tension and anger from the Lords and had even had to settle into a new awkwardness with Jon - the pair having found out his true heritage upon their arrival, and neither having properly spoken to each other since (and neither really wanting to). What they had done on the journey had been wrong and they had both regretted it before they had even found out who Jon, Aegon, really was. It was in the past now though and despite the fact that their frosty familial relationship was starting to thaw, the young Targaryen had still had to contend with the north for a month without him.
Daenerys had been in disarray when she arrived in Winterfell, she was facing a war followed by another war, the loss of Viserion, a shattered heart, and the fact that she was no longer the heir to the Iron Throne.
She honestly didn’t know which was worse.
She had dealt with war, and she’d be damned if she couldn’t do it again and again.
She had dealt with loss; Drogo, her unborn son, Daario, the Ironborn, High Garden, she knew by now how to cope with the pain of loss.
But when she had dealt with that before she had a goal to achieve - she was the heir to the Iron Throne, she needed to reclaim her birthright, but now there was nothing. She had nothing but the fact that she called herself the Queen, and to those outside her advisory and the Stark family, she still was. It still broke her though, more than she cared to admit.
And if she’d thought that was bad, on top of it she had to eventually deal with her shattered heart.
She was a Targaryen, the children of Valyria were never blessed in the same way that the children of the new Gods were. Soul marks had not appeared on the skin of a Targaryen since the new religion was founded - they weren’t always a good thing she was told, they could cause problems if soul marks were between nobles and common folk, or if it appeared on two enemy houses, so they were often hidden from the rest of the world if possible.
Daenerys had given up on getting a soul mark by the time she was old enough to hear about them. She had settled into a relationship with Drogo who had no mark of his own, they had been relatively happy and with her moon and stars she had found peace. His passing had been hard to take, but it wasn’t the biggest shock, that came a few days later with his funeral. She had been lying in her tent after the event, still in mourning but handling it better than most would’ve, she had felt a slight burning on her left abdomen just by her hip. The Khaleesi had pulled off the sleep shirt she was in to check the area, her mouth had fallen open in astonishment as her fingers moved to trace the new mark that ran along her abdomen - there lay the head of a grey wolf, with a thin sword crossing through the image at an angle.
It had taken her weeks to process that this was a soul mark, something everyone thought impossible for her to have. The wolf she had figured out could provide a link to House Stark (her family had ties with them with Rhaegar and Lyanna after all), but she had no clue as to which member of the northern house it linked her to.
It had been months since she first met the King in the North - Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark. She had spent plenty of time with the so called King, and they had gotten along well - she had started to wonder if Jon was the one that her soul mark was meant to lead her to. She had grown closer to him under that assumption and it wasn’t until she’d gotten herself in too deep on the long journey to Winterfell one night that it couldn’t possibly have been him. Jon Snow had got a soul mark, a faded one but it was still visible, a small bow and arrow on his left wrist (the mark from his Wildling lover who had recently passed) - if she was honest with herself she could’ve figured it out before but she had been caught out dreaming; Jon was the white wolf after all (her wolf was grey), and whilst his greatest strength was his sword Longclaw the slimness of the blade on her mark suggested that it wasn’t his sword either, but she had caved into hope and immediately regretted it (as did Jon, or Aegon Targaryen - her nephew as she would later discover).
They had a rocky companionship after that, and when they had arrived at Winterfell the Dragon Queen had been seriously worried about how she’d survive without any northern friends.
Jon had introduced her to his sister Sansa upon their arrival, the red wolf had been polite and proper and seemed friendly enough, but the Starks were loyal to a fault and if Jon had a problem with Daenerys then she was sure Sansa would share his opinion. Young Brandon Stark had been openly kind despite his strange approach to people - she later discovered why, the ‘three-eyed raven’ had made him able to see everything and that was a burden that would change anybody, but Daenerys liked the boy all the same. Arya Stark hadn’t been present when the Queen had arrived, but after initial introductions and a taxing meeting with the northern Lords, she had been led to the training yard in Winterfell by Jon and Sansa.
She hadn’t known what to expect when she met the younger she-wolf, she’d heard tales of course that she was different to any other noble in Westeros, but she hadn’t expected that she would find the girl mid sparring session with the northern soldiers.
She watched from the gateway with the older Starks as the small gathered crowd of soldiers cheered for both their fellow soldier and the young Lady Stark. The girl moved with a flowing ease whilst wielding the slight sword in her left hand, the movements the likes of which Daenerys had never seen - she would duck and weave and spin the sword loosely in her hand, the sword itself was so small she had questioned if it was fair to let her fight with a blade so much smaller than her opponents. Sansa and Jon had just laughed and the Queen had then turned to watch, noting the way the girl almost danced around her opponent and seated him on his arse in the snow in record time - much to the delight off the gathered crowd.
“Arya!” Jon’s voice had rang out through the courtyard and the girl turned towards the group by the gate - Jon, Sansa and Daenerys standing with Tyrion, Greyworm and Missandei to one side. There was a slight smile tugging at one side of the girl’s mouth and she called something in a language not common over her shoulder before she began walking towards the group.
The confidence she had been fighting with before now mirrored even in the way she walked, and Daenerys felt her jaw go slack as a growl echoed and a huge grey wolf paced up to the young Stark’s side. When the pair came to a stop, it took the Queen a moment to stop staring, remembering that she should be making an introduction.
“Lady Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Daenerys cursed herself for the slight stutter in her speech, she was a Queen goddamnit she had to maintain composure in the face of far worse than a pretty girl.
“The pleasure is all mine your majesty - but please, Lady Stark was my mother and is now my sister, Arya is fine.” The Targaryen smiled and, in that moment, found herself hoping that perhaps she could find a friend in the north after all.
The Dragon found herself in the company of the she-wolf pretty often after that, the girl appearing at seemingly random times and often giving the Targaryen a fright; be it dropping from rooftops, appearing from the trees around the southerners outer camp, the appearances from hallways Daenerys was still learning to navigate as if she knew exactly where the dragon would be.
It was two weeks into her stay in Winterfell when the she-wolf had started to show the level of confidence in her interactions with the Queen that she did when she was fighting off the northern soldiers as practice.
There had been a celebration after a successful tangle with a band of White Walkers that had broken away from the rest of their group. The Queen was sat head and centre of the nobles table at one end of the hall, the rest of the people in the room drinking and talking and dancing and generally paying little attention to the nobles as they enjoyed their festivities. Daenerys was happy sat there watching as the King of the North and his Lords talked and drank, Bran was sat with Meera by his side as she attempted to get him to dance as much as he could, Sansa was speaking to the Lady Mormont and some of the other female soldiers around, and her own advisors were drinking with their fellow southerners.
It was then that she felt a tap on her left shoulder and caught the fact that there were several eyes in the room back on her as she turned to be met with a cheeky grey gaze, the she-wolf bowing as she held a hand out to the Queen whose lips begun to form a wavering smile at the gesture.
“Care to dance your majesty?” The Queen noticed a slight pause in the room’s chatter as looked up at the Stark.
“I’d love to Lady Stark.” The Dragon carefully placed her hand in the wolf’s and bit back a smile as warm fingers tangled with her own to lead her round the table to the small dance floor. Everyone had gone about their business again after that, a few watched on as over and over the Queen would go to dance with whichever Lord had asked it of her before returning to Arya’s side for the next dance.
It had been that evening that Daenerys had finally clicked on to what she was feeling for the Stark girl, and to why she was so enamoured with her. Wrapped in her warmth the Targaryen’s mind flicked back over the time they’d been together - when Arya had introduced her to Nymeria (the grey wolf), the countless times she’d watched Arya fight, or the few when she’d allowed the wolf to teach her how to (with a blade so slight it’s name of needle was highly adapt).
The she-wolf had walked her to her door on the other side of the fortress to her own quarters and had stood looking down at their entwined fingers for a few beats as both women refused to leave the comfort of each other’s company. The girl finally locked the Stark grey eyes that Daenerys had often found herself getting lost in, onto the Targaryen violet of the Queen’s. She smirked softly and pressed a kiss against the blonde’s cheek, leaving her reaching for the spot with her free hand, but she wasn’t so shocked that she couldn’t respond. So, when the wolf made to turn and leave, the Dragon tugged on the hand still claimed in her own and spun the younger Stark back to face her - she had tangled her free hand up in short brown locks and pulled her closer, pressing her lips against the other girl’s.
“Goodnight, my wolf.”
“Goodnight Dany.”
As she closed the door behind her, the Targaryen had leant back against the piece of wood with a smile gracing her lips. She recalled not a month earlier when she had demanded Jon not call her Dany, it was the nickname her psychotic brother had given her and hearing it from him had angered her… but somehow, falling from the lips of his younger sister, the nickname was one she was happy to receive - one spoken only with pure intentions, with kindness, with love.
She had sat on her bed that night, her sleep shirt pulled up as she studied her soul mark, tracing the lines of it with her fingertips. Her wolf indeed.
They had spent as much time as was possible together since then, her wolf taking her for walks or joining her late at night to talk or indulge in other pleasures - occasionally even pulling Dany from her room to dance with her on the snow covered rooftops and watch the stars light up the night sky on those rare clear nights in the bleak northern winter.
Dany found herself caring less and less about what wars or hardships would come their way now; the White Walkers could march south with Viserion, Cersei could try to wipe the Targaryen from existence, hell the whole world could come crumbling down around her but she wouldn’t care in the slightest, at least she’d die the happiest she could remember being. At least she could die with her wolf by her side.
Arya would be damned if she let any of that happen though; Dany had told her the notions running through her head of damning the consequences and just being happy that she was happy, and the wolf hand bent the knee on the spot.
“If I have made you happy my Queen then there is no greater honour that could be bestowed upon me, but you will not lose this war and if Cersei wants to try to remove you from your birthright I would die defending you. You have my sword Dany, as loyally as you have my heart, I swear I won’t let anything hurt you okay?”
The Dragon Queen was pretty sure she’d cried when she’d fell into Arya’s embrace that evening, though no one would ever find out about that, and she knew for sure that she had been right those many times before when she thought Arya her wolf.
They had remained together since, and last night had fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms as they prepared for the battle that dawn would bring with it - the Whites were here, and Winterfell would likely be under siege soon, and Dany had all but dragged Arya back to her quarters with her when the panic in her chest began to rise at the thought.
“Promise me you’ll come back?” The Queen’s voice came out as a choked sob against the crook of her wolf’s neck and the other girl rubbed her hands along her back to soothe her as she responded.
“I’ll always be with you Dany, and I’ll always come back to you, I promise.”
They had eventually lay next to each other on top of the bedsheets after Dany had properly calmed down and the Dragon had to ask something, in case Arya broke her promise come dawn, or in case she herself didn’t return.
“Do you believe in soul marks, Arya?” The girl had turned to meet her gaze before looking back to the ceiling and answering.
“I do. I believe that people can be more suited to certain people than others and I know that soul marks, when they appear, can lead you to those people. I don’t think it has to be done that way, but I think it can be.”
The former Faceless Man had answered the question far too diplomatically for Dany’s liking and she pouted slightly as she felt the hope start to drain from her, what if Arya wasn’t her wolf? She had to know… In case this was the last chance she had to ask.
“Do you have one? A soul mark.”
The Targaryen felt the girl nod against her and she lifted her head up so that Arya could see the eyebrow that had arched in question of her response. The she-wolf smirked and Dany fixed her with a glare as the girl seemed to be leaving that as her only response. The Stark eventually turned onto her side and propped herself up on her right elbow, moving the left side of her shirt off her abdomen where the join to her hip was. Dany couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face, more like a Cheshire Cat than a Dragon as she reached out to trace the lines of the mark. A black dragon with three heads, a crown perched upon one of their heads.
Arya watched carefully as the woman trailed her fingers over the image.
“You knew?” Was all she heard the Targaryen mutter.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” Dany met those Stark grey eyes as the woman continued, “I knew there was more than one of you; tradition, three dragons for three riders and I didn’t know which it’d be… until I saw you fly in on the back of Drogon - black dragon with the Queen as its rider, it could’ve only ever been you.”
The Dragon had moved first, launching onto her wolf and practically pinning her to the bed as she assaulted her lips with kisses, more happy and excited than she had ever been before.
“Now you really best come back.” Dany had muttered before leaning in for a deeper and much longer lasting kiss.
The young Stark surprising her as she flipped their positions and trailed kisses mixed with nips of teeth down the column of the blonde’s throat. The shirt she had intended to sleep in quickly discarded as the wolf ran the path of lips, tongue and teeth further down the Dragon’s body. Dany had all but shivered with pleasure as the girl placed a kiss on her breastbone and she felt the girl’s smirk against her skin at her reaction to her touch. A hand twisted into choppy brown hair as she tried to guide Arya to either side of her current position, groaning aloud when the girl refused and continued south until her lips found a place on the space by her hip on the left side.
“So I really am your wolf.”
The statement pulled Dany’s gaze back to those hypnotising eyes and they shared a smile, purely, unequivocally happy with the situation they found themselves in. Dany had sat up slightly, bringing herself back up to meet Arya’s lips in a tangle of love and happiness - and even if it was just for one night, Dany would take pleasure in losing herself completely in the love of her wolf.
War was for the morning, for now she would be at peace in her love’s arms.