Chapter Text
Arya felt her whole body erupt with fear. Her captors, on some island west of Westeros held her down onto the abnormally large tree stump. They were tall, maybe about the same height as the Mountain, but were thin, almost like a twig. Their limbs were insect-like, and their eyes were entirely black. Their hands had long fingers that were claw-like, and their teeth were sharp. Several of her men learned that the hard way.
She’d lost track of them a while ago. They were probably dead, but who wasn’t?
One of the...humanoids used their claws to draw blood from her palm. “Fuck you!”
Arya tried squirming out of their grasp, but their nails just dug in further.
Another humanoid said something in their language, but of course she hadn’t learned the creepy island monster language.
A humanoid, slightly bigger than the rest rose above her, holding a knife. Her face scrunched up at the realization that the knife was hers , the one that killed the Night King. “You thieving–”
A humanoid punched her face. She grunted, but tried not to move so much. Stupid fucks.
Humanoids began gathering in a circle around her, chanting in their language. It was the same, monotone saying that reeked of unnerving tension. Arya glanced wildly around her, hoping for some sort of end to the madness.
Wisps of black and white energy danced around the tree trunk, phasing in and out of her vision.
The humanoid with her knife rose it above his head.
Am I about to be sacrificed? Arya thought that was just her luck, because why wouldn't the strange human monster things want to kill her crew, kidnap her, and now sacrifice her to whatever god or gods they worshipped?
Her mind flashed back to King’s Landing, and her lessons with Syrio.
What do we say to the god of Death? His voice echoed in her mind, as they had a million times before.
“Not today,” Arya whispered as the knife came down. At the last moment, she jerked herself from her captor’s grasp and moved upward, to the humanoid with the knife. She twisted it around and pushed it into his throat. He began gurgling, as cool blue liquid seeped out of his neck and onto her hands.
The other humanoids roared in their language, but she didn't pay attention. The wisps of energy were circling her, until they stopped. The wisps hurled themselves at Arya. She doubled down in pain. It was like every bone in her body was breaking and fixing itself all at once.
Was this what death felt like? When her father was beheaded, did he feel this pain? Did her mother and Robb, when the Red Wedding happened? Did Rickon feel this pain as Ramsay shot him with an arrow? Gods, did the Freys feel like this as they drank their poisoned wine?
Other memories of her family raced in her mind. Growing up in Winterfell, King’s Landing, and it unfairly focused on all the death. She thought of Robb and Rickon. And Jon, who had been banished to the Night’s Watch after what he did to the Mad Queen. She thought of Sansa, who hadn't been taught not to trust everyone, but learned it the hard way.
Did the Hound feel the overwhelming sense of dread as he killed his own brother while the Red Keep crumpled around them? Once Daenerys realized she would die, did she feel regret for her actions, or betrayal from her lover?
Perhaps not. Arya was a murderer, too, and she didn't feel the least bit guilty. But did the people she kill deserve it? The people Daenerys killed didn't-did that make them different? Or perhaps two sides of the same coin. But that didn't feel right, either, because Arya chose her path; she could've chosen to not kill people. A path to the Iron Throne would only ever end in bloodshed, as the people of King's Landing realized the day Daenerys arrived with her dragon.
Maybe neither of their murders were justifiable. Daenerys killed innocents, and really, Arya had too. How many of the Freys actually had anything to do with the Red Wedding?
She decided not to think about it.
The Hound-he was also a murderer. Though, he killed people because they pissed him off. Was there a difference between that and what Arya had done? Everyone they had killed offended them in some way or another. The difference was pettiness levels, Arya decided. He saved your life. He stopped you from becoming just like him.
Yet here she was, in unbearable amounts of pain, wondering what kind of murder she was.
She'd learned a lot from the Hound, but they were not the same kind of murderer.
There was Robert Baratheon, who had ended the Targaryens. He'd swept through Westeros, killing any Targaryen-supporter he saw, all because Rhaegar and Lyanna fell in love and didn't tell anyone. He'd destroyed an entire family for one woman who didn't even love him back.
A tragic story, but Arya didn't kill for love. Well, not the romantic kind, anyway. Robert let army after army, taking what he wanted.
Did that count as murder? When you lead men into battle, are you responsible for your enemies deaths? Does it include your own men who die on the field? And what happens if the cause is unjust?
It was obvious Robert and Arya were two different kinds of murders, but the thoughts still flowed through her mind.
Jaime Lannister himself killed the Mad King, who murdered for fun. There was no doubt he was a psychopath, and she was not the same kind of murderer as him. She did not celebrate every life she took, as if that life was another lemon cake.
Aerys was killed by a man bound by a code, who had to choose between the people he was sworn to protect, and the king he was also sworn to protect. Kingslayer. If Arya was bound to a code, would she kill like Jaime had, and ultimately break her vow? Perhaps she did, when she defected from the Faceless Men.
Something was still off.
Daenerys Targaryen, the Hound, Robert Baratheon, Aerys Targaryen, and Jaime Lannister were all murderers, she decided. All of them killed for selfish reasons, though they had been reasons all the same.
All of them were different kinds of murders. Usually, murderers were killed, or sent to the Night's Watch.
Every other murderer she'd compared herself to died, so why should she be any different? She'd killed countless people, just like the rest of them.
Arya's thoughts drifted back to Sansa, Bran, and Jon. Sansa, Queen in the North. She had been doing well, last Arya knew, which had been a while ago, but that wasn't the point. Bran, who was King in King's Landing. And Jon, who was banished to the Wall.
She thought of seeing them again, the way things were when they were children, and decided...
...no, not today.