Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A Song Told Through Time
By wicked17writer

Chapter 1

The Past

The long night came.

A battle was fought and lost at Winterfell.

And a girl was alone once again. The many-faced God had granted her request, she would not die with her family, friends, and allies. She would not die today.

Not today.

The Present

She couldn’t breathe properly. There was pressure on her body everywhere. And it was so warm. It was suffocating and sweltering and she was so confused and afraid. There was also a strong smell of earth and blood and sweat, but also the faintest hint of rot and death. She opened her mouth to take in a breath or perhaps yell for help, but dirt filled in and she nearly choked instead. She began to thrash and claw at what surrounded her. She was buried, that was clear to her now, buried alive and all she could think was “OUT”. She had to get up and out and free.

It was no easy task, digging free of her would be grave, but she did it. She had no concept of how long it took but panting and gasping she broke free to the surface. Her muscles ached and the taste of blood and dirt coated her lips and once free of the ground she was nearly blinded by the sun, but she welcomed all the pain as it was a reminder that she was alive.

Using her hand as shield she let her eyes adjust and took stock of her surroundings. She hadn’t been buried that deep, but there was a sizeable hole at her feet now. Looking around she saw mostly straw-colored grass but before she truly got her bearings or had time to really question where and why she had been buried alive, let alone why she didn’t seem to remember it happening, nor much else, she spied some rough looking men heading her way.

There was a part of her, a small stupid part, that perked up in excitement, after all they could help her, couldn’t they? If they were good and kind people, surely, they would help her? That small stupid part of her was quickly squashed down by more logical and suspicious sensibilities.

There were five men in the group heading towards her. All large and burly, armed with weapons that hung loosely from their fingertips. From their stance she quickly deduced they saw her as no threat. One called out to her, she thinks, but he spoke a language she didn’t understand. Instinct had her moving backward, only then did she realize there was a sword on her own hip and a fancy dagger on the other one.

She drew the blade, it was long and thin like a needle, but it looked sharp enough she supposed. The men chuckled at the sight of it. Anger flashed through her at their ridicule, but better judgement had her turning to run away. Only to stop immediately.

There was a group of six men approaching from the other side. She was surrounded. The group of six were much farther away though, it would take them a few minutes at least to reach her, if they didn’t run. Which they weren’t.

She took a breath. She was tired from her ordeal in the dirt. She was thirsty and hot. The sun above shone brightly and sapped her strength, looking down at her attire it did not seem she was dressed for the warm climate. But she didn’t have time to correct that. She didn’t have time to rest. She didn’t have time for anything but to assume a fighting stance.

Both groups of men called out to her jeeringly, words she could not understand but the sentiment of which translated effortlessly.

The battlefield she found herself on was not ideal. For one, beyond the hole of dirt she emerged from there seemed to be nothing but flat grassland that slowly sloped up on all sides, leaving her in a barren pit of yellow green nothing. There were no trees, no boulders, nothing. Nothing but six rough looking men at the top of the hill slowly making their way down to her and the five already on her level getting ever closer.

Yes, surrounded on all sides by an unknown enemy that outweighed and outnumbered her was not ideal at all.

She would have to choose her first opponent carefully, turning she observed the group of five that were almost upon her position. The largest of all the men was in that group. He was by far the tallest and the widest, while still looking fit enough to still be quick. To his left was possibly the youngest of the group, and to his right with as man with a white beard. To the far left was a man with a bow and to the far right was a man with a trim black mustache.

The enemy was now only paces away from her, that was all that mattered. She did not dither on doubts or questions. She just moved.

Running as fast as she could towards the largest man on the field she dove between the oaf’s legs, tumbling before getting to her feet in one smooth move. Now at least all her opponents were in front of her.

She used her slim blade to stab the large man through the neck while simultaneously grabbing up her dagger, slashing at the pair of hands reaching for her from the bearded man. Dancing away from the men she kept her weapons up and at the ready, they seemed in shock as the largest of them fell to the floor gurgling, spewing blood out the throat, dying.

She took advantage of their surprise, darting forward she stabbed her blade through the young one’s gut before retreating and waiting for their counterattack. This seemed to galvanize the men, the group of six that had been furthest away now hustled towards them faster and the group of five, now three, converged on her.

The mustached one made to swipe at her neck with a sword while the older bearded one grabbed her arm to hold her in place, she allowed the grabber to make contact and in fact grabbed him back. Pulling with all her might she ducked down and forced Beard-y to take her place. Unfortunately, given the height difference between her and Beard-y when his friend swung his sword at her neck it was at level with the older man’s bicep. She had hoped that the blow would kill him but it did not. However, there was such power in the swing that Beard-y’s arm was completely detached from his body.

Sword still in severed arms hand, the appendage fell to the floor with a ‘plop’ and the man who had been maimed started to scream. As did the one who did the maiming. And the bowman who had stayed out of the fray entirely. Once again, she took advantage of their momentary shock.

Striking out with her foot she kicked the mustached one as hard a she could between the legs. As he bent in half, dropping his sword to hold himself she lashed out with her dagger cutting his neck.

The group of six were upon them now, but seeing her dispatch so many so quickly had them hanging back. She jumped on the bowman, the last of the unharmed group of five, now two, he fell onto his back in the dirt and felt her dagger sink into his heart before he could even react. Getting to her feet she looked at Beard-y, screaming and bleeding and now one armed, he looked at her in horror. She smiled in the face of his fear. She gave a kick to the older man’s chest, watching him fall into the hole she had dug her way out of not fifteen minutes ago.

And just like those eleven opponents became six.

The remaining men no longer looked at her with amusement. Now she saw anger and caution as they murmured quietly to each other. The leader of the six had a darker complexion than the others, and a long black braid that reached halfway down his back. From his calculating eyes, she just knew he would be a challenge.

She sighed, and wiped a few stray hairs to the side of her face, the sweat pouring off her would hopefully keep them in place. Having dispatched five grown men already and now facing down six more, on top of the mystery trauma that had started her day with an arduous amount of digging, she felt a deep sense of fatigue settled over her. She feared the next fight would be more taxing than her already drained body could handle.

Still, she planted her feet firmly readying for attack.

The group of six split up, the hole at her feet meant they could not attack her head on, they had to go around. The leader said something to his men, a command of some kind. And then his men were running at her in tandem, two from the left, two from the right. She decided to face the enemy to the right first, those two looked younger and therefore were probably faster. This was a mistake as the leader waited until his men were close enough to turn her attention to them before he jumped across the hole with ease, tackling her to ground and taking her by surprise.

It was only a second before the other men were on her, pinning her limbs to the floor as she struggled under the weight of the man crushing her to the ground. She was quickly disarmed and punched in the face, though she turned her head to let the fist glance across her cheek instead of letting the blow on her nose as intended, it still hurt and disoriented her a bit. She was punched again, too slow to avoid it that time, her nose exploded in pain and blood began to flow down her face.

This made the men laugh and her vision grow fuzzy at the edges.

She was so tired and it was so hot and now there were hands groping her body and heckling her, raining down random slaps to the face. She snarled like a wolf and tried to bite the hands that hurt her but this just made the men laugh more. When she spat blood at the leader, the glob landing in his eye, her head was taken between two large hands and slammed into the ground.

It was all so disorienting it took her some time to realize they were now undressing her.

A man at her waist was unlacing her breaches, another working on her boots. The leader was grinding his dick into her stomach, a hateful smirk on his face as he grabbed up her face and dug his nails into her cheek, forcing her lips into a pucker. He pressed their lips together and while she struggled against him and the other hands on her body, she knew it was of no use. She was outmatched. Most likely these men would rape her to death. She would have to wait until after or during the act itself to make a move and fight back in a meaningful way.

Her pants had just been tugged down to her knees when a growling noise filled the air. Everyone stilled. It was instinctual for all of them she thinks, to freeze at a sound like that. She did not see recognition in the men’s faces. It was not a human growl. Or a wolf. Or a bear or any earthly creature. This was the growl of a giant.

Then the earth shifted. Literally, the dirt underneath them all was moving, like something underneath it was breathing…or waking. The leader of the men attacking her said something, but no one had time to reply as just a few paces away from them the earth erupted in fire.

The men scrambled off and away from her. And though her head swam, dizzy, her vision blurry, she managed to pull her pants back into place and grab her weapons off the ground. Struggling to her feet she missed twice before she was able to sheath her dagger.

The men were fleeing, but she did not think it would make a difference. The sloping hill that surrounded them on all sides, there was something underneath it. And it was breaking free.

Grass and dirt rained down as a fire breathing dragon shook off its earthy blanket. It was huge. It had black and red colored scales, and red-black wings that it shook out, getting rid of as much dirt as it could. Angry perhaps, at being buried in the dirt like she had, it let out a terrible roar. Then breathed fire into the air, seemingly just because it could.

She could not fight a dragon, she would have had better odds with the men intent on raping her, but still a manic smile made its way to her lips. She was perhaps shaking in fear, or maybe it was the exhaustion, it didn’t really matter, and she didn’t think it would help but with a trembling hand she raised her small sword and assumed a fighting stance. It was stupid, she knew, but be it stupidity or pride, she wanted to die on her feet with a sword in her hand.

They eyes of the dragon swept over the scene taking in the fleeing men, then down to the ground the dragon looked at her. A name came to her lips, it was not her name, right now she didn’t know her own name, but she knew the dragon’s name. Without thinking she called out to him, “Drogon!”

As their eyes met something very strange happened. There was a flash and her vision went white. And then like blinking, it was back, only now she was looking at herself. But from a much higher vantage point.

It was an uncomfortable sensation, this perspective, like a sword in her head, and her thoughts were trying to work around the stabbing sword but she just couldn’t make the connections work. And so, her thoughts were more unformed, more visceral, more like pure instincts and feelings.

She felt recognition, anger, sorrow, a thirst for vengeance she could not help but relate to and at last determination.

And then she was herself again. And her head hurt so much more than before. So much that her eyes began to flutter, trying to close. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t miss meeting the many-faced God, awake and aware, that’s how she wanted to go. But it was no use. Her eyes closed, her hand went slack, the blade fell, and so followed her body. To the ground, asleep once again.
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Her second awakening was more pleasant, but only in comparison. Ash and smoke filled her nose, making her cough and groan as she curled in on herself. She could smell the dirt underneath her and she could feel the stiffness in her limbs, but that wasn’t what troubled her. It was the sound of a large beast breathing that had her clinging to the safety of unconsciousness.

But she couldn’t stay asleep. She was awake now, and she could feel the heat radiating off the body of the dragon all around her.

Slowly she opened her eyes, her sword was the first thing she saw. On the ground in front of her, but right behind it, at first unfocused in her vision, was the face of the dragon. It was awake and staring right at her.

Quick as she could she snatched up her sword, but slowly she sat up. The dragon’s eyes tracked her every movement.

She was still afraid, but her body no longer trembled.

“Drogon,” She said quietly, the dragon tilted its head as if saying ‘go on’ and suddenly she knew her name. “I am Arya.”

It was the only thing she knew about herself.

The dragon watched silently as got to her feet and then walked away from it. She had no plan really, she just picked a direction at random and started walking in a straight line, slowly at first but then her strides gained confidence as she grew more certain her body would not fail her again. When she walked past what she assumed were the charred corpses of her would be rapists, to her great surprise, Drogon started to follow her. Once she registered what the dragon was doing, she stopped, and then he stopped.

She stared up at him questioningly, he stared back, but what he was thinking she did not know. As he didn’t appear to want to kill her, she decided it was something she could not dwell on. She had more pressing concerns than a lonely dragon. So, with a shrug she started to walk once more. The great dragon following behind did not have to take many steps to keep pace with her, and so they made their way forward, together, if not a little awkwardly.

She was very troubled by her lack of memory, but at a loss as to what could be done. Should she sit and weep about it? Talk her self in circles about what could be the cause? No. It did not matter why or how she lost her memories, because nothing could be done about it. Not now anyway. Either she lost her memory from a blow to the head or it was a curse or magic of some kind. And considered she woke after being buried alive with a dragon that was now following her like a lost duckling, she was leaning towards magic being the cause.

Her mental faculties seemed to be unaffected by whatever had befallen her memory. Or at least she thought so. So, with a nod to herself, she decided to not ponder her mysterious ailment, there were much more important things to contend with. Like finding clean water and food. Shelter. Coin.

After some light exploration she soon discovered they were on an island. It wasn’t a very large island as she was able to walk the circumference within an hour or so.

It seemed while she had been asleep Drogon had taken it upon himself to kill everyone on the little island and set everything that could have been helpful to her on fire. Like the few buildings, the dock and boats, and more importantly the little well at the center of town. How and why a dragon would go out of its way to set a well on fire, she could not even guess.

She glared at the great beast as she contemplated her options. She didn’t have many. And so, she vented aloud to the source of her ire, though she wasn’t sure he would even understand, “You fucking fuck.” She grumbled as she sifted through the remains of a cart filled with charred food stuff. “What am I to do now, hmm? Eat grass?”

The burnt remains of the food were obviously grown elsewhere and imported to the island from somewhere else, so the island was at least close to some other port or land. But how close was the question. “And how will I get there?” She continued to rant to the dragon, “Where ever ‘there’ is. Hmm? Swim? Wait for winter to come to freeze the ocean and walk!?”

She kicked a burnt bucket in frustration. “At this point I'm thinking I would have been better off with the bloody rapist.”

The dragon let out a noise between a snarl and a grunt, which she interrupted as a feeling of indignation. She let her glare soften minutely, “Not that I’m not grateful and all, but really, what the am I supposed to do? I can’t just fly back to civilization like you can! You’ve effectively trapped me here with no food and no water and no way to escape this burnt to a crisp barren island!”

Drogon roared at her and she was so annoyed by everything that had happened thus far that she just roared back at him. It was actually pretty cathartic.

Either angry or amused, the dragon took his giant wing, and gently for a dragon she supposed, pushed her to the ground.

“Are you joking!” She exploded shrilly as she climbed to her feet, only to be pushed to the ground once again. A scream tore its way from her throat, and with no care to how childish she may appear, Arya kicked the ground several times while pounding her balled up fists into the dirt. That felt a little cathartic too.

When she was done throwing her little fit, she felt a bit better, if not more defeated. Getting back to her feet with a sigh she startwd walking back to the shore. Away from the smell of burnt everything and toward the soothing sounds of the ocean crashing on beach.

The sun was setting, it was already growing dark and that meant it would be cold soon. And frankly she never wanted to sleep in dirt again. She let her body slowly melt down until she was seated in the sand, taking off her outer coat she laid it down to act as a pillow. Finally, she laid down and looked up. The stars were just starting to peek out of the darkness.

Turning on her side she watched as the dragon settled to the ground copying her. It curled its big body around her, until it could rest its head on its tail completing the circle of warmth and protection around her. She supposed this was the pose they were in this morning, buried under dirt though they had been.

She wondered about the dragon and her connection to it. Why had it spared her when it seemingly decimated an entire island on a whim? Why were they buried alive together? To what end? What happened to her? Why was she dressed for winter when they were in the middle of summer? So many questions and all she had to look to for answers was a disgruntled dragon and her own incomplete mind.

Shuffling back, she pressed against the dragon for warmth. On her brief exploration of the tiny island, she had found no other sources of clean water, no streams, or lakes, or anything. Besides the well which had been melted to ruin, and the undrinkable ocean, there was no water for her on the island. That would be the first thing she dealt with in the morning.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but it was restful.

The next morning she awoke with a goal in mind. Find clean water. She spent the day thoroughly searching the island and found nothing. Tired, hopeless, thirsty, and hungry, she collapsed onto the beach before night had even descended once again.

She and the dragon slept on the beach in the same pose as the day before, only now she was a bit bolder. Cuddling up to the dragon more and using it as a proper pillow, and her jacket as a blanket.

On the third day, at earliest light she decided her only hope to live was to leave the island all together. She figured she had two choices, either build a raft, or use the dragon to escape.

She stared the dragon down in hopes it would read her mind and sense her resolve. It stared back, its thoughts unknown to her. After a few minutes of silence between herself and the beast she concluded staring didn’t seem to be working. Perhaps a more direct approach? “I need to leave the island or I will die.”

Drogon made a chuffing sound through his nose. “Will you help me?” She asked just a tad softer than she intended. When the dragon didn’t react, she grew irate once again, “Or do you intend to just watch my feeble attempts at survive like I am some deranged one-woman mummer’s play suffering just for your amusement!?”

At the contempt in her voice a little growl was released in the back of the dragon’s throat. She was unintimidated. “Well?" She prompted, "Are you on my side or not?”

Again, the dragon didn’t respond. He continued to stare at her, but now there was something imploring in his gaze. She got the feeling he was trying to communicate with her, but she just wasn’t getting it.

“Drogon,” She drew closer to the dragon’s face and in response he lowered his head so they were at eye level with each other, she put a gentle hand on his snout. Her voice lost all trace of frustration, until only desperate vulnerability was left, “Will you fly me away from here?”

Finally, a reaction. The dragon nuzzled into her touch. And then he lowered his body to the ground, looking at her expectantly.

She was terrified, but she climbed on. Once settled, Drogon took to the air.

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AI helped me visualize the scene of Drogon bursting out of his Hibernation/Grave

Alternate Versions of my AI generated Cover Art
Alternate Versions of my AI generated Cover Art (Not all so successful, enjoy my failures!)

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

~Daemon, part 1~

“There are reports of a dragon rider in Braavos.” Daemon told his wife as they broke their fast together.

“Who?” She asked as she passed him the dish of butter.

“That’s the thing, they say the rider is not Targaryen.” This was chief amongst the reasons he’d found the Braavosi dragon rider concerning. He wanted to investigate the claims in person, but they had just confirmed that Laena was pregnant again and so he hoped the intrigue of the matter would lead to an easy agreement regarding his departure.

“They say the dragon is Balerion reborn and his rider a mad child,” He paused to lick at a smudge of butter on his thumb, “A girl of no more than three and ten.”

“A bastard?” Laena purposed with raised eyebrows. He made a noise of agreement as he bit into a warm scone. That was exactly what he was thinking, but that didn’t explain the dragon. He knew all the known dragons in existence. And the one described was not only an anomaly, but an impossibility.

“The dragon is described as being larger than Caraxes but smaller than Vhagar.” His wife smirked at that and a wry smile pulled at his own lips. The difference in size between their two dragons was in itself amusing but also it left the actual estimated size of this new dragon unhelpfully undefined. It was akin to describing a hill as being bigger than a pebble but smaller than a mountain. All that could be determined for certain was that, supposedly, this new dragon was not a hatching. Which, would really be the only explanation to make sense, and thus the intrigue.

“They say its scales are as black as night, slashed with streaks of vivid blood red. That its scarlet red wings, horns, and red as coals eyes make it look like a demon.” His wife gave a little chuckle.

“That’s quite a description.”

He gave her one of his rakish smiles. “Interesting, yes?”

“Mmm.” She agreed with a nod as she took a bite of her egg. Once finished chewing she asked, “And what do they say of the rider? A young girl you said?”

He paused to take a drink, and think of how he wanted to phrase his next words. “They say she just arrived on dragon back one day, no saddle mind you. Apparently, she claimed she was just looking for work.”

“Work?” Laena repeated. He nodded in confirmation.

“The mad girl is said to have joined a mummer’s troupe,” He paused enjoying the way Laena’s eye widened. “And she’s worked her dragon into the show.”

“What!?” Laena exclaimed with a laugh and instantly he was filled with contempt. To him the idea was not laughable, but infuriating. Insulting even. His wife continued with a chuckle, “Wha-she’s got her dragon preforming tricks for amusement?”

Daemon frowned; he’d been expecting more distain as he himself felt at this news. Dragons were not for the purpose of spectacle. To make a fool of one was to make a fool of them all, and that would not stand. He told his wife plainly, “I would like to meet this girl and her dragon.”

The light of laughter died in his wife’s eyes, her hand dropping to her still flat stomach. “You wish to go to Braavos?”

“Today.” He informed her coldly.

“Today!” His wife repeated shrilly. Then she said his name in that chastising tone he so hated, like he was an audacious little boy and Laena, fifteen years his junior, his scolding mother. “Daemon.”

Her condemnation had the opposite effect and strengthened his resolve. “I won’t be gone longer than a moon at most, likely less.”

He met Laena’s glare with determination. Afterall, he was not asking for permission.
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It took him less than a week to fly from Pentos to Braavos on dragon back. Taking care to land with Caraxes far outside the city to avoid detection, he was both pleased and annoyed to learn he’d arrived just in time for Braavos’s famous Unmasking celebration. The anniversary of the Uncloaking of Uthero which was celebrated every year in a ten-day festival revelry.

It seemed like fate as it was the perfect time to arrive unnoticed as people flooded the city from all over and wore masks until midnight on the tenth day of the celebration when the Titan of Braavos would roar and all celebrants and revelers would remove their masks as one.

It worked to his advantage to have time to move around without being recognized, to observe this girl without her knowing. However, the tradeoff was it was very crowded and in addition to the ever-oppressive heat, that only he and other Westerosi found offensive, it was not a comfortable stay.

Still, Braavos itself was lovely in its own way. As a merchant city-state famed for its canals it was the wealthiest and most powerful of the Free Cities, and thus he was able to find appropriate luxury accommodations which helped eased the frustration of rubbing elbows with the endless crowds of people.

With a black demon mask to hide his face and streams of people to move through he was certain he’d avoided detection from the unknown dragon rider, despite doing his best to shadow her undetected her for two days upon his arrival.

He now had a first-hand account of how apt the descriptor ‘Mad’ was for the young girl.

And a name, Arya.

He found the reports were true, this Arya girl did not have the Targaryen ‘look’, but she wasn’t unattractive by any means. Nor was she a great beauty like his lady wife or Rhaenyra. Physically, he found her only moderately eye catching and for his tastes she was too small of frame. But she did possess a palpable wild nature that was appealing. And the bond between Mad girl and dragon was undeniable.

A bastard probably, but a true dragon rider, of that there was no doubt.

Upon arriving in the busy city, he’d thought it would be hard to locate the girl, a concern he quickly discovered was unfounded. For wherever the girl went, her dragon almost always followed.

The first time he’d spotted her she’d been atop her dragon flying away from the Drowned Town.

He soon learned through gossips in the market, that Arya had taken to delivering free firewood to the eldest part of the city. The Drowned Town. It was an area of town that had fallen into the lagoon and only the domes and towers of old buildings were visible above the surface. Apparently in the higher part of the half-submerged buildings some of the poorer people still lived and this Mad girl had ostensibly taken pity upon them. Regularly.

Seeing as no trees grew in Braavos except in the gardens of the extremely wealthy, firewood was very expensive as it had to be imported. Laments about the girl’s soft heart and generous nature were overheard on every street where firewood was being sold for truly outrageous prices. As Arya’s kindness hurt their profit margin, she was a constant topic of derision for these firewood swindlers.

He did not so much care about the loss of coin for a few greedy wood peddlers, it was the act of using a dragon as a packhorse which incensed him so. And to do so for free was just, bizarre.

The second time he saw her was later that same day. He came upon the scene near the waterfront of the Purple Harbor in the north of the city. And this time he engaged in a passing interaction as she all but held court with a group of children and young people.

Some adult milled about the edges of the group, mostly mother’s holding babes in their arms, tired and looking relieved to have a moment’s peace. He was surprised by the lack of other onlookers, he couldn’t imagine that the girls ‘dragon show’ could have become old hat so quickly? Perhaps the lack of attendance was due to it being the middle of the day, when most others were working?

Despite knowing it would make him stand out, he stayed to watch, not even trying to disguise his interest.

Her dragon lazed in front of the Blue Lantern completely blocking the entrance to the fashionable mummer’s playhouse. The girl stood in front of her dragon’s stomach, at the center of her makeshift stage. The beasts’ eyes were constantly surveying the non-threatening crowd as she spoke in a sickeningly cheerful voice, “Does everyone remember my dragon friend’s name?”

“DROGON!” The young children shouted out eagerly.

“That’s right!” The girl enthused, catering to her young audience. “Can you tell me how many eyes Drogon has?”

“TWO!”

She smiled approvingly, “Do you all remember how many feet Drogon has?”

A mix of two and four was shouted from the children. Arya put on a comically befuddled expression. “It sounds like we need to count again!”

A cheer rang out from the crowd as the girl turned to her dragon with an expectant expression. “Drogon, how many limbs do you have?”

It seemed to him that the dragon would have rolled his eyes if he could. But still he obeyed whatever scripted command the girl had taught him. Drogon shifted from his lounging position until he was stood up on his hind legs in front of the playhouse. With his wings fully outstretched the audience audibly awed at the sight. And what a sight it was.

Daemon was able to confirm now that the dragon was larger than his beloved Caraxes and possibly of size with his mother’s former mount Meleys. He also catalogued a few scars from what looked liked spears in the dragon’s flank and wings. It was utterly inconceivable that such a large and distinctive looking dragon, one that had perhaps seen battle, had gone so long unknown to him and the known world.

The girl continued with her insufferable play for the small-minded children.

“Let’s count together, shall we?” She prompted with a saccharine grin as she pointed to the dragon’s wing counting with the crowd, “One”, Drogon obligingly wiggling the appendage to the delight of the squealing crowd. “Two” the girl continued as Drogon wiggled his other wing. “Three” he lifted up briefly shaking his left foot, “Four” he did the same for his right.

Daemon found the entire experience an obscene degradation.

“That’s right four, Drogon had four limbs.”

“BUT YOU SAID FEET!” A child shouted from the front row.

“Oh!” She overacted surprised, “I did, didn’t I.” She gave a little giggle and then bopped her head, “Silly me.”

The children delighted in her false self-deprecation, “Well then, how many FEET does Drogon have?”

“TWO!” The crowd of children answered excitedly.

“And how many limbs all together?”

“FOUR!”

She gave a brainless grin as she ran over to her dragon’s tail, pointing she asked, “What about this foot?”

“THAT’S HIS TAIL!” Various shouts of the same refrain erupted from the audience.

“Oh yeah,” Arya lightly tapped her temple with her palm again, “Silly me!”

Pure joyful laughter bubbled out of the small children, chuckles from the older ones amused by Arya’s overacting. As Drogon settled back into his earlier lazy pose the girl commanded the children to create a queue. To his horror she invited the children to pet the dragon. And to his pure shock Drogon allowed the contact with a look of boredom on his face.

After all the children had a chance to touch the dragon and were once again seated on the ground, the girl warned they were reaching the end of show. Again, she adopted the demeaning and falsely cheerful tone as she asked the crowd, “Does anyone know what Drogon likes to eat?”

Aghast at the entire scene and appalled that this slip of a girl had somehow turned what should be a noble creature into nothing more than a trained monkey, Daemon could not help himself. Before anyone could answer her patronizing question, he called out in a voice loud and clear, “Disrespectful children!”

Giggling broke out amongst the children in the crowd and perhaps a few gasps, but he only had eyes for the girl. She snorted a laugh and pointed in his general direction quipping, “Hey, that’s my line.”

Her response got a laugh out of her audience and he allowed a gratified smirk to pull at his lips. At least she wasn’t as slow of mind as she appeared.

Arya turned back to the crowd saying, “A dragon eats whatever it wants, including but not limited to,” she telegraphed a wink, “disrespectful children who don’t help their parents with chores.”

More laughter sounded, but he watched in fascination as something shifted in the girl that held this captive audience of small children in the palm of her hand.

Her demeanor lost its shiny façade. She stood a little straighter, her eyes a little colder as she continued in a more serious tone of voice, “He eats anyone who annoys me, anyone I ask him to.”

She paused to stroke her dragon, giving her audience to adjust to the change in atmosphere. “Drogon is not a mindless monster. He does not kill for fun…nor do I.”

She turned to look at her audience full on. Her arms clasped behind her back. “Your life is precious and you have the right to defend it.” She paused, her eyes roving over the crowd perhaps to make sure they were listening and Daemon did the same, he was in awe of how the laughter had died and was replaced with rapt attention.

“If you have someone in your life who touches you in a way you do not want to be touched, who hurts you, or beats you…you can come find me and I will help you. If you cannot find me, and you have coin, you can go to the House of Black and White and they will help you.”

Daemon straightened at that. He knew of the House of Black and White, everyone knew about the so called faceless men. Why the girl was promoting their services to a bunch of children was not only baffling but deeply concerning.

“I do these shows to remind you that the world is big and scary and beautiful and fun.” The warmth bled back into her expression. “Remember children, no one has the right to hurt you without consequence. In this life or the next, everyone gets what they deserve.” She turned to look up at Drogon’s face at the same time he looked down at her, “Or at least they should.”

The dragon curled its neck around the girl in a half hug, nuzzling its face into her stomach. She stroked its snout comfortingly before she seemed to shake off whatever momentary melancholy that had overcome her. Slipping back into her obnoxious performance persona she shot a mischief grin at the crowd, saying, “Anyway--”

Not bothering to finish the thought Arya climbed atop her dragon, once seated she called out, “DRACARYS!”

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause as the dragon shot out fire harmlessly over their heads. With a wave from the girl and a nod of the head from Drogon, Arya flew away leaving Daemon more curious about the ‘Mad’ dragon rider than before.
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Author’s note
I use reference photo’s when writing, here are some of the one’s I used for this chapter, in the future all reference photo’s can be found at the end of the chapter

I am leaning more book visual when I picture Drogon in this story:

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

~Daemon, part 2~

Arya went missing for two days following her children’s performance, he found out quickly this was the norm for the girl and her dragon. Apparently, she only let the dragon go hunting if he performed obediently during her little shows, or so the gossip said. Personally, he was inclined to agree, as the motivation of food was the most effective way to train any animal. Dragons included.

The show he witnessed was said to have been spontaneous and oddly free, only so, he supposed because it was so geared towards children who were notoriously empty pocketed. Though she did not charge a fee, her endorsement of the House of Black and White left the whole situation feeling unseemly. He speculated endlessly about how deep her ties to those death worshipers really were and why she would send needy children to their doors when the Faceless Men were known for their high fees and unmatched competence.

Beyond the unsavory implications between girl and guild of assassins, the show itself felt like an insult to his very heritage, no matter the intentions behind it. It was clear the girl was a bleeding heart and he wondered how her motivations, whatever well intentioned drivel they were, had been twisted to serve the Many-Faced God. In this respect he suspected her of naive stupidity more than malintent machinations.

It was in these two days he learned much about the girl and her dragon. He learned she’d been in Braavos for little more than three months and that when she first arrived, she went straight to the House of Black and White. Which was very interesting given no one had seen or heard of her or the dragon before this appearance.

He learned that while she enjoyed watching mummer’s plays, she’d only very recently joined a troupe and started preforming with them, the private children’s shows aside, she was by all accounts a novice. But it was said, a very fast learner. People talked about her like she was a living legend even though she’d only preformed with the troupe ‘when she felt like it’ and thus had only a handful of show experience under her belt.

When he inquired about what kind of show Arya and Drogon had joined, he’d been informed it was not a play but an ‘experience’. The people he’d spoken to described her joining the mummer’s troupe like it was an artistic revelation and to his great frustration no on who had seen her preform would give him any more information. He found it all very pretentious and annoying.

It was by pure chance he ran into the girl on his 5th day in Braavos. That afternoon he’d found himself by the northern end of Ragman’s Harbor a few blocks east of the edge of the Drowned Town. After a morning of speaking to the poor, looking for more scraps of information about the mysterious Arya, he’d grown hungry.

He had an internal debate about walking back to the nicer part of the city or taking a chance on one on the seedier taverns. It was his experience that just because a place looked like shit on the outside didn’t mean it had shit food, so he was willing to gamble a bit.

“Meow.” A small black cat scurried over to him, jumping on his boots and meowing loudly for attention. It looked surprisingly clean and so in a moment of weakness he scooped the kitten up and gave it a good scratch behind the ears before stroking its soft fur.

“Hello, little one.” He said softly to the animal. It was quite adorable and of an unusual gentle temperament. “Looking for an easy mark to give you some scraps, hmm?”

“Oi,” A shaky man’s voice called out to him, “That’s one’a of Pynto’s.”

Looking up Daemon found an old Begger man gesturing to the kitten in his arms. “Over d’are.” The man pointed with a shaking finger to the tavern behind him. “Old pirate loves dem kitties.”

“Rats wit fur, I say.” The man grumped; Daemon decided not to point out that rats also had fur. Instead, he threw the man a coin and walked inside the tavern.

There were many cats roaming about at their leisure, so he gently let the kitten down and made his way to the bar. The room smelled of sour wine and stinky cheese but it looked cleaner than expected. He assumed the cats kept the place somewhat vermin free.

He put some money on the bar stating, “Wine and your best meal, whatever that may be.”

The bartender gave a jolly laugh before scooping up the coin, “Find a table and I’ll getcha ya somethin’ worth eating.”

Daemon took a moment to survey the room, it was mostly empty save a drunk sleeping in a quiet corner not far from the dying fire. He’d just decided to sit in the middle of the room when Arya and a man walked in.

Her eyes found his right away and he almost smiled at his good fortune. After days of chasing after her, she had found him. It felt like fate… but at the same time too much like fate? It felt oddly orchestrated in his favor, that he would just run into her at a random. Especially since he’d gotten the impression from various parties that the girl and her dragon rarely parted from each other. However, since this worked in his favor, he decided not to dwell on the oddness.

He straightened up a bit as she looked him up and down judgingly, he tried not to appear threatening. He watched as her eyes moved to the corner where the now snoring drunk was, before returning to him. He smirked. A somewhat public, somewhat secluded venue was the perfect place to approach her and finally get some concrete information.

His eyes shifted to her companion as the man leaned over and said something softly to her. The man was older than them both, perhaps of age with his brother. Her companion had striking two-toned hair and a stoic expression. He also had that swarthy look so many Braavosi did, handsome in a rakish way, he would admit. Daemon didn’t immediately dislike him, as that would be childish, but he was irritated for his presence. Was he related to her? Was he one of her troupe of mummers? Or was he, more insidiously a Faceless Man sent to escort the girl wherever she was to go when without her dragon so she would do their bidding? The possibilities were endless and annoying.

The bartender came in then, passing Daemon his food in a hurried way as he pushed past him to greet the pair jovially. He watched as the girl and her unknown man were ushered to a nice clean table near the window.

He sat, not disguising his staring, trying to work out the relationship between the two. There was a familiarity, but to what end he could not decipher. The bartender engaged the pair in easy banter, the girl doing most of the talking, before disappearing and quickly reappearing with food. Given how chatty the man was he was surprised when he left the couple to eat in peace.

It was the best opportunity he was probably going to get.

Abandoning his bowl of soup which smelled faintly of eel, he grabbed his drink and made his way over to their table. “Hello,” He greeted with his most courteous grin, “Might I join you?”

The girl opened her mouth, there was a hard look in her eyes, thinking quickly he threw his entire pouch of gold on the table. “I will of course pay for your meal.”

“All my meals are complimentary here.” She responded coolly, her eyes glancing at the man at her side who remained silent. The girl then lifted her own bowl of steaming soup to her lips and slurped noisily.

Undeterred he grabbed an empty chair from the table behind them and joined the table. “A gift then,” he gestured to the gold, “For your time.”

“Do you think me a whore?” She asked with a quirk of her full eyebrow. Thankfully there was more amusement in her voice than insult.

“I think you are an anomaly; one I would like to speak to.” He leaned forward, “And as they say, time is money. Ergo, my offer.”

“Ergo.” She repeated mockingly with a snort, ignoring him to slurp down more of the steaming slop. Her prickly demeanor was not ideal. He found himself having to try more than expected and that was irksome.

“You are quite famous here in Braavos,” He flattered, “Are you not used to inquiries from the curious masses?” He gave her a flirtatious smile, “Surely, I am not the first to try to get an impromptu private audience with you?”

“A girl has time to spare.” Her companion said speaking for the first time, he looked at her with a blank face but laughing eyes as he gestured to Daemon, “And it appears a man has gold to spare. Perhaps it is providence?”

“Perhaps you are just greedy.” She muttered. She waffled for a moment, her eyes darting between both men. When she came to a decision, she grabbed up the pouch of gold and took three coins from it before handing the rest of it off to her companion. “Fine,” She made a shooing motion, “Fuck off Jaqen.”

Daemon wanted to object that the gold was for her, but he held his tongue as he was about to get exactly what he wanted. The man took his gold and gave them both a nod of the head before departing without another word.

“Strange man.” He remarked dryly.

She didn’t respond, instead choosing to fold her hands and rest her chin atop them. He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. It was proof of a childish obstinance that reminded him of a young Rhaenyra. There was a long awkward silence before he broke down and said, “I saw your show the other day, you are a remarkable girl.”

“No, you didn’t.” She responded quickly.

Her answer confused him, “Excuse me?”

“You haven’t seen my show.” She elaborated, but not enough to clarify.

“Yes, I have, with the children.” He couldn’t help it; he felt his lip curl in disgust as he was reminded of the drivel, she had forced her dragon to peddle. “Counting feet and whatnot.”

“That wasn’t a show, that was…more of a favor.” She picked up her bowl again and finished it off before lifting a cup to her lips.

“A favor to whom?” He inquired, as she drank deep from her cup.

She didn’t answer his question, instead she bluntly asked one of her own, “Old man, what do you want from me?”

He clenched his teeth at her descriptor and spat out, “Answers.”

She breathed out heavily from her nose and turned her head, probably to try to hide the smile tugging at her lips, “Don’t we all.”

“Who are you.” He asked, now using the direct approach, continuing to stroke her ego or charm her just wasn’t possible with how taciturn and combative her attitude was. “How do you find your dragon?”

“Why should I tell you?” She challenged with a mischievous grin.

“I paid you for a conversation.” He reminded her.

Cheekily she said, “You paid for a conversation, but honesty costs extra.”

“Why consent to speak with me at all then?”

She laughed at him, “You were the one who approached me throwing gold around like it didn’t matter. Why not toy with you for your arrogance? I hear some men like that.”

He ground his teeth together to keep from saying something he would regret. Taking a moment to gather himself he looked her over. She was well groomed and clean. It made him think, “Are you a whore? Was that man your pimp? Have I unintentionally insulted you somehow?”

Her whole body stiffened and her face went blank, except for her eyes, those blazed with anger. “I don’t think I feel like talking to you anymore.”

Before he could say another word, she was up and heading for the door. He made haste to follow but she was deceptively quick, he only managed to catch up to her once they were outside the tavern.

“Wait,” He grabbed her arm. And was immediately punched in the face. “Argh!”

She was unexpectedly strong. It was almost admirable; however, blood was gushing from his face so he found it hard to respect her fighting spirit.

“Fuck off.” She said over her shoulder as she ran down the street.

“No!” He shouted indignantly as he chased her.

Once they made it to the waterfront he had to slow down because Drogon was waiting for her on the bank of the canal. The large dragon was entirely blocking the road to the inconvenience of several people caught on either side.

In sight of her dragon Arya stopped running and turned around walking backwards at a slow pace. “If you bother me again, I’ll have him eat you.”

He did not doubt her capacity for violence, anymore, his throbbing face was proof there was more to her than insipid children’s entertainment and soft-hearted charity. However, from everything he’d heard about her, he just knew the girl would not kill him over a few insulting words. He called out to her calmly, “I just want to know where you found him.”

He kept following her, but left enough distance between them that she would feel safe. Not that she seemed especially worried about him to begin with.

“I didn’t find him,” She answered, and her words had the ring of truth to them, “He found me.” She finally backed up into her dragon and stopped moving. “We found each other.”

“Where?” He asked, it was the one thing he wanted to know most of all. Where else in the world were there dragons?

Drogon let out a trilling cry. Staring at Daemon the dragon then turned to Arya and made several guttural clicking noises. He watched as the girls’ eyebrows rose in surprise; she looked over at him with an expression of distain. “Him?”

Drogon repeated the clicking noises but slightly higher pitched. Daemon was fascinated, it appeared as if they pair were having a conversation the likes of which he could only dream was possible between himself and Caraxes.

“What?” He prompted as he slowly kept moving forward. Arya glared at him but there was annoyance in her eyes not fire. He grinned and took another step closer. He hoped the more they talked the less hostile the girl would get; the dragon’s mere presence was already deescalating the tension between them. Drogon let out a strong trilling cry, his tail moving to create a barrier between the two of them.

“He’s protective of you.” He said observationally. The girl hopped over the dragon’s tail and strut towards him.

“Actually, he’s trying to protect you from me.” He stood still and let the girl make her approach, curious as to what her next move would be and hopeful it wouldn’t involve striking him again. One hit he could forgive; another would require him to reciprocate. She stopped only when they were nose to nose, or given the height difference, nose to sternum.

His voice full of impetuous amusement, his lips curved into a smirk, he asked, “Yes?”

Her eyes darted down to his waist where his hand was lightly resting on Dark Sister’s hilt, when she looked back at his face, he just knew she was searching for something in his expression. He hoped she found it; this girl more grew more interesting with every second he spent in her company.

He stared back at her and in so doing he noticed how grey her eyes were. A beautiful kind of stormy grey.

“Drogon wants you.” She told him quietly. His eyes drifted over her head to peer at the dragon in question.

“For?”

She took a step back, her gaze taking in the people on the street who were watching their confrontation like it was the highest form of entertainment. And given the pathetic show Arya put on the other day, perhaps it was.

She clasped her hands behind her back and looked him in the eye, “If I show you a bit of trust, will you return it?”

It was an honest question. Perhaps the most honest thing he’d heard her say thus far.

With a nod of his head he promised, “Girl. I assure you; my intentions are pure.”

Silently he willed her to believe him. Her eyes cast about the gawking gossips again, then she nodded. Turning away from him she grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her. “Come.”

He followed her to the dragon obediently. When Drogon lowered himself so that the girl could climb aboard he almost hesitated, but because the girl still had hold of his hand and was silently urging him to follow, he did. The intrusive thoughts about risk and danger and never having ridden a dragon without a saddle flooded his mind but the doubts only slowed his movements. Gently, he did as the girl bid and climbed on the dragon’s back behind her.

Without another word Drogon took to the sky, he’d been expecting the girl to give the dragon a command so he regretfully let out an unmanly yelp. Frantically he wrapped his arms around the girl’s waist tight. Her mocking laughter pricked at his pride but not enough to loosen his grip.

She grinned at him over her shoulder, “Don’t tell me that infamous Rogue Prince is afraid I’ll drop him?”

It surprised him that she knew who he was. His eyes narrowed, “And here I thought I’d hidden my identity so well.”

Instead of laughing in his face she gracefully chuckled, patting his hand on her stomach consolingly, “I’m sure it was a valiant effort.”

He did not like how easily she had the upper hand in this conversation, but he was grateful that she now seemed truly at ease speaking to him. He probably had to thank Drogon for that.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure it was arriving on Caraxes that gave you away.” She huffed a laugh, “Despite your best effort to hide him, he is fairly noticeable.”

“I suppose.” He groused. It irked him that he’d put too much faith in the mask he wore since entering the city to disguise his identity. Apparently, he’d been dammed from the start. Tugging at the ties at the back of his head he let the mask slip from his face and fall to the world below.

With a smile she continued, “It wasn’t hard to put together once the dragon was spotted and a fair skinned man with Targaryen features appeared shortly after to buy a mask. Especially when that man piqued my interest by following me from afar and asking after me at every turn.”

He snorted at that, because when she put it that way—

“It also didn’t help that you have very high-end tastes when it comes to lodging. The swagger of someone who doesn’t hear the word ‘no’ often enough. And, most obviously, are wearing one of the most famous Valyrian steel swords on your hip.”

A laugh, a true laugh born of his own arrogance and stupidity left his lips. The girl looked back at him approvingly before turning her gaze back to the sky laid out like a clear blue blanket before them.

Half muttering to himself he said, “Well, I suppose no one’s perfect.”
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There landing was a smooth one. He was unsurprised by how far outside the city she had taken him and smiled warmly when his own dragon came into view. After he dismounted from Drogon he went to Caraxes.

His dragon’s shrieking greeting cry was most welcome after the stress of dealing with riding without a saddle on an unknown dragon and having to entrust his life to an unknown volatile girl. Also, getting punched in the face, that was also stressful.

“Gīda, Caraxes.” He commanded as he nuzzled his face into Caraxes. Petting him soothingly his dragon was reassured of his wellbeing and began to settle.

Once his over excited dragon was tended to, he turned back to the girl. She was sitting on the ground in front of Drogon, leaning back but maintaining a stiff pose. The fierce looking dragon was once again curling its body around her protectively, or perhaps it was to ward off the chill that drifted over from the nearby ocean.

“I believe I owe you a conversation.” The girl said invitingly. He approached more confidently, Caraxes at his back always made him feel invincible.

He settled down on a boulder in front of the girl. “An honest one this time?”

She nodded, her eyes looking back at Drogon searchingly, and--for a brief second her eyes went white. It was quick, but he was certain of what he’d seen. Her eyes had changed. A little unsettled he rested his hand on Dark Sister’s hilt.

She turned back with a strained expression asking, “What do you want to know?”

“Who are you?”

“Arya.”

“Arya, who?” She gave a shrug and looked content to not elaborate until Drogon trilled, the warbling sound making the girl flinch. Her shoulders rose up around her ears until the noise stopped. She rolled her eyes at the dragon then.

“Okay, okay, I get it.” When her attention shifted back to him it was like a barrier had been removed. Her posture relaxed and she let her head bang back against the dragon. “Something happened to me, either one too many blows to the head or a curse of some kind because my memories are—they were gone.” She hesitated, looking uncertain, “Six moons ago I woke up with Drogon by my side--”

Drogon interrupted, called out trilling again. Looking irritated she turned a fierce glare to her dragon. “We don’t even know him!” Drogon merely repeated the sound. She shouted at him, “I am being honest!”

In response Drogon flapped his tail in her face causing a great gust to hit her. Daemon laughed outright. Quick as a snake Arya’s angry eyes were back on him, “Shut it!”

Drogon used his long neck to bend down and align himself face to face with the girl. They stared at each other for a long moment before the dragon blinked at her slowly. Her eyes darted back to him, “Trust is earned.”

Daemon didn’t know if she was talking to Drogon or to him, so he chose to advocate for himself, “I agree, trust is earned especially when actions meet words. You asked me for trust back in the city, and I followed you onto a dragon. Have I not taken the first step?”

Drogon gently butted his head into her stomach before returning to his earlier pose. Arya looked at her hands silently for almost a minute. Her tendency to go quiet was driving him insane, he was about to speak to break the tension when she looked up. He dared not breathe for the vulnerability he saw in her grey eyes. “I think we died.”

She paused, looking back at her dragon, but Drogon was no longer paying attention. Daemon took a risk, moving off from his boulder he got closer to the girl and her dragon. He sat on the ground before her and crossed his leg underneath himself like a child eager to hear a story from a kindly elder.

The girl looked at him only briefly before averting her eyes. She began to speak once again, her voice soft but with steel behind her far-off gaze. “I woke up in a grave covered in earth, Drogon too. We had to dig our way out.”

“Where?”

“A small island north of Ibben.” That made Daemon pause, he’d heard nothing of reports of a girl and a dragon from that area. However, he knew the nation of Ibben consisted of several islands, not all of them heavily populated. And considering Ibben was in the polar sea north of Essos, he could see how the girl would seem to have appeared out of nowhere if that was her true place of origin.

“You said six moons ago your memories were gone. Have they returned?”

“Pieces.” She hunched in on herself.

“Your name?” He prompted quietly. She looked up.

“That I remembered from the start,” She gestured to Drogon, “His too.”

It was a mad story to be sure, but not impossible. Especially not given the way the girl and dragon communicated. He next asked, “What are you doing in Braavos?”

“I was flying overhead three moons ago and saw something familiar. The first familiar sight since we woke up.”

“The House of Black and White.” He speculated. She nodded.

“I remembered standing at the door. It was my first clue to uncovering my past, so I talked my way inside.” Daemon scoffed, talked her way inside? He looked over at Drogon, more like threatened to burn all to ash. Ignoring him, Arya continued her story, “I wasn’t recognized by anyone in the temple. But, I found a familiar face, only…he wasn’t--him.”

“Him who?”

“I don’t know. He was no one. They wear his face and speak in his accent to please me, but it’s a fallacy, it’s not him.” She looked off towards the ocean. “Some parts of Braavos are the same. Familiar but not right, not the same. Not a match for the flashes of memory I keep having.”

“So, your memory is returning?” He questioned, trying hard to make his voice more conversational and less interrogation. He was happy she was being so forthright now, but he was wary of how long it would last.

“I think I lived here, not, this wasn’t where I was born, I don’t think but I lived here for some time. A significant amount of time…I remember the canals well enough. I remember begging, the humility of it all. And the darkness, I think I was blind? I remember training to fight. Then being hurt,” Her hand moved defensively to cover her stomach.

He’d thought her young like the reports he’d received, but now seeing her up close, talking to her, he wondered if she was older than the 3 and 10 her height and slight frame suggested. And with her trailing off to hold her womb protectively he wondered if something truly horrific had befallen her before she found Drogon and came under his protection.

“But that’s the past.” She said dismissively, her eyes met his once again. No longer haunted by a forgotten past but now filled with fire. She questioned him sharply, trying to take control of the conversation yet again, “Why did you come and find me? Was it pure curiosity? Or do you want something from me?”

There was sadness in one so young and vulnerable being so suspicious of simple inquiry. Sadness and intelligence. “I was just curious.”

The side of her lips dipped up, “And now that I’ve satisfied you?”

He barked a laugh, “Is that what you think satisfies a man? A single conversation?”

Her mouth grew pinched, he could tell she didn’t like the sexual inuendo. He suppressed the urge to grin, he so loved getting under people’s skin, no matter how unhelpful it actually was to his cause.

With a blank expression she all but hissed, “The last time I was here I think I was training to be a Faceless Man; do you really think it is wise to tease me so?”

He leaned back, “Are you one?”

He didn’t think she’d answer honestly if she was, but still he asked all the same. The corner of her lips lifted into a smirk, but only briefly. “No. I don’t like being told what to do or who to kill.”

That felt true.

She didn’t look imposing without the dragon at her back, but for whatever reason, his aching nose maybe, he believed her. He believed that this girl was more than she appeared. He could see it in her eyes, the way she held her body, this girl was a warrior capable of great violence.

“Like recognizes like.” He said softly. There was a moment of silence where they just looked at each other. During which he wondered what she saw in him. What she thought of him so far. What she had already heard about him. “You said your memory began six moons past, but you only reached Braavos three moons ago. What did you do in between? Where were you?”

She heaved a weary sigh, “I’m tired of talking about the past. I’ve committed myself to the present. To experiencing as much happiness as I can, while I can.” She smiled at him, wanly, but honestly. “How about a race instead?”

There was not a moments hesitation on his part as he matched her energy, “What does the winner get?”

She chuckled lightly, “What do you want?”

He wanted her to come back to Pentos with him so he could unravel the mystery of her existence at his pleasure. But he doubted she’d agree to that. Yet. “A heard you were having a ‘proper’ show tomorrow evening, how about a free ticket?”

She nodded eagerly, “And if I win?”

“A kiss from a handsome prince?” He would have been insulted by the screwed-up look of disgust on her face if it wasn’t so hilarious. “No?”

“No.” She confirmed.

“Gold?” She rolled her eyes.

“A foot massage?” She laughed, grabbing a handful of grass and throwing it at him playfully. His insides felt warm at the brief spark of joy on her face. Instinctively he knew this was a girl who had not experienced enough laughter in her former life.

“A proper dragon saddle.” He said seriously, putting an end to their banter but not the feeling of good will they had built between them.

“Deal.” She held out her hand and he shook it, amused by how dainty hers looked in comparison to his own.

“Deal.” He repeated.
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After they raced and he did a bit of gloating, he secretly vowed to get her a dragon saddle anyway. After all, if she was going to blame losing on her lack of one, it was only fair they race again once she was properly equipped.
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And so on the 7th day of the Braavosi Unmasking Celebration, he had a ticket to the “Dragon Show” just like seemingly every other person in the city. With the crowd being so large and the star performer equally so, the event was being held outdoors on the beach just as the sun was about to set.

Vendors selling food walked amongst the crowd selling their wares, but those selling ale worked out of wagons set up at the entrance of the seating area and outskirts of the crowd. Those stations were obviously very busy and Daemon avoided it as he looked for the best seat.

There were only about 75 chairs set up, all facing the water, he’d been told these were seats sold old out weeks ago, and even then, they were said to be obscenely priced. The rest of the crowd would have to make due standing or sitting on the floor. To accommodate the crowd tickets had also been sold for rooftop seating and boat seating.

There was a very large floating platform in the water beyond the shore, to his estimation it was large enough to support even a dragon of Drogon’s size and so that was probably where most of the ‘action’ would occur. Daemon decided, to get the best view possible, he would abandon his pride and join the children in the front.

For in front of the obscenely wealthy seating area, small children had taken over the small space left between audience and makeshift stage. The area for performers was separated with a ribbon and the children at least were respectful of the delineation flimsy though it was.

Weaving his way, stepping over children, he made his way to the middle of the middle. The perfect seat. He looked down at the pair of children occupying the space want and crouching down he adopted a kind manner, “I’ve never seen the show before, have you?”

A little dark-skinned boy and a girl of the same complexion with long riotous curls nodded eagerly, “Yes, we’ve seen it last week when they were ‘workshopping’ things.” The boy answered.

“May I squeeze in and sit with you?” He looked down feigning shyness, “I’m traveling through Braavos and on my way home to my family. I don’t know anyone in the city and I want to be able to tell my girls every detail when I make it home. And this looks like the best seat in the house.”

“You have girls?” The girl asked, her words slightly muffled as she answered around the thumb she was sucking. At the same time the boy screwed up his face looking at the open sky above mumbling, “We’re not in a house.”

“Two of them.” He answered the girl with an honest grin. “A bit older than you two, I think. Are you siblings?”

They nodded, and then the girl asked, “Won’t you get in trouble a’fore sitting in the front.”

The boy nodded agreeingly, “Yeah we usually get away with it a’cuz were little and don’t block the fancy people’s view.”

It was an astute observation, he inclined his head, “This far in the front I won’t block anyone’s view I don’t think.”

“Well, if you’re sure you won’t cause troubles,” The pair looked at each other and then the boy shrugged before tugging the girl closer to himself, “Sure you can sit next to me.”

Silently he approved of the boy’s protective instinct, placing himself between a stranger and his sister. He quickly unbuckled his belt so he could place Dark Sister in his lap, then copied the children’s pose, crossing his legs to make himself as small as possible. The boy looked at his sword with big eyes, “Are you a knight?”

“More of a rogue.” He answered with a smirk.

Any further questions stemming from the little boy were stalled as trumpets sounded. A signal that the show was about to start if the giddy chatter of the crowd was anything to go by.

“Here they come!” They little boy cheered, his skinny finger pointing to the sky above them.

Arya and her dragon flew back and forth over the audience a few times, swooping low enough to give everyone a thrill until the dragon settled, landing on the floating stage in the water before them. Drogon’s mighty roar left Daemon’s bones vibrating and many others seemed to feel the same because when the dragon stopped there was nothing but silence from the 500 plus crowd.

From behind them a lone lute began to play a slow tune. Scantily clad dancers entered from the sides, their hips gyrating provocatively making the coin belts they wore around their waists jingle. A flute player joined in and the tune picked up in tempo slightly. A pair of handsome identical muscular men walked into view juggling flaming sticks. A horn player heralded a trio of tiny tumbling acrobats, and again the tempo of the tune picked up in pace.

And while the dancers and the jugglers and the acrobats were all talented, they were not what people were here for. As this went on for a few minutes, almost comically, with Drogon and Arya just sitting in the background doing nothing, he was amazed no on in the crowd voiced their discontent.

And then the song ended and everything stopped. It was almost timed perfectly with the sun finally setting, blanketing the whole scene in darkness.

“Dracarys.” Arya’s voice rang out in the night, her only competition the sound of the waves gently lapping at the shore. One by one, Drogon spit fire in short controlled bursts, lighting floating torches half submerged in the water and some along the shore. The act was one of precision he had never seen from a dragon and it left him feeling blossoming respect for the girl.

He watched impressed as Arya climbed up her dragon’s neck until she stood on top of Drogon’s head facing the audience. “Welcome all!” She announced simply, “I hope you enjoy the show!” And then she dived off her dragon into the water.

He was slow to join others in their clapping, distracted by Drogon brining his head down to Arya as she surfaced from the shallow water. His eyebrows rose as she handed him a metal chain, placing it in between the dragon’s powerful jaws.

As the dragon drew back to its full height the ‘clink clink clink’ of the metal chain moving filled the air ominously. As the chain rose in the air, he realized there was a hoop attached to the end, a hoop Arya was now sitting on.

Drogon took flight once she was completely free of the water. The dragon hovered in place for a few seconds, the chain that Arya now dangled from held riskily in his mouth. Then Drogon flew forward slightly, towards the audience, and also higher up a bit. This left no doubt that should Arya fall she would be gravely injured.

She shifted position on the giant hoop, leaning back precariously and letting go with one hand to wave and smile cheerily at the crowd before throwing herself forward through the hoop. The only thing that stopped her from pitching forward completely was her grabbing onto the hoop with both hands at the top and one pointed foot at the bottom. The daring and skill this took was astounding, and the visual she created as she held the treacherous pose was stunning. This time he was one of the first people to start clapping.

He watched with genuine excitement as the girl pulled herself back into a seated position before flipping her whole body upside down and curling in on herself inside the ring. He gasped when, entirely inverted, she elongated her body until her feet were at the top of the hoop and she seemingly held on by the power of her ass, which rested on the edge at the bottom of the hoop. With her head and then arms dangling free, she was one false move from plummeting head first into the ground and from that height it would be a death sentence.

Drogon began to fly backwards so Arya once again dangled over the water. At the same time Arya climbed back to a seated position in the hoop before slipping down so her arms were in the middle of the hoop holding all her weight. She kicked her out with her legs a few times before she got enough momentum to completely flip backwards through, the hoop with her whole body. She did this three times before backflipping into the water.

Thunderous applause erupted.

Drogon landed on the deck and watched closely as Arya climbed out of the water. She went to him, petting his head a bit before checking on the chain in his mouth, which Daemon could now see had been looped around one of the dragon’s teeth. And then Drogon was off again, dragging the chain up until the hoop dangled just over the girl’s head.

Reaching up she grabbed on with both hands, kicking out with her feet gracefully and making the loop spin. At a dizzying speed the girl spun like the most graceful dancer, the danger ever increasing as the dragon rose higher and higher in the air. With flare she kicked out keeping her knees bent and slowing the speed of her spins. Once she had stopped spinning, she started climbing up the chain towards the dragon’s mouth. She shouted something but the crowd was too far to hear it, probably a command meant only for Drogon because within seconds the dragon was opening his mouth and the girl was practically climbing inside.

A few shouts of alarm rang out from the crowd and Daemon heedless of front row etiquette, jumped to his feet. The long metal chain and hoop fell from the air. The hoop landed in the water a little way away from the floating dock while the chain landed in a neat pile on the wood. He’d thought both chain and hoop to be made of heavy metal but he must have been wrong because the hoop floated on the surface of the water while the chain on the dock acted as an anchor, keeping it from moving too far away.

“Oh no.” He muttered as he realized Arya had created a perfect bullseye, never mind it was an arm’s length away from a platform made of solid wood.

While he’d been staring at the fallen props Arya had somehow managed to climb back atop her dragon’s head. Concerned cried could be heard all around. Mother’s told their children not to look, people whispered prayers, Daemon however said nothing until the little boy he’d been seated next to grabbed his hand and squeezed anxiously asking, “Is she gonna jump again?”

“It would appear so.”

“What if she hits the platform?”

The dragon flew higher.

He answered the child honestly, “She’ll die if she lands anywhere but in the water.”

He held tight to the random boy’s hand as Arya shouted another command they were too far away to hear.

It was so much worse than he’d thought. As she dove off the top of her dragon Drogon tilted his head down following the action and breathing out fire. An action which caused everyone to lose sight of the girl for a few very precious important seconds. Only for Arya to reappear unscathed as she landed directly on target. Her body like a knife as it sliced through the middle of the floating hoop and into the dark water below.

It was the bravest stupidest most reckless thing he’d ever seen. The sound of the crowd’s applause and cheers could have drowned out a dying dragon.

He now understood why no one he spoke to would spoil the show for him. It was not a thing of amusement, a passing entertainment; it was art. Arya was an artist. A mad and a fearless girl.

“Wow.” The little boy shouted, shaking Daemon’s hand in his excitement, he and his sister both jumping up and down with glee.

“Indeed.” Daemon agreed as he let out a shrill whistle of appreciation.
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Reference Pictures





https://www.pinterest.com/pin/363947213657731676/
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/363947213657731699/

Chapter Text

Chapter 4
~Arya, part 1~

“Come with me to Pentos.” Daemon whispered near her ear. She could tell he’d tried to sneak up on her while she was drinking her ale, but his feet fell too heavy to achieve his goal. After seeing her real dragon show any revulsion he held for her as a disreputable dragon rider had evaporated and he’d become her biggest fan. Sort of.

In the two days since they’d had their first real conversation, he’d hovered around her like a fly on shit. She found it both irritating and endearing.

He’d tried for subtly at first, describing the guest house he was currently squatting at in all its splendor. He’d tried enticing her with gifts, mostly food and trinkets, but he promised more if she visited Pentos. He’d even tried tugging at her heart strings, speaking of his lovely family and the companionship she could have, if only she joined him.

“Come meet my family and let me help you.” His voice was low and seductive.

She scoffed and baited him to argue the point further, “Help me? I wasn’t aware I was in need of rescuing.”

Gracefully Daemon sat in the chair next to her instead of across from her like he usually did, “Do you not want to uncover the mystery of who you truly are?”

She frowned. Based on the scars that littered her body she had ideas of what her life used to be like and as such she was not eager to reclaim it. “Not really.”

Daemon’s lips pouted and his eyebrows furrowed in a comical way, she hid her amusement by taking a sip from her cup. “How can you not be curious?” He questioned sounding demanding.

She shrugged enjoying the simple pleasure of winding him up. He continued, “What if you have a family out there somewhere looking for you?”

It was her turn to pout, “They are dead.”

He leaned forward, “Did you get a new memory?”

She shook her head and took another drink. This time a long one. “I just know it.” She put a fist to her heart, “Here.”

Daemon’s eyes dipped down to her chest; his face sympathetic. “You could be wrong.”

She smiled an ugly smile, “I’m not.”

Unexpectedly he nodded accepting her answer for true. She offered him her glass; he smiled crookedly and took a swig before returning it. He scooted his chair closer and put an arm over the back of her chair, he did not stink as bad as most men so she allowed the contact. Frankly it was entertaining to see him try so many different tactics of persuasion. She admired how tenacious he was in the wake of her every rejection.

And if she was truly honest with herself, she enjoyed being touched in such a familiar way. Drogon’s approval of Daemon gave her a freedom to trust and it was…nice.

He spoke softly directly into her ear, “If you come with me, I promise you won’t regret it.”

“You know I make very good money here.” His arm slipped from the chair and wrapped around her shoulders, as if he was trying to prevent her from running away.

“With an act like yours you could make money anywhere.” There was the barest touch of his nose against her cheek as he said, “Not that you’ll need it if you come stay with me.”

“Do you know how weird it is that you’re inviting me to stay at some random man’s house?”

“Manse.” He corrected.

“A manse you do not own and therefore don’t really have the authority to invite anyone to?”

With a scowl he grabbed her cup and drained it dry. “I am a Prince and it is an honor to host me and my family and whatever guests I wish to host myself.”

She snorted, “I’m sure.”

He looked into her eyes quietly for a few seconds, “You’re not really worried about money. What holds you back from accepting my offer?”

She broke the unsettling eye contact by leaning her head on his shoulder. “You are right. I have no need for coin, I give most of my money to the House of Black and White.”

“Why?”

She contemplated lying. But she thought of Drogon. TRUST. He wanted her to trust Daemon, and her dragon had not steered her wrong yet so, “I’ve sort of been paying in advance, for assassinations.”

She lifted her head to take in his reaction. His face was like stone. “For whom?”

She smiled and reached for his face bopping him on the nose, “Child rapists.” He batted her hand away, she continued, “Child murderers and abusers.”

His seriousness was humorous to her. With all the authority of a battle commander he demanded, “Why would you do that?”

“Why not?” She darted forward and kissed the end of his nose feeling unusually playful.

He grabbed her writs in a tight hold, his whole demeanor becoming aggressive, “Arya--”

Angered by the shift in mood she interrupted with her teeth barred, “Why not do some good? I have a dragon, no one can hurt me anymore. The same is not so for others.”

She wrenched her hands out of his grip and shoved aggressively at his chest. It did little to move him. “I told you I remembered being blinded and begging.” She waited for him to give a sign he remembered, when he nodded, she finished, “I know what it is to live by the kindness of others, it is rare. I wish the world wasn’t a shit place filled with shit people but it is. Mostly. Mostly, the world is shit. I don’t think I change that, I’m not delusional, I don’t think anyone can.”

Daemon tried to interject, “Then why--?”

She cut him off, “We might not be able to stop the worst things from happening, but we can avenge them. Justice is not out of reach. And by funding the House of Black and White I’ve given the most powerless in this city, someone to turn to. And by setting such a sever example, perhaps people will learn.”

She enjoyed preforming, but it was a pastime, a means to keep active, it was not who she was. Deep down she knew she was fueled by vengeance and that scared her. Drogon understood this implicitly. She had so much wrath in her heart that if she didn’t have a good cause to direct it at, she could burn down the world. And so, helping people, children especially, it was her North Star. To channel all the rage inside her into something good was the only way to salvage a soul such as hers. Be good. Do good. It was like a mantra.

Staring into Daemon’s eyes, part of her wanted to run away, being this honest was uncomfortable. But a bigger part of her just wanted someone to understand and say she wasn’t crazy, for feeling how she felt and doing what she was. And weirdly enough, she felt like Daemon Targaryen just might.

“I used to command the City Watch of Kings Landing.” Gold cloaks and shining armor flashed in her mind like lightning, an image so clear for only a few seconds before fading away. Sounding almost confused he said, “You’re a good person.”

She laughed, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears, “No.”

“Yes.” He argued, a smirk slowly growing, his arm slipping around her shoulders once more. “You are good and kind and bloodthirsty.”

She laughed again, that description sounded more accurate. He whispered in her ear, “Come with me to Pentos.”

She turned so they were now nose to nose, “Daemon,” She rubbed his nose with her own, “I was always going to go with you.”

He jerked back, shocked. She laughed in his face, the sound more alive than before. She put her hand on his face and pushed him away from her further, this allowed her to snuggle into the crook of his arm more comfortably. He stiffened but did not push her away and so she considered it all her victory.

Ever since Drogon had sent the message TRUST when it came to Daemon, she knew in her heart that her time in Braavos was ending. She did not let on that her mind was made up in his favor because it was fun, someone trying to win her over. She hoped he would not take offence.

Daemon raised his hand to the barmaid indicating they wanted two more ales. They sat in silence until they had been served.

“You are very good,” He commented, “I did not know you were toying with me.”

She smirked as she took another long pull from her cup. “I know.”
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3 Months Later

The blacksmith’s apprentice did not resemble Gendry at all in looks or temperament. But he was a very good kisser and had a well sculpted body, so she indulged herself.

“You’re so b-beautiful.” The young man whispered as they broke contact to take a breath. The man, his name either Yancy or Yandel, it had been hard to hear in the tavern, had a bit of stutter she found unattractive.

She bit down on his lower lip and playfully hissed, “Liar.”

Yancy, she decided, laughed at her. His strong hands gripped her ass and squeezed, pulling her closer to his body. As she was already straddling him, she doubted they could get closer without losing the few layers of clothes between them. “You ar-r-e though.”

He continued raining down praise as he sucked kisses into the tender flesh of her neck. “B-beautiful, b-brave, kind.” He bit her shoulder through the fabric of her shirt, “S-sexy.”

The compliments made her feel equal parts warm and uncomfortable. She gripped his hair tightly and pulled his head back, kissing him quickly she muttered, “I like it so much better when you’re not talking.”

The young man accepted the unspoken direction and they went back to kissing.

A little while later, when her top was gone and she was contemplating removing her breeches, they were interrupted. Rudely. “Oh hello.”

Daemon smiled brightly as he held his torch aloft, illuminating their half-naked bodies. There was an edge to his cheerful words, “What a happy coincidence to find you hiding behind the very tree I was about to piss on.”

Yancy was bright red. Unlike she, he was completely naked by now and only had her half-dressed body in his lap to hide his shame. She pet the man’s hair soothingly as he ducked his head down into her shoulder to avoid Daemon’s unwavering gaze. She could hear him stuttering into her skin, praying for mercy. She didn’t bother telling him they would receive none, from the Gods or Daemon.

“Luckily the forest of Pentos is thick with trees and you have many others to choose from on which to relieve yourself.” She tried very hard to act unaffected but she was quite upset with herself for being snuck up on. Granted she was distracted and a bit drunk, but she still should have heard him coming.

“Ah, but I had my heart set on this one.” Daemon’s eyes danced across her body taking in all the naked skin on display, though not in a lecherous way. She did not like the furrow in his brow as he lingered on her scars. She glared and he smiled brighter.

“Daemon,” She paused for dramatic effect, “Fuck off.”

“No.” The pinched look of his lips spoke to his displeasure; he didn’t like it when she was so openly disrespectful. She tracked his hand as it moved to rest on Dark Sister’s hilt. “I think not.”

“Gods be m-m-merciful.” The man between her thighs was now trembling and not in a fun way. And just like that she knew the mood was irrevocably ruined. With a sigh, heedless of the eyes of her audience, she got to her feet and retrieved her shirt from where she had thrown it. And if there was a bit of a sway in her step, no one dared speak of it.

“It is late.” She conceded, deeply annoyed by her young companion’s persistence to avoid all eye contact as he tugged his clothes back on.

Daemon put a possessive arm around her shoulders once she was dressed.

“M’lady, Milord.” Yancy whispered as he scuttled past them, jogging back to the safety of town and witnesses.

With a pout she looked up at Daemon, “Do you really have to piss or did you follow me just to be a cunt again?”

He smiled, not answering verbally, he handed her the torch and went to the tree unlacing his breeches. Arya, childishly wanted to make him feel as uncomfortable as he had her. Stepping closer she used the torch to illuminate his cock as he took himself in hand and began to piss on the tree.

He gave her a funny look for watching, but he didn’t look ashamed as she had intended. This made her frown because in fact there was a hint of pride as he shook off the last few droplets and laced himself back up.

“You’re such a shit.” She grumbled as she handed him back the torch.

Without another word exchanged between them Daemon walked her back to the tavern they had begun the evening in. After settling his tab, they got on their horses and began the short ride back to the manse.

It was only when they were halfway ‘home’ that Daemon could not restrain himself any longer. “I thought we agreed no more low born trysts?”

She huffed, “I remind you again, you are not my father or my brother or my uncle. You have no authority over me.”

“A lady’s reputation--”

“I’m not a lady!” At least that’s what she remembered telling Gendry. The blacksmith from her mostly forgotten former life.

“But you are a dragon rider, one I have taken into my home--”

“Not even your house.”

“Into my household,” Daemon pointedly ignored her protest, his voice rising slightly as he ranted on, “And as such you are under my protection. Whether you like it or not!”

“Don’t need your protection.” This was a common back and forth for them, and she tired of it. Ever since Daemon had convinced her to leave Braavos and follow him to Pentos, the man had been annoyingly attentive and opinionated.

She was grateful he never really pushed her or tried to control her, but it was exasperating how he was always there and he always had something to say. About the way she dressed, the company she kept, her poor table manners, the risks she took on Drogon, and finally her disinterest in learning more about her mysterious past. The more she got to know him the more his disapproval weighed on her. And it was annoying as fuck.

“How lucky you are to have an abundance of things you don’t need, in this case protection.” With only the moonlight to see by it was hard to make out his expression but she was pretty sure he was laughing at her.

As they dismounted from their horses and handed them off to servants Daemon grabbed her arm put his lips to her ear whispering so they would not be overheard, “Do you need Moon Tea?”

There was not an ounce of judgment in his words. He was kind like that sometimes. In little ways and when she least expected it.

Quick as a cat she pressed a kiss to his cheek, pulling back she shook her head and slipped away.
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The next morning as she gathered food on to her plate an amused Lady Laena gently prodded, “I heard you worked up an appetite last night, I see Daemon was not exaggerating.”

Arya turned a glare on Daemon and dropped the serving spoon back into porridge.

“My condolences Lady Laena, it must be a hardship to be married to such a terrible gossip.” The man in question popped a grape into his mouth and smiled at his wife. The pair of them were well suited in their love. Beala and Rhaena giggled at the banter.

“I said nothing.” Daemon lied.

Arya threw a grape at his head making Laena laugh as well. With a mischievous grin Baela passed her the sugar bowl, “Where did you end up going last night Arya? You and father hadn’t decided when you left.”

Before she could reply Rhaena added, “And what did mother mean about working up an appetite? Were you training, so late at night? That doesn’t make sense.”

Baela jostled her sister with her elbow, “I bet she got in a fight at the tavern.”

When she had first arrived in Pentos with Daemon it had been daunting, meeting his family. He had been certain they would like her and embrace her. She had been told many times in Braavos how queer she was, even for a dragon rider, so she was not certain she would receive acceptance.

But Lady Laena was kind. Baela was curious. And Rhaena was a gentle soul. And all three had welcomed her into the fold of the family with little reservation. It wasn’t long before she was joining the family for meals, going riding (horse and dragon), and occasionally sitting in on the girls’ lessons. The entire experience was so foreign for her. But beautiful too.

Three moons later and she still hadn’t adjusted completely. Sleeping in a bed still felt wrong sometimes. Occasionally she flinched when offered affection. And she always felt a sense of building debt when she accepted a gift.

Still from time to time, Daemon would randomly gloat about how everything turned out. It was one of his least attractive qualities.

She clung to the knowledge that the relationship between her and Daemon and his family was not all one sided.

Lady Laena let slip that before Daemon retrieved her from Braavos he had fallen into a bit of a depression. His wife had worried because he stopped going out into the city, isolating himself from the public and pushing away his family at the same time. She said he had been wallowing in discontent and resignation, drowning himself in books to the glory of his house. There with them in body, and all at once a million leagues away in mind.

“You brought him back to himself.” Laena had whispered in her ear as she gave Arya a hug before bed one night, “And back to our family.” It was gratitude that helped ingratiate her to Daemon’s family so quickly. And for that she was thankful herself.

She could not help it, she’d grown to love them all so quickly, just three moons together and it was like something broken inside her was healing. And she didn’t even know what it was that had been broken in the first place. But she was grateful for it. For the safety and love and freedom, Daemon and his family had given her.

“Arya?” Baela prompted, bringing her back to the present.

“Yes, Arya, do explain to the children what you got up to last night.” Daemon said with a shit eating grin. She did her best to keep her more sinful behaviors away from innocent ears and Daemon found this trait equal parts adorable and ripe for teasing.

“Ask your father.” She deflected. For good measure she threw another grape at his head, letting out a huff when he caught it in his mouth.

Lady Laena came to both their rescues, “I was thinking we might go to the bazar today.” She turned to Arya, “I was hoping I might convince you to get a new dress, we are to dine with the Prince of Pentos in a weeks’ time, I would like to get you something special for the occasion.”

Daemon barked a laugh and Arya winced. She was not a fan of gowns, despite her many trysts with the so called low-borns, she did not have a high opinion of her looks. Her deficits were especially obvious when her lack of womanly beauty was dressed up next to someone of Laena’s easy elegance.

The girls both perked up but it was Baela who boldly asked, “Instead of lessons?”

Laena smiled, “Yes.”

Rhaena looked to her father shyly, “All of us?”

“All of us.” Daemon confirmed as he reached over and ruffled Arya’s hair, an affectionate gesture in disguise meant to put her already wild hair into further disarray. She slapped at his hand muttering, “Fuck off.”

The girls giggled at her language and she threw grapes at them for it.

Before Arya’s poor table manners could spread to the girls or escalate Laena reached out and smoothed down her hair announcing, “It’s settled then. We’ll leave in hour.”

Daemon passed her the water carafe, “Do try to look presentable, hmm?”

When she took his offering with a roll of her eyes Laena clucked, “Arya always looks presentable.” She glared briefly at her husband, “Her sense of style is singular and practical. I only mentioned buying a new gown because of the upcoming meeting with the prince. I thought she might want to look her best.”

She smiled warmly at the older woman grateful for the support.

Daemon deadpanned, “I am a prince. Should she not dress her best for me?”

“Are you though?” She needled.

“You need a bath.” Daemon said meanly.

She let the water carafe bang loudly onto the table. “I will pour this on your head, don’t think I won’t.”

Before Daemon could say another word Laena put an end to things saying, “Two hours then.” Quietly she leaned over and whispered in her ear, “He’s not wrong though, you smell of stale ale and sweaty blacksmith kisses.”

A smile pulled at Arya’s lips even as her jaw dropped in shock, “Laena!”

Daemon’s laughter was bright and boisterous, while his wife wore a satisfied grin.
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Enjoy some of my attempts at AI art
In the Tavern Trying To Convince Arya to Come To Pentos

Chapter Text

Chapter 5
~Arya, part 2~

It was odd to be amongst a crowd without Drogon nearby. Soon after accompanying Daemon to Pentos, she discovered her dragon was not so overly protective as long as she was in the Targaryen Prince’s company. Reclaiming the freedom of anonymity was actually what led to her dragging Daemon out into the city in the first place.

She had wanted to see a play, so he took her. She wanted to visit the Red Temple, so he took her. She had a rough night sleeping, so he took her for a drink at the tavern. It wasn’t long until she wasn’t the one dragging him about, but the other way around. As they grew closer, Daemon was eager to share his knowledge and see the city he’d come to call home, through her eyes.

Without Daemon to chaperon Drogon would follow about and her excursions were impossible to navigate without causing great commotion. It was a great annoyance as she yearned to see and experience as much of the city as she could. Laena had confided in her that she wished to return to Westeros, Driftmark specifically, to have her child. Daemon wasn’t enthused at the prospect, but she was sure his wife would wear him down eventually and they would all soon leave.

In some ways Pentos was very different from Braavos, and yet as she walked the bazar, she noted how some things were ever the same.

“Fourteen coins.” The silk merchant told her. She was attempting to buy Lady Laena a scarf, but the man was insane if he thought she fool enough to pay such an inflated price.

“You’ll take seven and be grateful.” She told him flatly. After some back and forth the man took eight coins and wished her to come again. Arya hid the purchase at the bottom of her basket before looking around for her people.

Laena and Baela were admiring some gloves and a little further down Daemon stood by Rhaena as she sampled some exotic looking fruit. She was pleased by what she saw, the smiles on father and daughter as they chatted. It was obvious how divided Rhaena often felt from the rest of her family, she was the only one without a dragon after all, and Daemon was so proud of being a Targaryen. As a result, Rhaena had a hard time connecting to her father. Arya was sure the love was there, but the language to express it often needed a little nudge. She blamed Daemon’s emotional constipation. Subtly she’d been trying to push them together for a while now, much to Laena and Baela’s approval.

Recently she’d taken Rhaena under her wing and had them annoying the kitchen staff into teaching them how to cook, Daemon was easy to rope in to do menial tasks in the same vicinity, peeling or cutting ingredients. This gave the pair time and a relaxed setting to develop a deeper relationship. All thanks to her well thought out machinations.

The choice was clear, Arya went over to Laena and Baela.

Once spotted Baela lit up, “Arya! Quick, which do you think is better for dragon riding?”

Arya looked to Laena, surely the woman was far more educated in fashion and dragons than she to offer such an opinion? Laena ran a comforting hand down her back, whispering, “Just pick a color.”

Baela held out two options, one brown, one dark green.

“Green?” She suggested unsurely.

Baela squealed in delight. “That’s what I thought too.” Arya shook her head at her young friend’s childish but innocent ways.

“Ah!” Her head jerked up as a sharp cry caught her attention. It came from a child a few stalls down from them.

One of the merchants had hold of a young boy’s arm. From a glance she could read the situation easily enough. The child, no more than five, dirty, small, terrified. The merchant filled with righteous anger and waving a loaf a bread with a bite taken out of it.

Closing her eyes she opened her mind and silently called out to Drogon, it only took a few seconds, and then she was on the move. With a grip on the hilt of her sword, she wove her way through the crowd towards the conflict.

“Thief!” The man was about to strike the boy. She drew her sword and held it to the man’s throat.

“I will pay for the bread.” The merchant looked startled by her sudden appearance but not afraid by the unspoken threat her blade held. “I will buy all your bread.” She told him coldly, “Let the boy go.”

The boy in question cried out, the man was squeezing his wrist tightly. She judged him to be cruel and in an instant his odds of survival plummeted.

“I gave you a chance.” She whispered. She pulled her arm back slightly, about to run him through with the pointy end when a strong hand gripped the collar of her vest and yanked her back.

“Do as she said and let the boy go.” Daemon had his own sword drawn, though he held it in a more relaxed manner. Daemon pulled her close until her back was pressed to his chest with an arm across her clavicle keeping her secure. She didn’t need the help but she appreciated it. She let her head ‘thunk’ back onto his chest trying to appear as relaxed as he.

“I am but a humble baker my lord. And yet this boy and his wretched gang of thieves are a constant plague upon my business, and that of my fellow merchants! I cannot afford to let this incident go when I’ve finally caught one of them red handed.”

In her periphery she saw Laena and the girls push their way to the outskirts of the crowd of onlookers that now surrounded them.

“Oh, bully for you, yes a great victory to capture and beat a four-year-old child.” Daemon sneered. She could feel the tension in his body though she admired the way he still appeared nonchalant if slightly disapproving.

The merchant pulled the boy close and lifted him up, his meaty arm tight across the child’s throat cutting off his air supply. It was a twisted mirror of the protective pose she and Daemon were in.

“An example needs to be made.” The baker said coldly. He squeezed the boys throat making the child go red in the face, his deadly intentions clear.

“I agree.” Arya grits out as she reached for the throwing dagger she kept in her boot. Daemon spun her around and pushed her towards the crowd. But she was undeterred.

As Daemon charged the man she turned and let the dagger fly. Her aim was true.

Daemon stopped short as the man dropped the boy and clutched his face with a scream. Her dagger had hit him in the eye, sinking deep. The man’s hand hovered over the hilt as if in shock and afraid to pull it out.

The child once released, took a moment to catch his breath but quickly ran getting lost in the crowd.

“Arya.” Daemon growled her name as he clamped a hand to the back of her neck.

She turned and stared him down. “I gave him a chance; he chose not to take it.”

A big burly man from the stall next to the baker shouted at her, “Bitch!” He went to tend to the wounded man. Another merchant called out, “We’ll have you flogged for that girlie!”

“Like hell!” Baela shouted before Laena shushed her. It was evident from the murmurs; the crowd was not on her side.

She could easily read the looks of contempt being thrown at her silver haired friends. The Targaryen’s while, dressed casually, were obviously wealthy. This crowd of working-class merchants did not seem fond of her companions based off this fact alone. Or perhaps it was their association with her when she had harmed one of their own. Still was compelled to show the scorn she felt inside. She sneered at the crowd for they thought the death of a child was justice for petty theft, “Fuck you! Fuck all of you!”

Daemon gave her a stern look, “We need to go.”

“Someone grab the bitch!” The Baker screamed; an accusatory finger pointed at her. A butcher, holding a cleaver, made steps towards her when a roar overhead saved her from responding or contemplating the possible consequences of her actions further.

Drogon screeched a warning as he descended. The narrow over crowded street was not ideal for a landing, but her winged friend did not care. People scattered, stalls were crushed, and Arya just laughed, “All this for a loaf of bread.”

Daemon did not look amused as he rushed to help his wife and children climb aboard Drogon who was snarling at the hiding people. Once they were all secure on his back Drogon let out a terrifying roar and set fire to the bread stall, which just had her cackling.

Rhaena who was right behind her, gripped her waist tightly and yelled, “Tell him to stop!”

She would not.

Rhaena shook her urgently, “The fire will spread! Innocents will die! ARYA!”

The girl had a point.

As Drogon burst into the air Arya connected to him. Opening her mind to the dragon and invading his, she pictured the dragon going to the ocean and scooping up some water. Disconnecting quickly, she called out over her shoulder, “Hold tight!”

Drogon banked sharply to the left. Daemon shouted, trying to be heard over the distance between them and the whistling wind, “Where are we going?”

She ignored him, they would understand soon enough.

Drogon did as she asked and scooped up a mouthful of water before returning to the bazar, they had left ablaze.

“Oh dear!” Rhaena cried out as they saw the fire had indeed spread quickly from one stall to the next, the entire street burning.

“It doesn’t matter.” Arya said quietly, mostly to herself. As far as she was concerned the wicked merchants got what they deserved. And what they had wanted, indeed an example was made. Was it not?

Drogon flew overhead mouth open and water spilling in a neat line, putting out the fire he had caused. She grinned at the others over her shoulder, “I think my point was made, don’t you?”

The girls looked scared, Laena upset, and Daemon furious.

“Down!” He demanded. Her answer was a roll of her eyes, but she did as he wanted. Flying them back to the magistrate’s manse.

She knew Daemon would explode upon her as soon as everyone had dismounted and he did not disappoint.

“How could you be so reckless!” He gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. “What is wrong with you! The girls, Laena, did you even consider their safety? That stunt could have gotten you killed! And my family along with you!”

She twirled out of his grasp, “Oh yes, the fat Baker was terrifying, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a fierce some warrior.”

“Arya was right to punish them!” Baela passionately defended. However, Rhaena stared at her sister with wide eyes, “What are you talking about? Had she not returned with water she might have burned the very child she was trying to defend!”

She looked away from the girls for a moment, Rhaena was horrified with her actions because she didn’t understand and it hurt that the girl she loved so well did not have faith that she knew what she was doing.

She was about to explain when Laena put a gentle hand on her head, effortlessly moving her husband out of the way and placing herself between them.

“Daemon’s right Arya, you were reckless. A mob could have formed.” She informed her sternly, “My dear girl, I know you are strong and fierce, after seeing you spar with Daemon on so many occasions, I know you are capable, but not even you can take on twenty angry men at once.”

She could.

Her eyes narrowed, “You would have me watch as a child is murdered?”

“No,” Laena said at the same time Daemon yelled, “You should have let me handle it!”

She looked at him coldly, “You would have let him live.”

He took a step closer, a hand around Laena’s waist deftly maneuvered her behind him once again.

“You acted rashly.” He hissed.

She looked at Drogon, “I disagree.”

Everyone was tense. She moved to her dragon’s side and pet him more to comfort herself than him. She felt her actions were justified and therefore she had no remorse, but she understood their anger. They didn’t know she had called Drogon to her aid before the confrontation began and thus she knew all would be well even if things did escalate out of her control. Which they had NOT.

Still, Daemon had no right to criticize her actions. She thought he knew her better than this.

“I am going to go.” She announced quickly. She moved to climb aboard Drogon once again.

“No!” Baela cried out running towards her, but her sister held her back. “Arya no!”

Rhaena was crying, Arya wondered why. Rhaena was the gentler of the two girls by far, and she knew her actions had rattled her the most. So, she wondered, were they tears of relief? Or grief? For she had come to love Rhaena and Baela both like dear sisters and she knew they felt the same.

She paused briefly but then climbed into the saddle.

“You do not have to leave!” Laena echoed, she like her daughter moved forward to stop her, but they all knew it was an empty gesture. Daemon was the only one who would be able to force her to stay.

He did not move, but to stop his wife from getting too close to her dragon. To her.

When she looked at his face it was unreadable. She could not tell if he wanted her to go or stay or cry apologies or die and never return. It was one of his most annoying qualities, his ability to project nothing. Reveal nothing, of what he felt or thought.

So, she decided to return it.

She said nothing more.

And then she and Drogon left.
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She did not have a plan or a destination in mind, she gave over control to Drogon. Her dragon took them west, over the ocean and to an island. From the air she could see there were two islands close together, but Drogon set them down on the larger one.

The island had two large port towns on the coasts and a castle. She circled the castle, admiring its beauty. It was built from pale stone, with slender towers crowned with roofs of silver. She knew it to be low tide and noted that a causeway was what connected the island to the castle. Meaning at high tide by boat or air would be the only way to reach it.

Drogon landed on the cliffside. She was tired. And pathetically, she had shed a few tears amongst the clouds and so now her eyes were puffy and sore.

She was not surprised when men in armor bearing a silver seahorse on their armor rushed out to greet her. “Halt, who goes there!”

“Where am I?” She asked just to be certain, “Is this Driftmark?”

Laena had described her home perfectly and she recognized the older woman’s House sigil but she could be wrong. An older man with dark skin and silver dread locks moved to the front of her greeting party.

“It is my lady.” He confirmed in a deep voice, “And the answer to my man’s question? Your name?”

“Not a lady,” She informed him with pursed lips. He tipped his head in acknowledgment and then raised one eyebrow, as if asking her to go on. “Arya.”

“Arya Targaryen?”

She scowled, “Just Arya.” She said firmly.

The man smiled, his hard weathered face transforming into something warm and inviting in an instant, “Are you the same Arya my daughter Laena has written of?”

All at once she was struck by joy and a terrific plan. There was joy in knowing that Laena cared enough to tell her family of her existence. And she knew just the way to reunite them all, and sweep this little disagreement under the rug.

“I am.” She confirmed with a wicked grin, “Would you be her father? The famed Sea Snake Lord Corlys Valeryon?”

“I am.” He echoed, his eyes darting to the sky behind her, “Is she with you?” He looked down, a brief look of sadness overtaking his face, before returning to a more cordial expression, “You are of course welcome on Driftmark regardless. I know my wife will be eager to meet you after all we have heard.”

“All good things I hope?” The man gave a hearty laugh as he signaled to his men to lower their weapons.

She dismounted from Drogon and made her way to the older man.

Her tone softened as she informed him, “Laena is not with me, no.” She laid a gentle hand on his arm, “Tell me my lord, how long has it been since you saw your daughter last?”

His smile fell slowly, “Near ten years.”

She clasped her arms behind her back and tried not to grin, “Daemon’s being disagreeable, but I know Laena is eager to come home for a visit and for you to meet the girls.”

The man’s face did not change, “He is her lord husband, if he does not wish to return--”

“Which is why I purpose we trick him and force his hand.” She smiled slyly, “If you are not afraid of a teensy-weensy bit of deception.”

The older man barked out a laugh, the light returning to his eyes as he said, “You are every bit as audacious as my daughter said you were.”

“Shall I tell you my wicked plan then?”

“I am all ears my dear girl.”
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Baking Bonding With Arya & Rhaena

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

~Daemon~

Arya had been gone for a week. The girls were miserable. Laena was angry with him. And he, he felt as he did before he learned of the girl’s existence. Despondent. Bored. Listless.

Arya had been a puzzle and a project and a delight all rolled up in one. He felt her loss deeply. Most days he tried not to think of her but his family made it very difficult.

At the dinner table Baela would sigh, “I miss how Arya made lessons more fun by constantly interrupting with questions. When will she return?”

Before bed Rhaena would moan, “Arya and I were to learn how to bake bread this week, is she coming back soon?”

And Laena, his wife was the worst of all. All times of day she would invoke the girl’s name. “Do you think Arya’s safe?” “Oh, Arya loved this soup.” “Where do you think Arya went?” “The gown I commissioned for Arya has just arrived, what should we do with it?” “Have there been any sightings of Arya and Drogon?”

It was reaching the point where Daemon wanted to throw something every time he heard the girls name. It was not as if he asked her to leave! And yet, Laena acted as if her disappearance was his fault. As if he was the one keeping her from returning. As if he wasn’t just as worried about her.

And he was. He was worried about Arya. She had left with no belongings, no coin, only Drogon. He knew her to be capable but, still he worried. Because he had heard nothing about where she went. Even with all of his contacts around the world and no one had seen her.

Just as he settled in by the fire with a book on Maegor, his wife appeared announcing, “My parents have written.”

He glared at her but said nothing, in his opinion nothing good could come from Westerosi gossip.

“Arya went to Driftmark!” His head jerked up to stare at his wife.

“What?” He shut his book with a snap and extended his hand for the letter. His wife summarized it as he read, “She arrived a week ago, so she must have flown straight there after we fought. My father says she has become gravely ill and my mother is now showing the same symptoms, he bids us to come at once!”

His eyes scanned the words as quickly as he could, eager for every scrap of news concerning his missing girl. It was written by Corlys, his script familiar to Daemon’s eyes. Before he finished reading Laena cupped his face and guided his eyes away from the letter and up to her own, “Daemon, we must go home for her.”

He didn’t answer right away, first he finished reading the letter. When done he came to two conclusions. One, the letter was a manipulation. And two, it was a very clever one.

Arya was smart and strategic when she wanted to be. She knew only death or the threat of it would be enough to destroy his pride. He doubted Arya and Princess Rhaenys were ill. The bit about Laena’s mother being ill was tacked on to the end of the letter, not like an afterthought, like someone read it over and didn’t think it was convincing enough.

He knew in his heart Arya doubted their love for her and that’s why she added the bit about Rhaenys possibly being ill. Arya probably didn’t think they would go if she was the only one in peril. And the insecurity of that made his heart ache.

“I don’t think it’s true.” He informed his wife, “Not a word beyond Arya’s arrival.” Laena pulled back from him, anger rising in her warm eyes. He smirked, “We will go anyway.”

He watched his wife sigh in relief. And then her mind set to work. “I’ll tell the girls, you say our goodbyes to the Magistrate and write a missive to the Prince expressing our apologies for missing his dinner tonight.”

He stood and gave Laena a peck on the cheek, happy to follow her orders. “And then I will begin packing.”

She nodded, “We’ll leave after breaking our fast tomorrow.”
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During the flight back to Westeros Daemon began to doubt himself. His gut said the letter was a ploy, but the reality was it could have been true. Arya, for all of her death-defying dragon back stunts, was just a young girl. She was as mortal as anyone else. She could have fallen ill like Corlys claimed. Laena’s father was not a known liar. And Daemon had seen her unwell before. Many times, in fact.

A month after coming to stay with him in Pentos, Arya was still insisting to sleep outside every night with her dragon. It was fucking ridiculous and unnecessary for her protection now that she had Daemon and his family to rely on. And so, after a week of his wife and children harping on the girl to sleep in a bed for a change, she conceded.

In the middle of the night, he woke to the sound of a girl screaming. It only took a moment to identify it as Arya’s voice. He’d grabbed Dark Sister and dashed into the room ready to slay whatever fiend dared hurt a child under his protection. But the girl was alone. Alone and still in bed, blankets twisted around her body, pillow dark with sweat, Arya by all appearances was still deeply asleep. Just screaming herself hoarse as she battled demons in her dreams.

Slowed down by her pregnancy, his wife arrived just as he was making his approach to wake the girl.

“Be careful, I bet she’ll wake violently if you startle her.” Laena cautioned. His daughters appeared in the hallway just behind their mother.

“What’s going on?” Baela sleepily asked as she and Rhaena tried to peek inside, “Is something wrong with Arya?”

He exchanged a look with his wife, silently they agreed she would care for their girls while he dealt with their wild dragon.

“Arya is just having a nightmare my darlings,” Laena said calmly as she guided their daughters away from the door, “Come, back to bed. We will leave your father to tend to her.”

She closed the door behind her just as Arya let out another piercing scream. It was disturbing how girlie it was. How youthful she sounded. When she screamed her voice was high pitched and feminine in a way that did not match with who he knew Arya to be.

He approached her bedside quickly, but hesitated before touching her. Laena was probably right; he would not put it past Arya to sleep with a knife under her pillow. He did not wish to be stabbed for doing a good deed.

“Arya.” He called out loudly.

She mumbled a response, her voice hoarse from all the screaming, “Jon?”

It was a new name he had not heard from her before, mentally he filed it away. In private he was doing his best to discover her true identity, despite her disinterest.

“Arya, wake up!” He called louder; he gave the bed a kick for good measure. An answering roar from Drogon gave him a start, but still the girl did not wake.

“I can’t--” Arya turned on her side, kicking out with her foot, “I--”

Arya’s memory loss was the most frustratingly true thing about her. He knew it to be no ruse. Her lack of curiosity regarding her past was in his opinion, stupid. With her now talking in her sleep, he thought it a ripe opportunity to gain more clues, so despite her obvious distress he abandoned his goal of waking her up.

Softening his voice, he tried to prompt her into revealing more of her hidden secrets. “Arya, who’s Jon?”

“No!”

“Did Jon hurt you?” Laena told him she had many scars, and he was curious about who gave them to her. Curious and eager to get revenge upon her behalf if it had not already been claimed.

“I can’t…” She whispered, sweat beading at her brow.

“Can’t what?” He encouraged.

“Can’t…Jon!” She was thrashing now, batting at the air with her hands as if she was trying to fend off some unseen predator.

“Who’s Jon?” He tried again.

“Coming…they keep coming, they—I can’t!”

He drew closer asking, “Who keeps coming?”

She screamed then.

Like she was dying. Like someone she loved was dying. The sound so filled with agony; he immediately abandoned his scheme to get answers from her unconscious mind.

Grabbing Arya by the shoulders he forced her to sit up as he shouted her name. It was her sleep addled mind which made her movements slow, slow enough to stop the hands going to gouge out his eyes.

As Arya came back to herself, she kept her eyes shut tight and shook her head as he murmured gentle assurances. He ignored her moaned protests and kept his voice calm and steady.

“You are safe.”

“No.”

“It was just a dream.”

“No.”

“I am here.” He used his thumbs to rub small circles into her shoulders and at this she finally fell silent.

“You are not alone.” He reminded her. He then pressed his forehead to hers and repeated himself, “I am here, Arya. I am with you. You are not alone.”

When her eyes finally opened and focused on him, they were glossy and wet. As they pulled back from each other a single tear broke free and slid down her cheek as she whimpered his name, “Daemon?”

In that moment he felt ancient. She was looking at him with pain and anguish in her eyes that one so young should not know of yet. But there was also something else. In her eyes, beyond the pain he could see a silent hope there too. A hope that he could make it better. A hope that he would not leave her. A hope that she was finally safe at last. It was a hope that only truly good people managed to cling to even in the darkest of times.

For Arya in that moment, he wanted to be the safe harbor she was looking for.

Despite his past and his reputation, he was not a monster. And what’s more he was a father to two young girls. That is to say it wasn’t a conscious decision to pull the wild girl into his arms. It was instinct to rub her back, pet her hair, and hold her close while she cried herself back to sleep in his embrace.

He held the pose even when his limb grew stiff, for he did not wish to wake her now. Not after such a visceral display of emotional vulnerability. He was mentally debating what to do, how to get her back into bed properly, when the door opened and his wife reentered.

She smiled either amused at his obvious predicament or by the mere sight of him preforming such a domestic task. He shot her a sour look, but did not move. Laena ran her hand down his back when she reached his side.

“Did she say anything?” He shook his head and answered in a whisper that matched her own, “Not about her dream, not anything of significance.”

Laena brushed two fingers down the side of Arya’s face. The girl reacted, twisting her body towards Daemon, curling up and pressing her face to his chest.

“She trusts you.” Laena said, her tone fond.

“It would appear so.” He wondered at it often, why her dragon accepted him so easily, which in turn convinced the girl to do the same. He felt his wife press a kiss to the back of his head. When she turned to leave him, offering no help, he hissed, “You can’t leave me like this!”

Laena smothered a laugh and merely waved at him from the door, which she quietly closed.

He sighed when he and the girl were alone again, and then he yelped when Arya spoke softly, “Daemon.”

He looked down to find Arya awake. She extracted herself from his embrace and settled back on the bed with her back against the head board. While shaking out his numb limbs he debated leaving, but he couldn’t. She looked so small and exposed sitting there. Despite all her fire, she really was a tiny thing.

He joined her on the bed copying her pose. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I’ve had the dream before.” She admitted, “Usually its not so intense. But today…I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He grabbed the blanket and spread it over their legs. He then gambled on how much affection Arya would allow in such a vulnerable state. He slipped his arm behind her shoulders and pulled her into his side. She stiffened like a corpse before settling against him more comfortably. He thought it might be easier for her to talk now that they were touching, but not looking at each other.

“You said a name in your sleep.” He offered.

“Jon.” She whispered knowingly.

“Another paramour?” Last week she had remembered a lover named Gendry, that was when he started to keep a physical record of all the bits of information Arya had revealed to him concerning her mysterious past. At present it was still a pitifully small list of clues.

“I—yes, no—with Jon.” She was struggling for words which was not like her, Daemon stayed quiet, letting her think. She ran a hand through her sweaty hair and pulled lightly at it before answering coherently, “Yes, I loved him. But no, not like Gendry. More. Different. Deeper. It’s why it hurts so much, I think. When I watch him die. Night after night.”

She paused to sniff and wipe at her eyes. “I watch a man I love, but don’t know die, gruesomely.”

Daemon could see why that could cause such a visceral reaction. “It’s—when I drink a little too much or sleep besides, well anyone, but especially Drogon, the dreams are less frequent and less intense. It’s part of the reason why I’ve insisted on sleeping outside for the last month.”

That certainly explained a bit about her recent behavior with the local attractive male population. And her liberal drinking at dinner.

“Can you describe Jon for me?” He asked.

She pressed her face into his shoulder. “I know you’re still trying to figure me out, and I don’t actually mind, but do you really think you’ll be able to decipher all my secrets based on a dead man’s description?”

He hugged her close, pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and told her a half truth, “That is not why I asked.”

He did not think she would say anymore for she took a very long pause before speaking again.

“Our eyes matched…he had black hair. A broody face, but handsome when he smiled…I don’t think he smiled enough, but he did for me.” Discretely she wiped away a tear.

He was so curious. And he reasoned, it was not healthy to keep such things bottled up inside. So softly, he commanded, “Tell me about your dream.”

She pulled away from him to lay down, he obeyed the tugging on his limbs and did as he was silently bid and followed her. Once they were lying in bed together, she snuggled back into his arms cuddled up his chest. He though she was seeking protection from all that haunted her mind, so he was gentle and held her close in his arms.

Still, he had to know. “What killed your Jon?”

“The same thing that kills everything, an endless winter filled with monsters.”
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They make good time and arrive on Driftmark just as the sun was beginning to set. Moondancer was still too small to be ridden on such a long journey so both girls were passengers with their mother on Vhagar.

Arya and Drogon were waiting for them on the cliffside when they arrived. She looked pale and tired but no where near her death bed. He silently reveled in being right. And rejoiced at her continued health.

He watched from afar as his wife and children joyfully reunited with their lost little dragon.

He listened as she glossed over her and Princess Rhaenys’s illness saying they were both well now.

He stayed back when Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys came out and greeted their long-gone daughter.

He saw as his girls were introduced to their grandparents for the first time and his women were all ushered inside.

He stayed near his dragon until Arya left his family at the door and came to fetch him.

He could tell by her slow gait she was nervous. And she avoided his eyes until they were an arm’s length away from one another.

She said his name in greeting, “Daemon.”

Before landing he was eager to let her stew in the guilt of worrying them needlessly. He had wanted to stare her down. Make her crack and reveal her great deception. He had wanted to soak in her anxiety. Bask in the knowledge that his instincts were right, she had lied to manipulate their return. And then after savoring his victory, he had planned to graciously offer his forgiveness.

But his stupid heart was so relieved to see her again, that his petty plans evaporated.

Wordlessly he took her into his arm and hugged her tight. She reciprocated with equal strength. And he was glad.

Muffled words were whispered into his neck, “I’m sorry we fought.”

Pulling back, they locked eyes and he smiled. Pressing his head to hers, he forgave her, “As am I.”

She pulled him in for another hug and he gave himself up to her clever manipulation.
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Nightmares Comfort

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

~Arya~

Arya was happy to have facilitated the reunion between Valeryon mother and father and daughter, an act of kindness she would have performed even if it didn’t benefit her at all. And though she was wary of them at first, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had proven to be most kind and welcoming for a Lord and a Princess. The relation between them and their daughter was never more evident than when they ignored her more odd or unladylike behaviors. Which, they did often. Though, that discretion might derive from a sense of gratitude rather than speak to their actual acceptance.

Three moons into her stay on Driftmark Arya had found much joy on the deceptively dreary island. Whether she was exploring the town of Hull with Baela and Lord Corlys, he giving her unlimited access to pester crews with question and go aboard every ship that caught her eye. Or shopping in Spicetown with Rhaena and Princess Rhaenys, who provided unlimited funds to buy whatever she wanted, even clothing she knew Rhaenys disapproved of. Or just sightseeing by the shipyards alone. The new setting was a breath of fresh air for her curious mind and the Valeryon’s generosity left her every desire satiated.

All in all, she was glad her grand manipulation had worked out so well for all in involved.

“Blue.” Rhaena said, looking at Arya for some sign she had guessed correctly.

“Nope.”

“Red.” Daemon guessed next.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Green!” Laena tried.

“No.” Arya snickered.

Baela pouted, “Your favorite color is black isn’t it?”

“Ding ding ding!” Arya cheered, ignoring the groans of disappointment from Rhaena and Laena.

“Black isn’t even a color.” Rhaena muttered causing Arya to snort.

Lady Laena was in the ninth month of her pregnancy and had been confined to bed rest for a full moon. It had become practice for the girls and Daemon to gather in their chambers at the end of every day to spend time with Laena.

Sometimes the girls would spend the whole time telling their parents about their day and whatever adventures they got up to. Others, like today, they would play games to pass the time and keep Laena’s spirits up during her confinement.

“I bet I can guess her favorite song.” Laena teased, casting a mischievous grin to the four souls clustered around her bed.

Arya sensed a joke at her expense coming.

With a beautiful voice Laena began to sing, “The Smith he labors day and night, to put the world of men to right.” The girls, now aware of Arya’s preference for pretty laborers cackled. “With hammer, plow, and fire bright he builds for little children.”

Daemon and the girls clapped as Arya shook her head, “Laena, first off, that is a verse not a song,” Daemon threw a pillow at her head which she ducked, “And second, no, that is not my favorite song.”

On her knees Baela jumped up and down on the bed as she demanded, “Tell us your favorite then!”

“No!” Rhaena clapped excitedly, a challenging gleam in her eyes, “Sing it!”

Predictably Baela began chanting, “Sing it, sing it, sing it.” And then Laena and Daemon were calling for a song as well.

“That is not part of our game,” Arya tried to deny.

“This is a new game.” Daemon declared with a smirk.

“I don’t even know my favorite song.” She defended, but they wouldn’t have it.

“Make one up!” Baela demanded as Rhaena called out, “Sing! Sing!”

“You are all gluttons for punishment.” She playfully warned, but as it was all in good fun and in the name of entertainment, she committed to making a fool of herself.

Standing up beside the bed she made a show of ‘warming up’ her voice and she sang, “Me, me, me, me.”

Daemon snorted, reaching for a cup of whine, “You’re actually going to sing?”

She gave him and Laena a mocking curtsey, “For my Lord and Lady’s pleasure? Of course! If you wish it so, of course I’ll sing, as you are to be obeyed in all things and I am your obedient ward.”

Daemon nearly choked as he laughed at her fake sweet voice, Laena patted him on the back as she and the girls chuckled too.

Loudly clearing her throat, Arya shut her eyes and reached deep inside for a song. With her memory she wasn’t sure she would be able to find one and she half anticipated having to make one up as Baela had suggested. But to her surprise a melody came to mind.

She started humming. Then like whispers on the wind, she found lyrics. “My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down,”

Her mind failed her on the next line and she hummed until got back to a part she remembered, “For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord.”

Again, she couldn’t quite make out the next line so she improvised until the lyrics came back to her, “la, da, da, la, la…She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me, I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves, and da da da la da, But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.”

The song reminded her of Gendry, but she couldn’t remember where she heard it or how it related to dead blacksmith, she had given her maidenhead. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised at how quiet they all were.

She had honestly expected Daemon to start heckling, but instead he looked thoughtful. Perhaps they were all too stunned to speak? “Was I that bad?”

“No!” Baela shouted quickly, Rhaena rushing to add, “It was good.”

“Surprisingly good.” Daemon said, raising his glass to her.

Laena held out her hand and beckoned Arya to her side. “My girl, my delightful surprise,” Once close enough Laena pulled her into a heartfelt sideways hug, “You have a beautiful voice Arya, I didn’t know!”

Arya chuckled and hugged her back, “Neither did I.”

“And I love your song!” Rhaena gushed.

“Mushier than I would have expected from you,” Baela conceded with a grin, “But good.”

Once Laena let go and Arya settled into the bed beside her, Daemon offered her his glass. Uncomfortable with all the praise she drank from it greedily. Perhaps sensing her unease or just in a good mood Daemon surprised her when he began singing in High Valyrian.

He had a good voice and despite not knowing the words it sounded vaguely familiar, as all High Valyrian did to her now. She enjoyed the song very much.

Once it ended all the women clapped, much to Daemon’s obvious pleasure.

Rhaena in a rare show of confidence, climbed into her father’s lap and gave him a kiss on the cheek, “That was beautiful Papa.”

Daemon smiled at her kindly and settled her more comfortably in his arms. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

Curious Arya asked, “What did you sing? I mean, what did the lyrics mean?”

Daemon stared into her eyes as he answered, “Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing, from my voice: the fires have spoken, and the price has been paid, with blood magic, with words of flame with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing, as one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined, beautifully, freely.”

In the fireplace a loud cracking noise made Laena jump. This caused the girls and Laena to giggle and the tension following Daemon’s haunting translation to break. But for Arya, the spell was not broken. Daemon and she continued to stare at each other until Rhaena once again complimented her father, distracting him.

The song…THE SONG.

Arya looked to the window; she knew somewhere out over the water where Drogon was currently hunting for whales, her dragon was staring back at her.

Shaking her head, she pushed the weird feeling to the back of her mind. She eyed the girls, a slow grin blooming on her face, “Okay terrible twosome, your turn to sing.”
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Before they knew it the baby was due to arrive within the week. Laena of course, was thrilled but her happiness was doubled when her brother unexpectedly arrived. Well, it was unexpected for Laena, secretly Arya had conspired with Princess Rhaenys to write to Laenor and invite him as she knew he was the missing piece in Laena’s glorious return home.

The reunited siblings were overjoyed to see each other after ten years of nothing but correspondence. And it filled her with bittersweet feelings to watch the full House Valeryon reunion.

Over time it had become evident to her that the number of people Daemon cared for was very small, and though he liked and tolerated others, like Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, he wouldn’t actually choose to spend time with them if he could help it. She was unsurprised to learn he felt the same about Ser Laenor. Therefore, after initial introductions were made and excuses about the absence of his own family were lamented, she and Daemon made their escape.

“Do you really think it will be a boy?” Arya asked as she and Daemon sat down at the end of a dock, to drink and look out at the sea.

“Laena claims to know it for certain, but she said that before so I’m dubious.” After uncorking and taking a swig, Daemon handed her the bottle.

“Perhaps it is your fate,” She mused, “Or possibly very ironic revenge. For you to only sire girls I mean.”

He laughed and she silently preened. Making Daemon genuinely laugh was not an easy feat but she was growing more adept at the skill every day. He knocked his shoulder into hers, “A most terrible fate indeed.”

They spent most of the afternoon drinking and chatting. It was the most peaceful she had seen him.

Just as they were about to go looking for food a man came running down the dock all in a tizzy.

“Prince Daemon!” It was a Valeryon guard, “Prince Daemon you must come quickly!” A happy smile lit up the man’s face as he gladly told them, “It’s Lady Laena, the babe is coming!”
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“The babe will not come.” The Maester informed them dourly.

She and Daemon stood with the man in the corner of the room Laena had endured a day and night of painful labor in. Arya’s eyes flickered to the bed where midwives fluttered about the expectant mother. Her eyes lingered on Princess Rhaenys who had been and remained by her daughter’s bedside faithfully.

Princess Rhaenys, Arya, and Daemon had all been with Laena since her labors started, but it was all for naught and everyone knew it. But no one wanted to say it.

She looked at Laena. Her friend was exhausted, pale and weak and crying in her mother’s arms, just begging for it to be over. Not today Arya silently prayed.

“We could try to save the babe.” The Maester said with a grimace, “But the mother would likely not survive and I have my doubts about the babe as well.”

A small noise tried to escape the back of her throat but she did not let it free. She looked up at Daemon. He was Laena’s husband. Her lord. The father of the unborn babe. The decision was his.

He shook his head no. A few hours ago, when Laena’s condition grew truly dire, he had stopped speaking unless absolutely necessary. Arya sensed him drawing inward, in every sense of the word, and she totally understood. She thought about hugging him, just then as he decided Laena’s fate, but decided against it. He was in such a fragile state she did not know how he would react.

“I want a—I want to die a dragon riders’ death.” Laena told them all, her eyes shifted to Rhaenys, “Mother, please, help me.”

Princess Rhaenys shook her head. Arya did not understand the older woman’s pain, but she empathized. It had to be hard to watch one’s daughter brought so low by cruel fate.

With wild desperate eyes Laena searched the room, “Daemon, husband, take me to Vhagar. Please, I wish to ride one last time.”

“No.” Rhaenys denied, “My girl you are too weak, you need rest to finish your labors--”

Laena snarled at her mother like the dragon she truly was, “I am dying!”

It was like a hand closed around her throat. Arya inhaled deeply. No one had said it. No had the balls to say it, but Laena. And now that it had been spoken she could not ignore the reality of their situation. She had to be strong. She had to be what was needed.

“No!” Rhaenys sobbed, hugging her daughter close, “No, you are not dying, my girl, my only girl.”

Laena ignored her mother and called to Daemon again, reaching out a hand in his direction she pleaded, “Help me.”

Daemon backed away from his dying wife until he ran into the door. There was heartbreak in his eyes and fear on his face. Laena looked to her then, “Arya.”

She in turn looked to the Maester. “You are certain there is no hope?”

The man nodded in confirmation, “I could give her something for the pain, make her comfortable--”

“I don’t care for comfort!” Laena cried, pushing her mother away, “I wish to see my dragon one last time, please! Please!”

Everything inside Arya went cold. She numbed herself to all her emotions. Like blowing out a candle, all the grief and horror and pain and despair she felt just went quiet. Because she had to be what Laena needed.

Her voice was steady as she said, “Daemon, pick up your wife.”

She felt nothing when Laena looked at her with gratitude. She turned away to look at Laena’s husband. He had not moved, had not looked away from Laena and her desperation. Grabbing Daemon’s arm, she dragged him to his feet and pushed him over to the bed, ordering, “Pick her up now.”

Rhaenys moved to intercept them, but Arya easily grabbed the woman, spun her around and put her in a chokehold. Daemon finally looked away from Laena and to her, with wide eyes he asked, “What are you doing.”

“What is necessary.” She responded, turning to snarl at the Maester who was going for the door, “You fucking move or scream for help, and I will kill her.” She would not. But her voice was emotionless and her eyes were hard, so she had a fair chance of the man falling for her bluff.

To Daemon, she repeated herself more sternly, “Daemon, take Laena into your arms. NOW!”

He finally obeyed.

“Vhagar,” Laena whispered weakly, “Take me to my lady.”

Once Laena was secure in Daemon’s arms, Arya let go of Rhaenys. She did not check on the gasping woman instead she ran to the door and opened it for Daemon and Laena. Lord Corlys and Ser Laenor sat on a bench waiting anxiously for news.

Wearing matching worried expressions, the pair spoke at the same time, their words overlapping. “What’s happened?” “Laena!”

As both men stood Arya rushed forward and pushed them back down ordering “STAY!”

She directed Daemon coldly, “Move!”

She could sense Laena wasn’t long for this world, and her silent prayer changed, from not today to not yet. If they were to fulfill her dying wish, they did not have time to explain themselves.

She let Daemon and Laena get in front of her, and when Laenor and Lord Corlys invariably tried to follow, she was quick to lash out. She slammed Laenor’s face into wall first then aimed a kick to Lord Corly’s leg, the one he had told her ached in the rain from an old war wound.

Like with Rhaenys she did not stop or check to see if they were all right after her attack.

It was easy to catch up to Daemon and Laena, she grabbed up a torch from the wall and made her way in front of the pair lighting the way forward.

She blocked it all out. She had too. The shouts of concern from Laena’s family as they rallied and trailed after them. The noises of surprise as she shoved servants out of the way. The sound of her own racing heart…breaking.

None of it mattered. Only the mission.

She focused instead on the sound of Laena’s wheezing as she struggled to keep breathing. And the sound of Daemon’s heavy footfall that meant he was still behind her.
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When they made it outside the cool wind barely registered as it hit her heated skin. She stomped towards the largest living dragon in the world like she was going into battle. But battle would have been preferable.

What was happening to Laena wasn’t an act of war but the consequences of violent nature. A most terrible fate, indeed. She would have preferred an enemy she could fight, for it was death itself which had come to claim her dear friend. And no one, not the good or the wicked, could evade death forever.

Not yet. She prayed.

“Stop.” Laena commanded weakly, at this Arya froze. But she did not turn around. Not until Laena said her name, “Arya.”

Daemon stood, holding his wife, his face as stony as Arya’s heart felt, but his eyes were wet betraying the emotion he could not hide. She approached the pair with silent footsteps.

Just over Daemon’s shoulder she noted Corlys trying to keep Rhaenys upright, the woman was nearly bent over as she wailed with grief. Beside them Laenor was fighting with one of the guards trying to get past him to where she, Daemon and Laena were.

Arya spared a thought for Rhaena and Baela. They had been sent to bed hours ago with a spoonful of milk of the poopy to help them sleep in spite of their worry. She did not know if that would turn out to be a blessing or a curse come morning.

Laena’s hands were cold as she cupped Arya’s face, “My kind and ferocious girl,” Laena pressed a kiss to her forehead then stared into her eyes, “You will keep them safe for me?”

She could not speak or the wall between her and her sorrow would crumble and she would drown in it. So, she nodded in agreement.

“We did not get enough time together…but I want you to know I love you like a daughter.” Tears were falling down Laena’s beautiful face, with a mother’s loving sternness she ordered, “Don’t watch.”

Again, Arya nodded, her movements feeling wooden now.

When Laena released her face, she walked away and did not look back.

Behind her, too faint to actually decipher what was being said, she heard Daemon and Laena exchanging their final words.

Beyond them, Laenor was shouting at his sister begging her to return, Rhaenys sobs were guttural and spoke to the woman’s pain. And Lord Corlys, he said nothing, made no noise, but she could see, even from a distance he was crying.

Dutifully Arya closed her eyes when she heard Laena call out to Vhagar.

She had promised she wouldn’t watch. But she forced herself to listen.

Laena’s family screamed in horror as they realized Laena’s true intentions. Arya was not surprised though; she and Daemon knew Laena would never ride again. She couldn’t. She was dying too quickly.

She felt someone bump into her as they rushed past her, probably Rhaenys, trying to save her daughter from the death she had chosen.

Listening closely, she learned it was Laenor. Daemon and he struggled as Laena called out to Vhagar again, pleading to be burned alive.

Everything was pain.

Then there was the sound of a dragon breathing fire.

And more screams of anguish.
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“You fucking bitch!” She was tackled to the ground by Laenor. She did not open her eyes; she knew just a few feet away Laena’s corpse was still smoldering and she did not wish to see it.

She did not defend herself either. She welcomed the pain. She needed it, an outlet for all she could not let herself feel inside.

She let Laena’s brother punch and scream and rage at her as was his right.

Daemon pulled him off her, and Laenor continued to rave at them, “This is your fault! Both of you! YOU KILLED MY SISTER!”

She opened her eyes then, or well, eye as one was already swelling shut. She watched as Laenor tried to grapple with Daemon as he had done with her, but Daemon wasn’t as eager to feel his skin split open and blood ooze out as she was.

She found it odd how Daemon denied none of the awful accusations and merely held Laenor back from attacking him successfully. She had expected Daemon to react more like Laena’s brother was. His nature was fire and blood and yet he reflected her in the moment. Cold and closed up inside.

Slowly she sat up, a hand on her probably broken ribs. Daemon stared at her. Expectantly. She didn’t know what he needed from her in that moment so she replied out of instinct, “Valar Morghulis. Valar dohaeris.”

Her voice, her words, the sight of her beaten face, she was not sure what did the trick, but in Daemon’s arms Laenor suddenly deflated. Without anger to sustain him, Laena’s brother fell to his knees and wept.

No longer a threat, Daemon moved away form the man and to her side. He offered her a hand and she took it because she didn’t think she could get to her feet without it.

He looked her over critically, assessing her injuries with his eyes. He lingered on the hand held protectively over her side. “Do you need a Maester?”

She breathed deeply and pushed on her injured side, it hurt but the pain was not incapacitating, so she judged her ribs to be bruised and not broken as she feared. “No.”

Daemon pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her back and burying his face in her neck. It was a switch she had not expected, from cold to comfort in the blink of an eye. Slowly, she abandoned clutching her injury and hugged him back. He was holding her too tight, she could hardly breath for how her ribs sang in pain. But still she held onto Daemon.

He was a quiet crier. If she could not feel the wetness on her skin, she would not know that was what he was doing. She wanted to do something to ease his suffering, but she knew she could offer little help in this regard.

Still, she tried. “I can tell the girls if you want.”

“No.” His answer was a gasp.

She let her head fall into place on his shoulder. “Okay.”
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They told Baela and Rhaena together. And even though she held them as they cried, she still felt cold inside.

Arya had loved Laena and though she was very sad she was gone she felt as if grief and all of her emotions were far out of her reach. And frankly, she wasn’t sure that was a bad thing.
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Chapter Text

Chapter 8

~DAEMON~

His wife was dead and this time he actually cared.

Quickly arrangements were made without his input. Ravens were sent out and Laena’s funeral was to happen in 3 weeks, to give everyone in King’s Landing and Dragonstone enough time to make the journey to attend.

Daemon was at a loss. He did not know how to comfort his children beyond physically holding them as they wept. Rhaena was constantly in tears and hardly eating. Baela, his brave girl, was trying to remain strong for her sisters but he knew she too was crying herself to sleep every night. And Arya, his wild dragon was an empty shell of herself. Her reaction was perhaps the most troubling, considering all she did to make Laena’s final wishes come true.

He had been surprised by how violent and cold the girl had acted as they raced his dying wife through the halls of Driftmark. She had been like an unstoppable force of nature, leading him through the darkness, clearing away every obstacle as efficiently as possible.

If it hadn’t been for Arya’s cold and liberal use of force they might not have made it to Vhagar in time. And for that he was eternally grateful. He did not know how he could have shouldered the burden of failing his poor wife one last time. He could not imagine the despair of not getting the chance to say goodbye.
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“Thank you Daemon.” Laena was not pale at this point she was white, her skin almost translucent from all the blood she had lost.

He eyed Vhagar. “You don’t have to do this. No one will think any less of you if you die inside, in bed, surrounded by your famil-” Laena put a finger on his lips and he stopped speaking. She was right. They were far beyond debating the topic now.

“Keep our girls safe.”

“I will.” He vowed.

Laena looked past him and he turned to see Arya stopped halfway between them and Laena’s family bottlenecked at the castle doors.

“Find a way to claim her.”

He looked back at his wife, “Arya?”

Wise beyond her years Laena said, “Blood of the dragon we may be, however, blood is not always what makes people family Daemon.”

He did not want Laena to go. Hoarsely he told her, “I did love you.”

She smiled briefly, “Yes. And you will love again.”
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He watched her burn. She’d told Arya not to look and he was glad of it. He had burned hundreds of men with Caraxes, it was a familiar horror, but watching someone he love and respected die by dragon fire was…heartbreaking.

Because it was Laena. Brave and beautiful, bright and vibrant, Laena.

His Laena.

His wife. His dead wife.
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“I am going to leave.” Arya announced casually like she wasn’t stabbing him in the heart. It had been three days since Laena’s death and tensions between his family and the Valeryon’s were high.

But still, dutifully they broke their fast together every morning. All save Laenor who had returned to Dragonstone to collect his wife and her brood.

“Why?” He demanded, he was sure she had some insipid reason and he was already making mental arguments to combat it.

“I have to kill someone.” She said plainly.

He exchanged a look with Corlys. Out of the three remaining Valeryon’s he was the least offended by his and Arya’s actions, regarding assisting Laena in her death of choice. Corlys subtly shook his head indicating Arya hadn’t mentioned this sudden blood thirst to him.

“Who?” He inquired, dragging out the word and letting his contempt for this stupid notion of hers bleed into every syllable.

“Someone who deserves it.” She answered emotionlessly.

Princess Rhaenys let her fork clang to her plate loudly, “Could you be more specific?”

Arya answered the older woman plainly, “No.”

Rhaena started silently crying again and Daemon cursed Arya and her timing. He was pretty sure his daughter had not eaten at all yesterday, and he was sure this news meant more starvation was to follow.

“Will you come back?” Baela asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“If I am still welcome.” Daemon glared at Princess Rhaenys. She and been hostile and passive aggressive with the girl since Laena’s passing. If he found out she or Laenor had done something to make Arya feel like she had to leave…implied she was not a part of their family and had no place mourning Laena…

“Of course you are still welcome.” Daemon insisted, “If you are feeling uneasy, we will return to Pentos right after the funeral.”

Corlys and Princess Rhaenys exchanged a panicked look but Daemon ignored them and continued addressing Arya, “You don’t have to leave. We will leave together, as a family.”

“But I am not your family.”

He wanted to stab her. “Enough nonsense Arya, eat your fucking breakfast.”

She stared at him with an expression so devoid of all emotion it was almost chilling. “I need to leave because I am not sad Laena is dead. I am not angry. I am not grieving. I am nothing. I feel nothing inside and I think I need a break. Some time away, somewhere that isn’t here…Ideally killing someone who deserves it--”

“Shut up!” Daemon slammed his fist onto the table making the dishes jump. “Just, shut up. Don’t be stupid. You are in shock, we are all in shock! You are not special. You will get over it.” He glared at her, “Give it time.”

His words were irrelevant. He could see it in the way she clenched her jaw and knew it for she did not argue back. She had already made up her mind. She was not asking them for permission or blessings, she was just letting them know she was soon to disappear.

“I will return in time for the funeral.” She stood up from the table and he copied her.

“NO!”

She shook her head, “This isn’t like last time, I’m not running away.” She looked at the girls, “I promise I will come back.”

Then she left the fucking room.

“Like hell,” Daemon muttered as he stormed after her.

Once out of sight and earshot of his children he called out to her, “Arya!”

She stopped, letting him catch up. As soon as he could he got his hands on her and shoved her against the wall. Crowding close, he whispered, “Are you fucking joking?”

“I promise to come back, what more do you want?”

He slapped her across the face with an open palm. She didn’t even flinch.

“Did you feel that?” He asked meanly. There was a rage bubbling in his gut that took him by surprise. Since his wife’s passing, he felt like he was underwater. But Arya’s announcement had him filling with fire. And now everything was boiling over.

He slapped her again. “You stupid selfish girl!” He grabbed her throat and pinned her to the wall not squeezing but keeping her in place. “You would leave your sisters in their hour of need! Abandon them to wallow alone in despair and grief, emotions you claim to hungrily covet!”

He got in her face and growled at her, “You are ungrateful and don’t deserve--”

He did not expect to be kicked in the balls. Or subsequently punched in the face. Or kicked into the opposing wall so hard his head swam when it smacked into the unforgiving stone. “Fuck.”

She was so quick, it was hard to fight back against her when she took him by surprise. He clutched his balls gingerly as he slid down the wall and eyed his tiny silent attacker. There was no sign of strong emotion on her face, but now at least she looked annoyed.

Walking on the balls of her feet so her footsteps made no noise, Arya moved to stand in between his legs. There was a moment as he stared up and she looked down where he thought she might start hitting him again. He welcomed it. Maybe she was right, a fight sounded exactly like what he needed right now.

Slowly, she lowered herself down and sat on his thigh. He tried not to show his disappointment as she slipped one of her strong but deceptively slim arms around his shoulders and felt around the back of his head.

He hissed when she touched his injury, but her hand came away clean so at least he wasn’t bleeding. She looked at him expectantly. With a sigh he confessed, “I shouldn’t have laid hands on you.”

She used her thumb to wipe the blood from under his nose, he could tell from her slight touch it was not broken and for that he was grateful. He was morbidly fascinated as she licked the blood off her finger before wiping it clean on his shirt.

“How are your balls?” She inquired as dully as one does the weather.

He slid one hand off his genitals and wrapped it around her hips. He didn’t want to waste anymore time. “Don’t leave me.”

She looked down at this throat to avoid his eyes. “I just need--”

“What is it that you need to run from?” He tipped her chin up so she would have to face him, “Wherever you go, you will still be there. Loss is not something you can outrun, believe me I've tried...You say you can’t feel anything but I don’t think that’s true. Or you wouldn't want to run in the first place.”

Looking at her now, he can’t believe he ever thought of her as anything less than beautiful. Even wearing a mask of coldness, her inner beauty broke through. Arya was a deeply contractionary person. She was violent and gentle and kind and vicious and on and on and on. But at her core, she was good. Like Laena. And that goodness made her shine.

“You love my daughters; you love Laena and--”

“Loved.” She corrected. “I loved Laena but she’s gone now and everything is so much harder without her.”

“Baela and Rhaena aren’t gone.” He maintained, his arm tightening on her waist, “I’m not.”

“But I am.” She said earnestly, “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” His eye’s narrowed, her argument was such bullshit.

“I feel cold inside Daemon.” Her voice was small but her eyes were piercing. He stared back without flinching.

“And you think murder will warm you up?” He questioned with a sneer.

“I don’t know.” She gently grabbed the collar of his shirt, playing with it. He felt like she needed something from him, he just didn’t know what. And he wasn’t certain she knew either.

“What if I left with you?” The hand in his shirt tightened into a fist.

“You can’t--”

“We can.”

“But the girls?”

“Rhaenys and Corlys will care for them--”

“Don’t be stupid, their mother just died, you can’t just leave them!”

He wrapped both arms around her waist and shifted her weight slightly to avoid his leg from going numb. “Then why don’t we all go?”

Her brow furrowed. She was right of course, he couldn’t do that to his children, leave them behind. He would sooner cut off a limb.

“Instead of a killing spree, we can go…I don’t know, camping maybe? People say being out in nature is healing.” It was literally a thought that came out of nowhere.

She looked doubtful as she repeated, “Camping?”

The idea had merit the more he thought it through. If he could take his girls and disappear, they would have time to mourn in private. Away from everyone and everything. Just them, and their dragons.

He put his lips closer to her ear and used his most seductive voice, “Think about it, you, me, the girls. Space. Open, empty, beautiful space. A forest?” Mentally he dismissed the idea of a beach or anywhere in the Free Cities, he sensed what Arya wanted most of all was to get away from everything, including all memories of Laena. And so that would require going somewhere new. “You know how to hunt, right? We can live off the land for a week or so. Fly our dragons. Swim. Explore….mourn. In our own way.”

Arya looked at him, life returning to her eyes.

“All of us together, for a week or so.” He nuzzled his face into hers, “Then we’ll return to lay Laena to rest with the rest of the vultures.”

Arya lent her head against his, there was a look of relief on her face, or maybe it was longing. He did know but he was encouraged either way.

In a small voice she asked, “Why?”

He knew what she was asking, it was the same thing Corlys and Rhaenys would probably ask. But he knew the answer. And his daughters knew it too.

Why would he do this for her? Why did he care? Why was the idea of her leaving them so painful?

“You know why.” He told her. He pressed a kiss onto her cheek.

She quickly turned in his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his neck in a proper hug.

“No, I don’t.” She denied.

She did know. She was just being a brat. She had to know…or maybe she just needed to hear him say it.

In truth there were dozens of reasons why he was willing to do this for her benefit alone. Not that he believed she would be the only one to benefit from an abrupt change in scenery. However, the most important reason was the most obvious. At least for him.

“Why?” He repeated, squeezing her gently, “Because I love you.” A beat passed before he added, “And you fucking love me back.”

Shyly she nodded and it made him smile if only briefly.

“I’m not sorry I kicked you in the balls.” He barked out a laugh as she pulled back and glared at him, “And I promise if you ever hurt me again, I’ll hurt you back even worse.”

He nodded, believing her every word. “As you should.”

That got him a smile. He ran his hands down her back soothingly, “So, camping?”

“Where?”

The possibilities ran through his mind. Somewhere different, somewhere close enough to be convenient.

“Have you ever heard of the Sapphire Isle?”
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Arya Daemon Post-Laena Death Fight *Ai art bad but fun, no?

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

~Baela~

There was a simplicity in nature one couldn’t help but feel tranquility in. Or at least that’s what Arya claimed. Baela had been skeptical when Father announced they were taking a trip to Tarth before Mother’s funeral but now saw the wisdom in it.

Tarth
was beautiful. It was green and open in a way she had never experienced in Pentos nor on Driftmark. It had lakes, waterfalls, high meadows, shadowed vales, and soaring mountains. Everything a grieving family needed to distract themselves from their loss.

The trip had been, as her father predicted, very healing for them all. When they left Driftmark she thought she would never be happy again. Afterall how could she smile or laugh in a world where her mother wasn’t?

But then on the first night Arya had wandered off with Drogon, leaving the building of the tent to their father. They had brought minimal supplies and were to share just one tent for the entire trip, so it was fairly large and cumbersome to assemble.

He being a Prince, had no idea how to put it together and grew more and more upset as time went on and they still had no tent. He had been so obnoxious about his ability to pitch it when Arya offered her help, it was humorous to see his arrogance led to such swift retribution.

When her father let out a scream of frustration and threw the bundle across the campsite, an unexpected giggle bubbled out of her sister. Their father turned on them snarling, “You think that’s funny?”

He was obviously trying to appear stern but his hair was disheveled, there was dirt on his pants and his comically harsh tone did not have the desired effect. In fact, his remark made Baela laugh at him outright.

And then Rhaena laughed with her. And as they laughed their father’s frustration melted away and he gave in, chuckling self-deprecatingly. Attracted by the noise, Arya wandered back over to see what was going on.

Grumpily Daemon admitted, “I can’t figure out how to pitch the tent.”

Arya with a smirk, had the whole thing up in less than ten minutes, apparently you needed two people to put it together properly. When their father pouted, muttering under his breath, “Show off.” Baela and Rhaena again erupted into giggles.
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Everyday after wasn’t like that. They weren’t cracking jokes and engaging in teasing banter like they used to, but it was better. Each new day brought daily chores to distract them. Lessons in living in the wilderness to engage in. And the gorgeous landscape gave them all something to marvel
at.

Baela felt the peace and quiet was what was most healing for Arya. While remaining busy and exploring was the most helpful for her and her sister. She wasn’t certain what aspect of the trip was mending their father’s heart, but she suspected it had something to do with Rhaena stopping her constant crying.

She knew that for herself, she was encouraged by the life returning to Arya’s eyes. Like ice melting, Arya’s rejuvenation was slow but inevitable. Now, a day or two away from departure, Arya was almost back to normal.
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“It is Valeryon tradition to throw the dead into the sea.” Father told them as they sat round the fire. “Corlys will insist on it, despite Laena already claiming a dragon riders’ noble death.”

Arya wacked him on the knee with her waterskin and father rolled his eyes at her.

“And who will be there?” Rhaena asked. Baela knew her sister was nervous about meeting the rest of their extended family. Father had never spoken highly of any of their Westerosi kin. Except for Princess Rhaenyra, who he barely spoke of at all.

“Your grandparents, of course. Your uncle and his family, my brother and his Hightower brood…I imagine other leeches will attend, hoping to use our loss as an opportunity to make political connections. It is not often a gathering of such powerful individuals assemble without a frivolous excuse.” Father broke a twig in half and threw it into the fire. Everything about him, from his tone of voice to his tense body language told Baela that her father was not looking forward to mother’s funeral for more than the obvious reasons.

“Your brother,” Arya said, “You mean the king?” She looked troubled when father nodded in confirmation.

Rhaena, ever hopeful, then asked, “But aren’t you excited to see him, Uncle Viserys, I mean? Hasn’t it been years since you saw him last?” She grabbed Baela’s hand and gave it a squeeze, “I can’t imagine being unhappy if Baela and I were reunited after years of being apart.”

Father tried to smile at them but it was really more of a wince. “It’s complicated.”

Rhaena pouted, “Don’t you love him?”

Father looked into the flames rather than at his daughter, he seemed solemn as he answered, “I do.”

“Then why don’t--”

Father stood abruptly announcing, “I’ve got to piss.”
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At night she and Rhaena shared a bed roll and while her sister was quick to find sleep Baela did not find it as easy. Her father and Arya were sharing a bottle of wine and talking by the fire. And while their voices were quiet, she could still hear what they said if she closed her eyes and concentrated.

“I still don’t think I should attend the funeral.” Arya’s voice sounded a little hoarse, she wondered if it was the wine or the emotion which had her sounding so husky.

“Not this again.” Father grumbled. Baela could hear the sloshing sound of the wine as the bottle was passed between them.

“Yes, this again.” Arya insisted, “Daemon you have to be sensible. This is serious.”

“You are a part of my family now, there is nothing to discuss.”

There was a long pause before Arya spoke again, “How will you explain it?”

“Explain what?”

Baela heard a ‘thwack’ and imagined Arya had slapped her father on the leg or the arm, as she so often did when he was being thick. “Stop being purposefully dense.”

“We will just say you are my ward.”

“They will want to know--”

Father cut her off harshly, “Who gives a fuck?!”

Arya answered his aggression with softness, “Your brother is the King Daemon. Questions will be asked…do you have any new guesses on who I really am?”

“Finally curious?” More wine bottle sloshing. Father was trying to get Arya to drink more, she thought.

Arya was not so easily dissuaded though, “Until me all dragon riders have been Targaryen’s.” She let statement hang in the air for a minute. “You once told me, Dragon’s made you Kings. Who is to say a non-Targaryen rider will be tolerated?”

“Arya--”

Her voice grew louder as she argued more fervently. “Is not my very existence a challenge to that established ‘fact’? That the Targaryen’s are special and magical and superior and that’s why they deserve to rule!”

“Shhh.”

She continued more quietly but with no less passion. “Drogon and I should just stay here while you three return for the funeral. It will avoid questions we can’t and, in some cases, don’t want to answer.”

“No.”

“Daemon.”

“No.” After a minute of silence her father said, “I could claim you as a bastard.”

Arya chuckled at that. Amusement seeped into her father’s voice, “A bastard with a severe head injury to explain your memory loss.”

There was some smothered laughter before Arya joked, “You want to be my Daddy Daemon?”

Both of them laughed bawdily at that, Baela didn’t quite understand why it was so funny.

“It’s a believable enough story.” Father elaborated, “My reputation as an ardent lover is well known.”

“Blech.” Arya disgusted at her father’s bragging. Silently Baela agreed.

“Think on it seriously.” Father implored.

“I suppose,” Arya tentatively agreed, “And at least as a bastard you couldn’t sell me off into marriage.”

“Well, I could always ask my brother to legitimize you. Or claim you as a secret daughter from my first marriage with Rhea Royce.”

“Shut up.” Arya scoffed, “Secret daughter? No one would believe that.”

“Actually, if memory serves, you look a bit like her.” Father sounded thoughtful. Baela didn’t know how she felt about the idea. She very much wanted Arya to be her sister, officially, but the idea of a secret daughter felt somehow disrespectful to Mother’s memory.

The smashing of glass breaking and the fire crackling filled the air. They must have finished off the bottle.

“It would be smarter for me to return to Braavos and avoid--”

“I said, no!” They sounded properly angry now. It always frightened Rhaena how quickly father’s emotions could flip, Arya too. But Baela was the same way, so she understood.

“You and the girls could join me after and--” Abruptly they stopped speaking. She waited but when no more words came, Baela couldn’t resist. She slipped out of her bedroll and crept to the tent flap door. Peeking between the cracks of fabric she saw Arya in her father’s lap, arms and legs wrapped around him tight. He was holding onto her in a possessive manner, whispering into the girl’s ear furiously.

Back on Driftmark a little after they first arrived, Grandmother Rhaenys had asked her and her sister if their father was ever inappropriate with Arya. Touching or behaving in a way that made any of the girls feel uncomfortable. At the time she hadn’t understood why she was being asked this, as to her mind, the answer was obvious.

When she’d told her mother about the inquiry, Mother had explained Grandmother was just worried about Arya’s safety and expressing concern about the girl feeling pressured into doing things she didn’t really want to do. That had led into a long conversation regarding ‘sex’ and ‘rape’ and the difference between the two. And after that traumatizing and yet illuminating discussion, she kind of forgot about Grandmother’s implications.

Seeing her father and Arya embracing so intimately brought that conversation back to the front of her mind. She finally understood what motivated her grandmother to question the nature of Arya and Father’s relationship.

Her father had never held her or Rhaena or her mother, so desperately. Or looked at them so intensely.

“We will figure something out.” Father assured the older girl as he rubbed soothing circles into her thighs.

Arya frowned, “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life pretending to be something I’m not. Even if it’s the only thing that keeps me safe.”

Her father smirked and pressed a kiss to Arya’s knuckles, if he said something in response to Arya’s declaration Baela couldn’t hear it.

It was a twisted jealous that bloomed in her gut.

With a grunt, Father got to his feet with Arya in his arms. He must have drunk the majority of the wine for there was an unsteadiness to his gait as he made his way towards the tent. Baela was quick to scamper back to bed as quietly as possible.

Just as she and Rhaena were sharing a bedroll every night, so were her father and Arya. She wondered if this was the kind of inappropriate behavior Grandmother had been alluding to.

Baela tried not to squeeze her eyes shut too tightly as she feigned being asleep. When father groaned, Arya snickered, “Back trouble old man?”

There was a slap sound. Her father’s words were playfully threatening. “You’re not too big to be taken over my knee you know.”

“If you ever tried that, I’d geld you.” Her father laughed quietly, probably muffling the sound by pressing his face into Arya’s hair.

Baela listened as they slid into their bedroll and got settled. By this time, she was actually very tired herself. It had to be very late.

Before succumbing to sleep she snuck one last peek at the couple lying across from her and her sister. Father was spooning Arya from behind.

The pair looked cozy and content in each other’s arms. The sight sent a pang of longing through her heart. She wondered if they acted this close when her mother was still alive or if it was her death that inextricably bound them.
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In the morning, Baela watched as her sister and father plucked off the feathers from a pheasant Arya had shot. Rhaena’s face was alight with a smile, father was pouting because he and Arya went hunting together. He had caught nothing while Arya caught breakfast. Which meant he had to cook for them while Arya got to loaf about, gloating. Rhaena, kindly had offered to help.

She was not unaware of how envious Rhaena had been of her and father’s relationship, at least before Arya arrived. Baela had been father’s favorite ever since Moondancer hatched, and everyone knew it. Even though she saw the pain and resentment on her sister’s face when she and Father came back from flying together, gods forgive, sometimes she reveled in that knowledge.

Mother used to console Rhaena, but now mother was gone. And any lingering jealousy Baela felt over her sister’s close relationship with their mother had evaporated.

Before Arya joined the family Rhaena and father never spent much time together. Mother would try to push the two of them together subtly, but that just led to stilted conversation. It wasn’t until Arya showed an interest in learning how to cook and roped Father into lessons with her and Rhaena, that father and daughter began to build a natural rapport.

For her, the loss of mother was like an incessant indescribable pain so she knew that for Rhaena it had to be ten times more horrific. To look upon her sister now, chatting with father amicably, gave her hope.

“Baela,” A pine cone was thrown at her head. She turned to her assailant, Arya grinned, “Shall we go swimming?”
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Arya was graceful in a way Baela envied. She watched in awe as Arya climbed a top Drogon’s head only to backflip off of it into the sapphire-colored water below. The girl barely produced a splash as she dived. She was just so impressive.

Baela clapped when Arya resurfaced. “You’re so brave,” She told her once the older girl had swum close enough, “I don’t know where you get the courage to do that.”

The girl ducked her head grinning, a while ago Baela had noticed how uncomfortable Arya got about compliments and mentioned it to her mother once. It had confused her because in her eyes Arya was the most beautiful and elegant and daring girl she had ever met. Mother had encouraged her to be vocal when Arya’s behavior warranted praise, because she suspected she didn’t get enough of it in her old life.

“Do you want to try?” Arya offered, “Drogon would not object, I’m sure.”

Baela looked over at the other girls ferocious looking dragon. Drogon was half submerged in the lake with them, half beached on the shore. He seemed content to laze the day away if that was what his mistress demanded.

Her eyes skipped over to the other side of the lake. Locals were camped out gawking at them or more likely at Drogon. Though they were smart enough not to approach, their mere presence had her feeling self-conscious.

Arya had donned one of her old preforming costumes
to swim in, it left a lot of skin exposed and only enhanced her developing womanly shape, much to their audience’s pleasure. Baela was just wearing her small clothes and a night shift.

Compared to the older girl she looked like a frumpy child. And even though she was mostly covered, she still wouldn’t feel right having the onlookers see her so underdressed. Whenever Arya left the water to climb high and dive, hooting and hollering could be heard across the empty lake. It was clear from the many obscene gestures what the men were thinking of doing to her friend, and frankly it scared Baela a bit.

Arya said not to pay them any mind, but it was difficult for her when they were acting so bawdy.

That was another thing about Arya she admired, she was so free. With her body, her mind, her everything! She did not care if her outfits were considered too scandalous or out of fashion. She valued functionality and comfort most of all. She did not care if her actions were unladylike or if others didn’t like what she had to say or how she said it, like a man, she seemed free to exist as herself. Exactly as she was.

Baela was sure having Drogon helped Arya feel confident in acting this way, but other times, like now she suspected Arya would be Arya, with or without a dragon to protect her.

She shifted her body so she could float along the surface of the water, “I think I’d prefer to relax.”
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After spending all afternoon in the water with them, just as it was getting dark, Arya sent Drogon off to hunt. As she and Arya walked back to camp the other girls started humming.

“What’s that song?” She asked, she loved it when Arya sang but the girl was oddly reluctant to do so despite having a great voice.

“Nothing.” She kept humming for a bit then stopped, “I don’t know. I think I heard it somewhere in Braavos.”

“Come on,” Baela pleaded, “Sing a bit of it?”

Arya rolled her eyes and linked their arms together, “It’s not a song, it’s pieces of a song.”

She laughed, “Then sing me the pieces you can’t get out of your mind.”

She beamed when Arya didn’t resist any longer and softly started to sing.

“How’s one to know?
I’d live and die for moments that we stole
On begged and borrowed time”

She stared humming again, which Baela knew by now meant she’d forgotten the words. She was patient as Arya kept the melody going until she found the lyrics again.

“So yeah, it’s a fire
It’s a goddamn blaze in the dark
And you started it
You started it”

“That’s beautiful.” She remarked softly. If the lighting was better, she’d bet she could see Arya blushing.

“Thanks.” She started humming again and they continued walking companionably. However, after only a few minutes Arya grabbed her arm and made her stop.

In the darkness, three shadowy figures were gathered around a tree just in front of them. Baela pulled her cloak tighter around her wet body. Immediately she was uneasy.

Quietly Arya told her, “I’m going to distract them, you will run back to camp and get Daemon.”

Baela grabbed her arm tightly, “I can’t leave you alone with them.”

These men had dark intent written all over them. And Arya was barely dressed, having only thrown on a cloak over her costume after swimming. They had intended to warm up and dry off by the fire and so did not take care to get dressed properly again. Outnumbered and unarmed, beyond her hunting knife, Arya could be raped and murdered all before Baela returned with help.

Arya grabbed her face and forced her to look away from the men who were just leering at them. “You can and will leave me, do you understand? You will run and if they catch you, scream as loud as you can and for as long as you can.”

“Hello, lil’ girls.” A raucous voice called out to them, and then the man in question stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlit clearing that divided their groups. He was big, bald, and had a round belly. “We saw you bathing with the dragon and got curious.”

Baela was surprised, she imagined if they had seen them with Drogon they wouldn’t dare approach. Did these men have no sense of self-preservation? Two more men stepped into the weak light. One was short with a big scar along his cheek and the other looked old enough to be a grandfather, his face so wrinkled and his teeth so few.

The short one licked his lips before saying, “We just hopin’ to have a little chat.”

The bald fat one grinned ferally, “No need to be scared,” He crooked his finger at them, “Why don’t you come a little closer and we can get to know each other a bit.”

The short one rubbed his chest, his eyes trained on Arya and all her exposed skin, “You real pretty.” He put a hand on the knife hilt at his belt, stoking it up and down he whispered, “I like ‘em real pretty.”

Arya pushed her slightly to the left.

“You wanna fuck?” Her friend called out to the men, seemingly catching everyone by surprise. “My friend is too tired to play today,” Her voice had taken on a husky tone making it lusty and full of promises, “But I’m always up for a good tumble.”

The bald one began stroking himself through his pants, “Is that so?”

Arya pushed her again and made a shooing motion, obviously wanting Baela to seize the moment and return to camp.

The grandfatherly looking one spoke for the first time, his eyes locked on Baela, “Aw, but I like ‘em young and fresh.” He looked her up and down, “And you look just so clean and perfect I could eat you up.”

Baela tensed; she was never more aware of how sheltered her upbringing had been up to this point. Arya ran her hand through her hair, nonchalantly announcing, “I like to suck cock. Love it actually, one of my best qualities some say.”

Baela did not think she could be more shocked after hearing the outrageous and obscene things coming out of Arya’s mouth. But then the girl sensually pulled the strings at her neck, letting her long cloak fall to the floor leaving her exposed in her skimpy outfit.

“Aren’t these things more fun when done with enthusiasm?” Arya asked coquettishly, as she stripped off the sheer part of her top. She then shoved Baela once more whispering, “Run.”

Baela only hesitated a moment before she obeyed. As she ran she heard the short one jeer, “Aw look at this one, bravely ready to fall on the sword to save her little friend.”

One of them laughed saying, “She can fall on my sword while she swallows yours.”

Baela was shocked Arya’s gambit worked, because as she ran she did not hear anyone following. She supposed she should be grateful that the one who seemed the most interested in despoiling her virtue was too old to give chase.

When she made it back to camp she was panting and gasping trying to get the words out as quickly as possible. Her arrival had her father and sister instantly on guard and flocking towards her. “Arya.” She finally managed, “Rapers.”

Then she pointed back the way she came. She knew it was strange, how close her father and Arya were, how quickly the girl felt like a sister to her, how much they all loved her given they hadn’t even known her for a year. It was strange because of Arya’s own strangeness. Her memory condition, her boldness, her wild nature. But it felt nothing but natural to see the murderous look slide onto her father’s face.

He didn’t bother to tell her or Rhaena to stay behind at camp, if there were men stupid enough to try to rape a couple of dragon riders, then the safest place for them to be was by Father’s side.

As they ran back towards the lake, Baela tried to brace herself for what they might find, because if the worst had happened…after losing her mother, she didn’t know how her family would survive.

When they found the girl, she was alive and the men were not. Arya, still half naked, was now covered in so much blood that it looked as if she swam in it. Father wasted no time, scooping Arya up in his arms and holding her close.

“I’m fine.” She assured them, “Barely even a fight, they were so drunk.”

Baela and her sister all but tackled the pair to the ground, throwing their arms over Arya and father both. Out of nowhere a shrill cry burst from her lips. A second later hysterical tears began to flow.

The four of them separated and as Rhaena tried to calm her, father gave Arya his shirt. It would never be white again.

Her breaths turned into wheezes. And the tears came faster. She felt faint.

Somehow, Arya ended up sitting on the floor with Baela in her lap. “I’m alright,” the older girl cooed softly in her ear, rocking her in her arms gently, “It’s over. We’re both fine. You’re fine. I’m fine.”

Rhaena was soon on her other side and Baela felt surrounded by comforting warmth and gentle reassurances. All the while Baela continued to sob, she tried to stop but couldn’t. The tears just kept coming. And the worst part was she wasn’t really crying about Arya’s harrowing ordeal. Somehow, she was crying because in that moment more than any other thus far, she missed her mother.

Since mother died Rhaena had been like a waterfall, but Baela had tried to be strong like her father and Arya. Now that she started crying, it was such a release, she couldn’t stop. She finally felt free to express all of the sorrow she had been trying to hide.
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By the time she got herself back under control, her body felt drained and her limbs felt stiff. She sniffed as her father pulled her back to her feet. Baela turned and did the same for Arya. “Arya, I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her Father and Arya said at the same time.

“Are you alright now?” Father asked her, his hand warm on Baela’s cheek. She nodded.

Her father then turned to Arya and asked, “Is any of that blood yours?”

She grimaced, “Some.”

Rhaena let out a croaky moan of concern. Her father promptly lifted Arya into his arms.

“I can walk just fine Daemon.” She complained, but Baela noticed the way her whole body seemed to relax at the contact. Beyond the token protest, Arya seemed content to let Daemon carry her back towards the lake for the girl to clean herself off.

After washing off all the blood away it was revealed that Arya had a split lip, a shallow slash on her thigh, and bruising handprints on her arms. Despite only having minor wounds, Father insisted on carrying Arya all the way back to camp.

“We will raze the fucking village those degenerates came from.” Father promised darkly, their wild dragon merely laughed in the face of his blood thirst.

“No, we won’t.” Arya said, resting her head on his shoulder. After a beat she added, “I wouldn’t be opposed to the dragon’s taking a shit on it though.”
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The next morning Daemon declared it was time to return to Driftmark. As Baela got on Drogon with Arya, her sister choosing to ride Caraxes with their father, she heard the girl mutter, “And Daemon thought a little justified murder wouldn’t make me feel better.”
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Chapter Text

Chapter 10 –

~Arya~

The night before they arrived back on Driftmark Arya was plagued by horrible dreams filled with despair and death. She woke up crying out for Jon again. She was grateful for Daemon, he was quick to comfort her so she wouldn’t wake the girls, but she was left shaken. Literally trembling from the emotions, she experienced in her sleep; she didn’t dare close her eyes after that.

Despite her sluggishness the next morning, they arrived a day before the funeral as planned. Arya was still uncertain if her presence was wise, but Daemon insisted they provide a united front. He talked like seeing his family was akin to going into battle, and while she thought he was exaggerating she did not dismiss all his fears. Besides, after the rapers attack she just couldn’t refuse him.

She had been expecting an icy reception from the Velaryon’s, but instead she was welcomed cordially much as she had been the first time. Still, Princess Rhaenys was quick to whisk the girls away to freshen up, while Lord Corlys claimed Daemon taking the man to discuss funeral details and she suspected the girl’s future habitation. Servants were tasked with showing her to a room, but she chose to wander instead.

She stole herself a bottle of wine from the kitchens before heading out to sit on the edge of the same cliffs where Laena had died. It wasn’t long before Drogon joined her, even though she knew he should be out hunting after flying them such a great distance.

Half a bottle down and her mind drifted to the mysterious Jon. She was now convinced he had been her brother. Her favorite brother. She looked down at the sword on her hip. Her sword had a name, Needle. She vaguely remembered it was Jon who gave her Needle. She took another healthy swig from her bottle.

She wished Daemon was with her on the cliff. Drinking with him rarely got so introspective and dour.

She could no longer deny that she loved him, at least in her own mind. Drogon had been right from the beginning, he was trustworthy. The past two weeks had been…bliss.

She had loved Tarth and every inch of its majestic beauty. Getting to teach the girls and Daemon, how to live off the land with very few amenities had been therapeutic and at times hilarious.

It was very apparent to her that Daemon, despite all his accomplishments as a war hero, had slept in a featherbed for most of his life. He’d had servants and soldiers to attend to his every need and had faced very little hardships, financially at least. He’d obviously never hunted out of necessity, only for sport, and it showed.

She felt at home in the wild in a way the Targaryen’s just didn’t. He had called her skills and comfort outdoors another clue to her true identity. Not that she really cared.

Once she’d drained the entire bottle, she chucked off the cliff. She watched as it landed in the choppy waters below with a splash. Absently she wondered what it would be like if she could breathe water instead of fire. She let out a little giggle at the humorous visual, a dragon throwing up water on unsuspecting victims, drowning its prey instead of burning it. It would be absurd.

Unsteadily she got to her feet and looked down at the water, she wasn’t sure if this is where Laena’s remains were to be dumped, but it was a nice enough spot she guessed. Drogon’s tail suddenly appeared in front of her, keeping her safe from falling off the edge of the cliff. She let out a laugh, throwing herself on the appendage to give her dragon friend a hug. She wondered if Laena was happy, where ever she was. If she was anywhere at all…

While on Tarth she hadn’t spoken of Laena much. Mostly she listened to the girls talk about her. Reminiscing about the good times. Daemon even told them a few children appropriate stories from when they had first gotten married and visited the Free Cities for the first time. She would never tell anyone how bittersweet it all was for her.

She loved hearing about Laena as a young girl, wild and free and alive. But it also hurt. Not only because she was now dead and would have no more stories, but also because Arya had so few of them. It was pitiful how jealous she was of the time Baela and Rhaena had with their mother. Jealous of all the adventures she and Daemon went on before the girls were even born.

There was shame in the jealousy she felt and sometimes when mixed with the pain of the older woman’s loss, it all seemed like too much to live with. Tarth had been a good distraction, but being back on Driftmark was like returning to a world made of sand and she was just waiting for the tide to come in and sweep it all away. It didn’t help that Driftmark was a grim looking castle, often damp and flooded. With dark salt-stained walls. The stark contrast between where she was yesterday and where she was today made her long for the sapphire waters of Tarth. The green fields and forest.

In her tipsy mind Jon and Laena’s loss blended together. She felt like a fraud, missing people who she couldn’t fully remember and/or hadn’t even known for a full year.

She was pathetic.

“If I jumped do you think you could catch me in time?” She asked Drogon. He looked back at her knowingly. She grinned at him viciously, “Wanna find out?”

He responded with a roar that left her cackling. She gave Drogon’s huge head an awkward hug, “Don’t worry big guy, I’m not that drunk.” She rubbed her face on his, “Just having a bit of a wallow.”

She gave the ocean one last look before heading back to the castle.

To her surprise Princess Rhaenys was waiting for her.

“I wondered where you had gone.” She eyed Drogon as he took flight after seeing her back to relatively safety. “You weren’t in your room.”

She threw her hands out, “Well, here I am.”

The older woman squinted at her face. “Are you unwell? Baela and Rhaena told me of your ordeal in the woods.”

She waved her off, “That was nothing.” It had actually been very cathartic, just as she insisted from the beginning. Killing people who deserved it made her feel righteous, and eased the self-loathing of liking it.

“I’m fine.”

Rhaenys sniffed her as she walked past, “Just drunk then?”

She did feel off, more off than usual after a single bottle. Of course, she did not usually drink a whole bottle alone, so that might explain it. With a slight wobble she looked the other woman in the eyes, “I maybe might have knicked a bottle of something and it might have been a little stronger than I anticipated and I maybe might be a little,” She held up her fingers inches apart, “teensy-weensy bit drunk.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe.” Arya confirmed.

“I see.” Rhaenys smiled at her.

Arya threw her shoulders back and folded her hands together copying the older woman’s pose as she mimicked her, “I see.”

That made the Princess chuckle and place an arm around Arya’s shoulders. “Well, despite your teensy-weensy inebriation, I would still like to have a word with you.”

“Fuck.”

Rhaenys squeezed her shoulder, “It’s something good, I promise.”

“Doubt it.” She said flatly.

“I would like to apologize.” Rhaenys linked their arms together and Arya let her take control of the direction of their walking. A petty part of her considered playing dumb and asking ‘what she was apologizing for’. But the grieving mother of her dear friend did not deserve such childishness.

Arya patted the older woman’s hand, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

After a few steps Rhaenys forced her to stop walking. With a gentle hand on her face she said, “You really are very kind, aren’t you.”

She turned her head away and out of the woman’s grasp. She could not handle the look of gratitude Rhaenys was throwing at her.

Letting the uncomfortable parts remain unsaid, Princess Rhaenys resumed walking and talking, taking Arya along with her. “I’ve had a few dresses made for you. You’ll find them in your room. I’d suggest a velvet gown for tomorrow as it will be windy on the cliffs.”

“You didn’t need to do that. I have my own clothes.” Not many, but the Princess didn’t need to know that. “Besides, I prefer pants.”

Rhaenys scoffed, “I know.”

They came to stop outside her door. “You will wear a gown tomorrow though, for me.”

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow at her, issuing a silent challenge. Arya lowered her head and nodded; it was the least she could do after all she had put the Princess through on Laena’s last night alive. Also, the whole forced vacation thing with her granddaughters.

“I gave specific instructions to the seamstress; all the gowns should be comfortable and simple enough to appease your unique tastes while following the most basic social conventions given the royal company we will be in tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

Arya stiffened as she was pulled into a hug. Stubbornly the older woman held on until she gave in and hugged her back. She thinks Laena must have inherited her quiet inner strength from her mother, the Queen that Never Was, because she found herself defenseless against Princess Rhaenys’s silent command. She smelled like soap and apples.

“We will all break our fast together as usual.” Rhaenys pulled away, touched Arya’s face one last time then said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Then she was gone.

Once inside the room she didn’t bother to examine the gowns she was expected to wear, she just stripped down to her shirt and crawled into bed. The drink had done its job. When she closed her eyes, sleep was easy.
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Sometime later she woke to the feeling of someone crawling into the bed beside her. “You know I sleep with a knife under my pillow.”

There was a scoff and then the familiar weight of Daemon’s arm wrapping around her waist. He dragged her body back to meet his and settled into place against her back. “Don’t stab me. I’d hate for you to shed tears on my account.”

“You think I’d cry for you?”

“Uncontrollably.” Under the covers his hand ghosted across the naked skin of her thigh before settling back around her waist.

In defense of her underdressed state she said, “Don’t judge, I was tired.”

“I said nothing.” There was silence for a minute.

“You shouldn’t be in here, it isn’t proper.”

Daemon chuckled into her hair, “Worried about your honor?”

She was actually worried about his. But she doubted she would be able to convince him of anything so she didn’t try. Instead, she told him, “Princess Rhaenys apologized.”

She knew the strife between them before they left for Tarth had been weighing on him. He would appreciate they had made amends.

“As she should have.” Daemon whispered in her ear. And then there was silence. And then blissful, dreamless sleep.
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In the morning Daemon woke her up early as he left for his own chambers so he could get dressed, but after he was gone Arya managed to get another hour of sleep. Rhaena and Baela came to wake her up again when it became evident, she had overslept.

Getting dressed for the day was a bit of a blur. The girls treated her like a doll but they were all rushing so it wasn’t so bad. Together they entered the dining room for breakfast. Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys, and Daemon were already seated there waiting for them.

When Daemon saw her, he frowned. And to her great disappointment, she immediately felt self-conscious. She smoothed a hand down the front of her green dress, it was velvet and felt soft, but his reaction put her on alert. “What?”

“Nothing.”

She’d let Rhaena do her hair in a braid across her head, perhaps with her shorter hair it looked stupid? “What’s wrong?”

She was not interested in embarrassing herself in front of strangers. “You made a face,” She insisted, “What’s wrong with me?”

“You look lovely.” Princess Rhaenys said pointedly, rising to greet her granddaughters. She touched Baela’s shoulder saying, “You all do.”

“Yes,” Lord Corlys agreed, “Beautiful.” But he eyed her dress a bit like Daemon had.

“My love,” He said addressing Princess Rhaenys, “Won’t Arya be a bit cold?” She didn’t know if that was his polite way of saying she looked ugly, or genuine criticism due to the gowns off the shoulder style.

“It has a matching cape.” Rhaenys reasoned, putting her hand on Arya’s lower back to guide her to a seat at the table. The seat in between her and Daemon she realized as the girls moved to sit across from them, Lord Corlys at the head of the table dividing the two sides.

She poked Daemon’s side and gestured to her dress, making a face she silently asked what was wrong with how she was dressed. He responded to her, but by way of addressing Rhaenys, “Isn’t black more traditional?”

She frowned down at the olive-green fabric, she’d let Rhaena ultimately choose what she would wear, hadn’t even bothered to look at the other choices left out for her.

“Everyone will be wearing black.” Baela offered noncommittally.

Rhaena looked at her father hesitantly, “I chose the gown father. Arya is such a source of joy and comfort for us, I wanted her clothing to reflect that, especially on such a difficult day. The only other choices were black or red. But I think that in green she looks like a beautiful Ifequevron, remember? The woodland creature from the story you told us about few nights ago?”

Arya remembered the story. Daemon had said the creature was a wood walker, or Ifequevron according to the Dothraki. He’d described the mythical forest dwellers as small and gentle folk who would bless households with offerings of leaf, stone, or water. He’d called them kin to the Children of the Forest of Westeros, but more beautiful and ethereal, the embodiment of nature itself.

Arya did not understand how Rhaena could equate her in a green dress to such a creature, but she was not one to argue with a child’s logic. The innocence of such a statement seemed to put an end to the discussion and they all began to eat.

However, halfway through their quiet meal Daemon started up again, “Did it have to be green?”

Princess Rhaenys came to her defense quickly, “Green suits her coloring.”

“So does red.” He groused. He then pulled something out of his pocket and slammed it onto the table next to her. It was a ring. “Here, I got this for you.”

He sounded like such a petulant little boy, that Arya laughed not even looking at the bauble he was offering her. This made Daemon pout further which in turn had the rest of the table joining in and chuckling with Arya. “Green is for snakes in the grass. She is one of us, she should wear Targaryen colors.”

His possessiveness secretly made her very happy. In deference she picked up the ring he had offered and put it on her finger. It looked humorously large on her dainty hand. “Thank you for the red rock.”

“It is a ruby!” Daemon corrected sounding horrified.

She shrugged, “Like I said, red rock.” She held out her hand to the girls so they could admire it saying to Daemon, “I’ll give it back to you after the funeral.”

“No, it is yours.” Her head jerked back to Daemon. She had assumed he wanted her to wear it so she wouldn’t embarrass him with her simple attire, a loan just for the day. She stared at the giant rock on her hand. It had to be worth a small fortune.

“Daemon,” She shook her head taking the ring off, “I can’t accept this.”

He took the ring she offered and grabbed her hand aggressively, “It is a gift.” He jammed it on her finger harshly and then threw the appendage away from him, “You will accept it and you will wear it.”

“People will talk Daemon.” Princess Rhaenys said, the slight wrinkles surrounding her mouth more pronounced by the frown she wore.

Daemon waved dismissively at Arya’s body, “She is dressed too plainly. People will mistake her for a servant if not for that ring.”

“I think it looks lovely.” Rhaena piped up, she smiled warmly at them both. “And I think it is very sweet that Father want’s you to feel a part of the family.”

Again, Rhaena ended the discussion with her innocent declaration.

But then Baela added, “Plus if you punch someone while wearing that, it’ll really leave a mark. And since you’re you, you’ll probably end up punching someone.”

Daemon and she laughed. Lord Corlys snorted into his cup and Rhaena just stared at her with wide eyes. “You wouldn’t would you Arya? Not at mother’s funeral.”

“No, she will not.” Princess Rhaenys answered for her, she glared at her and Daemon, “Everyone will be on their best behavior today. Yes?”

“Yes.”
“Of course.”

After the Princess extracted some more promises regarding decorum, Lord Corlys went over the day’s agenda.

He told them that it would be his brother Vaemond Velaryon giving a speech in Laena’s honor and leading the traditional Valyrian song when her body was returned to the ocean. He danced around saying the truth, he didn’t think he or his wife would be able to conduct the ceremony without breaking down. And Daemon certainly wasn’t volunteering. So that left Vaemond, a man Laena never mentioned, being the one to speak on her life? For some reason that rubbed her wrong, but she held her tongue as it was not her place to voice such concerns.

During this discussion Baela and Rhaena surprised them all by asking to sing a song in tribute to their mother before Laena’s burial at sea.

“Did you know about this?” Daemon whispered to her but of course everyone heard it.

Rhaena answered, “We decided it this morning.”

Baela nodded, “We know there is a specific way the Velaryon’s say goodbye, we just wanted to have a moment during the ceremony, to do it our own way.”

Arya could read between the lines. The girls did not know this Uncle Vaemond and while his speech and the Velaryon ceremony was sure to be very moving, it did not have Laena’s immediate family participating in any way.

The girls had missed witnessing any of Laena’s final moments, this ceremony was to be their final goodbye. It made sense to her they would want to be a part of it somehow. If the smell of burning flesh did not haunt her dreams, perhaps, she would have felt the same.

Luckily Lord Corlys had no problem adjusting the schedule to accommodate his granddaughter’s request.

“That sounds lovely girls.” Daemon added, “I’m sure your mother will appreciate whatever you have prepared.”

“Will?” She questioned quietly. On their trip the four of them had a few discussions on what happens after you die. The girls wanted to believe in a benevolent afterlife, whilst she and Daemon privately agreed nothing but oblivion awaited them all. Though, she was up for being proven wrong.

He gave her that look that meant ‘indulge the children and say nothing about life’s cruel reality’. It was a nice change for him to be the one giving her that look as it was usually the other way around.

She turned and smiled encouragingly at the girls, “What song have you prepared?”

“Tears for the Little Dove.”

“I’m unfamiliar with that one,” Lord Corlys said.

“It’s popular in Pentos.” Daemon explained, his voice unusually soft. After a beat he added, “Laena used to sing it to the girls as a lullaby when they were small.”

After hearing that, no one seemed hungry anymore. As a heavy cloud of sadness settled over the group Arya vowed the entire day would not be filled with such misery. If Rhaena saw her as a source of love and comfort, that was what she would strive to be for them today.

For all of them.
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As guests started arriving Daemon began hovering. The girls were sticking close to their grandmother and Lord Corlys was acting as host, welcoming the new comers to Castle Driftmark. Through her bond with Drogon she sensed he was feeling restless, she suspected it was probably her own sorrow bleeding through the connection. She tried to sneak off to try to settle him, but Daemon insisted on accompanying her.

She didn’t know if he was feeling paranoid about her saying something she shouldn’t or just wanted to escape a bit himself, but she didn’t mind his company. And he was shit at acting fake so it was probably for the best anyway.

In a kind gesture he even went back to her room to retrieve her cape so she wouldn’t be cold. She figured it helped him to feel useful so she allowed the unnecessary gallantry.

Once cloaked, together they made their way to the other side of the castle, away from all the people. Drogon was moping just outside the east walls. Before he noticed them, he was making these mournful warbling cries, but that ceased with their approach.

“What’s wrong with him?” Daemon asked as they both began stroking Drogon’s head comfortingly.

A peek into Drogon’s mind showed her Laena burning alive. Reflexively she jerked away and pressed into Daemon’s side, prompting him to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “I think he’s sad about Laena and knows this is goodbye.”

Daemon looked surprised, then stared searchingly into Drogon’s eyes. Her dragon made one of his gruff coos which meant he agreed with her interpretation.

It wasn’t long after when a shadow passed overhead. A pair of unfamiliar dragons appeared to be landing close by. One dragon was golden and smaller than Drogon. The other pale blue and much larger than him.

“Who are they?”

Daemon’s arm tightened around her, “Hightowers.”

The gold dragon’s rider was a boy with soft Valyrian features, a teenager dressed in deep forest green. The blue dragon rider was a girl of similar age and complexion, dressed in the same shade.

“Names.” She demanded as they watched the pair dismount.

“The boy Aegon rides Sunfyre. The girl, Helaena rides Dreamfyre.”

“They are your brothers’ children?” She asked, looking for solid confirmation. He had not spoken highly of his brothers Hightower kin and she had yet to figure out why he detests them. She resolved to not let his opinion of them color her own judgement of their characters.

“Uncle Daemon?” The boy crowed, with a chipper tone, “Is that you?”

The girls’ eyes were fixed on Drogon, she looked a bit in shock. “The new tapestry will need more spools of grey and black.”

Before the silver haired girls’ odd words could be addressed, Aegon was pushing past his sister and taking up Arya’s hand obviously intending to kiss it. “And who might this beautiful thing be?”

He paused, head bent over her hand as he caught sight of the large ruby on her finger, but then he sort of shrugged to himself, and continued on kissing her hand, unbelievably giving her skin a quick swipe of the tongue before drawing away. She did not hide the disgusted curl of her lip, nor the act of wiping his saliva off on her dress.

“I’m not a thing.” She said sternly.

This made the young prince smile like he was humoring a small child. “My mistake.” He winked at her, “Still beautiful though.”

Daemon’s hand slipped around her waist and tugged her closer to his side, “This is Arya Targaryen, my wife.”

She jerked away out of his hold. “No.”

Daemon simply lifted his eyebrow, “My daughter?”

“No!”

The young prince chuckled and slapped her on the back in a friendly manner, “Ah, these things do get complicated in our family, I assume you have not been married long?”

Behind them all Drogon flapped his wings, sending a cold gust of wind at them, he then screeched threateningly at the group. Arya laughed, “I don’t think he likes that idea.”

Daemon held up his hands and addressed the dragon, “Kidding! Drogon, I was just joking.”

Drogon shook his head, clearly annoyed, but mollified for the moment.

“Now, I’m confused.” Aegon admitted, his eyes a little afraid under Drogon’s scrutiny.

“I am just Arya.” She clarified, she smirked at Daemon, “Arya, the greatest dragon rider that has ever lived.”

Drogon made a scratchy sounding grunt, which she knew meant he was amused. It was the same sound he made when she was practicing stunts and failed in hilarious fashion. Instead of addressing her dragon she looked to Daemon. “Am I not?”

He refused to answer, choosing instead to pull her back into his side and plant a kiss on the top of her head. He then looked down his nose at the newcomers, “Come we will show you inside.”

With a hand on her lower back, Daemon guided her back towards the castle. She knew Daemon would have no more kind words for his kin, but Aegon had plenty, “So you are not married?”

He hurried to walk on her other side.

“No.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the girl was keeping up. She was.

“And Daemon is not your father?”

“We don’t know who my father is.” She answered honestly.

“A bastard then?” There was a mean smirk on the boy’s face.

Daemon answered somehow filling the world ‘no’ with both the promise of pain and punishment. Then he stopped and stared Aegon down saying nothing. Only when Aegon nodded in understanding, his face slowly growing more fearful, did Daemon turn away and they all started walking again.

Just as they were about to reach the castle doors, Daemon stuck his leg out, tripping her, grabbed her arm and threw into a puddle of mud just to the left.

She sat in shock as Prince Aegon cackled at her misfortune. She was covered in muck from neck to ankles. It was only her fast reflexes that saved her face. As she got to her knees and glared at her assailant Daemon smirked at her. Without emotion he consoled, “Oh dear Arya, how clumsy of you.”

She exploded, “DAEMON!”

“Looks like you won’t be wearing green after all.” She stared at him aghast, he was a fucking mad man. She scooped up some mud and threw it, but he had expected that and was quick to dodge and make a run for the door.

She scrambled to her feet in hot pursuit screeching, “It’s gonna be a double funeral when I catch you Daemon Targaryen because I’m GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Once inside she skidded to a stop. There were guests in the way. She assumed the group had come to retrieve the other dragon riders which was a clue as to their identity. As was the crown atop a bunch of auburn curls.

Daemon unabashedly hid behind what she assumed was the Queen of the seven kingdoms, a handsome Kingsguard, and a little boy no older than 10 years.

After her initial surprise her eyes reverted back to her target.

“You think a few human shields will save you?” She said in her sweetest voice. Slowly she stalked around the group dressed mostly in green. Daemon moved in tandem, keeping out of her reach.

“I do believe you promised a certain Princess to be on your best behavior today.” Daemon reminded her, a strained smile on his face.

Aegon laughed mockingly from the door, his sister looking confused, “And here I thought today would be a dull affair.”

Daemon ignored the comment, “I believe the words manners and decorum were used.”

She wanted to scream or rip his stupid hair out because he was right of course, she had made promises to Rhaenys not to cause any trouble. And the only way she could catch Daemon would be to go through the Queen and her company which would transfer mud from her to them.

There was a specific tone she used when preforming and addressing children. It was sickeningly sweet and fake as fuck. She used that voice now, “You are a ridiculous evil fucking man and I am going to kill you…later. When you least expect it.”

She then stormed off before she embarrassed herself further. Aegon and Daemon’s laughter ringing in her ears as mud squished from every step she took.
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She was not lucky enough to escape back to her rooms to clean up without being seen, by servants, guards, and a handful of guests. One of which she unfortunately knew.

“Arya?” Laenor, surrounded by what she guessed was his wife and children, grabbed her arm, asking, “What happened to you?”

“Daemon.” She hissed. Through they had not parted on the best terms, there was undeniable amusement on Laenor’s face as he took in her appearance. She must truly look a mess. She ranted, “Daemon and his obsessive need to control ridiculous details that don’t even matter!”

Laenor’s eyebrows rose, “Sorry?”

“Sorry he exists? Or sorry I am subject to his insanity?”

Laenor awkwardly clasped his arms behind his back and rocked back on his heels, “Just a general sorry I suppose.”

That brought a wry smile to her lips. “Thanks.”

When she made to flee, Laenor followed asking, “Actually I was hoping I could speak to you before the ceremony.”

He looked nervous. And so much like Laena. Compassion filled her heart and she patted his arm consolingly, “If you want to apologize for punching me in the face and the ribs and all that, there’s no need.” She tried to convey her understanding with a sincere smile, “We all react to the death of a loved one differently.”

Again, she made to leave. And again, a gentle hand on her arm stopped her. “But I am sorry.” Laenor said earnestly, “And I am ashamed of my actions. You did not deserve my ire, nor my fists.”

He looked down, pain etched into every line of his face, “My sister loved you. She wrote of you so often, spoke of you so fondly. And when she was in her darkest hour, it was you who came to her rescue. I could not understand that then, in the moment. But I’ve had time to reflect…and I just wanted to thank you for, everything you did.” His eyes were glossy now, the words obviously becoming harder and harder to say.

She was surprised when he hugged her. She was foul and the contact would equally dirty him, but he didn’t seem to care.

He held her desperately and cried very quietly on her shoulder. For an instant she made eye contact with his wife, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. The beautiful woman gave her a strained smile of understanding.

Arya hugged Laenor back and imagined it was Laena. “You owe me nothing.”

When they pulled away from each other she grabbed his hands in hers and gave them a gentle squeeze, “You owe me nothing, not gratitude or apologies.”

“Forgive me if I disagree?” He stepped back and wiped at his eyes, “And also for detaining you for so long.”

He looked down at his mud covered front, “You must be in a hurry to change and now so will I have to.” He forced a laugh, “Excuse me.”

As soon as he turned to his family, probably to direct them where to go while he cleaned himself up, she made her escape.

When she finally made it back to her room, stripped off the ruined dress, and wiped herself clean of all the mud, she was very confused. Princess Rhaenys had left her a few gown options and yet now she could find only one.

It was similar to the ruined green dress in that it was made of velvet, off the shoulder, and had a matching cape, but it was red. Dark red and a touch more ornate. She had a feeling this wasn’t one of the dresses Princess Rhaenys left for her.

After putting it on she was relieved. It fit like a glove and was less restrictive than the green one. She appreciated the looser fit. As she looked herself over in the mirror, she realized Daemon’s stupid ruby ring did not clash with her outfit anymore. Now, she looked more expensive. More like a member of House Targaryen.
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When she found Daemon waiting outside her door he smiled so brightly at the sight of her in the red dress, it solidified why and what he had done. “You’re a bastard.”

“You look radiant.” As soon as she was close enough, he pet a hand down her back purring, “Much better.”

She was still very angry with him but she allowed the contact. Daemon was a very tactile person and she felt he especially sought out touch in times of stress. And despite his attempts to appear unaffected, she knew today was going to be hard for him. It was the only reason she was willing to delay her revenge for his actions.

But before she could let the whole mud incident go, she had to ask, “You went back to the room to fetch my cloak before we went out to meet Drogon, why?”

He pressed a kiss to her ear and whispered, “Why would I tell you when you already know the answer.”

She jabbed four fingers into his gut just under his ribs. He laughed and moved in front of her. As he spoke, he untied her cloak, which had been secured in a messy knot and retied it in a perfect bow, “I hid the other dresses and left this one out because I wanted to see you in my house colors.”

“You’re mad.”

“If I am you drove me to it.” He cupped her face and stared intensely into her eyes, “You won’t let me claim you as wife or daughter, wearing my house colors is the least you can do.”

She could tell Daemon thought he was being reasonable.

“My revenge will be epic.” She pulled her face away and linked their arms at the elbow. Coolly she promised, “Epic and hilarious. And you will never see it coming.”
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When Lord Corlys called for everyone to gather outside the cliffs for the ceremony to begin, Daemon tried to separate from her, but she wouldn’t allow it. Arya tried not to listen for the most part. She didn’t look at the casket. She avoided looking at Baela and Rhaena even, the girls were in tears almost from the beginning. She was grateful Princess Rhaenys kept them close, she wasn’t up to comforting them just then. She thinks Daemon was the opposite of her, hyper fixating on every little detail, every word, but she couldn’t say for sure.

She kept her eyes on the sky mostly, her arm tight around Daemon’s and focused on the sound of the waves. It wasn’t until the girls were called up to sing their song that Daemon whispered her name and brought her back to the present. The horrible depressing present.

Vaemond Velaryon, announced, “And now in tribute to their mother Baela and Rhaena have prepared a song.”

Holding hands, the girls moved to stand near the man they had never met but was told to consider family and turned to face the gathered mourners. Of course, Baela spoke first, “This is a song our mother sang to us often.”

They began to sing, but the words were strangled from the start. One line in and Rhaena was sobbing. Baela was no better, she kept stopping, trying to hold the tears in and get the words out, but it sounded horrible and was barely intelligible.

She squeezed Daemon’s arm, hissing, “Help them.”

It was not only a painful display of the girl’s grief, but also embarrassing. Between the two of them Rhaena was the better singer and everyone knew it. She could easily read the anger rising up in Baela as she was all but left to sing solo, Rhaena too emotionally devastated to contribute.

Jolted into action by her words, Daemon stormed forward and swept Rhaena up into his arms. This broke something in Baela. The girl bawled, “No, no no! We’re not finished! We have to say goodbye! IT’S NOT FAIR! We didn’t get to say goodbye!”

She pointed at her sister, “Rhaena you’re ruining everything!” Rhaena let out a piercing wail and clutched her father harder. Baela, with wide eyes slapped a hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” She whimpered, then she ran. Baela ran straight for Arya.

Burying her face in the lush red fabric at Arya’s stomach Baela quietly wailed, “It’s ruined. I’ve ruined it.”

And then Baela was sobbing as well.

She and Daemon exchanged a desperate look as he carried Rhaena back over to where she was standing. Rhaena cried mournfully, burying her face in Daemon’s neck. “I’ll never see her again.”

The adults looked around at each other awkwardly. Just as it appeared Vaemond was going to continue with the ceremony, Daemon began to sing.

“What dies doesn’t stay dead
What dies doesn’t stay dead
You’re alive, you’re alive in my head
What dies doesn’t stay dead
You’re alive, so alive”

The girls crying began to slow. Baela tightened her arms around Arya’s waist, but lifted her head to stare at her father. Daemon rubbed Rhaena’s back and sent Arya a desperate look.

She hadn’t known the song the girls had planned to sing for Laena, but she recognized this one. Silently she cursed Daemon for dragging her into this without warning, but dutifully she sang the next part.

“And if I didn’t know better
I’d think you were listening to me now
If I didn’t know better
I’d think you were still around”

Daemon joined in with her and their voices complimented each other so beautifully, she tried to pretend it was just the four of them on this cliff. Saying goodbye.

“What dies doesn’t stay dead
What dies doesn’t stay dead
You’re alive, you’re alive in my head
What dies doesn’t stay dead
What dies doesn’t stay dead
You’re alive, so alive”

Then Daemon stopped singing and like Baela before her, she was forced to sing on her own.

“I should’ve asked you questions
I should’ve asked you how to be
Asked you to write it down for me
Should’ve kept every memory indeed
‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me
Watched as you signed your name Margaery
All your closets of backlogged dreams
And how you left them all to me”

As the song came to a close, voices joined in with her again. And it was not just Daemon, but the girls too who joined in singing the familiar chorus.

“And if I didn’t know better
I’d think you were singing to me now
If I didn’t know better
I’d think you were still around
I know better
But I still feel you all around
I know better
But you’re still around”

When they finished Prince Aegon started clapping, which was awkward, because many of the attendants, mostly from the Velaryon side of the family, were crying quietly. Just like Arya and her family.
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Here is some AI art attempts :
Green Dress pre-mudification

Mudification

Smug Daemon Got her in a red dress

Arya in the dress on the balcony

Chapter Text

Chapter 11 –
~Daemon~

All eyes were on he and Arya after the ceremony. For once he was grateful that his girls were once again swept up by their grandmother as they entered the mingling and drinking portion of the afternoon. He’d planned to stay away from everyone and their fake niceties, but with Arya on his arm that appeared to be an impossibility.

“Aren’t you going to talk to your brother?”

The King looked like a shadow of his former self, and just the sight of him caused Daemon a stabbing pain in his heart. He did not want to pity Viscerys. He wanted to hang on to his hatred for it was not yet spent.

“No.” Viscerys and his company were set up not too far away from where he and Arya were heading. His plan was to lean against the balcony ledge and stay out of his brother’s line of sight. He’d hoped to give off such an unwelcoming air no one would approach, until an acceptable amount of time passed and he could leave.

“What about Princess Rhaenyra?” Arya poked his side, “I thought you liked her?”

He grabbed a cup off the tray of a passing servant. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Rhaenyra. Just the sight of her so grown and womanly, if he thought time and distance would dull the fire he felt for her, he was wrong. He looked back at Arya, he could tell she was annoyed by his lack of response, but couldn’t put all that he was feeling into words. So, he said nothing.

“Come on.” She tried pulling him toward Viscerys, but he held firm.

“No.”

“I will just go introduce myself alone then, shall I?” She pulled away but he clamped down on her wrist like a vice before she could truly escape. Her idea of telling the truth about her identity was stupidity incarnate. If he could just keep her away from everyone of import—but she had already—no, he had already made her a target of interest by putting her so publicly on display. A conversation or confrontation, was inevitable. He heaved a sigh.

“I’m not afraid.” She whispered, “And I’m not hiding.”

“Together.” He grits out, taking her arm and linking it with his own. She nodded to him and he tightened his grip. Together they approached the king.

“Brother.” Viscerys greeted, looking surprised. He knew Daemon well and was probably expecting to have to work a bit more for his attention. “I am sorry for your loss…. your girls are the very image of their mother. A comfort and an anguish, as I well remember.”

“Hmm.” With that nonverbal response his brother’s eyes drifted to Arya.

“The gods can be cruel.” His brother concluded, his eyes looking Arya up and down speculatively.

“It seems they’ve been especially cruel to you.” He quipped, unwilling to let his brother’s deterioration go unacknowledged.

Viscerys chuckled, “Yes.” Then he shifted his attention and smiled warmly at Arya, “My dear, you have a lovely voice; the tribute was very moving.”

Arya half curtseyed to him, “Thank you, you’re Grace.”

Viscerys’s gaze shifted between the two of them, “I fear my brother has been away from court too long. For he has not introduced you yet?”

“I am Arya.” The silence that followed her bold statement was awkward and Daemon silently relished his brother’s confusion.

“Arya of House…?” Viscerys prompted.

“House Targaryen.” Daemon answered, ignoring Arya’s glare.

His brother’s brows furrowed, his age etched into every line and blemish on his worn face. “Targaryen?” There was a pause, his voice hardening with contempt, “A bastard?”

“More of an adoption.” Arya interjected, trying to ease the tension. “Daemon has taken me into his household out of the kindness of his heart. Treats me like a daughter even though I--”

“She is a dragon rider.” He interrupted. “I would have her legitimized as my daughter.”

The request was like poison on his lips. Self-hatred swelled in his gut. He did not want to ask this of his brother. He did not want to ask this of his King. But this was the only path to legitimacy for Arya that didn’t involve betrothal. Viscerys was at his most sympathetic right now, Daemon would be a fool to ignore the opportunity.

“Daemon.” His brother sighed his name in that way he always did when he thought Daemon was going too far. And asking for too much.

“Laena asked him to do it.” Arya said softly, her eyes burning holes into the side of his face. “Didn’t she?”

He looked down at Arya. She was so short. So small. So bold. So fearless. His instinct to protect her was fierce and hard to deny. He would wed her if she were willing. It wasn’t all a joke. He would give her a home and children. Like with his Lady Laena, he thinks they could have a very happy life together. Away from Westeros and its poisonous politics.

True, she did not inflame his passions the way the mere thought of Rhaenyra did, but as he’d grown older, he’d learned life was not all about sating his lusts. And at the very least she was objectively attractive, his personal preferences aside. Still, there were moments between them, even if they were fleeting, where he felt the urge to ravage her just to see how prettily she unraveled. He knew they’d be compatible in all ways given time. And having a partner who he could love and trust, that could be enough for him.

“She asked me to claim you.” He told her quietly, “Didn’t specify how.”

“You cannot just claim someone to be your daughter.” Viscerys said sadly. “It is theft most foul, Daemon.”

“You--”

“Then I will just remain Arya.” She put a hand on his chest, as if silently asking him to stop pushing. Her lips lifted in a half smile, “Arya, the greatest dragon rider in the world.”

Through his observations, Daemon had a suspicion that Arya was from a noble house. It was in her manners, her diction, the way she carried herself. It pained him not to be able to restore her to the proper social standing. Because she was as close to his equal as he had ever met, besides Rhaenyra. She matched him in intelligence, ferocity, wit, and bloodlust. Truly, sometimes he looked at Arya and wondered if she was what he would be if he were born a woman.

“It is not enough.” He looked to his brother, “She has no family, but me and my girls. You are King, brother, this is well within your power.”

His brother stared back at him for a long moment. “You should return with us to King’s Landing. It’s time that you came home.”

“Pentos is my home,” He tried to keep the distain out of his voice, “and that of my children.”

“I know we’ve had our differences, but let them pass with the years. There’s a place for you in my court if that’s something you should need.”

Arya’s arm tightened on his. He took it for the warning he knew it to be. “I have told you what I need, you have denied me yet again. There is nothing left between us.”

He pulled Arya away and left his brother to rot.
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“I’m tired of standing. Lift me up so I can sit on the ledge.” Arya held her arms out like a child and he like an overindulgent father, did as she asked. He even took care to make sure her cape and skirts were settled properly for her comfort and modesty.

A frown pulled at his mouth when he saw she had ignored the matching slippers he’d left out with the dress. Instead, she was wearing her well-made but also well-worn boots.

“Stop fussing.” She slapped at the hand smoothing down her skirt. She then held out his glass, it had been half full but now it was empty. “More and get me one of those crab cake things.”

Her audacity always amused him. It secretly reminded him of a young Rhaenyra, but he was hesitant to indulge her this time. She gave his chest a gentle push, easily reading his concern, “Go, I’ll be fine.”

His eyes lingered on her split lip, a visual reminder of her encounter with the rapers on Tarth and her ability to defend herself. But the vipers of Westeros were a different breed of predator.

She gave him a kick, “Daemon I’m fucking starving, get me food. You made me sing in public with no warning, you owe me. Also, the mud.”

Both memories brought a smile to his face. It had been a long time since he felt he had someone’s absolute loyalty and trust. When he began singing, he knew he could count on her help to save his daughters from humiliation. She had not disappointed. In fact, she had been spectacular. And the visual of her covered in mud had simply being hilarious.

“Go.” She prompted one last time, giving him a harder kick. As he turned away, he silently promised to be as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, he was stopped several times by members of Laena’s extended family. They were sorry for his loss, blah blah, moved by the impromptu tribute, blah blah, curious about Arya’s identity, blah. It was hard to remain polite as he abruptly ended conversations and walked away.

When he made his way back to Arya, food and drink in hand, he found the vultures circling his girl. Not that she seemed to mind.

“Oh, Daemon,” Arya acknowledged, raising a class in his direction, “You’ve finally returned.” She drained the cup in her hand and then grinned at him cheekily, “Just in time.”

She was surrounded by the Hightower Princes and Larys Strong.

Arya grabbed the offered plate and began eating as he settled against the wall next to her, not so subtly pushing the older prince out of his way. Aegon, apparently not one to take offense easily, gave him a friendly pat on the back. “Uncle we were just interrogating Arya on her mysterious origins.”

The boy suppressed a burp, laughed at himself then drained his cup with the same vigor Arya had shown moments ago. Larys gave him a polite but curt bow of the head saying, “She has been most evasive with her answers.”

There was a smile on the rat’s face that told Daemon Arya had at least been charming about the evasion. “What do you mean?” Arya challenged as she chewed, “I’ve told you nothing but the truth!”

He gave the older man a glare, “That truth being?”

Layrs smiled blandly, “A mystery to all, herself included, she indicated it was the result of some unknown injury…?”

As Aegon snagged another drink from a passing servant he addressed Arya, “You have to admit, mysterious memory loss is a pretty far-fetched tale.”

She gave them all an impish grin as she licked her fingers clean, “And yet it is true.”

“You expect anyone to believe that?” His younger nephew, Aemond, said with a pinched expression. Daemon silently noted how punch-able the young prince’s face was.

Arya merely teased the boy, “Fine then, who do you think I really am?”

The boy glanced warily at Daemon then down at the floor. “As far as Westeros is concerned, no major house is missing a daughter. That we know of anyway. You are most likely of common or foreign birth, or else the crown would have heard of whatever tragedy befell you.”

Aemond exercised great tact in the answer, which Daemon silently commended. He was obviously trained well in the art of etiquette. His older brother however did not seem to have the same kind of sense of self preservation.

Drunkenly Aegon answered, “Twat.” He cuffed his brother on the ear, before turning back to Arya. “You are obviously Uncle’s whore or his bastard, or both.”

His hand grabbed instinctively for Dark Sister’s hilt, but before his ire could fully guide his response Arya threw her head back and laughed boisterously. “Are those my only options?”

She sipped from her glass. Aegon sloppily grinned back at her, “You could be my whore instead?”

He would kill the boy for his impertinence.

Arya laughed again; the sound now grating on his nerves. Did she not understand the insult being leveled against her and by extension him? She smiled invitingly at the young princes, “Perhaps Drogon and I hatched from the same dragon egg and all my oddities are because in truth I am a malformed wingless human dragon hybrid?”

They all regarded her with variations of the same ‘what the fuck’ expression.

“Well,” Larys said after a beat of uncomfortable silence, “I must give my condolences to the rest of House Velaryon. If you’ll excuse me?”

The rat scurried away as fast as his mishappen foot allowed. Aegon moved in, quick to take Lord Strong’s place on Arya’s other side. He clinked his cup against Arya’s merrily saying, “Well whatever your association, I for one am glad you are here.”

He placed a hand on Arya’s thigh and spoke seductively, “Hopefully we will be able to steal a moment alone to get to know each other properly.”

With words spoken in a tone as sharp as a knife’s edge he warned, “Nephew if you do not remove your hand at once, you will join my late wife in the ocean.”

The prince gave him a saucy wink and proceeded to stroke Arya’s velvet covered leg, “Come now Uncle, there’s no need for violence,” He focused his lustful eyes on Arya’s cleavage, “I’m sure there’s enough of Arya to go around.”

A guttural rumble beyond the ledge saved his nephew from a quick death.

Behind Arya the tips of Drogon’s horns appeared first. Then his burning red eyes. Eyes locked on Aegon’s hand on Arya’s leg.

The great dragon pushed his way between Aegon and Arya, until his giant head rested on the ledge next to the girl. Daemon glanced over the barrier to see Drogon’s body perched precariously on a small cliff just below the ledge.

Daemon moved so he was on the other side of Drogon’s head, keenly aware the entire party had frozen in fright. He patted the dragon’s snout gently, exchanging a quick smile with Arya, who pressed a kiss the dragon’s eye and began doing the same.

In truth, Drogon was the strangest dragon he had ever encountered. He was far more friendly and peaceful than was typical of his breed. He seemed to understand the common tongue more than Valyrian. He accepted the touch of anyone Arya deemed worthy. He was obedient and yet independent.

The more he got to know the dragon and his quirks, the deeper his respect and curiosity about Arya’s true identity grew.

Over his shoulder he remarked to Aegon, “Drogon’s surprisingly stealthy for such a large dragon, isn’t he nephew?” Only when he looked to take in the boy’s reaction, he was gone. A quick search of the crowd found he had fled to Ser Criston side.

“Is Drogon his name?” Aemond asked quietly. Unlike his older brother the dragon’s appearance seemed to be pulling him closer, like a moth to a flame, he pressed close to Arya’s side now, eyes big, nothing but respect and awe in his expression.

It was at that moment he remembered this one was like his Rhaena, dragonless.

“Yes, this is Drogon.” Arya informed him warmly, she too could easily read the boys longing, “Would you like to touch him?”

The boy’s face transformed as he smiled up at her. “Can I?”

Arya nodded encouragingly, but just as the boy reached out a shaking hand a shrill feminine voice called out his name. “Aemond!”

Queen Alicent approached them with Criston at her heels, “Come away from there.”

Arya frowned, “Drogon won’t hurt him.” She put a comforting hand on the shoulder of the disappointed boy. “I think he just came to pay his respects to Laena, like the rest of us.”

The Queen balked, “Respect? Those beasts are not intelligent for such emotional complexity. Send it away.”

Arya surveyed the crowed, but Daemon didn’t bother. He kept his eyes on his girl, he was all at once anxious and excited to see how she would navigate this delicate situation. A quick glance at Drogon and he imagined the dragon felt much the same.

“What makes you think I have the authority to tell Drogon anything?”

The Queen’s brow furrowed in confusion, “I was under the impression this beast was yours, are you not his master?”

Behind the Queen and her shadow guard, the rest of the guests were all listening intently, but keeping their distance. All except Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys who were drawing closer.

Arya smiled, just a hint of mischievousness on display, “I am Drogon’s chosen dragon rider. He has no master.”

The Queen frowned, “I order you to send it away, there are children present. This is not the time or place to entertain dangerous animals.”

Arya threw her head back and laughed so vigorously she almost toppled off the ledge. Quickly he grabbed a fistful of her skirt to keep her upright.

“You order me, to order Drogon, to go away?” Arya laughed mockingly, “Are you mentally deficient?”

Daemon snorted, his girl was bold.

The Queen put a restraining hand on Ser Cristion, who presumably was about to step forward to defend the Hightower bitch’s honor.

Arya grabbed one of Drogon’s horns and tugged the dragon closer to her face, “Can you believe this shit?” The dragon responded with a gruff rumble and a gentle head shake to dislodge her hand.

Sarcastically slow, Arya addressed the Queen, “Drogon is a dragon.” In an instant her words turned sharp and her eyes went cold. “The commands of Kings and Queens mean nothing to dragons.”

“Which is why I issued my command to you.” Alicent responded harshly.

“I am also a dragon.” Arya informed her, with a mean toothy smile on display.

At once Daemon realized he’d made a mistake. Arya was not toying with the Queen to flex her power, she was just itching for a fight. He felt like a fool for not realizing it earlier. She was sad, though trying not to show it or think about why she was sad, hence the drinking and forced cheerfulness. And now, she was looking for a way to release all that emotion. Usually, this sort of behavior led to her starting a brawl or dragging some underserving sod into her bed.

But here and now, this behavior could escalate to social and political devastation. Silently he cursed her, for Arya was forcing him into the unfamiliar role of 'peacemaker'.

“Oh, to be young and reckless again.” He moved back to Arya’s side, shoving Aemond away and towards his mother. He smiled at the Queen, in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way.

He then pet Arya’s back, “Arya, the Queen is unfamiliar with your queer sense of humor, you should not jest with her in such a manner.” He stole the girls cup and set it far out of her reach, “She will think you a heathen if you are not careful.”

He and Arya stared at each other, having a silent battle of wills.

Arya broke first, heaving a sigh she gave the queen a half bow, “Apologies your Grace, I am so used to preforming banter with crowds, I forget that it is different having an actual conversation.” She then turned to Drogon and said flatly, “Fuck off, dragon.”

Drogon let out a screech of protest. “You heard her,” She pointed vaguely at Prince Aemond, “You’re frightening the babies.”

“Hey! I’m not--” The boy loudly protested, but his mother’s hand coming down on his shoulder and drawing him close cut off any more words.

Drogon huffed, ruffling Daemon’s hair. Thoughtlessly Arya pushed on Drogon’s face, “Go on, shoo.”

Drogon remained unmoved. Arya looked back at Alicent and shrugged her shoulders, “I’m sorry your Grace, I tried.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed, “Are you saying you cannot control it?”

Daemon glared, he was sure the Queen kept calling Drogon ‘it’ and ‘beast’ on purpose and it was really starting to offend him. Then Arya said, “No man or woman alive can truly control a dragon and anyone who says different is lying…or selling something.”

He shifted his glare onto Arya.

“Now is not the time for this.” He muttered.

“What was that?” The Queen asked, but Daemon waved his hand at her dismissively.

“Nothing, a philosophical difference of opinion.”

Arya quickly elaborated, “Daemon and I are always going back and forth about the true relationship between dragons and riders.”

He tried to shut the discussion down, “As I said, this is neither the time nor the place.”

“Actually, I’d be interested to hear-” Alicent's words halted as Princess Rhaenys laid a hand on the Queen’s arm, cutting off whatever she was about to say.

“Excuse me your Grace,” His cousin marched up to he and Arya, pushed him out of the way and pulled Arya down low enough to whisper in her ear. After a few seconds, Arya nodded and Princess Rhaenys stepped aside.

Arya tugged on his shoulder, “Help me down.” She muttered quietly, before raising her voice to be heard by everyone else, “If you’ll excuse me, I am needed elsewhere.”

Once back on the ground, Rhaenys took her by the hand and began to lead her away.

“What about the dragon?!” Alicent protested.

Drogon was still resting his head on the ledge, watching them all with his eerily intelligent eyes.

Without even looking back at the Queen Arya flippantly responded, “You may try ordering him to leave yourself, but in my experience, dragon’s can be very stubborn.”
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Here is some of my attempts at AI art:
#Team Arya/Drogon/Daemon vs Alicent

Chapter Text

Chapter 12
~Arya~

Aegon was surprisingly charming given half a chance. Or perhaps it was the wine that made him more appealing.

“Another glass?” He offered with a conspiratorial grin. Wordlessly she took it and drank deeply from the cup. He was handsome with delicate features, not the type she was normally attracted to, but it really was slim pickings given the occasion and venue.

Lord Corlys was currently the center of attention, telling an amusing story about a young Laena and her efforts to escape lessons. However, Arya was only half listening. Daemon had disappeared after her exchange with the Queen and as such she was forced to ‘hold down the fort’ alone.

After following Princess Rhaenys inside to be quietly scolded, she had looked for Daemon, but couldn’t find him. She thought to send out someone to look for him, but then she realized Princess Rhaenyra was also missing. She had a feeling they were enjoying a private reunion and so decided not to dwell on her friend’s desertion.

After a few minutes silent observation, she had tasked Baela and Rhaena with shadowing Ser Laenor. The man had looked so bereft, she feared he might jump into the sea after his sister’s remains. She had coached the girls into using a combination of guilt and pity to make their uncle sit and share stories about their mother when she was young. It only took a few leading questions and some exaggerated laughter on her part before more joined in their little circle.

With the drinks constantly flowing and the mood being actively lifted by her little group, it wasn’t long until the somber affair mourning Laena’s loss turned into something more like a celebration of the life she had lived. Arya smiled, she bantered, she kept the conversations going, she kept everything light, but it was all a performance. And frankly it was becoming exhausting.

She just wanted to leave like Daemon had. To go and do something pleasant and distract herself from Laena’s loss. But she could see how healing the commiserating was for the girls and Laena’s extended family. So, she stayed. She played the part, as Rhaena had requested this morning. She acted as a source of love and comfort to everyone in her orbit. Never once letting on how much she wanted to scream and set everything on fire.

Or so she thought.

A hand slipped around her waist and squeezed, Aegon’s lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, “Your smile is faltering.”

She smiled brighter to compensate. Though, it felt like the effort of pulling the muscles into the proper place took more effort every time.

Aegon poured some wine from his cup into hers. She took another long sip and shivered when he spoke into her ear again, “Don’t worry I don’t think anyone else noticed the façade dropping.”

She took another drink as she eyed the man child beside her. With every drink she took she swore he got prettier and prettier.

Aegon ran the back of his finger down her jaw line, “Such a brave face you wear.” She was half tempted to take the digit into her mouth and bite it…or suck it. She giggled to herself, just imagining the twittering response that would get her.

Ser Laenor took over, telling a story about Laena taking childish revenge on him that left the crowd snickering.

Aegon boldly pressed a feather light kiss to the nape of her neck before returning to whisper seductively in her ear, “I wonder who here is tasked with taking care of your needs?” He gave her a look loaded with so much salacious intent she felt a corresponding throb from between her legs. “When you are overwhelmed with feeling, who will work to cheer you?”

She took another drink before responding, “Are you volunteering?”

His answer was a slow lecherous smile.
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Aegon was surprisingly good at eating pussy given half a chance. Arya silently acknowledged how stupid she was being, they had only moved to the staircase, the one that led from the balcony down to the beach. There was great threat they would be discovered, but Arya was too drunk to care.

“A little higher.” She said quietly. Aegon, hidden beneath her skirt took direction well.

“Yes,” She gasped, “Right there, don’t move, just keep—keep doing that.” He sucked hard on her clit. It was the perfect amount of pressure to set off her orgasm.

As she shuddered with pleasure, she hooked her leg around his shoulder pulling him closer. He made a noise of protest but she ignored it and only released him once she was spent.

As her senses returned, she wondered why he did not emerge from underneath her skirts. It took her a few seconds to register that the sound of him stroking his member had increased. She was a little disconcerted with the idea of him just staring at and presumably smelling her pussy to get himself off, but as it required the least amount of effort on her part, she allowed it to continue.

It wasn’t long until he moaned and muffled other noises into her thigh. She inhaled sharply when he pressed into the cut on her leg from the rapers.
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After righting their clothes and wiping off various secretions they sat on the floor with a bottle of wine between them. As they resumed drinking, they chatted.

“What happened to your leg?” Aegon’s fingers danced across the limb in question.

She smiled meanly, “Baela and I were accosted by three rapers a few days ago.”

Aegon’s playful grin melted away. “Oh.”

Arya muffled a laugh into his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I killed them all.”

Aegon took a drink from the bottle, he seemed very uncomfortable. Stealing the drink from his hand, she decided to take pity on him. “They never touched me. I killed them before they could do more than rough me up a bit.”

His eyes lingered on her split lip. She nodded and pointed to the injury on her face and then her arms, where there were hand shaped bruises turning a lovely purple color. “That’s the extent of it.”

“Good.” He said with a little nod, his eyes looking off into the distance.

“It was fun.” She confessed, bringing his attention back to her face. “Don’t tell anyone, but, I love killing people who deserve it.”

He was back to looking uncomfortable and it tickled her to play with him so. “Rapist and child abusers and murders. It’s a very short list of people you can kill without feeling bad about it. So, when I come across them, I try to savor the experience.”

He looked petrified of her. She kept her mouth closed so her laughter would not grow too loud and attract attention from the people above. Offering him the bottle back, Arya said, “Tell me about you. What is the life of a prince like?”

“You’ve met my family, what do you think my life is like?” He drank deeply, his eyes a bit unfocused at this point.

“If I had to guess, I’d say pretty lonely. I didn’t sense any great love between you and your little brother, I assume you’re not close?” He also hadn’t run to his mother or father for protection when Drogon scared him off. Not that she sensed any warm feelings between the Knight and teenager. Her sense of Aegon so far was that he was a lazy and indulgent man child. Certainly not the best traits for a prince to have, but also not the worst.

It was a slow drag up her body before his eyes met hers again. “You have no idea.”

He stared at her for silently for a long minute. She stared back, trying not to blink. And then all of a sudden it was like she had unlocked something inside Aegon. And all of his thoughts were hers.

“My brother Aemond is such a twat.” Gone was the lothario who had spent the past twenty minutes on his knees under her skirt.

“Perfect little prince, always doing as he’s told. Always making me look bad in comparison.” Gone was the sweet talking prince.

“Fucking can’t let me have any attention, won’t stop studying, stop fucking tattling over every little thing! Has no sense of humor, and he’s always pouting over not having a fucking dragon. I mean, its not my fault his egg didn’t hatch, is it? I didn’t do anything to him, to take anything from him, but sometimes he looks at me and it’s like he hates me! And then that moment will pass and he’s just back to being a sulky little brat.” Gone was the façade, and all that was left was the real Aegon Targaryen.

He took a drink, pointing at her, “And don’t get me started on Helaena!”

He had his arm around her waist and as he ranted about his family he began to pet up and down her ribcage, rhythmically. It didn’t feel like a sexually charged touch, more of a self-soothing one. Velvet really had been the perfect choice.

She wondered what other hidden depths lurked in the mind of Aegon Targaryen. With his lust sated and his head swimming from drink she realized this was the perfect opportunity to learn anything she wanted about him. With a fake giggle she asked, “Is she perfect as well?”

Aegon rolled his eyes, “Far from it! You met her.”

“Briefly.”

His hand clutched at her side tightly, “Well, she’s awful. Weird beyond explanation, stupid, frigid,” he groped her breast briefly muttering, “Nothing like you.”

He moved in close and started kissing her neck. “Mmm.”

“She can’t be that bad.” She teased, tilting her head to give him better access. Only he didn’t take advantage like she wanted him to.

Instead, he pulled away and with a puckered expression he revealed, “I am to marry her!”

“Ugh.” There was an instinctual shudder of revulsion that ran through her body. The thought of brother and sister coupling—“Gross.”

“Yes!” Aegon exclaimed excitedly, “Exactly, thank you!” He then took a long pull from the bottle obviously frustrated with his tragic fate.

“You could always refuse?” She suggested, pulling the bottle away and feigning taking a sip herself.

The young prince scowled, “I cannot.”

She rested her elbow on her bent knee and supported her head with her hand, giving Aegon all of her attention. “Why not?”

“My mother--”

“You have a dragon.”

He frowned, “That does not mean--”

“You are a dragon.”

Briefly his frown dissipated and he smiled at her sadly. “You do not understand.”

She put a hand on his knee and squeezed, “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t understand…how does your sister feel about this arrangement?”

He barked a cruel sounding laugh, “Trust me, neither of us want this.”

“Then don’t marry her.” She said with a shrug.

“It is not so simple.”

“It--”

“Enough.” He reached for her hips and hauled her forward onto his lap. He looked at her pleadingly, “I do not wish to speak of Heleana any longer.”

He slipped his hand beneath her skirts and up to her hot center. He pushed his lips to hers desperately, just as he began to touch her, he whispered, “I do not want to talk at all.”

It seemed ironic, because she thought what Aegon needed most of all, was exactly that. To talk and have someone really listen. But then again, she was curious if he was as adept with his fingers as he was with his tongue.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. Breaking apart briefly she confirmed, “Not talking sounds good to me.”

She saw only a brief flash of his grateful smile before she was closing her eyes and kissing him again. Then her world was only pleasure and darkness and the feel of a warm body underneath her own.
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Chapter Text

~Aemond~
“I can remember this one time, we were 8 I think, Laena got mad at me for—you know I can’t remember what it was for, but the point is, she was cross with me. So, in an act of revenge, she got her hands on a bucket full of sea slugs and hid one in every pair of shoes I owned!” The crowd around Ser Laenor laughed heartily.

“You all laugh, I was scared for life! I still check to make sure my shoes are empty before putting them on to this day!”

Ser Joffery exclaimed, “It’s true, he does!”

Aemond stood on the outside of the jubilant group just watching. After Princess Rhaenys had pulled Arya away, diplomatically ending her confrontation with the Queen, the girl had returned and gathered a new audience.

She did not seem affected by his Uncle Daemon’s departure at all, which was surprising. Without his protection he had assumed the girl would wilt or cling to the Velaryon’s, but she had not. Somehow, she had half the attendants all gathered around her drinking and laughing and sharing stories about the late Lady Laena.

Of course, not everyone in her little circle was participating, not many knew the deceased well enough to contribute heartwarming tales of yore, what with Prince Daemon hiding his wife away in Pentos for the last 10 years. But that didn’t seem to be hurting the atmosphere Arya had artfully cultivated.

The term ‘joyful mourning’ came to mind as he observed the scene. He learned from Princess Rhaenys that the girl had been preforming as a mummer in Braavos, and now it showed. The girl would be a force to be reckoned with at court, if she ever came to court.

Aemond glanced at the girl’s dragon, it was where she had left it, head resting on the balcony ledge right behind his father. Only now its eyes were closed and its breathing had evened out. Even asleep, the great dragon looked terrifying. Its coloring of black and red were very striking, reminding him of his readings regarding Balerion the Black Dread. He’d overheard many of the attendants make the same comparison. However, in personality it appeared he was a wholly unique creature. For a dragon anyway.

He was very curious and longed to ask Arya about where she had found him. How she had claimed him. Why he had chosen her, a bastard Targaryen girl or a girl with no Valyrian blood at all. How she had trained him. Why she had named him Drogon. And so many other than questions. If not for his mother’s obvious distain he would be with his brother right now getting his answers.

When Arya first gathered everyone, she had been leading the conversation, sharing humorous stories of her and Laena’s adventures in Pentos, but as more people flocked to her circle, she spoke less and less. At least to the crowd at large.

She still laughed when appropriate, asked a few follow up questions, or made understanding noises, but the bulk of her attention was now focused on his brother. It was fairly disappointing for her to fall so easily for his brother’s minimal charms given how promising she had appeared.

Aegon had slyly inserted himself into the group and found a way into the seat next to Arya. Aemond had watched as the pair drank and drew closer and closer together, quietly flirting. It was surprising to see how receptive the girl was to his brother’s advances now that Daemon was no where to be found.

“Unbelievable.” His mother huffed into her own cup. She was very displeased about the girl’s appearance even before she mouthed off disrespectfully. Now, she was positively seething. Mother put a hand on his shoulder, “I don’t want you going anywhere near that girl do you hear me?”

Aemond was reluctant to agree. If he avoided Arya, he would never get his questions answered, but he didn’t want to lie to his mother. Luckily, a great rumbling saved him from answering.

Everyone turned to see the girl’s dragon awaken. With a shake of his head, Drogon let out a slow yawn. His eyes glanced across the crowd quickly before he turned and simply flew away.

Aemond’s eyes stayed on the dragons retreating form as it grew smaller and smaller, until it ultimately flew out of sight. As if the dragon’s departure was a signal, his father rose from his chair to take his leave.

“I am going to bed Aemma.”

Aemond winced. His father’s mistake was an insult to all the years of loyalty and companionship his mother had provided him. And what’s worse, he did it so publicly, when there was a lull in conversation meaning everyone heard.

His mother said nothing as his father made his slow rickety walk back into the castle. Ser Westerling shadowing his every step.

God’s how he hated him.

It was Aemond’s opinion that objectively, Viserys Targaryen was the weakest creature to ever come from their line. He was certainly the weakest King. He didn’t even have a dragon. And at times he wondered what life would have been like had Princess Rhaenys taken the throne instead of his father. He most likely would have never been born, but he suspected the realm would be better for it. He was well aware of the coming war between his family and Rhaenyra’s. A war that would begin when his father drew his last breath.

His father who was dying, slowly, from failure.

When he looked back, he saw his brother and Arya were gone. “Aegon’s missing.” He told his mother quietly, “And the girl.”

After confirming their disappearance with her own eyes, she said, “Look for them discreetly. Bring your brother back to me if you find him.”

She then gave him a little nudge. There was not even a question that her orders would not be obeyed. Sometimes it felt so good to be considered ‘the good son’. Other times it felt like a leash around his neck. Praise was so hard to come by when it came to his father, but with his mother, there was no question he was the favorite child. His need for her love, his fear of disappointing her, he knew these were weaknesses. He just hadn’t figured out how to purge them from his system yet.

Dutifully he did as he was tasked.

It took him a while to find them, but when he did, he was not surprised. Arya and Aegon were sitting on the stairs drinking. He had planned to tell his mother immediately but the look on Arya’s face gave him pause. The pair were too far away to hear what was being said, but their body language said enough.

Within moments the girl was in his brother’s lap being happily molested. He was tempted to watch. The girl was beautiful and wild and had a certain allure that he could not deny he found attractive, but Aegon’s involvement sullied the sight.

Aemond turned to get his grandfather and make this his problem.
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Aemond watched with glee as Otto Hightower stormed down the steps to interrupt the young couple. They were so enraptured with each other that they didn’t notice his presence until the older man was upon them.

Grandfather glanced back up at him, or more likely to check to see they were still undiscovered by the other guests. Then he kicked Aegon.

The couple broke apart with a gasp, the girl glaring up at the Hand of the King, like she could set him on fire with only the power of her mind. “Fuck off, we’re busy.”

Arya went back to kissing Aegon, but his brother was staring up at Grandfather in fright. Grandfather didn’t like being dismissed. Otto grabbed the girl by the throat and forced her off of Aegon’s face hissing, “You will separate, now.”

Grandfather then grabbed the girl by her arm and hauled her off of Aegon’s lap. “Get up.”

The second the girl was on her feet, she punched Grandfather in the throat.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” She hissed.

There was a pained wheeze. Grandfather reached out for the girl, and Aemond couldn’t guess what his intent was, but he could tell Arya saw the gesture as a threat. And she responded in kind.

Grabbing the arm reaching out for her, Arya pulled the man off balance and slammed his head into the wall.

Aemond moved to the top of the stairs, unsure whether he should go and help or stay quiet and not draw attention. With Grandfather he truly did not know what he would value more. Protecting his body or his pride.

“Bitch.” Grandfather croaked. He’d turned so his back was to the wall, his eyes on the wild girl. There was a small cut on his forehead dripping blood down the right side of his face. His eyes shifted to Aegon, “You disgraceful idiot child.”

“Fuck you, old man.” Arya said, lending a hand to Aegon, helping him get to his feet. “Don’t talk to us like that.”

“This is my Grandfather.” Aegon said, finally speaking. “He’s hand of the King.”

“So?” Arya scoffed sounding unimpressed.

“You will be punished for assaulting him.” Aegon cautioned, his eyes going wide as he realized the severity of the situation, “We will be punished. Shit.”

“He’s right, you will pay for th--”

His grandfather did not get to complete his threat, for Arya leapt forward and threw an elbow at his gut. Then she took his head and bashed it against the wall. Aemond watched in awe as his very tall and intimidating grandfather slowly slid down the wall into a pile at of limp limbs at Arya’s feet.

“What are you doing?!” Aegon hissed loudly, “You--”

“He fell down the stairs.” Arya said sternly. She then picked up the bottle and poured it over their grandfather who looked dazed and a bit confused, “He had too much to drink, and took a spill, because he is old and the stairs are--”

Grandfather kicked out at the girl snarling weakly, “If you think I won’t repay you--”

Arya stepped forward, and while he couldn’t quite make out what exactly was going on he could guess. His grandfather stopped talking, his eyes going wide, Aegon looked petrified, and Arya looked smug.

He had to strain his ears to hear the girl threaten Otto in an eerily calm and steady voice, “You were rude. I was rude back. You grabbed me, I hit you. Take this no further and I will forget and forgive…utter one more insult or threat, and I will crush your cock beneath my boot.” She smiled viciously, “And when you are screaming in agony, I will call to Drogon and have him eat you.”

Aemond had never seen his grandfather look so defeated. He had never seen him swallow his pride. But he did recognize the shrewd calculated look on his face. Otto Hightower realized he was outmatched.

“I apologize.” He grit out, looking as if the words were hot coals he was forced to swallow. “Forgive me for my impertinence, I was not expecting to find my grandson engaged in such activities. I merely wish to protect him, and your reputation.”

“I don’t give a fuck about my reputation.” Arya said with a smile, finally lifting her foot and backing off. She touched her throat and frowned, “Don’t ever touch me without permission again.”

Otto nodded. Arya looked over at Aegon, a thoughtful look on her face. “Does he often announce himself by kicking you?”

Aegon and grandfather exchanged a charged look. Arya then asked, “I’ve already told you about my list. Remember? If he deserves to be on it, I do not care of his power or station, I will happily take care of him for you.”

There was no doubt about what ‘take care of him’ meant. Still, Aemond could see Aegon’s mind slowly turning, realizing that Arya was likely to lash out if he said yes.

There was a corresponding look of dawning horror in Otto’s eyes.

This grandfather was an invaluable piece for their family. To lose Otto now, was to lose the war before it even began. He had to do something.

“Aegon.” He called out, quietly descending the steps to join the trio and hopefully save his grandfather’s life. “Mother is looking for you.”

Arya turned to him and smiled, “Oh, thank goodness you’re here. Your grandfather slipped on the stairs and took a little tumble.” In a quiet aside, she whispered, “I think he’s had a bit too much to drink.”

She put a hand on Aegon’s back and gave him a little shove, “Now that you’re here, you can help your brother take him inside.”

She moved to his side, patted him on the cheek, and in a sickeningly sweet voice added, “I will go and fetch the Maester.”

She gave Otto a final look, her tone shifting into something stern, and more genuine, “Bygones, yes?”

His grandfather gave the girl a nod in affirmation as Aegon swayed unsteadily, whilst trying to help Otto to his feet, “Yes.”

Aemond felt like they’d survived a dangerous storm as Arya picked up her skirts and ascended the steps leaving them all behind. “Good,” She said, “As long as we understand each other.”

As she left the distant sounds of a dragon could be heard.
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Aemond was not able to help an injured Otto Hightower and a drunken Aegon up the stairs and into the castle without help. He was very grateful for Ser Criston’s aid in accomplishing the task. However, he was even more grateful he had a front row seat to Mother’s stern tongue lashing of his brother.

He was also glad that Aegon seemed coherent enough not to say anything about Arya’s assault of grandfather. Because it became clear the older man would not be addressing the slight until he had the proverbial ‘higher ground’ at a later date. Aemond was sure she would rue the day she crossed Otto Hightower…eventually.

In the end grandfather had gone with the story Arya had suggested, claiming to have fallen, and thus explaining away his injuries. Aegon tried to claim food poising, but it was clear to all he was drunk and not ill.

After getting both his grandfather and brother safely to bed, Aemond was instructed to do the same. And he did. For a time.
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Vhagar was the largest living dragon alive. And Aemond was on a mission to claim her.

It was no easy task sneaking out of the castle unnoticed, there were still many people milling about even at a late hour. Luckily, many of the guests were drunk and already abed so he only had to avoid guards and staff.

When he made it out to the beach without being waylaid, it felt like victory.

When he found his way to the sleeping giant, it felt like destiny.
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After claiming Vhagar and riding her for the first time he realized he had never really experienced joy. Or happiness. Or hope.

Before Vhagar he had been living half a life. For his dragon was the piece missing from his soul and now that he had found her and claimed her, he felt complete. He could not wait to tell his mother.

He tensed as he returned to the beach and dismounted his dragon, there was someone on the beach watching him. When his feet touched the sand once again, clapping sounded through the air.

“Impressive!” Arya called out in greeting, she was swaying back and forth and had a bottle in one hand. “I’ve never seen someone claim a dragon before. I especially enjoyed the bit where you almost flew off. But then didn’t!”

The praise caught him off guard. He didn’t quite know how to respond.

Arya held out the bottle, “Want a celebratory sip?”

She really was very pretty.

He strode forward with confidence, the closer he got the wider her smiler grew. He took the bottle from her hand and took a large swig. It tasted like shit.

She laughed as she took the bottle back from him, patting him on the shoulder, she raised the bottle towards Vhagar in a ‘cheers’ motion, “May Vhagar bring you as much joy as she brought Lady Laena. I am sure she would approve such a brave, rule breaking little boy, taking up her mount.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Arya threw her head back and drank greedily from the bottle. It was a little alarming how much she drank in just one go, but when she pulled away from the bottle with a ‘ah’ sound, he laughed.

She laughed too.

“So,” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and turned them back to face the castle, “…what was your name again?”

The smile dropped from his face. Flatly he told her, “Aemond.”

“Oh yes, Aemond.” She gave his shoulders a squeeze, “Can you help me get back to the castle, I was drinking and singing with Drogon on the beach, a little ways down there, but he abandoned me to go find a cow to eat or something.”

She leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “I’m a bit drunk.”

“I noticed.” He snorted recalling she had said the same thing about his grandfather earlier in the evening. He stared into her glazed eyes, and saw nothing but guileless truth. “Of course I will help you back to the castle, my lady.”

She tapped him playfully on the nose, “Not a lady, but I appreciate the help all the same.” She removed her arm from his shoulders and instead linked it together with his own at the elbow. “Shall we?”

Three steps in they fell face first in the sand. “Shit, sorry.”

Aemond chuckled as he helped her back to her feet, unsteady as she already was, the uneven sand dunes would not make the journey easy. She kept blaming her balance issues on her dress, but with a brother like Aegon, he knew it was the wine.

He couldn’t help but ask, “Why were you out here all alone drinking?”

“I was not alone, I was with Drogon.” They lapsed into silence for a few minutes before she said, “I miss Laena.”

He paused, forcing her to stop also. He’d wanted to give his condolences to his cousins earlier, but hadn’t managed to find the courage to do so. He found some now. “Your song this morning was very moving. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Arya stared up at the moon, her eyes glistening. “Laena was a very good person. The world is colder without her.”

He noticed then that she was without her cape, and given the cool temperature that night brought on, she had to be freezing. “We should keep going.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to will away her tears. “Yes, lets.”
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He saved Arya from falling face first into the sand three more times before they reached the tunnel entrance that led back to the castle

His good spirits drained away as figures waiting for them came into focus. Arya kept tight hold of his arm and he was grateful for it as he realized his cousins were waiting in the tunnel to confront him. Probably over Vhagar.

“It’s him.” Baela stated, her tone full of accusation.

“It’s me.” He confirmed, projecting confidence.

Arya frowned, “What are you all doing out of bed?”

Rhaena looked like the other girl had punched her in the face, “How could you, Arya!”

“Get drunk on the beach? Or fuck around with his brother?” Arya asked sounding confused, “I warned you yesterday this was my plan all along. I knew I would not be able to deal with my feelings of grief without a little something, something, to get me through the funeral. It’s why I didn’t want to come in the first place. Well, maybe second place--”

“Not that!” Baela exclaimed, her face shifted after a second, the outrage briefly dissolving into confusion, “Wait, you fucked who’s brother?”

“Vhagar is mother’s dragon!” Rhaena declared, glaring at Arya. “How could you let him steal her!”

“Steal her?” Arya frowned, “Rhaena, you need to calm down. You’re not talking sense.”

“You betrayed me!” Rhaena cried dramatically.

These two girls who were clinging to Arya’s skirts earlier in the day, now attacked her with venom? Aemond was appalled and all at once felt vindicated. There was a reason Vhagar had chosen him, and it was obvious it was because he was far superior to the only other dragon less Targaryen.

“Your mother’s dead. Vhagar has a new rider now.” He said, trying to sound firm. He would have no questions on who Vhagar belonged to.

Arya pulled away, waving her arm at him, saying, “Whoa!”

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena whined.

Aemond ignored Arya and addressed the little girl harshly, “Then you should’ve claimed her!”

“Okay, calm down.” Arya said, looking a little woozy, her eyes were glazed and unfocused, “Everybody calm down.”

Aemond would not stand for his claim being challenged. He sneered at Rhaena, “Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

Rhaena rushed forward grabbing his arms, but she was much smaller than him, and a girl. So, he threw her to the ground easily.

“HEY!” Arya shouted, grabbing for his arm, but before she could do anything Baela was stomping forward and punching him in the face.

“HEY!” Arya shouted again, “STOP!”

Aemond was on his feet in a second and returning the punch. “Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!”

Arya yanked him back by his hair, “Shut up!” She glared at the girls whimpering on the ground, “Everyone shut up!”

He turned, and rammed his shoulder into Arya, slamming her into the wall. This got her to release his hair, but he didn’t have time to gloat over his victory. Jacaerys yelled as he attacked, all but announcing he was to take his turn trying to put Aemond down.

The first punch hit him under the chin, snapping his head back, but he recovered quickly. Jace was punching, punching, but not making contact. Aemond dodged every subsequent attack because Jace telegraphed his every move like the amateur he was. Until finally he had an opening, and kicked his cousin in the gut, throwing him into the dirt like he belonged.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arya bent over and vomiting, desperately holding onto the wall trying to remain on her feet.

Lucerys screamed like a little girl and grabbed for his shirt, but at this point Aemond was on the attack. One punch to the face sent the boy to the ground, his nose most likely broken.

He did not expect his cousins to converge on him as a pack of wild animals. Jace shoved him hard and he landed on his back, then as one, Baela, Rhaena and Jace descended upon him. Punches rained down upon him on all sides. Staring up at all those angry faces, he felt afraid for the first time since the quarrel had begun.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Arya screeched, and suddenly Baela was yanked off of him. It was the opening he needed. He kicked Jace in the stomach, sending him flying backwards. He tossed Rhanea into Arya and Baela. Then he sat up, just in time to grab Lucerys by the neck.

“FUCKING ST—oh gods.” Arya was retching again.

Aemond searched the ground behind him, when he found a rock, he held it up threateningly. The anger fueling him was familiar. It was the anger he felt every time he was slighted as a child. It was what he felt when he was mocked for not having a dragon. When he was reminded, he was nothing more than a second son. When he was ignored by his father. Dismissed by his brother. His cousins…

“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!” He glanced at Jace sneering, “Bastards.”

Crying Lucerys exclaimed, “My father’s still alive.”

The child’s naiveite was sad, but Aemond felt no pity. He knew the score, as did Jace, it was time for them all to realize Aemond was no longer easy pickings. He addressed Jace, “He doesn’t know, does he, Lord Strong?”

His cousin pulled a knife. And that was it. That was when he knew, this fight was exactly what he thought from the beginning. This was no childhood brawl. This was his family verses Rhaenyra’s bastards.

This was life or death.

“Jace!” Baela called out at the same time Arya screamed, “FUCK”

From the side Arya staggered towards him. He threw Lucerys at Jace, but the older brother moved, letting Lucerys fall. Jace started swiping at the air in front of Aemond with his little blade. He somehow avoided being cut and managed to land a fist to Jace’s temple, sending him to the ground once again. He paused, looking at Arya who had also paused.

His nose crinkled in disgust; he had never seen someone vomit so much.

Her poor decisions were his good fortune, because now there was no one to stop him taking his revenge. He approached Jace, with the rock held high, his intentions clear for everyone to see.

He enjoyed seeing his cousin skitter backward, fear rolling off him in waves, he looked over at Rhaena. Gloating, making sure she knew this was all her fault. She shook her head at him, but it was too late. They had all gone too far.

He was not afraid to take it further.

Just as he turned back to Jace, sand was thrown in his face. He reared back.

“NO!”

There was a hand on his face pulling him back, he was sure it was Arya. He would have fought the hold, but as soon as her hand made contact with him there was pain. So much pain in his eye he couldn’t help but cry out, “AAAAH!”

There was something—the knife was in his eye.

“Don’t move.” Arya whispered in his ear. Her hand was still on his face, her hand was covering his eye. But his eye was in so much pain, he thrashed trying to dislodge her. “I said don’t move!”

“My eye!” He cried, his legs giving out as he crumpled to his knees.

“Fuck.” She whimpered as he began to wail. “Fuck.”

The warm blood was pouring out of his face.

Arya was still stubbornly holding onto his face and he was just so confused as to why. Why was her warm body was pressed to his back? Why wasn’t she letting go? Why was her arm coming around his chest, hugging him.

“Don’t move. Don’t take the knife out of my hand.”

Take the knife out? He finally realized what had happened. Lucerys had stabbed him in the eye, and Arya had been stabbed through the hand trying to protect him.
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Because I didn’t feel like writing the whole Aemond/Vhagar first flight scene…here are some gifs lol

Chapter Text

Chapter 14
~Arya~

She swallowed down the panic. The pain in her hand was sobering but not enough. Her head still swam in confusion. Everything had gone wrong so quickly. She cursed herself for indulging her sorrows.

“Don’t move.” She kept repeating to the bleeding boy. Her eyes swept over the other children. Baela and Rhaena were huddled together and seemed unharmed besides some bruising. The little boy had a broken nose. The older boy--

“Ah!” She let out yelp as the knife in her hand was jerked upwards.

Aemond was trying to pull the knife out, like an idiot. “NO!”

“I want it out!”

“Stop!” She grabbed his hand and tried to pull it away, but he just used his free hand to hold her back. He grabbed the knife again. She yelled right in his ear because she didn’t have another hand free like he did, “You’ll make it worse!”

Aemond didn’t listen, he kept yanking and finally it came free of his face. Only he had pulled too hard upwards and cut a line straight above his eyebrow. Which in turn made him cry out and flinch, but the knife was still embedded her hand, and her hand was still hovering over his face, so when he tried to get away, he cut himself more. There was now also a cut straight down his face, underneath his eye as well.

Instinct had him clutching his face and curling up into a ball.

“Fuck.” She exclaimed quietly, her free hand reaching for the boy and cradling him into her own body, but her eyes were on her own mangled hand. The knife that had been used against them wasn’t long, thank the gods, but it was sharp. And still lodged in her hand. “Fuck.”

She turned to Rhaenyra’s oldest boy, “Go get help. Now!”

There was pain building behind her eyes. It did not rival the throbbing in her hand, but it certainly wasn’t welcome. She hung her head and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. In and out. In and out. There was so much about the situation she could not control or help, she just needed to try to keep her head as much as possible.

Baela said her name quietly, “Arya…”

Men were coming, Kingsguard. She heard the clanging of the armor but only opened her eyes once they were almost upon them. An older man approached her and the injured boy. He tried to get Aemond to move the hand away from his face, but couldn’t.

“My prince, my prince. Let me see.”

Aemond was breathing heavily and tried to shake off the man’s gentle hands, he was intent on clinging to her like she could save him. All evidence to the contrary be damned.

“Sit up Aemond.” She coached softly, “Show us your face.”

Slowly, the boy uncurled himself until he was sitting upright. The hand over his eye was just as bloody as her impaled one, maybe more so. His one remaining eye was wet with tears but at least he was able focused it on her face.

She tried to smile reassuringly, but didn’t know how successful her attempt was. “Let me see.”

She kept her face frozen as she stared at the bloody gash. It was fucking gruesome. The child would be half blind for sure. And have a hideous gaping wound on his face for the rest of his life.

“Gods be good.” The Kingsguard breathed out. The next second he was turning to his men and shouting orders, “Fetch the Maester, summon him to the throne room!”

The gory sight triggered a flash of memory in her broken wine addled mind. She was reminded of a giant of a man, a knight, who had half his face burned off when he was boy. His brother pushed him into a fire for playing with his toy. She’d asked him how it happened, and--

“Come,” The Kingsguard said, taking hold of Aemond’s arm, “Let’s get you on your feet.”

The older man easily got the boy standing, but Arya remained on the ground, stunned by this new memory.

The burned man had traveled with her across Westeros trying to get her back to her family. He had protected her. Taught her. Hit her, once. He was someone she hated. And then didn’t. She’d left him for dead, robbed him first. He’d fought a man with a flaming sword. Said cunt a lot--

“Come on young lady, you as well.” Hands under armpits lifted her up and set her onto her feet, but her knees immediately buckled. “Oh!”

The older knight kept her from failing face first in the sand, and she was grateful, but woozy. “Shit.” She sagged against the man, as her vision blurred, “I…”

“She’s drunk.” Baela offered, “Very, very, drunk.”

She turned to the knight and tried to explain, “’m sad.” She waved her unimpaled hand at the girls, “Wasn’t supposed to be out of bed—is a funeral! Didn’t expect to hav’ta deal with this!”

Another knight came forward and wrapped his hand around her waist, while the older knight attended Aemond. As they started walking inside, Arya banished the past from her thoughts, she would need all of her focus to deal with the mess that was the present.
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After they got Aemond settled in a chair near the fireplace in the throne room, he somehow got a hold of her skirt. And then he was clinging to her hand. Her not impaled hand. Apparently, she was swaying or looking in danger of passing out, so a second chair was brought out for her and set up next to the injured prince, at his insistence.

The Maester was not the first to arrive. First was a bunch of guards. Then there was a constant trickle of servants in and out. They set to work lighting candles along the walls, building a fire, and brining in supplies that the Maester would need. Water basin, towels, and whatnot.

In the background she registered that guards were being sent out to wake up the children’s parents. But she was having a hard time concentrating. There was annoying ringing in her ears and she was suffering from a full-blown headache now.

All around them there seemed to be chaos and noise, and in the middle of the room was her and Aemond, sitting side by side, holding hands.

Her eyes drifted over to the other children, they looked just as scared and worried as she felt. She wanted to offer comfort to Rhaena, who’s feelings were so hurt by Aemond’s actions. She wanted to hug Baela and tell her she was proud of how she had defended her sister. But the words wouldn’t come. She was too tired.

She wanted to lay down by the fire and just close her eyes, she even made to get up to do so, but Aemond held her back. His one eye stared deep into her soul, begging, “Don’t leave me alone…please.”

She squeezed his hand in reassurance and sat back down in the chair. She was on his bad side, he had to fully turn his head to see her. She reached out and was going to run a finger down his face, to sooth him, but stopped when she realized the knife was still embedded in her hand. She laughed at it, then looked to Aemond to see if he realized her almost mistake.

He just looked scared.

Improvising, she lifted their joined hands and kissed his bloody knuckles, “Listen kid, every bruise and scar is a lesson. And every lesson makes you stronger.” She tried to smile, so he would not worry about his face so much. It was clear to her he would lose the eye, but she wasn’t sure he had realized that yet. Either way he would eventually learn that there were worse handicaps to have. “In the future, people will look at your face and know, to fuck with you is to do so at their own peril.”

That got her a brief grin.

She allowed herself a momentary respite, leaning back in the chair her head thunked painfully and she closed her eyes. Silently she urged Daemon to hurry up and arrive, she really needed him to come and take over so she could see to her own injuries and finally have a safe space to lose her shit.

Unfortunately, the next two familiar faces to arrive were Prince Aegon and Princess Heleana. “What the fuck happened?”

Arya had neither the strength nor the will to answer when she knew more important people would demand to know the same. When no one answered Aegon asked his question again, but louder. “I said, what the fuck happened! Aemond, answer me right now!”

She was surprised by how angry he sounded, she’d thought he hated his little brother, but there was concern hidden in those shouts. She was even more surprised when it was Heleana who answered, “Aemond claimed Vhagar.”

“No! He stole her! He stole my mother’s dragon!” Rhaena protested in a whiny voice.

Arya pointed at the girl with her impaled hand, “Shut up. Do not speak, do not move. Keep your mouth closed and say nothing. Do you understand me?”

Tears filled Rhaena’s eyes and anger built up in Baela’s. She had no time to explain what a dangerous politically charged situation they were in. The best way to protect the girls was for Arya to do the talking and take all the blame if necessary. She repeated herself giving them a hard stare, “I said, do you understand me? Baela? Rhaena?”

There was a hint of comprehension on Baela’s face, but Rhaena just looked betrayed.

She sighed, she went to rub at her temples, but again had to halt the motion due to her impaled hand. Annoyed, she glared at the girls and tried to convey what she was thinking with her words, her face, and everything she wasn’t saying.

“I love you both,” She said quietly, extremely uncomfortable with all the ears listening, but she felt getting her point across was more important, “You will say nothing. You will trust me to protect you…Yes?”

There was no reply because of the commotion at the door, the maester had finally arrived. And the hand of the king along with him.

Outside the castle walls Drogon let out a roar. Perhaps he had sensed her pain or her suppressed panic, but he was close now. As close as he could come to the castle without climbing inside to be with her. And frankly, she really appreciated the support.
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More people were flooding the room. Some in their night clothes, some half-dressed, all of them unnecessary in her opinion. Every time the door opened; all the children turned hopeful eyes to the entrance only to be disappointed.

Lords and Ladies, who’s names she did not know, circled like vultures. Aemond was trying very hard not to let out noise as the maester started to treat him, but he could not remain completely silent. Every time he gasped or cried out in pain; the crowd would start twittering. Drinking in Aemond’s pain, gawking at his mutilation, peppering the children out of her reach with questions. These people were so casually cruel, she could not understand it. Did they have no sense of decency? Respect? Honor? A child had been grievously injured, and these people gathered to spectate like it was entertainment.

And what’s more the extra noise they provided was making the pounding in her head worse.

When Vaemond Velaryon demanded to know what had happened, grabbing Baela by the shoulders and giving her a little shake when she shook her head and cried, refusing to answer him, Arya decided that was enough.

“EVERYONE OUT!” She stood up abruptly and only wavered for a second before she regained her balance. She glared at the crowd of onlookers but ultimately chose to speak to Vaemond, “If you are not needed, if you are not family, you can fuck off.”

“This is my home,” Vaemond glared back at her and gestured to the girls with a sweeping motion, “This is my family. Who are you to speak to me this way? To any of your betters this way?”

The crowd started to quietly grumble. Vaemond took a step towards her, “I think you are mistaken, you are the outsider, you are the interloper, it is you who does not belong…what was your role in this tragedy I wonder?”

Baela looked ready to speak up on her behalf, but Aemond beat her to it. “Arya did nothing wrong Lord Velaryon, you will mind your tongue with how you speak to her.”

She turned to look down at the kid. He was not looking at the man in question, as the maester had finally cleaned his face of blood and was beginning to stitch his gaping wound closed. His face was as stoic as possible. Arya was impressed, the boy truly had balls of steel.

Vaemond and the group of onlookers started up again, whispering among themselves, spurred on by the new gossip. The sound of it was like incessent buzzing and it grated on her very soul! “SHUT IT!”

Once there was silence, she raised her hand in the air, the uninjured hand, and snapped her fingers. Drogon let out a corresponding terrifying roar that shook the very floor underneath their feet.

“Get out, or I will have Drogon melt the walls of this castle and COME INSIDE AND FUCKING EAT YOU!”

A burst of flame broke through a window above the Driftmark throne. Many of the ladies in the crowd screamed. And when the Drogon stopped, all eyes were back on her. “GET OUT, NOW!”

This time most scurried to obey her. Only Vaemond and Otto Hightower seemed to think themselves exempt. She turned to the girls, “Do you want your uncle Vaemond to stay?”

Baela was quick to shake her head no. She turned to Aemond, “Do you want your grandfather to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Vaemond, leave. Otto, make yourself useful and get your grandson a glass of water.”

“Who do you think you are?” Vaemond questioned, marching towards her.

“They do not want you here. You are not welcome.” She held up her hand, the one with the dagger, Vaemond’s steps faltered. “If you do not leave, I will take this knife out of my hand and rape you to death with it.”

Vaemond did not look like he would acquiesce her request, but then Drogon must have slammed his body against the castle walls, because the entire building shook. Then he roared, and put his eye to the window he had destroyed earlier. His eye fixated on Vaemond Velaryon.

Vaemond was quick to retreat then, without saying another word. Though he did give her a pretty dirty look.

“Well, done.” Otto said quietly.

“Yeah sure.” With all of her enemies banished, she felt deflated. Sitting back down in her chair and Arya leaned back and closed her eyes.

“Guards,” She called out, her voice no longer strong, but sounding tired, “Do not let anymore looky-loos inside this room or you will face my wrath and that of my dragon.”

She was quiet for a bit, but then Aemond took her hand in his again, and squeezed. Without opening her eyes, she told him, “Boy, if you need to cry, you go ahead and fucking cry. No one in this room will judge you. Trust me, being strong is overrated.”

Aemond did not respond beyond giving her hand another squeeze. When Otto came over with a glass of water for Aemond, Arya promptly stole it.

She had only asked him to get it for his grandson, because she was afraid if he knew it was for her he would have poisoned it. As she gulped it all down, he stared at her like she was some rare speciesism. Despite their earlier conflict, she thought he was being rather nice.

“Thank you.” She handed him the empty cup. And he took it, with a wry grin.
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Look at how many no-name, extra people are in this shot? Like why are all those people there? IDK, now they are gone. At least in my story.

Driftmark Throne Room

Chapter Text

Chapter 15
~Daemon, part 1~

Sex with Rhaenyra was a revelation. He had never had such a connection emotionally with someone he was being intimate with. It was a wholly new experience. He knew now they really were made for each other.

He did not regret his time with Laena, but he pitied Rhaenyra for the fate her father had forced upon her with Ser Laenor. A woman of such passion should not be sentenced to a life of solitude or shame. He hoped they would find their way back to each other somehow. One taste of her was just not enough.

When he returned to the castle, he was riding high, not even Rhaenyra’s insistence they use sperate entrances when returning could dampen his good mood. The sound of Drogon roaring and attacking the castle however, that did the trick.

He tried following the sound, but it was a passing maid who ultimately pointed him in the right direction. Apparently, his children had been in a fight and he was needed in the throne room. The sound of Drogon’s discontent had him sprinting through the halls.

His entrance was perhaps a bit dramatic. As he entered at a run, the heavy doors being thrown open in his haste, banged loudly against the wall as he stood in the doorway and took in the scene.

“Papa!” Rhaena cheered for his arrival but stayed put in her grandmother’s arms. Baela sighed in relief, but kept quiet, choosing instead to point at something across the room. He followed his daughter’s direction and found a pair of highbacked chairs set up near the fireplace.

Seemingly kneeling on the chair to see behind her, Arya’s head popped up and glared at him, “And, where the fuck have you been?”

Before he could respond Rhaenyra stormed into the room from the other side, calling out to her boys and running to check on them. Arya, now perched on the armrest, held up her hand and called him to attention, “Daemon! Look! I got stabbed.”

Aegon said something to her, something he couldn’t hear, but Arya turned to respond.

In that split second Daemon lurched towards her because he saw her shift off balance and knew what was coming. But he was too far away to do much more than watch.

Arya, perched precariously as she was on the chair’s armrest, tumbled backward and slammed into the floor, hard. “Ow.”

Prince Aegon had reached out to catch her but failed. Even though the boy was much closer to the fallen girl, it was Daemon who reached her side first.

“That hurt.” She admitted weakly. He crouched on the floor next to her. He was absolutely livid. One look and he could tell she was drunk, perhaps more drunk than he had ever seen her before. A second look revealed she had indeed been stabbed. He snarled at those around them, “Why has a maester not attended to her injury?!”

That is when he got his first glimpse of Prince Aemond. His eye had been slashed out and was being stitched up as they spoke. It was a grisly wound, especially for one so young to suffer. Looking back down at Arya and the dagger embedded in her hand, he could only hope she wasn’t the one who attacked him. That was a political headache he just didn’t need.

The Queen derided, “She is not the only one injured, Prince Daemon.”

He looked Arya over with a more critical eye. One of her sleeves was torn almost completely off and dangled by a few threads. Her hair was half out of the braid, there were scratches on her left forearm, and to top it all off, she smelled faintly of vomit. In a word, Arya was a mess.

“Jon,” Arya mumbled, “My head hurts.” Her eyes were now closed and she was attempting to curl up in a ball, but he had his hand on her shoulder keeping her flat.

“Stay still.” He ordered, glaring at the maester. He couldn’t demand he stop working on the prince, but he wanted to.

“What’s happened?” His brother asked sounding befuddled.

“The girl has fallen and hit her head on the floor, your Grace.” Cole answered.

“Is Arya alright?” Aemond asked, he’d pushed the maester away momentarily so he could turn and assess the girl’s injury for himself. The show of concern gave him hope that Arya was not the one to maim the little prince.

Still, he chose not to answer the boy, instead he gently probed the back of Arya’s head. His fingers came away bloody, but there was no give in the bone to indicate she had broken her skull.

“You should tend to her, Maester.” Aemond insisted, “A head injury is a serious thing. My eye can wait.”

The Queen looked appalled by the suggestion, “No! You are the priority, Aemond. You are the one who has been grievously injured. She--” Alicent shot Arya a look of distain, “She suffers the consequences of her own actions.”

“Mother--”

“He can tend to her when he is done with you.” Alicent said sharply, her voice full of haughty command. There would be no reasoning with her. Silently she prompted the maester to finish his stitching on her son.

Daemon had been a soldier for many years, he could make do without a maester. “I need a clean cloth to stop the bleeding.”

He’d been eyeing one of the guards hovering behind the Queen intent on sending one of them to fetch supplies, but to his surprise Otto was quick to rummage through the maesters bag and hand him what he needed. When he tried to help him, help Arya into a sitting position he growled at the cunt, “I’ve got her.”

He didn’t know what the Hand’s angle was, but he didn’t like the idea of him getting anywhere near Arya. Let alone touching her. Otto smiled smugly, “I can help you get her back in the chair?”

“I’ve got her.” He repeated forcefully.

Perhaps sensing his rising anger Arya sagged against him and said, “Stop. Don’t be a cunt.”

Despite the various emotions he was experiencing, the anger, the worry, the panic, Daemon laughed. Even beaten down and drunk as hell, his girl was as bold as brass and as strong as steel. Pressing a kiss to her forehead he slipped his arm under her knees and behind her back. He got to his feet with a grunt as he was not as young as he once was, and though Arya was light, his lower back still protested the movement.

The cloth he had pressed to the back of Arya’s bleeding head fell, but Princess Heleana caught it before it could touch the ground. She stood there awkwardly, while he surveyed the room. It was divided in half politically. The Hightowers were all hovering around Aemond and Arya, and across the room Rhaenyra and her boys stood next to the Velaryon’s and his girls.

And in the middle was his brother hovering in front of the Driftwood throne.

Daemon was loath to stay among the Greens but there weren’t any other chairs in the room. He had no choice unless he wanted to stand around holding Arya in his arms.

Resentfully, he snagged the leg of the chair with his foot and moved it further away from the injured boy before slowly setting Arya down on it. He took the cloth from Heleana and pressed it against the back of Arya’s bleeding head. She winced at the contact and moaned, “Oh, fuck today.”

Behind him, he was pretty sure Aegon snorted.

Finally, when everyone seemed settled, Rhaenyra took advantage of the quiet and called out asking, “Who did this?”

All at once the children began yelling over each other.

“They attacked me!”
“He attacked Baela!”
“He broke Luke’s nose!”
“He stole my mother’s dragon!”

Arya went to cover her ears with her hands; it was only his quick reflexes that stopped her from accidentally impaling herself in the head. He leant down and spoke directly into her ear, “How much did you drink after I left?”

“Threeeeeeee-ish. Bottles?”

He rolled his eyes, obviously this was all his fault. He had been the one to abandon her to the wolves for his own pleasure. He was just glad she had chosen to drink as a means of distraction instead of acquiring any unfortunate bed companions.

“Enough!” Viscerys tried to gain control over all the voices talking over each other. Content to watch the chaos unfold Daemon began undoing what remained of Arya’s braid with his free hand, finger combing it into some semblance of order. It was bedlam with all the children shouting, and Alicent as well. He almost felt guilty if this was a slice of what Arya had to deal with while he was off with Rhaenyra.

“Enough!” His brother shouted, finally ushering in silence.

He watched as Jacaerys whispered something to Rhaenyra that had her wringing her hands and looking unsettled.

Viscerys, leaning heavily on his cane, hobbled over to his second son. “Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened.”

Of course, the Hightower cunt couldn’t let her boy speak for himself. “What else is there to hear?” Alicent spat out, “Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”

When Rhaenyra said, “It was a regrettable accident.” Arya let out a demented little giggle. Daemon stopped playing with her hair and put a hand on her shoulder, hopefully she would be able to keep it together just a little bit longer.

The Queen continued with her accusations, “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son.”

Not so loud, but in the quiet room all heard her, when Arya said, “Yes and no.”

“Noone asked you!” Alicent scolded shrilly.

“Maybe you should.” Otto advocated, he gestured to Arya, “She was witness to the event. From start to finish. And she is a somewhat impartial party.”

“She’s drunk.” Alicent argued.

“Not that drunk.” Arya tried to defend, but everyone could clearly see that was a lie.

Rhaenyra interjected, “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves.”

“Not true.” Arya said in a sing song voice. And just like that all eyes were on Arya.

“What do you mean?” Viserys questioned.

“Aemond didn’t throw the first punch. To be sure he was an asshole, but he didn’t throw the first punch.” Daemon’s grip on her shoulder tightened. He had a sinking feeling on why Otto was so keen on Arya all of a sudden. And it had everything to do with her irritating sense of justice.

“Then who started the fight?” Alicent prompted.

“Um.” Arya’s eyes shifted over to his girls. Slowly she looked back at the Queen, “Meeee?”

“You.” Viscerys said doubtfully.

“No, she didn’t!” Aemond exclaimed, the maester now finished with his face, “Arya tried to stop it!”

“No, it was definitely me.” Arya argued, glaring at the boy.

Aemond frowned, then turned to his father and said, “It was Rhaena, she tried to hit me first. Arya is lying to protect her.”

“No!” Arya argued, “It was me! I hit first, I’s was mad about Vhagar. I started the fight, I’m to blame.”

Viserys deflated, rubbing his temples he regarded Arya with a sigh, “Girl, I appreciate your loyalty, but I want the truth and I want it from you now.”

Arya turned, looking up at him for direction. He wanted her to lie. He wanted her to make the young prince the villain of the story and make it all easy for him. But that was not Arya. And he could definitely not convince a head wound having, drunk, and tired Arya, to lie, all with a look.

Rhaenyra took the momentary silence as her chance to change the narrative. “Father, vile insults were levied against my sons.”

“What insults?”

“The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.”

Comically, both his brother and Arya, said, “What?” at the same time. Though the tone was different for each. Viserys shocked, Arya confused.

Jacaerys clarified, “He called us bastards.”

“So?” Arya asked with a laugh, but the smile dropped quickly as did her lighthearted tone when she asked the boy, “That means you get to take his eye?”

Rhaenyra glared at her, “My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, it is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

“Are you fucking--” Daemond was quick to cover Arya’s mouth with his hand, muffling her nest words. He knew only insults would spew from her mouth now. In her eyes Rhaenyra was going too far, Arya would not stand for a wounded child to be made the scapegoat.

“Let her speak!” Alicent demanded, finally realizing how truly impartial Arya could be.

Arya pushed his hand away, “You fucking kidding?”

“Careful,” Daemon censured, “Princess Rhaenyra is the heir to the throne.”

“So. The fuck. What.” Arya said dryly, “You’re a Prince and I call you names all the time. You’ve never tried to kill me over it.”

“You will speak to my daughter with respect.” Viscerys said, glaring down at Arya.

“Respect is earned.” Arya hissed callously. A moment later she was running her uninjured hand over her face, looking purely exhausted. Slowly, her whole body slumped over as she addressed Rhaenyra, “Your little angel, brought a knife to a fist fight.”

She held up her impaled hand, yanked out the blade and threw it on the ground half way between herself and the Princess. Her voice was low and cold as she said, “If it wasn’t for me, he’d be a murderer.” Arya then smiled wanly at Lucerys, “Worse than a murderer. A kinslayer…you can thank me with goats.”

“What?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Goats.” Arya repeated, her attention now her injured hand. She held it up and closed one eye, looking through the hole in her palm, “For Drogon,” she explained distractedly. She then closed her hand into a fist and watched the blood ooze down her wrist. “For savin’ your son’s soul.”

Outside, Drogon let out a menacing rumble.

Daemon’s eyes were drawn to a broken window above the Driftmark throne. Drogon’s snout was sticking in the castle as far as it was able to, the dragon pulled back his lips and showed off his teeth, before pulling back out of the window, and filing the space with his eyes. Watching them all very carefully.

“I know a lot about killing people.” Arya said, her eyes now on the ground, her upper body leaning over the armrest, hanging limply nearest Aemond. “I’m really good at it.” Almost in the same breath she kicked out at the maester and said, “Come fix my hand.”

He could sense Rhaenyra’s ire, but she tried to respond diplomatically, “Arya, you do not know our ways but--”

“It is asinine to claim an insult is worth a life. For the oh so important ‘heir to the Iron Throne’ to declare that is to pronounce Westeros a land of savages.” She looked back to him, “I thought you said Rhaenyra was smart?”

Daemon had no idea what to do or say. Arya was always a bit of wild child, with the questionable sex partners, foul language, and drinking. It’s part of what he loved about her. Her untamable spirit. He realized now that, everything he praised about her character was also a double-edged sword. At least in Westeros.

Arya’s dragon made her bold, so she never held her tongue no matter who she was speaking to. Her fighting skills gave her confidence, so she didn’t often worry about the consequences of her actions. And her unwavering sense of right and wrong gave her a sense of superiority that was frankly, fucking annoying.

The only way he could stop her now would be to pick her up and cart her out of the room.

His brother, just as fed up with everything as he was, slammed his cane onto the floor. “This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family!” He glared at Daemon, which, was probably fair as he was intent on bringing Arya into the fold one way or another, and she was seemingly intent on not helping bring the conflict to an easy end.

Viserys turned and looked at Rhaenyra’s boys, “Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!”

Alicent did not like that. “Aemond has been damaged, permanently, My King. ‘Good will’ cannot make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye.”

She glared at her husband, “No, because it’s been taken.”

His brother looked so put upon as he sighed, “What would you have me do?”

“There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.”

“The fuck you will.” Arya growled, surprising probably everyone. Or maybe no one. At this point it was hard to tell how she was coming off to everyone.

“You said it.” Alicent said, her eyes pleading as she addressed Arya, “You said it yourself. It was him, he did this to my son. He tried to kill my son.”

“I said, he could have killed ‘em.” Arya stared at the maester as he worked on her hand, “But he didn’t.” Her eyes flicked up to the Queen briefly, before shifting over to the little boy in question, “All I know is, if you try to take that kids eye out, I’m going to jump out of this chair an’ beat you bloody.”

“You will not.” Ser Criston said, his hand going for his sword.

Arya cackled and mimed giving the man a kiss.

“I thought you were on my side.” Aemond said quietly, looking at Arya with disappointment. The mirthful taunting faded from her face. She looked at the boy like…in a way Daemon just didn’t like but couldn’t pinpoint why.

“I am on your side.” She promised, her eyes skipping about the room from child to child, “And I’m on Baela’s side, an’ Rhaena. An’ the tall one. An’ even the little one who stabbed me.” She smiled wryly at the King, “I’m on all the children’s sides. All at once. Which is, rather a difficult position to take up when their acting like fucking idiots intent on tearing each other apart.”

“So, there is to be no consequence for their actions?” Alicent said shrilly. It struck Daemon as odd that the woman was now completely focused on convincing Arya of Lucerys guilt, instead of her husband the king.

“I didn’t say that.” Arya said cooly. Her eyes shifted over to Aemond, “There’s a difference between justice and revenge, you know.”

Otto stepped forward putting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, he inclined his head towards Arya, “What would you propose?”

“She is not--” Rhaenyra tried to protest but Viscerys held up a hand to silence her.

His brother nodded at Arya, “I would hear what you have to say.”

Arya sighed. Then she looked at Lucerys. Then she looked at Aemond.

She looked at Aemond for almost a full minute without speaking, studying the gruesome mess the boys face had become. Daemon wished he could hear what she was thinking. She was so unpredictable when it came to the idea of ‘justice’, he couldn’t even venture a guess at what was to come out of her mouth next.

“Does he have a dragon?” Arya asked softly, her eyes still on Aemond.

“Yes,” The boy nodded. “A small one.”

“That’s good.” Her eyes shifted over to the boy, Rhaenyra’s boy, who at this point looked horrified.

“You cannot kill his dragon.” Daemon said sternly.

“I would never suggest that, and fuck you for thinking I would.” Arya answered glibly. But all the while she kept her eyes on the boy, “Eye for an eye is barbaric. But, something was taken from Aemond that cannot be replaced, and the boy has a dragon.”

Arya looked over at Alicent, “Where do they live again?”

“Dragonstone.” The Queen answered quickly.

She turned to Aemond, “There’s a dragon pit in Kings Landing capable of housing the boys dragon, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“If I were you,” She said to the Queen, “I would probably kill him. I’d wait a few moons and then use poison or hire a faceless man, so I’d have plausible deniability.” Arya shrugged, “But that’s because I am a killer. I’m a murderer. I’m a,” She laughed a little to herself, “I’m a vengeful little shit.”

There was a long moment as Arya’s smile faded and she and the Queen stared at each other, “But what do I think you should do, your Grace? It would be revenge, to take that boys eye. It would be justice to take his dragon from him.”

Protests were quick to fall from Rhaenyra’s lips, but Arya ignored her and just spoke louder, “Keep the boys dragon until Aemond’s face heals and then like, six more moons on top of that, as penance for all his pain and suffering.”

“Now,” Viserys smiled, looking relieved, “That sounds very fair.”

“Father!” Rhaenyra exclaimed; her pale face ashen. “You cannot--”

Her protest did not matter for Alicent yelled, “That is insufficient!”

“Don’t.” Arya warned. Over the Queens shoulder Otto looked concerned, and took a step back away from his daughter.

“You are a child,” Alicent said to Arya, “You do not understand of what you speak.” Alicent turned to Ser Criston. “If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston… bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Arya started shouting, “Cunt! I will fuck you up!” But Daemon was quick, and slammed both hands down on Arya’s shoulders. If she were not so inebriated, her struggle might have bore fruit, but as it were, he was able to physically contain her.

Alicent continued, “He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son.”

“You will do no such thing.” Rhaenyra said like the ferocious mother she was.

“Stay your hand.” The King commanded Ser Criston. But the man had not moved to obey the Queen so it really was unnecessary.

“No!” Alicent cried out, desperation bleeding into every word, “You are sworn to me!”

Solemnly Ser Criston corrected her, “As your protector, my Queen.”

“It is done!” Viscerys yelled, he grabbed his wife’s arm and held on tightly, “Alicent, this matter is finished. Do you understand?” His brother turned to address them all, “And let it be known: anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

Demurely Rhaenyra said, “Thank you, Father.”

It wasn’t enough. Looking at Alicent, he knew it wasn’t enough for her. A second later he was proven correct when the Queen stole Viscerys’s catspaw dagger and marched towards Rhaenyra and her son.

“I’ll give up my dragon!” Lucerys cried out sounding terrified, “I’ll give up Arrax until Aemond is healed, just let me keep my eye!”

Sharp teeth bit into his hand prompting him to let Arya go. “Fuck.”

As soon as she was free Arya was up and, on her feet, chasing the Queen. Only Ser Criston moved to block her path. Daemon moved to follow just a beat or two behind. Beyond Arya Alicent raised the dagger high, poised to strike. Rhaenyra stopped her, just as Arya punched Ser Criston in the face.

The man responded in kind, and Arya flew backwards, her reaction slowed by all the wine in her blood. The sight of her head once again slamming into stone had him enraged.

Distantly he registered, the sound of dragon fire coming in at the window. But his focus was so narrow, he really didn’t pay attention to anyone but his target.

Daemon was on top of Ser Criston in a heartbeat. His armor let out a delightful clang as Daemon tackled the knight to the ground. He was reminded of Rhaenyra’s wedding, as he sat atop Cole’s chest and rained down blow after blow onto the man’s face.

It was a pity a pair of Kingsguard pulled him off before he could kill the cunt.

No longer engaged in his own battle he realized he had missed much. Rhaenyra was bleeding, Alicent looked horrified and the dagger was on the ground. And half of the wall behind the Driftmark throne was melted.

Drogon, half his body now inside the room with them, roared ferociously, and everyone froze. Except him.

Spinning on the floor, Daemon crawled the short distance back to Arya’s body. Aegon was there hovering uselessly. A quick shove sent the boy back on his heels and away from his girl.

“Arya.” She was breathing. She was at least breathing. “Arya!”

“Ow.” She breathed the word so quietly, but it brought him so much joy he could have cried.

“She’s alright?” Aemond said, coming to crouch by the girl’s other side.

Daemon nodded, petting her hair, “She’s alive.” He looked up and spoke directly to Drogon, “She’s alive!”

Drogon roared. Either the dragoon was glad of the news, still angry, trying to scold them, or just overwhelmed, Daemon didn’t really know. But it was clear the dragon was not happy his mistress had been hurt. And if she were to die, Daemon had no doubt Drogon would burn them all alive.

“Drogon, shut up.” Arya’s said weakly, her eyes fluttering open. It took her eyes a while to focus on his face but when she did, she smiled. “No offense, but your family’s fucking insane.”

He smiled back, stroking her face, “Yes, you are.”
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Here are some pics that I used for reference while writing this chapter

Driftmark Drogon Distruction AI art

Chapter Text

~Daemon, part 2~

When all the insanity had died down, he managed to get Drogon to retreat. He wasn’t sure if the dragon understood his promises to stay by Arya’s side or he just felt the threat to his mistress had passed, but the dragon left somewhat peacefully. Daemond suspected he would stay close, if not circle the castle intermittently until Arya was well again.

After receiving some hurried advice from the maester Daemon picked up Arya and left the room with nary a word to anyone. His girls were under the Velaryon’s protection, Rhaenyra was safe under the umbrella of her father, Arya and her injuries were his priority. Especially with the maester being called upon to tend to the beaten Criston Cole.

Apparently, milk of the poppy was not recommended for a person with multiple head injuries. He was told to make sure Arya got plenty of rest, drank water, avoided stress and noise, and was not left unattended for at least a day. The last bit would not be a problem. He was reluctant to let the girl out of his sight ever again, if this pandemonium was the result.

When in his rooms, he sent for several servants to come and draw him a bath. Finally, somewhat alone with Arya, Daemon set her on the bed face down, making sure her head was tilted so she could breathe.

While the servants filled the tub, he tended to all of her injuries that still needed stitching. The maester hadn’t finished with her hand when everything erupted into chaos, so he finished that first. Then he moved to the back of her head, the wound didn’t look too bad so he only placed a few stitches there.

Were he a better person he probably would have felt guilty about putting several maids to work so late in the night, but as it was, he dismissed them coldly when they had finished their task.

He had no more energy for manners. Nor pointless ideas of propriety.

Once alone, truly alone, he stripped off all of his clothes. With Arya he started with her socks and shoes. Then he worked on the many buttons down the back of her dress. Softly, he roused her, coaxing her into sitting up so he could pull the top of her dress down to her waist. She was barely conscious and seemingly unaware of what he was doing, which unsettled him greatly.

He had never seen her fully nude before, nor her him. It felt like it should be a momentous occasion, but it just wasn’t.

When he got her upright, he had her wrap her arms around his neck, then he stood up keeping one hand around her waist, with his free hand he pushed her dress to the floor. When she was naked in his arms, and every inch of his skin was pressed against hers, he couldn’t help but savor the feeling, despite the circumstances.
Her chest rising and falling underneath his, every breath tickling his skin on the exhale. He was just so relieved that she was gloriously, alive. She was warm. She was real. She was in his arms and he felt like he never wanted to let her go.

As he scooped her up and carried her over to the tub, it was reflex to compare her and Rhaenyra, but he realized quickly the differences between them did not inspire a preference for one body type over the other. They were both beautiful. And both appealing in their own ways.

He paid no mind to the displaced water sloshing over the sides as he stepped into the tub. He’d intended to sit Arya in his lap facing away from him, but when he tried to direct her, she whimpered and tightened her hold on his neck. She ended up draped across his front, straddling his lower half, snuggled stubbornly against his chest.

He had no idea what he was going to do with her.

He wondered if the gods had sent her to him as a form of retribution. For Arya truly felt like a mirror image of him in his youth. She was powerful, wild, unpredictable. Leaving devastation and destruction in her wake. And not giving one fuck about it.

He didn’t know what would come of his coupling with Rhaenyra, but after what happened with the children, he couldn’t picture his niece being as accepting of Arya as Laena had been.

He cupped a handful of warm water and poured it over Arya’s bruised back. While her head injuries were certainly the most life threatening, she had other injuries as well. One’s he really couldn’t do much for, like the black eye and bruised back, courtesy of Ser Criston Cole. Daemon rested his cheek on the top of her head and held her close. She was so small in his arms, the thought of someone harming her incensed him.

While his future was now full of uncertainty there was one thing he was confident in, Arya was his. His to protect, his to keep. He would not give her up without a fight. Not even for Rhaenyra.

Before Arya, he hadn’t realized how lonely he was. Yes, he had Laena and his girls, but what he had with Arya was different. She wasn’t bound to him by blood or marriage, she chose to be by his side. She wasn’t dependent on him to suvive. She didn’t need him. She just liked him.

Looking back on his life he came to the stark realization that Arya was probably his first real friend. Everything they had built between them, the love, the trust, the understanding, it was all organic. With Arya there were no ulterior motives, no mind games, no titles, no obstacles, no politics, no strings, no bullshit. There was just her and him. Arya and Daemon.

If he managed to keep her alive, they could spend the rest of their lives together, just like this. Closer than family, more intimate than lovers.

As he gently began to wash Arya, she roused awake. She mumbled, her legs flexing as she wiped her nose on his chest, “’m naked?”

“Yes.” He ran his hands soothingly up and down her back, the temperature was starting to cool and they would soon have to get out of the tub, but they had time yet.

Her hand dropped from his shoulder, making a splash. “Water?” She inquired sleepily.

“Yes, but you are safe with me.” He pressed a kiss to the brow above her swollen eye.

Her hand slid down into the water and met with his flesh. She touched his stomach and naked thigh. Sounding confused she slurred, “We fuck?”

“Not today.”

She snorted, her wandering hand coming up and out of the water and reaching to play with the ends of his hair. They stayed like that for a few minutes and only the slight movement of her fingers let him know she was still awake.

Quietly, trying not to break the spell of their contentment, he told her, “I love you; you know.”

She wound a strand of his hair tightly around her finger, tugging gently, “’m sorry?”

He chuckled. No one made him laugh as much as she did.

Jerkily she tilted her head up to look at him and he felt relief when they locked eyes. He knew she needed the rest, but watching her get hit and bleed from the head, seeing her unconscious, he was worried.

He worried she would never wake up. He worried she would forget about him, all they had built and shared between them. He worried she would grow tired of the drama that knowing him had brought to her life. The pain. The suffering…He cared so much for her, he couldn’t help but worry it would all turn to shit for one reason or another.

Looking at her now, into her beautiful stormy grey eyes, he felt like he could finally relax. She was awake, she was aware, she was going to say something, she opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her the chance. He kissed her.

She was alive and wet and warm in his arms and he just felt such a great swelling of affection for her, his Arya. So, he kissed her.

She was slow to kiss him back, but after a time, she did.

It wasn’t a filthy thing, despite them being naked and wrapped around one another. The kiss was soft. He tried his best to be gentle. To show her how much he cared. How much she meant to him. How much he wanted her. Needed her. He kissed her to reassure her nothing had changed. They were still Arya and Daemon.

Equals. Friends. Family.

When they broke apart, Arya pressed a hand to her lips and hid her face against his chest. “Did I almost die or something?”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before answering, “Or something.”

As they lapsed back into silence, Arya soon fell back asleep. When the water grew chill, he took her back into his arms and got them out of the tub. He did a half assed job of drying her with a towel, before dressing her in one of his sleep shirts.

He set her down in the middle of the bed, safe and cozy under the covers. And once she was settled, he got dressed himself and left the room to check on his other children.
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An hour or so later he had a guard posted outside his chamber door with orders not to let anyone inside for any reason until the following evening. He’d woken another servant and tasked them with bringing lunch to his rooms, but told them to leave it with the guard. He also made some inquiries and learned the Hightowers and his brother were planning to leave for Kings Landing tomorrow morning.

Just as the sky started to lighten, he returned to his room. After shutting the curtains, he stripped out of his clothes once again and crawled into bed besides the still sleeping Arya.

As soon as he was under the covers she reached for him and he for her. Their legs tangled. She pressed a kiss to his chest and hummed, resting her head against it. He threw his arm over her waist pulling her even closer.

“Love.” Arya mumbled, her arm folding between them so she could rest her hand on her own neck.

“I love you too.” It wasn’t long until sleep claimed him and he was at peace.
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They slept straight through until evening, only waking when voices barged into the room.

As Daemon came awake, he recognized his cousin Princess Rhaenys’s angry tone. “Hasn’t Arya endured enough?”

“You allow that man to defile your daughter’s memory with a child, don’t play pretend you have any concern for Arya’s wellbeing if you did you--” He cracked open his eyes as Otto Hightowers words were cut off by a slap.

The man was undeterred, he gestured to Arya and him in the bed with a sweeping hand and a tone full of moral superiority, “If this is the depravity you allow here on Driftmark no wonder the child is half feral and drowning her sorrows to the point of self-destruction.”

He did not want to hear anymore.

“I said I was not to be disturbed.” His voice came off annoyed, but he was keenly aware of how vulnerable he was at present. Not only physically, what with being naked, but politically. The scene, to an ignorant observer, was scandalous and could cause grievous harm to Arya’s reputation, especially when viewed through the eyes of someone as opportunistic as Otto Hightower.

He had a passing thought of gratitude that it was not Ser Criston who had come to rudely wake them, but given the mess he’d made of the man’s face the night before, he really only had himself to thank.

“Uhnn.” Arya turned away from the interlopers at the door, hiding her face in the pillow.

“The king request you dine with him tonight.” When Otto got no response he added, “Now.”

“No.” Daemon said flatly.

Otto smirked at him, “What makes you think I was talking to you?”

“Arya is still unwell.” Rhaenys said, her eyes glaring at Daemon and his state of undress, but her words told him she was still on their side, or well Arya’s side at least.

Otto narrowed his beady little eyes at them, “His Grace could always join you here? I’m afraid it’s a matter of great importance.”

He looked at his cousin. Rhaenys shook her head and he heaved a sigh. Apparently, there would be no getting out of this. “Get out.” He commanded, “We will meet with my brother in an hour.”

Arya was not happy about being summoned, but as Otto left to deliver their response, she grumpily got up. When Rhaenys left them, he rushed about getting dressed as quickly as he could. He’d planned to go fetch Arya something suitable to wear, but his efforts were for naught.

Just as he finished lacing up his pants, Rhaenys returned with a simple wrap dress in hand.

“You didn’t knock.” He informed her moodily.

“It is my castle.” She sniped.

Together, they managed to get Arya dressed. The girl was still half asleep and functioning as little more than a ragdoll. “Do you know what Viscerys wants from us?”

Rhaenys corrected him, “You mean from her?” Rhaenys gently began to brush Arya’s hair while he finished slipping on her socks and shoes.

“Oh yes,” He frowned, “I forgot, I’m not actually invited.”

Rhaenys put her arm around Arya’s shoulders, supporting her weight, which immediately sagged into the older woman, “You will be careful Daemon. She does not have the same familial protections we do. The consequences of her and her dragons’ actions may be more severe if you antagonize your brother like normally do.”

“Uh.” Arya grunted, lifting her head to look the Queen that Never Was. “’m real sorry about the wall I broke.”

Rhaenys cupped her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You protected my grandchildren.” She pulled her into a gentle hug, “Walls can be rebuilt. People are harder to replace.”

Arya’s eyes darted to him, “Drogon didn’t eat anyone, yeah?”

“Not yet.” He answered, getting to his feet he held out as his hand to Arya. “Shall we?”

“Ugh,” Arya put her hand in his and grumpily got to her feet, “If we have to.”
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Arya’s Dress

Chapter Text

~Arya~

They entered the Kings private rooms arm in arm. She was hung over as fuck, with a pounding head and an aching back, face, and knuckles, but she kept her head held high as they stepped over the threshold.

“Welcome.” The King greeted, “Come, sit.” She was surprised to find a small table with only four chairs set up for dinner. Daemon helped her into the chair directly across from the King and he sat opposite Otto Hightower.

Viserys smiled at her pleasantly, “My dear, I’m so glad to see you are doing better.”

“I am not.” She corrected quietly, not willing to let him think she approved of being summoned in this manner, “I am in a lot of pain and should be abed resting.”

The King audibly gulped, his flickering over to Daemon briefly before returning to her. “I didn’t realize, if you are not up to it, of course we can-”

“Stop.” She interrupted, her voice low but strong. “I am already here.” She felt depleted of energy and did not make any effort to appear otherwise. Still, the king looked so pathetic she decided to throw him a lifeline. “And I am hungry.”

The King brightened, “Good.” He gestured to the servants hovering by the walls and food was shortly brought out and served to all of them. “I wanted to speak--”

She interrupted again, trying to maintain control of the conversation. “We will dine in silence and speak after I eat.”

She stared Viserys down, waiting for him to push back, assert his authority, she planned to make the bullshit argument that her head hurt and she could not concentrate on two tasks at the same time, but there was no need. Viserys accepted her terms with a nod of his head and quickly diverted his attention down to his own plate. She looked over at Otto and saw a quick flash of disgust on the man’s face. If she looked over at Daemon, she was sure she would find a similar expression.

She was a weak injured girl of no social standing, and she had basically just told the king to shut up and wait to speak until being spoken to. It was pathetic. He was a king, but he did not act like theking.

Given this response and what she remembered of yesterday in the throne room, she now had a good idea of who Viserys Targaryen was and a solid strategy on how to handle him.

As they ate, she went over the things she had been told about the king. From what she had gleaned, Daemon and his brother had a very messy relationship. In fact, it was a fracture in their relationship which prompted Daemon’s move across the narrow sea in the first place.

Laena had told her that they hardly spoke anymore and that Daemon had suffered many slights over the years. From being deposed from positions of authority, to not being named heir when the first Queen died, to a refusal to annul his marriage to Lady Royce and also a denial of consideration to betroth Rhaenyra once said first wife had died.

To her mind, Daemon and his many grievances with his brother sounded legitimate. But of course, she knew this was only half the story. And that broken relationship meant Daemon had no objectivity when dealing with his kin. Despite her fatigue and pain, she would have to lead them through this dinner if they were to escape unscathed.

As the men around her finished their meal, she drew out the process a little longer than necessary. Taking small bites, frequent sips, chewing slowly. All to maintain control. The tapping of Daemon’s fingers on the table top told her the tactic was doing more than annoy just the King and his Hand.

Still, when finished she wiped daintily at her lips with a napkin before looking up at the king. When he opened his mouth to speak, she beat him to the punch, “I’m cold. We will sit in front of the fire while we talk.”

She did not leave any room for argument, getting up from the table swiftly and leaving the men behind.

In front of the fire there were two chairs sat opposite one another and a little couch in the middle, all arranged in a semicircle around the fireplace. She grabbed a pillow off one of the chairs and put it on the couch. Slipping out of her shoes, she gathered her dress and climbed on the couch, tucking her feet underneath with her legs crossed like a child. When Daemon came into view she softly ordered, “Get me a blanket.”

Otto took in her seating choice and then began dragging one chair across the room so it sat next to the other. By the time Daemon had tucked a blanket in around her lap and sat down on the couch with her, Viscerys was just reaching the remaining open chair next to Otto.

It looked like it took the King a great amount of effort to sit down on his own, but he did it.

“All settled?” She asked the King. Huffing slightly out of breath the King nodded. “Good.” She folded her hands in her lap and sat up straight. “So, your Grace, what did you want to talk about?”

It was a few moments before Viserys seemed to compose himself enough to respond. “I wanted to thank you for your help yesterday. Despite the circumstances, and your…condition, you showed great poise and wisdom. I was very impressed.”

Arya was of two minds. She could play to the man’s emotions and manipulate him that way, or she could act as combatant and see how far she could push him before he balked. “You should not have needed my help.” She said coldly, “You are the King, you word is law.”

He smiled self-deprecatingly, “If only.”

She maintained a detached and level tone as she said, “From what I’ve seen you’re not a very good king.” She watched as a spark of fire built in his weary gaze, encouraged, she added, “But you could be.” She looked over at Daemon and smiled, “With some help.”

Daemon smiled back at her, but thankfully said nothing. She appreciated how he was letting her take the reins, so she rewarded him with some physical contact. Straightening her legs, she stuck one foot under his thigh and put her other foot in his lap.

His giant hands made her small sock clad food appear dainty as he began to massage the appendage.

“You should not--” Whatever Otto was going to say was unimportant.

“Shut the fuck up.” She glared and pointed at him threateningly. Power rang through her words, though her voice maintained it’s flat and eerily placed tone. “You do not speak. You are the Hand, not the Tongue of the King.”

“I am--”

“If you say another word I will have you dragged out the room by your ankles.” She stared him down, letting him know how serious she was. “Your continued presence is all the courtesy you will get from me today, ask for more and you will regret it.”

“She’s not in a very good mood.” Daemon added, sounding smug and amused all at once, “Unpleasant wake up call, you see.”

Viserys straightened at that, “Yes, I heard that Otto found you in bed together.”

He looked at them expectantly, like they would just offer up an explanation without prompting. He was wrong.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for about a minute before Viserys broke, “Just what is the nature of your relationship? Yesterday Daemon asked to claim you as his daughter, now I get reports of illicit behaviors?”

Arya looked down at her lap to hide her smile. This was the perfect moment to begin emotionally manipulating the king.

She let her mind fill with sorrow, she thought of Laena, Jon, and finally Gendry.

Cloaked in all her sadness, she looked up at the king with wet glossy eyes. “Can I tell you a story?” She affected a soft and vulnerable tone as she withdrew her feet from Daemon’s grasp, and pulled her knees up to her chest. Wrapping her arms around them she tried to project devastated innocence.

“Speak your mind girl.”

“I don’t remember much of my life before Drogon. But I get flashes sometimes. Pieces. Except for one boy. A blacksmith’s apprentice. He was older than me, taller, stronger…kinder. I don’t know why, but I was traveling with him and some others, disguised as a boy.” She looked up at Viserys, blinking so one tear would dramatically roll down her cheek, “He protected me. Kept me safe, warm, always shared whatever little food we had. I loved him. And he loved me.”

She looked down at her knees, it wasn’t easy, letting her sorrow well up inside and only trickle out enough to craft this clever manipulation. In truth she never wanted to think on what she had lost. What she only half remembered. The absence of her memories was like a gaping wound that only hurt when she looked at it, so she made a practice of never looking, lest the despair consume her every thought.

“What happened to this boy?” Viserys asked kindly, his tone implying he knew the story would not end happily.

“I don’t know exactly, but in my next memory of him we are older. And on the eve of a battle.” She put her head on her arms and tilted her head completely away from all the men, fixating her gaze on the couch’s upholstery. “I didn’t want to die a maid, so we made love…Later, I found him on the battlefield, his head split in half by an axe.”

The image was so clear in her mind. Gendry, broken and bleeding and stubbornly clutching a war hammer in his frozen hand. Angerly, she wiped at her tears with her ridiculously large sleeve. She looked back at Viserys, defiant. “He is the only person I have ever fucked.”

She unwound her arms and reached out a hand towards Daemon, when he took it, she pulled him close. When they were side by side, so close she was practically in his lap, she let her legs relax and extended them over his lower half. She let her injured hand reach up to play with the ends of his hair. She took his free hand in hers and linked their fingers together. And then she looked over at King and dared him with her eyes to say anything about how close they were.

“Whatever you think you know about my relationship with Daemon, you don’t. You know nothing.” Her eyes shifted to Otto, “No one knows me. Not really.”

Ther was a long silence as everyone seemingly absorbed her words. Arya tried to keep breathing normally, the pounding in her head was aggravated by her tearful performance. She longed to be free of this conversation and return to her bed.

Viserys nodded, “I am sorry for your loss. But I am glad you have found--”

“Enough.” She had no need of his bullshit condolences. “What do you want?” Her hand dropped from Daemon’s hair and she gripped his shoulder, “What do you want from us?”

Thankfully, Viserys seemed to understand her patience was wearing thin. She appreciated his straightforward answer, “I wanted to hear your story for myself and make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer?” Daemon asked, his free arm stretching out on the back of the couch behind her head.

“That depends on what she has to say.” His brother answered. The Kings eyes shifted over to her, “I would hear your story from the beginning.”

“Which story?”

“When your new life began.”

Her hand slid down Daemon’s body until it rested on their joined hands. She held on tight, despite the ache in her palm protesting and her stitches pulling painfully taut. “I awoke in a shallow grave of dirt.”

She shifted her gaze to the fire. There would be no point in filling the tale with fake tears so she told it truly. If not a little laconically. “Within three minutes of digging myself free, I was set upon by 11 men, with evil intentions. I killed 5. 6 tried to rape me. Drogon killed them all. I passed out. He burnt the island and all of its inhabitants to ash. We bonded, we left.”

“What island?” Otto seemingly couldn’t help but ask. And since it was not an insult or bullshit, she allowed the question.

“One of the small ones near Ibben.” Daemon answered, “Or that’s our best guess.”

“While flying over Braavos I recognized a building, but when I went to investigate there was no one inside I recognized. Still, I ingratiated myself with the Bravvosi populous and decided to stay. I’m a fan of entertainment you see.”

“She created a dragon show.” Daemon said, a smile dancing on his lips. “Which sounds stupid, but I assure you its spectacular. She’s a real artist.”

She snorted, “It’s how Daemon found me. I imagine I’m quite famous in the Free Cities now.”

“That is how you made your living? Preforming?” Viserys looked delighted, “I would like to see your show one day.”

“Maybe you will.” She said with a friendly smile, “You have many children, perhaps for one of their birthday’s we can set something up.”

“That sounds lovely.” Viserys said sounding delighted.

Otto tested her patience by speaking again, “And how did Prince Daemon convince you to leave Braavos and join him in Pentos? If you were so happy and successful there, why would you leave?”

“I’m very charming.” Daemon said, with a wicked grin.

She laughed, “Basically, yes. He just, won me over.”

“He didn’t promise you anything?” Otto pressed further.

She glared at him, silently reminding him that she really didn’t want him to speak. She had deduced very quickly that Otto Hightower was a very shrewd man. And if she let him talk, she knew he would try to control the conversation and turn it into an interrogation. The longer she stared at him without speaking, the more uncomfortable he looked. Squirming in his chair, Otto averted his eyes to the floor, “Excuse me for speaking out of turn. I am merely curious.”

His eyes were quick to meet hers again after the false show of humility. She looked over at Daemon, he was glaring at the man as well. No good would come of that.

She used her bandaged hand to gently stroke his face, redirecting his attention back to her. She smiled at him, “Daemon made me laugh. He…earned the respect of my dragon. He promised me nothing and everything. But ultimately, I went with him because I like him.”

Daemon surprised her then, scooping her up and now pulling her into his lap properly. Once there he got up again, this time with her in his arms and moved to the left so he could sit where she had been next to the armrest. She wasn’t sure this was a smart move, to flaunt their close relationship this much, but she couldn’t fight it now.

She committed to the overt display of familiarity by wrapping her arm around the back of his neck and snuggling into his chest.

He was warm. And it felt good when his arms wrapped protectively around her. And she really wasn’t well, despite what she projected to her audience. The security of his embrace was like a balm to all of her aches and pains.

Daemon’s voice vibrated against her body as he spoke, “Earlier you asked about the nature of our relationship?” Viserys nodded.

Daemon’s voice was soft and kind as he explained, “One of the last things Laena said to me before she burned was, ‘Blood is not always what makes people family’. Before meeting Arya I would have disagreed with that statement. Now… she is mine, brother. I claim her as mine with or without the crown’s approval. My family. My girl. My Arya.”

Viserys looked thoughtful. He then gestured to her with his cane, “And do you claim him back?”

“Yes.” She said without hesitation. “He is my best friend. I love him. And the girls too.”

“I have an offer for you.” Viserys stared at Daemon, “I want you to come to Kings Landing.”

Both Daemon and Otto began to protest, but Arya cut them off with a harsh, “Shut up!”

She uncurled from Daemon and sat up as straight as was possible whilst remaining in his lap. “Continue.” She told the King.

He spoke directly to her now, “I will legitimize you as Daemon’s daughter, if you all return to Kings Landing with me.”

Her hand gripped the back of Daemon’s neck harshly, silently warning him to hold his tongue. “To what end?” She asked.

“It is his home.” Viserys looked to his brother, entreatingly, “I am his family.”

“Fine time to remember that.” Daemon muttered. She let her nails dig into the tender flesh at his throat causing him to inhale sharply.

“I don’t care about being legitimized.” She informed the King; he looked ready to argue so she raised her voice a bit so he would hopefully really listen to what she was saying. “I don’t care that you are king. I don’t care that Daemon is a prince. I don’t care where we live or what we do for money. I can make money…”

“We can go anywhere.” Daemon said quietly, “We have dragons, we are not bound by the limitations of normal men.”

“I would be happy on a farm.” She said glibly, “Or preforming with Drogon. Or maybe being a pirate, that could be fun.” She smiled at the old decrepit King, “I want for nothing, I need nothing. What you’re offering, isn’t good enough.”

She let that sink in for a few seconds before continuing, “You didn’t answer my question. You say Daemon is family. You invite us to return to his childhood home. To. What. End? What life can we expect at court? What will we do to fill our days? I am very good at entertaining myself, as I said I can be happy anywhere, doing most anything. But Daemon?...What incentive does he have to return to your side? And what treatment will he receive when he’s there.”

“I said I would legitimize you.”

“I said I don’t care.” She stared at the King, wishing he was smarter. “What else have you got?”

“A seat on the council.” Otto said, frankly surprising the shit out of her.

“As what?” Daemon snarled defensively. She narrowed her eyes at Otto, it was exactly what she wanted to hear, what she had been driving at, but she was under the impression Otto was who got kicked Daemon off the council in the first place. She had figured she could manipulate Viserys into giving him another shot, but Otto’s support was instantly suspicious.

“I’m sure we can find you a position worthy of your talents.” Otto demurred. “Or perhaps invent a new one.”

“Or make you Commander of the City watch again,” Viserys said cheerily, “Whichever you prefer.”

Underneath her, Daemon tensed. It was almost everything he had ever been denied. If she were him, she would be wary of the offer too.

She stared at Otto and he stared back. She decided to call him out.

“I’m confused Otto, you would welcome Daemon to the council? I heard back in the day; it was you who orchestrated his ousting. Poising Viserys’s opinion of his brother. And having him all but banished.” She glared at the King, for it was a shitty king who trusted the lies of others over what he knew in his heart to be true.

“Things have changed, you temper him.” Otto said.

“I really don’t.” She snapped.

“If anything, she encourages me.” Daemon quipped.

Otto shook his head, his eyes jumping from her face to Daemon’s. “I do not think that is true.”

“You’re older now Daemon. We all are. Can you not let the past die?” Viserys pled. “Take my offer and let us forge a new path forward, together.”

“The past may die, but you remain from what I can see, a weak king, of feeble mind and easily manipulated.” Her words were harsh and a gamble, but she would not walk blindly into a viper’s den. She would hold all the cards or not play at all.

Perhaps worried about retribution, Daemon’s arm around her waist tightened. “Arya.” Her name was a chastisement, but she paid it no heed.

“Girl,” Viserys looked angry now, “You go too far.”

She laughed meanly, “Make no mistake ‘your grace’ I am the most powerful person in this room. And the most dangerous. There is no such thing as too far for me.”

Viserys slammed his cane on the floor proclaiming, “I am the King!”

“Are you though?” Her eyes slid over to Otto, she continued, “You can’t even control your own family. Everyone can see the divide will lead to nothing but chaos, last night is proof of that. With your shitty leadership-”

“Stop talking!” Daemon shouted, squeezing her side painfully, “He is the king, Arya, you cannot speak to him this way.”

He was actually angry with her. Good.

“You mean honestly? I can’t speak to him honestly? He is not my brother. Nor my father, grandfather, uncle, distant fucking cousin.” She looked at the old man who was practically shaking in anger now, “You are nothing to me. So, when I tell you the truth, you should believe it. Because I don’t care. About you. Your feelings. Your wrath. None of it matters to me. You are nothing to me.”

“Girl--”

“Don’t you miss having someone willing to tell you the truth, right to your face?” Her words were a challenge. Given Viserys’s character it was likely he would fail to meet it. The King struck her as a man who liked to take the path of least resistance. He was weak. And she was asking him to be strong enough to accept the truth when it was offered.

“What exactly are you hoping to gain from this conversation?” Otto asked, looking genuinely confused.

She laughed lightly, “I don’t know.” Then she lied, “Sometimes I talk without thinking.”

“Yes, that may be true.” Otto conceded, “But what is it that you want? Besides, nothing, as you claim.”

“I just want to protect Daemon and if all these things continue to go unsaid, I can’t see---I don’t know. Just seems like this game of thrones you’re all playing is destined to end in nothing but tragedy.”

She curled up and let her head fall on Daemon’s chest. Her head was really pounding now, she just wanted to go back to sleep. “You’re exhausted.” Daemon said, trying to excuse her behavior. “We should leave and revisit this conversation when you are well.”

She failed to see how postponing the inevitable would make it any more palatable. She curled a finger around his collar. “I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. If we go to King’s Landing, this is exactly who I will be.” She eyed Viserys without lifting her head, “Honest. Brutal. Loyal.”

Her words hung heavy in the air. She could see the King considering what she said seriously, and Otto, he looked oddly pleased. Which was concerning.

“You speak harshly.” Viserys said, closing his eyes and rubbed at his temple looking as tired as she felt. “But perhaps, you are correct in some of your observations.”

“Really?” She grumbled, she’d been expecting more of a negative reaction. Daemon’s arms around her loosened ever so slightly.

“Otto had a good idea earlier. Perhaps a new position on the council is just what we need to put to rest old grievances and forge new alliances.” Viserys turned to his Hand and gestured to a desk, “Fetch the papers.”

Otto gave the King a little bow of the head and then got up to do as he was told. Viserys addressed them both with determination.

“I, Viserys Targaryen, King of the seven Kingdoms do hereby legitimize you. From this day until your last day, you are Arya Targaryen, chosen daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen.” Otto came over with three parchments and handed one over to the King.

“Here, I will have one copy sent to the Citadel, the other you can keep for your own records, and the third will be sent to Dragonstone.” He offered Daemon the paper.

He hesitated to take it. Immediately, Arya understood. She snatched the paper out of the king’s hand and looked it over.

“Your Grace, by accepting this, you have to understand, we agree to nothing.” She informed him as she read over the details of her adoption. “We owe you nothing.”

“If this comes with strings attached,” Daemon said quietly, “I don’t want it.”

“No strings.” Viserys promised, “I offer it to you freely, I should not have refused you yesterday. That was a poor decision on my part. Even if you choose not to come home with me, she will remain, yours.”

Posturing, Otto said, “You don’t have to decide right now, moving to the city is a big decision for your whole family. I’m sure you’ll want time to--”

“But we don’t need time.” She said, looking at Daemon, “Right?”

He ran his hand over her hair and down her back. He put his face close to hers and whispered, “Are you sure?”

She knew this was everything he wanted. His brother’s approval, a seat on the council, her fate bound to his. And even though she wasn’t sure how it would all work out, she wasn’t afraid. With Daemon and Drogon on her side, nothing really scared her anymore. “As long as we’re all together, I can be happy anywhere.”

He smiled at her rakishly, “You’re a mad girl.”

“I love you too.” She whispered. She expected him to turn and say something snappy to his brother about accepting the invitation and new job. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he kissed her.

It was unexpected. And probably something he was doing just to antagonize his brother and Otto, but she didn’t push him away. She didn’t even think about it. She just kissed him back.

He was a good kisser. Gentler than she expected, especially if he was trying to wind up their audience, but it was still scandalizing given they had just been made father and daughter. The thought had her laughing against his lips.

Daemon pulled away from her with a grin of his own. Since she was still in his lap, in his arms, it was nothing for him to lift her as he got to his feet. He gave Otto and his brother a curt half bow, and started carrying her to the door.

Over his shoulder Daemon said, “It will take me about a month to settle my affairs, then we will join you in Kings Landing.”

Before the door closed on them, Arya waved semi-enthusiastically and called out, “See you soon!”
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“So, will you be calling me Papa or Daddy?” Daemon whispered as he walked through the halls.

“Definitely, Daddy Daemon.” She cackled wildly.
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Arya’s Dress

Chapter Text

Chapter 18
~Rhaenyra~

“Hello?” The beastly girl knocked performatively on the door as she stepped inside. Rhaenyra winced as the maester pulled too tightly on the thread that was being used to stitch the flesh of her forearm back together. Arya observed the scene with a sympathetic face, “I can come back at another time if you want?”

Rhaenyra looked to her sons to remind herself that Daemon’s stray dragon had stepped up to defend her children when it mattered most. She gave the girl one of her fake but sincere looking smiles, “Now is fine.”

The girl was wearing a ridiculous outfit of pants and a dress coat, that when she raised her arms to tuck a strand of unruly hair behind her ear, revealed a strip of smooth flat stomach. Eager to be free of acting kinder than she felt, she prompted the girl asking, “Is there something you need?”

Arya went to her boys, “Not really, I just came to check on the little one’s face.”

Gently she tilted Lucerys’s chin up. The girl winced as she took in her youngest bloody nose. “Broken?” She asked, patting Lucerys on the shoulder sympathetically.

“Could have been worse.” Jacaerys said as he grabbed his brother by the shoulders and forced him to lean back against his chest and conveniently out of Arya’s reach.

Arya shrugged in agreement, “I suppose that’s true.”

The girl moved to hover behind the maester as he worked on Rhaenyra’s arm. “At least Valyrian steel cuts clean.” She remarked with a quick grin.

The maester nodded in agreement, “Indeed.”

She met Rhaenyra’s eyes; she was surprised by how nervous the girl suddenly appeared. “I also wanted to come say I was sorry about last night.”

She smiled understandingly, but inside she wanted to bitch the girl out for her disrespect and insolence. “You were unwell, I realize you might have said some things you did not mean.”

The girl briefly smirked, “Oh no, you misunderstand. I meant every word. I just, could have been nicer about it is all.”

She was saved from answering that rude declaration by the door opening and her husband entering. “Gods.”

Laenor froze in the doorway, taking in all their visible injuries. “Is everyone all right?”

Arya grinned at him cheekily, “You should see the other guy. Your kids definitely won the fight.”

She had wanted to speak to Laenor alone, but with their unexpected visitor she supposed that discussion would have to wait. As the healer finished his work and got up to leave, she said, “Thank you maester.”

Once he was gone Arya turned on Laenor and spoke with mock anger, “And where were you last night?”

Her husband looked down at the floor, ashamed, “I should’ve been there.”

“Those should be our house words.” Rhaenyra quipped.

“I don’t know,” The girl hopped on top of the table and started swinging her legs like a child, “I think the kids held their own.” She gave a wink to Lucerys and waved her bandaged hand at him, “Especially the little one.”

Laenor hurried to the girl’s side and took her hand, cradling the injured appendage gently.

“And look at you.” He lamented, his eyes darting up to her blackened eye, which was now swollen shut.

Arya smiled self-deprecatingly, “Don’t worry, I held my own too.” She looked over at her sons for confirmation, “Right?”

Rhaenyra answered for them, “Arya did her best to deescalate the situation.”

“In between all the vommitting.” Luce added with a tiny grin.

Jace frowned at her, “Your dragon certainly put an end to things in the throne room.”

Arya looked away from them, but not fast enough to hide the wide smile on her face. When she turned back to look at Jacaerys her face was more composed, but there was still a hint of mischief teasing at her lips when she said, “You know, Daemon doesn’t call me a wild dragon for no reason.”

Laenor moved to the girl’s side, “That devastation I saw in the throne room was caused by you?”

“Well, Drogon.” She deflected.

Rhaenyra raised a brow, “The difference being?”

A faint blush graced the girls’ cheeks, ducking her head she mumbled, “Fair point.”

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Thank you for trying to defend me.” Luce said quietly. Rhaenyra smiled warmly at her son, he had such a good heart, she was so proud of him for what he had done to protect his older brother. It’s why she was so annoyed the girl had the gall to impose a punishment on him, or rather annoyed she purposed a punishment and infuriated that her father had agreed to the idea.

“Anytime, kid.” The girl lifted her head and smiled shyly at her boy.

Arya then grabbed at Laenor’s shoulder for stability as she hopped down from the table. “Excuse me, I think I’ve imposed long enough.”

Laenor was quick to argue, “Nonsense, you don’t have to go. Stay. Have you broken your fast yet?”

Rhaenyra did not want the girl to stay, she clenched her hands into fists to avoid the temptation to throw something at her useless husband’s beautiful face. Arya pet Laenor’s arm as she walked past, “No really, I must be going. The Hightowers are leaving soon and I want to check in on Aemond as well before they go.”

Though her love for Laenor was nothing like what she felt for Daemon, she resented her husband’s look of disappointment as he watched the girl head for the door. Once there Arya stopped and smiled charmingly at them, “I’ll see you all for dinner later, probably.”

And then she was gone. Rhaenyra let out a great sigh of relief. Finally, she could just be herself. Turning to her children she told them to leave as well. Then she looked at her husband.

Rhaenyra had been thinking seriously about her husband’s many deficiencies long before she had bedded Daemon on the beach. But now they were so glaring she could no longer overlook them. Something had to change, they could not continue as they had been.

Laenor was kind and sweet and if she were not next in line to inherit the iron throne their arrangement could be tolerated. But she was the heir. Last night, as the dust settled, she came to a few realizations. She could not ascend the throne with Laenor by her side, she would be torn apart by her many enemies.

He was weak and keeping him as her husband would make her equally so. She needed a powerful husband. Who would be loyal and protective and strong and—Daemon. She needed Daemon. He was the answer. The question was how to get rid of Laenor?

He was not evil. She would not feel justified in having him killed. Because for all the heartache their union had brought upon them both, he was her friend. But unfortunately, he was nothing more than that. And she would not sacrifice her best chance at happiness and a successful reign to continue on with this sham of a marriage.

It was a shame she could not follow in the conquerors footsteps and take them both to husband.

She gestured to the chair across from her, “Sit Laenor, we need to talk.”
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When Rhaenyra and her boys entered the dining hall later that evening, she smiled when the first face she saw was Daemons. He was mid-laugh and looked just the same as he had 10 years ago. That smile fell away from her lips when she realized that his hand was in Arya’s lap, most likely resting comfortably on her thigh.

As it was to be an informal meal with family, everyone was already sitting at the table waiting for her to arrive.

Lord Corlys sat at the head of the table, Princess Rhaenys to his right, then Arya, then Daemon. On Lord Corlys’s left was her errant husband followed by Laena’s girls. There were only three seats left. One next to Rhaena, one next to Daemon and one at the end of the table.

She and Daemon locked eyes for a moment. She reveled in the way he looked her up and down, taking in her curves with a lecherous smirk. The fifteen-year-old girl in her wanted to race and claim the seat next to her uncle, but she was a girl no longer. She instructed Luce to sit next to Daemon’s daughter and Jace next to Daemon himself. She took the seat opposite Lord Corlys as was expected of her.

“I am so pleased to see all these happy faces around my table.” Lord Corlys began, “I am glad we have this time together, just us, our family. You, my grandchildren are the bright future of House Velaryon and Targaryen. I could not be prouder of how you comported yourselves when faced with such malicious adversity.”

Lord Corlys raised a glass in her direction, “A toast to our houses continued joint prosperity.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flickered over to the girl who sat in such a seat of importance. She looked uncomfortable during Corlys’s words and diverted her gaze down to her plate. She was not the only one to notice the girl’s uneasiness.

Rhaenys grabbed for the Arya’s hand and gave it a squeeze adding, “To friends, new and old.”

Arya gave the woman a strained smile. Corlys smiled briefly at the girl as well, “Of course.”

Once everyone had drank from their glass Daemon said, “Speaking of joint prosperity, I have an announcement. Actually, I have several.”

Arya’s glass banged loudly on the table, “I thought we said we would tell the girls first, in private.”

Rhaenyra’s heart sunk. She had seen the peculiar closeness between Daemon and Arya first hand last night, but had not had much time to dwell on it. She rationalized the constant touching, thinking Daemon in his grief, was merely latching on to the first warm body available. But now that he had Rhaenyra had their moment on the beach, she thought…but Daemon’s hand was still on the girl’s thigh. Instantly, she feared what was coming, this looming announcement.

He was going to marry the girl, the darkest part of her mind whispered. Ever doubtful of Daemon’s affections and allegiance.

Objectively Arya was gorgeous. Not Daemon’s type at all, with her lack of Valarian features. But appealing all the same. Dark hair, pale skin, big expressive eyes, with soft delicate features that contrasted beautifully with her inner strength. Yes, she was a natural beauty. And quite alluring. Rhaenyra definitely understood the attraction, but internally she mourned, she had missed her chance with Daemon yet again. Arya was young, fit, and fearless. Everything Rhaenyra had been 10 years ago. And now her physical opposite in almost every conceivable way.

Daemon, the dramatic fuck, let the tension rise drawing out the anticipation until finally he said, “Viserys has legitimized Arya as my daughter. She is now and forever to be, Arya Targaryen.”

A slow shuddering breath escaped her body. She wanted to shout, dance, pull Daemon to her and kiss and claim him as hers in front of everyone. This meant her dream lived on, she could move forward with her plans for Laenor this evening and by morning she and Daemon could be wed! Perhaps an unrealistic outcome, but the one she coveted all the same.

“Really?” Baela asked sounding exuberant. Even Rhaena who had been sullen, brightened at the news.

Arya smiled at her new sisters, “Technically the paperwork said I was the ‘chosen’ daughter of Daemon, so I’m not actually a legitimized bastard. More of an adopted stray.”

Princess Rhaenys questioned her, her voice full of happy surprise, “But is it legally binding?”

The girl shrugged. Daemon answered for her, “Viserys had three copies made, one to be sent to the Citadel, Dragonstone, and one for my own records. So, yes, it’s legally binding. Official. Legitimate. She is mine.”

Lord Corlys laughed, “What joyous news! Another toast!” He raised his glass and they all followed suit. “To Arya Targaryen and our expanding family.”

The girl’s cheeks grew faintly pink with all the attention, but quickly dissipated.

“We are real sisters now!” Baela cheered. She knocked her elbow into Rhaena’s, “Aren’t you happy?”

Tensely, the two girls in question looked at each other from across the table. Rhaenyra would have understood if Rhaena chose to hold a grudge, given Arya’s actions last night, but then the young girl smiled at her new sister, “Yes. I am very happy.”

“Good.” Daemon concluded as he took a sip from his glass, “Because now that I have her, I’m never letting her go.”

Lord Corlys grinned at him knowingly, “You say that now, but when the time comes for her to marry--”

Arya rudely interrupted, “I will never marry.”

All the adults at the table chuckled at the child’s naiveté. Rhaenyra felt a pang of sympathy for the girl, she had once felt the same. Suddenly she realized that this beastly girl with no manners and no proper upbringing to speak of, was in for a rude awakening. The life of a Targaryen was not for the faint of heart.

Arya scowled, crossing her arms over her chest, “Don’t laugh, I’m serious!”

Rhaena frowned, “But we all have to marry someone, someday?”

Arya slunk down in her chair and pouted, “Well, not me.”

Rhaenys gentled a hand over the girl’s hair, “Yes you.”

Corlys tried to consol her but Rhaenyra could see from Arya’s angry expression it did not have the desired effect. “You must put your trust in your Lord father now girl, he will find you a worthy match.”

The girl snarled turning on Daemon, poking him aggressively in the bicep, “You will not!”

Daemon grabbed the offending finger and did not let go, though the girl tried pulling free, “What if you fall in love one day? Will you not want to marry then?”

Rhaena quickly chimed in, “You love babies.”

“And children.” Baela added, “You would make a wonderful mother Arya, don’t be so predictable.”

“Let go,” Arya ordered finally freeing her hand from Daemon’s grasp, she turned and addressed the girls, “Just because I like kids doesn’t mean I want to shit some out.”

Rhaenyra shuddered at the girls’ foul language; her manners really left much to be desired. But her words didn’t seem to offend Daemon, in fact he looked amused. He captured Arya’s attention again, grabbing her chin and physically turning her head back to face him.

“And what of love?” He asked with a charming smirk on his lips.

She pushed his hand away from her face grumbling, “Fuck you.”

Her audacious words made her uncle laugh heartily. Rhaenys put an end to the discussion saying, “Well, luckily you have a lot of time yet to change your mind on this matter.”

“Doubtful.” Arya pouted.

It was then that the servants started to filter into the room bearing food. As they began serving a thought occurred to her, “Just how old are you, Lady Arya?”

She received several answers all at once. “I don’t know.” “Three and ten.” “Six and ten.”

Arya blinked humorously at Daemon who had the highest estimate of her age, “Six and ten? Really?”

“You have flowered.” He said casually like it wasn’t scandalous to say such things in mixed company, “I suspect you’re just short and have naturally small tits.”

Arya laughed, “I suppose time will tell.”

Rhaenyra had heard of the girl’s memory troubles, that night on the beach. She hadn’t realized they were so severe that the girl did not even know her own age. Jace, who wasn’t privy to this knowledge, asked, “Why is your age such a debate? Should you not know how old you are?”

Daemon who had removed his hands from Arya’s person when the food arrived, immediately put his hand back on her thigh. And even though Rhaenyra now had confirmation that their relationship was not romantic in nature, that small sign of affection irked her. She grabbed her wine glass and took a big sip.

Baela was the one to answer her son’s inquiry, “Arya lost all of her memories from before claiming Drogon a year ago.”

“Ten months.” Arya corrected dourly, before drinking from her own glass. “And I lost most, not all of my memories.”

Rhaenyra clenched her teeth as Daemon pet a hand over her wild hair and then leaned in to kiss her cheek. The girl ignored him, putting all her attention on her meal.

Jace, a true gentleman, quickly realized his error, bringing up such a touchy subject. “I apologize Lady Arya; I did not mean to--”

Again, Arya showcased her lack of breeding by interrupting her son. “It’s fine.” Then she took a ridiculously large bite of bread.

Rhaenyra wanted to inquire more about the memories the girl had managed to retain, but doubted her inquires would be received well at the moment. She was very skeptical about the girl’s claim. If not for the dragon, she would have doubted everything, but there was no denying the girl was a master dragon rider. The actions of her dragon, the destruction he caused and the restraint he showed, were a testament to the pairs bond.

Conversation died down as everyone tucked into their meals and only picked up again when the majority of them were done eating. Corlys prompted Daemon, “You mentioned something about multiple announcements?”

Arya and her uncle exchanged a loaded look. It annoyed her how they seemed to communicate so easily without words.

“Yes.” Daemon said, his tone less boastful than she had anticipated. “Well, it would seem that--” He looked at his girls, his whole demeaner shifting into something more authentic, “We will not be returning to Pentos.”

“Really!” Rhaena looked especially pleased, but Baela was also grinning excitedly. Daemon gave them a strained smile.

“Yes.” There was a long pause, where in the girls seemed to read the subdued mood of their father and their own shifted accordingly. From happiness to apprehension. “My brother has offered me a seat on his small council and a place back at court.”

Rhaenyra’s heart seized. With these words she felt like all her dreams and plans for a future with Daemon was put into jeopardy yet again.

Daemon looked to Princess Rhaenys, “What’s more, your grandparents have offered to foster you both, here on Driftmark.”

All three of Daemon’s daughters shouted out in unison. “What!”

Baela slammed a fist on the table, “You’re leaving us behind!?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Arya demanded at the same time. “You tell me everything!” Only Rhaena remained composed.

“Am I not speaking common?” Daemon said with an annoyed expression.

“So, it is not set in stone yet?” Arya deduced quickly, “Well, in that case, I don’t think it’s a good idea. The family is stronger together.”

Daemon glared at her, “It is not your decision. I am their father and you are not their mother!”

That shut the girl up handily.

“No.” Baela refused, “Arya is right. We--”

“I am your father.” Daemon cut her off loudly, “I am in charge. End of discussion.”

Silence reigned for only a moment before Rhaena said, “But you’re taking Arya to Kings Landing with you, right?”

Daemon glared at his daughter, “Yes.”

It was an ugly truth with many implications. Again, Rhaenyra questioned how this common girl had gotten her claws so deep into Daemon. She suspected there was a sexual aspect to their relationship they had yet to admit to, given who Daemon was, it was the only thing that made sense to her.

Princess Rhaenys tried to ease the tension, “You two are part Velaryon. Would it be so horrible to stay here with us and learn about the other half of your parentage? Especially now that your mother is gone?”

Rhaena ignored her grandmother and focused completely on her father. “Do you love Arya more than us?”

“No.” Daemon and Arya answered in unison.

“Don’t ever think that.” The girl added, “Your father would walk through fire for you girls.”

Rhaena glared, “Then why send us away and keep you by his side?”

Daemon abruptly stood, nearly toppling over his chair, “It was an offer! One I was considering but had not decided on accepting. But if you are to act like hateful brats perhaps it is for the best!”

“Daemon!” Rhaenys chastised, “Mind your temper, they are but children.”

Daemon looked ready to spit venom at everyone staring with Rhaenys, “I know they are children; they are myfucking childre--”

But he stopped talking because of Arya. The girl rose from her own seat and put herself in between him and the glare he was sending to Rhaenys. She grabbed his right hand with both of hers and said his name softly.

It was an instant transformation. His eyes softened ever so slightly, his angry expression smoothed out at the edges, he visibly relaxed. One look, one word, one touch, and this girl tamed her uncle. It was perhaps the most disheartening thing she had seen so far.

“We have dragons, “Arya spoke quietly forcing everyone to pay attention, “Distance means nothing to us.” She looked at the girls, “I know how it sounds; I can only imagine how you’re feeling, but I promise you, I didn’t want this.”

“And yet you have him,” Baela said, “Literally in the palm of your hands.”

Arya let go of Daemon as if burned, “I’m not trying to—hurting you two is the last thing I want.”

“Too late.” Rhaena whispered.

Arya looked down, as if gathering courage, “Say the word and I’ll leave.” She looked up and focused on Baela, “I’ll take Drogon and--”

Daemon grabbed her shoulders, turning her away from his daughters and back to him, then he shook her. “Are you mad?”

The girl grabbed for his hair and pulled sharply jerking his head to the side, “I will stab you with a fucking fork Daemon. Stop--”

He let go and instead shouted in her face, “I’m sorry alright, just stop--”

“You stop!” Arya shouted back, shoving at his chest, “Stop being an asshole!” He raised his hand to slap her, but paused when she taunted, “Fucking try it. I dare you.”

“ENOUGH!” Lord Corlys got to his feet and pointed at Daemon and Arya, “Sit!”

Arya obeyed immediately, but Daemon glared, wasting time so it would appear he wasn’t so easily intimidated by the old Sea Snake. Once he finally sat back down, Corlys began speaking, “What a perfect example of why we are so eager to foster our grandchildren here on Driftmark.”

The older man gentled his voice as he turned to address his granddaughters, “You must trust that your father knows what is best for you and loves you enough to make unpopular decisions. You will be going through changes soon; I am sure you will be grateful for your grandmother’s support as you enter womanhood.”

Rhaenyra thought it sounded like a cold comfort in the wake of being abandoned by their remaining parent, but she held her tongue. Bela sulked, “Arya is nearly a woman grown she could--”

“Arya made an excellent point earlier.” Daemon interjected.

“About you being an asshole?” Arya said with a raised brow.

Daemon pointedly ignored the interruption, continuing, “We have dragons, we will visit as often as our duties allow.”

Rhaena eyes on her plate dejectedly asked, “So it is decided?”

Spitefully Baela growled, “We have no say?”

“I am now convinced; it will be good for you.” Daemon said quietly, “You will make peace with my decision.”

Baela glared at her father, “Arya’s right you are an asshole.”

With a dramatic flair the girl stormed away from the table, her sister following close behind. As soon as the door shut behind them Arya turned and hit Daemon repeatedly in the arm, “What is wrong with you!”

Daemon allowed the abuse to continue before he pushed away from the table and out of Arya’s reach. “Stop acting like a child.”

Rhaenyra silently signaled to her sons to check on Daemon’s daughters as Arya jumped out of her seat and went to Daemon. She grabbed his collar and held it tight in her fists, but Rhaenyra could see the anger draining away as Arya stared into her uncle’s unflinching eyes. “Why would you separate us just when we’ve finally become a real family?”

Daemon wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and slowly pulled her into his lap. “We were always a family. Paperwork or no paperwork.”

Arya didn’t let go of his collar even as Daemon pressed his forehead to hers, “But why--?”

“Think about it.” He murmured, his eyes intense on locked only on the girl in his arms.

Arya’s eyes flickered over to Rhaenys, “To protect them?”

Princess Rhaenys smiled at the girl, “They are not like you.”

“No one is.” Daemon asserted with a wry grin. Arya did not look pleased, but there was at least now understanding.

When Rhaenys held her hand out to the girl, Arya went to the older woman’s side to receive a hug, “You are also welcome to stay on Driftmark.”

“No.” Daemon said coldly, “She is not for you.”

“You are too close Daemon; you have no objectivity when it comes to Arya--”

“I said no.”

Rhaenyra saw an opportunity, “Perhaps I could be of help?”

Daemon looked at her with such a coldness she hardly recognized him as the man who gave her her first kiss. “How? Arya is not just my family, but my truest friend and greatest ally. She will go wherever I go.”

Hearing that inexplicably and grievously, hurt.

Rhaenys rolled her eyes, “Do you know how demented you sound?”

“He’s right,” Arya lamented, ignoring the Princess’s words as she returned to her seat. “He needs me.”

Princess Rhaenys would not admit defeat so easily, “And what of your needs my dear?” She shot a glare at Daemon, “It is the parent who is meant to care for their child. Not the other way around?”

“We care for each other.” Arya defended.

Daemon grabbed the girls injured hand and locked their fingers together. He practically glowered at his cousin, “Give up now. I will not be moved on this. Arya is mine and will remain so until she says otherwise.”

Aggressively Arya tugged her hand free, “Why can’t you respond like a normal adult? You make it sound so sinister! No wonder everyone thinks we’re fucking!”

Daemon gestured to Rhaenys defensively, “They want to take you away from me!”

“Technically we just made an offer.” Corlys said, throwing Daemon’s own words back in his face, with just a hint of a smile on his face.

“If you will I would like to say my peace,” Rhaenys asked for permission but did not wait for it to be granted before she started speaking, “You do not act as father and daughter should, you know this. Daemon you are so possessive over Arya it borders on obsession. And if I did not hear it from multiple parties, Arya and my daughter included, I would think you had seduced this young girl and were intent on keeping her by your side so she would be ever available to state your most depraved desires. And anyone who spends more than five minutes in your presence will draw the same suspicions!”

It was the truth. It was Rhaenyra’s own truth.

“But you know better.” Arya said leadingly. “You know we’re not…you know better right?”

“Do I?” Rhaenys questioned, her eyes locked on Daemon. “You continue on in this manner, you will ruin her reputation or destroy any chance she has at a happy future.”

Corlys added, “No man will want to marry spoiled--”

“Do not finish that sentence.” Daemon said darkly, he was now a ball of coiled energy, posed to attack at any moment.

Rhaenys put a comforting hand on her husband’s arm silently urging him to let the disrespect go. Once settled she turned back to Arya and Daemon. “I am merely telling you what your relationship looks like from the outside.”

Rhaenyra could tell Daemon didn’t care. He didn’t care about ruining the girls’ future prospects, he didn’t care about the potential fallout such a scandalous dynamic might cause. He didn’t care about anything, except keeping what he had claimed.

Arya however, she looked more thoughtful. “Will it hurt Daemon’s reputation?” She gestured to herself and Daemon, “Whatever misconceptions people--”

“It doesn’t matter.” He denied stubbornly.

She tapped his forearm, “I want you to be successful in King’s Landing. If our--”

“Stop.” Daemon ordered but the girl pressed on.

“If our relationship is detrimental to your success then maybe we should--”

“STOP!” Daemon shouted. He grabbed the arm of Arya’s chair and turned her so they were face to face, with their knees touching. “Stop speaking,” He grabbed desperately at her shoulders, squeezing up and down her arms before cupping her face, forcing her to look him in the eye. “People will talk. We will not listen. They will try to tear us apart. We will not let them. Nobody else matters, but me and you.”

Rhaenyra held her breath as Daemon kissed the girl. Not on the cheek, nor the forehead, but on the lips. Like lovers.

Arya’s eyes were wide when he pulled away and Rhaenyra could only pray it was because this was the first kiss they had ever shared, but in her heart, she knew that wasn’t true. Daemon was an insatiable creature and there was no denying the intensity in his eyes as he stared at Arya.

“We know the truth of it Arya, let no one lead you astray.” And then Daemon kissed her again.

“That is exactly what you’re doing!” Princess Rhaenys shrieked, as she pulled Arya away from Daemon by her arm, “you vile poisonous creature how can you seek to corrupt another young impressionable girl after--”

“Rhaenys, back off!” Loudly, Arya advocated, “You’re only antagonizing him!”

“I can save you from him.” The older woman pled.

Arya stared at Rhaenys with a blank expression. “You, are being a bitch.”

Once her words had silenced Rhaenys, the girl continued in a softer tone, turning back to address Daemon, “I know that you’re acting out, being so cruel and callous, because they’re acting like you will taint me, just by being around me. And I know that hurts your feelings, even if you won’t admit it. To be treated like your poison by people who are meant to be your family.”

Dameon inhaled sharply, but remained stoic. Arya continued, “Don’t worry, I know the truth, and no one will convince me otherwise. I know who you are, so stop making yourself crazy. And stop saying, such overly dramatic, crazy shit. Take your own advice, don’t listen to them, they don’t matter. Listen to me.”

Slowly, she took Daemon’s hands in hers, “I love you. You are my best friend. And the person I trust most in this world.” She said softly, “But what about the girls? How can you say that nobody else matters? How can you act this way--”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I know!” Arya said sternly as she got up and moved to stand behind her chair. Almost like she needed the physical separation to regain her senses. “But if this is how we are perceived, we need to address it---”

“I will not lose you!”

“I’m not suggesting that!”

“They are trying to--”

“SHUT UP!” Arya screamed, “Shut the fuck up and let me finish a gods dammed thought!”

Daemon actually looked chastised by the outburst. “I’m sorry.”

Rhaenyra almost swallowed her tongue when he apologized, the Daemon she knew and loved would never, and yet for this girl, it was like he was completely different person.

“I don’t want the girls to ever question our love or loyalty for them. If we come off as so narcissistic in our mutual affection, I think that needs to be addressed….by a brief separation.”

Daemon opened his mouth to argue but Arya shut him down, “You didn’t tell me you planned to leave the girls behind on Driftmark. I thought the four of us would be storming King’s Landing together. Daemon I am disappointed. And so are Baela and Rhaena. You see that, yeah?”

“So, you want to abandon me, to appease the children?” Daemon asked quietly, a hint of menace bleeding through his expression.

“We have a month before moving to King’s Landing.” Arya straightened up and met Daemon’s eyes with determination, “I purpose you spend that time here on Driftmark, with the girls. Give them your undivided attention. Make them understand this separation is something you are doing for their benefit. To protect them. To give them, the happiest life possible.”

“And where will you be?” He asked quietly. “Tarth? Braavos?”

The girl shrugged, “Does it matter?”

It was a ridiculous thing to say to someone like Daemon. But in her ignorance, Rhaenyra finally saw an opportunity to step in and claim some of her uncle’s attention for herself, “Arya could spend the month on Dragonstone, with me.”
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The children were informed of the new arrangement in the morning.

Daemon’s girls looked all at once overjoyed and deeply saddened by Arya’s imminent departure. The girl had very little belongings so the return home to Dragonstone was set to commence the next morning. Giving the small family of four, only one last day together.

For the most part, everyone steered clear, giving them privacy. She could tell Rhaenys was disappointed she could not permanently separate Arya from Daemon, but she seemed pleased she would soon have two out of the three girls under her protection.

There was also a healthy amount of respect for Arya and her handling of Daemon and his temper, from Lord Corlys and Laenor. In passing they both made mention of the girl’s tenacity. Her fortitude. Her unrelenting force of will. Hearing her complimented irritated her so much she spent the rest of the time waiting to leave sequestered away with her boys.

Silently she plotted. Her plans for Laenor would have to be adjusted given the new circumstances. Rhaenyra was still set on marrying Daemon, and she was now convinced that Arya was both the key and the lock, her plans success. She just had to figure out the best way to use the girl to her advantage. Given a month, she was sure she would come up with something.

On the night before their departure, she could not find sleep. She took to roaming the halls mindlessly, hoping to tire herself out. That was when she stumbled upon Daemon and Arya, engaged in a private goodbye.

Her slipper-ed feet barely made any noise as she walked, so they did not hear her approach, and once she heard voices she paused. Silently she peered around the corner. She was pretty sure this was the hallway that led to Daemon’s room. It was unusually dark, with only one torch on the wall illuminating the figures huddled up against it.

Arya had her legs wrapped around Daemon’s waist, his hands were on her ass, her arms were coiled around his neck, and their faces were inches apart. Rhaenyra held her breath as she spied on the pair.

“I hate you.” Daemon said sarcastically.

“Same.” Arya said flippantly.

Daemon nuzzled his nose against hers, muttering, “I thought you said you were tired?”

Arya laughed quietly, “You were the one who pushed me up against the wall, not the other way around my friend.”

“Father.” He corrected.

Arya’s lip curled in disgust, “Don’t make it gross.”

The humor slowly drained away from them both, then they were just staring at each other. Silently. And then Daemon was leaning in, eliminating the inches that separated their lips from one another.

It filled her with jealousy, to watch the man she loved, the man she had always loved, kiss another woman. And with such passion. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. The pair separated with a gasp, Daemon pressing his forehead to hers.

Quietly Arya asked, “Are we ever going to talk about the kissing?”

“What about it?” Daemon teased, pressing a kiss to her nose.

“Why?” Arya asked simply, her finger wrapping around the ends of Daemon’s hair.

“Why not?” He countered with a smirk, but after a moment his face smoothed out into something more thoughtful. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

His hands slid from her ass, down to the back of her thighs. Arya leant her head back so it rested on the wall. “Just tell me why you started kissing me all the time. All of a sudden.”

“You kiss me back.” Daemon deflected.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Daemon nodded in acknowledgement. His eyes drifting down to her throat as he responded, “You almost died, I was happy you didn’t.”

“So, you kissed me.”

“So, I kissed you.” He confirmed.

“And after that?” Arya prompted, a wry grin on her face.

Again, he dodged the question, “Does it bother you?”

“I didn’t say that.” She said softly, “I just don’t want…”

“I can stop.” He offered, letting her legs down and putting her back on her own two feet.

“I didn’t ask you to stop.” Arya put her hands on his chest and looked up into his face, an unreadable expression on her face.

“You didn’t ask me to start either.” Daemon quipped. He put his hands on her shoulders and started massaging them.

“I’m going to miss you.” She whispered, her arms sliding down to wrap around his waist. He was quick to reciprocate the embrace. “Even if it’s only for a month.”

“I love you.” He murmured into her hair.

“Daemon,” She pulled her head back and looked up at his face, “Even though you didn’t almost die, I’m happy your alive too.”

Arya then pushed up onto her tip toes and softly pressed a kiss to Daemon’s lips.

From the context, she surmised this was the first kiss the girl had initiated. And it was morbidly fascinating, seeing the girl take the lead, and force such a gentle kiss upon Daemon. From what she had witnessed earlier, and her own experience, he was a passionate man. In all things. Kissing included, but what she was watching now, was something different.

More meaningful. Less passionate. And somehow, she suspected, more hurtful to watch than if she caught them fucking.

Rhaenyra couldn’t stand to watch any longer. Quick and quiet, she fled down the hall she had come from. When she finally reached her room, she spent hours crying into her pillow. Exhausted, she finally fell asleep just as the sky was lightening.
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Arya’s Outfit

Arya / Daemon Goodbye Rhaenyra’s POV *Ignore that Daemon has one too many hands in this picture, okay?

Arya / Daemon Goodbye Rhaenyra’s POV *Ignore weird blurry hand in bottom of frame, AI art is not my full time job m'kay? I tried 😭😭😭

Chapter Text

Chapter 19
~Aemond~

Aemond was glad to be leaving Driftmark, it was a dreary place filled with people he disliked and whom disliked him in return. He kept his head held high as he walked over the sand towards his Lady Vhagar. His mother wanted him to return with her on the ship, but he wouldn’t have it. He was a dragon rider.

“Wait!” A voice behind him called out. His froze in place, his heart skipping a beat. When he turned and saw who was coming after him, Aemond instinctively straightened up. Arya was running towards him.

To be honest, she didn’t look great. Her hair was a mess, her face bruised, her outfit queer. Still, he shouted excitedly, waving like an idiot as if she didn’t already see him, “Arya, here!”

He knew there was a stupid grin on his face but he couldn’t will it away. He was too happy that Arya had sought him out before he left.

When she reached him, she slapped him playfully on the arm accusing, “How could you?”

A little part of him tensed in fear of having offended her unintentionally, “How could I what?”

With a smirk, she shoved him lightly chastising, “Leave without saying goodbye, stupid!”

He smiled, relieved she was only playing with him. He spoke a little too quickly in his eagerness to assuage her, “I tried to find you before I left, but you weren’t in your rooms and Daemon didn’t know where’d you gone, nor Princess Rhaenys or Lord Corlys, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Alright.” She grabbed his hand with her good one and gave it a squeeze, “I forgive you.”

Aemond could feel his heartbeat quicken, the open smile on her face made him feel warm all over.

“A relief.” He said, averting his eyes—eye. Suddenly he was reminded of his mutilation and all he wanted was for Arya to look away. “Well,” He mumbled, “Goodbye.”

He pulled his hand out of her reach and turned to leave, eager to hide his shame amongst the clouds.

“Come here.” She commanded. She pulled him towards her and he obeyed out of instinct. Gently, her arms wrapped around him and she rested her chin on his shoulder. It was his good side so it didn’t hurt when her head touched his cheek.

He was slow to hug her back, not only because he was not used to such displays of affection but because it was Arya. This girl had fought for him against her own allies. She was fierce and wild and though she looked like shit right now he knew she was truly beautiful. It was only natural he would admire her after all she had done for him.

As she began to pet his hair he melted in her arms.

“I didn’t just come to say goodbye you know.” He held back a shiver as her words were whispered directly in his ear.

“What else did you want from me?” He would give her anything if it was in his power to do so. Not only did he owe her, but he just wanted her to like him. The neediness he felt for her approval made him feel pathetic, but it was a weakness he just couldn’t shake.

She pulled back from the embrace with a twinkling laugh, “Want from you?” She cupped his face, “I don’t want anything from you kid, in fact, I wanted to give you something.”

Her eyes were finally drawn to the bandage that covered half of his face. She’d done an admirable job of not staring so far. He clenched his teeth, secretly hating that she and probably everyone else, for the rest of his life would have to look at the mangled mess that was his face. Anger took him over for a second and he snarled, “I don’t want your pity.”

“Good, because I have none to offer you, just some advice.” Arya took him by surprise when she leaned in and kissed his bandaged cheek whispering, “Don’t scratch.”

“What?”

She took a step back and wrapped her arms around herself. The wind tossed her hair artfully around her face as she gestured to her own eye, “The stitches, there’s going to come a time when they will itch like crazy, but for the sake of your handsome face you have to resist and don’t scratch.”

“How would know that?” He looked her up and down, today she was wearing pants and coat that did not show much skin, but he remembered how she looked in the red dress. The image of her naked décolletage flashed in his mind. Silently he scoffed, she probably had no hideous scars to speak of and he was slightly offended by her presumptuous advice.

When Arya lifted the hem of her shirt to expose her naked stomach his eye went wide with shock.

“Arya!” Scandalized, he rushed forward, and urged her to push her shirt back into place. He looked up and down the beach to see if anyone had seen what she tried to do, luckily they were alone.

She laughed sardonically, “Stop, pushing my hands you ninny, and look.”

“It’s not proper!” He exclaimed, “I shouldn’t—you shouldn’t—”

“Relax.” She patted his arm patronizingly, “Just do as your told and look, alright? I promise I’m not trying to corrupt your delicate virtue. I just think you should see something.”

There was a mysterious glint in her eyes that he could not identify nor resist. Obediently he took a step back and looked at the exposed skin she was offering up for his perusal. Immediately he was embarrassed. Her skin looked soft and inviting, her stomach flat and attractive, her cute little belly button all but winking at him. But after a second it registered what she was trying to show him.

She was covered in scars. They were long since healed, but there was at least a dozen pale white raised lines on her stomach. “Are those from a knife?”

“Yes.” She put her shirt back in place but he continued to scare at her covered midsection, oddly reluctant to meet her eyes. This was…her willing vulnerability was so foreign to him. He had no idea what to say.

“I have more, just more discreetly placed than yours.”

“Who di--?”

“Did you hear we’re cousin’s now?”

He blinked stupidly, thrown off balance by her abrupt change in topic. “Cousins?”

She smiled faintly smug. “Your father made it official at dinner last night. I’m to be the ‘chosen daughter’ of Daemon Targaryen.”

That was very surprising to hear, especially given what he assumed was the very specific wording. “Arya Targaryen?”

She shrugged, “Sounds alright I guess.”

He smiled, truly overjoyed that he was to call this beautiful person, his family. “That’s wonderful news, congratulations!”

He stepped forward to hug her but she held out a hand stopping the gesture, and he silently berated himself for being too forward!

“There’s more.” She teased.

Secretly he rejoiced that his hug was not rejected out of disgust. He desperately hoped that his insecurity was not reflected on his face. To distract from his inner turmoil, he tried to be suave and raise his eyebrow but it didn’t feel that successful as he asked, “More than becoming royalty overnight?”

She barked out a laugh nodding, “Yes.”

Above a bird cawed loudly as it descended on a crab from above. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore seemed louder and louder with every second Arya left him in suspense. When she wasn’t immediately forthcoming, he impatiently prompted, “Well?!”

“Daemon is to join the small council again.” The wind blew her hair into her face, she pushed it away as she elaborated, “We’re moving to King’s Landing.”

It was more than he expected, more than he even thought to wish for. Arya was an expert dragon master and he was ecstatic he would have the chance to learn from her. She was fearless in the face of his mother, father, and grandfather! She was kind, perhaps the kindest person he’d ever met. And she was moving to King’s Landing. She was everything he could ever want in a friend.

And what’s more she seemed to like him without any effort on his part to win her favor. He could burst with happiness.

The strong bastards had made it difficult to befriend his brother growing up. Besides, Aegon had his vices and cronies to keep him company, he never wanted Aemond around. Heleana had her bugs and her dreams. And he’d had no one but his mother to entrust his secrets in. For so long all he wanted was to lay claim to a dragon or at least a friend of his own. Now he might get both.

With Arya coming to King’s Landing this was his chance. He knew if he befriended Arya first, she would be loyal to him above all others. She could be someone he could count on and confide in and look to for advice. It was a dizzying thought, all these dreams coming true all at once.

He sounded breathless as he asked, “When?”

“A moon.” She smiled at him broadly, “You think you’ll be able to stay out of trouble until then?”

He wanted to hug her again. He wanted to pick her up off her feet and spin her, hooting and hollering with joy. But he was a prince and such displays of affection were frowned upon.

He took a step back as he realized he was jeopardizing her honor as a Lady, just by being alone with her, granted Vhagar was right behind him snoozing on the beach, but he wasn’t sure a dragon counted as a proper chaperon.

“Aemond?” She sounded a bit hesitant, “Are you worried about Rhaena and Baela? I’m sure we’ll all be able to--”

“You can’t fuck my brother anymore.” It was rude to cut her off but the words just came vomiting out. He doubted his uncle had explained all the social expectations and rules that came along with being a royal and informing her of the most important ones really took precedence over manners. “As a Lady, you’ll need to be more protective of your honor, and virtue, and reputation!”

His mother still didn’t know about her and Aegon’s little tryst, which was good, but she couldn’t risk such behaviors again, moving forward. He’d seen how women were chewed up and spit out, ruined at court, just based on rumor alone. “I will speak to Aegon and my grandfather, hopefully news of your indiscretion will go no further if we move swiftly to contain it.”

He had not anticipated her response to be darting forward, grabbing his shoulders, and pecking him on the cheek, nearly on the lips! If he had seen such an action coming, he certainly would have blocked her advances, or at least readied himself for them.

He went stiff as she embraced him again, softly laughing in his ear, “Oh, you are a sweetheart, aren’t you?” She was quick to pull back and rest her hands on his shoulders again, “You really don’t need to worry about my reputation kid, I’m not planning on being that kind of a lady.”

A frown pulled at his lips. Gently he pushed her hands off his shoulders, stepped back and clasped his hands behind his back. “If you are now the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, then you are not just a Lady, you are a Princess.” He stared her down, trying to get her to understand he was only trying to help her, “And as such you will be expected to act a certain way--”

Arya interrupted by covering her mouth partially and making an obscene fart noise. He closed his eye. He could only imagine what his mother would say if she were witness to such juvenile behavior.

When he opened his eye, he saw Arya rocking back and forth on her heels looking especially pleased with herself. He glared, “I’m sure your father or more likely my mother with arrange for a Septa to give you lessons on such matters. But I am merely forewarning you of what will be expected--”

“You think I’m not good enough to be a Princess?” Her eyes were narrowed but he couldn’t tell if she was messing with him or being sincere.

He let his hands fall to his sides, “No.”

“You think I’ve been bewitched by your brother’s cock?” She raised a brow and folded her arms, as she accused, “You think I’m stupid.”

“No!” He rushed to reassure her of his affection, only now realizing how insulting he must have seemed, “You’re great! Beautiful. I mean smart. And fierce, I’m sure you…uh. And um, about Aegon, he’s just, you could do much better, you see. I’m trying to—because you gave me advice about my face and I was trying to return it, I know you’ve never been to court but it is—”

“You don’t have a lot of friends, do you Aemond?” Arya smirked, and for the first time since knowing her, he didn’t find it charming. “Don’t worry handsome, if you want, I’ll be your friend.”

“I’m sorry.” He winced, aware of how pathetic he was acting but not able to stop. “I’d like that. Being friends, I mean.”

She started backing away, “Thanks for the advice kid.” She waved at him with her bandaged hand, “Until we meet again Prince Aemond!”

She didn’t wait for his response, she just turned away and started walking back to the castle.

Silently he cursed himself for his absurd rambling. All he’d wanted to do was impress her and help her and instead he’d acted a fool and insulted her.

Only loud enough that he could hear, over the sound of the waves and the wind, he said, “Until we meet again, Princess Arya.”
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His mother seemed to be of a split mind regarding Arya’s eminent arrival. She eagerly threw herself into the task of readying the girl’s rooms personally. She was even having a few gowns made so the Princesses would be able to seamlessly fit in with the fashion popular in King’s Landing.

Secretly Aemond aided in her efforts by collecting a few books he thought Arya might enjoy and leaving them strategically hidden in the drawers of her desk. He’d chosen a book about Visenya, one of his favorite’s called “Wonders Made by Man” and another book he had not read but thought would be suitable to teach her about her new role as a Princess called “A Caution for Young Girls.”

However, despite mother’s show of efforts to welcome their new guests, his mother also kept making derogatory comments about Arya’s appearance, her manners, and disrespectful attitude. Mother was determined that all savageness needed to be purged from the girl before she was to be presented to court. And as the all three of Daemon’s girls no longer had a mother, his mother saw it as her self-appointed duty to take on that role in their lives.

He did not anticipate that going over well with the girls. Or his uncle Daemon for that matter. Truly, Aemond could not work out if his mother was offended or excited by the idea that Arya would require so much of her attention and instruction.

Grandfather was easier to read in his intentions. He kept talking the girl up, singing her praises, it was clear he was in favor of welcoming Arya into the family with open arms and he was encouraging others, mainly his mother and father and Aegon to do the same.

His grandfather probably understood that Aemond already liked her, that was why he was focusing on winning over everyone else. Still, it troubled him that grandfather knew about Aegon and Arya’s tryst and still seemed to want the two of them to get along, rather than keep them apart, which was his plan.

Better Arya and Aegon avoid the temptation to indulge their vices and sully her reputation further. When they…did what they did, Aegon took advantage of her and her sadness. Aemond was certain she would take his advice and steer clear of his brother moving forward.

While many were excited by the prospect of the Targaryen twin Princesses and Arya coming to court, especially as the news of her dragon’s antics, new name and status spread across the kingdom, the same could not be said about his uncle Daemon.

There was a certain amount of tension in the air whenever his name came up. To be sure there was also respect, but Aemond was fascinated by the fear his uncle inspired by reputation alone. Idly he thought his uncle would have made a much better King than Viserys, just as he would compared to Aegon. Perhaps that was the tragic fate of all second sons?

Despite everyone’s apprehension, Aemond was looking forward to his uncle’s arrival. Even if his uncle hated him for his Hightower blood, there was much he could learn from a man like Daemon, just by observation alone.
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One week after leaving Driftmark they received word Baela and Rhaena would not be joining Arya and Daemon in King’s Landing.

The news really did just keep getting better and better. Both he and his mother agreed, this was for the best. While he had committed to the idea of acting remorseful for Arya’s sake, to create peace between him and her retched sisters, he was glad he would not have to sully their friendship with such deception.

Even better, without her sisters around to distract her Arya would probably have even more time for him!
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Two weeks after leaving Driftmark he received an unexpected raven from Arya.

Apparently she was on Dragonstone with Princess Rhaenyra and things were not going well. When he shared the message with his mother she practically collapsed into laughter.

Arya asked him for advice on proper ‘ladylike’ manners, since he seemed to be an expert on these things when last they spoke. She wanted him to make a list of the most heinous offenses she might have unintentionally committed so she could get Rhaenyra to stop acting like in her words a ‘cunt’.

Mother helped him draft a reply but he doubted it would be of much use. If his half sister had decided not to like Arya, his mother said there was little the girl could do to change the Princesses mind. Or at least, that was her experience.
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Three weeks after leaving Driftmark Drogon was seen flying over King’s Landing. It was said he circled the Red Keep a few times before heading for the Kingswood. Aemond hadn’t seen it, but Aegon had. He claimed Arya winked and blew him a kiss, of course his brother was an arrogant liar, so he wasn’t exactly a trustworthy source of information.

Grandfather and a handful of guards went looking for her but returned empty handed. Later his mother told him Drogon was found sleeping near Vhagar, but there was no sign of Arya.

Aemond expected ravens to be sent out to inform Rhaenyra of where her lost charge had gone, or at least to Daemon, but Grandfather wanted it kept quiet until they found Arya. So no ravens were sent.

Otto suspected Rhaenyra was also keeping mum about Arya’s unscheduled early arrival, because if Daemon knew Arya was here alone…

For a week a dozen gold cloaks were sent into the Kingswood to look for the girl. Criston Cole included. When their search bore no fruit, they started sweeping the city.

Everyday Arya was not found his mother and grandfather grew more worried. Not about the girl’s well being exactly, but about Daemon’s reaction to her disappearance. There was no doubt they would be blamed, for keeping silent about her initial sighting or not finding her, it didn’t really matter, it seemed they now all lived in fear of Daemon Targaryen’s wrath.

His mother grew so frantic she even began sending Aegon out to fly around on Sunfyre to look for the girl from above. It was one of the very few responsibilities his brother didn’t even try to get out of. Of course, his brother didn’t mind making a show of looking for Arya, not that Aemond believed he was actually following through with his task. Aegon was probably just happy to get out of training and fly his dragon.

Aemond, who was now growing legitimately worried about Arya’s fate, wanted to take to the skies as well, but Vhagar was really too large for such a task. And at every turn his mother blocked him from joining the search for his lost friend.
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Two days before Daemon’s scheduled arrival everyone in the Red Keep was preparing as if for battle. Aegon was forced into the training yard by grandfather and even Aemond was allowed to train again, his mother’s protests about his eye needing more time to heal going ignored.

“This is fucking ridiculous!” Aegon yelled as Cole commanded him to get back to his feet. Aemond had to admit they were being drilled especially hard. And while he was taking the rigorous training in stride, especially given his handicap, Aegon, as per usual, refused to rise to meet the challenge.

“Up my prince.” Cole ordered, “This time when I hit you, roll with the motion. Do not give up and allow yourself to be flattened.”

Aegon glared at their mentor from the dirt. “This is insanity!”

Cole scowled, used to his brother’s whining by now, “Up.”

With a grunt of frustration Aegon got to his feet but then pointedly threw his sword back on the ground. “I’m done.”

Cole pressed a tired hand to his forehead, “Prince Aegon--”

“No!” Aegon threw his hands up in the air, “I’m done. I’m going to have a bath and a well-earned lunch; we’ve been at this for hours!”

As Aegon walked past Cole the Knight grabbed his arm refusing to let him quit so easily. “When Daemon arrives to find that girl missing--”

Aegon butt in loudly declaring, “When Daemon arrives, so will Arya! Right on fucking time.”

Aemond turned away from the straw target he’d been hacking at, his sword falling to hang loose at his side as he demanded, “Aegon. What do you mean by that?”

Panic and guilt flickered across his brother’s features. “What?”

Cole’s grip moved to grab the scruff of Aegon’s neck, “My Prince, if you know something--”

“I know nothing!” Aegon claimed, his voice an octave higher than usual, “I was just—Arya’s a smart girl, right? She’ll probably know to come back—oof!”

Aemond shoved at his brother’s chest, only Cole’s strong grip kept him upright. “Do not lie Aegon. Not about this! What do you know?”

Cole’s voice was deep and menacing as he demanded, “Do you know where the girl is?”

Aegon’s wide frightened eyes told them the answer. Aemond kicked his brother in the shin, “Have you known where she’s been this whole time!?”’

“Not the whole time.” Aegon tried to smile playfully, but he was rightfully terrified so it came off as more of a painful grimace.

Disgusted, Cole threw Aegon back into the dirt. “Do you know how many hours have been wasted looking for that girl? How much stress her absence has caused! And, you’ve known her location this--”

Suddenly Aemond was struck by an idea. It was awful and he desperately didn’t want it to be true, but he had to know. So, he blurted out, “Did she ask you not to say anything?”

Aegon frowned, avoiding his gaze as he got back on his feet. Aemond’s heart felt like it had dropped into his gut. He guessed, “Have you been sneaking off to see her?”

Catching on Cole said, “She’s in the city.”

Aegon sighed, his head hanging down in defeat as he admitted, “Yes.”
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Of course, Aemond wasn’t allowed to go and fetch Arya when his brother, Cole, and a handful of Kingsguard went to track her down.

Aegon confessed he’d found her a few days after the initial sighting of Drogon. She’d gotten a job in a tavern and planned to hide out until the month was up and she could be reunited with Daemon. Inexplicably, Aemond was hurt by this decision.

Still, he experienced a certain sick satisfaction when the group returned without their prize, and some sporting war wounds from the defeat. The injured Kings Guard slunk off to lick their wounds as Cole and Aegon were instructed to follow his mother to grandfather’s rooms.

Aemond stayed quiet, hoping he would not be dismissed until he heard what had happened.

Once behind closed doors, he and mother hovered near the fireplace, as Aegon and Cole stood before grandfather who remained sitting at his desk. With a wave of his hand and a disappointed glare, Otto bid the Knight to speak to his failure.

Quietly Cole, holding a rag to his broken nose, informed them, “The girl is very fast. We couldn’t stop her from escaping into the city once she realized why we were there.”

Aegon gloated, “I told you she wouldn’t come quietly, especially not with you barking orders at her.”

Cole glowered at the smug prince, “If you hadn’t warned her--”

Aegon grinned at the man, all teeth, “She still would have wiped the floor with you all the same.”

Aegon poured himself a glass of wine, that mother promptly stole form his hands. Frowning grandfather asked, “What makes you so certain she would prevail in a fight against a handful of experienced Knights?”

Aegon pouted as he answered, “It’s how I found her. See, there was a dispute in the tavern, I might have said something insulting about someone’s wife, they might have threatened to cut off my cock, and Arya might have swooped in and saved me and accidently started a full out brawl.” Aegon grinned, genuinely delighted by the memory, “She’s a spectacular fighter.”

Mother wrung her hands nervously, “What I don’t understand is why she chose to fight at all?” She turned on Cole, “Why did you not just talk to her? Tell her it was time to come--”

“She doesn’t want to come to the Red Keep without Daemon by her side.” Aegon told them, his arms crossed defensively, “And frankly can you blame her? Would you want to walk into a place like this with no allies to call your own?”

There was a knock at the door. Mother hurried to see who it was.

A maid bowed respectfully before saying, “Your Grace, Prince Daemon has just arrived, he’s on his way to visit the King and asking where his daughter is.”

For the first time in Aemond’s life he heard his grandfather curse, “Shit.”
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Arya’s Outfit

Arya Goodbye to Aemond Dress

Chapter Text

Chapter 20
~Daemon~

He was so angry he could spit fire. And what’s worse he could not decide who deserved his ire the most.

The month away from Arya had felt like years. To be sure it seemed to be exactly what Baela and Rhaena needed from him, his relationship with the girls was now stronger than ever. And for that he was grateful, he just wished their happiness didn’t come at the expense of his own.

The separation had taught him much and in Arya’s absence his feeling for the young woman had evolved. For all that she was now his daughter on paper, the way he felt about her was nothing like the love he had for Baela and Rhaena. For Laena’s daughters he had to be a pillar of strength. He had to be a disciplinarian. A teacher. A protector. A provider. Without him his children were defenseless.

The thing about Arya was, she was all those things for him and more. Without her he felt like a piece of himself was missing. He didn’t realize how much he had come to rely on her council, her humor, and her comfort. She was more to him than words could adequately describe.

Once the month was nearly up, he raced Caraxes to Dragonstone so they might fly to King’s Landing together. To his shock and horror, she was not there. He barely let Rhaenyra explain more than which direction she had headed before he was back on his dragon and making for the Red Keep as fast as he could.

He arrived just as night had set, and while it was too early for all to be abed, he was surprised to be greeted by the Hightowers like his arrival was expected. They intercepted him on the way to his brother’s rooms, trapping him at the bottom of the great staircase, as they loomed over him from the middle landing.

“Prince Daemon, welcome home.” Alicent greeted, looking nervous. Daemon knew there was a mean scowl on his face, but the Queen picking at her cuticles told him immediately something was amiss.

“Arya.” He demanded, his eyes lighting up as he took in Cole’s busted face, “Where is she?”

It was Otto who answered him, “In the city.”

That was puzzling. He assumed after fleeing from Rhaenyra, Arya would come to King’s Landing and start making inroads with the nobles. Or at least do recon on them in secret. Its why he’d flown straight to the castle. He expected to find her already enchanting his brother and his brood in that magical way she has.

“Why?” He kept his voice dry and casual to balance out his stormy expression, “Did you turn her away?”

Alicent took a step closer to her father, “Lady Arya never came to the Keep.”

He had a sinking suspicion. He looked at Cole and demanded, “Who broke your nose, again?”

The Knight huffed silently but admitted the truth, “Arya.”

Reflexively he snickered, “Why?”

“He called her a bitch!” A voice shouted from the top of the stairs. He found his nephews staring down at the scene. The older one looked excited and the younger…depressed, maybe? It was hard to read at a distance and with half the boys face covered in bandages.

He glared at Cole. “Touch her again, and I’ll let her kill you.”

He was intrigued by Cole’s reaction. He actually looked a little afraid. He tried to reassure him, “It was a misunderstanding. Nothing more.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Aegon shouted down to them, “He was being bossy, she didn’t like it, she got mouthy, he didn’t like that. Next thing I know she’s using wine bottles to beat people and smashing faces into tables. It was amazing.”

He looked up at his nephew, really taking the boy in. He was handsome, fit, an idiot and if memory served, a bit of lusty prick. “Did you fuck my daughter?”

Aegon’s eyes went wide as he stuttered, “N-no?”

“Touch her again, and I’ll kill you.” He promised with a wink. He wasn’t sure if the boy was telling the truth or not, but giving him a scare was for the best either way. The drunken prince was in no way a worthy bed companion for his Arya. Especially not if they were to make this place their new home.

Otto took a step down the stairs towards him, “We’ve been looking for the girl, but she has evaded all our best efforts.”

“That’s because Cole’s a fucking idiot and Arya’s exceptional.”

“She ran from Rhaenyra first, you know.” Alicent told him, a calculating glint in her eye. “She even wrote to Aemond looking for advice on how to deal with her. Apparently, Rhaenyra made things very difficult for her on Dragonstone. Perhaps Arya’s distress and combative mindset is something the Princess is responsible for?”

His eyes darted back up the stairs to the little maimed prince. In a flat voice his nephew informed him, “Arya called her a cunt.”

He snorted, because of course she did.

Otto clasped his hands in front, saying, “We can provide you with some men to go out and look for her aga-”

“No.” He turned on his heel and headed back out the way he came.
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He would not waste his time looking for Arya. Instead, he mounted Caraxes and flew over the city, breathing fire and making a spectacle of himself.

Wherever Arya was hiding in the city she would either see him or hear about his antics. It was easy to decide drawing her out would be a wiser strategy than searching all the taverns and pleasure houses she might retreat to.

Once he was satisfied, he flew to the Kingswood and landed a little way away from Drogon and Vhagar. The larger dragon snoozed on, not even peeking open an eye at his arrival. Drogon however ambled over to him and cooed a greeting to Caraxes and then himself.

Surrounded by dragons he built a small campfire near a fallen hallowed out tree and settled in to wait.

Two hours later he heard hoof beats “Arya?”

“Daemon!” The horse she rode started rearing up, probably frightened of the three large dragons Arya was trying to approach. It took her a few minutes to calm the horse and tie its reins to a tree. As soon as the beast was settled, she took off running towards him.

He braced himself for impact as his wild dragon threw herself into his open arms.

“Arya.” He breathed out her name like a prayer. He reveled in the feeling of having her arms and legs wrapped around his body once again. To say he had missed her for the past 27 days was to do a disservice to the ache he had felt in her absence.

With her face pressed into his neck her words were a bit muffled but he heard her say, “Fuck.”

Not even considering letting her out of his arms yet, he let himself plop back down onto the fallen tree he’d been using as a makeshift chair. There was so much he wanted to ask her. So much he wanted to tell her.

Beyond them Drogon drew closer, making comforting noises as he circled them and the campfire with his large body. Like a living wall of privacy, the world fell away until it was just him, Arya, and her watchguard dragon.

“Daemon.” Arya whimpered his name, her voice full of emotion. No, not emotion. Pain.

He tensed. Something was very wrong. “Arya?” He held her tighter, “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer right away, which drove him crazy, but he could tell she was out of sorts and trying to collect herself. Nevertheless, he was an impatient man, “Are you hurt?”

There was a subtle shake of her head indicating ‘no’. He sighed, resigning himself to a long wait.

He began to rock her side to side in his arms, his worry building. While Arya was an affection person, especially so with him, there was desperation in the way she was clinging to him now. It was all very concerning, as was her reluctance to speak.

He wanted to go down a list, peppering her with question until he finally figured out what had her so upset. Was it whatever happened with Rhaenyra? Did she get a new upsetting memory? Did she think Daemon would abandon her? Did some commoner break her heart? Was it Aegon? Was there something wrong with Drogon?

Instead of badgering her, he began to pet her back. He pressed kisses to her hair. He whispered, “I love you” in her ear. And he waited.

Minutes went by and it was like torture.

He would help her with anything, she had to know that. The second she shared her burden he would help her carry it. He would vanquish all of her enemies. He would help her mend whatever was broken. All she had to do was speak, and he was at her command.

It had to be at least a half an hour before her hold on him loosened. He stayed strong and said nothing until she pulled back from his embrace on her own.

Her eyes were wet and the dirt on her cheeks just made the tear tracks all the more obvious and heart wrenching. When her eyes met his, he saw only pain and sorrow.

“What happened?” He demanded softly. He forced his hands to relax so he could run them up and down her thighs in a soothing manner.

“I was alone,” It broke his heart when a tear fell down her cheek just as she whispered, “When I needed you.”

He responded to the admission with a kiss. He wanted to bite her lips for the power she held over him, but he refrained. Still, he kept the kiss insistent, a hard press of his lips on hers to let her know that he was here for her now. Whatever she needed. He tilted his head and let his tongue sweep inside her mouth briefly, to say he was sorry, for not being there when she needed him.

When they separated, he realized his hands were digging into her thighs. Quickly he let go, cursing himself for the bruises’ he probably just caused her fair skin.

He let his hands rest gently on her hips, silently vowing not to fuck up again. Imploringly he whispered, “Tell me.”

Arya’s eyes flickered over to Drogon’s head, just over his shoulder. Daemon turned and was unsurprised to find the dragon watching them attentively.

“While on Dragonstone I had a dream that felt like a memory. Only…it didn’t feel like me.”

He said nothing. Arya took a few moments of silence, just staring at Drogon before she turned back to him. Daemon rubbed circles into her hips with his thumbs, silently urging her to open up to him.

And then she did, “I dreamt of a cavern, deep in the rocky crevices, amid deposits of jet-black dragonglass I…I remembered or dreamed…there were drawings.”

He could tell she was not decided if it was a dream or a memory and the frustration of that uncertainty was evident all over her face.

She grabbed onto his arms desperately, “When I woke up, I investigated.”

“They were real?” He guessed, enthused at the prospect of another clue.

“Yes.”

Another tear fell from her eye and he became confused. “What were the drawings of?”

Her answer sent an inexplicable shiver down his spine, “White Walkers. The Long Night.”

More tears. She fell forward, her arms wrapping around him again. She was sobbing now. He hugged her back tighter than had to be comfortable, but she said not a word about it. She was shaking. Her tears soaked his neck slipping beneath his shirt to drip slowly down his back.

He looked to Drogon, genuinely looking for guidance. He had never seen Arya in such a state. He was at a loss.

Drogon tightened his body around them to an almost claustrophobic degree until only a small circle of open space remained free. Daemon took it as a hint and held onto Arya tighter, definitely leaving bruised now. He slipped off from the log and pressed his back against it. He bent his legs, his heels digging into the earth near his own ass until his thighs pressed up against Arya’s back.

He pressed his face into her hair and held on. He was as close to Arya as possible without being inside her.

Her tears did not slow down. As she cried, she let out these gasping noises. Her hand kept moving and squeezing him, desperately grasping onto him in different places. She wailed in his ear. Wiped snot on his collar. She, she reminded him of a man he knew during the War for the Steptstones.

The man had been a competent fighter. Daemon knew right away with a little luck the man would survive the war, and he did. However, he had not joined Daemon’s army alone. The man had fought alongside his father, two brothers, an uncle, and a cousin. During the victory celebration he found the man in a similar state as Arya was in now.

The man had survived the war, his family had not, and it left him broken.

“I’m here.” He said in her ear, “I love you. The girls love you. Fuck, Rhaenys loves you. You are not alone. You have me. You have Drogon. Breathe Arya. Let out and then breathe.”

She followed his advice, taking in a huge shuddering breathe, before crying out and burying her face in his shoulder.

He started talking. He spoke of his time on Driftmark. Of Baela and her progress with Moondancer. Of Rhaena and their continued culinary bonding. He told her how Rhaenys and Corlys seemed to warm to him over time. He told her how much he had missed her while they were separated. He told her how he counted down the days to their reunion. He talked and talked and talked.

And eventually, she calmed. Her tears stopped. Her body grew lax in his arms. Her mournful noises dulled to quiet whimpers. And when he finally ran out of things to say, he let his head fall back and rest on the log behind him.

Arya was quick to wipe away her tears. Afterwards, they stared at each other for a long minute.

“I needed you.” Arya repeated.

“I’m here.”

“I’m glad.”

Her fingers reached for the ends of his hair, coiling strands tightly around her delicate digits. Her voice was hoarse, but steady. “If it was a dream, it was prophetic.” Her eyes flickered down to his neck as she revealed, “If it was a memory, it wasn’t mine. I think it was Jon’s.”

He opened his mouth to ask…something, but quickly closed it. He had no idea how to respond to that.
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His aching back necessitated a change in position. He cringed as Arya moved to lay in the dirt next to the campfire. She was right, being a prince made him a snob when it came to ‘roughing’ it. But she was in a delicate emotional state, so he said nothing and laid down in the dirt with her.

She slipped her leg in between his and pillowed her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the crown of her head.

Surrounded by a protective dragon and the warmth from the fire, wrapped up in the person they trusted most, it felt like all was right with the world, for one perfect second.

Together, they looked up at the stars. It was either very late or very early, depending on your perspective, but the sky was still black. And the stars were still beautiful.

After all that crying Arya had to be tired, he was exhausted and he only had to bear witness. Still, he knew she was awake because her fingers were now fiddling with the buttons on his jacket.

The mystery of her existence had never intrigued him more. He knew they should rest and speak more in the morning, but he couldn’t resist lightening the mood by asking, “What’s this I hear about you calling Rhaenyra a cunt?”

The beautiful sound of her laughter filled the air. So happy to hear it, he held her closer and laughed as well.

After a few minutes Arya confessed, “I think coming here was a mistake.”

“To Westeros?” He asked.

“To King’s Landing.” She answered softly. “I fled Dragonstone because of the dream and the drawings, it had nothing to do with Rhaenyra and what a cunt she was being. She’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He was very curious; it had become his most secret wish that Arya and Rhaenyra would bond and become close so he could have them both. Also, that Laenor and her bastard children would fucking disappear, so he could marry her and finally have a true Valyrian son, but that was beside the point. “What did she do?”

“It doesn’t matter, after…what I discovered, I just had to leave. So, I did.”

Her answer was very vague and annoying, but he decided to let it go. For now. “Why not go to the Keep? You would be welcomed there with or without me.”

“I was going to.” She answered, her fingers undoing the first three buttons on his jacket as she spoke, “But when I saw it.” Her voice hitched, “When I saw it, I was filled with dread. The longer I stared I was gripped by a feeling of horror…I’ve been there, I know it. I don’t know when or why, but I’ve been in that fucking castle. And something horrible happened. I remember the feelings so well. Rage. Despair. Sorrow.”

He kissed her forehead because he could not keep her safe from her own mind and he just had to do something. “It is only feelings that you remembered?”

“No.” She fiddled with his buttons, redoing them one handedly. “When I went into the city I recovered other memories. I recognized parts of Flea Bottom. I think that’s what triggered my new memories. I’ve been there as well.”

“Do you think you lived there?” He asked.

“No, I don’t think so. But I stayed there for a bit.”

“Like with Braavos.”

“Yes,” She sighed, “I remembered killing pigeons with Needle and eating them. Hugging a man in a crowd of people. Birds flying away as a crowd cheered and my heart broke…I don’t know why…Anyway I also remembered meeting Gendry. Now I know why I was disguised as a boy when we met.”

His mind raced with all the new information. “Why?”

“I was running away from something—someone? It’s not clear. But, a member of the Night’s Watch, Yoren, was taking prisoners and volunteers to the Wall. He cut my hair and called me boy to help me escape. Gendry and I met as we left the city traveling the Kings’ Road with Yoren.”

‘Yoren’ of the Night’s Watch. It was the first real clue they had on her true identity.

He thought when he finally had a solid lead he would want to jump with joy. But now that moment of reckoning was upon him, all he wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms and hide her so he’d never have to let go.

He decided to pivot and circle back to the Jon thing. “What did you mean when you said you think the memory/dream of the wall paintings on Dragonstone were Jon’s? Jon’s dream or Jon’s memory?”

She went quiet, her hands going still as they fiddled with his buttons. “I don’t know.”

She did. “You do know.”

“It doesn’t make sense.” She whispered.

He huffed, “Nothing about you makes sense.” He pets her hair comfortingly, “Tell me anyway.”

“It was…I was Jon. In the dream, I mean. I was him. He was the one looking at the wall. I…when I got to Dragonstone, I felt nothing. I remembered, nothing. I don’t think I’ve ever been there before, but Jon had.” She reached the laces on his pants, pulling at the string and he suspected wrapping them round her finger like she liked to do with his hair, “I can’t explain it better. I’m sorry.”

None of it made sense. Remembering someone else’s memories or dreams? Arya living in the Red Keep before? Possibly prophetic dreams? If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he would think she had lost her mind. He decided to dismiss this confusing Jon dream for now and focused on what he could actually follow up on.

He tilted her chin up and met her eyes with his own. He looked at her face, really studied her features. She truly did remind him of Rhea sometimes…If she was headed for the Wall with this Yoren character, most likely her origins lied north of King’s Landing. That meant Riverrun, the Eyrie, Winterfell, or Beyond the Wall. None of which would explain her memories of the Red Keep.

“Don’t despair.” He tried to projected calm confidence. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“I don’t want to figure it out.” She mumbled, as she turned her face into his chest. Hiding. “I just want move on from whatever tragic past keeps haunting me.”

He only believed that to be partially true. Because if Arya truly didn’t want to know who she was and what had befallen her forgotten family, she wouldn’t share these things with Daemon. She wouldn’t tell him every time she had a weird dream or recovered a new memory. If she sincerely wanted to forget the past and let it die, she would.

“I love you.” He reminded her, “You are my strength.” He rubbed up and down her arm, “Let me be yours, just for a little while.”

Her body relaxed ever so slightly. “I don’t want to talk about this tomorrow. These talks, about memories and my past, these are for the dark and the night. And just you.”

He already knew that. He tilted her face up and stole a kiss, “So we will talk of our future tomorrow, instead hmm?”

A weak smile lifted her lips, “Yes.”

He maintained her gaze as he said, “Arya, we don’t have to go to the Red Keep. I don’t need my brother’s approval. Or respect. Or a fucking seat on the small council. I know you think I do, and while I want it, I don’t need it.” He squeezed her hip, “I need you.”

“I need you too.” She climbed on top of him, straddling his body with hers. With a laugh she pecked him on the lips declaring. “Daemon Targaryen, you are so weird.” He barked a laugh, and she grinned briefly but quickly grew serious once again, “I don’t know why everyone shits on you all the time. You don’t deserve it…You love me, you accept me, and you don’t even really know me. You’re a better person than you think you are.”

“I know you.” He argued, ignoring everything else she said. Despite how meaningful he found it.

She shook her head, “How can you know me when I don’t even know myself? I--I feel so, I don’t know…unfinished?”

“You’re young. You are unfinished.”

She deflated, her head falling to his chest. Her ear pressed to the space over his heart. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am, supposed to do something.” He held on as she paused, the way she sometimes did in that maddening way of hers. Once she collected her thoughts she finished saying, “We’re here for a purpose.”

His eyes flickered back over to Drogon. The dragon lifted his head and…nodded? No. That couldn’t be, the lack of sleep was definitely starting to affect his mind. He pressed a kiss to Arya’s head. And Drogon laid back down. His eyes still trained on them both.

“We’re all here for a purpose Arya.” He was just talking bullshit now. “Finding your purpose, that’s what life’s all about.”

Arya’s body jiggled with suppressed laughter.

“Too trite?” He teased, earning more giggles.

“I think the lack of sleep is getting to us both.” Arya said, once again proving how naturally in sync they were.

“Probably.” He agreed.

For a few minutes there was silence.

He was nearly lulled to sleep by the sound of Arya’s steady breathing when he heard a faint whisper come from her lips, “Thank you, for holding me together. I promise not to fall apart again.”

She said it so quietly, he didn’t think he was meant to hear. Or respond. So, he didn’t. He didn’t move. He didn’t let on that he was still awake. He just held her. And loved her. And silently prayed she would have only pleasant dreams from now on.
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My Author Visual References

Arya’s Emotional Release

Chapter Text

Chapter 21
~Arya~

She awoke with a groan, her stomach cramping painfully, “Fuck.”

It was a familiar feeling and most unwelcome. She’d fallen asleep mostly on top of Daemon and grunted unhappily knowing what she would find when she finally opened her eyes.

It was a beautiful morning, birds singing, sun shining, Drogon still wrapped around them protectively. And all of that was ruined by the murder scene in her pants. “Shit.”

Her moon blood had come early or maybe right on time, she’d had a lot going on and had forgotten to keep track. She found blood covering the crotch of her pants and the stomach of Daemon’s jacket. She knew from experience, without looking, the back of her pants would be equally soiled.

Ever since she’d joined Daemon and started eating and sleeping on a fairly reliable schedule, her monthly curse became more predictable and more irritating. It was like as soon as her body had more resources her moon blood days increased in duration and inflicted more pain.

And while Arya had a high pain tolerance, she did not have another set of pants. “Fucking shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Daemon stirred, sitting up but not instantly alert. “Is someone--”

“I got my moon’s blood…like all over you, and me.” She moved to sit next to him instead of on top of him. She brought up her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

It was so awkward she could die of embarrassment. Laena had always run interference for her when it came to this topic. But now she had only Daemon. And no extra fucking pants.

Drogon made a noise catching her attention, when she made eye contact with her dragon, she got the message “LOVE” from him as he uncoiled from around them and stretched out his wings.

That’s when she saw that her horse was gone. The bridle was half hanging on the tree with a chunk of bloody something on the floor underneath. With a scowl she told Daemon, “I think one of the dragons ate my horse.”

She suspected Caraxes. Though, she noted Vhagar was now missing.

“Fuck.” He muttered, letting out a groan as he followed in Drogon’s footsteps and stretched out his back. She sometimes forgot how much older he was than her. But then, like now, he made these old man noises and clutched at his lower back and she felt a little guilty for making him sleep on the ground with her.

If this was how the day was starting, she could only imagine how much worse it was going to get.
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Without a word Daemon stripped off his coat and then his shirt. Arya remained silent and balled up on the ground as she watched him. Her face went hot as she realized that her blood had seeped through his jacket and stained the shirt underneath as well. And while his jacket was black and the blood stain wasn’t that noticeable, the shirt underneath was white. Was white. Now it was white with a giant muddy red brown splotch right on the front.

Daemon took a dagger out of his boot and cut off one of his shirt sleeves at the elbow, then he put the shirt back on. She watched initially confused as he cut up the sleeve into strips and that’s when it dawned on her what he was making. She hid her warm face in her knees.

He took one of her hands and unwrapped it from her knees, forcing her to take the strips of fabric he’d created for her. “I’m going to…I’m going to go hide over by the lake, splash some water on my face to really wake me up. I’ll see if I can find any blood moss…You stick those rags in your um--, then put on my jacket. I think its long enough on you to hide the stains on your pants, if not, we’ll think of something else.”

Despite the slightly awkward tone, Daemon handled himself well. And she appreciated how he equally avoided eye contact and how he didn’t linger after helping her. As soon as he was out of her line of sight, she hopped up to do as he had said.

Once her situation was semi-handled, she sought him out by the lake. She found him crouched down by the base of a tree, a frown on his face. He looked up briefly at her approach then went back to staring at the ground, “I can’t tell if this is the right kind of moss.”

It was. “Thank you.” She whispered, bending down to join him she gathered some of the highly absorbent moss and muttered, “I’ll be right back.”

She went behind a tree pulled her pants down took out the strips of fabric, and put the moss in between the layers before putting it back in between her legs and pulling her pants back up. He was right, his jacket was long enough to cover her front and ass, the stained fabric completely hidden as long as she didn’t raise her arms at all.

When she went back to Daemon, they stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.
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“Can we talk?” She flushed, “Not about my…um…or last night. But, we just need to talk.”

“Sure,” Daemon stared at her intensely before nodding, “Though, in my experience it never bodes well when a woman says that.”

She gave him a half smile before sitting on a large rock near the lake’s edge. With a grimace he sat in the dirt near her feet. His hands automatically reaching out to caress her left calf.

She supposed the best way to start was with a little flattery, then hit him with the truth. “I love it when you touch me.” She tapped him on the shoulder with her right foot, “I watch how you are with others and you’re not like this. Not even with the girls, or…Laena.”

The mere mention of his late wife’s name had him gripping on to her leg like she might float away if he wasn’t hanging on. “You touch me so casually, I would even go so far as to say unconsciously. And I admit, I do the same. We are so comfortable with each other and I don’t ever want that to change.”

His hands slid down her calf until he was holding tight to her ankle, “But?”

She slid off her shoes and presented him her sock clad feet. His large warm hands engulfed the appendage. She sighed when he started massaging her foot with the finesse of a man who had done this before. “You make me feel good.” She continued, “Your every touch makes me feel wanted and safe and cared for.”

He used his thumbs to dig into the arch of her foot as he repeated, “But?”

“But--” She hesitated. For some reason she couldn’t be brutally honest with him in this moment. Not yet. Not with his jacket on his shoulders and her foot in his lap and his eyes staring at her so, vulnerably. Because, the truth was he knew what she had to say. What they had to do. And like a selfish asshole, he was making her do all the dirty work.

She wouldn’t make it that easy for him. “What do you want?”

“You.” He said with a smirk.

“In King’s Landing,” She clarified, “Specifically from your brother?” He switched to her other foot as she talked, “I know we’ve spoken a little of this before, but before we enter the great game of thrones, I want to be clear on our goals. Make sure we are aligned on our strategy.”

“What do you want Arya? What is your true ambition?” He’d asked her that many times before. This was the first time he sounded deadly serious about it though. His hands stopped moving and he just held her foot captive as he stared her down expectantly.

“You’re it, Daemon. Helping you get what you want, is, what I want. My ambition reaches no farther than that.” After hearing that, he wanted to kiss her again, she could see it in his eyes. She put her free foot on his chest to preemptively stop him.

“Do you want to be King?” He looked taken aback.

“Not while my brother lives.”

She smiled at his loyalty and let her foot slide down his chest back to his lap. “What about after?”

He gripped both her ankles tightly, “Rhaenyra is the heir to the throne.”

“For now.”

He squeezed her hard in warning, “I may be many things, but I am loyal to my blood. I would never do anything to hurt my niece. Not even for a crown.”

He had gone tense all over. She leaned over and caressed his shoulders, “I know.” She cupped his face with one hand, he turned and pressed a kiss to her scarred palm, “I know that, Daemon.”

She brought her hands back to her own lap and stared down at them. “I would never question your love or loyalty when it comes to Rhaenyra or Viserys or the girls.”

“Or you.” He interrupted.

“We are not blood.” She reminded him.

“We’re more.” He insisted, “I did not get to choose my blood, but I did choose you.”

“Same.” They grinned at each other, in complete agreement. Now it was she who felt the urge to kiss him.

Objectively she knew Daemon was very handsome. And occasionally she was attracted to him physically, but mostly she felt a love for him so deep it transcended sexual or even familial love. It was so weird, their relationship, their innate understanding of each other. It’s why it was so hard to fight what felt natural, like all the kissing.

Quietly, she asked him again, “Do you want to be King?”

“Yes.” He whispered, looking ashamed for the confession.

“Without hurting Rhaenyra.” She asked for confirmation. He nodded, his hands like heavy shackles around her ankles. Unrelated to his hold, her womb ached, a sharp shooting pain running through her. But it was blessedly brief enough for her to ignore. She put a hand on her stomach silently resenting Daemon for never having to suffer this fucking womanly bullshit.

Clearing her throat she next asked, “Does she want to be Queen? Or, do you think, that is a fate her father forced on her before he had sons with Alicent and then just refused to change his mind out of stubbornness or some kind of misplaced sense of loyalty and love?”

“Both.” He looked out at the calm lake as he spoke, “I think it was forced upon her out of Viserys’s guilt for what he did to Queen Aemma. Breeding her to death. But now, Rhaenyra wants the crown for herself. To serve her own ambitions.”

“And we both agree, the second the King dies, it will be civil war, Hightowers verses Rhaenyra.”

“Yes.”

“So, stopping that conflict, that would be another goal?”

He laughed, jumping up onto his knees he shuffled closer. He moved her legs until they were splayed open and he could kneel between them as close to her as possible without her moving from her seat on top of the stone. “I don’t think anything can stop the coming conflict between Blacks and Greens.” He tapped her on the nose, but it was said too meanly to be a playful. “Not even you.”

“I disagree.” He laughed at her again, that indulgent ‘you silly little girl laugh’ that she hated.

“Aegon the conqueror had two wives,” She argued, “Why can’t Rhaenyra have two husbands?”

He darted forward so fast she didn’t have time to block the kiss. And once he pressed his lips to hers, she didn’t have the will power to push him away. He was a very good kisser. And his kisses made her feel good and here in the woods with no one to see, she didn’t have a reason not to reciprocate.

So, she kissed him back until a vicious cramp in her womb had her jerking away with a hiss.

“How can you be so eager to marry me off to Rhaenyra when you kiss me back like that?”

She glared at him clutching her lower stomach, annoyed that her body was made this way. “Don’t be stupid Daemon, you and I both know the easiest path to the crown for you is through marriage with Rhaenyra. If Laenor was more of an asshole I would suggest killing him to make it simpler, but then again it would be pretty callous to kill Rhaenys and Corly’s last living child. And not even I’m that cold.”

Daemon made a noncommittal noise and Arya let the argument go as they had more things to discuss. “I think, given a few years, I could get Aegon to abdicate the crown when his family tries to force him into the role of usurper. Or at the very least, I could get him to run.”

At Daemon’s furrowed brow, Arya explained further, “I got to know him a bit these past few weeks while I was hiding out in King’s Landing. He’s not like you. He has no ambition to be King. He’s a hedonist. He cares nothing for politics or power. Pleasure is his only motivation…and anyway, he’s not that bright, so manipulating him won’t even be hard.”

Finally, Daemon lost the doubtful eyes and looked intrigued. “Just how well did you get to know him?”

She bit her lip thinking fondly on Aegon’s long dexterous fingers and talented tongue. “Well enough.” The smile dimmed as she recalled the several drunken rants she’d sat through about his parents’ apathy, hating Heleana, and his user friends. Arya had enjoyed the fun loving and lust driven side of Aegon’s personality, but she also pitied him. Because underneath the surface he was just sad and empty.

“I think he’s a lonely boy Daemon, looking for love and validation in all the wrong places.”

Daemon’s hands came to rest on her hips, “I won’t whore you out for a crown.”

“Good, because that’s not what I’m suggesting.” She ran her hands up and down his arms, “I think what he needs most is a friend.” She patted him on the shoulders pointedly, “And an authority figure to look up to and learn accountability from, and occasionally pat him on the head and call him a good boy.”

“What about Vhagar’s new rider? If we take Aegon off the board, Aemond will just supplant him.”

She smiled confidently, “To be sure Aemond is more of mommy’s perfect little prince, but I think he’s just as lonely as his brother. Just with less vices to drown his sorrows in. After what I did for him on Driftmark I already have his loyalty. He shouldn’t be so hard to win over to our side if we take the time to cultivate that relationship. Especially with him being so young.”

And smitten with her, went without saying.

Daemon stared at her with doubtful eyes again, “So that’s your strategy? Dismantle the Greens from within?”

She played with the ends of his hair; the color was endlessly fascinating to her for some reason. “I like to think of it as more of a tactical acquisition. Rather than divide and conquer. But, yeah. Don’t you think it will work?”

As she waited for him to think her words over, she twirled a strand of his hair so tight around her finger the digit went purple.

He pulled his hair free before answering, “Sometimes I look at you and I think you are a very funny joke the gods are playing on me.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips, “But most of the time I look at you and I know you are a gift.”

Now was the time for brutal honesty. “We can’t have people thinking you’re fucking your adopted daughter Daemon. It’s unseemly.”

He kissed her obnoxiously. She refused to respond. When he pulled back, he grinned at her manically, “Isn’t it just?”

She smacked him on the shoulder and he let his head fall onto hers. “Ugh, I know alright? I know we have to stop. That I need to stop.”

She pet his hair trying to be comforting, “We can still be affectionate just not so…incestuously.”

His head popped up from her shoulder excitedly, “Was Rhaenyra jealous? Is that why you two didn’t get along?”

She let out a shriek and shoved hard on his chest forcing him away. “You’re such an ass.” But her harsh words were said with affection and a smile.

He got back in her face, “And yet, we make the perfect team. Really says more about you, than me don’t you think?” Childishly she stuck her tongue out making him laugh.

After a minute they both calmed down.

Tenderly he put a hand on her stomach. Where the bulk of her scars were and where her cramping was located. “It’s not too late you know. We could still marry and--”

Whatever he was thinking, the answer was no. She put a hand on his mouth stopping the nonsense. “I also had some thoughts about what your position on the small council should be.”

When she removed her hand, he grinned at her proudly, “Of course you did.”

Getting to his feet he extended her a hand and she took it. “And I had some questions about Alicent. I want to know more about her relationship with Otto.”

Daemon gave her an incredulous look, “You don’t think you can turn her can you? The hormonal boys are one thing, the Queen cunt--”

She squeezed his hand to get him to stop speaking. “Didn’t you see her desperation on Driftmark?”

She paused thinking of the ferocity Alicent displayed when trying to defend Aemond, “She expected her husband to defend her son and was disappointed. She turned to Ser Cole for support and was denied. And her father was practically useless! In the end it was only my intervention--”

“She is a lost cause.” Daemon denied, “We should focus our efforts on the children as you suggested.”

She frowned, “Aegon says Heleana is weird and doesn’t like spending time with her mother, but Alicent yearns for it. Beyond her children and her father, Alicent has no allies of her own. If she feels just as alone as-”

“No.” Daemon abruptly let go of her hand, “Alicent is an extension of Otto, she—they are the enemy.”

She put her hands on her hips defiantly, “They don’t have to be!”

When Daemon rolled his eyes at her she stamped her foot and let out a sound of pure wordless frustration. “You fucking short sided idiot! IF you don’t even try of course our efforts will fail!”

“You’re young Arya, you don’t know--”

“Daemon!” She screeched his name instead of punching him in the face. Not that he looked all that grateful for her restraint, “I know the ways of the faceless men. If I wanted to—if I thought they deserved it, I could kill our opponents and never get caught!”

He took a step back.

Suddenly she realized she’d never admitted that before. Sure, he knew she had unsuccessfully trained to be an assassin and had ties to the House of Black and White, but to know how deep she fell in with them, this was news. She could only hope it wouldn’t change how he felt about her.

Quietly she argued, “Killing is easy Daemon, you know that. And unfortunately, death isn’t always the answer.”

He knew she was right she could see it on his face so she continued more confidently, “Kinslayers make for terrible Kings…cunning, restraint, cooperation, these are the things that will serve the Kingdom and make you a great leader.”

She didn’t know what she expected of him. But she was surprised when Daemon stormed forward and swept her up in a bear hug. Gods help her, his arms felt like home. Jon’s face flashed in her mind, younger than she had seen him last.

Discouraging the public displays of affection would not be as easily said as done. She buried her face in his shirt and inhaled deeply, because she had won the argument and this embrace was his concession and her reward.

“You’re so beautiful you know,” He cupped her face harshly and stared intensely into her eyes, “You’re such a beautiful person.”

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, instead of saying the words ‘you’re right’. “So, you’ll try it my way?”

He hugged her again, whispering in her ear, “You show me the way and I’ll follow you’re lead.”
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With the horse dead and gone, and Kings Landing too far away to reach on foot, or well, too annoying to reach on foot, they decided they would travel by dragon. Arya was a little annoyed with Caraxes for eating her horse, because if he hadn’t, they could have gone through the city and bought her some new non-blood-soaked pants before going to the Red Keep.

As it was, her wearing Daemon’s coat, him in a one sleeved-blood-soaked white linen shirt, was not going to make a very good first impression on the nobles. Who would no doubt all be drawn to gawk at them when they arrived on dragonback.

All of that, including her vague memories/feelings of doom regarding the Red Keep, and her menstrual discomfort, left Arya very unhappy as she and Daemon got on Drogon to fly.

As if he could read her mind, Daemon asked, “I know the answer, but I’m compelled to ask one last time. Are you sure you still want to do this? We could go back to Driftmark, get the girls, and go back to Essos. We could be happy there. Like you’ve said before, with you by my side, I think I could be happy anywhere.”

His face was open and true. If she said the word, he would abandon all of their plans in King’s Landing and leave. For her.

And not because he was her father. No matter what Viserys had decreed, Daemon was not her father. He was not her brother. Or her uncle or cousin, or anything like that. All the weird comfort kissing aside, he was her friend. Her best friend. Her chosen family.

And he had been shat on by those assholes in King’s Landing. And no one had defended him.

She would not let the slights against Daemon Targaryen go unanswered. She would get him vengeance and justice and so much more. Because it’s what he deserved.

She smiled at him confidently, promising, “We are going to turn that castle upside down. And may the god’s have mercy on anyone who gets in our way.”

He pressed a kiss to her ear. “That’s my girl.”
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Drogon circled the Red Keep, giving them a good look of the place. It was an impressive sight, but smaller than one expected. Back in Pentos, Daemon had told her stories about his childhood home often.

He’d told her how Aegon the Conqueror had it commissioned, but that it was son Maegor the Cruel to bring it to fruition. He’d told her of its secret passages, and how many swords it took to make the Iron Throne, and other stories. Some of which echoed in her mind tickling at her memory.

Looking at the pale red stone castle now, The Red Keep sang to her with mysterious familiarity. And as they approached the ground that feeling of dread and sorrow started filling her up again and darkened her already unhappy mood.

Drogon chose to land in the outer yard, just outside the Great Hall. A crowd quickly gathered as her dragon let out an irritated screech, keeping the people back as she and Daemon dismounted. Silently she opened her mind to Drogon and told him to go hunt.

Her dragon hesitated, looking into her eyes as if checking to see if, she was sure. When she nodded, Drogon turned on the crowd. He roared fiercely, frightening many and causing a few terrified screams. But ultimately, he left peacefully.

“Come on.” Daemon grabbed her arm and started hurrying her towards the closest building.
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They got many strange looks as they made their way towards Maegor’s Holdfast, where Daemon said their rooms would be, but mostly they were easy to ignore. Especially for her. Embarrassed about her moon’s blood situation and a bit trepidation about getting memory triggered, Arya kept her eyes on the floor and let Daemon guide her around until a high breathless voice called out for her attention; it wasn’t until they ran into the familiar face that she actually looked around at the rich splendor that decorated the castle. “Arya!”

Aemond clad in practice armor, came running down the hall towards them. She expected to be barreled over but the child managed to stop in front of them without causing a collision, “You’re here!”

“We are.” She confirmed with a wry grin. It took effort not to let her gaze linger on the damaged side of his face, but the smile she gave him was easy, “Miss me?”

Before the boy could answer Cole and Aegon came loudly around the corner as well. Arya cheered happily at the sight of her friend, “Aegon!” As the pair drew closer, she teased, “You’re up before noon? I’m shocked.”

Aegon smirked at her, “You’ve got the whole castle in a tizzy in anticipation of your arrival.”

Cole, his face hilariously busted from last night, interjected, “Are you injured?”

He gestured to Daemon’s bloody midsection and Arya felt her face go hot. “Not exactly.” She mumbled, her eyes back on the floor for a moment before she found her courage. “We were just on our way to clean ourselves up. If you’ll excuse us.”

Aemond move to block their path, “I can show you to your room. I helped mother get it ready for you.”

“I know the way,” Daemon said, slightly pushing the little prince out of his way, “I did used to live here, you know.”

The boy’s face was instantly crestfallen and Arya felt a sympathetic pang in her gut, or perhaps that was another cramp. Either way, she planted her feet and forced Daemon to stop. He glared at her and she rolled her eyes at him. And just like that he understood what she wanted.

Daemon let out a beleaguered sigh, then turned to Aemond, “However, it has been a while. Perhaps an escort would be helpful.”

Aemond brightened, his little smile widening her own.

“I can keep you company as well?” Aegon grinned at her devilishly, “Help you with whatever you need?”

The sexual implication of his offer was conveyed only by the biting of his lower lip and the teasing quirk of his brow. Arya answered with one of her fake twinkling laughs, the kind that convinced idiots that she had nothing but air in between her ears.

Cole clapped a possessive hand on Aegon’s shoulder. “You will return with me to the training yard.”

Aegon pouted, waving a hand at Aemond, “What about him? Why does he get skip training to sniff after Arya and I--”

Cole cut him off with a growl, “When you’re as dedicated at swordplay as your brother is then you can miss the occasional practice. Now, come on.”

He nodded to her and Daemon before forcing Aegon to turn away, “I will be sure to let the King and Queen know of your arrival.”

Aegon muttered, “Pretty sure the fucking dragon already did that.”

As soon as the pair were out of sight, back the way they came, she turned to Daemon, “I really fucked up his face again good, huh?”
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She let Aemond’s excited chattering wash over her without really listening. Her stomach was cramping painfully again and she was trying to not let on how miserable she felt. The moon blood symptoms were always worse on the first day of her bleeding. The hunger and the stress and lack of sleep were all making her feel increasing irritable, but somehow, she refrained from snapping at the excited 10-year-old holding her hand.

It was a relief when he finally stopped talking about her new drapes or whatever it was that he was describing. However, the reason for Aemond’s abrupt silence was standing in the middle of the hall wearing a crown.

“Prince Daemon, Princess Arya,” Alicent smiled disingenuously, “Welcome home.”

Her embarrassing situations with the moon blood was the perfect opportunity to start manipulating the Queen to her benefit. Arya shook off Aemond’s hand and broke away from Daemon.

Not quite running and not quite walking she went to Alicent’s side and when she was in front of the woman, she waved the slightly taller woman down. Surprisingly, the confused Queen did as she was asked. Lowering her voice and cupping her hand around Alicent’s ear she confessed, “I unexpectedly got my moon’s blood. Please help.”

Alicent’s eyes went wide, then shifted from her coat to Daemon’s bloody shirt then back again. “Oh, dear.”

Arya returned to a normal volume as she said, “I also haven’t had a bath in 3 days.”

A slow smile bloomed across the Queen’s face, “Well I can certainly help you with that.”

It did not escape her that Alicent was probably equally looking for an opportunity to manipulate her. “Perfect.”
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A gaggle of servants bustled about the room, following Alicent’s every command. Before she knew it a bath had been filled and heated. She had a peppermint tea in her hands. And some warm oatmeal filling her belly.

When Arya was told to strip and get in the tub, that’s when she began to get uncomfortable.

Apparently, Viserys was to host a feast in honor of Daemon’s return to King’s Landing. Many nobles had been invited and were expected to start arriving within the week. The news of such an event wasn’t exactly unexpected but it wasn’t welcome either. Luckily, her first night here, the dinner would just be ‘the family’. But by weeks end she and Daemon would have to start preforming to the wider audience.

As Alicent’s maids helped her prepare, Arya endured as much scrubbing, grooming, and snide comments about her personal hygiene as she could before she snapped. “Enough!”

With a wave of her hand, she sent a wave of dirty bath water at the women. “Stop touching me!”

The now drenched maids glared, but said nothing. “I’m sorry.” She said quickly before pointing at the door, “I thank you for your help, but I can finish getting ready myself. All of you get out.”

With a bow the women did as she asked, leaving her alone with the Queen. Alicent, who had been sitting stiffly on a sofa near the fireplace while her maids worked on her, approached slowly. “Arya?”

It was better if they were alone anyway. Arya got out of the tub quickly and grabbed for the dressing robe that had been laid out of her. As she tied it tightly around her waist she mumbled, “I apologize. That was rude.”

“I should have realized how overwhelming you might find this.” Alicent conceded.

“Do you know if Daemon brought my clothes here from Dragonstone?”

Alicent smiled at her, but there was no love in it. “Come,” The Queen linked their arms together and drew her over to the wardrobe. “I do not think Daemon was thinking clearly when he learned you had departed Dragonstone so abruptly. But do not worry, I anticipated you would need more suitable clothing and prepared for this eventuality.”

Alicent opened the door to the wardrobe and gestured to the dozens of dresses hanging there, “King’s Landing is such a different environment than where you have been living in, previously. And with becoming a Princess overnight, I doubted you had the appropriate clothing to match your new status.”

“You didn’t have to go to all of this trouble on my account.”

“Nonsense.” Alicent said with a mean smile, “It is not as if we can have a Princess roaming the halls in bloody tattered rags.”

Arya ignored the subtle insult and reached out to pet the sleeve of one of the gowns. “These look expensive.”

“You should not worry about such things, anymore.” She reached in and pushed most of the dresses aside, letting her look at the first one, before slowly sliding them across the bar to showcase the one behind it. “Anything catch your eye?”

“I haven’t been to many informal royal dinners.” Arya said demurely, “I doubt my choice of comfortable pants and an old worn shirt would be acceptable.”

“No, I think not.”

“Which one do you suggest?” The Queen took up a conservative dress with a high collar and showed it off to her. It was covered in intricate lace and beading. Arya made a face, just looking at the thing made her neck feel itchy.

“Not your style?” Arya shook her head; the style wasn’t her only problem with it. It was that the dress was also green. If she wore a Hightower color, she just knew Daemon would throw a fit.

Alicent chose again. This time she held up a blue-green dress. It was okay, nothing special or truly objectionable. Arya smiled brightly, silently making her preference known. The dress had a bit of train, but other than that it was fairly simple in design. “I’m not one for extravagance or frills.”

Alicent let out a little laugh. Arya raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The Queen tried to wave her off from inquiring further, but Arya didn’t let it go. “What?”

“It’s just, have you seen Daemon’s tourney armor?” The older woman ushered her over to a set of drawers, “Put on your small clothes and then I’ll help you into the dress.” She gestured to a box on top, “I’ve left your moon blood supplies here.”

“I can dress myself.” She insisted. “You don’t have to stay and help me.”

Alicent just shook her head and shooed her, “No you can’t.”

Once she returned to the Queens side ready to be helped into the gown she asked, “Why did the thought of Daemon’s tourney armor make you laugh?”

Alicent helped her step into the dress as she said, “It was the definition of extravagant. If I recall correctly, the helmet had a giant dragon on top. Made him look a bit ridiculous, if not formidable.”

Arya genuinely chuckled at the mental image, “Well, he is a bit of a peacock.”

The older woman swept her wet hair to the side and moved her to stand in front of the full-length mirror as she began lacing up the back of the dress. Arya stared at the Queen in the reflection, remembering Alicent had once been Princess Rhaenyra’s hand maiden.

Pouring as much sincerity into her expression as she could, she shot the woman a grateful smile over her shoulder, “Thank you for helping me. I mean, you’re the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I’m sure you have more important things to attend to, then me.”

Alicent only met her eyes briefly before looking back at what she was doing. “With how you reacted to the maids, I am just thankful you allowed me to help.”

“I don’t like being fussed over.” Arya turned back to her reflection and ran her hand down the front of the dress, “And I’m not used to…the royal treatment.”

“I do not think a bath is something reserved just for royalty.” It was a gentle joke at her expense and Arya grinned good naturedly.

“I meant, I mean,” Arya gestured down to the gown, “This is only the second time I’ve worn a dress all year.”

There was a hint of judgement in Alicent’s eyes, but mostly surprise as she responded, “Really? But you’re so lovely.”

“Can’t a girl look just as lovely in pants?”

“No.”

Arya laughed jovially at the Queens dry delivery. “Well, perhaps not. But I must admit I prefer clothing that are more practical than, uncomfortable but beautiful.”

Before Alicent could respond the door burst open and Daemon strutted through. Now clad in a handsome black leather outfit, it was clear his ‘freshening up’ was a lot less involved than hers had been.

“Prince Daemon,” Alicent admonished, “You cannot barge into a young ladies’ private chambers like that. What if Arya was still getting dressed?”

Silently she prayed he wouldn’t say ‘nothing I haven’t seen before’.

“What of it?” Daemon quipped with a smirk, then he looked around the room judgmentally. “Room’s a bit small for a Princess. No?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Arya sassed, “And Alicent is right, you need to learn how to knock.”

“I am your father.”

She rolled her eyes turning away from him and back to the mirror, “You are a Prince. Use your fucking manners or get stabbed next time.”

Daemon laughed, but Alicent’s eyes went wide. Arya doubted she could even conceive of a world where a girl could be so flippantly rude to a man, let alone her own father. Not without the excuse of being drunk, anyway. “Daemon, why didn’t you bring my things from Dragonstone?”

Daemon approached the pair of them slowly, taking in her outfit. “Why didn’t you?” He pursed his lips as he shifted his eyes onto Alicent, “Is this one of Rhaenyra’s old dresses?”

The Queen flushed and clasped her hands in front of her body, “No. But I did get a few dresses out of storage so Arya would have a variety to choose from.”

Daemon walked around her slowly eyeing her up and down, “This dress looks familiar.” He glared at the Queen. “Why?”

Alicent stared back, unintimidated, “How should I know?”

“You didn’t have any new dresses made for her?” He accused.

“As I have manners, of course I did.” Alicent gestured to the full wardrobe. Daemon stalked towards it to investigate as Alicent explained, “Princess Arya chose this one.”

As Daemon went through the dresses he muttered under his breath dismissively, “Green, green, Septa approved bullshit, green, green, green and ugly, too long, green--” He shut the doors with a bang. “Of course she chose this dress, everything else is hideous!”

“Daemon!” She protested, but was ignored.

Alicent glared, “You mean modest and age appropriate?”

“Green.” He growled, “Green and constricting and ugly.”

This conversation was going nowhere good and fast. An abrupt change in topic was necessary. Arya loudly demanded, in her sickeningly sweet tone of doom, “Dearest Pa-pa, did you need something from me? Or were you just checking to see how much I love my new accommodations?”

Daemon worked his jaw back and forth a few times before answering, “I came to see if you had assaulted one of the maids yet. I know you detest being fussed over and I was worried.” A smile pulled at her lips; he did know her very well. “I am pleased you at least showed restraint with the Queen.”

Arya smiled fully now, grateful he seemed to be following her lead and letting his issues with Alicent drop. Momentarily at least. “The Queen was kind enough to help me once I sent everyone away.”

“Limbs intact.” Daemon jested as he came to her side.

“Yes.” She nudged him with her elbow then gestured down at her body, “Well, compliment me.”

“You smell much better.” She pinched his side in retaliation, causing him to chuckle and step back.

Alicent cleared her throat, “We just need to do something with your hair,” She drifted over to the vanity and picked up a brush,” I was thinking some twisting braids if you can endure just a bit more fussing?”
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The three of them fell into silence as Arya sat and Alicent brushed out her hair. For her it wasn’t awkward though. The gentle hands the Queen used on her hair were so soothing that she felt like she was put in a trance.

Laena had brushed her hair like this a few times, but they were never as quiet, always talking and joking. The experience with Alicent was more soothing than that. It even seemed to calm her cramping stomach a bit.

As Alicent affixed a tie to the end of her braid, she’d left it half up and half down, Arya almost protested not wanting the relaxing encounter to end.

“Thank you.” She gestured vaguely to her lap, “With everything. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime. I…I’ll see you at dinner.” Alicent briefly touched Arya’s chin before leaving the room without acknowledging Daemon.

As soon as the door closed behind her Daemon leapt off the sofa he’d been lounging on and moved to stand behind her. He pulled a gold necklace from his pocket and put it around her neck. She lifted her hair so he could do the clasp.

When he was done, they looked in the mirror together. They were such physical opposites; it was almost jarring. “I will have new clothes for you by tomorrow afternoon. And I’ll send for your things on Dragonstone, get them back to you as soon as possible.”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t go crazy Daemon, I can wear the green ones for a few days, it won’t kill me.”

“I forbid you from wearing anything that Queen Cunt offers you.”

She turned to look him in the eye. “Why?”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m fairly certain this is one of Queen Aemma’s old dresses. I suspect Alicent is setting you up to make a bad impression on my brother. Or at the very least make him flinch when he sees you.”

“….That bitch.”
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Daemon’s Armor

Arya’s Outfit (Or At Least the Vibe of it)

Alicent’s Dress Gambit

Chapter Text

Chapter 22
~Daemon~

They decided not to change the dress, better to not let on that they realized Alicent was trying to sabotage her. He and Arya spent the hours until dinner, exploring the room. Apparently, someone had left her some books. One of which was a notorious sex book.

She held it up for him to see, “Do you think it’s meant to be an insult or helpful tips?”

He smirked at the title, “Depends on who left it for you.” His money was on Aegon, the horny brat.

Once the room had been fully explored, he showed her the hidden passageway that led from her room to his and to the outer gates of the Keep. Both destinations weren’t easy to navigate, but he was confident she wouldn’t get lost. Arya was a quick study.

A knock on the door signaled it was time for dinner.

“Arya?” It was the little prince; Daemon rolled his eyes. “It’s Aemond. I thought you might need someone to show you the way to the dining room.”

The boy’s voice was eager and full of hope. When it was Daemon who opened the door for him, it was comical how his whole face fell and his shoulders slumped, a glint of irritation sparking to life in his eye.

He smirked at his disappointed nephew, “Well, aren’t you gallant.”

“Hello Uncle.” Aemond greeted politely, his eye searching the room beyond Daemon’s imposing figure. It was fascinating to watch the boys face light up as he spotted Arya.

A light flush colored the boys’ cheeks as he took in Arya’s dress, “Cousin you look radiant.”

Arya linked her arm with his and smiled fondly at Aemond, “Thank you, your mothers the one who really deserves the credit though.” She gestured humbly down to the dress, “If it weren’t for her help, I’d probably be wearing Daemon’s hand me downs to dinner.”

Aemond smiled awkwardly, probably unsure how to respond to that. Daemon chuckled, enjoying the uneasiness Arya created.

“Shall we?” Daemon gestured to the hall with his free hand.

“Yes!” Aemond responded quickly, moving out of their way, “Of course, we wouldn’t want to make anyone wait on us.”
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In such an intimate setting with only his brother’s Hightower family in attendance, Arya’s lack of table manners was glaringly on display for all to see and silently critique. He’d tried several times to get her to slow down while eating, use the proper utensils, but she was starved. And when Arya was hungry, she ate like a ravenous wolf.

It was behavior he never found charming, but it never particularly offended him either. The prissy Queen, her father, and the little prince all seemed to feel otherwise. At least Aegon and Viserys looked amused by her

Sarcastically Aegon asked, “Are you enjoying the food Arya?”

Arya, who’d been slurping soup straight out of the bowl, paused. Finally, she took stock of the looks she was getting. “Yes.” She put the bowl down and grabbed a napkin to dab daintily at her mouth, “It’s all very delicious.”

She flushed briefly with embarrassment, before rallying and giving the King a sheepish grin, “Excuse my manners, Daemon’s always mocking me for acting like a savage when I’m really hungry.”

“Do not worry my dear girl, allowances must be granted given your circumstances.” Viserys gave her a kindly smile.

Daemon glared at his brother, not sure which circumstances exactly he was alluding to, but not liking the implication all the same.

“It’s not as if we can expect you to know better, given where you come from.” Otto said smugly, “Or where you don’t come from, considering we don’t actually know anything about your up brining.”

Arya did not let his audacity go unchallenged. “You misunderstand me my lord. I know better, I have manners. It’s just that sometimes I don’t give a fuck.”

“Arya!” Viserys chastised lightly, but he was ignored.

Otto smiled at her but it looked more like he was barring his teeth, “Your new Septa will help you to learn to ignore those improper impulses. And teach you to keep a civil tongue.”

“I will not.”

“Learn?” Otto questioned.

“Suffer a Septa.” Arya answered with a scowl. “I don’t even worship the Seven. I’m not getting a Septa.”

The Queen straightened in her seat. “Arya, you yourself admitted to being out of your depth with this new lifestyle. A Septa will help you acclimate. I’m sure your father would agree, this is necessary for your success here in King’s Landing.” She looked to her husband for support and found Viserys nodding along, so Alicent continued, “As a member of the Royal family a certain level of decorum is required. You will have a Septa. And you will take lessons.”

“No thank you.” Arya grit out.

Alicent gestured to her father, “The Lord Hand is correct you need--”

Arya interrupted, speaking firmly, but not unkindly. “Everything I need to know about being an acceptable royal, I can learn from Daemon. He is my ‘father’ after all.”

He nearly cackled, Alicent looked like she swallowed a lemon. And Otto wasn’t much better.

“Lessons aren’t so bad,” Aemond offered, “Sometimes they can even be fun.”

Arya smiled at the child but there was no warmth behind it. Usually, she would be charmed by the boy’s innocent peace keeping ways, but now he could see she was preoccupied with thinking, calculating her next move.

“Prince Aemond is right,” the King declared, “Arya, I won’t force you to start worshiping the Seven, if that is truly how you feel, but at the very least you will need to learn more about Westeros and how things are done on this side of the world. You will take lessons in history, the great Houses, reading, writing, maths. We can offer you the very best education so you will be well equipped to run your lord’s household when the time comes for you to marry.”

“What makes you think I can’t read or write?”

The King looked to Otto for guidance, “I thought you said--”

Otto stared at Arya, “Most low born’s are illiterate.”

“What makes you think I’m lowborn?”

Daemon interjected, “You saw her read over the King’s proclamation legitimating her as my daughter.”

“Adopting.” Arya and Otto corrected at the same time. Their eyes snapped to each other in surprise.

“Answer the question.” Daemon prompted. Next to him Arya was folding her arms defensively across her chest. “You saw her read, why would you doubt her abilities?”

Otto looked unsure now, “I assumed she was posturing.”

“I wasn’t.”

Otto inclined his head, “Apologies.”

There was an awkward silence until Aegon announced, “I think Arya is high born…was--is? I don’t know what tense to use, but you know what I mean?”

His mother turned on him, “What makes you say that? We have made inquiries on her behalf and found nothing.”

Daemon gripped the arm rest tightly, not liking the implications of what Alicent just revealed. Arya discreetly put a hand on his thigh, squeezed comfortingly before removing it.

“Just the way she acts I suppose.” Aegon explained, oblivious to Daemon’s glower.

“What does that mean?” Arya asked with a small smile, “Are you calling me arrogant and entitled?” Daemon marveled at the way she was able to shift her entire demeanor based on who she was talking to.

Aegon barked out a laugh, “I wouldn’t dare.”

As the pair looked across the table at each other, flirting with their eyes, Daemon grit his teeth to stop himself from lashing out. The mental image of Aegon and Arya fucking on the Iron Throne flashed in his mind, making him want to vomit.

In truth, he was uneasy with her plans for his nephew. Both of them, actually. He just knew Aegon and Arya would end up sexually entangled, especially if she was intent on manipulating the boy successfully. And with how Aemond was acting so far, he could imagine rejection of any kind souring that relationship and her hold over him as well.

“Elaborate then.” Arya demanded sweetly. Daemon looked at her, really studying her face from the side. She was stunning.

“Well, for one thing, your vocabulary.” Aegon said, “You’re good at doing math in your head. Your manners, when you choose to use them. The way you walk, your posture I mean and…”

Reluctantly Daemon found himself nodding in agreement of his nephew’s assessment and intrigued about what else he observed as ‘evidence’.

“Say it.” Arya teasingly dared.

Aegon gave her a lopsided grin, “Nobles carry themselves differently than the small folk, just naturally, even when simply walking down a street. And well, you are a little entitled, and arrogant.” The boy raised his glass in her direction as he concluded, “Just like me.”

Daemon and Arya laughed, but they were the only ones.

Aegon grinned, looking pleased with himself, “And! Last week in the tavern you made fun of that old Highgarden cun—uh, man, saying ‘with his little shriveled up coc—uh, man parts, there was no way he cold claim to be ‘growing strong’ in the pants so he should stop trying to get into yours!”

Arya laughed again, but this time he refrained. Aegon’s words were like a revelation. In the past he had interrogated Arya on what she remembered, but the boy made a good point, her education was also a clue. What she knew about Westeros, the histories, the Great Houses and their lords. He felt like a fool. And he glared at the boy, for illuminating his own stupidity.

“I don’t understand.” Heleana said, speaking for the first time. Aegon turned to his sister, and started to explain the joke before his mother reprimanded him saying it wasn’t proper.

Of course, Otto quickly came to the same conclusion as he did. “Lady Arya, how are you familiar with the words of House Tyrell? What else do you know about them?”

Arya looked to him before answering. He nodded, encouraging. “House Tyrell of Highgarden is one of Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. They’re in the Reach. Their coat of arms is a golden rose on green.”

“Is that where you’re really from?” Aemond asked, saying what everyone was thinking.

Flustered, Arya fiddled with the bread knife as she answered, “No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Tell me about the Vale.” Daemon asked quietly.

“Vale of Arryn, the major houses are House Royce and House Arryn of the Eyrie.”

Based on their discussion the other night he felt like he could now narrow down where she was from with this line of questioning, but he it was something he wanted to pursue in private. Not with Hightower ears listening in.

“And their words?” Otto prompted.

She looked at the wall behind the Hand’s head as she answered, “House Arryn’s are ‘as high as honor’ they have a blue coat of arms with a falcon soaring against a white moon. House Royce…the coat of arms is bronze? And their words are…I don’t remember.”

She was so close, but wrong. And that was interesting! He felt giddy realizing, what she knew and didn’t know were equally helpful information.

“Remarkable, what else do you already know about Westeros?” Viserys asked.

“Tons.” Arya admitted with a shrug. “I know about the legends of Aegon and Visenya and Rhaenys. The conquest, who rode which dragon, obviously, Visenya’s my favorite from the stories.” She shot him a little grin, he couldn’t help reaching out and taking her hand in his. Arya took a breath, but didn’t pull away.

“I know about the major Houses by region.” She said, speaking directly to him now, “Some of their words, coat of arms, what their known for producing, animals local to the area…names of people escape me though. Like, I can’t tell you who is currently Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, or anything specific like that.”

Daemon brough their joint hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. That was enough sharing, he tried to silently convey.

“See!” Aegon cheered, ruining the quiet atmosphere, “Might not know where you’re from or who you really are, but it’s obvious you’re not one of the simple-minded smallfolk. You’re one of us. Even if you can’t prove it.”
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“I believe Arya is four and ten years old.” Alicent announced just as they were served dessert, seemingly out of nowhere. “After learning of her flowering, and getting a look at her body today, I think that is the age we should all accept as fact, moving forward.”

Arya looked to him with her eyebrows raised. Part of him wanted to argue with the Queen, just because it was her. However, he knew strategically, having Arya seen as younger would be beneficial, especially where his brother was concerned.

“I agree.” Daemon said. Alicent answered with a victorious smile on her face that made him want to splash a glass of wine in it.

“Okay.” Arya agreed with a shrug as she dug gleefully into her cake.

“Are you sure?” Aegon challenged, licking seductively at his own fork, “You seem a lot older than that to me.”

“Aegon.” Alicent said sternly, “Do not be crass.”

The prince rolled his eyes, but abruptly changed his demeanor, straightening up in his seat and focusing his gaze on his own cake.

Arya gestured with her fork to Aemond, “So, you like your lessons?”

“Yes,” Aemond nodded eagerly, “I’m also learning High Valyrian.”

Daemon decided to test the boy. “Se skorkydoso iksos bona going, valonqar? And how is that going, boy?”

With annoyingly perfect pronunciation Aemond answered, “Olvie sȳrī. Nyke jorrāelagon se udrir hen īlva ānogar.Very well. I love the language of our blood.”

“What did you just say?” Arya asked, poking him in the bicep.

“I asked him how his lessons were going, and he proved they were progressing well.” He picked up his own fork and carved into his cake a little more viciously than necessary.

Arya looked to Aegon and Heleana, “Do you all take lessons in High Valyrian together?”

Daemon glared at Aegon as he simply said, “No.”

“I used to.” Heleana said in an airy soft voice, he scowled at the girl’s weakness. She was no Visenya, that was for certain. “I know enough to command Dreamfyre, but I saw no point in continuing to learn a dead language I will have little use for.”

“Are you interested in learning?” Aemond asked, his eye wide and locked on Arya. “We could do it together! I could help you!”

“But you’re still learning, I am sure it is too much for you to play teacher and student, simultaneously.” Arya grinned, then turned to him, “Daemon’s fluent, he could take over your instruction and tutor us both.” She took another bite of cake and then, with her mouth full added, “Couldn’t you?”

He had to briefly close his eyes so he wouldn’t pick up a fork and stab her in the hand. His voice was lifeless as he answered, “Of course I could. I would be happy to.”

Sounding anxious, Alicent reminded them, “Aemond already has an instructor.”

“Daemon’s better.” Arya said cheekily.

“You--”

Viserys clapped his hands, “That sounds wonderful! I know for a fact Daemon is highly proficient in High Valyrian.” They had learned together as boys. Daemon smiled briefly at his brother. “All the children should do it together!”

“What!” Aegon squawked. “But-”

Viserys waved a hand at him, “No, I won’t hear any protests. It is decided, besides it’s a part of your heritage as Targaryen’s. I don’t know why I ever allowed you to stop your lessons in the first place.”

While the older boy’s reaction was humorous, Daemon took more pleasure in Aemond’s dejection. It was clear that he thought he’d found an activity where he could have Arya’s attention all to himself, and the crestfallen face he made at the King’s declaration had him reaching for his cup to hide his smile.
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Soon after dessert was finished, most of the adults retired for the evening. And while Alicent ushered Heleana off to bed with her, she left Aemond who was dragging out the act of eating his cake to a ridiculous extent, and Aegon behind, with him and Arya.

“Don’t pout, lessons with Daemon won’t be that bad.” She swatted his arm with the back of her hand, “Tell him it will be fun.”

“It will be fun.” He repeated automatically.

Aegon huffed, “But--”

“Shut up.” Arya said breezily, as she stood up and went around the table. “And come dance with me.”

She bullied him out of the chair and all but dragged him to the empty area in front of the musicians who, up until she demanded something livelier, had been playing melodious background noise.

He drank from his cup as he watched the pair. Aegon’s eyes kept darting back to him at the table, making him smirk. In his opinion, the teenager should fear him a little.

However, it wasn’t long until Arya, with a combination of seduction and humor, got Aegon to focus on her entirely.

Then the pair were dancing and singing along without a care for propriety or elegance. They danced like they were in a tavern, too close and letting the rhythm of the song dictate their movements rather than properly dancing. Daemon didn’t like it. He didn’t like them doing it and he didn’t like watching it.

“He hasn’t fucked her yet.”

Slowly, he turned to find his younger nephew now in the seat next to him, staring at the pair with his one eye. The boy looked, sad, but determined.

“I caught them on Driftmark, messing around, but since then I’ve overheard Aegon and his friends talking. They were giving him shit about not fucking ‘her’ yet. Saying she was a tease and asking for ‘it’ without saying it. They were encouraging Aegon to finally give her what she deserved. Aegon, played along, saying he would soon have her, that he was just waiting for the right moment. His friends gave him hell for that, wondering why he would take such precaution when bedding a random a bar maid. But he claimed she was special and could not be so easily used and discarded. At the time I didn’t realize they were referring to Arya.”

Daemon regarded Aemond a little more carefully. That was a lot of useful information he just offered up. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You’re her father now,” Aemond said coolly, “Isn’t your job to defend her honor?”

“Arya is no innocent damsel.”

Aemond nodded once, his eye slipping to the floor, before returning to the couple. “But, uncle, you must see he’s not good enough for her?”

Daemon snorted, then took a sip from him glass. “Agreed.”
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Chapter Text

Chapter 23
~Aegon~

He thought his cock was going to explode. “Fuck, yeah, like that.”

Arya laughed at him, then bit down on his lower lip pulling teasingly, making him groan. His hands gripped her ripe backside and pulled her closer, grinding their covered crotches together as he crushed her against the wall.

Daemon had seemingly forbidden Arya from wearing any of the severe dresses his mother provided her, so all week she had been alternating wearing clothes she stole from him and Daemon and wearing these revealing wispy Braavosi style dresses. She usually wore the dresses around the Keep and the men’s clothes when they left the castle or went to the training yard. She’d had some clothes commissioned that were all her own taste, but they wouldn’t be ready for a few more days.

The dress she was currently wearing was blood red and it had a slit up the side that nearly went up to her pussy with sexy cut outs along the bodice. The sight of her that morning had him pulling her into an empty corridor and shoving her against the wall the first chance he got.

Arya squeezed her strong thighs around his waist, as she teased in a sing song voice, “We’re going to get caught again.”

“Don’t care.” He buried his face in her cleavage, sure it wasn’t as ample as some other breasts he had sampled, but her tits were firm and her nipples were hard and he just wanted to rip her dress apart to see them. But if he did that, she would probably stab him.

Instead, he mouthed the skin at her chest, kissing and sucking, hoping to leave a mark for all to see. Not fooled by his tricks Arya grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, clucking her tongue at him, “Bad boy.”

He grinned as she softened her refusal by circling her hips against his. She leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. “Be good.”

He grunted as she licked his lips like a kitten before going in for another heated kiss.

He thrust up against her covered core, his tongue dancing with hers, before he had to pull back and tell her, “How can I be good when you make me it so hard?…make me so hard.” He ground his cock up against her, laughing lightly at his own joke. “I need you.”

“We have lessons with Daemon in less than an hour.” She reminded him with a sigh, her hands ran through his hair erotically scraping her nails gently across his scalp. Then she was pulling him in for another kiss. He didn’t know if Arya was a superior kisser or if it was all the sneaking around which made her lips so addicting.

He gripped her breast and gave it a healthy squeeze, his hips going into overdrive, rubbing against her, seeking friction, cursing everything that was keeping him from being inside her hot cunt right now. “I want to fuck you.”

“I know.” She slipped her hand under his shirt and gave his nipple a twist.

It sent a thrill through his cock. He groaned, pulling back slightly to let his head fall, his forehead landing on her shoulder as he rubbed against her faster and faster. His voice was desperate and breathy as he gasped out her name, “Arya.”

He was half tempted to drop her back to her feet so he could duck under her skirt and get his mouth back on her hot pussy. Or maybe get her mouth on his cock. Or maybe he could lick her while she sucked him at the same time. He had seen a couple doing that at the whore house last month and had yet to try it.

“Come on.” She encouraged, their hips now rubbing violently against one another looking for release, “Come on Aegon.”

He wanted to bend her over a windowsill and fuck her for all to see. He wanted to shove his pants down and fuck her against the wall right now! “Your so--” He stopped himself from saying ‘fuckable’ as he didn’t think ladies would think of that as a complimentary adjective, and he didn’t want to ruin the mood. But after another pleased squeak escaped Arya’s reddened lips, he remembered Arya wasn’t like other ladies. Or lowborns. Or whores. She was different. So, he spoke his mind. “You’re so fuckable. I think about fucking you all the time now. You’re so tiny I think we could do it just like this, me standing up and bouncing you up and down on my cock like some kind of sex doll.”

She laughed mockingly, and his hips stuttered. Did he sound stupid? Should he have kept his thoughts to himself? Did she hate him? Think he was a joke? But her arms were tensing around his neck now, she let out a low groan, that he found encouraging. He pressed kisses to her jawline as her hips slowed down a fraction, and she bit her lip. She was coming.

Instantly he felt a swell of pride, he made her come without even touching her clit. He was the best lover in the Seven Kingdoms! He picked up the pace, groped her ass with one hand, squeezed her tit with the other. Hoping to trigger his own release before she ended hers.

“Ahem!” A voice at the end of the hall killed his momentum as quickly as if his cock had been plunged into a pile of snow. “Aegon!” His mother shrilly chastised, storming towards the two of them. “What do you think you’re doing? Put her down.”

He had no choice but to obey his mother. His hands moving to cover his now dwindling erection and the wet spot on his crotch.

“We were finished anyway.” Arya said breezily as she straightened her clothes, Aegon meanly thought ‘I didn’t finish’ not that Arya seemed to care. Still, he admired how boldly his ‘cousin’ stalked past Alicent with not a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks. Or a hint of remorse, “I’ll see you at lessons Aegon.”

Aegon kept his eyes on Arya until she turned the corner leaving him alone with his mother. He kept staring at the hall entrance, waiting to see who had ruined his fun this time, he was not surprised when a second later Aemond crossed in quick pursuit of Arya. His annoying little brother was not subtle in his crush, and at first it was amusing to tease him about it. But now Aemond and his spiteful nature were just bothersome.

Finally, he looked to his mother; she looked disgusted with him. “What do you have to say for yourself? You are engaged to Heleana. This is unacceptable behavior!”

What was really unacceptable was how many times Arya and he had been rudely interrupted this past week. For all the ‘fun’ they’d had he had yet to fuck her and frankly the anticipation was making it hard to think of little else. “We were just having a bit of fun.”

He knew it was coming and yet he did nothing to stop it, his mother marched forward and slapped him across the face. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He silently reminded himself that he was bigger and stronger than his mother, that if he hit her back…she was his mother. He would not hit her back. He was strong enough to take her abuse, this twisted form of love.

“Keep your perversions to the Street of Silk.” His mother ordered, “And stay away from that girl.”

No. He thought, but didn’t say.

It didn’t matter, his mother didn’t really want him to respond or wait for him to do so before she started walking away from him.
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Her hand was hot on his cock and he silently rejoiced. His pants were off, the hour was late, and they were on Arya’s bed. All alone. After returning from drinking at the tavern, they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. And finally, finally, he was going to get to fuck her.

Arya abruptly let go and ordered, “Take my pants off—shoes, shoes first then pants.”

He struggled with the laces of her boots, distracted by the sight of her with her hand in her pants touching herself. Arya kicked him with her free foot staring at him expectantly. “Now Aegon!”

He gripped the boot and tugged hard, hoping it would slip off. It would not. He huffed, going back to her laces and kept his eyes where they were needed to accomplish the task. When he finally got her feet free, he threw the offending boots over his shoulder with vigor.

He grinned broadly as he pulled her pants down, silently cheering how no one was going to accidently stumble upon them at this hour. No one was going to snitch and send someone to interrupt. No one even knew he was in her room! The moment was perfect.

“I am so ready to fuck you.” He proclaimed, stroking his cock as he stared down at her half naked form. “Take the shirt off so I can see your tits.”

She smirked, “Lick me first.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to fuck her. “Can’t we just--”

“No.”

“But I need--”

“I need as well!”

“Don’t be a bitch!” He snapped, the wine in his system making his temper flare and loosen his tongue. “You’ve been teasing me all week! Driving me crazy and I deserve--”

“Nothing.” Arya said snootily, “You deserve nothing. I owe you nothing. You take what I give or you get the fuck out.” He did not want her to throw him out.

Before Arya, he supposed, he’d never had a proper crush before. Of course he’d been attracted to women, but he’d never liked them as people. The women he had before had just been about satiating his needs. Arya was different, she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world, but she had an undeniable allure.

Physically he liked that she was so deceptively petite, her eyes were stormy and sparkled when she laughed—and her hair was shiny when she bothered to brush it and her ass, one word ‘spankable’! And her lips, how they curved when she was secretly pleased. Even now, she was kind of glaring up at him and he found it enticing! The effect she had on him was truly remarkable.

He found her so fun and wild and sexy and brave. He’d never met anyone like her. And as much as it pained him to admit, he found himself acting just as pathetic as Aemond around her, because he was completely infatuated.

Or perhaps she was just something he needed fuck out of his system?

Luckily for him, unlike Aemond, he wasn’t a child. Despite feeling a bit panicked that he had ruined things by speaking out of turn, he plastered a teasing smile on his face. “You’re right. I apologize.”

Trying to stay on her good side, he gave her his best bedroom eyes, “I like it when you’re bossy.” He then undercut his attempt at sexiness by falling onto the bed in between her legs, stomach first, making her bounce and laugh. He crawled up her body until his face was level with her pussy. “So pretty.”

And she was. But the compliment was more of an apology for being pushy. He so close to finally fucking her, he would do or say anything he needed to make it happen.

So, he licked her until she came. Twice. Then he prepped he with his fingers, bringing her to completion another time.

“I’m done.” She was pushing him away just as he was lining up his cock.

“What?”

“I can’t take anymore right now. I’m too tired and too sensitive.” She cupped his face, “I hope you understand?”

He did not. “Of course.” The words were like eating sand.

He looked down at her naked body, she was so frustratingly exquisite. He knew she was growing tired a half an hour ago. He’d seen the way her eyes kept fluttering closed and stayed that way for long intervals, he’d seen how lethargic her movements had grown. He’d ignored it, and pushed her to come on his fingers anyway, because he was trying to be fucking CONSIDERATE and fucking prep her, but---he shoved his ire down deep. This was the closest he’d come so far to fucking her, patience wasn’t his specialty but if he played the moment correctly, maybe he could fuck her in the morning.

His erection throbbed painfully as Arya reached for the blanket to cover herself, but he pushed her hand away.

“Wait, can I?” He gestured down to his crotch, where he was stroking his cock. “At least let me look at you?”

“Make it quick?” She lay back and stared into his eyes. The motion of jerking himself off was old hat at this point. The intense eye contact, though, that was new.

“You did so well Aegon.” Arya said quietly, “You made me feel so fucking good.” His hand sped up, her words inspiring unfamiliar feelings. “I like you so much.”

“Fuck,” He cursed, turning on his side and reaching out with his free hand. He groped her tit, then gripped her throat, then stuck his thumb in her mouth only to hiss when she nipped him with her sharp teeth.

“Are you close Aegon?” She whispered, her hands reaching for his chest, dancing across his skin with feather light touches that left him shivering. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes.” He grunted, his hand speeding up, the feeling intensifying with every word, his body tingling at every point of contact.

“Such a good boy.” Arya growled as she pulled him into a kiss. His free hand slapped hard against her ass before holding on for dear life as he his cock exploded all over her stomach.

He kissed her back sloppily, as the last of his spend spurted out. Fatigued, his head collapsed into the pillows next to hers.

Arya wiped them both clean with something, a cloth, a pillow? He didn’t know. He was exhausted now. Before he knew it, a blanket was thrown over their naked bodies, and Arya was cuddled up against his chest.

He’d never slept with someone before. Briefly he worried about the consequences, his room empty, his mother tracking them down, but—Arya was warm. Her skin was soft. She liked him. He liked her. Thinking beyond that was for tomorrow.
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One day, weirdly, Daemon requested they have their Valyrian lessons in his bedrooms for some reason? Aegon, as usual now, arrived late. And as usual Heleana didn’t show up at all.

He was a little hesitant as he entered Daemon’s chambers. He expected the lesson to be held in front of the fireplace or something, but he found everyone gathered on the large bed.

Daemon’s voice low and enthralling, drifted over the scene, never pausing in reading from the book in his hands even as he gave Aegon the stink eye.

Daemon sat in the center of the bed, slightly propped up against the pillows, with Arya cuddled up on his left side. His arm was over her shoulders, her face half pressed into his chest, she looked half asleep. Her eyes were half lidded and unfocused on the Valyrian history book Daemon was reading from, her whole body completely lax.

His brother sat stiffly crossed legged on the bed behind her, looking at the text over her shoulder. Jealousy flooded his system.

He tried to conceal what he was feeling by giving his uncle a jaunty wave as he bounced down on the bed to sit on his uncle’s free side. He made sure to make his action as jarring as possible. As expected, it seemed to break Arya of her lethargic spell. She wiped at her mouth and sat up more, only to be scolded by Daemon. “Don’t get up.”

“I’m fine.”

“You wake up too early and stay up too late, relax with me.”

Arya glared at Daemon, but she did collapse back into his arms slightly, “I’m not a babe, I don’t need a nap.”

Daemon smirked, “I said no such thing.”

“You’re reading in Valyrian, which I don’t speak so I can’t follow, using your calming lullaby voice.” She gave Daemon’s stomach a poke.

“This is my normal voice.”

Arya ignored his protest, “You’re holding lessons on your bed.”

“It’s comfy here.”

“You’re conspiring against me!” Arya said without conviction, all but snuggling deeper into Daemon’s side. Aegon looked to his brother, hoping he was equally as irritated by their uncle’s manipulation and the display of intimacy.

Aemond stared back at him, in complete agreement. What they said about misery loving company was really true. He smirked, bitterly glad they were annoyed, together.

“I am not conspiring against you.” Daemon said softly as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and began rubbing her hip. “I’m merely conducing our lessons as usual.”

“Bullshit.” Arya groused, finally giving up and pressing her face against Daemon’s chest again. She blew out a breath to make a strand of hair fly away from her eye before huffing, “Well, keep reading, old man.”

Daemon smiled triumphantly and did as he was told. It took her only fifteen minutes to pass out completely.

Once Arya was snoozing, Daemon shut the book and glared at him. “Get out.” He looked over at Aemond, with slightly less distain, “Both of you.”

“Is she alright?” Aemond questioned softly.

Daemon looked down at Arya, and so did Aegon. He stared at her face; he supposed there were some dark circles under her eyes. And she was a little pale. He hoped she wasn’t coming down with something catch-y.

“She works too hard.” The man actually sounded concerned, but slightly amused as well.

Aegon quirked his head, struck by the thought that he had no idea what Daemon was talking about.

“She doesn’t even work.” He said, “Not anymore.” She’d been a terrible bar maid, but ironically great for business. Everyone at the tavern cheered when she came in as a customer now.

Daemon glared at him, “Get out.”
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“Forget about her.” Martyn encouraged, but Aegon couldn’t take his friends advice. Arya was unforgettable, especially when he was staring right at her flirting with some common laborer fuck.

“Am I boring you?” He couldn’t remember the name of the willing buxom blonde in his lap, but he had no taste for her right now. Not with Arya making goo goo eyes at some overly muscled brute. When they’d all walked in together, he had welcomed the blonde’s attentions, but his preoccupation sent Arya across the room into the arms of another. And now he hated this woman.

“Yes.” He answered coldly, pushing the woman off him, “Fuck off.” The girl glared, but stomped away silently.

“Shit.” Ned poured more wine into his glass, muttering, “I knew Arya was trouble. Didn’t realize how much until just now.”

The tavern was busy and loud. There were musicians playing in the corner of the room, a handful of couples were dancing, but mostly everyone was drinking and talking at their little tables.

Leon spanked a passing barmaid, saying, “Another bottle.”

The timid girl nodded before scurrying away. Aegon frowned, not sure he liked his friend treating the tavern staff like that. He’d tried to do that to Arya back when she worked here, and she’d nearly broken his friend’s arm. It unsettled him that Leon had not learned his lesson, because Aegon was pretty sure the girl he just slapped was one of Arya’s friends. “Don’t do that.”

Leon raised a brow, “What?”

The girls’ name suddenly sprang to his mind, “Mariane is friends with Arya, don’t touch her ass or Arya will--”

“Uh!” Leon interrupted pointing across the room at Arya and her current fixation, “Don’t think she’s paying much attention to us over here. Too busy sniffing after that bloke and trying to get her a taste of the blacksmith’s horse sized cock.”

Fire exploded in his veins. He threw his full cup of wine in Leon’s face. “Get out!”

Leon looked shocked, and though a few of the patrons stopped to look, things hadn’t escalated too far to draw everyone’s attention.

“Aegon I didn’t mean--” Leon tried to plead, but Aegon just wanted to bash his face in with a rock. How dare he disparage Arya like that?

“Get out. And don’t ever talk about her like that again.” When his friend didn’t move, he slammed his fist on the table and shouted, “NOW!”

That got the crowds attention. The air grew tense as his friend got up and left, his wet face flushing with embarrassment.

When Aegon checked on Arya, he found her concerned eyes locked on them. He flashed her his best false smile, and made a motion with his hand, as if to say ‘nothing is wrong’. She mouthed the words, ‘You okay?’ to him. He nodded and smiled as Mariane arrived at the table with a new bottle of wine. He gestured to the bar maid, as if to say ‘see, all better’. Arya nodded, before tentatively turning back to her blacksmith.

Ned and Martyn looked at him with raised eyebrows. The room was still uncomfortably quiet so he stood up and raised his glass, “A drink for everyone on me!”

A rousing cheer rang out and Aegon sat down quickly, not in the mood to soak up the empty praise. His eyes darted back to Arya; she wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. He glared as she smiled at the tall well-built man, gently squeezing his bulging bicep. “Ugh.”

He turned away from the display and grabbed the wine bottle out of Ned’s hands so he could refill his own cup.

Martyn put a hand on his shoulder, “You seem pent up. I thought Arya was…I thought you were spending more time with her now that she lives in the castle with you?”

He glared down at his cup. “Too many people.” He grumbled, “If it’s not Aemond interrupting, its Daemon, if it’s not Daemon, it’s my mother or grandfather or fucking Cole or this one-time Lyman Beesbury!” He drank greedily from his cup only stopping once it was empty. Ned hurried to refill it for him as he continued to rant, “I know it’s all Aemond’s doing, that little shit. He follows her around like a lost puppy. Watches us kiss from afar. Probably gets off on it.”

“He’s a little young.” Martyn tried to reason, but he would hear none of it.

“He’s almost ten and one. I was jerking off every chance I got when I was his age.” He was lying, he hadn’t started to touch himself until he was twelve. “And he fucking stares at her with that one fucking eye…what does he think? That she’s a pervert? He’s a fucking child. She won’t want him; all of his efforts are just petty spiteful bullshit!”

“So, you haven’t fucked her yet?” Ned asked sounding amused. He pictured grabbing his friends face and slamming it into the table.

“No.”

“Well, that’s you’re problem, right there.” Ned cheered. “You just need to get it in, to get her out of your mind.”

Aegon wanted to explode on his friend, but he didn’t feel like buying everyone in the tavern another round, so he refrained from making a scene. Still his voice was a growl as he responded, “You think I haven’t tried? I can’t get her alone during the day and at night—it’s like we get going and then all of a sudden, she’s too tired, or too sore or not in the mood. It’s maddening!”

He glared at her, thinking back to a few days ago. It had seemed like the stars had finally aligned. They’d gotten very drunk, but not too drunk, so she was feeling frisky but not too fatigued. They were in her bed, naked and ready to fuck and then out of nowhere Daemon emerged from the shadows and hauled him off of her and threw him out of Arya’s room fucking naked! “It’s like the whole world is plotting to keep me out of her pussy.”

“Sounds like you need a visit to Sylvi’s brothel.” Martyn said.

Aegon scoffed bitterly, “I don’t want a whore. I want her.”
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The whore sucking his cock was very talented. She had shiny chestnut brown hair and a smattering of freckles that made her look innocent. He usually liked the idea of despoiling a virgin, not that the whore was one, but she had that farmgirl look.

“Fondle my balls.” He commanded, thrusting into the girl’s mouth choking her on his cock. And because she was a whore, she did as she was told. And it felt amazing.

Still, when he looked down, at this gorgeous girl on her knees, with her mouth stretched round his cock, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Because she wasn’t Arya.

“FUCK!” He shouted, frustrated that his ‘cousin’ was once again invading his mind. His cock rock solid a second ago, flagged, growing semi-hard. “Fuck.”

Arya hadn’t fucked him. She hadn’t sucked his cock. And this whore was willing to do both, so why was Arya haunting him right now? Scaring him away from the brink of release with thoughts of her and that blacksmith from the tavern, doing the same thing he was? Why was it Arya’s storm grey teary eyes he wanted to see looking up at him?

Beyond the privacy curtain, he heard a voice say his name. “—Aegon?”

Martyn replied, “Occupied.”

Then Ned added, “You really shouldn’t be here Arya, it’s not a place for Ladies.”

“Not a Lady. And speaking of what you aren’t--” Arya snarked. “Why aren’t you two with whores? Is it because you’re actually in love with Aegon? C’mon boys, you can tell me, I promise to keep your sword swallowing secret.” Arya laughed bawdily at her own joke. “Or are you just out of coin?” More laughter followed.

His cock grew limp at the sound. The whore sucking his cock, looked up at him expectantly. He was so embarrassed. He wasn’t smart like Aemond. He wasn’t a master swordsman like Daemon. He wasn’t pious like his mother. Or conniving like his grandfather. Or a walking womb like Helena. He was his cock. It was the one thing he never failed at, it always got erect, it always delivered. And to see it wilt like a dead flower, he felt like a failure.

Quickly his shame morphed into rage. He grabbed the girl by the hair and yanked her off his cock, “Don’t you know how to suck a fucking cock!”

The fear in her eyes just made him feel guilty and angry and more embarrassed. Unthinking, he slapped the girl across the face yelling, “What are you looking at!”

“Aegon!” Arya slipped inside, closing the curtain firmly behind her. “What’s wrong?”

The whore began to cry, “I didn’t—it wasn’t my fault, his cock just--”

“Get out!” He raged, Arya was literally the last person he wanted to see him so humiliated. His hands tightened on the whore’s hair. “Get the fuck out Arya!”

She didn’t listen. She walked towards him, and once she was close enough, she fucking hugged him. He was shaking, angry and ashamed, but he hugged her back and he let the whore go. Soothingly she rubbed up and down his back, “Aegon, let me help you.”

He did not want her help. He just wanted to pour out all his rage and frustration onto someone else, but not her. Not Arya.

“Sit down,” She pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed, and because he was pretty drunk, and she was Arya, he did as he was told. Once she was looking down on him, she spoke to the whore, but kept her eyes on him. “Try again.”

She pushed him back, so he was flat on his back. The whores mouth once again engulfed his cock trying to bring it back to life while Arya moved to straddle his stomach. With her upper half, taking up his field of vision, he could almost pretend the warmth on his cock was her cunt. And not the desperate attempts of a whore trying to avoid a beating.

“Relax.” Arya urged, her hands massaging his shoulders.

But he couldn’t relax. Not until he knew, “Did you fuck that blacksmith?”

She threw her head back and laughed. It made him feel small, and he almost pushed her off of him, but then she leaned down and kissed him reassuringly.

“No. I didn’t fuck anyone tonight.”

His hands gripped her ass, he dug his fingers in trying to hurt her and leave a bruise, “Are you lying?”

“He used his tongue, that’s all.” That pissed him off as well, but at least she hadn’t given away more to a stranger than she’d given him.

“I want to fuck you.”

“I’m not fucking you in a whore house Aegon.” She nuzzled her nose against his, and the sweet action just made him angry. He didn’t like hearing the word ‘no’.

“Where then?” He demanded, grabbing a kiss and poured all of his aggression into it. “When?”

Arya slapped him hard across the face, she looked down on him disgusted, her face reminding him of his mother as she said, “When you deserve it.”

“Hit me again?” He asked quietly.

As soon as she struck him his cock sprang back to life, growing stiff.

“Why not here and now?” He asked, his voice strained but his hands roaming her body and feeling up all her soft places, “Do you not like me? Are you using me? Driving me crazy for sport? I don’t understand why you are so hot and cold with me? Why won’t you let me fuck you?”

The whore started gagging herself on his cock, most likely trying to finish him off as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t complaining. Not now that he had Arya in his grasp and a warm orifice working him over.

“Why pay for a whore and not use her services?” She was evading his questions on purpose and it made his blood boil. He yanked Arya down, pressing his lips to hers. The passionate kiss didn’t match what was happening below his waist.

Arya was spirited fire and complex emotion; the whore was procedural and…empty.

The more moans of pleasure his kissing pulled from Arya, the less he wanted the whore’s mouth on him. He wanted Arya. He wanted her mouth, her cunt, her kisses. And he didn’t want her kissing anyone else.

“I want you.” He mumbled against her lips, his hips involuntarily thrusting up to gag the whore on his cock. He groped Arya’s ass, and fondled her breast, his lips traveling down her jaw to suck at the tender skin of her neck. “I just want you, Arya.”

“I’m right here.” She whispered, her hips rubbing against his stomach. “Touch me?”

He did. He slipped his hand inside her pants, and found her wet and ready. It only took a few swipes of his thumb against her clit before she was tensing up and coming all over his fingers. Being the cause of her climax filled him with male pride, and it brought about his own end.

He hooked his leg around the whore’s neck, thrusting up and forcing her to smash her face into his cock, and not letting up until she had swallowed every last drop.

The girl broke away from him with a loud gasp for air. But he didn’t care, he wrapped Arya up in a hug and pulled her close to his chest. Happy and sated, now that he mostly got what he wanted.
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He was going to do something romantic for Arya today.

Over the past few weeks, it had become clear to him that not only was everyone trying to keep them apart, but Arya herself was unwilling to fuck him, like, by choice. And after questioning some of the men she had left the taverns with, he was certain she wasn’t fucking any of them either. Sure, some of them lied and said they’d fucked her, but he wasn’t an idiot, and a few lying men trying to protect their ego couldn’t fool him. And of course, there were gossips around court whispering how Daemon had used the adoption to make Arya his personal indentured sex slave, but Aegon had never seen any evidence of that and he was pretty sure his mother was to blame for those rumors.

So, she wasn’t fucking him and she wasn’t fucking anyone else, which was both upsetting and exciting.

Martyn theorized she was trying to save her maidenhead for her husband, but that just didn’t feel right to him. Arya was a very sexual person. He could not believe she was a virgin. Leon suggested she was just a tease by nature, and enjoyed making men squirm for fun. That was a theory that got his friend another glass of wine to the face, but privately he admitted to Martyn it was a possibility. And Red Ned thought she was just nervous about getting in trouble and losing her new social position as a result.

It was true all of his friends’ ideas were possible, but he just wasn’t convinced. He felt like Arya was holding back for another reason, maybe a reason she didn’t even know herself. And so, he’d decided to act as if he was a farmer and Arya was a farmer. Or bakers. Or something equally mundane.

He'd come to the conclusion that Arya was like other women. She wanted to be wooed. So, he decided to put some effort into it.

Almost from their first meeting they’d just fallen into this weird friendship where they messed around in the dark and the shadows, but never acknowledged it in the light of day. They went out with his friends to the tavern. They joked around during Valyrian lessons. They laughed together during family meals. They were friends, that’s how he had been treating her when he wasn’t trying to fuck her. He thinks his mistake was not making his intention clear. Or at least as clear as he could be while his marriage to his sister was mere months away.

The point was, he wanted to be more than Arya’s good time friend. He wanted her to want him just as much as he wanted her. So, he had planned a picnic.

He imagined them riding out to ride their dragons then landing in a meadow somewhere. With flowers. And in the sunshine, protected by their dragons, he would lay her down on a blanket and they would fuck. Slow. And face to face.

He would tell her he loved her; she would say it back. She would confess she just kissed those other men to make him jealous, he would promise to stay away from whores unless she was involved. And it would be this beautiful romantic moment.

And after he was done fucking her, he would get down on his hands and knees and suck his spend out of her juicy cunt. Then they would feast on the meat and cheeses he had packed, leaving the cake for last. He would then balance the desert on her naked mound and eat it off of her. Or maybe her tits? Either way, it was sure to be romantic and exactly the kind of setting Arya had been holding out for.

It was a foolproof plan.
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“Aegon, I’m saving myself for my future husband.” He couldn’t believe Martyn Reyne had been right.

“You are not a virgin!” Aegon accused. It had almost all gone like he planned, the dragon rides, the meadow, but Arya had been hungry, so they ate first then started messing around. Just when he was about to fuck her, Arya stopped him again.

“No, I’m not.” She admitted.

He felt like he would explode and fire would shoot out top of his head. “Then why are you resisting me?!”

“I just told you,” She said as she hurried to put her clothes back on, “I’m saving myself for--”

“Bullshit!” He pointed at her, “Tell me the truth.”

She paused, finished slipping her shirt over her head and then said, “I don’t trust you yet.”

“What?” How could she not trust him?

“The truth is, I’m not going to fuck you, because I don’t trust you yet. I don't trust anyone that much.” She reached for her boots and began putting them on.

His mind was spinning. He felt duped. He felt used. He felt, sad.

He wanted Arya. He liked her more than anyone else in his life. She was fun and special and kind and didn’t make him feel stupid. If she didn’t want to fuck him until she trusted him, then there was only one thing to say, “How do I prove myself trustworthy?”

She paused again, but this time, she smiled at him. Brightly, in that way that made him want to smile back for how infections it was. “Now that, is the perfect response.”

He couldn’t help but feel like he had just passed some secret test. And then she kept on getting dressed, and he pouted, "No, but seriously, how?"
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Aegon’s Friends/knights

Arya’s Braavosi Dresses that Daemon picked out and the Vibe of Coy Sex Kitten Arya

Chapter Text

Arya the Dragon Rider

Amnesia Arya

Ned Stark

Jon Snow

Jaqen H’ghar

Gendry Waters

The Hound

Chapter Text

Chapter 25
~Daemon~

“Remember, don’t be too pushy.” Arya advised.

“I know.”

“And don’t let Otto provoke you.”

“I know.”

“And try not to sound arrogant. Be humble. This is not for your glory, but for the greater good.”

“I know.” He sighed, she was nervous and while he understood, her constant pestering was becoming tiresome. He knew the plan; he knew what part he had to play for its success.

“Make sure you play to Viserys’s desire to be perceived as a good King--”

“Arya.” He stopped her, they had been walking down the hall to the small council room. He moved to stand in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at him in the eye. Softly he repeated himself, “I know.”

Together they had crafted his first proposal for the small council, but ultimately the idea was Arya’s. She was the driving force behind so much of his interaction with the council, and this day was no different.

For the last two small council meetings he had been quiet at her request. He had done as she asked and observed, gathering intelligence on the relationship dynamics between all the members. And now, finally, he was going to put that knowledge to use.

“Trust me.” He implored, giving her a warm encouraging smile.

She didn’t smile back as he intended, but she did reply automatically. “I do trust you.” She grabbed at the lapel of his coat, twisting the fabric as she tightened her grip into a fist. “I just wish I could go in with you when you make your case. I want this to happen Daemon. I really, really, want this.”

If he wasn’t able to get the funding and manpower to do as they planned, he knew she would act regardless. He could not disappoint her. Failure was not an option.

“I will make you proud.” He vowed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She gave him a quick hug, mumbling into his chest, “You always do.”

As they continued their walk, once again arm in arm, side by side, he found himself holding his head a little higher. Arya’s unconditional confidence in him had that effect. When they came to the open doors Arya gave him an encouraging smile, “You’ll do great.”

A glance inside showed he was the last to arrive. His brother sat at the head of the table with Otto on his right and Lord Jasper Wylde to his left, then Orwyle, then Lord Lyman Beesbury, then Tyland Lannister. Meaning he could sit opposite his brother, or next to the leech.

As if reading his mind Arya whispered, “Sit next to Otto.”

He did not acknowledge that he heard her, instead he entered trying not to strut like he owned the place. He wanted to project neutrality, like Arya advised, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was. His natural arrogance, as Arya put it, was a hard thing to hide.

As he sat down, he looked back at the door to see Arya looking in on them with an anxious expression. She looked radiant in a blue, fairly conservative dress. It was one of the ‘perfect princess’ ones she had commissioned for herself. In the dress she looked demure and put together in a way he wasn’t used to seeing her. She only wore the ‘perfect princess’ type dresses when she wanted to get something out of Viserys, Alicent, or the other older lords. He wondered at who her latest victim would be today.

The second their eyes met she forced a goofy smile and gave him two thumbs up. Her ridiculous expression contrasted humorously with her ladylike appearance. He chuckled as she kept frozen in the pose until the door was closed and they were separated. When he looked over at Viserys, he saw his brother also smiling, obviously having caught their exchange.

“Her devotion to you is admirable, you should be proud Daemon.” There was a wistful taint to his brother’s words. Rhaenyra’s face flashed in his mind, but he quickly pushed thoughts of his one-time lover away.

Uncomfortable, Daemon forced a placid smile, “We are both proud, to be of service to our King and the realm.”

Otto let out a noise of derision, but said nothing. Lord Jasper Wylde cleared his throat, “So onto business?”
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As Lyman Beesbury droned on about crop yields and tax percentages, Daemon felt his mind drift. The Lord of Honeyholt was long winded and loved his job deeply. He was not bitter in the slightest that the man had replaced him in the role of Master of Coin. He just wished he didn’t have to suffer the man’s love of numbers with such exhaustive detail.

Arya and her prim outfit sprung to mind once again. He allowed himself an internal sigh of relief, for her conservative dress surely meant she wouldn’t be making time with Aegon and his cronies this afternoon. Aemond was a possibility though, the boy was like a baby duckling, only breaking away when Aegon captured her attention with carnal desires. When Daemon was finished with the meeting, hopefully he would have good news to share with her. He suspected he would find her in the library with the little prince. If not there, perhaps today was the day she made some progress with Helena.

He found adjusting to life back at court was both easier and harder with Arya by his side. She had proven to have deft hand when it came to manipulating and charming the nobles despite her distain of propriety. And her efforts to endear herself and him by extension, to the staff were also unapparelled. He knew she sometimes slipped into the kitchens and helped with meal prep, and once he caught her doing laundry of all things! As a result of her hard work making friends in all sorts of places, he’d never been treated better. Still, there were some downsides to having her with him at court. Not many, but some.

One annoying aspect to having an almost of age ‘daughter’ at court, were all the prospective suitors sniffing about. It was becoming rather tiresome to deal with…without violence. However, his main gripe was how Arya was running herself ragged. He suspected she only got a few hours of sleep every night and he was slowly growing concerned. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he thought she looked a bit thinner too. He couldn’t help but feel that he was part of the problem.

Arya was a good buffer between him and those he could not disguise his loathing for at court. She had a way of making his coldness look humorous, and now his callous quips were considered ‘witty’ barbs. He could swear some of the younger lords liked it when he roasted them with his words, like it was some twisted rite of passage.

He didn’t know how she was doing it, but she had crafted a new narrative for him and it was catching on. No longer was he regarded as the ‘disgraced’ rogue prince. His new persona was that of a ‘grumpy but doting and ferocious’ rogue prince.

Little more than a month at court and she had already accomplished what he thought of as insurmountable task. Changing his image. Not only was she helping him politically, Arya also helped him in lots of little ways.

Like keeping him busy.

Booked up with Valyrian lessons, and combat training with her and his nephews, he didn’t have as many opportunities to get himself into trouble, as he had in the past. She also reminded him to keep up correspondence with the girls and the Velaryons. And what’s more, she just spent time with him. Period. Not letting their relationship suffer even though he knew she had many other things and people on her plate.

And to top it all off, his relationship with Viserys had never been better, a fact which he gave Arya all the credit for. Almost immediately, she started a tradition where they and his brother’s other children, broke their fast together every morning. Alicent and Otto occasionally joined, but usually it was an exclusively Targaryen affair.

Arya knew how to charm people and his brother was no exception. Within two weeks of arriving at the Keep, Viserys was hanging on her every word as she spun tales of her time in Braavos. Then she started playing to his brother’s ego, cleverly getting the King to tell them all of Old Valyria and the progress he’d made on his scale model. Daemon could tell she was hoping to create some bond between Viserys and his children, but progress on that front was slow.

It confused Daemon how Viserys showed so little interest in the sons he so desperately wanted. And Heleana, to be sure, the girl was weird, but she was also sweet. And not half as much trouble as Rhaenyra. He would have thought his brother would rejoice at having a docile child he could indulge and coddle. But his brother barely acknowledged them, his Hightower half breeds. The only time Viserys showed any warmth to his other children was when they made Arya laugh.

And no one made Arya laugh more than Aegon.

Fucking, Aegon. He and Aemond, and to a certain extent Alicent, were all conspiring to keep the pair apart, but the results were mixed. As were their motives in keeping the couple separated. Aemond, obviously, fancied Arya for himself. Alicent was worried about the threat to Heleana and Aegon’s engagement. And Daemon, well, his objection to Arya and Aegon’s coupling was more complex.

Truthfully, he had a immediate hatred of every man Arya chose to spend time with sexually, for the simple fact that she was attracted to unworthy idiots.

To his great irritation Arya liked her men dumb and pretty, but usually he held his tongue on such matters as her dalliances were often fleeting. Afterall, he was not immune to the same allure on occasion. But with Aegon, Arya’s teasing games felt more dangerous. Breaking his heart or just pushing him too far could result in dire consequences for them both. And what’s more, Arya was not unaffected by her worthless paramours.

In his experience, a lustful Arya was a sloppy Arya.

In the past, in the pursuit of a handsome cock, she drank more, acted rashly, put herself in possibly dangerous situations. Ever since Pentos he had known men were Arya’s weakness, just like many adolescents her age. And as far as character flaws went it wasn’t the worst she could have, but here in King’s Landing it could be fatal.

He never thought he’d long for the days when Arya indulged in a quick tumble with the local blacksmith, but here was.

Beesbury’s voice broke through his thoughts as it sounded like he was finally winding down, “--if we temporarily raise the Reach’s taxes by 7% and the Riverlands’ by 5%, the Stormlands by 3.5%, and the North by 1% we should be able to fund the purposed city’s sewers renovation.”

“The lords won’t stand for certain lands being exempt from such tax increases. Especially when the work their money is funding won’t benefit them at all.”

Beesbury, frowned, looked down at his extensive notes, then looked back to Lord Jasper Wylde who had raised the objection. “I’ve spent the past half an hour explaining how all the taxes will be raised, no region will be exempt. Was I unclear?”

Wylde sneered at the older man, “1%? The North is the largest of all the 7 Kingdoms and you purpose an increase of a measly 1%? If the other Lords learn of this it will be seen as a selective exemption.”

“Winter is coming.” Beesbury reminded them, “The North’s resources are plentiful yes, but the manpower needed to--”

Ever the peace keeper, Viserys interrupted saying, “Lord Beesbury, I will have to review your proposal more closely in private, Lord Wylde is correct, we cannot afford to make enemies of our own lords. I promise to give you my answer tomorrow.” His brother then turned to Otto expectantly, “Is that all for today?”

This was his moment.

“No.” Daemon sat up straighter, “I also have a proposal for the council.”

“Here we go.” Otto muttered quietly, before gesturing to him dismissively, “I was not aware you had business worthy of the small council’s agenda, Prince Daemon. You submitted no formal proposal as is customary. Though seeing as you have no official title on this council, I suppose we must be flexible and accommodate your whims. So, go on.”

Otto’s words stung more than expected. Acting as an advisor who functions as a minster without a portfolio, was in a word, humbling, but he and Arya had yet to come up with a solution to solve this.

He glared at Otto but did not respond to his baiting words. “I have learned of disreputable establishment in Flea Bottom that must be shut down at once. I seek the council’s approval to take the Gold Cloaks and--”

“Well, you are an expert on Flea Bottom I suppose, which establishment has earned your ire this time? A whore house that over charged you? A poor merchant who insulted you?” Otto scoffed.

“A child fighting pit.” He said darkly. His eyes flickered over to his brother. Viserys looked troubled, but not filled with the disgust and fire Arya had been when she informed him of what she had discovered. “They force children to fight for sport and amusement. And sometimes to the death. When I was commander of the City Watch, people were not so bold as to gamble against the lives of enslaved children. Now that I am back, I wish to send a message and shut them down.”

“Tragic.” Otto said curtly. “But what proof do you have that such an establishment exists? We cannot act on your word alone. Indeed, we all remember when you had free reign over the City Watch, raiding the city and causing as much destruction as the deviants you stomped out.”

It was probably the most open and grievous insult Otto had ever levied against him.

“My word is not enough?” He growled, saying nothing of the besmirching of his reputation as a former Commander of the City Watch. When Otto smirked, Daemon’s ire grew beyond his control. He slammed his fist on the table and got on his feet so he could loom over the leech as he yelled, “You dare question me? A prince of the blood of old Valyria? You, a sorry second son suckling at the teat of my brother--”

“And now the truth is revealed!” Otto yelled back. “Was it tiring, I wonder? Playing pretend at being a man of honor-”

“You piece of shit--”

The doors burst open, cutting off his next words, one of the guards fell to the floor, his head likely having been used as a battering ram of sorts. Daemon’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead as Arya, quickly jumped over his body and announced loudly, “Hello!”

Westerling approached her, probably to remove her from the room, but preemptively Arya held up a bleeding palm, explaining quickly, “I cut my hand, it was an emergency, I needed to see the Grand Maester at once, hence the rude interruption, but oh, you know now that I’m here, I see its not so bad. Barely a scratch, anyway--”

She darted around Westerling and hurried to Daemon’s side, putting herself in between him and Otto. She glared at him and put her bloody hand on his shoulder, all but pushing him back into his seat, “I heard passionate voices. I assume you’ve told them of our proposal and you are all as excited as I am to wipe out these villains from our fair city.”

Lannister’s eyes were comically wide as he watched the beat-up guard get back to his feet and receive quiet chastisement from his Lord Commander. It did not escape his notice that another guard lay on the floor outside the doors, dead or more likely just unconscious. Daemon was feeling a similar sense of amazement, but tried not to show it as obviously.

“Our proposal?” Lord Wylde asked, regaining his sense rather quickly.

Arya smiled warmly, “Yes. Our proposal, Daemon’s and mine, to exterminate the vermin who force enslaved children to fight for sport.”

“You have also seen this pit of depravity?” Viserys questioned, leaning forward and looking intrigued now that Daemon’s story had corroboration.

Arya’s high energy bled away, leaving her voice solemn and serious. “I was the one who discovered it, your Grace. I promise,” Her eyes grew sad, “Its even more horrifying than it sounds.”

Viserys nodded, “This does indeed sound serious and in need of the crowns attention.”

“Your Grace--” Arya cut off Otto’s words with a squeeze to his shoulders.

“Lord Hand, if you’ll excuse my interruption,” She said softly, forcing the tension in the room to drain away, “I am as eager as you are to get to work bettering the Kingdom. And ridding it of such disgusting corruption.”

She patted him on the shoulder before shifting away to perch on Daemon’s arm rest. “But Daemon and I were hoping to address the problem today. Tonight, really. I doubt any of you would object to us rescuing children, but for the sake of formality, perhaps you should vote on it? So, we don’t waste our time talking the issue to death.”

She stared the Hand down and Otto had no choice but to crumple. “I don’t think a vote will be necessary.”

“Of course, it’s not necessary,” Viserys cheered, then he gestured to Arya, “You have a plan I assume?”

Subtly, Arya kicked him in the shin, prompting him to take the lead saying, “A show of force. I will take two dozen Gold Cloaks with me, surround the building and then invade with twelve good men.”

“And what, kill them all?” Otto sneered, “I agree these proprietors deserve the King’s justice, but what of the innocent patrons?”

“Are fucking kidding me?” Arya snarled, jumping down from her perch. With one hand on the table in front of Otto and one hand on the back of his chair, she forced the older man to lean back lest he get spittle on his face from her shouted words, “Innocent patrons who cheer when a child is struck? When a boy is maimed? A girl murdered! Those fucking innocent patrons?”

Daemon grabbed a handful of fabric and pulled her back towards him. “Yes,” He said decisively, “The plan is to kill them all.”

“And when it’s empty, and the children have been rescued, I want to burn down the building with Drogon.” That was not something they had discussed prior, but he tried not to let his surprise show.

“What?” Lannister questioned, looking confused, “Why?”

“To make a statement.” Arya said coldly, “So people remember.”

“You—” Viserys looked troubled, his eyes darting from Arya to Daemon, “You speak as if you plan to join the raid?”

Arya stared back, her sweet little blue dress, completely at odds with her deadly demeanor. “Of course I will.” She gestured to the men around the table, “I only brought the issue to the council’s attention, to seek the Gold Cloaks help, because if I were to take on this task alone, the children would suffer. Killing those deserving fucks, would be easy, but time consuming…many hands make light work.”

Silence filled the room. He could tell most of the men were shocked by Arya’s candor.

“You cannot--” Otto started, but Arya cut him off quickly, “I can.”

She looked to his brother, “I will. One way or another, I will save those children and punish those who have harmed them.” She paused before adding, “With or without help.”

“You will have your men.” Viserys said with a nod. His eyes never straying from Arya’s, “But you will stay behind. You are a lady. A Targaryen Princess. You do not--”

“You cannot stop me.” She said simply. “No one can.”

Viserys closed his eyes, smiling sadly. It was then that Daemon realized, what his brother saw when he looked at Arya. Or rather, who, she reminded him of. “She is stubborn.” He offered his brother in solace, “But she’s not wrong. We can’t stop her…I can’t stop her.”

Viserys looked at him with a weary expression and Daemon smiled consolingly. Lightly rubbing his hand up and down Arya’s back he explained, “Arya is one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. She doesn’t fight like a Westerosi, for one thing, it throws off her opponents right from the start, and then her size—the surprise of her skill, I assure you brother, she’s as deadly as she is determined.”

“You can’t be serious.” Otto said, looking concerned. “She is a girl. A child herself!”

“I’ve killed 43 people since I found Drogon.” Arya said cooly, not giving Otto the satisfaction of her anger, “And those are just the ones I can remember. I imagine my actual body count is much, much higher.”

“Why did you kill them?” The Master of Laws asked. His voice neutral, but curious.

Arya grinned at him mischievously, “Because they were evil. And they deserved it.” She grinned wickedly at the table of men, “Those are my favorite kinds of people to kill. Because no matter what you do to them, you don’t have to feel bad about it. Justice, is beautiful like that.”

“So,” He said, addressing everyone, “Is my proposal acceptable?”

“You can’t burn the building.” Lannister said, his voice not confident, but still he persisted, “It could spread.” He looked at Arya then, “Surely you wouldn’t want true innocents to die, all to make a point?”

Arya sighed, deflating against Daemon a bit, as she pouted, “Fine. Agreed, that makes sense.”

Tyland looked relieved as he breathed out, “Good.”

A second later Arya straightened up, asking, “But once everyone is dead who owns the building? Does it revert to the crown?”

Lord Wylde answered, “If you plan on killing the proper land owners, then I suppose.”

“Could I, have it?” Arya asked, directing the question to the King. “As a gift or no--not a gift, a…project.”

“You come here, spout off a story of child murder and corruption, looking for permission to kill the owners of a building and all of its patrons and now you are asking to be given the building as a reward?” Otto summarized, making her request sound as suspicious as possible.

“Yes.” Arya said without hesitation.

“Is that all?” Otto scoffed.

“No.” Arya said coldly, “There’s one other thing.”

Daemon knew what was coming. He sat up straighter and tried to project grief. Arya’s voice grew soft again as she asked Viserys, “Can I tell you a story?”

The King nodded. And all of the most powerful men in the Kingdom, gave Arya their absolute attention. “I was exploring, meeting people, seeing how the small folk of King’s Landing really lived.”

She reached out and entwined her hand with his, as if she needed his strength to continue with her tale. “I stumbled upon the establishment by accident. I’d been looking for a party and found…utter immorality.”

Her voice was growing horse and her eyes were filling with water. It was a masterful performance, one, he could see was working to captivate her small audience. “In the ring, there were three children. One a boy, about eleven or twelve, he was the oldest. And a pair of girls who could not be older than seven.”

She paused, her face a vision of despair. “The boy struck down one of the girls with a single blow. She crumpled to the floor and did not move, alive or dead, I did not know.”

Arya’s hand tightened in his. Daemon knew this was hard for her, that her performance was not all for show. She really did feel such compassion, and he cursed himself for being so glib about this, even if it was only in his head. He squeezed back, and put a comforting hand on the small of her back. “The other girl was quick. She stayed out of reach. She dodged. She evaded. She did everything she could. But in the end caught her, and she went down.”

“This boy killed two girls?” Wylde asked.

“A man in the crowd, while the boy was straddling the girl, raining down angry fists on her face, called out ‘rape her’.” She swallowed thickly. “It caught on with the crowd and soon everyone in the stands was shouting, ‘rape her, rape her, rape her’.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and she did not wipe it away. “This boy…the girls face was a mess of blood and bone and brain; I suspect she was already dead when he starting raping her. Or she died during it. But in the end, the boy came inside the corpse and the crowd cheered.”

Viserys, Beesbury, and Lannister looked horrified. Otto and Wylde looked disgusted. She really had a way with words, he doubted if he told the same story, the effect would be as powerful. “The man who started the chant, to rape the girl to death, I recognized him today. He was in the Red Keep, wearing a gold cloak.”

Arya sniffed, then turned her heartbroken expression on his brother, “I would like for that man to be publicly flogged.” Another tear rolled down her cheek. “To send the message, that no one is above the law in your kingdom, not even those who enforce it. Not when it comes to killing children. Not in our city.”

“Do you know his name?” Viserys asked, looking shaken.

“I didn’t then, but I do now.” There was a long pause as Viserys looked to Otto, who shook his head.

“We cannot act on her word alone.” Otto glared at Arya, “I will admit she sounds credible, and her tale is convincing, but she is just a girl. A girl with a history of memory problems. Her word is not good enough to sentence a man to death.”

“You are the King.” Arya asserted, another tear falling from her eyes, her voice full of desperation, “You know what is best for the realm Uncle Viserys. Your word is law. If you believe me, and say he is guilty, he will be guilty.”

Viserys looked to Daemon. Daemon stared back at his brother, daring him to defy his advisor. If he folded to Otto now, he knew all of his and Arya’s plans were for naught. If they couldn’t influence Viserys on an issue as black and white as this, they might as well leave King’s Landing now.

“Girl, speak the name,” The King promised, “And this man will be punished.”
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Arya’s Demure Outfit * Imagine the Targaryen clasp in place of the Channel one

The Small Council Members

Chapter Text

Chapter 26

~Aemond, Part 1~

Most of the time when he spied on Aegon and Arya fooling around, it was only a precursor to breaking them apart. However, sometimes he simply watched them. Mostly to torture himself, as he was helplessly fascinated by the evolving relationship between his ‘cousin’ and his brother.

After a long afternoon of flying with Vhagar, that somehow extended into the early evening, Aemond was returning his horse to the stables. His plan was to bathe and call for some food to be brought to his room so he could eat and then fall into bed quickly thereafter. Dragon riding was by no means a passive activity and he was quite exhausted. But as he walked past the Maidenvault, a sensual moan caught his attention. Tonight apparently, he was feeling self-flagellating again.

Quiet as he could, he drew closer to the long building just behind the Royal Sept. He was not surprised by what he found when he peeked around the corner.

Arya was wearing a dress today; in the dim lighting he couldn’t tell if it was a dark red color or black nor could he discern much about the garment’s style, seeing as the skirt was currently bunched up around her waist and her paramour blocked his view of the bodice completely.

It was her who had moaned. And it was Aegon who caused it.

Aemond frowned, a little disappointed by their collective stupidity. The pair were usually more selective about the location of their little trysts, but here they were practically out in the open, making lewd noises, and so close to the Royal Sept? His mother would have had a fit if she found them.

And he just knew his brother was getting a kick over doing this right behind the Maidenvault. The irony of the location, a building built under the orders of King Jaehaerys to imprison his wild daughter Saera to prevent her from acting on her carnal desires, probably made the illicit behaviors that much more titillating. When he grew to be Aegon’s age, he vowed he would not be such a slave to his lustful urges, as he.

Despite the danger of being discovered, his brother had Arya pushed up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. Aemond had spied on the pair enough to know this was one of Arya’s favorite positions. He wasn’t sure if it was because it was easy for her to quickly right her clothes and get back on her feet when caught in the act, or if it was especially stimulating.

“Fuck,” Arya whimpered. She had one arm looped around Aegon’s torso, holding onto a fistful of the fabric at his back, the other hand was hidden from his view, trapped between their bodies. “Harder, Aegon, more.”

Aegon mumbled a noise of affirmation as he moved from biting the delicate skin at her neck, to kissing her parted lips. Disgustingly, he dove in tongue first.

Obedient, his brother’s hand began moving more rapidly between Arya’s legs. And there was more of an ‘oomph’ to his efforts. Aemond had overheard enough tales of men’s exploits in whorehouses to deduce what was going on. And while he was captivated by the tableau before him, he wasn’t sure if he was aroused by it or not.

The sight of Aegon’s tongue in Arya’s mouth was, for lack of a better word, gross. And he couldn’t imagine himself enjoying the wet and slimy looking exchange even if he was of age to do so. When he allowed himself to daydream about kissing Arya, he imagined something sweeter, a chaste but meaningful meeting of their lips. Not this disgusting duel of tongues and spit.

But on the other hand, the peek at all of Arya’s exposed skin had him wondering if it was as soft as it looked. The sound of her panting made him want to move in closer, and learn exactly what they were doing to make her feel that good. This constant back and forth in his thoughts, between repulsion and enthrallment, when it came to the idea of physical intimacy, was becoming tiresome. He couldn’t wait to grow up.

For the millionth time, he cursed the gods for being born a second son. His age and lack of experience was like an anchor constantly holding back in all aspects of his life, but especially when it came to claiming Arya for himself. He just knew that when he officially became a man, all these contradicting thoughts and feelings would resolve themselves. And he would be able to pursue his hearts desire in earnest.

He imagined if he was just a bit older, it would be him in Aegon’s place right now. His hand bringing her pleasure. His lips drinking in her exquisite noises. If he wasn’t four years younger than her from the start, he was certain she would have chosen him over Aegon to fulfill all her companionship needs.

This erotic side of Arya’s personality was the one piece of herself she held back from sharing with Aemond and he was beginning to resent the exclusion.

With Aegon, Arya was like a totally different person than the one Aemond had come to know and care for. Just like she was someone else when she was around the King, the lords and ladies, Daemon, Grandfather, Mother, the servants. And what’s more she had this uncanny ability to be all different things to different people, all at the same time without betraying the carefully crafted image she curated for each audience.

And what’s more, only a handful of people seemed to be aware of this talent. Daemon of course knew her the best and was benefitting the most from her shapeshifting personas. Grandfather saw the truth of her as well. And then there was him. He felt great pride for being so perceptive where so many others were blind. Despite his age, Arya did not fool him. He saw her, all sides of her, and he appreciated her for it, unlike Aegon.

Aegon took all that Arya showed him at face value. He thought them kindred spirits because she let him touch her intimately. He thought they had the same interests because she sporadically accompanied him to the tavern. She got along with his cronies well enough. She laughed at his jokes often enough. She gave Aegon enough pieces of herself that he thought they were a perfect match.

Obviously, his brother was a blind fool. Arya was so much more than Aegon could ever hope to deserve. And yet confusingly, she consistently sought him out.

Arya kissed Aegon all the time. Arya touched him. And let him touch her. She sat next to Aegon in Valyrian lessons. And took time out of her busy days and nights, to entertain his brother with her wit, her charm, and her body and truly, Aemond didn’t understand the appeal from her perspective.

Aegon was a lout, unskilled and uninterested in learning anything beyond how best to get his cock wet. He was drunk half the time. He constantly let his imbecilic lickspittles influence him to indulge in the worst of his baser instincts. He had no sense of the upcoming political conflict that was sure to follow their father’s demise. And furthermore, he was shit with a sword, not an ounce of natural talent and no inner drive to train and hone the skill from scratch.

Whereas Arya, was near perfection.

Arya was graceful and intelligent and powerful. Needlessly kind to people below her station. Generous with her knowledge and patient when sharing it. Manipulative to an almost expert degree, but never with cruel intentions. She was wild and fun but not obnoxiously so, like his brother. A multifaceted being, she also found quiet contentment just lounging around and reading for hours. Her ability to ingratiate and integrate with the nobles, despite her tarnished reputation, was masterful. And her skills with a blade were a wonder. Even Ser Cole had a hard time finding fault with her in the training yard.

Despite only knowing her for a handful of months, Aemond had grown to love her. He dares not admit it to anyone but himself, but it was true. He loved her. And even though he was younger than her, a second son who would not inherit any great fortunes, half blind, with an ugly scar and a gaping wound in his face, he thought that, given some time to grow into a man, he could be her equal. And they could be true partners. Furthermore, he wasn’t engaged to be married in a few months, unlike Aegon, so really he was the best choice for numerous reasons.

He watched as Arya peaked on Aegon’s fingers, muffling her ecstasy as she buried her face in his shoulder.

“My turn?” Aegon questioned after letting her catch her breath.

Musically, she laughed, before teasing him, “Well, I suppose you’ve earned it. And, lucky you, I’m feeling generous.”

Aemond turned away as Aegon put Arya back on her own two feet. He didn’t want to watch anymore. He found the sight of Arya receiving pleasure interesting, but he knew from past encounters the view of her reciprocating his brother’s attentions just turned his stomach.

He decided to return the royal apartments and warn Daemon what the pair of adolescences were up to and let his uncle deal with it.
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A week or so later, the sound of hushed angry voices caught his attention as he was getting ready to leave the library, a rare pleased smile on his face. He’d found an old dusty book on the care of dragon eggs that had fallen behind some shelves. It was one he had never read or even heard of, and so he was excited to see what knowledge lay within its pages. Given where he had found it, he doubted it had been read in a hundred years! It would be interesting if, given when it was written, it contradicted more modern literature on the subject. He was eager to compare and contrast.

After reading it through he planned to share his discovery with Arya and Daemon during their next Valyrian lessons. He knew they were the only ones who had the same passion for dragons and reading that he did. He just knew his uncle would have some insight on the topic that couldn’t be found within the book’s pages. And Arya was the only one who could coax him into sharing, without being an asshole about it.

“Why are you such a bitch?” Leon Estermont’s voice cut through his optimism like a knife. He’d thought he was alone, but the taunting tone was very familiar to him. Leon, out of all of Aegon’s cohorts, was Aemond’s least favorite.

He slowed his steps and listened, trying to determine where the sound was coming from as another familiar voice replied, “I don’t know, why are you such a cunt?”

A loud bang, possibly the sound of several books dropping to the floor, told him exactly where to go. On tip toes he dashed as quickly and quietly as he could, over to the unlit area of the library. This was where the very old books were stored, the ones that had to be kept out of the reach of sunlight. The rest of the library was lit mostly by natural light from big arched windows in the day, but over here, if you wanted to be able to see what was on the shelves you had to bring your own light, especially on a moonless evening like tonight.

“I should slap you for what you’ve done.” Leon postured, using his height to loom over Arya menacingly. And though she didn’t look very intimidated, Aemond was absolutely scandalized. Sure, Leon made fun of him, and spurred on Aegon to do the same, but to attack Arya? He knew the man-child was stupid, but he didn’t realize he was suicidal.

“Be careful Leon,” Arya purred, “Unlike other women you’ve encountered, I hit back.”

“Why did you tell Aegon I tried to fuck you?” Leon hissed. “He’s refusing to see me; I had to find out from Martyn why I was, all of the sudden, out of favor! I’ve known him for seven years and now he won’t even talk to me! Because of you!”

“Did I lie?” Arya chirped mockingly.

“That was ages ago, before I knew who you really were.” He explained pitifully. “Back when you were posing as a barmaid. You can’t hold that against me!”

“Apparently Aegon can and is.” She said curtly.

When she elaborated no further, Leon huffed before exploding, “Why would you poison Aegon against me like this!” Aemond was just barely able to make out the older boy grabbing Arya by the shoulders and shaking her, demanding, “Why are you trying to ruin my life, you fucking bitch?!”

“Huhaa.” Leon suddenly wheezed, stumbling away from Arya. Aemond cursed the poor lighting as he missed what she did to make him back away and bend over clutching his genitals, but it wasn’t hard to imagine.

“Ruin you, Leon? This wasn’t me ruining you.” Arya sounded totally calm, and from what he could see of her face, she looked entirely unaffected by Leon’s actions and his accusations. “If I wanted to ruin you, I would have lied and said you raped me…now that would ruin you.”

Aemond was reminded of when Lucerys took his eye. The way Arya took control of the situation boldly and brashly, even as chaos erupted all around her. How effortless it was for her. She was a natural born leader and it showed every day in little ways, like now, just as it did the night he lost his eye. It was one of his most favorite things about her.

“You’re a witch.” Leon huffed one hand still clutching his crotch even as he straightened back up, pressing as close to the stacks of books opposite her as he could, clearly not willing to chance getting close again. “You’ve done something to Aegon. Bewitched him somehow. And the King. And Prince Daemon. You witch! I will expose you for the evil cunt you really are!”

She allowed a beat of silence to pass before responding. Her voice, still like water, had an undeniable edge despite its calm tone, “The only thing I’ve done to Aegon is help him realize, he is better than you.”

“You fucking bitch--”

“And he no longer needs fake friends and empty flattery to clutter his judgement.”

“Cunt!”

“Leon!” Her voice rose only a second, saying his name like a curse, before returning to that creepy deadly tone, “If you say another disparaging word, I am going to kill you, here and now. And I won’t make it quick.” She took a step forward and held up a large book threateningly, “I will beat you to death with,” she looked at the cover squinting to read the title in the dark, “‘A Caution for Young Girls’”

She laughed, smiling at Leon with all her teeth showing, “Oh, the irony.”

“I never hurt you.” Leon whimpered, side stepping away from her and deeper into the shadows, “I never hurt him. I’ve been a good friend to Aegon. Ask him! Ask Martyn and Ned! They’ll tell you; I’ve been loyal. I don’t deserve this.”

“Poor little Leon,” Arya said quietly, “All that bluster and bullshit, and what’s underneath? Just a sad pathetic little boy, clinging to scraps trying to prove he’s not insignificant…but you are. You are no one. You’re nothing.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t what?” She questioned, her voice like ice, “Kill you?”

“I--”

“Leave King’s Landing and I won’t have to.” Arya said. Then she took a step forward and Leon indignantly yelped.

In an effort to create more distance between them, Leon backpaddled into the darkness his arms blindly reaching out and knocking dozens of books off the shelves as he tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.

Frankly, Aemond was a little confused by the frightened reaction. Sure, in the training yard, Arya was a marvel with a sword in her hand, but right now she was only armed with a not-that-heavy book. And Leon outweighed her by much, and given what was on the line for him, and his age and temperament, Aemond expected him to at least try to take her on.

He could never have guessed how little effort it took to make a coward give up the fight as well as his pride.

“Consider yourself banished.” Arya said softly. She then took time to reshelve the book she had been holding before adding, “Run home to Greenstone, Lord Estermont. While you still can.”

When she turned to leave Aemond jerked his head back as quick as he could and prayed, he hadn’t been caught eavesdropping. He darted around the stacks and crouched down low and hopefully out of sight of Arya as she took her leave.

He dared not look to see if he had been spotted as Arya paused to warn, “Choose to defy me, and I promise, you will not survive the consequences.”

As she walked away, she called out without looking back, “And put all those fucking books back, or next time I won’t just give your cock a little cut, I’ll cut it off.”

Aemond puzzled on what she meant by that while Leon slowly reshelved all the books he had knocked over. When he was finished the task, Aemond watched as he hobbled out, his hand still held protectively over his genitals. Only when he left the darkest part of the room and stepped into the light was Aemond able to see the truth.

He thought Arya kicked him in the balls earlier, or something similar, but the blood-soaked pants and pained expression on Leon’s face told a different story. Aemond gaped in amazement as he realized not only had he missed her pulling out the blade and wielding it, he hadn’t seen her re-sheath it either. And she had been wearing a sleeveless dress!

He would have to find a clever way to ask how she did it, without letting on he had been spying on her again.
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A few days later, as they were leaving breakfast Arya looped her arm in his and whispered in his ear, “I’m kidnapping you today.”

“What?” He said but he didn’t protest as she forced him to go down the opposite hallway than he intended.

“No questions.” She said with a grin, “It’s a surprise.”

His stomach fluttered even as he weakly protested, “I have training, and we have lessons and--”

“And I want to spend the day with you.” She made them stop and made a point of looking him in the eye. “Just you and me.”

He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry. He couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t come. It was everything he wanted, to have her all to himself. No distractions, just them.

Apparently, she interrupted his silence as hesitation and began trying to sell him on the idea by saying, “Look, of course you don’t have to come with me, but, I know your name day is fast approaching and I had planned to do something extraordinary for it, but those plans have gone to shit, and,” She squeezed the arm that was still looped through her own, “I want to give you something special, something that’s just for you.”

“What?” He managed to croak out.

The ends of her lips curled up in a wicked little grin, “An experience.”

“Yes.” He nodded finally finding his voice again, “Whatever it is, the answer is yes.”

She grinned wider. “Come on, Drogon’s waiting.”

He was very confused when she led him towards the White Sword Tower, but he kept his questions to himself. Usually, he wasn’t a fan of walking blindly into the unknown, but with Arya on his arm guiding him through it felt like the beginnings of an adventure, opposed to taking an unnecessary risk.

The White Sword Tower was a slender building located on the side of the bay of the Blackwater, built into an angle of the castle wall. As they approached, he realized why she was leading him to it. Drogon was perched on the wall that was built around the whole of the Keep, and butted up against the White Sword Tower.

They got many strange looks from the Gold Cloaks they passed, but when one of the Cargyll’s called out asking what they were doing, Arya merely dropped his arm and grabbed his hand, giggling she began to run. “Come on!”

“Wait!” The knight called as he made chase.

“Faster!” Arya urged as she navigated building like she had run through these halls all her life.

He wasn’t used to running like this, but he didn’t want to ruin the fun by showing his weakness. His lungs burned as he tried to keep pace, until finally, they made it to a door that led to the wall where her dragon was waiting for them.

As Arya greeted Drogon, Aemond allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. Hands on his knees he focused on his breathing, slowly inhaling through his nose and slowly exhaling through his mouth.

“Are you alright?”

He felt his face grow hot at the inquiry. “Fine.”

“You should ask Cole to help you build up endurance.” It was criticism, but he didn’t feel the sting. Her face was kind as she said, “You never know when running is the only thing that will save your life.”

He took note of the way she briefly put a hand over her stomach. The memory of her scarred flesh flashed in his mind and he wanted to ask if that was how she survived when she was stabbed, but asking Arya about her past was often tricky. Most of the time she was so open and easy to talk to, but with her memory problems, asking about her past led to awkward silences and abrupt departures.

“Come on,” She held out her hand to him, “Let’s fly.”
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Drogon took them to the Kingswood and settled down to rest at the edge of a lake. It was lightly raining, a fact Arya lamented with a pout, but it did nothing to dampen Aemond’s spirits. From the little she’d said, it sounded like this was going to be a nearly perfect day.

Afterall, he started his morning flying with Arya, which was already more fun than he’d had in ages. And on the other side of the lake, he could see his Lady Vhagar snoozing just beyond the tree line, he imagined that after Arya gave him his present, they could fly their dragons together. He knew she and Aegon had flown together, and she and Daemon, but he had yet to have the chance.

Normally, it was a bit of a chore to reach Vhagar to go riding, and he didn’t get to do it as often as he liked. Vhagar was very large and didn’t like staying in the Dragon Pit or really anywhere in the city, so she usually rested just outside of King’s Landing. Which meant he had to ride a horse or take a carriage across the entire city every time he wanted to ride his dragon.

He looked over at Arya who was untying knots that held bags attached to a metal ring on Drogon’s saddle. His eye roved over her ferocious looking dragon, admiring the creatures coloring and strong build.

Aemond didn’t know how she controlled and communicated so effortlessly with her dragon, but he was desperate to learn her secret. What she could do was remarkable, by all standards and records.

Uncle Daemon and he had discussed it once, during a Valyrian lesson that was attended by just the three of them, where Arya had once again fallen asleep to the sound of her ‘father’s’ soothing voice. They had quietly agreed that Arya would probably go down in history as the greatest dragon rider to ever live. There was simply was no comparison. Silently he wondered if she was so advanced that she could give Drogon a delayed command like ‘come meet me in an hour at this location’ or if she had called her dragon to the White Sword Tower using some other means. Like magic. Or a whistle. Or ancient magic whistle. He smiled lightly, amused by his own musings.

What she said back at Lady Laena’s funeral came to mind and he suddenly snickered. It occurred to him that she might have been telling the truth or at least a joking variation of it, when she claimed to have been hatched from the same egg as Drogon and was herself in fact a malformed wingless human dragon hybrid. It seemed unlikely, but the connection between Arya and Drogon was for lack of a better word, magical, so, maybe?

If that was so, he would be disappointed as it meant any effort to learn her dragon training secrets would all be for naught. He hadn’t laughed at her joke during the funeral, but he did now.

Arya smiled at him as she slid down the side of her dragon, two large bags in hand, “And what are you chuckling about, handsome?”

“The first time I met you.” He answered easily, ignoring the casual compliment and instead picturing her covered in mud and promising revenge on Daemon.

She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak right away. She exhaled and sort of huffed into a smile. His own grin remained in place as she made her approach. There was a softness in her eyes when she finally said, “I’m glad.”

She dropped the bags on the floor and pulled him into a hug. “I don’t think you smile enough.” He was surprised, but did not pass up the chance to hold her close and be held in return. Lightly she pet his hair saying, “I’m so happy I made you the priority for today, I think I might need this as much as you do.”

As they parted, he fished for more information asking, “Need what exactly?”

“Nice try.” She grabbed up one bag from the floor and shoved it into his hands. She hefted the other one on to her own shoulder. “You can snoop in that, see what goodies I brought for us to eat later, or you can explore while I set up your surprise.”

He frowned down at the pack; he didn’t want to be separated from her for a single minute. She had promised him the whole day, just her and him. “Couldn’t I help you instead?”

She kissed him on the cheek, before lightly slapping it, “No.”

Amused by her playful response, he exhaled through his nose and set the pack down by his feet as Arya moved away. He looked out at the calm lake and then up at the sky. It had stopped raining and he could see some sunshine was starting to peek out from behind the clouds. Perfect.

He took a deep breath in, savoring the smell of the rain, the earth, and the fresh air. Silently he complimented Drogon, or was it Arya’s choice, in location. It was an exquisite space. Filled with a natural kind of beauty that was hard to come by where they lived. And while he wasn’t looking forward to sitting in the dirt or on a rock or whatever, he appreciated what the woods had to offer. He turned back to find Arya.

His eyebrows rose in concern and surprise as saw that she had climbed a very tall tree while he was distracted and now wore different clothes. She sat on a strong looking branch that extended out over the water, attaching what looked like long stripes of red fabric to the tree. Her new outfit covered her somewhat modestly, but one arm and one leg were left completely exposed. And the whole thing looked skin tight. He quickly deduced it was not a change done for vanity’s sake, but practicality. And now he was more curious than ever.

“What are you doing?” He wondered if she was trying to make a rope swing and found his eyes drifting over to the water wondering how cold it was.

“I had planned on doing a dragon show for your name day present, but then Daemon mentioned something about our one-year anniversary to Viserys, and apparently, he was already planning on throwing a feast in our honor and inviting all these nobles and now it’s probably going to—I’m rambling, but, the point is, I was going to do something special for your name day, but now that it’s going to be this big production with your name just tacked on next to mine and Daemons…I just wanted to do something for you Aemond, just you. Because your life deserves to be celebrated.”

He blinked rapidly and prayed she couldn’t see the water glistening in his eyes. He had heard nothing of any plans for an elaborate name day celebration, but given what she just said, it was no wonder. He imagined she was being as tactful as she could, but he could read between the lines. Viserys wanted to celebrate Arya and Daemon, and his father was probably reminded it was also his name day, and so his name would be attached to the event, but it wouldn’t really be about him. He was an afterthought.

His father didn’t love him. The thought was not a revelation, but it hurt to be reminded of the fact, even indirectly.

He pushed down his feelings and focused on Arya. “So, what are you doing in the tree?” She stared at him with a thoughtful look on her face, probably judging his emotional state. He didn’t want to be pitied, so he tried to channel his brother. He raised his brow and quirked his lips to the side in a smirk, “Are we decorating the forest? Or do those strips of fabric have a purpose?”

Her smile seemed strained, which was worrying. Quickly she ducked her head down looking at what she had been doing before. She pulled at the fabric, checking her knots as she said, “I wanted to try out and show off some tricks for you.” When she finally looked up again, meeting his eyes with her own, mirth danced in them and he felt relieved. A baiting tone colored her voice as she bantered, “And if you’re feeling brave later, I might even teach you some.”

Warmth filled his chest. Arya was here for him. Today had been planned out thoughtfully, for him. Her affection was a balm to his wounded spirit that he didn’t know he needed. Emotion swelled, threatening to make him cry once more, this time out of joy.

He held back, not wanting to look weak. Instead, he quipped, trying to sound as confident as Uncle Daemon, “Good thing, I’m well known for my bravery.”

“I know.” She agreed with a toothy grin.
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Arya was magic. The amount of artistry she was able to display with some strips of fabric, her body, and nerves of steel, simply had no other explanation.

For an hour or so, she flipped upside down, twisted, untwisted, hung limply from one appendage, swung from a makeshift seat, wrapped her body up in these intricate patterns only to let go and roll down the rope and catch herself at the last second. It was a spectacular spectacle; the likes of which he had never seen.

And it was all the more special because she was preforming for an audience of one. The things she did were difficult and awe inspiring and obviously took so much effort and skill, and to know she was doing it all for his benefit? He could not adequately put into words how it made him feel.

No one had ever done anything like this for him and what’s more, he was certain she had never done this for Aegon. Which might be a petty thought, but did make the experience that much sweeter.

After she had cycled through all the tricks she felt confident in, she started ‘work shopping’ new ones. It was fascinating to watch her drop the unflappable mask of ‘performer’ and let it show on her face just how hard all of these feats really were to accomplish.

As she grunted in frustration, having tied a knot wrong, or cried out when she unexpectedly fell into the water, a little bit of the illusion of perfection wore off. But he didn’t mind. Before, when she was acting like everything was easy, he thought it was all due to natural talent. But seeing her struggle? It just made everything she could that much more impressive to him.

After she hit the water for the seventh time, he realized she wasn’t magic, she was a kindred spirit. She knew the value of dedication. She put in the work. She practiced. She tried harder when she failed. Everything she had, all the skills and the tricks, she made them from scratch. One day at a time.

He thought his love and affection and respect for Arya had already reached its zenith, but he was wrong. Inspired by her perseverance, when she offered to teach him some moves, he accepted.

It was long before he learned just how cold the lake was. Not that he cared.

They spent hours in the tree trying to teach him her acrobatic tricks, laughing and failing and having fun. But by late afternoon, he was feeling tired and hungry, as was she. So, they sat by the lake, Drogon’s warmth at their backs, eating the picnic Arya had packed, watching the sunset. The day of innocent fun was something he would treasure for the rest of his life.

“This was really nice.” Arya said softly. Her head rested gently on his shoulder, but her eyes remained fixed on the sky and its shifting hues of orange, pink, and purple.

It had been the most fun he ever had.

“Yeah.” He agreed just as softly. It was so peaceful and quiet, the only sounds being Drogon’s even breathing and the chirping of various bugs. Secretly he wanted to wrap his arm around Arya’s shoulders and pull her into his side, like he’d seen Daemon do during their lessons, but it was such a perfect moment, he feared ruining it by moving and possibly embarrassing himself.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, how sore am I going to be tomorrow?” When she laughed at his joke, pride bloomed within him.

“Um, eleven?”

Feeling brave, he let his head rest gently against hers and he let his eye drift to the sky as well. “And how long until I’ll be able to do that—what did you call it the…scorpion move?”

“I guess that depends on how willing you are to get kidnapped again.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she teased, “Practice makes perfect, you know.”

“Maybe next time it will be I who is kidnapping you?”

He smirked, pleased by her response as she giggled, “Deal.”

As they lapsed into silence the memory of Arya and Aegon up against the wall flashed in his mind, almost ruining his good mood. All day long she had been scantily clad and wet and showing off her body and touching him, and yet, his thoughts had remained pure.

At most he had passing thoughts of wanting to hold her hand. Brush the hair out of her eyes. Pick her up and spin her around. Kiss her on the cheek. Hold her close.

He was certain that this sense of contentment they were sharing was more valuable than whatever fleeting physical pleasure Aegon could provide. Because really, he thought meanly, could Aegon have given her a day like this? A day, she admitted to needing just as much as he? Was Aegon her friend? Did he love her? Appreciate her? Respect her? No.

But Aemond did. And it was only a matter of a few years’ time before was able to satisfy all her needs, physical and emotional. Filled with righteousness he pulled his head off Arya’s and nudged her with his shoulder.

“What?” She said sleepily.

His stomach flip flopped like he was trying one of Arya’s inverted moves. Because the threat of falling is scary, but so is being emotionally vulnerable. His words came out in a rush, but he didn’t stutter, “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

She smiled, like he knew she would, with sparking eyes and genuine affection. She knew the risk he took in being so honest and she clearly appreciated the effort.

“Aemond.” She said his name the same way people said ‘aww’ when presented with an adorable puppy. It wasn’t exactly the reaction he wanted. He had hoped she would reciprocate and declare him her best friend too. But he felt like pushing the issue would be, gouache.

When she leaned in to kiss his cheek, he knew this was his chance to do…something. He didn’t really think, he just shifted his face at the last second and their lips met.

The contact was so brief, he doubted it even counted as a real kiss, but he didn’t mind. Because it was with Arya, so by default it was the perfect first kiss.

Obviously, she pulled back first, her eyes wide and her jaw dropped open in shock. He braced himself for whatever scolding was coming his way. But she just stared at him, seemingly lost for words.

He tried not to wince, he didn’t want to be thought of as a joke, his affection for her was real and confusing, but--- her open mouth was pulling up at the corners until she was wearing a wide gaping smile.

“You little shit!”

“I’m sorry?” He said with a shrug, because he wasn’t really sorry and they both knew it.

She slapped him on the arm and screeched, “I can’t believe you! You—you’re ten! TEN!”

“I know.” He said, not doing much to defend himself. She cackled, throwing her head back, and squeezing his arm all at the same time. He relaxed minutely, but he shouldn’t have, because a second later Arya shoved him hard and he toppled over into the dirt. He muttered flatly, “Uncalled for.”

When he tried to get up, she pushed him down, climbing on top of him effectively pinning him in place. Smiling down at him menacingly she chastised, “It’s not nice to steal kisses, Aemond. They’re meant to be given.”

Abandoning all fear, he quipped, “Okay, next time I’ll ask.”

“Next time?” She repeated looking both aghast and amused.

It was a surprise when she attacked him. So, it took him a few seconds to react when she began mussing his hair and throwing grass in his face.

“Ahh! Stop.” He turned his head and spit out the grass that had made its way in his mouth and tried to push her off, but her thighs were as strong as steel.

“Never thief!” Arya declared as she stole his hair tie and rubbed a handful of dirt into his locks. He had never experienced this before, this playful aggression, Aegon always took things too far and Heleana barely tolerated being touched. Getting into the spirit, he grasped at the ground and began throwing his own clumps of dirt and grass. “Ah!”

They ended up filthy and calling it a draw after ten minutes or so.

Side by side they laid in the dirt, panting and looking up at the star filled sky. Night had fallen while they weren’t looking and now there was a chill in the air, but it wasn’t too bad.

“Arya?”

“Yes?”

“Will you give me a real kiss?” He wasn’t sure if she would or not. But he knew if she refused, it wouldn’t be for lack of affection and that made him brave. Or stupid. It was getting a little hard to tell the difference between the two.

“…maybe next year.” He let out a chuckle, secretly pleased it wasn’t a ‘no’. And thought on the bright side, next year he would be almost ten and two, which would probably make the experience more palatable for both of them.

“Aemond?” He turned to look at her face and she did the same.

“Yes?”

“Can I give you some advice?”

“Of course.”

There was the familiar touch of sorrow in her eyes now. It had been banished for most of the day, and he lamented it’s return. “Stay a child as long as you can.” She sounded so much older than she looked, “Trust me, it all just gets worse.”

He couldn’t make her that promise, he wanted to grow up as fast as he could so he could be her equal and not this little kid who she felt protective over. Deep down inside him there must be a little bit of Daemon Targaryen, because what came out of his mouth next was, “Everyday I spend with you, my life gets better and better.”

She laughed, but kept her mouth closed so it was muffled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re beautiful.” His face hurt with how wide he was smiling, he didn’t know where this confident banter was coming from, but he’d made Arya blush! He felt so proud.

“You’re ten!” She shouted covering up her face, “You need to stop!”
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Nobody really cared or commented on the way Leon Estermont suddenly disappeared from court. And Arya never mentioned catching him spying so he was pretty sure he got away with it. After their little excursion in the woods, his relationship with Arya was so much stronger, but he still couldn’t break his habit of spying on her, so he was leery of asking any follow up questions.

While walking past the council room on his way to the kitchens he unexpectedly saw Arya yet again. He had a passing thought of admiration for the sleek look of her pretty blue dress, before he was distracted by what was on her face.

She was standing outside the council room doors, with a wide goofy smile, giving two thumbs up to the people inside the room. She looked adorably ridiculous, and stood comically frozen in place until the doors were closed on her.

He called out as she relaxed, “And who was that performance for?”

She perked up and smiled, “Hey handsome. You looking for me?”

He hoped his face didn’t flush at the compliment as he drew closer to her and answered, “I’m just passing through.” When she was in arms reach, he gently poked her in the ribs, “So, who were you trying to encourage in there?”

“What?”

He mimicked her pose from earlier, knowing he looked just as ridiculous as she had with his thumbs up and a foolish smile on his face, but not minding one bit as Arya laughed and covered her face with her hands. “Is that what I just looked like?”

He let his hands drop to his sides, “Pretty much.”

“Well, I won’t do that again.” She said self-deprecatingly. Aemond smiled genuinely as he realized she was faintly blushing.

“It was cute.” He said boldly.

Her eyes darted to his, widening a little before she looked back to the door. Clearing her throat, she folded her arms across her chest, “Daemon’s making a proposal to the council today. I just, want it to go well for him.”

Internally he scoffed, that was a lie. If Daemon was making a proposal today and Arya was waiting outside the doors, it was all her idea and not his. His uncle was just her means of distributing the idea to the council. “I’m sure Uncle Daemon appreciates the support.”

“Yeah.” She said distractedly, her eyes still locked on the door.

“Do you want company?” Her eyes slowly turned back to him, he gestured to the door with a nod of his head, “Waiting, I mean.”

“No.” She answered quickly, “You go on, I don’t want to disrupt your schedule for the day.”

“I don’t mind.” He didn’t want to leave her company.

Her smile was strained as she put her hands on his shoulders and bent down a little so they were eye to eye, “Aemond, can you handle it if I tell you the truth?”

He nodded quickly, knowing he wouldn’t like whatever she was about to say next, but not wanting to look like a weak child who needed to be coddled. “Of course.”

“All I really want right now is to pace in front of these doors until they open again. And I want to do it alone.”

It wasn’t a crushing rejection that wounded his very soul, but it did sting a little. “That’s fine.” He took a step back and let her hands fall off his shoulders, “I’ll see you later?”

“Yes.” She said with a nod, “I promise.”
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---------------------------------------!------------------------------------------

Drogon perched on the wall / White Sword Tower

Acrobatic Arya

Aeriel Skills

Arya’s Demure Outfit * Imagine the Targaryen clasp in place of the Channel one

I’m having a hard time visualizing the Red Keep and therefore writing about where people are in the castle/what they can see from that vantage point/how long it takes to go from place to place. I can’t find a comprehensive picture that is labeled (which is what I really want)

Aemond/Arya Lakeside Sunset Picnic

Practicing new tricks

As you all know I use/make visual aids when writing and I would love a picture of the RED KEEP either from the TV SHOW or and Artist rendering of the castle LABELED !!!! It would be sooooooooooo helpful.

So, if you know of a picture like this, I would be grateful if you could link it or share it in the comments, thank you!!!

Anyway, I found a bunch of website on the Red Keep, which were helpful and kind of interesting but not really what I needed. So, here in the notes, I will also add a few websites/articles and map pictures that I’ve been using as reference if you are all interested. Also, I am doing this here to keep a record for myself in case I’m lazy in the future and don’t feel like looking it all up again.
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https://maisiestyle. /post/166672747540/arya-stark-motherhood-this-clear-parallel
https://westeroscraft.com/locations/crownlands/red-keep/
https://www.wanderingredhead.com/travel-guide-to-westeros/
https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Red_Keep
https://joannalannister. /post/32514481312/map-of-the-red-keep
https://joannalannister. /post/159383672301/gameofthrones-fanart-magnificent-motorized-lego
https://joannalannister. /post/76254963547/wicnet-one-of-the-3d-modelers-of-the-red-keep
https://joannalannister. /post/50980523780/dragon-skulls-by-julian-caldow-slowly-the-shapes
https://joannalannister. /post/32515128229/map-of-the-red-keep-shamelessly-taken-from

Chapter Text

Chapter 27

~Aemond Part 2~

He was annoyed when his Valyrian lessons were canceled without warning, but when he was informed training with Ser Cole was also canceled, he became suspicious. Of course, no one thought to tell him what was going on and he couldn’t find Arya anywhere. She always knew the latest gossip and never treated him like a child, unworthy of knowing such things. And as he had seen her outside the small council chamber earlier that morning, it was a good bet she knew exactly what was going on.

He slipped away from his minders and skulked around, listening in on as many conversations as he could undetected until he discovered what brought about such an abrupt change to his usually predictable schedule. Apparently, Uncle Daemon was to lead the Gold Cloaks in a raid in the city. And Arya was going with him.

As soon as he learned this, he made a beeline for his brother. He had a feeling Arya would try to recruit Aegon into joining whatever cause she was championing, and he couldn’t wait to see her look of disappointment.

As soon as he and his brother had learned training and lessons were canceled, Aegon retreated to his room with a few bottles and his cronies to ‘celebrate’ his free lazy afternoon. He was surprised when Aegon didn’t immediately plan to track down Arya and said as much. His brother claimed Arya was usually the one to seek him out when she wanted attention during the day, not the other way around, then Aegon had pushed him to the ground and mockingly waved goodbye. As he was trailing after Aegon, somewhat kindly Martyn Reyne revealed, Arya had forbidden Aegon from distracting her from her ‘work’ while the sun was up. Hence the day drinking.

Unfortunately, Aemond arrived just as Arya was leaving Aegon’s rooms. He silently cheered that his hunch had been right and pouted about missing the drunken confrontation. When she spotted him Arya’s face brightened. “Hey handsome.”

She and mother were the only ones who were always happy to see him. A warm feeling spread throughout his body as he returned her smile.

“How deep in his cups is he?” He asked, chuckling when Arya’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“He can barely stand.”

Aemond scoffed, “Well, he started drinking at noon and it’s almost evening now, so I’m not surprised.”

Arya rolled her eyes, “Oh well, his loss.”

He moved to her side as she slowly started walking down the hall, “Loss?” He inquired lightly, “Were you going to invite him somewhere?”

She bumped her hip into his gently, “What makes you say that?”

He looped her arm through his. “Educated guess.”

She laughed mockingly, “Is that what you Royals call eavesdropping?”

He turned his head away to hide his confirming smile. “Will you tell me what’s happening?”

Arya looked around at the corridor, it wasn’t bustling but they weren’t alone. Giggling, she grabbed his hand and began pulling him down the hall. Obediently he followed her down a flight of stairs, along three more hallways, into the library, and then finally into the secluded alcove that housed their favorite window seat. They had spent many an afternoon reading and basking in the sunshine together. Secretly he though of it as ‘their’ special place since they were the only ones he had ever seen use it.

Arya playfully bullied him into his usual seat and plopped down ungracefully into hers.

“So?” He prompted.

She picked up his wrist and ran her fingers along the embroidery at his cuff. Helena had done it for him without asking. Thorny vines of green thread circled the fabric, there was a nearly hidden in black thread beetle on the side and a single drop of blood red fabric between thorn and bug. He hoped Arya didn’t find it childish.

“Daemon is taking the Gold Cloaks into the city. There is going to be a raid in Flea Bottom tonight.”

He bumped his shoulder into hers, “I know that already.” She laced their hands together; it was her scarred one. He could only pray he wasn’t blushing.

“I’m going with them.” She announced with a grin.

He gave her hand a squeeze, “I know that too.”

She barked a laugh, “Well aren’t you the well-informed sneak.”

He smiled, unsure what to say next. Arya leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “It’s all because of me. I found a place that forces enslaved children to fight for sport.” When she pulled away, he saw that she now wore the evilest little grin. “I will see to it that the God of Death will collect many names tonight.”

He forced a smile to his lips, because she was smiling at him, but it wasn’t born of true emotion. He could see she was excited about serving justice, but he couldn’t help but think that saving a handful of dirty children was beneath her. She was meant for greatness, not fighting unnecessary battles in the smelliest part of the city. A mix of emotion flickered across her face, like she could tell exactly what he was thinking, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“And their letting you join the raid? Officially sanctioned?” He asked, hoping to distract her from reading his face like a book, “Or are you to act a sneak yourself and join in secret so you may prove yourself in battle?”

He thought Arya was amazing and could do almost anything, but he doubted his grandfather or the King were of the same opinion. Uncle Daemon, however, he could definitely see Daemon allowing his ‘daughter’ to join the fight, especially if he was to be going along too.

She pinched his side playfully, “You doubt my prowess as a warrior?”

“No!” He squealed as she began tickling him. He lurched away from her but could not evade her touch entirely. Not that he wanted to. He pressed against the wall but did not run away. He did not retaliate. He just let her touch him joyfully. It was only these small moments stolen with Arya that Aemond truly felt his age.

“You doubt my powers of persuasion?” She continued her assault but he did little more than squirm in place, her willing captive.

“No!”

She pushed him off the bench and onto the floor. He yelped but did not resist as she descended upon him like a wild animal. Her tickling became more aggressive and effective, making him laugh out loud.

After a few precious minutes, when his stomach ached from laughing too hard, and tears snuck out the corner of his eyes, he could take no more. He begged in a gasping voice, “Mercy! Mercy! I yield Arya, I yield!”

He thanked the gods she stopped before he truly embarrassed himself. Grinning like mad she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, boasting, “Only a fool would underestimate me, yes?”

“Yes.” He said, breathlessly, basking in the moment. Arya was breathing heavy as well, her hair a little disheveled, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes were for him, and only him, and they were laughing. Being her sole focus was like having the sun shine on you after an endless winter. Growing up, he had never experienced this kind of ‘play’ with his own siblings or his cousins before they fled to Dragonstone. There was a bitter pang in his heart now that he was experiencing the affection he had long since been deprived of, before Arya arrived and changed everything.

He had a suspicion that whoever Arya really was, she came from a big loving family, with lots of brothers. He made a mental note to share his thoughts on the subject with Uncle Daemon at a later date.

When she got to her feet and offered him her scarred hand, he couldn’t help but smirk. He was endlessly pleased that he had left a permanent mark on her body. However, within the same heartbeat he thought of his own marked face and frowned. He touched a hand to his bandaged face, the Maester said he could be fit with an eye patch soon. He was eager to no longer look the part of a victim.

“You are no fool, yes?” Arya said, bringing him back to the moment.

“What?” He answered reflexively before correcting himself, “I mean, no…Yes. I am not a fool.” He took her hand, not needing the help to get up, but living for the physical contact on offer.

Shrewdly he deduced her intentions at Aegon’s door earlier. He could not keep the skeptic tone from coloring his words. “You wanted to invite Aegon to join the raid?”

She huffed as they both settled back into the pillowed bench seat. “I thought a little bit of heroism would do him some good.”

He chuckled, “I’m sure it would. But…he’s Aegon.” His brother was so unworthy of Arya and her attentions it was almost comical how unbalanced the relationship was. “Obviously, he’s not up to the task.”

“No, not today.” Arya sighed. She looked out the window, wistfully.

“Just today?” He quipped.

Arya snorted, looking down at her dress and straightening it out a bit. Making her laugh was harder for him than his brother, Aegon made her laugh all the time, and every time he did Aemond burned with resentment. And he hated, hating Aegon for things he couldn’t change. Like being born first, charming Arya, making friends easily…being fucking taller. He knew it made him petty, but day by day, his hatred and resentment for his brother grew.

Where Aegon used to mock him for being dragon-less, he now tormented him over his ugly face and interest in Arya. Just the other day he was put in a headlock so his brother could meanly whisper in his ear the details of the couple’s latest tryst. The sounds she made, the way she felt, the things she said. Then his brother licked his finger and stuck it in his ear! Aegon was disgusting on so many levels.

He had hoped things with his brother would improve after Arya banished Leon, but it would seem, Aegon was a vile little fuck all on his own. At least when it came to Aemond. Still, he was not deterred, he would persist in stealing as much time with Arya as he could, and damn the consequences. After all, he wouldn’t always be ten years old. In fact, he was nearly eleven now, and despite his young age he was ten times the man Aegon was. His body just needed time to catch up and prove it, then he could put a stop to Aegon and his cruelty.

These were the thoughts he clung to as he secretly endured his brother’s daily harassment. He straightened up as an idea struck, there was something he could do right now to show Aegon up. “Could I join you on the raid?”

She looked surprised, but quickly the expression melted into a wide-open smile. “You want to?”

I want you he thought but didn’t say. Visions of Aegon plagued his mind curbing his teasing tongue. So, he just nodded, this was a chance he couldn’t pass up. If he could prove his worth to Arya as a warrior, maybe she would see what a useless fuck Aegon was and stop choosing to spend time with him. “Yes. I want to join you.”
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No one would let him join the raid. His mother was against it as he knew she would be, but also his grandfather, Uncle Daemon, Ser Criston Cole, he didn’t even bother trying to go to his father to overrule them all. No one trusted him. No one believed in him.

Except her.

Once again, the only one on his side was Arya. She vouched for him and his skills and maturity, but her words fell on deaf ears. She tried to convince them that he would accompany them in a supportive role only. She said he could help shepherd the rescued children to safety and promised he would not engage in any battle. She vowed to protect him with her life. And after some prompting, Uncle Daemon swore the same. But even with these concessions, his petition was denied.

Dejected, he followed Arya to her room as she had to start getting ready. She allowed him to stay, even as she disappeared behind a screen to change her clothes. He moped by the fireplace until she reappeared.

He was forced to just watch as she strapped so many weapons on her person, some so well hidden he wouldn’t have known they were there if he hadn’t seen her cleverly conceal them. And when Uncle Daemon came in to braid her hair for battle, he just sort of hovered morosely.

Just as he tied off Arya’s last braid, Daemon exclaimed, “Ugh!” Confused, Aemond looked to his uncle, only to find Daemon’s eyes fixed on him. “Nephew, if you’re going to keeping acting like such a sad sack, you might as well sneak out of the castle and join us, and damn what mommy says.”

“What?!” He said at the same time Arya gasped uncle’s name, “Daemon!”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “I beg your pardon, Uncle?”

Daemon smirked at him, then gestured to the window, “Despite what propaganda would have you believe, the Keep is not an impregnable nor inescapable fortress.”

Daemon then grabbed his ‘daughter’ by the bicep to guide her up and out of the vanity chair only for Arya to punch him lightly in his armored chest, “Daemon don’t be stupid.”

Uncle put a hand on Arya’s lower back and gave her a little push towards the door, “If he has the brains and balls and grit, he’ll find a way, with or without encouragement. I’m merely giving voice to what he was probably already thinking.”

“Or he was just a tad disappointed and now you’ve gone and given him ideas!” Arya dug in her heels, not allowing herself to be bullied out the door. “He’s just a child, it’s cruel to tease him like this. Apologize.”

Her words were like a knife to the chest. Quickly he pushed down the pain and let his thoughts run through the possible ‘how’s’. How could he escape without being seen? How could he join the raid without being discovered and side lined? How could Arya ever think of him as her equal if she thought him a child? Quietly he mumbled, “There’s the secret passage ways.”

Daemon’s eyes brightened, “Ah, so you’ve discovered them already?”

Aemond had found one when he was younger and learned about their construction by Maegor, but from what he’d seen they were harder than a labyrinth to navigate. He had yet to fully explore them, let alone map them out.

Arya glared at him, “Don’t even think about it Aemond. The tunnels are vast and you will get lost.”

“You don’t know that.” His Uncle said the words but they were his own thoughts.

“You don’t not know that!” Arya argued, crossing her arms.

Daemon shrugged, “We’ve agreed he is the smartest of the three, I’m sure the Cyclops will be able to navigate them just fine…that is if he’s truly determined to join our little adventure?”

“I am.” He said quickly, but his words were drowned out by Arya shrieking, “Shut up!”

She grabbed for Aemond and pulled him towards the window and away from Daemon, “Listen Aemond, I know how you feel, but I don’t think this is a good idea. I promise next time, you can join us. I—don’t listen to Daemon he’s just being an asshole.”

He looked to his uncle and to be sure he wore a shit eating grin. Aemond had been childishly goaded by Aegon enough to know, Daemon’s encouragement was probably meant to taunt and tease him, not provide him with true motivation. “Asshole he may be, but the idea has merit.”

“No.” Arya said sternly, “You can’t--”

He had to clench his hands into fists, because if not he might have shoved Arya away from him. Disgust and despair warred within him, “Arya, weren’t you the one advocating for my inclusion? Were you—was it a farce? Did you only say those things because you knew our request would be denied and you wanted to get on my good side?”

She inhaled loudly and exhaled slowly. Thinking before she responded, either because what came next was going to be bullshit, or…she was actually worried about him. “Aemond, even Dameon hasn’t mapped out the tunnels completely and this was his home far longer than either of us.” She gripped his shoulders and turned him slightly so she could look straight into his eye, “I believe in you, I do, but this is not a good plan. Joining the raid under our supervision is a very different scenario than going into the city on your own and hoping for the best. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”

Dameon began to laugh mockingly. He bristled, pushing Arya’s hands off his shoulders. “You are not my mother. And I am not a child!” He stomped his foot, and pointed at her accusingly, “I’m coming and you can’t stop me!”

Daemon’s laughter grew louder. Arya glared at her ‘father’. “Why must you be such a shit?”

Daemon ignored the insult, but finally his laughter died down as he mimed wiping away a tear. “There’s a simple solution you know.” Neither he nor Arya spoke to prompt him further. After a few empty seconds he continued, “You should take him through the tunnels yourself and meet up with us in the city, together, like a team.”

“No!” Arya shouted at the same time he joyfully exclaimed, “Yes!”

Betrayed he gaped at his ‘cousin’, “Why not?”

“Yeah Arya,” Daemon needled, “Why not?”

Flatly Arya responded, “I take it all back Daemon, you are evil and I fucking hate you.”
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There was no denying it, he was slowing Arya down.

First, when they were going through the tunnels, they got lost once because he got distracted and went down the wrong passage and she had to double back to retrieve him. And now that they were actually navigating the city, he just couldn’t keep up. And what’s worse he could tell Arya was getting frustrated with him. Even using a far slower speed than she was truly capable of, he was just barely managing to keep pace.

There were many factors that were hindering his performance. One was his preoccupation with being recognized. With his hood pulled low, his bandaged face, and awkward gait, he was sure he got more second glances than Arya as she confidently wove through crowds of people with ease and did it all unnoticed.

Another thing slowing him down, was trying to avoid contact with the small folk that milled about everywhere. He wanted to shout at them to get out of his way and go back into their hovels, but refrained.

Still, every time his shoulder was innocently bumped into, he flinched and flailed in an effort to avoid further contact. He had never walked such crowded streets in his life. And frankly, the smell was just too pungent to ignore. He tried to walk around while covering his nose, but Arya smacked his hand down, chastising how it made him stand out as an obvious high born. “All we need is for you to get fucking kidnapped and held for ransom. I don’t think even I could talk my way out of that kind of trouble.”

He briefly wondered if she meant out of trouble with said kidnappers or with the fallout of such a debacle?

Halfway to their destination, he began to truly slow them down, just for the pain his feet were in. And his lungs. They were burning. Really, it felt like they had been walking for hours and Arya kept pushing him to move faster, so he dared not complain, but he could not conceal his labored breathing and slowing gait.

“You really need to work on building up your endurance.” Arya commented with a look of disappointment. “I didn’t realize how lacking your training has been.”

Shame burned in his heart. He clenched his teeth and pushed his body move faster.
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When they finally reached their destination, he leaned against a wall and tried to catch his breath. He wanted a drink of water desperately, but he was proud he had made the trek without complaining. Despite all the little hiccups along the way, he was certain Aegon could not have done it any better.

Almost immediately Arya grew distressed. People were fleeing the building they were here to shut down and the two Gold Cloaks stationed at the entrance were just letting them escape.

“What are you doing?” She shrilly demanded, a beat later she added, “And where are the rest of the men?”

The taller of the two Knight’s eyes widened, “Princess Arya, I thought you stayed behind.”

A portly man made to escape the building by running past them but Arya tripped him and stabbed him through the neck with her thin little sword so quick, her actions were almost a blur. She pointed her bloody sword at the taller of the two Knights. “You. What’s your name?”

The Knight she addressed first was tall, taller than Uncle Daemon even, but he had a younger inexperienced look, with pale skin and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “S-s-ser Ronard Hollard, Princes-s-s.”

Arya addressed the other one with the point of her sword. The shorter of the two knights looked older, perhaps of age with his father, and he had a mustache that must have been styled with wax of some kind for how pointed and curly he got it. “Ser Myle Wendwater, Princess.”

“Ser Hollard, Ser Wendwater, you were ordered to kill them all, why are you letting the condemned escape? And I ask again, where are the rest of the men? I assume Daemon is inside but he was supposed to only take twelve with him. The King gave us two dozen men, more were supposed to be stationed outside the entrances so none would escape justice.”

She looked to the tall Ser Hollard for her answers. The knight looked afraid to answer, “Um.”

His friend, Ser Wendwater was either braver or stupider, for he stepped in to say, “Before we left the Keep, some men were told to stay back at the castle and our orders were changed. We were told the priority was killing the owners of the establishment and rescuing the children.”

Arya’s face was turning red, and he would have feared for the Knight’s lives had a woman not come running out the door. Arya felled her by throwing a dagger straight into her heart. Aemond’s eyebrow rose at her causal show of accuracy, hitting a moving target with a dagger was very impressive.

“Who gave you these new orders?” Arya growled as she stalked to the woman’s body to retrieve her weapon. “I know it wasn’t Daemon.”

“S-s-ser Criston Cole.” Ser Hollard stuttered.

Arya marched forward, glowering at the Knights. “I didn’t realize Cole outranked Prince Daemon.”

“Well-”

“Or the King!” That shut them up momentarily, until Ser Wendwater finally noticed Aemond.

“Is that the little Prince?” He scowled at the description.

“No.” Arya lied, “He is one of the rescued children.”

“But you haven’t gone inis-s-side yet.” Ser Hollard stuttered nervously.

“Are you questioning me?” Arya said flatly.

“No.” Ser Hollard whimpered. Ser Wendwater proved it was stupidity which made him bold when he said, “Yes.”

Arya stared the man down, her face dead, her eyes unblinking. “Talk back to me again and I will rip your throat out with my teeth.”

A man carrying a little blonde girl over his shoulder came barreling out the door. The child was bloody and crying. The man was red faced and sweaty. Arya let her dagger fly, this time aiming for her targets leg, forcing him to stop and stumble to his knees.

She was on them in a flash. Knocking the girl off the man’s shoulders and into the dirt. She soon had the man on his back. She used a tiny knife to stab him in the gut several times then she aimed for his face, blinding him in two quick motions. She leapt off gracefully, then once on her feet she pulled out her sword and stabbed him through the throat.

Aemond was a bit shocked. He had seen her fight in the training yard, and she was spectacular, but here on the battlefield she was vicious. And to his eye, it seemed like she used an excessive amount of unnecessary violence in claiming this kill. He would have expected her to act with her usual efficiency, but now there was blood in her hair and on her neck and speckled across her cheek. He shuddered thinking of the possible ailments she might catch from such exposure.

Arya offered her hand to the crying child and was soon carrying the girl back over to him and the Knights. She handed her off to Ser Hollard, who looked uncomfortable but soon set about whispering soothing words in the girl’s ear and rubbing her back.

“Kill any man or woman who tries to escape.” Arya ordered sternly, “They are guilty and they have been sentenced to death by order of the King. And me.” She glared at Wendwater, silently daring him to object. The man immediately looked down, showing his weakness. “Save every child. If you two fail, I will know. And I will have your heads come sunrise. Do you understand me?”

Her voice was low and non-nonsense, there was no question she would follow through with the threat.

“Yes.” “Yes, Princess.”

Her gaze shifted to him, Aemond stood a little straighter, he could see what she was thinking and he wouldn’t have it. “Where you go, I will follow. You know I’m safest by your side.”

He thinks it’s his tone which conveyed his absolute resolution on the matter, because Arya seemed to accept his words with a beleaguered sigh, muttering, “Stay close.”
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He’d always admired Ser Cole’s skill with a sword. He’d been training practically his whole life to be just like him, but now he felt like a fool. There was no comparison. Seeing Arya in action revealed how big the difference was between the title ‘solider’ and ‘warrior’.

Cole used reliable tactics and strength-based sword skills to make his movements effective as he moved from one attack to another. But Arya was fluid like water. One move flowed into the next like it was a choreographed dance.

Inside the building was chaos, but Arya seemed to thrive on it. By his count she had killed seven people already and they hadn’t even reached the pit yet. All the men she dispatched had been heading for the exit and instead met the pointy end of her blade. Not even the ones who tried to barrel through her slight frame evaded her sword, for she struck with the speed of an angry snake.

Finally, they made their way to a dingy curtain at the end of a long hallway. Behind it the sounds of battle rang out in the air, screams, steel on steel, and just a hint of Daemon’s laughter. Arya pushed the fabric aside to reveal his uncle joyously leading the Gold Cloaks in a slaughter.

Bodies littered the ground, blood was everywhere. The remaining people alive looked meek and scared, none but a few were still fighting back as they were being herded down into the pit by Daemon and his forces. He wondered if this was for strategy or spectacle.

Arya grinned manically, “Aw, we missed the party.” She grabbed for his hand and pulled him through the crowd. Aemond felt a sense of elation as he realized they would be rescuing the rest of the children together. Like a team!

He saw Uncle Daemon take note of their arrival, he spared a second to send them a jaunty wave hello, but then went back to pummeling a fat man praying for mercy that would never come. Next to notice them was Ser Cole. Comically, the Knight’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Aemond decided to take a page out of his uncle’s book and waved at Ser Criston as Arya dragged him past the Knight, but just out of reach, towards a room just of the side of the fighting pit.

He hoped this would be the first of many heroic battles, he and Arya fought side by side. Not that he had done any fighting thus far. But on the bright side, unlike Aegon, at least he was here and a part of everything.

Arya led him down a short corridor and into a dark room, lit by only one torch stationed near the entrance. The first thing he noticed was the smell, he didn’t know if the odor of shit was stronger because it was a windowless room or because the children were young and not fully in control of their bowels, but it was a struggle not to cover his nose once again. Arya called out using a soft kind voice, “Don’t be afraid, we’re here to set you free.”

A deep voice answered, “Are you now?”

A well-dressed man, clean shaven, with curly grey hair came into the light holding a knife to a boy’s throat. Aemond puffed up as much as he could, trying to look bigger and more intimidating.

The child held captive looked to be Aemond’s age, with almost opposite features. The boy was darked skinned with black curly hair, a slender frame, and a dirty face. The boy had shackles around both wrists, a telling stain on the front of his trousers, and he was silently crying.

The old man affected a timid tone of voice despite his aggressive actions, “I just came for the show. I want no trouble. I was looking for a way out, but heard you coming and panicked.” The man curled his hands tighter around the boys’ shoulders, “I have money, if you let me go, I can pay you. I just want to go home.”

“So why take a hostage?” Arya questioned quietly.

“This is all a misunderstanding.” The man insisted, “It’s madness out there, the Rogue Prince barged in and just started to killing everyone! I didn’t think he’d listen to reason, so I took the boy to--”

Arya interrupted, “Stop talking Lord Bywater. Your story is weak and wouldn’t be convincing even if you were a better liar.”

The man’s eyes widened, “You know who I am?”

“Of course,” Arya said with a nod. She turned away from the man speaking to the darkness, her voice cold, colder than Aemond had ever heard it, “I know everyone responsible for this place. Without your money and support this establishment wouldn’t exist. But, I think the real question is, do you know who I am?”

There was a look of real panic on the man’s face now. “The Prince’s new bastard girl--”

Arya’s aim was so perfect, Lord Bywater barely had time to fear the dagger before it was embedded in his forehead. It took a beat, before the knife in his hand fell away from the child’s throat and clattered to the floor, followed by his body shortly thereafter.

Arya rushed forward towards the crying child, ordering Aemond, “Light the other torches along the wall, once I free the boy of his shackles, we will do the same for the others.”

Arya made soothing noises at the child, before turning her attention to the corpse. Patting him down he deduced she was looking for the keys as she explained, “Lord Bywater was the owner of this shithole. Others invested in this place by procuring the children and in return receiving a share of the gambling profits, but the child fighting pit was his idea and his passion. He was a wicked man who did not deserve the quick death I granted him.”

“How do you know that?” He asked.

Arya glared at him, “I gave you a job, Aemond, fucking do it.”

She motioned to the torch on the wall with her chin, “There are at least five torches along the wall that can be lit to illuminate the room, the children are usually chained to the wall when they’re not participating in the fight.” She turned her head and spoke into the darkness reassuringly, “Don’t worry kids, we’re going to get you out of here.”

Aemond paused, listening. He expected sniveling or crying or at the very least the sounds of chains clanking together, but there was nothing. If there were other children here, chained to the wall waiting to be freed, wouldn’t they make noise now that their oppressor was dead? But he heard only Arya, the now openly crying boy, and the sounds of fighting back in the main room. He swallowed thickly, a pit of dread blooming in his gut.

As he turned to do as he had been tasked, he questioned Arya’s state of mind. Surely, she came to the same grisly conclusion as he did?

At the door he slipped the torch out of its sconce and followed along the wall looking for the unlit torches. Just as he got the first one lit, he heard the jangling of keys and Arya cry out triumphantly.

As light filled the room, Aemond felt his stomach turn.

He didn’t want to bring it to her attention. Despite her brutality in battle, he knew Arya was a very kind person. She cared for people, even strangers, genuinely. Especially children. This loss was going to break her heart.

Quietly he made quick work lighting all the other torches. Children were indeed bound in chains all along the wall of the room, but they were dead. All of them. Their little bodies hung from limp arms, with their throats cut. There were ten bodies in total. Seven boys, three girls, none seeming to be older than himself.

“Milady,” The boy they had saved did what he couldn’t, telling Arya what she already knew to be true, “They’re all dead.”

Arya kept her eyes on the unlocked shackles in her hands. Aemond knew she didn’t want to look up and see. Didn’t want it to be real. He wished things had turned out differently. “I’m so sorry Arya.”

Shaking, Arya looked up and met his gaze. There was fury in her eyes, but her face was the picture of despair. Slowly her eyes drifted to the wall, roving over each child, before returning back to Aemond.

“You slowed me down.” She whispered, he thinks the words would have hurt less if they were hateful, but instead she sounded broken. He told himself she didn’t mean it, she was probably so hurt and shocked, she didn’t know what she was saying.

Tearfully the child explained, “He said he had to get rid of evidence? I didn’t understand until he-he…we called for help; we could hear people but I don’t know what’s going on out there. Is loud, I guess. Doesn’t matter. No one heard or cared or came, until you.”

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered, her focus now on the boy, “I didn’t know he would—I should have known—I knew he was an evil man, but I didn’t expect…this!”

The dirty boy put a comforting hand on Arya’s shoulder, “Don’t be sorry Milady, you saved me.”

“And I failed them.” She gestured to the corpses, her eyes lingered on a little red headed girl.

Aemond felt bad for these dead children, but he didn’t know them, so he didn’t really care. It was Arya’s heartbroken expression which truly touched him. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she whispered, “I failed.”
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Arya’s Battle Look *also the little ring is a knife and how she cut Leon in the library without a visible weapon in the last chapter

Child Fighting Pit Devastation

Chapter Text

Chapter 28

~Daemon~

As the tall man Daemon was fighting punched him in the face knocking off his helmet, he cursed Otto Hightower for the hundredth time that night. If the Hand hadn’t swept in at the last second with some bullshit excuse to keep back half his forces, he was sure that the fight would already be over. He couldn’t hear the sound of the tall man’s nose breaking, but he felt the crunch when metal fist met flesh.

As the tall man cried out in pain and covered his bleeding nose, Daemon raised his sword and swung at the man’s meaty neck. It wasn’t a proper decapitation, but the bastard was properly dead so once the body fell to the floor he moved on to his next target.

As he hacked his way through the crowd, he felt almost giddy despite the minor annoyance of not entering the brawl with overwhelming numbers as he and Arya had planned. However, his opponents were little more than peasants. If there weren’t so many people in attendance, he might have boasted being able to kill them all by himself. Only half of them were armed and those that were only slashed at the Gold Cloaks with knives or daggers. Killing them was easy work, but that wasn’t what had him smiling from ear to ear as he slashed and maimed at will.

Arya was right, killing for an honestly good reason, was better. Having a righteous cause fueling his every move made the dance with death feel downright fun. He laughed as he cut some poor sod’s leg clean off, leaving him hopping and howling before collapsing to the floor. He cheered as one of the Cargyll twins ran a man through with such force that his hand and the hilt of his blade ended up halfway into his victims’ guts. Hell, he even smiled at Cole and went to his aid when a young woman jumped on his back to choke him out while another jabbed at him with a little knife.

Daemon never felt more confident than when he had a sword in his hand and men under his command, but tonight he didn’t just fight with conviction, he fought gleefully. He didn’t like the idea of poor orphan children being forced to fight to the death anymore than Arya did. And if in the end he came out looking the benevolent hero, all the better.

So, he fought without restraint, allowing the crowd no respect. These men and women, spectators and perpetrators alike, weren’t enemies across a battlefield, fellow soldiers on the wrong side of a war. No. They were scum. Worse, they were like vermin. They deserved extermination.

By the time he finally spotted Arya and Aemond arriving, the bulk of the struggle was finished, with only a few wily stragglers still fighting the inevitable. When they disappeared into the back to presumably free the captive children, he thought nothing of it.

Sure, he considered Arya might be a little annoyed that the battle went on without her, but missing all the fun was her own fault. If she wanted to fight so badly, she should have said ‘no’ to Aemond and his sad puppy dog face. Daemon had only egged the boy on as a jape, he hadn’t expected her to actually cave to his nephews whining! Besides, while he knew Arya enjoyed violence, what really mattered to her was rescuing the children. Whereas he, after months of playing nice at court, really needed the release the skirmish had afforded him.

With a cackle he put Arya and his nephew out of his mind, and focused on making sure that every man and woman who had come to this den of depravity, suffered and died.
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Once all were dead Daemon called out to the men, “Search the bodies for money and valuables.”

Of course at this, Cole just had to voice his dissent. “Have you no honor? You would have us sully our souls and become grave robbers? What’s next? Will you have us rape their corpses as well?”

He smirked at the Knight, “Rape them if that is your true heart’s desire Cole, I promise not to judge. But honestly, I didn’t realize your tastes were so morbid. Color, me surprised.”

“This is wrong.” Cole declared with a scowl.

He glared back, the humor bleeding out of his voice as he responded, “Wrong? These people do not deserve graves and the dead have no use for coin.”

“Then it should be given to their next of kin!” Cole insisted.

Daemon let his eyes drift over the Gold Cloaks working in the room with them. Most had immediately started to do as he had ordered, but a handful were watching him and Ser Criston to see how the argument would unfold. He made a mental note of their faces. These men were obviously more loyal to Cole than the crown.

When his eyes settled back on Ser Criston Cole, he smiled, because in his head he imagined stabbing the man to death with a butter knife. He did not enjoy engaging in such petty power struggles, especially not in front of men under his command.

He took a step towards Cole, then another and another until they were nearly nose to nose. The Knights’ grip on his bloody sword audibly tightened, making him smirk. Because he really, really, liked knowing he was so unpredictable in others eyes.

He pitched his voice low like he was speaking of a secret but spoke loud enough for all the men to hear, “What if I did order you to defile their bodies? I am your Prince. A dragonrider. Your better, in every conceivable way. Would you disobey a direct order?” He paused, soaking in Cole’s angry expression, “You may cast me in the role of villain if it pleases you, but look around. These were not people, they were monsters. Real ones, disguised as people, who not only hurt innocent children, but profited from their pain.”

He stared into Cole’s eyes looking for a trace of his soul underneath all that ego, “We have slain the monsters and that is good. You helped kill them, same as me, so be proud. Today we are all heroes.”

Cole finally looked conflicted. Daemon smiled charmingly, but shook his head, silently telling the man he would entertain no more argument. “There is no dignity in death, Ser Criston. Not for monsters. So, stop whining.”

He clapped the man on the shoulder and pushed him towards one of the Cargyll twins. “Go help your men wring what little value out of the dead as we can get.” He raised his voice for all to hear, “We shall give whatever we find to the rescued children, so don’t pocket what you find.”

Speaking of, Daemon made his way towards the back of the pit where Arya and Aemond had disappeared. In the entryway he smelt something familiar that made him stop in his tracks. The room at the end of the hallway had light spilling out the door, almost as if it was lit with a thousand candles.

Running, he arrived just as his nephew and a small boy emerged from the room, coughing and covering their mouths with their hands. Smoke was quickly filling the air, stinging at Daemon’s eyes and hurting his lungs. He gripped Aemond’s shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze even as his eyes traveled beyond the boys and into the room. Arya had a torch in her hand and she was leaning down lighting a child’s clothes on fire.

He made a move to go into the room, but Aemond stopped him, “Uncle, they were all dead when we arrived! The owner killed the children in a misguided attempt to cover up his crimes.”

“All but me.” The other boy added.

Daemon watched in horror as the last child was engulfed in flames. He gripped Aemond by his collar and the other boy by his bicep, he shoved the children towards the entrance of the hall. “Go to Cole, tell him to get everyone out. Do not leave his side!”

Aemond nodded eagerly, and Daemon spared a second to look into the boy’s eye, assessing how he was doing. His nephew looked scared, but not petrified. Rattled but not haunted. He gave him a nod then shoved him, “Go. I’ll get Arya.”

Forcing Arya to endure the hero-worshiping child tagging along on their mission was just meant to be a joke. Or a lesson. Or—he couldn’t even remember why he’d been so insistent, but whatever his reason, it wasn’t supposed to matter. Her absence, his nephew’s addition, it wasn’t supposed to have any effect on the outcome of the night!

They were meant to storm the establishment with twenty-four experienced knights, but instead he was outmaneuvered by Otto yet again and he only arrived with twelve. He didn’t think the lack of men would be this detrimental to their cause. They were fighting nobodies. He hadn’t even considered sending one of the Gold Cloaks to check on the children when they first arrived…This was all supposed to be easy. Their targets were evil, killing them was good. It was all black and white; everyone was supposed to be on the same side. His side. The side of the children. They were meant to rescue the children and return to court like benevolent conquering heroes.

This was to be the first of many victories he won with Arya by his side. Looking at her now, standing in the middle of a room on fire, setting a man’s corpse ablaze, he can’t understand how it all went so wrong so quickly. “Arya!”

She looked through him as she approached, pausing in the doorway she pressed her torch to the door frame until the fire caught and it began to burn. “Arya.”

He could tell easily she wasn’t herself, not that he expected her to be after a sight like she walked in on, but what concerned him most was the lack of anger. Pathetically all he had to offer was, “I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t acknowledge him as she walked down the hallway, torch pressed to the wall lighting everything on fire as she passed. And while, Daemon was very familiar with fire he usually wasn’t inside whatever he was burning. Still, he decided against trying to wrestle the torch away from her as that would probably end just as ugly as what they were about to face.

The building was quickly becoming a chaotic dance of flickering flames that licked at the walls and ceiling. But there was no urgency to Arya’s steps, even as the fire outpaced her efforts spreading ahead to the room which housed the fighting pit, continuing its path of destruction.

Thick billowing smoke engulfed the space turning the room hazy and dark. It was sweltering in his armor and it only got worse as the fire progressed, the flames growing larger and more aggressive as they consumed all the wood around the sandy pit in the center of the room.

When Arya suddenly dropped her torch, Daemon saw his chance. He allowed her only a second to bask in what she had wrought, then he grabbed for her hand and started pulling her forward.

Above them the ceiling crackled ominously, but Daemon had no time to worry about being crushed to death, he felt like he was cooking in his armor. He would not go down in history as burning to death by any means other than dragon fire, he just wouldn’t allow it!

“Come on!” He yelled, pulling Arya forward towards the exit. He could hear Aemond yelling from that direction and had to rely on his memory of the building’s layout and his nephew’s shrill voice as the heat haze distorted his vision.

When they were not far from the door, a loud groan from above was the only warning he had before the roof caved in. He had mere seconds and he might have crushed Arya’s hand for how tightly he clung to it as he both yanked her forward and dove for the door.

On the ground he got a mouthful of dirt for his efforts. He moaned as his head rung like a bell, but he wasn’t crushed so he supposed he was grateful. He grabbed for the back of Arya’s pants and pulled, making sure no part of her had been pinned down by whatever almost fell on top of them. He was able to drag her forward freely, so he knew she was unharmed, so to speak.

Looking up he saw they hadn’t quite made it outside, but they were only a few paces away from the door. He could smell the fresh air now and he was desperate for more of it. It took him less effort than he thought to get to his feet, but he soon realized someone was helping him up.

“Arya!” He yelled in protest, a cough distorting her name, but they had to know what he meant? She was more important; she should be helped to safety before him.

He was about to struggle when another Knight came to help, this time going for Arya. They were both dragged out of the burning building to an space across the street, as far from the inferno as they could get without leaving the area.

He coughed, a hacking sound that made him wince, his hands scrambled to find the bindings on his armor, trying to take it off. He felt like he was being crushed and couldn’t breathe. Aemond came to his rescue, pulling him to sit on the ground and batting his useless hands away. His nimble fingers worked quickly undoing the buckles at his shoulder.

Daemon could do nothing but cough and stare as Cole lay Arya flat on the ground. She wasn’t moving and so his own heart stopped beating. There was a gash near her hairline, blood and dirt smeared across one half of her face.

“Arya!” His mangled voice croaked, his eyes wide as Cole put his ear to her chest then moved to her mouth. Aemond’s hands stilled on his armor, both of them waiting.

“She’s breathing.” Cole said softly, looking relieved he repeated it louder, “She’s breathing!”

Cole turned to his men demanding, “Cargyll bring me water! And the rest of you, start knocking on doors, help people to safety, because the fire will soon spread and everything will burn!”

Aemond got back to work at his shoulder and soon he was semi-free. Daemon tugged at his breastplate, relieved beyond measure for Arya’s survival and the little bit of air now able to reach his clavicle.

One of the Cargyll twins came with the waterskin and handed it over to Cole. The Knight poured it across Arya’s temple and the side of her face, then poured a small amount on her lips. When she didn’t drink, he poured some on her throat and then more on her hairline, Daemon deduced he was trying to cool her down when he reached for the leather buckles across her chest. Unexpectedly, Arya’s eyes snapped open and she grabbed his wrist stopping Cole’s efforts.

“I’m trying to help you.” Cole tried to explain, Daemon could see him trying to tug his hand free, but Arya’s grip was like iron. She did not let go as she sat up. “You shouldn’t move, you were unconscious. Lay back down, Princess.”

She took an assessing look around, before focusing back on Cole. Daemon was not surprised when she pulled a knife and sprung forward trying to stab the Knight in the face. However, Cargyll was still hovering and was quick enough to grab her knife hand, stopping her from making contact.

She was not deterred, with Cole still trying to tug his arm free, and Cargyll immobilizing her other hand, Arya lunged forward with her head. Daemon thought she would headbutt him, but instead she took Cole’s ear in her mouth and bit down.

“Ahh! Get her off!” Cole screamed, pain coloring his hoarse voice, but his thrashing seemed to neither ease his suffering nor dislodge his attacker.

More men were coming to try to pry Arya off, but Daemon knew it would be in vain. Even with three grown men tugging at her, Arya bit Ser Criston Cole’s ear clean off and there was nothing anyone could do to stop her.

When the ear came off so did she, Arya and those pulling her away all fell back into a heap. She was quick to sit up and get back to her feet. Her lips were bloody and Daemon watched in awe as she turned and spat out Cole’s ear and a mouthful of blood with it. “Fuck you Cole, and you’re help!”

She stalked forward towards Cole, the knife still in her hand, but the other Cargyll twin was quick. He got his arms around her torso and lifted her up in the air, turning his back so she could no longer see Ser Cole.

She thrashed in the man’s arms but did not stab him to get free like Daemon thought she would. “Let me go! He deserves worse than losing an ear!”

“You fucking bitch!” Cole yelled, getting to his feet he drew his sword while his other tried to stop the bleeding from his now missing ear.

Daemon made to get up, but Aemond wrapped his arms around his neck, whispering, “Let her.”

“You killed them all!” Arya wailed, heartbreak on display for everyone to hear. “All those kids are dead because of you!”

The Cargyll twin, Arryk, Daemon thinks, made soothing noises in her ear and pet her hair, trying to calm her down. He had a passing thought, had Arya fucked the Cargyll twins? He knew if she had one she would want to try to the other. The kindness the Knight was showing her made him wonder.

Cargyll looked at Cole over his shoulder, a question written across his face. To his credit Ser Criston Cole had not moved to hurt Arya. He looked enraged, he had his sword drawn, but he wasn’t advancing. Despite Aemond’s words and grip on his neck, he vowed if Cole took one step, he would cut the man in two.

“Let me go.” Arya pled brokenly, a second later her voice was like steel, “Let me go or else.” The threat hung in the air, until slowly, Arryk Cargyll lifted his arms and Arya stepped away from the Knight.

She walked two paces scooped something up from the ground, a second too slow, everyone realized it was Cole’s ear, and she darted forward and threw it into the burning building.

Arryk whirled in place, grabbing Cole as he tried to advance shouting at her, “You fucking CUNT!”

Daemon threw Aemond to the ground and got to his feet, drawing Dark Sister as quickly as he was able. But, his eyes were drawn to Arya instead of his intended prey. She stood proudly in front of the blaze she had started, her body silhouetted in heated orange hues. She had her arms stubbornly crossed and she looked entirely unconcerned by Cole’s insults and threats.

Beyond the yelling for help and the screaming for people to evacuate the area, beyond the crackling fire, Cole’s attempts to get around Cargyll and the crying of a little girl nearby, Daemon stood frozen in place, because above all the noise he heard the flapping of great big wings.

Looking up he found Drogon, hovering above them all. The dragon’s appearance caused more uproar, screams of fear, cries for mercy, it all blended together. Daemon watched Cole closely, he enjoyed the sight of the man turning white. His eyes bulging. His lips quivering.

Daemon waited with giddy anticipation for the dragon to unload hell upon Arya’s enemies.

Except he didn’t. Drogon turned away from Arya and Cole and their standoff, and towards the fire. He flew higher until he was directly above the burning building, and then he opened his mouth and water fell from the sky smothering the fire below.

Daemon could not guess how much water Drogon could hold in his mouth at one time, but by the size of the fire Arya had created, he knew one pass would not be enough. Everyone stood around in shock and awe as Drogon left and quickly returned with another mouthful of water to fight the blaze. And then one more time to finally put it out for good.

A few fish flopped helplessly on the floor as the people who had flooded the streets in fear began to cheer and chant, “ARYA! ARYA! ARYA!” For they only knew they had been saved by the girl and her dragon. It was almost annoying in its irony.

Looking at the girl in question though, Daemon knew in his heart that it all meant nothing to her. She did not long for adulation like he did. Praise was worthless in her eyes if it wasn’t earned. She would not count today as a victory, even if that is what it went down in history as.

He stalked forward and tried to take her into his arms, offer her what little comfort he could, but he was slapped across the face for his efforts.

He was shocked, but it was Arya so he wasn’t surprised by the violent reaction. Still, a feeling of dread bloomed in his gut.

He had pushed for her and Aemond to arrive together, and therefore orchestrated her late arrival. He had been the one to let Otto steal half their men. He had been the one to start the raid without her. He had been so caught up in the thrill of battle that he ignored the safety of the children they were here to rescue in the first place. And as much as he wished they could put the entirety of fault for their failure on Cole’s shoulders alone, he knew he had played his part as well.

He considered apologizing. He probably should. And explain what happened, with Otto, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. Not to her. Not right now. Not after what they had lost. So, he stared at her. Into her angry eyes, and he tried not to wilt under her unflinching gaze.

“You failed me.” Arya huskily whispered, her eyebrows crinkled together as the pain she felt touched every syllable she managed to choke out, “And I failed them. And now it’s all ash.”

“I know…” And there was the crux of his greatest pain, Arya might lash out at Cole and him and Otto when she learned of what he had done to sabotage their efforts, but that is not who she would ultimately hold accountable for tonight’s disaster.

Arya was such a good person; Daemon knew that she would blame herself. And, something like this? The guilt could destroy someone like her. She who believed in good people, happy endings, and justice. To have the truth of the world’s cruelty shoved in your face so brutally? He hadn’t wanted that for her. He never would have--“I’m sorry.” The words came blurting out. “I’m so sorry Arya.”

She looked at him with contempt and he wondered if she could ever forgive him for this. Something this big? Ten dead children? He wasn’t sure she loved him that much. He wasn’t sure he was worth that much…

“You should be sorry.” She whispered as she walked around him and back towards Aemond and the other children.

Sometimes he wondered if everyone was right about him, because in the end hadn’t he caused pain to everyone he loved? And who loved him? His brother? Laena? Rhaenyra? Baela? Rhaena? And now Arya?

No.

No, he couldn’t think like that.

He sheathed his sword and banished the dark thoughts that threaten to eat him alive. Instead he pictured Arya in the light of the campfire back on Tarth. Her laughing as they rode Drogon together for the first time. The first kiss she initiated. The feel of her sleeping peacefully in his arms as he read to her and his nephews. Every smile. Every hug. Every kiss. Every time she said she loved him.

He wrapped the past around his soul like armor. And started walking towards her. He had to have faith in her. In them. Their connection was strong, stronger than what he had with anyone beyond Caraxes. He had to believe, that no matter his mistake, she would forgive him…eventually.
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Daemon in Gold Cloak Armor

Arya’s Battle Outfit

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Chapter Text

Chapter 29
~Blind Beth~
The trip back to the Red Keep was a blur. She felt like she blinked and they were back at the castle. Time felt broken, her heart felt fractured, and her mind was scattered like ashes.

Vaguely she was aware of Daemon taking charge of the two children they had rescued, finding them lodging within the castle. Cole heading off to the Maester. Alicent yelling about Aemond. Otto was also there at one point and said…something. But all of the details evaded her. She was fairly certain she left without speaking, but she couldn’t be sure.

She didn’t remember walking to her room, but she was sitting on the bed, so she must have. She stared at the window. The sun was rising. She felt numb and empty. She sat. She stared and watched the sky shift. Black to light blue. Then orange. Blue again. Daemon came. He talked. She heard him talk but didn’t comprehend what he said. Food was ignored. Did she speak? Was she awake? Daemon was sad. Daemon was angry. Daemon was sleeping in her bed, his head on her lap, her hand in his hair.

The sky turned orange then black then stars began to appear. She sat. When did Daemon leave? Her body felt heavy, her head like…something. She blinked and the sun was rising again. She looked down, she still wore her battle outfit. Her hair smelled like smoke. There was a tub, not hot anymore, she did not move from the bed. Had she imagined the sun? Was it a dream? Time was passing, wasn’t it? It wasn’t frozen? She sat and looked at the window. Her eyes on the sky.

The world was still there. She remembered a long night, when the sun hid it’s face for over a year. She remembered living in that darkness, the endless winter filled with white walkers that hunted---She felt like she should be crying. For those dead children. For all the dead she had seen in her dreams. Or were they memories? For her family. For her friends. For herself.

She blinked and suddenly it was morning again and there was a knocking on her door that wouldn’t stop. She stood at the door and found Erryk Cargyll waiting politely. He looked surprised to see her. But this was her room, why was he surprised?

He spoke, she heard half of what was said. It occurred to her that something was very wrong, but to speak her concerns would take so much effort. And she was so tired.

She knew he was Erryk and not his brother Arryk. She could always tell the difference. They were always so surprised when she said the correct name. He looked at her expectantly. It was her turn to talk but she had nothing to say. She decided to loop her arm in his and just let him lead her to whatever fate had in store.

Again, time distorted, one second, she was leaving her chambers the next she’s standing before the small council table. Otto was talking, she knew it was important so she tried really, really, hard to focus. “We received a raven. A credible threat was made on his Grace’s life, I felt it was prudent to keep some of the Gold Cloaks at the Keep so we would not be caught unawares or undefended.”

Daemon exploded, banging his fist on the table, “Bullshit!” Arya stared at the wrinkles on his forehead. They were very wrinkly in his anger. “I demand you produce this letter!”

Otto pulled a scroll from his pocket and---that is when she understood. Otto had kept some of the Knights back at the Keep, even though Viserys granted her twenty four men for the raid. “Otto stole our men.”

Everyone in the room stopped and slowly turned to look at her. There was a pounding in her head and an ache in her heart. Anger built like a tidal wave. “You?”

“Princess--” She cut Otto off, “You? You and your bullshit machinations murdered ten innocent children?” Otto’s eyes shifted about. She wanted a real answer. “Why!?”

Arya’s ears were ringing. Daemon was close now, his arm around her---she remembered abruptly she was angry at him as well. She pushed him off and stole his sword in one smooth motion.

There was that phrase ‘blind with rage’? Well suddenly she felt deaf with it. She raised the sword and brought it down hard. All around the table there was shouting and noise, Daemon, the King, the council members, the Kingsguard lining the walls, but it was all for naught. She could not distinguish what was being said from person to person and so it was just a cacophony of sound and nothing else.

There had been ten of them. Ten dead children all under the age of twelve. “I knew all their names.” She knew their faces. “I will never forget them. I snuck in before the raid, to learn who we had to kill.” When she had seen how they were suffering, she vowed she would help. “I had to help.” She tried to help. “I just wanted to help.” She failed. They were all dead.

Her arms hurt but she ignored it.

“Elda was the youngest at five she had no front teeth.” Corinne was the oldest girl and got raped every night. “Rendal and Rogar were twins, but their freckles were different.” Vickon sucked his thumb and wet himself. “Cyrus was the tallest, but had a hump on his back.” Justan had reminded her of Lucerys. “Tarla had been burned and half her body was covered in scars.” And Symond had spoke with an adorable lisp. “Harrion looked at her like she was a liar, no trust or hope left in him at all.” Ten dead kids. Ten corpses. Ten more failures added to her mountain of mistakes. “I told them I would come back to rescue them! I promised!”

Instead, she had burned their bodies. “You have to burn the dead so they don’t come back.” She would never forget the smell of rotting flesh. It haunted her like nothing else. “They were slaughtered like animals. And it wasn’t right! Nothing about the world is right!”

The sword was still in her hand. She looked down and realized—she thought she had been talking to the council—maybe she had been, but in her hands was Dark Sister and at her feet were the splintered remains of a chair. She had done that. She looked at the table and saw hack marks there as well.

The ringing in her ears got very high pitched before disappearing.

Her senses returned, but her mind was still muddled. Daemon stood between her and the Kings Guard, holding them back with his words and his arms stretched wide in caution. Otto was still in his chair next to the King. He looked horrified or scared or—she didn’t fucking care. Fuck Otto Hightower. She cared about the kids who had been slaughtered. “Elda. Corrine. Rendal and Rogar. Vickon. Cyrus. Justan. Tarla. Symond. Harrion. I remember them all.” Jon. Gendry. The Hound. Beric. But who were the other faces she saw in her dreams? Who was the girl with the red hair? The silver haired dragon Queen? The boy in the chair? “I am broken.” How could she mourn those she could not remember. “Why do the dead haunt me so?”

Anger was not like fire in her heart. There was a chair between her and Otto. She kicked it over and out of the way. Her anger was cold, like a sword taken from the forge, her anger was cold and very sharp. He tried to escape but she grabbed Otto’s hand and wouldn’t let him.

Her mind echoed with the words, “Valyrian steel cuts clean."

Someone tackled her to the floor. Her sword hand was bashed into the floor until she let go of Dark Sister. But she didn’t let go of Otto’s hand. Her head hurt worse than her own hand, but she was pretty sure her finger was broken. Maybe two.

There was blood dripping down near her left eye.

She was on her feet, a guard on either side. “--black cells!” Someone shouted.

“…hand!” Someone else said. She held her prize tighter. There was blood in her mouth, she had bitten her tongue, she spat blood onto the center of the table, smiling at the various lords looks of horror and disgust. These people had no idea what was coming. They needed to be woken up. “Get it? Cause he’s the Hand!”

Otto’s severed hand was wrestled away and she laughed. She didn’t know why. This wasn’t funny.

Daemon was held back by a trio of guards, her name on his lips as she was dragged away. Otto howled like a hurt dog. She cackled or cried, it was hard to tell between the two. Everything was getting covered in blood. Him. Her. The table. The floor.

She felt like none of this was real, but she knew it wasn’t a dream so what was the alternative? Was she dead? Hadn’t the Hound once said, “We’re fighting death. We cannot beat death.” She thought she was death once, one of it’s many faces. She was wrong. She had been proven wrong on that account a thousand times over. Jon said that after death there was nothing. This wasn’t what was after death then. This wasn’t a dream.

Weapons were taken off her person. She was punched repeatedly in the gut. Then there was only darkness. And the cold. …but she had experienced colder.
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She’s on the ground now. She can hear the rats as they scurried about. She remembers being Blind Beth. And all the lessons she learned from wearing that face. She grabs one of the rats and bashes its little head against the wall. A dead pigeon flashes in her mind and she wonders why.

She thinks Cole comes to taunt her. She isn’t sure when. Not that time has any meaning when you are Blind Beth and stuck indoors so she can’t even feel the sun on her skin any longer. The torch he carries hurts her eyes, so not Blind Beth, still Arya. “—the Queen will have your head for what you did to her father.” An execution. Her father’s head, Yoren didn’t let her see her father’s head fall. “Daemon can’t save you, not after what you’ve done.” She is overwhelmed. Flashes of memories with no context---the ringing is back in her ears. “You will be put down like the rabid beast that you are.”

He spat at her. When she speaks, she isn’t sure he is even there anymore to hear her response. But she thinks her voice is hoarse from disuse, “The priest asked me if I feared death. It was a challenge and I was a child, of course I said ‘no’…He had no face beneath his cowl. Only a yellowed skull with a few scraps of skin still clinging to the cheeks, and a white worm wriggling from one empty eye socket.” Her training at the House of Black and White is why she survived so long. She remembered looking out at a frozen landscape filled with millions of the dead damning Jaqen H’gar for making her so brave and so hard to kill. “The priest asked me for a kiss.” She had given him one. “I tried to eat the worm from his eye but it melted like a shadow in my hand.” She never thought she’d outlast the end of the world.

She had long since dreamt of the dead, so she’s probably not dreaming now. She didn’t remember killing Cole. She made him half deaf. Half deaf, like Aemond is half blind. Like the King is half alive. Like the Hand is--- She couldn’t picture Otto with a hook or an unsightly stump. Perhaps he would have a golden hand commissioned? Tall, blonde, and wearing shining armor to match his golden hand. A man, a Knight---she remembers him with blue eyes and rotting flesh clinging to his once beautiful face. “No!” She shouts in the darkness, but in her mind there is more. More flashes she can’t understand. More memories she wished to forget. “Burn the dead.” She muttered, rocking side to side. “We learned that lesson the hard way,” and yet still they had to face some friends turned dead foes on the battlefield. “Burn the dead. So, they cannot be raised to fight against you.”

She remembered Gendry. ‘NO!’ her mind screams at her, but the image, the memory, the pain---he always had blue eyes. But in death, when he swung his hammer there was no elegance, the hammer was no longer an extension of his arm, he no longer made steel music, “The night is dark and full of terrors.”

She hadn’t wanted to remember. She told Daemon she didn’t want to remember! Why was she angry with him again? “Elda. Corrine. Rendal and Rogar. Vickon. Cyrus. Justan. Tarla. Symond. Harrion.” Dead children flash in her mind. “But those children are at peace now. I burned them.” They will stay at peace, even when the Long Night comes again, she made sure of that.

“I am very tired.” She tells the darkness, “But, I do not want to fall asleep.” More monsters waited for her there. Still, her head hurts. Her heart hurts. She can’t tell if her eyes are open. Open, close, the darkness is the same. She calls on Blind Beth to beat back the panic. And the hunger. And the thirst. And the hopelessness. She is tired, but she is not sure if she sleeps.

She thinks she’s spent days in the darkness when the dead men with blue eyes come for her. She fights. It is instinct, she never expects to escape, but she is very quick.

It is cold. She warms her hands by a funeral pyre.

The storm is relentless. Jon rides Drogon.

They ride Drogon together. Good men fight. Good men die. They are overrun. Castle after castle fall.

Retreat. Fight. Fall. Die. Run. Repeat. Over and over, they fail to beat back the army of the dead. The Night King has a dragon. Drogon alone is not enough. Retreat. Retreat. Run. Run. Failure was all they knew for so long. But they kept going, kept trying, kept fighting.

How can she save the world if she can’t save ten innocent children?

Where is Jon?
Where is Drogon?
Where is she?
Where has the world gone?
To be alone in the world was a terrible thing, not just for Targaryens.
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When she is summoned and allowed to rejoin the world, the light is blinding. She wraps Blind Beth around her like a warm blanket and commits to a sightless existence. There are heavy shackles around her hands. Guards escort her on either side. They are not ones she has been friendly with.

Her stomach growls when they walk past someone eating a rich chicken broth. Halfway up a long staircase her legs give out and she is dragged the rest of the way.

Her comprehension is still in pieces.

“---look at her! Brother, does she deserve this?” That was Daemon.

“She is a menace!” That was Alicent.

“You let her rot---five days! ---eat? Or Sleep? She didn’t kill---” That was…Rhaenys?

“----Maester look at her.” That was the King.

She was poked and prodded and she growled when her eyes were forcibly opened. “Fever---infected wound---head---and look, she has one dilated pupil and one constricted—”

“Brother, please---not just my daughter, she’s my heart. ----relate?”

“---explains her behavior. A show of leniency---”

“---no mercy! My father---”

“---hear no more. I have made my decision.”

Her words were raspy when she spoke, but in the darkest part of her mind or memories, there was a voice, the red woman, that was screaming to be heard. “The night is dark and full of terrors, the day bright and beautiful and full of hope. One is black, the other white. There is ice and there is fire. Azor Ahai come again, the prince that was promised…his will be the song of ice and fire.”

"What did she just say?"

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She loses time. Not that she minds. For when she next comes to her senses, she is warm. Finally. And in Daemon’s arms. Finally.

She flexes her hand and finds that her pinky finger is splinted, just one broken finger then. Reaching up she fingers the ends of his long hair with her unbroken digits and begins to twirl the strands around her pointer finger. She loves him. Daemon. After what she had been through, all the anger she had for him and what he had done that awful night feels like it happened years ago. They were only human, failing is what they did best. A memory of Drogon, she, and Jon standing in the snow halfway across the world flashed in her mind.

She decided right then that she would not hold their failure against Daemon, or Aemond for that matter.

“—you awake?” The question was a harder for her to answer than one might think.

“I don’t know.” His arms are solid around her, without thinking she buries her face in his chest. If this was a dream, it was the best one she’d had in a while. “Lately, it’s been hard to tell the difference.”

“You can’t do that again.” Daemon whispered, his voice cracking.

“Do what, steal body parts?”

He exhaled sharply from his nose, which she knew meant he was amused against his will, but didn’t want to encourage her, “Almost die.”

“I did it again?” She realized they were laying on a bed, that’s why everything was soft and warm. Softly she tried to comfort him, “I didn’t mean to.”

“You almost didn’t survive this time.” Daemon said it like it was an accusation. And she supposed, in a way it was.

“Everything after finding the children dead feels like a nightmare, a really long, disjointed, cold, nightmare.” She realized, she felt cleaner, she no longer smelled of smoke and ash and death. She was wearing something light and made of cotton, finally her clothes had been changed. “What happened?”

She felt the press of his lips on her forehead. Then he rested his cheek against it. In that moment, she knew that she loved him just as much as she loved Jon. And Jon had always been her favorite. “After we got back to the Keep you disappeared. I found you later, catatonic, I tried to talk to you but you didn’t respond. You wouldn’t eat or sleep or let me take you out of your leathers, you just sat. I was afraid if I pushed you too hard, you would lash out, so I just let you be.”

“You fell asleep in my lap.” She offered her own faint remembering of the night in question, pressing a kiss to chest, she said, “I stroked your hair.”

“When I woke, I sent a raven to Driftmark for Princess Rhaenys telling her what happened. …Just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

His large palm smoothed up and down her back, “In case we were killed.” His hand stopped, and he just held her tightly to him, “I thought the whole event might have been orchestrated by Otto to once again poison Viserys against me.”

“Was it?”

Softly, he admitted, “I don’t know.” Another kiss was pressed to her head, “A small council meeting was called, and behind my back Otto had you dragged to attend it.”

“I cut off his hand.” She said almost proudly.

He snorted, “You did.”

“Why?” She remembered the anger, but not the reason behind it.

“Otto sabotaged our efforts, keeping twelve men from our ranks for no fucking reason.” There was a snarl of anger to his tone. She sighed, she was so tired of being angry. She tugged at his hair warningly.

“And then?”

“You went crazy.” He said flatly, “Stole my sword, destroyed some furniture, said mad things, it was scary.”

“And then I cut off Otto’s hand?”

He exhaled sharply from his nose, “Yes, then you unhanded the Hand.”

A bubble of laughter rose up and she let it free. “It’s not funny,” she chuckled, “I shouldn’t laugh.” But Daemon was laughing with her, so they laughed together. Because they were not good people, and it tickled something inside them to see people who deserved to, suffer. “We’re terrible people.”

“Undoubtedly.” He glibly agreed. They went quiet for a minute, Daemon resumed rubbing her back, up and down, up and down, the action and contact soothing her frazzled nerves.

“I sent Aegon and Aemond on Vhagar to retrieve Rhaenys. Finally having an ally that isn’t half my age and in love with you, we were able to convince Viserys you were being manipulated somehow.”

She snorted, unbelieving. “Manipulated?”

His hold on her tightened. His voice strangled as he explained, “You spent five days in the Black Cells before being let out. Upon examination by a Maester we found you had been drugged, heavily, and surprisingly, I don’t think Otto was responsible. Or Alicent....You also had a wound that had become infected and was poisoning your blood, probably inducing hallucinations. Freeing you, getting you treatment, that was three days ago. You’ve been asleep ever since.”

“Oh.”

“…the things you said when you were out of your mind…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember them?”

“…pieces.” Lying to Daemon hurt her soul, but she knew in her heart that claiming total amnesia for as long as possible, was for the best. The end of the world was a hard thing to believe in, even for her, and she had lived through it. Or would live through? Was it a prophecy? Or just madness? ...Either way, it would take her time to fully sort out what she had seen and remembered and dreamt while in isolation.

“Okay.” He pressed a kiss to her hair, before sitting up and bringing her with him, making her groan. “Let’s get some food in you.”
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The *Moodboard/collage Vibes of Arya’s Fever/head wound induced memories/poison Dreams

Long Night Melissandra / Beric / Arya / Gendry / Hound *Moodboard

Arya/ Jaqen / the Priest / the Kindly Man /Blind Beth * Mood board

* I created these little moodboards for every character that had meaningful impressions on Arya so I can keep track of who she remembers, so far who she remembers is Gendry, the Hound, Jon, Jaqen H’gar/Kindly Man/Priest/Faceless House of Black and White crew, Beric and Yoren of the Nights Watch ----she doesn’t remember everything about them, but I think of the mentions of these characters like loose threads, the more she thinks about them the more she will remember, she has mentioned other characters not by name but by description, but I think once she puts a name to a face, the memories flow easier and less disjointedly.

Anyway, you book readers might have noticed I am merging the parts of the show and the book and my own whimsy that I like, so this is hopefully fun for you? And also fun and not jarring for those who haven’t read the books….

Chapter Text

Chapter 30
~Aegon~

Mother had summoned him to her chamber’s half an hour ago and he could not think of a good excuse as to why he was late. He stood outside the door, racking his brain. He could not tell his mother the truth, that he had went out to pick flowers for Arya to leave outside her door. She would slap him and probably force him to go to the Sept with her again.

Finally, he decided, if he was pressed, he would claim he was shitting. That might get him a slap for crudeness, but would invite no follow up questions.

As he entered his eyes immediately went to Heleana sitting on the bench in front of the fire. Sipping tea, his sister motioned to the window with a nod of her head. Mother stood there, hands clenched in front of her, staring out the window. He heaved a sigh; he had a fair guess at what had captured the Queen’s attention.

“Does she have proper clothes on this time?” He asked as he went to stand beside his mother. Together they looked out over the gardens where Drogon had taken up residence since the raid. Much discussion had been had over what to do with the dragon, in the wake of Arya’s brief imprisonment. Many had feared Drogon would turn on the castle and melt it to free the girl, as he had on Driftmark. Everyone had been relieved when he settled down in the gardens to seemingly wait patiently for his mistress to return.

“Acting as if she wants to add insult to injury.” Mother mumbled, seemingly to herself. His eyes were drawn to the small pale figure curled up half underneath Drogon’s neck. They were too far away to see any details, but he could at least see she was wearing clothes this time. There had been several occasions as of late where Arya wore little more than small clothes and a blanket when sleeping outside with her dragon.

He cast his eyes about, looking for his uncle. No doubt, Daemon would soon go to retrieve her. Aegon had attempted to do so himself on several occasions and had always been thwarted by Daemon or Princess Rhaenys. Both of whom were quick to run to Arya’s rescue come morning when it became apparent, she had taken to her dragon for comfort in the middle of the night.

“Mark my words, that girl is a bigger menace than any dragon.” Mother muttered as she pulled at her fingers. Aegon took note of how her cuticles were torn to shreds and openly bleeding. After it became apparent Drogon would not attack the Keep, mother had a fit about part of the garden being destroyed by the dragon, but her concerns were quickly dismissed as they had bigger problems than some squashed flowers. And no one wanted to chance antagonizing Drogon by trying to get him to move to the dragon pit when he was acting relatively docile.

When Aegon learned what had happened during the raid, with Ser Cole, and after with his grandfather, he was honestly surprised. Arya had never struck him as stupidly impulsive. Bold and brash, sure, but she was also smart. Smarter than being so obvious as to attack someone of Otto Hightowers station in full view of the entire small council. Right away he knew something nefarious was afoot.

He’d caught a quick glimpse of her as she was taken into the small council meeting, before she unhanded grandfather, and he had grown very concerned by the empty look in her eyes. His instincts were proven right when he learned she’d been thrown into the Black Cells.

Once imprisoned he’d tried everything to sneak in to see her. He’d tried to smuggle her some food. Hell, he’d tried to orchestrate an escape, but his efforts were for naught. As far as he could discern half the Gold Cloaks were on Ser Criston and Otto’s side, thinking Arya was a rabid beast. And the other half were sympathetic and felt she had acted righteously. And unfortunately for him, the one’s guarding Arya were the ones that hated her.

When it came to light Arya had not only been in shock from failing to save the orphans, but also drugged, he had hoped all would be forgiven and go back to normal. And surprisingly it had, kind of.

As soon as she was released from the Black Cells and healed enough for company, Arya was summoned before father and the court to be officially and publicly pardoned for her actions against Ser Cole and his grandfather. An investigation was launched into who was responsible for her impairment, but as of yet no answers had been found, much to Daemon and Princess Rhaenys’s ire.

As eager as Aegon was to get to talk to Arya again, he had yet to do so, and it had been weeks! After her appearance in court, Daemon was quick to squirrel her away so she could ‘recuperate’ in peace. For three weeks he had been trying and failing to get more than a few seconds of face time with her. Hence him leaving her presents to know he still cared. Like this morning with the flowers.

Regrettably, seeing her from afar, like now, was as close as he could get most days. To his dismay both family breakfast and their Valyrian lessons had been canceled until Arya was well again. And someone, usually Rhaenys or Daemon, was with her at all times. Unless she snuck off to see her dragon.

Just as he predicted, Uncle Daemon’s figure could now be seen striding towards Drogon and Arya. He watched with a scowl as the Rogue Prince seemingly spoke to the dragon to get him to release his prize. Unwinding his body from around Arya’s slowly, Drogon moved carefully so she would gently fall into his uncles’ arms.

There was a big part of Aegon that felt guilty about the night of the raid. If he hadn’t been drunk, he would have been the one to accompany her to the fighting pit, not Aemond. He knew if he had been by her side, things would have gone differently and Arya would not be as she was now.

Her reaction, once free of the Black Cells and the mystery drugs influence, was one of sorrow and despair. That he had expected. Once he learned what happened he knew Arya would take the failure very poorly. Because Arya loved being helpful. And children. And she was kind to everyone, and generous. So, it made sense to him that when the dust settled, she would fall to pieces for a bit. He was surprised by how long it was taking her to recover though.

He’d resorted to bribing the servants to tell him how she faired in isolation, and had heard tales of her just crying quietly out of nowhere, barely sleeping at night, and eating very little. When one maid described Arya as ‘listless’ and ‘prone to staring into space’, he had tried to barge into her room that very night. Daemon had thrown him out on his ass and threatened to cut off his balls if he returned where he wasn’t wanted.

Filled with anger he’d attended training the next morning and taken his frustrations out on Aemond. His little brother had left the session with a mouthful of dirt and a sore jaw, but Aegon felt a little better after that.

He really wanted to be the one by Arya’s side, wiping away her tears, distracting her from her sorrows, and bringing her comfort. If only Daemon wasn’t such a selfish asshole, he knew he could make her feel like her old self again, because obviously whatever Rhaenys and Daemon were doing, wasn’t working.

“The servants say she screams half the night away, still suffering from nightmares, all these weeks later.” Aegon said quietly, he and mother watched as Daemon carried his prize back towards the Holdfast. Drogon, now free of his role of protector, flew off towards the sea, probably to hunt.

“Well of course she does.” Mother said stiffly, turning she glared at him, “She may run around with that skinny little sword and use the foul language of a hardened sailor, but underneath that tough exterior she’s just a little girl. She had no business joining the Gold Cloaks on their raid, it was ridiculous to allow her participation in the first place. And now, she suffers the consequences of such rebellious behavior.”

“Careful mother,” He leaned in to tease her, “It almost sounds like you care about her wellbeing.”

The look of disgust on his mother’s face belayed that idea. Shouldering past him she said, “My only concern is which member of our family she means to cripple next.”

“Probably you.” Heleana mumbled into her cup. Aegon snorted as mother fixed her with a glare. Unflustered by their mother’s ire, his sister merely shrugged and explained, “She’s nice to me, the few times we’ve interacted, and she obviously likes the boys. If she were to attack another Hightower, you’re the only one who makes sense.”

“Yes well, that is why I have doubled the guards on all of us.” Mother said seriously, “Your grandfather has shown great poise in not contesting the King’s decisions on her punishment, but that does not mean we will lower our guard.”

When his grandfather had publicly ‘forgiven’ Arya for her maiming of his person, Aegon had been convinced it was all an act. He was shocked when he overheard his grandfather counseling mother, in private, to ‘let the incident go’.

“Of course we must remain on guard,” Heleana agreed as she added another spoonful of sugar to her tea, swirling the liquid with her spoon she distractedly added, “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, “You’re so weird.”

“What?” Heleana asked, blinking at him.

Ignoring their exchange mother said, “What I don’t understand is how your father can be so stubborn where that girl is concerned? He won’t even hear a word about pushing back the celebration for her name day. With how easily she enchants Targaryen men into doing her bidding one might think she’s Rhaenyra’s protégé.”

Mother’s eyes flicker over to him and Aegon quickly looked at the floor, not quite blushing. There had been a shouting match, the likes he’d never seen between his mother and the King, following grandfather’s maiming. Aegon had been under the impression his mother had won the fight and Arya was going to be banished or blinded or something equally cruel as punishment for her actions, but apparently whatever Arya said during her sentencing had changed his father’s mind. The King’s unwillingness to explain to mother why he had a change of heart had caused much tension between the pair.

Aegon watched as his mother swished about in her elaborate green dress, moving to sit on the bench opposite Heleana’s. She leaned forward and poured herself a cup of tea. He watched as mother closed her eyes, inhaled, then took a sip, still with her eyes closed seemingly savoring the flavor.

“So why have we been summoned here?” He asked, uncomfortable with the silence and eager to escape.

She gestured to the couch and bid him, “Sit Aegon, I wish to discuss your upcoming wedding.”
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A few days later, he was going to leave a slice of cake for Arya when he stumbled upon Princess Rhaenys and Daemon fighting outside of her door. He was quick to pull back out of sight around the corner so he could listen in.

“—in a week.”

“She’s doing better.” Daemon insisted.

“Better than terrible is not better. Just this week she’s lost more weight. She refuses to bathe. Half of the time she refuses to get dressed or even change her clothes.” The motherly concern was on full display in Rhaenys’s voice. “I am telling you, a change in environment--”

“You are not taking her to Driftmark!” Daemon growled menacingly.

“Daemon, you took ownership of that girl, she is your responsibility. Now, if you continue to act in your own self-interest you are going to destroy her.”

There was a long silence before Daemon replied, “Her problems will travel with her. I am telling you, a trip to Driftmark will not help.”

“It helped after Laena.” There was pain in Rhaenys’s voice, the likes of which Aegon couldn’t begin to understand, he truly felt bad for the woman for having lost her daughter, but the way she had latched onto Arya it was clear there was some transference happening.

“This is not the same.” Daemon said quietly. “This is not just about the dead children. It’s about her nightmares and--”

“She dreams of the dead children--”

“She dreams of the dead.” Daemon said firmly. “This incident…back in Pentos when she first joined our family, she suffered the same nightmares. This incident has trigged their return, she will get through it with time.”

“That’s all it took, time?” Rhaenys’ pressed.

“Time, and…”

“And?”

“Crawling into bed with me?” Aegon heard a thwack, and darted around briefly to see Rhaenys slapping Daemon’s arm.

“And Laena!” Daemon defended, “Or Drogon.”

“This is not a time for jokes. Arya is practically wasting away before our very eyes. And soon the most important lords and ladies will join us at court to celebrate your return to the city and all eyes will be on her. I fear, in this state, she will crumple under the weight of scrutiny, just as Rhaenyra did when she retreated to Dragonstone.”

Daemon was quiet for a minute. Aegon looked down at the cake in his hands, he really had nothing to lose. Popping his head around the corner he called out, “Pardon me. I couldn’t help but overhear—almost everything--”

“Go away.” Daemon snarled, he started to stalk towards him, but Princess Rhaenys put a restraining hand on his arm, halting his progress.

“You brought her cake this time?” Rhaenys said, with a raised brow. “And here I thought your love tokens were limited to bouquets of weeds.” He had been mocked on several occasions for his gifts, mostly by Daemon, but it appears Rhaenys also found humor in his attempts at gallantry.

Grimacing he focused on Rhaenys, “You say Arya’s not doing well, I would like to help.”

“You are useless fop. Be gone.” Daemon said dismissively. “Arya’s condition is none of your business.”

He glared, his uncle was such a cunt. “Why not let me see her?” He challenged, “What harm could I do? I heard you; you say she’s wasting away, listless, haunted by nightmares. Well, whatever you’re doing isn’t working. I care about Arya just as much as you two. And I know her just as well. I know I can help her. Just let me talk to her.”

“You--”

Rhaenys put a hand on Daemon’s chest, “I’ve heard rumors about your little trysts. Your association has already cast a shadow over her reputation as a lady. And now you ask us to step aside so you can sully her name even more? Arya’s dark mood is not something that can be fixed with a trip to the local tavern. She was deeply affected by--”

The door opened. And for one second his heart stopped beating. It had been so long since he’d been this close to her. And, while honestly Arya looked like shit, he was so happy to see her it barely even bothered him that she was half dressed in one of Daemon’s shirts, wore only one sock, and her hair was akin to a birds nest.

“Arya!” Aegon rushed forward, smiling widely, “I brought you cake!”

Daemon grabbed his shoulder before he could get past him, but Arya’s reached out to him silently. He grinned in satisfaction as she took the plate. She brought the plate to her nose and sniffed, eagerly he told her, “It’s your favorite.”

She stuck her tongue out and licked at the filing. She then picked up the fork and took a small bite. There was a brief smile as she chewed. She gestured to him with the fork, “Wanna come in?”

“Yes!” He shouted at the same time Daemon grunted, “No!”

Arya smiled at him as she opened the door wider silently inviting him inside, Aegon shook free of his uncle and darted inside.

“It’s not proper--” Rhaenys began to protest but Arya was quick to shut her down.

“I know. I don’t care.” Aegon watched as Arya took another bite of cake, before addressing the adults while she still was chewing, “You two have been running yourselves ragged looking after me, and while I thank you for your concern, I think you deserve a night off. Go. Shoo.”

“Arya--” Both Rhaenys and Daemon said her name at the same time, but Arya just shook her head at them.

“Get out now, and I promise to eat the cake and sleep for at least five hours, indoors.”

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes, “You will start rumors if that boy remains--”

“Cake is not a proper meal.” Daemon interrupted, glaring at Arya as she took another bite, “You need more than that.”

“This slice of cake is the only thing I’ve eaten in two days. Until this slice of cake, the thought of food made me want to vomit.” Aegon smugly stuck his tongue out at his uncle. Arya stepped away from the door and began to slide it shut with her elbow, “Get out. Go tend to your own needs, Aegon will keep me company tonight.”

“He can’t, when people find out--” Rhaenys protested, while Daemon silently glared at him, but Arya interrupted, “If my reputation can survive the mutilation of Ser Cole and Otto Hightower, I’m sure it can handle a little sex scandal.”

With that said, Arya shut the door in their faces. And then she locked it. A laugh sprang from his lips. When she turned around, he grinned, “I fucking knew you wanted to see me.”

Arya made a noncommittal noise and walked past him, but he saw the brief uptick of her lips. As she climbed into the bed, Aegon moved to follow but was stopped by her sharp words.

“Take off your shoes.” She ordered, he moved quickly to comply, also shedding his jacket and belt. Whenever they’d cuddled in the past, Arya had been very insistent about removing any sharp objects, usually that meant getting naked, but he had a feeling it was not the right moment for that. Afterall, she still had a slice of cake to eat. He imagined after she was finished with her meal, he would get the chance to feast on her.

Arya picked up another forkful of cake and held it to his lips, he thought about protesting that it was all for her, but there was a sadness in her eyes, so he just complied opening his lips and letting her feed him. Silently it went on like that, a bite for him, a bite for her, him, her, until the slice was gone. With a frown he noted how his bites had been substantially bigger than her own, but he said nothing. Arya was acting very queer and he was worried about making a wrong move and getting rejected.

He took the plate and fork from her, and set them aside. When he turned back, she was crying. His pushed down the panic and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Its nothing.” She mumbled, wiping at her face, “Ignore me.”

“Impossible.” He told her. Gathering her in his arms he was relieved when she melted against him. Her tears were quiet, and once she had her face pressed into his chest, he wouldn’t have known she was crying if he couldn’t feel her hot tears wetting his shirt. Now that they were pressed together, he could really smell her, it was very evident she hadn’t bathed in a while. But of course, he had smelled worse.

He shifted onto his back and pulled her on top of him. Reaching for the sheet he pulled it until they were covered, head to toe. Enclosed under the privacy of the sheet, he rubbed her back and let her cry. It wasn’t long until her tears stopped.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered.

He held her tighter, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sad.” She said simply, “Too sad to be good company.”

“I don’t mind.” He whispered back, “I missed you. I’ll take a sad Arya over no Arya at all.”

She reached up and pushed back the sheet, exposing their heads to the air once again. He glanced out the window, the sun was just about to set. He knew the answer would probably be ‘no’ but he felt compelled to ask, “Do you want to talk about it? Whatever’s bothering you?”

“I want the opposite.” She rubbed her face on his chest before lifting up, so she could look into his eyes. She was still sad, but now there was a familiar spark lighting her up from the inside.

“The opposite of talking?” He asked with a half grin. He cupped her ass and pulled her closer, gently grinding his clothed cock into the V in between her legs.

She slipped her hand under the hem of his shirt and he shivered when her cold hand met his heated skin. “I’ve missed you too, Aegon.” She squeezed his nipple before pulling her hand free of his shirt, he would have protested, but her hand was now unlacing his pants. “Can we just pretend I’m okay and carry on as usual?”

He pulled her body up his own until their lips were aligned. If she was intent on distracting herself from her troubles with carnal delights, he was happy to be of service. He expected her to kiss with the same fire she always had, but as their lips met, he was surprised by her tenderness. There was no urgency, no passion, no animalistic need. He pulled back and found her eyes watering again. He honestly didn’t know what was going on with her, he didn’t think she was this broken up over a couple of dead kids, and he suspected there was something else she was struggling with but not telling anyone about.

Slowly, he let go of her body and let his hands glide up her back. He stared into her eyes and saw a hint of desperation. It was almost moving, to be needed by someone as fierce as Arya. He cupped her face and pressed a kiss on her cheek, then above her eye, her nose, her chin, and then finally her lips. He kissed her as she seemed to need it, softly, gently, slowly.

She tasted of lemon.

Her hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, pulling herself closer. Her legs spread so she was straddling his body, her cunt in line with his cock, and slowly she began to rock against him. He kept his touch light, on the small of her back, the back of her thighs, her hips. He just held on and kissed her, letting her take from his body whatever it was that she needed. And though his cock was hard, he was no stranger to his encounters with Arya being more about serving her needs than his own.

When they broke apart to breathe, Arya pulled away and pulled off Daemon’s shirt. His eyes lingered on her scarred stomach as it always did, before moving to her breasts. He didn’t have time to look and appreciate the sight though, she was insistent as she tugged at his own shirt. Sitting up he pulled off the garment and threw it without a care.

He kissed her again once they were free of obstacles. This time wrapping his arms around her in a hug, just to hold her close and enjoy the feel of her naked skin against his own. She pushed him back down, and he fell into the pillows.

She began to circle her hips, he reached for her breast, but his efforts were limited once she dived back down to claim his lips. Squashed slightly, he still managed to tease her nipple, while his other hand grasped her thick backside.

He thinks back to the day he tried to woo her, the day he learned why they still, all these months later, hadn’t properly fucked. Seeing her cry. Seeing her brought so low by whatever was haunting her, guilt, visions of dead children, or something else entirely, he thinks about what she said about ‘trust’.

“Arya.” He gasps into her mouth, she kisses him harder, but he persists, pulling away from her lips to speak, “Tell me what you need.”

She tried to ignore him and continue kissing, but he pushed her back, breaking their kiss when she didn’t answer. He moved his hands to the more respectable location of her hips. It almost felt like blasphemy, turning down her advances, but he soldiered on with his plan.

She frowned as he said, “I don’t want to do the wrong thing, take advantage of whatever emotional state you’re in, so…please tell me. Say what you really need and it’s yours.”

She looked thoughtful, really hearing what he was saying, because no one took him as seriously as Arya did. When she answered it was in a strong but quiet voice, “I need to get out of my head.”

He smiled, he knew fucking around would only serve as a distraction and not actually help. He was getting so good at this trustworthy shit. “Okay,” He said with a nod, “let’s get dressed then.”
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They used Drogon to escape the Keep without interference. He used money he’d borrowed from Aemond, without his little brother knowing about it, to buy a bushel of apples, due to the late hour they’d had to go to the man’s home, but in the end, they got their bounty and that’s all that mattered.

Arya was quite confused until she realized where he was leading her, truly he’d never been there before but he knew Flea Bottom better than most of noble birth. Confidently he knocked on the door to the Orphanage.

When a member of the faith opened the door, he smiled broadly, “Hello, we’ve come to do charity with the children.”
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For about a week, he and Arya slipped away from the Keep during the day, every day, doing various acts of ‘charity’ all over the city. Truthfully, most of it bored or made him miserable, but slowly day by day Arya was coming back to herself.

Visiting the orphanage and bringing them food was by far the best of all the things Arya had him doing. Mostly because she did all the boring work, teaching the children how to prep and cook all of the food they brought, while he entertained the youngest ones telling stories of the heroes of old. Arya told him of her wishes to take some of the older ones out to the Kingswood to teach them some survival and hunting skills, but that was an excursion that would need to be planned, so they decided to wait until they weren’t doing their acts of charity in secret.

After their second visit to the orphanage, Aegon assumed they would continue to do so until Arya’s spirits were sufficiently raised, but she surprised him when she suggested they go distribute food at Cobbler’s Square. There weren’t only needy children in the city, so it made sense. They also once, just went to the kitchens of the Keep and helped peeled potatoes and cut carrots for an entire afternoon. He really pouted that day, but Arya began bathing regularly after that so he supposed the manual labor was worth it.

They also did some not so helpful things to raise her spirits, like win 50 gold pieces on the Street of Silver, only to lose it betting on a drunken horse race along the Street of Sisters. And then there was one day when all Arya wanted was to go to the Street of Steel and watch smiths bang the shit out of metal.

Honestly, Aegon didn’t really care what they did. He was just so happy to be back in Arya’s presence. In her absence he realized two things, one, Arya was his best friend and might be the only person he knew who actually respected him and or gave a shit about his feelings. And two, she was his best chance to get his wedding to Helena called off.

And he was loath to admit it but, it did feel kind of rewarding to do some good in the world. Even if he wasn’t the driving force behind their acts, he loved all the praise and gratitude he received from the small folk. And it was nice being surprised every day, he could never predict what Arya would have them do next but he was certain by the end of it he would love her just a bit more.
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There was a spring in his step as he approached Arya’s door this morning. The previous day he’d told her of his desire to get out of his impending nuptials and Arya said she would think on it and come up with a plan.

The smile fell from his face as he saw her walking down the hall from her chambers, arm in arm, with Aemond. She looked like a lady for a change, wearing a long white dress and a little blue coat, his eyes caught at her breasts, as a rare show of cleavage was on display. He scowled at his brother, dressed all in black trying to emulate Uncle Daemon no doubt. Briefly he worried the sour little shit had been bad mouthing him to Arya, but when she spied him coming, she smiled openly. “Good morning.”

“What’s this?” He said with twisted grin, he knew it would be wiser to hide his distain but he really couldn’t help himself, “A new recruit for our adventures outside the Keep? I would have thought after your last excursion with him you would be a little wary of how he fairs outside captivity.”

“Don’t be a cunt Aegon.” Arya said breezily, she pulled his brother forward with her as she made her way to his side. “I’m reinstating family breakfast.” She looped her free arm through his and tugged, “Come along.”
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Arya’s Depressed Charity Outfit

Chapter Text

Chapter 31
~Daemon, Part 1~

He could not properly explain how furious he was with Arya for leaving the Keep without telling him. And with Aegon of all people! At least when she had been in the Black Cells he knew where she was, now he had no idea. He could not predict her as he once had, not with the state her head was in. He felt like a fool, she was off with that idiot boy doing Gods knew what and he was just sitting around on his ass. He feared that Aegon would take advantage of Arya’s weakened emotional state and fuck a bastard into her. And when she came to her senses, she would look at him and ask why he didn’t protect her better. And what would he say then?

He itched to go out into the city and look for her but Rhaenys cautioned him against such behavior. She was right of course, he was likely to start a riot with his foul mood, that or a massacre. So instead, he was pacing the length of Arya’s chambers just hoping she would return some time tonight. His cousin had waited with him for a time, but his worry and fear combined to make him so volatile that she soon fled his company.

As the sky got darker and darker his mood grew to match. His patience waned. His anger boiled. He just wanted her back. Everything about Arya was tainted by ambiguity, who she really was, where she came from, what happened to her to take her memories, but what was certain, was his devotion to her. And hers to him.

He picked up a bottle of perfume Arya had never used and threw it at the fireplace. The glass shattered somewhere above the mantle and he was just filled with rage. He picked up her hiar brush and threw it into the flames.

For weeks he had tried to coax Arya back to herself. To eat. To bathe. To leave the Keep. And for weeks she refused him.

He picked up her vanity chair and smashed it into the wall until it broke apart.

He and Rhaenys could see that she was in pain, but their presence did nothing to ease her suffering. It was madding being so helpless.

He knocked the vanity onto the floor and brought his foot down on its delicate wooden legs, snapping it off the base. Again, again, again, he broke it beyond repair. He picked up what was left and threw it at the fireplace letting out a primal yell of frustration, “ARRAAAAAAH!”

More distressing than her unsanctioned evening out with Aegon, he could tell Arya was lying to him. She said she was distraught over the dead orphan children, but that wasn’t all. He knew her so well, how could she think—she trusted him, why not trust him with whatever was haunting her now? Why did she trust that little prick instead of him?

He drew Dark Sister and began hacking at her armoire. He threw open it’s doors and brought his sword down, permanently separating them.

For the past three weeks Arya was like an empty shell at times, staring off into the distance, claiming she was ‘fine’. But, he could not make her smile. Or laugh. And though she still accepted his comforting touches, she at times began quietly crying without reason. Or rather, without a reason she could articulate.

He was in the middle of destroying her armoire when Arya came into the room. He froze, mid-swing. Immediately, most of his anger drained away, replaced with a childlike shame for having been caught misbehaving. But Arya did not look angry as she took in the scene.

His sword clattered to the floor as she walked towards him. With a pout he noted Aegon had got her to put on real clothes today. “I’m sorry.”

His words were mumbled, and he couldn’t meet her gaze as he said them. Ashamed of his actions, he squeezed his eyes shut, it would kill him even more if he looked up and saw her disappointed in him.

In the small council Arya had a similar destructive outburst, but she had been in shock then, on the cusp of an emotional breakdown and under the influence of a mysterious poison. And here he was, throwing a tantrum twice as bad, but with nothing to excuse his behavior beyond a pitiful lack of self-control.

Arya seemed to ignore the mess. And once she was in front of him, she tilted his chin up with one finger. He met her gaze and saw none of the condemnation he expected. To his disbelief, she wrapped her arms around his neck and then jumped.

It was lucky she was still abnormally strong for a girl her age, despite what was now almost a moon of being underfed and sleep deprived, because it took him several seconds before he reacted. God she was fucking tiny. And so light. He wrapped his arms around her and held her securely, vowing nothing in the world would make him drop her.

This time when he closed his eyes it was not out of shame, it was to savor the experience of holding Arya in an embrace she initiated. She had not come seeking his touch since the incident. He had been worried, though he said nothing to anyone because in truth Arya was his only confidant, but he had truly been worried something between them had been irrevocably broken by their failure.

“We fed orphans.” She told him tiredly. She snuggled her face into the crook of his neck and reached for the ends of his hair. He let out a relieved sigh, both for the confirmation that she hadn’t been off fucking the drunken Prince and for the familiar sensation of her playing with his hair.

Credit where credit was due, Aegon was a fucking genius for thinking up that one. Of course, she finally left the Keep to go feed orphans. His nephew was proving more and more, he was not as stupid as he liked everyone to believe.

“Sleep with me tonight?” Arya asked, her voice soft, but confident. She knew the answer, he’d only been waiting weeks for her to ask it of him.

For the past three weeks she insisted she wanted to sleep alone. And for the past three weeks Arya had been plagued by nightmares. Violent, loud, soul crushing nightmares. With his own chambers only down the hall, he’d had to listen to her screaming, come running, only to be sent away after he roused her. Ridiculously, he had been feeling jealous that she had resumed seeking refuge with Drogon, instead of him.

But now she wanted him again.

Silently he carried her to the bed and settled her down in the center. He heard the thump of her boots being taken off and discarded on the floor as he moved around the room, blowing out the various candles that illuminated the space. Returning to the bed, he discarded his coat, shirt, scabbard, and boots before climbing under the covers with her. There was a thought, that he should inquire whether she had eaten or wanted to bathe or---she reached for him once she could. Cuddling close Arya lay her head over his heart and he wrapped one arm around her back holding her tight. He pressed a kiss to her hair, regardless of how greasy and unwashed it was.

“I missed you.” He confessed, it only felt right to say it now, in the dark of the night. She resumed playing with the ends of his hair but did not answer, so he kept talking. “I’m sorry about your room, I…I just--”

“Can you give me some money tomorrow?” She interrupted. He could feel her winding his hair around her finger tight and tighter.

“Yes.” He wanted to know what for, but hesitated asking, he wanted nothing to disturb the peace he felt in this moment.

She offered up a reason without prompting, “I plan on going out with Aegon again.” She let his hair unravel from around her finger, “We only managed to get some apples tonight, because the markets had already closed by the time we ventured out. Tomorrow I am thinking we will bring them meats.”

He smiled bitterly, the thought of her galivanting off with Aegon pained him, but the results were indisputably positive. For her and for him. “Whatever you need.”

He began to run his hand up and down her back, just because he could. She took up a piece of his hair and used the ends like a paintbrush, running it across his neck and collarbone. He pushed thoughts of Rhaenys and rumors and political consequences from his mind.

Arya had been right earlier when Aegon came calling, their reputations were already so tarnished it would be a drop in the bucket if he were found in her bed half naked. And really, if Arya wanted him here, back in her bed, he wasn’t going to argue otherwise.
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To his dismay Arya neither washed nor changed her clothes before leaving her chambers the next morning. Tired from his weeks of worrying over her wellbeing he decided to sleep in a bit longer once she was gone.

Upon his second waking he was nearly drowned in juice. Spluttering he sat up to find Rhaenys standing above him with an empty glass. She wore a stormy expression and began to berate him the second he was upright, “What if it was not I who found you undressed in your daughters’ bed? Daemon, do you never think of anyone besides yourself? What is wrong with you?”

Oh, how he wished his cousin were a man in that moment. “Have you ever been punched in the face, dear cousin?”

He wiped his face dry with the bedding and threw off the covers. Rhaenys completely ignored his threat and demanded, “Where is she? And what happened to her room? Did she have another violent outburst?”

Daemon ducked his head sheepishly as he climbed out of the bed to collect his clothing from the floor. He took a quick glance around at all the broken furniture, it looked even worse in the bright light of day. He began to get dressed as he answered, “Arya will be in the city today.”

“With Prince Aegon?” Rhaenys sounded as annoyed as he felt about the company his ‘daughter’ kept. He nodded in confirmation.

Rhaenys huffed, crossing her arms, “Well I suppose his company is preferable to the listless daze she’s been operating under.”

He didn’t bother buttoning up his coat, he just moved on to his shoes so he could flee the room as quickly as possible.

“And the room?” Rhaenys pressed. He sighed in defeat, now taking the time to do up his coat and look more presentable.

“That was me.” He admitted quietly. A peek at his cousin saw her rolling her eyes.

“Did you have a fight?”

He felt his face grow warm with embarrassment, “No. It was just me.”

He stood so she was forced to look up to him. Rhaenys scoffed, “You are just an ill-tempered child trapped in a man’s body, aren’t you?”

He scowled for how small she could make him feel with a few cutting words. Unfortunately, like Arya, Rhaenys was very competent and not intimidated by him at all. It made her one of those rare individuals he both respected and knew he could rely upon for support in times of crisis. It also made her very good at giving him shit, he had to take, for his more deplorable behaviors. With care not to jostle her, he slipped past his cousin and headed for the door.

“Do warn me the next time you feel a tantrum coming on?”

He shot Rhaenys a glare before fleeing the room.
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He spent part of the day secretly moving furniture from other rooms, into Arya’s. He didn’t want to take all of the furniture out of one room, as that would be too obvious, so he sourced from multiple unused guest rooms throughout the Keep, in hopes no one would notice his theft.

He enlisted the Cargyll twins to do the actual labor of moving furniture while he played lookout and ran interference as needed. They had given him looks of ‘what the fuck happened here’ and ‘you really fucked up’ when they saw the mess he had made of Arya’s room so, he dismissed them as soon as possible. In an effort to contain the story, and save face, he spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up the remains of his destruction, alone, without one servant’s help.

Once finished, it felt a little desperate, to sit and wait for Arya in her chambers, but his love for her outweighed his pride. He had dinner brought to her rooms for the both of them, in hopes he might coax her into eating, but after a day of labor he grew hungry and eventually gave in and ate alone.

When Arya returned, he stood anxiously, she paused in the doorway taking in all that he had done in her absence. When her eyes landed on him, she smiled. And he swore his heart skipped a beat. To be sure it wasn’t her warmest smile or her widest, but it was a real one. And she was happy to see him. What more could he ask for after weeks of her looking through him like a ghost?

Quietly, she shut the door behind her and joined him at the table. With gentle hands she pushed him back into his chair then climbed into his lap. It felt so right to have her in his arms again, he exhaled loudly, belatedly realizing he had been holding his breath since she entered.

He pressed his nose into her neck and inhaled, she smelled like sweat and grime, but he pressed a kiss to the skin behind her ear anyway. “So how was your day?”

She ran the end of her nose along the underside of his jaw before answering, “Can I have more money? I want to give out food to the needy somewhere new tomorrow.”

He cradled her a little closer. He couldn’t help the teasing tone creeping into his voice as he said, “I thought that is what you did today?”

She fiddled with the collar of his coat, her voice soft as she said, “Its not just the orphans who suffer in King’s Landing.”

By the Gods, she really was such a good fucking person, wasn’t she? He grabbed her by the chin and tilted her face up. She kissed him back with little hesitation, her lips were dry, but he didn’t care.

He hadn’t thought a person like Arya could exist before he met her. She was a walking contraction, just like him. She could be kind or cruel. Strong and vulnerable. Blood-thirsty but also compassionate. And the list went on and on and on. He’d never felt such kinship with someone and at the same time so inferior in comparison.

This past month had felt like he was under constant threat of losing her. At first to execution. Then to her own demons. It had been driving him crazy, because he had never cared for anyone like he cared for her. It made him want to do something ridiculous like eat her whole, just so he could always have her with him.

His hands dug into her hips, holding her too tight as he kissed her too roughly to be pleasant for either of them. Arya’s kindness was alluring like Rhaenyra’s sweetness had been when she was young. His inner heathen just wanted to despoil her somehow. Bring her down to his level, because deep down he knew he was a deviant at heart. With how he had been treated by his family over the years, it was the only explanation. There was something wrong with him and everyone but him could see it and that’s why he was shipped off to the Vale when he was but a boy. It’s why his brother all but disowned him after Daemon worked so hard to make him King. It’s why Rhaenyra never really fought for them to be together before she wed Laenor.

He was abandoned or cast out by everyone he loved and he couldn’t let that happen with Arya. He needed to keep her. Even if that meant consuming her. She let out a noise of alarm as he forced his tongue inside her mouth. He was acting like a crazed animal, he knew. Too demanding. Too physical. Too abrupt. Too much. He usually ignored these thoughts and feelings, but it was like nothing but his deepest insecurities were motivating him now.

She bit him. Blood filled his mouth and his tongue throbbed in pain. He pulled back from her with a gasp. They sat there, panting and looking at each other with wide eyes of disbelief. Shame flooded his heart. Was he really so inept? Rhaenys was right, he thought of no one but himself. “I’m sor--”

She slapped him. And, for some reason he couldn’t explain, he laughed. A slight frown pulled at her lips; she slapped him three more times in quick succession. Hard enough that he was sure his cheek was red by now, but soft enough to be considered somewhat playful.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated sincerely. “I’ve…” He didn’t know what to say. How could he explain how paranoid he’s been feeling? How worried? How much he loves her? How scared he’s been that he would lose her not to some enemy he could fight but to demons in her own fucking mind?

Her eyes softened, obviously seeing something in his eyes that he couldn’t adequately express in words.

“Do you want to try again?” She said softly, but her words were almost a challenge.

Silently he nodded, then he leaned in and kissed her again. This time he kept the contact soft and light and brief. An apology. An affirmation. A comfort. Gently she caressed the cheek she had struck. He turned his head so he could press a kiss to her palm. And just like that the words came a little easier, “I’ve been really worried about you, you know.”

He pressed another butterfly light kiss to her cheek, “Forgive me for my momentary insanity?” He gave her a matching peck on the other cheek.

Feather light she ran two fingers across the delicate skin underneath his right eye, then his left. He had dark purple bruises from all his recent sleepless nights. He found it hard to sleep even when he wasn’t needed to wake her from a nightmare, the anticipation alone stole hours of his rest. Add on to that, all the worry and fear and anger? He stared into her equally tired eyes and found absolution. She pressed a delicate kiss to his lips and he knew all was forgiven.

“Where are all the cats?”

“What?”

She pressed her thumb into his jaw as she cupped his face, “The Keep is infested with rats, I remember cats, chasing cats in the…never mind.”

He could see the indecision written across her face. He just wished she’d come out with it, whatever she was thinking, whatever she was holding back from sharing with him.

“Stay with me?” She asked quietly.

Obviously, she wanted to change the subject, with a sigh he silently agreed. Thinking of her well-being, he gestured to the table where her half of dinner sat untouched. “Food first?”

She shook her head and collapsed into his arms. “No.”

He sighed, “Bath?”

But he was already rising to his feet with her in his arms and heading for the bed because he knew she would answer, “No.”

He settled her on the end of the bed and watched as she flopped back. He frowned, she looked especially tired today and couldn’t help but silently condemn Aegon for not proper care of her.

Quickly he blew out the candles around the room and locked the door, before returning to her side. She hadn’t removed her boots or gotten under the covers yet, so he stripped her feet before attending to his own clothing. Naked from the waist up he lay on top of the covers with Arya, who was silently watching him. He copied her pose and got on to his side so they could lay face to face.

She scooted closer, wrapping one arm around his waist, “Its not just the failure at the fighting pit that’s had me all fucked up.”

He fucking knew it!

He also knew she liked to tell him the ‘hard’ things in the dark of the night, when they were as close as possible, but not actually looking at each other. So, he grabs her by the ass, gently, and pulls her flush to his body before moving his hand up to her lower back so he could keep secure against him. He whispers in her ear, “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.” She acknowledges, but then there was silence. He felt her reaching behind her, and realized she was too tired to climb under the blanket so she was pulling it wrap around her body from the side. It was too dark to really read her eyes, but there was a tremor of fear in her voice as she said, “Talk tomorrow? M’too tired now.”

It was the most frustrating thing she could have said. But he’d already fucked up earlier on two accounts, so even though it ate him up inside, he breathed out the word, “Okay.”

He let the steady rhythm of her heart lull him to sleep and comforted himself with the thought that tomorrow, he would get answers. And when he had them, he would save Arya from herself.
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The next night when they met up in her room, again she asked, “Can I have some money?”

She was finally letting him do something about the bird’s nest that was her matted hair. After a moon of tying it back without brushing it, her head was a mess. He expected it would take an hour or more to detangle it without causing further damage. As he worked on unknotting her locks, strand by strand, he told her, “You are aware I don’t have enough money to single handedly feed all of King’s Landing, aren’t you?”

When Arya pouted, he couldn’t help but find it adorable. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “Sorry.”

They were silent for a few minutes after that. Him working hard at his task, her watching him work in the reflection of the mirror.

When he had offered to help her with her hair, he hadn’t expected her to take him up on it. She was still wearing the same clothes from that first excursion with Aegon a few days agon and to his knowledge she still hadn’t bathed properly in weeks. At breakfast Rhaenys suggested they make smaller suggestions to get Arya back to her usual self. Like offer her a new shirt instead of trying to get her to change all her clothes, so when he saw her again, he offered to help her with her hair instead of offering to have a bath drawn.

Once he saw how extensive her hair problem was, he mentioned calling in some servants to aid in the task, or at least seeking advice from Rhaenys, who no doubt had more experience in dealing with such matters. But Arya had refused. More than refused, she had reached for a knife and spoke of just cutting her hair extremely short to avoid dealing with the problem all together.

He literally slapped the knife out of her hand and all but threw her in the vanity chair, insisting he could handle it on his own. And he could. It’s just alone, it would take him awhile.

“Has there been any news about who poisoned me or what was used? Or even what was dosed?”

Her question caused a frown to pull at his lips. It pained him to admit, “No.”

He was working on it, as was Rhaenys, but the mystery was proving a difficult one to solve. Whoever was working in the shadows against them had covered up their tracks very well.

“Oh.” Ever so slightly, her shoulders slumped in disappointment. He clenched his teeth, so very angry at himself for not being able to provide her with this one thing.

For half an hour he worked on her hair in silence. And it wasn’t tense. But it wasn’t comfortable either. He could sense her attention turning inward as time stretched on, and he didn’t like it. She had promised him answers today, but he didn’t want to push her after his show of aggression yesterday.

At least he was making progress on her hair.

“Halfway done.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze of encouragement. She stared at his reflection blankly. He could see she was also growing tired quickly. He remembered how early she had started her day of charity and now the hour was pretty late.

“I will work quickly.” He promised and got back to his task of detangling.

After, he wasn’t sure how long it took, but after he finished, he wet her hairbrush and went through her hair making sure he hadn’t missed any knots. Once her hair was lying straight and relatively smooth again, he tied up her hair in two tight plaits. He hoped the style would keep her hair safe until he could convince her to start bathing again.

As she was practically falling asleep in the chair, when he carried her to the bed, he thought he could get away with stripping her down, in the hopes it would encourage her to bathe or at the very least change her clothes come morning. But she pushed his hands away mumbling, “Leave it.”

With a scowl he did as she bid and set about readying for bed. Once the room was sufficiently dark and he was half naked, he climbed in to the bed beside Arya to find her already sleeping.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to shake her awake and demanded she tell him what was haunting her. What had her so depressed and distant for nearly a moon!

With a sigh he gathered her close and pushed away all of his worries. He focused on the sound of Arya’s even breathing, he needed to be well rested if they were to have a difficult conversation come morning. Luckily, sleep was quick to claim him.
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Sometime later he woke up to Arya screaming. In the circle of his arms, she was thrashing back and forth, her legs kicked out, and she was yelling a familiar name, “JON! NOOOOOO! JON!”

He reacted quickly, sitting up he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position as well. He shouted in her face, “Wake up! Arya, you’re dreaming! Wake up! Come back to me! Arya!”

Her eyes blinked open, tears sliding down her cheeks, she wiped at her eyes as she took a fortifying but shuddering breath. She was awake, but her body was still trembling.

They reached for each other at the same time. The second his arms wrapped around her shoulders she began to quietly cry into his chest. It broke his heart and healed something inside him, how tightly she held on to him, her skinny strong arms wrapped snug around his waist. He quickly realized that in addition to the trembling body, and tears, she was also slick with sweat.

And just like the first time he had comforted her after a nightmare, back in Pentos almost a year ago, he felt helpless and only wished he could do something to make her suffering end. But now that they were so much closer than they were then, he knew just how to calm her.

Wordlessly he held her close, rubbed her back, kissed her hair, pressed his cheek to the top of her head and he waited. Arya needed lots of physical affection and silent support to get her head back on straight. It wasn’t long until she stopped shaking. Her heartbeat slowed back to normal. And her tears stopped falling.

“Talk to me,” he demanded softly, “Let me help you.”

“Okay.”

They settled back into bed, her head pillowed on his chest. His arms wrapped tight around her body.

“What do you know about the Long Night?” She asked, her voice more nervous than he had ever heard from her before.

He was thrown by the question, it felt like a joke, but he treated it seriously, answering, “I’ve heard the stories same as everyone else. It’s a folk tale about a winter that lasted more than one hundred years, an army of the dead, and the heroes that defeated them. Right?”

He’d never put much stock into such faire, but he had a feeling Arya would not appreciate him dismissing the old Westerosi legends.

“It happened eight thousand years ago Daemon, eight thousand years before Aegon’s Conquest, the time period is known as the Age of Heroes and the first Long Night lasted a generation. Babies were born, lived, and died, all without seeing spring. The world was terrorized by the Others from the Lands of Always Winter, and their army of undead wights.” He could tell from her voice she believed everything she was saying was the absolute truth. And it kind of scared him. As did her use of the words ‘first Long night’ which implied there would be a second one.

“But that didn’t really happen.” He argued gently. He ran his hands up and down her back to soothe his dissent. “Maybe there really was a hundred years of winter, but it was probably just men who terrorized the world in the wake of such harsh conditions. Savage, starving, desperate, evil men who were the inspiration for a more fantastical tale.”

“Why do you think the Wall was built?” She asked, not sounding offended by his skepticism.

“To keep out the wildlings.” He said confidently, “Selfish, if you ask me.”

“Have you ever been beyond the Wall?” She pressed her hand to the space over his heart, playing with the wiry hair there.

“No.” He admitted, not liking where this line of questioning was going. He felt a hot tear drip onto his skin and he held her tighter.

“It makes sense, that no one believes. Jon had a friend…said everything we know about the Age of Heroes and the Long Night comes from books written thousands of years after the fact, got all the information from runes on rocks.…” Another tear dripped onto his shoulder. “But I know that the wights fight with razor thin swords of ice, or whatever they were buried with when they were still living. I know that weapons made of dragonglass can kill them permanently, as can fire. I know what it’s like to live through a year without seeing the sun. An endless winter, so powerful, so unstoppable, it froze the ocean.”

He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to say. Every inconsistency about Arya’s past and who she really was had led them to this moment and this conversation. And somehow, he still didn’t feel ready for it.

“I dream--no, my nightmares, all of my nightmares are about the Long Night, the second one. The one that hasn’t happened yet.” A dreamer? Did that explain everything? …No, he quickly concluded, it didn’t.

“Drogon, Jon, and I, we traveled the whole world when the Long Night came for us. We tried to fight. But we failed. We tried again, and failed again. We kept on trying, and we kept on failing. And all the while, people kept on dying and the army of the dead kept growing. And we—we were running out of places to escape to...He froze the ocean.” Her voice grew hoarse as she started to cry harder, “The fucking ocean, can you imagine? A winter so harsh and so powerful, that the ocean froze?”

He could not imagine such a thing. He did not in his heart, think a thing was possible.

“After the Night King froze the ocean, he led the dead across it so they could keep on conquering…we were hunted to the literal ends of the earth.” He inhaled loudly. If this is what haunted Arya’s dreams, he could see why she woke up screaming so often.

“I used to believe in the old gods, I think.” Her hand was back on his hip, just gripping his flesh tight, “Back when I was a child and had a family. But then something happened, and I was alone. And I devoted myself to the God of Death. To the idea of it, at least…”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, because she sounded like she needed it. Arya let out a small sigh. She took a few seconds before she continued. The fear fading from her words, as a flat lifeless took its place. “And then I saw a man cut in half and a red priest, brought him back to life.”

“What?” He froze. He stopped breathing. One word echoed in his head, immortality? It was a seductive idea, and he quickly had to remind himself, impossible. No matter what Arya said.

“I believe in two gods now, because I have seen their power for myself. They are real, the Many-Faced God and R’hllor…the Kindly Man once told me that death is not the worst thing. And it’s not. Daemon, it’s really really not. That’s why I burned the dead. It’s the only way to stop them from coming back.” There was a loud sniff as Arya sucked back her snot. “I’ve never asked, which gods do you believe in Daemon?”

That was a complicated question for many reasons, but the simplest answer was, “Actually, I’m an atheist.”

Arya barked with laughed. It was the laugh of someone who had seen someone else do something very cruel or very stupid and found joy in thought of their inevitable comeuppance. “I thought you Targaryen’s converted to the Faith of the Seven? Or at the very least I thought you, in particular, would claim to worship the Old Gods of Valyria?”

“We had to convert, publicly, for political reasons.” He answered her honestly, as he really had no secrets from Arya at this point, and he hoped the feeling was mutual. “But, looking to invisible forces for help or guidance has never been my way.”

“I bet you and Otto have that in common.” Arya rubbed the back of her hand across her face, and then on the blanket. “Perhaps that is the way of all second sons who must forge their own path? Hmm?”

His nose wrinkled at the thought of sharing anything with Otto Hightower, but silently he acknowledged she was probably right. Alicent was the only true believer of the bunch, Otto just used his piousness as another weapon in his political arsenal.

“I would have thought as a soldier you would at least believe in Death. To pray for mercy or whatever? Victory, maybe?”

He rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge that Arya couldn’t actually see his face at the moment, “Death is not a god you believe in. It is an inevitable stage of life.”

“That’s true.” She said softly, “At the end of every road stands Him of Many Faces, waiting. The Kindly man said--”

“Who is the Kindly man?” He interrupted. “Is he that man I met back in Braavos? The representative from the House of Black and White?”

“Yes and no.” She waffled, “Mostly no…Have you ever seen a faceless man change his face?”

“No.” He felt very uneasy. The only magic he believed in came from Old Valyria and dragons. Arya was talking like she suddenly found religion and was hoping to convert him.

“It’s a miracle. It’s magic. It’s real. I’ve seen it. I’ve done it. I can fucking show you…and you claim there are no Gods. They say Death is the only God---well, I used to believe that Death is the only God who comes when you call, but he’s not. There’s also the Lord of Light…R’hllor is not done with us yet. Life is warmth, and warmth is fire, and fire is God’s and God’s alone.”

“Is that prophecy?” He said, maybe a bit too snidely.

“Worse, it’s a memory.” Another tear hit his skin and he just couldn’t take it.

“What are you saying?” He demanded as softly as his burning need for answers would allow. “Who are you?”

“I still don’t know… All this time, I’ve been thinking. And dreaming. And remembering. Names are still mostly out of reach, but other things have come back to me. Lessons I learned. Battles I’ve fought. People I’ve killed. Magic I’ve seen. Monsters I’ve slain. But me? My story? It’s in pieces. It’s shadows on a wall. My nightmares are the only clarity I have found. The Long Night, I remember it. I lived it, we lose. The Long Night comes again, and the living, we all die.”

He had no words. His mind was a jumble of concern, for Arya had to be a raving lunatic, and fear, because what if, against all reason, what if what she was saying was true? But how could it be true? How could she have lived through the ‘second Long Night’, if it hadn’t happened yet? Arya being a prophetic dreamer, like Daenys made the most sense, only…only… “If you lived through the Long Night, which hasn’t happened yet…does that mean it’s going to happen within your lifetime?”

“I think so.” She whispered brokenly. “I don’t know.”

“Fuck.”

“…now do you do you get why I’ve been so withdrawn and depressed all this time?” She sniffed.

He did, but, “You still need to bathe tomorrow.”

“…Yeah, okay.”

There was something in her voice now, something off. Insecurity? And he didn’t think she was feeling uncertain that he would believe her, she knew he wouldn’t, at least not right away. Maybe she wanted some sign of reassurance, but couldn’t bring herself to ask for it? So, he offered up a declaration out of the blue, “I love you.” A tear hit his skin, and she squeezed him a little tighter, he said it again, stronger, “I still love you.”

“I sound out of my mind.” She protested, like it mattered to him in the slightest, “I feel like I’ve lost my mind…What is the point in getting dressed, when we’re all doomed? What is the point of bathing, or laughing, or brushing my hair, or anything…in the face of what I know is coming for us all?”

He wanted to kiss her, to show her what mattered, but with the darkness he didn’t want to risk kissing her eye by mistake or something equally embarrassing. Left with only words, he tried his best, “The point is I love you Arya.”

“But--”

“You’re here now.” He said sternly, “And you can’t live in the past. Or the future. You can only live here with me, right now.” He slipped his hand under her shirt to trace over her scars, “But you already know that. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing with Aegon? Trying to move on from your nightmares? To live in the present?”

“Am I mad?” She asked with a sniff, “Do you think?”

“No.” He said quickly, not sure if he was lying or not.

“Did you ever hear back from the Wall? Is there a Yoren of the Night’s Watch?” She obviously, desperately, wanted some kind corroboration for her story, beyond her and Drogon’s unexplainable existence.

As it happened, he had received a raven as to his inquiry two moons ago. There wasn’t a man at the Wall by that name nor had there been a ‘Yoren’ of the Night’s Watch in the past two hundred years. He felt like he had to protect what was left of her sanity, so he lied, “Haven’t heard back yet.”

He had no idea how to get back to normal from here. So, he just held Arya close and pet her hair.

“…I love you too.”

He smiled, pressed a kiss to the top of her head and began to hum after a few seconds of this she quietly requested, “Sing for me?”

He thought of his Lady Laena. And the night they gathered around her bed, playing silly games with their girls, back on Driftmark as a family. The Valyrian lullaby dripped from his lips smoothly like honey, “Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing, from my voice: the fires have spoken, and the price has been paid, with blood magic, with words of flame with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing, as one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined, beautifully, freely.”

“Drogon knows that song.” She said once he was finished, “It resonates within him.”

“Well, that makes as much sense as everything else you’ve said tonight.” He was flippant without thinking, and tensed as he realized what he’d done.

Arya’s cackle was loud, and borne of true amusement. He relaxed, and allowed a smile as Arya shook with laughter. Soon enough, he joined in. The release of emotion felt good.

As they settled down, she whispered, “Daemon, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to sleep. It’s almost morning.”

“And after that?”

Arya was good and kind and generous; she didn’t deserve to be haunted by monsters in her own mind. Silently, he vowed that her happiness would take precedence above all, even over the fate of the world. At least for him. “Let us worry about tomorrow’s problems, tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She said, but he knew what she meant was ‘I trust you’.

“Arya?”

“Hmm?”

“Do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Dream about me, for a change,” He counseled quietly, “Dream about us. And all the things we’ve yet to accomplish together. All the fun we’ve yet to have. And all the trouble we have yet to make.”

Lightly she chuckled, her breathe tickling his skin as she whispered back a promise, “I’ll try.”
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Depressed Arya

Chapter Text

Chapter 32
~Daemon, Part 2~

Daemon was not surprised that after their sleepless night Arya chose to spend her afternoon with Aegon, in the Red Keep kitchens. He heard from a guard, who heard from a maid, she and Aegon were put to work peeling potatoes or some such nonsense. He found comfort in the knowledge that Arya was staying close after their emotionally exhausting conversation. And, he knew she liked doing mindless, but helpful, tasks sometimes. He and Arya were similar in that way, they both liked to be productive when feeling burdened or overwhelmed. They just favored different activities of expression.

Mid-afternoon Rhaenys tracked him down in the library. He had pulled every text they had on Wights, the Long Night, and the Age of Heroes. The further into his research he got the more edgy he grew. Much of what Arya said about the events from 8,000 years ago checked out. And while that didn’t prove much of anything, it still left him feeling uneasy.

He currently had two books open in front of him and a blank book he was writing his thoughts in. He was cross referencing the same events told from two different authors, making a log of the consistent information that supported Arya’s claims, and another list that contradicted it. And on another page, he was scribbling down questions to be asked of her at a later date.

He heard the click clack of heels on stone approaching his location and from the confident stride, and lack of accompanying footsteps, he knew it could only be his cousin. Without looking up he said, “I’m busy.”

A scroll was thrown in his face making him flinch.

“Baela and Rhaena are threatening to come to King’s Landing if they don’t hear back from you or Arya soon. I’ve written them faithfully, keeping them up to date of the situation, in broad strokes, but I can tell your silence is driving them crazy with worry. I fear they will do something drastic if you continue to ignore them.” He looked up to see his cousin crossing her arms over her chest. She was scowling at him with disappointment shining in her eyes, “I told you to write the girls last week, why do you continue to shirk your responsibilities like a defiant child?”

He glared at his cousin, “I have been a bit preoccupied caring for Arya if you hadn’t noticed.”

“And, what’s your excuse now that she is on the mend?” She barely took a breath before she started berating him again, “I’ve told you before your fixation with Arya will be your undoing.”

“You’re overreacting.” He growled, tired of Rhaenys and her superior attitude.

She paid his comment no mind, continuing, “Your obsession is not only perverse, but it blinds you to reason and responsibilities and taking into consideration the consequences of your actions!”

“Cousin-”

“But really, I am not surprised. Your parental skills were already lacking when you met her, I don’t know what possessed me to ever let you bring her here, you will ruin her just like you did my Laena. I should take Arya back to Driftmark with me now, against your will or not. Maybe then you would remember you are a father of three girls, not just one! And that even for a Targaryen, incest between parent and child is depraved!”

He took a breath and reminded himself why he could not grab his cousin by the back of her head and slam her face into the table. Rhaenys had come to his aid when he asked for it. Rhaenys loved Arya. Rhaenys would go to war to protect his children. He took another breath and held on to his composure. He could not afford to lose the support of his Velaryon kin, he could not explode as he wanted to.

Diplomatically he took her scroll and began drafting a letter to his daughters, assuring them all was well and Arya would be back to her old self in no time. His cousin was right about one thing, he’d been especially neglectful of Laena’s children this past month. Especially since it was Arya who usually reminded him to keep up his correspondence with the twins.

Reading over his shoulder Rhaenys informed him, “I spoke with Viserys this morning. Word has reached him of Arya and Aegon’s trips into the city, as I warned you they would. He’s requesting a private audience with her now that she appears well enough for company.”

His hand stopped moving. His motionless quill caused a pool of ink to form around the word ‘safe’. With Viserys’s lifelong fascination with Old Valyria, Daenys’s prophecy, and dragon dreams, he really didn’t want Arya trapped alone in a room with his brother. He didn’t know what he feared more, Viserys believing every word Arya said about the upcoming ‘second’ Long Night, or Viserys casting her out for fear she would sow madness with her outlandish lies.

“He will have to wait.” He resumed writing. “She is still recovering.”

“I said much the same. I explained that her heart is still healing from the tragedy and we are using her and Prince Aegon’s friendship as a tool to help her move on, but that such an endeavor is an ongoing process and cannot be rushed. I believe my discouragement will warn him off the idea for a few more days yet, but Daemon, Kings are not known for their patience.”

“I appreciate the help and all of your advice.” He said begrudgingly as he signed his name at the bottom of the page and rolled up the scroll. When he offered it up to his cousin, she took it from his hand with a frown. “Lucky for us, Viserys is not just our King, but our family. And as such, much more patient than the average royal.”

Rhaenys did not say anything in response to his pithy quip, she just left.

He stared after her retreating form until she was out of sight. In doing so, he saw a familiar face spying on him. He smiled knowingly at his little nephew. And for a second, his singular eye widened in alarm, but to Aemond’s credit he was quick to school his features into a more stoic expression.

The boy looked around at the empty room before approaching Daemon’s table. “Uncle?”

He stared at the boy wordlessly to hopefully unsettle him. He knew that Aemond idolized him for his power and reputation and skills on the battlefield. He wondered how strong his hold over the boy was when Arya wasn’t around to strengthen the bonds of hero worship between them.

“Busy?” He asked with a raised brow.

Aemond’s posture was impeccable as he nonchalantly shook his head. Daemon snorted at the boy’s forced aloofness. “Are your skills conversing in Valyrian on par with your reading comprehension?”

He did not expect the boy to drop his polished princely act so abruptly and demand, “Is Arya still angry with me?”

“No.” After what he’d been through with Arya these past few days, Daemon didn’t have the heart to toy with the boys’ emotions like he normally would. Aemond opened his mouth to object but he talked over the child explaining, “She was never mad at you nephew. She does not blame you for what happened to those children, nor do I, nor should you blame yourself.”

“But I--”

“Trust me Aemond, Arya cares for you far more than a handful of dead orphans.”

The boy frowned, his hands curling up into fists at his sides, his body language foreshadowing an explosive outburst, “Then why does she shun all human company and only give her attention to Aegon!”

He looked deeply hurt; Daemon felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. He did not dare speak a word of his and Arya’s reconnection the past few days. For a few days ago, he had felt much the same as his nephew did now. “Your brother…” it was hard for him to explain the draw Aegon held for Arya, considering he didn’t quite understand it himself, but he tried, “Your brother is, or rather he provides her with--”

“Cock?” Daemon smirked, tickled as ever, when Alicent’s precious baby used foul language. “Are they fucking now, is that it?”

“No.” He said confidently.

“Then what!?” Aemond growled, slamming his fists on the table, “What is the appeal of Aegon? What does he do, what does he say, if they aren’t fucking, what good is he? Why would she turn to him for comfort and not me! I was the one who was there with her that night!”

Daemon sighed, “Honestly nephew, I don’t understand the appeal entirely either.”

Aemond continued ranting as if he hadn’t spoken, “If I had known she was ready to come out of hiding, I would have offered to take her back to the lake, or dragon riding! She knows she can trust me, doesn’t she? She could tell me anything and I would never betray her confidence! Unlike Aegon, I don’t see her as a conquest or a way to pleasantly pass the time! I’m the one who actually cares about her!”

“And you are not alone in that!” Daemon sternly reminded him. He wouldn’t have Aemond thinking he was the only one who was invested in Arya’s wellbeing.

Petulantly Aemond spat, “Aegon’s sneaking her into the city you know, doing God’s know what, when nobody’s watching. It’s all a game to him. And the prize is your daughter’s pussy!”

Aemond looked both furious and expectant, as if he thought his words were to be some great revelation that would galvanize Daemon into keeping Arya and Aegon apart. For once, he tried to be kind as he explained, “Your brother cares for her as well.”

“Yes, as a cock sleeve!”

Daemon barked out a laugh, but quickly put his hand over his mouth to smother the rest of his amusement. “Boy, when you slip the leash, you really enjoy throwing propriety out the window, don’t you?”

“Uncle!” Aemond said chastising, “This is not a laughing matter. Aegon intends to use and discard Arya like a common whore.”

There was a possibility that Aemond was correct in his assessment of his brother’s intentions. But, Daemon disagreed. After all of Aegon’s efforts this past moon. After everything Arya had told him of the prince. He didn’t like it, but he believed Aegon had genuine feelings for his ‘daughter’.

Quietly he told his nephew, “Your brother has been leaving Arya presents everyday since she was freed from the Black Cells.” A look of surprise washed over the boy’s face, “I wouldn’t let him see her, so he began leaving gifts to show how much cares. To let her know he was thinking of her. Flowers mostly, but he also brought her trinkets, clothes, an actual puppy once.” As he talked Aemond curled in on himself, shrinking before Daemon’s very eyes. “Out of respect for Arya’s autonomy, I showed her the gifts, told her who they were from, but she was in such a state, she didn’t seem to care.”

“Until a few days ago.” Aemond guessed with a stony expression.

Daemon nodded, “She’s doing much better now.”

Bitterly Aemond muttered under his breath, “All thanks to Aegon and his relentless pursuit of pussy.”

He sighed, it did not make him much happier than Aemond to admit the important role Aegon was playing in Arya’s recovery. But his ego was pacified by the knowledge that it was their late-night conversations that were the true catalyst for Arya’s healing. “Aemond, I’m sorry, but I think Aegon genuinely likes her. Not just her womanly body parts, but her.”

Aemond crossed his arms defensively, “Once he gets a taste he’ll discard her. Ruined and regretful.”

A bitter smile pulled at his lips, for that was Daemon’s secret fear as well. “Perhaps.”

Aemond’s eye went wide. The boy slammed his fists on the table demanding, “Then why do you risk her heart and honor, allowing their illicit relationship to continue? Aegon is promised to Heleana! Any affair with Arya now will only sully her name and reputation and dishonor her future husband!”

He laughed, it was the same argument Rhaenys and he had been having for months, first over correspondence when rumors between Arya and Aegon began to fly, and now in person.

“Why are you always fucking laughing?!” Aemond exclaimed, looking exasperated, “Do you love Arya so little you would see her devastated by your negligence? You are going to destroy her if you allow her to continue on this path!”

The mirth he felt died, and his laughter stopped abruptly. Quick as a viper he grabbed his nephew by his skinny little wrist and squeezed, causing the boy pain.

“Do not dare question my love for that girl. Nor hers for me. We share a bond that is as unshakable as it is beyond your pathetic comprehension.” With a look of disgust, he threw the child’s wrist back at his body. “Allow me to disillusion you dear nephew, you are not subtle. You are, in fact, very obvious. Every word you say, every insult you throw, the way you look at her, even how you breathe, shouts your heart’s desire for all to hear. If you want Arya for yourself, as I know you do, abandon the idea that tearing down your rivals will win you, her favor.”

Aemond cradled his wrist close to his body. But it was the nasty snarl on his face that told Daemon his words had hit their mark. He knocked his knuckles on the table to emphasize his words, “You want her? Build yourself up. Become impressive. Become worthy. Get fucking taller. Be someone whom she can rely on. Support her. Help her. Do not sit in judgement and condemn her actions or desires! Be her champion.” The anger seeped away a little, and his softened to reflect it, “Be her friend. There is so much love in friendship boy, people forget that.”

Aemond finally lost the look of adolescent rage, adopting a more thoughtful expression. “Before you took on the role as her ‘father’, back in Pentos and Braavos, you started as her friend.”

The audacity. Daemon ducked his head to hide his smile. “I did.”

When he looked up, he found his nephew’s eye roving over the texts open on the table before him. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Gracefully, Daemon allowed the child to change the subject, answering glibly, “Learning more about ancient history.”

“Why?” Aemond asked with a shrewd narrowing of his eye, the boy was already reading trying to decipher his true intentions by himself.

In his gut Daemon knew this nephew was the true challenger to his bond with Arya. As a child, Aemond had the advantage of appearing unassuming and endearing himself via Arya’s protective instincts. But given a few years’ time, Aemond would prove to be either an unparalleled ally, or his greatest foe. Bold, brave, dedicated, intelligent, if they boy grew up strong and handsome, Daemon knew he would have to fight for Arya’s attentions much harder than he did when the opposition was someone like Aegon.

After feeling so hopeless during Arya’s weeks long depression, Daemon decided to exercise a little optimism. “Arya asked me some questions I didn’t have the answers to. So, here I am educating myself.” He gestured to the books, “Would you like to join me?”

Aemond did not answer quickly. He took his time, thinking over the offer, probably wondering how acceptance could be used against him in the future, but ultimately, he nodded. And sat down across from Daemon, stealing one of the books for himself, Aemond began to silently read about the Age of Heroes.

Daemon watched the boy for a minute, smiling to himself, Arya would be so proud of him for this overture. Shaking his head, he looked down at his own text and got back to work.
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That night, Arya was already in her chambers when he returned. And to his great joy, she was relaxing in a bath. “Praise the Gods, your war against soap is over!”

Arya smirked as he approached, “You don’t believe in the Gods.”

He reached into the tub to flick some water into her face, quipping, “You just may convert me yet.”
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The next morning, he gave Arya some money and ordered her to spend it on something for herself, he absolutely forbade her from using it on charity of any kind.

He was immensely pleased and surprised that she returned to the Keep richer than she had left it, apparently his girl had a gift when it came to gambling on the Street of Silver. He was so amused that he challenged her to make double the amount the next day. He knew there was to be a drunken Horse Race on the Street of Sisters the following day, and he suggested she and Aegon might enjoy the experience. Arya agreed, and to his dismay, ran off to tell Aegon of their plans.

He was even more displeased when she returned to her chambers with Rhaenys in tow. Probably sensing his displeasure, Arya went to his side and gave him a one-armed hug, gesturing to the Queen that Never Was, saying, “I thought it would be nice if we sat down to have dinner together. Just us three.”

He exchanged a loaded glance with his cousin. To his knowledge this would be the first meal Arya willingly participated in since the raid, there was no way either of them could even think of refusing. Rhaenys smiled back at them, but her eyes were on Arya, “That sound’s lovely, my dear.”

Arya left his side and gave Rhaenys a hug, the older woman pet her hair as she returned the embrace heartily. “I know I’ve been…struggling,” Arya explained further, “since I was released from the Black Cells, and I wanted to thank you both for all that you’ve done for me. Not only in getting me released and not executed, but for all the care and attention that I needed after.”

This time when he and his cousin’s eyes met, there was a silent accord.

“We love you Arya, you don’t need to thank us. Being there for each other, in times of need is what family is for.” He said as moved to stand by Rhaenys’s side. His hand reaching out to pat Arya’s shoulder. Rhaenys, with one arm still around Arya’s waist agreed, “Daemon is right, it is not a burden to help those you love. It is a blessing.”

Arya nodded, looking a little overwhelmed, before twirling out of Rhaenys’s reach. “I’ll be right back with the food.”

As soon as Arya slipped out the door, he and his cousin simultaneously stepped away from each other crossing to other sides of the room. He to the fireplace, her to the window. They didn’t say a word to each other until Arya returned.
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Chapter Text

Chapter 33
~Daemon, Part 3~

“The King’s plans for your name day keep getting grander and grander with each reply of attendance we receive,” Rhaenys informed them as they ate, “It seems even an inconvenient postponement and a murky reputation won’t keep the masses away from attending.”

The feast and tourney that were initially to be held in service to Daemon’s return to court and a celebration of Aemond’s name day, had altered much since their conception. After Arya’s imprisonment word was sent out that the tourney was canceled as the Queen thought the idea poor taste given her father’s condition, and the feast for Aemond was reduced to a lackluster family dinner. He felt a little bad that Aemond’s name day celebration was effectively cancelled as the day had passed while Arya was in confinement and his mother was preoccupied with Otto, but it couldn’t be helped now.

He asked Rhaenys, “How many have responded thus far?”

“The current count is at forty-five I believe, but we’ve yet to hear back from a few notable Houses who were traveling back home when word was sent out the event was back on but delayed. And I expect the number to exceed what is projected, day of, as Viserys declared that the tourney is open to all willing participants. This holdover from when he was worried no one would attend after canceling the event the first time, will, I predict, make things very interesting come tourney time. So, knights or not, the contestants just have to have their own gear, which will of course attract many looking to earn a name for themselves and of course, the ever-attractive prize money.”

His brother had also made the tourney even more attractive by upping the prize money on offer to the winners of the joust, melee, and archery contest respectively. As he understood it, the melee would start the tourney off, followed by three days of jousting, and close with the archery contest, after which a feast would be held in honor of Arya’s name day.

“I don’t like how the feast is now centered around me and me alone.” Arya said as she bit into an apple, juice dripping down her hand and chin. He and Rhaenys exchanged a look, both annoyed with her lack of table manners, but resigned to endure it without comment.

Arya looked at him pleadingly as she asked, “Why can’t the feast go back to being about the both of us?”

“I’m afraid that ship has sailed my dear,” Rhaenys consoled as she took a sip of wine, “I am hearing whispers about extravagant gifts being bought, so you best practice your gracious acceptance face.”

Arya made a childish face of disgust and took an overly large bite of her fruit. Daemon frowned, but said nothing. He was not exactly pleased about Arya being the center of attention either. Not so soon after her…indisposition. However, Rhaenys was right, a great deal of money had already been spent and thus the plans were too far along to alter without great loss to all involved. Namely, he and Rhaenys.

“Once you were declared innocent, plans for a tourney and feast resumed.” He reminded her, “And once Viserys learned of our one-year anniversary, effectively making it your name day in his mind, my brother could not be swayed away from planning the event around you.”

Rhaenys smirked as she informed them, “Some of the Houses who started their journeys months ago to reach King’s Landing for the initial tourney and feast, have already arrived and started back home, as they hadn’t received word of its cancellation until they showed up.” She took another sip, “It’s all a bit of a mess, but now that you’re feeling more yourself, I think it will be worth it. You deserve a bit of fun after what you’ve endured here.”

Daemon didn’t like the guilty expression that flickered across Arya’s face. None of this was her doing, and he didn’t like the idea of her taking on any unearned stress. He reached out and squeezed her wrist comfortingly. She sort of grimaced in response.

“It’s not your fault.” He reassured her, “The prize money is the true incentive for most to attend, and well help ameliorate any ill will over inconveniences in the tourney’s delay.”

Rhaenys caught on quick and added, “Daemon is right, some groups that arrived and were turned away after the cancellation have even sent word from the road that they will be coming back now that the festivities are back on. Do not fret over this. I want you to look forward to the feast, not dread it.”

“So,” Arya glumly said, “Because I was sloppy enough to let myself get poisoned and imprisoned because I lost my mind and my temper. Then needed an additional three more weeks just to get my head back on straight, I’ve inconvenienced the lords and ladies of some of the most important Houses in Westeros?” Her tone changed into one of self-deprecation, “Sure, I bet everyone’s ecstatic to meet and celebrate the not-real-name-day of the not-real-Targaryen.”

Daemon despised Arya’s dour outlook, but he did not begrudge her it. If it were up to him, he would cancel the whole thing, but months and months ago, the event was her idea. Arya had pitched it to Viserys angling to celebrate him and Aemond, as a sort of show of family unity. She was the one who pushed for a tourney, even offering to perform a Dragon Show during Aemond’s name day feast as an added incentive for all to agree to absorbing the substantial cost of such a frivolous event. Now that it had mutated beyond her original concept, Arya’s lack of enthusiasm was understandable.

Under her breathe she muttered, “What a fucking waste of money.”

Daemon shot his cousin a silencing glare. He did not want Arya to learn how much they were contributing to fund her unwanted extravagant party; it would only make her feel worse. Rhaenys tried to cheer her offering, “At least now that you’re feeling better you can help me plan it partially to your tastes.”

Arya gave her the most adolescent fueled glare/unimpressed look Daemon had ever seen. He couldn’t help but laugh. That earned him his own dose of side-eye, which only made him laugh harder. It was true Arya often acted older than she appeared, but occasionally she exuded such petulant adolescent attitude he questioned if Alicent had the right of it, pegging her at 14 years old. In a flat but sullen voice Arya said, “You’re an ass.”

He grinned at her, fully amused by her delivery. “Eat your dinner ‘daughter’ and stop the poor little rich girl, woe is me act. Rhaenys has put in a lot of effort to make your party as painless as possible and as your ‘lord father’ I demand you show a little gratitude.”

Though his words were said in jest, they had a real impact on Arya’s demeanor. He watched as she straightened in her chair and turned to Rhaenys with a contrite expression. “I am grateful.” She said sincerely, “I don’t mean to be rude.”

Lovingly Rhaenys waved off her concern, “Think nothing of it dear, I know your true heart and I hope that you will enjoy the festivities, despite your apprehension. Even if you have to do it in spite of yourself.”

Arya smiled at the older woman softly, “So, tell me a bit about what you have planned? I know the basics, but none of the details.”

Rhaenys drained the rest of her wine glass before responding with a warm smile, “Well, for one thing I insisted the feast to be held out in the gardens Drogon favors so that he can attend as well.”

He and Arya cackled.

“I bet Alicent loved hearing that.” Arya said with a grin.

Rhaenys waved her hand dismissively at the idea, “Viserys offered up the use of the entire Keep if we needed it for the feast, beyond that I’m paying for everything so what the Queen thinks of our choice in venue doesn’t really matter.”

Daemon sighed as the joy drained away from Arya’s face. “What do you mean you’re paying for everything?” She asked shrilly, “I thought this was all on the Crown since the whole thing is happening at the King’s insistence!”

His cousin looked to him pleadingly as she realized her error. Silently he cursed her for nearly imbibing a bottle of wine by herself with their paltry dinner. Turning, he smiled charmingly at Arya, trying to temper her ire, “My brother is absorbing the cost of hosting all the major Lords and Ladies who are to attend at his invitation. He’s providing the prize money for the tourney and all the food at every event, including the final name day feast. But cousin Rhaenys, and to a lesser extent myself, are taking care of the other minor expenses. Such as decoration, entertainment, and employing any additional staff.”

He was not expecting a look of fear to wash over Arya. In a small voice she questioned, “The King is providing the food?”

He looked over at his cousin unsure why this was what Arya found most troubling. “Yes?”

Arya diverted her attention down to her plate. He could tell how unsettled she was by the news by her silence and tense body language, but he honestly had no idea the cause. “Arya?”

Rhaenys reached out a comforting hand, but Arya flinched away from the contact.

“It’s nothing.” She mumbled.

He frowned at her obvious lie. “You’re upset,” He told her sternly, “That is not nothing.”

She shook her head and when she looked up there was a self-deprecating smile on her face, “I’m being silly. Don’t worry about it.”

He glared at her, “Do you really think I can’t tell the difference between you acting like you’re fine and when you actually are?”

Slowly the false smile fell from her lips. Encouraged he prompted, “Tell us what you’re thinking.”

Silently, she looked to Rhaenys and then back to him, then back down to her plate. It was difficult for him to wait patiently until she was ready to speak but he did it.

“When I was in Braavos, in service to the House of Black and White, for a time I went by the name Blind Beth.” Her eyes flickered up to meet his briefly before returning to stare at her plate, he noted how tightly she was gripping her knife and hoped the story didn’t end with bloodshed.

Her voice took on a detached quality, like she was describing some stranger, rather than herself. “Beth was a beggar girl. She wandered the streets listening for bits and pieces of information while begging for coin. Blind Beth learned how to detect lies and obscure the truth. She honed her other senses to refinement until she could function without need for eyes, to a certain extent anyway. She was only granted the gift of sight again when she was able to ward off attack whilst handicapped.”

“They blinded you and then attacked you?” Fury burned in his heart. He could picture it so clearly. Arya living on the wet streets of Braavos, dirty, smelly, sleeping in dirt, eyes milky white, dependent on the kindness of strangers for every meal. It was a horror, the thought of her living a life more disadvantaged than half the residents of Flea Bottom…weak, vulnerable, and alone.

“For how long?” Rhaenys asked looking disturbed.

“For as long as it took to learn.” Arya’s voice, empty of emotion, had him concerned about her mental wellbeing all over again.

“And how long was that?” His cousin pressed.

Arya looked up at her, but the girl looked through her, speaking as if to the wall instead of the woman in front of her, “A girl did not keep track of the days or the bruises. Only the lessons learned and the skills acquired.”

The madman in him wanted to take to the skies and lay waste to that retched den of death worshipers. But the good man in him, the man who loved Arya more than himself, he was curious how Arya’s spontaneous story connected back to the upcoming feast.

His eyes were drawn down to Arya’s plate, this time he really looked at what Arya had brought them to eat.

He had thought nothing of it when she proudly presented them with such a simplistic meal, because she said she made it herself. And to be sure it was tasty, but it was also lacking. He and Rhaenys had been served one piece of chicken each, one apple, and the three of them shared a small bowl of mashed potatoes. And Arya had brought the wine as well, she said she stole it from Aegon so it tasted like shit, but it was very strong.

A thought struck him like lightning, “Arya, why did you make our meal yourself?”

He watched her very carefully; her hand loosened around her knife and fell into her lap. Her face remained stoic, but there was relief in her eyes.

“Sweet heart,” He scooted his chair closer and grabbed her hand, “Have you been starving yourself because you’re worried about being poisoned again?”

Her fingers were slow to close around his but when they finally did, she quietly admitted, “Even though I can literally fight when I can’t see, I can’t…I—I can’t think of something clever, but you get the point I’m making, right?”

He did.

“So, you haven’t been eating what is prepared here in the Keep.” He mumbled, mostly for his own benefit as he reexamined the past three weeks with this new knowledge in mind. He thought back to every time he got her to eat something since her release from the Black Cells, and realized it was always when he shared in the meal with her. Or it was something self-contained like a piece of fruit. Or, when she went out with Aegon and came back with food from the city.

He felt like a fool, a blind fool. She was probably half paranoid about contaminated food and half too sick over her nightmares to eat even though her body was starving.

Fighting back tears Arya told him, “It was poison which blinded me. I had to drink it every day you see, and, the thing I remember most about it, was how I couldn’t even taste it.”

He looked to Rhaenys, as if to confirm that this was all horrifying. His cousin had tears glistening in her own eyes and both hands covered her mouth as if she was trying to hold something in. Sobs, questions, or words of retribution, he couldn’t venture to guess what the older woman was thinking, but it was a comfort to have her there with them all the same.

“I don’t want to die,” Arya confessed with a sniff, “But when I do, I hope it is with a sword in my hand, and not a mouthful of poison.”

H could totally relate. Death by poison for a warrior like them, was akin to adding insult to injury.
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That night he held Arya especially close.

If they had a different kind of relationship, he would have made love to her slowly. Brought her pleasure with his lips and fingers and tongue all before taking anything for himself. Because when words failed, sometimes the physical was the only language that made sense to him.

He was grateful Arya consented to a quick wash as he now knew not changing her clothes or grooming regularly were warning signs for her feelings of mental instability. After cleaning himself up a bit as well, he encouraged her to get under the nice clean sheets with him whilst still naked, just so he could have an excuse to see how much weight she had really lost.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Her ribs weren’t protruding, she wasn’t skeletal or gaunt, there was she still enough healthy muscle and body fat exactly where it should be, that he felt confident her wasting away wasn’t a real concern.

Still, she could probably feel his relief when he wrapped his body around hers, grateful her strength continued to endure despite all adversity.

Sweetly he kissed her face all over. He caressed her scarred stomach. Rubbed circles into her hips with his thumbs. Ran his hands up and down her arms. Stroked her cheek. Nuzzled her neck. His every touch was an attempt to let her know how much he loved her and how sorry he was for failing her.

He should have realized so much earlier, how much pain she was in beyond the surface. He should have found who poisoned her by now. He should have saved those dead kids for her.

He should have seen. He should have noticed. He should have known. He should have done something.

He caressed her tongue with his own, making it a languid apology. He pressed kisses into her neck and collar bone, but never lower. He returned to her face and kissed away her tears, before taking her into his arms once again. He held her close and he held her tight.

And when she sobbed into his chest, muffling her pain with his flesh, he knew it was the real release she needed tonight. No longer burdened by this secret, no longer alone in her paranoia, he knew Arya felt what he was trying to tell her without words.

He was here for her. She could lean on him.

Together, they would conquer her enemies, the past, the future, the world, everything, anything. All of it. Together they were strong, but in private they could afford a little weakness.
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The next afternoon he happily sent Arya and Aegon out on their way to the Street of Sisters to watch and bet on the horse racing he’d previously told them about.

But before they left, he took his nephew aside and encouraged him to spend a lazy day with Arya, walking the city and buying her whatever she wanted to eat. Then he handed the boy a sack full of money and threatened to castrate him if Arya came back unsatisfied in any way.

He also secretly sent Arryk Cargyll out with them in plain clothes to act as their protector should they need it. He was certain Arya would catch on to the Gold Cloak in disguise right away, but she liked the twins so he figured the man had a fair shot of not being ditched.

As there was not much more, he could do to discover who their elusive poisoner was, what with the lack of a lead, suspects, or evidence, he set out do something else in service of his wild dragon. Or rather, retrieve something for her.

Unbeknownst to Arya, while she was imprisoned in the Black Cells and stripped of all her weapons, her sword Needle had been broken, into 3 pieces.

The amount of force applied quickly enough so that the blade cracked instead of bending was obviously an intentional act. And it was equally obvious to him that the perpetrator was Ser Cole, or a minion acting on the cunt’s orders.

And while a year ago he might have thrown himself into the act of getting revenge, now, knowing how much the sword meant to Arya and how devastated she would be by its destruction, he was on a mission to save it.

At first, he was hopeful the steel could be reforged back together and replaced without her knowing it had ever been damaged, but then he realized the hilt had a piece missing. And that was something that Arya would definitely notice once she and her sword were reunited. So, he had come up with a different plan.

Almost immediately following Arya’s release from the Black Cells, he had taken her broken sword and his personal helmet to the most profitable smith in all of King’s Landing. Monty Rivers.

The bastard born man worked on the Street of Steel and his prices were triple that of his fellow craftsman. Monty was nearly 55 and the only Valarian capable smith in King’s Landing that Daemon knew of and trusted enough for a job this important.

When presented with the challenge of fixing Arya’s sword, the man had it done in little over an hour. When commissioned to make a new sword using steel Daemon provided, Monty had nearly refused.

Daemon felt a great deal of pride knowing his helmet was made from Valyrian steel, and he loved that it was so unique looking, adorned with the head and wings of a dragon. So, when he asked Monty to take apart the helmet and melt down the wings to forge a new sword from the high-priced metal to make a sword identical to Arya’s old one, the Smith thought it was a joke.

When Daemon assured him, he was serious, Monty bemoaned that to destroy his helmet was blasphemy, for it was a piece of steel that not only reflected his royal Targaryen lineage but the lost artistry of the Smiths of Old Valyria. But then Daemon offered another 50 gold coins on top of the man’s already inflated prices, and respect for history and lost art went out the window.

He only hoped Arya would appreciate the partial sacrifice of one of his treasured possessions in an effort to replicate on of hers.
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It was only his shit luck that he ran into Arya and Aegon on his way back to the castle after retrieving her gift from the Smith.

Still, it did his heart good to see the way Arya’s eyes lit up when she saw him, waving and calling out excitedly, “Daemon!”

Somewhat ungracefully he fumbled with his packages, trying to make sure everything was covered. Even though it was obvious he was holding a sword wrapped in cloth and trying to conceal it. He just hoped the large round bulge of his altered helmet in the saddle bag on his shoulder would be mistaken for a severed head or something equally ridiculous.

Daemon noted that Cargyll was hovering nearby unobtrusively and gave the man a nod of acknowledgment for a job well done.

“Hello Uncle,” Aegon greeted as they came to stand together in front of the Guildhall of the Alchemists. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You as well,” he said, as his eyes took in the fact that Aegon and Arya were holding hands. With a clenched jaw he asked, “Did you two have fun?”

They’d been out together for most of the day and it was well past sunset now, only Cargyll’s attendance gave him peace of mind that his nephew hadn’t dragged her to a whorehouse or spent the day doing anything equally unseemly.

“Yes.” Arya replied with a grin, “The horse racing was great. Thank you for suggesting it.”

Aegon pouted, “Bit overrated if you ask me.”

Arya laughed at him, poking him in the belly with a teasing finger, “Don’t pout just because you lost a bit of coin.”

His eyes narrowed on his nephew. “How much coin?”

Aegon’s eyes widened comically, “Just what we won from gambling on the Street of Silver yesterday.”

Daemon nodded in approval, pleased his nephew had not spent any of the money he had given him to feed Arya on horses. “Well, shall we walk back together?”

He offered Arya his free arm and was pleased when she left Aegon’s side to join his, looping her arm though with a sigh. She rested her head on his shoulder briefly before poking him in the stomach like she had done to Aegon. “Sooooo. What’re you hiding under that blanket?”

He held the hidden sword further out of her reach, “Nothing.”

She giggled before batting her eyes at him, “You’re acting twitchy. And, it’s almost my fake name day. And, that bundle looks awful sword shaped…I smell a present.”

Why did she have to be so smart? Annoyed his surprise had been partially ruined he shook his arm free of her hold and started walking down the street towards the Keep. Over his shoulder he scolded her, “You really suck the fun out of things sometimes, you know that?”

“Dare to disagree with you there Uncle, I think Arya’s sucking is always fun.”

He paused, shocked by Aegon’s bold stupidity. When he stopped walking to glare at the boy over his shoulder he found his nephew being playful slapped on the arm and back by Arya. He rolled his eyes at their childish antics but couldn’t help the small smile that slipped on his face as he turned away and began walking again.

Arya and Aegon fell into step with him before he got too far away though. “Daddy Daemon?” Arya teased with an exaggerated coquettishness, “You still love me anyway, right?”

He tried to glare down at her, but he found Arya was grinning up at him goofily. He chuckled at her comical expression. Jovially, he bumped his shoulder lightly into hers. “I guess.”

“What about me?” Aegon asked, with his own silly smile and batted lashes, “Do you love me as well Uncle?”

His face fell into a frown. “No.”

Aegon and Arya found this hilarious. It soothed his heart to see her laughing so freely after suffering so much heartache. He could tell she counted Aegon as a good friend now, beyond their plans for manipulating him into abdication, and the pairs inexplicable sexual attraction, he was glad she found what uncomplicated friendship she needed in the unserious prince.

Aegon mimed crying over Daemons rejection. Arya played the part of the consoling cousin. “There, there, don’t cry honey bunny, Daemon’s an asshole to everyone.”

“Everyone but you, whaaaaaa!” Aegon wailed hyperbolically, making a humorous spectacle that had the crowd passing by chuckling as they overheard the scene. “Nobody loves me!”

Even Cargyll was forced to hide a laugh behind his hand when Aegon clung to Arya and pretended to cry into her chest, using the false sadness as a ruse to get his hands on her ass and performatively hump her leg. “Nobody but my luscious Arya!” Aegon continued, rubbing his face across her breasts and panting like a dog. “Mmm, come to papa, baby!”

“Fuck you both.” He said as deadpan as he could manage. In truth he was not as immune to Aegon’s tomfoolery as he liked, and hoped not a trace of amusement bled through his irritated façade.

The pair broke apart to burst into laughter once again. And as he turned away from the scene, he saw them reaching for each other. They probably needed the stability as they were laughing so hard.

With a muffled snort of amusement, he started walking again. He could hear them staggering along after him, calling out, “Spoil sport.” “Prude!” But it was all in jest, so he kept on moving forward.

Aegon eventually came to walk on his left side and Arya on his right. They filled the long walk back to the Red Keep with a constant stream of chatter and bawdy jokes. He had to admit, it was the most pleasant experience he’d shared with his elder nephew thus far.

When they arrived back at the Keep, he was almost disappointed when Aegon peeled off from their group to speak with his mother.
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That night, once again, wrapped around each other in Arya’s bed, she told him of a mad plan concerning Otto, a replacement hand, and an attempt at a sincere apology, all in service of learning why he was seemingly supporting her and working against her all at the same time.

In the morning, he gave her what little money he had left to make her plans a reality and then sent her and Aegon and not-so-secretly Erryk Cargyll, to the Street of Steel.

He was just so thankful she hadn’t thought to do this yesterday as that would have really ruined her name day surprise. Perhaps his luck wasn’t such shit after all.
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After a week of emerged from Arya’s room looking rumpled in last night’s clothes, he decided if they were to continue on as they were, sharing a bed, something needed to change. And that thing wasn’t them sleeping in separate rooms again.

Certainly, he could use the secret passage ways to travel from her room to his come morning to avoid such scandalous implications, but there was a certain amount of domesticity he enjoyed when he and Arya got dressed together in the morning. He liked when she helped him tie back his hair. He liked braiding hers. He didn’t want to miss all the little moments of intimacy they had been engaging in since he started sleeping in her rooms.

So, he decided to move into her rooms with her. At least partially.

Having a stash of clothing and a few grooming tools in Arya’s chambers would not only be convenient but he liked the idea of staking his claim on her personal space. He knew she sometimes brought Aegon back to her room, and he wanted it to be clear to his nephew just who Arya’s heart really belonged to.

Also, on a more altruistic note, he had a feeling that as soon as they went back to sleeping in sperate rooms, her nightmares would return.

Still, he made a token effort to be sneaky as he transferred some of his clothes into her wardrobe, using the secret passage way to her room, but not from it as the hidden hallways were dank and drafty. On his second trip back from her room Rhaenys caught him just as he was leaving, “Daemon I was hoping we could speak in private on a matter of great importance.”

His cousin sounded so serious he didn’t attempt to make a clever remark as he normally would. He just quietly followed as Rhaenys led him back to his room.

They settled at the table by the fireplace, though it wasn’t lit, what with it being the middle of the day. He regarded her closely, there was a tightness to her mouth and a furrow in her brow that had him mentally bracing for impact. He asked her plainly, “What do you need?”

Rhaenys stared at him with her worried eyes not speaking for several seconds, he read the hesitation for what it was and tried to reassure her, “I know that you don’t think highly of me cousin, but I like to think that after all the progress we made on Driftmark following Laena’s death, that I have earned a bit of your trust?”

He could see Rhaenys wanted to confide in him, but for some reason she still wavered. He reached out to take her hand as he would for Arya in a moment like this, but Rhaenys eyes widened, leading him to aborting the action before he made contact. Instead, he tried words again, “You have done so much for me and my girls, I hope you know I’m truly grateful for it... Rhaenys I can tell something is troubling you. Especially if, despite your distain for me as a person, you have sought me out for some reason? So, speak.”

He watched the play of emotions on her face as Rhaenys came to some conclusion and nodded to herself as if committing an unknown path when lost in the woods. “I bribed Maester Orwyle with one thousand gold dragons to poison Arya before she went in front of the King for judgement and lie about what was used and how long she had been being dosed, in hopes it would grant her leniency during the sentencing.”

He jumped out of his chair angerly, snarling like a dragon, “You poisoned Arya!?”

Rhaenys didn’t even look rattled by his outburst. Glaring now she continued explaining, “It worked, didn’t it? And due to sympathy for her plight, she has escaped the ordeal consequence free.”

He slammed his fist on the table and pointed at her accusingly, “You know that’s not true.”

To his cousin’s credit, she looked down at this, ashamed. She knew very well what he was alluding to. A better man would have let the issue go, as the deed was done and they could only move forward from this point, but, he wasn’t better. He was spiteful.

His words were akin to salt in the wound as he badgered her, “You and I are the only two people in the world who know just how deeply affected Arya has been by what happened. The guilt, the nightmares, the paranoia. She’s been wasting away for weeks now, afraid to eat or drink anything lest she die by the hands of some despicable coward! And you have the gall to claim your actions were ‘consequence free’?”

There was a flush to Rhaenys cheeks now, but when she glared up at him, he saw steel in her eyes. “Do not put words in my mouth Daemon. I feel awful enough as it is.”

“Good!” He spat the word as righteously. After taking a few calming breaths, he yanked his chair back to the table and sat down with a huff.

Rhaenys’s voice softened in her sincerity, “I deeply regret the unforeseen consequences on Arya’s psyche but as predicted Viserys was so eager to put all the blame on the poison and its effects, he’s throwing a dammed tourney in her honor a month after she publicly crippled one of his oldest friends and advisor!” Her voice grew stronger along with her argument’s verity, “He’s intent on introducing her to the Great Houses as his beloved niece and he’s even joking about her taking a seat on the small council to replace Otto until he’s healed. Can you honestly argue with the results of what I’ve done?”

He could. He could argue that it was Arya’s prophetic last words about Azor Ahai which truly swayed his brother’s mind. But that would invite more questions than he had the answers to and could be seen as a betrayal of Arya’s confidence, which he would never do. “If you are so proud of your efforts, why have you come to me knowing how I would react?”

The tension returned to Rhaenys’s face. Nervously she pressed her fingers into the table, the tips going white from the pressure before returning to their normal pink color as she folded her hands together. “Orwyle is demanding another thousand gold dragons by the end of the week to keep my secret. I can pay it of course, but with the feast’s expenses, I cannot produce the coin in time to meet the deadline.”

He scoffed dismissively, “He’s bluffing.”

“Odds are he is,” Rhaenys nodded agreeing, but a sliver of fear haunted her eyes as she questioned, “But are you willing to take the chance that he’s not?”

“If it was just your life on the line, I might.” He said coldly, beyond annoyed that Rhaenys hadn’t shared this information with him earlier. “But this could hurt Arya so…”

Rhaenys looked relieved, “So you’ll give me the money?”

He scoffed again, “No. That would just lead to more extortion down the road.” He grinned manically, “We’ll have to kill him.”

Rhaenys sort of winced, like she hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but made no protest. He glared adding, “And you’ll have to tell Arya what you did.”

He wouldn’t have her living in fear of food forever. Resigned Rhaenys nodded, wordlessly agreeing to his terms.

He got up to leave but paused when his cousin called out, “Wait.”

He looked back at her impatiently, he’d had his fill of the Queen Who Never Was and wished to be free of her self-righteous presence.

“You were right, I was reluctant to involve you because I knew how you would react but I also--” She faltered, her confidence wavering for only a few seconds before it returned and she found it again, “Arya has suffered so much since the night of the raid. She acted rashly, maiming both Cole and Otto. She disassociated from reality, retreating into her mind, all before being dosed with what was explained to me as a mild hallucinogen.”

“So?”

Rhaenys gave him a hard stare of distain, “So, Arya has been under the impression that her ‘out of control’ actions were due to an outside influence, but they weren’t.” He clenched his hands into fists, finally understanding what his cousin wasn’t saying, but thankfully Rhaenys sounded sad not smug when she spelled it all out for him, “Can she handle the reality of how easily her mind buckled under the pressure of failure? How will she feel when she learns she had no excuse?”

She would be devastated. Guilt and panic would war for dominance in her mind. And even though Rhaenys didn’t know the truth of why Arya had such a hard time after leaving the Black Cells, her assessment was true all the same. Daemon thought he was the only one who knew how fragile Arya’s sanity could be, but Rhaenys was proving just how well she knew his wild dragon. And how much she cared about the girl as well.

Daemon slumped back into his chair feeling defeated.

To tell Arya the truth was to hurt her, perhaps even worse than she had been torturing herself all this time. But, to not tell her just felt wrong to him. Brutal honesty was a part of the foundation their relationship was built on.

Kindly Rhaenys said, “I hesitate to jeopardize all the progress she’s made by revealing what I’ve done.” His cousin frowned, staring deep into his eyes, “But you know her better than anyone Daemon. I defer to your expertise in this matter.”

What a bitch. Not only had Rhaenys gone behind his back and fucked up, now she was making it his problem to fix and roping him in to suffer the consequences if keeping it all secret from Arya blew up in their faces.

“So, should I tell her? Or not?”

He would not betray Arya, ever, but in this instance, he wasn’t sure—he decided to buy some time to think on it further. “You will wait,” He said decisively, “We will tell her together, after the tourney and feast and all the visiting nobles have left.”

He stared at her hard, his lip curling in disgust, “We will tell her what you did right before you leave for Driftmark. That way if she hates you for it, she won’t have to suffer your presence for long.”
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Daemon’s Valyrian Steel Armor

I imagine it was the round bit on the end of the hilt which was broken off and kept as a trophy when Needle was intentionally broken

Chapter Text

Chapter 34
~Otto~

He couldn’t stop the raid. There was no way to argue against saving orphan children, especially after the tearful performance Ayra put on in the council room. If she hadn’t barged in and saved Daemon from his own temper, Otto was sure he could have goaded the rogue prince into some act of stupidity and have the entire cause dismissed.

A move Arya obviously anticipated, hence her timely arrival.

The girl was a master of manipulation, he’d give her that. Not that it was hard to manipulate the King. However, he could see how her tale of horror and child abuse moved even Lord’s Lannister and Wylde, who he knew for a fact gave not one shit about the troubles of the smallfolk. If the girl wasn’t constantly working in tandem with and against his own goals simultaneously, he might have offered aid to her efforts to save a few nobody children. It was just bad luck that his allies had investments in the establishment she was set on destroying.

Otto had no problem operating in a morally gray area. He did not care if a few orphan children had to die to keep his supporters happy and their coffers full, especially Lord Bywater who had been more than generous to him over the years. And while he liked to remain ignorant of the details, he knew the fighting pits profits were a pittance compared to what the children earned as whores. The men who purchased children from the pits often liked them young and broken, but sometimes a hearty one aged out of the violent arena and was sold to a local brothel, earning Lord Bywater a hefty payday.

Otto had never the inclination himself, nor did he see the appeal. In fact, he quite detested any dealings he had with Lord Bywater, the man was a rapist and sadist, but his gold was plentiful and his influence substantial, so he endured the association. Even so, it was a challenge, figuring out how to sabotage Daemon and Arya’s noble quest while appearing innocent of any misgivings. The fact that she pushed for this all to happen within one day made it even harder.

There was no plausible excuse he could think of to convince Viserys that they should allow the fighting ring to stay open, so he switched tactics and fabricated a few threatening messages so he could keep back some of the Gold Cloaks meant to join the raid. Handicapping the rescue was the best he could do.
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Otto sent for Ser Criston Cole and then sat down at his desk. Hand poised over a parchment, he tried to think of the perfect wording for the warning he needed to send ahead of the raid, he wanted the message to be clear but it could not implicate him if it were intercepted. But he found his thoughts consumed by the girl.

Arya Targaryen. Despite an unheard-of mastery over her dragon, he suspected she was a true anomaly, a dragon rider of non-Targaryen descent.

Sincerely, the idea was tempting, because if true Arya would represent a beacon of hope for every man, woman, and child. If the need for ‘magical Valyrian blood’ to claim a dragon was all a ruse, that meant others could also achieve mastery over the destructive creatures. He need only learn the secret to Arya’s success. For this theory he had no true evidence, it could easily come to light she was a dragonseed or some long lost Valyrian relative, but his gut said otherwise. And his instincts were rarely wrong.

For truth he had initially pegged her as another one of the prince’s disposable lovers, but then Daemon surprised him by asking the King to legitimize Arya as his daughter. It was a rare show of attachment for the prince, who had up until then, showed little loyalty to anyone not of his blood. Seeing as the girl was older than 10 years and Daemon had not gone to Essos until after marrying Laena Velaryon, there was little doubt in Otto’s mind that the girl was truly the prince’s bastard. Which made Daemon’s attachment to the girl all the more intriguing.

From afar he watched her charm all of the Velaryon mourning guests, bring Daemon to heel, and ensnare his grandsons. It was as if she was a flame everyone gravitated towards to bask in its warmth.

The closer he watched her, the more worried he became. So used to being on his guard he initially thought of her in terms of being a formidable adversary that Daemon would wield against him and his family. And so, admittedly, he made some mistakes during their first interaction. Her lustful, mercurial, and violent temper all spoke to the notorious ‘Targaryen madness’, but with hindsight he realized Arya was just overly an overly emotional person by nature. Especially when drunk and sad.

At the time of the confrontation with her and Aegon, he had been trying to save his grandson from her, and by extension Daemon’s, influence. He’d acted rashly. He’d been too aggressive. And she responded in kind.

At the time of course he had been incensed, damming the arrogance of her to put hands on him, the Hand of the King, the father of the Queen, the man who actually ran the 7 Kingdoms. And he’d immediately begun plotting his revenge. Now, he recognized that Arya’s actions were a crude display of loyalty for Aegon, but the insult of the first beating still stung. And he would be lying if he said all was forgiven.

But everything changed that night, when Rhaenyra’s bastard boy took Aemond’s eye. And Arya took his grandson’s side.

That was the moment he realized she was not a tool Daemon intended to use against him, she was an opportunity.

It was fascinating to see the weakened girl take command of the situation so deftly. The way she dismissed the vulturous Lords and Ladies with a few choice words and an intimidating but restrained show of power from her dragon. The way she maintained control over the narrative, displaying loyalty to the Velaryon twins and his grandson simultaneously. The way she stayed conscious despite her injury and what he imagined was a copious amount of wine running through her veins.

She was a force of nature. Impartial, wild, and unstoppable. After she tricked him into getting a glass of water for her, Otto threw away his plans for revenge and began plotting something far more complicated.

A knock from the door jarred him out of his thoughts, “Enter.”

Ser Cole strode inside confidently, “You sent for me, Lord Hand?”

“Yes,” He stared down at the still blank parchment in his hand.

“A moment.” He said distractedly, quickly he scribbled out the words ‘The sword of justice is sharp and aiming for your neck. Leave the lambs to their salvation or you will take part in a slaughter. Save no one but those who hold the purse strings.’

He then went to the door and tasked one of his guards, who he commonly used to run errands for him, to deliver the message to the appropriate parties. That done, he returned to his seat at his desk so he could speak with Ser Cole.

The man was so ridged and seemingly unbothered about being made to wait without explanation, Otto silently commended the man on his commitment to obedience. Leadingly he said, “You are to take part in the raid this evening?”

Cole nodded but said nothing, which he appreciated. Otto knew the man was little more than a handsome enforcer, he only wished Alicent realized the man was not a great thinker and ceased confiding in the Knight. “Threats have been made to the King’s life; I will be retaining some of your men here at the Keep.”

“What kind of threats?”

Otto rolled his eyes, “Do not worry on things above your station.”

Cole clenched his jaw, but said nothing to his insult. Otto almost smirked, “I assume Arya and Daemon will want to lead the raid inside to rescue the orphan children. I wish you to aid in their efforts with this task. You must appear committed to their cause.”

Cole’s brow crinkled in confusion. “Appear committed?”

“You will have guards stationed at the entrance,” He explained, “To make sure none escape during the chaos of battle, I imagine Arya will insist on it. You will choose these men personally and privately instruct these men to let anyone who flees, an unimpeded path.”

The look of confusion remained on the Knight’s face, “You wish to let the perpetrators escape?”

Otto stared at him sternly, “You will kill the perpetrators who remain in the fighting pit, beating and forcing those poor orphan children into acts of savagery. Alongside Daemon and Arya, you will do everything in your power to act the hero. If you follow my instructions in this, you will appear above any and all suspicion of sabotage. When the dust settles all will walk away feeling victorious, too preoccupied with getting the rescued children treatment to worry about some petty miscommunication and any possible escaped parties it led to. Do you understand me, Ser Cole?”

“Yes, my lord.”
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When the raiding party returned it was chaos. Alicent was screeching about Aemond, who to his surprise had snuck out of the castle to join the raid for some reason. Cole was taken quickly to the Maester. Arya disappeared as did Daemon. Otto demanded Ser Arryk Cargyll follow him back to his rooms to get a full account of everything that happened.

The loyal Knight told him how and why the raid failed and why Ser Cole needed medical attention upon return to the Keep.

“She bit his ear off?” He repeated, dumbfounded by Arya’s savagery but not surprised by her emotional reaction. “Seven hells.”

“He showed great poise in not attacking her last night as I know he wanted to.” Ser Cargyll told him, defending his fellow Kingsguard, “But, he’s already demanding Arya face the King’s Justice for her crime.”

“Fool.” Otto had no doubt Viserys would pardon the girl for the maiming, not only because she was under great emotional distress at the time, but for the affection he held for her and Daemon, it made the King soft. Just like with Rhaenyra’s bastard taking Aemond’s eye, Viserys was a poor arbitrator of justice when his family was involved. “Cole would have better luck demanding a trial by combat, at least then Arya or Daemon might consent to participate based on arrogance alone.”

Smartly, Ser Cargyll remained silent as he ruminated on what moves he could make to mitigate the damage done. His part in the failure of the raid would come to light and he doubted his hastily forged threats to the King’s life would protect him. And what’s more, his association with Lord Bywater was no secret. He would need some kind of insurance against Arya’s own quest for retribution. “You said something about it not being a complete loss?”

Ser Cargyll nodded eagerly, “Arya saved two of the orphan children. One upon entry to the establishment, another from the hands of whoever executed all the children in fear of being caught.”

“Only two?” He muttered depressed, a pit of dread making his stomach gurgle uncomfortably, he knew exactly how fond of children Arya was. He’d caught her on many occasions reading with Aemond in the library, playing jump rope with the stable hand, and caring for one of the cooks newborn babe, giving the woman a brief reprieve and often roping Daemon into holding the baby in front of other Lords and Ladies, an amusement and a clever manipulation to soften his ruthless reputation. This thought reminded him that Arya was not only a physical threat, but a calculating one. But she was not without her exploitable flaws…

Ser Cargyll ignorant to his thoughts confirmed, “Yes, a boy and a girl, both younger than Prince Aemond.”

Otto knew at once he would have to keep the children close, they would be important tools to use against Arya and her wrath. “Have them seen by a Maester, cleaned up and given appropriate servant quarters. Give them the option of being put to work in the kitchens or the stable. But only after a week of being well rested, fed, and cared for, at my personal expense. Clear?”

Ser Cargyll winced and Otto could only sigh mournfully guessing, “Arya already saw to their care?”

“Prince Daemon actually.” The Knight informed him with a tilt of his head.

He was so fucked.

He ran a hand over his tired face as he addressed the Knight, “Thank you Ser Cargyll, your account has been most helpful.” He looked at the man assessing the soot and blood that clung to his hair and face, “You must be tired after the battle, you are dismissed.”

“Of course, Lord Hand.” Ser Cargyll said with a bow of his head, quickly turning on his heel and leaving.

“Fuck.” He whispered to the empty room. Lord Bywater had fucked him by indulging his sadistic nature or being a coward, whatever his motives, killing the orphans was a costly decision for both of them. Ser Criston Cole fucked him by choosing his coconspirators poorly. And then fighting with Arya. And Arya, well he was self-aware enough to acknowledge he had been the one to fuck her over, not the other way around.

He laughed, as he got to his feet and went to the wardrobe so he could dress for bed. It was ridiculous, he was more afraid of Arya’s wrath than any consequences that might befall him from the King or the Rogue Prince. He didn’t know if that made him pathetic or just very smart.

As he got under the covers of his bed, he decided he would only allow himself a few hours sleep before he got up and set to work hopefully stacking the deck against his own comeuppance.
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He was surprised by Arya’s lack of reaction in the wake of her failure. He half expected her to burst into his rooms and to beat him half to death after learning the part he played, but no such interruption came.

By all accounts, she remained sequestered in her room day and night, no bath was called for and he got reports of uneaten food being sent back to the kitchens. Otto suspected Arya was taking the loss of life particularly hard, which was great news for him. As her devastated emotional state not only gave him more time to work his magic altering what facts he could, he was also able to shape the narrative to reflect Arya’s culpability in involving Prince Aemond and labeling the whole affair as being her sloppy failure. And even better, Arya’s emotional distress also had the happy side effect of neutralizing Prince Daemon.

The Rogue Prince also showed an unanticipated amount of restraint in the face of failure, only leaving Arya’s side briefly. His guards informed him Daemon visited the rescued children for a few minutes before going to speak to his brother for a short time as well. Then he returning to the girl’s chambers, staying all night.

The nature of the conversation between Prince and King would have had him worried if the content therein wasn’t soon revealed when Viserys delayed the small council meeting for another day, in hopes that Arya would be well enough to participate by then.

Otto couldn’t have been more grateful for the girl’s misfortune. With the excessive amount of free time, he fabricated more legitimate looking evidence to support his claims of ‘threats’ to the King’s safety, thus absolving him of any acts of sabotage. And he had the two guards Cole entrusted to let the fleeing patrons escape, killed. He used his best men so the act looked like a tragic accident, luckily the Serpentine Steps were known to be treacherous.
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When the morning of the small council meeting finally arrived, he felt so confident in his efforts to put the failure squarely on Arya’s shoulders, that he sent Ser Arryk to fetch her and make sure she attended. He had plans to further exploit her emotionally broken state.

After what she did for Aemond on Driftmark. All the time she’d spent positively influencing Aegon, skillfully controlling him by indulging in and withholding his vices. The talent she showed in rehabilitating Daemon’s image at court. Seeing her dragon melt down the walls on Driftmark. Hearing of how she used her dragon put out the blaze in Flea Bottom. And now learning how vulnerable she was, as easily controlled like every other woman with a bleeding heart? Arya was perfect.

He planned to use the council meeting to break her down further, plying her with guilt and blame until she was supple enough to accept his purposed solution to her grief. His goal of matching her with his grandson had long been on his mind, but now he felt ready to make some moves towards its fruition. Even if the idea was dismissed, just planting the seed, was an important first step.

It was clear from their first interaction the girl was a force of nature like Daemon. But unlike him, Arya had potential. She was smarter. Kinder. Gentler. More likeable. More Valuable. Cunning, adaptable. Gods, how he wished Alicent was more like her. If Arya had been the daughter he wed to the King, he just knew Rhaenyra and her brood would already be dead. Because for every ounce of sweetness Arya had within her she had twice as much venom.

With a knack for strategy and a thirst for violence, Aegon could remain as unremarkable as he was if Arya was his wife. His long reign would be assured by the alliances Arya brought with her, in Daemon and the Velaryons, not to mention her own fierce reputation.

He might even go so far as to call Arya Visenya and Rhaenys reborn, because of the undeniable sexual compatibility between her and his grandson. If he managed to match the pair, Aegon would certainly be grateful to be blessed with such a charmed marriage, and thus be more obedient to Otto’s wise council. And if Alicent insisted upon honoring the engagement between Aegon and Helena, the whole arrangement might actually be second coming of the Conqueror and his sister wives.
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Arya looked rough when she was brought in, and he along with all the other men in the room were a bit shocked by how poor she appeared to be doing.

She still wore her clothes from two days ago, covered in soot and blood and muck. Her eyes were unfocused and vacant. She swayed just standing still, either from lack of sleep or food, was his guess. However, despite how jarring her appearance was, Otto forced the council to move on with the preceding once it became clear the girl wasn’t going to participate beyond her forced attendance.

All was going as he planned, Daemon was shouting defensively, making himself look a mad man. Otto maintained his poise and composure, making the prince look even worse in comparison…and then his forged letters were brought into question.

Nervously he glanced at the lifeless girl, he suspected his part in her failure hadn’t sunken through the wall of grief around her heart and mind and he prayed it stayed that way.

“You?”

He was an unlucky bastard sometimes. Otto could literally see her mind working as she put the pieces together and figured out what he’d done to sabotage her rescue efforts.

He tried to speak, to refute the claims, but she would not hear it. She demanded of him what he could not reveal, “Why?!”

He braced himself; he knew her anger was coming now that she was speaking again, but he did not anticipate her stealing Daemon’s sword. As she ranted and raved, she destroyed furniture like a crazed beast. He foolishly thought ‘better the chair then him’. He put his faith in Arya’s calculating mind, her rational cunning nature, and skill at manipulation.

He did not take into account her feral rage.

When she kicked Daemon’s chair out of the way between her and him, he knew he would pay for his hubris. Vainly, he tried to escape his fate.

But Arya grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go. “Valyrian steel cuts clean.”

The world fell away as Dark Sister’s sharp blade came down on his wrist, severing his right hand from the rest of his body. Blood squirted out of the wound staining the table. He stared as the color red poured out of his body, in shock.
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He envied Cole and his lost ear. The man got off easy in comparison to him. And though the Maester assured him he would live; he would forever be a cripple. Tying his pants, taking a piss, buttoning his shirt, and more would be a trial for him.

A queer side effect of the amount of milk of the poppy he was taking for the pain, left him with an oddly optimistically outlook most days. He was often put in the position of consoling his daughter, who constantly wept at his bedside, rather than the other way around. “Daughter, do not despair. It’s much better to be a rich cripple, than a poor one.”

When Alicent spit only insults to Arya and savagery, he tried to drag Alicent in for a hug. He was rejected, apparently his daughter would rather pace and stew and rage, rather than listen to his words of wisdom, “It’s not as if I’m a great swordsman. I can still give council without my right hand.”

His daughter had to flee the room, which Otto thought was very uncalled for. Afterall, it really was his own fault. He made himself Arya’s opponent, working from the shadows against her as was his way. He had let his pride invite her rage to feast upon him. He really expected nothing less from the new Visenya.

He heard through one of the Cargyll twins that Alicent was out for blood. She wanted Arya dead, publicly executed, and pushed the King for nothing less. Otto knew in his heart that would never happen. The girl was too well loved by all of the Targaryen men. Her dragon was too loyal and probably vindictive. And he had no doubt the smallfolk would riot if they killed the girl who saved Flea Bottom from burning to the ground. Never mind, that she was the one who set fire to it in the first place.

No, once he learned his grandsons had taken to their dragons to fetch Princess Rhaenys, he knew his fate was sealed. There was no way Viserys would defy his brother and his cousin, to appease Alicent and Otto. Never mind, the years of loyalty they had showed him.

He called for Alicent to visit him while the boys were gone, warning her of the futility of her efforts. “Daughter, you must make peace with it, Arya is like Rhaenyra in Viserys’s eyes, she will not be held accountable for the consequences of her actions, and we must endure in spite of this knowledge.”

“How can you be so calm about this!” His daughter screeched, so unbecoming of the Queenship he had bestowed upon her. “You haven’t said one bad word about that girl since she took your hand! How are you not enraged? You’ve lost your hand!”

“I have another,” He quipped, but Alicent’s as in no mood to appreciate his humor. Dryly he explained, “And milk of the poppy is a powerful painkiller, it is hard to be enraged when my mind is swimming in manufactured feelings of euphoria.”

Alicent let out a noise of disgust, “So you are saying she took your hand and your wits?!”

“She is fierce.” He said gravely, “But I betrayed her.” He shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do?’

“Betrayed her!?” Alicent screamed, making him wince, “She has ensnared my sons into her vile service after fucking Daemon into the role of obedient provider and protector. She corrupts my husband’s good judgement with tears and her pretty lies. And now she takes you from me as well?”

He could tell Alicent was going to overreact if he didn’t stop her. With the drugs doing their good work, he decided the only way to stop Alicent was to swipe at the righteousness that fueled her. So, he told her the truth. “Lord Bywater had been acting in support of us for years, he is the Lord who owned the child fighting pit. He’s been paying me a bribe of sorts to look the other way as he abused the orphans of Flea Bottom, of course we called it a donation to avoid suspicion, but, semantics.”

“I don’t understand?”

He leveled a sullen stare at his daughter, he hated it when she played dim. “Making them kill each other for sport was only one aspect of his business, Bywater was a child rapist, always had one favorite he refused to sell, but he did sell the others. Children from five years old to twelve, sold for sex to like-minded child rapists, all for a pretty penny.”

His daughter looked horrified. But not horrified enough. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, “When Viserys dies, we will need every ally and coin we can get our hands on. I have maintained relationships with the worst sort of people, all in service to our family. To the Hightower name.”

Tears built up in his daughter’s doe eyes. But Otto felt nothing. “I agree, Arya is the worst kind of person. She is honest and kind to those below her station. She believes in justice and honor and helping others, expecting nothing in return. And worst of all, I think she’s made Aegon a better person just by knowing her.”

“She--”

“She cut off my hand yes,” He nodded, waving the appendage around, “But if we can move past this…kerfuffle, and not alienate her, I think that would be for the best for all involved.”

He hesitated telling her of his plans to wed Aegon and Arya. But then he thought, fuck it. “Arya will make Aegon a happy husband, a strong King, and very pretty babies.”

“Father, no.” Alicent’s eyes widened, “Rhaenyra is the heir to the throne.”

“For now.” He smiled, the milk of the poppy flowing through his system, making her every reaction very amusing to him. “Thing’s change.” He waved his stump again, “Just look at me.”
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A day later, or that evening, or later that week, Otto didn’t really know, time moved strangely when one was imbibing as much milk of the poppy as he was, Ser Cole came to visit him. The slightly disfigured Knight brought tales of how Arya suffered in the Black Cells.

Apparently, the girl screamed for hours in her sleep. Calling out for her dead brother and speaking nonsense concerning a battle where they had to retreat a lot. Ser Cole whispered how he had spat on her, taunted her, and vowed revenge for both their sakes, no matter the Kings decision.

Otto was too tired to tell the man of his plans for the girl, so he slapped the man across the face with his good hand and ordered the man out of his rooms. He had a good laugh over the confused and shocked look he got in return as Cole made haste out the door.

He supposed the public maiming of his closest advisor required him to execute some form of punishment, but he was honestly surprised Viserys kept Arya in the Black Cells as long as he did. Almost a week of cold and darkness and no food and dirty spoonful’s of water, sounded fair to him. However, he was still taking two times the recommended dosage of milk of the poppy daily, so his judgement was admittedly, questionable at best.

Alicent dragged him to the throne room the day Arya’s fate was to be decided, but he refused to stand about as the others were doing and demanded a little chair be brought in for him. Also, a glass of wine.

It was a fairly intimate setting, given the nature of the crime Arya had committed. The only people in attendance were the members of the small council. Alicent, Princess Rhaenys, and Daemon.

When the girl was brought out, he pouted a bit to see her in such a state. Bound in shackles and shuffling along slowly with her eyes shut, Arya looked like a meek and defenseless child. And like shit. Which she also smelled like. The girl looked like shit, smelled like shit, and was barely recognizable as herself, let alone his plans to make her akin to Visenya reborn.

“By the Gods!” Daemon exclaimed, he would have run to her had Princess Rhaenys not grabbed him by the arm and kept him in place. Instead, he turned to his brother and shouted, “Look at her! Brother, does she deserve this?”

By his side Alicent shouted out, “She is a menace!” She put a hand on his shoulder as if to illustrate her point, “She deserves this and more.”

Calmly Princess Rhaenys took up the girl’s defense saying, “After participating in a battle, where Daemon tells me she suffered grievous blows to the head, you let her rot in the Black Cells for five days? Your Grace, did no one think to have her examined for injuries? Head wounds have been known to make many to act unusually. Perhaps if she was attended to with proper care none of this would have come to pass?”

“Are you joking?” Alicent practically growled.

Rhaenys turned to her with a placid expression, “Have you no idea what lack of food and water and sleep does to a mind? She didn’t kill the Hand, she maimed him. I would argue she showed restraint given the circumstances. And I would even be so bold as say she has already paid her penance. It’s her care and recovery we should concern ourselves with.” She turned back to the King, “I ask again, has a single Maester examined her since the battle?”

“Five days in the Black Cells for crippling the Hand of the King and all is forgiven?!” Alicent questioned, her eyes flashing dangerously, “My father has been maimed worse than my son! Shall we let you keep hacking away at my family until we are all in pieces? What will you take from my Aegon I wonder? Or Heleana?”

Daemon was about to say something, but Otto was feeling petty so he interrupted even though he didn’t really have anything to say, “May I speak?”

Alicent glared daggers at him, “My father is not himself; he is under heavy influence of--”

“I am fine.” Otto waved his stump dismissively, taking another sip of his wine, “It’s my missing hand that’s got everyone all up in arms, shall I not be allowed to speak?”

“Father--”

“Say your piece Otto,” Viserys said with a nod, “You are the injured party, it is only fair.”

He spoke slowly, as usually his words were so calculated, sharpened to spikes, but now his tongue was like honey, by which he meant, melted goo. His brain also felt like melted goo too. He chortled, amused by his own inner thoughts, before he looked up, ready but not prepared to address the room, “To be clear, I am not happy to be unhanded. That said, um,…but I understand, I mean I think---this is, was, all just, an unfortunate accident.” He gestured with his stump to Arya’s pathetic form, “I’m sure she’s very sorry and won’t do it again.”

Silence echoed in the air before Daemon quipped, “Alright, maybe Arya and Otto should be examined for head injuries.”

Both of Alicent’s hands came down on his shoulders as she hissed, “This is not time for jokes.”

Then the King, proclaimed, “Princess Rhaenys makes a fair point, we will have the Maester look at her.”

Otto drained the rest of his wine, passing the empty cup off to his daughter. Princess Rhaenys had given Viserys an excuse to exercise mercy, there was no doubt in his mind that the King would take it. His daughter would rage. And Arya would fall under Daemon’s protective wing, to heal and recuperate. He got up and left, not caring to hear what he knew was to happen, play out.
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He was surprised how long it took Arya to come back to herself.

He was annoyed by how long it took him to wean off the crutch that milk of the poppy had become.

When he started to get reports of Arya leaving the Keep with Aegon, he stopped drinking in the morning, as had become his custom with every lowered dosage of the pain-relieving drug. He had a feeling his time to adjust to his new handless existence was soon at an end. Besides, with the upcoming tourney, he needed to reclaim his sharp mind.

When a knock came from the door, he expected his daughter so called out without thinking. “Come in” but when it opened, he was surprised to see Arya, not Alicent. He was quick to straighten up in his chair and flip over the parchment he had been practicing his writing on.

His penmanship was atrocious with his left hand, and he had made a vow to himself that he would not need to dictate his correspondence forever. He had a self-imposed deadline of achieving legibility by the end of the next month. Which meant a lot of practicing embarrassing looking scribbles.

“Arya,” He looked to the guards who stood imposingly behind her, not allowing her entry even though he had given it. “What brings you here?”

“Can we talk?” She then looked over at the tall guard over her left shoulder, her expression almost sheepish as she said, “I promise I’m unarmed.”

She certainly appeared of sound mind again, but his eyes narrowed on a burlap sack in her hand. “What’s that then?”

She smiled prettily, “An apology in the form of a present.”

He stared into the girls’ eyes; he found no subterfuge. No rage. No deception. He waved her in to the room with his stump, dismissing his guards’ concerned eyes with a flippant, “It’s fine.”

Without invitation Arya dragged a chair to the desk where he had been working, sitting opposite him. He was grateful for the dark wood surface between them when whatever was in her burlap sack clunked loudly as she set it down.

When he didn’t move, she pushed it towards him, encouraging, “Well, open it.”

He pushed his ink out of the way and did as she asked, pulling out a—“It’s iron.” She informed him eagerly as he examined the metal hand. It had a series of belts on the end, that he imagined was for attaching to his arm. It was an impressive piece of metalwork. And no doubt expensive.

“I really was out of my mind when I attacked you,” She fiddled with the bag, folding it until it was as small as possible, “Not that I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m not. What you did—I don’t forgive you for the part you played in killing all those children, but…I played my part as well, as did many others.”

She looked up and he could tell she wasn’t putting on a show like she did so often to manipulate Viserys. Her words were genuine. “I didn’t mean to maim you for life though, that was a mistake.”

Offering her the slimiest of olive branches, he said, “Lord Bywater deserved the death you gave him and more.”

“I’m reinstating family breakfast.” She said in response. She gestured to the metal hand, “I can help you put that on. If you feel like joining us this morning.”

“Why would I want to do that?” He was trying to get her reveal her motive, and he wasn’t being subtle about it.

“Aegon doesn’t want to marry Heleana, and she, him.”

Sometimes he found her lack of subterfuge refreshing. A small smile slipped on his lips. “You’re going to confront the King on this, over oatmeal and juice?”

“I am.” She said with a nod. As fearless as ever.

He challenged her, “Do you not think yourself a bit overconfident? You just got away with maiming the Hand of the King and a prominent Kingsguard.”

“There’s over fifty Lords and Ladies coming to the Keep to attend a party to celebrate me.”

He snorted, amused by her gall, “I believe the last count I heard totaled at forty-five.”

She shrugged, “I rounded up.”

He nodded, the smile still on his lips. Against his better judgement, he found Arya entertaining if nothing else. “You know that most are looking to win gold at the Tourney, they don’t really give a shit about celebrating you.”

“Yeah,” She smothered a laugh into her palm, nodding slightly. “I know.”

It took her a minute to get control, calming enough to slip her performative mask back in place. She grinned at him with all her pearly white teeth on display, confident and audacious. “But I’m going to make them give a shit.”

He had no doubt she would. “When you say family breakfast, does that mean you invited my daughter as well?”

“She was invited, but I’m not sure Heleana will be able to convince her to actually attend.”

“Using Heleana,” He acknowledged with a slight bow of his head, “Smart tactic.”

“Thank you.”

They stared at each other, both powerful players on opposite sides of the great game. He smiled, for at last he felt he had a worthy opponent. However, he was not confident his family would survive a war if she was one of their many adversaries. Now was the moment, he needed to win her to his side.

“I sent word to Lord Bywater warning him and his conspirators of the raid so they could escape.” He had the instinct to press his hands together as if in prayer, but—"There were five of them in total, profiting from the children’s pain and suffering. You got two of them, and now only three remain. They sent word that they heeded my advice and ran, surviving your fury.”

That made her angry, that was something she didn’t know about. He found it odd; he thought Daemon and Rhaenys would have uncovered everything while he and Arya were indisposed. He smirked, impressed by his own prowess to manipulate and obscure the truth, even when he was high on milk of the poppy for near three weeks.

He set down the metal hand he’d been gifted and reached for the parchment and then the ink. To tug at her heartstrings, he used his crude handwriting and wrote down the names of his former allies, rather than just telling them to her.

As he slid the parchment over, their eyes met. “I have sworn off working with child predators.” That these men’s lives were now in her hands went without saying. He grinned, but it was filled with pain and anger, “You’ve left me a changed man in more ways than one.”

She glared down at the parchment, her knuckles white with how tightly she held it. When she looked up, he saw fire in her eyes. “You want me to marry Aegon, don’t you.”

It was a declaration, not a question. “Yes.”

In all his years at court, he’d never seen anyone wield the truth quite like her. In her hands bold statements like that were not only weapons, they were boons. Daemon used the truth like whip, snapping at anyone close to him with things they weren’t strong enough to hear. The prince was far too volatile a person for his words to be given the merit they deserved. Like when he told Viserys Otto worked in the shadows against him and was nothing more than a power-hungry social climber, pimping out his daughter for status and wealth. Or when Daemon told Viserys he loved Rhaenyra and wanted to marry her after having ruined her reputation on the Streets of Silk. It was a pity because Daemon often had the right of things, he just didn’t have the social wherewith all to be believed when it mattered most.

Arya stared back at him with such coldness. He knew she would cut his throat as easily as he would cut hers. He had no delusions, whatever uneasy accord they came to would ultimately be a sham. Daemon had her loyalty and allegiance. She would try to use him to her own ends, as he would try to use her to achieve his.

And that was the crux of it, despite how much he hated her, he knew she could be useful so he was willing to swallow his pride. And he did hate her. This little girl who upended all his plans and beat him bloody in front of his grandsons and cut off his hand, he burned with an unquenchable fire to see her dead in return. But she was not Rhaenyra. Viserys’s first born was the true enemy. And that was something he wouldn't lose sight of, even in the pursuit of his own revenge.

Otto knew Daemon loved the princess even back before she came of age, and he still loved her now. The gamble of aligning with Arya was to bet on who Daemon loved more. Arya or Rhaenyra. If he acquired Arya to his side, would he also get the Rogue Prince? Or would Daemon’s choice be the push that sent Arya running into Aegon’s arms? Only time would tell. Either way, a Hightower would be the next King of the 7 Kingdoms.

Her thoughts flickered across her face, but too quickly for him to get a read on her decision until she said, “Help me get the King to end Aegon and Helaena’s engagement?”

“And you’ll marry Aegon?” He pushed, knowing the answer.

She smirked, “No.”

“Aemond?” He was bantering for the fun of it now.

Arya rolled her eyes, before standing and brushing off some non-existent dust off her white dress. She gestured to him with her chin as she came around the desk, “Take off your coat and let’s try on your new hand.”
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Otto, High on Milk of the Poppy and LOVING it!

The meme that inspired this chapter

Chapter Text

Chapter 35
~Arya~

Earlier when she collected Aegon and Aemond, the room had been empty save for the food on the breakfast table, but now all the seats were occupied except two. She’d forbidden the boys from eating, or letting anyone else do so, until she returned. As she walked through the door, arm in arm with Otto Hightower, she was pleased her request had been obeyed.

Her eyes traveled from person to person, reveling in all the reactions her entrance garnered. Aemond looked shocked. Aegon amused. Heleana sort of choked on air. Alicent looked like she swallowed a frog. The King looked confused. Rhaenys’s jaw actually dropped open. And Daemon had a half smile on his face, looking like he wanted to start clapping for what she had managed to achieve.

Arya pulled back the chair from the table and sat next to Daemon. Turning, she watched as Otto did the same sitting on her other side. Aegon laughed muttering, “Brilliant.” Grabbing his glass of juice, he toasted her mockingly and then took a large swig.

There was a loud ‘thunk’ when Otto openly rested his new iron hand on the table. All eyes were instantly drawn to the replacement appendage.

“What is that?” Alicent her eyes on the metal hand before she turned a fierce glare onto her. “Do you think you can buy my father’s forgiveness?”

“Technically he gave me his forgiveness weeks ago, free of charge.” She reached for an orange from the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table and dug her nails into the top, putting the peels on her plate as she worked. “Remember, when he did it publicly, in court? You were there, weren’t you?”

“The audacity--”

“Alicent.” Otto said her name sharply, every inch the stern parent who had callously sold her innocence to the King at seventeen, “You will move on from this incident as I have.”

There was an awkward silence as Alicent’s eyes watered, clearly in shock and feeling the full weight of her father’s disappointment. The Queen soon turned her gaze down to her plate, blinking away the moisture.

Viserys, trying to cut the tension, clapped his hands, saying, “Otto, dear friend, I am truly impressed by the grace you have shown throughout this ordeal. We should all aspire to be as understanding and magnanimous as you.”

The King then raised his own glass of juice demanding, “A toast!”

Everyone was obliged to humor him, raising their own cups, as Viserys said, “To perseverance in the face of adversity.” His eyes shifted over to her, “In the present, and the future.”

“Here, here,” Aegon cheered before taking a swig of juice first. Then he was reaching for the food, obviously ready to eat. Everyone more or less, followed his lead. Drinking and beginning to fill their own plates, but Arya didn’t move. She sat frozen, with her cup in the air, staring at the King.

There was a look in his eye, and what he said, it made her think he knew— “Here,” Daemon interrupted her thoughts, putting a few slices a bacon on her plate next to her discarded orange peels, “Before the boys devour them all.”

She put her cup back on the table without drinking from it and turned to him, smiling her thanks. He leant forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He prompted her with his elbow, “Eat.”

“Yes,” Viserys said with a weary smile, his eyes still locked on her, “Let us all dig in.”
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As they ate the awkward group was able to keep up a steady stream of trivial chatter about the safe topic of the upcoming tourney, until out of nowhere Viserys asked, “Arya, do you believe the gods have a design for us?”

“Why?” It was such a heavy question to ask, completely destroying the lighthearted atmosphere.

Before the King could answer, Daemon interrupted, “Brother, now is not the time for a religious debate.”

“Who said anything about a debate?” Viserys frowned at his brother, “I just asked the girl a question.”

“She doesn’t even believe in your gods.” Daemon argued.

Viserys glared, “No, you don’t you believe in the gods. That’s why--”

“I believe in Gods.” She offered up, putting an end to their brotherly sniping. “Not the 7, as I’ve told you before, but…yes I believe in Gods.”

“Which ones?” Alicent asked, a deep furrow in between her brows.

She almost rolled her eyes, the Queen was so brainwashed by the Faith, she almost pitied her. Before she could answer, Daemon put a hand on her arm, but it was Rhaenys who asserted, “This is neither the time nor the place to get into a profound religious discussion. On Driftmark, we have those behind closed doors.”

Viserys’s mouth was a dour line across his face as he addressed his cousin, “I agree, I would have liked to discuss this topic with Arya in private, but my every attempt to speak with her for the past few weeks have been thwarted.” He looked back at her, “Do you remember what you said when I was deciding your fate after Otto’s maiming? Or is that time too muddled by the poison and distress you were under?”

She remembered pieces, but the exact words eluded her. But rather than revealing that, she chose to probe at the King’s motives, asking, “Why do you want to know?”

Viserys looked annoyed, “Why don’t you ever answer a direct question?”

She felt the left side of her mouth pull up slightly in amusement, “‘Do you believe the gods have a design’, is not exactly an easy ‘yes’ or ‘no’ type question and you know it. You’re dancing around what you really want to ask me.”

Viserys tilted his head to the side, “And what of the specific question about your memory of the sentencing?” He leaned forward slightly, “Was that me dancing?”

She pulled a face, conveying ‘you got me there’.

Before there little exchange could go any further Heleana, who was spinning an apple in the air by its stem and staring at it with immense concentration, said, “Arya has lit the tapestry aflame. The future no longer screams at me with certainty.”

Arya looked at Daemon to gauge his reaction. Heleana often said weird things, but to Arya’s ears what she said always sounded like the truth. A truth she didn’t understand, but—truth nonetheless. She’d brought this up to Daemon but had been dismissed. Which was understandable, she hadn’t been able to get a read on the princess beyond finding her sweet and uninterested in marrying her brother. Daemon looked at his niece like he pitied her, looking around she found Aemond and Alicent wore similar expressions.

Her eyes went back to the King, he was staring at his youngest daughter like he was seeing her clearly for the first time in his life.

“What makes you say that?” He prompted his daughter. But Heleana did not acknowledge she was being spoken to.

“Heleana.” Viserys said louder, making the girl in question jump slightly. At that same moment the stem of her apple gave and the red fruit fell from where it hung, down onto the silverware, causing a tinkling noise. Heleana threw the stem carelessly into the middle of the table, and then looked down at the fallen fruit.

“There’s a worm in the apple.” She announced, looking delighted. She turned to her mother, “Can I go put it in the garden?”

Alicent looked pained, but she smiled and shook her head, “Not yet, my darling.” At Heleana’s pout, Alicent promised, “After.”

“Heleana.” Viserys called her name again, sounding agitated at being ignored. This time the Princess’s eyes traveled to meet her father’s gaze. “What were you saying about the screaming future?”

Heleana blinked owlishly, “What?”

“Don’t bother father,” Aegon said dismissively, putting an arm around Heleana’s chair, careful not to make actual contact with his sister, “Heleana’s mind is an enduring mystery to all, even herself.”

Heleana frowned at her brother, “Before she came, no one believed me.”

Aegon looked confused, “What?” He looked over at his father and then gestured to his sister with both hands, as if to say ‘see?’.

Heleana shrugged, “It doesn’t matter yet.”

Leaning over Daemon muttered, “Well, this has gotten really weird.”

She kept her eyes on Heleana as the girl picked up a knife and cut her apple in half. And slowly coaxed something out of the middle. “Is there a worm?”

Heleana smiled back at her brightly, as she held up her prize, “No!” She laughed, “How lovely to be surprised!” It wasn’t a worm, “It’s a caterpillar.”

Arya looked over at the King. He looked…disappointed?
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“I don’t think they give a wet shit about us.” Daemon announced, out of context.

“Who?” Aegon asked as he grabbed the last orange and began peeling it as she had at the start of the meal.

Though it was his nephew who inquired Daemon turned to speak to his brother, “The gods.” He stared at him with a mocking look, “If they even exist.”

Alicent let out a noise of frustration, “Must you--?”

Viserys cut his wife off, addressing his brother, “As Targaryens, we’re thought to be ‘closer to gods than to men’. That we were preserved from the Doom for some higher purpose.” Aegon snorted loudly in derision. When he looked up and realized he had caught his father’s attention, he straightened up, but didn’t shirk away from the King’s gaze as the man questioned his son, “Aegon? Care to enlighten us?”

Aegon looked to her, slightly panicked. She subtly nodded and smiled at him encouraging. If Aegon was ever to grow into a decent person, he was going to have to learn how to advocate his own thoughts and feelings, rather than parroting back what he was told. She could only hope that all her subtle lessons on accountability and self-worth had made some impact on him.

Aegon looked at his father, his hands still compulsively peeling away at the orange as he spoke, “It’s the dragons which are closer to gods than men, not us. We’re just people like everyone else.”

“Aegon’s right.” Daemon said, surprising her and probably everyone else. “Our ancestors, they weren’t chosen for some higher purpose, they just got lucky. There’s no shame in it.”

“It wasn’t luck.” Aemond piped up, “It was Daenys the Dreamer. She saved us. She saw what was coming and House Targaryen escaped the Doom of Old Valyria.”

Daemon rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. She could tell he was trying to appear unbothered, but this conversation was pissing him off. “That made for a good story, but it’s just a story.”

“How can you say that uncle?” Aemond frowned. “You, more than any of us, love learning our histories. Valyrian and Targaryen. How can you contest their validity?”

Daemon’s façade of aloofness disappeared, abruptly he jerked forward and slammed a fist on the table making his plate, and everyone else, jump. “Don’t be stupid child. Dreams didn’t make us Kings. Dragons did. Aegon’s dragon and the Field of Fire.”

Viserys took up the cause again arguing, “There were a thousand dragons in Old Valyria. So, what made House Targaryen special, hmm? Dragons? Or a Dream given by design of the Gods?”

Daemon snapped back at him, “Aegon was no Dreamer. He was a Conqueror. With a Valyrian steel sword and the most fearsome dragon that ever lived.”

“And Visenya.” Arya interjected trying to lighten the mood a bit. Her eyes darted over to Princess Rhaenys, smiling cheekily as reminded them all of the woman’s namesake, “And Rhaenys.” She elbowed Daemon lightly, making his ire dissipate somewhat. “One dragon wasn’t enough to conqueror the world. The girls are important too.”

“Excellent point, Arya.” Otto said, seemingly trying to bring the debate to a close, “Whatever the truth was, it doesn’t matter now.”

“But it does!” Aemond said loudly, “Father’s right. As Targaryens, we’re special, better than other people. That is why Daenys received her dream, it was divine intervention.” He looked to Alicent for confirmation, “Right, mother?”

“No.” Arya said sternly, she stared at Alicent in disbelief. Was that what she had been telling her children all these years?

“No to which part?” Otto asked, tilting his head curiously.

She wanted to shout ‘no’ to all of it. But before she could, Alicent asked, “I thought you said you believed in gods.”

“I do.” She said defensively, “But Targaryens are no closer to the gods than anyone else.” She stared down at the remnants of her breakfast. Memories of white walkers flashed in her mind. Dead friends reanimated with a wave of the Night Kings hand. “They’re just meat…we all rot the same.”

“You’re only saying that because you love the smallfolk.” Aemond crossed his arms with a pout. “You don’t like to think about it, or acknowledge it, but we are better Arya. We have greater purpose on this earth than any farmer, bar maid, or blacksmith you waste your time with.”

She glared at her one-eyed friend. Flatly she scolded, “Aemond. Your princely arrogance is showing. Don’t be delusional.”

Aegon slapped the table and pointed at her, “I’m with Arya. I don’t feel better than anyone.” He shifted to point at Daemon, “And I’m with Uncle Daemon, I think we just got lucky.”

“IT WASN’T LUCK!” Viserys shouted, causing everyone to tense up. “House Targaryen was chosen. It wasn’t dragons that put us on the Iron Throne, it was the power of prophecy!”

“It was a girl.” Heleana whispered, but the room was so silent in the wake of the King’s outburst everyone heard it. The princess looked like she was not even aware of the tense conversation going on around her. She spoke as if talking to the caterpillar as it walked across her hand, “Dragons, dreams, fate, luck. It was a girl who saved us.” Very briefly her eyes darted up to Arya, before returning to her precious bug. “I wonder if it will happen again?”

She looked over at the King. He was staring at his daughter, shook. Arya grabbed for his attention once more. “Prophecy is a tricky thing, because it lacks objectivity. Think about it,” She picked up her glass holding it up for all to see. “Is this half full, or half empty? What do you see? What is your interpretation of this glass and the liquid inside of it? ...It’s all a matter of perspective; prophecy isn’t something you should build a belief system around.”

She had everyone’s ear now. Daemon put a hand on her thigh, squeezing her in warning or comfort she didn’t know. She didn’t care. She kept talking. “Dreams are confusing and sometimes hard to understand. Picture a fire in your mind. If it is the coldest of winters, fire is life, without it you’ll die. But if it comes from a dragon’s mouth, it means certain death.”

She smiled gently at Aemond, “Dreams. Magic. Truth. The divine. History, is not complex, it’s a story. It’s a book. It makes sense. It has a beginning a middle and an end. Heroes. Villains. Day and night. Ice and fire. History is not objective, the same event can be interpreted by thousands of people, a thousand difference ways.”

“So, what are you saying?” Aemond asked quietly, “We shouldn’t trust our history?”

“I’m saying…what if Daenys wasn’t the only one who dreamed of Valyria’s destruction? What if Lord Aenar Targaryen, was just the only father who listened to his daughter? Alternatively, if she was the only Dreamer, why didn’t Daenys save her neighbors?” She looked around at all the thoughtful looks, but settled her eyes on the King. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question. I’m really asking, if you knew of a future cataclysmic event, why wouldn’t you tell everyone? What is the incentive to keep it secret?”

“To avoid looking crazy.” Aegon muttered under his breath, which, was a far point. Daemon squeed her thigh very tightly, it was a warning, then.

“Daenys was the only dreamer. She was chosen, but people didn’t believe her.” Aemond said, looking unsure of the answer even as he said it. “She told them, but they didn’t believe, so they died.”

She challenged him, hoping her young friend would come to see what she was trying to get him to understand, “Out of a city of thousands of people--people who fly dragons and believe in magic to a certain extent, you’re saying that only one man believed a girl could have a prophetic dream? Just one? You’d think people would err on the side of caution, when to do so cost them nothing, but to ignore her meant the destruction of everything and everyone they hold dear. What are the odds of that?”

“Yeah, but,” Aemond’s voice was shaky. “He was her father.” It was a weak argument and he knew it.

“Or maybe he was a man who saw opportunity in the death and destruction of millions of people, and he kept it a secret on purpose.” Otto said with a shrug. His matter-of-fact manner had Arya hiding a chuckle behind her hand.

But Aemond, who’s childlike innocence still clung to him at times, asked, “Why would he do such a thing?”

“Aemond,” she said his name softly, his one eye revealing to her how his young mind could not comprehend how cruel ambition could make someone, “If everyone had a dragon, would you still feel special? ...do you think a Targaryen would still sit the Iron Throne?”

“We’re talking in circles,” Aegon said, blowing a strand of hair out of his face as he fiddled with his empty cup, “The truth doesn’t matter. Only what people believe. Entertaining all these hypotheticals is irrelevant and boring.”

Bless Otto and his corrupt little heart, he saw the opportunity and took it, “You’re right, onto more concrete matters, I think we should revisit the topic of the upcoming wedding.”

“Yes, enough doom and gloom,” Alicent cheered, smiling and going to pat Heleana on the arm, only for the girl to shirk away from her touch, dulling her mother’s smile significantly, “Let us talk of much happier things.”

“After much soul searching,” Alicent’s eyes darted back to her father, growing wider and wider as he talked, “I’ve come to the conclusion that to wed Aegon to Heleana is a mistake and does nothing to serve House Targaryen.”

Alicent let out a whispered gasp. “What?”

“It’s a bad match.” Otto asserted. His eyes moving to the King, “They are not well suited for each other.”

The screech of Alicent standing abruptly and pushing back her chair, was loud and brought all eyes to the Queen. Who only had eyes for Arya. “This is you. This is your doing.”

She chose to stare back and say nothing.

“Daughter, this has nothing to do with Arya.” Otto said placating, but Alicent’s steely gaze never wavered.

“You have been plotting against me since you arrived. Dragging Aemond into a battle at ten years old, with one eye! Sullying my daughter’s future marriage and insulting her dignity by seducing my son, her betrothed. And, now, my father? You take him from me as well!”

Arya looked expectantly at Otto; he sighed before turning back to his daughter. “I have told you before--”

“Enough!” Alicent shouted, sounding almost as unhinged as she had that night on Driftmark. “I will not hear anymore. Aegon and Heleana are perfectly matched. They will wed as planned in the Targaryen custom of brother to sister, they will--”

While she ranted Arya looked to Aegon. Mouthing the words ‘now’. His eyes darted over to Daemon, then back to her. She mimed flexing her muscles mouthing the words ‘be strong’. Aegon nodded and, just as dramatically as his mother, he nosily pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

“I will not wed Heleana.” The prince’s declaration hung in the air, just asking to be challenged.

Alicent snarled at him, “You will do your duty, and do as you are told.”

Sounding like he was trying to be firm, Aegon asserted, “I will not.”

“Aegon,” Viserys finally chimed in, “Your mother is right, you will marry who we have chosen for you. You must trust that your mother and I have your best interest at heart.”

“Are we sure about this?” Daemon whispered in her ear; Arya whispered back, “Nobody wants this but her. It’s for the best.”

“But I don’t trust you.” Aegon said to his father, hunching over slightly, he stared at the top of Heleana’s head for a few seconds before straightening up and meeting his father’s-tired eyes. “You don’t know us.”

Aegon leant down and grabbed Heleana by the bicep, forcing her to her feet. She tried to pull away initially, but ultimately allowed her brother to make her stand so they were face to face.

“Heleana,” Aegon let go of her arm and tried to brush out the wrinkles his manhandling had caused, “I love you. You’re my sister, you’re weird, you’re annoying, and I don’t understand you. But I love you all the same. I don’t want to rape you.”

“I know.” She answered quietly. “And I don’t want to be raped.”

“It isn’t rape!” Alicent screeched, “You will be married.”

Heleana turned to face her mother, taking a step back towards Aegon, almost like she was seeking his protection as she asserted her opinion, “I do not want to marry Aegon.”

“I do not want to marry Heleana.” Aegon echoed. His eyes looked at his mother pleadingly, “She’s my sister, I love her like a sister…. if you force us,” he shook his head and looked down at the floor, “I don’t want to hurt her—why do you want to make me hurt her?”

When he looked up again, Arya could see tears glittering in his eyes as he stared down his mother, his face full of resolve, “If you don’t end the engagement, I’ll run.”

“Do not be stupid.” Alicent hissed.

Aegon moved around Heleana and got in Alicent’s face. Using his height, he stared down his nose at her, “Has it ever occurred to you, that out of all of your children, I’m the only one who enjoys living outside of these walls? I am not afraid of the world, like Heleana. And I’m not disgusted by the smallfolk, like Aemond.” He peeked at Arya for a split second, before puffing up, and asserting, “I’m personable. I’m charming. And I have a dragon. I can go anywhere. And I will, if you force my hand.”

“Even if you make yourself available to her, she won’t marry you.” Alicent whispered. Arya did not need the Queen to look at her; to know she was alluding to her.

“This isn’t about Arya!” Aegon exploded, his abrupt change in tone startling Alicent into taking a step back.

Viserys stared at his son with a skeptical expression, “You really think, you would be saying all this if it wasn’t for your not-so-secret love affair with Arya?”

Aegon looked to her. She put her hand over her heart and made a face of determination. Aegon looked to his father, “The only thing Arya did was give me the courage to say what was in my heart all along.”

Heleana made Aegon jump as she took his hand and linked it with hers, presenting a united front. She didn’t meet her father’s eyes as he did, but she did stare at the King’s plate which was close enough for someone as timid as her. “I want a choice, like Rhaenyra had a choice, before you took it away and broke her spirit.”

It was quiet following the Princesses declaration, Heleana had never sounded so coherent. Then Alicent, her voice full of pain and sorrow and regret, said, “That’s just not how things are done, my sweet girl.”

Everyone could see how much it hurt Alicent to deny her daughter this freedom. No one expected Helaena to look directly into her mother’s eyes and challenge the world as they knew it. “How things are done, are wrong, but they don’t have to be…I used to dream about rats killing babies and Aemond and Daemon both to blame both to die in the God’s Eye, a beast beneath the boards, a graveyard of dragons, a boy in a tree, winter’s monsters come for the world, spools of green, spools of black, ending it all jumping from a window…but everything is changing now. Mother, we can change things now.”

Heleana looked at her and Arya felt as she did when Drogon would sometimes send her a word or a feeling in her head. But this was different. This wasn’t him; this word came from somewhere, someone, something? Else. SPEAK! “The night is dark,”

Heleana, “and full of terrors.”

Arya, “The day bright and beautiful,”

Heleana, “And full of hope.”

Arya, “There is ice”

Helena, “And there is fire.”

Arya and Heleana spoke at the same time their words only differing by gender, “Azor Ahai come again, the prince that was promised, his will be the song of ice and fire.” “Azor Ahai come again, the princess that was promised, hers will be the song of ice and fire.”

She remembered now, that was what she had said during her sentencing. Or at least something similar. That is what Viserys wanted to hear from her, when he asked about the designs of gods.

“What the fuck was that!?” Aegon exclaimed, breaking the tension immediately as everyone else gaped at her and Heleana.

Viserys awed, “A prophecy.”

“Two Dreamers?.” Said Rhaenys, sounding stunned.

“No.” Helaena held Arya in her gaze, she couldn’t look away. The princess smiled at her sadly, “No. You are not like me, Arya, you are the dream.”

Arya blinked, because that really clarified nothing.

“…So can I marry someone else or not?” Aegon asked as he flopped back down into his chair and pouted despite the confused crinkle in his brow.

“Yes.” Viserys answered quickly, his eyes on Heleana, who sat back down in her own chair more gracefully. “My daughter’s right, we can change things now.” When Heleana peeked up at him, he smiled tentatively back at her, “No more broken spirits.”
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Arya’s Outfit

Table Set Up

Breakfast MVP

Chapter Text

Chapter 36
~Daemon, Part 1~

As he and Arya were running about her room getting dressed as quickly as possible, he heard the cry of a familiar dragon. He went to the window, despite being shirtless with his hair in disarray, and was rewarded with his first glimpse of Rhaenyra since their brief exchange on Dragonstone. She looked like a true Valyrian Queen atop Syrax. She circled the Red Keep, as if announcing her arrival and he stood frozen in place soaking up her majesty.

He was pretty sure she saw him at one point, though from a distance it was hard to tell if he imagined her smile. Still, a smirk pulled at his lips, he knew she and her faction were coming for the Tourney but it was still two days away. She was early. He couldn’t help but think she was eager to see him again and after their encounter on the beach he felt much the same.

He watched as his niece turned her dragon towards the dragon pit. Memories played in his mind. The softness of her skin. The taste of her mouth. The warmth of her cunt. The sound she made when he came inside her. The flexible way she--a shirt hit him in the back of the head, distracting him from his carnal thoughts.

Arya’s irritated voice commanded, “Hurry up! We’re going to be late and you still have to do my hair.”

He scowled, but there was no real irritation in it. “How did I become your handmaiden again?” He bent down and picked up his shirt, slipping into it as he approached Arya who sat waiting at her vanity.

While he had been drooling after Rhaenyra, Arya had finished getting dressed and packing for both of them, or so the two satchels on the bed indicated. She gave him a puppy dog look, complete with a pouting lower lip, “You don’t like doing my hair?”

He felt a flash of wanting to bite her bratty pouty lips as he devoured them in a heated kiss, but it was an instinct easily ignored. Instead, he crouched low so he could nuzzle his face into her hair and whisper into her ear huskily, “You know, I love touching any part of you.”

He was pleased by the shiver his flirty actions had produced and quickly stood up, grabbing for the brush. “Shall I pull it all back? Or leave it half up, half down?”

“Braid it on the sides into one tight pony tail.” He was surprised, she usually didn’t request any specific style from him, but he supposed with what they had planned for today, it made sense.

He worked in silence. After helping her with her matted hair issue while she was recovering, he had been roped into doing her hair ever since. At least when Arya cared about such things. She was just lucky he kept his own hair long so he was quite skilled when it came to hair maintenance. And it’s not as if it was a hardship, brushing out her long silky brown locks. Especially because he knew how relaxing she found it.

She sat perfectly still for him, eyes closed, face slack, as he carefully separated her hair and began braiding. It was a weirdly intimate task and though he played like it was a burden, he loved being the one she trusted most, even with such minor things. When they first arrived and she allowed Alicent the privilege of grooming her, he had been overwhelmed with feelings of jealous possession. Now, he was the only one allowed such liberties and that left him satisfied in a way he didn’t like to dwell on.

When he was finished, she looked approachably exquisite. The hair style was not fussy, but her outfit was obviously expensive. The blood red body suit she wore extenuated her athletic physique in the best possible way and the extra panels of sheer fabric attached to her hips flared out with every step she took. He couldn’t wait to see her in action again.

“You look stunning.” He eagerly drank in the flush on her cheeks that his words inspired. Arya never took compliments without flustering when they concerned her appearance. It was an aspect of her personality he found endlessly delightful.

Daemon reached out and ran his fingertips up and down her bare arm, “But, with all this skin on display? You’ll freeze, without a coat I mean.”

He didn’t mean for his words to come out so husky, or to stare at her gooseflesh like he wanted to lick it, but Arya’s big eyes told him he was being too intense again. She brushed him off and headed towards the armoire, “I know. I’ve got one picked out.”

He didn’t want to make her feel more uncomfortable so he kept silent. He’d been feeling the urge to kiss her more and more lately, especially now that Aegon was free to show his affection for her without trepidation and he was still restricted by social convention from doing the same. And with thoughts of Rhaenyra stirring his blood, the idea of having Arya and Rhaenyra at the same time taunted him. It was a fantasy, of course, one that he had little chance of bringing to fruition, but still, his mind persisted in conjuring provocative images he couldn’t ignore.

Rhaenyra and her womanly curves, locked in an embrace with Arya and her slight ones. A silver head buried in a cunt topped with brown curls. Or the reverse, fucking Arya as she licked Rhaenyra. These notions and more had plagued him from time to time in the past, easily dismissed, but now the thoughts struck like an unexpected wave, overwhelming him.

It was all very confusing, as usually his flashes of attraction for Arya were fleeting. Their relationship was so oddly not built on physical attraction, but affection, despite their undeniable sexual chemistry. However, after almost losing Arya, everything he felt for her was now intensified. And after seeing Rhaenyra again, his cock literally throbbed with want. Or maybe it was anticipation?

It wasn’t difficult to summon the memory of what each one looked like naked and wrapped around his body. The images were seared into his memory for life. But he suspected, it wasn’t just the physical allure or the fantasy of having them both at the same time which had captured his so strongly. He was uniquely emotionally attached to Rhaenyra and Arya both. They weren’t passing fancies for him; they would be important players in his life’s story until the day he died. That connection was probably what made the carnal reveries so hard to ignore.

He loved Rhaenyra, always had. He loved Arya, always would. Truly and deeply. Given the state of things, he felt perfectly justified in his cock getting it all confused. It was just becoming a bit of inconvenience was all.

A shoe went whizzing past his face and when he turned it was just in time for the other to kick him in the face. “Uh!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Arya questioned, “Stop staring at the wall and get dressed!”

“Rhaenyra’s back.” He said quietly, almost in defense.

Ayra rolled her eyes, “Yes, I noticed. Two days early.” Her face tightened, in that way he knew meant she was attempting to hide her emotions from him, “That doesn’t change things, does it?”

Not a beat of hesitation. “Never.”

“Then hurry the fuck up.” She turned away, but he saw the look of relief.
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He had hoped to avoid running into Rhaenyra before they left for the day, it would just be easier if he could greet her properly when he had enough time to do so, but his timing when it came to Rhaenyra had always been shit.

They were on their way out to the garden when they ran into the Heir and her whole brood. The sight of his dear niece set him on edge as much as it excited him. Arya was now in a foul mood after a heated quarrel with Alicent concerning Aemond’s participation in today’s events. He didn’t need Arya taking her frustrations out on Rhaenyra and poisoning that relationship even further.

“Uncle.” She greeted him distractedly as she handed off her youngest to her husband. When her hands were free, she turned to him fully and dazzled him with a bright smile. “It’s so good to see you again.”

She looked good. Healthy. Glowing. Gorgeous. In his minds eye he pictured pushing her up against a wall and crawling beneath her voluminous skirt to lick her pussy until she cried out his name loud enough for the whole Keep to hear.

“Rhaenyra.” He said, going for stoic, but probably coming off as an asshole. “You as well. We weren’t expecting you so early.”

“A happy surprise I hope?” Her grin wilted slightly but she tried to maintain a teasing tone in the face of his apparent apathy. He wanted to reassure her of his continued affection, but he held back. Today was not for his niece, today was for Arya.

“Always.” He said with a grimace. Rhaenyra’s face grew cold at his response. Why was their timing always so poor?

His eyes shifted to Laenor and her boys. “Ser Laenor. Children.”

Laenor patted him on the shoulder, like they old friends they were, “Daemon, good to see you as well.”

He nodded his acknowledgment instead of reciprocating, keenly aware of the messy connections between him and his brother-in-law, that made him plotting to become Rhaenyra’s king consort, very, very unseemly, for various reasons.

“Yes, well,” Arya said, with an overly sugary tone, “Too bad we were just on our way out of the Keep.” She made a mocking sad face, “We’ll have to catch up later.”

Arya put a possessive hand around his bicep and pulled him a half step towards the doors. Rhaenyra’s disappointed voice had him resisting her silent command, “Really? I had hoped--”

His eldest nephew appeared out of nowhere. “Sister!”

Aegon forced a brief hug on Rhaenyra before slapping Laenor on the arm and mussing the hair of his younger nephews. “It’s been too long!”

“Yes,” Laenor contributed, finally seeing an opening to move forward and hug Arya warmly, “Far too long.”

Like the wind, Arya shifted. The sarcasm faded leaving nothing but purity behind. “It’s very good to see you Laenor.” As they parted, she reached out and tickled the baby’s chin, then turned and fixed what Aegon had done to Lucerys’s hair, “You children as well.”

“Where are you going?” Jacaerys asked a hint of suspicion in his voice. “And who is ‘we’? Arya and Daemon. Or all three of you?”

Aegon grinned proudly, “All three of us.” He then pulled a face as he wrapped an arm around Arya’s shoulders, “Speaking of, we really must be off, we have a tight schedule to keep today.”

Aegon reached for Daemon’s elbow and tugged him close, but he was even less inclined to let Aegon pull him around than he was Arya. His nephew, undeterred, rolled his eyes and shifted to steer Arya away without him. Jauntily he called out with a wave, “Ta-ta!”

They barely took two steps before Arya stopped, and turned back to address the group.

She smiled at Rhaenyra, more genuine this time, but he could see it lacked joy. “We’re going to put on a Dragon Show for some orphans near the beach. And then have lunch with them. We’ve arranged for a mini-feast of sorts…You’re all welcome to come if you like?” She smiled more warmly at Jacaerys and Lucerys, “Or just the children if you two would rather settle in after your long journey?” She gestured to Rhaenyra’s youngest in Laenor’s arms, “We could even take the baby off your hands.”

Daemon prayed Rhaenyra did not accept the offer. Nor Laenor. There was an ache in his gut that felt suspiciously like shame that he could not explain and did not want to have to battle a pendulum of feelings swinging between lust and guilt all day.

Laenor started to accept, “That sounds-” but Rhaenyra was quick to shut him down, “You are correct in your assessment ‘cousin’, we are all weary from our journey. We departed quite early in the morning. Perhaps another time.”

His shoulders fell and he let out a breathy, “Oh good.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed at him. He averted his gaze to the floor; he had not disguised his relief well.

Aegon scoffed quietly to Arya, but loud enough for them all to hear, “She’s just like my mother, no?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed dangerously, “What was that little brother?”

Aegon’s arm dropped from Arya’s shoulders to her waist, pulling her a little closer. Daemon rolled his eyes. Aegon was smart to seek protection from Arya, but it was disheartening. Again, he questioned Arya’s sanity for having true affection for the sybaritic prince. With a shrug Aegon informed them, “Not a fan of fun, my mother. The Queen wouldn’t let Aemond or Heleana join either.”

“Yes well,” Rhaenyra grabbed for Daemon’s wrist. He stared down at her hand on his skin, her touch was both strong and yet sinful, her skin was so supple. How did she have such soft fingertips? His gaze traveled up the appendage, getting caught at her breasts before sliding up to her beautiful face, all the while she spoke to him, seemingly ignoring her brother and his comment, in favor of looking at Daemon pleadingly. “Uncle, please, I had hoped we could speak? I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you.”

“Daemon?” Arya did not say his name harshly or loudly, but it made him tense up all the same.

In truth he wanted to hear what Rhaenyra had to say. He wanted her to touch him in other places with her supple fingertips. He wanted to go with her and reconnect, possibly make love again, and exercise all of his lustful demons.

Since his night with Rhaenyra, he had no one but his right hand for comfort. All the stress of returning to court, his busy schedule, and then the raid incident and dealing with the fall out after? He had simply not had the time nor the energy to visit the Street of Silk for any warm relief. And perhaps, that was his real problem. Or solution?

Arya’s voice transformed into something tight and detached. He could tell she was disappointed in him, though he doubted anyone else could hear it in her tone, “Daemon, we can do it without you, if you want to stay. No judgement. I know how important your family is to you.”

But he did not want to stay either. He didn’t want to be left behind, or miss the Dragon Show. They spent all of yesterday planning the charitable event and he knew it was going to be full of some much-needed merriment. For him and Arya, especially considering how many nobles he would have to behave himself around during the Tourney. He wanted to go with Arya and Aegon.

He looked away from Rhaenyra and her pleading eyes, behind him Aegon was whispering in Arya’s ear. The boy let his arm slip from her waist and took her hand. Daemon’s eyes were drawn to the movement as they interlocked their fingers together.

Aegon grinned at him wolfishly, “Don’t fret Uncle, I will make Arya and her work with the orphans my top priority, allowing you to focus on your,” He let his eyes travel up and down Rhaenyra’s body in obvious lecherous intent, “Other familial obligations.”

“Excellent then--” Rhaenyra’s supple grip on his wrist suddenly felt like a shackle, he took no care as he shook her off.

“No.” He closed the distance between him and Arya in two long strides. Gently he held her face in his hands, “No.”

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pressed a long kiss to her forehead. He would not have Arya thinking he wasn’t committed to her and the causes that were important to her. She was second to no one in his heart and it’s time everyone realized that.

“I am as invested in our charitable endeavor as you are Arya.” He felt like a coward but he couldn’t turn to see his niece’s face as he rejected her yet again, “I am sorry Rhaenyra we will have to speak later.”

Arya, who had been maintaining eye contact with him this whole time, spared a glance for the Queen to be, “Unless this matter you need to speak with him about is life or death?”

He let his hand slide to the small of Arya’s back, guiding her towards the exit even as Rhaenyra weakly replied, “No. It can wait until you return.”

Cheerfully Aegon, who was still holding Arya’s other hand, called out over his shoulder, “Well sister, we’ll be sure to give your love to the smallfolk!” Daemon wacked him in the back of the head for his cheek, forcing out a whiny, “Ow! Rude.”
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It amused the three of them greatly to watch as Aegon’s friends ‘red’ Ned, Martyn, the Cargyll twins, and three other White Cloaks climbed the rope that led to Drogon’s new saddle. The dragon in question looked bored at best, but the men still looked close to pissing themselves. As did Aegon when his friend Ned let out a girlish scream when Drogon shifted minutely just as he was climbing aboard. Laughing hard, the prince managed to gasp out, “Good thing you’re wearing brown pants, eh Ned?”

The dark-skinned boy looked a bit green as he was forced to smile in response to the jape. “Yes my prince, good thing.”

Arya elbowed Aegon in the gut before calling out to the young man, “You’re doing great Ned, just strap your self in and then don’t look down.”

Quietly Aegon asserted, “Two gold dragons says he pukes before we land.”

Arya shoved him towards her dragon, “If he does it’ll end up on you so…”

Daemon had been against the idea of Arya and Drogon taking on passengers, but even bitter about losing the argument, he could find the humor in the men’s reactions. And the beauty in the saddle Arya had designed.

When he first met Arya and Drogon, he had been aghast to see how she rode bareback, with no reins, saddle, or safety harness at all. In Pentos he’d had a simple saddle commissioned that was similar to Caraxes, only smaller. Once they’d gotten settled in King’s Landing, Arya had it altered to her liking and designed an attachment of sorts. When it was finished, Drogon’s saddle looked just as unique as the dragon itself.

Arya had done away with the reins and handles bars that all dragon saddles had, instead she installed a metal chain fishing reel just under the horn of the saddle. In her words, she did not need to steer Drogon physically, but she might occasionally need to hop off at a moment’s notice. Proudly she had showed him 2 small harnesses. One that was basically a belt with a metal ring on it so she could ride secured the to the saddle. And one that had 2 leg holes and secured around the waist like a sparse leather diaper. Around the waist of the harness there were loops that she intended to run the metal chain through, he suspected she intended to hang from it suspended in the air, but he had yet to see this addition in action. Arya promised she would show it off in a future dragon show.

However, when she had two longer basket type seats made, to fit on the middle of Drogon’s back, once again he questioned the function of her design choices. The two rectangular basket seats were made of sturdy leather and slightly cushioned, and all along the sides there were hand sized metal loops. The basket seats slung low on Drogon’s sides, kind of like a horse’s saddle bag, because space was needed to be left free down the center of Drogon’s back to accommodate his frills. The two basket seats were attached with chains and buckles to each other, there one strap around Drogon’s stomach, and one chain that led to the saddle proper which sat much further up Drogon’s back near the base of his neck. At the time of construction, she claimed they would be for carrying cargo, but when waistbelts were added to the metal loops, he knew she intended it for passengers.

The idea of letting non-dragon-riders ride a dragon, offended his pride as a Targaryen, but after arguing with Arya for hours, he conceded the point. Drogon was unique. Arya was in all likelihood not a real Targaryen. Who she flew with was not in his control. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Still, he thought, she had chosen her first passengers well. Over the past few months, Arya had grown very friendly with Aegon’s cronies, though she confessed she preferred Martyn over Ned, as the Reyne boy was much smarter than the latter. And now the pair were as much her lackeys as Aegon’s. The Cargyll twins were fast becoming his favorites among the Kingsguard due to their honorable nature and refusal of Arya’s various sexual advances.

She’d also invited Ser Ricard Thorne, Ser Lorent Marbrand, and Ser Willis Fell. Marbrand he knew to be a loyal man, and more importantly he always laughed at Arya’s outrageous antics around the Keep, though he hid it well. Thorne was a mostly moral man but more importantly an influential knight, his opinion held great sway within the Kingsguard, so he surmised this was a bid to win him to their side. The only mystery of the bunch was Fell, he knew little of the knight and Daemon did not know why Arya had included him on this adventure.

As he and Arya watched Aegon climb aboard Drogon, he hugged her from behind. Letting his lips tickle her ear he playfully taunted, “Are you sure this contraption isn’t going to fall apart as soon as we hit the skies? You know these men are not dragon riders, I’d hate to have to consol Aegon after they fall to their deaths.”

Arya turned in his arms and stepped on his feet, arching up to be as tall as possible and still only coming to be eye level with his lips. He didn’t expect her to tug on his hair and nip at his chin with her teeth, he found himself yelping in surprise.

Arya danced away taunting him back, “I told you, cargo, not riders.”

Nimbly she ascended her dragon using his body to climb instead of the rope all the others used. She went around checking on the men and their safety belts, gave out a few reassuring pats, and even pressed a kiss to the top of Ned’s head, he by far looked the least enthused about flying.

“Hurry up old man,” Arya called down to him, “You’re not getting any younger!”

“Brat.” He muttered with a smirk; he grabbed the rope and began to climb.
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Though they had a destination in mind, Arya seemed to be circling King’s Landing just for the hell of it. Drogon was flying as smoothly as possible, a fact his many inexperienced passengers seemed grateful for. It was all going as uneventfully as planned, despite the lollygagging, when Aegon opened his big mouth. “ARYA! I thought you claimed to be the greatest dragon rider of all time!”

Aegon had to yell to fight the sound of the wind and cover the distance between the passenger seats and the saddle ahead of them. Daemon rolled his eyes, Aegon really did thrive off attention, he should have expected the boy could not go five minutes without speaking. When Arya turned and looked over her shoulder at his nephew, the boy grinned challengingly. “If this is a preview of your Dragon Show skills, I pity the orphans for their future boredom!”

He anticipated some pithy back and forth before Arya did something stupid and amazing. But, for the second time that morning she took him by surprise. With a small tilt of her head to the left Drogon steered into a deep turn, almost turning them back towards the Red Keep.

The Kingsguard in the opposite seats to Daemon, Aegon, Ned, Martyn, and Erryk, all let out shouts of alarm, as the abrupt change in direction and the severe angle of it nearly caused them to spill out of their seats and it was only the belts around their waists that prevented them from doing so.

Daemon looked back to Arya. She winked at him, before diving off into the air.

Again, everyone yelled out in alarm, but a screaming sound coming from the pommel of the saddle, caught his attention. Daemon breathed a sigh of relief as he realized Arya was attached to, what looked like a fishing reel and a winch combined. A medium sized metal rope unwound quickly as Arya pulled it out, presumably attached to the other end of the line. It was only the wink and his confidence in her dragon riding skills which allowed his heart to start beating again.

“She’s fucking crazy!” One of the Cargyll twins called out mournfully, but Daemon only laughed manically as Aegon cackled beside him, “Worse! She’s showing off!”

Drogon took them lower and leveled out again, precariously dangling Arya over the residents of the city as she waved and cheered and called out greetings, swinging along the narrow streets in midair. The lower Drogon flew however, the tenser Daemon got.

With a great amount of concern and stupidity fueling his actions, Daemon unbuckled his safety restraint. He climbed out of the passenger basket. He ignored the questions and cries of alarm from his companions. And he crawled his way up to Drogon’s neck. The short journey felt perilous, but Drogon’s frills provided stability, and he comforted himself with the knowledge that this was how Arya rode before she met him. Still, when he reached the saddle proper, he let out a big breath.

Pulling himself into the saddle gave Daemon a better view of Arya swinging down below. She was fucking wrapping the metal rope around her body like it was one of her silk fabrics, pulling off elegant poses and unraveling herself from being wrapped up in the rope in a death-defying manner. She was not using the diaper harness and was only attached at the waist. Daemon clenched his teeth together harshly; suddenly regretful he’d ever mocked her invention as the diaper harness would have prevented her from doing these types of dangerous stunts while flying.

Distant screams and shouts told him her audience was as captivated as the Braavosi crowd she’d previously preformed for. He couldn’t help but smile despite his worry. For sure, as soon as she was back on the dragon with the rest of them, he would kill her, but he could see the exultation on her face from where he sat. She’d been under so much stress and hardship since the raid, it filled his heart with joy to see her finally acting like her old self again.

And then she almost slammed into a building. “ARYA!”

Quick as a cat, Arya ran up the side of the building to avoid fully crashing. Once she cleared the roof, Drogon pulled up sharply and she was yanked into the air with a delighted cry of “Wahoo!”

Higher and higher they flew until they were in the clouds and the air grew crisp. He could hear groaning behind him and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Aegon’s dark skinned friend looked to be choking back vomit. Seeing the ground disappear completely gave him a sinking suspicion of what was about to happen next.

“Hold on!” He called to the others in warning.

Drogon folded one wing in towards his body and tapped Arya with it, the girl flew out and away from the dragon’s body. Drogon then turned on his side and began to fall towards the ground. The men behind him screamed, but Daemon extended his hand and began dragging Arya in by the metal rope attached to her waist.

With the change in position and sudden descent, Arya was above them now, if they were to all crash she would not slam into the ground she would slam into Drogon. But he did not worry about that happening, they were high up enough to have some time to play with. Hand over hand, Daemon slowly reeled Arya in. She grinned down at him, face flush, hair windswept, eyes sparkling. “Use the crank!”

He looked down, there was a hand crank that was expressly made for the purpose of reeling in the metal rope that Arya was attached to. He glared up at her and continued on as he was, ignoring her direction.

When she was close enough Arya grabbed onto one of Drogon’s neck frills and the second she made contact, Drogon began flapping again, righting them all in the air once again.

“Arya! Enough!” One of the Cargyll twins cried out. “Please!”

She fucking blew him a kiss and began climbing up Drogon’s neck using his frills like steps on a latter, until she reached the top of his head. With a frustrating amount of lack of self-preservation, she then unhooked herself from the metal rope and again commanded him, “Use the hand crank!”

Daemon wanted to scream. She was standing on Drogon’s head holding her balance with one hand on the dragon’s horn and nothing else. It was possibly the most dangerous thing he had ever seen someone do.

The ground came back into view as Drogon began flying low and slow once again, the city, the Red Keep, the people. Drogon’s tail skimmed the roof of a building and Arya raised both fists in the air hollering, “Woooo! To the cove!”

“DON’T FUCKING LET GO!” Daemon screamed, his heart stopping for the brief second when Arya stood free, holding onto nothing.

She did as he asked just as Drogon banked sharply to the left, heading for Blackwater Bay. She turned, smiling at him reassuringly, but he could only glower back. “You’re giving me gray hair, girl!”

Laughter traveling on the wind was her only response.
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The cove was well hidden from the eyes of those in the city, Daemon could see why Arya had chosen the locale. The only entrance to the sandy beach was down a narrow rocky path so they weren’t likely to get any uninvited visitors. And even though the day was slightly overcast, it was still warm and the sun kept peeking through the clouds for a few minutes at a time.

Daemon had discarded his shoes and socks along with everyone else in their party shortly after arriving. He stood at the edge of the water now, letting the waves rush at him and lick up to his ankle. After standing still for so long he’d sunk slightly into the sand but he liked the sensation. Behind him there was music and laughter, in front of him an endless blanket of blue glistening in the morning light. He savored this moment of tranquility until a collective gasp tempted him into turning around.

Groups of orphans sat together across three large blankets to protect them from the hot sand. Gathered with the children sat the Cargyll twins, a few Septa’s, and Aegon and his friends. The relatively small and exclusive audience could not take their eyes off Arya and Drogon. She had started the show catering to the youngest, counting Drogon’s body parts and playing a fool, at which point Daemon had wandered away for a moment of reflection.

Now, it was apparent she had moved on to the more exciting portion of her show. Drogon held a metal bar in his mouth and sat up straight with his back to the ocean. Attached to the metal bar were two lengths of fabric from which Arya dangled. From her pose, inches from the ground with her hair skimming the sand, he surmised she had done the unraveling trick where it looked like she would plummet to her death only to be saved at the last second by a length of fabric wrapped around her thigh. The crowd erupted in applause and Daemon wandered back over, settling down on the blanket filled with mostly older children.

It still surprised him that Aegon chose to celebrate his ended engagement, by doing charity, instead of drowning himself in pussy at some whorehouse. The boy in question sat in the middle of the center blanket, a little girl in his lap and two little boys on either side of him, leaning heavily into the prince using his legs as arm rests.

The crowd laughed as Arya played the fool, untying her leg so she would comedically fall into the sand. He chuckled along as she popped up and shook her head vigorously sending sand flying every which way.

“Drogon,” Arya playfully scolded, “Did you just drop me?”

The dragon, still obviously holding the metal bar in his mouth, shook his head ‘no’, unintentionally (intentionally) hitting Arya in the face with the billowy fabric. The children and Aegon twittered in delight.

Daemon stared at his nephew finally understanding a bit more what she found so attractive about him. Surrounded by the youngest children in attendance, the boy looked a man. And he was finally starting to act like one too.

It was Aegon who paid for wagons to be sent to the orphanage early that morning so the children wouldn’t have to walk across half the city to get to the cove. It was Aegon who insisted they bring blankets for everyone to sit on. It was Aegon who hired Arya’s minstrel friend for the day and arranged for tables and benches to be brought to the beach so they could eat lunch without eating sand. Daemon looked over his shoulder, he was sure some of the children had noticed by now, the feast that the other Kingsguard were setting up, but they worked quietly and Arya still held most of the attention, so when she dramatically revealed it was lunchtime it would still be a surprise.

As loathe as Daemon was to admit it, his hedonistic nephew, whom he had initially dismissed as a contender for Arya’s affection, was proving to be a real man of the people. Capable of being kind and thoughtful, with a big heart for those less fortunate than himself. But he still suspected half of his behavior was motivated by a love of the attention and/or seeking favor with Arya, so he wouldn’t be nominating the boy for sainthood any time soon.

“Arya climb?” The little girl in Aegon’s lap asked around the thumb in her mouth. Daemon heaved a sigh, he always found it annoying the way children stated the obvious like it was a question.

Unperturbed, Aegon tickled the girl’s belly and confirmed, “Yes,” pointing at the Arya just as obviously, he said, “Look at her go up, up, up!”

Arya climbed the fabrics with ease. like they were a sturdy ladder instead of flimsy scraps of cloth. When she reached the bar held fast in Drogon’s jaws she fearlessly stuck her hands inside the creature’s mouth. Drogon began to slowly tilt his head back so he was staring straight up at the sky. As he moved so did Arya until she was vertical with her hands hidden in her dragon’s mouth.

Daemon guessed she was holding onto the bar to maintain her balance. She held the precarious position for a few seconds before lifting one hand, it was impressive feat, he along with the rest of the crowd were quick to applaud. Switching hands, she did it again.

“Seven hells,” Martyn remarked loud enough for Aegon to chastise him, covering the ears of the girl in his lap, “Language Reyne!”

The little girl in Aegon’s lap kicked her feet and clapped her hands excitedly as Arya got back on her feet, standing on Drogon’s closed mouth. She waved at the crowd, smiling plastically. Then her eyes bulged.

Drogon began to slowly open his mouth, with Arya’s foot straddling the divide, she windmilled her arms as if about to fall. Wider and wider, Drogon opened his mouth until Arya was forced into a split position.

“Oh no’s!” A little boy bleated. “Don’ts fall!”

Daemon laughed at Arya’s overacting. She took one finger and pressed it to the sharp point of one of Drogon’s teeth, wincing and acting like she’d been pricked. She looked down into Drogon’s mouth and then looked at the crowd, gulping fearfully.

“’es gonna eat her!”

With a sharp thrust of his head upwards, Arya was thrown briefly into the air. Drogon moved to face the crowd allowing Arya to land daintily on the bridge of his nose. On one foot. With her arms in the air like a graceful dancer.

Daemon let out a shrill whistle as everyone clapped.
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The clouds disappeared close to lunch time making the air muggy and hot. Everyone was feeling the weight of the heat, some of the older children even abandoning the end of the Dragon Show to go and frolic in the water at the shore.

Back on the ground now, Arya had the minstrel play a jaunty tune. As the boy sang, so did Arya, singing along and encouraging the children to rise up and follow her dance moves. Ever resilient in the worst conditions or too in love with their hero Arya, the young children clambered to their feet and hopped about at her command.

“I didn’t ask for a free ride, I only asked you to show me a real good time,” Arya pointed at Drogon shaking her hips, the children pointed as well.

“I never asked for the rainfall, At least I showed up, you showed me nothing at all,” She twirled, they twirled. She leapt across the sand, the children copied.

Aegon, who had a little girl on his shoulders began to shake his butt and all the children stopped to gawk and giggle. Especially when Arya began to copy him in a more exaggerated manner. Lured by the laughter, the older children ran away from the water and joined in on the dancing. Even tugging at his collar uncomfortably, Daemon managed a smile at the humorous sight.

Aegon talk-singed the next line, “It’s coming down on me.” Arya on the other hand harmonized with the minstrel beautifully, “Water like misery,”

Aegon, “It coming down on me. I’m ready,” Together Aegon and Arya abandoned trying to sing and instead shouted, “RAIN ON ME!”

Everyone screamed when Drogon started spitting water over the dancers like a gentle rain stormr. Daemon and Martyn Reyne stepped back at the same time, away from the water and the chaos, while Ned ran to join it. Hopping around with Aegon, and extending his tongue to drink the water droplets. He exchanged a look with Martyn. The boys’ eyes were wide and he had a look of disgust on his face, it was clear to both of them that Ned didn’t understand that Drogon was spraying them with a mouthful of seawater. Which made the liquid both undrinkable, and gross.

But above all the commotion he heard Arya and the minstrel continue with the song,
“I’d rather be dry, but at least I’m alive,
Rain on me, me, me,
Rain on me, me, me,”

The dancers cheered as Drogon ran out of water and went back to the ocean to scoop up another mouthful. The minstrel kept playing with Arya shouting out and singing along periodically, but for the most part everyone was just enjoying dancing in the manufactured rain.

Drogon sprayed the crowd two more times before Arya got all the children together in a big mob and directed them through the song,
“Hands up to the sky,
I’ll be your fantasy,
I’m about to fly,
RAIN ON ME, TSUNAMI!”

That seemed to be some secret signal that had Drogon not spraying, but dumping a full mouthful of water onto the group. Daemon laughed along with the other spectators, the rambunctious crowd looked like drowned rats and there were even a few flopping fish littering the ground making the whole scene even more hilarious.

Arya found his eyes and grinned at him, happiness radiating from her head to toe. And then her features shifted and he felt his face fall.

“No.” He pointed at her warningly, “Whatever your thinking, don’t.” He tried to sound stern but the mischievous glint in her eye didn’t falter.

Using her overly sweet voice Arya called out, “Oh no children! It looks like Daemon’s still dry! We have to help him!”

“No!”

Arya pantomimed fanning herself, overacting for her young audience’s benefit, “He must be sooooo hot. Let’s go give him some wet hugs so he can cool down!”

Over 30 children turned to look at him, “No. I’m fine, really, help is not necessary.”

“Aww, don’t listen to him kids,” Aegon chimed in with an evil little grin, “Uncle’s just being shy, he has a hard time accepting help.”

Before he could utter another word in his defense Arya called her army to action, “HUG HIM!”

He ran.

He knew he must look ridiculous, a grown man running from a group of tiny children, but he ran anyway. Up the beach away from the water. Around the blankets. Behind the minstrel. In between the Septa’s.

He ran even as he began to sweat. He ran even when it was hard to breathe. And yes, even though there were many children, Daemon was very fast. Even on sand. Even when Arya and Aegon split the group in half and tried to corner him, he was quick enough to evade all the tiny grasping hands.

Until, Drogon cheated.

The dragon used his tail to cut off one escape route, then his wing on another. With the children closing in, Daemon retreated until his back was up against Drogon’s stomach. He was beaten. The children had won.

He spread his arms wide and closed his eyes, comically bracing for impact, as he accepted his defeat honorably. He endured hug after hug, around his waist, on his legs, on his arms. Each child crowed in delight as he acted disgusted, overacting like Arya did during her shows. He grimaced. He moaned. He groaned. At one point he even called out dramatically, “Woe is me!” Making the crowd giggle.

When his humiliation finally ended Arya commended the children, “Good work! We’ve saved Daemon from fainting! Now! I think we’ve worked up an appetite--” she pointed to the tables set with food, “Who’s hungry!?”

The impoverished children needed no more instruction, dispersing instantly to enjoy a bounty the likes of which they’ve probably never seen. Only Arya, Aegon, and Daemon remained in place next to Drogon.

He tried to keep his face blank as he scolded, “That wasn’t funny.”

“But you had fun.” Arya countered at the same time Aegon said, “No, it was hilarious.”

The young pair exchanged a glance before turning back to Daemon. They rushed at him like the children had. Only they were taller and less hesitant in general. Arya rubbed her body up and down his right side asking, “Can you feel my love, Daemon? Is it wet and chaffing? And slightly smelly?”

On his other side Aegon hugged him tight and pressed his wet hair against Daemon’s neck, making him shiver and squirm as cold-water droplets made their way under his shirt and down his back. “Yeah Uncle, we wouldn’t want you to feel excluded just because you’re old!”

He looked up seeking commiseration or support from Drogon, but found the dragon looking down at him, with a familiar glint in his eye. He had only a second to squeeze his eyes shut before a mouthful of water was dropped on all three of them.

Aegon squealed in surprise and darted away, Arya did the opposite. She clung to him and pressed her face to his chest not making a sound. Instinct had him cradling her close until the barrage of water ended.

Everyone was laughing at them. Daemon smiled good naturedly, pushing the wet hair out of his eyes and away from his face. Arya, still holding onto his torso, as if frozen in place, quietly admitted, “Okay, maybe I deserved that.”
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After lunch they sort of split up into little groups.

Ser Thorne and Ser Marbrand stood guarding the narrow entrance to the cove with a group of five little boys pestering the Kingsguard with endless questions, but from what Daemon could see, the men didn’t seem to mind. He was just glad Aegon had convinced them to take off most of their armor lest they pass out from the heat, especially the elder Ser Thorne.

The Cargyll’s were surrounded by a group of the oldest boys, teaching them how to whittle driftwood into figures. Ser Fell was digging a hole with a group of three little girls, seemingly without purpose. Martyn was holding a sleeping toddler, talking with one of the Septa’s near the now empty table. And Ned had a pair of siblings following him about, writing in the sand with sticks.

In the shade of Drogon’s shadow sat Aegon playing in the in the sand with a handful of kids. An interesting mixture of ages gravitated towards the young prince. A handful of boys around Aemond’s age were taking the building of sand castles very seriously, while a larger group of young ones sat digging and scooping with seashells happily making a very long wonky looking moat.

A little between the water and Aegon’s sand building, Daemon was running a game of catch with a few boys and two tough little girls. At first the boys balked at letting the girls play with them, but when he threatened to tattle to Arya, they quickly changed their tune.

His eyes were drawn back to Arya as she let out a loud ‘huh!’ sound. The most energetic children were playing with her near the water. She was cartwheeling, splashing, jumping, dancing and singing with them. Osgar, the minstrel stood nearby, offering musical accompaniment to her antics. Though Daemon wasn’t sure how the boy thought he could compete with the sound of the ocean.

Daemon had heard her speak of the singer before, asking how someone became the official court singer. Telling him of the new song she helped the boy write. Boasting of his talents at different instruments and asking Daemon if he thought she had time to learn to play any. However, this was the first time he’d met the boy.

Osgar the minstrel was well named, the boy had talent with the lute and the voice of angel. And everywhere that Arya went, the boys’ eyes followed. He could see clearly that young man who was perhaps of age with Aegon, who Arya described as her ‘good friend’ was in fact another one of her hopeless admirers. Daemon just couldn’t discern if Arya was willfully blind to his adoration or actually oblivious to it.

He was just relieved the boy was skinny as a columnar tree, with giant ears that stuck out from a nest of wild jet-black hair, because he had the kind of voice that maid maidens swoon. And the confident charisma of performer, despite a somewhat bumbling persona when he wasn’t actively singing a song. With the way Arya sung the boys praises, and his songs, he might have suspected a brewing attraction, but luckily Osgar was physically, not her type at all.

After two hours of mindless fun, everyone was starting to tire and the Septa’s declared it was time to go back to the orphanage. In anticipation of the children’s disappointed protests, Aegon announced dinner would be waiting for them back at the orphanage as well as a new set of clothes for each child. Including shoes. And while that seemed to soften the blow it wasn’t until Arya announced Drogon would miss them and requested a hug from each child that the air of sadness was fully washed away.

In no time at all the children were lining up for a chance to pet a dragon. After hugging or stroking Drogon’s ferocious looking face, the children moved on to squeezing Arya with all their might. After her, some stopped by Aegon to do the same, but only the two little girls from the catch game dared approached Daemon for hugs goodbye.

There were a few tears as the children made the long trek up the rocky walkway and were loaded up into wagons for the journey home. But, Arya and Aegon were quick to promise future visits and more supplies throughout the years to come.

The pair stood side by side waving even as the others returned to finish packing up their things down on the beach. Daemon waited with them until the last wagon rode out of sight.

Daemon watched as their shoulders slumped, seemingly as sad as the children had been for the afternoon to end, and now finally free to express it. Quietly he approached, inserting himself between the pair. He put his left arm around Aegon’s shoulders and his right around Arya, “Come on, let’s get the others and get a move on.”

“What’s the hurry?” Aegon asked, up this close Daemon could see the prince was a little sunburnt on his nose and the tops of his cheeks.

“He probably wants to get back to see what Rhaenyra wanted.” Arya slipped her arm around Daemon’s waist and hooked a finger into Aegon’s waistband. “Right?”

“No actually.” Arya on the other hand was very sunburnt. He winced, wondering how his own face had faired after the hours of exposure.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her still damp head, “As you reminded me not too long ago, there aren’t only needy children in King’s Landing. And, the days not over yet.”

“More charity?” Aegon perked up, sounding intrigued.

“Of a certain kind, yes.” Daemon ruffled the boy’s hair and pushed him playfully ahead of he and Arya. Getting close to her ear, he whispered, “But mostly I’m talking about seeing to our needs.”

Her arm tightened around his waist, “What have you in mind?”

He pressed a kiss to her reddened nose, then to her crispy cheeks, and finally he pecked her on the lips. She smiled up at him, a little confused, but pleased. And when he let go of her shoulder, and offered her his hand, she took it without question. Lacing their fingers together he tugged her towards the path back down to the beach. He let their joined hands swing lazily between them as he told her his idea.
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*This chapter took me a lot more research than I anticipated, enjoy the plethora of visual aids

Our Major Characters this Chapter *yes I had to do some fancasting not everyone has a picture attached to their wiki

Saddle Info/Inspiration *Shoutout to Dinotopia

*Did you guys know that the dragons had surgical implants? Cause I didn’t until I started doing research on the saddles

Reminder of What Drogon Looks Like

Dragon Show Inspiration

The Cove *I personally picture that scene where Davos goes back to get Gendry in season 7 or 8, with the little boat and we see Gendry’s war hammer for the first time? That’s what I pictured, but I was too lazy to track that image down, so here is some inspo instead

Osgar the Minstrel *Yes more Fancasting and **Yes I did love/watch Merlin, not sure if this character will feature hugely in the story, but I like to have a picture in my head if I give a character a name and a set task/job

Daemon Hair Braiding

Orphan Beach Ocean Fun Vibes

Arya at Play With the Kids Inspo

Arya Dragon Show Outfit

Chapter Text

Chapter 37
~Daemon, Part 2~

The House of Kisses was half bathhouse half whorehouse, located atop Visenya’s Hill, Daemon had chosen it as their next destination for multiple reasons. Upon arrival they were greeted at the door by two rough looking men and a tiny old woman.

“Welcome to the House of Kisses.” The gray-haired woman, smiled brightly, showcasing three missing teeth. Daemon tilted his head really studying the woman’s bone structure, he could tell she had been a beaty in her youth, but the wrinkled skin that covered her now made it hard to imagine. “I believe you are Prince Daemon?”

He nodded and handed over a heavy sack of coin, “This is for everyone in my party to enter, and” he pulled Arya close to his side, “our private room.” He gestured to the others with his chin, “The others will pay for themselves or stay in the public area.”

“What? You said you had it all arranged.” Aegon sulked, “And, besides, I thought you said we were doing charity.”

He smirked at his nephew, “So tip the girls generously, that’s tantamount to charity, is it not?”

As the old woman counted his coin, Aegon’s little friends’ eyes grew wider and wider. Osgar the minstrel was the only one to balk though, “That’s just the entrance fee? You could feed a family of four for a year with all that gold.”

He rolled his eyes, “For eleven people, yes.”

“Plus, he got a private room.” Arya pointed out. “It’s not that much, Braavosi brothels cost about the same.”

He pinched her backside teasingly, “I got us a private room.” She rolled her eyes, but said nothing more.

“You’re paying for the guards?” Aegon questioned, looking Ser Thorne up and down, “What if their hearts give out mid-fuck? Or there is an unfortunate dildo incident, depending on their preferences?”

Arya lightly kicked his chin, but Ser Throne maintained his professionalism in answering Aegon’s jest, “Rest assured, I will not be partaking in any carnal delights, my prince. Neither will the rest of my men. Entrance to the establishment is all that is needed for us to do our duty and protect you.”

Ser Marbrand made a face like he disagreed, but Daemon’s eyes were drawn to Ser Arryk who looked awkward and slightly terrified. He looked to the man’s brother; he was staring pointedly at the ground. He looked to Arya, to see if she knew why they were reacting so strangely, only to discover she was the reason.

Arya pouted seductively at the twins, reaching out she tugged on Ser Erryk’s beard teasingly, “Aw, and here I thought I was going to finally get to the Cargyll’s in action.” She leaned towards them mock whispering, “And I don’t mean with a sword.”

“Well,” Aegon said with a tilt of his head, “Not metal one’s anyway.” Arya threw back her head and laughed, leaning away from Daemon and into Aegon.

Quietly she scolded, “I was going to make that joke.”

“Great minds…” Aegon said with a vicious grin, before pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

Daemon pressed his own lips together tightly so he wouldn’t be caught frowning. Aegon whispered something in Arya’s ear that had her smothering a laugh in his shoulder, Aegon tilted her face up and kissed her properly. Neither seemed to care that all eyes, save the old woman who was almost finished counting his coins, were on them.

“All here.” The old woman, announced as she retied the pouch strings and handed it off to one of the brutes at her side. She smiled at Aegon and Arya’s display before loudly clearing her voice. The pair broke apart, Aegon looking smug, Arya pressing her face into his shoulder to hide her flushed face. “If you’ll follow me, we can get you all into something more comfortable and you can begin enjoying all that the House of Kisses has to offer.”
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Daemon refused to disrobe or part with Dark Sister. As did the Kingsguard with their own weapons and armor. Aegon and his friends didn’t hesitate though, even the minstrel all donned the offered robes, their clothing was to be taken away to be laundered while they were indisposed. And their other belongs such as shoes or bags would be stored in open shelving with nothing but a promise that it all would be waiting for them when they chose to leave.

Daemon would never risk having his Valyrian steel sword stolen. The changing room was open to all coming and going, with little security besides the old woman and the two brutes who followed her every step. And he knew he would look ridiculous in a loosely tied robe with Dark Sister strapped across his waist, so he chose to remain as he was.

Following his lead Arya trusted Ser Erryk with her satchel bag but let the old woman take the clothes she was wearing. It made him curious about what the satchel held that Arya was acting so protective of. She had packed a bag for him as well that morning, but when he searched through the bag at the beach, he found only an extra set of clothes.

Aegon made a gentle joke about Daemon being ashamed to put his ‘aging’ body on display in comparison to himself, but Arya’s mocking laughter was enough for him to let the slight go without comment. He was content in the knowledge that he would feel more comfortable disrobing in the private room with Arya, where he knew no sticky fingers could rifle through his belongings.

Unlike the men in their group, Arya was not offered a robe, apparently it was a rarity for a woman to come as a customer, and the old woman didn’t want her to be mistaken for a whore. The robes while made of rich fabric, where held together with only one tie and thus threatened to reveal Arya’s intimate parts to the world with one wrong movement. She was instead offered a slightly more modest, long white gown. Though it too showed off ample amounts of her figure and skin, with its nearly sheer fabric and low back, Arya concluded it provided more security than the robe and smelled better than the body suit she had been wearing all morning.

Daemon thought it made Arya look like an unspoiled maiden, or a displaced forest nymph, and would do nothing to deter any other customers from mistaking her for a whore. However internally he reasoned, he would stay by her side for the entirety of their visit and they would not remain in the public spaces for long before retreating to their private room, so he held his tongue on the matter.

“Please, enjoy yourselves.” The old woman gestured to a set of arched doors, “And do not hesitate to ask any of the attendants if there is something you require. Here at the House of Kisses, we pride ourselves on the quality of our services.”

Daemon watched Arya’s face closely as they all entered the main room and took in the scene.

Silks decorated the walls covering large windows making the room glow in hues of pink and red due to the late afternoon sunlight shining through. The parts of the walls that remained uncovered showed expensive looking nude-colored tiles interlocked with brown ones. And happily, the odors of the city all but disappeared due to the burning of incense and fragrant potted plants and flowers littered about everywhere. Daemon watched with a satisfied smile on his lips as Arya’s eyes finally fell upon the centerpiece of the large open room, it was a large hexagon shaped pool on which tea lights and flowers floated along the water’s surface adding to the luxurious atmosphere.

“Classy.” Aegon whispered into Arya’s ear making her grin and Daemon clench his jaw. “Can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

“Well, this is a respectable establishment, for respectable people to engage in despicable acts with tasteful whores.” Arya snarked, ribbing Aegon with her elbow, “Makes sense to me why you didn’t qualify until now.”

“And me.” Martyn muttered, earning a gasp of betrayal from Aegon and a mocking glare.

“But seriously,” Ned added, “Look at this place.” The dark-skinned boy’s face was filled with awe. The phrase ‘lucky bastard’ came to mind as Daemon was reminded of Ned’s social status. Ser Eddard ‘Red Ned’ Waters was a bastard hedge knight from the Crownlands and it was only through befriending Aegon that the boy had access to such opulence. And that’s what the House of Kisses was. Opulent. It wasn’t a true bathhouse meant to get people clean with efficiency, but it had adopted many bathhouses features to create a unique setting that differentiated it from all other whorehouses in the city.

“I mean,” Ned continued, “Aegon’s taken us to visit every brothel on the Street of Silk, but this place is…something else.”

Daemon patted the young man on the back, silently encouraging him to enjoy it while he could. The boy startled at the contact, but sheepishly smiled back at him. Arya liked Aegon’s other friend, Martyn Reyne, better than Ned because he was smarter and therefore more useful to her. But Daemon had a smidge of respect for what the hedge knight endured to remain in Aegon’s entourage. As Aegon’s ‘poor’ friend, he took a lot of shit from the prince to remain in his good graces.

“It’s not that great.” Aegon muttered, crossing his arms across his chest petulantly.

“Don’t be a pouty contrarian.” Arya bumped her hip into his before walking forward a bit. Daemon doubted his nephew even knew what ‘contrarian’ meant.

“It’s room with a pool.” Aegon said flatly, “It’s a bathhouse with whores. Unless they’re going to put on a donkey show or something equally dangerously perverse, I think Uncle just got swindled.”

“What’s a donkey show?” Osgar asked innocently.

“Don’t.” Daemon said sternly, glaring at Aegon.

Martyn offered Aegon a different perspective, “Perhaps the overblown price is not about the quality of the whores or the bath amenities, but the exclusivity? And, the, cleanliness of the environment?”

“Now that’s a thought.” Aegon patted the man on the back, a wide smile on his face. “Come, let’s get a drink.” Aegon led his friends over to a small table laden down with sweet foods, fruit, and wine. Ser Throne and Ser Fell, fell into step behind the boys shadowing them for protection.

Arya remained by his side, still taking in all the enticing tableau had to offer.

All the furniture was arranged around the aquatic centerpiece, benches and chaise lounges lined the walls, most of them occupied by eager whores, putting themselves on display provocatively. Strikingly, every whore was dressed in red, which contrasted nicely with the mostly sand colored furniture. Most of the women fixed their flirtatious eyes on him or Aegon, the obvious Targaryen’s of the bunch, probably seeing them as nothing more than bottomless coin purses.

Touching his elbow, Arya quietly told him, “Reminds me a bit of the bathhouses in Braavos.”

Her eyes were still on the architecture, but it was a deft comparison that also applied to the merchandise in the room. In the Free Cities of Essos, whores were treated better by society in general than in Westeros. Moreover, some Braavosi courtesans even acquired a certain amount of fame and wealth, as the skills and professionalism of the courtesans were world renown. It was clear to him and probably Arya, that the proprietors of the House of Kisses were aiming to replicate the cultured and refined experience one could easily find on one of those Braavosi barges.

But Daemon also knew what she meant about the building itself. The room was heated by a hypocaust, which gave one the pleasant feeling of constant radiant heat. He knew that the entire building was built around the tepidarium, and that the other main hallways led to two other large public rooms, the caldarium and the sudatorium.

The tepidarium that they were standing in, was only the first taste of what the House of Kisses had to offer. It was the location where people gathered, chatted, relaxed, and occasionally conducted business, it was also where men chose which whore they would be spending all their coin on. However, he knew the pool which looked beautiful and inviting, held only lukewarm water at best. And while the room was the most opulently decorated, it did not hold a candle to the mosaics and marbles that could be found in the bathhouses in Braavos.

The caldarium was where you went if you wanted a traditional bath, it’s where one could find the hottest water on offer. Daemon had initially thought to bring Arya here so she could soak her sore muscles after her highly acrobatic performance, but then he learned what extra services a private room included and changed his mind. The sudatorium was a room filled with steam and he wasn’t a big fan of it, but if Arya wanted to try it out, Daemon knew he would end up relenting.

In between the three public aquatic attractions lay the House of Kisses main money makers, the ‘engagement’ apartments. Or at least that’s the terminology they liked to use. Daemon had booked one of these obscenely overpriced tiny rooms that were equipped with beds for fucking the high-priced whores, smaller private baths, and an expert ‘wellness’ attendant. He doubted he and Arya they would engage with the whores much but he intended to get his money’s worth out of the attendant and the spa services they boasted of.

There weren’t many customers yet, but their large party would have received the same amount of attention had the place been packed. It was still late afternoon, an hour or so before sundown, so he knew it was only a matter of time before the building saw an influx of high-status patrons. Daemon hoped to be secreted away with Arya before then. To that end he crooked his finger at an older looking red head, beckoning her closer.

The woman had a large chest and pale skin, with long curly red hair piled artfully atop her head, each ringlet bounced as she swung her hips seductively on approach. Daemon thought she looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place her face. Her voice was high, but not gratingly so as she greeted him, “Prince Daemon, how delightful to see you again. Welcome to the House of Kisses.”

Presumptuously the woman threaded her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and pulled his head down, attempting to give him a kiss. He turned his head so it landed on his cheek, not liking how forward she was acting. There was a flicker of confusion in her eyes as she pulled back, the woman smiled woodenly but she couldn’t hide her concern. A bit more submissively she asked, “How may I be of service?”

“Since you know who I am, I assume you know why I’m here?” He said coldly. “I want to know if my room is ready?”

“Ugh.” Arya took a step forward, standing in front of him blocking the eye contact between Daemon and the whore. She then waved her hand dismissively in his direction, “Stop being rude and frowny, Daemon.” She addressed the red head, “Hello, I’m Arya, what’s your name?”

The whore wore a small smile of surprise and amusement as she answered, “Betha.”

“Betha, beautiful name.” Aegon commented, as he returned, drink in hand, and slid into place next to Arya. He put his arm around her waist and leaned in to whisper in her ear, but was loud enough for them all to hear, “Not as beautiful as Arya of course.”

Arya snorted and pushed Aegon away from her side with a hand on his face. Smiling he stumbled a few steps away from her before quickly returning, this time hugging her from behind and putting his chin on her shoulder.

Ignoring his antics Arya focused on the woman, “Betha, you have such beautiful hair.” She reached out and fingered one of the red ringlets, murmuring, “Kissed by fire.” Arya took the end of her own, now disheveled ponytail, and comically flicked it over her shoulder into Aegon’s face. “Much prettier than horse shit brown.”

Ned, Martyn, Ser Marbrand, and one of the Cargyll’s, all laughed, or at least made various noises of amusement. But the whore frowned, “Don’t say that, you’re lovely.”

“Honeyed chestnut.” Aegon corrected, pressing his nose into Arya’s hair and inhaling obnoxiously loud, “Or I would say your hair is like, silk spun mahogany.” He teasingly nipped at Arya’s earlobe chastising, “Not fucking horse shit brown.” Aegon snorted a laugh into the skin of her neck.

Arya rewarded him with a brief kiss when he lifted his head and met her eyes. She then took his glass when it was offered, sipping from it greedily before returning it. Aegon pouted upon seeing how much she had drank, making Arya chuckle. Quickly he downed the rest in one gulp and handed the empty glass off to Ned. Hands free, he resumed hugging Arya from behind, and nuzzling his face into her hair.

Daemon briefly fantasized cutting his nephews tongue off with a rusty butter knife. He knew they had been holding back from showing affection all morning, to preserve the innocent minds of the orphan children, but this was getting ridiculous. He’d brought Aegon to the most expensive whorehouse in all of Westeros and the boys’ eyes barely left Arya’s face.

While Betha tried to convince Arya that Aegon was right and that her hair was equally beautiful, Daemon surveyed the room more closely. Looking for a woman that he thought would distract Aegon, allowing him to steal away Arya’s attention for himself as he had planned.

His eyes got stuck on a trio of men at the back of the room. One was very young, a boy really, perhaps of age with Aegon. There was an older man, with a bushy gray beard. And one with black hair that looked to Daemon’s age. They were the only other customers in the room.

To be sure, they all looked rough with wild hair and tired eyes, but there was a proud dignity in the way they held themselves that contrasted with their rugged appearance. They weren’t acting loud or lecherously, which told him much. They just sat quietly drinking and eating greedily from an assortment of wine and cheese on the little table before them. They appeared to be lightly conversing with the two whores who sat on either side of the elder men in the group, but Daemon could feel their eyes on him and his party.

Annoyed, for various reasons, Daemon pushed Arya and Aegon out of his way to address the red headed whore. “My room?”

“It is being prepared as we speak, my Prince.” The woman bowed her head respectfully, “It will take but half an hour to full fill your requests.” She gestured to the wall of couches occupied by the other whores, “I humbly encourage you to relax here, or explore the House of Kisses other amenities if that is your desire. All the women and men, wearing red are here to service your pleasure. An attendant will come fetch you and take you to the apartment for your private engagement when satisfaction can be guaranteed.”

“That’s a lot of fancy words for ‘not ready yet’.” He quipped.

The corner of the red head’s mouth ticked up, “Indeed.”

Suddenly he remembered her. Betha, she had said. Years ago, when Daemon was the Commander of the City Watch, she worked on the Street of Silk in one of the seedier brothels. He had fucked this woman up the ass as she sucked his companion’s cock after a violent sweep in Flea Bottom. He smiled at the memory, Betha liked to be spanked until her ass was as red as the curls on her head.

“Well, come on then.” Arya said, grabbing Aegon and Daemon by the hands. She dragged them closer to the pool but directed them towards the largest couch against the wall, then pointed at a chaise lounge, “Push those closer so we can all sit together.”

She walked away saying, “I’m going to go invite everyone, not engaged with a client, to join us so we can assess what the House of Kisses is really all about. And maybe have a bit of naughty fun as well.”
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In a matter of minutes every whore in the brothel, save the two attending the three wild men in the back, were gathered around his party. Ned, Martyn, and Osgar shared the couch Arya had initially pointed out. The minstrel was strumming a gentle wordless song on the lute, creating an inviting atmosphere. Aegon was lounging on a chaise by himself and Daemon had dragged a small couch next to it, intentionally making the young prince the centerpiece of their group. The Knights stood sentry around them while Arya directed the whores to gather on the floor in front of them like children at story time.

“I’m so glad we have time to chat, before things get busy.” Arya was using her most charming smile, her most personable voice, and seemed eager but, Daemon didn’t really know what she was doing or why. However, he trusted her and so relinquished any thoughts of control.

When Arya chose to sit with Aegon on the chaise and not with him on the couch he occupied all alone, he couldn’t help but glare at his nephew. Aegon smiled at him smugly as Arya got comfortable in between his legs, sitting up with her back pressed to his chest, only slightly reclined. Aegon pressed a victorious kiss to her shoulder.

Daemon tightened his hand on Dark Sisters hilt imagining using it to make Aegon a eunuch.

“So,” Arya started perkily, “I’ve been to a few brothels in my time, usually as a customer, but then again, my memory is shit and my pasts a mystery, so who knows?”

Arya grinned at the whores when her words earned her a few chuckles, “But my most memorable experience in a brothel, sadly, was nothing like this place. I am very pleased to see you all look of age.” Though she said it in an upbeat manner, the implication of her words had dark connotations that had the air growing thick with tension. Even the minstrel stopped his strumming. “You all look well fed, well rested…Not a pair of dead eyes in the bunch.”

Her eyes bounced from face to face, the silence growing slightly uncomfortable until she broke it saying, “How lucky you all are, to work here, instead of on the Street of Silk. Aegon tells me, and I’ve seen a bit for myself, things can get a bit wild in the less reputable establishments.”

Daemon knew at once, Arya was championing one of her causes. Like with the orphans, and the child fighting pits, this interaction with the whores meant more to her than surface level.

“Yes,” A young beautiful brunette offered, sounding very rehearsed, “We enjoy our employment at the House of Kisses, very much.”

“Is that so.” Arya murmured quietly.

Aegon rubbed at her shoulders forcefully but like he was trying to appear soothing. “Arya, please don’t. Not here.” He hissed into her ear, “These whores don’t need your help.”

“I’m not doing anything.” She said snippily. But Martyn and Ned both had looks of resignation on their faces. “We’re just chatting.”

Daemon felt out of the loop, he was missing something and he suspected it involved Arya’s opinions on the treatment of whores in King’s Landing verses Braavos. And from the way Aegon and his friends were acting, Arya had probably brought up this ‘justice for whores’ cause before, to the detriment of them having a good time.

And since his nephew was against hearing Arya out, Daemon set her up to elaborate by asking, “Arya, color me intrigued. What was your most memorable experience in a brothel?”

She lit up like the sun. “Thank you for asking Daemon,” She turned back to the whores, slipping back into her performance persona. “Well, it was back in Braavos. And I was posing as a whore as a ruse to get close to someone I was trying to kill, he had all the girls line up so he could choose which one he wanted rape. Which is why I had all of you sit down with us and get comfortable; I didn’t want you to think this was our attempt at some degrading selection game.”

“Can’t be rape if you pay them.” Ned muttered quietly to Martyn. The Reyne boy looked back at him like he was the stupidest man alive.

Arya whipped her head in Ned’s direction so fast her hair swatted Aegon in the face painfully. Daemon smirked as his nephew rubbed at his eyes with a grimace.

“Ned, you are just lucky to be here, so shut the fuck up.” Gone was her smile, gone was her charm. Arya’s voice was ice cold. “I enjoy you, but be careful.”

Ned flushed and looked down at his hands. “Sorry.”

Daemon could see some of the whores shifting uncomfortably. He understood their uneasiness. The shift in Arya’s whole demeanor, was violently abrupt, from kind to cruel. It was probably an unsettling transition for those who didn’t understand her as he did.

“You can rape a whore.” Daemon chimed in, his voice low but matter-of-fact, “You can rape your wife. Or a child. Or a man. Or anyone really. If they say ‘no’ and you fuck ‘em anyway, that’s rape.”

“Exactly!” Arya smiled at him, gently touching his hand, “See, Daemon gets it.”

“I also get it.” Aegon asserted, sitting up straighter.

“Of course you do honey.” Arya said patronizing, twice she patted him on the cheek harshly, almost slapping him. “I’ve taught you well.”

Aegon looked slightly offended, but said nothing as Arya turned address the whores once again. “So, what do I want to talk about?” She paused as if waiting for someone answer, but then did it herself, “Are any of you being raped?”

“Arya!” Aegon exclaimed.

She waved at him dismissively. “Shh.” Arya then rephrased the question, “What I mean is, I was just wondering if any of you were forced into prostitution against your will?”

Daemon ran a hand over his face tiredly, now he could tell where this was going and why Aegon and his friends looked so resigned. He had a flashback to the first time he saw Arya address a crowd of children back in Braavos. Though he knew it was useless, he had to agree with Aegon’s earlier point, “These are high end whores Arya, I doubt any of them are being abused. Not at these prices.”

“Perhaps,” Arya shot him a glare, but turned a smile onto her audience, “But it doesn’t hurt to check….so?”

The whores said nothing. They sat there exchanging glances of worry, disbelief and confusion, but no one was courageous enough to speak, until one girl with a very thick Pentoshi accent asked, “You killed a client? When you were a whore back in Braavos? I thought you were a Targaryen princess?”

Arya laughed throatily, “No, to everything you just said.”

The girl flushed. She looked young. Perhaps 16, maybe younger. Daemon was impressed by her bravery to speak, but disappointed she seemed to be so slow of mind. The girls’ blonde eyebrows crinkled in confusion as she asked for clarification, “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t always called a Targaryen princess. A year ago, I was just Arya ‘the greatest dragon rider to ever live’,” Aegon snorted, burying his face in the small of Arya’s back, but she rolled her shoulder to push him off of her. “And before that, I was someone else entirely.”

There was a silence as Arya’s gaze drifted over to the pool, Daemon could tell she was collecting her thoughts, thinking about the best way to convey her message impactfully. Everyone seemed to lean in a bit, full of anticipation at what she was going to say next. “I don’t remember his name, the man I killed. I remember what I felt for him though. Pure hatred. Disgust. Rage…I found him by chance while I was selling,” She affected a Braavosi accent, “Oysters, clams, and cockles.”

Daemon exhaled in amusement.

She grinned, “I felt, it was fate. For our paths to cross. So, I abandoned my cart of goods and I followed him. He went into a brothel. I went in after him, quiet as a shadow.”

All joy fell away from her face, and the performance air to her storytelling faded, leaving behind only raw emotion and devastation. “He asked for a young girl and they brought him one. ‘Too old’ he said. They brought him another, ‘Too old’ again...They brought him a kitchen girl not even 12 years old…I didn’t save her. I wanted to, but I needed time. And a plan.”

Arya reached out and grabbed his hand. Daemon accepted the connection greedily. He scooted to sit on the end of his seat, to be closer to her, and put his other hand on top of hers, trapping her hand between his. She was talking to him now, even if she was still staring at the water, he felt like her words were now just for him.

“He said he would come back again tomorrow and they should have a selection of even younger girls for him to choose from. Fresh ones. So, I waited. And I joined the selection. There were three of us. He had us stand in a line. And he circled like a shark. He had a crop…He beat them. And they cried out in pain. He looked disappointed. So, when he beat me, I stayed silent. He hit me again and I did not cry out. Again--he hit me so hard he broke the fucking stick.”

“He liked the challenge.” Daemon guessed, “He chose you, because it would bring him pleasure to dominate and destroy your spirit.”

“Yes.” She said very softly. “It’s why I stayed silent. I could see he loved to cause pain, but he was too rough, he wanted someone, hearty, who could endure longer.” She reached up and scratched at her eyebrow with her free hand.

“You know, I can’t picture his face, not before I--I remember what he looked like after I was finished with him. But when I think about him now, brown eyes? Green? I don’t know. …I stabbed him in the eyes first. Stuffed a rag into his mouth to smother his cries of pain so he couldn’t call for help.”

Arya looked away from the pool. To him. Daemon stared into her cold gray eyes and felt such a connection to her in this moment, it was almost as if all their other interactions paled in comparison. This was why they so perfectly complemented each other. They understood the world and all of its violence. And they had evolved to give back what they were shown, be it cruelty or kindness.

He squeezed her hand as she smiled, an ugly vicious smile that he felt himself mirroring. “I stabbed him in the chest over and over and over again, but avoided his heart so he could endure longer. He crawled to his knees. And I knelt beside him, only to stab in the gut.”

The cruel smile shifted on her face, reflecting instead satisfaction instead of wicked joy. “I got up and circled him like a shark. I told him, things I can’t remember now. Probably the reasons why I hated him so much. And then I stabbed him in the back, just because it wasn’t bloody yet.”

Daemon tried to push all his acceptance and understanding into his eyes. “And then?”

“I put my hand on his head to hold him steady.” She leaned in and her voice got softer, “I told him he was no one. Nothing. And then I slit his throat.”

Daemon pulled on her trapped hand leading Arya to get up Aegon and the chaise. She accepted his direction and moved to sit his lap. He stroked a heavy hand down her back, the naked skin on her back was so warm, he gripped her hip tightly.

“I love you.” He admitted quietly, he pressed a long kiss to her cheek. If he believed in the gods, he would thank them for making her so strong. Strong enough to survive all that had happened to her, before she found him.

Arya wrapped her arm around his neck and leaned into his chest, her head turning back to her audience. Looks of shock and horror abounded. But there was also respect. Fear. And hope.

“I thought it would bring me peace.” She took a deep breath, “It just got me in trouble.”

“That can’t all be true.” The blonde girl looked in awe, “Is this a joke I am not understanding?”

Arya looked back at him. There was something in her eyes, an expectation. He swallowed thickly. She wanted him onboard; she wanted her causes to be his as well. He knew that’s what she was silently asking him for.

He addressed the whores directly, “It’s not a joke. Or a lie. We--and the rest of my family, we’re trying to make King’s Landing a better place. We all agree, rape is evil. Child abuse is evil. You must have heard of how we shut down that despicable child fighting pit?”

He received a few nods and continued, “We’re very good at killing people, Arya and I, but we especially enjoy it when it’s for a good cause.” Arya pinched the back of his neck. He took that to mean, he needed to rephrase. “My Arya, has taught me much about the importance of charity. And justice. And the responsibility rulers have to those they rule over.”

That earned him a soft smile and a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “With our return to King’s Landing, you can expect many improvements in the future.”

“And to that end, I implore you, if you’re here against your will, please speak up.” She gestured to Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk just over their shoulder, a bit of the performer persona seeping back into her voice, “We even brought handsome knights in shining armor, should any of you need rescuing.”

A few whores chuckled at that. Out of sight, Arya threaded her fingers into his hair and scratched at his scalp. “But Daemon’s probably right. None of you look like you’ve had men chipping away at your soul one unwanted cock at a time, but if that ever changes, now you know, you can always send word to us for help, yes?”

Nods. A few murmurs of agreement. She looked to Aegon, who had been unnaturally silent during her harrowing story. Expectantly she said, “Yes?”

Aegon’s eyes flickered to him and then back to Arya. “Yes.” Aegon said quietly, but then he repeated it louder a second later. “Yes.” He nodded adding, “Rape is evil.”

Aegon turned to the crowd, smiling his perfect princely smile, “Please spread the word, my family and I, we care. About you. About the orphans. The farmers, the bakers, the blacksmiths. All of you. You are our people.”

Daemon grinned and let his hand fall down Arya’s back to grab at her ass. She laughed and yanked on his hair, forcing his head back. Getting up she had her big bright fake smile back in place, “I think that’s enough sharing for now,” She clapped her hands once, the sound echoing off the walls, as she enthused, “Who wants to play a game?”
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Game of Thrones Brothel Refrences

House Of Kisses, Brothel/Bathhouse Inspiration

Meryant Trant Memory/Moodboard

Arya Spa/Brothel Outfit Inspiration

Character Reminder

*I don’t know if Osgar has a beard or is all awkward and adorably clean shaven yet, if you have an opinion on which looks better, let me know

*Fan/casting the other Patrons in the back of the Room

Chapter Text

Chapter 38
~Daemon, Part 3~

“Animal, plant, or object?” Martyn asked, all eyes were on Daemon for his turn.

“Object.”

“Is it a sexy object?” Aegon questioned with a raised brow. The brunette whore in his lap laughed and pet his leg, making him grin cheekily at her.

Arya shoved at Aegon’s shoulders from her spot on Daemon’s couch. “You need to stop guessing dildo for every object!”

“If it wasn’t a dildo the last three rounds, it’s got to come up eventually!” Aegon defended himself saying, “Uncle’s a sexual deviant like myself. So, yeah, I’m guessing dildo again.”

“No.” Daemon had contemplated picking a dildo just to fuck with Aegon a bit, but had ultimately decided on a ‘candle’.

“Can you kill someone with it?” Arya asked. They sat beside each other on the couch with a light brown skinned whore seated on the other side of him, not that she was receiving any of his attention.

“Yes.” He answered with a smirk. It was now approaching the hour mark and while he was enjoying the little guessing games Arya had them all playing, he had paid for a private room and was growing more frustrated the longer he was kept waiting.

More customers had arrived after the first couple rounds of ‘animal, plant, or object’ and the crowd of whores had dissipated from their little group. And now only a handful remained. The bejeweled and exotic one beside him, chosen for her shiny black hair and silence. The brunette, with vaguely Arya-like features, sat astride Aegon’s lap. The dumb Pentoshi blonde cuddled up with Ned. And a thick and bountiful looking whore, sat with Martyn. When a whore had tried to attach herself to the minstrel Daemon warned her off saying the boy had no money and was here to work, not play.

Osgar grumpily played for them his eyes straying away, flickering from beautiful woman to beautiful woman. But he never missed a chord, so Daemon didn’t mind the boys inattention. He knew Arya appreciated the musical accompaniment even if no one else was really listening, all too caught up in the game or their chosen whores.

“Is it…a knife?” The blonde whore guessed.

“No.” he said flatly, his hand reaching for the end of Arya’s ponytail. He twirled it around his fingers, trying not to let on how angry he was at this point.

“Good guess,” Ned comforted the blonde.

“A hammer?” Martyn said, his eyes never straying from his whore’s chest. Nor his hands from ‘round her plush waist.

“No.” The whore on his left offered him more wine but he waved her off. He wanted to get Arya all to himself, not get drunk and fuck some nameless whore.

“Is it bigger than my hand?” Arya asked, holding up the appendage for reference. Daemon pressed his palm to hers, smiling at the size difference.

“It can be.” He threaded their fingers together, their interlocked hands falling to rest on her lap. “But the one I’m thinking of, is smaller.”

“Poison?” Aegon said, drinking deeply from his cup. “Or, uh, a bottle of poison?”

“No.” Daemon enjoyed all the stumped faces, particularly Arya’s adorable pursed lips, but behind the couch he could see the red headed Betha from earlier walking towards them with determination.

“It’s a candle.” He announced ending the game prematurely. He stood and pulled Arya onto her feet with him. “Come on, I think our room is ready.”

“Wait!” Aegon managed to grab Arya’s hand as they walked past, but Daemon refused to relinquish her other one. Arya bent down and allowed herself to be pulled into a filthy kiss. Aegon grabbed her dress and wouldn’t let her go until he groped her tit and whispered something that made her laugh as she finally pulled away.

“I’ll come find you later?” Aegon asked with a quirked brow. She nodded and Daemon, annoyed by the delay, tugged her back to his side. She gave him a knowing look but didn’t look too disgruntled. So he smiled charmingly, hoping to convey his annoyance wasn’t with her.

She half smiled back before turning to point at the Knights. She shook her finger like a scolding mother, “You lot keep them out of trouble, or else, you hear?” She then addressed the whores, “If any of them act up, you just threaten to tattle to me, hmm?”

Her words earned her some laughter, but happy nods from the whores.

He couldn’t explain why, but he abruptly became so, fucking, angry. His eyes fell on the minstrel. Osgar, who’d been ogling the teats of Ned’s whore, nearly fell off the couch as Daemon grabbed for the boy’s collar with his free hand, “Enough eye fucking the whore’s boy, time to sing for your supper.”

He gestured with his head to the Cargyll twins and the Knights fell into step with them. After a few awkward steps Osgar pushed at his hand, glaring, “You can let go now.”

When he did as he was asked, the boy nearly fell to the floor, tripping over his own feet, but he managed to catch himself by comically windmilling his arms. Behind him he caught the sound of Aegon’s mocking laughter and Daemon allowed himself a few chuckles as well, but Arya’s pointy elbow in his gut made him stop as Betha met up with them.

“My Prince, Princess.” She gestured to a hallway to their left, “Please follow me, your apartment is ready for engagement.”

Arya skipped ahead and threaded her arm into Betha’s asking her about the apartment and what all was included in the private room and other more personal questions that didn’t really interest him.

As they entered the long hallway, Osgar appeared at his side and quietly apologized to him, “Forgive me my lord. I’ve never been in this kind of establishment. I didn’t mean to let my eyes wander so.”

Daemon stopped walking. This caused the twins behind him to stumble to a stop as well, lest they collide. He grabbed for the minstrel’s giant ear, “You mean to tell me you’ve never fucked a whore?”

Osgar’s eyes darted over to Arya who, so far ahead of them now, was just entering the room with Betha. Once she was out of sight the boy’s eyes returned to him.

“No.” He admitted, sounding half ashamed, half stern.

Daemon smiled meanly, he had a hunch about the boy and so asked, “Osgar, have you ever fucked anyone?”

He’d never seen someone turn so red so fast. Daemon let go of the boy’s ear and mussed his hair roughly. Osgar pushed at his hair and tried to fix what he’d done. Hissing, “I am unmarried.” As if that explained everything.

Daemon laughed. But then the minstrel had the stones to look him in the eye defiantly, declaring, “I wouldn’t expect the Lord of Flea Bottom to know anything about trying to live a life of respectability.”

Behind them the Cargyll’s shifted clearly uncomfortable the sound made audible due to the armor they wore. Daemon straightened up slightly. He kept his face controlled, but he was unable to hide the dangerous edge in his voice as he asked, “And, pray tell, what exactly makes me so unrespectable?”

“You mean besides lusting after your daughter and taking her to a whorehouse?” He reacted without thinking and the minstrel went flying into the wall.

Daemon’s knuckles throbbed from the punch but it was a pain well earned. Osgar’s eyes flashed and blood dribbled from his split lip, but the musician proved he at least had some intelligence when he apologized once again, “Forgive me my lord. I should not have spoken out of turn.”

“I agree.” He said sharply, as soon as the boy was back on his feet, Daemon grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed his back into the wall. He was so angry he could spit fire. “You do not know me. You do not know Arya. You think you do, but you don’t know us, not really.”

“I know she’s a good person.” Osgar asserted bravely, “She doesn’t deserve to be used as a plaything and then discarded when you grow tired of her.”

He squeezed the boys’ shoulders harshly. “What makes you think I’m playing?”

Digging his fingers into Osgar’s skin as hard as he could, Daemon tried to leave his mark. Given the boy’s fair complexion, he was certain the musician would be sporting bright purple bruises in no time. The knowledge made him grin.

Wincing, Osgar managed one last jab, “Arya deserves someone who will help keep her on the righteous path. Not lead her further astray.”

Internally he scoffed, this boy knew nothing of who Arya truly was.

Daemon let go of his shoulders and pretended to brush off some dirt from his shirt. Pointedly he told the boy, “Shame you fell into the wall and busted your lip. Try not to be so clumsy in the future.”

The boy lowered his eyes and mumbled, “Yes, my lord.”

He turned the boy and shoved him hard, making him stumble towards the room Arya had disappeared into. “Now, do as your patron bids and sing for the Princess’s pleasure.”
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The room as expected was beautiful. The domed glass ceiling cast colors of orange and purple about, due to the setting sun. The room was small but didn’t feel cramped even though it held a large canopy bed, a medium sized circular stone bath built into the floor and a small table for food. There was even a small balcony opposite the entrance covered by soft billowy cream colored curtains.

The walls were decorated with painted vines and pink flowers, giving the room the feel of a secret hideaway. The stones that comprised the walls and floors were the color of sand, but there was a large seashell pink rug near the table and a smaller one by the bed.

As Daemon walked in his eyes were drawn to Arya, who sat at the small table across from the bed. It was set up with wine, fruit, and some bread and butter. In the two chairs sat Arya with the whore. Arya was splitting up an orange and offering half to Betha. He rolled his eyes at Arya’s overly generous nature.

The minstrel went to the balcony to peek behind the curtains, probably taking in the view of the city from a higher vantage point than he’d ever been privy too. Daemon quietly told Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk to stand guard outside. Then he shut the door and approached Arya from behind.

He gently squeezed her shoulders, but couldn’t keep the coldness out of his voice as he addressed the whore. “Betha, will you be our attendant? I did pay for time with a supposed wellness ‘expert’. Did I not?”

The woman, who had just taken a large slice of orange into her mouth, amused him with her silent struggle. To answer his question with food in her mouth, or make him wait while she chewed? He could practically see her weighting the pros and cons in her mind.

She chose to answer and daintily cover her mouth with a hand, “Mm—no. No, my prince. Your attendant will be along shortly, she is just finishing up with another client.”

“What’s her name?” Arya asked Betha, but she tilted her head to look up at Daemon. Silently she offered him a slice of orange. He fucking loved her.

He bent down and ate the offered piece of fruit, sucking at her fingertips as he took into his mouth, making her chuckle and wipe them clean on her dress.

“T’yen, Princess.” Betha answered, “Her name is T’yen and she is as skilled as advertised, I assure you.”

Daemon looked back to the whore, annoyed by her voice, her presence, and her very existence. “Then what the fuck are you still doing here?”

“Daemon.” Arya sounded disappointed.

But Betha immediately rose out of the chair, so couldn’t find it in him to care. He met her eyes and felt shame for he knew what the whore looked like with her face sprayed with cum. Fucked out. Sweaty. Ass red. Pussy drooling. He would be mortified if Arya every learned of the encounter.

As the whore passed him, he grabbed her arm and held her in place, “The Princess got too much sun today, have this expert, T’yen, bring some extra aloe.”

He let her go, but stared at her hard, silently commanding her to leave without another word. Arya lightly touched his wrist, “You’ll need some too Daemon.”

Betha scurried out of the room with a quiet, “At once my Prince.”

Arya frowned at him as he took the woman’s vacant seat for his own. “Why are you being such an asshole all of a sudden?”

“She was irritating.” He grabbed for the last orange slice left and popped it into his mouth. Arya looked over to the minstrel.

“Osgar, don’t you think Daemon’s acting cunty all of a sudden?”

There was a snort of suppressed laughter from the boy but he dutifully answered, “No.” But then, as Osgar moved closer he added, “I wouldn’t say it’s all of a sudden.”

Arya barked with laughter, but Daemon was seething. This peasant had such audacity, he was tempted to drag him back to the castle so he could be flogged for his impertinence.

“See.” Arya kicked his foot under the table, “Even Osgar can tell something’s amiss and he just met you today.”

“I’m angry.” He admitted, speaking the truth without really thinking about it.

“Why?” Her voice softened because she actually cared about the answer. He reached across the table and took her hand, but he wouldn’t elaborate with the musician listening in, with his giant fucking ears. Arya looked back to Osgar, her eyes lingering on the split lip.

She pulled her hand free and got to her feet, she took the minstrel by the hand and guided him to the door, “Osgar, on second thought, why don’t you go back out and find the boys and enjoy the ambience?”

Osgar struggled against her hold, “I’ve been paid for the whole night Arya. I don’t mind staying.”

“Well, I do.” She opened the door and looked to the Cargyll’s. “Change of plans, Osgar’s going to spend time with Aegon instead.”

“I can’t!” the minstrel exclaimed, before leaning into Arya and lowering his voice to say, “A chaperon is the only thing that will save you.”

Arya gave him a flat look, “What have I told you about preaching that Faith of the 7 bullshit around me?”

“But--”

She looked to Ser Arryk, “Help him find his way.”

The knight entered and grabbed the minstrel by the arm. Osgar pled with her as he struggled against the larger man, “You don’t understand, you don’t know his reputation, Arya just—just look at my face, look at what he did!”

“Yes, I know he hit you.” Arya said breezily, when the boy looked at her, mouth agape, she elaborated. “I enjoy how outspoken you are regardless of social status, well, at least when you’re not preaching about my endangered soul, but when I saw your face, I knew you had overstepped with Daemon in this regard. So, I’m not exactly surprised by his reaction.”

“But-” Osgar grabbed at the doorframe so he could demand, “Don’t you care?”

“Yes.” She answered easily, “Just not the way you want me to.”
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As soon as the door was shut and the minstrel was gone from sight, Arya turned on him. Hands on her hips, face determined, mouth open and probably ready to argue.

He didn’t give her the chance. Grabbing her by the backs of her thighs he had her up against the door in seconds. He stole a hard kiss from her lips, for in this moment, he felt as if he needed her like he needed air.

He used his body to keep her in place so his hands could roam. He kissed her trying to erase the memory of Aegon’s lips. He caressed her thigh trying to replace his nephews many casual touches. He ground his covered cock into her heated core. He felt desperate to keep her, his.

When she turned her head away from him to break the needy kiss, he turned his attentions to her delicate throat. Sucking, kissing, biting. He felt an all-consuming urge to possess her and prove himself, and he didn’t even try to holding back. Not after sharing her all morning. Not with Rhaenyra’s return threatening to unbalance them. Not with Aemond constantly fighting for her attention. Not with Rhaenys in her ear, expounding all of his faults and failures. Not with Otto in her orbit. And not with fucking Aegon making her laugh and cum, stealing her love away little by little.

Crazed as he was it took him a while to realize Arya was not responding to him with equal fever. She wasn’t resisting, but she wasn’t reciprocating either.

“I love you, Daemon.” She was saying softly. Her legs were wrapped tight around his waist but she was not rubbing for friction with her crotch like he was. “I’m here. I’m okay, we’re okay.”

One hand was gripping his shoulder, rubbing circles with her thumb. Another was petting his hair. “I love you.”

She pressed a kiss to his hair line, using a reassuring voice, “I’m right here. I’m with you, because I love you, Daemon.”

His good sense was slow to return, but eventually, the fire fueling his desperation, cooled. He pulled away from her. He had been marking the delicate skin where her neck meets shoulder and he felt ashamed as he looked at what he had done.

When their eyes met, he wondered if she could read his thoughts as easily as he could hers. Her eyes were full of understanding and a love he didn’t deserve. “I don’t know what came over me.” Her lips were red and puffy. Her neck marred by at least five love bites. “Rhaenys is right, I fear I love you too much.”

Arya stroked his cheek devotedly, “Not too much.”

Leaning in she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He turned his head and caught her lips again. This time, he kissed her softly.

He kissed her with all the care and tenderness he had in him, trying to show her how much he loved and respected her. She was a better friend than he’d ever had. A better woman than he would ever deserve. A better person than he would ever be. But she kissed him back anyway.

Her hands wandered making him shiver as they drifted from his shoulder to his hair to the nape of his neck. Gods his cock was hard.

Slowly he circled his hips making her moan. He smiled against her lips when she began to tug at the bottom of his shirt. He parted from her only briefly so he could throw the offending garment away from his body.

They kissed more passionately now, but not as mindlessly as he had before. He rubbed his cock against her intently, trying to arouse her as much to serve his own pleasure.

He cradled one breast, just appreciating the weight in his hand as his thumb toyed with her cloth covered nipple. His other hand stroked up and down her body. From knee to thigh to hip to ribcage and then back down again.

“Say it again.” He asked, his voice but a hoarse whispered.

“I love you?” Arya mumbled against his mouth. He stopped moving both his hands and thrust his cock against her hard. She let out this breathy gasping sound that had him pressing his face into her shoulder and moaning.

He thrust against her again demanding, “Are you mine?” He licked at her skin then nipped it with his teeth, “Am I yours?”

He teased her jaw with his teeth and then pressed a kiss to the skin behind her ear. Inhaling the scent of the ocean trapped in her hair, he hoped she knew what he was really asking.

She directed his face to hers and kissed him hard. He thrust against her, grunting for the pain pleasure his cock was experiencing for being so close to her cunt, but still trapped behind a barrier. His hands sparked to life once again, touching up and down her body.

“I love you.” She whispered in between kisses, “I love you the most.”

He tugged at her lower lip with his teeth before kissing her like he would die if he didn’t. She knew him. She knew him so well. He felt an itch behind his closed eyes. Ashamed, he pulled away and hid his face in her shoulder.

Arya sensed the shift in him and responded in kind. Her hands turned from that of a grasping lover, to a comforting mother. She hugged him close, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders as he tried to hold back the tears.

Arya knew him and loved him anyway. He knew that, but somehow, he forgot. If only momentarily. Arya understood him like no one ever had or even tried to.

“I love you the most.” She repeated in a whisper, “More than Aegon. Or Rhaenys. Or the girls. Or Aemond. Or orphans. Or any other living person in this world.”

He sniffed, disgustingly, because he couldn’t stop it; he was fucking crying. But her arms made him feel safe and warm and her embrace reminded him of the brief time in his life when he had the unconditional love of a mother.

Every inch of his scarred and naked flesh pressed against hers felt like it would magically start healing by the power of their love, when she said, “I am yours, Daemon.”

He dared to look up and show her the weakness leaking from his eyes. “I love you more than my ambitions.” He confessed, “More than my hatred. Or avenging my grievances. I…I’m sorry my love is so messy and confusing but--”

“I am yours.” She pressed a kiss to his wet cheek. “And my love for you is also messy and confusing.” She kissed his other cheek. “But never doubt it’s existence.”

She held his face in her hands and stared into his watery eyes. They both knew his actions were driven more by his own insecurity than anything she had done or not done. He pressed a slow kiss to her lips to thank her for the grace she had shown him.

When they broke apart, she said, “I know your worried. But you don’t have to be strong for me all the time. I’m here for you as well.” She threaded her fingers into his hair and gently scratched at his scalp, making him shiver. “And, you also need to cut yourself some slack. It’s been a stressful month for both of us. Not just me.”

And that was why he loved her. That sentiment. That care. That deep understanding of what drove him to act so rashly, so instinctively.

She let out a squeak when he grabbed her by the back of her thighs once again. Quickly he spun them away from the door and he walked the short distance over to the bed. He threw her on the bed and watched her bounce and laugh. “Selfishly, I want to be your everything.” He admitted, “But I suppose I can settle for being yours. If you are mine in return.”

He crawled on the bed after her. Her dress was bunched up around her waist, leaving lots of skin on display. He started by kissing her ankle. Then he licked his way up her calf making her squirm. Gently he nipped at her knee with his teeth making her snigger.

He smiled, for all the apprehension and the sadness and the self-hatred disappeared to the back of his mind, with the sound of her joy. Arya was his favorite person. And he was hers. And that was all that mattered, now, and in every moment that came after.

He went back to kissing his way up her body. Four kisses upon her thigh. One kiss on each hip. One over her pussy. Then seven scattered randomly across her torso.

After he left a kiss on the peak of each breast, he pressed one to her sternum. And then licked a path across her collarbone. That earned him a gasping moan and eager hands undoing the belt of his scabbard.

He pressed a kiss to each shoulder. Then gentle feather light ones on each of the love bites he’d etched into her skin.

She threw Dark Sister onto the bed beside them and began working on the laces of his trousers.

He pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw. To her cheek. Forehead. Nose. Chin.

Her hand was reaching inside grasping for his still hard cock, just as his lips finally landed on hers. Both of them groaned.

And then someone knocked on the door.

FUCK!
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Private ‘engagement’ Apartment Vibe Inspiration

The Whores

Just a bit of fun
This Chapter in Hashtags =
#osgarisjustmerlinwithalute
#boyshavefeelingstoo
#mommyissues
#situationship

Chapter Text

Chapter 39
~Arya~

“Daemon, you know how I keep saying I never want to get married or have children?”

“Yes.”

“I change my mind. T’yen can impregnate me anytime she wants. I would gladly bear her many children if this is the kind of treatment I could expect in exchange.”

Daemon snorted with laughter but the woman above her was more subtle, smothering her laugh with closed lips. Arya opened her eyes and looked at the petite but deceptively strong Yi Ti beauty, T’yen looked down at her with an amused expression on her face. “Flattered.”

The ‘wellness’ attendant spoke with a thick accent and only spoke in short sentences, but she seemed to understand everything being said, which was good. She was younger than Arya had expected and said as much when T’yen introduced herself. The woman had long black hair and exotically hooded eyes. Apparently, she learned these skills from her mother who learned them from her mother and so and so on.

“So, when should we get married? I’m thinking a winter wedding could be nice.” Arya asked waggling her eyebrows comically. T’yen finally cracked, gently laughing out loud.

When the woman first arrived, Arya had been as annoyed by the untimely interruption as Daemon, but of course she hid it better. Even so, she was pretty proud of how quickly he got over it once they were instructed to strip down and get into the tub filled with flowers and scented herbs. Well, she was instructed to get into the tub, Daemon just sort of invited himself along.

When Daemon had wordlessly proved he intended to join her in the bath by pushing down his pants, inadvertently revealing his hard cock, T’yen who had a very timid air about her suddenly grew very serious. She told him in no uncertain terms, and imperfect grammar, providing sexual pleasure was not one of her responsibilities and he was free to leave them to find someone to attend to his needs outside of the private apartment. Arya decided right then that she liked the deceptively quiet woman.

Daemon assured T’yen that his state of arousal was of no consequence and slipped into the bath with Arya, sitting opposite her. When T’yen said that she was paid to attend to only one client, and apologized that she could not properly care for the both of them in the time allotted, Daemon made it clear he’d bought her services for Arya’s benefit.

He further explained Arya was both a warrior and an entertainer with a highly acrobatic act, this wellness experience, if effective, would become routine after all of her performances as a preventive measure to future injury. Arya didn’t know if that was actually true, or if Daemon was just incentivizing the woman to do her best, but when T’yen started putting her magic hands to work on her body she hoped it was the former and not the latter.

Inside the tub there were these little stone chairs built into it, T’yen directed her to sit in one then set up a box of supplies near the edge of the tub. Once she was situated T’yen began unbraiding her hair and brushing through it.

When she was done, she removed a stone slab on the edge of the tub, revealing a small sink with a neck rest. T’yen added some towels to support Arya’s head as she got Arya into the proper reclining position. She thought the design of it was ingenious as it allowed T’yen to do some kind of fancy hair treatment while the rest of Arya’s body stayed in the sweet-smelling water with Daemon.

“Oh gods.” Arya groaned as T’yen began massaging her scalp with such exquisiteness, that she felt her pussy throb with want. She leaned back further offering the woman more of her head as she closed her eyes once again. “I swear, this may be better than sex.”

She could hear the water move as Daemon abandoned the other side of the tub, and her foot which he had been halfheartedly massaging, to sit by her side.

“Is that so?” His words were pitched low, Arya shivered, his hand was slowly working its way up her leg towards her crotch. “Think that says more about the men you’ve been fucking than T’yen’s skill.” He quickly addressed the other woman, “Not that I doubt your expertise.”

“Mmm.” Was all Arya could manage as her head tingled and Daemon ghosted his fingertips over the delicate skin in between her legs. Her body felt warm and heavy in the best possible way. All the aches and pains that she considered normal after one of her Dragon Shows, were slowly being leached from her body, one tingly inducing touch at a time.

T’yen ran her fingers through her hair and gently massaged around her scalp with her fingertips and with her thumbs she massaged the nape of her neck. Then she rounded the touch out to caress her shoulders. Sounding like a hurt puppy, she whimpered when the woman’s hands disappeared momentarily. Daemon laughed, his hand gripping her thigh and giving it a squeeze.

Arya opened her eyes and turned her head looking for where T’yen had gone. The woman held up a little pot and a paintbrush in answer. Daemon elaborated for her though, “It’s a hair treatment.”

T’yen gently guided her head back to the way it was positioned before and then began to paint her hair with something that smelled, weird, but nice. Next to her Daemon stretched his arm out of the tub fiddled with T’yen’s box of products. “Truly, I’m surprised you’re so keen on all this Arya, it was sold to me as the ultimate pampering experience.”

Under the water his hand-maintained contact with her skin, now cupping a breast and lazily circling her nipple with his thumb. “You don’t usually like to be fussed over; I was a little worried it would all be a waste of coin.”

Arya eyed him, intending to glare, but just then T’yen began separating her hair and rubbing this strange soap along her scalp vertically and it felt so good that a pleased whimper escaped her lips instead. Daemon pressed a kiss to her neck, “So happy to be so wrong.”

T’yen poured a carafe of hot honey smelling water over her hair. Then took up two circular brushes, she pulled at Arya’s hair, brushing it out and away from her head. “Uaah.” Arya inhaled, blindly reaching out for Daemon, “All this feels so good. My head feels…orgasmic.”

Daemon took her hand in his and linked their fingers together. He shifted closer, pressing his naked side up against hers. Arya knew that without him here she would have never let T’yen touch her. And gods, what a mistake that would have been.

T’yen poured something into her hands and then began to lather it into Arya’s hair. But she kept stopping and massaging her scalp. “Fuck yes.”

All of the tension from Daemon’s breakdown, the trauma after the raid gone wrong, the upcoming tourney, her uneasy accord with Otto, Rhaenyra’s return, her memories of the Long Night, her worries about the future---right then, there was nothing on her mind but the sound of the water as Daemon’s shifted every so often and the scrunching noise of her wet lathered hair as T’yen put her into a state of bliss with her magic fingers.

At a certain point her grip on Daemon’s hand went slack and he let it fall by her side. She could feel his eyes on her, but she was too wrapped up in the sensations at her scalp to really care if he was bored, or aroused, or even confused by her behavior.

Again, warm honey scented water was poured over her hair, rinsing out whatever concoction had been put in her hair. This process was repeated a few times until she suspected the product was completely washed out.

“Time to rinse face.” T’yen’s soft voice warned. Warm water was poured over her face. Then she heard the tell-tale sound of a jar being opened and soon felt something cool and gooey being rubbed all over her face.

Even though the woman’s hands were still soft and gentle, Arya found she didn’t like her face being massaged as much as her head. Luckily this was a quick process, and then water was being used to again rinse her clean.

“Bed?” T’yen asked, “More massage.”

Arya had just cracked her eyes open when Daemon swooped in. His big body dwarfed hers and it seemed like nothing for him to gather her in his arms and lift her out of the water. The instant her warm skin hit the air she shivered and curled into him.

T’yen grabbed his arm as he carefully exited the tub with her. Then she draped a soft towel over her dripping wet form, shielding her partially from the cold, on the short trip from tub to bed.

Daemon did not toss her as he had done before they were interrupted. Instead, this time he climbed on, walking on his knees until they reached the center of the bed, and he carefully laid her down. T’yen returned to the tub briefly, gathering her supplies.

Daemon stole a kiss and Arya felt ooey gooey all over so she kissed him back. Not that she ever really resisted kissing Daemon.

“Mmmm.” She moaned quietly as he traced a bead of water with his tongue, he pressed a kiss to the junction of her shoulder and neck. He made to pull away as T’yen approached, but Arya grabbed for his arm on instinct.

“Don’t worry,” Daemon stroked the side of her face, “I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling away, this time she let him go. He took the towel and made quick work of drying her off, and then himself. She smiled as he had to pick off a few flowers and blades of grass from their bodies, collecting a not insignificant pile on the side table.

“Under.” T’yen said pointing to the sheet, “Please.”

Daemon smiled at her, “Change of plans. T’yen you are going to teach me your impregnation worthy ways. Arya is our canvas; I am your student. If she peaks from the massage alone, I’ll pay you double.”
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Either Daemon was an excellent student or T’yen was an exceptional teacher because Arya was only half aware of the quiet words exchanged between pair as they worked in tandem to put her in a state of bliss. Oil slick hands manipulated every part of her body, starting at her feet and then working their way up until the tension she carried was transformed into relief.

Almost from the beginning she couldn’t tell who’s touch she preferred more. T’yen had skill and knowledge on her side as she pulled upward on each of her toes before moving on to massaging the ball of her foot. But Daemon had strength and when he took her dainty foot in his huge hands and squeezed, she let out a guttural moan. Then they both started using their knuckles on her arch and heel to provide deeper pressure, and she silently declared it was a tie.

And while Arya knew she was safe with Daemon; some part of her was always on guard waiting for a threat to reveal themselves and attack when she least expected. Even late at night, wrapped up in his arms, she slept lightly for a reason. It was just her natural state, to hope for the best but live in anticipation of unexpected brutality.

And, she was always sad. She knew a touch of melancholy tainted some of her smiles. With all that she lost, how could it not? And all of that tension and sadness, left her tired. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. It's why she threw herself so fully into the idea of charity. And scheming with Daemon. And sexing up Aegon. And engaging in unnecessary death-defying act of acrobatics. They were all to service the same end, distracting herself from the ever-present darkness. The looming darkness of the uncertain future. And the darkness that was her mysterious past.

Haunted. That’s what it felt like every day. She felt haunted. And even when she was happy and safe and secure and completely at ease with someone she trusted, she felt like there was something terrible waiting just out of sight. That feeling, it forced her to be comfortable pretending, all the time. It conditioned her to accept a constant lingering sense of dread. But, with T’yen repeating long warm strokes up and down the back of her legs, and Daemon squeezing her ankles before sliding up her calf to do the same, she could honestly say that for the first time since she dug her way out of a grave and found Drogon, she felt relaxed.

She felt…like honey. Gooey and lax. And unusually calm. And it was so odd and such a relief, she fell asleep before they got even reached her ass.

Sometime later she woke. Warm. Safe. Good. Her mind felt like it was working slowly, but she didn’t mind. She was under a blanket and she felt like it was the first good night’s sleep she’d had in years. She could feel a dip in the bed beside her, and could hear the sounds of hand’s manipulating flesh. It didn’t sound sexual, and there were no wanton groans, so she cracked one eye open briefly.

Daemon was face down next to her on the bed, with T’yen digging her hands into the scarred flesh of his shoulder. Fascinated she watched as T’yen moved Daemon’s left arm behind his back, which lifted his shoulder blade dramatically. The woman then pressed her hand flat and into the protruding bone like she was trying to dig underneath it. This forced out a small grunt from Daemon, but a sigh of relief when she moved off and placed his arm back by his side.

Comforted by his presence at her side, Arya allowed herself the lazy pleasure of drifting back to sleep.
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Gentle tapping on her back and the whisper of her name brought her back to consciousness some time later. “Princess, Arya. Princess, Arya.”

Her eyes quickly focused on T’yen’s nervous face. “You needed. Outside.”

Arya turned her head to see Daemon sleeping beside her. He was as naked as she, but his lower half was covered in a simple white sheet. She looked at him for a few seconds until she was assured, he was still breathing. She turned back to T’yen, “What?”

“Little Prince. Needs you.” T’yen beckoned her off the bed, holding up her borrowed gown, “Hurry. Please.”

As quietly as she could Arya slipped out of the bed, but bypassed T’yen and her offer of the flimsy white garment. She pulled on Daemon’s discarded pants and shirt and finally strapped Dark Sister around her waist. The Valyrian steel sword was too big for her to wield efficiently, but she figured its presences would be intimidating enough for whatever she was about to walk into.

As she headed for the door, T’yen shadowed her. But, Arya held out a hand and pointed to Daemon, she spoke in a hushed tone to keep from waking him, “Stay with him. If he wakes and asks where I’ve gone, say I’m shitting.”

The woman gave an eager nod and Arya opened and closed the door noiselessly. Faced with Ser Arryk and Ser Erryks anxious faces she could literally feel all of T’yen’s hard work being undone. Face set in stone she demanded, “What’s wrong?”

“Aegon.” Erryk said with a frown. “He’s causing a ruckus, as usual.”

She glared back at her favorite Cargyll, “You stay and guard Daemon, he’s sleeping inside and will hopefully remain so until I return.” She pointed at Arryk, “You’re with me.”

She struts down the hall, fully confident that her words would be obeyed.
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At the end of the hall Osgar pops up, all enmity forgotten as he informed her, “He’s drunk and picking a fight.”

“How drunk?” She let her friend take her by the hand and lead her through the throngs of people who littered the main room, the House of Kisses looked at capacity now. She had a thought as to if it was always like this, or if news of their presence had brought out the looky-loos. “And where are Martyn and Ned?”

“Martyn bought a room to enjoy his whore.” Osgar thoughtlessly pushed lords and rich merchants out of their way as he dragged her forward. “And Ned is with Aegon, but not really helping. The knights are trying to talk him down but you know Aegon, he’s reached the point of belligerence.”

“Fuck.” She had been comforted by the idea of the three Knights looking after Aegon despite him having access to so many vices in an environment like this, and she knew Martyn had a deft hand when dealing with Aegon and his moods. She thought the large entourage would be able to keep Aegon in line without her help, but clearly, she had put too much trust into the wrong people.

“This way.” Osgar led her to the sudatorium, a vaulted sweating room meant for steam baths. In order to obtain the great heat required one whole wall was lined with vertical terracotta flue pipes, placed side by side, through which hot air and smoke passed to an exit in the roof. From the entrance she could see Aegon and a small group were hovering by these pipes.

“Ugh.” She exclaimed as she moved inside. The room was hot as hell, everyone inside wearing little more than rectangle scraps around their privates. Silently she cursed Daemon and his love of leather pants, her eyes moving over several completely naked whores covetously.

There were only a few onlookers to the dramatic display, whom Ser Arryk quietly set to work shooing from the room.

Aegon was being held back by two vaguely familiar looking strangers, he had a bloody nose and his hair was in disarray, he was also completely naked. Ned stood idly by; his arm wrapped around the waist of the blonde Pentoshi whore from earlier. Arya pulled the whores name, Lissa, from her memory as she surveyed the scene. Behind Aegon and her people were a pair of naked whores huddled together. From earlier as well, she recognized Aegon’s whore, Falinda was crying in the arms of Daemon’s exotic whore, Varsha, who was attempting to comfort the younger looking girl with soft whispered words.

Across from them, she found Aegon’s protectors Ser Thorne and Ser Marbrand holding back Tyland and who could only be Jason Lannister. Who had a split lip, the beginnings of a black eye, and blood oozing from a cut on his cheek.

Though, Ser Thorne wasn’t really having to do much to keep Tyland in line. The Master of Ships was mostly addressing his brother trying to talk him down from his anger. Like with Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk, she could easily distinguish between the pair of identical twins at a glance. Not only from the minute physical differences, but their opposing demeanors.

While both Jason and Tyland carried themselves with the confidence of rich lords, she had found through her few interactions with Tyland that the man was a thinker not a fighter. He tended to lower his eyes when talking to her and had an air of nervousness about him. Not that this led her to underestimate his cunning. Afterall, a man with a soft constitution but a clever mind and a lot of gold could do a lot more damage to her various efforts than a brave man with just a sword.

This, her first taste of Jason Lannister, had her thinking she was correct in her assessment of Tyland, Jason was most definitely the lesser of the two.

As if he was trying to prove her right Jason, red faced and huffy, screamed at Aegon whilst trying to push off the hands holding him back from attacking the prince, “You drunk fuck! How dare you insult me over a whore!”

“Jason, calm down. Remember, this is Prince Aegon Targaryen we are addressing.” Tyland tried to placate his brother, but Jason looked ready to start throwing hands. She briefly wondered if the minutes older Lannister was drunk as well, or if this was how he normally reacted.

Arya shook off Osgar’s grip and inserted herself between the two factions with a bright fake ass smile, “Hello all.”

The Knights visibly relaxed, though Ser Marbrand smartly did not move from restraining Jason. “Princess!” Tyland perked up, “You’re here.” A little quieter he muttered under his breath, “Thank the gods.”

“What’s seems to be the trouble?” She turned to Aegon, he had gone limp in the strangers’ hands, no longer fighting to get free and attack the haughty Lannister. “Anybody hurt?”

“No.” Ned answered, before Aegon could.

The dark-skinned man, who annoyed her for his deeply sycophantic ways, enraged her by being useless. She turned on the Hedge Knight with a snarl demanding, “And why are you standing there doing nothing Ned? Is Aegon not your friend?”

Ned grew wide eyed at her angry tone, “I was protecting Lissa.” He pointed to the whore at his side. The blonde gave her a little wave.

Arya’s glared at Ned, gesturing to the strangers who had been holding Aegon back, and now were hesitantly letting him go. “You gave a woman you met hours ago, more loyalty, than Aegon, your friend of how many years?”

Ned averted his eyes to the floor. Good, she thought meanly. She probably should have gotten rid of him when she framed Leon, but at the time she had hope that Ned would grow a backbone and Aegon could come to rely on him like he did Martyn, providing the prince with two true friends instead of mindless lackeys.

“Beg your pardon Princess, it wasn’t his fault.” The older unfamiliar man with a graying beard spoke in a gravely voice and a northern accent. “I believe he’s as drunk as the little Prince here.”

The man patted Aegon on the chest in a friendly manner, smiling at Aegon. Dazedly, Aegon smiled back and wrapped an arm around the older man. Either for stability or because he thought the older man was on his side, Arya didn’t know.

“Prince Aegon insulted me over a whore!” Jason declared loudly. He’d finally stopped trying to escape Ser Marbrand’s strong hold. Now he impotently pointed at Aegon, making his case, “He attacked me without cause! He insulted my manhood, my name, and my honor.”

“Such that it is.” Aegon quipped, with a lopsided grin. The jab had Jason struggling to move around Ser Marbrand, but now Ser Thorne abandoned the façade that Tyland needed tending to and grabbed Lord Lannister by the arm helping his companion keep Jason back.

“Stop.” Arya commanded of Aegon. He pouted at her adorably and it was a struggle to keep the smile off her face.

“He started it.” Aegon accused with a shrug.

“I did not.” Jason defended, “You came over to me, insulted my--”

“Abut-but-but-bub.” Arya waved her hand in front of Jason’s face dismissively cutting him off. She then pointed at Tyland, “You talk.”

“How dare you.” Jason growled, “Do you know who I am?”

Arya unsheathed Dark Sister and held it up admiringly, before letting her eyes fall back to Jason, “Shut the fuck up or I’ll cut your cock off.”

She used the blade to point at Tyland. “Speak.”

“Princess,” He bowed his head minutely, “Aegon…criticized my brother’s treatment of the whore. And it all escalated from there. I’m afraid too much wine had much to do with how things spiraled so quickly.”

She took a step forward and extended the sharp blade until it touched Jason’s naked chest. “Was he being cruel to the whore?”

“I just suggested he get the girl a towel for her knees!” Aegon exploded. “He acted like I was talking crazy!” Arya let the blade drop and whirled around. Aegon reached behind him and pulled the crying brunette whore forward, thrusting her towards Arya like Falinda’s sadness was evidence enough to justify his actions. “She was doing good work, admirably taking his cock like a champ, I could see her wincing even when he wasn’t shoving it down her throat, and that’s when I realized the floors heated! I didn’t want her to get unness-uness—burned.”

Falinda looked at her with teary eyes, “I didn’t complain Princess, I didn’t—Aegon dismissed me and then while I was attending Lord Lannister he just came over and--” A sob tore its way out of the girl’s throat, “Everyone just started yelling and then punching and—”

“I get it.” She said waving the girl back to her friend. “Go stand with Varsha.”

Aegon looked at her eagerly, “I was doing like you said. Treating ‘em, whores, like people. And Lannister was treating her worse than a dog. So, I did good. Right?”

Reflexively she nodded at him.

Aegon put his arm around the young stranger, pulling him in for a one-armed hug, whispering, or what in his drunk mind was probably considered a whisper, “See, I knew she’d be proud of me. Arya’s weird like that.”

“Why are you here?” Jason said, finally questioning what Tyland probably worked out minutes ago. “A whorehouse is no place for a Princess.”

She addressed the smarter twin, “Take your brother somewhere else and explain to him, just how close you came to being an only child.”

When Tyland reached for his brother’s arm Jason pushed him back, “No. I am owed an apology. I have done nothing wrong. Prince or nor Prince, my honor has been besmirched. And I am--”

Slower than she’d like, Arya swung Dark Sister in an arc over her head and brought it down on Jason Lannister’s head. Stopping inches away from splitting his head in two.

The man paled and stared at her with wide eyes. “You are Tyland’s brother, and caused no grievous harm intentionally, so I am allowing you to live.” She let the blade hover inches over his skin as she traced the tip over his face and settled it at his throat, “Don’t be an ungrateful cunt.”

He swallowed. His eyes shifted over to Tyland. The smarter twin shot him a look that conveyed the sentiment, ‘I tried to warn you’. Jason looked back to her and tried to smile charmingly, but there was to much fear showing through for it to be effective, “Excuse me Princess. I believe you are right; no grievous harm was caused by either party. Forgive me for my ill-mannered display. I am weary from my journey to the city and I think I will retire early.”

“Yeah, you do that, you pompous fuck!” Aegon jeered. Jason looked like he would say something, but Tyland grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him towards the door.

As Arya sheathed Dark Sister, she told Ser Throne, “Follow them, make sure they leave without incident.” Thankfully the older man obeyed without another word and left the room.

She turned on the whores, “Falinda, Varsha,” She grabbed Ser Marbrand and pulled him towards the woman, “This handsome Knight will take you and my minstrel back out to the main room and get you some refreshments. Hmm?”

“I cannot leave the Prince unprotected.” Ser Marbrand frowned.

The grizzly old Northan man gave a laugh, “Yeah, ‘cause you’re so effective at that.”

Silently she agreed with the stranger’s assessment. She gave Ser Marbrand’s shoulder a shove towards the door, “Ned, go with them. Marbrand, look after Osgar. I’ll be taking Aegon back to Daemon’s private apartment with me.” She gave the Knight a pointed look, gesturing to Ser Arryk who had stood silent sentry behind her this whole time, “The Cargyll’s will be with us. You will obey my command and go and keep our friends safe from further excitement.”

Ser Marbrand didn’t look happy, but he nodded and began ushering his chosen group from the room.

Before Arya could do another thing, Aegon grabbed her up in a hug. He pressed his nose to her neck and sniffed, muttering, “Mmmm. You smell better than me.”

“I took a bath.” Instinctively she hugged him back and pet his hair. Aegon licked at one of her very noticeable love bites.

“That’s not all you did.” He waggled his eyebrows at her as he pulled back, but he was too drunk to hide his pain from her. She could see he was jealous and worried about whoever marked her skin.

She pressed up onto her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. She didn’t want to get into reassuring him and talking about the Daemon situation, not in front of strangers, and not while he was drunk, so she kissed him and ran a finger down his face, “Are you okay?”

“The little Prince held his ground well, Princess.” The grizzly older man interrupted, when he saw that he had her attention he smiled, showing off surprisingly white teeth. “Forgive me manners, I’m Lord Roderick Dustin. Here for the tourney, and your name day feast.”

“House Dustin,” She said as Aegon draped himself across her front in what could loosely be described as a hug but was in actuality, him just hanging off her with his chin on her shoulder acting as his anchor while his arms hung limply at his sides. She held him around the waist to secure him in place, not sure if or when Aegon’s knees would give out. “From the North. Barrowtown, yes?”

“Aye.” Lord Dustin said with a nod. He then gestured to his young companion, “This is Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell.”

Everything the old man was saying was ringing bells in her mind, but she had no idea why. The young man gave her a polite nod, but kept quiet, letting the older man do all of the talking as Arya said, “You were here when we arrived…but there were three of you then?”

“That was Lord Medrick Manderly, also here for the tourney, as is young Stark here. Lad’s a bit young to make the journey alone, his uncle asked us if he could tag along since we were already headed this way. Was a bit flattered to be considered responsible ‘chaperon’ material. Eh, boy?”

The teenaged lord blushed, and ducted his head, hiding his eyes with a swipe of his hand across his brow. He was tall and had a broad chest, bigger than Aegon but smaller than Daemon. His half naked body displayed some impressive muscles, but the older Lord Dustin wasn’t looking too shabby either. Perhaps it was the North that bred such strong finely toned men, whatever the age.

“Ah.” She said in understanding. Her eyes lingering on the blemished spotted face of the Stark boy, wondering just how young he really was. “I see.”

“However,” Lord Dustin continued, “Manderly is a bit of a ponce, so he’s paid extra to be bathed in honey and flowers and get groomed using a fancy crystal blade or some shit.”

She and Aegon laughed, the joke seemed to bring the prince back to life as he lifted himself from Arya’s chest and moved to stand, and slightly sway in place, by her side. “Not you though.” He said with a grin, “Your men of action.”

Aegon turned to her with a sloppy smile, “They jumped right in when Jason punched me in the face.”

Tenderly she stroked her finger down his nose, grateful it didn’t look broken. He turned his head away from her touch, muttering, “Quit it. Said ’m alright.”

“You’re also naked.” She quipped, with a raised brow, very conscious of the sweat rolling down the side of her own face.

Aegon looked down, pulled a face that screamed ‘how about that’, and laughed. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

She looked pleadingly at Ser Arryk, the man didn’t even wait, moving to the entrance saying, “I saw where they kept the towels.”

She turned back to the Northern strangers, “Well, I thank you for your quick action.”

“Is nothing, my lady,” Lord Dustin puffed up proudly, “The boy’s heart was in the right place, just thinking on the girl’s comfort. That Lannister cunt though, he’s a right asshole.”

Again, she and Aegon laughed as one.

Ser Arryk returned and offered the prince the same tiny towel the other two men were wearing. Arya pointed to the door, commanding, “Ser Arryk, wait outside, I know I practically swimming in these pants, you must be dying in your armor.”

“Thank you, Princess.” Arya could tell he really was overheated by the way he didn’t even offer a token protest to stay by their side, quickly retreating outside of the steam filled room.

“Well,” She said offering her hand to be taken by Lord Dustin, “Thank you again, for stepping in.”

Lord Rodrick took it and shook it vigorously, “Feel free to call me Roddy, Princess. Everyone does.”

“Roddy the Ruin.” Lord Stark said with the hint of a smile, his voice deeper than the older man’s despite his young age. Arya offered the boy her hand as well, he shook it gently, saying, “Pleased to meet you Princess Arya, even in this unconventional setting.”

“Aren’t you pleased to meet me as well?” Aegon questioned, pushing on their conjoined hands to break the contact.

Lord Stark looked down but his lips lifted up, “Yes, my Prince. It was a very memorable first meeting indeed.”
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She and Ser Arryk got Aegon back to Daemon’s private room without incident. She was pleased to find T’yen tidying up her supplies while Daemon still slept soundlessly on the bed.

“You tire him out?” Aegon asked her cheekily, “You’re very tiny, smaller than Arya even. I hope nothing stretched out permanently.”

T’yen flushed and turned her head down so her hair blocked her face. Arya dismissed the woman and thanked her for her services. While she spoke to T’yen at the door, her eyes tracked Aegon as he went about investigating the room quietly.

T’yen bowed to her, informing her before leaving down the hall, “Room is yours. Two hours more. You stay, you pay, more.”

Arya looked to Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk, “Don’t come in, but wake us before time expires?” She received two nods, and then Arya pointed to Ser Erryk, “Can I get my bag please?”

Bag in hand, Arya closed and locked the door. With a sigh, she pressed her back against it. Her mind flashing back to mere hours ago when Daemon had kissed her stupid in the very same spot.

Aegon was naked again. Sitting next to the tub, dipping his feet in the remains of her flowery bathwater, she sighed as she took the chance to observe him without him knowing. While she was proud of him for thinking of others, in this case a whore’s comfort, she was also disappointed he had gotten so drunk that his efforts were somewhat ineffective and messy. These past few months he’d been doing really well, cutting back on indulging in his vices while she was with him. It saddened her that he hadn’t graduated to using self-control when she wasn’t around to encourage him.

She put her bag down on the bed, checked to see if Daemon was still breathing, and then unbuckled Dark Sister from around her waist before shimming out of Daemon’s now sweat covered pants. Naked from the waist down, she joined Aegon on the floor by the tub.

She exhaled as her bare ass made contact with the cool stone. And then again when she dipped her feet in the water, it was cold now. Aegon seemed content to just sit with her, their arms touching and nothing else. Arya allowed herself a long exhale, feeling she earned a bit of peace now that it was just the three of them in this room.

She swirled her foot around a daisy head, making it spin. With her other foot she scooped up a pink flower she didn’t know the name of and tried to throw it onto Aegon’s foot. It just bounced off his ankle and tumbled back into the water.

“Do you love me?” The question was quiet, but there was no hesitation in it.

She answered in the same manner. “Yes.”

“Why?” His voice belayed his self-doubt.

“Do you love me?” She answered without answering.

“Yes.” But before she could pose the same question to him, he said, “But you’re amazing. Everyone loves you. You’re beautiful. Kind. Smart. Sexy. You are…perfectly imperfect. And a wholly unique individual. Loving you is like breathing. Or being hungry, it just,…it’s just inevitable.”

She was touched. Truly. So, she told him the truth in return. “You’re fun.”

There was a beat of silence. “That’s it?”

She laughed a little at how indignant he sounded. “There’s other stuff.” She assured, “But mostly, I think, ‘fun’ covers it. The big why, I mean.”

“Big why?”

“Why you.” She said, “Why I love you.”

After a few seconds he asked, “Am I that shallow? That fun is to be my defining attribute of value?”

She grabbed his arm and hugged it, resting her head on his shoulder. Aegon automatically linked their fingers together and she could feel the tension ease out of him, just a little. Quietly she confessed, “A lot of the time, when I look like I’m having fun, I’m really not.”

“With me?”

“No.” She smiled, pressing a kiss to his bicep, “With you, my laughter is genuine. My joy is…real.”

“What about with Daemon?” Aegon’s hand tightened on hers, “You laugh with him. He brings you joy.”

“…yes. But not like you. You’re uncomplicated. And easy and light.” Aegon let out a noise of frustration. And she took a minute to get her thoughts together so she could try to explain it better. “Daemon and I, were not like you. Not anymore.”

She reached up and pushed back his hair behind his ear, prompting him to finally look at her face. She smiled at him sadly, “You’re a prince. Handsome. Spoiled. Pampered and protected. Daemon and I,…if we were like that, it was very, very, long time ago.”

“You were a prince?” Aegon questioned flatly.

“I was loved. I remember that much.” She clarified, “I had a family. A home. Dreams. Aspirations…I wanted to be a Knight when I grew up.” She looked away, there was pity in his eyes and she didn’t like to see it. She stared at the water, kicking at it, so she could watch the ripples spread. “You’ve never lost a family member to betrayal or battle. Or had to leave your home. Or go to war. Or kill someone with your bare hands.”

She pushed at her own hair, pushing it back away from her face, “I know you’re jealous. Of me and Daemon, but our connection, it’s mostly rooted in shared experiences. With pain. And loss. And despair. And rage. And wrath. The things that bind us so closely, are the ugly parts of ourselves.”

“And love.” Aegon added.

She nodded in acknowledgement, “Yes, that too.”

She thought of Gendry. Her first and only lover, dead. Gone. Lost to her forever. She thought of Laena. Remembered the look on her face when she realized the baby wasn’t coming. She could so clearly picture Daemon’s face when he realized his wife was going to die.

“I’m never going to be good enough for you.” Aegon’s voice was barely a whisper. “I know it. Everyone knows.”

“No. That’s not true.” She protested but he ignored her, continuing with his quiet rant.

“I know you have plans, machinations like Otto, but not fucking evil, like him. You—you want to change the world. For the better. And Daemon can help you do that. And I know—I’m not stupid, completely stupid I mean, I know you’re using me. You and Daemon, you have plans for me, my mother told me my life is the challenge and I get that but…But when you tell me you love me, I believe it.” He sniffed and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, “You’re such a good actress Arya that I don’t care. It feels real when you say it.”

“It is real.” But her words got no response, even after she gave it several seconds.

Incentivized, she got to her feet and stood in the cold bath water so she could look Aegon in the eyes. She grabbed him by the face, like she had Daemon earlier, forcing him to look at her and believe what she was telling him, “I love you Aegon. For real. For true. You are worthy of love. You always have been, even if you weren’t treated so. And—and I love you.”

He didn’t believe her. She could see it in his eyes. And weirdly, she didn’t think he was doubting her, so much as himself. “You dismissed my reason for loving you as shallow, but ‘fun’ is not a trait many possess. Nor charm. Or wit. Mischievousness. I always have fun with you. It’s what makes you special.”

“But I’m not brave. Or smart.” He spat the words, and grabbed her hands at the wrists, squeezing hard. Either trying to punish her for touching him so tenderly, or desperately begging her to never let go. “All I want to do is fuck you. And half of what I do, is now in service to that goal. Every act of kindness. Charity. All of it, all that good shit you’ve been pushing me towards. I do it for you. Not out of the goodness in my heart.”

With a look of disgust, he pushed her away and pulled his feet out of the water. He looked so vulnerable, literally laid bare before her eyes, as he wrapped his arms defensively around his bent knees. Completely closed up. For the first time, she saw the resemblance between him and Aemond. Full of self-hatred he confessed, “I’m just a self-serving manipulative fuck.”

She laughed, which earned her a glare, but she quickly said, “I would describe Daemon the same way. And myself.”

“No.” Aegon released his knees, reaching out to rub her shoulders, “No you’re not like that. You’re giving. Empathetic. Kind.”

“I’m kind? ...Kind gets you killed, I’m not kind, I’m calculated. Aegon, I’m performing, all the time. For everyone, even Daemon. The good things I do, yes, they come from my heart, but I also make them priorities because I like killing people and that makes me a bad person. And I feel like I have to balance the scales somehow!”

“No.”

She ignored his protest, tears pricking at her eyes as she grew more distressed and subsequently, honest, “Baby, I’m just trying to make amends. I feel like the world is on my shoulders and I already failed it, so I have to do better this time, I have to be better. Or else everyone’s going to die again, and it’ll be all my fault.”

“That’s crazy.” Aegon pulled her close and hugged her, “You don’t—you’re. Don’t think that.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and began to rock her side to side, “You’re good. You’re so good.”

“You don’t know me.” She was breathing heavy now, and her words sounded hoarse, “I don’t know me.”

“We know you.” Aegon pulled back and pressed a kiss to her lips, thumbing away her tears, “I know you.”

“But, do you believe me?” She asked, suddenly desperate that Aegon, even in his drunken state, believed how she felt about him. Because he was right. In the beginning, it was all strategy. Befriending him. Seducing him. It was all game. And she won, but now that she actually liked him as a person, the guilt of how it all began made her feel like shit whenever she thought about it. Which is why she tried not to. Fuck. Aegon wasn’t usually this introspective.

Feeling bad about torturing Aegon for all those months, conditioning him to obey her, it's part of the reason she’d indulged him so much with all the public displays of affection as of late. Even though she knew it was driving Daemon crazy.

“I love you and I know you don’t feel worthy, and,” She swallowed thickly, begging him with her eyes, “I know you think I’m this really good person, but that’s just not true. That’s what I’m trying to be. Not what I am.”

Aegon pressed a hard kiss to her lips, then nuzzled his nose against hers making her choke out a laugh. “I know it’s wrong, but I’m weirdly comforted by all this.” He kissed her again, “I mean, I didn’t know you were just as fucked in the head as I am.”

She barked out a laugh, and he smiled wide and open, his eyes sparkling with mischief in the candlelight. He growled at her playfully, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And it’s okay if you love Daemon more than me.” His smile dimmed minutely, “Just as long as you love me too.”

“I do.”

“Good enough.”
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She used a rag to briskly wipe the sweat from her body and Aegon did the same. Skin chilled from the cold bathwater, they rushed to the bed to and got under the covers. Somehow, Daemon was still asleep. Or he was acting like he was, really, really, convincingly.

Drunk, emotionally exhausted, and tired from a morning in the sun, Aegon fell asleep quickly. But Arya, felt the opposite. She felt charged with energy. And with her two closest companions dead to the world, she had no where to put it all.

She was so tired of having emotionally raw conversations. Daemon was supposed to be her rock, and while she understood he needed the release and the reassurance of her love, they never finished what they started and she was still feeling, residually, sexually frustrated.

And Aegon, their relationship was supposed to be the uncomplicated and physically satisfying one. And yet, he fell asleep so quickly she didn’t have time to reveal that she had packed his favorite dildo with the aspiration that they might find some time to use it.

Luckily, Aegon was normally very heavy sleeper and Daemon was apparently an exhausted old man and so she was able to slip out the bottom of the bed without waking either of them. She quickly got re-dressed in Daemon’s old smelly clothes, sans his sword, and noiselessly left the room.

She smiled precociously at Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk, “Okay, the boys sleeping, but I’m bored. So, who want’s to be my beleaguered shadow and who want’s to deal with Daemon when he wakes up and realizes I stole his clothes?”

They played a game of odds and evens to see who had to stay behind. Ser Arryk pouted, ever the sore loser.

Arya linked her arm with Ser Erryk and warned him, “I’m going to drink, like it’s my job and I’m the employee of the year, so you’re in charge of holding my hair back when I inevitably puke my guts out.”

“Princess I don’t think--”

“No, no.” She put her nose in the air, “That wasn’t a question.”
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As she entered the main room, she spied Osgar and Ned, and the familiar looking whores, by the front of the room but avoided them by heading towards the back. She kind of wanted to fade into the background and people watch for a bit. Despite being followed by the tall and armored Ser Erryk, she thought she did an admiral job of moving about unnoticed.

She was half tempted to find T’yen to reclaim that fleeting relaxed feeling she had achieved earlier, but instead grabbed the attention of a passing whore and requested a bottle of wine to be brought to her.

Almost immediately a very, very, attractive man caught her eye. As she laid claim to an empty chaise lounge by the pool, it became clear to her that the pool at the center of the room was mostly for show and not used for its actual purpose by most of the clientele. But a man walking towards the water with determination captured her attention as he disrobed and dove into the water as smoothly as a hot knife through butter.

The man had black hair, a square jaw, a smattering of manly dark hair covering his chest, and a very proportional looking cock that complimented his large and broad frame. Her wine was delivered with a smile and Arya distractedly thanked the girl and dismissed her. She had no interest in chit chatting at the moment. She just wanted to sit there and watch the handsome man swim laps and drink wine straight out of the bottle.

He was like a taller version of Gendry if she squinted a bit. She tried to cheat her eyeline, shifting her body one way, while her eyes stayed trained on the pool. She brushed at her hair, trying to hide her face a bit. But, half way done with the bottle, she put her hand under her chin and disregarded all attempts to hide what had captured her attention so completely.

The man was very well built and muscley like Daemon, but he didn’t have that porcelain Targaryen pallor and his hair was cut short, and black as night. She licked her lips, he was older than her, probably very sexually experienced. And tall. She could climb him like a tree.

He was so handsome that she felt the unfamiliar flutter of butterflies. She would normally just boldly introduce herself, but he just wasn’t giving off an sociable aura. He actually had a very intense face going on. As crazy as it sounded, she considered he might be there to enjoy the House of Kisses many amenities rather than the whores. Which would explain his annoyed expression and her apprehension to make overt advances.

Taking another swig from her bottle, she wondered if he was older or younger than Daemon. Then she had the crazy thought that he might be a boy whore! But then, she looked back to where he had thrown his robe and confirmed it was the same one all the customers wore.

With a pout she took another drink. And then another after that. A chill ran through her body and she shivered, she was being uncharacteristically shy and knew it was probably due to the many emotionally draining conversations she’d had that day, rather than being so intimidated by a hot body and a pretty face. She should just go and join him in the pool, start swimming like he was and see if he approached her then.

At the very least she could ask him his name. Maybe coax him into having a quick tryst if he was so inclined--looking up at the sound of splashing displaced water, her eyes were drawn to the man’s exquisite ass as he climbed out of the pool and retrieved his robe. Then he disappeared down one of the hallways.

With a sigh she let her head fall back and brought the wine bottle to her lips, chugging until it was all gone. Reaching back slightly she offered the empty bottle to Ser Erryk, who graciously took it off her hands. She turned over and made eye contact with the Knight.

“Am I pretty?”

The Knight looked confused but, amused. “Yes?”

“Am I fun?”

“Are you alright Princess?” She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, making him chuckle. “Yes, you’re fun.”

“…I’ve tried to kiss you, but you always reject my advances. Why?” Ser Erryk shifted uncomfortably. She sighed, “You don’t have to answer. Never mind.”

She turned away from him, feeling weird and embarrassed, only to come face to face with the man from the pool.

“Whaa.” She startled almost falling off the chair. And just like that the annoyed and intense expression on his face faded. The bright toothy smile changed his whole face.

“Hello, there.” His voice was cultured but still oozed charm and spoke of courtly manners, “Excuse my interruption but, I’m Lord Medrick Manderly. I heard you met my traveling companions earlier. Lord Stark and Lord Dustin? Jealous, I came to introduce myself.”

He offered her his hand, and as she shook it a stilted girlish giggle escaped her lips, making her face go hot. After a few seconds of screaming internally for lack of something clever to say in response, she managed to say, “Well, I wouldn’t want you to feel excluded.”

The man’s smile grew and he failed to release her hand, merely dropped it into his lap. She let out another asinine giggle before blurting out, “Your eyes are really blue.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His brief little smirk had her melting inside.

“I should warn you, I’m a little drunk, and very bored. And I think you’re very pretty.” She reached out and ran her free hand across his chest, raking her nails through the dusting of hair there.

“Is that so?”

She nodded, her head feeling the wine and making the action feel disjointed. He leaned in close whispering, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Ya-huh.”

He lowered his voice so only she could hear, “I was showing off for you in the pool, I’d heard you were a bold little thing, and was trying to entice you into accosting me first.”

She grinned conspiratorially, “If you had waited five more minutes I probably would have.”

He laughed, throwing his head back like she sometimes did, allowing her eyes to linger on his Adam’s apple. When he tilted his head back down to talk to her, she didn’t give him the chance. Pressing her lips to his, she grabbed for his shoulders and crawled across the divide between them.

She slipped her tongue into his mouth as her legs settled on either side of his sizeable waist and his hands gripped her backside appreciatively.

“Bold little thing indeed.” He quipped before diving in for another kiss.
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How Lord Medrick Manderly Caught Arya’s Eye…


Lord Medrick Manderly Canon Character Cheat Sheet * I will be diverting from to make him my own

Lord Rodrick Dustin Canon Character Cheat Sheet * I will be diverting from to make him my own

T’yen the Yi Ti Masseur

I imagined the bath like Pentos Dany first Episode Bath, but like with A Hidden Hair Salon Basin attached, here’s the Inspiriation

*I watched so many spa/massage videos, it’s not even funny

Arya in Bed While Being Massaged by T’yen & Daemon Inspiration

The Whores Needed Names

Plans For A Threesome Are in the Works, but I just couldn’t make it happen this chapter, sorry about that, but it is coming….I am torn between Arya/Aegon/Daemon, or Arya/Aegon/Manderly(Henry Cavill)

Teenage Aegon Vibes?

EVERYONE’S CHARACTER CHEAT SHEET

*This chapter was 19 pages because I didn’t want to split up the House of Kisses chapter any further, so I hope you all like it even though it’s got a lot going on and like 3 major scene/set pieces.

Chapter Text

Chapter 40
~Daemon~

Daemon felt a hard cock rubbing incessantly at his hip. It was a familiar feeling as in his youth he had explored the full breadth of what human sexuality had to offer. And during the war he had learned to make due with little options. However, a hard cock wasn’t what he was expecting to find upon waking after his massage, nor was it particularly wanted at the moment.

“Mmm, Arya.”

Daemon sighed internally; the sound of his nephews moaning was instantly recognizable. Arya and Aegon ending up in bed with him and messing around was probably his fault for succumbing to sleep. And not the worst outcome to be honest. He made a mental note to tip T’yen generously as the woman was seriously skilled at her craft. He’d never felt more relaxed.

With a frustrated exhale he scooted away from Aegon and threw the blanket covering him off. The cold air hitting his skin was just the incentive he needed to fully wake himself up. Blinking open his eyes, he assessed the light coming from the window. If he had to guess he’d say it was just after 8 at night, which was good, as they had one more stop to make before finally bringing the day’s activities to a close.

He shifted to see—he frowned and sat up immediately. Aegon was the only one sleeping in the bed with him. Daemon cast his eyes about the room, looking for Arya, but found they were alone. His frown deepened as he realized his discarded clothes were gone.

He picked up a pillow and wacked Aegon in the back with all of his might. “Get up.”

His nephew whined and curled in on himself. Spitefully, Daemon reached over and tugged on the boy’s hair, repeating himself more forcefully, “Get up!”

“Ah! What?!” The boy swiped at him angrily, but Daemon was already standing and stealing the blanket to wrap around his lower half, leaving his nephew cold and naked.

“Where’s Arya?” He demanded, his eyes finding Dark Sister at the foot of the bed. He contemplated strapping it to his waist while only wearing a sheet, but knew it would look ridiculous. Still, he picked up the weapon, running his hands along the belt, grabbing the hilt he pulled it out of the sheath to visually verify it was his Valyrian steel sword. It was.

“I’m dreamin’. Leave me alone.” Aegon groused, he kept his eyes stubbornly squeezed tight while his hand searching the empty bed for a blanket. He found only pillows and began pulling them on top of his body for warmth.

Daemon used his sheathed blade to whack the pillows off his nephew and onto the floor out of reach. Aegon finally opened his eyes and glared at him. “Fuck you.”

“You’re the one who was humping my leg.” Daemon quipped with a smirk. Aegon huffed, looked down at his hard cock and then around the room.

“Where’s Arya?” Aegon echoed, he slowly sat up and found only the pillow that was under his head left on the bed with him. Aegon grabbed it and covered his crotch, blinking and running a hand through his hair as he yawned.

“That’s what I want to know.” Daemon informed him, he walked around the bed so he could be closer to where his nephew sat.

“I was dreaming about her.” Aegon said sleepily, as he looked about the room, “Not your leg, I mean.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, muttering, “Of course you were.”

Aegon’s eyes finally settled back on him. He smiled goofily, “She said she loves me.”

“So?” He turned towards the door, not wanting Aegon to think he had his undivided attention if he was only going to babble frivolous nonsense. “You had an aspirational dream, who cares.”

Aegon frowned, “No, she said she loved me before.” He pointed to the tub, “Over there. While you were sleeping. I said ‘I love you’ and she said it back.” Daemon jerked back to face him. Aegon smiled again, more purity in it this time, “She loves me.”

He said the words like they were a great revelation. And he supposed for Aegon, they were. But Daemon knew better. Arya was the most loving person he’d ever known and as such he was well aware she had developed feelings for his nephew.

He crouched down slightly so Aegon could get the full effect of his vicious smile when he declared, “You know she loves me more than you.”

Aegon surprised him by nodding agreeing, “Yeah.” The boy’s brow crinkled slightly as he looked down to the pillow covering his manhood, muttering, “You don’t have to be a cunt about it though.”

That made him laugh and reach out to slap the boy on the shoulder. The sound of skin hitting skin was loud despite it being a friendly gesture.

Aegon’s head snapped up at the contact and he glared briefly before smiling just as meanly as Daemon had moments before. “Daemon, you know I’m going to be the one who ends up marrying her. Not you.”

All of the work T’yen did to relax him was quickly being undone by Aegon’s unusually confrontational attitude. Daemon let his expression drop. His mouth become a hard line as he glared at his nephew. He stood up a little straighter so he could loom over Aegon projecting superiority.

Aegon’s expression grew smug as he took in Daemon’s reaction. “It’s not just a dream. I’m going to marry her and fuck many beautiful babies into her and when father dies and grandfather tries to make me King, we’ll fly away to Essos and live a life of leisure and philanthropy, in her beloved Braavos until the end of our days.”

Daemon was torn between laughing outright at Aegon’s fantasy and attacking him violently for his sheer audacity. He settled on mocking him, “Nephew, I knew you were stupid but I didn’t realize you were delusional.”

Aegon stared back looking oddly resolute. “I’ve never wanted anything like I want her. I know you feel the same, or some twisted version of it. It’s why you made her your daughter, which was a mistake by the way. A mistake I plan on taking full advantage of.”

“She’ll never--”

“Uncle, I’m a little drunk, so maybe I’m not saying it right, but this isn’t me trying to challenge your place in her life. Or her heart or whatever. I’m just, I’m, claiming my own place or something—and honestly, I think it’s good that you know. Where I stand. My intentions. What I feel for her is real and even though neither of us deserve her, I will get her in the end. Because I love her, and she loves me back.”

He could tell Aegon was speaking from the heart, how tragic for him. “You are an idiot.” He growled, “You are not man enough to keep her interest for long. Or fully satisfy her. Physically, emotionally, intellectually. Your attention span is as remedial as your Valyrian. You cannot fight. You’re a terrible judge of character. You are, at best—a passing amusement. Do not fool yourself into thinking yours, is a romantic tale for the ages. Arya is destined to go down in history, you will be lucky to be remembered at all.”

“SAME!” Aegon shouted, scrambling off the bed. He pushed at Daemon’s chest, knocking him back a step. The boy’s face twisted into something ugly with his ire, “You’re old, uncle. And her father!” A look of disgust flickered across the boy’s face, “And I saw what you did to her neck. How dare you mark her right before she is to meet with the most powerful Lords and Ladies and Knights in Westeros. Did you do it on purpose? Or did you lose control, like the animal that you are?”

That struck a nerve, because the truth was Daemon hadn’t thought about it at all. He’d just needed Arya, needed to mark her as his. He didn’t think about the consequences she would suffer during the upcoming tourney, or what the court would think when they saw the love bites marring her delicate skin. Or, more likely, how uncomfortable Arya would be if she had to wear some high-necked gown monstrosity to cover them.

Aegon shoved at his chest, pushing him back another step. “You don’t care about her.” He accused, “You just want to fuck her and own her and use her for your own political gain! Adopting her was just a ruse to keep her close while you wore down her resolve about marriage and children. You’re just waiting until she’s ripe and acceptably aged to bear you a son.”

“That is not true.” He said quietly, silently wondering if Aegon spoke the truth. Was he subconsciously plotting to steal the crown and Rhaenyra and Arya? He was selfish, but he thought the connection between them--

“Then why tempt fate and mark her neck?” He had no answer that would suffice, so he kept silent. Aegon took this as admission of guilt and shoved him again, this time hard enough to bang into the wall. “You are no better than a dog pissing on a tree to mark its territory. And Arya doesn’t deserve such disrespect.”

Aegon took a step back, “We planned this morning with the orphans together, she and I, but you, you brought us here. To a whorehouse. To be fair, it’s a nice one, one I’m sure Arya’s enjoyed it, but—you think you know her best. You think you love her the most. You think this gives you the right to—to—I care about her too. I make her happy. I, she loves me. She said loves me back, I’m not like you or Aemond, we could be together and it won’t be weird or inappropriate. I’m good for her. I could be good to her—for her…right?”

Daemon smiled tightly, not willing to show anything but strength, even if his nephew made a few good points. The truth was, it didn’t matter if his intentions were pure or selfish. It didn’t matter what feelings did or didn’t develop between Arya and Aegon. “She is mine.” And he was hers.“Arya will always be mine.”

Aegon shook his head as if he pitied Daemon’s naiveté, “Arya the girl may belong to you, but Arya the woman will belong to m--”

He cut off his nephew’s impudent words by stalking forward and shoving him backwards as he roared, “You stupid child, she will never be yours!”

He pushed Aegon back onto the bed and brought Dark Sister to his throat. Sill sheathed and held sideways, he used his sword to choke the boy as he growled, “You are a convenience Aegon. Arya’s love for you only extends so far. Do not think you are special. Do not delude yourself into thinking you are worthy. You are scrawny. You are weak. You are worthless. You are--” No one. Nothing. Arya’s story of the child rapist came to mind and he choked on the words, unable to say such lies.

He stared down at Aegon’s face. He was red and his eyes were panicked. The hands which had initially slapped at him to let go, were growing weak and limp. Daemon pulled the sword away enough for him to breathe. Guilt was not an emotion he felt often, but as Aegon took great gasps of air, he felt it.

Aegon’s eyes were wary and watering and fixed on him. This was his nephew. His brother’s son. His blood. A Targaryen. A dragon rider. Aegon was not and would never be ‘no one’ or ‘nothing’. And what’s more the boy wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t smart. Or ambitious. He was lustful and delusional about his future with Arya, but he was no rapist. He was not a killer. He did not deserve such violence from his own kin. Especially when he wasn’t really a threat to Daemon’s relationship with Arya. “I’m sorry.”

He climbed off his nephew and threw himself onto bed beside him. It was hard to keep in mind Aegon was only six and ten, especially when he baited Daemon with his words, both wise and delusional. For all that Aegon was Daemon’s main rival for her time and attention, his nephew was but a boy experiencing his first love. It was wrong of him to lose sight of that fact and lash out so aggressively. “That was wrong of me.”

“No shit.” He did not anticipate his nephew quickly leaning over and punching him in the cock, but after seeing how Aegon and Aemond interacted as brothers, he really should of.

“Ooof--uck.” He cradled his blanket covered crotch. “Fair.” He grunted out, “That’s fair.”

After a minute of silence, sounding hoarse Aegon asked, “Uncle, why are you such an asshole?”

There were many answers to that question. Fate, it was in his blood. Destiny, it was a common second son trait. Neglect, he was forced to marry and leave home too early. War, battle had hardened him. However, he answered, “Its just who I am.”

“Me too.” There was a beat of silence before Aegon added, “We’re lucky she loves us anyway.”

He thought back to this morning, and all the fun on the beach they had together with the orphan children. Aegon was good with children, giving and fun and--Arya was right, through the past few months’ interaction, his brothers’ children were no longer nebulous half breeds in his mind. To a certain extent he had gotten to know them and could no longer think of them so callously.

Aegon was playful and friendly and uncomplicated, in a way Arya needed sometimes. Heleana was sweet and weird, and probably the only person who could help Arya understand her dreams. And Aemond was brilliant and disciplined, a mirror reflection of him and Arya combined, and desperate for a good influence to guide him. He’d resisted it and would deny it if questioned, but Daemon had grown a smidge fond of them all. Especially Aegon, for all the joy and laughter he brought to Arya.

“Ignore what I said.” He counselled as he sat up, “Hold onto your impossible dream for as long as you can. And continue to try to win Arya’s heart for your own.” All his efforts were making him a better person and he knew Arya would want him to encourage Aegon, not crush him.

“Really?” He sounded skeptical, which considering Daemon had almost choked him to death minutes before, was reasonable.

“Really.” He confirmed,

“Even though you want her for yourself?”

“I don’t.” He clenched his teeth hard for a few seconds, as he worked out the best way to explain, “Not the way you want her.” Not like a child with a crush. He didn’t see her as a toy. Or a trophy. Or a conquest. “Our physical relationship is less about the pursuit of pleasure and more about…reassurance, comfort. Today I just--it got out of hand.” Quietly he muttered, “My mistake again.”

Because Aegon was right, marking up Arya on the eve of the tourney was stupid and selfish. He looked down at his nephew remembering all the breakfasts where Viserys ignored his children. Aegon, ever the hedonistic optimist, tended to focus on the people who would give him attention. Like Arya. And to a lesser extent, Daemon.

He smiled at the boy sadly, “Life is cruel. Men are selfish and careless and stupid and-and time fucks us all in the end. So, believe what you want, nephew. You’ve got just as good a chance at marrying Arya as anyone else.”

Aegon blinked at him. But then a big wide goofy smile stretched across his face, “Why Uncle, I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Daemon smirked, “We’ve got to get dressed and get to the Cove, I think we’re already running late as it is.”

“So will you be sharing the blanket or should I go steal some of the drapes?” Aegon questioned with a tilt of his head, “Because I don’t see any clothes in this room, do you?”

As he was the only one ‘clothed’ (in the blanket) he went to the door to see about getting them something real to wear so they could leave with some dignity.
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After Cargyll retrieved Aegon’s clothes from being laundered and Daemon’s from the bag Arya had packed for him, he and Aegon quickly got dressed. Daemon had mostly enjoyed his time in the House of Kisses, but he was eager to move on and reveal the last ‘unofficial’ name day surprise he had in store for Arya. Also, he was starved and wanted dinner.

They found most of their party back in the main room. Arya was the center of attention yet again. Or at least that’s how it felt to him. In truth the whorehouse was bustling now, and barely anyone seemed to realize who Arya was and paid her group little mind. But, Daemon’s eyes were immediately drawn to the corner of the room where she sat on some half naked man’s lap. She was surrounded by Martyn, Osgar, two men he didn’t recognize, and surprisingly Lord Tyland Lannister. Or was it Jason? He was pretty sure the elder Lannister was in the city for the tourney, but he would just as soon avoid the pompous ass if he could.

Still, his gaze was mostly focused on the unknown man Arya was draped over. She had an arm slung around his neck and was perched on his lap which was wrapped in a towel. She was wearing Daemon’s old dirty clothes and kept intermittently whispering in the man’s ear, kissing his cheek, eye fucking him. He couldn’t help but detest this new stranger on principal alone.

Beside him Aegon muttered under his breath, “At least we know a blacksmith couldn’t afford a place like this.”

Silently he agreed but there was no doubt Arya’s future bed companion was well built. Even sitting he could see the man was tall, muscular, with a manly amount of chest hair, a perfectly square jaw, and an easy smile—Equally under his breath he muttered, “Well, she does have a type, doesn’t she?”

And boy did it hurt that he wasn’t it. Arya had of course, told him all about Gendry. Her first love, the black-haired bastard blacksmith. Kind, strong, fit. It did not escape him that every man Arya approached, Aegon and him excluded, tended to fit the mold Gendry had carved in her heart and mind.

He and Aegon exchanged a knowing look, then moved forward as one. He knew without a word being said, finding Arya entertaining some stranger rankled his nephew as well. And just like that, any residual animosity between them evaporated, they were in alignment against Arya’s new beau. Not just because they were selfish dragons, but because they were cut from the same physical cloth and her personal preferences in dalliance partners felt vaguely insulting.

Arya was mid swallow with a glass of what he presumed was wine when she caught sight of them, she nearly choked but excitedly started flapping her free hand in their direction. Daemon diverted slightly to check in with the Cargyll who had been shadowing Arya, as Aegon forced the minstrel out of his seat and joined the conversation.

The Knight greeted him with a nod of the head. Daemon spoke frankly, “How drunk is she?” Cargyll made a face that he didn’t find encouraging. “That bad?”

“No.” The man frowned, “It’s not that, its just that she, she,--”

Dameon nearly jumped in the air as Arya whispered in his ear, “I drank a bowl of sugar.”
How she was able to move so stealthily was a marvel. As he whirled to face her she adopted a normal tone of voice and shrugged saying, “And a bottle of wine, obviously, but that was an hour ago.”

“Sugar?” He questioned.

Arya was bouncing on the balls of her feet as she nodded, “They gave us sugar to dip our strawberries into, or pour on something or—doesn’t matter.” His eyes shifted to the small table around which their party was situated and found the remains of various berries, cheese, and bread. “I’m hungry, are we ready to go to the secret name day party you think I don’t know about?”

He blinked at her slowly, not only in shock of how quickly she was speaking, but in annoyance that all his efforts to be sneaky had been for naught. As he settled into a pout, Arya grinned at him endearingly. “Also, I made some new friends and invited them along, so even if that annoys you, try not to be an asshole about it.”

He gave Cargyll a concerned look to which he received a sympathetic grimace. Still speaking abnormally fast, Arya linked her arm in his and tugged him along explaining, “The handsome one is Medrick Manderly. Lord of White Harbor. Knight. Here for the tourney. Excellent kisser. Big hands, big cock, big all over. Seems nice. He’s also here escorting the young one, Lord Cregan Stark, of Winterfell. Future warden of the north. And then there’s—well, you’ll probably hate him, but I find him hilarious.”

“The old man?”

“Roddy the Ruin.” The old man in question interrupted as he and Arya came into earshot, the tall gray-haired man stood and extended his hand for Daemon to shake, “Lord Roderick Dustin of Barrowtown if we’re putting on airs.”

Daemon accepted the handshake, “Prince Daemon Targaryen.”

Lord Dustin nudged Arya’s elbow and in an aside said, “Well aren’t I fancy hobnobbing with royalty.”

Mock offended, Arya said, “Hey, I’m a princess. And Aegon’s a prince. You’ve been hobnobbing with royalty this whole time!”

The man released his hand and put a friendly arm around Arya’s shoulders, lowering his voice but not exactly whispering, he explained, “Yeah, but your children. And he’s a Targaryen war hero, so it’s different.”

Daemon slightly puffed up at that. But then Arya pouted and Lord Dustin pressed a kiss to her cheek, his bushy beard making her laugh as the older man censured, “Don’t sulk little one, I still like ya best.”

Daemon picked up the man’s arm, and threw it off Arya’s shoulders, replacing it with his own and pulling her closer into his side. He decided a glower would express his sentiments sufficiently.

The old man laughed heartily, “Oh I see the little wild dragon didn’t exaggerate.”

He looked to Arya and she grinned up at him innocently, “You’re predictably protective and slightly aloof upon introduction.”

The old man moved to his side and gave him a friendly pat on the back, making Daemon’s shoulders tense up, “Laddy, don’t be cross with her, she’s been perfectly delightful in your absence. And to be honest, I’m just happy the nasty rumors about you and her seem to be mostly shite.”

He glared at Arya as she let out a snort muttering, “Mostly.”

He was so tempted to push her into the pool at that moment, he even glanced behind her to see if the way was clear. The handsome one who Arya had eyes for disrupted his plotting when he interjected, “Come now Roddy, you’re being rude. The prince will think all of us Northerners are savages, if you continue on like that.”

“Eh,” Lord Dustin waved off his friend, “With this one running about,” He gestured to Arya with his thumb, “I’ve no doubt the Rogue Prince can take a joke. Yeah?”

He was jostled with the man’s elbow, like he wasn’t paying attention and needed the nudge to refocus. Daemon smiled woodenly and responded in a flat voice, “Who doesn’t love a good joke?”

“Alicent!” Arya exclaimed with a little hop, her finger up and pointing at the ceiling. Aegon and his cronies barked and Daemon found himself unable to hold back a chuckle as well.

Arya grinned, pleased with herself, “So, now that we’re all back together, can we leave?”

“What about Ned?” Martyn asked.

In the snobbiest voice he’d ever heard her use, Arya waved away his concern stating, “I’m not fond of Ned.”

“We know.” Aegon snickered, “You’re not very subtle.”

“Hey!” She pointed at him accusingly, “Fuck you. I’ve got subtly falling out of my ass.”

No one could keep it together at that, not even the little scowling Stark boy. Her tone of indignation was too adorable. Her expression so stern. Everybody laughed.
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Chapter Text

Chapter 41
~Daemon, part 2~

Arya looked beautiful. And it wasn’t just the gold outfit or bejeweled headband she put on before leaving the House of Kisses. She glowed, from the inside out.

Daemon smiled smugly, it had been his idea to throw Arya a real name day party with people she actually knew and liked. With music and drinking and dancing. And in their absence the Cove where they had entertained dozens of orphans earlier that day had been completely transformed.

The beach was alight with candles strategically placed along the rocky cliffs and around the tables in the sand. A trio of bonfires really made the place glow, and gave people a place to gather around to keep warm as cool wind rolled off the ocean. In the center of the space, closer to the water than he expected, was a single small tent, in which he knew Princess Rhaenys was probably hiding out waiting for their arrival.

In lieu of traditional seating or benches, large pillows littered the floor around tables near to or actually on the floor. However, he was pleased to see one table taller than the rest, situated closest to the private tent, it was outfitted with proper chairs and decorated with little tealights. He smiled, thank the non-existent gods that Rhaenys was too good to sit on the floor like the rest of the rabble, he honestly didn’t know if his knees could have taken it.

By the leftmost rocky wall that bordered the small area, long tables of food were set out for people to take from buffet style. And on the other side, there were at least five barrels of ale with short lines of people waiting to fill their mugs.

Rhaenys had really out done herself. Or at least, whoever she paid to do the actual work, had. Daemon’s eyes skirted to Aegon and he felt the urge to flick the back of his nephew’s ear, but refrained. Apparently, Arya learned about the not-so-secret-surprise-party when he tasked the boy with creating the guest list. Aegon had just brought the request straight to Arya, thus ruining the surprise, but at least assuring she would be happy with the invitees.

When they arrived back at the cove on Drogon’s back, they were greeted with much fanfare. Swarmed by well-wishers, Arya glided gracefully through the crowd. It was easy to understand how she was received so well at court despite the rumors and her tarnished reputation. She spent a minute with each of her guests, before moving on to embrace the next, but no one looked put out when abandoned. That kind of personability couldn’t be taught, you either had it, or you didn’t.

Beside him Aegon quietly explained who all she was talking to and basically who was on the guest list. “That’s everyone from the tavern she used to work at.” He pointed at a blonde, “Marianne is her favorite, so be extra nice to her. Those are the tavern regulars, and see that old man with two fingers on his left hand? That’s Vernon, he tells the bawdiest stories you’ve ever heard, I highly recommend talking to him, even if it is all bullshit, he’s good company.”

With a scowl, Aegon pointed out every handsome laborer Arya let touch her. As well as half the armorers on the Street of Steel, not all of which were here because she fancied them. Truly, some of the older smiths found her interest in their work endearing and had apparently genuinely befriended her over time. There was also a random mix of select individual fishermen, bakers, seamstresses, dock workers, and various merchants. And two or three, very, very, lucky servants from the Red Keep.

Lord Manderly came up on his other side and said, “This is quite the party.”

As he replied, Daemon never let his eyes stray from Arya who was being lifted off her feet in a bear hug by some fat old man he didn’t know. “The feast after the tourney will be more of an obligation for her, not a true celebration of her birth.”

Daemon could feel Manderly crossing his arms, but found himself smiling softly as Arya greeted a woman before stealing the babe out of her arms and pointing the mother in the direction of the food tables. He recognized the woman as one of the Keeps kitchen staff, he himself had been forced to hold the child on a few occasions.

“They say you can judge a man by the company he keeps.” Manderly sounded pointedly neutral, probably looking to feel out Daemon and his feelings on Arya and her chosen guest list.

Arya moved around greeting more guests, with the babe held on her hip as natural as the mother herself had. The music stopped briefly as she interrupted the musicians and gave them all warm greetings.

Daemon finally turned his attention to the handsome man at his side, he smiled inauthentically, “I prefer to judge people by their actions.”

Manderly smiled toothily, “That works too.”
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“If I could have everyone’s attention?!” Arya stood on top of Drogon’s tail with Osgar just below her. She waved at the crowd, and quickly all chatter came to a stop. She smiled, that brilliant false performer smile of hers. “Hello everyone, I just wanted to thank you all for coming to celebrate, me!”

She posed with her hands in the air, comically hopping up in the air on the word ‘me’. The air filled with chuckles and applause. “Before I get swept up in everything. And, everyone’s too drunk to care, I just wanted to sing a quick song to honor someone special. Then I promise I’ll let the professionals take over for the rest of the night.”

Beside Daemon, Rhaenys appeared. “What is she wearing?”

When Daemon turned to reply, but he was too surprised to Laena’s brother by his mother’s side and instead blurted out, “Laenor, you came?”

The younger man grinned broadly, “Well, I was invited.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenys swatted him on the arm, “What is she wearing?” She repeated, gesturing to Arya. Daemon looked at her again trying to find what the Princess found so objectionable about Arya’s outfit.

“Gold?” He said being purposefully obtuse.

Rhaenys made a noise of frustration, her eyes cutting him to shreds, “Her legs are almost fully exposed, and her décolletage—you do understand it is nighttime?, We are next to the water, do you not understand how cold she must be with all that skin showing?”

Daemon understood her objection, but in Arya’s defense he could only say, “She had a cape on earlier, but she was holding a babe and I think it threw up on her.”

“Shhh.” Laenor shushed them, “I think she’s talking about you.”

“—this person has been by my side from the beginning. He is my best friend. My protector. My family. Without him in this world…let’s just say, I wouldn’t be here. In Westeros. Alive. A fucking princess.”

The crowd twittered at her use of profanity, but Daemon just clenched his hands tightly. He had never felt so loved. To be declared so important to Arya, in front of so many people, granted they were basically nobodies, but he was touched all the same.

He turned and gave Rhaenys a smug shit eating grin. To his surprise, she smiled back at him affectionately. Shocked, his grin melted into one of genuine happiness, his cousin was always someone he admired, but never seemed to impress. Besides being dragon riders, Laena was the only thing they had in common before, and now there was also their love of Arya.

“She looks happy.” Rhaenys said quietly.

“Everything looks wonderful, cousin.” He complimented, with a nod of his head.

He turned back to Arya to see her gesturing to the minstrel, “I wrote this song, but Osgar, brilliant musician that he is, made it sound actually kind of good. So, I hope you all enjoy it!” She then made a mock angry face, “But if it’s terrible, you will all lie to me and clap like it wasn’t.”

As everyone laughed, Arya turned to Drogon and beckoned his head down close and whispered something to him as Osgar began strumming his lute. Then she stepped back and Drogon laid his head down and watched her as she began to sing to Drogon.

“I, I just woke up from a dream
Where you and I had to say goodbye
And I don't know what it all means
But since I survived, I realized

There was nothing but Arya, the lute, and the ocean. Everyone stood enraptured by her heartfelt performance, even though she was mostly singing to her dragon, everything about her was compelling. The emotion she conveyed with every word, the magnificent gown she wore, the delicate sound of her voice as it carried over the air.

Daemon felt a thrill of pride that Arya would write something so beautiful to honor their special connection and his important role in her life.

Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow
Nobody's promised tomorrow
So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night
Like it's the last night

It did not take him long to realize she was not singing about him. Or even for him. Her eyes never left Drogon’s. And as he really paused, and listened to her words, he felt like a fool.

If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you
If the party was over and our time on Earth was through
I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile
If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you”

She hadn’t been talking about him at all. He wasn’t her someone special. He wasn’t her best friend. He wasn’t her honored protector and family and—humiliation washed over him like a bucket of water.

Of course she was singing for Drogon. As Osgar took over for the next verse he turned and headed for the ale line.

“Fucking fuck.” He muttered; his face hot with embarrassment. He could only hope Rhaenys wouldn’t realize who Arya was really talking about and rub his face in it.

He skipped the line and got a drink, guzzling down half of it and then refilled, before finally walking back over to the edge of the crowd watching Arya’s performance.

She really did have a great voice. And as she harmonized with Osgar, now putting on more of a show for the audience, singing to Osgar, to the crowd, he could appreciate her efforts, despite his earlier misunderstanding.

“That song is not about you, is it?” Little Lord Cregan Stark spoke in a deceptively deep voice, despite being four and ten. The boy from the north was also bigger than Aegon despite being two years his junior, and much broader and well-muscled. Daemon was honestly a little surprised Arya hadn’t gone for him instead of Manderly, but he supposed the boys light hair and stoic demeanor wasn’t exactly in line with her preferences.

Daemon eyed the boy, searching for any signs of mockery, when he found none, he answered cooly, “What makes you say that?”

Just then, the crowd let out a gasp, when Daemon looked Arya was gone from where she had been and Drogon was sitting up slightly. He looked up just in time to see Arya fall out of the sky and land on her dragon’s head, with one foot, the other extended out in a perfect line behind her. She did a spin and then gracefully belly flopped onto Drogon’s snout, hugging him. Daemon smiled as people cheered, drowning out Osgar and the end of the song.

“Your daughter is very strange.” Little Lord Stark commented, before adding, “Not in a bad way, mind ya, just--”

“I know.” He took a sip of his ale.

“This morning, as we were entering the city, we saw you all on the dragon. Her dangling about from a string. Thought she was mad.” Surprisingly there was little judgement in his voice.

“And now that you’ve met her, has your opinion changed or been solidified?”

“Both.” Lord Stark smiled, it was a gentle smile, small even, but genuine.
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Osgar, now joined by a pair of drummers, a talented flutist, a woman playing bells, a harpist, and an old man playing the pipes, was set up a little off from ale barrels. Many who arrived before they did were finished eating and dancing up a storm.

Daemon sat eating at Rhaenys’s table with Aegon’s friend, Lord Stark, and the Cargylls, who Arya had ordered to sit down and eat something, before disappearing. Daemon took it upon himself to tell Ser Thorne to do the same. The Knights had done an admirable job all day, and deserved some good food in return.

Ser Throne had attached himself to Rhaenys, aghast the woman had left the Keep with only her son to protect her, and thus ate quickly before stationing himself behind the Princess. Sers Marbrand and Fell were shadowing Aegon and Arya while the Cargyll’s were eating. When they were done, the pair would swap.

When it became clear that Arya, despite earlier claiming to be starving, was more interested in dancing than eating, Aegon and Manderly followed suit.

The music was lively and unfamiliar, not that the crowd seemed to mind. Only a handful of people were able to both dance and sing along to many of the songs, chief among them Arya and Aegon. The familiarity and joy of the music seemed to be the only thing giving his nephew a fighting chance at retaining Arya’s attention. As even on her worse day, Arya’s athletic elegance set her apart from all others on the dancefloor as easily as it did in the training yard.

But tonight, Arya had found a partner of equal skill.

Manderly moved as fluidly as she did, matching her grace and stamina, song after song. Dancing close together, bodies moving with the rhythm, Arya actually took to following his lead. Aegon meanwhile, was only able to steal her away for a chorus or two, where she matched his movements, basically just jumping up and down, singing out the words of the song joyfully.

Then Arya would do something that required agility, like twirl, or leap, and Aegon would be lost. And Manderly would swoop in to fill the void of his nephew’s incompetence. And to add insult to injury, Lord Manderly was a big man, he could effortlessly lift Arya into the air over his head, allowing her to pose or be thrown, only to be caught in the man’s strong arms. He spun her in place, dipped her low and dramatically, he even flipped her over his shoulder at one point. Daemon could not deny the man’s dancing skills. Nor the happiness on Arya’s face at having finally found a dance partner of such high caliber. And soon, Aegon couldn’t deny it either.

After being ignored for the better part of two songs, Aegon retreated to the table and began to drown his jealousy in chicken and sulked sipping on a mug of ale. Daemon squeezed the boy’s shoulder consolingly, but said nothing as they watched the happy dancers from afar.

He allowed Arya two more songs with her new toy before he got up to intervene. Unlike Aegon, he would not try to compete on the dancefloor. He approached Osgar and told the boy to take a break and get something to eat. He then instructed the remaining musicians to play something melodic and slow.

Just as Arya nestled into Manderly’s arms, Daemon aggressively tapped on the man’s shoulder. He smiled meanly, “May I cut in?”

Manderly smiled back with restrained irritation, “Of course.” He turned to Arya and bowed, taking up her hand he placed a kiss on her knuckles and excused himself, “Thank you for the dances Princess.”

Arya slapped playfully at his chest, “What did I tell you about that proper title bullshit?”

Manderly just smirked and gave another kiss to her still captive hand before disappearing into the crowd.

Arya grinned at him as she moved into his arms, “He’s slick, isn’t he?”

Daemon cradled her close, barely moving his feet to sway with the music. Arya continued speaking without pausing to breathe, “I bet he’s a brilliant fighter. With moves like those and all that strength? Don’t ya think? Hmm? Did you see him throw me before? So much fun. Well, he’s entered in the joust and not the melee so maybe after the tourney he could stay a bit longer and we could get a look at his skill in the training yard. Do you think? And, hey, do you like him? I mean I like him, but that probably means you don’t like him, because you’re petty like that, but if I didn’t like him, would you like him?...Daemon?”

Daemon wanted to laugh and rage all at once.

He ran a gentle hand up and down Arya’s back, silently trying to encourage her to calm down. Rhaenys was right she was cold despite being now covered in sweat; her skin was breaking out in gooseflesh now that she wasn’t moving so much.

After a few seconds of silence, Arya relaxed into his embrace, surrendering most of her body weight into his capable arms. He knew how early they had woken. He knew how much effort she’d put into that morning with the children. How much she’d eaten at lunch. And then all this dancing, add to that the excitement and wine, bowls of sugar aside, she had to be tired and hungry. One of Arya’s worst qualities was caring for everyone but forgetting about herself.

But that’s why she had him.

“M’not tired.” She whined into his chest, her words muffled by virtue of her smooshed face.

“Of course not.” He patronized, pressing a kiss into her hair, “And you’re not hungry either.”

He let out an unmanly ‘yip’ sound when Arya aggressively pinched his ass, then laughed heartily. Shifting his hold until he had a guiding arm wrapped around her shoulders, Arya let him direct her over to the food table, but chastised, “Nobody likes a smug dragon Daemon.”

“You do.” He quipped, whispering in her ear and making her shiver.

She let her head fall onto his bicep as they walked, “Yeah. But I’m crazy.”

Daemon laughed.
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He truly loved Arya, but she could really be disgusting sometimes. Covered in grease and licking her fingers after inhaling a whole quail, Daemon grimaced as Arya dipped her fingers in her ale and then wiped them on the bottom of her skirt. He actually let out a noise of revulsion when she then she chugged the ale she had just used to clean her fingers in.

Then she burped. With a self-satisfied smirk, she turned on him, demanding, “Alright Daemon let’s go.”

She tugged on his sleeve gesturing to the ‘dance floor’.

Osgar had eaten as quickly as she had and was already back to work, singing and playing and keeping the party going. Daemon remained where he was even as Arya got to her feet. He stared back at her stoically, “I don’t think so.”

“What?” She asked, her voice slightly high pitched.

Lord Dustin slapped the table and gestured to him with a chicken bone, “Probably not drunk enough to keep up with you lass!”

Aegon, snorted, “Or he’s too old and embarrassed to make the attempt.”

The joke only earned him a few chuckles. He did not take offense to Arya’s reaction but he glared at the Reyne boy until he looked uncomfortable. Then he turned a mean smile on his nephew. “And what was your excuse nephew? Lack of skill, stamina, or coordination?”

Everyone at the table laughed or looked amused by his quip except Rhaenys, Arya, and Aegon.

Lord Manderly, who was just returning to the table with his third plate of food, raised his eyebrows at Stark, obviously curious after having missed the joke. No one filled him in as Arya jumped into defend his nephew, “Aegon’s an excellent dancer.”

Her words rang false to him, but Daemon knew she meant them, which only made it funnier. He snorted and antagonized, “No, you’re an excellent dancer, he’s an excitable puppy.”

“Daemon,” Laenor frowned at him, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?”

Arya on the other hand didn’t mince her words. “Daemon, shut up, you’re being an ass.”

But her candor just made him and the old Northerner laugh. Luckily for Aegon, who now looked a mix of angry and ashamed, Rhaenys stepped in to deescalate things. She gestured to Arya saying, “My dear, as a seasoned performer, I’m afraid your skills will have you outclassing most available partners. But, given your acrobatic background, there is no shame in that.”

“Well,” Daemon quipped, “There’s a little shame.”

Arya’s brow crinkled adorably, “Skill doesn’t matter when dancing for fun, just joy. And everything I do with Aegon leads to jubilation of one kind or another.”

Her words were earnest and Aegon almost looked appeased, but then Lord Manderly chimed in adding, “I completely agree. It doesn’t matter if you have a dancer’s physique, talent, or technique on your side. As long as both parties are having fun that’s what’s most important.”

“Exactly!” Arya cheered, smiling brilliantly at the Northerner, effectively negating any solace her earlier words had brought Aegon.

“Fun.” Aegon murmured bitterly, before addressing the table with a scowl, “Well, I don’t feel like dancing anymore so it’s irreverent.” Aegon started chugging his ale, a small line of liquid escaping down his chin until abruptly he got up muttering under his breath, “I need a refill.”

Arya made to follow, but Martyn grabbed her wrist and got to his feet saying, “I’ll go, Arya. You stay and enjoy the festivities.”

She frowned but Martyn stared back confidently, “Don’t worry, I’ve got him.”

“Okay.” She plopped down in her chair sounding slightly defeated. But it was only a few seconds more before she turned to him and asked, “Are you really not going to dance with me?”

Apparently, that tickled Lord Dustin’s funny bone because the man barked with laughter. Looking for an excuse not to answer, Daemon took another swig from his ale, trying not to wince from the taste. Truly Rhaenys had gotten the best food, but sadly, she’d chosen cheap and shitty ale. He drank half the cup before needed to breathe.

The second the cup left his lips Arya hissed at him, “Coward.”

That time, the little Stark snorted in amusement.

But Arya had no care, she stood up and looked around the table, surveying her options. Manderly was quick to reassure her, “Princess Arya, when I’m finished eating, I would be happy to dance with you aga--”

“Yeah, yeah, but I’m in the mood now.” Arya interrupted, eyeing the young Stark boy, “What about you, little wolf? Are you afraid of dancing with me and possibly looking a fool in comparison?”

Lord Stark’s eyes widened and in his deep and serious voice he answered, “Yes.”

Rhaenys, Lord Dustin, and he all laughed at the boy’s deadpan delivery, but Arya looked ready to rant. She pointed an accusatory finger at the old man, however before she could say anything more, Ser Laenor stood up. “Lady Arya, it would be my pleasure to have the next dance with you.”

Arya smiled brightly at him before scowling at the rest of them and angerly saying, “Thank you Laenor, my hero, for stepping up like a real man.”

Her pointed words and mock anger made them all laugh again, as did the sight of her huffing in annoyance, stomping around, and grabbing Laenor by the wrist, roughly dragging him away.
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“Go retrieve Arya from the dance floor,” Rhaenys ordered him, “I think it’s time for the cake, many of her guests have work in the morning and will start to leave soon.”

Daemon was drunk enough that he didn’t argue with his cousin, merely obeyed. After dancing with Laenor for a song or two, in a more restrained fashion, Arya had danced with dozens of other men and women. Not that he minded.

Unlike Aegon, who seemed to sink further and further into a state of jealous petulance, Daemon was content to sit back and watch Arya enjoy herself with her smallfolk guests. The whole affair had him happily in his cups and recalling similar nights spent together in Pentos.

As he walked past Aegon, he gave his nephew a comforting pat on the head, though his eyes remained locked on his target.

Lord Manderly was dancing with her little barmaid friend, but staying close to Arya, seemingly at ease with her popularity. Daemon thought his confidence came from their constant flirting. Even in the arms of other dance partners, she and Manderly kept exchanging words and grins and just making goo goo eyes at each other.

When Arya spotted him from over her current dance partner’s shoulder as he entered the designated plot of sand that served as their ‘dance floor’, she didn’t smile, she beamed. He watched with a sloppy grin as she leaned in and whispered something in the portly man’s ear.

Daemon stopped moving forward, knowing she was dismissing whoever the nobody was, in favor of him. As predicted, she left other man with kiss on the cheek and then headed straight for him. When in arms reach, she asked, “Finally drunk enough to brave a dance with me?”

Up close he could see the flush of happiness on her cheeks. The sparkle in her eyes. She was glowing in the firelight, every inch of her exquisitely Arya. He reached out and pushed a loose strand of hair off her sweaty forehead, the urge to kiss her was strong, but he resisted.

He could now concede, at least in his own mind, that Aegon was right. Adopting her was a mistake, he wanted her in different ways depending on the day, but the sexual chemistry between them had always been there even when not acknowledged. Even when Laena was still alive.