This is a re-do of the first chapter I posted. Love me, for it is longer!

The relationship between she and Arianne Martell was strained after Aegon made Arya his second wife.
The entirety of court was a row when Aegon came back from the Wall, Arya Stark at his side; crimson draped about her shoulders.
Arya needed an army, and she could have that with a marriage to the King of Westeros, she could take the North back with a few vows she knew her husband would not keep. The fact that Aegon had already gotten a child on her did nothing for her friendship with Arianne at all, not that Arya minded much.
Arya rested a hand on her swelling stomach, thinking on the daughter Aegon seemed so adamant that the child was. Gendry watched her as she did, a smile touching his face. "Missing the North, my queen?" he asked softly.
Arya rolled her eyes at her knight, a smile joining his. "You always know," she complained good-naturedly.
Gendry's hand came to rest on her shoulder and his lips tenderly brushed the side of her head. "I am always here, Arry. Remember that." It was a promise from him, a promise that Aegon made frequently—though not in the same words—when the past would make her fret for her unborn child's future. A vow to never leave her alone.
Arya rose, and his strong arms enveloped her. "Thank you," she said, burying her face in his tunic and her arms coming to rest on his hips easily. "Thank you for following me into this nest of snakes and not letting the dragons eat me whole." She drew in a breath and relaxed against him. "Thank you for not letting go of me, even when I bit and kicked and screamed."
Gendry's fingers danced lines up and down her back, and it reminded her of when Aegon was visiting Dorne; Gendry would share her bed and after they rutted away like rabbits his fingers would dance along her spine as they were now. "I wouldn't leave you, m'lady," he said, and Arya hit him lightly at the moniker. "And it might be the death of me." He added softly after, arms still tight and sure around her.
Arya lifted her head from his chest. "Then kiss me."
And he did.

.

.

Arya did not want to birth her child in King's Landing.
She had insisted that she give birth in The Reach, with her sister at her side; Arya would never admit it to anyone else, but she had told Gendry that the thought of going into the birthing bed scared her.
Her aunt who looked so much like Arya had died in childbed, who was to say that Arya would not have the same fate?
But Sansa never left her side during Arya's stay at High Garden, invited her little sister to sit in her solar and dine on the fruits in the mornings, eat with her at night.
Arya had brought Gendry with her, as she did when she travelled anywhere; that was a condition she had told Aegon she could not do without.
She did love Aegon, but it was a sort that would hold nothing to the flame she held for Gendry. Only one other love was anything compared; but it wasn't the sort that was excepted in her family, and the sort that Aegon would not be able to ignore.
Jon Snow had since been legitimized to Jon Targaryen; he was The Wolf That Breathed Fire and he was also her brother despite all that had happened. And yet she loved him not as a sister should love a brother.
But he was newly wed to his aunt, though men of the Nights Watch aren't to have wives or children or hold lands and titles. And he was going against everything he'd ever been taught by their father; Starks did not marry their family. Starks did not go against what honour had made them vow.
Arya knew how Jon felt; her heart wanted two different men than the one she'd made vows of marriage to.

She laboured for nearly two days with the babe, and Sansa -true to her word as a Stark- did not leave her. Gendry would not leave the room, even when the Maester told him to, and it made Arya laugh at his stubbornness through the pain.
Red faced and squalling, the child was, and the Maester pulled it from Arya and passed it off to Sansa to wipe and bundle in red and purples of Targaryen colours. In a tired voice, Arya asked, "What is it?"
Sansa was beaming at her sister, the little silver-haired, pale bundle in her arms. "It is a little girl, sister. She looks like Mother did." Sansa told Arya, tears shinning in her Tully-blue eyes. Arya held out her arms and hated how shaky they were.
Fierce as a wolverine. I have survived where my she-wolf aunt did not, I am not weak. I cannot afford to be.
Sansa settled the babe at Arya's breast gently, and the girl stopped fussing; settling into sleep immediately. Arya traced her child's features with a hesitant finger; and they did look like Catelyn Stark's. The soft features of the Tully's seemed out of place with the pale head of hair the little girl had, and when her tiny fist clenched around Arya's finger, the grey, grey eyes of Winter Kings stared back at her.
The septa and Sansa's hand-maidens replaced the sheets on the bed as Sansa helped her sister stand while they did. Arya didn't like the feeling of the after-birth between her thighs, nor the pain that followed.
Sansa ushered her children in to meet their new cousin, told Gendry to go and clean himself up with a gentle hand on his arm, words sincere and soft. When he showed signs of refusing, Arya scowled. "Go and clean yourself, stupid." Gendry jerked his blue eyes to her, and they showed so much love that Arya had to look away a moment. "You've been here for nearly two days; you need a bath," she scrunched up her nose. "You stink."
He laughed at that, and Sansa glanced between the two, an amused smile on her lips. Arya knew that her sweet, gentle sister knew of her escapades with Gendry… and others.
Arya then turned her attention on her daughter, cradling the infant closer to her and letting her suckle. Sansa smiled down at the child at her side and ran a hand through Aeron's curly Tully-coloured hair, and the boy watched Arya with green orbs. "Hello, Aunt Arya." The child greeted, Arya smiled at her nephew. The child's next words made a startled laugh escape her. "The baby looks like a potato, mother."
Sansa looked horrified, and placed a flustered hand on her sons shoulders. "Aeron!"
Arya adjusted her babe's position in her arms. "It's quite alright, Sansa. He's only little, leave him be."
Sansa rolled her eyes, but took her little sister's advice and turned her motherly glare onto the knight. Sansa patted Gendry's arm again. "Go and get something to eat while you're there. I'll be giving them both baths soon."
Gendry nodded, but gave Arya his eyes. His voice was thick as he asked, "What will you name her?"
Arya glanced down at her newborn. "Well, Aegon would wish for her to be named Rhaenys, I know."
"Oh,"
Arya grinned up her knight. "But, because of that simple fact… Naerys. Her name shall be Naerys Targaryen."
Gendry grinned back. "And the realm shall tremble at her will."
They both laughed as he left the room.

.

.

It was nearly two moons before Arya could walk without assistance, and those days that passed where she could not even stand had annoyed her to no end.
Gendry walked alongside her now, as they wandered the gardens of Sansa's palace.
Bran and Meera had come to visit; their curly-haired, grey-eyed children were running ahead, in and out of the isles made for walking between the flowers.
"Naerys is a beautiful babe, so quiet as well." Meera commented as she watched her children run and play. Brandon had decided to stay in the Keep; pouring himself over books in the library Willas Tyrell had shown.
Arya nodded. "I know, thank you. But somehow I feel that the next babe will not be so kind."
Meera laughed.
The children began to pick the brightest-coloured flowers as Arya watched them, and took a red-tipped rose the youngest offered. "Thank you, love." She told Benard, a little grey-eyed boy no more than two.
The little boy giggled and ran back to his sister, who had already made a large effort to amble up one of the oak trees. Meera sighed before shaking her head. "Will this girl never learn?"
Lyanne Stark was a wild little thing; much like Arya herself was, she supposed. Always getting into mischief and dragging her younger brother in for the ride.
It is no wonder that they named her after Aunt Lyanna, Arya thought. She is as wild as the winter she was born in. Like me.
Gendry watched on with silent amusement. "She's just like you, m'lady." He told Arya.
Arya laughed. "I was just thinking the same thing."
Meera did eventually get Lyanne from the tree, but no sooner had she, did the little girl start up mischief again. Arya felt a pain in her breast as she watched Meera shuffle after her rambunctious daughter.
Arya remembered how Catelyn would do that, and when she finally did have her in hand-scolding her all the while-her mother would pass her off to her father who would smile and chuckle at her adventures all the while.
Sansa calling for her to join them brought Arya out of her thoughts abruptly; she turned with a practiced smile and said that she would only be a moment.

Aegon finally visited just as Naerys reached three moons old. Arya had out-right refused to travel (though she was more than capable on a horse, with or without her daughter in the saddle with her) and had written for him to visit them in High Garden.
A defiance, small, but still there.
When his wiry, but strong arms came around her, Arya felt the tension that had been present since the birth of Naerys ease and slip away from her form with a sigh. "You truly are a mystery to me, my love." He whispered against her hair, words soft as his fingers gently pushed back the tangled mess that was her hair from her face.
Arya let out a small laugh, more for his benefit than hers and turned to face him. "A girl must keep some secrets, my lord."
Hurt flashed across Aegon's face at the use of formalities, and he let Arya go. "Why did you send for me? Why did you not come home sooner? I am king-"
"A king, Aegon. One of two which remain to this world," she told him haughtily. "And King's Landing is not my home, it will never be; and you making me stay in that nest of snakes and liars is cruel."
Aegon opened his mouth to protest, but Naerys began to fuss; only a small whimper to begin with, but it seemed the older Arya's daughter got, the louder her lungs became. "Shh… my love," Arya crooned, lifting her daughter into her arms gingerly; she still did not know how to hold a babe, and it made her feel a terrible mother.
But still, Naerys quieted the moment she was nestled against her mother's breast; content to be held. Patting the babe's back gently, Arya said, "May I be excused from court while Naerys is young? I want nothing of King's Landing, Your Grace. I would wish to spend my years in Winterfell with my brothers or even-"
Aegon shook his silver-blonde head, anger seeping into his features. "No. I won't have it; Naerys is as much my child as yours, Arya."
Arya's hand fisted around the material of the child's tiny gown. "You won't have it?" she repeated softly, and she saw as Aegon realised his mistake.
"Arya…"
Arya placed Naerys back in her make-shift cot. Patting down her daughter's short, curly locks ; she smiled. Arya turned to face her husband. "I wouldn't have you, if I could, did you know?" she said in that same, quiet detached tone. "I would tear away this face and leave this horrid land, if I could." She finally lifted her eyes to meet his, those same purple-blue eyes she'd become smitten with the moment she saw them. "But I can't. Because now I am a wife; the She-wolf of the North turned simpering wife and I hate it." Seating herself on the chair next to the bed, Arya stretched out her legs; long and nimble as a cat's. "You have Arianne Martell to get children on; boys that will carry on your name. You have two wives Aegon, where your brother will have none. You do not need me-"
"Stop," he commanded hoarsely. Arya knew that Aegon held affection for her, and knew that on some level, she held for him the same. But what he was ordering her to do hurt her too much.
She turned from him, in favour to stare down at their daughter; a little being that tied her to him in such a way that made her want to hate the babe.
But she couldn't; and she had tried. The one person, she figured, that she could never hate would be Naerys Targaryen.
They had made her together with what little love there was between them, and Arya had made vows before all and any gods; she had no way out now. To break those vows would be to shame House Stark, to bring shame to what was left of her family; small and scarred as it was. "I love you, you know?" Came his voice, soft and cracked after a moment or two.
Arya flicked her grey eyes over to her husband, emotionless and cold. "I know."
Aegon's mouth turned down at the sides. "Why are you being this way?" He demanded. Because you have trapped me with my own ambitions. She thought bitterly.
Arya bit the inside of her cheek; a habit she seemed to have picked up from Jon in her time at the Wall. "I do not want to live the rest of my existence in King's Landing. I do not want to have to ask of you to have time to visit my family, Aegon Targaryen. That is not why I agreed to wed you."
She watched as he processed her words, as a mirthless smile came across his handsome features. "No, that isn't why you agreed at all, was it? It was because I had power that you needed, dear wife, or did you forget?" His tone was as biting as hers was monotone, but Arya kept her face still.
"You needed my assistance just a much, Your Grace." She said, and edge seeping slowly into her words.
Aegon snorted, mouth twisting unattractively in a way she'd seen Dany do once before. "I did no-"
"I married you because I loved you, you stupid!" Arya cried, rising to her feet angrily. "I loved you before, even when I was cold and angry and broken, I still found room to love you… but now…"
Aegon stilled, dark eyes wide at her words. Arya found her courage, mouth set in a grim line she said, "I loved you, for true I did and I can admit to it now; I still hold some respect for you Aegon… But please do not ask me to spend the rest of my days in the place that brought me the most unhappiness."
Aegon held out his arms for her, as Jon had done for her so many times; and this time, Arya went to him willingly and meekly. With his arms around her, strong and sure, it was easy to forget what was waiting for them outside of this room; easy to forget that they were years older and wiser than when they'd made the pact to each other.
"You do not want anything of King's Landing?" He asked, lips brushing her forehead. Arya raised her head, chin held high; their noses bumped together they were that close.
She smiled at him. "I want you."
His indigo eyes flashed with a heat, and Arya scowled. "Not here, idiot. Not now…" she paused suddenly bashful. "But… but I do want you for my husband; if I had to marry I am glad it was you." The words slipped off her tongue, and gave her pause; did she mean them? She did not know if she did, or even if she could.

Aegon pulled her tighter against him-oblivious to her tension-arms circling her waist in such a way that would make Sansa swoon. "Naerys will want a brother…" he told her with a boyish grin.

Arya scrunched up her face. "Mayhaps she will, but it is my body that will be put through its paces, Aegon. At least give me a year to rest."

It wasn't even that when Arya felt the sickness settle in her stomach one morning after the next. Barely ten months if that, was all it took until Aegon managed to get a child on her; and gods knew that it wasn't through lack of trying.
He was trying to make her happy, she knew, because he was always hovering.
She wasn't terribly large, but her stomach was already starting to strain against the gowns Aegon dressed her in.
Naerys was now managing to lift herself to stand, chubby little hands clutching at Arya's legs; the biggest smile Arya had ever seen on her tiny face.
"Mumma, took!" She cried, words mumbled; and no matter how hard Arya tired, she could not get her daughter to pronounce 'look' with an L. Arya grinned down at her. "Look at what, my love?"
"Dagons!"
"Dragons," Arya corrected absently, before lifting her daughter into her arms. "Yes, Naerys. Dragons; can you name them for me?"
Naerys giggled and pressed her face against Arya's collarbone, after a moment or two, she spoke clear and true in broken High Valyrian. "Rhaegal is the green one," she said, pointing a chubby finger at the jade monster in the corner of the Pits, fear absent from her form. "Drogon is the big angry one and Viserion…"
Arya shifted her daughter's weight. "And Viserion?" She coaxed softly.
Naerys beamed up at her. "Viserion is Uncle Jon's!" The child said happily in the Common Tongue.
Arya grinned back, but felt a pain in her breast. Jon Snow had since been legitimised and had married Daenerys Stormborn; but Arya's daughter need not know that. She pressed a quick kiss to the girl's silver-blonde curls."Yes, my love. You are correct."
Arianne had yet to produce an heir, and between the two of them, it looked to be a competition of whom it was could birth a boy and hold their seat as High Queen. Arya had told her many times that she had no want for it, that if Arya had had a choice she'd not marry Aegon again.
But, Arya thought. Winter has fled, and I am stranded in the south, with vipers poised to strike and dragons wanting to eat me whole.

Gendry was on patrol, and so had not accompanied them to the Pits; and Arya knew that Aegon had had something to do with it. Aegon knew-Arya knew that he did-but her kingly husband would not dare lift a finger against Gendry, at least not while Arya still had breath left in her lungs.

And that was when she was sure that being feared was better than being loved.

D.P~ Reviews? Pweety pwease?