I love it when I can update one after the other! :D
Here you go.
Chapter 8: An Unexpected Visit.
"I am placing a ridiculously large amount of trust in you, Your Grace."
Aegon grinned and swung up into the handmade saddle that sat upon Rhaegal's back. The dragon swivelled it's jaded head to glare at Arya, and she could hear the blood pounding by her ears, hear her heart racing like a frightened rabbit's. She heard Tyrion's laugh from the horses, and flicked her eyes over to him. He was laughing at her, she knew, but he also had eyes only for Tysha and Lanna; and that gave her some happiness to know she'd given The Imp that.
Lanna smiled sweetly at her, before turning to speak with her mother.
Aegon was still watching her. Arya turned her eyes back on him, and let the glare settle there. "I'll protect you," he said with a cheeky grin. His hand came out, and she took it hesitantly. Aegon pulled her up and behind himself, and she had to rest her hands on his hips to stay seated.
"I like this not," she muttered as she got comfortable in the saddle and strapped in her legs. "Besides, just how could you protect me when you can barely seat yourself on this beast?"
Aegon shrugged. "At least I do not fear him."
Arya bristled. "I am not afraid," she bit out stubbornly. Her heart fluttered a little when he pat her knee gently, and it confused her. It was a comforting gesture, no doubt, and it should not have affected her so. But why did it?
Rhaegal shifted his wings, restless. The movement made Arya's heart jump to her throat and her fingers tightened on Aegon's furs. "My lady?" he asked gently, but she shook her head.
"Wolves aren't meant to fly, Your Grace." She looked to the ground, still a good ten feet below from where she sat upon the dragon's back. "It'd be absurd if we did. Mayhaps it would be better if I rode to The Wall, instead of flew."
Aegon swivelled around in the saddle until he could look at her. "Do you fear heights, my lady?"
Arya scowled and shook her head. "No." She fidgeted with the edge of her wolf-fur cloak. "Your Grace, I do not fear heights. I used to climb Winterfell's walls with my brother, Bran."
Aegon's features turned bemused. "You fear something, else wise you would not care."
Arya Stark rolled her eyes. "I do not trust the temperament of this creature. I'd trust a horse or my wolf moreso than a dragon, Your Grace."
She saw Aegon's hands tighten on the front of the saddle, on the reins that kept the dragon in place, and instinctively, her own tightened on his waist.
"Fly." He commanded in High Valyrian.
Rhaegal's massive wings lifted to the skies and he let out an ear-splitting screech. Arya buried her face into Aegon's back, let herself feel as her stomach sunk to her toes when the dragon left the earth, let herself hear the constant thumping of it's wings against nothing to go higher.
When she plucked up enough courage to open her eyes again, at first all she could see was Aegon and green.
Then, she quickly realised that Aegon only tiny compared to the wide expanse of sky they were in, and that the green was simply Rhaegal's wings stretched out. Arya heard a dragon's call over the howling of the wind, and with her chin still resting on the King's back, turned her head to look.
It was Daenerys astride Baelrion the Black Dread come again, her silver-blonde hair whipping behind her as much as Arya suspected her own was.
Drogon was so large that he made his brother below him, Viserion, look like a kitten playing at being a lion. The white dragon searched for her atop Rhaegal, as if he could tell she was thinking of him and cried loud enough for Arya to hear.
I see you.
That was the reason Arya had chosen to ride with Aegon; Rhaegal wasn't nearly as big as Drogon either, and wasn't as mean tempered. But the beast beneath her was still too large, too wild and out of her control that she didn't want to be anywhere near it.
Arya could feel Aegon's silent laughter against her cheek. Shut up, she told him silently. The wind was too loud for him to be able to hear any insults she might give him, so instead she only settled deeper against him, her chin resting in the cleft where his neck met his shoulders. It was cold all the way up here, and Arya could barely keep her eyes open, the wind was blowing that strong-but that was why Daenerys had told her to wear warmer clothing, she supposed. Not only for the Wall, but for the trip there.
They'd stopped back at Harrenhal, and started again that morning, but this time Arya was not as frightened of Rhaegal; who regarded her with still-jaded-interest.
It felt like hours before Arya even thought to look down.
And the dragons were slowing down.
Arya could see The Eyrie, and the Vale that surrounded it. "Can we drop in for a visit?" she asked half-jokingly, braving to let go of his waist and point to the stone fortress with one hand. Aegon did not answer her, and she thought that mayhaps he'd not heard; but then the dragon did the last thing she expected. It dove.
Arya was suddenly very grateful that Aegon's saddle had been made for two, and that her own legs were strapped in as well, preventing her from falling out of the sky. But, while he was laughing in front of her, Arya was screaming in breathless half-laughter at the feeling of falling. Though mostly, she thought, it was fear that ran through her veins like The Trident, fear that made her squeal like a child.
"Fuucckk!" she hooted, and the dragon beneath her roared back.
The soldiers at the Bloody Gate cowed at the sight of them, though some fired upon them. The jade serpent easily evaded the arrows, and though it took a few tries, Rhaegal found purchase on the side of the castle itself.
Arya was not pleased, hanging on to Aegon for dear life. "What are you doing?" she bit out angrily to Aegon, who simply shrugged in return.
"He needs to rest, and the mountain paths up here are much too small for him to land safely. Wait a moment and I'll let you down." Was the king's answer. Arya was certain that she was going to hit him.
The dragon took off again, and the world tilted as he spun away from The Eyrie's walls and out into open air. The dragon twisted, his left wing coming very high and close to his body, while the other tilted downwards; and so that was how they fell.
Arya did not scream as she admittedly had before, because she was expecting it, in a way. But she did tighten her grip on Aegon Targaryen. When the dragon stopped moving enough that Arya could see things clearly, he'd perched himself damn near at their front door. But even then, there was not enough room for Rhaegal to place his wing-arms on the ground, she saw.
Drogon and Viserion flew overhead, crying to their stationary brother. Daenerys was trying to find a place to land, but Drogon was the largest of her dragons, and the odds of getting a safe spot were about as high as finding a virgin whore at Happy Port.
Not very likely.
Aegon shifted in front of her, to glance back at her. "Go on, I'll be in soon."
Arya paused, but shook herself from the apprehension and unbuckled her legs. "I have to jump?" she asked incredulously.
Aegon grinned. "So fearful all of a sudden, my lady,"
"I am not 'fearful', Your Grace. I could very well break my legs from this height."
The dragon shifted, lowered himself as far as his body would go, and small jade flames rose from his nostrils.
"Thank you." Arya told him, and slipped from the beast's back. She bounded under Rhaegal's long neck and barged the doors of The Eyrie open with her shoulders.
-x-
"Ah, The Eyrie." He heard Tyrion say, sarcasm lacing his words. "Lovely place."
Gendry didn't pay him much mind, after all, the dragons twisting about in the skies had finally stopped, and were still, and that had more of his attention than the bored drawling tone of The Imp.
The green one was perched on the side of The Eyrie, which meant that Arya was inside, talking with some lord or another. Gendry doubted he would be able to see her if she was still astride the beast anyway.
She commanded the Brotherhood now, and she'd told them to stay at the foot of The Bloody gate, so there they'd stay. The men that had been guarding the bloody thing had been killed quickly by a few of Anguy's arrows, the rest by Gendry's own hammer.
The Freed Men that Arya had brought to Westeros, along with The Unsullied and dothraki khalasar Daenerys Targaryen had at her disposal meant that a company of their size did not go unnoticed easily.
The fact that they'd made it to here without real resistance was pure luck, Harwin kept saying.
"Are you certain we can't go with her?" Gendry said to no one in particular.
Lem Lemoncloak chuckled and settled against a stone further. "Why? Miss your lady love?"
Anguy hooted. "Don't let her hear that, she's more like than not to cut open your throat. She's already broke your nose before, Lem."
Gendry agreed whole-heartedly with that. He also knew that she could a whole lot worse than that, but decided not to voice that either.
-x-x-
Alayne watched from her seat betwixt Littlefinger and Robin as the dark-haired woman stalked up the short flight of stairs. It was when she bowed mockingly before Lord Baelish that familiarity struck Sansa as hard as any blow could. I know your face, she thought, the breath having been knocked out of her. Though her face wasn't quite as horsey anymore, she having grown into her features, her face was that of their dead father's. Of Uncle Benjen and Jon Snow. Of a Stark. Arya?
Sweet Robbin did not know what to make of her, and so found the entire thing annoying and a waste of his time. "Alayne, I want to go back outside, to the courtyard, and play in the snow!"
Sansa's attention was taken from her sister look-alike and placed upon the little Vale lord. "Shh… shh, my lord." Sansa crooned, hands settling in his dark hair and tucking the longish strands behind his ears. "My Sweet Robbin, just for now we must stay here, and then we can play in the snow for the rest of the day if you wish it."
She was too busy calming him down, frightened he'd have another fit, that she did not catch Petyr's first words to the woman. "- killed them, my lady. What is it you are here for, might I ask?"
The woman smiled sweetly, and Sansa knew there was no doubt in the world this girl was her sister. "I do believe you know, Lord Baelish." Arya told him with the same sweetness in her voice, she shrugged her skinny shoulders. Two other men stepped up behind her, the one who's hair was half red, half white grinned a smile that sent shivers down Sansa's spine.
Littlefinger stroked his goatee, eyes judging the situation before him in silence. "Might I ask for your name, my good lady?"
Arya looked up from the piece of knotted hair she was inspecting, and her steely-grey eyes narrowed. "I do not particularly like you, I will not hide that fact. But I have gone by many, many names, my lord. At this moment though, I would like to think that Arya Stark suits me best."
It was hushed in the room then, but whispers had started at that.
Petyr's green-grey eyes narrowed on Arya's thin form, and Sansa could have sworn fear shone there, but it was gone in the next instant and he turned to her, eyes still on Arya's form. "I knew you weren't dead, my lady. Nor married to that Bastard of Bolton." He finally flicked his eyes to Sansa, and more lies tripped off his tongue. "Alayne, my dear. Tend to the good lady Arya."
Sansa rose and pried the little lord's fingers loose from her gown. "Of course, father." She shuffled a foot from where her little sister stood and bowed quickly. "If you would follow me, my lady."
Sansa could feel the eyes of the court on her form
Sansa felt a fool, bowing before her younger sister, who for the better lack of a word was a stranger to her now. Her two shadows followed, one silent, and one Sansa thought was as handsome as Willas almost.
In the false light of the torches the man's hair seemed to glow. Silver, Sansa thought incredulously. A Targaryen?
He seemed to feel her eyes on him and glanced over with deep, purple eyes. "So this is Lady Arya's elder sister?" he asked, and Sansa almost missed the elbow her sister threw him.
Already she felt old habits rising, to tell Arya to stop acting like a wilding, but held her tongue and smiled politely to him. The man did not seem to mind, either; as if this were a game the two played regularly.
Then thin-but muscled-arms were around her in a hug, one which Sansa returned with a fierceness she'd not known she had held. Arya's dark hair was thicker than it had been when they were children, lighter too it seemed, from years in the sun. Her once milk-pale skin was a tanner colour though, one which her companions' shared, and it made her grey, grey eyes startling in contrast.
"I missed you," her little sister whimpered. Sansa froze in the embrace. Is she crying? This woman who walks as if she owns the world? Arya had seemed in control as she spoke down to Littlefinger, but as she clung to Sansa as if her life demanded it, Sansa remembered that this woman couldn't have been more than six-and-ten.
That all passed within a beat of her heart, and Sansa registered just what those three words meant coming from Arya Stark. I am sorry. I love you. I am back, and I will never leave again. Arya Stark, Arya 'Horseface' who had spat on her as a child to run off with Bran to climb the walls of Winterfell or to play with stolen bows and swords with Jon Snow in the Godswood.
Sansa carded her thin fingers through Arya's hair. "As I missed you, little sister." Sansa returned, and she noticed the concerned look that flashed across the silver-blonde man's face at her sister's break of composure.
When Arya pulled back, there were no traces of tears in her Stark-grey eyes and her arms fell easily to her sides. "Sansa, this is Aegon Targaryen." She introduced the man to her left. Then, as if just remembering something, she rolled her eyes and sighed. "King Aegon Targaryen the sixth of his name," she corrected herself after a beat.
Aegon nodded his silver head to Sansa, a pleasant smile on his face. "My lady,"
-x-x-x-
Arya watched in amusement as her sweet-tempered sister floundered about to form a proper curtsy. "Your Grace," Sansa returned to Aegon's greeting, and Arya felt a smirk pull at her mouth.
"Sansa," Arya requested her attention softly. "I came here with a purpose, sweet sister. Let me tell you of it."
Sansa's eyes were just as sharp as they'd been all those years ago, as blue and keen as their mother's, though Sansa's hair was stained with a muddy-brown dye now. "Yes?"
Arya shared a look with Aegon and he nodded. He was allowing her to officially declare the Starks the Kings of Winter once more, and for that, Arya's respect of Aegon Targaryen grew. Arya linked her fingers together before her in an uncharacteristically feminine gesture. "I would declare you Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell."
A breath passed.
And then, suddenly, Sansa was a blur of blue-grey skirts and creamy skin and muddy hair. Her face was inches from Arya's, and she flinched away from the sudden movement. "You can't!" Sansa declared, delicate hands on Arya's shoulders. "I… I would wed Willas Tyrell, if I were to be anything, I would rather be a… a Queen of Highgarden." She sucked in a breath and Arya stayed still and silent. "You must understand, Arya, Lord Baelish has only those plans for me… and if you should give me the throne, win it for me, he will win. And I do not wish for that."
Arya felt her anger and the sting of the rejection flash across her face before she composed herself once more. "I suppose finding Bran will not be so hard…" she trailed off as she thought her words over. But Bran would be hard to find in the wild that was beyond the Wall, harder than even Rickon, she supposed.
Sansa shook her head fiercely. "No," she said. "If the throne was to pass to anyone, it should be you, Arya. Gods know you have the men and the mean, do it." Sansa tucked a stray hair away from her little sister's face. "You have the look of the North, too. The men will rally to you, I can see it now. You've always been wild and fierce, little sister, and for that I suppose I might have been a little jealous when we were younger, but now I see that it was because you would do the things Mother had taught into me were bad."
Arya came back to her first argument. "But that is why you would make a better Queen than I, Sansa." Arya reasoned. "You know the game, and you can play it well. You have all the courtly mannerisms that I do not; and honestly never will."
Sansa sighed, and it struck Arya as queer that they were arguing over who became a Queen of where, but at the same time, it was much the same as any other fight they'd had when they were younger.
Sansa scowled, but then it was gone in the next instant; replaced with calm. "Well, I have no wish to rule the North, sister. It is all yours."
Anger coursed through Arya then, an anger that directed itself at her sister for backing down when the time came and it was called upon her to do her duty. Arya bit her lip. "Tyrells? Is that the way of it?" she demanded.
Sansa's soft face flashed with anger. "I love him-"
"A Lannister dog." Arya snorted with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
Sansa's Tully eyes shone murder. "How dare-"
"I dare because I am now Queen in the North, sweet sister. I dare because when I came here-and I did not have to- I did not simply come here to chat about our past; I came to put you in our brother's seat. Our family's seat." Arya sighed and she tossed her head imperiously at her words, her eyes narrowed in challenge. "But you would rather piss it all up some wall for a Tyrell."
Aegon, it seemed, did not know how to react to her sudden outburst, and if Arya had been in a better mood, she might have smiled. But he did know better than to speak against her, or touch her.
For a time, of course.
"Arya-" he started, spider-like hands reaching for her; but Arya did not heed him as she stalked from their presence.
Mhaegar fell into step at her side, quiet as a shadow and swift as a fox.
D.P~ Reviewing, I've come to learn, does actually help with me being able to pair together your OTP... you know... just saying.
:)
