Aegon
Aegon Targaryen was not pleased. First, his brother, who continues to be almost indifferent towards him, had won all the glory of the battle of Kings Landing and had chosen Gendry – their Aunt's bastard lover as his companion in the venture. What did it matter that Aegon had been attacking a different part of the city at the time? It would've only taken moments for Jon to fly over. But instead he'd gone with the Baratheon Bastard over his own kin.
Then to make matters worse by the time he'd reached Casterly Rock the Dornish were already making battle. True, the day had not yet been won, and he and Rhaegal had been hailed by the men as they soared over head and began attacking the Rock's outer ramparts, but Aegon still felt like once again he'd missed his opportunity for some of his glory in battle.
And this battle, of all the battles, he needed to lead. And he needed to win. This was the battle, this was the day when he would finally make the Lannisters pay for their betrayal of his father. He would burn them from the parapets of their own home, terrorizing the Lannister as the women and children of Casterly Rock ran in fear. But he would show them no quarter – just as they had given no quarter to his mother and sister. And when he was done slaughtering the people of the Rock, then and only then would he fight the Kingslayer.
He circled around again, swooping and catching three of the archers with his billhook as Rhaegal sent a torrent of flames into a gathering of men standing guard over the portcullis. Satisfied with the pass he leaned into his mount to direct Rhaegal around to the south gate when something in the field of battle below caught his eye. In one quadrant of the field the men of Casterly Rock had put down their weapons and were being herded into a group by the Dornishmen. More and more Lannisters were joining in the surrender with little resistance, though few of them were glancing up at him as they did it. What the bloody hell was this about?
Aggravated, he pulled Rhaegal around, turning sharply in the air, and swooped down low over the captured men. He smirked to himself as they began to shrink in terror, some crying out and falling to their knees under the shadow of Rhaegal's emerald green hide. Though he'd seen such reactions hundreds of times they never failed to bring him a sense of smug satisfaction. The men of Westeros should tremble at the sight of him, should fall to their knees before their Targaryen rulers and stay there. He signaled to Rhaegal to land when he saw his cousin Obara, taking accepting the sword from one of the Lannister commanders.
"Obara!" He called out, and she came to him at once, fearlessly walking up to Rhaegal's flank as he slid from his saddle.
"Yes my prince?"
"What is going on?"
"The Lannisters are surrendering my lord. The Kingslayer is dead."
For a second he was too stunned to speak. Rage, white hot and overwhelming overtook him. He could not speak, he could not think. The Kingslayer's life had been his to take. Now he would never have the satisfaction of looking Jaime Lannister in the eye as he killed his sister and their incestuous bastard pretender to the throne in front of him.
"Who- who has done this," his voice was deadly calm, each word measured but infused with the unmistakable promise of violence.
"My lord, my prince, please," his fierce cousin looked at him with alarm. He hoped it wasn't her, he liked the sand snakes and it would be a shame to have to kill the eldest of them for her insolence. Still, this slight could not be borne. Someone had to pay for taking this from him.
"Who, Obara."
She locked eyes with him a look of incredulity on her face momentarily but it only fueled his anger. He widened his eyes in fury, daring her to give him an excuse with his raging purple eyes. She must have seen the challenge in his eyes because she dropped her gaze at once. When she spoke, her tone was pleading and subdued.
"My lord she is one of our companions. Please Aegon, she stepped in to save our sister after Lannister killed Ellaria, please…"
He felt a momentary twinge at the sound of distress in his brave cousin's voice, but he would not be swayed in this.
"Her name, Obara."
"Meria… Meria Snow."
He almost felt bad for the girl. With no family to worry about offending nothing could save her from his rage.
"Where is she?"
"She went back to the caravan, with Elia but please Aegon I am begging you—"
He ignored Obara and turned abruptly and remounted Rhaegal. Whatever else the Sand Snake had to say was lost as he spurred Rhaegal in the side too hard in his anger and the dragon let out a screech in protest before launching into the air.
Bastard or not, the girl should have had the sense to know that the Kingslayer's life was his to take. For her impudence, she would have to pay.
Elia
The trip back to the caravan after Meria had killed Jamie Lannister had been a blur. No, not Meria she had to remind herself. Arya, Arya Stark. She knew it was important, but right now she just couldn't be bothered to care about that or anything else besides the overwhelming pain of the loss of her mother.
Everything seemed to fade into nothingness as she let that ugly truth sink in. The sounds of battle which had been so disturbing to her before hardly fazed her now as they wove through the maze of interlocking bodies. More than once Arya had to step in and block a blow aimed for her as they walked. On the third such instance, her teacher and friend had slapped her hard across the face, forcing Elia to look into her stormy grey eyes.
"It hurts. I know. It will keep hurting for a long time. I cannot tell you when it will stop. But I can tell you that your mother would not want you to let the pain distract you from staying alive, and so right now you must work through the pain and follow me, alright?"
She had nodded, and began to pay slightly more attention to her surroundings as they moved through the fray until finally they were free of the fighting bodies and heading up the hill to where their caravans were. Around them, injured men staggered up in search of the maesters and septas who travelled with them tending to the wounded. Meria walked briskly and silently through them all, taking Elia by the hand now that they were beyond danger and pulling her along in the direction of Joana's tent.
When they got there the thirteen-month old gave a gurgle of delight at the sight of them and reached for her mother. Meria swept the baby into her arms, oblivious to the blood and grime covering her clothes. Elia felt a pang in her chest, a momentary urge to hold the infant, to be close to something as pure and uncorrupted as Arya's grey-eyed daughter. As if sensing her yearning Arya handed the squirming toddler over to Elia. Joana went happily, reaching out her pudgy little arms and grasping onto Elia's shoulder. She hugged the child to her, closing her eyes and inhaling the calming sent of Joana's clean dark hair. When she opened her eyes Arya was there, understanding etched across the face.
"Come," she said quietly, leading them out of the tent. Elia did, following her mentor into a small clearing shielded from the activity of the camp by a thick hedge. When they got to the clearing Arya sat on a mossy knee-high stone and began to undo her jerkin, preparing to feed Joana. The mundane familiarity of it all felt almost jarring when compared to the events of two hours before. Elia wasn't ready to talk about her mother yet, so instead she sat in front of her friend and mentor and looked her in the eyes.
"Who is Arya Stark?" She asked, her voice steady. She'd remembered Meria christening Joana a Stark at her birth, but at the time she'd never assumed that her friend was a Stark herself. She'd assumed, as her older sisters did, that someone who bore the Stark name (or claimed to) had been the father. She'd heard Obara and Tyene talking once about how Meria had probably been deceived by some Northern bannerman pretending to be one of the legendary Starks. At the time she'd felt pity for her friend, who she'd assumed hadn't had as much experience with the sly highborn men to know when she was being played. Well the more fool her.
The older woman sighed, taking the toddler and putting her to her breast before looking back over at Elia.
"She is the youngest daughter of the late Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. She was the sister of Robb Stark, King of the North, before he was brutally slain at the Twins. She has been presumed dead since the day her father was killed eight years ago."
Elia's eyes widened at that.
"Does that make you the heir to the North?"
Arya looked down. "I don't know. I have three siblings who should come before me in line, but I don't yet know if any of them remain alive."
Elia nodded and looked down. She wasn't sure what to say to that. Any other day this revelation would have been huge, but with her mother gone she just couldn't find it in herself to get worked up, even if she was sitting feet away from the likely Queen of the North.
"Elia… there's something else I need to discuss with you."
"Hmmm?"
"With what happened today… it might be time for me to leave. I cannot risk being found out for who I am – not when I am so far from my own people, not when some Queen I know nothing about might see me as a nothing more than an opportunity to forge alliances through marriage. For Joana's sake, I must get to the North. Your mother…" Arya paused and composed herself for a second before going on, "your mother asked me before we left Dorne if I would take you with me when I left. The choice is yours, I won't force you either way, and I cannot tell you what awaits us, but if you want to come I'd be grateful for your company."
"You're just going to leave? Why not return to Dorne? How can you expect me to be parted with my sisters now that our mother—" Elia began to say in a flurry of anxious thought, springing to her feet. But before she could finish her words died in her throat as a screeching noise of some ungodly creature came from beyond the clearing. She whipped around, drawing her still battle-stained weapon and moving into a fighting stance as Arya rose to her feet behind her, drawing Needle with Joana still clutched to her breast.
Aegon
As he made his way into the clearing that the terrified maid had pointed to Aegon steeled himself to confront the woman who had stolen his glory. When he thought back on it later he couldn't quite put his finger on what sort of a woman he'd been expecting to see, but whatever his assumption had been the Meria Snow he saw was far from it.
He'd rounded the hedge to see a lengthy swarthy teenage girl, crouched low in a water dancer's stance with her blade drawn. This had to be one of Obara's younger sisters – the one named for his mother on whose behalf Snow had killed the Kingslayer. She stared at him in surprise but still did not lower her weapon. He almost had to smile at that – his cheeky Dornish cousins, always so indifferent to decorum. He regretted that they would have to meet this way.
But then his eyes flicked past the girl and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. Standing behind the Sand snake was a dark-haired woman – slight but strongly built with more than enough feminine curves to tempt a man to sin. In one hand she clutched a babe to her bare, cream colored breast. In the other she held her sword at the ready – still stained with the blood of Jamie Lannister – the most famed night in Westeros. Her grey eyes burned into him over set brows, promising violence if he took a step closer.
Seven help him who was this woman? She looked like a Goddess from a faith much older and more primal than his own. A matriarch of war, breastfeeding on the battlefield with the blood of her enemies still fresh upon her clothes. He'd never been so stunned upon meeting any person in his life, not his Aunt whose features matched his with an eerie perfection, nor his brother whose existence he hadn't truly believed until he'd landed in front of him. No this woman, she bewitched him, body and soul.
"Can I help you, sir?" she said, her voice wary but respectful. She clearly knew who he was, and would not move to anger him, though her face showed that she was none too pleased with the interruption. She turned from his slightly, detaching the child from her breast and deftly tying up her chemise with one hand, though her jerkin remained unlaced invitingly.
He shook himself slightly, reminding himself why he was there, and straightened, fixing her with what he hoped was his most regal and intimidating gaze.
"Is it true, that you took it upon yourself to kill the Kingslayer?"
She gave a delicate half-shrug, and set the child in her arms down on the ground beside her.
"Yes, it is true."
"And where you aware, madam of the injury that Jamie Lannister had done to my family?"
"I was, yes my liege, and so I stepped in before he could do any more."
It was a fair answer, but a cheeky one coming from a Northern Bastard speaking to a prince. He'd already decided though that he wouldn't be killing this woman after all. No, from the moment he locked eyes on her all thoughts of violence had faded. All he could think of now was bending her over the boulder she was hovering behind and fucking her until she screamed his name. He smiled to himself, he was a kind and just ruler, and so he would allow Meria Snow to do her penance on her back… or better yet, on her knees, with those silver-grey eyes staring up at him in supplication. His cock jumped at the thought.
He closed the distance between them in one stride, and pulled her against him.
"Well, my girl that was quite presumptuous of you, though I am grateful to you for saving my cousin. Still, you've a debt to be paid, for taking the Kingslayer's life when it belonged to your betters. My cousin will watch your babe, but now you must come with—"
Something struck him in the back of the head, and the world around him fell into darkness.
When he awoke, the sun had dipped low in the sky. He tore out of the clearing and called for a search of the entire encampment but it was to no avail. The women were gone.
