How long had it been? She came back to her body and took stock, her vision was blurred, her throat raw, and her cheeks wet. She ached everywhere, sitting on the floor had done her no favors, her back, her neck, her hips all throbbed. She calculated the passage of time by comparing the candles on the table to her last memory of them, they were significantly shorter. Likewise, the brazier was almost out, and the sky was much darker than it had been before Arya arrived. All of these clues were telling, but none spoke louder than the realization that she wasn't crying. She'd run out of tears, meaning it had to have been quite a while.
Her legs were weak and unsteady when she finally stood. She washed her face and dried her eyes, hoping to conceal at least some of her distress. The last thing she needed now was to draw the attention of someone who would ask a lot of questions. She straightened out her dress before opening the door. It didn't help much but allowances could be made, she was having a rough night.
In the hall she turned her head to the right and then the left. It was empty, no patrolling guards, no staggering drunks trying to find the proper door, she was alone. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Guilt bubbled up within her. She shouldn't be doing this. She should wait until the morning. It was early morning and any reasonable person in the castle was sleeping. She knew that, she knew, but knocked anyway because she was selfish and desperate. She couldn't carry the burden of what Arya told her alone.
While she waited for someone to answer her stomach rolled and she was nearly sick. Could she turn back? Should she? Probably, but…
The door opened, ending any thoughts of retreat. "Daenerys, are you alright?"
"No," she admitted.
"What's happening?"
"I need your help," she said as she fought the desire to crumple into a ball and sob.
"What's wrong?"
Nothing about this had been easy, but the hardest words she had to utter were these two. "It's Arya," she confessed.
That was all Missandei needed, she stepped out into the hall, forcing Daenerys to move back to accommodate her. She didn't seem the least bit bothered by the fact that she was wearing only a robe. Before she closed the door, she spoke in Valyrian to her lover. "I'll be back in a bit."
She felt bad enough when she thought she'd be waking them, but to realize they were awake and likely busy before she interrupted made everything worse. It wasn't uncommon for Grey Worm to spend the night in the handmaiden's quarters. He had a bed in one of the barracks with the rest of the Unsullied, but there was no privacy there, even for a soldier of his rank. Missandei was afforded a small room just down the hall from Daenerys's and she didn't mind sharing with her lover. It had been a closet once, before it was emptied out so Missandei would never be too far from the Princess she served. It was an arrangement Daenerys never needed to take advantage of before.
"I'm sorry," she said as her tears started again. "I shouldn't have…" Turning away she was stopped by Missandei gripped her arm, locking her in place. She mustered up another attempt. "Go back to Grey Worm and I'll see you in the morning." When her friend didn't appear convinced, she added, "It can wait until then."
"Come." Missandei gestured. Her hand left Daenerys's wrist, but only to take her hand. She escorted Daenerys back to her chambers.
"You don't…" she stopped, knowing Missandei wouldn't be swayed. She bypassed all others and went to her strongest argument. "Grey Worm will…"
"Grey Worm will understand, he's about to fall asleep anyway," Missandei finished for her. Daenerys didn't know if she was lying to spare her or if it was true, but it didn't change much either way. She was undeserving of a friend like Missandei. She remained with Daenerys even after the Princess offered the slave her freedom. She stayed when she didn't need to, because she was loyal, good, and kind. It made her the obvious choice when Daenerys needed to confide in someone. It made her a horrible friend, dumping her problems on Missandei like this, but who else could she rely on?
"What's this about Arya?" Missandei asked gently. As she spoke, she closed and locked the door. The audible click was enough to make her dizzy, even from several feet away. What was happening to her?
She didn't miss how dark eyes swept the room, searching for the woman who was missing. "She's not here," Daenerys confirmed, feeling a mixture of sadness and anger.
"Okay. She was when I left," Missandei noted as she guided Daenerys to a seat.
They sat together in the rapidly darkening room. Daenerys tried to find the right words to explain everything that happened. "You know that secret Arya has been talking about the last couple of days?"
"She never mentioned it to me," Missandei informed her. Daenerys was immediately dejected. So much for hoping they could skip to the important parts. She'd need to start at the beginning. "You spoke of it however," Missandei said, ending Daenerys's panic as abruptly as it began. "Did she tell you what it was?"
"Yes." Arya had definitely told her.
"And is that why she isn't here?"
"Yes," she said again.
"What was the secret?" Missandei pushed gently.
She hesitated and hated herself for it. Why was she behaving like this? She already knew. The damage was done. Once she started speaking the words rushed out with limited pauses between them. "She's not a Sand, she's not a bastard, she's not from Dorne at all!"
"She's not? How is that possible?"
"Her name is Arya… Stark," she confessed as her crying intensified. She somehow managed to sound much more composed than she felt, a monumental achievement all things considered.
It took several moments for Daenerys to notice and understand Missandei's lack of comprehension. If she'd been thinking clearly, she would have remembered telling Missandei about the secret Arya had to share and she would have known the name 'Stark' wouldn't mean anything to the foreign-born woman. Missandei knew little about Westerosi history, she didn't know who the Starks were, and couldn't grasp the significance of Arya admitting to being one of them. Daenerys wished she could be oblivious too.
"The Starks are traitors," she explained, "years ago, the Starks joined with another house and tried to steal the throne from my father. It was in the final battle that Rhaegar's legs were injured."
"What happened to them? These Starks?"
It was only natural for Missandei to have questions. This one however made her stop and think. What had happened to the Starks? She was a young girl, but even so, her father still called her to the throne room on occasion. She told Missandei what she remembered. "After the war Arya's father returned home and served as Warden in the North for a few more years, then my father replaced him with another Northern Lord more loyal." She cringed as she pictured the Flayed Man on the Bolton sigil, it never failed to make her skin crawl.
"So, they resettled in Dorne?" Missandei assumed.
"I don't know." A memory surfaced of a passionate Arya speaking about her life, 'sent to Dorne to live as a foster,' was the phrase she used. "I don't think so, she said she is a foster."
"What is a foster?"
Again, she paused. For a long moment she struggled to think of the right way to explain such an unusual idea. "It's like a forced adoption," she generalized. She could see Missandei didn't understand, so she kept going. "If a nobleman's crimes are so evil that he is ruled unfit to raise his children, they are taken from him and sent to another family to be raised, usually in another kingdom."
"How horrible," Missandei commented, looking as offended as her words would suggest.
"It isn't meant to be," Daenerys defended, "it's so the children have the chance to grow up untainted by their birth families." As she spoke, she knew she wasn't providing Missandei with a fair representation. Fostering may have begun as a selfless practice but in the centuries since it had developed into a tool used by nobles to punish one another. For a second time she was reminded of something Arya told her in their heated exchange, she 'spent years in the Water Gardens scrubbing chamber pots and washing bed sheets.' Obviously, Prince Doran hadn't concerned himself with giving Arya a proper example to learn from, instead he chose to saddle her with the life of a servant. That suggested the reason she was made a foster was retribution, but who would seek to harm Arya? She wasn't even born when her father tried to overthrow the King. Perhaps the Boltons seized power and sent Arya away as a show of force. As her thoughts wandered, she knew she was leaving out one likely culprit. Arya had feared her father, said her family was destroyed in her castle, so did that mean Aerys was responsible? Did he send her away?
"Still," Missandei maintained, "it sounds cruel for the child, regardless of the reasons."
Daenerys could agree with that. "Yeah I'm sure it is." She pictured a young Arya scrubbing chamber pots and felt sympathy.
"Is being a foster shameful, more shameful than being a bastard? She took the name Sand willingly, I do not understand why she would."
Missandei was right, as she typically was. "She feared my father would kill her," she said as the urge to vomit threatened again.
"Would he?"
That was the question, wasn't it? If her father did send Arya to Dorne, if he did destroy her family as Arya claimed, was that not enough? Would he demand more from the Northern girl? She wanted to rush to her father's defense, to insist Aerys was not capable of harming an innocent woman, but Daenerys knew better. Her father had no problem with killing, she'd seen it, and women and children were not spared his wrath. Had it been anyone else asking and Daenerys probably would have danced around the issue and replied with some vague half-truth, but with Missandei she could be honest. "I think so," she acknowledged, avoiding the concerned gaze aimed at her. "Father hates the Starks and blames them for what happened to Rhaegar."
"Arya's father led this revolt then?" Missandei summarized, seeking confirmation.
"He did, along with another man, Robert Baratheon."
"Does your father hate this Robert as well?"
"He's dead," Daenerys remarked without feeling. "He was killed in the battle where Rhaegar was hurt."
Missandei pondered that for a time and then said, "You said earlier it was the final battle in the war."
"It was."
"If that's true then perhaps Arya's father was not the leader you think him to be. If he was an equal partner, why did he not continue fighting after his friend was killed?"
She didn't have an answer to that. She was a child then, there was a lot about the war she didn't know. Was it possible Ned Stark gave up because he saw he couldn't win? Yes, but it was also possible that Missandei had a valid point and he wasn't leading anything. All she knew for certain was that Robert was killed, Rhaegar nearly was, and when the rebels disbanded their army the Stark returned to the North. Anything else would be pure speculation on Daenerys's part. "I don't know."
Accepting Daenerys's lack of knowledge, Missandei moved on. "Do you blame Arya for lying? If the King would have killed her, aren't you glad she lied?"
Angry and hurt as she was, she didn't wish Arya dead. Still, the lie hurt. Her heart didn't care about her motives or her intent, it only concerned itself with the end result, and for Daenerys that was pain. "I don't know," she mumbled, one more time. She didn't want Arya killed, but she was unwilling to forgive. The wound was still too fresh.
"Don't you though?" Missandei challenged. "When the King was going to kill Arya for refusing him, you spoke up to save her life. You didn't plan to, you hadn't considered the consequences, you just did it, in the heat of that moment. How you felt then is likely how Arya felt when the King asked her name."
Another thing Arya said popped into her mind as Missandei compared their circumstances. 'I never wanted to lie to you, only him.' "Maybe."
"Did she lie about anything else?"
"I don't know," she repeated bitterly. Missandei was trying to help and Daenerys was being difficult. She amended her statement, offering up a little more, "She said she didn't, but how can I believe her?"
"Did she ask you to believe her?"
"Not exactly," Daenerys recalled.
"What did she say?" Missandei prodded when Daenerys provided nothing further.
"She said to trust myself, to trust my instincts."
"And?" Missandei asked pointedly.
"And nothing?!" Daenerys erupted. "She lied to me. She lied to us. We were her friends. I care about her, I wanted her to…" She stopped short of revealing everything she wanted Arya to be a part of, but Missandei already knew. "I don't know if I can get passed that."
Missandei's kind face hardened a bit but she didn't dispute Daenerys's feelings. She just posed another of those questions the Princess wasn't prepared for. "Will you tell your father?"
Maybe it was naïve, but she hadn't considered telling anyone, other than Missandei. Arya hadn't asked her not to, but that wasn't the same as wanting everyone to know. If Daenerys shared Arya's secrets it would undoubtedly lead to her death Would she be required to be there? Could she sit and watch as Arya died by her father's hand or on his order? After a night filled with so many unanswerable questions, this one came easy. No. No, she couldn't let Arya be murdered like that. Her lie may have ruined their relationship, but it didn't merit death. "No, I'll keep her secret, and I'll ask you to do the same."
Missandei nodded, a solemn expression on her face. "Not a word," she vowed.
They sat in the quiet room and somehow it was more uncomfortable than Missandei's soft spoken, deep-reaching questions. She scrubbed her hands down her face and groaned. How had this night gotten so fucked up? She was supposed to be spending her first night with Arya and now she didn't even know if they were still friends. What had gone wrong? Without removing her hands from her face, she called out to Missandei in need. "What do I do?"
"What do you want to do?"
Though it sounded quite simple, it wasn't. In the moment Arya's lie seemed insurmountable, but now she wasn't sure. Missandei's perspective helped a great deal. Daenerys wasn't ashamed to admit that she never would have seen the similarities between Arya lying to save her life and Daenerys defending her for the same reason, if Missandei hadn't drawn her attention to it. Was wanting not to die such a crime? She already decided she didn't want Arya harmed. She wasn't going to tell her father, or Rhaegar or anyone else, but there was a lot more yet to be resolved. Could they get back to how it had been? Did Daenerys even want to? Could she care about Arya Stark the way she did the non-existent Arya Sand?
Missandei had more. "It's understandable you were hurt by this," she began, "anyone would be. I think even Arya understands why you're angry, but what matters most is what you do next."
"You're right," Daenerys agreed. She reflected on all the times Arya feared her secret would unravel them, and how Daenerys readily reassured her. Arya had been trying to warn her, but she wouldn't listen. With a jolt she heard Arya's parting words in her ears. 'I'll never regret telling you the truth.' Why was that? Why tell her anything? She didn't have to, doing so was an incredible risk.
"Only you can decide. Arya says you should listen to yourself and I agree with her. Do that now," the handmaiden encouraged, "what do you want to do? You have many options." To prove it she began listing them. "You could forgive Arya or send her back to Dorne. If you asked the Prince for help, I think he'd rename Jorah your guard, and we both know the knight would welcome it."
She didn't doubt that. Jorah would love it, and Rhaegar would be equally thrilled, but what would become of Arya? What would people say if they learned Daenerys replaced her? Would it damage her standing as a soldier? The easiest solution would be to send her back to Sunspear under some pretense and be done with it, so why couldn't she get the words out? "She'd be happier there," she said to justify what she was contemplating. In truth, it was cruel asking Arya to stay if she had bad memories of the castle.
Even without context Missandei had no trouble keeping pace. She knew where, there' was without being told. "Perhaps, but I don't think she's as eager to return as she once was."
Hearing that, she had to wonder if Missandei knew more about Arya's feelings than she did. "Why do you say that?"
With an indulgent smile Missandei clarified her meaning. "She cares for you. I know you're too upset to see that right now, and that's fine, but it's true."
"She lied to me!" Daenerys reminded her fiercely, as if the handmaiden had forgotten why they were there. "She lied, so how can I believe anything she says? How do I know if you're right?" By the end it was less angry outburst and more desperate plea. She needed to know how to decide if Arya could be believed. She needed to know if she cared, or if it was all some twisted game? She couldn't rely on Arya to be honest, and Daenerys was too confused to be helpful, her emotions were chaotic, swinging from one extreme to the other before going back again. This left Missandei as the lone voice of reason. Daenerys was counting on her to guide her to the right path.
"She lied," Missandei admitted, holding up one finger on her right hand. "Did she lie about anything else? Did she ever do anything hurtful or harmful, did she offend you or belittle you?"
Why was she asking? She already knew the answer, she was there for most of it. She tried to communicate with a stare but Missandei refused to budge, demanding Daenerys reply aloud. "No."
"Okay, how about good things? Did Arya ever make you smile, or do something nice for you? Did she give you a gift, or support you when you needed it?"
Just like last time, Missandei already knew. Yes, Arya had done all of those things for her and so many more. "I get it Missandei," she said with an exaggerated huff of annoyance. "I understand what you're saying, but I still don't know if I can forgive her."
"I'm not saying you should," she clarified, "that is up to you, only you know how you feel. I'm simply saying that one mistake shouldn't make you forget all the good." Daenerys already told her that she got the message, but Missandei wasn't done. "I wouldn't want to be judged only on my mistakes, and you wouldn't either. Don't we owe Arya the same courtesy?"
Although she said 'we', Daenerys knew she meant 'you.' Daenerys's past was littered with errors, poor choices, missteps and stupidity, how would she feel if that was all people saw, all people considered when they decided who she was? It would be unfair, but what Missandei failed to account for was that not all moments were equal. One significant mistake could undo a lifetime of good deeds. She didn't know if Arya's lie qualified as significant, or if it erased all the good she brought into Daenerys's life, but it was enough to give her doubts. She tried to express her jumble of conflicted emotions. "I care about her, I wanted to be with her, but her lie wasn't small, it wasn't meaningless, who she is, where she comes from, it matters."
"If she hadn't lied would you have a problem being with Arya?"
"What do you mean?" She didn't follow Missandei's logic. If Arya didn't lie, then she wouldn't be here. The realization was shocking. She accepted that her father wouldn't have been merciful if Arya told him the truth in the Water Gardens but she didn't allow her mind to venture beyond that point. She didn't consider how different her life would be if Arya was removed. With all of the memories Missandei dug up still there, she thought about all that wouldn't have happened without Arya. There were big things, like Harvest Time, receiving plans for her ship, and meeting her niece and nephew, but there were just as many simple, deeply personal moment too, like each and every kiss they shared, or watching Arya stand up to Tywin. It was Arya and no one else that convinced Rhaegar to let her leave the keep. All the days they spent in the city, all the memories they made at the port, the orphanage or just wandering through the market, she would have missed out on it all if Arya had been killed the day they met. She would have missed it all if Arya didn't lie.
Unaware of her revelations, Missandei continued trying to work through the problem. "If she just said she was Arya and not Arya Sand, would you be upset? It wouldn't have been a lie."
"I don't know," she mumbled, still reeling over where her racing thoughts had carried her. "I guess not, but she didn't say her name was Arya, she said she was Arya Sand."
"You said that a lot tonight," Missandei noted. ";I don't know,' you've said that many times."
She definitely had, but she didn't see what that had to do with anything. "And?"
"Whether you send her away or not, Arya won't be in King's Landing forever. By your own admission there is a lot you don't know, a lot of questions you still have, would it not be better to get the answers while you still can?"
"Can I? Can I believe anything she says?"
"I don't know," Missandei retorted, smirking as she used those three words to illicit a reaction. They did. Daenerys chuckled and shook her head. They returned to the serious topics before them. "I don't know if it'll change anything, but I know you should talk. She heard you out after Daario, do the same for her."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Talk to her," Missandei recommended, "when you're not angry, when you are ready to listen Ask her all the questions you have, tell her how you feel and learn how she feels. You can decide what to believe or if it changes anything later, but first you need to know everything. If our friendship was going to end, I'd want to be certain the both of us did everything we could to try and save it before we let it go. You'll regret not giving Arya the same chance, I think."
She was tempted to say she knew everything she needed to, but with all the things Arya had done for her still trapped in her head, her frustrations dulled. Add to that Missandei's comment about Daario and Daenerys knew what she needed to do. Dornish or Northern, Arya had done enough good to earn a few more minutes of the Princess's time. She couldn't promise it would change anything, but it would probably benefit the both of them to finish what they'd started.
"Okay," Daenerys relented.
"Okay?" she repeated, skeptical of what she meant by it.
"You're right, she was my friend once, maybe she still is, I don't know, but I'll never find out if we don't talk about it."
Her goodbye to Missandei was quick, littered with gratitude and apologies. She still wasn't happy that she'd interrupted their night and stole Missandei away from her lover, but the handmaiden provided wisdom and perspective Daenerys couldn't get elsewhere. She listened to Daenerys, didn't dismiss her opinions and asked the right questions to help her think beyond the anger and hurt. She'd find a way to thank Missandei for this – maybe she could arrange another few days away for her and Grey Worm, - she wasn't sure, but she'd think of something.
Alone again, the bed was calling. She was exhausted. She was halfway there when her shuffling feet stopped, and she closed her eyes. Going to sleep with so much unresolved felt wrong, but she didn't know if she was strong enough to endure the conversation they needed to have.
The excuses she'd need to justify waiting came quickly. Arya was probably sleeping, talking to her now would involve sneaking into the barracks and getting past dozens of Unsullied to find her bed and wake her up. Even if she could do all that there was no guarantee that Arya wanted to talk to her. She could refuse to answer Daenerys's questions. If that happened, there was little the Targaryen could do to compel her.
She got another couple of feet closer before she stopped again. Would Arya really send her away? Would she hold a grudge? Seconds before she gave Arya the benefit of the doubt, she was reminded that the Arya she cared about wasn't real. Arya Sand, the one Daenerys was beginning to fall for, she would never act vindictively, but a Stark, who knew what she would do?
Around and around she went in a never-ending cycle. She could know how Arya felt unless she asked her, but if she did ask, how could she trust the answers? Arya insisted her only lie was her name and that everything that came after was genuine. In the hours since Arya spilled her secret, Daenerys gave up on the idea that Arya came to harm her. She was right when she said she had plenty of chances if that was her intention. She wasn't ready to admit this to her guard yet, but she could say it to herself. She'd been wrong when she accused Arya of being everything Rhaegar said she was. She didn't come for revenge, so why did she come? She claimed it was to protect Daenerys, and all other things aside, she'd done that. She saved Missandei and Daenerys in the desert, she saved Missandei on the street, why would the daughter of a traitor do that?
Huffing in frustrated exhaustion she threw up her hands. The questions would still be there in the morning. She removed her dress and left it where it fell. She took off her bracelets and dropped them next to the silk. She'd clean the mess in the morning, for now she wanted to sleep.
Safely in bed under the covers she expected oblivion would come quickly. She yearned for a dreamless sleep where she didn't have to think about any of this. With her eyes closed, she counted her breaths and waited for the nothingness. She rolled over onto her other side, hoping the change of position would help. It didn't.
For nearly an hour she fought to find peace, growing more agitated the longer it evaded her. The change happened when she rolled onto her back, an uncommon position for her to try to sleep. As the back of her head pressed directly into the pillow, she felt it. Immediately she rolled toward the nearest candle to get a measure of light and then she reached up for the ribbon in her hair. The grey silk had been a gift from Arya, binding for the plans of her ship. Missandei was the one who thought to put it in her hair and Daenerys had worn it since. In addition to being cute, she used it to show Arya how special she thought it was, not only the gift she received, but the woman who gave it to her. That had been hours earlier, not years, and yet so much had changed.
She reached to untie the ribbon and free her hair, but her hand stilled before it found the knot. What was she doing? Her talk with Arya couldn't wait, it was bad enough she let her leave when she did. She should have stopped her then, yelled until she could think and then conversed like an adult. Missandei was right, she did have questions and she wasn't going to lay them to rest in this bed alone.
Her body tried to caution her against her new plan. She was yawning before she had her dress back on, but she didn't care. This needed to happen. She'd suffer tiredness tomorrow if necessary, as long as she had some clarity.
R-C
She put the sword down on the bench next to her long ago. It wasn't going to get any sharper than it was. She considered walking to the Godswood to say some prayers, but she wasn't motivated enough to move. King's Landing didn't have an authentic heart tree anyway, so she didn't think she'd find what she craved there. She didn't need to kneel amongst the trees to pray, if that was a requirement, she would have stopped the practice after leaving Winterfell. No one in Dorne worshiped the Old Gods that she did. She decided she'd think of her family right where she was, right in front of the barracks. It was as good a place as any. She abandoned the bench and knelt in the dirt. Her parents, her brothers, her sister. She prayed for safety, for the ones who still needed it, she prayed for peace for the ones who were already gone. She asked that someone far greater than her watch over those who remained. She apologized for the girl she'd been and begged for forgiveness for her many mistakes. Those words were mainly for her sister. She and Sansa hadn't gotten along very well as girls. They didn't enjoy the same things or share the same friends. They were as different as any two sisters could be, but Arya loved her. and she wished she told her so more often. In fact. as they left Winterfell for the last time she and Sansa were in a fight. It was petty and childish, and they would've gotten past it, if only they had more time. Sansa had encouraged her friends to call Arya names, so in retaliation Arya refused to speak to her. She held the grudge the entire way to the capital, right up until it didn't matter anymore and by then it was too late. She didn't get to say goodbye or tell Sansa she forgave her, she didn't get to say anything. They were separated, two Starks going to two different kingdoms. Kneeling in the dirt she tried to mend things between her and her lost sister, fearing it could be her final chance. Once that was done, she moved on to their parents. "I hope you know that I always tried to make you proud," she said, no longer content only thinking the words. "I wasn't successful all the time, or even often, but I never wanted to dishonor you or our family. I tried to be a good person, to do the right things, like you would want me to. I remember everything you taught me. I'll see you soon."
She stood up and dusted off her knees. She was already eying the bench when she heard someone behind her. She turned as the woman spoke, "That was beautiful, who were you talking to?"
Arya's heart may have stopped in her chest, but it made up for the pause by doubling in speed. Daenerys was here? Why had she come? She was nervous, her smile was forced, and her hands were folded in front of her. Tension was radiating off of her like the rays of a midday sun, but she appeared unharmed, so why seek the guard out? She'd been furious when she learned who Arya really was, and she didn't think that changed in the hours since.
Greedily she stared openly at the Princess. She was pale and had been crying, the redness around her eyes gave her away, but she remained the epitome of beauty in Arya's opinion.
"What were you doing?" she asked, working to keep her voice from sounding too loud or harsh.
"Saying goodbye to my family," she admitted freely. Daenerys knew she was a Stark, she had no more reason to lie.
She raised an eyebrow and took a look around the yard. "You were speaking to yourself, were you not?"
Gone was the anger from earlier, now when she spoke, Arya heard the curiosity she had come to admire in Daenerys. She always wanted to learn, to understand, she was fascinated by anything new, and eager to soak up any knowledge she could. "Talking to the dead requires prayer Princess, I know no other way to do it."
Arya couldn't make sense of the emotions she saw cross Daenerys's face. She was surprised, then pained and lastly saddened. "They are dead?"
Was a Targaryen seriously asking a Stark that? "Most of them, as I'm sure you know."
Daenerys was immediately defensive, putting her hand on one hip. "And how would I know that?"
"Because they died here Daenerys!" she snapped, turning away before she said something she'd regret.
With her back to the royal she heard a sob. "They did?"
Daenerys was a lot of things, but cruel wasn't one of them. She wouldn't track Arya down and inquire about her family, if she already knew what became of them. It wasn't all that surprising, the Targaryen empire was built on dead enemies and buried secrets, and more than a few of them involved Starks. Since arriving in King's Landing Arya came to realize that lies were as valid a currency as gold dragons to those who held power. Everyone was lying to someone about something and being lied to in return. Rhaegar was lying to Aemon about who his mother was and where he came from, but he was also being lied to by Aerys, who told his son the Starks were dead. Daenerys never being told about what happened to her family wasn't all that unpredictable.
Arya was at a crossroads. She had a choice to make. If they continued this conversation, she would need to tell Daenerys everything. She held back before, to spare her, to avoid damaging one of the good relationships she had, but that wouldn't be possible if they kept going. If Daenerys wanted answers, Arya would need to go all the way back to the beginning, to Lyanna and Rhaegar and it would have repercussions for the Princess. Could she do that? Should she?
She turned back and found Daenerys standing much closer than she had been. She didn't need to wonder anymore everything was visible in her eyes. "You really didn't know, how is that possible?"
"Will… Will you tell me?" she asked softly.
She countered with, "Do you really want to know?" Before Daenerys could respond, she elaborated. "There is history between your family and mine, most of it bad. I have no more lies for you Daenerys, I meant what I said, everything that came after my name was the truth. If you want to hear the whole story, I'll tell it, but there are reasons your brother and your father don't talk about it."
"What do you mean?" Daenerys fired back, getting agitated. "What does Rhaegar have to do with this, I thought you feared my father would kill you?"
"They probably would have argued over who got the privilege," Arya quipped sarcastically before she got to the main point. "Rhaegar has everything to do with it; Robert, the rebellion, why it started, what happened to my family, all of it."
"I don't understand," she confessed.
"I can tell you why Rhaegar refuses to discuss Aemon's mother. I can give you her name, but only if you want it."
Her anger gone again, she was too wide eyed and bright for the early hour. "Of course I want to hear that, why wouldn't I? Aemon's been dying to know for years."
"Perhaps the lie is better for him that the truth," she proposed.
"He doesn't lie," Daenerys corrected, "he just doesn't speak about her."
"I can, if you want me to," she offered, "but I need to warn you, it's not a happy tale. Your family and mine have many reasons to hate, on both sides." She stopped and let that sink in. "I'll be gone soon," whether it was Dorne or dead, she didn't know, that depended almost entirely on Daenerys.
"Why does that matter?"
"It matters because once you know the truth it may change how you look at your brother, your father, his Small Council, it may change a lot and I don't want to do that unless you're sure."
"What are you saying?" Daenerys shouted, angry again. She was tiring of the riddles, but Arya was trying to do right, trying to give her a choice.
"I'm saying most of what you know about my family, about what happened to us, about why it happened, it's all lies Daenerys. Your brother and your father lied to you, lied to Aemon and everyone else. I'll tell you the truth, all of it, if you want it, but you can say no."
"No?" she repeated, like she didn't understand the meaning.
"You can tell your father who I am, and I'll take what I know to my grave in the throne room. You could tell Rhaegar and he'd probably run me through himself. If you don't tell them, I could hold my tongue until I got back on the ship and you'd never see me again. What I know will be painful to hear, so maybe you shouldn't. You've had enough pain Daenerys I don't want to give you more."
"That's not for you to decide, it's not for my father to decide or Rhaegar. I can make my own decisions!" she roared, never more of a Dragon to Arya than right then. They were probably waking the sleeping Unsullied, but she trusted none would come to investigate.
"Yes, you can," she agreed, "which is why I want you to think about it, really think. Is the truth worth all you stand to lose?"
"If what you're saying is true, I've been lied to my whole life, about Aemon, the war, I need to know what happened. I can't know how I feel, until I hear everything."
"Fine." A part of her knew as soon as she gave Daenerys the chance to learn about Aemon's mother, she wouldn't refuse it. She held out her hand and then pulled it back, aware she probably didn't hold too much warmth for the soldier right now. "Let's go speak somewhere private, where we won't be bothered."
Determined to see her choice through to the end, Daenerys squared her shoulders and nodded stiffly. "After you."
R-C
They found an unused bedroom and locked the door. Before they got that far, Daenerys stopped by her chambers and left a note explaining where she'd gone. She didn't want Missandei to worry when she discovered her missing. It was a sentiment Arya not only agreed with, but respected.
They sat down, Arya on the end of the bed, Daenerys in a nearby chair. She got right to it. "Who is Aemon's mother?"
"To understand that, you need to go back to the beginning." She took a deep breath and steeled herself for the painful memories she was going to unleash. "Why were you told Robert Baratheon went to war against your family?"
"He wanted the throne," Daenerys answered immediately. "He wanted to usurp my father and take his place. He wanted to be King."
"Why though?" Arya pressed. "Why? Why then? Do you know what made him act?"
Daenerys as unimpressed by the question. "Money, power, greed, lands, titles, the throne, the list was probably endless."
"For other men it might've been, but Robert Baratheon wasn't motivated by any of that. He fought the war, and ultimately died, for her."
"Who?"
"Lyanna Stark, my aunt, and Aemon's mother."
The revelation about Aemon's mother overshadowed everything else for a moment. Daenerys smiled, as anyone would after finally finding a piece of a puzzle she'd been searching years for. It didn't last. however. "Your aunt? How did my brother and your aunt know one another?"
"They didn't really." She stopped there and decided to give Daenerys one final escape route. "We can stop here," she said, "I told you what you really wanted to know, is it enough?"
"We haven't talked about you yet," Daenerys replied, after giving the question some consideration. "If there is more about you, about what happened and why you lied, I need to hear it. I need to understand, or…"
"Or?"
"I'm not sure I'll be able to forgive you."
Arya was touched forgiveness was even a possibility given everything. She wouldn't hold her breath waiting for it, but it was a nice dream to have. "Are you sure?" she verified.
"You don't need to worry about me," she snapped.
"I'll always worry about you Daenerys, always."
The anger melted from her face and she looked like the Daenerys who had smiled most of the day until Arya's admission upended everything. "You can tell me. I want to know."
"My father was Lyanna's brother," she explained. "As a boy he was raised with Robert Baratheon, they were friends, close as kin even. When they came of age, Robert went to Storm's End, and my father returned to Winterfell. He wasn't a Lord then he was a second-born son. He had an elder brother who would rule after their father."
She could see the questions burning in Daenerys's eyes, so she nodded to encourage her to voice one. "Your father was Lord of Winterfell, I remember that much. When I was a girl, he was the Warden wasn't he?"
"He was," she confirmed, picturing her father in her mind. "Before we get to that, you asked me how your brother and my aunt met, right?"
"Mmhmm," she hummed.
"By all accounts, they met at the tourney at Harrenhal. Your brother won the joust and was given a wreath of flowers to celebrate his victory. According to what I heard, he bypassed Elia who was sitting in plain view and gave the prize to Lyanna instead."
"Really?" Daenerys checked. "How do you know it's true?"
"That's how my father said it happened, and Oberyn and Elia spoke of it the same way." She wasn't at all bothered by Daenerys's lack of belief.
"So, they met then and began an affair?"
"No," Arya said quietly. This was going to be difficult, but she promised she wouldn't lie to Daenerys again, and the Princess claimed she wanted the truth. "Lyanna was pledged to Robert, they were going to be married."
"If that's true," Daenerys began, taking the time to put the pieces together, "then how is Aemon here?"
She swallowed hard. She wanted to go to Daenerys and comfort her, but she would be unwelcome. "Not long after the tourney, Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna."
Suddenly Daenerys was on her feet. "No!" she yelled. "My brother would never do such a thing. He wouldn't."
Arya waited patiently for Daenerys to calm down. She remained standing with her arms crossed over her chest, defiantly staring at the accusing Stark. "Lyanna disappeared and after everything that happened, people began to whisper that your brother had a hand in it. My grandfather Rickard Stark and his heir Brandon rode for King's Landing, they requested an audience with Rhaegar. Aside from the rumors there was no evidence against your brother, so they went to ask him directly."
"What happened?" Daenerys asked warily, lowering herself back into her chair.
"He wasn't in the capital when they arrived, but your father was. He invited them in and greeted them," she said, starting with the tolerable parts. "They asked their questions, things grew heated and your father ordered them executed." That telling was bad enough, there was no reason Daenerys needed to hear the cruel way her grandfather and uncle were killed. It wouldn't help anyone, least of all Daenerys.
"What?" she asked after a loud gasp.
"He was probably lost in his madness," Arya said, making allowances for the Mad King to try and spare his daughter grief. Arya chose to believe Aerys was in a fit when he killed them, because it was easier to comprehend than a fully rational man doing what he did. "No one knows for sure, maybe he took offense when they suggested Rhaegar knew what happened, maybe it was something else, either way, they both died that day, and my father became the Lord of Winterfell."
Daenerys nodded, clearly connecting that fact with her earlier question. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea."
"It's alright."
Daenerys wasn't so quick to let herself off the hook. "I got angry when you told me you lied to me, but I didn't let you explain yourself. If I had, maybe we could have avoided all this."
"It's okay," Arya assured her. "I'm okay, and you're okay." She took another break, giving Daenerys time to truly take in the information being presented. "Do you want to stop?"
"I want to hear about you, about what happened to you, how you ended up in Dorne and what happened to your family. You said it happened here."
With a stoic nod, she confirmed it did. "I will tell you anything you want to know, I promise, but what happened to me and my family won't make sense until you know everything that came before."
"Okay," Daenerys said looking pained. She couldn't tell if it was what she'd already heard that upset her or what she feared was yet to come.
"Word of the executions spread quickly and people all across Westeros took it as proof. To them, there was no need to kill a father and son seeking a missing woman unless he had something to hide. People assumed your father murdered them to protect Rhaegar. Not long after, Robert and my father met. They still wanted Lyanna back, but they knew they wouldn't be able to defeat the Targaryen armies alone, so they gathered allies."
"This part I know."
"All the Northern Houses joined my father, as well as most of those from the Stormlands. Much of the Riverlands too."
"Why the Riverlands?" Daenerys asked, once again curious.
Arya responded with a simple, "My mother was a Tully, and she was supposed to marry my Uncle Brandon. After his death the Starks and Tullys still bonded their houses, except they used my father in place of his brother."
"Oh," she muttered, clearly at a loss. Arya didn't blame her.
"It was after their wedding that they finally had a big enough army to give your father pause. They thought he might give them information about Lyanna to avoid a full-scale war, but he denied knowing anything, and claimed he hadn't seen Rhaegar in months."
She felt nothing but sympathy for Daenerys as she learned about a sordid part of her family's history. "After that," Arya continued, "it was war. They fought small battles and large battles, winning some and losing others. My father said he feared it would never end, but then word reached them that Rhaegar had been spotted with his armies. Days later a courier arrived with a note saying the Prince and his men would be on the field at the Trident waiting for them."
"They went."
"They did, but on the way Jorah Mormont defected."
"I know," Daenerys confessed. "He gave my father information about Robert's army and they used it to win the battle, and the war. What happened after? To you, to your father?"
"He went back to Winterfell, to my mother, who by then had given birth to their first son, my brother Robb. The King decreed that all the houses who joined Robert would pay an increased tax to the throne, and slowly things settled. It wasn't perfect, Robert was dead, Lyanna was still gone, but the army disbanded, and people returned to their homes and lives."
"But they didn't," Daenerys disagreed, "if that were true, you wouldn't be here."
"Father paid the higher tax each and every year, even when a large portion of it came from his inheritance. He thought it was over. Time passed and along with Robb, he had two more sons, Bran and Rickon as well as two daughters, Sansa and me."
"A big family," Daenerys remarked, gracing Arya with a slight smile.
"It was. My days were spent chasing after my brothers, avoiding the Septa who insisted I learn to sew and getting reprimanded by my parents when I failed to match my sister's impeccable handwriting. It was a good life," she remembered fondly. "We had the North and to be honest we didn't care much for what happened in the South. King's Landing's politics, which Lord was fighting with which, none of it mattered to us in Winterfell."
"What changed?"
"The year I turned eight, a raven came, the King summoned all of us for a meeting," she recounted, unable to keep the dread from her tone.
R-C
Daenerys could not believe what she was hearing. She thought she lacked the ability to be surprised anymore but Arya proved her wrong again and again. Not only did she claim she knew who Aemon's mother was, she gave a name. It was a member of Arya's own family.
She was hesitant to believe Rhaegar would kidnap a woman, but Arya's story had so many details, and they matched well with the little pieces Daenerys had gathered over the years. She couldn't point to any one claim and find fault. If it was a lie, she prepared well. It was elaborate and thought out, leaving Daenerys to fear there was more truth in it than she wanted to acknowledge.
Arya had other things working in her favor also. How could she know Jorah deserted on his way to the Trident? She had to have heard it from someone who was there, someone like her father. Likewise, she didn't seem surprised when Daenerys told her what Jorah traded to earn his position. She hadn't been there on the day he bent the knee, so another source was the only thing that made sense.
She saw the pain on Arya's face when she spoke of her uncle and grandfather. It hurt Daenerys to know her father was the one to blame. They came for information about a missing woman, a missing daughter and sister, and her father responded with violence. Even if one of the Northmen accused Rhaegar directly, was there no other way? All too easily she could imagine her father killing at the slightest provocation. It chilled her. No wonder Arya feared him when their paths crossed in Dorne.
Now they were reaching the part she'd been desperately awaiting. She needed to hear Arya's story, not things that happened years before her birth. She needed to know what made Arya feel the lie was necessary. Only when she knew could Daenerys judge if it was reasonable. She couldn't forgive or even accept Arya back into her life, unless she knew the whole story. They'd covered a lot already, but they weren't finished yet.
Her father summoned them? That matched with Arya's statement that her family was destroyed in this castle, but why would he wait years? In that time, she remembered multiple rants where Aerys cursed Ned Stark and his family, always while letting him keep Winterfell and serve as Warden.
"I was so scared," Arya admitted to begin with, "my father told me not to be frightened and although I tried to obey him, I couldn't. Every instinct I had told me to run the opposite way, I wish I had."
"My father sent you to Dorne, didn't he?" She already knew, a part of her had since Arya confessed to being a foster. She tried to rationalize it, to think of other people and less sinister reasons Arya might've gone to Sunspear but in her heart she knew who had done it and why.
"He did, but I went last."
"What do you mean 'last?'"
Arya's eyes looked as though she was staring at something far away, and Daenerys supposed she was, a distant past. "Your father ordered us to stand before him one by one. My father went first."
She knew she had to get through this, for both their sakes, so she helped a little. "Did he kill your father?" It was a reasonable prediction and if it was true, she could spare Arya the anguish of having to say it.
She laughed humorlessly. "No, he just stripped him of his lands, his titles, and had him pummelled by the Mountain while his wife and children watched, but he didn't kill him."
Daenerys didn't know what to say. Was it better that her father let Ned Stark live? It didn't seem like a kindness, making his family witness his beating. She remembered how she felt when Arya was attacked at the gate and knew it would've been even more intense if she'd been forced to stand there, powerless to help. "I'm so sorry…"
She didn't get to finish her apology. "My mother went next. I tried to grab her hand and keep her with me, but she went bravely, handing Rickon to my sister and then stepping forward, expecting much the same as her husband received."
Was it too late to go back and ask that they stop? She knew it was, but she wished it wasn't. Daenerys had witnessed enough 'trials' to know how they happened. Her father screamed and yelled and whispered and blamed and the accused weren't afforded the chance to defend themselves. It usually ended with a ruling of death and a barrel of wildfire. It was hard to imagine an eight year old girl having to suffer that. Knowing that the girl was Arya made it a more heinous crime to the Princess. If only she had been there. She stopped that thought quickly, fully aware that before Dorne, she had never managed to stand up to her father. She would hope that the sight of a family being brutalized would have motivated her to try, but she wasn't confident. She'd allowed many other terrible things to take place without her objection, so could she really say Arya's family would have been different?
"He had my mother kneeling before him, but he was speaking to my father, who had been dragged off to the side. He said, 'Death is too good for you, you must suffer and only the living can truly know pain.' Then he waved Ilyn Payne forward and instead of hitting her, he slit her throat."
Daenerys felt sick. Killing a mother in front of her children was a reprehensible, unforgivable crime. She'd seen it done before, but nothing prepared her for seeing Arya's grief. It nearly broke her. She cared about Arya and hearing her history made her ache for a way to fix it, or help, or comfort, but she couldn't, not with so much unresolved between them.
"Arya," she tried again, intending to apologize, but Arya moved on to the next.
"My brother Robb jumped forward when he saw Payne draw his sword. He wasn't fast enough, but the King laughed. He said, 'Don't worry boy, you'll get your turn soon enough."'
"Gods, please stop," Daenerys begged. The scene Arya was describing was very plausible, but that wasn't what rattled her. It's when she said he laughed that Daenerys knew every word she heard was accurate. That laugh haunted her dreams, tormenting her every time she heard it. It was sick and gleeful and devoid of any compassion or decency.
"I'm sorry," Arya said from the bed. "I didn't tell you that to hurt you, I don't want to hurt you, but you asked, and you're owed the truth."
"It is the truth isn't it?"
"Every word," Arya declared with conviction.
She came into this unsure of how she could trust anything Arya told her. Arya and Missandei both encouraged her to follow her instincts, and they were telling her to stay and listen no matter how difficult it became. She tried to appear more composed than she actually was. "Go on then, what happened to Robb?"
Arya bowed her head as she remembered. "He died on his feet, he was good with a sword, and quick but the guards took his weapons on the way in. He didn't stand a chance, he had to know that, but he fought anyway. He died right next to our mother and then the King turned to my father and said, 'You tried to kill my heir, now I've killed yours.' He was the strongest man I'd ever known, brave and honorable and was the first time I saw him cry, as he looked past the King to the bodies of his wife and son. I'm sure he knew then what we all did, none of us were going to be okay."
"Did no one stop him? What about the court, the audience, his advisors?" Daenerys listed off the people usually around her father, searching for someone who might rise up in defense of the family. "What about Rhaegar?"
"He wasn't there," Arya stated plainly. "Almost no one was. Littlefinger, the Spider, lots of guards, the pyromancer, Tywin, and a few others I didn't know."
"And no one tried to stop him?"
"No one said a word," she recalled bluntly. "Not a fucking word."
As terrible as that was to hear, it would have been more shocking to learn someone on the Small Council actually spoke out against her father. Those things just didn't happen.
"Bran was next," Arya said sombrely. "He was just a boy. He wasn't a danger to anyone, but that didn't matter. He made him kneel in the blood of the dead before looking to my father again. 'You helped Baratheon break my son's legs. You don't know about his constant pain or how much it hurts me to see him struggle, but you will.'"
Daenerys was crying now, not even bothering to hide it. If ever there was a time for tears, it was now. "No," she pleaded, covering her mouth with her hand.
The grey eyes across from her were glassy. "They broke him with a hammer, and then laid him beside my father."
"Did he survive?" Daenerys needed to know.
"He was alive when I got on the ship, a testament to his strength, but the damage was severe. I don't know if he lasted much longer than that."
"You don't know?"
"By the time I saw dry land again, I was in Dorne, thousands of miles away. I never saw any of them after that."
She could only imagine how difficult it would be, not only living through it but then beginning a new life far away. Arya's distaste for the Red Keep and King's Landing made much more sense now. "Okay, I understand, I'm sorry I didn't mean to…"
"I'm sorry too," Arya said, her features softening. "It's hard to talk about, but I'm not angry at you, I promise."
No, just her father and her brother. Was that better somehow or worse? "Do you want to keep going?"
Equal parts of her hoped for different responses. She wouldn't be sad when they could speak about something else, but she'd come this far, and wanted to finish.
Apparently, Arya felt the same. "Rickon was next, he was just a baby. They took him from my sister's arms and showed him to the King."
Daenerys said a prayer that her father had enough mercy to spare the youngest son, but one look at Arya's eyes told her that prayer would fall on deaf ears. "They killed him?" she said, again trying to save Arya the agony of having to utter the words.
"The King said it was unfair for a traitor to have two living sons, he ranted and raved and said only Dragons were allowed two sons, and then he had Rickon burned."
She couldn't help it, she folded over and threw up into a wastebasket near her chair. As she emptied her stomach, she could vividly smell the mixture of wildfire and burning flesh. When she straightened, she'd made a life-altering decision. Her father was unfit to be King. She'd gone to Rhaegar and urged him to begin rallying support, but the time had come, they couldn't wait anymore. Any man who would burn a baby to punish a father wasn't fit to rule as far as Daenerys was concerned. Were they supposed to merely excuse his evil because he was born into the right family, because he was King? Daenerys was tired of justifying his behavior, tired of tolerating it, tomorrow she'd find Rhaegar and demand progress.
"Are you okay?" Arya worried.
"Not even a little bit," she answered honestly. "You?"
Arya managed a momentary smirk. "I don't think that is a word I'll use for a while."
Daenerys could relate to that. Everything she thought she knew was either an outright lie or a convenient half-truth. When she was brave enough, she spoke. "Then it was just you and your sister?"
"Yeah, he called Sansa up first."
Poor Arya, having to go last, and witness everything that came before. She'd never liked her father's version of justice, but she accepted it. She no longer defended him, but she didn't think it was something that could change either. Now she knew silent disapproval wasn't enough. Change was precisely what they needed. If he couldn't change, then they needed to replace him with someone capable of it. Things couldn't continue as they were. Too many of the King's subjects had a story like Arya's.
"My sister is beautiful," Arya said, surprising the Princess with her use of the present tense. Did that mean? "All my life I heard, 'Why can't you be more like Sansa, Sansa's so pretty, Sansa's so smart. I thought I hated her, but I know now what I really felt was envy. I didn't want to be her, you couldn't pay me to live the life of a Lady, but I envied how easy everything was for her. She was the perfect daughter and I couldn't measure up. She could sew and write perfectly and when my efforts were compared, I had no hope of earning favor, eventually I stopped trying."
"Siblings fight," she said. "It's natural that you'd compare yourself to her."
"When the King looked at her, he noticed what everyone else did, her beauty, and he claimed she reminded him of you," Arya revealed.
"Me?"
Arya chuckled. "You look nothing alike, but he saw something in her, and it saved her life. He allowed her to be fostered."
This was great news, some of Arya's family was still alive. "Where?" she demanded a little too intently. She caught hold of her emotions and corrected her tone and volume. "Where was she sent?"
"Highgarden."
"The Tyrells," Daenerys realized with a gasp. "Why didn't you say anything? Lady Olenna was just here."
"I know, I wanted to ask about Sansa, but I didn't know how."
She was speaking without thinking, too pleased to have something other than pain and death to discuss. "She invited me to visit, we could go."
"We? I won't be alive and if I am, I'll be in Sunspear."
Why would you…" She didn't need to finish, she knew what Arya was thinking. "I'm not telling my father anything. He doesn't need to know, Rhaegar neither. You're my friend and what we say is private is no one's business."
"Just us," Arya said echoing something she said during their original fight. They savored the moment before Arya finished her story. "I went last, unsure if I was going to be killed or spared. If it was Sansa's beauty that kept her alive, I knew it wasn't going to end well."
Daenerys was immediately on edge. She didn't like anyone speaking about Arya that way, not even Arya herself. "I wouldn't say that."
"For whatever reason he let me live but sent me as far away as he could. By the time I got to Dorne, Prince Doran knew I was coming, and I started my life as a servant the same day."
The little things she knew about Arya were clearer now. She said she had been a servant when she encountered Lady Musgood, now she knew how it happened, and where. "How did you become a soldier?"
"Remember that trip Oberyn took me on?"
"Of course," Daenerys said smiling. She loved listening to their various adventures. Arya, Ternesio, Oberyn, it sounded like quite the voyage.
"Before we made our way back to Sunspear Oberyn offered to let me go. He was willing to say I died, and that my body fell overboard, so I could begin a new life."
Daenerys was riveted. "Really? Why didn't you do it?"
"I already left my life once, I didn't want to do it again." Although Daenerys could follow Arya's logic, it was a mighty big risk to take. She planned to tell her as much, but Arya had more to give. "I asked if a servant was all I could be? He asked what I wanted instead, and when I said I wanted to be in the army, he agreed to speak to Doran on my behalf."
"He did it. You're in the army."
"I am," Arya conceeded, a smile curling her lips, "I owe him a lot." She shook her head as if to clear the thoughts. "Can I show you something?"
Was it her imagination or did Arya seem suddenly nervous? "Sure, what is it?"
Arya went to the door, to where she dropped her things upon entry. From the bag she retrieved the wooden box she'd been carrying since Dorne. "Recognize this?"
"Those are the things you brought from the barracks in Sunspear." That was a memorable day.
"This is all I have," she said as she produced a key from her pocket and opened the lock. She didn't lift the lid, she just handed it to Daenerys. "Everything I care about is in this box. A few things from my old life, a couple more I collected along the way."
She remembered how Arya treasured the box, taking care to place it in her saddlebag where it would be safe. She was hesitant to accept such an offering. "Are you sure, you don't have to…"
"I want you to know me, all of me, that s why I told you my real name, why I shared my past, all I have left is what's in this box."
She took it and slowly raised the lid. It creaked a bit, making Daenerys tense but she chastised herself for being foolish and continued on. Looking in she was struck by how little there was. Her first guess was four or five items resided inside. She reached in aimlessly and picked up the first thing her hand touched. It felt strange, so much so that she couldn't begin to guess what it was. When she saw it, her confusion wasn't over. It was white, and hard and looked like a tooth of some kind, but it was much too big to be Arya's, or any other man or woman.
Arya laughed, a sound that seemed miles away from the pain and strife of earlier, it made Daenerys smile too. "What's this?"
"In Winterfell when I was a girl, I had a pet direwolf, her name was Nymeria and that was one of her teeth."
Daenerys had never seen a direwolf, but if this was the tooth of one, they were bigger and more fearsome than your average pet. "A wolf really?"
"My siblings and I each had one," she recalled. "They were great, smart, loyal, fearless."
It was a treat to see Arya relax. "So, a lot like you then?" she teased.
"Oh, Nym was so much better than me."
A realization came to her. "You named your pet the same thing Oberyn named his daughter?"
Arya laughed again, longer this time. "We both admire Nymeria the Warrior Queen who settled Dorne."
She set the tooth aside and reached into the box again. She came out with a small bronze pin in the shape of a wolf's head. "My father gave me that," Arya said, "I was allowed to see him on my way out and he gave me that."
There were many things she wanted to ask, but she worried doing so would push Arya back into the pain and despair she just emerged from. Any remaining questions could wait. Arya had shared plenty for one night.
"It's beautiful," Daenerys said sincerely as she put it aside.
The third item was a beautifully crafted trinket unlike anything she'd ever seen. It depicted a silver wolf in intricate detail, and came with a base that allowed the wolf to seem as though it was standing. It was expensive and obviously cherished. She showed it to Arya to hear its origin. "Oberyn gave me that on the day he told me I was allowed to begin training. He said he wanted me to keep it, to remember who I was. He said after everything I'd been through nothing in training could best me."
Daenerys didn't disagree with that. The hardships of training would have been child's play after what happened to her family. She seethed under the surface as she was reminded of how wronged Arya had been. "He was right, you didn't only finish, you were first."
Fourth was a single coin. By its shape and feel alone Daenerys could tell it wasn't from Westeros. "Essos?" she guessed.
"Oberyn took me to the fighting pits in Meereen. He gave me gold to bet on the matches and while I spent most of what I won that day, I kept this one coin to remember it by."
"Is that everything?" Daenerys wondered, feeling around and finding only the bottom of the box.
"No, there's one more thing." Just as Arya confirmed it, Daenerys's fingers grazed something sharp. Carefully she pulled it out, only to be stunned speechless. "Need me to tell you the story of this one?"
Somehow, she managed to shake her head. She looked down at the copper dragon and was flooded by the memories. It was just a stupid game, and a cheap prize. It was worth less than the coin she'd handled last, but Arya kept it and with her most treasured things no less. It reinforced what the Princess was slowly coming to terms with – Arya really did care, lie about her name or not. "You kept it?" she whimpered, when the power of speech returned to her.
"I'll always keep it, no matter where I go, and I'll think of you every time I look at it."
Daenerys was overwhelmed. Her brain wanted one thing while her heart wanted another. Her head constantly went back to the lie, but Missandei's words about one moment not undoing all the good rang true. She still had questions, mainly about her brother, and her nephew, but they could wait. She'd gotten out of bed and tracked Arya down to decide if the other woman could be trusted, and now she knew. More than that, she no longer had any concerns about the depth of her feelings either. If she kept Daenerys's stupid dragon in the same box as a gift from Oberyn and her father that was undeniable proof she was important.
She was done trying to find excuses to be angry. She was angry, and would remain angry for a while, but not with Arya anymore. She hadn't done anything wrong. Yes, she lied, but only to save her life, and knowing what happened years ago, she could hardly blame her. Now she was angry at her family, at her father's Small Council, at anyone who was in the room and didn't object to the King, butchering a family for the crimes of one man.
"I'm sorry Arya," she said as she set the copper back in the box, and then returned the other things to their home as well.
"You don't need to apologize."
"I do," she insisted, "I know you don't think I'm responsible for what my father did, but I didn't even know he did it, and that's worse. I grew up believing your family was just removed from Winterfell and replaced. I had no idea he did that to you. It was wrong."
"As you said, you knew nothing of it. I don't blame you, I never did. Before we left Dorne I realized you were different, and I swore I would give you a fair chance."
"You never treated me poorly, you were always kind and respectful."
"That is what you deserve, that and so much more. I don't hold you accountable for their actions."
"Do you think Rhaegar knew? He wasn't in the room when you were summoned, you said." She knew she was reaching, trying to separate the brother she loved from the vile acts committed against the Starks.
"I'm not sure," Arya said, sounding candid. "He thought Oberyn sent me here to get revenge."
"I know, he told me the same thing the night you arrived. We fought when he tried to send you back to Dorne." She considered all that would have changed if she agreed. "Maybe it would've been kinder to let you return to your home."
Arya who was standing next to where Daenerys sat was immediately leaning forward, taking her hand. It was the first contact between them since she learned the truth. She didn't move and waited to feel repulsed or something, anything different, it didn't happen. She felt the same warmth she was used to, the same callouses, the same comfort, the same sense that they were two pieces that fit together perfectly. A lot had changed between them, but not that. "I'm glad I came here. What we had, you, mean enough to me to make staying here, in this place, with these people worthwhile."
Just as her touch still served as an anchor to keep Daenerys grounded, her words still found a way to reach deep inside her, to hit a spot inaccessible to most. Those same words could be said in the same way, by any other person and they wouldn't have nearly the same effect. Arya remained unique in Daenerys's eyes.
The peaceful interlude was shattered when Arya said, "I should probably let you go. You are overdue for some sleep, and I bet your bed is much softer than this one."
She was tired, but it was too late to change that. A few minutes of sleep, if she could manage it wouldn't stop her from being exhausted later, nothing could. She wasn't ready to let Arya go. She let her leave before they really had a chance to talk and all it did was cause both of them pain. When she opened that door and stepped out, the world would be there. Her father, her brother, Tywin, Varys, Jorah and a whole list of others. Every time she looked at them she'd see people who had wronged Arya and her family. She wasn't ready for that. "Do we have to?" she whined.
Arya stopped picking up her things and turned back to the Princess. "Do what?"
"Leave?"
"You don't want to leave?"
"Not yet," she announced. She moved to the bed and sat down, occupying the spot Arya once had. With her small hand she patted the empty space on her right. From where she was, she could see the window and a few dots of color that were lighting the sky. "Come sit and watch the sunrise with me,"
Arya emptied her hands of gear and faced Daenerys directly. "Are you sure? I can leave you be if you want."
"What I want," Daenerys told her, "is to spend a few minutes with you, like it was before. Can we do that, please?"
"Absolutely, we can do whatever you want." The speed with which Arya agreed left no room for doubt. She was practically beside Daenerys before the words were out.
This was nice, she could get used to this. One lie, even a big one couldn't ruin this. Her rash actions and harsh words felt childish now. She owed Missandei a reward for ending her night with Grey Worm early, she owed her another for providing such wise counsel. If not for her handmaiden she likely never would have heard Arya's story and without it, she wouldn't be willing to forgive her. That they had a chance at all, would have seemed improbable if not impossible and now here they were.
She tried to be subtle as she slid closer to the Northern woman. She caught on right away. "Something wrong with your side of the bed Princess?"
"It's hard to see the window," she lied.
Arya didn't appear swayed. "Want to switch."
"Nope, just let me wiggle over a bit." As she moved Arya tried to slide further away. "Don't move," Daenerys instructed, "you're perfect, right there."
She kept squirming until she was right next to Arya, their knees touching. "Better?" Arya inquired.
"Not bad."
"Not good?"
She knew she was pushing her luck, she practically kicked Arya out of her chambers earlier and then she spent a large portion of the night assuming Daenerys would be telling the King who she was, she needed time, they both did, but Daenerys couldn't help herself. She'd worked through all the things that bothered her about Arya's lie, and what she was left with was the same Arya she'd come to know and care about. Sand or Stark, Daenerys adored her.
"What's missing?" she asked when Daenerys didn't respond.
Rather than reply with words, Daenerys took a chance and laid her head on Arya's shoulder. She held her breath and counted the racing beats of her heart, after twenty, she exhaled and accepted that Arya wasn't going to reject her. "That's much better," she confessed.
"Yeah it is."
She may be tired tomorrow, or later today actually, but it would be worth it. A few yawns was a minor price to pay for a moment like this. It got even better when Arya's strong arm slipped around her waist and held her tight. Did she think Daenerys planned to flee? Did she worry she'd disappear? If so, it was baseless. She couldn't think of anywhere in the world she'd rather be than with Arya and the sunrise.
R-C
Author's Note: Seemed like as good a place to stop as any. There you have it – I sincerely hope it lived up to people's expectations. I must admit, only when I was editing this chapter did I realize how much conversation there was. I hope it flowed well and wasn't difficult to read.
I originally wrote a version where Daenerys took the news much better, but it didn't fit with the Princess's character. I've always viewed Missandei as a sort of counterbalance to Daenerys's temper and worst impulses. She needs someone she trusts to help her organize her thoughts and feelings. I couldn't see her making peace with Arya and relating to what she'd been through without help, and Missandei was the logical choice.
Thank you for reading.
Russell Craig