It would be difficult to explain the unique relationship between a person who serves and their liege. Whether serving an entire family as she'd done with the Martells or a single woman, as she was doing with Daenerys, the strange connection persisted. Arya blamed it on proximity. Even before she fell in love with Daenerys and before Daenerys loved her, Arya still knew more about the Princess than almost anyone else. It was an unavoidable side effect of spending her days with one person, devoting all her attention to one thing – Daenerys's safety. Her job was to be close to Daenerys, literally. In that circumstance, whether you want them to or not, bonds were forged.
In her youth she had been on the other side of the arrangement. Although Arya was raised to respect and appreciate the dedication and sacrifice of those who served her family, she could plainly see that while she followed the letter of that particular law, she missed its deeper purpose. Whether it was Nan, Maester Luwin or Ser Rodrick, Arya liked them all, but she never stopped and considered the price they paid to serve her parents. Older and slightly wiser now, it made her ache to go back and thank all those people who helped her and cared for her, the same ones she took for granted so thoroughly.
At its core the relationship is shaped by the distinct disparity in power. It effects all things even when the dominant one isn't wielding it like a bludgeon. They are not equals, and in the beginning that clouds and taints everything. For Arya that depression didn't lift for months after she made landfall in Sunspear. It wasn't until she finally accepted her predicament and made her peace with her role in the world that it became easier to tolerate. Most days she could grit her teeth and do what was asked of her without secretly imagining the person issuing the orders dead.
She couldn't speak for the majority of the Martells or what they thought of her, she wouldn't try, but certain things weren't in dispute. Over time they relied on her more and more and she became less foster and more faceless servant. When this happened, the nobles became less reserved. They would say things in the dark-haired woman's presence that they never would've uttered in front of Ned Stark's daughter. That was when Arya learned the value of staying in the shadows and listening. When those she served forgot she was there, they spilled their secrets freely.
It wasn't all that different in King's Landing. Yes, she now served Daenerys by choice, but it hadn't always been that way. Around the Red Keep, most were ready and willing to overlook her, to discount her abilities because of her gender. Seen as an insignificant, Dornish bastard, she was not the sort of person those in the Red Keep thought worth fearing. If they only knew.
Trying to understand the people around her had become almost second nature. Oberyn had taught her that knowing someone's motivations, especially the things they'd never admit out loud was a valuable skill worth far more than gold. As usual he was right, though Arya steadfastly refused to tell him so. His ego was already big enough.
During the final push toward the city, it wasn't particularly difficult to comprehend why the people around her were behaving as they were. Tyrion was rather obvious as he tried to keep them moving and speed them along. He offered to explain to the King and the Hand why they were late and now that the danger had passed, he was likely regretting that choice. He was doing all he could to try and minimize the number of things he had to apologize for.
Grey Worm was in a foul mood, he barked orders at his men, spoke only in Valyrian and rode at Missandei's side without looking at her. Arya counted no fewer than four separate attempts to engage the Commander in conversation. Three by Missandei and one from the Princess but he rebuffed them all. From their expressions it was clear the women were at a loss. Arya on the other hand understood perfectly. If it had been Daenerys who Rolf nearly killed, she'd be enraged too. Not even the blood he spilled satisfied him, just as it wouldn't be enough to placate Arya if she were in his place. She felt for Missandei and Daenerys, who only wanted to help, but it was pointless. Grey Worm would continue to blame himself and question his every choice until he was confident he knew how to prevent Missandei from being vulnerable like that again.
Despite being nearly killed, the handmaiden acted as if nothing was amiss. She was rather convincing, actually. She was quick to smile, engaged Daenerys in discussion and when she glanced in Arya's direction the guard didn't see the haunted quality she was expecting. She was just about to reach the conclusion that Missandei was a marvel and tougher than the bunch of them, when she noticed how she turned her face away from Daenerys midway through laugh. Her pained expression alarmed Arya. She watched closer. Several times while Daenerys was speaking Missandei covertly swallowed hard as if testing the muscles and measuring the accompanying discomfort. How hard had Rolf been holding her? Idly Arya wondered if it was Rolf who caused the damage or Missandei herself when she was kneeling against the blade, afraid to breathe. Acutely aware that everyone was worried about her, Missandei was quick to try and prove that everything was fine. Arya didn't object but she did promise herself she'd make a point of checking on Missandei later, once they were back at the keep.
Lastly there was Daenerys. She was busy alternating between fretting over Missandei and the guests riding in her carriage. No matter how often she was assured everyone was okay, she wasn't inclined to believe it. Not unlike Grey Worm, no words would be enough to change how the Targaryen was feeling. Arya tried to help by meeting Daenerys with a smile each and every time violet eyes sought her out, She considered herself successful whenever Daenerys smiled back.
Even after all this time, understanding Daenerys was a complicated undertaking. Arya was dedicated to mastering the craft, but her efforts were frequently thwarted by the many complexities and contradictions that made up the woman she loved.
Daenerys. the woman had come a long way, and it had little to do with the distance she travelled. She scarcely resembled the timid, frightened royal Arya encountered in the Water Gardens. Although it was obvious to Arya, most were oblivious to the change. Their ignorance was rooted in a faulty assumption. that if something looked the same as it always had, then it was no different. Outwardly Daenerys might seem similar, save for the new ribbon in her hair, but the two were barely recognizable.
On the inside, where it mattered, Daenerys was nothing like the woman who cowered when faced with Viserys's rage. She'd found her voice, found a purpose and had begun standing up for herself. She was no longer a shy, easy to manipulate Princess who could be swayed or bullied into changing her mind. Now she was strong, determined and principled, a combination that should give pause to any who might oppose her.
Tired of waiting patiently for her father or her brothers to involve her in politics, Daenerys had found a way to help on her own. With assistance from Tyrion, Daenerys not only got to contribute, but did it in a way she enjoyed. With each meeting she had, each purse of gold she distributed, she found her footing in the world. Before they left for the Reach, she'd handled Rhaegar, Daario and Mormont in succession, refusing to bend to any of them. She was learning to play their games and she was good at it. Anyone needing proof need look no further than Illyrio, the fat Magister from Pentos. He thought he was using her, but by the time he'd left, Daenerys had him eating out of the palm of her hand. Slowly, Daenerys was coming to a realization that Arya reached long ago, she wasn't like the rest. Daenerys was special. Arya worried she'd take it hard, disappointed that she couldn't live up to her family name, but her fears were unfounded. Daenerys embraced the things that made her different and day after day became more comfortable in her own skin. It was a beautiful thing to watch.
Daenerys's willingness to not only acknowledge her limitations but admit them freely was also refreshing. Most nobles Arya knew loved nothing more than to overestimate their abilities, to boast that nothing was beyond them, but not Daenerys. She knew her own weakness and compensated by asking for help, a rarity among royalty. All were impressed by Daenerys's form of leadership but none more than Tyrion. Repeatedly, she caught the Master of the Coins observing Daenerys in silence. Was he seeing the same limitless potential that Arya did?
Confident that Daenerys was safe with Grey Worm, Arya guided her horse in amongst the rows of Unsullied. Several nodded to her in greeting, all knew her and there was a mutual respect even if she knew none of their language and they only bits of hers. She admired the Unsullied, long before she shared a barracks with them. She first saw the famed warriors in Essos and listened intently to Oberyn's tales of their training. She'd been stunned when he told of their obedience. Arya thought them mindless, how else could they fall on their swords to please their Masters, men and women who considered them property? In King's Landing she lived with them, sparred with them, got to know them and tried to learn from them. She worked tirelessly to match their fevered dedication to continually improve. Over time she came to understand that she misinterpreted the reason an Unsullied would fall on his sword if commanded to. It may have been the Master's order, but it was the soldier's choice. Each Unsullied honored himself and the men fighting beside him by doing whatever was asked of him. It wasn't mindless at all – it was obedience after endless thought.
Aerys may hold the whip, but upon closer inspection Arya could see there were different levels of devotion. All orders were obeyed, but not all orders were equal, just as the people issuing them weren't equal either. Power could be funny like that, it depended largely on perspective. Arya didn't think it was a stretch to imagine Aerys believed he had the eight thousand eunuchs ready to fulfill his every command, and that may be true, but in actuality he had seven-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine who took their guidance from one. The way Arya heard it, Aerys bought them, but it was Daenerys who met with them after their arrival and spoke to them in a language they'd understand. Daenerys was the one who suggested they select a leader to speak for them, and once they had, she was the first to call him their Commander. The King likely couldn't differentiate Grey Worm from White Rat or Red Flea, but the men could, and it was a significant distinction. They chose to follow Grey Worm and for slaves who had never been allowed to choose anything up to that point, it wasn't a decision made lightly.
With the gates of the city visible in front of them. Arya steeled herself for what was coming. The cunts in court would whisper, Tywin would bitch and moan, Rhaegar and Aerys would get their says too but Arya hoped with all her heart that Daenerys ignored them all. They hadn't been there, they had no right to judge. Arya was there, she stood at the Princess's side and watched the growth of a Dragon in awe.
R-C
Daenerys felt no anticipation, no warmth, no relief as she passed through the gates and entered the grounds of the Red Keep. Wasn't coming home supposed to feel good? It took all of her resolve to keep her horse moving when she desperately wanted to flee. She could do this, she had to. Somehow Arya knew she was needed, and she returned to Daenerys's side after the better part of an hour riding with the Unsullied. Daenerys was too grateful she was near to question how she'd known to come. Without making contact, Arya managed to give the Targaryen the strength she needed to see this through. A dull but persistent ache in the back of her head provided a physical manifestation of her internal feelings.
It occurred to her how badly she wished to be somewhere else. She wasn't even picky. She'd gladly go back to Highgarden or return to the roads where she was almost kidnapped, she'd even settle for being in the shadow of the castle she hated, if it was her only option. As promised, she saw Nathanial and Marci reunited with their son. The young man was handsome with a broad chest and large muscles. He was more than a little surprised to encounter a Princess, but he got over his awkwardness quickly, putting the focus where it belonged, on his parents. He was unhappy to hear about their ordeal, but thankful to Daenerys and the others for rescuing them. She assured him it was no trouble and wished all three well before she took her leave. She hadn't lied when she said she needed to go, but she was genuinely disappointed when no one tried to tempt her to stay. If anyone even hinted that she'd be welcome, Daenerys would have remained with the happy family consequences be damned. It didn't escape her that the reunion shared between the apprentice and his road-weary parents was nothing like the one that awaited her. Marci's son was pleased to see her and eager to talk to her, Daenerys doubted many in the Red Keep felt that for her.
R-C
Most of what she saw as she climbed down from her horse was predictable. Before she left or at any point since she could have drawn up a list of those most likely to be in attendance and she would have gotten it almost exactly right, with a few glaring omissions. She expected her father, the Hand, the Kingsguard and Varys, she expected Cersei and Rhaegar, along with Aemon, but she didn't think she'd see Viserys or Eliza standing near the King. They had returned. It was never meant to be permanent and yet the disappointment she felt at the sight of him was both real and intense. She'd gotten used to having him gone. She'd need to exercise caution, until avoiding him became second nature again. She was quick to focus on the good news. For one, she had Arya to protect her, and two, Viserys would be leaving for Dragonstone before long.
If there was a bright spot in the sea of boring, unavoidable conversations she was destined to have, it was the man standing five feet from the nearest person. He was there for the same reason, wearing a colorful shirt and a self-satisfied smirk, Daenerys almost waved. He wanted no part of the King or his advisors and Daenerys could certainly relate to that. As she climbed down from her stallion, she was already thinking about all the questions she wanted to ask him. She'd liked Prince Oberyn from the start but now that they shared a certain affection for a grey-eyed soldier, Daenerys hoped they'd grow even closer.
Above all else Oberyn was Arya's friend and it was good that he had come, especially now that she no longer planned to return to Dorne. It occurred to Daenerys as she watched Oberyn smirk proudly at Arya's stunned expression that her lover might change her mind and join the Prince if he asked her to. She didn't want Arya to go, but she couldn't fault her for wanting to get back to the life Aerys interrupted. In the heat of the moment, while her father approached, she made a rash decision, she'd let Arya go, if that's what she wanted. Daenerys would miss her terribly, but she wouldn't ask her to stay.
"My daughter returns to us," Aerys said as he opened his arms for a hug. Jaime Lannister was on his left with the Mountain towering several steps behind.
"Welcome back Princess," the charming guard added.
"Thank you both." She hugged her father and caught Jaime's eye as they separated to make sure he knew she appreciated the kind words.
"You must be tired," her father said, sounding relatively lucid. "Take your time, get a meal and a bath, a nap if you need one. We'll meet in the throne room when you're ready."
Daenerys was more than a little uncertain of how to respond. History didn't give her much practice dealing with a logical, rational, considerate Aerys Targaryen. "Thank you, Father," she said emphatically, "I'll see you there, shall we say two hours?"
He agreed with a nod. As they turned Jaime paused and contributed a nod of his own, as if to confirm it wasn't a trick.
Rhaegar limped toward them. Though fully able, Aemon walked next to him, moving at his father's speed. "Dany!" her brother called before his body caught up.
With care she stepped around her father and went to Rhaegar, hoping to make it easier on him. "Did you have a good time? I've missed you!" Was it her imagination or was he squeezing her a little tighter than usual? Perhaps he sincerely was glad she was there.
"I missed you too," she replied, since it was more accurate than saying 'happy to be home.'
Aemon was next. He didn't say anything, but they didn't need words. He understood her. He knew what the trip meant to her and he knew how she'd feel returning to the Red Keep. He didn't say 'he was glad she was back' probably because he wasn't. He wouldn't want for her anything that she didn't want for herself. "I'm glad you're here," she said before he backed away. That was the best she could offer him, he knew and accepted it.
Daenerys wanted to release Arya, so she could go to Oberyn, but this wasn't Highgarden and people would comment if she gave her guard too much freedom. Arya would need to stay with Daenerys for the time being. Since that couldn't be helped and Viserys didn't appear to be compelled to seek her out, Daenerys slowly started drifting to the left, away from Tywin and his daughter and toward the Dornish Prince. If she couldn't permit Arya to go to Oberyn, she'd take Arya to him.
A line quickly formed after Aemon was gone. She noticed that not everyone was joining it. Tywin for example remained where he was, with Cersei next to him. He stayed there and expected Tyrion to go to him to provide an update. The Master of the Coins did so, but he didn't look happy about it. Likewise, Viserys and Eliza stayed where they were. Apparently, her brother had as little interest in seeing her as she did him.
Daenerys smiled falsely as one after the next people loyal to her father came to inquire about her trip. Mercifully the interactions were brief. When the Spider's neared the front of the line, Arya stepped up from behind Daenerys's shoulder and blatantly positioned herself between the Spymaster and the Targaryen he may have tried to kidnap. For her part, Daenerys was no closer to deciding if she could trust Varys than she'd been when Rolf named him. If it was his plan, it wasn't a very good one, surely someone as worldly as Varys would know better, wouldn't he? Her gut told her that nothing about what happened on the road was as simple as it seemed. She may have been reluctant to think Varys was dumb enough to hire Rolf, but powerful men frequently did stupid things in their quests to keep and gain more power. That alone wasn't definitive enough to absolve him of any wrongdoing. As the guard moved, she and Daenerys shared a look. What should she do? Even if he was plotting against her, this was not the time or the place to discuss it. With her eyes she tried to ask Arya for advice. She answered with a slight smile that was gone almost instantly. Daenerys took it to mean she could proceed with the conversation. She'd tread carefully.
They spoke for several minutes, neither mentioning Rolf or the unpleasantness he brought with him. He sounded sincere, but perhaps that was what made him so good at his job. He gave nothing away. Either he had no part in what happened or he was a better actor than any Daenerys had ever seen.
A few insincere thank you's later, it was Jorah's turn. Arya remained in place, with her hand on her sword, as though Mormont was every bit the potential danger the Spider had been. Given that he tried to kill her once, Daenerys couldn't find fault in Arya's position. He tried to engage her in deeper conversation, asking about her trip and what she thought of the Reach, but she brushed him aside without being rude. The days outside King's Landing had done nothing to dim the rage that burned inside her on Arya's behalf.
She made up an excuse to extricate herself from the conversation and then swept the area in search of Oberyn. When she spotted him just feet from where he'd been, she smiled, hurrying over. "This is a nice surprise."
He shrugged as though travelling thousands of miles was an everyday occurrence. "Someone had to see that Eliza made it to the capital safely."
"Did she?" Arya asked grimly.
Oberyn expression was similiar. "I've done all I can."
"I'll help where I can," Daenerys offered. "Missandei why don't you go and invite her for tea later this afternoon?"
"I'm sure she'd like that," the handmaiden said before she slipped away.
"That is very kind of you Princess," Oberyn said, ducking his head. He watched Missandei go and then his whole demeanor changed, becoming less formal and more playful. "I told this one you were different, she didn't believe me but…"
"Go fuck yourself, I'm not saying it!" Arya snapped, making Daenerys gasp.
"I will, if I have to, but I much prefer when others do it for me. Now go on, say the words, you always do, no matter how much you protest," Oberyn taunted, countering Arya's anger with calm, "because they're true."
She looked between them, the mentor and the pupil, waiting to see who would break first. Neither one even looked willing to bend. In the interest of avoiding a long, drawn out disagreement, Daenerys sought to keep the peace. "Say what exactly?"
"Nothing," Arya barked.
"It's not nothing," Oberyn contended, "don't mind our friend Daenerys, she is just resistant to the truth."
She was at a loss. If this was how they normally communicated it was a wonder they got anything accomplished at all. Wary that she might make things worse without meaning to, she tried to clarify. "What truth is that?" she asked carefully.
Oberyn crossed his arms over his chest and smirked, a devilish look that foretold trouble. "Tell her, you know admitting it is the only way."
"I'd rather die," Arya spat back fearlessly.
Chuckling darkly the Viper shook his head. "I sincerely hope it doesn't come to that. I'd hate to break the Princess's heart."
Daenerys was shocked. Did he know about them? How?! Arya hadn't told him, there wasn't time. They could have exchanged letters, but Daenerys didn't think so, Arya would've told her if she'd been writing Oberyn, wouldn't she? Had he discovered their secret some other way?
"Her heart will be fine," Arya growled. She punctuated the words with a hard glare aimed directly at the Prince. "You're old and slow, that doesn't exactly inspire fear."
The Targaryen held her breath. Up until that moment she'd been fairly confident whatever she was witnessing was happening in jest, she was less confident now. Oberyn's eyes darkened considerably when Arya called him old and it didn't feel like a game any longer. She shivered as a chill ran down her spine. "Arya, come now, we should probably go get cleaned up, it's been a long ride."
Oberyn saw through her attempt with ease. "Do as she says, run along and get cleaned up before I add fresh blood to all the other stains."
Oh shit. There was zero chance Arya was going to be going with her now, not after that. "Arya," she pleaded.
Oberyn kept twisting the knife. "Didn't you hear girl, your wife wants you."
Predictably Arya's quiet anger blossomed into full blown fury shortly after 'wife' crossed Oberyn's lips. "What did you just say?!" she shouted.
"Do your ears not work?" he ridiculed. "Time in the capital has made you soft."
"I'll show you how soft I am," Arya swore. Daenerys didn't like the sound of that. When Arya took a step forward, she was so concerned about the possibility of violence that she grasped the guard's arm to try and hold her back.
"I don't know what's happening, but I know you'll regret this later," she whispered in a rush. "Just calm down."
For a moment she saw a flicker of the woman she loved, the tender, generous, compassionate woman. She rewarded Daenerys's efforts with a smile that seemed authentic. "Everything is going to be fine." She extended her arms and swung them in a wide arc as she backed away. Being separated from Arya when she was only trying to help hurt and she might've lost her temper if that had been all she got, but Arya turned toward the frantic Dragon and provided one final message. "I promise."
The statements were so separate that it took several seconds for Daenerys to recall what Arya was promising. She said that everything was going to be okay. Given how suddenly and how wildly out of control everything had become between her and Oberyn, Daenerys wasn't sure that was a promise her lover could keep.
"Just say it," Oberyn pressed, playing up their back and forth for the small audience that had crowded around. "Don't embarrass yourself."
"No," she resisted. "Where?"
Daenerys's worry shifted to confusion. Where what? What were they even talking about? How could two friends go from smiling to this in minutes?
"Here's fine," Oberyn decided plainly, looking around. "Are you sure you want to do this? I don't want to embarrass you in front of your new friends."
Daenerys expected that slash would cut deeper than any of his earlier attempts, especially considering how Arya felt about most of the people in the castle. It stood to reason that Oberyn knew it too. He was trying to incite her.
"Are you sure you remember which side of the sword you're supposed to hold?" Arya fired back.
She thought she heard a hint of humor, thought she saw the ghost of a smile on Arya's beautiful face, but it was gone long before she could confirm its existence. In a blink, the question of whether Arya had been smiling became an irrelevant point as Daenerys realized something more immediate. "You're going to fight!" It wasn't a question, but an accusation, one she aimed at Arya. When no suitable reply came, Daenerys kept going. "You can't fight here."
Arya hesitated and then looked around, seemingly noticing the number of people observing them for the first time. In addition to some of the Unsullied, there were several members of the Kingsguard, Varys and others. "Follow me," Arya instructed, "we can do this in the yard." After she addressed Oberyn she turned to the Targaryen. "You may want to send for Aemon, he's not going to want to miss this."
She could only stare dumbly. Was Arya really suggesting they go and find more spectators for this nonsense? "I'll find him and meet you in the yard," Missandei supplied from nearby, being helpful even when it involved utter foolishness.
She knew exactly where Arya was going to take them, which also meant she was running out of time to salvage things. "Arya stop this, please," she begged, keeping quiet so Oberyn wouldn't hear.
As happened the last time, there was a momentary break in Arya's exterior. "It's okay, everything is going to be fine, I told you…"
Nothing about this was fine. "I know and I'm sorry I made it worse by trying to stop it, but he's your friend and you'll regret hurting him."
"Do you trust me?"
This wasn't about trust, it was about common sense. "Arya this isn't…
"Do you trust me?" she asked a second time.
"Yes," she admitted simply. She looked away, but a hand under her chin redirected her eyes up.
Violet met stormy grey and they were abruptly empty of the anger that had been lighting them. "Then trust me, we'll be laughing about this later."
How could that be possible? She wanted to ask one of the many, many questions that were swimming in her head, but Oberyn was quicker. "Shall we or are you prepared to admit defeat and tell all these people what we Dornish already know?"
Arya stopped walking not far from where Daenerys had practiced the bow and put a hand on the Princess's shoulder. "Stay here a minute or two, when I'm done, we'll go get cleaned up like you wanted."
It was so soft, so sweet, Daenerys couldn't comprehend it. How could the same woman taking care of her, be cursing and hurling insults at Oberyn? The argument hadn't even started, it just sprouted up out of nowhere. "Or we could go now," she said gently. She leaned in the guard's direction and whispered, "I'll make it worth your while."
With a laugh Arya jogged away from Daenerys and toward Oberyn who had located a spear somewhere and was putting on a show with it for his adoring public. Daenerys could only marvel at how fast it was twirling. It was an indistinguishable blur until it stopped, and each time it did, it ended with the sharp tip thrust violently toward an unseen enemy.
When he saw Arya approaching Oberyn once again began playing with the crowd. "It's not too late, just fall to your knees, kiss my boots and tell the truth."
Undeterred Arya drew the sword off her belt. "Can you do more with that spear than twirl it, old man?"
"What's going on?" Aemon asked as he and Missandei arrived at Daenerys's side together. "She said they were fighting…"
"I'm not really sure," she admitted. "They started arguing and then…" she stopped talking, because she didn't know what more to say. How could she describe the rapidly deteriorating situation.
"Arya's good but that's the Red Viper of Dorne," Aemon said, as though Daenerys didn't know. When she looked at him, Aemon was already facing the action. She groaned. Damn it.
The knot in her stomach twisted violently and it was a struggle to keep her breakfast down. No one trained with Arya more than Aemon. Her nephew had a healthy respect for Arya's ability. If he didn't think she had a chance, it just reinforced Daenerys's darkest fears. "I have to stop this," she said as Missandei put an arm around her. She took the first step toward the combatants, intent on intervening but it was too late. Arya's sword, the one Daenerys gave her cut a vicious gash into the air on a direct line for the top of Oberyn's head. "Fuck," she hissed as she resigned herself to just suffering through this until it was over. When Missandei tugged her back toward Aemon, she went.
R-C
Oberyn took note of her sword almost immediately. He stopped twirling his spear and gestured toward the Valyrian steel. "That is not the sword I gave you when you completed your training."
"It's not," she confirmed.
She twirled the sword, mimicking the Martell. He smirked. "Did you steal it?"
"No," she said giving nothing further.
Amused by her limited explanation, Oberyn made a game of trying to guess. "Find it on the side of the road? The King been paying you?" he paused just long enough to see Arya's lack of reaction to either idea and then he moved on. "Oh, I know," he said, jumping up and down in his excitement. Arya didn't need to know where his mind had gone to know with clarity that what came next would be either wildly inappropriate, implausible or both. Oberyn never worried about letting facts get in the way of a good story. "You rescued a fair maiden, and her father gave you the sword for saving her virtue?"
Arya rolled her eyes and scoffed but said nothing. Oberyn took it as permission to keep going. "You didn't protect her virtue and she was so grateful she gave you the sword in the morning?"
She felt her face heating up. She needed to stop this before he decided to discuss her affection for Daenerys. "Yeah, sure, you got it, that's exactly what happened."
"I knew it!" Oberyn cheered, raising his spear above his head.
Their conversation up to that point had been largely private, as they circled one another, weapons in hand, but naturally Oberyn had to take full advantage of the chance to gloat. He had a reputation to uphold, Gods forbid word get around that the Red Viper was meek, or worse yet, forgettable. She knew then she was going to need every ounce of her ability and a fair amount of luck to keep up with Oberyn. He clearly wanted to get the Red Keep talking and he was going to use her to do it.
"You and the Princess are looking quite close," he noted. "Making the most of your time in the capital eh, friend?"
With his quip hitting a little too close to her weak spot, Arya deflected. "Oh, how things change," she remarked, "I remember a time when you did more than talk when someone put a spear in your hand."
"Touched a nerve, did I?" he joked accurately. With a chuckle he shook his head. "Lady first."
Finally, Arya thought as she stalked closer. All the talk was giving her a headache. A large part of her relaxed as she prepared to fight the best warrior she'd ever known. She hadn't known Oberyn was coming, she'd been unnerved since noticing him standing apart from the King. Privately she feared his reaction when she told him she intended to stay. He'd come for her and he was going back empty handed. He was the closest thing she had to a brother anymore, she didn't want to disappoint him.
As they always did, her problems faded away, becoming smaller and less dangerous when she was fighting. Combat required her entire focus. There was no room left to imagine Oberyn's disappointed expression or the hurt he'd try to hide when he learned she was staying in King's landing with them. Instead of going back to Dorne, to him, the girls, Ellaria and the only home she had left, she'd be staying. Her whole world was limited to the patch of dirt they were standing on, Oberyn and his spear. Everything else could wait. She lashed out with her sword, aiming for the center of his head.
The thick shaft of the spear stopped her sword. They met with enough force that she put a notch in the wood, making Oberyn chuckle. "Not bad at all," he commented.
Knowing he'd be coming at her next, she took a defensive posture and waited. Three times he made like he was going to plant his feet and lunge, and each time he pulled back at the last second. She wasn't going to fall for that. She rolled her eyes to let him know what she thought of such a novice tactic. He tried one more time to illicit a response. The reply was only words. "That won't work," she warned.
Oberyn's smirk became a full smile. "It did once."
Her cheeks heated up. "Gods, don't remind me. I don't know where you found the patience to teach me anything."
"It was your first lesson," he remembered, "beware the fake. Had to make sure you hadn't forgotten everything I taught you."
If he wanted proof, she'd show him. Tossing the sword from her left hand to her right, she took a swipe at his leg, he jumped over it and followed through, leading with his knee in the direction of her head. With the palm of her left hand she pushed against the side of his leg and knocked his knee away from her face. She smirked as she straightened back up and he did too. The last time they sparred was the day before she started her training. He knocked her unconscious with that exact move. She had a headache for days and a bump far longer. "Quicker than last time," he acknowledged.
"Learn from your mistakes," she quoted, "that was the second thing you taught me."
Between the words 'taught' and 'me, Oberyn started moving. It began the same way, except this time he followed through. As the length of the spear surged toward her middle, she fled, sidestepping and then hurrying to put some distance between them.
"I thought you'd be slower," he confessed.
"I thought you'd be faster."
That did it, she moved toward him, he moved toward her, and they met in the middle. Against anyone else Arya might've assumed she had the advantage in close against a spear, but Oberyn wasn't the typical opponent. Yes, he sacrificed some range and allowed Arya to get within reach with her sword, but he also wielded the shaft of the spear better than she'd ever seen anyone do. She swung hard and fast, aware of how deadly and dangerous he could be if he had time to be precise. With each slice or chop she hacked at the spear, leaving all manners of scars in the wood. When she went for his legs, he jumped, when she went for his head, he ducked, when she went for his arm he twisted and when she went for his chest he blocked. She lost count of how many different strikes she took, and without fail Oberyn deterred them all, surviving the onslaught. The spear would never be the same, but Arya was never able to make contact with the man holding it.
After a particularly vicious attempt the tip of the spear was the only thing keeping Valyrian steel away from Oberyn's eye. He waited until all of her focus was on their weapons and then he caught her off guard with a knee to the ribs. Her armor took the brunt of it, but it did knock her back a step and it was embarrassing. Not one to let an advantage go to waste, Oberyn kept pushing. He began spinning the spear and delivered a strike to Arya's inner thigh with the shaft. She wobbled but didn't fall, cursing as she tried to retreat to a safe distance. Instead of letting her go Oberyn started rotating that spear again and tried to repeat the same move on the other leg. She was ready and had her sword in place to knock the blow away. Dark eyes alight and pleased, Oberyn danced away. "Your time here hasn't ruined at all, has it? In fact, I think maybe you are better than before."
"I've had a lot of practice," she admitted, thinking about her multiple sessions with Aemon.
"Lots of people watching," he pointed out. "What you say we give them a show?"
"What was all this then?" she inquired, gesturing to her leg where there would definitely be a bruise tomorrow.
"Foreplay," he said with a laugh. "Think you can handle it?"
Honestly, she didn't know, but she was already looking forward to finding out. Rarely could she really let loose. Usually she needed to be cautious to ensure she didn't harm someone carelessly. She didn't need to worry about Oberyn however, he was more than capable of avoiding the worst of her attacks. For once she didn't need to hold back.
It was also thrilling to think she was about to experience the legendary Oberyn Martell at his deadliest.
"I'll let you go first." To emphasize the advantage he turned his back on her and stuck his spear in the dirt in front of him. He was giving her his entire back and adding to the difficulty by releasing his hold on the weapon and still it wouldn't be enough. If she rushed at him in hopes of drawing blood before he rounded on her with the spear, she'd waste the opportunity. No, the best she could hope for would be to knock him off balance, to put him at a disadvantage for what came next.
Years of expecting assassins in every room left Oberyn with razor sharp instincts and keen senses. Sneaking up on him would be impossible, so she decided to do the opposite. She'd run fast and make sure he heard her. If she rushed for the center of his back, and only chose which shoulder to strike at the last instant, it was less likely he'd be able to anticipate her preference.
Everything was silent, until it wasn't. With a war cry Dothraki screamers could be proud of, she ran straight at Oberyn, using her shouts to try and conceal her footsteps. When she was five strides from bumping into his back, she angled he body to the side. In front of her Oberyn put both his hands on the spear. She raised her sword. The muscles in his back flexed as he tore the spear from the ground. Anticipating the swing that would follow she adjusted her aim to the opposite side. Her sword was just inches from making contact with the back of his right shoulder when he rotated, pulling the spear along with him. She was almost too slow, but at the last moment she sensed the spear nearing her knees. She jumped as high as she could, folding her legs under her. She managed to just barely clear the spear. While gravity pulled her down, Oberyn steered the spear up, forcing an ugly meeting in the middle. She threw her sword between them in a futile attempt to minimize the damage, and somehow, she avoided getting skewered. The sharpened tip of the spear ended up a little too close to her groin for Arya's liking.
Having taken his shots, Oberyn needed to pull the spear back in and regroup. Arya planned to capitalize on the small window when he'd be too busy to attack her. She threw herself at him with vigor, making her first attempt for his head before her feet were back on the ground. She landed in a roll and popped up swinging. Only his incredible reflexes allowed hm to avoid falling victim to any of a half a dozen tries. Likewise, without his relentless training, Arya never would've had the necessary stamina to keep pressing her advantage. When he backed up, she went with him, step for step, taking swats at random points to keep him guessing. When she got too close for his taste, he used the spear to clear a path by aiming it at her stomach and forcing her back. She'd sidestep left or right, moving just enough to dodge the tip of the spear and then try to continue where she left off. They were both beginning to slow, but Arya sensed he was worse than her. As long as she stayed close and didn't let him make use of his weapon's length, she had a chance.
When he repeated the same move that worked early, she blocked it, preventing another blow to the gut with the hard wood stock. It did nothing to deter her and delayed her only slightly. He was running out of room.
His eyes warned of an upcoming strike, so she braced for it. When he moved the spear Oberyn didn't thrust it at her like she was expecting, he went the other way instead. In a move she'd only seen him do to impress Ellaria and the girls, he put the spear into the dirt hard and used it to aid him in a cartwheel. Arya realized too late what was happening. His right leg was already coming toward her mouth. She leaned away but still got clipped by his boot. Several people gasped when they saw it. From the corner of her eye she saw Daenerys take a step toward her before Aemon pulled her back. She staggered, dropping to a knee while she rolled her tongue against her cheek and tested her jaw. That would leave a mark.
Opposite her and standing still, Oberyn appeared entirely too pleased with himself. "Had enough?"
She scoffed, an act that made her jaw throb in protest. "Please, you've kicked Ellaria harder in bed."
Oberyn wasn't the only one laughing, but he was the loudest. "You girls been talking about me again?"
She straightened up and gave him a smile, aware there was blood in her mouth and on her teeth. "Ready to finish this?"
"Just waiting on you," he acknowledged, before waving her over to him.
Before she obliged him, she spit onto the ground, a mixture of Saliva and blood. She had to give Oberyn credit, he must've been a phenomenal Pit Fighter. He certainly knew how to keep things interesting.
R-C
How much longer could this be expected to go on? Daenerys was starting to think the two fighting would survive, but she was increasingly confident she wouldn't. Watching Arya spar was one thing, but this fight was real, she could tell no one was holding back. She still didn't even know what they were fighting over, she just knew she had to hold her breath each time Oberyn raised his spear and wince when their weapons clashed.
She may have hated it, but she was in the minority. The match was riveting to most of those around her, including Aemon, who looked as though he wanted to be out there too. He was quick to point out when he thought Arya was winning, but utterly silent when he had nothing good to say. He had been so sure Arya was about to be named the victor and then bam, Arya gets kicked in the teeth, literally kicked in the teeth. How much longer was she going to need to endure this?
The longer it went, the more people heard about it and came to bear witness. Grey Worm and dozens of his Unsullied were watching, along with City Guards, some Kingsguard, even a few of Daario's Second Sons. They all seemed to be getting a perverse thrill out of watching two friends try to kill one another. Daenerys didn't see the appeal. She could only shake her head.
While in Dorne she'd seen one of Oberyn's daughters challenge Arya with a spear. She thought the young woman skilled but seeing her father now, it was no mystery where the girl got her talent. It was also indisputable that she still had much more to learn. At first glance the spear seemed like such a primitive weapon, a long stick with a pointy end, but Daenerys never realized how versatile it could be. Were she not so scared, she'd be intrigued.
Not even when Arya was on the attack, did Daenerys relax, because Oberyn proved time and again to be an expert at seizing on the tiniest of openings to try and gain the upper hand. She didn't know what the stock of the spear was made from, but it was taking a beating. Splinters and fragments of broken wood littered the yard.
No matter what side she came from, or which angle she used to align her attacks, Oberyn was always there, with his spear ready to block away anything Arya tried.
When it was his turn, Oberyn lacked empathy. There was no doubt he wanted victory as badly as Arya did. It was when the Prince was grunting with effort and moving so fast Daenerys's eyes could barely keep up that the Princess got a glimpse of just how skilled her lover was. Her gifts were more understated than Oberyn's, but no less remarkable. More often than not, when he thrust his spear, he hit nothing but air. It was only when they were in close, trading blows that Arya relied on her sword to help.
The beginning of the end came when Oberyn capitalized on making contact with Arya's thigh. While she was unsteady and slow, he planted his feet and thrust for the center of her chest. To avoid the pointed end, she tried to back up, but she stripped. Daenerys gasped and Missandei gave a comforting squeeze to the hand she was holding. Daenerys looked at the handmaiden for an instant and when she turned back to the fight, Arya was flat on her back with Oberyn standing over her. Was it over? Daenerys would never admit it, but she was relieved, even when it was evident Arya was losing. At least now this madness would stop.
With him standing over her, spear in hand, Daenerys thought the end had come. Arya disagreed. She took a deliberate, hard swing at one of Oberyn's hands. He adjusted his grip just in time, moving his hand further up the spear to a safe location. Any question about Arya's intent died when the steel cut deeply into the spear. If Oberyn hadn't moved his hand the results would have been disastrous.
Daenerys went back to holding her breath. On the field, Oberyn was looking down at Arya with an unreadable expression. He held up the hand he nearly lost and shook it out. "That was close," he said, disapprovingly.
Undeterred Arya's sword flashed again, aiming for the exact same spot. This strike was clearly harder, even to a know-nothing like Daenerys. The spear rippled as Arya chopped into it. She was just about to ask Aemon what she was doing when it became clear. Multiple seemingly random attacks had been anything but random. Arya actions had purpose. She wasn't trying to hit Oberyn, she knew he'd move his hand. Her desire was to weaken the spear at a strategic location. The last swing got the job done and cracking wood echoed around them.
Honestly, Daenerys didn't see the point. Sure, the spear was shorter now and less threatening, but Arya was still on the ground and Oberyn was still standing…
That was as far as she got, because the Gods and Arya had to prove her wrong. She waited until Oberyn was assessing the damage to his weapon and then she pounced. Contorting her body in a way Daenerys had never seen anyone do before, she arched her back and rolled her hips, getting off the ground. Daenerys thought her goal was to stand but rather than getting her feet under her again, she kicked one out as she rolled toward Oberyn. She made contact with the side of his knee. Just like with the spear once was not enough. She did it again, kicking him harder. As he sprawled in an effort to stay upright, he was separated from his spear. He fell and Arya was on him in a blink, with her sword pressed to the side of his neck.
Daenerys wanted it to be over more than anything, but she'd been wrong before. She felt no joy seeing Arya win. The tension in the air was thick and more than a few of the spectators whispered that the fight wouldn't be finished until Arya exacted a sufficient amount of revenge for whatever slight caused them to fight so seriously. Daenerys prayed they were wrong.
She didn't think she was getting her wish. Arya was kneeling over Oberyn with her sword at his neck. The Dornish Prince was defeated, but neither moved, leading more speculation about what would constitute a victory. As she was silently willing Arya to let him up, Oberyn's hand came off the ground. Unarmed his hand balled into a fist, and she guessed he intended to punch Arya in the side of the head. She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing what was inevitable at this point. She blocked out all the other voices and just listened for Aemon. Aemon would tell her which of them had won, and how bad the damage. Five seconds, then ten before the silence was shattered by laughter. Two different voices mixing together. She'd recognize one of them anywhere. Her eyes popped open and she turned her critical gaze to the field. Arya was still on top of Oberyn and her sword remained at his neck. Oberyn's fist hung in the air like a cloud, halfway between where it started and where it was going. Arya's right hand, which had been empty last Daenerys saw it was now gripping Oberyn's wrist, keeping it from reaching her. They stayed like that, one on top of the other, laughing like children. "What's happening?" she asked, not caring who answered.
Missandei shrugged apologetically, while Aemon at least spoke. "Your guess is as good as mine."
Fine then. She knew two people who weren't confused. She'd ask them. She stepped away from Aemon, Missandei and all the other onlookers and chased after Arya.
By the time she reached them she had rolled off of Oberyn and they sat side by side in the dirt, breathing heavy. She was deciding where to start when Oberyn said, "Whoever trained you did a fuck of a good job."
"More compliments?" Arya said between pants. "Haven't you had enough yet?"
He lowered his hand from his sweat covered face and smiled at the soldier. "You won," he decreed loudly, "I haven't been beat like that in a while. You don't have to say it."
This again. "Say what?!" she roared, having run out of patience.
"You didn't tell her?" Oberyn reprimanded.
"I did," Arya responded looking at the Princess seriously, "I told her not to worry, that it was fine."
"Which you'd do even if it wasn't!" Daenerys proclaimed. "Now you've had your fun, someone better tell me what's going on?!"
Arya was legitimately repentant, so it was Oberyn who spoke for them. "We were just getting reacquainted."
Was he fucking serious? All of this was to say, hello? They nearly killed themselves. "You get reacquainted by nearly killing her?"
"Well, we Dornish have another way…" he began.
"STOP!" Arya shouted. "Bite your tongue and don't finish that sentence."
Having reached her limit, Daenerys wasn't in the mood for jokes or games. She was tired of being the only one with no idea what was happening. "Tell me!" she demanded.
This time it was Arya who responded. "We took part in the Dornish reunion ritual that allows us to keep our clothes on." From the ground she reached a hand out for Daenerys to take. Her cheeks turned red as she realized what Arya was saying. She took the offered hand, if for no other reason than so that she'd have something to do. Arya used it to pull herself up. When she was on her feet, and close enough to the Princess to whisper, she finished, "I thought you'd prefer a little fighting to the alternative."
She knew it was a joke, but she wasn't in the mood. She thought each one was seriously trying to hurt the other. "So, you weren't angry?" she clarified.
"Of course not."
That didn't make sense. She hadn't imagined it. Arya had been furious and Oberyn kept taunting her. "But you said… and he kept wanting you to say something."
Standing now too, Oberyn leaned against Daenerys's shoulder, they were facing different directions, but she had Arya against one side and Oberyn the other. "She won," he said, the epitome of fatherly pride, "she doesn't have to say it."
Before Daenerys could erupt, Arya soothed her with a touch on her arm. "I don't have to, but I will. You were right."
Oberyn laughed. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."
"Careful," Arya warned before she leaned away from Daenerys. "You may be right, but I still won."
They were laughing and joking like the old friends Daenerys knew them to be, so it had to be another game, right? It was hard to believe everything she'd just seen was because Arya refused to tell a grown man that he was right. They were willing to die to settle a petty dispute over which one of them was right? "Right about what?" she had to know. She needed more if she was going to make sense of this.
"You," Arya admitted quietly.
With one word Daenerys's anger and annoyance melted away. Oberyn and Arya had been talking about her? Her doubts must've been obvious because Arya elaborated. "Back in Sunspear, he told me you were different from the rest of your family."
"I was right, obviously. Still, your faithful guard refused to admit it."
Arya came back from retrieving her sword and returned it to her belt with care. "He was right," she said simply.
Now that she knew, she couldn't say she felt any better about it. It was pointless and reckless, but both seemed healthy, so she tried to put it behind her. "Can we go now, or are there more battles you need to wage?"
"We can go," Arya said seriously, ignoring or missing Daenerys's sarcasm.
"Thank the Gods for that," she mumbled under her breath. "Prince, we'll see you later."
He nodded respectfully. "I'm already looking forward to it Princess, I can't wait to hear all the stories you have to tell about our mutual friend."
"Absolutely not," Arya insisted, uncomfortable with the idea of them trading stories.
Taking the opportunity to begin paying Arya back for not telling her the fight was a game between friends, she decided to let her worry. "I'd love that," she gushed, making Oberyn grin, "I think I have a lot you might like to hear."
"That's…"
"Enough," Arya interrupted, putting a hand on the small of Daenerys's back. "Didn't you say you wanted to get cleaned up from the road?"
"It can wait."
"It really shouldn't," Arya disagreed, giving the Princess a nudge toward the castle.
She allowed Arya to practically drag her away and then when she'd gotten near the door she gave Arya a shove of her own. "Go and see Oberyn, spend some time with him. He didn't come all this way for me, or Eliza, he's here for you."
"What about you?"
"I'll be upstairs, you can join me when you're done," she proposed.
"Are you upset?" Arya asked in a low voice. "I'm sorry about Oberyn and the sparring…"
She was tempted to play the part longer, but if she thought Daenerys was upset, she wouldn't leave and she deserved the chance to see Oberyn after so long. "I'll let you make it up to me," she promised, "but first go spend time with him. You know where I'll be when you're done."
"I'll see you soon?" she verified.
"Definitely." Daenerys almost broke the rule and told Arya that she loved her, but she swallowed the words down at the last moment. The crowd dispersed almost immediately after Arya defeated Oberyn, but a few stragglers still lingered nearby. She couldn't with any confidence say no one would hear them and that made it too great of a risk. When they were alone next however, when she didn't have to hold back, she intended to tell and show Arya just how deeply she was loved.
Standing on the third step down from the castle entrance she watched Arya and Oberyn embrace. The affection between them was visible and it warmed her heart. Even after everything her father did to the Starks, even after he sent Arya to Dorne as a foster while her surviving family went to Highgarden, Arya still managed to find some good in it. Her ability to create a real, lasting relationship, with a nobleman no less, after everything that happened was a testament to her strength and her underlying goodness.
"Sister," Viserys said as he descended the steps to stand beside her. She turned away from Arya, but Viserys had already seen what had her attention. "She's quite something that guard of yours. I'm beginning to understand what you see in her."
Viserys leering at Arya made her uncomfortable, but she blamed it on being out of practice dealing with her difficult brother. "Welcome home, did you enjoy your time in Sunspear?"
It was an honest question, but one that she only asked because she forgot who she was speaking to. Daenerys might've enjoyed months away from the Red Keep and she might've envied the opportunity Viserys was granted, but she always knew he'd never make the most of it. He was entitled and selfish and he felt learning anything was beneath him. He was born a Prince and he felt that alone was enough to justify anything he did, right or wrong.
"Are you trying to be funny? That backward corner of the Realm and their ridiculous customs don't matter. I hated every day of it. Even Father agrees it was a mistake, that's why he's giving me Dragonstone and ten thousand men."
With effort she hid her displeasure. She loved Dorne and didn't like the way he was demeaning it, but she knew starting a fight with Viserys on her first day back wouldn't benefit anyone. Also, she'd been there when Aerys ruled he was giving Dragonstone to Viserys and she didn't think he made mention of so many soldiers. It didn't matter. If Viserys wanted to make himself feel better by thinking he'd get one hundred thousand men, Daenerys wouldn't interfere. When he was happy, he was less trouble. "You may be right," she said, waiting until he smiled in agreement before finishing the thought. "Before long you'll be Lord of Dragonstone."
"Oh, sweet sister," he said stroking her cheek. She resisted the urge to lean back and knock his hand away. "I have so much to do here before I can leave."
R-C
Author's Note: Sorry for any mistakes. My health has made writing and editing a challenge lately, but I wanted to get this chapter out.
To the people who wanted Gendry, I hope you aren't too disappointed. I considered it, but it didn't really fit with what's going to happen next. The girls have much bigger problems on the horizon than an irrationally jealous Daenerys.
Oberyn is back. I had to give him a grand entrance, and what better way than letting him fight Arya. All because she wouldn't say "you were right." Seemed like something the characters might do.
Viserys is back too. That's rarely good for anybody. I doubt he's going to approve of Daenerys's personal growth.
The next chapter will have lots of Oberyn, some time in the throne room and Viserys doing what he does best. Hang on, things are about to get interesting.
Thanks for reading and I'll post again as soon as I can.
RC
