Her world was shrinking. With every labored beat of her heart she felt the walls closing in around her. Her only companion was the pain, and not the sort she had come to expect. This wasn't an aching body after a round or two of vigorous sparring, it wasn't the sharp bite of a shallow cut caused by a sword gone awry. it wasn't the dull throb of grief that had been her shadow since the day the Mad King made her an orphan, and it definitely wasn't the satisfied, and all too welcome stings she felt after a night in Daenerys's arms.
Satisfied that she knew what her pain wasn't, she set her focus on solving the riddle of what it was. It burned, she realized all at once. It burned badly. This wasn't the type of burn she was familiar with. She didn't get this from brushing against a brazier or holding her fingers too close to the flames in an attempt to warm them, no this felt like she was being roasted over an intense flame. She wanted to scream, to release the agony but no sound would come.
Why was she burning? What happened? She tried to think back, to remember, but it was hard. Everything was mixed together. The past, the present, her plans for the future, all interwoven. There was no discernible pattern to it. It was random and chaotic. A recollection from Winterfell, beside one of Daenerys, followed by Oberyn and Nymeria.
How long had she been sleeping? She tried to move, but couldn't, her arms, her legs, her head, none obeyed commands. Making matters worse was the understanding that her futile efforts only intensified the scorching she was receiving.
Time lost meaning. Seconds or centuries. It was just her and her suffering, waiting to see which of them would die first.
R-C
Daenerys paced the room. It was taking too long. Why hadn't Oberyn come for her yet? Would he be true to his word or did he blame Daenerys for what was done? If he held her as responsible as the rest of her kin, he would probably spear her in the eye before allowing her to occupy the same room as Arya.
"That's one way to dry," Missandei jested. Daenerys had taken the prescribed bath, but beyond getting wet, she'd yet to see any benefits. Since climbing out she tried to sit, once on the bed, another time in front of the mirror and each time she was back on her feet almost immediately, needing to be in motion, to work off the abundance of nervous energy surging through her.
"This is all my fault," she admitted freely. "Arya tried to warn me. She told me this would happen, but I was so sure it wouldn't."
She didn't need to elaborate, Missandei knew all the relevant details now, even the ones she wasn't present for. Yes, Aerys told Arya to train her, but he says a lot of things and most of them are nonsense. "You made a mistake," the handmaiden said coming out of the closet carrying a white dress, one of the ones she bought from Sansa. "What the King did is not for you to carry, you tried to stop him."
Daenerys didn't appreciate being reassured. Not only because she disagreed vehemently with the premise but more so because she failed. Was finding her voice in the throne room really noteworthy when it hadn't altered the outcome? It was true, she'd finally spoken in opposition to her father, in the way she wished she'd done when Arya was accused of desertion, but was fighting to the very end admirable given how tragic the results were? For all her efforts, for all the words said and pleas made, it hadn't helped a bit.
"Put this on," Missandei instructed, as she passed. She snatched it off an outstretched finger and stopped pacing just long enough to fulfill the task she'd been assigned.
"She must be in so much pain," Daenerys lamented as she straightened the silk on her frame. "That bastard Payne enjoyed it." She covered her mouth with a hand and tried to stuff the sob back in. In her mind she was there again, watching Payne delight in torturing the woman she loved. It was impossible to overstate how bad this was, she'd seen Arya's injuries up close when she knelt next to her. By the time she got there, any individual wounds were indistinguishable, because her entire back had been shredded.
"Arya is strong," Missandei said with supreme confidence. She put a comforting arm around her friend. "After all she has been through, she will make it through this as well."
"She shouldn't have to," Daenerys whined as she turned her head and buried her face into Missandei's shoulder. "Haven't the Gods punished her enough?" Once they started the thoughts arrived hard and fast, without permission, as did her tears. "Why did it have to be there, in that place? When they made her kneel before the throne all I could see was the scared girl she must've been the first time." Missandei soothed her with gently strokes down her hair, but didn't interrupt, rightly guessing that the Princess's needed to get it out.
"Facing my father in that room, where most of her family died, that's her worst nightmare and she had to do it today, again, because of me. I was too stubborn, I whined and complained and made Arya feel bad until she gave up trying to make me learn."
"I can relate to your lack of interest," Missandei contributed in High Valyrian. "I don't wish to learn swordplay either."
She chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, but no one is going to whip Grey Worm for not teaching you." She wanted the words back instantly. She transitioned right into an apology. "I'm sorry Missandei, that was rude,"
"It's fine, you've had a long day."
Accurate or not, it didn't excuse taking her frustrations out on her dearest friend. "We both have, and I don't know what I would do without you. If you weren't here to talk to, to wait with me, I'd probably lose my mind."
"It's a good thing I am here, then."
Yes, it truly was. Standing so close it was easy to embrace her again. As they did, Daenerys whispered another apology. She was angry and, scared and hurt but none of that was Missandei's doing. She had a long list of those she held accountable in some form or fashion, but the handmaiden wasn't among them.
"You'll feel better when you can see Arya. Once you know she'll recover, everything will be easier."
Daenerys wasn't so sure about that. Yes, it would be a huge weight off her shoulders when she could see with her own eyes that Arya was alive and healing. Talking to her and getting to apologize would hopefully mend one of the holes in her heart, but it wouldn't fix everything. Her father did this. Her brother let it happen. She threatened Rhaegar with her knowledge about Lyanna and then pushed the Crown Prince when he tried to interfere in her plan to rescue Arya. She cried and begged openly, willfully disobeying the King's commands multiple times. Worse yet, she did it in a room full of witnesses. Her father might've been too distracted by the violence to see anything else, but many of the others were far more observant. Daenerys's obvious devastation, her tireless defense of Arya, the tears and the pleading, it all made it quite clear that the relationship between the Princess and her guard wasn't typical. Whether they knew the extent of the affection was debatable, what wasn't was that Daenerys cared about the alleged bastard enough to defy her father. Consequences would follow. In hours or days, a long line of people would track her down and demand explanations. She'd need them ready.
The knock at the door had Daenerys all but running to answer it. She turned the knob, yanked it open and expected to see Oberyn Martell, but he wasn't the one who'd come calling. Jorah was. Instinctively she knew why, he was there to try and capitalize on the horrors of the day. How pathetic and predictably selfish. He greeted her with a smile. In his right hand he raised a bottle of wine. "I thought you might like…" That was as far as he got. She slammed the door in his face and huffed in annoyance. What was wrong with him? Did he really think now was the best time for whatever he wanted? Jorah wasn't alone either. The keep was full of men and women equal to Jorah in their sense of entitlement. Some were even worse. The castle was every bit as horrible as Arya said it was. The people were overwhelmingly violent, arrogant or indifferent. They lied, cheated and manipulated anyone and anything to get what they wanted, and they were rewarded for it, more gold, more lands, more titles. It was disgusting.
Jorah knocked again, and again. When Missandei raised an eyebrow in question, the Targaryen merely shook her head, saying, "Not now."
It was about ten minutes after the knight had given up on being permitted entry that another knock sounded. The room had been quiet. Daenerys was too lost in her thoughts to maintain a conversation and Missandei was content to let her worry in peace. It was a kindness. Her initial thought was that Jorah returned for another round in their back and forth, but the knock sounded wrong, it was too forceful and insistent for a man like Jorah. The knight favored a gentler approach when dealing with Daenerys.
She bounced up out of her seat but hesitated on the way to the door. Missandei noticed. "It's going to be okay. Arya needs you to be strong now."
When Daenerys didn't move, Missandei slipped past to greet the visitor she was neglecting. Even if she hadn't been too busy to hear the Princess's reply, Daenerys didn't think she was brave enough to admit her fears aloud. They had been haunting her since the throne room, what if Arya didn't need her, what if she didn't want her anymore, after everything?
Oberyn presence put a halt on the decidedly negative direction her thoughts were taking. She tried to speak several times before she finally settled on three small words. "How is she?"
"They're nearly done."
That's all she needed. In the hall, she restarted their exchange. "Have you been allowed in yet?"
"No, I was only told they were done tending to the wounds, now they're wrapping them. By the time we get there, they should be leaving her to rest."
She wanted to apologize. It was on the tip of her tongue before she swallowed it, apologies were meaningless. If she wanted forgiveness, from Oberyn and from Arya, she was going to need to do more than talk, she was going to have to show them she was deserving.
They got to the nondescript door just as it was opening. Daenerys bolted by Oberyn, going straight to Pycelle. "How is she?"
"Princess Daenerys," he said slowly. "lovely night, isn't it."
Was he seriously discussing the weather? He was a Maester for fuck sakes. "How is my guard?"
"She'll recover."
She waited for more but that was all there was. Fully prepared to ask him questions until she knew enough about Arya's condition, she was struck by uncertainty. She didn't even know what to ask. At her wit's end, she considered knocking over the Grand Maester to get to the woman he was treating.
Oberyn's voice gave her pause. "How deep did the lacerations go?" he wondered. He came to stand next to Daenerys but didn't move in front of her.
"Fifteen lashes by my count," Pycelle informed them. "The first few were relatively shallow and would have been easy to mend with thread, but later lashes widened and deepened the wounds from earlier. It's cumulative you see. No one strike does the damage, but the totality of them is devastating."
She wanted to scream. Arya was a person. She was beautiful and smart, funny and charming. She was great and Daenerys loved her. She was wonderful, she was more than what the King had done to her, more than some experiment for Pycelle to satisfy his curiosities.
"Was there any damage to her spine?" Oberyn inquired next. Daenerys hadn't thought of that. She couldn't imagine a whip getting all the way to the bone, but what did she know?
"We'll know more when she wakes up."
It didn't escape her that he hadn't answered the question. She let it go, in favor of focusing on something else. "She's not awake?"
"By the Gods no, we gave her milk of the poppy. We had to."
Thankfully, Oberyn was there to provide additional information. "It's for the best. It'll dull her pain and make it easier for her to sleep. She'll heal faster if she sleeps."
That made sense but Daenerys was still disappointed she wouldn't be able to speak to her lover. "Can we see her?"
"She's asleep," Pycelle noted as though she was an invalid.
"I'm aware," Daenerys assured him, managing to keep too much sarcasm from coloring her tone. "I just wish to sit with her for a few minutes."
"Oh yes, of course, of course. Go ahead Princess."
She took a step but immediately noticed Oberyn wasn't next to her any longer. She looked back. "Aren't you coming?"
He managed a smile for her, but it wasn't as bright, or as dashing as the ones she'd seen in the Water Gardens. "I'm not the one she's going to wait to see."
She'd been so determined to get to Arya, that she failed to prepare for what she'd do once she was allowed. She remembered doing this after the gate guards attacked her, but that day she knew there would be no lasting effects. This time she wasn't nearly as confident. With no one else to share her pain with, she relied on Oberyn, unfair as it might've been. "I can't. My father… he did this, she isn't going to want me there. This is all my fault."
"You're the only one she'll want there," he disagreed. "Trust me. Go." He pointed in the event she wasn't sure which way would lead to Arya. "Sit next to her bed, hold her hand, tell her you are there. The medicine will keep her from waking, but many believe she can hear, so talk to her."
"Do you believe that?"
She shrugged and then winked. "I left Oldtown before I had to decide for myself."
He walked away, leaving Daenerys alone for several long moments before she was ready. Exhaling loudly, she went inside.
The walk to Arya's bed was incredibly lonely. What she saw when she got there, didn't ease any of her concerns. Arya was face down on a narrow bed, with her arms above her head. Although she appeared to be sleeping, there was nothing peaceful or restful about her pose. Daenerys kept her eyes away from the bandages and gave her attention to a strap of leather wrapped around Arya's neck instead. What purpose did that serve?
When she couldn't delay any further, she assessed the damage. Arya's entire back, from neck to waist and shoulder to shoulder was concealed in layers of clean, white bandages. Daenerys sought out skin, looking for any hint of the familiar flesh she knew so well. There wasn't much. To quell her growing panic, she reminded herself that no injury, no scars, no bandages could change who Arya was, or how Daenerys felt about her. Her Arya was still in there.
It was a vast improvement over the last time she'd seen Arya, but only because the bandages were hiding the worst of it. She'd need weeks if not months to recover and then what? Would she be able to serve as guard, or return to the life of a soldier or had her father's petty grievances cost Arya her dreams too?
Afraid that if she started crying, she wouldn't be able to stop, she tried to focus on something else. She spotted a chair and went to sit, but her route took her past a large pile – a mountain really – of used cloth and bloodstained rags. She gagged. That was Arya's blood. The sheer volume was alarming. They'd needed all of this to repair what was done?
The door opened and Daenerys was relieved to have an excuse to look away from the grim monument. It was one of the Maester's aides, coming with a mop and bucket. She recognized him as one of the men who carried Arya away from the throne room. "Princess, are you certain it's safe for you to be here?"
She was sure her confusion was visible. Was she safe? Until he walked in, she was alone with a severely injured, unconscious woman, that was hardly dangerous. "We're fine. I was just going to sit with her and hold her hand."
"You can't," he said, looking up from the mop he was using to clean away Arya's blood from the floor.
"And why not?!" she asked with authority. "I am a Princess, and this woman is my guard. If I wish to sit with her, then I will."
The young man avoided her eye expertly. "Of… of course Princess. I meant no, no disrespect, I just well… we had to restrain her."
Restrain her?! She went to Arya and leaned over, taking care not to make contact with any of her injuries. Her arms, which Daenerys noticed were above her head earlier, were upon closer inspection, bound to the bed. Likewise, that odd band of leather around her neck was in actuality another tether, connecting to a hook built into the bed's frame. She was horrified. How barbaric. "Tell me, is it not enough that this woman was whipped for the amusement of the court? Then she comes to you for aid and you treat her like a wild animal! Who told you to restrain her?" He looked at his feet again, but Daenerys was in no mood for delays. "Who gave the order!?" she shouted.
"Grand Maester Pycelle," he confessed.
That didn't make sense. Arya didn't know Pycelle and he didn't know her, apart from a few brief interactions. She needed to understand. "Tell me everything that happened," she commanded.
"We were sewing up her wounds, she was unconscious, so we were working fast, all four of us to try and get as much done as quickly as we could." Daenerys knew that wasn't all, so she waited. "She came to on the bed, she started thrashing about and mumbling incoherently. We tried talking to her, tried calming her but she refused to settle, and attempted to strike us when we tried tending her wounds."
Her heart broke for Arya. She was probably scared. She fell unconscious in the throne room and woke up somewhere else. Of course, she would be wary, especially given the number of men crowding around her. Add to that the immense pain she had to be in, and any acts Arya committed against the Maesters were not only justified but understandable. "She likely thought you were hurting hurt."
He nodded solemnly. "Aye, it happens sometimes Princess, so we restrained her and fed her milk of the poppy, so she'd sleep."
"Once she was asleep why did you leave them on?"
"Only Grand Maester Pycelle can order them removed," he explained. "He didn't, so they stayed."
"Take them off," Daenerys instructed. "She's no threat to me."
"Apologies Princess, but as I said, I don't have the authority to…"
She didn't want to hear this crap. "Do you have the authority to deny me a simple request?" she challenged.
He cleared his throat. "N…no I suppose not."
"Release her. If anyone has issue with it, you can direct them to me."
As he got to work, Daenerys leaned over the bed and put her mouth near Arya's left ear. "Just one more minute. I'm going to fix everything, I promise."
Once Arya was released, Daenerys settled into the chair while the young man got back to his cleaning. Remembering what Oberyn said, she held Arya's hand in hers. Shocked by how cold and pale it was, she turned to the expert. "She's really pale, and colder than usual. Is there something wrong?"
This time he answered without stopping his work. "No, your guard lost a lot of blood, that will remedy itself once her body replaces the missing fluid."
Mentioning the blood brought forward memories of how Arya lost it. The whip against her skin. Daenerys hadn't known until she was in the bath and the water was tinged with red, but the main reason Missandei encouraged her to bathe was because her knees were stained with blood. She pushed those thoughts away. Thinking about that wouldn't help Arya, and Arya needed her.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm sorry for everything. You were right. I was wrong and I'm so very, very sorry."
She chuckled humorlessly. "This is the part where you tell me not to apologize for things I didn't do. Gods what I wouldn't give to hear you say that to me right now, to say anything to me."
A quick peek made sure the Maester in training was busy. Daenerys whispered just to be safe. "I love you and you're the strongest woman I've ever met, so I know you can get through this. You can get through anything. I'm going to help, even if you don't want it, I'll help. We're in this together, so you just rest, and I'll take care of everything else." She lifted Arya's limp hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckles.
The 'everything else' Daenerys planned to take care of in that moment consisted of most of the Red Keep. If only she lived in the time of her ancestors. Then her problem would have an easy solution – climb atop a dragon and take her revenge in Fire and Blood. But that was mere fantasy, Daenerys knew that wasn't possible for her. Exacting revenge without dragons would take patience, gold, friends, unwavering commitment and plenty of hate. Looking at the woman she loved and seeing her so broken Daenerys knew that although justice would take longer than was preferable, she was confident she had enough hate to sustain her until the last body dropped.
R-C
She was standing before the Iron Throne. "Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
"No" she tells him. He seems pleased with her response. She knows why.
The whip is brought out. A loyal man is chosen to act on the King's behalf. Seconds pass slow while she waits for the pain. She closes her eyes and thinks of Daenerys. Not of the words Daenerys is saying now in a desperate attempt to save her, but the ones whispered in the dark, when they were alone. "I love you Arya Stark," she said. "I've never been happier than I am with you."
She hopes the memories will give her the strength she needs. She hears a grunt of effort as Ilyn Payne pulls the whip back. She balls her hands into fists and presses them against her thighs hard. She takes a deep breath and holds it, and then… nothing.
The whip cracking has her eyes popping open. She expects agony but there isn't any. She wasn't hit, but how is that possible. The answer comes from right beside her. She hears someone cry out on her left. She's afraid to look, terrified actually, but it's useless. Whether she looks or not, she knows that voice, better than her own. It was Daenerys, he was whipping Daenerys in her place. She tried to scream, to move, but she couldn't. She watched the whip split the flawless skin she'd touched so many times. She listened while Daenerys begged her father for death. She felt it, a rush of air like a putrid kiss against her cheek each time the whip made contact.
Close enough to be splattered with blood and tears but utterly powerless to stop it. She'd always known she'd fail Daenerys some day, she knew the Princess deserved someone far better but never, never had she imagined she'd leave so much wreckage in her wake.
It ended with the pyromancer wheeling in wildfire and a bloodied and barely alive Daenerys looking to Arya for help. "Help me," she wheezed. She tried, oh by the Gods did she try, but her body betrayed her at every turn. She stayed there, mute, imprisoned, next to her dying lover while the green flames took them both.
Hearing Daenerys scream should have been the final agonizing moment. She should have woken up, covered in sweat, gasping for air, clawing at the blankets or the bed sheets. It wasn't. Everything went black, before it began anew.
The King and his question. Afraid the same response would produce the same result, Arya tried to say something else. "Yes!" she wanted to scream. She had lots to say, things that would ensure Aerys forgot he had a daughter and focused all of his attention on her instead. That would've been preferable to watching helplessly as Daenerys died again.
Despite her efforts she still told the King she had no defense and he again called for Ser Ilyn Payne and the whip. She wasn't surprised when the whip landed, and she didn't feel any pain. What was unexpected was the distinctly masculine grunt she heard from next to her. Tears welled up in her eyes, but even blurred, she'd recognize her father.
As it had been with Daenerys, she couldn't speak or move, and just like Daenerys it ended in fire. She tried to scream as the flames consumed them, not in pain or fear, but in grief. She was losing him again.
The living and the dead visited her one after the next, again and again. Anyone she loved died in the throne room in her place; Daenerys, more than once, her mother and father, Robb, Bran, Sansa, a young boy she somehow knew was Rickon, Oberyn, Missandei, Aemon, even Grey Worm got a turn.
She prayed to the Gods then cursed them, and it never made a difference. She lost them all, and each time one of them left, they took a piece of her mind with them. She feared who she'd be when it was over. Would there be anything left?
R-C
After spending hours next to a motionless and unconscious Arya, Grand Maester Pycelle asked her to leave so he could assess her injuries. She wanted to stay, but as she stood on unsteady legs, her stomach grumbled, and she realized she'd been neglecting her own needs. "How long will it take?"
"No more than an hour Princess," he told her.
That seemed excessive, but who was she to dispute the Grand Maester's claim? "I'll be back then," she promised, talking to Arya more than Pycelle.
She was surprised when Oberyn wasn't waiting outside the Maester's room. That surprise turned to disbelief when she neared her bedchamber without bumping into Missandei. She wasn't saddened by the lack of interruptions, it was freeing to not have to pretend she was okay.
Rounding the last corner, she found a small cluster of people standing directly in front of her door. She found Missandei and Oberyn, but they weren't alone, they were joined by Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, and Rhaegar.
"I told you she's not in there," Rhaegar stated emphatically.
"And I told you," Oberyn fired back, "that I wouldn't believe you if you told me shit stinks."
"What do you want with Daenerys anyway?" She tensed at that. Oberyn was looking for her? Why hadn't he come to see Arya? He had to know that's where she'd be.
"Is that any of your business?"
"She's my sister," Rhaegar declared boldly, as if that justified everything.
"As Elia is mine," he reminded the Prince. "Ask me about your wife and I'll tell you why I seek your sister."
Always the loyal friend, Barristan Selmy stepped forward. "Enough now," he said to Oberyn. "Princess Daenerys is not in her chambers and this is not the time nor the place for the rest of it."
She hoped his tactic would work but there was too much anger there. It had been left to fester for too many years. Oberyn couldn't back down. "Still getting others to fight your battles for you, huh Prince?"
Rhaegar growled like an animal as he tightened his hold on his cane. "Careful," he hissed, "or you might just get your wish."
From where Daenerys stood, she could only shake her head. Yes, because a comment like that was sure to settle things. She half anticipated a brawl to break out in the hall outside her bedchamber, but Oberyn raised his hands in a show of surrender. "Haven't we had enough violence today? An innocent woman whipped because a Targaryen doesn't want to learn the sword. I may not be from the capital, but I just don't see the crime in that."
"If you're looking for someone to blame, look in the mirror," her brother countered. "I hear you're to blame for her poor performance."
Whatever restraint Oberyn had vanished by the time Rhaegar finished speaking. Both men looked eager for blood and if Jorah and Barristan reaching for their swords was any indication, they were going to have it.
Daenerys had had enough of this shit. Their grudge was ancient. They didn't like each other, fine. They could stay away from one another, or stew in silence but she just didn't have the patience for this cock-measuring. She approached quickly and announced herself before the next round of insults could start. She cleared her throat loudly. "I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable, non-ridiculous explanation for why you are all huddled together in front of my bedroom door."
She looked from face to face, determining what she could about their intentions and feelings. Barristan looked relieved. Jorah thrilled, and Missandei worried. She couldn't tell much about Oberyn or Rhaegar's motives since they were busy staring at one another to give her any attention.
"Whatever your reasons, you will all need to come back later. Missandei and I have business." None of the men looked pleased by her announcement. Missandei joined her without knowing what business awaited them. That was why she loved her handmaiden.
Jorah was the last obstacle between her and the door, the final obstruction preventing her from getting distance from this nonsense. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, like her welfare was a secret.
"Not yet, you're still blocking the door."
He moved, but someone else was ready to fill the void. "Dany, I need to speak with you."
"Do you," she clarified, "or are you just trying to ensure I can't speak with Oberyn?"
Her brother blushed but was quick to recover. "What? No. It doesn't involve him, I need to speak with you, it's urgent."
She didn't think being alone with Rhaegar would be good for either one of them right now. She was liable to ask some very direct, very pointed questions and if he gave unsatisfactory answers Aemon was going to get bumped up in the line of succession. "Are you going to tell me that it was Oberyn's fault Arya got whipped like an animal? If so, there is no need, I heard it already."
He came toward her, forcing Jorah to move to make space. "Dany, I didn't…"
"Go ahead," she encouraged, using her hand to wave him forward, "tell me you didn't say what I heard with my own ears. That you didn't mock the man who just watched a woman he loves getting beaten. A woman who saved Aemon from sharing her fate, don't forget."
"I'm sorry about your friend," he tried as he was rapidly losing his hold on the situation. "I am, but I do need to talk to you about something and it can't wait."
Barristan tried to persuade her by supporting Rhaegar's position. "It will only take a few minutes Princess."
She gave the knight a smile for his trouble, then refused him. "As I've said, I have business with Missandei. Once I'm done, I intend to hear what brought a Dornish Prince to my bedroom at this late hour, and then I will be returning to Arya's bedside."
"How is she?" Oberyn asked, before anyone else could get a word in.
"No change. They say that's a good thing, but I just don't see it."
He put a hand on her shoulder. "She's strong. Long before we travelled the world together, before she came to me and asked to be a soldier, she was strong. She can survive this, but she'll need your help."
She smiled at him as fresh tears threatened. She could feel Rhaegar's stare, but she paid him no mind. He didn't understand. He didn't know what Arya meant to her, but Oberyn did. Oberyn knew the pain she felt, and why it hurt as badly as it did. That was a connection she couldn't have with her brother. "I know. I didn't want to leave but the Maester needed room to work."
Missandei snatched her hand. "Let's make the most of it then." She pulled Daenerys through a door she didn't remember opening and then quickly closed it. A strained laugh passed her lips when she imagined the faces of the men in the hall.
The handmaiden hugged her. "He's right you know, about Arya."
"I know," she confirmed, and she meant it. If anyone could endure, it was Arya. Daenerys didn't doubt her ability to persevere, but that didn't stop the Princess from wishing she didn't have to. It was precisely because she'd already suffered so much that Daenerys didn't want her to go through this as well. "I just need her to wake up, because I am no help to her right now, and she's just lying there, I feel like I should be doing something."
"You are doing something," Missandei observed wisely as she finally ended their embrace.
"I am?" She was pretty sure talking to a woman who couldn't hear didn't count.
"You love her," Missandei clarified, "and if I know Arya, she's fighting to get back to you, because she loves you too."
With a very unladylike sniffle, Daenerys launched into Missandei's arms again. It really was a mystery how she always knew exactly what to say. "Thank you."
They separated again and Daenerys had a look around. "Did everything go well since I went to be with Arya?"
"They didn't go poorly," she specified. "A lot of people were asking about you, about Arya, about what happened in the throne room."
She held her frustrations close. Missandei was just the unfortunate messenger for the bad news. She wasn't the cause. "They'll need to wait."
"Shall I get you something to eat before you return to Arya?" Missandei offered.
Daenerys was hungry and she did want to hurry back to Arya, but she stayed in the moment and tried to reward her friend's generosity and loyalty. "Not yet," she said before taking Missandei's hand. "I'll be spending my time with Arya, there is no reason you need to sit and wait for me to return. Why don't you and Grey Worm go into the city tomorrow. If anyone asks, tell them you are there on my orders, getting things I require."
"What do you require?"
"I only want Arya to wake up," she admitted, "and for you to have a good time."
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It was hard to enjoy anything about nightmares or delusions or whatever they were that forced her to watch those she loved whipped and eventually killed. An exception existed for Rickon, however. A child, still needing to be carried when he died at the hands of Aerys's pyromancer. When he knelt next to her, he had shaggy hair, and wild eyes but a kind smile, at least until the whipping started. That was who her brother could have been, were it not for Aerys. The others she tried not to see, to think about, but Rickon made her feel robbed. The Rickon she was seeing was stolen from her and Sansa, from their whole family really. Who he could have become, what he would do with his life, who he'd love? If a lifetime was a book, then Rickon got only the first few pages. It was a fucking tragedy.
She slowly started to notice things, but she couldn't tell if they were important, or if her frazzled mind was at its end and this was how it expressed that. First, Daenerys was the only one who ever spoke to her. Arya tried to reply, or speak to the others, but she was mute, no matter who was next to her. As the torture continued, Daenerys's appearance became more and more frequent. She was the first, the original, then it was her father, her mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon and Sansa, before it was Daenerys a second time. Then Oberyn, Grey Worm and Missandei, before Daenerys made a third visit. A brief reunion with her parents, was divided by Aemon dying and then Daenerys was back for more. With each new repetition Daenerys said more to her, using details and moments from their private life to try and convince Arya to aid her. She was no more successful breaking out of the pattern she was stuck in, but it did intensify her anguish a great deal, similar to twisting a knife.
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Leaving Missandei behind to get some rest. She stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her.
Oberyn was meant to be there. She told him she'd meet with him after Missandei, so that at least made sense. What possessed Jorah to linger outside her room and why Barristan keep him company was a whole other matter entirely.
Jorah was the quickest and the loudest. She didn't give him much consideration, but it was evident that he wanted to talk about something that couldn't wait. She shook her head. What Jorah thought of as urgent and what she did rarely came together. "Princess I must insist.," he said loudly when Daenerys stepped away from him and toward Oberyn.
"You could've saved yourself some time, if you listened to what I said earlier. You were here, so I know you heard, I told you then I was going to meet with Missandei, speak to Oberyn and then return to Arya. Nothing has changed. Whatever desperate matter worries you, you can relay it to Missandei in the morning and she can tell me about it when we have our scheduled appointment."
"Daenerys, please, be reasonable, it'll only take a minute."
Every time he opened his mouth it was harder to remember why she ever considered him a friend. Having given Jorah all the information he needed to resolve his problem, real or imaginary, she left him behind and went to Oberyn. "That," he said, using his chin to motion to Jorah, "was not the Princess I met in Dorne."
"Definitely not," she agreed. "She never would have spoken to anyone like that, no matter how badly she wanted to. She would have accepted Rhaegar's pathetic excuses for not trying to save Arya. That Princess was polite, and everyone liked her, everyone but me. She spoke only when expressly told to, and even then, she measured every word. Who I am now doesn't care if it's proper, polite, rude or scandalous, if I have something to say, I'm going to say it." Aware she was ranting she stopped and took a breath.
"Well, I for one think that's great Princess," Oberyn told her. She watched his smile closely and it seemed genuine. "There is no reason you shouldn't be allowed to speak freely, you're a Princess, this is your home too. Why should you cower and bite your tongue just because some pompous nobleman might get his feelings hurt?"
It was nice to have support, especially from Oberyn. Not only was he important to Arya, he was a worldly man who had lived an incredible life. If he was behind her, maybe this could be a turning point for her. Maybe she'd look back and see this was the day everything changed, when Princess Daenerys stopped worrying and just followed her heart, when she committed to doing what was right, regardless of who got offended in the process.
All her brave talk aside, she wasn't sure she could do it. She wanted to, that much wasn't in dispute, but being courageous would be a major transformation. In truth, she was ashamed of the woman she'd been. Although she was often horrified by her father's actions she never once lifted a finger or spoke up to try and save someone, until Arya. Since she and Arya returned to the capital, Daenerys felt more comfortable in her own skin. She learned a lot about herself and not all of it was good. At any other point in her life, undertaking such massive changes would have been daunting and overwhelming. Without Arya's constant reassurance she didn't think she'd be ready to face the future while asking, 'what kind of person do I want to be, tomorrow, ten years from now or twenty?' She didn't have it all figured out, but she did know that gone were the days where everyone was happy except her. Thinking back, there was a distinct clarity. All of her excuses for why she didn't interfere, for why she didn't say anything, why she just let things happen, they were weak, as weak as Rhaegar's assertions that he couldn't help Arya. The difference was, he seemed all too willing to continue making excuses for their father and for himself. Daenerys wasn't.
"I owe you an apology for earlier," Oberyn said pulling her from her thoughts.
Why was he apologizing? She was the one who promised Arya safety and couldn't hold up her end of the bargain. "I'll admit, I'm not thinking clearly at the moment, but I don't think you did anything you need to apologize for."
"In the throne room you apologized for not keeping your promise."
She swallowed thickly. "I am sorry," she started but he held up his hand to stop her.
"I let you leave without correcting you and that's what I came to remedy."
What?! "I don't understand."
"That day in the Water Gardens do you remember what you promised to do?"
"Keep Arya safe," she said looking down at her feet. Her face burned, evidence of her failure.
"Actually, we agreed you'd do what you could to keep her safe. I didn't expect you to fight armed guard's single-handed or confront your father alone. I just wanted you to help make sure Arya stayed safe."
"I tried," Daenerys said into her hands as another wave of crying began. "I would've taken her place, and I know you probably don't believe me, that it's easy to say that now, but I mean it."
Without warning a pair of arms wrapped around her. "I believe you," he said as he held her. He lowered his voice so Jorah and Barristan wouldn't hear. "I know you would've done it, because I had to hold you back before you threw yourself between Arya and the whip. That was what you were going to do, wasn't it?"
She wasn't the least bit embarrassed, but she continued blushing anyway. "I've done nothing for too long. I'm a Princess, it's time I start acting like one.
Oberyn let her go and then gave her time to gather her composure. Only when she was ready did they pick up where they left off. "I knew Arya would be in danger here, the reason I went to you and obtained that promise is because I wanted someone here," he raised a hand and waved it at the Targaryen banner on one wall and the portrait of a dragon in flight on the other, "in all of this, to put her first. To look out for her best interests when I couldn't. You don't need to apologize Daenerys the Stormborn because you did look out for Arya, just as you pledged you would."
While fighting against most of the people she shared blood with, she somehow managed to create odd connections that were stronger than the bonds of family. It was Missandei and not any of her kin who comforted her when she needed it, who got her away from the throne room. Now, Oberyn was saying the things she wished Rhaegar would. That Arya was strong, and it was going to be okay, that even though she couldn't prevent it, she tried, and that counted for something. Oddly, it gave her hope, that if she needed to begin a life away from the Red Keep, away from Targaryens, she could.
"I'm going to see Arya now," Daenerys announced. "The Grand Maester should have an update for us. Care to join me?"
"Only if you are certain you don't mind, contrary to what Arya's told you, I am capable of thinking of other people's feelings and I don't want to intrude."
She appreciated the concern, but she would welcome the company. "There are only so many hours I can talk to myself. I'm running out of things to say. Please join me, she'll want to see you too."
He flashed her that same charming grin that won her over in Sunspear. "Don't worry if you don't know what to say, I can talk about myself for as long as it takes."
They laughed together, a brief respite before they went back the horror of their reality. "You go on ahead, I'll join you in a moment."
"I wouldn't mind staying."
She knew what was behind that invitation, he didn't want her to be alone with anyone. She also knew that whatever caused Jorah and Barristan to remain in the hall, it wouldn't be enough to delay her going back to Arya. She didn't care how grave the problem. Daenerys would see to it after she'd visited Arya.
Oberyn's heart was in the right place. Arya would definitely approve when she heard. It was for that reason she decided to strike a bargain. "You go, but in two minutes look behind you, if you don't see me coming, return here and check on us."
Oberyn stepped away and disappeared around the corner. "Whatever this is gentlemen, you have less than two minutes." She already dealt with Jorah's urgent issue. She told him it would be resolved tomorrow. Rather than repeat herself, she looked to her brother's guard. "Barristan, is this necessary?"
He looked uncomfortable and since he was there on Rhaegar's behalf, he must disagree with some or all of the Prince's recent actions. "He would've stayed himself, but he couldn't stand that long."
"I didn't think any of you would stay," she said bluntly.
"He feels badly for the things you heard, and he regrets them."
"He's so remorseful he sends you to make his apologies for him? I wonder, does he regret saying those vile things, or just that I was within earshot when he did?"
Barristan sighed. "Princess your brother isn't a perfect man, and he knows you're upset, but he does have an urgent matter he needs to discuss with you."
"Time's up," Daenerys announced. "I have somewhere to be."
Both men walked with her when she did. "I've heard what you have to say, and my answer isn't changing. I'm going to see Arya, Jorah you can speak with Missandei, and Ser Barristan, I'll meet with my brother after breakfast. We can talk to his heart's content then."
He ducked his head and stopped keeping pace with her. "Thank you, Princess, I'll tell your brother what you've said. I don't think he'll be happy, but I do hope your friend wakes soon."
"I suspect there won't be much happiness for any of us tonight Ser." She waited until he was moving away and then added, "I'll see you tomorrow."
That left only Jorah, who wasn't saying anything, just walking a few steps behind her. She didn't care. If he wanted to follow her around like a puppy, he could, as long as he didn't try to prevent Daenerys from seeing Arya.
The door was shut when she arrived. Oberyn smiled kindly when he saw her but gave a strange look when he noticed Jorah in tow. "Don't ask," she pleaded under her breath. "No word?"
Oberyn took his gaze off Mormont and gave it back to the door they were waiting to open. "Not yet."
The heavy sigh she released upon hearing that would have been enough to scare most people off, but Jorah was either too entitled or foolish to see the warning for what it was. "Perhaps you should rest Princess," he suggested with a false concern. "Who knows how long Grand Maester Pycelle will be?"
"Whether he opens that door in ten seconds, ten minutes or another hour from now, I'll be here waiting."
Undeterred he kept pushing. Seeming to believe if he kept trying, she'd eventually bend to his will. Loathed as she was to admit it, she couldn't fault him for thinking it. How many years had he manipulated her unknowingly? How many times had they disagreed, only for her to later comply to resolve the tension? Jorah was following the map that had gotten him where he wanted to go countless times before, unaware that she'd grown wise to his methods. "Princess, it's late. It's been a long day and…"
"It has been a long day, so I'd benefit greatly from not having to finish this conversation."
"I just…"
She knew precisely what he was doing. Swooping in yet again to try and replace Arya. "I don't know why you insisted on following me here, but I know you have no concern for Arya's welfare." His lips opened to offer some feeble excuse, but she wasn't done. "I won't ask you to leave, and in return I expect the same courtesy. Do we understand each other Ser?"
The blush was still fading from his cheeks when he replied, "Yes, Princess."
Nearby making absolutely no effort to seem like he wasn't listening and enjoying the entertainment Oberyn caught her eye. She wasn't sure what to expect, but he smiled and then ducked his head looking impressed.
Not long after she and Jorah came to their understanding, the door opened and one of the acolytes stuck his head out. "Princess, you can come in if you wish."
She nodded and mumbled a thank you as she readied herself to see Arya again. Could she do this? It would be difficult to see her, but she knew deep down she'd hate herself more if she stayed away.
Oberyn appeared at her side, his arm slipping across her shoulders as if it had always been there. "You can do this," he told her, reading her doubts perfectly. She chose to believe him, swiping at her eyes, making sure no errant tears slipped through.
"Come with me," she said, hoping it sound more like an offer and less like the plea it was.
Nodding, he used his arm to push her ahead by half a step, allowing her to enter the room first. The bandages were fresh. It was the first thing she noticed. When she was asked to leave, there were several small spots of red across Arya's shoulders and back. Now it was bright, unstained white.
She was just about to step back and allow Oberyn to see her when she spotted something that set her blood boiling. That leather strap was around her neck and her wrists were once again tied to the bed. Hadn't she made her wishes about the restraints clear? Obviously not clear enough! Her furious eyes swept the room until they landed on the man she'd dealt with the last time. She pointed one finger at him and roared like the Dragon she was. "You, I told you I don't want her restrained. I was gone for an hour and you defy my orders?!"
"Apologies Princess," he said becoming very interested in the papers he was holding all the sudden. "It wasn't my decision." Her next question must have been predictable because he was only too happy to give her someone else to aim her rage at. "Grand Maester Pycelle ordered it done Princess."
"You," she said pointing to another of the men at random, go and get the Grand Maester for me, please. Tell him Princess Daenerys, requires his assistance."
There was an awkwardness in the air after he was gone. There was nothing else to do but wait. The healers feared invoking her wrath and she seethed as she waited for the old man's arrival. The only person who didn't seem uncomfortable with the strife was Oberyn who was leaning back against a wall with his arms folded, grinning as though it were his nameday.
She walked to Arya and stroked her hair. "Rest now," she whispered to her lover. "I'll take care of this."
Daenerys naively thought no one would be foolish enough to interrupt her. She thought she could be with Arya for a few minutes until Pycelle arrived without having to justify it, but she was wrong.
"Princess," Jorah said, touching the back of her shoulder. "You need to calm down."
She bucked wildly and knocked his hand off. When had he come in? Admittedly he wasn't her focus, but he didn't belong there, with them, with Arya. "What are you doing?" she asked as anger at her father, and Payne, at Rhaegar and Pycelle all came out at Jorah. "Why are you here?!"
He wasn't prepared for the question. "I just want to see if you're alright. I know you're upset but…"
The instant she heard 'but', she decided he didn't deserve to finish whatever was coming. "We had an agreement," she emphasised.
"I'm not asking you to leave, only that you take care of yourself."
The distinction didn't make Daenerys feel better. "Go, just go. I am not doing this right now."
He stood frozen, unsure of what to do. "Daenerys, I meant no disrespect."
She didn't have time for this. She should be holding Arya's hand not arguing with Jorah again while waiting for her to be freed from the bonds Daenerys explicitly said she didn't want used "You want to follow me, or protect me, or guard me or whatever it is you think you're doing, fine, do it from outside the door."
Watching closely, she could see how conflicted he was, as he tried to decide the best course. He relented and retreated. By Daenerys's estimation Oberyn looked a little too happy when he closed the door separating the overbearing knight from the rest of them.
Daenerys had barely picked up Arya's hand when the door opened. Daenerys rotated, expecting to threaten Jorah Mormont with physical harm, but it wasn't the traitorous knight, it was Grand Maester Pycelle. Her fury didn't dull even a little. She just directed it at a new target.
"Princess Daenerys, lovely to see you again. I understand you have a question about your guard?"
"Her name is Arya," she snapped rudely, "and I don't have a question, I have an order. From this moment forward I, Daenerys the Stormborn of House Targaryen forbid you from using restraints to bind Arya to the bed."
The old man gave her an indulgent smile and then began speaking to her as though she were touched. "It was necessary," he said leaving extended pauses between each word to give her time to comprehend them.
"It's abhorrent," she countered, "and it's done."
"Princess I am the Grand Maester…"
"And I am merely the King's daughter, but I swear to you all, that should I come in and find Arya bound again, each and every one of you will know how she feels, because I'll have you taken to the dungeons myself." She knew she should feel bad, for threatening people, for making promises she likely couldn't deliver, but all there was in that moment was hot burning anger.
The authority seemed to affect all of them except the Grand Maester himself. "Princess, the girl was thrashing and mumbling in her sleep. We couldn't remove the bandages and we feared she'd injure herself or someone else."
With his slowed down delivery, she had more than enough time to choose which response she was going to use, but she didn't get the chance.
"Surely Grand Maester, you know of a tonic or a herb that can calm the restless without binding her like an animal. I am certainly not a Maester of your renown Ser, but I can think of three off the top of my head that would sooth Arya and also speed her recovery."
Daenerys wasn't the only one awed by what she'd just witnessed. Pycelle took two short, shuffling steps forward and squinted. "Is that… Oberyn Martell," he realized after a moment, "I heard you were in the castle."
The Martell smiled at Daenerys, who was taking Arya's hand again. "I came to visit some friends."
"It's a shame you gave up your chain, you could've been great," Pycelle lamented.
"We all live the life we're meant to. I have a wonderful family and use the things I was taught often."
The discussion of ancient history grinded against her nerves, but Daenerys bit her lip to keep from erupting. She'd trust Oberyn. Pycelle was responding better to his approach than he did hers.
"Do you have children then?"
"The girl you're tending is one of them," he said seriously.
Pycelle shuffled closer and squinted again, looking from Arya's prone body to the Prince. Was he searching for a resemblance? "She's your daughter?"
"In every way that matters," he declared proudly and without hesitation. "I agree with the Princess, it's cruel to keep her confused and restrained."
He thought for a time before agreeing. "You've given me much to think about. I'm sure we can find some other way to keep her relaxed. In the meantime, release her."
Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief. She met Oberyn's eye and he winked at her. She mouthed the words 'thank you' before she placed all her energy where it belonged, on Arya.
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Author's Note: I had wanted to post this chapter sooner, but life didn't cooperate, so it's a little later than I planned. I apologize for that.
For those of you (and there seems to be a lot) who are happy Daenerys is finding herself and growing bold, this is just the beginning. Pycelle is foreplay for what's coming, I promise.
I'll do my best to post the next chapter quickly, but it largely depends on my health.
RC
