Daenerys remained in the chair next to Arya's bed, holding her hand for most of the night. Occasionally she'd stretch her legs, usually by walking the length of the room. Oberyn came and went at will. When he was there, sometimes they spoke, trading stories of Arya, other times it was quiet, save the labored sounds of the unconscious woman breathing.
"Thank you," she said when it looked like he intended to go for another walk around the castle. "If you hadn't been here to speak to the Maester, she'd probably still be tied to the bed."
"That's funny," Oberyn replied as he stopped moving. "I was about to thank you."
Daenerys was dumbfounded. She was the reason Arya was hurt. Oberyn was worried about her, even though he concealed it well, and still he was thanking her?! "For what exactly?"
He smiled and something she saw told her she was due to be teased. Her instinct held true. "I had thought my Ellaria was the only woman in the Seven Kingdoms talented enough to terrify grown men so thoroughly. When you threatened to throw them in the dungeon the short one pissed himself.
She laughed at the absurdity of it. "For all the good it did. He wasn't going to release her no matter how angry I got."
His eyes shined with mischief. "You're young, keep practicing." Daenerys didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. Oberyn on the other hand wasn't equally afflicted. "She's right about you, every word."
What was that supposed to mean? "Who?" she asked instinctively without thinking about the limited number of friends they had in common.
Oberyn nodded to the bed, where Arya lay. "I thought she'd race me to the ship," he remembered casually. "I should have known she'd never be so predicable." With a lump in her throat, she had no choice but to listen quietly. "When she told me that she wanted to stay here, in King's Landing, in the Red Keep I thought she'd hit her head. When she told me why," he paused and looked up to catch Daenerys's eyeline, "I was concerned."
"Oberyn, I…"
He shook his head, so she shut her mouth without finishing the thought. She was chewing on her bottom lip when he finally said, "I meant what I told that fuck Pycelle. She is my family."
"I know," Daenerys assured him because it was undeniable.
"I asked her questions, I asked her a lot of questions, about you, about her, about why, and do you know what I felt when I had nothing more to say?"
It was probable that her heart was going to shatter her ribs before he concluded his story. Incapable of speech, she shook her head.
He smiled. "I was happy for her, and for you."
"Really?" She felt obligated to verify.
"I have loved many women in my life, some for a night, others for longer, but I regret not a single one. I have known our friend a long time. She was a scared, angry girl the first time I laid eyes on her. She got bigger, less scared, and more angry, but she found her way. I thought the army would give her the family she needed, but all she really needed was you."
Daenerys simply stared. Tears welled up in her eyes as she imagined the Arya Stark Oberyn described. Before she knew it, she was in the Prince's arms. Regardless of all else, he was one of Arya's dearest friends, it was nice to know she had his approval. "Thank you," she repeated again and again, but it would never be enough.
They were standing like that when a groan of anguish from the bed stunned them both. "I'll find a Maester," Oberyn said. Daenerys reclaimed Arya's hand and leaned over her, watching for any sign those she was returning.
R-C
The pain was getting worse. That fire she was being cooked over was growing hotter. It wasn't just the physical either, Daenerys made sure the emotional turmoil kept pace. Gone was her asking for Arya to help, now she begged, screamed and blamed, placing the fault for everything on Arya. The last time she saw Daenerys, after another encounter with Rickon, she was spiteful as she cursed, bloodied and weak, but still furious. "Daario was right."
When the fuse lit, and another death was imminent she suddenly felt like she was falling. Uncontrollably, alone, and from great height, she twisted and turned with her heart in her throat. Her arms moved when she tried, but the freedom was no benefit, there was nothing to grab onto. She was falling and the only way it was going to stop was when she reached the bottom.
She did, the blow hard and unforgiving. Wherever she landed was stone and uncomfortable. She was broken, certain the drop and crash finished what the earlier torment left undone.
Face down she tried to roll, tried to assess her injuries but agony stopped her. A groan slipped through her lips as the pain devoured her. All she could do was wait for the end.
Eventually it came. Slowly things returned to a reasonable level of horrible discomfort. When she was able to think again, all the needs of her body hit at once. Her mouth was dry, her lips cracked, throat raw. She felt a tightness in her chest, an unrelenting throbbing heat in her back and a kink in her neck. She was tired already and she hadn't woken up yet.
Tentative and on alert she tried to open her eyes without reigniting the worst of the pain. Purposefully she kept her muscles as rigid as she could in her fragile state. She didn't want an accidental twitch to return her to the despair she might actually be climbing out of.
Her vision was blurred, and her head was resting at an odd angle. That would have limited her eyesight on her best day. Still, she could make out a few relevant details. The room was lit well enough for Arya to know it wasn't hers. It took several seconds of dedicated focus to put the pieces together. The end result hardly seemed worth the cost. Her head pounded in protest of the work she was asking it to do. She deduced that she wasn't in the barracks and was in the process of ruling out Daenerys's bed as the one she was lying on when she heard a weary voice. "Arya, can you hear… Arya can you hear me?"
She knew that voice and it made her anxiety spike. Apart from Aerys's one question and her singular reply, Daenerys's voice was the only one she could remember hearing in… how long had it been? Hours? Days? Years? She wanted to think surviving the fall meant she was back to herself, but how could she be sure? It could be another trick, another game, another way to maximize her suffering.
Daenerys squeezed her hand. Although her touch was gentle Arya was so brittle she expected to hear snapping bones. She didn't and there was no additional discomfort. "Please," she pleaded, "tell me you're okay. We've been here all night, Oberyn is gone to get the Maester."
A soft hand reached to stroke her hair and Arya tensed. "Don't," she said as forcefully as she could. It came out matching her body; feeble, weak and unthreatening.
Daenerys lowered her hand and then adjusted her position so she could be closer to Arya's mouth. Presumably to hear what she would say next. "I missed you."
She wanted to believe it, to accept that whatever she had been enduring was over, that now she was back where she belonged, with Daenerys, but trust was a rare commodity. "You're not real," she grumbled, talking into the pillow.
Daenerys's new position afforded her the ability to hear, but not understand. "Real? Of course, I'm real."
Arya would've scoffed if she didn't fear that much movement would invite disaster. She closed her eyes in the only act of defiance she could think of. Whether Daenerys was real or not, she'd insist she was, making anything she said unreliable.
"Arya, it's me, please just open your eyes and talk to me."
She didn't think that would end too well for her. She remembered all the times she witnessed Daenerys whipped, all the times she cried out. Arya had nothing to add, not if it was going to be used against her.
The door opened and heavy footsteps rushed in. "Is she awake?" a familiar voice wondered.
"She was, but she seems confused," Daenerys explained.
"That's common," a third person commented. He sounded old, tired and disinterested. "The milk of the poppy we gave her is known to fog the mind."
"The effects will fade quickly," Oberyn added. Arya guessed he was speaking to Daenerys.
"Princess can you please move away from the bed, so I can examine her?"
Before she left, she whispered to Arya, "Keep fighting for me, okay, just keep fighting."
In the time it took for everyone to rotate positions Arya was nearly back to sleep. Before oblivion took her, fingers settled on her wrist, near where Daenerys's hand had been. Without looking, she knew in her bones it defiantly wasn't the Targaryen. "Can you hear me?"
She opened one eye and almost nodded before thinking better of it. "Yes," she croaked.
"That's good. Are you in pain?
She hoped he was asking to be thorough and not because he was genuinely curious. Without a mirror she was certain she looked horrible. She wouldn't trust anyone who couldn't see that. "Yes."
"I will get you a drink that will help in just a few minutes, but first I have a couple more questions."
The longer she kept her eyes open, the easier it became to see what was going on around her. She saw Oberyn and Daenerys standing together against the room's wall. She also noticed a man she'd never seen before. She recognized Pycelle as the Maester, but it took significantly longer than it should've for her to connect the face to a name. It was like she was trying to recall her oldest memories after drinking a bottle of rum. Everything took immense effort.
"Do you remember what happened?"
She said nothing for a time while her mind put the fragmented pieces in the proper order. Aerys, the test, Daenerys crying, Oberyn defending her, Aemon, the whip. The whip. Yes, she remembered. That explained why she was lying on her stomach and why her back was the location of her most unyielding pain. She knew what happened to her, but that wasn't all she remembered. She closed her eyes as she recalled the deaths, her family, Daenerys, Oberyn, Missandei, Grey Worm, over and over again. It was difficult to think of anything else when her head was clogged by all of that, but when she tried, it proved helpful. She couldn't be certain that this wasn't another nightmare plaguing her, but there were signs that pointed that way. For one neither Oberyn nor Daenerys had come to any harm since she opened her eyes. If the goal was to hurt Arya through them then some misfortune would have befallen them by now, right? Also, the addition of the other characters suggested something had changed. Pycelle wasn't a key figure in her life, she barely remembered his name, and this other man, this Maester or Maester's apprentice or whatever he was, he was a stranger to her. Why would he be there, if this were only in her head?
"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Pycelle asked, moving closer and speaking louder.
It did nothing to aid her existing headache. "I remember," she said, knowing it would be forgetting that would be the challenge.
"That's good. You're in the Red Keep, and your wounds are being tended. The best thing you can do is to rest."
Rest sounded good. She'd do that.
"I'll be back in a few minutes with some milk of the poppy and then I'll check on you again in a few hours," he promised or warned, it was hard to tell. When he left the younger man went with him.
"Do you need anything?" Daenerys asked as she rushed over to the bed.
Arya didn't want to be a bother, but there was one thing she desperately yearned for. "Water," she said, before she remembered who she was speaking to, "please."
"Why didn't I think of that? Of course, you'll be thirsty."
Oberyn found it first. "It's over here," he said. He was closer but Daenerys beat him to the table and poured some.
As a smiling Princess brought her a cup, Arya knew she'd find out soon if this was another nightmare. If it was, whatever she drank wouldn't be water.
"Should we sit her up?" Daenerys asked Oberyn.
"No," Arya replied immediately. The memory of trying to move and the accompanying pain was too fresh to be discounted.
Oberyn agreed. "It's probably a bit too early for that." He approached the bed slower than Daenerys. "I'll help, if you need it."
Armed with the cup, Daenerys hesitated, looking for guidance. "How do we do this? Can she drink lying down?"
"Yes, but it won't be easy. Nothing with Arya ever is." He was joking with her, as they'd always done, but she couldn't laugh or smile. She was busy wondering if her choice to ask for a drink would be something she regretted.
Daenerys knelt on the floor by the bed, aligned with Arya's face. "I'm sorry," the guard said while she watched Daenerys struggle to accommodate her request.
"None of that," she dismissed with a gentle smile. "Just lift your head as much as you can."
She tried but was struck by how heavy everything was. She lifted off the pillow but was immediately met by an invisible resistance, followed quickly by pain and dizziness. She held the pose as long as she could, but Daenerys didn't even try to get the cup in place, there wasn't enough room.
Before they suffered the indignity of trying again, Oberyn had an idea. "From the side," he suggested simply.
Arya, for one didn't comprehend but she wasn't at her sharpest. Apparently neither was Daenerys. "What side?"
"You'll never get her head high enough to pour the water straight down into her mouth, you need to pour it in from the side."
"How?"
The Prince held out a hand and took the water. "Lie naturally," he instructed, "but turn your face as far as you can toward Daenerys."
She did and not only because she was thirsty, she was also curious if his scheme would work. In doing what he asked, she strained her neck and caused a stabbing pain, but it was tolerable. With her head turned fully to the right, instead of partially buried in the pillow, it was easier to see and breathe. He handed the cup back to Daenerys. "Put your mouth as close to the edge of the bed as you can."
Arya was already beginning to understand the logic. She gritted her teeth and managed to move her head a fraction of an inch closer. Daenerys smiled at the minimal progress. "Ready?" she asked, holding the water over her lips.
Arya opened her mouth and waited, as Daenerys began to tilt the cup. The water dribbled in slowly at first and then faster. The angle was less than ideal, they spilled more than she drank, but what she got tasted divine. "Thank you," she said, pleased that the act of speaking no longer hurt.
"You're welcome," Daenerys responded. "Do you want more?"
"No." She was done before adding, "Thank you."
Daenerys chuckled, amused by her attempt at manners. When she carried the water away, Oberyn took her place. "How badly are you hurt my friend?"
"Is everyone else okay?" she asked while she had the strength. "Is she okay?" Even without her name, Arya hoped her tone would specify who she meant.
"She's worried for you. She's threatening Maesters with the dungeon and fretting over you relentlessly."
"Take her somewhere else, get her a m…meal and rest," Arya tried. As she spoke each word sucked more and more of her energy. She hadn't been this weak in a very long time.
"She's not leaving. She'll toss me in the dungeon next to the Maester if I try."
That was twice he mentioned the dungeons. "What did the Maester… do?" she asked, needing an extra moment to complete the inquiry.
"He restrained you, you were thrashing and talking as they sewed your wounds. The Princess was unhappy when she found you tied up."
"Oh." She had nothing else to give.
"Rest now, heal, and once you have, this will be nothing more than another memory."
He was trying to be helpful, to make the future appear positive, but all Arya felt was dread. Teetering on the brink of sleep with Oberyn's words about restraints and memories mixing together at random, something came together in her mind. "The poppy," she grumbled, feeling much more urgency than she expressed outwardly.
"It's on it's way," Oberyn promised.
"No!" she resisted. "I don't want it."
"Arya you're in pain, you need to rest. Milk of the poppy will help you sleep."
She ignored the objections of her body as she moved her hand and touched Oberyn's arm. The weakness of the contact was overshadowed by the movement itself. Daenerys gasped nearby, Oberyn stopped trying to reassure her and gave her a serious expression. "Why not?" he asked, hoping to understand. "Why don't you want milk of the poppy?"
"Trapped," she told him, trying not to dwell on the horrors she survived. "My dream, I couldn't… trapped … I wanted to wake up."
Dejected, she was sure none of that made any sense. Oberyn was deep in thought, lips moving in silent contemplation as he considered her words trying to uncover the secret message hidden within.
Daenerys was the one to understand. She rushed to the bed and placed herself in a spot where Arya could see. "You had a nightmare?"
She hesitated before answering. "I couldn't wake up," she confessed. "I wanted to, but it just kept going."
"Oh darling," Daenerys exclaimed sympathetically. "I'm so sorry. They thought they were helping."
Despite the pain associated with talking and moving she felt peace as Daenerys stroked her hair and comforted her.
Once she had settled the Targaryen addressed Oberyn, making use of his knowledge. "Is that possible? Could the poppy have actually trapped her within a nightmare?"
Arya closed her eyes to conserve her strength and listened to the voices around her. She may be surrounded by enemies but these two were friends, these two loved her and she them.
R-C
"The poppy is the best way to counteract extreme pain, but it is known to have some undesirable consequences," he explained slowly. "Most often they are minor and short-lived but even when they aren't, it's still used."
"Why?" she asked harshly. He was probably about to tell her, but she had to do something, even if her only viable option was to yell.
"We have nothing better," he conceded, "nothing even close. It is a choice between watching someone suffer in agony or letting them sleep."
Daenerys couldn't recall being given milk of the poppy herself, she never needed it. Her worst childhood misadventure resulted in skinned knees or bruises, nothing at all like what Arya was facing. This left her woefully ill-informed on the subject. "So, it's possible that it's as she said, that she couldn't wake up?"
He nodded, his features grim. "The poppy will put you to sleep, in high enough doses it can keep you there. I've heard tales of elaborate dreams and terrifying nightmares, but it affects everyone differently. If you and I took it together, our experiences would be wholly unique."
Fascinated she did her best to limit her questions to those relevant to Arya. Perhaps Oberyn could entertain her other inquires later. "That's remarkable, but I can understand why Arya wouldn't want to take more."
"As can I," he agreed, "but the alternative might be worse."
"What does that mean?"
"It is true," he acknowledged, "that without the poppy, Arya will not be trapped within her mind, but it also true that her suffering will increase substantially."
Daenerys felt dizzy. Conflicted didn't begin to describe the war taking place within her. Was he telling her she'd have to choose between torturing Arya with pain or torturing her with her past? How could she, how could anyone make such a decision? "There must be another way."
"Arya is strong," Oberyn opined while looking at the sleeping woman, "but her wounds are severe. Healing without the milk of the poppy will mean days or even weeks of slow, prolonged agony. She won't have nightmares, but only because it's likely she will be unable to sleep at all. Even the simplest of tasks will become a challenge."
It sounded to Daenerys like he was advocating for her to give Arya the poppy. "Or?"
"Or we allow the Grand Maester to give her the poppy as needed, perhaps in smaller doses, or with longer periods in between."
"But that would mean…"
She didn't have to finish. "Yes, we would need to trust Arya to persevere. If her future interactions are similar to the last, she could be trapped in a nightmare with no way out."
"There has to be something we can do."
He gave her a kind, understanding smile. "You are a good woman Daenerys, I saw it when we met, Arya confirmed it again when we spoke. You care about her, you want to heal her, as I do. If I could take her place on that bed, I would without hesitation, but this is her burden, just as it is ours to sit and wait."
Fresh tears built up in her eyes. "So that's it? We just give up?"
"No one is giving up," he made clear, "but whether it's against pain or her memories Arya must wage this war alone."
No! She wanted to scream. Alone? That wasn't acceptable. Together, that's what they promised. Together. There had to be something she could do.
Both were lost in their thoughts, their grief and worry until Daenerys finally said what both of them had known for a while. "I can't decide. I won't choose which Hell she'll be thrown into."
Oberyn had been looking at the floor, picking aimlessly at his sleeve. He glanced up. "You don't have to."
"You're going to decide?" she guessed. Sick as it was, part of her was relieved he was going to take the responsibility from her.
"No," he elaborated, "Arya will." He wasn't suggesting what she thought he was, was he? "Wake her up," he directed. "We have no right to pick her torment. We will let her tell us which is more tolerable to her."
Reluctant as she was to wake the sleeping woman, Daenerys could see a symmetry to the idea. Arya was the one who would have to live with the results, she should get a say.
Peeking at the door she made sure they were alone and then she pressed a soft kiss onto Arya's cheek. "Arya," she said gently, "wake up."
She stirred slowly, in the way Daenerys was accustomed to. What was uncommon was the moment after Arya returned to the world. Usually, she rolled in the Princess's direction for a kiss, but today she stayed where she was. Remaining on her stomach, she groaned in obvious and intense pain. It broke Daenerys's heart and suddenly she was rethinking her aversion to the milk of the poppy. "Hi," Arya mumbled groggily.
Daenerys smiled and gave another kiss. "Hi beautiful, how'd you sleep? Nightmares?"
She held her breath while she waited for the answer, but a soft "No," came before too long.
Daenerys smiled and Oberyn did too. That was good. Unfortunately, they couldn't enjoy the moment, there was a time-sensitive matter they had to discuss. "I'm sorry I woke you, but I need to ask you something."
"Mmmkay," she hummed, her eyes already heavy.
"The milk of the poppy is going to wear off soon. Do you understand?"
Daenerys kept her voice light, so not to startle her, but it didn't matter. When the words got through Arya's eyes opened fully again and she was adamant. "No!"
She cursed whatever Gods thought up such a punishment. She couldn't even hug the woman she loved without making things worse. "Are you sure? The pain…"
"Dreams are worse!" Arya declared with conviction. She looked to Oberyn for help. The Stark wasn't prone to exaggerate and yet Daenerys had to wonder. Could the nightmares really be so bad that she'd choose the pain from being mercilessly whipped instead?
"The dreams can't hurt you Arya, it's not real. No matter what you see or what they do, you'll wake up and I'll be here, I promise."
As their conversation progressed Daenerys found her opinion shifting. She'd been clear that Arya shouldn't be forced to live trapped in the worst moments of her life, but now that seemed like the lesser evil when compared to her being awake and in agony for the next few weeks. "They don't hurt me," she clarified quietly, "they hurt you, my parents, my brothers, Sansa, Oberyn, Missandei…"
She trailed off, barely separating the names on her list. Even if she didn't know Arya as well as she did, it would have been impossible to overlook how distraught she was. It extended beyond her battered back.
"Arya, if you don't drink the milk of the poppy the pain is going to get worse."
"I know," she said, sounding more alert than she had in a while.
"And you're certain that's what you want?"
"No, but it's what's best." Her voice cracked and Daenerys could see the decision wasn't any easier for Arya than it had been for her or Oberyn.
"I'm sorry Arya, I'm so sorry." Daenerys was just about throw herself onto the bed when she remembered why she couldn't. "I'll be here every minute, every time you wake up. You just get better."
"Go," Arya said, nearly destroying the Targaryen with a lone word.
"What?"
"Go, go see Missandei. I don't want you to see me like this." By the time she finished Daenerys could tell her pain was getting the best of her. Twice while she was speaking, she had to grit her teeth and pause. She still had some of the remedy in her, when it was gone, it would grow all the more intense.
She took her lover's hand and raised it to her lips. "Together, remember?"
"Not this," Arya contended. "You don't have to…"
She shook her head violently, enjoying the sharp stabbing sensation in her stiff neck. "Together," she repeated, "always."
Arya relented by closing her eyes and trying to rest. Daenerys settled into the chair and held her hand. The royal had long since thought Arya was asleep when a raspy voice said her name. "Daenerys?"
Not even in their current situation could her name falling from Arya's lips sound anything other than perfect. She smiled and brushed some of Arya's hair with her fingertips. "I'm here, I thought you were asleep."
"Going now but…"
Daenerys waited to hear what kept Arya from giving in. At first, she assumed it was Arya's exhaustion that slowed her, then she blamed the pain. Finally, she ran out of excuses and Arya still hadn't ended her explanation. "But what?"
"Promise I… won't… get stuck…there?"
Daenerys would have given her anything she asked for in the world, including that. "I promise, but the pain…"
"Is better… than tr… trapped with ghosts."
She kissed Arya's temple. "Sleep. No ghosts, just us."
"Mmm" Arya muttered, sinking down into her pillow. It was as if her body required Daenerys's permission before it could relax fully.
R-C
Oberyn left and came back before they spoke about Arya's choice. "We need to talk."
Those words never led to anything good. Daenerys wasn't sure how much more she could take. "Alright," she said warily.
Since the room only had one chair, she released Arya's hand and went to where he was standing. "Is something the matter?"
"I expected Pycelle to be back by now, he probably got delayed, but eventually he'll return."
Although that was true, she failed to see it as the negative Oberyn did. "And?"
"He is coming to administer another dose of poppy."
"He can't! You heard her, she's more frightened of being lost in her past than she is of the pain."
"I didn't hear actually, but if that's what she said, I believe you."
"It is," she swore. "She wasn't making a lot of sense, but she did say she didn't want to get stuck with ghosts."
With a sad smile Oberyn nodded. "She has more than most." Such a simple statement and yet the underlying meaning was profound.
"If she wants to go without milk of the poppy, I think we have to honor her wishes."
Oberyn didn't look pleased but Daenerys had a hunch that he'd look equally unhappy if they'd decided to give her the medicine and force her to fight the nightmares. "I agree, but the Grand Maester might not be as willing to heed Arya's instructions as we are."
"He can't force her to take it!" She was certain of herself, until several seconds passed without the former Maester agreeing. "Can he?"
"Normally a castle's Maester answers only to the Lord, and most Lords take Maesters at their word when they say something is for the best."
"But?" There had to be a 'but.' It couldn't be her father's decision. He was not only mad, he was also responsible for Arya's injury. He couldn't be in control of her recovery too. Letting Pycelle take the lead was problematic also. He was a dimming old man who hadn't yet noticed that his best days were behind him. Despite his age he still thought he was the smartest man in every room. As a female, Daenerys didn't like her chances of convincing him of anything and he wouldn't change his long-held beliefs just to abide by Arya's wishes.
"In this castle, the Grand Maester would be compelled to honor any order that came from a Targaryen."
Daenerys didn't like where this was heading. "My father…"
"Isn't the only Targaryen in the castle. If you…"
It was Daenerys's turn to cut him off. "I don't have that kind of authority. I wish I did, but no one listens to me. They ignore me. I'm just the pretty Princess people trot out for special occasions." By the end she sounded bitter and angry to her own ears. Apparently, the lack of sleep and abundance of worry had left her ready, willing and able to share her thoughts fully. Strangely she didn't view the change as a bad thing. Maybe it was time people heard exactly what was happening in her head.
"You weren't helpless when we walked in and you found Arya was restrained against your wishes. You didn't lack authority when you banished Mormont to the hall. You are the Dragon Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. My dear, the way you view yourself, and the way others do, differs greatly. Arya needs you. She needs the woman who was willing to defy her father and endanger her own life, who was prepared to fill the dungeon with all those who opposed her. She needs someone who doesn't give a fuck what Grand Maester Pycelle thinks. Can you be that person?"
She blushed. It wasn't embarrassment that had her cheeks warming, it was the passion with which he recited her accomplishments. Daenerys was no soldier, but she imagined it was men like Oberyn and speeches like that that rallied men by the thousands to risk their necks. Could she be the one Arya needed? She wasn't stupid enough to believe it would easy, but did that make it impossible? She stopped to really think about it. This wasn't the time for rash decisions. Careful deliberation was what counted now. Could she do what Oberyn was suggesting? If she did, could she live with the consequences? Could she follow it through? If she lost her nerve the first time someone got angry or appeared disappointed it would be for naught. She'd have to stand up, for herself and for Arya against not only Pycelle but anyone else who tried to interfere. She was the one who knew Arya best, she was the one who loved her, it wasn't up to Pycelle or anyone else to choose what was right for her. That was Daenerys's responsibility, her self-appointed job, because there wasn't a person in the Realm who was willing to go as far or risk as much to secure Arya's full recovery.
What she was contemplating was a dangerous path. It would pit her against her family, and many she once considered friends. There was no half measure. Either she fought for Arya fiercely against all opponents or not at all. Either she'd make the decision she knew was right and wielded the power she'd been given at birth to see it done, or she'd need to sit back and leave things to Grand Maester Pycelle and other men like him.
While her mind raced, she observed Arya sleeping restlessly. It was fitful and frantic. The injured woman groaned and moaned, with her arms and legs twitching before they'd abruptly stop, likely when the sleeping woman realized movement would only make things worse.
Daenerys weighed her options carefully. Back and forth she went. She was reminded of what Arya said after they returned from Highgarden. She spoke about the important moments in her life and their lasting effects. No matter what she chose, Daenerys knew this was another of her moments, just like when she protected Arya from Viserys. All her life she'd been searching for a cause. She wanted to find a purpose, some way to help, to contribute, to leave her mark on the Realm and improve the lives of the people who were too often marginalized. She did what she could, she visited the orphanage, she gave some gold, but it never felt like enough. As Arya cried out again Daenerys located the flaw in her thinking that kept her from success. She'd been trying to find her place in the existing frame of King's Landing and the Red Keep. She was looking for some way Daenerys Targaryen could fit in and add value, but maybe what the Seven Kingdoms needed was someone who wasn't constrained by the usual borders, someone who refused to play by the slanted rules.
Was this the cause she'd been searching for? Had she found it in the woman she loved? She'd never gotten anything accomplished by behaving like the Princess everyone expected her to be. That timid woman was terrified of Viserys, wary of her father, nervous around Tywin and blind to Rhaegar's faults. She smiled falsely and said all the right things at all the right times but what had it gotten her? She couldn't even convince her own brother to intervene to protect Arya. Acting as she always had would produce similarly dismal results going forward. If she wanted change, it needed to start with her.
She was hesitant because current anger aside, there were people in the castle she cared about. Was it worth causing irrevocable damage to her existing relationships just to feel useful? She pictured the faces of the men who would oppose a less controlled, more outspoken Princess. The King, Rhaegar, Tywin, and Jorah immediately topped the list. Although sad, Daenerys knew whatever this was had been brewing for a while. Her father wasn't going to become less mad, and Tywin wasn't going to wake up tomorrow and value her opinion. How many fights had she had in recent months with Jorah? How many more with Rhaegar? Could she mend their bonds? Of course, but it would never be as it was. She wasn't closing the door to the possibility of forgiveness and reconciliation, but one thing she absolutely refused to do, was to pretend recent events hadn't occurred. They had, and now everyone was going to have to live and coexist in the aftermath, Daenerys included.
She was on her feet, thinking when the door under her back moved. Stepping to the side, she made room for Pycelle and two of his men to enter. "Oh Princess, I didn't think you'd still be here."
"Where else would I be?"
The question made the Maester uncomfortable. "Oh, I don't know, but surely have meetings and appointments."
"Nothing that matters more than Arya."
She watched as the younger men took turns counting the pulse beats in her wrist, before moving on to her forehead to check for fever. Arya groaned when one of the Maesters moved her arm too roughly and Daenerys knew her decision had been made. All thoughts contrary to her current road fell away. "Be careful!" she demanded hotly. "She's already hurt. Don't make it worse!"
Startled, he set Arya's arm back on the bed with the upmost care. "Apologies Princess," he said while he hurried around to the other side of the bed.
From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Oberyn. He nodded and smiled as if approving of her outburst, and then he slipped out into the hall without a word. They didn't need words. The message couldn't have been clearer – He trusted her with Arya.
"Has she woken up?" Pycelle asked the Targaryen.
"She's awake," Arya answered for herself, earning a chuckle from the woman about to speak on her behalf.
"So you are. How are you feeling?"
"Sore."
It was one word but to Daenerys she already sounded better. She got a new cup, added water and carried it over to her lover's bed. "You must be thirsty, drink."
"Rodrick," Pycelle said, addressing one of his aides. "Get the milk of the poppy."
As she helped Arya sip, a grey eye widened, and she looked to the Princess for help. Daenerys gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile, stroked her hair and then set the cup down.
"I don't want that," Arya declared plainly. "I'll be fine without it."
Pycelle had his back to the bed, hunched over reviewing some notes. He turned toward the guard. "What's this now?"
"I don't want milk of the poppy," she said again. "I don't need it, and I don't want it."
"It will help ease your discomfort," Rodrick said, likely thinking the same information from a different source would change her reaction to it.
"No," Arya announced with finality. "Now when can I get out of bed."
"I'm afraid I must insist," Pycelle pushed. "Milk of the poppy will cause you no harm and hasten your recovery by… by quite a large amount."
Even only seeing a fraction of Arya's face, the tension in her jaw was all the advanced warning Daenerys needed to comprehend that she was growing angry. Daenerys tried to mediate. "Grand Maester, if Arya wishes to recover without milk of the poppy, surely we can permit it?" She posed it like a question when it really wasn't. She was not about to force Arya to do anything and she wouldn't allow anyone else to either.
"I suppose," he admitted, "but the pain will be excruciating. It is really best for all involved if you allow me to administer some."
"I'll be fine." It was a statement made less credible by the pain in the speaker's voice. Daenerys hated her hurting, but she'd decided to support Arya's wishes and that began here with Pycelle. He'd be good practice for what was coming later. "Can I get up?"
"In a hurry?" he asked rhetorically, laughing at his own joke, oblivious to the glare Daenerys was giving him.
"The Princess has places to be," she quipped, though she was less than convincing, "she requires a guard."
"The Princess," Daenerys remarked, "isn't going anywhere. So, you can protect me from that bed."
"You don't need to stay Princess," the Maester said, misinterpreting her reasons for wanting to. "We will see your guard returned to top form in no time."
She smiled at the young man whose name she didn't know. "I'd certainly appreciate that."
"He's right Princess," Arya added. "You should rest, I think you got less sleep last night than I did."
That was definitely true. "I will shortly," she bargained, not quite ready to leave Arya's side.
"Grand Maester," Roderick, said as he finished his assessment of Arya, "her bandages require changing."
"Very well. Let's sit her up and have a look at things, shall we?"
Daenerys flinched. Luckily, everyone was focused on Arya. "Princess, we'll need you to move."
"Go," Arya urged again. "You don't want to see this."
She didn't want to see Arya's wounds, but only because she felt guilty. Seeing them would reinforce just how monumental her errors and how steep the cost. Still, she had to face it. "How can I help?"
"Princess," Pycelle began in disbelief, "you intend to stay?"
"I do." Secretly she was pleased she sounded more confident than she felt.
The kind Maester took over. "Your friend is right. It might be best if you took your leave for a time. We'll have fresh bandages on soon. I'll come and find you when we're done."
Probably predicting Daenerys's response, Arya joined in. "Go check on Missandei, change your clothes, have something to eat. I'll be here when you get back."
Talking with Arya, even with others around, it was easy to forget their predicament, and just interact as they always had. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily."
Arya smiled briefly before the visible portion of her expression turned serious. "Daenerys, I don't want you to see this, not today. Go, please."
She didn't want to, but she couldn't refuse. "Alright," she relented, "but first let's sit you up. Then I'll go when it's time to change your bandages."
She stood against the wall and watched, trying to memorize what she needed to know in the event Arya required her help. It was all going fine until it wasn't. Arya had made it from her stomach onto her side without too much difficulty. Daenerys could tell she was in extreme pain, but she persevered. The plan was for her to sit with her legs over the side of the bed, to avoid her back making contact with anything. The Maesters gave very explicit instructions about how she should use her hands for support and balance. It was a sound strategy until Arya's hand slipped midway between lying and sitting. Daenerys gasped and took an instinctive step forward, but she was too far away to be of any practical use. It was over in an instant. To keep Arya from falling, Rodrick and his partner gripped Arya from opposite sides. Daenerys thought the crisis was averted until she heard the anguished wail Arya unleashed. A quick study of the situation provided an easy explanation. In his haste to keep her upright Roderick put his hand under Arya's arm. In the process he brushed against her covered back, enflaming the sensitive wounds. He was quick to pull his hand away, causing Arya to wobble, but between her arm and the extra support from the opposing Maester, she managed to sit fairly steadily.
Though aggravated about Arya being hurt, success was success and Daenerys thought it went okay, for a first attempt. Pycelle didn't wait long to disagree with her unspoken idea. "That is why you need the poppy. We can't have you screaming every time you move."
"It's fine," Arya said adjusting her posture.
"How's your vision?" Roderick wondered.
"Fine." Daenerys rolled her eyes. She had a feeling they were going to be hearing that particular word quite a lot in the coming days.
Unbothered by the repetitive word choice, Roderick moved on. "Where does it hurt?"
"Everywhere," Arya said, dodging Daenerys's eye as she confessed the extent of her injuries.
"Can you be more specific?"
"My back, my right side, my hip, my shoulders and the back of my neck, oh and the back of my left arm."
As she listed off her wounds, Daenerys's mind recalled how she got them. The cracking of the whip, the sound of the leather meeting flesh. It turned her stomach.
Roderick nodded as if he expected that answer. "Most of your wounds will heal on their own. Time and care will do wonders, so just try not to strain yourself more than necessary."
Arya nodded as if there were no questions to ask. Daenerys had a few. "What do you mean most? How long will she need to be careful for? A week, a month, how long?"
Rodrick lifted his eyes from his notes and then replied, "That's not clear," he said diplomatically.
"Not clear," she spat back, "what is clear?"
"It's okay," Arya whispered to her, as she tried to calm the raging Dragon.
Rodrick looked to Pycelle to take the lead, but the old man had his head in a book and was not paying any attention to their conversation. "The damage the whip did was extensive. A full recovery is possible, but we can't estimate a time, or a prognosis until we see how her body responds. The next few days will tell us a great deal."
It wasn't what she wanted to hear, but they'd survive. She was preparing to leave, so they could change her bandages when Pycelle spoke. "Aha!" he cried, using a wrinkly old finger to point at a specific line. "Three times," he declared, "three times."
"Three times what Grand Maester?"
Instead of answering the man speaking to him, Pycelle took his big book to the bed and turned it in Arya's direction. "This author was the most talented Maester of his time and he estimates that milk of the poppy can speed healing by as much as three times." When Arya didn't seem thrilled with the information, he asked, "Do you understand what this means?"
"Yes," she confirmed. "I'll heal faster and more comfortably if I take your milk."
"Exactly, so Roderick, get it prepared."
"I said no!" Arya snapped. "You're not making me drink that, and if you try, I'll break your wrist."
"Threats, predictable, it's not surprising then such extreme punishments were required," Pycelle complained, more to himself than anyone else.
Daenerys heard a growl she later realized came from her. This was getting out of hand and she knew she needed to pick a side. It wasn't hard. "Enough!" she shouted, marching to a place deliberately between Arya and Pycelle. "Grand Maester, we've discussed this at length already. We agreed Arya could decide for herself if she wanted the milk of the poppy."
"That was before I had proof Princess." He turned the book he was holding in her direction then pointed to the spot she should begin reading from. She didn't. "She should make use of anything that will aid in her recovery, and as the overseer of her care, I must insist."
This was utter nonsense. "I am the overseer of Arya St…" she caught her near error and amended, "Sand's care." Luckily Pycelle was mostly deaf. She took a breath and regained her composure. "She is in my service, in King's Landing as my guard from House Martell. I will not order Arya to drink milk of the poppy or anything else. She is free to take as much time as she needs to heal and to do so in any manner she chooses. Am I clear Grand Maester?"
"This is highly unusual Princess," he noted.
"This is a highly unique situation," she countered. "Arya is not a Targaryen soldier, she was sent here from Sunspear and was due to return to Dorne in a number of days. Efforts must be made to see she returns in the best condition possible."
She thought she'd gotten through, by playing on the need for peace between kingdoms but Pycelle proved as stubborn as he was annoying. "Prince Doran will understand us giving her milk of the poppy, he's a smart man with an injury of his own."
Daenerys didn't try to hold back the dramatic sigh that preceded her next attempt. "Grand Maester how do you think Prince Doran will feel if she returns to Sunspear and tells him that she was forced to drink tonics against her will? We mustn't do anything that could upset relations with House Martell."
"Won't slowing her recovery damage relations too?" Rodrick wondered aloud.
"She's a grown woman and she's made a choice. Note it in her papers. We have witnesses. If she claims she was denied care, we can dispute that at an appropriate time and place, but for now, she is to be allowed to heal in any way she chooses."
That did it, Pycelle closed his book and the younger two nodded in agreement with Daenerys's logic. She'd done it. She waited just long enough to ensure everyone was occupied and then she turned to Arya. Sitting up was good for her. It required visible effort to stay balanced, but she had more color and appeared more alert than when she'd been prone.
"Nicely done," Arya whispered.
She chuckled. "Don't thank me, thank uneasy the relations between King's Landing and Sunspear."
Arya chuckled too, though it caused her face to contort and her whole body to tense. "No more jokes," she said through clenched teeth. Daenerys wanted to touch her, to have some connection. but was afraid of hurting her. She settled for maintaining eye contact, hoping Arya could tell she was loved without hearing the words.
Desperate to be of use she got the water and brought it to Arya. Drinking was relatively easy now that she was vertical. Daenerys just had to hold the cup for her. "Better?" she asked when the cup was empty.
"No water should taste that good, how long was I asleep?"
"Not long enough, although I know what you mean. Yesterday feels like ages ago."
They'd need to discuss what happened eventually, but Daenerys still felt a twinge of relief when the knock at the door gave her an excuse to cut the conversation short. Anticipating trouble, she prepared for another fight, but her efforts were needless. Missandei breezed into the room and claimed Daenerys in a hug.
"You're looking better," Missandei said to Arya. She stood next to Daenerys, so Arya could see her and converse without difficulty.
"Wish I felt better," she replied before she could stop the truth from leaking out. "Sorry," she said to both of them. "How was your night?"
The blatant attempt to change the subject didn't work on Daenerys or Missandei. "Do you need anything?" the handmaiden asked her friend.
"Yes," she answered at once. Daenerys was hurt. She'd been with Arya all night and she hadn't asked for anything more than water. Why would she suddenly make requests of Missandei.
"What can I do?"
"Take her out of here," Arya said with a pointed look at the Princess. "They are changing my bandages and then I need to rest, but Daenerys requires a bath, a pretty, clean dress and something to eat."
In a rare moment of dark humor Missandei chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be fun. You worrying about her, her worrying about you, both of you too stubborn to listen to reason."
Daenerys laughed and Arya shook her head. It didn't seem to cause her any pain, but it was hard to be certain. "She knows us well," Arya acknowledged, her eyes on Daenerys alone.
She licked her lips as she ached to kiss the woman she loved. "Yes, she does."
R-C
Author's Note:
Sorry, there isn't much in this one. It needed to happen to get us to the next round of confrontations. The next chapter will have the first of several long-awaited conversations with Rhaegar and Daenerys learning what Jorah wanted too.
Thank you to everyone who has stuck it out and followed me on this adventure.
Best Wishes and Happy Holidays
Russell Craig
