Although tempted to rush straight back to Arya, the logical part of Daenerys's brain knew there was some business she should attend to first. Her feet carried her away from Arya and toward the guest quarters Oberyn was occupying. He wasn't there. Where had he gone? She tried to recall the last time she'd seen the Dornishman, but a lot of the last day and a half blurred together into an incoherent mess.

With every step, Daenerys could feel Jorah's eyes on her. He wanted to say something, and she had a pretty good idea what. The door to the meeting room where she and her brother had their latest disagreement was well-made, but it wasn't designed to block out all sound. It was anyone's guess what exactly Jorah heard, but it wasn't a stretch to imagine he wouldn't be happy to learn any number of the things she confessed in anger.

"Where are we going Princess?" he asked to try and start the conversation he was so desperate to have.

She knew it was petty, but she wanted someone to agree with her. She wanted someone to say that Rhaegar was being selfish and unreasonable. Arya was the natural choice, but she was still recovering. Missandei was outside the walls with Grey Worm and that left the visiting Dornish Prince. She knew she'd find a sympathetic ear as well as wise counsel, and given the bad blood that existed between her brother and Oberyn, he wouldn't be opposed to letting her fume about her difficulties with the Crown Prince. Admittedly disappointed that he hadn't been there, Daenerys wasn't worried. He wouldn't leave without telling them, so it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again. Her grudge would be ready and waiting.

She owed Jorah a response of some kind so after an exaggerated sigh she told him of her next stop. "We need to find Tyrion," she said as she began descending a series of stairs.

"The Lannister?"

She looked back at him incredulously. "Do you know any others?" How had she not seen it before? It was blatantly obvious now – her brother, Jorah, everyone had been treating her like she was stupid for years, and she let them. She'd been so busy trying to keep the peace, she never considered how little they must think of her to treat her so dismissively. Well, she was noticing it now, and there was no going back.

"No."

"Let's go find the one you know," she quipped sarcastically.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked right before they reached Tyrion's office.

"No."

The door was open, so she walked in without knocking and left Jorah in the hall to protect against assassins or rapers or whatever his mandate was. Tyrion was behind his desk. He had his head in a ledger and was mumbling to himself. Lost in the numbers, he didn't immediately acknowledge her.

She waited calmly until he did. He hadn't been expecting her, that was clear, but he did offer a polite smile before he closed his book and asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Not really," she admitted. She tried to make it seem like a good-natured retort, but he saw through it easily.

He motioned to the vacant chair on her side of the massive desk. "Sit, would you like a drink?"

She nodded and smoothed out her dress before sitting down. Tyrion had his back to her, pouring their beverages when he spoke. "How is she?"

"She's okay," Daenerys stated carefully, hoping it wasn't a lie. "She seems better today, more clearheaded at least. She's in a lot of pain, but she's strong-willed and stubborn."

"Those are both qualities that will serve her well now," he noted. He gave her an understanding smile to go along with the goblet he passed her.

"Thank you," she said for more than just the drink. "I wanted to come and see you, to let you know that I won't be able to host any meetings for a while."

She didn't need to say anymore. "Of course not. Think nothing of it."

Daenerys did feel bad about abandoning the job she invented for herself, but Arya was her priority and it had to be that way for the foreseeable future. "I'll gladly begin again when things settle."

"I understand," he promised. They each took a sip and before Daenerys could decide what to say next, Tyrion surprised her. "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to stop what happened. If I thought my father would listened to me, I would have spoken on her behalf. My defending her was more likely to make things worse."

Appreciative of the sentiment, she knew he needn't blame himself. She pushed the goblet aside so she could reach across the desk without spilling. "This isn't your fault Tyrion, there is nothing you could have done."

He nodded to confirm he heard, then added, "I wish there was."

Daenerys could certainly relate to that. "I know that, and I'm grateful and so is Arya."

"Will you let her know I asked about her?"

"You should come see her," she suggested. "She tires quickly but enjoys the company, and I think she's growing sick of me."

"I find that hard to believe." There was a twinkle in the Lannister's eye that made her wonder if he knew there was more to Arya and Daenerys's relationship than respect and mutual admiration. Having already confessed to Rhaegar, there was little point in keeping the secret. She trusted Tyrion to be discrete. Nonetheless she would be happier if she didn't have to try and justify her feelings again. "In my earliest days here, I was advised you were the one and only person in the Crownlands Arya Sand actually likes."

Daenerys chuckled. She'd heard that particular rumor too. Everyone knew how Arya came to be in her service, so naturally the story got embellished over time. Plenty still believed Arya was counting the seconds until she could return to Sunspear and leave the Red Keep behind. Although she was confident it wasn't true, a knot tied in Daenerys's stomach as she thought about Arya leaving her behind. The gossips didn't realize how right they were when they spoke of the Dornishwoman's hate for the capital. They were wrong about her motives, but more was accurate than Daenerys cared to acknowledge. "She's come a long way," Daenerys laughed, hoping to distract herself from where her mind had gone, "now she spends time with you, Missandei, Grey Worm, Aemon, and even Aidan without whining too much."

Tyrion raised his glass in a mock toast. "To Arya Sand's expanding tolerances."

Since he wouldn't lower his hand until she raised hers, Daenerys did. Ignoring Tyrion's satisfied smirk, she tried to appear unamused. "Where is Aidan?" she asked, looking around the office for any sign of the hard-working little boy.

There was an uncharacteristic delay before he replied. "Your handmaiden came and got him this morning," Tyrion explained. "She said she was going into the city to purchase things for you and wanted to know if Aidan wished to join her."

That was incredibly sweet. She hadn't thought of it, but she was glad Missandei did. "That's good, he shouldn't have to work all the time."

"Why not?" Tyrion complained. "I do."

"So, then you labored over your ledgers all night?" she tested. "You didn't retire early and share a bottle of expensive wine with a friend or two instead, m'lord?" As she laid the trap for him, she put particular emphasis on the word 'friend.'

Rather than answer he steered them to something else, which was as good as hearing an actual confirmation. "How are you?"

Any enjoyment she felt teasing Tyrion disappeared when she thought of the answer to that question and the reasons why. She sighed and confessed how frazzled her emotions were.

Without meaning to, her quick stop by Tyrion's office turned into a long, friendly chat on a wide variety of topics. By the time she was ready to leave her anger and frustrations had dropped to a more manageable level. On the way out she felt considerably better than she had when she entered.

R-C

Daenerys was on her way back to Arya when a voice stopped her in her tracks. "Dany, wait!" Her eyes closed without permission and she fought the urge to whine about her poor luck. It wasn't his fault she was upset, she reminded herself.

She turned to face Aemon but had to look around Jorah to locate him. She knew this was going to happen, from the moment she threatened Rhaegar with the truth, this had been inevitable. She couldn't avoid him, and sincerely, she didn't want to, but the hall, halfway to Grand Maester Pycelle's office was hardly the appropriate place for such a monumental discussion. She stepped around the knight and managed a smile for her nephew. "I've been looking for you," he said.

"I'm sorry," she replied honestly, "it's been a little busy."

He ducked his head in understanding. Rather than asking about her very public disagreement with his father or the mysterious threat she made that involved him, Aemon showed his heart by checking on Arya first. "Is Arya doing alright? I went in earlier, but she was sleeping."

"She's okay," Daenerys summarized. "I'm going there now. Why don't you join me? I know Arya would like to see you."

She naively hoped that keeping the focus on Arya's health might delay what would come after. "Are you sure she wouldn't mind? I don't want to bother…"

Daenerys cut him off. "She'd enjoy it, trust me." Whether he knew it or not, Aemon was family and seeing her family would do nothing but brighten Arya's day. Thinking of the Starks reminded Daenerys of her need to send a raven to Highgarden. Sansa needed to hear about what happened from her, before word reached her some other way.

"Alright, lead on then," he proposed. They walked in blissful silence for all of three steps before he shattered it. "There is something I wanted to talk to you about, before we see Arya."

She tensed in anticipation of the incoming blow. Aemon deserved to know. Just because she wanted to avoid an uncomfortable conversation didn't mean he should be denied the answers he'd been searching for his whole life. "Alright." They stopped walking and Daenerys waved Jorah away, to give them additional privacy. It was far from ideal, but better than nothing.

"After the…" he trailed off and tried again, "after yesterday, I went to the throne room, to get Arya's things but her armor and her sword weren't there."

Daenerys was stunned. That was the private matter Aemon wanted to talk about?! She couldn't believe it. Too busy thinking about what she expected him to say, it took longer than it should've for her to comprehend what he was telling her. Arya's armor was missing? The Valyrian steel sword she commissioned had been stolen? The rage she'd been working to contain spilled over. Who would do such a thing, thieving from a woman who'd just been whipped? Unfortunately, there were too many likely culprits to assign blame to any one man. "It's gone?" she verified. Hadn't Arya suffered enough? How was Daenerys going to tell her that her armor was missing? And it was the armor that mattered. That armor was a symbol of Arya's progression, from servant to soldier, from the life that was forced upon her, to the one she fought for and earned. It couldn't be replaced. As for the sword, Daenerys didn't know if Arya would ever want to see the weapon again. If she didn't, the Princess wouldn't blame her. Although given with pure intentions, it had caused nothing but trouble. All because Aerys saw it and assumed it was too good to belong to a bastard. He thought Arya was merely carrying it for Daenerys and she was too fearful to correct him. It didn't seem important, but oh how wrong she'd been.

"I've asked around," Aemon said, drawing her from her thoughts, "but no one knows what happened to it."

"Thank you for letting me know. I hadn't even thought of that. I'll see if I can track it down." She wasn't sure where to begin, but she knew she had to try.

"You've had a lot going on," he said to excuse the oversight. Daenerys was preparing to continue their walk, but Aemon wasn't done. She should've guessed it was too good to be true. "I know now isn't the best time," he said to preface the rest, "but later, can we talk about happened between you and Father?"

His request was so sincere that she didn't even think about refusing him. "Yes, but it really is something you should hear from Rhaegar."

"I asked him about it," he assured her. "He said it didn't matter and that I should forget it."

Of course, he did. "When was this?"

"Last night. Why?"

"I met with your father earlier today. I told him he should be the one to tell you."

"Tell me what?" he groaned, clearly out of patience.

She thought for a moment and formulated a plan. "Give him one more chance," she advised. "Let's just visit Arya for now. Try speaking to your father again tonight and if he still refuses to discuss it, you and I can talk in the morning. Agreed?"

He was less than thrilled about another delay, but she was giving him more of a chance than anyone ever had before, and he was too smart to throw it away. "Agreed."

Jorah had backed away but not far enough to miss what Daenerys had offered her nephew. "What are you doing?" he hissed in an exaggerated whisper.

She knew precisely what he meant but played dumb. "Going to see Arya," she told him with a straight face.

R-C

Neither Targaryen anticipated walking in to see Arya standing, leaning on the arms of the chair Daenerys spent the night in. She had her back to them, giving Aemon his first glimpse of the mess the whip left behind. Even covered with bandages it was enough to startle him. "By the Gods," he muttered.

Daenerys didn't have time to comfort him, she pushed past Rhaegar's son who was on her right and rushed toward the bed. "Arya! What are you doing?"

"I couldn't stand it, another second laying down and I was going to lose my mind."

The unguarded honesty in that statement tugged at her heart, but that wasn't all she felt. Where in Seven Hells were the Maesters? They were supposed to be taking care of her. Arya was undeniably in pain, hunched over the chair like that. Her left arm, which was partially wrapped was shaking under the weight, nearly ready to buckle at any moment. How long had she been standing there?

"You should've waited, I would've helped you." She was with Arya now but unsure of her next move. The only time she'd seen someone try and assist her, she nearly fell, and they worsened her pain. Daenerys wanted to avoid that if possible.

"I don't need help!" she barked, her frustrations boiling over.

Having spent most of the morning arguing with people, while getting plenty of practice speaking her mind regardless of how it would be received, she was tempted to do so again. 'Obviously you do,' she wanted to say in reference to Arya's predicament, but she refrained. Arya wasn't Rhaegar or Jorah, Arya hadn't lied or betrayed her. Arya was who she was fighting for, not who she should be yelling at. She was also quick to acknowledge that Arya's situation had to be difficult. The Stark was a woman of action and now she was confined to a bed needing assistance for the most basic of tasks. Daenerys would be restless too.

She swallowed down her unhelpful comment and tried another angle. "How can I help? What do I do love? Do you want to go back to bed?"

"No!" she said immediately, at the same time she gritted her teeth against a fresh wave of pain. "I just wanted to stand up, but I only got this far."

"You want to stand up?"

"Yes, please, just for a minute."

Okay, she could do that, but how? She studied her lover's injuries carefully and looked for a place to touch that wouldn't make things worse. Arya had done the majority of the work, getting off the bed and up onto her feet, she just lacked the strength to straighten her upper body, likely because it required the use of so many injured muscles.

Without any experiences to call on, she decided to rely on her instincts. She'd do what came naturally and hope she didn't hurt the one person who mattered most to her in the process. From directly behind the guard, she slipped her arms under Arya's. She had both her arms straight, leaning on the chair, so it was easy for Daenerys to slide underneath.

Arya tensed, but didn't move. The Princess tentatively put a hand on Arya's stomach, near her belly button. Amazingly, even through the thick bandages, she could feel the ridges of her muscles. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," Arya eventually replied, breathing heavy.

"Okay I'm going to do the same on the other s…"

"No!"

Her hand stopped moving. "Okay, not there. Where sweetheart?"

"It hurts there," she admitted quietly, "higher, away from my hip."

She was sincerely afraid as she sought out a place to set her hand. She could tell Arya was sore and tired, and they couldn't keep this up forever. They needed to get her into a more comfortable position soon or she'd fall.

Daenerys knew she found the right spot because when her hand made contact Arya began leaning into her. Her breathing quickly levelled as well. Within seconds and without the royal needing to do much more than provide support, Arya straightened up to her usual height.

Upright, Daenerys was impressed by how well Arya was moving. She winced in pain frequently and had to move slower and more cautiously than was common, but she was doing it. After a little dancing between them, they ended up face to face with Arya's hands off the chair, holding Daenerys's instead. It felt right having Arya's fingers laced with hers again, even if the guard's palms were a little damp. "Are you okay?" she inquired. She knew how much Arya hated that particular question, but couldn't keep the words in.

"Never better," she retorted with a smirk. "I needed to get out of the bed, and I was right, the view is much better."

She was a woman who had been praised for her beauty since before she could walk, and yet Arya's compliments and the heated stare that came with them, had her feeling like a girl again, blushing and chewing on her lip. "I know the feeling," she promised. "Now let's get you back in bed, I think you've had enough excitement for one day."

The firm grip holding her hands tightened. "Not the bed," she half demanded, half pleaded. "The chair, please. Just let me sit up for a while."

Daenerys looked at the chair she'd occupied for hours and instead of a comfortable padded seat she saw something similar to her father's throne, with sharp, uncomfortable edges and an unforgiving frame. "Really? Your back is ready for that?"

"I won't lean back much," she proposed as a compromise. "I just can't lie down again, not yet."

That tug in her heart got more insistent. If they were going to make a life together, Daenerys was going to need to learn to resist and not be swayed by Arya's innocent-sounding requests. As it was, she felt powerless to deny her. "How are we going to do this?" she wondered aloud.

"I'll help," Aemon offered, announcing to them that he was there. Shit. Daenerys had forgotten about him.

"What are you doing here," Arya asked as he stepped away from the door and into her line of sight.

"Came to see you, but you were a little busy, so I thought I'd wait."

Arya smiled against her pain. "Sorry about that."

He matched her expression perfectly and Daenerys definitely saw the Stark resemblance. "Don't mention it."

Before she and Aemon worked to get Arya into the chair, he appeared at her side. "Someone's been keeping a secret," he teased.

She rolled her eyes unconvincingly, confident her satisfied grin stole credibility from the angry exterior she was going for. They probably should have told Aemon a while ago, but telling him nothing seemed easier than telling him half of it. "Later, help me get her settled before she falls."

"She can hear you," Arya announced.

Daenerys shook her head, but her smile didn't fade. This, she realized, must be what it was like to be part of a family, a happy, healthy family. She liked it, a lot.

R-C

Aemon's visit was nice. Sitting in the room's only chair Arya tried not to show how much discomfort she was in. If Daenerys knew how bad it was, she'd stop asking how she was and start demanding that she rest. Arya didn't want that. Painful or not, sitting was better than being in bed. She was losing her mind lying there. She needed to move around. She was lucky Daenerys came in when she did. She'd been stuck for a while and was running out of energy and ideas. Each time she tried to straighten up it was like a new lash of the whip against her lower back. It made finishing what she'd started impossible.

Aemon's concern for her was touching, but Arya could tell he had a lot on his mind. She kept waiting for the Targaryens to bring it up, but it never happened.

Eventually when Aemon had finished teasing them about their relationship, and stopped worrying about Arya's injuries, they moved on to simpler things. The soldiers talked about Aemon's training. He stood against the wall, opposite Arya, while Daenerys sat on the bed. The lovers held hands, exchanging the occasional look or whispered word. More often than not, Aemon would ridicule them for any romantic gestures, but it was all in good fun and more than a fair trade in Arya's opinion.

It was peaceful and easy and even with her wounds it was a good memory, the sort Arya wanted to keep. If Sansa and Oberyn were there, she'd have her whole family in one place.

The knock came just as Arya was preparing to admit she needed to lie back down. Her weak muscles were sore and the longer she sat, the more she leaned back into the chair for support. Each time that happened it inflamed her tears.

"I'll get it," Aemon said since he was already on his feet.

"Are you okay?" Daenerys whispered as soon as his back was turned.

With no interest in that question, she focused on something far more important. "I love you."

Daenerys's eyes were brighter than the sun coming through the window. "I love you too."

Their moment ended when Aemon summoned the Princess. "Dany, Jorah says you have a visitor."

"Send them in," she instructed without looking away from the guard.

"He needs to speak to you alone."

She sighed, causing Arya to chuckle. Daenerys looked cute when she was out of patience. Then again Arya found her attractive constantly, so that was hardly noteworthy.

She stood up but didn't step away. "Do you think people would stop insisting on private meetings if they knew I was going to tell you everything they said anyway?"

"Maybe," Arya allowed with a smirk.

Daenerys smiled despite her annoyance. "I'm tired of it. Nothing anyone has had to say to me today couldn't have waited."

"That's not true," she resisted, causing Daenerys to pause to hear the rest. "Telling you that I love you couldn't wait." She said the words, she meant them, and most importantly she wanted Daenerys to believe them, but she still felt childish and silly saying them out loud. Her face heated as a result.

Aemon was probably watching, Jorah was at the door and her guest was with him, but she stayed exactly where she was, defiant and unhurried. "I love you too," Daenerys swore, leaning down for a quick kiss.

They would need to talk about Daenerys's sudden willingness to put their relationship on display eventually, but until then Arya tried to follow the Dragon's lead as best as she could in her battered condition.

Daenerys left to tend to her business and Aemon came to take the spot on the bed. "So, you and Dany, huh?"

"What can I say? She's hard not to like."

"That must be where I get it from," he joked.

"It is," Arya assured him seriously. "I didn't think I'd like it here, but I was given an order and I followed it."

"And now?"

She moved her hand off the chair and nudged his elbow. "Now, there's Daenerys, and you, Missandei and Grey Worm, even the Imp. Like I said, you're hard not to like."

Their easy back and forth ended abruptly when Aemon put her on the spot. "Do you know what Daenerys wants to tell me?"

Unwilling to lie, she kept it simple. "Yes."

"Is it bad?" He didn't give her a chance to reply. "I was so sure I wanted to know, and now I don't know if I do. If it's got my father and Dany fighting like this, if it's got everyone so angry, maybe I should just forget it."

With effort she reached out for him again and took his hand. She wasn't very good at providing comfort, but she was going to try. "No, you shouldn't forget anything. The questions you have, you have a right to the answers. Daenerys believes that, and so do I."

"Was it like this for you too?" he wondered. "You're a Sand, did you ever look for your father."

She pictured Ned Stark in her mind and was struck by the many similarities he shared with Aemon. "My situation was different," she explained gently, "but if I had the questions you do, I wouldn't stop asking either."

He seemed pleased by the acknowledgement that she'd do the same in his place. "I didn't know I could feel like this, so anxious and terrified at the same time."

She nodded, sparking new pain she had to push through. "Once you know everything, it'll feel strange and it'll change a lot of things you thought you knew, but no matter what, I want you to remember that your aunt and I, we're on your side, always. Here, Sunspear, the Wall or anywhere in between, if you need me Aemon for anything, I'll be there."

The world looked at Rhaegar's youngest son and saw a Targaryen. All Arya could see was the sharp features, the dark hair and the grey eyes. He saw the shadow of an aunt she never met. He was a Stark to her even if he didn't know it, and that entitled him to as much of her as she gave Sansa, including her promise to come when called. She knew it was the right thing, but it was one more instance where she had doubts about if her father would approve. If he didn't agree, she hoped he could at least understand. Watching out for Lyanna's son, regardless of who his father was, was the honorable thing to do.

R-C

Jaime Lannister wasn't the last person Daenerys expected to seek her out, but he was near the bottom of the list. What was this about?

He smiled in that charming way of his, so distinctly different from Tyrion's and so alike at the same time. "Sorry to bother you Princess, I just need a minute."

"Of course." Jorah closed the door once she was out and then lingered over Daenerys's shoulder. She looked back at him. "You can leave us Ser."

"I'm not sure that's wise," Jorah protested, amusing Jaime.

"She'll be fine. I just need a few moments."

Mormont scowled at the younger man. "Speak then. No one is stopping you."

Daenerys turned on him fully, glaring. "I told you to leave us. Now go and do not make me repeat myself!"

She wasn't in the mood for this. She didn't ask for Jorah's help. She didn't need a guard anyway. She was with Arya most of the time and when she wasn't, she was in a castle filled with armed soldiers.

Realizing this was a battle he wouldn't win, Jorah relented, closing his mouth before his next attempt could leak out. He retreated quickly but didn't go far. She turned back to the Lion and found him grinning as he watched Jorah skulk away. "So hard to find good help, isn't it?"

She didn't regret reminding Jorah who was in charge, and she didn't feel guilty for doing it in front of Jaime. She'd given him an order and he didn't obey it, that was unacceptable. Just because he had a history of bringing her over to his way of thinking, didn't mean she had to tolerate him defying her in public. Those days were over. Still, she had no interest in joining in with Jaime to mock him further. "Is that what you wished to discuss with me Ser, the quality of allies available?"

He smiled broadly, seemingly pleased by her cold remark. "No, we can postpone that debate for now."

"I'd appreciate that."

He took a breath, watched her briefly as if searching for something specific and then glanced at the knight from Bear Island. Jorah had backed away but was watching intently. "I found some things I think you'd be interested in."

Was it a requirement that all fighting men need be so cryptic? Why couldn't they just say what they meant? "Is that so. I'm quite busy, perhaps this too can wait." She didn't know what he'd found or why she'd care but he was eating into her time with Arya.

"These items," he clarified, "I think you'll agree once you see them that getting them back to their rightful owner is of the upmost importance."

More vague shit. "Alright, show me."

"Follow me," he said after nodding in agreement. Mercifully, it was close by. When she heard Jorah behind her, she raised her hand and signaled for him to stop. "I didn't want these to be lost in the madness of yesterday," he told her just before they reached their destination.

Less than fifty feet from the door Arya was behind, the hallway widened to a small alcove. There were benches and chairs, and a low table with decorative flowers, but Daenerys couldn't focus on any of that. All she saw was Arya's armor. The same armor Aemon told her was missing. Jaime had it?! "You? Why?"

She tried to pull the words back, but it was too late. She hadn't meant to sound so accusatory, thankfully the Lannister didn't take offense. "I don't know your guard very well Princess," he admitted, "but what I do know, I like. What happened yesterday," he stopped talking and pinned her with a serious expression that said everything she needed to know. "If it had been me," he continued, "I would have wanted someone to gather my things."

"Thank you," she replied sincerely. "I just learned they were missing, and I was at a loss for how to begin searching."

He nodded and Daenerys thought they were done. She went to the table and began gathering up Arya's belongings. "The sword," she asked, realizing it wasn't there. She dropped the breastplate and turned back to the Kingsguard, "did you find her sword as well?"

"I had it sent to your quarters," he informed her. "A blade that fine, I didn't want to leave it out on the table with the rest of her things."

"Thank you," she said again, aware the words weren't enough. "I can't tell you how much this will mean to her."

With a knowing smile, he put his hand over the three-headed-dragon on his chest. "I have a pretty good idea."

She chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you do."

"You know," he said, surprising her for a second time by prolonging their exchange, "not too long ago my brother came to me. He showed me an exquisite, Valyrian steel sword and asked my opinion."

Anxiety was bubbling in her gut, but she tried to remain calm, outwardly at least. "And what did you think of it?"

All traces of humor gone, he responded. "I told Tyrion it was one of the finest swords I'd ever seen. I asked him what he was doing with it, and he told me a story about his friend, who had it forged for someone special."

Unsure of where he was going with this, she just waited. Jaime Lannister learning Daenerys gave Arya a sword was hardly the most damning revelation to come to light recently.

"I offered to buy it from him, from his friend, but Tyrion refused and that's unlike him. Not even the promise of a hefty purse was enough to change his mind."

This was new information to her. Tyrion never mentioned that his brother tried to buy the sword, only that he approved of it. "it wasn't his to sell," she reminded him firmly.

He smiled, perfectly at ease. "No, it wasn't. I've asked him several times since what became of the sword and he refused to speak of it. Not even wine loosened his tongue."

It seemed she owed Tyrion more than she knew. She and Arya never told him about their relationship, but for the second time that day she was considering that perhaps they didn't need to, maybe he just knew. "I don't know what to say," she confessed. "That's an interesting tale."

"I wanted the sword," Jaime explained, "because I couldn't stand the thought of a weapon like that hanging on the wall or collecting dust some place. A masterwork like that should be put to use as the Gods intended."

"I agree," she contributed carefully, still unsure of where he was leading her.

"I'm glad it's not collecting dust," he declared, finally getting to the point. "Tell Arya I hope she recovers quickly, and to be ready because I wish to spar with her and that sword as soon as she's able."

The thought of watching Arya fend off attacks made her nauseous, but she knew without a doubt that her lover wouldn't share those concerns. "I'm sure she'd welcome the chance."

With one final nod in place of a farewell, he took his leave. She watched him go for several seconds before her emotions settled. That was interesting. Daenerys pivoted back to the table and began filling her arms with various pieces of Martell armor.

From where he was watching Jorah hurried over. "Here Princess, let me carry that for you."

Her arms were full and balancing everything was a bit like solving a puzzle in the dark, but she managed. Arya's armor wasn't made up of meaningless slabs of steel with insignificant markings. It was irreplaceable to her, and that mattered to Daenerys. Somehow letting Jorah carry the armor for her felt wrong. She was the one who loved Arya, she wanted to be the one to return the items to her. "I'm fine."

"Princess please, you're going to drop it."

His faith in her was inspiring. "Then I'll pick it up," she snapped. "Now if you'll excuse me." She had better things to do than argue with Jorah Mormont. Arya deserved her armor back.

R-C

She took a deep breath and savored the silence. It had been a long day. The familiar, coarse weight of Arya's hand in hers kept her thoughts from wandering too far from the present. Right now, this moment, was good.

No one could deny that the Red Keep was full of lying, scheming men and women who manipulated as naturally as they sucked in air, but Daenerys was beginning to see its opposite side too. Tyrion offered her a drink and friendly conversation after she told him she needed a break from the meetings he arranged for her. Missandei took Aidan out into the city shopping with her. Grey Worm protected them while never once complained about all the purchases he was asked to carry. Aemon had every right to be distracted, and yet he checked on Arya and spent time with her, leaving his own problems for later. Jaime Lannister even brought back Arya's armor without asking for anything in return. There was plenty of bad in the castle, and there always would be, but Daenerys was beginning to understand what she needed to do, and where she needed to look to find some of the good.

After Arya was sleeping Daenerys snuck away to the rookery to send a raven to Highgarden. Aidan accompanied her. He was fascinated by the animals and entertained himself by talking to the birds while Daenerys wrote to Sansa. Arya hadn't wanted her to, she didn't want her sister to worry, but Daenerys insisted. There were no secrets in the Red Keep, not for long anyway. Sooner or later Highgarden would hear of the whipping of Daenerys's personal guard. She preferred if Sansa heard it from her. The letter was filled with sincere apologies and promises to keep her updated, but the words felt utterly insignificant. How could she ever right such a tremendous wrong? For her part, Arya refused to discuss the whipping, or Daenerys's role in causing it. but avoidance didn't make it go away. Arya got hurt because of her, and that was something they would eventually need to deal with. Daenerys would never allow herself to forget or minimize the part she played. Her hope was that she could take the guilt and regret and use them as motivation to help not only Arya, but others who desperately needed it.

She'd been back in the chair beside Arya's bed for less than an hour when the door opened and one of the Maesters slipped in with Oberyn right behind. Daenerys got up from her seat and went to the Prince. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder if I'd see you again." She wasn't being wholly serious and yet the severe set of his features made her wonder if perhaps she should be. "Is everything alright? Where were you?"

The longer he went without responding the more concerned Daenerys became. "How is she?" he asked, taking a step toward the bed.

"Resting now," Daenerys said, feeling foolish for telling him what he could plainly see. "She had a good day I think, she was sore but she sat up and even stood for a few minutes."

From some hidden pocket he removed a vial of clear fluid. "This will help," he told her before he handed it over.

She took it and assessed it with a critical eye. She had no idea what she was looking at. "Not water?" she guessed.

Oberyn chuckled. "Not water. That's a tonic that should help control her pain."

She was instantly uneasy. "The dreams…"

"It shouldn't effect her sleep. It doesn't work as well as the poppy does, but it's better than nothing."

Wow, she didn't know such a thing existed. "Why didn't the Maesters have this?" She wasn't trying to be rude, but she was curious. Why hadn't they been using this alternative remedy since Arya refused the milk of the poppy?

"It requires a rare ingredient," he explained. "That's where I was, I spent the day meeting with contacts and buying up everyone's supply. It should be more than enough for Arya to heal."

"That's great!" Daenerys proclaimed a little too loudly. Three sets of eyes turned to the bed to see if Arya would wake. She didn't. Daenerys chose to take that as proof her recovery was moving in the right direction. "Thank you Oberyn."

He smiled kindly. "I've given Maester Rodrick the supplies, he'll mix up the rest, so it's ready when she needs it."

Daenerys turned the vial over in her hand and watched the mixture move. "What's this?" If the Maester had to brew the tonic, what was she holding?

"I bought that one already mixed. You can give it to her when she wakes up, and by the time she's in need of more Rodrick here will have it ready."

After the Maester confirmed he understood his role in the plot, Daenerys spoke to both of them in turn. "Thank you!"

Rodrick seemed genuinely pleased she wasn't yelling. Oberyn on the other hand gave her another tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. If there was anything Daenerys Targaryen knew well it was insincere smiles. Why wasn't he as thrilled as she was?

She didn't find out the answer until the Maester had finished his exam of Arya, waking her in the process. Arya was happy to see Oberyn there, and he peppered her with questions about her health and recovery. Although she rolled her eyes and grumbled more than once, she answered every inquiry honestly, a true testament to the bond between them.

"What's wrong?" Arya asked him, after Rodrick was gone. Daenerys didn't know whether to feel relieved or afraid. She'd been right, it wasn't her imagination, something was going on.

"Have either of you seen the King today?"

Daenerys thought back to ensure she got the answer correct. "I saw him at dinner, when I was getting food for Arya and I, but we didn't speak."

"And the Prince?"

"We did speak," Daenerys recalled. "We met this morning and had a disagreement."

"About what?" Oberyn pressed.

Daenerys hesitated. Arya, even from her bed noticed the change. "What's going on? Stop asking her questions and tell us!"

Unsure of what kind of a response a demand might bring out of Oberyn she tried to prepare for anything. He paused, looked at Arya for a moment and then nodded in acceptance. "When I was coming back with the ingredients, Tywin found me. I was escorted to a meeting with the King, the Crown Prince and the Hand."

That couldn't be good. "What did they want?"

"For me to leave," he told the Targaryen bluntly. The rest of the message was directed at Arya. "Since Viserys has returned with Eliza and the wedding is on schedule, the King has released you from Daenerys's service. He wants us on a ship bound for Sunspear as soon as you're able to ride."

Daenerys's heart was breaking. Had it really been only minutes ago that she was thinking about the good in her life, about the positive things she'd discovered, and now she was being reminded of how deep the pits of despair could reach. "It's Rhaegar," she said confidently as tears welled in her eyes. "He knows about us and he ordered me to end it, I refused so he is trying to separate us by force."

She counted the seconds, waiting for one of them to disagree with her, hoping someone would provide another plausible explanation. It was eerily silent. When Arya did speak, she only said, "It's going to be okay." Usually, she tended to believe anything Arya told her, but this, this time she wasn't so certain.

R-C

Author's Note: So, Daenerys is done hiding her feelings. That should make things interesting.

Happy New Year to everyone reading. I apologize for the delay posting this chapter and for how short it is. This was the natural place to stop, before we dive in and see how Daenerys and Arya react. I promise the next chapter will make up for the lull in this one.

Until then,

RC