It had been eight days since her talk with Oberyn over dinner and Daenerys was no closer to making a decision. Truthfully, she felt even more lost now than she had when he originally suggested it. Flattering as it was to believe, even temporarily that she could replace Rhaegar, succeed her father and sit on the Iron Throne herself, it simply was not that easy. How could she rule anything? She'd never been included in any aspect of true governing. Loathe as she was to admit it, Rhaegar had been right when he minimized her contributions and ridiculed her role. There was more to leading than tours of the castle and tea. At the end of the day, her lack of experience and knowledge couldn't be overcome. could it?
Countless times she prepared to politely decline the idea and thank Oberyn for thinking her worthy, but something always held her back. It was more than her own selfish wants or Arya's, what gave her pause was thinking about everyone else. Millions of innocent people lived under her father's unjust rule and they paid dearly for that. They deserved someone better, but was it hubris to think 'better' meant her?
Her mind raced and she quickly came to the foot of another insurmountable obstacle. She was not a man. Would Westeros accept her or any woman, regardless of her bloodline? Sure, it was tradition for Targaryen Kings to rule beside their sister-wives, but Daenerys wasn't naive. That arrangement while custom did not make the Kings and their Queens equal in the eyes of the masses.
She tried to divide the various arguments into two groups. The list of reasons she should do as Oberyn was proposing and replace her father was short but sincere. She really did want to help people but was she capable and if she was, would anyone let her? She didn't know and that alone fed the debate taking place inside her.
She hadn't spoken to anyone about this yet, not Arya or Missandei, not because she was ashamed but rather, she didn't know what she'd say. What made Oberyn think she was right for such a weighty obligation? She was a spoiled girl who rarely left the castle. Good intentions aside, it would take years of study to craft her into a suitable ruler and Daenerys didn't think the Realm had that long. After Aerys the people wouldn't tolerate more Targaryen nonsense. They'd need a strong, stable presence in King's Landing to reassure them and guide them toward change.
There were admittedly few Targaryens left. Rhaegar had been secretly planning to refuse the Crown all along. Daenerys didn't think he'd suddenly change his mind now. Aemon dreamed of being a Ranger in the Night's Watch and he deserved the chance to chase his dream. No matter how confident Rhaegar was of his scheme, she didn't think the throne, its prestige or its responsibility would make her nephew happy. She didn't want Aemon to be trapped in a life he didn't choose. All that remained was Daenerys and Viserys.
Unless allowances were made for Elia Martell's children, the Realm would need to decide between another violent, unstable King, or his inexperienced, woefully untalented sister. It was a difficult problem with no clear solution.
There were benefits to being in charge. She could finally implement the ideas she had to improve the capital and all seven kingdoms. Potentially even more appealing was the knowledge that if she were Queen, no one would have the power to keep her and Arya apart. For that reason alone, Daenerys was tempted to track down Oberyn and accept, but she couldn't be so selfish. She loved Arya but this needed to be about more than just her. Daenerys had to make the best choice for everyone, Arya included.
Part of the reason she hadn't mentioned any of this to her consort was because she knew Arya would be her usual supportive self. She'd encourage Daenerys to go ahead, to change the world and make it better. The Princess knew if Arya reacted with such optimism, she'd grow strong and fearless, capable of anything. She'd agree and take the leap of faith, regardless of the consequences. While it was appealing to have someone to share the burden with, she held her tongue. Whether or not she would try to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was a decision she had to make on her own. She appreciated Arya's unwavering support, but their current predicament called for realism. Although being with Arya often made her feel as though anything was possible, the truth was Daenerys was a timid, introverted, young woman who could count on her hands the number of truly impactful moments in her life. She was never meant to lead. She wasn't groomed for it like Rhaegar. She didn't have Viserys's sense of entitlement nor his overconfidence.
She stopped walking and leaned against a wall. The unforgiving, cool stone felt nice against her skin. Frustrated with her jumbled, inconsistent thoughts she tried to approach the problem from a new angle. One day, whether it was sooner or not, Aerys would not be Westeros's King. What happened then? If Rhaegar was steadfast in his refusal and Aemon was in the Night's Watch who did the duty fall to? Would they name Viserys King or bring Aegon from Sunspear? As she followed her prediction to its conclusion, she didn't like the future she conjured up. Whether it was rightfully his or not, Viserys was going to claim the title for himself the instant he became aware that Rhaegar didn't want it. If it was decided Aegon was the true King, would Viserys step aside and return to Dragonstone or would he resist and plunge the Realm into a war between Targaryens?
She didn't know Aegon vary well, just what she learned from Arya and Oberyn, mixed together with what she discovered for herself from during their brief interactions. Still, she was certain the kind, thoughtful, soft-spoken young man she met in the Water Gardens would make a far better leader than her brother.
As it often did, her mind wandered to what would become of her in this imaginary future? Would she remain in the Red Keep, would she live in the Reach as Loras Tyrell's wife? Viserys had always wanted her as his wife, and if he were King, he'd have the authority to try and make that happen. After what she'd done to him in her quest to protect Arya, Daenerys knew Viserys would revel in making her suffer. Her thoughts took a dark turn as she was swarmed with all the depraved ways he might choose to take his revenge. She always knew she'd have to answer for threatening him, she was prepared for it, but that was before. There was a big difference between upsetting a Prince and upsetting a King.
Maybe Rhaegar and Lyanna had the right idea, maybe the best Daenerys and Arya could do was leave Westeros and never look back. She didn't have skills exactly, but she'd be willing to learn and wasn't above washing dishes or scrubbing sheets if necessary. She also had drawers and drawers of expensive trinkets. She would gladly sell the lot of them to start her new life with Arya. They wouldn't make their predecessor's mistakes however, they'd tell people, the ones who mattered anyone. She'd tell Aemon, and Arya would tell Sansa. They'd both tell Missandei… Her thoughts skidded to a halt as her stomach rolled violently. Missandei, could she leave her friend behind? Could she convince her and Grey Worm to join them without securing freedom for the Unsullied first?
Perhaps she could barter with the next King. Viserys wouldn't do anything to help her, but Aegon might. She could support his claim on the throne and in return he could set the Unsullied and Missandei free.
When she believed she was helping Rhaegar prepare to ascend to power, she made a list of all the influential houses likely to side with them. With Arya's help and Tyrion's wide-ranging advice Daenerys had a pretty extensive sense of her potential allies, everyone from the Tullys in Riverrun to the Arryns in the Vale. Some would be easier than others to persuade but Daenerys liked her chances. If she was suitable to lead was debatable, but Daenerys knew without question, she could do this. She could rally allies and consolidate a base of power. She had already managed to get a pledge from Lady Olenna in Highgarden, and that was with only one conversation and a vague plan. Properly motivated, and she was, she could do better than organizing one house. Whether she was backing Aegon or opposing Viserys, Daenerys was committed to doing her part.
Refusing to be Queen meant that she'd likely need to say goodbye to Arya, and while that was not the desired outcome, she knew her lover and knew that she meant it when she said they'd find ways to be together. It might take time, and there would be heartache during their separations, but Daenerys had the upmost faith in Arya Stark.
She managed to keep herself hidden from Jorah by disappearing into the frequently forgotten space that belonged to Missandei. The handmaiden was once again enjoying a day in the city with Grey Worm, at the Princess's insistence. They invited her to join them, but she declined. She wanted to stay close to the keep, and close to Arya, especially with tensions as high as they were.
She hadn't seen Arya since that morning. She tried to get up when Daenerys did, but the Targaryen encouraged her to rest. Arya tried to claim that the worst of her injury was behind her and while Daenerys certainly hoped that was accurate, she wasn't entirely convinced. Either way, she didn't want Arya hurting herself needlessly.
Without prompting Missandei and Grey Worm provided both companionship and protection as she attended two meetings for Tyrion. It was after they were complete that Daenerys recommended the lover's sneak away. She had nothing on her schedule beyond stealing as much of Arya's time as possible, so why not release them? Not only did she invent a reason for Missandei to be out, in the event anyone asked, but Daenerys also provided her friend with enough gold to ensure she and Grey Worm had a nice, relaxing afternoon together.
After seeing Missandei off, Daenerys went to Arya and found her napping. With care she adjusted the blankets around her lover and then dropped a feather-light kiss onto her forehead. "Sweet dreams," she whispered before she slipped out of her bedchambers. She viewed retreating to Missandei's room to be a stroke of genius on her part. No one would look for her there. She was desperate to avoid not only Jorah but the lecture he would undoubtedly spew. Daenerys needed to think.
It was only supposed to be a brief reprieve, but it rapidly became more. She busied herself thinking about the future and what was best, not only for her, but for Aemon, Arya. Missandei, the Unsullied, Tyrion and all of Westeros. Time passed quickly without her knowledge or consent. When she finally realized how long she'd been secreted away she jumped to her feet and went in search of Arya. Was she with Oberyn or somewhere else? Would she be upset that Daenerys hadn't been as attentive or present as she should?
Since it was the closest to her current location, she started by checking the bedchamber that belonged to her. It seemed highly unlikely that Arya would still be resting, but it was definitely worth a look.
The heavy door gave no advanced warning about what she might find within. She turned the knob quietly and slipped in, working hard to be as silent as possible. Before she crossed the threshold, she heard a mumbled curse. Initially she assumed she walked in on another nightmare. Quiet and careful no longer felt necessary. She let the door close on its own and hurried deeper into the room, eager to help Arya in any way she could.
Surprisingly, the bed was both empty and made, Closer observation allowed her to spot the creases and wrinkles that made clear that it had not been tended to by one of the servants.
"What are you doing here?" Arya barked, between panting breaths.
Daenerys chased that voice to its source, her eyes sweeping the room as she went. She bristled a bit at the harsher than usual tone but responded. "I live here too, remember," she joked.
When she finally found Arya, the younger woman was standing not far from the mirror, with her back against the wall and both of her hands tucked behind her. It was difficult for the Targaryen to focus. In addition to wearing her usual boots and a simple pair of brown trousers, Arya's upper body was uncovered, completely uncovered. No shirt, no bandages, nothing. Violet eyes pinpointed the freshest marks. Most were hidden but there were several she could see peeking out near Arya's ribcage. It had been so long since she'd seen Arya like this, she allowed herself a moment to stare greedily.
Arya didn't appear to notice. "I thought you'd be busy." She sighed, bringing her hands in front of her and wringing them. "I didn't think it would take me this long."
Oblivious to what this was really about, Daenerys kept teasing. "You never need to apologize for giving me such a glorious sight to return to."
Although Arya replied with a smile and a chuckle, they were empty. Daenerys knew a thing or two about forced, hollow gestures and she didn't like that Arya felt the need to use them with her. What was happening? As she sought to understand she reviewed the unevenly made bed again before moving on to the remainder of the room. She stopped when she saw the small leather bag that was resting on the floor next to Arya's foot. Daenerys recognized it immediately, those were Arya's things, and that wasn't where they'd been when she left that morning.
Panic started bubbling in her chest. "What is happening here?!" she asked almost frantically. Her heart was pounding, and her vision blurring. What was Arya doing?
In hopes of finding comfort for herself and at the same time provide reassurance for Arya, Daenerys held out a hand for the guard to take. She looked at it a long moment without making contact. The Princess's panic was blooming into something much worse. "Arya please!" she begged shamelessly.
That had the desired effect and Arya's mask cracked a little. "I was going to tell you," she began, "just not now, and not like this." To emphasize what she meant she moved her left arm and gestured to her naked upper half. With her eyes drawn to the movement, she noticed a handful of different wounds. For most of the lashes Arya had been on her hands and knees, or flat on her stomach, but for the first few she was kneeling with her arms at her sides, and those were the ones where the whip was able to reach out and extend the horror beyond Arya's back to her arms as well. Seeing Arya's strong arms with wounds was physically painful. The marks were red and appeared to be healing but that did nothing to quell Daenerys's rage. She was furious. Someone had hurt Arya. She had wanted Jorah dead for trying to hurt her, she'd tied up Viserys and cut him when he threatened her, so there was no mercy in her when it came to Ilyn Payne. What he had done was unforgivable. When would the fates give him what he was due? Spots of black in the largest visible cut to Arya's arm confused her until she realized it had been sewn closed. She tore her eyes away from the injury so they could continue their conversation and found Arya watching her with a slight, sad smile. "Like I said, I thought I'd be finished before you got back. Let me cover up, then we can finish."
Daenerys didn't give a fuck about that. "I get the feeling this can't wait."
Arya's answering expression spoke volumes. As was her way, she got straight to it. "I thought you'd want your bedchamber back. I'll return to the barracks or stay with Oberyn. He received word the ship is on its way back."
Growing dizzy Daenerys wobbled slightly. Arya didn't hesitate to reach out and keep her from falling. She appreciated the kindness and the contact. What was less enjoyable was the way Arya retracted her arm immediately after the Targaryen had her balance. "You're leaving?"
"It's for the best," she said although Daenerys didn't think she believed it. "You don't need me bleeding all over the furniture, and we both know I can't guard anything like this."
She repeated the words in her head twice to verify she understood Arya's reasoning. That was what Arya was upset about? That was why she wanted to leave? "You were never just my guard," Daenerys said, feeling in her bones how true the words really were. She may not have known what to call it, or how to face it, but there had always been something more between them, right from the first. She offered Arya her hand again and tried not to scowl when she didn't grasp it.
Daenerys inched closer to her lover. "I don't care if there is a trail of blood drops from the bed to the chair and back, I don't care if you can't guard me right now, that's why I wanted you…"
"I care!" she snapped, ending Daenerys's attempt at comfort. "I hate this," she added throwing her hands up in frustration. The left she'd used to steady Daenerys earlier was empty, but in her right was a thick roll of bandages. Daenerys saw it and finally comprehended exactly what she'd walked in on. "I can't do anything for myself."
"You're hurt," Daenerys reminded her as gently as she could, "it takes time to recover."
"What if I don't? What if I can never swing a sword again, what if I'm never fit to guard a shipment or you?" For the first time in their relationship Daenerys heard genuine fear in Arya's voice. She was second guessing everything, her future, their relationship, her work, right down to her place in the world. It made Daenerys hate what happened that day in the throne room more than she already did.
"You're wrong," she said, taking her consort's left hand carefully. The callouses were slick with sweat. "You my love, can do anything."
She scoffed and pulled away. "Everything except wrap a bandage apparently," she complained. As if to prove it, she took the roll of white cloth she was holding and tossed it across the room. She sent it bouncing off the wall on the far side of the bed. On its way down it took a few random items along with it.
Taking advantage of the fact that her right hand was now also empty Daenerys moved forward to try and claim it too. Arya backed up but couldn't go far since she'd already retreated to the wall. "Don't," she cautioned.
That lone word hurt more than Daenerys wanted to admit. She decided another strategy was in order. Reassurance from a lover wasn't working, so she altered her course and tried to provide the soldier in her some relief. "It's no different than if you were hurt in battle. You'll be back to your old self soon."
"It is different," the warrior countered, "war is different."
"How?" the Princess asked dumbly. Arya was actually talking about it, and she wanted her to keep going.
"In battle I'd go down with a sword in my hand," she explained. "In combat you look your enemy in the eye until death comes to whoever is weaker, or slower, or less skilled. That wasn't this," she finished waving her hand over her body. "I was powerless again, just like when I was a girl."
Daenerys's heart broke as she listened. "You are not powerless," she declared emphatically. Arya wasn't convinced, so she reiterated. "You're not. All your life people told you that you'd never be a soldier, that you couldn't wear a sword, and armor and defend this Realm." She knew it was true but summoned all her patience as she waited for Arya to respond. Nothing came. Daenerys nudged her a little. "Didn't they?"
"Yes," she confessed quietly.
"That's right. And all those recruits thought you were pitiful on your first day, and the instructors tried to make you quit, to make you give up, but you never did, why?"
There was another delay but not nearly as long as the last. "I didn't want to, I belonged there."
Daenerys smiled. "Yes, you did, which is why you didn't only complete your training, you excelled at it. You were right Arya. You were meant to be a soldier."
"Maybe not," Arya refuted sadly.
"Really? Think about us and all it took to get us here," she encouraged, "can you think of another situation where you'd be ordered to join my service? You needed to be a soldier, not only that you needed to be the best."
"For what?"
"This," Daenerys said with conviction. "Think about how unlikely we are. There was your training, my unwanted trip to Sunspear, your fight for my father, you protecting me from Viserys," there were countless other things she could add to the list, but she left it there, satisfied Arya got the point. "After all we've been through, you and I, maybe the Gods felt they owed us one another." Although she believed that. Daenerys never planned to say so to anyone, least of all Arya.
"Gods or luck," the Stark shared, "I'm grateful."
Daenerys grinned, that was the Arya she knew. Since her hands were still extended in Arya's direction, Arya took them both. Daenerys weaved their fingers together to try and secure their bond. The familiar weight of Arya's hand in hers was nice. Violet eyes flickered to the wounds on Arya's arms briefly, but she looked away at once, not wanting to embarrass the woman she loved. "Me too," she promised, "so why are you leaving? Even if the ship turned around in Sunspear, they won't arrive tomorrow, we have time, more than a little if the weather slows them."
Arya chuckled. "It will, Oberyn told them to stop at every port along the way."
Daenerys laughed. Oberyn Martell really was one of a kind. "Remind me to thank him the next time I see him."
The light moment didn't last. Arya was serious when she said, "That's where I was going when…" she trailed off, looking down at herself.
It was hard to avoid distracting herself with the delicious view. Her mind added a myriad of enjoyable but not particularly helpful memories of their most intimate moments together. "We're in this together," Daenerys stated, willing her voice not to crack. "That's what we said. We said, we'd find a way to…"
"I meant it," Arya assured her. "I did then, and I do now."
"Then why do this?"
"We don't have long. Once I recover, I can start requesting assignments that bring me here, but for now I can barely hold a sword let alone swing it."
Daenerys was giving Arya her undivided attention, and still couldn't make the connections. "So?"
"I'm not myself," Arya said looking down again. She tried to free her hands, but Daenerys refused. It was telling that she didn't look up when Daenerys squeezed her hands tightly and tugged. Whatever she was thinking, she didn't want to look Daenerys in the eye when she said it. The room was deathly silent for a time before she finished. "I don't want you to see me like this. Remember me as I was, before the throne room." She used a set of their joined hands to wave to her battered frame. "Forget this. It's not important. When I return it'll be as if it never happened."
A good woman, a good lover probably would have tended to her partner's emotions, but Daenerys was too overwhelmed by her own. "What in Seven Hells was that shit?" she roared angrily. "Look at me Arya Stark." She waited until violet met grey. "I love you, I love you more than I have loved anyone or anything else, ever. If I'd known you were in Dorne, I would have wanted to go, I would have gotten there years sooner." She knew logically the Arya she met, the one she loved wouldn't have been the soldier or guard she needed until later, but Daenerys's point remained. "Guard or not, injured or recovered, I love you, I'm in love with you and nothing can change that."
"I love you too."
"Where is all this coming from?" she needed to know. They'd been good or so she thought. They hadn't had sex since before Arya was hurt but that was because she didn't want to cause her pain. It had nothing to do with a lack of desire. They shared a bed every night since Arya left Pycelle's room and while nightmares were common and the pain kept her restless, Daenerys never once regretted having her there. It never occurred to her that Arya didn't know she was the best thing in Daenerys's life, she assumed it didn't need to be said, but perhaps Arya needed to hear that her injury hadn't changed anything, hadn't changed them.
"I want you to be happy Daenerys," Arya explained. "From the beginning, that was all I wanted."
A soft tug on the connected hands caused Arya's arm to flex and Daenerys couldn't help but notice the long angry gash that decorated the skin. She averted her gaze quickly, but not fast enough. "Arya, I'm so…"
"I'm the one who should apologize," the Northerner countered.
Daenerys swallowed down a handful of comments, not expecting that. She settled for, "What?"
"You met Sansa," Arya clarified, confusing Daenerys even further. "She was always the pretty one. I was the one who preferred pants to dresses and swords to sewing. I was Horseface."
Her heart clenched on Arya's behalf. It hurt to know that was how Arya saw herself. It was miles from how the Princess saw her and Daenerys intended to tell her so, as many times as it took until she believed it. "You know, from the moment you took your helmet off, you were the single most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes on."
"I was bloody and furious," Arya recounted.
"And gorgeous!" Arya managed a smile for her benefit but couldn't hold it. "Nothing has changed," she tried, willing Arya to really hear her.
"Somethings have changed," she retorted. It wasn't hard, angry or bitter, worse it was resigned.
"Not that," Daenerys proclaimed. "I love you and the Gods know I want you. If Pycelle hadn't told you to avoid s strenuous activity, I'd gladly show you how much."
She thought that would do the trick, and settle Arya's nerves, but once again she looked at the floor between them. "You don't know."
"Don't know what?" she inquired warily.
"My back," she said slowly, "you haven't seen it."
Oh, well that was true, but it wasn't because Daenerys was avoiding it. The Maesters wrapped her back when she was with them, and since Arya said Oberyn had taken over the duties. He was a former Maester after all and much more qualified to help than she was. Daenerys offered of course, but Arya brushed it off and changed the subject, asking about her meetings and appointments. She thought Arya just needed time before she let Daenerys see, but maybe she'd been wrong, and time was merely giving Arya's doubts the opportunity to fester. "I love you," she said to make it abundantly clear, "and scars or not, injuries or not, that won't change."
Arya wasn't so sure. "You haven't seen yet." She paused and then all the sudden everything came pouring out in a rush of barely separated words. "I don't want you to see me like this. That's why I was going to leave, so you wouldn't have to."
Worry for Arya may have been her primary emotion, but she couldn't deny she was becoming frustrated by the back and forth too. "Would you leave me if I got horribly burned tomorrow?" When the answer wasn't immediate, she forged ahead. "If my face was scarred would you leave me, stop loving me?"
"Of course not!" Arya declared vehemently. "I'll love you until the day they burn my body."
"I know, I can feel it, and I see it, because it looks exactly like the love I have for you." She went slow, hoping it would allow Arya to absorb the information. "I don't care if you're whipped a hundred times, or if you can never serve as a guard again, I love you and I'm always going to want you." She gave her a moment or two to think about that, then said, "Show me."
Arya didn't move but the slight twitch in her jaw erased all questions about whether or not she'd heard the request. She released her lover's hands and flashed a bright smile before stepping away. "What are you doing?" Arya wondered.
"I'm going to get the bandages, and then you're going to teach me how to wrap your back," she predicted. Daenerys hummed an affirmative sound when she spotted the roll and picked it up. She ran her thumb over the cloth lazily. Once Arya needed a bandage to cover a passionate mark Daenerys left on her neck. For days afterward she smiled each time she thought of it. This brought back no fond memories, no secret pleasures, this time Arya's wounds came from hate and not love.
The guard met her between the mirror and the bed. "You don't have to do this," she said simply.
"I want to," Daenerys noted, looking suggestively to the stool in front of the mirror.
"Do you?" she pressed. "I will be gone in a few days. The next time we see one another, the tears will have healed. I'll have scars, a lot of them, but nothing else. Isn't that better than seeing them like this – held together by string, leaking blood and thick with bruises."
She almost gagged from Arya's description alone. She knew what was happening, Arya was giving her a way out. She raised valid points. By her next visit to the Crownlands she would be fully healed. Her back would have scars, as her hands, arms and chest did, but Daenerys always felt those marks suited her lover well. Was she prepared to see the true extent of the damage, to witness with her own eyes the depths of her father's depravity? Would she see Payne's face from this day forward every time she unwound a bandage? She didn't know but she knew she had to try. Arya needed tangible proof that she was lovable, even now, and Daenerys needed to face what was done to her. She couldn't hide like a scared girl and wait until the worst was over. They had delayed too long already.
Arya gave her all the time to think she needed, and Daenerys loved her for that. "Show me," she said in a whisper, "please." Arya gave her another moment to reconsider but she'd made her choice, she nodded. "Let me take care of you Arya, all of you."
She wasn't really thinking, she was just speaking, saying what came naturally. She hadn't been sure if her nervous comments were helping or hurting until an expression of utter relief passed across Arya's face. As she rotated to display her back to the Princess, Daenerys heard a sigh. Was that her or Arya?
Whatever progress she thought she'd made recently, be it in reassuring Arya that she was still as beautiful as ever or planning out the best possible future for everyone she loved, none of that felt important when faced with the sight of Arya's battered back. She'd never seen anything like it. Bruises were clearly visible across her shoulders and up the back of her neck until they were hidden by a mess of dark hair.
Her memory took her to every mistake she made since the whipping, when she snuggled in too close, hugged too hard or made contact in her sleep. Each and every time Daenerys fucked up, it brought Arya very real pain. The guilt began anew, making her regret almost every decision. How had she let this happen? She was a Princess for fuck sakes, what was the point of being royalty if you couldn't protect the one person you loved most? Arya had said it was fine, told her the pain wasn't severe and that the blame wasn't hers, but seeing it now, she didn't think she agreed. There was more than enough to go around.
With vivid clarity she could recall each and every meeting between Payne's whip and Arya's back. Even when her eyes were too clouded to truly see, she could hear, and the sounds of that day were things she'd never forget no matter how desperately she wished otherwise.
It had weeks since the actual punishment and yet the wounds looked fresh and painful. They were red around the edges and held closed by tightly laced black thread. In more than one of the lashes she saw the stitching had loosened slightly and Daenerys could only wonder if it was her body weight against Arya's that caused the Maester's work to undo itself. She had always known Arya was brave and strong, but this… Being a female soldier in the Seven Kingdoms was no easy feat and she'd done it. While they were still in Dorne she remembered pondering one afternoon if there was something Arya couldn't do. She knew a lot more about her now, about who Arya was and what made her that way, but Daenerys was no less impressed. Strong, didn't even begin to describe what it would take to survive such a violent beating. How had she managed to endure and without milk of the poppy no less. She acted as if the injuries were minor and rapidly mending but staring at them directly it was evident how extensive they truly were. Recovery would be measured in weeks not days.
She hadn't realized she'd been crying until one of Arya's fingers brushed the tear off her cheek. When had she turned around? Somehow Daenerys could still see every horrible wound. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. Daenerys wanted to hug her but with the injuries at the forefront of her mind she feared hurting her. Even the areas spared the whip were thick with colorful bruises.
"You don't have to do this," Arya said looking into Daenerys's glassy eyes. "I can summon help."
Oh no, she was giving Arya the wrong impression. She needed to remedy this immediately. "I love you," she declared almost desperately. "I meant what I said before. I don't care if you wear bandages forever or sleep with a shirt on, I will always love you."
"Maybe you just need time," Arya proposed, using one of Daenerys arguments from earlier against her.
"I don't."
"You're crying."
Sniffing hard, she swatted at any left over traitorous tears. She dropped to her knees in front of her lover and wrapped her arms around her hips rather than her waist, hugging her lower body tightly so she could squeeze without hurting her. "I wasn't crying because I don't want you, I was crying because seeing your back brought back the memories."
"I'm sorry," Arya supplied, nudging her arm in a blatant attempt to get her to stand but Daenerys wasn't done, and she wouldn't be for a while. She clung to Arya's legs. "You don't have to see this. In a few months, it'll just be faded scars."
"From the day we met," Daenerys began, "you protected me." She looked up at her consort and could see those kissable lips parting. The Princess knew what she intended to say. "And don't tell me it was because of your job, we both know it wasn't only that. You took me into Sunspear, into the desert, to the port and the orphanage, my nameday celebration, my ship, you Arya Stark are so much more than I deserve."
With more restraint than Daenerys had on her best day, Arya waited until she was sure Daenerys was done before she responded. "How I feel won't change if you can't help me change a bandage or two. When you're married to Loras Tyrell or someone else, no matter where you are or what you're doing, my heart will still be yours."
She was tempted to get swept away by the sweetness of the sentiment. Arya had said something similar when they spoke about her departure. Daenerys had learned if a message was important enough for Arya to repeat, it was one the guard didn't want her to forget. She decided to go with brutal honesty, hoping she'd be able to dull some of Arya's concerns with admissions of her own. "I want to be the same thing for you, to give you all the happiness, all the support, all the love you give me. If I could have one wish, it would be that." She paused and steeled herself for the embarrassing second half of her confession. "I want to take care of you, but in moments like this I'm forced to admit I don't know how. I've never…" She looked up into Arya's eyes, pleading with her to understand. "I don't know how to love someone like you."
Two strong arms gripped under her arms. Arya lifted her back into a standing position. "That's better," she said once Daenerys was no longer kneeling. "You are exactly what I need and if you've taught me one thing its that loving somebody isn't something you need to learn. It's something you feel."
Daenerys looked at the roll of bandages she held between them. "I couldn't stop it. I just stood there like a fool and let it happen. You got stuck in that awful dream and I couldn't help then either and now you need to change a damn bandage and I'm equally useless."
She was still picking aimlessly at the cloth when Arya replied. "Hey," she said with some venom in her tone, "don't do that."
Daenerys looked up and saw Arya was angry. She was proven right when she snatched the bandages from her hand and threw them across the room for a second time. "Arya!" the Princess reprimanded.
She turned to track the thrown object but didn't get far. Arya grabbed her wrist and kept her where she was. "Do you think I give a shit if you can wrap a wound? What you do for me, what you are to me, is so much deeper than that."
Although she wanted to know, she wasn't certain if she could or should ask. Curiosity won the day. "What do I do for you?" When Arya seemed incredulous, she threw out a few reminders, "I took you from your home and forced you into my service, I brought you here, to a place you hate and since then you've been attacked, you're been falsely accused of a crime and most recently whipped, because I refused to learn what you tried to teach me." The last point was the hardest to include. Contrary to Arya's opinion on the subject, Daenerys was plagued by guilt over rejecting the lessons Arya offered. She behaved like a whining child until Arya gave up trying to train her. When it came time to settle that debt, it was Arya and not Daenerys who paid. By the end, her voice was broken and weak, she hated how it sounded. "Why don't you hate me?" she asked just before she broke down.
They collided hard in a hug that took the air from her. She definitely would have fallen had it not been for Arya's arms keeping her up. "Shh." She received soft kisses to the top of her head and softer words as Arya escorted her to the bed. They sat side by side until Daenerys's crying was once again under control. The silence between them wasn't strained, it was calm, a nice change considering Daenerys's life lately. "I could never hate you, because I am madly in love with you Daenerys Targaryen," Arya eventually explained. Her head snapped up so suddenly she was confident her neck would ache tomorrow. Arya was smiling kindly back at her. "I wouldn't have survived my first week here, let alone all the months after, without you." Her voice hardened a bit as she continued. "You don't think you do anything for me, how about this; you gave me a relationship with Aemon, that only happened because of you. I saw Sansa again, because of you." She stopped momentarily to collect her thoughts. "There is a certain calmness to combat," she went on, taking an abrupt turn, "swinging a sword, thrusting a spear, I know what's expected of me then. I know I belong in that world. It's this one I've had trouble with." She held out a hand and gestured to the opulence of the Princess's bedchamber. "Winterfell or Sunspear I never felt like I fit there, nobleman's daughter or foster, neither seemed right. I didn't think that would ever change, that I'd find a place where the calm stayed when I laid my sword down, and I certainly didn't think I'd find it here, with a Targaryen," she smirked to take the sting out of the honest statement, "That's what you do for me, that's why I could never hate you. You're my peace outside of battle."
New tears threatened and Daenerys hastily blinked them back. Crying now would only confuse Arya more than she already had. This time however the tears were different. She was joyous. She'd heard it said that love was about sacrifice and if that was true, Daenerys didn't have a measure for Arya's feelings. She'd given up so much, suffered so much, endured so much and she'd done it for Daenerys. Making it all the more meaningful, here she was sitting next to the royal, telling her she'd done it intentionally and would again.
She walked in on Arya's bag packed to leave. After their intense conversation Daenerys absolutely refused to let Arya out of her sight. "If I go get the bandage will you help me wrap you up?"
Her attempt at humor seemed to work and Arya relaxed slightly before she smirked. "Maybe."
Daenerys chuckled. "Better than nothing," she remarked. Arya's fast hand gripped her arm again, stopping her from straying. She turned to inquire about why but didn't need too. The words died on her tongue as she saw the undisguised passion Arya felt for her. A sharp tug had her sinking into Arya's lap. Their lips met first and then their bodies. Her last thought before she surrendered to Arya was that she'd find the bandages later, when they were done.
R-C
It started in the middle as all dreams do and Daenerys was very definitely dreaming. She was in a field – a place she didn't think she'd ever been before. She had a slow, look around. It was limitless in all directions, stretching farther than she could go in a hundred lifetimes. The tall grass around her ankles was soft and cool to the touch while the sky was a cloudless blue with a bright, warm sun.
It happened fast, she was alone one instant and the next she wasn't. Arya. She smiled and went to her, but the Princess's consort didn't smile or embrace her, she just stood there staring blankly ahead.
Illyrio was the next to join them. He wasn't alone. He came with Varys who made the same introduction speech he'd given on her nameday. When he summoned his slaves to bring in her gift, they did. Instead of the nameless slaves Illyrio brought with him, this time the faces were ones she recognized. Grey Worm and a handful of his men carried the box and set it at her feet, led there by Missandei. To Daenerys's horror each of her friends were wearing a slave collar.
As Grey Worm lifted the lid to show the Princess what lay inside, he spoke in a language Daenerys didn't know. Missandei helpfully translated. "They are born in fire, Princess," she said of the eggs.
Daenerys reached out to take Missandei's hand, to forceable remove the collar from her throat but it was pointless. Before her hand made contact, they were gone, all of them, it was just her and the field again.
What was that? Her subconscious was quite unsettling if this was the sort of thing her mind cooked up. She spent some energy trying to make sense of the odd encounter before she gave up. It was peaceful and quiet for an untold stretch. She enjoyed it, no longer concerning herself with what it meant.
Arya's arrival announced the start of the next event. Like before Daenerys tried to talk to her, to go to her, but by the time she took a step she and her lover were no longer alone. This time it appeared she was placed in the center of a Council of Dragons, a Targaryen meeting of sorts. Aerys was there, Rhaegar, Aemon, and Viserys too along with Daenerys. Arya stood off to the side, as if watching. She wondered idly if the Northern woman knew Daenerys would much rather be standing next to her than her so-called family?
"I can't be King forever," Aerys declared loudly.
"I don't want to be King," Rhaegar and Aemon said together. As the father and son began to argue over their mutual disinterest in the throne they vanished, leaving Daenerys with only Aerys and Viserys.
"That leaves only you," Aerys said to Viserys. It was like she wasn't there. "I always wanted it to be you, the son who is most like his father."
Something in Daenerys's stomach lurched. With a wide grin Viserys nodded. "Thank you, Father. I will follow the example you gave me."
The decision seemingly made Aerys reached up to remove his crown. Dream or not, Daenerys couldn't let this happen. Viserys would not be a good King, he wasn't even a good man. "What about Aegon?" she shouted urgently.
Aerys laughed darkly and Viserys joined in. "That boy and his sister aren't true Targaryens. Their mother corrupted them, ruined them. I'd see you on my throne before I let any of my grandchildren claim it."
"Let me rule then!" she decided hastily. She couldn't let Viserys become King, it wouldn't be safe for her, for Arya or anyone else. "I'll take your place Father."
Viserys scoffed. "You're a woman."
"Something different is precisely what the Realm needs," she told her brother. Turning slightly to address their father she said, "Please Father, give me a chance and allow me to make things better."
"Why should I choose you over your brother?" Aerys asked plainly. "He's older, more experienced, and about to be married."
The tiny part of her that knew this was a dream searched frantically for an answer, some way to set herself above Viserys, but Aerys was right, Viserys was all of those things, so no words came.
No one was more surprised than her when words she didn't think left her mouth. Her father and brother were similarly unprepared. They had given up on her and were talking amongst themselves. "Dragons," Daenerys announced. "I have dragons. I have the eggs and I will hatch them."
Viserys protested, sensing he was losing ground, but it was already too late. She'd promised her father the one thing he wanted more than any other, the return of dragons. "How?" Aerys asked.
Suddenly and without explanation the box of eggs, the man who gave them to her and her friends in slave collars were with her. "They are hatched in fire," she said, repeating Missandei's message.
Rossart the King's Pyromancer was summoned and in mere seconds there were towering green walls of flames surrounding them. Despite the intense heat it didn't feel uncomfortable and she wasn't afraid. While her father and the others watched she picked up the second egg from the center of the box. With care she moved the egg toward the fire. As she set the egg down a tendril of flame danced up her bare arm, but it didn't hurt. She smiled as the fire burned hotter and the temperature rose.
No one spoke and no one moved as they all waited to see what came next. The cracking of the shell was almost deafening to Daenerys. She ignored the leaping green flames and stepped through them to go and retrieve her dragon. Had it worked?
Right before she reached the remanence of the egg, right before she laid eyes on a dragon and confirmed its existence everything disappeared. The fires were replaced by green grass again. There was no soot, no smoke, no ash, no evidence of the massive blaze that had been burning moments ago.
She smiled when she saw Arya again, but this time she didn't try to go to her. She wouldn't make it. It all made sense. Why she'd seen Missandei, how she'd answer her father's question, she understood. With no lingering doubts about the past, all she felt was curiosity about what would be next.
That interest turned to something putrid when Ilyn Payne appeared behind Arya holding a whip. She shouted out a warning, but it was no use. The leather sliced through the air and after a distinct snapping sound, struck Arya's back. She cursed her choice not to rush over. Could she have stopped this? She tried to go, to do what she couldn't in reality, to throw herself between the weapon and the woman she loved, but a pair of arms kept her from getting close enough.
Oberyn held her and together they watched as Payne beat Arya again and again. Daenerys had a new appreciation for how horrible it must've been for Arya to be trapped inside her nightmares. She didn't have an excuse, she wasn't medicated and yet it was an endless, undying agony.
When it was over and Arya was prone on the ground, with her body partially hidden by the thick grass, Daenerys tried to pull away from Oberyn to get to her, but he wouldn't release her. "It's time for change," he told her. He said it with such sincerity, such reverence it pulled Daenerys's focus off Arya temporarily. She looked over her shoulder at the Dornish Prince. With his chin he directed her attention to a crowd of people mocking Arya's suffering. She recognized most of them. The court, her father's advisors, her brothers, Tywin, Cersei, Varys, Illyrio. None of them were doing a thing to help Arya, as if torturing an innocent woman were a spectator sport to be admired and wagered on. "Now!" Oberyn encouraged, releasing her unexpectedly.
She stumbled as she was suddenly left to support herself. Daenerys made it two steps closer to Arya before she felt the need to look back and confirm that Oberyn was serious. He was standing where she left him, watching. She met his dark eyes, and he steered her gaze to her right shoulder. Something about it made him smile. She looked too and found the most incredible thing, a small, tiny really, black lizard. It wasn't until she saw him stretch a wing that her brain made the connection to what he really was and where he came from. She checked with Oberyn again. He nodded stoically.
Holding a hand out her dragon left her shoulder and scurried down her arm and into her palm. She touched the top of his head gently and he seemed to lean into the touch in reply. As it had been earlier, she heard the words spoken in her own voice like she was a witness and not the cause. "It's time for a change," she told the little guy.
A peel of thunder shook everything, including her. What had been clear, and blue was now grey and cloudy. Along with the first flash of lightning came the realization that the dragon she'd been holding was no longer in her hand or on her arm. Terrified, she looked around, checking the grass afraid he'd fallen or gotten scared. She was busy looking down when a ferocious roar demanded her attention. She stretched her neck to look straight up. Gone was the newly hatched baby dragon and in his place was a massive beast that rivalled most of the legends Daenerys heard. Hanging in the air like a star he had his wings spread, his huge body angled toward her and his eyes locked on hers. She couldn't say why, but she was certain he was waiting for her instruction.
It took longer than it should've to understand the order she was meant to give. To comprehend why her father, her brothers, Tywin, Varys, and Payne were still there. She looked at the audience again and saw more faces she knew including Meryn Trant, Jorah, Daario, and dozens of others. All were vulnerable and utterly oblivious to the dragon looming overhead.
She heard Oberyn in her mind but hesitated, nonetheless. It was time for a change and if the choice really was her as Queen or Viserys as King, she would ascend to the Iron Throne, but that didn't mean she had to kill everyone who ever annoyed her.
Just seconds away from arriving at a fair and merciful conclusion she remembered Arya. Arya who had been savagely attacked, who had been wronged by so many of the people on the other side of the field.
She went to her lover and knelt down beside her, touching her face gently. "I'm so sorry," she said kissing the nearest cheek. As she waited for any sign of life from the woman she loved, Daenerys filled with rage. It was outrageous to treat people this way. So what if Daenerys didn't want to learn the sword, so what if she wasn't learning as fast as the King would like? What about that made whipping Arya okay? They came hard and fast, the faces and names of all the others. The people her father executed, the ones he tortured, the ones he burned. Sometimes she was there, sometimes she only heard about it after. Even if the true tally was much higher, the fraction she knew about seemed to last forever. Included among them, Arya's grandfather, her uncle, her parents and brothers. Face after face, name after name, her anger built, each death was a brick in a wall of disgust and resolve. Her father may have perpetrated the crimes, but everyone else allowed it, Rhaegar, Tywin, Varys, Jorah and so many more. They were just as guilty. If they had stopped him years ago maybe Arya could have grown up with a loving family in Winterfell. If her brother had been sincere in his efforts to replace the King, perhaps they could have put Rhaegar on the throne before Arya was whipped. Her eyes moved across the field, trying to remember what each person had done to earn their place. She noticed in the background for the first time the gate guards who attacked Arya on her first day in the capital. Perversely she was glad they were there. She wouldn't want them to miss this.
The dragon was nearly invisible in the darkened sky, but Daenerys knew he was there. "Dracarys," she commanded. The sky was bright again, this time orange and red instead of blue. She knelt next to her lover and watched their enemies burn, stroking Arya's hair softly while she whispered how much she loved her.
When she woke, she couldn't say how long she'd been asleep – a few hours or a few years. Unlike most dreams she had, she could remember this one with perfect clarity. The odd mix of memory and fantasy, the layered messages, the pain and final bloody retribution.
She laid perfectly still for a long while. When she was brave enough to move, she felt the arm across her hip flex in a silent plea to stay where she was. Daenerys wouldn't complain about that. She adjusted her position, so she was facing Arya in the dark. With a gentle touch she stroked her hair and whispered her affections, just as she'd done while her dragon roasted everyone who had ever wronged them. Without permission her eyes closed. She could speak to Oberyn in the morning.
R-C
Author's Note: It wasn't my intention to have this whole chapter be from Daenerys's point of view or to have so much of it occur within Daenerys's head, but as I was editing, I liked it. She had a lot to work through. I didn't want to minimize that.
Neither Daenerys nor Arya are particularly in touch with their feelings, so I felt it was important to give them both some doubt. Arya doubted Daenerys could still love her after the whipping and Daenerys doubted everything but her love for Arya.
In this universe, it didn't seem right to have Daenerys eager to seize the throne. She grew up believing it wasn't meant for her. As such she needed a catalyst to motivate her to take such a big step. Naturally, it was Arya. Even in the dream, she was inclined to show mercy until she remembered that all of the people had not only wronged her but Arya too, only then was she ready to burn the world down.
The next chapter will have all the things we've been working toward for the last few. Daenerys and Arya discuss Daenerys's plan, Daenerys recruits some friends to help and then of course the outstanding clashes between Daenerys and Varys as well as her score being settled with Payne. I hope that is enough to keep everyone interested.
See you then,
RC
