I completely forgot that Gendry would have won quite a bit of money in the melee, so thanks to the reviewer who pointed that out. I really appreciate it.

The Small Council meeting is in session and Aegon watches the proceedings, seemingly uninterested. His face is a careful mask of indifference, while on the inside his mind is racing. Prince Doran does not wish for him to marry Margaery, or Arya. Well, it's a good thing Arya's gone missing, isn't it?

"We have to find her," Rhaegar says, crossing his arms.

Jon looks up at his father, "You saw the note she left. She doesn't want to be found."

"Or she's been kidnapped and the boy forced her hand to write the note," suggests Varys, the Master of Whispers.

"She's too strong-willed for that. She'd slit a man's throat before letting herself be taken," Jon shakes his head.

The Master of Coin, Lord Yronwood, looks to Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard, and they share a tired look.

"Perhaps we should send scouts to the harbor to see if anyone has seen them," Lord Royce, the Master of Ships, suggests.

Jon shakes his head, and Rhaegar nods in agreement with Royce.

"I will marry Lady Margaery," Aegon says, finally, not wishing for his father and brother to come to blows, "but only if Arya is not found by the date of the wedding. I wish to send scouts to the harbor as Lord Royce suggests, as well as on the King's Road. They could very well be on their way North."

Jon grits his teeth and Aegon spares his brother a glance. As much as he looks like Eddard Stark, Jon also resembles Rhaegar. He hates having the knowledge that Jon is Father's favorite.

He lets Jon get away with whatever he wants. Bringing Sansa to court, marrying her under their very noses, letting Arya do as she pleases without asking where she'd been spending all her time, letting her run away. Aegon frowns. The Stark women just do as they please. Lyanna, Sansa, Arya, all of them, and Rhaegar permits it. Aegon thinks that should he have married Sansa, he would've done the same. He would have let Sansa do whatever she wanted. He does not mislike Arya, exactly, but she's not Sansa. She looks too much like Lyanna, and every time he looks at Lyanna he thinks of his dead mother and the woman and son who replaced him, Elia, and Rhaenys in Rhaegar's heart. Arya would have been a decent friend to him, he thinks, had he not listened to Viserys for so long.

His uncle is a spiteful, hateful thing. He did not realize it until he heard Viserys telling some serving wench he was bedding about how the throne should belong to him. Aegon, naturally, goes to Daenerys to inquire about his uncle's words. She sighs and pats his shoulder pityingly. He means to start a fight between him and Jon, she tells him. Something akin to the Blackfyre Rebellions, so that Aegon and Jon will kill each other and Viserys will be free to sit the throne.

"He forgot about Rhaenys," Aegon says, feeling clever that he's figured out the fault in Viserys's plan, "and Sansa's child would be heir if anything should happen to myself and Jon."

"He'll marry Rhaenys to secure his position," Daenerys tells him like it's obvious, and Aegon blanches. He's been rough with his sister before, when his temper's gotten the better of him, but he's never wished to hurt her. Viserys would torment her, surely. He's rough and crass and thinks he's the gods' gift upon mankind. He's bedded countless servants, some of the maids, some of them not, and has a worse temper akin to grandfather's, if the stories are true, "as for Sansa…"

"He won't hurt her or an innocent child," Aegon is aghast at the thought. Surely his uncle wouldn't harm a pregnant woman, his own nephew's lady wife.

Daenerys shrugs, trying not to think of it.

"I won't let him. And Jon won't fight me," Aegon says. He knows he and his brother don't get along, but they would never come to blows in war. He's backed off of Sansa, his madness contained.

"Let me take Rhaenys with me," Dany says quietly, "she needs to get away."

Aegon nods, "I'll tell Father."

She smiles at him, and he knows now why people call her the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros. He smiles back.

His attention is redrawn to the meeting currently going on. He can think of his aunt's words and her pretty smiles later. Ser Barristan will get some men to follow the King's Road, whilst Lord Royce deals with the ship captains. They leave, leaving the royals, the Hand, and Varys in the room.

"We must say she's kidnapped," Varys says, "if she's found, we don't want her reputation to be ruined."

"No," Jon says immediately, "Robert Baratheon got it into his stupid head that my father kidnapped my mother, and started a bloody war over his wild imagination. I will not have that happen again."

Rhaegar nods, then purses his lips, thinking.

"What is it, Father?" Aegon asks.

"That boy at the tourney," he starts, "he's one of Robert Baratheon's bastards, I'm sure of it."

Aegon's eyes widen and Varys titters, "A dragon stole a wolf, and now a stag steals one back."

"I know him," Jon says slowly, sinking into his chair, "he's a smith. He fixed my armour one time. I sent Arya to his smithy when she wanted her sword altered."

Aegon lets out a hollow laugh. His brother pushed his betrothed into the arms of Robert fucking Baratheon's fucking son. Of fucking course.

Jon, for his part, looks uneasy. Aegon levels a stare at him and he looks up at Aegon, eyes apologetic. Aegon nods slightly. How could Jon have known? It's not his fault. Not everything is Jon's fault.

R (Days later)

Myrcella laughs, taking the peach Nym offers her. Cersei twitches, watching her daughter, her only daughter, play and laugh with Oberyn's bastards. Sand Snakes, they're called.

Obara is the eldest and Cersei thinks her an ugly thing. She has none of her father's beauty, which makes Cersei smirk. Then there's Nymeria, with her dark eyes and high cheekbones and pale skin and straight, black long hair. The girl's mother is a noblewoman, a further blow to Cersei. The girl's deadly, and Cersei wonders if she's put a blade in Myrcella's fruit.

Tyene sips her Dornish red, and Cersei scowls. She's fair and looks so sweet and pious, the daughter of a septa. She and Myrcella both have golden hair, and the pair look like they could be trueborn siblings. That makes Cersei's blood boil.

Luckily for her, Sarella isn't there. She's quiet and has dark skin and darker hair, and she's not there. Good, Cersei thinks. That one always pushes in where she doesn't belong.

Unluckily, all of Ellaria Sand's bastards are there, running around the constructed oasis, jumping into the pools of cerulean water. Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza Sand play tag, the children that they are. She's a Lannister, surrounded by Sands, her poor daughter a Martell.

Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne, speaks animatedly with Ellaria. For her part, she tries to include Cersei whenever she can, to make her feel welcome. After all, it's been nearly twenty years she's been in Dorne. Cersei's once milky-white skin is freckled from the sun, and she looks and feels older than she is. At least Myrcella's skin tans instead of freckling, a small gift from her Dornish father. She's all Lannister, though, with golden hair and green eyes.

Arianne laughs at something and Cersei's mouth twitches into a fake smile. She knows she's a hostage. Her father is dead for turning on the Targaryens, and her Jaime, her sweet, lovely Jaime, a man of the Night's Watch. That is, if the cold hasn't killed him yet. Not like they'd tell her if he were dead. All Jaime did was kill the Mad King. Rhaegar, beautiful, sorrowful Rhaegar, gave him a chance to explain, to atone for his sins. All Jaime had to do was tell him the Mad King wished to burn King's Landing down, but instead her brother said, I'd do it again. Mercifully, he was spared an execution, but he was sent to the Wall. Same thing, in Cersei's mind. Worst of all, Tyrion has Casterly Rock. It should be hers. In Dorne succession is through the eldest, regardless of gender. Sometimes the Dornish had the right of things.

"I truly can't believe it," Arianne shakes her head.

"What?" Cersei asks shortly, now paying attention.

Ellaria smirks, "Aegon's fiancée has run off with Robert Baratheon's son."

Cersei takes a fast gulp of wine, trying to think. Robert has a son? Robert was a whore, it was known, so she shouldn't be so surprised. Wasn't Aegon engaged to that wolf-bitch of a queen's niece? They were all to be attending the wedding in a fortnight. That was when Quentyn Martell was supposed to try to get Daenerys's attention. Another Martell-Targaryen alliance surely couldn't hurt. Oberyn had spoken of introducing Myrcella to Prince Jon, much to Cersei's chargin. Then Doran had sent word that he is betrothed to Sansa Stark. Cersei took it as a slight. Targaryen men kept picking Stark women over her. She's certain Myrcella is more beautiful than any woman of the North.

"The gods must jape with us. Rhaegar did run away with the man's betrothed," Arianne says with a small giggle, "perhaps old Lord Robert is taking revenge from beyond the grave."

She's a stupid girl, Cersei thinks. She was scarcely five years old during the Rebellion. The Princess of Dorne talks too much, the complete opposite of her reserved, calculating father. Cersei has a small respect for Doran Martell. He reminds her of her father; they have the same way of treating her as a pawn and a broodmare, nothing more. She's clever, but no one listens to her because she's not a man.

"It was a slight to my dearest aunt, but the King and my father assure me she knew of the King's affections for Lyanna Stark," Arianna sobers, then shrugs.

The Dornnish are strange enough to consent to Rhaegar kidnapping a teenage girl to try to produce another heir. Cersei scowls at the thought. It should have been her. If Rhaegar had married her instead of Elia, he'd have no need for Lyanna Stark. She would've given him all the heirs he wanted.

She looks to Myrcella, who is smiling and laughing, running after one of the younger children. At least Oberyn spares Myrcella from the cruel indifference he inflicts on his wife.

L

Catelyn paces back and forth, her long red hair tumbling down her back. Sansa's wedded and with child, and she couldn't be happier for her. Her happiness is only stifled by the news that Arya has run away. Robb's first reaction was to ride out to King's Landing and yell at the royal family for letting her disappear, and then to tear Westeros apart to find her. Then they read the letter.

She and Ned received the letter, written in Lyanna's hand, and the Queen relayed what Arya had written to her. Arya had apologized, obviously, but she also insisted she loved this boy, some lowborn blacksmith. With that knowledge, Ned tells Robb to calm down and that if Arya wishes to be found, she'd return home. Robb's anger is only quelled by Dacey's comforting words and knowing Arya is likely not in harm's way, at least, she's not in danger from the boy she's run off with.

Ned's in the godswood, sitting in front of the Heart Tree, thinking. Catelyn goes to him and he looks up at her with tired grey eyes. Arya's eyes.

"We must do something," Catelyn says, sitting next to her husband in one graceful motion. He's already told Robb that riding to King's Landing would be folly, but they can't sit around and do nothing.

"You read what Lyanna wrote. She doesn't want us to do anything," Ned sighs.

"We never should have sent her. We should have listened to her when she said she did not wish to go," Catelyn closes her eyes.

Ned looks at her and she opens her eyes. She knows what he's to say. She's the one who said they had spoiled her too much, that she had to fulfil her duties as a lady and finally marry. Now she's run away and they'll never see her again.

"Maybe they'll come here," Ned says with a quiet hope.

"Then what? We turn her away. Make her go back to Aegon to be wed?" Catelyn asks.

"We welcome them. Arya, and the boy," Ned says. He'd never turn his kin away.

"Lyanna thinks that boy is Robert's son," Catelyn says with a small frown. Robert Baratheon was known for his whoring and blood-lust. Give him a brawl and a wench, and he was happy. She shudders to think that Robert's bastard could be with her daughter.

Ned fights a laugh. Robert would have been pleased about that, he thinks. He does not wish for history to repeat itself. If Aegon goes looking for them, and succeeds in finding them, Robert's son will be put to death and Arya will hate them all. Robert made the mistake of fancying himself in love with Lyanna, and believed she was kidnapped. At least Arya had the foresight to write that she's run off by her own choice.

Catelyn stares out at the trees, hands clasped in her lap. They never even had a proper goodbye. Arya had refused it.

"He's likely nothing like Robert, if that's what you're worried about," Ned tries to sound hopeful.

Catelyn inclines her head in a small nod. They know nothing of the boy who has stolen their daughter's heart, aside from the fact he's a bastard, and a smith. He has no family, just the blacksmith he apprenticed for and his family. No friends, nothing. The only solace they have is that Arya was not kidnapped. Is it really that reassuring, though, to know their daughter threw away her future for some boy she's only known for three months?

"Do you think they'll come North?" Catelyn asks. Ned was the one who had suggested it.

He remains quiet for a moment, "She belongs here, with us. I hope so."

"And we welcome the boy, too?" Catelyn asks, referring to Ned's earlier words.

"He's Robert's son, and Arya clearly cares for him. Yes, we welcome the boy, too."

K I N G' G

The Stormlord bows his head in reverence upon arriving to his meeting with the King.

"What is it you wish to ask of me, Lord Renly?" Rhaegar asks calmly.

"Your Grace, it has come to my attention that the mystery knight at the Prince's tourney is likely one of my nephews. By my count, he is my brother's eldest son. Robert had a daughter, too. She is currently at Storm's End," he starts.

"And?" Rhaegar raises a brow.

"Your Grace, I beg you to legitimize the boy, as I have no wife and no heirs of my own. I will gladly take him in, as I have his sister, and teach him how to run Storm's End, so he can be my heir," Renly requests. He's nearing thirty and unmarried, still. He knows he will never marry.

"Your nephew has run off with the Lady Arya," Rhaegar says curtly, earning a startled look from Renly. Well, at least he knows the young man had nothing to do with their disappearance. They Red Keep has kept the information of Arya's disappearance from mostly everyone. The Martells know through Doran, and Lyanna wrote to her brother, obviously. The Tyrells know, as Aegon is to marry Margaery if Arya is not found in time. The rest of the court will be in for a surprise come the day of the wedding.

"Surely that cannot be true, Your Grace," Renly's brows knit together, and Rhaegar notes how much more pleasant Lord Renly's face is than Robert's was.

"It is. There are scouts looking for them as we speak," Rhaegar's voice comes out harder than he intended.

"Your Grace, I beg your pardon for his actions. Young love makes even the most level-headed of men prone to rash behavior, does it not?" Renly asks.

Damn him, Rhaegar thinks. Robert bloody Baratheon's son has done the same thing to his own son that Rhaegar did to him.

"If they are found, Lady Arya will marry the Prince as planned," Rhaegar says.

"And my nephew?" Renly asks about the boy he's not even met.

"He shall be punished for the crime of kidnapping," Rhaegar says, noting the glint of fear in Renly's eyes, "or he shall be sent to the Wall."

Renly bows his head and Rhaegar dismisses him. He doesn't think he's done with Renly Baratheon just yet. His is a stubborn lot.

A

They arrive in Braavos, at Ragman's Harbor, with their few possessions and Arya's purse of coins, as well as the money Gendry had won in the tourney. They've got enough golden dragons and silver stags to last them quite a while. As all ships are subject to inspection, Gendry and Arya try to look as inconspicuous as possible. She doesn't look like much, not with her hair chopped off and her wearing boys clothing. Gendry is an imposing figure with his height and muscles, but no one says a thing to him.

They check in at an inn near the harbor, under the names of Cat and Toby. Arya raises her brow when Gendry gives that name, and he later explains it's what Mrs Mott calls Tobho, the master armourer. Arya thinks she likes the Bull better, but it's strange, she admits.

Arya quite likes the look of Braavos. It's a hundred tiny islands, linked together with bridges and canals. It's different. She does not like the fact that there are no trees, and that's one of the things she misses from home. Braavos is all rock and stone, with houses huddled closely together.

Quite a few people speak or at least understand the Common Tongue, but Arya insists that she'll learn Valyrian, as all nine Free Cities speak it. Gendry points out that the dialects must be different languages after so much time apart, and she looks at him in surprise.

"I'm not totally stupid, you know," Gendry pulls off his boots and lies down on the bed in their small room.

"I know," Arya says, turning pink. She didn't mean to insult him. Sometimes he'll stop talking, afraid of sounding ignorant, and she tries to be more careful of how she phrases things. He assures her it's fine, but she still feels guilty when he belittles himself. He's strong and kind and yes he's stubborn but he's also the best man she knows. Even though they've run away, he still thinks of himself as not being good enough, and she hates that. She also thinks she's not good enough for him. He deserves a proper family, a nice wife who'll give him a dozen children and care for them while he goes to work. He doesn't want that, though. He wants her, and that thought warms her heart.

She lies down next to him and he wraps his arm around her. She nuzzles his shoulder with her head.

"We're free," she whispers with a small smile.

"We are," he kisses the top of her head, "and I'm glad we're off that ship."

Arya chuckles. Gendry did not take kindly to the crashing waves. Had he been a woman, she'd have thought him afflicted with mother's stomach. Her smile fades when she thinks of Sansa, who'll start showing soon, and Jon and Dany and her parents and brothers. She will miss them, but she's done the right thing, she knows that.

She feels Gendry's breathing even out, and she huddles herself closer to him, drifting off to sleep as he had.

The first thing in the morning, Gendry goes out to look for work as a smith. He's not content to just have his winnings. He needs a job to provide for Arya. Arya, for her part, decides she wants a job, too. She's not a proper lady, anyway.

"And what does m'lady intend to do?" Gendry asks as they take the narrow, winding streets.

"I could be a bravo. I can beat them all," Arya sticks her chin up.

"You'd have no one left to fight by week's end," Gendry says. He's not teasing, he's just voicing his honest opinion.

Arya nods at the likelihood of that. What can she do? Aside from swordfighting and smart-mouthing, she has no skills. She can't sew neatly and embroider like Sansa can, so being a seamstress is out of the question. All she's really good at is talking and making people angry.

"Maybe you could teach kids how to sword fight?" Gendry suggests.

They take a steep left, climbing up the uneven steps to cross a bridge to get to the other side of the lagoon. She thinks of Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos who had been her instructor. Perhaps if she finds the academy or school where he trained, she can do something.

Gendry had searched for employment near Ragman's Harbor, but they are instead told to head towards Purple Harbor where most of the locals live.

The smith they find speaks in short and rough sentences in the Common Tongue. He looks Gendry up and down, and hands him the tools he needs to show him what he can do.

Arya watches as Gendry sets to work, and the smith looks pleased with the result—a simple breastplate.

"Work tomorrow. Eight clock," the Braavosi man says.

Gendry smiles and thanks him, and Arya grabs his hand as they leave. She drags him down the street, grinning.

It's all too easy. Something is going to destroy her happiness, she fears. Days after arriving in Braavos, they settle their stories. Arya is Cat, a miller's daughter from the Vale. Gendry is Toby, a smith's apprentice from the same region.

"I know nothing about the Vale. I spent my entire life in King's Landing," Gendry says as they lie in bed late at night.

"No one will ask. The Braavosi certainly don't care," Arya says reassuringly.

They need to find a place to live, a proper home. The area they're in now is full of foreigners and Westerosi, and it's quite a poor area, too. She's afraid someone will recognize them if they stay here. Then again, they'd stick out like sore thumbs in the Braavosi areas.

Gendry works at the smithy, making swords for the extravagant bravos who duel each other for pleasure and coin, and for the favours of ladies and courtesans alike. The Braavosi man who owns the forge is getting on in years, and lets Gendry handle most of the work. The pay isn't much, but it's enough.

Tomorrow Arya will try to locate where Syrio Forel had trained. She thanks the old gods that Jon had the foresight to hire Syrio when he learned she would be going to King's Landing. She smiles, curling next to Gendry. Jon had been the one to tell her to go to the smithy. It was because of Jon she's here now. She considers writing him a letter to thank him, but figures it could be intercepted and her location found. She decides against a letter. She'll thank him in person once Aegon is wed and King Rhaegar can't force her to do anything.

Gendry plays with her hair absentmindedly. He's tired from work, because the old man has a lot of commissions, but he's happy. He's with Arya and that's all that matters. He's never had a family until now. If she'll allow it, they'll be wed, then no one can tear them apart.

' G

The royal wedding is in three days, and Arya has not yet been found. Aegon is sure that the knights of the Reach and Highgarden aren't looking as hard as they should. He's also sure some of his father's own men are doing the same; Arya Stark is a liability as future queen due to her wild and unpredictable nature. Margaery Tyrell has already charmed the courtiers and smallfolk alike, even going so far as visiting the orphanage with Rhaenys. Aegon sighs as he looks to Margaery Tyrell. She really is quite beautiful, so he can't complain too much.

Margaery and Loras, her brother, are conversing with Renly Baratheon. According to Rhaegar, the oaf who ran off with Arya is Renly's nephew, one of old Robert's bastards.

Daenerys links her arm with his and they take a turn about the garden. Aegon smiles appreciatively at his aunt.

"She'll make a fine queen and good wife, I'm sure," Dany tries to assuage his worries.

"Can't I just marry you?" Aegon asks, pouting slightly. He grew up thinking he'd marry Daenerys. Marrying Rhaenys never crossed his mind. She's his sister, but Daenerys is his aunt. He frowns. He knows the Targaryen ways of old are baffling to most Westerosi, what with brothers marrying sisters. They say it's the union of brothers and sisters that tainted the blood to make some Targaryen kings mad. He shall see that an end is put to that particular custom.

He thinks of Jon and Sansa. If cousins are another matter entirely, then why shouldn't aunt and nephew be as well?

Dany laughs and Aegon does too, drawing the attention of the Tyrells and the Baratheon. He looks at Daenerys curiously, and Aegon draws his aunt closer. He's had enough of Baratheons stealing away women he cares about. He may not love Arya, but she could have been a friend to him, in time.

"Worry not, nephew. I'll be leaving by the end of the week," Daenerys soothes.

"With Rhae?" Aegon says.

"With Rhae," Dany nods. She and Aegon spoke to Rhaegar in a joint effort, and he acquiesced to the journey. Daenerys and Rhaenys shall have a member of the Kingsguard assigned to each of them, for safety reasons, as well as having some Targaryen knights with them.

Lord Varys has arranged for their journey to Pentos. They shall be greeted by Magister Illyrio Mopatis, a man Varys claims is a close friend of his. Daenerys doubts that Varys has close friends. He only has little birds.

"Do you think you might find Arya in Pentos?" Aegon asks quietly.

Daenerys looks thoughtful, "If the gods are kind, then yes."

She looks to her nephew, and bites her lip.

"If I do find her, I will not force her to return," she warns as politely as possible.

Aegon thinks for a moment, then speaks, "I wish her happiness. I just want to know she's safe, to calm Sansa and Jon's nerves."

Daenerys smiles and pulls her nephew closer to her.

"I do believe you've started to care about that girl," she says sadly.

"I care about her for Jon's sake, and Sansa's," Aegon says stiffly.

Dany nods, not quite believing him, but drops the topic.

Up next: A royal wedding, a trip across the Narrow Sea, and a man determined to find his nephew.