CHAPTER TWO

DAENERYS

The city of Mereen fell silent as her children roam the sky at night. Her largest and most formidable child, Drogon swept past her in the highest tower overlooking the city. The wind from the strong flap of his wings sent her pale silver hair into a tangled mess. She laughs, smoothing her hair. Her other two children, Rhaegon and Viserion were playing with each other, leaving Drogon to his own escapades.

"Can't sleep?" She turns to the sound of her lover's voice. Daario Naharis stood bare-chested at her door, watching her.

"It has been so long since I've seen them like this," she mused. She felt his strong arms around her, bracing her to him. She has taken as a lover, the sellsword who had proven to her, on numerous occasions, his undying loyalty. Though the pain over the loss of her beloved Khal Drogo still feels raw, she longed for a man's company. A man who reminds her of Khal Drogo and the strong embraces they have shared.

"What do you think about the boy who claims to be my nephew, Aegon Targaryen?"

"You don't believe him," he says, reflecting the thoughts that have been haunting her since the day a silver haired boy with purple eyes so dark they seem almost black came to her doors. He was accompanied by an army 10,000 strong, backed by the spider, Varys and Ilyrio Mopatis, the merchant who had kept her and her long-dead brother safe since exile. She could not shake the gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach.

"Mummer's dragon," she said beneath her breath, thinking of the prophecy given to her by a mysterious woman in Qarth.

"After you've taken the Seven Kingdoms, you can have him killed," Daario said, as if it's the easiest thing in the word. Everything for him is simple. "You have dragons. He only has the Golden Company, 10,000 men."

Daenerys didn't answer. Her thoughts shifted to the impending union of the usurper's son to the daughter of Eddard Stark. That union would further solidify the usurper's hold over the Seven Kingdoms; Baratheon, Lannister, Stark. And with the Stark marrying the Tyrells, five great Houses, including the Tully. The only Great House left are the Martells of Dorne. They would remain loyal to the Targaryens, she knew. However, she would have to act fast.

ARYA STARK

Arya Stark could literally feel her blood boiling as she stomped off the hallway. His eyes were boring onto her, she could feel. An urge to look back brought shame to her. Biting her lips and clenching her fists, she quickened her pace.

"M'lady," she vaguely hears Jory Cassel calling her.

Consumed in her fury, she almost bumped into someone rounding the corner. "Damn the gods," she cursed, raising her head to see a pair of bright blue eyes looking down on her. There was a glint of amusement in them.

"Prince Gendry." She grimaced as she tried to curtsy though she knew she must have looked ridiculous.

"My lady, the tourney's beginning," he said, looking at her clothes. Arya frowned and pushed past him, saying, "Don't worry, your grace. I will get myself ready."

Prince Gendry frowned at his betrothed then turned to the two Stark men who muttered their honorifics and followed her.

After the handmaidens have scrubbed her clean and raw, Arya Stark forced herself to wear the light blue dress prepared for her. She thought of the comfortable gray woolen dresses in Winterfell and wondered if she could stand the heat wearing those.

"M'lady," her handmaiden spoke, breaking her out of her thoughts. "The Prince is waiting."

Damn the prince, she thoughts, struggling to walk in the uncomfortable dress and shoes that seems to crush her toes. Outside her door, the crown prince adorned in all the jewels that could probably feed all of the people in Flea Bottom smiled at her. For some other ladies, that smile is a knee-weakening, swoon-inducing, charming smile; however, Arya knew what a narcissistic, arrogant and cruel the prince is. Snorting, she walked past him. When the crowds greeted them, she weaves her arms through his, thinking of her furious lady mother and the stern grimace of Queen Cersei. There was no running away from this betrothal. Yet.

Taking their seats beside the king, Arya allowed her cheek muscles a moment of rest. Smiling has never been Arya Stark's forte; that was Sansa's. She glanced to her red-haired sister who wore a blue silk dress which outlined her Tully blue eyes; she should have been the one marrying the prince. Sansa's eyes fleeted to her. There was that hatred Arya knew well. Looking down at her hands, adorned with a diamond ring and gold bracelet, she thought of the freedom she had lost; she lost her sister, too. It has always been Sansa's dream, to be like the princesses in the songs. To be the Queen. Now, she's stuck with the younger prince, a sadist psychopath called Joffrey Baratheon.

Prince Gendry was laughing beside her, probably laughing to a jest by the blonde haired prince Joffrey.

Arya lifted her head, refusing to let this weight her down. Purple eyes were looking at her from across the playing field. Her breath hitched as she was brought back to that night.

His face was crumpled in disgust and hatred as his fist pounded on the boy underneath him. The crunching sound of bones being broken, his heavy breathing, the whimper of the poor boy and the sizzling of fire were the only sounds in this silent night. Arya can't even hear her voice pleading for him to stop.

"Stop it, Ned."

He stopped though she doesn't know whether it's because of his exhaustion or because the whimpering of the boy had stopped. He stares at the broken face that doesn't even look human anymore.

She felt like her heart had stopped; there was a gleam of something indecipherable in his face. Was it pleasure? Guilt? Or just mere satisfaction?

Fire was still burning at his clothes, turning the fabric to ashes which had turned to pile at his feet. Yet, the fire did not burn him. She stared at his bare chest which bears no burn marks. Even as the last fire died, leaving him half-naked, he was unharmed.

"What are you?" she croaked.

He turns to her, as if just remembering her. For a second, her heart jumped at the strange glint in his eyes; His eyes which seem more purple than blue were obscenely calm as if he had not just murdered a poor stable boy in cold blood. As if his hand is not soaked in blood. She thought he would kill her then.

Blinking, she was brought back to the present. Edric Dayne was still staring at her; The sun shining on his eyes, making it blue. Arya knew they were only an illusion. Dressed in gray and purple armor, he stood tall and broad-chested, different from the lithe boy from three years ago.

Arya looked away.