The motion of the boat rocking on the waves made Arya feel sick, so she sat slumped against Jaime's shoulder with her eyes closed; his burnt hand boiling as it engulfed hers. She wondered if it hurt him; holding her hand. She tried to ask him, but she had no voice left.

The warships of Daenerys' fleet reared up around their tiny boat like monsters: pieces on a cyvasse board that Sansa had put there.

Sansa.

Arya wanted to whimper her sister's name; to call her back from the Nightlands; to howl for her shade, and for all her pack's, because Sansa would be wherever they were.

But there was dry land instead, and Dragonstone. Stone halls. Torches in sconces, light, warmth; Jaime's hand like an anchor in hers; holding her upright; holding her close…then darkness and grief as his fingers were ripped from her fingers, without warning, without words; but still she had no voice left; not even enough to call after him and ask what she had done to make him let her go.

'Arya, please say something,' a gentle voice said, and she was sitting with Daenerys in a dark room above the sea; ships cluttering up the bay below like hungry wolves.

The queen was pale, sickly and very thin; a tiny drop of blood staining her gown at the place where her wound was still bleeding. In her small hands, she held a walking stick, which she gripped hard with fingers of steel; her eyes shimmering and turning lilac with anxiety at Arya's silence.

'Khaleesi…' Arya mumbled; thinking that she ought to say something.

'Arya, what has happened to you?' the queen murmured, touching Arya's cheek.

Arya thought: my sister has been burned alive like a nice juicy mutton chop; what the fuck do you think has happened to me?

Arya said: 'did Aegon let my nephew live?'

Daenerys hesitated for a moment…then slowly shook her head.

The gesture made Arya turn red.

'The Eyrie is supposed to be impregnable; how can he be dead?' she stormed.

'Arya, listen to me,' Daenerys crooned, with the same insipid sweetness and sympathy that didn't mean anything; that wasn't what Arya wanted.

She wanted to rage, and scream, and cry. She wanted to throw things. She wanted to stare at nothing for hours on end and not have to say a word.

She wanted Jaime.

'Lord Eddard was assassinated by Varys' spies at the Eyrie,' Daenerys was telling her, oblivious, 'when we received the news, we sent a bird to warn Lord Eddard's protectors, but it was too –'

'Eddard is the heir to half of Westeros!' Arya raged, 'capturing him guarantees the good behaviour of half of Westeros; Varys would never be stupid enough to kill him!'

'Aegon would.'

'What?'

'When Aegon murdered your lady sister, he burned an entire wing of Maegor's to the ground and also killed most of his own spies in the process. In consequence, the eunuch made him a gift of his little birds within the Red Keep; little knowing that he would demand control of the little birds outside the Red Keep as well.'

'And Varys surrendered them?'

'Apparently so.'

Arya slumped back in her seat; feeling sick and empty.

My sister is murdered by Aegon, her son is murdered by Aegon, and Daenerys wins the allegiance of every House that has the slightest fear of serving another Mad King. The irony is fucking ridiculous.

'Your Grace…' Arya mumbled, 'if the lords of Westeros fear the rule of another Mad King –'

'Then why have they pledged allegiance to the daughter of one?' Daenerys finished; not seeming particularly offended.

Arya contented herself with a respectful shrug.

'After Lady Sansa's passing,' Daenerys admitted, with a certain sheepishness, 'I…offered all the lords of Westeros absolution from their debts in exchange for their support.'

Arya smiled weakly at the queen's discomfort.

'Well-played, my queen,' she remarked.

Daenerys, silent and avoiding her eyes, did not reply.

'Will you give me leave to go tomorrow, Your Grace?' Arya asked.

'You intend to kill Aegon,' Daenerys stated.

"Kill' is a gentle word for what I plan to do, but yes,' Arya conceded.

'What if I commanded you to stay?' Daenerys remarked sharply.

'I would leave anyway,' Arya told her; not even bothering to lie.

Daenerys stared at her.

'You would betray your white cloak for an insect like Aegon?'

Arya shrugged, and did not reply.

'You disappoint me, my lady,' Daenerys sighed; taking hold of her walking stick and raising herself to her feet.

Arya stood, and helped Daenerys hobble over to a table in the centre of the room; the bloodstain on the queen's gown growing larger and larger.

'Never mind the bloodstain,' Daenerys cavalierly declared when she noticed Arya's concern; 'now come here and see.'

A map of King's Landing was spread out across the surface of the table, and with it, a battle plan that was vastly different from anything Arya had yet seen on a Targaryen campaign and yet familiar enough to prevent her from immediately seeing why. Dozens of model ships infested the waters of Blackwater Bay, legions of tiny soldiers lingered immobile on blood red battle lines, and on top of the Red Keep was placed a single iron coin…

Arya's eyes snapped upwards to Daenerys'.

'Tomorrow,' the queen declared, 'I sail for King's Landing to retake my throne. My troops will secure the city under cover of darkness while you, our Faceless Man, will infiltrate Maegor's Holdfast and restrain Aegon in whichever way you see fit. Once the city is ours, he will be brought to trial –'

'To trial?' Arya screeched in disbelief.

'Calm yourself, Lady Stark,' the queen gravely pronounced; glaring at her, 'honour demands that he be tried in the sight of the gods.'

'Honour does not demand it!' Arya hissed, 'he threw away whatever right he had to be treated with honour when he –'

'Would you turn yourself into the next Kingslayer merely out of a desire for a quicker revenge?' Daenerys snapped.

'I would be honoured to be mentioned in the same breath as the Kingslayer,' Arya snarled while Daenerys glared imperiously at her; clearly deciding whether or not she should be locked up for treason.

I don't care, I don't fucking care, I am so sick and tired of lying, and grieving, and hiding; throw me in a cell if you must, sentence me to fucking death, but I will still cut Aegon's throat myself.

Daenerys was looking down at the map again; what is so different about that bloody battle plan, Arya thought, it must be obvious, why aren't I seeing it; and the queen was regally clearing her throat and examining the map as though nothing had happened.

'Aegon will be put to trial,' the queen declared, 'when he is found guilty, and he will be, you will be my wrath, and administer the queen's justice to this false, Blackfyre king.'

'Can I choose the manner of his demise?' Arya bluntly enquired.

'What in the name of all the gods has happened to you?' Daenerys demanded.

Arya shrugged. Daenerys gave her a withered look.

'I should hang you for your impertinence, but yes,' Daenerys said, 'though please do me the courtesy of choosing a punishment that can be administered quickly, and in public: no starving to death; no lopping off one limb per day until there's nothing left; I want him dead and I want him dead soon; is that understood?'

'Yes, Khaleesi,' Arya said.

Arya looked absent-mindedly down at the map once more, and with a jolt, she realised what had changed.

'No dragons, Khaleesi?' Arya hesitantly ventured; looking pointedly up at the queen.

'No,' Daenerys replied shortly, 'fire and blood are all very well, but…I find that I no longer share my dear husband's taste for burning things.'