[fic] if you want to see and be seen, then be seen
until we crumble to dust when we're crushed by a single sunbeam || a song of ice and fire || aegon/sansa, daenerys || k plus
for the kink meme, the prompt being:
"Aegon's married to Dany and she sends him to treat with the Queen in the North, because she thinks he could charm any maid. But little did she expect that Aegon would be the one charmed."
“You are ridiculous.”
He sighs and shrugs. “It was not my fault, Daenerys.”
“You are married to me.” Her voice turns shrill, and her purple eyes are furiously bright.
Aegon shakes his head. “A marriage of convenience, of tradition! You and I both know that.”
“That is still marriage, Aegon! What would Rhaegar do -”
“Daenerys, Rhaegar brought the realm to his knees for a Stark. What would you have me do?” he replies, calculated to wound.
“All this talk about Starks! I should have her thrown in the dungeon. Executed. Fed to Drogon. Traitors, the lot of them.”
Aegon laughs and taps her on the nose. “Now, we all know our sweet Queen would not do such a thing. It would not be worth a Northern uprising, don’t you think?”
Daenerys pushes him away. “The North have nothing to rise up against, Aegon! They would have if - you had one job! All you had to do was treat with the girl queen! Why she is even there on that throne in the first place I do not know-”
“She is there because she is heiress to her older brother’s kingdom,” Aegon cuts in, “holding it all in trust until her youngest brother comes of age.”
“War against the North,” Daenerys says. And the Vale, and the Riverlands…
“Daenerys.”
She inhales and looks at him, at the face he shared with her brother. He is as comely, she knows, as she is beautiful. No maid could have resisted him - no maid had resisted him so far; all he’d had to do was look at them with those eyes of his and they would melt at his feet. Why not the Stark girl?
He continues talking. “If you’d like, invite her over for an official visit. Talk fealty and all those things you seem to want so desperately from her. Meet her for yourself.”
“She was married to my Hand!”
“Is, at the moment,” Aegon says, and his tone is slightly regretful. “There’s all that talk about consummation. Whatever happened, Tyrion Lannister still has a hold over the Queen in the North. But if you could offer annulment…”
“So you could wed her yourself, is that it?”
“Daenerys, you are acting like a child.”
“Children do not talk about marriage! You are a lovelorn fool.”
Aegon chuckles. “That I am.”
+
Daenerys agrees anyway, and Sansa Stark arrives in King’s Landing in a swirl of furs and grace. Beautiful and slender, she is taller than Daenerys by at least a head, and her smile is a faint one. “Your Grace,” she says, curtsying lowly, and there is a hint of mockery in her tone.
“Welcome to King’s Landing, Sansa Stark,” Daenerys says. “I am Daenerys Stormborn -”
“Daenerys, I’m sure she knows who you are,” Aegon interrupts.
“It is proper,” Sansa interjects. He looks up and she is smiling at him. “But yes, I do know precisely who she is. Your Grace,” she says to him and curtsies again. Aegon blinks.
“Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of his name,” Daenerys says coolly. “King Consort.” She pauses and examines Sansa’s entourage of Northmen. (She spies the bear of House Mormont, and her heart skips a beat, but she does not see the men she looks for.) “Where is your brother? Is he not Lord of Winterfell?”
“You must forgive me, Your Grace, but Rickon is ill.” Sansa’s face is regretful, but her tone is fond. “It is nothing too serious, but Lady Mormont advised me to keep him at Winterfell.” She pauses for a second, examining Daenerys’s face. “I am afraid he would not be much use in a diplomatic visit, however.”
The Northmen behind her chuckle and Sansa’s mouth slowly curls into a smile. “But if it’s any consolation, my sister Arya of the Queensguard is with me.” She gestures to the silent, dark-haired girl behind her, who stares at Daenerys with unmoving gray eyes. She does not curtsy.
“Then I pray for your brother’s swift recovery, Sansa Stark,” says Daenerys. “The servants will escort you to your chambers. And of course, later - there will be a feast to celebrate your arrival.”
Sansa Stark smiles again, and it is blinding and beautiful. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”
+
“I cannot say I find her charming,” says Daenerys. “Such an insolent girl!”
Tyrion looks up at her, an eyebrow raised. “I must remind you, Daenerys, that that girl is but three years younger than you, and a queen as well.”
“You said she was a hostage!”
Tyrion sighs and pours himself a glass of wine. “That she was, but Sansa Stark is much changed from the girl I wed. She is six-and-ten, now, barely older than when her older brother declared himself King. And look how well that went.”
“I would say the Lady Stark is very charming, actually,” says Varys from his seat. “She has her father’s steel, but her mother’s face and grace. Once her brother comes of age she will no longer be Lady of Winterfell, and she will be well into her twenties by then. Well past marrying age. A shame, unless you would want to do something about it.”
“Has the entire realm forgotten our marriage?” Tyrion chuckles.
“You do not act like a married man,” says Daenerys. “I would say you want an annulment as well. You would not do, married to a traitor.”
“Everyone’s a traitor,” Varys laments. “The word is not worth much nowadays.”
Tyrion nods. “And as a matter of fact as much as it pains me to say it, I think an annulment would be most convenient. Sansa Stark loathes me still, I am afraid. There is no way in all the seven hells she would give up her kingdom for Casterly Rock.”
“Your Grace, is Sansa Stark not your nephew’s cousin as well?”
Daenerys closes her eyes at the thought of him. “But yes, Jon will not leave his damned Wall.” He had kissed me, and told me that he was already a bastard - what kind of man would he be if he deserted? I had offered him freedom, not asked him to desert.
“Perhaps Sansa Stark would be lured by a much more attractive marriage offer?” Tyrion suggests from the table.
“There is the Tyrell heir,” Varys suggests. “Yes, he is a bachelor fifteen years her senior and a cripple besides, but he is a kind man by all reports. And Highgarden is a lovely place.”
“Lord Varys, you mock me,” Daenerys says. “I know how the Tyrells planned to use her to get their social-climber hands on the North, and I am sure she is aware as well.”
Varys sighs again. “The Martell prince is wed to Myrcella, and like Lord Tyrion said she would not be inclined to marry anybody from House Lannister” he says, and shakes his head. “What if we were to strike up a marriage offer with Rickon Stark instead?”
“And wed him to whom, Shireen Baratheon?” Daenerys asks scornfully. “I thought you planned to marry her to the Arryn boy.”
“How wonderful,” says Tyrion. “After all these years, poor dead Ned and Robert finally got around to uniting their houses.” He clears his throat. “But Sansa has met Lady Shireen; I am sure she would approve.”
“You forget that the Arryn boy is all too attached to the Lady Sansa,” says Varys. “It is rumored he does not even take a piss without her permission.” He sighs. “If Lord Baelish were still alive, this would not be much of a problem.”
Tyrion snorts. “Now you’re really mocking.”
Daenerys thinks. “If we were to marry Rickon Stark to Shireen Baratheon…”
“It would be good,” says Tyrion. “It is the North you want, not the Stark girl.”
“That is true.”
“It is decided, then!”
+
“You will never believe it, Sansa!” Arya’s face is alight. “They planned to marry Shireen Baratheon to baby Rickon to get you to swear fealty!”
Sansa laughs, and it rings clear over the courtyard. “It is a good move politically, you cannot doubt that,” she says. “But poor Shireen!”
“Poor Rickon,” Arya says. “You can just imagine his reaction to marriage. He’s hardly gotten used to not calling Jon father when he comes ‘round to visit.”
“He would hate it,” Sansa agrees. “I cannot help but wonder, Arya, if we were to just swear fealty.”
Her sister’s face is aghast. “You cannot! Sansa, Robb died for the North, I was there -”
“He did not die for the North; he died for needless cruelty.” Her voice is cold. “Him and Mother both. Lannisters and Freys, you say? Perhaps I’d be more inclined to swear fealty just to rid my hands of my marriage.”
“They were talking about annulment. But I could do away with Tyrion Lannister if you wish it,” says Arya. “It would be easy. I even have some wolfsbane darts left…”
“Arya! You cannot joke about that - who knows who may be listening!”
“I know.” Arya stands up and takes a deep breath. “ARYA STARK IS NOT PLANNING TO ASSASSINATE TYRION LANNISTER!”
“Arya Stark, sit down and shut up!” Sansa exclaims, but she is laughing as well. But then Arya quiets down and her mouth steels itself into a line. Someone’s coming, her eyes say.
It’s Aegon, who nods in greeting, and Arya’s fingers relax. “You shouldn’t announce your plans to the world, my lady,” he chides. “Lady Stark.”
“King Aegon,” Sansa greets smoothly, curtsying again. “It is good to see you.”
“Likewise,” he says. “You can do away with the formalities, you know. Call me Aegon.”
Sansa looks aghast. “It wouldn’t be proper, my lord, especially not to the King of the Six Kingdoms!”
He throws his head back and laughs. “I’d say King of the Six Kingdoms doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?” He holds out his arm. “Take a walk through the gardens with me, Lady Stark.”
She accepts with a demure smile and takes his arm, and Aegon looks at Arya, who merely stares back at him.
“You’ll have to put up with Arya, I’m afraid,” Sansa says. “The last time a prince asked to walk with me we ended up with a dead direwolf. Bad things happened,” she says, simply, and smiles at his confused face. “Shall we go?”
+
“I cannot say I’ve missed this place,” Sansa says as they encircle the numerous gardens that make up the Red Keep. “It looks largely changed from when I was three-and-ten, however.”
“Daenerys brought in several exotic flowers from across the Narrow Sea,” Aegon says. “And Dorne, too, I suppose.”
“Ah, Queen Daenerys. I don’t suppose she is too fond of me.”
“Regrettably,” says Aegon. “Although I do not see where she is coming from.”
“Why, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sansa says matter-of-factly.
“And I don’t suppose you are going to try to get into her good graces?”
“I’m trying,” says Sansa. “Although not in the way she would wish.”
“Daenerys is very single-minded, I would say,” says Aegon.
“Yes,” says Sansa. “She is much like Jon, in a way.”
He looks at her, surprised, and remembers she had grown up with him. “What was Jon like as a boy?”
“Much the same as he is now,” Sansa laughs. “He was always so quiet and serious. He was very much like our - my - father, I think. But he and Robb and Arya got along so wonderfully. I regret to say I did not treat him well when we were younger.”
“I don’t suppose highborn girls are trained to like their bastard half-brothers.”
“No,” says Sansa softly, “They are not.” She sighs. “In any case, Jon is happy at the Wall and for that I am glad. It would be a sin to make him leave.”
A pause.
“I think you and he would get along delightfully, actually,” she says.
“As do I,” Aegon replies honestly - it is true, he has oft wondered what this boy is like, the boy his father nearly ruined the realm for. “As does Daenerys as well.”
“Yes.” Sansa smiles. “As does Queen Daenerys, I'd imagine. Jon is quite charming." She looks at him. "What is it like, being married?”
Too late, he realizes where this conversation is going. “Decent,” he says cautiously. “Daenerys loves me as an aunt loves her nephew, and I likewise. I cannot say I hate the arrangement, however.”
“Mm.” Sansa bobs her head. “Nothing too terrible, I hope.”
“Not at all.”
“Nothing that would make my dear baby brother destroy nearly a quarter of Winterfell in his rage?”
Aegon’s eyes widen, but he deems it wise not to say anything on the subject. “By all accounts Lady Shireen is a pleasant child, and an heiress besides.”
“I know,” says Sansa. “I met her in my childhood and I was most fond of her. But if I remember correctly, agreeing to this particular marriage match equates to swearing fealty, does it not?”
“Lady Stark, I would say it does,” Aegon says slowly. “But are you not married as well?”
She laughs at that, and he frowns. “King Aegon, if you are to sit the Iron Throne you must remember not to blurt out everything that crosses your mind,” she says. “But yes, I am, and I have heard all my lord husband has to say on the subject.
“But surely you are not seeking annulment?”
“Our marriage will not mean anything if I am Queen of the North, a traitor declaring herself queen of a kingdom,” Sansa says, smiling sweetly. “If anything, it is a loss on your side as you have one less profitable bachelor to marry off.”
She’s won, and he knows it.
“Well played, Lady Stark.”
“You must forgive me,” she says, and suddenly her eyes turned cold. “I’ve been used too many times, and my family has been dragged through mud. I have a dead brother and a missing brother thanks to all this business, and I’ve no wish for that to happen again. Rickon will marry whomever he wants, whenever he wants.”
And there is something so beautifully broken in that statement that Aegon can only stare at her. “As you wish, my lady,” he says, and she smiles brilliantly at him. “Thank you.”
“Come, Arya,” she says, and he turns around and her sister is still following them. “Let us retire.”
She bids him good day and kisses him on the cheek, and he watches her walk away, her hair like fire in the sunlight.
A Stark, he remembers telling Daenerys, and the words echo in his head. My father nearly ruined the realm for a Stark.
Well, that went a little out of hand.
for the kink meme, the prompt being:
"Aegon's married to Dany and she sends him to treat with the Queen in the North, because she thinks he could charm any maid. But little did she expect that Aegon would be the one charmed."
“You are ridiculous.”
He sighs and shrugs. “It was not my fault, Daenerys.”
“You are married to me.” Her voice turns shrill, and her purple eyes are furiously bright.
Aegon shakes his head. “A marriage of convenience, of tradition! You and I both know that.”
“That is still marriage, Aegon! What would Rhaegar do -”
“Daenerys, Rhaegar brought the realm to his knees for a Stark. What would you have me do?” he replies, calculated to wound.
“All this talk about Starks! I should have her thrown in the dungeon. Executed. Fed to Drogon. Traitors, the lot of them.”
Aegon laughs and taps her on the nose. “Now, we all know our sweet Queen would not do such a thing. It would not be worth a Northern uprising, don’t you think?”
Daenerys pushes him away. “The North have nothing to rise up against, Aegon! They would have if - you had one job! All you had to do was treat with the girl queen! Why she is even there on that throne in the first place I do not know-”
“She is there because she is heiress to her older brother’s kingdom,” Aegon cuts in, “holding it all in trust until her youngest brother comes of age.”
“War against the North,” Daenerys says. And the Vale, and the Riverlands…
“Daenerys.”
She inhales and looks at him, at the face he shared with her brother. He is as comely, she knows, as she is beautiful. No maid could have resisted him - no maid had resisted him so far; all he’d had to do was look at them with those eyes of his and they would melt at his feet. Why not the Stark girl?
He continues talking. “If you’d like, invite her over for an official visit. Talk fealty and all those things you seem to want so desperately from her. Meet her for yourself.”
“She was married to my Hand!”
“Is, at the moment,” Aegon says, and his tone is slightly regretful. “There’s all that talk about consummation. Whatever happened, Tyrion Lannister still has a hold over the Queen in the North. But if you could offer annulment…”
“So you could wed her yourself, is that it?”
“Daenerys, you are acting like a child.”
“Children do not talk about marriage! You are a lovelorn fool.”
Aegon chuckles. “That I am.”
+
Daenerys agrees anyway, and Sansa Stark arrives in King’s Landing in a swirl of furs and grace. Beautiful and slender, she is taller than Daenerys by at least a head, and her smile is a faint one. “Your Grace,” she says, curtsying lowly, and there is a hint of mockery in her tone.
“Welcome to King’s Landing, Sansa Stark,” Daenerys says. “I am Daenerys Stormborn -”
“Daenerys, I’m sure she knows who you are,” Aegon interrupts.
“It is proper,” Sansa interjects. He looks up and she is smiling at him. “But yes, I do know precisely who she is. Your Grace,” she says to him and curtsies again. Aegon blinks.
“Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of his name,” Daenerys says coolly. “King Consort.” She pauses and examines Sansa’s entourage of Northmen. (She spies the bear of House Mormont, and her heart skips a beat, but she does not see the men she looks for.) “Where is your brother? Is he not Lord of Winterfell?”
“You must forgive me, Your Grace, but Rickon is ill.” Sansa’s face is regretful, but her tone is fond. “It is nothing too serious, but Lady Mormont advised me to keep him at Winterfell.” She pauses for a second, examining Daenerys’s face. “I am afraid he would not be much use in a diplomatic visit, however.”
The Northmen behind her chuckle and Sansa’s mouth slowly curls into a smile. “But if it’s any consolation, my sister Arya of the Queensguard is with me.” She gestures to the silent, dark-haired girl behind her, who stares at Daenerys with unmoving gray eyes. She does not curtsy.
“Then I pray for your brother’s swift recovery, Sansa Stark,” says Daenerys. “The servants will escort you to your chambers. And of course, later - there will be a feast to celebrate your arrival.”
Sansa Stark smiles again, and it is blinding and beautiful. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”
+
“I cannot say I find her charming,” says Daenerys. “Such an insolent girl!”
Tyrion looks up at her, an eyebrow raised. “I must remind you, Daenerys, that that girl is but three years younger than you, and a queen as well.”
“You said she was a hostage!”
Tyrion sighs and pours himself a glass of wine. “That she was, but Sansa Stark is much changed from the girl I wed. She is six-and-ten, now, barely older than when her older brother declared himself King. And look how well that went.”
“I would say the Lady Stark is very charming, actually,” says Varys from his seat. “She has her father’s steel, but her mother’s face and grace. Once her brother comes of age she will no longer be Lady of Winterfell, and she will be well into her twenties by then. Well past marrying age. A shame, unless you would want to do something about it.”
“Has the entire realm forgotten our marriage?” Tyrion chuckles.
“You do not act like a married man,” says Daenerys. “I would say you want an annulment as well. You would not do, married to a traitor.”
“Everyone’s a traitor,” Varys laments. “The word is not worth much nowadays.”
Tyrion nods. “And as a matter of fact as much as it pains me to say it, I think an annulment would be most convenient. Sansa Stark loathes me still, I am afraid. There is no way in all the seven hells she would give up her kingdom for Casterly Rock.”
“Your Grace, is Sansa Stark not your nephew’s cousin as well?”
Daenerys closes her eyes at the thought of him. “But yes, Jon will not leave his damned Wall.” He had kissed me, and told me that he was already a bastard - what kind of man would he be if he deserted? I had offered him freedom, not asked him to desert.
“Perhaps Sansa Stark would be lured by a much more attractive marriage offer?” Tyrion suggests from the table.
“There is the Tyrell heir,” Varys suggests. “Yes, he is a bachelor fifteen years her senior and a cripple besides, but he is a kind man by all reports. And Highgarden is a lovely place.”
“Lord Varys, you mock me,” Daenerys says. “I know how the Tyrells planned to use her to get their social-climber hands on the North, and I am sure she is aware as well.”
Varys sighs again. “The Martell prince is wed to Myrcella, and like Lord Tyrion said she would not be inclined to marry anybody from House Lannister” he says, and shakes his head. “What if we were to strike up a marriage offer with Rickon Stark instead?”
“And wed him to whom, Shireen Baratheon?” Daenerys asks scornfully. “I thought you planned to marry her to the Arryn boy.”
“How wonderful,” says Tyrion. “After all these years, poor dead Ned and Robert finally got around to uniting their houses.” He clears his throat. “But Sansa has met Lady Shireen; I am sure she would approve.”
“You forget that the Arryn boy is all too attached to the Lady Sansa,” says Varys. “It is rumored he does not even take a piss without her permission.” He sighs. “If Lord Baelish were still alive, this would not be much of a problem.”
Tyrion snorts. “Now you’re really mocking.”
Daenerys thinks. “If we were to marry Rickon Stark to Shireen Baratheon…”
“It would be good,” says Tyrion. “It is the North you want, not the Stark girl.”
“That is true.”
“It is decided, then!”
+
“You will never believe it, Sansa!” Arya’s face is alight. “They planned to marry Shireen Baratheon to baby Rickon to get you to swear fealty!”
Sansa laughs, and it rings clear over the courtyard. “It is a good move politically, you cannot doubt that,” she says. “But poor Shireen!”
“Poor Rickon,” Arya says. “You can just imagine his reaction to marriage. He’s hardly gotten used to not calling Jon father when he comes ‘round to visit.”
“He would hate it,” Sansa agrees. “I cannot help but wonder, Arya, if we were to just swear fealty.”
Her sister’s face is aghast. “You cannot! Sansa, Robb died for the North, I was there -”
“He did not die for the North; he died for needless cruelty.” Her voice is cold. “Him and Mother both. Lannisters and Freys, you say? Perhaps I’d be more inclined to swear fealty just to rid my hands of my marriage.”
“They were talking about annulment. But I could do away with Tyrion Lannister if you wish it,” says Arya. “It would be easy. I even have some wolfsbane darts left…”
“Arya! You cannot joke about that - who knows who may be listening!”
“I know.” Arya stands up and takes a deep breath. “ARYA STARK IS NOT PLANNING TO ASSASSINATE TYRION LANNISTER!”
“Arya Stark, sit down and shut up!” Sansa exclaims, but she is laughing as well. But then Arya quiets down and her mouth steels itself into a line. Someone’s coming, her eyes say.
It’s Aegon, who nods in greeting, and Arya’s fingers relax. “You shouldn’t announce your plans to the world, my lady,” he chides. “Lady Stark.”
“King Aegon,” Sansa greets smoothly, curtsying again. “It is good to see you.”
“Likewise,” he says. “You can do away with the formalities, you know. Call me Aegon.”
Sansa looks aghast. “It wouldn’t be proper, my lord, especially not to the King of the Six Kingdoms!”
He throws his head back and laughs. “I’d say King of the Six Kingdoms doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?” He holds out his arm. “Take a walk through the gardens with me, Lady Stark.”
She accepts with a demure smile and takes his arm, and Aegon looks at Arya, who merely stares back at him.
“You’ll have to put up with Arya, I’m afraid,” Sansa says. “The last time a prince asked to walk with me we ended up with a dead direwolf. Bad things happened,” she says, simply, and smiles at his confused face. “Shall we go?”
+
“I cannot say I’ve missed this place,” Sansa says as they encircle the numerous gardens that make up the Red Keep. “It looks largely changed from when I was three-and-ten, however.”
“Daenerys brought in several exotic flowers from across the Narrow Sea,” Aegon says. “And Dorne, too, I suppose.”
“Ah, Queen Daenerys. I don’t suppose she is too fond of me.”
“Regrettably,” says Aegon. “Although I do not see where she is coming from.”
“Why, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sansa says matter-of-factly.
“And I don’t suppose you are going to try to get into her good graces?”
“I’m trying,” says Sansa. “Although not in the way she would wish.”
“Daenerys is very single-minded, I would say,” says Aegon.
“Yes,” says Sansa. “She is much like Jon, in a way.”
He looks at her, surprised, and remembers she had grown up with him. “What was Jon like as a boy?”
“Much the same as he is now,” Sansa laughs. “He was always so quiet and serious. He was very much like our - my - father, I think. But he and Robb and Arya got along so wonderfully. I regret to say I did not treat him well when we were younger.”
“I don’t suppose highborn girls are trained to like their bastard half-brothers.”
“No,” says Sansa softly, “They are not.” She sighs. “In any case, Jon is happy at the Wall and for that I am glad. It would be a sin to make him leave.”
A pause.
“I think you and he would get along delightfully, actually,” she says.
“As do I,” Aegon replies honestly - it is true, he has oft wondered what this boy is like, the boy his father nearly ruined the realm for. “As does Daenerys as well.”
“Yes.” Sansa smiles. “As does Queen Daenerys, I'd imagine. Jon is quite charming." She looks at him. "What is it like, being married?”
Too late, he realizes where this conversation is going. “Decent,” he says cautiously. “Daenerys loves me as an aunt loves her nephew, and I likewise. I cannot say I hate the arrangement, however.”
“Mm.” Sansa bobs her head. “Nothing too terrible, I hope.”
“Not at all.”
“Nothing that would make my dear baby brother destroy nearly a quarter of Winterfell in his rage?”
Aegon’s eyes widen, but he deems it wise not to say anything on the subject. “By all accounts Lady Shireen is a pleasant child, and an heiress besides.”
“I know,” says Sansa. “I met her in my childhood and I was most fond of her. But if I remember correctly, agreeing to this particular marriage match equates to swearing fealty, does it not?”
“Lady Stark, I would say it does,” Aegon says slowly. “But are you not married as well?”
She laughs at that, and he frowns. “King Aegon, if you are to sit the Iron Throne you must remember not to blurt out everything that crosses your mind,” she says. “But yes, I am, and I have heard all my lord husband has to say on the subject.
“But surely you are not seeking annulment?”
“Our marriage will not mean anything if I am Queen of the North, a traitor declaring herself queen of a kingdom,” Sansa says, smiling sweetly. “If anything, it is a loss on your side as you have one less profitable bachelor to marry off.”
She’s won, and he knows it.
“Well played, Lady Stark.”
“You must forgive me,” she says, and suddenly her eyes turned cold. “I’ve been used too many times, and my family has been dragged through mud. I have a dead brother and a missing brother thanks to all this business, and I’ve no wish for that to happen again. Rickon will marry whomever he wants, whenever he wants.”
And there is something so beautifully broken in that statement that Aegon can only stare at her. “As you wish, my lady,” he says, and she smiles brilliantly at him. “Thank you.”
“Come, Arya,” she says, and he turns around and her sister is still following them. “Let us retire.”
She bids him good day and kisses him on the cheek, and he watches her walk away, her hair like fire in the sunlight.
A Stark, he remembers telling Daenerys, and the words echo in his head. My father nearly ruined the realm for a Stark.
Well, that went a little out of hand.