A Furious Thing

When Staying is Not a Choice

"Robb is fine, Arya. He's been taken to Riverrun to recover, and our troops are retreating further inland."

"Inland doesn't stop dragons!" Arya spit. She was pacing, wringing her hands, doing anything to stop from screaming. She shouldn't be here, stuck behind the walls of the Red Keep while tens of thousands of men died. She should be helping, caring for the wounded, fighting off Dothraki, doing something. Robb was hurt and Gendry was out there somewhere, risking his life. And Arya sat by while butchers and whores and innkeepers and bastards suffered.

"I know, Arya. But it's what we can do. Robert is...receptive to Varys's idea to send a diplomatic envoy now. He agrees that it's all we can do. "

"How can he negotiate with someone who killed so many of his people? The man is a monster, father. And he'll want the King's head. He'll want all of you gone. Every house that fought as rebels."

"I don't think Robert intends to actually negotiate, Arya," Ned explained carefully.

"It's an assassination attempt," Arya realized suddenly. She scowled. "He can't set all of his hopes on the success of an assassin."

"No, he can't. But there are ways to...placate this Dragon Rider. There's always something."

Arya stared up at her father, hesitant to say what she was thinking, but knowing that she'd say it anyway. There was no use hesitating for very long. "Father, before you came South, you'd never have settled for an assassination attempt. The North does not placate. The North does not play games like the South does."

She'd always admired her father. In fact, she'd adored him. For all that Ned Stark was distant, beholden to his lady wife, and solemn, he was a good father. He was honorable and kind to the smallfolk. He did his duty and he upheld the values of the North with each action he took as lord. This was not that Ned Stark.

The look in his eyes told her he knew that. Oh, gods did he know that. She regretted her words immediately, but there was no way to take them back.

"The South had changed us all, Arya. For good or bad, we have changed. But there's more to this than Robert, or anyone, could ever understand."

"Like what?"

"I think, perhaps, that this could truly be Aegon Targaryen. I have no proof, and little reason, but I remember, clearly, something someone told me a long while ago, which has haunted me ever since. This could be Prince Rhaegar's true son."

"If it is?" Arya watched her father with rapt attention, eyes wide.

"I couldn't begin to predict. But, mayhaps, it's why we are struggling against his forces."

"What do you mean?"

"Targaryens have always been...more than men. Everyone in Westeros grew up on legends and songs of their exploits."

Her father's words worried her. Even hours after he spoke them, they ran through her head. She knew what he meant. The Dragonknight, Aegon the Conqueror, and any number of other fierce Targaryen's had been written about hundreds of times. She'd be sorry to admit it, but even Arya had sat, fascinated as they were told the tales. She had laughed at his taken Sansa was with silly stories, but she'd been just as intrigued by Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen as her half-sister was by tales of the Dragonknight and his beautiful Queen Naerys.

These thoughts drove Arya to distraction, and when Kira had fallen asleep on the bed beside her, she sprung up. She needed to move, to do something. Otherwise she'd go mad as King Aerys.

Her feet were light as she escaped the Tower of the Hand and journeyed deep into the Keep. Arya was good at moving soundlessly. Years of slinking through the halls of Winterfell, hoping not to be noticed had made that easy. She didn't know where she was headed, just that she needed this. It was only after she began descending that Arya realized she was exploring. Just like when she was a child.