A Furious Thing

A Prince and His Rose

Arya fumed with anger. If that damned Septa thought she'd just sit still while her stupid host took his stupid time coming down to meet her, she'd be sorely surprised. Arya huffed as she tried to pull her legs under her and regain her footing. Unfortunately, her body didn't want to cooperate. Whatever Varys had forced on her was having lingering effects, making it next to impossible to make any significant movements. She could blink, and breathe and twitch her toes, but she couldn't lift herself off the bed.
She roared in frustration, but that just made her head hurt. But so did thinking, and keeping her eyes open. So she yelled again. After a few seconds, the pain faded, so Arya kept up the screaming. She screamed curses and oaths and she described how she was going to kill whoever was holding her in graphic detail. She yelled for Jon, for her father, and for Nymeria. And then, when her throat began to hurt and the lock in the door began to rattle, Arya stopped.
The first thing she saw when the door cracked open was silver-hair. Two people, both of them silver haired. But their faces weren't lined with age, and their eyes weren't cloudy. They were young. And their eyes were purple. She cursed.
"What the hell do you want with me?" she demanded, trying uselessly to get to her feet. "You bloody Targaryens! You stole the wrong person, idiots."
"Are you not Arya Snow?" the taller one, a man asked. Arya turned a critical eye to him. He wore clothing that would have looked more welcome on a common sellsword than the so called Prince Aegon Targaryen. But he looked te part otherwise. The hair and the eyes spoke for themselves, but he also held himself in a familiar way. He held himself like Gendry, back straight, shoulders out, with an air of confidence that most people couldn't manage. He held himself like royalty. She hated him already.
She turned then to his shorter companion. This must be Daenerys Targaryen. His aunt. She was petite, but her face looked like it had been crafted as a depiction of the maiden. She was as beautiful as Sansa at her prettiest, and she had eyes filled with fire. It helped that she was dressed like a Dothraki warrior, with the same amount of skin on display> The only way her differentiated was that her chest was covered by a small leather vest. Arya blushed at the way this woman looked.
"That's my name. But I don't know why you stole me. I don't know anything, and they won't pay to get me back, and I'm not important," she finally, scowling up at the pair of them.
"Jon said she wouldn't know," he said, turning to his companion.
"Jon? How do you know Jon?" Arya barked.
"Lord Jon Connington. He's our chief advisor. We don't speak of that northern lordling you call brother," Aegon said dismissively.
She glared at him. "You're not making any sense!"
"It was probably safer if she didn't know, of course. If no one knew," Daenerys pointed out.
"What are you blabbering on about?" she asked.
Aegon turned to her, face softening for a moment before that distant, princely expression returned. "It wouldn't hurt to tell her now, would it?"
Daenerys hesitated for a moment before answering. "Mayhaps we should tell her now. Better to be quick, yes?"
"Do you want me-" he began, beginning to look a little uncomfortable. "You're much better at words, Aunt."
"Don't be foolish. You can be quite eloquent," she said, raising a brow imperiously. It look ridiculous, watching this small young woman trying to intimidate this strong, tall man.
"Sorry. Yes." He turned back to Arya, clearing his throat.
She had the dimmest, most distant idea of what he was about to say to her, but something inside of her was resistant to this realization. She didn't want to know hear what he was about to say. She didn't want to know anymore. It was too... She wasn't sure what it was.
But she didn't want to know.
"My caretakers told me, when I was a child, that I wasn't the only Targaryen left, that I wasn't alone," he began.
Arya shook her head. "You shouldn't even be alive, let alone any others!"
He flinched. "Yes, I know just how peaceful the world has been, believing me dead. Good King Robert saved you from the big bad Targaryens."
"Better Fat King Robert than Burn-People-Alive Aerys," she reminded him. Daenerys- Aery's daughter, Arya remembered suddenly, tensed, but seconds later her face crack into a small, wry smile.
"My father would have been a good king," Aegon argued. "He was a good man. I remember."
"You were a baby!"
"I was small, but I still remember. He was kind."
"He stole someone. He was a silly romantic."
"If you'd let me continue-" he growled.
Arya threw up her hands in frustration, and realized with a started that she could throw up her hands. Her arms were beginning to regain their mobility. Her legs were still numb, though, on closer inspection. Deciding that stalling was a smarter plan than simply yelling, she nodded brusquely for him to continue. The look of triumph on his face made her glare even harder up at him.
"My caretakers told me that I had an Aunt and an Uncle. They'd escaped Westeros via Dragonstone, days after Daenerys had been born. And they'd grown up in the same city. They'd moved on by that time, of course, benefiting from the kindness of friends who wished to set them on their throne. I was about twelve when they discovered me. Daenerys was ten. Viserys was eight and ten."
"Must have been upset," she commented.
"Excuse me?"
"He must have been upset. He was gonna ride back to Westeros and win back his throne, and all of a sudden you come back, and it's your throne now, not his."
Aegon nodded briefly. "He was quite...incensed. Viserys died a few years ago, at the end of my blade."
"You'd think a house as small as yours would try to avoid killing each other."
"We have," Daenerys said. "But my brother was an unstable men. They've always said that when a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin. On one side, greatness and the other madness."
"Might have something to do with all of the incest."
"She's a mouthy one, isn't she?" Aegon snapped.
"She's spirited. Like her mother, apparently."
"You don't know my mother," Arya scoffed. "No one knows my mother. Besides my father, and he's not telling."
"He wouldn't," Daenerys said, giving Aegon a meaningful look.
"My caretakers told me of my Aunt and UNcle, but it was Daenerys who told me of my sibling."
Arya's eyes turned on the woman questioningly.
"A magister from Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis, told me the tale of Prince Rhaegar, my brother, and Lady Lyanna... And another friend of ours assured us that he spoke the truth."
"Do you mean Lord Varys? He already told me about this ridiculous theory. He told me about their alleged child. But if you think I know about a secret cousin, that I'd tell you if  did, I won't."
"Varys said you were clever. He said you were an admirable girl," Aegon said, sounding dismayed.
"Are you saying I'm not?" she asked frostily. Not only was he a fool, he was also rude.
"You ignore things that are clear as day. We aren't asking you about a secret cousin. And we aren't doubtful that my father had a child with Lyanna Stark."
She shook her head, refusing to let him do this, to ruin everything. "I'm a bastard. No matter what you tell me, I am Ned Stark's bastard. I am Arya Snow."
"No, you aren't. You're Arya Targaryen."