Catalyst

Chapter 21: Reunion

Faint and far away, the lighthouse of Pentos burned on the horizon, an orange star bright against the dark purple sky.

"We're finally back," grinned Duck, leaning out the galley where a large wave collided against the painted hull and splashed his face. The knight wiped away the seawater, cursing colourfully as he did so. "We've been away longer than expected. Hopefully they don't think we're dead."

I guffawed. "I'm almost scared to return, you know."

Behind us the captain was shouting orders at his crew. Sailors scrambled up and down the masts and moved along the rigging, rearranging the striped sails of the vessel. Beneath our feet, oarsmen heaved and strained with the slender oars as the Silken Dream slowed down to pass through the channel to the Bay of Pentos whose bountiful reef was devoid of fishing vessels.

"Scared? Why's that? Is it your father or the girl you mean to marry?"

"Them to," I chuckled and threw a half eaten apple into the sea. "Would it be silly to say Lemore most of all? We did leave without telling anyone."

Duck playfully punched my shoulder. "It's nothing to worry yourself over, lad. Thanks to you, the Company's got a valuable hostage and if they're angry, well, it just proves they're fools. What we achieved was worthy of song. They'll be singing of our deeds like they do with Ser Barristan the Bold saving King Aerys from Duskendale. We'll be heroes!"

Mayhaps Barristan should have failed that quest - it might have turned out better for Westeros. Though if Rhaegar still acted like he did . . . "You sound confident, Ser Duck. You think Dany will be impressed or—"

Rolly snorted. "Or what? She'll be impressed I tell you. If she's not, the Seven may reserve me a spot in hell to freeze for all time."

"You sound confident and no doubt our lovely septa would smack you over the head with a spoon if she heard that."

"She would, wouldn't she? I'm confident your Dany will be impressed. She's a sweet girl and, like many, loves silks, songs and chivalry with tall gallant princes with handsome faces. Nor would she feel worried you stole yourself another."

You don't know her at all. From what I remembered, Daenerys had a thing for men with bad hair and aggression bordering on the psychopathic. I was closer to Prince Quentyn Martell but with comelier features and much better timing. "What do you mean another? Wait, do you mean her?"

"Here's a bit of advice, women are intimidated by other women. Though in this case, the one with us is all skin and bones and a child besides. Your betrothed is a woman who can turn heads in any court so she has no reason to be worried. Arry is not one of them pretty village girls comely lordlings steal away to marry instead of the hunchbacked widow."

"Lordlings marrying village girls? Is that really a thing?"

"In the dreams of young girls I imagine. They're fanciful stories like Spotted Pate the Pigboy. That goodhearted lad bests cruel knights, tyrannical lords and corrupt septons. The story ends all well for Spotted Pate, usually sitting in a high lord's seat or bedding some knight's daughter. I'd never encountered one of those stories happening in real life though."

Dunk the Lunk? I smiled thinly. "Do you see yourself as him?"

"Me? Of course not. I tried once when my father gave me my sword and I beat Lorent Caswell with it. He's lord of Bitterbridge now." Duck spat at the deck. "I wonder if he's going to fight against us. Seven I hope so. I'll break the rest of his lordships ribs."

"That or he may shit himself once he lays eyes upon you."

Rolly laughed and I turned to Arya who was leaning out the side to stare into the ink-black waters. Her hair was short and instead of the soiled garbs of a Hand's daughter, the girl was dressed in boy's leather. Though she had kept quiet in King's Landing, as soon as we boarded the Silken Dream, Stark asked a barrage of questions. Near all of which were about returning to Westeros and her brother. I did my best to emulate politicians and avoid straight answers but upon being asked why I hadn't saved Sansa, I was honest and explained why I didn't. Arya wasn't happy but even a girl as young as her knew how next to impossible it would be. Even if I wanted to – and I most certainly did – I couldn't just go sneaking through passages and smuggle Sansa out. Going into King's Landing was risky but that was nothing compared to the Red Keep and the results would certainly end with me being tortured. I did have plans to save Sansa during the Purple Wedding by capturing Baelish's ship but until then she was untouchable. Thankfully Arya had kept busy. Some men shunned her while others taught her their trades. Arya learnt to tie ropes, study stars and predict future weather. It would be wrong to say I didn't learn a few things to.

"Tell me, Duck, are you looking forward to be back?"

"Aye. More than you could imagine. I'm keen to see Doreah again."

"You seem quite taken with her. I was honestly surprised you two became a thing."

"How can one not love her? She's pretty and got a gentle heart. Got a sweet arse besides."

"You have my support. Once the Iron Throne belongs to Her Grace, you can have any boon you desire. I know Daenerys offered you and Doreah a stout holdfast outside King's Landing, but I do think you deserve something more than just being a landed knight."

"I wouldn't deny a chance to become a lordly lord. I never imagined I'd have the chance and when I was a boy, I only ever desired to be a ser. There was an old one who could always be found drinking at the Hog's Head. He spent his days telling everyone stories of his time as a hedge knight. I didn't care whether he slept under hedgerows or in the halls of Highgarden. I listened to every word he said from the war on the Stepstones to fighting some lords war or when he hunted down bandits and wild wolves for a few coppers a head. I wanted that life so much. So much more than being a blacksmith or man-at-arms."

I bumped his shoulder. "When you were listening to him I supposed you never imagined you'd have broken Lorent's ribs and find yourself in the service of an exiled prince."

"Never imagined it," Rolly laughed. "I suppose this is only the beginning and our futures are going to be much more interesting."

"I'm certain it will," I chuckled and stretched, noticing Duck's eyes upon my burnt hand. "Its fine, Duck. The bandages are a little dirty, that's all."

"I'm just wondering how you got hurt in the first place. It wasn't like you stuck your hand in the pyre."

I didn't. That was the strange thing. It was only when I attempted to pull Daenerys back that my hand got burnt. Seemed like something didn't want me to interfere. The fact Dany couldn't properly remember the details further supported my theory. If there's something out there . . . I was concerned but instead of showing that, I only smiled. "Nothing to worry about. I stood too close and I'll hear no more of it."

Despite being night, the streets were chaotic when we finally climbed off the ship. Pentos was one of the world's great ports; its great sheltered harbour a riot of colours and smells. Lining the waterfront were foul winesinks, cheap brothels, gloomy warehouses, buzzing gambling dens and temples of gods both great and small. Mingling in the crowds were cutpurses and colourfully striped bravos, hedge wizards selling potions to cure any disease, musicians dressed like peacocks, insurers and moneychangers and so many more. Glowing in windows and hanging from lines above the streets were paper lanterns coating Pentos with pretty colours. We didn't take a mount or palanquin as was custom, instead walked to Illyrio's manse. It wasn't the fastest way but after being cooped upon on a ship for the last few days, I felt the need to stretch my legs. Arya, being half asleep, clung to Duck's back.

Reaching the gates of Illyrio's manse, the plump Unsullied opened the front gates without a word. Rolly carried a now sleeping Arya to a spare room and I asked the captain to have a eunuch watch her. Because everyone was asleep and not want to be woken up, I headed straight to my chambers, collapsed on the bed and dreamt of ghostly apparitions pacing within an icy mist. Regaining consciousness, I found myself face down on the mattress, drowning in a goose-down feather bed with Larra shaking me awake. Having a pretty blonde wasn't the worst thing to wake up to in the morning.

"Master Aegon," she said, "your bath awaits. It is midday; you slept all morning and I fear the bath is getting cold. Your father expects you at the table within the hour."

"Midday?" I sat up, rubbing my eyes and then the dribble on my chin. Only then did I realise I was still wearing travel stained leather and boots caked in mud. I should apologise to whoever cleans this bed. "A bath you say, but first I need some water. My throat is dry." Larra handed me a cup and I chugged it down like I was on a binge and almost coughed it back up again. "Lead the way. We must not keep father dearest waiting."

After bathing, garbing myself in a fresh silken doublet and taking a piss in the chamber pot, I headed down to lunch and found father reclining on a padded chair with a sickening feast before him. I took a seat opposite, placed a napkin on my lap and acted like nothing was unusual while avoiding father glaring at me with narrowed eyes. I smiled thinly at his stare and tucked right in.

"Welcome. Please come and take a seat after leaving without so much as a word." Illyrio Mopatis' voice carried an edge like glass and was enough for the two servants to leave the room. Perceptive on their part. "It seems you have much to say for yourself."

I'm sure I do, father.

I sat up, ran a hand through my hair but before I could say anything, Illyrio slammed a meaty hand against the table with a loud thump. My reaction was lazy, however. Despite having slept in for most of the day, I still felt groggy; no thanks to keeping watch over Arya throughout the voyage should some sailors decide raping a nine-year-old girl was a good idea. I expected Illyrio to be mad, but this was the first time I'd ever seen him angry. He was usually jolly and never really rose his voice except to laugh. Now he was fuming. The magister forced himself up, leaning against the table and growled, "You left without my permission and put yourself and all our plans in danger, not to mention risk being discovered, and for what? A mere girl? Are you delusional? Are you such a fool to take leave of your wits!"

My mouth opened but no words came out. Despite knowing about my so-called dragon dreams, Illyrio would never accept my actions. Our relations were on thin ice even before this. I could hear the cracking and if the wrong words were said, the ice would surely break. I can't back down, no matter how much you desire it. Not only was Arya too useful a hostage to hang over Robb Stark's head, she also served as a possible claimant for Winterfell. What I'd done was for everyone's good. "I did what I had to do. If you are not aware, that girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell, the daughter of late Lord Eddard and the sister of his heir, the current Lord of Winterfell."

"I know who the girl is. I am no fool. Varys told me everything. You think he wouldn't? He was my closest friend, the partner I grew up with and worked alongside since we were striplings. He told me as soon as soon as you appeared in King's Landing."

"So he would have told you how important the Stark girl is. I only hope you realise that."

Illyrio didn't like those words and his face tightened. "I care not for the girl. You think I give a passing concern over some Andal lord's daughter? What you did was go against everything you should know. You sneaked out my manse, sailed across the Narrow Sea with what? A blacksmith-turned-knight? An exiled prince? It was only luck you managed to survive. I had my agents scouring the world for you. I sent men into Pentos believing you had gone there and later because I feared you suffered a similar fate to Viserys. Men travelled as far as Braavos and Volantis believing you were abducted. That witch of yours was even looking through her glass candle. I was beginning to believe you were dead."

Lyra managed to get the glass candle to work? That was good to know. It would give our forces a deceive edge when it came to military intelligence, not to mention subtly influence certain characters with visions. I believed Quaithe, Euron and Marwyn had glass candles too and having our own could counteract their abilities.

But father was not done. "Lemore was praying to the Seven and was beside herself. If word reached Connington, I'm certain he would have ridden north as fast as possible. Tis only fortunate I didn't disclose it to anyone else thanks to Blackheart's urging."

"And Daenerys?"

"Daenerys? She locked herself in her room upon you disappearing. She refused to eat and spent her days in the company of those dragons." Not wanting to stand any more, Illyrio fell back into the giant chair that groaned from the impact. He was heaving so hard I was afraid he was about to suffer a heart attack. I was about to stand up and call for aid when he looked up with a face painted with melancholy and said, "You left and you didn't say anything. Why?"

Gently putting my utensils down, I sat up in a more dignified position and took a deep breath. "I could have. I could have told you about the dreams I had. Ask Duck and Dalabhar and they'll tell you what I said to them and what would later happen. I'm sure I could have told you and gotten you to agree with stealing Arya Stark. You have the resources to collapse a kingdom so how hard can be to find a child? Quite hard actually. You would never have allowed me to go and instead would have sent others. The chances this could fail was not a risk I was willing to take. Arya Stark would have run between your fingers like water and never be found again. Going to King's Landing myself was the only way we had to get ourselves a useful hostage for when we finally invade. Punish me if you want. I did go behind your back. I was the one who sneaked sweetsleep into the cups of the sentries so they couldn't stop us. But do not punish my companions. It's not their fault. They urged against it, said I shouldn't, but I pulled rank and ordered they come with. If anyone should be reprimanded, it should solely be me."

If Illyrio wanted to say something, he was speechless now. He slumped back into his chair and stared at his plate. "You sound like your mother."

"My mother?"

"Serra Blackfyre. She was a determined soul and proud as only a dragon could be. She wanted you as king of Westeros, the king, and would surely have slapped you herself if she saw you offer yourself as a mere consort. I found her in Lys, performing at the Perfumed Garden. I think one of her descendants ruling the Seven Kingdoms was the only thing that kept her going; that being a slave was worth it if it meant House Blackfyre would one day sit the Iron Throne. Bound and sold and forced to serve, but a dragon still." Illyrio smiled softly, surprisingly genuine and full of affection. "I brought Serra for her beauty but I grew to love her strength. In many ways you remain me of her. You have my features and wits in abundance and clearly have her colours, but it is her drive I can see in you. Beneath the surface you have her fire that can be seen to erupt on occasion. At least something has been left of her in this world."

This was perhaps the first time Illyrio spoke of my mother in this world. I never really asked, nor did I particularly care. I'd been too busy preparing for the future so a past that wasn't really mine never really mattered. "There might be," I conceded, taking a sip of water and swishing it around my mouth. "Father, I understand you are mad. I understand why everyone is, and I apologise for not telling you. I was rash—"

"Very rash. You could have died and everything we have worked towards would have been destroyed like that."

"All men die. The plan you have worked all these years towards is sending me into Westeros with an army to dethrone a dynasty that command the obedience of a whole continent. It would be wrong of me to not face what most other men will when the time comes. What kind of leader would I be if I'm unwilling to risk my life but willing to send others to their deaths? Not the kind the Golden Company will respect, I ensure you."

"That is why we've been bringing down the Baratheon dynasty," Illyrio said coldly. "We've been building up our strength and the Westerosi have been destroying theirs. It will only get worse for them. Blackheart has already sent sellswords and agents to all sides of the conflict to provide us with much needed information as well as undermine their alliances be it through force or guile. The Westerosi look down on spies and infiltration and that has only blinded them. Cloak and dagger, that's how we're going to play until the odds are stacked heavily in our favour. I hoped you wouldn't have risked yourself with such tactics. I do not care how they think of you if it means you live. You dying valiantly on the battlefield with the respect of the men doesn't achieve victory and will bring an end to the line of your mother and my own."

"But me winning with the respect of the men and those I conquer will make ruling easier," was my calm response. "My life is at risk just by being a Blackfyre, more so when we're actually making a move against Westeros." There is always danger. Some local lord may decide to remove me so he become's Daenerys' consort and the future father of a dragon riding king, so he stabs me in the back or offers a poisoned chalice. "Risky moves tend to produce more attractive results. Westeros is much more militant than the Free Cities and much respect is given to those who prove themselves in military matters, not so much in economics. Daemon the Black Dragon got much support just by being a swordsman and much was told of his gallantry, though less is spoken about him being a capable bureaucrat and statesman. I say I should be his second coming. Daring and young and dangerous, the perfect archetype to attract support and show myself as being worthy of the Blackfyre name. After all, power is a shadow on the wall."

Father emptied his wine cup but he said nothing.

...

Finishing 'breakfast,' I approached Daenerys' apartments and rattled my fist against the door. I didn't have to wait long and Irri greeted me with her dark almond eyes widening in surprise. Politely thanking her and pushing past, I was greeted with Azantys charging straight towards me. His graceless limbs slid across the marble floor and he attempted to climb up my leg. Before he could shred my trousers in the attempt, I lifted him up where he jumped to his favourite spot on my shoulders. I couldn't help but grimace, however. His claws were sharp and dug deep into my skin. Azantys wasn't a gentle dragon.

Daenerys was reclining on a padded window seat, sandwiched between Jhiqui and Septa Lemore. Feet bare, the exiled princess was dressed in a simple dress of linen and lambswool with a colourful scarf wrapped around her head. Before them was a handsome table laid out with a gilded bowl piled high with fruit, a sewing kit with half-finished embroidery, and an ivory and onyx chessboard. Playing by her feet were three dragons. Dany's large violet eyes widened. "Egg?"

I strode in smiling but the uneasy stares made me stop. "Your Grace, Lady Septa, handmaidens."

Lemore slowly put down her needlework and stood up. In no way did she look pleased. "It seems you have come to grace us with your presence." Her voice was flat and, like Illyrio's, carried an edge as sharp and cold as ice. "You disappeared, having vanished most unexpectedly."

Crap. It was then I realised everyone's heavy gazes staring into my soul, Lemores and Daenerys' being the most intense. "If I take a seat, I'll—"

The septa didn't allow me to finish before wrapping her arms tight around me, not caring in the slightest about the dragon leaning over to sniff her hair. Lemore stepped back, eyes red and teary. "Why did you go? Everyone's been deathly worried. You vanished like a ghost."

"I should explain myself." Placing Azantys back on the floor I forced a smile, but none returned it. "I'm assuming you know where I went by now. I took a ship to King's Landing—"

"King's Landing!" Lemore yelled. "Are you speaking truly or is this a jest? If so, it is not a funny one and if you are being truthful, have you taken leave of your senses? What foolishness notion went into your head? What judgement!"

"D-dragon dream." I glimpsed at Daenerys who hadn't risen from her seat and was no longer looking at me, instead offering a hand to Rhaellon and letting the black dragon playfully nip at her. "A similar dream as Daenys the Dreamer, the same Daenerys had before hatching the dragons in the pyre. The same many Targaryen experience. I needed to go to King's Landing."

"You rash, foolish boy." Lemore stepped back and covered her face with her hands. "Why would you travel to where the Baratheons rule with an iron fist? Are you even aware of the dangers you were in? You could have been discovered!"

"It is known," said Jhiqui which Irri followed up with, "It is known."

I frowned despite myself. I am not a child and you are not my mother, no matter how much you see yourself as such. "Yes, septa. I was aware of the dangers. But I'm not the foolish boy you are presenting me as. I knew of the risks and took them into account. If you don't remember, you and Jon raised me to be king so what leader would I be if I didn't take advantage of a situation when it presented itself. What leader would I be if I stood in the background and let others do everything for me? Were you teaching me to be a ruler or merely a puppet to bend to the will of those around me and destined to sit on my arse all my life?"

Septa Lemore was taken aback.

Clearly I had never spoken to her that way before and it made me regret those words as soon as they left my mouth. I sighed, pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath to calm myself before continuing more slowly. "I'm sorry for the coarse words, septa. That was unbecoming of me. I went to abduct Arya Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and the sister of his heir. Now, lady septa, would you have made me stand to the side and risk letting her go free or would you rather have a useful asset disappear? Would you let a little girl fall into the hands of some evil characters or survive on her own with no one to protect her?"

Colour slowly returned to Lemore's face but instead of thinking about what I'd just said, instead replied with, "I would be more mindful of your tongue, Aegon. You will not speak to your elder like that."

My hands formed a fist. Before it could become a shouting match, Daenerys rose her voice, "Lady Lemore, you are excused. Irri, Jhiqui, you both as well. I desire to be alone with my betrothed and pray, close the door on your way out." When Lemore was about to say something, no doubt to object, Daenerys whispered something into the septa's ear. The Dornishwoman relaxed her shoulders and bid the others follow her. Daenerys kissed Lemore on the cheek, softly thanking her. When the door closed behind them, Daenerys turned to me, eyes cold as a winter storm and just as beautiful.

Great, the nun lectured me and now it's the dragon queen. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Her violet eyes bore into mine. "You think you can just stride back in like nothing happened? You vanished. For weeks you had vanished. I . . . I thought you were dead." Her voice was toneless, devoid of all affection and emotion. She took a few steps forward until my vision was only Daenerys.

I bit my lip. "I meant to . . . I understand—"

"No, you don't understand. Viserys disappeared from the manse and he died, bleeding out into the streets by Ser Jorah's blade. Ser Willam Darry who was my protector is also dead. I feared something happened to you. Upon hearing you had disappeared with Duck and Dalabhar, I thought you had only gone to visit the city or were performing one of them queer projects you do. I told myself nothing was the matter, that nothing was wrong. Only you didn't return. Not that day nor the one after. Every night I grew more concerned."

Unable to help it, I averted my eyes. It was known none would be happy with me vanishing suddenly and returning after who knows how long, but it wasn't something I really thought about. If I had any concerns, they were brushed aside because necessity. I'm still in the right. They're just overreacting. Still, a part of me was angry they weren't thanking me for what I'd done. It was I who risked my life, not them. They had no right to be mad at the end of the day.

"Look, I said I'm—"

"Sorry? Is that what you give me – an apology – after spending days worrying about you, after nights of being unable to sleep?" She barked a laugh that carried no warmth, only bitterness. "Magister Illyrio asked me questions – endless questions: 'Where did he go? When was the last time you saw him? Did he say anything?' On and on he spoke, and I couldn't answer a single one. I didn't know where you'd gone to. You didn't tell me, nor did you leave a note. I wasn't worthy enough, apparently."

I grit my teeth. "You may not be aware, but somethings need to be kept secret. Even from you, Dany. I couldn't risk anyone finding out."

"Don't you dare call me that. You have lost that right ever since you went behind my back. I am the queen, your queen. You proclaimed you are mine, that you are loyal and true, yet you go behind my back. You don't even apologise for that. You just make excuses."

I cursed internally before hissing, "Arya Stark—"

"I care not for this Arya Stark. What I care about is you," she mirrored my tone perfectly, though hers was at the cusp of breaking. "What I care about is you going behind my back and . . . what if Varys betrayed you? Connington said the Spider was never to be trusted. What if Duck or Dalabhar had betrayed you for a lordship or a purse of gold? If the Lannisters knew, they would throw you into the dungeons and have you killed. What would I have done then? Did you ever think about that or were you so blinded by your ambitions you forgot about everyone around you? You act like we are equals but it is clear you consider me secondary; that you are quick to dismiss and mislead people for whatever foolish scheme you have planned at the moment. How is that a sign of trust if you do that with abandon?"

I couldn't help but I avoid her gaze. My mind was blank. She had laid down a barrage of accusations, yet I couldn't find an answer to a single one. How could I answer without upsetting her more?

I must had taken longer than Daenerys wanted because she added, "I deserve to know." Once more I gazed into her eyes and physically felt her fury and refused to bend before it. Yet, beneath all the anger, I could feel the pain shining through. It wasn't the anger I'd been worried about, but all the hurt she felt. Daenerys wasn't a girl who felt much in the way of happiness. She was sad more often than not. One who lost everything and had only recently gained something she could say was hers. Me leaving and possibly dying would destroy that dream and any chance to gain it.

"I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt anybody." I move to cup her cheek but Daenerys shied away. I wanted to make her understand but I didn't know how without making her push away further. "Daenerys, I don't know how to explain. I just don't. I never thought you would react this way because, frankly, I never thought of how you'd react. I never thought you would feel upset for me just disappearing, nor did I believe it would hurt you."

"I am hurt. Not only me, but others. Your father, Septa Lemore and Haldon. Your problem is that you don't think. You thought you could just return like nothing happened, that'd we'd simply smile and congratulate you—"

She was close to tears and all I wanted to do was hug her and whisper sweet promises saying I would never do that again. But I couldn't afford to make assurances I was certain to break. Neither of us were. We were destined to be politicians and military leaders and about to fight a war against an entire continent. Despite how she acted and spoke, seeing her almost cry remained me how young she truly was. Fourteen. She is only fourteen. She shouldn't be doing this. She should be in the care of a loving family who adore her, not a figurehead for a conquest. "How many times must I say I am sorry? I apologised, not once, but several times." Is that enough or must I flagellate myself as penitence?

"You apologised, Aegon, yes, but that is not enough. Words mean little and less if you break them. You understand why I'm angry now? You couldn't trust me then you left so I was in the manse alone with no one to protect me should anything happen. You promised to keep me safe. With your most esteemed abilities and wisdom you failed to imagine a possibility you would fail."

"That is not true. You have . . ." Who did she have? Connington was in the Disputed Lands. Ser Jorah was dead, having either assassinated Viserys himself or was the fall guy with the assassination being orchestrated by Illyrio and company.

"You." She gave a humourless smile. "I have you. You are my only true supporter and everyone else follows their black dragon. I see how they look at you while those same people question whether they should listen to me. I've four handmaidens and three hatchlings while you have an army and several cities at your back and call."

Now here is the core of the issue, it seems to me. "What about Connington?"

"The man who raised you since you were a bean? You think I'm naïve enough to delude myself into believing he would side with me over you? The girl he had left to fend for herself over the boy he came to see as his own son?"

"You don't know that," I said darkly.

"Perhaps you don't." She was about to turn around but I didn't let her. Without thinking, my hand lunged forward to grab her wrist. I didn't pull her to me, instead step forward and Daenerys was soon in my arms, only halting my advance with a delicate hand pressed against my chest. Her porcelain skin was warm, silk to the touch, and Dany smelled of rosewater and lilac.

"Don't run away from me."

"When why did you run from me?" asked Daenerys softly. She tried to push me with a light touch to break my hold but I held on, restraining her in a gentle vice. She looked up at me, purple eyes now blazing. "You left me. Abandoned me. Now you come back and expect me to—"

I silenced her words with a kiss. She tensed, grew rigid, but a moment later she returned the kiss and submitted fully. I couldn't help but allow myself a little smirk and gently embraced the silver dragon, wrapping her in a tight hug. She gasped slightly, breaking for breath, and I could see the beginning of a spark in her pretty eyes, and pretty they were. Much was said about Targaryen beauty but much more was said about their eyes. One could look at all the poets' loving descriptions of the many Targaryen women. Soft and violet, hers were eyes you could drown in.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and pursed her lips, raising her mouth to mine. This was less abrupt, more cautious. Yet I couldn't take my eyes off the beauty before me and met her kiss but stayed fixed on her face. One hand clutched my shoulder while the other rose to cup my cheek, soft fingers tracing a hairless chin. It was an intimate scene, though awkward and clumsy as well. The kiss began stilted with neither of us knowing what to do, and began as a few cursory dry pecks before growing confident. Her mouth was soft and gentle, and her taste was honey and fruit. I should have done this sooner. I should have kissed you when we met. I should have kissed you every day and every night. You were made to be kissed. When our lips finally separated, I smiled and pressed my forehead against hers. "I never abandoned you. I merely left to bring you a gift. Another gift for my queen."

"A gift that is worth your life?"

"If it benefits us during the war, then yes, it is worth my life."

"You are being foolish."

"No, I'm not." Daenerys opened her eyes and met mine staring back. Her breathing increased, hot, heavy and flustered. Beneath her clothes I could feel the frantic rhythm of her heart and, despite knowing we shouldn't, I yearned to free ourselves of them. "A hostage is useful. If it saves lives and aids us in taking down the usurpers, we need to take it."

"And while you're playing hero, I'm left here, then you come striding back with tales of glory."

"Is that jealousy I hear?"

She smiled despite herself. "Mayhaps."

"You know, Daenerys," I said after a moment. "Some time in the future, when you are riding Rhaellon and sit the Iron Throne, you'll be the one the histories talk about. The maesters and future Targaryens will be looking at you like they look at Jaehaerys and the Conqueror. They'll talk about Queen Daenerys the Just; how the smallfolk prospered and love you."

"You sound so sure," said the girl who didn't sound so sure.

"Because I know you'll be a great queen. But that is the future and what I've done is the past. Mayhaps you'll want to begin the present by meeting one of the nobles of Westeros? Though I should warn you, this one's got a fierce bite. The Starks can be quite feral, you know. Come, I'll take you to her."

"You know, Egg, I have still not forgiven you."

"Not yet."

...

Because Arya was of noble birth, it was only right, by Westerosi tradition, that a septa take charge of her. It was Lemore who'd been given that duty and now Arya stood in the centre of the room, out of her soiled leathers and into a dress of blue linen and doe-skin sandals worthy of a wealthy merchant's daughter. Even her hair had been neatened from the crude impromptu haircut which essentially was me hacking away with a knife. When she initially saw it, Lemore hadn't been impressed with my handiwork and lectured me so adamantly that Dalabhar snickered. That only turned her fury to the seven-foot-tall Summer Islander made of nothing but muscle and somehow made him shy away. Dalabhar, a man who wouldn't blink at a Dothraki horde charging straight towards him, got chastened by a septa armed with nothing but a scowl. Arya was giving me that very same death stare, though it vanished upon seeing the dragon perched atop my shoulder.

I grinned and gave Azantys a little pat on the head. He chirped happily before blowing smoke into my face. Blasted dragon. Say what you want about dragons being the medieval equivalent of attack aircraft (or the false equivalent of nukes), but as hatchlings they are positively adorable.

"Is that . . ."

"A dragon," Dany grinned, entering with the other three all intrigued with the new face. Though whether they saw Arya as a playmate or food, I couldn't say. "Four of them. These are only hatchlings."

"Dragons?" Arya stepped closer, approaching like a curious puppy who'd just seen a human for the first time. "I-I thought they were all dead. Maester Luwin said so. He said they died during the reign of Aegon the Third, hundreds and hundreds of years ago."

"They were. Until recently." Dany smiled gracefully. "Where are my manners. You are a guest here and not a prisoner – please don't think of yourself as such. I am Princess Daenerys Targaryen, and I welcome you to the Free City of Pentos. I see you have already met Septa Lemore and my closest ally and future husband, Aegon Blackfyre."

"I have." Arya chewed her lip. "He rescued me from King's Landing. He promised to return me home to Winterfell." The girl's eyes were fixed on Rhaellon.

When Dany rose an eyebrow at me, I said, "I promised that when we sail to Westeros, we'll be taking Arya with us with the express purpose of returning her to her brother. Should we also gain her sister as well, we'll return them both to Robb Stark and bring justice on behalf of their father." Should they bend the knee that is, though the last bit didn't need to be said in Arya's hearing.

The J-word got to Daenerys. "That I can promise, Lady Arya. We will do all in our power to see you returned to Winterfell and have the Lannisters and the usurper Joffrey be brought to justice. I was told you were found on the streets. I hope you are feeling better here. How are you enjoying the manse?"

Arya shrugged. "Fine, I suppose. Do I have to wear this dress? It's stupid."

Lemore flashed a look of disappointment. No doubt she spent a while picking them as Arya Stark bathed. I rolled my eyes. "Be polite. No doubt you hurt the septa's feelings with those words. You should apologise now, little lady."

Arya folded her arms, staring defiantly at me. "I am Arya of House Stark. My father he . . ." Her face faltered and tears filled her eyes. Lemore put a gentle hand on her shoulder and, to my surprise, Arya didn't shrug it off. "W-when can I return to him?"

"Robb?"

She nodded. "You said you'll return me to him. But you took me here. I'm your prisoner."

"Guest," Daenerys said, all diplomatic.

I nodded along. You don't have the ability to leave the manse, go out the sight, are being carefully watched and have an invisible sword pressed against your throat. But don't worry, you are no prisoner. "Consider your stay here akin to being a ward to a wealthy lord. When we finally set sail for Westeros to remove the usurper's head and install the true queen upon the Iron Throne, you're coming with and, in that time, we can negotiate with your brother."

"When will that be?"

"It depends. We are not to set sail for a while, it must be said, but you are safer here than in the streets of King's Landing. Fear not. We'll soon send ravens informing the North you are here with us. He'll know you are safe and have no reason to fear for you." That was a lie. Stark wouldn't be getting anything until we finally invade. Secrecy was very important.

"They won't want me." The tears started again and she began to gnaw her lips. There was a brief silence.

Dany was confused. "Why wouldn't your own kin desire your return? What makes you say that?"

"I want to see them again. Mother and Robb, Jon and Bran. Even Sansa and baby Rickon. But . . . with my hair like this . . . after what happened . . . my clothes being soiled and being forced to steal, my lady mother may not want me back. Not after what happened."

Septa Lemore gave me a look of shock, Dany a look of concern. I replied by shaking my head. "Arya, your mother will want you back. Both you and Sansa. She's your mother. Your safety is her primary concern. From what you told me on the ship, I know that if she could fight her way through King's Landing to get you back, she most certainly would. I guarantee you this, when you see each other, she'll fall to her knees and hug you and refuse to let go."

"Are you lying? Many lied to me. Father and Desmond and others. So many."

"Why would I lie? It's not like doing so would benefit me in that regard. At some point we'll try and reunite you with your sister and then you'll be together when we reunite you with Lady Catelyn and Lord Robb. We only ask you co-operate."

She frowned. "I don't want this. I want my family, I want Winterfell. I want Jon. I don't want you or wherever this is. I don't want to be dressed like a doll or have stinky stuff in my hair. I don't want a septa. I know a dragon's word are false. Uncle Brandon and grandfather believed you to be trusted and died for it. I wish you were all gone."

"Stop!" I shouted, now angry. "You can insult me all you like but I refuse to let you talk bad of Septa Lemore or anyone else here. Lemore wasn't asked to do this and helped you out the goodness of her heart. You will now apologise to her." She scowled fiercely but after the longest staring competition, Arya did submit and grumbled one out. It wasn't good enough, but I let it slide. "I assume you want to keep that sword."

Her eyes widened like a pair of large grey eggs. "Needle."

"Queer name for a sword, I must confess. Named after your favourite pastime?"

"I hate needle work." She folded her arms petulantly.

Daenerys smiled. "But the fact you have a sword means you don't mind poking holes into things. Where did you get it?"

"Jon. He gave it to me as a gift before joining the Night's Watch. Mickon made it and has his seal. I want it back."

"Mayhaps you'll tell me more of this Jon. Is he a brother? A cousin?"

"He's my brother . . . half-brother in truth. Jon Snow."

"Bastard brother," I said. "The fact he gave you a sword instead of a doll and the way you said his name, you must have been close. Mayhaps you can tell me more about him some time." By skipping his chapters I did blind myself to that part of the story. I needed some information on the guy's character. If he's anything like the show, Jon Snow's a dimwit with all the charisma of sawdust. I had this strange feeling both of us might end up crossing swords so it would be foolish to not to be prepared. "If you are good and don't do anything stupid, I might even be willing to provide lessons on how to use that thing. The design of such makes it a decent enough weapon for a bravo. Have you had any training?"

"I did. Syrio Forel taught me the water dance in King's Landing. He—"

"I was taught by him once, before he sailed to Westeros."

That caught Arya's interest. "Truly?"

I smirked. "Short man. Bald with a nose like an eagle's beak? Called you a sword, blindfold you and made you chase cats?"

"He did. Did you?"

"That and more. He taught me himself when father said I should have my own master-at-arms. I had him among other tutors, but it was Syrio who taught me the most, and did so with the Braavosi water dance. Do you know what happened to him?"

Arya bit her bottom lip. "They came after me, the red cloaks. They demanded I come with them but Syrio stepped between us and fought them. He killed five before Ser Meryn Trant tried to get me himself. Syrio blocked his way and they fought. I don't know what happened. I ran. I ran so far."

"He was the First Sword of Braavos and bravos don't run when another exposes their steel." He's dead though. I knew it was going to happen so it felt like I allowed him to die. He chose to act and save the girl when he didn't have to. I had no part in it. Illyrio told me it was Varys who recommended Syrio to Lord Eddard so they might have had a plan for him. "I'm not as good as your dancing master, though I can show you a thing or two from what I learnt from him. What do you say?"

Arya grinned.

...

I was sitting at the desk, head buried in my journal outlaying the plot of ice and fire and figuring out all the butterflies that would be unleashed with Arya's capture when there was a knock at the door. There were noises on the other side, but the voices were too muffled to make out a word. I knew it wasn't the servants coming to bring me food for I had a bowl of uneaten porridge that'd been pushed to the side, gone cold and now being happily consumed by a bluebottle that buzzed annoyingly until noticing it.

The door swung open and I slammed shut the book. Since resurrecting in this world I had kept a few documents secret such as stratagems and now obsolete blueprints, but the most important was my journal listing all the events of the books in more or less perfect order. I hadn't got anything wrong but, then again, most predictions were yet to come to fruition. Entering were two large men, not the Unsullied who protected the manse but Blackheart's personal guard. One stepped forward. He was tall and gaunt, his face marred by a crudely healed gash running down his cheek. He didn't look friendly. "Aegon Blackfyre, come with us. With haste. We don't have time."

Nothing in his tone provided me the option to refuse and the cold look didn't say it was to congratulate me on anything. They seemed to believe I might refuse given their hands graced the hilts of their swords. I didn't know why I would unless I had cause to defend myself and, because I was unarmed, any attempt was effectively suicide. But instead of looking meek, I said, "Who are you and what does the captain-general want of me?"

The stranger eyed me wearily. "Ser Duncan Webber, if it please milord."

"Webber? From the Reach?"

"Aye. My ancestor was a cousin to the Lord of Coldmoat and fought for King Daemon the Black Dragon and now I serve the Golden Company as my father had done, his father before him, and his father before him. Do not delay. Come with us."

"Do I have a choice? You both wear swords and I'm armed only with a quill. Should I make a valiant last stand I don't think it'll turn out well for me. May I ask where you are taking me, good ser?"

The man grew annoyed. "All will be answered in due time. Must I needs carry you?"

"I thank you for the offer, but I'll walk. I need to stretch my legs and I don't want to be an unnecessary burden."

Both guards led me down the empty hall to the innermost courtyard where the rest of Myles' protectors stood in a hollow square and inside their formation was an erect platform with a thick wooden stake. The wall of men was a solemn lot, armoured in smoky grey plate with scarlet cloaks. Outside the square were what remained of my century, unarmed and unarmoured, grumbling amongst themselves while a few took wagers. Damon, Qarro and Rickard stared indignant at Blackheart who was standing strong against a verbal thrashing from Septa Lemore. I didn't hear what she was saying but what I did catch was her declaring she'd never forgive him and sooner or later he'll find snakes in his bed. To the side was Haldon busy checking a prepared collection of medicines. The Halfmaester noticed my entrance and gave me a sympathetic look. Next to him was Lyra and Vaquo mumbling amongst themselves, the latter giving me a reassuring nod while the former turned away. Daenerys was surrounded by her handmaidens and giving me nervous looks, then to the side were Dalabhar and Duck surrounded by an armed escort.

As soon as he saw me, Myles broke away from the one-sided conversation with Lemore. He didn't wear mail, but instead a tunic of supple leather, a studded bronze belt and a rustic green cloak of heavy wool draped over his shoulders. Blackheart didn't look like the commander of the Golden Company, and less so when I noticed the leather cord coiled around his arm. "I trust my men didn't give you any trouble, serjeant."

"They gave me no trouble, ser. Mind if I ask why I was brought here and why . . ."

"Captain-general. I urge you to be merciful and reconsider," Daenerys stepped forward with a grace in her step and determination on her face. "I disagree with his actions as much as you do, but he brought us a useful hostage instead of deserting and I believe that shows he doesn't deserve to be scourged. I order you not to follow through."

"You need to stand aside, Your Grace," Myles growled darkly. "You have no cause to stand in the way of judgement, nor do you hold any power here. You'll not interfere and if you don't return to where you were standing, I'll have my men carry you to your chambers and keep you there under guard."

"You can't do that."

"I can and will. You are only a child and have no business telling adults what to do." He turned to me. "Aegon has acted most shamefully in his conduct within the Company. He is a commander and an example to his men. But he left the manse without my leave and performed actions against the wishes of both myself and those we serve under. He might have in him the blood of Daemon Blackfyre but he is still a member of the Golden Company and swore to follow its rules and conduct himself properly. He shall now be punished for his transgression."

I inclined my head. As soon as I saw the whip, I knew what Blackheart was about to do. This wasn't just a punishment for me, but a warning to everyone about stepping out of line. If I, the Blackfyre, could be punished, it was certain the common soldiery wouldn't be afforded any sort of leniency. It would also help dispel the beliefs of my privileged standing that'd been running throughout the Company for some time. It'd been true I'd been given liberties because of my heritage, but I'd stepped too far and needed to to be pulled back.

Instead of resisting or begging and otherwise making a fool of myself, I straightened my back, relaxed my shoulders and gave a nod. I was no callow boy. To do anything other than accept my fate would be unseemly and only make the punishment worse. Blackheart had a fearsome reputation and held high standards. He was tough but he was fair. "If the captain-general decrees it, I would be punished in whatever way he decides is worthy of my crime. But may the captain-general be willing to allow me a request before the deed is performed?"

"You may speak but what you ask may not be granted if deemed improper."

I bowed by head, thanking him for hearing me out. "I plead guilty for my misconduct and actions you are sentencing me to. I simply ask you don't punish Duck and Dalabhar. I was the one who ordered they come with me. They had objected but had no way of refusing though they did all in their power to convince me against going to King's Landing. It would be unjust for them to be punished for my actions."

Blackheart's pale-green eyes never left mine. "They are just as guilty as you. They should have warned me of your intentions, but both failed to do so. They have broken the rules set out by Bittersteel and aided in your wrongdoings. They will be punished accordingly. The Summer Islander will be scourged first."

He was pushed forward by one guard and others flanked him. Dalabhar didn't resist though. Neither he nor Rolly begged nor sprouted denials or even pleas of mercy. Instead they silently followed orders to step forward and be subjected to the whip. Dalabhar climbed the shallow platform and embracing the pole where he was tied up to keep from collapsing. As Myles Toyne unfurled the whip, the Summer Islander's dark-red tunic was torn off to reveal an ebony back covered with crisscrossing scars. I couldn't count the number, but it was clear Dalabhar was no stranger to this.

Myles Toyne performed a few practice blows at the ground before him. The lash was at the end of a long handle, the leather knotted and freshly oiled. Daenerys bit her lip and averted her gaze, tears filling her eyes while Septa Lemore offered comforting words and pressed a hand to Dany's shoulder, but neither attempted to stop it. Illyrio stood to the side and was grimacing. He was the only one with the power to stop Toyne yet he stood his ground. Even inside the manse, it was Blackheart who held the reins. Monopoly of violence; the supreme authority from which all other authorities derive.

"Five-and-twenty lashes for both Ser Rolly Duckfield and Dalabhar Ebaharo for aiding in the actions of Aegon Blackfyre who will receive the same number and an extra ten."

The crack of the whip echoed through the air. It struck Dalabhar square in the back, tearing flesh from his previous scars and cutting deep, yet the man stood defiant, only grimacing with clenched teeth. Then came the series of strikes, each one harder than the last. The skin was ripped asunder and dark blood ran down his spine. Some of the men were placing wagers initially but their betting came to an end as they stood only to watch. By the end of it, Dalabhar was hugging the pole, his back and shoulders having been cut to ribbons. Not once did he scream. The most he did was a soft curse after a practically savage blow. Upon being released and helped up, my adjutant smirked at me through laboured breathing and said, "felt like a summer breeze." His face was a grimace though, and he limped straight to Haldon who was awaiting with milk of the poppy.

Next up was Duck. Either he was faking confidence or Dalabhar's lack of reaction gave him some reassurance as Rolly stepped forward less reluctantly than expected and was held in place with leather bonds. Doreah burst out crying and it was Daenerys who comforted her, embracing the larger woman and whispering words into her ear. Duck pressed his head against the wood, softly praying for the Warrior to give him strength. The lash struck his back and Duck cursed aloud. It only went downhill from there. He cursed and cried and shouted at anybody and everybody. In no way was it dignified as the scourge flashed, forming long bloody lines across his back, cutting into flesh and the muscles underneath.

The sight of both of them suffering was sickening. Made worse by the fact it was my fault. If I didn't order them along they wouldn't be suffering this. Part of me wanted to close my eyes and turn away and ignore what was happening. But I couldn't shy away, no matter how much I wanted to. That would be shameful. This was part of the punishment as well. With the same principles of a whipping boy, Myles knew I wouldn't be able to stand watching my friends get hurt. Each blow made me feel increasingly guilty and those scars would be carried with them for the rest of their lives. Every time I saw them, I would be reminded of this moment.

When it was done, Rolly's boots were full of blood and the only thing holding him up were the binds to the wooden pole. Sweat mingled with blood and buzzing around him were fat black flies. As soon as he was released, Duck near collapsed and guards dragged him to a concerned Haldon. Septa Lemore ran forward, muttering a prayer that sounded more like a curse. No one spared me a sympathetic look.

The captain-general turned to me with pale-green eyes I imagined belonging to Lord Tywin Lannister, cold eyes that held no love and instead said, "This is your fault, boy. Your fault they've been scourged." I agreed with those unspoken words and without being asked, walked towards the pole. I didn't even need them to remove my tunic, I did that myself, pulling it off and throwing it to the side. A show of strength but inside I was panicking. Pulsing in my chest was the heavy beating of my heart, my belly was full of knots and my legs felt like they'd turned to lead, but I powered through, taking one step after another. Across the courtyard, Duck was being given opium and Haldon was inspecting the wounds. Doreah was telling him how brave he was, how strong and noble, but the knight didn't seem to be hearing her.

I decided I wasn't going to scream. I was a commander of the Golden Company; I was a future dragon rider and soon-to-be prince consort of Westeros. If Myles wanted me to repent and beg for mercy, it wasn't in me to give him the pleasure. Upon them tiring me to the pole with thick leather that didn't permit me to move an inch, it was the wait that was the worst. It was like the world slowed down to a halt and Myles seemed to be in no rush to begin either.

I didn't see the leather come down. The sound was a thunderclap, and I screamed.

A/N: Sorry for the wait. Work's been busy and this chapter required more editing than expected. After what happened, Aegon needed to be punished. If not a Blackfyre, he would have been executed for desertion after having his feet chopped off as a warning to everyone else if the Windblown are anything to go by. The main reason I did this was because in GoT I do feel Jon Snow should have got disciplined for near abandoning the Night's Watch such as a public flogging at the very least (to Alliser Thorne's complete delight) but instead got nothing, likewise when he assaulted his commanding officer with a knife. I didn't want to be a hypocrite and give Aegon a free card because he's the protagonist. I hoped you enjoyed this chapter and once again I'd like to thank those who've reviewed, followed and favourited. Your support means a lot.

Comments:

Tartarus0884: It is Myles who holds the final authority. YG is only a serjeant and subservient to higher ranking officers. Bittersteel commanded the Golden Company and the Blackfyres served as junior commanders, though the claimant to the IT would be a trickier matter. Aegon's heritage allows him to punch above his weight but the GC is highly regimented with a strong military culture so insubordination being squashed is more important than Targaryen exceptionalism.

Arnumart: Arya does hold political importance. The Lannisters claim to have both her and Sansa to strengthen their position but being revealed to have only one would show them for liars and further damage their credibility. Also having a hostage is nothing to sniff at and can be used to strengthen the dragons hand against Robb.

fanfic-addict91: The number of lashes isn't much different than what many suffered in the roman legion and it's less than the British navy. It can show how little power rulers have when the army decides they're not listening and does its own thing. Might serve as a good warning for later.

VladImpaler: Cheers. Arrogance is my favourite character flaw and I imagine it would be easy to get cocky in such a situation. I certainly would. The Watch isn't in the same position for it's a penal colony and needs to be harsh to keep everyone in line else the black brothers rebel like they'd done in their history during the reign of King Jaehaerys.

Tom2011: There isn't much of a physical age gap between them but mentally it's a different story. YG here is only one year older than Daenerys at most, so younger than what Aegon VI Targaryen would be. They would be thankful for Arya's capture but everyone's angry at the moment and Aegon was punished for principle and as a warning.

TMI Fairy: The raven was more metaphor for sending a message, and I wouldn't say the maesters have a monopoly considering Doran Martell has Feather's who isn't a maester but knows how to tend ravens. Like Lady Dustin, he doesn't seem to trust the Citadel. Aegon's legend will be growing for both good and ill.

hideki667: As Joncon says, discipline is mother's milk to the Golden Company so it would be strange for Aegon not to be punished. He bent the knee, handing authority to Daenerys. Myles Toyne won't be murdered by his own officers for disciplining an insubordinate, nor would he become useless for he still commands one of the most effective armies in the world. The Wall is meant to be a penal colony/military order where families and politics is forgotten (at least in theory) and because its full of criminals I would expect discipline to be very harsh to keep them in line. What you said is true in regard to them trying to cosy up to the Starks and did allow Tyrion to make fun of them during the feast. But the Watch treated Jon very laxly with Joer Mormont's idea of military discipline being, "you tried to murder your superior officer? Go to your cell and think about what you did."

victorsan12345: I do like dynamic characters so they will go downhill at points in the story to help push character development later down the line. Aegon knew of the consequences but ignored them for he believed capturing Arya was more important in the long term.