Chapter Text
The king raised an eyebrow in question when Arya commanded their attendants to leave them. They broke their fast in the pavilion where they camped beside the majestic Torentine. Within the hour, they would continue their journey on horseback beside the powerful and beautiful river with its lovely waterfalls and fierce rapids as the royal party made its way from Blackmont to Starfall. Given the complete lack of privacy throughout the rest of the day, this would likely be the easiest opportunity to speak to him alone until they retired at the end of the night.
“We must remove Viserys as your heir,” Arya blurted as soon as Rickon disappeared behind the pavilion's black cloth.
The queen ached to say those words for weeks but forced herself to wait until Aegon saw multiple ladies ruling in their own right throughout Dorne to strengthen the argument. Thus far, he had witnessed the vivacious Jeyne Fowler of Skyreach and the robust Larra Blackmont of Blackmont capably overseeing their own lands and people. While her husband clearly knew the value of women in leadership – she, Princess Elia, and Queen Rhaella were proof of that – thus far he had done nothing to correct the mistake of placing his uncle and male cousins over his own sister and her children, nevermind any daughters Arya might have. So her argument must needs be iron tight. Had the next couple vassals they were to visit not been men, Arya might have waited longer still.
Aegon’s lilac eyes blinked a few times. “You would have me remove Viserys in favor of his son? That would spark a civil war. Do not doubt it.”
Arya scowled at him.
Realization visibly dawned across the king’s features and he drew in a breath before releasing the air slowly. " That , my love, would cause an even greater civil war. I far from disagree with you, I simply know where this road leads. You ought to hear the grumbling at you ladies serving on the small council."
"I do hear it," Arya said. "Connington grumbles so loud it might as well be growling."
Aegon chuckled. “A king must surround himself with different voices.”
“Then hear mine. Your uncle can’t be king! He’s enough of an ass as a prince. Without you to yell at him every few days, who knows what he might do. You can’t use war as an excuse not to name your sister as your heir when Viserys is so stupid, he would make the realm want to rise against him every time he opens his mouth.”
Noticing that her husband’s jaw had begun to pulse as he glared beyond her, Arya realized a change of tack was necessary. Viserys had been on his best behavior since leaving Skyreach. While that had made their time in Blackmont much more pleasant, it had allowed Aegon more than a week to forget how awful the prince could be as his uncle made inroads to remind the king of how fond they had always been of each other. Yet, when he wasn’t grinning for Aegon, Viserys went about silently glowering or remarking on “Dornish” killing practices like poisoned blades.
“Even if your uncle had the makings of a good king, you can’t think it right that he come before Rhaenys in the line of succession! You of all men in Westeros know that a woman can rule as well as a man. You saw that Larra and Jeyne both had the rule of their lands and people well in hand. Rhaenys would do just as well. Your sister would serve Westeros better than Viserys would! Why put him above her?” Arya chewed her lip and swallowed. “Why put him above our daughters? How is that right?”
Aegon’s gaze snapped to hers. “Our…?”
Arya shifted in her seat. “No, I… I don’t know.” She shook her head and pressed on. “If any other lord in Westeros had only a daughter or sister, that daughter or sister would inherit his title and lands before his uncle. You’re the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Why should you be any different? All of our children should come before Viserys.” If we have any, she thought sullenly. “And so should your sister and her children.”
“I will think on it,” Aegon said and bit into a fingerfish.
With a great effort, the young queen chewed her lip to keep from pressing the issue. Experience had shown her how wilful her husband could be. Forcing the discussion to continue might work against her as he dug in stubbornly. Mayhaps letting the notion marinate on him would serve her and the realm better. Aegon knew her to be right. He had to know that.
“Why are you acting this way?” Arya demanded abruptly, unable to stop herself. “You’re not Connington or Viserys or their like. I know you don’t despise women. I wouldn’t have wed you if you did. But here you are all annoyed at me for wanting to set the succession to rights!”
Aegon had set his fork down and slumped back in his chair. Neither of them said anything for a time as Arya glared at him. Just when she was about to press further, the king met her gaze.
“When Aegon the Unlikely pushed for changes his vassals had no liking for, he spent much of his reign putting down rebellions,” he said. “Should I force the lords of Westeros to accept equal inheritance rights for men and women, they will rebel.”
Arya scowled.
“They will!” Aegon insisted.
“I know, but I don’t have to like it!” Arya snapped. “Anyway, I was talking about the Iron Throne. Should you insist that the inheritance for the throne be the same as any other lordship outside of Dorne, how can they complain then?”
“They’ll say a woman has no right to rule over men.”
“Queen Rhaella rules over them now so long as you’re in Dorne,” she insisted. “She and your mother reigned for years while you grew up. They ought to be used to the rule of women by now.”
“A woman ruling in the name of a man isn’t the same as ruling in her own right.”
Arya opened her mouth to protest, but Aegon took her hand and squeezed.
“I will think on it,” he repeated. “In King’s Landing, with the rest of the Council, we will discuss this. Mayhaps after dealing with Viserys for a few weeks, they will be eager to make certain he never has a chance to claim the throne.”
Silently, the queen chose to accept that small victory. Though she still wondered if he hoped to avoid the discussion altogether should she become pregnant.
Just then, Nymeria pushed her way into the pavilion, fur damp from the river. Thus far on this progress the direwolf had mercilessly slain large eared sandy foxes and lynxes and befriended desert wolves. The fierce battle she waged against a mountain lion in full view of castle Blackmont a few days past had sent terror through their hosts and companions alike. Yet with Arya and Aegon, she nipped them playfully and allowed them to dote on her like a pampered pet. The tension that thickened between them quickly ebbed away as they made much of the large wolf, stroking her fur behind the ears and feeding her from their table.
By the time they emerged from their pavilion, the couple excitedly chatted about leaving the mountain passes behind and riding along the Torentine toward Starfall. In the coming days, their caravan made excellent time taking in all that could be seen of the lands watered by the thundering river.
In Starfall, they found the loveliest castle in Dorne. The white structure with its soaring towers would have been right at home in the Vale. That made the sight all the more astonishing when the party rounded the final bend revealing Starfall rising upon an island at the mouth of the Torentine river. Lord Edric Dayne waited for them at the small dock, surrounded by a retinue. By the time they reached the shore, the drawbridge to the island had been lowered. Edric greeted them with halting courtesy and they responded in kind. Amongst their party, Princess Mariah was particularly effusive and vivacious in her greetings, causing Arya and Aegon to raise their eyebrows at each other.
“Don’t be too cross with Mariah,” Aegon said later that night after they had both witnessed Mariah continuing to make eyes at Edric during the welcoming feast.
“Why should I be cross?” Arya asked absently.
Aligning the pieces on her side of the cyvasse board took up much of her concentration. She was used to playing against her ladies, who had conservative strategies. So adjusting her approach to combat Aegon’s bold and blunt tactics meant restructuring her entire routine.
“I thought you wanted her for Rickon,” the king said.
Arya shrugged. “My lady mother wants the match. Rickon and Mariah barely know the other exists. Does Rickon say anything about her to you?”
Aegon shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean anything. You scarcely gave me a minute’s attention when we first met.”
“That’s a lie!” she insisted. “I liked you well enough. I just liked your horse more. I still do. Embers is lovely. I don’t think Mariah cares about Rickon, his horse, or even his direwolf. Nor has he ever asked after her. At least not in front of me.”
They lifted the screen to see each other’s starting formations on the cyvasse board.
“Nor I,” Aegon said, reaching for his dragon. He always went straight for the dragon.
There was no reason to worry about this now. Rickon still had years before he should be expected to wed. The real trouble would be Bran. Rather than staying at court after her marriage as planned, Bran returned to the North and resumed blandly responding to poor Bethany Blackwood’s letters. Though Arya had assisted in wedding Bess Bracken to Robert Arryn and Jeyne Poole to Ser Patrick, the betrothal between Bran and Bethany had yet to progress, despite the years of engagement between them. That brother proved more troubling than the younger one.
Still, Arya knew it was her duty to talk to Mariah about her preference for Edric and to Edric about any intentions he might have for the princess.
The Lord of Starfall was all courteous stammers and blushes when the queen inquired after his interest in the Princess of Dorne’s daughter, so she knew for certain there was no impropriety on his side. Though good-natured, seeing how formal and precise the man was made Arya wonder if they could have made a match at all, had Aegon not visited Winterfell when he did. But that point was moot.
Mariah proved more eager to speak on the topic.
“Edric would make a fine consort,” Mariah insisted when they broke away from the group to ride along the beach beside the Summer Sea, the cool breeze off the water a balm against the growing heat. “He’s courteous and kind and dutiful. He’s a Dornishman. He was raised to know our ways as anyone born north of the Red Mountains never will. A princess has enough to trouble her without a foreign consort trying to reign over her.” She lifted her chin and sucked air in through her nose. “I would have a happy marriage. And Edric happens to be very pretty.”
“He is,” Arya agreed. “He’s almost as pretty as Aegon.”
Mariah raised a pair of black brows at her.
“What? I can find men to be pretty too. I might stand in the place of your mother while you’re in my service, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see.”
The princess giggled. “My mother’s called him pretty too, most like. She and Aunt Tyene were always talking about pretty boys.”
Her laugh trailed off and her face grew solemn as she stared out ahead of them.
Arya had to bite her lip to keep from asking about her parents’ relationship and how Viserys was treating her. The queen couldn’t imagine her own mother taking a paramour, even if it was her right to do so. In fact, she couldn’t even imagine it of her father either. But then the North couldn’t be more separate from Dorne and not just by distance.
“A Dornishman would suit me best, even if it isn’t Lord Dayne,” Mariah said. “They’re less likely to…” She swallowed. “...resent me.”
“I know what you mean.” Arya wasn’t usually one for subtlety, but she couldn’t bring herself to insult another girl’s father unless she opened the door herself. “Even the best of men or men you expect more from…they don’t understand.” She screwed up her face, thinking of how to put it. “North of the Red Mountains, they aren’t raised to understand or to see us. Even when they do…” Gods, how were Mother and Princess Elia able to convey what they wanted without outright saying it? “...it’s not always enough.”
The young princess frowned at her, but before they could speak further, galloping hooves sounded behind them. They glanced back in time to see El speed past them crying, “Race you to the ferries!”
Exchanging quick grins, Arya and Mariah set off in pursuit.
From Starfall, the royal party set out on a few of Lord Dayne’s ships around the heel of Dorne to the mouth of the sulfurous Brimstone river. Arya had sailed on ships a handful of times and enjoyed each one with nary a complaint. This time, seasickness overtook her to the point where she could scarcely leave her cabin. A few times, she braved the decks to see the lands they passed. Once or twice, she thought she noticed Oberyn and Viserys talking on another ship. Since she heard nothing of Viserys being thrown overboard or receiving a sword to his gut, Arya assumed she mustn’t have seen the princes. Yet, much of her time aboard was devoted to laying as still as she could, Nymeria nestled close beside her as Princess Elia or one of her ladies read to her. It wasn’t quite the same as Old Nan regaling her with tales while she stayed abed from a sickness as a child, but it was close enough to be a comfort.
The sickness persisted as they made their way up the Brimstone on galleys Lord Harmen Uller sent for them. Though she assumed the rotten egg stench of the sulfur in the putrid yellow waters was the cause of this round of nausea, it wasn’t until they blessedly reached the Hellholt itself that Arya received a much more pleasant possibility for what might be the cause for this illness.
“You may have noticed,” Wylla said in a low tone once she and Arya were alone in her rooms, “but you haven’t had your moon blood for the past two months.”
Arya had not noticed. But now that her mistress of the robe mentioned it, the queen realized that she had been blissfully free of dealing with bloody cotton cloths while she and Aegon hadn’t spent a single night apart since leaving King’s Landing. How hadn’t she realized? Arya’s hands smoothed over her stomach as a smile tugged at her lips.
“Your Grace has been so active,” Wylla continued. “Mayhaps that’s why your courses stopped. That happens sometimes. Or…”
The two women grinned at each other.
This time, Arya didn’t share these suspicions with Aegon or anyone else. Should this be nothing or should the babe die again, she knew she couldn’t stand the looks of disappointment and pity. Better to be certain and past the most dangerous time before sharing the news.
Still, keeping the smile off of her face proved impossible.
Though still nauseous from time to time, Arya was able to exert herself enough to participate in most of the festivities and duties of the royal progress, primarily due to her own stubbornness if nothing else. Of all the sights around Lord Uller’s holdings, the most magnificent by far was of course the headless bones of Meraxes that stretched along the field behind the castle. The once deep black bones, now mottled by the sun, didn’t match the rich color of the creature’s skull which still resided on the wall of the Red Keep’s Great Hall. Yet, the scale proved what a magnificent creature these bones once belonged to.
It was said that Meraxes could swallow a horse whole. The queen and king proved the truth of that as they rode Ice and Embers beside her neck bones and through the serpentine rib cage.
Naturally, the sight that awed Arya sent Viserys into another rage.
“They dare!” The prince reined up violently on the other side of the bones from them. “They dare mock us with these bones! Threaten us with proof of what they did to our own kin! This is treason! Nothing less! We ought to burn this cursed castle to the ground!”
“Visenya and the first Aegon already did that,” Arya said through a chuckle. “Balerion and Vhagar’s fires burned so hot, they turned the sand around the old castle to glass. Ellaria showed us the glass her ancestors kept before they rebuilt.”
Her own Aegon stared upward through the bones, clearly annoyed. “Meraxes’ head was returned and our people have made peace time and again, Uncle. Let sleeping dragons lie.”
“This is a dead dragon!” Viserys flared. “A dead dragon meant to mock us! Threaten us!”
“Don’t be stupid!” Arya cried. “These bones have been here for three hundred years. They weren’t put here to threaten you.”
“Harmen isn’t so subtle as that,” Oberyn agreed, riding up behind them and stroking the black and grey bones. “If he meant to threaten you, the crossbow bolt would be lodged in your eye even now. Look at these bones. This sight never fails to marvel.”
“They ought to have been returned to us!” Viserys continued.
“Uncle,” Aegon flared. “We spoke of this. Be quiet or return to the castle and be quiet in there.”
With a petulant exhale of breath that came out as a hiss, Viserys wheeled his horse around and rode off.
“He does have the right of it,” Arya admitted once the prince was out of earshot. “We ought to ask for these bones to be returned. Can you imagine how many weapons we might make from these bones?”
"Aye, yes," Oberyn agreed. "But will the cost Harmen Uller demands for these bones – the pride of his House – be worth the gain?"
With that, he rode off to rejoin Ellaria.
"Even if my dragon egg hatches today, he will never grow this large during my lifetime," Aegon noted.
Arya made a face. “That’s depressing. Why think of something like that? If your egg hatches, you ought to be glad of it, not wishing he were even bigger. You might ride a dragon someday.”
“Mayhaps,” he conceded, still not looking at her. “The Aegon before me dreamed of dragons, yet there are still no dragons to be found save for skulls and bones.”
“And eggs.”
Her husband’s egg of orange and red still rested on a pillow in his chambers, no closer to hatching than these bones were to taking flight. But one day…
From the Hellholt, they braved the heat of the sands Dorne was famous for. Under the blazing sun, they sheltered within tents and pavilions. Under the light of the moon, they rode as quickly as they could toward their next destination. Though still queasy at times, Arya preferred riding Ice to joining Princess Elia in the wheelhouse. One night confined away thus had been more than enough. Along the river Vaith, the sands gave way to greener lands made verdant by the waters.
Lord Daeron Vaith and his family met their party outside the castle that shared their name. In the days that followed, so too did the typical rounds of feasts, hunts, and tourney events along with holding court. It was the same once they reached Godsgrace. The nausea seemed to have passed as Arya felt well enough to attend almost every function. The only trouble was how quickly she tired. More than once, she nodded off during a competition or at a feast.
“Are you well, my love?” Aegon asked one night.
Arya had excused herself early from a feast held by Lady Delonne Allyrion of Godsgrace. Delonne was all solicitude when the queen made her excuses. She dozed until her husband rejoined her, Nymeria curled up against her. The direwolf remained beside her more and more these days, protective and nurturing as though she knew a babe might be in Arya’s belly. By the time Aegon joined them, she felt a world better.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Arya said, combing her fingers through his hair. “Remember how you froze and whined of the cold in the North even though it was spring?”
Aegon bowed his head into her neck, chuckling. “Don’t remind me. That was a frozen hell if there ever was one.”
“Well you’re getting your revenge on me in this Dornish spring,” she said. “The heat isn’t so bad beside the river. But gods, I would die here in the summer.”
“Once we’re upon the Greenblood, the sun won’t bear down so fiercely,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
The king had the right of it. Once they were aboard a train of exquisitely carved and vibrantly painted pole boats, the water helped to cool the air even as it nourished the lemon and apple orchards they passed. As they sailed, their hosts taught them how to move the boat down the river. When the heat became insufferable, they need only dip into the green waters for a respite. When they stopped in the evenings, the orphans of the Greenblood led them in singing and dancing and storytelling.
“I sometimes wish I could make a life on one of these pole boats,” Aegon said one night as he swam up to her.
Dressed only in a damp shift, Arya sat on the edge of the pole boat, her feet dangling in the water. Aegon folded a pair of tan arms on her thighs and rested his chin on them. In the past couple moons, the sun had turned his skin a darker gold while that fair hair paled to an even deeper silver. For herself, Arya noted that her skin browned as well, freckles speckling the parts of her most commonly exposed to the sun.
“You would give up the Iron Throne to live on a pole boat?” Arya laughed. "Liar."
"I would!" he insisted. "It took our hosts no time at all to teach us how to sail the boat. We'll fish and learn water magic and make music each night."
"And where will you keep your horses?" Arya nudged him with a leg. "How will you make enough money to get armor for that jousting you want to do? What will you do the first time some noble rides by and treats you like dirt they found on the bottom of their boots?" She nudged him again. "Well? What?"
Aegon splashed water up at her and she answered by swishing her leg through the water to gain momentum for a kick… only for him to catch the limb and tucked the knee under his arm.
“Gods be good,”he cried, “why must you ruin the romance of all this?”
Arya laughed. “How am I ruining the romance? You’re between my legs, aren’t you?”
He chuckled too. “Indeed, I am.” Aegon tugged her closer and eased a leg over his shoulder before pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. "Imagine it." His lips moved along her damp skin, hot breath sending a shiver through her. “Shining days plying the river, singing songs. Silvery nights playing in the water and seeing to each other’s pleasure.”
As he spoke, Aegon ran that mouth over her thigh before finding her clit. Holding in a gasp, Arya glanced about to make certain they were alone – as alone as they could be among the moored pole boats. Yet, the night was quiet save the lapping of water and the soft creaking of boats. Oh, and the light sound of his tongue flicking over her clit as she struggled to muffle her own moans.
Arya vaguely knew she ought to suggest they return to the cabin. Yet, the way that tongue stroked and caressed her, fervent and loving by turns, nothing short of a second Long Night could convince her to sever contact. Her bottom left the deck as Aegon lifted her to gain better access and she eased back onto the deck, thighs braced over his shoulders. Gods be good! she might have cried out as those fingers began pumping firmly inside her. But her fist obscured her own cries. That tongue was everywhere at once, lapping along her folds and swirling over her clit with a fervor that told her that Aegon couldn't get enough of her. That he craved this as much as she did. It was all too much.
Hand over her mouth, Arya arched her back against the deck and spasmed against him, her inner walls clutching at those fingers that pumped inside her mercilessly.
As he climbed over her a few moments later, river water came with him, splashing her legs. The young queen cried out but stopped short of swatting at him as Aegon pushed her shift up further to press kisses upon her stomach.
Does he know? Has he realized? Arya wondered. A tender warmth swelled within her at the thought. But then he moved up to her breasts lingering there for a time, her fingers entwined with his damp hair.
Arya had grown more and more certain as the days passed that this babe was not only growing but would last. Yet, she had assumed the same of the last one too. Not until the babe quickened would she risk sharing this with him.
As he made his way up to her eye level, Arya noticed that her juices still coated Aegon’s chin. His mouth met hers and she tasted herself eagerly.
"You see? " he asked between kisses. "A simple life might be pleasant."
"No, a king pleases me just as well as a commoner might."
—
As the caravan of pole boats arrived in the vibrant and creaking Planky Town, the royal party found a busy harbor brimming with traders and merchants, weavers and singers and metal workers on barges and ships and pole boats, houses and halls and shops all bound together in an organized mess of ropes and planks.
The bizarre and beautiful sight never failed to make Aegon grin. Never more so than now when he could witness his wife taking in the strange sight for the first time, grey eyes wide and lively as they strolled along the swaying planks. That had been the greatest part of this royal progress, witnessing Arya fall in love with Dorne and seeing the region embrace her in turn. Not every progress would be this successful nor every kingdom this welcoming. So he was grateful Dorne was her first.
Upon the morrow, the royal party would ride for Sunspear. That gave them the freedom to spend the rest of the afternoon wandering about the town visiting shops, chatting with traders who hailed from half a world away, and playing a few games of cyvasse on hastily propped up barrels.
“Don’t you let him win just because he’s king,” Arya ordered a silk merchant who sat across from Aegon, arranging the pieces on her side of the board. “He’s in need of some humbling.”
“You keep me quite humble enough, my love,” Aegon noted lightly, giving his opponent a disarming smile, which she returned in kind. “Are you ready?”
Arya smacked his arm. “Look! Your uncles.”
The king turned in the direction she gestured in. Were it not for the men involved, the sight wouldn’t be so strange. But Oberyn and Viserys strolled together some distance away chatting. No signs of raised tempers appeared, but that only worried Aegon more.
“Do you think Oberyn means to do away with him somehow?” Arya asked. “He hates Viserys. Hates him. But this is the fourth time I saw them together like this. The Viper has some plot for him I bet.”
The queen’s words echoed Aegon’s own thoughts, even if he didn’t share her glee. The dark haired prince clearly meant the paler prince ill, which would only mean trouble for the king.
“What are you about with Viserys, Uncle?” Aegon demanded later that night when he drew Oberyn away from the others for a private word. Private in this case meaning only the two of them, a few black cloaked guards, and Ser Tyrek Lannister of the Kingsguard trailing behind them. “Arya and I have seen you going around with your heads together.”
“What could I be about?” The Viper shrugged negligently. “Can I not speak to mine own kin?”
“Don’t tell me this journey has made you fond of one another.”
Oberyn barked a laugh. “Never. But I can give advice to a man I despise. Your uncle means to face Darkstar in single combat. Who better to give him council than the Red Viper of Dorne, the winner of duels and battles beyond count?”
Aegon scoffed. “A knight of the Kingsguard who doesn’t wish him ill would serve Viserys far better. They aren’t like to lead him false. Tell me true, Uncle. Do you think Viserys could defeat Gerold Dayne?”
The Viper’s brows raised in shock under his widow’s peak. “Gods, no. The moment Viserys challenges Darkstar is the moment he leaves this world. But he will still have achieved his ends. No longer will he be cuckolded. You will have no choice but to exile Dayne for slaying one of the blood royal and Arianne will be free of both of them.”
Aegon could feel a flush of anger rising within him. “Does Viserys know of this plan?”
“I told him he would never defeat Darkstar.” Oberyn shrugged. “He disagrees. Such an optimistic fellow that Viserys.”
"Gods be good!" Aegon fumed. "You're as much of an ass as he is. Why did the gods curse me with uncles?"
Charging off, his train trailing behind, the king went in search of the other troublesome uncle. He found the blond man departing a merchant’s stall, slipping a parcel into the pocket of his cloak. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Aegon storming toward him.
“You will depart for King’s Landing tonight,” he announced. “This moment, if possible.”
“Nephew…” Viserys began.
“I will not have you dying on the end of Gerold Dayne’s sword!”
While his uncle protested and complained, Aegon sent a guard to inquire after ships leaving for King’s Landing. Unfortunately, there were none to be found. Each ship that would depart within the next day would turn its oars to Old Town and the Arbor or across the sea to Pentos and Lys.
“Mayhaps that’s where I ought to send you,” Aegon sneered. “A year or two in the Free Cities might set you to rights.”
“You made mock of me for not defending my own honor!” Viserys shot back.
“When did I say that?! I never did!”
“In Skyreach, you said it!” Viserys insisted. “Now I plan to do what you mocked me for not doing and you mean to send me away? How is that just?”
“How am I to explain to Gran that I let her only remaining son die?” Aegon shot back.
He still didn’t recall ever telling his uncle to defend his own honor, but that would keep for the nonce.
“I won’t die,” Viserys declared. “I know how to fight these Dornish savages.”
The rage that shot through Aegon practically left him seeing red. “I ought to let you prove the truth of those words at the hazard of your body. Gods be good I just might!”
The king stormed away from this uncle too, praying that he would be too cowardly to act on his own plans. During the next day and a half, he could scarcely look at either of his uncles. What annoyed him most was that Arya didn’t understand why he was so wroth.
“Viserys is a man grown,” she said as they mounted up to ride the remaining distance to Sunspear. “It’s his own choice if he gets himself killed. Mayhaps Oberyn’s advice will help him stay alive long enough to kill Ser Gerald.”
Aegon glared at her.
“It isn’t my fault!” she cried. “You turn that look somewhere else.”
Smiling for the cheering commons as they rode through the Threefold Gate of Sunspear required every ounce of self-control remaining to Aegon. Thankfully, the people made it easy, calling out his name along with Arya’s, Mother’s, Mariah’s, El’s, and Oberyn’s. The fact that they didn’t jeer at Viserys could only be seen as a victory.
Within the walls of the Old Palace, Princess Arianne greeted them, her court all about her… including Gerold Dayne. Darkstar stood in a place of prominence just behind Arianne and her son, all smug confidence.
“Welcome, cousin!” the princess greeted. “Sunspear is yours.”
All through the pleasantries and greetings that followed, Aegon noticed that Arianne and Viserys never once shared so much as a glance. The king couldn’t but marvel at how time had eroded the affection that had once flourished between them. Years ago during the days leading up to their wedding, Viserys and Arianne could scarcely stop making eyes at each other. Mariah’s birth had come so soon, that many wondered if their efforts had begun before the ceremony. Now they were worse than strangers, each determined not to acknowledge the other’s existence.
When the time came for everyone to be shown to their rooms, Aegon requested a private word with Arianne.
“And here is where my brave husband’s words come back to me through my beloved cousin,” Arianne said, once the door shut behind them in her solar.
“Send Darkstar away,” Aegon said.
The princess’ mouth twisted. “You would deprive me of my paramour?”
“Only for a fortnight. Your husband means to return to King’s Landing with us. But until then, separating him from your lover would be best. Viserys means to fight him.”
Laughter burst from Arianne. “He wouldn’t dare. No, my couragous prince only hits women. He would wet himself before approaching Darkstar.”
“Even so, I would not risk blood sh-” Aegon’s voice trailed off as he studied her. “Hits women? What do you- He raised his hand to you?”
“Aye, yes and he swung it as well. North of the mountains, men can strike an unfaithful wife, I hear. I had to explain to your uncle that this is Dorne. I can take my pleasure where I will. He has nothing to complain of. I gave him leave to take a paramour as well.”
“He hit you!” Aegon could hear the hysteria in his own voice, but he couldn’t be bothered to rein himself in. “Viserys actually struck you?”
Arianne raised her chin, defiance blazing in those dark eyes. “I struck him in return and had him removed from my presence. My husband will never be alone with me again.”
Aegon raked a hand through his hair. How had he been so blind to Viserys? Hadn’t Mother compared him to Grandfather? What was it that Arya had said of him? He’s enough of an ass as a prince. Without you to yell at him every few days, who knows what he might do. If he would strike the Princess of Dorne in her own palace, what might he do to a woman who was completely at his mercy the way Gran had been at Grandfather’s? Or to an entire realm under his control?
The king found himself pacing the room, not knowing what to do with his hands. He could feel Arianne’s gaze tracking him.
Arya had the right of it. Regardless of the outcry, Aegon couldn’t keep Viserys as his heir nor would he subject Arianne to his presence for a moment longer.
Abruptly, he stopped pacing.
“Pardons, cousin.” Aegon reached for Arianne, but made no move toward her. “Viserys can return to the Planky Town and await a ship to take him to King’s Landing. I don’t care how long he must wait.”
The princess eyed him for a moment before relenting and walking into his embrace.
She squeezed him in return. “My thanks, Your Grace.”
Despite her defiance and bravado, Arianne held him for some time before stepping away.
“I am pleased to see you and your queen looking so well,” she said, clearly forcing a lightness into her tone. “Dorne has done Arya much good. She has some color to her skin and meat on her bones.”
Aegon made himself laugh. “Yes, she loves the food. In fact-”
A knock sounded at the door before it burst open. “My princess! Your Grace!” A guard in the livery of House Martell rushed in. “It’s the prince consort.”
Even after what he learned, a dread soaked through Aegon. How would he explain this to Gran?
“He attacked Darkstar?” the king asked.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the guard confirmed with some surprise. “We disarmed him and confined the prince to his apartments to await your judgement and that of the princess.”
“He attacked Gerold and still lives?” Arianne demanded. “The prince is lucky you were on hand to protect him. Gerold will want his head for this no matter where you send him, cousin.”
The guard’s expression was all confusion. “My princess, your lord husband may have killed Ser Gerold.”
Arianne laughed, but a numbness flowed over Aegon.
“Nonesense,” she said. “Even my uncle treads lightly with Darkstar.” She shook her head vehemently. “No, my husband could never. Never .”
Aegon rested a hand on her arm, but the princess shook off the touch.
“Where is he?” she demanded. “Where is Gerold?”
The guard led them to the maester’s chambers where Darkstar had been carried after the attack. The man lay freshly dead.
It was a small wound in the forearm that had felled him. Witnesses would describe how Viserys had attempted to stab his rival with a dagger in the back, only for Gerold Dayne to turn in time and block the strike with his arm. A flesh wound. Nothing more. Viserys had fled, the laughter of everyone trailing after. Only… a few moments later, Darkstar began to sweat and sway, complaining that he could no longer feel the injured arm. A poisoned blade, everyone knew at once.
“By the time they carried him in, Ser Gerold’s heart pounded so hard and fast, I thought it was like to burst from his chest,” Maester Myles explained. “I knew there was no saving him. Wolfsbane is the likely culprit. My condolences, princess.”
“I will have his head for this!” Arianne cried. “My worm of a husband doesn’t deserve to outlive Gerold for even a second longer!”
She did not take Viserys’ head. As furious as he was, Aegon couldn’t allow it. Exile and removal from the line of succession would be the prince’s punishment. Under guard meant to both protect him and make certain he reached his destination, Viserys was escorted to a ship bound for Pentos. With any luck, ten years in the Free Cities would chasten him. Either that, or make him worse.
“I thank the gods you aren’t insufferable about having the right of it,” Aegon told his wife a week later as they rode for the Water Gardens. “Viserys as king would lead to war more surely than a woman sitting the Iron Throne.”
“You don’t have to sound so glum about it,” Arya said. “This is right. Even if Viserys hadn’t killed Darkstar.”
“I’m not glum,” he insisted, peevishly. “I grieve for my uncle, is all. He was kind to me when I was younger. There was a better man inside him once.”
But he was never better than Rhaenys. Why was it so hard for Aegon to concede that this was for the good? Even Mother and Uncle Oberyn thought so. Arianne was no longer attached to either Viserys nor Darkstar and the succession would be one step closer to equal with all of his legitimate children and his sister coming before his uncle. Would that they had dragons to enforce this law and ensure peace.
Arya took his hand.
“This is right,” she announced, as though her words made it so.
The Water Gardens served as a peaceful escape after the tumult of Sunspear. But it had always been a place of easy laughter, playful jokes, and serenity. Being there with Arya only heightened Aegon’s enjoyment. Her lovely face glowed with happiness each day they spent lazing about amongst the pools and sandy beaches.
One day when they had spent the rare morning apart, Arya strode purposefully into Aegon’s chambers in a swirl of purple and gold silk. Just the sight of her made something in him stir. Uncle Oberyn was right. He was behaving like a green boy at just the sight of her these days and not just when she donned these gowns.
“Arya,” he said, sitting up on the cushioned couch he had reclined on. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
When she reached him, Arya framed his face with her hands and kissed him. Then kissed him again. And again. And again.
Aegon returned the kisses, laughing. “What is this for?”
She sat down across from him and let her hands fall to his breeches. “I love you.” Arya held his gaze as she unfastened his laces. “I love this place.” Still keeping those grey eyes on his, she drew him out and began to stroke with a rough palm as his breath hitched. “I love the Water Gardens and Dorne and the spicy food and the fierce people.”
When his wife did break eye contact, it was to bow her head over him. Aegon was half hard when she pressed a kiss to his moist tip before rolling her tongue around him.
“ Arya ,” Aegon gasped out.
She glanced back up at him. “But mostly I love you.”
“I don’t know what I di-”
Her hand stilled. “You don’t want me?”
Aegon all but choked as he laughed and pulled her to him. It was the easiest thing in the world to tug the sheer fabric aside to reach her. He was gratified to hear a groan escape her as he dipped a pair of fingers inside her. She was already wet.
“You’re ready for me,” Aegon said softly.
A smile spread across her face as she moved to straddle him, arms slipping about his shoulders. Never would he tire of the feel of his wife sliding down his cock, so slick and tight, pleasure naked on her face. His hands roved over her toned thighs to grasp her firm bottom beneath those strips of silk as she rolled her hips over him.
“I…” Arya sighed… “I have ….news,” Arya said between breaths, finding her rhythm.
Aegon could hardly think of anything beyond the heat of her gliding up and down his length.
“News?” he repeated hoarsely. Gods, he wanted to tear the dress off of her, yet somehow he didn’t wish to ever see her in anything else … except mayhaps those riding leathers.
“The news…” Arya halted her movements and held his gaze. “The news, it isn’t news to me. But this time, I waited before telling you, but Maester Myles said we’re past the riskiest time.”
Aegon blinked through the haze of pleasure. “You mean….”
Even as his eyes fell between them, his hands slid up her thighs to frame her stomach. Only then did he notice the slight curve of her belly. When his gaze returned to hers, a smile had transformed her pretty face. In a moment she was kissing him again, this time long and deep. Returning the embrace, Aegon held her to him and stood, her limbs curling tightly around him. Even as his breeches began to slip down his thighs, the king managed to walk in the general direction of their bed until the mattress blocked his path. Only then did he break contact with Arya and set her on the bed, his cock slipping out of her with a moist sound.
Looking down at her, there were so many things he wanted to say. Instead, he knelt and pushed up the wisps of silk to reach her stomach. The belly was firm under his lips as Aegon pressed kisses along her skin. Running both hands over her sides, he wondered how he hadn't noticed the changes in Arya’s shape. He felt the bump under that pale skin and his kisses became all the more fervent.
“Should I take the rest of this dress off?” Arya asked, laughing.
Aegon’s head shot up, startled.
“No,” he practically growled.
She had the right of it. The sight of his wife laying there in these wisps of silk, covering everything yet concealing nothing, left him aching to devour her. And this position granted him a very fine view.
Quickly, the king pressed one more kiss to the smooth skin above the place he imagined their child growing. Then he stood, grasping one of those legs and easing the limb up so the calf rested upon his shoulder.
The hot wetness that greeted him upon entering her core tore a groan from him. The guttural noise she made in turn nearly sent him spilling inside of her. Grasping her thigh and holding that grey gaze, Aegon remained still until regaining control to prolong this moment. But Arya impatiently moved her hips against him and hooked her other leg about his waist, trying to urge him on.
“Aegon.”
He chuckled. “So eager.”
Arya nudged her leg at him hard. “Shut up and fuck me!”
He laughed harder and pressed his lips to her calf before she could nudge him with it again. Dipping a pair of fingers in the brown curls between her thighs, Aegon brushed light circles over the sensitive nub beneath. The breathy gasps those movements incited were all the encouragement he needed to move within her again. Gods, her tight little hole felt so sweet, as sweet as she tasted on his tongue. Would that they could savor this moment forever. But each thrust came more quickly while the sounds they made grew more guttural bringing them closer and closer, higher and higher.
The sopping wet core of her gripped and pulsed around him with each thrust as he watched her peak. He grasped her leg tighter to keep her in place even as she twisted and arched her back into the mattress. He spent himself inside of her with a strangled groan.
Smiling broadly, Arya reached up and Aegon let her pull him down. The king and queen’s mouths met and they tried their best to practically devour each other. Those kisses gradually shortened into pecks before Aegon snuggled into the nape of her neck, all contentment.
Absently, he felt Arya’s fingers tracing patterns along his back.
“That was one of our best,” she said.
Aegon hummed his agreement.
“It might be our last until the babe comes,” she said.
Aegon’s head shot up and found the queen on the verge of laughter.
“Grand Maester Vorian told me that once we announced our last pregnancy, we would have to stop bedding down together. He thinks it would be unseemly and unclean once there was no purpose for it.”
“The grand maester can go on progress through each of the seven hells,” Aegon shot back hotly.
“No, the Citadel would only send a new grand maester who would tell us the same or something even stupider. We’ll just make even more use of that stair between our rooms. At least until I’m too big to fit through that passage.”
Quick as that, the annoyance faded and Arya had him chuckling. For the rest of the evening, they teased one another and debated whether a prince or princess was on the way.