wakethedragon | Five. The Dragon's Dress

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Five. The Dragon's Dress

{Written, because he's decided he won't dignify this latest atrocity with the pressing of the voice transmission button, which is the only one he knows. Enjoy his elegant, royal script.]

Thank you, Admiral, for the gown.

If I wanted my sister's face, I would have cut it off of her myself.

I wonder if the ~~Stark~~ girl's potion would have even worked. It probably would have turned me into a toad.

I must say, I can't see how trussing me up like a village milkmaid and giving me my sister's face is supposed to win me back my kingdom, bastard.

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[Arya had never seen him before, but it was easy to recognize him. All the Targaryens were supposed to have hair like that, though they were still too far to see if he had purple eyes. She stepped out in the open, hands at her sides as she waited for him to join her.]

[He narrowed his eyes as the Stark waif appeared in the near distance. She was a tiny scrap of a thing; he refused to be afraid of her. Rhaegar hadn't been afraid of Eddard, he certainly wasn't going to be afraid of Eddard's underaged female whelp. He kept his head held high as he closed the remaining the distance between them. Once he was close enough for them to converse, yet still far enough away that he could make a run for it if he had to, he stopped.]

Did you bring your journal? [She waited, looking up at him, feeling the knife against her hip. It felt right. She should have planned better, she realized belatedly. How would she get him closer?]

I'm not that girl, and I don't want you telling people I am.

I've heard the bastard address you as such. Are you calling him a liar? [He quirked an eyebrow.]

He has a name. [>| You have negative points, Viserys.]

Yes, yes, Jon Snow. There. I have called your brother by name. Will you admit you're Arya Stark now? Or at least tell me why you aren't Arya Stark?

[She contemplated telling him about the Many-Faced God, but she saw him talking to Ardent.] Because Arya Stark's dead. She died in King's Landing.

[He would be all kinds of secretly impressed/inwardly terrified if he knew where she was training.]

I see. Did she die when her father was murdered by those no good Lannisters?

[He presumes she was listed among the dead but escaped, and is now overly paranoid about being discovered. He can't fault a girl for being protective of her life; he's felt the knives at his back ever since he was eight years old.]

[Impressing a Targaryen, that sounds nice. Arya stays on the stony side of neutral.]

After she saw her father beheaded. [She's actually surprised by how easy it is to say. It's so much easier to detach and not feel it than she thought it would ever be.] Will you cross it out?

[He didn't want to do a Stark any favors, but he remembered being a boy who had lost his own father. A father who had been murdered by Lannisters.]

How did you escape? You must have been close if you actually saw the Lannister scum chop off his head.

[Loathing Lannisters is a surprisingly good way to bond.]

Arya saw that. Not me. [I was a boy, going to the Wall, going home. But that was when she had a name.]

I see.

[He doesn't quite know what to make of this non-Stark, but he decides that he will do as she asks. She despises the Lannisters and she doesn't want to be called a Stark. That's as good a place as any to start.]

When I take my rightful place on the Iron Throne, I'll see to it that all the Lannisters pay for what they've done. Your brother thinks I need to forgive them. Forgive them. I'll forgive them with fire and blood, that's what I'll do. I'll forgive their scorched heads as they decorate the walls of the Red Keep.

[He removes the communicator/journal/Sorcery Box from where he had hidden it beneath his tunic. His written entry is still up on the screen. He inches a bit closer to Arya and extends it her way.]

Here, cross it out. But don't do anything else.

[This wasn't how she imagined it going, but she likes it much better. Forgive the Lannisters? She doesn't know what Jon was thinking.]

I wouldn't want their scrolls around. Not after I crush them. [Under her heel. Possibly with multiple sword points in them. When the journal is offered, she eyes him for a moment before taking a careful step forward to each for it. He gets side eyed for a second more once she has it, but then she crosses out Stark, and hands it back.

...She's forgetting something.] Thank you.

[And ~~Stark~~ it shall be. He nods as she thanks him. He wants to see the Lannisters burned, flayed, crushed into powder, whatever makes them scream and suffer the longest. It really doesn't matter to him. Fire seems fitting, because of his lineage. He'll take a stick to the eye if that's what he can get.

He tucks the journal away.]

What are you called, then? I can't go around calling you 'no one.' I'll sound like a lunatic. [And we certainly can't have that.]

[What, isn't lunacy like an old friend? :|] Cat, if you like. I was Cat on the docks in Braavos. [She misses selling fish and learning secrets. She learned so many things, good things to know.]

[Hey, just because my dad and maybe half of my inbred family ~~and me~~ are batshit crazy doesn't mean we're old friends.]

Very well then, Cat. I shall never call you the S-word again, unless you ask me nicely. And even then, I probably won't.

[Are you sure because that sounds like a good reason to me.]

Good. [He might even get a little smile for that.] I thought you would be mean. You're not. [Well. Not horribly so. She expected him to be a real psycho.]

[Mean. He considered that for a moment.]

Let's just say I'm saving my mean for people more deserving of it.

[Like, say, Lannisters. Really, he expected to come up here and be filled with loathing over the ~~Stark~~ girl, but she was nothing like what he expected.]

[They are very good people to hate. :| And all she really has for that is a tiny, knowing smile. They know e xactly who's deserving of it. So Arya nods, and turns to go.]

[He watches her go, and waits until she's long gone before taking leave of the deck himself.]

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Five. The Dragon's Dress

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