I haven't read the books yet. What is Arya and Jaqen relationship like ? I don't mind spoilers
Hello Anon!
First of all, I apologize for the delay.
Arya's relationship with Jaqen is quite different in the books. For starters, Jaqen is a lot younger, only a few years older than Gendry, And he is not teaching Arya in Braavos. He leaves her in Harrenhal to pursue his own goal which is getting a dragon's egg and learning the secrets of hatching dragons in the Citadel. There is also a strong connection between Jaqen and Arya pairing and weirwood magic.
Jaqen first noticed Arya when she beat up Hot Pie on the way to Harrenhal. They were going to the Watch with Yoren, like in the show. Jaqen tried to make friends with Arya after the fight. I suspect he wanted to trick her into freeing him from the cage but it also looked as if he wanted to offer her protection because he saw that she was lonely and afraid. Arya was charmed by him from the start. She loved how handsome Jaqen was and noted his good manners.
They were attacked near the God's Eye lake like in the show. However, in the books the attack was much worse and the fire that the Lannisters's men started was horrific. The show didn't give the impression that rescuing Jaqen from the burning cage was that hard. In the books, Arya admitted to herself that it was the hardest thing she had ever done. She killed a man and risked her own life to save Jaqen. During the attack Jaqen also told Arya that he wanted to fight in the red war. The red war is the war of R'hllor, the same war Melisandre is preaching about - the battle for the Dawn. So, book!Jaqen is familiar with the prophecy and has been prepared to fight that battle.
The Lannisters's men took the recruits to Harrenhal. Jaqen followed to pay his debt to Arya. One night he found her sleeping in the cellar and woke her up to tell her he was willing to kill three men for her because she saved his life and the lives of Rorge and Biter. Arya wanted them to run away together but Jaqen refused and insisted on the killings. Arya was disappointed so he kissed her hair to comfort her. Such a charmer he is in the books :)
The killings were a bit different too. But they had the same effect on Arya like in the show. She felt stronger and brave again.
Arya's time with Jaqen in Harrenhal was different too because each of their meetings was more private and symbolic. In the show, Arya simply caught Jaqen in the courtyard when he was with other soldiers. In the books, there was intimacy to their first conversation in the cellar when she got her first kiss ever from the boy, all proper for her age of course. Then, she served wine to Jaqen at dinner and whispered the name to his ear. She gave him another name while he was bathing and finally they met in godswood. The godswood meeting showed their connection to weirwood magic. Arya was training with a wooden sword hiding in the weirwood leaves and thinking that she was happiest in that weirwood kingdom. It is very important to know that in the books weirwood magic means immortality to the chosen ones. There are many spirits living in weirwoods unlike in the show where we only saw Bloodraven and Bran. When Arya finally noticed Jaqen, he seemed to her like the tree. Of course in the books he looks like a slender weirwood with his pale skin and red and white hair. It was then when Arya gave Jaqen his name. Jaqen then made an oath to Arya taking the gods as his witnesses and in return she promised him to obey.
After that the two of them made a ruse to free the prisoners from the North. It's called weasel soup in the books. I won't go into details but you must know that during the fight, Jaqen protected Arya and killed a man. Then, he wiped his bloodied sword in her shift to make her his partner in crime because he killed the man for her. It was yet another very intimate detail of their Harrenhal adventure.
Then, they parted ways. Jaqen offered Arya a journey to Braavos but she declined saying that she needed to find her family first. Then, he said he had his promises to keep as well and gave her the coin. That scene was more intense than their good bye in the show. They were talking surrounded by fighting and dying men and Jaqen knelt before Arya to be closer to her. He left Harrenhal and went to Pyke to kill Balon Greyjoy and earn a dragon's egg from Euron. His next stop is Oldtown where he is posing as Pate the novice. "Pate" is a roommate of Sam Tarly. As you can see this plot was entirely cut from the show.
Arya and Jaqen haven't seen each other since then but their future reunion is hinted at a few times in the books. Most notably, I think, in the Prologue to A Feast for Crows where the novice of the Citadel, Pate, is a foil for Jaqen and Rosey, his beloved, is a foil for Arya.
Unfortunately, GRRM didn't plan the books too well. The author intended on making Arya older in A Feast for Crows so she would be fifteen/sixteen. The time jump didn't work for other characters though so he abandoned the idea. That's why now we have an awkwardly young Arya and the storyline meant for an older character.
I would encourage you to read the books to get into all the meaningful details regarding Arya, Jaqen and other characters. The story is very different from what the show offered. However, the books are still incomplete and we don't know if GRRM is going to finish them at all. So you are reading them at your own risk.
Maybe the gods had sent him in answer to her prayers. “I need
you to help me get those men out of the dungeons. That Glover and
those others, all of them. We have to kill the guards and open the
cell somehow——”
“A girl forgets,” he said quietly. “Two she has had, three were
owed. If a guard must die, she needs only speak his name.”
“But one guard won’t be enough, we need to kill them all to open
the cell.” Arya bit her lip hard to stop from crying. “I want you to save
the northmen like I saved you.”
He looked down at her pitilessly. “Three lives were snatched
from a god. Three lives must be repaid. The gods are not mocked.”
His voice was silk and steel.
“I never mocked.” She thought for a moment. “The name… can I
name anyone? And you’ll kill him?”
Jaqen H’ghar inclined his head. “A man has said.”
“Anyone?” she repeated. “A man, a woman, a little baby, or Lord
Tywin, or the High Septon, or your father?”
“A man’s sire is long dead, but did he live, and did you know his
name, he would die at your command.”
“Swear it,” Arya said. “Swear it by the gods.”
“By all the gods of sea and air, and even him of fire, I swear it.”
He placed a hand in the mouth of the weirwood.
“By the seven new
gods and the old gods beyond count, I swear it.”
He has sworn. “Even if I named the king…”
“Speak the name, and death will come. On the morrow, at the
turn of the moon, a year from this day, it will come. A man does not
fly like a bird, but one foot moves and then another and one day a
man is there, and a king dies.”
He knelt beside her, so they were
face-to-face, “A girl whispers if she fears to speak aloud. Whisper it
now. Is it Joffrey?”
Arya put her lips to his ear. “It’s Jaqen H’ghar.”
Even in the burning barn, with walls of flame towering all around
and him in chains, he had not seemed so distraught as he did now.
- Summary: Aegon the Conqueror's youngest sister, Y/N Targaryen, once bethrohed to Torrhen Stark, is forced into a marriage with her brother after he calls off her engagement out of jealousy. Struggling with her lost future and the life she never wanted, she repeatedly refuses Aegon's attempts to consummate the marriage. When she tries to escape to Essos on her dragon, Visenya intercepts her, and Aegon, in an act of control, chains her dragon to prevent any further rebellion, leaving her feeling trapped and broken.
The wind howls outside your chambers, filling the air with the distant sounds of restless dragons, their cries melding with the deep, rolling growl of the sea beyond Dragonstone. The fire crackles in the hearth, sending flickers of light dancing across the walls. You sit alone, staring at the flickering flames, lost in thought. The glow reflects off the dark red and gold silk of your gown, the rich colors echoing the deep hues of Tesaerix's scales.
It has been weeks since your marriage to Aegon—your brother, your king—and yet your chambers remain cold. You know why he comes to you. You know what he desires. Yet every time, you turn him away, the bitterness of your broken future thick on your tongue.
You were supposed to be wed to Torrhen Stark, the former King in the North. A marriage of fire and ice, binding the Targaryens to the cold and ancient lineage of the Starks. You had imagined a life in the North, the fierce honor of the Starks, the warmth of a hearth shared between husband and wife, and the promise of a family. Torrhen would have been yours and yours alone. His loyalty and affection were clear in every letter, in every word whispered between couriers.
But Aegon... Aegon grew jealous. He called off the betrothal without a word to you, with a simple, royal command. And now, you sit here, a queen in name, yet more of a pawn than ever before.
The door to your chambers opens softly, the sound of boots upon stone barely audible over the crackling of the fire. You do not turn. You know who it is.
"Y/N," Aegon's voice rumbles low, rich with the quiet authority of a conqueror. He does not have to ask permission to enter; this is his castle, and you are his wife.
"You shouldn’t be here," you say quietly, your eyes still on the flames. "Not tonight."
"And yet, here I am." His voice is closer now, and you feel the heat of his presence behind you. "You’ve denied me time and time again."
You stand, your hands tightening into fists at your sides, still refusing to face him. "Because this was not meant to be. You took my future from me, Aegon. Torrhen was—" Your voice cracks, though you try to hold your composure. "I was meant to marry him. I was meant to be his only wife, to have his children. You stole that from me."
Aegon steps around to face you, his violet eyes, so like your own, burning with a mixture of frustration and something deeper. His silver hair, shining in the firelight, falls loosely about his shoulders, making him seem more a dragon than a man.
"You speak of duty as if you do not know it, sister," he says, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Do you truly believe you could have lived in the North? Away from your blood? Away from me?"
His words send a chill through you, a reminder of the bond that ties you both. You were born into the same fire, raised together, shared in the same dreams of conquest. But his love, twisted as it has become, feels like chains wrapping around your heart.
"I would have learned," you whisper, your throat tight. "For Torrhen, I would have made a home there."
"And you would have grown cold," Aegon replies, stepping closer, his hands reaching out to grasp your arms. "The North would have frozen the fire in your blood. You belong with me, Y/N. We were meant to rule together."
You yank your arms away from his grip, taking a step back, your eyes blazing. "No, Aegon. You and Visenya, you and Rhaenys, were meant to rule. I was an afterthought. You married me out of jealousy, not love. You couldn’t bear the thought of me in the arms of another man."
Aegon’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you see the flicker of anger in his eyes. He steps forward again, but you hold your ground.
"You speak as though I do not care for you," he says, his voice dangerously low. "I made a banner in your honor. You fly your own colors, the colors of Tesaerix, because you are more than just my wife. You are my queen, my equal."
"I never asked for that," you snap, your voice rising, the pain and anger finally spilling over. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon. I wanted a life. You took that from me when you sent Torrhen away."
He is silent for a long moment, his eyes searching your face as if looking for some hint of the sister who once stood by his side, unwavering in her support. But that girl is gone now, replaced by a woman hardened by the reality of her fate.
"Perhaps," he says finally, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "But we cannot change the past. You are mine, Y/N. Whether you accept it or not."
You turn your back to him again, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You hear him move toward the door, his boots heavy on the stone floor. For a moment, you think he will leave. But then, his voice breaks the silence once more.
"One day, you will come to understand why I did what I did. And when that day comes, I will be here. Waiting."
The door closes behind him, the sound echoing in the stillness of your chambers. You are left alone once more, the fire burning low, its warmth doing little to chase away the cold that has settled deep in your bones.
You sink to the floor before the hearth, staring into the dying flames, and wonder if there will ever come a day when you can forgive him—if you even want to.
The grand hall of Dragonstone feels heavy with silence as you sit at the long, stone-carved table. The walls are adorned with tapestries depicting the glory of Old Valyria, the ancestors watching with cold, lifeless eyes. You sit between Rhaenys and Visenya, with Aegon at the head, his silver hair gleaming in the candlelight. The air is thick with the unspoken weight of your marriage, lingering over the table like a shadow.
The food before you remains untouched. Plates of roasted meats, rich gravies, and spiced wine fill the room with tempting aromas, but you have no appetite. Your mind is elsewhere, churning with thoughts of the future that was stolen from you. Torrhen’s face, sharp and distant like the North itself, lingers in your memory.
Visenya breaks the silence, her voice sharp and direct, as is her way. "Y/N," she says, her violet eyes piercing as they settle on you, "when will you finally do your duty to our brother?"
Her words hang in the air, and you feel the weight of everyone's gaze upon you. Rhaenys shifts beside you, her warm, gentle nature a silent contrast to Visenya's cold command. You take a slow breath, gripping the edge of your goblet, the cool metal pressing into your palm.
"If this is about duty, sister," you reply, your voice calm but edged with steel, "then Aegon should come to you. Isn’t that what you care for most, Visenya? Duty?"
Visenya’s eyes narrow, her lips a thin line. "It is our duty to secure the future of our house. You were born for this. You were married for this."
"I was married," you cut in, the words sharper than you intend, "because our brother couldn’t stomach the thought of another man having me." Your gaze flickers to Aegon, who has remained silent, watching the exchange with his usual unreadable expression. "Or is that something none of us are supposed to speak of?"
Rhaenys’ soft, musical voice tries to ease the tension. "We are family, Y/N. Aegon is trying to—"
"To what?" you interrupt, turning your gaze on her. "To make me love him as you do? If our brother seeks love and soft caresses, he should come to you, Rhaenys. You always give him what he desires, don’t you?"
Rhaenys flinches at the harshness of your tone, her eyes lowering to her untouched plate. You almost feel a pang of guilt for your words, but the storm of emotion inside you doesn’t let you stop.
Aegon’s gaze finally lifts from his plate, meeting yours. His violet eyes, usually so hard to read, flicker with something—anger? Hurt? Perhaps both. But he says nothing, allowing the silence to deepen, allowing you to stew in the consequences of your words.
Visenya’s voice cuts through again, colder than before. "You may think you are different from us, Y/N, but you are not. We all carry the same blood. We all have the same purpose. Do not forget that."
You push your chair back abruptly, the scraping of wood against stone breaking the silence. The sound echoes through the hall, reverberating off the high ceilings. You rise, standing tall, your hands clenched at your sides.
"I haven’t forgotten," you say, your voice bitter. "But perhaps I was never meant to be part of this."
Without another word, you turn and leave the table, your untouched meal forgotten behind you. You walk swiftly through the hall, your footsteps muffled by the heavy carpets, and once you pass the threshold, the cold air of Dragonstone greets you like a slap. It chills your skin, but you welcome it. It’s a reminder that despite everything, you are still free to make some choices. Even if only in small rebellions.
As you make your way down the corridor, the sounds of your siblings fade behind you. You are alone once more, with nothing but the distant cries of dragons and the pounding of your heart to accompany you.
The hall feels emptier once you’re gone, the echo of your departing footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the space. For a long moment, no one speaks. The air is filled with your absence, and the untouched food on your plate remains a quiet accusation of all that was left unsaid.
Aegon sits motionless, his hands resting on the table, fingers curled around the goblet he hasn’t touched. His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of something far heavier than a crown pressing down on him. His face, usually impassive and stern, is now unguarded, a mixture of frustration, pain, and an unfamiliar vulnerability etched into his features. The Conqueror, the dragon lord, looks fragile—broken, even.
Rhaenys watches him, her eyes full of concern, though she remains silent for once. Her gentle attempts to soothe the tension earlier had been met with resistance, and now she seems at a loss, her gaze flicking between Aegon and Visenya. Her hands rest lightly on her lap, fingers trembling just slightly as she resists the urge to reach for Aegon.
Visenya, on the other hand, is still as stone. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes remain cold, unreadable. The eldest of you, always the embodiment of purpose, of resolve, watches Aegon closely but makes no move to comfort him. Her hands, wrapped around her knife and fork, remain steady, continuing her meal as though nothing had happened, though she chews slowly, her eyes calculating.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aegon’s voice breaks the silence, though it is barely more than a whisper. "She hates me."
His words hang in the air, and for a moment, no one speaks. Aegon’s grip tightens around the goblet, and one can see the whiteness of his knuckles as though the tension might shatter the cup. His head is bowed, and for the first time, he looks… lost.
"She does not hate you," Rhaenys says softly, her voice thick with sympathy. "She’s angry. Hurt. But hate?" She shakes her head, her dark curls catching the firelight. "That is not what this is."
Aegon’s lips twitch, a bitter smile flickering at the corners. "She does not love me, Rhaenys. And she never will."
Visenya’s voice is sharp, cutting through the fragile moment like the edge of a blade. "Love is not why she was wed to you, brother. Love was never the purpose." She sets her knife and fork down deliberately, the clink of metal against the plate unnervingly calm in the face of Aegon’s turmoil. "You knew that."
Aegon’s head lifts, his eyes wet and shining with unspoken emotions. He looks at Visenya, his usually hard gaze pleading now, searching her face for some kind of answer. "But I wanted it," he says, the words rough, torn from somewhere deep inside him. "I wanted her to love me, as she would have loved Stark. Is that so wrong?"
Visenya’s expression doesn’t change. Her voice remains cold, unwavering. "You are her brother, her king. You were never meant to be her lover in the way you want."
Rhaenys, sensing the deepening wound, reaches across the table, her hand hovering just above Aegon’s arm. "She’s young still, Aegon," she says softly, her voice filled with her usual warmth. "She has not yet come to terms with her place. In time, perhaps…"
Aegon pulls away from her touch, his hand falling from the goblet to rest heavily on the table. "No," he mutters, shaking his head. "She will never come to terms with this. She will always look at me as if I am the one who destroyed her life." His voice breaks slightly, and he presses his palms into his eyes, as though trying to hold himself together, to keep the pain from spilling out.
"Then stop chasing her love," Visenya says, her voice devoid of sympathy. "Do your duty. Take her to your bed, sire her children, and end this farce of a romance you have created in your mind."
Aegon’s hands drop from his face, and he looks at her, stunned. "Is that all you see in this? Duty?"
Visenya’s eyes meet his, cold and unwavering. "That is all there ever was for us."
The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the crackle of the hearth. Aegon turns his gaze to the fire, his shoulders sagging even further under the weight of Visenya’s words. The great conqueror, the king who united the Seven Kingdoms, is reduced to this—a man who sought love from someone who could not give it.
Rhaenys, her heart breaking at the sight of her brother in such despair, shifts in her seat, but she knows that no words of hers will soothe him now. Aegon has always carried the burden of their dynasty alone, but tonight, it has grown too heavy, even for him.
"You have us," Rhaenys says quietly, though her voice trembles with emotion. "You will always have us, Aegon."
But Aegon does not respond. His eyes remain fixed on the flames, and for the first time in your life, you see him not as the Conqueror, not as the dragon lord who tamed the world, but as a man—lost and alone in a castle full of people who love him, yet none who can give him what he truly desires.
And so the meal continues in silence, the clatter of cutlery and the crackling fire the only sounds in the hall. The untouched plates before you all bear witness to the shattered remnants of your family’s fragile bonds, while outside, the wind and the sea howl against the ancient walls of Dragonstone.
The sea winds howl outside your chambers, the sound haunting and relentless, like the cry of some distant, wounded beast. You sit by the open window, gazing out into the dark night, the vast ocean stretching far beyond the horizon, endless and full of promise. Your mind wanders to Tesaerix, resting in her lair below. You imagine her golden and cream scales shimmering in the moonlight, the crimson undertones beneath them gleaming like freshly spilled blood. She is your escape, your one chance at freedom.
You toy with the thought, turning it over and over in your mind—leaving this place. Far from Dragonstone, from Westeros, from the suffocating weight of duty and broken promises. Essos calls to you like a whisper on the wind, a distant land where dragons are still revered and feared, where you could carve out a life for yourself far from Aegon’s reach. You could mount Tesaerix tonight, ride her across the Narrow Sea and never look back.
The idea pulls at you, tempting you more with every passing moment. To be free of this cursed marriage, free of the bitter silence and the constant reminders of what you’ve lost. But it’s not just the present that haunts you—it’s the past, the memories of a love that was torn from you before it had the chance to bloom.
Your mind drifts back to Torrhen Stark, the man you were meant to marry. The King in the North, a man of honor and quiet strength, so different from the fire and chaos of your family. You think of the first time you met him, after he had bent the knee to Aegon. He had refused to take you as a war prize, refused to make you his by conquest, despite the whispers of your brothers. He had chosen to see you as something more, as someone worth knowing, worth loving.
You remember the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you, the way his gruff voice had gentled whenever he spoke your name. It had been a brief time, but intense—your feelings for him had grown quickly, like a wildfire racing through a dry forest. You’d fallen in love with him, hard and fast, and he with you. It was supposed to be an alliance not only of fire and ice, but of hearts.
You can still hear his deep, steady voice, promising you a future in the North. A future where you would be his only wife, where you would bear his children, where you could have the kind of life you dreamed of—one filled with love, respect, and loyalty. It had seemed perfect, a rare gift for someone of your blood, born into a family where duty always outweighed desire.
But then Aegon had taken that from you. He had changed his mind as suddenly as a storm sweeping over the sea, without explanation, without reason. One moment, your future with Torrhen had been certain, and the next, it was gone. Aegon had called off the betrothal, declaring that you were to remain in Dragonstone and marry him instead.
Your world had shattered in that instant. The life you had planned with Torrhen, the love you had begun to build, all of it ripped away before it had the chance to take root. You had cried out, fought against it, pleaded with Aegon to reconsider, but his decision was final. The bond between fire and ice, the life you had dreamed of in the North, vanished like smoke in the wind.
The memory of Torrhen’s face, when you told him of Aegon’s decision, still haunts you. His features had hardened, the quiet grief in his eyes breaking your heart all over again. He had not blamed you; how could he, when you had been as much a victim of your brother’s jealousy as he had? But the pain in his silence had cut deeper than any words could have.
You wonder, sometimes, what might have been. What your life would be like now, had Aegon not interfered. You can imagine yourself standing beside Torrhen in Winterfell’s great hall, the warmth of a fire crackling in the hearth, the cold winds of the North howling outside but unable to touch you. You would have had a home there. A real home, with Torrhen by your side, with the love you had begun to build blossoming into something strong and unbreakable.
But here, in this cold, dark castle, you are alone. You are Aegon’s wife, yes, but in name only. There is no love here, only duty, only the weight of expectations and a future you never wanted.
Your gaze shifts to the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs below. The pull to leave is stronger now. You imagine the wind whipping through your hair as Tesaerix soars above the clouds, the world falling away beneath you as you fly far, far from here. Essos, the Free Cities, perhaps even beyond the Shadow Lands. Anywhere that is not here, anywhere that is far from the suffocating grip of your brother and the life he has forced upon you.
You stand, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you move toward the window. Tesaerix waits, her powerful wings and fiery breath ready to carry you to freedom. All it would take is a single command, a whispered word, and you could be gone. You could leave this place behind, leave Aegon and Visenya and Rhaenys and the weight of their expectations, and start a new life far from the shadow of the Iron Throne.
But then Torrhen’s face flashes in your mind again, and you falter. The North is lost to you, but would running away truly be any better? Would it bring you the peace you crave, or would it only leave you even more adrift, without even the faint hope of reclaiming what was taken from you?
Your hand rests on the stone window ledge, cold and hard beneath your palm. The choice stands before you, vast and open like the sea. Stay and endure, or fly away and risk everything for the chance at a new beginning.
For now, you remain. The wind howls, but the decision is not yet made.
For two weeks, Aegon comes to your chambers each night, his steps soft but purposeful as he approaches the door. You always hear him before he arrives, the distant echo of boots on stone corridors signaling yet another attempt. Every time, he brings something—a token of affection, as if material offerings could mend the chasm between you.
At first, it is fine silk from distant lands, robes embroidered with dragons and flames, the kind of luxury that would make others swoon. Then, he brings rare books, scrolls of knowledge written in the ancient Valyrian tongue, words meant to remind you of your shared heritage. One night, he brings a necklace of rubies, its deep red glistening like dragonfire in the low light. The next, a golden ring with the Targaryen sigil engraved on it, a symbol of the dynasty you are bound to by blood and duty.
Each gift you receive with a polite, distant nod, setting them aside, your heart unmoved. The weight of his gaze is always upon you, a mixture of hope and frustration lingering in his violet eyes. His words are softer now than they were in the beginning, his anger quelled, replaced by a quiet desperation. He is trying to win you, but the harder he tries, the more distant you feel.
The final gift he brings is a crown—delicate, finely crafted, with jewels of crimson and gold embedded in the pale metal. It is beautiful, a queen's crown, meant to match his. When he places it on your lap, he watches you with an intensity that makes the air thick between you, waiting for something—for approval, for gratitude, for love.
But you only stare at it, unmoving.
"This is yours," he says, his voice almost pleading now. "You are a queen in your own right, Y/N. Not just my sister, but my equal. You deserve this."
Your fingers brush the cold metal of the crown, but it feels like chains, not a symbol of power. You lift your gaze to meet his, your voice steady but firm. "I never wanted a crown, Aegon."
The hurt flickers in his eyes, but you have nothing left to give him. He leaves, the crown sitting abandoned on the edge of your bed, gleaming in the dim light as if mocking you.
One day, his words change.
Aegon enters your chambers, but there is a new tension in the way he moves, a sense of finality in the air. He doesn't bring a gift this time, only the weight of a decision made. You watch him, already knowing something is different.
“We leave for King’s Landing soon," he says, his voice more formal than it has been in weeks. "Aegonfort is ready for us. It will be our new home, where we will build the future of our house."
You feel the words like a cold wind sweeping over you. Aegonfort, the seat of his conquest, the beginning of the new kingdom he is carving out. The idea of leaving Dragonstone—leaving the sea, the cliffs, the only place you’ve ever truly known—sends a chill down your spine. Aegon might see King’s Landing as his victory, but for you, it feels like another cage.
"I don’t want to go," you say, your voice flat, devoid of emotion.
Aegon pauses, as if he didn’t hear you properly, as if he can’t comprehend that you would refuse. “You have to go,” he says slowly, as though speaking to a child. "You are my wife, my queen. You belong at my side."
You rise from where you’ve been sitting, facing him fully, your heart racing with the surge of rebellion that has been growing inside you for weeks. "I belong here," you say, gesturing to the stone walls, to the island that has been your sanctuary, even in the darkest times. "I do not want to go to King’s Landing, to sit in that castle you built, watching you and Visenya and Rhaenys pretend that everything is perfect."
He steps toward you, his face tightening, a flash of anger returning to his features. "You think you can remain here, alone, while the rest of us build our kingdom? This is not a choice, Y/N. You are my wife."
"I never wanted to be," you snap, the words finally breaking free from your lips, bitter and sharp. "You made me your wife, but you never asked me what I wanted. You took me from the future I could have had, from Torrhen—"
"Stark, again? Torrhen is not your future," Aegon interrupts, his voice hardening now. "I am."
"You stole my future, Aegon," you retort, your voice trembling with the weight of your grief. "You took away the one thing I had, and now you expect me to be grateful for this life you’ve forced upon me? You expect me to follow you to your new castle and wear this crown and play the role of your queen?"
His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches between you, tense and suffocating. Then, slowly, he steps back, his eyes dark with something you can’t name—anger, yes, but there’s more. Regret? Hurt?
“You will come,” he says finally, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper. “Whether you wish it or not, Y/N. You will come with us.”
You turn away from him, your back to the man who has taken everything from you. You hear him leave the room, his footsteps heavy and final, but the emptiness he leaves behind feels like the deepest cut of all.
You are alone once more, staring out the window at the distant sea. Tesaerix calls to you from the depths of your soul, her distant roars echoing in your mind. The thought of running away comes back to you, stronger now than ever. But for now, you remain, standing at the precipice of a decision that could change everything.
The sun is high in the sky as you and your siblings take flight, the winds rushing past as your dragons soar over the shimmering sea. Below, the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone grow smaller with every wingbeat. Tesaerix flies gracefully beneath you, her golden and cream scales glinting in the sunlight, the deep crimson undertones flickering like blood in the wind. For a moment, you feel weightless—free. The burden of your marriage, of your crown, seems far away in the skies.
Ahead of you, Aegon leads the way on Balerion, the massive black dragon casting a long shadow over the sea. Rhaenys is beside him, her Meraxes keeping pace, and to your left flies Visenya, Vhagar’s powerful wings slicing through the air. The three of them are focused on King's Landing, their eyes set on the growing kingdom they are about to build. But your heart is elsewhere.
You glance down at the sea, endless and blue, stretching toward Essos. The temptation has been gnawing at you for weeks, the thought of breaking away, of flying far from here. Away from Aegon, from the fate that has been thrust upon you. The wind rushes through your hair as you tighten your grip on Tesaerix’s reins, your mind made up.
With a subtle shift in pressure, you command her to turn, pulling away from the formation. Tesaerix tilts her wings, veering off course, away from King’s Landing, away from your brother. Your heart races, a mix of fear and exhilaration filling your veins as you set your sights on the horizon, where the lands of Essos lie in the distance, beyond the reach of Aegon’s grasp.
Behind you, Aegon’s voice rises above the wind, calling your name, desperate and commanding. “Y/N! Turn back!”
But you don’t. You don’t even glance behind you. The sound of his voice fades as you fly farther, the space between you growing wider with every passing second. Tesaerix roars beneath you, as if sensing your resolve, her powerful wings beating faster as she surges toward freedom.
For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel alive. The weight of duty, of marriage, of everything that has kept you chained to this life begins to slip away, carried off by the wind. The open skies of Essos call to you like a promise, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you believe you might make it.
Then you hear the deep, thunderous roar of Vhagar.
Visenya.
You glance over your shoulder, and there she is—Visenya, fierce and relentless, closing the distance between you with terrifying speed. Vhagar, far larger than Tesaerix, cuts through the air with powerful, determined strokes. Visenya’s face is set in cold determination, her eyes locked on you with the same intensity she wears in battle.
“Y/N, stop!” she commands, her voice cold as steel, cutting through the wind like a blade. Vhagar roars again, a sound so deep and menacing it sends a shiver down your spine. But you do not stop. You push Tesaerix harder, willing her to fly faster, to escape the inevitable.
But Visenya is not one to be outrun.
Vhagar catches up, pulling alongside you with terrifying ease, her massive bulk dwarfing Tesaerix. Visenya leans forward in her saddle, her voice filled with authority. “Turn back, Y/N! Now!”
Your jaw clenches, your heart pounding in your chest. You meet her gaze for a moment, the defiance in your eyes clear. But Visenya does not waver. Her eyes are cold, unforgiving, and in that moment, you know she will force you back if she has to. She will not let you leave.
The wind whips around you as you pull Tesaerix to slow her flight, the moment of freedom slipping away from you as Vhagar looms beside you, a reminder of the chains that bind you. Visenya’s gaze does not leave yours, and she waits—waits for you to surrender, to accept the inevitable.
With a heavy heart, you tug on the reins, guiding Tesaerix back toward King’s Landing. The dream of escape fades into the distance as you turn, the pull of duty dragging you back toward the life you never wanted. Visenya does not speak again, but her presence is a silent command that you dare not disobey.
As you fly back toward Aegon and Rhaenys, the open skies of Essos behind you, the taste of freedom lingers on your tongue like ashes.
The moment Tesaerix touches the ground, the reality of your failed escape crashes down upon you like a wave. Her powerful wings fold at her sides, but there is no pride in her stance now—only the stillness of submission, forced upon you both by Visenya and Vhagar’s dominance.
You barely have time to catch your breath when Balerion descends, the great shadow of the Black Dread falling over you. His monstrous bulk blocks Tesaerix’s path back to the skies, his massive wings spread wide like an impenetrable wall. Aegon sits atop him, his expression dark, stormy, and unreadable. Rhaenys and Meraxes circle high above, silent witnesses to your humiliation.
The ground trembles as Balerion lands, his roar a deep, earth-shaking sound that makes the ground beneath your feet vibrate. You can feel Tesaerix shifting beneath you, uneasy but still under your control—for now. But even she can sense the finality of what is about to happen.
Aegon swings down from Balerion’s saddle, his steps heavy as he approaches you. His face, usually so composed, is a mix of anger and something close to disbelief. When he speaks, his voice is low, cold. "You would abandon us. Abandon me."
Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat like a hammer against stone. "Aegon, I—"
"You fled from your duty, Y/N," he interrupts, his voice growing harsher. His violet eyes bore into you, as if he’s searching for some understanding of why you would run. "What were you thinking? Were you going to Essos? Were you going to leave us all behind?"
His words cut deep, the sharpness of his accusation stinging more than you expected. But you lift your chin, defiance still burning in your chest. "You took everything from me, Aegon. You took my future, my choice, my life. I wanted to escape—to find something that was mine."
For a moment, his expression softens, as though he might understand. But then, his gaze hardens again. He turns to the soldiers who have gathered nearby, his voice carrying a command that makes your blood run cold. "Chain her dragon."
You feel the words like a physical blow. "No." Your voice is a whisper at first, and then louder, desperation filling it. "No! Aegon, you can’t—please, don’t do this!"
But he does not waver. The soldiers begin to move toward Tesaerix, and she growls low in her throat, sensing the threat. You scramble down from the saddle, running to stand between the men and your dragon, your heart pounding in your chest. "She’s done nothing wrong! You can’t punish her for what I did!"
Aegon’s face is hard, his jaw set. "She’s your dragon, Y/N. You tried to flee on her back. This is to ensure it doesn’t happen again."
"I’ll stay, I’ll do whatever you ask, just don’t chain her," you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. You look into his eyes, hoping—praying—that somewhere inside him, the brother you once knew still exists. "Please, Aegon. Don’t take her freedom. She’s not like Balerion or Vhagar—she’s mine. Please."
But your pleas fall on deaf ears. His gaze flickers, but his resolve does not falter. "This is for your own good. You will not leave us again."
You watch in horror as the chains are brought forth, heavy iron links meant to bind Tesaerix’s limbs and wings. She lets out a deep, angry roar, thrashing against the soldiers who dare approach her, but they move swiftly, well-practiced in subduing dragons. The weight of the chains soon drags her wings down, grounding her in a way that feels like a betrayal to everything she is—a creature of the skies, bound to the earth like a prisoner.
You fall to your knees, tears streaming down your face as you reach out to touch her, your hand trembling as it presses against her warm scales. "I’m sorry," you whisper, your voice shaking. "I’m so sorry."
Tesaerix rumbles softly, her eyes meeting yours, but there is a sadness in her gaze, a reflection of the helplessness you both feel.
Aegon watches from a distance, his expression unreadable now, but you can see the faint trace of guilt in his eyes. He turns his back to you, as if unable to bear the sight of your anguish.
Visenya remains mounted on Vhagar, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She offers no comfort, no sympathy. This is what must be done in her eyes, a necessary lesson in control. Rhaenys, still observing from above, does not intervene either. Her silence speaks volumes, but her presence feels distant, like she is struggling with the sight of your suffering.
The chains rattle as they secure the last link, the sound like a death knell in the still air. Tesaerix lowers her head, defeated, and your heart shatters along with her spirit.
You rise slowly to your feet, wiping the tears from your face with trembling hands, your eyes hollow as you look at Aegon one last time. "You’ve broken her," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Just as you’ve broken me."
Aegon does not respond. He does not even turn. And in that moment, you know that the brother you once loved, the brother who might have understood your heart, is gone—replaced by the conqueror who cannot allow defiance, not even from his own blood.
I haven't read the books yet. What is Arya and Jaqen relationship like ? I don't mind spoilers
Hello Anon!
First of all, I apologize for the delay.
Arya's relationship with Jaqen is quite different in the books. For starters, Jaqen is a lot younger, only a few years older than Gendry, And he is not teaching Arya in Braavos. He leaves her in Harrenhal to pursue his own goal which is getting a dragon's egg and learning the secrets of hatching dragons in the Citadel. There is also a strong connection between Jaqen and Arya pairing and weirwood magic.
Jaqen first noticed Arya when she beat up Hot Pie on the way to Harrenhal. They were going to the Watch with Yoren, like in the show. Jaqen tried to make friends with Arya after the fight. I suspect he wanted to trick her into freeing him from the cage but it also looked as if he wanted to offer her protection because he saw that she was lonely and afraid. Arya was charmed by him from the start. She loved how handsome Jaqen was and noted his good manners.
They were attacked near the God's Eye lake like in the show. However, in the books the attack was much worse and the fire that the Lannisters's men started was horrific. The show didn't give the impression that rescuing Jaqen from the burning cage was that hard. In the books, Arya admitted to herself that it was the hardest thing she had ever done. She killed a man and risked her own life to save Jaqen. During the attack Jaqen also told Arya that he wanted to fight in the red war. The red war is the war of R'hllor, the same war Melisandre is preaching about - the battle for the Dawn. So, book!Jaqen is familiar with the prophecy and has been prepared to fight that battle.
The Lannisters's men took the recruits to Harrenhal. Jaqen followed to pay his debt to Arya. One night he found her sleeping in the cellar and woke her up to tell her he was willing to kill three men for her because she saved his life and the lives of Rorge and Biter. Arya wanted them to run away together but Jaqen refused and insisted on the killings. Arya was disappointed so he kissed her hair to comfort her. Such a charmer he is in the books :)
The killings were a bit different too. But they had the same effect on Arya like in the show. She felt stronger and brave again.
Arya's time with Jaqen in Harrenhal was different too because each of their meetings was more private and symbolic. In the show, Arya simply caught Jaqen in the courtyard when he was with other soldiers. In the books, there was intimacy to their first conversation in the cellar when she got her first kiss ever from the boy, all proper for her age of course. Then, she served wine to Jaqen at dinner and whispered the name to his ear. She gave him another name while he was bathing and finally they met in godswood. The godswood meeting showed their connection to weirwood magic. Arya was training with a wooden sword hiding in the weirwood leaves and thinking that she was happiest in that weirwood kingdom. It is very important to know that in the books weirwood magic means immortality to the chosen ones. There are many spirits living in weirwoods unlike in the show where we only saw Bloodraven and Bran. When Arya finally noticed Jaqen, he seemed to her like the tree. Of course in the books he looks like a slender weirwood with his pale skin and red and white hair. It was then when Arya gave Jaqen his name. Jaqen then made an oath to Arya taking the gods as his witnesses and in return she promised him to obey.
After that the two of them made a ruse to free the prisoners from the North. It's called weasel soup in the books. I won't go into details but you must know that during the fight, Jaqen protected Arya and killed a man. Then, he wiped his bloodied sword in her shift to make her his partner in crime because he killed the man for her. It was yet another very intimate detail of their Harrenhal adventure.
Then, they parted ways. Jaqen offered Arya a journey to Braavos but she declined saying that she needed to find her family first. Then, he said he had his promises to keep as well and gave her the coin. That scene was more intense than their good bye in the show. They were talking surrounded by fighting and dying men and Jaqen knelt before Arya to be closer to her. He left Harrenhal and went to Pyke to kill Balon Greyjoy and earn a dragon's egg from Euron. His next stop is Oldtown where he is posing as Pate the novice. "Pate" is a roommate of Sam Tarly. As you can see this plot was entirely cut from the show.
Arya and Jaqen haven't seen each other since then but their future reunion is hinted at a few times in the books. Most notably, I think, in the Prologue to A Feast for Crows where the novice of the Citadel, Pate, is a foil for Jaqen and Rosey, his beloved, is a foil for Arya.
Unfortunately, GRRM didn't plan the books too well. The author intended on making Arya older in A Feast for Crows so she would be fifteen/sixteen. The time jump didn't work for other characters though so he abandoned the idea. That's why now we have an awkwardly young Arya and the storyline meant for an older character.
I would encourage you to read the books to get into all the meaningful details regarding Arya, Jaqen and other characters. The story is very different from what the show offered. However, the books are still incomplete and we don't know if GRRM is going to finish them at all. So you are reading them at your own risk.
You do not blame the faults of their foremothers, for they were subjected to prejudice and soul-crushing torment by their forefathers. And for their forefathers you do not weep. You seek to change the damage done to this family—curse from the gods or not. No coin will be flipped. You have it now.
If you knew the consequences of that, then perhaps you would have changed course. Stopped before you started. Never have stepped foot within the palace. But, alas, the gods have a cruel way of punishing you for your well-intended hubris.
Alicent and Rhaenyra, bless their injured souls, cling to you like molasses on the bark of a tree. They drink in your presence like Arbor red. And get just as intoxicated from it. You keep them together, soothe their woes, and tame the growing division inside the family.
It's exhausting. You don't get paid nearly enough. But bringing comfort to the scared children hidden inside every one of them brings you a nearly indescribable joy. They care for you in their odd way. A bit obsessive, perhaps. That is to be expected.
They are so cute with their queerness.
Aegon and Aemond vie for your attention like quarreling dragons. They shove each other and bicker. They undermine the other's authority. All for your love.
Aegon lays in your lap and sobs about his troubles. You tamp his hair down, tamping down his promiscuous habits. He visits whores less often. He's more attentive to his responsibilities. And he, honest to the gods, smiles. A genuine smile. It nearly made you burst into tears the first time you saw it.
Aemond is less demanding, more broody. He is used to being under Aegon's shadow. The child who listens, acts right, and never asks for anything more than he gets. He prefers reading with and/or to you. He stalks you, as if you can't tell. (You always assume you are being followed or watched at one time or another. It's the nature of the job.) By far his favorite pastime is you tending to him in such a tender manner, almost motherly.
Brush his hair. Help him choose his clothes. Compliment his face and coo at how pretty he is.
"A missing eye is nothing of shame. You lived through it. You survived. And you have Vhagar. That proves how strong you are. But even without her, you are worthy. You have worth, more than any gold or gem."
To him you are worth more than his own life. His sword is coated in so much blood he can hardly see the metallic shine. Avenging you from people's grievances. It's the one time where Aegon and he agree. Protect you. Love you. Fight each other about you.
All Helaena asks is to have a modicum of your attention. Your praise. Your approval. You don't see her as some strange, otherworldly cook. You see her as her. You allow her to talk about her special interest, bugs. You don't shame her for stimming or getting overstimulated. You make sure the cooks get her food right every time.
You are truly a godsend. And she does her best to keep you with her at all times. Manipulation, coercion, blackmailing. Those are such vile words. Love is the true word. The only word that describes why and what she does for you.
You, undoubtedly, are the steadfast parental figure Baela and Rhaena have been searching for. Cast out into the seas of life with a ship but no crew, they had not the faintest clue of where to sail. You are their crew, their second mate, their maester. They hang onto your every word as if it is a divine prophecy destined to be true.
You learn how to take care of their hair, similar to Aemond. You show them what little you know about the world. You are their anchor to normalcy. They can brave their storms while you are around. Be themselves. Not nobles or Targaryens, and all the baggage that comes with that.
You do it with Jacaerys and Lucerys. Bastards or not, they are worthy of love and respect. They'll always be Targaryens to you. It runs through their veins. You can tell. As they have the same overprotective and slightly frightening tendencies that the rest of their family has. You watch them spar. You learn the language of their ancestors along with them. You take care of their scrapes and mend their clothes.
Ahsoka telling Anakin she has to leave. She can’t be with the order anymore. But Anakin can’t take this! Not another person leaving him. There’s nothing to bring her back to him if she leaves. Nothing physical and real. So he had to.
If she plans to leave then she won’t be held to the order’s rules anymore. Just once, he will fuck her just once. That's all he knows he needs. He’s the chosen one. He will WILL it into being truth. He stealths the condom, she’s sweet, doesn’t know anything and he’s her first. That aspect he loves too. You always compare everyone to your first right?
A month later, much sooner than she said she was gonna get in contact with him, she tells him she has something to discuss with him. When they meet again for the discussion (where he has to pretend he doesn’t know) he focuses all his attention on her with the force and THERE. He can sense it. The small flame of another force presence inside of her. There’s no way out now. She is connected to him in a way stronger than the intangible presence of the force or their faith.
She can’t escape him now. No way to desert him or turn her back and walk away. He just now needs to convince her that she needs to keep the baby. He doesn’t think she would be able to get rid of it anyway.
THIS. Always a plus for me. Especially since Togruta don’t have hair, Ahsoka gets a human with the best hair! It’s so sweet. I feel like playing with someone’s hair is affectionate and so comforting in general.
