Chapter Text
Those two words, they hit her harder than anything she’d ever heard in her life. Worse than her injury, the thought of never dancing again, the thought of never being able to have children. With all of the hurt and the pain she had to endure there was always someone on the sidelines, cheering her on, being the man she had fallen in love with, whom she married. The man who was going to be the father of her baby, their baby, and he couldn’t look her in the eye.
His hands were in his pockets, fumbling with his keys or something, she didn’t really care as to what. She wanted him to engulf her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, but as soon as he said those two nasty, painful words she pushed him off of her. She felt sick to her stomach. She wished her hair was a bit longer so she could play with its ends, but alas her stupid mind had wanted it off her neck for the hot Asshai weather. She wished she could look at her husband and not see the guilt rising in his eyes.
“Arya,” he tried.
“No,” she spat back, “You don’t get to take this day from me. Today we are going to celebrate me being pregnant.” She had decided she would get this, she would get a day to be normal and act as if nothing had changed. “I want you to come back in that door and I’ll give you the test and it’ll be perfect, just like the movies,” she could barely get the words out.
“Love,” he soothed, as he finally took his hands out of his pockets and tried to touch her arm, “We need to talk about this.”
“Can you give me a day?”
He hesitated, she knew he needed to talk this through because she knew his mind was reeling and he was scared and nervous and he expected to come home to his barren wife and they would cry together and they’d make a plan on what to do for his last few months and it would be fine. She was Arya Targaryen, she could get through anything.
“Please,” he begged.
She finally looked at him and gave a silent look, “Five minutes, then it’s back to being happy, just for a little while,” she whispered.
He led her to the couch and instinctually was going to pour her a glass of wine, but quickly realized and grabbed some water for the both of them.
“I’ve been having the headaches for a while now,” he began, “And I went to a specialist here that my father knew about, assuming I would just be plagued with migraines for the rest of my life. Turns out, there’s a tumor on my hippocampus, could have been there my whole life, could have just turned up last year.”
She took it in, silently.
“They can do surgery on it.”
Her eyes lit up and suddenly the realization hit her, as he took her hand and softly stroked the back of it with his thumb, she knew, somehow, that his decision had already been made.
“If it were to take my sight or my hearing or my ability to feed myself, I think I could be okay with it. But,” he sighed, “It’s all but guaranteed to take my memory. I don’t want to, no, I can’t put you through that.”
“And you dying is better?”
“Arya, the chances of surviving the surgery are less than 15%, the doctor said I’d have two years before the symptoms really show, probably five if I’m lucky.”
“So, our child would know you and they would learn to love you and the whole time, you’d know, I’d know, we’d be living on borrowed time.”
“Please, Arya,” he tried again, “I can’t stand the idea of not remembering you or our story or the love that I have for you.”
“Did it ever occur to you, that I’d remember for the both of us.”
Her words took him aback, filled with such power and hate and love all at the same time.
“You say you don’t want to do this operation for me, but did you ever think that it might be because you’re scared. I would happily remind you every day of us and who you are and what you mean to me, because I love you. Through sickness and in health, Aegon.”
“Don’t make me choose, Arya, I want peace.”
“You married the wrong woman to get peace, Aegon. You’re not dying unless I’m following you the day after. And seeing as I’m pregnant and have the show to choreograph and our wedding to plan, your plans to be a martyr better change. We have to go to the obgyn to check on me, might as well make an appointment to check on you too.”
“You can’t even let a man die in peace, can you?”
“Never,” she said.
“I love you,” he reached and tucked her hair behind her ear, half of it was up in a ridiculous ponytail on the top of her head, he bopped it and laughed.
“Hey,” she protested, as she nuzzled into his chest.
“You’re mine, Arya Stark.”
“Arya Targaryen,” she corrected.
She laid on his chest for quite some time as his hand rested on her abdomen.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
“Me too, love, me too.”
“I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here with me for the babe, it just doesn’t seem right or fair.”
“Nothing really is fair, love.”
“Can you take me to bed?”
“Always.”
He kissed his wife, softly, but for some reason she felt like he was kissing her like it was the last time he’d be able to. He looked at her differently too, still harboring more love than anyone could imagine, but there was a finality in his gaze. She knew what she was asking of him was selfish, that her wanting him to stay was not fair, she knew of his pain just as he had known of hers.
She plans to call Dany the next morning, she would know what to do. She couldn’t tell her family about the baby or about Aegon just yet. They’d find out soon enough anyways as the paparazzi here were always on her trail. But for some reason she felt like this is the universe punishing her for leaving them for so long, choose one family Arya, Targaryen or Stark, you won’t be able to keep both. She’d chosen Targaryen and in their sick and twisted way, the old gods were making her pay for it. And so starts Arya’s new rabbit hole of distancing herself from the Stark brood as she declined an incoming call from Sansa right before she was about to fall asleep.