#tomya

aesthetic + ficlet for got rare pair milestone madness [8 of 8] pairing: tommen baratheon & arya stark based on: modern, haunted house au :: story concept

There were certain unspoken rules Tommen had grown to expect since starting at Melisandre’s Fall Farm & Fun. If you were running late to where you needed to be and Davos passed in his truck he would give you a lift. Shireen was easily susceptible to giving out free candy apples or pastries when you passed by her stand. 

And Arya was a menace who showed up in a different costume every day (usually, these days, designed specifically to prod at him). 

“Don’t you get tired of being...” His eyes narrowed as he grew sidetracked trying to decipher her current look. “Wait, what even are you?” he asked. 

Arya leaned up against the counter, though it was a bit too tall for her so it was sort of comical how her elbow laid flat on the surface at shoulder height. “Think of the scariest thing you can think of,” Arya prompted. 

Tommen did not like the childlike glee that took over her face. 

“Nevermind,” he said with a shake of his head. He still had to clean the waiting area before the haunted house opened for the night, and Arya around was probably going to be a distraction. “I don’t need to know.” 

She rolled her eyes dramatically, throwing her hands out to the side and taking a few steps back. “Come on, Baratheon. Think. It’s a good one.” 

He wasn’t sure she was anything. A polo shirt covered in spots of blood. A scar down the side of her face. Jeans ripped at varying spots, and after a beat she reached behind her and put a cap on backwards. 

“Arya...” He narrowed his eyes, feeling like there was a jab coming any second. 

“The scariest thing I could think of,” she told him, doing a quick twirl before pausing. “You if you had a personality.” 

“That’s- That’s...” He shook his head, pulling off his hat to run a hand over his hair before securing it back on his head again. 

“Okay,” she answered with a shrug. “Maybe the general theme was more zombie-frat boy, but is there really a difference?” 

“You’re mean,” he said, though in his head he knew she wasn’t cruel, not exactly. She was mean but not necessarily hurtful, not the way others had been before to him.  

Our daughter. Arya’s words were loud in his head as he reached for the bundle in her arms. My daughter, our daughter, our little m i r a c l e  princess.

She never had the chance to tell her husband the good news. Arya planned to reveal her pregnancy upon Tommen’s return from Iron Islands after mending the treaties and alliances with the Greyjoys. Tragedy struck when the Greyjoys slaughtered the unsuspecting King and his men during the welcoming feast. The news of the King’s death devastated the realm, most of all his Queen and heir. Widowed with one child, only six years, forced to be a rule and another growing inside her womb, along with a kingdom to care for, the Young Wolf Queen did all she could to hold herself together. For a year, Arya managed the Kingdom as best she could, bearing the responsibilities and the birth of her precious daughter, the last thing she’d have of Tommen. 

“When the s u n  has set,

                   No candle can replace it.”

The Queen Mother had dipped Young Wolf Queen’s Hand of the King necklace in a dose of The Long Farewell, a poison which symptoms many assumed to be the side effects of being with child.  Claiming a night of good rest would help her recover, Arya sent Tommen away to attend to his duties and allowed herself to drift to sleep... only to never open her grey eyes again.