AN: Thought it'd be nice to dump all my prompt fics in one page. Who knew writing drabbles could be so fun? :)

Title was taken from Ruth Frances Long's lovely novel, btw.

For the prompt: Jealous Arya (Pre-betrothal to Aegon)

If that woman bats her eyelashes at him one more time, I swear to the gods I am going to scream, Arya thought furiously to herself as she swirled the contents of her wine and fought the urge to hurl it against the nearest wall.

Beside her, Rhaenys had picked up on her mood and was now staring at her with a devilish smirk on her face, something that did nothing to quell Arya's rising temper. "Whatever is the matter, Lady Arya?" she said in her best Elia Martell voice. "Is the wine not to your liking?"

Her eyes flickered towards the dancing couple in the middle of the room. Her brother looked particularly dashing today, a fact that his present dancing partner seemed highly well aware of. Margaery Tyrell blushed prettily next to the prince, her eyelashes cast downward in a way that made her look even more innocent and virtuous than the rumors had suggested. In fact, she was so sweet and well mannered that every time Aegon tried to excuse himself, she would smile at him so forlornly that he would be left with no choice but to grant her another dance lest he risk the chance of him looking like an ungallant brute.

As it stood, Margaery now had the honor of dancing with the prince for no less than four times. If Aegon were to grant her one more dance, Rhaenys had no doubt that by this time tomorrow, the rumors about a new Tyrell princess would soon be spreading across the city like wildfire.

And that, she thought, sparing a glance at the smug look on Mace Tyrell's face from his position at the high table, would not do.

"The wine is fine, Princess Rhaenys," Arya managed to say through gritted teeth. Rhaenys consoled herself with the fact that at least she did not look half as murderous as the lady sitting next to her. Margaery Tyrell may be as lovely as a spring blossom, but a rose with thorns is no match for a direwolf.

"Then why the long face?" Rhaenys asked her, unable to stop herself from goading their Northern guest further. "Are you unwell, my lady? Would you like me to fetch my brother? He would be most wroth with me if something bad were to happen to you without his knowledge."

Arya shook her head obstinately. "I'm fine," she insisted. "There's no need to call Jon."

Rhaenys' eyes flashed with amusement. "Oh, but I am not talking about Jon."

Arya's face hardened at that. "Prince Aegon is far too busy with his Southron lady to pay attention to me. I would not want to deprive him of Lady Margaery's company so soon, not when he so clearly enjoys it," she said, sounding just as churlish as Viserys when he is being deprived of something he wants.

"They do make a striking couple, do they not?" Rhaenys mused loudly, one hand resting on her chin. "How long do you think it'll be before I would have to call Margaery my good sister?"

Arya ground her teeth so hard Rhaenys half-expected her to transform into Stannis Baratheon. "But… but surely…" she sputtered, looking flustered, "Surely Aegon would not marry her. Not her."

The older woman suppressed a smile and leaned closer to her guest. "You mustn't be so sure of that," she whispered. "Allow me to tell you a secret, Lady Arya. My brother… has a certain… shall we say…fondness for dark-haired girls." She raised one eyebrow and smirked at her. "Catch my meaning?"

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say to her. Lord Eddard's daughter slammed her goblet against the table so hard that some of the wine spilled onto her lap, staining her white gown a deep crimson red, but she did not even seem to notice.

Rhaenys gave Arya a friendly pat on the back and silently congratulated herself on a job well done. "Have patience, my love," she said sweetly. "You haven't even seen the worst of it yet."

Rhaenys was right, of course. Just when Arya thought things would get better, they only got worse. She could not understand how a man like Aegon could inspire such blind loyalty and adoration from the majority of the ladies in King's Landing. If Aegon were to ask someone to jump off a cliff, the poor lady would probably do so without a second thought. Arya thought the whole thing was rather ridiculous.

"I thought I might find you here."

Arya turned around and came face to face with Jon. He favored her with one of his rare smiles and joined her on the balustrade, where they both had a perfect view of the approaching carriage that bore the seal of House Baratheon.

"Aegon was looking for you earlier, you know," Jon mentioned casually.

Arya snorted and jerked her chin in Aegon's direction. "Does that look like a man searching for me, Jon?" she said. They both watched as the carriage doors opened and a lovely lady with hair as brilliant as the sun gingerly stepped out. Aegon took her hand and carefully escorted her out, smiling at her in a way that made Arya wish she had clobbered him on the head the last time Aegon found himself alone with her.

"Look at him," Arya muttered, shaking her head in disgust. "Strutting like a bloody peacock who owns the place. You'd think he'd never seen a blonde-haired girl in his life before."

Jon paused and looked at her.

"What?" Arya asked him. "Why are you staring at me like that, Jon?"

After a moment, she heard him laugh. "By the gods," Jon said, sounding far too amused for Arya's liking. "You…"

"I what? For gods' sake, Jon, spit it out."

"You're jealous," Jon finally had the grace to say.

Arya gasped indignantly. "I am not," she protested.

Jon nodded sagely at her. "Yes, you are," he stated. "Arya, I know you better than anyone. So believe me when I say this: you like my brother. And if I am not mistaken, he likes you too."

Arya seethed quietly by herself as she watched Aegon and his small party gallop off into the kingswood, the sound of barking dogs following in their wake. Riding at a steady pace beside him was Elia Sand, yet another paragon of beauty who had journeyed all the way from the far reaches of Dorne just for the pleasure of having the prince's company. Or so Arya had gleaned from eavesdropping in on Lord Varys' conversation with the king earlier that day.

Elia Sand was not as beautiful as Myrcella Baratheon or Margaery Tyrell, but she exuded a certain confidence that drew men to her in the same manner Aegon drew women to him. And for some reason Arya did not like her.

"Arya," a soft voice said to her right. "What are you doing here? I thought you had gone riding with my nephew today."

Arya shrugged and met Daenerys Targaryen's curious gaze. "I'm afraid I've lost my appetite for riding," she remarked. "Perhaps some other day."

In truth, she was still mad at Aegon for inviting Elia Sand along with them. Arya suppressed a sigh. Sometimes the stupid prince was just too damn nice for his own good.

"I'm sorry Aegon has made things difficult for you," Dany said, reaching out to clasp Arya's hand. "He chose a most inopportune time to invite you to King's Landing."

"What do you mean?"

Dany sighed. "You've arrived in the middle of hunting season, dearest Arya," she told her. "But this time there is only one prey."

A look of understanding crossed Arya's face. "Aegon," she immediately said.

Dany nodded. "Yes. Aegon."

No doubt her Targaryen friend expected her to be deterred by this news. But if anything, this only made Arya even more determined. She smiled wolfishly at Dany and said, "Good thing I am a Stark then. I know a thing or two about hunting."

AN: I don't know when this drabble-writing streak will last, so if you want me to write something for you, send me a prompt on Tumblr (the username's starksiren).

It doesn't necessarily have to be Arya/Aegon. Sometimes a little variety is welcome too. However... I make no guarantees that I'd be able to do ALL the prompts. It depends on how, ummm, doable the prompt is.