Yup. I'm one of the unsatisfied GoT customers. So I will dream my dreams. *As always, no swearing, no dangling body bits, or nekkid parts.*
At first, she'd left to flee the whispers. Let it be known that she was off exploring new lands. Leave the rumors to die: the defender of the north was off to conquer in her king brother's name. The princess of Winterfell had run away from marriage to a lord. The Night King Slayer had no place in the Six Kingdoms among mortal men.
Arya let the sea breeze caress her cheek like a lover as they slid into port. Yes. Let the rumors die.
It'd all been for nothing anyways. The scars she bore. Jon's secret. Sansa's determination. Bran's loss of humanity. The Starks were pulled apart as soon as they'd been made whole. It seemed that destiny was a cruel mistress to the pack. All Arya had ever wanted was sit with her sister and brothers at Winterfell's hall, if only for a season.
But the vast open waters taught Arya that fate is fickle and luck is fleeting. The old gods or the new ones flipped a coin and so fell Westeros to the Mad Mother of Dragons. The Starks were once again torn asunder, like discarded Cyvasse pieces, rolling with each pitch and wave of the Sunset Sea.
"It's much warmer here, Captain," said Paulo, a boy no more than ten and one. He hovered like a ghost at her elbow for the past year, learning to scrub the deck, mind the ropes, scamper the mast. Every night, he fell asleep on the floor of her cabin, eyes drooping until his breathing evened out while she told him Old Nan's stories.
Arya had shed her furs some hours ago. "We are lucky to make land before any bad weather."
"I 'eard this spot has storms that'll break a ship in two." His lithe fingers clutched the rail near her own hands. The wind whipped his reddish-brown curls from their leather binding. He never heard her nightly whispers, "Good night, Rickon."
"That's why it's called Shipbreaker Bay."
"Aye," the little one breathed, craning his head upwards to the castle. "And that's Storm's End?"
She clenched her teeth and let out a slow breath. "It is. What do you remember about Storm's End?"
Behind her, Arya could hear the crew move in tandem with each other, calling out the lines and dropping anchor. Her eyes were solely for the sheer stone walls, a massive turret barely visible high above.
"It is the seat of the Stormlands. They had to eat dogs and rats once."
Arya laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. "And their sigil?"
The chains rattled against the hull as the anchor dropped into the bay. The boards vibrated against her knees, and her smile melted into a passive face. Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
Let the rumors kindle: the deserter of the North couldn't return to her home. The princess of Winterfell would die a maiden. The Night King Slayer had no place in any land.
Paulo babbled about the Storm's End sigil, along with their house history. She'd been careful to avoid any current information, other than the lord's name.
"Does he look like his uncle, Captain?"
Arya looked down to the kid, who stared back with saucered brown eyes. "It is said that he does."
"The men say that he used a war hammer, like his father the king."
Before she could answer, Paulo was called below deck. The crew functioned with precision, minus their captain. They knew when she was not to be disturbed, even when she was among them.
It came as no surprise when a crow landed on the railing and turned its three-eyed face toward her.
"My lord and King brother," Arya said. Her lips curved up. "I suppose this will have to do until I reach Kings Landing." The crow cawed twice. "You already know my intentions, where I'm headed and why. I'll make sure to send an actual raven, though." She laughed when the crow made to peck at her hand.
Her brother, the crow, turned toward Paulo, who scampered across the deck with a clean coat for the first mate.
"He reminds me of Rickon," Arya whispered. "I know it's wrong to suppose, but I felt like I had part of our family with me at sea."
Bran flapped and lifted away, tilting and lifting on the winds.
Paulo approached with her leather jerkin. "Captain, they'll be lowering you down, now."
"Would you like to come with me?"
He stammered sounds, unable to string two words together.
"Come, little man," she said, tugging on her formal attire. "You've never seen an actual castle. I'm certain that this one has the highest walls you've ever seen."
"Built with magic," he finally burst, nervously laughing. He slapped both grubby hands over his mouth.
"Go fetch your shoes. Hurry up." Arya felt as light as her brother on the breeze watching Paulo race to their cabin. She crossed the deck. Paulo skidded behind her as she stepped into the dinghy. Arya held out her hand to help the boy in. He clutched her fingers until the boat bumped into the dock. And she didn't mind.
The contingent on land flew the Baratheon banner above their huddle. Arya waited while her men moored the boat. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. It was only when a familiar face stepped forward that she allowed her shoulders to relax.
"My lady Captain." A weathered hand extended toward her.
"Ser Davos," she replied, using his hand out of politeness. "I certainly did not expect to see you under the stag banner.
He laughed and dropped her hand. "Your grace, I am pledged to your house and to our king. I just happened to be here trying to help the new lord with his fleet when your direwolf graced our horizon."
Arya fell into step alongside the Master of Ships for the Six Kingdoms. "And how fares the King?" She refused to take the more obvious path Davos baited her with. That man would soon enough appear before her. Or, rather, she before him. She heard Paulo's faltering pace behind her.
"Your brother, the King, is … adjusting to his role. He has wisdom and knowledge enough, but lacks the experience." The Onion Knight motioned for her to continue toward waiting horses. "As his small council, despite our bickering, we do our best to help in any way."
"Bickering. You mean squabbling like nags?"
Davos' laughter startled the horses. "Something like that, lady Captain."
Arya motioned for Paulo and pulled him up behind her in the saddle. The way he gripped her waist, she knew he'd never ridden before.
"And who is this young Ser?" Davos smiled at her passenger.
She cast a glance over her shoulder. "Answer when you are asked a question." She felt Paulo straighten against her back.
"M'name's Paulo, Ser."
"Master Paulo. It has a grand sound, that name." Davos pulled his steed even. "Where do you hail from, Master Paulo?"
Arya remembered the way Davos worked with the children at Winterfell, teaching them with care and tenderness. He reminded her of her father in that way.
"Gin Alley, Ser."
"You don't say! I was born and raised there myself!"
Paulo shifted. "But, Ser, you are a knight."
Davos chuckled. "Young master, I'm but the son of two poor crabbers. It is only by a ship full of onions that I became a knight." He held up his hand, wiggling the stumps of his missing fingers. "I made bad choices as a lad. Now, I can read and write. I'm the Master of Ships to King Bran the Broken. Do you know your letters?"
Arya kept her eyes on the winding road carved into the cliffside. How had the lord of Storm's End learned his letters? The two messages she'd received were safely tucked into a small pocket near her ribs.
Arya I was stupid I am sorry
Arya you were right
Slanted and spotted, she had no doubt that he'd penned the papers himself, asking for help with only the spelling. The second one troubled her most nights.
Her expedition to search new lands ended on the far side of the Sunset Sea, on land more wild than the Wolfswood, snarled in trees and vines, but teaming with food.
As soon as her crew had hunted and dried meat and filled their barrels with clean rain water, they turned northward, only to be halted three days later when an illness ravaged the crew, killing half of them. How little Paulo had survived was a miracle.
Defeated and fighting the winds to return home to replenish the deckhands, she'd taken it as a sign from the Many-Faced God when Lord Baratheon's raven found their ship.
"Aye. The Captain taught me herself." Paulo's grip loosened.
"Good lad. You pay attention to your Captain and you'll find yourself astride a fine steed of your own." Ser Davos caught Arya's attention and nodded.
"Or my own ship," the boy mumbled into her back.
Even Arya couldn't stop her smile.
"Your grace," Davos started, until she leveled her gaze. "Captain Stark. His grace requests your presence once we reach Storm's End. In private, if you please." His kind blue eyes pled for her for understanding.
Arya nodded once. She strangled the reins with both hands. It took every ounce of willpower to blow out a slow breath, gather her thoughts, and build her walls. She wasn't right. And he wasn't wrong. Stupid and useful, but never wrong. And in need of an explanation.
"His grace is a quick learner," Davos continued. "He has a long ways yet, but he's already started the trade routes again."
She didn't react, but listened to every word the Master of Ships spilled. Storm's End's coffers were filling for the oncoming winter. Envoys regularly traveled to and from the castle. Residents returned with the promise of work. He was even training proper blacksmiths himself and forging weapons for the depleted armories of the Six Kingdoms.
"And he's also sent a shipment to your sister, the Queen of the North."
"He is fortunate to have a teacher so diverse as you are, Ser Davos."
"I think he's driven by the past. Like a demon is chasing him, daring him to fail."
The last switchback revealed the thick gates were wide open. "I doubt that Lord Baratheon will fail." And she meant every word, despite the way she ruled her voice to stay monotonous.
The small party crossed the solitary entrance into Storm's End—a wide bridge. Any fall from the stone pathway would bring certain death far, far below. Looming in front of the gray clouds, Storm's End was a massive single building, boasting connected rooftops and covered walkways. Residents peeked out from their open shutters to catch a glimpse of the visitors.
A squire hustled to hold the reins of the horse. Arya slipped down before assistance was offered, and turned to help Paulo down. "You will follow Ser Davos and obey."
"But Captain, where are you going?" Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. They'd never been apart for over a year.
"I must meet with the lord. But I know this," she said, leaning over to his height. "If you politely ask, Ser Davos will not only get you some clothes that fit, he will tell you about the night he saved this place with his ship full of onions."
Paulo's eyes twinkled and he looked to the knight over his captain's shoulder. Solemnly, the boy nodded his head before slipping away.
Arya followed another guard in the opposite direction. The roar of the waves were swallowed by the dark stone walls. She smoothed her damp hair back along her skull and kept her eyes straight ahead. Salty air swirled through the passages. Arya saw the gaps in the slate roof lines, the rain barrels lined like soldiers underneath them.
She trailed the black clad soldier through twisting paths and hallways until he stopped at an arched doorway. Nodding her thanks, Arya entered the small room as the man before her tugged his jacket at the waist.
"Have you at least learned how to use a fork?" she asked, granting a smile to creep up her cheeks. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
"Arya," he breathed.
"Gendry." She hadn't said his name aloud or in her mind in many moons. It was easier to remember him as "Lord Baratheon" or "that blacksmith," as the crew whispered. The man who fears losing has already lost.
"You look well." His hands flexed into fists at his side, then released.
"Are we really going to do this?"
"Yes," Gendry said, straightening, "we are." His fingernails were smooth but dirty, and a short dark beard made the lines around his eyes deepen. "What did you find beyond the Sunset Sea?"
She shifted from one foot to the other. "Nothing but water for the longest time—"
Gendry took two strides forward and placed both hands on either side of her face. For a second, she recognized his touch in the winds. "I'm so sorry, Arya. I shouldn't have done that. You never wanted to be a lady. But I loved you and I thought I finally could be your family, but I mucked that all up too."
Arya watched his eyes flick back and forth between her own. When his hands slid away, she kept his gaze, the past tense of his love dragging its daggers down her heart. And she banished the throught.
"You were right to turn me down. I have thought of little else since then. I didn't even have time to get to know you before we …" Pink dashed up his neck to his ears.
"Before we rolled in the hay?" she finished with a grin.
He burst into a wide smile. "Yeah. That."
Not sure how often I'll update, but rest assured that I'll stay with this until the end. ~JS