A/N: Just my variation of Arya and Gendry's trip towards the North. Won't follow the storyline exactly, just closely, though in this, I'm making Arya a bit older than she is in the book/show, just to make the romantic aspect of it a bit more palatable for us. Reviews/critiques welcome, especially if anyone feels I'm doing a dishonor to the characters by making them too-something-they're-not. I'm going off both the book and the show, taking only the lines I like to keep the story going in a similar direction, but as you'll see in this and future chapters, I'll be making plenty of my own changes. Just wanted more Arya/Gendry, especially more protective Gendry, even if Arya doesn't like it. I own nothing related to Game of Thrones, least of all these characters, though I wish I had the power to make them bring Gendry back on the show. Thanks in advance for reading, hopefully appreciating and reviewing if it please you!
Arya could still hear the ringing of the sword as it sliced down through the air to claim the last of her childhood. The heavy clang of her father's sword, Ice, as it hit the steps of the Sept of Baelor. The sword her father had used to dispense justice in the North, by his own hand. Joffrey had refused to even allow her father that last small sliver of honor, to die at the hand of he who had passed the sentence.
King's Landing passed before her in a blur, as she was dragged roughly by the forearm down its dizzying corridors.
"You're Arry now, hear me? Arry the orphan boy. No one asks an orphan too many questions, 'cause nobody gives three shits." The man practically growled at her.
Arya's heart constricted. In the back of her mind, she understood what the man - Yoren, she remembered, but it was her father's voice she heard saying it - was telling her and why. But…she wasn't an orphan, was she? Her mother was waiting for her back home in Winterfell. In the last ten minutes, the entire world had gone to hell, and she didn't know if she could be sure of anything anymore.
"What's your name?"
"Arry." She replied automatically. She hadn't fully digested his words, but she'd listened long enough to follow directions. Her mind was racing. She imagined this might be what being drunk felt like, but she couldn't really know for sure. Her father and brothers had allowed Arya small tastes of their beer or mead, but she'd never had enough to drink so as to become drunk. Her brothers had made sure of that. Her brothers.
"You've a long way to travel, and in bad company," Yoren barked. "l've 20 this time - men and boys - all bound for the Wall. Your lord father gave me the pick of the dungeons, and l didn't find no little lordlings down there."
Her lord father. The Wall. The Black. This man had taken the black. Like Uncle Benjen. Like Jon. Was she going to go see Jon? Her heart rose but dropped the next second. But no, what about Sansa? What about Mother and Robb and Bran and Rickon? What would the King do next? A thousand and one questions, the only answer the cold singing of Ice as it fell through the air. Over and over again, she heard that sound in her mind, as if everyone in the square had all let out their breaths at once. Indeed, she'd never forget that sound.
"This lot - half of them would turn you over to the king quick as spit for a pardon. And the other half would do the same, except they'd rape you first. So keep to yourself - and when you piss, do it in the woods alone."
Yoren's words reached her ears, but she heard them through a distant roaring, almost like waves crashing violently against a dark, deserted beach. She could hear her heartbeat as well, the fast incessant pounding. How could any of this be real?
"You stay with this lot, boy. And stay, or l'll lock you in the back of the wagon with these three." Yoren finally released his tight grip on her shoulder.
Her glazed eyes roamed over the wagon, but she barely took notice of the rough-looking men inside whose prying eyes she felt on her regardless. The hooded figure in particular. She felt the gaze of whatever was under the cloak. She wasn't scared. She was a wolf.
Yoren's release had set Arya off balance and she bumped clumsily into a huge lump of a boy.
"Watch yourself, midget!" the boy bellowed at her.
Arya was pulled from her stupor by the outburst. She wasn't frightened. She wasn't scared of anything, she told herself. She was a wolf. She reminded herself again lest she forget. But she was wary.
"He's got a sword, this one." Another stupid boy spoke from beside the fat one. He soon came to circle behind Arya, so she was surrounded, fat boy in front of her, stupid boy in back.
The fat one's eyes bulged when he lay eyes upon Needle. "What's a gutter rat like you doing with a sword?"
"Maybe he's a little squire."
"He ain't no squire," the fat one said, rolling his eyes at the other. "Look at him. He looks like a girl. l bet he stole that sword."
"Let's have a look." The stupid one lunged towards her from behind, reaching for Needle. Arya danced fluidly backward out of his way, but only ended up closer to the fat one.
The fat boy's chubby hand met her shoulder and pushed her down to the ground forcefully. She had no time to sidestep him, and the boy was too heavy for her to fight the force of his weight against hers. She fell to her side but rolled swiftly onto her back, keeping her eyes trained on both idiot boys. "l could use me a sword like that." The fat boy continued.
"Leave him alone." The boy with the ink black hair standing at the wagon near them was watching the encounter with a scowl. She could tell immediately from his accent that he was from King's Landing. The boys were too intent on Arya to take notice. Considering how the boy would have towered over both of them, his muscles greater than theirs to boot, neither would have dared ignore him. If they'd heard. Arya had heard. But she didn't care. She didn't need another useless boy's help.
"Well, take it off 'im." The stupid boy said with a stupid smile, as they stared down at her in what they must have supposed to be a menacing manner.
Arya watched them both with cunning eyes, forming a plan in her head.
"Give it 'ere, midget." The fat boy exclaimed.
"Look at 'im." The stupid boy sneered. Arya began raising herself off the ground, though her slight movements were imperceptible to the boys. "You'd better give Hot Pie the sword. I've seen him kick a boy to death." Her small hand went to Needle's hilt, but the boys were both too stupid and busy boasting to notice.
"l knocked him down and l kicked him in the balls and l kept kicking him until he was dead. l kicked him all to pieces." Arya would have rolled her eyes, if she wasn't focusing so intently on beating both of these boys half to death. She was sitting all the way up now, and Needle was partway out of her belt. "You better give me that sword!" The fat boy exclaimed in what he must have supposed to have been a ferocious voice. He lunged toward her, the victory of stealing her sword shining in his eyes.
Suddenly, unsheathing Needle swiftly, Arya lunged at the fat boy. "You want it? I'll give it to you." She hit him over and over again hard enough to hurt him but not hard enough to cut him. All the while she spoke, a hit from the blade across his skin to emphasize each word. "l already killed one fat boy. l bet you never killed anyone. l bet you're a liar. But I'm not. I'm good at killing fat boys. l like killing fat boys." The boy cried out as she did so, holding his nose and side simultaneously when she finally stopped, nursing what could only be blooming bruises.
So swiftly neither boy could keep track of her, Arya danced around to face the retreating boy and caught him under the backs of his legs, causing him to stumble head first. She brought the blade down across the stupid boy's back side.
"Behind you." The black-haired boy warned her.
Without missing a step, Arya twirled on her toes. The fat boy had picked up a stone and was lobbing it at her. But the boy with the warning had been quicker. The stone exploded into a multitude of shards, as he swung his hammer with great strength so swiftly, it was a blur even in Arya's eyes.
The boy with the hammer approached the fat one menacingly. "Like picking on the little ones, do you? I've been hammering an anvil these past 10 years. When l hit that steel, it sings. Are you gonna sing when l hit you?" He raised his hammer over the fat boy's head in warning. The fat boy only whimpered.
Arya actually growled. "I can handle this myself." She sprang around the boy with the hammer, trying to knock him out of her way so she could get at the fat boy again with her sword for not learning his lesson the first time. The hammer boy didn't budge, and it almost hurt to hit his shoulder with hers, but she paid him no more mind anyway.
She caught the fat boy again on both hands, this time drawing blood. The fat boy tried to run, terrified now. He tripped over his own feet and landed heavily on the dirty floor of the courtyard. He tried to crawl away, all the while whimpering and shouting from her whips of Needle across his sorry lump of a backside, tearing long strips of holes in his pants and drawing some blood. Arya kept at him, anger taking over as the predominant force of her sword hand.
Arya was suddenly yanked backwards, roughly.
"Enough!" came the coarse voice. Incensed, she looked up into Yoren's face. While he looked angry at her, she could also discern the hint of humor and disbelief in his eyes. "You want to kill the boy?!" He continued speaking, or she would have answered him in the affirmative. "Anymore o' this, I'll tie you lot behind the wagons and drag you to the Wall!" He bellowed at them all. "And that goes twice for you, boy!" He yelled at her.
Arya wasn't sorry. She was a wolf. She'd been attacked. And she showed those stupid enough not to realize that she was a wolf why they'd never attack her again.
The fat boy was still whimpering in pain, holding one hand to his backside as he used the wall to the side of him to pull himself to his feet.
Meanwhile, Yoren tossed her around so she was facing away from him and roughly bent her against his knee. Sword in hand, flat side facing Arya, he began to bring it down on her own behind to show the other boys and men joining the Night's Watch what they could expect for their feral behavior. Arya supposed Yoren was also punishing her for getting into trouble immediately after he'd left her alone. She didn't care. She would have shrugged if her body wasn't tensed up awaiting the hit.
Most of the boys around them cowered at Yoren's temper. The tall, black-haired boy, however, took several steps toward her and Yoren and spoke before Yoren could bring the flat of his blade against Arya's behind. "It weren't 'im that started it." The boy stated in a clear, loud, almost authoritative voice. "He was only defendin' himself from these two idiots."
Yoren froze, the sword having traveled halfway toward its target. He turned to glare at the boy. The boy did not break his gaze with Yoren. Finally, Yoren looked down at Arya. "That true boy?"
Arya turned around and glared up at Yoren. "Aye. And if they do it again, they'll get it three times as bad!" She spit in the fat boy's direction, and he stumbled backwards, a look of terror on his face, one hand still caressing his sore backside.
Yoren blinked down at the girl, then burst out laughing. Arya could see the black-haired boy, too, steps away from them, had broken out into a grin at her words. "You'll do no such thing, boy." Yoren warned her. "Or you'll be subject to the beating that boy," he gestured at the ink-haired boy, "just saved ya from." Yoren let her stand up straight.
Arya glared at the black-haired boy, who was staring at her almost as if willing her to keep quiet, then glared up at Yoren. "I don't need saving." She said coldly.
"That you don't." Yoren muttered. He glanced around as the crowd whose attention they'd had began to disperse. He dragged Arya yards away from the rest of them and crouched down so they were face to face.
"You got that pie boy good and bloody. It wasn't him as killed your father, girl, nor that thieving Lommy neither. Hitting them won't bring him back."
Arya felt like she'd been slapped in the face. She wished Yoren had beat her instead of this. "I know," she murmured anyway, hoping the man of the Night's Watch had little more left to say to her.
Yoren watched her carefully, studying her sullen face. "Your father was meant to be here." He finally said. "Only reason I were there. What jest happened weren't meant ta."
"Joffrey," Arya breathed. "Someone should kill him," she growled.
"Someone will, but it won't be me, nor you neither." Yoren handed her back Needle, which he'd taken in the confusion. He eyed her carefully one last time, then stood straight and turned suddenly toward the wagon where all of this had begun.
Loud enough for the entire courtyard to hear, he called out. "You boy!" The boy with the black hair had gone back to polishing the steel helmet he had in hand, that had the likeness of an animal, though Arya couldn't tell which one just yet. "You keep watch on this one then, if you was so worried he couldn' take a beatin! Anythin' happens to 'im, it's twice that against you next."
The boy had the audacity to look surprised.
Yoren shoved Arya toward the wagon and the boy. Arya glared ahead at the boy who was looking curiously toward her and Yoren. "I don't need protecting." She spat back at Yoren who only gave her a hard look before stalking off.
Nonetheless, as the rest of the younger boys were glaring her way, it seemed the blacked-hair boy might be her only friend, Yoren aside. He was, after all, the only one who'd tried to help her, the only one who'd even warned stupid Hot Pie and Lommy to leave her alone in the first place. The boy had gone back to polishing his helm, but he glanced at her as she neared wiping the trace remains of Hot Pie's blood off her sword onto the pant of her leg.
With pleasure, Arya saw Hot Pie and Lommy cowering across the courtyard. Hot Pie flinched when she glared his way. Both boys looked away in fear.
"I don't need protecting." Arya told the black-haired boy bitterly as she finished her approach to the wagon. She noted the boy had tucked the hammer back into his belt.
He grinned sheepishly at her, ignoring the harshness of her tone. "I know you don't. But I don't like bullies."
Arya accepted that well enough as she tucked Needle back into her belt.
"That's castle-forged steel. Where'd you steal it?" He nodded at her sword.
Anger flared up in her again. "I didn't steal it. It was a gift." Her thoughts roamed to her brother. Jon's face floated through her mind and was soon replaced by that of her father. In the uproar of the moment, she'd nearly forgotten. The anger drained out of her as quickly as it had come.
"It don't matter now." The boy picked his helm up once more. It was in the likeness of a bull, she noticed. "Where we're going, they don't care what you've done. They've got rapers, pickpockets, highwaymen murderers."
Arya felt wary once again. She hadn't thought much of it. Hot Pie and Lommy, at least, could barely be any of the above. "Which are you?"
It was the boy's turn to look at her cautiously. "Armourer's apprentice. But my master got sick of me, so here l am." There was something in his tone that belied bitterness and a hint of sadness even.
She looked at her feet. The feelings from the day were catching up with her, and it was all she could do not to let them bring her to her knees. The boy seemed to catch on. "Which are you?" He echoed her words, but softly.
"I'm no one." She murmured, fingering Needle's hilt softly, thinking hard about what she was going to do.
The boy hummed an acknowledgement. "I guess we all are." He lifted the last huge wooden box from the ground into the wagon next to him. "But we've got names at least. I'm Gendry." He told her, prompting a question.
Arya looked at Gendry, the sun hot in her eyes. He kept her gaze only for a moment, when Yoren called for them all to head out. "I'm Ary-." A pause. "Arry." She finished quickly, hoping the pause was imperceptible to Gendry. He seemed to accept it well enough.
They followed the procession of men, boys and supplies down the road, side by side. Arya watched Gendry for a moment from the corner of her eyes. She might not need a protector, but she wouldn't mind a friend.
As he followed the procession, walking at Arry's side, Gendry reflected bitterly once more on his master's passing him off to the Night's Watch. He thought he'd been skilled, a help in Tobho Mott's shop. An asset even. He supposed he'd been wrong, after all.
Gendry felt eyes on him. Arry was staring at his feet as he walked, but Gendry could have sworn the smaller boy had just been looking at him. There was something strange about the boy. Either he was extremely young for his age, or the Watch was taking babes now.
Gendry set his eyes ahead once again. He couldn't help but smirk remembering Arry's quick footwork and sword-work against the other two, the smaller of whom had to have been at least twice Arry's size. She was a boy to be reckoned with, that was for sure. 'She?' Gendry's tilted his head in confusion at his own slip-up. He glanced at the boy again and turned swiftly away when he realized Arry was cleaning his face with the side of his hand. Gendry's brow furrowed in confusion. No. Crying or no crying, that was a boy alright.
Either way, with his hard eyes on the boys older than Arry ahead, Gendry decided he'd listen to Yoren and keep his eyes on Arry, no matter how much the boy claimed he didn't need it.