A/N The scene where Arya ends up alone with Gendry in the forge at Acorn Hall with less fighting and more fluff. Sorry about the bad title. Hope you like.
Disclaimer: Nope. I have no rights to ASOIAF. It's not mine. I'm just a fan.
Gendry was on edge from the moment she entered the hall dressed in pretty green silk. Her eleven-year-old body was no longer a child's, and he could see her newly grown nubs of breasts which had been hidden from him for so long. She was almost comely, he supposed, in a way, though not quite a fair maiden. That was evident from the scowl on her face...
He burst out laughing. Suddenly he understood why she had fled the Red Keep. She must have hated it. Hated being taught to dance and sing and sew with a septa. Hated dressing up for supper every night. Hated being called names. She did look ridiculous in a dress.
By now, he was laughing so hard that the watered down wine he was drinking came out of his nose. The wine was nice enough, but he didn't understand why all the highborn lords and ladies had decided it was so much better than water or ale. He'd have to ask Arya. Harwin gave him a clip around the ear for laughing at the beautiful Lady Stark. It didn't hurt much, but it was enough to turn his fit of laughter into a humbled cough.
He watched her glaring at Lady Smallwood and the brothers while they ate. Her discomfort was clear. She may have been born a lady, but she wasn't one in her heart. The rough life was more suited to her. He heard them all talking. She was a hostage, but she seemed to fit in with the brothers as well as he did. Tom o'Sevenstrings gloated and Arya's scowl eventually disappeared. Almost disappeared. Gendry was more distracted by her hair. The absence of mud didn't affect the colour, but it was glossy and smooth. It scarce reached her shoulders, but it must have been beautiful once. Before Yoren hacked it all off. He imagined her in her own fancy silks and wools in the Red Keep. She must have been the most unlady-like woman ever to live in the castle. But at least she wouldn't have had acorns sewn onto her dresses. She kept picking at them irritably. Gendry thought she would look very comely in the right dress. Or naked, in a few years, once her woman's body had developed.
No. It was wrong to think that of her. She was five years younger than him, a highborn lady and a maiden, not likely to surrender any of those things to a bastard smith twice her size. And if they were caught – not that it mattered anyway, it would never happen. He could probably be thrown in a cell just for thinking about a naked Lady Stark if anyone ever found out.
The meal ended swiftly – the Brotherhood weren't ones to nibble politely when food was served to them. After, Lady Smallwood and the brothers started talking about the war. Gendry didn't care much, but Arya listened intently. The Kingslayer had escaped Riverrun. Arya asked questions, she wanted to know more. It was her family, after all. That was, until they started talking about her mother. Then she grew angry. It only got worse when Harwin told her to leave.
Gendry rose to follow her as she stalked out, failing to slam the heavy oak doors. Her skirts trailed behind her, giving her a grace that she never had before. He smiled at that, and her physical weakness, though her mental strength was undeniable. She was just a girl.
He followed her, taking her aside by the light green elbow of her dress. He told himself it was merely to distract her, to stop her from doing something stupid. Really, he just wanted her company for a while. Alone.
They talked for a while as Gendry set up the forge, about ancient history and the time before Lord Eddard, the King's Hand was killed. They talked of flaming swords and Thoros of Myr and forging steel. None of it really mattered now. All that really mattered was at Acorn Hall, the Brotherhood, the forge, the girl.
"You look different now," he heard himself say stupidly. It was barely a compliment. He looked into her eyes, wide grey orbs that had seen far more than an eleven-year-old should have. "Like a proper little girl."
She sneered at his not entirely complimentary comment. "I look like an oak tree."
"Nice though," he said, stepping closer to her. He was between the anvil and the wall, her just beside him. He turned to face her. "A nice oak tree."
His words came out as a whisper and even he heard the passion rising in his voice. He hoped she would see where he was trying to take this. He hoped she wouldn't. It was wrong. She was 'milady' now. Wanting her like this wasn't right. He didn't have a chance. He was a lowborn bastard, an apprentice smith. She could well be the heir to the north. She wasn't really Arry or Weasel. Her mother never called her Nan. The girl used names and identities as it suited her. He still didn't know who she was underneath all these people she pretended to be, except that all of them were stubborn and rash and fuelled by hatred. Would she become someone new when she was alone with him? Would she become herself at last?
They were close now. Too close for this to pass for casual conversation if someone were to be watching, but she hadn't moved away. Could she have similar feelings? Similar doubts? But they were so different. She was a girl, he a man almost grown, but for a few weeks. He was a bastard, a lowborn with no name or house. She was the blood of kings and queens. He wanted to smile at that. The thought of Arya in her acorn dress perched beneath the Iron Throne was comical, to say the least. He was distracted from his line of thought as he caught the scent of something earthy and sweet on a breath of wind. It pushed through all his thoughts of how wrong this was when it felt so right.
"You even smell nice for a change," he said lamely. He wasn't good at this. Maybe he should have just had that whore. He wouldn't have needed to compliment her, as long as she was paid. But his body's response was impulsive. He leaned into her, inhaling more of the sweet scent Lady Smallwood had insulted her with. Beneath it was Arya, earthy and raw. It was a beautiful smell.
He could feel her breath on his face. Would she refuse him? This was so weird. But then his lips were on hers and he could feel their warmth sparking through him. One kiss went straight to his manhood, making him almost hard. Her lips were soft, young and innocent, despite the rest of her. He wondered if she had ever been kissed before. Had she ever been in love with some little lord or a shining knight from a song? Somehow, he doubted it.
LINE
Arya wasn't surprised when he kissed her. It was another secret to keep from the world. He was the closest thing she had to a friend, it was only fitting that he should become something more to her. At least for a little while. She hoped he knew it wouldn't last. She would not be tied down to anyone. She had her own problems, her own enemies to fight, once she was away from here. She couldn't stay with him. This would all be behind her when she got back to Robb, and they would try to make a proper lady of her again. It was only then that she remembered she didn't want that.
She melted into the kiss, loving how wrong this was. She had always revelled in breaking the rules. The kiss wasn't as fierce as she had imagined it would be. It was brief, their lips just brushing together, full of nervousness and inexperience. But she wasn't done with him yet. It didn't matter how uncomfortable he must be, hunched over just to reach her. She needed more of his lips, slightly salty as they were from the meal.
Then she remembered what he had said just moments ago. Would he prefer a noble, highborn lady? Was he just using her because she was the closest he would get to a castle? Gendry could go fuck himself if that's what he wanted. But she was determined to get that kiss, fierce and passionate as it would be.
"You don't. You stink," she grinned cheekily. You stink of sweat and strength, of smoke and steel, she wanted to say.
She shoved him against the wooden wall. Despite her far smaller size, surprise slammed his back into the wood. He was strong, but she was quick. She stepped back, away from him, but Gendry managed to grab her arm before she could escape. Not quick enough. He pulled her towards him, lifting her up with ease. She kicked and punched him in protest, but he didn't even seem to feel it. It infuriated her.
Their lips smashed together again as she continued to fight him. His tongue forced its way inside her mouth, and she could fight it. Her legs wrapped around his body, her arms tight against his neck. Their physical fight was only between their tongues now, pushing, sliding, moving together. Arya would not lose to him. Not the stupid, stubborn bull. She could anticipate where he would move next, and she would not allow him to explore her mouth like he wanted.
Her legs squirming around him were clearly growing uncomfortable as he lay her down on the floor, pinning her hips under his. She lowered her legs to the ground, fearing for an instant that he might want more. She wouldn't let him take it. Would he hurt her to take it?
Fear cuts deeper than swords, she remembered. He would not take her. As it turned out, he didn't want to. She seized her chance when his upper body dipped for another kiss. His hips had lifted a little, enough for her to knee him in the groin. Hard.
His guard was down as he breathed heavily through the pain. Suddenly Arya was on top and in control, which was generally a bad place for her to be. He hoped she hadn't felt how hard he was for her. She was eleven. This was so wrong. Arya forced his lips apart for her, and he allowed her to explore his mouth. He instead took in her slim shoulders. One sleeve of the acorn dress was torn, which was probably his fault. He wanted to feel guilty for ruining it, but wild Arya was much more comely than the one that was stuffed into pretty silk dresses.
He pulled away briefly for breath, flipping her again while their lips were apart. She was so small it was easy. He was in control of her again, his cock pressed against her thigh. What if someone caught them? They'd assume he was raping her, no matter what he said. They'd cut his cock off and send him to the Wall. The Brotherhood might not do that, but it certainly wouldn't do him any favours.
He withdrew from her, standing up. He was covered in dust from the forge floor. Someone was bound to notice. Arya looked up at him in confusion. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, all night if he could, but he could hear Tom singing outside. He grabbed her wrist and hauled her up, despite her look of protest. For the first time, she seemed to notice the ruin that had once been her borrowed dress.
"I bet I don't look so nice now!" she shouted, running off so he and his stiff cock were left to contemplate Tom's aptly chosen song. You're wrong, he thought. You've never looked nicer.
A/N Hope you liked this little oneshot - I'd love to hear what you thought in a review. Concrit is appreciated too.