A.N. HEY GUYS! This is my first ever attempt at doing this, sorry if it sucks! Basically this is a culmination of me being really bored and watching WWWAAAYYY to much G.O.T! Not to mention I've just started the last book in the Song of Ice and Fire series. I'm rambling a bit aren't I (I am truly sorry). I've always loved the idea that Gendry was Roberts heir and a true born son, and how that might have changed the story, so I thought "what the heck, lets give it a go" and started typing. I also love Arya to pieces! Both Arya and Gendry are a bit older in this, Arya being around 17ish, give or take. Will probably stick to the book/tv storyline for a while, but will most likely end up somewhere completely different (who knows, certainly not me!). That's enough from me, shut up already!
Disclaimer: As per usual, I own nothing and no-one ect ect
The forest was quiet, the chirping of blackbirds and the wind through the trees were all there was to break the silence. The steady plodding of a horses hooves thudding against the earth intruded on the natural sounds of the Northern woods. A tall, dark bay horse steadily made its way through the forest, picking its way around branches and logs and rocks. The girl astride it wore her long wavy hair loose, a thick brown waterfall down her back. Instead of a dress, breeches and a tunic adored her slim figure; a bow and quiver sat between her shoulder-blades. The sunlight broke through the dense greenery above her, spotting her delicate face with dapples of light and dark. An almost silent rustle and the snap of a twig announced the arrival of a huge wolf, padding steadily beside her, like a spirit of a long gone being. Its' grey coat was thick and shaggy. Long legs brought the body of the wolf close to the girl's feet, even on horseback, the beast was monstrous in size, bigger than most ponies. A Direwolf.
"Arya! Arya! Where in Seven hells are you?" A loud, slightly irritated voice shatter the serene bubble of silence. Arya sighed loudly and reined in her horse, turning the bay mare around to see her brother thundering through the forest behind her. Robb's Direwolf, Greywind, padded along beside his chestnut gelding, running to greet his pack-mate with a gentle lick and a nudge of the flank. "What are you doing out here Arya? The king is on his way, in fact I'd be surprised if he wasn't at Winterfell already!" Robb pulled his horse to a stop beside her own, his face pulled into a disapproving frown. He acted like her father sometimes.
"I was going for a ride, Robb. No harm done. You know that once we're hosting the king Mother and Father will expect me to act like a lady! I just wanted a bit of freedom before a week of boring feasts and stuck up princes." Arya pouted slightly at her older brother. The heir of Winterfell couldn't help but smile. His sister was one of a kind, wild as a wolf, fierce as a Northern blizzard and pretty as a winter rose. Even in her men's breeches and tunic she had an air of feminine beauty around her. As a young girl she had been unruly and stubborn, boyish, known as horse-face. Although she was still stubborn and unruly, she had grown into her looks, her boyish figure had filled out into a more curvaceous, womanly form. Her hair had grown out, getting darker until it was only a few shades away from black; her eyes had paled from a dark, stormy grey to almost silver, glittering in the wane sunshine.
"Well, be that as it may, if you don't get your ass home fast Mother is going to kill you. Or even worse, put you in a dress!" Arya shuddered at the thought. She sighed again. Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms and 'Protector of the Realm' was a renowned drunk and said to be overly fond of whores, his son was rumoured to be a vile, arrogant boy, his wife a sly, backstabber. Most of the Lannister family would be there. This was not going to be a fun few weeks. Robb gave her a sympathetic look. Their father always commented how much like her aunt Lyanna she was, just as wild and fiercely beautiful. Everyone from the wall to Dorne knew that the King still mourned her death and longed for their Aunt; no one was eager to see his reaction to Arya's likeness.
"Well, better get this over and done with. Race you home!" Arya shot Robb a challenging grin before putting her heels to her mares sides, lunging forwards and rocketing off through the forest, Nymeria close behind. The full grown Direwolf easily kept pace with the horse, her tongue lolling with joy as she ran. The heavy sound of Robb's horse galloping to catch up got closer behind them. Arya glanced over her shoulders, waiting until Robb was half a horses-length behind her, before urging her horse forwards again. They burst from the Godswood like a bolt from a crossbow, racing across the open ground. Winterfell was in sight now, only a few minutes away. Robbs slightly larger horse slowly pulled up next to them, the sheer enjoyment of the ride showing on his handsome Tully features. Arya leant forwards, gripping some of her mare's dark mane in her fists, urging to her to go faster. Gradually, inch by inch, Robb fell behind. Arya laughed with joy and exhilaration.
"Is that the best you can do Robb?" She threw over her shoulder as the horses galloped through the archways into the courtyard of Winterfell. Arya pulled her horse up, both of them breathing heavily, the mares sides were flecked with foam and sweat. Nymeria slid to a halt beside her, tongue lolling as she panted and giving her a wolfy grin. Robb followed swiftly in much the same condition with Greywind tailing him. She grinned happily at her big brother before almost falling off her horse. It was only then she realised that the courtyard was bustling, and not with Northmen. Most of the eyes that were now trained on her were strangers. Southerners! A stable boy rushed forwards to take both the horses away, leaving her to gaze at the congregation of the Kings Court that had travelled north. A fat, red-faced man with a crown of golden stag horns atop his head was laughing loudly beside her Father, his chuckles the only real sound in the courtyard. The King! A golden haired women scowled evilly in her direction, a boy who looked just like her, mimicking her look. They were both dressed in rich silks and jewellery. They must be the Queen and Prince Joffery. Beside her stood a young girl and an even younger boy, again both had gold hair and green eyes but none of the malice seen in their mother or older sibling. It was the final person who caught Arya's eye. He stood beside who could only be Princess Myrcella, smiling along with the King. He certainly looked like the king, with his dark hair and bright, crystalline blue eyes. The difference was this boy was tall, much taller than Arya, taller than Robb, even taller than her father, maybe even rivalling The Hound; he was thickly built, broad shoulders and strong arms, yet he didn't seem overly brutish. He couldn't have been much older than Sansa, three and twenty at the most. He must be King Roberts oldest, Prince Gendry Baratheon, heir to the Iron Throne.
"You told me the girl was unruly Ned, not completely wild!" The King bellowed, slapping Lord Stark on the back. Shit! Thought Arya. She was in trouble. Robb hurried forward to father's side, leaving her alone in the space the running horses had cleared in the centre of the courtyard.
"I apologise my daughter's tardiness, Your Grace, but..." Ned Stark began. The king cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"Nonsense Ned! Why I remember the days when you and me used to race around, young and drunk and stupid. We were bloody fools back then." Lord Stark nodded, smiling slightly. He glanced at his youngest daughter. Her clothes were smeared with dirt, as was her face. A bow stuck out from behind her shoulder, her hair was wild from the wind. The light glinted off a small, thin blade fastened to her belt. She was the exact opposite of a lady; she and her sister were like North and South, Ice and Fire. Lady Stark looked like she was ready to murder the youngest Stark girl. Her nostrils flared as she stormed over to Arya.
"Arya, I think you need to go get cleaned up. Go to your room," Arya opened her mouth to protest. "NOW, Arya!" Catelyn Starks face was thunderous. Her voice sounded calm to most, but to the Stark family, they knew Arya was about to get a hiding. Arya thought better than to complain in front of the royal family and nodded her head. Lord Stark was smiling as Arya scowled. Jon was going red from the effort of not laughing. The king was chuckling openly. Arya scowled even more and shoved her way past Sansa, who was stood, all prim and proper, looking smug at her sisters reprimanding. Nymeria slunk behind her, grumbling slightly at Sansa and Lady before trotting to Arya's heels.
The halls and corridors of Winterfell were quiet, all the servants and staff were preparing for the feast later, or otherwise preoccupied with the royal party. Arya stormed through the Keep, slamming the heavy wooden door closed when she reached her quarters. She flopped down on the soft sheets of the bed and huffed loudly. Not only had her timing been appalling, but her own mother had seen fit to embarrass and humiliate her in front of the most important people in the Seven Kingdoms! The bed creaked, a soft mound of grey fur sprawled out next to her, still panting from their sprint home.
"It was worth it, Nymeria. Just to see the look on fathers face when we came running in. At least it looks like the kings on our side." The huge wolf looked at her, blinked and huffed slightly. She knew exactly what Arya was thinking. Arya rolled over and hugged the wolf, running her hands through her thick, soft coat. A firm knock on the door pulled her away from her Direwolf.
"Arya, could you open the door please?" It was her mother. Catelyn Stark had come to right the errant child. Arya grumbled as she pulled herself to her feet and went to unbolt the door. Her mother stood, looking every bit a lady of the North, her posture straight, the way she held herself demanded respect. She walked past Arya into her room. The floor was covered with clothes and things were strewn haphazardly around her living space. Catelyn frowned disapprovingly.
"Arya, we've spoken about your behaviour. I don't mind that you ride with your brothers or hunt or wear boy's clothes, I've even turned a blind eye to your sword fighting, but could you please at least try and act like a lady for the duration of the Kings visit." Lady Stark placed a hand on her youngest daughters shoulder. She was quite short for her age, especially when compared to Sansa.
"I apologise if I embarrassed you, Mother. I did not realise that the King was here." Arya spoke between gritted teeth, spitting out as sincere an apology as she could manage. She had learnt the hard way that arguing with her mother got her nowhere. Catelyn sighed at her daughter's tone of voice.
"I know it's hard for you Arya. I know Sansa and Jeyne give you grief, but you must try and behave. You know if it were up to your Father you would be running as wild as that wolf of your," Nymeria flicked her ears, looking up and snorting. Catelyn stared at the wolf, raising her eyebrow, "But it's for your own good. The Queen was very disapproving of your behaviour. She was talking to Ned about getting you married off to a Southern lord to try and tame you." Arya whipped round at this.
"If they think I'm going south, they've got another thing coming!" Catelyn stroked Arya's hair soothingly.
"And I wouldn't ask you to. But it's up to your father. You'll have to marry eventually Arya." Arya's silver eyes went dark and swirled with anger. They had had this conversation before and it always ended the same. She was normally good at hiding her emotions, but whenever Catelyn mentioned selling her off like a broodmare, insisting that she would end up going south, away from her home and family, she just felt like giving in to her girly urges and crying. Something about just struck a nerve.
"No! I don't need a stupid man to look after me. Those southern lords can go fuck themselves!"
"Arya! Don't use that foul, language. You will have to marry, whether you like it or not. The sooner you understand that the better!" Catelyn scolded at her foul outburst. Arya felt her fists clench.
"I'd rather fuck a pig than marry one of those fat southern basterds!" Arya wrenched the door open and stormed out, not wanting to continue this fruitless and upsetting argument any longer. She sprinted down the hall with the sound of her mother calling after her, ignoring her lest the tears start falling down her cheeks. She fled through the keep, pushing servants aside and swerving to avoid people. The courtyard was a lot less busy now that the Royal convoy were settling into the Keep, Robert and Ned were in the Crypts paying their respects to Lyanna. Jon was stood talking with Robb and the eldest prince, Gendry. They all turned as Arya burst from the Keep, running like a fleeing deer across the yard, towards the stables.
"Arya?" Jon called after her, concerned for the well-being of his little sister. She ignored him and continued running. The stables were her destination, a horse and some fresh air would be the best way to calm herself. A long gallop in the Godswood would sooth her frazzled nerves. Her favourite horse, a dapple grey mare called Visenya, was holding her head over the door, nickering at her approach. She was glad she hadn't ridden her that morning, the horse was the fastest in Winterfell. Arya unbolted the door as fast as she could, she could hear running feet chasing after her. Jon and Robb had probably heard her mother shrieking and were coming to investigate. Arya dragged a bridle over Visenya's head, fumbling with the buckles. The shouts and footsteps were getting rapidly closer. No time for a saddle, if they caught her she would never see peace. She swung herself up onto the mares back and kicked her forwards. Riding bareback was no problem for Arya, as she rode without a saddle more often than not. The mare shot out of the stable, almost knocking Robb over as she pushed past the group of men who had followed her.
"Arya what the hell are you doing?" Jon grasped her wrist from the ground, stopping her momentarily.
"What does it look like? I'm going for a ride." She pulled her arm from Jon's grasp. Robb had righted himself, and his brows furrowed in a deep frown.
"Arya, get off that horse. You can't just run off. Just talk to us, tell us what's wrong." Arya turned her head slightly as she heard her mother running into the courtyard. She was still chasing her.
"I'm going for a ride Robb. End of story. Don't wait up for me." She pointed Visenya towards the gates and kicked her forwards just as Catelyn Stark rounded the corner to the stables. They cantered under the stone archway, through the open portcullis and out onto the cobbled road. She could distantly hear her mother shouting at Robb to ride after her before she did something stupid. She smirked to herself. They would never catch her now. Visenya was the fastest horse in Winterfell, maybe even the whole of the North. She was one of the most finely bred horses in the North, sired from a Dornish Sandsteed, who were faster than a diving falcon, and a stocky Northern warhorse, giving her the muscle and size and stamina that Arya found so appealing in horses.
Arya pushed her on, galloping down the road, hair and mane flying like manners in the late morning breeze. There were shouts coming from Winterfell, Robb and Jon were probably coming after her. With a squeeze of her thighs, Visenya leaped off the roads and onto the open grass. To the north of Winterfell was vast expanses of farms and moorland, she could lose them there with speed. As much as she loved the Godswood, her horses speed would be wasted there. The ground was firm and quite dry, the last summer snow had melted weeks ago, although the sharp air promised more very soon. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed Arya's earlier thoughts. A group of riders was trailing after her. She couldn't make out their faces, but she knew a member of her family would be among them. Arya nearly laughed at their stupidity. She was far lighter than them, minus armour, swords and a saddle, her horse would tire far slower than theirs. She was as good as gone. She focused again on the land ahead of her, judging the best route. The land gradually became sloped, rolling into the distance. The party of men tailing her soon dropped out of sight.
"They won't be catching us anytime soon." Arya whispered to herself. The rolling land around her was blooming with life. A kestrel hovered above a field a small way in the distance. She was coming close to farmland. The hills were crisscrossed with low stone walls and rickety wooden fences, meant for keeping sheep and cattle from wandering. Arya slowed Visenya to a walk, working her way down a stone wall, looking for a gap. She knew that they could easily jump it, but Arya wanted to end up at the Godswood anyway. That was the only place she would get any peace of mind now. The tall trees were visible in the distance, she even fancied that she could see a speck of red; the blood coloured leaves of The Heart Tree. Visenya seemed to know where they were heading, her grey neck bobbing steadily in time to her walk. The warmth off her strong back and thick coat seeped into Arya's legs, she could feel the strong muscles flexing and working. More reasons why she loved riding bareback. She squeezed her calves, pushing the dappled mare into a ground-eating canter, a pace they could keep up for hours. The warm light of the Godswood soon enveloped them in its comforting grasp, like a mother welcoming a lost babe. The birds flitted in the trees, stags bellowed in the distance, life overflowed from the heart of Winterfell. The Heart Tree stood tall and proud, as old as the land itself. Its leaves were more vibrant as any Southern flower, like blood and silk and fire, the trunk and branches were paler than milk, bones bleached in the wane northern sunshine. The face carved into the trunk would seem hostile to others, but to Arya, it seemed like it was greeting her. Arya slipped from Visenya's back, making her way around the small lake that lay at the foot of The Heart Tree. She dropped to her knees when he reached the gnarled roots, breaching the dark soil; giant white snakes, writhing and knotting together. She clasped her hands together in prayer. She prayed for her brothers, her father, her sister, and above all her mother. She prayed that Catelyn Stark would see sense, that she would not send her south with some stranger, who would be shackled to her through marriage. She prayed that she would stay in the North with her family, free of men's greedy eyes and wandering hands. She prayed to the Old Gods and, when they stayed silent, she prayed to the new. And under the watchful eyes of The Heart Tree, she felt a degree of peace. No politics of the kingdom could reach her here, only the sound of birds fluttering through the canopy and rabbits racing through the leaf-litter. Her eyes began to flutter as the songs of the forest lulled her, a mother singing to her restless child, for she truly was a child of the North. The sweet bliss of sleep enveloped her like a warm blanket on a cold night.
A.N. So... Yeah, chapter 1! yay! I'm not going to pester for anything, review if ya wanna, I don't really care, but your opinion is always helpful as I don't know what I'm doing with this story yet. Bye bye for now ! xxxxx