I had to get this out or I wasn't going to be able to sleep after what we were put through tonight.
Stay steadfast, Gendryas!
"Will you shut up? I told you it's a stomach bug," Arya said ruefully, wiping her mouth on the back of her leathers, the trot of her horse feeling like the worst of seasick.
"It's fucking not and you know it," the Hound barked back, more force to his voice than he'd had the morning before, or the morning before that, or the morning before that, when her body had, with increasing consistency, reacted just the same.
Arya said nothing back.
They were two days from King's Landing after almost a month on the road. The trek had been a nightmare. A heavy winter storm had slowed them down more than she could even bear to handle. But here they were, finally. So close. The ground beneath their feet no longer held frost. The horses kicking dust instead of snow. And here, so close, her body was rebelling.
Arya kept her eyes glued to the path before her as hard as she could, but another heave fought its way up through her chest. She pulled the reins this time, stopping her horse as her stomach moved to empty itself once more. What it was trying to empty, she didn't even know anymore. There couldn't have been any of her cold dry breakfast left.
"You can't be surprised," the Hound said, pulling to a stop beside her, "Or did your Septa not teach you that that's what happens to ladies when they - "
"- I'm not a lady," Arya shot back, her voice sounding weaker than she would have liked.
"Say it all you want. Still won't make you barren."
Arya almost growled. "You're a right twat, you know that?"
"Aye, and you're knocked up."
She cringed. She almost felt like she could wretch again.
… In fact, here it came.
"Doesn't have to be a bad thing," the Hound said as she heaved dryly, her horse neighing in discomfort and stamping its feet as she leaned over the side, her hand clutching weakly hand its mane for stability. "Child of a highborn lady and a lord, that is."
…A high lord.
Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storms End.
Lord Gendry Baratheon
The name rolled like dark poetry upon her queasy stomach, ringing like the names written in the scrolls that she's absolutely hated as a child. Stories of ladies and flowers and romance and happy endings.
Her heaves continued.
Lord. Gendry. Baratheon.
"He loves you, you know," a gruff voice spoke over her dark thoughts, seeming to enjoy the misery he caused. "Don't fucking know why, but looks at you like he's a simpering child. Bloody disgusting. Probably stupid enough to turn the whole thing down."
Her chin bucked up at his words. She snickered darkly. "Who would be that big of a bloody idiot to turn down a lordship?"
The Hound snorted again, "Who would be that big of a bloody idiot to turn down a ladyship?"
Arya rolled her eyes and wiped her mouth once more. She picked back up her reins and lightly urged her horse forward, hoping she could get far away.
But she had no such luck.
"It'd be easy. Lad doesn't know two shits about being a Lord," the Hound continued, "Probably scared out of his fucking mind. Should be, at least. Can't miss what he doesn't know."
"You used to be quiet," Arya spat through gritted teeth. "Now I can't get you to shut up."
The Hound laughed and, to her gratefulness, he fell quiet for a moment. The air around her filled with the sound of horses hooves on stone.
"Might be nice to feel what happy feels like for once, is all," he said, breaking the silence, more quietly this time.
"What do you know about being happy?" Arya asked darkly.
"Nothing. Never had a day of happiness in my entire fucking life," he sneered in an instant, gruffness returning to his voice. "You want to end up like me?"
"No."
"Then let the idiot boy love you. If the bloody Night King can't kill you I don't think that will."
"I don't have time for this." Arya said tightly, her eyes peeling sharper upon the path, her breath quickening.
"Right, you've got a queen to kill," he said, keeping up with her much more easily than she would have liked. "And after? What then?"
Arya chuckled darkly and shook her head - "After."
"You destroyed a horned fucking ice demon. You think you're destined to die killing some blonde haired green-eyed Lannister bitch? Give me a fucking break. What are you going to do? Range around in the ass crack of winter looking for things to kill while your belly gets bigger until it bursts? You know you love the stupid lad. Don't be such a bloody coward."
Arya pulled on her reins, her hand jerking to Needle as she shot him daggers.
The Hound smirked. "Oh, the pregnant bitch is gonna kill me now. Seems like a fitting way to go out."
With a final brusque growl, he clicked his reins and sped up ahead of her. She scowled at the back of his head as his horse cut in front of her along the road, its hooves pushing up small clouds of dust. He got further and further away, but his words stayed blisteringly close to her ears.
Arya sighed, her eyes tracing up to the stormy grey of the clouds above.
She had tried so hard not to think about him…
…about the drink dancing in his eyes as he grabbed her and kissed her with a force she had fleetingly dreamed of when she was young. About the overwhelmed smile on his lips as his words poured unbidden, so pure and soft and touching. About his bent knee and his request for her to be everything she was not.
Stupid fucking idiot.
Why did he have to go and ruin it?
He'd never understood her at all.
She wished she could turn the clock, as dark as it felt, to those hours. Before she'd been a hero, before her name had echoed with reverie through the halls, before Gendry Baratheon had come to be. She wished she could return to his strong hands moving so softly upon her bare skin, his deep blue eyes glittering in the firelight, refusing to leave hers. To his lips upon her neck and his voice whispering her name, finally her name, warm against her ear.
To the moments where, for the first time in so many years, she had felt shockingly breathtakingly… alive. In Gendry's, just Gendry's, arms.
She almost hated herself for how much she wanted to feel it again.
Her stomach turned upon itself once more, as though something within was fighting for dominance. An impulse within her moved her hand toward her belly, but she caught herself right on time. She grasped hard upon the pommel of her saddle instead.
She fought down her stomach's urge this time, nothing left to chuck.
With a heavy swallow, Arya dug her heels into her horse's flank and pressed along south.