She wasn't supposed to see this. Arya had seen many things, would see many things, but this was not meant to be one of them.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear Jon Snow telling her to find a way to stop it, but she couldn't. There was absolutely nothing within her power that could assist her in stopping this... This chaos. Arya could hear the heavy breathing of the man before her. She saw worry grace his features as he looked at her, and the tears were streaming down her face as she thrashed violently against the man who held her back. It couldn't end like this...
The gun was aimed at the heavily breathing man's head a few feet before her in the family owned club. People of all different backgrounds surrounded the soon to be brutal massacre, she knew personally that some had incredible amounts of fighting experience, yet still they stood there. The room was deathly quiet besides that one man's heavy breathing, his fucking breathing that she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Stark?" Barked a harsh voice.
For a moment, Arya thought he was speaking to her, but no. She remembered now. It was her father they spoke to. That was the man with a gun to his head. The very same man who told her to pursue learning to fight if she wished, the man who saved her many times from mother's insistent pressuring of learning the 'domestic arts'. Simply saying the word "sewing" was enough to send Arya into a fit of gags.
But, he'd never be able to help her again. He'd never tell her his stories from war again. This was the last time she'd see him.
Her father cleared his throat, his eyes on Arya. "I, Eddard Stark, admit to my betrayal of the Stags. I did it. I conceived the entire idea, and put it forth with my comrades in a ploy against Goffrey, true heir to the business."
Arya's sister Sansa could be seen with a smile on her face, and Arya knew that somehow she had bargained for this. Perhaps a mercy in the place of death if her father admitted to this blasphemy? Her father would have never betrayed Robert, nor would he have started some sort of villainous plot against Goffrey. No, her father would have revealed any secrets he knew, not blackmailed. Her father was an honorable man.
"Your daughter, my fiancee, has asked me to show you mercy, as well as my mother." Goffrey, the boy who always looked like he had just drank rancid milk, said, sounding rather sympathetic. Something Arya knew was an act. A frivolous attempt to create a new, positive image of himself. "But, I think betrayal cannot go unpunished."
Gasps could be heard, and Sansa cried out, trying to rush forward, but men held her back. Goffrey's mother, Cersei stepped forward to her son, but Goffrey himself shoved her, knocking the devilish woman to the floor.
"Kill him." He spat, sitting down in an awaiting chair.
Once more, Arya began to struggle within the man's arms, throwing her arms anywhere she could to try and get away. "Da-" She tried, but the man, her fathers friend, wrapped his hand around her mouth and spun her around just in time for the gunshot to ring out, resonating in her ears for a generous amount of time.
The noise reverberated within her eardrum over and over until she wasn't quite sure if it was a gunshot or the screaming of the people around her. The noises seemed to have molded together into a perfect concoction to drive her out of her mind.
The man still had a tight grip on her, his big rough hand pressed against the back of her head to keep her from looking at where she knew her father lay dead.
She knew his intentions were good, but he had forever left her to rely on her imagination to create what took place when that gun hit her fathers head. Had his brains spilled upon the floor, painting it in red? Did someone jump to take the shot for him? She wouldn't know. She would never know. As much as she was thankful that he tried to save her from it, hate was pure in her heart. Hatred for him taking away her last few moments with her father.
Before Arya knew what was happening, the man had pulled her away, bringing her to the dark hallway. He slid a pocket knife out.
"What are you doing?" Arya hissed, jerking away from him. His grip only tightened with her movements.
His hand raised quickly, then he lifted her long brown hair, slicing a piece off at a weird angle near her head. "Watch your mouth, boy."
"I'm a girl." Arya retorted, hitting his hand away, but the man slammed her hand hard against the wall, and she felt the pain shoot up her arm. He roughly grabbed her long brown hair, holding the knife behind her neck and slicing. Arya watched in a daze as she released her hair, allowing the long flowy tresses to fall unceremoniously to the floor.
"You're a boy, ya got that? Now get out of here boy, before I have to kick your ass out myself." He hissed, and no one made to tell him to back off. Before she could move, he threw a jacket around her, one that clung to her roughly and covered all of her curves.
The door out of the building was right in front of her, it would have been so easy to just slip out without another thought. But, she couldn't. She had to see him just one more time. She needed to see the man who had once ruffled her hair and kissed her goodnight.
Arya looked back to where she now saw the men holding her fathers dead body up, lifting his head and taking a knife to the neck. She watched his blood flow over his sickly pale skin. No, not sickly. Dead. He was dead, that's why his skin looked that way.
As she ran out of the door, everything else moving in slow motion.
A boy, Arya. You have to be a boy. She cringed, wondering for a moment how one of her brothers would act. How would Jon walk down the road? Arya decided for the moment that she just needed to get somewhere unseen, and so she took off at a fast pace through an alleyway that was a few blocks from the club.
The feeling of the wind hitting her neck was foreign, as she was always used to some form of her hair being pressed against her skin, but as she ran her hand through the strands, she found that it was was barely to her ears and shaggy as all get out. Yet, she didn't mind. She didn't think she could ever 'mind' something again.
Nothing mattered now.
Her thoughts slid back to the noise of the gunshot and the loud gurgling that had to have been her father's head wound spilling his life essence on the floor around him.
Bile rose in Arya's throat as she whipped around, leaning down to puke viciously on the concrete. Her fathers throat being slit played on a loop in her mind, and she was aware that tears had begun to stream down her cheeks.
"That little bitch got out somewhere. Find her!"
With a wipe of her mouth, Arya spun away from the voice and took off in a sprint. The three years of track and all of her athletic training came to her aid easily as she slipped through the smallest crevices, and even climbed a wall or two. Yet, she still heard men around her, searching for her any and everywhere they could.
She jumped from a high wall, landing on two feet that could barely hold her. She'd ran for thirty to forty minutes, but those men had cars. She was clearly out matched. Truthfully, Arya was beginning to wonder why she was even running. What was the point?
"Where do you think yer goin'?" A voice asked form beside her, and when Arya turned, she saw a fat boy with a pocket knife standing. He looked as if he needed a good bath, but Arya wasn't about to offer him one.
Her eyes roamed towards his hold on the weapon, and nearly fell on her backside with laughter.
"What 're ya laughin' at, bitch?" The fat boy asked, gripping his knife harder.
"You couldn't stab me if you tried. With a grip like that, you're doing more damage to yourself!" Arya placed her hand over her stomach, trying to keep her sides from splitting.
A hand came down hard on her, making her jump forward and rub the assaulted area. Two other boys were standing behind her, and Arya made note that they were both also holding knives. Even if their grips were terrible, she stood no chance. If she had a knife of her own, yes, but... Wait, she did!
Her hand slipped in the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out her very own switch blade that Jon had gave to her. It was dull and probably needed to be tossed out, but it could very well be the difference between life and death.
"I'll warn you now, I've killed a fat boy before." She swung her hand forward in warning, pulling it back so that they would not be able to knock her weapon from her hand. The fat one took a few hobbled steps back, but tried to hold onto his facade of not being the slightest bit scared. "I like killing fat boys." She whispered to him directly, and she watched as he took a rather large gulp.
"Just stab the bitch, Hotpie!" One of the other mongrels shouted impatiently.
Hotpie looked between his friends and Arya, deciding to go with his mind instead of his gut and brought his hand up and began to swing towards an awaiting Arya.
"Picking on the little ones?" A deep voice asked, stopping Hotpie's motions midway. All three boys looked up, and Arya followed their gazes to a boy, or man for that matter, who stood with a stern disapproving look on his face. "Go on, continue. Don't stop on my account." The guy was amused, and he gestured to Arya as if he wanted them to hurry up. As if he had better things to do than sit and watch as she got stabbed.
Hotpie looked between the two of his friends and now to the guy behind him a few times before he cursed under his breath, turning and walking passed the guy.
"Bastard." She heard the boy whisper, and was surprised when the man's calm demeanor change instantly, spinning and kicking Hotpie right in the arse. The boy fell forward, his palms scraping against the concrete. His eyes darted up to the man's, and when he opened his mouth to speak, the man laughed with no sign of humor.
"Yes, by all means, talk! 'Cause that's done you so much good." The man said, exasperated.
Hotpie's mouth closed, and he scrambled up on chubby wobbly knees and scampered off, right passed his chuckling friends with his tail between his legs.
The guy took a step forward, his eyes on Arya. "Sorry about that."
"I could have handled it." She said, flipping the blade of her knife down as she slid it back into her pants pocket with grace.
The man nodded, a grin on his face. "I'm sure you could have. But, what kind of man would I be if I watched some girl fight off three attackers from the shadows?" His eyebrows lifted with the question, and he looked like he should have been on the front page of a magazine. Even with the dirt that caked his clothes.
"I'm not a girl!" Arya yelped, then caught her high pitch and tried to make the tone lower as she spoke again. "And, the kind who minds his own business." She murmured, and the man's laughter filled the air.
"Oh yea? Then take your cock out and take a piss." Gendry said, stepping back and gesturing before him.
"I... I don't need to." She mumbled.
"That's what a girl would say." Gendry chuckled, and Arya rushed forward, unleashing a shove upon him that made him tumble back onto the ground, still laughing, if not harder. He got to his feet without the slightest problem, his gaze never once leaving hers. "You're a feisty one!" He smiled down at her, then held out his hand. "I'm Gendry."
Why should I care what your name is? Despite her angry thoughts, she took his hand and tried her best to make it firm. "I'm Ar-" She mentally cursed at herself, her eyes bulging a little. "-ry. Arry Wolf." Wow, smooth. Such a believable name.
"Arry, is it?" He laughed again, and Arya felt herself becoming increasingly annoyed with this man. "Strange name for a girl."
"I'm not a girl!" She yelled once more, than brushed passed him. She was mildly befuddled when he came up beside her, and even more so when he attempted to 'get to know her'.
"How old are you?" Gendry asked, and Arya knew he had to have been at least twenty.
She contemplated her answer for a moment, trying to decide whether or not it would be a good idea to reveal it to him, but found that the small bit of information would be alright to be truthful about. "Seventeen."
"Why are you out on the street?"
Ah yes, why indeed. The face of her father made his appearance in her mind, much to Arya's disapproval. But, she had to remember every detail of what she saw, for it fueled her rage. She would find those men and when she did, she'd rip their throats out and plunge a knife through their hearts.
"Revenge." She spoke before she could help it, but it was too late. Gendry looked at her as if he was a mixture of intrigued and confused. "I want to find the men who killed my father."
Something changed in his eyes, and Arya's brows furrowed as she backed away from him. "What?" Gendry asked.
"I do not want your pity!" She practically screamed.
"Well that's good, because I do not offer it to you!" He responded equally frustrated. "Good God. Have you always been this difficult?"
She deliberately chose to ignore his comment and instead focus on the first topic. "I saw that look that you gave me. That look that said "Poor little,"" what was her name again? ""Arry." Well, I'm not a poor child. I will find these men, and I will kill them."
Gendry fisted his hand, looking at her. God, why did he have to keep looking at her? It was unnerving. "I do not pity you. There is such a thing called compassion, you know." He told her with the smallest smile. It made her jaw hang a little, but not because of it's beauty or anything, simply because... It was insane to her that someone could still smile.
The world around her was filled with the most awful things, the most horrible deaths, but this boy... This man, he found something to smile about.
"That's a big word for a man on the street." Arya jested, pulling her jacket on tighter as she began to walk again, no longer surprised when Gendry fell into step beside her.
"I wasn't always on the street. In fact, I had a nice home with a mechanic just a few days ago. But, when that big mob boss guy, Robert Baratheon, died, the man I lived with just... Up and kicked me out. So, here I am."
Robert's name made Arya twitch, looking anywhere but at Gendry. Robert and her father had been friends. Her father had been his right hand man and was clearly the only man left in that group with any honor left. After Robert died, his son Goffrey, who was engaged to Sansa, Arya's sister, took over the mob business. It was to him that Arya owed her revenge. He was at the top of her list of people whose heads she would put on a pike.
"What do you mean 'the man you lived with'? Was he not your father?" Arya asked after a few moments.
The question made Gendry pause for a moment, and Arya knew why before he could even speak. "No, he wasn't. I don't know who my father is."
What did a normal person say to something like that? Sorry? Too bad Arya wasn't normal. Gendry didn't want pity, just as Arya hadn't. If someone told her they were "sorry" about her dad dying, she'd stab them in their mouth. She didn't want someone to say sorry, she wanted revenge.
So, instead of falling into the category of normal, Arya decided to create one of her own. "Do you want to know?"
Gendry was obviously surprised by her words, but answered her without hesitation. "No. My mother told me he was a big business man. Couldn't be bothered to take care of his bastard child with a diner waitress." He slowly shook his head, going into another place in his mind. "If I knew he was, I can't promise I wouldn't kill him."
So Gendry wanted vengeance as well? Arya looked him over, wondering if he could really do it. His personality screamed loving, but when she looked passed the surface, she saw anger. When that fat boy had called him a bastard, he looked as if he might rip his head off. And when she watched his movements, she could see toned muscles that moved with agility and grace. As if he had practiced each movement many times. Not to mention the abundance of knives that sat in his belt, ranging from all different sizes.
Gendry caught her gaze, then looked to where she had been staring. His finger lifted to graze across a few of the blades. "I made this one when I was twelve." He said, pointing to a particularly small one. It looked as if there was a needle on the end and not a real blade, which just intrigued Arya more.
She heard him chuckle, then pull the knife out and hold it out to her. "Take it."
Arya gasped, then looked at him. "I can't."
He pushed his hand out further, showing her that he was serious. "Either you take it or I'm just going to sit it on the ground and walk away, letting some bum or even those kids back there come and get it." Gendry let the sides of his mouth rise a little. "Imagine the lives you could save by just taking the knife."
"I can't take your knife! It looks like you worked really har-" She stopped when he began to stoop down and lie it on the ground, but before the metal touched the concrete, Arya whipped down and swiped it from his fingers.
"You would've cut me if you weren't more careful." The man said in mock horror.
"I should cut you." Arya retorted, playing with the knife in her fingers.
There was a design trailing down the side, a bull with his head held low. It looked as if it was charging at the other animal, which resembled a deer. The antlers were huge, branching out all over the place like a tree.
There was a metal claw nail coming off of one side of the handle, and another on the opposite side. The blade was thin all around, but when she looked closer, she could see that it was impossibly sharp.
"All the greatest weapons have names, you know." Gendry commented, and when Arya looked up, she found him leaned up against a building wall just watching her.
"That's insane." Arya scoffed, continuing her prodding of the blade.
Gendry lifted his hand, as if to count off. "Excalibur, Hrunting, Rhindon, Glamdring, Bat'leth-"
"If I name it, will you shut up?" She cut him off, holding the knife out at him in a half menacing motion. Gendry nodded and held his hands up, but soon began laughing. Again with that damn laugh.
Arya looked at it for a long time, just twisting it within her grasps. Then, it came to her. Why hadn't she thought of it before?
"Needle. I'll name it needle."
"Bloody hell, that's brilliant. Surprised it didn't take you years to come up with that masterpiece." Gendry said, laughing at the generic name.
Arya flipped him off, leaning against the wall with him. "Piss off." Her fingers ran over the blade, quietly examining the precision.
"Check these two!" A man yelled, and Arya spun so violently that her finger hit against the blade. "Dammit." She cried out, and Gendry grabbed her hand.
"We need to clean this up." He spoke, but Arya pulled away from him and grabbed the shoulder of his shirt.
"Later! Right now, we need to run!" Arya yelled, trying to not think too much of the fact that Gendry blindly followed behind her. Her heart was racing, and her mind was running in over drive. Everything was moving so fast. She was faintly aware of the throbbing in her finger.
Gendry pulled her back, much to her surprise. "Your bleeding too much."
"I'll be fine!" She reassured him, but began to wobble despite herself.
"Lean against the wall." He cooed, but she waved him off. The men were coming up behind them. "What's this about?" Gendry turned, asking them while Arya tried her hardest to stand up.
"We're looking for Arya Stark. She's seventeen, probably pissy and sobbing about her daddy's death. Long brown hair a piss poor pocket knife." Arya cringed at the description of her. No doubt Sansa's doing.
It had to be obvious to Gendry that they were talking about her. He had to be incredibly stupid if he didn't. But, Gendry wasn't stupid. She knew that much.
"What do you want her for?" Gendry asked, and Arya fell to her knees. Hands were around her shoulders as she leaned against the wall. She shook them off until she heard Gendry telling her to calm down, and so she listened, knowing it was only a matter of time before he gave her up. She just didn't have the strength to reject him.
"That's none of your business, boy." A man with a gravelly voice said.
Gendry sighed, holding his hand to Arya's cheek. "I haven't seen her, and my brother here hasn't either. Who do I tell if I do?"
"Just bring her to the Winter Wolf. We'll take care of her." The man said, then with one last look at Arya who was in bad shape, they took off in the other direction.
Her eyesight began to blacken, and she felt herself grasp onto Gendry's arms. "Why?" She whispered.
"Because you're rather alright company." Gendry said, picking up her hand and wrapping her finger in some sort of cloth. "It's difficult to find company worth keeping these days, Miss Stark."
"Don't call me that." She gritted out, but felt herself falling into a sleep when Gendry laughed.
The last thing she heard was Gendry trying to keep her awake, and then the last sentence. "I can't believe I told you to take your cock out."
Then the world went dark.
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