Just a small something. Review and let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: ASOIAF belongs to George Martin.
Pack
Arya closed her eyes, summoning good memories as she tried to forget the awful scenery around her.
She thought of Winterfell, her beloved home, and discovered that, as the days passed by, she was bit by bit losing the image of the city. The more she tried, the more her head hurt. She remembered the castle was always warm, because there was hot water running inside the walls. She remembered her room and the cosy mess it has always been. She remembered her lousy needle activities. She missed even that.
Letting Winterfell go a bit, she let her mind wander to her beloved brother, Jon. Gods, how she missed him! Sansa had always been boring, while Bran and Rickon were just babies and Robb was always too occupied to give her any attention. But Jon… Jon had always been her favourite brother. He always played with her and messed with her hair while calling her "little sister".
She, then, remembered Nymeria. Her wolf was what she missed the most from her old life – when she was still Arya, of the House Stark. She could only imagine how Sansa felt, knowing Lady was dead. She, at least, had a bit of hope she was going to find Nymeria again someday, but Sansa… For her it was impossible.
Arya felt a tear running down her cheek. On Harrenhal, she was just a rat, a faint ghost haunting its dark walls and long corridors. She missed being a giant wolf. She missed her pack.
In the winter, the lonely wolf dies, but the pack is able to survive. How many times had her father repeated that to her? And why had he let himself get separated from their pack? Why had he made himself a lonely wolf?
"Arya, are you okay?"
She opened her eyes to Gendry's voice, but she hated their situation so much, she just closed her eyes quickly again.
"I'm fine." She answered dryly.
"You're not."
They had been imprisoned for how long now? Five, six days? Or was it more?
"I'm as fine as you are." She retorted.
Gendry chuckled. A bitter and tired sound.
"Now that they know who we are, we'll never get out of here."
"Of course we will, stupid. When they take us away to hand us over to the queen. Lord Baratheon."
"Shut up, I'm not a Baratheon."
"Yeah, sorry, my mistake, you're a Waters. A Waters as in 'the bastard of the King' Waters."
"Sometimes, I positively hate you."
"If we could get to my brother Robb, he would protect you. I'm sure he would. My father tried, why wouldn't he?"
"I'm not the king's son. I refuse the title. He was a lousy king, I don't want to be his son."
"It's not up to you, stupid. We are who we are."
"I'm Gendry, the blacksmith."
"Yeah, right, and I'm Arry, the orphan."
Gendry groaned in frustration and pressed his hands on her shoulders, holding her to the filthy stoned floor.
"Let me go." She warned.
"I won't. You've been irritating me since that Bolton discovered who we were. And this is your fault. You let him go from those prisons, and now we are here in his place."
"He is a northern, I thought I could trust him."
"Yes, but you couldn't, and now we are here."
"Let me go, Gendry."
"I don't want to."
Forcefully, he put his lips on hers as she struggled to free herself. However, she succumbed to the kiss, and just let him do it.
Gendry felt powerful as he practically forced her to subjugate to him. For once, it felt nice being the one in command.
"We should do things my way now." He said, staring at her.
Her dark eyes were foggy, filled with something he never saw there.
"Never." She answered. "But I can let you be the alpha male. It's not like I can be the male, anyways."
He gave her a puzzled look, but she didn't clarify things to him. Maybe it was time to find herself a new pack.