ARYA
It was like nothing had changed yet everything was different. Arya had returned from Braavos six years past after failing at the task of being faceless. As much as Arya tried to become no one, she was still human and still subjected to the emotions of a common woman. She was unable to let go the thoughts of her family, her wolf and a certain bull. So she had returned back to Westeros, leaving the free cities when she was booted out of the temple of Black and White.
It did not take her long to run into her old companions of the Brotherhood without Banners. They were all still there: Harwin, Lem, Anguy, Tom and... Gendry. He had changed much since she had lost seen him. He was no longer a boy but a man grown. He was broader and even more muscular than before. She admired the way his eyes would light up when he saw her and suppressed the urge to run her fingers through his shaggy coal black hair. He's handsome, the thought entered her brain unbidden.
The Brotherhood had promised Arya, that they would help her retake Winterfell from the Bolton's. Her entire family was dead with the exception of Sansa who had been missing and Jon who still remained at the wall, so it was under Arya's claim to rule the North. It was odd, she never imagined that she would be heir to Winterfell. She was the last person who was supposed to inherit the land. She was the youngest daughter of Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully, so she never expected the land would fall to her. Now these knights were offering to help her reclaim her birth right; to rule the North as the She Wolf of Winterfell. For a moment she had faith in them, excited that they would bring her back to her home. That was before she was reminded that her old companions had been only a group of idiots; all talk and no action.
All they did was sleep all day and drink all night. Arya sighed, Winterfell would just have to wait. She knew she should have left, found an army of her own to win back the North but there was something that drew her to the Brotherhood – or someone. Arya could not suppress the feelings she had for Gendry. When she was little he was her best friend, almost like a brother but, there were no brotherly feelings that Arya harboured towards him at the moment. Every time she looked at him her mouth would run dry and a jolt of sensations would flutter throughout her body; a tingling in her limbs, a dull ache in her heart, a heat in her stomach and a desire in her loins. But Gendry was still his stupid self. The first time he saw her, he embraced her with a hug. He held her so tight that Arya could barely breathe and he buried his face in her hair, whispering sentiments about how he missed her and how he was sorry. But now he rarely looked in her direction, let alone spoke to her.
They had just arrived at the Peach, after they were bathed and shown to their room – the same one they were given last time she had came here – they made their way to the main hall for dinner. Arya did not eat her meal but rather watched the other men in the Brotherhood. Every one of them had a whore on her lap, Tom even had two. It was safe to say that Arya would have a room to herself that night. She did not much care about what any of the other men were doing, all she could focus on was Gendry. There was some whore on his lap, pressing kisses to his cheek and neck. Gendry did not seem amused by the whore but did not push her away either, he kept one hand around her waist while the other was clutched to a skin of wine.
Unable to take the scene of them any longer, Arya marched to her room and tossed her body on the giant featherbed. She was frustrated, both with Gendry and herself (sexually). Arya kicked of her breeches and her small clothes and began pleasuring herself. She was at the activity for 10 minutes but her release wouldn't come. Arya stopped, something was missing – other than a man – something was needed to help her achieve her release. She glanced around the room and noted one of Gendry's bags in the corner. Arya trotted towards it and spilled the contents from the bag. She found one of Gendry's tunics and clutched the fabric between her fingers. Instinctively she brought the tunic to her nose and took a big whiff. It smelled just like him; like sweat, smoke and earth; he smelled off a forge. It was a smell that was intoxicating to her, the smell of Gendry. She ripped of the remaining of her clothes and donned on Gendry's tunic. It was large and she was practically buried in it; the sleeves were far too long and Arya had to push them back, while the bottom of the tunic reached her knees. It was lose, dirty and it was perfect. She hoped back onto the featherbed and began fingering herself, allowing the pleasure to consume her.
