This is only chapter 1 but I will post the next one as soon as I am finished with it!
"WHAT?" Arya exclaimed, taken aback.
"You heard me. We need a truce with the Iron Throne, and Sansa is… Unavailable," Bran said calmly.
"Don't try and be 'delicate' with me. She's missing. Everybody knows that. But there is no way I'm gonna marry some man I've never even met!"
"You will, and that's final," Bran said.
"Fine. Whatever you say, Your Grace," Arya mocked. "Would you like anything else, Your Grace? Force me to marry some man who could be twenty years older than me, why not? King Bran can do whatever he wants, and who cares what anyone else thinks!"
Bran abruptly turned his horse around and walked away, leaving Arya standing there, fuming.
She had cried very few times in her life. When her parents had died, and her brothers, (although she now knew they had only been hiding) and she was determined not to cry again. Not for such a silly thing. Sansa would have cried about this, but no, not Arya. She hadn't even cried when the Westerosi men had found her and blackmailed her into leaving Braavos. But now, at this of all times, Arya felt like crying.
She couldn't stop Bran from marrying her off like some common farmer's daughter, but she could make her new husband's life a living Hell. As her first small act of defiance, she purposefully made herself late to meet her betrothed, and putting on breeches, not a dress, and leaving her long brown hair a tangled chunk of chaos. When Bran finally sent a few women to come and get her, she was a piece of art, and there was no time for them to spare to fix her up without being late to dinner.
Walking into the dining hall was Arya's favorite part of the evening, seeing all of the diner's eyes pop, hearing the gasps of surprise. Sadly, the women had fixed her hair on the way down, but she still had her clothes, and her wits. She immediately saw the King. He sat at the head of the table, next to Bran, in a seat of honor. Although Bran was glaring at her in a Why are you so evil? way, the King still had not looked up. Arya found this irritating. If he was going to force her to marry him, couldn't he at least look at her?
Bran leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Probably an apology, Arya thought angrily as he looked up. His midnight-black hair fell into his blue eyes, which were widening in shock as Arya made her assessment. She knew what he must see: Long brown hair almost to her waist, startling icy gray eyes, and body that looked like a boy's in baggy clothes. Not a very attractive sight. Still, his reaction was not what she'd hoped for. He turned away. He leaned towards Bran and they began having a whispered conversation in which Bran's smile grew bigger every moment, and Arya's temper flared twice as big as before. She studied him the whole time he ate, ignoring the whisperings of other women. He couldn't have been more than five-and-twenty, but Arya had never been good with ages. He had huge muscles, although his right arm's were slightly bigger than his left, and got a pained look on his face fairly often, as though someone was hurting him. He looked so familiar. Although she wracked her brain for hours, she couldn't understand. Until she fell asleep.
Shapes and colors and faces flitted randomly across her vision, but only one showed up more than once: the King. Then her father appeared, frowning. He berated her for not being a lady like Sansa. He was angry, so very angry, but all Arya wanted to do was curl up in a ball and disappear. Next was her mother, and Septa Mordane, and Sansa, Robb, even Jon Snow. He took Needle from her and broke it in half, telling her it wasn't a toy for girls. And then Arya was alone, not to mention frightened.
She heard the distant sound of swords banging together, and she leaped to her feet, eager to find someone she could speak with. What she actually found were two men, who both looked so alike they could be brothers. One was the King, the other took Arya a little time to recognize. It was Gendry. Her one-time companion from five years back, who had left her to smith for the Brotherhood without Banners. The boy who had left her pack, all those years ago.
Gendry and the King were fighting. Stares locked, swords clashing, they were trying to kill each other.
"Help me!" Gendry yelled, "I'm your friend! He's going to kill me, you must help me!"
"I am your rightful King! Your betrothed! Help me!" the King bellowed over the ringing of the metal.
"How am I to help either of you?" Arya cried, "I don't even have Needle- Oh!" Needle had appeared in her hand. She advanced upon the King. After all, Gendry had been her friend. She couldn't let this stranger murder him! But just as she was about to finish her bloody work, the King disappeared. She turned around to see that Gendry was gone too. She gave a wordless cry of dismay. Was she to roam this terrible world alone forever? But then she heard it: her mother's voice, calling her.
"Arya, you have made a mistake, you stupid child. They are the same man. Gendry is the King, the King is Gendry," she said in a terrible, croaking, choke-y voice.
"Wait…" Arya said "that means…"
"That you are going to marry your old 'pack member'. Yes, it's true. Well, sweet dreams."
Arya awoke drenched in sweat, the bed sheets tangled about her legs. Sunlight was peeking in her window, right into her eyes. Grumbling to herself, Arya had forgotten all about her dream until she remembered where she was and why. Her breathing quickened, her legs felt as though they were made of cotton. She practically fell onto her bed.
Her handmaids found her that way, staring at the wall in shock, face pale, eyes wide. Ignoring her weak protests, they scrubbed her raw, brushed her hair, powdered her face, and dressed her in a ridiculous pink, frilly dress Arya would never even have thought of looking at were she not thinking of other things. All she remembered of Gendry; his character, looks, everything fit.
When Bran came to escort her to the gardens he wore a half-smile and had a faraway, happy look in his eyes. He saw Arya, though, his grin widened.
"Sister… You look so… Charming," he said, obviously at a loss for words. He took her arm and led her to meet her betrothed for walk through the gardens.
PS I'm only 13, so please no rude or obscene comments! Thanks(:[But if you have anything to say that could in any way help with my writing and isn't offensive, I would appreciate it!:D]
