Author's Note: I have to apologize about taking forever on updating this fic. I've been rather...extremely stressed out with work and school, both of which are kicking my arse at the moment. I have a couple more weeks until the semester is over and I might be able to enjoy some relaxation time in which I can actually seriously write for once. I also apologize that this is such a short chapter. I wanted it to be longer, but Arya was not working with me and I couldn't get it any farther...
Disclaimer:If I owned these characters, I wouldn't have to write fan fiction about them.
Arya
The reception of Lady Catelyn and her sons to King's Landing was a dull affair compared to the one the Starks prepared in Winterfell for the King. Granted, King Robert was the King of all of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and Lady Catelyn was only the wife of the Lord of Winterfell, but still. It was rather quiet, with only Lord Stark, his daughters, and his men there at the gates to greet her. Tyrion Lannister and Renly Baratheon accompanied them as placeholders for King Robert and Queen Cersei.
Arya fidgeted in her gown as she waited beside her father, pulling on the hems of her sleeves uncomfortably. 'I'm missing a lesson with Syrio for this…' she thought to herself, irritated by the fact. Sansa had scoffed at her when she complained about having to miss her dance lessons, which had made Arya want to go even less.
Thankfully, Gendry was there along with the rest of the household guard. Arya was glad that he had become her friend. She didn't have many in Kings Landing, not any more. Being cooped up in the Red Keep all the time certainly made it hard to make any friends at all. It was more even between the sisters now. Sansa had Jeyne, and Arya had Gendry. Although that didn't stop Sansa from sneering at the way that Arya called him 'friend.' "It isn't proper for a Lady to be friends with her guard," she had said…
Stark banners could be seen down the King's Road an hour before Arya's mother and brothers reached the gates. The reunion between her mother and father was sweet, in their own reserved way. It was obvious how much the distance between Winterfell and King's Landing had strained their relationship with one another, how much they had missed each other. Arya felt an uneasiness in her stomach at the open show of affection her parents were showing. She wasn't used to seeing them share that with anyone.
She turned her attention to her brothers, who were being helped from their horses by Stark men. Young Rickon, now almost six, had a weary look upon his face, though when his eyes fell upon his father, he lit up and he ran to throw his arms around him.
The reunion was sweet for all of them, but Arya felt out of place. She did not have the relationship with her mother that Sansa had and it had been over three years since she'd seen her brothers. Yes, it was good to see them again, but there was something almost…missing.
The small feast that the Baratheons held in honor of Lady Catelyn Stark was far more meager than the one held in Winterfell. Though, again, the Stark family were not the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms and so a vast reception and vast feast, especially with the coming winter, was not expected for their arrival.
Arya fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat, the seams of the dress Septa Mordane had forced her into itching at her skin. She hated nothing more than dresses, aside from maybe Joffrey. After living in Kings Landing for a few years, she had taken to wearing loose tunics and breeches, especially since she almost always trained with Syrio.
However, it would seem that with the arrival of her mother, Arya's boyish clothing choices were going to be changed dramatically.
She had fought with Septa Mordane that morning for nearly an hour before finally giving up at the threat of her father coming in to scold her. By that time, her father and sister had already gone down to meet with Tyrion and Renly to meet her mother, leaving Arya to catch up to them before the reception. Arya had been unable to change into more comfortable clothing since her mother's arrival, much to her dismay.
Gendry had smirked at her when he saw her in a dress for the first time. It made her angry and want to hit him, so she had. He had scowled at her and grumbled about how proper ladies shouldn't be hitting anyone, let along the men meant to guard them. Arya didn't give two pisses about what proper ladies should or shouldn't be doing.
Arya was a Stark of Winterfell, a dire wolf, not a proper lady.
The meal that evening seemed to drag on forever, as well. Arya was largely left out of the major conversations, what with Sansa and her betrothal and marriage to the Royal Prick being all anyone could talk about.
"Arya, what's that bruise on your hand?" Bran asked her quietly, pulling her attention from the food on her plate to her hand and then to her younger brother. She scowled at him, pulling her hands under the table.
"Arya's been taking dancing lessons," Sansa supplied from across the table. How she had heard Bran's questions, Arya wasn't sure. But she wanted to punch her sister square in the nose for speaking up. Suddenly all the attention was upon her and the room had fallen silent. Her scowl turned on her sister. "She's really awful. Three years of lessons and she still comes back with bruises all over."
She felt her skin heat up and flush with embarrassment as her father tried to pull the conversation in a different direction a few moments later. Arya glared at her sister.
"You can tell me what you've really been doing after supper, then," Bran told her with a smirk. The only thing Arya wanted to do after supper was go through the castle with her wooden practice sword and bash against walls and columns, practicing her stances Syrio had taught her with Gendry.
But no, now that her family was here, it was going to be hard for her to get away for her lessons, especially with her mother present…
Nearly a month had passed since Catelyn Stark and her youngest sons had arrived at King's Landing. Arya had been forced to sneak out to her lessons with Syrio, skirting around her mother's inquiries and self-invitations to attend her daughter's dancing lessons. Her father had tried to explain it to Lady Stark, but still the woman was persistent.
"You know she only does that because she cares and wants to see you succeed in something, right?" Gendry told her as they walked through the corridors of the Red Keep. Arya huffed a sigh, her brows pulling down into a scowl.
"I know that, but she won't approve if she finds out."
"She's your mother, Arya, of course she's going to find out. If not from you, she'll get it out of your father eventually," he told her coolly. The young girl glared up at him again, reaching over to punch him in the arm.
"Look, my lady, it's your half-feral sister and her guard dog!" Arya froze as Gendry took a step behind her, straightening and putting on the face that he put on whenever they were around others. Joffrey and Sansa. Of course it was them. Her older sister looked irritated to have run into Arya and moved her hand to grab Joffrey and pull him away.
"If anyone has a guard dog, it's you," Arya growled, her brows furrowing again. The Hound looked down at her with the same fierce scowl that he held all the time. Arya was fairly certain that it was on his face permanently and he was incapable of making any other facial expressions or emotions. A flame of hatred burned bright within her chest as she balled her slim hands into fists.
"Arya!" Sansa cried, shocked at her sister's audacity. Joffrey seemed to growl at her.
"Yes, well, at least he's far better than a bastard bull," the prince spat. The wolf-girl bristled, tensing as she prepared to pounce. The boy laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, how about it? Let's pit my dog against your bull, shall we?"
"Your Grace, please," Sansa pleaded, desperate to get away from any form of confrontation with her sister. "Let us go, your mother is awaiting us in the garden." At least Arya could respect her sister for not wanting to be around her and wanting to get her royal prick of a future husband away from her.
"My mother can wait. I am the Crown Prince." Sansa shot her a look, pleading with her to just leave. Arya remembered what had happened the last time she had challenged Joffrey to a sword match. Her friend had been killed and she had cost the life of Lady and had lost Nymeria in the bargain…
"Gendry doesn't need to prove anything to you," she said defensively. As much as she hated the prince, she was not willing to risk her only friend's life again, not now that she knew what could happen when one crossed the damned prince and his hound dog.
Joffrey only laughed. He fucking laughed.
Arya pounced.
Sansa let out a shriek.
Cold steel sang as it was removed from its sheath.
A force around her waist kept her from colliding with the Prince. Her arms flailed out at him, her fingers scrabbling to get purchase on his ugly flesh. She was pulled back into someone's chest, strong arms holding her down as she wriggled and fought with her captor. The Hound's mass was in front of her, blocking her view of her sister and the prince, his sword shining in the air.
"You keep that bitch under control, you hear me?" The Hound growled, talking to the person restraining her. "That's your fucking job."
"Yes, m'lord." Gendry. He was the one keeping her from ripping Joffrey to shreds. Damn him!
"I ain't no lord, boy," he sneered before spinning on his heel and stalking after his prince and his bride-to-be. Arya's anger began to diffuse as her wolf's blood calmed down little by little. Gendry kept a firm hold on her, his hands strong and calloused. Arya flushed despite herself.
"Let me go, Stupid," she said, struggling against him again. Gendry paused a moment, probably checking if the coast was clear before he released her.
Arya quickly bounded away from him, spinning on her heels and glaring at him up and down.
"That was not a smart move, m'lady," he said. She scowled. He knew that she hated it when he called her m'lady. She knew he was doing it only to scold her. Arya hated him for it.
Arya scowled and took off running, leaving Gendry behind her. When she looked over her shoulder to see if he was following, he was standing there looking confused and hurt. That made her even angrier, so she ran faster.
Before she knew it, she had made her way down to the darkened hall with the giant dragon skulls lining the walls. Arya slowed, her breathing heavy. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, irritated by the wetness that had somehow shown up on her cheeks.
She didn't ever want to go back to the Tower of the Hand.