Chapter Eight
The morning after. Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.
Arya awoke with a banging in her head and an ache in her feet. She realised absent-mindedly that someone had taken her strappy high heels off, and she didn't remember doing it herself.
She rolled over, and suddenly the discrepancy struck her. She wasn't in her own bed. She wasn't even in Sansa's, which she could have expected after the wedding. This was a boy's room, no doubt about it. The walls were burgundy and the floor was wooden, and the furniture was spartan. She sat up, pulling the covers around her as protection against the brisk air, and it was only the smell of the duvet that jogged her memory.
It smelt of woodsmoke and sweat and slightly... of cinnamon. It reminded her of last night, when she had danced with her head against his collarbone, enclosed in those warm, strong arms.
Gendry. This was his bedroom. This was his bed.
How had she ended up here?
She jogged her memory, trying to recall the events of the previous night. She remembered dancing with Gendry, and then with her family, and then an encounter with Renly. She remembered an argument with Robert Baratheon, finding out that Gendry was his son! And then her mind went blank.
'Morning, sleepyhead!' called Gendry himself, pushing open the door gently. He was shirtless, wearing just a pair of jogging bottoms, and his hair was mussed up like he'd just woken up.
Arya was still wearing her dress, and- she quickly checked- her knickers were still intact.
'Gendry, why am I in your bed?' she asked, biting her bottom lip.
He smiled. 'Don't worry, I slept on the sofa.'
She sighed, relieved. 'Why aren't I at home?'
Gendry went over to the wardrobe and took out a pair of jeans. 'After you punched... Robert Baratheon, your father asked me to take you home. You fell asleep in the taxi.' He smiled to himself, remembering how her soft little body had clung to his when if carried her in from the car, her hands clutching subconsciously at his neck.
'Thanks,' she said, as Gendry fished some pants and a t-shirt out of one of his drawers. He blushed involuntarily at the thought of the condom escapade the day before.
'I'm going for a shower,' he said, turning to face her, 'You can hop in after me, if you want, and you can borrow some clothes if you like?'
'Thanks,' she repeated, eyes slightly downcast.
Whilst she showered, Gendry cooked breakfast. He poached a couple of eggs and fried some sausages and bacon. Just as he set out the plates on the table, she emerged from the bathroom with damp hair, wearing one of his t-shirts which was so big on her that she didn't need trousers.
'That smells great,' she said, and shoved it all down her throat faster than Gendry could believe. 'What time is it?' she asked him casually.
'Quarter past three,' he said, grinning. They had wasted the whole day sleeping, and... it was a surprisingly good feeling.
After 'breakfast', they fell down on the sofa, and Arya put her feet up onto Gendry's lap.
'How can I still be so tired after so many hours' sleep?' she questioned, sliding down the sofa arm to lean back her head, and inadvertently letting his t-shirt ride up her leg so that Gendry could see most of her thigh. He switched on the radio and closed his eyes to avoid looking at her bare legs.
'Gendry?' she said in a meek little voice that pulled at his heartstrings. He turned his head to look at her, meeting her pencil-lead eyes.
'What's the matter?' he asked.
'I... I think I want to go to South America with you,' she said.
He frowned at her. 'Wha... Why? You have a perfect life here.'
'No I don't,' she sighed, 'My parents only expect me to be a trophy wife, and I'm no good at anything. I'm no good at school, I'm no good at sport, and I'm no good as a daughter.'
'You're good at boxing,' he pointed out.
'I'll never make it pro,' she muttered, 'I'm just a spoilt little girl.'
Gendry looked at her for a long moment, trying to find the words to explain how brilliant she was. She was sharp and funny and beautiful, and she could take anything she wanted if she felt so inclined. But he was just a guy, and he didn't know how to tell her that, and he definitely didn't want to scare her off, so he just opened his arms and said, 'Come here,' and embraced her when she twisted around to curl up against his side.
'If you said the word, I'd run away to South America in a heartbeat,' he informed her honestly.
...
Gendry gave her a lift home about six o'clock. She briefly paused in the kitchen to say hello to her parents, and then she went up to her bedroom, fully intending just to sleep through till Monday.
But as she drew her curtains shut, three polite taps rang on her door, and Jon came in.
'How are you?' she asked him, sitting beside her brother on her bed.
'A bit sore from last night,' he said, smiling.
'Me too,' she laughed, and Jon wrapped an arm around her shoulder and cradled her in.
'I can't get used to you being a grown-up girl,' he confessed, 'You'll always just be my little sister.'
She wriggled in his grip. 'Don't say that!'
Jon laughed. Same old Arya, wanting to be older than her years.
'Arya, I have some news,' he said gently, 'And I thought I'd wait until after Robb's wedding.'
'What?' she said, trying not to worry, 'Are you pregnant?'
'Very funny,' he said, and twisted so he was facing her, 'Look, the thing is, I've found a job up North, and Ygritte's parents live there, so... We're going to move.'
Arya was looking pensive, which worried Jon. He'd expected petulance or shock, but she seemed quite accepting. 'Good for you,' she said, bumping into his arm gently.
'We leave just after your birthday,' he said, feeling a little disappointed by her acceptance, 'Arya, aren't you going to miss me?'
'Loads,' she nodded, with heavy, sad eyes.
Jon cuddled her close, and Arya wondered what it would be like to say goodbye to Jon if she was leaving- and not just home, but the continent.
A/N: *Dramatic music* I wonder if you can see where I'm going with this? I lost a bit of faith yesterday but it's back now, and I can see where the story is going now. I'm rather excited for the next bit.
