Author's Note: Okay guys, I'm really nervous. This is my first attempt at writing something sexier, so please give me honest feedback. I do want to paint a blurry watercolor, and I don't want to be too explicit. I also don't want it to feel forced. I think it works within the context of the story and is necessary to their relationship and the story itself. Somehow it got too long again, oh well. Anyway, enjoy.
Whorehouse Continued
Gendry
As he enters the room he doesn't see her right away. It's a nice room, nicer than any he's stayed in at The Peach before, but then he was just a bastard in The Brotherhood then. There is a big bed, inviting looking, with thick sheets. In the middle is a large tub with intricate feet holding it up. There's even a little desk with creams and girly things set out, a mirror against the wall, and a little chair. The floor creaks beneath his feet, and he sees a dark brown head shoot up out of the tub. He's so startled he almost drops the bowl.
"Oh. Sorry. I'll just…" He'll just what? Stupid. "I'll come back."
"No. Stay." She rushes out, rubbing at her eyes to dry them, wet hair plastered to her head.
"Okay. I mean, if you're sure." But he continues in anyway, slowly.
"It's your room too, after all." He shuts the door behind him.
"I brought you something to eat, I thought you might be hungry." He holds up the food as if she couldn't clearly see it. She smiles a very genuine smile at him.
The tub is quite deep, and he can't actually see anything, well he's trying hard not to. He wants to take things slowly and not have a repeat of their disastrous wedding night. He turns to the little table to set his burdens down, with his back turned he hears the distinctive sound of the water's surface being disturbed, and he focuses intently on a little jar of some sort of goop, he smells it carefully, makes a face, and sets it back down.
"Thank you." She says, and on instinct he looks over his shoulder. She has a towel wrapped around her and is squeezing excess water out of her hair back into the tub. He can see the curve of her waist through the fabric and surprisingly long legs dappled with water droplets. He finds himself hypnotized.
She comes up beside him and reaches for the bread, breaking off a chunk. "How are the others?" She asks conversationally. Eating the chunk quickly, she breaks off another.
"They're good. Tom and Anguy are particularly pleased." She rolls her eyes good-naturedly at that. "But none more so than Hot Pie."
"I'll bet. Finally full, eh?" Water drips down from the ends of her hair down to the tops of her breasts, the towel tied tight in a knot pushing them up further.
"Uh huh." He agrees, not quite sure what he is agreeing to. She gets a little pinker and concentrates on finishing the bread, looking at him with big grey eyes, and then away.
"What?" She asks.
"What?" He asks. Not sure what she's asking him.
"You keep looking at me." And he can see for the first time she's just as nervous as he is. The thought seems ridiculous to him, and it makes him smile, giving him a bit more confidence.
"I'm not allowed to look at you?" He jokes, partially nervous about her answer.
"Not like that. You're making me blush." She drinks some of the water at that.
"But I like looking at you. You're my wife after all." She blushes even deeper, and he is deeply endeared. She is adorable.
"True. I suppose I'm being silly. You have been inside me after all." And then she goes and says something like that. She moves away from him at that, so he can't see the look on her face.
His tongue gets away from him, "I want to see all of you." He requests. Not even sure where his boldness has come from.
She freezes, shoulders tensed. She doesn't move for the longest time, and he starts to regret it, wishing he could take it back. He's about to apologize, pretend it was a joke, when she turns back to him. Shoulders bolstered with strength, she meets his gaze and lets the towel fall. Her chin is held high, but the shallow breaths, which puff out her modest chest, are an indication that she's uncomfortable. He takes in every inch of skin, every freckle, every birthmark. He doesn't think he could tear his eyes away if he tried. He doesn't want to. He notices changes too, goose bumps start to form along her arms, her throat swallows deeply, and he can see her toes dig into the pattern on the rug.
"Are you done yet?" She jokes, pushing a strand of wet hair behind her ear; but her voice isn't as confident as it usually is.
"No. I don't think I'll ever be done." He says honestly. He shifts his gaze to her face to see her biting her lip.
"Well, it's a bit cold, so…" She turns around and goes to wrap the towel back around her, but he stops her.
"Please don't, you're perfect." She laughs a bit at that, but also seems to relax.
"Perfect? I don't think I've ever been accused of that before."
From behind her, he runs his fingers through her hair, the wet strands even darker than normal. She doesn't flinch or pull away, and he takes that as a good sign. His fingers trail down her neck and then her back, marveling at her soft skin. She shivers at his touch and he is encouraged. He can't stop touching her, brushing her sides, the curve of her backside, her breasts, and between her thighs. Her surprised gasp gives him pause, fearing that he's hurt her, but the way she settles farther back against him tells him to keep going; that and the slickness he feels coating his fingers.
"Is this okay?" He asks. He feels her head nod against his collarbone.
The noises she makes coupled with her bottom rubbing up against him, make the whole situation dreamlike. One from which he doesn't want to wake. He feels her body start to tense against him so he tightens his hold around her waist.
"I've got you." He whispers in her ear.
She falls into him with a cry, and drops her head back on his shoulder, completely boneless. He kisses her neck, holding her up, tasting a mix of her sweat and lemongrass from the soap. He wants to bury himself inside of her, but doesn't want to disturb her, so he just holds her tightly against him. When her breathing returns to normal and she can stand upright on her own she pulls away from his chest, gripping the nearby chair and he lets her, though he's sorry. But instead of moving completely away from him, she turns around and kisses him, and then everything becomes a blur. His clothes coming off, crashing onto the bed, his body falling into hers, and release.
They lay there together, him trying to get his breathing under control, waiting for the world to stop spinning, and the lights flashing before his eyes to calm down. Once he's more himself, he looks over at Arya to make sure she's all right. She must feel his gaze for she looks over as well.
"Was that, better?" He asks, unsure, reaching up to scratch his temple.
For a moment she's silent, before she starts giggling.
At this a huge grin spreads even wider across his face, and she starts giggling again. He gathers her up to hold her close, much like they slept together on the road. He pulls the sheets up over them, and she falls asleep rather quickly. His body wants to join her, but he fights it, wanting to stare at her and keep this moment forever. Even so, his eyelids start to droop.
It's sometime later that he feels hands sliding up his thigh and continue up. Arya is under the blanket, he can see her form underneath, and feel her skin smooth against him. He can barely move or even breathe, so surprised is he. The delicate hands move up his chest, kisses following in the wake of the caresses. This must be what one of the Seven Heavens feels like, he thinks, as Arya continues. As he pulls down the blanket to see her face, it's not brown hair he sees, but red. Not freckled skin, but moon white, like a ghost long since dead. His whole body freezes, and his stomach clenches painfully.
"Gendry." She taunts, with an accent from across the sea. He wants desperately to push her off, but can't move. He wants to scream, but can't get his jaw to work.
"Gendry." She says again with a smile, fingers grasping at his chest, digging into him violently, and drawing blood. He feels tears behind his eyes, but won't let them fall, can't.
"Gendry." He hears again, but the voice becomes younger, more hoarse, and the fingers aren't tearing his flesh, only soothing him. It's Arya, not her, and the breath he's been holding comes out in a whoosh.
"It's okay. It's okay." She reassures him. "It was just a dream." She moves her hand up to his pitch-black hair and brushes some strands back, he can feel the sweat gathered on his brow. He takes her hand and kisses her fingertips.
"It was just a dream." He repeats. Her large grey eyes squint at him in concern, and her pink lips tighten. The sorceress' face fading from view.
"What was it about?" She asks. What can he tell her?
"I… I don't remember." He lies. She nods slowly in acceptance.
"Those are the worst." She remarks. "You're afraid, but you don't even know what of. It makes you feel so, helpless." And she cuddles back beside him.
"Yeah." He agrees readily. But then something occurs to him. "Do you have nightmares?" He turns his head to look at her beside him.
"All the time." She says staring up at the ceiling, betraying no emotion.
"I haven't heard anything these last few nights. I couldn't even tell…" Her fingers fidget next to him, nervously.
"I learned how to keep from crying out. I had to." Her fingers trace invisible patterns in the wrinkles of the bed sheets. He grasps the hand in his own, providing her the comfort she'd just offered him.
"You can cry out, if you want. I'll be here." He promises. She looks over at him then with a small smile.
"And you can tell me about your nightmares, if you want. When you're ready." She is far, far too clever.
"Arya, I…"
A commotion downstairs interrupts their discussion.
"What the…" She starts but trails off. There's more banging and lights turning on one after another.
"One second." He says, reluctantly getting up, pulling his pants on hastily. He sees Arya eyeing him from the bed, pulling the sheet up higher around her, but her ear is cocked to listen for further disturbances. Some loud accusations make their way up the stairs and beneath the door.
And she jumps up too, looking around for her dress on the floor.
"Go back to bed, I'll check it. I'll be right back." He suggests.
"I'm coming too."
"No, Arya. It could be thieves or rapists. You just stay here and…" Why is it so hard to talk and think when she isn't wearing any clothes?
"What, so they can kill all of you and then I'll be alone all by myself? No, I don't think so. I'm coming."
She renews her search. He knows how stubborn she is, how she believes she's always right, and how he always wants to let her win. But he has to keep her safe, that is his only, most important job. So, knowing she will probably kill him later, he grabs her dress from off the floor and holds it away from her.
"Oh there it is." She says, noticing the garment in his hand. She reaches for it, but he pulls it back. His large frame makes it easy for him to keep the dress out of reach. Immediately understanding dawns on her face and she outright glares at him, thick eyebrows scrunched. Well, there go the cuddles. "Give it." She orders. As if anyone could ever doubt she's a highborn.
"Please, just stay. You can be mad at me if you want. But this is a waste of time. I need you to be safe." He tries to emphasize how much he means it, his good intention. She only tries to grab the dress from him, but he knew exactly what she was going to do and moved it out of her reach. She looks furious. And while he does enjoy the sight of her naked bouncing, he knows there is a good chance she will kill him later. "I'm serious." He says. She stops jumping, and he's relieved that she finally understands. That is until she grabs his shirt and belt up off the ground and holds it for all she's worth. He lets out an exasperated sigh, clutches his pants with one hand and runs out the door. He hears first one bang, then another, and he recognizes the sound of each of his boots being flung against the door. He doesn't slow, but he feels himself getting angrier and angrier at whoever caused the disturbance and ruined their moment of peace.
He finds Tom, Anguy, Lommy, Hot Pie, and most of the whores gathered in the salon, and three men at the center being questioned. Upon seeing him, they open the circle and make way. He recognizes the men his uncle Stannis sent with him, and remembers the look of resignation on Arya's face upon their disappearance.
"My Lord." A young one greets. A few of the whores look over at him with surprise, but he doesn't take his eyes off the soldier.
"Where have you been? Where are the others? There were twenty when we left."
"We were attacked, Milord. We're what's left." Another answers, and he can see they each have a number of scratches, bruises, and minor wounds.
"Attacked by who?" Tom asks. He's about to answer when heavy footsteps clomp down the stairs, and a little figure rushes past. Upon seeing the soldiers, it stops.
"You." She says, eyes flaring. Of course. There's Arya, dressed only in his huge shirt, tied around the waist with his belt to keep it up above her knees. She blows straight past him and violently shoves the young soldier closest, a gangly thing with curly black hair and a few days of poorly grown stubble. Did he say she was wild before, he meant savage.
He grabs her before she can kick the youth like she's obviously about to. She fights to get free until he says, "Arya. Arya! Stop! They were attacked. These three are the only ones who made it." She stops struggling, but looks unconvinced.
"Out of twenty men, there are only three."
"It was The Bloody Mummers." The second says, chin sticking up proudly despite his lack of a neck, both answering the question and defending himself. Anguy looks at them with pity then. And Arya stops fighting him completely. He lets her go.
"Are you sure?" She seems skeptical.
"The Bloody Mummers have always been a problem 'round these parts, I believe it." Tom answers this time.
"I apologize. That was uncalled for. I shouldn't have assumed the worst." She concedes.
"No, I'm sorry, My Lady. We were meant to see you and your things safely home, and we've already failed in our task." The young soldier apologizes.
"The supplies?" She asks, already knowing the answer.
"Gone. They lamed most of the horses before we could get to 'em. And killed o'er half a us. Took ev'rything. We followed, got lost, and they killed the others. We was too tired and too disoriented ta fight well. We found this place, but, we thought we'd lost you lot too." The third says by way of apology, the thick blonde stubble on his neck ringed in dirt. Arya closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, swallows, and then composes herself.
"Well I am glad you three survived. Things are just things. Human life matters more." She says.
"I'm sorry for your losses. I will tell my uncle of your bravery." He adds.
"Yeah, but…" Hot Pie starts. Everyone looks at him. "So they got everything? You couldn't save nothing?" He looks incredulous.
The second reaches deep into his pants and pulls out a pouch. "Well, nothing 'cept these." He opens the drawstring and pours out a few precious stones, the ones gifted to them by Queen Danaerys. Tom and Anguy 'woop' in celebration. The prostitutes look awed by the sight. Gendry himself feels relieved, knowing the upcoming journey will be a little less harrowing. Arya pastes on a tight smile and praises them man on his cleverness. But overall, she still seems unimpressed.
"And the trunk, My Lady." Her head snaps towards him. "That's why it took us so long." The first pipes up.
"What trunk?" She's completely alert, focusing all her energy on this one soldier, as though he held her life in his hands.
"The one you told us about, My Lady. You said to guard it above all else, did you not?" She puts her hand to her chest.
"Yes, I…" She can barely get her words together. "Where is it?" And he points to the corner, where a rather ornate trunk he'd noticed on the beginning of their journey sits untouched. She lets out a mangled laugh and makes her way immediately over to the treasure, crouching down before it, letting her fingers hover over the sides without touching. The laugh continues but mixes with tears as she reverently fingers the lock, springing the trunk open. Everyone is leaned forward, trying in vain to get a glimpse inside the mystery box. What could possibly cause such a reaction from a highborn lady who completely ignored a handful of gems? But her body blocks any view of its contents, and everyone is too uncomfortable to go closer. They're afraid she'll start sobbing in earnest, the men especially wary of such a prospect, having witnessed it on the King's Road.
Gendry alone makes his way over and puts his hand on her shoulder, at which she promptly shuts the lid tight.
"What is it, Arya?" Wondering if she will actually tell him. She holds her hand out and he takes it, she pulls him down lower to sit beside her, completely unmindful of their audience. She looks right at him, having to tilt her head a bit to compensate for his height.
"Gendry, this is my father, Ned Stark." He hears Lommy curse under his breath. She turns her gaze back to the trunk. "Daddy, this is my husband, Gendry Baratheon." Bella gasps loudly behind them.
He doesn't know what he's meant to do, what he's meant to say. His bones, Lord Stark's bones. No wonder she was so upset. She looks back at him expectantly.
"Ummm. Nice to meet you, Milord. Uh, My Lord." He responds, and she smiles and nods, so he supposes he's done the right thing.
After a moment, she rises, and he follows suit. There are happy tears still running down her face.
"Is everything alright, My Lady?" The curly-haired soldier asks.
"Oh yes." She laughs. And she runs over to him, the same soldier she battered not minutes ago, and begins to pepper his cheeks with kisses. Gendry finds he doesn't like that at all, but knows how stupid it would look to say anything. The soldier looks uncomfortable, but gives her a half smile anyway. She releases him and wipes the tears and snot from her nose, a smile beaming across her face. With her other hand she grabs Gendry's own until they're standing side by side.
"Delia." She says, searching out the older woman, who for her part looks very surprised to be singled out. "Drinks all around, we're celebrating." There are loud cheers in response, and everyone is given a shot of something pungent smelling.
"A toast." She says before anyone can take a drink. "You men," She starts, and looks at each in turn; the three additions, Tom, Hot Pie, Anguy, and even Lommy. "All you men. I know you didn't ask for this. To come with us. You were ordered or forced. You came out of convenience or duty. You don't know me, we're strangers. But each of you has been a friend, served me or my husband faithfully. I am both honored and grateful. And I want to say- all loyal men will have a place at my table, in my home." She stops and shakes her head. "Our home, will be more than welcome. As honored guests, and Northmen." And she raises her glass and swallows the entire contents, impressing more than a few. The men cheer, but they're solemn, serious. It is obvious that no man mistook the depth of her message, the sincerity.
Gendry raises his glass in salute, and thinks once more, she is a much better lord than he will ever be. His Brotherhood drinks and laughs with the arrival of more strong liquors. Stannis' men drink too, but look as though their eyes will shut at any moment, lounging on the couch, while one of the whores, whose name he can't recall, tends to their wounds. Arya takes another drink, but only sips at it. She's watching all of them, but not quite joining them, enjoying their carefree spirits. He leads her over to a sofa in the corner, and when he sits, she perches herself on his lap. She smiles at him, and he holds her closer. She tucks her head beneath his chin and settles backwards. Tom looks over and gives him a knowing grin, raising his eyebrows comically before directing his attention back to Leera. Anguy looks over too, though his eyes seem to linger on Arya's displayed legs, up to Gendry's disapproving face, then back over to Cherise's throat. He feels someone take the cup out of his hand before he falls asleep.
Author's Note: Yup, it got way too long. But I just couldn't help it. Did anyone fall for the dream fake-out? How was the sex scene? Any thoughts on Lommy? Does anyone really believe it will be all puppies and kittens from here on out? Because you're wrong! My stories will have angst every few chapters or so, that's just the way it is. So don't get too comfortable. But hopefully you laugh a bit too. Next up- Arya's POV. Also, probably, more sex. And I think Arya deserves another woman on the journey with them, don't you? Something to break up all the testosterone, give her advice, and give her support. Review please.