It took a while before the proper arrangements were made, and the three weeks before the wedding had felt more like three moon turns. Arya wished the ordeal of it all wouldn't be so flamboyant or grand, but she knew that the king demanded such qualities for his eldest son's wedding; the wedding for the future king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The thought of it made Arya want to escape it all, but Gendry assured her that it would be alright.
"Could you imagine me as queen?" Arya laughed while she stroked some of Nymeria's grey fur. The large golden eyed direwolf slumbered next to her master. Arya and Gendry often spent their time together riding to Blackwater Bay, and with a few days left to the wedding, less people noticed their absence with all the commotion about the Red Keep. "I almost pity everyone in the Seven Kingdoms with what a wretched queen they'd have. They'd hate me."
"Probably," Gendry agreed. She tried to glare at him, but they both ended up laughing. "But a queen can do whatever she pleases. Mine will anyways."
And then the day came. Cat arrived in Arya's room and awoke her from her featherbed. Cat gathered her youngest daughter in a warm hug, and it took a while for Arya to realize that her mother was crying. She tried to remember the words Sansa used to comfort her mother during her own wedding.
"Don't worry, mother. I'll stay with you and father in the Red Keep. You shall still see me every day." Arya said while Cat still clutched to her daughter, wishing she could return to the days when she could cradle Arya in her arms and Sansa was only up to her knees and Robb was only learning to swordfight with a wooden stick.
"Of course I know that, sweetling," Cat sniffed and let go of Arya so she could smooth down her hair. "I only wish you didn't grow so fast."
Arya wanted to argue that she hadn't grown, and that she still wanted to stay in Winterfell with her brothers, but she shut her mouth for her mother. That morning, the Starks broke their fast together in the Tower of the Hand. Margaery arrived with Robb and Jessamine not long ago, but Rickon stayed under Cat's orders that a Stark must always be in Winterfell. Ned and Cat played with little Jessamine while Robb and Bran made japes of how there was still enough time to run away if they go ready the horses now. Sansa reprimanded her brothers' behavior, but Arya laughed along with her brothers. Her mother was wrong. They were all the same children they were in Winterfell.
When Cat and Sansa left to ready Arya's bath and Margery tended to Jessamine and Ned left to bring the Stark cloak, Arya asked Robb if Jon was here as well. Robb pressed his lips in a thin line and solemnly shook his head. The two Stark children knew her mother would never allow him to be at her wedding, but Arya needed to ask anyway. After her handmaidens scrubbed Arya's skin dry, they left for Sansa and Cat to ready the youngest daughter of the Starks for her wedding.
"How do you want your hair styled?" Sansa asked as she brushed Arya's long brown mane. It was wiry and dry, but given the proper oils and herbs the day before, Sansa managed to somewhat revive the hair Arya neglected.
"It must be up in a Southern braid. It is tradition." Cat said, facing Arya's reflection in the looking glass. Sansa nodded, but before either of them could do anything, Arya shook her head.
"I refuse to have my hair like a bird's nest. I let you two put me in a dress and scrub my skin to the bone and put oils in my hair and apply whatever makeup you must, but you shan't put my hair up like those fools at court." Arya scowled, refusing to let her mother and sister properly ready her. Before Sansa could reprimand her for offending the ladies at court, their mother only sighed.
"Arya, I had to put my hair in a Northern style when I was married, and Sansa had to braid hers in the Southern style for her own wedding. It is simply tradition."
Arya only crossed her arms against her chest and straightened her neck, sending the message that she didn't care for tradition. After a long moment of the three Stark she-wolves glaring at each other, Sansa finally put her arms in the air and surrendered. "Oh, alright. Have it your way then."
Arya smiled smugly as she nuzzled back in her chair, but pretended not to wince as her mother and sister practically yanked the brush through her hair and tugged it far too painfully into a Northern style braid. After they put as much powder and makeup as it took to make Arya look somewhat decent, they pulled her into a lavish gold gown with a tight bodice. The gown was beautiful with embroidery etched into every inch of fabric, and the thick skirt shined in the sunlight. A tight silver belt cinched at the waist of her bodice, and she noticed it was shaped as golden horns of a stag. Her father walked in to place the Stark cloak around her shoulders, and she noticed tears on his eyes as well. He and Cat embraced as they looked at their youngest daughter, the girl they never thought would marry, pampered and in a wedding gown, ready to meet Prince Gendry at the Great Sept of Baelor. They left the room together to ready for the procession to the Great Sept. Sansa fixed Arya's hair once more and sprayed scented oil on her neck a final time, then looked her sister in the eye and whispered soft and low for only her own ears.
"Are you sure you wish to proceed, Arya?" She asked. The question struck her. She never thought she'd hear the words off her sister's lips, but she understood after she thought of Sansa's own cursed marriage.
Arya looked at her reflection in the looking glass. She didn't look like Arya Stark of Winterfell anymore. The powders seemed to make her face more pale, and her eyes were deeper set and her lips red and plump. The dress managed to compliment whatever figure Arya had, pushing her small breasts up and making the bodice so tight she was unable to breathe. Her hair was done like how her sister and mother used to wear it in Winterfell. Two braids were made from behind her ears and met in the back of her head, joining into one tie. The rest of her hair was let down and fell to her shoulders. She realized this was what she was expected to be after tonight; Arya Baratheon, the princess and bride of Gendry Baratheon.
After a final glance at her reflection she shook her head and turned to her sister. "Family, duty, honor." Arya said, remembering the words of her mother's House. "But remember, winter is coming. I am not defenseless; I can handle what the Red Keep throws at me." She wouldn't allow the Red Keep to tame her. She would instead laugh and watch them try to tame the wild she-wolf lady of the North.
Sansa laughed, despite the circumstances. It was typical for her sister to think of her own wedding as a battle. "Yes, but now you shall have to remember, sweet sister, ours is the fury. We shall both be Baratheons after tonight."
Arya had never seen her father stand as tall or as proud as he did when he walked her down the steps of the Great Sept and gave her to her husband. She'd never before seen the Sept as crowded, each attendant eager to see the marriage between the future Rulers of the Realm. She'd never seen so many faces she didn't know smiling at her as if they were genuinely happy for her. Margaery cradled Jessamine in her arms and Robb had his hand on her shoulder. Both smiled at her as she and her father passed them. Bran stood next to Sansa and Renly. Her future good-brother gave her a hearty smile, as did her younger brother. Her sister mouthed to her the words she repeated last before they left the Red Keep.
Ned kissed her cheek and let Arya walk the last few steps to Gendry. He smiled at her with his blue eyes like ice. He wore a browned tunic with a golden sash, also bearing Baratheon embroidery. Their eyes locked, and their gaze held a thousand words yet their lips moved nay.
"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." The Sept called. Gendry removed his own cloak and wrapped it around Arya's shoulders, covering her own Stark cloak. She could feel the eyes of many on her, expecting her to be the perfect queen or the perfect princess. She could already feel their disappointment and insults when she would let them down, but Arya Stark never did care of what others thought of her.
But now she was expected to not be Arya Stark anymore, and now someone different entirely.
Part of her wanted to shout and yell that she was still a Stark and to remove his cloak, but she knew eventually this would have had to happen, and she was glad it was Gendry instead of any other pompous lord who would have tried to change her. She cared for Gendry, she didn't know how or why and she didn't care to admit it to herself.
After the ceremony was finished and they both announced their Vows in front of the Seven, the entire Great Sept of Baelor broke in cheers. They were cheering for her and Gendry. They cheered for their future king and queen. She looked to the Starks and her mother and father both had tears in their eyes. Her brothers cheered the loudest and her sister and good-brother smiled sweetly to her.
"Long live Prince and Princess Gendry and Arya Baratheon!"
The celebration was even more grand than promised. She'd never seen a bigger feast in all her years. Lords and ladies danced around her, a surplus of food was served aplenty, and some high lords and ladies stopped by the head table to offer their congratulations to the newlyweds. The Bear and the Maiden Fair was being sung and played by Hamish the Harper, an old singer with a long grey beard. Robb was the first to dance with her, telling her of how he never thought the day would come when he saw his youngest sister in a dress marrying a man, he thought she'd always have her hair tangled and have her shoes muddied and hear the never ending bickering between her and Sansa until Robb died of old age. Arya pretended that slamming her foot on his was an accident, and sweetly proclaimed that she should've taken more dancing lessons. He only laughed and exclaimed, "There she is! That's my sister."
After the song finished, her father pulled her into a dance, but that only ended with him reminiscing of the days in Winterfell when she was small enough for him to carry over his shoulders. After a final hug the song finished and she returned to her table, wanting to catch her breath. Surely two dances were enough for the night; she's already had one too many. If another man was to sweep her off her feet into another dance, she was sure this time it wouldn't be an accident when she stepped on his foot. She peeked over her goblet of wine to see Gendry dancing with her sister. They both laughed at something he said, and Arya frowned. It should have been Sansa sitting in her chair now, as the bride of the prince. It was what she waited her whole life for, and dreamed every night of. Sansa would've made the perfect queen of Westeros.
Arya was interrupted from her thoughts when someone pulled into the chair next to her and sat in the chair meant for the heir of the Seven Kingdoms, for her husband. An elderly tall and slender man with a clean shaved head and gold flecked eyes cleared his throat and showed Arya a cunning smile. The smile was all too familiar, for she had seen it worn on his children countless times. It took seconds for Arya to realize she was sitting next to Tywin Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock.
"I offer you my congratulations on your wedding day, Princess." He spoke easily and smoothly, but each word was chosen carefully. He was a wise man for his age. He reminded her of Tyrion.
"Thank you, my lord." Arya tried her best to remember to address him correctly. She sat up taller on her chair and straightened her posture.
"I am sure the marriage between you and my grandson shall be a prosperous one." He subtly raised an eyebrow and then flagged down the nearest maid to fill his wine goblet. "And how do you find my grandson?"
"He is as stupid as a bull," Arya quietly said under her breath before she could catch herself. She was sure the elder man couldn't have heard her anyways, but Tywin leaned back in his grandson's chair, perplexed and intrigued.
"Is that so? He reminds me much of his father when he was his age, and I remember most girls seemed to swoon over him."
"Most girls are stupid." Arya didn't bother to try and be courteous anymore. Tywin leaned his head back and bellowed loud laughs.
"You remind me of my daughter." His smile vanished as quick as it came. That struck Arya. Of all people to remind someone of, Tywin thought of Cersei Baratheon, the wife of the King, her husband's father, and now her good-mother? Arya did not talk to Cersei often as she would most often times try to avoid the Queen as she was bitter. Arya could not imagine herself resembling the Queen. "I wish you good luck on your future life in King's Landing, Princess."
Arya murmured her thanks as Tywin stood from her husband's chair and strode away with a certain swagger that only Lannisters held. She stood up as well with the intent to find Gendry, but she was stopped by another man. He was tall and fair haired with a slender build and blue eyes which glimmered purple. She remembered him as Ned Dayne, the Lord of Starfall. They talked during Sansa's wedding, and he told her his family originally was planning to propose an alliance with House Stark before her betrothal was announced so suddenly. Despite their circumstances, she recalled him being genuinely kind to her.
"Congratulations on your wedding, Princess." Ned smiled as he bowed before her, trying to hide a chuckle.
"If I hear another lord call me Princess I swear I will strike him." She rolled her eyes and Ned laughed, leading her towards the other lords and ladies who were joyfully dancing. He asked to dance with her and she agreed, but as long as he was fine with having his toes stepped on, as her Septa often told her she danced with two left feet. Lusty Lad was being sung and she thought Gendry should've been the one holding her, but it was too late by then.
"You look beautiful tonight, Arya. You remind me of Princess Arianne of Dorne with her beauty and fierce temper." He seemed genuine when he complimented her, but she only laughed as loud as Tywin had earlier.
"The night is young, yet you must have drunken too much wine already if you are comparing my beauty to a princess of Dorne."
"It was no jest," He insisted as Arya scowled. Before he could say anything else, he looked behind her and she felt a tap on her shoulder. Arya turned expecting to finally greet her husband, but instead she found her fat bearded good-father, Robert Baratheon. Even the way he walked signaled that he had too much to drink already, and he wore a glazed look in his eyes as if he was seeing a vision.
"If I may," Robert nudged Ned away from Arya and took her in his own arms. She believed in that moment that he had every intent to carry her away and do as wished with her, but instead he held her waist closely and nuzzled his face by her own as they danced to Let Me Drink Your Beauty. She tried not to gag and reel her face away from his breath which reeked with the stench of wine, and she tried to ignore the fact that his beard grazed upon her chest. Robert Baratheon didn't scare her, and she would not act that way, but King or not, she would punish him if he tried to do anything to her.
"You look more beautiful than I have dreamed so, my sweet." He almost sang in bliss. Arya quickly tried to scan the room for her father. She found him sitting next to her mother, and she sent him a look of exasperation, urging him to help remove the king from her, but she came to realize that the room seemed to freeze in their festivities to stare wide-eyed at the king and his new good-daughter. She felt the stare of blue eyes on her back as well, and that seemed to hit her the most. No matter what she could have done, she would have caused a scene. "My sweetling, my beautiful dear Lyanna…"
"Your Grace," Despite the correct and kind address, Arya's voice spoke as if she addressed him as something much less honorable. He held her closer that time, and his grip became tighter and lower. Before she was about to shake him off, her father managed to place his hand on Robert. Robert didn't move away, so he had to practically pull the drunken and tired King off his own good-daughter as she subtly pushed him off with gusto. People around them started to whisper, but Gendry quickly stepped in and held Arya's hand and signaled for the singer to continue his song. My Featherbed was played louder than the past songs with haste for the guests to continue dancing. With help from the Kingsguard, Eddard escorted Robert to his solar for the night.
"Thank you," Arya finally said as the people around them seemed to calm and return to their festivities.
"No need to thank me, I thought it was long past the time to dance with my wife." Gendry shrugged off the event as if it was nothing, and even managed to make a jape of it, "After all, you were avoiding me all night."
"You're right," Arya said with all seriousness. Gendry looked from his feet and to his wife perplexed, before she finally smiled, "You're right, I was too embarrassed to dance next to you. Your dancing skills are embarrassing next to my own; I did not want my husband to feel bad on his wedding night."
"Yet it appears that my dear wife's dancing skills aren't as impressive, either." He flashed her a wicked grin as he twirled her around and dipped her low.
"Prat," Arya muttered as she was back on two feet.
"Arya!" Gendry gasped in mock pain. "Your cruel words hurt me."
"Prat," Arya repeated and rolled her eyes. Gendry dipped her low again and twirled her around faster that time.
Sansa sat next to her Lord husband and she watched with teary eyes as her sister danced happily with her own husband. Renly wrapped his arm around Sansa, offering her a filled goblet of wine. She thankfully took it from him and drank half of the glass. There was a time when she only drank wine when it was called for, but nowadays she often drank more to drown the sorrows she found in Storm's End, but still less than her own sister and brothers.
"They are a good match," Renly observed, addressing her sister after he followed Sansa's gaze.
"Yes, they are." Sansa agreed. Renly looked back from his own wife then to his nephew and his new bride, laughing together as they danced to My Featherbed. He truly did care for his wife, but in a different way than man and wife were expected to care for each other. Sansa respected him despite it all, and he respected her in return. He was always kind to her and she never raised her voice to him, nor he to her. They might have been friends under the correct circumstances if the Gods deemed it fit.
"Would you care to dance?" He asked, offering her his hand. When she looked at her husband, she believed at that moment that not all knights were the ones in the songs.
Only a few more songs were enjoyed peacefully without another event until lords started to call for a bedding. Arya and Gendry were pulled apart by various lords and ladies of the Realm. Ladies eagerly removed Gendry's sash and wrapped their arms around him, giggling and laughing as the Prince blushed and tried to remain chivalrous as the ladies of court continued to remove layers of his clothing and to bring him out of the corridor and to his bedding chamber. The lords however, found it much more difficult to ready Arya for her bedding. By the time Gendry left the room, the lords were still trying to remove Arya's clothes and hoist her into the air. The first man, a squire under House Tyrell as Sansa noticed, tried to tear off Arya's dress. She punched him square in the jaw before he could get his hands on her. Cheers and laughs erupted from the crowd of lords, claiming the young girl was indeed was a she-wolf. Before any other lord could try to rid Arya of her clothing, Robb swept in and carried her off the ground as easily as if she was a child. Sansa accidentally tripped a lord that tried to chase them, and she gracefully helped him up. She graciously apologized and claimed she didn't see him. Bran held the doors open for Robb to dash through and slammed it shut behind him, stopping all other lords from following. Queen Cersei watched the entire scene of the bedding unfold before her eyes with her neck held high and a scowl on her beautiful face. The Starks are truly wolf-blooded, she thought. But she knew what would happen if a wolf ever tried to cross with a lion. The Rains of Castamere was proof enough of that.
"Robb," Arya whispered, clutching his shoulder. She seemed to be shivering, despite the Red Keep being tenfold warmer than Winterfell ever was. "I'm scared."
Robb raised an eyebrow and lead her down the hall and took a left turn to the bedding chambers. That was the first time he's ever heard Arya admit she was afraid to her eldest brother. "Don't worry. Prince Gendry is a kind and gentle man, and if he proves me wrong, Bran and I would be glad to run our swords through him."
Arya laughed under her breath. "That would be called murdering the Prince."
"Which will not happen, as long as he doesn't hurt you. Which I'm sure he won't anyways." He smiled, but it disappeared as he stopped in front of the door. Gendry was surely already inside, ready and waiting to consummate his marriage. He gently placed his youngest sister down and kissed her forehead. "Be brave, little wolf. If all else fails, just close your eyes and think of Winterfell."
She nodded and opened the doors to the chamber. It made a loud creak as she stepped inside, and she saw Gendry look up from where he sat on the bed, wrapped in the blankets, eating off the cheese platter beside him. He laughed when he saw Arya, still fully dressed in her wedding gown. "Did you hit him?" He asked her, referring to the first lord that tried to rid her of her clothes.
"As hard as I could." Arya assured him with a smile. After taking a deep breath, she repeated her brother's words in her head. She repeated the phrase over and over again until she thought of it as a prayer when she sat next to Gendry, now her husband. The bedding only covered half of Gendry as he sat up in the bed, picking grapes off a bundle and popping one in his mouth. He paid her no mind as she sat next to him, fully prepared for what her Septa and her mother told her of what was supposed to happen during a bedding. Instead, to her amazement, Gendry seemed to act as if she wasn't there, and paid the bundle of grapes he held in his hand all his attention. She stared at him in frustration until she laughed under her breath. He asked her what she amusing. "Here I am, ready to be bedded, and there you are, eating grapes off a bundle, stupid."
His eyebrows raised in surprise. "You want to be bedded?"
She frowned, awestruck by the stupid arse bull-headed Prince. "That's what happens during a bedding."
"I was under the impression you did not want me to bed you." He frowned as well, pushing the cheese platter off his lap.
"So are we to remain celibate for the rest of our days then?" She asked, but he heard the hidden words; let's just get this done.
He nodded, her meaning well understood. Impatient and ready for what she perceived as a battle to be won, she stood from the bed to unwrapped the Stag's belt from around her waist and unlaced the top layer of her gown. At first Gendry tried not to watch, but then he remembered that she was his now, and he was hers. He tried his best not to act like his father; he tried not to drink, with fear that he would fall into the same damnation his father did, he remained as chivalrous as he could, and he vowed never to take any woman to his bed than his wife, and he intended to keep his Vows. But there was no need to hide his desire for her any longer. As the last layer of her gown fell to the floor, she was left standing in her smallclothes, waiting for what was supposed to happen next. She felt cold and almost wanted to cover herself with her arms, but Gendry gently helped her move next to him on the bed. When he moved, she saw the blankets from the bed inch lower off his body, revealing more of his muscles, reminding her of a golden dozen of eggs. She had to admit that he was handsome with his ice blue eyes and his dark hair and strong jaw that so many ladies seemed to swoon over.
"Would you believe me if I told you that you are beautiful, Arya?" Gendry said, as if he could read her thoughts. She only laughed and settled into the bed, lying next to him.
"No, I would tell you that you are a stupid fool."
He frowned at her response. "You really don't believe you're beautiful?"
"Seven Hells, no. My sister is beautiful. Margaery is beautiful. Myrcella is beautiful. I am simply Arya Horseface, the she-wolf." She laughed again, but he did not take it as a joke.
"That day when I crowned you as the Queen of Love and Beauty I meant it, Arya. You were the most beautiful lady in the stadium, and are the most beautiful woman in Westeros. You are more beautiful than your sister, more beautiful than Lady Margaery, more beautiful than my own sister. It has always been you since the day I found you in the dungeons, staring at the dragon bones. But you never did care about beauty, and it wouldn't matter to me if you look as you are now, or if you were to gain a scar on your face tomorrow. You are the most adventurous, wild, smart pain in my arse." His blue eyes met her grey ones in a smile. Her face softened, drinking in his words. Of all the Lords that called her beautiful that night, it was Gendry that made her believe it for once in her life.
"Kiss me, Gendry." She ordered him. He didn't even need for her to tell him. She saw his desire for her so clearly carved on his face that she'd wondered how he'd hid it for so long. He leaned towards her and placed her hair behind her ears to kiss her gently. That was the second time he's ever truly kissed Arya, besides the wedding ceremony in the Sept. He tangled his hands in her hair and she pulled him closer to her, wanting to feel him, wanting to touch him. Their first kiss was sweet and gentle; as innocent a kiss from a Knight to his Lady in the songs. But their second kiss was more passionate, testing their limits with each other, wanting to feel each other. He kissed her neck and trailed down her stomach, stopping in between her thighs. Her hands wrapped around his hair, telling him without words that it was alright for him to continue. No, that she wanted and ached for him not to stop.
She closed her eyes as she felt his tongue over her most sensitive parts. She tried to move her hips forward, wanting more, but he held her in place with his hands. He kissed and licked and flicked her tongue, as each movement sent a new sensation over her entire body. She felt as if she was racing and wanted to get to the finish line. Each wave of euphoria was even stronger than the last, and finally his name was on her lips as a moan, and she cried out his name again as she reached her peak. When he rose his head from her, she brought his face to hers, craving more. She kissed his lips and tasted herself on his tongue.
"Arya…" Gendry groaned, and she noticed his cock against her stomach, hard and pressed against her. She nodded, and he rose himself on top of her. Before he pushed into her, he gave her a final look as if questioning to continue.
"Do it." With a nod and a small push, she gasped as he entered her. The feeling was odd and new, and it stung. She bit her lip, not wanting to alarm him, but the pleasure was quickly overriding the pain. She wrapped her arms around him and raised her hips, pulling him deeper. She wanted all of him, and never wanted to let him go. She moaned again as he pulled out and they settled into a rhythm until all emptiness between them was gone.
The way she touched him made him want her even more. The way she always returned to him and the way she said his name like a prayer on her lips was all he's ever wanted. He started out slow and gentle until his need started to become stronger. He thrust into her faster, and she met him at the same time, setting her on her race again. With each thrust, a sense of euphoric passion washed over them, cleansing whatever doubt they had of each other.
He felt her body tighten against him as she repeated his name one last time, her voice reaching a crescendo as her bliss reached a second peak. He came after her, her name on his lips as his seed spilled inside her. They both stayed that way, trying to catch their breath until he finally pulled out of her. Part of her felt empty and lost after he removed himself, and she wanted him to return to her.
Instead, he kissed her again and hovered above her, his hands next to her face, elevating him as he kissed her again and again. "I love you, Arya." He said to her. She might have thought that maybe it was the wine from the feast, or perhaps it was the sex talking for him, but he was Gendry.
She leaned up on the bed and straddled him, her face inches from his. "And I love you."
Robb had told her to think of Winterfell and to be brave. She didn't need to do any of those that night.