Hello, my lovelies! :)
And thanks go out to all those who've reviewed this story. Your input is greatly appreciated, and needed.
This is an update, and please don't hate me as much as I dislike the TV show of Game of Thrones at the moment.
Chapter 10: The Wolves Do Live.
It was the warmth that woke her. Gendry's body was curled around her own, as if he could block out the rest of the world, and Arya stretched against him like a cat; the movement making her ache a little.
Gendry did stir as she rose from their sleeping furs and searched for her clothes. Arya stilled at the edge of the bed and watched with slight amusement as his body moved as if to follow her.
Arya eyed the water basin on the small table opposite the bed; there was a wash cloth she could use to wipe away the stickiness between her thighs, and she did so before donning her thick leather riding pants and woollen blouse, slipping on her boots and quietly departing her chambers.
It was cold outside compared to the warmth of a fire in the rooms, and Arya hugged her shawl tighter when the wind started to pick up. It was early morning, she guessed, though the Sun rarely showed his face most days now. The torches placed here and there helped a bit with her vision, and through the darkness Arya spotted her direwolf.
Nymeria had gone into heat a few days before and more than one wolf had tried to mount her, most all of which the great she-wolf had snapped at or maimed.
And since Arya had dwelled on it, mayhaps that had been the reason she had chosen to give her maidenhead to Gendry; not that she regretted it-when was she ever going to be wed and need it anyways? And, she supposed, she did love him.
As best as she could love another, anyways- after all that she'd been through and seen.
She and Nymeria were joined to the point where if Arya weren't constantly making an active effort not to, both girl and wolf would think much the same way, act and all. Nymeria being on heat meant that Arya felt the same things her wolf did.
Arya shook out of those thoughts, for she could not simply amble back into her chambers and sit upon her knight's cock; it would be wrong to do such a thing, that and she still ached from the night previous. She would find Rickon or Bran and they would continue the Stark name, she had no need to get married, no need for being a maiden at all.
It would be Gendry, she knew, who would regret what had transpired last night.
For a bastard, he placed quite a bit on honour.
Like another bastard she knew.
Jon Snow was still asleep when Arya snuck into his chambers. It was still much too early for even the wolves to be up and about, so Arya closed the door quietly behind her and took off her boots before slipping beneath Jon's sleeping furs.
He stirred and turned to face her, his brow furrowing. "Arya, what are you-"
"Shh." Arya shimmied closer, seeking the warmth his body gave. "Good morning, cousin." Jon's mouth bowed at her words, and Arya sighed. "You are my cousin, are you not?" She sat up and drew her legs to her chest. "And Aegon is your brother, as you are so fond of calling him." Arya snapped unkindly.
Jon sat up as well, anger in his Stark eyes. "Why are you here, Arya?"
Arya's mouth twisted in an unhappy smile and came to her knees on the bed. "And so he speaks!" She said, thinking of all the times the past month she'd tried to start a conversation with him, and failed.
Jon gave her a queer look, before getting to his feet. "Are you jealous?"
Arya leapt to her feet. "Why would I be jealous, stupid?" she snapped once more as she roughly shoved on her boots. I had only come to talk, and here he is; the one accusing.
Jon blocked her way as she tried to pass. "You are upset that I haven't found the time to speak to you? Arya, do you realise how childish-"
Arya snarled wordlessly and stepped away. "I know it is childish, so you needn't tell me of it!" She hugged herself, frustration stealing all of her intelligent words, making them slip of her tongue and trip on her teeth. Arya glared at him, suddenly hating her brother so fiercely it scared her in that moment. Arya closed her eyes tightly and took in a calming breath; the air cold despite the fire not five feet from her. "I only wished to speak of what happened with you…" she paused, flicked up eyes that were a match for his.
Jon leaned back against the door to his chambers, and slowly slid to the floor. "… in the years after father died." He supplied for her, she did not even have to finish her sentence.
She supposed that she loved Jon Snow as well.
Arya folded beneath his gaze, crouched before him, her anger turning to sadness. "I… I am sorry that I did not come to find you until now, Jon." She let her eyes wander his face a moment. "I did not think there were any of us left," Arya shuffled closer. "If I had known…" she trailed off, her words failing her in favour of tears.
Jon held his arms out, and as she had when she was little, Arya curled up in them; his chin resting on her hair. But there was something different about the way he held her now, something that made Arya think that they were not the children they had been in Winterfell.
"I would have left the Nightswatch…" he said, hands coming to rest on her sides and making her shiver, much to her bewilderment.
Arya shook off the feeling, but couldn't quite keep the tension from her limbs. In a quiet voice she said, "But honour brought you back?"
Jon gave her a sharp look at that, and Arya grinned sheepishly.
"Samwell told me of your escapades with my time spent in the Maester's library of books." She told him lightly.
Jon rolled his eyes at her smile, and adjusted her in his lap. "It was not his tale to tell,"
There had been a hesitation at the end of his words, unfinished, and Arya knew without having to ask that he would have ended that sentence with 'Little Sister' if things had been as they were.
But they weren't, so he had held his tongue and stilled into silence beneath her. Arya ignored his awkward pause as if it hadn't happened and snorted against his chest. "Well, I'll be the first to say I pestered him mercilessly until he did address me as anything other than 'Your Grace' or 'My Lady'." Arya shrugged. "I forced the tales about you out of him when I was bored of the books."
Jon laughed. "Imagine the poor man's terror."
Arya laughed along with him. "Imagine, indeed."
She would have been content to sit there the rest of the sleeping hours, and could see that he would have as well, but the cold bit at her, and she wasn't even touching the ground.
"Come on, then." Arya said as she got to her feet. "Let us see if there's any food about at this time of morning."
Jon came to his feet too, and ushered her out as he got dressed.
The snow had waned from the day before, and sunlight even peaked through the clouds. Down in the lower chambers she saw Gendry lug out, his hair mussed and his clothes rumpled.
A smile touched her lips for a moment. That was until she saw a group of rangers returning from beyond the Wall.
One was too tall to be anyone else.
The Hound?
Arya thought, a swirl of feelings rising at the thought. Anger was most prominent, and that was what she went with. It was that anger which made her steps swift and sure and nervous as she stalked out into the courtyard of Castle Black, that anger which made Gendry's eyes widen and him reach for her.
"Let me go!" she cried, writhing in his arms, but he held fast against her fists and kicks.
Sandor Clegane stopped in his tracks, dark eyes showing surprise clearly, where half of his face could not. "Arya Stark?" came his rasping voice, same as before.
Arya bowed against Gendry once more, and the knight let her go. "How are you alive?" she demanded. She could feel Gendry hovering, a warmth against her back.
Sandor let out a strained chuckle. "I could be asking the same of you, wolf bitch."
Arya drew herself to her full height, and raised her chin. "Tell me how you've come to live, dog."
The Hound smirked. "Same way you did, I 'spose."
Arya narrowed her eyes. "And how's that?"
Sandor eyed Gendry at her side. "Pure luck and sheer force of will."
"Sandor, leave my cousin be." Jon's voice commanded from behind Arya's muscled wall.
Arya spun on him, and Gendry moved with her, stepping deftly to the side and out of the way. "Why did you accept him into your ranks? Why didn't you kill him?"
She hated the way she sounded, so childish and needy and scared; but the memories she was so sure she'd locked away started to leak back and all Arya could see was the blood in the water and feel of the rain that had belted her skin that night.
Jon's face twisted in such a way that made her think he knew where her thoughts were lurking. "Arya-"
"No," she said, stopping him. Fear cuts deeper... "You did not tell me, and that is fine. Perfectly so." The last words were said in Braavosi, sharp on her tongue, before flicking her eyes up at Gendry and stalking away.
She heard Jon call from behind her, "Arya? What about the food?"
"Not hungry!"
-x-
Gendry did not follow her right away, only turned to give the Lord Commander a wary look. In a soft but strong voice he said, "Her Grace, the Lady Arya, does not trust very many people, Lord Snow."
Jon Snow stiffened at the title, and it gave Gendry some satisfaction to hurt him where he knew Arya would not. Gendry began to speak again before Arya's brother could. "I would not abuse that if I were you." His eyes flicked over to The Hound then, and he knew the same hate lived in them as Arya's had kept. Gendry shook his head, his grown-out hair flopping into his eyes. "But that you would keep that from her?" he jerked his chin at Sandor Clegane. "It's no wonder she is the way she is."
Sandor looked at Gendry, truly looked and saw. "Gods," the man rasped. "You look just like 'im."
And then, if they had not been already, all eyes turned on the bastard knight. Gendry paused, jaw hooked and eyes cold. "Who?" he asked, though he knew what the dog would say.
Sandor's dark eyes showed equal amounts of mirth and fear, Gendry thought. "The old, dead king Robert," he shrugged. "Though there's an easy enough answer for why."
The Hound rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes still studying him. "I can't be the first to think this, neither…" he trailed off, eyes scanning the courtyard. "If you know the tales."
It was Thoros of Myr, over by the warmth of the flames near the stairs that said it.
"History is repeating itself."
-x-
Rickon didn't trust Stannis Baratheon. He trusted the snake of a daughter less.
The red woman that was at Stannis's side he feared, and rightly so; she burned those who said that her god did not exist.
Rickon had said that the old gods were true once. She would have burned him too had not the stormlord intervened.
They were keeping him for some purpose; Rickon knew when he was a hostage. And though he dreamt of and could hear Shaggydog, he could not see him. He supposed it was smart of the false king to keep his direwolf away; they were weaker that way.
Osha had been spared at Rickon's expense, to keep him in line, he thought. He may have been only nine years of age, but Rickon was a very accomplished fighter; being raised in Skaagos would do that to a person, though.
And it had been Osha who had taught him most of what he knew. Osha who protected him and mothered him as best she could. Now Rickon would not claim to be a good person-he knew that good people did not want to watch everything burn and die around him, that they did not hold such an anger in them that it put a dragon's flame to shame-but he would not let any harm come to that woman.
And Rickon was angry.
Yet, as Shireen Baratheon smiled welcomingly at him, that anger was chipped at, and Rickon often found himself smiling back. This girl who knew nothing of him other than him being some savage little lord, that she would take her time to speak with him, or gently try to persuade him to do a thing were her father's stern words had not.
But still he did not trust them.
He did not like the way she found it so easy to coax a smile or sometimes even a laugh from him. And yet it felt nice.
And as Rickon lay down upon his bed in Eastwatch by the Sea, he dreamt of the godswood in Winterfell and could have sworn he heard the weirwood there singing to him.
Wolves, wolves, wolves. They chanted softly, and, rise.
D.P~ I didn't particularly like how this turned out. My mind wanted one thing, but the characters just went like this *makes strange hand movement* . I am a Jon/Arya shipper and an Aegon/ Arya shipper thanks to tumblr, but this just happened, okay?
But don't get me wrong, I used to ship Gendrya like no-tomorrow. I'd just like my mind to come up with a different pairing for once. And. I. Will.