Chapter 37
The Reluctant Bride
Gendry rose to his feet as Arya approached. The rush of love he felt for her was so, strong, so overwhelming, it threatening to knock him back to his knees. She looked so much younger in the Brother's habit, with her slim ankles and delicate feet sticking out from under the ragged hem. Dark circles under her eyes had come from either lack of sleep or crying or mayhaps both and, with no sword at her hip; she looked more vulnerable than Gendry could recall ever seeing her afore. Tension and fear coiled in his belly as he thought how close he had come to losing her and he vowed to himself, there and then 'twould never happen again. When he fought a battle, a cold determination settled over him and he felt like that now. She was his and he kept what was his.
As Arya approached, Gendry held his hand out to her and, with only the slightest hesitation, she took it. At last. He had waited so long for this; since he had first laid eyes on her trailing along behind Yoren a lifetime ago.
As the two of them stood hand in hand at the alter, Arya was about to laugh and remark 'twas like a wedding, but Gendry's intense expression and the burning look in his eyes stopped her. The realisation that 'twas no jape hit her like a fist in the gut.
"Elder Brother has agreed to wed us," Gendry said calmly, as if he was discussing the weather, as if she should have expected that, as if she should not be surprised, or angry.
"What?!" she hissed, trying to tug her hand free from his. He only held on tighter, pulling her into his arms while she struggled against him.
"You heard me." Gendry gaze was steady, determined and stubborn. "We will wed here and now."
"Nae!" Arya said through clenched teeth, shoving at his chest so hard that he took an involuntary step back. "You agreed to wait. What about Bran? The Godswood?"
Having her refuse him, sent his anger flashing again. "I changed my mind," he said tightly. Looking down at her with steely blue eyes, he closed the distance between them again and clasped his hands around her waist, determined never to let go of her again.
"'Tis for the best," Elder Brother agreed from the dais above them with a sagely nod of his head.
Arya frowned, fighting the urge to rant, curse, run. The old Arya would have done all three and mayhaps slapped Gendry for good measure, but she was done with all of that and she had their babe to consider. Arya inhaled quickly and exhaled slowly, willing her anger to subside and her violent thoughts to calm.
Had Elder Brother told Gendry she was carrying his child? Was this why 'twas all so sudden?
As if reading her thoughts, Elder Brother said, "You two have much to discuss tonight." He then gave her an exaggerated wink over the top of Gendry's head.
So Gendry did not know about the babe. Yet. But Arya felt as if she had been outmanoeuvred and, from the smug look on Gendry's face, he thought so too.
She had to avert her eyes afore she gave in to the temptation to punch him. Old habits died hard and part of her mind was still racing; working how to break Gendry's hold on her, calculating the distance to the door, how best to evade his inevitable attempt to stop her, even how she could leave this Sept burning in her wake if she wanted to. Arya gazed longingly out at the gathering dusk, wishing she was out there instead of having to confront Gendry, Elder Brother and her past in here.
"There is no need to rush into this. I am not going to run off again. I promise."
"Rush?" Gendry snorted. "I have never heard of such a reluctant bride." He should never have agreed to wait in the first place and he needed her tonight. His cock hardened at the thought of pushing inside her, deep inside, where he belonged.
As Arya felt her face flush hot with embarrassment and regret, the darkness outside the Sept seemed even more appealing. She had broken so many promises, 'twas no wonder Gendry would not believe another.
"Arya, look at me."
She reluctantly turned her gaze back to meet the blue eyes that watched her so intensely the air between them seemed to vibrate.
"You ran off and left me not knowing where or why you had gone or if I would ever see you alive again."
"But. . ." she began to protest, although she already knew he had had enough of her excuses.
"Nae," he said forcefully, his voice low and dangerous. "No more. I want this. I have been patient long enough and I will wait no longer."
His body, held tight against hers, seemed to pulse with barely contained tension. She could feel his chest rising and falling against her hands still pressed flat against his chest and see the muscles in his jaw working. What had happened to the man who refused to fight her a few hours afore? Gendry seemed ready to fight her on this now. Still, the hungry, nae ravenous way he was looking at her made places other than just her face heat. A fire began to burn low in her belly and between her legs; her teats ached for the touch of his lips, teeth, tongue.
Arya chewed the side of her mouth, uncertain what she should do. She gave Elder Brother a pleading look, but he only raised his eyebrows and shrugged, saying "If you love each other I see no reason to wait," afore directing his gaze to her belly.
"Neither do I," said Gendry, frowning down at her, his mouth a tight line.
Arya remembered Elder Brother's warning, "Men can be stupid, stubborn, and possessive when it comes to women," and was Gendry not being all three? But she loved him. She had promised herself she would try harder and she would.
"Do you really want this?" she asked Gendry softly.
"I do."
If this was what he wanted then, after all her had done for her, she should do this for him. He loved her enough to follow her here and, by some miracle he loved her still after she held Needle to his heart. Arya owed it to him and to their babe to be a good wife. In order to be a good wife she had to wed him first.
Telling herself Bran would understand, Arya nodded almost imperceptibly.
Gendry seemed intent on wasting no more time."Quick as you like," he growled to Elder Brother.
Elder Brother hurried through the wedding words while Gendry stood beside her as still as one of the seven statutes that surrounded them. All the while he gripped her hand as if 'twas all that was saving him from drowning.
This was not how Arya imagined being wed, despite not being sure if she had actually ever imagined it at all. She had not spent her childhood dreaming of her wedding day as Sansa had; she had been too busy trying to stay alive. Still, Arya had vaguely assumed 'twould be in a Godswood and someone would have made her wear a dress. Wearing a Brother's habit, in a Sept, with no pack around her and no feast to follow, was not how 'twas supposed to be at all.
She cast a sideways glance towards Gendry, his brows drawn together in concentration and his stubble darkened jaw clenched as he listened intently to what Elder Brother said. This might not be the wedding she had wanted, but she would never regret marrying Gendry. No one understood her like he did, in truth she was sure no other man would still be here, by her side, after all she had put Gendry through. No man had ever come close to making her feel the way he did and besides, her babe needed its father.
The marriage words washed over her. If anyone had asked her to repeat them, Arya would not have been able to remember even one. Instead of listening, she focused on the future and that golden image she had of the three of them bathed in summer sunlight. Could it really be that after all this time, happiness might truly be within her grasp?
'Twas not until she became aware of an awkward empty silence and two sets of eyes fastened upon her, that she realised she might have to say something. Feeling guilty at being caught daydreaming at her own wedding she muttered, "Err . . . Aye?"
"That'll do," Elder Brother smiled benevolently, although Gendry continued to glare at her.
As soon as Elder Brother pronounced them wed, Gendry thanked him and, without a word to Arya, near dragged her out of the Sept. She had to trot beside her new husband to keep up with his long, impatient strides. His vice like grip on her hand never loosened as he strode through the darkness, pulling her along as if a pack of wolves were nipping at his heels.
Once they reached the cottage door, Gendry abruptly scooped her up in his arms, ducked his head under the door frame and carried her into the cottage.
"'Tis bad luck not to," Gendry declared as he kicked the door shut and set her on her feet.
Elder Brother must have ordered the preparation of the room, for it was filled with candles and the fire burned bright in the hearth. A pitcher of honey mead stood on the table by the bed. Bread and bowls of fish stew sat on a stool by the fire. Arya tried hard to be cheerful. She supposed she would have a wedding feast, of a sort, after all.
Gendry unbuckled his sword belt and set the sword carefully by the door. Still standing behind her, Gendry wrapped his arms around her. All his focus had been on finding her and stopping her killing The Hound. Then he had the bloody conversation with Aegon and the damn hurried wedding. 'Twas only now they were alone and she was in his arms, that he realised how close he had been to losing her. He silently thanked The Gods for giving her back to him. Gendry ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms until they rested on her waist, needing to reassure himself that she was here, that she was his and she was whole.
Arya let her head fall back to rest on Gendry's shoulder as he stroked his warm, strong hands over her. Drawing in a deep breath of his unmistakable scent sent little sparks of anticipation shooting all over her body. The front of his body brushed the back of hers, solid and reassuring. As he tilted his head to kiss her neck, the rough scrape of his unshaven jaw sent shivers of desire down her spine.
"I was scared I lost you," he murmured huskily between kisses pressed along the curve that joined her shoulder and neck.
The needy moan that escaped her lips as his hands rose up over her breasts took her by surprise. The arousal she had felt afore she had set out for the Sept returned with a vengeance. She wanted him now and, for once, it seemed they were of the same mind.
Gendry pulled her shoulders tight against his chest, so her back arched and her bottom pressed hard against the unmistakable evidence of his desire. With his legs spread, he rolled his hips, while rocking her back against him.
"I shall never risk losing you again wife." His voice thickened with emotion as he called her his wife for the first time.
She gasped as he ran his fingers down her shoulders and found her, oh so tender, teats, pinching them through the rough material of the habit. She had intended to tell him about the babe as soon as they were alone, but 'twas hard to think on anything save how much she wanted him while his hands roamed over her, the hard strength of his body rubbed against her back and, Gods be good, his rock hard cock pushed against her bottom.
"Pull up your robe," he whispered, his breath hot and insistent against her ear.
That was the kind of order Arya did not mind obeying. As she bent over, Gendry ran his hands slowly from her breasts down to her waist, griping her hips so he could pull her arse even tighter against his erection. She bunched the hem of the Brother's habit in her hands and slowly straightened up.
His breath caught as he dragged his eyes up from pink toes, over slim ankles and up shapely calves. Although he had seen her legs many times afore, had memorised every curve and long, supple sweep, the extra thrill of knowing he would be taking his wife for the first time made his heart hammer with anticipation and his cock throb and strain against the laces of his britches.
The robe stopped mid thigh. Unacceptable.
"Higher," he said, his voice rough and low.
Arya hesitated. If she did not tell him about the babe now, the tender lovemaking she had anticipated was likely to be replaced by hard, urgent fucking.
"Higher," he ordered impatiently.
Seven hells, she wanted this as much as he did. Her news could wait. Giving in to desire, Arya did as he asked.
Trailing the ascent of her robe, Gendry stroked his hands up the back of her thighs, to squeeze the deliciously curved, wickedly tempting, bare cheeks of her arse.
With the robe bunched at her waist, the lower half of Arya's body was naked and exposed. She moaned with need, pushing back against his hands, wanting more. The feel of the warm leather of his britches and the hard muscles of his thighs pressed against her made the knot of pleasure between her legs tighten with need. Standing on her tip toes, Arya rolled her hips until his cock was fitted right in the valley of her arse.
Sliding one hand around her hip, Gendry resting his palm on the soft curls, letting his fingers dip into the wet, silken folds below. Arya gasped at the first touch, needing more, needing him closer, inside her. She turned her head and reached one arm back, curving it around his neck. Fisting her hand in his long hair, she pulled his head down. Crushing his mouth to hers, she demanded his tongue, sucking, tasting sliding deeper until their tongues moved to the same sensual rhythm as their bodies.
"Fuck me," she groaned into his mouth, arching into his erection as he pushed his hand further between her legs.
"Not yet."
He teased her, fingertips stroking and spreading the evidence of her arousal down either side of those deliciously plump lips, carefully avoiding the tight little nub that she desperately needed him to touch. Arya tried to grind down on his hand, needing him to give her the release she strove towards, yet he steadfastly refused to even slide one finger inside her.
"You are so wet for me," he breathed into her hair as he explored her with expert fingers. All the while he kept up the achingly slow, sensual rock and thrust of his cock against her arse. It would be so easy to make her come for him, but Gendry was not going to do that yet. He wanted her aching and desperate. He wanted her to know how he felt when she left him without as much as a backwards glance.
He broke the kiss, leaving her breathless and needy.
"Please . . ." she gasped, her eyes heavy lidded and glinting with desire in the fire light.
Stroking the back of her neck with his hand, he wound his fingers into her hair and tugging her head back to expose her throat.
"You are never going to leave me again," he whispered roughly afore sucking and nipping that tender spot behind her ear.
His harsh tone was unexpected and cut through her haze of pleasure. He had never spoken to her like afore when in the throes of passion. She shivered and made no answer.
Denying her, he let his hand between her legs drop away and eased the pressure on her arse.
She rolled her head back against his shoulder and groaned in frustration. Why did he have to stop when she was so close? "Please Gendry," she groaned; begging him, hating herself for doing it and at the same time not caring, "I just . . . need you inside of me. Now."
"Nae. Not yet. Not until I say."
His taking total control unnerved her, but also thrilled her in the strangest way. Her head was unsure of this new, arrogant Gendry, but her body had no such doubts; her body wanted more of him, all of him, deep inside her. Turning her sharply towards him he stepped backwards, pulling her with him, until he felt the back of his knees against the bed. He sat down, but kept her standing at arms length in front of him. By The Gods, she was beautiful, all long, long legs and heaven between her thighs. And he had her just where he wanted her; hot, wet and needy and also just a little unsure.
He tugged his boiled leather jerkin and shirt over his head in one go. Arya started to do the same with the Brother's habit.
"Nae. Leave it on and bend over my knee."
Another order and this one was enough to sharpen her mind and drag her back from the brink of her climax. He intended to spank her. His eyes looked black in the shadows, his expression unreadable. Her chest felt tight, as if she could not breathe deeply enough. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and his breathing, heavier than moments afore. She only realised she was holding her breath then, as she listened to his, every sense heightened.
Tension coiled in Gendry's chest and spiralled down his limbs. His breathing was uneven, his hands shaking with pent up desire. He fisted them, hoping she had not noticed in the flickering light of the fire. He needed her, but he needed her on his terms. No more broken promises, no more excuses. Every man had his limits and he had been pushed way beyond his. Mayhaps 'twas Aegon who had finally snapped his patience, but all Gendry knew was that he could take the uncertainty no more. She was his now and he intended to make sure she damn well knew it.
"Do not worry." His harsh, dangerous tone did not match his words. "You might enjoy it."
And if she did not? What then? Could she make him stop? She instinctively knew what he wanted was not about love or even sex. 'Twas about control. She chewed on her bottom lip, unsure of how to deal with this situation and him. Fighting, the conversation with Elder Brother and the surprise wedding had all exhausted her. Had she the strength left to fight him on this? Did she even want to?
Gendry watched her hesitate; saw the vulnerability he loved beneath the layer of armour she had built up around herself. But still it did not sway him. She needed her release. He needed release of a different kind.
Arya's eyes flicked to the pillow where Needle lay hidden underneath. Seven hells, barely half a day had passed since the last time and already she was considering drawing Needle on him again.
"I need this," he said, his voice rough with need, and 'twas no lie.
She closed her eyes, forced herself to let go and surrender the control she had so jealously guarded. She never had to think of anyone except herself afore. But she did now. She loved him and he needed this. Mayhaps she would enjoy it as he said. She could do this. For him.
Keeping the Brother's robe bunched up at her waist, she did as he asked and hesitantly laid herself across his knees. His leather clad thighs shifted under her, sliding easily against her bare skin.
Gendry took his time arranging the habit, lifting it higher until everything from her waist down was exposed. Her face felt as if 'twas burning. She felt so vulnerable like this, with her bare bottom in the air, tense, waiting, unsure, needing him to give her release. The position, her nakedness, the cool air licking over the throbbing heat between her legs was also shockingly arousing. She wriggled, feeling restless, needy and unsatisfied.
Gendry's hand on the small of her back pressing her down against his thighs sent anticipation, tinged with a sharp edge of fear, coiling low in her belly.
"Gendry . . ." she started, but could not finish for she did not know what she wanted.
He made no answer; instead he cupped the perfect globe of her arse with one rough hand. The contrast of his darker skin against the smooth creaminess of hers sent lust jolting through him. He had never known how provocative it would be to have a naked woman face down across his lap. He began to stroke her from the edge of the robe, letting his fingers caress supple flesh, feeling her arch up towards his hand.
Arya shivered with anticipation. The rough material of the Brother's habit over her teats chaffed as she moved, heightening their sensitivity. 'Twas intensely erotic to be prone, unable to see Gendry, only able to feel his thighs strong and hard under her, his fingers kneading her arse and the hot pressure of his erection digging into her side. Mayhaps Gendry had been teasing her all along and he intended only to coax her towards an unbearable peak, but he was so different tonight, so intense, that she doubted 'twas all he had in mind.
As his fingers stroked lower, slowly tracing the crease where her bottom joined the top of her legs, she pressed up against his hand and parted her thighs slightly, inviting him in. His teasing fingertips slid down between her legs and then, with aching slowness back up. A needy little moan escaped before she could stop herself. She cursed herself for betraying how easily he could make her whimper and thought she heard him chuckle softly over the crackling of the fire and their own heavy breathing.
She was soaking wet, as he knew she would be. His fingers slid over the exposed folds, spreading them and her silky wetness forwards, letting his fingertips graze her clit, making her moan, sending his lust flaring. Slowly, slowly he stroked up again, back and higher, right up to the tight little pucker now presented to him. He grinning triumphantly as he heard her shocked gasp then stifled, guilty moan of pleasure as his thumb applied pressure to that forbidden little rose. When he told her she was his, he meant all of her.
Was this what he intended? Arya was shocked and curious at the same time as he simultaneously claimed and caressed her bottom. Did she want him to stop or beg him to continue? Before she could decide, he abruptly withdrew his hand, removing the warmth that both stimulated and reassured her.
There was a pause, neither of them even drawing a breath until he said roughly, "Your father should have done this years ago."
His hand fell, hard, sharp and purposeful. The sting and the shock made her yelp. Afore she had time to gather her wits he was leaning over her, the hair on his chest rubbing against her back, his breath hot against her ear,
"That was for breaking your promise."
Arya bit her lip hard, not wanting to give him the further satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt. But already his hand was caressing her with exquisite tenderness. She exhaled with relief, thinking 'twas over, willing him to slide his hand between her legs again and finish what he started. Instead he rested his hand on the very place where he had spanked her. Her smarting flesh felt hot and throbbed with the pain he had inflicted on her bottom, yet her traitorous body responded by releasinganother surge of wetness between her legs. How could such pain bring pleasure? She had no time to contemplate it now, for his hand was gone again.
Did he mean to spank her a second time? Arya instinctively reached behind to try and protect her bottom with her own hand. Gendry simply caught her wrist and pinned it in the small of her back.
"Do you think once is enough for the seven hells of worry you put me through?" he asked in a low rasp. Arya heard the underlying tremor of tension in his voice as if he foughtsome internal battle with himself.
"Nae," she whispered, clamping her thighs together and tensing her bottom in anticipation.
He wanted this, she reminded herself. She could do this. She could.
A second, stinging slap landed in exactly the same place as the first, sending a shock of pain shooting through her and another, louder, yelp from her throat.
Nae, she could not do this. Not even for him.
Kicking and struggling, she tried to get up and away, but she had nothing on which to gain purchase except his thighs. He was much stronger and also determined to hold her still. The more she twisted and turned, the more pressure Gendry exerted on the small of her back to keep her firmly in place.
"Keep still or you will get more," he said, his voice stained and rough.
The threat of more immediately made her stop wriggling but she could not bear another spank.
"I'm pregnant!" she yelled at the top of her voice.
He must have been shocked, for his grip immediately loosened, allowing her to roll off his knee and out of his reach afore he could recover his wits enough to stop her.
When she whipped up and around to face him, he had still not moved at all. The old Arya would have punched him, mayhaps even pulled Needle from beneath that pillow but instead she closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath, desperately trying to quash the urge to lash out, the way she always had afore.
"This had better not be some kind of jape Arya." he said quietly.
How dare he accuse her of that!
"'Tis true," she hissed, snapping her eyes open and fixing him with a furious stare that would have felled an aurochs, "I have missed three moon bloods and here . . . look!" She lifted the robe up to her waist again and turned side on, so her new little bump was silhouetted against the fire light.
His mouth dropped open.
"And my breasts ache! And I feel sick! And I cannot bloody stop crying!"
'Twas only her anger stopping her from bursting into tears now.
Gendry was on his feet and pulling her into his arms, silencing her with warm, tender kisses afore she could yell at him anymore. His lips were so soft, his caresses so gentle, that she could not hold onto her anger for long, but still, she would not open her mouth for him.
Breaking away, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. He was going to be a father and he had just hit a pregnant woman. Twice. Three times if you counted her jaw earlier on. And that pregnant woman was his Goddamn wife.
Seven buggering hells. He was a poor excuse for a husband.
"Did I really hurt you?" he asked guiltily, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair, trying to slow his hammering heart. "I did not mean to."
"Not really," she sniffed, letting the rough habit drop back down to cover her tender bottom. "I suppose . . . I suppose I deserved it."
"Nae," he sighed heavily, shaking his head, "'Twas about me not you. You had me worried sick Arya and I wanted to punish you for making me feel so . . . helpless. I am so scared of losing you."
Arya knew admitting to such a feeling was hard for him and to hear him say it aloud made her love him a little more.
"There are pleasure houses in Braavos that specialise in . . . that sort of thing." Arya confided, feeling the cheeks on her face heat as much as the ones on her bottom, "Some people must like it, but I do not think I am one of them."
"Me neither," he said with a rueful chuckle, pulling away slightly in order to show her the palm of his hand. The cut he had suffered when he had grabbed the point of her blade had reopened. A thin trail of blood snaked down his palm and curled around his wrist. "It hurts like buggery."
Arya could not resist asking slyly, "And how would you know that?"
He narrowed his eyes and growled, "I have not told you about my adventures on The Wall with the men of the Nights Watch."
Arya gasped in shock, only for him to burst out laughing. The tension between them broken, he picked her up and twirled her around afore launching them both towards the bed.
As soon as they fell across it in a tangle of limbs, he gasped, "Seven hells! The babe!" jumping back onto his feet, dragging her up with him.
"The babe is fine," she scolded, trying to pull him back to bed, "And do not start treating me like some glass bauble Gendry Baratheon, for I can still beat you in a sword fight anytime, babe or no."
"You think?" he drawled, allowing himself to be dragged back down onto the bed, making sure to plant one hand on either side of her shoulders so he could keep all his weight off her and the babe.
"With one hand tied behind my back," she teased.
"Then mayhaps you would like being tied up more than being spanked?" he teased waggling his eyebrows at her.
She playfully swatted his chest, but 'twas like trying to push away a rock; a warm rock that rose and fell against her hand with every beat of his heart.
"Tell me about our babe," he asked, all of a sudden serious and intense again.
"'Twill be born in the summer," Arya began, unable to keep from smiling at the thought, recalling the scene she had imagined where the three of them were together, bathed in golden summer sun.
"Boy or girl?" Gendry asked, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Boy," Arya answered without hesitation, somehow suddenly sure their babe was a he.
Gendry grinned down at her. "I was hoping for a girl as beautiful as her mother." Although Arya thought 'twas a lie, she appreciated the compliment. However speaking about their babe as a real, living little person brought all her old fears bubbling back to the surface.
"I am scared I cannot keep my babe safe," she said, her voice trembling with unspoken emotions.
"'Tis our babe Arya," he reminded her, pushing up to sit beside her on the bed. He drew her up and pulled her into his lap, tucking her head against his shoulder. "You have been alone too long, but you will never be alone again, for we have each other now."
"'Tis just . . . 'tis just . . . I could not bear for anyone to hurt our child; for him to go through what we went through."
"Or her," he interrupted with a chuckle.
But Arya could not laugh. She was deadly serious and afraid, nae terrified for their babe. A part of her knew this was why she had not wanted to acknowledge the pregnancy earlier. She was far too scared; no longer for herself, but for her babe. Tears slid out of the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks.
Taking her bruised chin gently between his thumb and forefinger Gendry tilted her head up until she was forced to look at him through her tears. "I shall guard our babe with my life, Arya I swear," Gendry said solemnly, ". . . and you too."
"But . . ." she started to protest. He stopped her mouth before she could protest any more, tightening his arms protectively around her, not breaking their kiss until he was sure she was too breathless to talk.
"All I ever wanted to do was protect you Arya Stark, and now I have the sword to do it," he grinned, looking over her shoulder at the new Valyrian steel gleaming in the firelight. "Just like in the song."
"What song?" she sniffed, able to think only of the song Sansa owed The Hound.
"Tom 'O Seven's song," he grinned.
"For you shall be my lady love,
and I shall be your lord.
I'll always keep you warm and safe,
and guard you with my sword."
He sang it badly and Arya groaned with dismay. To let him sing her stupid love songs and let him look after her went against everything she was, everything she had trained so hard to be. But despite it all, she was desperate to be loved, desperate to believe every stupid, romantic thing he said.
"I am going to protect you and our babe, whether you like it or not," he murmured into her hair as he kissed the top of her head. "Anyway, you will not be able to stop me when your belly is so big you cannot see your toes and that one had tied behind your back."
"'Tis serious," she muttered, annoyed he was making light of her fears, that he thought this some sort of jape. She twisted away from him, intending to get up and away.
"Oh no you don't," he growled, dragging her back with arms as strong as ship's anchors. "I told you I was never letting you escape me again."
She huffed, knowing resistance was futile. Still, she folded her arms defensively across her chest. He shifted until the top of her head was fitted neatly under his chin and his arms encircled her waist, snuggling her against him.
"See how well we fit? We were destined to be together."
When she still held herself stiffly, he blew out a long sigh.
"When you left me, hell bent on killing The Hound, I realised your list was not about revenge at all."
That annoyed Arya even more. Apart from the fact that she did not want to think about, or talk about, the bloody Hound, how dare Gendry presume he knew anything about her list?
"I think you would not feel safe until every one of those people on your list was dead."
She opened her mouth, ready to decry him, but was struck dumb. At that moment 'twas as if the world had paused and her heart had stopped beating.
"Am I right?" he pressed.
She could not answer. How was it possible he could see what she could not? She had thought killing The Hound was to keep Sansa safe, but now Gendry had opened her eyes, she saw her list for what it truly was; a prayer for safety. All she ever wanted was to be safe, for her family and her pack to be secure.
Carefully, gently, Gendry smoothed his palms past her waist and then inwards until they lay below her belly button. With fingers spread wide, the tips just touching, he cradling the small swell beneath.
This time he did not try and sing the words, but whispered softly to her,
"My featherbed is deep and soft,and there I'll lay you down,
I'll dress you all in yellow silk
and on your head a crown.
For you shall be my lady love,
and I shall be your lord.
I'll always keep you warm and safe,
and guard you with mysword."
Arya uncrossed her arms from her chest to place her hands over his afore she replied,
"And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree.
She spun away and said to him,
no featherbed for me.
I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,
and bind my hair with grass,
But you can be my forest love,
and me your forest lass."
She knew, with a sudden fierce certainty that she had to put aside everything else; her own insecurities and all the killing and reach out to Gendry. Their babe deserved a mother brave enough to fight for his future. She had been alone too long and despite everything she did and said to the contrary, despite all her claims to be a lone wolf, she was desperate to be loved, desperate to believe every stupid, romantic thing he said.
"Ourbabe, this new life, is a new beginning for us both, an end to all the death and darkness. Mayhaps we should call him Azor Ahai," Gendry said gently afore he kissed the end of her nose.
"And have him kill his wife in order to forge a sword? Nae, you might like that tale, but I do not, especially seeing as I am now a wife,"
"Aye, you are," he grinned broadly, "And you are mine, you and that babe you carry. No man shall take either of you from me, for I shall follow them through the seven hells and to the ends of the earth if I need to."
"Or to the Quiet Isle," she teased.
"Aye, although since you arrived, 'tis no longer very quiet."
She pretended to be offended and push him away. He just held her tighter and hummed with delight as she wriggled against him. "Keep doing that and I shall be forced to finish what I started earlier."
Hearing him say that sent a shiver of anticipation up her spine. "I am glad you are a man who keeps your promises."
"I promised to make you mine wife and I intend to keep that promise!"
He angled his head to kiss her, but she braced her arms against his chest and tilted her head and shoulders back.
"First tell me what you have named that magnificent sword you intend to protect me with my Lord."
He grinned and together they looked to the Valyrian steel leaning against the wall.
"I know I offered you the right to name her M'lady, but I was thinking of Fire; seeing as she is sister sword to Ice."
Arya wrinkled her nose and pulled a face, "That sounds like a Targaryen name."
"Aye well, one of the reason's I thought on it was to piss Aegon off," Gendry said tightly, not finding the matter as amusing as he had 'afore he had his talk with Aegon earlier. "'Tis the name he always coveted for his House; if they ever got hold of some Valyrian steel."
"And the Master Smith to work it."
"Aye," Gendry sighed sadly, thinking on both Aegon and Tobho and how neither one was likely to end well.
Assuming he thought of his old Master, Arya cupped her palm around Gendry's bristled jaw, smiling to herself as he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.
"I have thought of a better name."
"Hmmm," he murmured, turning his face further into her hand and giving her palm a long, slow lick with his tongue.
She giggled as a tingle of pleasure shot through her, curling her toes.
"Stormbringer."
"Aye, Stormbringer," he grinned, raising his eyes to meet hers, "'Tis perfect" he whispered, afore sweeping his tongue over her palm again.
She giggled again with wicked delight.
"I love to hear you laugh like that."
"And I love your tongue."
"I think 'tis time to keep my promise and finish what I started wife," Gendry grinned, wondering if being able to call her wife would always thrill him so. He gripped her waist and lifted her up. She elegantly raised one long, strong thigh across his lap as he turned her to face him.
"Let's get rid of this." He tugged at the Brother's habit. Arya lifted her hands above her head and he had the robe off and discarded in a heap on the floor in moments. The cool air on her teats made them pucker and harden in readiness for his touch.
"By The Gods you are beautiful," he murmured. "Your breasts are . . . " he could not find an appropriate word, for they were larger all ready and he was imagining them as big and round as melons, sitting above a huge belly swollen with his child. The image sent lust pounding through his veins.
"My breasts are . . . what?" she asked with a slight frown tugging at her brow.
"Magnificent," he breathed in awe.
She giggled once more as she slid her hands around his neck and clung on tight. He liked that.
As he pulled her close up against him, her chaffed nipples rubbed against the hair of his chest, making her gasp. He immediately claimed her mouth with his, deepening the kiss, using his tongue and lips and teeth to tease little gasps of pleasure from her.
It only took him a moment for him to unlace his britches, freeing his cock to stand thick and proud between them. The heat from her punished bottom warmed his palms as he cupped the perfect globes of her arse. As his fingers kneaded the tender flesh, she moaned and rocked her hips forwards. He smiled into their kiss as her hand found his cock. Long, cool fingers wrapped around his girth as she guided him towards her entrance.
"Look at me." His voice was soft but demanding.
Arya looked up to see the deep emotions shining in his eyes; lust yes, but also a burning, possessive love. Only after she had returned his gaze with an equally scorching one of her own, did she ease slowly over the tip of his cock, taking him inside her with excruciating, exquisite slowness. He filled her inch by throbbing inch, allowing her time to stretch and adjust until he was buried deep inside.
Arya closed her eyes, savouring the slow, delicious slide and the feeling of fullness and completeness being impaled upon him gave her. She used her knees to lift off him, rocking her hips forwards, desperate for the friction that would give her the release from the tension that had been building between them all day.
Gendry felt the unmistakable beginnings of her orgasm ripple through her. Too soon. Stilling her hips with his hands, he eased back to break their kiss, needing to slow them both down, right down, or he would last no time at all and embarrass himself like a green boy.
"Faster," she gasped.
"Why hurry wife? We have all night." He lowered his head and took one stiff teat into his mouth, channelling all of his love and desire for her into slow, sweet, sexy kisses.
She groaned from deep in her throat as she let her head fall back and brought her hands to her breasts, pushing them together, offering them up to him as a wedding feast.
He lavished attention on first one and then the other; licking, sucking and gentle nipping. Clenching his arse and flexing the muscles of his thighs and abs, he thrust deeper, pulsing his hips, all the while holding her still so he controlled their speed and their rhythm, rocking them slowly, so Goddamn slowly.
"Please . . ."
To silence her, he shifted his tongue's attention from her teats to her open mouth, circling her tongue with his, kissing her with the same maddeningly slow tempo. Arya groaned desperately into their kiss, running her hands over his muscled shoulders, arms, chest and his ribbed belly, willing him to go faster, harder, deeper.
"Please husband…."
Hearing her call him husband shattered his resolve to go slowly. With all the frustration and pent up need of the last few days and all his desire for her, he drove up into her. She used her thighs around his hips to pull him tighter. Their bodies met together with a pounding force. Again and again and again. His thrusts grew faster, while she gripped him harder, straining together to find the perfect rhythm; hard and fast and ruthless. He could feel her on the edge, desperate for him to send her soaring over it. He pumped up into her as she bore down on him sharing the same frantic, desperate need.
Releasing her hips, he cupped her breasts, rolling her teats between his fingers, pinching them hard as he hammered into her. Her orgasm shoot skywards, clenching around him, pulling him deeper, tighter as his orgasm came rushing towards him. Their climaxes collided and blended; braking over them in waves. Her body trembled, her back arched as she shuddered on top of him, wresting every last drop of pleasure from him, until finally she melting against him, her head falling, exhausted against his sweat soaked shoulder. A growl of satisfaction rumbled from deep in his chest.
Their heartbeats thundered to the same rhythm as they fought to catch their breaths, exquisite pleasure, thick and warm, melting through their veins.
"Do you and the babe feel safe now?" he murmured against the damp tendrils of hair that curled and framed her face.
"Aye," she breathed and snuggled tighter against him. He grinned contentedly into her hair. She was his.
-o-
Spent and satisfied, they lay curled together in the narrow bed. As Gendry's fingers stroked gently through her hair, Arya felt her eyelids grow heavy with sleep. While she wanted to make love and talk about their plans for the future all night long, she was beyond exhausted. She felt sated, lethargic, as if she were boneless in his arms. But afore sleep claimed her, she remembered what she had wanted to ask him earlier, in the Sept.
"Why did you choose the Warrior over the Smith?"
She felt his chest rise under her as he drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Arya thought she might be asleep afore he answered, but eventually he said softly, "I was praying for the strength not to fight."
"Hmmm?" she murmured sleepily not understanding what he meant.
"To find another way. To avoid a war," he said as he gently curled a strand of her hair around his finger.
"Hmm?" she murmured again, feeling even drowsier than before. He was speaking in riddles and she was too tired to puzzle them out.
"Go to sleep wife," he whispered as he brushed his lips across her forehead.
For once, she was happy to do as she was told.
-o-
First, I have to thank everyone for their messages of support after the last non-chapter. I love you guys. Good job I hadn't been able to read them that night or I would have been washed away in floods of tears. You guys rock my world.
Well, it was delayed, but it was big and long and hot and hard. Enough sex for ya Brazilian Guy?
Yet again, he was wonderful and inspiring, not to mention great fun to discuss spanking with. Couldn't have got there without him.
Next chapter we're gonna have Bran (at last!), Daenerys, Jon and maybe a few surprises . . .
See you in two weeks . . .