Author's Notes: I know… it was hard for me too to get back into this world after the recent GoT shenanigans, especially for this couple! Well, we shall soon know how it all ends, and then sigh in relief while putting it all aside and continuing their story in our fanfictions. At least I know I will…
So what will Ned do next; will he shrug his shoulders and leave Arya to do her thing? Has he become a modern parent all of a sudden? Or will he throw Gendry out - or worse? We will see all that in the very next chapter from Ned's own POV.
Thank you Hardlyfatal for betaing, once again. Also, thank you for all the lovely comments I have received - and a special thank you to Canimal, who has left absolutely wonderful comments as she has waded through this behemoth! I would have responded via PM, but no luck, so hence this shoutout here...
In the previous chapter: Sansa finally meets the famous Elder Brother, who accepts her as his student after Sansa assures him of her sincerity. Jaime asks Sansa to pass his apologies to Brienne, who dispels Sansa's assumption that Jaime had offended her by telling her about Jaime's proposal. Sandor comes to Sansa again at night and a new tenderness develops between them. Sansa continues to spend time with the Elder Brother and one day notices the unusually modern format of his notes. The Elder Brother becomes evasive and tense when she asks him about it, leaving Sansa convinced there is more to the story than his feeble excuse about a visiting maester.
Arya
Arya faced yet another new experience during that time of busy preparations for the Northern troops' departure: she had admirers.
And not just one, but two.
At first Arya didn't even notice how Gawen Glover and Darrel Hornwood seemed often to be where she was, sitting close-by during the meals in the Great Hall or running into her when she was going somewhere in the keep or in the yards. Only when Gawen brought her a small bunch of wildflowers he had picked from the edge of the moat, and when Darrel gave her a berry pie wrapped in a handkerchief, did she register their odd behaviour.
It felt strange. Sansa had been always the one towards whom young men's eyes turned, whereas Arya was the Horseface, the Underfoot – not the kind of girl boys noticed. Yet here they were, both members of noble houses, smiling at her and complimenting her dress and hair and shoes – who even complimented someone for their shoes? – and Arya didn't quite know what to make of it.
The lads were affable enough, more young men than boys, having left their childhood behind by joining the campaign to serve their liege lord. After recovering from her initial shock, Arya didn't even mind the attention she received, finding shared interests with both of them. Gawen was a keen archer and Arya joined him in practice a few times, drawing his bow and to her delight finding that her aim was still true. Darrel liked to read and debate, and many times Arya ended up in a heated discussion with him about this or that, often about Robert's Rebellion, in which Darrel's house had played a role.
She tried to gauge if Gendry had noticed her new , when she was walking with Gawen and Gendry walked towards them, she grabbed Gawen's arm by an impulse only to see Gendry's reaction. He glanced at her, then at their clasped arms, but didn't say anything – and as soon as he walked past them, Arya dropped confused Gawen's arm as if it suddenly burned her.
Afterwards, she felt ashamed of her own behaviour and tried to make it up to Gawen by seeking him out for a session with a bow and arrow, but that didn't erase her frustration of Gendry's obliviousness.
Gendry didn't bring it up when they next met for their book session in the barn and Arya was too embarrassed to say anything.
There was somebody else, however, who noticed.
"Arya, may I see you after breakfast? There is something important I need to talk to you about." Catelyn asked her one day when leaving the hall, not long before their planned day of departure.
"Of course, Mother," Arya replied, surprised about the official tone in her mother's query. She finished her plate hastily and dashed upstairs to her mother's temporary solar.
The room that had been first Minisa Tully's, then Catelyn's when she had become the lady of Riverrun, was neat and well-organised. Stacks of correspondence and other notes were strewn across the large wooden desk, the only nod to aesthetics being a single flower in a jar on the shelf of an old bookcase. Arya looked around, imagining her mother sitting there as a young girl when attending to the matters of the keep on her father's behalf. The image made her proud but also somewhat sad, because her mother's childhood had ended so early and definitively.
"Please, sit down, Arya," Catelyn asked from her seat behind the desk.
Arya did, remembering to cross her ankles and lay her hands demurely on her lap as a lady should, in case Catelyn had asked her there to be chastised for some misdemeanour.
Catelyn looked troubled – which, however, was an expression she carried most days. Arya wished there was something she could do to help her mother and father to reconcile, but so far had found nothing. They were cordial to each other, but the warmth they had shared before was there no longer.
"Arya, there is a matter I should have shared with you before, but due to so many other things happening, I have neglected. Something that concerns you."
Arya was puzzled but also curious. Concerning her? She nodded politely, waiting for Catelyn to continue.
"You remember when I told you about crossing the Twins and the negotiations I did with old Walder Frey?"
Arya did – and of Robb's frustration at having been betrothed to a girl he had never met, the consolation of being able to pick her from amongst the daughters of old Walder only slightly diminishing the sting. She also remembered the greendream Sansa had shared with them, revealing a horrible betrayal and violation of guest rights when Robb had broken that promise and married someone else instead.
Ned had cautiously suggested breaking the engagement, as if the Freys could be foreseen to succumb to such treachery, they simply couldn't be trusted. However, Catelyn had pointed out that in that scenario it had been Robb who had betrayed the arrangement first, and now they just had to make sure that it didn't happen. Catelyn had also reminded that although she wasn't too keen to join their house to Freys, either, she had made a solemn promise and she had to honour it.
"I do, Mother."
Catelyn took Arya's hands in hers and looked deep into her eyes. "Robb's betrothal was not the only thing I had to promise. Lord Walder wanted more. So I had to agree to betroth you to his son, Elmar Frey."
Arya wasn't sure if she heard her correctly. "Me? Betrothed? What do you mean?" She pulled her hands away, not caring how rude it was.
"Nothing will happen for years, of course; we agreed on a long betrothal. The boy is a year younger than you, so it will be quite some time before the marriage will take place," Catelyn replied.
"Marriage? To a Frey? You can't be serious, Mother!" Arya's palms started to sweat and nausea bloomed in her stomach. It was one thing to notionally be aware that her parents would arrange her marriage someday, and quite another to be told that it had already been agreed upon. And to a Frey! That house was famous for its prevarication and duplicity.
Arya jumped up and backed towards the end of the room. "I don't want it! Do you hear, you can't make me!"
Catelyn looked at her, her face portraying real sympathy and possibly even a smidgen of regret, but Arya didn't care about it in her own anger.
"As I said, nothing is going to happen for years. Who knows, maybe it will never eventuate. Betrothals have been called off before, and when Robb marries a Frey daughter, it may be enough to soothe Lord Walder for a while. He might die and the new lord may not be so prickly and we could maybe negotiate it anew."
Arya stared at her. "Can you promise me that?"
Catelyn sighed. "You know as well as I that there can be no promises. Besides, this boy could be good for you. He is Lord Walder's twenty-second son and probably left mostly on his own, removed from all the political wrangling within that family." She raised her chin. "This is the lot of a noblewoman, so don't tell me you are surprised. I had no say when I was married to your father, either."
"And look how well that turned out!" Arya huffed, but her words were immediately followed by a pang of conscience at the pained expression it elicited in her mother.
"I tell you this because I have seen how young Glover and Hornwood have been paying attention to you lately. I can't blame them, but we have to be careful. We still have to cross the Twins on our way back and nothing must make Lord Walder to go back on his promises. Your father will talk to Galbart Glover and Timos Hornwood about their young charges' behaviour, but I wanted to warn you not to encourage them with your own conduct."
A boiling fury started to swell inside Arya and she wanted to stomp her foot on the ground as she had done when angered by something as a child. She was not a child anymore, however, and such performance would only make her appear as one. This matter was too important to be considered as a child's fancy – her parents had to understand that she was insulted by being sold and bartered as a chattel.
Instead, Arya forced herself to stay calm.
"So I can't even have friends of my own anymore? And that is my worth – crossing of a bridge?" Her voice was cold, and knowing that she couldn't maintain control for much longer, she left the room, all tension and stiffness.
Arya wasn't truly upset about being asked to curb down her interactions with her admirers. She wouldn't have chosen either of them, so it wasn't going to be a hardship to send them on their way. Arya had nothing against them, but they were too young, too inexperienced, too skinny, too blond… in short, they were not Gendry. So it was not that – but to have been part of a bargain, haggled and being bartered, what really stung. Sansa's words about the freedoms she had seen in her greendreams haunted her. To be free, to choose one's own path – how wonderful would it be?
Once outside the door, her brave façade started to crumble and tears stung her eyes. Her mother being the cause of those tears, it left her only one other avenue to find comfort: she went to find Nymeria.
She ran out of the keep and stopped in the middle of the yard, trying to sense where Nymeria might be. The wolf was not far, she knew, and so she continued to the godswood to find some peace among its redwoods and small streams. Riverrun's godswood even had a weirwood as a heart tree, towards which Arya made her way.
As she had known, Nymeria was already there, and Arya knelt down next to her and buried her tear-streaked face into the wolf's fur. Ever patient and reassuring, Nymeria's silent sympathy soon saw the end to Arya's tears, the strong bond between the girl and the wolf serving as a salve to her soul.
Yet another new experience for Arya had been acquiring new ways to bond with Nymeria. For a long time she had been able to warg into her only when she slept, unable to conjure the connection during daylight hours.
Nevertheless, as her frustrations grew from being cooped inside so often, she had gradually learned that if she concentrated really hard and pushed all other distractions out of her mind, she could renew the connection even then. It was not easy, and it wasn't always successful, but there were times when she found herself trotting through the camp, the scents of tightly-packed humanity assailing her nostrils and the flex of powerful muscles under coarse fur making her feel strong. Often she was playing chase with Grey Wind in the Godswood, almost like being a pup again.
It had been good to be reunited with her brother. Arya had felt the deep connection between the direwolves while in Nymeria's skin, and somewhere at the edge of her consciousness she had also felt a tug of her other siblings, Summer and Shaggydog far away in Winterfell and Ghost even further. Only Lady wasn't there anymore, a hollow spot the only reminder of her existence.
Many nights, Arya raced the forests surrounding Riverrun with Grey Wind, slipping in and out of the keep through the water drains in the wall, urged on by the call of the wild. Both direwolves were fed regularly in the keep, but nothing surpassed the tangy taste of fresh blood or satisfied as much as the crunch of bones in her powerful jaws.
Besides, Arya had discovered yet another advantage from her newfound skills. Since Nymeria was not welcomed into her studies or sewing sessions, she consequently spent more and more time with Gendry. As Arya could to some extent guide Nymeria to go where she wanted, whenever possible she made the wolf sneak into the smithy to sprawl on the floor while Gendry hammered at the anvil, or follow when he went about his business in the camp.
The best times were when Gendry was dozing off, snatching a few moments of sleep when he could amidst his busy schedule of work, sword training and lessons. He lay down where there was some peace and quiet: next to the deserted training yard, behind the stables, in the Godswood. Then Nymeria curled by his side and rested her big head against his shoulder and Gendry stroked her fur, slowly, gently.
To Arya, his touch was her mother's cool hand on her feverish brow, her father's firm squeeze on her shoulder, Jon's long fingers mussing her hair, Nymeria's wet nose against her cheek – it was everything she could ever want, and more.
"…and that's how the rebellion was finally finished and there were Blackfyres no more," Arya concluded, finishing her tale of the War of the Ninepenny Kings and Ser Barristan Selmy, who had slain the last of the Blackfyre pretenders.
Gendry looked thoughtful. "I knew there were many wars about the succession, but I never heard the full story."
"Not about true succession, as everyone knew who the legitimate heir was, but about a rebellion with a long history," Arya corrected him. She leaned back, letting the book she had been reading fall on her lap. Gendry was sprawled at her feet, cleaning his fingernails with the tip of his dagger.
It had been two days since Arya had heard of her betrothal, and although wanting to share her frustration about it with Gendry, she hadn't. She had been afraid that he might fall into one his moods again, becoming all formal, calling her 'my lady' and refusing to be with her. Their private lessons – a lofty name for lounging about and reading stories – still continued whenever they had a chance, and Arya loved those times. It was almost like they were on the road again: no fuss, no tension, just being together.
"So it was the king's bastards who caused all the trouble?" Gendry said, looking at Arya, smirking. "Should I raise a rebellion as well? What would you say about King Gendry, first of his name?"
"King Bull, first and last of his name, I'd say," Arya laughed and threw the book towards Gendry, who only laughed harder. She knew he was japing, of course, but then she remembered, and before she had time to think much about the wisdom of saying it, blurted what was in her mind.
"Not a king, but you might be a Baratheon one day."
"Nah, never. You know as well as I that Stannis Baratheon would never see me as one of them." Gendry's tone was light and Arya knew that he was sincere; he had never bothered to think of what could have or would have been, if only. He was very practical in such matters, happy to be where he was, on his way towards a good occupation and a guaranteed position in Winterfell.
"You know that kings can legitimise bastards too?" she persisted, stretching out next to him on the blanket. The barn was mostly empty and hence unused, with nothing but a few abandoned boxes and crates scattered here and there. Arya had smuggled in a few pillows and a blanket to make a cosy little corner behind the crates, in a place where the light streaming through the window was sufficient for reading.
"As if King Joffrey would be any more interested in legitimising me…" Gendry replied nonchalantly. "Killing me, perhaps,"
They lay side by side, staring at the ceiling. The buzz of the keep's activity was faint in the background, the dust of the room tickling their nostrils. At times like those, with the peace sinking deep into her bones, Arya could forget her betrothal, the threats her family still faced from the Southern politics, Sansa's alarming greendreams, and all her worries.
To Arya's delight, her act of dragging Gendry away from King's Landing had been finally exonerated when the news of the killings of King Robert's bastards had reached them. Ned had told them that Varys had likely been Gendry's benefactor, but hadn't been able to answer the question of what Varys would have done with Gendry had he got to him first. Yet at least Gendry finally believed that Arya had been right – which she didn't neglect to rub in his face whenever she had a chance.
"Maybe King Joffrey wouldn't… but what if there was King Jon?" Arya held her breath. They had decided not to share Sansa's greendreams with anyone outside the family and she had agreed – but surely she could tell Gendry? He was trustworthy and wouldn't say a word to anyone if she asked him not to.
"King Jon?" Gendry frowned. "Who's that?"
Arya got up to her haunches and told Gendry about Sansa's visions and Jon – after making him swear to keep it only to himself. If Gendry had been fascinated before, now his eyes grew as big as saucers. This was, after all, not an old tale that had happened a long time ago, but something that existed here and now. The more Arya talked, the more excited she became.
"You see, if Jon granted you legitimacy, you would be a noble! Maybe not with a castle, but you would have a name. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
Gendry narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. "They are just dreams, as you said. I wouldn't put too much store into them. Besides, what would I do with such a lofty name anyway? Would I get more customers to my forge if they knew it was a trueborn Baratheon shoeing their horses and forging their swords?"
Arya wanted to scream. Why were men so stupid? It would matter.
"For one, we could be friends openly. There would be no more talk about being a bastard. You could even become knight; imagine that, being Ser Gendry!"
Gendry rubbed his chin. "Friends?"
"Yes, friends. I could be with you without needing to hide it." Arya hesitated, suddenly unsure if she should have raised the issue. "Would you… would you like it?"
Gendry tilted his head and looked at her oddly. He didn't say anything but Arya saw his throat moving as he swallowed. His eyes darted across the barn as if searching for an answer there, before he finally spoke.
"It doesn't matter what I would like – it's unlikely to happen in any case. It could be just a dream." He pushed himself reluctantly to his elbows. "I'd better leave. Master Elmo knows to wait for me about this time, and he's busy as it is, so I can't really dally here any longer."
Arya sighed, knowing that to be the case, but still disappointed at Gendry's reaction. She truly would have expected him to be at least a bit more excited.
They walked towards the keep separately, Gendry first, then Arya some distance away. As they approached the smithy, Arya saw Theon Greyjoy standing in front of it, apparently waiting for Gendry.
Since their bout – and presumably after a well-earned lecture Robb had given to his childhood friend – Theon had been civil towards Gendry, even attempting to make amends by inviting Gendry to join him and his friends when they went out to entertain themselves.
Ned had explained to Arya where Theon's insecurities stemmed from, and after realising how precarious was his position as a hostage to his father's good behaviour, Arya had been somewhat more understanding of him. To be a prince of his own people, but a hostage that could be executed at any moment if the Ironborn raised another rebellion – yes, that would be enough to make anyone a bit touchy.
What Arya didn't understand quite as much were Theon's attempts to pull Gendry into his questionable pastimes, gambling and wenching.
As happened with any army, more than a few relationships had been formed between the soldiers and the locals, many of them young women from the keep or the countryside. Not all the relationships were transient, with quite a few girls packing their bags to follow their newly minted husbands to the north, some of them already with a babe in their bellies.
Yet there were those, too, who were in it only for a good time and some coin. As much as Arya couldn't fault them, knowing how limited the choices for some young women were, she most certainly didn't like to see Gendry spending time with them.
Nonetheless, that's exactly what she knew was going to transpire after seeing Theon there.
"Gendry, are you coming with us tonight beyond the wall?" Theon greeted Gendry, winking. "Might be our last opportunity to have some good times before we leave."
Arya heard him and rolled her eyes. 'Beyond the wall' was the nickname for a place indeed beyond the walls of Riverrun, where the gamblers, the drinkers and the womanizers congregated.
Gendry greeted Theon in turn but didn't reply to his question – probably on Arya's account, waiting until she had passed them by. Arya stewed internally when she walked past the men, nodding at Theon. A few steps away, she threw a look behind her shoulder and saw Gendry talking to Theon and from the looks of it, not appearing particularly reluctant.
Why it bothered her, she couldn't explain. It was not as if Gendry owed her any explanations of how he spent his time.
As the evening went on, Arya became more and more restless, wondering what Gendry was doing. Would Theon and his friends teach him to drink and gamble? Would Gendry be enticed by one of the girls?
The more Arya thought about it, the more agitated she became. Catelyn noticed her squirming and asked what was the matter, but Arya only muttered something about an upset stomach and that she might retire for the night earlier than normal.
After excusing herself, instead of going to her room, Arya slipped outside. Nymeria was there to meet her as Arya had known she would. She had tried to warg into the wolf earlier, but that would have been useless as Nymeria was not allowed 'beyond the wall' anyway. Most people in the keep were accustomed to the direwolves, but there were places when their presence was not welcomed as they tended to make people nervous.
"Good girl!" Arya knelt on the ground to ruff Nymeria's fur, and the direwolf poked her cheek with her cold nose. Arya smiled. "Let's find Gendry!"
Her steps took her towards the smithy, where Gendry had taken quarters. She might as well first check if Gendry had already returned – and if he was alone – before exploring further.
The evening air was cool, her breath misting in front of her. Arya hastened past the stables, the kennels, and the kitchen gardens until she reached her destination standing a bit away from the rest in case of the ever-present hazard of fire. She stopped in front of the building and noticed a beam of light under the door leading to the backroom. Good. Gendry had returned. But was he on his own?
"Stay, Nymeria," she whispered to her wolf and sneaked closer. She cocked her head and listened but heard nothing. She took another step, then another.
"Who's there?"
Damn!
Arya knew she couldn't run away without being noticed – and she didn't want to, either.
"It's me, Arya."
The door opened and Gendry stood there, his form dark in the shadows against the light streaming behind him.
"Arya, this time in the evening? What is it?"
Arya found herself tongue-tied. Stretching her neck she tried to peek behind Gendry to see if anyone was there, but saw nobody.
"What's the matter?" Gendry repeated. When Arya still didn't answer, he sighed and stepped aside. "Whatever it is, you can tell it inside. It better be important."
Arya stepped in, suddenly shy. It was stupid, for there shouldn't have been anything unusual in her being alone with Gendry. She had travelled with him and even slept beside him, and just that same afternoon they had met in the barn. There had also been that one time when she had shown Nymeria who was the leader of their pack and had forced Gendry down on the ground and bitten him. Arya could almost taste the salt of his skin on her tongue and she shivered.
When Arya sat down on his bed, the only furniture in the small room, she couldn't meet Gendry's eyes.
"Well?" Gendry crossed his arms and stood facing him. Having him tower over Arya made her even more nervous, and she patted weakly at the spot next to her.
Gendry sighed but sat down. "What is it, Arya? You must have a good reason to come here at this hour. Is something wrong?"
Arya had a fluttering feeling at the bottom of her belly and her mouth had long since gone dry. Gendry was sitting so close that she could smell him: sweat, the whiff of smoke always accompanying him, a hint of sour ale in his breath when he spoke. She glanced at his hands, big with blunt fingers, broad and strong. He was wearing breeches and a tunic, which seemed hastily thrown on, as its hem rose hig hand left a sliver of skin on his stomach exposed.
"Tell me, what is it?" Gendry's tone changed. Where before it had been weary and slightly exasperated, now it was soft.
Arya snapped. She had no idea what she was doing and if she was going the right way about it, but she knew she had to do something. Taking a deep breath she turned to face Gendry. He watched her intently, and Arya knew he was worried. He cared so much…
Without a warning, Arya wrapped her arms around Gendry's thick neck and pressed her mouth against his. She didn't truly know how to kiss, but she had seen it often it enough to try, at least.
"Arya!" Gendry gasped and pulled away.
Arya drew him back. He was tense and resistant, but Arya's firm hold meant he couldn't withdraw again without a struggle. His lips were unyielding under hers, but as she pressed harder and opened her mouth just slightly, they softened.
Arya had closed her eyes but opened them now slightly, to see that Gendry had squeezed his own shut. His brows were pinched together and his expression that of a man in torment.
It was Arya's first kiss and instead of being weird or uncomfortable as she had always thought, it felt just right. This was to be as close as possible to Gendry, this sharing of breath, this tasting each other. More than that, the sensations were not limited only to where their mouths met, the contact sending tingling sensations throughout her whole body. It was exciting, it was wonderful, it was glorious.
Yet before Arya had time to contemplate all she was going through further, she heard the door banging open, followed by a voice so cold it chilled her to the bone.
"Let my daughter go at once!"
She opened her eyes and saw her father standing there, aghast, hands clenched into fists.
And Arya knew she was in trouble – and so was Gendry.
