Chapter 54

Vows

I can only apologise yet again for the delay. Thank you for still coming back to this.

This one has to be for Leon who so loves that damned red dress.

Never in her wildest imaginings, had Arya considered so many would come to watch her wed. Smallfolk, a dozen deep on either side, crammed into every nook and cranny on the way that led through the Red Keep to the Godswood.

Arya had to fight to control the unfamiliar and unwelcome feelings that being the centre of attention brought. Every single person was looking at her, pointing, shouting her name. It went so far against everything she had learned in Bravos and everything she had been that she had to fight the urge to flee from them all and hide, disappear into the crowd. Faceless once more.

For so long she had been No one, trained to be just another face in the crowd, not the focus of its attention. Fight or flight, that was her way and generally she preferred to fight. Although Needle was strapped to her thigh, t'was her wedding day and fighting her way out through the throng of smallfolk who had come to wish her well was hardly an option.

That left flight and she looked longingly up at the dense green canopy, instinctively picking out the strongest branches, the ones that could carry her from one tree to the next, up and away.

She shivered, but not with cold. Repeating the old familiar words that had calmed her oft times afore – Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords - she pulled her cloak tighter. 'Twas beautifully embroidered with the running Direwolf of her House, but afore long, the white fur would be replaced by cloth of gold. She could do this. 'Twas only one day and 'twas all for show. She had made her promise to Gendry long ago; their babe growing in her belly was proof enough of that.

Eyes fixed straight ahead, with one hand clutching her bouquet of blue roses and the other slipping into Sansa's to grip it tightly, she made her way slowly towards the Heart Tree where Gendry would be waiting for her.

First came the trumpeters to herald her arrival. After them, Bran led the procession, as was only fitting as the head of House Stark. Meera walked proudly by his side, but Bran himself sat in a contraption Arya could only liken to a wheeled throne. When she had asked Bran where he had come upon such a strange chair, he had proudly told her the craftsmen of Winterfell had manufactured it to his own design. He explained how he had tackled the problem of getting around without a horse in the same way Tyrion had solved the problem of his being unable to ride all those years ago. Still, it took two burly Northmen to push Bran's invention through the grass.

Fur draped bearded warriors, some carrying banners flying the sigil of her House flanked their procession. Arya was grateful they stood between her and the staring, crushing mass of smallfolk who had been allowed into the Godswood after the great and the good of King's Landing had taken their place around the Heart Tree.

Everywhere she looked, hands grasped towards her while a cacophony of baying voices called her name. Muttered repetitions of "Calm as Still Water" and her hand gripping Sansa's, were the only things keeping her from bolting.

Craning her neck, Arya scanned the crowd ahead for her beloved, knowing that if he was within sight, the crowd could never claim her. Not even an army of smallfolk would prevent Gendry from reaching her once he knew where she was. But no matter how hard Arya tried, she could not see him.

"Will you keep still!" Sansa hissed, "By the Seven, what is wrong with you? You are bobbing and weaving like a prize fighter. Stand tall, pull your shoulders back and act like a Lady for once."

"If I pull my shoulders any further back, my teats are going to make a bid for freedom."

The look of horror that crossed Sansa's face afore the inscrutable, mask-like expression she wore in public snapped back into place, was worth the risk of Bran overhearing them talking about breasts. Arya's delight at Sansa's discomfort momentarily distracted her from her anxiety.

"You are so uncouth," Sansa muttered through clenched teeth and from behind that fixed smile.

"Well, you should have let the bodice out some more and then my teats wouldn't be able to escape."

'Twas all Sansa could do to maintain her Ladylike composure – at least to the watching crowd. "Oh, now I'm supposed to work miracles am I? You should have had your own dress organised weeks ago or made the alterations yourself!"

That jibe hit its mark. Arya knew she could never have done half as good a job as Sansa in altering the red dress, even if she'd had weeks to do it and Sansa only had a few hours. Responding in the only way she knew how, Arya squeezed her sister's hand until the bones popped.

"Oww! What was that for?!" Sansa yelped, as loudly as she dared.

Arya merely stared smugly ahead. Despite what she hoped, Sansa wasn't done yet. Extricating her hand from Arya's lest she be subjected to any further pain, Sansa hissed,

"If you hadn't gone and got yourself with child afore your wedding your teats wouldn't be a problem, would they?"

They glared furiously at each other as only sisters could, oblivious to the crowd and the fanfare surrounding them.

Rickon, who was next in line behind, leaned forwards, whispering sharply, "Sisters! Stop fighting."

Arya and Sansa looked over their shoulders at the same time and gave him the same deathly stare.

Everyone had always told Rickon how different his sister were, but in that moment, when they were both angry with him, they were as alike as peas in a pod. He had to bite back a delighted laugh and stop himself from grabbing and hugging them both. To have them back together again 'twas more than he had ever hoped. Instead he shrugged and smirked, "What's the problem anyway? 'Tis not as if Gendry's going to mind Arya's teats popping out to say hello."

Then their little brother had the cheek to wink at them!

"Men," Arya and Sansa huffed at exactly the same time.

Rickon, and Shireen beside him, erupted with laughter at the sister's identical reaction.

Arya could not help but laugh too – 'twas wonderful to finally be back with her family. However Sansa narrowed her eyes at and turned her back on Shireen.

Shireen shrugged and smiled as if 'twere nothing, but Sansa's behaviour irked Arya. 'Twas not the first time Sansa had been sharp with Shireen recently and Sansa was normally impeccably mannered in her dealings with everyone. For some reason, Sansa's attitude to Shireen had changed since the incident in the library - which made Shireen's wanting to go to Highgarden with Sansa particularly odd. Still, Arya had given her promise to Shireen to help and she was not about to renege on that. The two of them could sort whatever their problem was. Arya had more important things to worry about – like when she would be out of this crowd.

As they walked on at the same achingly slow pace, she stood on her tiptoes, straining to see what was ahead, anxious to see Gendry. Finally, in amongst the mass of heads and helmets, she saw that familiar glossy black hair and those impossibly broad shoulders. There he was!

Standing head and shoulders above the general throng was her man, her lover, her best friend. At that very moment, as if the Gods themselves had turned his head, Gendry's eyes met hers. The frown that had pulled his eyebrows together disappeared the moment he laid eyes upon her, his face lighting up – reflecting the joy and relief Arya felt when she saw him.

Grinning like a fool, Arya waved the bunch of blue roses above her head, trying to say with them what she wanted to yell across the Godswood, "I'm here, I'm coming!"

"Seven hells Arya, can you not at least try and act like a Lady on your wedding day?"

Sansa scowled at her sister's lack of propriety. Oblivious, Arya waved her roses again, only stopping when Sansa grabbed her arm and dragged it down.

"You'll be beside him in a few moments."

"'Tis not soon enough," Arya said dreamily, her eyes never wavering from Gendry's. Now she had him in her sights, she did not want to let him go.

Rickon made a choking noise and pretended to vomit up his sleeve while Shireen sighed, "'Tis so romantic."

'Twas obvious Sansa did not agree. At all. With a curl of her lip, she declared, "Gendry Baratheon is the exception that proves the rule."

"What rule?" Rickon asked guilelessly.

"That men are all self serving and cannot be trusted."

Taken aback by the vehemence of her statement, Rickon and Shireen exchanged a concerned glance.

Rickon tried to laugh, but his attempt at levity rang hollow. He was shocked by Sansa's obvious bitterness but also driven by a need to defend his own kind. "'Tis a bit harsh, sister surely,"

Sansa snorted will disgust, "Not even Kings."

That statement was directed straight at Shireen, who turned scarlet and dropped her eyes to avoid Sansa's accusatory stare.

Realising there was much more going in this conversation than what was being said, Rickon looked from Sansa to Shireen and back, bewildered. Clearly neither was prepared to explain. In exasperation he started to ask Arya, but she was entirely focused on the big man waiting for her under the Heart Tree and Rickon's half-asked question fell on deaf ears.

Not a bit too soon they were through the press of Smallfolk. A large area around the Heart Tree was cordoned off by a protective circle of soldiers from Bad Company and the Targaryen City Watch. 'Twas a measure of how special this day was when men from those different armies stood shoulder to shoulder, trading good natured insults and jokes.

Arya breathed a sigh of relief. Now Gendry was within sight, no one else's eyes upon her mattered – only his.

With a final flourish, the trumpeters swept their instruments under their arms and stepped aside to reveal the black and white, beards and fur of House Stark.

Gendry only had eyes for his bride - standing tall and proud at the centre of the Northmen's procession, resplendent in her white fur; dark hair falling around her shoulders, eyes shining, red lips curved into a smile he wanted to believe was only for him.

Tradition meant that all Gendry could offer Arya before he had to turn his attention to Bran was a brief waggle of his eyebrows. Still, from the way she bit her bottom lip and the way the blush rose up her neck from the white fur of her cloak, he knew Arya understood the message - a teasing promise of the night to come. He hoped anticipation was making her nipples hard and her cunt wet for him, because the sight of her in her wedding finery certainly made his blood pound and his cock stand to attention. The slash of red peeking through white fur only heightened his expectations of what was to come.

He had only seen her in red once – on that wonderful night in King's Landing when he'd kissed her for the first time and, against all his expectations, she'd kissed him back. 'Twas a memory he would never forget until his dying breath. The glimpse of a red dress brought all those memories thundering back - wanting her so badly he could hardly breathe.

'Twas no easy task to quiet his lustful thoughts and to school his lecherous grin into a more appropriate expression. Gendry gave Bran a tight smile and dipped his head as a sign of welcome and of respect.

"Lord Stark."

Bran returned the greeting with an indulgent smirk that suggested he knew exactly what Gendry had been thinking.

"May the joining of our Houses today seal the alliance between our Houses that our fathers desired."

Bran extended his arm with a flourish, "Lord Baratheon. I give you my sister – Lady Arya Stark"

Arya's pink blush turned to crimson fire as all eyes focused on her. She dropped her gaze to the blue flowers she held afore her belly, clutching them in a death grip. Seeing the white knuckles of those skilful hands twisting the stems had Gendry biting the inside of his cheek to stop from throwing his head back and laughing aloud. Only his Arya would try to strangle her wedding bouquet.

The assembled guests clapped politely as the Stark guards wheeled Bran aside. At last, no one stood between Gendry and his bride.

And then the fucking King interrupted.

Spreading his arms wide Aegon Targaryen stepped forwards.

Even dressed in a Brother's dun robe, he seemed to shine like polished steel in the sunlight. Much as it pained Gendry to admit it, the King had that unassailable aura of authority, confidence and controlled might that very, very few possessed. Jon had it, but he had earned it by toiling as the last Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, through blood, fire, war and even death. To Gendry's disgust (and although he would die afore admitting it - jealously) Aegon Targaryen had been born with the power to silence all those around him without even saying a word.

Sure enough, the Godswood fell silent. Even the birds and the breeze seemed to pause, holding their breath, waiting for Aegon fucking Targaryen to speak . . .

"Lords, Ladies, Sers, all those bound to House Baratheon and House Stark, invited guests and small folk . . ."

Those deep lilac eyes scanned the assembled crowd. Gendry suppressed a groan. He knew from experience that this was what Aegon did best. He had a gift for making everyone think he was looking for them and only them. 'Twas a gift that made enemies quake in their boots and allies puff with pride.

". . . this marriage represents not only a joining of man and woman, not only a joining of two Great Houses, but hope for the future. As these two people come together, as these two Great Houses come together, so must we . . . to build a Westeros together where every House has ties to the others, where no House is isolated, where every one of us works with not only our kin, but our neighbours and our former enemies, to build a stronger Westeros together."

Even fucking Aegon highjacking his wedding day for a Targaryen propaganda speech could not spoil Gendry's mood. Seeing Arya surrounded by her family, knowing his babe grew in her belly, delighted him far too much. The beautiful woman whose face flushed with happiness as she caught his eye bore no resemblance to the sullen, damaged assassin Brienne had brought back from Bravos and Gendry took pride in knowing 'twas he who had put that smile back on her face. Knowing that in moments she would be declared irrevocably his, made him puff out his chest as if he were a rooster. If he thought he could have got away with it, he would have flung his head back and crowed his delight for all of Westeros to hear.

Not caring for Aegon's preaching and immune to this Targaryen trick, or skill, or whatever 'twas, Gendry ignored the speech and concentrated on watching the audience. He could do so unobserved as all eyes were dazzled by the brilliance of the King. What Gendry saw told him more than a dozen little birds ever could.

To the King's right the Hound, now Lord Clegane, stood proudly in new armour, his battered face only serving to make him more menacing, if that was possible.

To the King's left, Willas Tyrell's jaw flexed as he ground his teeth, his hands clenched into fists. Highgarden's displeasure was obvious to anyone not blinded by Aegon's magic.

Like Gendry, Ser Rolly Duckfield standing beside Willas had seen the King's performance oft times afore and he too remained unaffected by it. Instead of on Aegon, Rolly's attention was focused on the Hound. The Duck's knuckles, though scrapped and bloodied, were white with tension as they gripped the hilt of his sword. Those two brutes were on course for another collision and when it came, Gendry hoped he would be long gone from here. He suspected whatever bad blood flowed between them, would not be resolved until one of them lay dead or dying.

And then there was Sansa and she was a mystery. She had moved from Arya's side to stand at Willas', yet the distance between them told its own story. One of the very few apparently unmoved by Aegon's presence – Sansa's expression was achingly sad, her hands clasped together, eyes downcast, her lips moving slowly as if in a silent prayer. Why so sad on this happy occasion? Gendry was confident his Goodsister's sorrow had nothing to do with this marriage. He knew Sansa liked him. If anything, Gendry suspected Sansa thought him a fool for taking on her wilful, wayward little sister. So if 'twas not the marriage made her so unhappy, then what? Willas was hardly the type of man to make any woman miserable. Bored mayhaps, but not as wretched as Lady Sansa looked standing his side.

While studying Sansa, Gendry felt the unmistakably eerie sensation of another's eyes upon him. Turning, he dropping his gaze to meet clever mismatched eyes. Tyrion Lannister inclined his head towards Sansa and raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question – the same one Gendry had been asking himself. For what was Lady Sansa praying?

"Lord Baratheon."

Aegon saying his name jolted Gendry out of his revere.

"Would you like to make your vow?"

"Aye."

Gendry wanted this moment to be perfect. But he didn't know how to use fancy words. He reassured himself with the thought that if Arya had wanted a silver tongue she would have chosen anyone rather than him. All he could do was be himself.

Mercifully, Tobho's wife was close by to hand him his wedding gift to Arya, displayed on a golden silk pillow.

Gendry took the sword in both hands, being careful to hold the razor sharp blade flat across his fingertips. He took three long strides towards Arya and dropped to one knee, bowing his head afore her.

The look of shocked horror on Arya's face as he knelt at her feet made him want to take her in his arms and reassure her that this overtly romantic performance was just that – a performance and that he would be back to his gruff self as soon as they could both escape from here. Instead he offered her up the sword.

"Arya Stark, I offer you no red rose or ruby ring. I made you a sword as deadly and beautiful as the Lady who will wield it."

Lifting his head, he saw his love reflected in her beloved face.

"Here. Take it and you will find its maker to be as true and loyal as this blade."

With steady hands, Arya took the sword. Where their fingers met 'twas as if wildfire rushed into his veins. He prayed that would never change between them.

"Gendry Baratheon, I accept your sword and in return I have only my love to give you. Although it will mark you as surely as your blade, I hope you will accept it."

"Aye, I will."

Her name had been etched onto his heart as they rolled around the floor in Acorn Hall. The years had only carved it deeper. He grinned up at her, love and a sense of possession thundering through his veins.

"Do you have a cloak of your House with which to honour your wife?" Aegon intoned the ancient words Gendry had never expected would be directed at him.

With pride making his voice sound even louder and deeper than usual, Gendry replied with the traditional response, "I do."

Tobho's wife offered him the golden cloak. If Gendry's hands trembled as he worked to unfasten the silver clip at Arya's throat 'twas only because being so close to her, finally knowing that no man could take her away from him, affected him so.

When the clasp finally came free, he let the white fur cloak fall from her shoulders to pool at her feet and instantly regretted it.

The sight of her breasts, his breasts now!, full and round and soft, pushed up out of that red dress rendered him momentarily speechless. Seven buggering hells! 'Twas a magnificent sight, but 'twas a vision that should be for his eyes only. Gods, was that the dark rose of her teats he could see peeking up at him from red silk?

Grabbing the cloak from Tobho's wife, he swung it around Arya's shoulders so quickly that both Aegon and Mrs Mott had to step back to avoid being hit by the wildly swirling embroidered golden stag.

As he bent to fasten the golden clasp, Gendry growled against Arya's ear, "If you dare take this cloak off afore we are alone, I'll spank your arse until it's as red as that dress."

Arya looked up at him with wide grey eyes. Her bottom lip trembled.

Fuck! He was such an unthinking arse to upset his wife and they had only been married mere moments. 'Twas hardly Arya's fault the dress no longer fitted. Her breasts were swelling in readiness to feed the babe he'd planted in her belly. If 'twas anyone's fault – 'twas his. He was such a stupid fool.

Blinking back tears, his wife stood on her tiptoes and pulled on his shoulders until she could whisper in his ear. Gendry steeled himself for the reprimand he knew was coming. At least she had the good grace to whisper it instead of giving him the public tongue lashing he deserved.

"Is that a promise?"

He was still trying to get his head around what she had said, that she wasn't angry with him, that she might want his hand warming her arse, when he felt her warm, wet tongue in his ear. 'Twas such an intimate, sexual contact that he almost jumped back, just as all his blood jumped to his cock.

When he had pulled far enough away to look at her again, the trembling lip and the tears had been replaced by sparkling eyes and a wicked smirk. The little tease! When the tip of her pink tongue darted out to wet full, red lips he near feel to his knees again but with lust this time.

Aegon clearing his throat brought them both back to the present, reminding them that they were not alone. Yet.

"As your King, I feel it incumbent upon me to say a few words about the sanctity of marriage and the importance of honouring the vows we make."

Did Gendry imagine it, or did Aegon's eyes dart to Sansa when he mentioned the honouring of vows?

Gendry had no time to ponder upon it as a shrill voice from somewhere above them called out, "Aegon Targaryen has no right to lecture anyone on honour or the sanctity of vows."

A hundred hands flew to their swords and all heads, swivelled back, all eyes searching for the traitorous voice in the leafy canopy above.

"Aegon Targaryen, I challenge you to a duel of honour. Do you accept?"

Gendry could not place it, but that hidden voice was somehow familiar.

Aegon Targaryen was never one to run from a fight and it seemed he was not about to start now. Peering up into the trees, trying to see his accuser, he declared loudly, "I accept nothing until you show yourself and state the basis of your challenge."

The bodiless voice called out again, "I challenge you to a duel for besmirching the honour of Lady Shireen Baratheon."

All eyes turned from the leaves to either Shireen or Gendry. Shireen shrank back, swayed briefly and swooned clear to the ground, clutching at Rickon's arm and almost dragging him down with her as she fell.

Arya and Gendry looked at each other, each wearing the same horrified expression – surely it couldn't be . . .

As if from nowhere, a familiar figure materialized on a low hanging branch afore dropping, to land catlike, beside the Heart Tree's trunk.

"Do you deny it Targaryen?"

Arya opened her mouth, but afore she could say a word, a big warm hand clamped over it, effectively silencing her. An arm of steel wrapped around her waist pulling her back against a body that felt like it had been carved from granite.

Clearly taken aback, the King opened his mouth, closed it again without saying anything, shot another fleeting look to Sansa Stark and shook his head.

At the same time, men of Bad Company and the Targaryen guard rushed forward to protect their King. The boy who had dropped from the tree swung his sword wildly at the advancing men, as if he was prepared to take them all on at once.

The stupid little prick.

Gendry had recognised Ty the moment he had appeared on the branch of the Heart Tree and 'twas obvious Arya did too, but Gendry did not trust Arya not to make things worse for the boy. She was just as likely to throw the little fool another sword as not.

Fearing for his squire's life, Gendry barked an order for his men to stand down, which they did immediately – most of them recognising Ty now too. Seeing Gendry's men retreat and deciding the lanky youth was no serious threat to him, Aegon did the same. The Targaryen guards reluctantly lowered their weapons and stepped back too, leaving Ty alone under the Heart Tree.

Knowing his squire was safe, at least for the moment, Gendry breathed a sigh of relief, but what in the seven hells did the stupid little fuck think he was doing, challenging the King to a duel? In the Godswood? In the middle of Gendry's fucking wedding? Gendry knew he could end this now but that little shit squire of his had overstepped the mark one too many times. Ty needed to learn his place in life and if he didn't learn it soon, he was going to end up dead. The boy needed to be taught a lesson and mayhaps a public humiliation at the King's hands would extinguish all the stupid notions Ty had about chivalry and honour and about being the best Knight in Westeros and marrying Shireen. Mayhaps this was just what the boy needed.

Taking Arya's new sword, Gendry shouted to Aegon and tossed it to him, pommel first. As expected, Aegon caught it deftly and twirled the new blade, testing its balance, making it flash in the sunlight

Of course, 'twas also the slight chance that Aegon, cocky arse that he was, might be caught unawares by Ty and suffer a little humiliation himself. At least at the beginning. Gendry hoped so. No one would expect a squire to be more than a fair sword and Ty was far better than fair. And he had been taught by one of the Faceless Men. Gendry was sure the boy had a trick or too up his sleeve and the opportunity to see Aegon suffer when he underestimated the skill of a lowly squire was something Gendry did not want to miss.

Arya struggled indignantly, but she was hampered by layers and layers of tight clothing and Gendry's damned cloak - that was her sword! But Gendry held her tight, his breath hot and moist against her ear, "Shhhhhh. I can always make you a new one. And don't you dare say anything to stop this. I want to see it all."

Arya looked up at him, pleading with her eyes for him to intervene on Ty's behalf.

He shook his head.

She bit his fingers.

Gendry swore under his breath and blew out a sigh of resignation. He knew Arya wouldn't give him peace to watch unless he made sure Ty wasn't going to get himself killed. So Gendry shouted over the noise of the crowd to Aegon, "That's my squire. Try and not kill him. My horse rather likes him!"

Loud guffaws and shrieks of laughter erupted all around them. Aegon nodded an acknowledgement to Gendry and with a cocky grin, gave Ty a mock bow. The squire's face turned scarlet. Of course, all this amused the crowd no end.

Arya struggled against Gendry's hand until he loosened his grip just enough to let her hiss, "That was your idea of helping?!"

"Don't worry," Gendry soothed, "Aegon is too fucking honourable to kill a mere squire. Even if he is mine. All he'll do is teach the little shit a well deserved lesson."

"'Tis not Ty I'm worried about you fool. Aegon has no idea who he's dealing with."

Gendry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Ty is that good?"

"Yes."

Gendry clamped his hand over Arya's mouth again, ignoring her muffled protests. The King and the squire were now circling each other, Aegon strutting around like the peacock he was and Ty crouched in what Gendry recognised as a Water Dancer's stance. "Even better," he said with a grin.

-o-

So it's finally Ty's moment to shine or burn. All will be revealed about Ty next chapter and I will try really, really hard to make it soon.

Thanks for sticking around long enough to read this.