Complications Arise
Gendry
He was equal parts relieved and nervous at separating from the Starks. On the one hand, The Northern King and Arya's mother made him incredibly nervous. On the other, he was meant to face his uncle with a small contingency and no clue what to say. Why on fucking Earth Lady Stark would trust him with a mission like this, he had no idea. She was desperate, to be sure. But still…
He had no knowledge of these things. Arya said fancy words and got shit done. He wasn't like that. He always tripped over himself. Either saying the wrong thing or staying too silent altogether. He usually didn't make decisions, everything was always decided for him. Arya was the first choice he made, and he would continue to make it.
But what was he meant to say?
Lady Stark had said he needn't be fancy. Show respect, remember basic courtesies, and tell the truth. She'd said a stern man like Stannis would respect that. That had been her brilliant advice. She'd given him bargaining stakes and had told him when to offer what.
An idiot could do this.
And yet...
But how would Lord Stannis, a self-proclaimed King, receive him? Blood or no.
Again, he hadn't much to go from. All he'd heard of Stannis was that he was severe, humorless, and the rightful heir to the throne. Gendry was happy to assure him that he had no designs on the crown for himself. He did not. It sounded fucking terrible to him, not sure why Stannis would want it in the first place. Or his father for that matter. Though the tales suggested that hadn't been his aim either, it had come down to a Stark.
With a sigh, he resigned to stop agonizing over the choice he'd made- he'd made it. He was doing this for a Stark as well, a bloody curse most like. Though one he was in no hurry to be rid of.
He'd pledge to his uncle, but only if it served the Starks, one Stark above all else. He was also very aware that she was still beyond him, a legitimized bastard could not compare to a princess. There was a good chance he could never hope for more than last night.
At the memory of how Arya had seen him off, a smile spreads across his face. It's some time before he realizes that his horse has stopped to chew a tuft of grass, completely unmindful of the path. With a half-hearted curse he rallies the horse onward.
Of course he had been nervous as hell, not sure where to put his hands, what was respectful, what would be too far. But he needn't have worried, she made it clear what she wanted and how it would go. He didn't mind one bit. If he hadn't been such an idiot, they could have been touching each other properly at night since Harrenhal.
He still couldn't believe it, her skin had been softer than he'd imagined, if that was possible. And though she had sworn she was cold through and through like her Northern upbringing, she'd felt warm to the touch.
He hadn't lied to the others on the King's Road, he had been with a woman, only now it didn't even seem to count. He'd been so drunk, and young, not even sure what she'd wanted. It had felt good, but it was over so soon, and the details were hazy in the morning. It hadn't felt something to brag about, more like something that just happened.
This was different. Not that he could tell anyone.
He remembered every detail, every shudder, the way she smelled, the delicate fabric of the sheets, the way it hadn't felt strange to look her in the eyes. She lead their movements, and he happily went along. He imagined spending the rest of his life taking orders from her, and chuckled out loud, startling his companions.
He shook himself out of it, focusing on the task at hand.
Lady Stark had sent some men with him to show he had Stark support and to advise him if necessary. They were servants, no royal blood, yet they'd studied and thought and talked better than he ever could. They'd told him how to word things and had him practice saying My Lord and bowing low. They'd repeated an in-depth history of the entire Baratheon line and Stannis in particular. They hadn't gone into great detail on his father, not that he needed them to. But the more he heard of Stannis, the more he thought this entire journey was a waste. He was a serious man who never smiled and would brook no dishonor. Gendry's entire existence could be seen as dishonorable.
One interesting tidbit was the news that he had a cousin. A girl cousin. Since his mum passed, he hadn't any family. Tobho Mott had taken care of him, taught him a trade, but hadn't been much for affection. Not that he thought some well-bred cousin would want to have anything to do with him. Stannis could throw him out on principle.
A thought stopped him dead in his tracks. Stannis could simply kill him to simplify matters.
Well he was shit with words. If he wanted to win Arya and her family over for good, it would have to be with actions then.
Strange beyond belief, the guards outside don't question him as he introduces himself. It is as if they were expecting his arrival. Storm's End is beautiful, the waves crashing along the rocks create a beautiful picture.
"Your Grace, this boy says he has business with you." A rather snooty server introduces him. There are only a few of his uncle's nearest and dearest.
Gendry's begins to sweat as he catches his first glimpse of his uncle. He looked a lot like him, tall, dark hair. But his uncle has a smaller frame, and he is even older than expected. His uncle looks similarly stunned.
Gendry does his best to stand up straighter, appear proud.
"Who are you, what do you want?" Stannis doesn't even look up. What now?
"He shares your blood. Look up and you will see for yourself." A beautiful, pale, red-haired woman offers. She smiles encouragingly at him. He'd never seen anything like her, the layered fabric only enhancing her curves.
"The spittin' image, yer Grace." His right hand man says. Curiously, the man's fingers don't seem to be as long as they should. But he has a kind face.
Stannis inspects him carefully. He feels like a cow being bartered for.
"One of Robert's to be sure."
"Aye, Yer Grace. I've Baratheon blood." He pretends confidence he doesn't yet feel. Would he ever?
"I didn't know there were any bastards left." Stannis expected an explanation. Gendry had been practicing this bit.
"I escaped King's Landing. Eddard Stark arranged for it." This was true.
Stannis raises an eyebrow at that.
"The Starks?" He looks to his man with the finger nubs.
"Aye. I've come to offer peace between the two households. The Starks are not your enemies. They hate the Lannisters more than you do."
"You speak for them? Since when? The young wolf has named himself King."
"Of the North. He cares nothing for the South so long as the Lannisters don't get to keep it." That wasn't exactly how he'd been told to present things, but oh well.
"It's an interestin' idea, yer Grace. We should consider it." The Knight says with a respectful nod towards him. Gendry appreciates it.
Stannis is considering, but doesn't look convinced.
The exquisite woman in the corner suddenly steps closer. She had been regarding him the entire time.
"Loyal to the Starks, or your own blood?" She purrs at him, eyes flashing amber gold.
"I, I..." He can't speak, can't answer. "Um..." He can barely talk around her.
"I can't think what to do with you." Stannis waves him off. "Get yourself cleaned up. We'll talk more in the morning after I've had some time to consider your proposal."
—-
It wasn't as nice as the Riverlands castle, less adornment. But actually, this suited him better. And he was used to living by the water.
Ser Davos had come to see him, to welcome him so-to-speak, or to get a feel for him more like. He respected the man. They were born not far from each other. They laughed over the remembered taste of brown. He had no sense of his uncle except that he wasn't a warm man. He seemed keen on the red woman, that was for sure. Her beauty scared him, and he wasn't sure why. He'd had to pinch himself to look away. What was she? And what was this Red God?
The best thing, the thing he liked best, was meeting his cousin. She was young but full of life. And she seemed to genuinely want to be around him, to talk to him, to know him. He'd never thought of having this and he found the thought of living without it again, painful. She was family. He couldn't wait to introduce her to Arya. They'd get on immediately.
He mentioned as much and she started to look at him sideways.
"What?" He asked.
"So that's why you're so loyal to the Starks." She teased with a half smile. "Scandalous."
His mouth pops open comically, but nothing comes out. He only hopes she won't tell her father, he didn't want anyone using Arya against him.
She doesn't press further, but is clearly amused. She offers a comforting pat on the back before changing the subject.
He'd been here for days, and still no further word from Stannis. While he enjoyed Shireen's company, he wanted something to take back to the Starks. He wanted Lady Stark and The King to be pleased. Hell, he wanted to impress Arya. That's what all this was for, to find a way for them.
One evening, he was summoned to a fine wing of the castle, he went, but with hesitation.
The room was dark as he was encouraged to enter. A few candles lit the darker corners. It felt heavy, oppressive.
Another candle is lit. And in its glow he can see Melisandre. She's in a light robe despite the draft in the castle. Her silvery skin reflected the light like a mirror. Despite the chill of the Stormlands, he felt himself sweat. He knew his tongue would be tied once more.
He found he didn't want to keep looking at her, he looked down rather than stare.
"You are meant to be here. I didn't see it before, but it's right you're here now." He can feel the intensity of her stare, boring through him.
"Ummm. Thank you." He says for want of anything better.
She smiles and it unnerves him further, her white teeth a little sharper than they should be.
"What was it exactly that brought you? What is it you seek?" She puts herself a glass and puts another in his hand.
"I came to ask Stannis to..."
"Yes yes, a truce with the Starks, I know all that. But what do you want?" She cocks a knowing eyebrow at him.
"I came to..." He was going to repeat his same rehearsed speech about forming an alliance with the Starks, but found himself unable to. She stared right through him. "I would do anything for her." He answers instead. Arya. He can picture her face in his mind, as clearly as if she was before him.
"Arya." She seemingly plucks the name from his head. Had he said her name aloud? "Oh, of course, the Stark girl. You love her. I should have guessed."
How had she known? He hadn't meant to tell her anything. She just…
Suddenly she's right in front of him.
"I can work with that." She purrs, putting her pale hand on his cheek, formidable nails cupping his jaw. He tries to move, but can't muster the strength. She takes his hand and puts it on her breast. He tries to pull back, but can't move, even as his fingers caress the fabric of her dress. He looks down at his hand, wondering why he couldn't move of his own accord. When he looks up, he's not sure whose face he's seeing, the Red Witch or Arya. When lips meet his, he doesn't fight it. He falls deep into the memories of Arya.
Arya
Many months passed and near a hundred miles, and Lord Littlefinger still managed to look as smirky and slimy as ever. That little beard, it made him look like the pervert he was.
What a prick!
Be respectful, Arya. Be patient.
No promises.
She bows as deeply as she can manage, and is careful to address her Aunt first.
"Aunt Lysa. It gladdens my heart to be among family. I hope my visit finds you well." She hates the pomp of such a greeting, actually acting like a highborn was exhausting.
Her Aunt looks irritated, lips pursed, stark wrinkles standing at attention.
"Your Mother already begged for aid. And I've already told her my answer." She answers bluntly.
At least she was getting to the point that she could work with. Littlefinger cuts off her response.
"Now My Love, it's always a pleasure to see family." Littlefinger was not family. He did look very pleased to see her.
"So you're my cousin? Are we still betrothed, Mother?" A pasty boy, a bit hunched, asks. That must be her cousin. Something about his voice grated.
"That was promised, My Sweet." Aunt Lysa answers him, playing absent-mindedly with his hair. He rests his head atop her breast, snuggled so comfortably she has to force herself to maintain eye contact.
"So was your army, but you refused. We'll have to renegotiate exactly what was promised." Arya answers. The Hound chuckles beside her and she realizes how caustic that sounded. There went her lady-like manners.
"I don't think I want to marry her." Robin complains. Arya would be offended if she weren't so relieved.
"We can do better, Sweetheart." She strokes his hair. Now that offended her.
"Of course. Why settle?" She forces a smile. "I thought we could come to some other agreeable terms. We are two smart women, we represent our respective lands. Certainly we can come to an agreement without relying on marriage contracts." Arya tries very hard not to let the irritation come out in her voice.
"There will be no terms. I told your mother and I will tell you, we cannot afford to send out one man. The Vayle needs protecting. Enemies are everywhere." She clutches her son closely, planting too many kisses upon his brow.
"Everywhere." Robin intones.
Littlefinger listens on with interest.
"From what? No one has bothered to invade The Vayle in decades, there's nothing they want." Arya bites before thinking better of it.
Aunt Lysa sits up straighter, Robin jolted off her breast, her feathers looking ruffled.
"And yet you deign to beg us for help." Lysa snaps back, hard eyes staring daggers.
"I only meant we should strike at the source, prevent them from ever getting to The Eeyrie." Arya reasons. Truly, she couldn't understand why any of these houses would need prompting. The enemy was truly insidious and would spread, no one was safe. No one with any self respect would let this tyranny stand.
"My family has suffered enough. My husband was killed by these demons. I won't risk me or mine any further."
"My father was killed. Your brother in law. And we're at war. Your own sister must fight. I am here, your niece, your blood, asking you to heed the call of family. We will see your husband's murder paid for, and there will be Lannister gold applenty to keep The Vayle during the winter. Don't turn your back on us. You may very well have need of us one day." At this, Littlefinger intervenes.
"Well said. If we are not our promises, what are we?" Was he speaking in her favor? How was this benefitting him? "We're all family now. We could consider sending some men." He grins in such a way it makes her skin crawl.
"Peter..." Lysa sulks and turns to look at her new husband. She is also wondering why he her new husband is so concerned.
"I wouldn't have come here if it were not necessary. My mother is even now securing a truce with the Freys. With your army..." But Lysa has eyes only for Littlefinger, working harder than ever to maintain his attention.
"I will think things over. But I am tired now." Her aunt is playing with Littlefinger's fingers, looking only at him. "I will… discuss things further with my husband, you may retire and refresh yourself until I summon you." Lysa dismisses her, looking about ready to devour him right there, to keep him interested. Arya has to hold tightly to the contents of her stomach.
Littlefinger dislodges himself from Lysa's side to lead Arya out, to her Aunt's dismay, hovering a little too close. Most likely, if Arya stroked his ego just enough he would convince her Aunt fully. The thought makes her stomach churn and she dismisses it.
She bids him a stern goodnight and he insists on kissing her hand. Sandor sets out to watch over her, settling down right in front of her door to sleep. She feels better for it. She lays down for the night, but can't rest. She would send her mother and brother a raven in the morning and then she and Sandor would leave. She saw now why her mother had so completely dismissed this particularly unsettling branch of her family tree. She missed them all and she envied them. No doubt the wedding was proving a splendid affair.