Hey folks! Work has released me for the summer months! And though I still have other jobs to do and such, I have more time to devote to this story. I know I left it for a while, but it was a much needed break. Now, I have more content, and I didn't forget about you lovely readers :) I just had to get my life in order. Self care is important.
Some items of note: Luxeuil-les-Bains is a small commune in France that dates back to the time of the Romans and well into the middle ages. It is close to the Swiss border, and considering the Lafayettes flew over Switzerland many times to go on their missions, it makes sense that a commune in this kind of location would be a place where squadrons would assemble. They weren't necessarily stationed in this particular place, but one like it.
Mourning in the 20th century changed as many things did with the war in place. In many cases black was considered elegant and fashionable in some fashions worn before the war. There was a bit of a shift to wearing black in mourning when the war began, but as it continued and the casualties rose, black started fading out. some would wear white or grey, some even worse purple arm bands due to the fact fabric was in short supply due to the war. However, in the 19th century, mourning was a full, almost spectacle. there were stages of mourning and specific things you had to wear in order to mourn properly even down to what jewelry you wore. And of course, it was socially called for to wear black. this is why a woman like Cersei Lannister, who had to wear black for months, possibly years after her husband's death, would hate the color and not want it at a party.
hope you enjoy this next chapter!
December 23,1917, Luxeuil- les- Bains, France
Arya sat at the table in the corner trying her best to remain invisible. She chewed on a chunk of bread and sipped on a cup of coffee. Gendry was speaking to a few of the mechanics at the front of the tavern in broken French. He was doing a much better job than when she first started teaching him. When he came back, he had two beers in hand and a grin on his face.
"They were impressed with my French," he said by way of explanation.
"No thanks," She said.
"I never said one was for you," he replied. She smiled at his cheek.
"Something came for you in yesterday's post," Gendry said to her quietly. He reached into his breast pocket and procured a letter. Arya could see it was Sansa's handwriting. Arya eagerly reached for it. Gendry placed it in her hand.
"So who writes to us so often?" Gendry asked. Ever since he learned who she was, he was asking a lot more questions, and ever since she decided she could trust him entirely, she was giving him a lot more answers.
"My sister Sansa," she said, "She's the only one back home that knew I left and what I left to do."
"Sansa," Gendry mulled over the name, "I think I saw a picture of her in the paper once. She's beautiful."
"Yes, she is. She's brave, strong, and unexpectedly scary when she wants to be," Arya said as she tore open the letter.
"You should write to her about me. Tell her of my dashing good looks and irresistible charm," Gendry grinned as Arya threw a piece of bread at him.
"My sister is too good for you," She stated indignantly.
"Okay, okay! I was joking, but I'm glad I can get a rise out of you still. You've been so calm lately. It started to worry me."
"It's the Lannister ball tonight, that's all."
"What does that matter? You hate balls. You do, right? I mean you never told me, but I think I know you well enough to take an educated guess on this one."
"I do. And I always hated this one in particular, but my sister is going to be there and Bran, and they'll be alone. With me running away creating a scandal and Robb and Jon being in the trenches, I just wish…" she didn't finish the sentence. She was worried, but she made her choice. She was here. Sansa and Bran were at home.
"So what does your sister say?" Gendry asked, trying to bring Arya back from wherever it was she went in her head. She did that sometimes. She'd just zone out for a moment, thinking about one thing or another, and Gendry would pull her back. He knew what it was like asking "what if" on a regular basis. It wasn't good for you, and he didn't want Arya driving herself mad over things she could no longer control. Arya came out of her stupor and began to read the letter to herself. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.
"What? What is it?" Gendry asked, concern etched on every feature.
"Sansa is wearing black to the Lannister ball!"
'What?" Gendry asked confused. He thought something was actually wrong.
"She says they decided to have the ball despite the war effort, and she is so upset about it she has decided that tonight she will wear black in protest. She is going to walk into Cersei Lannister's house and stand in protest for all to see."
"Women wear black all the time now," Gendry said as he took a swig of beer, "it's the 20th century. A girl like Sansa could wear a black dress if she wanted to."
"Cersei Lannister is still a 19th century woman, and she abhors the color. Too dull, too melancholy, too morbid. After the debacle five years ago when Jeyne Poole wore a fashionable black dress to one of her parties and was publicly exiled, no one dares wear black to her parties…mother will have a fit…"
"You seem surprised that your sister would take such a stand."
"I am," Arya said, "Sansa never causes trouble. She's never taken a stand against anything. Not publicly. She says plenty of things in private, but she is much too careful to let anyone know her true feelings about anything. She says in our world, society affects business and vice versa. To maintain the success of Stark steel, we must maintain pleasant relationships in our social circles as well."
"I see. That's very smart on her part."
"It is, except for the part where she's decided in the middle of a family scandal to create problems with the Lannisters."
"That is out of character," Gendry remarked. He watched as Arya's face fell into one of concern. She scanned the letter again to make sure she didn't miss anything.
"You are worried."
"Of course I am," Arya said quietly, "My sister needs me and I can't be there. I'm supposed to be the one who causes trouble, not her."
"She will be okay." Gendry took the letter gently from Arya's hands and folded it and slid it back in its envelope. He placed his hands on hers. Arya scanned the tavern full of soldiers.
"Gendry, someone will see," she said as she snuck her hands out from under his and into her lap, "You don't hold hands with a soldier, Waters."
"I keep forgetting. I haven't met any pretty soldiers like you," he teased anticipating the swift kick to the shins she always delivered when he said things like that, but it never came. His eyebrows knit together as he looked at her.
"Hey, Stark. It's going to be fine. Your sister can handle herself. You said it: she's strong, and brave, and smart. She can navigate the lion's den just fine." He paused, searching for some sign that she was going to be okay. Her eyes looked down into her cup of coffee, glazed over. She wasn't okay. Hopefully she would be. He would try to make it so.
"The guys were telling me they are really impressed with your flying." Arya looked up. She was sad, her shoulders still slumped, but there was something in her eyes, some small spark that he was hoping would get her out of the place she was in.
"It's true. They've seen your form, your technique. They think you're great. I mean, the Lieutenant is impressed, we know that. You'll be able to fly with a squadron next time, I'm sure of it." Arya's smile started to come back little by little.
"That would be fantastic," she said taking a sip of coffee.
"Though when you make it up in the ranks, I get to brag to everyone that you learned how to be brilliant from me." She laughed a real laugh, straight from her stomach.
"Deal," she said as she tore off another hunk of bread. Gendry leaned back in his chair and took another swig of beer. There it was. There was her old self. His job done, he could now enjoy the rest of the night, sitting in the corner of the tavern with the prettiest-well, the only—girl in the place.