"You shouldn't have sent away all the servants," Gendry said.
"Why not?" his wife replied.
"Do you know how to undo all that?" He asked, gesturing to Arya's fancy attire.
"I'm tempted to grab my hunting knife and make quick work of it."
"Don't," Gendry said. "Jon said he was amazed Sansa gave you that dress, as it's her favorite."
"Alright, then." She thought back to how her sister and Mara had prepared her and began to reverse the process, removing the brooch, the scarf and a few pins from her garments. She instructed him on how to loosen the laces on her bodice and eventually managed to wriggle her way out of the various garments and undergarments. She draped the pile of garments over a chair so they wouldn't wrinkle.
"Does it always take that long?"
"No. I guess having a servant help isn't the worst idea. Although the best idea would be not to wear all this nonsense at all."
"It's a bit cold for that," Gendry teased.
She rolled her eyes and looked at the bed: inviting and covered with a pile of furs. "Oh, Gendry, now this is a bed. This is the kind of bed I grew up with. I used to dream of it when we slept on the ground on our way to The Wall. Come." She slid under the pile of furs and moaned at the pleasure of its warmth.
"I don't trust a bed this nice," Gendry said, but shed his clothes, doused the lanterns and joined her in the warmth.
Arya held the wolf brooch in her fingers, and it glinted in the light of the fireplace. "Sansa gave it to me, but we'll need to have some stags made."
"We need to make some stags," Gendry teased. "But as for pins, you should wear a wolf. You, Lady Baratheon, are no stag."
"You're my husband. I will honor your house," Arya said.
"You will. You will show be how to do honor to a noble name. You'll teach me how to raise lords and ladies and keep a holdfast."
"You're already more honorable than your father."
"I sometimes forget that you knew him."
"His eyes were blue like yours. My father said when they were young, he was trim and strong as an ox. He said he was brilliant and brave in battle, and gave speeches that turned scared boys into soldiers, eager to fight. By the time I knew him…well, let's just say he greatly enjoyed wine and feasting."
"And ladies."
"Yes, and he loved a good joke. What you said when we first met? He would have liked that: 'When I hit iron, it sings. Will you sing when I hit you?' He would have laughed loud enough to be heard over the din of a feast in the great hall."
Gendry sighed. "I was supposed to be a blacksmith. I was good at making swords and armor. What have you gotten me into, Arry? Who am I to have power over other men?"
"Power doesn't just come to those who deserve it. More often, it comes by birth or blood or money. You'll do the right thing with it. I know it."
She kissed her husband and pulled him close, feeling safe and warm in the home she'd stopped believing she would ever see again. What other forsaken hopes were still possible? She kissed Gendry deeply. He did not look at her like she was a creature of death.
"We should make some stags, hmm?" Arya tried to let herself believe that she could be what Gendry saw in her, pouring her hopes into kiss and touch, their bodies hot in the cooling night.
"Of course you can still wear the wolf sigil, Arya. Mother wore the fish of house Tully!"
The women were sitting in Sansa's chamber, sorting through the few trunks of garments that has survived the fire set by the men of house Greyjoy and the depravity of the Boltons, who had either not taken notice of the garments or who had been wise enough not to destroy them, as fabric was in short supply. Garments were regularly disassembled and reassembled to suit new owners and new fashions. Sansa sorted through a trunk and pulled out an example.
"I…I had forgotten." Arya traced her fingers over a padded collar decorated with fish. She remembered now. Her mother had used a pin in the shape of an arched fish. She would dress in green or in Tully blue (that's why Arya had like the color as a girl), and she often embroidered or beaded her clothing with twisting, swimming fish.
Arya admired the direwolves Sansa had embroidered into the shoulders of the grey dress she was currently wearing. Arya gestured to her sister's arm. "Those make me wish I'd paid more attention in my sewing lessons."
Sansa laughed. "Oh, Arya, I'm not sure you could sit in a chair for that long, even now! I'll make you some lovely dresses with direwolves. Don't worry; the dresses will suit you. Not too long or too tight. You'll be able to take long strides, ride a horse and use a bow-and-arrow." Sansa found herself excited at the challenge. "Maybe I could find a way to make acceptable breeches." She was picturing her sister in breeches, a hip-length tunic, a fitted gown-bodice with a hip-length peplum and a full-length coat. It would look at first glance as though Arya was wearing a dress, but without the weight or constriction of skirts about her legs. It seemed a reasonable compromise, and Northerners' admiration of the Mother of Dragons meant that a woman in trousers no longer aroused as much shock as just a year ago. Sansa described the garment to her sister, who beamed.
"I wish could do something nice for you."
"Just remember that next time I need you to do something you don't want to do! On a different note, Lady Mormont will arrive in a few days time. You'll like her."
"Why's that?"
"She's twelve years old and tough as her sigil! She committed men of Bear Island to fight, and after the battle, she's the one who declared Jon king!"
"A twelve-year-old girl?"
Sansa laughed. "The lords were all arguing. She stood up and shamed every house that hadn't helped us win Winterfell. When she sat down, Lord Manderly basically confessed that she'd hurt his feelings, admitted he was wrong, and he and all the Northern lords begged forgiveness, pledged loyalty and chanted, "The King in the North!"
"She cowed old man Manderly? I can't wait to meet her."
Gendry and Jon entered the room. "Who, Daenerys Targaryen?" Jon asked.
"No," Sansa corrected with a smirk at her brother. "Lady Mormont."
Jon smiled fondly. "Aye, you'll like her. Don't know if she'll like you, though."
"Why not?" Arya demanded, frowning.
"Because you married a Barratheon. Didn't Sansa tell you? Lyanna Mormont has strong opinions about who Stark women marry."
"Leanna Mormont has strong opinions about everything," Sansa said.
AN: Comments=motivation=new chapters!