Chapter 5: Under Scrutiny
Gendry Baratheon watched the expert way Arya Stark manipulated herself into not needing to wear dresses for as long as it would take for more to be measured and sewn with a sense of awe and dread. There could be no mistaking that she had obviously planned out her strategy and expected her mother's fury and disapproval. She had even come up with a viable reason to have given away her dresses that wouldn't allow Lady Stark to question her on the matter without sounding as though she disapproved of Arya being charitable.
He was even more unnerved when Lady Catelyn managed to pull Arya back into line in spite of the gloating grin that had spread across the younger woman's face by telling her she would have more dresses made alongside her wedding dress. Gendry found the deathly glare Arya levelled at her mother's retreating figure most unsettling and he didn't doubt that she was thinking about throwing a weapon of some kind at the woman.
She didn't speak for a long time after her mother left the room, but had fallen instead to swigging from her cup as though she didn't really like the taste of the wine she was drinking but approved of the mind-numbing effects of the brew. She had been frowning for a long while as Gendry watched her.
He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was being rather unseemly to be watching her with such scrutiny, but he couldn't help it. She intrigued him. The minute she'd walked into the hall dressed in that form fitting tunic, he'd been guilty of imagining tearing it off her in his bedchamber. That in itself was unnerving because while Gendry ordinarily fancied a fuck as much as the next person, he very rarely imagined himself actually fucking anyone. He'd certainly never done so in regard to the other ladies he'd met in the past moons. When he'd met Larissa Lannister he felt certain his cock had tried to crawl back inside his body where it would be safe from her taloned clutches.
That wasn't the case with Arya. Gendry wanted her. Badly. He was discovering all the stories he'd heard from other men about their lovers or the whores they paid were suddenly accosting him in the most vivid of daydreams, all of them starring the grey-eyed woman glaring around the hall. It was just as well she'd been contrary and purposely ignored the empty seat beside him, choosing to sit by her father instead, because Gendry felt sure that had she sat so close to him he might've been unable to keep his hands to himself.
Every time she moved, his eyes were drawn back to her, even when he tried forcing his gaze away from her. He felt certain that even simply upon meeting and scarcely interacting with the Stark girl that he was gaining new insight to why it was that his father had been so bitter about Lyanna Stark choosing another. He felt like a man possessed as he watched her. That feeling of gazing at something beyond his control and yearning to possess it gripped him fiercely and Gendry knew without a doubt that he was going to do whatever he had to in order to marry her. Of course, he'd have to be smart about it. Telling her fervently that he wanted to marry her because he couldn't stop fantasizing about fucking her didn't seem the best approach and other that her formidable presence and her uncanny ability to manipulate others, Gendry really knew nothing about the woman.
He suspected however, that were she to learn of his interest in actually marrying her, she would run from him faster than a deer from a wolf. He would have to go about approaching the entire idea very carefully indeed, lest he spook her or otherwise irritate her into refusing. He didn't doubt that while her parents might condone the match, Arya would be impossible and might try to murder him in his sleep should he attempt to marry her against her will.
Focusing his attention back on the woman across the table from him, Gendry narrowed his eyes as he noticed that she had taken hold of the arm of the serving girl who had just refilled her cup with wine and she was whispering to the girl whilst looking pointedly at something over his left shoulder. He frowned when he saw the serving wench glance where she looked before looking confused and then turning to Arya and shaking her head to whatever question Arya had asked her.
"Gendry," his father interrupted his scrutiny with a booming voice, "What say we ride out at dawn and see if we can't find these raiding bandits?"
Gendry glanced at his father before looking at Ned Stark and the other men at the table, all of whom were paying far more attention to the discussion at hand than to his future bride.
"Sounds like a solid plan, Father," Gendry replied before shooting a glance over his shoulder to see what had captured Arya's attention enough to speak to a serving wench about it. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, only a collection of servants preparing the hall for the feast they would have that night in honour of the Stark's arrival.
"Excellent!" Robert boomed, his cheeks glowing a ruddy shade of pink due to the wine he was consuming, "We'll sort these bastards out and get the situation back under control. Hopefully they'll put up a decent fight!"
Gendry caught the way Ned Stark looked as though he wanted to roll his eyes at the idea of the war-mongering his Father was spouting. No doubt it would grow from this discussion and Gendry didn't doubt that soon his father was like to suggest something ridiculous like beginning a battle with the Greyjoys or something of equal measure in ridiculousness. As they continued to speak, the women arrived and Gendry caught the look of disdain his mother shot at the tunic and britches Arya wore in place of a silk dress, the likes of which she and his sisters were clad in. Of course, the look lost some of its effect when Mya Stone strode into the hall dressed in dark britches and a white blouse beneath a leather vest. Her dark curly hair was wet from the storm and Gendry didn't doubt she'd been out riding all day.
His bastard sister was acknowledged by his father and yet Mya made no effort to look like his more lady-like younger sisters. Instead she was like Arya. She wore britches and preferred riding horses to sewing, preferred to talk about battle tactics than the gossip of the realm. In fact Gendry noticed as his sister strode over to the table, her short hair curling about her ears, that Arya was watching Mya with interest as though she had spotted a kindred spirit.
When Mya dropped into the vacant seat beside him, Gendry grinned at her sideways.
"And how are you today, dear sister?" He asked her in a low voice as his mother and sisters, along with Lady Stark took their seats.
"Fine, brother, and you?" Mya asked him. Her voice was low pitched and husky when she spoke, and her eyes - identical in colour to his own - glittered with mischief as she grinned back.
"Just fine. Well, in fact," Gendry replied, knowing she was grinning over the idea of him meeting with another prospective bride. He often lamented to her that he had no interest in marrying and she had even less tolerance for manipulative bitches than he did. He and Mya had spent many a good evening laughing and joking about the women of the realm his father had thought to see him wed.
"Well, where is this newest prospective bride of yours then?" Mya asked him, reaching for her cup of wine and taking a healthy swig from it as her eyes scanned the hall, clearly looking for some simpering idiot.
"Over there, in the red tunic," Gendry nodded in Arya's direction. He watched with amusement when Mya's eyebrows rose at the sight of Arya.
The tunic really was rather becoming on her lithe form, and the colour matched her olive skin tone nicely. The low cut of the front was perhaps his favourite feature, but Gendry was blaming that on the fact that his cock had clearly decided she was to be his bride and so had already taken a liking to her. After all, she bore only a modest amount of cleavage on display and like the rest of her, her breasts were small and pert beneath the tunic rather than great jiggling globes of flesh the likes of which he'd noticed on girls like Larissa Lannister and even Arya's cousin Rhaenyra Targaryen. He certainly preferred Arya.
"Well, she's not what I expected," Mya commented from behind her wine glass even as Gendry noticed that Arya's gaze had strayed to something behind him again.
"I told Father I wouldn't marry a simpering little fool, and he wrote to Ned Stark to send for her. She's even more defiant of the customs and traditions upheld by women than you are," Gendry told his half-sister, unable to hide his own smirk.
"That's Arya Stark?" Mya asked him cutting a glance his way.
"Sure is," Gendry nodded.
"Oh, Brother. I think perhaps Father has you in something of a pickle with this one. I've heard many a tale about the wolf-girl of the North. Are you sure you can handle a woman like her?" Mya asked him seriously, holding his gaze. Gendry wondered what she'd heard.
"I suppose. I put up with you, don't I?" He shrugged, refusing to give away his misgivings about the idea of actually wedding the girl.
It was one thing, after all, to daydream of fucking her three ways from Sunday. It was entirely another to contemplate the idea of tying his life to hers for the rest of his days. If what he'd heard was true she was more than likely to fight him at every turn; to defy his instruction or his will; to involve herself in things a Lady of the house ought not really be involved in. Mya got away with it because she was a child born of fierce passion between his father and a woman from his youth whom he'd fancied himself in love with before he'd learned of his betrothal to Lyanna Stark. Mya was the apple of their Father's eye and he indulged her habits because she was bastard born and therefore required to live a different life to that of a highborn lady, even if she was acknowledged.
Arya, on the other hand was a Lady no matter how she might protest the idea and abhor the label. She was of high birth, born to a Lord and a Lady of the Realm and as such she was expected to behave in certain ways. Were he to marry her, his people would expect her to behave like a highborn lady. They would expect her to be ladylike and polite, to represent his House and her own when in public.
And he doubted she would ever do so adequately.
"You do, but not in the capacity of a wife. If you marry this girl... she'll keep you on your toes Gendry. Are you sure you can handle the stress she will cause you? You have a short temper, you know it as well as I. And every time you lose it she will believe that to be a battle won in her favour. She will provoke you for the sake of it, she will defy your wishes. Can you run the castle and see to your subjects and perform all the Lordly duties expected of you when you have a wife who will embarrass you among the other Lords and Ladies, who will challenge your every directive, fighting you tooth and nail over everything? Can you see her bearing your children and raising them to be respectable future lords and ladies of the realm?"
Gendry pondered the idea for a few long moments.
"I can see myself fucking her into submission if I have to," he replied eventually.
"Oh no," Mya sighed, eyeing him closely now, "You've already decided to marry her, haven't you? She's ensnared you just the way her Aunt ensnared our Father so many years ago."
Gendry didn't comment, though he did return his gaze to Arya, noticing that she was fiddling with something at her hip. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was, but he couldn't make it out, the fold of her tunic and the table hiding whatever it was from view.
"I don't know if I'm ensnared," Gendry told Mya as he turned his attention back to her, "But I'm certainly intrigued. She is anything but a simpering little fool, and thus far I've not even seen her look at me favoruably even once, let alone seen the bat of an eyelash or the seductive smile of a tart trying to lure me into bed with her."
"So basically she hates you, doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to marry you, and you're intrigued by that?" Mya asked, laughing now at whatever expression was on his face.
Gendry nodded, knowing it sounded ridiculous but unable to feel ashamed over his yearning to possess Arya Stark in every capacity.
"Well then I wish you luck. You're going to need every bit of it," Mya told him.
Gendry clinked his cup against Mya's accepting her luck, knowing he would need it.
As he did so he noticed the sound of footsteps behind him, and just had time to see a flash of skin rushing towards him in his peripheral vision before Arya Stark hurled a dagger across the room right at him face.