Chapter 7: Sweet Rain
Arya barred her door to all who tried to enter the chambers she'd been given within Storm's End and ignored all laments that she open the door and apologise for her behaviour and her slight on Gendry's honour. She ignored her mother, who raged outside her door for nigh on an hour before Lady Catelyn began beat her fists on the door in frustration. She also ignored the voice of her father through the door sometime later when he tried to reason with her.
Rationally she knew that what she'd done was a poor display of manners, especially on the very first evening, and a poor reflection on her mother and father but she was too furious to care. For days she'd been riding for Storm's End though she positively abhorred the idea of marrying anyone. She'd proved all her life that she was more than a piece of property to be transferred; that she could take care of herself; that she could fight; that she could defend the lives of others.
How could it still not be enough? How could her father do this to her? Arya held no real anger towards her mother, beyond a certain frustration with the woman over her naivety on the matter of marriage. Lady Catelyn had undoubtedly come far since her own time as a nervous bride-to-be but she still believed that a good marriage was the only path for her daughter's lives to take, where they would raise babes for their husbands and do all that was expected of them. Since childhood Arya had known her mother felt that way.
Her father, on the other hand, had been different with Arya about it all. With Sansa he'd simply told her he would make her a good match one day, but with Arya he'd allowed her to think she might have a different life. He'd allowed her to tussle and scuffle with her brothers, to spar with them at weaponry, to wear the clothes she liked rather than dresses. He'd taught her to think of things beyond the gossip of the realm and the art of sewing.
To find that at the end of it all she would still be sold into a marriage she didn't want hurt Arya more than she could say. On some level she knew it hurt her Father too and that if there was some other option he would probably allow her to take it. The fact of the matter was that there was no other option. She could of course live out her days at Winterfell doing nothing with her life, and relying on her brothers and her house to provide for her. She could remain childless and alone with no real purpose other than existing in Winterfell.
Arya knew that while it was all she wanted now, she would no doubt come to resent that existence too. She wanted the glory of riding into battle, of having all in the realm know her name for her great deeds in battle. She wanted the freedom to choose to become a knight or to take the Black or travel across to Braavos and become a Faceless assassin. Arya wanted to be a man. Men could do whatever they wanted and no one pushed them into marriages they didn't want. They could go to war. They could do anything. Growing up, Father had allowed her all the same freedoms as her brothers and to find herself in this position made Arya wanted to rage and scream and cry and break things.
She knew too, deep down, and there would someday come a day when maybe she might begin to think about having children, when she might do as her Aunt Lyanna had done and fall in love with a man. She knew it was possible, and she'd had crushes of her own in the past so she knew she wasn't some unfeeling freak. She knew that there would probably come a day when she was old and spent that she might wish she'd had a husband who would've shared in her life. When she'd might wish for children to carry on her line and her values.
But it was not this day.
Today Arya wanted her freedom like a caged bird yearns to take wing and fly. She wanted to run wild like the wolf, free to do as she chose.
When finally the hours wore on and her parents and even her friends finally stopped calling through her door in an attempt to chastise her, to comfort her, to demand that she apologize to Lord and Lady Baratheon, to Gendry, to everyone who'd been at dinner; Arya finally got to her feet. Nymeria lifted her head to peer at her mistress from the place where she'd laid curled against Arya's side on the bed in her chambers and she watched as Arya donned her cloak and her boots once more.
She couldn't stay here. Not another moment. Not in this chamber with it's silly Baratheon sigils and colours. Not in this castle with these silly Baratheon people. Perhaps not even in the Stormlands. All evening, amid her fury she'd been preoccupied with the strangeness she'd seen in Gendry Baratheon and the ways she'd noticed he was different from the other men she'd met, even her brothers. She kept returning to the fact that he'd been grateful to her for saving him, rather than appalled at her actions, even when she'd carved sigils into the chest of the sellword. She couldn't forget the gleam in those bright blue eyes as he'd watched her curse over the idea of marriage to him.
She wanted to know if he actually enjoyed and condoned her behaviour or if he was simply one of those men interested in seeing the fire in a woman, if only to claim the glory of taming and extinguishing that fire. She wanted to know why he'd asked his father to write to hers. Arya was no stranger to the rumours about the realm concerning her fiery spirit and wild nature. She didn't doubt he'd heard of them. Was he simply interested in being able to say that he was the man who'd tamed the wild wolf?
Did he think his fierce, handsome presence would be enough to intimidate her into agreeing to the match? That she would see him and swoon like one of those fools in the songs? That she needed a big strong bull of a man to protect her? That she might fall in love with him simply for his blue, blue eyes and his roguish grin? His strapping build and strong arms? Did he believe that would be enough to tame the fire in her soul? Did he truly believe he wanted a wife like her?
Arya didn't know, but she was certainly going to find out by proving just how much fire and ice there was inside of her. If he wanted a wife like her, he would have to learn to play by her rules, else she was going to chew him up like the wolf she was.
She slipped from her chambers and into the night to a symphony of thunder and rain and the soft click of Nymeria's claws on the cold stone floor. It was not so easy to navigate this new place in the dark as it was to do so within Winterfell, but eventually Arya made her way out of the castle and into the night. The rain poured down from above, but Arya paid it little mind even when it permeated her cloak and began to drip off her skin. She didn't know exactly where she intended to go. For a moment or two she contemplated the idea of taking a horse from the stables and riding away, disappearing into the night never to return, but she would not bring the dishonour on herself or her House with such actions.
Instead, she wandered the yards of Storm's End. There was no one about at the late hour, and beyond the hearth fires burning low inside houses, no lights were lit. Lightning helped guide her in the darkness, and Nymeria clung to her side. Unlike in Winterfell, the courtyard here was paved with smooth stones sunk deep into the dirt, creating a cobblestone road of the yards. Arya suspected it was to combat the amount of constant rain that fell that would otherwise turn such places to muddy quagmires where one might lose a boot and slip and fall.
She didn't know how long she'd been wandering the yards when she heard the soft clanging of metal on stone and she followed her ears and then her eyes to a forge where the fire was still lit and a solitary figure could be seen hammering away at some new creation. From the size of him, Arya was able to detect who the smith was and before she could think better of it, she found herself moving towards the forge and her intended husband.
He was unaware of her presence when she lingered in the dark just beyond the door, and Arya took the moment to observe him as she'd been unable to since their arrival without arousing suspicion over her interest. He was a beast of a man, easily a foot or more, taller than her. Each of his arms was as thick around as her torso. He was currently shirtless as he lifted and banged his hammer again and again, causing each muscle in his back, arms and chest to ripple and contort with the movement in a way that Arya found almost more hypnotic than watching the firelight flicker.
His chest was covered in curly black hairs that matched those on his head and he was intent on his work as he hammered before he paused to stick the metal back into the fire once more. Arya hated herself a little for the way she felt unable to simply turn and walk away from the forge before he could find her there. She didn't know what it was, but there was something about watching him work the forge that ensnared her as she'd never been ensnared before. There was a smooth rhythm to his motions, a practiced ease to his movement, and with his attention focused on the metal rather than on her as it had been all afternoon Arya realised that if ever there was a man that she was intrigued by, it was Gendry Baratheon.
His intensity showed in his attention to his work, just as it had when he'd watched her inside and Arya found that perhaps there was more to this entire situation than she'd realised. She felt a yearning to ask him all the questions she'd been pondering since her father had told her of their trip.
"Are you just going to stand there in the rain all night watching me, or are you going to speak to me?" his voice growled out over the sound of the rain when he turned a little towards the door as he reached again for the piece of metal he was moulding.
Arya wondered how he'd seen her and whether or not he actually knew she was there. Could she simply slip away as though she'd never been there?
"I can see the firelight reflecting in that wolf's eyes and since she's bigger than any other I've ever seen, I know it's Nymeria. Since she's never far from you, I know you're there Arya. You might as well come in," Gendry continued when she didn't speak or move and Arya glanced down at Nymeria who was watching the man just as intently as she was.
Resigning herself to not being able to walk away now without looking like a coward, Arya stepped forward into the doorway and out of the pouring rain.
"You're soaked," Gendry commented when he caught sight of her and Arya glanced down at herself. She hadn't really noticed the rain, too lost in her thoughts to heed it. The night was still too warm for her blood too, even with the rain, but as she looked at her own soaked clothing and skin Arya realised that she would catch a chill if she stayed this way for too long.
She didn't speak as she took off her cloak and lifted it, twisting it in her hands to try and wring out the heavy water weighing it down. She flinched a few minutes later as she was struggling to wring the whole thing out when Gendry's hands took the material from her and he wrung it with far more strength than she'd been able to, causing another bucketful of water to pour out of it.
"How long were you in the rain, woman?" he complained when he continued to twist the fabric and even more water dribbled out of it.
"I don't know," Arya replied honestly, wondering how he would react if she were to remove her tunic too, which was now dripping wet patches into the hard-packed floor of the forge.
"Give me that," Gendry instructed when Arya's fingers toyed with the fabric.
"What?" she asked, startled by his command and by his familiarity.
"I said give me the tunic, before you catch your death," He told her. Arya hesitated. She wore only a strip of binding material beneath the tunic. Gendry eyed her as he waited, having hung out her cloak already by the fire to dry. "Do it, before I take it from you. I'll not have you dying on me now."
Arya scowled at him and he lost patience with her. She squawked in surprise when he stepped closer and snagged hold of the hem of her tunic, lifting it off over her head before she could fight him off. He chuckled when she growled at him unintelligibly, even as he began wringing the water out of the tunic too, leaving Arya standing with her midriff exposed and her breasts bound only by a thin cloth that was also soaked through.
"I see you're going to difficult about absolutely everything," he commented when she stomped her foot in protest.
"I see you're going to be a big brute and try to push me around as though I won't kill you for it," Arya retorted coldly. She felt self-conscious being so exposed in front of him, in spite of the many times she'd been so scantily clad in the past whilst at Winterfell. Gendry laughed at her threat.
"You haven't changed a bit," he told her as he hung the tunic to dry too before turning that intense stare of his on her once more.
"How would you know?" Arya growled at him, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him angrily.
"We've met before. At Winterfell, when you'd seen only five namedays. We beat each other to a pulp with training swords and both got our arses beaten for it," He told her as moved over to lift the metal he'd been heating back out of the fire as he picked up his hammer and began whacking at it once more.
Arya glared, trying to recall the meeting he spoke of. She'd beaten lots of boys with her little sword, and been punished for it.
"What were you doing wandering around in the dark? Spying on me?" he asked when she didn't comment.
"I wasn't spying on you! I was walking in the rain and contemplating escape when I heard the sound of your hammer," Arya argued.
"You shouldn't be walking around in the rain late at night. You'll catch a chill. The summer rainstorms seem harmless because they're warm so you don't notice the wetness until it's too late," he told her even as Arya tried to ignore the bunching and releasing of his muscles as he hammered what she now realised was a gauntlet.
"You shouldn't be working a forge in the middle of the night either," Arya retorted, still glaring at him.
"Still cranky, I see?" Gendry commented, shooting her a look over his shoulder at her attitude.
Arya lost her temper at the idea of him trying to tell her what to do and being so flippant about her hatred of him and of their situation.
"Why did you have your father contact mine about this ridiculous marriage idea? You can't actually want to marry me?" Arya demanded furiously, "Surely you know my feelings on the idea!"
"You made them quiet plain at dinner, yes," he replied, "And I didn't have my father do anything. I don't know where you got the idea that being male has any less effect on when a person is expected to marry, but I can tell you right now that it doesn't."
Arya glared at him, doubtful of his words even as he stopped his hammering to turn and look at her in the small forge.
"I don't want to be wed any more than you do, Arya," He insisted, clearly interpreting her disbelief, "However, as heir to Storm's End I have no choice. I can't take over as Lord without a wife, and Father is insisting that now is the right time for me to do so. And so for the better part of a year he's been having eligible ladies from all over the realm brought here for me to meet with them, all with the hopes of making a good match and seeing me wed one of them."
"And you thought it would be fun to meet with me?" Arya scoffed at him, unable to keep from laughing.
"I thought after meeting Larissa Lannister that I wanted nothing more to do with a simpering, foolish little idiot of a woman whose only interest was in bragging to her friends over becoming Lady Baratheon of Storm's End. And so, in a fit of frustration I shouted at my father that if he was so insistent that I must marry now, he had to find me the type of woman who would argue with me and fight with me about things. Who would challenge me on decisions when I was making the wrong one. Who would call me an idiot when I made mistakes. I told him to find me a woman who actually knew how to run a kingdom and who wouldn't be terrified at the sight of me in my battle armour," Gendry retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at her hard.
"And so he wrote to my father," Arya sighed, feeling deflated now and leaning against the wall across from him.
"I didn't expect my father would have any luck finding the type of woman I shouted at him that I wanted for a wife. I expected he might search for a few more years, giving me the freedom to avoid being wed and becoming Lord for a time longer, before I would inevitably have to settle for one of those simpering idiots whose only concerns would be gossip and sewing and raising my sons. Leaving me to run my kingdom however I want without interference," He said.
"Then why am I still here?" Arya demanded, beyond frustrated now.
"Because you're all those things I shouted about wanting in a wife," Gendry shrugged, "And since I doubted such a woman existed I gave Father my word that if he found such a woman I would marry her. Don't delude yourself into thinking I'm any more pleased about this match than you. I'm not. I don't want to be wed either, but as we both must, it makes sense for us to wed each other."
"How does that even remotely make sense?" Arya asked, confused now and feeling a little better about the whole situation to know he was no more for it than she was.
"Because we both have to be wed. Whether we like it or not. So you can make a big deal about this and kick and fight and scream all you want. If you outright refuse to marry me then you'll be taken away back to Winterfell and your mother and father will continue to search for a husband for you. One with far less tolerance of your behaviour and your attitude. No doubt one who would eventually resort to beating you to keep you in line."
"I'd kill any idiot stupid enough to try," Arya interrupted through gritted teeth.
"I don't doubt it," Gendry said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "Which is why it would make far more sense for you to stay here and be married to me. I don't care if you prefer horse riding to sewing, and sparring with weapons to dancing. If you want to ride into battle with me, be my guest. At the end of the day, the two of us wed will result in you being able to be who you are without being chastised for it, and I'll get a wife who will actually be useful to helping me run this kingdom rather than some simpering fool who'll bat her lashes at me and smile coyly as though that is all I require in a wife."
"Do you really have any idea what you'd be getting yourself into, marrying me?" Arya asked him seriously. This discussion was one that was actually improving her mood over the entire idea of being wed to anyone. She'd expected a man like Gendry, so handsome and rugged and foreboding, to hold certain ideals about what he wanted in a woman. All of them being what she was not.
"A shit-storm, I imagine," Gendry replied drily.
"To put it lightly," Arya smirked.
"If that's what it takes. I'd rather wed you than some scheming bitch like that Lannister whore," Gendry shrugged at her.
"Why?" Arya asked, baffled by the very idea.
"Because at least with you, I'd know if you were trying to kill me because you'd come running at me with a sword or try to smother me with a pillow or something. You wouldn't send anyone else to do the job for you because that wouldn't bring you the satisfaction of seeing me die."
Arya realised in that moment that Gendry Baratheon was far smarter than she'd given him credit for.
"Wouldn't you prefer a wife who doesn't want to kill you?" Arya asked.
"You don't want to kill me. Not really. At least not because of who I am. You just don't want to get married," Gendry grinned at her then.
"You're not going to give up on the idea of wedding me, no matter what I do, are you?" Arya asked, knowing a lost cause when she saw one.
"Not a chance," Gendry replied, "Are you going to continue to be difficult about it and make a scene at every meal?"
"Why would I need to? Everyone knows now how I feel about marriage." Arya shrugged.
"So what happens now Arya Stark?" Gendry asked her, a grin still playing on his face and making him look far handsomer than any man had a right to.
"Now I test your limits and we work out whether you really want to marry a woman like me or if you should've just picked a woman who would raise your children without a peep," Arya told him, returning his grin with a vicious one of her own.
"But you already know I'm not going to throw you out of here," Gendry frowned.
"So says the currently calm and untested Lordling," Arya taunted.
"But marrying me is in your best interests too," Gendry argued.
"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't. It's well and good for you to say now that you don't care what I do, that you'll tolerate it and condone it, but for all I know, you're just saying that so you don't have to marry someone boring. It might be that you can't actually stand it when I ride out on my own to explore without an escort, or when I say something not at all ladylike to your small folk or your mother or some other lord. And if you can't handle it when I do those things, you certainly won't handle it when all your bannermen protest having their Lady among the ranks of your army or when they call for me to be bearing your sons rather than defending theirs."
"I see, so you're going to test me and see how long it takes for me to lose my temper with you and try to relegate you to our bedchamber?"
"I'm going to test you and make sure that if I marry you, I won't end up needing to kill you."
"By pushing me and seeing how long it takes for me to want to kill you?" Gendry nodded as though he understood and Arya couldn't help but grin.
"Exactly."