Chapter 3: Arya
September
"Why are you even here? I don't like you."
"We were having a conversation," mumbled the fat boy.
"No, you were talking and following me."
They were sitting in Arya's kitchen before Arya had really been aware that he had followed her home. They had been working together on a project due the next week in Semantics ("Food Terminology and Semantic Roots") and when they had finished, the boy, whom Arya had taken to calling Hot Pie because of his obsession with the food, had continued chatting with her about High Valyrian morphology until she had zoned out.
"I'll go then…" mumbled Hot Pie, looking so dejected that Arya felt guilty.
"No—" she paused, "I have to leave in ten minutes anyway for fencing. Do you want something to eat? I usually make a quick sandwich before practice."
Hot Pie smiled, said he wasn't hungry, and launched into a discussion of the kinds of pies that he baked in his dad's shop.
Arya only half listened, and soon she led Hot Pie out of the house. He turned left, back towards campus, she turned right, towards the Bastard House.
"What are you doing here," asked Jon, as he sprawled himself on one of the couches in the living room after letting her in.
"Avoiding someone. I said I had practice."
"Don't you have weight lifts on Wednesday mornings at some ungodly hour?"
"Yep. I just didn't know how to get rid of him."
"You could have just asked him to leave," shrugged Jon.
"Don't know how he would have taken that. First years are so needy."
Jon laughed. "You're a first year, little sister."
"So I can speak on it with authority." She threw herself into a chair.
"As you will."
"What are you up to?"
"I was trying to take a nap between the class I'm taking and the discussion section I'm teaching so that I can stay awake tonight at my shift. But if you've got something important to talk about, I can triple shot an espresso tonight."
"I've got nothing. Just here to say hi."
"Right-o." And Jon closed his eyes.
Arya was half-dozing herself when Jon's phone buzzed on the coffee table. Jon was snoring lightly and clearly hadn't heard it. Arya glanced at the screen.
Gendry Waters: I've left my keys at work. Can you let me in so that I can grab my notes before heading to section?
Arya went to the front door, and found Gendry standing outside.
"Hello," he said. His face was surly.
"Jon's asleep," she explained stepping aside so he could hurry in.
"Thanks."
"How do you forget your keys at work. Don't you keep them in your pocket?"
"Not when I'm at the garage. I know someone back home who accidentally electrocuted himself because his keys were in his pocket. Don't ask how."
"It seems kind of stupid." She was hardly aware of following Gendry upstairs, but suddenly she was in his room.
It was a very neat room, small. His desk was a mess with papers, and his laptop was sitting open and charged, but apart from that, everything seemed to be in its proper place. Even the bed was made. Arya didn't know anyone who made their bed themselves—not even Sansa. There was a faint smell—of coffee and something else—that she found rather pleasant.
"D'you mind leaving so I can change? If I can't shower, I should at least be mildly presentable to my students."
Arya turned around and asked him over her shoulder, "What class do you TA for?"
"Chivalry and the Hook-Up Culture. It's an anthro course."
"I figured as much."
"It's decent. The lecturer is boring though, so I have to be really on my shit. I kind of feel bad for the undergrads who take it."
He was passing her, heading back down the stairs at a decently quick pace. He had replaced his oil-covered t-shirt with a button down. He stopped in the kitchen and rubbed some water on his face.
"There's some oil on the back of your neck," pointed out Arya.
Gendry tilted his head, as though expecting to be able to see it. Arya guffawed.
"It'll just have to be there, then," he muttered. "Thanks for letting me in," he called as he headed back out the front door. "Lock up after me?"
She heard the door click shut and went to lock it. She saw Gendry hopping on a bike and taking off in the direction of Harbor Street.
Jon stirred.
"What time is it," he mumbled.
"Four thirty."
"Perfect," he sat up, stretching and yawning. Then he looked at her. "We really should try and get you a key, if Frey lets us make a copy. You and Sansa both."
"It would be handy," she said, leaning against the couch. "I'm going to head home, I think."
"Cheers. See you, then."
She got home to find Sansa curled up in the couch, wearing sweatpants and a light sweater, reading through an enormous textbook.
"What on earth is that for?"
"My seminar on the War of the Five Kings. It's fascinating. There is some really crazy documentation on it."
"Is that Tyrion Lannister's class?"
"Yes." Sansa's voice was completely neutral.
"How is it?" Arya was not asking about the class.
Sansa had already registered for Lannister's class by the time that Joffrey was kicked out, and he had written her a long email to the effect of "I completely understand if you want to drop my class. But know that 1) I'm not my nephew 2) I abhor what he did to you 3) I would love to have you in my class. I wouldn't have accepted you otherwise." Sansa had decided not to drop it in the end, though no one really understood why.
"That book looks like it could be a murder weapon."
"Well, if you don't shut up, there's always the possibility that it might yet be one."
Arya really liked Sansa's new sense of humor.
She climbed the stairs to her own room and settled at her desk to begin her Ornithology homework.
She hoped Robb was right about the easy part of Ornithology. She didn't see how birds could be surprisingly interesting. She lost track of time doing a reading about the mating tendencies of seagulls, and before long, she heard Roslin calling her downstairs for dinner.
"I made grilled vegetables. You're welcome to them if you like." She was already pouring some into from a cookie sheet into a bowl for herself.
"Where's Sansa?" asked Arya. This was the sort of meal that Sansa would probably like. Arya preferred meat.
"She went off to Ballroom, I think. Should be back around nine."
"This is really good!" Arya exclaimed, popping another grilled pepper into her mouth.
"You don't have to sound so surprised."
"I'm not. I just meant…Usually vegetables don't taste so good."
"That's because you aren't cooking them right. My stepmother always used to talk about how vegetables need to be cooked differently from meat. I didn't believe her until I tried being a vegetarian." Roslin hadn't sat down at the table. She was leaning against the counter.
"Why did you stop eating meat?"
"I eat meat now. I did it in high school to tick off dad. I mean, I try to eat more vegetables than meat because they're good for you, but meat's tasty." Roslin grinned.
"Did it work? Ticking off your dad?"
Roslin cocked her head, considering. "Well, this was around the time that Olyvar started dating men, so I don't honestly think he noticed." She sighed. "He was too busy trying to convince Olyvar that no son of his should be gay. As if he didn't have enough straight sons to be getting on with." She rolled her eyes. "Olyvar's always been better at rebelling than me."
"I think I'm the best rebel in my family, personally."
"Yeah, well. You have less competition. I'm his twelfth child. And there are four more that are younger than me."
Arya almost choked on her food. "And I thought I had a big family."
Roslin laughed. "That's generally the response that piece of information gets."
"Sixteen children? That's crazy. How does he feed you all?"
Roslin shrugged. "He's got some money put away somewhere. And he rents houses to students. I dunno. He does a good job supporting us, even if he can be a bit…well…hard to deal with."
Arya nodded and took another bite of vegetables.
Then Roslin asked, "Are you having fun? Being at university, I mean. I know it's different when you are so far from home."
Arya finished chewing, swallowed and replied, "It's fun. I'm getting on better with Sansa than I anticipated, so that's good."
"You two used to fight a lot?"
"Like wolves over a scrap of meat. I think just because we could."
"Well, keep it that way. I like peace in my house, thanks."
"I'll do my best," grinned Arya.
"Fencing's good?" Arya wondered briefly why Roslin was grilling her (luckily in a way different from the vegetables).
"I like Syrio. It was a good choice to come here for fencing I think. The team's nice. I don't know them too well just yet. But I figure they'll haze me at some point and then that will change."
"Any boys you like?" Roslin winked.
The immediate answer was a no, but fearing that that might be a little too rude, Arya settled for shaking her head and murmuring, "Not yet. I'm not looking for anyone though."
"You'll find someone. One day he'll just cross your path and you won't know what to do without him."
Arya wondered if that was what had happened with Roslin and Robb. But she knew better than to ask. Or rather, there was a Sansa-voice in her mind telling her not to.
It was bloody hard to have a conversation with Roslin sometimes. How are you not supposed to ask your brother's ex-girlfriend how she could bear living with you, when he had left her in such a humiliating manner last spring?
Roslin was watching her, and Arya scrambled for something to say. "What about you? I mean, you aren't…you've haven't been…seeing anyone?" she asked lamely.
A slight smile crossed Roslin's face. "Well, not really. I mean…I've been crushing a bit on your uncle. He's very good-looking. But I'm not pursuing it or anything. He pops around sometimes when you and Sansa aren't here because he doesn't know your schedule and we chat some."
"Well…good luck with that. I think he's a bit of a twit."
"Yes, but a nice twit. And I could go for nice right about now."
When dinner was done, she went back upstairs to start a very long, very boring reading on syntactic methodology and why it was important to the study of syntax.
Her phone buzzed.
Robb Stark: How're birds?
Trust Robb to text her when she was trying to get something done. He really did have the worst timing imaginable. He had spent most of the past few years texting her when she was preparing for fencing tournaments, or when she was three seconds away from falling asleep. Mum had always blamed the distance. Arya just thought he didn't really know how to gauge timing.
Arya Stark: Boring thus far. How is law.
Robb Stark: Similar. Jeyne says hi.
Arya rolled her eyes. She didn't know Jeyne very well. But she was frustrated with Robb's interruption and was feeling some house loyalty to Roslin—perhaps because she had cooked dinner.
Arya Stark: So does Roslin.
That would shut him up, she hoped.
Her phone buzzed again a few minutes later.
"What, Robb?" she mumbled to herself.
But the number was unknown: Thanks for letting me in earlier. I got your number from Jon.
Arya Stark: Gendry?
Who else?
Arya Stark: You could have said something.
Gendry Waters: Do you go about letting random people in to random buildings all day?
Arya Stark: No, stupid. I just didn't have your number until now.
Gendry Waters: Well of course you didn't. I only just gave it to you.
Arya Stark: Don't you have better things to do than pester me? I'm trying to get work done.
Gendry Waters: Ahh work. That plague of the undergraduate. How fare the languages?
Arya Stark: Like you would even understand it if I told you.
Gendry Waters: I'll have you know that I have taken a linguistics class before. I know some of the things you think would go straight over my head.
Arya Stark: Did you take a socio-linguisitcs class?
Gendry Waters: Yes. Language Death.
Arya Stark: That's not real linguistics.
Gendry Waters: What do you mean, that's not real linguistics? It was in the linguistics department, taught by a linguistics professor.
Arya Stark: Yeah, but socio-linguistics does too much stuff with, you know, the socio- bit. So it doesn't count.
Gendry Waters: I'm pretty sure that's not how that works.
Arya Stark: I'm turning my phone on silent. Go away.
True to her word, phone silenced, she turned back to her linguistics reading. But the combination of Robb and Gendry had set her completely off her syntax reading. Within ten minutes, she sighed and looked out the window.
The lights of the Bastard House glowed across two back yards. She wondered vaguely if she could see into Jon's room with binoculars. It might prove useful for blackmail one day.
She reached for the binoculars he had given her and trained them on the second floor of the house. She could just make it out through the trees.
She almost fell out of her chair.
Gendry was standing by the window of his bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, drinking a mug of something—coffee she imagined, based on the smell of his room. He placed the mug on the desk and stretched, yawning.
The towel dropped.
And Arya did fall out of her chair.