Let The River In
The tournament started the next day. Though Arya missed the first half to train with Syrio Forel.
She didn't mind. She had no interest in seeing the Axe-Throwing competition anyways.
It was the Joust that interested her. And the Meelee. And especially the Single Combat trials.
She joined her father for the Joust and watched as the Moutain sliced off the head of Loras Tyrell's horse. She felt her father's hands covering her eyes so she couldn't see the blood but she peeked out from underneath them anyway. It didn't scare her. And later she joined Gendry in the Forge to go over the events.
"Although I don't think Loras should've won the Joust though, I mean, technically he didn't knock the Mountain off his horse."
"That's because there was no horse left to be knocked off of." Gendry said. Arya shrugged. "So you think the Mountain should've won?"
"I suppose not." She considered. "I don't much like the Mountain."
"Few do." Gendry said. "Except the Queen. He's her most loyal henchman."
"There's rumours about him doing horrible things." She commented, in the quietest voice he had yet to hear.
"They're not rumours." Gendry said. Arya looked up to find his eyes wide and unblinking. "Everyone's done horrible things."
"That time's over though, right?" She asked.
Gendry turned to face her and noticed again how small she was, sitting on top of the anvil in his forge. She didn't look afraid. She was strong, and fast, and more powerful than anyone else her age or size, but that would be nothing against someone like him, or someone like the Gregor Clegane.
He charged over to her and swept her up in his arms, lifting her off the table like she was nothing at all.
Arya for her part was stunned. One minute she was staring at the floor under her feet and the next Gendry was holding her close. She was overcome by a feeling of warmth, particularly by his breath running down the collar of her shirt.
"Gendry?" She asked, her voice still barely above a whisper. She decided not to bother, and instead let herself relax in his embrace.
"That time is most definitely over." He said into the nape of her neck. Nothing would happen to her, of that he was certain.
"Good." She said. His hair smelled clean like soap but also coated with his sweat. "Still I wouldn't mind getting in some last minute practice." She said as he slowly put her feet back on the ground. "I'd like to be prepared."
"Last minute?" He asked. She nodded but offered no further explanation. "Prepared for what?" He asked.
"Everything." She said, spinning around and drawing her sword.
The next day followed with the Archery competition.
And Prince Gendry attended with Arya by his side. An action that did not go unnoticed.
They sat together, in the presence of the King, who smiled down at them every few minutes. Ned and Cersei were on either side of him. Cersei's eternal frown covered her lips and Ned looked more tired than usual. He'd arrived late, spending more and more time with the Maester's history books and in meetings around the city.
Cat had neglected to attend, instead spending the afternoon returning letters from her sons. Margaery and Sansa enjoyed the view together, fake smiles plastering their faces. They sat two rows down from the Princes, and were joined quickly by Lady Myrcella who descended from her spot next to her mother to watch with her friends.
"It means nothing." Margaery assured Sansa as the two girls glanced over their shoulders again to peak at Arya and the older Prince.
They looked like friends, Sansa could admit, they sat a reasonable distance apart, laughed jovially, talked loudly, and were more focused on the competition than each other. But still, they were together, and that would make people take notice and talk.
"Our plan persists." Margaery said with a smile.
"What are you two whispering about?" Myrcella giggled, turning her attention away from the archers momentarily.
"Love and other vices." Margaery singsonged. "We all have something we've set our eyes on, someone."
"Yes we have." Sansa agreed, staring down at her hands.
"We have?" Myrcella asked, looking around and seeing no one she wanted.
"Yes." Margaery said simply. "We have. And now we must act. Sansa, you wouldn't mind if I abandon you with our lovely princess for a minute would you?"
"Absolutely not." Myrcella said, linking her arms through Sansa's. "We'll plot our children's betrothals to each other."
Sasna smiled at the comment and then frowned at it's implications. When had the world decided that she was not to be betrothed to a Baratheon? And why had no one bothered to tell her?
"Don't fret." Margaery reminded her gently, planting a kiss on her forehead before departing to take a seat next to Joffrey and Tommen.
There was a pair that looked like a couple. Margaery sat turned toward Joff, her leg gently grazed his, her hands played gently along the inches of his arm, wound their way around his hand. Though Joff's eyes tried their hardest to remain intently on the archers he couldn't help himself from being pulled back in by Margaery's gaze. Soon enough it was like there was no one else in the world to them, but each other.
Sansa felt sick. This had all been Margaery's idea. She would marry Joffrey, and Sansa would choose Gendry and become queen. They would rule the Capital together. They would be Southron women of power. Now she was here with Myrcella, unbetrothed, alone, and without prospects. Margaery had Joffrey wrapped around her finger. And Arya...
Arya and Gendry. They may not be a couple. They may not be together. And yes, Sansa knew her sister would fight a betrothal, any betrothal, tooth and nail. But there was something undeniable about the way he was looking at her.
And the most maddening part was that it didn't make Sansa mad at all. It looked sweet. Her sister looked so excited by the competition, the spirit of the tournament had infected the air and she'd caught the fever of it in full force. She bounced in her seat, cheered on each competitor, screaming louder for her favourites, and perched herself on the edge to see the results as quickly as possible.
And Gendry just watched, his enthusiasm equalled hers but it was divided, between the astonishing skill of the archers and the pure enjoyment on Arya's face.
He was in love with her. And there she was, oblivious to it.
But he was a Prince, her future king. And despite his honour and sincerity and virtue and all the good she'd heard of him, and seen first hand, he would have whoever he wanted to have. No matter of assertion on Sansa's end, or promises made forever ago would change a Prince's heart.
At dinner that night, Arya sat by her parent's side. After the meal, Gendry appeared behind her and whispered in her ear.
"Follow me, I have a surprise."
She did, but not without comment.
"Where are you taking me?" She asked as she followed him along the edge of the hall.
"I believe telling you would ruin the surprise."
"Why?"
"Because the point of a surprise is to leave the person with expectations and then hopefully match or exceed them, culminating in a pleasing turn of events."
Arya ran to catch up with him. "Ha ha you're very funny. I mean why are you surprising me?"
"Because it's fun." He stated simply. She followed him down the steps to the gardens. The celebration had spread throughout the Keeps grounds and uproarious laughter could be heard in it's farthest corner.
There was a group of men drinking and shouting boisterously, drowning out any other sound from around the courtyard.
In the middle of huddle sat a tall, wiry man with a scraggily brown beard and shaggy hair. He had a confident smile and laugh and seemed to be the centre of attention.
When he noticed the Prince he stood to attention, casually rising to his feet.
"Evening, your grace." His arms swept outwards in an almost mocking bow.
"Evening." Gendry replied. "Good work today, sers."
They all smiled, bellowing out half-drunken thanks.
"Arya Stark," He said, "Meet Anguy, the Archer who won today's tournament."
"Arya Stark? The Stark girl? The finally found you." He joked.
"My reputation proceeds me everywhere, doesn't it?" She said to Gendry through gritted teeth.
"Everywhere in this city." He replied.
Anguy continued, "Your father offered me a job today, after the tournament, in his Hand's Guard."
"Congratulations." Gendry said, though Arya's eyes remained locked with the young archer.
"I didn't take it." He said shaking his head.
"Then you're an idiot." Arya said not missing a beat.
"Aye, perhaps." He answered. "But after today I'm a rich idiot." He laughed and downed the rest of his drink. Immediately a refilled cup was in his hand.
"A rich idiot with a half-decent shot."
"Hey! It's more than half decent!" He shouted, suddenly offended.
"Are you any good with a sword?" Arya asked.
He shrugged, a noncommittal answer.
"So if you're not staying in the Capital, where will go after the tournament?" Gendry asked.
"Who says I'll leave? Plenty of wine and women for me right here in your lovely Capital, your Grace."
"You never stay in the same place for too long." Gendry said. "You only stuck around long enough to teach and then you took off."
"Did you miss me, your Grace?" Anguy said, inciting a laugh from the group.
"You taught Gendry how to shoot?" Arya asked him, circling closer.
"Aye, I did." He said smugly.
"Then why is our Prince still a terrible shot?" She asked, goading them with an arrogant smile on her face.
"Because your Prince is a terribly slow learner." Anguy replied. "Stubborn as a bull, this one is. Wouldn't take any of my instruction till I let an arrow graze his ear. Then he listened a bit better."
"He never listens to my instruction either." Arya said.
"Aye?" He eyed her up and down and chuckled. "And what's a little thing like you trying to teach our future king?"
"Water Dancing."
"Water Dancing?" Anguy laughed. "You are indeed as strange as they say."
"I am." Arya nodded.
"She any good?" Anguy asked Gendry.
He sighed and nodded.
"Well perhaps one day you will show me your Water Dancing as well." Anguy said.
"Mayhaps, someday soon." Arya said with a wicked smile.
Later, when the night was late and the men were still drinking, Gendry escorted Arya through the Keep back to her rooms.
"I had a feeling you two would get along." He said.
"Thank you." She said. "That was one of the few decent surprises I've gotten since I got here."
Gendry smiled.
Once they neared the stairs leading to her room he worked up the courage to ask, "What were the others?"
"Other what?" Arya asked, her mind off in a dream.
"The other surprises."
"The dragon skulls," She said with a shrug. "The day I found the kitchen." Her eyes lowered to the ground. "Meeting you wasn't as horrible as I thought it would be, either."
Gendry smiled. She wouldn't look at him right now if her life depended on it. And he had to keep himself from commenting on the pink tinge on her cheeks. She's so beautiful, he thought. "Well, I'm glad. Goodnight, my lady."
Before she could hit him he leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek.
He walked away and turned at the end of the hall, finding the staircase empty. He chuckled to himself, She always disappears so quickly.
The next day at the Meelee, Arya waved to a very pale and tired Anguy as he sat in the Victor's Circle.
"Someone had too much fun last night." Arya laughed, Gendry smiled next to her.
She'd decided not to think too much about his kiss from last night. She'd received plenty of kisses on her cheeks. From her mother and father, her brothers on occasion, the septa during the rarest moments of pride, or from lords who'd visited Winterfell, who'd smelled so bad Arya could only cringe as they moved closer. Gendry's kiss had felt different. She didn't like it. Or she supposed she didn't like how little she didn't like it. She rolled her eyes at herself and bunched the fabric of her clothes in her small fists.
A fight caught her attention, but not the one she'd come to see.
"No more." The King said behind them. Arya tried to turn around but Gendry's hand on hers made her stop.
"Our fathers are talking."
"What about?" She asked. She could hear her father's quiet voice speaking in his usual calm demeanour. Gendry was about reply but was cut off by his father's shouts.
"I said no more!" The crowd went silent. The men preparing for the Meelee stopped in there tracks. All eyes were on the King. "I am your King and damn it all to the seven hells you will listen to me! No more of this talk, Ned!"
Arya's father stood next to the King, jaw taut and eyes lowered. "Of course, your Grace. My apologies." The words were stiff but sincere. And with a quick bow he left the Tournament grounds.
"What was that about?" Arya asked.
"Something neither your father nor mine are willing to share yet, with anyone."
Robert Baratheon presided over his silent crowd, "Well?" He said. "Let the fight begin!"
They were practicing together again. They'd made quite a routine of it except now the tournament was taking up much of their time. Usually, in the mornings Gendry would finish with whatever princely duties he'd had or had chosen to partake in, and then he would sneak out and work in the forge. Hard as he tried he wouldn't manage to get much work done because soon after Arya would show up.
She'd appear in the door in her boy's clothes, trying to hide her excitement about the early morning adventure she'd gone on, or the new move Syrio had taught her in her lessons. Some mornings she wouldn't even say anything, just pick up a sword and attack. Some mornings she would talk incessantly, excitedly, in hushed almost whispers, or loud out of breath exclamations, and they wouldn't start practicing for hours, or wouldn't practice at all.
On this particular morning, she came in, not as quietly as the first time, she sat herself up on the stone and watched him working on another new sword. He knew she was there. He'd gotten used to the silent padding of her feet. His arms were tired and sore this morning but he'd forced himself to come in and work, though it was going slow and painful.
With a final swing of his hammer crashing against the red hot metal he sent it flying to the floor and let his hard work sizzle in the basin next to him. Then he turned and stared at Arya, her feet tucked into her lap, her hands fidgeting along the anvil's edge.
"Don't stop on my account," She said. "I'm happy to just sit and watch you work for a while."
Gendry smiled at the compliment and wiped his dirty hands on his equally dirty apron. "Done for the day, m'lady."
"Great!" She said, hopping from her perch, "Let's start practicing then. I'm ready to make you pay for that m'lady."
"Mayhaps, we could take a break from practice today, Arya." He said carefully. She looked at him strangely. "I'm not sure I can lift my arms up for another moment."
"Okay..." She said.
"Sorry to disappoint you."
"That's okay," She said. "We can always work on your footwork instead."
He groaned, but acquiesced.
It was like a dance, much as Arya hated to admit it. It was graceful, and fluid, and beautiful, even without the swords. She showed him how to step, to counter, to match your opponent and all the while he moved in opposite of her as she led, like she'd seen her sister and her suitors during the rare dances at Winterfell.
Once he'd mastered the steps, they began to talk.
"Are you planning to attend tomorrow's event with your father?" He asked. He spoke of the Single Combat competition. His brow furrowed and his mouth twisted as he asked her his question, his mind half lost in concentration.
"I suppose it would be better to sit with him than with Sansa and Jeyne." She replied, weighing her options. Closer to her father meant closer to the King, but Sansa rarely paid attention to the important parts of the tourney. Instead she talked about who wore what or which Knights were the most handsome.
Arya had been floored the other day when Sansa had conversed with her about Gendry's fighting techniques. But her answer must have bored Sansa because she'd hardly said two words to her since.
"Good." He said.
"Why do you ask?" She said, swiftly dodging the incoming threat of Gendry stepping on her toes. She countered with an attack and landed an imaginary blow to his ribs. He was careless this morning, he was distracted.
He was thinking of a conversation he'd had this morning with his father...
The Small Counsel had just adjourned when Robert placed a hand on Gendry's shoulder.
"Stay back a moment, son."
Gendry did as he was told and as his father poured himself another cup of wine, the Prince stood at the balcony, overlooking the courtyard below.
Myrcella was running wildly among the blooming flowers, Sansa with her red hair flowing was chasing her, Jeyne nearby in tow. They still played like children, little girls. It made him smile. Nearby Margaery Tyrell sat with the Queen, observing and talking. Always talking. Those people never seemed happy.
And then there was Arya, off where she thought no one could see her, and he was sure no one was trying to. But his eyes always seemed to drift to her. She sat on the top of the wall surrounding the Courtyard, no doubt stalking a nearby cat trying to learn it's secrets, as her dancing master instructed. He'd told her about Syrio Forel's strange assignments last time they'd sparred together. But it looked as though now she'd given up. The cat was purring happily at her bare foot, the other was outstretched and swinging in the cool shaded air. She had a stone in one hand and a small knife in the other and was sharpening in lazily. She looked happy, off on her own.
"Tomorrow when you win the Tournament, who will you crown as your Queen of Love and Beauty?"
"You're getting ahead of yourself, father. There's no garauntee that I'm going to win the tournament, there are many great knights fighting tomorrow, who have fought valiantly all week. Any one of them could win."
"Aye, many great knights." Robert agreed. "But only one great, future king."
"That's no reason for me to win." Gendry said.
"Of course not." Robert said half-heartedly. "You'll win because you're not a great knight. But a great man."
"Thank you, your Grace."
"Don't thank me," Robert insisted. "Just tell me who you will name as your Queen of Love and Beauty." He gestured into the yard below, as if the only available options lay before him. Again his eyes drifted.
He knew he answer his father wanted to hear, but he couldn't make himself give it.
"Perhaps I'll give the honour to my sister," He jested. "Myrcella could use another flower crown."
The King gave him a laugh that was neither jovial nor honest.
"You have three fine, obvious choices before you, maybe four." He said. "But we both know you'll pick Arya Stark."
"What makes you so sure of that?" He asked, feigning innocence.
"There's a spark there, I've seen it!" He said. Gendry recoiled as his father got closer, the stench on his breath was awful but it was a scent he was used to by now.
"Seen it? You forced it into being!" At this comment, his father seemed offended. He staggered forwards and slammed his hand on the stone blockade.
"I've forced nothing that wouldn't have come about on it's on. Baratheons and Starks, Stark and Baratheons. We're an inseparable force."
"And you're lucky that on that score you were correct." Gendry admitted. "But to use Arya and me to recreate your own past was twisted of you."
"I'm tiring of these accusations!" Robert said. "You and Ned with all your theories, and your bringing up the past. You're here now, what does it matter where you were? He won't let it lie! You won't let it lie! There are things you're better off not knowing!"
"Not knowing?" Gendry said in disbelief. "Everyone in the Capital knows!"
"Do you love the girl, or not?" The King shouted.
"Whether I'm in love with Arya Stark is irrelevant. I'm talking about how you tried to use the two of us for your own sick perversions."
"Hey." Robert shouted, reaching out a meaty hand and wrapping it tightly around his son's upper arm. "I am still your father, and your King. And you will show me respect."
"And I do, every single day. No matter what anyone says about you. But don't deny what your intentions were in bring me and Arya together. You saw an opportunity and you took it. You took it when you saw her and she was just a child, didn't you? Didn't you?!"
That was enough for the King to snap. He grabbed Gendry in both arms and shook him hard. The Prince's arms ached as his father's grip tightened and his head smacked against the pillar behind him.
The sound made them both stop. Robert with a look of shock on his face and Gendry with an unsurprised grimace.
"Name the girl." The King said, eyes cast down, before vanishing from the room.
The problem hadn't been that his father had told him who to name, but that he couldn't truly admit why. And that suddenly, to be with Arya, to look at her and feel his smile grow in her presence, it felt dirty, tainted by his father's intentions.
He was planning on naming her anyways. Though his biggest problem had been that the second he placed that crown in her hands, she'd be furious. Though the thought amused him greatly.
He couldn't imagine how she'd react: would she throw the crown to the ground, would she spit in his face and reject him right there in front of everyone, would she run away again, run from him?
"Mayhaps we should rest for the day." Arya said.
"Why is that m'lady?" He asked, snapping out of his thoughts. She was already halfway to the door.
"Because had I had a sword in my hand, you would've been dead twenty shots ago." She said.
Gendry's mind was still in a fog that night at the Feast. The whole Keep had been in a hushed frenzy all afternoon. He wasn't too sure why. It might've been the bitter excitement at the end of the tournament, the last minute celebrations and indulgences, but it felt like something else.
Servants were running around the grounds in silence, preparing for the night. The cooks in the kitchen were working hard, eyes down as he walked through observing them. And any lords he ran into as he meandered down the corridors gave a curt "Your Grace." before continuing on their ways.
He looked down the table, Arya had been stuffed into a dress she no doubt loathed. It was a deep green wool with silk trim that looked like it might've belonged to Sansa in her younger years. Now Arya tugged at it's sleeves and itched around the collar looking uncomfortable and annoyed. When Gendry caught her eye she rolled hers and offered a sheepish smile.
Margaery Tyrell, normally seated at one of lower tables with her family, had been invited with her brother to join the royal family tonight. She and Loras sat between Cersei and Joffrey.
"Evening, Nephew." Tyrion said, appearing at Gendry's side.
"Why do I have the sinking feeling something bad is about to happen?" He said.
"Because, it probably is." He replied. "Take solace in the fact that my lovely sister wouldn't let it happen until after dessert, or your father's fourth cup of wine."
"If that's her barometer I'm surprised chaos didn't ensue after breakfast this morning." He said, feeling particularly bitter at the sight of his father.
"My, my, aren't we feeling rebellious tonight?" Tyrion teased. "Careful, rebellion's how we all got here in the first place. That's quite an impressive bruise on the back of your neck, Prince Gendry. Pray tell, in which battle did you acquire it?"
"Not sure." Gendry coughed.
"Ah," Tyrion said, understanding. "I see."
There conversation was broken by the sound of Cersei's chair scraping back against the floor.
"And here comes chaos now." Tyrion said, downing the remainder of his wine.
The hall silenced as the Queen began to speak.
"We're gathered here tonight to celebrate not only the end of the incredible tournament, honouring our new Hand of the King." A small applause erupted, Cersei waited impatiently for it's end. "But I'm so very pleased to announce that the tournament has led not only to enjoyment and economic prosperity in the Capital. But as a result of the Starks joining the Baratheons in King's Landing, we have formed another alliance between two of Westeros' greatest houses."
"What is she doing?" Gendry said. Everyone on at the King's table looked shocked and confused, the Starks more so than anyone.
"If I know my sister, it's either something terrible or something terribly brilliant." Tyrion answered.
All eyes remained glued to the Queen's lips as she spoke.
"Yes," She smiled breathily, placing a cold hand on the King's shoulder. "My husband and I are so very, very pleased to announce the betrothal of our son Joffrey, to the beautiful, Margaery Tyrell. May there union be prosperous and may the Baratheons and the Tyrells grow strong together for centuries to come."
She raised a glass and a toast was made. The cooks emerged from the kitchen with a pie big enough to serve the whole hall and then some. And while conversation and celebration erupted the King's table sat in shock and confusion.
"For whatever reason, her brilliance always surprises me." Tyrion said, refilling and immediately emptying his glass again.
"And by brilliance you mean-"
"Her unstoppable maleficence, of course."
"Naturally." Gendry nodded.
"Yes, you are." Tyrion replied with a belch.
Gendry's eyes crinkled. At other end of the table his eyes locked with Arya's.
"Did you know about this?" She mouthed.
He shrugged his shoulders. She looked shocked, and a little amused, but otherwise in true Arya Stark style, unbothered by whatever happened around her. Ned looked at Robert with a strange kind of worry, and Catelyn looked completely caught of guard. Sansa... Sansa looked unsurprised, her lips even seemed to hold a genuine, although somewhat sad, smile.
Gendry chuckled to himself. She knew, he thought, immediately followed by another as his eyes landed on a beaming Margaery Tyrell, She'd being played.
The excitement of the celebration had barely begun when Robert stood, less gracefully than his petite wife, with far more sway in his stance.
"And another alliance has been made. Since tonight is apparently the night for grand announcements, I was planning to save it for after the Tournament but I'll follow in my wife's fashion and share with you all right now that my daughter Myrcella shall be wed in Dorne in the upcoming months." He lazily raised a glass and everyone followed suit in a confused, excited haze. "To the allegiance of the Baratheons and the Martells, may it be as prosperous on their land as any union here on ours. Myrcella will be missed, greatly." His eyes landed on Cersei, who looked ready to kill.
The rest of the evening was a mix of celebration and tears. Joffrey sat at one end in ecstatic obliviousness with his new betrothed. And Myrcella sat at the other, wrapped in the arms of Sansa Stark as she weeped her sorrows.
"What just happened?" Gendry asked when he finally caught up to his Uncle later.
"It's all a game." Tyrion said.
"But to what end?" He asked, the whole night such a blur in his mind.
"You take too much after your father." He said, drunkenly rolling his eyes. "Although it appears even he has learned something over the years." He say the confusion that remained on his nephew's face and sighed. "You've just gotten engaged to Sansa Stark. And you have Cersei to thank for that."
"What?!" He said. He knew the night had been a mess, and perhaps he'd had too much to drink, but he was pretty sure he was still sober enough to notice a third marriage announcement.
"I know you're smart enough that I don't need to explain this to you." Tyrion said. "Take a moment, riddle it out."
He watched as Sansa tried desperately to get Myrcella to smile, pausing in her efforts to look up. Her eyes met Gendry's and she smiled meekly, a blush rising to her cheeks, before returning her attentions to his sister.
And then it clicked. The Starks were still owed a betrothal. Joffrey was paired off with Margaery, though he wasn't sure if that was more the Tyrell's doing or the Queen's. Tommen was still too young for them to even consider a marriage pact, at least for Sansa. And that left one choice. Though suddenly it wasn't his. It had been made for him.
"But... but why ship Myrcella off to Dorne?" He asked.
"He's punishing her." Tyrion answered.
"Myrcella?"
"No, Cersei." He clarified. "She loves her children, and now in one night she's lost Myrcella to a House thousands of miles away, and whether she's figured it out yet or not, she's lost Joffrey to the Tyrells. Two gone in one night."
"So my father crushed Myrcella just to hurt Cersei?" He asked, his finger crunching into a fist as he watched his little sister sob.
"This is something none of you will ever get on your own," Tyrion said, slapping a hand on Gendry's bruised shoulders, not noticing his winces. "So I'll give you this lesson for free."
"What's that?" Gendry asked, waiting for some half-drunken wisdom to be doled out of his uncle's mouth.
But the response he delivered was surprisingly sober. "You're not children, you're chess pieces."