The Mute

Arya cringed in the kitchen doorways in Harrenhal. She's heard too many stories about this place growing up and knew it to be as backwards and cursed as all the seven hells combined. She knew the ownership was constantly changing hands, nobody wanted a placed covered in gossip, disgrace, and disillusion. She knew this was where Rhaegar Targaryen had name her dead aunt Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty. She'd tiptoed around the grounds a few days ago and when she found the dilapidated tourney hall she'd wondered where her father had sat. She decided he might've liked a seat near the back, but Lyanna, if she was as alike to Arya as her father said, would've dragged closer to the front. She imagined him, a young man, before he'd even met her mother, Lady Catelyn, before she or any of her siblings were more than a whisper or a thought in his mind. The memory made her sad, and she didn't turn her head back to that direction again, though she found herself standing on the same ground every day, and sometimes in the evening too.

She knew then why people had such a distaste for Harrnehal. Memories made the air bitter and the land putrid. Still, they hadn't killed her. They hadn't killed anyone, in fact. The Brotherhood was still tied up in the styes where they might've kept livestock, they were still being tortured, and fed only enough to keep them alive so they might answer questions about their plans. With a grunt Arya pushed those thoughts away, what could she do for those men now? They'd set her to work in the kitchens. They'd been searching for the brotherhood for months and after finally finding them they had no use for anyone else, especially when the brotherhood had labelled her as some serving boy they found in a nearby tavern who'd followed them to try and steal from their merger pockets. It was a hard lie to swallow, since she was growing more and more into a woman everyday and since she'd had Needle tucked into her hand, which was now once again lost, but they'd managed to sell it. And it seemed the only words Gendry had needed were "I'm a Smithy" and he'd practically been given the run of the Forge. Luckily for him, no one outside of King's Landing had seen his face. She supposed the Prince would be wanting to thank Queen Cersei for that. She hadn't seen him in days.

Harrenhal changed hands so frequently she could not longer be certain of who was running it, only that it wasn't someone who was on her side, not that that narrowed down the list by much. She stared out the kitchen door into the pens where a man named Poliver was circling the Brotherhood, who laid tired and beaten on the muddy ground. Perhaps it was...

"Boy," A voice called, and Arya whipped around. "Take this meal to the Forge, when you're done come back, you're supposed to serve the Tower Hall next and you look like shite so you'll need to tidy yourself up first." She held her arms out and silently accepted the tray. The cook who handed it to her and sniffed over her head. "Carry it quickly, eh? You smell like piss and wet dog and I don't want it ruining my food." She nodded silently and rolled her eyes once she'd turned away.

As she approached the open door of the Forge she felt the heat increasing as she got closer, it made her sweat all over.

He stood working at the Forge, and between the roaring heat of the fire and made her dizzy. The memory of the Forge at the Red Keep danced in front of her eyes. "Arry?" She stopped still and focused on him standing in front of her, as torn and sweaty beige tunic covered his body and brown breeches reached down his legs, similar to her own, the uniform of the poor souls of Harrenhal. She held the food out to him but didn't say a word. "How long have you been standing there?" She shrugged.

Gendry ate and she waited. He knew she still wasn't talking to him, and he had been one to compensate silence with nervous, one-sided conversation. As he shovelled his meal into his mouth, tired from working since the crack of dawn. But they fed him well here, since he was the only smith they had. He worked his way through several topics, all of which received no response from Arya.

He tried talking about her work in the kitchens, his work in the Forge, some of the information he'd gathered over the last few days, not that there was much to share on that account. Finally he paused, and truly looked at her, no longer feeling like he had anything to lose by doing so. She looked ragged and tired, like she hadn't eaten or slept in all the days they'd been there. He ripped a chunk off of the half loaf of bread she gave him and threw it to her, it landed in her lap. "Eat." He said, hoping she'd respond to a command more than a offer of kindness. To his surprise she nibbled at it halfheartedly.

On the road she'd been angry, determined, and strong-willed as ever, now it seemed as though the walls of Harrenhal had broken her spirit. He worried about her, in more ways than he'd thought possible. He'd heard people talking about some kitchen mute and knew it could only be her. They wondered if the mute had a tongue. They wondered if the mute was a he or she. They wondered if they could get her alone to find out. And as they wondered he worried even more. She couldn't keep this facade up for long, and gods only knew when they'd be getting out of here. Besides which he knew she'd snap soon enough, snap out of her silence, her guilt, her grief, and then she'd attack. And then they'd kill her for it. But she still wouldn't let him help her. She was too damn stubborn.

He gestured to the small living quarter behind the Forge that were his own. "There's a tub full of water back there, you should go clean yourself up." She eyed him skeptically. "It's probably freezing cold by now, but it's private, and that's gotta be hard to find around here." He said. Her eyes went blank and he sighed. She'd ignored, not only had she gone mute but she'd willed herself to be deaf too. Then, slowly, she rose and went to the back of the Forge. Gendry smiled and quickly finished his meal.

He heard the water splashing the back as he got back to work. When she returned a few minutes later she looked skinner than he'd ever seen her, and she was pale as a ghost. "Come here and warm up." he spoke and she listened. Her newfound obedience concerned him. But she stood next to him at the fire as he dropped a newly forged sword into a bucket of cold and dirty water. He stood over her and noticed she'd recut her hair, it was patchy and uneven and it was no longer sufficient in making her look like a boy. As it dried quickly in front of the fire he noticed the way it curled slightly around her cheeks. His fist tightened around the hilt of his hammer. He heard to guards moving through the yard outside and tensed.

"Harrenhal was under Lannister control, then they passed it on to Littlefinger. From what I've gleaned, he 'lost' it for a tidy sum to a takeover by House Bolton. The Boltons are aligned with the Starks but I don't think I have to tell you that that's not a connection we should be trusting." Arya nodded next to him. "Becareful Arry." He said, placed a hand gently on hers, he only touched her for a moment before she slipped away and walked out of the Forge, carrying his empty bowls in her hand.

"Smithy," Gendry looked up from the fire, "You're to go up to the Main tower's hall, present what you've been working on." He nodded, adopting Arya's silence as his own for a moment. And stepped into line.

Once upstairs Gendry could hear laughter roaring from outside the room, however he entered in silence. He expected the worst: to find Lord Bolton standing before him, a man who visited King's Landing on three year prior and might recognize Gendry if he was as shrewd a man as people boasted. Instead he found a younger man, not overly tall but strongly built. He sighed a moment of relief as the realization that he now stood in front of Ramsay Snow, the Bastard of Bolton. And then a whole new set of panic took over.

"You've fashioned a new sword for me?" He asked, Gendry nodded and presented it to him from a bended knee.

"Yes m'lord." He replied, adopting the commoner's dialect.

"And tell me, will it be sufficient in lopping of the head of the King's last remaining bastard? They say he's roaming the countryside somewhere and I intend to find him." Ramsay said, surveying the sword.

"Well, m'lord," Gendry pondered, "If he's the stubborn bull that people say he's perhaps I should go sharper it more for you." Ramsay laughed and his men joined in, the door opened behind him and Arya walked in carrying a tray of drinks. She handed them out among the men and began cleaning up.

"Very well," Ramsay said, watching Arya as she cleaned. His eyes snapped to Gendry and he threw the sword by it's hilt sending it blade first towards Gendry. He reached forward and caught the blade in his hand. He barely winced but Ramsay didn't seem to register any of it. He only watched as one of his men approached Arya.

"You must be the new one in the kitchens, the Mute one." He chuckled slyly and looked around to the other men, "We've all got a little wager placed about whether or not you've got a cunt. I says you do, others say you really do. First man to find out gets to fuck you first." He reached down between Arya's legs, making Gendry unconsciously grip the blade of the sword harder into his palm. He began counting the men in the room and which of them were armed, to see how many he could kill before they'd stop him, he just needed enough for Arya to escape.

But the man's face paled, and his eyes widened. Slowly he stumbled away from Arya as she began to fight a smirk from forming on her lips.

Ramsay looked bored by his men's antics. "There, not a girl, just a very pretty boy. Would you still like to fuck him or can we continue on with our discussion?" The man remained silent and Ramsay looked to Gendry and Arya in turn, "You're dismissed." He said with a wave of his hand. Gendry and Arya disappeared through the same door and Arya ran down the steps as fast as her feet would carry her.

Later that night, Gendry sat in the Forge working later than was required. It must've been closer to morning than evening now. He was sharpening the blade for Ramsay Snow, the blade that was promise to one day slit his own throat, when he saw a pair of feet standing nearby. He knew it was her, though he wasn't sure why she was awake or why she was here.

"What happened today?" He asked. "I thought we were both done for."

She offered him the smallest of smiles, he didn't even dare to call it that, and reached into her breaches pulling out a small, mangled sausage and laughing before throwing it into the fire. "Got creative." She replied. "You told me to be careful. And I figured no one wants to touch a Eunic."

He laughed with her, though her's sounded hollow, it was more emotion than he'd seen from her since they'd arrived here. And it was the closest thing to a smile he'd seen from her in months.

"Do you want me to fix your hand?" She asked, pointing to the brown and red dried blood and dirt coated Gendry's right palm. Stupid bull, she thought as she approached him.

"No it's okay, really. You should get back to your quarters Arya, what are you even doing here anyway?"

She shrugged, producing a bottle of wine from behind her back. "I knew you'd be too stupid to bother cleaning this up yourself. Someone has too before your hand rots off, then what good would you be here?" She pulled the cork out with her teeth and grabbed his hand, which he offered willingly, too distracted by the sound of her unused voice to bother arguing. She didn't smile again, not even guiltily as she poured the wine over the cute that ran across his palm and fingertips and he winced in pain. She dunked his hand under water, the cleanest she could find in the dingy forge, and wiped the remained off the blood away with a rag. She sewed the wound shut as best she could, with a needle and thread she snagged from one of the sleeping girl's she shared a room with.

Gendry grabbed the bottle of wine and took a swig as she worked, sloppily spilling wine down his shirt in the process. "Don't waste it, the cooks check the levels every morning. Besides if memory serves when you drink too much you get a big mouth." She said, meaning it as a joke, but as the words left her mouth, Gendry remembered the events that had taken place after his last drunken escapade. And he saw the look on Arya's face as she remembered too.

She sewed his hand and fingers and Gendry winced and drank small sips of wine. And they did so in silence. Arya no longer wanting to talk and Gendry unsure of what to say.

She finished sewing and cut the line of thread with her teeth. As she began to bandage it shut she spoke, "Why didn't he have a plan?" She asked, and he knew at once they were talking about her father. Their screaming match in the woods came rushing back to him.

"He wasn't prepared, none of us were." Gendry answered. Arya's fingers ghosted for a moment over the scar on his forearm, the one Sansa had mended back in the Red Keep, ages ago.

She shook her head and continued her work. "No, he was the smartest man I've ever met. He knew what was going to happen."

"Arry, none of us could've seen this coming. He was a brilliant man, but the Lannisters, they're cunning, and manipulative, and deceitful and they have shame, and secrets. My father was a lot of things but ashamed was not one of them, he wore his heart on his sleeve, loudly and often very drunkenly. But the Lannisters they betray, even each other, and they'll do anything to stay on top and keep their secrets hidden. We all just realized it too late."

She shook her head, tying the bandage together around his hand before moving away from him slightly. "You're wrong, I've been going over it, he knew what was about to happen, that's why he got my mother out of the Capital, he was getting Sansa and me out too, you know this. But what if he also brought Syrio to me so that I would know how to fight so that maybe I could go back in and save him. What if he had a plan and he was counting on me and I let him down?" Tears began to roll silently down her cheeks as she spoke.

"Arya, this is madness talking, it's grief. You're father didn't want you to come back and save him, he wanted me to get you as far away from King's Landing and any other danger as I could. Not that I've managed to do that yet but… all he cared about once he realized what he'd discovered was getting his family to safety, he wasn't the kind of man to abandon his duty or think about his own wellbeing. He died and then called him a traitor, but he was honourable until the end."

She continued to sob, it was silent and she his her face from him the whole time. All he could do was wrap an arm around her and hold her as her tiny body shivered and shook with rage and sadness.

"You need sleep. Go to the bed, I'm going to keep working a while,"

"On the sword that's going to kill you?" She asked.

"Yes, on that one. I'll wake you so you have time to go back to your quarters." She nodded and stood, floating in a daze to where he pointed.

The dawn crept over Gendry as he worked tirelessly in the Forge. He wondered if perhaps this was the life he was best suited for after all, him and the Forge, no one knowing or even caring about his name, sweat on his brow and back, Arya in his bed.

He left his work and walked over to her, sleeping soundlessly, and almost peacefully. He yawned wishfully as he watched her. It was a well deserved sleep and he didn't want to wake her. He only reached forwards a brushed his hand against her cheek, moving a piece of brown hair back behind her ear. She grabbed his arm, gently as she slept and Gendry's memory returned to the night on the King's Road, travelling with Yoren and his men, when Gendry thought he had dreamed her body inching closer to his. They'd only just started out on the road then, she'd still seemed so young. But not anymore.

Gendry tried to pull himself out of her grip, but couldn't manage to, though perhaps he wasn't pulling that hard. Soon enough, he relinquished control, and lay down next to her on the straw bed, his body forming around hers happily and pulling her even closer to him.

When he woke, Arya was standing over him. The sun had not yet rose of Harrenhal.

"I want to go see the Brotherhood." She stated matter of factly.

Gendry rose from the bed slowly. The night's events still foggy in his head. "What?"

"I want you and I to go over to the yard where they're keeping the Brotherhood and I want to talk to them."

"Arya, I really don't think that's a good idea." He said, shaking his head.

"Why not? What do you suggest the two of us just escape together and leave them here? If you mean what you say and my father did have a plan then those men were a part of it and I'm going to just abandon them here."

Gendry nodded, "I'm not saying we should but, Arya they're under constant watch, how do you propose we get to them?"

She sighed, and fixed her boots carefully onto her small feet. "Let me take care of that."

"Arry-" he began, but she cut him off.

"The last conversation I had with my father, he asked me to trust you. He said you would keep me safe and made me promise to trust you when the time came. I'm willing to do that, but are you willing to trust me too?" She asked, her eyes wide and her voice shaky and out of practice.

"Yes." he replied, with little hesitation.

"Okay, then let's go. We've got a Brotherhood to save."

They reached the yard, and the estate seemed quiet, almost dead. Unusual for a land run by Boltons, unusual for anywhere.

As they passed through the doorway to the yard, Gendry saw the bodies of two dead guards stuffed into the shadows.

"Arya, what have you…" She cut him off again.

"Relax it wasn't me."

She ran up to the Brotherhood, beaten, bloody and inches from death, and fed them water and food she'd snagged from the kitchens.

Anguy, opened his eyes though one was too swollen to do much good, "Little Arry, as I live and breathe." He chuckled, immediately breaking into a cough.

"You'll get yourselves in trouble here, go, now." Thoros said, his tone serious and deep.

"We're getting you out." Arya replied, her small fingers playing with the ropes and shackles that kept them bound in place.

"You and what army?" Lem asked dreamily, he was bleeding from a gash in his forehead and seemed to barely even be awake. Brice laid next to him in a crumpled heap, eyes wide open and unblinking.

"Well, I've got the bull," She shrugged, "And him." She motioned over her shoulder to the entryway to the yard where a man stood unflinching next to the two dead bodies. One side of his hair white, the other red.

Worry washed over Gendry once more, a feeling he'd grown accustomed to in his two months at Harrenhal. "What've you done, Arya?"