Thank you for reading and reviewing, I really appreciate it. WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: Smut (Sansa and Jon). Also, TRIGGER WARNING FOR ABUSE (Aegon). It's not graphic, but it's there, with a warning in the chapter if you'd rather not read it.
Arya hates King's Landing. It is hot and dry and she wants the comfort of Winterfell and her furs and the snow back.
Upon her arrival to the capital, her betrothed greets her. His violet gaze is scrutinizing, as if he is trying to find her flaws, and she does not let herself flinch. She hugs her aunt and Jon and Sansa. Gods, she has missed Sansa. They were never very close in their younger years, but near three years of separation has made Arya wistful. She hugs Jon longest of all. He may be their cousin but to Arya he is just as much her brother as Robb or Bran or Rickon. He ruffles her hair and calls her wolf-girl, and Sansa hides a smile, trying to look serious instead.
With a start, Arya finds Sansa and Jon look like Mother and Father, and the guilt settles into her stomach for not giving them a proper farewell.
Aegon takes her arm and his touch is cold. He leads her past the castle gates and indoors, Aunt Lya and Jon and Sansa trailing behind them. Arya turns to look at her sister and cousin and sees them smiling, looking at the ground. Strange, she thinks, that they are so close now when Sansa deemed playing with them childish all those years ago.
In the entrance hall she meets King Rhaegar and Princess Rhaenys and Lady Daenerys and Lord Viserys. She remembers them, and remembers she likes Daenerys most of all.
She greets them, trying to remember her courtesies. Sansa quickly takes her to her chambers and Arya is grateful.
Once Sansa closes the door behind them, her smile drops and her shoulders slump.
"I am so sorry, Arya. I tried to convince Aegon and King Rhaegar you weren't a good match. Jon did, too," she begins to apologise and Arya shakes her head. Arya takes her sister's hand, surprising them both.
"I will not marry him. Somehow, some way, I will get out of this," Arya says evenly.
"Jon and I will help however we can," Sansa tries to smile.
Arya squeezes her hands and wonders when Jon and Sansa became Jon and Sansa.
Aegon tries to speak to her, in an attempt to get to know her, or some such nonsense. She tries to make her face impassive as not to offend him or enrage him. She sees his temper, his tight grip on Rhaenys's arm and harsh whispers when he thinks Rhaegar isn't looking. Viserys is the same, but they are both cowed by Daenerys. Somehow the small woman frightens him. Arya has heard Viserys scream at Rhaenys about 'awakening the dragon' but Viserys is no dragon. Daenerys, though, Daenerys is every bit a dragon as Visenya or the first Rhaenys must have been.
They are walking through the gardens, and Aegon is explaining something about the flowers (though he glances at Sansa and Jon who are yards away, often) when a loud slap comes from another corner.
They look over and see Daenerys clutching her cheek and Viserys turning red. She throws her arm back and backhands Viserys so hard that there's a gross crack, and it is so loud that Jon and Sansa who had been sitting at a bench at the other end of the gardens come running.
"The next time you lay a hand on me will be the last time you have hands," Daenerys is fuming, her cheeks red and her eyes wild.
Arya grins. Viserys has awoken the dragon. He staggers away and Jon places a hand on his aunt's shoulder in an attempt to calm her. She shrugs him off and mumbles that she's fine. Aegon looks between his aunt and uncle, then frowns.
"He is your brother, you cannot strike him," he says stupidly.
"He struck me first, nephew. Do not serve what you cannot handle being served back," Daenerys glares and Viserys spits blood out from his mouth.
"Father will hear about this," Aegon warns, moving to help a traumatized Viserys.
"Good," Dany walks away from the assembled group with her chin up.
Arya tries not to punch Aegon in the face, but cannot contain herself any longer when he insults Jon right in front of her. A bastard prince from a whore of a mother, he says.
Arya curls her hands into fists and slams her fist into Aegon's nose without a moment's hesitation. Aegon's head is knocked back and he holds his nose.
"Take it back," she snarls.
"I apologize, my lady," Aegon says meekly. He and Viserys aren't so different, Arya thinks. Viserys is crueller, or wants to be, but he is also a coward.
"I am no lady," she says, walking away from her betrothed. Sometimes she thinks the wildlings had the right of it, what with stealing themselves wives and husbands. And if the woman didn't want to be stolen, she would slice the man's throat. Yes, Arya thinks, the wildings have it right.
At dinner that night no one says anything about Aegon's nose. Rhaenys had tended to her brother's injury earlier and now it is bruised.
Jon sends Arya a look, a mix of 'you shouldn't have done that' and 'thank you'. Sansa sits next to Arya and squeezes her hand under the table while Dany smiles pleasantly, though she is undoubtedly sniggering on the inside.
"I wish to travel across the Narrow Sea," she announces suddenly.
Her eldest brother stares at her, "What's brought this on?"
"I am nearing twenty now, and have seen so little of the world. I wish to travel," Daenerys says resolutely, her decision already made.
"You'll miss my wedding," Aegon frowns.
Arya tries not to roll her eyes.
"I shall depart after you are wed, dear nephew," she promises, and the matter is settled.
Arya stomps into the forge, looking around. She heads to the counter and taps it impatiently. Needle is sheathed, hidden away next to her breeches. She needs to get it lengthened and made heavier since she clearly is not the same size as she was at the age of ten.
She is taken aback by the hulking man who emerges from the where she assumes the actual smithy is, and he looks at her with a scrutinizing gaze. He looks to be Jon's age, if not older. He's tall and incredibly muscular and his dark hair is matted against his forehead, nearly covering startlingly blue eyes. He's not wearing a shirt and Arya feels her neck flush, though she tells herself it's merely because of the heat from the forge.
"What can I help you with?" he asks in a gruff voice.
She whips out Needle and sets in on the counter. He looks at it appraisingly, picking it up.
"This is fine steel," he says appreciatively.
"Only the best from Winterfell," Arya can't help but gloat.
The smith stops turning the sword over in his hands.
"You're the Prince's cousin, then?" he asks.
Arya looks confused, and he elaborates, "I made him some armor once. He mentioned he has a lot of cousins in Winterfell. Wouldn't shut up about you lot, actually."
She nods in understanding now, "Can you make it heavier and longer. It's not quite comfortable to fight with."
"Sure. Come back in two weeks," the smith says.
He doesn't say anything about a girl fighting, or anything about her being a highborn girl wearing breeches, nor does he so much as glance at her, and Arya is surprised.
"Is there any chance you could get it done faster?" Arya asks, biting her lip.
"I have other commissions to work on. First come, first serve. Do you have someone to run through any time soon?" he asks with a slight grin.
She snorts, "If I say yes will it be done sooner?"
He levels a look at her and she bites her lip again, her eyes widening. She has learned some feminine wiles over the years, why not put them to use?
"You can come by tomorrow afternoon and I'll see what I can do," he concedes.
"Thank you," she says with a grin, and moves towards the entrance.
"Any time, m'lady," he bows his head and she doesn't know if he's teasing her.
She scrunches up her nose and makes to leave when she catches sight of a helm in the shape of a bull.
"What's that?" she asks, standing on her toes to see it on the shelf.
"Not for sale," he says, stepping out from around the counter. He brushes past her and takes the helmet from the shelf, bringing it back behind the counter with him.
"But what is it?" she pries.
"A bull. It's one of the first things I made," he says with a shrug, "and it's not for sale."
"I don't want your stupid bull helm anyway," she says breezily, "I'll be back tomorrow."
"Looking forward to it," the smith deadpans, and Arya leaves.
She is in the godswood of the Red Keep, just thinking, when she realizes she does not know the smith's name.
After a light lunch and some dessert taken in Daenerys's chambers with Sansa, Arya scurries away, taking secluded corridors and hidden passageways out. Jon and Daenerys had showed her the path, and Sansa is still miffed that they never thought to show her when she had first arrived in King's Landing.
Arya enters the forge and the smith isn't there. An older man emerges from the back at the noise and gives her an once-over, as if he's unsure if Arya's a lady or some street urchin.
Before she can say anything there's a hand on her shoulder and she nearly yelps. It's the smith, this time he's wearing a tunic as well as breeches. How unfortunate, some part of her mind drawls.
"She's here about a sword," the smith informs the man who must be his employer. The older man nods and the smith leads her back outside.
"My sword, is it ready?" she asks, blinking in the blinding sun.
"I've not started yet," he says, walking towards the back of the building.
Arya scrunches her nose up. He leads her to a small space in the yard, and there Arya sees Needle.
"I need to melt it down. It'll be the same metal, don't worry," he says.
Arya nods and watches as a fire burns under a pot. The smith holds a metal rod on the pot and it glows red. He places Needle in the pot and Arya rushes forward.
"Wait," she says.
He looks at her with a raised brow and she bites her lip and shakes her head.
"Never mind. It's silly," she mumbles.
He nods and she watches Needle melt away into molten steel, the smith stirring it with some special rod.
"What's your name?" she asks while the metal melts.
"Gendry," he answers. He's not much of a talker, this one.
"I'm Arya," she offers in an attempt at being polite.
"I know who you are, m'lady," Gendry says.
"Well, Gendry," the name rolls off her tongue easily and she finds she likes it, "when will my sword be ready?"
"Come back in a few days. It should be done by then if Tohbo doesn't have me do too much else," he answers after a moment's concentration.
Arya nods once more and decides she's seen enough for the day.
She finds herself there the next day. She's wearing a stupid dress because Margaery Tyrell and her tittering cousins had been with them the entire day.
She leans against the barrier blocking her access to the back room
Gendry sees her and raises a brow, walking towards the main room, "Don't teach you the meaning of 'a few days' up North?"
Arya rolls her eyes and snorts.
"Don't they teach you to be nice to your customers?" Arya asks.
He laughs and it's a low rumble and probably the best sound Arya has ever heard. Her heart rises from her chest into her throat and her palms are suddenly itchy. She's acting like Sansa and she wishes she could slap herself. He stops laughing and looks at her curiously.
"What are you wearing?" he asks, brow furrowed.
"A dress. Would you like for me to contact the seamstress for you?" Arya quips.
Gendry laughs once more and Arya looks down, hiding a smile.
"So there's no chance Needle's ready?" Arya asks.
"'Fraid not, m'lday," he answers.
She bristles at the title and mutters that he's stupid and she should've gone elsewhere.
"If there's nothing else, I need to get to work," Gendry moves his hand behind him.
Arya nods, ignoring the feeling of disappointment that washes over her. The last thing she wants is to be surrounded by the gaggle of Tyrells once more. Or be ambushed by Aegon, who has been more aggressive of late in his attempts at courting. She thinks it must have something to do with Sansa's constant avoidance of him.
As if he notes her downswing in mood, Gendry purses his lips, "Come on, then. There's this shield I'm working on if you want to see it."
She smiles brightly and follows him into the scorching hot room, so hot it's as if dragons had heated it themselves.
Arya settles herself on a wooden stool and watches as Gendry sets to work. She's transfixed by his movements and his skill and she doesn't know how much time has passed but by the end of it all he's covered in soot, she smells like burnt metal, and the sun has already set.
She scampers down the street, holding her skirts in her hand so she can be quicker. Gendry watches her leave and chuckles. She's a strange one, that Arya Stark.
Quiet as a shadow, swift as a deer. She tries to make as little noise as possible, creeping towards her chambers. She stops in front of Sansa's door, which is slightly ajar. She hears muffled voices and sighs. Her curiosity gets the better of her and she slowly opens the door to peer inside.
Jon is on his knees and Sansa's skirts are pushed up around her knees, her bodice unlaced, and Arya's not quite sure what's happening but she knows it's not for her eyes to see. She backs away quickly and runs to her own room. Once inside, she lets out a laugh. Now she knows why Aegon is stuck with her. If she has to put up with the silver prince for her sister's happiness, so be it. She will never tell a soul.
Day after day, she finds herself in the forge. Needle is still not ready. She learns to bring food with her. Honey cakes, lemon cakes, apples, anything. She munches on food whilst Gendry works on some shield or lance or what have you, and he occasionally swipes a cake from her hands. She catches him looking at her sometimes, and she pretends not to notice. She looks at him, too. It's hard not to look at him, but she tries to convince herself she feels nothing but friendship for him. Arya thinks that she just may have made a friend outside of the Red Keep.
Much too soon, Needle is ready. He hands it to her and she takes it gingerly. It's light in her hands, but far weightier than before. The grip is perfectly sized for her hand, and the balance is impeccable. She points the sword in the air and thrusts it forward. Yes, this'll do.
"Thank you," she says sincerely, sheathing the newer sword.
"All in a day's work, m'lady," Gendry smiles crookedly.
"More like a fortnight's," Arya rolls her eyes, "I'll bring you the coin tomorrow."
"No need," he waves it away, "it was a gift from your cousin, yes? It's still a gift, you don't need to pay."
"I can't—" she starts.
He shushes her by clicking his tongue.
"Your company was payment enough," he grins.
"I barely said a word," she points out.
He shrugs, "Sometimes it's just nice to have someone there, even if they're not talking."
Arya smiles and she thanks Gendry again before running off.
Gendry does not expect to see Arya ever again, but she's as unpredictable as a storm. Imagine his surprise when she comes sauntering into the forge the very next day, armful of treats from the royal kitchens.
Sansa is not blind. She sees that her sister is less combative than usual, and that she disappears after lunch. She has her suspicions, but keeps them to herself. Let her have her small moments of happiness, whatever those moments may entail. The poor girl is set to be miserable the rest of her life, anyway.
She places the book she had been reading back on the shelf and is startled when she turns around to see Aegon leering at her.
"My lord," she inclines her head.
"Sansa, I've been looking for you," Aegon says with a small smile.
"Oh," she says.
She knows there is a council meeting at that very moment. Jon is there, so why isn't Aegon?
"Would you care to join me for a walk?" he asks.
Before she can answer, his hand finds its way onto her arm and she is being led to a secluded corner of the library.
"A walk to find a book, my lord?" Sansa asks.
[Warning]
He laughs, but it is a hollow one. His grip on her arm tightens and her brows furrow. Her breath catches in her throat when he leans into her, kissing her neck. Sansa eyes widen and she attempts to push him away. He's surprisingly strong for someone so lean and just as she is about to call for help he presses his mouth onto hers. She stills and does not move. Perhaps it is best if she lets him kiss her so he can be on his way. He raises her arms up above her head, pinning them against the books. One hand holds both her wrists and his other hand covers her mouth.
"You did not wish to be my Queen, but you forgot that Kings have mistresses. You also forgot that I can marry Arya and then marry you. I have loved you from afar for years and you have refused me for too long," he says in a low voice. He moves his hand from her mouth to her jaw, and his fingers glide over the neckline of her dress, then over the fabric. He pinches at her painfully, and Sansa hisses in response.
He lets go of her arms and pushes her hair behind her neck, eying the hickey Jon has left her.
"Has my brother gotten to you first?" his eyes shine with rage, "so the whispers are true. He brought himself a whore from the North. Are all you Stark women whores? If you can spread your legs for him, you can spread them for me, too. I'd be more than happy to take your maidenhead. I'm sure your cunt is warm and inviting," he leers as he continues to grope her.
Sansa says nothing, and he smirks, hands still on her.
"You forgot that a king can do as he pleases," Aegon says in a low voice.
"You are not king yet," Sansa points out, trying to sound strong.
Angered, he tugs at her hair forcefully.
"Please, Aegon, stop, please," Sansa says in a high voice, "someone can find us here."
Aegon is gentler now, "Shh, Lady Sansa. No one will dare say anything once I've made you mine. But you're right. We'll continue this another time."
He lets her go and pats her on the cheek.
He leaves her as if nothing has happened and Sansa swallows the lump in her throat and tears spring to her eyes.
[/Warning]
Jon sees Aegon in the corridor, and without a word he grabs his brother by his shirt and slams him against the wall. What love he once harbored for his older brother is now gone, rage being the only thing he feels towards him.
"Touch her again, and I won't just tell Father. All of Westeros will know what a pervert you are, and you'll be missing a head," Jon threatens, and for once, Aegon looks scared.
Jon paces up and down the length of her room. She sits at her writing table and bites her lip.
"He won't touch me again, Jon. He was just being stupid," Sansa says, feeling disgusted with herself. She had already vomited in a basin, and she refused dinner.
Jon walks towards her and falls to his knees.
"I should have been with you. This shouldn't have happened. I expect this sort of thing from Viserys, but not Aegon," Jon wraps his arms around her waist and she wraps her arms around his shoulders. She presses her cheek to his head and strokes his hair.
"Viserys has done something like this?" she asks quietly.
"He tried with Dany, but she fought back and challenged him to a duel with live steel. He refused and she said if he tries it again, she'd gut him. He slapped her that time in the garden because she said she wasn't going to be his wife," Jon explains, and Sansa smiles sadly, "and he's hurt Rhaenys. I've seen the bruises on her arms."
"And King Rhaegar does nothing?" Sansa asks.
"He's Viserys's brother, not his father," Jon states with a shake of his head, "He is blind to his younger brother's actions. He pities him because he lost a mother and a father so young, so he grew up coddled. I hope Dany takes Rhaenys with her."
"As do I," Sansa agrees.
That night Jon sleeps in Sansa's bed, his arms wrapped around her protectively. When she wakes Jon is holding onto her tightly, eyes still closed. She presses a kiss to his mouth and he opens his eyes.
"Good morning," she lifts her head off the pillow and smiles at him, though it is still dark out.
"Gods, you're beautiful," Jon mumbles, and she smiles wider.
She moves on top of him and kisses him deeply.
"Sansa," he murmurs into her hair when she kisses his neck.
"When are you going to steal me?" she asks quietly, "please, Jon, bed me so Aegon will leave me alone, please." She would be labelled a whore. No one else would want her. Not Aegon or anyone else. Just Jon. Only Jon.
Jon buries his hands in her tangled red hair and nods.
"Okay, okay," he promises and she smiles in relief.
They continue kissing, with Sansa running her hands across Jon's sculpted chest, her fingers digging into his skin. Jon rolls over so that he is above Sansa. He slips a finger inside of her, beneath her shift, and she wriggles her hips. A second finger joins the first while Sansa pulls her bodice down, smallclothes pooled around her waist. Soon his mouth is engulfed around her swollen, pink tip while his hand rubs her other breast. He rakes his mouth down to her navel before stopping between her thighs. He moves his fingers from inside of her and she lets out a whimper. He laughs softly and opens her lips, kissing her and putting two, then three, fingers in her core. His tongue follows the familiar path and Sansa's holds onto the bed post because she can't do much of anything else.
Soon light streams in from the window signalling that it is near dawn. Jon pulls off his smallclothes, then slides Sansa's chemise down her legs, tossing it away. He positions himself at her centre and Sansa takes a deep breath.
"Are you sure?" he asks gently.
She nods vigorously and plants her legs on either side of him, spreading herself. Jon can't take his eyes of her. She's naked and willing, pink lips swelling and slick. His tip barely touches her and she shivers. Slowly, he guides himself in and Sansa writhes against the featherbed. The intrusion does not hurt, but it is a strange sensation. It's completely different from his fingers or mouth. He pushes forward more and now it hurts and she lets out a yelp. He stays like that for a few moments, letting her get used to his length and girth. She lifts her hips up and Jon places his hands on her legs for balance. He moves out of her and thrusts in swiftly. She cries out and then bites her tongue. Does she want the entire Red Keep to know Jon Targaryen is taking her maidenhead? She mulls it over and moans loudly, moving her hips in time with his.
She does, in fact, want the entire Red Keep to know.
"Gods, Sansa," Jon grits his teeth.
She lifts her hips up and Jon grabs her legs, lifting them into the air. He slides closer to her, plunging as deep as he can. Her toes push against his shoulders as she pushes herself back and forth. He moves quicker now, unable go any slower. She's wet around him and her walls are taught and tight. He takes long, fast strokes, and Sansa groans and sighs.
"Jon, Jon please," she begs and he quickens even more, long thrusts turning into shorter, more fervent ones.
"Gods, yes," Sansa clenches around him, making a tighter fit. Jon lets out a low growl and he slides out of her quickly before ramming into her brutally, in and out, in and out, repeatedly hitting her walls.
Sansa lets out something between a scream and a moan. He leans over her, still plunging into her, and kisses her softly. She kisses back eagerly, her tongue running over his.
"Sansa," he murmurs and she kisses him again. She places her hands on the back of his head, keeping him there.
She moans against his mouth and Jon takes the opportunity to kiss her neck. Her body spasms and Jon spills his seed in her.
She runs her hand through his hair and Jon moves to remove himself from inside of her.
"No," she mumbles deliriously, "don't leave."
Jon's still half-hard and he does as he's bid. He kisses the tops of her breasts, licking his way down to her erect, rosy tips. Sansa's eyes flutter to a close as Jon's mouth works at a mound, his hand pinching and tickling the other.
She moves her hips, grinding against him and Jon grunts. He feels himself harden inside of her and Sansa makes a satisfied mewling sound.
Sansa stretches her legs and lifts her hips up to arch her back. Jon begins to move inside of her again, steadily thrusting before increasing the tempo. He hits her walls again and Sansa lifts her hips up higher, hooking her legs around his head instead of resting her feet on his shoulders. Jon's fingers tickle her legs before his hands cup her bum, squeezing with each thrust. His mouth is still on her protruding nipple, licking and taking the engorged tip in his teeth. In this position he's able to sink his length in deeper still, and Sansa's breathless panting only spurs him to ram into her faster.
She's on sensory overload and she doesn't know what to focus on. With every thrust she moans, with every squeeze she sighs, and with every lick she shivers. Without being able to process anything, she's screaming Jon's name and there's liquid flowing down her thighs and Jon spills what he has left inside of her once more.
All she can hear are Jon's consistent grunts of Sansa, Sansa, Sansa.
He removes himself from inside her and she whimpers, bringing her legs down and gods she's sore. He moves up to her, lying down next to her. He kisses her sweetly and she smiles against his lips. They break the kiss and Sansa nuzzles her head into the crook of Jon's neck. She wishes to stay like this forever. Yet she knows it is morning and one of her maids will come to dress her soon. The servants of the Red Keep are surely awake by now and heard her and Jon's deflowering. There is a red stain on her mattress but she hardly cares about that now.
They are both covered in a sheen of sweat, exhausted but happy. Sansa places her hand on her stomach.
"There could be a babe quickening in my belly right now," she says softly.
Jon looks dazed and smiles at the thought. A little girl who looked like Sansa, with her hair and his eyes. Or a little boy. His smile fades, "Do you wish for moon tea?"
Sansa looks appalled at the thought.
"Our child, Jon. I could be carrying our child. Why would I want moon tea?" she asks, cupping his cheek with her hand.
"Your reputation," he starts, and she silences him with a kiss.
"To seven hells with my reputation. I don't care. I am yours, and you are mine, and nothing can keep me from you, not even the gods themselves," she kisses him again and Jon lets out a contented sigh.
She moves on top of him and lightly touches his mouth before tracing her hand across his muscular abdomen.
"You're insatiable, my lady," Jon teases her, grey eyes sparkling.
"You don't know how long I've wanted this," she says quietly, embarrassed, "ever since Jeyne told me you were going away and would forget all about me I felt…something. I didn't know what it was. And then your family came for your name day and you spent all of your time with Daenerys, I didn't know what that was. I was jealous. I thought you loved her more than you loved me. Gods, I was even jealous of Arya since you two look so alike, I thought she's your favorite" her eyes grow watery and she looks away.
"I could never love anyone more than you," Jon reaches up to brush her hair behind her ear, "I adore Arya, true, but I also adore Bran and Rickon and Robb. But, I love you. Theon took me to a brothel, once. There was a girl with red hair and blue eyes and I tried to pretend it was you, but her freckles and smile and the shade of her eyes and hair were all wrong, so I left," he recalls with a small smile, "I've only ever wanted you, Sansa."
"Oh, Jon," Sansa lowers her head onto his chest, and he wraps an arm around her. "I was so stupid. I told Jeyne that I wanted to marry you, and she went and told Septa Mordane. She told me it was a sin to think such thoughts. That's why I was crying in the stables."
A tear makes its way down her cheek and Jon kisses it away.
"There is a godswood here," he starts slowly.
"I know," Sansa nods, wondering what this had to do anything.
"Sansa Stark, will you marry me under the heart tree? We'll be wed under sight of the Old Gods. I know you keep the Seven like Lady Catelyn, but mother and I -"
She doesn't let him finish. She presses a kiss to his mouth and hugs him.
"Yes, a thousand times, yes."
He pulls her close to him and kisses the side of her head. He knows they will have to face the world soon, if not for breakfast, then for dinner is a certainty. But for now he will hold her and she will hold him and they will enjoy this moment.
Next up: Lyanna notices things, Jon and Sansa plan a secret wedding, Arya sneaks off to find Gendry in the middle of the night, Aegon continues to be horrible, and Varys makes an appearance.