Sorry about the last chapter being more of a public service announcement. I'll be taking it down now that only 5,000 or so signatures are left. Thank you for reading and reviewing! Warning for this chapter again: Smut.
Sansa and Jon are seated next to each other for breakfast, and Jon keeps his hand firmly on Sansa's knee.
Arya bites back a grin and flashes looks to her sister and her cousin. Sansa merely inclines her head in affirmation and Arya looks down at her poached eggs to hide her smile. She knows what Aegon had done. She hates him now as much as she hates King's Landing. He tried to explain away his actions as passing madness. Arya fears he grows madder with each day.
Rhaegar is seemingly oblivious and Arya wonders what her aunt could ever see in him. Yes, he's comely enough for an older man, but he looks otherworldly. She supposes some ladies found that look preferable. Not Arya. She absentmindedly imagines her ideal man, were she given a choice. Tall with broad shoulders, strong muscles, not so regal as Rhaegar, definitely, sweet with a hint of stubborness, dark, dark hair, and blue eyes the colour of the ocean when angry and the colour of the sky when happy. She takes a bite of her eggs and swallows. Her grey eyes widen. Gendry, she has just described Gendry. She has not seen him in two days and she wishes to see him so much her stomach flips in excitement at the thought of just talking to him again.
Her mind begins to churn with a plan. If Aegon can leave Sansa alone because of Jon, surely if Gendry fucks her she will be disgraced and free to be set aside. Her cheeks turn pink at her vulgar thoughts. Gendry kissing her. Gendry naked. Gendry fondling her. She shakes her head. Why would Gendry even want her? She's a skinny stick of a girl. She's not beautiful like Sansa or Daenerys or Rhaenys. But all she can think of is his mouth on hers. Or him doing what she saw Jon do to Sansa. There's an itch in her, and she hates herself for thinking such thoughts, for being so silly.
Lyanna answers her husband's questions half-heartedly, her gaze riveted on her son and her niece. They are glowing, she realizes. Never has she seen either of them so happy. They are always happiest when together, and initially she chalked it up to the bonds of family. This is something else entirely. As Jon takes bites of his eggs, Sansa tears a piece of bread in half, placing one piece on his plate and the other in her mouth.
He sets his fork down and takes a sip of his watered down wine, carelessly passing his goblet to Sansa. She thinks nothing of sharing food and wine with him and Lyanna's stomach drops. Whenever she sees them, whether it be walking down the corridor or laughing in the gardens, she sees Catelyn and Ned. Or Brandon. Jon has more of Ned in him than Brandon, thankfully, but he's still hot-headed and unthinking at times.
Aegon glares at them, and Lyanna wonders why he hates them so. She knows why, logically. He blames her and Jon for Elia's death. She blames herself, too. She tried to be a good mother to him and Rhaenys, but he simply refused. It was easier with Rhaenys, but as she grew older she became more withdrawn, only truly speaking to Rhaegar or Dany.
Lyanna's gaze flits to Dany. She's drinking some juice thoughtfully, a knowing look on her face as her eyes find Jon and Sansa. Lyanna looks to Arya and she looks like she knows, too. Except Arya is pink in the face. Could she be disgusted by their relations? Her question is answered when she uses her fork to fling some eggs at Sansa, just like old times.
Arya laughs and sticks her tongue out, while Sansa pretends to look cross and Jon and Dany laugh.
Gods, Lyanna thinks, please let them be happy.
True joy in the Red Keep seems impossible. Lyanna is entering the kitchens when she hears the cook gossiping with a maid.
"I heard 'em alright. Howling like wolves, the pair of them. I knew the Targaryens were a strange bunch, but to bed his cousin? It's probably why he brought her back from Winterfell. Lord Tywin married his cousin, and look how his sons turned out. One a kingslayer, the other a dwarf. Girl likely hasn't been a maid since the first time the prince touched her," the cook, a large, portly lady, yaps away.
"Surely they are to be wed anyway," the maid says tentatively, "there's no offers for Lady Sansa's hand."
The cooks scoffs, "Sure there have been offers. The dark prince just scares her suitors away, or refuses. He can do that, he's a prince. Poor Prince Aegon wanted the girl, but she refused. Can you believe she doesn't want to be queen? And have you seen the younger one? Walking around, dressed like a boy," she tuts, "Prince Aegon is going to have trouble reeling her in. Why look at the Queen! She just does as she pleases, as if she isn't the reason there was a bloody war."
Lyanna does not clear her throat. She merely goes to speak to the other cook who is actually preparing dinner: roasted duck with potato and sauce. The gossiping cook nearly jumps at the sight of her queen and Lyanna raises a brow.
"Perhaps you should spend your time doing your job instead of spreading vicious lies," her voice is as cold as the winter winds, and the maid looks terrified.
"Yes, your grace. Of course, please, forgive me," the cook bows her head.
Lyanna ignores her and turns to the younger maid, "Go on and get back to your duties." Her voice is softer. The girl is scarce older than a child, with honey coloured hair and brown eyes.
"If it please you, your grace," she curtsies and scurries away.
Lyanna fights a sigh. As long as they live life in court, as royals, the gossip will never evade them.
Gendry is taking a break from work, for once. Arya has brought enough food with her that they sit in companionable silence, eating. The door, which is usually left open, is now closed to let customers know the smith is off-duty.
In the past month Arya has learned a few things about Gendry. His mother died when he was young, and Tobho Mott and his wife, who was a friend of Gendry's mother, took him in and raised him as one of their own. He doesn't know who his father is. His mother just told him he died during the war. Gendry's been fascinated with smithing since he was a wee lad, thanks to Tobho. Gendry likes honey cakes more than lemon cakes, he likes apples, he has two foster siblings, he will be twenty in a few weeks, and he does not have many friends.
Gendry has learned Arya does not like dresses, she frowns and scowls often, but when she smiles or laughs it's the most beautiful thing he's seen and heard. He knows she is bored in her life as a lady, but he cannot fathom wanting to run away if her family is as wonderful as she describes. He knows she is nervous when she begins to braid her long, dark brown hair. He knows she didn't have to come back once he was done with Needle, but she did. He also knows she is engaged to the prince, but she doesn't seem to care.
He stares plainly at her, this girl wearing her younger brother's breeches and tunic, her hair fastened haphazardly with a piece of leather. She's funny, rude, at times, but funny. She has a temper and he finds he likes it, and she's even more stubborn than he is, which is a shock.
He sets his apple on the counter, still looking at her. She looks up from her own apple and she lowers her hand from her mouth. Her pink, full lips part ever so slightly and Gendry pushes himself away from the counter as if possessed. Arya scrambles from her stool, dropping the apple. They walk towards each other, meeting in the middle. He cups her face with large hands and she stands on her toes. He kisses her softly, his lips chapped. Arya's heart skips a beat (or two). His hands move to her waist, holding onto her loosely. He kisses her slowly, as if he's not quite sure what to do. She's not sure, either, so they brush their lips together agonizingly slow. She fists his shirt in her hand and pulls him closer. She kisses him harder, not sure if she's kissing correctly, but what she lacks in skill she makes up for in enthusiasm. His hold around her middle tightens and soon his tongue works its way into her mouth, no longer hesitant, and oh gods had she known he'd kiss her like this she would've done something sooner.
He stops kissing her abruptly, and begins to apologize.
"M'lady, I -"
Arya silences him with a kiss, "Shut up and kiss me again, you stupid bull."
So he does. Sweetly and slowly, their mouths work against each other. This time her tongue slips into his mouth and he groans, just a bit.
He decides to test the waters and slides a hand over her tunic, onto her breast. Arya jumps at the contact, but refuses to stop kissing him. He rubs her over the shirt, and though it is loose on her she can feel herself strain against the rough spun fabric. She does not wear smallclothes with her shirts, because they're usually substantial enough to conceal her form.
Somehow she ends up bent over the counter, Gendry kissing her still, his hand lazily circling her breast. She takes his hand and guides it underneath her tunic, and he opens his eyes in surprise. Arya nods her head and he releases a shaky breath once his calloused hands find her smooth skin. He thumbs over her tips and mutters oh gods.
"Arya, not here," he says suddenly, removing his hand from under his shirt.
Arya straightens up, glaring, "Do you want me or not?"
"Gods, yes. More than anything, but not here. Not where Tobho or a customer could walk in," he tries to explain.
She nods and walks towards the door, opening it then slamming it shut behind her. Gendry leans against the counter, heaving. The king would have his head if he finds out what he's done to the prince's betrothed.
He's surprised when he finds her sitting on his bed that very night after he returns to his small shack behind the forge. She's not stupid. Common sense told her the little building behind the smithy is his.
"Arya, what are you doing here?" he asks her warily.
She is still wearing a boy's clothes, and it suits her thin frame.
"To finish what we started," she stands from her bed, her footsteps inaudible.
Her arms wrap around his neck and Gendry can't control himself. He knows the trouble he'll get her into, the trouble he'll get into, but she keeps looking at him with those wide eyes and her lips are so soft he can't stop himself. He leans in a bit to capture her lips, and Arya smiles against his mouth, knowing she's won. He lifts her up and pushes her against the wall. She wraps her legs around his hips and presses herself as close to him as possible. Gendry's kisses grow fevered and rushed and his mouth kisses her neck now. Arya arches her back and Gendry raises her up a bit higher. Her head rests against the wall, and she scratches at his back, wishing he weren't wearing a shirt. Or anything.
His hands slides under her shirt as he had done before and grab hold of both breasts. Arya moves her hands to the hem of her tunic and Gendry moves away from the wall, still carrying Arya. He deftly rids her of the shirt and his eyes darken. Arya remembers her little daydream and decides his eyes are the colour of the ocean when he's aroused, not angry.
He presses her back against the wall, a bit more roughly this time.
"Gods, Arya," he mumbles, lowering his head to her chest.
He takes a nipple into his mouth, dragging his tongue around it. His teeth scrape against the protruding tip, one hand squeezing her ass while the other works its way down Arya's breeches. He stills when he feels curls, not a bit of smallclothes to be seen. He thought ladies always wore smallclothes. Clearly, he's wrong.
Arya licks her lips and Gendry groans, pulling her breeches down. She unhooks her legs from around him and deals with her trousers herself. She bends over, lowering them to her ankles and steps out of them.
"Now this just isn't fair," she tsks and in a swift movement Gendry's tunic is tossed into a pile of clothing and his breeches are around his knees.
Arya looks at him, eyes narrowed. Her gaze lowers to a nest of curls, and his erection. She thinks it's rather odd looking, but what does she know? Her gaze flits up to his eyes, back down, and to his eyes again. She licks her lips and bites her lower lip, all the while fluttering her eyelashes. It's what the ladies at court do, like how when Margaery Tyrell speaks to Aegon she's all fluttering eyelashes and licking lips.
Without a word Gendry picks her up and deposits her on his bed. She laughs and he can't help but smile, too. She's the only girl who has ever caught his interest. There have been a few pretty girls who batted their eyelashes at him, but he just felt uncomfortable around them.
Gendry is the only boy Arya has shown interest in, and it scares her. She never used to care. Negotiations for betrothal were always sent away because Ned knew she would run away. He didn't want to drive her to that, like Lyanna's unwanted engagement to Robert had made her run off with a married man. When suitors had the audacity to turn up at Winterfell, she'd challenge them to a duel. If they won, they could speak to her father. If they lost, they had to return home with their tail between their legs.
Gendry does not have to duel. She thinks he might be able to best her, his strength and size alone being enough to overpower her.
He kisses her again, and Arya's legs part without her even noticing. She wants him inside of her. She wants him to take her so she can go up to Aegon and tell her she won't marry him. She wants Gendry to steal her, so they could leave this godforsaken place. They could return North, or scale the Wall and become wildlings, or flee to the Free Cities.
Her arm is raised above her head and Gendry's mouth is occupied with her breast, his hand stroking her sides.
"Gendry," Arya closes her eyes, threading her fingers through black hair. She has known him for scarce more than a month, but she can feel that there will never be anyone else so suited for her.
He licks back up to her neck, kissing her.
"Have you kissed anyone before?" he asks curiously.
"No," she blushes at her inexperience, "have you?"
"No," he answers, blue eyes meeting her grey ones.
He doesn't sound like he's lying, so she smiles at him. He runs his thumb over her brow, unable to believe Arya is lying underneath him. Her eyes are sparkling and she's naked and so, so beautiful he can't believe she chose him. She chose him over a prince. He stills, and Arya pouts.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
"You're engaged to the prince, m'lady," he presses his forehead against hers.
"I don't care about him. I want you, my stupid, bull-headed smith," she caresses his stubbly cheek with a small hand and Gendry takes her hand in his, pressing a kiss to it.
"I want you, Arya. I want you more than anything," he mumbles.
"Then take me," she whispers.
"As m'lady commands," he murmurs.
He kisses her slowly, savouring the feeling of her tongue running against his lips. He trails hot kisses down her neck, to her small breasts and down to her belly button. Arya bends her knees and he runs his hands up her thin legs. Who would've known she was hiding such lovely legs under those baggy breaches? Or such a small waist under the equally large tunics? Gendry smiles. He knows, and he's certain he's the only one who does.
His moves a finger slowly inside of her and she watches him with wide eyes. She widens her legs further apart and a second finger joins the first. She wiggles, trying to get comfortable. Soon his mouth warm and wet against her and she lets out a gasp. He looks up at her and stops twisting his fingers inside of her.
She glares at him, "Don't fucking stop!"
He has the audacity to laugh and slowly begins to move his fingers again, his tongue darting in and out.
Arya moans and raises her hips, and soon Gendry's so far gone from her smell and her taste he thinks he could die happy now. His movements are slow and hesitant, but it's not his fault he's just as inexperienced as Arya.
He holds her legs and slides her closer to him. She widens her legs further and he moves his lips back to her mouth and she can taste herself on his breath. Gendry positions himself between her legs and she eyes his size nervously.
"I can stop now," he lets her know, voice kind.
"Don't you dare," Arya meets his gaze.
He enters her slowly, his eyes trained on hers. She stares back and grits her teeth. Seven hells, how is all of that supposed to fit inside of her? He's so much taller and heavier than her (most people are taller and heavier than her, actually) that she should have expected this.
"Get on with it," Arya orders, and Gendry laughs at her bossiness.
With a swift thrust he's inside of her and she chokes out a strangled cry. He moves painfully slow, in and out, and she parts her legs further, so that a leg dangled off of each side of the narrow bed. He moves faster now, eyes forever locked onto hers.
"Fuck," Arya hisses, her chest panting.
Her hips move with his, and soon the pain fades and all she feels is fullness and contentment. Her eyes close and she leans her head back and Gendry fucks her and she's glad it's Gendry who does, but had she known how amazing this is she would've fucked him the day she took Needle to him.
He's panting her name, and she's moaning loudly despite her attempts at controlling herself and before she can comprehend what's happening it's over and done with, and he's no longer in her and her she's achy and sore, but he's kissing her again so that's good.
She stays the night, and when he expresses his concern at her getting caught, she smirks.
"I never get caught."
Jon rummages through his mother's belongings until he finds it. Her maiden's cloak. Sansa is nearly the same height as Lyanna, and so it should suit their purposes fine. He neatly folds it and moves to exit his mother's chambers when Lyanna appears in the doorway.
She sees the maiden cloak and she knows what Jon is stealing it for.
"Mother, I—" he tries to think of an excuse.
"You have my blessing, and I'm sure your uncle's and Lady Catelyn's as well. Be careful," Lyanna says quietly, pressing a kiss to Jon's forehead.
Jon nods, "Thank you, Mother."
Oh, how the game is moving along so splendidly. Lord Varys has been in employ for many, many years, and his devotion to the realm is unquestionable.
All he wants is what is right for the realm. Surely another mad king is not what the realm needs? He knows, he sees. He has his little birds everywhere. While the smallfolk and courtiers think of Aegon as a good, kindly lad, he knows the truth. Poor Lady Sansa has been avoiding his advances for years, and now it finally seems as if she's been rescued by her cousin.
There's something about Stark women that make them irresistible to Targaryen men. And now that Sansa's been bedded and soon to be wedded (remember, Varys knows all), Aegon's attentions will fall on the younger Stark. She would make a horrible queen. Queen Lyanna has social graces and courtesies, learned over time, because she loves her lord husband, but Lady Arya will never learn, for she loves someone besides her betrothed. Lord Robert's bastard son, one of the smiths in King's Landing, has caught the eye of the young lady.
Varys giggles to himself. A wolf and a stag. Robert would be so pleased.
It's the early hours of morning when Lord Varys bumps into the she-wolf herself. She's smiling at nothing, still wearing her clothes from the day before, though that's nothing new for this wild child.
"Lady Arya," he greets, inclining his bald head.
"Lord Varys," she attempts a bow, and Varys tries not to roll his eyes. The sooner she's gone from King's Landing, the better. Poor girl would likely rather kill herself than be queen.
"What do you know of House Baratheon, Lady Arya?" he asks.
She raises a brow at the random question, "My father was fostered with Robert Baratheon under Lord Arryn's care. He was engaged to my aunt when she ran away. He started a war."
"Hmm, yes. Anything else?"
Arya shrugs.
"A stag in the guise of a bull is still a stag, and stags don't survive dragons when they love a wolf," he warns her before going on his way.
Arya stands in the courtyard, confused. The eunuch is speaking in riddles. The only bull she knows is Gendry, but what he has to do with Baratheons she doesn't know. He's not some lordling. He's just Gendry. She watches Varys walk away and thinks that he shouldn't be so deep into his cups at such an early hour.
He won't leave her alone. Arya's face is impassive as Aegon wraps his arm around hers as they take a turn around the gardens. He asks how she likes King's Landing, if she's still homesick, and she scowls.
"Winterfell will always be my home," she says.
His grip on her arm tightens, "King's Landing can be your new home."
She wants to run away from him. Or at least yell that King's Landing will never be her home. She wants to go see Gendry. She wants to be with him again. She wants to tell the king and queen she loves that bastard blacksmith, and that she'd rather marry him than some pampered prince.
"Loosen your grip on my arm right now, my lord, or I will tell the King of your actions towards my dear sister," Arya says in a steely voice.
Almost immediately, his grip loosens. Arya pulls her arm away and frowns at Aegon.
"You are to be king. Learn to treat others with respect if you wish for your people to respect you," she says and walks off.
Aegon stares after her, a soft smile forming on his lips.
This is probably the strangest wedding ceremony Arya will ever attend. Sansa and Jon are in front of the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep. Arya stands as witness, taking the Stark maiden's cloak that Jon removes from Sansa's shoulders. He drapes a black Targaryen cloak with the red dragon emblazoned upon it.
They say the words, which Arya doesn't listen to. She smiles broadly, though her smile is nothing compared to the way Sansa beams. She's absolutely stunning, wearing one of her nicer gowns, of a Stark grey and white. Her hair is in a Northern style braid, reaching the small of her back. Sansa smiles brightly, and clasps Jon's hands. Arya can see her hands are shaking, and notices that Jon's holding onto her so tightly his knuckles are turning white.
He's smiling softly, a dazed expression on his face, as if he can't believe he's marrying Sansa. Tears well up in her eyes and Jon lets go of her hand to brush her cheek before kissing her.
Arya makes a fake-gagging sound, but is truly happy for her sister and her cousin.
Jon and Sansa pull away from each other, laughing. Jon takes the maiden's cloak from Arya and folds it, to be returned to Lyanna.
"Go on, then," Arya shoos them, "go make some babies. I expect one to be named after me."
Sansa and Jon blush like maids, and Arya rolls her eyes.
"Get on with it," she shoos them once more, and this time they entwine their hands, and head towards the direction of Jon's chambers.
The next day at breakfast, Jon and Sansa are more obvious with their displays of affection. Jon's hand rests on Sansa's, and he draws a circle on the back of her hand with his thumb. They look at their food, glance at each other, then smile. Arya's amused and is content to watch, and Daenerys is quicker than the rest of them.
She lifts her goblet of watered down honeyed wine.
"I'd like to propose a toast. To my dear nephew and his bride," she says.
Aegon looks confused, and lifts his cup, "She's not my bride yet."
"No, my other nephew. To Jon and Sansa, may you have many happy years together, and many beautiful babes," she says with a gentle smile.
Viserys raises a brow, and Rhaenys lifts her own cup, grinning at her little brother. Aegon is her true brother, yes, but Jon shares the same blood Targaryen blood as them. If her brothers are happy, she is happy.
Sansa blushes and Jon smiles. Lyanna tries to look like she knew nothing about this, and Aegon fumes.
"This is a mummer's farce of marriage," he stands abruptly, "a union not recognized by the Seven."
"We keep the Old Gods," Sansa says coolly, "we said the words and he gave me his cloak. We are wed."
"Oh, no," Aegon shakes his head, "the High Septon will announce it null and void."
Jon looks ready to strangle Aegon, when Rhaegar interrupts.
"The High Septon will do no such thing. They are wed in sight of their gods and that is that. They shall be wed in the Great Sept of Baelor after you marry Arya. Until then, not a word of this," he says in a decisive tone, and Aegon slumps back into his seat.
Arya feels like she might have some luck in asking to be released from the marriage agreement, but decides now is not the time.
"Sansa, congratulations on your wedding," Rhaegar says more gently.
"Thank you, your grace," she smiles.
Jon takes her hand and kisses it.
"And you," Rhaegar's eyes dance in amusement, "stealing yourself a wife."
"Sound familiar?" Lyanna asks.
Rhaegar looks at her fondly, "You stole me, remember?"
"Was it I who crowned you Queen of Love and Beauty?" she asks sarcastically.
"It should have been Mother," Aegon says quietly, bringing the celebratory mood down.
"Yes. Yes, it should have," Lyanna agrees softly. Aegon's eyes meet hers and she offers a gentle smile. It is the one thing she'll never forgive Rhaegar for, the slight to Elia. "Your mother truly was the most beautiful woman in Westeros. You and Rhaenys look so much like her."
Rhaneys wipes at her eyes and Aegon is quiet. He looks to Lyanna again. Rhaegar once told him that Elia knew, that she encouraged him to seek a new bride, because she was weak and could not birth the third head of the dragon. Aegon frowns. Jon's no dragon at all. He's a direwolf, and now he's married one, too. His brother's loyalties will always lie to the North, to the Starks. He thinks of Robb and the others as his siblings more than him and Rhaenys, and that is a slight Aegon cannot forget. Now that he's wed Sansa, the Stark children are his siblings. He's just a wolf who has joined a pack.
Next: Arya tries to talk to Lyanna about setting aside the engagement, a tourney for Aegon's nameday is planned, some lord visits Tobho Mott and asks to speak to Gendry, and Daenerys and Rhaenys have a little chat about the Free Cities.