To the reviewer who asked how the hell Oberyn agreed to marry Cersei, let's just say the Martells have plans and are hoping their patience pays off. Oberyn married her for revenge. Cersei's marriage isn't anything she'd hoped for, and is a punishment to her. Gregor Cleagne's been executed, Tywin's dead, Jaime's on the Wall or dead, Tyrion is lord of Casterly Rock, and Cersei's husband has tonnes of bastards who he dotes on like they were his trueborn children (in this case just Cersei only has Myrcella), because he hates Cersei. At feasts Ellaria sits with them at the dais, further insulting Cersei. Without her brother and father, she's not the same Cersei she is in the series, and the final blow is when he names one of his bastards with Ellaria after Elia. This will be further explained later on.
Lyanna holds the parchment, grey eyes scanning over it quickly. Sansa has written to her parents of her and Jon's impromptu wedding, and Catelyn Stark has sent two letters in return – one addressed to Sansa and Jon, the other to Lyanna. She holds the second letter in her other hand, still unopened.
She finds Sansa reading in the greenhouse near the gardens and hands her the letter.
"From your parents," Lyanna says without preamble.
Sansa takes it nervously, afraid of being reprimanded for marrying her cousin, especially without telling them first. She shouldn't be afraid, though. Wolves are strong.
She breaks the seal and begins to read. Lyanna stands by, pretending to tend to the winter roses Rhaegar grows just for her.
Dearest Sansa,
I can't say I'm surprised, sweetling. You and Jon have always had a connection, though you weren't the closest as children. Your father and I are not mad, or upset. We just wish you would have told us about your feelings before we let you go to King's Landing. Then again, I suspected something was different, all those years ago when Jon asked if he could take you to King's Landing. At that point I thought he was just a child who would miss his cousin. I knew then, though I did not acknowledge it, that it was more than that. I count myself lucky that you have fallen in love with a boy who grew up under mine and your lord father's care. A boy who is not Theon, mind you. Jon is as much a Stark as you are, and you two will always be welcomed in Winterfell with open arms. Take care of each other, sweetling. Love each other and respect each other. Be happy.
All my love,
Catelyn Stark
Sansa lets out a sigh of relief, and Lyanna smiles.
"Good reaction?" she asks.
"Yes, very good," Sansa holds the letter to her chest.
"They plan on coming for Arya's wedding, and since yours will be after, they intend to stay for that as well," Lyanna informs her.
Sansa breaks out into a grin, "Really?"
"Your parents, Bran, and Rickon," Lyanna clarifies.
Sansa nods, disappointed Robb won't be with them. But there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And now that Dacey's with child, he won't let her leave his sight, let alone trek to the capitol.
"How is Arya?" Lyanna asks quietly. Her younger niece barely speaks to her, and she rarely even deigns to show up for breakfast.
"As well as she can be, given the circumstances," Sansa looks down.
"Aegon is not a bad man. He has a temper, is all," Lyanna tries to explain her stepson's actions. He is quite pleasant when Viserys does not whisper into his ear. He grew up without a mother, for Elia perished when her son was just a babe. Lyanna tried to fill the role as mother to the best of her ability, and for a time, Aegon let her. But by the time he was six and Jon scarcely five, Viserys's unkind words had convinced him Jon was not truly his brother, and Lyanna a horrible stepmother.
"Arya thinks, hopes, he won't keep to her bed," Sansa bites her lip, "she says he can have all the ladies and whores he wants, so long as he does not touch her."
Lyanna closes her eyes for a brief moment, remembering her concerns about her long-dead betrothed.
"Why can't you speak to the king? Please, Aunt Lya, do not condemn Arya to a life of misery. I can't be happy while my sister suffers," Sansa looks up at her aunt with large blue eyes, and Lyanna decides to speak with Rhaegar. For Arya.
When Sansa starts to look ill at the sight of breakfast, she keeps to her chambers. When she begins to vomit into a basin, Jon holds her hair back. The Prince's tourney is in two weeks, his wedding to Arya the month after, and Sansa seems to be afflicted with mother's stomach. The wedding in the Sept must be pushed forward if her honor is to remain untainted. That would mean Arya's wedding is pushed up, too.
A few days after Sansa begins to turn green at the sight of anything but lemon cakes, Arya notices her moon blood is late. She begins to panic, pacing around her room, hand on her belly. She never wanted to be a mother, and she gets the tea from Sansa, who gets it from a handmaiden, but she can't bring herself to drink it, knowing Gendry's child could be inside of her. The moon tea ends up wedged in a random drawer, out of sight and out of mind.
She almost tells Gendry, and she wonders if he'd be happy. If he'd marry her in secret, if they'd run away. She smiles, running her hand over her flat stomach. Gendry would be a good father. She doubts her skills as a mother, but if Gendry is by her side, she wouldn't mind.
She almost tells Gendry, but she doesn't. The day she is to tell him of her suspicions, she wakes up in a bloody bed. She doesn't go see him and instead cries for the child that never was. It had been a fluke, she'd barely been a week late.
Sansa comes into her chambers and sees her sister's tear-stained cheeks and red eyes. She sits down and pulls Arya into her lap, running her fingers through her hair like Mother used to.
"Shh," Sansa soothes. She does not know why her sister is crying, but she can hazard a guess. She thinks the boy, whoever he may be, better treat her sister well, lest she herself run him through with Ice.
Arya hiccups and Sansa rubs her back, holding her like she used to when she scraped a knee. Arya used to run to Jon more than anyone else, but this time it's Sansa who Arya turns to. Sansa tries to make light of the situation and thinks Jon cannot handle Arya's pregnancy scare, because sometimes he sees her as a little girl.
Sansa helps Arya get rid of the soiled sheets and places a fresh one on the mattress, despite it being a servant's job. Arya clutches her stomach in pain. Whether it's emotional or physical, Sansa thinks it might be both.
She has the maids run a bath for Arya, and after she's washed and cleaned Sansa helps her into trousers and a linen shirt and vest, and then she combs Arya's wild waves.
Arya doesn't speak, but she lets her sister braid her hair. One of the few times Arya feels pretty is when Sansa does her hair. The other times are when Gendry kisses her mouth, her neck, her shoulders, every last inch of her, marvelling at her supposed beauty. She thinks he's insane, if he thinks she's beautiful. At the thought of Gendry her eyes start to well again, but she does not let herself cry. Wolves don't cry.
All Sansa wants to eat are lemon cakes. Or drink lemon water. It's all she can stomach. The kitchens are bursting to the brim with lemon, and Doran Martell has them imported especially from the less dry regions of Dorne, for all the lemons in King's Landing are not enough to sate Sansa's appetite.
Arya laughs as Sansa bites into another lemon cake.
"Honestly, Sansa, it's worse than when you were a girl," she teases.
"You try having to feed an extra person who doesn't like anything else," Sansa snaps, her mood souring suddenly. She sees Arya's downcast look and bites her lip, "Oh, Arya."
She looks up and tries to smile, "You'd better name this one after me."
"What if it's a boy?" Sansa asks.
"Arry," she answers simply.
"I was thinking about naming him after Father, if it's a boy," Sansa says, hand on her belly. She's not swelling yet, but by her count it's not even been two months. Jon already waits on her hand and foot. He barely lets her do anything, and now he won't even let her continue her lessons in swordfighting. She sees the logic behind that decision, but it doesn't mean she has to like it.
Arya looks away at the mention of their father. She refuses to read the letters addressed to her from Winterfell, nor does she write to them. She's still mad.
She makes a noncommittal noise and busies herself with a lemon cake. Someone needs to help Sansa finish the plates upon plates of cake, after all.
"And if it's a girl?" Arya asks curiously.
Sansa shrugs, "Minisia, maybe. Or a Targaryen name."
"Nymeria," Arya automatically spits out.
"The warrior queen of the Rhoynar?" Sansa raises a thin brow, lips twitching into a grin, "save that name for your own babe."
Arya makes a sour face, "Aegon would probably pick a stupid name."
"Not Aegon," Sansa shakes her head, and Arya has hope that someone will put aside this insanity of a betrothal.
"Aegon will not like it," Rhaegar rubs his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.
"I know you wish to please your children, but think of the realm," Lyanna circles behind Rhaegar to wrap her arms around him. She kisses his cheek and he leans into her touch, "Do you truly wish a queen who does not wish to be queen upon Westeros?"
Rhaegar turns around and cups his wife's cheek with his hand, "She can learn, Lyanna. She can grow to love Aegon and she can learn how to rule."
"But she doesn't want to," Lyanna says, wondering how to convince her husband to void the contract.
"And Stark women always get what they want, don't they?" Rhaegar asks quietly, brushing his thumb over his jaw.
"There's always a price to pay. As much as I love her, Ned has indulged Arya, so have Catelyn and Robb and Jon and Sansa. She's more wildling than lady, and unfit to be queen," Lyanna tries to appeal to his sensible side.
"You're part wildling yourself, my queen," Rhaegar says quietly.
"That my be, but I loved you, and wanted to be with you," Lyanna presses her forehead against Rhaegar's.
"Loved?" he asks.
"Of course I still love you, my stupid prince, but we paid the price for that love. I don't want to condemn Arya or Aegon to an unhappy, miserable marriage," Lyanna says desperately, "they should be as lucky as we are."
Rhaegar pulls away and kisses her, but makes no promises. He shall see to throwing Margaery Tyrell in his son's path more often.
Arya curls up next to Gendry, and he runs his fingers through her tangled hair. She wishes to stay like this forever, to never return to the Red Keep.
"You'll be wed soon," he says blankly, eyes a stormy blue.
She looks at him sadly. His eyes always betray his stoic expression. She's said it before and she'll say it again.
"I'd sooner run away than marry him," she says.
"Will you?" Gendry asks seriously, "run away with me?"
Deep blue eyes bore into hers, and she remains quiet. Her mind churns. Would she run away with him? Bring shame upon her family? Make them worry? She bites the inside of her lip. All she can think about is being with Gendry until the end of her days. They could create aliases for themselves, live in the woods and eat what she hunted down. She can feel him tense beside her and before she has a chance to say yes, he speaks.
"You're a lady, Arya. You have a duty to your family, I understand," he says quietly.
"No," she shakes her head and lifts herself up to lean over him.
"I don't have a family, but you do. Go to them," Gendry says, brushing his thumb over her cheek.
"I can be your family," she says.
He smiles, "You'd be my lady."
"Shut up," she chuckles, punching him lightly.
"Make me," he says in a low voice, nearly growling.
She kisses him hard and fast, settling herself on top of him, hips moving in time with his.
"I love you," Gendry whispers, gazing up at Arya.
"You're just saying that," she turns pink, slowing her motions.
"No. I fucking love you," he sounds dazed, and he's afraid she'll run away. Instead she kisses him slowly, sweetly.
"I—I love you, too," she stammers, her nose brushing against his. It's madness, to love someone so completely so quickly. Sometimes people are made for each other, like Mother and Father or Jon and Sansa. She suspects Gendry is for her, and only her.
He is hers as she is his, and she swears to him that she will never be anyone else's.
As they drift off to sleep, he kisses her shoulder and she promises again. He grins at her fondly and simply holds her, knowing Arya of House Stark could never marry him, but he can love her, and she can love him back.
The next time Arya steals away to see Gendry he can barely look at her. She lets it slip that the wedding date has been moved in order to accommodate Sansa's soon to be growing belly. His jaw tenses and when she tries to embrace him he holds her mechanically. She pulls away, tears threatening to fall. She'd been crying far too much because of this stupid bull-headed boy, and she was sick of it.
"Gen," she tries.
"It's late, m'lady. You should get on home to your castle and your prince," his voice is thick.
Arya's mouth opens in defiance, "I told you I'd run away with you. We just have less time than I thought to plan, is all."
"You really should go, m'lady," he holds the door open for her and she punches him, storming out in a rage.
All the preparations have been made for the prince's name day tourney. Jon had joined the lists for the jousting competition, while Aegon would be engaged in combat. He had been leaving Sansa alone as of late, and had apologized countless times for his unacceptable behavoir. Sansa suspects it has something to do with Arya's glares and his spending more time with Danerys and less time with Viserys.
Lords and ladies from around the seven kingdoms are in attendance, many of them staying at the Red Keep.
Arya runs down a corridor, a small bundle of cakes in her arms. She comes screeching to a halt when a man gets in her way. She looks up, ready to yell, when her throat dries. It's Gendry, or at least, a lord in fine clothing who looks like Gendry.
"I beg your pardon, my lord," she inclines her head.
"I beg your pardon, my lady," he smiles, bright blue eyes taking in her appearance. She's wearing Bran's clothes, once again. She had been intent on seeing Gendry before the madness of the tourney began. She wants to apologize, and she's certain he'll be all sweet words and sincere apologies for his behaviour the other night.
Arya is uncomfortable under his gaze. His eyes are the exact same shade as Gendry's, and his hair is the same colour. The only differentiating feature besides his lordly clothing is his facial hair.
"Lady Arya, I presume?" he asks.
Arya nods, "I'm sorry, my lord, but I do not know who you are."
"I didn't think you would. Renly Baratheon, of Storm's End," he inclines his head.
Arya's heart stops. A stag in the guise of a bull is still a stag.
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord, but I must go," she says.
"Please, I don't mean to keep you, my lady," Renly smiles at her and she scurries off, not daring to look back at him.
When she finds Gendry neither at the smithy nor his home, she fears the worst.
Arya's stuck wearing a stupid dress, dark grey with silver embellishments. Sansa did her hair, taking thin strands and weaving them into an elaborate braid. Sansa looks radiant, of course, wearing a Tully blue dress that made her eyes brighter. In fact, Sansa is glowing, sitting up in the royal box.
Daenerys wears a purple dress that drapes over her petite frame, while Rhaenys wears a red and orange dress that compliments her complexion. Lyanna wears Targaryen red and Stark grey, and the colours work well together.
Rhaegar sits next to Lyanna, his hand resting atop his wife's. Viserys looks out at the arena with a bored expression, only livening up when things get violent.
Renly Baratheon unhorses a jouster from House Whent, and pulls his helmet off in victory.
Lyanna takes a sharp breath, and Arya watches as Rhaegar's hand tightens on hers. He's to joust with Jon next, and Jon ends up winning the entire jousting match.
He hands a single red rose to Sansa, who turns the color of her hair. Everyone would later remark at how much they looked like Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn, and the pair of them would look embarrassed and smile while the news of their "engagement" is announced later at the feast.
Aegon easily disarms his competitors, with Loras Tyrell being one of the few who gives him a real challenge. While it's Aegon's name day celebration, everyone in the stands whispers about the mystery knight who ends up beating all his competitors into submission.
Arya tries to convince herself it's not Gendry when she's sees that blasted bull's helm. Perhaps the stubborn boy had finally been convinced to sell it. Arya also tries not to notice Renly Baratheon taking a keen interest in the man with the warhammer. She notes Lyanna's unflinching gaze and Rhaegar's furrowed brow.
In the end it's Aegon and the mystery knight, facing off against each other. The battle is hard fought, with blow after blow, parry after parry, hit after hit. It lasts seconds, it lasts days, Arya does not know. All she knows is that she clenches her hands tightly into fists and Sansa sends her a strange look.
The warhammer crashes against Aegon, and he falls to the ground with a clamour and a thud. He stands after a moment, pulling black helmet off to announce the mystery knight as the winner of the tourney. He takes the mystery knight's hand and raises it in victory and congratulations. He tells the man to take his helmet off, so he does. He lifts the bull's helm off and tosses it onto the ground. The crowd bursts into applause for this stranger who bested their prince. His eyes meet Arya's, only Arya's, and her heart beats so rapidly she's sure all of King's Landing can hear.
From beside her Lyanna lets out a breathy Robert so quietly only Arya hears. Yards away Renly Baratheon gapes at the boy who looks like he could be his brother. Or his nephew.
Stags in the guise of bulls. Arya's heart beats rapidly, and her stomach flips. Aegon hands Gendry a crown of blue winter roses picked from Lyanna's garden, and he's to pick the queen of love and beauty.
Arya tries to tell him with her eyes to go to someone else, but he walks towards the royal box seats. He walks towards her slowly, and she wants to hit him repeatedly. Her stupid bull.
"M'lady," he raises the wreath towards Arya, who takes it with shaking hands. He inclines his head in respect and she tries to control her motions.
"What is your name, ser?" Queen Lyanna asks.
"I am no ser, Your Grace," he replies in a self-deprecating manner, "I am just some tavern wench's bastard."
Lyanna openly stares at him and Rhaegar's eyes narrow at the young man who bears a striking resemblance to the young Lord of Storm's End. It's like looking at Robert Baratheon at the Battle of the Trident, with his black hair slick with sweat against his forehead and blue eyes. But this boy's eyes are brighter, not dull and dying with defeat and heartbreak.
Gendry bows his head once more and disappears from the arena, and Arya stands, watching him leave. The flowers are crumpled in her hands that she fists at her sides. Aegon sends her a questioning look, and she sits back down before arousing suspicion.
The tourney is over, but she must make an appearance at the feast. She hopes Gendry is not foolish enough to be there. She hopes he is foolish enough to be there. She's a fool, too.
Rhaegar announces that Jon and Sansa will be wed after Aegon and Arya, and a roar of cheers rings through the Great Hall. They sit up at the dais, the silver haired Targaryens, the dark haired Martells, the red and brown haired Starks. Uniting Westeros, one political alliance at a time, Arya cringes.
Jon holds Sansa's hand all throughout the feast, and they share their food discreetly. Daenerys and Rhaenys laugh at something stupid Viserys says, but Arya doesn't know what it was.
Aegon is actually smiling, talking to his father and Lyanna civilly.
"Shame we never got that boy's name. We could use good knights," Aegon says conversationally.
Arya sees Lyanna freeze and her heart lodges into her throat. It's too hot, and her stupid dress itches. She peers at the festivities, trying to look impassive. Margaery Tyrell looks beautiful, wearing a light blue and gold coloured dress, and dances with Lord Renly.
They look good together. Arya clenches her jaw. He looks so much like Gendry that all she sees is Margaery fucking Tyrell putting her hands all over Gendry. Her Gendry. Not Margaery's, not anyone else's, hers. It's not fair to Margaery, though. She's dancing with Renly and Margaery's only been the paragon of friendliness to her and Sansa.
She takes a long sip of honeyed wine and decides to go outside to get some air.
She finds Gendry right outside the Great Hall, and he's got bags under his eyes and he looks sad. He's just seen what her life is like.
He nods his head at her and she itches to touch him. Instead she stands as close to him as close as polite society deems proper.
"Will you still be my family?" she asks in a quiet voice. She can't stand the Great Hall, the Red Keep. The pressure is too much. She doesn't care about any of that shit.
"If m'lady commands it," Gendry bows his head.
She shakes her head, "You have to want it, too."
"I will be your family and anything you ask of me, forever and always," Gendry leans into her ear, whispering. She takes a sharp intake of breath and smiles gently.
"When did you become such a romantic?" she teases.
He smiles at her, the foul mood from days before gone, and takes his leave after pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. They're both fools, but they're fools in love.
Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow. Escaping from her chambers to the city is not as difficult a task as someone would make it seem. She has a small bundle of clothes and a coin purse with some golden stags. She's wearing Bran's cast-offs and she'd only packed herself breeches and shirts and vests. She leaves the dresses, figuring if the bust is let out a smidge, Daenerys could wear them, since they're of the same height.
She leaves a note for Lyanna, despite still being upset with her. She writes one for Jon and Sansa, a short one, and she hopes that should she return one day with Gendry, they won't have their heads.
She takes one of the passageways Dany had shown her, and finds herself outside of the Red Keep, on a city street. Good. She doesn't risk stealing a horse from the stables, but she need not worry. She's got enough money to buy two, but all they need is a ship to Braavos.
Arya walks into Gendry's small shack and he kisses her quickly. He too has packed a few of his belongings, and he's got a sword, much like how Arya has Needle by her side.
"We're doing this?" he asks quietly.
Arya nods, "Yes."
He breaks out into a grin and she wraps her arms around him. She pulls away and rummages around the small room.
"What're you looking for?" he asks.
"Scissors," she replies. She finds them in a shallow drawer, pulls the hood of her cloak off, and brings them to her long brown hair.
"What are you doing?" he asks, eyes squinted.
"They'll all be looking for some highborn girl, not a boy," Arya says as if it's obvious.
"Arya, even with short hair, no one would believe you're a boy," he says gently, taking the scissors from her.
He's right about that. She's got breasts and hips. They're small, but they're there. She snatches the scissors back.
"They'd use my hair as a descriptor to try and find me, The can't if it's not there anymore," she says with a tone of finality.
She brings her hair over one shoulder and hacks at it. She quietly curses the tangles she didn't brush out. Gendry steps behind her and takes the scissors, cutting her hair as evenly as he can. After a few minutes, he proclaims her hair a masterpiece.
Arya graps at a few strands. Her once waist-length hair now grazes her jaw, the dark brown locks on the ground. Her hair had been wavy at the ends, but now it was mostly straight. Good, she thinks. The more different she looks, the better. She runs her hand through her hair and more strands fall to the floor. Gendry picks up a broom and sweeps them away, and he shrugs. Arya smiles at his thoughtfulness. Of course they'd go looking for where Gendry lived, and if they found the hair on the ground they'd know how to describe her to others.
With the hair discarded and Arya's hood back up, and Gendry holding their few belongings, they set off towards the docks as quietly as possible. In a few hours they'd be in the middle of the Narrow Sea, and then they'd be free in the Free Cities.
When they reach the ship headed towards Braavos, the Captain looks at them strangely.
"No," he says immediately.
"We have the coin," Arya says, holding out the money intended for the voyage.
"And yer names?" he asks, eying the golden dragons.
"Cat," Arya says unthinkingly, giving her mother's nickname. She looks at Gendry, "and he's the Bull."
"A cat and a bull, eh?" the Captain smirks, "welcome aboard."
Gendry looks at Arya nervously and she smiles reassuringly. They're going to be free.
Next up: Aegon throws a fit and begrudgingly agrees to marry Margaery Tyrell on the condition that Arya is not found before the wedding, Lyanna tries to make sure Arya's wish of not being looked for is granted, Rhaegar still has people on the lookout for the youngest Stark girl, Sansa writes to Winterfell about Arya, Daenerys plans her trip across the Narrow Sea, and Cat and the Bull settle into their new lives.