I'm sorry for the wait, but classes have started up again. Thank you to the reviewer who pointed out that marriages among cousins are acceptable in Westeros, here it's more a taboo since they were raised together, if that makes sense. Thank you for reading/reviewing, etc. Very brief smut towards the end.
As soon as they step out of the carriage, Sansa runs to her mother, throwing her arms around her in a hug. Lyanna does the same, rushing to her older brother immediately.
They boys laugh and tackle an unsuspecting Jon, and he ruffles their hair. They've gotten so big. Bran is nearly his height and Rickon looks just like Robb when he was that age.
Once Lyanna turns her attention to Bran and Rickon, Sansa launches herself at her father. Catelyn walks up to Jon with a small smile.
"Lady Stark," Jon inclines his head nervously.
"Come here, Jon," she opens her arms and envelops him in a hug.
Jon hugs back, letting out a sigh of relief. As a child, all he'd wanted was Catelyn and Ned to love him like one of their own. It's why he was so uncomfortable with his feelings for Sansa at the beginning. They were raised in the same household, practically as siblings.
"The halls of Winterfell aren't the same without you. Without either of you," Catelyn pulls away and gives her son in-law and nephew an once-over. It's been near three years since she last saw him, and he looks like Ned. He looks like Brandon.
Sansa pulls away from Ned, and he looks at his nephew with a large grin. He's all Stark, and he can't help but be a bit proud of the man Jon's grown to become.
Lyanna showers attention on Rickon and Bran, and takes their hands, leading them out of the main courtyard and into the Red Keep.
Sansa links her arm with Catelyn, and Jon and Ned walk inside side by side.
"How does the babe fare?" Catelyn asks quietly.
Sansa smiles brightly, "I think I felt him kick just yesterday."
She's not showing yet, and it's a good thing, too, lest the courtiers talk. A firstborn who is birthed a month or two early isn't completely unusual, is it?
The procession of Starks enters the Great Hall, and Rhaegar stands from the Iron Throne, taking steps down to greet his wife's family. His heart churns at the sight of Ned and Jon standing next to each other. He's quite possessive. Jon is his son, not the honorable Lord Stark's.
Aegon schools his features into that of passivity and examines the Starks. He vaguely remembers them from the royal family's visit to Winterfell all those years ago. The boys take after Lady Stark, Sansa, too. The youngest and Sansa have red hair and blue eyes, while the older boy has auburn hair. Lyanna and Lord Stark look like they could have been twins, and Aegon notes that Jon and Arya could have passed as siblings. Arya. His betrothed. Sometimes he if she wouldn't have run off if only he'd been kinder.
The Starks bow in front of Rhaegar and Aegon, and Rhaegar tells them to rise, for they are family. Rhaenys and Daenerys watch with small smiles and step forward to greet Sansa's family. Viserys looks on, bored.
Bran looks at Daenerys and Rhaenys, as if dazed. Jon glares at his cousin and good-brother, half teasing and half serious.
Everyone exchange pleasantries for a few minutes before Sansa and a few handmaidens show the Stark family their quarters for the next few days.
Sansa does not leave her family's side. Jon smiles as Sansa sits next to Catelyn, grinning from ear to ear. He feels guilty, having whisked her away from Winterfell, her home. Once Aegon is wed, and once he and Sansa are married in the Sept, perhaps they could return to Winterfell. He feels more welcome in the frigid cold of the North with Winterfell's hard walls and summer snows than in King's Landing. He doubts Father will let them leave, and Mother will be distraught. He sighs, and returns to his conversation with Uncle Ned. He and Sansa sit below the royal dais, with the Starks, much to Rhaegar's chagrin.
They are having a feast in the Great Hall, surrounded by courtiers and lords and ladies from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms who have come to attend the wedding. They all know now that Aegon will be marrying Margaery, but no one knows that Arya's run away. The official story Doran Martell has put out is that Aegon and Arya simply were not compatible, and that she left for Winterfell two weeks ago with a small guard, so that her presence would not potentially disturb the wedding.
The Martells, Tyrells, Starks, and Targaryens know this is a load of bull. Yet Aegon is seated next to Margaery and they have bright smiles on their faces. How much of it is genuine and how much of it is a show, no one knows.
Viserys sulks all throughout the feast, ignoring the fluttering lashes one of Margaery's cousins is bestowing on him.
The Martells had arrived days before the Starks, and Myrcella sits next to Viserys uncomfortably, while Quentyn speaks to Daenerys. Trystane has remained in Sunspear with the Sand Snakes, allowing Arianne to attend the wedding festivities. The family of the Hand of the King sits with the royals, and the Dornish fashion themselves as princes and princesses, anyway. They belong up there, above the Starks, at least in Cersei's mind.
Cersei Martell looks as though she's swallowed a lemon, sitting in a place of honor (as she is part of the Hand's family now). Her husband sits next to her, and Ellaria sits on his other side. Prince Doran sits closer to the King, his illness becoming more and more apparent as he ages.
Lady Allyria Dayne of Starfall is in attendance, with her betrothed, Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven. Rhaegar greets her warmly, eyes apologetic. Allyria's sister Ashara had been one of Elia's companions before the Rebellion, and her brother Arthur had been one of his closest friends. Ashara Dayne had thrown herself from a tower, into the sea, upon learning of her brother's death.
Lord Stark notices the glares he has been receiving from the dark haired, violet-eyed girl. She looks just like Ashara, and his heart constricts. He'd been the one to kill Ser Arthur Dayne at the Tower of Joy. How was he to know Lyanna was being guarded for her own protection? That she had left of her own accord? He regrets the bloodshed, but he had to find his sister. He doesn't glare at Rhaegar all the time, now does he? The Mad King had his father and brother killed for daring to want Lyanna back.
He feels Catelyn stiffen beside him when she notices the hateful look of the young Dornish woman. There had been rumors going around years and years ago that Ashara Dayne had thrown herself to her death because she was in love with Ned. Ned assured her it's not true, that he simply danced with her once and they spoke of Brandon. Catelyn had frowned. Brandon was betrothed to her at the time he met Ashara. Benjen let it slip once that Brandon Stark and Robert Baratheon were not so different, and Catelyn realized what had transpired. Grieving the loss of her brother and to a lesser extent, Brandon, Ashara had killed herself.
The dancing starts, and Oberyn and his paramour, Ellaria Sand, take to the floor, as do Lyanna and Rhaegar.
Cersei has a small smile on her face. She's used to these slights. Ellaria looks over the golden haired woman and frowns in an attempted apology. Cersei tries not to snort in derision. When Oberyn had first brought the Dornish whore to Sunspear, she had tried to be a friend to Cersei. Cersei Lannister of Casterly Rock, friends with a lowborn whore, hah! Cersei had smiled sweetly and told her that she does not care what she and Oberyn do, for none of her children will ever get in the way of Myrcella's legitimacy. Doran has three children, and after them, Oberyn is the heir to the throne. Should anything happen to Doran, Arianne, Quentyn, Trystane, and Oberyn, then Myrcella could be a proper Princess. Cersei doubts that will ever happen. She's surprised that Arianne's not yet gone to speak to Viserys, the bored looking prince. He looks like Rhaegar, and Cersei recalls her crush on the now-king.
Myrcella looks exceedingly uncomfortable with Viserys, and Arianne saves the day by asking the prince to dance. He looks surprised at her forwardness, and smirks. Arianne narrows her eyes; his smirk reminds her of Darkstar.
"It would be my pleasure, princess," Viserys stands and leads her to the dance floor.
Myrcella looks at ease, now.
Jon and Sansa have joined in the dancing, and Cersei openly stares at them, then looks to Lord and Lady Stark. Gods, the boy must be strange, being engaged to a cousin was raised with as a sibling. It's as if they were Lord and Lady Stark twenty years ago. She smirks, remembering her childhood with Jaime. She's certain the prince and his cousin had played at kissing as children, much like she and Jaime had. It's perfectly alright for them, he's a Targaryen, but not for a Lannister. Cersei's smirk fades. Jaime.
Her gaze flits over the grand hall and her expression turns sour once more. She did not know her youngest brother would be in attendance. Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock. It should've been hers, or at least Jaime's, she thinks. The imp waddles forward, seemingly intent on speaking to her.
"My sweet sister," he greets with a smile.
"Tyrion," she says flatly.
He chuckles, and she finds him uglier than before.
"Care to dance?" he asks, teasing.
She glares. How dare he mock her? She very well knows she means little to her husband, but her brother could at least show her some compassion.
"No," she replies.
"Ever the ice queen, Cersei. At least you know you're still the prettiest woman in the room," he says.
She smiles a bit at that, and laughs. Tyrion laughs, too.
"I'm certainly a better sight than you," she smirks.
Tyrion smiles, "Well, I must find another lady to dance with."
He moves to leave, and Cersei stops him.
"Do you have any news?" she asks quietly.
"He is cold, and complains of Lord Commander Mormont regularly, and drinks with Benjen Stark," Tyrion answers.
Cersei lets out a breath of relief and nods in genuine thanks.
He saunters off and Cersei's takes a deep breath. She forgets that her brother isn't so horrible all the time. Her attention is drawn to the dance floor once again, and she watches Prince Jon step on his dainty wife's feet.
Had Sansa Stark not entered the picture, Prince Jon would be dancing with Myrcella by now. Sansa is pretty, but even simple farmer's daughters are pretty when they're that young. Myrcella is more beautiful, Cersei is sure. She snorts when the prince treads on Lady Sansa's feet again, making the poor girl grimace briefly. For her part, Sansa smiles quickly and leads the way.
So Cersei sits and watches and scowls when one of the Stark boys scoots over to the table adjacent from the Stark table to talk to Myrcella, whose mood immediately brightens.
Tyrion ambles up to the table, and Myrcella smiles upon seeing her uncle, and excuses herself to dance with him. Cersei smiles to herself. Tyrion's not so useless at times.
Daenerys is asked to dance by Quentyn, but she shakes her head politely, and Rhaenys ends up dancing with her cousin instead. They are nearly of an age, a few months separating their births. Arianne Martell often recalls how Rhaenys had smiled brightly when she had held her for the first time almost twenty four years ago.
"You should visit Sunspear sometime, I'm sure father and King Rhaegar will allow it," Quentyn says politely. He and his cousin aren't close, but they're friendly. Quentyn and Arianne and later, Trystane, all would visit King's Landing every year for a few months when they were younger, to spend time with their father and their cousins.
"Aunt Daenerys and I will be traveling in a few days. Perhaps we shall stop in Dorne before crossing the Narrow Sea," Rhaenys says conversationally.
Quentyn's eyes brighten, though he looks surprised, "You and your aunt can join our party when we return home. It's the most logical course of action."
"I will speak to Father about it," Rhaenys smiles, and Quentyn smiles back. She looks like a Martell, he decides. She's got tan skin and dark hair, but there's a hint of purple in her eyes.
Aegon and Margaery glide onto the dance floor, and Rhaenys raises a brow at her brother. He never dances, but she supposes Margaery Tyrell has her ways of making him agree.
Margaery is a marvelous dancer, and Aegon can't help but smile as he leads her across the floor. Mayhaps he should thank the mystery knight for whisking Arya away, after all.
A few tables away, Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon talk, sending smiles to the young ladies in attendance of the feast. Renly excuses himself and walks towards the table just below the royal dais.
"Lord Stark?" he starts slowly, a bit nervously.
Ned looks up from his plate of food and his mouth opens.
"Gods be good," he mutters, then regains his composure.
"My name is Renly, Lord Stark, Renly Baratheon of Storm's End. I know you and my brother were good friends, and I thought I might introduce myself," Renly says politely.
"Yes, of course. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Renly. You look so much like Robert," Ned shakes the younger man's hand.
"I know a young man who looks more like Robert than myself, Lord Stark," Renly says quietly.
Ned immediately gathers his meaning, and Catelyn notices, too. She looks up, and Renly takes her hand.
"Lady Stark, you are the loveliest woman in the room," Renly says in greeting.
"Thank you, Lord Renly," she narrows her eyes at the charming, handsome man. If the boy Arya is with is anything like Renly, she's not surprised even her usually indifferent daughter was drawn in by his charms.
"If I may speak with you both, after the wedding of course, I would greatly appreciate it," Renly says kindly, "I have much to discuss."
"Yes, of course," Ned nods.
Renly inclines his head and makes his way back to Loras Tyrell.
Catelyn looks at Ned warily.
"Come, love, let's dance," he says, standing slowly.
She looks at him, surprised, then smiles.
The Great Sept of Baelor is magnificent. It's stunning, with the colors of the stained glass windows dancing in the light on the walls. Sansa and Jon sit with their hands clasped together, surrounded by their families. Aegon stands up at the aisle with the High Septon, waiting for Margaery.
He wears black and red, a Targaryen cloak waiting nearby. Aegon is beautiful, like Rhaegar but with darker skin and a sharper nose. It makes him more beautiful than his father, most of the ladies would agree.
Rhaenys looks like she's about to cry from happiness, and the ceremony hasn't even started yet. Daenerys smiles serenely, knowing it's a good thing poor Arya wasn't found. The girl would probably run out of the Sept before the end of the ceremony in an attempt to escape.
The doors to the Sept open, and Margaery arrives, arm linked with her father's. She wears a yellow-golden colored dress that reflects the light in the Sept, a maiden cloak with the Tyrell sigil, a cloak of green with a yellow rose embroidered on it. Her long brown hair curls at the ends, and she has a small, crooked smile on her face. She truly is the rose of Highgarden.
Mace leaves his daughter once they reach the High Septon and Aegon. Aegon smiles, almost shyly, and Margaery grins.
The ceremony goes as most ceremonies do, there's nothing eventful about it. Finally, Aegon rids Margaery of her maiden cloak and sweeps the Targaryen cloak over her shoulders, the red and black of the cloak having a pretty effect with the gold dress.
Aegon takes Margaery's hand, and the assembled guests clap enthusiastically. The Tyrells are the wealthiest House in Westeros, second only to the Iron Throne. It's a far better match than what Aegon had wanted.
The Great Hall is fashioned into a banquet hall, fit for the wedding of the heir to the Iron Throne. There are candles that appear to be suspended mid-air, and ornate decorations all over the grand room. There are roses at every table, freshly picked or brought in from the Reach.
Aegon and Margaery sit at the place of honor, high at the dais, Rhaegar and Lyanna to one side, Lord and Lady Tyrell to the other.
Rhaegar toasts the newlyweds, and the dancing and feasting begin. Aegon and Margaery glide across the dance floor gracefully, and couples begin to join them.
"I apologize if I tread on your feet, my lady," Aegon says politely.
Margaery smiles, "Call me Margaery, my lord, you are my husband now. I don't think we need such formalities."
"Of course, Margaery. You may call me Aegon," he replies.
She grins crookedly, holding onto her new husband tighter.
Sansa practically drags Jon to dance, and he sighs.
"You're going to do this in two days, aren't you?" he asks his wife.
"It's going to be our wedding day. Of course I am," Sansa scoffs, leading her husband around.
"We're already wed," Jon reminds her quietly, and she smiles. She doesn't need to be reminded, but she likes the reminders.
"I know," she squeezes his hand.
Rickon is running about the hall in a frenzy, playing with the other children. He's half wolf, that one. He nearly runs into Lord Tarly's son, Dickon, and the older boy laughs as Rickon scurries away.
Ellaria smiles, thinking he'd get on well with her daughters. They were wild ones, too. Cersei and Oberyn are actually dancing together, trying to put on a happy front. Ellaria's dark eyes take in the scene. Myrcella dances with a bumbling Stark boy, Bran. Allyria and Beric are laughing and drinking, the King and Queen are conversing with the Tyrells, Margaery and Aegon dance, Garlan Tyrell is speaking to Arianne, trying to charm her, and Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon seem to be in a competition to see which of them could dance with the most ladies that night, though they throw looks to each other often. Ellaria knows what those looks mean, even if the rest of the attendants of the wedding feast don't.
Daenerys takes Renly's offered hand, and the two begin to dance. Rhaegar's eyes narrow when he notices who his sister's dance partner is. Bloody Baratheons.
"I do believe you're the best dancer in attendance tonight, my lord," Daenerys compliments.
"Why thank you, Princess. It's not difficult when dancing with a lady as lovely as yourself," Renly says smoothly.
Dany laughs. He's charming, she'll give him that. Too charming, if she's honest with herself.
"I have heard you are taking in your nieces and nephews to care for," she says conversationally.
"Aye, Princess. My late brother has left quite a few children in his wake. I've discovered two girls, thus far. The eldest is with me, the younger one is still thinking of joining us," Renly answers carefully. He does not know how much the young princess knows, and he's not keen on letting anything slip before he speaks to Lord Stark.
"That's very honorable of you," Daenerys offers.
"My House was wiped out during the war, Princess. It was mine own brother's folly, I know, but I would like to find my kin," he shrugs.
"Surely you can marry a fine lady and repopulate your House," Dany says with a small smile.
"I am an old man, my lady," Renly says self-deprecatingly.
Dany scoffs. He's scarcely five years older than Aegon, making him six years older than her. Aegon was a babe at the breast and Rhaenys not even four during the Rebellion, and Dany had been born at the end of it all. She shudders to think Rhaenys can remember Elia's murder.
Renly senses her discomfort, and his blue eyes look apologetic.
"I am sorry for the pain my brother's actions caused your family," he says sincerely.
"It is in the past now, my lord. Let us think upon happier things," Daenerys smiles at him, and they continue their dance.
Soon it's time for the bedding ceremony and the men lift Margaery away from Aegon, and the women circle around Aegon, stripping him of his finery.
Margaery, for her part, smiles and japes with the men undressing her. Loras and Garlan move quickly, leaving her in her shift as well as blocking the view the others have of her. They take her to the chambers speedily, and Garlan presses a kiss to her forehead and tells her to be brave while Loras only winks before they pass by the group of women pushing Aegon down the corridor, the Prince wearing only his small clothes.
Daenerys, Rhaenys, Jon, Sansa, the King and Queen, as well as the parents of the bride sit in the Great Hall. Cersei had not allowed Myrcella to participate in the ceremony, and so she sits with Quentyn and her mother, along with Doran and Oberyn and Ellaria. They think themselves too old for that sort of thing. Catelyn had held Bran back, much to the boy's relief, and Rickon hadn't been interested one bit.
Jon scowls, realizing that those men will have their hands on Sansa in two days' time. Sansa notices his sudden sour disposition and squeezes his hand.
"There'll be no bedding," he mutters.
Sansa runs her thumb over the back of his hand and murmurs in agreement, allowing him to relax. No one is going to touch her husband.
The next morning, the blood-stained bed sheet is presented, confirming Margaery's status as a maid before she was wed to Aegon. She blushes prettily, and Sansa's hand grips Jon's in sudden panic. She'd forgotten about that bit. It's now Jon's turn to squeeze her hand. The servants already think she's no longer a maid, and the courtiers have their suspicions, too. He already has a plan to take care of that.
After breakfast, Renly enters the solar Ned has been using during his stay in the Red Keep.
"What is it you wish to speak of, Lord Renly?" Ned asks.
Catelyn sits across the room, seemingly absorbed in her needlework, but she listens attentively.
"Of my nephew, Lord Stark," Renly states plainly.
"Nephew?" Ned asks.
Renly's brow furrows. Surely he knows his daughter has run off with one of Robert's bastards.
"Yes. I was at the tourney. I saw the mystery knight. Why, were I younger or he older we could pass at twins, my lord," Renly starts to explain.
"And what would you have me do with this information?" Ned asks. He's tired, and old, far too old, for this.
Renly clears his throat, "I wish to find them. My nephew and your daughter. I've been finding Robert's children, taking them in. So far I've found two of his daughters. By my count this boy is the eldest son. I want him to be my heir."
Catelyn sucks in a deep breath and her eyes meet Ned's across the room.
"You want this boy—"
"Gendry," Renly interjects, "that's his name."
"You want Gendry to inherit Storm's End?" he raises a brow.
"Yes, my lord. I've already spoken to the King, but that was before the wedding and he seemed intent on punishing him and marrying your daughter to Aegon anyway. But Aegon is wed now, so the threat of that no longer looms over their heads. If we join forces, we can find them," Renly says.
"And what of Arya?" Ned narrows his eyes.
"I mean no disrespect, my lord, but as she's run away she'll be seen as ruined to everyone else. If you'll allow it, I'd like to join Houses. My nephew and your daughter. All Robert had ever wanted was to join House Baratheon and House Stark," Renly tries to smile.
"Your brother started a war for a woman and sired a number of bastards, while at war to get his betrothed back," Catelyn says sharply.
Renly turns to her, eyes apologetic.
"I cannot apologize enough for what my brother's actions put the realm through, but I beseech you, I ask you both, to help me find them," Renly says, letting out a breath.
"Do you mean to start a war, Lord Renly?" Catelyn asks.
"I mean to name an heir to Storm's End, my lady," Renly replies.
"Who is to say Aegon won't set Margaery aside and want Arya if they're found?" Ned asks.
"Were you at the feast? The boy is besotted with his new bride," Renly brushes off Ned's concern.
"What concerns me is my daughter's safety," Catelyn says, striding over to Ned. She places a hand on his shoulder.
"I give you my word, no harm shall come to her. She will be under my protection if I find them," Renly promises.
"We will speak of this later, Lord Renly. For now you have my agreement that the children must be found," Ned says finally, and Renly breathes a sigh of relief.
BRAAVOS
Arya wrinkles her nose, cutting the fish's head off. She'd gone into the market and bought fish for dinner, and now she's to clean it and cook it. She and Gendry have found a place to live, the third floor of a tall building between Ragman's Harbor and Purple Harbor. They're far enough from the foreigners' bay that no Westerosi will ever think to look for them here.
It's a small flat, with one room with a bed, and a slightly larger room with a divan and table, a kitchen off to the side in an adjoining room. They bought plates and knives and goblets from a merchant, using up a bit of their money.
Potatoes boil in a pot and Arya skins the fish before sticking it in a pan, covering it with a lid. Cooking's not so difficult, she finds.
She sighs and wipes her hands clean of the fish. Gendry would be home soon, thank the gods. She's so bored at home. She found the training academy where Syrio had once learned the water dance, but the guard laughed at her and sent her on her way. She scowls at the memory. She'll show them, she'll show them all.
The door opens and she whips around to see Gendry come through, covered in soot. She smiles at him and smiles back tiredly.
"There's water in the tub," she says as a greeting and walks over to him. She begins to unlace his trousers and moves his shirt up, pulling it off of him.
"Well that's a welcoming I can get used to," Gendry smiles at her.
She snorts and pushes him towards their room, "I smell like fish."
"A pretty fish, though," he retorts, earning a smack on the shoulder.
She undresses him and pushes him into the cooling water. It had been warm, but he's late.
"Will m'lady be joining me?" he asks, blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
"The food," Arya starts to protest.
"The food will be fine," Gendry leans forward and grabs her wrist.
She smirks and shimmies out of her clothes and small clothes quickly, pressing herself next to him in the small metal tub.
Arya brushes her nose against his, and he kisses her. He misses her throughout the day. Sometimes she comes to watch him work, sitting silently, but sometimes she goes off trying to find a job of her own. He knows she's still mad that the guards laughed her out of the training yards, and he wonders if she'll grow to hate him for whisking her away, never mind the fact that she wanted to leave King's Landing behind.
His worries are pushed away when she settles herself on his lap and deepens the kiss, pulling at his hair. He inches his hands down her back, cupping her arse and presses her closer to him. She lips smile against him for a moment before she kisses his neck and his eyes roll back.
"Gods," he grunts. Her hips are already moving against his and she's so close but so far from where he needs her to be.
She lifts herself off of him and shifts slightly and he grips her hips before she sinks onto him.
"Arya," he mumbles, leaning his head back against the tub. She lets out a small groan and digs her nails onto his shoulders.
Her attention is taken away from Gendry when she smells something burning.
"Seven hells," she scrambles off of Gendry and out of the tub. She throws on her too-large shirt and runs to the kitchen, leaving Gendry to laugh hysterically.
"This is your fault," she yells from the other room, lifting the burnt fish off of the heat.
Gendry, now no longer covered in soot and dirt, and now wearing breeches, walks into the kitchen to face Arya's wrath.
"It was perfectly good fish," she growls.
"I'm sure it was," he says, backing away slowly.
She looks more wolf than girl now, and she sets the pan of fish onto the table. She advances forward, baring her teeth. Definitely more wolf than girl, Gendry thinks.
She launches herself at him and he crashes onto the ground. She sits on him, glaring.
"I'm sorry," Gendry tries not to laugh at her expression.
She growls again and punches him half-heartedly.
"I'll go out to the bakery and get lemon cakes, how's that?" Gendry asks, trying to calm her.
"Lemon cakes," Arya says slowly, then her eyes widen, "lemon cakes!"
"I just said that," Gendry says, concerned.
"No, no. Tomorrow is supposed to be Sansa and Jon's wedding. A proper wedding," she says, looking forlorn.
He doesn't ask why lemon cakes reminded her of this because she explains anyway.
"All Sansa could eat when she found out she was having a baby were lemon cakes," she shrugs, a sad smile crossing her face.
"You wish you were there?" Gendry sits up and Arya curls herself onto his lap, her anger forgotten.
"Just for the wedding, or to visit. With you, obviously," she admits.
He hugs her close, "I don't think I'd be a welcome guest at the Prince's wedding."
"Sansa and Jon would let you go," Arya says fiercely.
"And the king and queen?" he asks softly. He knows his place. He's just some bastard.
"I don't care what they think," she says harshly. She's still upset with her aunt, but is thankful to her for not sending out a search party. She hates Rhaegar and Viserys, and still dislikes Aegon. She quite likes Daenerys and Rhaenys, though.
"Your parents—"
"Would get over it. Once they see how hardworking and good you are, they'll like you. They'd probably like you more than some stupid lordling," she insists.
He merely kisses the top of her head and pulls her closer.
Up next: Another wedding, a plea to return North, and plans to travel across the Narrow Sea are set.