Chapter Two

GENDRY

The king bore his grief in a way that was very regal, Gendry thought. Jon Arryn had as good as raised Robert Baratheon when he was a boy. Gendry knew that his passing was hurting his royal father a great deal, but he remained stoic in the face of his pain.

The Hand of the King had always seemed like a man of an iron constitution to Gendry. He was as eternal and unchangeable as the rocks that guarded Dragonstone from the tumultuous seas. It seemed odd that it was a sudden fever that took him. He had sickened so quickly that he was dead in his guest chambers before anyone had even known he was ill. A tragedy, everyone was saying. In the deepest, most secret parts of his thoughts, Gendry couldn't help but wonder if it were more than that. It seemed too neat to him. Convenient, almost. Planned. But he'd never dare speak those thoughts aloud. There was no point, anyway, because who would listen?

Lord Arryn's funeral rites were given him at Winterfell, but his body was to be carted back to the Eyrie on the morrow, to be buried by his Lady Lysa, as was his will.

Gendry sat in the Great Hall beside his family and the Starks as they broke their fast that morning, his insides too upset to bring himself to eat. He hadn't been close to the Hand, but Lord Arryn had been the only person in the Red Keep who had treated him with any respect. Well, Lord Arryn and his uncle Renly. His father, too, but usually that was when sober enough to notice Gendry's presence, which was only about half the time.

"Gods, I loved that man," King Robert sighed into his morning cup of wine. Well, his third morning cup.

"We both did," Lord Stark replied.

"You remember when I came to him as a boy, Ned? At sixteen all I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls, and he showed me what was what."

Ned Stark raised his eyebrows sceptically. Robert chuckled. "He did. It's not his fault I didn't listen."

Gendry found himself impressed by Lord Stark all over again. There were few men in the Seven Kingdoms who could openly mock his father and get away with it. Only Tyrion Lannister that he could think of, and he wasn't regarded with anywhere near the same amount of affection in the king's eyes.

"Robert, my sweet," Cersei interjected. Her long golden hair shimmered in the early light filtering through the window, making her eyes look like precious emeralds. She was lovely, Gendry thought, the comeliest woman he'd ever seen, but she was as cold as she was beautiful. "Must we talk like this while we eat? Particularly in front of the children."

Gendry glanced towards Myrcella and Tommen. Both seemed utterly preoccupied with their conversations with the younger Stark boys. He didn't think they'd even heard their father's words.

"Alright," the king said grudgingly. He turned back to Ned Stark, a dismissive gesture he'd perfected with the queen a long time ago. "Have you thought any more on my offer, Ned?"

Gendry knew what he was referring to – he'd offered the Handship to Lord Stark after the funeral yesterday. The Lord of Winterfell had promised to sleep on it. Gendry could tell that he was reluctant to make a decision at the table.

"Give me until the end of the day, Your Grace. I need to discuss it with Catelyn in private."

"Yes, yes!" Robert waved a hand. "As you will, Ned. I want my answer by the end of the day, though, and it had better be yes! I want you down south, not stuck up here in this frozen wasteland where you're no damn use to anybody."

Catelyn Stark, sitting on the queen's other side, looked like she had a few choice remarks to say on the subject, but she refrained. Gendry bit back a rueful smile. He couldn't blame her. If he had the option to stay in the north forever, he'd probably have taken it.

"You look lost in thought, Gendry."

A voice pulled him out of his reverie. He turned, expecting to see Robb Stark or Jon Snow addressing him. Instead, he found the Imp. His brow furrowed. He was never quite sure what to make of the little man. He could be wise, on occasion, but half the time, Gendry was convinced that he was making fun of him.

"Sorry."

Tyrion smiled. The gods had not been kind to him as far as looks were concerned. One eye black, the other green, and his blond hair like straw. He wasn't monstrous, but his face wasn't all that pleasant, either. Still, Gendry reflected, it was true what they said of Tywin Lannister's sons – one got good looks and a certain skill with swordplay, and the other got wit and cunning that easily outstripped most of the Seven Kingdoms. Gendry wasn't a stupid young man, nor was he ugly, or a bad sword, but he'd rather have Tyrion's smarts than Jaime's beauty, if asked to choose.

"Never apologise for thinking, bastard." Jon Snow, who was sitting nearby, flinched at Lord Tyrion's casual use of the word. Gendry was used to it. A long time ago, Tyrion had given him some good counsel on the subject – Never forget what you are, he had said. Others will not. Take the name, make it your own and wear it like armour. Then it can never be used to hurt you.

"Okay."

"What, pray tell, were you thinking of?" Tyrion continued.

"Oh," Gendry bit his lip. What to say? He couldn't very well tell the Imp about his conspiracy theories. "I was thinking about Lord Arryn, that's all."

"Yes, a tragedy," Tyrion sighed. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Although, have you ever noticed that tragic circumstances often seem auspicious on reflection?"

"I don't know what you mean," Gendry lied.

Tyrion gave him a long, hard look. "I'm not fooled as easily as the others, Gendry. I know that you're twice as clever as you would have people believe. And I know that you know precisely what I mean. Don't act as though the thought hasn't crossed your mind."

It was almost as though the Imp had powers beyond that of a normal human. Gendry had heard the palace servants talking about warlocks in the Free Cities many a time. One story stuck in his mind particularly; the Readers of Asshai, magic men who could pluck the thoughts from your very head, even as you thought them. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Tyrion Lannister had trained to do the same thing.

"It's dangerous to say things like that," Gendry muttered.

"And what is life without a little danger?" Tyrion took a sip from his goblet. "These are dangerous times we live in, whether we speak our minds or not. Your new friend Jon Snow knows about that, don't you?"

Jon glanced up from his plate upon hearing his name. "Pardon?"

"I was just speaking with Gendry about the dangers ahead of us. You're off to Castle Black at the week's end, are you not? Joining the noble order of the Night's Watch to defend us from all the horrors beyond the Wall – the grumkins and snarks and the dreaded white walkers."

Jon's fists clenched around his cutlery. "Don't make fun of me!"

Tyrion held his hands up in surrender. "I would never dream of it."

Gendry wasn't sure whether to admonish the Imp on Jon's behalf. He liked Jon Snow, liked him far more than he liked any of his half-siblings or the obnoxious lordlings sometimes seen at Court, but Tyrion was a Lannister. A small one, granted, but he still wore the lion embroidered on his doublet. He didn't want to humiliate him – after all, a Lannister always paid his debts.

Gendry elected to stay silent, shooting Jon a sympathetic look instead. The other boy sat back in his seat, apparently mollified by the show of camaraderie. Tyrion forgot about the tension in the conversation altogether; he helped himself to more bacon, whistling under his breath.

A slight figure moving towards the table caught Gendry's eye. He froze with his fork partway to his mouth as Arya Stark came into view. There was something about her that made it difficult for him to tear his gaze away. She was a pretty girl, slender and lithe in her movements. Her face was long, like Jon's, like Lord Stark's, and her hair fell in thick, dark waves past her shoulders. She wasn't delicate like her older sister, and Gendry liked that. There was steel in her spine and fire in her gaze – a gaze made all the more compelling by the fierce determination that raged behind her stormy grey eyes.

Jon watched her approach with some trepidation. "Good morning, Arya."

She glared at him in response. It amused Gendry slightly to see him recoil from the venomous look, despite the fact that Jon had over a head and shoulders of height on his younger sister, and certainly a few stone in weight.

"Is it?" Her voice was colder than a northern wind. "I wouldn't know." She seated herself beside Jon, but angled her body away from him. Instead, she turned towards Gendry's side of the table. "Hello, Gendry. Lord Tyrion."

"Lady Arya," Tyrion replied with a slight grin. He hadn't missed the frosty exchange between brother and sister, either. "How are you this morning?"

Arya shot Jon another nasty look. He flinched. "I've been better," she said. "You?"

"Entertained and enthralled, as always. Although a little chilly."

"Arya…" Jon murmured. "Can we just…?"

"Shut up," she snapped. He fell silent, looking aggrieved. Arya turned her attention to Gendry this time. "Did you want to go out to the godswood today?"

He was taken aback by her offer. "I… uh…"

"It's just that I'm going riding," she said quickly. "So I thought I'd ask. You don't have to, obviously."

"No, I'd like to." In spite of himself, it was the truth. They had been riding a few times in the week past, though never really was it publicly announced in the Great Hall like that. No doubt someone would've disapproved, whether of Arya's riding or Gendry's accompaniment. The Others take anyone who disapproved, Gendry thought. Wild Arya Stark of Winterfell was the most interesting company he had ever had.

"Good. At noon, then," Arya said, nodding slightly. Gendry nodded in return.

The pair went back to eating their breakfast without another word on the matter, though Gendry found himself fighting a smile the entire way through.

To his eternal annoyance, he found Joffrey lurking beside the stables by the time Gendry arrived. Arya was nowhere in sight, but his half-brother lounged up against one of the bolted gates, chewing on an apple and orating at length about something to his guard. The Hound was a faithful dog, at least. He didn't yawn at the tedious story as Gendry would have.

Joffrey spied him instantly. It was one of the curses of being over six feet tall and muscled well – it wasn't easy to slip past people unnoticed.

"Ah," Joffrey said. "It's my brother, the Bull."

It was a nickname that Gendry hated. Joffrey was almost the same height as him, but Gendry was twice as broad. It was all hard muscle, but his bulk made him slower and clumsier than the crown prince – a fact that Joffrey took delight in reminding him of.

"What do you want, Joff?"

"Oh, nothing. Off for a meeting with your little wolf friend again, are you? I don't see why you're bothering with her. She's a little girl." He sneered. For all everyone raved about his good looks, Gendry thought him rather ugly when he pulled that face.

"She's fifteen. She's not a little girl." And even if she was, Gendry thought, what would that matter? She was better company than Joffrey. Little Rickon Stark would be better company than Joffrey.

"And you're nineteen. But I suppose, we don't all get pretty company like Sansa, do we? Some unlucky people have to settle for bestial little half-wildlings like her."

Gendry found himself getting far more annoyed than he normally got. Usually, Joffrey's barbs would bounce right off him. Not today. "Listen, you absolute…"

"Gendry!" Arya was running towards them across the yard, Nymeria at her heels. She was no longer in a dress – she wore light riding leathers in white and grey, and boots that went up to her knees. Her dark hair was loose and flowing – it tumbled halfway down her back, shiny but untamed. "I'm late, aren't I? Sorry, Septa Mordane was going on at me to finish my needlework, and…" She trailed off at the sight of Joffrey. It didn't take a genius to see the dislike in her eyes as she looked him over, but Joffrey was far too conceited to bother about Arya's opinion of him.

"I'd best be back up at the keep. Mother will be wondering where I've got to." The implication being that she'd rather Gendry stayed gone. He didn't rise to Joffrey's bait. He didn't much care whether the queen wanted him around or not. "Have fun on your little ride, half-brother. Lady Arya."

He tossed the apple core on the ground and unhitched himself from the stable wall. The Hound followed like a shadow as he swaggered back towards the keep. Arya watched their departure with thinly veiled loathing on her face.

"By the Seven, he's awful," she grumbled. "How can you stand it without wanting to punch him in the face?"

Gendry shrugged. "I want to. I just don't. More trouble than it's worth."

"Still…" Arya looked introspective for a moment. "You're a better person than I am, I think."

Gendry wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He settled on, "Shall we ride?"

Riding with Arya was, it transpired, fun. She wasn't like the southron girls Gendry knew – she could ride a horse as well as he could. Maybe, though he wouldn't admit it out loud, she was even better. They galloped through wintry field after field, cantering along winding roads and picking their way through the woods. Gendry couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much. It was easy and free, out in the open air with nothing but two horses, a direwolf and a half-wild northern girl for company. He could forget his problems.

They stopped by the river for a while to let their horses drink and rest. Arya and Gendry sat side by side on a mossy log, passing a flask of water back and forth between them. They chatted amicably about nothing of importance for a while, until Arya's face grew solemn.

"What's wrong?" Gendry asked.

"I'm just thinking… if my father accepts your father's offer to be the Hand, then he'll have to go to King's Landing, won't he?"

"I suppose so, yeah."

Arya rested her chin on her hand, looking glum. "He'll make me go with him."

"Is that so bad?" Gendry asked. He hadn't exactly been complimentary about the capital, but he couldn't help but think that it wouldn't be so terrible if Arya was there with him.

"It won't be Winterfell," she murmured. "It won't be home."

She looked so forlorn that Gendry desperately wanted to do something to comfort her. It wouldn't have been right for him to give her a hug, and he wasn't very good at rousing speeches, so instead he patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"I'll be there," he offered. "You won't be alone."

She actually managed a small smile at that. "Well, I guess it won't be too terrible, then. So long as you're there."

Gendry's insides suddenly felt pleasantly warm, despite the late summer chill in the air.

"All that stuff I said... about the capital, I mean. It's not as bad as all that. There are some nice things."

Arya smiled for real that time. "Yeah, like what?"

"Like… the sea. You can stand on the beach in King's Landing and just look out over the rocks at the ocean. Sometimes I just sit there and follow it with my eyes, right out until it touches the sky. It's beautiful. And there's always something going on, some event or tourney or feast. There's plenty to explore down in the streets, too. Hundreds of alleyways and market squares and the like. Oh, and have I told you about the dragon skulls?"

"Dragon skulls?" Arya gasped. Her grey eyes were as wide as saucers. "Where?"

"In the Red Keep." Gendry was enjoying impressing her. It was rare that he had a willing audience for his stories. "I had to go right into the basement chambers to find them. It's a maze down there, but eventually I found them all, where my father had them hidden away. There's dozens. Some of the newest ones are pretty small, no bigger than dogs' heads. But the further up you go, the bigger they get. The oldest ones are huge. Big enough to swallow an aurochs whole. Balerion, the Black Dread, his skull is big enough that I can stand in between the gaps in his teeth without having to bend over."

"Wow," she breathed. "I want to see them."

"You will. I'll show you, once we go to King's Landing."

She actually looked excited by the prospect, and Gendry felt better. He was used to his own company, but the idea of Arya being around filled him with a sense of happiness he rarely felt when he thought of his home in the south.

"I still don't much like your family," Arya confided. "But I'm glad you won't be leaving me. I… well, you're alright. You know, for a Baratheon."

Gendry grinned. It wasn't exactly high praise, but it was a compliment coming from Arya Stark. "It's because I don't have any Lannister in me."

"You said the other day that Tyrion is okay," she objected. Gendry shrugged, allowing that.

"Yeah, Tyrion is okay." He paused wondering whether or not he should tell her about the conversation they had had at breakfast.

"What is it?" Arya frowned. "You're hiding something."

How did she do that? "I'm not. Not really."

"Yes, you are. I know you are. Don't lie to me, Gendry. Please."

He couldn't refuse her when she said please. He could barely refuse that earnest, wide-eyed look even when she was being rude and calling him an idiot. He sighed. "Tyrion said something strange to me this morning, that's all."

"What did he say?" Arya leaned closer.

"It was about Jon Arryn. He didn't outright say it, but I think that he thinks there was more to his death than just a fever."

Arya's mouth dropped open. "Why would he think that?"

Gendry stared down at his hands for a moment. He was twisting his fingers around each other – a nervous habit he had had since he was small. "I don't know," he murmured. "But… I think he's right."

The words hung in the air between them for a few moments. Arya was silent in her shock. The only noises were the rustling of the leaves and the odd loud exhalation from one of the horses.

Eventually, she spoke. "What proof have you got?"

"None. It's just a feeling in my gut."

"No one can be sentenced, or even accused on as little as a feeling, Gendry."

"I know that," he replied. "Gods be good, I know. I can't do a damned thing. But it doesn't stop me thinking that Lord Arryn was murdered."

Arya looked conflicted. She chewed on her bottom lip, watching the horses as they lapped up water from the shallower parts of the river. Her grey eyes seemed a million miles away. "He got very sick very quickly, didn't he?"

"Too quickly," Gendry said. "It didn't seem… right."

"Who killed him, d'you think?"

Gendry sucked in a breath. He'd been mulling over that question since before the funeral, and each time he pondered he came up with a different theory, each one scarier than the last. "I don't know. Someone who had something to cover up, I guess."

"Did he seem worried or anything the last time you spoke with him alone?" Arya shifted on the log, bending one knee so that she could face Gendry head on. Her pretty face was filled with fearful curiosity. He knew, in that instant, that he had made the right decision in confiding in her. She was just like him – fear wouldn't stop her from trying to find out the truth. "Gendry, did he?"

A memory crept into his mind, one he hadn't considered before. It wasn't the very last time he spoke with Jon Arryn, but it was one of the last times before they left King's Landing. He had climbed the stairs to the Tower of the Hand, and found Lord Arryn alone in his chambers, reading a heavy old tome. Gendry had made a lot of progress with his reading in only a year, so he could understand the title. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children. It looked like a dull read, in Gendry's opinion.

Arryn had shut the book when he saw Gendry approach, and the two had chatted for a few minutes about the upcoming journey north. There was nothing extraordinary about it, nothing even worth remembering, except for the moment before they had parted. Jon Arryn had reached out and touched Gendry's hair. He had frowned into the younger man's face for a few seconds before murmuring something like 'the seed is strong'. Gendry still had no idea what that meant, but in the face of the Hand's death, it somehow took on a new significance.

"I don't know, Arya," he said slowly. "If he was worried, he didn't tell me."

The seed is strong, Gendry thought. What on earth could that have meant?

"King's Landing is a dangerous place to be, right now. Isn't it?"

Gendry turned to look at the younger girl. Despite her fierceness and her determination, he could tell that she was afraid. Beneath the layers of bravado, she was just a frightened girl, same as any other. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. But this was Arya, not some simpering maiden, and she deserved more than a lie.

"Yes. But everywhere is dangerous, these days." He saw the corners of her lips quirk upwards, as though she'd heard that before.

"Winter is coming," Arya quoted.

"I suppose it is." The words of House Stark had always seemed a little strange to Gendry. They were a warning, rather than a boast. He thought of his royal father's words. Ours is the Fury. Maybe it was wiser to have a warning.

"We'll need to stick together in King's Landing, Gendry," Arya said quietly. "You and me. We'll need to watch out for each other. Something bad is going to happen, I can feel it."

She wasn't the only one. Gendry fought back a shiver as he thought of all the bad things that could potentially happen in the capital. Tyrion Lannister might've made fun of the grumkins and snarks and white walkers, but Gendry couldn't help thinking he'd rather face mythical monsters than the very human kind that waited for them all back at Court. Men like Littlefinger, who planned his moves years in advance. Men like Varys, who knew every tiny detail about the intimacies and secrets of city life. And, most importantly, men like Tywin Lannister, who placed ambition over honour every time. They were the kinds of men who scared Gendry the most.

"We will stick together Arya," he whispered. "That's if you come. Your father might say no."

"We both know that he won't. He's a man of honour and he'll always do his duty to the realm."

She looked so small and afraid in that moment that Gendry reached over to gather both her hands up in one of his own. Arya smiled at him gratefully as he gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. If Ned Stark said yes, then they would doubtlessly head off down the Kingsroad in a couple of days. The thought filled Gendry with a helpless dread.

Arya drew her knees up to her chest, and the pair stared at the river, each lost in their own miserable thoughts. It wasn't until much later, as the sun started to sink over the horizon, that Gendry realized that they were still holding hands.

A/N - I'm probably going to do alternative POV for the rest of the story, but I might add some other characters' perspectives as we go.

Off down the kingsroad next!

Thanks for reading,

OVR

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