Chapter Three

ARYA

Of course her father said yes to the king. He had the Stark honour and sense of obligation to the realm, after all. And, of course, Arya had to go with him. To teach her some etiquette and refinement, her lady mother had said, though she didn't look all that happy about it.

They were to leave Winterfell at the end of the week, just one day after Jon left for the wall. Arya didn't know if she could bear the thought of riding away from the north, from all she knew, and starting all over again in King's Landing. A place which was bound to be less tolerant of her free spirited behaviour than Winterfell had been.

She didn't complain out loud – Bran was too excited at the prospect of learning how to be a knight (though he was too young), and Sansa was beside herself with glee. Neither of them had really stopped to think about the bad things. Leaving home. Leaving their mother, and Robb, and Rickon. And then, worst of all, there was Jon. Leaving Jon, watching as he rode away on his horse to that frozen wasteland of a Wall.

Arya held her tongue when it came to her family, but that wasn't to say that she didn't have a good place to vent her frustration. She would sit by the pool in the godswood, knees bent up to her chest as always, and pour her heart out to the crimson leaves on the heart tree. Or, if she was lucky, Gendry would come with her, and she could grumble and groan to him. He made a better conversationalist than the weirwood trees. He actually answered her back.

The day before Jon was due to depart, Gendry had been waylaid by his father for some reason or another, so Arya made her journey to the godswood alone. She sat on the carved bench, set her chin on her knees and frowned down at the pool. Her reflection stared back at her from the glassy black water, pale and scruffy.

Rather than obsessing over Jon's departure, or her own, Arya found her thoughts wandering to a strange place. She found herself thinking about Gendry, shut up in the keep with his royal father and his heinous brother. Pity swelled in her chest. It wasn't fair, she thought. She thought those words so often these days that they were becoming her mantra.

Arya would never have admitted it to his face, but she felt a little lonely without Gendry sitting beside her. It was an alien feeling. He was bullheaded at times, and exasperating – plus he'd taken to calling her m'lady whenever she was getting on his nerves – but over the past couple of weeks she had grown almost fond of him. Fond enough to miss his company when he was gone. She couldn't deny that Gendry's easy smile made her day a little brighter whenever she saw it.

Gods be true, Arya thought, I'm turning into a sentimental fool like Sansa. Kill me now.

She shook off the warm feelings. The last thing she needed was to be going soft when she was headed to that viper's nest they had the cheek to call a capital. But at least Arya wouldn't be going alone. Gendry would still be there, ready with a grin and a quip when she felt down.

"Don't be ridiculous," she told herself sternly. "Get a grip on yourself, Arya."

"Talking to yourself?"

Arya whipped around, her heart jumping in her throat, but she quickly realised that the person who had spoken had much too high a voice to be Gendry. Disappointment crashed down on her as she recognised the tall, slim figure picking her way daintily through the trees.

"What are you doing here, Sansa?" she demanded.

Sansa looked offended. "I pray to the old gods too, little sister."

Arya felt herself bristling at the patronizing term. Only Jon was allowed to call her that. "I never see you out here."

"Well, I decided to come today. Mother is busy with Queen Cersei, and the boys were doing their stupid fighting in the yard. Father is with King Robert and Prince Joffrey…"

"And Gendry," Arya tacked on, annoyed that Sansa had left him out.

"I suppose so," she replied. She came forward to sit beside Arya on the bench. "You're sad about Jon leaving, aren't you?"

Arya glared. "Of course I am. Aren't you?"

Sansa bit her lip. "Yes. It's dangerous on the Wall."

"It's dangerous in King's Landing, too."

Sansa whirled around to face her, auburn hair swinging wildly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it." Arya didn't want to ruin her sister's fantasy. She might've had a brain full of shimmery thread and hot air, but that might've actually been a good thing. Sansa was betrothed to Joffrey, and the more oblivious she was to his faults, the safer she'd probably be.

"You like him, don't you?"

"What?" It was such an abrupt change of subject that Arya felt completely lost. "I like who?"

"King Robert's son."

"Gendry?"

"Yes. You've been spending an awful lot of time with him." Sansa gave her one of those dreadful girly smiles, the kind she usually reserved for Jeyne Poole when they were gossiping about knights.

Arya rolled her eyes. "It's not like that. You always think everything's romantic when it's not."

"Good," she sighed. "Because you know that you can't marry a bastard."

"What?" Arya asked sharply. "I don't want to marry him, but if I did, I could. The king claimed him, so he's not an ordinary bastard." Not that it would stop me either way, she added silently.

Sansa gave her a sideways smile. "Are you sure you don't like him?"

"Seven hells, Sansa! I just told you that I…"

"Sansa! Arya!" The rest of Arya's sentence was drowned out as Robb came crashing through the undergrowth. He was slightly out of breath, his auburn curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. There was a crazed look in his blue eyes that made both girls immediately jump to their feet.

"What is it?" they chorused, in sync for once in their lives. "What's wrong?"

"Bran," Robb panted. He leant against a tree trunk, trying to catch his breath. "It's Bran. You have to come quickly… he… he was climbing, and he…"

Neither of them had to ask what had happened. Arya's heart was lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her throat as she tore her way back to the keep, her brother and sister at her heels. In another situation, she might've been impressed by how well Sansa was managing to keep pace with them, but her mind was too consumed with worry for Bran to comment on it.

"How did he fall?" Arya demanded of Robb as they ran. "He never falls."

"I don't know." Robb sounded helpless. "I was sitting in Father's study when I heard Summer howling. I went to the window, and…"

"How far… did… he… fall?" Sansa wheezed.

"Too far. From the top of the tower."

Tears stung Arya's eyes, momentarily blurring her vision at the edges. She felt as though she couldn't breathe, and it wasn't the run that had robbed her of her breath. Her heart galloped in her chest, and each beat sounded like one simple word. Bran. Bran. Bran.

Her mother and father had been at Bran's sickbed with the maester all night, and Arya had not been allowed in. Still, she kept vigil on the balcony wall, staring up at the stars and praying to every god she could think of. The old and the new. She'd exhausted her prayers hours ago, but she remained perched on the cold stone. Waiting here was preferable to waiting in her room.

She wondered if this was what it felt like to take the black. Sitting on a wall in the cold, looking up at the night sky and waiting for a disaster that you knew was coming, but couldn't stop.

"And now my watch begins," she muttered.

"Arya."

She turned at the sound of her name, neck stiff from holding the same position for so long. Gendry was standing behind her, wrapped up in furs. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his breath misted white against the night air.

"He's not awake yet," she whispered.

Gendry stepped closer. "Look at you. You're freezing. You'll catch your bloody death out here without a cloak."

Arya shrugged. She hadn't noticed the cold. She had more important things on her mind. "I'm fine."

"You're not. You're turning blue. Here." Gendry reached up and unfastened his cloak, holding it out to her. Arya just stared at it for a few moments. Her numb brain couldn't process what he was doing. Gendry sighed and stooped, draping the warm fur across her body.

It was only then that the full force of the cold hit her. Arya gave a violent shudder and clutched reflexively at the soft lining. The cloak was still warm from the heat of Gendry's body. She pulled it tight around her, waiting, until inch by inch she felt the sensation returning to her extremities.

"Thank you." Arya sighed, leaning her head back against the pillar of stone.

"It's nothing." Gendry looked at her for a moment, a searching, sad look. "I… I'll leave you alone, if you want. I just… I wanted you to know that I'm praying for Bran. Not that I'll be much help, I mean, the gods haven't ever listened to me before – the old or the new. But I wanted to tell you that I'm here."

He started to turn away, but Arya lurched forward, holding out one hand to halt his progress. "Gendry, wait. Can you stay for a bit? I need the company."

Gendry almost smiled. "Of course, m'lady."

Arya glared, but her heart wasn't really in it. Her mind was elsewhere – with Bran, and her mother, and her prayers. "Don't call me m'lady."

"As m'lady commands."

She shoved his shoulder, and he laughed. It was a soft, hesitant laugh – like he wasn't sure he was allowed to laugh in front of her, given the circumstances. Arya felt herself smile slightly in return. She wasn't happy, not by a long way, but she felt lighter than she had since she'd found out about Bran.

"He never falls."

"Sorry?" Gendry frowned. He leant against the balcony wall beside her, almost close enough that her booted toes were touching the steel dagger strapped to the side of his hip.

"Bran. They said he fell while he was climbing, but Bran's been climbing since he was five years old, and he never falls."

"He did this time," Gendry pointed out, though she could tell he was trying to be gentle about it.

"I know that, but…" Arya trailed off. She wasn't sure what she knew, exactly, but she knew that there was something off about the whole situation. "Something doesn't add up."

He looked at her again, blue eyes boring into her grey ones. He had furrows in his brow, the way he got when he was thinking intently. Suddenly his expression smoothed out and his eyes widened in comprehension.

"Seven hells, Arya," he murmured. "You aren't saying that this wasn't an accident, are you?"

"No," she agreed. "I'm not saying that."

But she was thinking it, and now she knew that she wasn't the only one.

"Who would push a thirteen year old off a tower?" Gendry hissed.

"I could guess. But I won't." Arya didn't want to tell him, anyway. She trusted Gendry, but the idea of letting him know that she suspected his own blood was too horrible to contemplate. She couldn't think of anyone else that it could have been, though. Lannisters, she thought. Bran's fall had the lion's paw prints all over it.

"He's going to wake up," Arya told Gendry, her voice full of false confidence. She expected him to do as he usually did and tell her the truth, whether she wanted to hear it or not. Instead, he gave her a melancholy smile and said nothing.

Somehow, that was worse.

A/N – This is a short one, but there will be another one out tomorrow, so hopefully that makes up for it.

Hope you enjoyed it! Thoughts are always welcome :)