Chapter Seven

ARYA

She had no clue why, but Arya felt safe with Gendry's arm wrapped securely around her shoulders as he towed her out of the forest. Her head barely came up to his shoulder, and he had angled her body as they walked so that he could serve as a barrier – a solid wall of muscle between her and the dangers of the forest.

Arya did not need to be taken care of in that way, but she found herself liking the fact that he tried all the same. The day's events with Joffrey and Mycah had shaken her to her core, and the sick, nervous twisting feeling in her gut told her that the spoilt, vicious prince and his scheming mother would be out for blood when they got back to the tavern. Her blood.

Gendry had promised that that would not be the case, but really, what could he do? True, he was Robert's son, but he was a bastard, barely legitimised, and while that didn't matter one bit to Arya, she felt as though she might be the only one.

His hand rubbed her shoulder as they walked, fingers moving in soothing circles. It was strange, Arya thought, but somehow comforting that a man like Gendry – pure muscle and brutish strength – could touch her so gently. Joffrey called him clumsy, but he was careful with the things that mattered.

They emerged from the trees, suddenly, and Arya could see the flickering lanterns that hung outside the tavern where the king and his family were no doubt waiting. One of the men standing sentry outside saw her and Gendry as they walked, raising a shout to those nearby.

"Lady Arya! She's here! She's back!"

Arya almost cringed into Gendry as a crowd began to form at the entrance, but she refrained. I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, she reminded herself sternly. I am a wolf. Wolves do not cower in fright.

She drew herself up to her full height, wishing that she was taller like Sansa. Sansa. Surely she would tell the truth. Arya lifted her chin in proud defiance and stepped out from the comfort of Gendry's embrace. He stayed close by her side though, a wordless acknowledgement of the tension she was trying not to show.

"Lady Arya!" It was Jory Cassel, and she nearly melted with relief at the sight of a trusted northern face amidst the crowd. "Are you hurt?" When she shook her head, Jory turned back and shouted to one of the men on the periphery. "Find Lord Stark and inform him that his daughter is safe. Call off the search!"

The man disappeared off into the trees, and Jory turned back to face her. Before he could utter another word, the Hound stepped out of the crowd and clamped a hand down on Arya's shoulder.

"This way, child," he said. "The queen wishes to speak with you."

Gendry reached over and took her wrist. "You should wait for Lord Stark."

The Hound simply stared at him balefully. "She said immediately."

Gendry and Arya exchanged a swift glance. Both of them knew that there wasn't much choice in the matter – if the queen had summoned her, she had to obey. "Fine," Gendry said slowly. "Then I'm coming as well."

The Hound shrugged. "Don't matter none to me. Come."

They did as they were bid, following his hulking form through the open door of the tavern and into one of the back rooms. People were muttering as they passed, nudging each other and whispering behind their hands. Arya felt another urge to cringe against Gendry's side, but she fought it.

The queen was waiting for them in the back room, and she was not alone. Half of the Kingsguard surrounded the chair she sat on. To her right was the king himself, looking weary at the whole affair, and to his right – injured arm cradled against his chest – was Joffrey. He had a pained grimace on his face, but his eyes tightened with chilling malice when he caught sight of Arya.

Curiously enough, his expression emboldened her. Her jaw set, and she marched forward with newfound determination.

Queen Cersei's cool emerald gaze settled on her, and she had the sudden and inexplicable feeling of being sized up like prey. She forced herself to meet her gaze unflinchingly, comforted by Gendry's solid, warm presence at her right shoulder.

"Everyone was out looking for you, Arya," the queen said silkily. "You gave the northmen quite a scare."

It didn't escape Arya's notice that she had not included her own men in the sentiment. Joffrey scoffed a little under his breath, and Arya suddenly felt seized by a mad desire to run up and punch him in the face. He was a wicked, evil, vile creature, she thought. Not worthy of the name Baratheon.

"I didn't mean to have everyone worried," Arya said. It was true. She had panicked and fled, and she felt wretched when she thought of how her father must have reacted. He had already had one child gravely injured – the last thing he needed was to lose another.

"Be that as it may..." Cersei began, but King Robert cut across her.

"Are you injured, child?" he asked. There seemed to be genuine concern in his deep blue eyes, and it made Arya feel a little better.

"No, Your Grace."

"Good. Where is Ned?" The last question was for the room at large. "Send for him, someone."

As it transpired, there was no need. A few seconds later, her lord father barrelled into the room, grey gaze frantically searching the faces until he caught sight of his daughter. Paying no mind to the tension in the room, he swept forward and clasped her gently by the shoulders, bending down to better look her in the eye.

Arya had never been so glad to see him, but she felt even guiltier at the worry etched into every line of his face. A dry sob burst from her throat. Embarrassed at the show of weakness, she flung herself into her father's arms.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled into his cloak. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"I know," he murmured back, fastening his arms around her waist and stroking her hair calmingly with one large, calloused hand. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

With that assurance, her father straightened up and eyed the king with reproach. "Seven Hells! What is the meaning of this, Robert? Why was I not immediately informed that my daughter had been found?"

Queen Cersei's eyes flashed dangerously. "How dare you speak to your king in that manner!"

"Quiet, woman," King Robert sighed. "I am sorry, Ned. I thought it best she was brought here so that the business could be resolved quickly."

"And what business is that?" Arya's father demanded.

The queen stood and stepped forward. "You know full well, Stark. This girl of yours attacked my son. Her and the butcher's boy. That animal of hers tried to tear his arm off."

"That's a lie!" Arya expostulated. Her voice rang out in the chamber, indignant and strong. "She just bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah."

"Joff told us what happened," the queen argued. "You and that butcher's boy beat him with clubs and then you set your wolf on him."

Gendry made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. In her peripheral vision, Arya saw his fists clench.

"That's not how it was at all," Arya insisted. "I swear it..."

"Yes, it was." Joffrey leaned forward in his chair, cruelty in his gaze as he looked her up and down. "You threw my sword in the river, and then you attacked me in a vicious, unprovoked..."

"I don't believe that for a second." It was Gendry, his voice firm. "Whatever she did to you, Joff, I am absolutely certain that it was well deserved."

"Nobody asked your opinion, brother." Joffrey spat the word like a profanity.

"But I'd like to hear it, all the same," the king said, ignoring Joffrey in favour of his natural born son. "Gendry?"

"Arya's version is much more plausible," he said, with no hesitation.

"You bastard son of..."

"Enough!" King Robert's booming voice drowned out Joffrey's insult before he could complete it. Arya was shaking with fury by that point, not for her own injustices, but for Gendry's sake. She had never wanted to throttle someone as badly as she wanted to hurt Joffrey in that moment. "Arya, you can tell me your story. Tell it all and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king. Then, and only then, can you have your turn to speak, Joff."

Arya immediately launched into what had happened in the same detail as she had told Gendry earlier. When she got to the part about throwing Lion's Tooth into the river, Renly Baratheon began to laugh. The king frowned at him sharply. "Ser Barristan, escort my brother from the room before he chokes."

Renly grinned, trying to smother his laughter. "My brother is too kind. I can find the door myself." He swept Joffrey a mocking bow as he made to leave. "Perchance later you'll tell me how a fifteen year old maid the size of a wet rat managed to disarm you with a broom handle and throw your sword in the river." He strode from the room, oblivious to Joffrey's murderous glare on his retreating back. Before the door swung shut, Arya heard him mutter "Lion's Tooth" again, and guffaw.

Joffrey began to tell his side of the story, then, with the sourest look on his face that Arya had ever seen. It was a very different tale, and ridiculous by any sane person's standards, she thought. Chancing a glance at Gendry, she saw the distaste in his expression as he listened to his half-brother's lies.

When he was done, the king rose from his seat, looking distinctly put upon. He glanced from one son to the other, then to her father, and finally, to Arya herself. "What in the seven hells am I meant to make of this? He says one thing, she says another."

"They were not the only ones there," her lord father said. "Where is Sansa?"

"Here," the queen replied, roping her sister from the crowd as though conjuring her out of thin air. Sansa was immaculately dressed, as always, her auburn hair brushed until it shone. She looked paler than usual, though, and deeply conflicted. Her Tully blue eyes darted nervously from Joffrey's face to Arya's.

"I... I don't know what happened," Sansa said softly. "It was all over so fast, and I could not really see..."

Arya closed her eyes, a wave of horror sweeping over her. It was a lie, and worse, it was her own sister who had told it. Betrayal was an ugly weight in the pit of her stomach, and unthinkingly, she reached behind her for Gendry. He did not take her hand, but instead hooked his littlest finger through hers, a small token of solidarity.

At least there was one person that Arya could still count on.

"Sansa, tell the truth," she pleaded, eyes beseeching her sister. Sansa grimaced, looking wretched. Arya was not a child, she understood why her sister would not come forward, but it pained her all the same.

"I want her punished," Cersei Lannister said, fixing her sharp, deadly eyes on Arya once more.

"What would you have me do?" The king rounded on his wife. "Whip her through the streets? She's a fifteen year old girl! Children fight, damn it. It happened, and now it's over. No lasting harm was done."

Cersei glowered. "Your son will bear those scars for the rest of his life."

"Perhaps they will teach him a lesson," King Robert said gruffly. "Ned, discipline your daughter. I will do the same with my son."

"Gladly, Your Grace," said her father, sagging with relief. His hand squeezed Arya's shoulder slightly, letting her know that there would be no punishment for her actions. Whatever else, her father was on her side.

"And what of the direwolf?" Queen Cersei demanded. Arya tensed under her father's hand. "What of the beast that savaged your son?"

Robert shrugged irritably. "I'd forgotten about the damn wolf. Where is the beast?"

"We found no sign of it, Your Grace," Ser Barristan piped up.

"No?" The king shrugged again. "So be it."

"The king I'd thought to marry would have laid a wolfskin by my bed by nightfall," Cersei Lannister whispered to him.

"A fine trick, with no wolf," King Robert grumbled.

"We have a wolf."

It took everyone a moment to comprehend what the queen was saying. Arya was one of the first to understand, and she drew in a sharp breath. Surely, surely, the queen did not mean that?

One look at her savagely triumphant expression, however, and Arya knew that she did.

"No..." Sansa moaned softly. "Not Lady. She did nothing. Your Grace..."

"As you will," the king said. He didn't sound particularly happy about it. "Have Ser Ilyn see to it."

"Robert, you cannot mean this," Arya's father said in a low voice.

The warmth of Gendry's hand left Arya's suddenly, and he stepped fully forward. All eyes in the room turned to him expectantly.

"Father, this is ludicrous," he stated. He did not raise his voice, but it rang with a sort of power and logic that seemed to have escaped most of the room. There was a sudden gravity about him, a sageness that reminded Arya of her own father, and Robb. He had drawn himself up to his full height, and struck quite an impressive figure. More impressive than Joffrey by far, and more handsome.

"What would you have me do, Gendry?" The king shot back.

"You would punish an innocent creature for another's actions?" he challenged. "Really, Father? That is not the man I thought you were. Sometimes, isn't it better to meet injustice with mercy? And, failing that, justice? How is this just? This is slaughter, and mindless slaughter at that. Where will the line be drawn next? Would you slaughter a babe for his brother's crimes?"

Cersei paled, flinging a venomous look in Gendry's direction, but he did not waver. Arya could only stare at him, enraptured, as the king tilted his head in consideration of his son's counsel. Gendry looked tall, and strong. As gallant as any knight Sansa fancied daydreaming about. There was something about him in that moment, something new, that made Arya's breath catch.

Gendry Baratheon did not seem like a bastard boy from Flea Bottom. He looked, for all the world, more kingly than the man wearing the crown.

"My boy," King Robert murmured, and there was a note of admiration in his voice. "You speak sense. Thank the gods one of us does." Cersei opened her mouth to protest, but Robert quelled her with a wave of his hand. "Hold your tongue, woman. He is right. If anyone harms Sansa Stark's wolf, they shall have me to answer to. If the other beast returns, we shall address the appropriate punishment there and then. That will be all, Ned, you may take your daughters away now."

Sansa immediately fled to her father's arms, shaken by the mere prospect of losing Lady. He began to tow her from the room, beckoning Arya to join them, but before she left, she leaned forward to catch Gendry's hand. He swivelled to look at her, eyes like blue fire.

"Thank you," she murmured, a catch in her voice. "You have no idea what that meant."

"Believe me, Arya," he whispered back. "I really do."

A/N - Next chapter in King's Landing! Thanks to everyone for the reviews so far, always makes my day! :)

~OVR