Chapter Ten

GENDRY

"Lord Arryn's death was a sad affair," Loras Tyrell said, sipping from his goblet of wine. "But I think the new Hand could be good for the Seven Kingdoms."

"Stark is certainly qualified for the job," Renly replied, around a mouthful of dates. "But by the Seven, he's a serious man. Trying to make decent conversation with him is much like trying to extract blood from a stone."

Gendry glanced up from his plate of untouched food at the mention of the name 'Stark', trying not to let the flicker of guilt show in his eyes. He had been invited to break his fast with his uncle, as was the norm, and he had welcomed Loras as a distraction from his folly of the previous night... until he brought up the Starks.

"Ah, at last, something to catch my nephew's attention!" Renly laughed, noticing Gendry's reaction. "You have been unusually taciturn this morning, and that is quite a feat indeed. Come, tell us what is on your mind."

"It's nothing of consequence," Gendry lied. "I am over-tired, I think."

"Out whoring at Littlefinger's brothel?" Renly chuckled. "Good lad."

"I..." Gendry took a sip of his wine to cover his discomfort.

"What do you think of Lord Stark, Gendry?" Loras enquired.

"He is an honourable man," Gendry considered. "A decent man."

"A dying breed," Renly joked, blue eyes twinkling, although there was far more truth to the statement than any of them would care to admit. "I seem to remember you spending a lot of time with the youngest Stark girl."

Gendry willed himself not to blush, staring intently into his cup of summerwine. He kept his voice carefully neutral as he responded. "Lady Arya is an interesting person."

"Pretty little maid," Renly noted, as Loras nodded in agreement. "Very much like her late aunt in looks. Though half-wild. She's nothing like her sister."

"Is that a bad thing?" Gendry snapped, feeling defensive. He knew how much Arya loathed the constant comparisons that were made between her and Sansa. "Lady Sansa is beautiful, but she is..."

"Empty-headed?" Renly finished for him. "Ah, she is yet young and naive. And no, nephew, I do not think it is a bad thing. I rather admire the girl's spirit."

"She would be better suited to a knighthood than a noble marriage," Loras observed, with a small smile. "I met with her in Winterfell a few times. The girl is a fair rider. Keen to know about swordplay, and archery, and many other things that she had no business knowing about."

"She will drive her lord father demented, no doubt," Renly laughed again. "Although there is something rather enchanting about her lack of regard for propriety. What say you, Gendry?"

Gendry thought instantly of Arya standing before him in her nightgown, her wild tangle of dark hair falling past her shoulders, and the steely glint of determination in her silver eyes before she kissed him. He had tried so hard to put the memory out of his mind, but it had been all he could think about; playing in his mind's eye on a constant loop.

"I think," he said softly, "that she would do well to remember that propriety is necessary in the capital."

"You worry for her," Renly observed keenly.

I worry for us both, Gendry thought, but he only nodded in response.

"Oh," Loras diverted the conversation suddenly. "I saw the Hand on his way to a meeting with the Grand Maester this morn."

"A meeting?" Renly popped a grape into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Small Council business?"

"I doubt it, if you had no knowledge of it."

"The Hand does not think to consult me on the minutia of his days, Loras."

"I overheard them as the Hand entered his chambers. I believe the meeting concerned the death of Lord Arryn."

Renly's hand stilled halfway to his goblet. Gendry felt suddenly, inexplicably nervous. It was not spoken of between Gendry and his natural uncle, but he felt certain that they shared the same suspicions. Lord Arryn's death was no accident.

"Strange, tragic business," Loras continued, seemingly oblivious to the tense set of his companions shoulders. "I spoke with the maester myself on the matter. He had some rather odd last words, if you'll believe."

"What were they?" Gendry enquired, trying to conceal the slight tremor in his voice.

"Some mad rambling," Loras shrugged. "Something about the seed is strong. The poor man was delirious with the fever that took him, no doubt."

"No doubt," Renly replied, continuing to eat again. His posture had relaxed, but Gendry suddenly felt tenser and more afraid than ever.

The seed is strong, Gendry thought. It is precisely what he said to me the last time we spoke.

Arryn's words had meaning, and now Gendry was sure of it. He just did not have the slightest notion what the meaning could be. His appetite suddenly forgotten, Gendry stood.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to get going."

"Busy day, nephew?" Renly asked, with a beaming, carefree smile.

"You could say that," Gendry replied with a nod.

"Go on," he replied. "Go have your fun, if there is indeed any to be had at court."

There was no question of having fun, not for Gendry. He knew, as he strode quickly down the labyrinth of corridors that descended into the bowels of the Red Keep, that he needed time to think, time away from the prying eyes of the Spider's many informants.

Jon Arryn's death was no accident, and now Gendry was sure of it.

His legs took him unconsciously further down, into the crypt below the throne room. It was a path he knew well, but it was one that was so well hidden that it would be difficult to find had a person not been previously informed of its existence. His lord uncle had taken him down here once, just after he had been claimed, thinking that the sight of the dragon skulls beneath the Keep would have excited him.

Gendry had feigned wonder, but in truth he had been more than a little afraid of the skeletons. Balerion, the Black Dread, was by far the most unsettling of the long-dead beasts; a gargantuan monster with jaws wide enough for a man grown to stand between. It was only later, when he had been desperate for an escape from the rest of the court, that he had come to think of the dragon chamber as his own safe place.

He remembered suddenly his promise to Arya, and felt a bubble of guilt in the pit of his stomach once more. The look of hurt on her face as he had left her chambers the night before haunted him; he wished more than anything that he could take back his actions. All of his actions.

I have no right to want her, he thought. And she would be a fool to want me.

While true, the thought held little comfort for him. He was a bastard with a name but no title. He was not the sort of man worthy of Arya Stark of Winterfell.

And yet, Gendry thought despondently. I love her, still.

The errant thought stopped Gendry in his tracks. It was too soon to speak of love, his head reasoned, too soon and too dangerous, but his heart did not appear to care. He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to slam his fist into the stone wall of the narrow corridor in frustration. There was no denying Arya Stark had captivated him entirely, but there was also no denying that acting on his feelings would be the destruction of them both.

She is not mine. She will never be mine. Gendry repeated the mantra to himself until the whoosh of blood quieted in his ears.

"Gendry?"

At first, he thought he had imagined her voice. Then he heard the soft footsteps behind him. Panicked, he whipped around, and there she stood, one hand braced against the stone wall, dark hair braided to one side in the northern style. She had been forced into one of the dresses that were the fashion of the ladies of the court; green silks with heavy embroidery on the bodice. She looked, for all the world, like the lady she so vehemently denied being.

"Arya." His voice was hoarse with shock. It was as though thinking of her could conjure her up from thin air. "How did you find me?"

Her grey eyes flashed like steel. "I was not looking for you. I was exploring, and you..." She trailed off, her gaze catching on the entrance to the dragon chamber. "Is that...?"

"The chamber full of dragon skulls I told you of in Winterfell," Gendry replied, smiling at the look of wonder on her face. "Yes."

"Oh, let me see!" Arya cried, and before Gendry could respond, she had dashed straight past him, braid flying behind her. She stopped in the entryway, hands clasped over her heart. "By the old gods and the new, Gendry, look!"

"I've seen them," he said, with a hint of laughter. "I told you about them."

"Seven hells!" Arya swore, racing further into the room. Gendry followed, unable to resist her draw, and he paused to watch her as, heedless of her pretty dress, she clambered straight into the skeletal mouth of Balerion. "This one is enormous!"

"The Black Dread," he told her quietly. "That's the remains of the dragon Aegon the Conqueror rode into King's Landing on."

"You were right," Arya said breathlessly, eyes glittering like precious metal. "This could swallow an aurochs whole! I've never seen a thing like it!"

Gendry barely noticed the dragon skull. All he could see was Arya, and how fiercely beautiful she looked standing fearlessly in the jaws of the dragon. She was still a little thing – Gendry doubted she'd ever get much taller – but she was like a firework; she made the world around her fade into grey.

"Arya," he whispered. "I'm sorry about... about last night."

It slipped out without his meaning to mention it, and her hand stilled in midair, halfway towards one of the enormous dragon teeth. Her head turned towards him, and there was an unexpected softness in her gaze.

"No," she said quietly. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I ought not to have kissed you like that. It wasn't proper. It... I ought not to behave as though the rules of society don't apply to me."

Each word felt like a knife in Gendry's heart, but she was only telling him what he already knew. "If it means anything to you at all, I wish that things were different."

A slow, sad smile crept its way up Arya's face. She was so beautiful that it made Gendry's chest ache. "It means everything."

The moment seemed to stretch between them, and it felt as though the air were being crushed from Gendry's lungs. His very soul ached with the unfairness of their situation. Instead of the scream of frustration he wanted to let loose, he grinned and ducked his head in a short bow.

"M'lady," he said politely, extending one hand to help her down from the jaws of the dragon's skull. "May I escort you up to the gardens for luncheon?"

Arya narrowed her eyes, and made a point of dodging his assist. She leapt down with a catlike grace, but instead of ignoring Gendry's still outstretched hand, she took his proffered arm.

"Thank you," she replied sweetly.

Acting their parts, Gendry guided her out of the room and back to the reality that was their world of pretences and games.