A/N: Thank you for waiting a long time for this update. Like I've said, I'm still in the middle of Leaving Winter, so this story gets a bit delayed.
This chapter (and probably the entire story) may contain inconsistencies and I've also apologized for this before, that even if I'm a lover of history, I am not so familiar with the terms used back then. So I'm apologizing in advance for that.
And with that, GRRM, you rock my socks.
The stands were overflowing with spectators. Although they were mostly people of importance, there were lowborns in attendance too. Arya could see all the different house sigils on silken pennants, waving in the wind for everyone to see. The knights' armors and shields and lances were shining where the sun struck them, temporarily rendering them blind if you fail to turn away. The grounds were a slew of bright-colored tunics and gowns and pretty little hair ornaments. It was a sight to see, but there was only one person she wanted to set her eyes upon.
She found him outside one of the tents set up for the tournament. He was having a conversation with several knights who would be joining the joust to be held in the next hour. He seemed to be enjoying the company of these fine, young men whom Arya figured were sons of some high lord or some other foreign king, perhaps. She stood watching him from afar; being careful not to be noticed by anyone from the kingsguards. He threw his head back as he laughed with the men over some jest one of them told. In her head, she was chanting his name as if he could hear her; willing him to look in her direction, if that would be the only time they would get to acknowledge each other's presence. For Arya, it would be better to see each other from afar than not to see each other at all.
She must have forgotten to breathe when he chanced a glance in her direction. He seemed to have been surprised too. A ghost of a smile was at the corner of his lips, but the knights were all vying for his attention with popular tales of past tournaments. It was, after all, important for knights to be besting each other during competitions. He glanced in her direction again, tilting his head to the right to where his tent was located. She nodded once to let him know that she understood him. Throwing a nod of his own in her direction, he went back to listening in on the conversation around him.
Arya waited at the opposite side where the lesser folk were hustling about; watching in awe as the highborns were mingling with other highborns as they took to the stands one by one. It was closed to being full now, casting an excitement in the air as the knights would soon be besting each other in honor of Prince Gendry's name day. Arya watched as Gendry made to enter his tent, sending a quick glance in her direction that she assumed meant she should follow him soon. With a nervous pounding in her chest, she quickly but cautiously crossed the path towards the tent, careful not to bump into anyone that would cause a scene and give her away. She was literally and figuratively crossing the line between the lesser folk and the highborns, and she knew the king would have her head if she gets caught. If he gets caught because of her.
She was almost at the opening of the tent when someone grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the back. She almost fainted when she saw that it was Ser Yoren, and he was looking at her with disapproving eyes. Arya couldn't find the voice to say anything but Ser Yoren only put his finger to his lips to ask her to be silent. It was only then that Arya realized that Gendry was not alone in the tent. There was three more voices in there; the two she recognized as King Robert's and Queen Cersei's, but the other was unfamiliar to her.
Ser Yoren must have sensed her curiosity because he whispered, "Princess Margaery Tyrell" in a gruff but soft voice. Arya could only nod her head even if she had no idea who she was. As long as the title Princess was stuck before her name, Arya wouldn't be able to question any of it. Princesses will always come first before daughters of blacksmiths who bear no titles to their name.
"I must thank you, Your Grace, for sending an invitation to Highgarden to join your family in honoring the Prince's name day. It was very gracious of you," said Princess Margaery.
"Bah!" the King's booming voice filled the tent. "It is but right for you to come join our House Baratheon for the feast! You are, after all, my son's betrothed."
What?
Arya's breath hitched in her throat. Betrothed? Was it not three days ago when she and Gendry swore to keep their affections a secret but only until after his name day? What in seven hells is going on? She looked up at Ser Yoren and he slowly nodded in confirmation before casting a glance at everywhere but her. Arya's heart pounded twice as fast with the new knowledge for she knew not what happens to them after that turn of events.
"The King has arranged a marriage for the Prince in about six moons from now," explained the kindly Knight. He was looking at her with pity in his eyes that somehow made Arya more irritated than hurt. Did Gendry know all this time that he were to be wed six moons from today?
"I see your worry, child," Ser Yoren observed. "But I assure you that the Prince knew nothing of it until this very moment. I know of your affections for each other, do not fear, for I do not go about gossiping with the King and Queen about the Prince's activities."
"I do know my place, Ser," Arya shot in defense. "And I know that it is not beside the Prince nor is it behind even. That is the way of things," she added, remembering her father's words.
"Is it why you choose to meet the Prince in secret? Because if you do understand the way of things, then why are you sneaking into his tent in secret?"
Arya could not find a suitable response to that so she kept her mouth shut.
It was then that they heard the flurry of skirts and the King's booming laughter as they all emerged from inside. The King and his beautiful Queen stepped out first, to be quickly surrounded by the men of the kingsguard. The Princess Margaery came out next, and beside her was Prince Gendry.
She stared at the Princess. She is very pretty, even prettier than her older Sansa. People used to say that Sansa had their mother's looks and was often mistaken for a highborn, instead of what they truly are. Her beauty is soft and delicate and filled with a grace that belies the fiery red of her hair. But this Princess…she is a sight to behold. Beautiful white, flawless skin that was a stark contrast to her dark, raven hair that fell down to her waist. Her lips were a soft, full red that men would most likely fight over. Her stance was befitting a Princess for a Princess she is. Arya took a few timid steps backward at the realization that she had been playing fire with fire, and Princess Margaery's presence was like a bucket of freezing cold water that was poured over head. It was mind-jarring and eye-opening.
Gendry discreetly turned his head in Ser Yoren's direction, giving him a partial vision of Arya standing behind the knight. The Prince and the Knight spoke volumes with just a simple eye contact, and the Knight quickly understood the meaning behind it.
"Come now, child," Ser Yoren said as he gently led her away by the elbow. "Make haste for the tournament is about to begin. Did you come alone?"
Arya only nodded in response.
"Good," he said. "You can meet the Prince as soon as the joust is over."
Arya had no choice but to be led away.
The joust had been the highlight of every knight in attendance. The Prince, of course, emerged a victor. The Princess Margaery was, as expected, Queen of Love and Beauty. Everyone was rejoicing the Prince's name day and was highly anticipating the feast at the castle that night.
Everyone except Arya.
She left the castle grounds after Ser Yoren led her away from the tents. He wanted to bring her back to where her people, the lesser folk, were watching from the side where they would only come next after the nobility. Arya told him she would prefer to return home, and so the kind knight had left her on her way.
I must return home and cook for supper, she thought, kicking stones and dirt along her path. Everyone was out there celebrating the Prince's name day, but Arya found no reason to celebrate anymore. Not everyone has the luxury of having a feast presented on their table for supper. Some of us have to work for it on our own.
It was sometime later that Ned walked into the cottage, finding his daughter putting out rye bread and cheese. She placed a wooden bowl of sallat on the table, watching her as she mixed in some lettuce, carrots and turnips, along with some vinegar and oil. She only looked up when he walked over to press a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Do we have enough for supper?" Ned asked as he eyed the food she set out for them.
"I think so," she said. "Were you not invited to the feast?"
"I am. Everyone is, my sweet," Ned explained. "I couldn't find you anywhere, I knew you must be here. Are you not enjoying the feast?"
Arya shrugged. "I'm not one to be excited over noblemen's feasts. That would be Sansa and not me, father."
Ned chuckled. "I would have thought it must have something to do with someone in particular?"
"Perhaps."
"I'm sorry, my sweet. If only there was-"
"Are you hungry, father? I made some sallat because I didn't have time to go out and hunt for rabbits and hares," Arya said with a swift change of topic. "Come sit with me now."
Ned sighed. "I am hungry, but I invited someone to share a meal with us."
Arya's forehead creased. She watched as her father walked back outside and disappeared for a few moments before walking back in, a young lad in tow. She gave a small smile to Edric Dayne, her father's new blacksmith apprentice.
"Arya," Edric nodded to her, returning her smile with one of his own.
Edric Dayne of Starfall. He was the same age as Arya; with pale blond hair that seemed soft to the touch, and dark blue eyes that made it look almost purple. He was usually quiet, at least during the few times she's worked with him and her father at the forge. But he seems nice and has shown potential smithing skills.
"Come sit share supper with us," Arya said as she took a seat on the small table she shares with her father. "It's not much, though."
Edric gave a soft laugh. "Beggars can't be choosers, Arya. I'm not some Lord or Prince who has the luxury of demanding for whatever I want to eat."
Ned watched as his daughter grew quiet at the mention of prince. With an affectionate pat on Edric's back, he let the lad take a seat and share their meal.
"She's not here," Gendry whispered to his loyal knight as he scanned the Great Hall for any sign of Arya.
"No, she's not. But she was almost to your tent earlier. I assume you sent her there?" Ser Yoren whispered back after taking a drink of his wine.
"Yes," he sighed. He moved closer to Ser Yoren, careful not to catch the attention of the others. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as he could and run to Arya, but he knew he had obligations at the castle. And considering it was his name day, it would seem stupid to just up and leave the celebration prepared specifically for the crown prince. "I signaled for her to follow me, but I was surprised to find the King, Queen and Princess Margaery waiting for me inside. I would also assume that you stopped her from walking in?"
Yoren nodded. "Unfortunately, the girl heard about your betrothal to the princess."
Gendry groaned. He wanted to warn Arya about it, but it seems like she has already heard about it from another. This might not be good. "Was she…was Arya angry?"
"She seemed more sad than angry to me."
Gendry nodded in understanding. "I shall seek her out on the morrow and explain."
"And you think this would be a good idea? You do know that the King has forbidden you to see her. And with all due respect, my Prince, but you can't expect anything more to come out of this?"
"Thank you, Ser Yoren," Gendry said, completely avoiding his question. "I shall need your assistance on the morrow, for when I seek Arya out to explain."
The knight only bowed his head and stepped back.
Just then, a soul-wrenching shout was heard from outside. The knights and guard in attendance were quick to react for they rushed out to see what has caused someone's distress.
"Your Grace!" one of King Robert's guards came rushing into the Great Hall. More shouts and screams were heard from outside. "Your Grace! The Freys! The Freys have come to the Red Keep! They attack us, Your Grace!"
Everyone in the hall started shouting and rushing about in panic. The King quickly ordered his men to take Queen Cersei and Prince Gendry away to some place safe, as he quickly gained command of his men. The other guests were running from the Great Hall n search of somewhere safer, anywhere but here. The screams and shrieks of men, women and children were heard echoing the halls.
In the sole instance of letting their guard down, the castle had been infiltrated by the Frey traitors. Because of an unsettled dispute between power and honor, House Frey have come to King's Landing to kill each and every member of House Baratheon. And they were close to successfully doing so.
Gendry watched in horror as their guests were kicked and stabbed and slashed to their death. The kingsguards were fighting to their death in order to protect the castle and its inhabitants, but because of a momentary act of weakness, House Baratheon was quickly losing to the enemy.
"Gendry! My son! Run! Run!"
Gendry watched as the blade thrust from King Robert's back and straight through his chest, piercing flesh and hitting bone and aiming right through his heart. "NO! Father!" Gendry screamed, but hands were pulling him away from the Great Hall and on to somewhere he knew not. He could hear his Queen mother cry out amidst the screams of tortured souls that were begging to be done with the pain being inflicted on them. His initial grief turned to shock, and Gendry finally let himself be led by Ser Yoren and the other knights. He could no longer see nor hear his mother as he was dragged outside, not even wondering nor caring about where he should go.
"We shall bring you to safety, Your Grace," Ser Yoren huffed against his ear. And for a moment, Gendry suddenly became aware of that one thing: He was now King Gendry, son of the slain King Robert, and only Heir to the Iron Throne. He looked at Ser Yoren with glassy eyes, and the older man put a hand on his shoulder before they continued on to safety.
"Your Queen mother will be sent to safety too, Your Grace, so you need not worry. But we need to take you away this night, and fast, for you are now the young King and protector of your people. You cannot do that when you are dead, Your Grace," Yoren ended with a hard glare in his eye. "And I know now where to bring you."
"Eddard Stark!"
Ned, Arya and Edric were startled by the loud banging of the cottage door. They were still sitting around the kitchen table although the plates had already been wiped clean. They were having a nice conversation until a noise could be heard from outside the cottage. With a troubled look, Ned quickly crossed the room and opened the door to reveal a frightened-looking Prince Gendry on his doorstep.
"Ned," Yoren growled close to his ear, for everything he must say must be for Ned's ears only. "The castle was attached by the Frey traitors. King Robert was slain, which means the young prince who's currently under your roof, is now the Baratheon king. You need to take him to somewhere safe, possibly far away from here. Queen Cersei had been sent off to Dorne for her own safety. We cannot have them travel together because it is too dangerous."
"What would you have me do, Ser Yoren?" Ned asked, his heart pounding fast in his chest.
"Take the king to Winterfell," Yoren replied with a stubborn look on his face. "Let him seek refuge in your winter solace."
"What of his people? What of us?" Ned asked softly, as if knowing the answer already but needing to hear it out loud."
"Dead," the knight answered. "Even the Princess Margaery is missing, and I know not if she lives or faced death."
Ned nodded in affirmation. "I will take the King to Winterfell. My family will protect him there."
"For now," Ser Yoren added.
Ned nodded his head again. "Aye, for now."
"Your Grace," Ned said as he walked closer to the young man. He saw that his eyes were focused on Arya and the young apprentice beside her. Ned decided to take the more important matter first and ignore the young King's sudden look of jealousy that crossed his face.
"Your Grace," Ned said a little louder this time. "Have you ever been to Winterfell?"
