A/N: Exposition! I liked writing this chapter. Descriptions are fun.
"You should have seen it," Lem says, a crude grin on his face. "The size of her! I'd say she weighed more than you do," he adds, elbowing Gendry.
"No wonder she arrested you," Gendry mumbles, draining his glass, even though it's mostly bitter foam by now. "How'd you get out, in any case?"
"Ol' Harwin bailed us. You know the Starks pay him out the ass. They've been nervy, ever since that ruckus with their eldest girl..."
Gendry decides to tune out. He's had enough of Starks to last him a lifetime.
He casts a tired eye around the bar, which is cramped and smoky and loud. Some band is banging away in the corner as the two sisters behind the bar serve quick as lightning, pouring and pulling. He orders another beer, and the younger girl dashes off. Anguy and Tom are over in the corner, crouched over the pool table, as the former breaks.
"Where's Ned?" Gendry wonders.
"Dayne? College, or something. Him and his ambitions." Lem lets out a booming laugh.
Gendry sighs, and tries not to feel jealous. None of these men have ever worked a proper day in their life, and nor will they. Technically, they're security guards, employed by Beric Dondarrion of Hollow Hill Holdings, but Gendry knows they don't do a tap. Dondarrion doesn't seem to care. Ned's his nephew of sorts, who tags along sometimes; he's a nice boy, and a decent boxer, if somewhat easily impressed. Gendry fell in with them when he fixed up Dondarrrion's Volann and then his company's data protection system. The man is kind enough, but every time he looks at Gendry, he feels like his sole remaining eye is looking at someone else entirely.
"Let's not talk about pretty purple-eyed Dayne, though," Lem says suddenly, turning to face Gendry. "Someone saw you coming out of your flat... with a plus one."
Gendry curses beneath his breath. There's another reason why Dondarrion keeps them on; none of them miss a single thing. They're not spies, really, just as nosy as a gaggle of old ladies, but they notice things that other people don't, things that Dondarrion uses to his advantage. The world of business is a cut-throat one. "Anguy checking up on me?"
"He was worried when you didn't answer last night," Lem shrugs, gulping down some of his bitter lager. "Tell me. You never bother with girls... what did you do with this one?"
"I played cards with her. What do you think?" He can't tell them the truth. just in case it gets back to Harwin, who is a personal guard to the Stark family and will definitely recognise Arya Stark; she'll never be left out of the house again.
"Ya fuck her?" When Gendry fails to respond, he keeps going on. "Did you make the beast with two backs? Did you play with the box the baby came out of? Did you smash her portcullis in? Did you toast the-"
"I slept with her, okay?" Gendry is almost sure he's blushing, admitting to something he didn't do, but if he didn't cut in, Lem would never stop, and if he heard another word, he would've broken his glass on Lem's face and ruined his grubby yellow shirt.
Lem grins widely, slinging his arm around Gendry's shoulders. "Oho! So you're not such a blushing maid, huh? Was she-" The man makes a gesture with his fingers. Gendry refuses to look.
"I'm no maid."
"Wait, yeah, there was that girl with the..." Lem waves his hands around his chest, in universal man speak for boobs.
Gendry shudders. "Gods, no – she looked like me!" Bella had the bright blue eyes and the jet black hair he's only ever seen in the mirror. He doesn't know where he gets his colouring from; his mother was blond and doe-eyed, from the one picture he has of her sitting on grass, a radiant smile on her freckled face. He doesn't remember her, only the smell of antiseptic and thin hands brushing through his hair. She died, he went to an orphanage and then a string of foster homes. He ran away when he was sixteen, fell out of a hole in the system and landed back in the poverty from whence he'd came.
Lem grunts, and finishes his beer. "So you are a maid?"
Gendry ignores him; Harwin is entering, hand aloft. Perhaps he can help; his close association with the Stark family could be of use.
"My man!" Len waves him over, and Harwin slides onto the stool beside them. "How are the wolves?"
"Snappy." He rolls his eyes. "The youngest girl came home injured again."
Again? Lem voices Gendry's unsaid concerns.
"She came home about a week ago with her motorcycle all broke – she stormed out after an argument about Jon."
"He's the bastard boy on the heroin, isn't he?" Lem chuckles. "Typical. Bastard blood always shows." Gendry coughs, and Lem realises his words. "Sorry."
After shooting Lem a glare, Gendry prompts Harwin to continue. "She hurt again?"
The man nods. "Sprained elbow, but she was mostly fixed up. Wouldn't tell them what happened." Harwin groans, pushing his hair back from his face. "It's all because of that Snow boy – the moment he left, that family broke. Ned's got it hard enough keeping Robert in line, he don't need a rebel daughter."
Jon Snow. Gendry has a name; often, that's all he needs. Jon Snow, heroin, Bloody Mummers, Arya's gun. It's all shaping up to make a picture he doesn't like the look of. He commiserates with Lem and Harwin until he finishes his beer, strolls over to Anguy to try and retrieve the money he's owed (he ends up snatching the newly-won bills out of his friend's pocket) and leaves. Lem tells him, guffawing, "to fuck that girl good" and Gendry agrees as best he can without actually contemplating it; his hyperactive mind comes with a hyperactive imagination, and if he lets that idea take root he won't be able to sleep tonight. Besides, she's eighteen and noble and dangerous; he's twenty-three and aimless, with nothing but his hands and a shitty laptop. He's lucky she even looked at him, even though he's pretty sure he doesn't want anything like that from her.
Jon Snow, heroin, Bloody Mummers. Jon Snow, heroin, Bloody Mummers.
He tries to sleep, honestly, but every time he close his eyes he hears Lem laughing about fucking and sees Arya, yanking his t-shirt off her slim body. He feels like an out-of-control teenager, all hormones and awkward dreams about the hot teacher. The only thing that will distract him right now is his computer, so he decides to put his excess energy to use and boots his laptop up, waiting impatiently as it finally grumbles into life.
First, the Starks.
Descended from the First Men, the Kings of the North, the great House Stark, Lords Paramount of the North. Direwolves, honour, Winter is Coming. The Old Gods, warging, greensight, Bran the Builder, the Wall.
He feels the weight of the name pressing down on his shoulders just reading about it. No wonder Arya refrained from telling him. Enough of history; what about the current family?
Eddard Stark, CEO of Winterfell, Inc., pictured alongside wife Catelyn Tully. Ned Stark's face is stern, grey eyes flinty. His wife is warmer, a handsome woman with russet-red curls and river-blue eyes, framed with lines made by laughter. Arya is almost wholly her father, but Catelyn's smile as she gazes at her husband is very similar to the one her daughter infrequently wears.
Who else? She mentioned brothers...
Robb Stark and Jon Snow, co-captains of King Torrhen's Secondary School's boxing team, lifting the National Inter-College Boxing Cup. These are the boys he saw earlier, the ones around the same age. One is almost exactly like Catelyn Tully, blue-eyed with auburn curls; Robb, then. The other boy...
Jon Snow is bruised and sweaty, dark hair ruffled as he stares at the cup in awe. His smile is not quite as winning as his half-brother's, but it is there, curling his lips as he marvels at their hard-won trophy. Nothing from this picture speaks of a potential heroin addict. What happened to this victorious boy?
Another, more recent picture comes up when he searches for Robb Stark; Detectives Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy, standing over a record-breaking haul of heroin. Shiny police badges are visible on their lapels; whereas Theon is smirking, Robb's face is hard, blue eyes dark; he resembles his father more in this picture. He recognises the look; it was on Arya's face yesterday as she whispered, "If that's what it takes."
Gendry sighs and keeps digging, but as he browses through the photos, he catches an all-too-familiar glimpse of blond hair.
Joffrey Baratheon and Sansa Stark at a fundraiser for the people of Slaver's Bay. Sansa is her mother in miniature, as beautiful as any woman he's ever laid eyes on. If Joffrey's arm slung low around her waist discomfits her, her polite smile does not show it. Her boyfriend is smirking odiously, green eyes glittering with malice, his golden Rolex digging into the soft skin of Sansa's bare wrist.
Joffrey. He knows the expression on the little shit's face; he saw it last year, as Joffrey watched him stagger out of his garage with a mouthful of blood. He didn't even have the decency to brutalise him himself; his bug ugly hound of a guard attacked him. Gendry only barely managed to fend the brute off. He didn't dare press charges; Joffrey would only press them right back, and he would win. He still doesn't know the meaning behind that random attack and he does not wish to. Curiosity kills the cat.
He decides not to look Arya up; that could be dangerous. Besides, he knows her face all too well already. Instead, he skips to the next two siblings; Bran and Rickon.
Bran and Rickon Stark sparring at yesterday's underage boxing tournament in White Harbour. Bran is tall and wide with a perfect stance; he's making short work of his little brother. Their red hair is flying, their deep blue eyes are sparkling, and though Bran is grinning, Rickon's face is twisted up in a threatening look of concentration.
The next photo of Bran shows him in a wheelchair, slumped, defeated. His entire family is gathered around him in solidarity, a cluster of grey and black on the steps of a courthouse. Arya is shooting daggers at some poor reporter.
There is one glaring exception in the image; Jon Snow.
Bran's transition from healthy boy to paraplegic, Jon's sudden departure and subsequent addiction, Robb's grim face over the drug haul, Sansa's fake smile as Joffrey curls around her...
As a child, Gendry thought that money would solve all of his problems. Now, he realises that sometimes, it only makes things worse.
Sighing, he shuts his laptop down and tries to sleep. Work starts early tomorrow, and he has enough to think about to keep his mind away from Arya.
There are no wolves in his dreams tonight, only ravens, cawing incessantly.