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Arya

Chapter 6

She met up with Gendry in the woods the day after, and felt her mood lighten remarkably by his presence. They fought with sticks until they were both out of breath, battered and bruised. She had stolen some pie from the kitchen and handed him a piece when they sat down by the lake which were completely covered with ice. He accepted it gratefully.

"How was the feast yesterday?" he asked. Arya shrugged. Dickon had nagged all night about High Horn, and about the fact that he soon would be lord.

"It was okay I guess," she said. "Dickon confirmed your theory. Our parents do indeed want us to be married." She still couldn't believe her father had not told her so when she had asked only a few days before. He usually told her everything, or so she had thought.

Gendry nodded. "And how do you feel about this betrothal?"

Arya thought she saw his eyes flicker as she shrugged again. "I don't want to be a lady," she said for what felt like the thousandth time.

"I think you'd be a poor one at that too," he said, chuckling. Arya frowned and punched him lightly in the arm.

"I wish they would just leave already," she sighed and lay back in the snow, staring up at the blue sky. "The sooner Dickon's gone the better. He actually challenged me at swordplay today. That git."

"And you turned him down?" Gendry asked in surprise. "I thought you'd take any challenge only to prove how good you are."

Arya scoffed. "I told him I did not have the time. Besides, if I had fought him, I would have been too tired to fight you."

He smiled at that and lay down next to her. She was surprised by how accustomed she had gotten to the smith, even though they had only known each other for a week. Every other day they, after he was done in the forge, they would meet in the Wolfswood by the lake and fight until they were both out of breath, and then they would just lie there. Sometimes they did not talk at all, which was nice. A few days ago she had told him how much she hated the idea of marriage, and he seemed to understand, but had asked her if she didn't want kids. Arya had screwed up her face and snorted.

"No! Do you?"

He had shrugged. "I might. One day." A myserious smile had erupted on his face then, and he had looked at her with a strange look, just like he was looking at her now.

"Why are you always smiling? You make it seem as if your life is perfect," she said scolding. He sighed loudly and put his arms under his head, staring up at the sky while he said: "Right now, it almost is."

He told her about how he was daily set to make necklaces, and about all the husbands who had visited the forge to buy something nice for their wives. "Mikken even says that if this continues, he'll build a stand outside where Myra can sell the necklaces while I make them," his voice revealed how proud and excited he was by the idea. When she asked him why his life was only 'almost perfect', he smiled and winked at her.

"Perhaps I'll tell you someday."

The castle was drowning in servants and decorations. Sansa was constantly by Talla's side, discussing wedding dresses and hair-styles. If Arya hadn't known better, it seemed as though Sansa was starting to look forward to her own wedding. As she hadn't seen her with Jory lately, she reckoned they had broken things off, and judging by his daily visit to the brothel outside the walls, Jory wasn't taking it very well.

Robb had asked her if she could show Dickon Winterfell, but she had told him to go kiss his own arse, and he had stopped mentioning Dickon's name in front of her. Arya kept trying to get her father alone, but he was always in company of either Dickon or Lord Tarly, and Arya knew what they were discussing. The wedding she hadn't even given her consent to.

Because of the wedding madness within the castle walls, Arya found herself seeking the forge more often than she usually would have. Luckily, Mikken didn't complain about having her around, and let her watch as Gendry worked with the steel. Although they didn't talk, she enjoyed watching his muscles flex and found the process most enduring; how he could transform a piece of steel to either an elegant dagger or a beautiful necklace was almost like magic. Sometimes, he would sneak a little trinket into his hand when Mikken wasn't looking. One time it had been a miniature wolf he had worked on the day before, and another time it was a beautiful necklace with a green rock in the middle. She wondered if he had to pay for the things he gave her, and decided she would buy another necklace next time she visited the forge, just to make up for the gifts.

At the day of the wedding, Arya wore the spiral necklace Gendry had given her, earning curious questions from her sister. Arya simply smiled and asked if she could help set her hair up. Wearing the necklace made her feel more beautiful than she had ever felt before. As she really didn't have any dresses in strong colors, Arya settled on a tight, grey one. She had never been very interested in fashion, but knew when she looked in the mirror, that she looked gorgeous.

"When I'm lady Dayne, I will have a closet full of silk dresses. Perhaps I ought to send a few to Winterfell. Your dresses are so plain and boring," Sansa said while braiding her hair. Arya frowned, staring down at her necklace.

"I don't care about dresses."

Sansa sighed in despair but let it go. Perhaps she finally accepted that Arya was a lost cause.

Gendry accepted the new garments Myra handed him with a firm smile. He didn't like how they always bought him clothes and refused to let him pay, but both Myra and Mikken were as stubborn as donkeys.

"I saw the young Stark girl just now. She was wearing one of your necklaces, Gendry. I didn't realize she had purchased more of your work," Myra said, adjusting his tunic. Gendry looked away, avoiding her gaze.

"The lad is trying to seduce the young lady with gifts," Mikken snorted. Gendry felt his face redden. "I hope you pay for all the pretty little things you give her. I'm not made of money."

All this time, Gendry had thought Mikken had been oblivious to the gifts he put in Arya's hand when she least expected it. Of course he would pay for the material, but strictly speaking, he was the one who made them.

Myra patted his shoulder sympathetically. "She really did grow up to be a beautiful young woman. We had our doubts for a while."

"The boy is blinded by her beauty," Mikken shook his head in disapproval. "He believes that if he gives the girl enough gifts, she will want to marry him."

"I do not!" Gendry spat.

Myra shot her husband an angry look. "Mikken, sometimes you really are an obnoxious fool."

Gendry felt his ears burn as he put on his new leather west. It wasn't like that; he simply wanted to do something nice for her because she had been so sad. But telling Mikken so would only make matters worse.

"She's my friend," he told him instead, but Mikken simply sniggered and disappeared down the stairs. When alone, Myra stroke his arm and gave him a weak smile.

"She's lucky to have a friend like you," she told him before hurrying after her husband. However, the look of worry did not go past Gendry, and he felt his insides twist. He knew perfectly well that he was only a blacksmith, not worthy of a lady's love, but no matter how many times he told himself so, he couldn't stop thinking about Arya's long braid and deep gray eyes. And her enchanting laughter lured a smile to appear on his face. She truly was beautiful.

Arya watched in amusement as the bride and groom exchanged capes and gave each other a small little kiss on the lips. The first of many, she thought, shuddering. All of Winterfell was invited to the wedding, and the great hall was packed with people. Arya was seated between Dickon and Sansa, who kept shooting her knowing looks whenever Dickon said something funny or flirtatious. In the beginning, Arya tried hard not to laugh by his japes, but as the night went on and she had more and more wine, Dickon only seemed to grow funnier. She saw her father from the high table give her a relieved look and whisper something to her lady mother, who immediately turned to look at her, a smile on her face. If her parents had been unsure about the marriage before, surely seeing them having fun together changed her mind. But Arya was in too good mood to put on a show, and pushed all the worries of her future back in her mind, and let herself enjoy Dickon's company. He truly doesn't look that bad, she reflected as she watched him describe a swordfight, his hands moving eagerly in his excitement. His hair frequently fell down in his eyes, and when he ran his hands through his bang to push it away, he reminded her of Gendry. She glanced over at the blacksmith, and saw to her surprise that he was staring at her. As their gazes met, he looked away quickly, his cheek flushing. Arya sighed and turned back to Dickon. She really liked her black-haired friend, but sometimes he acted strange, and would say stupid things or look at her funny. She hated that. Looking back at the smith, she saw him pouring himself cup after cup with wine, only to gulp it all down and pour yet another until Myra noticed and took the wine jug away from him.

The feast lasted to the middle of the night, before people shouted for the bedding. Arya watched in horror as the men gathered around Talla, ripping her dress off, until she wore nothing but her undergarments. What was the meaning of this? If there were any part of her future wedding she dreaded, it had to be the damn bedding.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a black-haired man disappear through the back door. Jumping to her feet, she followed him, swift as a deer. She found him hunched over the gutter, vomiting. Stopping a few feet away, she cleared her throat to make her presence noticed.

"Shouldn't you get back to your future husband?" Gendry asked darkly without looking at her. Arya frowned. What was up with him?

"You're drunk," she stated. Gendry let out a hollow laugh and turned to her.

"Congratulations, M'lady," he stumbled towards her, wiping his mouth on his tunic. His eyes lingered at the necklace by her chest, and she felt suddenly very exposed.

"Your future husband stopped by the forge today. He'd like to buy you a necklace. Which one would you like best? Mine or the one he gives you?"

Arya scoffed, crossing her arms. "You're being stupid," she said. Gendry laughed again, reaching out to touch the green rock.

"Do you know why the necklace is green m'lady?" he asked. When she shook her head, he sniggered under his breath and took a large sip of a wine flask. Arya reached out to take it away from him, but he clutched his hand around it, protecting it from her grip.

"You're so oblivious," he sighed, cupping her chin. "You don't know how beautiful you really are, even with mud in your hair and dirt on your breeches."

Arya jerked out of his grip, taking a few steps backwards. He was starting to scare her. Although she could easily beat him when he was in this condition, the idea of beating a drunk was not very appealing.

"Go home," she told him, her voice as stern as her mother's. Gendry looked at her, his eyes sad like a little pup's. Then he bowed, took a sip of his flask and backed away.

"As my lady commands."

Catelyn watched the scene from the great hall's large windows. She saw Arya approach her blacksmith friend, her arms wrapped around her stomach to protect herself from the cold. The smith had been vomiting, and then said something that obviously offended her. As he moved closer, Arya stared up at him. Gendry was staring at her daughter's chest, or perhaps it was her new necklace he was eying, but whatever it was, Cat could see how uncomfortable it made her daughter. She was about to interfere when Gendry's hand cup Arya's chin, and he stared down at her with affection gleaming in his eyes. Cat was afraid they might kiss, but luckily, Arya pulled away, staring angrily at him. Good girl, Cat thought in relief. She had seemed to get along very well with Dickon, and perhaps she wouldn't be so against marrying him if she knew the man she was to marry. Ned felt bad for not telling Arya their intentions, but knew his daughter would resent the boy if she knew he was her future husband. It had been Catelyn's idea to let them get to know each other before they pushed them into a wedding. The Tarly's had believed them mad, but went along, however reluctantly. Cat had finally eyed hope for his daughter, but seeing her stare after the smith made her stomach twist. If she didn't put a stopper to Arya's friendship with the boy, Sansa and Jory's story might be repeated. And Cat was not sure Arya would be as persuasive as Sansa.

So, I've written like 16 chapters by now which means I can update more frequently. Let me just put it like this: The more reviews I get, the sooner I will update.