A/N I apologise about two things in this, the length of time it took to write this and, I guess, the length of it. When I plan I need to hit points x, y and z and these points seemed to get longer and longer as I was writing them - I'm sorry.
Also in this chapter have a few end notes on certain words, and they are marked with little asterisks for reference. Trigger Warnings for illness and vomiting.
Anywhoo, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Hardly a day had passed and the city was already mourning the dead, mourning the ones who would not survive the next week and mourning the living. Gendry had not moved from her beside since they had placed her on the bed - giving the nurses who had attended who had attended weary smiles as they came and left.
"You have not left her side?" When Lord Tywin Lannister entered the rooms that the boy and girl shared, he expected to find them by each other's sides - but he did not expect the metallic smell of blood and dampened air to still fill the room. With the shutter doors shut to the windows the smell had to have being in the room - and when Tywin found them he understood.
The boy had been sat by her side, his head in his hands when Lord Tywin entered. His eyes flicking between the ground and Arya's paled face. He heard the Lord enter before he saw him, his eyes flicking directly to the man in shock."No m'lord."
He went to stand when he saw him, as was expected of him. Tywin smirked before stopping him. "Don't rise." The Lannister Lord walked towards the boy, standing just beside him with ease. His eyes fixing on the boy's face before resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You should rest." He almost seemed to care in those words as he lifted his hand from the boy's shoulder and sitting across the bed in a seat he pulled lightly.
"I'd rather not leave her m'lord." Gendry spoke, carefully noticing his words. He knew that he would have to rest at some point but he also knew he couldn't. If she passed or woke and he would not let himself live it down. His eyes followed the Lannister Lord around the bed with weary gazes..
"Your bed is across the rooms." Tywin said to the boy, almost hoping that he would take his words and listen. Almost - he couldn't truly care for them. They were not blood, they were not family - they were the way to discredit their Northern King's right to rule.
"And the door is guarded by the King's men." Gendry remarked, glancing towards the door beyond the doorway to Arya's room - the doorway that led outside of the rooms, to two men he could not trust.
Lord Tywin grinned to himself, noticing how he had, many times, over heard the girl call him stupid. "You're smarter than you seem boy." Tywin remarked, smirking to the boy with a twitch of his lips that the only living people who had seen it were the girl in the bed and his first-born had seen before.
"The Gold Cloaks wanted me dead." Gendry snapped bitterly, not caring that he had missed his courtesies in his sentence. His blue eyes had being fixed on the darkened and aged eyes of their 'guardian' before moving slowly down to glance at Arya's wound. "I do not doubt that they would hurt her."
It was in that moment, when Gendry looked down at the inured girl did her eyes flicker open and her eyes. "Gendry—" Her throat sounded like sand rushing into a metal bucket - hissing and gristly. "Water—" She murmured out before Gendry reached over to the nearby table and passed her a metal goblet of clear liquid which she quickly gulped down as she sat up. Her lips spilling our some of the water as she sat up, she was drinking too quickly to notice as the droplets of water fell around her lips. It had taken her a few moments to notice the lion sat at her bedside. "I am sorry, I didn't know you were here, Lord Tywin." She tried to push herself up onto her feet, turning her body slightly so that she winced as she tried to stand.
"It's okay Girl, don't rise too quickly." Lord Tywin stood as he spoke, noticing how the girl stopped her movements carefully so that she could listen to what the man was saying. "I need you and the boy to be at the ceremony."
"Ceremony?" Gendry looked up at the man in confusion, this was something he had not heard anyone mention to him, or mention anywhere near him in the short time he had left the room to collect water from the across-the-yard water pump.
"Joffery's holding court and I need the two of you to be there." Tywin spoke very matter-of-factly in what he was saying, not prepared to take no for an answer.
"Why, m'lord?" Gendry asked, knowing he was seeming quite petulant and stupid in his questioning, but he knew that Arya would not want to be in that room any more than he did. Neither of them enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of the court and the politicking, especially the few moments they had being forced to view in their time with the Lannister Lord. "Arya needs rest. You said so yourself."
"It shall not take long." Tywin said briskly, walking towards the door and turning his focus away from the blacksmith bastard. "I'm sending in a Silent Sister to dress your wound so that you may come." Gendry noticed the change in the Lannister Lord and chose not to speak up again until the man had left.
"How long will it take?" Arya asked, her eyes wide and worried at the idea of it all.
"Not long." Tywin almost smiled at the girl, as if he felt some sort of sympathy towards the girl. Gendry had taken that as something he had imagined as the Lannister Lord promptly left the two in silence.
Gendry sighed and waited for the knock at the door. He looked over towards the empty failing look Arya was casting towards the wall, another sigh bridging his lips.
They were soon greeted with the gift of visitors and the blacksmith soon found more than just a Silent Sister in the room, but also a lady-in-waiting. Looking down at the young girl with confusion, Gendry allowed the two woman into the room before waiting until they had entered the room of Arya's before Gendry entered his own to find his clothing.
This would be a long day, Gendry knew it.
The shoes of the white stallion clicked against the stone and wood of the Throne room floor. Arya and Gendry could hear the horse before they saw it - the echoes reaching their ears over the ill-forgotten words of the others in court.
Arya hated it.
She hated all of it.
He had forced her into an ill-fitting dress of red and silver. She was not sure where it had come from, but she wanted to find out so that she could murder the tailor who had made it.
It pulled against her sides, holding the bandage harshly to the wound. She felt faint in the dress, how it squeezed her in and caused her body to seem pretty - whilst her hair was still messed and matted from her over sleeping. While Gendry had tried to run a brush through it to try to unknot it - it hadn't worked as well as they had hoped.
Gendry was wearing a newer padded shirt, much like his other except not blood stained. His hair was combed out but still hung loosely over his face. His face, hands and arms had being scrubbed clean of any dirt or dried blood from the night before whist his beard had grown untamed for a few weeks, meaning that the once close shaved chin now had quiet long hairs growing from it.
The two were hidden near the balcony area, not near where the crowds had parted to allow the horse through. No where near where the king lounged in his throne, not near where the queen regent and the council stood. Out of sight, out of mind.
As the horse continued to walk through the hall, Gendry flinched. The sound seemed familiar to him, the monotonous clunks of horse hooves against pathways soon brought to his mind the moments and days before they were taken to Harrenhal. On the road with Arya and Yorren - protection, safety. The time when they were not two foreign solders outnumbered in battler. The time when they were safe and free to roam. The time when they were not a wolf cub and a stag in a lion's .
"I, Joffery of the House Baratheon, First of my name, Rightful King of the Andals, and the first men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm." Joffery's voice echoed out over the hall, bleeding into their ears with hesitation. "Hearby proclaim my Grandfarther, Lord Tywin Lannister, the Saviour of the City and the Hand of the King."
Finally the clank of horseshoes stopped. The echo held in the air longer than the movement. A pillow holding the pin that Arya once admired and hated was becoming a symbol she knew she would fear and despise. She wished that it would fall apart in his hands, that everything would fall apart and her father would be stood before her - not golden haired lions. She wished that she was back in Winterfell with her brothers.
"Thank you Your Grace"
But no.
They were stood in the court of lions and flowers and they were not welcome - but while they were unnoticed, they were not there.
Tywin, once wearing the pin, dismounted the horse and motioned for the duo to stand beside him. They hid between the horse and the Hand - attempting to avert the gaze of a few Lannisters and court men and women who saw them.
Gendry fidgeted, wishing for the smell of burning coals and heated steel rather than the oils and perfumes of the men and women around him. He wished for the clang and recoil of hammer against steel instead of the recoil at the style of how a man stood or smiled.
"Lord Petry Baelish, step forward." The King poke up from his seat towards the grey haired weasel of a man Gendry had seen before. He hadn't liked the man before, he hadn't liked how he had tried to lie. The man promptly kneeled down before the king and bowed his grey haired head towards the ground. "For your good service and… ingenuity in uniting the Houses of Lannister and Tyrell - I proclaim that you should be granted the castle of Harrenhal with all it's attended lands and incomes" He tried to hold hack a snot of laughter, noticing how Tywin was stood only steps away. He wondered why the Lannister Lord and Hand of the King had chosen to stay in the room - he hoped it would not affect them drastically. "To be hold by you sons and grandsons from this day until the end of time"
"You honour me beyond words, your grace" The weasel-man stood up, grinning to himself with glee. "I shall have to acquire some sons and grandsons." Arya believed he looked at her sister in that moment, but she highly doubted it - he couldn't have.
"Ser Loras Tyrell" Joffery spoke to the well-dressed knight of flowers who then promptly walked out to kneel where Baelish had once kneeled. "Your house has come to our aid, the whole realm is in your debt - no more so than I." Both Arya and Gendry knew not the whole of the realm was in the debt of the Tyrell family - at least some of them were in the debt of loaners or the Lannisters, but defiantly not all of them cared for Joffery. In fact very few did. "If your family will ask anything of me then ask it, and it shall be yours."
"Your Grace." Loras Tyrell spoke, seeming hesitant and too invested in the words that followed. "My sister Margaery, her husband was taken from us before" He paused, Gendry understanding the pause but he knew that many others would not. "she remains innocent." The knight said bluntly - noticing how the King suddenly seemed incredibly interested in the young, barely dressed woman before him. "I would ask it to do it in your heart to give us the great honour of joining our houses."
"Is this what you want, Lady Margaery?" Joffery asked, his interest perked by the words of the flower knight.
"With all my heart your grace, I have come to love you from afar." Margaery gushed as she spoke her words sounding flavoured and pleasurable even if they were not aimed at them. Arya felt awkward listening to those words "Tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears." Gendry even knew that this girl was exaggerating, she did not care for this boy too much - the gushing made that almost too true to hear. "And those tales have taken root deep inside of me."
"I, too, have heard tales" Joffery's eyes fixed on hers, a gaze Arya never saw her sister to be graced with fluttered over the Tyrell girl. "of your beauty and grace but tales do not do you justice, my lady." How he spoke made Arya's eyes glance around the room to find her sister's face, hoping that she could see her. "It would be a honour to return your love." Finally Arya's eyes landed on her sister's face, pursing her lips at her sister's reaction and hoping no one else noticed. "But I am promised to another." Damn right you are, were Arya's only thoughts during these long moments. "A king must keep his word."
"Your grace, it is the judgement of your small council. That it would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed a girl whose father was beheaded for treason." When Cersei looked Sansa in the eye as she spoke, Arya narrowed her eyes at the Queen before her. "A girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne - as we speak."
"King Robb." Arya murmured to herself, glaring at the blonde woman before them. Her eyes narrowed at the woman whilst shining with glee at their fear of her brother. "My brother." She smiled to herself before her voice dropped bitterly, coming out as a hiss as she spoke. "They deserve his wrath."
"Arya." Gendry growls down at her words, knowing that if they heard what she had said they would be dead. They could never hear - never.
"For the good of the Realm, your councillors beg you," Lord Varys doesn't seem to be 'begging' him, Gendry mused to himself, he seems to be disgusted by this idea - horrified even. "To set Sansa Stark aside." The crowd around them began to grumble, Arya most of all. Gendry, noticing this, pulled Arya towards him and placed a hand over her mouth - knowing that she would defend her sister no matter how much she had expressed hate for her.
"I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people." Joffery spoke, insisting whilst he looked towards where the red-haired girl Gendry knew stood. Slowly he understood why she had spent so much time at his side when Arya was close to death. "But I took a holy vow."
"Your Grace." The blithering voice of old Maester Pycelle spoke up, Arya turning sharply to the man's face. Gendry quickly recognised the man from when he was younger and the man had looked down at the 'street rat' with hate. "The Gods do indeed hold betrothal solemn." The words sounded sickening to Gendry, remembering how "But your father, blessed be his memory, made this pact before the Starks revealed their falseness." Gendry was glad to have still being holding his hand over Arya's mouth - not caring for how some may have looked at him - because he knew she would have caused an outrage. He could bare the pain of Arya biting into his hand, if it did not mean the pain of watching her die for 'treason' "I have consulted with the High Septon and he assures me that their crimes against the realm free you from any promise you had made to them in the sight of the Gods."
"The Gods are good," Joffery stood, a smile of glee on his lips. "I am free to heed my heart." Arya's eyes widened, she bit against Gendry's hand again and this time he released her mouth in pain. He flicked his hand, biting his lip so the pain would ebb and no one would hear his anguish. "Ser Loras, I will gladly wed your sweet sister." The King's glee was not missed by anyone in the room, bit with Arya's annoyance and stalling it gave Gendry another chance to hold her close again and place his other hand over her mouth once again. "You will be my queen and I will love you from this day - to my last day."
Clapping sounded across the stone halls, the noise echoing over the sudden yell of anguish from Arya as the blacksmith failed in stopping her from yelling out. It was not Gendry who then hushed her but a stern glare from Tywin - which told her all that was needed about what would happen if she did not quieten down.
It was not Joffery's voice which stopped the clapping, nor was it Lord Tywin's - no it was the voice that belonged to Lord Baelish which suddenly stopped the applause with his sharp words. "Lord Tywin, is that not Arya Stark by your side?" Baelish craned slightly towards where Arya had stepped out to. She was staring at her sister's face in panic and worry for her when she had heard her name - spinning on the balls of her feet towards the man and slipping into what could have being seen as a defensive stance.
"Lord Baelish." She said, her words shaped perfectly with every letter and sound pronounced with such ease. Even in two words, her wall was built. Her talent of long-form-lying playing through to the singular words she dared to breathe.
"Step forward girl." Joffery spoke, Arya slowly and heavily turned to face the king. Something bitter met her tastebuds, a thought dancing over her mind about her father - how the boy sat there in the same place when her father was captured, when her father's men were murdered.
Arya stepped forward before stumbling on the only step she had taken, she suddenly felt a large hand touch her shoulder and arm. She turned to find Gendry beside her, steading her weight so that she was leaning against him. He hesitantly allowed her to lean against him and support her to the edge of the stairs. He carefully bowed, lowering his head but not lowering himself to one knee like the Tyrell boy or Baelish as he could not with Arya leaning against his arm.
"I did not ask for you to accompany your lady, bastard." Joffery snarled, not noticing how Arya was leaning ever so slightly towards Gendry with how she stood. The blacksmith boy glanced at where the wound was, where careful bindings and layers of dress material covered a very much there wound.
"M'lady Arya was injured during the battle, your grace." Gendry said, answering the king by carefully, debating whether or not he should lower himself to his knees and bring Arya with him. When he remembered that 'his' lord had entered the room on a horse, which whinnied when Gendry spoke, he noticed that he was not defying the King as much as the man who had adopted the two of them. He was a bastard anyway, it was not like they were truly going to notice that two children who had being on the road for months did not know proper court etiquette.
"And what were you doing in the battle?" Joffery asked, his lips turning into a snarl when he noticed that neither of the Lannister dressed children were going to bow or swear a fealty that the others did.
"All capable hands were needed in the battle." Arya spoke weakly, her voice seeming to sound cracked and pained in it words. Gendry kept his eyes fixed to the floor, frowning to himself. This was the place his father had once sat, a place, which according to the men he'd spoken with, which was once decorated in tapestries and furs not stone pillars and the cold airs that seemed to lick the room clean.
"Capable? You are a girl." Joffery laughed, causing some in the room to join in his sickening chuckles. Gendry slowly looked up at the boy king, worriedly glancing up at Arya who squarely was looking the King in the eyes, not blinking once. Her eyes were glazed like he'd seen them glaze over before when she tried to grab for Tywin's knife. He placed a second hand against her arm, hoping to break her trance but to no avail.
"And so were Rhaenys and Visenya." Arya said, more towards herself than to the King before her. Her eyes were still narrowed towards the young king, her hate almost rolling off of her as Gendry silently glanced behind him towards the court - he noticed how every mouth was open in shock, waiting for the King to react.
But, for some reason unknown to both the court and the children before them, he didn't.
"My Lady Stark." Varys was the only one to speak up. His eyes fixed on the slowly growing red flower blooming into the Stark girl's side - spreading north and south from her stomach.
"Lord Varys I have not finished." Joffery said, carelessly looking at the Lord - who had stepped a few steps forward, towards the young girl who was shaking lightly in the cold stone room.
"I'm sorry Your Grace, but I believe that Lady Stark should probably rest." Varys spoke to the King, although his eyes were more fixed on the bastard beside the 'Lady' in question - as if the eunuch was trying to tell the boy of something.
"I believe everyone wishes to rest, Lord Varys." Joffery snarled, ignoring the "But Lady Stark is still under my questioning."
"What do you want to know, Your Grace?" Gendry snarled out his own question, his gaze finally leaving Arya's side to retort to the king. He found only glares and disdain thrown towards him as he stood. There was something there in those seconds, something that seemed to slow everything down and hate that seemed genetic rolled between the two boys.
"I want to know why you were trying to leave." Joffery said, effectively cutting the built walls that Arya and Gendry had worked at as if they were warm butter. For that statement they could not answer without their heads sitting beside where her farther's once did.
"Your Grace, I am sure their reasoning is quite obvious." The aged and elderly man from before spoke up with a bitter voice Gendry did not quite understand. "They should be punished." However blatant and sickening the words sounded coming from the mouth of the elderly man - the King seemed to savour how they sounded on his ears.
"I have already seen to that." But the voice of his grandfather put a stop to the King's contempt look, the sharp sounding words blunt over the air and gaze of the King - whose eyes snapped flamingly towards where his grandfather stood.
As Gendry turned to supportingly look at Arya, he sound found something else meeting his gaze. Something small, that he hardly noticed at first, but something he could not stop looking at once he saw it. In a blind panic, he glanced around the room in hope of someone who might have noticed - someone who could stop the King and tell him what was going on. But as he glanced around the room he noticed something - no one in that room could do what he hoped.
"Lord Tywin…" Gendry glanced towards his lord, the only face in the room he recognised truly, in a hope for help. Tywin, surprised by Gendry's turning back to him, almost glared at him - as if telling Gendry to not bring him into it. But there was something in the Lannister Lord's gaze that told him that this man honestly cared about what was happening - as if it was some how important.
"You are speaking with me, bastard. You will address me." Joffery glared at his brother, who seemed so obviously unlike his apparent relation. Gendry cringed at the king's use of the name he had being called, Yorren and some of the others when they were on the road used to call him it but it never really phased him - everyone there was running away from something - but with Joffery it was something different. He was trying to get a reaction and using that as power over him.
"I apologise your grace," Gendry stumbled out his words quickly, spitting them out as if they were hot on his tongue and were burning him as he spoke. His eyes were scanning where the small bloom of blood was staining through Arya's dress, his eyes not quite meeting those of his brother's. "But right now I doubt you know what to do with M'lady."
"I cannot see a problem." Joffery stated plainly, moving his hand with a dismissive tone of Arya's paling form from where he sat.
"Perhaps the situation is much more complex than at first glance, your grace." This time it was Lord Baelish to pipe up once again, his eyes also fixed on the king and never once flicking to the wound becoming ever more prevalent as the seconds passed. "Mayhaps it would be worth questioning Lady Stark when she is fully healed."
"She seems quite fine right now." Arya glared at Joffery, openly. She'd had enough of this boy, but she couldn't well say it without knowing defiantly that she would be sealing her fate with her fathers. She almost wished she had the confidence to do it, or the energy. Her skin paling with every passing second.
Gendry, of course, noticed how she had begun to sway from foot to foot and ducked slightly in pain. "Arya?" He almost forgot that they were in a room with a hundred people - that every set of eyes was on them.
"My son is right, boy," The Lannister Lady stood beside her son spoke, her voice cutting crisp over the thoughts of Gendry. He looked up to look her in the eye only to find a scrutinising glare passing over his face and body. He shuddered. "Leave your lady be."
Not quite a moment had passed since the Queen Regent had spoken when Arya's swaying stopped, her eyes fixing on the floor for a few moments before her eyes shut and her dead weight fell against the ground. The heavy thud of Arya's body hitting the cold stone caused Gendry to fall to his knees beside her. He pushed his knees into the stone firmly so he could pull her body onto his knees.
He did not look at how Joffery's eyes narrowed at the two of them in annoyance, nor did he look towards where Lords Varys and Baelish left the crowd to join beside where he was kneeling. He did not look towards the worried gaze of the red-haired girl in the crowds under the bannister nor did he look to the glare of Cersei Lannister. He did not hear the shouts of the crowd nor the angered voice of the king. He did not hear the scolding bite of Tywin Lannister nor did he hear the worried cries of the Tyrell girl.
All he could concentrate on was how blood was seeping through the material of the dress and dampening his hand with the red tears. He moved his weight across his knees, pulling Arya stably onto his knees so that he could get access to where the wound was, eyes widening as the blood-kissed material seemed wider than the area of the cut.
From the snarl of disgust above his head, Gendry assumed Joffery could now see the wound. Baelish had said something to his King as Lord Varys stepped down to look Gendry in the eye - breaking him swiftly from the odd trance the boy had seemed to force himself into.
"Get the girl out of here, Gendry." Varys' voice crushed the silence Gendry had forced into his mind. The blacksmith's eyes darted to the bald man in confusion and fear.
"Do I know-"
"Boy, you know what you have to do." Varys cut him off, whatever words he had thought stagnating in his mouth - curdling and sickening in the seconds as they passed by. Gendry then simply nodded, glancing towards where Tywin stood still and focused on the King's face - something twitching in the elder Lannister's jaw which caused Gendry to duck away quickly.
Like most times that day, the boy had not noticed as a red-haired girl followed him out, nor did he hear the voice of the Lion patriarch speak. "Maester Pycelle, see to the girl."
Gendry did not seem to notice as he was lead down halls to a room to leave Arya, nor did he seem to notice as court then left the hall. He did not seem to notice as the red-haired girl place her hand on his shoulder and start laughing with glee and crying with anguish at the same time, nor did her notice the court going about everything as nothing had happened.
All he had noticed was the elderly patter of the Maester as he entered the room where he left Arya's unconscious body.
Moments seemed like hours to the boy as he waited for news to come about the girl. She was all he had to care about in that city, he had nothing else to do in that time for that city hated him. He could do anything else for fear of someone - the King, the Queen, someone from the court, that bald man who knew his name: 'Lord Varys' - would send someone to speak with him or send someone to kill him.
He should have being alive. He wouldn't be if they had any word in it. They sent Gold Cloaks after him on the road - he didn't doubt that they would try and kill him in the city. For his blood? He could only assume.
When the door cracked open, the blacksmith jumped to his feet assuming it to be any news - good or bad about Arya. Almost hoping that it would be the red-haired girl 'Sansa' wanting to speak with him or, in fact, Arya herself; but instead he was faced with the greying hair and lion-crest of their Lord, Tywin. "My lord." Gendry sounded almost defeated by the prospect.
Lord Tywin Lannister was not surprised to find Gendry still awake and around in his rooms when he entered to see how the movement of his household was going to find the door to the boy's room shut and the noise of pacing echoing from the room. "I told you to rest, boy."
"I couldn't, m'Lord." He admitted, frowning to himself as he stopped pacing and quickly walked to where Tywin stood, his eyes racing over the elder man's face with a search of inding some hint about Arya's health - a frown, a twitch at the side of his mouth, finding nothing he spoke up quickly. "She alright?"
"Maester Pycelle is seeing to her now." Lord Tywin reminded him, motioning for him to sit in one of the seats. "I thought the two of you were smarter than you are." His comment almost sounded like something that was to be thrown away, but with anyone in King's Landing that was never the truth.
"M'lord?"
"If you dare believe that you can leave this place in the middle of a battle, then you truly are stupid." Lord Tywin bitterly spoke to the boy before him, noticing how the boy kept his head bowed and eyes low - as if he was used to it. "Do not try it again." Gendry slowly raised his eyebrow at the Lannister Lord, knowing that they had already talked about this before. He did not say a word, only nodded at he man and prepared for whatever the man would say next.
However it never came as the door behind them creaked open with a patter of elderly feet and clanking of chains as Maester Pycelle entered the room. The greyed robes of the man moving in one hunched snail pace towards where the blacksmith bull and lord lion were.
"My Lord Hand." The Maester coughed, wheezing slightly, before continuing once he had reached where the two were. "The Stark girl's wound is not a serious as it could be." He said slowly, his voice seeming aged with every word he said. "She is in need of ligatures* and her wound to be cleared hourly**."
"As it could be?" Gendry was the only one to talk, his eyes open wide and looking straight towards the Maester before him - hanging on his every word. Lord Tywin simply nodded at his every word, understanding what he meant completely - since he had being in war, he knew how wounds worked, but he also knew that a blacksmith only know how certain wounds were.
"It could become infected, and that will surely kill her." Maester Pycelle's voice seemed oddly musical in its aged tones of bitter grumbles. He knew what he was saying to the boy and he knew how this would work.
The tower of the hand was busy with the movements of furniture and clothing around in the rooms. Handmaidens and serving boys carrying things for every man or woman moving into the household of the Hand.
This seemed the same for most of the tower, which was why the two lords who had decided to visit loitered at the edge of the building - under a canopy away from the still warm winter sun. The grey haired and sharply featured man craned towards the doorway, hoping to see some point of interest in the room as he clasped the leather bound book he held to his chest.
The bald man beside him clasped his hands beneath his long flowing sleeves, pursing his lips as he did so as if trying to make a point, on flat feet, to the man to his left. He did not say anything as he watched the men and women move in and out of the building - as if he knew exactly what was happening inside of those walls.
"You knew the boy." The grey haired man said to the bald man - his voice sounding almost bitter at the prospect that this man knew the blacksmith, as if he could judge the man for it. The bald man glanced towards the man beside him waiting for the man's eyes to avert from the doorway before answering him.
"So do you, he introduced himself before the battle." The bald man said bluntly when the man finally turned to look the bald man in the eye. He blinked and turned away from the grey haired liar beside him, his eyes landing on the golden eyes of the grey and white giant wolf trailing towards the doors of tower - moving through the courtyard without a single person noticing what was happening. The wolf silently padding through the doors and glancing towards the two with a warning - as if telling them something that they would not understand.
"You knew him before," The grey haired man glanced towards where the bald man was looking, raising his eyebrow at the giant monster of a creature passing through the courtyard - and his lips raised at the corner slightly in confusion.
"So did you." The bald man retorted, preparing to move away from the man beside him as he realised he had lingered too long - he had work to do. He had a wolf to watch.
The next time Arya awoke, she was greeted with a similar sight to the one she had seen before, except Lord Tywin was not said in the room. Her side felt sore and her head hazy with the milk of the poppy. When she tried to move her arm away from her side she found it sticky - but not with the blood, but a clear substance that smelt of roses.
Gendry smiled meekly at the girl, murmuring his words addled with a pain about it. "We can't try to escape again." He had not wanted to say those words, but he knew they were the truth - and that was what made it worse.
"We have to." Arya insisted, her eyes full of fury as she sat up in anger. He hands slamming against the bed in anger but on an empty stomach and with the blood loss it seemed ill-gotten and weak.
"Arya." Gendry looked the little lady on the bed with determination. "I'm a blacksmith. They forced me into this life with you because of my father." He stood up slowly, glancing out of the open window, noticing the shadow of a wolf across the courtyard - something he assumed he was just seeing. "I don't know how to escape this place." He turned back to Arya, noticing how she glared at him with both annoyance and confusion.
"But you lived here!" She protested at him, remembering how he'd told her of his life as a blacksmith and where he'd lived on the Street of Silver when they were on the road south.
"And so did you." He pointed out, moving to sit beside her again as he glanced over her once more, she did not look pretty then. Skin paled and covered in bruises, blood and the slime they called medicine. Eyes hollowed and lips dry. He never wanted to see her that unwell ever again. "We can't do it."
Arya, annoyed and defiant at Gendry's words went to stand up - only to find herself doubled over her knees on the bed, her stomach squeezing and feeling as if it was ripping itself in two. Her throat heaving with dry breaths as Gendry jumped to his feet and scooped up the bucket in the corner - pulling her up so that she was sat around the bucket. He then fled the room, searching for the casket of clear, fresh liquid he knew would help her.
When he returned to the room the dry heaving sounds has dissipated with the sound of liquid hitting the base of the bucket. Gendry grimaced slightly at the sound but pulled the bucket away from her and placed it outside, handing her the water to help her sip it down.
"I'll get a Maester." His eyes scanned her weak for with worry, knowing he could not cope with this without someone who actually understood why people got ill - he never knew, he was never going to know.
"No. Not Maester." Arya breathed out her words, worry darkening her eyes as Gendry stood and moved towards the door.
"Arya. You need a Maester."
A silence had fallen over the two siblings who were sat in the room above the courtyard. Goblets of wine sat in the palms of they hands, fingers wrapped around the metal of the cups filled with red liquid. "I want them both dead." The sister's voice sounded bitter and strong in the golden light air around them.
"As you've said, sweet sister, multiple times." The younger and much shorter sibling feigned to roll his eyes at his sisters words, having heard them be uttered many times before from her mouth - not just talking about the two who resided in the castle, but many others throughout his life.
"They hardly want to be here and he should not have survived the killings anyway." Cersei reasoned with herself, as it seemed to the imp. It was not Tyrion who needed convincing of her actions, because he knew his family well enough. He knew what they would do.
"So you advocate your son's murder of children?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow towards his sister, taking a sip of his wine to quench the bitter idea in his mind. He had known what his nephew had ordered, he knew what it had done - and to hear his sister almost agree with what he had done seemed like more wine was always going to be needed.
"He does not deserve to be alive." Cersei sounded more bitter than ever, her eyes glaring out at the empty darkened courtyard as she spat out her words. These were words she truly believed, she wasn't hurt by them. She was hurt in someway by what the boy had done, Tyrion noticed, and there was only one time that this could have happened.
"What happened in the keep last night?" Tyrion stood, asking his sister carefully the words as she continued to glare out at the blackened depths of the night sky. The stars glittering out white light that gave hope to no one in the keep - that gave hope to little anywhere.
"He brought that Stark girl in, blood on their hands." The woman turned to her brother, her eyes full of bitter ideas about this boy and the young wolf girl. "She looks like that damned Lyanna Stark." Cersei protested, thinking back to a time - not so long ago - when her husband loved a dead woman more than he ever could her. And then his ghost appears at her door with the ghost of that woman, how was she supposed to just allow that? How did her father believe that she would just allow that? How could her younger brother? "And you expect me, after all Robert did to me, to let her and the boy just be."
"He is not Robert, sister," Tyrion insisted to Cersei, he moved to his sister's side - cup in hand - and placing his hand, with an emotion close to sympathy, on his sister's arm. "He's just a boy."
"No. He is him." She ripped her arm from her brother's grasp, turning away and staring out at the black expanse, drinking wine from her cup. "I want him gone."
"He's not him." Tyrion repeated and insisted, he knew she would not believe him - but he needed to break her from this idea. She was lying to herself constantly about this and the main problem, in the man's eyes, was that if it continued - she would follow up on her ideas. "And thanks to father, he won't just go away, sister."
"He can." Cersei stated, sounding almost musical in her words, as if she was savouring the idea. "And she can." She smiled to herself, an action that did not go unnoticed by the man.
"What have you done?" Tyrion asked, worry and anger flaming in his voice. He knew that if Arya Stark died because of his sisters jealousy ridden rage, then the rage and rampage of the wolves from the North would only continue.
The imp's fears were only added to when the boy, who they had being only just talking about, burst into the room with a sweat sodden brow and flamed eyes. He panted slightly, as if he had ran for miles before bursting out with his question.
"Where is the Lord Hand?" Gendry hadn't noticed how his voice had got louder as he spoke. He had began to run when he couldn't find a Maester ten minutes into his search, he then changed his search for their 'guardian' as well - as he would know what to do, he hoped.
"What's wrong boy?" Tyrion asked, noticing how his hands slid down the door and frame, how he was worried to linger too long.
"Arya." The eyes of the smaller man darted to the woman by the window. His eyes widening when he saw his sister smile to herself. "I need a Maester." He panted out his words, worry lacing every syllable with his voice loudening with every word.
"What did you do?" Tyrion hissed bitterly to his sister, turning with an almost glare to where his sister stood defiantly. She had turned from the window, holding the goblet up to her lips with one hand and her elbow bent.
"I." Cersei looked offended by her brother's words. "Did nothing." She strolled towards the pair of empty goblets beside the casket of wine, pouring another goblet-full with one hand before picking it up and placing before a seat. "Have some wine, boy." she motioned towards the seat, urging him to sit in the seat.
"I'll pass, your grace." Gendry said, taking two hesitant steps into the room. Noticing how the queen suddenly seemed bitter, he spoke up. "No offence your grace, but right now I want to help Arya."
"Send for Maester Frenken or Ballabar*** " Tyrion almost yelled at the boy beside him - who quickly fled the room to find said men. The imp then turned to the boy before him and gave him a full goblet of wine, pulling him to sit beside him.
"Why are you doing this?" Gendry asked, looking down at the wine with shaking hands and confused eyes.
"I've always had a soft spot for cripples, bastards and broken things." Tyrion said, so quiet that it almost seemed like it was to himself. He glanced at the worried looking boy in the empty time between the young squire leaving and returning.
"Maester Frenken." Podrick announced before Gendry scrambled to his feet to pull the Maester towards where Arya was. The man saw the look on the boy's face and graced it with fear and understanding.
Once the boy and Maester had left, Tyrion's face dropped in to a serious tone, turning abruptly towards where his sister was sat, grinning to herself. "What did you do?" Tyrion turned to his sister, who was still stood in the corner of the room - glaring daggers into where the boy once sat.
"I did what was needed." Cersei bit out her words, glaring down at her brother as her regal features were marred with these bitter words.
"And killing a young girl is what is needed." Tyrion almost yelled out the words with anger and disgust. "Do you not remember the last time we killed a Stark?"
"She is the one daughter they let roam free," Cersei tried to reason, as if she was reasoning again with what she had done to the young girl.
"She is thirteen, sister." Tyrion spat out, placing his goblet down on the table so that it did not spill out too much, but the force caused it to collide with his grip and tip onto the table. "She will not bring down the realm." The wine ran out over the table, red stains spreading from one drop, to another, to another. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Stark to keep from turing up dead." Tyrion dismissed himself, bowing mockingly towards his sister and leaving the blood red wine to continue it's plunder over the wood.
"Do you truly hate me that much?" Cersei asked her brother before he left the room. Expecting an answer she never received, with that she turned to back to the window to continue to stare at the clear sky and stars of empty hope.
The wine continued to bleed over the table until the table was covered, then - when it could continue no more - it began to splash over the edges of the table. One droplet, then another, then another. A steady beat the drummed against the floor until it ran against the grey stone and through the cracks between them.
End notes:
*Ligatures are a type of stitching used by Ambroise Paré in the mid-1500's. The reason I included this is because the ointment he used to treat battle wounds is canonically used in the TV show (egg whites, turpentine and rose oil). I was thinking of also having a Maester recommend boiling oil which was another way of treating wound from the same time period. Ligatures also replaced a form of wound sealing, for the most part, that would have being much more painful and caused patients to die from shock - cauterisation.
Since I do not find the idea of writing someone, already in pain, having a burning hot iron pressed to their skin and somehow miraculously surviving because she is a character in a fan-fiction when 90% died of shock; I'll stick with ligatures.
Sorry about the lesson on Ambroise Paré. Is it obvious I had to write essays on his work for a History GCSE?
**Like all open wounds, ligature sealed wounds ended to be cleaned regularly. Mostly because people did not know about bacteria and what rust could cause in wounds so did not clean the needles they used.
***Frenken and Ballabar are two Maesters I spent three hours scouring my books to find. They are mentioned throughout A Clash of Kings by Tyrion for those who are wondering.