Meanwhile at the Port
As Arya headed toward the tailor's shop near the port, Gendry called back over his shoulder. "How long should I tell the innkeeper I'll be staying?"
"Tell him a week, and pray it's not a fortnight. I'll meet you in the dining hall in two hours."
The tailor's door was locked, but when Arya knocked she was greeted excitedly. That morning, she had promised the tailor five times his customary fee to stop what he was doing and work exclusively on the projects she had left him. He had a team of helpers working with him on the projects, and she wanted to be sure they weren't dallying.
"Hello! Welcome back! Your dress is ready."
She needed some minor mending on a brown Lorathi silk gown, which the tailor did for free in light of their arrangement. It was the other two projects which most concerned her. "How are those cloaks coming along?"
"The yellow and black one is cut and the sewing has just begun. The detail of crest of the direwolf from the pattern you gave me is more intricate. At the earliest, they'll be done sometime the day after tomorrow. We will work day and night and deliver them as soon as they're complete. "
"I'll need a few more things before tomorrow morning, just a tunic and a pair of breeches, and some smallclothes and socks. Then, I'll need two more pants and three long-sleeved tunics as soon as you're done with those wedding cloaks." She threw some coin at him.
"Long-sleeved? Are you sure? The weather is too warm to wear such as that at this time of year."
"Not in Westeros."
Arya conveyed the detail of the clothing order, paid, and headed to the bathhouse. She knew she'd enjoy her time there even less than the Hound did, and when she emerged finally, fully dressed from behind the changing screen, she didn't recognize herself. Her eyes were rimmed in kohl, cheeks and lips pinkened slightly, an orange flower in her hair. She thought, "Of all the faces I've worn, this one, my own, is the strangest." She remembered Stranger with the roses braided in his hair and sympathized.
When she arrived at the inn, she found Gendry in the dining room, drinking ale. He stared as she approached the table and stumbled to standing, pulling out her chair. As uncomfortable as she was, she wasn't nervous. She had long ago learned to wear any disguise convincingly, but poor Gendry was downright bumbling and stuttering. She knew that her appearance was to blame and couldn't resist taunting him. His hand was on the table, and as she gently brushed it with her finger tips, she leaned over, and whispered, "You're a lucky man, Ser Gendry."
He blushed and swallowed, "How is that, M'lady?"
She gestured for him to lean closer, and as he did with great anticipation, she cuffed him in the ear. "Lucky that I don't have bigger teats, or you'd fall out of that seat and knock yourself unconscious. Now act right. You're making me uncomfortable, and I've got a lot to tell you."
Chastised, he conceded with a laugh, but his eyes never left her. She motioned for him to pour her a cup of ale, too. He complied, asking, "What news?"
"You'll know some of what I tell you. Other bits will come as a surprise. It's a long story. So, follow if you can." She didn't mean it as a criticism of his intellect, but he looked hurt all the same.
She began. "I have been in contact with Lord Stannis Baratheon, King Robert's brother, in a matter relating to my father's death. My father died for the truth that was discovered by Lord Stannis and Jon Arryn, that Queen Cersei's children were not of King Robert's blood. In the course of proving that truth, they sought out Robert's many bastard children. Upon the King's death, my father supported Stannis' claim to the throne, and feeling obligated for that support and knowing where his best interests lie, Stannis retook Winterfell from the Boltons and restored Bran to his seat. The North, owing a great deal to Stannis for that act, now has an alliance with him."
Gendry nodded, and Arya continued knowing he didn't yet fully appreciate the weight and effect of her story. "Bran is now betrothed to Shireen to solidify that alliance, but it is a weak binding at best. Both are young and unhealthy, and the birth of any children to them is unlikely. Shireen is the only heir to Dragonstone and will remain there until her marriage to Bran, at which time he will move to Dragonstone and relinquish his seat to Rickon."
"Your youngest brother?"
"Yes." She explained the next part slowly, "Stannis has requested a further joining of our houses by marrying me to a Baratheon."
Gendry laughed, assuming Arya would join him in his amusement, but when she remained solemn, he looked horrified.
"As Lord Renly had no children, and Stannis has none but Shireen, he is forced to legitimize one of King Robert's bastards to accomplish that. Robert has acknowledged one boy, Edric Storm, who is to be legitimized and become heir to Storm's End. Poor thing, he has ears like trenchers." She imitated large ears with her hands.
Gendry didn't laugh at her jape. "So, will you marry the king's bastard?"
"Yes, but not the one with the big ears."
"You've lost me."
"Stannis, Lord Arryn, and my father discovered another boy, and if no children are born to Bran and Shireen, the other bastard will inherit Dragonstone when they pass. Stannis wants me to marry the boy as a protection to Shireen and Bran, an assurance that no ambitious woman would marry the bastard and encourage him to 'rush' his inheritance by injuring Shireen or Bran. He knows that my love for my brother would prevent me from any ambition that would rob him of anything."
"So, you've agreed to marry this other bastard-lord, then?" His face was a mask of pained confusion.
"Wholeheartedly." She smiled.
Gendry poured himself another cup of ale, drinking it down in a single gesture. As he slammed the cup to the table, he spit his incredulous questions. "Your sister marries an ugly old sellsword for love, and you marry a bastard for social connection? What is wrong with you Stark girls?"
"I'm not a girl!" She shouted. Then, regaining her composure, she mocked courtesy, "I am a Lady, the future Lady of Dragonstone, soon to be Lady Arya Baratheon. You may kiss me now and congratulate me on my betrothal."
"What? Here? Kiss you here? Kiss the future Lady Baratheon right here in front of a dining room full of Lorathi strangers? Forget it Arya! Save your kisses for your betrothed."
"Are you truly that bull-headed?" She teased. "Or just that stupid?"
"Whatever I am, it's clear I'm not good enough for the likes of you. I guess a stupid armorer, even a knighted one, can't ever compare to a King's son, even if they're both bastards." He poured the ale again, and she grew weary of torturing him.
"Why did two Hands of the King seek you out, Gendry? Think! Did they buy any armor? What questions did they ask you? Use that big, hard head of yours."
He shook his head, eyes on the table.
"Let me make it plainer: I'm to be betrothed to the future Lord Gendry Baratheon, formerly Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill."
His surprise was so satisfying that she began savoring her ale.
"The King? The fat one was my father?"
"Yes. And he was my father's best friend. They fought side by side, and our houses should have been joined. My aunt was betrothed to him. My father didn't want Sansa to marry Joffrey, but Joffrey was a Lannister, not a Baratheon. I think, had he ever met you, my father may have liked you. Regardless, I like you. And with my mother alive, or whatever she is, I need to go home."
"So, we're to be married? That's what you're saying?"
"Yes. We're to be married."
His surprise transformed into a satisfied grin, and she could only imagine what he was picturing.
"There's more." Her eyebrows were raised in confession. "There's a prophecy."
Arya expected Gendry's doubtful look. "At High Heart, while you were sleeping, an old dwarf crone said that she dreamt of Sansa slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow. I know how it sounds, but so much of what she said has come to pass, and I just know, somehow I know, that Sansa has to get back to Winterfell and do whatever it is she's meant to do. Bran, he sees things, too, . . . ."
"So, you wanted her to marry the Hound for protection? Not for love or money."
She nodded. "They love each other, it's plain. The money doesn't hurt. But, if she's to confront a giant, it's him I want at her side. He'd die for her now, I'm sure of it. And he'll help her confidence."
"Does he know?"
"No! I can't tell him until we're back in the North, or else they'll never go home. He'd never put her in harm's way."
"And after she slays the giant?"
"I don't know. I think maybe she could become the Queen in the North. Maybe take Winterfell as her seat and let Rickon have the Dreadfort. Who knows?"
"And the Queen's consort?"
"Would be a dog. Yes." She rolled her eyes.
"And we're to be married and inherit a castle?" His eyes were still big with wonder, still processing his new fortune.
"Yes and maybe someday." She lifted her cup toward him, and they toasted.
"Then, I have changed my mind. I must kiss the future Lady Baratheon right here in front of a dining room full of Lorathi strangers." He stood and walked over to her, pulled her out of the chair with one arm, and kissed her fully on the mouth, announcing to the other diners, "We're betrothed!."
The crowd cheered, and she poked a finger in his ribs, telling him, "I'll leave you your teeth, but only because I don't want an ugly, toothless husband." But she couldn't hide her blushing excitement.