Waiting was aggravating.
Arya took some time over composing the message to be sent to Winterfell. She even conferred with her uncle first, and he was, thankfully, in agreement with her that it was a delicate situation, not one which called for rapid or heavy-handed action.
Her physical state occupied the majority of her thoughts. When a week later she was feeling no worse but certainly no better, she made the decision to visit the herbalist of whom the kitchen maid had spoken.
Furnished with directions to the aunt's cottage, about an hour's ride away, Arya set off alone, in the midafternoon under an overcast sky. She took her time, lingering along grassy footpaths, and slowing the animal to a walk through the stretches of quiet woods. She encountered no one along the way except for a trio of grubby fisherman's children who stared when she passed.
Her destination was little more than a tiny shack, virtually indistinguishable from the others that clustered along the edge of the woods, except for the fact that it was somewhat more isolated. Arya was glad of the privacy afforded by the trees when she rode up and tied up her horse a short distance off.
There was a lush herb garden growing around and in front of the dwelling, and the phantasmagoric aura of many different scents, not all complementary, lingered in the air.
A woman appeared at the side of the building. She had long grey hair, though her face was smooth and unlined, making it difficult to guess at age. Her gown was plain with a few smudges of earth on it. She gazed at Arya inquiringly.
Arya took a few steps forward. "Are you the healer? Your niece who works in the kitchens at Riverrun said you might be able to help me."
"I might," the woman replied, taking her in with one long glance. "Ceilis is my name. Come indoors, and rest."
Arya hesitated, but she was armed under her cloak, after all. After another moment she followed the other woman within. She wasn't sure if she had expected to see anything out of the ordinary but it appeared reassuringly normal for a common cottager's dwelling, containing a few bits of hand-hewn furniture, a table, implements for cooking, a small pallet near the far wall. There were shelves with number of closed pots and tied bags, lined up neatly. Various collections of herbs and flowers hung from pegs in the walls or above. Something bubbled appetizingly in the pot by the fire.
Arya relaxed just a little, taking a seat where she was shown by the table, though she still kept her cloak wrapped around her.
Ceilis sat down across from her. With methodical hands she poured herself hot water from a kettle by the fire, then scooped a handful of dry leaves from a bowl on the table and crushed them directly into the cup. Then she looked up. "Tell me what ails you?"
"I haven't—felt like myself for some while."
"How long?" Ceilis' long slim fingers circled her drink as she brought it to her mouth, her gaze keenly fixed on Arya's face.
"I'm not sure exactly. A month or more." She tried to count back the nights they had been at Riverrun, in addition to the ones spent on the road. She was losing track of them.
"In what ways do you not feel like yourself?"
Arya had to think about that, too, about what she wanted to say, how to describe it. It was hard, unexpectedly, when the woman's eyes were so sharp, though uncritical.
"I feel weak," she said, haltingly.
"You are thin for your height. May I?" Ceilis had already reached for her hand, her cool fingers encircling Arya's left wrist, pushing Gendry's bracelet up along her arm. "What else?" she persisted, a little later, still applying pressure to the inside of her wrist.
"I've no interest in food. It makes me sick to eat, sometimes."
"In the morning particularly?"
"No," Arya said, uncertainly. "Most of the day. I—I'm not sure."
Ceilis let go of her and placed her own hands in her lap for a moment as if considering, her head slightly tilted to one side. "You are not wed?"
I was affianced till not very long ago. She shook her head.
"And your last moonblood?"
"Not recent...but it is often not regular," Arya said, defensively.
Ceilis sighed. "Your clothes are those of a commoner, but there is the look of a lady about you. Thus I apologize if my directness offends. Have you lain with a man?"
She nodded now, mutely.
"Stand up, child. Uncloak yourself, let me see your shape."
Arya obeyed without argument. Ceilis didn't comment on the sword swinging from her side. After a brief observation she murmured, "It might yet be a disorder of your blood. Too early to say."
"You...don't know?"
Ceilis gave an amused smile. "I am a herbalist, not a witch, nor a prophet; I can only read the signs that are clear. You may or may not be carrying. If you are, I should tell you that it might not go well with you. Your body is not made for it. Possibly you would lose the babe early on, or you might have a difficult birth."
Arya didn't know what to say, or how to feel about that. Perhaps her face showed the conflicting emotions because Ceilis stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. "I don't say this to distress or confuse you. You are quite young, youth can be very resilient, and there is strength in your eyes, even if you don't feel strong at this time. I have herbs that can help to encourage early seed to grow; I also have those that discourage its presence. Which kind is it you need?"
"I—I'm not certain." Arya felt sudden tears threaten and she blinked at them fiercely.
"Ah." The older woman's tone was kind. "It is difficult being a female in this world, is it not? Men take their pleasures, and we bear the consequences as we must, low or high-born, truly. I suggest you consider your situation, and come to see me again, in another fortnight or thereabouts. Will you do that?"
"Yes."
"Here." Ceilis rose and brought more hot water to the table, then crushed another handful of the leaves from the bowl. She pushed it towards Arya. "Unrelated to fertility," she said gently. "Bushberry. For general health."
"Thank you." Arya stared at the patterns in the wooden table top until her eyes stopped tearing. She breathed into the warm steam of the tea. Foolish, no doubt, but she felt as if she were being cared for on an equal basis, one woman to another, not comparable to the dutiful castle staff bringing her trays or carrying messages. There was an indefinable kind of comfort in it.
Ceilis went to the door and looked out. "It grows gloomy," she observed. "Will you ride back to the castle tonight? I smell rain on the way."
Arya had earlier had every intention of returning in time for dinner, but was feeling less convinced of its necessity now. She was not afraid of dark or rain; she wanted to sit a while longer in this sweet-scented small cottage, in the company of this woman who had emanated a calm peace. Evasively, she sipped at her drink instead of answering right away.
"You are welcome, of course," Ceilis said, "to stay. I do not normally accommodate all my visitors in such a manner, but you came to me by way of my niece, whom I trust."
"Thank you," Arya said again, feeling inadequate.
"And you will share some of my supper? Appetite or no?"
She nodded, feeling like a child, though it was a good feeling for once. The candles were guttering on the table and the sound of the wind picking up outside made the walls of the shack rattle, but the fire was able to keep the air warmer than it ever was even in her castle room.
Tomorrow was soon enough to go back to it.
Gendry had not seen Arya in three days at least. Obviously she had some thinking to do and clearly she wanted to be alone to do it, so he didn't give too much consideration to her absence since he'd assumed that she was still in the castle. Yet when a second dinner passed and she was not in attendance, one of the servants noted that Arya was not in her rooms and appeared not to have been seen by anyone since sometime the previous day. Edmure ordered that they determine who exactly was last to have talked to her. Even then Gendry couldn't feel too worried, knowing Arya's propensity for disappearance. Eventually, a self-conscious kitchen maid was brought before them and admitted with some nervousness that my lady had gone an hour away to the home of her aunt to see about some herbal remedies. Edmure asked Gendry if he wanted to seek her out, and he agreed he would, with more resignation than concern.
Following the prescribed path away from the castle, he met Arya halfway. She was walking, leading a limping mount, and even from a distance he could read her fatigue. He thought she would greet him gladly when he rode up, but her expression was preoccupied.
"You didn't have to come look for me," she said. "I would have been back sooner, only the mare threw a shoe."
"You could have told"—he started to say me and then changed it— "us that you were going somewhere." He tried not to sound judgmental.
"I was hoping no one would notice." At least she was being candid. "I thought I would be back last night. The weather was odd, so I waited it out instead."
Gendry slid off the horse's back. "How long have you been walking?"
"A while..." She trailed off when he came to stand in front of her, putting his hands on her waist. A hint of color was tinting her pale cheeks, perhaps just from the exercise. "What are you...?"
"Picking you up." He lifted her easily into the air and set her on his horse. She settled, looking down at him with wide eyes. "Thank you."
He took the reins of both horses and began to walk them back in the direction of Riverrun. Having to re-trace their path in the dark was inevitable now, but the animals would be able to find their way home, even if they lost sight of the trail.
"So where were you?" he said, guarding his voice again to make sure it sounded neutral.
"Getting some advice from someone."
"Is it a secret who and what?"
"No," she said, sounding defensive. "I haven't been feeling well. It was just a woman that someone told me about, a healer. You could have come with me if you liked."
"Maybe I will if you go again."
She was silent, and he glanced back, having intended to be partly teasing, but the look on her face was one of consternation.
"Look," he said. "I just want to know if you're planning on telling me what's going on with you."
"When I find out myself," Arya said, "you'll be the next I tell."
She sounded convincing but he wasn't convinced.
It was very late before they made it back to the castle. Despite having ridden most of the way Arya seemed exhausted and, when in the yard he came to her side to help her dismount she nearly fell off the horse into his arms. A stable-boy came running to attend to the animals, and Gendry took hold of Arya by the forearms for a moment, examining her face.
"I'm fine," she said.
Though there were others about, he didn't hesitate. He swung her up in his arms and carried her—gods, she felt like nothing—towards the entrance of the keep. Arya rested her head against his chest, arms draped for balance around his neck. She smelled, unfamiliarly, like lavendar and other herbs.
He didn't care if anyone was watching them. He carried her all the way through the halls and up to her rooms, and it was a considerable distance, but he didn't stop until he was at her bed and laying her carefully down on it.
Gendry took her boots off, and her belt with its sword, easing it out from around her, while she lay, not uncooperative, but quiescent. He sat for a moment beside her and looked at the eyelashes against her cheeks, the tangled hair sweeping away from her forehead. He wanted nothing more, at that moment, to lie down beside her and hold her while she slept a full night without dreams.
He didn't have the right to do that, not here. Not anywhere, really, though the clear advantage of the forest floor was it didn't care about the different worlds two people came from when they bedded down together under the sky. But certainly not here.
"Sleep," he said, regretfully, reluctantly, touching her cheek before standing again. There was no fire alight in the hearth and he took the time to set one before going back to his own rooms. He didn't want her to wake in the night because of cold, especially if he couldn't be there himself to keep her warm.