Jorah expected his men to return from Sheffield with Brienne Tarth. Instead they came in with a wet and shattered surveillance kit.
"Where is the girl?" Jorah gritted his teeth at his men.
"She wouldn't leave the hospital." one of them informed him.
"What!?" Unbelievable! Absolutely ridiculous.
"Her friend. The boy that crashed. She won't leave his side until she knows he's stable. She said she'll drive herself here and answer any questions you might have. She does, however send this."
Dany was beside him now, having joined them as soon as his men walked out of the lifts. Perhaps taking a break from the dead Baratheon boy's case. "What is that?" she asked, taking the dirty wiring in one hand and the thin laptop on the other.
"A survei..."
"I know what it is. But what's it to us?" her green eyes had snapped to Jorah then. "Is this it?" she asked, opening the laptop to reveal the broken screen and keyboard. "Cersei's so called confession? This is broken. It's worth less."
"Perhaps your team can work on it," Jorah suggested, placing a hand on her shoulder. Dany nodded, handing it back to Jorah's man. "Take it to Paul. See what he can do." The man nodded.
After working on it for several days however, Dany's team hadn't been able to do anything. The "so called confession", as she liked to call it, had been lost.
Brienne had been informed about the loss of her evidence, and Dany had spoken to Robb Stark about both Brienne and the lost evidence against Cersei.
Dany still seemed sceptical about the contents of the recording, and whether or not the contents even existed.
Jorah hadn't had the chance to meet Brienne in person, what with meeting up with Margaery whenever she obtained any new information on Jaqen or Osha and with the rest of his time split between the Joffrey Baratheon case and the Stark case, which had meshed into one huge case and now included an illegitimate son, the resurface of an officer from Stark's unit and the disappearance of the Lannister twins, so he had no way of knowing for a fact that what Brienne claimed about the recording was true. He needed to meet with her face to face to be able to read her. He planned to meet with her as soon as he could.
It was a difficult case from the start. Too many scattered kids. Too many loose ends. He had been very lucky though, that Jaqen was involved in it, because now he could freely and openly proceed with the investigations on him without the fear of his father finding out.
That was also another thing that had kept him occupied. His father.
He had been waiting for the ax to fall for days now. He knew his father. He was probably fuming at the way the case was being handled and Jorah was just waiting for the moment he would let it be known. Every ring of the phone. Every knock at the door from his beady-eyed assistant Jack. He was just waiting for the shit to hit the fan.
And finally on Tuesday, December 16th -five days after they had acquired the recording from Brienne. . . five days after the crash on Kirk Edge and the murder of Joffrey Baratheon- at around midday, while in the middle of a conversation with Dany, his father finally stormed into his office, unfastening the button on his suit jacket.
"It's been over two weeks, and the bloody media leeches know more than you! People are dropping dead around us like those bloody fish that were found floating dead in the Weaver in Cheshire. It took you almost a week to find the bug pinned on the Cutler's Hall surveillance videos, for what? Only to recover two blurry frames! You have new evidence everyday, and instead of results, I get news of yet another death. And another. Your team is worthless! "
"That is my team you're talking about," Dany stood tall before Commissioner Jeor Mormont, shooting fierce, burning daggers out of her eyes and making the hairs stand on Jorah's neck. "And they deserve a little respect, Sir."
"I'm sorry, Miss?"
"Inspector Targaryen," Dany told him fiercely, her brows set in a proud frown.
"Inspector Targaryen, eh. Your forensics team...they're under my command now. You're both off the case."
No... No... not again!
Jorah was about to protest, hating that no matter who he was, and what name he'd made for himself, to Jeor he would always be just a son, and anything coming out of his mouth would be nothing more than a whine.
Dany beat him to it though, and spoke out before Jorah could.
"Jorah," she spoke out calmly, her voice ringing like steel her eyes never leaving Jeor's. "Could you excuse us? I need to have a word with Commissioner Mormont."
"There's nothing more in need of discussion," his father begun to say, but Dany's eyes narrowed at him, and Jorah almost had to look away from the stare down.
"I think you'll find there is. Five minutes of your time, Sir."
To Jorah's surprise, his father nodded at Dany, dismissing him with a glance.
It indeed took Dany only five minutes to say what she had to say, but waiting outside of the office, those five minutes ticked on like hours to Jorah, and when the door finally opened, he sprang from his seat.
"You're both back on the case," was all his father said as he buttoned his suit jacket and made his way down the hallway.
Jorah's wide eyes followed the man down the aisle and into the lifts before turning to meet Dany's eyes. "What did you say to him?" he'd stuttered out.
"It doesn't matter," she'd smiled softly at him.
"It does. Whatever you said, he's decided to leave the case to me."
"Actually," Dany paused then, taking in a deep breath before speaking again, "It's my case now."
"What are you thinking about?" Dany called to him as they pulled two boxes out of his trunk and down the snowy parking lot, into the station.
It had been a day since his father and Dany had had their one and one, and Jorah still had no idea what had been discussed in that room.
"You." he let out before thinking as he held the door open for her to step inside. They were at the one of South Yorkshire Police stations in Sheffield.
Dany insisted they leave London and relocate to Sheffield.
"How are we suppose to solve anything if we're over 200 kilometres away?" she had argued, and made arrangements to transfer.
"What about me?" she asked, walking along the cubicles and into a long white corridor that lead to the large lobby with a plastic Christmas tree. This room would now serve as their headquarters until the Jaqen/Stark/Baratheon case was solved.
"About how you stood up to my father yesterday," he finally confessed to her, setting the box down, "You could have lost your job."
"You're still thinking about that?" Dany shot him a small smile.
Jorah shrugged, turning for the double doors, headed out for more boxes. "I know you won't tell me what you told him," he called to her over his shoulder. " I was simply thinking to myself that you're incredible."
He slipped out of the room before she could say anything in reply, and he was thankful for it, looking forward to the unbearably freezing air that would slap against his face as soon as he stepped out.
What on earth are you doing to me, Daenerys Targaryen.
xxxxxxxxxxx
A nurse poked her head into the room, searching the room before her eyes landed on Brienne. "How's he doing?" she asked with a smile.
Brienne sat up on the chair, feeling a pain stab in her side at her sudden movement. She ignored it.
"Still sleeping a lot. But good. Asking a lot of questions." she answered thickly. The nurse nodded at her, glancing over at the sleeping Gendry on the hospital bed.
"Questions is good. It's very good. And he's sleeping a lot because of the pain medication we have him on. Is he holding down his food now?"
Brienne nodded, shifting her weight on the chair.
The nurse nodded again. "Call me if you need anything." she said, and with that, slipped her head out of the room.
I had been exactly a week since his accident and he still didn't remember a thing.
Psychogenic fugue.
That's what the doctor had called it the afternoon Gendry had woken up with no clue of who he was.
"You're Gendry. Gendry. Remember? You had an accident." Brienne had called over to him in an urgent tone, but the doctor had held a hand up to silence her, and had walked over to the bed.
"Do you know who she is?" the Doctor had asked Gendry, a finger pointed at Brienne.
Gendry had taken a long, careful look at her before shaking his head.
"No." he said softly.
It had been a knife to the chest. But she had instantly assigned herself the task of helping him remember.
"Are we dating?" the question came up when the doctors and nurses had left the room.
Brienne had smiled. "No." she had answered. "We're mates." she added. To which he had nodded.
When he would wake up, hungry, or thirsty, she would roll his food tray closer to the bed, help him sit up, fetch him water or Sprite.
She helped him shower twice, But on the third morning, he shook his head when she began to untie the hospital gown.
"I think I can do it now."
He was gaining strength quickly. Remembering conversations, and names of people she would tell him about.
"I bailed Sandor out. I used up everything on my savings account. He can't leave the city, which he's furious about because he wants to find Rickon and Arya," she had told him earlier that week, which had turned into a string of questions.
"Who is Sandor? Rickon? Arya?"
That was the day Brienne told him everything, despite the doctor's orders to take it easy.
It had been like playing telephone. Few bits of the story were hers. The rest were, "You said... I saw on the television that... Sandor said..." so that it became a very choppy version of the events. But Gendry was taking everything in with deep concentration.
In the days that followed, he would ask about any updates on Arya Stark, and Rickon Stark. Brienne could tell he still didn't remember a thing. He was just trying to keep a tight hold on the new information he was taking in.
Everytime she mentioned Arya's name, she studied his face intently, hoping it would be the key to his memory recovery. She looked for signs of a brow twitch. A hitch in his breathing. A dry swallow. A lick of the lips. A deep blink. A shift in weight. Anything.
It had been a week since the accident, and she still hadn't seen any of those reactions.
There was a knock on the door and the red-haired orderly walked in with a small smile on his face.
"Everything ok?" he asked. "How are you two doing today?"
His name was Arnold and he had been checking in on Gendry since a few days after the accident.
"We were friends. From the University," he had told the overly-cautious Brienne the first day he had poked his head into the room, "My name is Arnold," he had introduced himself and Brienne had shook the hand that he had held out for her. He smelled like strawberries.
"Arnold," she had repeated his name. "Gendry never mentioned you."
"He mentioned you though. Brienne, right?" he had replied smoothly, turning away from her to face the sleeping Gendry in the hospital bed."He really cared for you," the guy had whispered, taking a step towards the bed. Brienne's hand had flinched; about to reach for her gun. But then she remembered where she was. And that she didn't have her gun.
She felt overprotective of Gendry, Especially with his memory loss.
"What do the doctors say? I work here, but they're being very closed up about both Gendry and Robert Baratheon's files."
By then, news of Robert Baratheon being in the same hospital was no news at all. The half drugged man had shown up in Gendry's hospital room the morning after the crash in nothing but the thin hospital gown, looking ghastly and dragging behind him the IV stand.
Brienne had been questioned by doctors and again questioned by officers all night, and with Gendry out of surgery, she was now, nodding off on a chair far in one corner of the dimmed room, and didn't hear the large man creep into the room.
It wasn't until he sniffed loudly that Brienne's eyes flew open and she saw him there. Standing at the foot of the bed, tear-wet face.
"Damn you Ned," he whispered before letting his face drop, his hand covering his eyes.
She had met him only once before. At the station. The same day he and Gendry had met for the first time too. Looking back on that day, it made sense now why Ned had looked almost nauseated at the sight of Gendry and Robert, inches away from each other's faces.
It was because all Ned saw was father and son, standing inches away from each other's faces for the first time.
"Sir?" Brienne whispered softly, rising from her chair and taking a cautious step towards him.
Robert pulled his hand away from his face, revealing puffy lids rimming bloodshot eyes. The man sniffed once. "He's my son," he managed to say in a thick, phlegmy tone, "He's my fucking son, and Ned kept it from me." He closed his eyes and his whole body began to shake as large tears rolling down his face and getting lost somewhere in his beard.
Brienne wasn't sure what to do. So she just stood there. Watching as this man broke to pieces before her, and swallowing down the need to break down as well.
"And then he goes and dies on me. Well damn you Ned. Damn you for leaving me. Just like your sister. Damn you, you liar," the man clasped on to the edge of his bed with one hand and the IV stand pole with the other to keep himself from collapsing to the floor as his head fell and his body continued to shake violently with his heavy sobs. "Why did he have to die... why did he have to lie to me? Why did he have to leave me..."
Several nurses had stormed in by then, all trying to haul the large man out. He fought them off though.
"Bring me Ned!" he growled at one of the nurses. "He's not dead. He's alive. He can't be dead. Not him. Not Ned. Please tell me he'd not dead."
One of the female nurses pulled out a tranquilizer from her pocket while three of the men held him still. Another walked into the room with a wheel chair, and as soon as his knees gave, they sat him on the chair and wheeled him out of the room. Brienne ran to kneel besides Gendry's bed, clasping onto his limp unconscious hand and digging her face into the pillow besides his. She was crying now.
"He lost his memory. Temporarily. Hit his head during the crash." Brienne had answered Arnold warily.
"Will it ever come back to him?" the boy had asked, glancing over to Gendry.
"Not too sure." Brienne lied.
She didn't trust anyone. Not even the hospital staff.
During the week though, it had become easier to loosen up around Arnold. She still didn't trust him, but she didn't tense up as much around him now.
He visited Gendry and they would chat a while before the redhead returned to his rounds.
Gendry mentioned to Brienne that his gut told him he knew Arnold, so Brienne put aside the suspicions that he was some journalist in disguise or something along those lines. He was still dangerous though. Everyone was.
"Yes." she told Arnold, rising from her seat. "Everything is fine. We're doing alright. I actually have to meet someone right now. Mind keeping an eye on him?"
"No problem," Arnold told her.
"Thanks," she said and pulled out her phone to text Sandor.
Can we meet?
Brienne pressed the send button, and crossed to the sleeping Gendry, combing back his coal black hair. He looked so much like Renly, she though.
"I'll be back." she told him, feeling her phone buzz in her hand. She held it up to read the message from Sandor.
Where?
xxxxxxxxxx
Sandor's first instinct was to leave. To just run away as soon as he'd dropped off Gendry and Brienne at the hospital. The boy was surely dead, and the equipment broken. They had nothing going for them. He had nothing going for him. No reason to stay.
He had stayed.
And after the police had arrived, and questioned him, and then Brienne, and then him again, he knew that it had been a mistake to stay, and an even bigger one to confess to everything.
With Gendry closer to death than life, and Cersei's recorded confession smashed, he felt like they needed all the help they could get, and so one truth spilled out after another. And he was talking about working for the Lannisters, and all they had him do. The plans he'd help them carry through; the lies he'd told for them... the whole truth about the shooting, and Ned's innocence. The will. Thetwins' affair. Everything. Even about the man he'd drunkenly killed for a boat when he'd first set out to find the Stark girl and her brother.
He was exhausted, though, and it was easier to just let go. It was too fucking exhausting... keeping his exterior hard.
His insides were soggy. All thanks to that stupid redhead bitch and her sad, pleading eyes.
He'd been taken in to the station then, and he'd cursed himself for being so foolish. He had failed Sansa. The least he could do now, was spill it all... and if clearing her father's name meant living the rest of his life in prison, then he'd live them out with a bit less anger.
He'd been questioned further at the station, then escorted to a cell for the night.
He had been so tired, that the cell bench had looked so welcoming, and laying on it, he fell instantly asleep, Sansa far in the back of his thoughts, slowly seeing him to sleep.
His nap had been brief though. Someone yelling his name had pulled him out of his restless sleep, and when the officer opened the cell and told him he was out on bail, pending trial, his thoughts went straight to Sansa.
"You shouldn't have, you stupid girl," he had whispered as he followed the officer down a hallway.
But it wasn't Sansa who'd bailed him out. In place of a short redhead, was a tall, thickly built blonde with sagging eyes and a ruddy face.
He had masked his disappointment with a roll of his eyes.
"You?" his tone was mocking.
"I used up my entire savings account. You should be thanking me, you asshole."
But Sandor had been too angry at himself to remember the few manners he had, and so he'd simply taken his belongings from the officer behind the desk and gently shoved Brienne aside to get to the door.
He'd made a mental note to thank her when he saw her again, despite the shitty outcome of their circumstances. The large brace around his ankle a daily reminder of them.
However, when he saw her crossing the snowy field towards him, he decided against thanking her.
"So what did you want to meet here for?" he asked her as she sat on the park bench besides him. He tilted his head all the way back as he emptied the rest of the bourbon in his flask into his mouth.
He had been sitting on that bench at Endcliffe Park waiting for Brienne for over 20 minutes, growing restless and annoyed of the children playing in the snow on the field before him. He'd been too cold and too lazy to move, however, and over the course of the 20 minutes, trying to learn the children's names according to how they addressed themselves through shouts and hoots had proven to be a decent distraction from his reeling thoughts.
Brienne sighed besides him, turning his attention from the children to her face. In the light he saw how bright and blue her eyes were for the first time since he'd met her. The grey scarf she wore around her neck brought out a certain light in them, even when the rest of her face was tired and still sporting some bruises from the beating she'd taken up at the cabin.
"So nothing yet," Sandor said, capping his flask and slipping it in the inside pocket of his thick overcoat.
"He remembers what we've discussed. Names. Stories I tell him. The doctor said it's a good sign. That his mind is holding on to information. He seems to trust me well enough. The doctor said that even when he does not remember people, his gut will tell him how he felt about people before the accident."
"That, really does not help." Sandor shook his head, feeling as the alcohol was already beginning to take effect. They needed Gendry to remember. Him learning his fucking abc's didn't help.
Brienne let her face fall into her hands besides him. Sandor turned to her, really hoping she didn't start crying. If she did, he would probably stand up and leave.
"I just feel..." she spoke into her hands. "...as though the world had been spinning so fast around me since the moment Renly was killed... and when Gendry crashed...it stilled."
She was crying. Sandor could hear it in her voice. But it didn't make him cringe as he had expected. He remembered the night of Gendry's crash. When he'd wept in the front seat of the van after realizing he'd failed Sansa.
"I'm so scared," Brienne continued besides him in a more composed tone. "That I won't be ready when it all starts moving again. Because it will. We're in the eye of the storm. But the storm is still going on around us."
Sandor agreed with her completely. This last week, since Gendry's crash, had been so . . . normal. He had just been waiting for the shit to hit the fan. Jaime to turn up. News of one of the Stark kids' deaths. Gendry to remember. Cersei to come out from hiding. Anything. Anything would be better and less maddening than the wait.
"Has she tried calling you?" Brienne asked after several minutes of silence. He didn't have to ask who she meant.
"No. I haven't turned my old phone on. No one has this new number except you and the police."
"I'm sure she's been trying to get hold of you."
"I'm sure she hasn't," Sandor snapped.
"Gendry told me about her... just a little bit. I..."
"Don't." Sandor huffed out.
The air was growing still and the temperature was beginning to drop quickly. Most of the children were gone, leaving behind half done snowmen and smeared snow angels.
"If I were her..." Brienne began, but Sandor twisted in his seat and grabbed a fist full of her scarf, bringing her close to his face.
"I said, Do Not!" he growled through his teeth before pushing her away from him. Brienne stood from her seat, and for a moment, Sandor was sure she would storm away in tears like a stupid little girl.
His face couldn't hide the surprise when instead, she grabbed his face between her gloved hands and came so close to his face, that he could see the very subtle freckles on her nose and smell the soap on her face, and the laundry detergent on her sleeves.
"Now you listen to me! You could have run. You could have left me with Gendry on the side of that road. But you didn't." he tried to pull his face free but her grip on it tightened. "You had so many chances to leave, and you didn't. You're a good person. She knows that. That is why she trusted you. It is why Gendry trusted you. Even I trust you."
Sandor shoved her away from him, rising from the bench so that they came face to face. She was very tall. Nearly as tall as him. And he wanted to punch her. Her words had stung. A cruel, cold slap on the face. A jape.
"You see good where there is none," he rasped out, sounding more vulnerable than he wished. He sniffed sharply, letting the cold air freeze his lungs. "Like that Lannister. You saw good in him. Good where there was none."
"The world is not black and white, Sandor. It's not that easy."
"It is." he spoke out softly.
He should leave. He should walk away. She was pissing him off, and it was freezing outside and he didn't fucking need this. Not from her, or anyone. So why wasn't he walking away? Why was he standing here? Why was there a knot in his throat?
"You're a good man. Jaime is a good man." Brienne cried out, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, looking around the park. Sandor let out an acidic laughter that rose between them in thick clouds before disappearing. "He is!" Brienne yelled, and he could tell he'd finally struck a chord.
A million insults came to mind at that moment, each one crueller than the last. It seemed the bitch had fallen for the Lannister. She was a bigger idiot than he'd given her credit for. He uttered none of them, though.
Soggy. Rotten inside. Fuck you, little bird. Fuck you!
"How did you..." Brienne began hesitantly, crossing over to the bench to sit again. "Your burns. How did that happen?"
Sandor closed his eyes, exhaling long and hard. When he finally opened them, he was faced with two choices. Sock her face and walk away. Or cross to the bench and sit. In his head, hitting her felt good. It released the rage that soured his mouth and stomach. But he still did the latter.
"My brother," he said once he'd sat himself besides her, hearing the hate in the two words he'd just spoken out.
He didn't want to say anymore, and Brienne probably sensed it, for she didn't push for more, but merely stated. "And you hate him."
Sandor nodded.
"I..." she cleared her throat nervously. "I tortured him. I.. I really... I hurt him. I d-don't think I..." she paused, taking in a deep shuddery breath. "His back and chest are scarred for life. A memory of the hot poker I held to his flesh Over and over again for two days. I hated him." her voice broke on that last part, and she began to weep. "I hated him so much. They'd taken Renly from me. I was angry, and I wasn't thinking straight, and I burned his flesh and I beat at him, trying to get a confession from him. Information." she wiped her eyes with the pad of her gloved hands. "But when those men came to the cabin. And tied me up and let him go, giving him the keys to my car, he didn't leave. He came back. I really don't know why, but he did. And he killed the men, and instead of killing me too, me the person that had tortured him for days, he..."
"That's where your grey area falls into?" Sandor cut her off. "He saves your life, and spares it, and he's suddenly a fucking saint."
"No." Brienne shook her head. "You said it yourself, this is where the grey area exists. He has done evil, but also, he has done some good."
It was Sandor's turn to shake his head. "One good deed does not..."
"I remembered something. After he'd spared my life, I remembered the night Renly died. I couldn't see it before because I had been so upset. So blinded by grief, but when Cersei shot Ren and turned to me, Jaime quickly pushed her hand away so that the bullet missed my chest and hit my shoulder."
Sandor still didn't buy it. "It's still not it enough."
She chuckled mirthlessly then. "If you judge this severely, I can see why you hate yourself." Another slap across the face. "Sandor," he turned at the sound of his name. Brienne eyes were heavy on him. "You should find her. I'm sure she's dying to see you."
And with that she stood, turning up the collar of her overcoat at the sudden icy breeze. "I'll see you." she told him with a nod, and made her way down the cement trail, towards the car park.
He grabbed two handfuls of his hair, tugging at them in frustration, before closing his eyes and clenching his teeth. One of his hands slipped into his pocket. Feeling for the plastic case.
"Brienne." he called, hesitantly rising to his feet and running his fingers along the edge of the flat case. The tall blonde turned to face him, and he crossed to her, pulling it out of his pocket.
He held up the jewelled CD case before her eyes, which snapped to his, wide and hopeful. She really has extraordinary eyes. "I paid a visit to Varys. He surprised me with this."
Brienne snatched it from his hand and fixed her gaze on it. "What is it?" she demanded, her eyes never leaving the orange CD case in her hands.
"He had his equipment networked to his home computer. He recovered the recording. All of it."
Brienne's brows furrowed and her eyes met his. She looked pissed. "How long have you had this?!" she yelled, waving the case before his face. "How long?"
"A few days!" he barked back.
"Why?" she whispered out, sounding slightly disappointed. Tell me I'm a good person now, stupid wench.
"Because I have no way of leaving. I'm stuck here." his eyes fell to his ankle, where the large brace was." when he looked up at her again, he could see, not pity in her face, but understanding.
"And because you didn't want to see her. Not when you had accomplished nothing." Clever girl. "Well..." Brienne said, tucking the case inside her coat pocket. "We have to take this to the police."
"We?" Sandor grimaced, hating the idea of setting foot inside the station again. He shook his head.
"Yes. We." she told him, surprising him by grabbing his hand and pulling him down the trail, towards her parked car. Again, he didn't pull away. He let her lead the way.
Soggy. Fucking soggy. And drunk.
Bad combination.
xxxxxxxxxx
Arya woke; her fingers still laced with Gendry's, her forehead resting softly against his so that their noses touched. Shock pulsed through her, and she almost flinched back. Almost.
Instead she closed her eyes, remembering how wretched Gendry had been the night before. He'd killed a man. His first kill. Even if he was a cop, he had mentioned on the train ride to Barcelona that he had never killed a man.
He had calmed a bit after minutes of just sitting on the toilet lid, his hands on her waist, her forehead on his, as it was just now. And after his shower, he had woken her as he had slipped carefully under the covers beside her.
Arya remembered sleepily reaching over to grab his hand and press a soft kiss on it. Something she would have never been able to do if she wasn't half asleep.
She remembered how her mother's kisses had always helped her feel better when she was younger though, and that he had not had a mother most of his life.
This was no scraped knee though, and he was not 5 years old. But she still did it because she wanted to. The tingling sensation that she'd felt on her lips as they'd brushed on his hand lingered until she fell asleep.
Her lids opened when she heard the creak of the other bed and heard Sandor clear his throat. She laid completely still, just listening. Listening to the long silence that followed before the rustling of sheets let her know he was slipping out of bed. Listening to his footsteps as he threaded over to the restroom, closing the door behind him only halfway. The long trickle of his urine as it hit the toilet bowl. The swirl of water as he flushed the toilet, and the sound of his more awake walk back to his bed.
He didn't slip back under the covers. Instead, she heard him feel his way around the night table between their beds and pull the phone off its receiver, punching in a number. After a few seconds, he spoke into the phone.
"Where the fuck can someone get a decent cup of coffee around here?"
Arya heard someone answer him on the other end.
Sandor growled. "No. I'll come down." he said before slamming the phone on the receiver.
He cursed his way to his boots and coat and cursed his way out of the room when he'd dressed up for the cold.
Arya sat up on the bed, her eyes already adjusted to the dark, as soon as the door closed behind Sandor.
Gendry groaned besides her, smacking his lips a few times, still asleep.
Arya reached over to brush a few strands of hair from his face. He needed a haircut.
Giving him a sideways glance she changed her mind. He didn't. She liked this scruffy look on him.
When she'd first seen him, he had short hair and a clean face. Since they'd been on the run he hadn't had time for either a haircut or a shave. She found she liked him either way.
Arya sighed, pulling her hand away from his face.
She liked him.
She cared for him.
Why was that so hard to admit and say, even to herself?
Because if you cared for him, you wouldn't put him in so much danger.
Arya knew this was true. She didn't want to admit it, because doing so meant she had no choice but to leave him. Leave him to keep him safe.
"I'm leaving you, Gendry," she spoke out into the dark, keeping her eyes away from his sleeping face. "Because I care too much."
She let out a shuddery breath. She had to look. Just once. If this was good bye, she had to look. Her gaze turned slowly, falling on his face. "You hear that, stupid? I care. I care... alright? That's why I am leaving. Because you have your own shit to figure out. You have your own demons to face, and helping me is keeping you from that. It's putting you in danger. I can't ... I just can't deal with losing someone else. I won't. I won't lose you. Not you too... SoI'll leave you. Let's each face our demons. Alone. Because right now they are taking us in different directions." she huffed out a small sob. "But I really hope I'll see you again, you stupid, stubborn idiot." she let out a small laugh, feeling a tear trickle down her cheek. "I really do. And if we meet again, you can tell me all about it. And I'll do the same."
She leaned into him, hesitantly, stopping inches away from his face. She should have kissed him back the night before. She shouldn't have reacted like such a moron.
She pressed her closed lips on his, taking in a deep breath of his scent. It felt so good. How can such a simple thing feel this good? When she pulled away, she brushed her fingers over his hair one last time. Still sleeping. Good.
As quiet as a cat, she slipped out of bed, and tip toed around the room, tucking her boots under one arm, draping her jeans, shirt, jacket and scarf set over her shoulder and looking through Yoren's bag for her documents, enough cash to get her back to Jaqen and the car keys.
She left the room without a last look. As soon as the door closed behind her, she ran down the corridor, and out into the cold. Her grip tightened around all the crap in her hands and she made her way down the metal steps and across the frozen parking lot to their rental car. It was just as cold inside, but she quickly turned the ignition on and blasted the heater on high. She dumped all her belongings on the back seat, and changed the car from Park to Drive, stepping on the gas and speeding out of the parking lot.
Her lids opened. She was in her bedroom in Jaqen's house. She closed her eyes in anger. That was the second dream she'd had. Only they weren't dreams. They were memories. In the first she had been in the basement of Cutler's Hall, her father dying in her arms all over again.
She decided she had to tell Jaqen.
When she'd showered and come downstairs, she saw the suitcases by the front door.
This was the second time they'd moved in a week. The first one just two days ago. Before the memories started coming.
That first time, Jaqen had briefly explained that they never stayed in one place for too long.
"You'll get used to it. You were used to it before." he had said as they'd hauled their small suitcases into the back of his car.
Arya had wanted to ask why. She always wanted to question things further. It was like a small pebble in her shoe. Rolling around in there every time a topic was stirred. Never hurting her; but still bugging.
She followed Jaqen's voice to his office, door almost fully closed. She pushed her way in and found him talking on the phone in Spanish, his back to her.
He sounded upset, and he was talking about a man. And getting better information.
When he hung up, he cursed in German and turned, looking startled at the sight of her.
"We're moving," he told her in a slightly irritated tone. "Pack lightly, please. You can shop for any new things where we're going."
"Where are we going?"
"Just pack, Cat. We can discuss that on our way there." he told her, walking around her and out of the office. Arya followed him, stopping right outside the door.
"I've been having dreams." she called after him.
Jaqen stopped in his tracks and turned to her. "Nightmares?"
"Memories. I remember my father dying in my arms. And the last time I saw Gendry."
"You remember?" Jaqen asked in a careful tone, taking a step towards her. "Everything?"
"I know if I tug at one memory, I'll unearth the rest." she answered him. "I remember the process. I know that this is something I asked of you. The memory wipe."
"Oh." Jaqen looked unsure of what to do or say. "Are you... confused? Upset?"
"I want you to fix it. Can you?"
Jaqen shook his head. "If you remember, you must have never let it go. You don't want to forget."
"I do." she lied.
She knew she really didn't. She knew she must though. To become who she must. To be able to get revenge.
"Only you can fix it."
"How? Can we try again?"
Jaqen rubbed his shoulder thoughtfully. "I don't know. I don't know if I should. What it could do. It's all psychological. The brain is a strong, mysterious part of us, and I don't know what yours would be capable of if we tried again."
Arya let out a shuddery breath. She was standing on a high wire. Balancing. Fearing the fall.
She was not sure if the fall, in this case, was her remembering, or her trying again and failing. Her mind was too stuffed with two realities to decide.
"Do it. I'll be careful. I'll let go this time."
"Alright. We can do it as soon as you're packed." He told her.
xxxxxxxxxx
"It's been the same nightmare over and over again." Sansa spoke into the phone, rubbing a few fingers against her temples.
"Which is?" Bran asked on the other end of the line.
"I'm running. Running away from Joffrey. And then I kill him. Over and over again."
"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream." Bran quoted in a sinister tone.
Sansa scoffed. "You're not helping, you idiot."
"Sorry."
"What is that?"
"Edgar Allan Poe."
"Hmmm."
"I never told you this, but I had a dream about father days before he was killed."
Sansa's inside turned to ice. "What kind of dream?"
"A lion tore his head off."
She pressed her hand against her mouth to keep herself from whimpering.
"I only told Arya. She said she'd had a dream about father too."
"Why didn't you say something?!" Sansa yelled into the phone. Robb looked over to her from across the table.
"Would it have made a difference?" Bran demanded.
"I don't know," she replied in a lower voice. She thought back to who she was before her parents died and her siblings went missing. Not a month had passed and she felt as though she'd had ages to become the person she was today. There was no way anything Bran and Arya said would have made a difference in what happened that night, and the nights that followed. "I suppose not. No." she told him.
"I don't know why Arya and I had that dream. Dreams are . . . I don't know what they are." he sighed. " I do know that Joffrey is dead, and he won't come after you anymore. So stop thinking about it."
Sansa nodded, even though he couldn't see her. Across the table, Robb waved a hand at her, signalling toher to hand over the phone.
"Bran. Robb wants to talk to you. I love you. Talk to you tomorrow."
"I love you too. Stop thinking so much. You'll drive yourself insane."
"Sure," Sansa said, and slid the phone over the table. Robb caught it with one hand and stood from his chair, turning for the door. "Let me speak to Alicia, Bran," he said, reaching for his jacket, shrugging into it. "Alicia." he said suddenly, and began talking in Spanish, opening the door and slamming it behind him.
Sansa sat still, lost in her thoughts for a few minutes after Robb had walked out of the hotel room before she stood and cleared their nearly full dishes.
They weren't eating well. Either of them. Robb was beginning to look emaciated. Perhaps she was too, only she hadn't noticed it on herself. She didn't like looking at herself in the mirror these days. She saw too much of her mother in her. Her thoughts trailed to Arya.
Robb and her had met with Brienne Tarth, one of Ned's officers, in London a few days after Joffrey's death. She was coincidentally also a friend of Gendry Waters, the policeman Arya had befriended.
Maybe befriended was the wrong word, Sansa though, recalling the odd circumstances the two had met in and had continued to meet from then on.
Brienne told them about Arya and Gendry, travelling to Spain; to their grandfather's home. Why Arya didn't just think of staying with Sansa at the Baratheon manor had upset her for several days after their father's death. But now she knew Arya had been the smarter of the two, running as far away as she could from the Lannisters.
When Brienne mentioned that according to Gendry, Arya had witnessed Ned's death, Sansa broke in tears.
"So, Rickon wasn't with them?" Robb had asked Brienne hopelessly. The tall girl merely shook her head.
"There's still Mordane." Sansa had offered.
The woman had lived with and looked after them ever since Robb had been born. She loved them like a mother. Sansa was certain that if Rickon had made it out of the Hall it was with the help of the woman in the footage.
"No." Robb had let out bitterly. "Inspector Dany said the woman is linked to a terrorist Scotland Yard has been after for years."
Sansa's hopes has wilted. No one had cared to mention that to her before.
"Jaqen." Brienne had said to Robb, and then had gone on to mention how Arya and Gendry had come across the man in Spain and how he had become oddly interested in Arya. And then she'd gone on about Sandor and how he'd been with Gendry and Arya on their way back from Spain. Sansa never got the chance to ask her about Sandor though, because she and Robb had been called in by an Inspector.
Since then Sansa's thoughts had been haunted by him as well. Something inside her ached to know where he was. How he was. Was he alive? She never got up the courage to ask, or ask Robb to ask. The words always stuck to her tongue right before she uttered them. She would still say a little prayer from him after she's said one for her brother and sister, and for Mordane, and Robert and his children.
Poor Robert. He was hit with a heavy wave of news upon waking from his coma.
The death of his son, the news of his parentage to another son, and the news of Ned Stark's death. And to top it off, Cersei had disappeared.
Sansa had been there when the Inspector had spoken to the man, and she had been there to console him.
He had told her, once they were both alone, that he knew Ned was innocent.
Sansa had been happy to hear it, but then she hadn't expected anything less from Robert. He may not be the perfect man, but he loved Ned.
Her thoughts were disturbed when Robb stormed into the room, slamming the door after himself in anger.
"What?" Sansa rose from the sofa and crossed to him.
"Airlines, trains, roads, are all being closed. There's nothing we can do about Bran until the storm dies down."
"We can't leave him in Spain. He needs us!" Sansa cried, following Robb into one of the bedrooms of their suite.
"He's better off there. He's safe. Alicia is taking good care of him and grandfather."
"That doesn't mean Bran belongs there. He belongs with us. We all belong together. Arya can be safe. So can Rickon, that does not mean we should stop looking for them. You just don't want him weighing you down, and being a bother here." Sansa accused him.
"You are too young to understand. This isn't over yet. He's safer if no one knows where he is. Perhaps Rickon and Arya are too."
Sansa slapped Robb then, feeling the heated throb of blood on the palm she'd stuck him with. She immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry." she whispered.
Robb shook his head. "No. I am. I'm being foolish. Selfish. I'm still not over my grief."
"None of us are. I'm afraid we'll never truly be. But that is why we need to be together. To find strength in each other."
Robb nodded, pressing a quick kiss on her forehead before running out of the room.
"What are you doing?" she asked when she'd walked into the small sitting room and found him on the phone.
"Calling Petyr."
"Why?" she snapped, remembering what the man had done.
"Because he will find a way for us to get Bran back."
Sansa crossed her arms over her chest. "So you trust him now?"
"No." Robb said in a tone that reminded her of father. "I'm going to use him."
xxxxxxxxxx
"A sacrifice I am willing to make. Call it collateral damage."
Those words had cut him deeper than any sword ever could. Not one of the rotting burns decorating his back and chest amounted to one iota of the pain that Cersei's words had created.
He could feel the wench's eyes heavy on him. Burning a hole. When he lifted his eyes to meet hers, he could see, even in the dimly lit van, that they were glassy. She pities me. He had never wanted to strike a woman as much as he wanted to strike her at the moment. Not even when she had let the bright orange scorching poker eat at his flesh little by little.
He didn't need her pity.
He would have lunged himself at her if gunshots hadn't turned all of their attentions to the screen. Before he knew it, both Brienne and Sandor had stormed out of the van, leaving the door open behind them. At first he cursed them for it. They were letting the cold in. But then his fevered mind caught up and his eyebrows shot up on his forehead.
The rest was a painful blur of cold, dark, choleric stumbles out of the van, through slapping branches and away from both the road and Brienne screams. She was calling out to Gendry, but Jaime didn't stop to figure out why.
He had been lucky to find another, smaller road. And even luckier that a darling 80 something year old woman was driving down it.
"Oh heavens above! Get in young man!" she called to him from behind a partially opened window.
He had walked around the truck and to the passenger seat on limp legs and stumbled inside, fighting to grip the door handle with the numb fingers of his tied hands. After a few tries, he finally grabbed it, pulling the door closed.
The old woman gasped when she caught sight of him. I must look worse than I feel.
"What happened to you?"
"I'm fine." Jaime had gasped out in pain as he fell back on the seat, his jacket brushing against his back.
"I'm taking you to the hospital." the woman announced, stepping on the gas.
"Please don't. I'll be fine. I just need to rest a bit. Warm up." he had already begun to lose himself. "Where do you live, princess?"
"Just up the road. Not far."
"Perfect. Are you single? You wouldn't mind taking in a lonely bachelor into your cosy home for a cup of tea, would you?"
"I have my late husband's hunting rifle. I think I can handle you."
Jaime had laughed, then. Letting his eyes close.
Her home had really been just up the road. She'd helped him up the porch steps as well as she could in her years.
"You can wash in there." she had pointed towards a door down a short hallway. After washing up a bit and catching sight of his sickly self in the small bathroom mirror, he had stepped out and taken the offered cup of tea gratefully.
"I insist you go to the hospital. You look worse than my poor Alfred did at his funeral."
"No. No hospital. However I'll abuse your hospitality further by asking for a shower and anything you can spare for my wounds."
"I have a first aid case." she had chimed with a sweet smile.
He had showered sitting down on the white plastic shower chair, letting the hot, stinging water wash away the dirt, and blood and pus that had collected over his wounds. He had drifted in and out of sleep a few times before finally rising from the chair and turning the shower off. The bathroom spun around him as he'd stepped out, but after resting a few minutes on the bathroom floor wrapped in nothing but a small towel, he was able to rise and change into the oversized clothing the old lady had fetched for him from her husband's chest.
In the kitchen, he had leaned over a hot bowl of soup, spooning it into his mouth ravenously as she rubbed ointment on his burns.
"What's your name, beautiful?" Jaime had asked her instead of answering her questions about who had done such a thing to him.
"Ruth." she had offered as she adjusted the sliding glasses higher on her nose.
"Well, Ruth. My name is Jaime Lannister. Have you ever heard of me? My sister Cersei is married to Chairman Baratheon."
Her hands had gone still, and that was enough answer for Jaime. "I'm hiding. I've done some terrible things. Things I'm not proud of. You'll probably hear news about me soon on the television. All true things, I'm afraid . . . That's why I can't go to the hospital. And that's why as soon as you finish cleaning me up, I'll be on my way. I don't want you to get in any trouble for helping me, so let's keep this a secret. For your sake, and for mine. Mostly for mine."
"After I'm done with your wound you are marching over to the bed and getting a good night's rest. Tomorrow you can be on your way."
"I shouldn't." Jaime had told her courteously, even when he desperately wanted and needed the rest.
"I won't take no for an answer. You are staying. You can take the room across mine. And don't dare try any silly business with me. I know I'm irresistible, but I'm warning you, I'll have Alfred's rifle."
Dawn came a few hours after that, but Jaime had still rested well enough. Ruth had prepared him breakfast and driven him all the way to the city, offering him a small roll of bills.
"No." Jaime had snapped, pushing her hand away.
"Take it, son. And good luck. My prayed will be with you."
She had kissed his forehead andsmacked him on the patted him on the shoulder cheekily.
Jaime smiled at the memory of Ruth. He still didn't understand why she'd done what she'd done. Why she'd helped him, even when she knew who he on his side on the dusty, cold floor of the basement he had broken into a week ago. The space upstairs used to be a Grocer's market, but it was now for lease.
Jaime had found a few cans of food that had been left behind and for the first few days had lived off of that. But they were all gone now.
"Collateral damage."
Cersei's words had haunted him this past week, slowly lulling him in an angry, aggressive numbness. He welcomed it.
A part of him insisted it was what she had to do. If he had been there, he would have gladly given his life to help her escape. He would gladly become collateral damage.
It had been the tone in which she had uttered the words that had stabbed him cold in the heart.
It was all an act, he insisted to himself. All an act.
Perhaps it was, replied the more cynical part of him, and that was enough to go on. To keep himself from giving up.
After a week though, he could feel himself drifting closer to the edge, peering over at the welcoming darkness that was death. He could feel the poison in his blood. He could smell the rancid stench of his burns.
"This is how I go, then," he whispered to himself with a smile, "This is how I'll die."
Something before him shifted and he opened his eyes, watching as a rat crawled across the dusty floor, towards him.
"Hello there, you." Jaime called to it, lifting a heavy hand to beckon the animal towards him. "I'm afraid I'm all out of food. But come keep me company."
The rat froze, standing on it's hind legs and sniffing the air before falling on all four again and scurrying away from Jaime.
"Of course." Jaime let out bitterly. "Not even you want to be near the likes of me."
He rolled on his back with a pained hiss, starting up at the cobwebby ceiling panels.
"I'm not all that bad you know. Things just so very easily got out of hand and I became this man who would do anything for his sister. Even kill. But i was not always this way. I never even thought of her that way until the very first time we kissed. I was the night before I left for school. I was 18. She had been crying. I had too, but I didn't let on. She was as strong then as she is now, and so seeing her cry meant she was hurting too much to even care about putting up a front. I have always loved her. She was the only person I truly cared about. The only one I could talk to and be myself with. She made me whole."
The cobwebs on the ceiling danced lightly over him, like ghosts. A draft was coming in from somewhere in the large room. Perhaps that's what made it so damn cold.
"The more people we love, the weaker we become, she used to say. Yet I remember that on that night, she hugged me close and whispered, I love you. I love you. I love you."
Jaime closed his eyes, trying to remember Cersei's face. A face he'd seen all his life. The face of his twin. A face he once had memorised... why was it so hard to remember it!
"When she'd pulled back from the embrace, she leaned in to gently press a soft kiss on my lips. Then another. And another. Each becoming more urgent than the last until I pushed her away gently."
The rat's small nails could be heard scratching at something from somewhere in the room.
"You should be able to relate." Jaime called out to the rat. "I bet you've fucked your mother. And your sisters and your daughters. That's all you animals do. Fuck and eat."
The scratching stopped.
"Nothing more happened that night, and we didn't discuss it the morning after, or in any of the letters we sent to each other. I remember thinking it would have been easy to forget, until one day, when instead of a letter from her, I received a wedding invitation." he paused, feeling as his heart beat faster at the memory. "She was getting married." he continued in a lower voice. "And I knew then, that I loved her. "
"Who's down there?" Jaime heard someone call from the top of the stairs. He didn't even have time to prop himself up on an elbow before the heavy footsteps began making their way down the metal stairs. A large man and a couple in their mid thirties right behind him, came down the stairs, their jaws dropped at the sight of him.
"Oh my God," the woman said to the man whose arm hers was laced with.
"Who the hell are you?" the large man demanded from Jaime as his booted foot kicked Jaime's.
Jaime closed his eyes, falling carefully back on his back. "Jaime Lannister."
xxxxxxxxxx
Brienne was buzzing with excitement for the first time since before they'd killed Ren.
The CD Sandor had given her at the park had been the answer to her prayers. She'd played it on the ride here, to the station, to make sure not a single detail was missing. It was all there though. Every bit.
She turned to Sandor to give him a reassuring smile, but he wasn't looking at her. He was nervous.
So was she. But more anxious than nervous.
An officer from her station walked by them and Brienne followed him with her gaze. That was the third one she'd seen this week from her station. They'd probably transferred here after the station was closed down for investigation.
"How much longer do we have to wait?" Sandor growled to her.
"I don't know." Brienne said, growing irritated of him. He was making her restless.
"Excuse me." A woman called to them in a thick Northern accent, and both Brienne and Sandor turned to face her. She was a small, dark haired woman holding a small red-headed boy by the hand. Sandor sprung to his feet at the sight of her.
"You." he whispered, walking up to them, but to Brienne's surprise, he knelt before the boy and grabbed him by the shoulders. "It's you." he said to the small boy, who cringed away from Sandor. Brienne stood, quickly making her way to Sandor, whose face was white as sheet. As though he'd seen a ghost.
"Sandor. Let him go, you're scaring him." Brienne shook his shoulder, and Sandor did let the boy go.
"You know him?" the dark haired woman asked Sandor.
"Who is this?" Brienne asked the burned man.
"Rickon." the little boy spoke up at her from behind the dark haired woman's leg. "My name is Rickon Stark.
"Rickon?" Brienne repeated the name in a low voice.
"Rickon!?" came a voice from the somewhere in the large room. They all turned just as Sansa and Robb had walked into the station. Sansa clapped her hands over her mouth and ran her way along the cubicles towards Rickon, who was running towards her. Their bodies collides in the middle in a desperate embrace and she lifted him off the floor, weeping into his hair. Robb joined them shortly, wrapping his arms around his younger brother and sister.
"Oh my God." Brienne felt like crying, and although a few tears escaped, she kept herself together. She had texted Robb about the CD and that she was on her way to the station to present it as evidence, but she had no idea he would show up, and with Sansa no less.
"What is going on?" an officer asked as he stepped besides her, pointing to the three embracing Starks.
"I brought you the Stark boy," the dark haired woman that had, just moments ago held Rickon Stark by the hand, spoke before Brienne could. "And I'm here to turn myself in."
The officer shook his head at her, and beckoned her to follow him into one of the glass offices along the opposite wall.
"What are they doing here?" Sandor's low, bassy growl boomed behind her. "I'm leaving." he told her, turning for an exit opposite the Starks.
Before Brienne could snatch his arm to make him stay, a soft, weepy voice called his name. He froze.
"Sandor?" the voice called again. It was Sansa Stark.
Sandor and Brienne both turned slowly as the redhead made her way from her brothers to them. Brienne stepped aside so that Sansa could see Sandor better. As soon as the redhead saw his face, she smiled, and a few tears rolled down her cheeks. "It is you." she chimed out, stopping right in front of Sandor. This was the first time Brienne had seen the large man shaking like a gutless pup, and when Sansa extended a hand and placed it softly on Sandor's burned cheek, she saw, clear as day, his terrified shudder. Part of him looked ready to snarl at the hand, and the other looked as though he would shatter.
"Thank you." Sansa whispered, and Sandor closed his eyes, as if he'd been slapped. He shook his head stiffly.
"It wasn't me, little bird. It wasn't me who found him."
Little bird? Suddenly Brienne felt uncomfortable gaping at the scene before her, finding it too intimate to stare at. She was about to look away, but then she heard her name.
"Brienne told us about how you helped Arya." the redhead told him, almost in tears, and then the most shocking thing happened. Sansa went on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss on the burned side of his chin. The only part of him she could reach, even as she tiptoed closer to his face. "Thank you." she repeated, and let her hand linger a few moments longer, looking up into Sandor's eyes before turning and making her way back to her brothers again.
"Brienne." a voice made her face snap away from Sandor and to an officer. "The Chief Inspector will see you now." he toldd herr, and she nodded, following the officer down a long corridor, still out of sorts of what she'd just witnessed.
The Stark boy was returned. That too, but the moment between Sansa and Sandor. That's what had really shocked her.
"Miss Tarth." A man with sleek, blonde hair greeted her as she took a seat in the lobby turned office. Behind him, a handsome brunette girl with shocking green eyes stood from her seat, walking up to shake hands with Brienne. "We have not been formally introduced. I am Chief Inspector Jorah Mormont. This is my good friend and colleague, Inspector Daenerys Targaryen. We hear you have some information for us. A CD."
"Yes." Brienne nodded at the pair, pulling the CD out of her coat pocket and handing it over to the girl. "It's Cersei Lannister."
"So it's true," the man said. Brienne nodded again, feeling herself take in a breath of relief. Her insides were buzzing with happiness. She couldn't wait to tell Gendry.
Suddenly, all three of them turned to the door when a small, olive-skinned man ran in.
"Yes, Jack?" Jorah asked him.
"It's Jaime Lannister Sir." the man coughed out breathlessly. "They've found him in the basement of an abandoned shoppe."
Brienne's blood turned to ice.
"Alive?" Daenerys asked the man.
"Yes."
And just like that. Brienne's buzz was gone.
xxxxxxxxxx
He was inside a dim motel room.
"We should make a run for it. As soon as the storm ebbs a bit." he told Arya Stark. She sighed, turning to face him. Her eyes only graced his face briefly. He felt himself tense.
"I can't." she said in a hesitant tone.
He huffed out, rolling his eyes. "Can't or won't."
Arya closed her eyes, making his nerves twist inside him.
"Both." she let out weakly after a long, drawn out pause.
He rubbed a hand over his, letting out an exasperated grunt. He could see the struggle clear on her face. It pissed him off she kept it inside of her instead of letting it out. It was obvious that whatever it was, was bothering her, so why keep it bottled in? Why couldn't she trust him?
"It's complicated," she began to say, "But..."
"Really Arya?" he snapped at her, losing it. "Cause I'm a smart guy, so why don't you explain it to me?" he yelled, surprising himself. She looked as surprised as he was. He huffed out, trying to calm himself. Her breaths began to grow laboured and he could feel his patience wearing out as she searched her head for the proper words. Anger laced inside of him. That after all of the shit they'd been through she was still at a loss for words with him.
But then he realized he was more angry at himself for thinking everything they'd been through actually made a difference in their friendship, or whatever the fuck it was they had before this. When she opened her mouth to finally speak, he had already lost his patience and spoke before she could. He'd given her enough time. To make up a lie, or to figure out how and if to tell him and he didn't want to hear it anymore.
"I didn't have to do this." he whispered. "I didn't ask for any of this. For you to turn up at my place!" he began to raise his voice with every word. "I didn't have to come with you, and help you, and risk my life for you." he was yelling now. "I had my own shit to deal with. I had my own life. But I did! I came. I'm here, and I've risked my life for you. I did. Alright. I did."
He saw as her shocked, glazed eyes narrowed in disgust." Why did you?! Huh?" she demanded as she walked up to him and shoved him back forcefully. "You didn't have to. I didn't need you." her voice broke, and tears began to well in her eyes. Gendry felt his throat dry, but he swallowed the lump, and kept himself from reaching out to her. "I could have done all of this on my own." she shoved him again, "I didn't ask you for your help! I didn't ask you to risk your life, so why did you? Tell me! Why did you!" Her hands slammed against his shoulders once more, but he made no move to push them away. He stood his ground. too afraid that if he made a move to stop her blows, he'd just end up trying to wrap his arms around her to crush the air out of her.
"Tell me!" she yelled up at him furiously.
He could feel tears in his eyes, but he didn't really care if they fell or not. He just wanted to leave. To never set eyes on her again. He did though. He turned and met her fiery gaze with his own "I don't know." he whispered sadly, all the anger draining from him with each of those words. "But I'm starting to think it was a mistake."
She blinked back, clearly stung by the words. Good. Gendry saw as she worried her bottom lip against her teeth to keep herself in one piece. "Well," she spoke stiffly. "It's not too late. You can still leave. No one is stopping you."
There was a long pause before he finally spoke. "Maybe I will."
Gendry coughed himself awake, and Brienne was by his side, helping him sit.
"Breathe. Breathe." she repeated, and he did, fighting against the cough. He felt a straw slip between his lips. "Drink." Brienne told him, and he did. Taking a few, long sucks before pushing her hand with the cup away.
"Better?" she asked, as if speaking to a child. He nodded. "Bad dream?"
"No." he shook his head. "Memory. I remember now."
"All of it?" she said in a shrill voice. Very unlike Brienne.
Gendry met her large, blue eyes so that she could see the truth in his. "All of it."
AN
So i deserve to be stoned by you all. This took forever. And as always. I'm sorry.
It became this huge, complicated chapter. And my beta left to France so I didn't want to bother with it until she returned. But here it is, finally.
Everything is falling down at once, and I don't even know where to begin. For those of you who haven't guessed it. I'm bringing back everyone together slowly. Robb and Sansa are back together and looking for a to bring Bran to England again. Rickon is reunited with them. Sansa and Sandor are reunited. Brienne, Gendry and Sandor are back in Sheffield. Jorah and Dany are in Sheffield too, and dun, dun dunn... Dany is somehow now superior to Jorah ;)
Robert knows about Gendry now, and Jaime has been found.
A few Arya/Gendry moments, if only in memories.
And the mysterious red-haired "Arnold" guy that smells like strawberries.
Please comment! I love to hear what you think. I love to hear which bits are your favorite.
Thanks to all of you. I haven't made time to reply to your comments on the last chapter, but I hope to do that tonight.
I love you all. Follow me on tumblr, especially those that are guests here. I want to be able to reply to your comments too.