Chapter 22 - Swords, Stews, and Stark Surprises
The inside of the Inn was more rustic than the outside. Tapestries hung from the walls depicting stories while a mighty hearth crackled with burning wood. Clint was impressed, except for the mix of smells; the food smelled delicious but some of the men drinking ale from horned goblets did not. The girl guided them to a wooden booth. It creaked softly as they shifted their weight. The clinking of drinks and distant murmurs of conversations filled the air. A woman in medieval clothes and a white apron and a head wrapping covering her hair had to be the waitress. The stew was served in a wooden bowl with a wooden spoon, while the bread on a wood plate. Everything felt too authentic to Clint to be real. Gendry, Hotpie, and Ayra ate ravenously. Clint looked slightly disgusted as he sipped his own meaty stew, but Natasha had some sympathy for the kids. They ate as if they hadn't had actual food in days.
"So …" Clint began awkwardly, "How did three children …"
"We're not children," snapped the girl still wolfing down her food.
"Right, and I'm not a man with a bow and arrow," he retorted apathetically, "How did three … young people, get tangled up with ah … this brotherhood … gang?" he said taking a bite of brown bread. It tasted rich, and buttery, with a hardy, soft middle and a light, crusty outer shell. The girl wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
"We didn't … we just ran into them," she answered.
"The Lannisters at Harrenhal questioned us about them," said the fat boy. The girl and other older boy gave him a worried look, concerned that he might say too much. Clint and Natasha knew nothing of this Harrenhal, or these 'Lannisters.'
"We … don't know why they wanted them," the fat boy said quietly.
"And where'd you learn how to use those swords?" asked Natasha casually. They sort of stopped eating.
"Gendry's a smith. He was apprenticed in the armoury," said the girl. Clint tried hard not to show his doubt. The more they talked, the more this place sounded like a game of dungeons and dragons. Their server passed by, and he requested one of the tall ales he saw the other men drinking.
"A smith?" said Natasha as she took a sip of her stew.
"I trained at King's Landing," said the older boy.
"Gendry stole us weapons. He knows how to use a sword and so do I," said the girl, taking another large bite of brown bread.
"Ha!" said Clint, taking a big gulp of ale. He could not handle it anymore. The girl swallowed her food and stopped eating.
"My brothers taught me," she said offended. He laughed again and raised his goblet.
"To your brothers, then," he said, taking another sip. Angry, the girl wiped clean her hands, stepped out of the booth, and drew her skinny sword. Some of the other men saw this gesture and made noises of amusement. Clint didn't like the attention. He put down his ale and carefully stepped out of the booth, hands up.
"Hey, come on … let's put that away before someone gets hurt," he said softly. She lunged for him when he aligned his feet as if he was balancing on a tightrope and turned his body sideways, making himself a smaller target. He quickly stepped forward faster than her, closing the distance so he could twist her wrist that held the sword. She dropped it. He caught it and twirled it around so the blade side was parallel to her neck, not close enough to cut, but close enough to warn. The girl trembled, staring into his sky-blue eyes. Gendry and Hotpie froze, but Natasha remained calm. The people at the inn grew silent, trying hard not to show that they were watching. Clint released her and turned his attention to her blade, balancing it in his hands delicately. Ayra waited carefully, panic and curiosity filled her lungs. He put the weapon to his finger and pressed, creating a small red mark.
"This is … this is an actual sword," he said, glancing from the weapon and back to her quickly. She feared he would take it from her, and yet a hint of admiration glinted in her eyes. He had moved as smoothly as her water dancing teacher.
"Where did a kid get an actual sword?" he asked.
"I didn't steal it if that's what you mean," she snapped. Clint scoffed before carefully twirling the blade around so the handle faced her.
"I'd rather you not cut yourself with it," he said. She took it graciously. Natasha hid her smirk behind another spoonful of stew. She admired the young girl's bravery, even in the face of uncertainty. Barton sat back down in the booth not sure what to think. Arya tucked Needle away and sat back across from him. Gendry and Hotpie continued to eat their meals in silence. Ayra stared at Clint and Natasha awkwardly before pulling out the Braavosi coin given to her by Jaqen H'ghar. She rubbed her thumb over the risen writing.
"Where did you two learn how to fight?" she asked them. Clint and Natasha exchanged a concerned glance. "You said you weren't from here … Bravos?"
"Sure kid," Clint lied, ripping a piece of brown bread before placing it in his mouth. Arya's eyes narrowed with suspicion as she observed them. Her young mind was racing with questions, unsure if she could trust these strangers from a distant land.
"Why come to Westeros?" she probed.
"Arri …" warned Gentry.
"We're looking for someone. We got separated once we got here," Natasha answered smoothly.
"Who?" Ayra dared to ask. Clint took another sip of ale before answering.
"Tony Stark," he said plainly. The two boys froze once more, until Hotpie spoke up.
"What … you mean like … from Winterhell?" he asked. Gendry slowly glanced in Arya's direction. Her lips were slightly parted. Her eyes fixated on Clint's. Natasha could feel the tension between them. Finally, Arya broke the silence with hysterical laughter.