Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8175475.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, No
      Archive_Warnings_Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_&
      Related_Fandoms, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Arya_Stark/Gendry_Waters
  Character:
      Arya_Stark, Gendry_Waters, Robert_Baratheon, Ned_Stark, Edric_Storm,
      Jeyne_Heddle, Daenerys_Targaryen, Aegon_Targaryen, Jon_Snow
  Additional Tags:
      AU, AryaxGendry_Week_2016, Unplanned_Pregnancy, Lord_Baratheon, Alternate
      Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Modern_Era
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-01 Completed: 2017-11-19 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 21334
****** Arya x Gendry Week Drabbles ******
by yourloved
Summary
     Arya x Gendry Week 2016 Prompts !
Notes
     First response to the day one prompt, Jealousy! This is set if Gendry
     was the Crown Prince and the Starks came down to stay in Kings
     Landing when Arya was older! Enjoy!
     Also if the tenses seem a bit messed up at first that was done
     intentionally! I wanted to imply the disordered/enraged state of mind
     the character who's point of view the story takes place from!! Hope
     you all like it and if you want me to continue, let me know!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Jealousy *****
Day 1 - Jealousy
 
As soon as Robert Baratheon had laid his eyes on Arya Stark, he had ordered his
wife to be killed. She had been dead before they had made it back to King’s
Landing.
An apparent illness had taken Cersei Lannister’s life on the road but he knew
better. Good King Robert knew that his wife, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms
had been fed arsenic by the assassin ordered to kill her so that she would be
well out of the way before Arya Stark turned ten and six years old.
Cersei Lannister’s death was no great loss to the world. She had been an awful
woman to begin with and all that attended her lavish funeral had known it.
Barely a tear had been spared for the shrew. The only good things he had
received from her were his heirs and his life, which he had been surprised she
had not taken years ago.
Her death had been a means to an end however, a way to free himself to marry
his beautiful Lyanna reborn. And marry her he would if he got his way.
He had truly never wanted someone so badly in his life, perhaps with the
exception of his lady’s aunt. He had killed for her without a second thought
and Gods knew that she was worth his late wife’s death and more.
She was beautiful, his Arya was. Wild as the North and more desirable than all
the gold in the Seven Kingdoms combined. She set his blood on fire. Arya had
her Aunt’s beauty and all of her wildness amplified. She was perfect. Every
time she was near, Robert could not help but stare at her with lust filled
eyes, following her every move with desire.
But Robert was so filled with his longing that he didn’t notice the desire that
resided in someone else’s eyes when they followed Arya’s movements. He did not
notice the smiles that graced Arya’s face whenever she saw him, those smiles
which he returned.
However it was a bitter day when Robert finally saw what had been going on
before his very eyes for so long.
He nearly threw his cup of precious Arbour wine at the wall of his chambers
just thinking of that day.
He had been not so secretively courting Arya Stark in Kings Landing for the
better part of two months. Trying to seduce her with the promise of court and
all the possessions that she could ever want.
Yet she remained cold and unyielding, polite and seemingly unattainable. She
acted like the advances of a King were unwelcome. She smiled prettily but
coldly at his compliments, accepted his requests to dance with unyielding
coldness and stiffness and always looked rather… repelled by his words. Robert
almost couldn’t understand her coldness at first but soon decided that it must
be a factor of the age difference between them. Robert quickly settled that it
would be fine in the long term she would just have to get used to such an age
gap. It would hardly make a difference.
Ned was no better, being colder than he ever had been but Robert decided to
ignore that. Ned always was a bit of a cold fish.
All his greedy little eyes were focusing on was the beautiful Arya Stark.
So he continued to court her and when babuls and jewels failed to get a
reaction of anything other than cold gratitude and a polite smile, he thought
carefully of what he would have gotten Lya if he had had the opportunity.
The spark of happiness that shone in his lady’s eyes for a single moment was
worth all the money he had spent on a Dornish sand steel. He had watched her
eyes widen with joy as he presented it to and then heard her happy laugh as she
mounted it bare backed for the first time, taking off into the Kingswood
without a second thought.
The king had laughed as he watched her play with her pony after she had gotten
it, enjoying the way she rode and contemplating what else she would be good at
riding.
Robert felt triumphant. Finally he had gotten a flicker of something out of
her. He quickly decided that that would not be the end of it.
Next he bought her the best falcon the Vale had to offer, then he had the
finest blood oranges brought in from Dorne which he observed she liked, after
which he sent a ship for the finest Tyroshi pear brandy after he noticed Arya
had a taste for it. She had enjoyed it all, her thanks getting warmer and
warmer with each gift.
However although Robert knew she was pleased, she still remained somewhat
distant. No Stark could be bought, he knew that from his experiences with Lya,
although it did not stop his attempts with her reincarnate. None of the light
she had in her eyes around her father or any of her brothers shone from her
when he met with her.
However Robert knew what he really had to do to grasp her full attention.
Weaponry. Swords and bows would get him Arya Stark’s heart. He was sure of it.
If he assured Arya Stark that she would be able to run around and play with her
swords, act like a boy even if she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she would
come around. She would know that marriage to him was not what she thought it
would be. What Lyanna had thought it would be.
So that fateful night, Robert had stumbled out to find his son. His eldest son,
the Crown Prince, Prince Gendry. A royal, who seemed to desire a life as a poor
blacksmith more than he did his own.
Robert remembered thinking that Gendry would be able to make a pair of
gauntlets to suit little hands with feminine fingers or a chest plate for a
chest with mouth-watering tits. He would be able to make something that was
just enough to give his future stepmother the idea that she could fight and
ride without a care in the world til the end of her days. As long as she had
him as her husband and King, by her side.
He remembered making his way to the forge in the darkness, knowing from the
light that Gendry would be there, most likely hammering at his anvil with that
all too familiar frown on his face. King Robert remembered thinking that the
boy needed to get more women or go to war, that he was too focused on his duty
and not enough on his duty to his own cock.
However most of all he remembered frowning when he heard the laughter of a
woman emerging from the wind as he neared that damned forge.
Maybe that boys finally taken my bloody advice, he remembered thinking, glad
his son finally had a woman in his bed on a more regular basis than just whores
on occasion.
The King had moved closer to the forge, pausing only briefly to command his
kingsguard to stay where they were while he investigated.
As he had moved further toward the forge, the voices had grown louder yet
somehow softer and more intimate at the same time. The stirring wind began to
settle and Robert couldn’t help himself as he stepped forward looking into the
crack of the doorway.
He could see his son clearly as he looked into the light of forge fire. He had
obviously been working as his entire torso was covered in black coal. He looked
sullen as he looked to the left side of the forge, obviously looking at
something not in his father’s range of vision.
Looking on Gendry, Robert felt a flash of paternal pride run through him. His
son was built like a weapon. Bludging muscles characterised his body and his
height nearly exceeded Robert’s own. Gendry was his very image as a young man.
His blue eyes held the same fire and his arms swung a war hammer as well as he
had on the battlefield of the Trident.
If only Arya had seen me then like Lya did, he remembered thinking, his chest
puffing out in satisfaction, she would have been in my bed within the day and
pregnant with my children not long after.
“Aren’t you coming back to bed now Gendry? Since out little spat is over,” a
soft woman’s voice sounded through the forge, bringing Robert’s attention back
to the scene in front of him.
“I wouldn’t say its over,” he said sulkily, “I’m still annoyed…”
“Yes well you are a bull-headed bastard at the best of times,” the voice said,
coaxing, “But I know you love me much more than you could ever be angry with me
so come back….”
“What happen to the girl who would not say a word of love and ran from anything
emotional, ladylike and remotely about marriage?” Gendry grumbled, interrupting
her words, his eyes looking to where the woman presumably was.
“She grew up and had a taste of what love can bring,” the girl answer, a
teasing note in her voice.
Gendry rolled his eyes but a slight smile made its way onto his face.
“You mean fucking?” he replied, smirking up at her.
He is my reincarnate, Robert had thought proudly.
He fisted his hand painfully.
“Well yes as a matter of fact. Fucking you is definitely an enticing aspect of
our little love affair.”
Robert had to bite back a guffaw. He liked the sound of this lass.
“Glad to be of service, my lady,” Gendry said, his smirk remaining in place as
he gave a mocking bow.
The girl laughed. Robert could hear her rustling around and he prayed that she
would get up, naked as her first name day to give him a glimpse of what he
hoped would be as enticing as it sounded.
His son looked down at his anvil, moving whatever he had been handling off it.
“I still want to marry you,” he said, not looking at her, “I know you never
wanted to marry but I want to marry you. You should at least give me the chance
to court you properly… ”
Robert rolled his eyes in disbelief.
This was so typical of his son. He liked to chase skirts as much as any man but
as soon as he fell in love with a girl he was as righteous as his uncle
Stannis. His son was so proper, it was inevitable that the first woman he truly
took as his mistress, apart from that whore he had liked at sixteen, he would
want to marry.
He has learnt too much from Ned’s example rather than mine, Robert thought with
a grumble, followed Stannis’ influence rather than my own.
The girl said something quietly that Robert did not hear but it must not have
been an affirmative answer, as they grew quiet for a couple of moments as an
uncomfortable silence descended between the two.
“I cannot believe you are still hammering at your work while I am lying here
willing, waiting and quite naked,” the girl said boldly, attempting to re-start
their conversation, “I always knew you were more than just slow, you stupid
bull.”
Gendry let out a snort of laughter.
“I rather thought you liked it when I was slow,” Gendry said cockily as he
resumed his careful work on his project, peering up at her with a raised brow.
“That is true,” the voice agreed.
The girl’s back came finally came into Robert’s visage as he peered through the
grate of the door, her long brown mane flowing down her naked back, reaching
its end at her tight arse.
Robert remembered how aroused he had been at the sight of the girl. She was
beautiful from behind, all ready to be fucked and thrown away.
She would enjoy it, he remembered thinking, absolutely sure of himself.
However the girl just continued to walk toward his son, grasping his face in
her two hands and bringing him down so that he was closer to her petite height.
Gendry looked uncomfortable being pulled down by her firm grip yet he still let
her press the length of her body against him, allowing her to wind her arms
around his neck.
“I like you slow, fast and in between,” she said so softly that Robert had to
strain his ears slightly, “I love your careful thought and that slow, stupidly
stubborn expression that is always on your face when you’re thinking. I like
all of you. No, in fact I love all of you as well you know. Why can that not be
enough?”
Gendry watched her, looking like he wanted to say some but the girl quickly
pulled him down into a fierce kiss. Robert almost wanted to call out something,
intrude, but supressed the urge. Plenty of time for that when he next took his
son for a drink at that whorehouse he liked.
Gendry seemed to melt into the girl’s kiss, letting go of whatever he was
working on in favour of wrapping his arms around her, threading one arm around
her waist while the other found her arse, groaning as she deepened the kiss,
threading her arms around his neck.
Gendry pulled her up, shifting her naked legs around his waist.
“I will marry you someday,” he said quietly but firmly, “but for now I think I
will come to bed.”
The girl flicked her hair back, turning to look straight at Robert as Gendry
burrowed kisses into the side of her neck.
“Finally, you stupid man…” Arya murmured as she urged him on.
The rest of her sentence was cut off as Gendry walked them backwards to the bed
Robert knew was in the corner of the forge but he was no longer paying
attention. Instead he was frozen in genuine astonishment.
Arya Stark, he remembered thinking, genuinely perplexed, Arya Stark is fucking
my son.
My son is fucking Arya Stark, my future wife, he remembered thinking, starting
to anger.
Arya Stark and my son have betrayed me, he remembered thinking, enraged even
further when he saw a small pair of unfinished gauntlets sitting on Gendry’s
anvil.
The bottle of Arbour wine that he had been drinking quickly met its end as it
smashed against the floor of his private chambers.
Robert had been so tempted to storm into that forge. To catch his son balls
deep in his Lyanna, in his Arya. That was how the Robert Baratheon of old would
have handled such a situation. It had been how he had handled everything with
Lya.
This time, he would be more careful about his plans of revenge.
His violent rage had not helped last time. He had still lost Lya to the dragon
spawn.
Robert’s grip tightened on the arm of his arm.
He would not lost Arya as well.
And so he had walked away slowly. The last thing he had heard was a wail of
pleasure that only he was ever meant to hear. Instead now his son was the one
to have that privilege.
-
“You know had it been any one else and I would have already killed you,” King
Robert said as he stared into the roaring fire in his chambers, his son
standing behind him, waiting expectantly to know why he had been summoned to
his father’s private rooms.
Robert saw his son, frowning in confusion, in the reflection of the mirror
above the fireplace.
“How dare you seduce her… How dare you steal my Lyanna reborn…”
With that Gendry’s entire face seemed to pale. His mouth opening silently,
perhaps in attempt to explain before freezing uncertainly.
“I had expected such deceit from others but you, my own son, my own flesh and
blood, how could you?” Robert said, coldly swallowing another glass of Arbour’s
finest before letting out a dry laugh as he turned to face his son, “I always
thought you took after me but I guess you are more your mother’s son after
all.”
Robert let out a bellow of cruel laughter.
“Gods knew she was a deceitful, scheming bitch,” he mocked.
Gendry was silent although his eyes were pained. Gendry had not been especially
close to the woman that had birthed him. She had favoured their second son over
him quite publically but she was still his mother. Anyone could tell that it
pained him to hear her spoken ill of even after her untimely death. He had
loved her fiercely and she had returned that love tenfold, albeit showing it
but rarely.
“I did not want…”
“Save your excuses and justifications,” Robert said sharply, “She will still be
your stepmother if you can claim her as such on the wall. Is there not
something in the oath of the Night’s Watch about not being able to claim a
family…”
“Father…”
“You will leave this very day and head north toward Winterfell and then
onwards,” Robert commanded through gritted teeth, “And if you do not, I will
hang you by your balls from the highest spike of the Red Keep.”
Gendry was silent, his eyes hard as they glared at his father before softening.
“You cannot mean this. I am your son, your heir,” Gendry protested, “I have to
mean something to you.”
“You do, that is why I am sending you to the wall instead of the executioners
block.”
Gendry’s mouth opened in shock.
“But nothing was ever official. I did not even know you were courting her until
a sennight or two ago…”
“And yet last night, you were fucking her in your fucking forge,” Robert spat,
“You were ruining my lady, putting your dirty, coal stained hands all over her,
touching her like only I should have ever done…”
Gendry was quiet once more.
“You saw us,” he said painfully, a flash of guilt in his eyes.
Robert did not say a thing but swallowed his drink in a single gulp.
“Did you tell Lord Stark?” was his son’s next words.
“Is your concern at the moment really Lord Stark’s opinion?” Robert spluttered
angrily.
“He is Arya’s father…”
“Of course I didn’t tell him,” Robert interrupted angrily, “Then he might have
made you marry the girl in case you had gotten a child on her. We would not
want that now would we?”
Gendry was still silent.
“Now leave, I want you gone from my view.”
Gendry didn’t move an inch, looking at him desperately, his eyes pleading with
his father. Robert did not know for what exactly. Perhaps it was to stay or
perhaps it was for his forgiveness. Either way, Robert did not care.
“Out now,” he roared angrily.
Gendry looked up at his father with apologetic eyes before he began to walk
toward the door, stopping only once as if to say something before starting to
walk again.
Robert however spoke once more; he had one more thing that he wanted to know
before he never laid eyes on his eldest son again.
“Actually, I have one final question to ask you,” Robert intoned, looking
heatedly at his son, “Did you enjoy it? It was your last act as a future King
and a man of any merit, so I hope you at a least got a little pleasure from the
little whore that I will soon enjoy…”
Gendry snapped at that, swinging around on his heel and coming forward to grasp
his father by the lapels, shoving him against the wall.
“Don’t you dare talk about her like that, you fat, old bastard,” he yelled, his
voice enraged as he finally spoke, his true feelings emerging instead of the
faux respect that he had been parading.
“Get off me or I’ll kill you on the spot,” the King wheezed against his son,
“You ungrateful little whoreson…”
Gendry slammed him once more against the wall of his chambers.
“What did you expect old man?” he shouted, “That a young, beautiful women with
absolutely no interest in love and Queenship would fall at your feet as soon as
you so much as glanced at her. You’re an old man, a fat, old drunkard with only
a kingship to recommend yourself. She’s a young woman, full of the energy and
passion that only a young man can have a chance of matching. Did you think that
she would want to have a life with a bitter old man that she didn’t want or
love? That she would want to be fucked by a cock that could hardly stand…”
Robert roared, shoving his weight back onto his son who faltered against the
massive girth.
“Says a green boy, you don’t even know how to please a woman…”
“I pleased Arya alright,” Gendry said in a menacing voice, “all night and
sometimes all day…”
Robert snarled in anger.
“She would never love you and never want you,” Gendry yelled, shaking his
father, “Just like her aunt never wanted you and never loved you…”
Robert roared once again, this time his fury superseding any rational thought
as he wrapped his hands around his son’s neck.
“You will not take my Lyanna away from me,” he thundered madly, squeezing his
son’s neck, “No one will ever again. Never ever…”
Robert couldn’t help the thrill of satisfaction that went through him as Gendry
started to claw at his iron grip on his throat, as he started to go red and
then blue, as he started to whisper aloud the pleas that shone in his eyes as
his father chocked him.
But Robert was too far-gone. He kept chanting never ever, never ever, never
ever like a battle cry as he watched his son die at his hand.
He was aware of nothing else as he watched the light fade from Gendry’s eyes as
they began to slip shut.
He was killing his son and he be damned if he cared.
Noises started to slip into his consciousness as he began to loosen his hold on
Gendry’s neck before rage took over once more and he tightened it again. He
became dimly aware of screeching as a weight pounded into his back, a woman’s
screaming coming to forefront of his mind.
A fist was beating his shoulder over and over again, screaming accompanying it.
“Stop, stop. You’re hurting him, you’re killing him!”
Slowly the world seemed to come back into focus as Robert loosened his grip on
his son’s throat. He let go, watching as Gendry slid to the floor, not sure if
he was dead or alive.
It did not take him long to realise that Arya was the one hammering at his
shoulder while Ned was pulling him back by his other shoulder.
As Gendry slid to the floor, Arya dived after him, a scream being ripped from
her throat as she caught his head before it smashed against the floor of his
chambers. Another gut wrenching scream came out of her as she cradled his head
to her chest, pressing wet kisses against it, crying out something over and
over that sounded vaguely like his son’s name. She rocked back and forth; not
even reacting to her fathers hands on her shoulders as she continued to cradle
her beloved’s head, her tears soaking into the front of her dress.
Robert should have felt sorrow and guilt. He should have hated himself in that
moment for hurting his eldest son. The son that had brought him so much pride.
The son that he had favoured so much in the past but instead he felt jealousy
flare up deep within him once more.
***** Protect *****
Chapter Summary
     Back with 'Protect'!
Chapter Notes
     Honestly I wrote this but it never felt finished, it still doesn't
     but I kept writing and found that perhaps a continuation of this will
     come up the prompt "Command"! I really wanted to write an Arya
     fractured by her time at the House of White and Black! Like she's
     kind of still deciding to be Cat (Cat of the Canals!) or if she wants
     to be Arya again!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
At only the age of sixteen, Arya had been a prisoner too many times to count.
After her father’s execution and her escape from King’s Landing, she had been
held captive by a group of crooked soldiers headed for the dreaded Harrenhal.
Soon after her escape from them, she had become a prisoner once more after
being swept away by the Hound, who had wanted to exchange her for all the gold
he could get.
Then she had become a prisoner yet again after she had escaped the Hound only
to fall into the hands of the Brotherhood without Banners, who saw her again as
enough gold to continue their cause.
Arya truly had been a prisoner too many times to count but Cat, on the other
hand, had never been a prisoner.
Cat was a woman who was always in careful control of her surroundings. If she
was a prisoner, it was because at that time she wanted to be one. She was a
master of all tricks and trades, a connoisseur of violence. She could be no one
if she wanted to or she could become Mercy in an instant or Nan.
However the best thing about Cat was that she did not feel like Arya did. She
never felt the heaviness of sadness or the pain of hurt. She was just Cat. She
did not feel anything as she was forced to walk to Harrenhal for hours on end,
her shoes tearing to expose her feet to the rough terrain below. She chose not
to consider the family Arya had had, the love that Arya had felt or how it had
felt when all that had been ripped away so suddenly. Arya would have felt it
all but Cat did not. Cat felt nothing.
However not all the other prisoners were so lucky. Cat watched them, their
entire beings tired, devastated as they panted along on the way to Harrenhal.
Their faces were crippled with pain, their twisted bodies morphing to make
their emotional pain physical. Rarely a day went by when one person or another
dropped to the ground, never to get back up.
Cat did what she could out of mercy. The few who received the gift were
soldiers but Cat could do no more without alerting even these stupid soldiers
to her murderous ways.
“Well we do a pretty little boy here, don’t we just?” Cat heard one of her
captors rasp out as she lay, pretending to sleep on her pallet one cold night.
“This one almost looks like a girl, doesn’t he lads?” another man agreed from a
distance, “Shame none of us enjoy fucking that kind of thing. We will just have
to kill him if he’s got no merit as a hostage.”
Despite her normal indifference to the activities of the mongrels that kept her
captive, Cat found her curiosity piqued.
Slowly she shifted, rolling over so she could see the offending members of the
brotherhood and their victim.
She could barely make out the victim as of yet but the men taunting him were as
clear as day. Raff and Poliver. She hated them both. She dreamed every night of
the day she would finally stick a sword right through them but right now they
were serving a purpose. They would met their ends soon enough.
Her eyes moved, focusing once more on the boy that they were teasing.
All Cat could see was that he had dark, unruly hair and a fighting spirit,
judging from his defiant stance as he glared up at his captors.
Cat knew that Arya would want to chuckle at that stance, she would want to
chuckle at the defiance and indignation that was laced throughout his being.
Such things Arya would admire about a person ordinarily. Here however, Cat knew
that that defiance would ensure his death in a second.
An unexpected urge of protective instinct went through her on gazing at the
young boy.
He should be hiding in his mother skirts, she thought dolefully as she watched
him from where she lay wrapped up in herself not here in a hell no child should
have to endure.
Cat sat up, beginning to move toward the men, wanting to see what the bastards
were doing. Peering over one man’s shoulder she saw the young boy properly. He
must have been only seven or eight years at most, tied at the wrists, looking
obstinately at his captors like he was preparing to charge at them.
In spite of the horror of their current situation, Cat fought to hold back a
laugh as the boy looked at them. He truly looked like a bull about to charge.
“What is your name, boy? Do you have a wealthy family we can ransom you off to
or are you a lowly bastard boy?”
The boy looked up, quiet for a moment as he stared boldly up at his captors
before spitting in Poliver’s face.
Poliver reared back, roaring in anger as his hand felt for the saliva that now
decorated his face.
Cat knew what would happen next. The boy would die and not painlessly. He would
suffer a long and painfully drawn out death at the hands of the two fuckers. It
wouldn’t be the first time that they had hurt someone. It wouldn’t even be the
first time that they hurt a child.
For some reason Cat’s throat clenched and she was Arya again for a second. Arya
had watched too many innocent people die. She had seen it time and time again.
She has seen little girls raped and killed before her eyes while she was tied
up and unable to help them. Seen the gratitude that resided in those eyes as
they felt the cool comfort of death come nearer. She herself had given that
gift to those who needed it. Cat had felt nothing but Arya ached for revenge.
“Raff, why don’t you go get that rat we like to keep for the special prisoners,
I think I can find a bucket lying somewhere about here…”
For some reason the part of Cat that was Arya took over in that moment and Arya
could not bear to see the child die.
She quickly dove forward to push herself in between Poliver and the young boy.
“No, do not touch him,” she warned as she stood in front of the boy, pressing
her back to him, “House Stark will pay the ransom for the boy… This is Lord
Rickon Stark.”
Poliver growled at her while Raff paused, looking at her suspiciously with an
angry frown. The rest of the men around them paused too as she stood defiantly
in front of the boy, looking at the child behind them eagerly.
Greedy, she corrected, they want the bounty that would come from ransoming off
a young Lord.
“How do you know that that is Lord Rickon, girl?” one man asked, his deep voice
reverberating through the cold night air.
“I passed through Wintertown multiple times in my travels, the Stark children
played in the streets of Wintertown. Many a time, I myself played with the
youngest girl, Lady Arya,” Cat lied, “I know a Stark when I see one and I know
this to be Lord Rickon, youngest son to the Lord of the North.”
The man’s eyes narrowed at her in uncertainty but he soon dismissed the men.
“We shall let the Mountain decide your truthfulness on the morrow when we ride
for Harrenhal, he had met Lord Stark and his children many a time,” the man
said, a glint of a wicked smile on his face, “He will decide your fate. For now
girl, you have charge of the brat. Stay close to the firelight where we can see
you both.”
Cat nodded, watching the man carefully as he moved away. Once the majority of
the men were moving toward their bedrolls, Cat finally turned around to look at
the boy she had protected. He returned her look, looking one part awed and
three parts suspicious as he stared up at her.
Cat learnt forward, plucking at the knot of rope that tied his hands together.
She was silent as she worked but she could feel the boy’s eyes on her, never
leaving her face as they regarded her in suspicion.
Cat couldn’t blame him. She too would have been suspicious of a stranger
helping her. They lived in a world where there were few good men in comparison
to the evil and helpful strangers were not always helping out of the goodness
of their hearts.
Once she untied the rope, she pulled him over to her bedroll, pushing him down
into it before she spoke to him quietly.
“Go to sleep,” she said softly, “We have long day ahead of us walking tomorrow
.”
The boy nodded warily before speaking.
“Why are you doing this?” he said, speaking for the firs time in a low voice
that bespoke of his roots being further south than hers.
“Would you rather I had let them kill you?” she countered with a raised
eyebrow.
“No my lady but…”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not a lady. My name is Cat,” she interrupted, trying
to avoid his questions, “And from now on your name is Rickon Stark, lordling of
Winterfell...”
The boy frowned.
“But I am…”
“You’re Rickon Stark,” she interrupted in a fierce whisper, a stern look in her
eyes, pressing a finger lightly over his mouth, “Or you will be dead within
minutes…”
The boy nodded distractedly as his innocent eyes darted around him.
“Go to sleep,” Cat said, finding herself in the unexpected position of needing
to be soothing, “I will protect you while you rest.”
The boy looked up at her with keen eyes before they began to droop. Within
minutes, he was asleep and Cat was once more alone in the cool, dark air.
-
The next day, the men did not move as swiftly as they had threatened. They had
yelled at their prisoners to get up, rustling them to get all to get a move on.
However soon they had stumbled across a small town. Immediately the men had
settled at the whorehouse, leaving some of their more rowdy prisoners tied up
and in the charge of a pimply youth, whose jealous scowl deepened with every
moan of pleasure that they heard come out of the brothel.
At first the few prisoners that were tied up stayed silence. However little by
little as afternoon drew on to evening, hushed whispers emerged from amongst
them. The boy who had been guarding them had been quickly lured away by a big-
breasted whore and Cat felt the little boy snuggle into her for warmth not long
after. Cat herself was not cold. Arya had been a Northerner, built from the
Kings of Winter with the blood of the first men running through her veins.
However the boy snuggled into her was a Southerner who had probably never felt
real cold.
When the boy realised that their pimply guard would not be returning any time
soon, he looked up at her eagerly.
“Do you think he will send out another man to guard us?” he whispered, looking
up at her trustingly.
Cat’s eyes flickered to brothel, listening to the laughter and grunting that
was emerging from its open windows.
“I think not,” she said firmly.
“My name is Edric Storm,” the boy filled in seamlessly.
Cat learnt further in so that none of the other prisoners around them would be
able to hear their conversation if they woke.
“You are from the Stormlands?” she asked in quiet interest.
“Yes I am learning to squire under Lord Baratheon at Storms End,” he replied,
his eyes looking at her keenly as a trusting light began to enter them.
“Why are you so far from home?” Cat asked in confusion.
“I’m not, my lady,” the boy said respectfully, “Storms End couldn’t be more
than a day’s ride from here at the most…”
“We are near the Stormlands?” Cat said with a frown, ignoring the unnecessary
use of a title.
“You are in the Stormlands, my lady,” Edric exclaimed, prompting Cat to hush
him gently before she considered what the boy had said and its implications.
She had guessed them to be in the heart of the Riverlands. It was the threat of
their close proximity to Harrenhal and the Mountain that had prompted herself
to consent to be their prisoner. She would be taken straight to the Mountain,
who would promptly find himself given a very special gift.
“These bastards told me we were nearing Harrenhal,” Cat whispered, “I should
have trusted myself, I knew it was odd that we had not yet reached the
Trident.”
“We couldn’t be that far north, my lady,” the boy murmured back, “I couldn’t
have ridden that far on my own in that amount of time…”
He trailed off, looking troubled.
“I disobeyed my lord and sought to run far from his wrath,” the boy answered,
“but I rode too far and lost my way heading what I thought to be north. My
brother will be worrying after me by now.”
“If you are a squire, why did you not tell these men? They would have ransomed
you to your Lord master?” she asked curiously.
“I did not want to earn my lords ire,” the boy said quickly, “if the lord knew
I was to captured and a raven was sent to him, my brother would demand my safe
return and men would be sent to retrieve me. That could get people hurt. I will
get home without his help. He will be most pleased with my quest.”
Cat could not help but smile at his loyalty, stroking his unruly black for
instant in genuine affection that she had not felt the likes of in years. The
wonder and awe that he spoke of his lord with endeared him to Arya immediately.
His romantic notions of a quest made her smile as she thought of another such
person that Arya had known. A girl who believed in knights and the love that
was promised in songs.
It is better than he thinks of all with romantic fancies like Sansa would have;
she thought warily, it would protect him in some regard.
Cat knew now that she would have to act now. She would have to escape soon. It
was time. Now she had a better idea of her bearings, it would head south. She
had been using this band of ruffians to guide her further north but now she had
someone else to consider. Someone who had to get home and once she saw him to
Storms End, Cat would follow the Kingsroad north to King’s Landing. The
Mountain could wait until Cersei Lannister met her untimely end.
“You’ll come with me then, I will get us away from the bastards soon enough,”
she said with a cunning smile, her smile growing when the boy nodded his head
erratically before his eyes darted warily to the other people, the majority who
were now sleeping around them.
“Sleep now. Not long now and it will be dawn.”
The boy soon drifted off to sleep, clutching her body for warmth as he slept.
Cat however lay awake for many hours that night, planning and thinking, knowing
that by this very time the next day she would most likely be running across
country with a child by her side, free of all this.
-
As morning drew nearer Cat worked with swift hands on the ties that bound her.
She had been trained for feats like this. Escaping was never going to be a
challenge.
Edric was quiet as she began to untie the knots that kept him bound and when
she pulled him up to begin the quiet walk towards the horses, he stayed so
close to her side that she could feel her elbow brush his as they walked.
The men were balls deep in their whore when Cat cut through the rope that bound
one of the horses outside the brothel. She quickly helped Edric onto the horse
before swinging up in front of him with ease.
Cat was ready to bolt before her eyes once more found the other prisoners. Many
of them were awake now, staring at her in a dull daze of envy as she escaped.
They would remain at the mercy of these demonic soldiers of fortune. These men
and women would be dead soon if they continued onto Harrenhal as prisoners. She
knew it and they knew it.
Quick as a snake, Cat snatched one of the swords bound to the saddle of a horse
close to her. She trailed the horse back and forth along the ridge that the
horses were tied to be. Being careful to gently cut each rope.
Then she bolted the horse, feeling Edric clinging to her as it reared back.
Cat made sure to drop that sword as close to one of the prisoners as she could
get.
-
In the hours after their daring escape, Cat made it her mission to put as much
distance between them and their former captors as was humanly possible.
However to the audacious Edric apparently their escape was not daring in the
least. Edric seemed to thrive on her silence by enlightening her the different
ways in which their escape could have become that of one of the songs.
“To be daring, I should have charged the men, fought them off and left them for
dead in order to save my lady,” he cried animatedly when they were far enough
away from their captors to slow their pace, “That is what my lord would have
done. He is a fierce knight. Few to none could match him in battle.”
Cat was quiet as she listened, nodding along as the boy continued to talk of
his hero.
“Lord Baratheon is a mighty warrior,” he cried enthusiastically, “He is taller
than a mountain and stronger than a bull. He would have protected us fiercely
from those men had he been here to help.”
Cat shook her head in mirth at his fanciful depiction before she hurried the
horse along once more.
It would be many hours before they spoke again. The boy had fallen asleep on
her shoulder, although Cat truly couldn’t understand how he managed to sleep on
a horse.
It was strange to feel the weight of a child resting on her shoulder. It
stirred up feelings that Cat had long repressed. Feelings of being Arya,
feelings of being trusted and counted on, feelings of being responsible for
something outside her own welfare and the desires of the Many Faced God.
Cat pushed away any thoughts of Arya in favour of hurrying the horse along.
When they spoke once more, Edric seemed to be full of questions.
“Where do you hail from my lady…”
“Call me by name,” Cat snapped, “I’m no lady. I have already told you that. Do
not make me repeat that again.”
The boy smiled cheekily before repeating his question.
“Where do you hail from, Lady Cat?” he asked.
Cat shot him a look of exasperation but answered nevertheless.
“I am from up North…” she said unthinkingly but before she could correct
herself Edric began his questions.
“From the Wall?” the boy questioned, his eyes round with wonderment, “Are you a
wildling who crossed the wall in secret?”
Cat shook her head as she clipped the horse, directing it to go faster once
more.
“Nothing that exciting,” she said coolly, “I hail from Wintertown.”
The boy nodded with wide eyes.
“Is it as cold as my brother says it is up there?” he asked with dubious eyes.
“Well how cold does your brother claim the North to be?” Cat said, suppressing
an interesting smile that wanted to make its way onto her lips as she spurred
the horse on harder, hoping to end Edric’s questions.
“He told me that one could lose a toe if they rested their sword on their boot
as the cold would make one’s limbs so brittle that they would break off without
much force,” he said incredulously.
Cat wanted to laugh at that. No, Arya wanted to laugh at that. Instead she
settled for dry chuckle and some teasing.
“Its true,” Cat said solemnly, “I have only three toes left myself.”
The boy stared at her in wonderment, his eyes darting down for a second to
where her feet rested on the stirrups. He opened his mouth to say something but
seemed to be at a loss for words.
Cat couldn’t help herself then. She threw her head back, a roar of laughter
leaving her lips.
Warmth sat on her chest in that moment. It had been rare since she had been
separated from her family that she would feel such happiness. Rare that she
would feel happiness that would send a bubble of laughter to her throat that
seemed like it would never end.
“You don’t tell it true then?” the boy asked timidly after her laughter finally
began to fade.
“No Edric, I have all ten toes,” she said with an indulgent smile, “Your
brother was jesting, most likely wanted to tease you…”
Edric frowned.
“I shall ask my lord,” he said, suddenly, “he will not lie if I ask him
solemnly.”
Cat nodded with another smile, shaking her head in mirth.
“Have you ever seen the wall?” he asked.
“No I have not been that far north,” she answered, “but my brother is a brother
of the Night’s Watch.”
“He is?” the boy said, his eyes lighting up with wonder, “How brave? Does he
fight White Walkers, wildings and their like?”
“He does,” Cat responded solemnly, “I heard not too long ago a story of a black
brother killing a white walker with merely a piece of glass. That could have
only been Jon, he excelled at all combat…”
The boy looked positively bewildered as he contemplated the brave act.
“Really?” the boy said, excitement shining out of his eyes.
Cat nodded, grinning at him.
“One day I will travel all the way to the wall and back,” he declared.
“Will you kill a white walker while you defend Westeros from the dangers before
our Wall?” Cat teased, playing on Edric’s romantic fancies.
He nodded solemnly with all the determination of a young, fanciful boy. Edric
mumbled on quietly more so to himself than to her, leaving Cat with time to
think, to consider the position that this boy was putting her in.
Cat wanted to laugh at him again. She wanted to run her hand through his unruly
black hair in fondness. However Cat knew that this feeling of warmth had to go
if she was to successfully avenge her family and that meant that Edric had to
go too.
And that saddened Cat as well as Arya.
-
After a day of riding through the sticky heat of what Cat hoped were the
Stormlands, both Edric and Cat conceded that neither of them had any idea where
they were or where they needed to go to get to Storm’s End.
Edric tried to be helpful. He described the location of Storm’s End, citing
that it was at Durran’s Point on the Northern Coast of Shipbreaker Bay, south
of the Bronzegate and northeast of Griffin’s Roost. He also said that the Kings
Road went straight through Storm’s End.
He spoke like he was repeating the words forced on him by a Maester. Cat
couldn’t help but wonder what kind of bastard boy would be given the use of a
Maester but did not say anything to Edric.
He truly was a sweet boy. A little boy who fancied himself a future knight and
a protector of the realm. He reminded her a bit of her sister more and more as
he talked, full of fanciful notions rather than reality. Sansa had always
wanted to believe in knights that rescued ladies like the songs sang. If Edric
became what he said that he would, he would one day be a knight that Sansa sang
about.
Already he looked to her with eyes full of awe.
Half way through the afternoon, he had told her that she was the most beautiful
lady he had ever beheld. Cat had had to stop herself from laughing aloud at his
words but had professed herself to be warmed by his sweet nature.
A couple of hours later, Edric told her that he would ride her back up North if
she needed a honourable escort.
“Would you just?” Cat asked dryly.
“Yes, I cannot let a lady, especially one of such immeasurable beauty, be by
herself on the road,” he said grandly, saying words that were meant for the
knights of Sansa’s songs.
“While that is very kind of you,” Cat said, feeling more like her sister than
herself in that moment, “I am more than capable of riding …”
“No I will not hear of it,” the boy said, “I will accompany you as your humble
knight.”
The boy’s eyes were alight with excitement as he talked. Cat could hardly bear
the thought that she would soon rid herself of him at Storm’s End and ride for
King’s Landing to retrieve what was rightfully hers. Cersei Lannister’s head.
“Perhaps Lord Baratheon will come as well,” he gushed.
Cat shook her head in unbelieving mirth but nonetheless she allowed Edric his
fancies.
“Perhaps.”
-
“There, my lady, there is Storm’s End,” Edric called joyfully as he pointed to
a magnificent, looming shape in the distance.
“Are you sure?” Cat asked carefully, “Are you sure that is Storm’s End? It’s
nothing but a blob of grey, it could be a neighbouring castle…”
“I could be blind and still recognise Storm’s End,” the boy interrupted
triumphantly, his body vibrating ecstatically.
Cat nodded before examining the shape in the distance carefully before spurring
the horse onwards.
By the end of that day, the blob had formed the shape of a castle and Edric was
truly out of his mind with happiness at the prospect of being reunited with
both his brother and his Lord Master.
Within another day, they were standing at the castle walls among the small folk
who tottered around with their arms full of goods to trade and their faces
alight with happiness.
Cat turned to Edric who was looking completely at ease where he was, bouncing
around eager to walk into the open courtyard of the castle.
“I shall leave you here,” she said, “I have a long journey north…”
“No please, don’t go,” the boy pleaded, his face turning ashen, “Come inside
the castle with me, my lord will assist you…”
Cat immediately shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be bowing and
scraping around a lord or worse to have a lord recognise her. Cat could not
change faces as easily now, she had been wearing Arya’s for too long. What if
someone recognised Arya’s Stark features? Cat would never be able to fufill her
mission if that occurred.
“No I must leave you here…”
However Cat was interrupted before another word could be said as a shrill voice
rang out through courtyard.
“Edric Storm, where is the name of the Seven have you been?”
Cat’s head swung around to face a fat woman, red in the face, who came marching
towards Edric, the latter who instantly darted behind Cat.
“Your brother has had search parties out looking for you for days,” the woman
said, coming forward and dragging Edric out from behind her by the ear as she
gave him a sound talking to, “And yet you have the audacity to show up
uninjured with no excuse for where you have been or why you took so long to
return?”
Edric struggled against her hold but he did not look scared. Instead, he looked
rather sheepish.
“Your brother better had give you an earful and a beating you won’t soon
forget,” she raged as she shook his ear, “but most like he won’t. He’s much too
soft on you.”
Edric opened his mouth to speak only to be further interrupted by the woman.
“I have been fretting since you disappeared and all you can do is stare at me,”
she exclaimed.
“If you gave me a moment to speak, Stel…” he began before being cut off once
more.
“I thought to myself when you disappeared for the day, ‘oh the boy has got some
fanciful quest or such a notion in his head and that’s why he is gone,’ and
yet…”
She drew in a deep, thundering breath.
“Then I didn’t see you for two more days,” she yelled.
“Stel…”
“Don’t you even try to explain this away,” she said beginning to drag him
toward the courtyard, “I’m taking you to your brother this very instant. He’s
in the training yards… Perhaps that big, steel hammer of his can knock some
sense into you…”
Edric dug his feet into the ground but fat Stel would not be dissuaded from her
course as she pulled him along with her.
Edric reached out his hand, grasping a tight hold on her hand before letting
himself be pulled along, pulling Cat along with him.
Stel muttered as she pulled Edric along. Edric seemed to whimper in pain as he
was dragged through the courtyards towards what Cat guessed to be the training
yards.
Cat, who brought up the rear of the trio, watched the scene before her, halfway
between giving in to laughter and concern for Edric.
Storm’s End’s training yards were much larger than any yards Cat had seen in
her travels. Men were training with numerous weapons that made Cat’s hands itch
to hold them, to swing them. It had been much too long since she had had the
pleasure of training with anyone other than the Waif.
“Well look what the sea pulled in?” a man’s jovial voice said, “Young Edric,
where have you been lad?”
Cat looked at the old man who spoke only to be pulled away from him by Stel’s
insistent hand.
“My lord…” Stel voice called, “Look who I have found…”
On hearing ‘my lord’ Cat’s interest peaked.
She quickly turned to survey the man who her travelling companion had so
admired.
However, Stel garnered her immediate attention. She had finally let go of her
charges ear and was standing in front of them, hands on hips as her rolls of
fat jiggled at the exertion of their journey through the courtyard.
The second thing she saw however was Lord Baratheon in all his glory.
Cat almost choked on the air in her throat as she recognised him from the deep
recesses of Arya’s mind.
“Edric,” the man roared, his teeth glistening in the sun as he smiled, his eyes
dancing with joy.
Edric rushed forward, jerking Cat with him for a second before he was scoped up
into Lord Baratheon’s arms.
“Where have you been lad?” Lord Baratheon said as he held Edric up, “I have
been out searching for the past three days…”
“You don’t look so worried,” Edric said listlessly.
“Well I was you little brat, worried sick that you had followed a distressed
maiden into some adventure and got yourself killed because of all your romantic
notions of being a knight.”
“I got kidnapped…”
“Oh really?” Lord Baratheon said with an indulgent smile as the rest of the men
roared with laughter around them.
“Yes by a group of bandits bound for Harrenhal,” Edric said earnestly to his
lordship, “Cat and I only escaped with our wits and our daring.”
“Oh you little liar,” Stel said enraged, “My lord, I would recommend a hard
beating for his insolence…”
“I’m not lying,” Edric shouted stubbornly.
“Aye of course not, I believe you,” Lord Baratheon said with a glint in his
eyes, his eyes melting away from his brother as they looked to her, “Now who is
this? Cat did you say?”
All the eyes in the courtyard turned to look at Cat, who stared boldly back
them.
However Cat immediately sought out Lord Baratheon’s light blue eyes, examining
them curiously. At first she searched their depths for any flicker of
recognition but when Lord Baratheon’s eyes revealed nothing, Cat began to take
him in. He looked everything and nothing like she remembered.
“That’s Lady Cat,” Edric said as he struggled down from Lord Baratheon’s arms,
running over to Cat before dragging her forward, “She was a prisoner as well.
She organised our escape and protected me until she could return me here.”
“Did she?” Lord Baratheon asked as she came forward, his gaze washing over her
warmly.
“Yes she did,” Edric said with a self-satisfied nod.
“Well then, Storm’s End is indebted to you, my lady,” Lord Baratheon said
solemnly, watching Cat with the same keen eyes that she looked to him with,
“You both better come inside and I’m sure you will grant us a telling of your
epic adventure Edric?”
Arya felt herself nodding along with Edric without intending to.
-
“You still find solace in the Old Gods then I see.”
Cat jumped as a voice interrupted her quiet contemplations in the Godwoods of
Storm’s End. She turned to see Lord Baratheon standing a couple of steps behind
her. She let her gaze rest on him, watching as he walked further into the
Godswood until he was so close, she could reach out and brush his chest without
much effort.
“What is that you want, my lord?” Cat said calmly.
“You were never one such courtesies in the past, Arya,” he teased, “Has
adulthood really changed you so radically….”
“My name is Cat,” Cat snapped.
Lord Baratheon gave her a disbelieving look.
“I do not know why you put on this façade Arya but I’ll not reveal your
identity around others,” Lord Baratheon stated, taking her hand in one of his
own, an action that inexplicitly made a shiver go right through her, “But do
not be some else while you are around me. It took less than a second to
recognise you and I will not be fooled.”
Cat closed her eyes tiredly for a second before extracting her hand.
“What is it that you want, my lord?” she said formally, watching as the hopeful
light faded from Lord Baratheon’s eyes.
“I came to offer you my protection,” he returned just as formally, “I know that
you were always more than capable of looking after yourself, Arya but…”
“Why do you insist on calling me by a dead girls name, Gendry?” Arya snapped,
returning to herself.
A glimmer of hope entered the cerulean eyes before her once more.
“It is who you are.” Gendry replied, capturing her hand once more, “Who is this
Cat? Why do you parade as her?”
“Why do you parade as Lord Baratheon?” Arya returned with ferocity, “I know you
for what you really are, a bastard boy from Flea Bottom.”
That quietened Gendry for a second.
“It seems that we both have become different people in our time apart,” Gendry
said quietly.
Arya nodded, her anger draining from her body.
“That we have,” she agreed with a sigh.
“I have missed you Arya,” Gendry said quietly, coming even closer.
Arya closed in her eyes.
“I know,” she replied, “As I have missed you in spite of the fact you choose to
stay with a group of bastards over me.”
Gendry smiled at her, reaching a hand forward to stroke her cheek.
“If I hadn’t stayed with the brotherhood I would have never been able to offer
you the protection of my name now.”
“The protection of your name,” Arya said with a condescending laugh, “I assure
you Cat keeps me safe enough and Needle ensures the rest.”
Gendry nodded, still stroking her cheek.
Arya allowed him to, it was a small comfort to her for some reason.
“Where were you, Arya?” he asked slowly, “I looked for you for hours after…”
“I went to Braavos,” she replied, unable to stop the truth from bubbling forth,
“I went and learnt to protect myself.”
Gendry nodded, a proud glint shining from his eyes.
“Good,” he said, leaning forward so close that Arya could feel his breath on
her lips.
She shivered.
“I would still have you stay with us at Storm’s End for a time, my lady,”
Gendry said, “You can stay as Cat but stay you will, at least for a week. We
have lost time to recover and plans to be made for your safe journey to the
North or wherever you may choose to go... if you want to go….”
“I must go,” she said, “to avenge my family…”
“Then you will have the power of Storm’s End at your back if you choose it,”
Gendry promised, “You’ll have me and your back if you want it…”
Arya looked up at Gendry, a confused frown wrinkling her brow.
“Why?” she asked.
Gendry shook his head in mirth.
“Arya, we travelled together for months. You protected me so many times. You
must know I love you,” Gendry said, bringing his hand to cup her entire cheek,
“I will protect you to my last day…”
He leant forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, not quite
touching her lips. She felt the meek kiss to the very core of her bones. It
reverberated within her.
However soon, Gendry was once more an arm length away from her, his entire face
soft.
“Now come back to the castle and we will exchange stories, I would like to hear
yours…”
Arya didn’t mean to but she felt herself nodding her head as she let herself be
guided out of the Godswood, gathered up by Gendry’s protective arm.
Chapter End Notes
     Hope you liked it! Let me know if you did!
***** You'll Be Back *****
Chapter Summary
     To the prompt "You'll Be Back" !
Chapter Notes
     Hiiiiiiii! Its been a while! I found the prompt "You'll be back" a
     hard one to write!
     Originally I had written a WW1 love story but it was 30 pages long
     and no where near finished so I figure I will finish it in due course
     and upload it separately or at the end of this completely series!
     Hope you like this little one! To me, its kind of trash but fluffy,
     shipper trash! Let me know if you like!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Gendry woke up one particular morning, not quite knowing what the day ahead had
planned for him but sensing something important was going to happen. Call it
intuition or call it madness, he felt something coming deep in his bones.
 
He got out of bed cautiously that day, moving carefully in an effort not to
wake up the woman lying next to him. Jeyne, that was her name. She was a
persistent one he would give her that. It was really starting to annoy him that
she persisted in sleeping over.
 
He made coffee and fiddled with the radio until it was loud enough for him to
hear without waking up anyone else in his apartment. He was meticulous in
making his breakfast, a juice filled with his daily intake of vegetables and
some fruits.
 
He did what he did every morning, just the same as he did it every morning,
just so he wouldn’t think about her.
 
She had been gone seven months at this point. He could barely even fathom why
he was still thinking of her all the time, wondering how she was. Where she
was. There was no sign of her return, no whiff of her presence being around him
any longer.
 
Arya was just gone without a trace and he was left to deal with the after
effects of her presence.
 
He was the one who had gone two months without washing his sheets, just so her
scent would linger even longer. He was the one who had continued to buy that
expensive sourdough bread she liked, just in case one day she walked through
the door, wanting some avocado smashed on top of it. He was the one who was
sleeping with every girl who would have him, just so he did not have to spend
his nights thinking about her, dreaming about her endlessly, seeing her face in
every angle of the dark night.
 
“Did you want some help with all that?” Jeyne’s voice called, drawing a memory
from the recesses of his mind.
 
“Did you want some help with all that?” Arya asked with a laugh, “I can’t cook
for shit but for you, I might try.”
 
“I must say I am very flattered you even just offer,” Gendry said quietly with
a teasing smile, as he continued to chop vegetables.
 
“What can I say, you bring out a nice side to me Gendry Water,” Arya said,
stealing a slice of cucumber, munching away at it.
 
“Gendry, I said did you want any help with breakfast?” Jeyne’s voice broke
through his thoughts.
 
Gendry shook his head, looking up at her.
 
“Its fine,” he said curtly, feeling bad with seconds of his answer as he
watched Jeyne deflate, “Did you want to stay for breakfast?”
 
Jeyne seemed to perk up a bit at that, smiling gratefully at him.
 
“I would but I actually have an early staff meeting at the hotel, I can’t be
late. Sunday is our busiest day, you know.”
 
Gendry felt relieved, nodding his understanding with another curt smile.
 
“Of course,” he said.
 
Jeyne smiled, leaning across the bench between them to place a kiss on the
corner of his mouth.
 
“Thanks for a great night,” she purred, “On again for tonight. Maybe we could
get dinner first, or see a movie?”
 
Gendry didn’t want to shut down her optimism out of kindness. He should never
have played with the fire that was Jeyne’s heart. He knew she had always liked
him and yet here he was, using her as one of his rebound girls. Sometimes he
hated himself.
 
“Maybe,” he said distractedly, “It depends how some work I have to do goes.
I’ll let you know, I’ll text you?”
 
Jeyne nodded before turning around, her hips swaying attractively as she walked
back to his bedroom to collect her clothes.
 
However her hips were not what pulled Gendry’s attention rather it was the
white shirt. His white shirt although that was not what he remembered it as. It
was hers, her favourite one to wear when she didn’t have any clothes to wear in
the morning.
 
“You always go for this particularly shirt,” Gendry said as he pressed kisses
down the column of Arya’s throat, his fingers undoing it’s buttons as he went,
“Have you ever noticed that?”
 
Arya let out a throaty laugh, nodding.
 
“What can I say, its comfortable and you wear it so often, it smells like you,”
she said in a breathy voice, “It helps me through the long hours when you
aren’t at home to entertain me…”
 
Gendry had laughed at that, feeling Arya’s chest move slightly as she laughed
with him. She made him feel so warm when she said things like that. It made him
feel like they were a normal, happy couple, living a boring but loving life.
 
“So I’ll see you later,” Jeyne called from the door as she straightened the
collar of her shirt.
 
Gendry nodded distractedly, barely paying attention to her until the door
slammed shut.
 
Gendry wasn’t a talker, let alone a beggar but today neither of those things
were true. Today he was prepared to say whatever he had to.
 
“Arya, come on you don’t need to leave,” Gendry beseeched as Arya opened the
front door of their apartment, “We can do what you need to together, you don’t
have to leave. Please, you can’t leave… I don’t want you to go…”
 
There were tears streaming down Arya’s face as she looked at him, a look of
longing filling her features.
 
She didn’t really want to go, Gendry was sure of it. He just didn’t know how to
convince her that she shouldn’t go. Gods knew to forbid Arya anything was to
make it her heart’s sole desire.
 
“I have to leave, Gendry,” she whispered, her teary eyes taking him in, “I have
some things I have to do. A few last things that need to be done and then I’ll
be back.”
 
“You’ll be back,” Gendry repeated, almost like a prayer.
 
“I’ll be back.”
 
He had let her go without another word. He had believed her words. She would
come back to him. He was sure. He had to be, or he didn’t know what would
happen to him.
 
At first he had waited for her, completely devoted to her memory, to her
everything. She had been the spark of his every thought. The rhythm by which
his adoring heart beat. He was so in love with her, with her memory, that he
had barely any other room for anything else to have a place in his mind or in
his heart.
 
However slowly that devotion had waned and he had gotten angry. He had thrown
things, broke everything in sight. She had left him, alone and hurt and he was
pissed. He had wanted to hurt her but had settled for hurting himself with a
destructive outlook and rash, unprecedented actions.
 
Then after a few more months, he had gotten to his last stage. He had finished
off the stages of grief, reaching an unsteady acceptance and he had moved on to
a certain extent.
 
He still hoped for her knock but didn’t run to the door in joy every time he
heard a knock sound. It was an improvement, or so he told himself.
 
Gendry breathed in and out, slowly and peacefully. He was proud of his
progress, proud that he could still feel the anger boiling deep in his gut,
itching to get out, to hurt something, anything, yet repress it so thoroughly.
 
Gendry carefully placed his breakfast on his coffee table, switching on the
television in an attempt to distract himself from his thoughts.
 
At first, the TV was just a source of mindless background noise as he stewed in
his anger but soon he focused on it, watching the morning news, learning all
the horrible things in the world that made him infinitely more grateful.
 
However something caught his eye that day.
 
A story about the death of Cersei Lannister. Wife of Robert Baratheon. One of
the primary clogs in the workings and dealings of the notorious Lannister crime
family.
 
Gendry narrowed his eyes as he listened.
 
The reporter kept talking but Gendry barely heard him as he chewed slowly on
his food.
 
He knew that name as well as he knew his own.
 
That woman, she had bought misery to so many people, Arya and himself included.
She had so many enemies, so there were so many people who would have wanted the
opportunity to finally off her like she had down to so many others.
 
Still his heart held some hope that perhaps it was Arya who had pushed the
dagger into her. Maybe then all this absentee madness would be at its end and
she would come back to him.
A couple of hours later, Gendry felt like he was waiting for something that
wasn’t going to happen.
 
“Why would she come back?” he silently asked himself, “What reason could she
possibly have to come here? Out of all the places she could go, I doubt that
she would come here.”
 
Because she loves you, a small niggling of hope said in the back of his mind
said to him, because she misses you as much as you miss her, because she said
it, said she would be back.
 
The hours continued to pass and Gendry found ways to distract himself well into
Sunday afternoon.
 
A knock sounded at the door of his apartment.
 
Gendry jolted, a shock of longing, hope and general disbelief throwing itself
through his system.
 
Gendry stood, stuck still for a moment. He wanted to run to the door to throw
it open and see Arya just as beautiful and wild as the last time he had seen
her. However part of him was preparing, preparing to be utterly disappointed if
he opened the door and it was just Hot Pie or that weird hippy priest that
sometimes came to visit him.
 
Slowly he walked to the door, each of his paces dragging as he walked.
 
Perhaps he wanted to stay in that moment, in this moment where he could still
imagine that it really was Arya at the door.
 
The doorknob was cold and heavy in his hand as he twisted it.
 
“Who are you?” Gendry asked the girl at his door.
 
She looked him up and down, her body trembling as she panted for breath.
 
“My name is Arry… Arya, Arya Stark,” she had stuttered, “I have to hide… please
let me in. We know each other, from when were children. We meet many years
ago…”
 
Gendry narrowed his eyes at her before a spark of recognition went through him.
 
“Arry,” he said in wonder, “From the orphanage, the one who ran away…”
 
The girl nodded, biting her lip as she tossed her eyes over her shoulder in
trepidation.
 
“Come in,” he had said, ushering her in.
 
The face that greeted him now was the same one that he had seen all those years
ago, albeit with honey blonde hair and a seemingly rounder face.
 
“Arya,” he breathed.
 
Arya smiled.
 
“You knew I was coming home today, didn’t you?” she asked with a wane smile.
 
Gendry didn’t say a thing, didn’t even nod. He just drank her in, his eyes
tracing over her like a man dying of thirst as he walked through a barren
desert.
 
She looked good, healthy. Her face was slightly rounder and a bit flushed in
what he hoped was happiness. She looked like she had been walking through the
snow, which knowing London in the mid-winter, she probably had been.
 
She was Arya and she was standing in front of him, examining him just as
carefully as he was examining her.
 
“Hi,” she said, as if unsure what else to say, “Are you going to let me
inside?”
 
Gendry nodded wordlessly, stepping aside.
 
“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” she observed softly.
 
Still Gendry said nothing, closing the door softly before turning around to see
Arya looking around with a satisfied expression.
 
She turned to him and their eyes met.
 
“You look like …”
 
“Where have you been Arya?” Gendry spoke for the first time, cutting her off
with little to no regard, “It’s been months…”
 
“I told you I would come back,” Arya reminded him with a smile as she placed
her small bag next to the couch, “And I always was coming back to you… I had a
time limit of sorts… I was coming back to you, it was just taking more time
than I expected…”
 
Gendry frowned.
 
“Time limit? Arya what’s going on? You’re not making sense.”
 
Arya sighed before huffing her coat off her shoulders and throwing it down on
the couch.
 
Gendry felt as though the air was knocked right out of him as he stared at her.
After a couple of seconds of shocked silence, he let out a sigh, pinching his
nose between his fingers as he took a deep, controlled breath in.
 
“You’re pregnant,” he said, his voice full of restrained anger as his mind’s
eye continued to see her stomach, fiercely swollen.
 
“Almost ready to pop,” Arya replied coolly with a nod.
 
Gendry felt like he was choking.
 
“Perhaps you should sit down,” Arya suggested, “I know I want to…”
 
“Arya what the hell is going on?” Gendry shouted suddenly, in no mood for such
games.
 
Arya sighed, her breath heavy before she began talking so softly, he had to
walk closer to her just to hear.
 
“I knew I was pregnant before I left,” she said, “just under three months
along. I knew you would never let me do what I wanted if you knew I was
pregnant so I made the decision not to tell you… then I could get what I wanted
done.”
 
Gendry let out a strangled noise. He wanted to shake her, kill her but somehow
all he could manage was that awful sound from the bottom of his throat.
 
He somehow found his way over to the couch, collapsing on it.
 
“You know my list, there was only one name left on it.”
 
Gendry looked up at her, his eyes disbelieving.
 
“You stayed away all these months just for the second of opportunity to take
Cersei Lannister out,” he said scornfully, “How dare you? How could you have
been so selfish? You could have been hurt… the baby could have been hurt…”
 
Arya had the good grace to look somewhat repentant as Gendry admonished her.
 
“That wasn’t all,” she said careful, “I know I put us both in a danger but I
did have everything under careful control and… that wasn’t all. Before I left,
I didn’t… I didn’t know if I wanted to have a baby, Gendry. I’m a killer, not a
mother. I knew if I was here, if I told you I was pregnant, that you would fall
in love with it and it would break your heart if I decided that parenthood,
motherhood, a child, was not for me.”
 
Again Gendry just breathed in and out, in and out.
 
“So I went off to think,” Arya continued, “And while I away, I finished off my
list…. If I was going to have this baby, I wasn’t bringing into a world like
this… a world were these fuckers were alive and killing innocents.”
 
Gendry stared at her, watched as her hand stroked her swollen stomach in a
brief moment of tenderness. That was so … Arya. So Arya. Thoughtlessly ruthless
yet also made perfect logical sense. Gendry could barely think. He didn’t know
how to feel. Should he feel angry, sad or maybe even stupid?
 
All Gendry knew was that a part of him couldn’t feel any of those emotions, as
a big part of him felt relieved to see Arya, to be within touching distance of
her.
 
“Arya,” he breathed, his eyes tracing over ever inch of her, taking her in
completely, “So it was you that killed Cersei Lannister?”
 
Arya nodded listlessly.
 
“And the Mountain but his death probably wasn’t reported. No one cares when a
hitman dies, especially in such an uneventful way. I couldn’t take any risks
being in my current state, the Mountain could fight back in a way the others
couldn’t. So I organised it so that he was killed from afar. Unfortunately
poison is such an anti-climatic and uninteresting death for a so-called
‘warrior’. ”
 
Gendry rolled his eyes.
 
“What of Ilyn Payne?” he asked suspiciously.
 
“Dead from throat cancer almost a year ago,” Arya said, her face forming a smug
smile, “I thought it was rather ironic considering his actions in my own
father’s death.”
 
“Walder Frey? Meryn Trant?”
 
Arya seemed slightly surprised that he remembered her damned list so well but
answered nonetheless.
 
“I killed them both before we reunited, why do you think I was on the run when
I knocked on your front door?”
 
Gendry nodded in understanding.
 
Understanding, he thought in disgust.
 
He would never understand how he got to this point, how he could sit here
talking about murder so uncaringly. How he could be so understanding of someone
turning to murder as a form of latent justice? How he could talk about the
blood of Arya’s hands with only concern for her, the murderer, rather than any
of her victims.
 
Arya openly called herself a killer. She had killed too many not to be
considered a killer. However, she had never just been some killer to him. She
was Arya, his Arya, and she always would be.
 
“So after all of that, what have you decided?” Gendry asked, looking at her
with raised brows.
 
Arya looked at him closely.
 
“Have you decided to have the child or not?” Gendry clarified despite knowing
that they both knew what he had been talking about.
 
“I’m still pregnant aren’t I? Though not for long I fear…”
 
“So you want to have this baby?” Gendry asked her.
 
“I came back because I love you and I want us to have this baby,” she asserted.
 
Gendry released a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. His entire
demeanour instantly relaxed as soon as she spoke. He wasn’t losing her. In fact
it was rather the opposite, Arya was staying with him and he was gaining
another person, their child.
 
“I’m still so angry with you Arya but I’m also so glad you’re back.”
 
Arya’s answering smile was dazzling. Just like their daughter’s eyes when she
was born a week and a half later.
Chapter End Notes
     Let a hoe know what u thought!
     Love and light! xxx
***** Whisper *****
Chapter Summary
     For the prompt 'Whisper'!
Chapter Notes
     I am a sucker for anything Gendry and Arya involving a pregnancy so
     here is a little one-shot for the prompt 'Whisper!
     I hope you like it, it was inspired partially by the vague whispers
     of a memories of something I once read and partially by the film Juno
     (if you haven't seen that, reevaluate your life and watch it) !
     However I cannot read the name of the story or the author to credit
     them with any inspiration unfortunately!
     Hope you like! (its short for me but I figured that these 7 prompt
     things don't have to be long!) xxx
See the end of the chapter for more notes
For almost sixteen hours, Arya had been in a haze. Her entire recollection of
that time was a complete blur of pain and exhaustion.
She had felt people floating around her as she had screamed, seen the faces of
her parents, Sansa and even Bran, supported by a wheelchair, coming in and out
of her vision.
However now, that was all a forgotten thought. Arya sat still for the first
time in all those hours, her eyes no longer wanting to flutter closed as she
stared, utterly and completely entranced by the small thing that they had
pressed her into her arms. She couldn’t look away from the little face, the
little girl that only ceased her crying when Arya held her in her arms.
Arya has stared at her, trying to memorise every aspect of her face, every
single angle, crease and fluttering of those little eyelashes.
For a second her eyes even opened and Arya caught a glimpse of eyes that were
the deep blue of her fathers.
Love was not a foreign emotion to Arya but this love was. She felt like she
could happily spend the rest of her days gazing down at this child, stroking
her bald little head or running her finger over the rim of her elf like little
ears.
But too soon she was in a plastic box being wheeled off towards the nursery.
Arya could hear crying as they took her away. She didn’t know if it was her
crying or the baby's.
The nursery would be where she would wait for them. For her parents to come and
pick her up, the parents Arya had chosen with her own parents to adopt her
daughter.
Nice girls didn’t have children out of wedlock, that’s what her mother had been
saying her since they had found out about the baby, nice girls swept any
discretions like this under the rug, out of sight forever.
Nurses raced in and out of the room for the next couple of hours while Arya
slept, utterly exhausted from the hours of labour that she had just endured.
Through the whole ordeal she had wished for so many, called out for so many.
She had called out for her father, for Jon, even him… everyone that wasn't with
her. But all she could remember was her mother in the room, wiping the sweat
off her irresponsible daughter’s brow.
Arya’s eyes were still closed when she heard it. She still felt half drugged,
the epidural still in her system making her untrusting what she thought she
heard. However the whisper of music in the air around her could not be ignored.
It was real, she knew it.
Arya tried to open her eyes but found it so tiring; she rested again for a
moment. Within a few minutes she managed to open her eyes, although they fought
the urge to droop shut the entire time they were open.
The figure next to her bed was not a member of her family like she had
expected, nor was it Jon, who was due back from service for a visit, like she
had hoped in her heart of hearts.
Rather a dark head was looking down at the guitar he was strumming, humming an
unfamiliar tune.
Arya’s fingers flickered towards him and Gendry’s head quickly snapped upwards
to look at her.
He quickly put the guitar down before looking up at her, his eyes troubled.
“Sansa rang me, told me you went into labour,” he said, answering her unasked
question.
Arya nodded, barely lifting her head as her body began to gradually wake up.
“You came?” Arya rasped.
Gendry looked at her, a whisper of a scowl on his face.
“Of course I came Arya,” he said, carefully taking her hand, “I have been here
the whole time.”
Arya swallowed the happiness that bubbled when she heard that.
“Have you seen her?” she croaked out.
Gendry looked down, his eyes full of pain mirroring Arya's own, before looking
back up at her.
“I don’t want to see her if she’s not going to be mine,” he said quietly, “It
would be too painful…”
Arya sighed, allowing her eyes to close as she let out a whimper.
She felt Gendry stroke her hair, calming her even more with every small
movement.
“Sleep Arya…”
Arya burrowed further back into the bed, relaxing completely as she was lulled
back into sleep. The hum of music, no louder than a whisper, began again,
pushing her deeper in the recesses of her mind.
She recognised the song he was playing this time, but was too tired to think of
its name.
She fought to keep her eyes open but the next time they opened Gendry was
asleep next to her and they were no longer alone. A dark figure stood by the
window, his eyes faraway.
“Jon…” Arya whispered, thinking of the impossibility that Jon was in the same
room as her.
The man turned away from the window he had been staring out of, coming forward
immediately.
“Hello little sister,” he whispered.
“Jon,” Arya breathed in joy, “Its really you, you’re really here…”
“Yes well they give you leave when you get told by your father that your
seventeen year old sister went into labour…”
Arya let out a raspy laugh.
“I missed you so much…” she said quietly.
Jon’s eyes were so loving as they stared at her.
“Me too, little sister, you cannot imagine how much I missed you.”
Jon smiled fondly, his eyes dropping to behind her.
“Although I decide now that I did not miss him,” Jon said with a tight look at
his best friend, “I’m gone not even eleven months and you two manage to have a
baby together…”
Arya let out a weak laugh.
“I missed you so much brother,” she said.
Jon nodded gently, stroking Arya’s cheek lovingly.
“You know I always knew you two wanted each other,” he said suddenly, “I just
didn’t realise how much…”
Arya was quiet.
“Now you have had a baby, a daughter together and you’re still separated by
miles,” he finished.
Arya frowned but didn’t contradict her brother.
“Tell him how you feel Arya,” Jon said, “You had to give your daughter up
today, don’t lose Gendry too.”
Jon stayed for a while before fading out of Arya’s visage as her eyes drooped
once more, wanting more than anything to sleep.
However his words about Gendry circled around and around in her head, even as
she slept for what only felt like a couple of minutes once she opened her eyes
again, noting that Gendry was still next to her.
Arya turned her head, watching Gendry for a second, reaching out to touch the
thick black waves that covered his head.
She hadn’t seen him this close in months. The last time she had even touched
his hair, she had been panting as he thrust even deeper inside her, curling her
fingers deeper into his hair, yanking it. That had been months ago, nine to be
exact.
When Sansa had insisted she tell him she was pregnant two months later, she
hadn’t been close enough to him to touch his hair. She would never forget the
blank look that had crossed his face when she had told him.
She couldn’t blame him; they had only fucked once, a culmination of all the
years of sexual tension, in the back seat of his car right after Jon had left
suddenly without saying goodbye to either of them. Both their emotions had been
running high and they hadn’t been thinking.
He had left it all up to her. Saying nothing as he had looked down at her with
uncertainty in his eyes. She had only been only 16 after all and he only 19,
what else could he do?
It had been so awkward in the months after him finding out. So unsure.
She had planned to get rid of the child. There were people who did that
secretly, you just had to look hard enough but she had been unable to go
through with it. Gendry had picked her up from the clinic that time, his eyes
quiet and understanding as he drove her home.
The next time she had seen him, her stomach had ballooned out and he couldn’t
take his eyes off it. They had spent more time together after that, floating
around each other awkwardly but with a magnetic energy drifting between them,
always pulling them closer together. He had even felt the baby kick once. Arya
could see the delight in his eyes when he had, although he quickly squashed it.
Now here he was. He had come to the hospital, played his guitar for her in an
act of comfort as she drifted off to sleep.
Arya was so deep in thought, she barely heard Gendry whisper her name.
When she did, her eyes flew to look at him, taking in his mussed hair and red-
rimmed eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you myself,” Arya blurted out suddenly, “I’m so glad
you’re here….”
“You are?” Gendry asked, his voice wavering with uncertainty.
“You’re my best friend,” Arya whispered, “I think Jon and I will have to fight
for custody of you one day.”
A ghost of a chuckle came from Gendry’s lips but nothing more. Arya could tell
that he wasn’t that happy with that answer. Neither was she anymore.
“He said something when he was in here,” Arya said before clarifying, “Jon was
here not long ago.”
Gendry raised in his eyebrows in interest.
“What was it?” he asked pensively.
“Just…” Arya trailed off, not knowing how to communicate the way Jon had told
her she needed to.
Could she be honest? Would she be able to tell him what she really wanted? It
seemed to be an impossible task right now. Perhaps it was just something that
she needed to ease into.
So Arya changed the subject to something more comfortable for them.
“You brought your guitar?” she probed, her eyes flickering to the instrument,
propped up behind him.
“Yeah,” Gendry said, “I thought you might like to hear something. It was
stupid…”
“No,” Arya said. “It wasn't stupid at all. I thought it was a dream, a perfect
one, you playing to me as I fell asleep… ”
She stretched her hand out to him.
“No that happened, it was real,” Gendry said quietly, taking her hand without a
second thought.
“Will you stay with me?” she asked as she felt the pressure of his hand in
hers, “For a little while? Please? ”
Gendry’s fingers tangled more tightly with hers.
“Your father wouldn't be thrilled to see that,” Gendry warned, looking her at
her with wise eyes.
Arya shrugged.
“I just had your daughter,” she said dryly, “I’m sure my father’s fears have
long been realized.”
Arya began to shift in the hospital bed to make room for him, pulling him down.
It had never been this calm between them before.
Arya and Gendry had been a frenzy of angst and misplaced anger from the
beginning. But for the first time, they just lay together, contemplative,
talking only in whispers.
“You truly didn’t see her?” Arya asked after awhile.
“No,” Gendry said. “I couldn’t do that to myself. It didn’t seem…”
“I understand,” Arya said as he trailed off, “I completely understand. It would
be right for either of us...”
Her black painted nails curled tightly around his, threading their hands
together in mutual pain.
“This is right Arya, you know that don't you?” he whispered, gesturing to their
hands.
Arya nodded, burrowing her head into his shoulder, and for once it felt like
they were on the same page as they breathed together.
“She was so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice full of pain.
“Just like her mother then,” Gendry whispered back, stroking her hair gently.
Arya couldn’t even bring herself to smile gratefully. All she was thinking of
was a pair of sleepy blue so similar to Gendry’s on a face so small and
angelic.
“I wanted her when I first saw her,” she whispered to him suddenly, “It was
suddenly very real to me. That she was mine. Ours.”
Gendry paused, his head nuzzling into Arya’s head. Arya knew he was listening.
He always had been a better listener.
“When she was inside me, it was easier to put her at a distance, to pretend
that her movements, her kicks, were nothing but a fantasy. But when I first
held her I knew I would never go a day without imagining her face, thinking
what she was doing, if she was happy,” she continued, tears beginning to slide
down her cheeks, “I want her.”
Arya felt Gendry shift more onto his back, pulling her even closer to him. Her
face was tucked into his neck and she couldn’t see Gendry’s face, couldn’t
gather any idea of what he was thinking right now, but she knew he was
thinking. She could feel it.
Arya sighed, pulling back to look up him.
He was thinking.
He always did have a stupid thinking face, Arya thought fondly, I wonder if she
will have that same stupid face one day...
Arya sighed deeply again, her head falling back into his shoulder.
“You want to her?” Gendry whispered.
Arya nodded.
“Let’s get her back then…”
Gendry’s voice was but a whisper yet Arya heard it like a shout, she was
getting her daughter back.
Chapter End Notes
     Your comments are like crack for me and I'm happily addicted, PLEASE
     comments with any feedback! xxxxx
***** Laughter *****
Chapter Summary
     For the prompt 'Laughter' !
Chapter Notes
     Thank you for sticking with this and reading! If you haven't read the
     chapter before this, which is called Whisper', then you should
     because this is a continuation of that!
     Let me know what you thought and have a great day, great week, great
     month!!! Lots of love and light to you all!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Big blue eyes stared up at Arya. Round, full of innocence and joy as she made
yet another face of contorted stupidity.
A small burst of laughter ensued, high pitched and full of delight.
Arya laughed in response full of happiness as she leant forward to press a kiss
to Lya’s little button nose.
It was funny what a baby could make a person do.
Their scrunched up little faces could make even the hardest of hearts melt
their icy exterior. They could make everyone and anyone act like a complete
idiot without a second thought, all for even the smallest trill of laughter.
One little glance and a person thawed, turning themselves into anything that
they could think of, just to hear even a small giggle emerge from those fat,
little lips.
Arya knew that she did what she was doing now often, acting silly to inspire a
sweet laugh, and she had seen Gendry do it a thousand times over. Lya seemed to
inspire those sort of things out of the both of them, in the same way she had
inspired so much else in her short life.
She had inspired happiness and laughter in all of them.
Arya had seen it in the way that her brother, her beloved Jon, had been when he
had first held Lya, holding his niece so delicately, like she could break in
his arms at any second. Like a single cry would demoralize him, as much as a
single laugh would lift him up to the level of a God.
Arya had seen it in the way her father had cried as he had cradled his
daughter’s baby for the first time, the granddaughter that he had not expected
to have the opportunity to love.
Lya had even inspired Arya’s mother, the stone-hearted woman herself, to
something other than that blank logic that she had originally applied to Arya’s
pregnancy and subsequent situation.
Her mother’s eyes had softened a tiny bit as she held the granddaughter she had
been so against keeping tight against her chest, rocking her so gently it was
barely noticeable.
Arya herself had certainly melted as soon as they had put her on her chest,
tears still streaming down her face from the pain of childbirth.
Gendry had told her that he got more joy that he had ever expected to have in
his life from the both of them.
More had happened after that but Arya didn’t want to dwell on any of that.
She had her daughter back, she had Gendry and she was happy that’s all she
wanted to think about right now.
Arya bent down pressing yet another kiss to Lya’s cheek. And another, and
another. She would never stop kissing those fat, little cheeks. So chubby, she
loved the feel of them pressed against her when she fed her. Loved when Gendry
would carry Lya from her crib to Arya most mornings, pressing her little warm
body to Arya’s chest, before he left for school or work.
Sometimes he would even climb in with them, pulling both of them against him
and into their own little world.
Her parents still weren’t happy that they shared a bed, or a house for that
matter but Arya had told them that they would have to learn to live with it.
Gendry and her were were happy and right now that was all she chose to concern
herself with.
Arya would take hearing Lya’s laughter for the rest of her days over worrying
about her mother’s pompous concerns of what people thought.
After all, Lya’s laughter was something precious. Not rare but precious all the
same. Each time anyone heard a trill of it, it was like the world stopped as
they focused on the child making the delightful sound.
Arya felt hands thread around her waist as her mind moved. Her entire body was
set alight by Gendry’s warmth. Arya basked in it. It had taken them too long to
get to this place and she was damned well going to enjoy being in it now that
they were in it together.
For a second they didn’t speak, both starring down at the magical thing that
they had created in the back of a car in a flurry of eager moans and deep
yearnings.
“Someone’s happy,” Gendry breathed into her ear after a couple of moments.
Arya smiled, her body feeling a rush of something so happy she could barely
find an adequate word for it.
“Since the moment we got her back,” Arya replied with a contented sigh, “You’re
home early.”
“Lecturer let us go early and Robert said I didn’t need to come in,” Gendry
replied, “Its excellent, I can spend the rest of the day with my girls.”
Arya had never been one to grow warm at the words of a boy. Never been one to
feel so utterly contented at words that could be utterly meaningless. Yet she
did. She felt warm, she felt contented and she felt happy, happier than she
could ever remember feeling.
“Good,” she said with a warm smile and a quirked eyebrow, “Then you can change
Lya said when she needs it.”
Gendry laughed warmly, before picking Lya up easily and looking at her with
dancing eyes.
“I would be more than happy to,” he said, “Anything for Lya… isn’t that right?
It is isn’t it.”
Lya responded with giggles, her happy eyes focusing on her father for as long
as the eyes of a baby of four months could.
Gendry placed her down, instantly moving to blow bubbles into her tummy. Lya
screeched with laughter, her little fat roll jiggling back and forth with the
noise.
Arya’s eyes wanted to water and they almost did as she reached out her hand,
pushing her fingers through Gendry’s thick almost to check he was real. She
almost missed having this, this perfectly imperfect thing.
In another life her daughter would not have been her daughter and she would
have found herself alone without Lya, without Gendry even. Perhaps she would
have coped in that world, or maybe she would have fallen apart but again Arya
didn’t care to dwell on such things. They were morbid thoughts that had no
place in this happy moment.
No matter the trials and challenges of having a baby so young, she had chosen
correctly, that was what truly mattered and Arya couldn’t deny that the
laughter was worth it all.
Chapter End Notes
     You have no idea how much I appreciate feedback (even if it is
     criticism) so let me know, down below!! (rhymed... I love rhyming)
***** Command *****
Chapter Summary
     Arya is the daughter of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. The last
     Baratheon comes to offer his fealty to her.
Chapter Notes
     I'm back with this and want to finish these dribbles! The next
     chapter is already done, will post it if you want to read it! Let me
     know! I like this idea, I might expand on it more in the future, tell
     me if that is something you would want as well!
     Arya is the daughter of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. The last
     Baratheon comes to offer his fealty to her.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When a boy had come running to the inner chambers of the Queen’s rooms, his
eyes wide and half crazed, they had all stopped to listen.
“There are men at the gates, demanding to see the Princess,” he had struggled
out in High Valyian, his breath catching the better of him for a moment, “They
claim to come to serve her, hundreds of them... their leader wants to talk to
her…”
Arya had frowned, her eyes instantly searching to meet Dany’s, whose face
mirrored her own frown.
“Who are they?” Aegon demanded, looking annoyed.
“They don’t know, your highness, only that they wish to see the Princess Arya,”
the boy said, distressed.
Dany thanked the boy quickly before her eyes drew up once more to meet Arya’s.
“Do you know anything about this?” she asked.
Arya shook her head before a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Then you should stay within the castle walls,” Aegon said carelessly, his body
relaxed as his gaze slithered over her, “We can send the Unsullied to deal
with…”
“No,” Arya interrupted immediately, “I will go and meet with them.”
Dany’s face was touched with concern but Aegon showed only indignant rage at
being undermined.
“You cannot…”
“I can and I will,” Arya bit back, “You would do well to remember how I react
to be forbidden things… I am not at your disposal to be order about. We are
equals brother…”
Aegon continued to glare at Arya while she stared fiercely back.
“Perhaps I can offer a compromise,” Dany said, looking carefully between them,
weary of their fierce fighting, “Perhaps I could accompany you Arya, then we
can assure your protection with my guard.”
Arya did not take her eyes of her brother, but after a minute she nodded.
The two of them walked in silence. Arya had the distinct impression that her
aunt was studying her in some way.
Although she had only known Dany a little while, she felt almost too
comfortable with her. The warmth and kindness that the Queen emanated was only
amplified by the sisterly love that she had offered Arya. It was the type of
love that Arya had always craved from her half-sister, Sansa.
Sansa however had been too much her mother’s daughter, too proud to love a
bastard half-sister in the same way she had loved her true born brothers. Dany
did not mind that Arya’s mother was Lyanna Stark. She did not mind that Arya
had been born between two people who had not recited vows to each other in
front of an old crooked man wearing a dress. She only cared that Arya was
Rhaegar’s blood, and by extension her own.
Aegon on the other hand minded quite a lot that Arya was the daughter of the
woman who had ripped apart his family. His entire demeanour toward Arya leant
toward the ephemeral. Sometimes he was like Jon or Robb had been, her beloved
brothers (for true brothers they would always be). Like he had been when they
had first met and he had taken her into his arms like he had been missing her
his entire life. Yet sometimes he was awful, bloated with rage and indigence,
angry at his father, at Lyanna, at the spawn that their brief union had brought
into the world.
“He is just concerned for you,” Dany said soothingly.
Arya gave her a sharp look.
“He’s truly intolerable sometimes,” she said.
Dany smiled sadly.
“He’s your brother.”
The gates were crowded like the boy had said. The Unsullied stood at their
posts, blocking the men from entering the castle courtyard, their blank faces
unmoved by the restless atmosphere until they saw their Queen.
Arya’s gaze searched the throngs of men, not recognising one until a voice
called her name.
“Arya Snow! Lord of Light, you have grown to your mother’s likeness. Her beauty
stands before me in a living, breathing ghost.”
Arya’s eyebrows shot up as her gaze met that of Thoros of Myr, still dressed in
those same ugly, red robes.
“Thoros…” Arya said, staring at him.
The red priest smiled before merely gesturing behind him.
“Little Arya, I am so honoured that you recognised me, even at your newly
elevated station…”
The priest made a mocking bow, his entire voice full of satire.
Arya did not smile. She did not laugh. Instead she glared, her gaze fierce and
cutting.
“Why did you summon me here?” she spat, her voice full of meaningful venom.
The priest did not startle at her scathing tone. He had probably expected it of
her. He had been the one to feel the brunt of her anger when he had sold Gendry
to the Red Witch. It had after all been his hands that had been given the gold.
Arya looked at him with nothing but disgust and hatred.
“I begged for your presence, my princess, as Lord Baratheon has requested an
audience with you…”
“Lord Baratheon?” Dany interrupted, her usually serene face twisting darkly.
Daenarys’ hatred for the Baratheons had not waned. She saw them as usurpers and
nothing more. Arya however had known very few Baratheon’s. Joffrey had not
truly been one in the end, so truly she had only known King Robert, and he had
been nothing but a weak, harmless, fat, old drunk.
“There are no Baratheon’s left,” Arya replied in an emotionless voice, “Both
Stannis and Renly are long dead…”
“And yet the legacy of their house lives on through King Robert’s eldest son.”
Dany drew in a harsh breath.
Arya glanced at her. Her beautiful face was masked with ugly, pulsing rage.
However Arya was curious. Who was King Robert’s son? Why did he want to meet
with her? Between her brother and her aunt, she was not the most significant
Targaryen, in fact if anything she was quite the opposite. Still she let her
curiosity take ahold.
“Lead me to him.”
Arya heard Dany’s sharp intake of breath. She turned to her beloved aunt.
“Stay here, I will return soon.”
Daenarys’ opened to her mouth to argue but Arya interrupted her.
“Please.”
It took a pause but eventually she nodded, her jaw locked in anger, but she had
agreed and Arya followed the red priest towards the tents set up behind them
without another thought.
The tent that they enter was large and dressed in dark yellow and black.
Baratheon’s colours, for a Baratheon bastard, Arya thought dryly, two bastards
who have come up in the world.
A sardonic smile sat on Arya’s lips as she examined the space, her eyes
immediately drawn to a most beautifully crafted rapier sitting expectantly on
the table. She moved closer immediately. It was exquisite work and Arya
couldn’t help but press her hands to its blade, tracing its twists and turns
gently.
“When we all heard tell of a new Targaryen Princess, fierce on her green
dragon, I could barely believe my ears,” a voice said, “Yet here I am. With her
familiar form before me, a dragon princess with a dragon...”
Arya’s eyes closed unwillingly as her hand remained firmly on the beautifully
crafted sword in front of her.
That voice it was so familiar; its deep quality so tantalising and comforting.
“A dragon, an new princess fighting alongside her half-brother and aunt for the
iron throne… The Targaryen’s returned to contest for their claim to the iron
throne. But then, you always were very unpredictable, weren’t you Lady Snow?”
With that, Arya spun around, her hands coming to rest on the wall of a chest
that was right in front of her.
“Do not call me my lady, you stupid man,” she breathed, looking up at Gendry
with blinding eyes filled with joy.
Gendry smiled, a note of sadness in his face as he gazed down at her.
“Princess then?”
Arya shook her head, her lips beginning to curl upward.
“Gendry…”
Arya threw her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder.
In a world full of foreign half-brothers, new aunts and dragons, Gendry was a
safe harbour of familiarity and love. Arya felt his arms wrap around her waist
after a couple of stunned seconds, a movement that still seemed nervous and
extremely hesitant, even after all those months travelling together all those
years ago.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
Arya could felt Gendry playing with the ends of her hair as his arms remained
around her waist.
“I told you, I heard about it all, about… the Stark riding upon a dragon,” he
breathed into her hair, his warm breath caused her neck to bloom with tingling
goose bumps, “I wanted to come sooner, I would have but we hit a few road bumps
getting here.”
Arya wanted to ask where he had been, why he had left her, what bumps he had
encountered on his way to her but none of that came out of her mouth. Instead
she merely sighed, her lips parting in relief of this familiar man.
“Its so good to see you,” Arya breathed, releasing all this pent up tension as
she stood in his arms.
“Ay, it is good to see you too m’lady. You are a sight for sore eyes.”
-
That night they feasted together with all of Arya’s new family.
Dany was weary, but she trusted Arya’s assurances that Gendry was a friend to
them all, becoming kinder and more welcoming as the night when on in spite of
her initial trepidation.
Aegon on the other hand was wilfully and deliberately rude as often as he could
be. Arya could barely restrain herself from jumping across the table to scratch
at him.
Gendry however was truly perfect. He thanked Dany, speaking with her
respectfully in a way that Arya thought might have softened her stony Aunt, and
he rightfully ignored Aegon, following Arya’s own advice.
He knelt before them, offered them the fealty of House Baratheon under the
incredulous eyes of everyone watching, but Gendry only looked at her. He was
not offering to support the Targaryen’s, he was offering to support her. There
had not been an alliance between the two houses for years, only animosity, but
now there was. She was responsible for it; everyone around them knew it. They
all watched with expectant eyes, probably awaiting the announcement of a
betrothal.
Gendry and her didn’t help assuage such a expectation. He sat at her side the
entire night; watching her, smiling with her, laughing with her. He made her
feel electrified, like her whole body was warm and lusty without her
permission.
He lifted her hand to his lips and Arya could have sworn that something when
through her like she had never felt before. His smile set her ablaze. His hand
brushing against her made her squirm with something not unfamiliar. She wanted
to stroke his hair back from his eyes whenever it fell lanky over his forehead.
She wanted to press her lips to his jaw, his nose, his lips… she wanted to
press her lips everywhere his skin would allow.
His looks toward her betrayed him. Arya could feel that he felt the same
thoughts that she internally voiced. She could tell he felt the same
shiverings, the same urgings. She took his hand, stroked his fingers in a way
that felt more sensual.
She went to her chambers that night. Aegon had meaningfully escorted her to
them, casting her stony looks. However he had left immediately, not staying in
her chambers for long and leaving the unsullied to guard her. They could not
stop her. She escaped her chambers through the window within minutes moved
quietly towards him, letting her body lead her.
When she knocked on his chambers, the door opened immediately like he had been
standing at the door waiting for her. Their eyes met and she was in his arms
with her lips on his within an instant.
The door slipped closed behind them as Arya moved further into his chambers,
and into his arms.
-
In the week that followed, Arya slept every night in his chambers. She learnt
his body as he learnt hers, melding themselves together in love.
Strands of her dark hair were littered across Gendry’s bed, staining the white
sheets. Most of it decorated the bed, as Arya did not us any pillow but
Gendry’s bare chest.
He often whispered to her how he love to watch her as she slept, her eyes
closed in peace that was rare for her. He was beautiful, he told her. Arya
didn’t quite believe him, Dany was beautiful, Sansa was beautiful. She was
little Arya Snow and she had never been renowned for anything other than being
underfoot.
Arya, he would say, my demanding, tempestuous and wild lady.
She knew he was in love with her, had been as soon as they saw each other, and
Arya knew she loved him too.
A Targaryen and a Baratheon, how ironic was that?
Her family certainly appreciated the irony.
Daenarys knew about the relationship the next morning. She took one look at
Arya that first morning, her hair mussed and a trail of badly powdered over
love bites down her neck and Arya knew that her aunt just knew. She had not
been happy that their greatest bargaining chip was less valuable now but she
had never been certain of Arya’s maidenhead one way or another. Arya’s years
alone in Braavos had cast the unerring stain of doubt on that.
Aegon on the other hand gave no indication either way that he knew his sister
was being ‘sullied’ every night by their Baratheon guest. He had in the past
ordered to (like he seemed to think she could) to be chaste. Arya had never
done well with orders.
It wasn’t until a week later that Aegon brought up Gendry to her and Dany as
they made their plans for traveling north to King’s Landing.
“We must kill him,” Aegon said with a shrug.
Arya’s throat shook, vibrated with something deeper than anger or rage at her
half-brothers impetuous words. Perhaps it was fear but nonetheless, the
vibrations soon bubbled into words.
“We will not be killing him,” she thundered.
“Why? Because you have decided you like the feeling of his tongue on your cunt,
because you are fucking him despite my commands?” Aegon spat, “I think not. He
must die. He is our enemy”
Arya slammed her fist on the table in front of her so hard, a goblet of wine
topped over the edge of it.
“He travelled all the way to Dorne… he came to our gates to join our cause…”
Arya yelled, “Out of everyone here, Gendry is not our enemy.”
Aegon’s eyebrows crawled up in anger and defiance.
“Just who do you think is our enemy then, sister? If not the son of the ursuper
that stole our grandfather’s throne, mine and our father’s birthright, then who
is our enemy?”
Arya glared, opening to mouth to retort only to be cut off by their aunt’s
commanding voice.
“That’s enough,” Dany’s voice rang between them, “We already have enough
enemies in the Lannisters without us crumbling in our own ranks.”
She turned to Aegon, her gazes irritated as she looked at her nephew.
“Had you not considered how having a Baratheon, the last known Baratheon as
well, in our ranks will help our campaign?” she hissed at her nephew, “The
people will be appeased to see the alliance of two waring houses. Cersei will
grow nervous to see her husband’s house supporting us, as will the other houses
that support her. Or can you not see past your own selfish whims and reasons.
He shall not be executed while I am Queen.”
Aegon’s eyes grew blacker and he laughed cruelly and without any sort of
humour.
“So my sister chooses to protect her Baratheon lover over her family,” he spat,
“How fitting for the daughter of Lyanna Stark…”
Arya want to hit him, but she resisted. Either way her commands stood strong,
and her Baratheon lived to spend another night in her arms.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you for reading! Means the world to me!
***** I know him *****
Chapter Summary
     Day 7 - I know him
Chapter Notes
     Police undercover AU
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Arya knew pain; she understood it. If she were honest Arya had a healthy
respect for pain. It was something she had inflicted and it was something she
had felt. This wasn’t the first time she had been tortured and it probably
wouldn’t be the last time either. Pain was really just a common occurrence to
her.
But this pain, Arya had to admit, was bad. It was almost making her want to
give up on living. It had been two weeks since she had a seen a soul other than
her three immediate torturers.
At first, she had faced them fastidiously, with nothing more than a glare but
over their two weeks together, they had worn her down. Now Arya spat and swore
at them without limit. What else could they do to her? They had caused her
almost every possible pain.
She had been undercover before but not this deep. It was almost like she had
forgotten who she was at this point. She was Cat, a girl who had howled in pain
for two weeks straight. She was no longer Arya Stark. She was only Cat.
Still even Arya’s fire was beginning to dampen with the passing days. Her hands
were tied so tightly against a board that they bled, just like the rest of her
body, which was tied to a chair. She had tried to escape her bindings a few
times but she was unable to get out of them, even when she dislocated her
thumbs like she had been taught. That had been a lot of pain for no result. Her
legs ached from being tied to the legs of her chairs for too long. Everything
ached really. Even her heart.
“I’m back, little Cat, did you miss me?” a voice purred from behind her.
Arya jolted in revulsion from that voice.
“No I can assure you, I did not H’ghar,” Arya snarled in reply.
A girl (or the Waif as Arya had taken to calling her) was sitting in front of
Arya sharpening her knife carefully, a knife that had been under Arya’s skin
too many times for to have counted, sneered, her teeth seeming to sink
painfully into her lips.
But H’ghar just laughed, a warm drawl that unwitted Arya every time she heard
it.
“Such a shame, such rudeness especially since I bought you a such a lovely
little present this time too.”
An involuntary shiver ran through Arya. A present usually meant even more pain.
Without permission tears sprang to Arya’s eyes as she thought of what was
probably coming. She wanted to sob at the thought of what awaited her, but she
didn’t. She sat there, pushing back the tears in favour of gritting her teeth
and summoning up all of her strength as she glared at him.
“However this time, I am sure that I will enjoy it much more than you,” H’ghar
said at her shoulder, his voice curling over her like smoke that gets caught in
your throat.
Disgusting.
“You always do,” Arya said sarcastically, “Honestly H’ghar, don’t you
understand the concept to a present. It’s about giving, not taking… and you’re
supposed to be smart. I must say I’ve been in your company for weeks now and I
just don’t see it. I’ve decided that I think you are about as dumb as pig shit.
As pretty as it too.”
H’ghar just stared down at her with his pale, expressionless eyes. Nothing ever
seemed to penetrate that barrier of his. It was as though he had no ego, no
flames to fan, not soul to stir. He was completely blank. Nothing seemed to
touch him.
If Arya hadn’t despised him with everything inside her, she would have almost
admired that particular trait. After all her partner always did tell her that
her biggest weakness was how easily she got angry, how she was always ready for
a fight. He had just always told her that as she was punching him on the
training mats, laughing the whole time. She was always trying to prove herself
that’s was he said, and he was right most of the time.
“You are a lovely girl,” H’ghar said, “Even after all these weeks, still very
lovely.”
Arya just continued to stare at him, trying to emanate his disconcerting, blank
stare. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing emotion, even if
it was only confusion. What she really wanted to do was growl at him, scream
and swear at him, but she refused to do that. She refused to give in to those
sorts of emotions. It was hard but she did it, gritting her teeth even harder
than they already were.
The waif snarled, throwing her knife at Arya’s shoulder. It nicked her, cutting
her shoulder but Arya barely made a sound. She wanted even less to give any
sort of satisfaction to the waif.
“Why don’t you just put a knife in my heart instead,” she growled after a
couple of seconds, “Or don’t you have the stomach for it, you coward?”
The waif stood, looking as though she would thrive on the challenge of putting
a knife right through Arya. Arya wasn’t surprised. Where H’ghar barely reacted,
that one made up for it tenfold.
“I was going to allow you some time to recover from yesterday’s bout of wounds,
but with a challenge like that …” she stood up, feeling around for another
knife, “I can’t resist…”
The waif began to twirl her knife, probably preparing to bury it right between
Arya’s eyebrows, but H’ghar stopped her.
“Enough,” he commanded, “I do have a present for the lovely girl. Something
that might put a lovely smile on that lovely face.”
Arya’s eyes narrowed.
“I found something, or someone who was coming for you…”
Arya’s stomach dropped as her whole being twisted with fear.
If anyone had followed her in on this mission, they would be dead within
seconds. She had already been severally compromised although Arya wasn’t sure
if they knew she was an officer. From what the waif had said, they knew she was
an enemy but she had implied that they thought that she was somehow connected
to an opposing gang. Arya lived in hope that that was what they thought,
although that was less likely with every passing moment. Rival gang members
would receive a kinder death than a police officer.
Regardless all officers knew never to follow someone in when they were
undercover. It was basic training. Following someone in could not only
jeopardise the mission but more than that. There were surely countless lives
that would be in danger by now, especially in a sting this big. She was not the
only agent undercover. There was more than just her life at stake. If anyone
was to come after her…
Her mind jumped to her partner. He would risk anything to save her she knew
that. They had been partnered for years at this point, and had known each other
even longer.
No, I know him, Arya thought stubbornly, and he’s knows me, he knows I wouldn’t
want him to come for me.
Arya took a steadying breath.
He knows that I wouldn’t want to come after me, she thought again, her words
holding the reverence of a prayer.
She was praying in a way. Praying that he listened to her, that he hadn’t
followed her in. That he was safe somewhere working with the police on taking
H’ghar’s entire operation down, and not somewhere alone as he tried to figure
out a way to get her out.
Scuffled pulled her from her thoughts as two of H’ghar’s associates brought
forth a tall figure with a bag over his head.
Arya didn’t need to see his face to know who it was.
Her once steady breathing suddenly got must faster and the tears that she had
refused to allow during any of the treatment that she had been subject to,
began to gush down her face.
“No, please…”
Arya’s voice sounded like a croak of its former self, and it only grew weaker
as the material was pulled off the victim’s head. Suddenly Gendry’s blue eyes
were boring down into hers, looking dazed, as he grew used to the light. They
were fixed on her in an instant, taking her in. Arya could see him taking a
mental assessment of her as he stood before her.
“My god… No you stupid man, no why did you come…” she sobbed out, unable to
restrain herself any longer.
“I’m sorry, Cat,” he said, sticking to her cover.
“So sweet,” the Waif sneered from her corner, “And I thought you two were only
cops together…”
Cops.
The waif let out a shrill laugh.
“But no, you’re so much more. You’re his little slut.”
Her voice was sickening to listen to, all baiting and cruelty.
While Arya had grown as near to immune from its baiting ring as a person could,
Gendry hadn’t even been exposed to it. He lunged forward, baring his teeth in
anger.
The waif laughed louder as he lunged toward her again and again, held back by
H’ghar’s men.
“Quiet,” H’ghar’s voice rang out through the empty warehouse, his eyes cold
with a rage Arya couldn’t fathom as his pale eyes bounced between them, “Since
we picked him up, we know the police are coming. We need to get rid of them
both.”
H’ghar pulled out his gun, stroking it like a lover.
“I think I am going to kill him first… someone get a tarp.”
Arya screamed with everything in her, pleading for Gendry’s life without
hesitation or consideration for her own. She couldn’t watch him die. She would
die if she had to see the light fade from his bright eyes.
A sharp slap stopped her shouting, her cheek stinging while her thoughts
scrambled amongst themselves. The waif.
Arya hated her.
Arya pulled up her head, her eyes blinking with pain as she looked for
everywhere for Gendry. The first thing she saw was a tarp being laid down. The
second thing she saw was Gendry.
He was staring at her, his look so full of love that she would have seen only
him, if they had been a different situation. It was a look that she was
somewhat familiar with, yet it was something that she had never seen. Arya
almost had a sense that he was taking in her every detail, trying to memorise
her. She had a sense that he wanted hers to be the last face he ever saw but
she couldn’t allow that.
He was forced down on his knees and all Arya could do was sob, tugging fiercely
against her restraints as her mouth moving with faded screams. She held his
stare, staring at him with all the love that she had for him. Trying to
mentally communicate it to him.
“H’ghar… Jaqen, I am begging you. Please, don’t do this, let him go… He’s a
good man, let him go. You can have me, I’ll do anything…” Arya sobbed, her face
red and twisted beyond recognition.
H’ghar gave her a queer, cold stare before shrugging, his finger on the trigger
as he held the gun to Gendry’s head.
“I’m sorry, lovely girl, he must die. You both must.”
A shot sounded like whip and Arya would have screamed but suddenly people
flooding the room and the lights flickered before darkness ensued. Chaos
proceeded. H’ghar’s men must have been in the room, the police as well, but all
Arya listened for was a glimmer, a sound of Gendry.
Arya let out a shrill scream, undulated pain hoarse in her voice, that was
meant to be Gendry’s name but no one heard her among the noise and gunshots
that surrounded her.
Chapter End Notes
     I actually can't believe that I finished this, I never seem to finish
     anything! Hope you all enjoyed :)
End Notes
     Hope you liked it! Review and let me know what you thought!
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