Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1121891.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Arya_Stark/Gendry_Waters
  Character:
      Arya_Stark, Gendry_Waters, Robb_Stark, Jon_Snow, Sansa_Stark, Joffrey
      Baratheon, Robert_Baratheon, Ned_Stark, Theon_Greyjoy, Nymeria, Cersei
      Lannister, Catelyn_Stark, Jon_Arryn, Yoren, Hot_Pie_(ASoIaF), Lommy
      Greenhands
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, First_Time, First_Kiss, Loss_of
      Virginity, Oral_Sex, Cunnilingus, Fingerfucking, Rough_Sex, Awkward
      Sexual_Situations, Curiosity, Dirty_Talk, Sexual_Tension, Underage_Sex,
      Voyeurism, Accidental_Voyeurism, Porn_With_Plot, Blow_Jobs, Masturbation,
      Shame, Half-Sibling_Incest, Face-Fucking, Violence, Fights, Vaginal
      Fingering, Groping, Non-Consensual_Groping, Come_Eating, Public
      Relations, Hand_Jobs, Morning_Wood, Wet_Dream, Light_Bondage, Restraints,
      cervical_torture, Violent_Sex, Abuse
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-06 Updated: 2016-06-23 Chapters: 6/? Words: 81198
****** Don't Be Stupid ******
by tiberiusirius
Summary
     When the King comes north to Winterfell, the Starks expect to play
     host to the Lannisters. Instead they are introduced to his bastard
     son. None but Ned, the Hand and the King really know the true reason
     why.
Notes
     Starts at the beginning of the first book. Jon Arryn hasn't been
     poisoned or killed.
***** Don't Be Stupid *****
Chapter Summary
     As I'm sure you are all aware all characters belong to GRRM. I'm just
     playing around while waiting for the next damn book to come out so I
     can buy it and gobble it up.
From all the stories she’d heard of the war from her father, Arya thought the
King would be a great warrior of a man. Even the distance she was away viewing
the procession approaching Winterfell from the branches of a tall leatherleaf,
she could tell he was a stout, obese beast. She frowned and looked down at the
wolf pup whining and circling the tree below her.
 
“Dad never said anything about the King being fat Nymeria.” She told the
animal.
 
From what she’d been told he was supposed to be a handsome brute who inspired
courage in his men, wielding his enormous hammer like the warriors in the
stories. She supposed the southerners must’ve fattened him up.
 
She frowned squinting off into the distance and sighed. “His horse looks as if
it’s going to collapse.” She said disappointedly. Carelessly she climbed her
way down the tree, jumping when she felt she was close enough and ripping the
skirt of her dress horribly in the process.
 
“Damn.” She cursed pausing to inspect the damage. There really was nothing for
it so she just shrugged it off as accident. “Come on girl. We best get back. I
want to see the soldiers up close.” She started running for the walls of
Winterfell. They would only just beat the arrival and her mother would already
be angry she’d run off.
 
She sprinted off in the direction of the east gate, Nymeria trailing after her
leisurely, bounding through the high grass and keeping pace. She made it
through the entrance just as the procession was coming into the Keep’s yard.
She spotted her family lined up and quickly skidded into her place among them
amidst glares from her mother and sister. She ignored them, choosing instead to
marvel at the armor of the Kingsguard and trying to pick out notable knights
among them.
 
The King was even larger up close than he was from further away. His Baratheon
livery looked as if it would come undone from the strain. She couldn’t help but
imagine golden stag buttons flying everywhere if it were to burst open from the
tension of being stretch across such a substantial girth.
 
She felt a bony elbow jab her on the left side of her ribcage. “You look a
wreck.” Sansa whispered tersely. “What happened to your dress.” It wasn't
really a question, more of an exasperated admonishment after seeing the tear in
skirts. Sansa was glaring at her out of the corner of her eye while trying to
remain the picture of a perfect lady for the arrival of their guests. No doubt
she was angry that Arya ruined her image of a grand welcoming reception with
her disheveled appearance.
 
Arya pursed her lips and only just managed to refrain from sticking her tongue
out, she knew if she did she’d only be in more trouble later.  Instead she
settled for annoying her sister further. “Septa told me to find things to mend
for sewing practice and now I have.” She offered smartly as explanation for the
obvious rip in her dress. Arya wore a self-satisfied mischievous smirk, her
sister’s mask failing for an instant to scowl at her younger sibling.
 
She heard the stifled chuckles of both Bran and Robb at her words and she
thought she could see the corners of her father’s lips twitch upwards after
glancing at his profile. Suddenly she realized they were missing one person.
“Where’s Jon?” She questioned frowning.
 
Bran jerked his head motioning across the way while Sansa scathingly murmured,
“It’s not like he can stand with us, idiot. It wouldn’t be proper.”
 
She looked to where she saw her half-brother alongside Mikken and other
townsfolk and glowered unhappily. To hell with civilities, he should be
standing with them! Jon gave her a knowing smile, if a bit sad, and shook his
head ruefully after looking at her pointedly, taking in her sorry appearance.
 
The injustice of her mother’s discrimination was infuriating and unfair, and
she knew it hurt Jon. Her mood was suddenly soured and she found herself
gratified a bit thinking she had caused her a bit of aggravation by running off
while everyone scrambled to prepare. She was lost in her resentment and started
when the King stepped in front of her.
 
“And who is this wild, unruly northern Lady.” He asked mirthfully, taking in
her disheveled appearance.
 
She blinked and grimaced slightly smelling the alcohol on his breath. “Arya
Ser.” She answered. She grunted feeling another elbow to the ribs. “—I mean
your Grace.” She corrected. She offered him her best curtsey and almost fell on
her face in the process. She thought she heard a whimper of horror from Sansa
seeing her less than impeccable gallantries and had to work to stifle a grin.
She knew she’d hear more on it later from both her sister and mother, and
probably Septa Mordane as well, but hopefully she could find the means to sneak
away again. She didn’t see how it really mattered anyways because the King had
already moved on and didn’t seem to care about her indiscretions, he’d almost
seemed amused.
 
Her attentions turned back to the introductions as a boy about the same age as
Robb, although much broader and corded with muscle, hopped awkwardly off his
horse after being beckoned to by the King. He marched up to the fat royal with
his head hung a bit low and keeping his eyes on the ground.
 
“Where’s your spine boy?” The King told him as he gave him a hard smack on the
back.
 
Had it been anyone else, Arya would’ve bet they stumbled forward from the force
of the blow. He however, stood his ground like a weathered oak rooted in
granite, barely flinching from the jolt. He was huge, especially for his age,
he couldn’t be more than four and ten. Standing next to him her own nine,
almost ten, years would look more like five. The boy finally looked up and gave
everyone a view of the electric blue of his eyes, very similar in color to the
king.
 
“Ned, I’d like you to meet Gendry Waters, my bastard son.” There were murmurs
within the crowd as Robert continued. “The Lannister brood wished to remain in
King’s Landing so I brought the boy along.” He slapped him on the back again
and threw an arm around his shoulders. “A glimpse into days long past is he
not?” The King grinned.
 
Eddard looked as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, shock written all over his
features. “He is the mirror of you from our years at the Eyrie.” His expression
turned a bit perplexed. “How come I’ve not heard of him before?”
 
Robert harrumphed. “You can thank my lion of a wife for that! Tried to force my
hand and have me send ‘em to the Wall, but Jon Arryn found the boy an
apprenticeship with a blacksmith. The Hand’s taken a liking to the child it
seems. Son of his disgraced niece he is.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll
speak with you more about the Hand later. He’s become a surly old lummox,
always arguing with that damnable Littlefinger and that golden haired coin-
purse Tywin. But enough with the miseries of ruling Seven Kingdoms. Right now I
have need of a proper meal and a large goblet of your finest wine.”
 
Her lady mother stepped forward. “Forgive my husbands want of proper
cordiality. We have a feast made ready for your arrival your Grace.”
 
The King grinned. “Ned never was one for manners. He’s lucky to have a proper
southron Lady who knows her courtesies and can keep his head off the block.
Would that my own wife were as capable! Luckily no one would be daft enough to
try that as I sit on the throne, though I’d welcome the chance to wield my
hammer once more! The tortures of being a King!” He jested as he followed
Catelyn’s lead into the Keep with everyone shuffling in behind them.
 
The feast was like nothing Arya had seen in Winterfell before. The food was
plentiful and the amount of wine consumed was sure to leave their stores empty
come winter. Even so, it was none too enjoyable a night for Arya.
 
Sansa wouldn’t stop pestering her to act like a lady and Arya was reprimanded
when she attempted to get her insufferable sister to shut her fat mouth by
flinging potatoes at her. To make matters worse, Jon was left to sit by himself
while the other bastard sat along side the king. She even heard word that the
Imp had come North but had gone on to the Wall and wouldn’t be seen until the
whole procession was to head back south for King’s Landing. She desperately
wanted to see the half-man and now that was even out of the question. The
King’s visit certainly wasn't turning out to be anything like she'd expected
and it didn’t get any better in the weeks following.
 
Her behavior at the arrival ensured that her Lady mother kept a close eye on
her to make sure she remain with the other girls for their tedious lessons. She
had tried everything to sneak off but Sansa and Jenye Poole always managed to
catch her and tattle. It was as if they made a game of it. She pushed them both
in the mud when Septa Mordane took them for air, but after the third time they
both became wary and expected it.
 
It wasn't for a long while that she actually managed successful escape. When
she did she was making her way to the practice yard, hoping to find someone to
spar or shoot arrows with, when she saw noticed a large crowd amassed in the
stable lawn. It was a hunting party and she wasted no time running up to her
father and tugging on his stirrup pleading to go along. He never got the chance
to answer before the King began laughing jovially.
 
He was looking down on her from his saddle, chuckling patronizingly with a
gleam in his eye. “I’m afraid you’d find it hard to keep up with the dogs
riding side-saddle little Lady.”
 
Arya glowered at him unhappily. “I don’t ride side-saddle.” She spat at the
King, forgetting all decorum. Her expression twisted into one of disgust at the
idea of such nonsense.   
 
“Arya!” Her father bit out gruffly causing her to flinch. Hearing the outrage
present in his tone, when she was only used to receiving it from her mother,
had an immediate effect. He was normally so level headed and soft spoken. “Be
mindful of your manners! You’re speaking to your King.” He scolded her angrily.
 
She looked to the ground scuffing her shoes. “Forgive me your Grace. I meant no
offense.” She bowed her head. Still, she wasn't going to relent. “Father,
please let me come.” She begged before looking back up at him wide-eyed and
imploring. “My fingers are numb from stabbing myself with needles. I hate my
sewing lessons. You know I won’t slow you down. I can out ride Jon and Robb,
you’ve seen it first hand!”
 
Her father grimaced trying to find words, but it seemed the King was
disbelieving. He turned to Robb and Jon. “Is it true what she claims? Can she
really out ride two strapping Northern bred lads?”
 
Her brothers both sent her displeased looks, pursing their lips unhappily.
Finally Robb sighed resignedly. “We always jest she’s half horse.” He admitted.
 
Arya grimaced thinking of the nickname his best friend Theon liked to call her.
Arya Horseface. It had caught on with Sansa and Jeyne as well.
 
Jon nodded his head in agreement not acknowledging the disguised slight or not
noticing it. “She rides as if she were a Ranger. She’s like no other girl I’ve
witnessed.”
 
Ned shook his head pensively after hearing Jon’s statement. He looked to be
recalling something a bit painfully when he met the Kings eyes, a meaningful
look in his own. “She rides like Lyanna.” He murmured significantly.
 
It seemed as if that was explanation enough. There was silence in the courtyard
as the King shifted his gaze towards the young girl in between him and his old
friend. His expression was haunted and he seemed to be considering her
carefully. The silence was broken however when all heads whipped up to the
Keep’s wall where Septa Mordane could be seen scowling and heard yelling.
 
“Arya Stark! You get back to your chambers this instant! Your mother is furious
and so am I!” She shrieked.
 
Arya’s eyes widened and suddenly instincts took over. She bolted out the open
gate and off into the town, the sound of the King’s uproarious laughter
following her and supplemented by that of her brothers and father.
                                                                                        
Of course she would have to face punishment for her escape eventually, and she
did, but she needed a little freedom in the meantime. She wandered around the
walls fighting off dragons and battling with the odds against her, trusty
stick-sword in hand and wolf pup companion by her side. She knew the hunting
party would be gone for a couple days and that meant no reprieve for her
besides whatever chance she had now and she meant to take advantage.
 
When she did eventually make it up to her chambers come darkness, it was to
find her mother had assigned a serving girl to tail her for the time being. It
wasn’t until the last day of the Kings visit that she managed to get her
freedom back.
 
It was right after the departure feast that she snuck off seeing her brothers
do the same. She lost track of them for a moment and began searching the
grounds when she turned a corner and ran straight into something solid. She
grunted from the force of the collision, and thought she was going to hit the
ground when someone reached out and caught her hand, allowing her to find her
balance and pull her into them.
 
“Are you alright milady?” They asked anxiously. “You’re not hurt are you?”
 
Arya pushed away from the person roughly and looked up into the concerned but
timid clear blue eyes of the King’s bastard son. “Don’t be stupid.” She said
dusting herself off. “Off course I’m not hurt. I’m not breakable you know.”
 
The boy chuckled softly hiding a grin and Arya glowered at him. “What’s so
funny?” She demanded to know.
 
He looked up, startled by her snippy tone having been caught laughing. “It’s
nothing milady. I meant nothing by it I promise.” He said hurriedly.
 
“Quit calling me m’lady. I’m not a Lady!” She told him appearing stroppy and
stamping her feet.
 
He looked at her quizzically. “Aren’t you Arya Stark? Daughter of Lord Eddard
Stark?”
 
She huffed at him knowing where this was going. “Well yes, but that doesn’t
mea—“ 
 
“That makes you Lady Arya Stark, does it not milady?” He chastised, knowing his
logic was clear and inarguable. She scowled at him and a subtle grin eventually
erupted on his face unable to contain the fact that he was pleased to have
irritated her.
 
She continued to glare at him and childishly tried to push him, but he was much
too big for it to move him at all. Honestly, he was as heavy as a marble statue
and had the physique of one as well. The fact that her attempt only made him
chuckle outright doubled her fury. She stamped on his foot as hard as she could
and snickered, snorting unattractively when he started hopping around cursing
creatively. It was the noise that brought her older brothers and Theon from
wherever they had run off to. 
 
Robb saw the scene before him and gave Arya a knowing look. “What’ve you done
now Arya? Leave the poor fellow alone.”
 
She glowered and knew she was going to get lectured by her siblings. “ I
haven’t done anything!” She huffed indignantly. He was the one who laughed at
her and called her a Lady after all.
 
Robb rolled his eyes and brushed past her looking to speak with Gendry as he
stood upright, finally able to put his significant weight back on his foot.
“Are you alright? You’ll have to excuse my sister.” Robb tried to apologize for
her.
 
Gendry glanced at Arya’s pleading expression and exhaled loudly. “Its nothing.
It wasn't her.” He assured. “Really.”
 
Arya felt a wave of relief run through her. She didn’t understand why exactly
he was sticking up for her but she appreciated it.
 
Robb frowned perplexed and Theon snorted from off to the side. “Standing up for
Arya Underfoot? Don’t want her to stomp your foot again?” He goaded.
 
“Theon.” Robb looked to his friend warningly.
 
Theon ignored him. “Looks like the King was right.” He said shaking his head
smirking. “His bastard really doesn’t have a spine.” Then he glanced at Jon.
”Must be a common trait for the whole breed.”
 
Arya and Robb both glared furiously at Theon and Jon just looked away, nose
flaring at the slight and clearly biting back rage but still managing to
harness it.
 
“Apologize.” Robb demanded.
 
Theon snorted again. “Why in the Seven Hells would I do that?”
 
Robb went to open his mouth, but before he could, the large blue-eyed boy went
barreling past him, tackling Theon into the wall where the Ironborn had the
wind knock out of him. He got his breath back quickly though and began
pummeling the larger boy in the sides trying to make him let him down. It
didn’t work, but pretty soon they were on the ground with Gendry on top of him,
returning the blows to the ribs he’d received.
 
Robb quickly saw the need to get involved, but his allegiance being to his
friend since birth, he grabbed Gendry by the collar and threw him onto his
back. Seeing his chance, Theon promptly climbed on top of his attacker and
brought fist after fist to his face.
 
Arya looked to Jon who appeared torn between helping and staying out of it. “Do
something!” She screamed at him. His expression twisted painfully but he still
didn’t take action, he didn’t want to go against his brother regardless of the
harshness of Theon’s familiar words.
 
Huffing, Arya launched herself at Theon wrapping her arms and legs about his
person, restricting his air and his movements as he flailed about. He stopped
his assault in shock at the weight on his back just as Gendry, still underneath
him, threw his own punch towards his jaw. The blow landed true, and Theon was
knocked out cold on contact, Arya still latched on to his back. Together they
fell to the ground, Arya underneath him and almost crushed by his weight,
hitting her head against the stone of the walkway. She heard multiple calls of
‘Arya!’ sounding frightened at the sound of the impact, but her senses were a
bit blurred and she couldn’t tell where or whom they had come from.
 
It was Gendry who was the first one to her. He rolled the unconscious Theon off
her and lifted her slightly off the ground with a hand underneath the neck. She
blinked profusely coming to, finding two pairs of blue eyes and one grey
looking down on her concernedly.
 
“Are you hurt?” She heard Robb ask at the same time she heard Jon say, “Are you
alright?”
 
Arya scowled at them, still a bit dizzy, but sat upright steadying herself with
her arms behind her for support. “Of course I’m alright you idiots! I’m not
made of glass!” She asserted grumbling. She heard chuckles from everyone, even
Gendry, as she started to rise. They died out however as she stumbled dizzily
and almost fell again. She felt strong arms catch her and heft her up easily.
 
“Put me down.” She said through gritted teeth. “I can manage just fine!”
 
“No milady, I don’t think you can.” Insisted Gendry. “We can’t have you to hit
your head again. I’ll take you to the Maester's.”
 
“No!” Three voices said at once.
 
Gendry looked around bewilderedly at the three siblings. Robb grimaced but
explained. “Maester Luwin has known us since birth. If we make up a story as
explanation he’ll know we’re lying and find out about the fighting. My Lady
mother would throw a fit and I’m certain you don’t want the King to find out
about this.”
 
Gendry looked at Theon on the ground and the young girl in his arms, his
expression looking as if he were battling himself. Finally he made a decision,
even if he didn’t much like it. “We have to take her to the Maester’s. She
wasn’t walking proper.”
 
Arya began struggling in his arms to get out knowing she’d be in trouble. “I’ll
have you know I can walk just fine!” She insisted, becoming aggravated that she
couldn’t get out of his grip. “If you don’t let me down this instant I’ll do
worse than stamp foot the first chance I get! I’ll have Nymeria piss in your
boots I swear it!” She seethed, glaring at him even though her eyes couldn’t
focus on his and trying to made her woozy.
 
There were more chuckles at her threats, and stronger flailing on her part as a
result, but Gendry only held her to his chest more firmly. She stopped
eventually, sulking petulantly but figuring there was no use. He really had an
iron grip.
 
“You’ll have Nymeria do no such thing or I’ll lock her in the stables and have
Ghost guard the doors.” Jon warned her.
 
Arya crossed her arms and stuck her tongue out at her favorite brother.
 
“Do think you could manage seeing Arya to her chambers?” Robb asked of Gendry
suddenly.
 
His eyes widened. “Me?” He questioned incredulously. “Wouldn’t that appear
improper?”
 
Robb considered it for a moment but then nodded his head. “Mayhaps, but I have
to stay with Theon and get him back to his rooms once he stirs, and Jon will
have to remain close by in case an explanation of our whereabouts is necessary.
The servants will only think it suspicious and go searching if you are here to
offer words rather than someone they are familiar with.”
 
Gendry frowned realizing there was sense in his words. He sighed in
resignation. “Where are her chambers?” He asked. There were relieved breaths
all around and Jon explained the best route to go to avoid being seen.
 
He wasn’t even around the bend when Arya again began asserting she was fine to
walk.
 
“You can let me down now.” She told him.
 
He looked down at her sideways, lopsided grin in place. “No I can’t. I gave my
word to your brothers that I’d see you to your rooms.”
 
Arya rolled her eyes and immediately regret it as it left her dizzy.
Regardless, she wasn’t going to let that stop her protests. “Yes but that was
before I was okay. I’m fine now.” She asserted.
 
She couldn’t quite make out his expression because her eyes wouldn’t focus but
she could tell by his tone it was insufferable. “So you’re normally cross-
eyed?” He asked holding back laughter.
 
She huffed and began struggling once again, angry that she was being cradled
like a helpless baby. If there was one thing she wasn’t it was helpless,
although the fact that she was still unable to get out of his grasp really made
her feel like it. “Will you just let me walk! What kind of stupid boy has arms
this big anyhow?”
 
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I’m not a boy, I’m almost a man grown.” He told
her.
 
“If your stupid arms get any bigger you’ll fall over from the weight of them.”
She grumbled insultingly. “How much bigger could you possibly hope to grow?”
 
He shrugged. “Don’t know milady.” She scowled at the formality and he sighed
noticing. “Don’t know Arya.” He corrected.
 
She smirked satisfied that she could get her way on this one thing. They were
silent for a moment as he made his way carefully up the stairs towards her
door. They were almost there when she decided to speak again.
 
“Thank you.” She burst out.
 
He looked at her brows furrowed. He definitely hadn’t been expecting her
gratitude. “For what?” He questioned.
 
She looked at him as if he were daft. “You know what.” She almost went to roll
her eyes at his expression but then thought better of it remembering how it had
left her woozy the last time. “For not telling my brothers I stamped your foot,
that’s what!” She explained not sounding very appreciative.
 
He smirked. “It was pretty obvious what you’d done anyhow.” He told her.
 
“But you still didn’t tell them.” She nodded her head as if that was that.
 
He gave her a small smile chuckling. “You’re welcome then mi—Arya.” He caught
himself at the last instant and he was happy to see her grin. 
 
There was another moment of silence and she once again broke it. “You shouldn’t
let Theon bother you. He’s stupid. He’s just mad he’s a ward of Winterfell. Jon
says he needs to feel more important than everyone else and that’s why he makes
stupid comments.”
 
He blinked at her. “You and Jon seem close.” He really didn’t want to discuss
what had happened with Theon.
 
Arya smiled genuinely at his statement. “We are. He’s plays stick-fight with me
and helps me hide from Septa Mordane and my mother.”
 
Gendry chuckled. “You really shouldn’t run from your lessons. How are you
supposed to learn to act a proper Lady if you do?”
 
Arya frowned at him affronted and crossed her arms over her chest petulantly.
“I don’t want to be a Lady.” She snapped crossly.
 
Gendry rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want to be a lady what do you want?” He
kicked open the doors to her chambers and made his way over to her bed.
 
“I want to have adventures.” She told him, eyes gleaming at the mere thought of
experiencing the world and discovering all its secrets.
 
He smiled down at her and sat her on top of the covers. “Let your head feel
better first before you go gallivanting off.” He turned to leave giving her a
small coy smile. “Good night milady.” He teased finally, smirking now.
 
She had the urge to run up to run up and kick him in the shin but refrained,
opting for words instead. “My head is fine stupid!” She insisted. “And I’m not
a Lady.” She yelled after him but didn’t get out of bed. Her head really was
hurting her.
 
                                      ***
 
It was five years and then some before any of the Starks ever saw King Robert
or Gendry Waters again. When they did, not many of them were glad for it.
 
Their trip south was quite unexpected. Arya had woken one morning to the feel
of something sticky between her legs and thrown off her covers to find her
linens and smallclothes a mess with the coming of her first moon-blood. As soon
as Catelyn had informed her husband of her daughters flowering he had grimaced
and ordered preparations to be made for the trip south, heading to the
Maester’s chambers and sending a crow to King’s Landing.
 
No one except Ned seemed to know the significance of their travel but Arya was
panicking almost immediately. Her first bleeding followed by a journey to the
capital, it was too much of a coincidence not to be correlated. When she
approached her father and begged him to abandon the trip he could hardly look
at her. It was an admission to the worst kind of guilt as far as she was
concerned.
 
She had screamed at him and thrown things and he had done nothing. He didn’t
reprimand her and he didn’t try to stop her, he left her to rage. It was only
after she demanded he look her in the eyes that he turned to face her and she
saw his tears. She had never seen her father cry and never wished to again. It
was unsettling, and it was all the confirmation she needed to know what was
planned for her.
 
She didn’t talk to her father for the whole slow trip south and it didn’t go
unnoticed. Her brothers had begun to worry and her mother and sister would
offer them no enlightenment even though it was obvious they had an inkling of
what was going on. Initially Sansa had been unwilling to admit that her
younger, wilder sister had flowered before her, but after seeing how closed off
and despondent Arya became the further south they traveled, she approached Jon
hoping he would talk to her. He did, but it only made things worse.
 
Arya had told Jon of her suspicions regarding the intent behind their trip and
begged him to run away with her, to find passage to the free cities like they
had always imagined when they promised each other to find adventure together.
It was with pain that he had informed her of his plans to become a Brother of
the Night’s Watch like their Uncle Benjen. She had broken down at the thought
of having her favorite sibling so far from her, alone in the wind and cold with
nothing more to hope for but fights among wildlings. She couldn’t bear to think
that they were both being forced to give up their dreams, to think that he'd
already abandoned his own and her time to do so had come now as well. It made
everything so much more miserable and real.
 
It wasn't until they reached The Neck that she began to come to terms with her
circumstances. She certainly wasn't happy, but she was a Stark of Winterfell.
She would do her duty and no one, not even a husband, would take away her
wildness. The North was in her blood, they couldn’t make her something she
wasn’t. Mayhaps she could still try and make adventures for herself, even if
they were small.
 
Knowing she might not be as free to do the things she loved in the near future,
Arya began to spend all her time on horseback or practicing her archery and
swordplay. She had become quite talented with the Braavosi rapier and could
regularly challenge Theon at archery. Still, it was on horseback that she felt
most free, and with the Red Keep in sight she took to the saddle hoping to keep
the city at her back and her thoughts at bay. She galloped in the opposite
direction of King’s Landing, refusing to go anywhere but away until she came
upon the end of their procession.
 
She expected one of her brothers to be sent to fetch her but was surprised to
see her father fast approaching. Immediately she dung in her heels and took off
at a gallop, she had no wish to speak with him, not yet. She knew he would
catch her eventually considering his mount was of much better breeding, but she
was determined to be as far from the city as she could before then.
 
She was almost over the next hill when her father’s hand grasped the reins of
her horse’s bridle and brought them both to a stop. He didn’t say a word at
first, just pulled her off of her saddle and into his, hugging her tightly to
his chest. She wanted to resist but she didn’t. She wasn't sure know how much
longer she’d be able to have moments like this with him and it felt good to be
in his arms after not talking to him for so long. He was a solemn man who could
always communicate better with actions than words. She knew in her heart
marrying her off wasn’t something he wanted to do, but rather an obligation.
 
When he pulled away he pushed her dark brown waves away from her eyes and
grasped her head with both hands searching her face like it was the last time
he would ever see her. He looked almost desperate and after a moment he hugged
her back to him. His voice was hoarse when he spoke into her ear. “I always
hoped it would be Sansa I’d give away first.” He wrapped his arms more tightly
around her and she fisted his cloak. “Sansa’s ready to leave the North. Not
you, my willful wolf-pup. You’re as untamable as the winds of the
Winterfell themselves.”
 
Tears were streaming down her face now, but she pulled away so she could look
into steel colored eyes so similar to her own. “Who am I promised to?” She
asked fearing the answer.
 
He looked at her appearing pained. “Gendry Waters.” He told her resignedly,
stroking her hair.
 
Confusion swept over her and it must have shown on her face for he spoke again
before she had a chance to ask questions. “He will be given titles, wealth, and
lands along the Kings road near the Long Lake. There is an old hold that will
be rebuilt and there are caved in mines that were once bountiful and can be
reopened. You’ll be in the North where you belong.” He told her.
 
She wasn't unhappy to hear it but she was still perplexed. She was a Stark of
Winterfell, a daughter to the Warden of the North, a member of one of the Great
Houses and a powerful wife for anyone to have. “I am to marry a bastard?” She
breathed sounding perplexed.
 
He grimaced at her. “Your brother Jon is a bastard and you love him fiercely.”
He reminded her. “Gendry is a good man.” He murmured trying to sooth her.
 
Arya wiped the tears from her face. “That doesn’t mean I want to marry him. I
don’t want to marry anyone! I want to travel and have adventures like Queen
Nymeria and Wenda the white fawn.” She entreated, wide-eyed and peering up at
him like the incorrigible boyish ten-year-old girl of years past.
 
The agony displayed on his features was exceedingly apparent and his eyes
turned to a soft grey mist, his heart aching. She was his brave little girl and
it tore him up to think someone with such an unbridled spirit would be forced
to settle down at such a young age. She had to understand that he wouldn’t make
her a match that would destroy her. She knew he would have his reasons for
making her a match at all. He reluctantly let go of her as she moved within his
grasp.
 
Arya climbed back onto her own horse and out of his arms. “When you see fit to
tell me the true reason I am to marry this man I’ll gladly hear it.” She told
him steering the creature back towards the city.
 
There was a tinge of bitterness in her tone, but Eddard knew it wasn't because
she believed he didn’t have her best interest at heart. It was because she knew
that he was keeping something from her concerning one of the most influential
decisions he’d have to make on her behalf.
 
She didn’t hear the hooves of her father’s horse following her for almost a
full minute, but then he heeled his horse around and caught up to her. They
rode in silence until they were less than a league from the Walls of the city.
He’d apparently told their caravan to go ahead without them and it appeared as
if they’d already made their way to the Keep.
 
With how far away she had ridden from the city in her escape, she almost
thought her mother would now be in the throne room greeting the King by
herself. The thought gave her a brief moment of happiness but seeing her father
break out into a gallop while eyeing her challengingly caused her to grin in
true delight. One more lasting moment of freedom was just what she needed
before she was to be cloaked in the protection of another man's name.   
 
He of course did beat her by the original two-length advantage he’d started
with, plus one more due to the quality of his horse. She didn’t hold it against
him though. In fact she was content to feel her heart racing and was pleased to
know that her hair was a complete wreck and she was probably covered in the
dirt her horse had kicked up.
 
Her father either didn’t take notice of her unkempt appearance or didn’t care
because he led her through the Keep and into court without stopping to have her
fix her clothing or wipe the dirt from her face. She strode into the hall next
to him and whispers followed in her wake, nobles discussing what she could only
assume was the condition in which she chose to address the court.
 
The King was speaking with her mother when he saw them enter. The bright smile
he directed at Ned faded into astonishment as his eyes glided over to her and
nearly bulged out of his head. He pushed past Robb and Sansa brusquely and
walked towards her and her father as if he was unaware of the steps he was
taking, as if he were possessed.
 
Arya stopped where she was and tugged on her father’s hand, frightened of what
was taking place and thinking the King might’ve actually taken her tousled garb
as insult. Robert didn’t take notice of her movement towards her father and
never took his eyes off her. He slowed his approach as he came nearer and held
out his hands as if he were going to grasp her face in affection. “Lyanna.” He
breathed disbelievingly as if he thought his senses were failing him.
 
Her eyes widened in panic comprehending that he was mistaking her for her long
deceased relative. Before she could stop to remind herself of the courtesies
necessary in court she was speaking curtly, horrified at the idea he believed
she was his lost love and finding it necessary to correct him before he laid a
hand on her and she took action that would land her in the dungeons.
 
“Arya. My name is Arya.” She corrected him tersely before realizing she sounded
hostile. She shook her head and managed a strained smile knowing she had to
make up for coming across as offensive to a very powerful man. “Apologies my
King.” She bowed her head slightly. She was in King’s landing after all. She
must at least attempt to remember her civilities less she find herself at the
wrong end of the executioners axe. “I am Arya Stark of Winterfell your Grace.”
She introduced herself properly though her tone was still as bit rough. She
only barely managed an embarrassing excuse of a curtsey.
 
Her emphasis on her name seemed to shake the King from his stupor. “Arya?” He
babbled withdrawing his hands as if stung. He blinked a couple of times and
then glanced over at Eddard, his eyes widening in comprehension. “Yes yes of
course!” He said loudly. “Forgive me my mistake. Your hair, your eyes. You are
every bit the image of your father’s sister. My you’ve grown in five years
time! A northern beauty if ever there was one!”                            
 
Arya frowned trying to figure out if he was jesting or not. She probably looked
like a Wildling at the moment, and she'd never been called beautiful by anyone
who wasn't obligated to say so. Perhaps the days where people had referred to
her as Arya Horseface had long since past, but she certainly wasn't chasing
suitors off with a stick like Sansa. Although there was that one time the when
the baker’s boy Mycah had absurdly tackled her and tried to pin her to the
ground while playing stick-fight. At first she'd thought he was simply trying
to wrestle, but then there had been hands in inappropriate places. She had
quickly ensured he’d never try anything further by bringing her knife to his
neck. She was certain he'd warned the other boys in town as well because they
all went from hanging around and being friendly to avoiding her like the
plague, even seeming afraid to look at her wrong less she take action.  
 
She didn’t really have much of a chance to dwell on whether the Kings words had
genuinely been meant as compliment considering her father was now pushing her
towards the front of the room where she could see the Queen still seated on her
throne, her golden haired children flanking her menacing chair. She thought to
fall in line between Sansa and Bran, but Eddard brought her forward to stand
facing the gathered crowd and grabbed her sister as well.
 
Once they were both settled and standing in front of their father facing the
court, King Robert projected his voice across the room seeking to clear up the
speculation that could be heard in the whispers whirling around court. He
didn’t draw it out longer than necessary. “I am aware that it is unorthodox to
do what I intend without a formal introduction of the Stark girls to the court,
but I do so nonetheless with my own authority. As King of the Adals, the
Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the
Realm, I Robert Baratheon, First of his name, with honor and praise to the
Seven announce with a happy heart the joining of House Stark with House
Baratheon through the betrothal of Sansa Stark to my son and heir Joffery
Baratheon.” The hall erupted into astonished chatter but the King quieted them
all down with a wave of a hand and an angry bellow of “Quiet you fools I
haven’t finished!” Everyone including the Queen, Lady Catelyn, and Sansa
herself appeared quite surprised at the proclamation, but their objections and
exclamations died out as the Kings voice rang out. “They will marry as soon as
she is a woman flowered.” King Robert paused and glared challengingly less
anyone speak, holding up his hand once more to indicate that he still wasn't
finished. It seemed as if the whole hall choked on their words as one, waiting
to hear what else he could possibly stun them with. He certainly didn’t
disappoint. “I am also to announce the betrothal of Arya Stark to my son Gendry
Waters Baratheon.” Gasps could be heard from nearly everyone, not only at the
betrothal but the apparent legitimatization of his bastard. “They will be
united as one in the Godswood tomorrow and a celebratory feast held in their
honor following. Sons, come greet your wives.” He finished, apparently done
with court altogether. As the King turned around and made his exit, an angry
Queen following behind closely, the court erupted into near chaos. Amongst it
all Sansa turned to face Joffery blushing, and an absolutely flabbergasted
Gendry stumbled forward having been pushed from within the crowd by the wisened
Lord of the Vale. Arya wasn't sure what was being shared between her sister and
her newly betrothed as all she could concentrate on was the floor in front of
her feet.
 
It wasn't until she saw boots come to stand in the exact spot her eyes were
focused that she looked up. She remembered him being large the last time she
had seen him, but she had just chalked that up to having possessed only nine,
nearly ten, years compared to his four and ten at the time. Now, five years
later and then some, she couldn’t help but think maybe she hadn’t been wrong in
her first impression. He towered over her still, and his muscles were just as
large if not larger than she remembered. If that were at all possible.
 
She let her eyes sweep over his massive frame and felt herself beginning to
lose her breath. He was certainly formidable. Somewhere in the back of her mind
she remembered something about him working as a blacksmith, and while that
explained a lot, he was certainly the largest smith she had ever seen. She
cautiously let her eyes move upward to meet his own, and she stared wide-eyed
into his ice blue gaze, unable to look away.
 
He bowed his head to her nervously but never broke eye contact. “Milady.” He
greeted cautiously.
 
Arya ripped her gaze away from his and scowled. “Don’t call me that.” She said
through gritted teeth before pushing past him and practically running from the
hall leaving him there. Tomorrow was going to be horrid enough, there was no
need to prolong the torture this night.
 
She didn’t see him at all for the rest of the day. In fact, she didn’t see
anyone at all for the rest of the day except for her mother and what she was
assured was the city’s finest seamstress. As if she cared. By the end of it she
wanted to throttle the both of them for their fussing.
 
Time seemed to pass exceptionally fast while somehow she moved painfully slow
through it. She didn’t sleep at all that night and wasn't surprised that her
mother and Sansa admonished her the next morning for the appearance of dark
circles under her eyes.
 
She said barely a word as they dressed her in silks of white and grey mimicking
the colors of House Stark, powdering her face and lining her eyes. She only
ever objected when they tried to tie her hair up off her neck. When her mother
protested to her request she almost felt herself snap. “Leave it down and leave
it wild.” She fumed whirling on them eyes flashing. “I’ll not have my husband
believe he is receiving a tamed wolf!”
 
“Arya—“ Catelyn had tried to reason with her.
 
“No.” She snarled cutting her off. She wasn't going to compromise on anything
further. She was giving up her happiness and that should be enough for them.
“You’ll leave it down or I’ll cut it all off and you’ll be giving me to my
husband bald!” She thundered, making it clear she wasn't jesting.
 
They mostly complied with the request, curling the ends of her unruly dark hair
and leaving it down around her face. They did, however, manage to secure half
of it on the top of her head with some jewel-encrusted combs while she stared
off into the unknown, dreading the hour she knew was fast approaching.
 
It wasn’t until her father entered the chamber alongside her brothers that she
felt her chest tighten and her eyes begin to water. Several times Robb or Jon
tried to speak to her but she’d cut them off with her most murderous glare,
desiring to be left alone and not wanting to hear any of their meaningless
comforts. There would be no escape for her and she’d had enough of them telling
her she might come to be happy in time.
 
No one said a word as the family left and they made their way towards the
Godswood together. As each one of her siblings and her mother walked past her
to join the small crowd gathered beneath the Heart tree, leaving her with her
father, she felt as if they were deserting her forever.
 
Jon was the last to depart and he pulled her into an abrupt embrace looking
pained as he did. She gave in and threw her arms around him, holding onto him
desperately as he whispered into her ear. “I’m sorry love.” He pulled back and
tried smiling to lighten the mood. “At least your not stuck with that little
Lannister shit.” In spite of herself Arya laughed and he smiled if a bit sadly,
he rarely ever cursed. Nevertheless, as he turned and walked to stand next to
Robb, his arm extended and hand reached out so as to never leaving contact with
hers until they were too far away to do so, she began to tremble in fear
anticipating what was about to come.
 
When her father secured the white fur lined, gray velvet maidenscloak about her
shoulders, it felt like the noose tightening around her neck. She tugged back
on his arm and refused to walk when he tried to usher her forward. Seeing her
frightened look, he softened and gave her a kiss on the forehead.
 
“Come little wolf.” He told her with a reluctant sigh.
 
She followed him this time, though she looked at the ground the whole while,
and continued to do so as her cloak was removed and replaced by large
unfamiliar hands with emerald green silk lined in gold. Her eyes never wavered
from the soil until she felt calloused fingers grasp her own gently and a cord
wrap around their joined palms. She stared at their merged limbs feeling as if
she were looking into the mouth of a dragon. She didn’t even hear the words she
had been instructed to say coming out of her own mouth as she spoke them. It
was all too surreal.
 
When a hand not entwined with her own reached up to caress her cheek, her own
fingers flew to a wrist wanting to prevent them from reaching her skin. She
only just managed to stop herself from flinging Gendry's hand away from her,
but he seemed to be reading her hesitancy because he withdrew himself.
 
Finally, she chanced a glance at his face and was almost relieved to see he
didn’t look very joyful, in fact he looked utterly miserable and was similarly
staring at the ground. When his blue eyes met hers she saw the guilt there, and
she could feel a question developing in her own. They stared one another down,
brows furrowed for what seemed like an eternity until throats were cleared
around them and they both blinked.
 
“Kiss her boy.” She heard the voice of King Robert urging his son.
 
Her eyes widened realizing it was almost over, that she was almost married, all
they had left to do was seal it with a kiss. She wanted to run, to make sure
none of this could hold, but she knew she couldn’t. When she saw him step
closer it was out of instinct that she tried to take a step back. She found she
couldn’t though as a strong arm snaked its way about her waist. Not really sure
what to do next she closed her eyes and waited.
 
His lips ghosted over hers tenderly, almost remorsefully, before pulling away.
He never left contact though as she found her mouth following his of its own
accord, seeking more pressure. He seemed to recognize her unconscious appeal
for more sooner than she did because instantly his lips were pressed back up
against hers only more firmly. He moved his mouth cautiously against hers and
she followed suit curious about the sensation. When he finally pulled away she
was surprised to find herself left feeling wanting, one hand fisted in the
fabric of his tunic.
 
She gaped at him in surprise, not completely comfortable with the strange
feelings she was experiencing. She saw some of that mirrored in his own
expression although he looked more worried, though about what she couldn’t say.
They didn’t have much time to really dwell on it before they were being
showered with unwanted congratulations and shuffled off towards the banquet
hall and the feast.
 
Arya still hadn’t come to terms with everything that had taken place by the
time they were half way through the meal. She was married. She had a husband.
She was a wife.
 
She didn’t even touch her food until Gendry gently tried suggesting to her that
she fill her stomach and calling her milady once again. She tried to resist the
urge to throw a drumstick at him and instead settled for a roasted carrot. She
heard him chuckle a bit beside her at the action and blushed when she saw her
mother shaking her head at her from across the hall. Arya’s expression quickly
turned into a scowl that she directed at Gendry. Leave it to her to get
reprimanded on her wedding day. Stupid cad just had to provoke her.
 
Soon enough people were up and dancing and she couldn’t help but gulp thinking
of what was coming next. As soon as the sun was set the first drunkard would
call out that it was time for the Bedding. She had never been exceptionally
fond of wine, she didn’t like feeling fuzzy with her senses dulled, but now she
understood why people might enjoy that sensation. She drank one goblet then
another, hoisting shaky hands to her mouth anxiously.  
 
Jon seemed to comprehend the worry she was experiencing and tried to give her
cause to forget about it by taking her for a spin dance around the floor even
though he knew she hated dancing. It was an effort she appreciated regardless,
although it appeared her disquiet was written all over her face all the while.
 
“Stop fretting Arya. There’s nothing for it.” He tried to tell her gently.
 
“It’s not as if I want to fuss.” She glowered at him before snappily adding.
“You can tell me to stop fretting when you have a dozen men waiting in the
wings to rip your clothes off.”
 
Jon grimaced and scanned the hall, only to begin glaring darkly ahead of him
realizing she was correct.
 
His apparent worry did nothing to help quash her nerves. “Will it hurt?” She
asked meekly looking up at him through painted lashes.
 
Jon looked at her, his expression twisted as if she had just ripped out his
heart. He stopped their dancing and held her to him, resting his head atop hers
momentarily before dragging her off to the side. He sat her down on a nearby
bench and crouched in front of her pushing stray hairs behind her ears. “I’m
not sure what it will be like. You’re used to bumps and bruises though. I can’t
imagine its more than a bit of discomfort.” He looked around the hall and
beckoned someone behind him. “Perhaps you should ask Robb or Theon. They would
know better.”
 
Arya glanced around her brother to see Robb and Theon approaching looking
concerned, Robb more so than Theon.
 
When they arrived Robb looked between his two siblings. “Is everything all
right?” He asked brows furrowed.
 
Jon glanced at the two briefly before turning back to Arya seeing her picking
at her skirts. He could tell she wasn't comfortable asking the question again.
He sighed and looked to the other boys. “She wants to know what to expect. To
know if it will hurt.” He told them for her.
 
Robb softened same as Jon, but Theon just snorted out a laugh. “The way she
rides she probably already ruptured her maidenhead.” Robb and Jon both sent him
murderous glares and he rolled his eyes and turned to Arya. “You ever returned
from riding to find blood stained your small clothes?” He asked her
condescendingly, as if he already knew her answer.
 
Arya shook her head no.
 
He looked genuinely surprised for a moment then shrugged. “Well then it might
hurt a bit.” He told her honestly before seeing her expression turn upset and
adding. “Only for a moment though. Once he starts to move again you’ll like it.
I’ve never known a woman who hasn’t. Besides, you like to ride. Get on top and
it’s much the same as that. If you can ride a man like you can ride a horse
you’ll have a happy husband indeed.” He told her smirking.
 
Jon stood up threateningly at the same time Robb pushed Theon away forcefully
giving him a stony look. Neither action caused the Ironborn to stop from
laughing having gotten his jest in. Robb tried to help brush it off by taking
her for a whirl around the dance floor but nothing was really going to help at
this point. There were too many thoughts running through her head. Men liked to
be ridden? Was that even possible? Jon had often let her ride around on his
back when she was younger, pretending as if he were her horse and she a knight,
but she didn’t think that was what Theon meant now. That couldn’t be anything
like lying with a man. She was now possibly more confused than ever.     
 
It wasn't until she had danced with both her Father and the King that Gendry
sought her out for his turn. He cut in just as Arya was certain his father was
going to start calling her Lyanna once more. She really couldn’t have been more
appreciative. The King’s breath had reeked of sour wine and his hands held her
a bit too closely. It was all a stark contrast to the behavior of his son, her
husband.
 
Gendry rested his hand lightly on her waist while the other entwined his
fingers with hers slowly, almost gingerly. Neither of them were particularly
good dancers and he left enough room in between their bodies to fit another
person. He didn’t meet her eye for the entirety of the dance, instead choosing
to stare pointedly past her. It made her wonder why he had asked for the dance
in the first place though she didn’t ask. Soon enough the torture was over and
Theon interceded. Both Arya and Gendry grit their teeth seeing him approach,
however they couldn’t come up with a proper excuse to turn him away.
 
His smirk was entirely insufferable as he pressed himself against her and began
the steps to the song that was being played. She followed his lead with a
clenched jaw as he used words to goad her further, just as he had always done.
                                                                               
“Not much of a dancer, are you?” He sniggered.
 
Arya only rolled her eyes. Then a thought occurred to her and she smirked. “If
you would like me to show you the water dance it would be my pleasure.”
 
The smile dropped off Theon’s face and he scowled at her. Everyone in
Winterfell knew the dance lessons she had been privy to weren’t necessarily
what one thinks of when the word ‘dance’ is uttered. Her mother had thrown
quite the fit when she discovered what kind of instruction her father had
allowed her. The servants had quickly let it spread.
 
“Are you eager for the Bedding?” He retorted acerbically, leer sliding back
into place knowing full well that she was dreading the inevitable custom. He
nodded towards the window where the last light of day could be seen
disappearing. “It’s almost time.”
 
Arya looked to the ground and away from him, her body going stiff in his grip
at the reminder.
 
His expression was wicked and he was enjoying the torture too much. He didn’t
stop either. “If your husband is at all proportional then I suppose it will
hurt more than just a bit.” He leaned in to whisper malevolently. “They do call
him the bull. Perhaps he is hung like one.”
 
Arya wasn’t really sure what he meant with his comparison but looked up and
glared murderously at him nonetheless. She didn’t need a reminder of the hurt
she would have to tolerate while at the mercy of her new husbands whims. It was
already at the forefront of her mind.
 
He only smiled happy to get a rise out of her. He shrugged for show, “I
suppose we won’t have to be guessing for long. We'll find out soon enough won’t
we?” He took a long greedy sweep of her body, “We’ll find out what’s beneath
your smallclothes as well. Tell me Arya, are you still the skinny little stick
you’ve always been, or has your body followed the lead of your handsome face
and transformed into that of a woman?”  
 
She did her best to restrain herself, and she thought she had done a damn good
job so far considering she hadn’t acted until that point, but she'd put up with
enough. Without so much as a warning she brought her foot down hard on his
instep and whirled away from him as soon as he let up his grip on her.
 
She was wearing quite the self-satisfied smirk as she stalked away from him,
but she hadn’t gone more than four steps when it faded into a look of complete
horror.
 
From behind her, in the unmistakable voice of Theon, she heard a bellow
projected loud enough for the whole hall to hear. “It’s time for the Bedding.”
He rang out malevolently, greeted by the sound of boisterous agreement.
 
To Arya it was if someone had sounded the warhorn of an approaching army. She
heard chairs scraping back and sinister chuckles as men began to make their way
towards her. Her hackles rose along with a growl in her throat.
 
She was desperately trying to control her breathing and had to resort to her
training to do so, she felt like a cornered wolf, panicked and dangerous. When
she felt wind at her neck and heard the noise of boots settling behind her, her
instincts took over and it was as if everything went in slow motion. She had
never moved so quick in her life.
 
Before she really had time to comprehend what she was doing, she whirled around
suddenly, grabbed the dagger at Theon’s belt, unsheathed it and had it flush
with his neck. Somehow she’d known it’d be him.
 
Everyone in the hall froze and all eyes were on her holding in a collective
breath. She glanced at the hand Theon had on her shoulder, his fist full of her
dress, and pressed the knife further against his throat. “Remove your hand.”
She said through gritted teeth.
 
He did as was directed but not before she heard her mother’s pleading but
appalled voice. “Arya! Stop this at once!” She hissed.
 
Arya bid her no mind and felt herself snarling more. She saw someone, two more
people, enter her periphery and let her eyes flicker to Jon and Robb.
 
“It is tradition.” Robb tried to tell her gently, looking tensely around at the
men encircling his sister. He rest his hand on her arm and put pressure there,
hoping to get her to lower her arm less someone else try to and find themselves
at the wrong end of the blade. It didn’t work.
 
“Listen to Robb.” Jon urged slowly, trying to make her see sense.
 
She didn’t care about the stupid tradition, it was barbaric and there was no
way she’d submit herself to the fancies of these degenerate drunkards. She
frowned at both of her brothers wondering when it was they had stopped trying
to protect her.
 
It wasn't until she saw ice blue eyes over Theon’s shoulder that she realized
what she was doing.
 
“Arya.” Gendry said firmly, eyes boring into hers brokering no nonsense.
 
Working her jaw for a moment unhappily, she finally acquiesced. “Fine.” She
spat before hastily adding a warning. “But no one is disrobing me. I'll do it
myself.” She would do this on her own terms, custom be damned.
 
There seemed to be a massive release of held breaths throughout the hall once
she removed the dagger from Theon’s throat. After she did, it seemed as if the
crowd was moving in to claim her heedless of her defiant words but they stopped
again eyes wide as she turned the blade towards herself with a trembling hand.
Everyone collectively halted, a chorus of incredulous gasps echoing through the
hall and assuming the worst while wondering exactly what she planned.
 
She knew there was no chance she'd be able to remove all of layers of clothing
herself, what with all the buttons and laces, and she certainly wasn’t going to
ask for help after the scene she'd just caused. Besides, the help she would
receive wasn't something she'd readily welcome, in fact, it was exactly what
she was trying to avoid. She wouldn’t give these fools the satisfaction of
degrading and stripping her for the sake of this sickening perversion they
disguised as tradition. She resigned to cut herself out of her clothing and
take at least that much power away from them.
 
She started at the collar of her dress and sliced the fabric down to the waist
where she stepped out of her skirts. With a deft hand, although still slightly
quaking, she cut the laces of her bodice and then stepped out of her small
clothes. She was completely naked except for the fabric she used to bind her
breasts and she wasn't going to take the time to unwind it. Running the dull
side of the dagger against her skin, once it was fully underneath the cloth she
pressed the blade against the material and felt it fall to the floor. She was
bare for all to see and she could feel eyes grazing her skin though she refused
to acknowledge them, instead choosing to stare at the Baratheon banners hanging
as decoration.
 
She stood there for what seemed a lifetime, waiting to be picked up and carted
off to the Bedding Chambers, but it seemed everyone had forgotten that part of
the ritual. She heard a rustling within the crowd and felt silk encircling her
shoulders.
 
Confusion swept over her and she lowered her eyes to see Gendry fastening his
huge emerald and gold marriage cloak about her shoulders, giving her some
semblance of coverage. It seemed as if that brought everyone back to their
senses because she was almost immediately scooped up into the arms of an eager
stranger and hauled out of the room as the majority of men followed and began
poking, pinching, and prodding.
 
They cackled at her sinisterly carrying her up to the tower, laughing as they
questioned if she was prepared to be mounted by the bull. They shared jests as
she scowled at them murderously and they spoke of how he’d take her roughly
from behind like the bastard animal he was. How as the northern whore she’d
probably enjoy it. Several of them tried and succeeded to grope at her bum and
her breasts. And while she initially thrashed wildly in protest, throwing
elbows and lashing out with her legs, she refrained after her flailing only
worked to displace the cloak and expose her to them renewing their fervor.
 
She was passed around carelessly like one of Sansa’s old porcelain dolls, no
one with the strength to hold her for long as she writhed fiercely and knocked
the wind out of them. Each man commented vividly on how they’d like to take
her, how they’d best her as she struggled, and how she’d incur a bastards
temper should she try to deny Gendry his rights.
 
She did her best to ignore the cruel remarks but it was more difficult than she
imagined and she found herself repeating the names of the worst offender in
hopes she could one day serve them their just desserts. Her anger and dread
built to the point of explosion or break down, and once they arrived at the
Bedding Chambers, she was pushed inside unceremoniously and left to wait while
they continued to offer crude remarks about her person through the door.
 
It wasn't long she was left by herself, and she was glad for it because she
couldn’t stand the anticipation and fidgeting, it was bound to drive her mad
before long and she was helpless to stop it after the torment she’d endured.
When she heard the door rattling open, and an uproarious commotion erupt
outside, she bolted up right from her position seated on the bed just as Gendry
stumbled inside wearing not a stitch of clothing but holding his bits and
covering himself. She wondered if the women had traumatized him the way the men
did her. She doubted it.
 
They stood there awkwardly for a moment just staring at each other. Arya eyes
wide like a deer facing a predator, and Gendry startled at finding himself
alone with his petrified Lady wife. She looked as if she was prepared to run or
fight if need be, eyeing him as if he would pounce on her.
 
After a moment of tormented consideration Gendry dropped his hands away from
his body and strode towards the opposite side of the room and away from Arya.
“No need to be frightened milady.” He asserted a bit bitterly, solemn eyes
turned towards the ground and head hung stiffly, jaw clenched. “I won't force
myself on you.”
 
Arya narrowed her eyes at him suspicious of his intentions, not sure what he
was on about. Was he attempting to take her by surprise or was he truly not
trying to lie with her this night? Either way he wasn't serving anyone
considering their union would have to happen eventually and she’d be drowning
in dread until then.
 
The way he pointedly kept his back to her and refused to glance in her
direction allowed for the conclusion that he had been speaking truly, he
genuinely had no intention of taking her maidenhead. Suddenly she felt rebuffed
and oddly insulted that he could so easily brush her off and had no inclination
of consummating the marriage. She stalked after him indignant, but stopped
suddenly when he turned to face her questioningly having heard her follow.
 
Unsure of what to do, or what she’d meant to do once she reached him, she
halted her progress abruptly feeling foolish. Eyes scanning the room trying to
figure out an explanation for her behavior, her gaze strayed to his groin, eyes
bulging at the sight of him before they snapped back up to his face. Arya
gulped. She had seen her brothers on many occasions as a child but never a man,
and he was certainly grown.
 
She flushed red and struggled to figure out what to say. Eventually she found
her words. “What makes you believe you could force yourself onto me?” She
challenged ridiculously, drawing herself up to her full height.
 
He was huge, he could easily have his way with her. She was practically
defenseless without any weapons. That’s not to say she wouldn’t put up a fight
if necessary even though she was naked as her nameday.
 
He seemed to agree with the fact that her question was a bit absurd. He lifted
an eyebrow bemused, holding back sardonic laughter. “You truly want me to
answer that milady?” He asked letting an incredulous little chuckle escape as
he did.
 
She scowled at him and clenched her fists at her side. “Stop calling me m’lady,
and don’t laugh at me!”
 
Whatever humor he'd felt died out and he exhaled heavily, sighing upon seeing
her irritation. “I’m sorry milad—Arya.” He ran a hand over his face frustrated.
“I wasn’t laughing at you.” He tried.
 
“Don’t be stupid.” She scowled at him. “Of course you were.”
 
He grit his teeth clearly exasperated and at a loss. “Okay, mayhaps I was.” He
admitted in irritation. “Its just, you’re a slight thing. What would you have
me do?”
 
She grimaced at his description of her and licked her lips looking around. She
really wasn't sure what she would have him do, or what he was supposed to do
even. She was a maid! He ought to know how this was supposed to go.
 
The extent of her knowledge regarding what was supposed to happen was the
disgusting bits she'd overheard from Theon and Robb, as well as what little her
mother had decided to disclose less she decide it sounded appealing and
disgrace herself. The way Robb and Theon had discussed the squirting and
ejaculating made it seem like one huge, humiliatingly horrible mess of
nauseating bodily fluids complete with awful squishing noises, smacking, and
awkward positions. Coupled with her mother’s description of a man ‘sheathing
his sword inside of a woman to draw her maidens blood’, that was enough to
shock her vivid imagination into believing it would be as painful as being
stabbed with a blade and as gruesome and messy as viewing her mother giving
birth to Rickon. Of course the added tidbit that should anyone try to ‘grope or
penetrate her inappropriately’, she was to tell her father and he’d have them
publicly flogged only added to the confusion. Why anyone would attempt such an
act considering how repulsive and painful it all sounded, only to risk the
wrath of another's family, was beyond her. It certainly didn’t sound like it
would bring pleasure regardless of what everyone was always going on about. She
didn’t care if people thought she would take to it eagerly, she would happily
stick to riding and fighting.
Besides, what classified as an appropriate type of penetration? Is that what
she should have Gendry do?
                                                                               
“I would have you do your duty.” She finally told him. It seemed simple enough.
 
His brow furrowed momentarily, uncertain if that’s what she really desired, but
then he took a step towards her intending to do as she asked. He stopped,
however, when she took a step away from him swallowing thickly, eyes wide and
anxious.
 
Gendry ran a hand through his hair aggravated at her apparent uncertainty and
the guilt he felt because of it. “You don’t want this.” He told her brushing
past her and climbing into the opposite side of the bed. He lay down facing
away from her.
 
She bristled at his action and the assumption of his words, and climbed into
the other side, making certain the maidenscloak didn’t flutter open even though
he wasn’t looking at her. “You don’t know what I want.” She flared, lifting her
chin impudently. “Besides, I was told I’d probably be good at it.”
                                                                               
At that he rolled over to face her, looking at her skeptically although
appearing slightly entertained. “Is that so?” He asked disparagingly amused.
 
It was clear he didn’t believe her and that renewed her anger. “That is so!”
She snapped. “Theon told me that I was talented on horseback so I should be
good at riding men.” She stated matter-of-factly.
 
Gendry snorted and really did have to hold back his mirth. He looked to her
with laughing eyes. “Do you even realize what you’ve just said?”
 
She glowered at him. “Of course I do idiot.” She lied.
 
He looked at her sideways, clearly not believing her. Patronizing silence
dominated for a moment and she couldn’t take it.
 
She didn’t understand why this was so difficult. From what she’d been led to
believe men usually didn’t give their new wives much of a chance to protest.
Yet, here he was letting her stew in apprehension.
 
“Am I not to you’re liking? Do you not wish to take my maidenhead?” She
questioned curiously. She came out with it brazenly, but the idea that he
didn’t want her brought strange and unwelcome pangs to her stomach.
 
His eyes widened and he sat up. “No.” He said quickly. “No, that’s not it at
all. I—I just don’t want you do anything you don’t wish to.” He offered
quickly. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He explained.
 
She looked at him as if he were daft. “Don’t be stupid. You won’t hurt me.” She
told him. “I’m not breakable you know.”
 
At her words he smiled wistfully and chuckled. She found she quite liked the
look of him that way. “You spoke those exact words to me five years past.” He
reminded her, regarding her with glittering blue eyes.
 
She bit her cheek and furrowed her brow. “You don’t believe them then?”
 
He shook his head. “I do believe them.” He told her. “You may be a little Lady,
but you’re quite tough.” He chortled at her.
 
She should’ve appreciated the favorable expression of his opinion but she found
she could only fidget under the intensity of his soft gaze. It felt as if her
skin were ablaze underneath the cloak. She scooted a bit closer to him before
settling back on her knees. “Then why not just do it? I won’t try to stop you.”
She told him quickly, tilting her head and trying to figure him out.
 
He grimaced and looked to be trying to find words while waging an inner battle.
It was then that she realized he was akin to her brother Jon. He was a bastard
and didn’t think himself good enough, he didn’t see himself as a Highborn. He
didn’t think he had a right to her even though he’d been legitimized and they
were now married.
 
She now knew he wasn’t going to do anything and that she’d have to. Rolling her
eyes and trying to relieve herself of her nerves, Arya surprised him by moving
to straddle his legs. Once there she paused, feeling her pulse begin to
quicken. Licking her lips and building up courage she pushed the cloak off her
shoulders.
 
She sat there, bare breasts on a level with his face, breathing heavily not
really sure where to go from there. Searching his face for anything, she only
saw him staring stunned. “Go on.” She urged him, feeling silly just kneeling
there over him.
 
His eyes ravenously scanned her body breath held, but after a moment he sat up
and met her gaze, pulling the combs from her hair and letting it fall around
her face before bringing a hand to her neck and cautiously tugging her closer
to press his lips against hers. He was afraid she’d pull away leaving him
feeling guilty, like an unwelcome aggressor. She didn’t.
 
Much like their previous kiss, Arya was intrigued by the pressure and feel of
him and moved in tandem with his lips, wondering how this could possibly feel
as wonderful as it did. When his tongue ran across her bottom lip she pulled
back in astonishment bringing her fingers to her lips and feeling a shudder run
through her body.
 
“What was that?” She asked him wide eyed.
 
His eyes scanned hers momentarily unsure of what she meant. “My tongue?” He
finally answered brows furrowed, hoping that’s what she was referring to.   
 
She had figured as much, what she couldn’t figure out was why she enjoyed it so
thoroughly and where the sensational jolt had come from. Hastily she decided
she didn’t care. “Do that again.” She ordered before she eagerly crashed her
lips back down on his mouth and wrapped her hands around his neck, pressing
herself up against him and feeling a needy heat rise deep within her begging
for contact.
 
Gendry, surprised at first by her enthusiasm, moved one of the hands from
either side of her face to between her shoulder blades, holding her close and
assisting to press her up against him further. He relished the feel of her
supple skin against his. As soon as he slipped his tongue past her lips, she
moaned against him and melted in his arms.
 
Allowing his tongue to explore the sweet taste of her mouth, Gendry let himself
fall onto his back then rolled her over onto hers never breaking their kiss.
Ayra was a bit startled by the change of positions but was too enthralled with
the magnificent feel of his lips to care. Suddenly Sansa’s incessant prattling
didn’t seem all that much like nonsense. This was nice, exhilarating even. She
was even surprised to find that she didn’t mind him hovering over her like he
had bested her in some type of wrestling match. Instead of trying to move to
the dominating position she simply arched her back thrusting her body up to
keep in contact with his.
 
Gendry was happily amazed by the eagerness with which she responded to his
touch and didn’t know which of the Seven he should be sending his praise to.
Then again he should probably be thanking the Old Gods of the North because she
was like no southern Lady he’d come across. Her claim in that regard was true.
 
She was impetuous and audacious and wild, just like her wolf and just like her
homeland. He couldn’t imagine her ever being anything but, and found he didn’t
want to. If nothing else, her brazen approach to even the unfamiliar often
provided cause for amusement and endeared her to him further.
 
She pulled away from their kiss abruptly, this time looking slightly alarmed.
She squirmed underneath him trying to gain room while clenching her legs
together. “Something’s wrong.” She told him.
 
He had to bite back a groan as he felt his cock twitch due to the friction of
her fidgeting. She must’ve felt it too because she went still and then looked
down between their bodies.
 
She furrowed her brows further and looked at him confused. “It’s growing
bigger.” She stated clearly intrigued and seemingly having forgotten about her
worry in the face of this new development. “Is that supposed to happen?” She
questioned shamelessly. She didn’t appear afraid, just curious as she looked
for explanation for the strange phenomenon.
 
He grimaced slightly at her ignorance feeling uncomfortably hard now and a bit
idiotic as she stared. “It is.” He told her she continued to marvel at his
prick. He was surprised it didn’t wilt under her scrutiny.
 
She looked up after a moment to meet his eyes. “Can I touch it?” There was no
awkwardness in her tone, just interest and a bit of a hopeful gleam.  
 
He swallowed but nodded his head, watching as she reached her hand down
gingerly and wrapped her slim fingers around his girth. He felt a rush of blood
to his groin on contact and grunted slightly, holding his breath before
exhaling deeply. He struggled not to pant as all the muscles in his body tensed
and she tested his weight in her grip. The unexpectedness of the movement
caused him to involuntarily jerk his hips into her hand and grit his teeth in
aggravated embarrassment. She didn’t seem to mind though, she was too
captivated with his cock care.
 
“The skin! It’s loose! It feels like satin” She exclaimed, informing him of her
findings as if he didn’t know the feel of his own prick. Her fingers darted
from his head to stem covetously and he bit his lip at the feel. “It’s hard
too, and long.” She paused with her hand still gripping him and looked back to
his eyes appearing thoughtful. “Is that what they mean when they say you’re
hung like a bull?”
 
 “What?” He sputtered hoarsely in astonishment. His voice was much more of a
croak than he would’ve liked to admit as he stammered out his question. Hung
like a bull? He knew people called him the bull because of the helmet he’d
made, but did they actually say that about him as well?  
 
She frowned at him removing her grip on his cock thinking maybe she shouldn’t
have said anything. “What? That’s not a bad thing is it?” She asked of him.
 
He licked his lips wishing her hand would return to him and shook his head. “No
its not. It means…never mind.” He said brushing it off. Now that he was fully
erect he desperately wanted more contact and didn’t want to explain, or have
her considering his anatomy awkwardly for that matter. “Did you say something
was wrong?” He asked.
 
“Yes.” She told him suddenly remembering. She squirmed again propping herself
up on her elbows and reaching down. Spreading her legs a bit, she ran a hand
over herself and brought it back up between them to observe the sticky
substance on her fingers. She examined it for a moment. “It’s not my moon-
blood. That ended weeks ago.” She told him before meeting his eyes.
 
He bit his cheek to keep from laughing. “That’s meant to happen as well.” He
tried explaining.
 
She searched his eyes, her own narrowed slightly, trying to figure out if he
was just saying that.
 
He considered her intently, brows furrowed. “Have you never touched yourself
before?” He asked scrutinizing her features disbelievingly. He knew most men
could hardly go a day without stroking them selves until release, he among
them, and he’d heard women speaking of delving fingers into themselves for
relief as well. He couldn’t imagine that everyone didn’t do it. 
 
She shook her head no then spoke seeing his surprise. “Should I have?” She
asked intrigued.
 
He blinked at her words then shrugged. “I suppose not. Men do and it’s said to
feel good for women as well. Of course its better when another person does it
for you.”
 
She stared at him blankly for a moment then a demanding expression came over
her features. “Show me.” She insisted of him, grabbing his hand boldly and
guiding it down her belly as if she didn’t think he’d do it himself. 
 
He paused for a moment hovering over her belly button, but hesitation was short
lived. He didn’t need any more encouragement than the feel of his throbbing
cock and the inviting look of her creamy white skin. He trailed his hand slowly
down to the bottom of her abdomen, feeling her stomach shy away from him as she
inhaled sharply, wondering at the magnificence of the foreign sensation of
another’s touch.
 
His fingers moved delicately through the soft dark curls of the hair decorating
her mound and he saw her gulp before he ran a hand over her opening. She fisted
the linens and squeezed her eyelids shut as he rolled her shiny pink lips
between his thumb and forefinger, appreciating the wetness he felt and the
delightful little gasps she tried to hold back by biting her lip.
 
When his thumb finally came back up to gently circle her clit as experiment,
her hips jerked off the linens and she cried out loudly, one of her hands
flying down to lie on top of his, gripping him tightly.
                                        
He thought she meant to push him away. “Should I stop?” He asked hastily.
 
She writhed against him and gave him a contemptuous look. “Don’t be stupid.”
 
He struggled to hold back a smile at her choice of words and only chuckled a
bit before picking up where he’d left of, stroking her gently now rather than
just skirting around her nub. He watched as her eyes darted all over the
ceiling, not really sure about what she was feeling.
 
She couldn’t decide if it was pure ecstasy or some obscene agony, but she
wasn't indecisive about the fact that she didn’t want it to stop. She felt the
muscles at the base of her abdomen flutter in pleasure and the building of
something in her core that she couldn’t quite comprehend. She didn’t know what
would happen when that feeling came to be too much, but she knew by instinct it
would be something significant. The instinct alone was enough to make her
anxious, and the perception of some unbelievable, euphoric frustration
instigating pleasure caused her to question if she was going mad. She grit her
teeth in aggravation but couldn’t help but thrust herself against him, using
her hand to push his against her further.
 
The fact that Gendry could feel her appeal for more as her hand scraped up and
down his substantial forearm, urging him on in his rhythms, was enough
permission for him to move his mouth to circle her nipple with his tongue. He
and every other man at the wedding feast had probably wanted to do as much
after she rendered them all speechless, proving her still budding figure did
have curves.  
 
Just eyeing her while she was clothed, one wouldn’t really think there was much
underneath. She was a tall skinny little rail of a thing, or at least that’s
what he’d come to believe. After she’d cut herself out of her skirts, he was
surprised to find they hid long attractive legs which led up to shapely hips
and an ass with curves that would make any mans blood boil. She was quite the
active one, so maybe her lithe, elegant body should’ve been expected, but the
size of her breasts had been a shock to practically all the men present in the
hall.
 
He’d heard of women binding themselves to their chest to prevent their tits
from hindering movement, but only among those who worked fields or the rare
woman soldier, certainly not proper Highborn Ladies. He still remembered the
way Arya’s surprisingly sizable, pert breasts had bounced proudly when she cut
away the fabric, her small rosy nipples springing erect once exposed to the
breeze that swept through the hall.
 
He appreciated them even more now that he had his head buried between them and
she was shoving them up in his face as she moaned, appreciating his efforts. He
devotedly bit and sucked at them with his mouth and massaged and plucked with
his hand, welcoming the mesmerizing melody of her keens. They were the perfect
small handful for his large callused palms, and as he explored them he felt a
new wave of wetness from between her thighs, beckoning the fingers he had still
diligently working her clit lower to her opening.
 
The moment Arya felt his fingers let up on the pressure and leave her
completely she growled angrily. She almost felt obliged to act out on her anger
after hearing him laugh slightly hearing her protestation, but then she felt
him move from his position lying next to her, down the length of her body. She
felt all her muscles stiffen, entirely uncertain of what he was going to do and
unsure if she should let him, but she didn’t have time to object and she was
happy she didn’t.
 
When his mouth came down in place of his fingers, sucking magnificently, tongue
flicking just so, her eyes bulged out of her head and she clawed the linens of
the bed with one hand. Her other hand flew to clutch at his ebony curls as her
hips rose in the air. She was vaguely aware of her strangled cry of “Gendry”,
before he chortled into her sex. She nearly forgot her own name in the feel of
the vibrations.
 
Something within her center was throbbing desperately, and while his mouth was
remarkable, the addition of his fingers probing her entrance made the whole
symphony of sensations excruciatingly glorious. He circled her opening with his
middle finger teasingly as one of his hands snaked its way up her belly to toy
with her breasts. His mouth worked in concert flicking and circling and nursing
on her clit, his fingers finally plunging into her impossibly tight cunt,
slowly setting a smooth easy rhythm.
 
Arya didn’t know what to do with herself. She couldn’t imagine anything more
exhilarating than riding or fighting, but this was incredible, something else
entirely, something more exquisite. The whole conflagration of movement
fostered feelings of pleasure similar to those of her favorite distractions,
though more intense if not frighteningly maddening. She wanted to move, to
sweat. She wanted to feel the ache of her muscles alongside this new arousing
ache he was cultivating between her thighs. She bit her lip, ignoring the keens
coming out of her mouth, completely at a loss of what to do and squirming
because of it, though careful not to lose the feel of his fingers.
                                                      
The deliberate slow pace Gendry worked into her seemed like it wasn't quenching
her need sufficiently. Soon enough she was driving herself further onto his
fingers and shoving her clit into his face expectantly. Her groans were
reaching a higher frequency the faster and further he plunged into her wet
opening, and she was clearly close to orgasm though he wasn't sure she knew
exactly what was happening. She was almost thrashing now, unable to cope with
the sensation as she reached a fever pitch. He was struggling, although
determined, to keep his mouth latched onto her clit and his fingers pumping in
and out, her walls convulsing around his digits. He brought his spare hand up
and used his considerable strength to keep her hips pressed to the linens, but
she overcame even that as her body tensed in climax.
 
She was incapable of noise entirely as her eyes widened in final ecstasy,
breath caught in her throat as she ultimately reached release. It wasn’t until
her hips collapsed back onto the linens having been lifted in the air as she
arched her back impossibly high, that she finally found her voice. “Seven
Hells!” She breathed closing her eyes briefly.
 
Gendry moved to his knees while wiping the taste of her from his cheeks. He
intended to move to lay next to her but he fell back onto his rump after
deciding that his view of her as she lay there in the last thralls of her
orgasm was much too exquisite to pass up.
 
Her wild hair was even more unruly as it cascaded away from her head in a dark
halo framing her long, blissfully satisfied face. She had one hand thrown above
her head and the other resting carelessly on her stomach below her lovely
breasts. She was beautiful, gorgeous even, and when his eyes moved back up to
her face he was immediately drawn to her gaze.
 
She was smiling at him serenely now, still intoxicated with pleasure. Where her
eyes were typically a vibrant clear steel, they were now the tempestuous grey
of a summer storm, promising relentless winds and pounding rains, but also life
for the lands they swept across in their passion. In her stare he neglected to
see himself as a bastard, he was a man reveling in the fervency he’d cultivate
in such an astonishing creature. He felt powerful here with her.
 
He returned her smile with a heady one of his own, smirking almost. “Did you
enjoy that milady?” He asked impishly, feeling entitled to use the formality
she found irritating after bringing her to climax. He clearly knew the answer
to his own question. 
 
For some reason the formality didn’t annoy her this time. She found that the
way he said it caused that same throbbing to begin again within her abdomen.
She rolled her eyes and swiftly crawled towards him. “What do you think?” Then
her expression morphed to one of incomprehension. “Your fingers didn’t hurt.”
It was as if she suspected they should’ve. She cocked her head to the side
sitting down next to him. “Did you take my maidenhead?” She asked him
curiously, grabbing his sizeable hands audaciously and inspecting for blood.
When she found no trace of crimson she looked to him questioningly.
 
 “I’m afraid fingers won’t do it.” He informed her carefully, still entertained
by her unabashed flagrancy and holding back chuckles. She was utterly
unaffected by the embarrassment that generally accompanied the impropriety of
talking about such deeds. Gendry himself still found he squirmed when speaking
crudely, but here she was entirely crass bordering on shameless and still a
maid.
 
She frowned a bit at his words then shrugged. “Well go on then, Lord
Baratheon.” She urged him now with a little nudge, rolling her eyes at his new
title and happy to see him grimace. “Now that I see what everyone is always
going on about I think I might overlook the pain.”
 
He was still resistant and apprehensive about hurting her, and she seemed to
read it in his expression. She drew closer though hesitantly. Settling herself
on her knees next to him, she captured his lips in a chaste kiss before pulling
away. She blinked a bit and looked at him peculiarly, rolling the flavor around
in her mouth. “Is that me I’m tasting?” She asked curiously.
 
He nodded thinking that she wasn’t going to want to kiss him after his
response, but she just blinked then pressed her mouth back against his. He was
surprised momentarily but should’ve expected as much. He responded just as
eagerly as she did, matching her desire with his own. He brushed his lips
against hers fiercely, answering her aggression by nibbling on her lip and
drawing her into his side a bit roughly as she ran hands through his shadowy
locks and across his broad chest.
 
Soon enough he needed her even closer. She didn’t flinch at all when he grasped
her with two hands on either side of her hips, picking her slight body up
easily and bringing her to straddle him once again. She didn’t break her
contact with his lips until she pressed herself up against him in such a manner
that his erect cock probed her entrance.
 
She pulled away eyes wide searching his face, apprehension still present but
masked now by want. Seeing Gendry’s eyes roll back in his head at the feel of
him so close to inside of her, Arya couldn’t help but be curious what his
reaction would be once he actually was. Without a second thought she sank
herself further onto to him and was delighted to see his eyes fly open as he
watched her in shock and struggled to control himself, growling in need as she
brought him inside her warmth.
 
Arya had to bite her lip feeling the resistance of her body to his girth. He
was thick and long, and the way he parted her, her walls tensely giving way
around him, made her eyes water a bit.
 
She never remembered holding her breath, but as his progress into her stopped,
and she felt a prickly pressure causing her to squeeze her eyes shut as he came
into contact with something that eventually burst painfully, she found herself
gasping and panting. The strength of her muscles gave way leaving her to fall
the rest of the way onto him until he was fully sheathed inside of her.
 
They sat there fully immersed in one another. Arya with her arms thrown about
his neck breathless and clutching him to her as the pain ebbed only to be
replaced by something else, and Gendry breathing thickly into her collar trying
his damnedest to stop himself from moving until she was ready to do so herself.
 
As soon as her breath slowed she pulled away from him meeting his eyes, gazing
at him in amazement but a bit unsure what to do now. Still, she figured it out
on her own by testing to see if the sting truly was gone. He groaned into her
skin as she wiggled her hips slightly, moving in small circles to check. She
sighed at the feeling and seemed curious about how other movements would feel.
 
Gendry threw his head back and exhaled loudly as she used her knees to sit up,
drawing him out of her snug warmth. It wasn't until she fell back onto him
rather more abruptly and with more force than he anticipated that he finally
gave voice to his ecstasy.
 
“Fuck.” He stammered loudly, his eyes bulging and rolling back in his head as
she too cried out blissfully. She paused, savoring the feeling the jolt had
given her, and looked to him to find an agonized expression twisting his
features as he tried to hold himself back from surprised release.
 
“Did I hurt you?” She asked seeming uncertain, concerned she might’ve done some
harm as unlikely as it seemed.
 
He let out a brusque little laugh and shook his head adamantly. “No.” He told
her smirking briefly. “Quite the opposite actually.”
 
She grinned along with him. “Good.” She told him with a nod. “I really want to
do that again.”
 
Gendry felt himself gulp, unsure how long he could take her exploration until
he gave in and began thrusting into her without heed. Regardless, he was
resolved to let her do as she pleased. Hell, if she kept up with the movements
she claimed to enjoy he might not be left to exert himself at all. 
 
She didn’t hesitate to start once more, this time with new confidence though
she watched his face carefully to see if she did anything wrong. She began
slowly, rising up off his cock languidly, feeling herself convulse around him
involuntarily as if her cunt was trying to lure him back in. She withdrew from
him languorously up until the point she couldn’t take the absence any longer
and had to drive herself back onto his prick, happy to feel full once again.
 
Her pace steadily grew faster and faster, and where she had been using his
shoulders to assist in her movements, after he laid back onto the sheets to
watch her work, it was the strength of his arms and his grip on her hips as he
came up to meet her with his own that now aided in keeping the pace. 
 
Gendry had an exceptionally difficult time trying to keep his eyes on one
thing. He also couldn’t help but think that she was right, she was good at
this. Her head was thrown back in breathtaking euphoria, her eyes closed as she
rode him. A sheen of sweat highlighted her body beautifully as her breasts
bounced delightfully in rhythm with her glorious movements, indulging him with
an unanticipated spectacular bliss. He grit his teeth craning his neck so he
could view himself disappearing into her, gobbled up by her tight virginal
cunt. She was a vision as she rode him, giving the both of them satisfaction,
there was just too much to see.
 
She kept up her efforts for an impossibly long time as her muscles began to
ache, but even then she couldn’t give up the pleasure. She continued, only now
falling forward and resting hands on his chest for support as her hips
continued to bob deliciously up and down over him.
 
Gendry grunted as she fell forward onto him, hands propping herself up using
his pectorals. He was surprised that she hadn’t fallen on him in complete
exhaustion considering the fervor with which she was fucking his exultant cock.
Now that she had a means to support herself, he removed one hand from her hips
and ran a knuckle over her clit.
 
Arya reveled in the burn of her muscles and the sweat dripping from her pours
as she speared herself over and over again savoring this new addictive
gratification. Impaling herself again and again she felt the build of that
fantastic throbbing that promised an ecstatic release like nothing else she’d
experienced in the world. When she felt one of his hands leave her hip she
didn’t think anything of it until he brushed over her nub and she lurched
forward. It took her a moment to find her rhythm again but she did with a
renewed vigor, mewling reflexively as his pressure drove her mad.
 
Her movements became frantic as she neared the edge, her thrusting erratic and
losing pace. With practiced ease he remedied the situation and flipped her onto
her back, picking right back up with the pace, propelling his cock into her
just as feverishly. She met his hips with her own eagerly, one leg wrapped
about him, heel digging into his back, and the other bent at the knee, foot
flat against the linens for leverage.
 
Her attempts to meet him thrust for thrust eventually caused them to move
slowly up the bed as she pushed up off it. Eventually her head was pressed up
against the carved wood headboard, her neck craned at an odd angle. She didn’t
complain, and seemed as if she had no inclination to stop. Still, it looked
uncomfortable and he had no desire to cause her pain. He grabbed two handfuls
of her brilliantly enviable ass, keeping himself sheathed inside of her all the
while, and lifted her effortlessly up off the sheets, pressing her back against
the headboard and pinning her there with his body as she instinctively wrapped
both her slim legs around his waist to hold herself up.
 
They both seemed to be of the same mind because she lifted her arms back over
her head and grasped the headboard for leverage just as he did the same, moving
one leg from kneeling so that he was flatfooted and could supplement his
thrusting with more force. She rode him marvelously as he skewered her again
and again coarsely, both of them grunting and moaning loudly in ecstasy as
their bits collided over and over with obscene, wet sounding smacks.
 
She was right on the verge and so was he. They both renewed their passion,
frenetically anticipating release. As her cunt began to spasm deliciously, she
buried her face in his neck, throwing her arms around him as he felt himself
come as well, her walls milking the seed from within him. He held her to him
relishing the feel of her compulsory convulsions before he fell back on his
rear still clutching her to him, their sweat and juices melding as they panted
from exertion still intertwined.
 
She pulled away after a moment just to gaze into his eyes, scrutinizing his
face with an amazed, euphoric expression as he did the same, brushing a stray
strand of her wild dark hard behind her ear tenderly.
 
He placed a kiss on her forehead before resting his own against hers. Gods he
wanted another go. The knowledge that she’d be sore in the morning from their
union made him hold himself back. “Best you get some rest milady.” He told her
still breathing hard.
 
She furrowed her brows slightly but shook her head. She wasn't nearly done now
that she’d started. “More.” Was all she said before she crushed her mouth to
his passionately and they began anew.
 
They lay together twice more that night, bringing each other to magnificent
climax before finally collapsing in exhaustion, limbs intertwined atop the
sheets as they fell asleep side-by-side. When the suns rays finally entered
through the windows the next morning and they began to stir, it was to find
servants fussing about in their chambers.
 
They didn’t share many words while dressing themselves for the day, feeling
slightly ill at ease in the presence of others and each other. When he was
fully clothed he turned to her, mouth opening and closing uncertainly. He
scratched the back of his neck embarrassedly, looking as if he wanted to say
something, but then thought better of it and departed without a word, head hung
low, leaving her to stare after him strangely.
                                                                               
Arya had no idea where he disappeared to that day nor did she really concern
herself with it. She was to meet her family that morning to break fast, so she
headed to her parents chambers as soon as she was clothed.
                                                                                                                                  
 
 
***** Disconsolate *****
Chapter Summary
     Soooooo I'm pretty sure this chapter may piss people off, however I
     am going to remain staunchly unapologetic for it even if some of it
     may admittedly be a bit OOC in some aspects. Gotta stick to my guns
     and just hope you enjoy the filth!
Making her way up to her family’s chambers, Arya found herself groaning at the
ache she felt all over. She was feeling parts of her body she never even knew
existed as sharp, horribly unpleasant sensations tore through her overused
limbs and punished muscles. Her legs were sore beyond belief, and every time
she coughed or sneezed she found herself hunched over clutching at her abdomen
as her insides throbbed painfully.
 
By the time she finally arrived at her destination she was dragging her feet
and cursing Gendry in her head. He did try to warn her what her zealousness
would mean for her body come the morning, but she hadn’t believed him.
Regardless, she still considered it his fault because he never saw fit to
actually stop her, or control his own arousal for that matter. Never mind that
she made both tasks particularly impossible for him.
 
Arya must’ve looked miserable in her pain when she opened the door to her
family’s chambers because when they turned to greet her their faces twisted
into various expressions of pity at first glance. Well everyone except Theon of
course, as he just smirked like the prat he was, and young Rickon, who was too
busy flinging his eggs at Bran to bother with the appearance of another person.
 
Arya looked up and halted her progress into the room, blinking in confusion at
their reception of her. Their collective thoughts were made clear to her as her
mother let out a strangled exclamation and hurried over.
 
“Arya!” She called out remorsefully, quickly moving to embrace her youngest
daughter. She grasped either of her cheeks and searched her eyes. “Was he not
gentle? Did you resist him?” Catelyn asked in quick succession as her family
listened intently behind her.
 
Arya flushed slightly in embarrassment but it was quickly overwhelmed by a
surge of anger. She slapped her mother’s hands away glowering. “What does it
matter?” She snapped tetchily. What right did any of her family have to act
concerned and ask such questions after they’d put her in this situation?
 
None of it was Gendry’s fault, so she didn’t know why her mother thought to
blame him. He had in fact been gentle at first, at least gentler than Arya had
been to herself, but then she had asked him for more and he had undoubtedly,
and marvelously, acquiesced. Still, regardless of whether it had been
magnificent, they were both just doing their duties, nothing more. Neither of
them had wanted this marriage. If this whole debacle was anyone’s fault it was
their families’, and they had yet to provide a reason for it. So really, what
did her mother care if she was hurt? She wasn’t letting her get away thinking
she wasn’t culpable for her condition.
 
Arya narrowed her eyes at her mother fuming. “You certainly didn’t seem
concerned about how he’d treat me when you saw fit to give me away!” She
continued to seethe. “It’s not as if you didn’t know what was going to happen!”
 
Her mother took a step back from her, eyes hurt and glossing slightly. “I
didn’t want this for you.” She murmured breathlessly into the silent room.
 
She met her mother’s gaze, a defiant frown gracing her features. Arya’s hard
steel eyes flashed angrily, focused on deep blue ones. “Neither did I.” She
stated pitilessly.
 
She heard a seat scrape back and then a solemn voice. “That’s enough.” Her
father told her gruffly.
 
Arya glanced at her father’s rigid expression then sullenly shoved past her
mother, intentionally letting their shoulders meet and putting her strength
behind it. She felt a slight bit of satisfaction as her Lady mother was forced
to take a step back, but all that was erased as she plopped down into her seat
rather roughly and yelped as a jolt of pain darted up through her middle on
contact. She blushed crimson and grit her teeth, squirming and trying to find a
comfortable position. She never did, and when she looked up to the table it was
to find her father grimacing uncomfortably and working his jaw while everyone
else shot her consolatory looks clearly having deduced the reason for her hurt.
She scowled at their sympathy and dumped some eggs onto her plate, childishly
spearing them with her fork before bringing them to her mouth. She despised
that they were all looking at her as fragile.
 
Her father seemed to be having the most trouble coming to terms with the
condition in which he found his youngest daughter. He was standing hunched over
and battling his own guilt, eyes alternating between leashed outrage and forced
acceptance as he worked his jaw. He was just about to retake his seat when
Septa Mordane came bustling through the door looking as if she had seen the
Others.
 
Pale faced and distraught, the graying woman strode quickly over to Ned who
listened intently as she whispered something frantically for his consideration
only. Everyone in the room strained to catch the words of the familiar intruder
as she disrupted their family breakfast, but their efforts were fruitless.
Nevertheless, watching Ned’s recently restored stoic disposition crumble into
an expression of anguished, shocked grief, they gleaned enough. Something was
well and truly wrong.
 
Ned looked to his wife. “Come Catelyn.” He rumbled a bit hoarsely. She wasted
no time in getting to her feet and rushing to her husband’s side, questioning
worriedly what was wrong. Her father however was still busy giving the Septa
direction. “Find Jon and tell him to come here at once and tell our men to take
up watch outside these chambers. Send word to Winterfell as soon as you can.”
With that he was towing his wife behind him and leaving his children to protest
in his wake. He turned back only briefly. “Robb, keep your brothers and sisters
here and all but Stark bannermen from this room. Have Bran stay with Rickon in
his chambers to keep him calm while your mother is away.” With no offer of
explanation besides their father’s direction, all of the Stark children were
left to stare at the door wondering whether or not they should be afraid.
 
Robb moved to usher Bran and Rickon away, but Bran had already moved to do so
himself realizing gravity of the situation. Once the youngest Stark boys were
safely tucked within their rooms, silence dominated until they heard someone at
the door, and even then their noise wasn't words, it was a collective in take
of breaths. Robb and Theon marched forward unsheathing swords halfway until
they all sighed in relief finding it was only Jon.
 
“What’s happened?” He asked looking just as confused as they all were.
 
Robb eased his sword back into its scabbard and shook his head grimly. “I hoped
you could tell us.” He grimaced.
 
Just then Jon laid eyes on Arya and he closed the distance between them,
drawing her into his arms. He’d only had her in his embrace for a moment before
he quickly pulled away and held her at arms length inspecting to see if she was
all right. “Did he hurt you? Did anyone hurt you?” He asked fretfully, though
there was an edge to his voice that promised pain if someone had.
 
Arya rolled her eyes. “Seven Hells! I’m fine!” She stated stamping her foot for
emphasis. She was beginning to come under the impression that they all thought
her weak.
 
All heads whipped to the side hearing a incredulous snort. It was Theon, and
apparently he didn’t believe she was fine. In fact, he completely ignored her
proclamation and chose to answer Jon’s initial question. “Oh he’s done more
than hurt her Snow. He’s made it so she can’t even sit down without writhing in
bloody pain.” He chuckled derisively turning to Arya. “I didn’t think the
bastard had it in him. I can’t imagine you enjoyed having your maidenhead taken
from you so roughly.” He smirked.
 
Jon took a step towards him, his eyes dark, just as Arya whirled around
scowling.
 
“He didn’t take my maidenhead!” She shouted at him fiercely before she really
had time to think about what she was saying.
 
Everyone froze in silence, forgetting Theon’s harsh words and instead focusing
on the significance of hers. They all turned to look at her questioningly,
appearing utterly perplexed.
 
Robb approached her cautiously. “What are you saying Arya? Can the marriage
still be questioned?”
 
Arya huffed in irritation finding she regret her outburst. “Well no.” She began
fidgeting.
 
Theon interrupted her when it was clear she was reluctant to continue. “The
marriage is legitimate and yet he hasn’t taken your maidenhead.” He stated
flatly, clearly disbelieving the contradictory statement.
 
She grimaced and looked away. “No he hasn’t.” She told them shrugging. It
wasn’t as if she was exactly lying, but now that she’d made her ridiculous
claim she wasn’t going to be thought a fool. “Not precisely, anyways.” She
clarified scuffing her shoes and feeling a blush bloom in her cheeks. She
really didn’t want to explain what she meant to her brothers. Besides that, she
knew Theon would give her grief if she did.
 
She looked to Jon pleading him with her eyes to make everyone drop the subject
but he too looked confused and as if he wanted an explanation, though she
noticed his eyes still had a dark cast to them. She even chanced a glance at
Sansa, thinking she might object to this line of questioning considering the
crudeness of such talk, but she just looked thoroughly bewildered.
 
Robb furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘not precisely’?”
 
Arya rolled her eyes even though she was feeling highly discomfited by this
line of conversation. “I mean.” She began slowly, clearly annoyed, “I took it
myself.”
 
She thought maybe they’d catch on to her meaning, but when everyone just
furrowed their brows quizzically and stared at her incredulous, she huffed
knowing it wasn’t good enough of an explanation. Her eyes scanned the ground as
if the stone would tell her what to say so she didn’t stick her foot in her
mouth again. “The stupid bull felt guilty so I did it myself…by, you know...
kneeling over him.” She described it as best she could without going into
detail.
 
The eyes of all three of the older boys widened in stunned comprehension while
Arya stared at the ground and Sansa looked between them confused. The older
Stark girl glowered at being kept out of the loop. “What do you mean kneeling?
Weren’t you supposed to be lying together?” Sansa asked, the usual belittling
bite back in her tone.
 
Jon ignored her red headed half-sisters ignorant question and came at Arya with
one of his own, the hardness lifting from his eyes. “If you came to him
willingly,” He began looking as if he was on the edge of figuring something
out. “Why are you sore to the point that you can’t sit comfortably?” He
inquired meeting her eyes finally.
 
Arya quickly moved her gaze to the ground turning scarlet, and realization
consequently flooded through Robb, Theon, and Jon upon observation of her
abashed behavior. They now grasped that she was at fault for her own pain
considering her silent admission to fucking Gendry until she couldn’t walk
straight. In reaction to their comprehension Jon stumbled back a step wide eyed
and stunned as Robb exclaimed “Seven Hells” running a hand through his locks
and Theon sniggered in derisive glee.
 
Sansa frowned, inappreciative at the being left to guess why they were all so
staggered. “What are you all going on about?” She asked peevishly.
 
Everyone suddenly remembered her presence but only glanced in her direction, it
was Theon who finally decided to enlighten her. “We’re going on about the fact
that your sister’s apparently an eager little wench.” He laughed mockingly
before turning back to Arya. “Tell me Arya, which do you like riding better,
your horse or your husband? Or can you even tell the difference?”
 
Theon was standing on the other side of the chamber and across the table from
her, but not even the distance or her sore muscles were enough of a deterrent
to stop her from launching herself at him. She leapt onto a nearby chair and
vaulted herself over the table, flying through the air and tackling a shocked
Theon.
 
He grunted from the force of the impact, but caught her as he fell to the
ground and rolled her over pinning her hands above her head.
 
“Eager to be on your back, are you?” He sneered from on top of her while she
struggled underneath him. He leaned forward and lowered his voice so no one
could hear. “Didn’t you say were on your knees? Did you get a taste of his cock
as well?”
 
She wasted no time in maneuvering a knee up into his groin and delighted in
seeing his eyes roll back in his head and the feel of his grip on her weaken as
he rolled off of her in agony. She wasted no time in essentially reversing
their positions and straddling him, knees on either one of his shoulders to pin
him there as she began wailing on him, bringing fist after fist to his face.
 
She could hear the shrieks of Sansa and the yells of Robb, but it wasn't until
he picked her up and peeled her off that she stopped her assault, though she
yelled at him to put her down so she could continue. Robb eventually did place
her back on her feet but then he rounded on her furiously.
 
“Have you taken leave of your senses!” He bellowed at her.
 
Arya whirled on him eyes flashing, rage flooding through her thinking on the
circumstances that had been forced on her since leaving Winterfell. “Have I
taken leave of my senses?” She questioned him belligerently. “Ask yourself that
Robb! You’re the one who took leave of your sense last night!” Her expression
twisted painfully as all her suppressed feelings bubbled to the surface. “How
could you just leave me at their mercy? Both of you!” She spun to include Jon.
“Were you so concerned with the knife I had at Theon’s neck that you couldn’t
see how scared I was! Or did you just not care?” She yelled at them, happy to
see both of them flinch at her words. “Seven Hells! Why didn’t you just pick me
up and carry me yourselves? Or punch Theon in the face for that matter? He
wasn't the one who needed you!” She pushed Robb as hard as she could in
frustration. “Ineeded you. Was I supposed to fight my way through a hall full
of drunken men as they tore off my clothes and mother screamed at me to stop?”
She pushed Jon now. “How could you leave me no choice but to let them strip me
bare, to stand their naked for all eyes to see! You were going to let them
grope me either way, so the only thing I could think to do was not give them to
have the satisfaction of disrobing me as well!” She explained incensed. “At
least Gendry gave me his cloak! That’s more than I can say for my own brothers!
My own blood!” She fumed finding that her eyes were much more watery than she
would have liked. “When did you stop caring about me?” She shouted at them
losing her last bits of composure. “When did you all stop caring about me?”
 
“Arya—“ Jon tried softly taking a step towards her.
 
She shook her head. “No Jon!” She looked around the room at all of her siblings
finding them all looking at her apologetically. She couldn’t take it. “Did I do
something wrong?” She desperately wished she had, at least then maybe she could
understand it. “Have you ever known me to take exception to being treated like
that? Did I do something that would give you cause to stand by and condone such
treatment? To see me so belittled and not come to my aid?”
 
Jon took another step towards her, looking pained and beseeching her to
understand with his remorseful eyes. “I desperately wanted to put a stop to it
Arya, you must believe that. Lady Stark only let me come on the promise I
wouldn’t make myself noticed.”
 
Arya scowled at him though she did admit that sounded like her mother. She let
him know with her eyes that she thought his was a shit excuse as she turned to
Robb. “Do you have a justification as well?” She spat acerbically.
 
Robb grit his teeth and looked to the ground. He was waging an inner battle and
appeared a bit ashamed at himself. Still, eventually he steadied his jaw
resolving himself. When he met her eye he looked every bit the unrelenting Lord
he’d eventually have to become. “It is tradition Ayra.” He asserted gently
though it didn’t seem like he particularly liked what he was saying. “We aren’t
above it, and we can’t be thought contemptuous of it. You held a blade to
Theon’s throat, I didn’t want there to be any more cause for incident less
someone take offense.” He tried explaining before softening. “Our idleness
doesn’t mean we love you any less. You are still our sister, Arya. You are
still a Stark.” He told her hoping to bring her comfort. It didn’t work.
 
Arya laughed bitterly and felt the tears finally fall. “I would gladly die for
you and you’re worried about drawing offense and causing bloody incident! Damn
your tradition Robb and damn it if the Southroners aren’t contemptuous of us
already!” She seethed sadly before turning on her heel and heading for the
door. She turned back with one foot in the corridor, “And you’re wrong about
another thing.” She told him waspishly. “My surname is now Baratheon, not
Stark.” She spat, still disgusted with the fact and glaring through angry tears
at the heart wrenching expressions of her siblings. It gave her little comfort
to know she wasn't the only one with a dismayed awareness of her new name.
She’d been struggling to come to terms with it since her father wrapped the
maidenscloak around her shoulders. Now so were they.   
                                                                                 
No one tried to stop her as she left, although she did hear Sansa calling for
her weakly in what wasn't a disparaging tone for once. It was all too much. She
was glad no one came after her to see her tears and counted it a good thing
considering the fact that she would’ve fought them tooth and nail had they
tried to force her to stay.
 
She marched angrily straight past her father’s men who seemed at a loss of what
to do although one did end up tailing her. She went straight to her rooms and
withdrew Needle from her belongings and began slicing at everything in sight.
 
It wasn't until hours later when Gendry returned to find her sitting atop their
bed in a pile of feathers, hay, and torn linens that she was no longer alone.
He was covered in sweat and soot and appeared tired, however he took one look
at her and halted his progress into the room a bit startled, everything was
torn apart. She abashedly turned her gaze away, embarrassed at what she had
done in her wrath and that he had to see it. He on the other hand didn’t much
care except that it was clear to him something was wrong.
 
Gendry turned back for the door. “I’ll find your brother Jon.” He told her
thinking that was who she would wish to speak to.
 
Suddenly Arya was off the bed. “No!” She cried bounding to the floor and diving
into the door, driving it closed just as he had been about to open it. “I don’t
want to see Jon.” She grumbled crossly at the thought of her brother. She
especially didn’t want any of her family to see what she had done to their
rooms.
 
He looked at her puzzled. “Why not? I thought you and Jon were close?”
 
Arya grimaced not really wanting to explain what had transpired and searched
for something to say. She glanced up at him imploringly, a hopeful gleam in her
eye as she tried to change the subject. “Let’s go somewhere.” She suggested.
“Let’s leave the city for the day.” She wasn’t too keen on spending so much
time with him, she knew nothing about him, but she really could use a stint
away from the Red Keep and she didn’t want to be alone. Besides the fact that
she’d only been there two days, she’d already come to abhor the stink of so
many hot bodies confined to such a small area and he’d surely be more familiar
with the these lands than she was.
 
Gendry looked bewildered. “Where would you have us go?” He had no idea where
this all was coming from or what had brought it on.
 
Arya shook her head then shrugged. “The Kingswood? We don’t have to tell
anyone.” She pleaded. “We can return tomorrow.”  
 
He looked at her sideways. “Arya I don’t think it wise to leave the city over
night. Wouldn’t your family worry?”
 
She looked away and scowled at the mention of her kin. “It’s not as if they
care what happens to me.” Then she looked at him, her grey eyes mercurial.
“You’re my family now are you not?” She nodded as if to say that was that.
 
His eyes softened at her statement but he couldn’t help but sigh. She had
clearly had a disagreement with her loved ones, and while he didn’t feel it was
his place to interfere, he couldn’t help but want to. He’d never had a true
family considering it was only when his mother had been on her deathbed that
she saw fit to tell him he was the King’s Bastard. She told him she’d written
to Jon Arryn, her uncle, and appealed to him to take care of the son she was
leaving behind. He’d never known his mother came from a highborn family until
he was nearly ten and two, and even after he was taken in by the King and the
Hand he had only ever felt like a burden. The Queen’s callous attitude
certainly hadn’t helped. Arya didn’t understand how lucky she was to have a
family that was so clearly devoted to one another.  
 
“I am.” He agreed with her statement finding he liked the thought. Then
something else occurred to him. “We may now use the name Baratheon, but it’s
new to us both. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you won’t always be a Stark.
I will certainly always be the Water’s Bastard.” There was no way anyone would
ever look at him as anything but. He’d come to terms with it long ago. “Your
family loves you Arya, their only wish is for your happiness.” He told her
gently.
 
She pouted petulantly and looked away blinking. “Then why did they see fit to
give me away?” She questioned her voice wavering.
 
Gendry grimaced but shook his head. “I don’t know.” He told her honestly,
feeling his own insecurities rise to the surface. “Why did my father suddenly
see fit to legitimize me?” He shook his head trying to make sense of it all,
none of it did. “There’s no logic to any of it. Especially, them finding me a
match for a High Born Lady.” He was looking off into the distance trying to
puzzle things out and wasn't expecting her to respond.
 
Arya shrugged at his question. “Better you than that golden haired Lannister
shit Joffery.” She repeated what Jon said to her yesterday feeling it
appropriate.
 
Gendry snorted at her statement and chuckled. His half-brother really was a
grimy little bugger. He was glad he wasn't the only one who thought so. He had
a hard time even considering the boy his relative at all. They were so
different and looked nothing alike. He was all Lannister as far as Gendry could
tell.  
 
Looking at his new wife’s still forlorn expression, he suddenly changed his
mind. Something was clearly bothering Arya and she wanted nothing more than to
get her mind off of it. They wouldn’t have any furniture left if she didn’t get
out of this room shortly.  “If we’re going to leave the city best we get a move
on before we have no light. It’s a long ride to the Kingswood.” He told her
holding back a small smile.
 
Her head whipped up to his searching his face to make sure he was serious. When
she was satisfied he wasn't jesting with her she turned around and began
scrambling to grab her things. Gendry just shook his head and did the same and
before long they were ready to head off.
 
There was of course the little matter of getting past the Stark bannermen
posted outside their rooms, but that was solved when Nymeria chased them off
after they reached the stable yard. Still, it was quite obvious that they were
leaving, what with their stop to the kitchens to gather food, and Arya and
Gendry both strapped to the teeth with knives and supplies, Gendry carrying his
massive warhammer and Arya Needle and her bow. It was only a matter of time
before her family knew they’d wandered off.  That just meant they had to be
quick about leaving and making camp for the night, which they were. Although
Gendry couldn’t help but notice they were slow on horseback considering she
couldn’t sit a saddle very well. He blushed once he came to the conclusion that
it was because of him and felt guilty once more.
 
Night was falling quick when he led them off the Kingsroad and into the forest
towards where he knew there was a hot springs nearby. He figured it might bring
her a bit of solace and remind her of Winterfell and he wasn't wrong. She
delighted to see steam rising up off the ground and he thought he saw her eyes
water a bit though he didn’t move to comfort her. He didn’t think she’d
appreciate it nor did he feel like it was his place.
 
They were silent as they set up camp, her wandering off in the woods and then
coming back with kindling and wood, making a fire faster than he’d ever seen
anyone accomplish the feat in his life. He unpacked and unsaddled the horses,
tying them up before bringing furs next to the fire and resting his hammer
within arms length of them.
 
Arya had wandered off again by the time Gendry was getting a bit hungry so he
withdrew the bundle of food they’d manage to grab before setting off. He was
cutting vegetables with his belt knife and throwing them into a soup pot when
she came back carrying two rabbits, Nymeria holding a third in her jaws. He
grinned to himself, shaking his head but not saying a word, thinking about how
much better of a woodsman she made than him. He put the sausage he’d been
planning to throw in off to the side for their morning meal.
 
Together they worked in silence, him slicing vegetables and her skinning and
butchering the two rabbits, throwing the organs and innards to Nymeria and
cleaning the bones of good meat to throw in the pot. He was done before she was
and went to scoop water out of the springs for broth using his helmet. Soon
after she added some wild herbs she’d come across and then threw the carcasses
into the soup and explained it would bring flavor and that they’d take them out
later before they ate. Together they waited for the soup to simmer and boil,
happy to listen to the sounds of the forest alive around them.
 
She was cleaning the furs of the rabbits she skinned when the silence was
finally broken. She didn’t look up from her work as she spoke.
 
“Are you any good with that hammer?” She asked boldly, there almost seemed a
challenge behind her words.
 
Gendry lifted an eyebrow but shrugged. “I suppose so.” He told her before
explaining, “The King says I’m better than he was, though I think he just
fancies that he islooking at himself when he watches me. It’s a bit unsettling
to be honest. It’s the only time he really ever takes interest.” He nabbed a
piece of carrot for himself and chomped on it thoughtfully. “I much prefer my
smiths hammer if you must know. I like the harsh jolt that metal runs up my arm
rather than the give of flesh and bone.” He explained, hefting the humungous
hammer easily in one hand and testing its weight while examining it. When he
looked up Arya was scrutinizing him solicitously. “What?” He asked.
 
She shook her head dismissing the thought. “It’s nothing.” She told him before
she went back to distracting herself with the furs. A mischievous glint came
into her eyes then. “Do you think you could best me with that hammer?” She
asked.
 
He was a bit caught off guard by the question but sized her up thinking he was
probably two times her size if not more. Finally he came to an answer. “I would
if you use that blade you seem to like so much.” He told her referring to
Needle. “You’ve outgrown it.” He informed her plainly.
 
She scowled at him and abruptly stood up, bringing her prized sword out
challengingly. “Shall we find out if your confidence is misplaced?”
 
Gendry stayed seated and went to protest, but when he opened his mouth to do so
she brought the point of her blade to his throat drawing a bit of blood in
warning.
 
“I would grab your hammer if I were you.” She told him coolly.
 
Gendry scowled unhappily but eventually did as told, rising up off the ground
with his hammer in his grasp to stand facing his new wife.
 
She squared off facing him as he took a defensive pose. Before he really had a
chance to register what was happening she was coming at him blindingly fast,
all fluid movements and graceful thrusts, harrying him seemingly from all sides
at once. Luckily he was controlled chaos, his hammer spinning and thrusting and
swiping her blows away easily, keeping her at a distance and causing her
frustration to rise.
 
                                      ***
                                        
Jon hunched down in the saddle and rode like the wind, Ghost sprinting in front
of him in much too precise a direction not to be following a trail. He was in
the Kingswood now, and though he wasn't familiar with it, he was by nature
comfortable in the forest. He’d find Arya soon enough and bring her back to
King’s Landing kicking and screaming if he had to.
 
He was completely of the mindset that she’d convinced Gendry to run off to
Braavos like she’d always planned. They had discussed it and Robb was to go
North towards Maidenpool while he would search south, riding all the way to
Storm’s End if need be. Those cities marked the two closest ports where they
could find passage, other than King’s Landing itself of course, though surely
the Harbormaster would’ve recognized the King’s Bastard and they had made a
point to question him before running off in search.
 
Jon had resolved himself to the likelihood that he’d be riding through the
night, thinking Arya wouldn’t risk her escape to stop for sleep. He was quite
shocked when Ghost turned off the road, moving inland into the forest on an
almost indiscernible deer path. He thought it odd but from experience knew his
wolf wasn’t wrong.
 
Once he was out of sight of the road, he heeled his horse to a stop and tied it
up to continue on foot as he would be faster and his mount wouldn’t succumb to
injury. He followed Ghost silently through the woods until the wolf halted
completely and he could see light up ahead. He knew he was near, and if he knew
Arya at all she’d have arranged a circumference of sticks and leaves about
their camp to alert them of any type of prowler, just as she’d been taught.
 
He proceeded on, carefully placing each foot until he began hearing the sounds
of metal on metal, the familiar clash of weapons. Then he was rushing headlong
through the undergrowth noisily. He had his sword half unsheathed when he saw
the small fire and two figures dancing in front of it, but it wasn’t until he
comprehended that one was a light footed female and the other a hulking beast
of a man that he stopped in his tracks.
 
Jon was utterly confused when he realized that it was Gendry and Arya matching
skills rather than fending off rough riding poachers and bandits, fighting for
their lives like he’d assumed. He found himself sinking back into the depths of
darkness amongst the trees to watch and observe, curiosity overtaking him. He
didn’t know how they hadn’t heard his raucous approach, but they didn’t, they
appeared too enthralled in sparring and Jon was intrigued to see how it would
end.
 
He knew Arya was no fool with a sword. She knew her way around a blade just as
well as he did. One time out of every three she could best both him and Robb
and she was getting better everyday. If she were given free reign over the
weapons yard as they were, he was certain she’d be on a level with them. She
had definitely taken to it easily enough. And yet here, matched against her
husband, her skill seemed ineffective.
 
Last Jon remembered of the boy he sparred with in Winterfell was a clumsy
fellow wielding a broadsword slothfully. He had easily been beaten and didn’t
seem all that interested in fighting. Now it appeared as if he had been doing
it all his life. He was much more suited to the weapon he swung presently and
he moved with a steady confidence that would be hard for anyone to outmatch.
Blacksmith or warrior, he was clearly crafted to wield a hammer.
 
Jon couldn’t help but think that what he was witnessing now was what his father
was always referring to when he spoke of the King during the War, though Ned
had always talked about the King possessing an unbridled fury in the way he
handled his weapon. His son was much more controlled, although there was a
smooth madness to his strength that made him hard to predict. He knew every
inch of his weapon, no doubt because he crafted it himself, and every stroke,
thrust and spin he aimed at Arya appeared as meticulous and precise as that of
a Blacksmith fashioning his life’s masterpiece, though with a feral might
behind it that promised death.
 
He watched as his sister came at the large fellow again and again, as fast and
as fluid as a snake striking out at its prey. He watched as she assaulted him
over and over again from all sides, attempting to find a weak point in his
defenses and exploit it as he moved his hammer deliberately, a stony look of
concentration on his face. She never did find a fault in his form, and neither
could Jon.
 
Where at first glance it might have appeared she had him on the defense, a
closer look made Jon realize he wasn’t even trying to be the aggressor. He was
letting her work out her frustrations, careful not to hurt her. Arya must have
recognized this too because she was becoming reckless in her charge as her
frustration mounted taking insult. She was wildly assailing him, now hacking at
him with barely any form at all, trying desperately to make it past his guard
and clearly enraged that it wasn’t going her way.
 
None of it worked, in fact it only seemed to humor him as a smirk lit up his
face. Soon enough though, having had his fill of Arya’s savage assault after it
turned even more vicious and frenzied, he finally decided to go on the
offensive and it was like nothing Jon had ever witnessed before in his life.
 
His face hardened to steel and in three massive strides forward, he had Arya
moving backwards and beaten. He thrust the shaft of his hammer forward after
dodging one of her wild slashes and controlled the movement enough to prevent
painful impact of his weapon into her gut as he saw her drift back like he
intended. Immediately following, Needle was knocked clean out of her grip and
sent flying into the night as he spun the weighted head of his hammer around
fluidly, only changing his grip ever so slightly making it hard to anticipate.
Finally, she was forced back up against a tree as he swept the weapon above his
head using its established momentum seamlessly. From there he brought it down
with all his massive strength, driving it nearly two feet into the ground right
in front of her with a resounding thud that Jon was certain they would feel
back in King’s Landing.
 
Arya and Jon were both left to marvel at the delicate deliberateness and
startling power of his form. Arya looked absolutely staggered by what had just
taken place as she stared at the man in front of her chest heaving and hair
wild. She was looking at him as if it was the first time she’d truly seen him.
 
Gendry didn’t look particularly self-satisfied with his show. He just stood
there looking down on her impassively, making no comment about besting her,
just letting his eyes bore into hers. His hammer was entrenched in the ground
between them, seemingly having missed her as his mark, though Jon knew having
witnessed his faculty that had Gendry wished to land a blow elsewhere, it would
have landed true. He knew Arya realized this as well as she gazed up at his
stoic form.
 
Before Jon really had time to comprehend the lust filled look in his sister’s
eyes, she had already flung herself at her husband who caught her easily and
returned her vehement plea for kisses willingly as he crashed his lips against
hers with a growl.
 
Jon wanted to look away, and he did briefly, but found he couldn’t help that
his gaze strayed and he found himself watching as Arya wrap her long legs
around Gendry’s massive middle as best she could while he held her up with one
hand. He watched as the man’s other reached out for the shaft of the hammer in
front of him and pulled it out of the ground effortlessly, not bothering to
pull away from Arya at all. It was too easy for him, it was as if the weapon
hadn’t been driven into the ground as deeply as a that of a sharpened sword
having pierced through flesh. Jon watched in astonishment as Gendry hauled the
weapon from the ground and hefted the hammer off to the side so he could walk
forward and press Arya’s back against the tree and smother her with his body.
 
Jon understood what was going to happen next. He knew what he’d be privy to if
he stayed and he knew it was wrong to wish to see it. Swallowing thickly and
gritting his teeth he turned to walk away, shame overwhelming him at his
reluctance to do so. With every progressive stride he fiercely battled the
desire to just remain hidden and watch them from the shadows. He knew Theon had
spoken of spying on people in the brothels of Winterfell, but this was his
sister. It was highly unsettling that his feet felt more and more like granite
with every renewed step he took away from the firelight.
 
Appallingly, he halted his progress and stiffened upon hearing Arya’s pleasure
filled groan, finding the urge to linger too great as her noise surged forth
into the silence of the night, filling the air with her lusty need. His
debauched body turned back rigidly of its own accord while he clenched his jaw
and tried to combat the feeling of his disgraceful arousal, hoping he could
stop this madness and run back to the Kingsroad and find his horse. He thought
his enormous disgust with himself was all encompassing but learned differently
when everything else was overwhelmed by a covetous thirst to see more. He
couldn’t force his legs to move, to leave; he was deprived of his capacities
entirely.
 
He watched frozen and morally agonized as Gendry pushed Arya’s legs off of him
so she could stand. Once she found her footing, he turned her around crudely
where he pushed her front back up against the tree, fiddling with the laces of
her dress as he pressed kisses into her neck and she moaned, thrusting her ass
back into breeches that were similarly strained to Jon’s own.
 
Even from a distance Jon could tell that Gendry was becoming aggravated with
the ties of her dress, and so was he considering it took so long that he
vulgarly contemplated revealing himself to help assist. Eventually the
blacksmith had it and then he was pushing fabric over slim shoulders and
watching the dress fall to the ground along with her shift underneath it. Jon’s
breath hitched and he swallowed thickly, powerless to tear his eyes away while
still finding his own anticipation utterly revolting.
 
Soon enough Arya was left in nothing but her smallclothes and Gendry just so
happened to turn her back around again so Jon had a fine view of her perfect
breasts. He just barely caught himself from falling to his knees in anguish,
his gut wrenching horribly at the enormity of his wicked desires at the same
time as his balls drew up sickeningly, his cock well and truly leaden. Gods she
was beautiful, and how despicable was he for thinking it.
 
As her husband knelt down in front of her, making her step out of her final
piece of clothing by pushing it over her hips, she simultaneously pulled the
tunic over his head. Jon gulped at the sight of her completely exposed, his
cock twitching traitorously just like last time.
 
Just like at the Bedding, Jon couldn’t rip his eyes from her person, heedless
of the nauseating feel in his abdomen telling him it was criminal. He was
immobilized now, as well as incredibly immoral and exceedingly depraved. He
hated himself for his thoughts, but she was the most beautiful creature he had
ever seen, and only more so because she was completely oblivious to it. Yes her
body was flawless, and yes he could stare at her face forever and still wonder
at the exact grey of her eyes, but she emanated a pure, ethereal exuberance
that was absolutely intoxicating. Its what made her utterly irresistible as
well as wholly unlike any of the other submissive Ladies of court. She oozed
unbridled spirit on top of being utterly gorgeous. None of the men in
Winterfell had been impervious to the noticeable changes in her physique and
features, and it was as if all of them were drawn like moths to a flame. There
was not a man among the townsfolk who hadn’t spoke of desiring to lie with her.
 
Jon even knew Theon desired to bed her, as he always told him so to rile him
up. He’d even caught the Ironborn stroking himself hard while whispering her
name as he thrust into his hand and came messily all over himself. Though that
time he’d given the intolerable prat a black eye and told him if he ever
uttered his sister’s name like that again he’d feed his shriveled prick to
Ghost.
 
He wasn’t even sure that Robb hadn’t had indecent thoughts about Arya. He’d
seen his brother gaping at their sister just as lecherously as he himself had
been yesterday as she cut herself from her clothes. He flushed angrily thinking
such dishonorable things about his brother, but he couldn’t help but think it
wasn’t of his own imaginings. Suddenly it didn’t seem so unnatural that he was
painfully hard at the sight of his beloved sister, watching as her husband
ravaged her. Everyone else seemed to be similarly effected. Maybe it was to be
expected for him as well bearing in mind they’d always been close and he’d
always been attracted to her fiery gumption. Besides, he didn’t know many men
who would walk away from such a show, though any type of justification only
worked to make himself loathe his debased nature more.
 
As Arya let a hand stray to her magnificent breasts and began massaging them,
her other hand threaded through the curls of Gendry’s hair while his mouth and
tongue worked her clit. Jon swallowed thickly and mournfully surrendered,
fumbling repentantly at his laces craving shameful friction. He knew he’d never
be able to forgive himself though he withdrew his leaking cock anyway. He
thumbed at the tip as it throbbed in his grasp, tidal waves of shame washing
over him like fire.     
                                                              
When Arya moaned and started writhing, shoving herself up and down on what he
could only imagine were Gendry’s fingers, Jon began to stroke himself battling
his own appallingly revulsion. He grimaced, abysmally horrified at what he was
doing but not finding the strength to halt, finding he craved release more. He
used one calloused hand to prop himself up on the tree he was behind, and
trembled cruelly as began with his nauseating pleasure.
 
Arya breathed Gendry’s name continually and threw her head back when the
blacksmith hit just the right spot, arching her back and thrusting her breasts
out into the cool night air, her nipples painfully erect. Jon bowed his head
fighting himself at the horrid wish he could take one of them into his mouth
and tug her nipples in place of her own ravenous fingers. Blinking and trying
unsuccessfully to separate his relation to the couple he was watching, he spit
quietly into his hand desiring lubrication and began anew with his caresses. He
drew out his strokes slowly, tugging at his shaft before curling and twisting
his palm around his head, self-loathing making him bite his lip at his pleasure
and causing him to guiltily look away from the glorious spectacle as he worked
himself shamefully, though not for long. 
 
Soon enough Arya was crying out marvelously, her keens boiling Jon’s blood as
she reached her climax and luring him back in for more torture. He had to look
again. He almost felt his knees buckle when he did, though whether from
enjoyment or the recognition of his depravity he couldn’t be sure.
 
Jon watched, his expression twisting excruciatingly, as all of Arya’s muscles
tensed and her exquisite body trembled in ecstasy, face exultant and gratified,
her lips a soft ‘O’ of desperation the instant before she finally found
release. Then Gendry was there, standing up and blocking some of his view of
her as he shoved his tongue into her mouth, allowing her a taste of herself.
Jon wished he could have a taste. Gods how heinous was that! He felt his cheeks
heating as he disgracefully pictured himself between his sister’s legs, sucking
on her clit then laving at the juices pouring out her wet cunt. He hated
himself for it, berated himself in his own mind even, though none of it did
anything to prevent his treacherous member from bobbing delightedly in his
hand, urging him on in his debauchery. He stroked and watched and despised
himself for loving the sight of Arya writhing in frenzied bliss.
 
Throughout their wet kiss, he could see Arya’s hand fondling Gendry’s cock
teasingly just before she began to undo his laces painfully slow. Jon had to
stifle a grunt as she finally extracted Gendry from his restraints, her hand
grasping him firmly and forcing him to watch the other man’s body tense at her
touch. He felt his own grip tighten around his cock wishing it was Arya’s
fingers he was feeling and not his own. He stared at the slim fingers wrapped
around Gendry’s wood, practically salivating at the monstrous idea that it was
himself he was really looking at, and that hers were the fingers now working
him devotedly.
 
Whatever words she issued to make his gaze whip up to hers, Jon didn’t hear
them though he could see her lips moving. Gendry nodded hesitantly to her
question and whispered something back. Then suddenly Arya was on her knees,
looking up at her husband with nervous but committed eyes as she took him into
her mouth. Jon fell into the tree he’d been using to support himself, switching
hands and jerking himself wildly. Gods those lips! The self-reproach he
experienced as his filthy mind thanked him for staying was almost too much to
cope with, though it wasn’t enough to make him leave.
 
He could tell she hadn’t had a man in her mouth before, and realized that was
probably what had been discussed. He watched her wrap her swollen pink lips
around Gendry’s cock and gobble him up almost to the base. The other man threw
his head back and groaned loudly and Jon almost joined him, the both of them
loving the eager sight of her. As she withdrew herself, cheeks hollowed, she
began a pace, sucking his stiff girth greedily as well as noisily. Jon matched
her movements with his hand on his own prick.
 
It looked like Gendry was struggling not to thrust into her mouth, and the one
time he did she wasn't prepared for it and choked. Jon couldn’t exactly say why
but he found the sight of her sputtering especially enticing as her breasts
jiggled and her face twisted; he gripped himself a bit harder feeling his
stomach turn at his own hedonism. Gendry looked to be apologizing for it but
Arya waved it off and said something that visibly took the blacksmith aback.
Jon only realized what she must have suggested as she enveloped his cock with
her mouth once again, looking up at him expectantly as he tentatively grabbed
her face with both hands and gingerly began thrusting into her mouth.
 
Jon felt his own mouth drop open, and closed his eyes at the wonton sight,
gritting his teeth although not stopping with his hand but rather tossing
faster. He was a needy abominable swine who might burn in hell but he couldn’t
stop, not now.
 
When he finally lifted his eye-lids back up he almost lost his load seeing
Gendry’s pace had picked up and his sister was squeezing her eyes shut in
apparent discomfort. Gods but he hated that the muscles in his lower abdomen
fluttered in pleasure at the glorious sight. How could he be enjoying this so
thoroughly when it was so utterly repugnant on his part?
 
When Gendry’s thrusting and lusty need became too much, her mouth now only open
around him instead of sucking at him avidly, he brought her up off her knees.
He turned her facing away from him and she immediately began grinding her
wonderfully round ass back against him, practically begging to be penetrated.
Jon had to bite his lip at the scene, and he watched as Gendry pressed his own
throbbing cock up against her in an appeal for friction. Jon couldn’t help but
imagine how wet she was as Gendry tweaked her nipples and grabbed at her
breasts, burying his head against her neck. Fuck was he on the verge, and damn
was there anything ever more grossly immoral than that!
 
Jon involuntarily thrust into his hand, and found himself thanking the old gods
and the new as Gendry bent her over so she could brace herself against the
tree, giving him a perfect view of the slick blushing lips of her sex and the
wonderful pink warmth of her cunt behind them. Gendry himself seemed to enjoy
the view, though he wasn't a filthy ingrate for doing so, and he took more than
a moment to stare at her like that until she wiggled her hips beckoning for him
to take her. He lined himself up.
 
Jon brought a fist to his mouth and bit down hard seeing Gendry probe her
entrance lightly. Just as he prepared to enter her, Arya thrust herself back
onto him impatiently, unable to wait any longer. They both called out at the
feeling of their union and it was a good thing because Jon couldn’t stop his
own guilty strangled moan.
 
Arya started throwing her hips backwards as Gendry and Jon both looked to where
they were joined, enthralled by the sight of watching him disappear into her
over and over again, her lips straining around his girth and sliding up and
down in tandem with her splendid movements. Eventually Gendry felt the need to
assist and then he was thrusting into her languidly, snapping his hips coarsely
at the end and driving the last few inches into her roughly. The sound of their
skin meeting in lewd sounding smacks had Jon stroking furiously in twisted
need.
 
Soon enough Gendry was overcome by the sensation and began plowing into her
unreservedly, each blow running deliciously up through her core, the violent
collision of their hips making her tits bounce spectacularly in rhythm and her
fine little ass jiggle as she mewled agreeably and met him fervently thrust for
ferocious thrust. Jon was helpless to the whims of his wicked pleasure at the
exquisite sight and even more so when Gendry moved one hand to Arya’s lower
back, pressing down hard enough to make her arch her spine while he moved his
other hand to her shoulder to assist in throwing her back into him brutally.
 
Jon worked himself raw, finally feeling his eminent climax just as Gendry
roared out his own, burying himself deep into Arya as she moaned in magnificent
release around him, clutching at her breasts weakly as she struggled to keep
herself standing on orgasm weakened legs. Jon spurted his creamy white load
hard all over the tree in front of him, muscles convulsing, and jaw clenched,
eyes drinking in the sight of his sister in utter satisfaction and loving it in
all his remorseful shame.
 
When he finally came down from his pleasure all he was left with was guilt and
self condemnation, mortified with himself at what he had just done, that he
couldn’t stop himself while it was happening. His lack of self-control was
reprehensible. The only thing that stopped him from revealing himself and
submitting to whatever punishment they deemed fit was the fact that he couldn’t
bear to think of his sister not speaking to him ever again.
 
Jon didn’t look back up, he didn’t want to know if they would go again less his
body force him to stay for more torture. He hurriedly fumbled with his laces,
hands trembling thinking about the horrid deed he’d just committed. He slipped
his way back through the woods silently, hoping it all was some disgusting out
of body experience, some evil nightmare.  
 
When he knew he was far enough away that he’d just be another muddled sound in
the darkness of the forest, he finally let out the breath that he didn’t know
he’d been holding and he staggered into a tree feeling the bile rise in his
throat as he experienced the unfettered need to wretch. He was a decrepit
bastard piece of filth, he knew it now and he knew it back when he had his
prick in hand, caressing himself at the sight of his favorite sibling in the
heat of her desire.
 
Suddenly he was sprinting to his horse, not really aware of what he was doing,
running desperately away from the hideous reality of his wonderfully corrupt
release. He almost mounted his horse and galloped back to Kings Landing,
almost. Then he remembered why he was here and what he had promised.
 
His legs felt like lead as he turned back towards the forest, head hung low as
he made his way back towards his sister, only this time making as much noise as
possible and sending Ghost ahead of him to make his presence known.
 
                                      ***
                                        
When Arya felt Gendry withdraw from her with what she had now deemed her
favorite of his appendages, it was as if the all strength in her body left her
and she almost crumpled to the ground. She hadn’t realize that her knees were
so weak but apparently Gendry had and suddenly his large arm was looped just
under her bare breasts and making sure she didn’t collapse.
 
She weakly managed to find her footing and turned around to face him wincing at
the feel of her punished cunt. She had already been sore, but now her body felt
completely brutalized and she couldn’t blame anyone but herself. She was never
one to do things half way and had always been known to throw herself into her
passions once discovered. Bed sport was certainly no different, and like all
things she enjoyed she paid for her eagerness in the sore feel of her body
afterwards.
 
Gendry noticed her discomfort and his own expression twisted into one of guilt,
appearing anguished and remorseful for what he had inflicted on her, looking
like he was about to make a fuss about it.
 
When he opened his mouth for what she was sure was going to be an apology she
glared and cut him off. “Don’t you look at me like that stupid! How many times
do I have to tell you I’m not breakable!” She huffed.
 
Gendry grimaced and fidgeted. “I should’ve held myself back. You could hardly
sit your saddle before.” He offered her ashamedly.
 
Arya snorted. “I would’ve taken more offense to your restraint than anything
else. Besides it not as if you really had a say in the matter.” She grabbed her
discarded clothing and looked to begin dressing herself when he halted her.
 
“The springs might ease the pain of your muscles a bit.” He suggested, nodding
to where steam was rising from the small pool.
 
She didn’t need to be told twice, it sounded like more than a brilliant idea.
She dropped her clothing and strode past him not bothering to test the water
but rather just falling right into its welcoming warmth and feeling some of her
pain easing as it enveloped her.  
 
Arya hadn’t planned to lie with him again so soon, and while still recovering
from the vigorous activities of their marriage night no less. Regardless she
didn’t regret one second of it.
 
Never before had she ever been subject to desiring a man, but with his hammer
driven into the ground in front of her and his powerful body silhouetted
against the firelight he had been practically irresistible to her in his
strength. She hated being bested in a spar, but somehow that hate transformed
into a need to devour him in the only other way she could think. Her lingering
ache had been forgotten entirely as a completely hedonistic lust rose within
her and took over. She craved the feeling of power her body exerted over his.
What was strange was she even enjoyed the dominance his had shown over hers,
found it arousing even. Normally she loathed to be reminded that she was
generally outmatched in might because of her gender, but with him she relished
it, reveling in the newfound wetness it caused between her thighs. It was
certainly a new development, if a one to be wary of.
 
She moved to float on her back, closing her eyes. “Will you spar with me
again?” she asked.
 
She heard him chuckle and opened her eyes seeing him enter the water, bowl of
soup in hand. “I suppose so.” He told her.
 
She swam over to him and stole the spoon from his bowl and scooped herself a
bite. “Good because I’d hold a sword to your throat again if you didn’t agree.”
 
Gendry snorted and swiped the spoon back. “I’m sure the master at arms would
love to see my wife threatening my life.” He took an exceptionally large
spoonful of soup and spoke while chewing. “Though if you plan on flinging
yourself on me after every time I may have to insist that we keep out of the
weapons yard.”
 
Arya punched him in his solid stomach under the water as hard as she could and
he sputtered for a moment through his food before catching his breath and
smirking at her, shaking his head ruefully and taking another bite. The fact
that she affected him so little with the blow irked her. She promptly snatched
the soup bowl and turned intending to keep it away from him, though she halted
in making off with it across the pond as she turned and her gaze fell on the
glowing yellow eyes of Ghost as the silent wolf came into the firelight.  
 
Her eyes whipped upwards as she heard something clamoring towards them in the
woods. Gendry was next to her in an instant and then pushing her behind him
protectively the next. Arya rolled her eyes and shoved past him getting out of
the pool and hurriedly going for her clothes. “It’s Jon.” She told him. When he
didn’t move she rolled her eyes again. “Well don’t just stand there idiot. Get
dressed.”
 
She heard her brother’s distinctive voice calling her name in the darkness long
before he came through the ring of trees entering the small clearing into the
firelight. Arya was still struggling with the ties of her dress but just
managed a sad excuse of a knot before turning to face him. It was strange
though because he wouldn’t meet her gaze and looked like he was agonizing over
something. He wasn't acting like himself and the way his posture was sagging
and he was dragging his feet made him appear as if he had given up all his
fight.
 
Even though her instinct was to run to him and ask what was wrong, she was
still more than cross with him, and even more so now that he had come after her
when she had just wanted to get away. She scowled at the crown of his head
until he swallowed thickly and met her eyes. His expression was twisted sorely
and his normal quiet confidence seemed overwhelmed by a dreadful tension that
had his shoulders slumping.
 
He looked and sounded defeated as he spoke. “I’m sorry Arya.” He told her
hoarsely sounding nothing like himself.
 
The tone made her heart ache for him but she wasn't going to let him off that
easy. “That doesn’t mean I’m just going to forgive you.” She snapped at him.
 
He stared at her solemnly, his eyes slightly glossed over. “You shouldn’t. I
don’t deserve your forgiveness.” His demeanor was stoic and he gulped
sorrowfully.
 
Arya stared at him brows furrowed and took a step towards him before she
realized what she was doing and stopped herself. She considered him warily,
“What’s wrong?” She asked him seriously. He was behaving strangely and it had
her of kilter and alarmed.
 
Usually after he’d apologize for being an ass and she had stubbornly refused to
accept said apology, he’d tell her she had no choice seeing as they were
siblings and it was his right to irritate her with his infallible wisdom. There
was generally some ruffling of hair on his part and some begrudging hugs on
hers, and then he’d always tickle her until he got a smile and she’d elbow him
in the stomach before they ran off to find trouble, Jon assisting in sneaking
her away from lessons with Septa Mordane. Never before had it gone like this.
 
He just stood there and told her he’d understand if she never forgave him. That
she shouldn’t forgive him. The Bedding had been a nightmare and she truly
hadn’t been prepared to excuse her brothers their apathy towards her degrading
plight but suddenly she felt horrible for making Jon feel so guilty. He looked
broken and remorseful and he could hardly look at her.
 
“What’s wrong Jon?” She repeated. “Did you just come after me to apologize?” He
knew her well enough to know she’d be more agreeable after some time alone
sulking so she knew there must be other reasons that he had sought her out
preemptively.
 
“No.” He shook his head looking to the ground trying to figure out what to say.
“I’ve come to bring you back to King’s Landing.” He told her. When she scowled
he licked his lips and went on before she could get a word in. “Your Lady
mother leaves for Winterfell with Robb, Bran, and Rickon as soon as
preparations have been made and you’re safely returned to bid them goodbye. Our
father is sending a third of our men back to accompany them.”
 
Arya tried to process all the information quickly but none of it made sense.
“Leaving?” She asked breathlessly. Nearly half all of her family was deserting
her, leaving her to rot in the capital and not even lingering a full day after
her wedding before they made ready to depart. The realization would’ve stung
more if she didn’t comprehend there must be a reason behind it. “Why only a
send a third of the men as escort? Why not half?” She asked seeing the
discrepancy immediately. Robb was her father’s heir, and Bran and Rickon behind
him, surely he would provide more guards to protect his legacy and the Stark
bloodline. Why would he stay behind himself? “Jon what’s going on?” She asked
him anxiously.
 
Jon grimaced sadly. “The Hand’s been found dead Arya.” He told them gravely.
“There are whispers it may have been poison. The whole city is up in arms.”
 
Arya was about to say something when a third voice startled her into realizing
it wasn’t just her and Jon. She had forgotten Gendry was still there until he
stepped forward.
 
“The Hand is dead?” He questioned somberly looking for confirmation he’d heard
correctly. “Jon Arryn is dead?” There was an edge of disbelief to his voice.
 
When Jon nodded grimly Gendry immediately strode over to saddle the horses
hiding his face though the stiffness of his movements gave his thoughts away.
 
Arya frowned at her husbands back sadly. “Gendry...” She called out to him her
voice anguished. She approached, feeling for his loss, and reached out to put a
comforting hand on his shoulder but withdrew herself and stopped, bowing her
head not really feeling it was her place to console him. She was no good at
this sort of thing. “I’m sorry.” She told him remorsefully staring at the
ground. He only nodded curtly before gathering their things.
 
Arya moved to help him break camp and dumped the soup out on the ground where
Ghost and Nymeria quickly lapped up the broth and devoured any pieces of meat.
She dunked the pot in the springs and poured water on the fire before stamping
out the ashes and strapping needle to her saddlebag. She hauled Gendry’s bloody
heavy hammer over to him so he could do similarly. They were quick about it
with Jon there to help and soon enough he turned to find his own horse
muttering about meeting them at the road. Arya was left to struggle in mounting
her mare feeling sorer than she could ever remember. 
 
Gendry saw her hesitation and instead of leaving her there to decide how to go
about easing herself atop her horse without causing a great amount pain, he
lifted her off the ground and gently placed her in the saddle. Had the
situation been any different she probably would’ve scowled and kicked him in
the chest, insisting that she was capable of doing it herself even if it did
hurt, but she wasn't heartless. She knew he just wanted to get back to the city
and didn’t want her holding them up.
 
The Kingsroad was silent as their horses rode through the night, making as good
of time as they could. No one spoke a word until Jon left them at the gates
explaining he was going after Rob who had apparently headed towards Maidenpool
seeking out Arya and Gendry to the North. Evidently they had both ridden out
solely with their wolves insisting Stark bannermen remain in the city should
incident occur within the keep. Arya sent Nymeria with her brothers in case
they should come upon trouble on the Kingsroad. Three huge Direwolves escorting
two Northern lads strapped with castle-forged steel wouldn’t be a welcoming
sight for bandits or thieves. There were three more wolves in the keep that
would do for protection for the rest of them.
 
Gendry led the way back to the Keep at a brisk pace and Arya couldn’t help but
noticed that the city seemed quiet, as if everyone were perched on the edge of
a knife, waiting for the coin to drop and chaos to erupt. She didn’t quiet
understand how the death of one man could cause such alarm and anxiety, but she
wasn't familiar with the politics of the capital, nor the Game of Thrones. To
her it was just silly southron nonsense, although now it seemed much more real,
and much more dangerous. The common folk certainly seemed to be sensitive to
the significance of it all.
 
By the time they were back in the keep Arya was just following Gendry and she
wasn't even sure where they were headed at this point. That is until he
approached a door flanked by two of the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy and Mandon
Moore. There must’ve been orders to let the two of them past because they were
let through without so much as a protest or a word. They entered into the
King’s solar and both her father and King Robert ceased their words and turned
to examine the newcomers.
 
Ned was up on his feet and striding towards them the instant he realized who
had come in. Before Arya could determine if he was going to yell or send her
away she was being pulled into a bone crushing hug that she returned though
with less force. After a moment he held her at arms length. “Are you unharmed?
Where’re your brothers?” He asked in quick succession.
 
“I’m fine.” Arya gritted out. She was really getting tired of saying that. “Jon
went to find Robb. I sent Nymeria with him.” She informed her father.
 
Ned gave her the briefest of smiles. “Good.” He told her fondly, cupping her
cheek. His eyes flashed to steel though when he turned to Gendry. He took a
threatening step towards the large boy clearly working to restrain himself. “I
thought I could trust you with my daughter.” He rumbled softly, leashing his
anger and looking for an explanation. “I thought you’d match well with her, be
able to power over her willful demands. Instead the both of you steal out of
the city like smugglers, leaving your family to guess where you’ve gone off
to.” His anger was directed at the both of them now.
 
Arya frowned indignantly ignoring her father’s ire and feeling her own well up.
She spoke just as her husband went to open his mouth. “Power over me?” She
seethed at her father. “Is that what you wished in selling me off? In making me
marry?” She asked hazardously. “To find someone to tame me and make me a proper
lady?” She spat out disgustedly. She sounded almost frenzied at the end. She’d
had it with people trying to manipulate her into being something she so clearly
wasn’t
 
Her father turned to her looking irritated. “Ary—“
 
“No!” She cut him off as well. “If that was your aim I assure you, you have
failed miserably!” She was enraged and there was no stopping her. “You don’t
know me at all if you think I will just stand by and let myself be—“
 
“Arya!” She actually jumped at the loudness of Gendry’s bark, as embarrassing
as it was. He too looked heated and she’d never even considered the thought
that he could raise his voice to such a decibel let alone do it. He may have
been large but he seemed a bit bashful and meek, although he could wield a
hammer like no man she’d ever witnessed. Maybe she should’ve expected it.
 
“Enough!” He thundered at her gruffly though bringing his volume down. “You’re
not helping at all! You’re father has a right to be angry.” He said through a
clenched jaw, ready to take whatever chastisement their father’s saw fit to
dole out.
 
Arya frowned sullenly and looked to the ground. Had she been looking up she
would have seen her father blinking in surprise momentarily as he looked
between them. Whatever his consideration, he brushed it off to continue once he
realized his resentment hadn’t dissipated. “Did you think I’d take it in stride
to find my daughter and her new husband slipping away to Braavos without a
word?” He questioned coldly.
 
Arya gulped, she could understand why her father would jump to that conclusion.
She’d threatened to do as much for years, though never in the company of a man.
In fact, it was usually implied she’d do so to escape a betrothal before she
was to be wed. She wondered if she could sneak off now without being seen so as
to avoid the awkwardness of the required explanation that was sure to follow.
 
Gendry looked genuinely confused. “Braavos?” He asked bewildered. “We went to
the Kingswood.” He told them perplexed. He had no idea what her father was on
about.
 
Ned was similarly caught of guard. “The Kingswood?” He questioned skeptically.
When Gendry nodded Ned blinked. “Why the Kingswood?”
 
Gendry shrugged. “I came back to our rooms after the forge and I found she’d—“
 
Arya elbowed him and gave him a sharp look. She definitely didn’t want her
father to know she had destroyed their chambers.
 
Gendry rolled his eyes but continued. “I found her,” He looked at her
pointedly, “upset.” He explained. “She said she wanted to get away from the
city so I took her to the hot spring in the Kingswood hoping it would bring her
some comfort and remind her of Winterfell. I should’ve left word with your men.
I see that now. It was foolish of me not to think of the courtesy.” He paused
for a moment before looking confounded again. “Why’d you think we went ran of
to Braavos if you don’t mind me asking?”
 
Arya watched as a wave of relief flooded her father’s face and then the King
slap his back chummily. She was happy that Gendry’s question was ignored.
 
“I told you the boy wouldn’t be so convinced, Ned.” The King chuckled. “He’s
just been given titles and a highborn wife. He wouldn’t let the girl talk him
into fleeing for Braavos! He comes from my seed, it’s not in his nature to let
a woman lead him by the balls.”  
 
Arya scowled at the Kings words but watched as her father came forward and
grasped her husband’s forearm.
 
“I owe you an apology. I was quick in my assumptions but I was worried.” Ned
said solemnly his eyes now a soft smoke.
 
Gendry nodded and shook her father’s hand. “It is I who am sorry. It wasn't my
intention to frighten you or your family.”
 
When they broke away from each other’s grasp Gendry’s gaze turned disconsolate
and he regarded his father and her own with dread apparent in his eyes. “We’ve
heard news of Jon Arryn.” He muttered morosely, his tone along with the mood in
the room turning somber. “What’s happened to my Uncle?”  
 
                                                                               
***** Ours is the Fury *****
Chapter Summary
     I don't expect too much hate for this one, well except maybe for how
     long it took me to get it out. Enjoy!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Jon Arryn’s funeral was massive and all of King’s Landing came out to honor
him. The King spared no expense to ensure his long time friend was sent off
properly. The High Septon offered kind words and gushed that the Hand of the
King had been well loved among Highborn families and very much all of the
baseborn commoners. He motioned towards the crowd gathered in the Sept of
Baelor, the building packed entirely with the overflow spilling out into the
filled the square just beyond, and insisted that the adoration felt for the
deceased man could be articulated in terms of the numbers of those who had
turned out to see him laid to rest.
 
Nevertheless Gendry couldn’t help but think that half of the men and women
there couldn’t be anything but pleased to have the Hand gone regardless of
their kind words and gushed sentiments. The thought had his blood boiling and
his fists clenching. He may not think like a Highborn but he knew enough to
realize that the majority of them were there just for show, etiquette dictated
they had to come.
 
They weren’t there to respect the memory of the Lord of the Vale. Several
didn’t even find shame in telling him as much. He was a bastard, whether or not
he had been legitimized meant nothing, and as a bastard people weren’t afraid
to make japes rather than offer pleasantries or condolences to the deceased’s
natural born nephew. He knew the truth of their apathy concerning his Uncle’s
death and they didn’t try to hide it from him.
 
Knowing Gendry’s affection for his Uncle, people found a way to both mar the
man’s memory and make themselves feel superior by asserting it was his Uncle’s
well regard and trust for those of low birth that found him in an early grave.
That it was his political impropriety that did him in. It didn’t help that
Gendry was almost certain whoever was responsible for his death was probably in
this very room offering up their false respects and reveling in their
treacherous deceit. He was convinced it had indeed been murder the minute Jon
Snow had whispered of poison in the Kingswood. The idea of such sedition had
hardened his heart and instilled within him an insatiable rage that he
desperately needed to dispel and couldn’t find the means to do so.
 
Ever since the news was broken to him and preparations for the funeral were
being made he had spent every waking moment in the forge using his hammer in
hopes to beat out his laments and frustrations. After four days it had yet to
have the desired effect. The normally calming heat of the fire and the dull
soothing ache of his protesting muscles as he shaped and molded, creating a
piercing but mollifying metallic melody as he bashed his hammer against anvil,
did nothing to clear his head and stop his morose thoughts. The only man he had
ever considered family, the man who had given him a hammer and a purpose,
pressed upon the King to give him titles and a wife, had been murdered and
there were only whispers as to why. All those he could truly call family had
now been taken from this world.
 
Vaguely in the back of his mind he thought of Arya, and he almost felt guilty
having not returned to their chambers in four nights. He had been sleeping in
the forge, feeling as if it were the only true place he belonged now. He
certainly didn’t belong in the Red Keep, not with Jon Arryn dead. The familiar
warmth of his old cot seemed to beckon to him that this was his rightful place,
not acting the Lord where he wasn't even welcome. Besides, he had never slept
well on the preposterously soft feather beds of his chambers. Though he had to
begrudgingly admit that had changed since he had Arya next to him, splayed out
across the majority of the bed and pushing the covers off the both of them,
kicking him in his sleep as she thrashed about dreaming of what he could only
believe was the wild North. Somehow having her next to him made finding rest
easier.
 
As odd as he found it, he couldn’t deny that in someway her complaints that it
was too damn hot in the south, and the fact that he might unknowingly get
clobbered iin his sleep, was absurdly comforting and somehow normalizing in
this foreign Highborn world he found himself unwelcomed in. Even in her sleep
she was her normal riotous self, a constant, unapologetic, and tenacious
personality in an otherwise shifty and conniving city. He wanted to believe
that what she had said about him being family was now truth, but he couldn’t
convince himself it was anything other than her seeking comfort having felt
betrayed by her real family for having married her off against her will in the
first place. It was a cruel thought for him to process, but one he did
nonetheless. Harsh realities were a staple in his life and the fact that his
wife didn’t want to be stuck with him just as he grew fond of her was simply
something else he’d have to take in stride.
 
He knew he should’ve at least sent word as to where he had disappeared to but
he didn’t want to bothered, and especially not today of all days. He needed his
own time to grieve properly and knew when it came time to attend the funeral
he’d need the means for a quick escape from the Sept. He sat by himself near
the back for that exact reasoning knowing it would all become too much. It did,
but what surprised him was the trigger.
 
He didn’t know why his anger welled up looking upon the impassive expression of
the Queen as she stood next to his father. Still, he found he didn’t think it
misplaced. His Uncle had always spoken about her with nothing but derision and
contempt and Jon Arryn was anything if not a good judge of character. Gendry
found himself glaring daggers into the back of her golden head as she watched
the proceedings with a droll expression on her face, as if she thought cleaning
the grime from underneath her fingernails would be better suited to her
precious time. 
 
Gendry slipped from the ceremony to go pray to the only Gods that ever saw fit
to bring him reprieve, the saviors that his Uncle had introduced him to, the
hammer and anvil. He didn’t know how long he was pounding away, or even what he
was making, but when he finally drifted from his thoughts it was to find
familiar grey eyes staring at him underneath the twilight of dusk.
 
“Has the steel done something to offend you lad?” Asked Ned Stark.
 
Gendry looked down at the red hot metal that he held between tongs, considering
it carefully before he walked over to quench the rod in water listening to the
liquid hiss and steam roil up. “No.” He told his good-father. “Steel is the
least offensive thing in this Gods forsaken city.” He answered solemnly.
 
Ned seemed to nod to himself in understanding of Gendry’s rash reply. “Your
Uncle will be sorely missed.” He stated after a moment. It wasn't an offer of
comfort, just a sentiment of camaraderie, a shared sorrow.
 
Gendry nodded his agreement and stuck the metal back into the forge to reheat
it before turning to face his visitor. “Can I help you with something?” He
questioned a bit gruffly. He wanted to wallow in his own solitude for as long
as he could and was dreading being dragged back to the castle.
 
Ned grimace slightly but broached the subject though it was clear he didn’t
want to. “I was hoping you could help me to understand some things.”
 
Gendry wiped the sweat off his brow and smeared some new soot over his skin in
the process but he didn’t say anything.
 
Ned was a silent man himself and understood his lack of words was an invitation
to continue. “The day he passed, I was to meet with Jon Arryn. He said it was
urgent but that the Wedding needed to be seen to first and his words could be
heard the day after. Did he speak to you about any matter at all which raised
question in your mind?”
 
Gendry frowned now not really understanding where this all was going. “We
rarely spoke on anything other than my apprenticeship, or my lessons with the
Maester or the Master at Arms.” He considered his own words carefully before
feeling the need to add. “He always was insistent that I hone my skills with
arms even though I thought it strange he believed a blacksmith should be
skilled with the weapons he forged as a means to maintain a livelihood. I
thought my time would be better spent honing my craft. Though of course that
was before I found out he meant to match me with the youngest Stark girl and
leave me responsible for the protection of a northern holdfast.”
 
Ned considered his words looking thoughtful. “When did the Hand broach the
subject of a marriage proposal with you?”
 
Gendry walked back to the forge and examined the color on the steel before
turning it over and burying it in the coals once more. Only then did he turn
back to his good-father to reply. “A year or two after our return from
Winterfell he asked me what I thought of your daughters, but it never occurred
to me what he had in store until it was announced in court with your arrival.
Why do you ask?” Gendry probed. He was answering far too many inquiries without
really knowing where the line of questioning was headed.
 
Luckily Ned wasn’t trying to hide anything, just figure things out for himself.
He offered explanation willingly. “The idea to make you a match with one of my
daughters was your Uncle’s own, and he had it in his mind to make certain it
came to pass before you even set out for your visit to Winterfell. He told the
King plainly of his intent.” Ned informed him as if that should be meaningful,
and it was though bewildering as well.
 
Gendry looked at Lord Stark with a skeptically raised eyebrow. “I have
unknowingly been betrothed to Arya Stark for the past five years?” He asked
questioningly.
 
Ned shook his head. “No son, you’ve been betrothed to which ever of my girls
flowered first for the past five years.”
 
Gendry couldn’t help but snort. “Don’t tell Arya that. She may very well
strangle Lady Sansa if she finds out.”
 
Eddard chuckled faintly and removed his gloves tucking them in his sword belt.
Gendry definitely wasn't wrong in his statement and the understanding he
possessed of his youngest daughter soothed Ned a bit though he fidgeted
thinking about what else he had to ask. “I don’t mean to be discourteous when I
ask this, but did you ever mention wishing to be more than a smith. Mayhaps you
desired titles?”
 
Gendry frowned and shook his head, “If there is anyone less deserving of titles
I know not of them.” He stated plainly. “Jon Arryn saw fit to give me a means
of a better life by placing me with Master Mott and I saw fit to make the trade
my purpose and express my gratitude through success. How could I ask for more
than what was given already?”
 
Ned grimaced. “I’m sorry I had to ask lad. It’s just, your Uncle impressed
insistently upon your father and myself that he desired our approval on the
matter of your betrothal above anything else. The Hand was one of the few men
in Westeros I had faith would keep good council and do what’s best for the
realm. I didn’t much question it when he asked me to trust him and beseeched me
to agree to the betrothal if I still bore any love for him. I owed the man
Winterfell, not least of all my loyalty, considering what he did in calling his
banners against the Mad King following the murders of my brother and father and
theft of my sister. At the time I thought he was brokering your engagement out
of his affection for you and was attempting to keep word of his intentions low
less the Queen find out the King was giving rights to his natural born son. But
now…” He explained trailing off at the end. He took a step closer and looked
around before lowering his voice. “I must know Gendry, did Jon Arryn seek to
usurp Joffery’s right to the crown and place you on the throne in his stead?”
 
Gendry’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He certainly hadn’t been expecting
that. “What! No!” He croaked hoarsely. He was very happy he hadn’t been
pounding metal against anvil seeing as he would’ve surely missed his mark and
sent his hammer flying to break his toes. “I am not fit to be King.” He
whispered harshly. “Its as you said! I’m not trueborn! I’m a bastard!”
 
“Keep your voice low.” Ned murmured looking around inconspicuously. “I am only
trying to make sense of your Uncle’s actions. As it was explained to me, your
betrothal was towards the purpose of ensuring your safety should the King pass
and the Queen seek to secure her son’s legacy by eliminating other claimants,
you among them. Jon Arryn wanted you in the North and trusted that I wouldn’t
let any harm come to the husband of my daughter, his own beloved nephew. I
couldn’t bare to deny him anything given the fond memories I still have of my
time spent at the Eyrie and his support for seeking retribution regarding my
family during the war.”
 
Gendry blinked and swallowed thickly. It never occurred to him that he was in
any danger, then again he was well aware of the cruelty of his father’s
Lannister wife. Another thought occurred to him. “What was the purpose of the
betrothal to Joffrey?”
                                                                               
Ned grimaced showing he wasn't too pleased with that part of the arrangement.
“After the subject was broached with your father he alleged that Cersei would
make what Jon sought for you impossible. The King knew the Queen wouldn’t be
pleased to find him elevating someone other than his trueborn children. The
offer of another of my daughters to Joffrey was meant to show that I wouldn’t
support what little claim you had to the Iron Throne or send men against the
Cersei’s son. I would never wed one of my daughters, knowingly putting her in
harms way and leaving her as a hostage for those I would seek to overthrow.
Sansa’s betrothal to Joffrey was meant to placate the Queen and those who would
believe your betrothal to Arya a political maneuver seeking to usurp Joffrey’s
claim as heir to the Seven Kingdoms.”
 
Gendry understood what he was saying but furrowed his brow trying to figure out
why he looked so concerned. It seemed as if they had planned it all very
carefully. “I don’t understand. It sounds like you thought it all out. Why are
you worried then?”
 
Ned’s grimace deepened and he lowered his voice so much that Gendry had to
strain to hear. “You and Arya were married quickly so the Queen would have
little time to object or make other arrangements. The same was not settled for
Joffrey and Sansa. I didn’t think anything of it beforehand other than to
believe that Jon Arryn was eager for your marriage to take place so that it
would. Now I am questioning why he didn’t want to wait until both of my girls
had flowered and we had two weddings and could insist there was no mal intent
towards the Lannister’s. There would’ve been no need to calm any fear that you
had your eyes set on the throne. As it is now however, you are my good-son and
not Joffrey. I owe him no allegiance where as I do to you in the eyes of some.”
He paused to let his words settle in and stepped even closer. “Jon Arryn had
something he very badly wished to tell me but seemed to dread the obligation to
do so. I believe whatever it may have been is the reason why he was poisoned,
and I believe it has something to do with you and his plans to tie you to House
Stark.”
 
Gendry felt a sense of dread settle within his own stomach. “Is there a danger?
Should I be worried for Arya?” He asked in quick succession.
 
Ned smiled slightly before he resolved himself and hardened his expression
grimly as he shook his head. “This is King’s Landing son. In the capital you’re
always at risk.” He placed a hand on his good-son’s shoulder and gave it a
consolatory squeeze. “As for Arya, you should always be worried. She can make
enough trouble for all Seven Kingdoms combined. It is your job as well as mine
to make certain she remains safe and even more so with her brothers leaving for
the North tomorrow.”
 
“You are not to accompany your family then?” Gendry inquired with a frown.
 
Ned looked away and scowled uncharacteristically. “Your father has named me the
new Hand.” He paused and turned back towards Gendry having found his composure
again. “They are your family now as well Gendry. You should send them off,
spend what little time with them that you can.”
 
Gendry looked to the ground suddenly feeling guilty for having remained in the
forge for so long lost in his own solitude and sorrow. He fidgeted not knowing
what to say.
 
Luckily Ned seemed to read his face well. “Your absence is understandable in
wake of your Uncle’s death, son. Every man deserves his time to grieve, though
one must still remember their duty.” The way he leveled his eyes Gendry showed
he thought he was already on the cusp of forsaking his obligations. “They have
just ended lessons with the Grand Maester. I believe you can find them in the
weapons yard.” He finished before patting him on the back and making his way
down the Street Of Steel.
 
Gendry watched Ned’s retreating back not knowing what to make of all that had
just been divulged, but one thing was for certain, beating steel wasn’t helping
him to come to terms with things. Mayhaps squaring off against his good-
brothers would sooth him some. He hastily bid goodbye to Master Mott and made
his way back to the keep for the first time in four days.
 
It didn’t take him long to travel the familiar distance, and when he entered
the weapons yard it was to find Jon Snow crossing blunted practice swords with
Theon Greyjoy. Jon had him on the defense and the Ironborn was clearly unhappy
about it and his anger had him swinging foolishly and pushing forward instead
of falling back. Gendry walked to where Robb stood and leaned against the wall
next to him to watch how things panned out.
 
Robb nodded towards the pair sparring. “What do you think?” He asked with an
arched eyebrow being cordial.
 
Gendry shrugged. “I think Greyjoy will have a nice bruise on his back and your
brother will put him on his arse for good measure if the idiot keeps leading
the charge forward with his right foot and leaving his left side blatantly
exposed like that. He should be defending.”
 
Robb chuckled and grinned, appreciating and agreeing with the candid words and
Gendry felt his lips twitch upward as well, finding the eldest Stark’s waggish
demeanor a bit infectious. His expression morphed into a full out smirk though
when he saw Theon surge forward with an ill fated thrust as Jon dodge right,
twirling past his opponents blade and bringing his sword around with him to
collide with a resounding thud on the Ironborns back left side. He could have
ended it there as it was a debilitating blow but instead he decided to
continue, bending low and using his sword to swipe the legs out from underneath
of him, depositing him firmly on his arse. Gendry and Robb shared a look and a
laugh as they watched Theon get to his feet appearing put out and glaring at
them unhappily in their mirth at his expense.
 
He dusted himself off with a clearly bruised ego. “I suppose you think you
could do better?” Theon jeered as he stepped towards them focusing his wrath on
Gendry. “Last I remember of you, you were swinging a sword like a girl trying
to stream pink ribbons through the air.”
 
Gendry remained solemn and stared the Ironborn down. “I don’t swing a sword.”
He said simply not letting the man get a rise out of him. “I use a hammer now.”
 
Theon sneered. “Fancy yourself the likeness of your father do you? Think
because you’re the Kings bastard you can live up to the tales of his campaign
for the Iron Throne?” He laughed derisively showing he certainly didn’t believe
it.
 
Gendry only shrugged knowing his lack of emotion was getting to Theon. “I fancy
myself a smith.” He stated coolly. “It’s the King and Jon Arryn who fancy I’m
my father come again. They’re the ones who imagine I could best the King at his
finest.” He wasn’t lying either, they had both professed as much on numerous
occasions and with witnesses in the yard to hear their opinions as well.
 
Theon scoffed “I’m going to enjoy watching Robb show you what it means to wield
a weapon.”
 
                                      ***
                                        
Arya couldn’t say why she was so angry. Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. She
did have an idea as to why, though that only brought up another question in
what seemed a non-ending series of questions she couldn’t find answers to
lately. She was angry because the last four days she had been utterly
distracted and performed horridly in her dance lessons with Syrio Forel. If
that wasn't irritating enough she couldn’t seem to puzzle out what caused her
lack of concentration, there was no logical reason for it.
 
Sure two days after her wedding and the first day back at lessons she was still
finding herself wincing at sudden movements due to the lingering effects of
Gendry’s punishment of her body. Stupid Bull. In her head it was all his fault,
never mind how much she enjoyed coming undone in his arms and reveling in her
own rough treatment. She found bliss in the fact that for once she wasn’t being
treated like some delicate flower, and unlike riding and fighting it seemed as
if she was actually allowed to whole heartedly throw herself into this passion
while not being seen as forsaking her duty in acting like a Lady. It seemed too
good to be true, she was actually permitted to enjoy something and not be found
improper.
 
Still, after the soreness faded there was no explanation for her piss poor
performance in lessons the following three days. Syrio didn’t hold back in
telling her how badly her execution and technique had regressed either. She
couldn’t count the number of times she had the pointy end of the rapier of the
First Sword of Braavos brandished at her as he asserted she was ‘dead’. After
another atrocious lesson she was almost wishing he would actually help her to
that fate and save her some dignity.
 
Stomping down the halls in frustration she strode towards the weapons yard
hoping Bran was there and she could steal his bow and take a few shots. Gods
knows she was mindlessly good at that. Maybe it would calm her temper.
 
She walked out into the fresh air and found there was a large circle of people
gathered facing towards the sparring pits. Her curiosity got the better of her
wondering who had drawn such a crowd and she pushed her way to the front by
using her elbows to get a better view. When she stepped through to the front to
find it was Gendry facing off against Robb she scowled unattractively.
 
For four days she had not seen Gendry in the Red Keep. At first she thought
mayhaps he was just sleeping in the adjoined chamber, but checking his bed each
morning revealed he hadn’t returned the night before. He had appeared to be
taking his Uncle’s death to heart so she only experienced mild irritation at
his absence at first, but on the second night that had evolved into anger and
on the third and fourth it had boiled over into out right rage. Where could he
possibly be staying that the servants couldn’t find him and he didn’t need to
come back for a change of clothes? She had begun to wonder if he had inherited
his fathers taste for whoring. For some reason the thought grated her more than
she would like to admit. As far as she was concerned he was only useful in this
marriage for one thing and now it appeared she couldn’t even count on him for
that.
 
Gods why couldn’t she have been born a man? Having a prick meant you could
fight, drink, ride and fuck to your hearts content while being a woman meant
you had to avoid and abhor all the same things less you earn a bad reputation.
Never mind three of the four of those things were the activities she received
the most pleasure from in life.
 
Looking back on it now, she didn’t understand how she could’ve been thick
enough to fear lying with a man for the first time. Knowing women weren’t
supposed to like it and men loved it should’ve told her all she needed to
know—it was going to something she thoroughly enjoyed and wanted to participate
in as much as she could. At least if she were a man she could go to a brothel
and enjoy herself without having to rely on another as the only proper person
available for the purpose of finding release. She wished she had such freedom.
Hell if it wouldn’t cause such a scandal she wouldn’t mind going to a pleasure
house to see if they could teach her a thing or two. She had a dance instructor
so she could improve her skills with a sword, why not someone to educate her in
bedsport? Besides, she had tried touching herself using her fingers in place of
Gendry’s own, but she just couldn’t seem to get it right and it was beyond
infuriating to realize she wasn’t capable of finding a way to get herself off
without him.
 
Finding him here in the weapons yard just caused all of her pent up frustration
and outrage, directed at him or otherwise, to rise to the surface. She glared
at his form with narrowed eyes as he continued to exchange blows with her
brother. They were both good, but it was clear Gendry had the advantage. She
watched exceptionally close in hopes of finding a weakness so that she could
exploit it the next chance got. She spotted Jon to her right and stalked over
to him knowing he had a good eye for that sort of thing.
 
Jon smiled at her noticing her approach, although the expression seemed a bit
apprehensive, it didn’t go unnoticed that he fidgeted a bit
uncharacteristically as well, however that faded away quickly as he took in her
own expression and his seamlessly morphed into a questioning look equipped with
arched eyebrows. “Not enjoying the show?” He asked nodding towards the pair
sparring and resuming his careful inspection of their precarious dance.
 
Arya snorted, “I’d enjoy it much more if Robb would bloody the stupid bull.”
 
Jon glanced at her sharply his brows furrowed. “Has he wronged you in someway?”
His tone was dangerous and he eyed her carefully.
 
Arya scowled. “Do you think he’d still be standing if he had?”
 
Jon snorted and chuckled a bit shaking his head, turning his attention back to
the fight looking placated. “What finds you in such a foul mood then little
wolf?”
 
She grimaced and shrugged, “I’ve been performing poorly in dance lessons.”
 
Jon gave her a look. “And that’s why you want Robb to bloody your husband?” He
eyed her dubiously chortling incredulously. His expression showed just how
ridiculous he found the explanation and she didn’t much appreciate it.
 
Arya kicked him in the shin for his trouble and he hopped around cursing, but
after the initial shock of the strike he only smirked at her and shook his head
with an exasperated smile on his face which earned him a deeper scowl.
 
“I want my husband bloodied because I haven’t seen or heard from him in four
days!” She snapped at him, begrudgingly coming out with it figuring he’d draw
it out of her anyways.
 
Jon rolled his eyes at her. “His Uncle just passed Arya. Mayhaps he’s been
keeping vigil in the Sept?”
 
Arya blinked and it was enough of a tell that Jon knew she hadn’t considered
that.
 
He laughed at her. “Gods you make a horrible wife.”
 
She tried to kick him again but he dodged it smirking, much to her chagrin. She
grimaced at him. “I didn’t want to be a wife! You wouldn’t run away with me
like you promised and I never asked to be a Lady either!” She told him through
gritted teeth.
 
Jon pulled her under one of his arms and ruffled her hair chuckling. “No one
with any sense would call you a Lady, little Arya Underfoot. Unless of course
they wanted to get stuck with the pointy end.” He teased good-naturedly and was
happy to elicit a small smile. He kissed her on the top of the forehead, all
reservation forgotten as they fell back into their normal rhythm, and laughed
when she tried to push him away. He nodded back towards the fight, “Your
husband is quite good.”
 
Arya tucked herself up against her brother’s side and scowled. “Yes,
unfortunately he is.” 
 
Jon let out an amused little laugh, “Unfortunately?” He questioned looking down
at her. “And here I thought you would appreciate his ability to provide you
with protection!” He mocked. He fully expected the blow he received to the
stomach and his anticipation meant he only lost half of his breath at the
impact. He just hugged her closer as a result and was happy to see she did
eventually break out in a grin before pushing him away half-heartedly.
 
They were silent for a moment after his laughter faded and they continued to
watch, both intent on finding gaps in both Gendry’s and Robb’s defenses.
 
“There.” Jon whispered leaning down towards Arya more. “Did you see that?” He
asked her.
 
She pulled away a bit and looked up at him shaking her head.
 
“Watch.” He told her. “His stance when he blocks high from the left, it leaves
his right leg open from the hip down. There’s not much you could do to exploit
that with a two handed longsword, but with your Braavosi balde, feign high then
switch hands and you could easily slice the tendon in his right ankle if your
fast enough. Though you’d be leaving yourself open and would most likely take a
blow if you don’t move to get out of the way quick enough.” 
 
Arya watched closer again and saw what Jon was talking about although she
barely had time to register the break in his form before it disappeared. It’d
be hard for anyone to capitalize on such a small shortcoming but mayhaps she
could try. She observed for a moment longer and smirked noticing what the gap
resulted from. “He raises his left elbow when he should keep it tucked in.” She
grinned malevolently, whispering out of the corner of her mouth. “It alters his
grip. That’s his weakness. That’s why his leg is left open. He’d never be able
to get back into stance to block properly in time.” She smiled triumphantly and
was happy to see Jon smirking down at her as well, obvious in his agreement. 
 
She wondered if anyone else had noticed what they had, and couldn’t help but
chuckle a bit at the thought that Robb definitely hadn’t. Gendry had charged at
him unexpectedly and startled, Robb lost his footing and ended up on his arse
leaving him with no other option but to yield, though there was nothing but a
smile on his face and respect in his eyes as he did. Gendry extended his hand
and helped him to his feet.
 
“Seven Hells!” Robb exclaimed still a bit short of breath as he came to stand.
“My shoulders feel as if I just tried to square off against a bull. Fitting
name they call you. I’m glad you’ve married my sister! I certainly wouldn’t
want to face you on the field.”
 
Gendry smiled. “S’only luck really.” He tried. “Your quicker than I am. I
needed to find a way to end it before my stamina gave out.”
 
Arya snorted off to the side. She knew for a fact he was being modest. She knew
first hand from several different experiences that he certainly had much more
stamina than that. Besides she was quicker than Robb and he’d bested her easily
as well.
 
Robb seemed to sense he was being humble as well. “You’re too kind.” He said
slapping him on the back. “Mayhaps we can spar again in the future and I’ll
manage to find a weakness of yours that will put you on your arse.”
 
Gendry smirked and looked to be about to retort, but Arya stepped forward
seeing her opportunity. “I think mayhaps I’ve already beaten you to that goal
brother.” She approached them, eyeing Gendry in particular with predatory gleam
in her eye. “I think I could put you on your arse. Would you care to see if I
am right husband?” She hissed her at challenge him none too pleasantly, letting
it be know she wasn't happy with him.
 
He gleaned that she wasn’t very fond of him at the moment and so did Robb as he
looked between the two. Both men looked a bit at a loss but eventually the
confusion and uncertainty faded from Gendry’s face and he shrugged. “If you
wish to expose a flaw in my form then be my guest.” He motioned behind him to
the practice ring.
 
Arya pushed past the both of them, ignoring Robb’s look of warning and the
whispers that were being taken up amongst the disbelieving crowd. Her world
narrowed to the blunted rapier she picked up off the rack and the burly,
formidable looking man standing across from her with a similarly unthreatening
hammer.
 
This time she wouldn’t let her anger get the best of her. For the first time in
days she pushed everything away and cleared her mind, calling upon everything
she knew of the Water Dance and taking stance as she watched Gendry do the
same.
 
She didn’t rush in like she had the last time, eager to prove she had skill.
This time she waited for him to come to her, waited to see what he would do.
For all of his claims that he wasn't quick, he came at her awfully fast, his
hammer a blur of motion as it whirled about his person seeking out a means to
reach her. The control she remembered was still there, but none of the force.
Within minutes of them exchanging lightening fast blows it was painfully
obvious to her that he was hardly putting any strength behind his swings at
all.
 
Rolling her eyes, she found herself very near anger though she kept her mind
clear.  She had to remedy the situation regardless. As he brought his hammer
around horizontally, aimed at her right shoulder, instead of ducking parrying
or dodging she threw her practice blade to her left hand caught the shaft of
his hammer in her right using it to steady herself as she brought a foot to his
chest causing him to stumble backwards and the crowd to break out in a murmur.
 
“You aren’t weak so why would you act it.” She hissed circling him as he
recovered and moved himself back into stance. “Use your strength, all of it.”
It sounded more a command and a threat than a request. “Do you think an
opponent won’t use theirs on me should I ever need to use these skills outside
the yard?” She questioned him dangerously.
 
He grimaced slightly hearing sense but didn’t reply, and this time he waited
for her to come to him. She obliged. She used all her speed to harry him
methodically, attempting to find other parts of his form to exploit that she
may have missed in her anger or watching from the sidelines. He was good other
than what she and Jon had already discussed, so she resigned herself to the
fact that their battle would be one of anticipation and visceral instinct,
knowledge of ones opponent, a battle of the minds rather than simply skill.
 
She kept him busy enough that he made no move to take the offense until she
intentionally let up and backed off. Then she waited and braced herself,
looking once more for holes as he did. His charge was just as unyielding as she
remembered it, but in the clarity of her mind she was prepared, although
mayhaps not as much as she originally thought.
 
He seemed to read her expertly, and as she moved to block his assault it was as
if he need only a second to realize her method and brush it aside while already
having considered carefully his next attempt to maim her. He was towering fluid
grace, but thankfully she was rapid wind. Had it not been for her equally quick
thinking in throwing herself backwards over the hammer aiming towards her
exposed spine, and then springing up off of the ground with her hands to find
her feet again, he would’ve had her on her knees. He had clearly expected to
win with the move because instead of following through with the strike as he
would’ve had he been facing a man, he had halted the swing enough that she
would’ve only lost her footing. He had thought he was going to connect and
slowed the blow not to hurt her.
 
Narrowing her eyes at the knowledge she found herself gritting her teeth. “Hit
me you fool!” She seethed at him as they circled each other once more. The look
in his eye was enough to tell her that he had no intention of doing anything of
the sort and she found rage seeping into her cleared mind.
 
She attacked, wasting little time before sweeping her blade down towards his
left shoulder to expose his weakness. When he moved to block, she saw his eyes
widen in surprise as she changed her weapon to her other hand and spun, using
her wrist to arc up and down quickly, bringing it down on his unprotected calf
before diving away from his attempt at a recovery and rolling to her feet. She
was pleased to see he had fallen to one knee from her blow and that she had
managed to get away unscathed. “Keep your elbow down.” She smirked at him.
 
He got to his feet his face turning completely to stone as he turned to her. He
waited patiently for her to come back at him and she did. He continued
diligently blocking his blows, though he was considering her with a new
shrewdness and his elbow now stayed properly tucked into his side not giving
her any more openings to abuse.
                                                                                                               
Arya could feel the sweat dripping off of her in sheets but refused to feel the
burn in her muscles. It felt like they had been going at it for years,
exchanging blows without either of them managing to find a way to make the
other yield. Then she saw it, she saw a small hole developing where she might
just be able to catch him along his right side and end the stalemate.
 
Before really thinking it through she decided to try and capitalize on it. She
drew his weapon arm far right and was then thrusting for his middle directly
afterwards. Too late she realized he had not only anticipated it, but had left
himself open towards the purpose of drawing her into his trap. It was an
interesting move to say the least, leaving himself prone to injury and risking
taking a blow so he could ultimately win the fight. It worked. He sidestepped
so her weapon glanced off him with little impact while his hammer swung around
unimpeded aiming a debilitating blow toward her unprotected middle. He stopped
it before it could land true and sweep the breath from her lungs. He left it
just hovering there over her stomach, a reminder taunting her that he had once
again bested her. 
 
Angered at herself for falling for his trick, she felt herself become even more
furious he hadn’t followed through by actually hitting her. She threw down her
weapon crossly and swiped his hammer away from her looking murderous. She
pushed him with all the strength she had. “Hit me you idiot! Finish the fight
properly!” She demanded ludicrously. He just stood there stoically, letting her
attempt to push him with little result and doing nothing to stop her. Enraged
and feeling like a child she pushed him one last time before stalking out of
the practice yard, pushing past the still silent crowd and ignoring Gendry’s
calls after her as well as the fall of footsteps she could hear following her.
  
 
She didn’t realize who it was coming after her until she was in the stables and
a hand reached out grabbing her wrist and whirling her around. It was Gendry.
 
“Wait. Arya.” He beckoned as he grabbed her and spun her into him.
 
She didn’t wait to hear what he had to say. She pushed away from him and had
her right fist sailing towards his face. He caught her wrists at the last
instant, surprise and affront flashing through his eyes before his grip
tightened.
 
“Arya I—“ He tried again.
 
She cut him off again, this time using the hand that he didn’t currently have a
hold on to try and punch him in the jaw once more. It didn’t work. Again he saw
it coming and again he caught her other wrist in his grip, his eyes heated and
showing his displeasure.
 
“Seven hells! Stop trying to hit me woman!” He growled, shaking her a bit in
his frustration. “How can someone so small be such a huge pain in my ass?” He
asked, his own anger now apparent, eyes boring into her own.
 
She narrowed hers at his statement and snapped right back at him even though he
still had her completely restrained. “Why couldn’t you just hit me!” She spat
at him face twisted in anger.
 
His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched staring her down, but as he went to
open his mouth to offer what she was sure going to be a shit explanation she
decided she didn’t even want to hear it, didn’t need to really. With her blood
running warm from sparring, his cobalt blue eyes were just too damn pretty and
seeing the stubborn set of his jaw and the feel of his large calloused hands
engulfing her wrists in a strong grip instantly had moisture dripping down her
thighs beneath her breeches.
 
She curled a leg around one of his trunk like calves and jerked him towards
her. It had the desired effect. He dropped her wrists as he stumbled into her,
his body crashing into hers as he moved to hold her against him so he could
steady them both and prevent a fall to the ground. Wide-eyed, he made a
surprised little sound as her lips crudely found their way to his. As soon as
he was steady his lids fluttered closed and a growl came from low in his throat
as he fully immersed himself into the rough hunger and lust behind her kiss,
adding his own ravenousness to it, neither of their angers having dissipated at
all.
 
It was all teeth and hard pressure, a battle in and of itself, all the fury she
felt at his absence and the inkling that she was being set aside for another
being poured into it along with his own addition, the mournful anger and
frustration he had towards his Uncles death and the aggravation that she simply
wouldn’t talk to him. Together they bruised and bloodied and warred one another
with lips in a harsh and brutal rhythm that neither was willing to stop. His
reaction had been instantaneous and the kiss itself all consuming, it wiped all
thought from his brain and had the hands he’d been using to steady them both
trailing down to her ass to bite into her flesh harshly.
 
She didn’t cry out at the pain though she did groan against him, she was sure
to have bruises marring her pale skin in minutes. Nevertheless she exacted her
retribution as she bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, the taste of it
immediate as it coated their tongues and yet not enough for them to pull apart.
With their crossing of blades not long past and they way the kiss was paced and
the anger behind it, the tangy iron of blood almost seemed an appropriate
backdrop.
 
When he heard his tunic being ripped down the front and felt her fumbling with
his laces he withdrew breathless, his gaze a heady blur as he mindlessly sought
out her laces as well. He pushed her pants over her hips as she hastily kicked
only one leg out of them while simultaneously withdrawing his throbbing from
cock from his own breeches. The feel of her hands on his prick had him snarling
as his eyes rolled back in his head and his mind went blank with need. In his
sudden ferocious haste to see her disrobe her bottom half he stopped bothering
with her smallclothes and ripped them clean off her body, urgency paramount
along with the desire to bury himself deep in her cunt and take her as roughly
here as she’d wanted him to on the field.
 
She was on him again as soon as he had ripped free of the fabric that confined
her, jumping back onto him, her lips savagely seeking his as he caught her and
her legs wrapped around his broad middle. He wasted no time in using one hand
to position himself at her entrance and once there he was thrusting himself as
deep as he could go with no preamble, causing her the gasp as she threw her
head back at the welcomed intrusion.
 
With nothing for his hungry lips to ravage they found their way to her neck and
then lower to her sternum even as he began a relentless, voracious rhythm
plunging into her thoughtlessly in his angry need. Her shirt was still clinging
to her sweaty body, but he didn’t bother with removing it, just nipped hard at
her breasts through it, wetting the linen even as she arched into him. Somehow
he remembered to be thankful she hadn’t bound them today.
 
He had begun walking backwards towards a stable door aiming to utilize it as
something to push her up against so he could fuck her as hard as he wanted
rather than just supporting her all on his own standing in the middle of the
corridor. But then her nails dug deep into his back at a particularly
enthusiastic bite to her breasts. He hissed in pain and the feeling of the
blood she had drawn dripping down his spine, mingling with his sweat, had him
growling and closing the last of the distance to the wall fast enough that the
impact her back had with it was loud in their ears and shook what felt like the
whole structure as the horse inside the stall whinnied and nickered anxiously.
 
The noise Arya made as she was slammed up against the wall and she lost her
dominance in the battle over his lips was part breathy sigh, part painful yelp,
and part snarl. Gendry took note of it only as far as it aroused him further.
He peeled her legs from about his torso so he could loop elbows under her knees
and hold her up like that to spread her wider and go deeper. Her face twisted
and her mouth was now ajar with eyes wide, surprised at the depths he was
reaching as she panted in time with his thrust, helpless to move while he held
her there and fucked her savagely. He used the strength of his thighs and her
position against the wall to begin pistoning into her, the rage he hadn’t been
able to release by beating hammer against steel supplementing each forceful
stroke of his cock into her magnificent warmth.
 
Arya had reached back behind her with one hand to grab a bar there, seeking
something to hold onto to as a means to brace herself as he pounded into her
without reserve, and soon he found he was guiding her legs back around his
waist so he could grab hold of the metal as well in order to assist in the task
of submerging his cock even more brutally into her tight little canal. With her
legs once again back round him and his knuckles now white around the iron,
Gendry drove into her with all the force he could muster in his frenzied pace
while Arya gasped and fell forward onto him, burying her head in his neck and
her nails in his back.
 
He grit his teeth at the bit of pain of her nails and found that he was
thrusting harder and faster as a result, causing the door to shake and the
horse behind it to snort skittishly at the noise, their furious coupling
sounding like a battering ram beating at the gates of a battle entrenched
castle. She was clutching herself to him for dear life as he punished her body,
her hold threatening to strangle him as he crushed her over and over again
against the door and she began to near climax as indicated by her involuntary
moans.
 
He could feel her teeth grazing his skin as he jarred her again and again, and
when it was finally enough to bring her over the edge and leave her convulsing
around him, she cried out stridently before muffling the sound by gnawing
harshly into his neck. The bite was hard enough to draw curses from his mouth,
blood from his veins, and the seed from within him. He joined her in finding
release with a shout of pain that beckoned forth his orgasm and had him
spilling fiercely inside of her, his cock twitching from the fury with which
the seed exited his loins.   
 
Arya was still moaning in his arms when the rage ebbed away from him and his
head finally cleared. He collapsed against her fully, still pressed the wall.
She was still in his arms, her legs wrapped around his torso and him still
fully immersed in her cunt though going soft. He removed a hand from the bars
and stroked her hair as he tried to catch his breath. His chest was heaving
like the billows they used at the forge to keep the fire at temperature, and
with each breath he took the pain of the bite and claw marks she’d left became
more acute.
 
 When Arya finally untangled her arms from around his neck and leaned back, he
got a good look at her flushed faced and throat. He immediately felt horrible
seeing purple skin and a fatigued face, the violence of what had just occurred
between them finally settling in his mind as his stomach turned.
 
Suddenly he was disgusted with what had just transpired. He was appalled by the
madness of what had taken place between them, the anger and urgency, and
especially his barbarism towards her. He had lost control, and given recent
events he should’ve been aware of how little it would take.
 
This was his wife. He’d never shown any woman anything remotely resembling
forcefulness beyond gripping them a bit demandingly, his fingers digging into
flesh slightly harder than they should, or tossing them about a tad carelessly
to get to a better position. None of his previous experiences compared at all
to the savagery he had just shown in his need to dominate her, to show her he
could be just as fierce and brash as she and that his strength wasn't something
to be trifled with. That it wasn't something she should try to coax out of him,
but rather something to be wary of.
 
What’s worse was she didn’t seem to mind his method of expressing as much. She
actually seemed to marvel at the manner in which he had just taken her. She was
exhausted, and bruised and satiated and her now serene expression echoed the
idea that she liked that he had taken her in a stable and fucked her raw like a
common whore; giving the pain her body so desperately sought from him in the
weapons yard but to her cunt instead. She was boneless in his arms breathing
heavily as her shirt clung to her breasts from where he had attacked it with
his mouth rendering it transparent.
 
He almost got lost in the look of her, her hair wild, brow glistening with
sweat, and cheeks a rosy pink. She looked more alive than he’d ever remembered
seeing anyone and he found it laughable that he considered her more at home
here than in their chambers. It didn’t drown out his sense of shame at what
just occurred though, and it was her words that finally brought him back to
reality along with the turning of his stomach.
 
“Ours is the fury.” She had whispered her eyelids fluttering closed, a happy
little smile on her face.
 
His stomach plummeted at those words. The words of his father’s house, the man
he aspired to be different from. He pushed her legs off of him roughly and
dropped his hold on her stepping back quickly. “Never do that again.” He teemed
dangerously, turning away from her harshly, eyes on the ground. He was shaking
in rage as he put his cock back behind laces and began trying to tie them
closed. Ours is the fury indeed!
 
 When he felt a hand brush his shoulder he whirled on her, gaze burning and
finding her putting herself back together. “I’m your husband Arya.” He seethed
at her, turbulence behind his bright eyes watching as she tugged on her
britches. “I’m not your personal toy or the tool you use tofuck away your
frustration.” He spat at her disgusted. “I’m a fucking person!” He roared,
taking a threatening step towards her. He clenched his fists trying to maintain
control and bring down his volume. “Jumping on me and kissing me like that… the
anger…the both of us…seven hells, what that brought to mind and what I did! I
don’t want to be that man.” He breathed out trying to explain it and doing a
shit job. “I can’t just mindlessly fuck you into oblivion in the middle of the
royal stables. You are my Lady wifeArya...I might’ve hurt you! I couldn’t think
I was so mad with frustration! You were being so infuriating I wanted you to
feel my strength…” He trailed off realizing that was exactly what he had wanted
and feeling lower than scum because of it.
 
Arya took a step towards him but he halted her with a warning hand and his own
backward step. He closed his eyes trying to get a hold of himself. “Fucking
like animals isn’t going to solve problems and it doesn’t just make the anger
you’re feeling go away. It’s not fair to use me like that just to make yourself
feel something other than your own frustration! I won’t stand for my own wife
treating me as just the cock that gets her off! We are married Arya, there’s
more to it than just sex.”
 
Her grey eyes flashed. “Oh there’s more to it than just sex but respect has
nothing to do with it does it?” She questioned harshly. He looked at her
bewildered as to what that had to do with anything but she paid it no heed,
just kept going. “Why couldn’t my husband just do me the courtesy of treating
me like an equal hmm? Show me respect enough as a fellow swordsman not to take
it easy!”
 
Gendry rolled his eyes. “You challenged me remember?” He growled harshly.
 
 Arya rolled her eyes. “Yes and you could’ve been decent enough to hit me!”
 
Gendry snorted and chuckled mirthlessly. Decent enough to hit her! How
ridiculous did that sound!
 
She must’ve seen the look in his eyes because she was suddenly speaking again.
“Don’t you look at me like that you stupid bull!” She scowled. “Don’t look at
me like I’m some helpless little girl who can’t take a hit from the likes of
you.”
 
He threw his hands in the air. “You can’t!” He yelled exasperated.
 
She glared at him fiercely enough that he felt like he might spontaneously
combust. “Oh yes I can.” She told him adamantly. “What do you call what you
just did back there, hmm? When you just tackled me into the wall? You speared
me harder with your cock than Theon has ever has managed to do with a blunted
practice sword and I took it fine.” She said matter-of-factly before taking a
step towards him eyes narrowed slightly. “Not only did I take it, seven hells I
enjoyed it.” She told him. He blinked rapidly and she saw his adam’s apple
bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “I may be small but I’m not breakable and damn
it if I’m not powerless to the fact that you and that stupid hammer make me
furious enough to want to beat you silly while at the same time making
something in my belly begin to ache and that traitorous thing between my legs
start dripping with need.” She was babbling now, on a rampage, but Gendry
didn’t look like he was going to speak, or if he even could really, and she
couldn’t stand the silence so she just went on.
 
“I may be new to it, and from what little my septa has ever told me, lying with
you should be a burden but its not. I don’t care if that’s un-lady like. I like
it. I like it as much as fighting and riding and hunting and I want to do it
just as much as I want to do any of my favorite things. I like the way your
cock feels inside me.” She noticed Gendry’s eyes closed at that of all things
and his jaw clenched. She couldn’t quite figure out why but she wasn't nearly
done venting. “I like the feel of my muscles burning, and the feel of you over
me and your sweat dripping down after awhile. I like watching the muscles in
your arms ripple or your abdomen flutter and the faces you make because of me.
I’ve never felt powerful around men, I’m always being underestimated, but it’s
different when I’m with you. You make me feel powerful and I like it. I like
how my name sounds coming from your mouth and I certainly like it when you use
your mouth on me. I even like tasting myself on your lips when you kiss me
afterwards and it lingers in your stubble. I don’t taste as good as you do
though and I still don’t understand why you were so concerned about thrusting
into my mouth when I practically suffocate you between my legs by writhing
round like a bloody fish.” She took his chuckling as a good sign. “I enjoy it
too you know. Returning the favor and taking you in my mouth, hearing the
noises you make. I really enjoy the way you tense up and how it feels when you
spill your seed inside me. I can feel the warmth of it and how your cock
shudders a bit as it does. It feels nice, and it feels nice when I stand up
afterward and it starts to drip down my leg. Sometimes when it does I’ll even
run my fingers through it so I can taste it, curious if it’s different each
time it mixes with mine.” She fidgeted a bit unable to discern the exact
meaning of the look in his eye as he stared her down intensely. She felt kind
of foolish after just coming right out and saying all these things to him but
it felt good to say them at the same time. He was the only one she could
actually admit it to anyways without causing offense or disgust. Still he
wasn’t saying anything back so she began fidgeting slightly. “I’m sorry if I
jump on you when you don’t want me to, I didn’t know you didn’t like it.”
 
“I do like it.” He corrected her immediately, his voice husky. “It just makes
it hard to control myself when you take me by surprise.” Sort of like at the
moment he couldn’t help but think. She truly had no inkling of what saying
these types of things could do to a man. He had to use what little self-control
he still possessed to stop from repeating himself and throwing her up against
the wall.
 
Arya looked at him puzzled. “What are you trying to control?”
 
He laughed again at her naivety and just ran a hand over the back of his neck
sheepishly. “I’m trying to stop myself from doing what I did back there. Being
cruel and hurting you, or selfish and not giving you your pleasure before I
take mine.”
 
She frowned. “You always give me pleasure and you can’t hurt me.”
 
The thrill of hearing the beginning of that statement was negated by the last.
Gendry rolled his eyes. “Yes and I’m sure your back feels wonderful and won’t
be bruised in the morning.” He stated sarcastically. “And yes I know you’re not
breakable and that you’re not made of glass. No need to remind me again.”
 
She punched his arm pouting and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards
slightly in amusement of their own accord as they both fell into silence, just
staring at each other. Her words replayed through their heads on loop causing
her to blush like mad and his blood to run hot.
 
“Where have you been for the past four days?” She blurted out into the silence
before she could stop, horrifying herself with how desperate she sounded. The
knowledge had been plaguing her for days, and if she was honest with herself
she knew that was why she had been distracted in her dance lessons.
 
He grimaced having hoped she wouldn’t ask, still he gave her an answer. “I’ve
been at the forge.”
 
She scrutinized him pryingly, a bit apprehensive and feeling vulnerable. “And
that’s where you slept?” She asked her voice sounding skeptical.
 
His eyes widened as he realized what she must have thought and suddenly it made
sense why she had truly been angry with him. “Yes! Gods! I have a cot there.”
He hurried to explain. “I slept only in the forge.” He took a step towards her
but stopped himself from drawing her into an embrace. “There’s only you Arya. I
swear it.” He told her eyes shining with sincerity. It amazed him how much
smaller than him she really was as he towered over her, and that he still
didn’t feel like he could just pull her into his arms like he wanted to. Even
after all of their couplings they weren’t completely comfortable with one
another, at least not yet, they still had reservations. “I’m not my father.” He
assured her and himself. “I must say though, I’m flattered you think I’d have
the stamina for others considering how busy you seem to want to keep me.” He
chuckled softly hoping to relieve the tension a bit.
 
She smiled a bit but said, “Your mad if you believe I think that highly of your
talents.” Then she looked to the ground before meeting his eyes resolutely, her
voice turned more insistent, “I might like your cock but I won’t be disinclined
to chop it right off if I find it necessary. Don’t convince yourself
otherwise.”
 
Gendry grinned like a fool, especially in face of such a threat and from such a
capable woman. Still her jealousy was endearing, especially because she didn’t
seem to recognize it for what it was. Plus he did find her irritation and snark
quite beguiling though it was a bit stupid on his part. Why it would bring
anyone amusement to anger someone as skilled with a blade as she was beyond
him, but he did nonetheless. She was magnificent in her anger.
 
He mock bowed at her smirking. “Of course m’Lady. I would expect nothing less
from you.”
 
She scowled at him and he only chuckled which earned him a smack. “Don’t laugh
at me! I’m serious you stupid bull!”
 
His face erupted into a lopsided grin as he half-heartedly attempted to bat her
assault away. “I’m not laughing.” He lied.
 
He really should’ve been prepared for it, but he was still surprised when her
foot came down on his instep. She’d done the same thing to him out of anger
when she was still a child and it seemed it was still her go to move. He cursed
loudly and stooped down as he hopped around trying to relieve the pain. He knew
he must’ve looked the fool considering how large he was but he really didn’t
care.
 
He tried to glare at Arya but when she just smirked at him he began to chuckle
finding the whole situation laughable. The two of them were quite obviously the
worst suited people to court. When he was finally able to put his significant
weight back on the foot she looked to him again.
 
“I must go. I’m to join Sansa and Lady Margery in dressing for tonight’s
feast.” She informed him distastefully.
 
He gave her a pitying look. “How’d you get lured into doing that?” He knew
enough to realize she’d find that kind of thing quite tedious. She’d never
willingly get stuck with insipid women and their gossip.
 
Arya grimaced. “I’ve been distracted and you’ve not been around so I couldn’t
very well say no when I was invited to spend time with the gaggle of Tyrells
from Highgarden. It was mind numbingly boring listening to their nonsense and I
had to keep poking myself with an embroidery needle just to stay awake.” Gendry
snickered imagining it, her in her britches with a tangle of knots in her lap
that she tried to pass for stiches while everyone else made perfect lace and
twittered at one another. “I sort of dozed off in the middle of conversation
when I was being asked a question. Everyone just stared expectantly so I nodded
my head yes and now I’m expected to arrive to the torture cheerfully.”
 
Gendry thought about trying to ease her pain a little by being understanding of
her plight, but then the pain in his foot reminded him that he should probably
goad her and return the favor. “Mayhaps you should’ve stuck yourself with the
Needle you carry at your hip instead of the one in your sewing basket. It
would’ve been more effective in keeping you awake and probably gotten you out
of it sooner, though with more blood shed on your part surely.” He smirked
pleased with himself.
 
She scowled at him unhappily and went to stomp away but he quickly darted out
and grabbed her, pulling her back to him. He had intended on simply giving her
a kiss to feel her anger melt, and he did, but found he was only able to pull
away slightly before something came over him and he was whispering in her ear,
her previous confession in his mind as he did. He suddenly needed her to know
he felt the same.
 
“I enjoy it too.” There was no mistaking what ‘it’ was given the tone of his
voice. He brushed hair behind her ear so his lips could graze skin as he
continued. “Still I find it hard to believe you enjoy my taste half as much as
I do yours.” He murmured in a voice he didn’t know could sound so husky. It
gave him confidence to feel her knees weaken slightly as they both had to
steady her against him so she didn’t collapse. Her breathing was now ragged and
he loved knowing he had such an effect. He wanted to exploit it. “I don’t think
I could ever truly explain how much it makes my blood boil when you ‘writhe
like a bloody fish’ and I have to hold you down to properly pleasure you with
my mouth. I love it when you come across my tongue.” She actually whimpered! He
had to gulp and get his own pulse under control before he could go on. “No
words have ever pleased me more than your confession to crave for me the way I
crave to fill you.” He trailed a finger down her neck. “I very nearly ravaged
you again when you spoke of how much you loved drawing my cock inside of you.”
He pulled back to look into her eyes. “Arya.” He whispered. Her gaze was
darkened by a lust that mirrored his own as he brushed her cheek and lips with
his thumb. “My Wife.” He told her possessively, not really knowing what came
over him. He thought she might pull away at that but she didn’t so he found his
hand trailing below her britches to do the unthinkable and she didn’t stop him.
 
He had been dwelling on it ever since her words gave voice to the thought and
now he needed to witness the magnificence of it. He moved two fingers up the
inside of her thigh where their sex had collected and smeared it on his skin
before running his digits back up through her cleft wanting for more. He hadn’t
even pulled his large hand from behind her laces before she had caught him
around the wrist and was moving to bring his fingers to her mouth and suck off
the juices there, her grey eyes directed at him through her lashes as she did.
He groaned in agony at the exquisite sight, his eyes flickering shut as he
battled to keep them open and watch her. He had truly never known beauty until
he had seen Arya Stark. The moment his fingers left her mouth he crashed his
lips to hers, grasping her head between his massive hands and reveling in the
taste of them he found on her tongue. When he pulled away he did so
reluctantly.
 
Placing a last chaste kiss on her forehead he whispered a hasty, “I’ll see you
at the feast,” Before withdrawing and stalking quickly away from the stables.
He couldn’t look behind him for fear of running back and finishing what he’d
started, but if he had he would’ve seen his wife sliding down the wall of the
stable unable to support herself in the boneless state which he had left her.  
 
                                      ***
 
Arya picked herself up from the ground after a moment, completely mortified and
infuriated that she found herself in a wilted heap because of some whispered
words from a stupid bull of a man. She was furious once she realized he’d
probably known what he was about and had done it on purpose. The anger was only
given more fuel after she realized she’d done nothing to stop it; that she
wanted it to go on even. Gods she was letting a man turn her into a simpering
wreck. She cringed thinking she might be turning into a twittering little Lady,
a woman who would throw herself at their Lord’s feet.
 
Stalking through the halls simmering in her anger she had resolved to find a
way to get her revenge. She was so absorbed in her mission to come up with a
plan that she probably threw open the door to Lady Margery’s apartments rather
harder than necessary. She made quite the entrance and only stopped once she
was halfway into the chamber and realized they weren’t her own. How her feet
had carried her here she wasn't entirely sure. She blinked rapidly scanning the
room and its occupants. She found Lord Renly and Ser Loras playing cyasse while
Margery and Sansa examined dresses. They all were looking at her with varied
expressions of astonished amusement or in Sansa’s case exasperated
mortification.
 
“Err, sorry I’ve just come from the weapons yard. I meant to head to my rooms
first. I haven’t the slightest idea how I ended up here” She frowned in
thoughtful confusion thinking back on the route she’d just taken.
 
Renly’s expression erupted into an uncomfortably familiar grin seeing her
bewildered expression and Ser Loras looked highly tickled as well. Sansa on the
other hand looked appalled and she was quick to voice her opinions.
 
“Gods Arya! Look at you, you’re filthy! Did you have any intention of bathing
before the feast?” She admonished derisively.
 
Arya narrowed her eyes and turned to glare at her elder sister, clearly not in
the mood. She went to open her mouth, but the swivel of her head must’ve given
Sansa a clear view of her throat.
 
Immediately the redhead was gaping at her, gasping in revulsion. “Your neck!”
She squealed pointing at her, eyes bulging out of her head. “How are you going
to hide that!”
 
Arya glowered unhappily at her sister, uncertain of what she was supposed to be
hiding. Still, she brought her fingers up to her throat where Sansa’s eyes
seemed to be fixated. Upon contact with the skin there she hissed at the
tenderness of it and suddenly realization flooded her.
 
She ran towards the room’s large vanity and looked at herself in the mirror.
She found the right side of her neck covered in bruises from ear to sternum and
saw her face turning purple in fury.
 
“That fucking bastard!” She thundered exposing her neck and moving so her nose
was almost touching the mirror to get a better glance. It looked worse up
close. “Roose Bolton is going to cringe after I’m done with that idiot! I’m
going to flay that stupid bull alive!” She huffed enraged.
 
Loras and Renly were howling with laughter now, and she saw Margery approaching
her from behind and examining the love bites with a smile.
 
The older girl’s eyes twinkled and her face was warm. ”Your husband I presume?”
She asked as she examined the purple marring Arya’s skin. Arya just nodded yes,
afraid she would snap if she opened her mouth to answer such a ridiculous
question. Who else would it be? Margery smiled knowingly before continuing. “He
could hardly have given you these without your consent.” The truth in her
statement caused Arya to pout sullenly as the older girl just tittered softly.
“Not to worry I have potions and experience in masking such marks. You’ll need
to bathe first of course.” She motioned off to the side and Arya saw several of
her ladies maids move to bring out a copper tub and silk screen to hide it
before exiting to fetch water.
 
Arya frowned not really knowing how to respond though Sansa was eager to offer
gratitude for her, ever the polite Lady. “Your assistance is most gracious Lady
Margery. My sister thanks you for saving her from the shame of attending the
feast in such a condition.” She looked at Arya pointedly before going on with
gritted teeth and in a strained tone. “I’m sure she’ll reprimand her husband
and make certain this doesn’t happen again.”
 
Arya snorted angrily and mumbled under her breathe. “He’ll be lucky if I don’t
bury my dagger in his flesh given the way he left me in the stables.”
 
Margery’s eyes flashed in glee and a languid smile curled her lips. “And just
what did he do to you in the stables, hmm?” She asked with a conspiratorial
grin.
 
Arya hadn’t realized anyone would be able to her and too quickly she replied
“Nothing.” Blushing crimson in the process.
 
Margery looked at her sideways, her expression prompting Arya to think she
might look much the same had someone just stolen her favorite dress. “Oh come
now, we’re among friends. You can be free with your tongue, we certainly won’t
be repeating what you say. Isn’t that right?” She turned to her guests.
 
Ser Loras and Lord Renly both readily swore their tongues weren’t prone to
flapping, and, aiming to please Margery and remain polite, Sansa begrudgingly
agreed she wouldn’t tell either. Still, Arya looked wary and distrusting. It
didn’t help that she was reluctant to admit to anyone the embarrassing manner
in which she had succumbed to Gendry’s words. Margery however was incorrigible
and had a surprisingly sharp ability to read people.
 
“So then tell us Lady Arya, did your husband bruise your cunt as readily as he
did your neck?” She asked lightly, as if she were speaking about the weather.
“Or is the reason you seek to flay him because he left you wanting as most men
are prone to do?”
 
Arya was just as shocked as Sansa to hear such crude words spoken so freely
from such pretty, innocent looking lips, however the traumatized look on her
sisters face had her laughing wolfishly at the brazenness of it. She instantly
decided she may have jumped too quickly to conclusions about Margery Tyrell.
She could actually grow to like the girl.
 
When she stopped laughing she found Margery sill looking at her expectantly.
“So, which one was it?” She prompted sweetly just as her handmaidens returned
with buckets of water. She could still see Arya’s reluctance so she leaned
innocently forward with an offer, “Mayhaps if you tell me we could think up an
appropriate course of action in order to return the favor to your Lord
husband.”
 
At the proposal to help her find revenge Arya almost found herself giving in,
the only thing that stopped her from loosing her tongue was the embarrassment
that was sure to follow. She’d need to be well into her cups for that she
reckoned.
 
“Loras,” Margery looked to her brother, “would you care to share some of that
fine Tyroshi pear brandy with Lady Arya? I think it might assist in our efforts
to come up with the best method of reprisal for Lord Baratheon.”
 
Arya looked at her stunned wondering if she could read minds. Margery Tyrell
was certainly more than a pretty face. Arya didn’t know whether to laugh at
that fact that it was she who was underestimating another woman, or run in the
opposite direction of the wit that could surely cut as severely as any sword.
In the end she was too dumbfounded to do anything but remain. She found herself
accepting the brandy that was offered her in a delirious stupor, still in
shock. She had never been one for alcohol but she found herself craving it now,
and it did in fact loosen her tongue enough to regale them with the full story
while her bath was prepared, though it did take some skillfully led questions
to get her to come out with it.
 
Renly was the one who approached her rather than Ser Loras, swaggering over
after snatching a glass off the table and pouring some liquid out of a wineskin
as he did. “So little she-wolf, was it that show you and your husband put on in
the weapons yard that’s got you wishing for retribution against my dear
nephew?” He asked lifting an eyebrow playfully. “I must say I’ve never seen a
woman so adamantly insist that her husband strike her. Then again I’ve never
seen a woman who wanted to be struck at all. They must do it very differently
in the North.” His eyes glittered with suppressed laughter over the rim of his
glass as he joined her in taking a sip.
 
He looked much too much like Gendry for her not to scowl at him. Still, he
wasn't tall enough or broad enough to match the stature of her husband, though
he was clearly more arrogant by half, not to mention exuberant. The man had on
more jewels than she ever hoped to own.
 
“I didn’t want him to hit me, I wanted him to try and hit me.” She attempted to
explain. It sounded admittedly less logical once she tried to voice her
sentiment aloud. She frowned huffily at the realization even though she still
tried to clarify it with different words. “The stupid bull was lessening his
blows and swinging lethargically. He was only using half as much skill as he
had! I wanted a fair fight is all.”
 
Loras wandered over to stand in their little circle. “You don’t believe he gave
you a fight?” He raised an eyebrow.
 
Before she had a chance to answer Renly was smirking and adding. “I would be
careful how you answer that my Lady. If remember it correctly he did best you.”
 
Arya scowled. “Did I yield?“
 
Loras and Renly both grinned but it was Loras who spoke up. “No you surely
didn’t.” He agreed before modifying his statement, “you did, however, halt your
dance when his hammer stopped at your back.” He tarried a bit before his smile
widened. He looked as if he was recalling something exceptionally hilarious.
“Then of course you stomped off in a right strop. But not before you tried to
push him over. I can’t imagine the mountain could push your husband over!” He
said turning to share a laugh with Renly, both of them smirking at the thought
and looking highly amused.
 
Arya however was not. Too bad she didn’t have time for a retort.
 
Renly picked it right back up after that, “I wonder what would’ve happened had
we followed you after you disappeared. It seems as if the show might’ve
continued, perhaps taken a wicked little turn.” He waggled his eyes
suggestively.
 
Arya couldn’t help but snort at how ridiculous he looked when he did that.
“You’re just as infuriating as my bloody husband.” She told him.
 
Renly grinned and shrugged flippantly. “What can I say, it must run in our
blood.” Then he feigned worry while considering her. “You’re not going to throw
yourself at me now are you? Just because you find me infuriating I shouldn’t be
concerned that you might try rip my clothes off, should I?” He paused
monetarily before continuing. “That is what you did to my nephew though, isn’t
it?” He questioned her a bit too knowingly. “I saw him in the corridor not long
before you arrived. His shirt had somehow been ripped right down the middle and
it was the strangest thing, there were small streaks of blood staining the back
that look suspiciously like claw marks.”
 
Arya blushed and Sansa inhaled sharply off to the side. The elder girl looked
to her sister for confirmation and appeared as if she needed to find a seat
when she realized from Arya’s expression that it wasn't just an unsaid
insinuation on Renly’s part but truth. Her voice was hoarse and horrified and
there was a tinge of disgust there as well. “Isn’t it enough that you insist on
crossing blades with him?” Sansa asked sharply. “Why in the name of the Seven
would you rip his tunic and raise your hand against him as well?”
 
Suddenly Arya was furious again and it all came tumbling out. “It’s not my
fault he’s a massive idiot who insists on infuriating the Seven hells out of
me!” She shouted indignantly. Sansa always could make her loose her temper.
“The stupid lummox just had to go and try and treat me like a Lady when he
knows I hate it!” The liquor probably didn’t help either. “Of course somehow he
makes himself transform into some sort of legendary warrior from the stories
and makes it so I can’t resist him! All I wanted to do was take that blasted
hammer of his and shove it so far up his ass, but I just couldn’t do that,
could I? Now I just go completely senseless and throw myself on him. As if I
think that strangling his cock with my cunt and thumping him with my lips
rather than my fist is anywhere near the same as teaching him I’m not to be
trifled with.”
 
Loras snorted and chuckled sardonically, “I think that probably does quite the
opposite really. He’ll be trifling with you a lot more I’d say.”
 
Arya pouted petulantly, glaring unappreciatively at the comment, and plopped
herself down into the seat Renly had vacated. “No he won’t.” She told them.
Eyebrows rose all around but she didn’t see them before she explained. “I bit
and scratched him, we marked each others necks, and he lifted me off the ground
and fucked me hard up against the door to a stable, but afterwards he was
furious with himself. He was angry that he’d let me goad him into being so
rough and treating him like a cock instead of a person. The idiot was actually
afraid he’d hurt me.” Arya took a swig of the brandy and made a face as it
burned her throat on the way down. “As if that stupid bull could’ve hurt me! I
was the one gave him little choice but to take me! It was all me!” She seethed.
“Naturally I got angry with him again and I just started babbling, well yelling
really. He made the strangest faces as I did but I couldn’t very well stop once
I’d started.”
 
“What could you possibly have yelled at him about?” Renly asked truly looking
baffled.
 
Arya harrumphed sardonically recalling the awkward admission that had spilled
out of her in anger, though in hindsight it didn’t seem all that discomfiting
to remember. She wrote that off as the effects of the brandy though and allowed
her tongue to flap. “I yelled that if spearing me with his cock and tackling me
into the wall as hard as he did wasn't enough to hurt me it wasn’t likely that
he could.” None of the occupants on the room had expected her to say anything
quite like that and she thought their speechlessness meant she should go on. “I
told him that if anything I enjoyed it, and that I enjoyed having his cock
inside me and feeling powerful because of the way I could make him lose
himself. I told him that I liked taking him in my mouth just as much as I
enjoyed having his mouth on me.” Everyone looked floored but they came to their
senses relatively quickly as she added. “Then of course I informed him that
just because I liked his cock it didn’t mean I wouldn’t hesitate to geld him if
I found it necessary.”
 
After a brief period of silence Loras and Renly were howling with laughter
while Margery giggled behind her hand and Sansa blushed crimson absolutely
mortified.
 
Arya just grimaced. “It’s not funny! I was serious! Gods why does everyone
laugh when I say that?” She felt anger remembering Gendry had had much the same
reaction to those words. “I swear I’d do it if I found reason!” She avowed
indignantly, wondering if they really didn’t imagine she would follow through.
 
“We believe you.” Loras finally managed between breaths. “It’s just, you can’t
confess to liking all those things and not expect a man to visualize it in his
head.” He explained. “And then of course you continued on and forced the poor
fellow to picture his new wife cutting his balls off. I can’t imagine what he
replied to that.” He sounded curious.
 
Arya pouted thinking about it and figured she might as well tell them. “He
called me m’Lady just to be infuriating and told me he wouldn’t expect anything
less.” She spat distastefully, “I stomped on his foot because I knew he was
mocking me and then I tried to storm away but he—“ She stopped abruptly feeling
a heat rise in her cheeks thinking about what happened next. His lips grazing
her ear as he whispered into it. She shivered and finished off her drink in a
large gulp, determined not to admit to what happened next. She was definitely
going to be dizzy at dinner.
 
Everyone gave her a knowing look, but it was Renly who finally spoke up. “Oh
come now! You can’t just stop there and expect us not to ask. Especially after
the shade of red you’ve just turned. ”
 
She scowled at him and finally Margery approached, “If you don’t tell us how he
left you I don’t see how we are supposed to assist you in retaliating.”
 
Arya pouted but she finally and begrudgingly admitted it. She really did want
to commiserate with someone about the confusing nature of it all and the brandy
definitely assisted in easing the discomfiture of doing so. “I tried to leave
and he wouldn’t let me.” She began. “He drew me back into his arms and brushed
his lips over the skin of my neck telling me he loved it when I would come
across his tongue and that he’d never heard anything more pleasing than to hear
me say I craved to have him fill me.” She paused remembering what his words had
done to her and how she’d felt betrayed by her own reaction to him. “I’m still
angry that I let his words have such an effect. He knew it too, my traitorous
body just kind of went boneless. Then my beloved husband just left me there,
weak kneed and barely able to stand.” She finished sounding bitter.
 
Renly and Loras were smirking and sniggering but they were smart enough to try
and suppress it as she glared at them murderously.
 
It was Margery who spoke once more. “Such a foolish man.” She sighed. “Your
revenge will be entirely too easy I’m afraid. It’s nothing if not a Lady’s
obligation to man men drool, and after leaving you wanting I can only imagine
you wish to pay him back in kind.”
 
Arya peered into pretty brown eyes looking as if she was speaking to someone
who had momentarily gone mad. “I can hardly make men drool. Sansa is the beauty
of the family.” She gestured sourly at her sister.
 
Sansa frowned thoughtfully at her. “Really Arya, are you that oblivious?” She
asked lightly. “Ever since you sprouted breasts and grew into your features
everyone has done nothing but compare you to Lyanna. You’d be quite the beauty
if you’d take the time to care. Why do you think Robb and Jon warned off all
the boys of Wintertown from befriending you?”
 
Arya looked at her dumbfounded. “That was Robb and Jon?” She questioned.
 
Sansa looked at her funnily, “Who else would’ve done it?”
 
She glowered. “I thought I was the one who scared them all off when I threated
Mycah with my knife after he tackled me during a stick-fight. His hands
wandered too much for my liking.”
 
Sansa snorted uncharacteristically. “Well mayhaps that did have something to do
with it as well.” She admitted before adding, “It probably also has something
to do with why you still don’t realize the effect you have on men. You’ve given
them cause enough to be afraid of letting their looks linger. I can’t imagine
any man in the Seven Kingdoms wants to be at the wrong end of your blade less
they find themselves shamed.” She chuckled slightly and was joined by everyone
else who nodded in agreement.
 
Sansa did have a point, as much as it begrudged Arya to admit it. Finally she
exhaled loudly, thinking mayhaps her sister and Margery would have the ability
to help her on this one small thing. Men did eagerly and obviously pine after
them after all. She really did want to make sure Gendry knew her capable of
leaving him in a similarly debilitated state as the one he’d left her in
earlier. If he had an influence over her she needed to remind him the power she
had over him as well, she just needed direction on how to do that. “If I’m
going to do this I insist on more brandy.” She sighed resignedly. “I’m yours to
dress for the feast.” She said looking anxiously between Sansa and Margery.
 
Both women looked to each other with wicked grins before Margery insisted that
Loras pour Arya another cup of brandy and then retire with Renly to wait in her
solar. The flurry of fussing and a glimpse of the dresses caused Arya to gulp
and wish she could take back her words and control, but too soon she found
herself stripped and plunged into citrus scented bathwater.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Wanted to get one in for february, its been a rough month in terms of
     being busy. Things will start really taking off the chapter after
     next so expect a lot more skipping ahead time wise after some of the
     Starks return to Winterfell, which will be the subject of the
     majority of the next chapter.
     Also I've been doing more reading than I should lately considering
     how bogged down I am, but I'm throwing this out there anyways...there
     needs to be some more Jaqen/Arya fics. Should anyone have any recs or
     feel the need to write one I would greatly appreciate it :P. I
     thought about writing one but I have another Arya fic in the works
     and I dunno if I can handle more right now.
     As always I hope you enjoyed the filth and will leave me some love!
     Thanks TS
***** Ask Me *****
Chapter Summary
     Dinnertime naughtiess
Chapter Notes
     Apologies for the wait and thank you for sticking with me. I really
     struggled with this one. Hopefully you enjoy it more than I do.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The throne room was packed with people milling about waiting for the feast to
begin while still more were arriving every minute. Gendry was holding an
untouched goblet of wine and fussing with the black velvet and gold trimmed
tunic that Renly had apparently left for him to wear for the festivities. It
supposedly belonged to his father at a point in time when the man wasn’t as
round in girth as the stuffed boar that they were to feast on, though even now
the fit on Gendry wasn’t quite right. The sleeves were a bit too short and it
was tight across his broad chest and back. Still, it was nicer than anything
else he owned and he actually didn’t feel too out of place standing next to
Robb, Theon, and Jon who were all decked out in their finest as they scanned
the ladies of court discussing their many physical virtues or lack thereof.
Well, Theon and Robb did at least, Jon and Gendry remained silent although they
couldn’t stop themselves from smiling every once in a while at particularly
crude or humorous comments.
 
“She looks as if she’s wrapped a Braavosi sail around herself the way that
dress billows and engulfs her.” Theon griped in annoyance while eyeing Arianne
Martell. “Considering all the tales from the war told by your father's
bannermen I thought Dornish noblewomen were supposed to dress far more
indecently than even the most desperate Northern girls.” He grumbled before
taking a swig from his goblet, clearly unhappy at finding the tale to be
hyperbole. “If the whores of Wintertown dressed like that Dornishwoman they’d
not see a copper from me, I can tell you that much. Old Nan wears dresses that
have more shape than whatever the bloody hell that unfortunate thing is she's
wearing!” He finished before walking a few paces to where a pitcher was
situated on the table so he could refill his cup.
 
Robb rolled his eyes but shook his head in amusement. “War stories shared
between drunken soldiers are hardly ever prone to exaggeration, are they
Theon?” He drawled sarcastically, chuckling at his friend’s unappreciative
scowl. “I’m sure Lady Martell is probably just trying to discourage the likes
of you from following her around all night, speculating as to whether or not
she’s wearing smallclothes and picturing what’s under them.” He quipped at his
friend’s expense.
 
 Theon just snorted. “If only I could get a better view of the ripe breasts and
thick thighs I've heard so much about...” The Ironborn trialed off imagining
just that. He turned to Robb conspiratorially with a sly smile on his face.
“Makes me wish I were that Sand Steed of hers I’ve seen in the stables. That
horse should count itself lucky to know what it feels like to have the likes of
her straddling its back. I certainly wouldn’t mind if she straddled me.” He
smirked earning a grin and laugh from Robb while the former shook his head at
his friend.
 
Gendry on the other hand chuckled a bit thinking he’d prefer Theon the horse to
Theon the man, especially if the git were to be owned by the strong-willed heir
to Sunspear. There really weren’t more appropriate words to describe the
individuals of House Martell other than what they’d been using for generations;
unbowed, unbent, unbroken. He was sure Arianne would gladly impart the
significance of their meaning onto the Ironborn if given the chance. She was as
hot-blooded and fiery-tempered as the Dornish were rumored to be.
 
Robb seemed to find his friend amusing as well, though not in the same manner
as Gendry. “She is quite beautiful isn’t she?” Robb pondered. “If I thought she
wouldn’t be miserable in a Northern climate, or that her father might actually
agree to a betrothal, I may have tried my hand at courting her.”
 
“She is the heir to Sunspear. Women inherit in Dorne.” Jon piped up sensibly.
“I doubt she will ever leave her home, nor would wish to.”
 
Gendry couldn’t agree more and honestly didn’t think Arianne would be
comfortable anywhere else, she certainly made her dislike of the capital well
known to court. Reflecting on the freedoms allowed to women of Dorne, he found
his thoughts straying to Arya and that fact that she would probably find the
southern most of the Seven Kingdoms more appealing than elsewhere in Westeros
for the same reasons as the uncompromising Dornishwoman, if only it weren’t
entirely desert. If she thought King’s Landing was sweltering, she’d most
likely succumb to heat exhaustion upon stepping foot into the harsh Dornish
sun. Her pale skin would probably burn and blister within the hour.
 
“Well there’s always Margaery Tyrell to consider and those scraps of fabric she
calls dresses.” Theon mused unscrupulously shaking Gendry from his thoughts.
“I’m quite fond of the way the they garb themselves in the Reach. Would that
she could bring such influence to the Ladies of Winterfell.” He waggled his
eyebrows at Robb who just snorted.
 
“I doubt she or any of the other women of Winterfell would find it practical to
dress in such a manner during the throes of a Northern winter Theon.” Robb
countered reasonably. “Besides, I had heard she was promised to Lord Renly.” He
finished.
 
Gendry audibly scoffed at the preposterousness of such a match and all eyes
turned to him for explanation upon hearing the larger mans unvoiced objection.
He sighed and wondered how they all hadn’t heard the truth of the rumors
circulating around court concerning his uncle during their stay. “If Margaery
is pledged to Renly the only reason it was agreed upon by my uncle is because
it comes with the promise of an excuse for Ser Loras to visit Storm’s End as
much as he pleases.” He told them plainly. “I can’t imagine it would be a very
fulfilling marriage for her considering he’s not interested in the bits she’s
got.”
 
All three of his companions were looking at him with flabbergasted expressions.
 
“You’re saying your Uncle would prefer the brother over the sister?” Theon
asked incredulously, pointing to where Margaery was being led into the hall on
arm of Ser Loras, Sansa on his other. Looking over the red head with heated
eyes he couldn’t help but add. “Looks like Lady Margaery already is influencing
the way Northern women dress.” He smirked happily while Jon and Robb scowled
seeing the revealing way their sister was garbed.
 
Gendry interrupted before the brothers could act on their wish to cause bodily
harm to the Ironborn and make a scene for the way he was leering at Sansa. “I’m
saying my uncle would prefer even the likes of yourfew pleasing qualities over
a beautiful girl like Margaery.” He stated impatiently and was happy to see
that Theon was glowering at him and had picked up on the disdain with which he
referred to his person while Jon and Robb both grinned and laughed.
 
The Ironborn looked like he was about to offer some words in retribution to the
slight, but something over Gendry’s shoulder caused his breath to catch in his
throat and his eyes to widen in delight while turning dark. Smirking happily he
turned to Gendry looking smug “Your uncle doesn’t seem very interested in cock
if you ask me.” He motioned again towards the entrance to the thrown room. “Not
when he has that on his arm. He seems quite happy cozied up with whoever that
shameless little minx may be.” He finished sounding more captivated than smug
as his eyes trailed over the woman in question.
 
Gendry turned and was shocked to see his Uncle talking animatedly with what was
truly a stunning woman. He had to blink a couple of times and clench his jaw to
keep from gaping, though he was comforted in the realization that he wasn't the
only one.
 
She was mostly facing away from them and what wasn’t covered by the dark shiny
waves of hair that spilled to her waist, was completely bare of the black-as-
night silk of what he was obligated to call a dress. Her back was naked of
fabric all the way past the gentle curve of her spine, and only after the swell
of her ass had begun did there rest the start of her long trailing skirts, the
bottom of which was embroidered heavily in gold until it faded away into the
dark silk about half way up.
 
The skirts themselves seemed to cling a bit more rather than flow away from her
body as most dresses worn in court were prone to do, and as she took steps and
her hips swayed alluringly you could peak the beginnings of the cleavage of her
rump which promised, by the look of it, to be firm and bubbly. Several adam’s
apples were bobbing at the sight including his own.
 
If the back was bad, what he could see of the front wasn’t any better in terms
of modesty. The way the fabric of the skirts swept up over her hips to connect
to the bodice underneath her breasts left two symmetrical triangles of skin on
either side of her smooth stomach exposed, displaying perfectly how her tiny
waist curved in before flaring out. Her breasts themselves were covered but
looked as if they may spill out at any moment due to the tight stretch of
fabric and only the tiny straps circling her shoulders to hold them and her top
in place.  The weighty gold and black pearl necklace that rest atop them only
emphasized their entrancing rise and fall and drew the eye.
                                                                                           
She was a black and gold siren, her somehow familiar profile sporting kohl-
smudged sultry bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and pretty pink full lips. Half of
her dark hair was pinned up in an intricate golden metal net and the rest was
left to cascade over her mostly bare shoulders. He found himself wondering
where his uncle had found this woman and why he seemed so enthralled with her
as she spiritedly whispered secrets in his ears and drew out his loud
boisterous laughter as they sauntered merrily through the hall following after
Loras, Sansa and Margaery.  
 
“Gods be good.” Cursed Robb breaking the silence as they all continued to gawk,
though most had the good sense not to be so conspicuous.
 
Theon was not one of those. “Indeed, they seem to be in a pleasing mood.” He
agreed leering openly.
 
Robb nodded dumbly. “Would that Renly does prefer cock if only she would seek
pleasure from mine instead.” Robb blurted out before he could muster up the
wisdom to stop himself. He did have the good grace to clear his throat somewhat
shamefully, realizing his indecency before gathering his wits and asking, “Who
is that?”
 
They all shook their heads indicating that they too were at a loss, though they
all continued to blatantly gawk along with half the other men in the hall. It
wasn't until Jon went to take a sip of his wine and the girl turned slightly
more towards them that they all came out of their reverie.
 
It was the sound of Jon sputtering and choking that made them all turn towards
the man.
 
Robb looked at him concerned and smacked him on the back unnecessarily hard a
couple of times. “Alright brother?” He asked curiously.
 
Jon shook his head vehemently. “No.” He stammered hoarsely. “Robb that’s—that’s
Arya.”
 
All four heads whipped back to where the girl stood with Renly, his hand
resting idly on her bare lower back as they laughed together.
 
“Seven fucking hells.” Affirmed Theon. “That is the little she-bitch.”
 
Gendry growled low in his throat at the Ironborn’s words but was too busy
staring at his wife in complete shock to take action. He should’ve recognized
that flawless backside and those luscious breasts immediately, but never before
had he seen them adorned in a manner that flaunted them so deliberately, not to
mention temptingly.
 
He consoled himself for his lack of recognition in the fact that, not only did
her own kin not make the connection, he never expected her to actually allow
anyone to paint her face let alone dress her up like some sort of enchantress.
He could already feel his temperature rise just looking at her, and when she
finally caught sight of them and smiled beguilingly at him specifically, he
almost bit through his tongue to keep from becoming embarrassingly erect. He
didn’t know whether he wanted to rip the clothes off of her or stare at her
forever she looked that completely mouthwatering.   
 
His fiery ravenous gaze swept over her again and again as she approached on the
arm of Renly, stepping up to each of her brothers, and strangely even Theon, to
give them a quick peck on the cheek. To Gendry she just briefly curtsied, a
very mischievous look in her eye. “Husband.” She inclined her head.
                                                                                  
Before he had a chance to respond, Robb was interjecting, his teeth gritted and
voice strained. “Arya what in the Seven Hells are you wearing?”
 
She blinked her eyes innocently while biting back an obvious grin. “What?” She
asked. “You don’t like it?” She gave them a little spin and an eyeful, giggling
while she did of all things.
 
Her brothers fidgeted, eying her uncomfortably and with suspicion due to her
uncharacteristic behavior. Theon and Gendry on the other hand just eyed her,
though their brows did furrow when she giggled. Arya Stark did not giggle, and
when she did it certainly couldn’t mean anything good.
 
Not one to pass up the chance at a jibe, Theon smirked looking between Arya and
Robb. “It’s not that he doesn’t like it, I think the problem is he likes it
more than is proper for a brother.” Theon snickered remembering what his friend
had said before he had realized he was speaking about his sister.
 
Robb rewarded him with a sharp and painful elbow to the ribs and a look of cold
fury that he then turned on Arya. “Are you aware of how inappropriately you’re
dressed?” He seethed.
 
Arya went to open her mouth looking angry but Renly saw her temper flaring and
moved to dampen the escalating situation.
 
“You’ll have to forgive your sister Lord Stark.” Renly began, oozing his usual
charm. “Lady Margaery had the gowns your sisters wear cut in a style popular
amongst the Ladies of Highgarden. They were gifts, for it appears all the
Tyrells have grown quite fond of both your sisters. It was quite clear they
were wary about disapproval concerning the dresses on the part of your family,
but Lady Magaery can be quite insistent as well as convincing and they didn’t
wish to offer her insult.” He presented reasonably.
 
Robb’s eyebrows drew together as he glowered. “Yes, of course not.” He began.
“I meant no offense its just that I’m not used to seeing my sisters so revealed
and am not inclined to like it. The gowns certainly wouldn’t be practical to
wear about Winterfell.”
 
Renly grinned. “No I imagine not.” He agreed. “That far past the Neck you’d be
wearing fur where once was any exposed skin I’m sure. Though of course, we
aren’t in the North now are we?” He asked cordially with a bright smile.
 
“We most certainly are not, praise the Gods for that.” Theon mumbled, leering
happily at Arya.
 
Noticing the Ironborn’s lecherous grin Arya snorted, cracking up loudly unable
to contain herself while thinking about how ridiculous this situation was, with
her the center of it and on the receiving end of looks she didn’t believe were
warranted. Once again her brothers and Gendry looked to her uncharacteristic
behavior distrustfully. Why wasn’t she glaring daggers at Theon or trying to do
him bodily harm for such a comment? It was only when she swayed slightly and
Renly went to steady her that realization occurred.
 
“Are you drunk?” Asked a disbelieving Gendry.
 
His insides squirmed as well as something in his pants when she bit her lip
innocently and shrugged, affecting nonchalance. “Mayhaps Ser Loras might’ve
shared some Tyroshi pear brandy with me.” She conceded, although a bit
begrudging with her answer.
 
Renly laughed. “I also think it might’ve been part of Margaery’s strategy for
coercing her to play dress up. She wasn’t as amiable to the plans as the Lady
Sansa I assure you.”
 
“I imagine not.” Jon said eyeing his sister warily knowing her well enough to
understand there was something more going on and wondering what it was. It
would take more than drink to get Arya to agree to such a gown and it didn’t go
unnoticed that she avoided his observant gaze in particular.
 
 “It seems the feasting is about to start.” Renly interrupted jovially. “I just
came to reluctantly deliver my Nephew back his wife.” He turned to Gendry and
grinned in a devilish manner. “You quite lucked out with this one Gendry, never
a dull moment with her.” He told the larger man before departing with a nod of
his head to find his seat next to Margaery.  
 
Jon, Theon and Robb followed and took their seats just as Gendry grabbed Arya
by the hand and led them to the long table to join and find their own. Once
seated, Arya had Gendry on her right, Theon on her left and Gerold Dayne across
from her, while Gendry had Arya on his left, Sansa on his right and Arriane
Martell across from him.  Gendry noticed that as Arya went to take her seat she
scooted her chair closer to his before he could help push it in for her and
frowned once again thinking something was off. He took his seat next to her
eyeing her suspiciously and even in her inebriated state it didn’t go
unnoticed.
 
“What?” Arya smiled up at him prettily, even if it did have a bit of mischief
behind it.
 
Gods she looked incredible the way she’d been made up, it was utterly
distracting. Still, he couldn’t help but think she looked just as lovely with
Needle in her hand, covered in dirt, and with a sheen of sweat covering her
lean little body.  He had to shake himself from his stupor before he was caught
staring hungrily at the way his wife’s breasts heaved alluringly. He was sure
he wasn't the only one preoccupied with thinking that if he stared long enough
they just might pop out.
 
Gendry cleared his throat to try and clear his thoughts. “I thought you
misliked having your head clouded by drink.” He commented as he set his own
full goblet down next to his plate.
 
“I also mislike dresses dear husband, but there is a time and place for
everything it seems.” She told him smiling slyly, knowing the added endearment
would put him on edge more, probably even more so than her admission that there
was a use for gowns, which in and of itself was shocking. When she saw him
grimace and take another long suspicious sweep of her in the reveling garment
she added, “Do you not like the dress? I’m afraid Margaery won’t be please to
hear it. Everyone was of the opinion that you’d be thrilled with it.”
 
Gendry pursed his lips. “Really?” He deadpanned a bit acerbically, “Everyone
thought I’d enjoy having my wife paraded around and on display for the eyes of
all the Lord’s in King’s Landing?”
 
Arya smirked. Margaery had said he might be a bit angry and act possessive,
saying he wouldn’t be pleased that his wife was attracting the attention of
other men. She herself thought that was just Margery being ridiculous. No one
would be looking at her with Sansa and the other women of court similarly
dressed in their finery. At the time she thought it especially ridiculous
because he didn’t actually possess her. She had even gone so far as to assert
that if he acted like such a twat and made such a claim she’d punch him in the
stomach and kick him in the shin for being stupid. Now however, she found she
actually enjoyed this type of peevishness from him, even if no one was looking
at her and he had no reason to be angry. It felt good to know she could make
him jealous although that wasn't her goal this evening.
 
 “Don’t be stupid Gendry, no one is eyeing me.” She stated naively. “Besides,
it matters only that you eye me. No one else will be tasked with getting me out
of this blasted gown later.” She told him smartly.
 
From across the table Gerold Dayne chuckled, attracting her attention while
eyeing her in decidedly predatory manner with his menacing, albeit provocative,
deep purple gaze. 
 
“What a tiresome task indeed.” He drawled sardonically in a smooth gravelly
baritone while sitting back in his seat arrogantly, ignoring the scathing looks
being sent his way by Gendry as he let his gaze rove over what was displayed by
Arya’s dress.
 
His meaning was apparently lost on Arya who took no notice of his tone and
thought he was simply in agreement. “Precisely my point! And if not tiresome
gowns are most certainly time consuming and irksome.” She insisted obliviously
while continuing to rant. “They’re unnecessarily complicated compared to tunics
and britches and what good are they really other than to trip you up and hinder
your movement?” Arya babbled, her tongue loosened by drink and completely
ignorant to the unfamiliar Lord’s sarcasm in her tipsy state. She just looked
to the silver haired man sitting in front of her as if they were having a
normal conversation. “And with all the small buttons and ties it’d be easier
just rip it off and save time, but of course that is not an option.”
 
“Oh?” Smirked the Dornishman across from her taking a sip from his wine. “And
why not? That sounds like a completely reasonable option to me. Enjoyable
even.” He egged her on earning sniggers of approval from Theon.
 
“It was a gift,” She explained simply before anyone had the chance to step in
and saver her the embarrassment. “And clearly an expensive one at that. It may
not be as practical as a sword or armor but I must admit it is quite beautiful
and took a deft hand to craft, even if it doesn’t suit me.”
 
“On the contrary.” Gerold drawled letting his eyes bore into hers, making sure
she could no longer mistake his connotation. “It suits every part of you with
remarkablyappealing emphasis.” He practically purred with a dark smirk situated
on his overly pretty features as he sipped his wine haughtily.
 
Arya stared back at him funnily, her face twisted into a look part disgust and
part disbelief. Was he actually insinuating he liked the way she looked, and in
a blatantly bawdy manner no less? Certainly he wasn’t trying to have a go at
her!
 
When she finally registered the rapacious nature in which he was eying her, her
lips twitched into an annoyed snarl and her hand instinctually went for the
dinner knife lying next to her plate. Gendry’s hand however was immediately
over hers, trying to pry the utensil from her grip, though only because if
anyone was going to maim the idiot it would be him.
 
Her verbal assailant smirked wickedly and laughed low in his throat at her
reaction, almost seeming as if he enjoyed having provoked her which only
succeeded in enraging her further and compelled her to keep the knife in her
possession. The dry sultry chuckle from her right, however, attracted her
attention and distracted her from her anger as she was obliged to turn towards
the raven-haired beauty sitting across from Gendry.
 
Arianne Martell was considering the silver haired man in a disparagingly
taciturn sort of manner as she spoke up. “How foolish of you to think a
Direwolf would take to your boorish brand of flattery.” She drawled before
turning back to Arya her eyes now glittering. “You must forgive Lord Dayne his
ill-mannered arrogance. It is an unfortunate truth that he does find success
with it more often than not, and you truly are a sight to behold Lady Arya.”
 
Arya frowned thinking the last thing she needed to do was forgive the idiot,
especially with the way he just shrugged his broad shoulders as if he couldn’t
help himself, that macabre smirk still plastered on his face. And besides that,
flattery didn’t work with her because it wasn’t rooted in truth. Even if he was
admittedly handsome she wasn’t going to swoon and blush like Sansa would while
he leered at her openly as if she were an animal he wished to hunt for sport,
at least not now that she realized that’s what his aim was.
 
 She wasn’t used to having attentions trained on her and now she was feeling
thankful for that. Clearly she had avoided necessary confrontation on numerous
occasions due to her plain looks.  She was not an object to be obtained. She
was a Direwolf however, and anyone careless enough to think otherwise and offer
her anything but respect would feel her fangs. She was the huntress, not the
hunted, and there would be no mistake about that.
 
Arianne seemed to understand that her words had yet to quell Arya’s temper and
went on, glancing at her countrymen briefly with nettled but mockingly amused
eyes. “Would that you could cure the lout of his egotistical philandering ways,
but I fear Lord Dayne is too far gone and couldn’t help himself even if he did
care to acknowledge the gross impropriety of his advances and how they promise
to bring peril upon himself. You can not blame him fully for his foolishness
however, we Dornish are taught to appreciate and exult beauty where others
might consider such praise libidinous.” She explained having turned back to
Arya. “I had wished for Edric Dayne to escort me to the capital, however he is
now squiring for Lord Beric Dondarrion so I unfortunately was left with the
more iniquitous cousin.” Arianne laughed sardonically as if it were some cruel
but shared jape as Gerold lifted his glass to her with a lopsided grin. “Gerold
seems not to recognize nor care when he is in danger of losing his tongue, and
I’m afraid if you laid your hands upon him even with violent intentions he’d
find perverse enjoyment in it.” She explained, her eyes glittering in amusement
as she watched Gendry finally able to remove the knife from Arya’s grip. She’d
dropped the utensil immediately knowing the one she intended to attack would
only find satisfaction in it.
 
“It appears you are just as fierce as all the tales would lead me to believe.”
Arianne continued, trying to smooth over the situation now that the chance for
confrontation had passed. “Anyone might believe you are part Dornish yourself
for you certainly have the temperament! It is a shame you could not be matched
with my brother Quentyn, I think you would take to Dorne easily.”
 
Gendry grunted in annoyance at the whole situation. “Does everyone wish to make
a match of my wife?” He asked in irritated exasperation.
 
“I don’t.” Arya piped up just as the food was beginning to be brought out and
placed in front of the King and her father at the head table. “You didn’t seem
too please with the match either if I recall.” She grinned up at him, the
alcohol easily allowing her to redirect her attention and forget her temper.
Besides, she did have a mission to complete.
 
In spite of himself Gendry chuckled and shook his head, remembering how
miserable he had been in the Godswood and then afterward at their wedding
feast. He was just thinking about how infuriating she’d been even then when his
eyes suddenly widened to saucers and he was shaken from his recollection as he
felt the shock of a hand leisurely beginning to trace patterns on his thigh,
working northward and inward to where his laces were rapidly beginning to
strain.
 
He blinked and glimpsed under the table fighting the disbelief he felt at
actually finding Arya’s slim fingers lavishing gratifying torture upon his
person. He fruitlessly tried to scoot away from her, but the action only
brought upon him the unwanted attention of Sansa who, seated on his right,
huffed indignantly at her sister’s less than appropriate behavior as she looked
between them and saw exactly what was taking place. Thankfully she had the good
sense not to say anything and draw attention, though by the glare she sent at
her sister she clearly wanted to.
 
Feeling helpless and embarrassed at being caught by the perpetually critical
Sansa, Gendry tried swatting Arya’s hand away discreetly, and when that didn’t
work, sat back heavily in his chair, banging his head a bit obviously on the
back of it in his frustration as his wife’s fingers got hopelessly closer to
their goal and his misery. This was going to be a long dinner if he had to sit
through it in a state of uninterrupted arousal while Arya sat before him
looking like some sort of ravishing dark siren. If he could’ve picked her up
and carried her out of the hall to have his way with her he would’ve.
 
Wasn’t he supposed to be the authority in the marriage? Short of snatching her
hand off his leg and placing it firmly on the table, what was he supposed to do
to get her to stop? That method would surely draw attention to what had been
going on and he had no intention of publicizing the state of the stirring he
felt his trousers. In a last ditch effort he tried absurdly to cross one leg
over the other underneath the table but only succeeded in banging his knee
rather loudly and fidgeting preposterously.
 
The move seemed to have the opposite effect of what he desired considering her
hand strayed to rest on top of his laces while he attempted the adjustment that
he thought would rid him of her torment altogether. Worse still, when he
frustratedly settled back into his original position she chuckled and gave him
a squeeze that had his eyes nearly bulging out of his head and his fists
clenching the arm rests of his chair so hard he actually heard the wood groan.
It was a wonder it didn’t splinter.
 
Clearing his throat to try and get ahold of himself he scooted closer to his
wife and leaned towards her, his expression dark. “Now is not the time nor the
place to tempt me Arya.” He growled through a clenched jaw.
 
She blinked up at him innocently and was pleased to see his angry glare
dissipate and transform into something of wary vulnerability as he met her
gaze. She couldn’t help but notice and be pleased to find his adam’s apple
bobbing as he visibly gulped feeling assailed by the image of her. Mayhaps
there was some usefulness to being dressed this way after all.
 
Arya smiled slyly up at him, “I fear the stable wasn’t the time or the place to
tempt me either.” She told him quietly as food was finally set down in front of
them. She left Gendry to gape at her as she turned towards the food and raised
her voice enough that anyone could hear if they were listening. “Will you not
serve and cut me my meat husband?” She asked him with a devilish glint in her
eye.
 
Gendry scowled at the realization that he would get no easy reprieve this night
and that she was intentionally torturing him as some sort of retaliation for
leaving her in a similarly worked-up state earlier in the day. It wasn't lost
on him the irony that after she had felt him up under the table, now she was
trying to act like the perfect picture of a wife, badgering him to do the
husbandly duties she would normally accost him and berate him for attempting
because she asserted she wasn’t a helpless invalid.
 
He angrily sliced a piece of lamb and placed a portion on both their plates.
“If I recall correctly, when I offered you this courtesy at our wedding feast
you threatened to slice my fingers off and told me you were very capable with a
knife and I would do well to remember it less I had no use for my fingers.”
 
Arya smirked at the memory and chuckled before responding. “Yes but that was
back when I was still a maid.” She began, happy to see the confusion playing on
Gendry’s face, clearly wondering what being a maid had to do with anything. 
“Now that I appreciate and see the use for a husband with such thick and
capable fingers it wouldn’t do to threaten the source of such exquisite
pleasure now would it?” She asked him with a beguiling and mischievous smile,
uncaring that those around had heard and that Sansa was huffing irately.
 
Gendry couldn’t help the twitching of his trousers or stop his jaw from falling
open at her brazen and shameless admission.
 
Apparently Theon couldn’t control which pipe his food went down either because
next to Arya he was sputtering and laughing while trying to find his breath.
Eventually he did though. “Remind me why we never saw fit to get you drunk
before?” Theon asked her rhetorically. Arya ignored him completely in favor of
torturing her husband more.
 
When Gendry felt her hand once again snaking its way onto his lap he quickly
grabbed his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together and bringing them to
rest on top of the table. He knew it would be difficult to eat with hands
entwined but if that’s what it took to get her to stop bloody torturing him
he’d do it. Unfortunately she was too clever by half to let that stop her
schemes, and she had clearly given thought to this.
 
She tried to pout at him but it was hard while attempting to hold back her
rascally snickers. She was enjoying his discomfort entirely too much. “Aren’t
you going to cut my lamb for me?” She asked lifting an eyebrow expectantly, not
fully capable of keeping the amusement from her tone. She knew she had him.
 
He glowered at her but did his duty and dropped her trapped hand so he could
pick up his knife. Almost immediately after he did he felt a hand on his thigh
again and he gritted his teeth trying to cut the piece of meat faster.
 
He found himself powerless to even move however when she quit with the teasing
and began stroking him for true in a very insistent rhythm. All at once it was
as if he was unable to continue functioning properly. Still he tried to get
ahold of himself as he glared at his wife and gripped the utensils he had been
using with white knuckles on either side of her plate.
 
“Arya, stop this.” He quietly pleaded with her closing his eye as she gripped
him maddeningly.
 
She just smirked. “I’m not as cruel as you are. I fully intend to finish what
I’ve started.” She whispered evilly.
 
Gendry gritted his teeth in frustration and slammed his fist down on the table
in aggravated bliss before he could find the strength to stop himself. Glancing
around finally, he noticed that those close enough to have heard his fist
connecting with wood were staring, and worse, Margaery, Renly and Loras were
holding back laughter looking much too smarmy not to know what was going on.
 
Infuriated upon the realization that this had all been planned at his expense
he forgot sense. Seeing red he dragged her chair closer to his, turning
slightly towards her and trailing one hand down her bare back making her shiver
while using the other to reach under the table and begin hiking handful after
handful of her skirts up her legs. “Mayhaps if I reciprocate and finished what
I started in the stables you’ll forgive me my cruelty.” He threatened leaning
in closer to her ear.
 
She froze and her breath hitched as he forcefully made his way into her
smallclothes where he softly began stroking over her folds, wetness coating his
fingers. She let a breathe out heavily and closed her eyes as he dragged a
finger through her lower lips and teased her entrance with his thick digit.
 
“What are you doing?” She asked breathlessly, her own task forgotten at this
unforeseen turn of events.
 
It was finally his turn to grin, though it wasn’t a pleasant one. “Just
returning your attentions.” He smirked at her infuriatingly, happy to see her
just as flustered as he had been initially as she glanced at those next to them
and they looked on curiously. “I may as well use my fingers since you’ve shown
me the mercy of letting me keep them.” He told her.
 
Arya scowled at him and remembered her ultimate purpose, determinedly squeezing
his shaft through his britches before slowly and deliberately stroking down his
hardened length causing him to groan audibly in need. She smiled at her small
retaliatory victory but it was short-lived as he lifted his murderous gaze to
glare at her while pushing his forefinger further into her warm depths. The
fact that he elicited a small gasp for his action made him smirk pleased with
himself and before she could make another move on him he brought his thumb up
and pressed demandingly against her clit, causing her to bite her lip to try
and unsuccessfully muffle a loud moan.
 
Arya closed her eyes squirming around attempting to find a means to relieve the
pressure but couldn’t, his force was relentless and he followed her movements
determinedly. Feeling flustered and more than a little bit bothered she opened
her eyelids and flushed red to find more than one set of eyes watching her come
undone on her husbands fingers as they fought some sort of ridiculous battle
trying to force each other into getting off there at the feast in front of
everyone.
 
She turned to Gendry beseechingly. “Please.” She asked in a decidedly
unintentional husky tone. She had other more insistent and threatening words in
mind but they dissolved on her tongue the minute she opened her mouth, his
fingers making it hard to think clearly.
 
“I fear I don’t know what you’re asking for.” Gendry growled at her. “Please,
you want more?” He asked while thrusting a second finger inside of her roughly.
 
Arya had to squeeze her eyes shut at the unwelcome intrusion as waves of
unbridled pleasure flooded her body accented by outraged fury; the stifled
chuckles from bystanders watching the exchange only amplified the feeling.
Glaring at him in an unadulterated rage she returned the favor by resuming her
insistent rhythm, fondling him now with added pressure and uncaring that the
movement of her arm was now obvious and the intent of her actions unmistakable
to those who had eyes on her.
 
He visibly tensed at the contact, but then his jaw clenched as he grit his
teeth and he reached with the arm he had tracing her bare back to forcibly
remove her hand from his groin and pin it down, palm against the armrest of her
chair. She flailed angrily, trying to yank out of his grip but she was no match
for his strength.
 
Attempting to make her forget that he had her restrained he moved his thumb in
small fast circles on her nub causing her whole body to jerk forward and their
audience to snigger seeing her at a disadvantage. “Ask me to stop and I will
give you the courtesy you denied me.” Gendry told her seriously. He disliked
the fact that everyone seated near them was privy to the vision his beautiful
wife’s flushed cheeks and this particular feistiness that she reserved only for
him.
 
She stubbornly glared daggers at him, loathing in her eyes as she tried to
figure out how he’d once again turned this around on her.
 
“Ask me.” He growled again as he began thrusting his fingers in and out of her
at a faster pace for emphasis.
 
Her eyes rolled to the ceiling while her jaw clenched, but she still stubbornly
refused to give in. With her free hand she latched on to the wrist he had
underneath her skirts and held on with a frighteningly tight grip trying to
lessen the effects and work against him as he continued to delve inside of her,
that familiar heat building frenetically just below her belly.
 
Gendry grunted as her nails dug into his skin and withdrew his long fingers
from within her only to bring them up to pinch her clit and roll the sensitive
bundle of flesh between the calloused pads his of thumb and forefinger
teasingly, knowing what it would do to her. The move had its desired effect and
she lurched forward breathing heavily, gripping the edge of the table for dear
life and removing the nails from his wrist altogether while trying to keep her
seat.
 
“You brought this on yourself. Ask me.” He told her gruffly though she never
responded. “Would you rather be brought to climax with so many eyes on you? Do
you think you can actually hide it?” He rasped challengingly into her ear. He
hoped it would expedite the process of making her surrender, either to his
request or her own pleasure he cared not, he just wanted the scene to find its
end with him the victor.
 
The little whimper she let out was almost enough to make him withdraw for true,
but then he felt a new wave of juices pouring over his digits as he thrust them
back inside of her. A jolt of incredulity ran through him at her body’s
admission to liking the threat of being watched, and then again when he felt
his cock twitch at the realization that her reaction had turned him on as a
result.
 
Suddenly he hoped she wouldn’t ask for him to stop, suddenly he was back down
the rabbit hole with her. He was aroused at the idea of publically displaying
his capabilities in giving her pleasure and flaunting that he alone would be
the man to make her behave like this, he alone for the rest of their lives
would be the man to touch her and make her come.
 
Sitting nearby and watching, hypnotized by her undeniable and provocative
magnetism, was as close as any other man would be to helping her find this
bliss. Finally, he had something he could be proud of, he had that which others
thought him unworthy, that which they wished for themselves.
 
He would show her and everyone else that he was worthy.
 
When Arya felt him curl both fingers while inside of her, running them along
the top of her cunt and exerting pressure along the span as he withdrew them,
her eyes were forced open along with her jaw in a cry of silent and desperate
wonder. She found herself blindly staring past the darkly delighted and hawkish
purple gaze of Gerold Dayne as well as the dusky spellbound eyes of Arianne
Martell, and at the wall, somehow feeling as though the light reflected by
their pupils and onto her skin was the addition of more worshiping hands on her
body.
 
 She only hoped there was no indication of just how much having eyes ravish her
as Gendry worked magic within her helped to stoke the fire inside of her. The
blaze that had somehow transformed to provide her with a burning pleasure
having originated from her aggravation at a failed attempt to frustrate Gendry,
an aggravation which was still very much alive within her despite it being
overwhelmed by delight currently.
 
She had never been more thankful to know her brothers were three seats down and
surrounded by the gaggle from Highgarden where Margaery had assured her they
would be distracted for the duration of the meal, for she was fast coming
undone and she didn’t think she could hold it back for much longer.
 
Damn the warty prick next her whose talented fingers never ceased to reduce her
to a quivering mass! How come it never felt so amazing when she tried to do
this to herself?
 
The Other’s take him for always getting the better of her, especially in this!
He was bloody infuriating and she’d rather hurl herself into Blackwater Bay
than let him win by asking him to stop, even if it the situation was more than
undignified. She was too stubborn to give in and it had absolutely nothing to
do with an inability to deny herself the exquisite bliss he was forcing upon
her! Seven fucking Hells! She was in plain view of others who clearly knew what
kind of torture he was subjecting her to for lights sake!   
 
Risking humiliation she glanced first at Gerold Dayne, whose eyes glittered
seemingly enraptured by the sight in front of him, before they flickered over
to Arianne Martell, who bore a curiously similar expression to her Dornish
countryman. She didn’t have time to dwell on what any what their interest might
mean however because Gendry’s wondrous fingers brushed a spot within her that
made her core clamp around his digits and caused her to jerk her head towards
him in astonishment as her body tensed in euphoria.
 
Shining grey eyes met blazing blue as she locked gazes with his intense and
enamored stare. Gods he was beautiful, gods what he could do to her was fucking
beautiful!
 
“Come for me Arya.” He whispered lightly, eyes still fastened on hers.
 
As if proving to herself the truth of her previous thoughts her body responded
in kind and she was obliged to squeeze her eyes shut as convulsions began to
spread from some unknown place low in her belly and outwards, her cunt
pulsating frantically around his fingers, completely in rapture and exaltation
at the stimulation he’d provided her with.
 
As her orgasm over took her, she was helpless to the stretch of her back as her
breasts were pushed outwards more than they already were by the dress and her
slim legs extended under the table as her toes curled.
 
Just as suddenly as her body went rigid in euphoric delight, she spasmed
visibly and collapsed in on herself with an unsteady exhalation of air and a
breathy whimper of, “Fucking Hells!” that she tried to unsuccessfully suppress
by biting harshly into her lip as she was overwhelmed with pleasure.
 
Her forehead had somehow found its way into the crook of Gendry’s neck as she
trembled through the afterglow, the fading tremors heightened by the work of
his fingers still gently thrusting inside of her and his thumb soothing her
over-stimulated and swollen clit as she moaned embarrassingly.
 
He was withdrawing his fingers and letting her skirts fall back into place by
the time she was lifting her dizzied head up slowly. Whether her light-
headedness was from the force of her release or the drink she had partaken in
she hadn’t a clue. She did however recognize the anger she felt.
 
Her lousy swine of a husband had gotten the best of her again, and in her hazy
state her fist was unwisely and suddenly sailing for his jaw.
 
When he once more stopped her assault by managing to effortlessly catch her
wrist before the blow landed true, and without even looking for it, she scowled
at him. It was almost as if he had anticipated it the stupid cad.  
 
“Why do you have to be so bloody infuriating?” She gritted out furiously as if
she hadn’t tried to just assault him mid feast in the most obvious and
inappropriate manner possible for a Lady.
 
His bewitched cerulean gaze never once strayed from hers though his mouth did
curl upwards slightly in the corners, looking as if he had a secret he wanted
to share with her. She stared back angrily but became distracted as she noticed
his hand moving. Her breath caught in anticipation for what she was suddenly
sure he was going to do, and in front of everyone no less.
 
She watched entranced, eyes burning with new hunger as he brought his thick,
glistening wet fingers to his mouth and licked himself slowly and deliberately
clean of her essence. He was smugly proud of what he had cultivated within her
and he swallowed every bit of her juices in reward as if she was the most
delicious taste in the world, communicating to her that he loved her flavor
just as much, if not more, than she loved his. It was a mesmerizing and
affirming action that had heat coiling dangerously within her once more.
 
As soon as his fingers were free of his mouth she used her unrestricted hand to
yank him by the hair and to her lips for a voracious kiss, careless of who was
watching as she shivered, recognizing the tang of herself on his welcoming
tongue while his hand fisted itself fervidly in her hair.
 
The hand she had used to try and strike him he brought to rest on his laces
with their lips still locked and she pulled away briefly when she felt a
dampness on the black velvet of his thigh, a question in her gaze as she looked
to him with disbelief. He laughed low in his throat, his smile letting her know
she hadn’t completely lost the battle after all. Almost immediately she crushed
her smiling lips passionately against his, her pride and stubbornness thankful
for the admission and a new love developing for him at his willingness to admit
his own vulnerability to her.
 
When she finally did pull away from the dizzying kiss she turned away smiling
goofily and quickly grabbed her goblet before swallowing its contents in one go
then setting it on the table roughly. She shook her head out as if it would
clear her mind and rid herself of the shame she knew she should be feeling more
acutely as it tried to creep it way in but was kept at bay with the knowledge
of the pleasure they had just shared.
 
She blinked several times not wishing to dwell on the indecency of what
occurred and picked up her fork to begin tucking into her food. “Seven Hells
I’m starved after that.” She muttered to no one in particular as she popped a
large hunk of lamb into her mouth.
 
The still silent and stunned crowd of onlookers seemed to come out of their
astonished stupor at her abrupt proclamation and Theon and Renly led them all
in a round of belly aching laughter before they were finally able to start in
on their meals. They too had been entirely too distracted by the exchange
between Arya and Gendry to have bothered with it previously.
Chapter End Notes
     I had more to add as a second part but I deleted it all after
     deciding there was a better more realistic situation where I could
     use the concept later on, hence, this chapter was the shortest one
     yet. I know this was mostly just smutty filler and there wasn't much
     with the plot, but there were some interactions that I plan to use
     later on with this being the introduction, so technically it was
     necessary.
     Anyways, as for when the next chapter will be out, I can't really say
     and I don't want to speculate because I really felt horrible when I
     couldn't come through on the dates I said I'd deliver last time. To
     give you an idea of my priorities here's a list of things I'm working
     on and in what order.
     -Horror Red Canyon fic
     -RPF Norman Reedus fic
     -Arya/Gendry one-shot
     -Don't Be Stupid
     -Dragon's Milk
     -Arya/Jamie
     -Charlie/Hermione
     -Original Piece
     As always, I hope you enjoyed the filth and feel free to leave me
     some love!!!!
***** Let's Go Home *****
Chapter Notes
     Ehh...Sorry? Really no words.
     except of course, I hope enjoy the filth and leave me some love!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
[sigil] 
                                        
 
Arya awoke with a thirst she hadn’t thought possible. Her whole body felt
withered and her tongue dried out, as if she had a mouth full of cotton. She
groaned slightly and turned her neck only to feel the twang of a crick from
sleeping perpendicular to the length of the bed with her feet dangling off the
edge, cheek resting on the familiar rock hard warmth of her husband’s stomach.
 
She smiled sleepily to herself and smirked, happy to have succeeded in
returning him to their chambers after four days. It was a short lived personal
victory however, considering it felt as if a whole herd of horses thundered
through her head the minute she opened her eyes. She hissed as the vision of
light assaulted her sensitive pupils and assisted in making her head throb even
after she’d squeezed her lids back shut.
 
She cursed herself for the amount of drink she’d consumed the night before but
when only half the memories came rushing back, changed her tune and considered
herself lucky. What little she could remember had her turning red from
embarrassment and vowing never to drink again. The headache and queasy feel of
her stomach only supplemented the thought.
 
Trying to prepare herself to once again be accosted by the light, seeing as she
would have need of her vision in her imminent and imperative quest for water,
she slowly opened her eyes while beginning to sit up. She blinked a few times
and rubbed her lids hoping to ease into the onslaught of oncoming sensitivity.
It worked a bit though she did come away with knuckles smudged with black kohl
and had to blink a few more times before realizing why.
 
It was ultimately the sight of black silk embroidered with gold that brought
back memory of how she’d allowed her sister and Margaery to make her up for
last night’s feast. She cringed feeling flushed, though its effect only
amplified even more so when she realized she was absent of her top as it was
hanging down and her breasts were free of restraint. She somehow hadn’t managed
to rid herself of the skirts though—damn dress.
 
She ran her hands over her face feeling the fool and threw off what little of
the covers she’d managed to get tangled around a leg so she could stand, though
she never did get to her feet.
 
A wonderful little grunt made her halt her struggle and look over her shoulder
instead.
 
She had expected to see Gendry easing into consciousness but that wasn’t at all
what she was greeted with. He was in fact still asleep, eyes darting around
aimlessly beneath lids deep in a dream, but his soft snores had ceased abruptly
with the movement of the covers and instead he was issuing little moans
intermittedly.
 
Though the sounds did send jolts straight down to her bones, it wasn’t the
pleasing little noises that had her biting her lip and trying to hold back
chuckles. It was the sight of his prick, rigid and bobbing having been
arousingly disturbed when she flung the covers off the both of them that had
her staring. She hadn’t noticed it standing at attention before but now she was
hard pressed to take her eyes off it.
 
He lay with legs and arms both thrown away from his body and she couldn’t help
but take the time to admire his form feeling almost obligated to do so. She had
to begrudgingly admit that the gigantic lug was quite the specimen. His thighs
jutted out from a narrow waist like tree trunks and were supported by strong
shapely claves that she knew were capable of providing just the right kind of
leverage. It was his sculpted chest and abdominals that had her gulping and
holding back lust though, not least of all because of the vee of muscles that
guided her sightline to the thatch of black as night hair framing the base of
his thick throbbing cock. It made him look all too appetizing.
 
As the muscles in his lower abdomen fluttered and he released another small
grunt which left his member twitching and beginning to pool clear fluid at its
tip, she was compelled to finally tear her gaze away and glance at his face.
His forehead was scrunched with his eyebrows furrowed faintly while his breath
came out in a light whistle between slightly parted lips. She was amazed that
even in sleep he could look frustrated and anxious and frowned to herself
thinking he hardly ever seemed to look happy or peaceful. He was always grumpy
or worried and worked up—always brooding, just like Jon.  
 
It irked her that he didn’t look happy in his arousal, and come to think of it,
never did until he saw her satisfaction or reached his own. He almost looked
like he was afflicted with some sort of pain that he wished to be rid of and
she suddenly wished for nothing more than to help him in his release to give
him relief.
 
She glanced back towards his cock surreptitiously, unsure if he would want to
be woken up and how he would react to finding her on top of him. If it were
herself, she surely wouldn’t wake peacefully to the feel of someone hovering
over her, so why should she expect him to? And even though she wanted to
pleasure him, the ability to do so properly with her mouth seemed to escape her
as of yet and she loathed feeling inept and didn’t want to wake him with her
bumbling about.
 
Arya felt her jaw clench at her own thoughts as she frowned. She hated being
plagued with uncertainty in anything, and even more so at having a reluctance
to try. It grated her ridiculously to know it was because of the man lying
asleep in front of her and a wish not to disappoint him.
 
How his regard for her had weaseled its way to become of such import and so
fast was beyond her and beyond maddening.
 
Before she could talk herself out of it her hand was reaching out defiant of
her own hesitancy as her fingertips lightly but determinedly trailed over his
muscled abdominals. She felt him intake a breath as she did so and stared at
her fingers on his stomach tentatively, only to jolt slightly when a creamy
rope of white unexpectedly spattered across the back of her hand.
Her incredulous gaze immediately shifted to his cock as she watched his
bollocks draw up and his shaft twitch as he gave a small, sleepy little
involuntary thrust of his hips. He groaned quietly in relief as another thicker
rope of silky white seed ejected from his thick girth to paint both her hand
and his stomach.
 
She stared enraptured at the sight, her chest heaving with concupiscence as the
onslaught continued and they were both decorated with it, the haphazard pools
of white reaching just below his left nipple and the last of it dribbling down
the length of his cock enticingly.
 
After staring at the sight before her for a moment and watching him wilt
underneath her gaze, she instinctively but slowly brought her hand closer for
inspection. The back span of her palm was almost completely covered and she
turned it about letting her eyes rove captivatingly over the pearly viscous
liquid. It was alluring in some carnal way and she was compelled to let it run
between forefinger and thumb before licking the digits clean and savoring the
salty warmth.  
 
It daunted her to feel a sort of reverence for the milky fluid painting them
both, acknowledging the power that his pleasure held and the changes it could
stimulate in both her mind and body, short term and long. Unbidden she began to
wonder what the sight of him discovering relief within her would look like
rather than just over himself. If somehow seeing him find climax into her
warmth, observing them joined as one from within, would be even more pruriently
fascinating.
 
The thought somehow made her envious, made her believe the magnificent mess
before her was naught but a waste, that it should be between her thighs instead
of splayed carelessly and wastefully over them both.  
 
She felt an absurd twinge of anger upon the thought and it only amplified with
the unwelcome realization that his release hadn’t been of her doing even though
she had intended to help him, wished to even.
 
His bloody dreams had brought him to the point of climax and without physical
stimulation!
 
The injustice of it all was what she found unbelievably infuriating. She
couldn’t even work herself up with her own fingers after rolling around and
trying to fuck herself in all manner of ways and he could get off without even
a touch? How was that fair! Without thought the hand she held in front of her
face came down hard with a loud wet smack near its former resting place low on
his abdomen.
 
With a startled groan and wild eyes Gendry sat up awake only to find his wife’s
stormy grey gaze narrowed at him accusingly.
 
Befuddled and perplexed he looked around and then down before blushing crimson
at seeing the mess he’d made of himself in his sleep. “Sorry.” He rumbled,
voice still groggy though still noticeably embarrassed. “I didn’t get you did
I?” He inquired sheepishly, blinking his eyes free of sleep and then clearing
his throat nervously.
 
Arya huffed and turned away, completely disregarding his question as she stood
up and began trying to rid herself of her skirts while grumbling irritably.
“How is it that dreams can get you off when my own bloody touch is useless for
me?” She snapped rhetorically as she fussed with trying to push her skirts over
her hips.
 
When she was unsuccessful she grit her teeth and tensed her muscles ready to
erupt feeling overly aggravated with the garment as well as everything else.
Seemingly unprovoked, she was preposterously flailing in useless frustration
and gripping the black silk in ridiculous tantrum, yanking futilely in all
directions and flinging it about while getting no closer to free of the
garment.
 
Pouting and annoyed, shoulders slumped, she turned back to face a bewildered
Gendry while simmering in irritation. “How is it possible for a blasted skirt
that reveals too much not come off at all!” She seethed, punctuating her defeat
with a juvenile stamp of her foot.
 
Gendry did his best to try and hold in his smile and laugh but it was hard. She
was completely topless, her perky breasts emphasizing her childish outburst
with their residual movement as she stomped about. Her hair was a mess, the
kohl of her eyes was smudged making her appear as if she were painted for
intimidation in battle, and she was pouting at him ridiculously with fistfuls
of silk gripped tightly in each hand.
 
When he let out a little chuckle against his own will he had to look away less
he lose it completely and laugh uncontrollably seeing her lips turn downward
even more so in adorable affront. Her grumbled utterance of a childish “I hate
you”, defeated his attempts to hold back his mirth and he found himself choking
on amusement while wiping himself off with their linens and heading towards
her.
 
She looked at him skeptically upon his approach, but once he was in front of
her and instructing her to lift her arms, she did so without hesitation, though
still with a frown and displeased gaze. He pulled the fabric up the length of
her slim body and over her shoulders to rid her of her frustration though she
still looked at him as if the whole predicament were entirely his fault.
 
As she watch him throw the dress onto a nearby chair looking entirely too
pleased with himself she hit him in the stomach for a second time that morning
and made for the door to their antechambers.
 
She had only peeked through and began to ask for a bath to be drawn when a
large forearm was looped around her waist and she was being pulled back and
carried towards the bed, Gendry cradling her in his arms as she writhed in
objection.
 
“Let me go you big arse!” She argued noticing where he was heading “Go get
yourself off you stupid…lucky…abled…” She struggled to find an appropriately
insulting word. “…ARSE!” She finally and ludicrously repeated.
 
He only grinned down at her shaking his head as he tried to quell her anger—at
least marginally. “It was you I was dreaming of my Lady,” He rationalized
before going on with an explanatory shrug “…so you did have a hand in my
pleasure…even if you didn’t have a hand in it…” He smirked, snickering at his
own stupid wit as he threw her unceremoniously onto the bed eliciting an
undignified squawk.
 
Arya wasn’t similarly pleased and was quick to get on her knees and face him at
the edge of the mattress. “I was going to attempt to have a hand in it but you
apparently don’t need me—or anyone for that matter—including yourself!” She
snapped while poking him in the chest for good measure. “And don’t bleeding
call me My Lady!” She finished with angry hands on her hips as if she were
squaring up to him.
 
Gendry only smiled wryly and backed her up on the bed as he forced his way to
kneel in front of her. Taking hold of her waist and drawing her in, he ran the
tip of his nose up the sensitive and bruised side of her neck, nipping at her
ear and feeling her involuntary shiver. Meeting her gaze again he lifted an
eyebrow with a lopsided grin. “You are mine lady, and if you can’t find
satisfaction in your own dreams, you need only ask me to teach you how to find
pleasure in my absence. I do believe you have fingers.” He informed her
gibingly.
 
Arya scoffed at him communicating exactly how useless she thought his
instruction would be. “Look at this!” She grasped his hand and pressed her palm
against his. His fingers could very nearly curl completely over hers, only the
first knuckle of her digits extending beyond his palm. “Do you see this? Your
fingers are much thicker and longer than mine! How am I to pleasure myself the
way you do?” She asked him looking bitter. “It’s not bloody fair! When I try
mine feel nowhere near as wonderful as yours do. Having you teach me would be
as effective as…” She looked around trying to find the words to sufficiently
express her frustration. “…as training me to swing a Westerosi Longsword while
leaving me to practice with only my Braavosi rapier. It wouldn’t work! Two
different weapons require two different plans of attack!” She expounded
seriously.
 
Gendry held back a snort at her ridiculous but appropriate analogy. He realized
she had a point but was more so amused that she’d fancy it akin to swordplay.
Even so, rather than agree, after a moment he just shrugged feigning
nonchalance. “Well then it appears you have more need of me than I, you.” He
told her before grinning smugly and ducking away from her hands.
 
Even before she scowled angrily and punched him in the stomach once more, he’d
realized she wasn’t going to make it easy for him to emphasize just how much
she needed and wanted him, and especially not after such an intentionally
riling statement. He knew she wouldn’t simply just fall onto her back without
resistance and let him see to her needs. So instead he pulled her into him and
lifted her up with one hand between her shoulder blades and the other cupping
her arse just under the thigh. Guiding one of her legs around him he spun her
around and then onto her back so they were no longer kneeling and
perpendicular, but now parallel to the beds length.
 
Startled momentarily, Arya was none too happy by the change in positions and
began hitting Gendry about the shoulders and ribs. When he restrained her hands
above her head with a wicked smile, instead she tried to buck him off with her
hips. “Get off me you stupid oaf! Go dream and get yourself oohhfff—“ She
trailed off as her failed attempt to throw his overly large frame off of her
was halted by the feel of the head of his hard cock hitting a particularly
sensitive bundle of nerves.
 
Her objections stopped almost immediately as she bit her lip helplessly, and
though she turned her head in defiance of the pleasure she felt, and to ignore
what she knew would be an insufferable look plastered on his face, she was a
glutton for the sensation and so moved her hips again hopeful to feel his round
tip brush up and down her slick lips once more.
 
The sultry laugh he gave while picking up on the torturous teasing rhythm she’d
begun both renewed her anger and stoked her arousal while Gendry couldn’t help
but be overwhelmed by brass as he continued to rub and grind himself up against
her saturated lips and through her folds, watching her for every little
unthinking reaction and letting it fuel his confidence and drive. She
unintentionally and continually had a way of making him feel monumentally
capable despite years of assertions that he was less than nothing, just a
bastard.
 
It wasn’t until her pleading eyes met his that he finally gave her what she
truly desired. With a harsh jerk of his hips he drove himself into her fully
and suddenly, savoring the helpless little trill of surprise and pleasure she
issued, watching her eyes widen as he did. He moved with long but languorously
hard strokes as he began, still pinning her hands above her head in either of
his own while feeling all of her indignation at being restrained swiftly
transform into need.
 
The fact that she struggled not at all and instead had her eyes pinned
penetratingly on his own, her brow furrowed earnestly as she moved herself to
meet and anticipate the punishing jerk of his hips, had him growling low in his
throat in satisfaction.
 
The sight of her protestation swayed, now submissive to his exertions as he
worked his cock into her, was something he didn’t take for granted given her
normally willful disposition and he was captivated by it. Captivated by the way
her situation trapped beneath him had adrenaline coursing through her person as
was evidenced in the way her eyes had dilated and how he could feel the now
rapid beating of her heart as her cunt pulsed around his cock.
 
She was enjoying his forceful dominance, and enjoying it just as much as he was
enjoying having her at his mercy. He watched entranced by her and his own
power, what it could do to her. He was riveted by the feel of her, loving the
way she squirmed helplessly underneath him, moving as much as he allowed, her
breasts heaving with her back arched towards him and highlighting the smooth
hurried movement of her stomach as she let out throaty exhales in time with the
agonizingly slow withdrawal of his cock from within her as well as the the
sharp intake of her breathe as he drove starkly and suddenly back home with
each punishing thrust of his hips.
 
Feeling her heels dig into the muscles of his arse, beckoning him deeper and
for more, he thoughtlessly pulled out of her and flipped her effortlessly onto
her stomach. He wasn’t ready to give her any measure of control or let her
dictate their movement. That she needed him to find pleasure gave him license
to captain their current coupling and assist her with what she required, but in
the manner of his choosing, his way. She was to be shown that her deference to
him would be rewarded with what she sought—that their goal was the same and she
could trust him with their gratifications and open her eyes to the reality of
what vulnerability could bring her with him.
 
He meant to give her unsuspected pleasure from a mindset she wasn’t familiar or
comfortable with and so maneuvered both of her hands together behind her back
and again restrained her with one of his as he situated himself straddling both
of her legs pushing them together, his cock now throbbing and resting in the
crevasse of her pert little arse.  
 
He felt her tense at the new position, sensed the beginnings of her outrage as
she struggled to free her hands from behind her back. But then he was at her
entrance and as he slide into her he watched her deliciously firm cheeks clench
and felt her cunt constrict around him while she drowned out a loud, very un
Arya-like, wonton moan by burying her head in the linens as she became entirely
boneless in his grip.
 
Drunk with power and reveling in her surrender to the feel of his girth, he
used the span of his free hand to push the flesh of her cheeks together as he
withdrew, tightening her further around his cock while leaning back and cocking
his head slightly to watch himself disappear as he pulled on her restrained
arms for added leverage and thrust his hips forward once more. Her upper body
lifted slightly up off the linens as a result and her back arched and stretched
away from him, his grip on her hands bending her backwards while he held her
hips down with his other hand on her arse and fucked into her slowly, rapidly
developing a demanding pace.
 
Arya’s breath escaped her entirely as her back strained while he pulled on her
hands and drove in between her closed legs into her snug warmth. She was
helpless but to savor every single inch of his long circumference now that she
wasn't spread wide and it felt altogether too magnificent, her velvety warmth
now the perfect all encompassing sheathe for his leaden prick and her lips
stretching and clasping rapturously around him. The only thing she was capable
of besides little whimpers as he drove the breath from her lungs and battered
her from behind was to attempt to raise her ass against the pressure of his
hand and meet his thrusts. In essence she was powerless to his treatment and
against all instinct she relished her weakened state and this new trust for him
as he beckoned forth an orgasm that had her trembling from the onslaught.
 
As her keens became more consistent and higher pitched, he pummeled her
relentlessly to ensure a continued melody. Once her body tensed and Gendry
began to feel her muscles spasm as her cunt fluttered around him, he gave one
last punishing jerk of his hips to finish himself off along with her. After
they were both in the obvious throes of pleasure he looped an arm under her
hips and rolled them both over so he was on his back only to sit up so her
putty like body was situated in his lap while still within her.
 
Feeling her head loll on his shoulder he moved a hand low on her belly so his
fingers could circle and torture her swollen nub, his other hand palming and
tweaking her breasts and nipples as he pumped what was left of his seed up into
her, eager to prolong what he could of her climax as well as his.
 
Hearing her moan and feeling her squirm happily and move her hand to cover his
on her mound, he smirked into her neck and chuckled as he kissed her glistening
skin and breathed in her scent.
 
“Any more need of me Lady Baratheon?” He growled still breathless, nipping at
her skin.
 
“Need?” Arya snorted, still smiling in satisfaction. “I may have a use for you,
but who says I need you?” She asked him smartly, happy to feel the smirk on her
neck transform into a frown as his lips left her skin entirely. Her mirth was
short-lived as well though considering the smarmy grin swiftly left her for an
expression of befuddled curiosity; an intriguing thought occurring to her.
 
She craned her neck around to face him. “Is that how most Lords treat their
Ladies?” She gestured to the bed referencing what had just taken place. She had
been told that most men tended to be forceful with their wives and had heard
many stories of women who had to be restrained so marriage rights could be
taken. What she hadn’t expected was to find the treatment so agreeable.
 
Gendry smirked knowingly while still feeling some lingering insecurity about
her previous statement. “Why? Do you suddenly fancy yourself a Lady?” He
couldn’t help but ask. Feeling yet another elbow to the stomach as she climbed
off of him and their bed, a true smile squirmed its way onto his face knowing
violence was akin to an endearing kiss to her.
 
“Don’t be stupid.” She told him with a level glare before stomping off with
their sheet.
 
Gendry was happy to stare at her bare arse wearing a smarmy grin of his own
before falling tiredly back to lay in bed with a huff.
 
                                      ***
                                        
Breaking fast with her family that morn had been a joyfully somber affair. What
with everyone savoring each other’s presence, only stifled by the awareness
that they would not soon enjoy the company of one another.
 
Gendry and Arya were to remain in King’s Landing until the wedding of Jofferey
and Sansa while the rest of the Starks returned to Winterfell and Jon made for
the Wall.
 
None of it was fair really.
 
That she had to marinate and cook in the stench of the capital while everyone
else was to find relief back in the North sat not well at all with Arya. That
Jon was no longer welcome in Winterfell since her mother would not tolerate him
without their father’s presence was worse still. She tried to communicate her
feelings on this injustice by ignoring and turning her back on her mother
whenever she tried to approach, but the thought of not seeing her for months on
end made her surrender and now she found herself tasting salty tears as she
buried her face in graying auburn locks amongst the awaiting Stark caravan in
the yard of the Keep.
 
It was Catelyn who finally pulled away, trails of tears finding their way down
her own still handsome face as she smoothed her daughter’s unruly hair and
cupped her cheeks with a sad smile. She tried to give off an air of confidence
for the sake of her family and spectators, but her voice and words betrayed
real and unsettling anxiety. “Watch after your father for me sweetling. We
leave you in a den of lions and I fear he believes everyone will act with the
same honor that rules his decision.” She confided, eyes flickering over to her
husband worriedly. Her voice turned quiet as she continued and pressed on
tensely, the gravity of her gaze disturbing Arya and putting her on edge. “Make
no mistake about it Arya, the capital is no friendly place. The Game of Thrones
consumes and corrupts while those naïve enough to think they can avoid it, or
triumph because what they do is right, would be wise not to play all.” She
finished blinking back tears and swallowing down fear. She somehow made certain
not to let her gaze flicker back to Ned but saw her daughter shoot a nervous
glance over at her father and felt her own heart clench at the sight.
 
Gathering herself with a weighty exhale, Catelyn searched her daughter’s face
once more and mustered up a watery smile as she moved her hands to grip Arya’s
shoulders firmly. “For years I’ve fretted over your unruly manner and tried to
mold you into the Lady you still refuse to be.” She stroked a smooth cheek
fondly, finding herself smiling ruefully as she went on. “Now I can only find
comfort in that failure.” She confessed, chuckling as Arya frowned and blinked
profusely in obvious confusion as she tried to process her mother’s words.
 
“It pleases me to know that the defiance that disarms and so endears you to
your father affects others as well.” Cateyln explained. “People don’t know what
to make of you here and there is advantage to that.” She shook her head,
begrudgingly thinking back on all the times she’d been baffled by her own
daughter before clearing her throat and thoughts and allowing herself to return
to her prior urgent and troubling resolve.
 
“Arya, you must realize Sansa sees only the good amongst those of court and not
yet past the surface of their pleasantries. Your father—” Catelyn choked up
breathlessly before looking away for a moment to gather herself. She met Arya’s
concerned eyes as she continued, though her voice was notably shaky, as if she
didn’t want to utter or believe her own words, “Your father will face death if
only to do what he believes must be done and honor his duty.” She conceded
finally, hoping at least one of those she loved and must leave behind would
understand where they stood.
 
Arya frowned, disliking seeing her mother so tense and worried—so forthcoming.
“I won’t let anything happen to Father.” She promised with more confidence than
she felt after listening to such ominous words. “….Or Sansa.” She added as an
afterthought.
 
Despite herself Catelyn chuckled and shook her head. “You are sister’s Arya,”
She chided lovingly. “You should look out for one another despite your
differences.” She pushed with insistence. “I once would’ve said you shared
nothing but blood, but now…with the way you’ve taken to marriage and your new
husband…I think you might have something more to learn from each other than
even I thought.” She smiled while placing a hand on Arya’s belly. “I certainly
hope that you return to me before you find yourself quick with the child it
seems you’re so determined to have.” She placed a soft kiss on her stunned
daughter’s forehead. “I await word of your departure eagerly sweetling.” She
avowed soberly. “I love you Arya. You belong in the North, we all do.” She
finished, turning and answering the call of her name from somewhere down the
Caravan.
 
Arya watched her mother leave feeling forlorn and wary, and yet somehow, more
than anything, all of it was drown out by the shock of three disturbing
words…quick with child.
 
Once her mother’s hands left her stomach she found her own had replaced them
and she was staring down at herself mouth agape. She knew what the purpose of
lying with ones husband was within a marriage, but somehow she’d let it escape
her. The fact that she couldn’t picture herself with child, and had never
longed for motherhood the way her sister had, almost made her believe it
couldn’t happen to her.
 
The realization of how stupid that was, and how exceedingly careless she’d been
after discovering the pleasures of her husband, left her feeling helpless and
ill at ease. Suddenly her new favorite hobby wasn’t so spectacular. Now it was
rather frightening due to possible consequence. If it wasn’t for Jon’s
interruption she might’ve found herself physically sick, and not because of
lingering queasiness due to her over zealousness in partaking in last night’s
feasting activities.
 
“Are you feeling well little wolf?” Jon asked as he hunched down to catch her
eyes.
 
Arya shook her herself from her stupor but still had to meet her brothers eyes
while holding back tears of anxiousness as she nodded her head.
 
Jon just nodded back at her, though wringing his hands. “I’m going to miss
you.” He told her with a tense sad smile as he ruffled her hair half-heartedly.
 
Out of reflex she smacked his hand away earning a true smile and suddenly
everything else escaped her entirely. She stepped towards him grasping his
hands imploringly. “Don’t go Jon.” She entreated him. “Stay in the capital.
Help me look after Father and Sansa. It isn’t safe for us here.” She pleaded
with him seriously.
 
Jon sighed looking anguished and untangled their fingers only to fold her hands
together and cradle them in his own. “We’ve been over this Arya. My mind’s made
up. The capital is no place for someone like me and I’m no longer welcome in
Winterfell. The Watch is where I belong. A life of service is an honorable
one.” He expounded gently, appearing resolved.
 
His gentle tone did nothing to ease her of her worry. “To hell with honor,
Jon!” She snapped irritably, her mother’s warning about the possible downfall
to their father’s righteousness still haunting her. Jon was nothing if not the
mirror of Eddard Stark and suddenly it seemed as if the two men she loved most
had decided to stare down death. “I can’t bare the thought of you freezing atop
the wall, or rarely seeing you for the rest of my life!” She expounded
selfishly. “Stay and return North with Gendry and I, or leave now and go on to
our hold. There is no one I would trust more with the task of seeing it
rebuilt. Robb would gladly let you oversee it.” She beseeched him. “You will
have a place as our Master at Arms or Castellan, whatever you wish.” She told
him knowing she sounded desperate and not caring. “You can have a family of
your own Jon. We can visit the Wall together, you can still keep that promise
to me.” She begged him, eyes gleaming hopefully while tears once again
threatened to spill over, desperate to ensure his safety.
 
Jon grimaced and had to look away. Somehow he managed to pull her in for a hug,
both of them holding on fiercely. “I can’t Arya.” He said hoarsely into the
crown of her head. “In another life we could do all the things we planned and
find the adventure we promised, but this is what we have and we make of it what
we can.” He tried to explain again. “You’re my sister always and I love you.
Now all I can promise is to protect you as a Member of the Night’s Watch and
leave Gendry to watch after you. He’s a good man Arya, and he’ll treat you
well.” He withdrew to look her in the eye, hands on her shoulders. “You’ll grow
to love him if you already haven’t.” He smiled as he wiped tears from her eyes.
 
Arya again smacked his hand away as she continued to try and deny that she was
crying. “You bastards are a hard lot not to love.” She told him with a
begrudging smile and sniffle.
 
Jon grinned truly and hugged her one last time. “Winter is coming, but we’re
wolves, and you a Stark.” He nodded resting his forehead affectionately against
her. “We will see one another again.” He promised firmly and then held her at
arms length waiting for a nod of reciprocation. When he received it he stood up
straight, chuffed her on the chin, and ruffled her hair one last time only to
smile at her scowl and turn towards their father.
 
Arya watched him go miserably until she felt a tap on the shoulder and turned
to find Robb. She went to open her mouth to speak but he held up a hand and she
stopped.
 
“Yes Arya, I promise I’ll try and sway him, but the decision is still his.” He
told her reasonably, already knowing what she was going to ask of him. Arya
pouted up at her eldest brother and grumbled wordlessly when he cracked a smile
and pulled her into a hug. “Would that we were all still children terrorizing
the Godswood or abed and listening to the tales of Old Nan.” He said rubbing
her back warmly. “Stay out of harms way and look out for Sansa. She’s beguiled
by court and all the tales and fancies she’s pictured in her mind…unlike you.”
He finished with a grin. “I’m sad to leave you behind but I’m not sad to be
going. Try not to anger anyone as you are like to do little Arya Underfoot.” He
chortled smiling fondly. “Still, if you do, know you have Father and Gendry,
and even Sansa.” He paused looking more staid as he continued. “Remember what
Father always says: when the snow falls and the white wind blows, the lone wolf
dies but the pack survives.” He looked down on her solemnly. “Keep them close,
keep the pack together. I hope to find you safe within the walls of Winterfell
soon sister.”
 
She nodded up at him still bleary eyed. “Me too Robb. Take care of Mother and
Bran and Rickon.” She ordered him seriously.
 
“Aye.” He laughed. “And see that you take care of that husband of yours, or
better yet let him take care of you!”
 
Arya rolled her eyes as she watched him walk off and found herself almost taken
aground by her youngest, wildest brother while caught off guard.
 
“Omphff.” She huffed out as she just managed to hoist him onto her back where
he’d jumped, Bran now in front of her. “Would you care to switch places with me
and stay in the capital while I return home to run wild with this one?” She
japed sarcastically at Bran while nodding toward Rickon whom she held on her
back.
 
Bran just smirked back at her. “I doubt your husband would find me an agreeable
replacement.”
 
Arya snorted. “Yes well, I don’t exactly find him an agreeable replacement for
you. I can’t imagine he’s any good at climbing, though I’d wager I’d actually
win once in a moon if I’d challenge him rather than you.”
 
Bran grinned and moved in for a hug. “Come home soon. I mislike any of us being
separated.”
 
Arya nodded her agreement. “As do I.” Once released, Rickon hopped off of her
as well and she turned and managed to catch him on the cheek with a kiss,
grinning when he pulled a face and made as if he could wipe off her affections.
“Keep up with the training of Shaggy, wild one.” She told him ruffling his hair
the way Jon did her as he glared at her. Looking back up at Bran she nodded at
him, “Take care of them all for us.” She beseeched him. He only nodded and
steered their younger brother towards their mother.
 
She stared off at where her departing family had gathered around her father and
then turned to go stand next to Sansa only to come face to face to a smiling
Theon.
 
“No farewell for me then?” The Ironborn asked, arms out and questioning while
feigning mock offense.
 
Arya rolled her eyes but surprised even herself by electing to forgo violence
and instead quickly and lightly throw her arms about his neck before continuing
on wordlessly to take her place next to where her sister stood solemnly on the
steps overlooking the yard.
 
Neither sister offered words of consolation but as Sansa’s hand sought out her
own, Arya didn’t jerk or shy away from her touch. Instead she threaded her arm
through her sisters, pulled her closer into her side, and took her hand to give
it a squeeze. For the first time in a long while, the sisters shared a look and
small miserable smiles of solidarity. Though it wasn’t free of tears, at least
this time it wasn’t because they were at odds. They stood hand in hand,
watching as their father embraced their mother one last time before more than
half of their father’s men proceeded out the gate with more than half their
family along with them.
 
Once out of sight and down Aegon’s hill, Ned turned back to his remaining
daughter’s and couldn’t help but smile slightly seeing them take comfort in one
another rather than squabbling.
 
“Three wolves remain.” He informed them in his somber way, coming to a halt
before the steps.
 
While Sansa nodded, Arya’s brow furrowed with a thought.
 
“And a bull.” She contended nodding towards someone over his head.
 
Despite himself, a small mirthful smirk graced Ned’s lips and he nodded his
agreement. “And Gendry.” He granted, turning to find his good-son approaching
having said his own farewells off to the side so as not to intrude on the
family.
 
He clasped the boy’s shoulder finding comfort in knowing there was at least one
man remaining in King’s Landing he could call family.
 
                                      ***
 
It was nearly a month later when they received word that there were Starks
returned to Winterfell. However, with it came the news that Jon hadn’t been
swayed and he’d gone on to pledge his sword to the Night’s Watch.
 
Gendry didn’t know what to do to or say to console Arya and so he let her cope
in her own manner. She’d chosen to remain silent and instead work herself
ragged in dancing lessons to attempt to dispel some of the anger. It didn’t
work. It was obvious she’d been harboring hope that he’d for some reason change
his mind and was only now realizing she had to come to terms with what amounted
to the loss of a sibling—at least in her eyes.
 
Two weeks after the Raven had been received she’d lost her head while at a
dinner in the Hand’s chamber and went on a bit of a verbal rampage. Her father
had simply wondered aloud if anyone had heard word from Jon when she went quiet
for a long moment before absolutely exploding, shouting at her father for
encouraging her brother to go, and then turning her attentions to Sansa for
making him feel like he wasn’t good enough and essentially forcing him into
thinking there was nothing else for him but to enlist.
 
Whatever commonality the Stark sisters had fleetingly managed to forge had been
completely shattered in that moment, and suddenly Gendry noticed that Ned was
scarce to be found either. Everything felt strained; the mood in the keep, the
mood between his wife’s family, and the mood between his wife and himself.
 
Though she was less inclined to talk than ever, her sexual appetite hadn’t been
quelled in the least and yet their bedroom dynamic had noticeably changed—she’d
race to reach her orgasm, and whether she did or not, made a point to finish
him off with her mouth when he expressed he was close. While the benefit of
that was she’d quickly become an expert with what she had at first struggled
with, it was pretty obvious her intent in doing so and he found it strangely
difficult to come to terms with.
 
…She didn’t want his children.
 
He didn’t ask her the why of it all because he felt he already knew the answer.
There was no Lady in all of the Seven Kingdoms who’d wish to beget the child of
a bastard, even the King’s bastard. Instead he kept to himself and his
distractions; days in the yard with his hammer and now axe, as well as long
nights at the forge.
 
He didn’t know why he continued on with his current project or how he bore no
ill will towards his wife, but hammering away at steel, and Valyrian no less,
left little time to contemplate anything else and he was content with that. His
peace wasn’t to last long though, and he knew from his last visit with his
goodfather that his appearance at the forge couldn’t mean anything good.
 
Upon Ned Stark’s approach he lifted a stoic brow and turned to call for Master
Mott. He didn’t much like the idea of handing over work to his mentor at this
point, but working metal while participating in a conversation he presumed
would prove troubling wouldn’t do anything for quality. He’d put too much time
and care into the weapon to reforge it when it’s mirror was ready for
finishing, and so he handed it over to Tobho knowing the Master smith was more
than capable.
 
“That’s some fine work Lad.” Ned offered greeting with a tense smile, watching
as his Good-son passed off the sickled blade. “Valyrian steel is it not?” He
asked with an air of cordiality, seeming as if his mind was really otherwise
preoccupied.
 
Gendry nodded. “Aye it is.” He answered being less than forthcoming, stepping
away from the heat of the forge.
 
Ned just nodded, his gaze elsewhere taking note of the people moving through
the city and lingering on those who’d paused near enough to be in earshot. “Not
many have the skill to work with the metal.” He offered compliment offhandedly,
his eyes settling on an empty alleyway before finally turning back to face
Gendry. “It speaks well of your abilities that Master Mott would assign you
such a task.”
 
Gendry looked out the canopy of the shop trying to find the source of Ned’s
obvious disquiet. Unsuccessful he glanced back and just shrugged. “It wasn’t
his task to assign. I commissioned the project.”
 
“Oh?” It was Ned’s turn to raise a brow, his attention suddenly drawn. “Those
blades look a bit small for your hand.” He japed good-naturedly with a half
smile. When he noticed Gendry blush slightly, realization dawned on him. Ned
drew calloused fingers over his lips in mild surprise as he nodded with a
lightly exhaled guffaw. “It seems I’ve found the reason my daughter now
practices with two swords instead of one.” He chuckled amusedly. “You’ve spoken
with Syrio then?”
 
He nodded feeling slightly abashed. “She’s outgrown the weapon Jon gave
her—Needle.” He said momentarily meeting Ned’s eye before looking quickly away.
“She’s fast and her footwork draws from more than just the Braavosi Water Dance
despite her training. I’ve found her in our chambers mimicking court acrobats
time and again without her dancing teacher’s instruction to do so. She’s a
student of movement and she needs something…different.” He explained,
attempting to use his hands to assist with his explanation. “I wanted to forge
her a weapon that worked with her strengths so I met with Syrio hoping he’d
have more to offer than what I’ve just witnessed myself.”   
 
Ned looked thoughtful, hands tucked in his sword belt. “She does tend to square
up as if she’s handling a longsword when she looses patience. A habit she’s no
doubt picked up from years of sparing with her brothers.” He pondered
unobtrusively, interest piqued. “What did Syrio have to say?” He asked
squinting against the heat of the forge as he looked back up at the taller man.
 
Gendry couldn’t help the small smile that took over his features as he began to
toy with cleaning the tools on the workbench. He wasn’t used to people sharing
an interest in things that excited him and felt silly about his own giddy
enthusiasm given the chance to share it. He tried to mask it by busying himself
with menial tasks. “He said she’s ravenous to learn all she can and favors the
Braavosi Water Dance but bends it as she sees fit.” He looked back at Ned
fleetingly, trying to gauge his thoughts. “She’s developed her own style and he
admits that it suits her and may even be better adapted for defense against
longswords and polearms than the Water Dance, at least for her smaller reach.”
 
Ned seemed more pensive than normal. “Syrio said this?” When Gendry smiled
lightly and shrugged, conveying with his slightly thinned-lipped lifted brow
nod that he too had been initially incredulous, Ned felt compelled to question
more. “And he still teaches her the Water Dance?” He asked quickly.
 
“A version of it.” Gendry confirmed head bobbing left and right. “He said she’d
never been one to frustratedly lunge, as most beginners with the Braavosi
Rapier are prone, and thinks that mayhaps it’s because of her time spent facing
Westerosi men with greater weapon range.” He informed Ned, gleaming eyes
betraying his excitement for the subject as he went on. “Instead she relies on
her speed, and since she’s never hoped to match in strength, she uses her blade
as a means to draw attention away from her intention, and her footwork to put
her opponents off balance.” He paused to let it sink in before going on. “From
what I’ve learned from Syrio much of the Water Dance lends itself to this
but…so does the Shadow Drift.”
 
Ned frowned skeptically, eyebrows drawn together. “Shadow Drift? The Asshai’i
way?” He questioned hesitantly in succession. “He’s trained in this before?”
 
Gendry nodded again. “To an extent.” He explained. “He spoke of spending time
in Yi Ti and a Shadowbinder who moved unlike any other, all spinning fluid
menace, drawing you in as if you’d been set adrift in a whirlpool.” His hand
motioned in a circle, expression engrossed. “Apparently he’d come at you fast
but never with much force and suddenly you’d be disarmed, the hook on the end
of his blade wrenching your weapon from your grasp before he’d strike. The
mental complexities and strategies of the technique are evidently similar to
the Water Dance even though Syrio admits they are ideologically different. He
spent some time traveling with the man and learned some of his methods, what he
remembers he’s teaching Arya and he’s rather impressed with what she’s managed
to pick up and meld with what she already knows.” He told him, fidgeting and
licking his lips, slightly more nervous as he continued. “Between Syrio and
Master Mott, I think we’ve come up with the design of a blade that would prove
most effective for her unique style. ” He told Ned with a small prideful smile.
 
“And?” Ned prompted keenly, clearly intrigued and waiting to hear more.
 
Gendry couldn’t help but grin as he reached to grab the rough unsharpened blade
and held it out flat before his Good-father. “Two identical sickled blades
mirroring one another, short swords somewhat similar to a scaled down Dothraki
Arakh.” He said once again bobbing his head left and right as he tried to
simplify his thought process and explanation. “The notable differences are
obviously the continued hooks on the end and the crescent blades fitted over
the knuckles of what will be the pommel. Sryio insisted those were unique to
the Shadowbinders swords.” He pointed to each feature in turn. “The hooks can
catch on shields or be used to disarm, but they can also loosely hook into one
another and essentially double the weapons length for swinging to gain room and
reprieve from an aggressive opponent. The blades over the pommel then become of
more use than just deflection and also have added function in close quarters
when you may find yourself striking with knuckles.” He explained with eyes
bright before seamlessly and excitably delving into the complexities of how
he’d made it. “I fashioned the ingots to give it a diamond cross section as
well as added strength before working it into its sickle shape and hammering
flat the blades on either side. It will be double edged and perfect for
wielding on horseback as well as lending added force to the spins she seems to
favor.” He finished hurriedly.
 
“May I?” Ned asked, nodding down at and reaching out for the weapon.
 
Gendry bowed consent. “Of course.” He replied handing over his work slightly
nervous.
 
Ned considered it in his solemn quiet manner before finally giving his
thoughts. “It’s quite foreign looking,” Ned commented, running fingertips along
its length before attempting to balance the blade on a finger where the hilt
started. “And menacing.” He frowned watching it tilt toward the hooked end.
 
Gendry was quick to move. “The crescent daggers over the pommel act as only
part of the counter weight.” He added before picking up what looked like two
clumps of metal and fastening one to the end of the blade and handing it back.
“These will secure the finished grip and serve to balance the rest of the
weight on either blades.” He held the second mass meant for the other sword out
for Ned’s inspection and watched him examine first the sculpted bull in his
palm and then direwolf on the end of the blade he held. “Master Mott helped me
get it right.” He looked to the ground apprehensive of his good father’s
scrutiny.
 
“You mean he helped you get it perfect.” Ned supplied quietly, still
concentrated on the metal, which sat perfectly balanced on a single finger now
that the decoration had been attached. He hadn’t taken notice of Gendry’s
blush. “Where did you come by the steel?” He asked finally looking up.
 
Gendry scratched the back of his head, “Master Tobho came by it a couple months
ago actually. The fellow didn’t know what he had so he got it at a good price.
It used to be a crest of some sort if you can believe that, but from no House I
can recall.” He let out a small laugh. “A monstrous and overly gilded thing
with an odd abundance of dragons and crabs. I managed to forge both blades for
Arya as well my axe from its metal.” He motioned to the corner where his new
and impressive weapon stood. “When I expressed interest, Tobho was generous
enough to take what I could offer and told me to forge ancestral weapons for
our new House. Wedding presents of sorts.” He shrugged before chuckling and
adding. “Expensive wedding presents.”
 
Ned nodded but gave a questioning look. “I don’t recall you withdrawing coin
from the amount your father and I set aside to rebuild your hold and get you
settled.”
 
Gendry shook his head. “Jon Arryn left me a sum as well. Quite a bit actually.”
He said wringing his hands. “It was only delivered to me a few weeks back from
a messenger from the Eyrie. Tobho paid five gold dragons for the crest and I
gave him fifteen. He could’ve crafted at least three greatswords from the metal
and made thrice that so I certainly made out.”
 
“You did.” Ned finally gave a small smile before walking over to where the axe
was propped up. “The Direwolf and the Bull it seems.” He remarked as he held up
the blade in front of the larger weapon, noticing a theme between the shaft
handle and spike tip of the axe to the pommel weights of the sickle blades.
“Will that be your new sigil then?”
 
“Mayhaps.” Gendry nodded his head coming to stand next to Ned. “I plan to see
what Arya makes of it when I gift the weapons to her in a couple days time. I
intend to mirror the etching and inlays on my axe on her blades as well before
they’re ready.” He motioned feigning flippancy though still obviously
apprehensive.
 
Ned stepped closer to inspect the gilding and what he saw made him smile and
grunt out a disbelieving laugh. “Five Direwolves on a hunt with a sixth
trailing and nipping at the heels of a bull.” He shook his head in wonder.
“Fate has found my daughter her perfect match it seems.” He chuckled and
clasped the larger man’s shoulder fleetingly. “She’s going to love these Lad.”
 
Gendry’s pride welled up and he beamed in relief, but then suddenly he
remembered there was more and hoped for further approval to ease his nerves. “I
fashioned her these as well.” He said fussing around and coming back to unroll
an oilcloth housing fifteen throwing knives. “There wasn’t enough steel left
for Tobho to craft another sword so I made use of what was left and forged
these.” He offered as explanation. “Half of the crest made me my axe and the
other half made her the swords and knives.” As an afterthought he added, “I’ve
got the tanner crafting her holsters with measurements Margaery gathered from
her seamstress, and a carpenter making both of us weighted wooden practice
replicas.”  
 
Ned stood there stunned unable to do anything but run his hands over the
knives. After a moment he found himself chuckling thinking what her brother’s
were going to have to say about their sister possessing such fine weapons.
 
Gendry fidgeted feeling slightly odd in the silence and found himself clearing
his throat and apologizing after a long moment. “I’m sorry to have distracted
you Lord Stark, I’m sure you didn’t come simply to see my work.” He told his
Good-father.
 
Ned’s head whipped away from the knives and he drew his hand back to his sword
belt. “No, you’re unfortunately right lad, though these are all finely crafted”
He offered, looking less eager about the imminent conversation than even
Gendry.
                             
Gendry moved to roll the knives back up in the oilcloth. “Is there something I
can help you with?”
 
Ned nodded. “I have hope.” He said before looking up and down the Street of
Steel soberly and stepping closer, voice much softer and a weighted frown on
his lips. “I told you before about Jon Arryn’s wish to speak to me on some
matters before his death.” He began.
 
When Gendry’s own expression darkened and he nodded with a frown, Ned went on.
 
“I mean to figure out the source of your Uncle’s concern,” He divulged looking
vexed. “I’ve been going through his correspondence as well as the books he read
prior to his passing.” He paused solemnly, a troubled look overcoming his
features. “Most of it admittedly seems of no consequence, the only thing that
puzzles me and appears to be of import is a sole sentence written hurriedly on
a discarded scrap of paper.” He glanced briefly up at Gendry and stepped
closer. “‘The seed is strong’…” He whispered the words, brows furrowed and eyes
troubled as he once again searched the ground. “Does this have any significance
to you?” He inquired soberly, turning to look up at the taller man gravely.
 
Gendry’s brow furrowed as he tried to think back on anything Jon Arryn might’ve
said to him that could have a connection to those words. Coming up short he
exhaled heavily with a grimace. “Sorry, can’t say they mean anything to me.” He
confessed miserably, wishing he could be of more assistance.
 
Ned bobbed his head with thin lips as he took a step back, hand grasping his
sword belt disappointed. After a moment he shook his head dismissing it, “It’s
of no matter lad. The truth has a way of surfacing only when the cruelty of
fate wishes it. Need and convenience never seem to be of concern.” Of this he
spoke from experience, unwelcome memories of a last promise to his sister
following revelations that might’ve prevented the death of his father and
brother, an entire uprising even, troubling his thoughts.  
 
Gendry could offer only silent sentiments of agreement and expressed as much
before Ned changed the subject entirely, seemingly rather affected.
 
“Your father leaves on a hunt in the morn, are you to go with him?” He asked.
 
Gendry shook his head and motioned back towards his work. “I mean to have the
blades finished in two days time, and if I’m honest, I’ve no interest in
spending time with the King overindulging on women and wine.” He stated
plainly, though with a hint of bitterness.
 
“Aye.” Ned offered a small consolatory smile. “It seems very little of our
King’s vices have effected his sons.”
 
Gendry grunted unhappily, “There’s years yet to see if your statement rings
true, but I do hope so.” He paused before reflecting with an odd look on his
face. “Sometimes it feels as if I’m more at risk of inheiriting our father’s
iniquity than my half brothers. I envy that they don’t have to look upon
themselves and see him staring back.” He confessed. “As far as anyone can tell
Jofferey and Tommen are all Lannister.” He supposed with a dispassionate
chuckle and shake of his head. He frowned however when he felt Ned grasp his
forearm abruptly and looked down on his goodfather’s white knuckles where they
grasped his musculature. Looking back up questioningly he met an intense stormy
gaze.
 
“What did you say?” Ned asked eyes uncharacteristically sharp, boring into
Gendry.
 
Gendry’s frown deepened. “That I see my father when I look at myself?” He
repeated brows furrow, now concerned with the Hand’s fit of strange behavior.
 
“After that.” Ned urged with a quick sideways nod of his head, his grip
unknowingly tightening further.
 
“About Jofferey and Tommen?” He asked with a skeptically lifted brow, now
beyond puzzled and seeming apprehensive. “That my half brothers favor the
Lannister’s?” He questioned hesitantly, thinking he spoken too freely. When the
grip on his arm was gone he looked to his good-father. “Are you feeling alright
Lord Stark?” He felt compelled to ask.
 
Ned nodded. “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” He said turning away and heading for the
exit. Gendry watched him go completely befuddled and frowned when the man
turned around brusquely and quickly strode back to him looking anxious. “Remind
me again son, what color hair did your Lady mother possess?”
 
Gendry, completely at a loss, searched Ned’s face for some type of clue as to
the reasoning behind the stoic man’s sudden melancholy determination. He
couldn’t find one. “She had yellow hair.” He finally told him, finding it
strange that his Good-father suddenly looked like the weight of the world was
bearing down on him and he dreaded inevitably being crushed.
 
As he watched Eddard Stark’s steely grey eyes darken grimly with stoic resolve,
Gendry unexpectedly felt very wary and frowned finding himself watching the
man’s retreating back. It took him a moment to gather himself enough to return
to work, and as the hours churned on so did his sense of urgency.
 
For reasons he could only feel in his bones, finishing his work was of
paramount importance.
 
                                      ***
 
Arya didn’t know what to make of the fact that Syrio had suddenly put a second
sword in her hand and told her she wasn’t suited to the Water Dance. At first
she’d taken it as insult and was hurt by his lack of confidence, but then as
they began anew and worked side-by-side, her view began to change.
 
He would show her movements she’d never seen before and that looked foreign and
forced even as he made them. He’d have her mimic him only to tell her, “Yes,
good. Do this like you, not me”.
 
After that first day she returned to spend the next helping him drag the
largest mirrors out of unused rooms about the Keep and into their practice
space. Watching her own reflection, he’d make her repeat what she’d learned at
deliberately slow paces, and then faster until she did it accurately and
consistently, until it was second nature and the memory had been etched into
her muscles.
 
Day after day she spent facing the mirrors, two swords in hand scrutinizing
herself as she leapt and spun, listening to Syrio’s comments about what
maneuvers would be useful to counter and to advance, where each one left her
weak, how to protect herself from it, as well as how they could be used in
tandem with those moves she favored from the Water Dance.
 
He had abandoned attempts to make her into a Water Dancer for true, but now
they worked together to develop her art into a style most suited to the
movements that came natural to her.
 
He’d begun to show her the basics of the Shadow Drift, a fighting style she’d
never heard of before, yet which felt more instinctive than any other she’d
tried her hand at. It was as if she no longer had to think. With two swords she
was working half as hard to draw attention one way while preparing to strike
from another.
 
She was doing as she was thinking, not seconds later, not thinking ahead like
she’d always been forced due to disadvantage. She was saving strength, and
energy in the process, and there was less of a chance she might somehow let on
to her intent—less time for her to show her hand.
 
Not only that but the slow measured approach she adopted at Syrio’s suggestion
and demonstration brought a calm she didn’t know she could possess and helped
her improve fluidity from one motion to the next as well as control once she
increased her pace.
 
She would spend hours, muscles tensed, slowly drifting from one move to the
next, measuring her control and form in the mirror and listening to Syrio’s
stern voice as he reprimanded her for lost concentration, motivation, or weak
and lackadaisical movements. And at the moment, with how tired she was now, she
was hearing a lot from her dancing master.
 
“A girl has wet rope for limbs, has your strength escaped you so soon?” He
harped at her until she stiffened her arms. And then “Patience eager kitten.
Sloppy and fast would have you spitted by your enemy. Slow and practiced now,
to be effective and swift later without thought.” He told her when her calm
began to evade her as she grew more tired and her mind started to drift as she
pictured herself in a fight, her body flowing rapidly through the forms rather
than holding herself back and practicing restraint like she was supposed to be
doing currently.
 
Slow and measured was always more of a strain and more involved than letting
herself move as fast as her body yearned and felt compelled to. He’d never let
her speed up the pace until it looked as if she was no longer thinking but
replicated everything perfectly, which seemed like it was never going to happen
at moment.
 
Frustratingly, Syrio seemed to agree. “Enough.” He finally bit out. “A cat
needs its rest if it is ever to stalk and hunt. A girl is tired and careless
and would find even a mouse difficult prey in her state.” He smirked seeing her
displeased frown. “Tomorrow Arya Stark will return calm as still water, Yes?”
He looked to her with a lifted brow. Seeing her nod as answer he turned on his
heel and left her to exhaustedly fall to her knees and begin to muster up the
will to find her way back to her chambers.
 
Climbing the many stairs back to her rooms after hours of rigorous training had
become Arya’s least favorite part of the day. The burning of lactic acid within
her uncooperative muscles always punctuated her frustrations after unproductive
sessions, however her disappointment was extinguished completely and she found
a sudden burst of energy seeing the glint of steel resting on her bed after
tiredly opening the door.
 
Running quickly over she slowed, mouth agape and eyes unknowingly watery and
wide as she found her hands drifting towards the steel laying there in wonder.
She almost expected it to disappear, thinking her exhaustion had her imagining
things.
 
Two magnificent sickled blades lay in front of her surrounded by seven matching
knives, all of the impressive weapons laden with white, gray, and black enamel
and highlighted by veins of gold. It took her a moment to realize all the
blades had been etched and inlaid because she was too caught up in studying the
magnificence of the iridescent ripples within the folded metal and the
realization that what she was holding was Valyrian steel. When she did however,
she found herself hiccupping back watery sobs while her fingers traced the
drawings reverently.
 
The hammered fullers along the sickled part of the sword blades had been coated
with black enamel bordered with gold into which an image had been etched and
then inlaid. Six silver direwolves frolicked along in a snowy scene, the last
of which was chasing a golden bull. The seven knives mirrored the blades, six
each with a single silver direwolf, capturing the likeness of her sibling’s
animals astoundingly well, and the seventh with a menacing golden bull.
 
She chuckled disbelievingly feeling the first tear fall and felt herself
gripping the swords in either hand only to realize they’d been molded perfectly
for her with ancillary crescent blades covering the knuckles. Exhaling
delightedly she found herself moving into stance on the balls of her feet
disregarding her exhaustion. She easily planted her left foot in front of her
right, knees bent into a crouch with one sickled blade pointing menacingly
forward at a height with her forehead, the other sweeping an arch from the side
of her body until it too was piercing the air in front of her extended from her
middle.
 
Holding the pose momentarily she then thrust both weapons forward as she led
with her left foot, right blade still at a level with her head and parallel to
the one extended near her waist just as she swiveled her wrists and shifted her
weight back to pivot on her right foot and essentially swing round with weapons
arching one over the other to plant her left foot then lead with her right as
she thrust steel forward to mirror her previous posture in the other direction.
Holding steady there despite tensed and trembling legs she couldn’t help but
marvel at the fact that it’d felt as if she’d truly just sliced through the
atmosphere, that the blades assisted in making the movements feel much more
fluid.
 
“They’re to your liking then?” A deep, amused voice startled her from off to
the side.
 
She jolted slightly and turned towards her husband, unable to act affronted  at
being caught off guard and for once found herself surprised at the fact that
she didn’t care to hide her happy tears.
 
“You made these?” She asked looking down at the swords once more with a smile.
 
Gendry walked towards her and took one from her hand flipping it over in his
and laying it out laterally for both of them to see. “Aye.” He told her running
his gaze along its length lovingly, “And my axe.” He smirked, nodding his head
behind him to where his own weapon was propped up against the wall.
 
She glanced behind him briefly, eyes only flickering back to his momentarily as
she started off towards the far side of the room, Gendry following silently.
 
Holding one sickled blade up in front of the ominous looking axe her lips
turned upwards of their own accord. “We match.” She said with a grin after a
moment of taking in the menacing weapon and comparing it to her own.
 
His was more black than her own, the gold bordered enamel covering all but the
sharpened and shining iridescent edges of the half moon blade, the spade shaped
counterweight that doubled as yet another blade opposite the main face, and the
spike that jutted up from the head of a golden bull at its top. Gold and silver
filigree sprinkled with gilded stags, bulls, and direwolves decorated and wound
its way around and down the steel of the five foot pole, excepting where it had
been fit with a black leather grip stitched with gold and silver threading, and
to which a gleaming silver and grey enamel direwolf head had been attached at
its end.
 
Still, the thing that drew her eye the most was the artistry of the image
crafted into the face of either side of the main half-moon blade, a more
detailed and enlarged version of that on the fullers of her own blades. The
movement and realism with which he’d been able to capture of each of the Stark
sibling’s direwolves was immaculate, and the faintness in the background of the
etched shilouette of Winterfell and the surrounding Wolfswood served to
demonstrate just how talented her husband really was as a smith—of silver,
gold, steel and apparently jewelry, as was made apparent by the enamel work and
the ruby inlaid eyes of the direwolf and bulls heads on each of their weapons.
   
 
 
“Ancestral weapons.” He told her finally breaking the silence. “Valyrian steel
for our new house.” He explained before adding, “For our sons and daughters”,
with a small chuckle.
 
Arya didn’t think it was possible for her smile to grow any larger, she still
had no words, and yet suddenly—and horrifically—she found herself sobbing like
a babe despite her own resistance.
 
Gendry was hoping for a reaction but when his fierce little wife started to
unexpectedly bawl he didn’t know what to think or do and so began apologizing
profusely, though for what he was unsure.
 
“Gods, I’m sorry!” He startled unthinkingly. “If you don’t like them we can
melt them down and Master Mott can fashion you something of your own design.”
He reached for the swords to get the offending gifts out of her sight.
 
“No!” she screeched, clutching her swords to her and turning her back so he
couldn’t steal them away. “Don’t be stupid!” She said protective of her new
present. Looking over her shoulder she saw her bewildered husband and tried to
get ahold of herself enough to face him. Turning around slowly, she lovingly
eyed her blades and turned shining eyes up to his. “This is the single greatest
gift anyone could’ve given me…Only you could really though, being a smith and
all.” She hiccupped happily, eyes watering against her will while new tears
spilled over. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
 
Gendry looked as if he were staring at a particularly difficult puzzle. “You
like them?” He questioned in disbelief though there was a hint of relief to his
tone. “But you’re crying—”
 
Arya scowled at him. “I’m not crying.”
 
Gendry’s eye twitched and his brows furrowed deeper in confusion. “But-“
 
“I’m not crying!” She cut him off prepared to argue that there were no remnants
of tears still running down her cheeks. She was not some weak kneed maid who
shed tears when gallant knights gifted her with presents—even if those presents
were the nicest weapons she’d ever laid eyes on. After she saw Gendry gulp she
reiterated her point in a much less strident manner. “I wasn’t crying.” She
maintained with a nod of finality.
 
Still baffled beyond belief, Gendry was only able to mimic her nod before there
was a loud pounding on the door and Ned Stark stalked gravely into the room
giving explicit instructions to his men to bar the way for anyone else, royal
or not. Gendry’s bewilderment redoubled seeing his normally calm goodfather's
grim resolve and his own expression twisted in what he could only imagine was a
ridiculous way.
 
“Thank the Old Gods you’re both here.” Ned strode towards them only taking his
daughter’s tears and his good-son’s confusion in momentarily before his eyes
laid on valyrian steel and he’d worked out the meaning of their expressions.
Inspite of himself and the situation he fleetingly smiled, managing to spare a
moment to hug his daughter to him fiercely. “Masterful work is it not?” He
questioned peering down at her. He was pleased to see her childlike nod and
watery smile though it made his heart ache more knowing the reasoning for his
intrusion. His expression turned foreboding as did his tone, “You may have need
of them shortly, keep them close.” He told them both, watching as the severity
of his meaning settled on them both.
 
“What’s happened?” Arya asked immediately, her stomach now full of knots. The
last time her father had looked this perturbed it was because Jon Arryn had
passed, and in a suspicious manner no less.
 
Ned grimaced and looked to Gendry. “You’re father’s been gravely injured son.”
 
Both Starks looked to him for a reaction but he just stood there trying to
process everything. There was so much conflict going on in his mind, so many
questions and repressed feelings, but he expressed none. When instead he made
to stride solemnly towards the door, Ned hastily grabbed him by his upper arm
looking anguished.
 
“He’s with the Queen lad, I’m afraid you won’t be welcomed.” He informed
Gendry looking pained at having to do so.
 
Gendry just stared numbly at his goodfather until Arya spoke up and they both
turned to her. “How?” She questioned, her manner now serious and determined,
tears wiped clean.
 
Ned glanced back to the hulking man in front of him and only then offered
explanation, “A boar rushed him.” He lamented finally. “It’s been said the
King was well into his cups.” Though Ned spoke miserably it was without attempt
to sugar coat the tale. His goodson deserved to hear it as it happened even if
it didn't paint his old friend in a very favorable light.
 
Gendry grunted out a mirthless chuckle running a hand through his hair and
tousling it slightly. “When can I see him?” He ultimately asked.
 
Eddard gave a slight, unhappy shake of his head. “I’m afraid you can’t lad.”
 
When Gendry narrowed his eyes questioningly Ned went on, clearly reluctant even
though it was vital.
 
“The Game of Thrones…” He started, irritated that the world and corrupt people
in it dictated that a good man had no right to have last words with his father.
“With the King dead you’ll only be seen as someone who can usurp Jofferey’s
right to the throne. We must get you out of the Keep and King’s Landing—you and
my daughter.” He said nodding towards Arya.
 
Realization dawned on both Arya and Gendry at the same time.
 
“The Queen wouldn’t— ” Gendry began skeptically.
 
“Don’t be daft, of course that stupid wench would.” Arya interrupted him before
heading for the door herself. “I’ll go find Sansa.”
 
Ned stopped her as well, grabbing her by the arm similar to the way he had
Gendry only moments before. She looked at her father questioningly but her gaze
turned confused and concerned when he only shook his head.
 
“You’re coming with us aren’t you?” She half-asked, half-demanded of him.
 
“No little wolf.” Ned told her grey eyes soft. “If we all leave it’ll appear as
if we’ve left to raise an army and challenge the line of succession.”
 
Even before he was finished she was shaking her head. “But we can’t lust leave
you and Sansa here!” She said helplessly, a leaden sense of dread suddenly
weighing her down. “It’s not as if they won’t say the same if just Gendry and I
leave!” She challenged.
 
“Aye they might.” Ned agreed. “But with Sansa still promised to Jofferey and
her and myself still present in the capital we can assuage those beliefs and
say you ran of your own volition—and with good reason.” He asserted with a
definitive nod.
 
She still wasn't having it. “Yes and then you’ll be as good as hostages!” Arya
glared at him incredulously seeing the situation for what it was as her
mother’s parting words echoed loudly in the back of her mind. “You can’t
seriously think that’s a viable option!”
 
“We’ve no other choice little wolf.” He insisted soberly.
 
“No.” Arya shook her head. “I won’t leave you and Sansa in the capital. I won’t
leave you at the mercy of the Lannister’s!” She maintained.
 
Ned looked exasperated. “You must do as you’re told and not argue.” He
insisted, volume rising incrementally as he beseeched her, feeling his own
desperation creep in. This was for her own well-being and that of her husbands,
she must understand that! Frustrated with himself for losing his head
momentarily, he sighed deeply hating and admiring his own daughter for her
bravery as she stared him down defiantly. “I implore you little wolf. Leave. If
you stay it would hardly be the first time a King’s bastard found himself
without a head, and though I’m the Hand, I’m no Southroner.” He directed his
words at both Gendry and Arya as he continued. “I will play what game I can
manage but I can only do that if you’re both safe—if you’re gone. If you
remain, we’re all at the Lannister’s mercy, and given the murders they commit
in Robert’s name after the last rebellion, I doubt Tywin will balk at the sight
of more blood. I won’t give him the chance this time.”
 
After a moment of consideration Gendry finally spoke up “Gather your things,”
he told Arya. “Only what you need and can carry.”
 
“You can’t be serious!” Arya howled. “We can’t just leave them!” She pled.
 
Gendry shook his head after a moment. “We’ve no other choice Arya. I’ll not
risk you.” He told her. “You’re my wife, wedded and bedded. Everyone’s already
speculating you’re with child and Tywin doesn’t leave things to chance.” He
finished ominously.
 
She shook her head vehemently. “I—I’m not with child.” She insisted anxiously.
“I’m not.” She repeated this time more confidently, nodding as if she were
certain.
 
Gendry snorted derisively. “Word around the castle is I’ve already got a child
on you by force.” It was true, there were such whispers. He just decided to
leave out the part that she supposedly wasn’t showing was because of the Moon
tea she snuck from her dancing instructor. He wasn’t sure it was untrue, though
knowing Syrio made that highly unlikely and he tried to convince himself it
was. Regardless, her safety was paramount. “You’re my wife—a threat to them
Arya, we must leave.” He reiterated once more.
 
After a moment of staring between her husband and father and taking in their
concern, it thankfully seemed to register, even the urgency of it. Shaking her
head and once again battling tears as well as her own resistance, she whipped
around and without thought started stripping out of her clothing, causing her
father to hastily turn his back.
 
Ned cleared his throat and the awkwardness by digging in his pocket and
withdrawing a hefty sack of gold. “I thought to bribe the guards to see you
safely out.” He told his goodson placing the weight in his hands.
 
Gendry grimaced shaking his head. “Cersei will have promised a Lannister’s
reward already. We’ll have to escape the city. I know a place we can hide and
people I can trust until I figure out how.”
 
“Best I not know Lad.” Ned said. “This is all I can give you. Cersei mustn’t
have proof that I’ve helped you and I’ll need my men if I’m to stay in the
Capital. Use some of the coin to buy horses and the rest to outfit yourselves
for the journey North. Try for Maidenpool and find a ship to Whiteharbor if you
can, but even through the Riverlands stay off the Kingsroad, they’ll send
Goldcloaks after you. If you must, head towards Greywater Watch, Howland Reed
will find you once you’re in the bogs and give you shelter. You won’t be safe
until you’re in the North and mayhaps not even until Winterfell.”
 
“I’ve the coin Jon Arryn left me as well.” Gendry added, “It might be more than
we can carry though”
 
Ned nodded thoughtfully. “Try. There will be no means for me to send it north
without drawing suspicion.”
 
“And Nymeria?” Arya questioned, approaching as she sheathed the last of her new
knives in the leather  harness that she’d fit over plain trousers, her over-
sized gambeson and woven leather brigandine. She had a sack of what appeared to
be more clothing thrown over her shoulder, Needle at her waist, and her new
swords strapped to her back as well.
 
Her father grimaced. “I don’t know. I promise to do what I can but you musn’t
wait.” He expounded seriously. “We need to get you out of the castle while
Cersei is still with Robert. You must find a way out of the city as soon as you
can.”
 
“I can get us out of the keep.” Arya piped up meeting the questioning gazes of
both men. “I got lost in the tunnels and found myself in Flea Bottom not long
ago. I can find my way again, I’m sure of it.”
 
“Good.” Ned nodded relieved momentarily before once again feeling guilt bear
down on him. There was nothing more he could do but abandon them to fate. He
wouldn’t start another war; would do everything he could to stop it. He drew
his daughter into his arms as he knelt down in front of her, grey misty eyes
meeting quicksilver ones. “I love you little wolf. Keep each other safe.” He
told her with a smile, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate being told not to worry
and that her husband would look out for her. “I hope you can see fit to forgive
me the things I trusted must be done.”
 
Arya nodded her head trying to stop the tears she felt finally falling. “Of
course. Always.” She assured him. “I love you. Tell Sansa I love her too and
I’m sorry I couldn’t take you both with me.” She hiccupped as a sob escaped and
she threw her arms back around her father. “Are you sure you won’t come?” She
tried one last time mumbling into his neck.
 
Ned grimaced pulling back to look her in the eyes. “War is a terrible thing and
the costs too great to fathom.” He began with his characteristic seriousness.
“If I saw a way to peacefully return home I would. This is how I'll try to keep
all of us safe.”
 
When Arya once again nodded at him her understanding, he stood and passed off
his grip on her hand to her returned and readied husband. Ned raised hands to
cup both of their cheeks and gave them a last grimly level look. “Get out as
fast as you can.” He told them once more.
 
The silence was heavy, his ominous words choking up what others they had ready
on their tongues as their wills resolved and their minds reeled. Hardship was
what lay ahead and they all recognized it, though none of it felt truly real
until Lord Stark turned on his heel abruptly, giving them one last furrow
browed nod before he took leave into the chaos of the Keep.
 
After staring at the door for a moment Gendry bent to loop the belts he’d
secured around his inheritance chest over his shoulders before offering his
hand to Arya for her to take. “Let’s go home.” He told her hefting his axe over
his shoulder with the other.
                             
Numbly, Arya grasped her husbands’ hand.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     The image at the beginning depicts sort of what I think Arya and
     Gendry's sigil should be like and it also features a shilouette of
     her swords too in case my description wasn't adequate--they're sort
     of a bastardized version of Chinese hook swords meets Egyptian
     scythes. Probably not the most efficient or functional design but I
     thought wtf, I'm having fun with it.
     EDIT: So I was told the image wasn't showing up? Think I fixed it but
     let me know!
***** The Guilt of the Living *****
Chapter Summary
     D-day is here....
     Oh and WARNING: major violence is ahead
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
 
It burned.
 
Seven fucking hells did it burn!
 
In all her years, and to her mother’s chagrin, Arya had never been concerned
with the state of her hair. That is of course until this very moment, and it
was currently really more a concern for her scalp than her unruly locks.
 
The idiot shit who’d convinced Gendry this godforsaken chemical concoction was
a necessity to ensure their continued concealment would be getting an earful as
soon as she was able to concentrate on something other than the feel of her
skin melting.
 
She considered herself pretty capable of handling pain, but this was something
all together unearthly. Fuck it was unbearable, and the longer it stayed on the
worse it became. How did the whores stand it?
 
Feeling the slurry drip from her hairline and onto her cheek and neck she
couldn’t hold back the howls even as she tasted blood on her lips from trying
to bite it back.
 
“Motherless son of a whore!” She cursed, practically crying from the agony and
disregarding the significance of her words in the presence of the husband that
was holding her back from the water basin across the room, as well as the host
that was gracious enough to hide them and just so happened to be the brothel’s
Madame.
 
The skin of her cheek was burning now, the fumes wafting up into her eyes
setting them on fire while she could feel blisters bubbling up on her neck.
She’d been told to hold out as long as she could in order for the solution to
work properly, but if she continued any longer she would pass out.
 
Wresting free of her husbands grasp with great effort and a hit to his groin,
she rushed over to dunk the top half of her torso into the water of the bronze
tub that had been filled in preparation for her torture. Relief was immediate
though not thorough, so she began trying to scrub the mess out of her already
abused scalp only to screech bubbles still submersed.
 
Who in all of the Seven Hells would subject themselves to this out of vanity!
 
She continued to scour, hands coming away with gelatinous yellow-orange clumps
of what used to be her hair, the chemicals actually having succeeded in melting
it. Running out of air she finally emerged gulping in huge breathes as she
flipped what was left of her locks over her head accompanied by a considerable
amount of water that spattered noisily to the ground.
 
She turned around slowly to face the mirror and everyone else, knowing what she
was about to see wasn’t going to please her. It didn’t. She was the only one
unsmiling however.
 
“This might actually work.” Madame Evlyn murmured sounding surprised while
Gendry nodded his agreement still hunched over and clutching his bits, trying
to come to terms with his pain.
 
Arya scowled angrily, feeling the urge to throttle them both, Evlyn especially.
If the woman hadn’t thought this method of disguise would work then why did she
intend to subject her to the torture in the first place!
 
Evlyn came forward inspecting the mess. “You’ve blistered more than any of my
girls, I suspect due to your Northern complexion, however the bad reaction may
have worked in your favor. You may yet pass for a boy.” She said maneuvering
Arya’s head around with hands on either of her cheeks. “Of course we’ll have to
shear some of it shorter still,” She grimaced picking up a mat of the inundated
mess which somehow still hung to Arya’s shoulder. “But leaving it to fall and
hide your eyes I think, and not bothering with a salve to treat these sores…”
She trailed off. “They’re not pretty but it would be hard for even your family
to recognize you I’d say!”
 
“You think her clothes are too fine for what we plan?” Gendry asked still a bit
breathless while considering his wife and wondering of her silence. Arya looked
completely spent and had lain down on the lavishly furnished daybed
disregarding her saturated clothing.
 
Madame Evlyn shook her head. “With the weapons you carry I’d be worried they
weren’t fine enough!” She snorted. “Do you have a story you plan to tell?” She
queried curiously.
 
Gendry shook his head curtly. “None as of yet, if you have suggestion we’d hear
it.”
 
The Madame’s eyes glittered and Gendry couldn’t help but think she was enjoying
this too much out of hand. “Brothers.” She nodded. “Freeriders come from Qohor,
to explain the possession of such remarkable weapons—Deserters of the Second
Sons or another of the Free companies I would think.” She paused pacing
slightly, looking thoughtful as she began spinning a tale. “No other companies
would take you on so with little other choice you’ve returned to Westeros to
enlist in the Night’s Watch. They at least will put food in your belly and have
use for your axe.” She turned to Gendry with a soft smile on her face. “This
way you can say you’re from Flea Bottom since neither of you possess the look
or sound of Essos…You’re orphans that left five years past and are now returned
I’d say.” She finished looking entirely too pleased with herself.
 
He nodded picking up and eyeing the lye mixture that’d marred his wife’s face.
“Sounds plausible.” He said off handedly. Exhaling deeply and preparing to deal
himself the same pain that afflicted his wife he turned to the older woman
first. “Thank you Evlyn, for all you’ve done. I’d hoped we’d only be here a
week, I know the danger we pose to you.”
 
The woman only smirked. “Smart of you to offer your thanks before you’ve
experienced what the girl has.” She inclined her head to Arya who stared
daggers right back. She just chuckled. “You’re always welcome here Gendry. I
promised your mother that much and more before she passed…although she’d have
my hide if she knew I was about to assist in helping you mar that perfect black
mop of hair she always fawned over.” She stood on tip-toes to reach and muss
his hair. “Best you get on with it love. The Black Brother is the only viable
plan my eyes have found and from what I’ve been told, after he meets with the
jailors on the morrow he plans to leave.”
 
Grimacing Gendry turned back to the lye mixture. Gritting his teeth, he dumped
what was left on his head and began scrubbing furiously.
 
                                      ***
                                        
Arya couldn’t help that she scowled at everyone who looked their way.
Fortunately, it seemed as if that might be in character for the young sellsword
she was trying to pass herself off as. No one more than took a second glance
before walking on.
 
She knew she looked ridiculous—she knew they both looked ridiculous. Neither
her nor Gendry were suited to the yellow orange splotchy hair color or the way
it had been shorn off. Apparently Qohori sailors had passed through Madame
Evlyn’s brothel not too long past and she could thank them for the hairstyle
she was now sporting.
 
What was left of the congealed mess after the wretched lye hair treatment
melted it down had been shaved closed to her head just above her ears. To deal
with the rest of the unruly mop, a bowl had been placed over her head and the
remaining length on top cut to its edge. It hung low enough to hide her eyes,
and since Gendry had been given a matching style, his blue eyes were guarded as
well.
 
She thought it would be impossible to conceal her husband well enough to remain
unrecognized due to his stature, but she was surprised that the hair cut
actually had sufficed in transforming him into someone else. His striking blue
eyes were covered, the thick dark eyebrows that invited you into their depths
were as well, and where he normally walked confidently heads taller than most
anyone around him, he now walked slumped over feeling the absurdity of his new
look as the big blonde oaf.
 
Regardless of how they looked and acted—Arya brooding angrily while Gendry
tromped along appearing dimwittedly paranoid while truly lost in worry—it felt
good to leave the whorehouse after a fortnight of being cooped up.
 
The whole while Arya’d been stir crazy trying to receive news of her family,
but all of the whore’s were surprisingly tight lipped. What little they’d heard
from Evlyn was that the Goldcloaks were in fact looking for them, as well as
Stark men though as a ruse no doubt. And though she pestered anyone she could
to find out more, she begrudgingly admit defeat after the elder woman made a
point to say she didn’t think it wise to go on asking less it arouse suspicion
and they find themselves a spot on the block.
 
Living in fear and anxiousness was not something Arya was ready or equipped
for, and so for the last two weeks she’d been pacing and waiting. Hoping that
someone would find them a way out of the city where she could then ask for word
of her family. Now they need only search for the Black Brother to enlist before
they could be on their way and get a sense for what they’d be up against on the
long journey home. Right now though tensions were high.
 
The streets were rather busy and with her nerves on edge everyone who brushed
past her set her heart racing and her hands flinching towards the scabbards on
her back. She had hoped to be moving away from the crowds but there seemed to
be some big to do and everyone was headed in the direction of the Sept of
Baelor, which was where they had been told the Black Brother would be this
morn.
 
She followed in Gendry’s wake, wishing for nothing more than the strength to
ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach and find the means to leave this
accursed city behind. Finally breaking away from the crowd filling the square
and moving around its perimeter and off to the side, Arya felt a slight bit a
relief when she heard her husbands greeting over the growing volume of the
crowd as he effortlessly fell back into the coarse vernacular of flea bottom.
 
“Yoren?” Gendry questioned as they came up to a man dressed in black.
 
Really there was no need for the question, it was obvious he had to be the man
they sought. Stooped over and brooding, he had a gruff look about him and
appeared anxiously and uneasily lethal, disdainful almost, as if he wished he
could be anywhere else.
 
Besides his faded black tattered garb, the fact that he was attending a jailors
wagon filled with three exceptionally dirty men, and another full of supplies
and around which a throng of adolescents and rough hewn men shuffled about,
made him easily recognizable as a man of the Watch.
 
He didn’t answer to the name right away, instead he narrowed his eyes as his
hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword. After sizing them both up quickly
he spat on the ground next to his wagon, baring his reddened teeth as he
switched the mass of sourleaf from the left to right side of his gums with his
tongue. “Who’d be asking?” He questioned eyeing Gendry and Arya in turn, chin
raised appraisingly and inadvertently exaggerating his marginally warped
posture.
 
Gendry turned slightly towards her as he replied. “Me ‘n me brother come to
join the Watch.” He informed the man, managing to sound as arrogant as a person
of his stature normally would be.
 
Arya couldn’t help but grimace and noticed a censorious curling of the
Brother’s lip. He didn’t respond for a long moment, choosing instead to let his
measuring gaze linger on them until they were both fidgeting sufficiently.
 
Finally Yoren sniffed and spat. “You want to join the watch?” He queried
disparagingly, disbelief clearly written on his features and an eyebrow arched
in reaction to such an overzealous and over-confident a proclamation.
 
What kind of Southroner’s were these to seek out and enlist! It was as if they
believed themselves the greatest gift to the Watch since Brandon the builder
erected the Wall!
 
“Aye.” Gendry ploughed on, chagrined at finding themselves not easily welcomed.
“We know how to handle weapons.” He tried to sell them now.
 
The Black Brother only grunted to express his apparent doubt.
 
“You’re brother’s you say?” He said after a moment, glancing back and forth
between them wearing his irate skepticism plainly.  
 
Arya looked up at Gendry and frowned seeing him shift his stance marginally as
he tried to figure the best way to navigate the situation and answer the
questions.
 
“Same mum, orphaned.” He begrudgingly offered, seeming appropriately
disgruntled at having to explain their parentage.
 
Yoren ran this tongue over his teeth, unaffected by apparently having given
offense. “Merchant guards?” He asked simply.
 
Gendry shook his head staunchly. “No.” He shuffled unwittingly, once more
shifting his weight. “Sellswords, home from Essos, hopin’ to find work with the
Goldcloaks. They wouldn’t have us and we’ve no wish to starve.” He offered as
explanation.
 
When Yoren only nodded and spat again, giving away little of his thoughts
except his disbelief, Arya felt herself snarling against the urge to smack him
and it seemed Gendry was growing weary of his apparent suspicion as well.
 
“Will you have us or no?” Gendry finally grumbled out. “I’ve no wish to waste
breath.”
 
Yoren only snorted. “Don’ know what fool you take me for boy but I’ve traveled
these Seven Kingdoms recruiting for the Watch more winters than you’ve likely
seen and this isn’t the North.” He started stoically. “Here in the Capital and
South o’ the Neck, if Lords don’t laugh me out of their Keeps they only offer
up those idiots senseless enough to find themselves in cells, or the orphans
and gutter rats which thieve in their streets.” He spat again, expressing his
contempt for his own words. “And now, here I stand, approached by a large boy
and an apparent mute—both dressed in fine clothing mind ya—wishing to pledge
themselves to man the Wall.” He paused briefly before circling them and making
a show of sizing them up more thoroughly. “Sellswords you say?” He finally
asked, arms crossed over his chest and chin raised challengingly.
 
“Yes.” Gendry replied, voice now gravelly with dread.
 
`Yoren nodded at him. “And what’s in that chest o’ yours?” He queried warily.
 
Gendry blinked in pause. “Armor.” He said simply after a moment, offering no
more explanation.
 
Yoren snorted but let it go, choosing to move onto other questions. “Those are
fine weapons for sellwords, where did you come by them?” He asked, wearing his
mistrust freely.
 
“Qohor.” Gendry quietly seethed, becoming annoyed with elder mans suspicion and
glancing about to make sure they weren’t garnering unwanted attention.
Fortunately the square was packed and they were only three heads among hundreds
now.
 
“Ah yes, I suppose you’ll tell me Valyrian steel is widely available in
Essos—and it is compared to Westeros—but not without substantial cost.” He
began before trudging on and voicing the reason for his suspicion. “I suppose
you’d have me believe that the coin you earned as sellswords bought you such
weapons, but you’d have to be a high ranking seasoned officer for that to be
true and the only job the mute here,” he nodded to Arya, “seems suited for is
scouting.” He finished.
 
Arya felt herself snarling and stepping forward at the implication that she was
less than capable, but managed to hold her thoughts back after Gendry lay a
calming hand on her arm. Yoren however didn’t seem the least bit threatened and
sneered at her openly.
 
Then, sniffing and looking away as the crowd around them suddenly screamed to
life, the Black Brother only glanced back to them briefly, eyes now focused
elsewhere. “The Night’s Watch cares not at all how you lived before, so you can
keep your secrets. Just know I’ve no wish to feed and house thieves who intend
to desert on the long ride North.” He warned coolly. “Once you’ve said the
words, you’ve pledged for life. You can store that chest o’ yours in the wagon
and don’t wander off too far. We leave as soon as the last join us.” He
finished, eyes directed towards the Sept as the raucous crowd around them
roared and heaved.
 
Though Gendry still remained tense and anxious, he was immediately moving
toward the second wagon and unloading their chest. Arya made to follow after
him but froze as crowd opened up, two Goldcloaks escorting a chained and
dirtied man through the crowd as onlookers hurled insults and worse at the
fellow. It was a man she instantly recognized and who recognized her.
 
Her mind was moving faster than she could keep pace with, questions compounding
as her body remained frozen in place with her heart in her throat.
 
Father!
 
Why was he in chains? What were they planning to do with him? How long had he
been imprisoned and what for? Had the Lannister’s done this?
 
The fool lions must believe Gendry had aspirations towards the crown! But under
what pretense had he been arrested...
 
Why hadn’t he just escaped with them?
 
Unbeknownst to her, she’d begun drifting forward in wake of the Goldcloak’s
path, only to be halted by the crowd as it surged forward in front of her and
she was jostled into someone’s shoulder.
 
There was nothing in existence except her father. She was numb to everything
but the horror of seeing him be dragged up steps, watching his eyes squint
against the sun as he turned to face the angry horde and somehow find her among
them.
 
Seeing his heart wrench at the sight of her, she felt her own expression twist
in anguish and her hands clench at her sides as she gulped down fear. When he
looked over his shoulder, Arya’s eyes flickered to left the to find her sister
standing next to Jofferey and the Queen feeling dread deep in her bones.
 
As Sansa nodded and gave a small encouraging smile, Arya’s confusion redoubled,
but then her father turned back towards the masses, head hung low and looking
at the ground in front of his feet as he licked his lips and began to speak,
breaking her heart with every word.
 
“I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King. I come before you
to confess my treason in sight of the gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my
king and trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect his trueborn
children…but before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder his son…and seize
the throne for my Goodson, Gendry Baratheon. Let the High Septon and Baelor the
Blessed bear witness to what I’ve said. Jofferey Baratheon…is the one true heir
to the Iron Throne…by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and
Protector of the Realm.”
 
Her stomach plummeted.
 
Treason was the charge. She knew the sentence.
 
She hadn’t felt Gendry’s presence to know he’d come up behind her, but as she
made to step forward and force her way to her father his hand was gripping her
shoulder painfully.
 
“No.” He told her moving to stand in front of her and glancing to the side to
find Yoren considering them carefully.
 
Arya glared up at him murderously completely disregarding and unrepentant of
the fact that she was no longer going along with their planned charade. “We
have to go to him.” She said breathlessly as she made to push her way around
him.
 
“We’d be dead before you reached him, you musn’t.” He insisted as he tried to
wrangle her.
 
Arya tore free of his grip and tried unsuccessfully to once more push past him
as another voice began to speak and the crowd quieted once more.
 
“My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night’s Watch…stripped of all
titles and powers he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady
Sansa has begged mercy for her father.”
 
Arya could feel it in the buggering shitheads tone, could feel the world
shifting around her before it actually did.
 
“But they have the soft hearts of women…so long as I’m your King treason shall
never go unpunished! Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!”
 
As the throng erupted in masse frenzy, so did Arya. She tried to charge right
through Gendry, lashed out at him with her fists when he wouldn’t budge. She
stepped back to try and feint around him, her mind in panic, but the crowd was
too thick. Hundreds of backs were halting her from getting to her father and so
she drew a knife into either hand intending to make her own path, watching in
horror as he was forced to his knees and Ice was risen above his head.
 
Arms were around her before she knew what was happening, bear hugging her and
rendering her weapons useless without proper reach. She was thrashing and
snarling and could feel helplessness overwhelming her as she was turned away
from the sight of her father just as his sword sliced through the air towards
him, the sound of her sister’s scream somehow distinguishable over the crowd
before there was nothing but searing red hot pain blooming and clouding her
vision as everything faded to black.
 
                                      ***
                                        
 
Gendry couldn’t think. He couldn’t function. Everything was a blur that his
mind refused to accept and so shut down.
 
Eddard Stark was dead.
 
Himself and Arya would’ve been as well had it not been for Yoren.
 
Seeing his Goodfather’s own sword poised to take his life, Gendry had been
prepared to storm the steps and cut his way through the crowd to prevent it.
That is of course until he’d seen his wife already attempting to do just that.
 
Fear for her life had him moving of his own accord regardless of her wishes or
his own. Her safety and wellbeing was paramount and he found himself
restraining her and shielding her from the sight of her father losing his head
even as she fought fiercely to free herself.
 
She had knives in either hand by the time he’d hugged her to him, and she had
no qualms turning them on him in her frenzied attempt to mount a rescue. He
nearly lost hold of her once one of the blades he’d forged imbedded itself in
his thigh. Still, he managed to hold on long enough for Yoren to intervene.
 
“Boy, BOY!” The Black Brother yelled over the screams of the crowd as he
struggled but seized the second knife from her hand. “Calm Boy!” He said taking
hold of her face. “At the Wall there will plenty of time for you to quench your
bloodlust.” He tried.
 
She didn’t still, she didn’t even hear him, she fought harder though it seemed
impossible, her eyes darting this way and that in a frenzy to free herself.
 
“Calm boy!” He tried one more time without success. “Bugger it.” He said seeing
she had no intention of stopping and had managed to squirm her way close to
escape. Without a second thought he’d withdrawn his own belt knife and was
using it’s hilt to knock the youngest Stark girl unconscious.
 
When her lifeless body crumpled between them, it was Yoren who hefted her
easily over his hunched shoulder as Gendry stumbled in agony with the knife
still jutting out of his thigh.
 
“Alright you sorry sons of whores! It’s a long way to the wall.” He bellowed to
the motely crew over the din of the crowd, throwing Arya unceremoniously in the
back of the supply wagon where he began to lash her hands and feet to together
and secure them to the side. “You’ll be seeing enough blood for a lifetime
there, shows over. Stragglers and those with objections are free to join the
crazed one in the dark.” He nodded towards Arya’s motionless form before moving
to climb and take the reigns to the wagon. “Tall lad, in the wagon with your
brother. We’ll see to the knife once out of the city. Everyone else, mount up!”
 
It had been clear to Gendry through the chaos that Yoren realized who they were
thanks to a look from Ned, and he was thankful that the man didn’t dally in the
square even knowing steel was jutting out of his leg. He wasn’t entirely
trustful of the man, but they didn’t have much other choice given their current
state.
 
There was a tense moment at the City Gates when Gendry had been prepared to rip
the knife from his thigh and burry it in Goldcloak flesh when several guard’s
curiosity had them asking about the wee boy knocked out and restrained in the
back of the wagon. Luckily Yoren was able to spin a satisfactory tale which had
them grinning condescendingly down at the ‘pisspots who’d learn their place in
the world soon enough’, and they were able to pass out of the city
unchalleneged.
 
It was only then that he was able to let himself warily trust the Black
Brother, and only once they’d stopped for the night that he was finally able to
address steel imbedded in his leg—or rather Arya was.
 
She’d come to when they were still within sight of King’s Landing and she’d
done nothing but groan herself into consciousness, lay her eyes on the Keep in
the distance, and go still. One glance down at her lashed hands and she was
curling back up into a helpless ball and staring through the gap between wood
in the sides of the cart and back towards where her father’s life had been
stolen.
 
She didn’t move except to shy away from the comforting hand he tried to offer,
and remained in an outward state of shock until they jostled to a stop not long
after and Yoren began yelling out orders, loudly directing her to collect
firewood and then halting her as she moved to go.
 
“I got thirty this time, Men and boys all bound for the wall” He warned her
quiet, glancing at Gendry as well to make sure he heard. “And don’t be thinking
they’re like that bastard brother o’ yours, Jon. Lord Eddard gave me pick o’
the capitals dungeons, and I didn’t find no little lordlings down there. This
lot, half o’ them would turn you both over to the queen quick as spit for a
pardon and maybe a few silvers. The other half’d do the same, only they’d rape
her first.” He looked back at Arya. “If you have to piss, do it in the woods.”
He finished before looking to Gendry again to make sure he took his meaning.
Arya’s only response to either of them was to glare first at Gendry, and then
Yoren before grabbing hold of her knife and tersely yanking it from Gendry’s
thigh. She made off angrily into the woods without a word while Gendry was
seeing stars and gritting his teeth. He pressed the palm of his hand over the
flesh of his leg reflexively while Yoren hurriedly produced a clean strip of
fabric and pressed it to the wound and assist in staunching the bleeding.
 
“Hold it there lad.” Yoren told him and so he took over pressing the cloth into
his wound. “She’s not like to forgive you easily,” He began quietly as he
searched through the wagon and came away with needle and thread. “but you saved
her life today.”
 
Gendry snorted. “I doubt I’ll be getting any gratitude for it.” He said
bitterly, already feeling like it would’ve been better to die trying to save
his good father than cravenly escaping.
 
“Aye, not from her you won’t.” The old crow told him. “But Lord Stark would be
thankin’ you, and when she’s back with her family, them too.” He continued as
he poured liquid from his flask into the wound and began stitching the larger
man up.
 
Gendry hissed against the pain but didn’t speak, choosing instead to brood in
silence and watch the skin of his thigh weave back together and thinking he
deserved worse.
 
Yoren seemed to notice but didn’t offer any other words until he was once again
pouring alcohol onto Gendry’s leg and the younger man’s jaw was clamped against
the burn. “Women are a prickly sort lad, especially those acquainted with
knives. I’d give her a wide berth for now if I were you. Wife or no.” He said
with a meaningful look before turning back round to see the progress being made
in camp and promptly shouting out orders and insults alike.
 
Gendry wasn’t about to sit and sulk and so gingerly pushed himself to his feet
to test putting weight on his leg. There was certainly a sting, well more than
a sting, but he couldn’t sit idle even if he wanted to.
 
First Jon Arryn and now Ned Stark. He meant death for all those who cared for
him, and now he was expected to see that his wife make it back to her family?
It seemed a cruel joke, but as stubborn as he was he wouldn’t fail in this one
thing. He couldn’t. He’d already failed her once.
 
Of course Arya had no wish to be looked after, and especially by him. For the
greater part of a fortnight she spoke to no one, only went about assigned tasks
around camp with a dull look in her eye. And when they settled in each night
after a long slow day of traveling, he’d clear a spot to lie in some feet from
her only to have her immediately get up, glaring at him and move elsewhere.
 
It became routine, a stupid dance they performed each night where she’d only
relent after he followed her stubbornly several times, though when she finally
did lie down she made certain never to face him. It hurt more than he let on.
 
He caught few rare glimpses of the woman he married, and he supposed it was a
good thing considering it boded well for their continued concealment, but
waking up panicked to find her no longer within axe reach and instead moving
fluidly from form to form with a purpose, silhouetted with the trees against
the sunrise, it gave him hope.
 
The first time he’d witnessed the spectacle he’d watched mesmerized at how
focused and deliberate she moved, enchanted by her fluidity and calm. He had to
frown however as the fat boy and the rail thin one with blonde lanky hair
approached with sneers on their faces. He was moving to stand of his own accord
as they began their snide remarks.
 
“Ya’d get a sword through the neck moving slow like that. Ain’t that right
Lommy?” The fat one began, earning chuckles from his friend.
 
“Aye, right through the neck.” Lommy gestured back lewdly. When they earned no
reaction from the target of their gibes they looked at each other and frowned,
their sarcastic smiles turning spiteful as they continued on.
 
“The mute fancies himself a knight Hotpie. Too good to talk ta us lowborns.”
Lommy spat, offense heavy in his tone.
 
“He ain’t no knight. Everyone knows ya ain’t no knight unless you’s got armor,
and he ain’t got no armor.” Hotpie snorted. “ ‘Sides, he’s headed to the Wall
jus’ like us.”
 
Lommy grinned and nodded his agreement. “Ya think theys gonna let you keep them
swords o’ yours Mute?” He tried. “At the Wall you’ll be no better than us. We
should do you a favor and take ‘em from you now.” He looked to his friend. “Go
on Hotpie, take the swords.”
 
Hotpie looked startled momentarily. “Why don’ you take ‘em?” He asked his
friend affronted.
 
Lommy scrunched up his nose. “ ‘Cause I told you to! That’s why!” The taller
boy reasoned. “You afraid o’ the Mute?” He chastised. “Don’t think you can
steal his sword?”
 
“What? Of course I could!” Hotpie stammered in outrage. “ Actually, I don’t
need ta steal it from ‘im, I’ll just make ‘im give ‘em to me.” He said as he
puffed himself up and stuck out his hand. “Hear that mute? Give over them
swords. S’mine now, ya won’t be needin’ 'em no more.” He told her as he stepped
forward.
 
Gendry was moving to intervene even as he saw his wife take action. Even by his
own estimation she’d been moving leisurely through her forms, but now she was a
blur. Viper like in quickness, and hard to predict as she spun toward the
offending fat boy and only stilled once she had one curved blade at his neck
and had him facing his skinny friend, the tip of her second curved blade poised
just under Lommy’s chin and forcing his head skyward though his wide panicked
eyes were directed solely at her.
 
“You want it, I’ll give it to you. I’m good at killing fatboys.” Arya rasped
viciously in Hotpie’s ear, a voice considerably unlike her own exiting her lips
while her furious gaze was fixated on the boy at tip of her other sword. “I
like killing blonde boys.” She added maliciously, smirking as the tall one
gulped.
 
Gendry watched terror take over and both boy’s body go rigid. Her sword was
pushing up and driving Lommy to squeeze his lids shut and lick his lips as his
head was forced further skyward.
 
“I relish the feel of steel slicing through flesh. Shall I show you how much?”
She continued to taunt.
 
Gendry wasn’t sure she wouldn’t do just that and so decided to put a stop to
it.
 
“Ya stabbed your own brother. I think they already know.” He interjected
stoically. Looking back and forth between the two he hardened his look
purposefully. “Or they should now.”
With a dismissive sniff, and a sneer directed towards her husband, Arya spun
away from her assailants and lithely transitioned back into forms she’d been
practicing before the interruption, unaware and uncaring of the two terrified
fellows who had begun to breathe again and collect themselves.
 
“Thanks.” Hotpie gasped out, directed toward Gendry. He was still eyeing Arya
warily and sidestepping smartly away.
 
Gendry stepped after him growling, feeling his own anger rise. “Oh you like
picking on the little ones, do you?” He rumbled at them both, watching Lommy
stumble into his friend’s side as he forced them to back pedal away from his
continuing approach. “You know, I’ve been hammering an anvil these past ten
years and chopping men up in Essos with my axe. I prefer the sing of steel, but
I’ve settled for the screams of men before. You gonna sing when I hit you?”
 
“N-no” Hotpie stammered, his friend vehemently shaking his head next to him as
well. “-I mean yes, I’ll sing if that’s what you want, but I ain’t no good.” He
tried, still retreating away and tripping over Lommy in the process. “That is,
I think ya’d prefer steel.”
 
Gendry narrowed his eyes at him. “Aye, I think so to.” He hefted the axe at his
side so he was gripping it with both hands in front of him. “That don’t mean I
don’t want to find out though.” He warned them forebodingly.
 
Watching them scramble away he felt marginally satisfied, but looking back at
his wife he couldn’t help but feel a heaviness in his heart.
 
                                      ***
The pain Arya felt had dulled over the last fortnight until she was numb to
almost everything.
 
Her grief was still there, she didn’t think it would ever disappear, but it was
slowly turning to hate, and now purpose.
 
Her father was dead. There was no bringing him back no matter how much she
wished or what she tried, so she must focus on something other than the pain.
She turned back to training and occupied herself with honing her skills.
 
The calm came faster now. She found herself lost in concentration, feeling as
if her blades slicing through the air were actually slicing through her
enemies; was able to visualize herself felling Jofferey, Cersei, Ilyn Payne,
the Hound.
 
It soothed her thoughts in the moment, but drove her animosity and supplemented
her frustrations, frustrations that only intensified due to their glacial
traveling pace Northward and the presence of her smothering husband.
 
Working with her swords could only do so much when she had to turn and find
Gendry watching her with that always brooding, always concerned expression
plastered across his miserably handsome face.
 
She wanted to hate Gendry, she wanted to be mad at him as much as she was at
her father for not coming with them, but she found she couldn’t and it made her
more aggravated.
 
She would never admit he had as good as saved her life that day in the square,
even if she knew it was true, so instead called him coward in her mind hoping
she would begin to believe it. She never did, and it grated her more than she
like to admit.
 
Sure she had stabbed him, and yes she had threatened to do it again if he
didn’t stay away from her, but even though the stubborn Bull would follow her
around camp and sleep next to her when she expressly told him his presence
sickened her, it was all lies and she couldn’t bring herself to turn steel on
him no matter how much she aspired as to do so as just punishment.
 
The angry tears she shed each night and morning as she clutched one of the
knives he’d forged, trying to convince herself to execute the sentence she
strained to believe he deserved, never went away. The remedy of training and
the calm it brought with it didn’t seem appealing this morning however, and
she’d had enough of her internal battle.
 
She didn’t want calm, she wanted justice, to lash out, and it was maddening
that she found herself troubled; that she was attached to him despite
everything. She wanted freedom from feeling, and considering he betrayed her
family, their family, rather than die for it like they were supposed to, she
intended to make it right.  
 
Turning onto her other side on the hard ground in order to face his sleeping
form for the first time since she’d left Kings Landing, she felt her stomach
drop and her heart clench.
 
He always looked like an oaf when he slept. His brow forever furrowed and his
mouth wide open as he inhaled and exhaled, issuing soft snores as he probably
sucked in mouthfuls of insects out here in the wilderness.
 
In sleep he appeared unguarded, so prone, the only time he wasn’t ever
restrained or wary and she meant to take advantage of it; to make him
understand what her father must have felt.
 
To lose his life while those he cared for could have fought or died to stop it.
 
Her grip on the knife in her hand tightened until she was trembling. She looked
down at the shining etched steel marked with likeness of an angry Bull and
smiled grimly. How poetic! Of all the knives she could chose to end his life
with, knives that he’d made and six of which depicted wolves, only one depicted
a Bull—only one was meant for him.
 
She looked back towards him and sat up quietly until she was kneeling. She
paused frowning, feeling dread pool as she forced herself to raise the blade
above him.
 
She glanced at his face and felt her expression twist as her muscles suddenly
refused to obey her mind. Resolving herself she inched the blade downward
before she met her own resistance and had to take a few sharp inhales and find
the means to do what she intended.
 
Her whole body was trembling, her breathing harsh through her nose and clenched
teeth, her muscles rigid with intent as the first tears began to fall.
 
He deserved to die. He should’ve died fighting by her side the day her father
lost his head.
 
She snarled against her own defiance. Willing herself to do what bloody well
should’ve been done by someone else a fortnight ago. The battle raged, her mind
telling her what must be done while her body, ruled by the accelerated beat of
her heart, refused to follow through.
 
She was damning herself thrice over as she gulped back sobs, and willed the
knife to burry itself deep within the body that somehow had a power over her
own, a power she couldn’t even begin to understand.
 
She felt the steel she gripped moving downward suddenly. Surprise and panic
taking over as she lurched backwards reflexively and the blade buried itself in
the ground rather than flesh.
 
She was backing away in shock, scrambling to her feet as she stared where the
knife was submerged to the tang in dirt right next to her husband.
 
Furious and relieved, disturbed and angry beyond measure, she ripped the knife
from the dirt only to throw it down to land point first in the ground on the
other side of his body, aggravated at her inability to follow through once
again.
 
He was beginning to stir from the commotion she’d made, and she was hunched
over, her breathing ragged when she met his confused clear blue gaze and was
immediately bring her boot to his side in alarm at being caught.
 
As he groaned and clutched himself trying to recover, she reached down and
grasped the knife once more before sprinting away, making her way through the
thick undergrowth while wiping the unwelcome tears from her eyes.
 
She heard footfalls behind her understanding that he was following and felt her
hatred rise up again.
 
Couldn’t he see her conflict? Couldn’t he see they should be dead—that in the
very least they should’ve attempted to free her father so she could die happy
knowing she tried? He’d taken that away from her! Why must he torment her with
his presence when he knew the guilt she must feel—the guilt of living when
someone else had given their life for theirs.
 
It was consuming her and she was determined it would consume him first.
 
He was only a stride behind her when she stopped and whirled around brandishing
the knife. He wasn’t expecting it and tried to stop and jump backwards but she
was unholy in her speed and couldn’t get far enough away to avoid it as her
blade sliced diagonally up his abdomen.
 
He had no time for shock because the next he saw her reversing her stroke, the
same steel raining down now, his head in its path and only giving him enough
time to step back and look to the side, letting the knife’s tip glide along his
cheek ushering out blood.
 
He only just noticed something glinting in her other hand as she thrust it
upward towards his jaw and knew there was no time to avoid and so readied
himself for death as he stared into the stormy grey eyes of his wife, his heart
aching.
 
It was his look of acceptance that staid her blade and she stared into his blue
eyes feeling herself crumbling as the point of her knife only ever pricked his
chin.
 
“Do it Arya.” He told her. “If it will ease the agony of losing him, and I pray
it will, do it.”
 
“We should be dead.” She whispered through tears. “I want to die.” She admitted
agonizingly.
 
“And he would want you to live.” He hurried determinedly; even knowing she
didn’t want to hear it.
 
She turned away from him in disgust, dropping the knife away from him. “Shut
up! The Gods take you, you fucking bastard! Y-You coward!” Even as she said it,
she knew it wasn’t with conviction.
 
“It’s mot my life I was concerned with losing! You think I give two shits about
my life!” He thundered, his look turning agonized. “It’s you—I couldn’t lose
you—I—“ He stuttered running a nervous hand through his hair. “ –I love you
Arya.”
 
She froze momentarily, trying to process his words and feeling anguished. She
couldn’t take it. She didn’t want this. She wanted free of the hurt, not
tethered to it.
 
Angry at the universe, angry at him for making life impossible, both of her
knives flew from her hands, soared passed either side of his head and sunk in
the bark of a tree far behind him.
 
She was on him in seconds, fists beating at his chest, his face, pulling at his
hair, ripping off his shirt, clawing at his skin until she’d pushed him to the
ground at the base of a tree.
 
His words were wind, they couldn’t be more. He couldn’t love her! He stood by
and let her father die!
 
She was in a fury, determined to unleash her wrath upon him and he took it,
feeling her body shuddered with grief, watching tears clouding her vision and
thought.
 
She was weary of fighting, weary of the guilt of surviving and of the anger she
knew she should feel towards Gendry but which wouldn’t manifest itself properly
and so she forced.
 
She should kill him, she should want to kill him and she did, but that was all
she could manage.
 
The more blows she rained down on him the more she hated herself for it and the
more she broke down. Would it bring her father back? Would it bring back the
love she felt the world lost?
 
Yes, she wanted to hurt him for the hurt she felt, but she wanted his comfort
as well. So when it transitioned from Arya trying to end his life, to Arya
trying to violently consume his being with her own body and soul, it felt
natural, right. Neither one of them knew nor cared if it wasn’t because it was
what she needed, what they needed.
 
His nose was bloodied, his eye puffed up, and his lip swollen by the time she
was astride him, her hands grasping either side of his face and her mouth
finding his, intent on devouring him if she couldn’t take his life.
 
She was biting his neck, clawing at his back, and grinding herself painfully
onto him even as she was withdrawing him from behind laces and he was helping
to push her breeches past her knees, then sitting up to reach behind her to
pull them off of her legs entirely.
 
Once free she gripped him painfully and drove herself onto him with a force
that took the breath from both their lungs, crying out as his prick hit
something deep within her and caused her to jerk in pain, his grip on her
thighs sure to bruise.
 
She was relentless and hurried, taking no care for comfort, intent on turning
her decrepit emotional state into a physical one for both of them. She couldn’t
erase the pleasure of the feel of his hard length within her, and so brought
with it the pain, vigorously hurdling herself down onto him, torturing that
barrier deep inside of her and battering it with his cock, convulsing slightly
at each strike.
 
She watched him grimace and clench his eyes shut on each downward thrust as the
wound in his thigh progressively began to tear open, bracing himself against
her efforts; she found she didn’t like it. She ran her hands up into his hair
to yank his head back and force his eyes open to look into hers.
 
She continued the abuse, tormented and watery grey eyes locked on her husband’s
helpless and submissive cerulean gaze, seeing his pain there and feeling her
heart twist because of it—angered that his hurt, their shared agony, didn’t
bring her the satisfaction she needed, didn’t assuage her guilt, and so
redoubled her efforts.
 
Wretchedly gritting her teeth to hold back a sob, she ran her hands down to his
neck, twining her fingers around to squeeze the air from his lungs and use her
arms for leverage as she crashed their bodies together again and again.
 
He didn’t resist, would let her do what was necessary, what she thought he
deserved. Even as his vision started to spot, he didn’t try to remove the hands
strangling the life from him, and contrary though it was, felt the onslaught of
his oncoming orgasm thundering through him beside the pain, the sensation like
nothing he’d ever experienced.
 
With each passing second that he tried to draw in more breath without success,
the lack of ability to sense most of his body only intensified the feel of
where his blood was concentrated and he could feel every inch of Arya around
him, velvety, unrelenting, and ungodly.
 
He felt himself come undone completely, his prick shudder and wildly unleash a
torrent of pleasure while he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness.
 
Arya felt Gendry’s body go completely rigid underneath her as he involuntarily
thrust up to meet her one last time, giving her the poignant bit of pain she
felt she deserved and so sought out. He went deeper within her than before,
striking her harder, physically hurting her inside and giving her the hope that
subsequent healing would occur emotionally. She knew it wouldn’t.
 
She knew the guilt wasn’t going to go away. She knew she would always wonder if
she could have saved her father, if Ned Stark would’ve lived if Gendry had
fought by her side instead of holding her back. Now though she knew she
couldn’t kill him or hate him for it. He was what she had left.
 
Unable to continue on as the grief built up, Arya’s grip let up as her hands
slid weakly down her husband’s bloody chest, her forehead coming to rest on his
shoulder while he gulped in air, eyes blinking rapidly as his sight and senses
returned only to find his wife sobbing desolately while he was still sheathed
and erect inside of her.
 
She was a quivering mess in his lap and despite the pain he felt from the
wounds she’d inflicted and the old ones she’d reopened, his only concern was
for her.
 
His hands slid up her back and into her tangle of short brassy hair as he
clutched her to him. “I love you Arya.” He told her hoarsely. Then moving his
lips to caress her temple, he grasped her face gently and turned it towards his
to begin showering her with hurried kisses and halt her tears.
 
When she sobbed only harder still he seized her more purposefully, intending to
meet her eyes. “I love you.” He insisted again with her eyes focused on him.
 
He searched her eyes intently, looking for any hesitation before he leaned up
to capture her lips in a chaste kiss, and was relieved to feel her collapse
weakly in his arms, all fight gone.
 
She wrapped her arms around him and held onto him tightly as all the emotion
she’d held onto since King’s Landing came pouring out and she bawled with her
forehead rested against his. She needed this, and so did he.
 
Sitting up to fully wrap her in his embrace, he inadvertently found himself
extending his length into her gently, but immediately stilled when she jerked
back to glance his face, her eyes straying to his lips as she hiccupped out a
breathy exhale.
 
Cautiously he plunged into her once more, eyes scanning her face for opposition
or displeasure, and was gratified when she crashed her lips to his, desperately
seeking affection.
 
He welcomed her aggressive mouth, slowing down her pace with his own, his
tongue gently delving in to tangle with hers, his hips continuing their slow,
sensual ascension in to her.
 
Where she had been full of hate, he was radiating adoration, each tender rock
of his hips aimed at emoting just how much she meant to him, how the only place
he felt right with the world and worthy of life was with her, within her.
 
She held onto him anxiously, her lips refusing to part from his, labored
breathes shared as she gently ground herself onto him, circling her hips every
time he extended himself up to meet her.
 
She couldn’t lose this feeling, needed to experience something other than the
animosity and sadness that consumed her, she held onto it as desperately as she
held on to him as he brought her to her peak.
 
She shuddered once, and twice, then was pulling back from his lips to gasp air
as her forehead came to rest against the side of his, her heavenly warmth
fluttering around him as he spilled himself inside her for a second time,
nuzzling her neck and nibbling her ear
 
He watched as she gathered herself and turned her gaze back on him, her lip
quivering and eyes appearing watery and vulnerable once more. He smiled sadly
at her and reached to push a stray hair behind her ear, whispering the words
again. “No matter what, I love you Arya Stark, I am yours and you are mine.”
 
                                      ***
                                        
Yoren had spent years beyond the Wall, had ranged his fair share and seen
things among the Wildlings that would terrify and baffle most men, and yet what
he was witnessing now was even more strange and bewildering.
 
Truly only the Gods must understand women.
 
He’d never been a good sleeper and often required the assistance of strongwine
to gain any rest at all, so it was no surprise he was usually the first to rise
among the pissant lot of beggars he was dragging North. This morn of course he
wasn’t, as was confirmed by the sight of the Stark girl hovering over her
husband with knife in hand.
 
He was instantly moving for his own knife, intending to intervene, but slowed
and breathed easy recognizing the obvious inner battle she was waging with
herself.
 
She wouldn’t do it, she wouldn’t be able to force herself to kill the lad even
if it seemed she wanted to. True she’d taken the death of her father as hard as
any child might, and seemed to blame the boy for it no matter it was him who
knocked her out. But he knew what it took to raise a knife and take someone’s
life, let alone someone you cared about, and it was obvious the girl did care
or her anger would’ve been directed properly. The real worry now was that his
interference might actually drive her to follow through with her purpose out of
surprise, and so he sat back, intending to make certain she learned the hard
lesson; the decision to take a man’s life required you to give up part of your
own as well.
 
The expressions she wore as she contended with her own demons were almost
comical. She looked to be battling a ghost, the strain in her arms and body
making it seem as if something were physically preventing her knife from
traveling downward into the boy’s flesh.
 
Once it did start downward however, she seemed startled, as did he, and he sat
up intending to rush over and tend the lads wound. Luckily she just managed to
jerk backwards and direct the steel into the ground so they could both
experience fleeting relief.
 
He found himself smirking as he sat back on his haunches exhaling, watching her
angrily scramble to her feet while grabbing up the knife and glaring down at
the boy as if his sleeping form had bodily thwarted her instead of her own
mind. He figured she would lash out in frustration but still raised an eyebrow
when she threw the steel with no little force into the ground on the opposite
side of him.
 
Seeing her once again purposefully miss her mark, a small snort escaped his
lips though he noticed the boy beginning to stir. He was getting up to finally,
truly intervene given the expectation of imminent verbal confrontation, which
would out her for the Lady she was most likely, but she surprised him again
when instead of words she chose further action.
 
He wasn’t expecting her to immediately bring her boot crashing into the freshly
roused lads ribs and found himself flinching and grasping his own side as he
sucked in a breathe as if she’d kicked him and not her husband.
 
Thrice damned Northern women!
 
The boy was up and following her faster than he would’ve thought possible after
surely losing his breathe with such a wake up and what with his thigh sewn up
from her previously inflicted wound, and so he too got to his feet with a
grumble, intending to prevent any needless deaths before sunrise.
 
He was considerably slower than either the two, but managed to hurry his steps
and perceived in the distance the boy sporting a new gash on his face and
another across his abdomen while her knife was poised to enter his skull from
under his chin.
 
Well bugger it all. She might actually go through with it.  
 
He was too far away to hear words but felt himself exhale deeply in relief when
she turned away and dropped the knife from his neck, though she was immediately
turning around and yelling at the poor lad, though it sounded incoherent to him
at this distance.
 
He was just about to bellow at them to quit their bloody yelling when the boy
finally grew a backbone and decided to respond, though Yoren could’ve done
without the volume. His own jaw shut tight and his mouth set in a grim line as
he looked over his shoulder back towards camp.
 
Mayhaps the fucking whoreson rabble would decide to ignore the commotion the
way they usually did his morning call to break camp, but he couldn’t and
wouldn’t count on it, not with the Stark girl’s identity at stake and his hide
on the line.
 
He thought to turn back and make certain everyone steer clear of the area,
grunting in disbelief at where he found himself and thinking he had no business
serving noble bastards and Higborn girls, but all thought flew from his mind
when from behind him he heard an otherworldly shriek and made the mistake of
turning back towards it and almost stepped in the flight path of two knives.
 
He stared blankly at the steel jutting out from the tree next to him, blinking
dumbly before snarling and turning towards where the two liabilities insisted
on trying to wake the dead, only to once again find himself at a loss for
words.
 
It looked as if the girl was trying to maul the poor lad to death, but almost
immediately she was grappling with the laces of his breeches and pushing him
onto the ground towards the closest tree and climbing astride him.
 
At a loss he peeked back behind himself baffled, making sure no one else was
approaching. Upon finding no spies come to expose them, he turned back thinking
mayhaps he should be more worried about whether the boy was going to live
through the ordeal she intended to put him through.
 
Adjusting himself where it was fast becoming uncomfortable, Yoren couldn’t stop
from being fascinated by what exactly he was witnessing—fascinated and
bewildered.
 
The lad certainly looked to be in more than a bit of discomfort, the wound on
his leg having assuredly broken open given the way she was hurling herself
downward onto his prick, and yet he could recognize the desire and relief
expressed on the lad's as well.
 
He may be a man of the Watch but the feel of a woman around your cock wasn’t
something you soon forgot. He remembered it well and he felt the distinct
absence of it now given the show he was privy to, even despite the participants
being almost fully clothed--a blessing he was thankful for. But Seven Hells!
The lad was going to be as raw and chapped as a southern recruit trying to piss
off the Wall if she kept at it like that!
 
He harrumphed bitterly thinking that was preferable to his alternative. He
didn’t wager many men could profess to being fucked by a girl who blamed you
for the loss of their father, and didn’t think many would wish to. Then again
he’d wager not many men had witnessed what he was now, and had to admit to its
scandalous allure. The girl had gone from yanking the lads head back with a
forceful grip on his hair to strangling the air out of him, her pace up and
down his cock only intensifying where he didn’t think it was possible! This one
was no dead dispassionate fish to be fucked on her back!
 
He palmed himself long and slow through his breeches, gritting his teeth
against the desire to do much more as she speared herself one last time only to
jolt back up with a squeal and collapse onto her now purple faced but rigid
husband as he gasped for air and her hands slid down his chest.
 
Her body was shaking and it took Yoren a moment to realize she was sobbing. His
endeavor to make sure they kept concealed suddenly seeming more of an intrusion
as she finally began to let go of the grief she’d held onto like a shield.
 
He thought to turn around and leave them be but when Gendry began to slowly
thrust up into her he had to shake his head in disbelief. He thought mayhaps
she would actually stab him now, but no, she held onto him as if she might lose
him as she'd lost her father.
 
He didn’t know why he was surprised that she’d want to fuck the sorrow out of
herself after he’d witness just how hard she tried to do the same with her
hate. The drastic change in the scene before him would’ve been laughable had it
not been so affecting.
 
Grinding against one another desperately, slowly, lips barely parting to
breath, fully consumed in the act and each other. Tyrion Lannister could offer
up all the gold of the Westerlands and never find a whore who could drown him
in passion the way the Stark girl and the Baratheon bastard did each other.
 
Spending the majority of his years at the Wall, Yoren had never truly given any
merit to the idea of true love or a perfect match, and at the age he was now he
never thought he would. Funny what the tides bring.
 
He turned to leave them in peace. Retreating before he could experience regret
for a thing he’d long believed he’d accepted and which had brought him to The
Night’s Watch and left him vacant of a chance for a different life.
 
Brow furrowed, he turn back towards camp, tromping through the undergrowth
thoughts heavy in his heart. He almost forgot to be on the look out for nosy
bastards trying to find the source of such a morning racket and stilled, his
hand instinctively flinching towards his sword, when he came upon a startled
group who looked at him uneasily.
 
“We heard somethin’. Sounded like a wildcat.”                  
 
A wildcat indeed!
 
Yoren snorted and marched right past them. “Wasn’t no wildcat.” He told them
crossly. “I’ve had a lively morning shit thanks to whichever one of you foul
bastards made the stew last night.” He grumbled over his shoulder. When he
didn’t hear anyone moving to follow him he turned back leering at them
expectantly. “Well come now, back to camp with ya! Think I’ll be loading
everythin’ up me ‘self you pisspots can think again! On with ya!” He beckoned
at them noticing movement behind them, the boy and girl emerging from the
trees.
 
Once the group was trudging back to camp in front of him he turned back to
catch the attention of those still hiding in the trees. He met the boy’s eye
and jerked his head right, signaling that they should circle round from another
direction and breathed a sigh of relief when the boy nodded back and led the
girl off in another direction.
 
He was fussing with the shoes on one of the carthorses when they emerged again.
 
“Find yourself a new shirt boy before more questions can be asked.” He growled
at the larger man and was pleased to see him nod grimly before finding his pack
and crouching down to dig in it.
 
Yoren flashed a look over his shoulder back at the girl. He didn’t intend to
speak but found words rumbling from his belly before he could stop them. “That
boy loves ya’.” He grumbled softly while fussing with the girth on one of the
horses. “And you him.” He glanced at her with a lifted brow challenging her to
say different.
 
When she only looked at the ground he snorted, though hearing his noise she
looked back up at him indignantly.
 
“And whose fault is it that I find myself here?” She spat acerbically.
 
Yoren turned to her fully, gazing down at her stonily. “Aye it is the boy’s
fault you’re still alive.” He deadpanned.
 
She scowled at him bitterly, moving to pick at a splinter on the side of the
cart. “Mayhaps, but he’s also the reason my father’s head now decorates the
Traitor’s Walk and my sister is captive in King’s Landing.” She added dourly.
 
Yoren softened, but had the wherewithal to look around and make sure no one was
close enough to hear them. “No boy,” He reminded her where they were. Placing a
hand on her shoulder and making sure to catch her gaze with his own he crouched
slightly. “That was the fault of Kind Jofferey, no one else.” He attempted to
ease her guilt and saw it work slightly as she swallowed back tears and looked
to the ground.
 
He removed his hand and turned back to harnessing the horses and was surprised
when she suddenly spoke up.
 
“How do you sleep?” She asked genuinely, as if wanting to commiserate, “With
the things you’ve seen I mean.”
 
He frowned. “That’s nothing you should be troublin’ yourself with. I made sure
you didn’t see. I’d taken me pommel to your head before the sword took his
head.”
 
She looked away bitterly but went on, though meekly, voice waver slightly. “Yes
but I still see it. The Queen and Jofferey on the Podium...Sansa, the
crowd…Ilyn Payne with Ice.”
 
Yoren grimaced again and not knowing what to say after a long moment, decided
to share though he did so quietly. “You know, we’ve got something in common, me
and you. You know that? I must have been a couple of years older than you. I
saw my brother stabbed through the heart right on our doorstep.” He paused to
let it sink in and was pleased to see her brow furrow sadly. “He weren’t much
of a villain what skewered him. Willem, the lad’s name was. He ran off before
anyone could spit. And I just stood there, watching my brother die. But here’s
the funny part. I can’t picture my brother’s face anymore. But Willem…oh, he
was a nice looking boy. He had good white teeth, blue eyes, one of those
dimpled chins all the girls like. I would think about him when I was working,
when I was drinking, when I was having a shit.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “It
got to the point where I would say his name every night before I went to bed.
Willem. Willem. Willem. A prayer almost. Well, one day…Willem came riding back
into town. I buried and ax so deep into Willem’s skull, they had to bury him
with it.” He deadpanned seriously, before his voice became lighter. “Willem’s
horse got me to the Wall and I’ve been wearing the black ever since.” He shook
his head to himself before glancing back up at the girl. He couldn’t help but
snort. “Well…that’ll help you sleep.” He finished cynically with a brusque
laugh.
 
Arya was about to say something in response but was interrupted by the sound of
a horn and the approach of horses. Yoren gave her a meaningful look as he
started towards the noise. It wasn’t long until a group of Goldcloaks came
cantering into camp. Understanding the possible danger, she made her way to far
side of the cart and made herself look busy checking the bridle of the other
horse.
 
“You in command here?” One of the Goldcloak’s asked, rearing his horse to a
stop after noticing Yoren coming forward.
 
Yoren continued to approach until he was along side the man’s mount. “You’re a
long way from home.” He offered friendly greeting, well as friendly as it got
for him.
 
The Goldcloak narrowed his eyes at the Black Brother. “I asked you a question.”
 
“Aye you did.” Yoren spat on the ground before looking back up at the officer.
“You asked without manners and I chose not to answer.”
 
“I have royal warrant.” The man sneered, reaching into his cloak and
withdrawing a scroll marked with golden wax. “Could be we’re lookin’ for one of
these gutter rats you’re transporting. We’d have a look.” He demanded.
 
Yoren took the warrant to look at the seal but didn’t bother opening it before
handing it back. “The thing is these gutter rats belong to the Night’s Watch
now. There’s laws on such thing.” He told the man. “That puts them beyond the
reach of kings and queens.”
 
“Here’s your law.” The gold cloak growled, withdrawing his blade from his
sheathe marginally.
 
Quick as she’d ever seen him move, Yoren had his own sword unsheathed and
pointed at the man in response. “That’s no law, just a sword. Happens I got one
too.” He spat on the ground as the Goldcloak warily eyed the steel that was now
resting perilously close to his cock near his thigh. “It’s a funny thing.” He
began. “People worry so much about their throats they forget about what’s down
low. Now I sharpened this blade before breakfast. I could shave a spider’s arse
if I wanted…or I could nick this artery, and once its nicked, there’s no one
around here that knows how to un-nick it.” He reached for and grasped the
Goldcloaks sword, tossing it to the ground out of his reach. “We’ll be keepin’
that. Good steel is always needed on the wall.” He turned back to the man at
the end of his blade. “Seems you have a choice. You can die here at this
crossroads a long way from home, or you can go back to your city and tell your
masters you didn’t find what you were looking for.” He finished, eyeing the man
carefully.
 
The Goldcloak ground his teeth in fury before turning toward the camp full of
wary up-in-arms men. “We’re looking for the usurper.” He shouted disregarding
the steel next to his bollocks. “The Bastard Gendry Waters Baratheon and his
wife Lady Arya Stark. Anyone turning them over will earn the kings reward.
We’ll be returning with more men.” He informed them before turning back to
direct his final words at Yoren. “And I’ll be taking your head home if I find
you’re hiding them.” He reined his horse around sharply, forcing Yoren to step
back as they galloped away.
 
He watched them go knowing they’d keep to their word and return. Once they were
out of sight he turned back, immediately finding Gendry’s eye and holding it
significantly. After a moment he was stalking back over to where Arya had been
trying to remain unseen.
 
He grabbed at the horses bridle she was handling and then threw the reigns over
the beasts and onto the wagon seat while glancing around discreetly.
 
“We move off the Kingsroad but they’ll find us soon enough.” He informed her
softly turning to look her gravely in the eye. “Keep your weapons with you, and
next time you hear horses, you run.”
 
Chapter End Notes
     Soooo thanks are in order to whoever nominated and voted this story
     into second place in the Fanatic FanFic Multifandom awards!
     I read the first place winner, The North Remembers, as a result and
     my god is it amazing! Such GREAT writing! I never would've found it
     because I'm a perv and I like explicit themes, but I am SO glad I
     did. Needless to say I was thrilled to be even in contention and
     that's because of you guys. Ya'll are the best! But you already know
     that :)
     Anyways, for thanks I got this one out in under a year! :/
     Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
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