Heyy! if you’re still taking art requests and if you have the time, can you draw Arya killing Dareon?
“Did he ever find a ship to Oldtown? He said he was supposed to sail on the Lady Ushanora.”
“We all were. Lord Snow’s command. I told Sam, leave the old man, but the fat fool would not listen.” The last light of the setting sun shone in his hair. “Well, it’s too late now.”
“Just so,” said Cat as they stepped into the gloom of a twisty little alley.
-Cat of the Canals, A Feast for Crows
Hi nonny!! Sorry this took like. A month for me to actually sit down and start working on. Hope you like it!
Few notes under the cut!
When I sat down to re-read the scene, I was struck by how Martin’s narration skips over the actual killing, jumping ahead to Arya returning home that night. This is of course a dramatic tool, obscuring the murder from first time readers so that Arya revealing it at the end of the chapter is that much more striking, but I think it’s interesting from a writing standpoint that we don’t get to see Dareon die from her point of view here. We get none of her internal monologue, her rationale for the killing, just the conversation leading up to it and the consequences later. I really like this as a writing choice, as it leaves so much up to the reader’s observation and understanding of her character.
Visually it was very important to me to show the vair lining the inside of the cloak, a visual/color reminder that Arya makes this execution as an exercise of her Stark identity— he is a night’s watch deserter and furthermore he just make a remark about Jon. As a Stark, it is her duty to kill Night’s Watch deserters, and she likely feels a double duty as Jon’s sister. Vair is not consistently used to signify the Starks in the text— only 4/10 total instances of it, including this one, in the text are in reference to the Starks, two more are for the Freys, and one is for Cersei, so clearly it’s not a Stark-exclusive. Still, the grey and white vair on the inside of the cloak instantly struck me as a symbol of how Arya views Dareon in this moment as a Stark man who has betrayed her family.
I realize you might have hoped for a clearer depiction of Arya, but I had a few reasons for this layout. First, I wanted to obscure her face— obscure her emotions and motivations, just as the text does, leaving them to the audience’s deductive skills. Secondly, this was a pretty easy pose and it got me that visual piece with the cloak. And thirdly, the description of the scene emphasizes Arya stepping into the shadows, and I wanted to capture that ninja assassin mystique to the scene as it would have been from a personal point of view.
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Hi! Is the aryas politics day edit on bookhousestark yours? The one with her being cupbearer to roose bolton and jon and ned stark are in it. Its simply the most gorgeous and accurate gifset i have ever seen in asoiaf. The layout is stunning, it hilights so many things about arya and the fancasting is top tire. I would love to see you use u meckanzie as arya and timothee as jon more often. Only if you want to of course. Hoping for more meckanzie-arya from you. Thank you so much for sharing your amazing talent with us. Just wanted to tell that that gifset is beautiful ❤️.
Ah anon you're so kind! I'm afraid that wasn't me but the wonderfully talented @courtesanofbraavos and you're right it truly is a stunning set! The fact that you assumed that masterpiece was mine is compliment enough ❤️ And yes I have a few more sets planned with Mackenzie and Timmy this month and after don't worry. So glad you've been enjoying this month we've been blessed with all the canon content so far! 💕
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Nicolai's shadow vampire self... it was so unemotional. No build up. Most of the time no one but Alina knew avout it at all and she once again seemed strangely detached from it. Like she just had lost a trinket. She continues to barely give us any emotional attachment to her. Most things continue to happen to her, not because of her. We get a morr description of the layout of the house they stay at, than an insight into Alina's feeling. I have rarely felt that emotionally detached from a character...
Zoya still being mean girled by Alina we get it you don't like her and make no effort in liking her
Mal's firebird arch, especially the miraculous resurrection. Wtf
Alina giving up her power so others now have part of her power? Lame af. Reluctant heroine trope who doesn't want her power fullfilled though
The Darkling's forces basically all surrendering as soon as he is dead. That seems highly illogical
Let alone the fact that it reads like a handful of people just defeated an army
The final fight between Alina and the Darkling feels so anti climatic
Kind of wish that Alina would have ended all alone in the end.
Mal and Alina going back to Keramzin with Misha... it reads like (bad) fanfiction
And I still hate these 3rd person intro/outro bits. When I read that "thr girl and the boy" stuff I'm reminded of Arya Stark in GoT and all that "a girl has no name stuff"
So much potential so little of it was used. Those 3 books are a graveyard of lost potential.
As said before, a rewrite into a full blown fantasy thriller with the darkling being hannibal lector or into a good adult fantasy story with real shades of grey would do that whole series so, so good
I think I need to let that mess sink in for a day or two before I write my goodreads review
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a tutorial on how to fix season 8
in this 13-step tutorial, I will fix season 8 so that Cersei is the final villain (as she should be), Daenerys lives but doesn’t become queen and various other tweaks that make for better storytelling.
everything in the first two episodes stays (mostly) the same. animosity towards Daenerys when she shows up at Winterfell is warranted. Sansa most of all has right to be wary of outsiders.
during the battle against the dead, Rhaegal is killed. for one reason or another, Daenerys will have to sacrifice Rhaegal’s life in order for the battle to be won. maybe he’s attacked by an undead Viserion and they both die in the ensuing fight?
Rhaegal’s sacrifice will change Sansa’s tune. she still doesn’t necessarily TRUST Daenerys, but she’s more willing to hear her out in the future, knowing that she was willing to sacrifice a child to save Winterfell (and, by extension, Westeros).
Dany will NOT go to Dragonstone. that was just fucking stupid lmao. she will have already lost her second dragon at Winterfell, so no need for Euron to go 3 for 3 with a scorpion. the scene where Missandei dies makes no sense from a “we’re at WAR why don’t we just kill them NOW” perspective. so yeah.
Jaime will NOT be an absolute dick to Brienne when he leaves. he says that he always believed he would die with Cersei, and at the very least he wants to be there when she falls. it’s not necessarily that Jaime loves her more than Brienne, but it’s about needing to see her one last time before this is all over.
King’s Landing will still go up in flames, but it won’t be Dany’s fault. Daenerys will defeat the Iron Fleet with Drogon, but she won’t burn the Golden Company in 2.5 seconds (because after all of the build-ups for them, they really should live to fight on the ground against Jon Snow’s and Dany’s military). she will instead head directly for the Red Keep to kill Cersei, without knowing that Jaime has already helped Cersei escape. she burns down the Red Keep, but it sets off a string of wildfyre that Cersei planted, killing tens of thousands. Daenerys watches in horror, believing she’s responsible for a wide-scale massacre. the throne is destroyed.
Jaime will kill Cersei. they will reconcile in the castle in a similar fashion as the show, and Jaime truly believes that she just wants to escape, she just wants to live happily with him and their child. but when they make it to the beach, they can see the beginnings of the wildfyre explosion. Jaime confronts Cersei, knowing she must have been responsible, to which she says something to the effect of, “if she wants to be queen so badly, she can be the queen of the ashes.” Jaime realizes she hasn’t changed, and doesn’t have the capacity to change, and stabs her. I’ll leave it up to you if you want Cersei to stab him back in retaliation and have them die together, or if you want Jaime to live so he can return to Brienne.
in the aftermath, Daenerys realizes she cannot rule. entirely because the people of King’s Landing truly believe it was her fault that their city and everyone in it was destroyed. she’s wracked with guilt because so much life was lost, and she’s forced to confront that her dream of the Iron Throne is dead. she finds Cersei and Jaime on the beach and finds some sense of relief knowing that a tyrant has been overthrown.
a leader is still chosen, but this leader is not a king. the seven kingdoms disband. Daenerys stays with everyone else in King’s Landing while they pick a leader, someone who the small people can trust. it might be Bran, you can pick who you want. but the wheel will be a little more broken when the smaller kingdoms have less need and capacity for war. the chosen leader works to ensure that all seven kingdoms are led with honor. there’s still a small council, though its affairs largely pertain to King’s Landing and not Westeros as a whole.
Daenerys takes her military back to Essos. there are so many cities in Essos that still need to be liberated. she remembers how much happier she was while ruling in Essos; she still had three dragons, she still had Jorah, and she had the love of her people. she says to Drogon, “let’s go home,” before climbing on his back and flying away, acknowledging that Essos was more of a home to her than Dragonstone or Westeros ever were. Grey Worm and Missandei take a separate ship to stop at Naath before reuniting with Dany later.
Gendry will sail with Arya on her adventure. he may have been legitimized, but even HE said he doesn’t know how to be a lord, much less a king. plus he’s a lovestruck puppy... he says he’ll follow Arya to the ends of the world.
Sansa is still queen in the North. gods bless her heart.
Jon Snow is not exiled, but he goes beyond the Wall anyway. he knows he has the “true north” in him. being with the Wildlings is when he feels most like himself.
this layout allows for a few “subverted expectations” to still occur (namely, Cersei’s wildfyre destroying King’s Landing) and the story still feels fresh, but without destroying character arcs unnecessarily.
it’s bitter because the Stark children are separated yet again, but it’s sweet because they pursue their dreams. it’s bitter because Daenerys abandons her lifelong dream, but it’s sweet that she gets to return to Essos, to people who love her already. it’s bitter because Dany and Jon ultimately decide that being together isn’t what’s best for them, but it’s sweet because they know they’re no longer “Targaryens alone in this world.” it’s bitter because hundreds of thousands have lost their lives, because King’s Landing and Winterfell and the Wall are still in ruin, but it’s sweet because there’s a dream that there will never be another monarch who will rule over so many; a dream that spring will return.
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I’m going to get them out of here, he tells Lord Stark’s head silently. I promise. I’m going to rescue them.
I’m going to make my father proud.
(He’s not sure which father he means.)
@istaricelebelasse wanted this passage from protected passed pawn, chapter one.
So! Theon has just seen Ned Stark’s head on a spike (I may have fudged the layout of the Red Keep a little to make this work, but whatever) and contemplated that it’s really fucked up to do that, especially given that the Stark girls are still in the city. Of course, Arya’s not there, but he doesn’t know that yet.
He resolves to rescue them, partially because he had wanted to be rescued from Winterfell, partially because he wants glory and fame from rescuing them, and partially because it will make all three of his father-figures proud.
Balon would be proud (inasmuch as Balon is really capable of being proud of Theon) that Theon is successfully leading a raid and paying the Iron Price for what he wants. Ned would be proud that Theon is risking himself to save others, and particularly to save Sansa and Arya. (Dagmer, Theon’s secret bonus father, is already proud of Theon, but is proud for both reasons.)
And all of this ties back into his identity crisis: Balon vs Ned, Iron Islands vs North. Him not being sure which father he’s trying to make proud with this—even though both of them would be proud—is because he doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t know whose approval he wants, or which values he holds. He doesn’t even know what his own motivations are: does he want to get famous and have songs written about him and have all the girls want him because he’s a dashing rogue? or does he want to make sure nobody suffers like he did, being violently separated from their family and home and culture, and rescues Sansa because it’s the right thing to do?
…yeah. Theon’s mental state is a bit of a hot mess at the moment, which he’s dealing with by shoving it in a corner and trying to ignore it.
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CHIVALRY FELL ON ITS SWORD (4/?)
Summary: All Arya wanted so to feel normal and go outside of the damn castle. Now, through a series of unfortunate, she’s stuck with a bodyguard that she accidentally flirted with: Gendry Waters.
AO3
A/N: i would be sorry....but i'm not
Gendry was used to waking up early. He was used to getting up at 5am, suffering until his coffee came and woke him up. It was part of his routine. When 5:45am came, he went to the palace, clocked in and made sure he took over the surveillance of Arya. They knew she was in her room, and she usually slept in until eleven, which sometimes gave Gendry time to seal up exits.
Sure, since they had been given the all clear to go out, Arya would ask and they’d make their way to the town. They didn’t stay very long, maybe an hour or two, but it always let Arya breathe away from home. And yet, Gendry was paranoid about her leaving without him. He went around with his coffee in hand, going down the secret tunnels, making sure they were all locked where Arya could access them. He left the easy exits open - Gendry could catch up with her on particular routes, she was predictable if he narrowed her way out.
When all that was done, Gendry went to the kitchen, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and made a large mug to take along with him. “Is this for princess Arya again?” one of the kitchen hands asked. Gendry had noticed him a few times, seemed like a lovely bloke, always smiling and eager to please anyone who asked for help.
“Yep,” Gendry nodded, pouring the coffee into the mug.
“I hope she likes it, I’ve seen her sneak in here sometimes.”
Gendry smiled to himself, knowing the kitchen was one of her favourite hiding spots. “You been working here long?” he asked, the kitchen hand perked at the question.
“A few months, I’m still getting used to it,” he sighed, as though he was still nervous about everything.
“It’ll get easier. If you meet any of the siblings, just treat them normal like. They’re a weird bunch,” Gendry grinned. The kitchen hand laughed, his smile contagious.
“I’m Hot-pie. At least, that’s what everyone calls me,” he said extending his hand. Gendry noticed the flour cover his arms. He scoffed, understanding why they probably called him Hot-pie.
Taking his hand, Gendry gripped it tight and smiled to the baker. “Gendry.”
By the time that was all finished, he was waiting at Arya’s bedroom door, getting messages from Brienne and the other security members about that increase in protection for the Gala. It was being held for a birthday celebration for a lord - Baratheon, if Gendry remembered correctly - that would raise money with people attending. The charity was for one of the young Starks to decide. Rumour was...they were finally giving Arya responsibilities.
They had yet to tell her that though, and it was still only a rumour.
As the morning dragged on, security was receiving more intel on the location to learn. It was a government building that could hold the hundreds of people in attendance, and they were provided with layouts and designs of the venue for each bodyguard to study, working out exits for each of their wards.
The door to Arya’s room swung open, a disheveled looking Arya fell to the door, swinging her way around to look at Gendry. Her eyes were barely open, hair a mess of locks unfurled from their braid, and oversized shirt hanging over her shoulder. Gendry kept his gaze to her face, noticing the slight inching of her clothes further down her torso.
“Coffee,” Arya groaned against the door. Gendry picked up her hand, fingers running up her palm - delicate, tender, and raising it until it reached the cup in his hand.
“Morning, Princess,” he hummed, clearing his throat when he realised his tone.
“Lifesaver,” she sighed, hands wrapping around it, barely registering how long Gendry had taken her hand. Arya walked back into her room, and Gendry adjusted his suit. Why did it feel so damn tight? He felt like he was suffocating.
Walking into Arya’s room, he didn’t know how, but she somehow made it worse than it had been the day before. Wasn’t it clean last night before he left. Rolling his eyes, watching as Arya navigated her way through bounds of trash and clothes, all mixed in together. In reality, her room was a biohazard zone, with things already smelling weird - but it might have been perfume or some shit. He really wasn’t sure.
As he stood at the brink of the mess, something in his brain was firing away with scenarios and he couldn’t just...leave it as it was. Gendry picked up a piece of clothing, folded it and put it on the ottoman that was far from it’s matching chair. He didn’t care, he would move it later. Gendry kept it up, dreading this mess, but fuck it - this was a major security risk! When he thought about it, he didn’t know if he meant her room or just Arya. Both were a hazard to him.
“Who’s Eddison Tollett anyway?” Arya asked, slipping back into her sheets, lost amongst the heavy duvet and plethora of throw pillows. In all, Arya almost looked like a rag doll tossed onto a child’s unmade bed.
“What?” Gendry found the waste bin, tossing empty bottles and random crap in. He was making small headway in the mess, but god...how did someone so small be the reason for such a horrible mess.
“Heard some of the other bodyguards talking about him?”
Gendry sighed, moving around the bundle of shit that he was trying to sort through. “He’s worked for your family for years,” he said, to which Arya just shrugged, “he’s under Brienne. We’re just going over order for security reasons.” All the while, Arya sipped at her coffee, slowly waking up to the day.
“What does that mean?”
“If something happens to Brienne, we need a second in charge to lead us.”
“Where are you?” Arya continued to drink, but he really couldn’t tell if she was paying attention to what he was saying. He sat on the arm of the chair near the end of her bed.
“I’m on personal protection, so my main priority is you, unless something happens to the king, then my services may be required elsewhere,” he explained, still trying to clean. It was unsuccessful, but at least he tried.
“Really?” Arya said, putting her mug on the bedside table, almost knocking over her lamp. Instinct almost kicked in, making Gendry jump up to stop the lamp for toppling over. But it steadied and Gendry was left standing awkwardly at the edge of Arya’s bed.
“We won’t need to worry about that, we just have to be prepared for it,” he said.
“What am I doing today, anyhow?” Gendry fished out his phone from his pocket, looking over her schedule for the day.
“You have a meeting with your mum in like…” he started, glancing at his watch and sighing, “two hours ago.”
“You know she -”
“She’s kept your meeting, but only for another hour, so get dressed,” he said, trying to toss the blankets off her bed, but Arya clutched to them tighter. He shot her a look, warning her not to be a pest and she gave a pout, slipping from her sheets.
“You’re annoying,” she said, moving past him and going to the bathroom. Gendry watched her stumble her way to the bathroom, and he swallowed, staying outside the door and scrolling through his phone.
“After that, you need to go to another dress fitting to see if it fits?” he questioned, and Arya poked her head out of the crack in the bathroom door.
“I’m glad you’re just as confused by fashion as I am,” she faked a smile before she scoffed, hiding back behind the door when she was finished making fun of him.
“I’ve got a meeting about the Gala after your dress fitting, you’ll also be with your dad, he wants to talk to you,” Gendry explained and Arya groaned, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls.
“Cool, that’s either gonna be fun, or I’m gonna die in a hole,” she explained.
“Hopefully the former,” Gendry replied.
“You’re hoping the latter and I know it.”
“You caught me,” he said back, laughing a little. Then, a question popped into his mind, and before he knew it, he was asking. “About the gala,” he started. Stop, Gendry! Don’t ask the fucking - “Do you have a date?”
~*~*~
Arya froze in the bathroom. She was getting ready to shower, and now had to see this idiots face because he asked her…
He fucking said, “Do you have a date?” Arya fumbled for her robe and slipped it over her shoulders, tying it tightly around her waist. She emerged from the bathroom, leaning against the frame of the door.
“Why? Are you asking?” she smirked, only for Gendry to look at the floor and to clear his throat.
“No, I need to know for your protection detail,” he said, and Arya suddenly felt her cheeks go warm. She wasn’t expecting this. Why did she say that? Fuck.
“No. I don’t have a date,” Arya replied, chewing on the inside of her lip.
“Good,” he said, confident and a smile that almost seemed….pleased with her reply
“Good?”
Gendry straightened, “Just...it’ll be easier to protect you if I only have to worry about you,” he nodded.
“My hero,” Arya rolled her eyes.
“You’re running late, Princess,” he replied quickly.
“Right,” she said, moving back into the bathroom and undressing once more. She met the spray of the hot water, combing the situation out of her hair and washing it from her body. And she wondered...when did she stop caring whether he called her princess or not. In Arya’s bones, she hated being called princess or your highness, especially by Gendry. But she let him get away with it, over and over again. Maybe she was tired. Or liked the way he said it. And only to her.
Over the course of her day, she saw him for a few sparing minutes. They didn’t talk, which made her skin crawl. Silence between them was always a sign that there was something wrong. But neither of them broke the delicate balance - to tip it would be to question what words had been shared, and the feelings that lay on the surface that they dare not disturb by going deeper.
Arya saw less of Gendry after that - he was preparing for the gala, going over test runs. Even though he said he was a priority bodyguard, he certainly seemed to have a lot of responsibilities compared to the others she knew. There was a nagging feeling in her belly that she was responsible for his absence, but she always squashed that notion - Gendry always told her when she’d fucked up. He would have said something. He just needed to be away.
On the day of the gala, the house became like a warzone, much to Arya’s delight. As chaos came crashing down, Arya was in her element, weaving between the mess and the rush of people working to get everything ready. Arya wanted to be in the palace as the peace set in, watch the staff take a breath and relax after all this mess was through. But instead, she’d be with her family, trying not to be the dark cloud that came over her family’s presence.
Afternoon came in, her mum taking her by the arm and guiding her to Arya’s room. It took every ounce of Arya’s will not to fight her mother, to just reluctantly give in and follow her mother’s advice. Stepping into her dress, those stupid stick on bras pasted to her chest, and the heels put on to match the colour of the dress.
She was sat in front of a mirror, someone running a brush over her cheeks as her mother whispered in the makeup artist’s ear. Admittedly, the makeup was subdued, just foundation and a shade of pink that matched her natural lip - but she wasn’t used to the eyeliner or the shimmer of eyeshadow that had been applied. In addition, Arya’s hair was pulled back, only a few strands left to hang around her face. It all looked nice, but Arya felt so separate from herself, like she was still staring at another person that looked exactly like her. This wasn’t her thing.
Catelyn kissed Arya’s cheek, thumb dragging over the kiss to keep from staining Arya’s pristine makeup. “You look lovely, Arya.”
“Thanks mum,” she replied, swallowing her pride.
Arya sighed, feigning a smile as her mother beamed and pat Arya’s shoulder. She and the other people left, leaving Arya completely on her own for the first time all night. The door shut and Arya hurled up the mountain of fabric, flinging it up to get to her feet. Once she found purchase in the straps of her heels, she flung them off, tossing them across the room and out of sight. Arya stumbled to her closest, holding onto her dress as she clammered her way there. On the stack of shoes, she found her lucky Doc Martens. Tugging them on, she found the mirror again, making sure her dress covered her shoes and that she didn’t look out of place at all.
Once she appeared in order, Arya pulled a black shawl over her elbows and scattered downstairs, finding Sansa in the foyer, her shawl over her shoulders and dress making her look elegant as always. A champagne colour that shimmered, as though it were a bottle itself, poured down onto her frame. The ends faded to a pale off white colour. The dress hugged in at her hips before letting the fabric cascade down her body, flowing like a waterfall over her body.
“Either you’re looking to get four proposals, or you’re trying to get someone’s attention,” Arya laughed, kicking at the bottom of her dress as she made her way to her sister. Sansa laughed, her hair tossing over her shoulder as turned back to Arya, showing off her dress in all its glory.
“Someone’s attention, and that’s all I’m saying on the matter,” Sansa said, but the curiosity was already killing Arya, “you look amazing too,” she commented, finally taking Arya in.
“Shut up,” Arya rolled her eyes. The idiot had already seen the dress fitting, she shouldn’t been in awe.
“I’m surprised you haven’t fallen over,” she commented back, and Arya scrunched up her nose.
“Why?” Arya smirked, picking up the base of her skirt, revealing the black shine of her boots. Sansa groaned, shoving Arya’s dress down.
“You’re dead if mum sees those.”
“Well, let’s hope she doesn’t see them.” They both laughed as they waited for the cars to come around - each getting their own or double ups. Robb and Jon would have their own, Sansa and Rickon, then Arya and Bran - their parents having their own as well. Arya fiddled with her phone, trying not to pay too much attention to the way her shawl was in no way a form of warmth, but she had to suffer for the looks of everything, didn’t she?
“Hey, you got an admirer,” Sansa said, pointing softly over Arya’s shoulder.
“The fuck are you on about?” Arya replied, glancing back to see Gendry. He was wearing a tux like all the bodyguards were meant to, but he was playing with his bowtie that he obviously didn’t seem to like at all. And yet, he seemed frozen, that he caught sight of something and it shook him to his core. But he was only looking at Arya. When Sandor Clegane shoved passed him, Gendry moved again, walking slowly to meet in front of Arya.
“You look good,” he said, a thick swallow, evident enough by the bob of his adam’s apple.
“Thanks,” Arya murmured, looking down at herself before meeting his gaze again, “so do you.” She tried to laugh, as though she was joking, but all she could bring herself to do was smile back at him, her stomach a fluttering mess. Why the fuck was she so nervous?
“Right. We’re ready?”
“All ready,” Arya said, clicking her boots together. Then, Sandor met at Gendry’s shoulder, towering over him.
“Sandor,” Gendry greeted.
“Pipsqueak.”
“I have a name, y’know?”
Sandor snorted and Arya held in her laughter. “Kid, I really don’t give a fuck.”
“You’re near the princesses,”
“And she’s said worse things before breakfast, I think she’ll live.” Sandor stalked off after Sansa, and Arya grinned to herself before Gendry came up beside her.
“You really thought you were gonna win that, didn’t you?”
“Shut up,” Gendry grumbled, walking towards the car at the end. Bran was already getting in the backseat when the pair started to move in behind him. Arya picked up the bottom of her dress and got ready for the step up. Arya was getting into the car when she heard the most aggressive and upsetting gasp. She turned to see her mother, stunned and looking down to Arya’s feet. Inside, Arya was cursing herself for not being more careful. She tapped Gendry’s hand and he helped her down.
“Arya! Change them now!” Catelyn yelled.
“You know I can’t walk in those things,” Arya tried to reason.
“You are wearing them for a few hours! Just put them on.”
“No one can see them,” Arya kept it up, only to be met with the scowl of a furious woman.
“No more questions, young lady. Change!” Catelyn waited for the challenge. It didn’t come. Instead, Arya moved up the staircase, feeling the presence of Gendry directly behind her. She was halfway towards her bedroom when she was getting messages from the cunts downstairs. They all had arrive as a family. She was holding them all up.
TO GROUP ‘The Ghost Fan Club (Jon fuck off)’
5:23pm - Bran: Arya being told to change out of her boots
5:23pm - Arya: Bran….don’t make yourself a meme, only I can do that
5:24pm - Jon: he’s right though
5:25pm - Sansa: are we running late cause you were wearing fucking boots
5:25pm - Rickon: were they chanel boots?
5:26pm - Sansa: of course
5:26pm - Arya: fuck off no
5:27pm - Robb: hurry up, fuck fucks
5:27pm - Arya: our future king everybody
Gendry scoffed over her shoulder and Arya jumped, realising how close he was.
“Do you seriously talk to each other like that?” he asked. Arya stopped, her brow knit out of curiosity. He’d worked for her family for nearly a full year, and he was just now realising the Stark children was goddamn nutjobs? He didn’t pay enough attention.
“Yeah,” she scoffed, typing quickly on her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ll see,” Arya smirked down at her phone.
5:32pm - Arya: who wants gendry in the chat, he thinks we don’t actually talk to each other like this
5:33pm - Jon: Add him. Let him suffer
5:35pm - Sansa: yes 👀👀👀
5:35pm - Arya: fuck off i’m adding him
*Gendry Waters has been added to the group*
Gendry started to get messages through on his phone, taking it from his pocket as Arya smiled to him.
“Suffer time, bitch,” she grinned and he watched her with curiosity and horror. It made Arya’s night.
In her room, Arya tossed her boots against the door, narrowly missing Gendry. She’d reply, but he was still scrolling through his phone, probably reading over whatever they were saying. It was later confirmed when Arya was on her hands and knees trying to find where she flung her heels.
“Wow, you guys just...keep talking don’t you?” he murmured and Arya laughed, rising slightly to look at a bewildered Gendry.
“We rarely shut up,” she confirmed, going back to her search. It took her longer than she anticipated to remember that she tossed them to separate ends of her room. By the time she managed to get them back on, Gendry was standing with his hands behind his back, waiting for her.
He gave a cocky smirk as Arya stumbled slightly walking towards him. “You look very nice,” he said, and Arya raised her brow, “you almost reach my shoulder now.” Gendry held in a laugh and Arya rolled her eyes.
“Go fuck yourself,” she snapped, smacking him in the chest, moving off down the hall and trying not to fall to her death in those stupid heels. They weren’t even that high, she just sucked at walking in the death traps.
“You might actually pass as a princess now,” he continued to tease.
“You might actually be killed by the end of the night, how does that sound?” she sarcastically replied, still thoroughly annoyed by everything.
“Fun,” he scoffed, nudging her slightly in her shoulder, “come on, I’ll catch you if you fall,” he said, but Arya couldn’t help but notice the way he avoided touching her directly, letting just a finger touch at line of tulle that acted as her straps.
“I have serious doubts. You’re gonna film me every time I fall aren’t you?” she remarked.
There was a long pause before he replied. “You said it, not me.”
“I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna actually kill you,” she stopped, Gendry always in beat with her, standing directly next to her but not glancing her way. Yet, he still had a cheeky smile on his lips, one he tried to hide but was failing miserably.
When both their phones buzzed, she knew they had to keep going, otherwise the caravan of royals was going to kill them both.
~*~*~
Gendry stood on the side of the room, watching queens, princes and princess, lords and ladies, all gather in the ballroom, seated and standing to chat amongst themselves. There were several men that Gendry didn’t know, and it made him feel uneasy, but was set at ease when Brienne confirmed they were the personal security of the Baratheon king.
In the midst of the highborn festivities, Gendry tried not to fiddle with his fucking suit. He really wasn’t used to wearing the bulletproof vest underneath his clothes. Most bodyguards were used to the feeling, but Gendry was new to this - how they wear nice things and look all proper - it just all felt unnatural. He tugged on his tie as he caught sight of Arya - she was easy to lose in a crowd, but she was talking with Princess Sansa, the two joking and making faces at one another.
Just the sight of her...made Gendry smile.
Pure joy.
“Gendry,” a deep voice said beside him and he turned, seeing King Eddard standing beside him, a large pint in his hand. Did they give out pints at royal functions? Gendry wasn’t sure, but he doubted that anyone would refuse the king.
“Your majesty,” Gendry started to bow when the king stopped his shoulder and let Gendry rise back up.
“I’d like to apologise to you for that day -” he said with a sigh.
“It isn’t necessary,” Gendry shook his head.
“You have to understand, Arya doesn’t normally take to her security detail,” he said, as though it made him sad that his daughter was so strong willed, or perhaps it was because she wasn’t adequately protected.
“I know Arya very well, your majesty. I try and make sure she feels comfortable with me, as I am the one she does have to spend all her time with. I let her do as she pleases as long as that doesn’t involve anything risky. I respect the crown, and will keep it safe,” Gendry explained, and the King’s brow raised, surprised by Gendry’s response.
“You go above and beyond the call of duty and I commend you for that,” the King said, clapping Gendry’s shoulder hard enough to knock Gendry forward, “you make her happy. I hope that continues.”
Gendry couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you sir, have a great night.”
“If the King ever bloody arrives,” he joked, taking a drink of his pint before choking on it, erupting into a giant smile, arms wide and a loud voice echoing across the room, “ah! Robert! Come here!” He called, and the room turned to see a large man, suit making him seem slimmer, but he looked brutal - as though the wrong word could set him off. He beamed, however, when he took sight of King Eddard, walking over to the man slowly.
King Robert Baratheon of King’s Landing. That’s who they all whispered about, his kin following after as the two kings embraced like old friends. In all, the new king did not entertain Gendry - he focused his attention back on Arya who sat down, ignoring most of the commotion that happened around her father.
It seemed like Arya was being punished to attend, but no one truly cared what she did once she was there. It made Gendry mad, that he couldn’t be beside her - make her laugh at least. But instead, he stood the furthest away from her, watching as people passed her, her attention following them for a moment before she leaned over her table and picked at bread. She chewed on it absentmindedly, and it was quite funny to watch the person who probably thought they were being ignored above everyone else.
She’d never be ignored when Gendry was around.
Throughout the night, Gendry watched after her, sometimes drifting to the loud laughter from the Baratheon king, but always falling back the princess. She’d talk with her brothers, throw food at them to get their attention and then call them over.
Robb had his fiancee come, a gesture to bring her to family gatherings, and Arya loved to joke around with her. Talisa if Gendry was remembering correctly. The two were thick as thieves, talking for ages until Talisa was dragged away to be presented as the next princess, one that may bare the future king or queen.
Jon had Ygritte on his arm, the famous archer that was bound for the Olympics the following year. The two had met by accident at an event and Jon was the biggest fool since. Arya had once said that Ygritte was too good for Jon, but loved having the archer in her life. They flitted around, Arya following after to ask Ygritte things about archery - Gendry thought as much as the two demonstrated the stances in the middle of a talking to diplomats. Neither woman cared.
Eventually, she talked with a few other people, some older men asking her questions, some women marvelling at her dress to which she possibly gave an awkward reply by the looks on the women’s faces. In the end, she was met with a man, possibly the same age as her, a good looking guy and a smile that could pierce any woman’s heart.
Gendry’s jaw clenched uncomfortably.
“Prince of Braavos,” Podrick said beside Gendry.
“Hmm?” he tried to play off his staring - but he felt an anger burning in his chest as he watched the tall man gravitate towards Arya, speaking in her ear like they were closer than she and Gendry.
Wait, what?
“The guy. He’s prince...shit, I know this, it’s something strange. Titan of Braavos! Apparently flirts with everyone. Has been trying to get in favour with the Starks for years. And Sansa has shot him down so many times, he might actually think he has a chance with Arya,” Podrick explained and Gendry scoffed.
“You and I both know he doesn’t.”
“So why are you staring? Why does it matter?” he asked, and Gendry felt a snarl at the edge of his mouth.
“I just don’t trust him,” he replied.
Podrick moved off from Gendry’s side, hearing his earpiece indistinctly spark to life with a voice urging him away. In the end, Gendry was left staring at the pair, a prince and princess speaking to one another, and Gendry was left feeling like he was a raging bull.
He noticed the hand that had snaked onto Arya’s hip, and it took everything in Gendry not to move. It was his priority to protect Arya - and this felt like a threat. But it couldn’t be. It could be innocent. But it wasn’t. Not to Gendry. He wanted to break the prince’s fingers - every single one that dared to touch Arya.
Before he realised it, the prince was lingering his hands down, hidden beneath fabric, and obviously trying to get better contact with Arya. Gendry was about to lunge from the wall when Arya spun around, twisting his wrist the opposite way it should have, and bringing her heel down hard against the prince’s foot.
The foot that slammed down onto the prince’s shoe made the room hiss out in pain, the prince crumbling to the ground. It was loud, like a thunderclap in the middle of a reverberating ballroom. Gendry, the only person who knew Arya as well as her family, held in a laugh, chewing on his lip as he looked down at the floor. God, if he made even an ounce of a noise that resembled a laugh, he’d be fired.
But god, that was fucking funny.
Bastard got what was coming to him.
When Gendry raised his head, he saw Arya creeping away from the party, everyone’s attention put on the prince and his dramatic wailing in the middle of the ballroom. Gendry cleared his throat, updated the security where he was going, and started to round the edges of the room until he found the same door she escaped through.
~*~*~
Fuck. Why did she do that? She hurt her ankle, and more importantly, she knew she was going to get shit from her mum for this. The look on her face when the loud thump of Arya’s heel echoed around the ballroom was signal enough that Arya was in deep shit. Catelyn’s brow was furrowed so deep, she was redefining the meaning of angry.
But it was better than being fondled whilst no one was paying attention. She felt awful, merely for some person’s greedy hands, and that wasn’t Arya. She was pressed up against a large windowsill, her hot face resting on the cooling glass and the bounds of material fluttered over her legs as she hitched them up. It was hard to cradle her knees, but she felt as though she needed some comfort. And it was only her there.
“Not going to dance?” a voice interrupted her silence. She turned to see Gendry at the edge of the room, his bowtie undone and his top button loose. Arya had to admit, he looked good.
“I don’t really know how to,” Arya said, rubbing at her ankle. She felt like she was fighting against her dress just to get to aching feet - but she got there in the end. “No one really wants to dance with me. I don’t really wanna dance with anyone,” she scoffed, letting herself relax and look out the window again. She was probably driving Gendry nuts - he was very clear that she shouldn’t be near windows, that any nutjob with a crazy enough idea could and would harm her. But he didn’t say that. He said something that shocked her.
“What about me?” he asked. Arya swung her legs from the windowsill, standing slowly as she inspected his face. He wasn’t exactly joking, but he was definitely curious if she’d say yes.
“What about you?” she replied.
Gendry unbuttoned his suit jacket “Would you dance with me? I’m not great, but I can follow if you want to lead,” he asked, offering his hand to her. There was the faint sound of music playing from the ballroom, so she could at least follow the
“A real feminist,” Arya scoffed, drifting over to him. He laughed and shrugged.
“My mum taught me, I can’t lead for shit.”
“We’ll go slow,” she smiled, taking his hand and moved in towards him. He brought her in as close as possible and Arya took charge, urging him backwards as she guided them in a slow waltz, both laughing at their very poor attempt at dancing.
They eventually found a rhythm that might be considered dancing, more like swaying. Arya hadn’t realised it at first, but as they stayed so close, her head fell to his chest, his hand on her waist holding her close, and although he held her hand - the grip was tender, as though to savour the sensation.
A question nagged, pestered, plagued her thoughts. It had done since he questioned her. It nagged on her more and more after she saw how hard set his jaw clenched when she was speaking to the prince of Braavos. As he held her, like it was a moment that could only be shared between the two of them - her heart like a drum, the beat of a stampede - she had to ask, to let herself be at ease.
“Did you really need to know if I had a date tonight?” she asked, her voice so small, it didn’t even sound like her own.
“No. I didn’t.” It was a simple reply, and Arya looked up, watching as he faced forward, not meeting her eye. “I wanted to know.”
“Why?” she asked, to which he finally stared at her, and the look in his eyes was filled with fire, a fury that could turn to passion in the blink of an eye. It made Arya’s chest ache, heart racing like a marathon.
“You know why,” he replied, voice low and rough, a gravelly mess that made her feel frantic. Arya trailed her hand up his shoulder, going on her toes as she felt his hand on her waist tighten.
“Gendry, do you have Nymeria?” the voice in Gendry’s earpiece was loud. Brienne. Gendry stepped back from her, speaking to the right side of his collar.
“This is Gendry, I have Nymeria. Is something wrong?” he asked. Arya lifted her chin, sighing as she fiddled with the folds of her dress.
“The family is leaving,” Brienne said, and Gendry nodded.
“I’ll be right there with the princess.” They were left standing in the mess of silence, contained by sentence that were left open ended. There would never be a resolution - they would never speak of it, and it made Arya feel weak.
“We’re never going to be able to finish what we started, are we?” she laughed. Trying to gain composure, she started to walk past Gendry, only for his hand to grab at her wrist and pull her in, flush against his body. She was completely taken off guard, especially by the way his hand held her at the small of her back, keeping her hard against his body. His face lowered to hers, forehead resting against her own, and breaths being exchanged.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, almost in a whisper and Arya begged him to tell her - no words could do it, but he would use his lips exactly how she craved.
“Gendry, are you on your way?” another pestering call came through the comms and Gendry pulled back once more, leaving Arya wanting. He had a way of doing that. But the deep furrow in his brow made her nervous - as though regret gripped him more than anything she was feeling.
“Yeah.”
Arya walked ahead of Gendry, not quite sure how to feel him hovering behind her. They made it to the second car behind her mother and father, and she started to climb into the backseat, Bran not too far behind her. As she collapsed into the backseat, she prevent Bran from moving inside.
“Go away,” she snapped, unsure as to why she was being so harsh. Maybe she was feeling conflicted, or confused and didn’t know how to deal with frustration. Bran’s brow knit tight, shrugging as he looked at his sister.
“What? Why?”
“I want the car, my dress is too big,” she lied - knowing full well the two fit into the same car when they arrived there that night.
“Little miss spoiled,” Bran mumbled.
“Go with mum and dad,” she suggested and Bran laughed, giving her the finger.
“Fuck you too,” he said, walking towards the car in front.
“I’ll let you have your own car next time,” Arya called out, closing the door. She watched Gendry get into the passenger seat in the front, watched the way he squared his shoulders before they moved after her parents car set off.
~*~*~
Arya grumbled in the backseat, unstrapping the high heels and throwing them to the opposite side of the car to herself. Gendry had found the thing he had hidden from her in one of the other cars, smuggling them in when Arya was arguing with Bran.
He flung them over his shoulder and shook them in front of her. Arya gasped, reaching forward and snatching them from his hands. “Did you seri -” she stopped and laughed, “I can’t believe you actually brought me my boots.”
“You can thank me later.” He looked back watching her push her feet into her boots, a wide grin on her face. She was so pleased, and it made him glad he thought of it. He was surprised he managed to hide them from her, but she rarely looked behind his back, always thinking it’s just his hands.
He looked back to the road. They were half way through their journey when he saw the flash of orange bolt across the road. Gendry was already gripping the dashboard when the car in front noticed, swerving hard, and watching in horror as the SUV wrenched itself from the road and flipped several times along the road.
“Holy shit!” he swore, the comms becoming chaotic as he watched the car stop and start to smoke. The car was flipped completely on its hood, oil spilling on the road, and the car looking like a complete disaster - dented doors, glass strewn across the road, pieces of the car completely gone or missing.
Sandor’s was the first clear audio. “What the fuck was -”
“Sandor, get Sansa out of here, now!” Gendry replied, Sandor almost speaking up when Gendry thought of the code quickly. “Little Bird to Phoenix.”
“Fuck,” Sandor swore, and the car behind theirs turned sharply and turned around. Arya was saying something in the backseat, trying to reach forward, but Gendry unbuckled his seatbelt, getting in her line of sight.
“What just happened?” Jon said next.
“Jon, there’s been an accident. Get Robb to safety, do not tell anyone where you’re going, I’ll contact you later,” Gendry said, and Arya looked at him with worry written into her features.
“What -”
“Move on Pup becomes Wolf,” Gendry swore back, trying his hardest not to freak Arya out.
“Shit,” Jon said, going to call comms, “Move! Everyone!”
“Gendry, what’s going on?” Arya said, and Gendry saw the other cars waiting.
“Everyone, get back! Go around the car, go to routes B and C, I don’t want anything disrupting the scene,” he demanded. “Go now!” he snapped, watching the cars all move, blazing trailing in other directions and hidden sirens wailing as the scene was cleared out.
“Brienne -” Podrick tried over the comms, but it was on Gendry’s mind too. She was in the car with the king and queen - she was no longer on point. God, where the fuck was Ed when he needed him. Gendry just had to move - no one else saw it.
“I know, call the police right now! I don’t care just -” The back door opened, and Gendry watched as Arya ran towards the scene.
“Bran!” she screamed.
“Fuck,” Gendry kicked the door open, yelling again. “Everyone! Fucking move!”
“Dad! Mum!” she called, but no reply came. Gendry was trying his hardest to catch up - to get her before she could make it there, but she wasn’t letting anything get in her way. The scene was still, unmoving from anything inside.
“Arya, get back!” he yelled after her, only to watch her skid across the asphalte and glass, scrambling to get into the car. Gendry’s heart was racing - a jackhammer powering his chest and it was driving him nuts. He was scared shitless.
“Dad!” she yelled, and Gendry crawled in behind her, looking up and seeing the king still strapped to his seat, blood pouring from his mouth. He gurgled and cough, splattering blood over Arya and Gendry as they lay beneath him. Arya’s hand clutched to her father’s, her crying becoming the only noises from the wreck. Gendry glanced around, Brienne was buckled up in the front seat, he couldn't tell her wounds, but she may have been more hurt than she looked. The queen next to the king was unconscious - body slumped against the door. Bran lay on the roof - ground now - slumped and unmoving, and all Gendry could think was; Bran was either extremely injured or dead.
“Arya! Don’t touch them!” Gendry yelled, taking hold of Arya and making sure she didn’t see Bran. Ned was still gripping hard to Arya’s hand, and Gendry looked up to him.
“Take...her…” he gurgled, spurting out more blood as he let go of Arya’s hand. The two of them lay in blood, had it covering their faces, and Gendry only cared about Arya. Gendry curled his arm around Arya’s waist and tugged her as hard as he could, pulling her from the car.
“Get your hands off of me! Stop!” Arya yelled, sobbing in between her words. She was nothing to him, he powered through her fight, dragging her as much as he could as she kicked and clawed against him. She was wailing, swearing as he made her get to her feet and he pointed towards the car.
“Move!” he ordered. Arya snarled, pushing hard against his chest, trying to step around him.
“How dare you, get out of my way!” she swore, tears mixing in with the blood, and her sobs subdued in her chest. She panted, the tears still escaping her, and Gendry’s heart was breaking. I’m sorry. I can’t let you see this. Please just get back in the car.
“Arya, get back into the fucking car, now!” he yelled back.
“Police are almost at the scene, are you going to stay?” Podrick said over comms, and Gendry clenched his fist.
“Where the fuck is Eddison?”
Ed soon called through, his car looming in the distance. “Gendry, stay on scene, I need you there.”
“Fuck,” he swore to himself. He called back to the driver. “Get Arya back to the house now!” he said, watching the driver nod and drive as fast as he could towards the palace.
The chaos stopped - the scene was so still, not even a wind could blow through to disturb it. Once it had slowed down, it all became clear. A fox ran into the road, the driver swerve, the car flipped. That simple. What wasn’t simple was that car held the king, queen, and the prince. There ended up being five ambulances on the scene. There was no guessing who was worst hit - just a mess of people being taken to intensive care. He had to be cleaned up - glass embedded in his skin when he didn’t even feel it - adrenaline, he reminded himself. Adrenaline and pain cancelled each other out. Gendry had to run down the information to police, to Ed, to the ambulance people on the scene. Everyone was on edge.
It was the King after all.
Yet, all Gendry could think about was Arya. He knew Arya was injured - she had to be with everything she waded through. When Ed gave him the all clear, Gendry bolted to the palace, witnessing it in true chaos. His heart was racing when he was met by Beric at the front door.
“Where the hell is Nymeria?” Gendry asked, and the man shrugged back.
“I don’t know, we’ve got chaos here, idiot,” he replied sharply and Gendry groaned.
“Beric, get back on perimeter, Ed wants us in lock down.”
“We can’t go on lock down until we find Nymeria,” he snapped.
“Fuck, I’m on it,” he said, walking inside and giving everyone a ten minute call. Lock down is in effect.
The comms were going off the rails, so much noise and chatter, it was like a machine gun of voices going off in his ear. Detaining the royal family was their main priority, and they had just lost the third in line to the throne. Gendry made out that they had Robb, Sansa, Rickon and Jon all in safe hands - but Arya was lost. No one could find her.
“The fucking third in line is missing, and you dumbasses can’t fucking find her?” Sandor yelled after Gendry started questioning over the comms. He kept ordering people about, but when Gendry saw her boots at the edge of her door, he knew exactly where he needed to go.
“Sandor, shut the fuck up for a second,” Gendry snapped.
“What did you say, boy?” Gendry didn’t pay attention to it as he let the door to Arya’s room creak open.
He recognised those movements. He’d seen them in his mother, her scared and trembling hands, the shiver that shook her from time to time. She was pacing, back and forth, hands outstretched, blood over her forearms and splattered on her dress. King Ned. His blood. Arya was fragile beyond what she’d ever ever experienced and Gendry felt his chest clench.
“I have Nymeria,” Gendry whispered, taking out his earpiece and flicking it over his shoulder. He made his way into her room carefully, the sound of her door opening wider shocked her. Gendry swallowed hard, edging closer to her, “Arya, are you okay?” he asked. Arya looked at herself, hands splattered with blood, dress a mix of the blacks and blues and blood that stained it’s beautiful design.
“I need to get this off of me,” she said, voice strangled, her hands tearing at her back. Gendry moved quickly. Speed was what he needed to be - he was fast where she was slow. He came up behind her, taking the zipper down the skirt before it became loose on her body. She let it slip from around her shoulders and it gracefully dropped to the floor. Gendry kicked it aside as Arya’s arms crossed over her chest, her whole body shaking.
He remembered what he had done for his mother, what she always needed when she was sad and grieving. Shock did wonders to the body - destroying every impulse of self care. But Gendry knew Arya would destroy herself before she even realised it.
“I’ll get you a bath going,” he said, dashing off to the bathroom and turning on the hot water, finding the right temperature of the water. Arya stood at the brink of the bathroom, watching as he testing the waters. When it was half filled, Gendry nodded to her, hand extended to her to take, “are you -” he started, but Arya gripped the edge of the bathtub, letting her legs slip in and she delicately placed herself in the water.
Gendry sighed, leaving her be, walking towards the bathroom door. He stopped himself, wondering if he should even do it. He saw exactly what she did - he saw more, and being alone scared the hell out of him. And there she was, feeling for her family - the ones that had seen her not a few hours before with smiles on their faces.
He stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to ask him to stay or to leave. Gendry shouldn’t have, and so he turned, only to be stopped midway through the bathroom door as he heard the sob escape her fragile form. It stunned him, the sound so precious and broken, and ultimately - it scared him. Looking back at Arya, her shoulders were shaking, hands clutching at the edge of the tub, as though she was trying to restrain the crying she wished to let out.
And he knew he couldn’t leave.
Gendry stripped out of his shoes, taking everything electronic from his person, taking off his jacket. He fumbled out of most things, leaving his shirt and trousers on, pushing lightly on her back as he crept in behind her. He pulled his arms around her, lingering his fingers over her arms, tangling his fingers with hers and clutching on tight. He curled their arms around her.
“It’s okay, just breathe,” he whispered into her ear, holding her as close as he could. She didn’t say anything, she let his body form around hers, and she clutched tighter, falling into his embrace as the sobs strangled in her chest before being let out. Her cries were heartbreaking, trying to be strong, trying to keep her chin up - but they let spill the hurt and pain that no one could describe. Words were lost, cries couldn’t even comprehend what she was feeling, and he could feel it when she shook in his hold.
“They can’t die. They can’t. They can’t.” It was as though she were praying - begging the universe to let it happen, wishing it into existence. Her mantra, they wouldn’t. But he knew what she meant in her heart.
I can’t lose my father - the man that cared for me like no other.
I can’t lose my mother - I have to say I’m sorry.
I can’t lose my brother - it was my fault her was there.
Gendry wished he could take it all away, make every wish she held come true. But he could only hold her.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered again as she cried, “just breathe,” he said, hands around her own. The strangled sob escaped her, and her shoulders shook. But she didn’t care. Walls crumbled, bare in front of him. But he held her, submerging her blood drenched hands underneath the water, concealing the blood by the comparison of his hands.
Shielding her from the pain.
His cheek rested on her head, her small sobs echoing in the bathroom. But he didn’t say anything else. He would wait until the water got cold. He’d wait until the night faded into day, then back again. Days upon days, he’d wait. For the crying to stop, for her to lift her chin and try to be calm. Be the pillar her family needed her to be.
He’d wait for her.
The silenced pierced the bathroom, even when Arya’s cries bounced on the walls, there was nothing. All he knew was that Arya’s hands clung to his, and he squeezed back, keeping her grounded. His knuckles went white, her body shaking against his, cries so wild and silent all wrapped up from heartache. Gendry couldn’t let her go. He made sure there were no space between them, holding onto her with everything he had.
Arya’s tears mixed in with the bathwater, her feet kicking when she needed to lash out. He held her through it, watching as the water spilled from the tub. Her rage billowed out with her cries, spreading over the room, not once breaking the silence. He knew she didn’t care what sounds she made, everyone was wailing just the same. For Arya...she needed to do this, even when she didn’t want. Gendry held her firm against his chest, sturdy and strong, never moving even when she gripped so tightly, her nails accidently broke his skin. Her life was crumbling down around her, but he was there, he had her, and she was safe.
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Thoughts on episode 8x05
English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.
Danny: The execution of Daenerys the Mad Queen was horrible. I do not buy into the whole “If you had paid attention to this show you would have seen it coming” because the way that she turned “mad” didn’t make any sense. Daenerys has never shown intentions to hurt innocent people. She does have a terrible temper and violent tendencies, but they were always directed to people she thought were bad: The slave masters, the Lannister army, etc. If you believe that when he killed the Tarlys she was being the mad queen, you should also believe that when Jon Snow executed a kid for treason, he was also going mad. Ned Stark executed a deserter of the night’s watch (who was right all along btw) and I don’t think anyone is claiming he was mad. The Tarlys were given the opportunity to bend the knee, but they didn’t. Back then Daenerys thought she was the rightful ruler and the show has established that going against the rightful ruler is treason.
The other argument I have seen is that now that she has lost everything, she has nothing to lose and that’s why she has gone mad. I believe that still doesn’t explain why she would suddenly go against the common people. The girl who chained her own children when she thought they had hurt an innocent child is not the same girl that burned down the city. You could say its character development, but the development is just not there. The transition from “unstable but kind” Danny to “Mad Queen” Dany is not there.
Jaime: Oh boy, Jaime, what have they done to you? The layout was right there. He had a great character arc. Why would you even do this? I knew shit was going south when he said he didn’t care about the common innocent people. You mean to tell me that the man that killed the Mad King, dooming himself to be called Kingslayer for the rest of his life, doesn’t care about the common people? The whole “He cares about Cersei more” is ridiculous. His whole arc IS about getting over Cersei. Letting go of their toxic relationship. But I guess the writers didn’t see it that way.
Cersei: This is probably the one I am angrier about. I have seen people argue that her death was realistic, which???? She died with the man she loved, a man who had just fought against supposedly one of the best fighters in Westeros, with one hand (They just ran into each other because f*ck you for caring). If she had died alone, I would have accepted it. I would have had preferred the “Valanqar” prophecy but whatever.
Arya: You know when people say that living in the Game of Thrones world would be horrible because you would most probably die? Well, I think we have found the solution. Stick to Arya as close as possible and you will make it out of any situation. Stabbing? No problem. An army of the dead? A walk in the park. City in flames? Easy. I was hoping Jaqen or Syrio would come back but that would require the writers to remember previous seasons. Also, as nice as the Sandor- Arya moment was I cannot stop laughing at the fact that the hound told her to not get obsessed with revenge when she had already killed the Frey’s and the “Too old” dude in the brothel.
Sandor: RIP best boy. I think that the problem I have with show!Sandor is that the writers seem to have misunderstood his character completely. Sandor hides the fact that he is sad and broken in his violent demeanor. In the books (yeah I know this is the show but I think it still applies) the worst thing he does is kill Mhyca. He is actually one of the kindest people in Kingslanding despite his façade and appearance (something Sansa realizes after he saves her several times). Sandor’s ultimate motivation is to find peace.
The writers: I am a big believer in the “Death of the author” but the more I see their interviews the more confused I get. D&D don’t seem to like ASOIAF or at least the core and heart of the books. David Benioff once said that “Themes are for eighth-grade book reports” which makes me wonder. Why would you choose to adapt a series of books that are based on the idea of themes and character arcs? I have noticed a tendency of people thinking that if a piece of media follows its themes and story to their logical conclusion it is therefore bad. Being able to predict where a story ends doesn’t make it bad. Pulling a crazy twist for the sake of drama and subverting expectations does. The execution of the themes is, in my opinion, more important than the themes themselves. That’s why I love ASOIAF, and that’s why I am so sad about the way this show is going. What do you guys think?
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Child
I did it! No angst! @jessforthethrone I hope you’re proud. Gendry POV this time around because I was feeling wild. Also this ended up being over 2,000 words somehow? I’m not sorry.
“Tancred?”
Arya scrunched her face up. “No, that’s terrible.”
Gendry sighed in frustration, turning his attention back to the scroll in front of him. “At this rate our child’s name is going to be Little One.”
“We’ll think of something,” Arya said, fighting a yawn. Sleep had eluded both of them as of late and it was starting to show. Arya complained that she simply couldn’t get comfortable most of the time. When she finally did find a position that eased the pain in her back, her bladder forced her up and out of bed. And Gendry, for his part, simply couldn’t stop worrying long enough to get a full night’s rest.
“Soon, I hope. I’m afraid we don’t have much time left,” he said, eyeing her round stomach. “You’re sure you wouldn’t want one of your brothers’ names?”
Arya shook her head. “I just don’t think I could bear it. Besides, the world isn’t ready for another Robert Baratheon.”
Gendry couldn’t disagree with her on that particular point, but he was at his wit’s end. They had already ruled out everything from Hoster to Jonald in their search for the perfect name and nothing seemed to resonate with both of them. Everything was either too simple or too elaborate, too harsh or too flowery, too mundane or too ridiculous.
Gendry gave up on the Baratheon scroll and got up from his chair. The one in front of his wife was easily twice as big, taking up most of the table. Surely there had to be a decent name on there somewhere.
“Brandon is certainly popular,” he noted, looking over her shoulder at all of the Starks laid out on the parchment.
Arya hummed in agreement, absentmindedly running a hand over her belly. “Benjen too.”
“And you’re still against Eddard?”
Arya looked up at him with those big grey eyes and he knew her answer before she even spoke. “I loved my father more than anything,” she said. “He was loyal and honest and everything else I hope our child will be, but I don’t want to put the weight of his legacy on such little shoulders.”
Gendry kissed her temple. “Alright then, what about…Edric?”
The name appeared a few times on the parchment, though not nearly as often as Brandon, Benjen, or any of their many variations.
“Edric Baratheon…” Arya tried the name out, letting it roll across her tongue for a moment. “That’s not bad at all. I like it, actually. We could still call him Ned, if we wanted.”
Gendry felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders release. “Edric is perfect.”
“What if it’s a girl?” Arya had told him early on that she suspected she was carrying a little girl and she’d maintained that she was right since then. “We should pick a name from your side,” she suggested.
Gendry returned to the Baratheon scroll and began searching again. He was still not used to thinking of the names there as his family. Arya was his family. These were just…ancestors.
“Tell me if you hear one you like,” he instructed, then started reading the names he thought weren’t completely terrible. “Simona, Kelyce, Ellyn, Lynett, Cassandra…”
“Oh!” Arya’s hand moved higher up, pressing just below her ribs. “What was that last one?”
“Cassandra.”
She winced as she apparently received another well-placed kick. “I think she likes that one.”
Gendry walked back to where his wife was sitting and helped her up, hoping the change in position would appease their child. Arya had worried endlessly about how big her stomach grew over the course of her pregnancy, but Gendry couldn’t deny that he loved the way she looked with their child growing inside of her. Motherhood suited her, really. Even with a belly that kept her from lacing her own boots and dark circles under her eyes, she seemed to glow from the inside.
Arya giggled as he lowered himself to the floor, kneeling so his face was even with her midsection. “Hello Cassandra, it’s your Papa,” he said, placing his hands on top of Arya’s as he addressed the little one. “Do you like your name? Cassandra Baratheon. I think that’s quite nice, don’t you?”
The only response he got was a firm little kick to the hand. It still thrilled him every time their child moved, but he could see on Arya’s face how uncomfortable it had become to accommodate that movement.
“Alright Cassandra, do you think you can give your mother some peace for the next few hours? She has a very important meeting to attend with Papa.”
“You’ll have to roll me down the stairs,” Arya joked.
Gendry stood up and captured her face between his hands. “Nonsense,” he chided her before placing a kiss on her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “I can still carry you.”
Arya was about to open her mouth, likely to dispel the truth of his statement, when he swept her up into his arms and made his way towards the door.
“Gendry! I wasn’t being serious!”
“I was,” he informed her.
“Let me walk before we both fall down the stairs.”
“Alright, alright.” He set her down gently, making sure she was steady on her feet before removing his hand from her back. “Is there any way I can convince you to lie down? You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “You worry too much. Besides, the new canals were my idea. I want to see this through.”
And see it through she did. Arya sat through the meeting without complaint, although Gendry’s trained eye could tell her back was sore and tired. She’d been understandably distracted as of late but still gave valuable input and ideas throughout the meeting. Gendry couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt as he watched her discuss the merits of different layouts and building practices with the assembled lords.
When the meeting was finally concluded he tried to convince her to have an early supper and lie down. Arya wasn’t having it though.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she told him. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Gendry sighed, wishing she would rest for a while. You didn’t marry her because she was docile, he reminded himself. Relenting, he followed her through the doors of the castle and into the courtyard. She led him to the godswood and turned her face to the sun.
“It’s going to storm tonight.”
“You can’t possibly know that,” he said, falling into step with her.
Arya opened her eyes to glance at him. “You’ll see.”
“You’re very mysterious today.”
She grinned, reaching out to take his hand. They walked in silence for a few minutes, taking in the sunlight. The fruit trees were blossoming and Gendry stopped to pluck an apple blossom from a low branch and tuck it in one of Arya’s braids.
“Being a lord has made you soft,” she teased.
He was about to retort when her grip on his hand became crushing and a grimace crossed her face.
“Arya! What’s wrong?”
She took a deep breath and slowly loosened her grip on his hand. “Just a little bit of a cramp. The ones this morning weren’t half so bad though,” she said, still catching her breath.
“It’s been happening all day?” Gendry couldn’t believe she hadn’t said anything.
Arya opened her mouth to respond, only for her face to morph into a strange expression. “Either I’ve just pissed myself,” she said slowly, “or it’s time to get the maester.”
Gendry’s heart dropped into his stomach.
Arya had been right. A storm did come. It raged for hours into the night as she was wracked with pain like lightning strikes.
Gendry had been banished by the maester after the first few hours on account of his nervous energy. He’d never been religious but he had made his way to the sept to plead with the Mother on his wife’s behalf anyway. When he ran out of things to say he made his way to the godswood and repeated his prayers to the gods of her father.
When he’d returned to their chambers in his dripping tunic they had taken pity on him, letting him change his clothes and return to Arya’s side.
“The first is always the worst,” said the old maid in charge of helping her through the birth. “It’s bound to be more difficult for a little thing like you.”
All Gendry could think of was Arya’s aunt who had died bringing Jon into the world. If Arya shared her fate…
She must have read the distress on his face because she raised a hand to his cheek to keep his gaze on hers. “Not today,” she whispered.
“Not today,” he agreed. “What can I do?”
“Distract me?” She clenched her jaw as another wave of pain rushed through her.
“Do you remember when we were traveling to the wall? Remember how you tried to run Hot Pie through with your sword?”
“That feels like ages ago.”
He hummed in agreement as she gripped his hand. “It was,” he agreed when the pain had subsided. “Do you remember when you told me your real name?’
“And all you could think about was your cock? Yes, I remember,” she laughed. “I can’t blame you. It’s a nice cock.”
Gendry ignored the scandalized glances of the maester and the maid. “If only you’d know all the trouble it would get you into. Do you remember when Brienne walked in on us in the armory?”
Arya gave him a weak laugh. “She couldn’t look at me without blushing for a fortnight.”
The next wave of pain overtook her, drawing a wholly unpleasant groan from the cage of Arya’s clenched teeth. This one seemed to last longer than the rest. When it finally ebbed he returned to the memory they’d been sharing.
“We’d spent all morning that day meeting with the other lords, remember? And the whole time all I could think about was how beautiful you looked in your breeches, commanding the room like you were born for it.”
“One of the little pricks asked what in the seven hells I was doing there,” she recalled.
“You almost had his head for it. I’ll never forget the look you gave him,” Gendry said, grinning at the memory. “I damn near took you right there.”
Arya looked like she wanted to laugh but another bout of pain seized her and didn’t seem to want to let go.
“Milady, it’s time to push,” the maester announced.
As bad as it had been before, the next part was ten times worse. Arya had seen battle, fought formidable enemies, but the fight to bring forth their child seemed to put the rest to shame. He wanted to do something to help – wished there was some way he could take the pain for her. He could see the pallor of her skin, feel the sweat that beaded on her face, hear her every cry of pain.
His heart stopped when a second cry joined the fray, high pitched and helpless. It could have been a few seconds or a full day and night between the moment he heard her and the moment she was placed in his arms. Nothing seemed to exist in that time except her tiny cry, Arya’s relieved face, and the lightning flashing outside their window.
She was real. She was there. She was theirs.
He wanted to spend an eternity marveling at her little pink face, her tiny fists, or the dusting of dark fluff atop her head.
“She’s perfect,” Arya mumbled, completely spent. “Hello Cassie.”
Gendry looked at the face of the woman beside him and found he was at a loss for words. She had promised him once that she could be his family. He’d been too stupid to take her up on it at the time, but life had granted them a second chance. He hadn’t been stupid enough to refuse her the second time she offered.
And now she had given him a more precious gift than he could have ever hoped for.
“Thank you,” he managed, finding his own face moist with tears. “Thank you for my family.”
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Everything We’ve Done (Is There On Our Faces) 2/?
It started, once upon a time, with Ned Stark finding a litter of orphaned dire wolf cubs, with Robert Baratheon riding for Winterfell, with Ned becoming Hand of the King in the viper’s pit that was King’s Landing.
It restarts like this:
Arya and Sansa wake up as children again, a message ringing in their ears. The Old Gods need Westeros to be strong and united to defend the Wall, and the Old Gods don’t forget oaths easily.
(Time travel AU. Eventual Sansa/Theon, Arya/Gendry, Jaime/Brienne.)
AO3 | FF.net
When Arya was little, she hadn’t spent a lot of time in her father’s solar. She had spent time with him at meals in the Great Hall, watching the boys train, sometimes even him telling her and Sansa stories to lull them to sleep. Ned’s solar had seemed the domain of Lord Stark, rather than her father.
She had spent a lot of time in it when it was Sansa’s solar, arguing over Littlefinger or deciding a course of action for when Jon came home with a new queen or helping to draw up battle plans against the oncoming army of the dead. It still hadn’t been a place to relax.
Still, shuffling into the solar behind Sansa and Theon, her father leading the way and Robb and Catelyn taking up the read guard was a new experience. Her stomach had sunk the moment she had stood up to find Ned hovering over her, and hadn’t risen from its pit since. She had wanted to tell her parents about what was coming, to warn them of every enemy facing their family, but she hadn’t wanted them to know. Know who she’d become. Not really.
Why had she been so quick to threaten Theon? She could have waited. She could have cornered him when no one else was looking. Arya was capable of being patient, she was. It had taken her weeks to infiltrate the Twins deeply enough to for her to get undisturbed access to the eldest Frey sons and the oven.
It was Theon, though. He might have helped Sansa, once, but he had still attacked Winterfell and almost murdered Bran and Rickon. Seeing Sansa embrace him, like he had never done anything to hurt them…
It was too much. Somebody needed to remind Theon how thin the ice under his feet was.
Arya slid into a free chair across the desk from Ned. Sansa sat primly in the chair next to her, and Theon stood behind Sansa, who still hadn’t let go of his hand. Catelyn seated herself next to Ned and behind them stood Robb, glowering at Theon and Sansa’s joined hands.
Ned leant forwards, resting his hands on the table in front of him. “Girls,” he said. “Theon. I don’t know what caused that conversation in the Great Hall, but we will be needing an explanation.”
“We’re from the future,” Arya blurted out before Sansa or Theon had a chance to formulate a response.
Ned sat back, staring between the three of them in confusion and disbelief.
Catelyn narrowed her eyes at Arya. “I’m not sure what has gotten into you today -”
“In the Eyrie, the wind howls like a wolf, large as mountains,” said Sansa suddenly. She was staring directly at Ned. “It howls so long and so wild that it feels like it will pierce your soul, and when someone falls from the Moon Door, it feels like their screams will last for a thousand years. But that’s still better than the Red Keep. There, all you can smell is piss and shit and the perfumes that the courtiers were to cover it up burn your nose. It’s so crowded in King’s Landing you can hardly breathe and every person there is more venomous than a viper.”
Ned was staring back at Sansa, entranced by her words. Even Arya could not help but watch her sister as she painted images in the air.
“When you ride for Castle Black, though, you almost miss them both. I thought it was so cold in Castle Black, cold enough that I thought I wouldn’t be able to breathe again, until I saw Jon. With him, the Wall was bearable, but until then all I could think of was how cold it was, the way it ate its way into my bones. I was never warm again, not truly, not even when we were home and safe in Winterfell again.
“Winter came, Father. Winter came like you always promised it would and the dead came with it,” said Sansa. The room was utterly silent besides Sansa’s voice. Arya squeezed her eyes shut, feeling ghost hands grabbing at her legs again, ready to drag her down and devour her. “We had half of the Seven Kingdoms, the Free Folk and the Unsullied and Dothraki from Essos to defend us at Winterfell, but there was no stopping the Night King. It was too late for us, so the Old Gods brought us back to now, to build up the North’s defences against the oncoming storm.”
“Sansa,” whispered Catelyn, her face white.
“It’s true, Lady Stark,” said Theon. “I saw the Night King. I was all that was left between him and Bran, and he killed me for it. He was… He was ice made flesh, my lady.”
“I almost died a hundred times over in the Long Night,” said Arya. “But there was no escaping the dead, not forever. They might be dumb as a brick, but they’re patient, and their numbers are endless.”
“Old Nan’s tales,” said Robb, his voice quiet. “They’re true? All of them?”
“All the ones about the White Walkers are,” said Arya. “They never died out; they were just waiting, all this time. Waiting for us to tear ourselves apart.”
“And didn’t we do that well,” murmured Sansa, quietly enough that it had to have been to herself.
“Girls, Robb, Theon, I need some time to speak with my lady wife,” said Ned.
“But -” protested Arya, but Sansa grabbed her by the shoulder as she stood up and dragged her out of the room. As they stepped out into the hallway, Arya hissed, “We haven’t convinced them yet!”
“We need to give them time to process everything,” said Sansa. “We just told them the apocalypse is coming. Their whole world has just collapsed around them. They need time to process what we’ve told them or we won’t get anything done.”
Robb leant against the stone wall, face pale. “How is this possible?” he wondered aloud. “They’re meant to be stories, or long gone at least.”
Sansa turned to Robb and said, “If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, Robb, it’s that very little in life is like a song, no matter how hard we try. The White Walkers are coming for us all, and though they might sing about us in the great halls one day, it’ll be of little comfort when the white winds begin to blow.”
“But when the white winds blow, the pack can survive,” said Arya. “The lone wolf dies, but not the pack.”
“We were all lone wolves, last time,” said Sansa. “Jon was on the Wall, Bran beyond it, you in the Riverlands or Braavos and me in King’s Landing then the Eyrie. Maybe if we can stay together this time, we’ll be better prepared for what’s to come.”
“Wait – Bran went beyond the Wall? When the White Walkers were on the march?” demanded Robb.
Arya couldn’t help but glance at Theon, who had shrunk back at Robb’s exclamation. Sansa squeezed his hand. “Winterfell was sacked by the Boltons,” said Sansa. “Bran and Rickon fled north, and Bran ended up beyond the Wall. We’ll explain more later.”
Arya’s head whipped round to stare at Sansa. The Boltons? Theon had gotten there first. Bran and Rickon had fled Theon, not the Boltons.
Theon was staring at Sansa too, and he had opened his mouth to say something when Robb cut him off.
“The Boltons?” asked Robb, aghast.
“Roose and Ramsay Bolton cannot be trusted,” said Sansa. “Roose will do whatever it takes to usurp us as rulers of the North, and Ramsay…” She faltered.
“He’s a monster,” said Theon, almost inaudibly.
“The butcher of the Dreadfort,” agreed Sansa.
“You said that you fed him to his own dogs,” said Robb, looking at Sansa.
Sansa crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Perhaps if he hadn’t starved them for weeks so he could feed Jon and Rickon to them, they wouldn’t have been so quick to feast on him.”
Robb glanced helplessly to Arya and Theon. “He deserved every bit of it and more,” said Arya, moving slightly closer to her sister so that their shoulders brushed against each other. “I only wish I could have seen it.”
Robb looked between the three of him and whispered, “What happened to you all?”
“You died, Robb, and so did Mother and Father, so we did what we had to do to survive,” said Sansa. “I am still Sansa. I am still your sister. I just don’t believe in songs anymore.”
-
“Do you believe them?” asked Catelyn as Ned finished herding the children out into the hall and closed the door behind them.
Ned turned back to her, fighting back a sigh. Every part of him felt weighed down, Sansa’s words pressing down on his shoulders and making it hard to even speak.
“Yes,” he said honestly. “The way she described the Eyrie… If she had only read about the castle in books, she would have talked about the layout of the castle, but she didn’t.” Catelyn pursed her lips but Ned forged onwards. “And her description of King’s Landing – did that sound like our Sansa?”
Catelyn bit her lip and admitted, “No.”
“The way she and Arya and Theon have been behaving – it wasn’t them, or not the Sansa and Arya and Theon we knew yesterday,” said Ned. “When they came to our bed last night, Arya and Sansa were wondering if someone was really capable of ‘something’. Maybe this was it.”
“They were talking about Bran, though,” pointed out Catelyn. “This morning, they’re talking about the Old Gods. Bran’s only a boy; a human boy.”
“I know,” sighed Ned. “I don’t understand it either.”
Catelyn stood up and turned away from him. “If it’s true,” she said, her voice wavering, “what have our girls been through? What happened to them, Ned, for Arya to threaten Theon with murder so calmly and Sansa to feed someone to their own dogs?”
Ned wrapped his arms around her from behind, and she reached up to rest her trembling hand over his clasped ones. Ned rested his face in her hair. “I don’t know,” he murmured. The apocalypse was one thing, but for Sansa and Arya to speak so comfortably of murdering another person – not a wight or an Other, but a person –
Ned couldn’t even begin to comprehend what could have happened to his girls; what happened to Sansa, a lady at three who had made her brothers play the knights rescuing her from a lonely tower, or to Arya, who picked him flowers and ruined Sansa’s games by insisting on playing the monster. Not even Lyanna, at the end, had been so…
Promise me, Ned.
How had he failed his daughters so entirely that they had been forced to murder and violence?
Promise me…
“If all of this is true, where do we go now?” asked Catelyn. “If the end is truly coming, I almost wish to close up Winterfell – to spend our last years alone here with our children and each other. I know Sansa said they had been sent back to give us a second chance, but what can we do, truly, against an enemy that can raise our own dead against us?”
“The White Walkers have been defeated once before,” he reminded her. “It was the first of the Starks who withstood them and built the Wall as the world finally dawned again.”
“Brandon the Builder,” said Catelyn, turning around in his arms. “I remember.”
“Right now, we have two options,” he said. “Our girls and Theon have gone mad and are sharing the exact same delusion, or they are telling the truth and the world is about to fall apart around us.”
Catelyn squeezed her eyes shut. At last, she said, “They don’t seem mad.”
“No, they don’t,” agreed Ned. “I’ll send a raven to Lord Commander Mormont to keep a closer eye on what’s happening north of the Wall. We might have confirmation soon enough.”
“And until then?” asked Catelyn. “Do we start preparations now and look mad to our bannermen and to the south, or do we sit and wait?”
“I don’t know,” said Ned. The future stretched out before his eyes, the road endless and shadowed to his eyes. “Even if we wait for Mormont to confirm the Others have returned, there will still be men who insist we are mad, and will keep insisting it until the dead rise in their own keeps.”
Catelyn frowned, her eyebrows crinkling together. “Last night, Sansa said that she – and Arya – were told that they needed Westeros to be united to withstand the Others.”
“The realm is united under King Robert,” said Ned.
“Will is stay that way?” asked Catelyn. “It sounds as if the Seven Kingdoms descended into turmoil and weren’t able to put up a defence. Sansa said that only half the kingdoms mounted a defence against the Others, and the Dothraki and Unsullied.”
“From Essos,” said Ned. “Why were there Essosi armies in the North?”
Catelyn’s eyes widened. “The Targaryen children.”
Ned resisted cursing under his breath. He had hoped that the Targaryen children would live out their days in Essos – in peace, far from Robert’s vengeful grasp.
“We should bring the children back in,” said Catelyn. “We need to know more about what will happen. We can’t make plans with so little information.”
Ned hesitated. “Are you ready to hear what they have to say?”
Catelyn looked down. “We have to hear it,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Ned pulled her closer, and she rested her head against his shoulder, her hands against his chest. They stood unmoving for several moments. Ned breathed in the smell of her hair, trying to fill his lungs with it.
“We’ll do better,” he promised her quietly.
“We have to,” she hissed in response.
“We have to,” he agreed.
-
There were dried tears on her mother’s cheeks. Arya hated them, hated that there was nothing she could do to wipe them away, and hated that it was only going to get worse from here.
“We have discussed it, and we have decided that we believe you,” said Catelyn, her voice brittle. “If war is brewing, in the south or the north, we need to be prepared.”
“You implied there was turmoil coming,” said Ned to Sansa, his voice gentle.
Sansa nodded jerkily. She was sitting across from Arya and had finally released Theon’s hand. “First there was the War of the Five Kings -”
“Five?” cut in Catelyn.
“Joffrey Baratheon, Renly Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, Balon Greyjoy,” said Sansa. He eyes slid across to Robb. “And Robb Stark, the first King in the North in three hundred years.”
Catelyn and Ned both turned to look at Robb, who was as surprised as they were. “I seceded from the Seven Kingdoms?”
“The Greatjon started it, if that helps,” offered Theon. Sansa glanced at him, giving him a minute smile.
“Renly and Stannis both rebelled against Robert’s son?” asked Ned.
Sansa shook her head. “Joffrey’s a bastard. Stannis knew, and Renly did too. I don’t know why Renly didn’t support Stannis, besides his own ambitions.”
“Jon knew Stannis,” said Arya. “He helped rout the Wildlings when they attacked the Wall.”
“He came south from there to attack Winterfell,” said Sansa. “He lost, but Theon and I used the confusion to escape. We still wouldn’t have gotten far, if not for Brienne.”
Arya shifted in her seat, surprised at how much she missed Brienne. She felt less secure without their sworn sword at their backs. She couldn’t imagine how Sansa felt, who had known Brienne so much longer and had none of Arya’s training.
“Why did you have to escape Winterfell?” asked Catelyn.
Sansa’s jaw worked for a long moment, and Theon seemed frozen in place.
“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” asked Arya. They could come to Ramsay later.
Sansa shot Arya a grateful look. “There was a Night’s Watch deserter,” she said. “Before anything else, there was a Night’s Watch deserter who said he saw the Others. You executed him and we didn’t think about him twice until they came.”
Ned noted this down and asked, “Do you remember his name?”
“No,” said Sansa, and glanced at Theon and Arya, who both shook their heads.
“I can still tell Mormont to keep a close eye on his rangers,” said Ned. “How long was it between the deserter being caught and the Others getting through the Wall?”
“Seven years,” said Arya. Ned nodded and noted this down.
“What year is it?” asked Theon. Catelyn, Ned and Robb all turned to look at him, and he explained, “If we know that, we can give you a better timeframe.”
“297 After Conquest,” said Ned, nodding in approval. “Late 297.”
“Eight years, then,” said Theon. “We have almost eight years.”
Robb swore under his breath, and Ned took Catelyn’s hand, who squeezed it. After a moment, she asked, “What happened after the deserter was executed?”
“Maybe a few days later, we received word that Jon Arryn had died,” said Sansa. “The King rode north to make you his Hand and have me betrothed to Joffrey. While he was here, Bran was pushed from the Broken Tower and never walked again.”
Catelyn made a low, keening sound in the back of her throat. Ned set his quill down and squeezed his eyes shut painfully.
“Who pushed him?” demanded Robb.
Sansa hesitated.
“Jaime Lannister,” said Arya. “The Kingslayer himself, because Bran saw him fucking his own sister.”
“That’s quite the accusation,” said Catelyn, her voice cautious.
“It’s true,” said Sansa. “Look at Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella when the king rides north. There’s not a drop of Baratheon in them.”
“Everybody knew it, from the reavers in Pyke to whores in Volantis,” said Theon.
“They knew about Bran?” asked Catelyn, aghast. “They were so brazen that they got away with trying to kill a boy?”
“Not about Bran,” said Sansa. “At least, I didn’t until he arrived in Winterfell to fight against the dead alongside us. But about Jaime and Cersei, yes. Stannis made sure everyone knew of it.”
“How did Robert react?” asked Ned.
“Robert was already dead,” said Sansa. “The Lannisters claimed that it was just propaganda so that Stannis could usurp the throne.” Ned nodded; he looked pained, rubbing his forehead.
“Father, Sansa and I rode south not long after,” said Arya. “You were Hand. Robert died in a hunting accident, and you had already worked out Joffrey was not Robert’s son, so they arrested you for treason and executed you.”
Catelyn gasped, clinging to Ned’s hand. Robb staggered under the weight of her words.
“It gets worse,” said Sansa, grimly.
“I managed to get out of the city. There was a recruiter for the Night’s Watch who recognised me – he cut my hair and told the others I was a boy named Arry. Sansa…” Arya looked across at Sansa. She was digging her hands into the chair so hard that her knuckles were almost white.
“I was caught in the Red Keep when Robb raised the banners and was declared King in the North,” said Sansa, her voice taut. “I was still Joffrey’s betrothed, for a time, until the Tyrrells aligned with the Lannisters and I was replaced by Margaery. They married me off to Tyrion so they still controlled my claim to the North when Robb fell.”
Arya couldn’t help glancing at Theon at that. His jaw was tight and he stood stiffly, unable to look at Robb.
“Renly’s army fell apart early on,” said Sansa. “Stannis attacked King’s Landing but lost when Tywin and the Tyrrells arrived to reinforce the city. From there he went North, I think, to reinforce the Wall. The Wildlings were trying to escape south of the Wall. Jon eventually let them through, when he became Lord Commander, but first there was a war.”
“That’s the first thing you need to do,” broke in Arya. “Bring the Wildlings south. It’ll cut the Night King off from building an army.”
Ned looked up from the parchment he had been noting the story down on. “The other lords won’t like that,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter what they want,” said Arya. “If they’re going to survive the Long Night, the Wildlings need to be settled south of the Wall.”
“We’ll discuss this later,” said Sansa. “Father can treat with Lord Commander Mormont and the King Beyond the Wall -”
“Mance Rayder,” supplied Theon.
“ – later,” finished Sansa. “After Stannis went North, there was only the Ironborn raiding the coast and the North to worry about for the Lannisters, and the Ironborn were mainly focused on the North, anyway.”
Theon bowed his head. “I -”
“Tywin Lannister treated with the Freys and with the Boltons,” said Sansa, loudly, cutting off Theon. Arya cocked her head, staring at her sister. What was Sansa playing at? This was the second time she had dismissed or lied about Theon.
Theon, to his credit, looked as startled as Arya did.
“They betrayed the North at Uncle Edmure’s wedding,” continued Sansa. “They massacred the Northern army and Mother and Robb, all under guest right, so that the Freys could be made Lords Paramount of the Riverlands and the Boltons the Warden of the North.”
Ned, Robb and Catelyn sat in mute horror, staring at Sansa with pale faces.
I killed them, Arya wanted to say. I killed the Freys for you and Sansa and Jon killed Ramsay. We avenged you, we reclaimed our home, we never forgot you. But her mouth couldn’t open, and the words stuck in her chest. Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked at Catelyn, tears stinging at her eyes. Would her mother understand? Would any of them?
“I should have died with you,” said Theon, staring at Robb. Desperation and grief was written stark across his face. “I should have, I should have been there, I should have…”
Sansa touched his hand gently. “You saved me, and Yara, and you died for Bran,” she reminded him softly. “You couldn’t have helped any of us if you’d died at the Twins.”
Theon tore his gaze away from Robb to look at Sansa. He looked wild in his grief, a cornered animal before the crossbow. “If I had died with Robb, maybe Bran wouldn’t have needed anyone to die for him.”
Sansa turned to look back at the others. “Joffrey was poisoned not long after the Red Wedding. I was able to flee King’s Landing when he died, and I sought shelter with Aunt Lysa in the Vale.”
Catelyn closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath. Her look of relief dug painfully at Arya’s heart.
“She married me to Ramsay Bolton,” said Sansa, flatly. Arya whipped her head around to stare at Sansa again. Arya could understand Sansa protecting Theon, no matter how much she hated it – Sansa clearly still adored him. But Littlefinger?
We’re going to have words after this, Arya thought grimly. She would give Sansa the benefit of the doubt for now, but if she didn’t have a decent explanation, Arya would go straight to their parents and explain everything Sansa had left out.
“I found Theon here, at Winterfell,” went on Sansa. “Ramsay had held him hostage for years. We escaped, eventually. We were found by Brienne of Tarth and her squire, Podrick. Brienne and Podrick escorted me the rest of the way to the Wall – to Jon – and Theon went to Pyke.”
“My father was dead by then,” said Theon. “I supported my sister in the Kingsmoot, but my uncle, Euron, won and was crowned king. Yara and I fled east with her other supporters.”
“I found Jon at the Wall,” said Sansa. “He… I don’t know how to explain it, Father, but he didn’t desert when he came with me to retake Winterfell. He had fulfilled all of his vows. We gathered the Wildlings and the Northern Houses still loyal to us, and we retook Winterfell from the Boltons.” Her eyes shifted to Catelyn, and she spoke the next words like a challenge. “We named him the new King in the North.”
Catelyn’s jaw worked. “That bastard stole your birthright?” she demanded.
Arya jutted her chin up. “We both supported him as king!” she exclaimed. “We both supported him, Rickon was dead, and Bran didn’t want it. Sansa was still Lady of Winterfell, but we supported him as our king.”
“I knelt to Jon, because he was good and he protected me,” said Sansa. “He was a good king, Mother. I said that he would be my king until my last day, and he was. I have no regrets.”
Catelyn pursed her lips, pressing them together so hard they went almost white.
“Enough,” said Ned. “Whatever happened in Sansa and Arya’s past, it is unlikely to come again.”
“Jon went south to treat with the Dragon Queen,” said Sansa. “Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons and the Breaker of Chains. He bent the knee in return for her aid in the war against the Others.”
“We aren’t just being poetic when we call her the Dragon Queen,” said Arya. “She hatched three dragons from stone. They were almost fully grown by the time they reached us, by all accounts.”
“Dragons,” whispered Robb.
“Dragons,” confirmed Arya. “Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion.”
“I’ll need to tell Robert,” said Ned, staring down at his notes.
“No!” exclaimed Sansa, Arya and Theon all at once. “No,” continued Arya. “We have no weapon against the wights like the dragons. Robert will have her killed and you know it, Father.”
“I have no wish to live under a Targaryen ruler, but we need her dragons,” said Sansa.
We have no wish to live under any ruler, lion or stag or dragon, thought Arya. Only the wolf. Only us. But that wasn’t an option right now. Bran had said it: Westeros needed to be united when the Others ventured south of the Wall. It was going to be difficult enough, managing that with Daenerys Stormborn building her armies and raising her dragons across the Narrow Sea, without seriously pursuing Northern independence before the Others arrived.
If we survive this, we’ll be independent, Arya promised herself. Father will be the first King in the North this time round, and Robb after him.
“What about you?” Robb asked Arya. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I hid with Yoren until I couldn’t anymore,” said Arya. “After the Red Wedding, I sailed to Essos. It was only after I had heard that Jon and Sansa had retaken Winterfell that I felt safe enough to come home.” The lie flowed off her lips, more easily than she thought it would. Neither of her parents called her on the lie. Now she was like Sansa; now she was lying to them. But how could she explain the list of names to her parents and Robb? That didn’t know; they wouldn’t understand it, not like Sansa did.
“What happened after Jon went to treat with Daenerys?” pressed Ned.
“Daenerys agreed to help after the Night King killed one of her dragons and raised him again as a wight,” said Arya, relieved for the change in topic. “It was only days after they arrived back at Winterfell that the Army of the Dead attacked, and we all woke up here, eight years earlier.”
“A second chance,” said Sansa. “For all of us.”
-
Jon had slept in one morning and he has missed everything.
Rumours had been flying around Winterfell all morning. The first that he had heard was that Arya had attacked Theon in the Great Hall with naught but a butter knife, and that had been one of the milder stories he had heard going around. Jon doubted Arya had gone so far as to attack Theon with a butter knife, but the one consistency in all the stories he had heard so far was conflict between Arya and Theon, and Sansa trying to get in between them.
Lord Stark was clearly taking whatever happened seriously; him, the three of them, Lady Stark and Robb had been locked away in his solar all morning. Left without his training partners, Jon had spent the morning helping Ser Rodrik put Bran through his paces.
“Were you there?” asked Jon as they took a short break.
Bran shook his head. “I sneaked out to climb the Broken Tower.”
Jon couldn’t help but smile, ruffling Bran’s hair with fond exasperation. Bran ducked away from him, laughing. “Of course you did.”
“D’you really think Arya went at Theon with a butter knife?” asked Bran.
It wasn’t that Jon didn’t think Arya was capable of attacking someone with a butter knife, given enough provocation. It was more that he just didn’t see how Theon was capable of riling her up that much in such a short space of time. It was Theon; when he was being a brat, you called him a dick and you ignored him.
Jon shook his head. “Theon would be a waste of energy.” Bran snorted as Rodrik called them back over. “Remember to keep your shield up,” warned Jon, “or I’ll ring your head like a bell.”
After Jon and Bran finished with Ser Rodrik, Jon found himself wandering towards the Godswood. He didn’t want to go back into the castle, not yet, when Robb and Arya were probably both still cloistered away in Ned’s solar. The Godswood was peaceful, and quiet.
Or at least, it should have been.
“What if Mother doesn’t believe us?” hissed Sansa, standing next to Arya under the heart tree. “What if she thinks I’ve got it wrong, that I misunderstood somehow and he’s still just innocent Petyr?”
“She won’t,” insisted Arya. “She loves you; she trusts you. She hasn’t seen Littlefinger since before Robert’s Rebellion, probably. She’ll trust you more than him.”
“Can we risk it?” asked Sansa. “Can we risk her writing to him or to Aunt Lysa, and him being tipped off?”
Through the trees, Jon saw Arya cross her arms across her chest, staring at Sansa defiantly. He moved through the trees, ready to let them know he was there, when Arya spoke again, “Fine. I understand Littlefinger. I don’t agree with you, but I understand. But why are you protecting Theon?”
Jon stopped in his tracks. There had been poison in Arya’s voice, a level of hatred he hadn’t ever heard from her before – a level of hatred he hadn’t even realised she was capable of.
“He saved me from Ramsay,” said Sansa. “You don’t understand what happened to him, Arya. It changed him forever.”
“He tried to kill Bran and Rickon!” exclaimed Arya, her voice ringing through the Godswood.
“He did,” said Sansa, and that was all the confirmation Jon needed to turn on his heels and sprint back towards the castle.
Behind him, he heard Sansa and Arya, shouting out for him to wait, but he ran on, flying out of the Godswood and into the rest of the castle, searching the buildings until he found Theon, with Robb in the Library Tower.
Robb looked up, startled at his sudden arrival. “Jon, you -”
Jon stalked over to Theon. Theon had time to meet his eyes apprehensively before Jon slammed his fist into Theon’s face.
“Jon!” shouted Robb, crouching down beside a collapsed Theon.
“Tell him what you did,” snarled Jon.
“Jon, what are you talking about?” asked Robb.
“I heard Arya and Sansa,” growled Jon. “Tell Robb what you did to Bran and Rickon!”
Theon shrank back in on himself. “It wasn’t the Boltons,” he whispered. “They came later. It was me.”
“You?” echoed Robb, before slow realisation washed over him. “You were the one who sacked Winterfell. You’re why Bran and Rickon went North!”
“Wait, what?” said Jon, confusion mixing with his fury. Robb and Theon both ignored him, too caught up in each other.
“You sent me to treat with my father,” said Theon. “I didn’t have his respect anymore, so I…”
“So you betrayed me, attacked my home and tried to murder my brothers,” said Robb shortly when Theon trailed off.
Theon nodded, curling himself into a ball. “Reek,” he murmured. “Reek, reek…”
“Theon!” Sansa’s voice sounded from the door. She hurried inside and kneeled beside Theon and shot Jon a glare. “What did you do to him?” she demanded, touching Theon’s reddened jaw gently.
“Sansa, get away from him,” said Robb, grabbing at her arm, but she tore her arm away from him with a glare.
“Your name is Theon Greyjoy,” she told Theon firmly. “Brother of Yara, ward of House Stark. Ramsay isn’t here. You’re safe with me, with Sansa.”
Arya stalked into the room and came to stand by Jon. She crossed her arms as she looked down at Theon with disgust in her eyes.
“He tried to kill Bran and Rickon!” exclaimed Robb. Theon cringed away from the anger in Robb’s voice.
“Stay with me, Theon,” murmured Sansa, before looking back up at Robb. “He tried to kill Bran and Rickon, but he saved me from Ramsay Bolton while you never even tried to save me from the Lannisters.”
Her cold words hit with pin-point precision. Robb wheeled back as if she had slapped him.
“Sansa,” said Arya, softly.
“Bran and Rickon are fine,” said Sansa. “He hasn’t hurt them this time around, and he never will.”
“He deserves to be punished,” said Jon.
“Perhaps,” said Sansa. “He didn’t get a just sentence, though. He got Ramsay. That’s more than punishment enough, and you can trust me on that.” She turned her head back to Theon, murmuring quiet words to him that Jon couldn’t hear.
“Ramsay?” he asked Arya and Robb. Instead of answering, Robb turned around and stalked out of the room, fury radiating from every inch of him.
“Come on,” said Arya. “We need to be there in case Robb tries to do something stupid.”
“I can’t,” he told her. “What if Theon tries to hurt Sansa?”
Arya pointedly looked down at Theon, his face buried in Sansa’s shoulder as the two sat together in silence. “She’ll be fine.” Jon hesitated, and Arya rolled her eyes. “I hate Theon as much as anyone else, but he won’t hurt Sansa.” Arya spun on her heels and ran out of the room in pursuit of Robb, and with one last look at Sansa and Theon, Jon followed.
He and Arya found Robb back in the training grounds. Robb was taking his anger out on a training dummy, and despite the wooden sword he was using, tufts of straw still flew out of it with each strike.
“Robb!” called Arya.
Robb didn’t answer, redoubling his efforts on the dummy.
“Robb,” said Jon, more calmly. “Robb.”
Robb threw the wooden sword to the ground and turned to face them, his eyes glittering with tears. “How could this have all happened?” he asked Arya. “Theon, Father, Mother, Sansa going from one monster to another… How did I abandon her, Arya? How could I have left her to that?”
Arya stepped closer. “They married her to the Imp,” she replied. “She was a political liability. Sansa understands why you did it. Truly, she does.” Her voice was comforting, but even without context, Jon could hear what Arya was leaving unsaid: but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt.
“Liability,” muttered Robb, disgust layering his voice. “Was there anyone? Anyone who actually helped you both, I mean, who didn’t almost destroy our family.” There was a hint of a snarl in his voice at the reference to Theon.
“There was,” said Arya. “For me, there was Gendry and Hot Pie and an actress in Braavos called Lady Crane. Gendry and Hot Pie travelled with me when I was hidden with Yoren. For Sansa – her name was Brienne. She was every bit the kind of knight that we all thought knights should be. She swore to Mother that she would find Sansa and I and protect us, and she did. She saved Sansa from the Boltons. And…” Arya glanced over at Jon. “There was Jon.”
“Me?” asked Jon.
Arya ignored him. “Brienne took Sansa all the way to Jon on the Wall, and he helped her to rally the North and retake Winterfell. She was always so distant with him when we were children, but when I came back to Winterfell you would almost think that he’d hung the stars, the way she talked about him. They argued about anything and everything political, but she adored him for saving her.”
Robb looked to Jon, his eyes heavy with tears, and caught him up in a hug. “Thank you for doing what I didn’t,” he said into Jon’s ears. Jon raised his eyebrows at Arya, hoping for some kind of explanation, but she just smiled indulgently at him like she knew something he didn’t – which, apparently, she did.
“Alright,” said Jon, when Robb at last let go. “Is someone going to explain what’s going on now?”
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