#axgweek2018

[wordsdontmeanshit]

Arya x Gendry 2018: Bad Pick Up Lines

Lommy and Hot Pie bet Gendry that he can’t pick up the most beautiful girl in the bar. Gendry proves them wrong.

[onefail-at-atime]

Eye Contact

[Disclaimer: I am both very excited and nervous for Gendrya Week to be here. This is the first I have ever written so feedback is always appreciated!]

***

Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon had a great deal to hide.

The destruction and loss that took countless loved ones from them in The Long Night had cast a dark shadow over the North. But it was in that shadow where the two had found one another, where they had accepted the love for one another that had gone unspoken for so long.

It took time for the people of the North to recover, Arya and Gendry included. They passed their time with whispers in the dark and stolen kisses in secret, growing closer with one another and more dependent on the soft sighs and careful touches with each day that passed. Though both knew their time of peace would come to an end. The Golden Company had landed in Westeros. There was a Mad Queen to defeat.

They kept their emotions quiet. They focused on training. As far as Arya was concerned, they didn’t need Jon or Sansa or anyone else questioning their relationship while they prepared for battle once again. And so they spent their time together in the darkest hours of the night and first hours of dawn. Their secrecy didn’t matter to Gendry. Arya told him time and time again that she would never be ashamed of their relationship. They both knew her temper was short and one wrong word from her family and she’d ride off to kill Cersei on her own without any consideration, just to spite them. Gendry much preferred to have her at his side when she slipped into the forge during the day or after dark when she slipped into his bed. He was hers. And she was his.

Though, it frustrated them both to no end that they had to watch themselves in public.

Because the one time they sparred together was a new form of torture. At one point, Gendry had pinned Arya with her chest against his and the arm of his war hammer pressed against her back. The muscles of his arms practically burned against her and the warmth of his panting breath against her skin brought the familiar tightness in her abdomen. Though, with even that, Arya would not be bested. She slipped from his hold, wrapped her ankle round his, and brought him crashing to the ground. There was a satisfied gleam in her eyes as she straddled his chest to press her dagger’s blade against his skin. “Yield?” She had whispered, her voice low and husky with desire that she fought to control.

It was that sparring session that sent them running in separate directions, though both found one another in the familiar, secluded area of the godswoods, where they could tear at and devour one another away from prying eyes. It had been difficult to part from one another soon after. Arya took to wearing high collared jerkins to hide the trail of kissed bruises he left her with while Gendry took to wearing a neckerchief to hide the nips of bite marks that she would always leave.

After that incident, even eye contact was dangerous. Gendry saw her training with the Northern lords and foreign commanders, besting each one of them. He saw her messy hair and flushed skin and gods be good, he had to think of the dozen different ways Jon could kill him in an effort to calm himself.

Arya was the same. All it took was one smirk from him to send a flush against her skin as the heat pulled and twists in her lower abdomen. She thought of the smirks he would always give as he lovingly kissed his way down her breasts, stomach, and abdomen at an agonizingly slow pace, hovering at the apex of her thighs, teasing her with his breath, and gods be good.

Eye contact alone grew more and more frustrating as they rode South. The tents allowed for no privacy whatsoever and the couple was forced to settle for the privacy they could find in the woods and bogs of the Neck, always returning to camp with fresh kill so that nobody would question their time away.

In the end, Riverrun was their undoing.

Moons of being on the road with the King and Queen had deprived them of the closeness that they had grown accustomed to in the North. They arrived at the castle and found themselves being washed and prepped for the feast that Edmure Tully had thrown in honor of the newlyweds, Queen Daenerys and King Jon. Hours later, Arya finally arrived in the Great Hall, after refusing yet again to wear any borrowed dress, and she found herself searching for Gendry amongst the crowd that filled the hall. And she found him, seated next to Davos, laughing at something the fatherly man had said. He was free of the dirt and grime that came from weeks on the road and the wisps of still wet, inky black curls fell across his forehead as ran a hand through his locks. The action brought a warm flush of memories to her, memories of stolen moments in the woods, of whispered kisses in tents.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Gendry turned to look in her direction. Laughing ice blue eyes made contact with the flames of her burning steel gaze.

Dinner in the hall was absolute torture.

She didn’t want his hands to hold the horn of ale. She wanted this hands on her. His lips shouldn’t be pressed against the rim of the mug. They should be pressed against her. And she knew, gods did she know, that he felt the same. Not long after the desserts were served, his eyes met hers and she saw the burning desire in his gaze as she deliberately licked the last of the honey cake from her lips.

And that was it.

He rose from his seat, muttered something to Ser Davos, and disappeared. Arya ached to go after him and she forced herself to stay and make conversation with her family, all while trying to ignore the heat that was already pooling between her thighs at the thought of what she longed to do to him, of what she longed for him to do to her, until finally, finally, the people in the hall began to retire and she was free to return to her room, to return to him.

Gendry was there, kneeling by the hearth as he coaxed the flames to burn brighter. They had been without one another’s touch for so long that the sight of him there, waiting for her, was enough to pull a soft sigh from her lips. She was his. And he was hers.

“M’lady.” He murmured, eyes already dark with desire as he turned away from the hearth and stood to his full height.

“Shut up.” Arya murmured as she rushed to close the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his back as her hands came up to cling to the collar of his jerkin, fingertips brushing at his skin. Gendry tucked his chin and captured her lips with his own. Warm and wanting flesh pressed and devoured one another. Her lips suckled against his and a hearty sigh escaped when his arms slipped down, his large hands palming at her waist as he pulled her against him.

The touch of his tongue running against her bottom lip pulled a moan from him and sent her heart beating faster than any Dothraki stallion. Arya purred and pulled him backwards with her, their legs bumping against the table as it scraped against the floor. Both ignored the crashing of the candlestick as it fell against the stones from the table. They were too focused on one another.

“Arya.” He moaned as her lips broke from his and continued a trail of wet, sucking kisses down his neck.

“Gendry.” She drawled with a purr. Her fingers tugged and pulled at the laces of his jerkin. “It’s been too long, far too long.” Arya pushed the jerkin from his shoulders and quickly did the same with his woolen shirt beneath. Her hands roamed the dip of his chest, tracing the outline of his defined muscles. “I want you.” She breathed as she drew her eyes away from his sculpted chest to meet his own.

“Only you.” He replied, repeating the phrase they had murmured many times over when doubt overtook them. And it was that phrase that struck her, sending an overflowing rush of love to every inch of her body. She burned with it.

Gendry growled as her teeth nipped at his neck and pulled her with him. Arya pulled at her own jerkin, wanting to rid herself of her layers, wanting to feel his skin against her skin. Once free of the leather jerkin, she stood in her linen shift and breeches. Her hand reached down beneath his breeches and took his hardened length in her grip. A loud moan escaped them both and his mouth came crashing down against hers once more, practically swallowing her whole.

In turn, his hand slipped past her own breeches in order to cup her at the apex of her thighs, just as his mouth settled at the exposed skin of her chest. His free hand reached up to thumb her hardened nipple over the soft linen of her shift, bringing a guttural moan from her lips as he kissed the curves of her breasts.

She recovered quickly, withdrawing her own hand in order to shove him backwards towards the bed. He laughed and pulled her back to him. His hands slipped down from her waist and lifted her. Arya’s legs wrapped around him instinctively. Gendry’s lips kissed and sucked at the soft flesh of her neck, causing her to throw her head back in return as she let out a breathless laugh. The back of her head met with something on the ledge of the hearth and it too went crashing to the floor.

“Bed.” She gasped as his hands, strong and calloused from years of working in the forge, squeezed at her arse, pulling yet another moan from him. He pushed away from the table with such force that it clattered to the floor with a crack that resonated throughout the chamber. Gendry stumbled forwards. The two had lost themselves in one another and gave no care to the disorder that they caused the room. Chairs and candlesticks and tables remained upturned on the floor. They gave no notice to the noise their destruction had caused. His eyes locked with her own, gaze never leaving her face as he carried her. It was that familiar look in his blue eyes that she would remember forever. “I love you too.” Arya breathed, his declaration unspoken. The look in his eyes was enough.

And so he lowered her onto the bed, eyes narrowed but never breaking contact with her own as warm hands roamed the curves of her body in his familiar, yet agonizingly slow pace, as if he were attempting to commit the feel of her to memory. Laughing with a happy impatience, Arya pulled him close in order to flip them so that her thighs were straddling his waist, squeezing tightly against him as the ache in her lower abdomen began to spread. She leaned in against him, catching his bottom lip between her teeth and coaxing yet another moan from him.

“Aryaaa.” Her name dragged from the back of his throat with the moan, bringing a smirk to her own lips as her fingers trailed over his bare skin, clenching at the muscles of his arms, and curling against the dip of his abdomen.

A loud crash brought the couple falling back to reality.

“Arya!” A voice called in what could only be severe shock.

She turned to see Jon standing beneath the door frame, having clearly forced the door open. Both could see a broken hinge against the wood of the door. And behind Jon stood a wide eyed Sansa with her hand on the King’s shoulder, having clearly attempted to stop him. In turn, Arya felt Gendry pull back from her, though not entirely. He was close enough that she could still feel the warmth of his palm against the small of her back. Though she could feel the anxiousness rolling off him in waves, he wouldn’t break their connection.

Four pairs of eyes all made eye contact with one another in the painfully awkward silence. 

[bookedandbusythough]

something like family

[based more off the books than the show]

_________________________________________________

the thing about communicating with gendry was that neither of them held back. if there was something to be said, they spoke the words.

from the inconsequential...

those soft little things?

you don’t, you stink!

to those matters they couldn’t keep from their minds...

i’m too bloody lowborn to be kin to m’lady high.

you can still make swords if you want...you can make them for my brother robb when we get to riverrun.

they’d griped, argued and joked back and forth so often that, listening to them, one might think they communicated exclusively using words. but every interaction between them told a different story.

and if you asked them, they’d probably eventually, if stubbornly, admit that more important things passed between them through their eyes than through their lips.

her and hot pie and lommy, they’re slowing us down, and they’re going to get us killed.

he’d said.

but even as he’d said it, arya could see the pain in his eyes at the thought of actually doing it. abandoning their three young companions who were more helpless than they themselves were. if she were to ever consciously think on it, that would be one of the moments he’d solidified himself as the one person outside her family she could trust.

why don’t you go back to stoney sept and ring that stupid girl’s bells?

she’d said.

but even as she spoke with a furrow in her brow and a grim twist of her lips, gendry could see the anger in her eyes wasn’t directed at his comments about her father’s bastard, but rather at the thought of him ringing those bells. even though she acted furious toward him the rest of the day, his heart swelled at that look in her eyes, implying she someone cared that much about him.

it was this gift of understanding between them, which they had so swiftly built, that contributed to their survival, so against the odds that it was.

behind you!

he’d said.

but it had been the exclamation of warning in his look at her in the split seconds before the assault that had prompted her to duck in time.

a sword. for me. break the lock with your hammer.

she’d said.

and though he’d grumbled and moaned before agreeing to help her them escape harrenhall, he’d decided the moment she’d first asked. there had been that earnest stubbornness in her eyes that told him this was no attempt to escape. she was going to get them out. it took nothing to trust her unconditionally.

communicating with gendry by a mere look, from the first moment they’d locked eyes, had been as natural to her as the feel of needle in her hand.

if he falls off, who do you think will find him first, the wolves or the mummers?

she’d said.

he felt much the same as her. but as he’d grown up without brothers to be close to, the feeling of familiarity had been a shock. he’d grown used to it quickly and had come to depend heavily upon it: that natural ability they seemed to share only with each other, to fully understand the other without the need to speak a word.

the wolves.

he’d said back.

even now that they had been involuntarily separated, their eyes, rather than their voices, continued to better communicate their feelings when dwelling on the other.

him.

it hadn’t turned out to be the hound, but the way gendry’s eyes had burned at the sight of the man told the undeniable story of what he’d be willing to do to undo the moment she had been taken.

she could ride with gendry and be an outlaw.

she’d dared not speak the words aloud, not in front of the hound. but the fire in her eyes at just the thought in that moment had been fierce enough for the hound to actually worry about what she was planning in order to escape. that was how brightly her desire burned to get back to his side.

often, arya no one absently wondered whether anyone from her past life, her little lady arya stark life, would recognize her, disguised as she was by the faceless men. jon? bran? perhaps. but her thoughts inevitably wandered back to gendry and his piercing blue eyes, the way he’d always seemed to know what she was thinking before she even got a chance to speak.

no.

she’d say.

sometimes aloud, risking being heard by the kindly man. but the no was always accompanied with the absolute recognition that gendry, with one look, might be able to undo the veil she’d created between her true face and the rest of the world. the certainty that he’d know her no matter: that was the strongest thread of her past to which she clung, much as she might deny it.

ser gendry, now a knight of the hollow hill, often nearly constantly wondered whether he’d ever lay eyes on her again. her: the reason his eyes were brimmed full of anger no matter the time of day. not at her. but at the odds that once he’d found something like family, he would not be allowed to keep her.

yes.

he always told himself in response, his voice muffled by the loud ringing of metal hitting metal. he didn’t question that she was alive. or that she would come back, if not for him, then for her family. foolishly, though, he hoped they were one and the same, much as he might deny it.

[onefail-at-atime]

Arya x Gendry Week - Eavesdropper

Arya Stark remembered the last time a ruler had come to Winterfell. That visit had changed her entire world. Bran had been injured. Jon had left for the Wall. And she, Sansa, and her father had ridden South with the King. Looking back, everything had changed for the worst in that moment and she wouldn’t allow her family to be caught unawares. Dragon Queen be damned. She would protect her family, even if it meant that she had to give up being Arya Stark in order to spy on every single person that crossed through the gates.

Though she would be lying if she didn’t admit that it was difficult to watch her elder brother arrive and not immediately pull him into a hug. That reaction was for a different Arya, a helpless Arya who couldn’t protect her family. And so she remained in the shadows of the upper landing, disguised as a serving girl and hidden by the hordes of people that filled the courtyard. She watched it all silently, recognizing some familiar faces and committing the new ones to memory. Jon’s voice pulled her back. He had turned to his men, announced that there would be supper held in the hall, and then spoke a name that had been long forgotten, a name that belonged to yet another long dead person she had cared for.

“Gendry!” Jon called. “Don’t spend all night in your new forge, eh? You deserve a break.”

A piece of Arya that she had ignored for so long seemed to crack at the name when it had been spoken aloud, only to shatter absolutely when the man Jon had called came into view. It was him. She knew it was. Even from a distance and with his closely cropped hair and beard grown from weeks of travel, she knew it was him. His eyes were the same, his smirk was the same, and those same features brought a flood of memories that she thought she had buried ages before.

She hated herself for the emotions that followed the memories, emotions that threatened to spill and ruin her steady demeanor. She was a fight and a trained assassin. She was a Faceless Man. She wouldn’t allow herself, couldn’t allow herself to feel whatever it was that had unsettled her breathing and distracted her from her focus, her purpose.

How could it be him? She thought as she fell deeper into the shadows in order to disappear. He couldn’t be there. He couldn’t be serving her brother. Hadn’t he refused to do so all those years prior? Hadn’t he refused to be her family?

Her emotions were a jumbled mess for the rest of the day. Her private reunion with Jon gave her time to push the confusing memories from her mind in order to focus on the fact that her brother was whole, and safe, and home.

“But how did you even escape King’s Landing, Arya?” Jon had asked the question that startled her to her core because of recent events.

She didn’t answer, she couldn’t answer.

Her escape from King’s Landing would forever be tied to Gendry and after seeing him alive and well and serving her brother, she wasn’t sure she wanted to say anything. And though she didn’t want to say anything, she did want to know everything. Leaving Jon behind, she chose the servant’s face once more and began to watch.

She found him in the courtyard outside the master forge and watched silently, taking in every detail. Gone was the boy full of teasing smirks and glares that she used to throw crabapples at whenever he annoyed her. In his place was a young man who had already taken charge of his surroundings. But it didn’t escape her notice how he acted differently. Physically, he was stronger. There was no doubting that in the way he worked to lift the crates and barrels of supplies needed in the forge. But she noticed a darker side to him in the way that he carried himself, as if he had been fighting something far longer than any person should have to. It was the lack of joking with the men and absence of a smile that confirmed her suspicions.

What had he been through? Arya couldn’t help but wonder. She had changed immensely from the last time they had been together.

Gone was Arry the orphan, Nan, Beth, and the countless other names she had used to secure her safety. She pondered how much she herself had changed as she followed servers into the Great Hall and pledged to maintain the fires in the hearths, which would give her the best vantage point in the hall. It was from that spot where she saw Gendry enter the hall with the man she now knew to be Ser Davos, Jon’s advisor. Does that mean he’s Jon’s advisor as well? Gendry certainly seemed friendly with her brother. Jon had stood where the two men had arrived and jokingly thanked Davos for pulling the smith away. They’re close. She mused. The night continued on as she tended to the fires and watched those in the hall, her gaze constantly drawn back to where Gendry supped with Ser Davos. His blue eyes darted across the hall at frequent intervals and there was a moment, the briefest of moments, when his gaze had met hers, and she fought the rush of emotions once more. And though his stormy blue eyes held no warmth, she still felt the comfort that his gaze used to bring during their years together. And as the night carried on, it became more and more difficult to keep cover. She learned from overheard conversations that Jon and Gendry had gone beyond the Wall together, had fought together. They had traveled up and down the coast of Westeros together, had fought together, and according to Ser Davos, “got into more trouble than my seven sons combined”.

The hall began to empty but Gendry remained, his clouded gaze still darting around the hall as if watching for something. Could he be watching for her? Her stomach flipped at the thought and she forced herself to continue on with her servant’s role.

It was Jon who surprised her by abandoning the King’s Table to join Gendry and Davos. “I don’t know about you but I could sleep for ages.” Jon muttered as he fell onto the bench across from the two men and accepted the mug of ale that Davos passed to him.

“Didn't you sleep all the way from Eastwatch to King’s Landing?” Gendry quipped. Memories stirred within Arya at his teasing.

“Excuse me.” Jon protested. “I had a near death experience.”

“Yet another near death experience.” Davos reminded him pointedly. “You both returned frozen and near death. And don’t you go teasing one another again, ya hear? You’ve had too much drink for any sparrin’.”

“Ah, Davos.” Jon drawled out. Reminding Arya of the countless times that Robb had protested any of their father’s cautionary speeches. Jon smiled despite the man’s protest. “You know, I’m sorry my sister wasn’t here. She always got into trouble. You’d get along with her.”

That did it. Arya held her breath as she turned slowly, still sweeping in order to gauge their reactions. And her loss of breath was not unrewarded. Davos and Gendry had exchanged a knowing look, one that said there was more to the story. And so when Jon began to speak again, Gendry cleared his throat to interrupt.

“Look Jon.” Gendry began as he nervously glanced around the hall once more. “We trained and fought beside one another. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Jon nodded with a smile. “Bastard brothers in arms.” His gray eyes narrowed in confusion. “What’s this about?”

Gendry exhaled loudly, letting go of a breath she was sure he had been holding for far too long. The way he clenched and unclenched his jaw was a nervous tick still familiar to her. “We’ve become good friends, Jon. Both you and Davos helped me find a purpose in this war … but I’ve been lying.”

Arya continued to sweep the floor, but her gaze never broke from the three men across the hall. “Go on.” Jon’s voice was cautious.

Gendry refused to make eye contact. Instead, he focused on the grip he had on his ale mug as he began to speak. I-I knew your sister. Arya. We ran from the Lannisters together. She trusted me with her name when no one else knew and we trusted one another with our lives.”

“Why not tell me?” Jon’s voice was dark with accusation. “If you were so close with my sister, why not tell me?”

“Because I thought she was dead!” Gendry blurted out. Arya felt a stab of shock at the pain in his voice. His words broke her as he continued to speak. She could tell he was fighting tears and it made her disguise that much harder to maintain. “We were separated when the Brotherhood sold me. They were planning to take her to your brother Robb. Davos helped me escape, I heard the news of the Red Wedding, and gods, Jon.” Gendry’s voice cracked. “I felt every bit a bastard of Flea Bottom because I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t save her.” Gods, why had she decided to wear a face? The feelings stirred inside her. All the emotions she had fought to control felt like a raging storm within her heart.

“And now?” Her king brother was staring at his friend, their friend, as if for the first time.

Gendry closed his eyes, presumably in order to collect his thoughts. When he opened them, he looked up in order to meet Jon’s gaze directly. “Until that point, I hadn’t had a true friend before, not family. But your sister?” From across the hall, she could see the brilliant blue of his eyes that were nearly brimming with tears. “Arya was both. She was my best friend and my family.” He paused once more to turn towards the hearth, his gaze staring into the flames. “We’re honest with one another, Jon. It’s why we’re friends. Believe me when I say that all I want is to be able to prove myself to both of you. I want to fight alongside both of you.”

The breath rushed out of her. ‘I can be your family’ rang through her ears. Everything felt like a crumbling mess as she replayed his words. ‘Arya was both.’ What did he mean by that? What could he mean by that?

Once again, Jon’s voice interrupted to bring her to reality. “I owe you more than my life if you kept my sister alive.” Jon paused, as if purposely considering his words. “I understand why you didn’t Arya. I thought she was dead as well and it hurt to think about her, so I won’t hold it against you.” Arya could see his smile grow. “But you know, after your reunion with her, I hope the two of you will tell me about your travels. I’m sure you have quite a few stories.”

A shaky laugh escaped Gendry, something that made her want to throw her arms around him and her reaction scared her. Stories indeed. She mused as she watched the three men bid goodnight to one another. What would Jon think after learning everything? A flush of warmth flooded through her and she accepted that it would be a common reaction tied to Gendry, though she refused to admit why. She abandoned the hall once the men had left and rushed to her room in an effort to become herself once more, which was an odd sensation. Hadn’t she spent years telling herself that she wasn’t Arya Stark?

And yet, she wanted to be Arya Stark. She wanted to find her friend and put the infernal jumble of emotions to rest. But if there was anything that the overheard conversation had helped her to realize, it was that she wanted to be m’lady.

- There are so many reunion scenarios to explore between now and the premiere of Season 8. Jon & Gendry are the bromance that was promised. I need more interaction between the two of them and if Arya doesn’t get a chance to wear more faces then I will be very, very upset. 

[onefail-at-atime]

Gendrya Week - It’s a Sign

[You all have been absolute dolls with your feedback. I am sorry that back to back shifts have put me behind but no worries, a full evening off means that I’ll be caught up by the end of the week. Enjoy a bit more fluff. As always, I love any and all feedback!] 

Arya began to hate the rain.

The rain reminded her of starving nights in Flea Bottom, cold nights on the King’s Road, and terrifying nights in Harenhal. She hated the drizzle that fell, clinging to each surface and leaving a dampness in her clothes that she feared she would never be rid of. The Brotherhood had stopped to make camp early that evening on account of the rain and she had yet another reason to hate it more. They would never reach Riverrun at that pace.

The worries sunk into her soul and though she tried her best to ignore them, there was an uneasy feeling that she feared she would never shake.

A teasing chuckle broke through her thoughts.

“Yous’ns have been awfully quiet. Both of yous.” Anguy broke in, grinning at where Arya and Gendry were unsaddling their horses.

“Maybe you should try it some time.” Arya snapped.

“Not bleeding likely.” Gendry grumbled, throwing an annoyed glare in the archer’s direction. Arya smiled appreciatively.

The two captives were silent for the rest of evening and into the morning. Both understood the other’s need for quiet, even if the Brotherhood did not. And so it wasn’t until the next day, when they had stopped to water the horses that Gendry finally spoke.  “There is something botherin’ you, isn’t there?”

“There’s not. Just tired.” Arya said stiffly as she led her mare to the stream, distancing herself from the men.

Gendry followed. “I know there is, Ary. Nearly two years running with you has taught me as much. If there’s something you don’t want to talk about, fine, but you know that I’ll listen.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. Had it really been that long? She released a deep sigh, something she had been holding back for days. “We’re moving too slow, slower than we even were with Hot Pie. It’s not fair. We’re in the Riverlands. We could have reached my family by now. We could have been free of them. First the goldcloaks, then Harrenhal, now this?” Her voice caught and broke in her throat. “W-what if it’s a sign? What if I’m never meant to find my mother or brothers?”

His brow knotted together. She could see the concern in his eyes and it sent a rush through her, a familiar rush. It was the rush to hold him, to be held. He had been at her side, had been her friend from the time they had escaped King’s Landing and even while they were held captive, she still depended on him for comfort, though it had taken her time to admit it.

Her eyes met his and he took a step forwards, his startling blue gaze filled with concern as if processing what he wanted to say.

But he didn’t get a chance.

“Lions! Riding from the east.” A voice called out, stirring the Brotherhood into action. Men unsheathed their swords and the arches drew arrows. Thoros came rushing towards them.

“You two, take yourselves deeper into the woods.” He gave Gendry a shove when they failed to move. “Do it! Now!”

Fuming, Arya allowed Gendry to pull her deeper into the woods that surrounded the stream. This shouldn’t be happening. Gendry and I should be at Riverrun, not cowering in the woods. “We could leave now. We’d be free of them.”

“You’re mental.” Gendry replied stubbornly. “How far would we get before someone took our unarmed selves hostage again? Really, you think-“

“Sh.” Arya hushed suddenly, the sound of breaking branches having caught her attention. The friends closed the distance between one another, gazes flickering back and forth for danger. Moments later, a man broke through the bushes, eyes wild and panting from fighting the Brotherhood. When he caught sight of the two, a wide grin filled his harsh features.

“Well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” The man sneered as he moved closer, noting that the two were unarmed. There was something about his sneer that caught her attention. She had seen if before at Harrenhal when all the guards banded together to pick and choose women to torture. Then it was the way that Gendry reached down to wrap a protective hand around her wrist that told her he remembered the same. And the man only continued to sneer as he moved closer. “Looks like I found the treat shared by this group of ruffians.” He took another step forwards, only for Gendry to step in front of Arya. The action did not go unnoticed by the Lannister man. “Or is she just yours then? ‘Cause you’re gonna ‘ave to share.”

“Run. Now.” Gendry spoke softly as he gave her arm one last squeeze.

“I’m not leaving you.” Arya’s refusal was harsh but she could still hear the fear in her own voice.

Gendry shoved her behind him with one hand. His blue gaze was locked with that of the Lannister soldier. “Do it. Just go.”

And so she ran. She ran until the noise from beyond the stream was behind her. 

But she didn’t run from fear. She ran because she knew that had she stayed behind, Gendry would have done everything in his power to protect her and he was unarmed as well.But she couldn’t leave him behind. He’s my friend.

And so she ran back.

The scene before her turned her stomach. The soldier, having realized Gendry was unarmed, had taken to beating the armorer with his bare hands. The two were almost matched for size. Gendry stood a few inches taller and though he was broader, and stronger, than the guard, the man in Lannister red still wore a toughened leather that protected him from the older boy’s punches. And now, the soldier had been joined by a second man and the two were laughing as they took turns to beat and kick at her friend.It didn’t matter to Arya that she was unarmed. She knew that the man had most likely hurt countless others before and now he was hurting her friend. He was hurting Gendry.

She moved like lightning. Arya caught sight of a small, fallen branch. It was the size and share of a long dagger. The perfect shape.Arya launched herself onto the first man’s back, throwing her arms around his neck. One hand clung to his shoulder while the other came around, digging the sturdy piece of wood right through the soft tissue at the base of his throat. The man attempted to scream in pain, only to shake back and forth to throw Arya from his back. But she had already leaped down and moved to stand between Gendry and his second attack.

“You little shit.” The unknown man cursed as he took a step forwards. Arya’s gaze flickered from his face to scan the surrounding area for any and all makeshift weapons.

Though she wouldn’t need them. Another pair of men had come barreling through the woods and, for once, Arya was actually glad to see Anguy and Harwin. The archer had already drawn an arrow and with a glance in Arya and Gendry’s direction, let it loose to make its mark in the second attacker’s throat, who fell to the ground gurgling and clutching at his wound. All ignored him as they turned to face the first attacker.

Anguy then looked from Gendry’s heavily beaten face to Arya’s bloodied hands. Her focus was now on Gendry. An anger flared in her, anger at being left behind. The boy was frowning at her, his one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His eyes met hers and he smiled weakly. “Arya.”

“Don’t you dare,” She said with an accusatory growl that showed her for her true Stark heritage. “You thought you could just tell me to run? You stupid, stubborn, sacrificial bull! We made a promise. Do you remember that? Do you remember Harrenhal? Neither of us leaves the other.”

Gendry’s eyes flared as he clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. “Of course I remember Harrenhal. Do you? It’s my job to protect you, Arya. In case you didn’t notice, you’re without a sword.”

“We protect each other, you bullheaded boy.” Arya moved towards him, clenching her fists as well. “Don’t you dare do anything like that again, you stu-“ She stopped, her gray eyes wide as she watched the giant of a boy slump forwards to his knees and Arya cursed herself. The rain had disguised how severely the cut to his temple was bleeding and by the way he moaned clutched his abdomen as he rolled to his side, she was sure that there were a number of injuries beneath his skin. Panic rushed through her. “Help him!”

The men rushed forwards and quickly lifted Gendry between them. It only took a few minutes for them to help him into one of the supply carts but it had felt like an eternity, just as it felt like the ride to the village where the Brotherhood claimed to have friends felt like an eternity. Arya sat beside Gendry, cradling his head in her lap as the cart jostled along the road as fast as the horses would allow and she attempted to discern which of his wounds were most severe.

It wasn’t fair.

The Brotherhood had found a family willing to take Gendry in and Arya followed, ignoring everyone who told her to rest. All she cared about was he friend. He lay sweating and moaning in his unconscious state as the healer woman tended to his wounds. She claimed he would be out of danger once the sudden fever broke.

It still wasn’t fair.

Maybe this is what the gods had planned for her. Maybe she could take it as a sign that anyone she would grow close with would be ripped away from her. Jon had been her closest brother and he had left for the Wall. Her father had been imprisoned and beheaded. And though she had never been close to Sansa, she had still been forced to leave her sister behind in her own attempt to escape King’s Landing.

It couldn’t happen again. “You can’t die.” She whispered, her stomach churning at the beads of sweat that collected on his brow. “Even if the gods mean for me to be alone, you still can’t die.”

It was a soft and strained chuckle from Gendry in his disorientated state that made her jump. “Well, I’m definitely alive now so I guess it’s a sign that you’re stuck with me, m’lady.” 

[onefail-at-atime]

Gendrya Week - Caught Red-Handed

[Alright, not my first time posting now, but it is my second so feedback is always appreciated. Here's some fluff.]

***

“I know what I saw.”

“Not sayin’ you didn’t.”

“But you looked like I didn’t. You think I’m making it up.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you thought it.”

Gendry sighed and fell back on the edge of their bed, blinking slowly in an effort to calm himself and gather his thoughts. “Arya …” His voice was soft but he knew he couldn’t completely hide his annoyance and exhaustion.

“Sorry.” She apologized quickly, having detected the layers of emotion, as she always did.” It’s just- you know how- and- gods! I hate this.” Her small hands went to the curve of her waist as a small huff escaped her. “Don’t you dare speak a word. This is your fault.”

Her accusation made him laugh, which only seemed to add to her frustration. “I am sorry.” Gendry reached across the gap between them to where she determinedly remained a few feet away. His large, warm hand circled round her wrist, pulling her to him so that she now stood in front of him. Her knee knocked against his legs as his arms came up to wrap around her waist. “I’m sorry.” He repeated as he buried his face into her swelling abdomen. He could swear that she was decidedly bigger than the day before. 

“You’ve made me so happy, Arya, and he were are arguing.”

“We always argue.” Arya reasoned. “They just seem to be more and more stupid the longer this goes on.” She leaned into his embrace. “I know what I saw. Someone’s been sneaking into the armory, my armory.”

“I believe you.” He insisted. “But what will you do?”

Arya sighed into him. “I don’t know. I just need to figure out who and why they’re doing it. The entire situation is … odd.”

“You’ll catch them.” Gendry assured her, his face still pressed against her pregnant stomach. They remained like that, holding one another as he sat in silence, cherishing the way she felt in his arms and how it felt to know that it was his child that she was carrying. It would never cease to amaze him. “I love you. I love you both.”

** *

Over a week later, Gendry returned to their chamber to find Arya pacing back and forth as she undressed for bed. Her hands tugged at the laces of her over-sized jerkin, one that she had stolen from him when her stomach had grown beyond the fit of her own clothes.

“A practice sword went missing.” Arya blurted as soon as he had shut the door behind him. “But it’s been locked. It is always locked.”

“What would anyone need a practice sword for?”

“How am I supposed to know?” His wife demanded as she fell back onto the bed. “It’s just …odd.”

Gendry hummed in agreement and sat on the bed. He took he knees and swung her legs so that they draped over his lap. He tugged at the laces of her boots and let them fall to the fall before he took one of her calves in his hands and began to massage gently. Arya continued to recount her day, pausing every so often to sigh whenever he managed to calm a particularly knotted muscle in her leg.

“Whatever’s going on, you’ll work it out.” He murmured loyally once he had finally coaxed her into laying back up against the pillow. 

“You weren’t made Master-at-Arms for nothing.”

“Only because I’m good at killing people.” Arya replied with a yawn as she curled against his chest. Her hand fell to her abdomen, something he had noticed happened subconsciously more and more. “But I’m no – I’m no Spider.” Her voice was heavy with sleep already.

Gendry tucked his chin to kiss the top of her hair. His hand covered her own over her stomach. “That’s exactly right.” He murmured. “You’re a wolf.”

            ***

Pain.

He was in pain.

Seven hells. He opened his eyes, all sleep gone from him, and looked around the room. No intruders, just a pregnant Arya with her hand on his bare chest, threatening to pinch and punch him once more.

“The baby’s hungry. I’m hungry.” She said plainly as she pinched him again, ignoring his swearing. Gendry threw back the furs and rolled his eyes.

“Honeycakes again?”

“Sweetbread.” Her stormy gray eyes were gleaming. “Hot Pie remembered from last time and baked loads.” He chuckled as he threw on a worn tunic and leaned across the bed to kiss Arya. He would never get used to the sight of her there in their bed, hair beautifully disheveled, and eyes bright.

“Better the sweetbread than a tray of lemon cakes.”

Arya ignored his teasing and leaned back against the bed frame. “Our children will be her heirs, if they so desire. I think the least she can do is share her desserts.”

“Fair point.” Gendry agreed as he leaned in to kiss her once more. “I’ll see if there are any of those cinnamon crusts left.”

His wife’s eyes gleamed in return. “I love you, Bull.”

“I love you, Wolf.” He replied with one last glance at her sitting there in their bed. The sight would be committed to memory forever, right beside all the other Arya memories he held dear: the night they reunited just before the war, her saying she loved him for the first time, their morning wedding in the godswoods. There were countless memories and he prayed he would be able to remember every second he had spent with Arya Stark.

His mind was on those memories when he heard the clatter of metal just behind the door he had passed. His son’s door. A rush of worries filled his mind, both rational and irrational, as he pushed the door open.

His son of five years stood in the middle of his bedroom, stooped in order to retrieve the sword that had fallen to the floor. The training sword. A second sword was clutched in his right palm. “Ned?” The boy jumped back, clearly startled, before he finally looked up to meet his father’s gaze. The familiar icy Baratheon blue was mirrored in his own.

“Yes, Papa?”

He pushed away the warmth that spread through him at being called Papa to focus on what he had discovered. Arya had mentioned the sword that had been taken just that night. “So you were the one breaking into the armory.”

Young Ned’s gaze remained locked with his own. It had been clear years ago that their son had inherited stubborn determination from both his parents, but his steady nerve when being confronted had been completely inherited from Arya.

“Yes, Papa.”

“And you’re training with the stolen sword in the middle of the night?” Gendry questioned, hoping to drag an explanation from his son.

“Yes, Papa.”

Gendry’s lips pressed together when no explanation was given. Gendry took the swords from his son and pulled him into his arms, carrying him back to the child’s bed. “Tell me why.” He spoke softly as he set his son down on the edge of the mattress and took a seat next to him.

“I’m scared.” Ned answered with a child’s honesty. “I haveto train. The baby’s coming and Mama can’t train as much. She says I’m not ready for two swords but I am, Papa. You fight with two weapons. Mama fights with two weapons. The baby’s coming and I have to train.”

An ache of sadness filled him and he reached out to wrap an arm around his son, pulling him closer. “Son, you can’t blame your Mama or the baby for her not being able to train you.”

“But I don’t!” Ned protested. “I have to fight so I can protect this baby. I’ll be the big brother. I have to protect them. They’ll be our pack, like Mama says, and I have to … ‘specially after …” His voice broke and Gendry saw his son wipe at his eyes. “I wasn’t a big brother last time.

Last time.

He remembered the last time. He didn’t want it to be a saved memory, but it was. It was right there with every memory coated in darkness: the terror of Harrenhall, of the war, of losing loved ones. It was the memory of waking up to bloodied sheets month after they thought they were safe. It was the memory of the iron smell and blood red hands as he had held Arya and called for a maester while they both could taste the salt of their own tears.

“That wasn’t your fault, Ned. It was nobody’s fault. Sometimes the gods take our loved ones and we don’t understand why.”

“The gods aren’t taking this baby.” His son said with every ounce of stubborn determination that he had inherited from his parents. Ned hopped from the bed and collected both training swords from the floor. “I’ll train all night. I’ll protect the pack.”

A soft chuckle across the room caught their attention. Gendry looked away from his son to see Arya standing in the doorway, still wearing his old tunic and breeches that she had fallen asleep in. “I was wondering what was taking so long but it looks as if you caught our burglar.” Arya teased, her gray gaze flickering over the too large training sword before she looked back to their son.

“Caught red handed.”

Arya smiled warmly at young Ned and crossed the chamber to stand with her husband and son. “I’ll always trust you to protect our pack, Neddy. You’re going to be a great big brother. An even better big brother than Uncle Jon.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide at the mention of his favorite uncle. “Really?”

“Really.” Gendry promised as he took the practice sword from his son once more. “Now, what do you say we sneak into the kitchen and find some sweets for Mama and the baby? And maybe some for ourselves?”

Ned nodded enthusiastically and launched himself towards the door, only pausing under the frame to turn back to his parents. “As long as Mama doesn’t eat all of Aunt Sansa’s lemon cakes.”

[onefail-at-atime]

Arya & Gendry Week - Bad Pick Up Lines

I’m stupid.

Boys are stupid.

Where’s my sword?

The same three thoughts cycled back through her mind as she stormed from the armory, sword in hand, and darted through the courtyard with one goal in mind. She needed to distract herself. She needed to train.

By the gods, why did I say something so stupid?

Lya Baratheon Stark made good time in her effort to sneak out of the castle and down to the sandpit. It was the hollow on the edge of the coast where she found peace whenever she looked to escape the chaos of a lord’s visit, just as her father escaped to the forge and her mother escaped to oversee the training sessions that were open to anyone who desired to attend. And it was a lord’s visit that had gotten her into the embarrassing situation in the first place.

So she took to training, her sole focus on the defensive positions that she swore to herself she would perfect after her last training session with her mother and brother. While she had managed to bring Ned to yield despite his brute strength, her mother had easily unseated her. Her practice moves from Master Iker were numerous and so it gave her the perfect opportunity to forget her social embarrassment from the start of the evening and become lost in the bliss of what it felt like to hold a sword in her hand while her muscles stretched to accommodate each fluid movement.

It was when she was so deep in focus that she had blocked out the universe that a blade appeared from the side, shocking her to her core, and she spun to parry the force and dive in the opposite direction. An approving caught her attention and Lya turned back to see her mother. Arya Stark stood in her familiar leathers and jerkin with her sword drawn and balanced in her grip.

“You’re getting better, Lya. I did sneak up on your but you handled the surprise attack well.”

Lya raised a brow at her mother. “Yet, had someone truly wanted to harm me, then they wouldn’t have attacked from the side when sneaking up from behind. A cutthroat would have just put their sword through my back.”

Her mother nodded, her stormy eyes bright with approval. “Glad to see you’ve been listening to me.” She smiled teasingly and spun her blade in her hand. “Do you want to continue with your practice? Or do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

Lya sighed heavily. Of course, her mother would know that something was bothering her. The only surprise was that her mother, the former assassin, didn’t already know what had driven her eldest daughter to the sandy hollow to train. Without waiting for a response, Arya beckoned for her daughter to follow her to the low wall surrounding two sides to training pit. The pit had been an anniversary gift to her mother from her father on their first anniversary in Storm’s End. Lya herself had trained there with her siblings and the younger children from the surrounding villages.

“Warning, it’s so embarrassing, Mum.”

“Love, embarrassing is your father trying to hold a casual conversation with anyone. I think we both remember your Uncle Jon’s last tourney.” Lya snickered despite herself and Arya nudged her daughter with her shoulder. “So come on, tell me what happened and we’ll sneak sweetbread from the kitchens.”

Her daughter groaned and fell back over the edge of the wall, dangling by her knees. “I am so stupid, Mum. Girls my age know how to bat their eyelashes and smile at lords but me? What do I do? I say something like could be considered the worst compliment since before the conquest.” She sighed and rolled so that she was laying on the grass on the other side of the wall. “Maybe I should go North, Mum, with Aunt Sansa. I know she’s taking Ned. Jon told me. Maybe the Stormlands aren’t where I’m supposed to be.”

Arya Stark was silent, her lips pressed together tightly as she considered her daughter’s request. There was an underlying cause to Lyanna’s question. She just had to work it out of her. “You are always welcomed to visit your aunt. It’s your right as one of her heirs … but this is Ned’s eighteenth year. He’ll spend the entire year in the North.”

“Exactly.” Lya exhaled in exasperation. “He’s going to learn how to do all the courtly things that you and Papa are so bad at…no offense.” Her daughter added quickly as she sat up to meet Arya’s gaze. “It’s just- Aunt Sansa knows what to say … to lords. It’s easy for her.”

“It always has been,” Arya answered honestly. “And I suppose the fault lies with me and your father.”

“What do you mean?” Her daughter’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Papa tells your story all the time. He went north to fight the dead and found you. Together you helped to end the Long Night, defeat the Mad Queen, and make the North independent. Is there a person alive in the North or Stormlands who hasn’t heard your love story?”

“You’ve heard but you don’t know how unbelievably stupid both your father and I were.”

This clearly sparked Lyanna’s interest as she had sat up to scramble back into sitting next to Arya. “Go on.”

Arya had turned so that she was sitting against the lower wall so that she could lean back against it. She inhaled deeply as if recalling the memories with each extension of her breath. “Before any of this happened, before your father and I helped Aunt Sansa claim the North as her own, before the Siege of King’s Landing, and even before the Long Night, I was just a skinny little girl posing as a boy headed for the Night’s Watch.” Lyanna’s interest grew. Her parents’ life before the war was something they didn’t often speak of. It had been a dark time for them both. “You all know your father and I met as children and there are some things that we still don’t discuss … but you should know that it was very difficult to be a girl, almost a young woman, and to be stuck traveling with your father.”

Lya felt her brow furrow together once more. “Was he rude?”

Arya let out a laugh, almost like a sharp bark. “No, even worse. He would brood. And then he’d want to tease me. Then we’d get mad at one another and I would throw something at him, or punch him, and he’d forget his anger only to laugh at me, which would only make me even more angry in return.”

“Mum, that’s what you are like on any given day.”

“Yes, only now we know that we love each other.” Arya smiled, her stormy gray gaze growing distant as a flood of memories rushed through her. “But the problem I had as a young girl was that I didn’t know his teasing and brooding meant that he cared. I just thought he was stupid and stubborn.”

“But he is stupid and stubborn.”

“All men are.” Arya confided in her daughter with a teasing smile. “But what I’m trying to explain is that your father and I aren’t only terrible at communicating sometimes, we’re not those couples who write poetry and declare their love for one another in song.”

Lya was silent as she stared down at her feet, which were swinging back and forth, not quite touching the ground. Unlike her brother and younger siblings, she was the one to have inherited her mother’s short stature. “I want a love like you and Papa. Who cares about poetry? I just…I don’t want to make a fool of myself when I try to talk to someone.”

“You’ve just turned three and ten, love. But I promise you, it won’t be this awkward forever. The more you talk to them, the easier the talking becomes.” Arya promised as she watched her daughter and her smile grew. “Lyanna…are you going to tell me what you said?”

Her daughter stood and brushed the sand from her clothes. “Nope.” She answered decidedly. “Come on, Mum. You promised me sweetbread.”

               ***        ***

The following evening, Arya found herself surrounded by the same lords and ladies who had attended their dinner the night before. Her eldest son was surrounded by friends as they all laughed and teased one another during their last true evening together. In a few days’ time, the Stormlands would return to their estates and after that, Ned would leave for the North to spend a year in Winterfell. But it was Lyanna who Arya had her eyes on. Her eldest daughter had been weaving amongst the crowds all evening as if watching for someone in particular.

It was when her daughter laughed at something a little lordling had said and given him a playful shove that she knew Lya was feeling better than the night before. The sudden smile caught Gendry’s attention and her husband gave her a playful shove of his own.

“What is it you’re smiling about, eh wife?” He teased, ocean eyes shining brightly at the happiness of seeing all their children enjoying themselves at the entertainment.

“Nothing, lord husband.” Arya teased in return, though she was quick to look back at her daughter, something like Gendry picked up on. He froze.

“Is she- are they-“, he stammered as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Now Gendry.” Arya murmured calmly as she placed a hand on his arm.

“But he’s two years older than her!” He glared in the direction of his daughter and her friend.

“Put those muscles away, Lord Baratheon. Remember whose daughter she is. Any funny business and she’ll cut him balls to brains.”

He frowned. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to throttle him.”

“They’re just as awkward as we were at that age. If not more so.”

This piqued Gendry’s interest. Arya’s smiled pulled him in. “What do you mean?” He murmured, his gaze briefly returning to where Lya had returned to her group of friends. Arya stood on her tiptoes in order to whisper into Gendry’s ear, watching as his eyes grew wide and a booming laugh escaped his lips. He turned back to his wife with a smirk. “She’s still not as bad as you are.”

Arya glared in return and delivered a swift punch to his abdomen. “Remember.” She said as she turned away and lifted her gaze back to the hall. “Me hitting you is how I show affection.”

[Thank you all for your feedback. I truly appreciate it. This is my first Gendrya week and even though work has put me behind, Gendrya week will not be over until I edit and post the last of the prompts. I am determined! Besides, isn’t every week Gendrya week?]