“Karstark is going to be a problem,” Robb said in hushed tones, pulling them aside after the council meeting. “He swears that he will not be kept from the Kingslayer, and I heard rumors that he plans to gather his men tonight to strike.” “He can’t do that, it would be treason!” Arya said at once. “Maybe it is a revenge worth treason,” Robb said, and Arya grew quite and did not speak on his uncle’s behalf further. Worse than treason, if Karstark did decide to attack it would put Gendry in an impossible position. He was already unpopular with the Northernmen, Jaime’s arrival had made him even less so, but if Karstark were to strike, then he could very well upset the very strained peace that Gendry had worked so hard to build. This was not to mention the chaos that would ensue after Jaime’s death under Gendry’s protection. “I will make sure that doesn’t happen,” Gendry swore. “How?” Robb asked. “Double his guard?” “No,” Gendry said. “I will guard his cell.”
Well if I’m going to be your boyfriend—” “Please,” Arya said at once, throwing him an absolutely scalding look as Gendry ran up to walk with her back to the changing rooms after practice, “you are not my boyfriend.”
gendry x arya (older ofc) - are you flirting with me? (something abut Gendry getting all jealous and possessive oh my god please i have a need)
oh my god i’ve never written asoiaf fic before so i’m just gonna do this au is that ok
this is so bad help it got super long and draggy
No one has ever made her laugh so hard before. At least not in these last few years - no, don’t think of that, Arya. But he’s funny as hell, funny enough for her to wander around with a smile on her face as she thinks of his ridiculous stories. Her smile is still in place as she hangs her wet clothes on the balcony.
"Wait, wait, no! Let’s start from the beginning.” Jon stared at Robb in utter confusion. “How does making a bet with Sansa constitute us staking out the rooftop of your apartment building in the middle of the night… in the middle of December?”
Robb gave his uptight brother a cheeky grin. “What’s the matter? Didn’t you know that winter was coming Jon?”
"Of course I knew, Robb. It’s the middle of fucking December; winter is already here!" Jon groused.
"Exactly. Should have worn a thicker sweater." Robb adjusted in his crouched position.
Part of Arya x Gendry week and also my Hogwarts Au Rain. Arya wouldn’t like that. She loved the snow, and it was supposed to stay cold for months. He remembered when she was a second year and the snow had stayed until late March. Everyone had complained but not Arya. She loved the snow. He had never seen her so happy, and now it wasn’t even the new year and the snow was being washed away. He had kissed her.
Probably horrible, my first fanfiction so be kind.
Arya felt warm and soft. Winter was raging outside and the war was still being fought but there, in that moment she felt warm and soft. Content. She was half awake and half asleep, the warm blankets and Gendry’s arms wrapped around her….
Gendry Waters knew from the day he and Arya Stark moved in together that the wiring in their new apartment was shit.
Unfortunately, this place is all they can afford on his salary and her student loans. But every time someone so much as opens the front door to their building the lights in the hallway flicker. And his years in construction have taught him that that’s never a good sign.
Just as Gendry expected, it takes less than a week for the first light bulb in their kitchen to blow out.
His ministrations were always gentle with her. She was so small, and he so, well, large, that he always feared he might break her, or be too rough with her. He knew it frustrated her to no end, that he wouldn’t have his way with her and that she couldn’t always get what she wanted from him. Gendry’s fingers touched her with something bordering on fear and reverence, tracing the small curves of her woman’s body as though he were truly afraid to touch.
It had woken him as it always did. She was crying in her sleep again, whimpering from dreams he could not protect her from. Gendry had an inkling of what it was she was dreaming, of her father’s head being cleaved from his shoulders, or perhaps of the daily rapes that were happening all around them, the people that were being taken to be interrogated about the whereabouts of the Brotherhood and tortured to death. His heart ached for her; she was but a child, and she could well be next. Death was the only certain thing here in Harrenhal.
The mud and rain clung to him as he reached for her in the dark, his blue eyes watching around him for the guards. He took her arm in his hand, startling her from sleep, and he could see the shame in her eyes from being caught. There were never half so open with each other. He pressed a finger to his lips even as a woman’s scream rang out across the yard, the guards closest to them snickering, Arya’s face blanching. So he’d been correct; tonight it’d been the rapers.
"Wonder what’ll be left o’ her in the mornin’," one of the Bloody Mummers (he’d forgot his name) laughed cruelly.
"Nothin’ none of the rest’a us can do nothin’ with."
Gendry felt the heat flood through him, white -hot anger, and he silently vowed that he’d run any of these bastards through with their own ugly swords should they even think to touch her. He’d sworn to protect her, and, gods be good, he’d do it, even if he had to kill a man with his bare hands. She had a life to get back to, a family (no matter how broken), justice and peace to find. He was just a bastard from Flea Bottom, and it’d be an honour to die protecting her. That was what all the knights did in the stories.
He pulled her close, expecting her to fight him, surprised to find that she didn’t, nor did she cry aloud like most other women. Cruel laughter and more screams ran out, and he tightened his hold around her when she started trembling.
"They won’t take you," he told her, his voice the faintest whisper, hoping he heard her over the din of the sobbing and the rain and the cold laughter of the men. His lips brushed against her forehead as her tiny fist tightened on his shirt. Gendry supposed this was what it must be like to love someone.
Gods-knew it had been far too long since they had been allowed to be children, to simply be, enjoying life and what it offered them, little as it may be, to count their blessings and to be silly. She was too serious for her few years, making her seem older than ten-and-one, and he too felt the weight of an adulthood he’d never wanted to come into so soon.
He chanced a glance at her, meticulously polishing Needle with a scrap torn from her dirtied tunic, though the steel still gleamed new. She kept the dirt from it best as she could, cleaning it as though it were her only lifeline in this world. And given what she’d come from, Gendry supposed it probably was. That little bit of steel was all she had left. Well, the steel and him, but Gendry’d wager all the gold dragons in the Seven Kingdoms that he could never mean half-so much to her as that little skinny stick she carried ‘round.
Mischief flooded through his veins as he continued to watch her. ”Y’know, I don’t reckon that y’can make that shine no more’n it already does. Certainly not with that dirty rag.”
"Shut up," she groused and he laughed, only drawing more anger from the diminutive girl across from him. She rose, sliding Needle back into its scabbard and crossed over to him, her small hands pushing on his shoulders until he fell back into the dirt.
Out of instinct, he’d grabbed her wrists and pulled her down with him, and her face was flush with anger. His large hands came to tickle her ribs, her neck, and soon she was hitting at him with her hands and laughing, the first true laugh he’d ever slip past her lips. His tongue reached out to lick her nose and she hit his shoulder as she wiped his spit off with her sleeve.
"What’d you do that for?" she demanded.
“‘Cos y’don’t laugh nearly s’much as you should, an’ I used t’do that t’ the other kids in Flea Bottom t’win a fight.”
She snorted. ”Can’t much see you ever losing a fight.”
"No," he agreed, poking her in the stomach. "Can’t say I ever have."
She punched him again, and they wrestled amongst the fallen leaves, bruising each other, Arya laughing as she beat him, until Yoren was yelling himself hoarse for them to get their arses back before he tanned them for new leather.
“Stupid,” said Arya, staring into his bright blue eyes. The rocks underneath her were jagged and sharp, and might snag her scales if she wasn’t careful. “You land people are stupid.”
Gendry grinned and splashed her in the face one more time. The water felt good in her eyes, which were getting dry from sitting out in the air for so long. “Why’s that again?”
“Because I’m a mermaid.” She scowled at him and he kept grinning. “The water doesn’t bother me.” She twitched her tail hard as she could, drenching him with salty water. So what if Sansa’s scales were a pretty blue and hers were just grey and she was missing a few from sliding on the rocks and playing with the big fish? Sansa didn’t get to soak Gendry-from-the-land’s shirt so well with water that she could see the outlines of each of his muscles. Sansa didn’t get to watch as he jumped back, spitting water out of his mouth.
“Hey!” he said, splashing toward her through the salty water. “What was that for?”
“Stop splashing me.” She flicked her heavy brown hair behind her back, getting more water on his face (and a strand or two of seaweed for good measure.) “Cause I’m just gonna splash you back if you do, and I splash better than you.”
“So? I’ll just get you back.”
“How?” Gendry had come to sit on the rock next to her, now, and her heart was beating fast, so fast…
He took her face in his hands and kissed her, a long kiss. His lips were big and full and tasted sweet, like she thought things on land might.
He pulled away for a second and smiled at her. “You taste like salt.”
“Shut up,” she said, and inched closer to him on the rock so he could put his arms around her.
Myrcella had always had a crush on him. He knew that. He wasn’t an idiot. He saw the way she blushed and only looked at him when he wasn’t looking at her, because if he looked at her she would drop whatever she was holding.
It had been stupid, really. She was nice enough, sure, but she was so obviously Myrcella—the daughter of Dad’s best friend, and whenever she was around, her obnoxious shit of a brother was there too, and being in the same room as Joffrey made his blood boil most of the time.
And then he’d gone off to college and he hadn’t seen her, and then he’d gone off to grad school, and he’d only caught snippets of her from Sansa or Arya, who kept in better touch with her and then suddenly, when he was least expecting it, he found her again.
He was sitting in the park, running his hands through his hair so that it was standing on end, his Master’s thesis refusing to grow in length, despite his best effort, and he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched.
And when he looked up, he saw a girl with huge dark sunglasses staring at him with a smirk on her face that made him wonder precisely what she was staring at.
And when she removed her sunglasses, he saw that it was Myrcella, sweet little Myrcella, winking at him and staring at the way his tshirt encased the muscles of his chest and he suddenly wondered why it had been so long since he’d seen her.
Pairing: Rickon x Shireen Word Count: 956 Chapters: 1 / 2 / - NSFW? Safe Prompt: “What eyes don’t see, the heart hears.” Rickon Stark has been in an accident causing blindness and is admitted into the same hospital that holds the injured librarian, Shireen Baratheon. Modern Westeros.