a gown of golden leaves | Arya/Gendry | M | Part 2/?
prompt viaxx_pinkstar
ASOIAF
oh i am growing tired
of allowing you to steal
everything i have
you're making me feel
like i was born to service you
a gown of golden leaves
They were in the godswood, Arya writhing in the most wonderfully torturous way across his lap, when they heard it. The Kings caravan.
He tried desperately to ignore it even as Arya began to pull away, but even as she relented and returned to the circle of his arms he knew his life here was at an end. He pressed his forehead hard against hers, holding her gaze. "Come with me to Kings Landing, Arya. Come with me."
She let out a hot breath of air as she twisted her neck. "You know your father would never allow it."
"Hell with my father, Arya, come with me!"
She gave him a sad smile, standing and holding out a hand for him. He could hear the yells of the men passing by on the Kingsroad, and knew without a doubt that the moment he left the godswood Arya would melt away into the forest. When he stood, he reached for her, spinning to press her hard against the tree behind him.
She let him, smiling sadly even as she met his lips in the desperate kiss that followed. He could feel her everywhere, could hear every gasp and sigh, every rasp of fabric against her bared skin, what little of it there was.
"You should go," she finally told him, lips drifting across the skin of his neck. "Go, before I steal you away from Westeros and keep you as my own."
There was nothing in this world he wanted more than that, but she slipped from his grasp and into the godswood.
Gendry stayed there until her soft footsteps faded away, and then slowly made his way back toward Winterfell, to meet his father.
*************
This was not a feast he was prepared for. With his father on his left and Lady Catelyn on his right, and no Jon or Arya even in the dining hall, Gendry felt none of the usual warmth of dining with the Starks. They'd seated Sansa nearer to him than his father would have liked, but he daren't try to converse with her across her parents with his father right next to him, especially not with any topic that might amuse either of them.
His father, however, shared no such qualms, shouting across the entire hall when a comment arose to him, yelling over Gendry at Ned Stark as if they'd never been apart, never fought a day in their lives. The Queen found Robert at least as distasteful as Gendry did, and probably more, if the scowl on her face was anything to go by.
He desperately wanted to leave, to search out Arya, wherever she was, but he knew his leaving now would lead to questions no one in Winterfell really wanted to answer. It was clear many of them knew what he and Arya got up to when the disappeared for hours, once even days at a time, and if it were any other girl he'd have been sitting before an angry lord demanding he wed the daughter he'd sullied, but instead it was a girl who'd sullied herself in every way but the one that mattered to Gendry, and he'd never be allowed to marry her.
"Ah, but I haven't told you our excellent news, Ned! My son is finally going to be married!"
He felt himself grow cold. Not here. Not with these people, his true friends, the people he respected and cared about.
"Margaery Tyrell will be travelling down to Kings Landing with us when we return. I expect she will make a most dutiful wife."
************************
When he slipped out the window of his rooms that night he nearly fell to his death. Bran had always made it look so easy, so he'd expected a quick climb down - it took him far too long until he finally reached the ground, and even then he had to hide for a long while while the guards near the stables actually did their nightly walk.
The trees rustled around him as he slid into the godswood, the holes between the trees eventually narrowing the farther he went until finally he saw the firelight glinting through the trees. She looked up when he pushed into the little clearing, glancing nervously up at him where she sat on the neatly layed out furs. He'd never seen anyone more beautiful than her, and he knew he never would.
"The Tyrell girl will ruin you," she whispered to him as he kneeled beside her, gathering her close to him, and he shushed her as she tried to continue.
"Arya, the only people in this world right now are you and I." She rolled her eyes at him, and he let a loud laugh break free. "I thought you'd like that," he told her when he had breath to speak.
"You do love me for my gentle words." He let the word slip free without really noticing, and when Arya did not respond he tried to salvage the moment. "Oh no, thats right, you like me because I can clobber you in archery."
"Can not," she muttered, shoving him hard, and he fell sideways onto the furs, dragging Arya down with him. "Admit it," he told her, rubbing his nose against hers even as she squirmed halfheartedly against him. "I'm far better with a bow than you."
"Fine, but only if you'll shut up and kiss me already." He did as the lady commanded.
When the kisses grew more heated, Arya finally bent to pull more furs over them, pressing her body closer to his as he let his fingers explore, finding the soft curve of her breast under the tunic she wore, digging into the warm smooth skin of her back as her own fingers pressed hard into his hips when his hand dipped between her legs.
"Arya," he finally whispered to her in the dark, watching the flutter of her eyelids in the dim firelight.
"I want to," she told him, her own hand suddenly finding the laces of his breeches. "Please, Gendry. I want this."
She gasped when he swung a leg up and over her, pressing her down into the soft bed she'd made for them, and he nearly tore her tunic as he pulled it over her head, feasting his eyes on her beautiful pale skin dappled with freckles, the hard rosy nipples that peaked in the cold night air, the flat stomach rippled with muscle. His fingers trembled as he unlaced her breeches, and when he could hardly bear to look her in the eye anymore he pulled the covers up around her shoulders and fled beneath them.
He catalogued every pant, every sigh, every squirm and keen and cry as he took his mouth to her, and when her body stilled he finally crawled back up over her, Her face was flushed and her eyes half closed, and she smiled lazily at him when he pressed a hot kiss to her forehead. "That was..." she trailed off, fingers digging into his scalp as she grinned up at him.
"Mmhm," Gendry muttered, leaning in for another kiss.
She pushed him away after a moment. "The rest, too, Gendry. I won't have you married off to some southron trumpet before I get my fill of you."
Gendry grinned at her, pressing a lingering kiss into the skin of her neck as her hand unlaced his breeches. "As milady commands," he said softly, his laugh cut off as her nimble fingers reached inside to grasp his cock.
********************
They were to depart that day, Gendry was told. No sense in making the Tyrell girl wait, his father told him, eyes lingering on the mark Arya had left on his neck the night before.
The Starks were relieved to see the kings party leave, though he hoped they were less happy to see him go.
He broke his fast with him that last morning, just Ned, Catelyn, and the six brothers and sisters he'd come to see as family.
Ned gave his word he'd gladly be Gendry's Hand, and Robb promised to visit the south within the year - Sansa begged him to write, and Bran and Rickon tried to pry knighthoods out of him before he left.
Jon was quiet watching his brothers and sister beg favors of the future king with a sad sort of amusement in his dour eyes.
And Arya grasped his hand under the table, barely looking at him as she picked at her food.
Since that night in the woods she'd sneaked into his rooms every night, stripping down to her skin before she slid in beside him, eyes glinting as she tried to learn him, working him into a frenzy more from enthusiasm than pure skill.
He'd held her close in the dead of those nights, memorizing the press of her body against his, the slip of muscle under her skin, the soft sighs she made as sleep overtook her. Sometimes she whispered things in a haze of dreams, words in old Valaryan, words in Braavosi he struggled to comprehend, and for that last week in Winterfell Gendry had felt the world narrow to the glint of silver eyes and the tinkle of Arya's laughter.
But as they finished their morning meal Catelyn bid her final goodbyes, and Ned clapped him hard on the back, promising to see him off. Gendry pulled Jon aside and begged him to put of any attempts to join the Nights Watch until Gendry himself was king, and Sansa pressed her beautiful wolfshead dagger into his hand, eyes glimmering with tears as she told him to be safe.
He and Arya had said their goodbyes the night before, hot desperate kisses melding into the finality of the morning lark they'd heard long after they'd both realized sleep would not be coming to them that night, but as he neared the stables he saw her long raven hair whip around the corner of the forge.
Checking to make sure no one was watching, Gendry chased after her, sliding around the corner only to find her back pressed against the stone wall and her eyes closed.
They flew open when she heard him approach, and when he moved forward she anticipated his last kiss, a hand curling around his neck as he reached her, her head tilting to meet his. Though it started hard, it ended bitterly slow, and Gendry felt the knot in his chest tighten when he realized Arya's eyes were shining with tears he knew she would never shed. "Wed her, bed her, do as you please. But do not fall in love with her, Gendry," she ordered, eyes blazing.
He shook his head. "Never. There will never be anyone but you."
ASOIAF
oh i am growing tired
of allowing you to steal
everything i have
you're making me feel
like i was born to service you
a gown of golden leaves
They were in the godswood, Arya writhing in the most wonderfully torturous way across his lap, when they heard it. The Kings caravan.
He tried desperately to ignore it even as Arya began to pull away, but even as she relented and returned to the circle of his arms he knew his life here was at an end. He pressed his forehead hard against hers, holding her gaze. "Come with me to Kings Landing, Arya. Come with me."
She let out a hot breath of air as she twisted her neck. "You know your father would never allow it."
"Hell with my father, Arya, come with me!"
She gave him a sad smile, standing and holding out a hand for him. He could hear the yells of the men passing by on the Kingsroad, and knew without a doubt that the moment he left the godswood Arya would melt away into the forest. When he stood, he reached for her, spinning to press her hard against the tree behind him.
She let him, smiling sadly even as she met his lips in the desperate kiss that followed. He could feel her everywhere, could hear every gasp and sigh, every rasp of fabric against her bared skin, what little of it there was.
"You should go," she finally told him, lips drifting across the skin of his neck. "Go, before I steal you away from Westeros and keep you as my own."
There was nothing in this world he wanted more than that, but she slipped from his grasp and into the godswood.
Gendry stayed there until her soft footsteps faded away, and then slowly made his way back toward Winterfell, to meet his father.
*************
This was not a feast he was prepared for. With his father on his left and Lady Catelyn on his right, and no Jon or Arya even in the dining hall, Gendry felt none of the usual warmth of dining with the Starks. They'd seated Sansa nearer to him than his father would have liked, but he daren't try to converse with her across her parents with his father right next to him, especially not with any topic that might amuse either of them.
His father, however, shared no such qualms, shouting across the entire hall when a comment arose to him, yelling over Gendry at Ned Stark as if they'd never been apart, never fought a day in their lives. The Queen found Robert at least as distasteful as Gendry did, and probably more, if the scowl on her face was anything to go by.
He desperately wanted to leave, to search out Arya, wherever she was, but he knew his leaving now would lead to questions no one in Winterfell really wanted to answer. It was clear many of them knew what he and Arya got up to when the disappeared for hours, once even days at a time, and if it were any other girl he'd have been sitting before an angry lord demanding he wed the daughter he'd sullied, but instead it was a girl who'd sullied herself in every way but the one that mattered to Gendry, and he'd never be allowed to marry her.
"Ah, but I haven't told you our excellent news, Ned! My son is finally going to be married!"
He felt himself grow cold. Not here. Not with these people, his true friends, the people he respected and cared about.
"Margaery Tyrell will be travelling down to Kings Landing with us when we return. I expect she will make a most dutiful wife."
************************
When he slipped out the window of his rooms that night he nearly fell to his death. Bran had always made it look so easy, so he'd expected a quick climb down - it took him far too long until he finally reached the ground, and even then he had to hide for a long while while the guards near the stables actually did their nightly walk.
The trees rustled around him as he slid into the godswood, the holes between the trees eventually narrowing the farther he went until finally he saw the firelight glinting through the trees. She looked up when he pushed into the little clearing, glancing nervously up at him where she sat on the neatly layed out furs. He'd never seen anyone more beautiful than her, and he knew he never would.
"The Tyrell girl will ruin you," she whispered to him as he kneeled beside her, gathering her close to him, and he shushed her as she tried to continue.
"Arya, the only people in this world right now are you and I." She rolled her eyes at him, and he let a loud laugh break free. "I thought you'd like that," he told her when he had breath to speak.
"You do love me for my gentle words." He let the word slip free without really noticing, and when Arya did not respond he tried to salvage the moment. "Oh no, thats right, you like me because I can clobber you in archery."
"Can not," she muttered, shoving him hard, and he fell sideways onto the furs, dragging Arya down with him. "Admit it," he told her, rubbing his nose against hers even as she squirmed halfheartedly against him. "I'm far better with a bow than you."
"Fine, but only if you'll shut up and kiss me already." He did as the lady commanded.
When the kisses grew more heated, Arya finally bent to pull more furs over them, pressing her body closer to his as he let his fingers explore, finding the soft curve of her breast under the tunic she wore, digging into the warm smooth skin of her back as her own fingers pressed hard into his hips when his hand dipped between her legs.
"Arya," he finally whispered to her in the dark, watching the flutter of her eyelids in the dim firelight.
"I want to," she told him, her own hand suddenly finding the laces of his breeches. "Please, Gendry. I want this."
She gasped when he swung a leg up and over her, pressing her down into the soft bed she'd made for them, and he nearly tore her tunic as he pulled it over her head, feasting his eyes on her beautiful pale skin dappled with freckles, the hard rosy nipples that peaked in the cold night air, the flat stomach rippled with muscle. His fingers trembled as he unlaced her breeches, and when he could hardly bear to look her in the eye anymore he pulled the covers up around her shoulders and fled beneath them.
He catalogued every pant, every sigh, every squirm and keen and cry as he took his mouth to her, and when her body stilled he finally crawled back up over her, Her face was flushed and her eyes half closed, and she smiled lazily at him when he pressed a hot kiss to her forehead. "That was..." she trailed off, fingers digging into his scalp as she grinned up at him.
"Mmhm," Gendry muttered, leaning in for another kiss.
She pushed him away after a moment. "The rest, too, Gendry. I won't have you married off to some southron trumpet before I get my fill of you."
Gendry grinned at her, pressing a lingering kiss into the skin of her neck as her hand unlaced his breeches. "As milady commands," he said softly, his laugh cut off as her nimble fingers reached inside to grasp his cock.
********************
They were to depart that day, Gendry was told. No sense in making the Tyrell girl wait, his father told him, eyes lingering on the mark Arya had left on his neck the night before.
The Starks were relieved to see the kings party leave, though he hoped they were less happy to see him go.
He broke his fast with him that last morning, just Ned, Catelyn, and the six brothers and sisters he'd come to see as family.
Ned gave his word he'd gladly be Gendry's Hand, and Robb promised to visit the south within the year - Sansa begged him to write, and Bran and Rickon tried to pry knighthoods out of him before he left.
Jon was quiet watching his brothers and sister beg favors of the future king with a sad sort of amusement in his dour eyes.
And Arya grasped his hand under the table, barely looking at him as she picked at her food.
Since that night in the woods she'd sneaked into his rooms every night, stripping down to her skin before she slid in beside him, eyes glinting as she tried to learn him, working him into a frenzy more from enthusiasm than pure skill.
He'd held her close in the dead of those nights, memorizing the press of her body against his, the slip of muscle under her skin, the soft sighs she made as sleep overtook her. Sometimes she whispered things in a haze of dreams, words in old Valaryan, words in Braavosi he struggled to comprehend, and for that last week in Winterfell Gendry had felt the world narrow to the glint of silver eyes and the tinkle of Arya's laughter.
But as they finished their morning meal Catelyn bid her final goodbyes, and Ned clapped him hard on the back, promising to see him off. Gendry pulled Jon aside and begged him to put of any attempts to join the Nights Watch until Gendry himself was king, and Sansa pressed her beautiful wolfshead dagger into his hand, eyes glimmering with tears as she told him to be safe.
He and Arya had said their goodbyes the night before, hot desperate kisses melding into the finality of the morning lark they'd heard long after they'd both realized sleep would not be coming to them that night, but as he neared the stables he saw her long raven hair whip around the corner of the forge.
Checking to make sure no one was watching, Gendry chased after her, sliding around the corner only to find her back pressed against the stone wall and her eyes closed.
They flew open when she heard him approach, and when he moved forward she anticipated his last kiss, a hand curling around his neck as he reached her, her head tilting to meet his. Though it started hard, it ended bitterly slow, and Gendry felt the knot in his chest tighten when he realized Arya's eyes were shining with tears he knew she would never shed. "Wed her, bed her, do as you please. But do not fall in love with her, Gendry," she ordered, eyes blazing.
He shook his head. "Never. There will never be anyone but you."