43Hi people !
SORRY this has taken a while, guess people were quite so convinced with the other pov's sorry just had to do it :)
Thanks for reviewing to : softballlover298 and GhibliGirl91
And thanks to all the people who have put this on alert and on their favorites! Seriously the list just keeps growing! I will get around to thanking you personally just busy atm :(
A/N: hope it's not too repetitive or soppy, oh yes at the end of Gendry's pov, it's like a mantra him steeling himself against what's going to happen, I sighed so loud when he was saved! Like seriously, the relief :D - WHY DO THESE CHAPTERS GET LONGER? I DON'T HAVE THE TIME! STUPID MUSE !
I might elaborate Arya's pov eventually but not until I get my exams out the way with, sorry. I also most likely won't be posting next week but the week after – so you'll get two chapters in one week, it's just not possible with my up-coming exam sorry! Hope you enjoy the end of both pov's (the contrast in their outlook ;D )
Disclaimer: I own nothing! It all belongs to HBO and GRRM, unfortunately *grrmph*
The marching never stopped, only at night for a few hours when not even the soldiers could keep up with the pace. It was a hard and fast pace, even faster than the one Yoren had made them keep. Yoren, he should have listened to him, they might not be in this mess if he had. He couldn't help but grimace, they were all running ragged, with their hands and feet shackled there was no chance of escape though. They'd been marching for days with barely any food or water and they were showing it too. Not that the gold-hatted bastards cared if one of them died on the way, they just took off the manacles and kept on moving.
His anger was boiling in his stomach but there was fuck all he could do about it, not about the guards or the cuffs or anything not even Arya. Arya was looking thin and her face was starting to close to him, she was turning harsher and colder by the moment and he didn't know what to do. The truth was, so was he. He had stopped going over the scene in his head, he doubted they could have gotten far, the company had attacked several villages on their way to Harrenhal, adding to the number of captives. Now he just held his tongue and tried to keep his anger in check, until it was slowly glowing at a low ember in the pit of his soul. Any sign of resistance and there'd be a beating for sure.
The air seemed to grow mistier and damper each day, by the time they had reached Harrenhal, the weather had started to seep into their bones, turning their moods as bleak. He couldn't help but stop in awe for a moment though, there was a deep chilling mystery to the ruins. What in the seven hells could do something like that? "Dragonfire", she'd replied. It was the first they had spoken aloud and it took him by surprise, ever since their capture they'd limited all conversation to looks and glances. They always understood each other, but it didn't mean that he knew what was going on in her head. They had whispered though that first night, it was better they didn't speak, and he made damn sure Hotpie knew that too. It was safer, if the idiots thought they were plotting they'd gut them and chances were Hotpie would give away his name and that would cause all sorts of trouble, for all of them. So far no-one had ratted him out, something he was grateful for and equally surprised by, what or who was keeping them quiet he wasn't sure. He hadn't really struck up any sort of friendship to any other than Arya, and Hotpie had just sort of stuck to him.
She too seemed to glance in measured surprise for a second, it was raw and brutal, it held secrets old and it looked haunted, but still it held an eerie beauty, what was possibly going through that head of her's though he couldn't guess. Was she thinking of her father? Of Winterfell? Of Robb? Or Jon? Or was she plotting?
He knew her, there was no way she was going to bow down to the Lannisters in any shape or form, but she was being stupid if she thought they could escape yet. He had a half shaped plan in the back of his mind too, because they would find out who he was and even worse who she was sooner or later and he wasn't going to be sticking around for it, but they had to get rid of the shackles first.
Of course Hotpie had to stop and look what they were doing, the kid wouldn't leave either one of them since Lommy had died. He didn't know Arya was a girl yet though, it was the one thing he could do at the moment and he wasn't going to bugger that up too. It was his fault she was here, but it wouldn't be his fault that anyone found out about her and rape her. He had no doubt they would, they already had to the other women.
He'd done his best to shield her from the noise and sight without showing just how much she meant to him. He couldn't scoop her up in his arms, no matter how much he wanted too; he couldn't cover her eyes or ears either, all he could do with Hotpie was sit in front of her and block her from the sods' view. Even when her eyes had gotten watery and her face had blanched, he couldn't whisper in her ear, that he would keep her safe, all he had done was take her small clammy hand in his, squeezed it and looked deep into her eyes, with the vain hope she understood the silent promises he was sending her. They would have to fight him first to get to her, he wouldn't stop fighting for her ever, she was all he had now, all that mattered to him, he would get her out somehow, she was going to see her family again and he would take her to them. As long as he had air in his body he'd do all he could to keep her alive, she was the Princess of the North, the only person he'd ever serve, she was Arya. The guards had noticed the connection though and kept them apart the following day, for once his was happy they didn't give them much to eat or drink and she'd managed to keep them fooled for another day. Since that day though, she'd been quieter still, the only sign he now got to guard her was a low raspy cough and they'd find a way to slip away for a minute.
When she spoke now her voice was cold and harsh, Hotpie was the only source of amusement but not even his stupid questions could make her smirk. The boy knew nothing, he was hopelessly naïve but even he was shocked at the tone she spoke to him as she told him the smell was of dead people, she just turned and walked away without a second glance to either of them. She was made of the strongest steel he'd ever encountered.
The first sign of weakness he saw in her was when they heard the crying, she looked as if she was fighting with herself, then again when the woman never answered whether or not they always took someone. The screams were shattering and the sound of the flesh being torn apart made his entire soul shiver in dread, they were in an evil place and it was all his fault. He'd failed her in every imaginable way. They were going to die and there was nothing they could do about it. As she turned to him with a flicker of fear in her eyes he couldn't bear to look at her. He couldn't offer her any reassurances, because there were none he could give. He couldn't send her any silent oath because it would be just another promise he would probably have to break. He didn't want to give up, but how in the seven hells were they meant to escape this? He was scared shitless himself and he tried not to show it but so was she. They knew this could be their end, this hellhole of a shitplace and it was all his fucking fault; running like the stupid bull-headed bastard that he was into their hands and he had let her come with him. She'd asked him questions and she was going to end up dead, just like everybody else.
That night was the first she started whispering those names to herself, "Joffery, Cersei, Ilyn Payne, The Hound." She had lain down in the mud, her knees half in a puddle, with her feet curled behind his back, sometime during the night, wedged between himself and the post he had sat against. Each name was a stab to him, he knew they had nothing to with him, that he didn't even know who she was talking about, but the names hadn't started until he couldn't give her comfort, he had deserted her and now all she had left was a list, a prayer as Yoren had called it, it was all that was keeping her sane as her voice held a desperate note.
He sat guard the entire night; he felt her shivering as the rain started to pour down, it was eating him alive, the guilt. This tiny little thing, this little girl, this beautiful little girl, this little wolf pup was dying inside, with every breath she took. She was lying in the bloody mud with soaking clothes and a dream of death uttering from her lips, how in the seven hells had this happened? He should have kept his mouth shut. He should never have spoken to Ned Stark, he wouldn't be dead and she wouldn't be here. He felt his throat tighten as he watched her sleeping form, with anxiety clearly spread across her face, she didn't belong here, she belonged in a castle or in the forests with her direwolf or up on the Wall with Jon, she didn't belong in a pen with a hunted bastard.
He couldn't even lie next to her to keep her warm, the goldcloaks would pick either one of them in their sick pleasure of keeping everyone alone, the same how they had taken the woman's family from her, just because they were a family. All he could do as he felt despair prick in the corners of his eyes was pray to every possible God there was to keep her safe and hope that all his life was flowing through her feet, the only sign of comfort he could give her.
He didn't know when he had dosed off but he was being awoken to the sound of men commanding them to wake. They were choosing their next victim. Both he and Arya turned away, the only sign of their worry, she even knew the man, he cursed their luck and swore under his breath, she was a wolf no doubt, still a sign of defiance in her eye. Why Hotpie believed that man he'd never understand. The moment he had told him of his plan, he just knew the man was next, he got that Hotpie just wanted to believe something would keep him safe even if was some stupid ritual, he still felt for the lad as he started pissing himself. He had been so worried about Arya he'd forgotten Hotpie was just a boy too and a craven one at that, still nothing could be said or done and their torment continued.
The days and nights seemed to flow together, it was all a blur of screams and pain and fear and death. The nights were cold and the days were empty, it numbing and slowly it was just a question of time till one of them were going to be picked, she continued her prayer with an evermore pleading tone, as if it was all that was real, it was all that was keeping her alive he feared and still he'd sit at night against that wooden pole drifting in and out of reality, sometimes he imagined her brother would come ridding through the gates, he didn't know what he looked like but he knew it was him, other times he'd somehow managed to get an axe and they were cutting through the manacles. His idiot plan didn't matter now, if he'd been able to get anywhere near a forge they might have been able to do something, but with all the guards it was still a far off fantasy.
It didn't matter that he'd known he was bound to be chosen soon, it was still a shock and terrifying as The Mountain called him out. He was ripped out of a stupor he hadn't even realized had taken hold of him, it had felt like he had been drowning in other men's agony now he was being thrown in the same ocean and it made his lungs claw out for the air of life, no one survived the torture, even if they had no more answers to give they were killed out of sheer sick pleasure.
Her eyes sought his with the first sign of emotion in weeks, it was fear for him and desperation. She was scared, Arya Stark was scared and she was scared for him, for him and her secret, but still Arya Stark was scared for him, scared for the bastards boy life whose fault it was that she was here in the first place.
That split second gave him strength. He set his jaw in defiance. He knew fire, he knew heat, he knew the blistering pain of metal on skin, he knew that he could handle that source of torture better than most, he was a smith and he was fire as much as the flame. He would not scream, he would not break, he would quell the panic blooming in his chest, he would bite on his own tongue ere he revealed the agony of the rat's teeth against his torso, he was not Gendry Waters and she was not Arya Stark. Even as Polliver began his questions, he started breathing through his nose in heavy defiant breathes. He knew nothing. He knew nothing of the village. He knew nothing of a Brotherhood. He knew nothing of gold. He knew nothing. He knew nothing. The squeaks of the rat didn't exist, there was no frantic shredding at his vest, there was no sweat dripping down his skin, there was no blistering heat from the bucket. There was nothing, nothing but Arya Stark's pleading gaze of fear. He was nothing. She was no one. There was nothing, nothing, nothing but duty to her, nothing, nothing, nothing but his oath to her. They would never know, never, she would never know, never. No one would ever know. There was nothing. There was no one.
Then there was no flame, there was no burning, no rat just the neighing of a horse and everyone stopping, relief flood through him and he was breathing again. Never in his life had he been so glad to see a Lannister and more afraid. What in the seven hells were they going to do now? He'd been spared his life and Arya been ripped from him. A new sense of dread settled in his stomach. She had literally been welcomed into the Lion's den and he couldn't protect her. Worse yet though, what if Tywin Lannister recognized her? The Princess of North was on her own now and there was nothing he could do about it. He had lost his wolf to the Lion's jaws.
Arya:
There was death, all around. She fled it and ended up running to it. Syrio had told her run and she'd never stopped. She had run through the city straight to Yoren. Yoren had run straight into his death because of her too and because of Gendry. Gendry was good and funny sometimes when he wasn't being too stupid calling her m'lady. She liked Gendry, he had a secret too, the Goldcloaks wanted him, not her. Now though it didn't matter, none of it mattered, The Mountain had them and she was pretty sure she was going to die, but every night she said her prayer and she lived another day, just like Syrio told her, each day she'd say to the God of Death, "Not today".
She didn't think they'd take him though, The Bull, one of her pack, she said a prayer but not for him and now the God of Death was going to take him. Gendry was going to die, he was going to die in the most horrible way and she hated it, she hated him, why did he have to go and get picked? He was going to leave her, he was going to tell them her secret, everyone told Polliver their secrets. He swore to her he wouldn't, that no one would find out, not from him.
She felt Hotpie's stare, he knew Gendry was someone, especially to her. He didn't know she was Arya and not Arry, but he knew they were best friends, just like he and Lommy had been. He probably felt sorry for her, stupid Hotpie. She didn't need anyone, she was a wolf. She wouldn't need Gendry, she just, she just, she just what? She had been weak. That's what she had been. She had liked Gendry and now Gendry was going to die. People always died. Mycah; her father; Yoren and now Gendry. They were all liars too. Her vision was starting to go bleary, no she wouldn't cry, not for a dead boy.
Gendry was just sitting there with the most stubborn look she'd ever seen and hope started to blossom in her heart, he would die but maybe, just maybe he'd keep his promise. Then there was the pounding of hooves and an old man stepped down from a white steed, he was a Lannister she was sure, he wore their colours. She was not going to kneel. The North does not kneel, not to the South, not to a Lannister. She could kill him. If she could get Needle, she could kill him and maybe get the horse and ride away. She could kill a Lannister and ride to Robb. She looked into the man's eyes and he started to grin. She would kill him, she would.
But she was caught, she hadn't even managed to get Needle and she was going to be gutted. Then the man told him to stop and he knew she was girl. She would have to speak to him, she thought about not answering but she didn't have a choice, she tried to sound sweet and harmless, all the while she imagined him without a head. A small part of her was happy they weren't going to die and maybe she could even manage to get away with Gendry and Hotpie if they weren't too stupid. She was going to have to serve a Lannister though and it made her blood boil with hatred. He was Joffery and Cersei and Ilyn Payne and The Hound. He was Polliver and The Mountain. He was the reason she was alone. She would be his cup-bearer and he would die, that she swore on her life.
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