Arya/Gendry: Leave
Title: Leave
Author aneedleofmyown
Pairing: Arya/Gendry
Prompt(s): Written for the gameofships "Tag! Your Ship!" meme.
Word Count: 921
Rating & Warnings: PG-13/T. Mild sexual content, brief language, bittersweet, spoilers from ASOS and on.
“Come with me.”
Gendry said nothing- instead, trying to ignore her over the clanging din of hammer on steel as he shaped a breastplate in his hands. He knew where Arya wanted to go: back to Braavos so that she could continue on with her career of killing, of giving her new god's so-called gifts to unsuspecting victims. Well, bugger that, he thought. The Many-Faced God could keep his blessings, Gendry wanted no part of them.
Arya came up and kicked his shin, hard, making him hiss in pain and drop his hammer in annoyance. “What was that for?” he asked angrily, reaching down to rub the tender ache.
“Answer me, stupid,” she exclaimed, seeming even more upset than he was. It annoyed him. He was the one who'd just been kicked, after all.
“What do you want me to say?” Gendry almost yelled, his temper quickly flaring. Though she'd asked him several times, he had yet to give Arya a straight answer about going with her to Braavos. Truth be known, he didn't know what to do.
“That you will leave with me,” she replied, throwing her hands up in exasperation. She stared at him for a long moment before coming closer. “There's nothing left for us here. Don't you understand?” She skidded her fingers feather-light across his knuckles. “Come with me.”
The thought of leaving Westeros, across the narrow sea, repelled him. The Riverlands were as far as he'd ever been from King's Landing, a place which only years before he'd assumed he'd never leave in the first place. He knew he would not do well in the eastern cities across the sea. From what he'd seen and heard, they were a strange people with strange styles and customs. Gendry was a simple blacksmith- no, he reminded himself. I am a knight now. A hedge knight, but a knight all the same. Even so, he had no desire to leave Westeros. And he had other reasons for distrusting the idea of Braavos.
“How can you say that?” he accused, taking a painful step away from the girl. “Maybe you can't be content while you're here, but I... I have a life here, Arry.” He used her old fake name without thinking, and he saw something change in her features at the sound of it.
Her face was inscrutable, showing no hint or trace of emotion. Gendry hated it. This was why he couldn't go with her. The Faceless Cunts had taken his friend, his wolf girl, and changed her into no one. It had been a year since she'd returned to Westeros, and as much as he wanted to believe that she was her old self again, he knew she hadn't forgotten.
“Don't you dare look at me like that,” he told her, stepping close to her now in anger. “You can't hide from me, Arya.” He took her face between his hands and emphasized her true name, trying to evoke some sort of reaction from her. She continued to stare blankly at him, though for half a second he thought he saw a bright flash of anger in her eyes. It gave him hope.
Their faces were close now, only a few inches of open space separating them. Not for the first time, he felt a strange warmth come over him, sweeping through his veins. Surely, if he were to close the space between them, she would have to react one way or another. His heart pounded harder at the thought. Anything to keep that look from her face.
Gendry was surprised at how warm Arya's mouth felt against his. She could be so cold, and he was pleased to see that there was still some fire left within her. For a long moment, neither of them moved, paralyzed by the strange new physicality between them. Then, in a surprisingly cautious manner, she lifted her hand and placed it against his cheek, silently encouraging him to continue. A low moan emanated from his throat at the realization, and he moved his lips fervently against hers, forgetting the reason he'd kissed her in the first place.
Arya wrapped her arms around his neck, and he did the same around her waist, bringing her up closer to his mouth. She tasted warm and sweet on his tongue as he swept it inside her mouth. She whimpered against him, and he felt his cock twitch in his trousers.
Breathing heavily, he finally pulled away, setting Arya back down on her feet. She kept her arms around his neck, though, as she pleaded again: “Come with me.”
Gendry looked down at her; her eyes weren't hard like ice as they usually were. Instead, they were a warm, melted silver that almost hurt to look at. He didn't know what to do. Go with her, and she'd surely make her way back to the Faceless Men. But stay in Westeros, and she wouldn't think twice about leaving him- everyone left him, sooner or later.
He stepped back, breaking her hold around his neck. He felt bile churn in his stomach, and he could hardly bring himself to say the words. “I-I can't.” He didn't want to think about what it would be like to lose Arya again, but he'd be damned if he stood back and watched as she destroyed herself. “I'm sorry,” he said. And then he did the one thing he'd sworn to himself he'd never do again: he left.
Author aneedleofmyown
Pairing: Arya/Gendry
Prompt(s): Written for the gameofships "Tag! Your Ship!" meme.
Word Count: 921
Rating & Warnings: PG-13/T. Mild sexual content, brief language, bittersweet, spoilers from ASOS and on.
“Come with me.”
Gendry said nothing- instead, trying to ignore her over the clanging din of hammer on steel as he shaped a breastplate in his hands. He knew where Arya wanted to go: back to Braavos so that she could continue on with her career of killing, of giving her new god's so-called gifts to unsuspecting victims. Well, bugger that, he thought. The Many-Faced God could keep his blessings, Gendry wanted no part of them.
Arya came up and kicked his shin, hard, making him hiss in pain and drop his hammer in annoyance. “What was that for?” he asked angrily, reaching down to rub the tender ache.
“Answer me, stupid,” she exclaimed, seeming even more upset than he was. It annoyed him. He was the one who'd just been kicked, after all.
“What do you want me to say?” Gendry almost yelled, his temper quickly flaring. Though she'd asked him several times, he had yet to give Arya a straight answer about going with her to Braavos. Truth be known, he didn't know what to do.
“That you will leave with me,” she replied, throwing her hands up in exasperation. She stared at him for a long moment before coming closer. “There's nothing left for us here. Don't you understand?” She skidded her fingers feather-light across his knuckles. “Come with me.”
The thought of leaving Westeros, across the narrow sea, repelled him. The Riverlands were as far as he'd ever been from King's Landing, a place which only years before he'd assumed he'd never leave in the first place. He knew he would not do well in the eastern cities across the sea. From what he'd seen and heard, they were a strange people with strange styles and customs. Gendry was a simple blacksmith- no, he reminded himself. I am a knight now. A hedge knight, but a knight all the same. Even so, he had no desire to leave Westeros. And he had other reasons for distrusting the idea of Braavos.
“How can you say that?” he accused, taking a painful step away from the girl. “Maybe you can't be content while you're here, but I... I have a life here, Arry.” He used her old fake name without thinking, and he saw something change in her features at the sound of it.
Her face was inscrutable, showing no hint or trace of emotion. Gendry hated it. This was why he couldn't go with her. The Faceless Cunts had taken his friend, his wolf girl, and changed her into no one. It had been a year since she'd returned to Westeros, and as much as he wanted to believe that she was her old self again, he knew she hadn't forgotten.
“Don't you dare look at me like that,” he told her, stepping close to her now in anger. “You can't hide from me, Arya.” He took her face between his hands and emphasized her true name, trying to evoke some sort of reaction from her. She continued to stare blankly at him, though for half a second he thought he saw a bright flash of anger in her eyes. It gave him hope.
Their faces were close now, only a few inches of open space separating them. Not for the first time, he felt a strange warmth come over him, sweeping through his veins. Surely, if he were to close the space between them, she would have to react one way or another. His heart pounded harder at the thought. Anything to keep that look from her face.
Gendry was surprised at how warm Arya's mouth felt against his. She could be so cold, and he was pleased to see that there was still some fire left within her. For a long moment, neither of them moved, paralyzed by the strange new physicality between them. Then, in a surprisingly cautious manner, she lifted her hand and placed it against his cheek, silently encouraging him to continue. A low moan emanated from his throat at the realization, and he moved his lips fervently against hers, forgetting the reason he'd kissed her in the first place.
Arya wrapped her arms around his neck, and he did the same around her waist, bringing her up closer to his mouth. She tasted warm and sweet on his tongue as he swept it inside her mouth. She whimpered against him, and he felt his cock twitch in his trousers.
Breathing heavily, he finally pulled away, setting Arya back down on her feet. She kept her arms around his neck, though, as she pleaded again: “Come with me.”
Gendry looked down at her; her eyes weren't hard like ice as they usually were. Instead, they were a warm, melted silver that almost hurt to look at. He didn't know what to do. Go with her, and she'd surely make her way back to the Faceless Men. But stay in Westeros, and she wouldn't think twice about leaving him- everyone left him, sooner or later.
He stepped back, breaking her hold around his neck. He felt bile churn in his stomach, and he could hardly bring himself to say the words. “I-I can't.” He didn't want to think about what it would be like to lose Arya again, but he'd be damned if he stood back and watched as she destroyed herself. “I'm sorry,” he said. And then he did the one thing he'd sworn to himself he'd never do again: he left.