Chapter Text
The Bull- You’re in college now. Shouldn’t you be out wearing a skimpy costume and drinking too much?
It’s tradition. -Arya
The Bull-You're sure you haven't outgrown this?
Never-Arya
The Bull- Arya...
Gendry... -Arya
The Bull- ....
The Bull- Fine.Great! Pick me up at 8. -Arya
And dress warmer. Don’t want to hear you complain like last year. -AryaThe Bull- As you command, m’lady.
Stupid -Arya
At 8:03, Gendry pulled up in front of her dorm, his motorcycle engine revving, drawing the attention of the costumed, half drunk college students that were leaving the building. A group of girls who appeared to be dressed as lingerie models, stopped to stare appreciatively. Arya really couldn’t blame them. Even on his bike Gendry was tall, his coat doing nothing to hide his broad, muscled shoulders. When he removed his helmet, one of the lingerie models groaned, his blue eyes and tasseled black hair often had that effect on women. Arya knew because she had seen it countless times before. Being friends with Gendry meant putting up with a lot of longing stares. He never seemed to notice it though.
He unstrapped the spare helmet, handing it to her as she approached.
“You sure you wouldn’t prefer a good ol’fashion halloween party?” He asked, eyeing a group of zombies shuffling by.
“It’s tradition.” She reminded him, securing the helmet.
“Why can’t we have normal traditions? Like watching scary movies or going trick-or-treating?” He asked as she climbed on behind him.
“Because we’re not normal,” she shouted over the engine, feeling the rumble of his laughter but not hearing it.
Winterfell was exactly an hour way, but because Catelyn had banned their halloween tradition years ago it took a little longer; being forced to park and walk a good portion of it. The woods around Winterfell were dense, wolves hollowed in the distance, sending a shiver down Arya’s spine.
“Scared?” Gendry smirked, turning so his headlamp temporarily blinded her.
“Never,” she said, giving him a small shove forward, ignoring his laughter.
Outside the large stone door leading to the crypts, Gendry paused, placing a hand on her shoulder, his voice serious. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Are you finally giving up? Admitting that I’m stronger than you?” Arya asked, not bothering to hide the glee in her voice.
“Never.” He said, pushing against the heavy stone door until it opened.
When Arya was eleven years old, Jon had bet Gendry ten gold Dragons that he couldn’t stay the whole night in the crypts of Winterfell on Halloween night. Gendry had laughed, stating no one could last the whole night, which of course was taken as a challenge by Arya. And since no sixteen year old boy can be shown up by an eleven year old girl, the tradition had been born. Jon had stopped betting them after the first year, but that hadn’t stopped them from keeping up with the bet themselves; each year convinced the other one was going to crack, somehow forming a friendship in the process.
The descent into the crypts was treacherous and also the reason why Catelyn had banned them from doing it years ago. Some of the stone steps crumbled under their feet as they slowly went round and round, further into the darkness until they reached the first landing.
Gendry stopped, shining his light on to the dark stairs that went even deeper into the ground.
“Why don’t we ever visit any of the other levels?” He asked.
Arya gulped, shining her light into the blackness as well, taking a step down off the landing. It felt colder, a light breeze causing goosebumps on Arya’s arm.
“Robb said we can never go down there,” she whispered. “The old kings in the north were buried there. Robb said their spirits are still restless, angry over Torrhen bending the knee.”
Gendry grunted, laughing, “Restless spirits? Don’t tell me you believe in ghost stories?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” she spat, resisting the urge to stomp her feet. “I’m just telling you what Robb said.
“Let’s up the ante then,” Gendry said. “Let’s go sleep on the next level. Find out how angry the old kings in the north are exactly.”
Arya hesitated, shifting on her feet, thinking of all the stories she had heard over the years about the lower levels. Jon had sworn he felt as if someone had been watching him. Even her own father had told her a story about he and Benjen hearing whispers.
Sensing weakness, Gendry laughed, “Too scared, she-wolf?”
“Never,” she said, plunging into the darkness, going round and round down the stairs without looking back to see if he followed. She told herself that it wasn’t getting that much colder, that the rustling noise she heard was all in her head, until she reached the next landing, Gendry running into her as she came to an abrupt halt.
“Think you can get the door open, bull?” She asked, motioning toward the ancient stone before them. He moved forward, putting his shoulder against the door and pushing, slowly opening it as it groaned in protest. With one final shove, he managed to shift it slightly with a grunt.
A gust of wind came through the open door, bringing with it the low rumbling sound of laughter.
Arya’s hand shot out to grip Gendry’s forearm, turning to see the fear mirrored in his own face.
“Did you...” He began, not bothering to finish the sentence as Arya nodded. “You still want to do this?”
Arya swallowed, nodding once. Gendry nodded back, before grabbing her hand, pulling her through the opening, causing Arya to temporarily forget about her fear. His hand was large, calloused and warm. Arya wondered when she had started being attracted to hands.
What little light given off by their headlamps and flashlights, showed this level was a long corridor like the one above it, statues of Stark kings, sitting in alcoves, swords across their knees. Gendry dropped Arya’s hand, much to her disappointment, to pull out a lantern from his backpack, flipping it on to provide them with more light.
Arya gasped as the faces of the statues came in to focus. Unlike the statues in the level above them, these king’s had been drawn with angry, cruel faces.
“Fuck,” Gendry cursed behind her. “Why would they have carved them this way?”
“I told you,” Arya whispered. “They were angry over Torrhen bending the knee.”
“Come on,” he said, pulling on her shoulder so she would turn to face him. “Let’s light some candles. Your ancestors are freaking me out.”
Arya nodded in agreement, pulling her backpack off to retrieve the candles. But once all the candles were lit, it did little to alleviate the darkness, almost as if it the darkness was eating up the light. They tried to settle, sitting with their backs against the wall, candles in a semi circle around them, desperately hoping to avoid looking at the statues before them.
“How is school going?” Gendry asked, his voice strained in forced casualness. “I haven’t seen you much since the semester started.”
“It’s alright,” she said shifting, bumping in to Gendry’s shoulder. “I like my classes. My roommate-”
Arya stopped abruptly. One of the candles fluttered, then went out. The one next to it did the same thing.
“Arya?” Gendry whispered, his hand reaching out to grab hers again, squeezing harder this time.
Another candle went out, then the one next to it.
Gendry stood, pulling Arya up with him, shoving her slightly behind him. Arya grabbed on to his hand with both of hers, not caring if it made her look weak. The candles began to extinguish themselves before their eyes, one after the other. Until all that was left was their lantern and headlamps.
Arya kept the feeling of panic at bay until from the far side of the crypt a low sinister laughter came toward them, slowly growing louder.
“Ok,” Gendry said haltingly. “I give up, you win.”
“Let’s call it a draw,” she said, reaching down to grab her backpack as Gendry pulled her toward the door. She wasn’t sure how they made it up the twisting stairs as fast as they did, the faint sound of laughter chasing them out. They didn’t stop running until they got to Gendry’s motorcycle, finally stopping to breathe heavily while leaning against the bike. They stood like that for a while, until both gained their breath, straightening to look at each other, smiling.
Gendry took two steps, closing the distance between them, hunching over her, his hands cupping her jaw, pulling her face upward, his lips kissing her once, twice, three times, before Arya opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. When he pulled back, she was out of breath again.
“What was that for?” She asked.
“I thought we were going to die,” he whispered. “And my biggest regret was not knowing what it was like to kiss you.”