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Smut: From what she’d seen, she hadn’t expected to enjoy this: being on her knees, taking him into her mouth. But hearing Gendry begging and feeling him tremble under her touch—Arya couldn’t help but feel powerful.
Angst: The tansy tea was bitter, but Arya wanted no honey to mask the misery of the moment. Weeping into the cup, she could not hold her mask of steel, too sick at the thought of washing herself of Gendry’s child—their child. Her lord husband may have turned a blind eye to her lover, but he would not tolerate his wife birthing a bastard and shaming his house.
AU: Dinner with Arya usually meant pizza or eating take-out with plastic utensils, but that wouldn’t do for tonight. Her parents were in town and they insisted on meeting the boy occupying all of their youngest daughter’s time.
Gendry kept tugging at his tie and trying to smooth his hair with his hand in the cab on the way to the restaurant until Arya finally swatted his hands away straightening his tie and tucking his hair back, trying to still his nervous motions. With her hands on his face she steadied him, “Relax. You’ll be fine. It’s just dinner. You’ll like my mom—everyone likes her. And my dad—don’t let him intimidate you—he’s a big softie. It’s just a couple hours, then we’re home.”
Stepping out of the car, he took a calming breath, “Ok. Right. You’re right. It’s just a couple hours. No big deal.”
“Thank you for doing this” She reached up to give him a quick kiss, but Gendry, needing the reassurance, pulled her closer and deepened the kiss until they were startled from their embrace.
“Arya!”
Breaking apart, Arya’s eyes went wide when she saw who spoke her name. “Sansa! What are you doing here?”
Sansa had a smirk playing at her lips, her eyebrow quirking up at catching her sister off guard. “Oh well, when we heard that mom and dad were finally getting to meet your boyfriend, well, we just had to come too.”
“We?”
“Oh didn’t mom tell you? We’re all here—mom, dad…the boys.”
Gendry followed Sansa’s gaze as she looked behind them into the window of the restaurant and waved at the large table where her parents and brothers sat with expressions that would have been hilarious if they weren’t so terrifying.
Romance: As silly as Arya thought he was for trying to court her when they were already as intimate as man and woman could be, Gendry knew she loved it when he brought her flowers and stuck them in her hair.
Fluff: There were screams and shrieks in the yard, but Arya wasn’t disturbed by them. They were the joyful, excited cries of children at play—their children. She was watching from the window as Nymeria chased two little boys, while another little girl rode astride the great wolf when Gendry came up from behind her. Wrapping his arms around her swollen waist, his head on her shoulder; he joined her watching their children play. Resting her hands on top of his, she leaned back and sighed in content. She wasn’t sure when it happened, or how or why, but somehow they were happy.
Friendship: Arya was bored out of her mind and if any of the Brotherhood bothered to spare her a glance from their drinking and conversation, they’d know it too. She wasn’t doing much to mask her contempt for their situation. When Gendry sat down next to her Arya couldn’t stop herself from frowning “This is what happens when they dress me up like a little lady. They put me in a stupid dress and pat me on the head and ignore me! We could be at Riverrun…I could be with my mother.”
Arya crossed her arms and pouted and Gendry didn’t know whether to laugh or try to comfort her so instead he tried to distract her, “C’mon. We can play a game—”
“I can’t. I’ll ruin this dress too. I can’t do anything now.”
“C’mon. We can play cards. You can’t possibly ruin your dress doing that.”
“Will you teach me?” Her timid reply was surprising and his confusion was evident on his face. When he went to reply she cut him off before he could tease her, ”Shut up. I bet I could beat you at cyvasse.”
“Cyvasse? That’s a game for you lords and ladies.”
“I’m not a lady!” Gendry laughed at her indignation.
“Well, you sure look like one.” At that she punched him in the arm, “shut up, stupid!”
Gendry just laughed then tugged on her arm, gesturing for her to get up. “Okay—I’ll teach you. But don’t think that just because you’re a high born lady that I’ll go easy on you.”
Arya stuck her tongue out in reply and made a rude gesture, but her smiling eyes and the way she jumped ahead of him, eager to start playing, betrayed her.
An hour later Gendry feigned a sullen expression, tossing his cards on the table muttering, “never played cards before…” but mostly he was glad to see Arya’s delighted expression at yet another victory.
Hurt/Comfort: She wasn’t the same girl who left Westeros six years earlier. She was afraid of finding her family, people who remembered her as a girl and their rejection of the woman she had become—a killer, a survivor: quieter, harder and not entirely whole. But somehow Gendry knew this, understood and accepted her and never made her explain. For that, she loved him.