Winter's Thaw

Storm's End

Gendry

He was nervous. Storm's End was looming in the distance, beautiful and mysterious, and he felt- unworthy. Arya notices his hesitation and grabs his hand, weaving her fingers through his. He breathes out through his nose. If she thought he was worthy, then who was he to argue?

In fact, when he looked over at her he saw her swallow gruffly.

"What is it?" He asks.

"I just. I just wish I had something proper to wear." She admits, looking over her trousers and tunic. At this, he actually chuckles.

"You never cared before." He points out.

"But it's your family, your home. I'd rather make a good impression this time." She's biting her lip. He kisses her fingers from between his own, she smiles a bit at him, and he does feel better instantly.

"They'll be impressed alright." He remarks. To which she actually sticks her tongue out at him. The men giggle behind them.

They ride up, and a guard stops them. "Who goes there?" The guard enquires.

She squeezes his hand once in reassurance. "Lord and Lady Baratheon, Heir to Storm's End." He projects. The man looks skeptical but takes a closer look at Gendry's thick head of black hair and sparkling blue eyes, then rushes to open the gate.

They ride in, and Gendry is relieved at how easy that was. It had taken a lot for him to call himself Lord Baratheon, but the man hadn't even questioned it. Arya didn't look at all surprised; perhaps he really did belong here.

It's beautiful, the waves crashing along the shore, dark towers blocking the sun; it represents power. Upon their entrance, they're greeted by an older steward with greying hair, a serving woman who was twice the size around as Hot Pie, and a stiff guard, with hair as black as his own. They all took turns welcoming them, giving him the run-down of the castle, complaining about how little notice they'd had, and asking if he needed anything. He just nodded to make it look like he understood, but he was completely overwhelmed. Behind a corner, he saw a petite young woman stick her head out, before disappearing back out of view. The guard, Daryn, offered to show Hot Pie, Lommy, and the others to their quarters. The steward, Maester Elwin, had a lot of 'imperative questions' and Arya, noticing his distress, volunteered to go with him and answer what she could. She kissed him goodbye, and the look he gave her of abandonment made her pause, but she just scooted him along in encouragement and followed the older gentleman.

The round and cheerful serving woman was delighted to have a new young master, or so she said and gushed about the food that would be prepared, asked how he wanted his rooms set up, and expressed a desire to see babies running around the castle. He was actually quite glad Arya had left before that, as he knew such talk would only upset her. He'd told her it didn't matter to him, and that was true. He was happy just to have her. Babies could come later. But of course, there was also his uncle and his demands to contend with. Just the thought of his uncle's interference made him clench his fist in anger. 

It didn't help that Arya hadn't let him touch her since the morning of their departure from the Brotherhood. Her moon's blood she'd said. He believed her, but he didn't really understand what it actually meant. How could a woman bleed and not need healing? And what did any of it have to do with sex? If he cut himself, he didn't think it would stop him from wanting his wife. He'd gone without before, but that was before Arya. He never did understand women, so he would just let her tell him when it was alright again. But Gods he was tense.

Merilee surprisingly offered to help, Marta, her name was, to get their things sorted and their rooms prepared, and she too left him. He was glad to be rid of them, but now he had no idea what to do with himself or where he was meant to go. The girl popped out from behind the corner again, and this time he got a good look at her. She was a short little thing with light brown hair; she was covered neck to toe in fine black cloth. She was young too he thought, 12 or 13, and one side of her face was marked with grey. For an instant he thought it some sort of stain or leftover dirt, but the closer he got he recognized it as greyscale, and he concluded that this was his cousin Shireen.