A Vow Without Honor

The Brothers

(coming at you from a socially acceptable distance)

Gendry

He wasn't used to people.

That was, he wasn't used to having the same people for so long.

All his life, people had been leaving him, or he them. Ever since his mother died – not that he could remember much of her either – his life had been a series of faces and places, things he never grew used to because they would be gone soon enough. The kind, fat septa who had snuck him extra bread at the orphanage, the cruel, old one that replaced her, the blonde girl with the gap in her teeth – Tess, was it? – who would whistle when the coast was clear so he could sneak fruit from one of the market stands.

Tobho Mott had been the first, if annoying, constant in his youth, but even then, Gendry had not allowed himself to become used to the man, always keeping a bag ready for when he had to run again. The constant threats hadn't helped. Good at smithing he may have been, but Tobho preferred to motivate his workers with unemployment and starvation rather than compliments, even after two Hands promised him a good life.

That really should have been the first sign that something was wrong, but Tess had always said he was thick.

Given his parentage, it sort of made sense now.

Arya Stark should have been one of those faces, in his life one moment and gone the next. Even when she was just Arry, he had expected as much. She'd go missing on their way to the Wall, die when the Lannister soldiers came, die in Harrenhal, be taken away at any point during this crazy journey of theirs, and yet, Gendry still found himself in her company.

He had meant what he said to her that evening, about going back to the Brotherhood when they'd traveled her to Riverrun. She was a highborn lady after all, and about to become one of those past faces again, and he preferred the new ones to be company of his own choosing.

But his feet had dragged in Riverrun. They'd given him a bed and good clothes and the smith was quiet, but decent to him. And Arya was about as determined to leave him be as the rest of the world was apparently. She always found herself in the smithy, one way or another.

Gendry guessed he'd just grown used to her.

She couldn't whistle for shit, though.

He woke with a smile on his face, and a craving for apples, but the smell of bacon sizzling somewhere below was enough to squash that sensation. He almost began to mourn the opportunity to have some when he realized it was probably being made especially for them.

He wasn't used to having money either.

Gendry turned to his traveling companion, half expecting her to leap from the balcony as soon as she caught a whiff of the stuff, but was surprised to find Arya still asleep, completely unaware of everything around her.

She hadn't been sleeping much, he knew that. Every time it was his turn to take up the watch, she would just lie there, staring. Sometimes she'd close her eyes, but her body was still tense, ready to leap up and stab the next thing that ran into the area.

Sometimes, he wondered if he shouldn't have been more disturbed that the girl asleep next to him would rather kill first before any other option, but after Harrenhal, well, he couldn't question much anymore. He could still hear those rats in the dead of night, clawing at wood and flesh; he even thought he could feel them.

Carefully as he could, Gendry stood from their makeshift bed. He'd let her sleep as long as he could, all day if she needed to. What was the harm in spending another night?