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Podrick clears his throat, and his face is all twisted up like he’s going to be sick. Gendry wonders if he should pull Arya back or not. What would make her the most angry: being thrown up on or him manhandling her?
The manhandling.
Definitely the manhandling.
Arya looks in his direction, one eyebrow rising slowly as she takes him. “You lived. Good.”
There’s the faintest hint of a blush that crosses over his round cheeks. She doesn’t see it, because she’s gone back to cleaning off her knife, but Gendry does. He sees the way that twisted face is sweaty, and the way his hands are shaking.
Poor boy.
“Iheardwhatyoudid,” Pod says in such a rush that it’s a wonder he hasn’t passed out from not taking an actual breath.
Gendry has completely stopped with his work, watching them with amused interest. He’s actually not sure who to feel more sorry for.
“I think everyone did by now, didn’t they? I’m Arya fucking Stark, slayer of kings.”
Pod folds his arms over his chest, unfolds them, takes a half step forward before hesitation makes him stumble over his feet backwards. “Well, maybe not that title.”
“I’m reclaiming it,” Arya says. She finally looks up. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Another throat clearing. “I’ve been told I’m - No, what I mean is, you’re a lady–”
“Don’t start that shit, too.” She hooks a thumb in Gendry’s direction, who tries to look as innocent as possible. “It’s bad enough he does.”
She likes it when he says it, though, otherwise she wouldn’t push him around so much.
Pod looks at Gendry finally, eyes wide, mouth almost slack. Back and forth goes his gaze between the two of them. Gendry wonders if he’s perhaps too massive to be innocent. Or maybe he’s been staring at Arya too much. Her knee touches his reflexively.
“A drink. I was wondering if you wanted a drink.”
Arya stares, blinks, tilts her head just so to the right. She glances around at the work that needs to be done. “If there’s any booze left, the Hound has already hoarded it.”
“Right. Right,” Pod says, and he rubs the back of his neck. He’s drilling a hole into Gendry with his stare, and Gendry is starting to wonder if it isn’t that he’s guessed what’s going on so much as hoping he’ll lend the lad a hand.
“Go ask him,” Arya tells him. “We can have a drink.”
Hope lights up Podrick’s round face. When he dashes off, Gendry stares at Arya for a few moments.
“What?” she snaps.
“Should I be worried about suitors?” he asks.
She blinks at him, scowling. “What are you talking about?”
“Podrick.”
“Is not a suitor.”
“Wants to be.”
She punches him in the shoulder. “Then you could at least act a little jealous.”
He rubs his arm where she got him. “Why are you taking this out on me?”
“You’re here.”
Gendry grabs her by the wrist and tugs her closer. She’s strong and terrifying and the slayer of kings, but she’s still a petite woman. She falls into his lap with a grunt. “You’re clumsy, my lady.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you.”