Archive of Our Own ^beta

For someone who was technically a political hostage, Arya had a pretty long leash. Enough so that if she wanted to get out of Harrenhal that night, she probably could. Roose kept a close eye on her when she was in the apartment, and he went through her stuff constantly, but he didn’t keep her locked up.

That was his mistake.

She was at the laundromat, headphones over her ears, but no cassette in her Walkman, listening to Aenys Frey talk to one of his many half-sisters, who spent more time inspecting her nails than listening to him. Not that Arya could blame her. It was family gossip mostly, Arya didn’t quite understand how someone could hate their own brothers so much, but he was a Frey. None of that was of any real importance, for her at least. But if she waited long enough, he’d shift his complaining eventually.

She had been teaching herself patience for years now, to blend into the background instead of grasping for attention like she had when she was younger. But she still felt that kick of impetuosity. She tampered it down and, as if in reward, the topic of the Freys’ conversation switched to his work. Arya turned the page of the TV Guide in her lap but didn’t read a word.

“’Course Bolton is still worried about DA Stark, as if she even has jurisdiction down here. Should just spring the trap already,” Aenys said, with that thick mucus quality of his voice. It was always disturbing to hear people talk about wanting to kill your mom, even when you’ve known for months. Someone snapped their gum, hollow and sharp like BB gun fire. “Should be more worried about all these vigilante groups. But he just rolls his eyes whenever I mention them, like they aren’t killing people. It’s damn near guerrilla.”

Arya read the paper every morning, she knew what he was talking about. The road blockades by Acorn Hall, the worker’s strikes turned riots, the missing people reports of the perpetrators of the Saltpans massacre. But given that more than half of it was Lannister propaganda she didn’t buy into the narrative surrounding the Riverland’s leftist groups.

“But no, he’s just getting involved with the Bloody Murmurs, and picking fights with Catelyn Stark. See if we don’t have that stupid Brotherhood knocking down our doors because Roose is so concerned with the ‘Big Picture.’”

A beep went off, followed by a huff and the scrape of a chair. Aenys collected his dry laundry and left with his sister. Arya looked up for the first time since she sat down. Four minutes left on her machine. What a productive day.

It was sunny and maybe one of the last warm days in autumn, so she took the long way home. Lugging around her laundry bag slowed her down some, but it was too nice to really bother her. Well, the weather was nice. Harrenhal itself was a shitstain of a town. 

The roads were poorly paved, devolving into dirt or gravel once you got off the main strip. Trees long ago planted along the sidewalks had shriveled, and in some places collapsed. Shop fronts were tagged with graffiti and the litter was so abundant that a clean storm drain made her feel uneasy. It made sense, Harrenhal had been more or less a ghost town until Roose rolled in and appointed himself mayor. All the public works issues were ignored in favor of praising his ‘revival of the small-town economy’ as if half of the town’s population wasn’t directly tied to his dirty investments and Lannister connections.

She kept her eyes to the blue sky overhead rather than the cracked styrofoam cup under foot. There was a flock of birds ebbing and flowing just over the middle of town. The sight of them caused an ache in her chest, even three years later. They were sparrows, though, not pigeons, and she didn’t feel as though she had to look away from them. Maybe that was healing. Or maybe healing was getting your foster father arrested for murder and treasonous conspiracy. Time would tell.

She was just at the edge of town, on the grounds of the high school. A mile to her left would take her to the city center and two miles to her right would take her to the trailer park, and from there it was about five miles to the nearest highway. It was always tempting, just a few hours walk and she would be able to hitchhike anywhere. Never have to see Roose Bolton’s bloodless face again. But if she left he could get away with hurting her mom and Robb, and she wasn’t going to let that happen. 

Her attention was drawn away from the sky by the rattle of a chain link fence. Enrollment and funding were both too low in Harrenhal to necessitate the running of a functional school system, much less field any teams. But there was one guy out in what was once the outfield of a baseball diamond, the grass dead and overrun with dust. He was tossing to himself and hitting softballs into a fence. He had a good swing: even, with a sharp turn in his hips.

Back home in Winterfell their neighborhood had a wiffleball tournament every summer out in the middle of the street, using gardening equipment as the bases, and childless Dr. Luwin as an ump. Playing with her brothers constituted some of her happiest memories, better by far than the school softball team, even when she shredded her calf open trying to slide home on asphalt, even when she was twelve and they lost in the final to the Mormont sisters in the eleventh inning. She missed sports, playing a game that wasn’t life and death.

If things were normal, if she were still in school, she’d be a junior now. On a varsity team. She listened to the crack of the bat, smiled at the boy’s frown when he swung through a pitch; it was kind of cute.  Playing for a few hours wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Do you want me to pitch for you?” She called out. She was standing outside the dugout now, her laundry bad set aside. He was just off the infield and jolted at her voice. “I got a decent fastball.” Or she had three years ago, at least.

“Uh,” he said, letting the bat rest on his shoulder as he scratched his eyebrow, which was dark and thick like his hair. She had figured he was in high school (or at least the homeschooled equivalent), but as she walked closer to hear him better, she thought he might be older. Just graduated. “I only got like, two balls. Don’t wanna have to run off and collect them all the time.”

“Oh, planning on hitting a lot of home runs?”

He smiled, half bashful half cocky. “Always. What, do you only plan to hit foul balls?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well I can soft pitch it to you. It’s better practice.”

She was right, it would be stupid to deny her help. Yet still he hesitated, all wary, as if he had something to fear from her. She almost rolled her eyes again, but that didn’t make for the best first impression.

“Come on already.”

“I just don’t understand why you want to help me.”

“Because I’m expecting you to let me have a turn, and I haven’t played in ages. Don’t worry I’m not some selfless softball angel.”

Her sarcasm, of all things, got him to agree, got him to smile. He opened his mouth as if to quip back but shut it after a moment with a shake of his head, as if self-correcting. He rolled over the balls with two sharp taps from his bat instead. “You’ll get a go.”

His two softballs were worn, the yellow dulled with dust and creating a grainy texture in hand. Muscle memory guided her fingers to the seams. She tossed the first one, slow and hip high. He made lousy contact, just skimming the top of the ball and making it collide weakly to the bottom of the fence.

“Gonna need to be better than that if you wanna make the team, champ!”

“Just didn’t expect you to be a lefty,” he grumbled. His obvious annoyance was kind of cute. Was he trying to show off for her? Arya didn’t really know how she felt about the idea, but it wasn’t negative.

“Sure,” she said, teasing, maybe putting a flirty edge into it. “You’re out of luck anyway, Harrenhal doesn’t have any teams. Not even a rec league.”

“I know,” he said, huffed rather, like he was insulted that she would think he didn’t know that. “Just got my arm out of a cast and I’m trying to get my strength back.”

She pitched again. This time the crack of the bat was sharp and full bodied, the twist of his body graceful. He didn’t look like he was wanting for strength.

He tossed the balls back to her and Arya licked her lips.

“How’d you break your arm?”

He smiled, in a way Arya figured had to be self-deprecating. “With a hammer.”

That cut her off halfway through her windup. “Huh?”

“It was work related.”

Oh. He worked construction, probably. Most people in Harrenhal did. Was definitely out of high school.

“I was picturing something more slapstick.”

“Maybe in a couple more months it will be funny, but honestly it just hurt like a son of a bitch.”

Arya pitched again. Two more solid hits. He looked satisfied with himself. “Wanna switch now?”

He handed over his aluminum bat. It wasn’t a great weight for her, and a bit too long. She choked up on it, amused to find her hand landing on the one part of the handle that hadn’t been worn down by his grip. He had large hands.

“I’m Gendry, by the way.” Well he didn’t work for Roose. Arya had his entire payroll memorized, and there wasn’t a Gendry on the list, that was good. He picked up the balls. “What’s your name?”

It was a complicated question. Legally, her name right now was Nan. But that wasn’t who she was. Some nights she couldn’t fall asleep because of the sour taste in her throat, because of all the lying. This was her chance to do something normal, to be truthful.

“Arya,” she said, tightening her grip on the bat. When she swung the bat the first time, the contact was hard and sweet, ringing in the vibration of the chain link fence. She felt as bold as brass. “Arya Stark.”

She smiled to herself, readjusted her stance for the second pitch, but when she looked back at Gendry his grip on the ball was loose, his mouth open in soft shock.

“Stark, like Ned Stark?”

Her arms slackened. He tossed the ball, but her next swing made lousy contact. The ball ricocheted dully against the fence.

“He was my Dad.” She sat the bat down. Her dad hadn’t come to every one of her games, but he had been at damn near all of them. “How’d you know him?”

“Came to get my testimony. I grew up in a foster home in King’s Landing, I was gonna be a witness in the Lannister case.” Gendry stepped towards her to collect the balls but changed his mind at the last minute and sat down instead. It was easy for Arya to copy the movement. His ankle was nearly touching her crossed knees from the extended way he sat. “They did some fucked up shit, kids I grew up with that they were funneling to work out west in those mines. And wherever else.” He sighed. “I know Bella does sex work now. She’s of age and everything, but I always wondered if there was a connection. Not that it matters now.” Arya nodded. The case, despite her brother and mother’s efforts, died with her dad.

She’d been fourteen when her dad had been working on the case that got him killed. Her attention had been elsewhere, preoccupied by fights with Sansa, and insisting that she didn’t want to go to the same fancy southern boarding school as her sister, that she wanted to stay up North. She’d regretted it for years.

What sort of coincidence that she could learn about it years down the line, from a stranger she met in a desolate field. It felt right, like she could finally put a bandage on a part of her that had been bleeding for years. She hugged herself and rested her elbows on her knees. When she didn’t say anything, he continued.

“He called me, or his paralegal did, had to be a couple days before he died. Told me to get out of town, he must have known things were gonna go bad. Reckon he saved my life.” Gendry brushed some dust off his jeans. “He was a real standup guy, actually seemed to care.”

“He did. A lot.” Arya remembered all the extra hours he’d stay in the office, the dinner-time lectures about justice she hadn’t appreciated till he was gone. She sighed, she had come here wanting normalcy and now sentimentality pricked at her eyes. Gendry smiled. It was an awkward smile, an I-don’t-have-words-to-acknowledge-the-depth-of-you-loss smile. She appreciated it. It was sweet of him. She shook her head. It didn’t quite rearrange her thoughts, but it did help her breath deeper. “How do you feel about catch?”

He clapped his thighs and stood up with a small grunt. Offered her his hand and gave her a tug with enough force to make them both stumble. You could tell he hadn’t been wearing batting gloves; Arya liked it.

“I haven’t got a mitt, but I’m not afraid of doing it barehanded.”

There was an innuendo at the tip of Arya’s tongue, but it seemed inappropriate considering the conversation they were having only a minute ago. She swallowed it, smirked instead. “Good, me neither.”

They lobbed gentle passes back and forth, at first, getting used to the smack of the ball in their hands. Arya nitpicked his form until she fumbled a catch and he got the opportunity to snark back at her.

“It was the wind,” she defended, which was plausible enough since it kept sweeping her hair to the side and making it got caught in the corners of her mouth.

Gendry laughed, and teased her some more, but a couple minutes later his throw was way off, and they got to turn the tables again. Catch was fun. Relaxing even, the motions thoughtless and rote. Even the ache in her shoulder and the heel of her palm didn’t bother her. Not when she and Gendry got to talk and flirt, and the breeze still carried a bit of warmth.

She didn’t realize how much time had passed until the sky took on a distinctly orange tinge, it was easy to forget the days were getting shorter.

“I think I’ll need to go soon,” she called out. There was a good thirty-five feet between them now.

“Really?” He said, the question punctuated with the smack of the ball in his palm. “Come on, another ten minutes.” He sounded genuinely disappointed.

“I need to be back to cook dinner or my foster father will be mad,” she said after she’d caught the ball. “But here,” she said, raising her left arm high. “One more. Go deep.”

He began to back up, but not to an extent that she would consider it deep. “Come on!” She yelled. “Go deep.” Finally taking the hint he jogged back, head turned over his shoulder to look at her the whole time. When he was far enough away she wound up and threw the ball as high and as far as she could.

She underestimated her accuracy though, as the momentum of her body made the ball careen more to the right than anticipated. Gendry hesitated only a moment in switching direction, but it was enough to set the ball out ahead of him. At least until he dived, a motion that more resembled someone tripping over their shoelaces than an astounding feat of athleticism. But he still caught the ball, and Arya still hollered her approval.

He got up easily raising the ball over his head in victory, and displaying the truly impressive amount of dirt streaked over the chest of his t-shirt and the length of one arm. It got smeared across his cheek too when he scratched at it. The smudges of dirt really shouldn’t have been as attractive as they were. Maybe it was the carefreeness about him that did it.

“Figured I’d go out with a bang,” he said, jogging back to meet her.

“Would’ve been embarrassing if you didn’t catch it though.”

“Yeah, but you’d have laughed, right? I hear you’re a fan of slapstick.”

It would have been funny. She liked that he wanted to make her laugh. She liked him.

They lingered by the fence as he stored his equipment in a duffle. “This was really fun. I don’t usually get to hang out with people my age.” He scuffed his sneaker in the dirt, hoisted the bag over his shoulder. “Much less girls as pretty as you.”

Was she blushing? Probably. It wasn’t even a good line and yet the corners of her mouth were still pulling up.

“I’m giving you my number,” she said. “D’you have a pen?”

He produced a Sharpie from the depths of one of his pockets. “Carried it around for people to sign the cast. Which is lucky, I usually don’t.”

She took it, tugged on his forearm—the mostly clean one—and wrote the number to her landline down large enough that it would take more than one shower to wash away.

“Call me,” she said, making sure to make eye contact with him to demonstrate that she was very sincere, and that he would regret if he did otherwise. “And if anyone other than me picks up, ask for Nan.”

“Nan,” he repeated, with a questioning look that he failed to follow up with an actual question. “I will.”

“Good.” She darted off to the dugout to grab her laundry, then made her way to the apartment quick so she’d be back before sunset, savoring the burn in her shoulder and her cheeks all the while.

Roose was stationed in front of the TV when she got back, a yellow legal pad littered with coffee ring stains sat next to a glass of red wine on the coffee table. Her self-acclaimed foster father was upright on the couch, feet to the floor. He’d look more human if he slouched.

His gaze flicked to her as she came in, but it quickly returned to the news. There was something on about protests in King’s Landing, and Arya lingered for a moment, wondering if it was one that Robb inspired, and if Sansa was attending, before Roose changed the channel. She didn’t say anything, just ducked into her room to sort her laundry and remake her bed.

Then it was time to make dinner. Pasta, again. They ate in front of the TV, both of them pretending to be entertained by the talk show rerun. When she had first started living with him, he’d made them sit down together at the kitchen table for meals. Fed her lies about his friendship with her father, platitudes about how she’d see her mother soon, contrived reasons as to why she had to stay with him and change her name.

Arya had nodded and wallowed and done everything he’d expected a teenage girl to do as she boiled with rage on the inside. As the months added up, he grew complacent, more assured of her thoughtlessness every day.

As she collected the dishes for washing Roose sniffed.

“You’re awful dirty.”

What a prick.

“I’m going to shower once the dishes are done.”

He hummed and waved her off. She huffed and shuffled into the tiny kitchen. He had a lot of nerve for someone who claimed not to know how to work the garbage disposal. When she complained about how he did none of the chores—or see to the homeschooling she was supposed to be receiving—he had just made comments about getting the bills paid, as if he had done a day of honorable work in his life.

It was the 22^nd, so after putting the tap on she searched through the top of the rubbish, looking for Roose’s credit card statement. One payment, for transportation stood out stood out among all the usual stuff; Roose hadn’t travelled this month. It was too much for a bus, but not enough for a plane, so must have been for a train. Of course, the destination wasn’t marked in the statement, but she didn’t need to know that to know that Roose had paid for someone else’s trip. She tossed it back into the bin, then started in on scrubbing the pots and plates.

The water in the shower was scalding, but it wouldn’t last longer than about ten minutes. She let it beat against her back for at least two before she went about getting clean.

The phone was ringing when she stepped out of the bathroom, toweling down her hair with a robe tied tight to her waist. She was halfway through the door of her bedroom when it occurred to her that the call might be for her. If it was Gendry, that meant he’d called really soon, that was good right? She was sure of it, only to turn and see Roose with his ear pressed to the phone.

 “Nan,” Roose called, his mouth puckered. “It’s for you.”

The phone was out of his hand in a snap. She glared in a belligerent, teenage way, but he still hovered a few feet away, listening.

“Hey,” Gendry said over the line. There was the growl of an engine behind him, he must have been calling from a payphone.

“Hey.”

“Um, sorry, Roose Bolton’s your foster dad?” He asked, like he couldn’t keep the question down.

“Yeah.” She’d be more explicit with her derision if the subject of it wasn’t peering over her shoulder like a vulture over carrion.

“Wow. That sucks. He’s a real scumbag.”

Arya laughed, glad that he could sense her distaste even over the phone and with her clipped responses.

“Oh, I know.”

“Yeah, anyway, I wanted to ask if you wanted to come down to the basketball courts on 3rd street Friday night?” Roose wouldn’t like her going out, but fuck him. Gendry mistook Arya’s moment of hesitation, and hastened to continue. “We can get food after too, like a proper date.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” She’d never been on a date before. It was stupid that she felt all giddy about it, the feeling high and tight in her chest, but she didn’t care. She knew what she wanted. “What time?”

“I could pick you up at 5:30?”

“Or we could meet there at 5:30?” It would be better if there was no opportunity for him to run into Roose.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want.”

“Cool, I’ll see you then.”

“I—I’m looking forward to it.”

Arya didn’t want to hang up. Part of it was not wanting to deal with Roose’s inevitable ugly opinions, but more so she wanted to stay in this bubble where she was a normal teenage girl planning a date with a boy she liked, one who liked her back, and whispered her real name in farewell before he hung up. She held the phone to her ear for a few beats longer than necessary, even when there was only the dial tone to listen to.

But then the phone was back in its cradle, leaving her with Roose Bolton and his puckered fish lips.

“Who was that?” Roose demanded.

“A boy.” She turned her back, as nonchalant as possible.

“Nan!” He bit out.

“We’re going on a date on Friday, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” She whirled around again, now in the entryway of her bedroom, the door braced in one had so she could snap it in his face if necessary. Her eyebrows lifted in challenge.

The beauty of her long ruse was that Roose still thought he was smarter than her. In his eyes, he couldn’t be too controlling or abusive, or she might catch on to the fact that he wasn’t such a good guy. Knowing more than him left a sweet taste in her mouth, it was almost fun, playing the petulant teenager. Only almost though.

“You’ll be home before ten thirty,” he said, all gruff and annoyed, before returning to the living room. Arya let the tumbler of the door slide gently into place before falling into bed for a moment of reprieve. There was still a lot to be done before she could sneak off to bed, though. She sat up with a groan.

After getting in her pajamas, she took out her fake diary, and wrote a fake entry. Mostly about meeting ‘Gen’ at the sandlot, but in the most shallow and dramatic way possible. She wrote a sentence about his eyes being dreamy and couldn’t help but laugh to herself. Then a couple more sentences about how annoying Roose was, and how he could never understand how hard her teenage problems were. She left it under her pillow for him to find the next time he went through her room.

The receipts were next, scrap pieces of paper from the deli and the grocer that she saved so she could write in tiny Braavosi cursive on the back of them. There wasn’t much to add from today, just that Roose was colluding with the Bloody Murmurs and that he was still after her mom. She noted Aenys’ worry that the Brotherhood might be a danger, he was one of Roose’s most competent men and it was good to note Roose’s blind spots.

Her sewing supplies comes out next, along with a too-small pair of jeans that she normally would’ve donated ages ago. That is, if all her evidence wasn’t sewn into the inner seams.

Turning the pant legs inside out revealed a patchwork of torn paper and her near illegible handwriting. Under the left pocket was a copy of the paperwork that changed her name, and the “judge’s statement” that put her in Roose’s custody. She reread some of her own observances, looking for a mention of the Bloody Murmurs.

There, a list of names from seven months ago. They were an Essosi gang under Tywin’s pay, known for their cruelty. She’d thought Roose might have one of the Frey’s carry out the hit, but these guys made more sense. Foreigners, with a violent history, and an oblique connection to the Lannisters that would likely need months of investigation to uncover, if Arya hadn’t heard it through word of mouth. It meant that they expected the killings to be public, to hit the press.

Another car bombing? It had been effective against her father, but that would be suspicious. Two acclaimed Northern lawyers, dead in the same fashion, and they happened to be spouses? Speculation would abound.

An accident maybe, something to pin on a drunk driver or an icy road. She bit her lip. There was no way to know.

It was a special type of emotional intensity. To know people wanted to kill your family, but not when or how. Just soon.

But not too soon to stop it, she reminded herself, picking up her needle. Her mother was smart. Tenacious. Formidable, even. All those adjectives people would say when they saw her in the courtroom. She wasn’t going to get herself killed.

Arya brought the edge of the strand to her mouth, to wet it before threading it through the needle. It probably wasn’t the proper way to do it, but it was how Arya managed. Her mother had insisted she and Sansa learn to sew when they were young, had deemed it a necessary life skill. Arya had raged at the time, called it boring and stupid, demanded to know why her brothers didn’t have to learn if it was so necessary, only to have them dragged into the lessons too. Her stiches would probably always be sloppy, but they got the job done.

Once the receipt was added to her collection of contraband information, she hung the jeans back up in her closet. Inconspicuous as a tree in a forest.

It wasn’t yet late, but she crawled into her bed anyway. Tucked her hands deep into the pockets of the sweatshirt that might have been Jon’s or might have been Robb’s, and that used to swallow her frame but was now only big at the sleeves. She was tired.

Tired of pretending and lying and not being herself. Patience had never been her virtue. She was all about action. Perhaps it was time she took some. 

Sleep took its time coming to her that night, but when she dreamed it was of popsicles and the summer sun.

Roose was already out of the apartment when she woke up at half seven. There was no note saying where he was going, which meant that he would probably be back soon, and that Arya couldn’t risk snooping. She managed a bit of ‘cleaning up’ though, and found the legal pad that he had left out filled with Xs and Os and arrows, like he was a coach.

She couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was meant to be, so she went downstairs to collect the mail. Nothing suspicious or promising in it, just the cable bill, some coupons, and the paper.

“Oh, morning Nan,” someone called out as she lingered in the lobby. It was Elmar, who lived on the ground floor, and loved nothing more than kissing Roose’s ass. He waved as he approached her with a strained smile, like he didn’t really want to talk to her but felt obligated to. Arya could never figure out if he had a crush on her or not. Either way he was irritating. But he had loose lips and worked with Roose, so she put up with him.

“Hi Elmar, what’s up?” 

He looked kind of weird. It was probably the sweater vest. She’d never seen him wear a sweater vest. In fact, Arya didn’t think she’d ever seen him wear anything but a blue Twins Civil Engineering Co. sweatshirt.

“Bit tired,” he said, “I was up at Trident U the past couple of days visiting Olyvar, my half-brother. Caught the midnight train back down here and I haven’t gotten any sleep yet.”

That explained both the strained smile and the sweater vest then. He did sort of look like a coed.

“You have a good trip?”

“Oh yeah, very productive,” he said, like that wasn’t a weird thing to say when describing a family visit.

“Alright, well, I don’t wanna keep you from your sleep…”

Arya inched away, offered a final wave, then made her way back upstairs, trying to put a finger on what she had found so suspicious about that interaction. She came up empty and diverted her attention to the paper instead.

Twenty minutes later Roose was back, looking pleased with himself. That didn’t bode well, but there was no subtle way for her to ask after his mood. Heartfelt chats were not a part of their relationship. He collected a few files from the locked drawer of his desk, then disappeared into his room.

Arya continued reading patently wrong ideas in the Op-Ed section. They seemed to be taking great pleasure in calling nationwide student protests childish and immature. Even if they weren’t largely inspired by Robb and championing their father’s cause the article would have reeked of superiority and generational bias. Still she read it, because the Lannisters might have a chokehold on the courts and the feds, but Robb was making sure corruption was never out of the public mind. Their own slanderous press couldn’t help but write about it.

 When she couldn’t bare it anymore, she switched to a novel. Roose only owned thrillers and slashers, which would have been fine, as they as they also happened to be Arya’s preferred genres. Her only issue was that they lacked reread value. But Harrenhal didn’t have a library and she wasn’t going to waste what little money she had on books, so she pretended to enjoy the same plot twist for a third time.

A spider was weaving its web in the upper-right corner of the ceiling, and Arya was thoroughly distracted by it when Roose breezed through the living room, hid away his documents with the twist of a lock, and left the apartment without a word.

Arya decided it was lunch time.

The deli on the corner wasn’t good, per se, but it sold the off brand sour cream and onion chips she liked, and the sandwiches were alright.

“A number two, toasted, please,” she said, throwing down the bag of chips to be paid with the order. She counted out perfect change, not caring a bit that she was dipping into Roose’s grocery funds.

She had taken one bite of her ham and swiss when two customers came in, the one on the left wearing the ugliest yellow leather jacket.

“Sorry Miss,” the man on the right said, far more respectable in his red plaid. “You’ve got some mustard.”

Arya wiped her upper lip in the place he indicated on his own face and made to sidestep the pair, only for plaid guy to keep talking.

“We’re new in town, starting up a new business. And we’d appreciate the patronage.” He produced a business card.

“Hey! I’m not interested in solicitors!” The deli owner yelled from behind her.

Arya took the card, not wanting the interaction to last any longer, and dipped from the store as the guy in yellow snapped that they were there for lunch.  

Hollow Hill Heating & Cooling the card advertised, along with a phone and fax number and a west side Harrenhal address. Nothing about it suggested any connections to Roose or his operations; most of the construction he invested in was just to make Harrenhal livable and a decent base from which to expand into the Riverlands should the civil war or insuraction people were always mumbling about actually break out. As far as Arya could tell it was a solid business venture, with winter approaching after a near eleven-year summer most people would need repairs to their heating systems, especially in a dilapidated place like Harrenhal.

There was something still suspicious about the two men. Or at least it seemed that way to Arya. She found most things suspicious these days.

She sat on the steps to her building to eat her sandwich, resigning herself to whatever weird smudges ended up on her pants. When she was done eating she got up to go for a walk to waste part of her day. A hobby would be nice, gardening or baking. Playing an instrument, even though she had purposefully avoided learning one when she had the chance in grade school. Now she didn’t have the means to do anything productive or entertaining for herself. Even her walking path was unoriginal, the same turns on the same three-mile route. She was too afraid to drift from it and end up somewhere she shouldn’t. A bit of fresh air wasn’t worth getting stabbed.

She slowed when she passed the sandlot, but Gendry wasn’t there. She felt stupid for thinking he might be, it was the middle of the day, he had work.

The rest of her afternoon before she started dinner was spent cleaning. She dusted the corners, knocked down the web, but didn’t spot the spider itself. Then she swept and pulled a few cents from under the couch cushions, pocketing them for herself.

If her efforts were noticed, Roose said nothing about them when he came back, just settled himself on the couch instead and flicked on the TV. A police procedural was on. Arya hoped it would teach him something about morality, but that was a pipe dream.

Arya cooked dinner and they ate it, a few disingenuous words about their days exchanged. She slipped into her bedroom as soon as she could.

With the door closed she stripped to her sports bra and slipped into a pair of sleep shorts, then it was easy enough to jimmy open the window and climb up the fire escape to the roof. She stretched, ran a few laps around the perimeter barefoot so the concrete would build up the calluses on her feet. After that were her calisthenics. Sit ups, squats, planks, standing on the toes of one foot like a prima ballerina until her calf shook and threatened to give out under her, then switching legs. It was fully dark by the time she finished with pushups. There was a lingering ache in her left shoulder from the extended round of catch, but she didn’t care so long as she was getting stronger.

Her arms gave out after thirty-eight, less than she could normally do. She turned on her back, letting her sweat cool, and looked up at the stars. At least she could see them in Harrenhal, you couldn’t in King’s Landing, and while it wasn’t the same as in Winterfell, it was still nice. Tempting too, to fall sleep there instead of in the stuffy apartment under bedsheets she hated.

But the spaces in between her fingers were uncomfortably damp, and the sweat that had collected under the band of her bra felt gross. She needed a shower.

She climbed back down, her mind once again accosted with an excess of information that never quite wanted to slide into place. Sorting through it was impossible, better to remember that she had a date tomorrow instead. It would make falling asleep easier.

Friday mornings were for grocery shopping and talking to Hot Pie. She went about getting all the essentials first: milk, potatoes, onions, canned beans, instant coffee, pasta, red wine (even though she couldn’t legally buy it), frozen peas and carrots, and some apples. Then she stopped by the bakery portion of the grocers.

“Hey, Nan,” Hot Pie said with a wink, sliding her usual loaf over the counter, already waiting for her. He knew her real name, revealed when she slipped up on one of her first days in Harrenhal. Hot Pie thought having multiple identities was great fun, which probably contributed to his own widespread nickname. Sometimes Arya wondered if he was smarter than he let on, like her, using a fake name in a town full of criminals to cover his bases. Given how much people let slip to him because of his soft, nonconfrontational face, it was good practice.

“How’s it going?” She asked, setting down her basket and crossing her arms over the counter.

“Oh, all the usual. You just missed Elmar, he was talking my ear off about how great his business trip up to Trident U was. Figures right? Cause he’s too dumb to get into college himself.”

“Yeah, I ran into him yesterday and he mentioned it.” Although in that version it had been a family visit.

“Oh, and this morning Walda came in and had the nerve to say that my croissants weren’t flaky enough! Can you imagine! Only place in fifty miles she can get handmade croissants and she’s complaining about them!”

Arya nodded in assent, encouraging him to continue for her own enjoyment. His rants could get quite wordy, but there was something special about someone talking about yeast for ten minutes straight without taking breath. 

“Should have the attitude of all those new blokes who came in last night. Bit loud they were, cursing up a storm too, but they were nothing but polite to me and my pies.”

“Who?”

Hot Pie shrugged. “Didn’t know any of them and didn’t catch any names either, but with the amount of stuff they bought it seemed they were staying for a while.”

“Huh.” It wasn’t exactly normal for larger groups to move into Harrenhal. Were they some of those Bloody Murmurs? It made sense, if they were all men. “I wonder if they’re from around here.”

“Seemed like.” Hot Pie shrugged, “Mostly Riverland accents.”

So not Essosi gang members. They could just be a group of friends, traveling together, looking for work. But it seemed too unlikely for Arya.

“But what’s going on with you?”

“Oh, you know, Friday groceries.” She bit her lip. Harrenhal wasn’t a place that friendship could blossom; it got too much rain and not enough sun, and the shadows dampened any joy that might sprout. But if she had one friend it was Hot Pie. “I also have a date tonight. This guy named Gendry.”

“Oh yeah, tall, black hair? He’s pretty new too. Been coming in for a couple weeks, always gets whole wheat but seems more like a sourdough guy, you should introduce him to it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she laughed, letting herself soften and try not to worry too much.

“Yeah, have fun! I’ll see you next week!”

“Bye, Hot Pie!”

Sorting the groceries was a ten-minute task, but she stretched it out a full half hour, taking advantage of Roose’s absence to play the music she wanted on the radio as loud as possible. It chased out dangerous stray thoughts, insecurities, inhibitions. Her throat was raw when the fridge door closed for the final time. 

An hour and a half spent rereading a book about a vampire doctor collecting human blood through leeches, and then an indeterminate amount of time spent trying to figure out if Elmar was stupid enough to mix up the purpose of his trip, or if he was lying to her. By the time she determined he was probably clever enough for it to be the later, it was almost time for her date.

She spent ten minutes trying to decide what to wear and do with her hair, realized she didn’t care, and kept on what she had been wearing all day. These were her best jeans anyway. She did brush her teeth an extra time, though.

The gate to the basketball court on 3rd was locked, but the fence was short and easy to jump. She could see why Gendry would want to meet up here, the court was well lit considering the lack of proper bright lights, and there was a diner across the street. The court itself was in pretty good condition, only one large crack in the blacktop, on the righthand side. The hoops had lost their nets, but that was to be expected.

She leaned against the fence to wait. She had been early on purpose to both avoid Roose before he got back to the apartment and to scope out the court before Gendry arrived.  

It wasn’t a particularly busy street. One car pulled up next to the diner as she waited, and a motorcycle thundered by a few minutes later. When a car parked (rather illegally) a bit down the street, Arya took notice. Gendry stepped out, a basketball under one arm.

“Hey,” he called out from the other side of the fence. He had definitely combed his hair, and the t-shirt he was wearing was of better quality than the one he had worn on Wednesday. Arya smiled, but after a moment of appreciation, her attention drifted back to the car. It was black, a boxy two door.

“You have a car?”

“Uh, yeah?” He said, tossing the ball over the fence for her to catch, before vaulting himself over. “I’m borrowing it, technically, but its mine for the next couple weeks.”

“You have a car, and you want to play basketball?”  

“Oh. Uh…you want to go on a drive instead?”

She was making him self-conscious she realized. 

“If you don’t mind? I haven’t been in a car in three years.”

His eyes widened. “You’ve been stuck in Harrenhal for three years?”

She bit her lip. Shrugged. “Sorta.”

“Okay, then. Yeah. Fuck basketball, let’s get some food to go and get on a highway.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Who doesn’t love a good drive?”

They made their way into the diner, picked up menus from the hostess’ stand, and made their orders: a stack of blueberry pancakes, disco fries, and two milkshakes. They stood close together as they waited. Initially it was so as not to block the door, but now it was casual, toeing the line on intimate.

“I also feel I have to add that I’m not that good at basketball,” Arya said. People in the north didn’t play it. Indoor sports (with the exception of hockey) were for chumps.

“Just softball then?”

“Oh no. I’m pretty great at football and hurling, took a couple fencing lessons when I was younger too, and I was half decent before I had to quit.”

He blinked at her, his chest shaking with a laugh. “Oh, that’s all then?”

“Just about. I’m kinda too short for basketball. You were just looking for an unfair advantage, huh?”

“Thought we might play Horse, something where that didn’t matter. Wouldn’t have suggested it if I knew you had such a vendetta against basketball.”

“I have vendettas against a lot of things, basketball isn’t one of them. Thanks for changing your mind so easy though, I can be kinda demanding sometimes.”

“Don’t mention it, I just wanted to do something we both like. And the only thing I really knew about you is that you’re sporty.” And that her father had been brutally assassinated, but it wasn’t like he was going to mention that.

He buried his hands deep in his pockets. She wondered if he was worried, or anxious, rather. It would make sense. Maybe Arya should be nervous too. Yet the feeling didn’t well up in her, not when a date was far less stress inducing than what she dealt with on a daily basis. She liked the casual air she had with Gendry, how it felt like a return to form, like taking off a mask and wearing her own skin.

“Well that’s why we’re going out, yeah? To get to know each other?”

“Yeah,” he said, cleared his throat. “So, what’s your favorite color?”

She guffawed, unable to help it. “Really? That’s your ice breaker? It’s a date, not the first day of school.”

“Well, I just—”

“It’s gray by the way, dark gray, but not black.”

“Like a storm cloud?”

Her eyes were wide now.

“Yeah, exactly like a storm cloud.”

His favorite color was blue, apparently, though he couldn’t give a reason for why. There orders came out, quicker than Arya was anticipating, and Gendry had already paid by the time she had collected the to-go bag.

“Thanks,” she said, as she pushed through the door. “For dinner.”

“Don’t thank me yet, it might be awful,” Gendry replied, leading the way to his car.

“Kinda hard to mess up fries covered with cheese and gravy.”

“Here’s hoping,” Gendry said, unlocking the car doors and opening the boot to throw the basketball in. She slid into the passenger seat. The car smelt a bit like weed and a bit like newspapers, and there were race car stickers stuck to the glove box, a necklace with a flame pendant hanging from the mirror. “So is there anywhere in particular you want to go?” Gendry asked, turning on the ignition.

“Not really. Roads you know are fine. I just…out of Harrenhal.”

“Sounds good,” he said, pulling out onto the road as Arya drank her milkshake. She hadn’t anything that sweet in ages. “My cassettes are in the glove box if you want to pop one in.”

Arya did. Most of them were mixtapes, rather than albums, so she took a chance on the one labeled ‘#6’ and was pleased with the immediate heavy strum of a guitar, even if she didn’t know the song. It took no time at all to get out of Harrenhal, as she always suspected. A couple minutes on a gravel road, past the trailer park, then a few miles on broken asphalt and they were on the ramp onto the highway.

It was too cold to drive with the windows down, really, but Arya lowered hers halfway anyway, not caring if the wind made her hair a mess. It was soothing; reminded her of coming home from family beach weekends to White Harbor, falling asleep with Bran in the backseat even though she always swore she’d stay up.

Not that she was sleepy now.

“There’s really not a lot of cars, huh?”

There were three they passed on the northbound side, but so far none in the lane next to them. The North was known for its sparse and disperse population, and she’d never seen a major road this quiet before.

“It’s cause of all the new travel restrictions, people aren’t meant to leave their territory unless they have a visa, so all the people who commute down to the Crownlands frequently are stuck home.”

“Plus people avoid Harrenhal like the plague,” she said, opening up her to go container, pleased with the steam that erupted out of it. The fries were great, greasier and more satisfying than anything she’d eaten in ages. “I thought it might have to do with the blockades those anti-gov groups have set up.”

“Yeah, those too.” He cleared his throat and reached for his own milkshake. “Makes driving nice.”

The song changed, still rock, but with more synth, and low muted lyrics that pulled at the center of her chest. Until the first verse started proper, more upbeat than she had anticipated.

She let herself slump back against the headrest, licking gravy from the first knuckle of her thumb. The sun would set soon, the sky already taking on a darker blue hue, and her window faced west. She wanted to enjoy it.

“You want a fry?”

“Sure.”

She made sure to hand him a decently sized one, generously coated in cheese. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, making her realize how greasy her hands were. She wiped them against the sides of her jeans before remembering the hefty stack of napkins in the bottom of the to-go bag.

“I really forgot that I can’t eat pancakes and drive at the same time,” he said, Arya would bet all fifty-two dollars of her savings that his face had flushed red. Briefly, she entertained the idea of him having to eat them whole, purple-blue stains on his fingers, the excess pancake falling to his lap. It made for a funny image.

“Well then pull over, stupid,” she said, magnanimous.

He did. There were no guardrails on this highway; Gendry parked in the space between the shoulder and the ditch.

With two snaps their seat belts disengaged, and he reached over her for his to-go container. There were plastic utensils in the bag, along with the napkins, but Gendry just ripped the pancakes apart with his hands, getting those purple-blue smudges on his fingers just like she imagined.

“Don’t you want syrup?”

“Nah, they’re sweet enough from the blueberries.” He ripped off a piece and handed it to her. It was sweet. “I was thinking that there’s a rest stop near here that over looks the God’s Eye, we can walk around up there?”

“Sounds good.” She had tried to convince her dad to stop and do a hike near God’s Eye when they had taken the trip down to King’s Landing but despite all her needling, the schedule had been too tight. And, she now knew, her dad’s work too important. “We can watch the sunset from here though.”

They talked about how odd it was with the days getting so much shorter. Arya had been born in the last winter, but she could hardly remember it. Gendry could, vaguely, but he admitted that a King’s Landing winter was incomparable to a Northern one.

“What’s it like up North anyway?”

Arya shrugged, taking one of the last sips of her milkshake, the fries demolished. “Things are more spread out, and it’s colder, yeah, but I don’t think it’s that much different than any other place.”

“But it’s your home.”

Winterfell could never be just another place. Not for her at least. But the hearths of home would never be the same, not when her father couldn’t return to warm his hands in front of them.

“Most of my family isn’t even there anymore.”

Jon was at the Wall. Sansa was still down in King’s Landing. Robb was giving speeches and organizing protests at different universities every other weekend. Her mom was based out in Riverrun, trying to organize a federal committee. As far as she knew, Bran and Rickon were back home with Old Nan and Osha to mind them, but they might have been shipped out to stay with Uncle Benjen, or with the Reeds in the Neck for all she knew.

“I couldn’t even count the number of tantrums I threw, demanding I go back North once I started living with Roose. One day he snapped, told me my family wouldn’t even be there. I hate it when he’s right, but he was then.”

“Can I ask how that happened? I mean your mom’s still alive, right? So why are you living with him?”

Should she tell him? There wasn’t a way to be truthful without revealing a lot about herself. Things that were written in another language, sewn onto the inside of her skin, locked and tucked away, for only her to peruse.

He already knew her real name. Already knew her father. If there was anyone who she could trust, it would be him.

“’Extenuating Circumstances,’” Arya said, adding air quotes. “King’s Landing was just about shut down after my dad was assassinated, only for a day, but it prevented my family from coming in. There was a clause in my father’s will, it had to have been fake, but it basically put his children into the care of his closest ‘associate’ if there were extenuating circumstances surrounding his death.”

Repeating it all now just made it more obvious to her how much of what they said was bullshit. At fourteen she had been suspicious, but too grief stricken and angry to question it thoroughly. Good thing she was capable now.

“My sister Sansa was older, almost seventeen at the time. Someone convinced her to emancipate herself.” Arya always wondered if it had managed to keep her safer, if she was actually independent at all, or still under the Lannister’s thumb, a hostage as much as she was. “And I get to live with lovely Roose.”

“That’s awful,” Gendry said with wide eyes. She had forgotten sympathy. What it felt like to be listened to and cared about. “So what, you’re stuck with him till you’re eighteen? You could run away.”

She finished her milkshake. Fiddled with the end of the straw as she tried to figure out how to explain what the last three years of her life had been like.

It was easy. Constant surveillance, never-ending vigilance, the curbing of her own personality, her own desires, they all sounded so matter of fact when told in narrative.

The sky adopted tones of orange and purple as she spoke about feigning shallowness and disregard about a hit that was being planned against her mother. Gendry’s eyes were blue, but they took on an orange shine as he watched her. She couldn’t stop fiddling with the straw, tearing the plastic into thin strips. It was hard to think about people planning to murder those you love, it was harder to talk about it.

The tape ended, just as she finished.

“What a rat bastard,” Gendry said into the sudden silence. Five cars had driven past since they parked, but they still felt like the only people on the road.

She laughed, stuffed the errant bits of plastic into her empty cup. She never talked to anyone about this stuff. A breath would become short at the mere thought of discussing it with someone. Yet now she felt lighter, looser, like someone had reminded her to unclench her jaw. It felt freeing to tell Gendry everything. Just to have someone know.

“If you want, I could help you. I know people who could help you.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyebrows heightened on his forehead with a spark. He reached across the console to hold her hand. “I work with the Brotherhood, they’re tryin’ to stop the exact sort of situation you’re in! Textbook government collusion and corruption, Beric could have him locked up and tried in a heartbeat. I bet—”

“Slow down,” she interrupted, even as she understood every word he was saying, her heartbeat accelerating. “You’re with the Brotherhood?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking down and suddenly seeming to notice that he held her hand. She squeezed his fingers, so he knew she didn’t want him to let go. “I didn’t mention it at first, because, well, I really wanted to go out with you, and I was worried you wouldn’t want to because of the…violence, and stuff.”

“No, I’ve read about some of the action you guys have been taking, it’s awesome,” she said, delighted. She let out a short laugh with a shake of her head. “And I thought you worked construction.”

“Huh?”

“A work accident. With a hammer…”

“Oh, yeah that. I was involved in a bit of a riot. Some fighting. Someone took a swing at me with a hammer and it fractured my radius. I don’t get involved in a ton of that stuff though because the Brothers treat me like the kid of the group cause I joined when I was sixteen. I mostly do forgeries for them,” he said, like it wasn’t the most badass thing she’d heard in ages.

“Forgeries?”

“Yeah, I used to make fakes for kids all the time, driver’s licenses, working papers, medical records so they could slip the draft, stuff like that. I’m even better at it now.”

“That’s so cool.”

“Cooler than tricking one of Tywin Lannister’s right-hand men for three years straight? Gods, Arya, you’re so smart.”

She wasn’t accustomed to genuine compliments. Wasn’t used to feeling her heartbeat in her fingertips as they touched someone else’s skin. The sun had completed its arc, but it wasn’t dark really, just blue. It made Gendry’s hair look darker, even as it made his eyes brighter.

All she could think about was kissing him.

That nervousness that had been absent before hit with full force now. How stupid was that, to be nervous about kissing? Total idiots kissed every day.

She tugged on his hand, then leaned forward to press her mouth on his. It was quick, like she’d meant it to be, and she’d liked it. More for the rush of daring filling her up than for any sort physical sensation. Still, she felt able to rule it a good kiss. If for no other reason, than at least because of the pleased look of shock on Gendry’s face.

It didn’t last too long. A moment later he was leaning forward to cup her face in his free hand, the kiss longer, open-mouthed and slow.

She felt heat all over her face, in the hollow of her neck, and the tips of her ears. It made her excited and nervous at the same time, the feeling manifesting in a soft giggle, which in turn and made her nose knock against Gendry’s.

He pulled back, laughing too, his eyes shifting between her and the windshield, as if not totally aware of whether he was allowed to look at her or not.

“Sorry, I just really wanted to do that.”

“You definitely don’t have to apologize for kissing me.”

That made Arya feel better, as if talking about the kissing made it more real.

“Yeah, okay.” She crossed her legs and let herself relax into her seat, tucked some hair behind her ear. “So what was that about helping me?”

“Oh, yeah. I was going to tell you about Beric. He’s in charge. Robert Baratheon issued a federal order, like, two days before he died assigning him to make up a federal task force to persecute racketeers in government. Roose is a mayor, so if you have proof of repeated criminal offenses Beric could arrest him within the week.”

It sounded almost too good to be true.

“It didn’t get repealed when Lannister won the election?”

“Nope.” Gendry smiled. “Some legal loophole. Federal task forces can only be retired with a House of Commons vote. They don’t have enough people in there bribed to sway a vote so they’re having the press slander us instead.”

“Can I meet him?”

“Yeah, I’ll set it up. It might take a bit, he’s not in Harrenhal, but we’re trying to expand operations outside of Hollow Hill. That’s why I’m here. I’m sure I could convince him to move down sooner.”

Hollow Hill. So those guys from the deli weren’t contractors. Arya laughed and told Gendry about the encounter, and he went on to explain how he moved down ahead of them to establish a plausible cover before the rest of the guys arrived.

“You really have your eyes on everything in this town, huh?”  

“I think there’s something about being a young girl that makes you blend into the background. That stops people from noticing you.” Never before had she been able to put it into words that feeling. One that seemed to haunt her from a childhood among the tall shadows of her siblings. Only now she held tight to that oversight and twisted it to her advantage. Still, it didn’t stop her from wanting to be noticed.

Gendry didn’t have anything to say to that for a long minute. His brow scrambled in thought. “Well everyone else is missing out then,” he finally said. And Arya was grateful.

In the moment of quiet Gendry took the opportunity to rewind the tape, only to play it again from the beginning. It felt more like a date with it running, less life and death than a silent highway.

“I like your music taste by the way,” she told Gendry, struck by his profile as she looked at him, all relaxed. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, smiled.

“Thanks. It’s mostly just the rock that’s on the radio. I’m not some guy who swears on deep cuts, ya know?” He looked to her, but she just nodded for him to continue. “Yeah, one of my friends, Tom, is always on my ass to listen to such-and-such band, but if they’re not on the radio how am I gonna know if I like them enough to buy a whole album?”

“That’s fair,” Arya said, licking her lips. “Can’t you borrow a tape from your friend?”

“That’s what I always say!”

Arya laughed, catching herself when she took notice to the careful way Gendry was looking at her. “I was wondering,” he started, “we’re gonna get you away from Roose and back to your family and everything, but…I know this cover band that plays every other Saturday at this pub called the Crossroads. It’s not quite on the way to Riverrun, but maybe we could still go together sometime?”

He sounded like he really thought she wouldn’t accept. Boys were dumb, she reminded herself. As if she wouldn’t want to spend time with him just because she got to see her mom again.

“Yeah, I wanna go sometime,” Arya said. “And we’re gonna go out again before that too.”

There, that was nice and clear.

“You still have to take me out to see God’s Eye,” she continued, to really drive her point home.

“We can still go now if you want,” Gendry said, sitting further up in his seat.

“It’s dark too appreciate in now, I think. Besides I’m having fun here.”

And she really was. Gendry was easy to talk to, easy to trust. He hated the same things she did, wasn’t afraid to break unjust laws, and he was a good kisser. This was the best night she’d had in three years.

“Yeah, me too.”

They spent hours on that road-to-nowhere highway. He told her what he knew about the Brotherhood’s operations and its members, the eccentric and sometimes ribald men and women who spat in the face of authority and who he wished showered more. In turn she talked about growing up with six dogs, and about her staunch belief that the Frey family needed to star in a reality tv show. They discussed if Robb’s student protests were effective and if an insurrection would really happen. When it was just past nine-thirty she reluctantly mentioned that she had a curfew.

They took the long road back, a series of derelict streets in the miles around Harrenhal, mixtape #2 in the dock. For hours they had filled the car with their conversation. Now it was just some front man, singing about deserts and a fistfight as Gendry kept one hand on the wheel, foot never too heavy on the gas. Arya liked the near silence just as much.   

She directed him to her building once they reached Harrenhal’s outskirts. From there the time passed too fast, and they were idling in front of her four-story.

“So when did you want to go on that second date?” Gendry asked when she made no move to leave, picking at one of the rips in his jeans.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“I’m free after ten.”

“Then pick me up at eleven.”

She undid her seatbelt, but still didn’t leave the car. Gendry took the hint and leaned forward to kiss her, only to get caught by his seatbelt a few inches in front of her. Arya’s chest shook with laughter as he struggled to release the clasp, and the lingering taste of it on her lips made the eventual kiss all the better.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, sneaking two more kisses before bracing herself and slipping out of the car.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Arya hadn’t even turned away completely before her fingers were brushing her lips. She only barely managed to tear them away when she was stepping into the apartment.

Roose was waiting up with his glass of red wine. His fingers flexed against the stem of the glass. He looked annoyed that she was back before curfew.

“So who’s this boy you were out with?” he asked, circumspect.

“None of your business, really.”

“It’s my business when you live under this roof.”

She rolled her eyes as she walked past him, heading straight for her bedroom.

“His name’s Gen and he’s really hot and we’re going out again tomorrow,” she told him. Shutting her door to his beady eyes and sniveled nose felt freeing. She couldn’t wait to shut him out of the rest of her life.

She flopped on her bed and stared at the swirls in the ceiling for twenty minutes before brushing her teeth and taking off her bra and her jeans and climbing under the covers. That night she didn’t think about murder or conspiracies, didn’t linger on what ifs and worst-case scenarios.

She just replayed the memory of her first kiss like a well-worn tape.

Roose wasn’t the sort of person to take the weekends off. Crime never slept, or whatever. He would probably just call himself dedicated.

Arya then, by necessity, also didn’t get to take the weekends off. Except for this Saturday, she decided, while waiting on the curb for Gendry to pick her up.

They got a good laugh when he pulled up and they were both wearing Trouts’ caps.

Driving out of Harrenhal was different in daylight. Less…romantic than it had seemed the night before. She didn’t mind really; they talked about the Trouts’ season, and Gendry filled in gaps from games she’d missed. It felt honest.

The rest stop he drove them too wasn’t far past where they had stopped the night before. It was situated on an outlook, the parking lot placed so that you wouldn’t even have to get out from behind the windshield to look out over the God’s Eye.

Of course Arya did anyway, enjoying the whip of the wind from how high up they were. It was past the height of autumn’s defoliation, but there were still certain trees that popped out with their yellow or orange leaves, and even the bare ones had a regal presence, complemented by the expanse of the lake, which she couldn’t see the end of.

“They really picked a great spot to put grimy bathrooms.”

“Yeah,” Gendry laughed, the sound nearly lost to the wind. It pulled his loose t-shirt taunt to his right side, outlining the length of his torso, and sent his hair into a flurry. Arya had the good sense to secure hers in a ponytail, although if she looked half as nice as Gendry while being windswept maybe she’d take it out. “There aren’t proper hiking trails by these parts, but I figure we could make our own and get down to the water.”

It was steep going down, but that didn’t prove too much of a problem. More of a pro than a con, considering that she got to brace herself using Gendry’s bicep and hold his hand so they could balance each other out. And there definitely weren’t any downsides when they got to the waterfront.

There wasn’t a beach or anything, not even a pebble one. Instead water lapped at slopped rocks scattered across the bank and in the water, deposited thousands of years ago from glaciers that fed the lake.  

She and Gendry stood on one of the tallest ones, his hand around her waist as they surveyed the water. It was still. Tranquil, even.

“It’s like a postcard,” she said after an indeterminate amount of time. Birds chattered in the trees around them, unbothered by their intrusion.

Gendry just nodded.

They spent the midday scaling boulders, daring each other to go higher and higher. Arya spent far too long teaching him how to skip rocks, but when he got a stone to bounce three times he kissed her hard and it was worth it. Neither of them noticed that they missed lunch.

It was just past three, according to Gendry’s watch. They both spoke about hiking back to the car, but neither of them made a move to leave. Their feet were dangling in shallow water, the edges of Arya’s jeans getting wet even after she’d cuffed them. Sweat slid down the length of her spine.

“Is it crazy that I kinda wanna go swimming right now?” She asked. The water was holding on to some of summer’s heat, when the wind blew it felt warmer than the air.

“Yes.” Gendry looked at her like she was half mad. She liked that expression on him, how it presented a challenge. “Arya…” he started when she stood up. With her shoes and socks already discarded it was easy to slip off her jeans. Gendry’s voice rose an octave. “You don’t even have a change of clothes!”

She tugged off her t-shirt, reminding herself that her underwear was as good as a bathing suit. “Don’t you have a sense of adventure?” She asked, as if he hadn’t spent the afternoon proving he did. Gendry was too busy blushing to respond, so it was good she already knew the answer.

Fearing the water would be too shallow to dive, she slid in like a seal. The initial submersion was a bit of a shock, but her body quickly adjusted. When she got her bearings, she found she could stand, the water coming up to just under her chest.

“Water’s lovely,” she said, but Gendry didn’t need any more convincing, already shirtless, working on the buckle of his belt.

Gendry made a much splashier entrance, and when he emerged, shaggy-haired, he splashed her again. Things escalated from there, the pair of them making waves, laughing and shrieking in turn. It only came to an end when Arya let Gendry catch her around the waist, arms pinned to her sides.

She prepared a rebuttal for any demand of surrender, or for him to toss her into the water, maybe. Gendry did neither. Just looked at her for a held moment then loosened his grip, holding her in a genuine embrace instead.

Arya reached out to hug him in turn, the gesture automatic, but the feeling it inspired in her far from it. Affection was something she thought she could live without, but its absence was like a bruise, its ache only noticed when it was touched.

Kissing had felt special, intimate too. But not like this. The skin of his back was warm, and silky from the water. She liked the way he rubbed her upper back, swayed a little as he held her. She squeezed his middle tighter, her forehead buried deeper into his shoulder.

If Gendry was surprised or concerned by her intensity, he made no word or motion about it. He sighed against her wet hair, seemingly enjoying it as much as her. They didn’t even break apart when their stillness reminded their bodies of the cool water and goosebumps erupted over their skin. They just made Gendry’s touch tickle, and Arya giggle in turn, breaking some of the emotional tension smoothly as a skipping stone.

“Can I kiss you now?” He breathed against her ear.

“Yes,” she said, lifting her head.

His hand that had been stroking her back rose to cup the back of her head. Her own hands drove roads of discovery on his back, up his shoulders, across his chest.

He kissed her long and well. It felt good, her lips tender and skin humming. Every so often they would break apart, both of them breathing heavy with flushed faces, only to be drawn together again. They kept at it a good while, and Arya didn’t think about anything at all.

She was still in a bit of a daze, back in the apartment with Roose. Soup was heating up on the stove, as she couldn’t be bothered with anything requiring more effort, even as her own hunger caught her a bit off guard.

But that’s what happened when you skipped lunch after an afternoon of climbing and swimming and making out, which proved to be quite the appetite builder.

She stirred the soup idly, thoughts still stuck on the afternoon. Could a memory be picturesque? Every moment of her day had felt so, even when she and Gendry finally separated due to shivers caused by the uptick of wind that beckoned in dark clouds.

Roose couldn’t ruin that, but he could sour the rest of her evening.

“We’ll be eating at the kitchen table tonight,” Roose informed her, just when the food was getting warm enough to smell good. Breaking her out of her daydreams.

The instruction unsettled her, both for the thoughtful, trying way it was conveyed, like parents about to announce a divorce, and for the divergence from routine that it presented. They weren’t a family. Any posturing that they were rang immediately false for both of them.

Equal parts dubious and curious, Arya set the table, poured out the soup, found crackers to accompany it, and called out for Roose to join her.

He wasted no time.

“I think it’s high time we got into contact with your mother and brother. We’ll be going up to the Twins next weekend to see them.”

The spoon in Arya’s hand bent from the sudden tension of her grip.

“What?” She asked, the simple word garbled in her mouth. There was no way, after three years, that he suddenly had a compulsion of generosity. She was a hostage, a reunion was counter intuitive to the game he had been playing for the past three years.

“Your brother is giving some speech about—” he waved his hand in dismissal “—nonsense. But your mother will be there as well, it seems an opportune time for a reunion, hm?”

“Yeah,” she said, working hard to tamp down her shock and confusion and replace it with excitement.

“Gods, yeah. Are you serious?”

He took off his reading glasses, to show just how serious he was. “Yes.”  

“Thank you,” she said, masking her suspicion, letting her eyes go wide, her voice soft. Under the table her right hand was clenched hard, nails pressing into her thigh where there was a rip in her jeans.

The first sip of soup burned.  

For the rest of the meal they spoke little, Roose made some comment about the rain when it started smattering against the windows, and Arya kept on a neutral face even as her mind reeled. It took ages for Roose to finally scrape his bowl clean and retire to the living room. Arya did the dishes with only half her mind, otherwise occupied with what Roose was planning.

Once she was finally alone and shut in her room, she buried her face in her hands.

Her fake diary entry was a mess, her handwriting worse than normal, she could only manage a handful of sentences about looking forward to seeing her brother when she knew it was a pretense to get them killed. The hit had to be planned for this weekend. And she was the bait.

She threw the pen, but it landed on the carpet without a sound and her frustration only mounted, manifesting in silent, angry tears.

Her hands shook as she took her patched jeans out of the closet. Tears obscured her vision, trying to read gave her a headache. She laid on her bed, hugging the old pair of jeans like a treasured stuffed animal and let herself cry.

Some twenty minutes later, her throat sore but her chest and head lighter, she sat up and got to work.

With a clearer head one connection was made obvious. Elmar, going up to Trident U, adjacent to the Twins, had been spying or conspiring against Robb.

Roose said he was giving a speech, which he wouldn’t mention unless he expected her to see it, but there wasn’t any way he’d want to see Robb rally against the people he worked with. Unless he found a way to cut him short.

It was with a splash of fear that Arya remembered the Saltpans killings, two hired gunmen paid to walk into a public park and kill twenty-two innocent people. All because the city had refused to open its ports to the Lannisters. The courts couldn’t find evidence of a connection, the press labeled the killers ‘deranged’ and Saltpans had been forced to allow in nefarious traders.  

She remembered Roose’s yellow legal pad, the writings of a game plan, or an attack with military precision. With those sorts of tactics, who knew how many people they could kill on a college campus, all because her mother and brother dared speak out. And then pin the whole thing on the Bloody Murmurs, ‘foreign terrorists.'

All that time she thought she had was pointless. It didn’t matter if she was missing details, or had misconstrued their plan, she was the only person who knew anything about it. Roose had to be gone. Now. She needed help, she needed to tell Gendry, and his Brotherhood.

It couldn’t wait to whenever he called next, it couldn’t even wait the night. Except she didn’t have his number, she had only given him hers. She groaned, beating herself up for never bringing a scrap of paper or a card for him to—

A card.

She scrambled for her hamper, searching for the pants she’d worn on Thursday, frantic even as she reminded herself to search silently lest Roose hear. Relief sang inside her chest when she found the jeans, in the left back pocket a card: Hollow Hill Heating and Cooling. It had a phone number, but more importantly it had an address.

Sneaking out through her window was old hat, although tonight she climbed down instead of up. In her rage and panic she had forgotten the rain, and in minutes was as wet as she had been in the lake. The rain at least kept people inside, and she didn’t need to be as vigilant towards the eyes of strangers as she made her way through Harrenhal’s streets, grateful for her years of familiarity.

127 West Main Street did appear to be a business front. Air conditioning window units were displayed in the glass, along with a ‘Grand Opening’ Banner. The place was obviously closed, and she didn’t even bother trying the door to see if it were locked. She went around the back of the building, to the alley door that would lead to the apartment spaces above the store front.

Her fists banged on the door, undeterred when minutes passed without answer. Any secret Brotherhood worth their salt would have someone posted at the door, and she wasn’t going to be cowed away because she didn’t know the secret knock.

“I need help!” She yelled through the rain. “I have important information about the Lannisters!”

A tall man with an eye-patch opened the door, holding a gun pointed at her chest. “What the fuck you think you’re doing, girl? Get lost.”

“Jesus Jack, put the gun down,” said a man standing behind him. The guy from the deli, still wearing the yellow jacket. “Look at her, there’s no way she’s a mole, let’s hear her out.”

Arya gathered her courage.

“Roose Bolton is going to have the Bloody Murmurs murder people next weekend, the Lannisters are funding it. I need to talk to whoever’s in charge, and Gendry.”

Instead of taking her seriously, the guy in yellow laughed.

“Oh, you’re Gendry’s girl then? I’ll tell you now you’re too pretty for him to be stealin’ kisses from.”

She was running on adrenaline, soaked to the skin, and decidedly not in the mood for asinine quips.

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

The two men blinked at her, caught unaware by her bite.

“Come in from the rain there, lass,” Jack said, the gun re-holstered to his belt. “Up the stairs, then the far-left door, everyone should be there.”

She took the lead up the cold concrete steps, reminding herself that she wasn’t scared, that she needed to be fierce in her desire to be heard and calm in her explanation.

The Brotherhood’s living room looked a lot like how she’d imagine a frat house. Livable, two couches situated for easy viewing of the TV and conversation, but in a need of a good vacuum. Three people were in the living room when she entered, looking at her in suspicion or confusion. One of them was the second man from the deli.

“Right,” the guy in yellow said. Jack had stayed by the door. “This here is, uh—”

“Arya.”

“Arya, right. Are Thoros and Gendry about?”

“Oi, Gendry!” One of them called, “Get your ass in here! And Thoros!”

Arya crossed her arms as much to stop herself from shivering as to redirect herself from being the center of attention. It didn’t do much to help either.

The only other woman in the room, in her late forties or early fifties, grabbed an afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over her shoulders, making noises about living with a bunch of barbarians, and to call her Masha.

Gendry entered the room then, his look of annoyance and comment about ‘Lem’s unnecessary squawking’ cut off when he caught sight of her.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, coming to her side, but keeping space between them, mindful of their audience.

“I’ll explain,” she said, eased a bit by his presence.

“What’s this about murder plots?” An older man asked, coming up behind Gendry. He wore his hair and beard long.

“It’s a bit of a story,” she said, wanting an air of humor to shine through her tone, but unable to make one appear. Gendry led her by the elbow to the couch.

Introductions were brief. The man in yellow was Lem, Thoros was the man with the long beard, a Red Priest apparently, and the owner of Gendry’s car. Other names were mentioned, but she couldn’t keep them straight. They didn’t interrupt as she explained, most of them looking surprised or sad when she mentioned that she was Ned Stark’s daughter and concerned when she explained her living situation. With a start she realized Gendry hadn’t told them anything. She’d have to thank him for that later.

When she got around to the plot she suspected Roose concocted with the Lannisters, the mood in the room darkened. Her evidence seemed stronger when spoken aloud, each point more condemning. She’d never felt more like two lawyers’ daughter.

“Well that’s a problem,” Lem said into the silence of the room.

“No shit,” Gendry snapped.

“Let’s keep our tempers cool,” Thoros interrupted. His hands were folded together and his head bent, it seemed in equal parts thought and prayer. Everyone looked at him, only for him to raise his head and say, “I need to make some phone calls.”

“That’s all?” Arya demanded as Thoros disappeared to what Arya assumed was the kitchen and her accumulated audience began to disperse.

“We do want to help you, dear,” Masha said. “But it might take a minute.”

“But we will stop it,” Gendry vowed, still sitting next to her. Promises were easily broken. It was a truth she had confronted time and again in the past few years, it was variable paradigm shift from her justice espousing childhood. But she still chose to believe Gendry. It felt like the right thing to do.

He drove her home for the second time that day, although it felt as if a week had passed since their afternoon by the lake.

“I’m glad you trust us, me,” he said, parked a block away from her building. “I really want everything to be okay.”

She did too. Maybe then the fantasy she created for herself the past few days, the one where she wasn’t always checking herself and looking over her shoulder, could be real. She couldn’t pretend anymore, not with Roose’s eyes trailing after her.

“I can’t be afraid or I’ll be all cut up inside.” Even as she said it, her teeth bit into her bottom lip, a spring of blood welling up to be swept away by the brush of her tongue. The taste reminded her of what could have been, what still might be, if she wasn’t careful.

“I’m really glad I met you,” she told him. For so many reasons, most of which she couldn’t fathom telling him quite yet.

“Me too Arya, really.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Be safe getting back, and I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? We’ll have a plan by then.”

Despite the reassurances of the evening—the knowledge that she had people behind her and the etchings of a plan—her thoughts were still haunted. Pools of red, and the shriek that had erupted from Sansa when their father’s car had combusted, which hadn’t ceased ringing in her ears since that day, and probably never would.

She was fidgety the next day, spent long stretches of time staring off into space. When the phone rang at half noon, she practically dove for it, her eyes on Roose’s bedroom door, which thankfully remained closed as Gendry called her name.

“Meet at that corner deli in five?”

She agreed, grabbed her keys, and was out the door without a word to Roose.

It wasn’t just Gendry. He was accompanied by Thoros, and the man she was fairly certain was Anguy. Thoros bought them all lunch, and then the four of them situated themselves down in an alley with two conveniently abandoned chairs, which she and Anguy took as Gendry paced and Thoros detailed the plan.

They’d got into contact with Beric, who was coming down that afternoon.

“Leave your door unlocked tomorrow,” he told her. “He’ll have a warrant.”

Apparently, they’d gotten into contact with Robb and her mom too. The breath left her chest, wishing she could have been in the room, could have said hello, even through miles of phone line. But they’d gotten the event her brother was meant to speak at covertly canceled. There were alerts out to local authorities and Brotherhood members to search for and contain members of the Bloody Murmurs. Everything that could be done was being done.

It didn’t settle Arya completely. Relaying on others was a skill she had all but forgotten about it. She breathed deeply, reminding herself that it did help.

When the other lefts, Gendry stayed and let her eat his bag of chips. “How are you feeling?”

“Still worried,” she admitted.

“It would be weird if you weren’t,” Gendry affirmed. He slung one arm around her in a loose hug. “You’re so strong it’s amazing.”

Arya let herself enjoy the embrace. It was easier to breathe deep when she could smell Gendry’s soap with each inhale.

She didn’t lock the door after bringing up the mail the next morning. The Monday paper was thin, but she parked herself on the couch with it, attempting the crossword long after she completed all the clues she knew. She’d solved bigger mysteries in her life.

Roose joined her in the afternoon. He didn’t seem to notice that she had forsaken the cleaning and making lunch. Just sat at the other end of the couch and reached for the remote. Sports recaps. Arya half paid attention, there was an update about the Trouts’ season. Mostly she was imagining what Roose would look like in all orange. It would clash horribly with his sickly skin tone.

There was no knock, no announcement. One moment in the late afternoon the door burst open, dismissing any sort of protocol. Yelling commenced. Beric Dondarrion was a tall and stately man, even with his missing eye. His voice was harsh and commanding when he spoke. With Jack behind him they made a menacing pair, especially in their all black Kevlar.

“Roose Bolton, you’re under arrest for kidnapping, fraud, and conspiracy to murder. I’d recommend you stay silent until you see a counselor.”

“What?” Roose demanded, his face going even paler than normal, eyes bugging out of his head. “Nan! Don’t just sit there! Tell this man—”

But Arya paid him no attention, her gaze fixed solidly to the television. Savoring her smugness, the ease of existance.

The handcuffs clicked, shiny in the apartment’s dim light. Roose stumbled as he was shoved out the door, raising a ruckus all the while. It wouldn’t be safe here for long, not with so many of his associates living in the city, in the building even. Arya stood as Beric lingered in the door.

“You’re a very brave young woman,” he said, “And many owe you a debt they don’t even know about. It would a great honor to see you to your mother at Riverrun.”

“Thanks for all your help,” Arya said, meaning it. “But Gendry’s giving me a ride.”

Beric shook her hand, and then his head, mumbling something about kids as he closed the door behind him.

Arya went into her room and gathered the bag she had packed the night before, holding her few important items, then waited by the door. Gendry stuck his head in a few minutes later.

“Did you watch them put him into the car? Practically frothing at the mouth he was.”

She shook her head. “I missed it, you’ll have to give me all the details on the drive.”

“I will, but I wanted to give you this first.”

He reached into his back pocket for a folded piece of paper, Arya’s brow furrowed when she recognized the name change form, the original to the one sewn into her jeans.

“Where’d you get that? How?”

“Town Hall. And I just lied, this place really isn’t up on protocol or privacy standards.” He hesitated then, as if expecting admonishment, but Arya was more confused than anything.

“But why?”

“I wanted to check something. And I was right. See this?” He said, pointing to the bottom right corner.

“There’s nothing there.”

“Exactly,” he said, smiling now. “Should be a watermark, and a notary’s seal. It’s a fake. Your name was never Nan. You can rip that right up if you want.”

Arya took the paper from his hand. Just a piece of paper, yet it felt like a chain she had been wearing for three years. A great lie she had had to tell, a game where she had to be someone else. She could be herself again, now.

The sound of paper shredding was a symphony. The scraps remained on the floor, for someone else to clean up.

“Thank you,” she told Gendry, stepping over the mess of who she used to be. “For that, and for everything else too.”

She had people to see and a life to live out from under a shadow. She didn’t delude herself into thinking there wouldn’t be challenges, there were plenty of lions that still needed to be smoked out of the tall grass, but she knew now that she wouldn’t have to face them all alone.  

Gendry lifted her off the ground for just a second when he embraced her. He kissed her briefly, then took her hand.

It was high time they got out of this town.