#looking at the old pictures... man time flyes

[aneurizma]

Happy 2 years on Testosterone to me <333

[ninaahelvar]

Chivalry Fell On Its Sword - Gendrya Fic (1/?)

Summary: All Arya wanted so to feel normal and go outside of the damn castle. Now, through a series of unfortunate, she's stuck with a bodyguard that she accidentally flirted with: Gendry Waters.

AO3

A/N: this was made specifically for my friend @wetbreadofficial, and I didn't really plan on posting it but Gendrya was making me sad and I wanted happy gendrya content (also, this was only mildly beta'd, so if there are mistakes....my bad)

“Shit,” Arya cursed, trying to snatch the bag from the narrow opening in the gate. It had been caught in the gap, but she couldn’t take any other exit in her escape.

“Oh, just come loose, you fucking bitch,” she snapped, wrenching the bag back until she went tumbling back onto her ass. To herself, she hissed before she laughed, standing up to rub at the sore spot on her back. But she was free! The little pain she had meant nothing to her now.  

Arya had slipped past the guards for what felt like the millionth time. She wasn’t good at following rules - ever since she was little, Arya snuck away from guards and security, making sure she had the most fun a normal girl her age would. Being royalty, and certainly not the next in line for the throne, was incredibly boring and a rigid existence. All she wanted to do was play soccer and practice kickboxing, and do fun, adventurous things. But that wasn’t ladylike. She had to wear dresses, and be presentable like her sister.

But Arya wasn’t her sister. She was her own bloody person, and ever since she reached her teens, rebelling was the one thing she was incredibly good at. School may not have been her strong suit, but she was smart, she was tough, and she was ruthless when she needed to be. When her late teens came, a university education expected, there was nothing that interested her. So, she told her father that is wasn’t for her - she wasn’t going to be her sister. Ned was good with her, letting her follow her path. She was never going to be a queen - she could live a relatively normal life.

In the press, Arya was thoroughly regarded as the mysterious young stark. Robb was the next king, his role, clear as day, and he kept his chin up and eyes focused on his task. Jon was their orphaned cousin, adopted by their father when his parents passed - he was nowhere in line for the throne, but he was Robb’s closest advisor on certain military matters. Sansa was the perfect picture of all princesses, prim and proper like every girl was supposed to be - caring and giving to the people. Bran was the budding theology professor if his future university studies went the way he wanted - Cambridge was excited to have him. Rickon - well, he was like every other sixteen year old, a weird kid that had no real vision beyond playing rugby whenever he could.

Arya, was elusive. Press days, she was in photos, stood beside her mother or father, but never stayed long. She had found the back passages throughout the palace, and knew the right time to slip the gaze of even her finely turned mother.

It was hard to explain why, but Arya liked being hidden. Ever since she was a child, seeing her siblings made her want to be invisible. It was easier to hide when the eldest sister was beautiful and smart, everything the country wanted a princess to be. All Arya ever wanted to do was play like her brothers. When it came time for university or military service optional, Arya nearly jumped at the opportunity to get into a fight. But she lacked the skill, body structure and height to be fit for military action.

And it crushed her.

She worked as a military aid for some time, a short stint flying into warzones, but never seeing any action beyond it. She trained hard to be a pilot, finding the pits an alternative to getting into a physical fight, but it wasn’t enough. There was nothing wrong with being a pilot, but she much prefered the ground. But that’s what royalty was for, no real action unless you’re a man, and the mechanics and driving is left to the women - if they even wanted to.

So, all in all, Arya’s time with the royal air force and military wasn’t what she wanted, and everything else seemed tedious. Arya wanted more from her life, a grand purpose - she was bound to slay enemies, rule like an ancient king and have her name plastered in everyone’s memory. But what she was left with was a skirt she hated to wear, and make up that was always rubbed off her face. With those hated skirts.

Arya was known around the area. Of course as royalty, but mainly as the princess that often snuck into their town and milled about, going to any store and perusing for a few hours of her freedom. Not many people brought up her royal lineage, apart from those that she hadn’t visited before. The first explanation often gave them enough to leave her alone if she came back. And she always did.

She had managed to make it into town, no alarm bells, a few texts, but at least there weren’t any calls. When she got called by her mother, she knew it was time to get back to the castle.

On this particular day of her escape, she went to the gym. The palace wasn’t exactly equipped with the machines she wanted, nor did it allow her freedom of looking at new surroundings instead of her tired old home. What she didn’t expect when she returned from changing into her workout gear was the head of security, Brienne Tarth, exercising on a pec flye machine, pulling her arms together and letting them stretch apart.

Ducking her head down, Arya tried to move past her, but the ferocious, and terrifyingly tall woman spotted her the minute her arms came apart. “Your highness! You are not allowed out of the palace without -” She was practically shouting across the gym and Arya rolled her eyes, shifting her weight onto the side of her hip.

“Brienne,” Arya said, quirking her eyebrow. The head of security sighed, letting the weight machine buckle and slide back into place.

“You are...one exhausting girl,” she huffed, rummaging through her bag. “Are you coming to train?” she questioned, finding a towel to wipe sweat from the back of her neck. She stood, her height even more intimidating than it was before, but Arya raised her chin to stare back at the woman.

“I just wanted to exercise a bit and walk around the town.”

“Did you leave -”

“Yes,” Arya replied, knowing the question. Brienne huffed, throwing her towel into her bag.

“I really shouldn’t have put Podrick on your detail,”

“You really set him up for failure,” Arya shrugged and Brienne shook her head.

“Poor boy.”

“I’m going to get to it,” Arya said, pointing towards the treadmill. Brienne started to pack up her things, slugging her duffle bag onto her shoulder.

“Be back by eight. I don’t need to explain to your mother why you’re not at home again.” Brienne began

“And you can’t lie to the Queen,” Arya reminded, the failed attempts of Brienne lying because of Arya’s begging had not slipped either of their memories. “I’ll try!” she called, walking towards her machine.

She knew Brienne would protest - say she should be better than trying, but there was no arguing with Arya. She was a free spirit, and time frames were not how she lived.

Working out until her legs nearly buckled and her arms tired far too quickly, she quickly showered. Wandering from the changing rooms, Arya pulled her hair up, trying to fit it into a loose ponytail. Instead, she was practically floored when a wall of a chest got in her way. He nearly knocked her straight off balance, his hands gripping onto her elbows.

“Shit, sorry,” a deep voice apologised. Arya rebalanced, stepping away from him and looked him over, ready to be pissed. But something in her froze, like a schoolgirl suddenly realising her crush just walked into the room. Yet, she’d never met this man before. He wasn’t tall, but he was taller than her - which wasn’t an accomplishment. His head was shaved, as though it were all the way down to the scalp once, but the budding hair was coming through again. Across his jaw small stubble grew, and close by was the smirk of a cocky man.

“Didn’t see you there,” he said, suddenly looking straight forward then down. A smile crack straight across his face, as though he was keeping in a wanted laugh.

“Is that a dig at my height?” Arya raised an eyebrow, waiting for his reply.

The man swallowed, ducking his head down as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I could barely see you were in the room,” he said, a smirk at the edge of his lip.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re not very nice to strangers?” she pointed out, and the man cleared his throat, repositioning his stance, as though to gain the upper hand.

“No, but you didn’t let me finish. I was going to say, I could barely see you, now it’s impossible to look away,” he replied, his mouth ajar slightly as his tongue darted out to lick at his lips. Arya huffed out a laugh, taking a step in, and knocking the man off his guard.

“You need to get better at that,” she replied, looking up at him.

He straightened out his shoulders. “What?”

“Flirting. You’ve got the face for it too, your lines just need a little work,” she said, pushing past his shoulder, going towards the exit.

“Noted,” he called out. Arya waved over her shoulder, turning back to briefly to catch him staring. It was oddly refreshing for her - to let herself flirt so openly and not care. She had done it before, but she’d always had a lingering eye catching her and ushering them away before they could even think of getting near a princess. Arya liked being...just Arya.

Captured in a moment, she was just Arya. Not Arya of House Stark. But the moment she pushed the door open, she was the princess again, wandering a town which she shouldn’t have been.

Finding, only a few streets away, a coffee shop, Arya went inside and set up her laptop. She wasn’t doing anything for university - one would have to go in order to do work for it - or even looking up things on her family as some sort of pride thing. Instead, Arya sat and wrote out a speech she was supposed to give at her father’s birthday party in three weeks. Arya wasn’t good at public speaking - drawing attention to herself wasn’t on her to-do list.

But it was her father. And she’d do anything for him.

With a coffee in hand, she tried to write something meaningful to them both, something that might make him cry or even make Robb tear up. But words weren’t always kind to Arya, losing themselves at the crucial moment. Preparing to say what she needed helped - but the boredom was it’s cost.

The bell chimed every so often, signalling a new customer, but it just became an odd occurrence. It wasn’t until someone hovered nearby, tall and straight shouldered that Arya looked up. With a bag hung over his shoulder, and a new coffee in hand, he smiled down to her.

“Ah, gym girl,” he named her, and she rolled her eyes.

“I feel like I need a better name than gym girl, don’t you?”

“Well, what’s your name?” he asked. Arya didn’t know if he knew, he didn’t seem to, otherwise he may have tried to run, or could come on too strong. She just...wanted something normal. He did that for her.

“Private,” she replied, swallowing down the want to connect, replacing it with a wall that had to be built.

“Okay private, you can call me major,” he said with a smile. Arya went back to her laptop.

“A major cunt,” she whispered, but it caught the ear of him. Because he laughed at her snide remark.

“Military codes,” he corrected, and as she looked up, her brow furrowed deep.

“I know that. I’m just calling it as I see it,” she shrugged back.

“You’re kinda rude,” he noticed, tipping his coffee to his lips and drinking some down. Arya reclined back into her chair, hands in her lap as she looked up at the cocky bastard. It was hard to stop smiling when she looked at him - he was extremely attractive, and he wasn’t being a dick like many others had been. She was just defensive. But he seemed ready for that. As though he understood her somehow.

“Well, all this rage builds inside my small body, gotta let it out somehow,” she remarked, smiling back at him. He chuckled at her and she wanted to laugh too, but it felt strange. As though letting herself feel the humour of it all was too much.

“I can see that,” he nodded, glancing down to his watch. “I’ll leave you to it. See you, private.” He gave a lazy salute, going to exiting the store.

“See you,” she said, watching him leave, looking over his shoulder with a small wave in toe,  “major,” she whispered under her breath. She wasn’t going to give him the bloody satisfaction of hearing her say it.

But she couldn’t help but notice that throughout the rest of her time in the coffee shop that she couldn’t stop smiling to herself.

When the night was winding down, the castle looming over the town seeming even more intimidating in dusk, Arya didn’t want to go home. Calling a castle a home was a strange, as though such a building could be a welcoming embrace after a long day. Arya wasn’t one to be waited on, hand and foot. She wandered and moved against what her family name expected of her.

The town dwilded in masses, igniting their lights throughout the town, and the creatures of the night emerged. Those that wanted their night off, crawling from pub to pub, letting their jobs wear them out until they could suffer no more than a nice dinner and a drink - they all came out. Arya liked watching them, wondering what it would be like to be normal like they were. She felt freer than they were, but less free to be...normal.

Finding a group that would not stop chanting, she felt like she was drawn to them like a moth into a burning flame. The Stag Head. They all came wandering in, shouting and greeting everyone inside. The noise was insane, radiating outward, almost filling to the brim with people. And Arya beamed. She almost raced inside, shoving her way into the crowd and finding a spot on the bar. She didn’t get a seat for a while, but she didn’t mind the people - they were happy and loose, letting the night fuel their tired bodies.

Arya sat up on the stool, ordering a craft beer and waited for it to come around. She let the band in her hair come loose, falling around her shoulders and her fingers rubbing at her scalp. Scooping her hair to the side, she rested her elbow on the bar, tapping her foot on the stool’s beam. As a loud cheer echoed over the bar, Arya peered up from scanning the line of bottles on the wall. At the entrance she saw the man she knew as Major.

There was a pulling sensation to roll her eyes at him whilst also smiling until he saw her. Fuck. She was being an idiot. Instead of indulging, she focused back at the bottles. She counted to thirty four before someone met at her side. She almost didn’t want to turn, just seeing his smug face might make her react violently.

She hadn’t experienced...attraction like this. He made her mad at herself for feeling it. It was physical, she thought. He was good looking, and he had a nice enough smile. That’s what made her feel kind of giddy. But most of all, she wanted to punch him in the mouth purely to see if it would stop her from feeling whatever it was.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” he said, and Arya sighed, the smile finally creeping onto her lips.

“Just because I’m short doesn’t mean I’m young,” she said, still not looking his way.

“Sure,” he laughed, and Arya almost cracked, looking to see how wide he was smiling now, “you come here a lot?”

Arya straightened up before leaning back down onto the bar. “Not really. Just kind of stumbled across this place. Quite nice,” she shrugged.

“I’ll let the owner know.”

Finally, Arya looked to him, raising her brow. “Are you just that nice?”

He shrugged. “I know the owner.“

Arya narrowed her gaze at him. “I’m starting to think you’re following me,” she questioned. He scoffed back.

“I live here, you’re the one that’s new here. Are you following me?”

“You’re not that funny,” Arya rolled her eyes as her drink landed in front of her. Arya picked it up, almost raising it to her lips but Major spoke quickly.

“And that’s an expensive drink. You a rich girl or something?” he asked, and Arya scoffed.

“Or something,” she smiled as the glass touched her lips. Major smiled back, waving down the bartender who simply nodded and got him whatever his usual drink was. It ended up being whiskey on the rocks.

The night wound down, the crowds dispersing and the pub turning into an average tavern. Arya was shocked to find herself completely immersed in conversation with Major. He spoke of his time away, wishing he was back home - that he was going to be working with a friend from university soon. Yet, even as she talked to him, she could feel he wasn’t letting something out. She could understand that. But she was royalty pretending to be just...an average woman. She lied, saying she was finishing up university soon, her major being communications. He didn’t understand what she would study, and she said some bullshit about it being too hard to explain.

After Arya’s third beer, Major leaned into her, hand snaking underneath the bottom of her stool. Arya looked back at him, the smile on his face was lazy, mixed with his whiskey - a confidence that he hadn’t exhibited before. Arya stopped her hand from raising, focusing back at the man in front of her.

“What line am I going to have to say to get you to consider going out with me,” he said. And she laughed, resting her elbow on the bar and her chin in her palm. They were inches from each other, staring at each other with an unyielding gaze - as though the first to break would lose.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” she smirked. He gave back a soft shrug, leaning down a little more.

“I’d like to at least be a contender. Feel like I keep falling over myself when I talk to you.”

“Bet you say that to every girl,” she rolled her eyes. He gave her pathetic lines like that, as though one would break her.

“No. Not every girl,” he said, tilting his head.

“You’re really bad at this.”

“So are you, but you do try,”

“So do you, but I get better, and I make it look easy,” she

“Yes, you do,” he said, suddenly jerking her stool towards him. She finally understood why his hand was under her chair. He wanted this to happen.

“Do you really think you can handle me?” Arya challenged, her brow raised as she stared him down. He softened in a way that made Arya’s heart race. He met her gaze with his own passion. He wasn’t backing down.

“Not at all, but I was counting on that,” he said. He finally found it - the line that broke her. It was as though he was seeing beneath the surface of her, under the walls, and peaking at how she wanted to be treated. She was a threat, she wasn't to be taken lightly. And he didn’t want to - he wanted the handful that she was - even if it were for a night, he wanted her.

Arya shifted forward, letting her elbow slip as the two tentatively leaned into each other. All she wanted to do was feel what his lips were like, if they were tender or rough, if the stubble on his jaw would scrap over her cheek if he pulled her forward like she wanted. But she recoiled first, her phone buzzing in her pocket. She wrenched it free from her jeans, finding her mother calling.

“Shit,” she cursed, the call ending before she could answer it. It was well past midnight, and her mother was only now calling. She was going to be killed before she got home. Fuck. Arya hit her forehead to her phone, standing up and scattering from her things. Major was sputtering out some words, almost standing from his stool, but she sat him back down. “I gotta go. It was nice..flirting with you. While it lasted anyway,” she smiled, waiting a moment, seeing if she’d let herself give in. As her phone chimed again, she knew she couldn’t.

Going for the door, Arya turned back the last second to see him one last time. He was looking back to her, the softest smile spreading across his lips. Everything told her to stay, but the nagging phone in her hand ushered her away from the bar.

When she got back to the palace, the look on both her mother’s and Brienne’s face told her enough - she was dead meat.

And now, a dog on a leash as well.

But...she got one day.

~*~*~

Gendry adjusted his tie, trying not to let on that the night before had gotten to him more than it should have. The entrance to the palace shook him more than it should have - he had been in warzones, but a grand palace foyer had his skin on edge. More than anything, he wanted to get this over and done with - he mainly took this job because his mum’s tavern was having some issues and Jon said the job paid well.

And plus, it was Jon. They’d known each other for nearly ten years, their university days binding them forever. As he waited, at the top of the large staircase, he saw the familiar man from his youth.

“Jon,” Gendry greeted. The short royal perked as he saw him, marching in a determined gate before they finally reached each other.

“Gendry!” he called, embracing him tightly, before leaving an arm’s distance between them.  “it’s great to see you man, it’s been a while!”

“No kidding,” Gendry laughed, pointing to Jon’s face, “keeping the beard, I see,” he said with a nod and Jon scoffed, running a face over his jaw.

“At least I kept my hair,” he replied.

Gendry ran his hand over his head. “Some of us have jobs to do,” he shrugged, “thanks for setting this up by the way.”

“It was no trouble,” Jon said, guiding Gendry up the stairs only to stop mid stride, “but in advance...I’m sorry.”

Gendry went back a step, meeting Jon’s worried look with his own. “Why?”

“You’ll get it soon.” He quickly kept moving and Gendry was left to follow straight after.

“Are you having me shovel horse shit?!”

“You might prefer that in a week,” Jon replied simply and Gendry’s brow furrowed deeper. How the fuck was that meant to be comforting, you prick?

“You’re a cryptic fucker, you know that?” Gendry swore. Jon laughed as the pair were met with a tall blonde woman.

“Brienne Tarth, this is Gendry,” Jon greeted. Gendry extended his hand, giving her a familiar, barely present smile.

“We met for the interview. Getting him to meet his assignment today,” Brienne nodded towards Jon, who had already started to walk off from the pair.

“Have fun!” he called out, going about to wander the halls of the palace - letting Gendry suffering with his lack of information.

“Why does he keep saying that,” Gendry said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Brienne said, barely registering a shift in tone.

“I’m beginning to regret this,”

“You’ll be on the youngest daughter, Arya. Code name is Nymeria,” she said, handing him a folder full of who he was set to protect.

“Why?” he asked.

“She had a dog when she was younger, and wanted it to be her code name. So, she’s stuck with it now,” Brienne waved the question off, as Gendry slowed down to read over the folder, picking up on a few lines, flicking a few papers over and catching a glimpse of the pictures of his assignment.

Gendry stopped midstep. This had to be a joke right? This couldn’t be the same -

“Hurry up,” Brienne said, and Gendry focused back to her, immediately rushing to keep in step with the head of security.

~*~*~

Arya had positioned the rod up in her walk in wardrobe, locked in between two walls to allow her to do pull ups in her own room. Since she’d fucked up the day before, she was essentially under house arrest until her mother worked out what punishment would fit Arya better.

It would be punishment to Arya - it’d just be another royal outing of some kind, donating to a charity and speaking to a crowd that had no idea who she was.

Arya huffed, locking her ankles in place as she urged her body up again. She’d been working out for nearly an hour before she heard a knock at her door. She was hidden away in her wardrobe, so seeing anyone was impossible in her position.

“Your highness?” she heard Brienne call.

“Here!” Arya grunted, pulling herself up again, and when she saw Brienne walk in, she dropped to the ground. Sitting down, she stretched out her arms, bending and arching her body to not tense up.

Arya stopped the minute she saw the man behind Brienne. Her mouth was dry, and she felt like coughing until she didn’t choke anymore. Because that’s all her body wanted to do - choke on the moment, because this could not be happening. Was this the punishment? Did they somehow find him. She stood, dusting herself off.

“Your highness, this is Gendry Waters, your new bodyguard.” He gave a soft bow as a greeting. Arya wanted to return it, but stayed still. Oh no, this was much worse than punishment. It was unintended punishment and embarrassment. Her mother, or the fucking universe, really knew how to kick her in the gut. “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t you dare scare him off like the others.” Brienne turned on her heels, moving out of the wardrobe.

“Hey! It’s not my fault Sam can’t keep up,” Arya called out just as the door to her room shut.

The two stayed in silence, the deafening way it surrounded them, reminding them of what was being unsaid. They weren’t going to avoid it - and because Arya hated awkward situations, she was definitely going to bring it up. She knew her mind, how she was going to spit it out. Her walls coming straight back up.

“I don’t remember you saying you were a bodyguard last night,” Arya quipped, moving past him swiftly to get to her bed, and reaching for the towel that rested on the edge. She wiped away the sweat on her body, covering her shoulders once she had finished.

“Never mentioned you were royalty either,” he reminded her. “Your highness,” he corrected himself quietly.

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped, her cheeks feeling red hot. She hope the colour didn’t show. More than anything, she hoped he didn’t notice how much she hated him calling her that.

Gendry suddenly stepped into her orbit, catching her off guard. “Or what, your highness?” he asked, an edge to his words. Tempting.

“I have to get back to not being here,” she cleared her throat, moving ahead of Gendry and making her way out of the room without taking a second glance, “keep up or I’ll drop you like dead weight,” she warned, making sure her pace was hard to stay in time with.

“Noted,” Gendry said, walking one perfect step behind her. She was thankful for that, because she smiled so wide, she had to bit her lip to stop the laugh she wanted to let out. Instead, she raised her chin and began walking a little faster to see if he could keep up.

He could. And he did.