Nymeria (Chapter 4 of To Temper Steel)
Jul. 3rd, 2019 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nrgburstCharacters: Arya Stark/Gendry Baratheon, Nymeria
Rating/Warnings: T, language
Word Count: 3868
Summary: Because she can be his family.
Read on Ao3 here or on FFN here if you prefer.
For once, Arya doesn't chafe at the plodding speed of bureaucracy. The small council has finally made the decision to procure a large starter supply of Silphium, but it’s still taking weeks for the money --and therefore everything else— to get moving.
So she’s determined not to waste her time left at Storm’s End.
She really likes it here, with the crystal blue water, dense, deep-rooted woods and ferocious storms. Likes the stubbornly scattered hamlets of the Stormlords; the availability of spices and dyes from across the Narrow Sea; the local diet laden with foods from woods and water, not just pastures and farms. Cersei had tried to tax them into submission by taking extra grain and heads of livestock and the Stormlanders just collected more nuts and mushrooms, dug up clams and conches and let that evil bitch think she’d won.
Definitely her kind of people.
Plus they love Gendry. It makes her heart swell with pride when toothless fishermen and children alike brag that Lord Baratheon made their fish hooks; to see how excited they are to see him at the summer salt haul because he’d won some rowing contest to Tarth the previous year.
“Blood will tell. Real Baratheon shoulders on that one, even if he came out of the big city.”
She has to agree that they’re nice shoulders, and that he’s bearing the responsibilities of being Lord Paramount over lands he's had to learn about admirably. Spring has him up before first light and collapsing into bed late, supervising the rotation of seed grain, men, horses, plows and furrows around tenant farms on top of his usual responsibilities.
And because he’s Gendry, he only complains about how he doesn’t get to be in the forge as much as he would like, just hunkering down and getting on with the actual work.
She hopes with his people keeping him busy, maybe he won’t be as lonely once she has to leave. He’s been stubbornly avoiding talking about it, but the anguish that sometimes flashes in his eyes when he looks at her and the quiet desperation in his lovemaking speak volumes.
Maybe if they'd had enough time for the passion between them to simmer down into something like what her parents had, she'd feel less like she’s betraying them both by leaving while it’s still so incredibly intense. She refuses to regret the past few months, though: they’ll both get to keep these memories forever, even if their lives go sideways all over again. Feeling everything to the fullest comes with the risk of getting hurt, and she knows she’s a hypocrite to be cringing away from what she brought on herself.
But she’s going to miss storm days tucked in the circle of his arms, his heart beating under her ear while the winds howl outside; miss how right it feels when they agree on important things and argue over stupid shit; miss being able to wake him up in the middle of the night for sex.
Which is something she’s not had to do for weeks, and she knows it's idiotic to feel bereft over being able to sleep soundly at night again, but she can’t help but worry why the gagging-for-it dreams suddenly stopped.
Hang Bran and his cryptic advice. He could have at least told her which part of the Stormlands Nymeria would be in. She’s been searching every day since they got back, and she’s saddling her white mare as usual when one of the stableboys comes running. “Milady, please don't go yet! Milord Baratheon's lookin' for you! Said to stop you before you left!"
She slows, perplexed. “Just finished breaking fast with him, Gavin. Isn’t he holding petitions?”
“Yes, Milady, and there was an urgent one first thing. If it please-“
Arya’s already started walking towards the Great Hall, and Gavin skips to keep up, excitement shining in his eyes as he continues.
“There's to be a hunt, milady! Lord Baratheon says you’re the best archer here and there’s a great, dirty wolf robbin’ sheep!"
She stops dead in her tracks.
Well, shit.
She keeps to the steady pace set by the group even though she wishes they could be going faster. The stonemason who had hiked for days to ask for his liege lord’s help isn’t used to riding, but he’s on a reliable mount that can be counted on to follow the one in front of his. He'll probably be sore as hell after the day’s ride, but the need for haste means traveling horseback.
She’s relieved Gendry overrode objections and assigned most of his men to keep sowing fields, although she understands their outrage. She doubts her own father would have called off a hunt for a sheep killer no matter how much she had begged, and she bitterly hopes this decision doesn’t undermine the support Gendry’s earned.
“You think it’s your old direwolf? The one who bit Prince Joffrey?”
“I drove her away after or they would have killed her. I’ve been looking for her every day since Bran told me she was in the Stormlands. I promise I will pay for every sheep that's been taken."
“...Will you be able to stop her from raiding the pasture again?”
“…I don’t know.”
“…Arya…"
“Please, my lord. If your men kill her, they’ll be killing a piece of me. Just let me go find her."
The stricken way he’d looked at her is still vivid in her mind, as is the rebuke he’d given her in private after, when he’d told her he was coming with them.
“Arya, just let me help you! Would have done all along, if you’d just told me! I could have asked my holders and bannermen to keep an eye out if you’d trusted me to. Why didn’t you?”
It stings to know not only that she’d hurt him, but that she’d been shortsighted enough to fall back into bad habits. She knows why too: coming back to Westeros, right into the thick of all the politicking and competing agendas has her guard up. She’s gotten better at relying on people again, at delegating tasks to those better suited and asking for help. Why was she still so scared to ask Gendry?
She hates the answer for that, so she ignores it for now. The more immediate problem: the stonemason will probably fall off his horse soon.
“My lord Gendry!” she shouts.
He turns back and when she jerks her head at the stonemason, he nods and reins in his horse and everybody else follows suit.
“Mason Gerber, you all right?”
“Forgive me, milord. I ain’t used to ridin'."
Gendry nods sympathetically. “It’s all right. Neither was I. And if I remember correct, it’s another half-day’s ride, so we won’t make it by nightfall anyway. Best thing you can do is walk off the worst of the stiffness and rest.”
Arya swallows her own impatience- she owes the mason both her silver and courtesy if Nymeria’s at fault. And everybody’s mood –-even her own-- improves when she slips away for a hunt and adds a couple rabbits and a woodcock to their evening meal.
Even if there were mutters about her unseemly influence over Lord Baratheon and meddling beyond her rights earlier, she can do her bit here for them well enough.
The stonemason looks like he’s still in pain, but he’s obviously relieved to be back on the ground, stretching his legs in the warmth by the fire. “You Northerners used to havin’ wolves round, then, milady?”
Gendry gives her a knowing smirk, but she just shrugs slightly. She’d rather get milady now than princess or your highness, any day.
“Not really. Settlements are even more scattered up North than they are here. Prey thrives where people aren't, and wolves follow. Direwolves are usually only found north of the wall now, though. Legend says they were more common back when House Stark was first established, but that was thousands of years ago,” Arya replies quietly.
“Well, she sure is a big ‘un. We don’t usually have trouble- she dens down with Old Black in the Kingswood and whelps pups with him every spring. She’s no valley wolf though- she'll leave him and take the pups back North with her before storm season.”
“...Every year?” Gendry asks.
“Every year since she started coming down this way. Not sure what's changed so that she's grabbin’ sheep though. Plenty of game in the woods."
Probably me somehow, Arya thinks, but she says nothing. It is odd- back in Winterfell all their direwolves had been trained to stay away from the farmed animals, and Nymeria’s pack must have done so as well, or they’d have been hunted down. Still, while she’d been Arya’s she’d often been fed mutton, and she wonders if Nymeria expects it somehow now that she’s near.
Wonders if that thread between them is anything she can use, if she'll even feel it if it’s cut.
She really can’t bear to see Gendry wield that warhammer of his against Nymeria, or to watch Nymeria tear into him if he isn’t fast enough.
It’s really best if they don’t meet at all.
Once they get to the holdfast, a picturesque place between quarry, pasture and wood, she pulls Gendry aside. “I have to go alone to find her.”
“What?!"
“You’ve gotten your stonemason home safe, and me here. But it’s best if she doesn't sense a threat. And there’s always some idiot who can’t keep themselves from loosing once they’ve got an arrow nocked and ready."
There it is, that spark of indignant fury in his eyes. “I came all this way to watch your back for you-“
“And you have. It's always safer to travel in a group, and easier to split watches at night. But the last time I met Nymeria I was alone. And she acted like I was a threat until I threw down Needle. I need her to trust me if I’m going to make any headway into stopping her from grabbing sheep. I can’t do it with a bunch of armed men there with no loyalty to me. Ghost was the runt of the litter, Gendry, and you've seen how he still scares people witless. Men react predictably when they’re afraid.”
He’s afraid for her too, and it’s written all over his face. “She’s got to be a lot wilder than you remember if she’s taking sheep now, Arya."
Arya shakes her head and keeps her face deliberately calm. “She remembered me before and called off her pack. And this is just going to be two wolves, not twenty. Those dreams I was having: that was her. She's still my direwolf. The only one I’m worried about is her mate, since he doesn’t know me.”
She’s careful not to emphasize how worried she actually is about that possibility. She knows how to fight people, not animals. And she can’t predict how Nymeria will react if she kills her mate or vice versa.
But she knows her own.
So she unbuckles Needle’s holster and holds the sword out to him. “I’ll keep my dagger and bow in case I bump into him first. Can you keep this safe for me in the meantime?"
Gendry exhales sharply and meets her eye, surprised and visibly moved. And that seals it for her: he knows exactly how much Needle means.
“…’Course.”
“Thanks.” And then, because she might not get the chance again, she tiptoes and kisses him gently before she whispers.
“…I love you."
The tears that spring into his eyes and the convulsive way he holds on to her make her own eyes dampen in response.
“…What the hell, Arya?” he says hoarsely.
“You’re supposed to say it back,” she points out.
“You know I’m in love with you- that isn’t the point! Why would you pick right now to finally say that to me?” he demands, searching her eyes.
He relents just as suddenly when he seems to realize the answer. “You’re not sure you're coming back."
So much for him not being able to play the game of faces.
“Gendry. Please. I wouldn’t if I saw any other way.”
He opens his mouth before he shuts it and swallows hard. Then he pulls her close and kisses her, long and tinged with reluctance.
“…Fine. We’ll do this your way. But I’m going after you if you’re not back by sunset."
She closes her eyes and sighs with relief. “Deal.”
He rests his forehead against hers. “I know you took down the Night King with just that dagger. But I'm still going to worry to death.”
She has to smile, heartened by the reminder. "Well, try to stay alive anyway or I'll be pissed."
Arya cautiously follows the trail into the wood for a couple of hours. It’s immediately obvious a large predator has moved into the territory- all the bigger game has fled and she sees wolf scat, although the hum of insects and intermittent birdsong make her think she’s still alone for now.
She manages to shoot a couple squirrels with her bow, and then she waits. The smell of blood will hopefully draw her in.
But she's still caught off guard when Nymeria approaches from behind with a snarl, ears flattened to her head and bristling with suspicious confusion.
She hadn’t sensed her at all- whatever had connected them in dreams doesn’t seem tangible at all in the flesh.
Instead, she discards her bow and dagger, never breaking her gaze from the direwolf’s. “It’s me. Arya. Come on, girl, it's all right.”
Nymeria relaxes as soon as the weapons hit the forest floor and slowly approaches, ears perking up. She gives her a thorough sniff over while Arya holds still, not wanting to startle her. It’s a step forward from last time anyway; so for good measure, Arya peels off her gloves and discards them before extending her bare hands for her to smell.
She gives a laugh that is half-sob when Nymeria shoves her nose into her palm and starts wagging her tail.
“See? Just me.” She gives her a careful pat and staggers back when Nymeria settles her bulk down next to her abruptly. Seven Hells, she’s gotten big.
Nymeria nudges her hand impatiently, and she has to laugh. “…Right. More pats. Got it.”
It gives her the chance to inspect her more closely while she gives ear rubs and scratches and Nymeria bolts down the offered squirrels. There are a few scars hidden under her fur, but she’s in good health and pregnant, as expected. Her fur seems shorter than the last time she'd seen her, but it’s probably a result of the season changing, or maybe just being so far South.
When Nymeria abruptly stands, Arya hastily checks behind her, half expecting to see “Old Black” come snarling out of the underbrush. But she just seems to have had enough, and she pads back over to the objects Arya discarded, probably hoping to find more food.
“Just weapons and my gloves, Nymeria. If you’ll let me get my bow, I can try to get you something else to eat though.”
Nymeria’s ears twitch, and she tilts her head, as if confused.
Then she takes hold of the gloves and trots back over, dropping them in front of Arya before sitting and letting her tongue loll out proudly.
Arya’s glad she’s out here on her own, that nobody can see the tears welling up in her eyes.
“That’s right, girl. Gloves.”
Arya emerges from the treeline cautiously, and she’s glad she had the sense to ask Nymeria to wait.
His men all have bows at hand. At least it’s not longbows for a proper hunt, but their small ones for the trail. And once Gendry spots her, he immediately signals them to stand down, walking quickly toward her with relief written all over his face.
“Get them to stay at a distance or she’s going to be agitated," she shouts.
“You brought her back with you?” he calls back in disbelief, but he signals his men to move back towards the cottage, and they comply, albeit slowly and reluctantly.
Arya gives him an exasperated look before she reaches him and pulls him down to her for a quick kiss before rubbing her cheeks over his and deliberately linking their hands.
“…What are you doing?”
“Marking you. I didn't think of it until she was sniffing me in the crotch earlier,” she admits.
The bewildered look on his face turns into one of dawning comprehension. “Arya, I never even got near Ghost."
“She could probably smell you on me anyway, but I just want to make sure. You need to put down Needle and your hammer too,” she says, tossing her bow and dagger to the ground again.
Gendry makes a choking sound, aghast. “That’s Valyrian Steel!”
Arya gives him an amused look. “Yeah, so it’s practically indestructible.”
“Still worth a gold mine!” he argues before he sighs and lays down the weapons he carries. “I don't have a choice in this, do I?”
“No. Training her to leave the sheep alone might actually have worked, but this will take far less time. Just make sure your men don’t panic and shoot us," she warns.
Then she walks back toward the trees and calls. “Nymeria! Come!"
Nymeria the pup would have bounded out without hesitation, but now she’s far more cautious and far less blindly obedient. She emerges reluctantly from cover, ears flat against her head but not snarling- yet.
Which changes instantly when the men shout at the sight of her. Gendry, annoyed, holds a hand up to quiet them and Arya keeps walking towards her direwolf, deliberate and calm.
“Easy, Nymeria. Just meeting someone, I promise. Shhh,” she soothes, and Nymeria’s snarl dies away once Arya gets close enough to offer her bare hand again. She whines, unsure, as Arya rubs the underside of her snout.
“See? Just me and Gendry nearby. And the rest of them will stay back like he says. We’re fine.”
She stands there, holding her direwolf’s head to hers and talking to her patiently until Nymeria’s ears perk up again. Then she leads her forward a step. Then another. And another.
She can hear Gendry breathing harder as they get closer, but she’s focused on Nymeria.
“Shhhh, he won’t hurt you. He’s good people; he’s always safe. You’ll see, you can smell him on me already, right? Come on, just a little closer. …Gendry, slowly hold out your hand?”
“Fuckin’ hell, Arya,” he mutters, but he complies.
He flinches when Nymeria growls low in warning when their eyes meet, but he keeps his hand out.
Nymeria sniffs it, and the growling stops and her ears pep up curiously. She steps forward to sniff his crotch and chest and face before turning back to Arya.
“See? I told you,” she says warmly, and lavishes her with rubs and scratches. “Who’s my good girl?”
They all startle when they hear a howl come from the woods, and Nymeria immediately turns and bounds back.
“Nymeria!” Arya calls reflexively.
The direwolf stops and turns back to look at her, and Arya hesitates.
They’d only gotten a few hours together. And she remembers so much more than she’d expected…
She has a mate, a den, and pups on the way. And you’re sailing as soon as winds are favorable.
She gulps and blinks back tears. “Stay out of trouble! Now, go!”
Nymeria turns and lopes back into the woods.
Gendry lets out a breath he was obviously holding and puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You all right?”
Arya considers for a second before she turns to him with a smile. “Yeah. Better than that, even.” She leans against him. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head. “Can’t believe she was that close and she didn’t bite my hand off. Or anything else.”
She snorts with laughter. “You know you share your bed with a wolf every night. Speaking of which…”
Arya grins at Gendry, her eyes bright. “I need you to pull your cock out and take a piss on the woodland side of the fence."
“What?!” His eyes widen when he realizes why she’s shaking with laughter and he scoffs and shakes his head. “Should have known you'd never let me forget I said that.”
She gives him a wicked grin and arches a brow. “Best served cold. But I’m serious: wolf packs start with two, and she knows you’re my mate now. So I need you to mark your territory, Lord Baratheon. You might have to renew it next year, but I think once should be enough. The North remembers."
And she knows that for certain now.
“Truly? That's all?”
She twitches her shoulders noncommittally. "I’ll need to mark too, but I'm not squatting while your men can see."
Gendry’s matter-of-fact. “I’ll ask them to give us some privacy.” He gives her an appraising look. “Real glad we solved this without any more bloodshed. They might not be used to a Baratheon who doesn’t give a shit about glory and hunting trophies, but that’s who they’ve got.”
She looks at him, surprised. And she smiles when she realizes what he's saying.
“I think that’s the best kind of lord they could ask for,” she says softly.
They’ve both agreed to err on the side of discretion while there’s only a bit of tent canvas between them and everybody else, but it’s hard to resist temptation when he pulls her close that night.
“So you love me, huh?”
She cuddles back against him and slides her hand possessively over his arm, chuckling at how smug he sounds. “Mmm.”
“And wolves mate for life?”
That sobers her, but she answers softly anyway. “They do.”
“Can’t wait to get you home,” he groans, nuzzling her neck. She sighs and brings his hand to her breast, pressing her bum up against him in unspoken invitation.
It would spoil the moment to tell him that wolves only den down a few months of the year.
So she doesn’t.
