Fair warning, there is sexual content at the end of this chapter.
With the benefit of hindsight, perhaps volunteering for climbing detail hadn't been Gendry's greatest idea ever.
He knew the Wall was over 700 feet in height, but it looked even bigger from where he was on the ground. He supposed that was the point though; the thing had been built to stop invasions from the far north. Gendry, like everyone else, had assumed the Wall was there to defend against Wildlings. Of course, he now knew that was just a myth. There were far worse things out here than Wildlings.
White Walkers… if someone had told him he would encounter the remains of people attacked by White Walkers beyond the Wall, he'd have called them utterly mad. Putting everything else aside, the White Walkers were speculated to have been gone for thousands of years, if they had even existed in the first place. Gendry was guilty of the latter, dismissing them as simple stories parents told naughty children to keep them in line. The revelation they were real was still haunting him.
It also meant he understood why Mance Rayder was so desperate to get his people behind the Wall. If Mance was correct, the White Walkers would be unable to pass the Wall. Gendry was still skeptical of the Wall's supposed magical nature, but when Val had posed the question of who had been able to build it to him just before their group left, he found himself unable to answer.
"Gendry, you still with us?" He heard a rough voice say, and turned to see Ygritte readying her climbing gear. Tormund had explained it earlier to him. Specialized axes with thin blades would help them scale up the ice, along with crampons, which turned out to just be spikes tied to their shoes. They were also all tied together with ropes, which would help keep them together during the climb, and keep them falling to their deaths should they slip.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here, Ygritte." He said. The redheaded girl shot him a smirk.
"Thinkin' about Val, are ya?" She asked mischievously
"No." Gendry said defensively as they began moving towards the Wall to make the climb.
"Yeah, ya are." Ygritte said. "What are ya gonna do with her? Go live in a windmill or somethin'?"
"Why would I want to live in a windmill?" Gnedry asked, baffled.
"Isn't a windmill a lord's castle in the south?"
That just made Gendry snicker. "No, it isn't Ygritte. We use them to grind grain, pump water, cut wood. That sort of stuff."
The Wildling woman briefly looked taken aback and opened her mouth to speak before Tormund called them over. It was settled. The climb would begin now and likely take several hours. They would split into four smaller groups, with Tormund leading theirs, along with Ygritte, and Orell, the Warg.
Gendry couldn't help but feel some remorse that he'd eventually have to make his way to Castle Black and turn on these people. Ygritte was his friend, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to turn on her when the time came. Halfhand warned me about getting too close to them, Gendry thought.
He was shaken from his reverie by the sound of Tormund sinking an axe into the ice and leading them up. It was time to move. Gendry swung his own axe into the Wall and followed the other three up. It was going to be a log day, that was for sure, but he began to settle into a routine within the first hour; right axe, followed by left foot, and then left axe, followed by his right foot. He kept his eye firmly on what was in front of him, and just high enough to know where his axes were going next.
His muscles began screaming at him after the first hour. This would've been hazardous at the best of times, but with the wind blowing the way it was, it was a minor miracle that none of them had been blown off. Of course though, Gendry had thought that too soon. Part of the ice broke off, and smashed into one of the groups. The lucky ones were hit by the ice and died instantly; two unluckier ones began plummeting to their deaths.
That same ice had knocked Gendry clear of the Wall, only held up by the rope fixed to Tormund, who jammed his axe hard into the ice to prevent them from falling.
"We have to cut them!" He heard Orell shout. Though whether that was for their welfare or his lack of trust, Gendry wasn't sure. He heard Tormund shout back a warning before calling down to Gendry, shouting for him to get stuck back on the ice. Gendry finally managed to jam an axe into the ice just as the rope gave way; no doubt because Orell had cut it. Thinking quickly, he stuck his other axe and right foot in as hard as possible, the crampon's spike digging into the Wall. He felt a body pass him, and for a terrifying moment, thought Ygritte was about to go down and him along with her, but the ice-and more importantly the rope and his grip-held.
"Alright, let's get this over with!" He called down to Ygritte, who nodded and responded by sticking her own axes in the ice as they resumed the climb upwards. It was another couple of hours, but they eventually reached the top.
"Bloody hell . . ." Ygritte said as Gendry hauled her up. "So this is the top of the world, eh?"
"Just about." Gendry nodded as Tormund began gathering the rope. They were at an outpost, the former blacksmith noted with some satisfaction. Good, he thought, at least the way down will be a lot easier.
Well, here was the day that Tyrion dreaded. Marrying Sansa Stark . . . . most men would envy his position. After all, if they won the war, she would be the key to the North, the heir to Winterfell. Despite how grateful Sansa had been in public it was announced they were to be married, she couldn't fool Tyrion. She sees it as a curse, he thought, and she is right to see it as one too.
While men would envy Tyrion, one would be hard-pressed to find any woman who envied Sansa. Her younger brothers dead, her older brother fighting a war, the fate of her sister unknown, and now to be married to him. The Gods must have put a curse on the child; it fits what those vicious bastards would do.
It seemed that the Gods had put a curse on all of them, truth be told. This whole damn war had accomplished nothing of note so far. Steffon's victories over Renly had been nullified almost immediately when the Tyrells declared for Joffrey, while Robb Stark's own campaign seemed to have lost momentum. He still hadn't moved on Harrenhal, which Tyrion saw as a mistake. If the Stark boy had taken Harrenhal, then he would've forced Tywin to weaken his forces facing Steffon. Tyrion had been sure that his preferred nephew's alliance was winning this war not that long ago. Now, he wasn't so sure.
Tyrion found himself knocking at the door of Sansa's room. With a bit of luck, she'd be ready and then they'd be able to get the night over and done with. It was Shae who answered of course, but the sour look she shot him gave away where the two of them stood. Pod was behind him of course; the boy had practically become his shadow lately. A much taller shadow perhaps, but the point still stood.
"Lady Sansa." He said simply, appreciating this was a situation that neither of them wanted.
"You look very handsome, My Lord." She said in a stilted, almost instinctual manner. It was a sad fact that the girl had shed much of her earnestness to survive.
"Oh yes, the husband of your dreams." Tyrion deadpanned. "But, you do look glorious, My Lady. Perhaps we could have a moment alone. Podrick, would you mind escorting Lady Sansa's handmaiden out?" He asked. Another foul look from Shae as she left. He turned back to Sansa. "My Lady, I want you to know that I didn't ask for this." He said. Sansa frowned, but only for a brief second.
"I hope I will not disappoint you, My Lord." She replied.
"You do not have to speak to me as a prisoner anymore." He saif, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "You won't be a prisoner anymore. You'll be my wife, thought I suppose that's just a different kind of prison." A rueful smile from both of them. "I just… what I'm trying to say is that I know how you feel."
Sansa rounded on him then. Even with the meek act that she put on, he could see now that there was… well, not a fire in her eyes, but a coldness that could only come from a true woman of the North. A cold determination not to let herself be beaten by the horrors that had been inflicted on her, both physical and psychological. The Gods knew that Cersei was merciless, and Joffrey was both merciless and insane.
"No, My Lord. You do not."
Tyrion had to nod in agreement there. Even though it was his nephews fighting over the Iron Throne, he was not really despairing for his family. The only one he did really care about was Jaime, and there was little chance that Robb Stark was going to let any harm befall him. Sick as it was, Tyrion knew his father wouldn't hesitate to harm Sansa in retaliation.
"No, you are quite right on that front, My Lady. But I swear this to you: I shall not ever harm you, and I will do what I can to ensure that no harm befalls you." He took one of her hands in his, but she was limp and cold, as if she had already accepted her fate. "Do you drink wine, My Lady?"
At last, she cracked a smile. A small one to be sure, but it was there. "Only when I have to, My Lord." She said.
"Well tonight, you must." Tyrion replied.
The ceremony was, predictably enough, humiliating. Sansa had grown taller during her time in King's Landing, and had to kneel in order for Tyrion to place the Lannister cloak over her. To say it was awkward was an understatement, and Tyrion could almost feel the pity for the girl roll of the crowd in waves. What a poor girl, to be married to the Imp.
The feast that followed wasn't much better, with Tyrion resolved to simply get as drunk as possible so he wouldn't have to pay much attention to what was happening around him. It was working, too.
"You seem rather drunk." He heard his father say.
"Not nearly as much as I'd like to be." Tyrion admitted. "Is it not a man's duty to be drunk at his own wedding?"
"If you're going to give that girl a child, you need to perform." Tywin insisted. Tyrion managed to hold back the bile, but only just.
"Drinking and lust, father, no one can match me in these things. I am the god of tits and wine." He said. He wasn't going to take this seriously; the girl didn't deserve to be tied to him, and as far as Tyrion was concerned, it was just another way for his father to humiliate him.
Joffrey of course, chose that moment to enter the discussion. "Time for the bedding ceremony!"
"There will be no bedding ceremony." Tyrion replied.
"Where's your respect for tradition, uncle?" Joffrey asked rhetorically. He rubbed his hands together in glee at the look of terror on Sansa's face as he barked out a series of commands.
"There will be no bedding ceremony." Tyrion repeated.
"There will be if I command it!"
Tyrion stabbed his knife into the table in front of him and looked up. Joffrey look stunned. Good. "Then you'll be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock." He said.
"What did you say?!" Joffrey shouted.
"I believe he meant no offence to the king." Tywin said, deftly defusing the situation. "We can dispense with the bedding."
Tyrion could barely contain his rage at all of them for this. The humiliation brought upon himself. Sansa too, the poor girl had been through far too much. Still, there was no way he was getting away with the threat he had just made to Joffrey, not without either him or Sansa being killed. Likely both. He took his father's offer of an out.
"A bad joke, Your Grace, made out of envy of your royal manhood." He said, a fake smile crossing his face. "Mine is so small. My poor wife won't even know I'm there." He held out a hand for her. "Speaking of which, come wife, I have a duty I must fulfill."
As soon as the two of them had entered Tyrion's chambers, he staggered over to the flagon of wine that had been prepared for them.
"Is that wise, My Lord?" She asked.
"Tyrion. My name is Tyrion." He said. "My father has asked me to consummate the marriage, but I will not do it." He added. He couldn't help but see her as astoundingly beautiful. Before all this mess, he might've tried to charm her a little, but he doubted that would work much.
"W-why not? Your father-"
"My father can go and get fucked, quite frankly." Tyrion replied, knocking back the cup of wine in two gulps. "I will not share your bed. Not until you want me to."
"And what if I never want you to?"
" . . . and so my watch begins"
They had only arrived at Stoney Sept a day or so ago and he was already preparing to leave. Still, this mission was too important to push aside any longer. Someone had to find out what was happening inside Harrenhal, and the sooner he got moving, the better off he'd be. He'd already managed to secure the armour he'd need to impersonate a Tully soldier. Now he'd just have to wander dangerously close to Harrenhal and get captured. No problem.
"I'll miss you, Ed." He heard Steffon say.
"Not all of us can hang around in the rear, Steffon." Edric snarked.
"He's right, though, we will miss having you around." Arya added. She herself had grown into quite the fighter lately too; learning what Syrio Forel had called 'free running'. In practice, it meant running along a bunch of obstacles. It seemed rather daft to Edric, but she seemed to be good at it.
"Tell Mira that I'm…" He trailed off, unable to think of the words.
"We'll let her know Edric." Steffon said before hugging him. The two of them might not have been full-fledged brothers, but they were closer that Steffon had been to Joffrey, that was for sure. "When you get back, I'll legitimise you. And give you a knighthood for this."
"Not really much of a knight, am I Steffon?" Edric replied as he finished saddling his horse. The steel scale armour of the Tullys was certainly unique. Maybe the Riverlanders preferred the extra flexibility instead of wearing regular plate armour.
"Appearances can be deceiving Edric. On the surface, you're a lot like our father. Under that, you just want to do what you can. That's what a knight is." Steffon replied.
Edric nodded before a loud noise echoed in the distance. Thunder. Rain was surely right behind; he had to get moving and find a place to shelter before he got caught in the open. He hugged Steffon again and said a goodbye to Arya before mounting his horse. "Farewell, Your Graces!"
"And farewell to you, Edric!" Steffon called back as Edric began riding out of Stoney Sept and into the countryside. The effects of the war were all around him; the refugee column leading into the town, the burnt fields that would have been filled with crops in peacetime. Edric didn't have a love of war, Penrose had made sure of that when he told him about the effects of it on people. It was battle Edric like to be involved in, which disgusted part of him as well. A normal human surely wouldn't enjoy something as hellish as battle, he would tell himself in his more private moments. It wasn't like he could deny that part of himself though.
He was a Baratheon after all.
Edric pulled his cloak tighter, and set out in search of a place to shelter from the coming rain.
It was soon after Edric leaving that Steffon and Arya had retired to the room that had been rented out at the inn. Steffon had of course insisted that he and everyone else in their party pay for their rooms, despite the owner of the inn offering them free of charge. Some of the men grumbled in protest, but eventually handed over the coin.
Most of those men were now downstairs, wasting coin on whores, food and drink. Arya couldn't help but notice the irony of the fact they would always find coin for pleasure of varying sorts but always grumbled whenever they had to spend it on necessities.
"You alright, Arya?" Steffon asked. He had seated himself by the window, looking out over the town.
"You know he'd be a fair way off by now, Steffon." She said, rubbing his shoulders gently. "That's even assuming you could see through this rain." Her husband-to-be simply nodded. Arya thought for one moment that he was beginning to slip back into his dark place before she came to her senses. "You miss him already, don't you?"
"I just get the feeling that a lot will change before I ever see him again." Steffon replied. Arya nodded.
"Things will change Steffon, but I'm certain they will change for the better." They were going to enter the decisive phase of the war soon, she knew it, and Tywin Lannister would be doing everything in his power to prevent Steffon and Robb's armies from linking up. She slid her hands lower on Steffon's torso.
Steffon shuddered at Arya's touch, clearly enjoying it, before instinctively grabbing her hands. After taking a second to regain his composure, he said, "Love, I'm not sure this is the best time to start anything."
Arya chuckled slightly. "I'm not starting anything." She leaned in and pressed a gentle kisses up his neck. She loved the reaction she got out of Steffon whenever she did this. It gave her a small feeling of power that she was able to elicit this sort of reaction from just a few kisses. "That was me starting something." She said before leaning in closer. "This is me starting something." She whispered into his ear before slipping her hand under his tunic, causing him to hiss gently before he grabbed her hand and pulled her around into his lap.
"You're insatiable." He chuckled. "Have I ever told you that?"
"I am not. I just have strong needs, that's all." She smiled before kissing him. His hands immediately flung to her sides, and Arya took the sign as encouragement, beginning to rock her hips against him. Steffon's head flew back and he groaned. Again, Arya loved the little feeling of power that came with these moments. She laughed slightly as they kissed again, feeling him harden as she gyrated back and forth on him. Her own arousal was growing as well, but it was something more than simply wanting him close to her, something much more than just the physical desire.
Yes, these moments had become quite emotional for her as well. There was something about the vulnerability and closeness that made their intimate moments just that little bit more special to her.
Right now of course, she wanted him physically as well. His tunic was on the floor, discarded by now. She started grinding her hips again, desperate for some relief.
"Arya, if you don't stop, I…" Steffon trailed off, almost ashamed to say the words. She tilted his head back up.
"You want me, don't you, Steffon?" She asked. She could see the shame in his eyes when he nodded. "There's no need to give me that look." She said gently.
"Arya, we're not married yet, and-"
"Steffon, I want you as well." She cut him off. "And I don't know about you, but I don't want to wait until we're married. Steffon, we're at war. Things could change in a moment. And… I want to know how it feels. At least once." She kissed him once more. "Just let me know when you're about to finish. I don't want you spilling inside me yet. That's for after the wedding." She said in a half-serious tone, prompting a laugh from him
There were only a few more hushed words between them before their clothes were discarded and the two of them were on the bed, fully bare to each other. Of course, they had done things together before, but this was a completely different experience. They weren't the King and future Queen here, just two lovers about to join together.
"Are you sure-"
"If you ask me one more time, I'm changing my answer." Arya said. "Steffon, I want you. And I don't want anyone but you to know me like this."
Her words seemed to be the final encouragement he needed, and finally, he slid inside her. Her mother had warned her shortly after the betrothal announcement that there was a strong likelihood that it would hurtthe first time, and likely several times after that, but it seemed that Arya had gotten herself so worked up that the pain she felt was only slight.
"Arya, I-" Steffon choked out.
Arya rolled her hips, trying to get him to move. This of course prompted a strangled groan from Steffon. Well, it was good to know she could get that same reaction out of him doing this as well, though she was eating her words seconds later as Steffon began thrusting in and out of her. He was doing it slowly, almost like he was afraid he might break her. Much as this did frustrate Arya, part of her couldn't help but swoon at how caring he was being with her.
Gods, I sound like some silly little maiden having a filthy dream, she thought.
It wasn't long before she felt his cock begin to throb inside of her, and coupled with the low moan and grunts he was letting out, she knew he was close.
"Steffon, I-" She bit her lip to keep from moaning too loudly.
"Y-yeah." Was all he could manage to say. He pulled out of her and in an instant, Arya wrapped her hand around him as she brought him to completion. He bit down gently on her neck to muffle his moans as he climaxed, which she enjoyed. "F-fuck. Arya, I'm sorry . . ."
"Sorry for what?" Arya asked, puzzled.
"You didn't… finish." He said in a voice that sounded embarrassed. "What kind of man can't finish his woman?" He sighed. Arya simply took his hand and pressed it between her legs, sucking in a breath as she felt the contact.
"So finish me now." She said. He didn't say anything, but she felt his fingers move inside of her. They'd done this a few times now, and Steffon was getting better with his fingers every time. Within minutes, she was biting her lip again, tasting copper as she suppressed a quiet scream when she went over the edge.
"Arya, you're-"
"Bleeding, I know. Bit my lip too hard because of your fingers." She smirked.
They cleaned themselves up rather quickly, fearing what would happen if they got caught. Steffon did have a point that they weren't married yet, but Arya now knew that vows like that didn't stand up when two people desired each other.
And anyway, they were betrothed, she reasoned. It was more of a defence than what Robb had.
That night, the two of them slept soundly in each other's arms.