Chapter Text
Arya’s return to Westeros was quiet. Almost secretive. Bran surely knows she is back, but she hasn’t been to see Sansa or any of her family. Or any of the very few friends she has.
She keeps to herself, listening to Talk. Rumors. Stories. She wants to find out how things truly have been in Westeros since she has been gone.
As she gets closer to the Stormlands, the Talk turns to the new lord.
“Lord Gendry surely must take after Lord Renly for all the interest he shows in finding a wife.”
“Lord Gendry is certainly an unusual lord, but he seems fair.”
“Lord Gendry doesn’t talk much because if he does it will reveal his lack of intelligence.”
“At least Lord Gendry isn’t like Robert.”
“Lord Gendry is only a lord in name. Davos Seaworth is the one truly ruling the Stormlands.”
“I saw Lord Gendry save a child from getting run down by a spooked horse.”
“Lord Gendry is weak.”
“Lord Gendry is strong.”
Too many contradictions, too many inconsistencies.
Arya decides she has to go to Storm’s End. She hadn’t planned on going there after everything that happened and didn’t happen between them, but she wants to see for herself. Needs to see for herself.
But she doesn’t want him to know she is there. She doesn’t know how she will be received after turning down his marriage proposal and leaving first Winterfell, then Westeros without saying goodbye. So she decides to rely on a skill she swore she would never use again after dispatching old Walder Frey and most of his family.
She needs to take a face.
xXx
Finding the face is easy enough, sadly. Arya did not wish to kill anyone in order to get one, so she decided the best course of action would be to lurk in one of the seedier parts of the town she is in and watch. And wait.
She never lost the ability to be silent and unseen, and her skills with her sword and dagger have only grown during her time away. So she isn’t worried for her own safety as she slowly walks through the back alleys near the pubs and brothels near Bitterbridge. The town is large enough to have such an area but not nearly as large as King’s Landing, and as the time passes, she almost wishes she were back there. Finding an extra face in King’s Landing would be frighteningly simple.
Finally, she hears the unmistakable sounds of a fight. She walks towards it, fingers close to her sword handle, ready to draw it if she needs it.
It isn’t what she is expecting. She rounds a corner, following the noise, and sees two women engaged in a physical fight. She allows herself a moment to admire their tenacity, and is thankful that it is not a woman being hurt by a man. Then she finds herself analyzing their technique but quickly realizes there is no technique at all. These are smallfolk. Prostitutes, by the look of their clothing. They wouldn’t have gotten any training, especially because they are women.
She creeps closer on silent feet, determined to just watch and wait. It’s not a long wait.
The one with brown hair pulls out a knife and jams it into the stomach of the blonde. When the blonde drops to her knees, hands clutching her stomach, the brunette tosses the knife aside and reaches for her, her hand scrabbling at the blonde’s clothing.
She reaches inside the blonde’s bodice and pulls out some jewelry. “I knew you stole it, you cunt,” she says. “This is mine,” she adds, dangling a necklace in front of the dying woman’s face. She looks at another necklace and says, “I don’t know who you stole this ugly thing from, but you won’t be needing it now.” She slips the necklaces into her pocket, looks around, and, seeing no witnesses, walks away.
Arya steps forward after the brunette has gone, kneeling beside the blonde woman, who is now lying on the ground, clutching at the blood pouring from her stomach with trembling hands, futilely trying to stop it.
She opens her eyes when Arya touches her shoulder.
“I…” she gasps out.
“Don’t talk,” Arya says. “You’re dying. Do you understand that?”
The woman nods.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Pearl,” she croaks.
Arya raises an eyebrow. Fancy name, common whore. “What’s your real name?”
“Cora,” she manages, her voice raspy. “Please…”
“Please what? What would you like me to do?”
“I… cold… it hurts…”
“Would you like me to make it stop hurting then? I can give you that gift,” Arya offers.
Cora nods, and Arya pulls out her dagger. Cora’s eyes widen.
“This is the dagger I used to kill the Night King,” she says.
“You… you’re…”
“Yes, I am,” Arya confirms. “Close your eyes, Cora.”
Her light brown eyes flutter closed. She coughs once, and then Arya plunges her dagger into Cora’s chest, straight into her heart. The hard, sharp Valyrian steel penetrates the woman’s flesh as easily as it slid across Littlefinger’s throat just over three years ago.
“You remember where the heart is?” The Hound’s gruff voice sounds inside her head as she watches the life leave Cora’s body.
Arya drags the corpse to a more secluded spot and gets to work.
xXx
“We ain’t got much need for more help, but Lord Baratheon says we aren’t to turn away anyone who comes looking for work,” the matronly older woman tells Arya, who is standing just inside the castle at Storm’s End, wearing Cora’s face. “What skills do you have?”
“I can cook a bit. I can clean. Make beds. Whatever you need, I’ll do. I’ll even work in the stables if I have to,” she answers. “I learn fast and I work hard, I promise. Please, missus, I ain’t got no family no more and I need honest work.”
“Honest work, you say?” the woman asks, her expression turning concerned. “You aren’t one of those girls from the Peach, are you?”
“No missus,” Arya answers, willing her cheeks to flush in embarrassment. “All’s I meant was I didn’t want to have to go to a place like that.”
“Very well,” the woman says. “You can start in the laundry. What’s your name, girl?”
“Cora,” Arya answers. “And thank you. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
“We’ll see,” she replies. “My name is Lotty and I’m the head housekeeper here. I’ll take you to the laundry and introduce you to Tanna.”
“Thank you,” Arya repeats.
“Will you be needing a bunk in the servants’ quarters?” Lotty asks as they walk. “The girls stay in— oh, Lord Seaworth!” She stops in her tracks as Davos Seaworth strides towards them. “That’s Lord Davos Seaworth. He’s Lord Gendry’s castellan and chief advisor,” she quickly whispers as he approaches. She curtseys when he reaches them.
Arya follows suit, curtseying and keeping her eyes downcast.
“Ah, Lotty, I was just looking for you,” Davos says. “Berthe has disappeared.”
Lotty frowns. “She hasn’t disappeared. She’s gone and run off with that stablehand. What was his name now? Markos. I think you’ll find the stables one hand short as well.”
“Hmph,” Davos grunts, then sighs. “Can you find a new chambermaid for Lord Gendry by this evening? I know he doesn’t care, but it’s my job to care.”
“Of course,” Lotty says.
Arya wills her heartbeat to remain steady. Being the chambermaid to the lord’s quarters would allow her to truly see how he is faring here, but surely she won’t be that lucky.
“Who is this now?” Davos asks.
“New girl,” Lotty answers. “I was taking her to the laundry.”
“What’s your name, girl?” he asks her.
“Cora, m’lord,” Arya says, still keeping her eyes down. “I’m honored to meet you, m’lord.”
“Look at me please, Cora,” Davos says, and Arya raises her – Cora’s – eyes to look on the familiar face of an old friend. He’s a little older, a little grayer, and a little balder, but otherwise he appears to be in good health and good spirits. It makes her happy. “You look like a good hardworking girl.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Nothing else to say?”
“No, m’lord,” she answers. “Should I, m’lord?”
He smiles. “Well, most people would go on about how eager they are to work or how good they are at whatever skills they think they possess or even resort to flattery.”
“I just want to start working, m’lord,” Arya replies.
He angles his head. “Lotty, how badly do you need this girl in the laundry?”
Lotty narrows her eyes, knowing what he is asking. “Lord Davos, surely you would prefer to have a more… experienced member of the household staff in this position. This girl could be completely useless for all we know. Or a thief. Or worse,” she answers.
Davos turns his attention back to Arya. “Do you think you can manage tidying up, making beds, and occasionally serving food while somehow managing to stay out of the way and unnoticed?”
Staying unnoticed is my specialty. “Yes, m’lord,” she answers, this time looking him right in the eyes.
Fortune must be with her today.
“My lord, are you sure this is a good idea?” Lotty asks, still not convinced.
“There is something I like about this girl. I can’t put my finger on it, but… I think she’ll do just fine,” Davos answers. “Tell you what. We’ll give her a fortnight. If she doesn’t work out, then you can take her to Tanna in the laundry.”
“Yes, my lord,” Lotty replies. She turns to Arya. “I hope you understand that this is an important position, usually given to an experienced maid on the housekeeping staff.”
“Yes, missus,” Arya answers. “And I promise you I won’t be runnin’ off with no stablehand or any other boy.”
Davos snorts a laugh.
Lotty sighs. “Go with Lord Davos then, girl. He’ll tell you what you need to know.”
“Yes, missus,” Arya says. “And thank you.”
Lotty nods once, then turns and quickly strides away. Arya thinks she’s probably happy to be able to return to her usual duties.
“Come with me, Cora,” Davos says.
They walk through the castle, Arya carefully staying just a half of a step behind Davos.
“You are to be chambermaid to Lord Gendry and myself,” he starts. “My rooms are beside his, but there is a small room between them that is to be yours.”
“I… I get my own room, m’lord?” Arya shyly asks, knowing that this is a privilege. It will also allow Arya to take Cora’s face off from time to time.
“Yes. Since you will be looking after Lord Gendry and myself, you need to be close by,” he says. “Your room adjoins both of our chambers, but you can lock the doors from the inside for privacy and safety. Not that you won’t be safe, of course. I can assure you that your room is probably the safest in the whole castle.” After a thoughtful pause, he adds, “We’re really very easy to tend, I promise. The position is more for looks than anything.”
“Oh,” she replies, not really sure how to respond.
They climb several flights of stairs, and at the very top, there is a short corridor with only a few doors. “I suppose Lotty didn’t get a chance to tell you the Rule,” he says, only slightly out of breath.
Arya furrows her brows. “The rule, my lord?”
Davos presses his lips together for a moment, then says, “Lord Gendry is a good lord. He’s fair. Kind, even. He has worked very hard to make and keep the Stormlands a pleasant and prosperous place to live. But he doesn’t like to be bothered. He cannot abide idle chitchat and he has no use for flattery or frivolity. Don’t get in his way and do not even think about offering him anything… personal. Do you understand my meaning?”
“I think so, m’lord.” She understands it very clearly in fact.
“If you find him pleasing to the eye, keep that opinion to yourself. He is a handsome man, as you may have heard, but he has made it clear that if any maid tries to warm his bed she will be immediately dismissed.”
Arya nods. “I understand, m’lord.”
“Good. He’s not here right now, so I’ll be able to show you around without disturbing him,” he says, opening the door.
The room looks exactly like Arya would have pictured it. It’s fairly clean, free of any clutter, and decorated sparsely. Her eyes are immediately drawn to a pair of gloves lying on a table that look like they have been carelessly tossed there. She can picture him striding into the room, yanking them off, and leaving them there without another thought as he walks towards the pitcher and goblets off to one side.
“Is there a Lady Baratheon, m’lord?” She’s fairly certain there isn’t, but she needs to know. And since many lords do not share chambers with their wives, it’s not an odd question.
“No. Not for lack of trying, though,” Davos answers, sounding rather exasperated with the issue. “And before you go jumpin’ to conclusions, he’s not one of those men who prefers the company of other men,” he adds. “He just refuses to marry and refuses to discuss the matter.”
Arya’s heart feels like it has constricted and dropped into her stomach. She steels herself and simply nods.
“That’s another thing I should mention: you may be privy to things that aren’t to be public knowledge. Correspondence, conversations, that sort of thing. I need you to be completely honest with me, because it could be quite literally a matter of life and death: Can you be discreet?”
“Discreet?” she asks. Arya knows what the word means but has decided that Cora does not.
“Can you keep your mouth shut? If you hear something said in here, you can’t go telling someone. Anyone.”
“Oh. Yes, yes, o’ course,” she answers. “I don’t really like talking to people anyway.”
“Excellent. You should get on just fine here then. Do you know your letters?”
“Not really. I know what my name looks like but nothing more,” she answers. Seems to make sense.
“Then we won’t have to worry about you reading Lord Gendry’s correspondence,” he says with a nod. “Now,” he says, finally getting down to showing her the rooms, “this is Lord Gendry’s solar. He does most of his work here alone, but will occasionally see important visitors…”
xXx
Arya spends a little time getting her meager belongings settled in her – Cora’s – room. She hides a few small weapons in a drawer near her bed. Even though she knows she’ll most likely be safe, she is too accustomed to having a weapon within reach. She has Needle and some other personal items hidden elsewhere, and plans to retrieve them as soon as she can.
She tidies Davos’ room first. He has gone off somewhere again, so she is alone. She finds the work to be enjoyable, almost soothing. The simplicity of it appeals to her.
She gathers the bed linens in a basket, then carries it through her room to Gendry’s. She sets it near his bed, over which she forces herself not to linger, then sets about cleaning.
The door opens a moment later, and Davos returns, this time with Gendry.
“…shouldn’t have such deep, gaping holes,” Gendry says. “Surely there’s something we can do to keep it from washing away every time we get a bloody storm.”
“Well if there is, we haven’t found it yet,” Davos answers, closing the door behind them. He gives Arya a nod. She continues removing the linens from Gendry’s bed. She cannot help noticing it smells exactly like how she remembers him smelling.
She forces herself to keep her eyes on her task. As much as she wants to just stare at Gendry, drink him in, track his face and body for changes since she last saw him, she has a part to play and a job to do.
She did see that he has grown a rather attractive beard, which is kept short and tidy. It looks very good on him and she wonders if it is prickly or soft.
Gendry glances in Arya’s direction, then simply says, “Berthe and Markos finally ran off together, I see.”
Davos’ eyebrows rise in surprise. “How did you know about that?”
He shrugs, sitting heavily at his desk. “The whole castle knew about the two of them,” he answers. “The whole castle except for you, apparently.”
“So it seems.”
“Markos is from Braavos. They’d been saving their coin because he wanted to go back and take her with him.”
“She told you this?” Davos asks, surprised.
He shrugs again. “I overheard someone talking about it awhile back,” he says, picking up his quill.
“I didn’t think you listened to gossip,” Davos teases.
“I didn’t say I was listening. I overheard,” Gendry clarifies. He sighs, dips the quill in the ink, and begins writing.
Arya moves around the bed, pulling the sheets taut and smoothing them over so there are no wrinkles, then reaches for the pillows to put fresh cases on them.
“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Davos says. “Maester Jurne and I can continue writing on your behalf.”
"Lord Gendry is only a lord in name. Davos Seaworth is the one truly ruling the Stormlands."
The words were spoken by a fat man in King’s Landing, sitting in a tavern, trying to grab the serving wenches as they walked past him. These words seem relevant right now.
“Yes, Davos, I do,” Gendry firmly replies. “Don’t think I’m unaware of some of the things people are saying about me. About how you are really the one ruling the Stormlands because I’m stupid or incapable. So I need to write my own correspondence. At least for a while.”
Davos thoughtfully nods, walking over to the desk. “Your script is a damn sight better than mine, that’s for sure,” he says, watching as Gendry carefully writes.
Arya wishes she could see what he is writing and what his handwriting looks like. It’s probably neater than mine, too, she thinks, finishing his bed. The coverlet is smooth and straight and the pillows are plump and tidy.
“That’s intentional,” he answers without looking up. “There needs to be no doubt at all that this was written by me.”
“You’re a smart lad,” Davos says, patting him on the shoulder once before starting for the door.
“Keep telling me that and maybe I’ll believe it one day,” Gendry replies.
Davos leaves, and Arya moves to pick up Gendry’s coat and the gloves that were left on the table. She intentionally stays as silent and as far away from him as possible, determined to not disturb him.
“What’s your name?” he asks after a bit. He sits up straight, stretching his back.
He hunches over too much when he writes. “Cora, m’lord,” she quietly answers.
“Almost forgot you were here,” he says. “You’re very quiet.”
“Um, thank you, m’lord,” she replies, hanging his coat in the wardrobe Davos showed her earlier. She sneaks a look at him and he is staring into the middle distance, lost in thought.
She wonders if he is thinking of another girl who was able to walk on silent feet.
xXx
Arya has been working at Storm’s End for only three days when she experiences her first disturbance in the middle of the night. Davos had warned her that this may happen from time to time. “Lord Baratheon doesn’t always sleep well,” he offered as an explanation.
The knocking isn’t loud, but it is persistent, and it rouses her quickly. She sits up and realizes it is coming from the door leading to Gendry’s rooms.
“Cora?” His voice is quiet, and she can tell he has his face close to the door.
Arya springs to action, quickly affixing Cora’s face. “One moment, my lord,” she answers, Cora’s slightly lower and richer voice answers. She quickly throws on a dressing gown before going to unlock and open the door.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” Gendry immediately says.
“It is part of my job, m’lord,” she replies, keeping her eyes downcast. He is decently covered by a dressing gown over some soft-looking trousers, but he still looks far too attractive in his sleep-rumpled state.
“My stomach is unsettled. Would you go to the kitchens and bring me some bread?” he asks. “I used to just go myself, but apparently I’m not supposed to do that,” he adds, almost absently.
“Of course, m’lord,” she answers. She slips her feet into her shoes and steps into Gendry’s rooms, heading for his door. “Any sort of bread, m’lord?” she stops and asks.
“Just ask Hot Pie. He knows what I want,” he answers, sitting in a chair in front of the fire.
Hot Pie is here? “Hot Pie?” she asks, sounding confused.
“Oh. Um, that’s the baker’s name. Or at least that’s what everyone calls him. He’ll be up; you won’t need to wake him,” he answers.
She nods once and hurries to the door.
He must have sent for Hot Pie, she reasons as she quickly walks through the empty corridors. I don’t blame him. It is probably nice for him to have a familiar friendly face; someone that knew him before.
I could have been one of those, too.
The thought makes her heart break a little bit, but she doesn’t regret her decisions. She hated hurting him but she needed to figure out who she was again, and she couldn’t do that if she was here playing at being a lady.
She silently pads into the kitchens, listening. It is very quiet, almost silent.
Almost.
As she walks further in, she can hear the sounds of someone moving around. The soft clink of bowls. The shuffle of feet on the floor. The low murmurs of someone talking to himself as he works.
Hot Pie.
He looks older, same as she, same as Gendry. But his bulk is more muscle than fat now, and there are flecks of gray in his dark hair.
It could be flour.
He looks good, and Arya’s heart swells at seeing how he is thriving here, but she must remember her façade.
She clears her throat and he looks up, wide-eyed and gaping, looking like a surprised fish.
Some things never change, she thinks.
“Excuse me, but are you Hot Pie?” she asks.
“I am. You’re the new maid,” he answers. “The one that somehow got to be the lord’s chambermaid.”
“Yes,” she answers. “I’m Cora.”
“Well, Cora, I’m guessing Lord Gendry is having his stomach trouble again?” he asks.
“Yes. He sent me to get some bread,” she answers.
“Right,” Hot Pie replies, hurrying over to a counter where a plate is already waiting. He takes it and hands it to her.
Arya is impressed. “How did you know?” she asks, not having to pretend to be confused.
“Dinner last night was boar. It always gives him trouble,” he answers.
“Why is it served it if it makes the lord sick?” she asks.
“Don’t you know? We had guests last night. They like boar,” he answers, his tone taking on an edge of superiority Arya remembers from a lifetime ago. “But since you don’t have to serve at dinners or do any real work—”
“No, I didn’t know,” she snaps, cutting him off. “I was doing work cleaning the lord’s chamber last night and had no idea about anything relating to guests or dinners. No one even tells me about anything like that.”
Hot Pie makes a noise that sounds very much like a derisive snort, so Arya holds out one hand, sticking it in his face. The skin is cracked and red and raw.
“See this? The other one looks just like it. If you think I have a cushy job doting on Lord Baratheon and Lord Seaworth, think again. Do you know what I was doing last night? I was scrubbing the fireplace, which apparently hadn’t been done since the last Lord Baratheon lived here, before either of us were even born. No one asked me to do it. I decided it needed to be done so I did it. I don’t even know if Lord Baratheon will notice or even care. So don’t go thinking I’m not really working,” she says, her voice sharp.
Then she turns on her heel and walks away.
Hot Pie is different but somehow exactly the same, she thinks as she stalks away. Still an idiot but now he’s an adult idiot.
“Cora?” Hot Pie’s voice is quiet, but Arya hears it. She stops and turns around.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have opinions on things I don’t know about,” he says.
He is being true. “Thank you,” she replies, softening. “This bread looks really good,” she adds, looking down at the small loaf on the plate. There is a little pot of honey and a dab of butter there as well.
“It is,” he assures her. “I’m not bragging. Someone important to me told me that it was.”
“That’s nice,” she sincerely answers, giving him a smile before turning to leave again.
She’s not completely certain he was talking about her, but she’s pretty sure he was.
Arya hurries back up to Gendry’s rooms, hoping her conversation with Hot Pie didn’t detain her too long.
As she walks, she realizes her ire with Hot Pie was genuine. She truly was angry at his insinuation that she hasn’t been working hard.
“Forgive my tardiness, m’lord,” she says as soon as she walks back in through the still-open door. He had told her she didn’t need to knock if the door was open.
“It’s all right,” Gendry answers. “Thank you,” he says, taking the plate.
Arya curtseys, then is about to head back to her room when he speaks again.
“You were actually faster than I was expecting,” he says, sitting in a chair in front of the fire.
“My lord?” she asks, puzzled.
“Hot Pie likes to talk,” he explains, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it in the honey.
“Oh.” Arya doesn’t know whether she should stay or go, but while she is standing there trying to look like she feels awkward when really she just wants to stare at Gendry, he speaks again.
“He wasn’t unkind to you, was he?” he asks, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
“Um…”
“Hot Pie doesn’t always make a good first impression. He tries to act tough if he’s uncertain or feels threatened. But he’s not. Tough, I mean.”
“He… wasn’t kind at first, my lord, but… then he was,” she says.
“He’ll be friendly from now on,” he replies. He licks his finger and Arya is very glad she isn’t looking directly at him. “That’s how he is.”
“As you say, m’lord,” she answers.
Gendry seems to remember it is not yet dawn, because he suddenly looks at the window, then back at Arya (seeing the illusion that is Cora), and says, “Thank you for fetching this. Try to get some more sleep before the sun comes up.”
“Thank you, m’lord,” Arya says. She drops another hasty curtsey and goes to her room.
After she closes and locks the door, she removes Cora’s face and heavily sits on the bed. That was the longest conversation she has had with him since she has been here, and she can’t even enjoy it because he didn’t know it was her.
This was a bad idea.