ataraxionlogs | ( closed ) a lone fool out in the sun

CHARACTERS: arya + gendry
LOCATION: the pools
WARNINGS: emotionally stunted children
SUMMARY: shortly after the jump, emotionally stunted children attempt to deal with emotions, fail at it
NOTES: see above

[ the days have passed without much interruption. duties have been ignored; responsibilities have been avoided. even nymeria would have gone unfed if not for others in the days approaching the jump. most were glad to leave arya alone, only rarely urging her to talk or get up.

not gendry. never gendry.

he had been in her room when he suddenly picked her up. gendry trekked with her to the pool and, without warning, threw her into the deep end.

spluttering, she breaks the surface of the water. arya drags in a greedy lungful of air before she starts hurling insults and curses his way. she cuts through the water with furious strokes. seizing the edge, arya grips it tight like a child its mother. she coughs and spits out water and shoves her hair away from her face. her expression promises pain.

a far cry from the listless figure lying prone on her bed. ]

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Let go of me!

[ she jerks her arm free. ]

If you're going to keep being stupid, you can leave!

I'm not going anywhere.

[ the humor in his voice vanishes, expression turning serious and sour. ]

I'm staying right here.

Then stop being stupid!

[ she gives him a shove, though not toward the water. indignation from the surprise swim and trembling from the cold, arya is ready to continue tearing into him. her eyes fall on the angry red marks on his cheek. she follows them down to his neck to his adam's apple, which bobs when he swallows. she swallows too; guilt punches her in the stomach.

the anger drains away from her so quickly she is almost lightheaded. arya looks away from gendry. her hands ball into fists in her lap. her fingernails carve half-moon craters into her palms. ]

I'm sorry, [ she bites out. the two words proved difficult to say. they're a defiance of the only unspoken agreement they both held to: don't speak of what happens, any of it. they would fight and disagree and make plans and that was enough.

— it's not anymore. not when he got hurt because of her wants. if he hadn't followed her, he'd be fine. if he hadn't ever followed her, he might have been better off.

arya glances at him out the corner of her eye. how funny. how terrible. he's supposed to be her best friend, and it turns out she doesn't understand him at all. what an awful friend she makes. ]

[ he readies himself for the onslaught that is surely to follow, muscles coiling to weather the storm. but nothing follows the initial hit. it is only guilt that comes instead and he wants to shake her. ]

Don't. [ gendry looks away, watches the water lap up against the side of the pool. he had made it clear he didn't want to speak on it, and in one unspoken moment they agreed not to and now she is ripping all that apart. the safety of not acknowledging what had happened. ] Just don't.

[ when he looks back at her it isn't with the irritation that struggles to sit in his voice, it is with a tired acceptance. ]

It wasn't your fault.

[ but it is taste like bile on her tongue. arya bites the inside of her cheek until it hurts. she likes to pin the blame on others, but it has always been her fault. the kindly man was right. everyone was right. she's reckless and selfish and proud, and it doesn't just get her into trouble. her decisions affect those around her too. it has never been for the better. gendry should know that better than everyone else.

she feels like she ought to kick or scream or cry and can't decide which — so she settles for none at all. ]

I want to go home.

[ a child's plea. an admission of weakness, her private shame. that despite knowing it as impossibility ( we're so far away, and winterfell was burnt ) she would still yearn for the grey walls and the white tree with its scary face and the northern wind rattling her shutters. she wants the shouts of the cook when she stole into the kitchens to snatch still hot cakes she would then distribute among the servants. she wants her brothers and her sister and her lord father and lady mother. she wants —

arya looks at her fingernails. sometimes she wants to be faceless again. she wishes it as much as she has wished anything. to be arya is too awful. it is her biggest secret, one she dares not breathe a word of to her brothers.

— but gendry is different. ]

I'd rather be no one.

[ words fall from the tip of his tongue into a pile of jagged thoughts and confusion. there are many times when arya says things that he doesn't quite understand, he figures she'll be doing that for the rest of her life, and this time isn't any different. expect that it is, expect that something in the way she speaks shakes him to his core.

no one? what in the seven hells does that even mean?

he thinks he knows but at the same time he doesn't. she always speaks in riddles, with some sort of hidden meaning in her words. gendry hates it. he shifts to face her fully, brow pulled together in a tightly knit frown. ]

What are you talking about? [ as gentle as he tried to be the confusion bleeds into his voice, a desperate tone that is begging her not to be saying what he thinks she is saying. ] You can't be no one.

I don't want you to be no one.

It doesn't matter. [ sounding older than she is; far older, and wearied.

she's tired. two of her brothers with her, having nymeria again, and still some days she struggles to find anything left inside her anymore. arya feels as much like a mummer's farce as cat or salty or nan did. another name to wear.

little wonder the ship could fool her so wholly. she is only a foolish little girl, after all.

arya pulls her knees in toward her chest, and wraps the towel tightly around her. the line of her shoulders rounds down; her head hangs. a small sniffle ( water that went up her nose, not because she almost cried ) tries to prevent the silence. still it settles around them, uncomfortably heavy. ]

[ she leaves him confused, with questions running about his head like a pack of wolves. he wants to demand answers, to shake her, make her disprove his fears. but none of that will work, gendry knows that much.

seven hells, he wishes they never got separated. wishes he ran away in the rain with her.

( wishes he was back at the inn. )

the silence weighs heavily on his shoulders until he cannot take it anymore, so he shifts closer to her and wraps an arm around her. gendry isn't good at these things, he isn't good at much, he really is a stupid bull headed boy.

so he does the only thing he can think of, the only thing he thinks he can do. ]

[ arya stiffens. her first response — to slap him away, to put distance between them — wars with an ache for company. in the end, the latter wins.

one by one, she forces every muscle to relax until she sags against gendry. arya inhales through her nose, exhales through her mouth. ]

You're an idiot, [ she mumbles. her fingers curl around a handful of his tunic. ]

[ he prepares himself to be struck, truthfully expecting her to fight him on the contact. neither of them have ever really been ones for it ( too many bad memories ) so he wouldn't blame her if she did.

instead she sags against him and his own grip lessens just a touch, locked up muscles forced to relax. awkwardly he touches the back of her head, looking off to some wall. ]

Yeah, so are you.

( closed ) a lone fool out in the sun

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