Darling, don't be afraid. I have loved you for a thousand years.
It is her, somehow.
He’s frozen for a long moment, staring. He can’t manage to bring his mind to one single, comprehensible thought. She’s just … here.
After god knows how long, his mind finally begins to pull itself back together, bit by bit. Arrya is talking, he suddenly realizes. And she’s … apologizing? Why is she apologizing?
And wait, why is she here anyway? He remembers her last visit, she’d promised to never ‘bother’ him again (she could never bother him though). And where’s Gendry, surely he would not leave her side? Not like this?
And … oh …
She’s crying.
“Arrya …”
He steps forward, then stops, unsure of himself. He wants to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her everything is alright. But she knows now, she knows everything. Would she take it the wrong way?
An errant thought strays through his mind, and he’s suddenly glad that it’s so dark, that she can’t see him. He’s changed so much since they last saw each other, he’s … well, he hasn’t exactly been taking good care of himself. His shaggy winter coat is long, dirty and matted, and his bones show through the scarred places where hair cannot grow. It hadn’t mattered to him before, but now, standing in front of Arrya, he suddenly feels incredibly embarrassed.
The embarrassment is short lived though, as his thoughts once again centre upon Arrya’s obvious distress. Something … something doesn’t make sense here. Something is well and truly wrong. She’s just so upset (so unlike the energetic, light creature that he knows) … and with no Gendry here by her side …
Has something happened to him?
Rhory’s gut clenches and in spite of his nerves, he takes another step forward, though he’s still quite a respectful distance away from her.
“Please … Arrya … don't go. What happened? What’s wrong?” Oh god please let Gendry not be dead.
I'll love you for a thousand more.