Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I thought you were dead.”

Arya looked at him.

“When we heard... about what had happened... They were calling it the Red Wedding. I asked around as much as I could, but no one seemed to know if you had been there. All I knew is that you’d been taken by the Hound that night... And I’d heard enough about him to think... the worst.”

She didn’t say anything, just looked as he brushed a lock of his dark hair away from his eyes. Shocking blue eyes that had a faraway look at the moment.

Gendry continued, “I met the Heddles some months later and found out the Hound had been here and a fight had broken out... I didn’t have anywhere to go, at least this way I could be of some use.”

His eyes met her dark grey ones, and Arya knew that there was more. Lots more; perhaps he had his own demons now, horrors he had witnessed that he could not forget, no matter how hard he tried. Part of her wished to know more, but she had heard some rumours, of dead... people being brought back to life. One person in particular. And she was too afraid to know more about that. 

And, after all, she had enough horrors in her own past. She, of all people, should know how hard it could be to talk about them.

“The red wedding,” she murmured. People could make anything sound poetic. “I was there. But... I was too late.” Images flashed before her eyes - the fires, the screams, strains of “Rains of Castamere” that could be heard over the clash of swords, the scent of blood...  “I couldn’t save them.”

Gendry didn’t say anything either but he felt horrified. Arya then had been a feisty little girl, but how old had she been? Ten? Eleven? Too young. Too young for all the things she had seen and been through. Forced to watch her father beheaded, so close to her brother and mother but losing them again. Highborn, or not, a battleground was no place for a little girl.

“There was a fight here, the Hound... died. I went to Braavos.”

She spoke about all of it in the same flat tone, but Gendry saw her pursing her lips, and the way her hold on her glass tightened, and wondered, yet again, how many horrors had befallen her. 

It wasn’t fair. She deserved better. 

But yet she had survived, and she was here.

“And then you came back,” he said, when it was clear she didn’t want to talk of Braavos.

She blinked and looked at him. “And then I came back,” she agreed.

Chapter Text

They didn't talk much after that, it was already late. She had a room with a hearth and Gendry left her soon after for the night. She wanted to stop him, but what could she say? They had been close once, but now... she was fifteen, almost a woman grown, and anything she might have said sounded like something a child would say, even in her head.

She dreamed she was a wolf again. Winter was here, the land was covered in snow, the food was scarce and her pack was hungry, and yet Arya welcomed the dreams, because anything was better than waking up to think of her dead father and mother and brothers.

She woke up early, before dawn, but lay still. She had to go North, all her instincts told her to, she'd even had a dream where someone who looked like Father but sounded like Bran had told her to go back home.

But where was home? Because of winter and the war, news took longer to travel, so she had heard conflicting reports. The Boltons are at Winterfell; no they're not, there was a Battle there, it's Stannis Baratheon, King Robert's brother, at Winterfell now; no there was a battle but Stannis lost; Ned Stark's bastard son defeated Ramsay Bolton; no, he was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and he died -- that had hurt the most. To think she could have returned, after all this time, and found that he died too. She didn't know what to believe, and she didn't want to get her hopes up. She looked at Needle. The skinny sword had served her well all these years, had been a reminder of who she really was; it was like carrying a piece of Winterfell with her.

She wondered if he would remember it -- if he would even recognize her all these years later. She wasn't the same person now. And if he knew the things she had done... Jon had always been the one person she could trust, the one person she knew who wouldn't care what she looked or dressed like, or whether she behaved like a proper lady... But there was no way she could tell him everything now. 

Maybe Gendry and the others would have news from the North. And then she could decide if she should go to Winterfell or the Wall depending on whether Jon -- no, she had to believe Jon was alive or she would not be able to go on.

And then there was Gendry.

Gendry, whom she had once thought was part of her "pack", when she had still been a stupid little girl with naive ideas.

Gendry, who had left her for the Brotherhood.

Gendry, who had recognized her the moment they had set eyes on each other, even after all these years.

Gendry, who didn't ask for explanations and details of Braavos, for which she was grateful.

She had imagined, once, that she and Gendry could be outlaws together, like in the songs. She didn't know what she wanted now.

She went down to break her fast, and found Gendry waiting. It wasn't until then that she realized that she'd half-expected him to vanish overnight, and was glad to know he was still there.

Gendry saw Arya come down, and felt better. He hadn't wanted to leave her alone last night, not after what had happened last time, but what could he say? He'd spent the night twisting and tossing, too worried to sleep well. And he knew she would leave soon. There was nothing to keep her here, and her brother was up North. And him...

He realized she had said something.

"The North," she repeated. "Have you had any news from there?"

She looked very nervous, and it wasn't hard to imagine why. He shook his head, "Not since the battle. I'm sure your brother's fine though, from what we heard he was among the best on the battlefield."

Gendry looked at her and realized with a start that she hadn't heard about the battle either. "Gods, Arya, I'm sorry, I thought you knew, or I'd have told you about it sooner. Stannis Baratheon went to the Wall with his armies. I'm not sure exactly what happened at the Wall - I've heard people say the Commander, your brother, he let the Wildlings through the Wall. Either way Stannis got the support of a lot of Northern Houses and the Wildlings too and they defeated the Boltons. They're all at Winterfell now, I think."

"Are you sure about all of this? I heard other rumours..."

"No, I know this much is true. I heard some other things as well, but..." he shrugged.

Arya looked relieved, and smiled for the first time since he'd seen her again.

"So, that's where you're going then? Winterfell?"

Gendry knew it was selfish, and even silly, to want her to stay. Winterfell was her home and now her brother, Jon Snow, a bastard, but, he remembered, her favourite brother, he was there too. And she'd been fighting to get back to her home and family for as long as he could remember.

But she was the closest he'd ever had to family. Not Tobho Mott, not the Brotherhood, not even the Heddles, though he'd come to care for all of them to a certain degree. Arya had found a place in his heart like no other, and when she had been captured by the Hound, he'd blamed himself. Tortured with thoughts of what might have happened to her and guilt that he couldn't protect her. He'd pushed her away then because, for all that she said and did, she was still a highborn and he was a nobody. And now she'd come back, more beautiful than ever, looking even more like a highborn lady than she used to, but he couldn't lose her again.

Something in his voice made her look at him, and she bit her lip. "I -- I have to..."

And then, hesitantly, "You're -- you're going to stay here? Or are you leaving too?"

It was almost like a rehash of their old 'argument' - you could come come work for my brother - and he was tempted to agree this time. But... 

He felt a responsibility towards the children here. And the Heddles too. He felt guilty even thinking of leaving.

She must have understood, because she stood up quickly, as though she couldn't wait to leave the Inn, leave him, and went back upstairs to get her things.

Chapter Text

Gendry was still at the table when Willow walked in. She looked surprised to see him still sitting there.

“I thought you’d be packing your stuff by now,” she said.

“What?”

She rolled her eyes, “The way you two looked at each other. I figured she must have been the reason you were always so angry and sullen.”

She was, Gendry thought, but it was mostly guilt disguised as anger.

“I’m not leaving, you need someone good with swords.”

Willow blinked, surprised. And then she huffed.

“You’ve trained Devan and Will for years, they’re really good now. And anyway, the Brotherhood is never too far away. We’ll be fine, if you’re not going it’s for your own excuses.”

Gendry opened his mouth, annoyed, about to retaliate, but realized that she had spoken the truth. Some of the kids had grown up to be decent enough swordsmen, they could defend the rest of them if it came to that, and there was the Brotherhood too.

He was just afraid; afraid that Arya would reject him, or perhaps of his own feelings.

He looked out of the window. He'd built a life here, it wasn't much but it wasn't bad for a bastard of Flea's Bottom. He was a knight now, and he was good at this work, and he was useful. The people he worked for were good people... well, mostly.

And if he left... It was a long way from here to Winterfell, he knew that. And with winter here, it would be even more difficult. And once they got there, what then? Work for King Stannis or Jon Snow? Fight for them? Get thrown into a war that wasn't his? There was nothing in the north for him, nothing except...

Except Arya.

And didn't that make all the difference.

Arya, who had always put her faith in him.

Arya, who would rather stay and fight to rescue her friends instead of escaping to safety.

Arya, who would actually call commoners like him and Lommy and Hot Pie friends, and mean it too.

Arya, whom he had failed once, and couldn't fail again.

Hell, part of the reason he had stayed back at the Inn was because this was the last place the Hound had been seen, the closest lead he'd gotten to finding Arya. And now she was finally here, and he was being stupid. Would he even be able to sleep if he let her go north all by herself when winter was upon them? Mind made up, he got up and ran upstairs.

Arya bit her lip as she looked around her room to make sure she hadn't left anything behind. Not that there was any point, she didn't have much. This was just an excuse to delay the inevitable.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! She thought. Why would he trudge through miles of snow and icy winds? He's not your pack, he never was, no matter how much you want him to be. There's nothing for him there.

She turned to leave when the door opened and Gendry stepped in.

"I'm coming with you."

She blinked.

"What?"

"North. I'm going north. With you," He repeated.

When she didn't reply for a long time, he started looking a little unsure.

"If... uh, if you don't mind, that is."

"Why?"

He looked like he hadn't expected her to ask that, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He stepped closer and said, in a quiet, serious voice, "I almost lost you once. I'm not going to lose you again."

Arya didn't quite know how to respond to that. The room was quiet, save for the fire crackling.

She wanted to say something, but "thank you" felt woefully inadequate.

He tilted his face, and his eyes crinkled a little as he said, "You know, I think I've changed my mind." Arya felt her stomach drop. "I'm going to come along whether or not you want me to."

She blinked, and then scowled to hide her relief. "No, you wouldn't."

"I would," he said. "I'm not irresponsible enough to let young ladies go travelling all alone."

"That," she grumbled, "is the stupidest thing you've ever said. I can take care of myself perfectly well."

"Hmm..." he leaned closer, bending a little to reduce the distance between them. This was dangerous territory; knight he may be, but he was still a bastard of King's Landing, and she was a lady, but he couldn't help it. Teasing her was both easy and fun, and he loved the way her cheeks had turned pink. "Are you sure about that?"

Those pretty grey eyes of hers stared back at him, as she bit her lip, torn between exasperation and... something else.

And then she threw her arms around him, "Thank you."

Surprised, his arms automatically enveloped her in response, but he gave in soon enough. He hugged her tightly - gods, she was tiny compared to him - and let himself sink into the hug, memorizing how she felt, the scent of her hair.

He didn't know how long they stayed that way, but he wished it was longer. Before she stepped away he cupped her face, "I'm not leaving you again. I swear it."

"Don't make oaths you can't keep," she whispered.

He thought about it, "Fine. I'm not leaving you again, as long as I'm alive."

She allowed herself a small smile then, and, taking courage from that, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

She stared at him, her eyes wide, and he worried that he'd overstepped himself. It was a chaste enough kiss, wasn't it? Nothing inappropriate about forehead --

It was then he realized that she was clutching his furs and bringing him closer and then their lips met --

Oh.

Oh.

Too surprised to react at first, his instincts kicked in soon enough and he wrapped his arm around her and his left hand entangled in her hair, while hers went to the back of his neck. Their lips were chapped and bruised from the cold, and neither of them had had any experience, and he supposed, as far as kisses went, theirs was probably nothing special, but he thought it was perfect.

When they finally broke apart, she was breathing heavily, face flushed, hair messed up, and he thought she looked more beautiful than ever.

He left soon after to pack up his things, feeling happier than he could remember feeling in a long time. He left a lot of the weapons he'd built for the Heddles and the boys, but he took his Bull's helmet and a sword. The goodbyes were a little difficult, and he knew the road ahead was going to be long and hard and dangerous, but when Arya turned to him and smiled, he smiled back. He had dreamed about her often enough, the girl with the dark hair and stormy grey eyes and the biggest and the bravest heart you could imagine, and as they set out on their snowy path, he thought that maybe some dreams do come true, after all.