Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

AUTHOR: 372259

COLLECTION TITLE: Displaced Souls

COLLECTION SUMMARY: Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong song.

This story is the first in a collection. Please see Chapter 1.5 for details regarding each planned piece.

STORY TITLE: Alloys of Arryn

STORY SUMMARY: "Can you keep a secret?" -x- Gendry Waters wakes up as Gendrick Arryn, recalling only fragmented memories from his old world. He pieces together the shards... and in the reflection, Arya Stark stares back. -x- Time-travel. There's more than one time-traveller, but do they come from the same futures?

PAIRINGS: Mainly AryaxGendry. Will probably have NedxCatelyn, and I will try to find a way to slide some RickonxShireen hints in there (eventually). Sansa, Robb, Theon, and Bran pairings to be determined, but will likely be based on what pairings readers want to see.

OTHER CHARACTERS: All the Starks. Jon Snow. Theon Greyjoy. Elbert Arryn. OC Arryn children. OC Baratheon sister. Davos Seaworth. Shireen Baratheon. Tyrells. Stannis Baratheon. Tommen Baratheon. Oberyn Martell. Probably others to be added.

DISCLAIMER: Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/ hate it enough to flame ;)

A/N: This is an AU overtop of an AU.

- Essentially, the "original" timeline mostly aligns with cannon up to like the end of 8x03. This original timeline does have cannon-bending of 8x04, which will be revealed below and throughout the story by way of flashbacks.

- The "new" timeline, where Gendry is shoved into the consciousness of Gendrick, has quite a few changes to allow for there to BE a Gendrick in existence. These changes have butterfly effects, which will be revealed as the story progresses. P.S. the whole "marbled" eyes thing is not canon, it's just an idea for my original story that I'm testing out on here to see if I like the sound of it.

STYLES

"Speech"

'Thought'

('voice')

Long memory from the past or a dream

Short memory or "phrase" from the past

-|x|- Alloys of Arryn -|x|-

the hour of honour

Chapter 1

DispLaceMeNt

-|x|-

Zamak: an alloy made from zinc, aluminum, magnesium, and copper

-|x|-

" I am no one."

The girl standing before him says the damning words with apathy. Looking into her vacant grey eyes,  Gendry's heart wrenches.

" No." Gendry shakes his head roughly. He grips the cold girl firmly by her arms, and deliberately pulls her towards his chest. (She has been saving him since they were children. It is his turn to save her. He refuses to lose her again, not even to herself.) "You are Arya Stark of Winterfell. That is who you will always be."

Her bowed mouth slowly curves into a smile. For the briefest second, Gendry thinks he has saved her. Relieved, he loosens his grip.

And then he notices the mocking tilt of her lips.

He stills.

She calmly draws one of her palms up to the stubble that lines his cheek. He sinks into her skin, chasing the warmth of her calloused hand. 'Come back.' He thinks desperately. 'Come back to me.' He knows the real Arya is in there, behind the mask; he saw her. He saw her true self in the familiar way they bantered in the days before the Battle for the Dawn, in the way she smiled and almost-laughed when she had first kissed him, in the way her eyes softened when he told her that he marched to Winterfell – that he had followed her brother beyond the Wall – to honour her memory.

Her hand is misleadingly tender in how it coaxes the skin at his jaw. She slips her body closer, and his eyes drift to the oval-shaped marks dotting either side of her neck. The frozen touch of the Night King's undead fingers, the place where the beast had grabbed her, and the forever-reminder of how close he was to dying. (Because even if Jon had somehow managed to slay the horned monster after Arya failed… there was no life for Gendry without Arya in it.)

Arya brushes her thumb against the thin skin above the bone of his cheek. His weary eyes close in response, indulging in her caress. Then he feels her breath, hot at his neck, and for a moment he almost pretends that—

" Arya Stark is dead."

His eyes burst open at her quiet warning.

She had whispered the dangerous words gently against his ear, mirroring the soft way he always dreamt she would one day whisper that she loved him.  Her words are cruel in their meaning as much as their delivery; they match the macabre thoughts that haunted him for years after the Twins. But of course, she knew that. With that realization, he wants to push her away, this spiteful thing that wears his lover's face. (But he cannot. Not ever again. He is forever hers, even if she refuses to be his.)

He reaches out for her arms again. Sloppily now, in his despair. 'I'm losing her.'

She steps back gracefully - teasingly letting his fingertips just barely brush against the rough leather of her jerkin, as she glides out of his grasp.

"But, why would you care?" Not-Arya smirks, ruthless. "She wasn't enough for you to stay for back then. And now… well now, there is no one left for you to leave."

-|x|-

An ink-haired young man jolts awake. The taste of salt and the smell of iron meld in his mind. There is an echo of winter chill on his skin. 'But, no. That isn't right.'

Unfamiliar silken sheets drape over him, accompanied by a soft featherbed below him. Dazed, he wearily pulls himself from a plush pillow. Blearily looking left and right, his thick brows furrow further as he notes the much too lavish room surrounding him. His mind is hazy. 'Where am I? What happ—'

Memories assault him before he can finish the thought.

There is an onslaught of images and voices, people and places, emotions and experiences. The conflicting memories wage a war, winding about each other in ways that don't make sense and contradict each other: bastard or Lord? Bull or falcon? Armorer's apprentice or heir apparent?

A vision flies before his eyes, shoving away all the others with brutal efficiency. In his arms is a girl, beautiful yet bloodied, lovely yet limp. Her white and grey gown is soaked in red. Her grey eyes are unseeing. He carries her past weirwoods, and lays her before the unforgiving eyes of a weeping heart tree. Snow roars around them, whiting out the vision.

('But our godswood has no heart tree, and neither father nor mother follow the old gods.')

The familiar voice confuses him. It sounds like his own, but it's saying things that are wrong. 'I'm an orphan. I don't even know what gods my mum followed. All I remember of her is that she was a yellow-haired tavern girl from Flea Bottom.'

('You dare?! Mother is a noble lady from a great house - a royal house - with hair as black as yours, besides.')

In the place of a yellow-haired figure singing above him, he starts to see a night-haired woman with brilliant blue eyes. The images contradict each other as they superimpose. All of his memories do the same. And the voice keeps telling him things that feel true and untrue all at once.

'I grew up on the streets of Flea Bottom; I remember the taste of a bowl of brown.' ('You are a nephew to the King; you ran through the Red Keep's halls as a child.')

'I'm just a bastard.' ('You are a noble heir.')

'My name is Gendry.' ('Your name is Gendrick')

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

He clutches his head; the pain doesn't abate.

The girl in the gory gown flashes again, he knows her. Her name... it was... her name was...

'Arya.'

('Who?')

He screams.

{Two mornings later, outside the room next to where the young man had screamed, there is a young boy sleuthing about the halls and eavesdropping behind a heavy door.}

"A spontaneous fever, My Lord. The past two nights were quite dire, as I told you. I am grateful, but honestly surprised that such a high temperature was not fatal for him. The cooling must have helped. Based on my examination, he seems to be taking a rapid turn for the better now."

"I don't understand. What could have caused this, Maester Lenus? He was perfectly healthy at dinner, mere hours prior to retiring for the evening."

"I could not say, My Lord. There is no focus of infection that I can discern."

A pause.

"… Could it have been a poison?"

"His symptoms are inconsistent with any poisons that I am aware of, My Lady."

"Will he recover?"

"His… ramblings are only a side effect of the delirium, My Lady. Fever speech. I believe it should pass as he recovers."

Gendry groggily rejoins the living, lashes tangled and crusting at the edges of his eyelids. He opens them slowly, carefully, and needs to blink more than a few times in order to resolve the blurry silhouette seated next to his bed. It is a black-haired boy, whose marbled eyes widen almost comically in surprise when their gazes meet. A broad grin rapidly grows between the boy's rounded cheeks.

('Artys.')

"Gendrick!" The boy shouts in glee as he barrels over the bed and plows onto Gendry's chest.

('Brother. He's our baby brother.')

Gendry's arms come around the boy reflexively, despite their weary heaviness. Artys turns his head up towards Gendry eagerly, small arms still firmly locked around Gendry's stomach. "Why were you sleeping for so long? Were you really sick? Maester Lenus told mother and father you were. What does fatal mean? I wasn't supposed to know, you know, but I listened from behind the door. You shouldn't get sick again; mother was soworried! Father was too. Alys even cried! Well, Cass did too. But, Cass is always crying, since Cass is a baby, you know?" The boy takes in a deep breath to replenish his lungs before he continues to babble. "But, I didn't cry." He announces proudly, bringing one small fist to clout his puffed out chest. "Father and mother are just in the next room. They're talking to Maester Lenus. They didn't want to "disturb your healing" with their talk. So when they left, I snuck in! I must have done something right since you're awake now. Maybe I should be a knight and a Maester! I could get them. Want me to get them? When will you be okay enough for more lessons? I've been practicing and everything!"

('You've been teaching him the proper stances for sword fighting.')

Gendry nods, unsure of which on the long list of Artys's questions he is acknowledging. He feels a bit overwhelmed by Artys's words. Which is compounded, understandably so, by the fact that Gendry remembers having a brother, yet also remembers being an orphaned only child.

Artys quickly adopts an almost stern countenance, nodding back solemnly. The forged air of seriousness dissipates seconds later when the boy starts boasting about the task being "another quest to complete" on his path to becoming "the truest knight of the Seven Kingdoms" as he happily bounces off of Gendry's chest and heads towards the door.

Gendry doesn't have much time to sort through his conflicting thoughts. Within seconds, the room's door is shoved open once more. A (familiar but not familiar) woman and man come quickly race towards him, followed by a proud Artys (who is just about preening).

The dark-haired woman comes to him first, cupping his face in her warm hands before kissing his forehead and his cheeks. "Oh, my boy. My precious, baby boy."

"Hey!" Exclaims an affronted Artys. "That's me!"

"My older baby boy, then." The woman amends indulgently with an affectionate roll of her deep blue eyes.

Gendry's own eyes widen. "Mother," he rasps.

('Lady Senna Arryn.')

He has a mother now, and the knowledge causes his gut to twist. 'She is beautiful. She has such a kind smile and—' His thoughts are interrupted by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Son." The voice belonging to the hand's owner sounds deeply relieved. Gendry looks up towards the blond-haired man. "Glad to see you amongst the living again."

"Father?" He croaks out.

The older man smiles at him.

('Lord Elbert Arryn.')

-|x|-

Soon after, he meets his younger sisters.

At only age three-and-ten, Alyssa Arryn gracefully carries Cassana into the room before carefully handing the babe to her mother. Alyssa then approaches him with all the formal courtesy of a proper lady. The image breaks when he sees her watery eyes and hears the tremble in her voice. "I am glad to see you well again, brother."

He smiles at her gently, opening his arms. That is all it takes before she is running towards him, much the same way Artys had when Gendry awoke.

Artys. Mother. Father. Aly. Cass.

('Your family') whispers the persistent voice – the one that sounds too much like his own.

His echo's words send lightening up Gendry's spine. A submerged memory rises with the force of the fiercest storm.

" I could be your family."

'Arya.'

-|x|-

He tells his family he needs rest.

The moment the heavy wooden doors to his room close, he is flying out of bed and stumbling towards his desk for ink and two pieces of parchment.

And then he writes.

That in itself is a very strange experience. Gendry just knows the numbers needed for his trade. Gendry doesn't know his letters.

('But I do. All highborns know their letters.')

On the first piece of parchment, he writes out the salient points from a life where he was born into a noble house. He tries to record every way this life differs from the other – more painful – history in his head. In the easier life, Lady Cassana Baratheon (née Estermont) births her Lord husband four children. Lady Senna – the Baratheon's only daughter – weds Lord Elbert Arryn before the infamous Tourney at Harrenhal. Elbert stays by his wife's bedside as she nearly loses her life while miscarrying her first pregnancy, instead of riding with a raging Brandon Stark to King's Landing. Lady Lysa Tully weds Elbert's uncle, Lord Paramount Jon Arryn, to secure the Riverlands's support of the rebels during Robert's Rebellion. Elbert survives the war, but loses almost his entire left arm. Gendrick Arryn is born at the tail-end of the year following the Rebellion. And Gendry even remembers growing up in the Eyrie, frequently training and regularly finding mischief with his loyal friends Andar Royce and Roland Waynwood, his cousin and closest confidante Harrold Hardyng, and even his bastard cousin Mya Stone. There was even a time where he accompanied his mother to a visit to Dorne.

'Wait. That doesn't make sense,' thinks Gendry. 'Dorne would never welcome those with Baratheon blood, not after what King Robert allowed in both pasts.'

('The way the stories tell it, mother stormed into the Red Keep with her Arryn name and all her Baratheon fury. She argued against her new King's inaction in front of some of the greatest Lords of the Realm, demanding justice for her friend, Princess Elia. She finally convinced Uncle Robert into letting her and her escort take the Mountain to Dorne, where the Martells served their justice. You spent a few months at Sunspear with her prior to your warding at Dragonstone. You probably would have been betrothed to Prince Doran's second daughter, if he'd had one. Or maybe even a trueborn daughter of Prince Oberyn, if he'd had one.')

Warding. Yes. Warding. Gendrick Arryn spent four years in Dragonstone, learning from Uncle Stannis as a squire and running around the dark shores of Blackwater Bay with little Shireen. Gendry remembers it clearly: the briny air, the grim black-stoned halls, the reflections of dragons littered about the daunting Keep – right down to the claw-shaped torch handles. Gendrick's cousin loved to read stories about the dragons. In between his training she would frequently pull him through the many thick tomes and dusty ledgers lining the seemingly endless shelves of the library. Shireen was probably the only person in the entire realm whose love for libraries rivalled that of Senna Arryn's own. Lady Senna often bemoaned how none of her three older children inherited her love for books and reading. So, despite his cousin's young age, Lady Senna often wrote to Shireen exchanging information about their recent 'finds' in their respective libraries.

Gendrick Arryn has three other "cousins" too. Royal ones. 'Joffrey's still a shit.' Gendry snorts. 'Seems like that's true in any version of the past.' He remembers the annoying whiner from the time he and his parents spent at the Red Keep when he was younger. He also remembers that he got on quite well with Myrcella and Tommen. Gendrick still writes to the younger two, actually. He definitely did not get along with "Aunt" Cersei though. 'Probably thinks me another way someone could discover the illegitimacy of her children, that psychotic bitch.' His time at the Red Keep had been rather enjoyable, all things considered, as he ran about the expansive halls alongside Myrcella, Tommen, and Alyssa. But the more he tries to remember, the more he recalls. Something happened to sour their visit... what had it been… oh, yes. Lysa Arryn died after delivering a stillborn. 'Serves the madwoman right.' Thinks Gendry, not the least bit guilty for the nasty thought. He recalls all too clearly the story behind Lysa Arryn, Petyr Baelish, and what truly led to the War of Five Kings.

('She poisoned great-uncle Jon?! Her own Lord husband?!')

Gendry feels something prickling at the back of his mind. Something about Aunt Lysa… for a second he sees himself – younger and shorter – hiding under a bed, and overhearing a whispered conversation he shouldn't have—

"Agh!" Gendry clutches the back of his head. The baseline dull ache had sharpened, piercing him painfully. He isn't sure what he is forgetting, and (based on the shear sharpness of the pain he just experienced) he isn't too keen on attempting to chase down that memory again.

('It's important. But, you'll remember it soon enough.')

Gendrick Arryn has been to Sunspear, Dragonstone, and the Red Keep. ('But never the North. Never to a godswood with a heart tree surrounded by whirls of snow.')

Gendrick Arryn only returned to the Vale from his warding about a year ago, after his seven-and-tenth nameday. ('It was celebrated at Storm's End, actually. Uncle Renly held a tourney, and you won the squire's melee. You crowned Aly with the 'Princess' of Love and Beauty crown – Gods, Uncle Renly truly is over the top. Aly still has the crown; she pressed its flowers into a frame she hangs in her room. Her beaming smile that day when you put the crown atop her head made you feel like her hero, but Joffrey's reaction had been your true prize. The ponce had been so jealous, loudly bragging to all the (clearly fed-up and annoyed with his voice) Stormlords that he would have won if he had graced the tourney with his entrance. Uncle Robert guffawed at Joffrey's boasting and then he knighted you. He called you a true Baratheon, despite your eyes.')

The voice's last comment sends Gendry away from his parchment and towards the mirror placed at the other end of his large room. What he sees startles him. Instead of the cobalt blue he expects, that he knows, he sees the eyes of all his siblings and father reflecting back.

('The renowned alloyed eyes of Arryn.')

They're striking, now that he has the time to examine them closely. A marbling of bronze and brass and copper. ('It's a good thing that the Gods gave you at least one Arryn feature. If you were born all Baratheon, Aunt Lysa would have surely sent out whispers that you were Prince Oberyn's bastard. But that's something to think on later, I suppose... For now, there is still a blank parchment on the desk. I know you keep putting off... that history because it will be painful, but we don't have the time for you to dance around it.')

And so, with the voice's ominous warning, Gendry finds himself seated at the desk again.

On the next piece of parchment is the more painful story.

He tries to write down all the salient points, despite his shaking hands.

He remembers seeing the green sky when the Sept of Baelor exploded. He remembers Jon Snow - a bastard that became King in the North. He remembers standing in awe as dragons soared above him. He remembers Queen Daenerys Targaryen, smiling from the head table at a feast, and offering him a true name with lordship over Storm's End.

But… things are missing.

He grows more and more frustrated as he comes across blanks in his mind that he knows should not be empty.

He knows he befriended Jon Snow during a mission surrounded by snow and icy mountains, but he cannot remember what it was for. He remembers an army amassing at Winterfell, filled with Dothraki and Unsullied and even Wildlings, but why would they have done that? Had Cersei gained so much territory that her armies pushed on Winterfell? That they needed to rely on bringing Wildlings from the ice-lands beyond the Wall?

Gendry shakes himself, the dull aching in his head throbs louder.

('Go further back.')

He was imprisoned in Dragonstone. Davos freed him. The Red Witch. The leeches.

('Further, you need to go further.')

The Brotherhood. Hot Pie. Yoren. Lommy. Mott.

('Deeper, you need to go deeper.')

And then he remembers.

'Arya Stark.'

Her name blares across his mind so sharply, and like a blow to the chest, he remembers everything about her.

-x-

"Where'd you steal it?"… "It was a gift."

…

"No one can know...Yoren is taking me home to Winterfell."

…

"Do not call me milady."

…

"If things go wrong, you run along North and don't look back."

…

"What's that smell?" … "Dead people."

…

"You should stand side-face... smaller target"

…

"You're practicing for a fight; you should practice right."

…

" Stay here if you're afraid."

…

"I could be your family."

…

" You look good."

…

" Don't call me that." … "As you wish, milady."

…

"This is different... this is death." ... "I know death."

…

"Last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell."

…

" We're probably going to die soon. I want to know what it's like before that happens."

-x-

They were going to die… but why? Could the Lannisters really have been so strong that they stood a chance against dragons?

'Stop.' Gendry begs. 'Please. It hurts.'

But loving her had always been painful, hand't it? Back when she was too young, and he thought himself a monster for the feelings he was beginning to have towards her. Back when he thought she died at the Twins, because he chose to leave her to stay with the Brotherhood. Back when he was just a bastard smith in Winterfell, and she was not just a lady but a princess, who would forever be out of his reach. And even back when he finally became a lord, she… she gutted him when she refused to marry him. She wanted to forget everything to do with him in favor of her suicidal mission to complete her thrice-damned list.

" Only no one can kill Cersei."

'But, after Cersei was slain, she came back. I was helping rebuild her home, and she came back to me.' Gendry asserts, adamant. 'I remember that. She came back.'

('Only to for you to lose her again.')

The vision of Arya in his arms, as he carried her corpse, flashes in his mind.

For a moment, he hears Arya's voice, a warped and feeble version of it. "Stupid bull… you'll be okay."

'No.' Gendry refuses to believe it. Arya is too strong to die. "You're lying." He accuses out loud to the voice in his head. "You're lying. I would … I would not forget that."

The voice is quiet.

And then it isn't.

('You've forgotten a lot of things.')

And so with the messily scrawled-on pieces of parchment that he keeps on him always, his past is somewhat (not really) sorted. What he knows of it, at least. He pauses his identity crisis until further notice. For now, he will answer to Gendrick, and follow the voice's lead on how to interact with his family and friends whenever there are memories that he can't remember living through. It's still so confusing, having a deep love for these people and yet simultaneously feeling as though they are nothing more than characters from a song. Even the castle itself - it feels like home and a foreign land all at once.

And yet, there are more imperative things than sorting out Gendry Waters versus Gendrick Arryn right now. Which is exactly why he is striding with purpose down the hallway from his room towards his father's solar.

Gendry needs a plan for the future. He knows this, but grows increasingly irritated with his lack of progress on said plan because how can he make a plan if he doesn't even know if this world has the same future? After all, in his world, there was no true House Arryn after the death of Lord Jon (just a mariticidal woman masquerading Petyr Baelish's sickly bastard son as the Arryn heir). In truth, he isn't even sure if he remembers the future correctly. And if there is one thing the voice and he can agree on, it is that he is forgetting many vital things that would no doubt be helpful in concocting this (currently elusive) plan.

He knows one thing for certain, though.

'I need Arya.'

He'll get Arya first, and then he'll worry about the rest. If the vision is true, she died in the North. If he can bring her back to the Vale, then even Cersei's armies cannot reach her.

" Arya Stark. Dawn-breaker. Saviour of the Seven Realms."

The monikers ghost through his thoughts, but confuse him. Were they given to her because she was the one to finally defeat Cersei? Was she the one to put an end to the mad queen who set alight the Sept? Gendry can't remember.

('She will not leave her home, not even for you. Surely you remember that, at least.')

Gendry ignores the voice's warning. 'Arya will know what to do. She'll fill in all the gaps that I am forgetting. She will understand that we need to save the rest of her family, and that the only way to do that is to work together. Especially if her memories are as fractured as mine.'

The voice is quiet, again.

(There is a skittish part of Gendry that wonders if he is alone, but no, that can't be. He shoves the hesitant worries away and refuses to believe them. Arya came back; she must have. She is stronger than him in every way. She is here. She must be.) The image of her in a bloodied gown appears before him again, taunting him. He roughly shakes it away.

'I won't lose her this time. Not again.'

-|x|-

"Is this some poor jest? You cannot be serious, Gendrick."

His father's eyes narrow harshly, but Gendry keeps his face stern. "I am."

Elbert Arryn sighs, loudly and clearly exasperated from where he stands behind his heavy desk. "You were just on your death bed yesterday. Barring that, you only returned to us from Dragonstone, when? Not even a year ago? You are our heir, Gendrick. The Vale Lords will have my head if I send you away again." He snorts. "Of course, that is conditional on if there is anything left of me to dismember once your mother and Artys hear that I'm even entertaining your request."

('A wife. Use his desire to see you wed.')

"Just one year, father. That is all I am asking you for. One year, and if I don't come back with a betrothal, I will let you make one to whoever you see fit, with not a single word of opposition."

Suspicion flickers in his father's marbled eyes. "You have not expressed even remote interest in any of the noble ladies your mother or I have brought before you, let alone betrothals. I do not know if I should be impressed that you are trying to manipulate me, or embarrassed that you are so awful at it."

Gendrick smiles. "Nothing so crude as manipulation, father. I prefer to call it… opening negotiations."

His father barks out a huff of a laugh. "Well, you are your mother's son. I'll give you that." He says fondly. "Speaking of my sweet and stubborn wife, is there a reason that you haven't requested her presence at these…" His father smirks, "negotiations?"

Gendry smiles sheepishly, awkwardly bringing his hand to the back of his head. "I figured I'd have a better shot at convincing her if I already had your support?"

His father's brows furrow in confusion. "Odd. You haven't used that tell since you were Artys's age."

Gendry frowns. "What tell?"

His father nods to Gendry's hand. "Whenever you got nervous as a child, you would scratch the back of your head. It was a surefire way for us to know when you were hiding something. And here I thought that your mother rid you of it."

Gendry shrugs.

The Lord of the Vale groans, his sole hand brought up to massage his forehead. "You truly want this?"

Gendry places his hands on the desk, leaning towards his father. "I do. Please, father."

Elbert Arryn sits back in his seat, looking towards the corner of the room, quietly contemplating his son's request. After what feels like eons, his father speaks. "You will take Alyssa with you—"

"Huh?" Gendry interrupts, baffled.

His father raises an unimpressed brow at the rude – and crass – disruption.

Gendrick straightens his back. "My apologies, father. Please continue."

The older lord gives him a measured look before continuing. "You will take Alyssa with you. That way, even if you do not make a betrothal with one of the Stark girls," his tone implies that he very much doubts his stubborn son will, "then perhaps your sister will do her duty to our house and I can I can arrange for her to be with one of Ned's boys. He has three if I recall correctly, surely one will get on with her."

Gendry's shoulders sag in relief. "Thank you."

Elbert arches his brow. "Do not thank me yet. You still have to convince your mother. And then break the news to Artys." The Lord Paramount frowns, tilting his head to the side. "The boy was so young when you left for Dragonstone. He idolizes you, a fact of which I am sure you are well aware. He will not take well to losing you so soon after knowing you again."

(Gendry feels guilty, thinking about saddening the endearingly rambunctious boy, but then Arya's voice echoes behind his eyes."I could be your family.")

Gendry gives his father a tight smile. "I'll take care of it."

His father nods. "Good. You will tell them during our meal. And, if the Maester clears you tomorrow, join the lads in the training yard. If I have to ward off the pestering of Andar or Roland, or even Harrold just one more time…" Elbert rolls his eyes, but Gendry sees the affection in them. "Now, off you go. You can make your way over to the midday meal. I have a couple of things to finish up and then I'll join you all."

Gendry grins. "Thank you, father!" Before turning to leave.

Just as his hand wraps around the solar's door handle, he hears his father's voice again.

"And I do not know what has gotten into you lately. Perhaps it is still you recovering. But, clean up your mannerisms if you are actually serious about courting one of Ned's girls. Lady Catelyn was the epitome of propriety back when I knew her; she has likely raised her daughters in her image. And Seven knows your mother will have your head - and more importantly, mine - if she even suspects that you have embarrassed our House while you are up there."

" Do not call me milady!"

Gendry's mouth quirks into a half-smile, remembering Arya's wild eyes and wilder hair, the deftness with which she spun a blade between her fingers, the way she shoved him onto the sacks of grain the night they...

He forces himself back into the present to respond to his father.

"I'm sure Aly will keep me in line."

-|x|-

'Arya,' he thinks, excitement thrumming through his veins. 'I'm coming.'

The girl who he loved, but thought herself incapable of loving anyone. The girl who didn't deserve any of the terrible experiences life forced her to endure. Does she remember too? She must. 'She is probably waiting for me in Winterfell, muttering over her stupidly slow bull as she practices with Needle.' He can picture it so clearly.

'Arya. Arya Stark. Arya Arryn. Lady of the Vale, wife of Gendry Arryn.' He is certain he wears a fool's smile as he plays with her name on his lips while he walks with lightened steps towards the dining hall.

-|x|-

After convincing his mother – now there was a conversation he never wanted to relive – his father and Gendry agree that Elbert will write to Ned Stark and ask that Gendry and Alyssa be allowed to travel to Winterfell two months from now, after his 18th birthday.

(The voice sighs. 'The destination is right, even if the reason is wrong.')

'If you're not going to be helpful,' Gendry mentally sneers at the unwanted vague commentary. 'Then shut it.'

-|x|-

That night, his thoughts race. His heart wrenches again and again as he relives the moment from another life – the one where Arya refused to be his wife.

'This time is different.' He reassures himself, as he paces about his overly large room. 'This time I'm worthy of wedding her, Sansa won't have any ground to see us apart, and Jaqen won't ever come near her - she'll never be chased to Essos, and she'll never lose herself there either.'

Morning light sees Gendry heeding his father's instruction. He meanders through the winding stone-lined halls of the Eyrie, and makes his way to the training yard. On his way there, Gendry is unsurprised to see Artys sulking at the end of the hallway. Gendry stops his course. Artys moves his gaze up from the floor, and his sad eyes narrow when they meet Gendry's own. Then, he runs up to Gendry, and with all the gumption of a distressed boy of seven namedays, bangs his hands repeatedly into Gendry's stomach.

'So he's clearly still angry with me over my pending departure.'

('Did you expect different?' the voice sneers. 'You're abandoning him. Again.')

Gendry stiffens. 'I'm not abandoning him. I'm coming back. I just… I just need to save Arya first.'

('What makes you think she needs saving?')

Gendry shakes away the voice's question and looks down towards the shorter boy who is still punching his gut. Gendry gently takes Artys's fists into his own larger ones. Artys tries to pull them away, but Gendry's grip is as firm as it is temperate. Artys sniffles, steadfastly looking to the ground and refusing to meet Gendry's knowing gaze.

"Would you like to come with me to the training yard?" Gendry asks, quietly.

Artys sniffles louder before wrapping his thin arms around Gendry's torso, burying his face in Gendry's stomach.

Gendry's thicker arms encircle Artys's smaller form, and for a moment, for the briefest moment… he debates if… perhaps he shouldn't... but then he hears her voice again.

"I know death."

Gendry kneels to put himself face-to-face with his brother.

"Why?" Artys says, voice thick and cheeks wet. "Why do you always have to leave?"

Gendry's eyes soften further. He brings his hand to nudge the boy's chin, coaxing his gaze off the ground.

"Can you keep a secret? It is a very important one. If I tell you, you must promise not to tell anyone else. Not even mother, not even father. You can even think of keeping it quiet as a mission."

('What are you doing?')

Artys eagerly nods and his red-rimmed eyes widen in curiosity.

"There is someone important to me in Winterfell. At my year's end, she is going to come back here, to be home with me." Artys looks confused, so Gendry continues. "When she comes back, she can teach you swordplay even better than me."

"Really!?" Artys's voice breaths out in awe.

('You fool. How will you explain this to him when he is old enough to understand that you could not have possibly had this foreknowledge?!')

Gendry nods his head.

"So how about we head over to the nearest basin, get your face washed up, and then make our way to the yards, hmm?"

Artys beams.

(The voice sighs woefully. 'It wasn't worth it, you utter fool. One day, you are going to regret your words.')

-|x|-

By the time the Arryn duo make it to the yards, there is already a group congregated around one of the sparring pairs.

Seeing a familiar tall blond among the gathered crowd, Gendry makes his way towards him. The broad-shouldered young man turns to see Gendry and Artys, and his light blue eyes brighten. He clasps arms with Gendry, then smiles. "Gen, glad to see you out and about again." He nods to Artys. "Ser Arty," the blond ruffles the younger boy's black locks and Artys playfully bats the hands away.

Gendry smiles at Gendrick's closest friend. "Harry." Then Gendry nods towards the spar. "Andy and Rolly?"

Harry smirks, fond exasperation colouring his tone. "Rolly challenged Andy to a... friendly spar after some jape or another."

Gendry smirks back. They both knew that a 'friendly spar' between Andar Royce and Roland Waynwood translated into a death match. It was oftentimes easy to forget that the two squires were the best of friends, given how fond they were of beating each other bloody in training.

Artys nudges his way in front of Gendry and Harry so he can better view the spar between Rolly and Andar. Gendry looks on as well, examining the differing fighting styles of his two friends. He lets his eyes fall towards Artys's wide-eyed, wonder-filled gaze and gaping mouth often. 'Too cute,' thinks Gendry, patting his brother's head affectionately.

A few moments pass, and then Gendry one more kneels down next to his brother. "Who do you think is winning, Artys?"

Artys seems ecstatic at being tested in 'knightly' matters, and tapers his eyes to examine the fight more closely. His dark brows furrow in consternation. "I think Andar is winning."

"Correct." Gendry nods. "And what do you think Rolly is doing wrong?"

"Losing?" Artys offers.

Gendry hears Harry let out a not-so-quiet snicker at that.

Gendry pokes Artys's forehead before pointing to the Royce boy. "Andar is bigger, stronger. When you are a squire, and even when you are a knight, you will face opponents with stronger blows than you. When you face an opponent like that, don't try to stop the hit. Redirect it. You don't always win the battle by hitting hard; sometimes you win it by being hard to hit."

"Learn that from your Uncle?" Harry teases.

'No. They were Arya's words that I happened to overhear – advice that she offered to one of the soldiers she was training at Winterfell.'

Gendry just smiles and nods in response to Harry's query, unable to give credit to the true source. The Arryn heir is about to turn back to the spar when his attention is ripped away by Artys abruptly jumping behind him and running towards a dark-haired woman.

"Cousin Mya!" Artys greets loudly, before clamping himself onto her thigh.

To Mya Stone's credit, she only smiles warmly at the young boy's overly exuberant greeting.

Still glomped onto her leg, Artys looks up towards her with a bright grin. "I've been training my sword stances, want to see?"

She laughs and ruffles his dark locks. "I'd love to." She says indulgently.

"Okay! Awesome! Just let me get my training sword, and then I can show you all of them!"

With that, Artys runs off.

Gendry rolls his eyes fondly at his excitable brother's back, before striding forward to give his cousin a warm embrace. "What brings you up to the castle, Mya?"

"Lady Arryn sent word that you were sick. So, I made my way up from the Gates to check in." Mya gives him a soft smile. "I'm glad you to see you upright, cousin." Then her relieved smile turns wicked. "From what I just overheard, it seems like that bout of sickness did your fighting strategy some good. Want to put it to the test?"

Gendry grins back, eager to get out into the yard properly. "Aye, let's—"

"Aye?" Mya raises a brow.

('Fool.')

Gendry flushes. "I'm heading to the North for a bit. I figured I'd start practicing their accent?"

Mya's cold-water eyes widen when he says that he is leaving. Her smile wanes and her voice waivers. "Whatever suits your fancy, I suppose."

The minute Gendry leans away from Mya, Harry barrels up. He offers her a surprisingly tender "hello Mya," followed by a gentle kiss to her hand. Mya's smile tightens as she takes a step away from the blond's familiar greeting. For a second, it seems almost as though Harry means to keep her hand in his. The awkward moment passes though, and with only a slightly dimmed smile, Harry releases his grip on her.

('He loves her - has loved her since we were all children. And she persistently refuses his overtures because she is a bastard… Sound familiar?')

'Oh, fuck off.' Thinks Gendry, irritated.

('Though I suppose it is a bit different with them. Harry's getting more and more angered at her lack of reciprocation… She can tell, and it scares her.')

Gendry starts. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

('A king's bastard she may be, but lowborn all the same. Harry could force her into his bed, and face no consequence. At most, maybe he'd earn a slap on the wrist from father. And perhaps a couple of dirty glares from the few people who would believe her, if she was careless enough to tell anyone.')

Gendry frowns. 'Mother would not stand for that. She loves Mya as one of her own.'

('Mother's hands would be tied. Harry is the Hardyng heir, nephew to the Arryns. And Mya is a bastard girl with a late tavern wench for a mother. Some already whisper that Mya is treated far beyond her station because of mother's interference.')

Discomfited at the voice's warnings, Gendry sifts through his memories of young Gendrick Aryn and Harrold Hardyng. He sees them laughing together, playing together, and training together. They're more than just blood; they're best friends. 'Harry isn't capable of doing something like that.'

('I suppose we will find out when you leave.')

Gendry turns towards the stand with the wooden swords, noting a spear and arrow set.

('Curious thing… the terrible lengths Arryn boys are capable of going for their Baratheon girls.')

'What are you talking about?'

There's a flash of being under a bed again. Of hearing the muffled voices of a dangerous conversation.

('Oh, don't mind my words. You'll remember soon enough, I imagine.')

-|x|-

Training is… interesting.

He has the muscle memory of Gendrick, but retains the battle-tested instincts of Gendry. (He still can't remember which battles, or who he was fighting, but the senses are there. Like in the way he can tell the direction the swing his opponent's blade will take based on the subtle movement of their hips or shoulders.)

His first spar is with Mya, and it's amazing how… smooth, it is. Gendrick had swordplay ingrained into him from when he was younger than Artys, and now all that training is easily accessible from Gendry's mind.

And despite how well he takes to the sword, it still feels… wrong.

(Gendrick Arryn fights with a sword. Is in fact incredibly skilled at sword fighting. But, he has never saved a life with one... he has never killed a man with one.)

After his spar with Mya, Gendry's gaze finds a wooden war hammer hanging amidst the other training weapons on the wall of the shed. Her reaches for it, and gives it a practice swing through the air. His body is far from weak, but he isn't as strong as he remembered being after years of working in the forge. 'Fixable.' He thinks, as he once more swings the weighted training hammer during his fight with Harry.

The spar between cousins is over disappointingly fast, with Harry on the ground at the end of Gendry's hammer. When the familiar roar in his ears from battle fades, he notices that more than one of the men in the sparring yard have stopped their own training to stare at him.

('They're shocked by your skill. You've never used the hammer before.')

The master-at-arms, Ser Merick, is blustering. "M-my Lord! By the Seven, you are a natural! Why, I dare say you fight just like your uncle, the King!"

There's a round of praises from some of the audience, and Gendry thanks them with a smile before he leans down to help Harry stand. The moment the blond is upright, Gendry notices Harry's blue eyes searching the crowd. They lock onto Mya. The dark-haired girl doesn't notice her observer, too distracted by an animatedly chattering Artys that is making exaggerated hammering movements with his arms. Gendry sees the way that Harry readies himself to approach her. But before the blond can move, Gendry takes a firm hold of Harry's shoulder.

His friend turns towards him, confused.

"You're more than my cousin. You're my best friend; you know that."

Harry's eyes widen, clearly surprised to hear Gendrick say the words so bluntly. Harry opens his mouth to respond, likely in kind, but Gendry continues.

"Mya is my cousin too. I love her. My mother and Artys love her." Gendry's gaze hardens. "When I leave for the North… don't do anything stupid, Harry."

Harry's light blue eyes take on a look of understanding, then offense. (But there is a flash of guilt there too, and Gendry recognizes it easily.)

"I would never hurt her, Gen."

('Liar, liar. Arryn boys do dark things to win over their Baratheon girls.')

"I know, Harry. I am placing my trust in you. You're a good person. And that is the only reason I am not taking her to Winterfell with me."

Alyssa and Gendry are in the Eyrie's courtyard with their escort and family, readying themselves to depart.

"I want to come!" Artys complains, for the thousandth time that morning. At this point, everyone has stopped answering his unfortunately high-pitched whining (not that the tactic has had any success whatsoever in lessening the boy's petulance).

"Ladies do not ride astride mules!"

Alyssa's pitch matches Artys's, and Gendry can almost feel the blood spilling out from his battered ears. He shares a look of commiseration with Mya, who stands by one of the aforementioned mules with a cringing expression, as well as a finger pressed to her own (likely equally injured) ear. Then, Gendry's gaze shifts down towards the happily blubbering Cassana in his arms. 'How is it that the baby is the one of my siblings that is making the least ruckus over our departure?'

His mother approaches Aly the way a tamer might approach a feral mountain lion.

Lady Arryn speaks to her daughter in a familiar, coaxing tone. "You are just riding them side-saddle to the Gates, where you will then be travelling the rest of the way to Winterfell via wheelhouse. Surely you can tolerate that, sweetling?"

Aly pouts.

His mother smirks coyly and taps Aly's chin. "Ladies also don't pout, my darling."

It is exceedingly difficult, but Gendry gathers enough willpower to hold back his rising snort. Artys makes no such effort. Aly huffs before turning to say goodbye to her (still chortling) baby brother.

His mother turns to come back towards where Gendry is standing with his father. "Is it still not an option to oust Septa Harcelle?" His father (mostly) jokes to his wife.

His mother laughs brightly. "Alyssa loves her too much for it. Do not worry, my love. Aly will grow out of her… strict adherence. Seven knows I did with my own septa back at Storm's End. Besides, we'll have our respite. Dear Septa Harcelle will be accompanying the little troop to Winterfell."

His father sighs. "Perhaps the good woman will do my sanity a service and freeze on her way there."

Lady Arryn playfully pinches her husband's arm. He responds with a wide-eyed look that plainly reads: 'what? you know you were thinking it too!' Then his father smirks, shrugs, and uses his remaining arm to pull his wife closer to him. "It'd never be traced to us," he teases.

At his father's words, Gendry flinches. The earlier sharp pain in his head returns with a vengeance. There's another flash, slightly more vivid. Him, once more - younger and shorter - hiding under a bed, overhearing a whisper: "…Viper…they'll never be able to trace it to us—"

A bright flash, and the echo dissipates.

('Not yet. I will not give you that memory yet.')

"Eww! Father, that's gross!" Artys's exaggerated disgust separates Gendry from his mind. He turns to see the Eastern Lord Paramount giving a second pointed kiss to his mother's lips. Ever the polar opposite of Artys (who has progressed to mock-retching), Aly looks positively starry-eyed as she gazes upon their parents.

"It's sweet." Says Mya, as she takes a step closer towards him.

Gendry frowns. "A man has just locked lips with my mother. Sweet is not the word I would use. I'm of the same mind as Artys in this, actually."

Mya raises a dark brow and her lips curve in amusement. "That man is your father, Gendrick."

Gendry scoffs. "That is beside the point, Mya."

His cousin laughs. "You know, it's honestly refreshing to see a happy marriage. Especially between two people so well suited for each other."

Something prickles at the back of Gendry's head again, but he pushes it away.

Gendry kisses Cassana's smooth forehead before gently handing the babe off to the nearest servant.

He looks back to Mya. "You'll write me, if anything…" Gendry has no idea how to phrase his concerns. He is both afraid of betraying his own belief in his friend, as well as afraid of what should happen if that belief is misplaced. "If anything untoward... that is, if you're worried about... if… if you need to visit?"

She offers him a half-hearted smile. Her large blue eyes look at him in an indulgent manner - the way one might look towards a naive child - when she responds. "Of course."

('Liar, liar.')

Preview of upcoming content below

Want more chapters? Review please : - ) What do you like/dislike? Any grammar & spelling errors? Is the whole Gendrick's voice thing clear – like can you tell when it's Gendrick vs Gendry - or is it confusing?

Also if you enjoy my writing, check out my other GOT & ASOIAF fanfics.

Side note: there will be more than one character who remembers the "original" timeline. You might be surprised who I pick. Any guesses?

Fun fact, harceler is French for pester, and Lenus is a Celtic healing god.

We'll be in Winterfell next chapter, so you'll be getting all your Stark fixes ;) And, of course, gendrya!

COMING UP

He never knew Winterfell as the mighty pillar Arya described it as during their days traipsing through the Riverlands with the Brotherhood. By the time Gendry had reached the renowned Keep, it had suffered under Greyjoy and the Bolton banners. So seeing it now, in its full glory, Gendry sees what Arya meant. 'It's breath-taking.'

-|x|-

Hmm, I recall being owed a dance?

This is blackmail.

I believe the more accurate term is extortion, milady.

-|x|-

Bran speaks calmly, having been rolled into the Maester's room by Brienne. "A girl took skills without cost. A girl forgot what happened to her brother, another Stark who failed to pay their toll."

Sansa slaps Bran for the comment, so harshly and loudly that Gendry can feel it from his perch at Arya's bedside.

Bran is predictably unruffled by the blooming redness on his cheek, the silent tears of his oldest sister, and the gasping breaths of the newly bedridden one. "A girl was always meant to die in a bed of blood." He says, unaffected.

The words jar Gendry, but Sansa? Sansa lunges for Bran. She is nearly frothing at the mouth, with her screaming and sobbing and broken wails of "you knew! You knew!" Her assault is just barely prevented by the quick reflexes and strong arms of Jon, as well as Brienne stepping in front of the crippled boy.

-|x|-

I cannot even find the words to convey my disappoint in you, Alyssa. It shames me deeply to see that your actions today are neither Arryn nor Baratheon. Just those of a spoiled little girl.

-|x|-

"You have always been wild Arya, but this, you stain your father's reputation, you dishonour your house, you –x-x-x-x- Oh you foul girl! Oh Seven, how could you do this to your family? You've ruined yourself. Do you understand?" Catelyn collapses onto the chair and presses her hands over her eyes. "You're ruined." Catelyn wails.

-|x|-

She sneers with her eyes, but otherwise her face is placid. "I think I liked you better when you were an up-jumped bastard, desperately reaching your grubby hands towards what you were never worthy of."

Gendry's fists clench. He gives her a tight, baleful smile. "And I think I just might have liked you better when you were a simpering fool chasing after sadistic princes."

-|x|-

"I overheard Lord Robb tell Lord Theon that he didn't want to bring his family into war …... I would do my duty to our House, my Lord."

Gendry stiffens. 'Oh, Aly. What did you do?' ….. Gendry sees an image of a young Sansa flash before his mind, recalls the stories of how Joffrey's soldiers dragged her into the throne room to be stripped and beaten by the Kingsguard…..

-|x|-

"Not today"

-|x|-

"Brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes."

-|x|-

"Tell it true, my Lord. For I'm not sure which should insult me more - that you think me so dishonorable that I would take a lover, so daft that I would parade said lover around so brazenly, or so stupid as to take a lover that shares not a single feature with you.

-|x|-

If you take one more step towards me, I will consider it an untoward advance, and –x-x-x-x- will send an arrow through your eye.

Please don't forget to review :-)

Chapter Text

Chapter 1.5: Ages, timelines, & collection info

Current Ages

Roland "Rolly" Waynwood and Andar "Andy" Royce – 22

Willas Tyrell and Mya Stone – 21

Garlan Tyrell and Harrold "Harry" Hardyng – 20

Loras Tyrell and Robb Stark – 19

Margaery Tyrell and Gendrick Arryn/Gendry – 18

Sansa Stark and Joffrey Baratheon – 17

Arya Stark – 15 (turning 16)

Myrcella Baratheon - 15

Tommen Baratheon - 14

Alyssa Arryn – 13

Bran Stark – 10

Shireen Baratheon – 8 (Gendry was at Dragonstone from when she was 4-7)

Rickon Stark – 8

Artys Arryn – 7

Updated Timelines

What you've been told about Gendrick's past so far:

Age 18, he is the son of Senna Baratheon (Robert's younger sister) and Elbert Arryn (who survived the Rebellion, but lost an arm). After Lysa died without producing a child (more to come regarding this), Elbert became Lord of the Vale (handed down by Jon Arryn, who is focused on being Hand to the King) and Gendrick became his heir. Gendrick spent some time in King's Landing with his "cousins" Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. He still corresponds with the latter two via letters. Gendrick spent four years as a ward of Dragonstone, where he squired under his Uncle Stannis, and became close with his younger cousin Shireen. For his 17th nameday, his Uncle Renly hosted a tourney in Storm's End where he won the squire's melee and was knighted by his royal Uncle (King Robert). There was a period of time he spent in Dorne, and he was well-received because the Martells like Senna (who was one friends with Elia, and who convinced Robert to let her bring the Mountain to Dorne to face justice). More will be revealed as chapters progress.

What you've been told about Gendry's past so far:

Cannon up to 8x03, and Gendry remembers all of his experiences EXCEPT Gendry does not remember the White Walkers (i.e. he knows they were amassing an army at Winterfell, that they won the battle, but doesn't know who/what they were fighting). Post-battle-whose-enemy-he-cannot-remember, Arya adopts her "No One" persona in order to go to King's Landing to kill Cersei. Cersei is defeated while Gendry stayed at Winterfell to help rebuild it. Arya returns to Winterfell. Gendry has visions of carrying Arya's corpse in the godswood, but often refuses to believe they are real as he doesn't remember her dying. More will be revealed as chapters progress.

Like my other altered-canon storylines (which will be updated soon, I promise). You will get a 'story so far' at the beginning of each chapter to help keep the altered cannon straight.

COLLECTION INFORMATION

PARTS:

As of now, this collection (titled "Displaced Souls") will have four stories

Story 1 – Gendry reborn as Gendrick Arryn. Arya also wakes up in this world. Others will be waking up too. A revamped War of Five Kings. Stay tuned!

Story 2 – Arya finds herself reborn as Rickard and Lyarra Stark's youngest daughter (with Ned, Brandon, and Lyanna as siblings). She meets Jaime Lannister at a tourney, and saves him from joining the Kingsguard. A revamped Robert's Rebellion. (Jaime x Arya)

Story 3 – Arya sent back into Lyanna's body, Gendry sent back into Robert's body, after the tourney of Harrenhal. (Gendry x Arya)

Story 4 – Gendry awakens in the body of Robert and Cersei's second born, only true-born, son. While Arya awakens in the North. Rickon wakes up feeling the echo of an arrow in his back, while Shireen wakes up in Storm's End remembering the heat of flames. (Gendry x Arya, Rickon x Shireen).

Excessively long (but probably entertaining and hopefully relatable) Authors Note:

- I actually didn't mind 8x03, but I was SO unimpressed with 8x04. My favourite part of this series has always been its focus on character development. Each of the prior seasons were driven by the characters (their conflicts, their growth, their values, their secrets, their sacrifices, etc. ) shaping the plot. Honestly, there were times where I used to whine about the plot not moving fast enough. But as of 8x04, it feels like the plot is taking over (if that makes sense). So can someone please explain the reasoning for having such a short final season? Like I am genuinely curious. It seems like this is such a huge franchise, that they must be raking in major profit from it, and yet they cut out so many scenes due to insufficient screen time. Like no Jon finding Arya after she slayed the Night King? No Stark reunion post-battle? Cutting out the scene where Arya & Sansa find out Jon is biologically their cousin? Really? It was just "kk we beat the Night King let's jump to the next big-bad. We'll give all the shippers their one or two scenes – missing vital discussion points they should be having - just to shut them up so we can get a move on to King's Landing. And sure we'll throw in some sex scenes to appease the shippers too." I feel like old D&D could have stretched out at least two pre-battle episodes, a battle episode, and two post-battle episodes/war prep episodes before even attempting to attack King's Landing. Why not just add more episodes, keep the character-focused plot, and maintain viewership for longer? I feel like there is something logistical or fiscal that I am missing, since I'm so darn confused.

- And Gendry Rivers? Smh x 10000, like wtaf? Someone please explain his to me.

- side note: they RUINED Bronn. Like WTF? If he is NOT dumb enough to think that Cersei is going to give him Riverrun, then he should not be dumb enough to think that Tyrion will give him High Garden. Especially if he isn't going to lift a finger to fight, and just threatened him with a crossbow. I get that he has had what was promised to him taken away/withheld the past few seasons #GiveTheManACastle. But he should be smart enough to know that if he wants what was already promised to him (castle, noble wife, etcetera, etcetera) then his best bet is to help Tyrion & Dany and stay in their good graces – so to speak – rather than threaten the hand of the queen, and then the Queen's supporters. Like he's not Arya-level. If Tyrion sent guards for him, Bronn would be dead. I'm so sad because I LOVED Bronn. And I know that his actor and Cersei's actress refuse to do scenes together for personal reasons, so is that why he was written out so weirdly?

- and I'm sorry, but why TF didn't Drogon flamethrower Euron? I thought that's what they were building up to when Dany was trying to fly closer, but all she did was approach then retreat? Like what?

-And omdg the gendrya proposal scene. So even though there is a part of me that is happy (because YES, FINALLY a girl in fiction who does not compromise her values for her love interest), there is still that guilty part of me that kind of wishes she had. I mean, partially because Gendrya being together would tie up the whole Stark & Baratheon thing that's been trying to happen since before 281 AC (but also because WHERE IS MY SANSA AND JON TEAMING UP TO SHOVEL TALK GENDRY SCENE?!). I mean, my heart is so happy that the first thing Gendry did after he found out he was Lord Baratheon was propose to Arya, but I'm also kind of annoyed that there wasn't any mention of the cave scene. Something like - "Before, you wanted to be my family. I told you I couldn't, but I'm not sure you understood why. I wanted to, even back then. But I was a bastard, and you were a lady – a princess – non-traditional as you were, whose family would have never allowed us to be friends, let alone something more. I didn't deserve you then. But now… etcetera etcera). If it's a time thing, it would have taken a good four seconds to say "Back then, I never felt I was worthy enough to be to be part of your family, but now…"

The only part I approve of about the proposal scene was the fork comment, that was well done.

And gosh, I don't think I will ever get over the fact that now they've both offered to be each other's family, and both times the answer was no :'(

So a part of me also feels like people will be like oh grendrya was never going to happen, she was made to be independent from the beginning. And that sets me off a bit. Believe it or not, the things I wanted when I was a child do not translate into the things I wanted as an adult. Values and desires change as we grow older and our experiences shape us. And more importantly, in terms of storytelling, a part of me actually thinks the more interesting ending WOULD have been if Sansa (the one who dreamed of marrying and being a proper lady) was the one who ended up independently ruling a holdfast as Warden of the North while Arya (the one who vocally and repeatedly rejected all feminine things) ended up being married to Gendry and re-defining what it meant to be a lady. (Ain't no one telling the Night King Slayer / Dawn Breaker/ Saviour of the Seven Realms to spend all her day sewing and gossiping.)

Okay. Rant done now. Promise I won't do another one that long, but goodness I just had to get out on some platform (my friends and family refuse to indulge my GOT/ASOIAF rants because they have better things to do with their lives than obsess with fandoms like I do *shrugs*)

Chapter Text

AUTHOR: 372259

COLLECTION TITLE: Displaced Souls

COLLECTION SUMMARY: Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong song.

STORY TITLE: Alloys of Arryn

STORY SUMMARY: "Can you keep a secret?" -x- Gendry Waters wakes up as Gendrick Arryn, with only fragmented memories of his old world. He starts piecing together the shards of his past, and sees Arya Stark starring back. -x- Time-travel, more than one time-traveler. And then the true dilemma… are these travelers even from the same futures?

PAIRINGS: Mainly AryaxGendry. Background RickonxShireen, NedxCatelyn. Sansa, Robb, Theon, and Bran pairings to be determined, but will likely be based on what pairings readers want to see.

OTHER CHARACTERS: Starks. Jon Snow. Theon Greyjoy. Elbert Arryn. Davos Seaworth. Shireen Baratheon. Tyrells. Stannis Baratheon. OC Arryn children (Alyssa, Artys, Cassana). OC Baratheon sister (Senna Arryn). Others to be added.

DISCLAIMER: Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/ hate it enough to flame ;)

STORY SO FAR:

See Ch 1.5 for ages of characters. In chapter 1, Gendry wakes up in the body of Gendrick Arryn (see below for timelines). He is confused x 100 by the overlapping timelines, as well as the "instant relationships" he has with his family (father, mother, Alyssa, Artys, baby Cassana), cousins (Harrold aka Harry Hardyng, Mya Stone), and friends (Rolly and Anders). Still uncertain of the future he is remembering, he comes to the decision that his first move should be to collect Arya because he keeps getting memories/visions of carrying her corpse in Winterfell. He is convinced she must remember their past life as well, and hopes she remembers it better than him. He convinces his father to let him go to Winterfell. Elbert is reluctant initially because Gendry has only just been back for less than a year after four years of warding in Dragonstone. Gendry promises that he will come back with a betrothal (and that if he doesn't, Elbert can betroth him to whichever Vale girl). Elbert agrees as long as Gendry takes Alyssa (his younger sister, who acts like a mini pre-Joffrey Sansa), hoping that Alyssa will be betrothed to one of Ned's boys if Gendry doesn't choose one of Ned's daughters (which Elbert doubts Gendry will do).

What you've been told about Gendrick's past so far:

Age 18, he is the son of Senna Baratheon (Robert's younger sister) and Elbert Arryn (who survived the Rebellion, but lost an arm). After Lysa died without producing a child (more to come regarding this), Elbert became Lord of the Vale (handed down by Jon Arryn, who is focused on being Hand to the King) and Gendrick became his heir. Gendrick spent some time in Kingslanding with his "cousins" Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. He still corresponds with the latter two by letters, but does not have a good relationship with Joffrey. Gendrick spent four years as a ward of Dragonstone, where he squired under his Uncle Stannis, and became close with his younger cousin Shireen. For his 17th nameday, his Uncle Renly hosted a tourney in Storm's End where he won the squire's melee and was knighted by his Uncle (King Robert), much to the annoyance of Joffrey. There was mention of a period of time he spent in Dorne, and he was well-received because the Martells like Senna (who was once friends with Elia, and convinced Robert to let her bring the Mountain to Dorne to face justice for his crimes). More to be revealed as chapters progress.

What you've been told about Gendry's past so far:

Cannon up to 8x03, and Gendry remembers all of his experiences EXCEPT Gendry does not remember the White Walkers (i.e. he knows they were amassing an army at Winterfell, that they won the battle, but doesn't know who/what they were fighting) and does not know of Jon's true heritage. Post-battle-that-he-cannot-remember, Arya adopts her "No One" persona in order to go to King's Landing to kill Cersei. Cersei is defeated while Gendry stayed at Winterfell to help rebuild it. Arya returns to Winterfell. Gendry has visions of carrying Arya's corpse in the godswood, but often refuses to believe they are real as he doesn't remember her dying. More to be revealed as chapters progress.

Like my other altered-canon storylines (which will be updated soon, I promise). You will get a 'story so far' at the beginning of each chapter to help keep the altered cannon straight.

Edits

As per always, I keep editing already posted chapters (sorry) before I post a new chapter. The only MAJOR change I made (I think), was mentioning how Shireen likes reading and libraries almost as much as Gendry's mother, as well as some of the ages of the secondary characters. Which I'm sure doesn't seem too ground breaking, but it future chapters you'll understand it's important to mention.

STYLES

"Speech"

'Thought' - I changed this from last chapter for ease of reading

('Gendrick's voice') - I changed this from last chapter for ease of reading

Long memory from past or dream

"Short memory/phrase from past"

BIG THANK YOU to my reviewers scifiromance, EllyBelly993, wordweilder, MelissaRod00, Aryssane, Jujingamay, NikkiGilbert180, Ducks46death, and ASHLEY. You guys are the reason this fic has not died an early death LOL.

-|x|- Alloys of Arryn -|x|-

the hour of honour

Chapter 2

SmeLtIng

-|x|-

Talonite: an alloy made from cobalt and chromium

Their long trip from the Eyrie to Winterfell is not shortened in the slightest by Alyssa's incessant complaining.

It is instead delayed exponentially by her carefully crafted calls for breaks.

Despite the many months that passed since "awakening" - and his many weeks on the road with his travelling party - Gendry still finds the idea of a younger sibling novel. So, despite her whining, he cares for her dearly. It is impossible not to, given that with every breath he takes in this new marble-eyed body, Gendrick Arryn's memories twist closer and closer around Gendry Water's own, the threads oftentimes too intertwined for his heart to separate.

' I remember the sound of her squealing laughter as we chased each other throughout the halls of the Vale when we were children. I remember it as well as the sheer joy shining through her eyes when I placed the crown of roses on her lap during my nameday celebrations in Storm's End.'

He shakes himself from his memories, and impels his focus to return to the present. Per the amicable innkeeper, they are at a northern inn that rests only half a day's ride away from Winterfell. Gendry wants the party to ride through the night, but Gendrick's reason (and Alyssa's pretty words) prevail.

He really does applaud her creativity. From "my Lord brother, surely our loyal men deserve time to relax and enjoy the scenery?" to "dear Gendrick, I worry for our horses. Such steadfast creatures should surely be permitted time to rest themselves, wouldn't you agree?" His little sister is becoming well-versed in how to hide her grumbling by lining her words in honey.

As a consequence of her sweet words and enthusiastically agreeing Valemen, he now paces alone along the wooden panels of a rented inn bedroom. It is the first time since crossing into the North that he finds himself having a moment completely hidden from the others. And the timing is lucky, truly. Because the innkeeper's confirmation of being so close to Arya's home – being so close to her – seems to cause the reality of the situation to shove away all of the prior optimism he carried from the Vale.

Gendry panics.

' What if she doesn't remember me?'

He runs to the nearest basin.

' What if I am truly alone here?'

He retches out his lunch.

'What do I do?'

And then he loses his dinner.

' What if she doesn't remember me? She must. But what if… oh gods what if I'm truly alone here? What do I do? How do I save her? How do I protect my family from the Lannisters? Arya… please. Please, you must remember.—'

The sudden appearance of a small hand on his back startles him. Only the owner's familiar voice stops his automatic impulse to yank their outstretched limb away from him, to rip it from its socket. (Unknown to Gendry, there is an echo of a reflex that wants to go for the owner's throat with a black lined hammer, the kind of reflex only a traumatized veteran from the vanguard of a war against the undead could have. But Gendrick reigns in such ghosts with an iron grip – fighting a battle that Gendry will not appreciate until much later).

"You're still sick, Gendrick." Alyssa whispers, voice tinged with worry as she kneels (despite her finely stitched gown) to be at his level. She continues to softly pat his back. "We should go back home—"

"No." Gendry doesn't elaborate on his harsh refusal, too busy dry heaving while arched over the basin.

He feels more than sees Alyssa bristle beside him. "Are we so intolerable?!" She hisses. "Surely the Vale is not so terrible that you would risk your life to escape it?!"

Gendry quickly turns away from the fouled basin to face his sister, dumbstruck (and a bit dizzy from such a rapid movement of his head). "Is that what you think?"

Alyssa's posture – which had been hunched over while rubbing his back – straightens. She seems to shake the irritation from her expression, internally reprimanding herself for her lapse. She tempers her voice, not letting any of her prior indignation seep into it. "It does not matter what I think, my Lord."

('Oh, Aly. Has it become so easy for you to hide your hurt?')

"You're my family. Of course it matters what you think." Gendry asserts, voice still hoarse from the heaving.

"I am a noble Lady, representing a Great House. I will obey my House's Lords regardless of my opinion."

That she says the practiced words so assuredly sends every warning bell ringing in Gendry's mind. He remembers the strict countenance of Septa Harcelle, and not for the first time (if Gendrick's memories hold true) wonders if he should enact his father's suggestion. Leaving the frigid woman in the North seems fitting. The woman's lessons are slowly hollowing out his sister, turning her into a vacant doll – the kind left unable to protect themselves against the careless beasts they are often given to.

('I'd die before giving Aly to anyone unworthy of her. Match her to a monster, and I'll find a way to slice a knife across your throat, and your precious Arya's too.')

Alyssa continues speaking, her voice muffling out Gendrick's ominous threat. "What matters is what our Lord father's bannermen think of you."

Gendry sighs. He lifts up an arm towards his sister, and runs a heavy hand over her hair. Her inky locks, a mirror of his own, though less unruly and brushed pin straight to match his father's mane. Gendry's calming action mirrors the comforting gesture he remembers doing for her years ago, on the night that Artys was born. Birthing the Arryn's second son had been difficult on their mother, her third pregnancy leaving her bedridden for almost a month after the delivery.

(Gendry recalls now, how enraged Gendrick had been from his room in Dragonstone two years ago. He remembers how the black fury pulsed faster and faster through his veins while reading a messily scrawled letter from Aly. The letter – dotted dark with dried tears – had frantically informed him that their mother had fallen pregnant again, for a fourth time. His ire and worry at his mother's 'pending death on a birthing bed' urged him to leave through the gates of Dragonstone that very night. A seething Gendrick was stopped only by his stern and unyielding Uncle Stannis, as well as the ever compromising Ser Davos. His mother's pregnancy had been why he returned to the Vale after his 17th nameday, instead of staying in Dragonstone until he was 18 years old as per the initial terms of his warding.)

Gendry frowns, his hand paused on her shoulder. "I was supposed to be at Dragonstone for five years. An extra year is nothing more than our bannermen were expecting."

"Yes, I remember that argument quite clearly from when you convinced mother to tolerate this expedition." Despite her mask, Alyssa's eyes narrow. "They deserve to know. I'm going to write mother and father–"

"No, Alyssa. You will not." Gendry's voice sharpens, and his grip on her shoulder tightens. (Not enough to bruise, never enough to bruise. He'd never forgive himself for hurting Aly.)

Alyssa seems to understand that Gendry's words are not a request. "You cannot be serious!" She whispers heatedly, her composure cracking.

"Treat it as an order from a Lord of your Great House." There is a slightly mocking tinge to his words as he echoes her earlier phrase.

('Do you see now, little sister, the consequences of playing at being a porcelain doll?')

Furious, Aly roughly slaps his hand off of her. She abruptly arises from her knees, then rapidly brushes the floor from her silk dress before she straightens her shoulders, and storms out of the bedroom. Gendry feels guilty for being so brusque with her, but he needs more time alone with his fears. He needs to figure out what he will do if Arya does not remember. How will he protect her? How will he protect his new family from the impending War of Five Kings?

('I already told you what needs to be done. You just refuse to stain your hands.')

-|x|-

He never knew Winterfell as the mighty pillar described by Arya during their days traipsing through the Riverlands with the Brotherhood. In fact, by the time Gendry had finally reached the heavy gates of the renowned northern Keep, it had suffered under Greyjoy and Bolton banners. So seeing it now, in its full glory, Gendry finally understands what Arya meant.

'It's breath-taking.' He thinks, in awe of the castle's original size and austere countenance. But more than that… the castle… there is an ancient timber that reverberates through its interlocking stones. Something old and enduring and strong.

His chest tightens as his eyes trace the striking structure, yet he knows the true culprit of the sensation (along with the roiling in his gut) is not the Keep. No, it is the relentless thought of what – of who – lies waiting for him just beyond the castle's imposing crenellations.

Since last night, at Gendrick's persistent urging, Gendry had tried to prepare himself for the worst case scenario. He tried to work out and practice how he would act if he was introduced to Arya Stark, only to see her familiar grey eyes not hold a speck of recognition when they lay upon him.

But of course, it wasn't just meeting Arya that worried him. He spent all night tossing and turning, unsure of how to interact with the other Starks he knew: Bran, Jon, even Sansa. What were they like, before they were thrust into the game of iron thrones and never ending wars… what were they like before lions feasted on their family? Perhaps it was a selfish thing – to ask Arya to remember him, when doing so meant remembering all the horror that befell her family.

('And what will you do if a Stark remembers… only it isn't Arya?')

An image flashes across his eyes: Sansa's flaming red hair and her ice-cold demeanor. The Lady of Winterfell – glaring at him with eyes so hate-filled, he might as well have been in the presence of Cersei Lannister herself.

The fragment from his past fades as soon as it arose, and Gendry frowns. 'I don't remember that. Lady Sansa… she never…I never gave her any cause to look at me with such… loathing.'

The blaring cranking of the portcullis pulls Gendry from his inner dialogue, but not entirely. He still hears Gendrick's voice as it wilts away.

('Oh, but you did. Like a fool you've been wasting your pleas to the Gods - begging for them to let Arya remember, when you should have praying that they let Sansa forget.')

-|x|-

When Gendry's mare trots into the courtyard of the renowned northern castle, he sees seven humans standing at its center. Six of them align themselves slightly behind a serious-looking man. Gendry immediately hones in onto the Lord of the Keep, Eddard Stark. (It is an abrupt and forceful motion, the way he tapers his gaze. He does not trust his eyes to not wander of their own accord. He fears they will instinctually search out Arya's face, and he fears he will run to her the moment she is within his sights.)

"Lord Gendrick and Lady Alyssa. Welcome to Winterfell."

Lord Eddard Stark truly is a mirror of Jon Snow. 'No, not quite,' thinks Gendry. 'There are subtle differences; but Gods, Jon truly did grow into his father's look.' In another life, Lord Stark's face didn't hold much permanence in Gendry's mind. Not until the recently released apprentice discovered Arya's identity, which sent him scouring his memories for the fuzzy image of a stern-eyed highborn who complimented his craftsmanship.

"Lord Stark." Gendry nods as he smoothly dismounts his horse. He easily steps towards his sister, using a proffered hand to help her off her own mare, before they both present themselves before the Warden of the North. He sees the Warden's eyebrows furrow as the duo from the Eyrie approach him, and knows exactly what the man is thinking.

('The same thoughts that have been on the faces of every highborn since I turned ten… Well? Go on then bastard. Or must I coach the courtesies from your mouth?')

"Thank you for receiving us and allowing us to stay in your formidable home," Gendry begins. "It truly is an honor to meet the man of whom my father speaks so fondly."

"The North extends a warm welcome to your entire party, Lord Gendrick." Lord Stark's mouth moves to continue, and Gendry knows the next words that will curve into the Warden's speech. "If it wasn't for the eyes, you'd be Robert reborn." Lord Stark adds on a bit quieter, seeming almost a bit dazed at the similarity.

('Looks like Lord Stark is seeing ghosts too,' Gendrick taunts flippantly. 'I wonder if he chases his as you do?')

"I believe you might be the first to make the comparison, my Lord." (Of course, this is just another way that Gendry knows he changed. He'd have never dared be so brazen with a highborn before. But now… Now, in the back of his mind, he is Gendrick Arryn: future Warden of the East and trueborn heir of an Andal dynasty.)

Lord Stark offers a small quirk of his lips. "Your father did mention to me that you've his eyes and your mother's everything-else." The not-so-stern man turns to Aly. "Lady Alyssa you truly are a burgeoning beauty. A credit to House Arryn. I hope you both come to view Winterfell as a second home during your time here, as I once came to view the Eyrie."

" If there ever comes a day that he'd rather swing a sword than a hammer, send him to me."

Gendry shoves the dead Stark's words back deep into his mind, trying to ignore the second - more persistent - voice in his head. ('In another life, Lord Stark offered you a place in Winterfell, and was killed for it. I do wonder if your little lady will forgive you if your actions incite her father's death once more.')

Meanwhile, Aly's cheeks flush bright red at the not-dead ('not yet') Stark's compliments as the girl executes a perfect curtsy and softly voices a cultured response.

From the corner of Gendry's eyes, he sees Lady Stark look absolutely enraptured by his sister.

( 'Don't you dare sell her so easily, the way the King sold our mother.' )

"Allow me to introduce my lady wife and children." As Lord Stark officially introduces Gendry to Lady Catelyn, he notes that she is everything Arya described her to be: a perfect lady in demeanour and a glimpse of a future Sansa in appearance. She greets Gendry warmly, and bile burns in Gendry's throat.

('Would she welcome you so warmly, if she knew you plotted to steal her daughter from her? If she knew that you - a mere baseborn bastard - ruined her daughter in another life? She only smiles because you have a name now…  my  name. Just imagine her reaction to the true you - a penniless peasant, a mistake that should have stayed a stain on a bed sheet, and a poison that drugged her sweet Arya to death.')

Next Lord Stark introduces Robb.

And Gendry finds himself before a pair of carefree blue eyes belonging to a young man with an easy grin. The easy grin is genuine, but unsettles Gendry. In another time, this same carefree young man was betrayed and beheaded, his corpse defaced. His easy grin had been replaced by the head of a dead wolf. 'Before Arya saw the effigy being paraded around, to the background of bawdy songs drunkenly chanted by traitors, as her bannermen burned.'

The bile in Gendry's throat continues to build.

After Robb's introduction is Sansa's, and the ex-smith can honestly say he was unprepared for this. The Lady Sansa he had known was severe in appearance and manner, known as a Lady who held an iron grip on her Keep and her people. The Sansa from before was renowned for securing the army that won the Battle of the Bastards, restoring Winterfell to House Stark. The Sansa from his time was a respected, ruthless political player.

This Sansa blushes.

She seems infatuated with him, and Gendry can barely keep the disbelieving grimace off his face. Once the shock is no longer stilting, a sobering realization inundates him with pity. What horrors had Sansa faced, that warped her from such an innocent, naïve thing to the callous stoneheart she became?

('Careful where you place your pity. She sought to rip Arya away from you, remember?')

Another flash burns behind Gendry's eyes: "Get out. Right now." Sansa scowls with unfettered loathing. Eyes glacial, she hisses her words through a snarl. "If I ever see your face in my Keep again, Gods as my witness, I will claw it off with my bare hands."

Her cold fury from before dissolved into the shy smile of the present, and Gendry forces his confused anger at the memory (one that seems true yet false, like so many others) to not show on his face. 'Not now, not now.'

While trying to focus on the present, his gaze focus on the space over Sansa's shoulder. A few feet behind the trueborn Stark children, Gendry sees two familiar forms.

Broody, and so young, is Jon. In Gendry's mind, the sullen face in the shadows of the Starks transforms: a war-worn King of the North, one who wears a weary frown as he approaches Gendry in the Winterfell forge. But then, the image is wiped away by flashes of white: a snowy blizzard and a large bear-like beast with blue eyes. The monster is a memory that gleans some curiosity from Gendry, but Gendrick reigns it in with a brutal decisiveness.

('Not yet, not yet,' chides Gendrick.)

And then – standing next to Ned Stark's bastard son – is Winterfell's ward from the Iron Islands. Gendry is not sure how to feel about Theon Greyjoy…

Theon who betrayed Robb Stark.

But, Theon who saved Sansa.

Theon who burned Winterfell.

But, Theon who returned to protect it from…

From the Lannisters? 'No. That's not true. Something isn't right. That memory is wrong.'

( 'You're getting warmer, you doe-eyed fool; but you're not quite ready yet.' )

Yanking himself to the present, Gendry returns to greeting the Starks.

Next up is… Bran.

If Sansa is jarring, then Bran is a shockwave.

"I heard you've been knighted already!" Announces the bright-eyed boy of no more than ten years. Bran Stark's entire body buzzes with poorly restrained delight. It's such a foreign yet achingly familiar sight. Gendry can feel his entire countenance soften; it is too easy to see the ever-excitable Artys Arryn in Bran Stark.

'He is a boy, just like Artys.' With another flash, Gendry recalls a hollow-toned and hollow-eyed young man bound to a chair, and feels another wave of pity. 'He is just a boy still. Not a Three-Eyed Raven.'

'Wait, what?' A jolt races up Gendry's spine. 'What's a three-eyed raven?'

('Tsk tsk. Don't wander too close to the edge. One misstep, and I promise you the fall won't be pleasant.')

"Bran! Don't be so rude!"

"Well? Is it true!?" Bran continues to pester, much to Sansa's apparent chagrin.

Gendry bends his knees a bit so he is face-to-face with the young Stark. "Aye. I was. Last year, on my seventeenth nameday. My Uncle Renly hosted a tourney to commemorate it, his Grace visited Storm's End for it, and then did me the honor of knighting me after I won the tourney's melee."

A quiet, stunned awe replaces Bran's enthusiasm. "Wow."

Gendry gently smiles at Artys—Bran, then playfully teases the lad. "Between you and me, I still think the others let me have an easy go of it since it was my nameday."

Bran returns Gendry's smile, and moves his mouth as if about to respond, but another voice cuts across instead.

"Guess it depends on if you can even properly lift that huge, hulking thing strapped to your side. And even if you could, you'd probably be too slow to be that much of a challenge."

"Arya!" exclaims an absolutely mortified Sansa. An indignant Bran frowns from Arya's left, while little Rickon snickers from Arya's right. (Gendry is unsurprised by Andar Royce's loud guffaw in the background, and the gasp from his little sister beside him).

"And then our youngest daughter, Arya." Lord Stark introduces in a weary and apologetic tone, with a warning look directed towards his wayward daughter.

"Address Lord Gendrick properly. Now, Arya." Lady Catelyn chastises harshly, brimming with poorly concealed anger. The Lady of Winterfell is clearly humiliated by her daughter's unorthodox greeting to the heir of one of the other Great Houses.

Arya rolls her eyes at her mother's reprimand, and then proceeds to execute the poorest curtsy Gendrick's ever seen.

('This is the girl that you wish to replace mother? You truly wish to see this… this thing as Lady of the Vale?' Her manner is atrocious.') Aly must clearly mirror Gendrick's latter criticism, as her pretty smile tightens at its edges, and small lines of aversion begin to crease the corners of her eyes.

In typical Arya fashion, she doesn't notice the Arryn girl's budding affront. Instead, her grey eyes remain locked onto the war hammer at his side.

"Do you even know how to use it?" She prods, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

The expression is so achingly familiar, that for a moment, Gendry hopes.

"I imagine a sight better than you can courtesy." He then gives a pointed look to her scratched hands. "And probably better than you can… mind a needle." His critical words are softened by his teasing manner (and stained by an undercurrent of desperation, however no one seems to hear it.)

This time both Bran and Rickon start snickering. But Gendry isn't focused on their response to the jest used to hide his message. No, Gendry is too focused looking deep into a grey fog, hoping that her eyes will clear and show him that she remembers. And yet, instead of continuing the witty banter that once defined them, Arya blusters and blushes. Her cheeks puff up in indignation as she readies a furious retort. "What did you—"

"Lord Gendrick," Lady Catelyn interrupts firmly, cutting off her willful daughter's (no doubt inspired) reply. "You and your sister must be tired from the journey, those of your party as well. I can have Robb and Sansa show each of you to your rooms. I will see to the rooming of your men."

Gendry follows the commands of the Lady of Winterfell numbly, with his heart in his throat. The prior acid from before sears it, peeling the misplaced and misguided pith until mutilation.

' She doesn't remember.'

('I did warn you that hope was a dangerous thing.')

Robb instigates some amiable small talk with Gendry as the Young Wolf guides the Arryn heir out of the courtyard. Internally frantic, Gendry takes one last look behind his shoulder. His eyes desperately search for a signal, a sign, anything. Just something to show him that he is not alone in this land filled with ghosts. But all he sees is Arya's back, as she is heralded by a robed woman that can only be her Septa.

('Careful where you leave your gaze,' warns Gendrick. 'Lord Stark is watching you.')

Gendry doesn't give a shit about who is watching, only three words repeating in his head and consuming his breath.

' She doesn't remember.'

He recedes into his mind, and perhaps it is Gendrick who takes over, or just an echo of who Gendrick once was before Gendry hijacked his body. The two heirs walk side by side into the hallways of the castle, with Robb easing them both through some conversation. Two hallways in, and Robb and Gendrick are getting along famously for strangers. Of course, that's hardly surprising. Stark blood and Baratheon blood, after all. When they reach the door to Gendrick's assigned chambers, Robb extends an invitation for the Arryn to join the rest of the men for some sparring in the courtyard. "We'll get to be there for a couple of hours at least... before we're all dragged back into our rooms to get ready for the welcoming feast, that is." Robb offers a long-suffering roll of his eyes before giving another carefree smile to the heir of the East "Your choice. Rest or change for sparring. Just know that you can always join us tomorrow instead if you're still weary from your trip." Robb nods his head towards the doors. "The room is all yours."

At Robb's final words, Gendry's blood lurches through his veins. 'Alone.' The word thrums through his body. 'I'm alone. She doesn't remember. Im alone. I'm alone. I'm all alone.'

('Not quite… you'll always have me,' taunts Gendrick.)

"Just give me a moment to change into my sparring clothes, and then I'll join you all."

Gendry decides the last thing he needs right now is to be alone with his grief, further winding himself into the grasps of his ghosts.

-|x|-

For all his bold beliefs about averting his grief and his panic, the moment he enters his room, he scrambles towards the basin.

' She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember.'

This is not the Arya who hid amongst the recruits for the Night's Watch. This is not the Arya who teased Hot Pie. This is not the Arya who never backed down from a challenge. This is not the Arya who survived Harrenhal. This not the Arya who defied the Brotherhood. This is not the Arya who spun her Needle. This is not the Arya who avenged Lommy. This is not the Arya who trained across the Narrow Sea. This is not the Arya who took vengeance for the Red Wedding. This is not the Arya who forgave him when they met again in Winterfell.

This is not the Arya whose heart he earned.

In all the ways that matter, his Arya is dead.

' What am I doing here?'

('You'll see.')

-|x|-

If there is one trait that has not changed in this warping of worlds, it is that Gendry's hammer is the best outlet for his frustrations.

Unfortunately, for now, he has to make due with a sparring sword.

First, a knight from the Vale bears the brunt of his fury. Next a guardsman from Winterfell bears the brunt of his heartbreak. When an overconfident Theon struts up with a cocky swagger, Gendry is unhindered in letting the Ironborn bear the brunt of his anguish. And when Robb offers himself as a challenge next, an eager gleam in his eye, Gendry cannot bring himself to hold back. So Robb bears the brunt of his desolation. And truly, Robb has skill, but Gendry has the reflexes of a man who knew war.

" Jon used to be the greatest swordsman in Winterfell," Arya offers a small quirk of her lips, voice tinted with pride. "Well, other than my father of course," Arya amends. "But, Jon never let it show." Her almost-smile flattens. "I think he was scared of what my mother would do, if she ever deemed him a threat instead of just a bastard." Her eyes turn to him. "Remember that, Gendry. Don't ever let the dragon queen see you as a threat."

It is Gendry who challenges a reluctant Jon Snow. He may be confused over past Arya's reference of Cersei as a dragon queen, but he is too loyal to the memory of his love from another life to let her favourite brother be left on the sidelines.

And as the bastard and once-bastard spare, it is too easy for Gendry to discern that Jon is holding back. When Gendry 'wins' the spare, he pulls Jon off the ground and roughly demands another match. A true match. "It is a greater insult to defeat a man that doesn't try, than it is to lose to a better swordsman, regardless of birth."

It's no surprise (to Gendry) that Jon wins their second spar.

Gendry is happy for Arya's brother. So it must be Gendrick's pride that has the Arryn heir heading for his training war hammer, and then beating Jon soundly with it. Jon doesn't seem to mind, looking at Gendry with a grateful gleam in his eyes even as Theon makes some annoyingly ill-timed jape about their second spar.

Theon and Robb face off next, while Gendry retreats to a group of Valemen who beam at him with satisfaction and pride. He chats happily with the men – his men – as he stretches his arms. When their attention is diverted to the spare between the North's heir and 'ward', a familiar form approaches him.

Gendry smirks. "Andy. Not in the mood to spare against a friend today?"

Andar Royce scoffs. "I know you well enough to know when you're fighting off some steam, and I you know well enough to stay out of your way when that happens." He offers his flask to Gendry. "You can be a right living storm sometimes, you know?" He pauses to let Gendry drink. "So… what has you so angry now?"

Gendry's smirk dies as he wipes the stray lines of water on his chin. "No one."

Andar frowns, which is an atypical expression to see on the usually jaunty Royce's face. But, before his well-meaning childhood friend can prod further, there is a loud cheer and a calling for a Valeman to enter the next match against Jory Cassel. Of course, Gendry uses the opportunity to nominate Andar, a nomination seconded by all the Valemen bar the nominee (who easily recognizes the heir's attempt at evasion).

It is during the next match between Andar and Jory, that Gendry sees another familiar form from the corner of his eyes. Though this time, the silhouette is hiding in the shadows higher than him.

Of course it is Arya Stark, haunting the balustrades above the far end of the courtyard. 'Her favourite spot.' She told him so, in another life. She described how it was a corner that you had to know about in order to consider looking at, and fondly recalled how it offered her child self great views of the courtyard to watch her father's men spar, as well as a place to escape her fuming mother and septa.

"I'm going to change." He announces to the men in his vicinity.

( 'You're a stranger to her.' )

' I had her once, I can earn her heart again.'

-|x|-

"Avoiding your septa, milady?"

Gendry whispers teasingly behind her shoulder.

Arya startles, and turns around gracelessly. Her startled response is another harsh reminder that this isn't his Arya. His Arya was never surprised; she could always sense him coming from whatever senses the Faceless Men had honed.

'She'll not be sent there again.' He resolves, as he remembers the emptiness of her gaze when they first reunited in her home. He remembers the scars lining her stomach, the way that sometimes her mind would drift to a place where even he couldn't reach her. 'I'll not let it come to that this time. I'll not let them take you from me, in any way.'

When the brunette spins to face the interloper of her hideaway, she seems to realize just how closely he stands by her. The Stark girl takes a suspicious step back towards the wooden balustrade.

"So have I proven myself capable of using my huge, hulking war hammer?" He teases their earlier conversation, as he tries to ignore how much her retreat guts him.

She scoffs before putting her hands akimbo and turning her face to the side, her nose perked up. 'Uppity thing, isn't she,' he thinks fondly. 'She never does grow out of that.' For all her bluster about not being a lady, she surely never stopped handing out orders like a highborn.

"With your war hammer, I suppose you were… adequate." The words seem to pain her. "Your sword work was... acceptable, too. I suppose." She tilts her head. "You should stand side-face more though, to be a smaller target. Had you done that, then Jon—"

"What did you say?"

Side face, she had said. Side face.

Gendry's heart jumps.

Her words matched exactly those that she once said to him at Harrenhal. But that was a Bravosi phrase. Words that were taught to his Arya by her dancing master in King's Landing. His Arya should know the words. Not this Arya. Unless...unless…

"I said had you done that, then Jon wouldn't have been able to find an opening on your left—"

"No." Gendry cuts her off once more with a hoarse voice. "Before that, your advice. What did you say?"

"Are you deaf or just simple?" Arya frowns, clearly miffed at another interruption. "I said you should stand sideways, so that Jon…"

Her words stop registering. And Gendry wonders if maybe he is losing his mind. Is he so desperate for her to be the Arya that he had known, that he is pasting one over the other? Perhaps he had just misheard? But he had been so certain… he had been so certain…

('Sanity is merely a social construct. You'd be surprised how many people can affect sane while other souls crowd their mind.')

His thoughts are interrupted by an especially loud cheer. Both Arya and Gendry turn back to face the courtyard, where a grandstanding Theon is loudly gloating about being the best archer in the castle.

Arya snorts. "What a liar." There is a brief pause, where he watches the back of her shoulders sink. And then she continues her thoughts by grumbling under her breath. "I'm better than him, only no one ever lets me join."

Gendry seizes his chance immediately. "Really, you're an archer?"

Arya bristles in indignation, tersely spinning back around to face him. "Yes." She snaps out. "I am. Just because I wasn't born with a damned coc—"

Gendry raises his palms in a calming gesture, the way one might towards an agitated animal. "Calm down, Arya." (And Gods if her name on his lips wasn't the most addictive feeling.) He boldly puts both of his hands on her shoulders. "I did not mean to imply that you couldn't be. Rather, my own archery is quite awful, and I've been looking for a competent teacher for quite a while."

('Perhaps you know how to play games after all.')

Arya is clearly still too absorbed – by the injustice of a lifetime of men making her feel as though she was somehow less for not being born a male – to immediately shove his arms away from her. She should, of course. If anyone saw them, they would interpret it as Gendrick Arryn being far too familiar with the youngest daughter of Ned Stark. If that happened, Gendry knows the House's warm hospitality would turn as cold as their words. However, he cannot bring himself to let go of her. Instead, he takes a step closer, ignoring the way her back presses against the wooden edge of the guardrail. He lowers his voice. "In case I wasn't clear, that was me asking you to teach me."

Arya looks at him suspiciously, clearly not trusting yet that this isn't some jape he is making at her expense. "Why not ask Theon?" She hedges. "Or any other man in the courtyard?"

Perfectly timed, they hear another loud boast from Theon. This time, he is bleating on about his "skill on the archery range" being second only to his "skill in the bedroom."

Gentry raises a brow. 'Answer enough for you?'

Arya lets out a small breathy laugh, one that makes Gendry's gut tighten.

Arya brings a hand under his arm and onto her chin, exaggeratedly thinking over the offer.

Then she lets out a devilish smirk, and Gendry falls even more in love with her.

"Well," she drawls. And then like a wraith, she swings herself under his arms and onto the other side of him. He stumbles forward, so now it is him bracing the edge. She gives him another smug smirk. "What would I get out of it?"

Gendry flounders, still too entranced by the shape of her mouth. "…the pleasure of my company?" He tries.

Arya snorts. "Try again."

In the background, Gendry hears the clanging of steel. He smirks while voicing his counteroffer. "I can teach you how to use a sword." He knows the words will entice her to him. 'She'll not refuse me with training in her reach,' he thinks.

"Hmm." She tries to keep a haughty façade, but her eyes brighten. Gendry knows for certain he has her now. "That's… acceptable, I guess." In the background, he registers that the courtyard is clearing and the weapons are being set aside. Clearly, Arya does too. "I suppose we can settle the specifics of our arrangement later. See you around." She makes to turn, but Gendry's hand grabs hers before she can leave.

She turns back to him, confused.

"There's a bit of an inequality of sorts though, don't you agree?"

('I hear one of our parents excels in manipulation as well.')

She frowns at his words, disentangling her wrist from his grip. "What do you mean?"

Gendry shrugs. "Well… it's just that you've seen proof of my skill. But, I'm just going off your word."

Arya lets out an affronted sigh of annoyance. "Starks are always true to their word!"

'All but one,' Gendry recalls King Robb Stark. 'And that broken vow cost him his family and his crown. It left his army to be slaughtered by the Freys. It left the North to the cruelty of the Flayed Man, and it left you to the cruelty of the Faceless Men.

('Now, now. Robb didn't do that last one,' Gendrick smirks. 'You did. When you chose the Brotherhood over her. When you  abandoned  her.')

Gendry's gut lurches. He sees flashes of them at the Peach, and remembers seeing her in a dress for the first time, a green slip covered in acorns of all things. He remembers tussling around on the ground of the forge, and her storming off. The memory of his Arya warbles out of his eyes as the Arya in front of him stubbornly demands what else he expects in exchange for the sword lessons.

' What would it have been like to see her dance instead of fight?'

"Dance with me." He lets out before he can stop himself. "Tonight. At the feast."

For a moment she looks completely thrown, shocked silent.

Gentry rushes to add. "Just one dance." He stumbles. "Consider it… an evaluation of your… footwork."

('Really?')

Arya rolls her eyes. "I'm not dancing." She doesn't add with you, so Gendry takes that as a win.

"Well I need something to base your skills off of." He persists. She still looks disbelieving, but he knows exactly how to bate her. "I guess it depends on how much you want to learn how to fight?"

Arya's eyes narrow. "Why are you asking me such a dumb thing anyways?"

"Consider it a challenge." Gendry badgers, before calmly stepping around her and heading down the stairs.

He can almost hear the wheels in her head turning as he walks away, of her competitive instinct battling her suspicions. And then he actually hears her racing up to the beginning of the wooden staircase, and loudly calling out after him. "Well I'm not agreeing to something as stupid as that!"

Gendry just takes a couple more steps down before turning over his shoulder, his reply languid.

"All right then... I guess that means you lose."

-|x|-

He had been so confident that he had swayed his wild partner with his dare, and yet, the feast has been ongoing for half an hour with no Arya in sight.

A grumpy Gendry does his best to affect good humour as he chats with Robb and Lord Stark at the high table.

Another half an hour passes, and she is still not here.

Much to Gendry's discomfort, the Arryn heir finds himself being talked into offering Sansa a dance by the combined completely unsubtle efforts of Lady Catelyn and Aly. And then he finds himself dancing with Jeyne Pool. And then a cousin of the Umbers. The one he is currently dancing with – a Karstark – titters out something about being thankful that he was so generous as to bring along a pair of the Vale's bards. "I assure you, my Lady" Gendry lets out through a tight smile and tight jaw, eyes still searching the room, "That was my sister's prerogative. I'm not much for dancing."

(The barding duo was one of the concessions made by their mother and father when she opined her imminent boredom whilst in the Northern "wasteland" she was being shipped to for the year.)

Annoyed at being paired with literally every female except for the one he actually wants to be holding, he sighs a breath of relief when he finally spots the back of Jon at one of the corner tables. As the song ends, Gendry offers a bow that's only just slow enough to not be brusque, before he turns and makes his way towards the Snow. Gendry hadn't been able to ask Robb about Arya's whereabouts in front of Lord Stark, but he knows he can probably wheedle an answer from Jon.

('Are you so sure challenging the bastard was in loving memory of your dearly departed? Some commiseration between bastards? Oh no... I think it was a calculated play to gain his favour, to build another avenue by which to reach your prize.')

Gendry approaches the side table. "You made a good showing at the courtyard today, Jon."

Jon Snow's eyes widen as he turns to face the misplaced heir. "Never would have had the chance without you, My Lord."

"Lord Gendrick will do," he says formally.

Jon nods slowly in acceptance, and Gendry shoves the Snow's arm while taking a seat next to him. "I was teasing, Jon. Gendrick is fine."

Jon nods again, his dumbfounded stupor at the Arryn's informality morphing quickly into a smile quirking the edges of his mouth. "Aye, Gendrick then." Jon raises a brow. "Well, we can't bring up the courtyard without commenting on your own skill. You are far from an amateur with that hammer."

Gendry smirks. "Tell that to your outspoken sister."

Jon snorts into his cup.

Gendry pours some ale into his own tankard for show, knowing well he won't be touching the stuff. "Speaking of Lady Arya, I can't help but notice her absence. Hopefully it wasn't some punishment over her comments from earlier, I took no offense to them. I was actually quite amused." 'And heartbroken, but I don't trust you with that, yet.'

Jon chuckles. "Oh no. Rest assured, the punishment for Arya would have been having to come."

Gendry plays at confused and raises a brow, encouraging elaboration.

Jon shrugs a shoulder. "She probably found a way out of it." His smile turns fond, even nostalgic. "After all, she has fifteen years of practice weaselling her way out of these affairs with visiting nobles."

Gendry ignores the lead in his stomach, and maneuvers their conversation back to fighting.

('Mayhaps you don't know her so well after all.')

-|x|-

It must be a sixth sense of some sort.

Over Jon's shoulder, Gendry sees her the very second she enters the hall. He notices her immediately despite her efforts to subtly enter through a side servant's passage, and her attempts to blend into the wall with her pale grey dress while she sneaks along the shadows towards the high table.

Gendry's departure from Jon is abrupt. He doesn't care.

('Heirs don't explain themselves to bastards.')

It's easy for his larger steps to reach her before she reaches her destination. Within moments, he is at her back.

"I believe you owe me a dance." He bends closer towards her, speaking quietly but needing to be close enough that she can hear him over the music of Aly's godsforsaken bards.

Arya breathes out an exaggerated sigh before turning. "You still want one? I had hoped you'd be danced out by now."

Gendry smirks, offering out a hand. "Dance with me?"

Arya rolls her eyes, before accusing him. "This is blackmail."

Gendry grins wider. "I believe the more accurate term is extortion, milady."

He sees her shoulders move from a barely restrained chuckle, and his chest lightens. Her mouth pouts a bit as she rolls her eyes. "You best start teaching me on the very morrow, then."

"Whatever you ask of me, milady."

"I'm not much for dancing," she warns.

"Whatever you say, milady."

"I'll just end up stomping all over your feet."

"Don't care."

She lets out a resigned groan, but finally places her hand in is.

His heart soars.

-|x|-

After she steps on his toe for the tenth time, he can't help but suspect. "Okay, now you're just doing it on purpose."

She gives an impish smile, looking up at him through her dark lashes, with slate eyes gleaming with triumph.

His gut flips at the look.

'She'll be the death of me.' He knows.

('She already was.')

-|x|-

She talks to him of dragon-riders.

Visenya Targaryen, especially. And how the conquerer road Vagar while wielding Dark Sister. There is even a pointed reference to how Visenya single-handedly won the Vale of Arryn.

He knows it is family pride that spurs his response. "And yet it was our fleet that incited the worst setback the Targaryens bore during the War of Conquest. Or are you forgoing the Battle of Gulltown?"

Arya scoffs. "Are you forgoing how King Ronnel gave up the entirety of the Vale for a chance to ride a dragon?" It's endearing to Gendry, how deep her loyalty to her homeland is. The very thought of someone giving up their own seems entirely foreign to her.

('And how will you herald such a wildly loyal northern girl past the Bloody Gate? Chains or Cage?')

"He was a child, milady. Surely you don't think he made the decision to surrender all on his own. His mother was Queen Regent at the time, remember." Gendry smirks. "If nothing else, the boy received an interesting moniker from the entire affair."

"Yes, yes. Ronnel Arryn – the only non-Targaryen King to fly atop a dragon. The King Who Flew." Arya intones, still unimpressed. "Turned out to be a pretty ironic name for him, in the end."

('Oh yes. A good story – that of Lord Ronnel Arryn. Jonos, his younger brother, led a coup against him. Jonos deemed Ronnel too deep in love with the Targaryens to lead the Vale. And when the Royces arrived to stop Jonos, the younger Arryn sent his elder brother through the Moon Door. Never deny that there are lessons to be learned from the past. Ronnel Arryn left history as he entered it:  The King Who Flew . What do you imagine you'll be remembered as?)

Gendry continues to ignore Gendrick's commentary while letting Arya guide their conversation as they spin about the room. Her thoughts and opinions endear her to him as much as her voice.

So does the way her form feels in his hands.

For a moment he feels guilty, because in his world, before the War of Five Kings, Arya was too young for his current thoughts and wants. But in this world, she is already five and ten. From the soft curves of her lithe frame he knows she has bled years ago. That she is now of an age where betrothal and marriage is possible...

' It's the easiest way to save her, and to give the North another army besides.'

They continue to spin.

It's been three songs, and it still isn't long enough. In his head, Gendrick keeps trying to tell him something with a fury. But Gendry has now completely blocked out the unwanted presence so that he can spend the moment entirely with Arya, who is telling him all about Queen Nymeria.

They spin and they spin and they spin.

They talk and he even elicits more than one laugh from her.

What Gendrick means to say behind the door Gendry holds him behind must be dire, because suddenly Gendry sees a big splotch of red blooming on Arya's stomach.

He roughly shakes the vision away. His jailkeep distracted, Gendrick returns from his exile with a palpable fury.

('Careful, careful. Don't ever send me away again. Who knows what I'll take with me?' He threatens.)

Arya frowns, cutting off her story of how she once hid sheep shit in Theon Greyjoy's boots and pillows after some characteristically misogynistic comment. "Is something wrong?"

Robb's appearance at the end of the song prevents Gendry from having to answer.

"Surely five songs with our guest is enough. Care to grace your brother with one?" The older Stark doesn't look at Gendry at all, keeping his eyes trained on his youngest sister.

Arya – in typical Arya fashion – snorts, and batts away her brother's proffered hand. "I've had enough dancing." Both her hands go to her ('not blood-stained') stomach. "I want to eat."

Gendry can't help but laugh at her bluntness. "I'm famished as well. I'll join you."

Robb straightens, turning to face Gendry and that's when Gendry notes the older Stark's tight face. There is no easy grin anymore. "What an impressive appetite. Did you not just eat with me, Lord Gendrick?"

Gendry feels his own guard crawl up. "I suppose all this dancing really made me work up an appetite, yet again." And before Robb can protest or question him further, Arya intervenes. "You heard him, Robb. Northern hospitality, and all that. Can't let our guests starve. Or me." And then she brazenly grabs the Arryn's wrist before dragging him behind her as she makes her way back to the end of the high table.

"So like I was saying, Rhoynar women were taught to fight and..."

Gendry knows he has a silly smile on his face, happily letting himself be led by the girl who owns his heart.

('You really can't feel the Warden's heavy gaze?')

-|x|-

He has barely been sitting with Arya for five minutes when he is approached by a smiling Alyssa.

"Oh brother, might you spare some energy for a song with me?"

And despite his hesitation to leave Arya, he finds himself once more on the dance floor with someone who isn't her. Because as much as he can't deny Arya, he finds himself unable to deny his sister either. Especially such an ostensibly simple request.

Yet the minute they start their steps, and he truly looks at Alyssa's smile, he knows something is wrong. "You had best dance with the other girls more, especially Lady Sansa." Her words are like ice, though they leave lips tilted in a pleasant smile.

Gendry frowns. "I've already danced with them. Why is more rounds necessary?"

Alyssa looks at him as though he is dull. It is Gendrick who lends him the answer.

('You besotted fool. It is what I was trying to tell you before you shoved me away. You danced with that wayward girl for too long – you sent too strong a message. One that says you'd spurn the Stark's eldest daughter to take the younger.')

' Hardly spurning. Like I said, I already danced with Sansa and the others.'

' Near begrudgingly and after thorough encouragement from Lady Catelyn and Aly. And yet you spend half the night with Lady Arya in your arms, smiling and laughing, announcing to all the North that she is something special to you.'

'She is something special to me.'

"I can manage my own affairs." He says to both his critics.

Alyssa's placid smile stays in place, but her dark brows furrow slightly. "I don't understand how you think now. Even how you talk, sometimes. You're different. You have been for the past few months. Even before we came here. Ever since… ever since you were sick, I think."

('Oh Aly, if only you knew.')

Gendry once more feels his guard build. Both Arryns are silent for the rest of the song. When it ends, Gendry makes his way back to the high table only to note that the end previously occupied by himself and Arya is now empty. He looks around, and doesn't see a pale grey dress amongst the bodies in the hall. Not with Jon. Not with the other men. Not even with her younger brothers.

Gendry also notes that Lord Stark is missing. Suspicious now, he approaches his former seat by Robb and sits down slowly. "Surely Lady Arya didn't fill her stomach within a single song?"

"She retired early." Robb responds with another tight smile and a glance behind Gendry's shoulder (in the direction where Gendry knows Lady Catelyn sits). "But if you're so eager for another dance, I have another sister."

Gendrick Arryn can rightly refuse a suggestion whispered by his younger sister, but unfortunately, he can't refuse a public one from the heir of the Keep he stays in.

-|x|-

'Septa Mordane and Septa Harcelle could be sisters,' fumes a resentful Arya, as she once more pricks her finger with another thrice-damned sewing needle.

Stitching with both Septas and the other Ladies this morning had been an absolute nightmare, even more so than it usually was.

And so, when Gendrick Arryn interrupts the lesson, Arya lets out an obvious sigh of relief.

"My sincerest apologies for my interruption, Ladies." Gendrick voices flippantly, clearly unconcerned by his entrance at all. "Lady Arya promised a tour of the Keep this morn, and I imagine all that Stark honor as left her restless in her seat to see her word through."

Septa Mordane sputters.

Septa Harcelle's voice is firm. "My Lord, that is hardly appropriate-"

Gendrick interrupts her easily. "Worry not, good Septa. One of the Vale squires will serve as a chaperone to protect my virtue from the wild wolf girl."

Arya barely contains her laughter at the way Septa Mordane's face balloons and reddens in equal measure. In fact, she had already risen from her seat the moment the Arryn boy entered her cage. She is desperately eager to escape the room where the other girls are being especially caustic today. Before either of the Septas, or her sister or his, or the other girls in the room can craft some reason why she has to stay, Arya is quickly following Gendrick through the doors.

Arya smirks as they walk down the hall. "And by tour you mean training?"

The dark-haired young man by her side smirks conspiratorially. "Why, milady, whatever do you mean? You're taking me on a completely unsuspecting and utterly dull walk through the Keep, starting with the Godswood. Where no one can see what we get up to, or hear the clanging of sparring swords. And my loyal friend from the Vale," he points to a bronze-armoured man at the end of the hall. Arya recognizes the man as Andar Royce from Bran's earlier eager naming of all the Vale knights that entered through the gates. Gendrick continues. "Well, he will ensure we don't get up to too much mischief."

When they approach, Andar Royce gives them both a playful wink and a teasing motion of sealing his mouth shut. Arya decides the sable-haired squire seems the very epitome of mischief.

-|x|-

When it was first announced by father that Lord Elbert Arryn's son and daughter were to spend a year at Winterfell, it was all anyone seemed to talk about. Specifically – whether it be mother or Sansa or the other girls or even Mordane – all they seemed to talk about was Sansa's impending prestigious role as Lady of the Vale. While sneaking through the halls, she had even overheard her mother telling Mordane that the Seven were setting right a wrong by once more placing Tully blood on the Eyrie seat. (Which didn't make much sense to Arya, since to her knowledge, the only Tully to ever be Lady of the Vale was her aunt, who was long dead.)

So for months, all she heard about was Gendrick Arryn.

To be honest, she wasn't sure who idealized him more, Bran or Sansa. Her brother went on endlessly about knighthood, eager to meet the youngest knight of their generation. He sister went on endlessly about future betrothals, eager to impress her future husband.

What Sansa - and everyone else - just assumed was that the lauded Gendrick Arryn would lay his eyes on pretty, ladylike Sansa once he arrived through the gates, and immediately fall in love with her. In truth, Arya did too.

She expected him to be some pompous southern prince. She expected him to strut about like an elitist snob. She suspected he would act like an entitled ponce. She suspected him to have been knighted so young only because King Robert was his uncle. So when she saw the hammer on the Arryn's side on the day the party from the Vale arrived, she expected it to be nothing more than a showpiece.

But as she learned while spying on the spars, Gendrick Arryn knew how to wield the weapon.

In every way, he wasn't what she expected, at all.

Instead, he was someone who encouraged Jon to fight truly, even if it meant losing to a bastard. He was someone who offered to teach her swordplay, even though she was not a man. He was someone who didn't chide her for admiring the songs about Visenya instead of Jonquil, and actually listened to her talk about how she aspired to be like Nymeria of the Rhoyne.

Before he arrived, all Lady Catelyn seemed to stress was to not make a poor impression on the man. She warned Arya near daily to not do anything that would reflect poorly on Sansa, to jeopardize Lady Alyssa's opinion of their family. And she repeatedly, sternly ordered Arya to not offend the family of Jon Arryn - the man that had been like a second father to Arya's own.

And yet, when Arya actually started to get along with Gendrick, everyone still seemed to treat her as though she had done something wrong.

She frowns, recalling how her agitated father had quickly guided her from the welcome feast back to her room the night prior

-x-

" I'm serious, Arya. I need to know how involved you are with Lord Gendrick."

"Like I told mother, and Robb, and Sansa - multiple times - it was just a stupid dance! I don't get why you're all making such a big show of it!"

Arya hates how everyone treats her like some criminal for forging a friendship. She hates how no matter what she does, somehow it is always wrong.

Her father stands silently at the door to her chambers, looking at her as though he is afraid for her… no, he's looking at her as though he is afraid  of  her. "Gods help me, but you truly do take after your aunt."

-x-

"We've arrived, milady."

-|x|-

He and Andy spent their entire morning finding then readying a secluded spot in Winterfell's Godswood. Gendry searched thoroughly to locate a well away from any heart tree where the castle's inhabitants might come to pray. Gendry had even suffered through all of Andar's jibes and jeering.

"Just wait until I write to Rolly and Harry. Little Lord Celibate finally found himself a woman! One you're even going out of your way to woo." Andy chortled. "They'll call me a liar, and write back claiming they'd sooner believe grumpkins were climbing up our mountains, just you wait."

But worse than the teasing was the flashes, one specific one that kept repeating every time they came across the red-teared faces of the heart trees. It was a replay of the same fragment that he awoke to – of Arya in a bloodied white gown, of her motionless form being carried in his arms into the depths of Winterfell's godswood, while snow fell and mourned her.

And yet, it is worth every smarting jest and every gory flash, to see the way Arya smiles at him when he offers her a training sword.

-|x|-

It's at the very end of their swordplay training, after Gendrick tells her they're done their first session, that Arya voices her question. "Aren't you going to ask for some archery practice?" She nods her head towards the unused archery gear and target behind the large form of her training partner. He had seemed so desperate for it yesterday, that him not demanding some guidance during their very first session confuses her.

He shakes his head, his inky black locks wet with sweat. "We've already been gone more than long enough for your supposed," he smirks, "tour."

Arya feels herself grin back as a humorous image flashes across her mind. "Oh, yes. And how will you explain it when you keep getting lost in our Keep despite such an extensive tour of the grounds?"

"I'll blame it on my incompetent guide, of course."

Arya whacks her training sword at him, rolling her eyes when he holds his arm in an exaggerated mock injury.

She snorts at his dramatics. "Whatever you say, Gendry."

They both freeze.

Arya stutters over the fact that she just addressed him by the wrong name. She feels her cheeks burn at her own stupidity. "Sorry. I didn't mean… I don't know why I... I promise I didn't forget your name!"

Gendrick doesn't say anything.

'And now I've offended the only person willing to teach me.'

In time with her thought, he shakes his head. "No. No, please. Don't apologize. You can call me that." His voice grows hoarse. "Please call me that. I - I like the way it sounds coming from you."

The way he says the last words send her cheeks into a greater heat, her grip on her training sword tightens. And then she finds another question at the tip of her tongue. "You always call me milady. Why is that?"

He stiffens at her words, turning his gaze to his boots as he mumbles out a response (gosh, but he didn't act like any highborn she had ever met). "That's what you are, aren't you? A Lady?"

Arya frowns at his half-hearted response. "No." Arya steps closer to him, forcing his gaze back unto hers. "The way you say it when you say it to me … it's like…" 'It's like you mean for me to hear something else. As if you mean something more.' Her resolve hardens, and she presses the blunt edge of her sword against his annoyingly firm chest. "Answer me," she demands. "Why do you call me that?"

Her annoyance at him is on par with her annoyance at herself. She doesn't know why such a strange name came to her lips, especially since she is nowhere near familiar enough with the Arryn heir to be calling him anything that isn't his title.

And yet…

There is a familiarity – an ease of being with him – that she hasn't ever felt with anyone before. 'Not even Jon.' The traitorous thought spurns her, and she reiterates her question once more. Because if there is a second thing she doesn't understand, it is why her heart jumps whenever he casually calls her milady.

Despite being at the end of her blade, his smile softens. "It suits you."

She nods, knowing he is telling the truth but confused by the odd warmth that fills her chest with his words. It's too unfamiliar, this feeling, so she chooses to ignore it. "We should probably keep meeting in the morning, before dawn, to continue." She lowers her sword. "It will have to be before the others awaken. If we try to disguise it as walks, my mother will send her own chaperone. One who won't be as amiable to our trade as yours was." She gives a pointed look at Andar, who is snoring at the base of a weirwood, a hundred yards away. She raises a brow. "You'd think he'd be more fearful of the Old Gods, given that he is a descendant of the First Men as well."

Gendry snorts. "The only thing Andy fears is his mother learning of his frequent trips to the local brothel."

He says the latter word with distaste, and despite her own acquaintances with some of the whores in Winter Town, Arya finds him all the more endearing for it.

"We should head back," he says, as she lets him take the sword from her hands.

She nods. "Okay Gendry."

He smiles, wider than she's ever seen. He looks so genuinely happy, and Arya doesn't understand why. She covers her confusion. "We should probably wake up your friend."

The Arryn's smirk turns mischievous as he eyes the slumbering form of the squire. "And how does milady propose we go about that?"

And Arya decides she quite likes this not-pompous, not-entitled, not-anything she expected, not-Sansa's boy.

She lets out a laugh as Gendrick - Gendry - pours water from his flask on the sleeping squire.

While Andar splutters, her new friend laughs.

And for a moment, the briefest moment, his eyes are blue.

-|x|-

Gendry smiles as he enters the courtyard with a still soaked and grumbling Andar. 'Mayhaps I'm not so alone after all.'

('No, you're really not.')

-|x|-

On the other end of Westeros, Shireen Baratheon wakes up screaming.

End of Chapter 2

Would you guys rather have a Shireen POV & Davos POV next chapter, or a Sansa and Bran POV next chapter?

There will, of course, be more gendrya - how do you like there characterizations so far? What do you think can be improved? Any mistakes?

COMING UP

-x-

Davos sighs, turning to Matthos. "Tell your mother and brothers that I'll be back shortly."

Matthos gives him a concerned look. "Father, are you well?" He says his next words cautiously. "My mother died when birthing me."

-x-

Davos is unsurprised to find Stannis with a frown on his face. However, he is surprised by his Lord's words. "Gendrick wishes to wed Ned Stark's youngest daughter. From how Senna says Alyssa wrote it, he all but spurned the rest of House Stark in order to court the girl. Fool. She worries he will grow into Robert if her and Elbert do not consent to the match.

And then Davos knows.

He doesn't know how he can be so certain, but he is. After all, Gendrick Arryn – in desperate love with Arya Stark. It can only be the lad.

-x-

Lady Catelyn's eyes widen. It is the closest to gaping that her mother could ever be accused of. "You took Stannis Baratheon's daughter?!"

-x-

"Don't worry for her so, Lord Arryn." Sansa says the title sweetly, with a mocking smile. "After all, they don't hurt little girls in Dorne."

Gendry scowls. "Ya? Tell that to Myrcella Baratheon."

Sansa rolls her eyes, before correcting him. "She was a Waters."

Gendry bristles. "And her not being trueborn makes her death mean less?"

-x-

Sansa raises an unimpressed brow. "Marriage is a trade, not some fairytale...armies and resources... happiness is irrelevant.

-x-

Senna's voice is ice. "If you mean to take me to your rooms, I would caution against it. My brother clearly holds little regard for me, but I doubt even he would tolerate you ruining me before our wedding." She says it with a tinge of doubt, as though she suspects Robert wouldn't care, and as though she suspects Elbert might make use of the knowledge. ... I really shouldn't be surprised. Stannis warned me. Robert cares more for you and Ned then he ever has for us, for me...You wanted me. And you knew if you asked, Robert would give me to you. As though I was… As though to my own brother, I mean nothi—" her voice breaks. "As though to my own brother I am nothing but a prize to be gifted to his most loyal followers." Bitterly, she continues. "And you surely are that."

-x-

That's why you're here, isn't Gendry? To take my sister from me once again.

-x-

Gendrick roars in his mind. 'Did you forget? taking a Stark girl from her family is what started the last war!'

-x-

It must have been painful... to learn of your family and then lose them in the very same breath.

-x-

He is a useless bystander as he sees the life leave her. "You'll be okay. Be good. Love. Love you… Cat. Was gonna… name her… Cat. Sorry. Sorry." Her eyes empty, and his heart stops.

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