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Arya kisses Gendry and slowly stands up, dragging Gendry with her by the grip she has on his forearms. “Ask me again,” she commands.
Gendry looks at her for a moment in confusion. “What?”
“I’m not a lady,” she says slowly, willing him to understand what she’s trying to say. “I’ve never been a lady. I don’t want to be a lady.”
“You’re m’lady,” he argues.
Arya smiles at his stubbornness. Gods, she had missed it over the years. “Ask me again, Gendry.”
“Be my wife,” he says. It’s not a question but not quite a command. “We’ll go wherever you want to go, Arya. No dresses, no sewing, just you and me. I’ll make you any weapon you want and if you want to travel the seas and go back to the Free Cities, we’ll do that too. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.” Gendry’s conviction breaks as he looks down at his feet and sighs in frustration. “I’m supposed to be on my knees, Arya. This isn’t right.”
“You’re missing the point.” Arya pokes him roughly in the stomach. “It wasn’t right before. We’re equals, Gendry. I don’t want you on your knees.”
“What if I want to be on my knees?” He retorts, sliding a hand down her side to curl around her hip.
Arya’s breath catches in her throat a little and she has to swallow. “Later,” she promises. Now isn’t the time for that even if Arya would really, really love to see what Gendry has in mind. “You haven’t finished asking me properly.”
“Arya, do you want to sneak out into the Godswood with me?” He asks.
“That depends on who is asking.” She can’t help but test him again. She doesn’t want Gendry Baratheon, the Lord who owes his kingdom to the dragon queen. She wants the man who used to be the boy she travelled through the Riverlands with. She wants her best friend.
“Gendry is asking Arya, who might be the biggest pain in the ass Westeros has ever seen,” he teases. “to marry him.”
“Just Gendry?”
Gendry nods and Arya rises up on the balls of her feet to kiss him. He leans down just a fraction to make it easier and she hums in appreciation. His strong arms wrap tightly around her waist and Arya pulls herself that little bit closer to him, one hand tangled into the material of his tunic. Her other hand rakes down through his short hair and settles at the back of his neck, her fingers digging into his skin. She absolutely hates how short his hair is. There’s nothing to grab and she’s never letting him make hair related decisions ever again.
“Your hair is so fucking stupid,” she growls, biting his lip. “I hate it.”
“I couldn’t just walk around King’s Landing looking like the dead king, could I?” He scoffs. “That would have gone well. Someone would have recognised me and I’m sure that I wouldn’t have been dragged in front of Cersei to have a cup of bloody wine with her.”
“I’m going to kill her,” Arya promises him. She’s gotten quite good at using knives over the years. She’s ended an entire house by taking Walder Frey’s face, executed Petyr Baelish and destroyed the Night King with one. She likes knives and it seems almost fitting to finish her list off with a weapon that has served her so well recently. “But first we’re going to get married in the Godswood and then we’re going to tell the dragon queen we don’t want her titles.”
Gendry leans down to kiss her sweetly. “Shouldn’t we talk to your family first?”
Arya shakes her head, breaking off the kiss. “I’ve never been the kind of girl to ask for permission or forgiveness and I’m not going to start now.”
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life following you into trouble, aren’t I?” He looks amused, like he’s already resigned himself to it.
“Probably,” she agrees. “But you’ll have to marry me to find out.”
Gendry squeezes her hand. “Let’s get married then.”