Work Text:
Yellow Silk Or Golden Leaves
xXx
My featherbed is deep and soft,
and there I'll lay you down,
I'll dress you all in yellow silk,
and on your head a crown.
For you shall be my lady love,
and I shall be your lord.
I'll always keep you warm and safe,
and guard you with my sword.
And how she smiled and how she laughed,
the maiden of the tree.
She spun away and said to him,
no featherbed for me.
I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,
and bind my hair with grass,
But you can be my forest love,
and me your forest lass.
xXx
The irony of hearing that song on his way to Storm’s End is not lost on Gendry. The lyrics ring bittersweet through the air, memories overwhelming him of a time he never thought he would consider simple. The words float through his head all the way to his new home, the castle he never asked for, the responsibility he shouldered in the potentially vein hope he could make a difference.
His first night in the castle he finds he can’t sleep. His feather bed is far too soft and far too deep. It’s bigger than any bed he’s ever slept in and he can’t shake the thoughts of the woman he wishes was there to share it with him. He wonders if she’s made it to King’s Landing yet, if she’s crossed the last name off her list. There’s a part of him that hopes she never does. After spending most of her life looking for vengeance, he can’t imagine how she’ll struggle to find a new purpose in life. He can only hope she knows he’ll be here for her no matter what, in anyway she needs or wants.
Gendry settles into his new life as a Lord. He meets his bannermen, he listens to his people and he does his best to put things to rights. It’s been awhile since the south has had a Warden and everything is in shambles. The trade is practically nonexistent and a few of the lords have turned their backs on their people in the pursuit of lining their own pockets in the conflict. He intends to put a stop to it, a fact that he’s sure none of them will appreciate. He doesn’t care though. The highborns have abused the baseborns for too long and now that he’s in a position to do something about it he intends to.
His advisors tell him the common folk love him. He doesn’t know how much of that is to bolster his confidence as a leader, but from what he can see they seem to like him well enough.
He’s only been in Storm’s End for a few moons before he’s called to King’s Landing to celebrate the end of the war. There’s a new queen on the throne, the North has been granted independence and the world is at peace for the first time in years. There’s plenty to celebrate.
The feast is city wide, celebrations from one end of King’s Landing to the next and Gendry finds himself rejoicing for the first time since the Night King was killed. Everyone is there, everyone except Arya. Jon tells him she’s around, but no one can ever find her unless she wants to be found. He spends most of his time in King’s Landing looking for her when he’s not attending to his duties, but pretty soon he has to return to his new home. He spends the trip lamenting the missed opportunity to speak with her, but he can’t really blame her for avoiding him. He was drunk and stupid and it probably hurt her more than she would like to admit that he could so easily forget something so important about her as her disdain for her title.
Gendry gets right back to work as soon as he arrives home, ignoring the concerned looks from Davos and his advisors. He’s always been sullen and with his large size and less than sunny disposition, he’s never been very approachable, but since returning from King’s Landing things have apparently gotten worse. So much so that Davos eventually confronts him about it. They share a tankard and he tells him everything, struggling through certain bits. Davos magnages to sooth some of the ache with kind words and wisdom, but it isn’t something the old knight can fix by himself.
Several moons pass and spring begins to bloom. It’s beautiful in Storm’s End and he finds it more agreeable than Fleabottom ever was. He enjoys walking the grounds in the cool spring breezes, finds comfort in the sounds of the rain on the stones of the castle at night, and when he’s not too busy fixing the mess the war left behind, he makes time in the forge to keep his craft well honed.
It is a forge he rejected her in all those years ago, so it only makes sense that he would see her again in one.
The lords who dislike him have apparently had enough and one night, while he’s unable to sleep and too restless to study, he finds himself in the forge, hammering steel for a blade he’s designed with her in mind. With the singing of the metal beneath his hammer he doesn’t hear the assassin until it would be too late, but The She-Wolf of The North has had his back since she was twelve years old and it would seem she continues to do so.
As Gendry turns at the feeling of someone behind him, he finds his would be assassin, weapon raised, ready to strike, but he never moves, frozen in place until his body falls limp on the ground, a Valyrian steel dagger sticking out of his back. Arya is there, staring down at the man with a mixture of anger and hate.
“Arya.” he breaths, drawing her attention. In an instant the hatred is gone, replaced with concern and something else he dares not hope for.
“Are you alright?” She asks, voice full of concern. He nods, dumbfounded. “You must be doing something right if someone sent an assassin after you.” her words pull him from his stupor and looks down at the man at his feet.
“I have to call the guard.” he says.
“I already did. Not the two at the back gate though. They let him in.” she tells him and he looks up at her again.
“How do you know that?”
“I was watching.” she replies as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. He supposes, on some level that it is. And then a thought strikes him.
“How long have you been here?”
“A moon.” she explains. “I wasn’t…” before she can continue, the sound of boots against the ground alert them to the guard.
“My lord!” the captain calls out as he enters the smithy, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. “Are you injured?”
“No, thanks in no small part to Lady Stark.” Gendry replies. He can see her resisting the urge to roll her eyes. She acknowledges the captain and the men who have followed him in before bending down and pulling the knife free. Without thinking, Gendry grabs the rag off the workbench, holding it out to her as she stands to height again. She takes it, wiping the blood off of her knife with it. She resheathes it as Gendry continues. “Apparently the guards at the back gate let this assassin in.”
The captain turns to the men behind him and gives them instructions to gather up the guards and take them down to the dungeons until they could speak to them in the morning. When he’s finished, he turns back to Gendry and asks if he needs anything else.
“No, thank you Captain. I trust you can handle your own men.”
The Captain bows slightly, a look of pride in his eyes at the compliment from his lord. He turns to leave, guiding the rest of his men out. When they’re gone, Gendry turns his attention on Arya again.
“Why did you wait so long to come see me?” he asks, wasting no time.
“I.. wasn’t sure you still wanted me?” she tells him. Her voice is low, soft against the crackling fire of the forge. There’s hope now where there wasn’t before and Gendry feels his heart beat quicken, his pulse race.
“Arry… I will always want you.” he tells her and the look she gives him makes his heart soar. As Gendry moves to step closer he trips, and it’s like a splash of cold water when he realizes the assassin’s body is still laying on the ground between them. “I should probably have someone take care of that.”
Arya chuckles. “You should attend to your duties, milord, before retiring for the evening.” with that she walks out, giving him that little spin and the sly smirk she had before the battle for the dawn. It set his blood ablaze then and it does now as well.
Gendry has never shut down the forge so quickly. He bids one of the guards to get rid of the body as he heads back to his chambers, stopping only long enough to clean up and then nothing can stop him. He’s back in record time, throwing open the door to find Arya on the other side, her boots, cloak and weapons removed, all neatly put away.
“This is quite the feather bed, Milord.”
“It does the job.” he tells her, closing the door behind him. He steps closer, crawling up next to her. She lays down on her side and he follows suit. They watch each other for a time, just enjoying the other’s presence.
“Ask me again.” she whispers, finally breaking the silence.
He doesn’t need to ask her what she means, he’s been thinking about this moment since he left Winterfell. “Arya Stark, will you marry me? Will you be my partner, and help me rule Storm’s End?”
She smiles. “Yes.”
.
.
.
.
After the Lords who betrayed him are dealt with, Gendry announces his engagement to the Lady Arya Stark, Princess of the North. Storm’s End is in a state of celebration. To anyone who had thought long enough on his mood since he arrived, the answer is now obvious.
In three moon’s turns, everyone has arrived. Her sister, The Queen in the North, her hand, their younger brother. Her older brother, the hand to the queen and the Queen of Westeros herself. Brienne and Jaime, Podrick and Tyrion are there, Davos is near tears at the happy news. Even Torrun has come down from beyond the wall.
They gather on the cliffside, overlooking the sea. Arya has become as fond of the view as he has. He watches her walk toward him, surrounded by their friends, family and allies. Under a grey cloak, Arya wears a dress of yellow silk, and on her head a crown of golden leaves. She’s never been more beautiful, his forest lass.
Ten moons later, their daughter is born, and Gendry can’t remember a time he’s been so happy. His fatherbed is no longer too soft and too deep, sharing it with the two loves his life.