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Gendry has never really cared much for weddings.
Even though he’s been to his fair share, both as a groomsman and as a guest, he could never truly understand why anyone would want to put all that time and effort into just one evening.
Not when it would inevitably end with one or two relatives getting belligerently drunk and arguing over politics, or sports or like that one time at Jon and Ygritte’s wedding, over the seating arrangement.
He still laughs to himself sometimes, recalling how utterly mortified his former roommate had been when Uncle Edmure, after a couple glasses of white wine, made a rather off-color remark about being seated next to Ygritte’s adoptive father, Mance.
Luckily, the latter wasn’t deep enough into his cups to take the comment personally, but it had led to quite a few tense moments where Gendry is certain both Jon and Ygritte held their breath.
Well, more so Jon than Ygritte, since nothing ever seemed to really vex the redhead.
Gendry had been fortunate enough to observe this from afar, tucked away into a corner with Arya by his side.
He remembers how the pleasant flush on her cheeks and the champagne induced glint in her eyes had diverted his attention rather quickly back to her.
Even now, years later, heat creeps up his neck when Gendry thinks about how that night ended. They'd barely driven out of the parking lot before Arya was unbuckling his belt and whispering all manner of naughty things right into his ear.
He’d had to pull over less than half a mile outside the wedding venue, just so he wouldn’t crash the car.
Come to think of it, Jon and Ygritte’s wedding might be his favorite of all the ones he’s attended.
At least until tonight’s.
This reception is outdoors – a garden behind an abandoned boathouse in the middle of the park he’d stumbled on by pure accident during a morning jog. Though it’s July in King’s Landing, a rare breeze wafts through the open space, giving him the excuse to pull the woman in his arms that much closer.
The same woman who would probably have something to say to him if it was just a few degrees warmer.
The thought prompts him to draw her further into his embrace, one arm banding around her waist as the other skitters up and down her back, unable to settle on any one spot.
Her dress is low cut enough for him to trace his fingers along the dip in her spine, and he finds himself doing it mindlessly as they sway together; as if he’s counting every ridge and every bone beneath the soft canopy of her skin.
He could probably spend hours tracing endless patterns on her body and has done so on more than one occasion, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
If their meandering path to love – from childhood friends to uni lovers to absolutely something more in adulthood – has taught Gendry anything, it’s that he’ll simply never get his fill of her.
Will never tire of holding her in his arms, or kissing her perfect heart-shaped mouth, or marveling at how fierce she is, and how lucky he is that she's chosen him to be with for the rest of her life.
That’s the other thing Gendry thinks he’ll never get tired of or really used to: the fact that as of a few hours ago, he gets to call Arya Stark his wife.
His wife…
Even though they’ve been together for nearly a decade now and have been in each other’s lives for far longer than that, he’s still having trouble accepting it.
And yet here they are, dancing underneath the stars at their very own wedding reception.
He knows Arya didn’t want a wedding, had told him multiple times that she’d rather have a courthouse quickie followed by take out from their favorite Braavosi spot. Or better yet, an escape to an Essosi beach, where nobody would know them or care if they got married in their bathing suits with crystal blue waters lapping at their feet.
The latter had crossed his mind on more than one occasion during the last six months.
Every time Sansa, Catelyn or Jon – who had emerged as a surprisingly opinionated best man – wanted to make one adjustment or other, Gendry had seriously considered buying two plane tickets to Lys and saying to hells with it.
Looking around the dance floor now, seeing the joy on Sansa’s face as her own wife spins her around; how Jon tries to maneuver around Ygritte’s burgeoning baby bump; Robb and Talisa each holding a twin in their arms as they move to the slow music. Even his mother-in-law looking the most relaxed Gendry has ever seen her as Ned holds her in a loose embrace…
It all makes him glad that they didn’t run off and elope.
For as incredible as it would have been to marry Arya against the backdrop of the sea, her sun-kissed skin glowing as they made vows to spend the rest of their lives together, there’s just something absolutely right about having their closest people with them here tonight.
The people who had opened their home and their arms to him when he was just a surly, grumpy teenager, mourning the death of his mother while trying to make the most of living with his absentee father.
Gendry had never felt like he belonged with Robert and his family, not in the same way he knew he belonged in Winterfell with Starks.
He hadn't known it then, but he learned quickly that the wild, unruly tomboy he'd met his first summer up North - who had kicked a football in his direction and asked him point blank if he was in or out - would become the single most important person in his life. His family personified.
He drops a kiss to her forehead, inhaling that familiar scent of hers, the mix of pine and cinnamon that calls to mind the first snowfall of the season. Gendry leans into it, pressing another kiss to the crown of her head and lingering there.
It might be a second or a minute, or even an entire hour later, he can’t be certain, but eventually Arya lifts her head up; the expression on her face stealing his breath away.
There's so much unbridled emotion there, so much love that Gendry suddenly wonders when it would be appropriate to leave their own wedding.
He smirks at his own one track mind, catching Arya’s attention. She rests her chin on his chest as she arches one expressive eyebrow at him.
“What are you smiling about?”
His face splits into a full blown grin as he gazes down at her.
“Just thinking about how much longer we have to stay here before I whisk you away.”
“Well, that’s what you get for roping me into this.”
Her words alone may sting but Gendry knows better; can see distinctly that she’s merely teasing. And what’s more, the twinkle in her eye tells him that she’s actually enjoying herself.
It still does nothing to assuage the surge of gratitude he feels as his mind travels back in time, to the moment that she’d agreed to marry him.
A lazy Sunday morning in bed, sunlight filtering through the curtains they never bother to close, casting her in an almost ethereal glow.
The warmth of her skin as he leaned over her and dropped the question like a kiss into her shoulder, pausing his exploration of her collarbone, her neck, the tops of her breasts…
“Marry me.”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how Arya had looked at him then, eyes half-mast but also full of wonder. Hand buried wrist deep in his hair as she urged him lower, and lower, and lower until the “yes” turned into something else entirely; into sighs and moans and the sound of his tongue and lips delving into her heat…
Gendry doesn’t remember ever being as happy, feeling as full and overwhelmed by his good fortune…that is until tonight.
And that more than anything makes him lift his hand up to the back of Arya's head, careful not to disturb the elegant twist at the nape of her neck, as he leans down to capture her mouth.
Her lips warm and soft, always so soft, and tonight, they’re pliant beneath his.
He savors it; savors the taste of her. The little gasp she lets out as his tongue skirts the seam of her mouth; her nimble fingers curling into his shirt, as if she wants to grab onto him and never let go.
Somewhere in the periphery of his mind, Gendry hears the cheers that suddenly erupt around them – the heckling and hollering no doubt incited by Theon or by Rickon or maybe even by Robb.
He couldn’t care less, not when he has the most beautiful woman in his arms, and she’s letting him kiss her as deeply and soundly as he wants to.
They eventually pull apart, opening their eyes at the same time and grinning to each other like they’re the only ones in the room. To an extent Gendry thinks they are. A bomb could go off two feet away from him and he doesn’t think he’d notice.
Not when Arya is looking so radiant, with the cream colored dress hugging her in all the right places and her cheeks glowing with whatever rouge Sansa and Margaery had most likely bullied her into.
But most of all, she just looks happy, happy and content. His heart suddenly feels too big for his chest, and he doesn't know where to channel his affection.
“You look stupidly beautiful tonight.”
Arya laughs softly, a melodic sound that sends a shiver down his spine, and then down hers as he nuzzles her neck.
“What does that even mean?”
He takes his time answering, first dragging his lips across her neck, then detouring at her cheek before finally reaching her ear.
“It means I am absolutely stupid around you. Can barely string two words together all night.”
It’s an exaggeration but he can tell the words settle low and warm inside her, or maybe that’s just him projecting. Either way, she pulls him right out of whatever high he’s riding with just a few choice words.
“Isn’t that just your average day?”
And Gendry can’t help but laugh at that; an honest to Gods belly laugh, as he playfully pinches her side.
Arya yelps nearly out of his reach but he doesn’t let her go far.
“Enough out of you,” he mutters playfully against her collarbone, and then he’s tilting her chin up and they’re kissing again, and Arya practically sighs right into his mouth.
He remembers when kisses like this were stolen between them, hidden in dark corners at parties or in the privacy of their apartments. Even though those two months in uni are but a speck in their relationship timeline, for some reason, in this moment, it makes him want to deepen the kiss; an affirmation that he’ll never have to hide his affection for her ever again.
His hand finds its way from Arya's neck to her cheek and he feels her skin heat up beneath his touch as they finally pull apart to catch their breath.
“Keep kissing me like that, and I’ll be the one whisking you away.”
“Is that a promise?”
He can feel the slight shiver his question induces, his voice unintentionally husky as it filters into the nonexistent space between them. Arya looks pointedly at him again, silver eyes reflecting the mix of adoration and desire that’s now coursing through his veins in earnest.
“Absolutely.”
Anticipation settles low in his spine but with it comes an altogether different feeling; one that travels back up into his chest and winds around his heart along with a slew of other emotions he’s having trouble articulating.
He drops his forehead to hers instead, once again losing himself in the feel of her, in how perfectly she fits into his arms, molded to him like she was made for him.
And then, there’s only one thing that can truly sum up how he feels right now.
“Thank you.”
Her eyes widen ever so slightly like she is surprised to hear him say it, and as ineloquent and grumpy as Gendry can be sometimes, Arya is his safe space. The only person with whom he can be himself and be honest, and know that it won't backfire.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted, but you did it anyway, for me, and I just-“
Her unexpected touch on his cheek, thumb brushing along the stubble that he’d done his best to trim for the occasion, catches the rest of his words in his throat.
“You don’t have to thank me, Gendry. I love you and I would do anything for you, you know that right?”
Despite how many times he’s heard her say some version of this over the years, the intensity has never abated. Not once.
It gives him the same thrill, the same exhilaration he felt the first time she’d told him she loved him, wrapped around him in that old armchair in her KLU apartment, fresh off their first fight as a couple.
“I do, but it doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop being grateful. Ever.”
And he punctuates it by leaning down and kissing her cheek and then her nose and then her forehead and her other cheek. Every sharp intake of breath feels like yet another promise between them, of forever, of a future, of family. Everything Gendry never thought he’d have, and still wouldn’t if it weren’t for her.
He pulls away from her skin, tilting her chin up so he can look her in the eye again.
“I love you too, Arya. More than you could possibly know…”
And just like all the other times, he can see just how deeply the words affect her, how they cause the light flush on her skin to deepen and her expression to grow soft, softer than he thinks he’s ever seen before.
It tugs at his heart like no other, even as she presses her forehead against his shoulder, and he feels the distinct curve of her smile.
“I think I do…”
Her voice is barely above a whisper but he hears it loud and clear.
“But you can keep reminding me from time to time, I don’t think I’d mind that.”
“Good, because I don’t plan on stopping.”
And he realizes just how true that statement really is...
He’ll spend the rest of his life reminding her over and over again just how important she is; and how grateful he is for her, and everything she’s given him.
Just then whatever instrumental had been playing comes to a close. Out of the corner of his eye, Gendry spots Sansa impatiently nodding towards the three-tiered wedding cake in the corner of the room.
He can’t help but snort into Arya’s hair, causing her to look up in question.
“I think your sister is signaling that it’s time to cut the cake.”
But Arya doesn’t seem to be in a hurry whatsoever; especially not when the next song starts to play and her eyes alight in recognition.
The big blue sky was watching us
And the breeze was listening to us tell our tale
The sun stayed up just long enough to make it clear
Just what we are doing here
It’s one he knows just as well…and will forever associate with quiet evenings at home, music wafting through the speakers in the living room, Arya in one of his old t-shirts, pulling him into an impromptu dance amidst his protests.
Tonight, he doesn’t mind it so much.
I was born to love you
I will die and go back to stardust
All I know about being alive is that life's for the living
“She can wait.”
Arya says resolutely, before tightening her hold on him and settling her cheek against his chest.
Gendry thinks no amount of impatient glances from Sansa or anyone else in the room could tear him away from her.
It’s his wedding day and he’ll dance with his wife for as long as they both damn well please.
The world will just have to wait, because their love cannot.
All I really wanna do is be close to you
While we're still both around
xxx