Chapter Text
Arya was in the crowd watching as the horses went by. She was tracking faces of the soldiers as much as she was chasing her childhood excitement of seeing an envoy come to Winterfell. She knew nothing would quite live up to the first moment she saw the riders with the banners for both Houses Baratheon and Lannister billowing out behind them as the King rode in. But she thought this might be a very close second. The army of Unsullied moved like one organism, their steps never faltering, sounding like the rumble of thunder as they struck the ground. She admired the way they accounted for the horses slightly more unpredictable movements, and the very stark contrast to the way the Dothraki rode in behind them. They had an order and a precedence, sure, but the Unsullied were a mountain.
When Daenerys went past with Jon at her side, Arya stood straighter. She stared at her brother hoping to catch his eye. She felt the urge to call his name rise up in her throat, but she bit it back. Surely he would see her, feel her gaze in the crowd and know she was there. He didn’t. He rode past, eyes fixed forwards. He looked good—whole and healthy. Arya thought he looked more like Ned Stark than he ever had before, with his hair pulled back and the cut of his leathers. Their father would be proud. She swallowed down her disappointment. Next passed a carriage carrying Varys and Tyrion Lannister. She paid them no mind, eyes catching on the Hound. Somehow, impossibly, alive and well.
She… really wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Arya didn’t have much time to figure it out as the next person to come along nearly knocked the wind right out of her.
Gendry.
Gendry had lived. He was right there. He wouldn’t see her, she knew. He would be too focused on riding the horse to pay much mind to the people around him. She could immediately tell the way he sat in the saddle that he was at least better than a total beginner horseman. He wouldn’t fall off. She had a sudden deep desire to see the look on his face as he road in to Winterfell for the first time. If she moved quickly, she might be able to beat the party back to the gates.
Arya turned, fluidly making her way back through the crowd of townsfolk to her horse. She had barely seated herself before she was compelling the animal into a gallop. The Queen may have taken the main road in, but that by no means made it the fastest route—only the safest. Arya led her mare over the hills the way she’d memorized as a child. The snow made it a little harder, but it helped that her horse had trod it to get into town earlier. The only time she allowed herself to pause was to take in the dragons as they soared overhead.
She burst in through the gate, mayhaps mere minutes ahead of Jon. Sansa was standing in the center of Winterfell’s main courtyard, Bran beside her. She took one look at Arya, fondly rolling her eyes. Arya shot her sister a small smile, leaping from the saddle and handing the reigns to Wyllem, the stableboy.
“Make sure she’s well fed and watered,” Arya instructed. “She worked hard to get here in time.” The boy nodded, pulling her horse towards the stables where the other hands and stable master were standing.
Arya resettled bits of her clothing after riding, and took her place next to her sister. Sansa glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “I thought you were going to watch from town?”
Arya shrugged, “Changed my mind.”
Sansa might have replied had the bannermen and the Unsullied not come through the gates. Arya watched as Jon quickly broke ranks to ride forward to them. She spared a look to the Dragon Queen to see her reaction, but saw only patience and tenderness at Jon’s eagerness to get to them. Very quickly Jon was kissing Bran on the forehead, and exchanging words; then he was moving to Arya. She let out a heavy breath and flung herself into his arms. It felt as if the moment her feet left the ground as he hugged her, so too did she leave her body behind, and all that was left was the little girl who never wanted to leave her brother.
He put her back on the ground, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“You used to be taller,” she teased. He laughed.
“You still have it?” he gestured to the sword strapped at her hip.
“Needle,” she confirmed.
His eyes hardened ever so slightly, “Have you ever used it?”
“Once or twice.”
Jon looked at her, something passing between them, a shared pain, a shared knowledge of Death. He nodded as if confirming something to himself and moved to greet Sansa. Arya took that moment to take in the rest of the party as they came in. The wheelhouse had come through the gate and the occupants just now disembarking. She watched the Hound ride in and immediately ignore any propriety that would have him greet his hosts. He dismounted, handed off his horse, and tread off to somewhere else. She paid him little mind, searching out the person she’d rode back so quickly for. And gods be good, she caught him right as he came through the gates.
Arya knew he must be trying to fight it, but his eyes went wide as he took in the size of her home. She watched him jump from tower to tower, eyes climbing their heights before dropping down to the base of the next one. She knew it was no Red Keep, but Winterfell was vast and sturdy. It had stood the test of time, and she had to admit… she was a little proud. Smug even.
His horse stopped behind Daenerys, who Jon had (at some point) beckoned forward to meet Sansa. Arya was hardly paying attention. She watched Gendry dismount and begin to amble to the side when his eyes caught hers. Finally.
He froze in place.
Arya felt a smile fully overtake her face.
His jaw dropped open, and it seemed like he said her name, though it wasn’t loud enough to carry.
She took a step forward.
He did the same.
Soon she was walking, running towards him. She completely ignored the Queen and her family, vaguely registering Sansa saying her name abortedly.
He was so close. Arya was almost sure if she didn’t reach him in time, he’d turn to smoke and disappear from in front of her. He seemed to find that same urgency.
They crashed into each other. Her arms went around his neck, and his tightly around her torso. She buried her face in his neck, and one of his hands came up to cup the back of her head. He smelled the same—just like woodsmoke and hot metal. His hair was shorn near to the scalp, which made his ears stick out in a way she’d never noticed they had before. But his arms still felt the same around her, and his voice was still the same when he whispered her name disbelievingly.
“I thought you were dead,” she muttered into his skin.
“I thought you were dead!” he replied.
“Almost,” she whispered.
He pulled back to look at her. Something in his eyes made her heart feel like it was cracking in two. “Arya,” his hands left her back to hold her face. He still didn’t look like he believed that she was standing right there in front of him.
“I know,” she didn’t quite know what she was agreeing to, but his eyes softened, the urgency leaving his face. And she knew it was the right thing to say. He dropped his hands from her face then, resting them unconsciously on her hips.
“You always wanted me to come to Winterfell,” he joked. “Took the long way ‘round, but.”
Arya laughed loudly, gently shoving his chest. Gendry chuckled back at her, not loosening his grip on her in the slightest. She didn’t want him to either. She felt more settled in her own skin than she had since reclaiming her face. Something about Gendry stripped away her barriers; she didn’t have to be strong or unbreakable with him. He’d seen her at her worst, and her most vulnerable. He’d seen her.
Arya felt someone come up behind her, and turned to see Jon. He was looking between the two of them carefully, something in his eyes Arya couldn’t place just yet. “I wasn’t aware the two of you knew each other,” he said.
Gendry dropped his hands from her, and took a small step back. She rolled her eyes, “I’ve known Gendry nearly half my life.”
“Is that so,” Jon turned his eyes to Gendry.
“We met in Kings Landing,” he explained. “After I’d been sold to the Nights Watch, and Arry—uh, Lady Arya was dressed up like a boy.”
“Not a lady,” Arya mumbled.
“Yes, milady,” Gendry nodded to her. “Of course, milady. My apologies—” she reached out to shove him again. His eyes danced when they connected with hers. They were so blue; she could get lost in those eyes for hours, Arya thought. Jon clearing his throat brought her focus back to him.
“It’s good you know each other,” he said, looking between the two of them again. “We’ll all need to be able to work together in the war to come.”
That shifted the mood quickly. Gendry’s face hardened and he nodded to Jon. He shot a look to Arya, tightly smiling. “I’ll see you later,” he promised before walking towards where the carts of dragon glass had come through the gates.
She watched him go, and then turned back to join her siblings. She would see him later, that she promised herself.