Chapter Text
Arya walked around Braavos, no mask in place. Today was not a day for masks. Not that anyone would recognize her face anyways, or so she thought. In the years she'd spent training as a Faceless Man, her body had changed considerably. She was no longer a child, but a slender young woman, with a noticeable swell in her chest and curve of her hips.
Her height hadn't changed as much as she would have liked. She'd only grown a couple of inches since coming to the Free Cities, but her face was much too hardened for anyone to think her a child any longer. Her grey eyes, sharp as ever, noticed everything around her as she walked through the streets. Her hair was much longer, usually tied in a braid down her back. She often thought it a burden, but could never go through with chopping it off again. It was her one reminder of what used to be. In any case, as long as it was tied up it didn't come in the way.
She was dressed in her usual clothing, an overly large shirt, to hide some of her form, and breeches with boots pulled over them to the knee. Her boots held a dagger, as did the bands, one wrapped around each arm, sheathing one blade each. Her hair was in a braid today, but coiled under a hat she'd swiped from an unfortunate merchant's stall earlier in the year. It was old and worn from the countless times she'd used it, not just in a disguise but as shelter from the cold.
Her target today was a guest landing in the ports. She hadn't been given a name, which she briefly thought was unusual before dismissing the thought from her mind completely. She was only told he would be bringing news of the war in Westeros, with a specific question about a lost Stark.
The Starks.
She was a Stark once, that much she remembered. The Faceless Men tried to make her forget, and she did, for a time. But even the training couldn't stop the dreams. Dreams of running through the forest with Nymeria, as Nymeria. She had no way of knowing if they were real, but they were her anchor to home. Something else that was her anchor, although she wouldn't admit it, was the place Nymeria always returned to at the end of the dream. The edge of a village, not far from which stood a forge, often ringing with the sounds of a smith at work late into the night. Arya usually wouldn't let herself think of him, that stupid boy who left her pack. But he always lingered in her mind as she awoke, and that she couldn't seem to stop.
"Watch yourself, boy!"
Arya sidestepped the cart at the last second, shooting the merchant one defiant glare before marching by. Idiot, she thought. Can't even tell the difference between a boy and a girl. But that was the point, then. Most people didn't stop to look twice at a small person in men's clothing, hair covered by a hat. Hiding in plain sight. It was her favorite disguise.
Arya approached the port earlier than expected, so she spent some time moving among the stalls, watching the boats come in one by one. As the morning gradually went on, the port became more and more crowded. Arya began moving closer to the docks, wanting to see who came off the ships. She was looking not for a large ship, but a smaller one that would only hold a few passengers who could pay by coin or trading. Just like the one I came on, she thought grimly.
But it soon became clear that too many boats would be coming in at once, too many for her to keep track of. She retreated back to the stalls, knowing that her target would go there first, as they were the best source of knowledge as to who came in and out of the city. Ever patient, she circled, and finally she heard what she'd been waiting for:
"...She'd have looked like a boy when she got here, tiny thing in clothes too big for her and short hair."
"Boy, do you know how many people come in and out of this port in a day? She could have been anywhere. And if she looks the way you said, she probably was snatched up by someone needing boys for labor. Now move on, you're scaring off all my customers!"
Arya could see why. He was tall, with broad shoulders, towering over many of the people in the area. Although she could only see his back, his shock of black hair and tanned skin would be easy enough to track, tall as he was. His voice had triggered something in her, but she ignored it. She couldn't forget her mission.
As he began to move on, she followed, trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but to no avail. Why wouldn't he just turn around?
Why does it matter? she chastised herself. It doesn't. What matters is that you finish this.
She moved in, got closer to him and got ready to make her move and get out. Nobody noticed a young boy. Until he suddenly turned around, and startled blue eyes met equally shocked grey ones.
Arya stopped cold, one hand up her sleeve on the dagger. For a second, she was twelve years old again, surrounded by pain and sadness, staring into the same blue eyes and wondering what would come next.
He moved forward slightly, one hand out as if to touch her face, and the spell was broken. She turned to bolt, but not before he caught her elbow and spun her around with enough force to knock the cap from her head. All she could do was watch as her braid unraveled and fell down her back, and a myriad of emotions crossed his face: stubborness, disbelief, and then grim certainty.
"I knew it." His voice came out hoarse and low, like he'd been yelling for ages. "I knew I'd find you."
His hand moved from her elbow, up to her shoulder and back down to her her hand, as he grasped his fingers in hers. His other hand moved to her face, and she was shocked to realize he wiped a tear from her face.
"Arya." He sighed her name, now holding her face with both hands.
She came alive in that moment, as if she'd woken up after years of sleep, or cleared the surface of water after having been under for too long.
Her hands came up to grip his arms fiercely, and she pulled him closer, touching her forehead to his.
"You stupid...stupid," she whispered.
Gendry choked out a laugh and pulled her to him, arms like a vice grip around her, his face buried in her shoulder. She felt his breath ghost along her ear as he said her name over and over.