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For some reason, fate had decided to bring Arya back to him. The days after their initial reunion were filled with tension but also relief and a little bit of nostalgia. She was quieter than she used to be or maybe she just had less to say. Either way, Gendry tried to make up for it with his own stories. He caught her up on everyone he knew her to be acquainted with before she left. If they weren’t talking, they’d be in the smithy with Gendry working and Arya watchful as ever. Every now and then he’d pull himself from the lull of the hammering and glance at her. He did so now and saw her in one of her states.
Sometimes he or someone else would be talking to her and Arya would completely lose herself. It wouldn’t be a temporary little doze off but something else entirely different that Gendry couldn’t figure out. No one else really payed it any mind, but Gendry did and it unnerved him. Arya was as willful and stubborn as she always was so trying to talk to her about it was useless. She hadn’t said anything about where she had come from. Arya had just shown up one day and in all the rush, she had managed to brush off his questions with little waves of her hands and a promised “later."
He knew later to mean, “I’ll tell you when I tell you” and he was willing to wait. He simply contented himself with the mere fact that she was here at all. Yet now, he worried because when she went into her little states, it was almost as if she weren’t there at all.
Gendry set his hammer down gently and turned to her. She didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Not a stir.
“Arya.”
Nothing.
Her eyes were looking at him but definitely not seeing. He set out towards her. She looked as she always does. Messy braid falling over her shoulder. An assuredly borrowed (stolen) tunic tucked into breeches tucked into boots and legs tucked under herself.
He stood directly in front of her, close enough to reach out and touch her and still she gave no indication of even recognizing his presence. Arya’s gaze stayed exactly where he would have been if he were standing at the anvil, but as he walked closer it leveled at about his right bicep.
Gendry raised his hand as if to touch her but hesitated on a hover right by her cheek. Not wanting to startle her, he settled for tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.
“Arya,” he said almost in a whisper.
She blinked and he thought he had reached her but the blink was just that. A blink. Gendry didn’t know what else to do so he spoke to her. He spoke to her in tones softer than he looked capable of.
“Do you know why I insist on calling you m’lady?” he knew she wouldn’t answer but he paused anyway. “For one, you are a lady whether you want to be or not. And you can go on and on about how you’re not but the blood running through your veins says otherwise… Also I do it just to get a rise out of you.”
Gendry thought he saw her eyebrows twitch down a notch. He would have smirked if the pounding in his chest had let him, so instead, he continued on.
“Second, it’s proper and it reminds me of my place when I’m with you because you sure as hell don’t. I’m a baseborn bastard and it would do me well to remember that. Last…” Gendry stopped, unsure. He distracted himself with cupping her cheek softly and forcing out the words.
“Last, it’s… the only way you’ll ever be my lady.”
He knew he wouldn’t have been as brave had she been fully aware and calling him stupid and bull headed but he couldn’t know if she had heard him at all. Gendry started when Arya’s hand caught his against her cheek. She looked pained but she turned her face a fraction towards his hand to plant a kiss on the inside of his wrist.
She murmured against his skin, quietly. He felt it more than heard it but he thought that she said your lady.