Work Text:
There were few things Arya Stark loved more than riding in the cold and foggy morning. The way the chilly air fingered through wisps of loose hair and pulled at her clothes, the way her steady steed felt beneath her, his mane tangled around her fingers. Grinning ear to ear, she focused on the gates of her home as they drew closer. With a single holler, the gates drew open and she flew into the courtyard, people stepping aside as she came to a stop before Lord Stark and a man new to Winterfell.
Sliding from her horse’s back, Arya stepped up to her little brother, ruffling his curly hair and pulling him into a tight embrace. She paid no attention to the man her brother had been conversing with. She pressed a soft kiss to her brother’s cheek and steped away, eyes still dancing with joy.
“You must come with me beyond the Wall one day, little brother. Shaggy would enjoy it and surely you would as well. Jon and I trav—” Her breath caught in her throat when she looked up at the man her brother was accompanied by. The light and smile dropped from her face, replaced with wide eyes and a slack jaw.
Standing there was someone she’d tried her damnedest to forget. Someone with messy black hair and striking blue eyes, a man who still towered over her with strong arms, even after so many years. Someone who was exactly where she’d asked him to be long before she crossed the Narrow Sea, though he was towering over Rickon and not laughing with Robb as she’d hoped. He’d never even had the chance to meet Robb before his untimely death. Here stood a man she’d last seen as a scrappy young bastard, stubborn as a bull. She wondered if she’d plagued his mind as he had hers. Had he thought of her after they parted, or even missed her? Perhaps he’d all but forgotten the skinny little highborn who’d caused him such trouble. Or, on some off chance, he had listened for whispers and rumors of her whereabouts, just as she had when she’d returned to Westeros.
Rickon watched his sister, absolutely confused. He’d never seen a look like that on her face. The only comparison was the day Theon had returned to Winterfell, he’d watched as Sansa first caught sight of him in the hall. She’d dropped her cup and rushed over, pulling him into a tight hug, crying into his chest. But Arya was not Sansa and surely she’d never met Gendry, a bastard of the old king who’d come from the South. In the haste to try and soothe his sister, he began an introduction. “I don’t think you’ve met our new blacksmith, sis—”
“Oh, what’re you starin’ at, you stupid bull?” Arya said, voice ringing through the air.
Just as Rickon was about to scold his sister for her behaviour, Gendry’s stern gaze shattered. A bright smile took hold of his face and Rickon had never been more confused. Gendry had always had a serious look about him, he never smiled or laughed, not in the five fortnights he’d been here. Yet, Arya speaks one sentence and he’s looking like a fool in love.
In the blink of an eye, Gendry has his arms around Arya’s waist and hers are around his neck. He picks her up well of her feet and twirls her around. The entire courtyard has gone silent and now Lord Stark is slack-jawed.
For the first time since she was a little girl, Arya is absolutely free and blissful. She squeals in delight before burying her face into Gendry’s neck, murmuring how much she missed him and hiding her foolish grin. Gendry squeezes her just a little more as he places her on her feet, repeating his own mantra of I missed you’s.
Just a little bit dizzy, Arya grips Gendry’s arm as they separate, once again aware of their surroundings. Murmurs erupt at such a sight. The lowly blacksmith had picked up and spun the wild lady as if she were his sweetheart and she had let him. No one had ever seen such a thing. Hell, Arya would threaten a man if he so much as looked at her the wrong way, but somehow this southern bastard had picked her up and all she'd done was smile as brightly as she had when she'd been reunited with her favourite brother, Jon Snow. Everyone watched in anticipation, waiting for an explanation. One which would come from none other than Lady Sansa, who had joined Rickon at some point during the exchange.
A sweet smirk curled on Sansa’s lips as she looked upon her sister. “I suppose you must know the blacksmith?”
“Yes, I do. Awfully surprised to see he finally showed up.” She turned to him, teasing. “Took you long enough join my brother.”
He smiled down at her. “Suppose I’m just too stupid to listen.”
“And,” Sansa said, “just how do you two know each other?”
“Gendry was my friend after we left King’s Landing. He was supposed to come serve Robb, but he didn’t come with me that far. So, I left him.” When she spoke her brother’s name, her voice broke for a moment, though she was quick to regain her composure.