Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gendry can’t get used to this new Arya.  The new Arya who returned to Westeros after years away, now a woman grown.  A woman who is now quiet and still with a mask for a face.  A woman who behaves in such a sharp contrast to the boisterous girl he last saw staring after him as he was carted away in the back of a wagon.  He feels like he doesn’t know her anymore.

“Keep up, Stupid.”

Almost.

He smiles and catches her up, still amazed at how quickly she walks on those small legs of hers.  She hasn’t really grown much taller than when he last saw her, but she has definitely grown in other ways.

Noticeable and distracting ways.

And while her face is nearly the same as it was before, it seems to have refined itself.  The roundness of childhood is gone, replaced by defined cheekbones and a delicate jawline.  Any rough edges or awkward angles have shifted into a unique sort of beauty that is all her own.

Arya was never ugly, but Gendry doesn’t remember thinking her beautiful before.  Now, it seems to be a frustratingly frequent thought.

A flash of light in the sky snaps him out of his thoughts.

“It’s going to rain, and soon,” he says, looking up.  “A lot.”

A distant rumble of thunder reinforces his statement, and Arya nods.

“I see signs of life ahead.  Hopefully it’s a town where we can shelter,” she says.

“Do we have enough coin for an inn?” he asks.  “If there is an inn…”

“Yes,” she answers.

She had appeared out of nowhere the night before, nearly shocking him out of his boots.  He arranged for her to stay the night at the inn, but the next morning she declared she was leaving to go to Winterfell and her family.

He didn’t even have to think before declaring he’d go with her.  He packed what few things he had, left a note for Jeyne and Willow, and followed her, knowing full well that is what he would be doing for the rest of his life.

Following Arya.  Wherever she chose to go.

He has very little money, but apparently she has money enough to rent a room for the night.

The first drops of rain start falling just as they reach the town.  They aren’t completely soaked by the time they reach the inn, but they are definitely wet.

“Do you have any rooms available?” Gendry asks the innkeeper.

“Aye,” he answers.

“We’d like one then,” he says, trying to hide his exasperation with the man.

“And whatever you have for dinner,” Arya adds, plunking some coins down on the bar.

The man looks at it, then slides it towards himself and deposits it in his apron pocket.  “Hetty will show you to your room,” he says.  “Hetty!”

A plump young woman comes over, looks them up and down, then gestures with her head that they should follow her.

They reach the room and Hetty opens the door.

“Thank you,” Arya says.  “Can we have our dinners brought up here?” she asks.

Hetty nods.

“How long will it take?” Arya asks.  “We haven’t eaten all day.”

Hetty holds up her hand and brings her index finger and thumb close together but not touching.

“You can’t speak?” Arya asks, her voice kind.

Hetty shakes her head no.

“Dinner will be coming soon?” she confirms, and Hetty nods.

Arya presses a coin into her hand.  “Thank you.  Make sure you keep this for yourself,” she says, closing her hands around the other woman’s so it folds the coin into her palm.  Hetty smiles and nods, then leaves.

Arya turns around and sees Gendry staring at the room, his back to her.  She walks over.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks.

She has always been able to sense how he is feeling.  “There’s only one bed,” he answers.

“Well of course there’s only one bed.  You didn’t say you wanted two beds and he probably figures we’re married,” she comments, walking over to the fireplace.  She sits in one of the chairs in front of it and starts taking her wet boots off.  “Come start a fire,” she says.

Gendry wanders over and does as she has bidden, trying to hide his discomfort with the situation.

“We’ve slept beside each other plenty of times anyway.  I don’t know why you’re being so weird about this,” she says.

“We were children then,” he says, standing and looking down, watching the fire catch and spread.  “We were children and we were trying to stay warm and safe.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she continues.  “If we had to make camp, we’d still sleep beside each other.”

“That’s different,” he says, reaching for more logs in the wood box beside the fireplace.

“Different how?  Because that is outside and this is a proper bed?” she asks.  “Make sure you take your boots off.”

“Yes, that’s how,” he answers, sitting to remove his boots.

“That’s stupid,” she declares.  “It’s just sleep.”

He keeps his mouth closed, setting his boots by the fire to dry and then removing his outer layers so they can also dry.

“I’ll sleep on one side and you’ll sleep on the other and there will be space between us,” Arya says, not hiding her growing exasperation.

Gendry glances at the bed as drapes his wet garments over the back of the chair.  It’s big enough for two but isn’t that big.  He’s going to be clinging to the edge the whole night.  “I can sl—”

“If you say you’ll sleep on the floor I will stab you through the hand,” Arya interrupts, standing to go answer the knock that just sounded at the door.

Hetty is there with a tray.  She brings it in and sets it on the table.  There are two bowls filled with some sort of stew, a hunk of bread, and two tankards of ale.

“Thank you, Hetty,” Arya says.

Hetty nods and exits, leaving them alone again.

“Good idea having this brought here,” Gendry says, picking up his bowl.  “I didn’t want to be in that crowd.”

“I didn’t either.  As much as I want to listen to what people are talking about, I don’t want people poking into our business and asking who we are,” she agrees, picking up the other bowl.

“Are we traveling in secret?” he asks.

“No, but if any of my family is still alive, I’d prefer it if they find out I’m alive from me and not from gossip,” she says.

xXx

Arya slides into the bed, clad only in a tunic and her smallclothes.  She doesn’t have much clothing with her and most of it was wet so it had to come off to dry overnight.

Gendry, against his better judgment, did the same.  He awkwardly climbs into the bed as well, lying with his back to Arya, close to the edge.

“You’re going to fall off the bed,” she comments, pulling the blanket up to her ears.

“I am not,” he protests.

She is quiet for a moment, then says, “Fine.  Fall off the bed then.  I don’t care.”

Gendry knows she does care and only said that to make him move away from the edge.

And damn her, it works.  He shifts backwards, away from the edge of the bed just enough to feel somewhat secure.

He can feel the warmth of her behind him.  He tries to ignore it.

“Good night, Arry,” he mutters.

“Good night, Gendry.”

xXx

Gendry slowly wakes early the next morning, feeling warm and unreasonably cozy.  Comfortable.  Secure.

When something moves in front of him, he remembers where he is and who he is with.

The inn.  Arya.

Arya, currently snuggled into his arms like she was meant to be there.

She squirms again and he wills himself to stay still, keep his breathing even and slow.

Pretend you’re still asleep.

He’s not sure why, but he wants to see how she’ll react to waking up in his arms.

To his surprise (disappointment?) she doesn’t react at all.  She briefly scrunches herself smaller, then stretches a little.  Then she eases herself out of his embrace and out of the bed.

His arms feel empty and cold.

He peeks and sees her walking towards the privacy screen, probably to use the chamber pot.

Just before she disappears behind it, she glances back at him.

Thankfully, his eyes were only slitted open and he saw her head move in enough time to close them again.

But he saw the flush on her cheeks and he thinks she was looking at him with fondness.  From what he was able to see before he had to close his eyes.

He decides to ignore the pressure of his own bladder and see if she’ll come back and wake him up.

When she slides back into bed and worms her way back into his arms, he can’t stop the smile from pulling at his lips.

Chapter Text

Arya has never been happier to see an inn.  She has only been back in Westeros a short time, but nothing has gone right since she set foot back on this side of the Narrow Sea.  Her food got eaten by animals while she slept.  Her toes nearly got frostbite when her boots got wet.  A bandit tried to rob her… but he was dealt with easily enough.  Then her fucking horse, the horse on which she spent most of her coin purchasing, threw a shoe.

So when the inn appeared like the Mother herself put it there for her, Arya nearly started crying.  And she can’t even remember the last time she cried.

Leaving her horse tied up outside, she walks into the inn and quickly locates the innkeeper.  Or at least she assumes the woman who is telling everyone what to do and yelling at the surprisingly large number of children is the innkeeper.

“Please tell me you have a room available,” Arya says.

“We have several,” the woman answers.  “How many nights do you need?”

“It depends on how long it takes to find someone to re-shoe my horse,” Arya says.  “She threw one this morning and I’ve been walking and leading her all day.”

“We have a smithy with a good smith just across the way,” the innkeeper says, pointing.  “I’m sure he’d be able to help you.”

“Thank you,” Arya says.

“Let me show you to your room and then you can go talk to him,” she says, leading her away from the common room.  “Make sure he sees you before you start talking though.  You don’t want to surprise a blacksmith.”

“Makes sense,” Arya agrees.

xXx

The room is small, but clean.  The bedding seems fresh and the straw mattress doesn’t smell.  Arya allows herself a short amount of time to sit down (the whole time looking longingly at the bed, but she knows that if she lies down, she will not get up again until tomorrow morning), then heads back out into the cold to go find the smith.

She can hear the sharp sound of hammer against steel as soon as she is across the road, and follows it to the door of the smithy.  The door is closed but not locked, so she opens it and slips inside.

She thinks her heart stops.

Gendry.  Gendry is here, alive, working as a smith.  Alive.

She almost bolts, but then remembers Gendry is her friend and running away would be stupid for a multitude of reasons.

Make sure he sees you before you start talking.  Arya slowly walks towards him, waiting for him to catch the motion of her body in his periphery.

He barely glances up for a second, then says, “You’re not supposed to be in here, Tansy,” before raising his hammer again.  He is just about to strike the piece of metal he is hammering but then he stops and looks up again, this time straight at her.

“Arya.”

The arm holding the hammer up drops, hanging limply at his side.  He stares at her like he can’t believe what he is seeing.

“Who’s Tansy?” Arya asks, tilting her head slightly.

“A girl who lives at the inn.”

“Your lover?  Wife?”

“She’s a child,” he answers.  “Not my child.  She’s an orphan.”  He steps around the anvil and starts walking towards her.  “The little ones aren’t allowed to be in here.”

“You thought I was a child?” she asks, lifting her chin to look up at him.

He stops in front of her.  “Well, you haven’t grown much taller than the last time I saw you,” he observes.  “But you have grown.”

“So have you,” she replies.  Her hand lands on something firm and warm.  She sees it on his arm but doesn’t remember moving it.

Suddenly, Arya is being crushed against his chest in a fierce hug.  Gendry is holding her so tightly she can feel the hammer, still gripped in his hand, pressing into her back.

“I thought you were dead,” he whispers into her hair.  “I was sure you were dead.”

She manages to lean back just enough to lift her head and look up at him with her chin pressing into his sternum.  “I thought you were dead, too,” she says.  “I thought that witch was going to kill you.”

He finally relaxes his hold on her.  “She would have, but someone helped me escape,” he explains.  “Why are you here?” he finally thinks to ask.

She laughs, having completely forgotten her purpose.  “My horse threw a shoe,” she says.  “I’ve been… away.  Most recently been traveling from Duskendale, heading home to Winterfell.”

“I can re-shoe your horse,” he says.  “Then you can tell me about your time away when we’re on the road.”

“What?”

“I’m coming with you, of course.”

Chapter Text

Stannis eyes Gendry, looking him up and down, his face pinched, like he had just been sucking on lemons.  “Half Robert, half lowborn,” he quietly assesses.  Then his gaze turns away, looking down and to Gendry’s right.  “And who is the urchin?” he asks, looking down his nose at Arya.

“She is someone, but the Lord of Light has not revealed her identity to me yet,” Melisandre smoothly answers.  “She refused to leave his side.”

“And you brought her along anyway?” Stannis asks, clearly thinking that it would have been easy to leave her behind.

“She may be of some use to us,” Melisandre replies.

Arya looks at Gendry and rolls her eyes.  He simply shrugs, still completely baffled as to what this witch and Lord Stannis Baratheon want with him.

“Girl, what is your name?” Stannis asks, turning his attention back to Arya.

“Nan,” Arya answers.

“A lie,” Melisandre declares, walking to the fireplace.  She bends down over the fire.

“Fine.  My name is Weasel,” Arya says.

“That certainly cannot be true either,” Stannis says.

“Sit,” Melisandre says, walking over.  She has a red candle in her hands, and it is lit.

Gendry eyes her nervously, worried that she is going to burn them.  He’s not worried about himself; being a blacksmith’s apprentice, he is quite used to getting burned.  His concern is for Arya.

Once Arya and Gendry are seated in a pair of chairs, Melisandre takes her finger and pokes it into the flame on the candle.  When she withdraws her finger, the flame is balancing on the tip, like her finger is now the candle.  She whispers an incantation and the flame turns red.

“The Flame of Truth,” she declares.  She holds her hand over Gendry’s head.  “What is your name?” she asks.

“Gendry,” he says.  He doesn’t feel strange or odd in any way, so he is still skeptical of the flame’s alleged power.

“No family name?” Melisandre asks.

“No family,” Gendry answers.  “My mother died when I was little and I never knew my father.”

“Your father was Robert Baratheon,” Stannis informs.

“My father was the king and he left me to be raised in the streets of Flea Bottom?” Gendry asks, suddenly incensed.  “He was off living in a bloody castle while I had nothing!  So don’t call him my father, because a father would have taken care of his child!”

Melisandre moves her hand away from Gendry and he slumps in his chair.

“I don’t know where that came from,” he admits.

“The Flame of Truth,” Melisandre’s voice intones.  “It pulled those feelings from you and helped you speak them.”

“Shit,” Arya whispers.

“What is your name, girl?” Stannis asks again.  Melisandre holds her hand over Arya’s head.

Arya presses her lips together, but it is of no use.  “Arya of House StarkFUCK!” she blurts.

Stannis’ eyebrows rise.  “Indeed,” he declares, looking back and forth between her and Gendry.  “I see it now,” he continues, nodding.  “Valiant Ned Stark’s little girl, the picture of her aunt long dead.  It looks like the past come back.  Robert and Lyanna returning in the form of… Gendry, was it? And young Arya.”

“We’re not—” Gendry starts and stops.

“I’m a child,” Arya protests.  “Yes, I love Gendry, but it’s not like I’m not going to marry him and get that flame away from me!”

Melisandre surprisingly complies, having gotten the information she was looking for.  She passes the flame back to the candle and sets it in a holder on the table.

Arya was hoping she would extinguish it, but clearly she wants them to know that the Flame of Truth could still be in play should they decide to be uncooperative.

“What do you want from me?” Gendry asks.  “If you think I’m going to go after the throne now that I know who my father was, you don’t need to worry about that, I promise you.  I don’t want any part of this war.  I just want to be left alone.”

“Oh how sad, he wants to be alone even though Lady Arya has just declared her love,” Melisandre says.

“I don’t love him like that.  He’s my best friend,” Arya says, scowling.

“Common blacksmith’s apprentices cannot be friends with highborn ladies,” Stannis declares, sounding so much like Lady Catelyn that Arya doesn’t know whether to scream or cry.  “And as for you, what we want is your blood,” he continues, turning his attention to Gendry.

“My blood?” Gendry asks, turning pale.

“Not all of it,” Stannis answers.  “The blood of a king runs through your veins.  There is power in king’s blood.”

“There is king’s blood in Lady Arya’s veins as well,” Melisandre points out.  “Her brother, Robb Stark, has fashioned himself King in the North, and the Starks were Kings of Winter for eight thousand years.  Her blood may be more powerful than his.”

“Then we shall bleed them both,” Stannis declares.

Arya and Gendry look at each other, perplexed and worried.

“You've fashioned yourself a king,” Arya says.  “Use your own blood.”

“Arya of House Stark is a clever girl,” Melisandre says, walking to a table off to the side.  “Unfortunately, King Stannis’ blood cannot be used in this spell.  It must come from another.”  She lifts a large glass jar and brings it closer.

The jar is filled with squirming black things floating in water.

Gendry’s hand finds Arya’s and they hold tight to each other.

“I love you too, Arya,” Gendry whispers.  “If we’re going to die, I want you to know that.”

“Thank you,” she replies.