Her hands are shaking.
She's just killed the Night King and her hands are shaking.
Arya looks over at Bran, a wild, disbelieving look in her eyes. Her brother gazes back, a small, self-satisfied smile accompanying his ever-present penetrating gaze.
"Bran, I -" she's at a loss for words. His mind is spinning. She's just killed the Night King and she can't seem to manage to string two words together.
"Go on," he intones. "Someone will be along for me any moment, I expect."
Arya almost giggles - feeling both younger and older than her 18 years. It's all so absurd. She looks up at Winterfell, still aflame, and she sighs. Looking back at Bran, she cocks her head and asks, "You sure?"
"Oh yes," he replies, giving her a smile that is only slightly creepy. "You have a much more important person to find."
Arya's stomach flips and her heart pounds in her chest.
Gendry.
Unbidden, she licks her lips and casts her eyes downward as a slow smile graces her lips. Her hands are still shaking, but she stoops to pick up the catspaw dagger and resheaths it. With her heart in her throat, she takes off for Winterfell proper, footsteps crunching over the shards of ice that litter the ground.
Bran's gaze bores into her back as she leaves and after a moment or two she hears Jon's voice.
"Bran? What happened?" he sounds weary and shocked and terrified.
Arya almost wants to turn and race into her brother's arms - to shout that she's the one who killed the Night King! But Gendry is waiting and with that, she picks up her pace, darting back to her home with a lightness that has been missing for a long time.
The main courtyard is a mess - still partially on fire, smoky, icy. Arya frowns when she sees the crumbled battlements and walls. It will take ages to restore Winterfell to its former state. But then again, she thinks gleefully, they have time.
They have time now.
The threat of Cersei is looming, but compared to the Army of the Dead, one Lannister bitch is nothing.
Arya lightly sidesteps the bodies that litter the ground. She knows that there will be familiar faces - eyes unseeing, faces bloody - but this is not about that now. There will be time to mourn the dead.
Right now, her focus is on the living.
Her gaze flirts around, taking in her surroundings and ignoring everything and everyone that isn't Gendry. The smoke and snow make it difficult to see and she's growing frustrated. That is, until she hears his voice.
"Fuckin' hell," his voice is rough, hoarse. A spike of want shoots through her.
Quiet as the night, she scampers through the haze, feet taking her directly where she needs to be. Before she knows it, he's in front of her. Well, his back is to her, but she would recognize the slope of his shoulders and the column of his neck anywhere - a realization that both terrifies and excites her. Gendry's squatting, lifting broken pikes and hunks of stone from the ground. Arya watches him silently, unable to see his muscles move for his armour.
She opens her mouth - ready to surprise him with a quippy comment - but the words stick in her throat. She has so much she wants to say, but nothing feels right.
So she stands there, gaping at him a little bit. It's entirely uncharacteristic of her, and yet, maybe it's not. Maybe this is who she would be - what she would be like - in front of a man she likes if she had gotten to grow up as Lady Arya Stark and not as A Girl or No One. It's an interesting thought - one she will certainly have to return to later, when there's time.
There's a noise behind them, something like cracking, but Arya doesn't turn. Gendry does.
It's comical - the look on his face, the way his jaw drops, when his eyes light on hers.
Arya smirks affectionately. "Miss me?"
Gendry's jaw works as he tries to find words. He settles on, "Fuckin' hell, Arya!" before he strides forward and grabs her in an embrace. His arms are tight around her body, holding her close. Arya buries her face in his chest. His armour is hot and dirty and it pokes at her skin, but she doesn't want to let go. Thankfully, Gendry seems to have the same idea, because his arms only hold her tighter.
"Thought you were dead," he mutters into her hair. And then, as if realizing who he is and who she is, he abruptly lets go of her and steps back, leaving her to fumble for balance. The sudden loss of contact is jarring, and she glares at him.
"What's the matter?" she demands, fingers itching to touch him again.
Gendry scratches the back of his neck and refuses to meet her eye. "Just thought...well, glad you're alive. But I'm a bastard and you're... and, last night..."
"If you're about to tell me that last night was a mistake," Arya growls, "I'll have you know that I've just killed the Night King and have no qualms about doing in an idiot blacksmith as well."
"I... you, what?" Gendry blinks at her stupidly.
Arya grins, hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat. "I killed the Night King."
"You killed the Night King?" Gendry asks and Arya's pleased that the shock in his tone is more about the Night King being dead and not that she's the one to have done it.
Nodding, Arya confirms it again. "So, if you're about to pull some bullshit about class rankings, I'd remind you who you're speaking to."
Grinning now, Gendry takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. Arya's nerves tingle at his proximity and at the heated look in his eyes. He reaches out and grabs one of her hands, turning it over in his palm and looking at the dirt and blood that cake her skin. His eyes flick back up to hers and Arya loves what she sees.
Her free hand shakes a little as she brings it up to cup Gendry's neck and cheek. He leans into her touch and it's all the motivation Arya needs to surge forward and close the gap, leaning up on tiptoes to press her lips to his. Gendry leans down a bit, releasing her hand so he can cup her cheek in kind. The kiss deepens - an unspoken gratefulness that the other is still alive poured into each second. They break apart after a moment - Gendry's forehead resting on hers. His hands are still holding her face, grounding her in this moment. She grins to herself.
"I'm starving," she says, breaking the quiet.
Gendry pulls away and looks down at her. "I don't know the condition of the kitchens, but we can find something."
Arya grins wolfishly. "I'm not hungry for food."
His mouth gapes open like a fish and Arya laughs outright. She takes hold of his hand and tells him, "I only want you, idiot. Don't care about low-born or high-born. Never have."
"Okay, milady," Gendry nods firmly, shifting from foot to foot. Arya lets him get away with the use of her title because way his pupils are blown out tells her that she'll be able to get anything she wants from her stubborn bull. He pulls her along through the ice and fire and smoke and Arya follows. Gendry leads them through the throngs of people dazed from the battle and almost subconsciously, they move out of his way.
Her hands aren't shaking anymore.
She's Arya Stark of Winterfell, and she is home.
A/N: I've never written anything for GoT before, but this one was stuck in my head and absolutely wouldn't leave. ive shipped Gendry and Arya for years so im freaking out about all the great content we've gotten, with more to come!
i'm taking finals all weeks so please, please leave me reviews and let me know what you think!