"That's not me."
Thwack. Arya turns back to her celebration, such as it is, and another arrow unfailingly hits her target. He is not surprised, and watches with the kind of awe that he carefully reserves for tiny pains-in-his-ass with the ability to gut him in all manner of literal and figurative ways.
Still, she has not yet actually stabbed him for mentioning marriage, and Gendry quietly considers that a win for now. He stands, and waits, but Arya doesn't give any further response.
"Are you going to actually answer me or should I just leave?"
He wants to continue to ramble, to detail the all the things he hopes she'll be known for, the way he expects history for generations forward will tell stories of Lady of Storm's End with same reverence as Queen of the Rhoynor but he knows better than that. He knows Arya better than that. It took weeks for him to even learn her name; she needs time with this too.
He really is an idiot, he thinks, running around half-cocked with plans for a future none of them may yet survive. But for once in his life, as the toast had faded from the hall, as Arya's sincere congratulations washed over him, it all seemed so possible. He couldn't resist trying. His proposal was bound to fail, but as with all things Arya, he knows how to let her outmaneuver him until he can wear her down.
"You're an idiot, Lord Baratheon." Arya confirms lightly, and he can understand why she never liked titles because it sounds suspiciously like you stupid fuck. Or maybe that's just a particular talent of hers. "If you want to leave, leave."
"I don't want to be anywhere but here." He smiles, knowing it will piss her off. She wants him to go, because she's scared, and but she won't walk away.
"Fine."
Arya fires off another dozen arrows, each joining the tight circle on her target. Gendry is glad no one else seems to wander this direction, because he doesn't think don't shoot will collect any mercy in her current mood.
She stretches afterward, long and lean, and Gendry can't help but admire the gentle line of her arm to hip. She doesn't speak, but grabs him by the wrist and marches to a bedroom upstairs.
Her hips are rolling over his, like the inexorable tide of what he imagines will be his new home, when Arya leans over him with wide eyes. "Now I have to leave for King's Landing."
Gendry has never considered himself a particularly romantic person, but Gods be damned if Arya doesn't make him feel like it in comparison. "Right now?" He can barely remember his own name.
"No-" Her breath hitches as he reaches between them, then she shudders. Her eyes close on a gasp but she continues "..has to be today."
"The Queen is preparing her army to march on Kings Landing in a few weeks. No one will be able to stop you from killing Cersei. She's as good as dead."
"Only dead is as good as dead. Armies are slow. If you're going to go around declaring yourself a Baratheon to everyone who will listen, then I can't wait that long. Cersei won't wait to kill you."
"I'll go with you." Gendry finally gives in with a yawn- she had to know he would- and pulls up the cover. "Just wait until morning."
"You need to stay here." Arya presses a kiss to his collarbone and throws her legs over the edge of the bed. "Sansa will need you to be on the inside." He doesn't miss the fact that she says Sansa and not Jon.
"I hope you know I have no clue how to do that."
Arya glances over her shoulder and shrugs as she pulls on her boots. "And I hope the next time you try to propose, you won't be absolute shit at it."
He didn't take the time to consider how he expected this to go when he sought her out, but so far it feels exactly like how any engagement to Arya Stark ought to begin.