A/N: I guess this is kind of bittersweet. Just had the idea in my head and then blah'd all over my keyboard. Hope you like it!
As she sat watching her younger brother's quill flourishing across the bit of parchment, she had to remind herself again that this was all real. She was here in Winterfell with her family- what remained of it, at least. Hurriedly, he finished what he was writing and sat back with a sigh, giving her a weary look and asking with a bit of annoyance, "Would you happen to know what might be keeping Her Grace from our presence?"
Arya smiled at Bran, "Her mirror, no doubt."
He laughed and picked up the document, folding and then setting it to the side. "Perhaps this suitor will be to her satisfaction."
She nodded, "She seems set on accepting his offer."
Frowning, he asked, "And how do you feel about that?"
Arya bit her lip and looked down at her armor, "Marrying for money seems as good a reason as any."
Bran sighed again, "Perhaps."
The doors to the Great Hall burst open and Rickon walked in with a fast gait. At sixteen, he was already tall, very strong, and exceedingly handsome. He called out, "Arya, I have a gift for you!"
She scowled and eyed the shiny object tucked under his arm. She pointed to it, "That had better be it. I swear, if you've gotten me another doll-"
He laughed, "It's not a doll, not this time." He held the object out for her to see. "It's something that's been made especially for you."
She took it in her hands and examined it, amazed. "It's... it's beautiful!" The helm was finely polished and flawless from what she could tell. In the shape of a wolf's head, it reminded her slightly of the Hound's own helmet. She looked up at her youngest brother and spoke earnestly, "Thank you, Rickon."
He sat down beside her and shrugged, "Only the finest for the Queensguard, but don't thank me, thank our new blacksmith. He asked me to give it to you and when I saw it I commissioned him to make half a dozen more. We may be the only two members of Sansa's Queensguard at present, but it won't be that way forever."
"No," Bran agreed, "if Sansa weds Lord Luthor Tyrell they'll be providing us with some of their finest knights."
Arya turned the helm around in her hands, contemplating. "Rickon, this blacksmith... what is his name?"
She knew the answer before he replied, "He's Ser Gendry Waters of Hollow Hill. Says he knew you way back when while you were in the company of the Brotherhood Without Banners. Do you remember him?"
She smiled, "Yes. How long has he been here? Why has he not asked to see me?"
"He arrived a sennight ago." Rickon poured himself some water. "I can't say why he hasn't sought you out. Were the two of you close?"
Rising from her seat, she tucked the helm under her arm and ignored his question. "I'll be off to see him, then. If Sansa graces us with her presence before I return let her know that I won't be long."
As she walked away, she heard Bran and Rickon talking. "So he's a blacksmith and a knight?" Bran asked.
"Yes," Rickon replied, "knighted by the Lightning Lord himself."
"That's good. We need as many able-bodied men as we can find." Bran's voice drifted away as she pulled open the doors walked out.
She wondered, Why is he here? Why did he wait so long to come? Has he changed much? A part of her wanted to cry and the other scream. She hadn't seen him for many years and didn't know until moments ago that he was even still alive, yet here he was in Winterfell and he'd made her this helm, just for her. Looking down at the work of art, she pondered how many hours he'd spent on it and how many moons it had taken to finish it. She remembered the bull's head helm he'd had when she first met him, how he'd treasured it and how it had earned him his nickname.
As she stepped out into the sunlight, she winced beneath the scorching heat of the summer sun. Sure, it was nothing compared to the heat in King's Landing, but in full armor she often felt like a potato in an oven. Ignoring her discomfort, she made her way to the smithy. Drawing near, she saw him at the side chopping wood. His shirt hanging from his waist, she slowed her gait and watched the glistening muscles of his back moving beneath his sweat-drenched skin. His coal-black hair was shaggy as ever, matted down with perspiration.
She stopped and observed him as he split a log in one smooth motion and then pulled the axe from the stump, picking up one of the pieces and setting it up to split it again. He readied for another swing. "Gendry?" she spoke quietly. He swung and missed the stump entirely, the head of the axe cleaving into the earth. It threw him off balance and he stumbled, catching himself and straightening up, turning to her.
His eyes were just as she remembered them.
Breathing heavily and wiping sweat from his brow, blinking in the sunlight, she could see that almost everything else had changed. He was taller now, a full-grown man, the muscles in his arms and chest full of strength, his face no longer youthful and gaunt, but filled out and lined with stubble. He looked at her a moment, then smiled. "Arya."
Before, she'd seen him as a brother. Now, however, she saw a man like something out of a song. They way he was grinning at her quickened her breath and for a moment she found herself doubting her discretion at becoming a knight of her sister's Queensguard... but she pushed the thought away. She tried not to sound hurt, "My dear brother tells me you've been in Winterfell a sennight already and you haven't come to see me?"
He pulled his shirt from his waist and wiped his face and hands with it. Breathlessly, he replied, "I didn't know what to say, m'lady. Though I thought a gift might be appropriate." he gestured at the helm under her arm.
"It's not 'm'lady' anymore," she grinned, "it's 'Lady Commander.'"
"So I'm told." he nodded, still breathing heavily.
Without knowing what she was doing, she ran to him and threw her arms around him, pressing the side of her head to his chest. He returned her embrace at first but quickly pulled away, wincing and laughing, "Beggin' your pardons, Lady Commander, but your armor's very hot."
She smiled sheepishly and punched him lightly in the ribs. "Nothing to pardon."
"Do you like the helm? Does it fit? I wasn't sure how much you'd grown." His voice was deeper now, more adult, but unmistakably his.
Taking it out from under her arm, she admired it again. "It's wonderful, Gendry. Thank you so much."
"And it fits?" he asked again.
She shook her head, "I haven't tried it on yet."
He took a step forward and gently took the helm from her hands, turning it around and carefully sliding it down over her head. It fit perfectly. "Looks good to me." He tapped lightly on the top of it. "Now the little she-wolf will be feared all across the north. A few battles and they'll be writing songs about you." He patted her shoulder and left his hand there, only removing it when she reached up to take the helmet off.
Looking up into his eyes, she studied him. "It's been ten years, Gendry."
He corrected her, "Eleven." A hint of sadness crossed his face, but went as quickly as it came. "I left for Winterfell as soon as I heard the Starks had all returned. I couldn't believe it when I was told you were still alive."
"Arya of House Stark was very dead for a time." She bit her lip. "But she's back now."
He looked her up and down, "And quite a return she's made. You're a woman grown and Lady Commander of your sister's Queensguard." He nodded his head in agreement with his thoughts, "And here I always thought you'd grow up to marry some lord and have wild little wolf children to drive him insane."
They both laughed at that. "No," she shook her head, "That's not me. That was never me."
From behind the smithy, she heard a young girl's voice crying out. "Father! Father!" Coming around the corner, a lass of no more than three years of age ran to Gendry, holding her arm. He knelt down to receive her and she threw herself against him, sobbing, while he wrapped his arms around her protectively.
"What is it, Arry?" Gendry stroked the girl's long black hair and looked her in the face. Arya could see she had the same deep blue eyes of her father.
The girl pointed to her arm, sniffing, "I fell and scraped my elbow."
Gendry examined her arm before kissing her forehead, "Run along and show your mum. She'll get you all fixed up."
The girl's eyes widened with horror. "No! But Father, she'll put the tonic on it!"
He laughed and cupped the girl's face, stroking a tear off of her cheek with his thumb. "She's got to or the wound might fester."
She pleaded, "But it burns!"
"I know, love, but you don't want the wound to fester. Then we'd have to chop off your arm!" He made a chop at her arm with his hand to show her. "You still want to grow up to be a knight, don't you?" The girl nodded profusely. "Well, you'll need both your arms if you want to be a knight like your Aunt Arya." He looked up at her, smiling, and the girl did the same, acknowledging Arya for the first time.
"You're Aunt Arya?" The girl stared at her with wide-eyed wonder.
She didn't know what to do with this information, how to process it or what to say. Finally, she managed, "Yes, I am."
"So Father wasn't lying? I can be a knight when I grow up?" Her face had gone from bleary-eyed terror to a hopefulness that made Arya's heart melt.
"Yes." As Arya spoke, her words weighed heavily on her. "You can be whatever you want when you grow up." She swallowed and forced a smile. "As long as you truly want it."
"You hear that?" Gendry gave his daughter another hug. "You can be a knight. Now, run along to your mother." The girl turned and sped off, turning slightly to look back at them and wave goodbye, grinning.
As Gendry stood, Arya asked him, "You named her after me?"
He chuckled and slung his shirt over his shoulder. "Yes, named her Arry. I didn't know she'd take after you so much. She's quite a handful."
"She's beautiful." Arya whispered.
"Looks more like her mum every day, thank the gods." He looked at Arya, a wistfulness in his eyes.
She collected her thoughts, "You're married, then?"
He nodded, "Yes, four years now. Her name's Willow. She reminds me a lot of you, actually." He ground a rock into the earth with his boot. "Fiery spirit, always bossing me around and such. I think you'd really like her."
Arya cleared her throat, "I'm sure I would. You and your family should come to the castle for dinner sometime very soon. I'd like to meet her and Sansa would lose her head over Arry. She loves children."
He seemed taken aback, "Absolutely, if that's what m'lady wants." She glared at him playfully. "I mean, my Lady Commander."
She shook her head, grinning like an idiot. "Please, just call me Arya."
"Very well, then. Arya." They simply looked at one another, their surroundings now golden in the waning light of dusk and a warm breeze filled with the scents of the north toying at his hair.
"I must return to the castle now." She looked down at the helm in her hands. "Thank you again, Gendry."
He waved it off. "It's nothing. But I'm glad you like it."
She turned and began walking away before stopping and calling back to him. "Gendry?" He hadn't moved, hadn't taken his eyes off her. "I'm glad you're here."
He smiled a smile she hadn't seen in a decade, the smile he'd given her when they were both still children. "Me too."
Making her way back to the castle, her mind ran rampant. When she'd first seen him there, chopping wood in the heat of the sun, she'd thought for a moment that maybe everything she'd done since coming back to Winterfell had been a mistake. Perhaps she could've been a proper lady. Perhaps she and Gendry, in a different time, in a different place...
Shoving the doors of the Great Hall open, she smiled as she approached her siblings. She was happier now, home in Winterfell, than she'd thought she ever would be. This was was where she was meant to be. This was who she was meant to be. She wouldn't have it any other way, not for anything in the world.
Not even for Gendry.