I've been watching Game of Thrones since the beginning and yet, this is the first fic I'm writing for it. And of course it's about Arya and Gendry; they've been my favorites for the longest time.
There's obviously been a flood of fics of them recently, and I noticed most of them have Arya convinced the two of them are going to die. So I wanted to do something different from that.
Also contains some headcanons I have about Gendry. Mainly that when he returned to King's Landing, he tried learning some things about being a Baratheon.
Arya Stark was lost in thought.
She lay naked in one of Winterfell's storerooms underneath a cloak, her bow and clothes tossed around the floor. Her dearest friend, she guessed he was her lover now, Gendry Waters, was next to her sleeping.
Or was it Baratheon? Before she offered her maidenhood to him, Gendry admitted he was a bastard son of Robert Baratheon. King of the Seven Kingdoms. Her father's best friend. How those two must be rejoicing in the afterlife, that after trying to marry Sansa and Joffrey, Ned's other daughter, one who'd sworn never to be another man's lady, was in love with a son Robert hardly knew.
That was the problem. She was fully in love with the man beside her, and he could say the same to her. They both proved it a short while ago, in the face of imminent death. In that, she chose what she valued most in this world, out of fear of never getting another chance.
But what else is there beyond this one time? This one fleeting moment she'll always keep with her?
"Arya, what is it?" she heard Gendry's soft voice. He must've woken up.
"I'm thinking," she replied.
"About the battle?"
"A little bit," as much an understatement she ever uttered.
"We're fighting for our lives here, for our loved ones and the seven kingdoms. I think you'd say more than a little bit."
Arya jabbed an elbow back at him, not wanting a reminder of the immediate threat. Everywhere she went in her home, everyone was preparing for the White Walkers' arrival. What battle formations to take, what kind of dragonglass weapons to use, how much food was needed, who should hideaway in the crypts. It became too much at times.
Arya turned her body over to face him, her eyes still as soft and inviting as when she said she wanted to know what making love is like. But with a hint of dread. "I know plenty about losing loved ones. I've seen my father beheaded, my mother with a slit throat, and my brother's dead body paraded around with a direwolf head. I lost you. And all the people I've killed were surely someone's loved ones."
Gendry gazed at her adoringly, like many times before, about how honest she was. Perhaps that was how she got those scars on her body. He dragged a hand along her side, a silent attempt at reassuring her.
"I'm don't want to lose you again, but there's something else on my mind."
Gendry now looked at her inquisitively. How could she think of anything else right now?
"What happens next between us, if we survive the battle?" Arya asked.
That question took Gendry off-guard. He, as much as Arya, had doubts about whether the forces gathered at Winterfell could hold off the dead armies. He hadn't thought further than beyond the battle, certainly not beyond his night of passion with the Stark girl.
"You're Robert Baratheon's bastard. Jon and Sansa and the dragon woman are going to find out about us. They'll have you legitimized, probably have us married too for an alliance."
"Is that such a bad thing?"
Arya wanted to say no, it wouldn't be. Spending the rest of her life with someone who cared about her, who she cared about and would die for defending, seemed very appealing. But ruling the Stormlands? Would he even want that? The thought barely crossed her mind years ago. She would've preferred to run away with him, back to the forests of the Riverlands, but things weren't that simple anymore.
"What would a bastard blacksmith know about ruling one of the seven kingdoms?"
"Neither of us knows much about ruling anyone. You don't seem like the kind who would want to."
"I don't, but," Arya didn't finish her thought. The future held too many uncertainties at the moment.
"My father once told me that when I grew up, I would be married to some highlord, have children, and raise them to be knights and ladies. I was eleven then, and told him that that wasn't me."
"And now?"
"I'm not the same girl I was then. I'm not even the same girl who went to Braavos to learn how to kill. I thought I could leave this all behind, traveling to learn from the faceless men. Spend my life getting revenge on my enemies. But, that wasn't me either. And when this is all over, the world needs us more than ever to help rebuild."
Gendry had a brief chuckle, ruining Arya's train of thought.
"What's so funny?"
"Wondering if your children would be as stubborn as you are sometimes."
Arya wanted to hit him for that remark, much like he would belittle her when they were younger. But she could only reply with a similar chuckle.
"I wonder how our fathers would feel if they found out I lost my maidenhood to a blacksmith."
"Yours would be proud that you stayed true to yourself. And mine? I've heard plenty of customers say whoring was his favorite pastime, so he would enjoy hearing the story."
Arya laughed a little again as Gendry pulled her in closer, his arm draping itself along her back.
"You know, back when I was smithing again in Flea Bottom to when I joined Jon's band beyond the wall, I learned plenty about being a Baratheon. Do you know how my house started?"
Arya couldn't say she did. She didn't remember the history lessons of the maesters from her younger days. And if she did, her weapons training took priority in her mind. She shook her head no.
"Orys Baratheon was hand to Aegon the Conqueror and led the king's forces against Storm's End. In victory, he was offered the daughter of the castle's lord, naked and in chains. He offered her his cloak the first time he saw her for protection and treated her kindly. The two later wed and House Baratheon has ruled the Stormlands since."
"Well, did, until your uncles died," Arya retorted, wondering where this story was leading towards.
"That's why in weddings, the husband offers his cloak to his lady during the ceremony."
Arya cocked her eyebrow; similar to the times she gazed at Gendry as he worked on dragonglass in the forge. The look she's taken on when feeling desire.
"So if we die tomorrow, we'll be together when we do."
The Stark girl was already close enough to Gendry that their hips were touching, and his left arm hugging her waist. But Arya made up whatever space was left between them, moving in for a deep kiss, and letting their foreheads touch as they stared into each other's eyes.
Hearing each other breathe, feeling their heartbeats, watching their smiles, that was enough for now.