- Chapter 1 -
Would she be there?
Probably not. Most likely she was dead. Most likely she'd been dead within a week or two of the Hound running off with her nearly five years ago. Assuming that's what happened. For all he knew she'd asked the Hound for a ride to Riverrun. You never could know what Arya was thinking.
Gendry looked up at the ruin that was once the great Winterfell. Even this late in the evening men were walking along the parapet pulling carts full of stone and mortar. Construction was underway and the Lord of Winterfell was calling any and all skilled laborers to come and help with construction under the promise of housing and food and a place to call home. This had been her home. Hopefully now it could be his.
He looked over at Anguy who'd been the first one (besides himself of course) to remember Arya when they'd decided to take their band north to Winterfell, and the first one to make a jape at him about it. But in truth, he hadn't sought it out simply because Arya had once spoken of it so highly. If it was hard to put your trust in strangers before the war began, it was nearly impossible now. Most towns were reluctant to let a group of men in even if they did include an accomplished blacksmith. Spring was fast approaching after the long winter, but hadn't quite arrived. The promise of food was on everyone's minds. For Winterfell to be welcoming strangers was nearly unheard of. They couldn't pass up the opportunity, no matter how far north it was.
They'd reached the southern gate where a small group of men were set up to accept new arrivals.
"How many?" A scruffy looking man eyed Anguy warily.
"Six." Anguy responded.
"Men?" He glanced around the group, perhaps hoping to find a woman upon closer inspection.
"Aye."
"Just what we need." The man scoffed while he gave the signal to open the portcullis, "More cocks."
The first night they were given temporary accomodations in the stables and were told they'd be fed the next day once they had been given their roles. Luckily they had half a loaf of the hardest bread any man had ever eaten left in their provisions. After trading the last of their horse meat strips to a stable boy for a small flagon of weak broth to dip it in, it was almost a feast.
Before the war it would have felt as if they were being treated like hostages, but in these times just having a roof over your head and a fire in the hearth was more than could be asked for. Another group of men wrapped in furs huddled next to them.
"They say you'll be moved on the morrow, but they been keeping us 'ere in the stables e'ry night for the past two weeks. After working us to the bone during the day, o' course." He looked over at the hammer attached to Gendry's pack. "You a smithy?"
Gendry hesitated a moment, but couldn't see a reason to keep it a secret. "Aye."
"You'll be lucky then. Heard there looking for another good smith. Likely you'll be moved on the morrow then. I offered them to teach me, but" ,here he shook his head, "t'weren't interested."
"Is there not enough room for the men that are arriving? I thought they were shorthanded?" Gendry asked.
"Oh there's plenty o' room for us all. They'll move you someplace nice once they think they can trust ya. They just keep the womenfolk locked up tight in the great house and don't trust no strangers 'round 'em. Not that I can blame 'em. The Lord's sister they say is wary o' men and wants nuttin' to do wit' 'em."
Gendry couldn't help the pounding in his chest and hoped it didn't show on his face. He didn't dare chance a glance at Lem for fear he'd give himself away. "Arya Stark?"
"Oh no." Gendry's stomach sank. "The older one. The redhead. Only seen 'er once since we got here. Looked damn uncomfortable being out of doors. Ain't seen 'er since."
Lem spoke up this time, "The other sister isn't here then."
The man shook his head, "Not that I know of. Thought that one was long since dead. But who am I to know." He laid down on his thin pallet then and bid them goodnight.
That night Gendry dreamt of the night he ran in the dark. Hardly able to see a foot or two in front of his face. Being soaked through with a light rain that chilled him to the bone. Screaming the name of a little girl he'd most likely never seen again.
- o -
Gendry spent the next year and a half acclimating to his life in Winterfell. He worked 6 days a week in the forge with an older man named Howell and Howell's son that was a couple years younger than Gendry that everyone called Hammer.
He was invited into the Great Keep a few days after his arrival to tell his story of Arya. While his memory of Arya's features was a bit faded with time, he could still see the similarities between her and John Snow. The differences between Arya and her sister Sansa, however were very great indeed. Sansa stared down at him with eyes squinted in distrust, which was perhaps the only thing Arya and Sansa had in common. He was told later by Howell that she looked at everyone that way. That she'd been broken and trusted no one save her brother, Lord Snow.
After the meeting he was sent back to the forge, where he belonged. If the siblings had any information on the whereabouts or well-being of their sister, they didn't share it with Gendry.
- o -
After a while, one of the women from the kitchens caught Gendry's attention. Her name was Sarah and she'd stop by daily to bring him lunch or a treat she'd snatched from food meant to go to the high table. Howell had caught them once or twice in the cot in the back of the forge when Gendry hadn't woke early enough to shoo her out before work began.
Sarah had long hair that wasn't quite brown and wasn't quite blonde. Freckles were splattered freely across her cheeks. She was old enough that wrinkles had begun to form in the corners of her dull brown eyes, but Gendry never bothered to ask her age. She was warm and soft and laughed freely as if the war had never happened and Gendry couldn't find it in him to ask for much more than that.
Men came and left as time progressed, but Gendry began to feel as if he finally had a home. A place he could grow old. Perhaps have a family if he so wished. Although, truth be told, he was in no hurry.
- o -
Word of her arrival spread like wildfire. Sometime in the very early morning, before Gendry was even awake, she'd apparently strolled up to the gates and demanded entry. Then strolled into the great keep as if she owned the place. Which she basically did. A year and a half after Gendry's own arrival, Arya Stark had returned to Winterfell.
- o -
The first morning he decided against attempting to contact her. They were bound to run into one another sooner or later. Surely her brother would tell her that Gendry was at Winterfell once she had time to settle in. She would seek him out, he was sure of it.
The second morning he thought again about heading up to the great keep and asking around. But then thought better of it. How strange would it be for him to come and intrude on her time with her family? He could be patient.
The third morning he thought he may go crazy. Every person who entered the smithy whether it be a customer coming to place an order or Sarah coming to bring the boys their lunch was potentially Arya. Gendry nearly gave himself whiplash from looking up too quickly each time the tiny bells they'd hung above the door rang to signal a newcomer rang. It happened so frequently over the course of the fourth day that when it was time to close up for the night Gendry promptly snatched the little bells off of the door frame and chucked them into the corner. He ignored Howell's complaints about the bells as he grabbed his jacket off the peg next to the door and made his way out the door and into the night.
He spent the dark walk back to his quarters mulling over the many reasons she hadn't come to see him. Maybe she didn't even know he was at Winterfell. He thought for sure Sansa or John would mention it, but perhaps not. Maybe she was angry at him. Afterall the last time he had seen her he'd announced his intention to join up with the brotherhood. Essentially abandoning Arya after all they'd been through together. But what was he meant to do? Follow her around like a puppy looking for scraps for the rest of their lives? Obviously not. Her family would have been less than thrilled to accept a half-assed blacksmith into their ranks. Especially one that was originally meant for the wall and had traveled there with the men who'd ransomed Arya to them.
Perhaps she didn't care that he was here. That was the most likely answer, and the one that hurt the most. But in all actuality it shouldn't bother him at all. He was established here, had his own life now. In comparison to the rest of their lives Arya and Gendry's time together was very short. She'd obviously been off on some grand adventure for the last six or seven years and hadn't given Gendry a second thought since then.
He looked up then and saw a figure sitting next to the door of the small hut Gendry called home. He smiled to himself. Sarah would take his mind off Arya's indifference. As he got closer the figure stood and he realized it wasn't Sarah. Sarah didn't wear breeches. He stopped a few feet away.
"Can I help you?" He asked tentatively.
The figure took a slow step forward, and then another. "Perhaps."
The voice was a woman's. And all at once the pieces of the puzzle locked into place in Gendry's mind and he felt his heart kick against his chest.
"Arya."
The figure smiled then as she took another step towards him. The shadow cast by his home no longer covered her face and the light of the moon caught on her silver eyes making them glow. 'Her eyes have not changed.' he thought to himself. The memories those eyes evoked caused his heart to kick against his chest once again.
"Gendry." She said in response. His name sounded foreign on her lips. Her accent was different. Not quite Westerosi, not the accent he remembered. More had changed then he thought. He stood silent. Words failed him. After a moment of awkward silence Arya spoke again, "Are you going to invite me in?" she gestured towards the door of his home. "I think we have some catching up to do."
He stood stiff a moment longer before a weak, "Sure." croaked from his suddenly parched throat. He knew then he shouldn't have been impatient for this moment. She had the potential to ruin his happiness. She had the potential to make him wish for things he couldn't have. He should tell her how inappropriate it was to have her in his home unattended and send her away. And he might have if he didn't think she would laugh in his face. He might have if he wasn't also afraid that the new Arya might listen and not return.