A/N: Excuse the (almost) daily one shots...I just have a lot of feelings :)
Gendry was not a religious man.
He was not raised to believe in anyone, be it the old gods or the new. His gentle mother did not live long to teach him how to read or write, to recognize one House sigil from another, much less to learn about the faith of men.
"The Godswood is where my father prayed to the Old Gods he believed in," he recalls Arya's tale about the great Eddard Stark during happier times. "When the First Men took up the Old Faith, they made godswoods where a Weirwood was found in the middle."
"A Weirwood is this heart tree right here where they prayed to their gods, right?" Gendry recalls his question to Arya, as he pointed towards the large tree in the middle of the Godswood.
Arya nodded, pleased that he remembered that bit of information. Father would like Gendry, she thought. But Father is no longer in this world and it saddens me that he never got the chance to know Gendry.
Shaking himself back to the present, Gendry stared at Winterfell's sacred ground. It was his first time to come here without Arya, and suddenly he's feeling a little lost and unsure. On shaky knees, he walked towards the middle where the heart tree is.
He sniffed the scent of the forest; the smell of wet earth and mold. The air smelled of dirt and decay, but not repulsive. Maybe it was somehow to remind them that the gods were in everything there is, carefully and quietly seeing with watchful eyes. He glanced above at the thick canopy of leaves overhead; the branches intertwined with each other to make the leaves of the ancient tree sway like a dance between the gods in the trees. Below the heart tree is a pool of water that he guessed would be cold; the color darkened by the shade of leaves and the mud beneath.
He found the huge rock in which Eddard used to sit upon. "He used to sit here for hours; sharpening his broadsword as if it were some sort of offering to the gods," Arya had said. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, he would say. And maybe doing the task in front of this heart tree was some kind of offering to the gods while he reflected on the right thing to do."
Gendry slowly approached the huge rock and sat upon it; bending a knee and extending the other. He had no broadsword to sharpen, but he had a heart heavy with unsaid prayers that he would like to raise to their gods.
"I am not familiar in the ways of the Northerners, nor am I familiar with those of the South where I came from. But if this here…this sacred place brought answers and comfort to the Starks, then by the old gods, tell me what to do!"
The only sound heard was the echo of his words and the swishing of leaves overhead. It was almost dark out here, and Gendry knew he should turn back before it gets completely dark. But he came for answers and he must get them, for Gendry knew no one else he could turn to.
"I do not ask for anything for myself. I do not ask for fame or greed or power. I have never before asked a god for anything in the past, but this I ask now…please…please…"
Gendry, the boy they used to call The Bull but now a man grown, was pleading to the weeping face of the great heart tree, "Please…do not take Arya away from me."
He could still hear the maester's voice when he asked Gendry to leave the bedchambers. "Arya does not need you fretting over her. The birthing brings complications, this I would honestly tell you. Once the pain has passed and the Lady Arya survives the night, I will call for you. Now go on, Lord Gendry. You must find strength until your child comes."
His child. A babe for a stag and a wolf. His and Arya's, out of love borne. With pain in his chest and a heart filled with worry, Gendry started to cry.
"Wipe those tears away, son."
Gendry looked up amidst the tears in his eyes and found Eddard Stark leaning by the Weirwood. Stunned to silence, he watched silently as Arya's father sat beside him on the rock.
"Have you forgotten our words? Did Arya not tell you?"
"Winter is coming," Gendry responded softly.
"Aye, winter is coming. And Arya is a strong one. She and the babe will get through tonight."
"How hard did you pray for them to be answered?" Gendry asked.
"As hard and as often as I could," Eddard replied. "I came here to pray for hours…to be enlightened…and the answers came to me. I prayed so hard until I could pray no more."
"Will they answer my prayers? Will your gods grant my prayers and keep Arya and the babe safe?"
"If there is hope and if there is faith in your heart, even how small they may be, it shall be granted if you deserve the answers."
"All my life, I have longed for a family…something that was not given to me. I hope that your gods will answer my prayers, for Arya is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Eddard Stark regarded this man who has sworn to protect his Arya, with solemn eyes. "If you believe it so, it shall be given."
"She misses you," Gendry said after a while. "She wishes you were here to see your grandchild. How she sometimes still cries for you in her sleep even after all these years."
It was deathly quiet. Only the sound of the night breeze could be heard, as the branches swayed and the leaves danced against the wind. A wolf howling in the distance broke his trance, and Gendry looked up to find that he was once again alone.
He stood and stretched his legs; glancing around the quiet Godswood. He should be heading back by now, his eyes swollen from crying and his chest heavy with worry.
"Gendry! Gendry!"
Rickon ran to him as fast as he could, clutching Gendry by the arms. "It's Arya and the babe!"
Gendry felt as if his heart dropped to his stomach.
"Gendry…come meet your son," Rickon said, a grin splitting across his face.
"A…A son?" Gendry stammered out. "I have a son?"
"What shall you name him then?"
Gendry looked at the heart tree in the middle of the Godswood and said, "Eddard."