Day 3 - You'll be Back

Sometimes it was said out of hilarity. "You'll be back," Arya teased, when a defeated Gendry slunk off into his forge. She always beat him when they had snowball fights.

Other times it was said out of fear. "You'll be back," she whispered to her husband the night before he left to quell the rebellion in the Riverlands.

But it was never said out of rage, at least, until the fight. "You'll be back," Arya hissed as Gendry buttoned his shirt furiously. "You'll always come back." His glowing eyes met hers, fire alight. "Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?" He tied his left boot now. She crawled to the end of the bed, hugging the heavy furs to her bare chest. "You'll be back," she growled, "because you have nowhere else to go. I'm all you have left."

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted it.

Gendry's head snapped up, eyes aflame. "You think you're all I need? You think you're the only important thing in my life? Well, you're not. You need a wake-up call, Arya. The world doesn't revolve around you. It doesn't change for you when you go out on a whim. And I won't either," he spat.

She narrowed her eyes, wanting to apologize for those vile words, but not wanting to lose her ground.

"I'm done with this, Arya. I'm done with you." Gendry rubbed his forehead between his thumb and index finger for a moment. "Done." He grasped the handle of the oaken door that separated their chamber from the rest of the world and opened it.

"You'll be back! Two days, tops!" Arya screeched as the door swung shut with a thud. The cold chill wrapped its arms around her, taunting, laughing…

She collapsed on the bed and sobbed.

Arya didn't go down to supper that evening, instead choosing to ride out to the nearest inn away from Winterfell and the village. There, she stayed under the guise of a girl named Gila O'Hara and rested in the musty room until dawn broke. When morning arrived, she saddled her horse through red, bleary eyes and headed back to Winterfell. She reached the castle at midday.

Before entering, however, she stopped in the godswood to pray to the old gods for a moment. She prayed that Gendry would be back. She prayed that she would apologize, that he would forgive her. She prayed that all would be well.

As Arya rode through the gate, she discovered that the gods had ignored her.

"Arya!" The shrill call came from Sansa. Her sister entered the yard, a swirl of deep blue gown gathering at her feet. Arya deeply inhaled and exhaled before dismounting, turning to greet her sister. "Where were you? I couldn't find you yesterday evening or this morning!"

Arya shrugged. "Nowhere."

Now it was Sansa's turn to sigh. She tilted her head to the side in an annoyance, auburn hair drooping ever so slightly, as it was piled upon the crown of her head in a manner that befit the Princess in the North. "I've had enough of your childish games. I'm done with you! I've got enough on my mind without having to worry about you day in and day out!"

I'm done with this, Arya. I'm done with you.

"Is Gendry here?" She whimpered. Sansa looked taken aback, apparently ready to argue her point. It was unlike Arya to avoid a challenge. Her sister's face softened. "No, he isn't. He left yesterday afternoon." Her throat constricted with those few words. Choking her, grasping her, destroying her…

Arya brushed past her sister without another word, leading the gray mare towards the stable. A stable boy rushed forward to assist her, but she waved him away. He'll be back, Arya reassured herself. He'll be back, I know it.

But over the course of the next week, it became apparent that if Gendry was returning, he was not in a rush to do so. Sansa did not press the matter, and neither did the young prince of Winterfell. As fond as he was of Gendry, Rickon had enough sense to keep his mouth shut. Within hours, a warped story of the fight had spread to the staff in the castle. It was like watching the flow of a substance through a metal working in some sort of machine; first it started on the outside, and then rapidly spread to the inner core, where it proceeded to touch all areas of the machine.

During this time, Arya was as silent as a shadow, giving no greetings nor providing commentary on any conversations that arose around her. Life went on, it seemed. Sansa returned to her duties, as did Rickon. The maintaining of Winterfell never skipped a beat.

Of course, Bran was off in Old Town, learning to be a maester of sorts. His limitations had prevented him from doing much else, and what better use to expand his knowledge by traveling to the citadel? And Jon was away in Kings Landing with his new wife, Daenerys Targaryen, probably bedding her to get her with child before the pair returning to Winterfell.

Which left Arya, alone and afraid, and without anybody to turn to.

Gendry had never failed her, not even during their years of separation. Each had clung to the memory of the other, hoping that someday they would find each other again. And they did. They had found each other, physically and emotionally, and bonded to the other in the everlasting ties of marriage. Or so Arya thought.

For days and days, she watched the yard through the window, waiting for the man she loved to swoop in and take her in his arms and swear to never let her go. She waited. And waited. And waited. T

he bull left the wolf. He had failed her, or was it she who had failed him?

Agony clenched her chest once again. She clutched a pillow, making her as small as humanly possible. Not even that seemed to help. I'm done with you. The world doesn't revolve around you.

She felt like she was spiraling out of control, falling, and in desperate need of air. Within minutes, she had climbed to the roof and was standing on the edge of the world. In that moment, she saw what Bran had seen growing up. The countryside sprawled beneath her, a green so bright against the cold and unforgiving clouds. The wind slapped her cheeks and hair feverishly, nipping at the tip of her nose and ears. Without realizing what she was doing, her arms had extended themselves.

Just like a bird, ready to fly.

She exhaled. What if she could fly? What if she was destined to soar the winds and flap her wings alongside Nymeria and the wolves? What if this is what she needed to do? Her eyes fluttered shut.

Several of the smallfolk had gathered at the base of the tower in the yard, pointing up at her. Arya ignored them and watched the world, letting her arms drop to her side. A crowd was beginning to gather, a stable boy grabbing at the reins of a dismounting rider, attempting to keep his eyes on her the entire time. Nervous chatter was beginning to rise up from the courtyard. She blocked it out, putting into practice one of the many skills she had aquired over the years.

Aside from that, it was still. Quiet. Peaceful. For the first time in weeks, Arya felt calm. As calm as still water, she thought to herself. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The fear of losing Gendry left her, drifting away on the wind up in the still world she was in. Her breathing slowed. She had nothing to fear. She could jump now, and she could fly. She would be free of everything.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

She could jump, and she could extend her wings and fly.

"Arya," a whisper choked out. Whipping around, she turned and saw Gendry standing on the roof behind her. The rider in the yard. That was Gendry, and she hadn't even noticed. You can still fly, a tiny voice whispered in her head. But he was walking towards her, slowly and carefully, and reaching out, palm-side up.

"Arya, can you- can you come over here?" Fear clammed up his face. He had more worry lines than the last time she saw him.

She turned back to the north before her. It was still there, it was always there. It would never leave. Gendry did.

"Arya…" He had reached her now, was pulling her into his warm cloak, the cloak with the poorly sewn in bull, hand-made by Arya herself months ago. The fear returned, as did the love and hope.

"Oh Gods, Gendry. Why-"

"Shush now, it's all right. I'm here now, and I will never, ever abandon you like that again. I swear it."

His hand cradled her head, pushing her face into his chest, his other hand against the small of her back. The wind whipped at them relentlessly. "Gendry," she choked out, tears now freely running down her face, "Tell me… Tell me you…"

"I love you, Arya Stark, and one fight won't change that. I love you to the ends of the world and back. I'd follow you through the harshest of winters, laugh with you in the warmest summer. I just needed a reminder." Arya nodded into his cloak and let herself be guided down.

I'm not a bird, she told herself. I'm a wolf, and I always will be. I'm not meant to fly, I'm meant to be with the bull.

And so it came to be that the wolf and bull never strayed again, not after that horrible fight. "You'll be back" was said for laughs, for tears, for joy, but never again for anger. "You'll be back" was always followed by "because you love me, and I you." For Arya and Gendry, nothing truer was ever said.

At the time this was written, Rickon was still alive, and so I just chose to keep him so in this story.

Hope you enjoyed!