Pairings/Characters: Adult!Arya/Adult!Gendry
Rating: K+
Prompt: Following the Winter Queen's polite suggestion, Gendry crafts a small treasure, in in the hopes of charming Winterfell's fiercest warrior maid.
Beta: A massive thank you to Onborrowedwings for reading this over and making it all spiffy like
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me (save the jewelry). All property of
Additional Notes: This is part of a side project that I am currently working pertaining to the sort of jewelry possibly worn in Westeros.
'What am I to do with this? Do you take me for my sister?' Arya furrowed her brow, the earring's delicately wrought chainmail twisting between her gloved fingers.
Gendry bit back a self-deprecating curse. He expected the lack of an emotional response, what he had not anticipated was Arya's confusion. The wolf-knight not only misunderstood the significance of his finely crafted gift, she believed it to be a jape.
'If I did I would be presenting you with ice roses and lemon cakes, not a piece fashioned out of chainmail,' Gendry said. The knight grinned, her amusement evident, much to his relief.
'You're right. Sansa would never wear anything like this,' Arya chuckled, studying the earrings in more detail. 'There is just one problem,' she noted, meeting his gaze. 'I don't have pierced ears. Surely you would have noticed that.'
Arya never did have much interest in shining bobbles or fanciful décor. Truthfully, she had little use for jewellery all together. It was out of tradition that Gendry sought to present Arya with a piece of jewellery. According to Queen Sansa, when a Northron suitor sought the hand of his or her lover in marriage they would present them with a piece of jewellery; a reflection of their lover's personality. A suitor would seek a skilled craftsman to create the piece, often a necklace or a bracelet, but it was not unknown for one to handcraft it themselves. In a world where such frivolities were far and few between, such a personal gift held great significance; a physical symbol of one's love and loyalty.
Gendry touched a loose strand of the young knight's hair; it was only morning, but already her long braid was coming apart. 'Bracelets break too easily, one could choke on a necklace, can't wear rings with properly fitted gauntlets and hair pieces are for ladies, not warriors,' he quoted Arya's words verbatim. The warrior woman raised a brow; amusement evident in her eyes. 'You never said anything about earrings,' he added with a sheepish grin.
'So I didn't. You still haven't told me what this is about?' Arya asked. There was no point in dragging out the inevitable. Gendry knew the longer he dodged his intentions, the more difficult it would be to confess to it.
'It was your sister's suggestion…the earrings, not the reason behind them,' he quickly stammered, his throat had suddenly gone dry. Running a hand through his hair the blacksmith murmured a curse. Nothing was going as planned.
Twirling the earrings between her calloused fingers, Arya watched him closely, her grey eyes revealing nothing. With Arya, nothing ever was easy.
'Arya, surely you know what this is about,' Gendry muttered. Embarrassment gave way to frustration. Surely she was playing him the fool. No matter her constant claims of otherwise, it always came back to titles, rank, unspoken rules and court games. Fortunately Arya, like Sansa's brutish husband, was entirely incapable of such ploys; neither had the patience for it.
'If I did, would we be having this conversation?' It was Arya's turn to grow frustrated.
'You sister told me it was Northern tradition to give a lady a personal gift, a piece of jewellery, as a gesture-' Arya required no further explanation. Gendry could not say if it was relief he felt, or dread, at her startled expression.
'You're as stubborn as a bull, can't leave well enough alone!' she exclaimed in disbelief. 'What could I possibly give you? I'm not the heir of Winterfell! I have no claim, no titles of repute, no coin!' Arya pressed on.
'So? What of it?' Gendry retorted. 'I'm a King's bastard son if rumour is to be believed. Got no wealth, no titles, and no power to claim. That's not why I'm here Arry.'
Her expression softened. 'I've never had much use for courting. Wouldn't even know what to do if I had a suitor.'
'Good thing I don't know how to court,' the blacksmith replied.
'You do realize what this would mean?' The knight's words were chosen with care. She was equally mindful to keep her features neutral. Gendry knew better; her dark eyes gave her away.
'Yes,' he said.
Further explanation was not needed they understood each other well enough.
Arya's lips pursed as she briefly faltered; her fingers twitched, causing the tiny links of the chainmail earrings to sway. Their relationship had grown from an antagonistic friendship to a volatile mix of passion and something deeper than neither dared to confess. It was a unique situation, one that for years had suited them just fine.
Since their return to Winterfell, Gendry had done what he could to ensure Arya was reunited with the remaining members of her family. Through his skills he aided the wolves in reclaiming the North; a battle so great and deadly that it earned Arya her knighthood. He even stood witness to the exchange of the Northern Queen's cloak of snow white, to that of one coloured autumn yellow. Since then Arya's mentor, Brienne of Tarth, now served as the Queen's personal guard alongside her husband, Ser Jaime Lannister; a scandalous situation that nearly resulted in civil war. Arya's sister was quick to diffuse the tension. Proving the Queen to be as wise and graceful the northern legends claimed her to be.
Two years had passed since those fateful days, and life had settled for them both. Arya had earned the respect of her fellow Northmen, and even joined the ranks of her sister's private guard. However, even this could not change her fate; she was noble born and marriage was inevitable. Ever gracious, the Winter Queen, as Sansa was commonly known, did all she could to ensure Arya's destiny remained her own to choose. It did not stop the many highborn noblemen from attempting to court the mighty warrior. It was not her beauty they sought, though she was said to be as lovely as the legendary Lyanna Stark, nor did they appreciate her fiery spirit. For all their flowery words, their gifts, and empty promises Gendry knew they desired none of her person. It was always about titles, lands, coin and most important; power.
Arya often griped about her unwanted duty, she could not see the point of it all. Her sister was the ruling queen and it would be her heirs who would one day rule Winterfell and ultimately the North. Truthfully, Gendry could not understand it either. He may have been a dead king's bastard, but at heart he was a blacksmith, and a man who cared nothing power, monies or elaborate court games. Only at Sansa's polite inquiry did Gendry allow himself to consider formally courting his long-time friend and lover. Despite their relationship having blossomed years ago, neither dared to speak words of love or even discuss the future.
'Why do you want to marry me?' Arya asked. Her voice was quiet, just not enough to blend into the silence of the winter morning. Her refusal was inevitable; Gendry bit his lip in silence, he was a fool to believe otherwise. When he did not immediately respond, she grasped his arm forcing the young man to meet her gaze. 'Tell me the truth,' she demanded. 'I know you have no interest in titles, power frightens you, and coin means nothing so long as you have a roof over your head, food on your table, and a shop to work your metal. So why would you want to marry me if not for these things?' she pressed on.
Arya was a knight, a princess, and a wolf maid, but she was first and foremost, a survivor. Sometimes Gendry would forget the warrior woman was anything other than his best friend and lover. Then the young woman would say something profound and he catch sight of the troubled girl he first met so many years ago.
'Arry, I have loved you since you were a homeless orphan pretending to be a boy. Have things between us changed so much since then?' It had, but much had also remained the same even with Arya's return to Winterfell. He could only hope that it would be enough for her.
Her dark eyes grew distant as she glanced away; her thoughts were her own. Gendry had far too much respect for the knight to interfere. So he stood, silently watching, waiting with baited breath for her response. After an eternity, so it felt to the young blacksmith, Arya returned to the present. Meeting his gaze she gave a nod, a hint of a smile on her lips before turning back towards the stony walls of Winterfell.
Gendry returned to his duties feeling resigned to his fate. If he could not win her heart, he could only hope that he had not lost her friendship as well.
It would be two days before the blacksmith set eyes upon the warrior princess once more. No longer was Arya dressed in garbs better suited for sparring in a mud filled practice yard. Instead she stood clad in her finest armour, which he had crafted at her behest, alongside her fellow brethren of the Queen's personal guard, as her sister, the Winter Queen, held court. It was not her armour, shining and clean that caught his attention, rather her newly pierced ears. For dangling from her lobes were the delicate strands of chainmail and metal he had spent many a long night on.
When it came to Arya, words were always overrated; for the first time Gendry could not have been happier for it.
