The aftermath of the North's arrival had been swift, and brutal. The surviving ironborn had been captured and rounded up, tied up underneath the decks of the ships. All the ships that couldn't be saved were burned, dead still onboard, minus their valuable steel.
While the Northern fleet was escorting – and in some cases pulling – all salvageable vessels back to Lannisport, a large contingent of Northern ships travelled to the Banefort with two hundred Baratheon soldiers.
There, the combined Westerosi armies had gathered to oust the ironborn from the castle. The grass outside the surrounding town had apparently run red with blood.
But Gendry tried not to focus on that, or the fact that the blood coating him had crusted and turned his shirts stiff as the deck beneath him. Gods what he wouldn't give for a hot bath right now.
He snorted. What a good little highborn you've become.
The sky was once again faultless, and finally they were far enough north that Gendry couldn't smell the burning flesh of the dead. The waves were choppy with a light breeze, and Gendry heard gulls in the distance.
He leaned back against the starboard side of the Stark ship, exhausted. He hadn't been able to sleep in the day since the battle, body still screaming for a fight and mind churning. Out of the three-and-a-half thousand Baratheon and Reach men that had been on those sixty war galleys, less than fifteen hundred had survived.
And yet, he had survived where so many others had not. Not everyone had Gendry's luck. The cloaked body of young Duncan Trant hadn't done much to hide his fate, the grey wool dark with blood. Even in the chaos the battle had left behind, Gendry would make sure the boy was given proper funeral rites.
Arya hadn't talked to him since she had saved his life, but at the moment Gendry didn't have the energy to particularly care. He was bone-weary, and after being brought aboard Lord Brandon Flint's ship, Gendry had found a space for his men and Duncan's body on the upper deck, out of the way of the sailors.
The rugged outline of the coast gave him something to look at, and its monotonous shape finally sent him drifting into sleep.
He woke to one of his men shaking him. In the light of dusk, he startled when he realised Duncan's body was gone. Still half-asleep, he tried to rise, only to have his man inform him they had taken the body to be prepared.
With a jolt, he realised they were docked already.
Over a cliff, the foreboding castle of House Banefort rose. Its lands were used to being raided, with it being one of the closest mainland points to the Iron Islands. Yet even its defences weren't enough to stop an ironborn host of that size.
The black and grey banners of House Banefort's Hooded Man flew once again, and lower were the colours of other houses, the King's banner included.
Now awake and grinning, he saw Pod was waiting on the docks for him. They clasped each other in a firm hug, and Pod mumbled, "Good to see you're not dying on me yet."
Gendry let out a humourless laugh, but the emotion was genuine when he looked at his old friend, "I'm glad you're alive, too."
Pod pulled that half-smile of his, "I'm sorry about the lad, Gendry."
Softly, Gendry replied, "I am, too. Did we lose anyone here?"
Pod sighed and nodded, kneading the back of his neck, "Two thousand men, and Caswell got hit by half a dozen ironborn arrows in the siege when I had told him to stay back. He was a good brother, and I grieve for him, but he died an idiot. Brienne will be disappointed."
Gendry winced. He knew how much the lady knight's opinion matter to Pod. She was all he aspired to be, and Pod took it out on himself when he failed to meet those standards he set for himself.
Gendry clicked his tongue, and clapped Pod on the back, "Well then, now is as good a time as any to join the festivities and get well and truly drunk."
He was wobbling and giddy when he left the main hall to go to his chambers, heart lighter than it had been in weeks, when he saw a familiar face treading down the corridor.
Without the inhibition and fear of rejection that was usually there, Gendry called loudly, "Arya!"
"Arya!"
Exhaling his frustration at the stubborn wench, he ran down the hallway to catch up. He grabbed her by the shoulder to get her attention, only to find himself quickly upended and lying on the stone floor, arm held in a lock.
Dizziness flashed and blood rushed to his face, his body making an effort to keep up with his new situation. Looking up at the Stark princess, he grinned, "Was that really necessary?"
"No, but it was fun." She peered closer, "Are you drunk?"
"Certainly."
She laughed, and as much as Gendry wanted to watch that, his fingers were starting to prickle.
"Well, milady, how about letting go of my arm now?"
He must have said something wrong, because her face fell and she let go of his arm. With a sigh of relief, Gendry rolled his shoulder and climbed to his knees, still feeling the weight of those dark eyes on him. But just as he was about to get to his feet, she seized his chin and kissed him.
That one touch felt as though someone had stuck a hot poker to his lips, and he chased after the kiss as she pulled away.
"Arya?"
She looked at him with wide eyes, "I shouldn't have done that."
And then she was gone.
Gendry blinked once, twice, and then turned around to go back and get another drink.
He regretted that decision deeply the next day.
It was just the six of them in the room – Gendry, Arya, Genna Lannister, Pod, Bronn, and Asha Greyjoy, who had arrived from Pyke under threat of invasion. While they couldn't accuse her outright of sending the Iron Fleet, everybody knew the truth.
Gendry kept trying to catch Arya's eye, but she had steadfastly ignored his presence since the night of the feast.
As for the peace talks, it had been barely an hour into negotiations when things turned nasty.
Pod was in the middle of announcing the terms of peace, "You will give twenty ships, of good condition, to the Six Kingdoms and the North each. You will pay five thousand dragons in reparations to aid in restoring the holdings your people have destroyed. Finally, you will go to King's Landing and take an oath before your King to always be loyal. In return, we will give you the pirates back to do with as you will, we will not take preventative actions in the Iron Islands, and you will retain your rule over said islands." He looked up over the paper sternly, the very image of Lord Commander Brienne, "That will be our final offer, and you will sign it."
In that tense moment before Asha replied, Arya leant across the table, and said conversationally, "I said we shouldn't bother asking for your word, even a babe knows a Greyjoy's oath isn't worth shit."
Gendry felt like banging his head against the table.
Asha seethed, "You dare say that to me, after my brother died protecting yours?"
"Theon was more our brother than he ever was yours. He grew up as a Stark, he died as a Stark, and we burnt his body as a Stark," Arya said, eyes alight with malice, "Truly is difficult, to be all alone in the world."
Gendry tensed as Asha stood, and readied himself to intervene, but someone was quicker.
Genna Lannister cleared her throat, gaining both women's startled attention. Smiling cheerfully, she said, "Now, now, let us have honesty and goodwill between friends."
That was rich. Judging from the faces around the room, everyone was of a similar opinion.
Asha Greyjoy had no visible reaction, but the stare between her and Arya was intense and unnerving.
Finally the Greyjoy leant back in her chair, breaking eye contact, "What do I care for pirates? They are certainly not worth forty ships and my men's trust. Put them in the seas for the Drowned God to have. I refuse to sign."
But Genna's smile dropped, and a sudden, sharp gaze was directed at Asha, "We all know you sent the fleet, you little kraken bitch, whether you own to it or not. Unless you submit and sign our generous terms, we'll invade properly within weeks, with the Starks from the north and the main Redwyne fleet from the south. You'll be defenceless, and we'll finally finish what we started two Greyjoy rebellions ago...I hear your son is nearing three years, and lives on Pyke with one of your saltwives, correct?"
There was a pause, and with a smile that reminded everyone that she was Tywin Lannister's sister, she finished, "Either way, we'll win this war, but one option is much less costly for you, and with fewer deaths."
Gendry grimaced. Trust a Lannister to kill a child for their parent's mistakes.
He tried to ignore the flash of Duncan's vacant face in his mind's eye.
But not one lord or lady contradicted Genna Lannister, even Gendry. They sat in silence as Asha's nostrils flared and she took a deep, steadying breath. Closing her eyes, she grunted, "Fine. I accept your terms, and I wish you good travels to your seven hells."
No sooner than she had signed the document, she rose and strode from the room, shoving past the guard at the doors.
Pod sighed, face shuttered, "Well, that went well."
"That was unhelpful, Arya."
She ignored Gendry, and still she refused to meet his eyes. Gendry's jaw ticked. Running an idle hand through his hair, he motioned to the soldiers at the door, "Call for the other lords and ladies to come through."
Arya rose, and said to the table, "I'll go find my people."
Gendry watched her as she went, and only just caught the end of Pod's mumbling.
"What?"
"I said, you should tell them to wait at least another hour," Pod muttered irritably, "I need to get drunk to deal with this mess."
Gendry pursed his lips, not knowing if he was joking or not, "We need to get you away from Bronn."
None the less, he brought the soldiers back to let the highborns know the meeting would be postponed an hour. He needed fresh air.
He had been walking outside the keep, chatting to Stormlands and Crownlands men about their days, when he heard loud jeering and cheering from the Stark camp. Men were running towards the sound, some drunk, others curious, and all seemingly eager.
"What's going on there?" Gendry asked the man he had been talking to, a Swann man-at-arms from the Dornish marches named Tovall.
"I don't know, milord. Up to no good, by the looks of 'em."
Gendry agreed, and followed the stream of men pulled toward the Stark camp, as if by a lodestone. As he drew closer, he saw the men were crowded around the encampment where the ironborn captives were being held before being shipped back to Pyke. The air had an earthy tang to it, from being rustled by so many boots. If Gendry was being fanciful, he would say the air smelt of violence as well.
For at the centre was Lord Brandon Flint raging across the space, eyes feverish as the crowd hung on every word that spilled from his mouth.
"Sending them back was a price for peace. But where is the justice? Where is the justice when we send them back, only for them to raid our homes and enslave our families when our backs are turned?" Brandon Flint roared, and the crowd roared with him.
He made it a spectacle, and his utter conviction was quickly turning the crowd into a mob. There were shouts of agreement and support from all there, whether it be from the North or the South, red and gold or white and grey.
It was a dangerous energy, one which Gendry would rather not involve himself in if he didn't have a reason. The dozens of ironborn men tied to posts in the centre of the clearing withered in on themselves, many with fear evident on their faces. Some starting struggling, desperate to get out of their ropes, but to no avail.
"However!" Brandon declared, his face setting to stone and his voice lowering, men crowding forward to hear more, "Our princess is a Stark, and Starks see justice done."
He turned to a figure standing by the side, and with a jolt he realised it was Arya, surrounded by other Northern highborns. When Arya nodded to Lord Flint, Stark soldiers advanced on the ironborn.
With the soldiers now out of the way, Gendry could see what he thought to originally be plain campfires were in fact purposed with heating up pokers.
His dread grew.
A savage grin, Brandon concluded, "Aye, we must send them back, but no-where in that agreement said we had to send them back with their hands. Let us see them raid and reave when they cannot raise so much as a piece of bread!"
Helpless and unable to intervene, Gendry watched on. Scraping sounds echoes the clearing as iron swords were drawn. He left when the screams started, unable to stomach more.
He left to the sound of cheering.
Things only got worse from there.
The reconvened war council, now including the others that were left out previously, needed to discuss the dismantling of the armies. The highborns eventually arrived, with the seats allocated to the North noticeably absent.
"Where is the North?" Aemon Estermont demanded, "Do they not follow the same time as the rest of Westeros, now?"
"I heard they were busy-like with removing the ironborn from their hands," Bronn said smugly, apparently amused by the violence.
Baelor Hightower grunted, "A gristly thing, that, but one that will save us from those soldiers raiding again. The Greyjoy woman won't be happy, though."
"Frankly, I couldn't care less if they came or not," Lyonel Frey spat, as Addam Marbrand grimaced at the man.
"Well we best boot the North out then, if the mighty Lord Frey and his three hundred men could care less."
Willem Frey glared at Olyvar, "You were a Frey once, too."
Olyvar bowed his head playfully, "And every day I thank the Seven for my mother's name."
Then, one of the foulest odours Gendry had ever smelt permeated the room, and everyone went silent. Arstan Selmy could always be counted upon, and in that moment Gendry almost admired the man's arse for silencing the pettiness of lords. Gendry pinched his brow, trying to massage the coming headache away. In hindsight, he wished he would have followed Pod and Bronn's advice and found himself a good wine.
The doors swung open, and the Banefort's castellan announced, "Princess Arya of House Stark, Commander of the Northern Fleets, and Shield of –
"Gods, stop."
The man was put off by the interruption as Arya brushed past him, and he struggled to announce the rest quickly enough, blurring the names together, "Lord Brandon Flint of Flint's Finger, Lady Meera Reed of Greywater Watch, Lady Alysane Mormont of Bear Island, Lyra Mormont of Bear Island, and Patrek Mallister, Heir to Seaguard."
The poor man looked exhausted.
"By the Seven," Gendry heard Martyn Lannister whisper to his cousin, "They're all women. No wonder the North is so bloody mad!"
Gendry sighed. Gods he hated Lannisters.
The Northerners, and Patrek Mallister, moved as a block. Dour faces, lean bodies, and foreboding eyes seemed to be their common feature. The heavy wood of the chairs squealed as they were pulled back. Gendry winced.
He was sure the Mormont chit was drawing out the sound on purpose.
Pod stood, the good man he was, and made introductions for the rest of the table. Highborns were so finicky when not introduced to each other properly.
Alysane Mormont, a brawny woman with a strong nose, snarled, "Oh look, friends, more Freys. Lannisters, too. How delightful. Perhaps we should look for hidden crossbows. "
Genna Lannister's hand was the only thing that stopped Martyn Lannister from rising with outrage, and there was silence. Gendry looked at the closed door wistfully. Give him a good axe and a boatload of ironborn any day over politics and grudges.
"So how is it that the Mallisters of Seaguard came to be with the Northern Fleet," Arstan Selmy asked with genuine curiosity.
Patrek Mallister raised his chin, "The ironborn came for Seaguard, and even a fortress such as ours couldn't hold them forever. They were in the process of sacking Seaguard town when crannogmen ambushed the reavers still on land, at which point the Starks arrived to capture the ships and rescue our people taken as slaves."
He nodded to Arya and Meera Reed, and said with a low voice, "The Starks and the North have always been friends to Seaguard, even when our own kin in the Riverlands have abandoned us for their own greed."
At the last sentence, various lords and ladies around the room stiffened. Gendry couldn't blame them. Patrek had made the sentiments of Seaguard very clear. With Mallister lands so close to the Northern border, it gave an opening for the North to potentially further influence the Riverlands, as if the ties of kinship weren't enough already.
As if they needed any other problems today.
Swallowing his nerves, Gendry cleared his throat. "Back to the matter at hand, then. How many men and ships should we be retaining at Banefort, and for how long, to ensure Pyke's compliance to this renewed peace?"
It was going reasonably well, and they were making good progress. Fifteen Northern ships, and ten thousand men from the Westerlands and the Crownlands would remain at the Banefort for two months, and the Redwyne ships on their way from the Arbour would leave twenty war galleys at Lannisport until the Westerlands could rebuild their defences.
It was all going reasonably well, until the door opened to one of the Frey men-at-arms. Eyes searching, he quickly found Lyonel Frey. Rushing over, he whispered something in Lyonel's ear.
Gendry watched as the man's face went from pink to pale, then to red.
"My cousin, Steffon Frey," he announced, "Has been poisoned within his camp. He died ten minutes ago, choking on his own spittle."
Gendry resisted the urge to massage his brow once more. There was a general outcry, more because it was a highborn that had been poisoned rather than affection for the late Frey. Willem Frey looked more upset than his uncle, and both glowered at Arya.
Too late, Gendry saw where this was going. For who else was there to blame than the woman infamous for wiping out the Twins?
She caught their look and sighed, waving a hand with irritation, "Look, I'm not going to say I'm sorry that your poor Frey is dead, because I'm not. But I didn't kill him."
"Why would we believe you?" Willem Frey, a boy barely over fourteen years, hissed, "Maybe you want to finish the job you started."
"Tempting," Arya spat.
"I think we may need to calm down a bit, lad." Bronn said in what Gendry was sure was the most diplomatic tone Bronn could manage.
The boy turned on Bronn, "Calm? She slaughtered my whole entire family! My grandfathers, brothers, cousins, uncles... All that remains are ten members of House Frey, destitute and without our ancestral seat."
"More members than you left my family after the Red Wedding."
"Aye, ours too." Spoke Lyra Mormont, echoed by Brandon Flint.
Willem, suddenly meek, answered, "I wasn't at the Red Wedding." Gendry edged his hand toward his sword as he felt tension rise.
Arya shrugged, "And now your family are mighty lords of the Mountain's hovel, which your Lannister relatives so generously gave you, and I have avenged my family. Why would I need to kill more when only the dregs remain?" She then propped her muddy boots up on the table, "Can we get a move on with this nonsense? I'm bored already."
But Lyonel Frey, interrupted, now a dazzling shade of ruby, "If it wasn't her, then she would just have her treacherous pet frogeater do it!" he snarled, pointing at Meera Reed. To Meera's credit, she merely looked bewildered.
But it wasn't the North that was first in defending Lady Reed. Balon Swann spoke with great distain, "I would be very careful, my lord, who you accuse of what. There is absolutely no evidence, and King Bran might take great offence that you would insult his royal sister as well as his beloved childhood friend so."
"Yes, Frey," Gendry agreed coldly, at the same time that Genna Lannister hissed at her son, "That's enough."
"Really," Paxter Redwyne said generously, "It could be anyone, soldier or otherwise. Your family hasn't garnered much goodwill over the years."
Lyonel Frey's eyes widened, strangled by his own rage. Gendry saw the precise moment where he lost all sense, and the man slammed his fist down on the table, face red as he screamed, "I want that murderous bitch gone!"
The room went deathly silent, each face watching the North to see what they would do, as the North watched Arya Stark.
Arya looked at him mildly, considering the sweating man in front of her as a hawk might a particularly feeble rabbit. Finally, she leant forward and rested her arms on the table, and said with a calm voice, "Frey, I'll say this a last time. If I wanted to kill any other members of your family, they would have been dead years ago, and you would have known it was me.
She leant back in her chair, and a sharp smile curved around dead eyes, "As it happens, I already had my fill of revenge. It was one of the greatest pleasures I have ever known, watching your grandfather enjoy two slices of pie made with the flesh of his own sons, just before I slit his throat from ear to ear, then to wear his face while I poisoned your brothers, your cousins, and yours uncles. They must have died believing him a kinslayer."
The room was filled with a horrified silence, Lyonel's anger quickly deflated. Into the quiet, he whispered, "You're mad."
"No, just a servant of the Many-Faced God."
Gendry fought a shiver, and did the only thing he knew how, "This council is dismissed for the day. We'll finalise this on the morrow."
He rose from his chair and practically threw himself from the room.
In the days after the battle, the bodies were gathered and burned in immense bonfires far from the camps. Gendry didn't know that the practice had reached so far south, but none the less was glad for it. It made him feel more secure.
So the bodies were ash, but the smell of violence remained. The blood spilled on the battlefield had turned the earth a rusty hue, and from the vantage point of the battlements, Gendry saw a sizable group of soldiers converge around a particularly bloody part.
He rolled his eyes at the sight and turned away.
"What are they doing, my lord?" Ormund asked from beside him.
"They," Gendry snorted, "Are planting a weirwood tree, from a seed taken from the branches of the heart tree at Winterfell itself. Or so I'm told. The blood serves as their sacrifice to the Old Gods, and they will leave men behind to protect the sapling. When the tree is old enough, they'll ask a green man to depart the Isle of Faces and carve the sapling into a heart tree, so it may be at the centre of a new godswood."
Ormund frowned, "Some of those soldiers are House Costayne men. I fear for our place in the heavens if this blasphemy has truly reached so far south."
Gendry stared at him. He didn't realise Ormund was so devout. Cautiously, Gendry replied, "Many follow the Old Religion these days, after King Bran was crowned, or if their kin returned from the North. I don't blame them, neither. If you had seen the things we have seen, those of us who fought at Winterfell, you would follow the Old Gods as well."
"Ah, yes. Grumpkins and snarks. A fine replacement for the Light of the Seven..."
Gendry held back against the flash of rage, but failed. He gazed down at his knight.
"Ser Ormund," he said with a mild voice, "I like you, and I respect your devotion. It's because of this that I'll tell you, here and now, if you ever mock those that fought in the War for the Dawn again, soon afterwards you won't have a tongue with which to mock anyone."
But for a moment, Ormund's brows reached almost to his hairline, and then quickly he bent his head low, "I apologise, my lord, for any offence given. I will endeavour to not dismiss these stories or the Old Religion in future."
Pretty words for a pretty lie. Nevertheless he replied with a brief, "Good."
Ormund lifted his head, and a somewhat sheepish smile crept onto his face, "If I may say, though, my lord...never have I thought you resembled your late uncle, the Lord Stannis, until this day."
The smile was contagious, and despite remaining ill-humoured Gendry gave a half-hearted grin, "You may not."
Turning his attention toward the harbour, Gendry rested his eyes on the direwolf flag. Long moments passed.
Arya was likely onboard at this very moment, doing gods knew what. Seven hells, it would be good to have a proper conversation with her. His stomach clenched at the thought, and his traitorous mind slipped into another direction. Had she taken another lover since him? Perhaps Lord Brandon, or one of her cr—
"Don't do it. She'll tear your heart out and eat it for breakfast."
Gendry scowled, "Shut up, Pod. When did your mangy arse get up here anyway?"
Pod's self-satisfied smirk lit up his face, "I had reports that the mighty Lord Baratheon was brooding on the battlements. I placed a bet with Bronn, and as it turns out, that fucker owes me a lot of money."
"Are you talking about the Princess Arya?" Came Ormund's curious voice from his other side.
"Aye, the fool mopes over her ever since she stole his balls to decorate her purse."
Gendry set his shoulders and stared resolutely ahead to the horizon, determined to ignore them.
"Yes, I had gathered. I almost sent out a search party for them. Every time he takes too much Dornish wine at supper, there's always a story about the time Arry did this, or milady did that. I feel like I know the chit."
Gendry narrowed his eyes, patience worn to its quick demise. "I'm going to visit the Stark soldiers," he informed them, and set off down the stairs to the sound of pitying groans behind him.
"We bet on that, too," Pod mentioned casually to Ormund.
The two guards to see him approach were ones he recognised from Winterfell.
It really didn't feel like almost a decade since the Long Night. Gendry could recall every horrifying detail as if it were yesterday. Often he woke at night sweating after dreams that he were still on that fucking battlefront, watching the flaming Dothraki swords smothered by the darkness. Sometimes he is still in disbelief that he managed to survive it.
Apparently the soldiers recognised him too, as both performed a quick nod, and one man grinned, "Commander Stark is in her chambers, my lord. I'll show you to the ship."
Gendry thanked the man, but thinned his lips as he followed. He was beginning to regret following through with this idiotic impulse.
But before he could turn around, he was already at her door, knocking. The grinning guard from before loitered on the stairwell, and Gendry gave him the best glare he could muster to send the nosy bastard on his way.
The door opened to a set of stormy eyes, "You're stomping loud enough to wake the fucking dead all over again."
"Let me in, and we can let the Night King go back to sleep."
Subtle.
Arya rolled her eyes, but left the door open for him to enter. He closed it slowly as he looked at her cabin. The slightly pungent smell was from the tallow candles lighting the room with a soft glow, and bedding lay on the floor instead of swinging from the roof. Aside from a chair stamped with the direwolf sigil, a map pinned to the wall, and a small desk, that was all that the room contained.
"If you've come here to lecture me about today, don't."
"I wasn't going to, Arya."
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "Not even for ignoring you?"
"No." He knew she had been doing that on purpose.
"Not for the hands?"
"That was your prerogative, lovely though it was."
"Not even for the things I said at the council?"
Gendry pursed his lips, "No?" The word swerved up at the end.
She knew he was lying, he could see it, but she said nothing.
There was a pause, "Why not?"
Gendry thought for a moment, and answered honestly, "You told me you were eleven the first time you killed, and later, at Winterfell, I had heard other things. Violence has always been a part of your story, and I've always accepted that."
Accepted, perhaps, but forgotten often. The need to protect and shelter her was there as strong as ever. Gendry tried to smother it.
"You've changed." She said, a curious glint in her eye, "You speak and act like a lord now."
He shifted from one foot to the other, "Maybe. Not in the way it matters, though." He frowned, "You have, too."
And it was true. She wielded power more comfortably these days, seemed more at ease with herself.
She tilted her head to the side, "Maybe. Sansa tricked me into building and leading this fleet, and with the rebuilding of Deepwood Motte. It isn't nearly as annoying as I thought it would be when I was younger."
So a lady in all but name, then, Gendry thought bitterly.
"I heard your sister had a son?"
Arya's entire disposition changed in that moment, a flash of that stubborn girl whose greatest wish was to be with her family again.
"Rickard," she said with a small smile, "He is nearing three years, now. He has the Stark look, all dark curls and grey eyes. The Northerners were overjoyed, they wanted to call him Eddard, but Sansa said it was too soon for her to start naming children after our dead. She is with child again, maybe this one we will name after Mother or Father."
He tried the next question carefully, "And Sansa isn't married?"
Her scowl told him his question hadn't been received well, "Who Sansa lets into her bed is nobody's business but her own. She should be able to choose who she fucks, for once in her life."
Gendry held up his hands, "I didn't mean any offence, it's just curious is all."
Arya shrugged, "It's hardly uncommon now to have heirs that were legitimised. There were barely any members of any houses left after the War of the Five Kings, the Great War, and the Dragon Queen. Women and legitimised bastards are heads of many houses now, and women fight in our armies and navy."
Yes, he had noticed women in soldier's garb. Several of his men had complained, to which Gendry had replied scathingly. Not that there weren't any in the Six Kingdoms, some girls from minor houses had taken after Brienne's path, but clearly not as many as in the North.
Arya continued, "She gets some stuffy old lords who make a fuss, but commoners and most highborns alike love her too much for any of them to kick up a real stink, and the rest fear her."
He remembered the elder Stark sister's imperious blue eyes. He would fear her, too. Yet the idea of such a proper lady being remorseless about birthing bastards raised an interesting question. How different would it be, to grow up and live as a bastard of the north now, he wondered.
"And your sister?" She asked hesitantly. He had a feeling she only asked because it was expected. Small talk was, for both of them, painful.
Yet, Gendry beamed, "Finding out about Mya was a surprise, and one of the best days of my life. She rules the Stormlands while I'm in King's Landing better than I ever could."
"I'm surprised you haven't found a lady and married yet," she said with a forced smile, obviously trying to make a joke and failing miserably. Awkwardness descended between them.
Gendry bit his lip and said with false bravado, "Not for the lack of my bannermen's efforts, I can tell you. The stormlords are the worst, but lately there's been a bigger effort from the other lords from the Reach or further north."
"Why haven't you accepted, surely you need an heir?"
Gendry looked at her, and said dishonestly, "I don't know."
Awkwardness descended again, and without thinking, Gendry said the first thing that came to mind.
"Have you had lovers since then?"
He cringed. The question was beneath both of them, but the it burned. The tension between them turned from awkward to something heavier.
He was thankful that she didn't avoid his gaze, "A few. Long past, though."
Gendry nodded, and accepted it for what it was. He had certainly taken no oath of celibacy either. He looked to his clenched hands.
She continued, though, to Gendry's surprise. With an odd hitch, she said, "They all tried to make me into something I'm not."
"Like I did?"
"Yes."
Emotion settling into his throat, Gendry asked, "What if I didn't, Arya? What if I didn't try to change you at all? Would it be different then?"
He looked up at her, and saw her face frozen. The image of an animal cornered in a trap came to his mind's eye. With a sigh, he looked away, not wanting to see the rejection as it came. Stupid bastard.
"I should go, Arya." He stood to leave, and made it within a length to the door before a hand grabbed his.
Letting himself face her, he watched her warily. Her face was wide open, expressive like it had been when they were children.
"Stay," she said in a soft tone that was the closest thing to begging he had ever heard from Arya Stark. "I can't promise anything, but please...Stay."
Any resistance he had within himself crumbled.
Gently at first, he pressed his mouth to hers, and caressed his fingers gently down to cup her cheek, desperate not to scare her. But then a small sound came from her mouth in protest, and she deepened the kiss, gripping harder onto his arm.
That was all it took. Within moments, they were up against the wall, fingers working against ties, breaths heavy as they tried to make their way over to the bedding, and rough, desperate kisses as they could do neither fast enough.
All he could think was, this was his future, and his blood sung with the feeling of coming home.
A/N: So a few of you have made a very valid comment about why this story, and the one before it, are in the books section as well as the show section. If you'll bear with me for a sec, I'll give my reasoning.
So first things first, the background of many of the main characters do align with the show. In this, the Nymeros Martells are dead dead (rip), Jeyne Poole just stopped existing and was never passed off as Arya Stark, and the Night King was sadly just some black-and-white baddie etc. etc.
Nevertheless, with this fic and future ones in this universe, I've tried to use more of GRRM's world than the show had the airtime or the budget to do e.g. discussing Euron Greyjoy invasion of the Shield Islands and the Arbour, the presence of certain families, main or secondary characters, and plot-lines from the books that have never existed in the show, and the use of several fan theories from the books i.e. that Lord Rosby's unnamed ward is in fact Olyvar Frey, and what the implications of this could be.
The nature of many stories in this fandom are speculative, and so while for sure the ending of the tv show is the basis for this fic, I've more used it as a framework for speculating how GRRM's many unfinished story-lines could head. This is done instead of creating a similar story for how the whole A Song of Ice and Fire saga could end, something that has been done many times over by far better fanfic writers than me. So while show-only fans could definitely get something out of this, those who have an idea of the broader ASOIAF world would probably get more of the references.
Anyway, I hope that clears up any questions. Nevertheless I'd love to hear feedback!