A Future We Would Make Ourselves

By littlelights

Disclaimer: I am not making any money, blah, blah, blah.

Chapter Four

Gendry had never seen so much snow before. The open country side of the northern kingdom continued to stretch out before him, and the rugged beauty of the place hadn't ceased to impress him. It was strange to think the road taking him another thousand leagues to Winterfell, was probably close to the route Yoren would have led him, Hot Pie, Lommy, and the others on their journey north to the Wall. How his life would have been different if he'd made that trip. He probably would have served the Night's Watch with Jon Snow as its Lord Commander. The rocky crags and hearty pines were interspaced with older forests, ancient and haunting. It was a strange place for a son of Flea Bottom to see in his lifetime.

The army had marched for over a month, with over 20,000 men complete with wagons of supplies making the journey to the far north. The road ahead was passable to march six men in each line, and with half their army making the long trek north by foot, the column of banners stretched well behind him. He rode with John Snow, the King in the North, and Ser Davos near the front of the column, and from the vantage point, he could see the thousands of men snaking down the road for miles and miles.

It was a sight to remember, that was for certain.

He glanced over at the king and read the pensive expression on his lordship's face. After all their months preparing for war, the ride to Winterfell seemed longer than he'd expected.

"How much further to Winterfell, y'grace?" Gendry asked the king.

"Getting tired of the landscape already?" There was no bite to his voice, just an acceptance that he was being forced to make conversation with at least one person during the last leg of the journey home.

"It's more open space and snow than I've seen in my life." Lord Baratheon supplied. "I can see why some men feel the place is unsettling. It's beautiful in its way."

"Aye," Jon replied. "It's the type of beauty that's kept the Northmen close to their home and the Southern folk from venturing too close."

Gendry supposed isolation worked as both an advantage and disadvantage to the northern reaches of Westeros. "Ser Davos says it snows here, even in the summer. Don't know how that works."

"Hearty crops and good trade help out quite a bit. All I've known is summer up here. The snow doesn't last very long and the hills and fields stretch as far as the eye can see. I used to ride with my brother and in the woods and flat lands surrounding Winterfell. You'd turn around to make for the keep, and see the sunset casting long shadows and light reflecting from the glass gardens. It seemed the whole world to me then."

"Anyplace can seem like the whole world when you're little," Gendry interjected. Growing up in the close alleyways and higgelty-piggelty streets of flea bottom seemed immense.

The king smiled. "True. I can remember wanting Winterfell to be my home for the rest of my life, to live and work within its walls. I thought that would be my brother's future, not mine. I left when I was seventeen for the wall and became a brother of the Night's Watch. Never thought I'd see Winterfell again."

One cold evening, Ser Davos had told him the story of Jon Snow's death and subsequent resurrection with the aid of Lady Melisandre. The Lord Commander executed the men who'd killed him, passed his mantle to the next commander, and with his sister, reclaimed Winterfell from the last Lord Bolton. It was the type of story which, if Gentry been a young boy, would have been a treat to hear. Actually knowing the man at the center of the myth, and having spent time in his company in Dragonstone, the tale seemed harsher and painful rather than thrilling and glorious.

What could anyone say when confronted with so much loss?

"I've learned life takes you places you never expected to go, and it can take you to some dark and terrible places at any time, y'grace. It gets worse before it gets better."

"Aye," the king replied. "Seems like it, doesn't it?"

"I thought I'd be an armorer my whole life." Gendry supplied. "Take over for Master Mott when he grew too old to work. Take on an apprentice of my own. Spend the rest of my life in Flea Bottom. I was sold to the Night's Watch, and thought my life would be a short life in a dark cold place. That all changed when the Lannister forces took your sister and I to Herrenhal. Never thought we'd escape that place, but we did. Would have died on a pyre to the Red God, had things been different. Been on the run from some noble lord or another ever since. Everyone I've met since I left Flea Bottom wanted me for my trade, my blood, or my father's name. Sitting here, my childhood in Flea Bottom seems ten thousand miles away."

"You're still not keen on being lord of Storm's End, are you?" the king asked with amusement, the northern tones of his voice clipped the words, making them sound harsher than they actually were. The stag lord had grown used to them over the past year.

"I told you and Ser Davos, I wasn't raised to be head of a noble house," Gendry replied, distain seeping from his voice. "I never wanted one and never needed one. I'm a tradesman helping to win a war. If the Queen feels it will help to be lord of a place I've never seen, so be it. The only thing I'll be lording over is the forge at Winterfell and the other at Castle Black for the war to come."

The amused expression on the king's face matched his words. "You'll be thinking of Storm's End more now that we're here in the north. What you would do and where you would even begin. It's a task no man should take on alone."

"With respect, y'grace, I never gave much thought about the future until I joined the Queen's cause," Lord Baratheon replied. "You have sisters, a family. I have no one."

"What made you change your mind?" his noble companion asked.

"I was tired of running. Of hiding." Gendry replied, truth and wariness falling from his lips. "I didn't want to live my life looking over my shoulder, waiting to be burned alive as a sacrifice to one god or another. When you're the bastard son of a king, there's nothing safe about your place in the world. I could hide under a rock, stabbed in my sleep and be no better off. If the sword is coming, I'd rather face it head on. I told myself when I came back to Dragonstone, no more running."

The road ahead cleared out and the great white plains gently sloped upward to form an expansive grey blot on the horizon. Small lights flickered from the upper reaches of the darkness.

"You're right," the king replied, looking at the grey stone of Winterfell longingly. "You are who you are, and there's no use running."

XxX

Banners had been spotted in the distance.

Months of preparing for reinforcements were coming to fruition, and Sansa stood firmly in the middle of small legion of people, organizing and delegating as effectively as any military commander. She looked so much like their mother, Arya thought. The braid, the stance, the confidence. The very stones of Winterfell seemed to respond to her sister's voice and direction. With her efforts, the castle had come back to life and could play host to the army of men marching to the gates. Arya was sure Catlyn Stark would have been proud of what her sister had become - a true lady of Winterfell.

For her part, Arya had prepared reports, received inventories, inspected repairs, surveyed the castle three times, and made arrangements house as many men possible in within the heated stones of their home. This was not ideal weather to encamp men, and Sansa was determined they would house as many soldiers as possible, including the habitable areas of the broken tower. Every useable space was accounted for and readied. She had to do now was wait.

Wait for her brother to come home. Wait for Gendry to arrive. Wait for the war to start.

Arya hated waiting.

She stood in the battlements, watching the proud Direwolf banners wave in the brisk late afternoon breeze. The banners in the far distance, many bearing the mark of the three headed dragon, were coming into focus. But there were others - Tyrell, Martel, Dayne of Starfell, Garglen, Blackmont, Swann, Caron, and there - one for house Baratheon. Arya couldn't recall being pleased to see a Baratheon banner more.

The riders near the front of the column came into view, several men she didn't know, and the unmistakable dark hair and beard of her brother. Jon was finally home. Arya ran down to the steps leading to the courtyard, cape flowing in a streak behind her. No dress, just the trousers, wool short frock, and leather chest harness she'd put on in the morning. Sansa thought it best to disregard a welcoming ceremony in favor of feeding and settling their guests from the cold as quickly as possible. Arya felt Jon would approve.

When she slowed her run at the castle doors, she walked out, and amidst the men and the noise of the new arrivals, she clapped eyes on her siblings. Jon was embracing Sansa, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead - something he never would have done when they were growing up. They were speaking softly to each other, care and concern apparent in their tones and faces. Sansa was reassuring their brother of something, eyes darting through the crowd to the front of the castle. To her. Her sister's look warmed, and Arya could see her mouth moving soundlessly - 'there'.

Jon turned, his face shining with hope, and Arya felt the sheer force of his gaze for the first time since her childhood. His hair was tied back, and his beard was fuller, but he was unmistakably Jon. Her beloved brother was home, and she couldn't see for the tears forming in her eyes. Her feet pushed her forward, and she was running, jumping to latch her arms around his neck and bury her face into his cheek like she had when she was seven. He was still so much taller than her, and the strength of his arms pulled her against his chest and up into the air.

Jon was finally home, and for the first time in a long time, she cried.

XxX

When Ser Davos entered the courtyard, there were already people scurrying about the grounds. A tall and beautiful woman with hair like flame walked out from the entrance of the keep, looking calmly through the unknown faces of the riders. She waved to Ser Davos, who kindly waved back. Then she hurried to the King of the North, who dismounted quickly to embrace his sister.

Ser Davos descended from his horse, and Lord Baratheon did the same. He held on the reins until a stable boy appeared, taking the two tired mounts to their warm stables. Gendry took a step toward the keep, when Ser Davos clasped a hand on his arm. The older man's eyes observed the words exchanged between the King in the North and the Lady of Winterfell. His grace had held his anxiety in check through the long march north, but it seemed his patience had just about reached its limits.

"That's the king's sister Lady Sansa," Ser Davos supplied. "Lady of Winterfell."

Gendry nodded. "I reckoned that. Where's Ayra?"

Ser Davos saw the door open to the castle again, and a short, dark haired young woman walking through the entry doors. The opposite of the Lady of Winterfell in nearly every way, the lass wore a half frock, leather chest armor, and small thin sword at her side. The type of sword a brother would gift to an impressionable younger sister.

The king had seen her too, and his slightly dazed and hopeful face stared at the younger woman like she was a figment of a dream.

Lady Arya.

Gendry made a move to walk to her. "Wait a second, lad," Ser Davos said. "Let them have a moment."

Arya ran to her brother, tears streaming from her face, and was enveloped into a tight embrace which lasted more than a minute. The force of emotion in the courtyard was palatable to nearly everyone. After a while, Sansa tentatively touched her brother's back, and rubbed circles of comfort there. Jon Snow made no move to release Arya, but placed her back down onto her feet before enfolding both sisters into his embrace.

This was family, Ser Davos thought. Tears of the lost and found made flesh. No family deserved a happier moment more than the Starks of Winterfell. The lord of the castle was kissing his siblings on the head again and with an arm around each one of them, walking into the warmth of the hall, capes billowing in the cold wind.

The Onion Knight looked back at his younger companion, whose face held a look of such longing it would make the older man pensive for most of the night. "Let them have this night, m'lord." He clapped the younger man on the shoulder and said with quiet confidence, "You'll see her tomorrow." He gestured to another, smaller door to the keep. Lord Baratheon walked with him slowly, eyes and posture resigned to an evening spent waiting. As they walked through the heavy wooden door, the warm scent of bread and soup filled the corridor. Ser Davos led the way through the now familiar walls of Winterfell. "Com'on, let's get you settled, eh?"

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review!