Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines belong to the series creators and George R.R. Martin.

Earth & the sun were sweet to us, green grass and brooks and laughter...Dawn & the hills were glad of us...
Stars and streams were friends to us, clear skies and wintry weather...
And it was not wraith and wraith with us, but flesh and blood together.

Only the dust of thee is here...
But when mine own day closes I will lie down beside thee, love, and mingle with thy roses.

from Only Thy Dust by Don Marquis

Gendry

Ω

For the greater part of his life, no one save for his mother, had ever been interested in him, not until a master armourer had taken him under his wing and taught him how to wield a hammer. Then it was only him who cared, but the first hand of the king appeared, and the second, and his life was not what it had always been. His master cared no longer and sold him to the Wall, then the goldcloaks had come, then the brotherhood and the red woman, and suddenly he found himself interesting to everyone.

He tried to remember that it wasn't all bad, he'd known some good folk in his life, and thanks to a few of them, he was still alive. He realized now, that the man he'd once considered a father, had sold him to the night's watch to save his life. Yoren had died protecting him from the king's men, and Davos, had stopped the red woman from sacrificing him to her lord of light.

And then there was Arya. He was not sure she saved his life exactly, by getting him out of Harrenhal, but he knew if not for her, he'd either still be there, or dead.

"I can be your family."

He could still remember her voice, her reaction when he'd rejected her. He knew that he was not good enough to be her family, he was just a bastard from Fleabottom. He could not keep her safe, no more than he could himself. But he couldn't deny that it was her words that kept him going. During those long nights in the dank dungeons of Dragonstone, or when the muscles of his arms ached so bad he thought his arms would drift away with the oars of his boat, or when he'd settled in the Riverlands and had perfected his craft by working for an armourer who never seemed happy, but the wages were above average and he earned a good reputation.

When he heard that Winterfell had been retaken by the Starks, a bastard son, and his half sister, he initially thought it was her. it wasn't until someone had mentioned that she was the spitting image of Lady Catelyn with her auburn hair that he realized it wasn't. He'd been tempted to abandon his quest, but he didn't. He would serve the King in the North, and wait for her if she was not already there. War was coming, and he would use it to build himself up, and one day-

"You there! Come along now," Someone shouted at him suddenly.

One of the guards was beckoning him over, and he rose, his thoughts abandoned.

When he reached the man, he received a once over, but otherwise the guard's bravado had faded and he said nothing. Gendry knew he'd grown much in the past year, in muscle and height but he often forgot his size, and how he seemed to easily intimidate those around him.

The doors opened then, and the same man lead him in. It was late already, and the room was empty save for the King and the two women around him, one sitting beside and the other standing behind. He suddenly was grateful there would be no one but them to see the blunder his petitioning would likely be as he had no idea what he planned to say.

As expected, his greeting had gone terribly, but they'd smiled, their grins mirror images and he imagined it was what Arya's smile looked like as well. Suddenly remembering he hadn't introduced himself, he hastily said, "My name is Gendry Waters, your Grace."

He paused, uncertain if he should say where he was from, considering it seemed likely they already knew. As he was about to speak, the lady spoke first.

"You're from the Crownlands," Her smile was gone, and her tone suspicious.

"Ay, my lady," He replied, not very glad himself about it. "King's Landing. I was an armourer's apprentice."

"You're very far from home," The King said then, kindly.

"It was never really my home, your Grace," He answered honestly.

The King seemed to understand what he meant, and Gendry decided it was safe enough, to share some truth.

"I met your lord father once, your grace, my lady," he said then, and suddenly somehow the room grew quieter.

"He came with questions, just as the hand before him had."

"Lord Arryn?"

He turned to her after she spoke, "I believe so, my lady."

"What did he seek of you?" The King asked then, seeming equally as surprised as his sister.

"He inquired first about lord Arryn and why he'd come. When I told him, he asked a couple of the same questions the other had."

"And then he died," the lady said, her tone accusing.

He couldn't deny it anymore, he knew now why they'd come looking for him, though he still wasn't sure why him being the bastard of the dead king Robert got them killed.

The king glanced over at his sister before he asked without accusation, "What questions?"

"About my mother, and what she looked like, your Grace."

This was exactly how his meeting with lord Stark had gone, and he realized suddenly, that the king was very much his spitting image, not only in looks, though his hair was wilder and darker, but in the way he spoke and carried himself.

Knowing he would ask, Gendry spoke first, "She died when I was little, and she had yellow hair."

Both the king and lady Sansa seemed confused by this answer, and though he knew who his father was, he was not ready to tell them yet. So he pressed on before either could inquire further.

"He also offered me a chance, that if the day ever came that I should choose to wield a sword instead of forge one, I should come to him, your Grace."

"Why not join the city watch or the Lannister army to better yourself? They're much closer and you could have saved yourself the trouble."

"Sansa," It was the first time he heard the king speak in anger, and his voice had only been stern.

By her reaction, it was the first time for her as well. She composed herself moments later, after giving the woman at the back a glance. He turned to look at his feet before anyone turned back to him, feeling as if he'd just intruded on a very personal moment between siblings.

"Her words could have been better chosen, but my sister has the right of it. You have travelled too far simply to serve. If betterment is what you seek, no army better than the Lannister to gain riches, or the watch for glory."

He looked up at the king when he spoke, knowing he was being addressed. He didn't know how to explain, not without giving himself away, in either that he was the bastard of the old king Baratheon, or that he'd known their sister, and she was why he was here. So he told as much truth as he could.

"Tis true your Grace, but the Lannisters want me dead, and the goldcloaks seek me out. Your sister Lady Sansa has the right of it. Two hands of the old king visited me and died not a week after they'd spoken to me, though I could not tell you why. I'm just a bastard from Fleabottom, no more."

His sister whispered something in his ear and suddenly Gendry was worried they would turn him away, so he spoke without thought.

"I do not seek riches nor glory your grace, only to be a better man. I left King's landing when I was barely a man, and have since met brother's of the night's watch, goldcloaks and Lannister men, the brotherhood without banners and the lord of light, and of them all only the North, starting with your father, showed me any kindness. So I am here."

All three regarded him carefully, and it was obvious by the look on her face, he'd already won over the fierce woman standing behind them, as for the king and his sister, neither was entirely convinced yet.

"What do you mean by 'The North'? Who else helped you?" The king asked.

"The brother of the night's watch, he helped me escape King's Landing, and he saved my life."

It wasn't everyone he meant, but it would do.

"What was his name?"

"Yoren," He answered simply, remembering the gruff surly man who'd died protecting him and Arya.

The King nodded but didn't ask anything more. Lady Sansa kept quiet, and though she said nothing he could tell she wasn't completely satisfied in his story, and that she knew he was hiding something, and though he was, it wasn't the villainy she seemed to expect.

"Are you proficient in your skills as an armourer?"

He nodded, feeling the glimmer of hope in the pit of his stomach, "I've worked in various strongholds since leaving the capital, but as of late, I've worked at an armoury in the riverlands for the past two years."

"You are not skilled in battle though you wish to learn."

It was a question though he hadn't said it as such, so he nodded again. He had to learn how to fight if he ever hoped to protect her.

"We have need of an armourer, and many more, so you will spend half your time helping our armourers train a few others to learn the craft, and the rest of your time you will learn to wield your sword. When you are ready, you will swear fealty and one day you will fight, for the great war is coming."

"Thank you, your Grace," he said then, with a bow.

"When the time comes you may not feel so grateful," He replied, his voice low and solemn, and the room seemed to chill at the following silence.

Gendry felt stupid then, knowing it was not right to be grateful for war, but he'd said it more because he was grateful for the chance to bind himself to Arya in some way. He looked down regretting himself when the king spoke again.

"It's probably best you change your name. Waters will not do you any favours in the North, and surrounded by northerners and men of the Vale, Snow and Stone will raise questions you may not be able to answer. Rivers or Storm will serve you best I think."

He nodded deferentially, and the king stood. It would seem they were done. Lady Sansa followed his lead and the woman in armour standing behind them approached, her face hard but not unkind.

"Welcome to the North, Gendry-" The king's voice hung on his name, and he realized he wanted to know what he'd chosen.

"Rivers. your Grace."

A part of him wanted to say Storm, but being the bastard son of a dead king did not make him part of that land, and he'd lived in the Riverlands for some time now, it'd been more his home than he'd ever had. Besides, it would better keep his secret. Though he was not sure why he felt the need to keep it.

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