Hey gang! It's been a while, I know - university is killing me. This chapter was also a bit of a struggle to write, but I hope I've made up for the wait in that it's the longest chapter in this fic (so far)! Only two more to go after this one!
The world feels so still. When Arya killed Daenerys, it seemed as though everyone let out a huge breath, and then never took in another one. And Gendry's no bleeding philosopher, but it's the only way he can describe it. Something's changed, he knows that much, but he doesn't know what yet.
Maybe it's that, for the first time since he left this godforsaken city, there might be an end in sight. He's been running almost his entire life; perhaps, now, that can all stop. Perhaps he can… No. He won't think about the future, not yet. There's still so much left to be done - this peace is as fragile as it was sudden. It can all break at any moment.
Besides, the only future he can imagine - the only happy one, anyway - is one that has already been denied to him. He doesn't mind that, not truly. She deserves to be happy far more than he does, for all the suffering she's endured.
Nobody seems to know what to do anymore. People just wander around, occasionally fishing something out of the ashes, staring at it for a moment, then tossing it back down like the rubbish it now is. Gendry's taken more than one trip down the former Street of Steel, trying to work out where Mott's shop used to be, where he had grown up. Those years are almost like a dream now. But, he reflects, they may have been the only happy ones of his life.
He's barely seen Arya since everything happened. He could explain it by saying that she's been cloistered away with her brother, in meetings that he's no longer privy to. That she's been near impossible to find because she's Arya, and she can disappear like that. He'd be lying, though. In truth, he's been avoiding her - staying away from meetings, finding excuses to get away whenever Davos or Jon corners him to talk. She could find him if she wanted to, he reasons, though even he knows it's a weak argument. He wants to see her, it's just… Well, it's just that he wouldn't know what to do. Where do they go from here? They've no future, he knows this already, so he ought to start getting used to that reality, much as he might not want to.
He almost trips over a tent rope, as lost in thought as he is. Would have fallen, in fact, were it not for a hand grabbing his arm and steadying him. He looks up at the man who caught him, a thanks on his lips, only to meet a pair of smirking, steel-grey eyes.
"Arya," he gasps, almost tripping again in his scramble to get upright.
"Gendry," she says, sounding far too nonchalant for his liking. "You should watch where you're walking."
"How did you know where to find me?" He's under no impression that this was a chance meeting; there's no such thing as chance where Arya's concerned.
But she just rolls her eyes. "Look up, stupid."
He does, and flushes a bright red, spotting the Stark banner flying high above a large tent. The Stark command tent, to be precise.
"Oh."
Arya shakes her head and turns away from him, striding into the tent. "Come on," she throws over her shoulder, and, gods help him, Gendry follows her, not even thinking about it.
Jon and Davos don't seem surprised when Gendry trails in behind Arya. He doesn't know what they were talking about, but the map table is covered in letters, so he guesses it was something important. Something that would probably go just fine without his input, so he still doesn't know why Arya wanted him to come in.
"Lord Baratheon -"
Gendry winces at the title. "Just Gendry."
Jon nods, unperturbed by the interruption. "Gendry, perhaps you could give you opinion on this." He slides some of the parchment over to him, looking expectantly at him. Gendry clears his throat, shifting awkwardly.
"We found them in Daenerys's tent," Davos says, jumping in. Gendry throws a grateful look the old man's way, receiving a nod in return. "Letters, from almost every lord and lady that's left in the whole of Westeros."
Jon gathers a stack of them up. "Arianne Martell." He tosses the letter onto the table. "Yara Greyjoy, Robin Arryn, Edmure Tully, Sam Tarly, Janei Lannister. A few others. All agreeing to meet here in a few days time, by invitation of Daenerys."
"I thought all the Lannisters were gone." It's hardly the right question, Gendry knows this, but he still doesn't understand what Jon is asking him. Jon looks faintly amused.
"Most of them are. From what I can tell, Janei is Ser Kevan Lannister's last living child, and the last Lannister heir. There's a branch of Freys with Lannister blood, but we don't really know how many of them are still alive, after Arya…" Jon shifts somewhat uncomfortably, clearly still unsure what to make of the fact that his sister is a trained assassin.
"Oh," Gendry says. "Sorry, but I don't really understand what I'm doing here. I might have a name now, but I'm still just a Flea Bottom bastard, and one who can't even read, at that."
"If it makes you feel any better, lad," Davos cuts in. "So was I when Stannis made me his hand."
Jon nods, grimacing. "I understand," he says, though Gendry's not sure he truly does. "You're here because you're one of the few allies I know I can trust. I wanted to warn you in advance, and make sure that you're ready."
"Ready?" And maybe Gendry is just slow, but it's not until Davos speaks, sympathy written all over his face, that the reality of his situation finally sinks in.
"You're the head of House Baratheon now, lad. Like it or now, you're in this from now on."
He trails back to his camp in something of a daze. Until that moment, part of him still hadn't believed that he was truly someone now; inside, he still feels like Gendry the Bastard. And maybe he'd spent two weeks in Storm's End, and maybe he's here with an army at his back, but it's not real. Or it wasn't. He's not sure what it is now.
He's bombarded by questions as he enters the Stormland encampment, the five bannermen all having one thing or another to say to their liege lord. Gendry just keeps walking to his tent and they follow, crowding inside after him. He sighs, knowing there's no deterring them, and turns to face them, raising an eyebrow.
"My Lord," Selwyn Tarth starts, but he's quickly cut off by Arstan Selmy.
"The men are becoming restless," he says, just barely courteous. "They wish to go home."
"Me too," Gendry says. "But -"
"We've done everything you asked of us," Selmy continues. "Even when you haven't entrusted us with all the details of your...plan. Perhaps you might at least be as kind as to tell us when we might be leaving this city."
Gendry feels his temper rising at Selmy's words. He's tried so hard these past weeks to ignore the sneers and entitlement of all these lords, because he knows that losing his temper would not bode well for him. He's sure their contempt is well-deserved because he's a shit lord, but he can't help but be frustrated with it all.
He grits his teeth, and forces himself to swallow his anger. "Sorry," he manages. "There's going to be a meeting of the lords and ladies of the country so we probably won't be leaving for a while. You can attend it, if you want."
He sees Ralph Buckler's lip beginning to curl at the suggestion that they wouldn't be invited to such a gathering, and he thinks he really might lose it -
"Very good, my Lord," Selmy cuts in smoothly. Buckler looks irritated at the interruption, but he doesn't protest; even if he doesn't care for Gendry much, it's clear that Selwyn Tarth commands enough respect for all of them.
Gendry nods, not trusting himself to speak, and the lords take that as a dismissal, filing out of the tent. He lets out an explosive sigh once they're all gone, slumping down into one of the chairs. He stares blankly at the table, tracing over the notches in the wood idly, and wonders when being legitimised became the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
The gathering takes place a sennight later, when the last group - the Tullys - arrive in the city. The Northern party somehow arrived first, despite being the furthest away, Lady Stark telling of how they'd left immediately after receiving the raven from Storm's End. She regards Gendry with a sort of curious suspicion, and he feels nervous in her presence. He never saw her much at Winterfell, him being in the forge most of the time, but he knows she's well-respected by her people, common folk and nobles alike.
"I understand I need to thank you," she says to him, "for keeping my sister safe, and for helping Jon. My family owes you a debt."
Gendry doesn't know what to make of her polished words, her high-born care with the way she speaks. He believes she speaks truthfully - the Starks are a pack, Davos told him - but there's an ice to her that he's sure can turn dangerous if he ever becomes a threat. That is why, he supposes, her people respect her so.
"No debt, my Lady," he manages, and she makes a curious noise, assessing him once more before turning away.
Brienne of Tarth approaches him next, Selwyn Tarth's daughter. Ser Brienne, as he's been told. She's dangerous too, but in a different way to Sansa; Brienne is a knight, and those Gendry can understand.
"My father says you're not the usual sort of lord," she tells him. Shame and anger churn in Gendry's gut, but Brienne clearly notices, and she almost smiles at him. "He likes that, I think."
Brienne is gone before he can say anything, and Gendry finds himself getting caught up in the flow of people heading for the dragon-pit - one of the few places left in King's Landing that hasn't recently been decimated. Most pay him no mind, but some cast him looks of undisguised suspicion or disdain. No doubt, word of the bastard in Storm's End has spread. Gendry sighs and falls in with the procession, reminding himself of who, exactly, he now has to be.
Banners of every colour litter the dragon-pit, though Gendry only really recognises the grey of the Stark's direwolf and the yellow-and-black Baratheon stag. There's a single seat underneath the latter, and he eyes it reluctantly, even now not wanting to claim his heritage in front of all these people. He has little choice, though; all the other true nobles are already taking their places. The sight of Davos, his own onion banner placed next to Gendry's stag, galvanises him enough to sit - Davos is of Flea Bottom too, he remembers.
Again, the stares - a man under a fish banner who he thinks must be Arya's uncle, for all her siblings share his look, turns his nose up, whilst an olive-skinned woman in flowing silks arches an interested eyebrow. He feels uncomfortable under their gazes and looks for Arya, but she is the only one (or so it feels) not actively staring him down. The irony of that is not lost on Gendry.
Everyone seems to be sizing each other up, a tense silence falling over the arena. It's like a duel, Gendry thinks, in which neither side wants to be the first to land a blow. Only there are far more people involved, and hopefully no-one will die.
Perhaps not the best analogy, then.
Eventually, Jon stands, albeit reluctantly.
"My lords, my ladies," he says. "You were called to gather here by Daenerys Targaryen to discuss terms for peace in all of the Seven Kingdoms. I'm sure you are all aware by now what has recently taken place in King's Landing, but rest assured that the goal of this gathering has not changed. I -"
There's a snort to Gendry's left, and a woman clad in armour with a kraken hanging behind her rises.
"Yara Greyjoy," Davos murmurs, and Gendry's never been more thankful for his presence.
"My brother fought for you at Winterfell," she says, glaring furiously at the Starks. "He trusted you, he died for you. And now you repay him by murdering our queen?" She spits. "Here's what I say to your peace."
Jon sighs, tired. "Theon fought bravely, and my family owes him a debt that we can never repay." He turns away from Yara and steps forward, addressing the whole pit. "But we have to work together. The wars are over, we cannot keep fighting amongst ourselves or there will be no end to this bloodshed. Too many people have died - most recently at the hands of your queen, something I regret more than anyone. We have to end it."
Yara Greyjoy purses her lips - around her, Gendry can see several heads nodding at Jon's words, although many others remain neutral.
"Give us the one who killed her," she says. "Let them pay the iron price, and we will consider your peace."
Gendry feels a flash of fear, as Jon clearly does, but Arya looks remarkably unperturbed. He doesn't know how much of that day is common knowledge, so he doesn't want to draw attention to her, but -
"Come on, then," Arya says smoothly, standing and looking at Yara with a challenge in her smirk. "Let's see who wins."
On Arya's sides, Jon and Sansa both try and pull her back into her seat, but she stubbornly refuses. Murmurs break out across the pit, and Yara looks ready to murder Arya then and there.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Davos stands, putting himself between the two women. "If we could refrain from killing each other in the middle of peace negotiations, I think that would be helpful."
There's a brief standoff, during which Gendry worries that Davos will be cut down anyway, but eventually everyone sits, Yara still glaring murderously. It's clear that she isn't going to let this go but, hopefully, they'll be able to solve it without an outright murder. What can he say, he's an optimist.
Davos nods, looking slightly surprised himself that that had worked. "Right, then. Jon's right, we have to work together. We can't keep doling out justice whenever and to whomever we feel like; that's what got us into this mess in the first place."
"Then what do you propose we do, Onion Knight?" Selwyn Tarth asks. The coolness of his tone worries Gendry; he knows they fought for separate kings during the first war, but he wonders if Davos's station is more cause for Tarth's contempt than his past loyalties.
Davos is unbothered by the slight. "We need a leader," he says. "A king. Or queen."
"We appear to be somewhat short on those," Arya's uncle says dryly. "Since the last one was apparently murdered."
"There are two." Bran's voice cut calmly through the pit, and all heads turn to face him. Gendry feels a churning in his gut as Bran's eyes lock onto his own. "There's power in the blood of kings," he says, and Gendry's hit with the memory of the Red Woman kneeling over him, of leeches and flames, and suddenly he knows what Bran means.
"The bastard looks enough like Robert," the Dornish woman - Arianne Martell, he guesses - says. "Who's to say he will not rule the same?"
There's nods and murmurs of agreement all around him, and for once Gendry is grateful for it. He doesn't want to be king; he barely wants to be a lord anymore. Bran, when Gendry glances back to him, seems faintly amused at the entire thing, as though he knew what would happen.
"You said there were two," Yara Greyjoy cuts in. "Not another bastard, I hope?"
"It's his choice," Bran says, but he's staring directly at Jon. Subtlety, Gendry decides, is not Bran's strong point.
Jon winces as all eyes turn to him, but before he can say anything, the man next to him laughs. It's Arya's uncle again; Gendry shifts his body towards Davos, who, thankfully, takes the hint.
"Edmure Tully."
"Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows where he came from," Tully says. "Putting a pretender's crown on his head doesn't make him any more of a king."
"Might I remind you that you were once sworn to that pretender's crown, Uncle," Sansa snaps. She's glaring at her uncle, and Gendry's surprised to see Tully shift away from her slightly. Arya, for her part, watches her uncle coolly, but no one misses the way she moves her hand to rest on her sword hilt.
"Apologies, Niece," Tully manages. Then, turning back to Bran, "You can't be serious. Even Robert's bastard has a better claim than him."
"It's his choice," Bran repeats.
Tully scoffs, but before he can say anything else, Jon sighs wearily and stands once more. He looks miserable, and Gendry feels sorry for him, but a bigger part of him is just relieved that no-one is looking to him for anything anymore.
"I was raised as Ned Stark's bastard, you all know this," he says. "It was a lie, to protect both the new peace and me; a lie which I myself only recently discovered." Jon swallows, hesitating. "My brother speaks true. I'm no bastard, but the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, who lawfully wed after Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell."
Silence hangs in the air for a moment, a breath. Then, the storm.
Gendry can't make out what anyone is saying, everyone shouting over each other to make their opinion heard. Arianne Martell looks furious, and Edmure Tully seems to find the whole thing laughable. Jon just returns to his seat, shoulders slumping in despair and defeat. Gendry wonders if he ought to say something himself, but it's not like anyone would listen even if they could hear him.
"Friends," Davos pleads. "Friends, please."
But he goes unheard, too, and it's a while longer before something like calm returns. Gendry considers it a small miracle that everyone is still alive.
"Friends," Davos repeats, taking the opportunity. "We're not going to solve anything by shouting at each other. We have much to discuss, and it's going to be a whole lot harder if we decide to start fighting like children at every opportunity. Jon is telling the truth - he is the heir to the Iron Throne, and a damn good one at that.
"The men of the Night's Watch elected him to lead them because they trusted him. The people of the North chose him as their king because they trusted him. Every decision he's ever taken has been to protect and save his people; without him, we would all be serving under a different king entirely right now. He knows how to lead, and he knows how to do it well; he is our only option."
From across the pit, Jon sends Davos a smile that's probably intended to be grateful, but instead just looks pained. Another round of arguing breaks out around them, but it's more subdued this time and Gendry can actually understand some of what's being said. It seems like as many people agree with Davos as disagree, although if he had to guess, Gendry would say it's more in Jon's favour than against.
"If nothing else," one voice says, somehow rising above the rest, "Jon Snow is our only hope of keeping the North in line."
"No." Jon and Sansa speak at the same time, but it is Sansa who stands, calm anger in her eyes. Everyone turns to face her, their arguments stopping abruptly at her interruption.
"The North has been subjugated and ignored for too many years," she says, steel in her tone. "Our way of life is different to yours, and after my father's death we swore that we would never kneel to a southern ruler again. Our people died for us to be here; we must honour their sacrifice, and the sacrifices of those who survived, by restoring the North to an independent kingdom."
Her eyes flash dangerously, as though daring a challenge. There are none, though several men look surprised at her declaration.
"Let them," Yara says dryly. "The Starks have caused enough trouble for the rest of us."
There are murmurs of what Gendry thinks is agreement, by Sansa's satisfied smirk as she returns to her seat. Arya smiles at her sister, and even Bran looks somewhat pleased.
"There is, of course, still the matter of a ruler," Davos reminds everyone. Jon sighs heavily and leans forward in his seat.
"If you will have me as your king then I will accept," he says, resigned. "But if you want a Targaryen king then I will have to disappoint you all. Ned Stark was the only father I ever knew and I will not turn my back on him. If you choose me to lead you, then you will have a bastard, or you will have a Stark."
"If we're all agreed..?" Davos asks.
Gendry glances around the pit; no-one speaks, but many are nodding, and the rest don't raise any objections. He feels sorry for Jon, knowing that this is the last thing he wants, but Gendry is confident that he will be a good king. He meets Jon's eyes and nods, Jon returning the gesture.
"Alright then," Davos says. "All hail Jon Stark, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm."
And when they all stand, their voices joining in chorus, Gendry feels that they can start breathing again.
The gathering lasts for a few hours longer, most of what is discussed going completely over Gendry's head. He takes solace in the fact that his opinion isn't really wanted anyway, though he does find himself receiving several questions about Storm's End that the other lords clearly know he can't answer. He feels himself turning red as he stumbles his way through a response, but the sight of Arya's furious glares at the lords in question are almost enough to make up for it.
Almost.
When everything's finally over, he goes to make his way back to his camp, needing a drink, but Arya catches his elbow before he can get away.
"I need to talk to you," she murmurs, then strides off, not bothering to check if he's following.
Not that she needs to; after a quick glance to see if anyone's watching them, Gendry hurries after her, letting her lead him through King's Landing. How she knows where she's going, Gendry can't understand, but he just chalks it up to Arya being Arya.
They end up sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling over Blackwater Bay. It almost feels like the old days, when they were nothing more than orphans on the run, and Gendry is hesitant to break the silence.
Eventually, though, Arya speaks. "I'm not staying here," she says, staring out across the water. Gendry had already guessed as much, but he can't help the disappointment anyway.
"You're going north, aren't you? To Winterfell." He nods, looking down into his lap. "I understand. You have to be with your family."
"I'm not going north."
He looks at her in surprise, but she's still focused on the horizon, like he's not even there.
"Well, what then?"
"Bran and Sansa are leaving in a few days. I'm going with them, but not to Winterfell. I'll have a ship waiting for me in White Harbour, I've already organised a crew and -"
"What do you need a ship for?" Gendry interrupts, more confused than ever. She scowls at him, annoyed, but then sighs and returns her gaze to the bay.
"What's west of Westeros?" she asks softly.
"What?"
"Exactly," Arya says, a satisfied smile playing at her lips. "No-one knows. I'm going to find out."
"Arya, that's…" Insane, he means to say, but there's something in her expression that stops him. She needs this, he realises; she needs to get away, to do something for herself without worrying about what's around the corner. He understands, in a way. Besides, sailing to the edge of the world is hardly the most insane thing he's heard even in the last few hours. And, if anyone can do something like this, it's Arya.
"Do your family know?" he settles for instead.
She shakes her head. "Sansa suspects something, I think, but I haven't told them. I wanted to tell you first."
"Why?"
She shrugs. "Because."
Gendry waits for her to elaborate further, but apparently she's done. He still doesn't understand, but he's strangely touched by it all. "Are you going to come back?" he asks, when the silence stretches out.
"Eventually," she replies, and Gendry can't pretend that that doesn't fill him with relief. "I don't know when, though. It might be years." She purses her lips, then shifts so that she's facing him. "Gendry, I -"
"I love you," he says, almost without meaning to. She blinks, shocked, but Gendry figures that this is his last opportunity to say it. "I love you. And I understand if you don't feel the same, but I do. I'm not saying this to stop you from leaving because I know you're going to whether I like it or not. But I needed to tell you, just in case."
Arya looks at him in a way that reminds him of those moments before she rejected his proposal all that time ago - stunned and just a bit sympathetic. He shakes his head to get rid of the memories, and almost apologises, but then she's kissing him soft and slow, like she loves him, too. When she pulls back, she rests a hand on his cheek and smiles.
"I'll see you again," she promises. "But you don't wait around for me. You've got a new life now, and duties, and you deserve to be happy. Promise me."
He nods, knowing that if he speaks she'll know that he's lying. Probably she knows anyway, but it's better if they both pretend. Gendry's not delusional; whenever Arya comes back, she'll want to be with her family, and she'd choose them over him every time.
But, for the moment, he'll pretend. He'll sit with her, side by side, remembering the old times, and pretending that they can live in this moment forever. Pretending that she won't leave him. Pretending that, as much as this is a beginning, it is also an ending.
Pretending that he can be with her, and that, someday, they can be happy.
Do not despair! I said I would give these two a happy ending and that is exactly what I intend to do! It'll just take them a bit longer to get there.