AN: Not even going to make you wait for it! Please reward me with reviews!
"Highness, there are two folk outside wishing to see you. They're with your direwolf."
"They have Ghost?" Jon frowned. His direwolf came and went at will. He'd never had a problem with Ghost bothering townfolk or farmers, nor the reverse. "They trapped him?"
"No," the man said, looking a bit dazed. "He was just runnin' alongside 'em. When they dismounted, he sat right by the woman's side while she pet 'im."
Jon and Sansa looked at each other, puzzled. Ghost was a good and loyal direwolf who allowed himself to be touched only by a trusted few. He was no common dog begging to be pet by any person close by. They rose and exited the great hall. The minute he stepped outside, he heard a voice cry out, "Jon!"
Arya launched herself at him, sprinting to her brother full-speed. Jon could scarcely believe his eyes. She was a bit taller than she'd been the six or seven years before when he'd last seen her, but there was no mistaking his beloved baby sister. He swept her up, giving a shout of joy. When he put her down, Sansa approached more cautiously.
"Arya?" she reached out and touched her sister's face gingerly, as though the girl would dissolve into mist.
"Sansa, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She pulled her sister into a hug, her face buried in her sister's shoulder. "I couldn't find you. I couldn't get to you."
"It's alright. I understand," Sansa said.
Shouts of joy rang out all across the courtyard as those loyal to the Starks heard news of the return of Arya. Then Jon finally tore his eyes from his favorite sibling, whom he'd given up hope of ever seeing again, and looked at his Ghost walking toward him, away from a man holding the reins of two horses.
"Who is that, Arya?"
"That's my husband. Gendry," Arya exclaimed, gesturing for him to come closer. He handed the reins to an approaching stable boy and crossed to his wife and her siblings. "Gendry, this is my brother Jon and my sister, Sansa."
"Your highness," he said, kneeling before Jon. "Princess," he added with a nod, still kneeling.
"Get up!" Arya said, sounding embarrassed. Her husband rose with a bemused expression.
"At least someone has good manners," Sansa teased. "And I'm called Lady Sansa. My father was a Lord, not King. Although my brother could grant me the title if he wished."
Jon squinted at her and asked in his low, raspy voice, "You want me to make you a princess?"
"It has a certain ring to it," Sansa teased, adding soto voce, "Being a princess might make for a better marriage. A more valuable alliance."
Arya's sharp ears caught the end of their exchange. "You have changed."
"Haven't you?" Sansa asked.
Arya merely shrugged.
"Gendry, where are you from? What is your surname?"
Gendry and Arya met eyes. There were too people they could not be sure of in the courtyard, and everyone was watching the reunion closely.
"I'm from King's Landing. My surname is…Smith. I'm a blacksmith."
Sansa's eyebrow rose in surprise. "Well, we must get you both cleaned up before dinner. We'll have a homecoming feast tonight! Jon, please show Gendry where the men bathe and shave. And give him something fitting to wear."
Jon looked at the other man and merely nodded to the right and trusted Gendry would follow him. Gendry shrugged and walked off with his brother-in-law, the King of the North.
"How long have you been together?" Sansa asked as they climbed the stairs.
"Since just before we left for Winterfell, so it's been…"
"What?" Sansa froze in her tracks. "Did he know you were a Stark before he married you?"
"Yes, but…"
"We'll annul it. This blacksmith is using you, Arya. He wanted to make his fortune by marrying a 'princess!'"
"No! Sansa, I asked him to marry me." She could the anger flash across Sansa's face before she tamped it down and replaced it with a calm facade. Maybe we ARE more alike than I thought.
"I see." Sansa continued up the stairs with Arya close behind. Servants bustled around, preparing a bath for Arya. Sansa left for a moment, then returned with an armful of dresses that she held before her sister's frame. "This one would suit you, I think. It'll be a rush to take it up in time, but…"
"Sansa, forget about the stupid dresses and talk to me. Can everyone leave? I can take care of myself!" Everyone looked to Lady Sansa, who nodded for them to go, handing one maid the stack of dresses. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"
"Arya, I just got you back. I don't want to be mad at you," she said through gritted teeth.
"But you are! Why? Might as well say it!"
Sansa growled. Arya had always been good at pushing her buttons.
"I saw the way you looked at him. You knew: you knew we were here—that we needed you and every strong marriage alliance we could get. And what do you do? You marry a blacksmith! For love!" Sansa was clearly furious. "Father promised me to Joffrey to strengthen the kingdom. So it was! I thought I wanted that match, but I couldn't have been more wrong. He killed father and enjoyed any pain he could inflict on me. Tywin promised me to his son, Tyrion to 'heal the kingdom's wounds caused by my traitorous father.' And so it was, until Joffrey was killed, and Tyrion and I fled in different directions. I barely escaped that marriage alive. And finally, Petyr Baellish promised me to Ramsey Bolton as the only way to get a Stark back into Winterfell. And so. It. Was. You will never understand what that cost me, while you were adventuring Gods-know-where and marrying for love with no thought of us! None at all!"
"First of all, I have been helping! Who do you think killed off every Frey who had a part in the Red Wedding, leaving the Twins unprotected and ready for you to take over?" Sansa's jaw dropped. Arya continued, "As for the 'love' part, do you really think I'm that stupid? I may have come to love Gendry, but I know love alone is not enough! Remember why father was killed?"
Sansa squinted suspiciously at Arya and said, in a tone suggesting that Arya truly was stupid, "He said that Joffrey wasn't the rightful heir. That he wasn't truly Robert's son."
"My husband may have grown up a nameless blacksmith, but he is the son of King Robert Baratheon and rightful Lord of Storm's End."
"Rightful heir of the Iron Throne, you mean?"
"He doesn't want it. He wants me nowhere near it. Just before we took our vows, he told me he was marrying me to keep me from killing Cersei and taking the Iron Throne," Arya said with a dry laugh. "He said, 'Westeros is not ready for the wrath of Queen Arya.' Jon can have it. The Mother of Dragons can have it. Hell, Cersei Lanister can keep it if she stays out of The North stops trying to burn King's Landing to the ground!"
"Well," Sansa said, with a small, secretive smile that reminded Arya of their mother, "We mustn't keep him waiting. Wash up, then Mara will dress your hair. Meanwhile, I'll hem your dress. Lets show your husband what a beauty he married."
"Or at least what I look like clean and in a fancy dress," Arya replied.
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