Chapter 2: for i must not fear

"So, you're shacking up with the she-wolf?"

Gendry almost spit his ale, taken out of his reverie by the impressive wildling seated next to him. Tormund all but laughed, patting him violently on the back.

"Good for you, my boy! I hope she fucks the way she fights!"

Gendry reddened, visibly uncomfortable. "What are you talking about?"

"I've seen you together after the battle. You should be proud to be with a woman like her, a warrior! Just like my dear Brienne, how I long to steal her away to my bed."

The said knight was sitting a few seats away, talking in whispers to Jaime Lannister, and doing her best to ignore Tormund's provocative comments. Gendry noticed Jon, seated next to the queen and Lady Sansa, sending them curious glances, alerted by the commotion caused by Tormund's boisterous nature.

"We're not-It's not like that," stammered Gendry, avoiding Jon's eyes, but his words sounded like a pathetic excuse to his ears. They were like that.

"And why not?" exploded the redhead, a glimmer of madness in his eyes. "You look at her with fire in your eyes, and she looks at you like a wolf stalking its prey. Get on with it! The dead may be vanquished, but winter is yet to leave place to spring and fucking is still best!"

"That's enough," spoke Ser Davos, appearing behind them. "You'll drive the poor lad insane. Look at him, he's mortified."

Gendry smiled gratefully at the older man, who returned the smile.

"Telling The King in the North about your Baratheon heritage, and now this? You love to play with fire my boy," muttered Davos, glancing at Jon pointedly, before walking away.

Gendry ran a hand through his hair and his face, feeling it burning with the force of a thousand suns, and sighed in relief when he saw that Jon was absorbed in a conversation with his queen. Tormund grumbled under his breath, and finally turned his attention to someone else. Gendry could finally breathe and enjoy his ale in peace, absorbed in his own thoughts.

Oh, and what thoughts they were.

What else is there to think about for a bastard but his lady love, the one who has captured his heart and soul?

Plenty, he thought, his eyes roaming the room to watch the various lords and ladies sitting around the hall. He was under no illusion that he was but a lowborn, and that one of these men may be betrothed to Arya in the future. Could he still be around to see it all? To see her be swept away by a lord who could offer her all the riches she ever dreamed of? Does Arya even desire a life of nobility as the free wolf she was? Knowing her, she probably does not. However, after everything she's been through, perhaps she may start craving a simpler life, and settle down at Winterfell with the man she loved. But how could be so sure about that? And could that man be him?

He could not answer to that.

Bedding a woman was far different than having her. Not that Arya was something to be had, but having her in his bed that one faithful night was something he could have never imagined in his wildest dreams. However, having her body to his disposition to please and map cannot be compared to having her undivided attention, her adoration, and her love. These were all things Gendry all but craved to have.

He had last spoken to her when she had come to him after killing the Night's King. After that, he had hardly seen her around the castle, and even less at the forge where he was salvaging the weapons he had made to fight the dead. Whenever he would hear someone coming inside, he would expectedly turn around, hopeful and optimistic, but it was never her. She would never be so noticeable.

Yet, her weapon was still awaiting her. He had repaired it, and it lay hidden wrapped in cloth underneath his table. Every time he had caught a glimpse of it, he was not sure whether to feel silly or hopeful. He had made his intentions clear to her, and he was only waiting for her to take the lead. After all, he could march into her chambers, and proclaim his love and affection, which he desperately wanted to do. But he knew that it would only scare her away, and he did not want to lose her over such a foolish mistake. It was best to give her time, let her test the grounds and decide to take the next step and approach him with her own intentions.

If she had any at all, he thought morosely. Family could mean a lot of things.

"If you keep thinking so hard, I fear that your brain may spill out of your ears."

Gendry jumped, startled by Arya's unexpected appearance. She was already sitting in the vacant seat next to him, slowly sipping at her own glass, and watching him with an undecipherable twinkle in her eye.

"You should smile a little, scowling makes you look like Jon."

"Arya-I mean, my lady," he said.

She frowned at the title and put her glass down. "Not a lady."

"It would be improper for me to call you by your name around all these people," he replied, scratching the back of his hair. He really needed to grow it out, the cold did not feel so good on his scalp.

She grinned, crossing her arms in front of her, and his eyes darted down to the famed dagger peeking out on top of them. "It was improper for me to give you my maidenhead, and yet, it was given, and here we are."

"Arya," he whispered, looking around him, "someone may hear you."

"Only a miserable shit with no friends would be listening on our conversation," she said, rolling her eyes at him.

Gendry couldn't help but chuckle, he had missed the banter they shared. It had been childish all those years ago, the way a big brother would pester his younger sibling, or the way a boy would cling to his older brother's side to torment him, but not the way a man would tease a woman that he loved. Now, however, it was entirely different for him. He was surrounded by people, and despite her getting him all flustered and tongue-tied, she was the only person he wanted to talk to.

"You should come to my chambers after you're done eating," she casually suggested.

"Why?" he asked stupidly.

She stared him down, her mouth pursed, and he was unsure whether she wanted to hit him or curse him out. For being such a good fighter and talented blacksmith, Gendry could be so dense sometimes. "I want a repeat of that night, and I think my bed would be more comfortable than a few sacks of grains."

Oh.

"That's improper," he all but said.

Arya was starting to be profoundly bored with his reticence when she knew that he was just as eager as she was. Underneath his uncertainty, she could see his barely concealed trepidation at the idea. "Fuck propriety. You can't take my maidenhead twice. What will they do? I've saved everyone's lives, I think they owe me the freedom to do as I please."

"But-"

"I will not take a no from you for whatever lame excuse you'll come up with, unless you truly don't want to. I believe that I deserve to do something I really want to do, and I have no qualms about seeking it out."

Before he could utter anything else, Arya got up from her seat, leaned over and kissed him in front of everyone. Lords, ladies, The Queen, and her family. He could only stare at her, dumbfounded by her boldness. He watched her retreat, a playful smirk on her face, leaving him behind in the den of wolves to be eaten and chewed up by everyone, especially Jon. She even turned around at the last second, and threw him a playful wink, daring him to follow her.

Gendry swallowed apprehensively, dreading the reaction of those around him, and forced himself to look back at his cup and drown the whole thing at once. He nearly choked on his ale when he felt someone violently grip the back of his tunic, and his eyes met The Hound's scarred face.

"I can't wait to see what the King in the North thinks of this," he grinned manically. "Hope the girl's giving you hell."

"I think she's giving him heaven," interjected Tormund, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Do not be ashamed, young smith. Women like her are fighters, they have a mind and a sword of their own, The Promised One is not her brother's to guard."

His eyes immediately met Jon's when he looked away, and he cursed himself for sitting in his field of vision. His face was pale, and his brows were furrowed. He could see Lady Sansa's hand on his arm, the only thing keeping him from leaping across the room. Gendry certainly didn't want Jon, a man who trusted him and let him into his home to discover than he was going behind his back to cosy up with his favourite sister, to get his hands on him.

So, Gendry did the only sensible thing he could, and left the room as fast as he could.

When he finally found Arya's chambers, the door was slightly ajar. Gendry took it as an invitation, and immediately pushed through, closing it behind him. The said woman was sitting on her bed, toying with the dagger she had used to save all of humanity.

Gendry felt foolish, standing in the chambers belonging to the woman he loved, when minutes ago, he told himself he would not walk to her and proclaim his love in fear that he would scare her away. And yet, there he was, a desperate man ready to pour his heart out.

"Took you long enough."

"This castle is really big. Is this how it feels to grow up rich? Constantly looking for rooms?" he teased, walking up to her.

She grinned, sheathing the dagger. "There's also a lot of useless needlework, but yes, that's the gist of it."

He sat down next to her, marvelling at the softness of her furs. A lot of beds were now vacant after the massacre, and he was able to get his own comfortable bed, which was more than he could ever hope for. But it did not compare to the bed of a lady.

"Was you just did was cruel. I think your brother is going to kill me now. He wasn't even aware that we knew each other."

She scoffed. "Jon's not going to kill you, I'll make sure of it. I can protect you against anything."

"I don't doubt that you can, milady. Jon may not kill me, but he may choose to hurt me. Badly."

"Again with the formalities," she said, rolling her eyes. She stood up directly in front of him and looked into his eyes with an intensity that scared him. "Why didn't you come to see me?"

"Why didn't you come to see me?" he interjected.

She looked at him for a moment and huffed lightly. "I don't know."

"Then why am I here, in your chambers?" he added.

"I thought I made myself clear down there. My bed is more comfortable-"

More excuses, thought Gendry, bitterly. Screw this.

"I need to know why you're doing this," he cut her off. "You're a lady, and I am but a poor bastard from Flea Bottom. But I am also a man who's in love with you. I would give my life for you, and my heart cannot bear it if you were doing this to fill a need that can be filled at any whorehouse."

Declaring his love for her should have surprised Arya, who felt her heart beating faster at his words, but the revelation of his feelings felt more like relief than anything else. Spending so many years detached from others, from herself, and from her humanity had turned her into a recluse, a recluse from her own feelings. Hearing Gendry be so open about his made her feel things she could not put into words, things she could only show him with her body.

She leaned over him once again, because she could not get enough of his lips, and kissed him, expecting him to eagerly return the embrace. He reciprocated for a split second, before gently holding her arms and pushing her away.

"Arya," he whispered, pain clearly written on his face. "Please."

She huffed, frustratingly. Did he not want her? Did she misread him? What did he want?

"What?" she exclaimed. "You seemed to like it before. Not so interested anymore?"

"Don't do this," he replied, his eyes hard. "You know that it is not true. I'm only a simple man, and a man can only take so much toying with his heart."

"Then what? What is it that you want?" she nearly shrieked, startled by her own emotions. Only he could bring them out of her like a torrent.

In that moment, it felt like they had switched places. He was talking about his feelings, and yet being calm and rational. She was avoiding hers, but they were written all over her face. She may have not feared death, but she feared life now, a life where she was vulnerable.

"I want you to talk to me, tell me if you want me," he said.

He spoke with such gravity that Arya did not know whether she should laugh or cry. The first would hurt his feelings, and the second would hurt hers. She chose another option.

"You know I do," she reluctantly admitted. "You make my blood boil, and I am afraid. I can kill without hesitation, I can take down death itself, but you scare me."

His hands slid down her arms, and he took her hands into his, gently rubbing his thumbs over her palms. The gesture was soothing, and so tender that Arya felt like she could cry.

"You don't have to be scared of me. I'm the one who should be scared. I'm just a bastard, and you could be married off to a lord any day now. The thought itself terrifies me, because I know that when that happens, I would never bring myself to leave. I would stay right here in Winterfell through all of it just to be near you."

Arya laughed. "And who would marry me off to a lord of all things? I've never wanted to be a lady, and Jon would never force me to do anything. If it comes to it, we will run away and go somewhere very far."

"I didn't know you would want me to come with you."

"If I leave you behind, you may get yourself a wife, and I don't want you to marry someone else either, lady or commoner," she confessed.

Gendry smiled in delight, his hands squeezing hers. "Where would you like to run away to?"

Arya thought for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe I would like to go back to Braavos one day. It's warm there, I think you would like it."

"I think I would like to be anywhere as long as you're there with me, my lady."

Arya didn't interject at the formality but squeezed his hands back. Gendry gently tugged her towards him. He took her back into his arms and she crawled onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his chest and placed her head on his heart. He was thrumming with life, a stark contrast to the dead they had fought less than a fortnight ago. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, letting her guard down for once. He wrapped his arms around her, and gently kissed the top of her head. In that moment, she knew that if she plunged her dagger into his chest, he wouldn't shatter like the Night's King, but offer her his heart with his dying breath.

Thank you for reading my little piece, leave a review if you liked it yee yee.

There will be a third and final chapter, so brace yourselves my duuuudes