Chapter 3: what's in a name

The festivities were still going strong in the great hall. Gendry had convinced Arya to accompany him back and eat something when she revealed that she had only taken a few bites and barely drank any ale. I like to be sharp at all moment, we're in the midst of a war after all, she explained.

However, Gendry felt apprehensive. Arya had kissed him in front of everyone, and he had no idea how he would be welcomed after the fact. Jon didn't seem pleased at the sight of his sister cosying up with him. And so, he decided that they would quickly grab some food and find somewhere private to eat.

Now, he shall try not to get noticed by Jon.

The said man -Lord, King, he wasn't so sure- was drinking madly, prompted by many others surrounding him. Giantsbane, elated and red in the face, was cheering for him to down the whole drink. Even Lady Sansa was joining in, smiling from ear to ear. An unusual sight for the usually taciturn yet kind woman.

"I'll grab something for both of us if you want to wait for me," he suggested.

"Four hands are better than two," replied Arya, eyeing the food. Her appetite seemed to have come back.

Gendry absentmindedly nodded, and they made their way through the tables, grabbing whatever they could get their hands on- whatever food was left from the feast. Luckily, they were mostly unnoticed by the intoxicated crowd, and Jon was engrossed by the drinking competition.

"Gendry," spoke a voice he would have never thought would utter his name.

He slowly turned around, his hands holding a plate of food, and came face to face with the Dragon Queen. Jon's attention was also on him, as well as the whole hall.

"That is your given name, isn't it?" she spoke again, her voice measured.

"Yes, your Grace," he replied.

He could feel a presence near him. He glanced sideways and saw that Arya had walked up to him. She stood a few feet away, tensely watching the exchange with a hand on her priced dagger.

"You are Robert Baratheon's only known son," said Daenerys, and Gendry thought that his world was crashing down on him. "You stand in my presence, aware that this is the same man who took my family's throne and relentlessly tried to have me murdered since I was but a little babe."

"Yes," he replied after a beat, his tone almost pleading. "In my defence, your Grace, I was unaware who my father was until years after his death. I have no attachment to him or to the Baratheon name. My uncle even tried to have me executed in the name of the Lord of Light."

"Yes," she said, her gaze unfaltering, "your father is dead, and so are his brothers. Tell me, who is the Lord of Storm's End now?"

Gendry was confused. "I don't know, your Grace."

"Does anyone?" she said, and no one uttered a word. "I have seen you fight with a hammer. I have been told that you are the image of your father in his glory days, but I do hope you do not have his temper or whoring ways."

Gendry saw Jon's eyes harden at that, his eyes drifting between him and Arya.

"I think you should become the Lord of Storm's End," she concluded.

Gendry stood there, mouth agape in shock. "With all due respect, your Grace, I can't be a lord. I'm just Gendry Rivers, a simple bastard from flea bottom."

"No, you are hereby Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End, the lawful son of Robert Baratheon, because that is the name I, Daenerys Targaryen, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, am giving you."

The newly legitimised man looked around him, as stunned as the audience, and saw Ser Davos stand with a glass in his hand, ready to speak.

"I-I am honoured your Grace," he stammered out, before the knight could say anything, "but I do not know how to be Lord of anything. I hardly know which fork goes with which meal."

Daenerys smiled, but the smile was not reaching her eyes. "Perhaps a Lady could help you with that," she stated, her eyes drifting towards Arya. She had clearly seen their little exchange earlier.

Gendry felt fear settle in his chest and turned to look at the woman standing behind him, his eyes searching hers, but she wasn't looking back at him. She way staring at the queen, her eyes cold, and her grip tight around the dagger attached at her waist.

Not a lady.

"Arya," he muttered.

"Congratulations," she said, still looking at the queen. When she shifted her gaze to him, they weren't as cold anymore, but deeply sad. "That's all you've ever wanted, Lord Baratheon. You'll be a wonderful Lord, and any Lady would be lucky to have you."

"To Lord Baratheon of Storm's End!" cheered Davos.

"To Lord Baratheon!" cheered the room.

But Gendry was not paying attention to any of it. His eyes were on Arya, who maintained her gaze on him for another second, and promptly turned back and left the hall.

All he wanted to do was follow her, explain himself, but he was surrounded by people acclaiming him for his newly appointed title.

He lost sight of his lady.

Ours is the fury.

Later that night, after Gendry had searched what he felt like was the entirety of Winterfell, he went back to the forge to hammer away some of his frustrations and anxieties.

He was mending a sword he had picked up from the pile awaiting to be repaired, when he saw Arya's staff peeking out under the cloth he had hidden it under. They had been doing so well. She had started to be honest about herself, even a little vulnerable. It had felt like progress on both of their parts, but then, his fate had decided to create a chasm between them. Turns out, the ghost of his father had come back to repeat history and separate a Baratheon from his Stark love once again.

He wanted to explain himself, tell her that a name was but a name, but deep down, he did not really believe himself.

A name was not only a name when you're a bastard. A name was a meal on his table every day, a name was never going to sleep on an empty stomach, praying that death may take him during the night so that he did not have to fight his way through the world for a bite. A name was pride, a name was worthiness, worthiness of a certain lady, of the Night's King-slayer.

Gendry breathed out, putting the hammer he held down. He closed his eyes and leaned on the table, steadying himself, trying to clear his head from the upsetting thoughts. He had lost her once, and it was his fault for refusing her, and the gods had decided to give him a second chance when he came to Winterfell and found her to be alive and well. She was certainly different, but deep down, she was still Arry, the little girl who refused to back down, the little girl who knew that she was Arya Stark of Winterfell.

He was the one who hardly knew who he was, always searching for an identity amidst the chaos plaguing the Seven Kingdoms. He could finally put a name to his shadow, he had finally gained something.

But without her, it would not feel like he had always wanted it to feel.

He knew how to fix weapons, but he did not know how to fix this.

"Gendry," spoke a voice.

Jon was standing behind him, his sword by his side. His eyes were hard, although a little troubled. Gendry could see that he still had a little bit of ale in him, for he was not standing completely straight. Gendry almost reflexively walked up to him to help him stand straight, but he recalled that Jon may not appreciate it at the moment.

"Your Grace," replied Gendry.

"Is it not Jon anymore?" he questioned. "We are friends, like our-our fathers were."

"It would be improper," said Gendry. He felt like he was repeating himself all the time nowadays.

Jon nodded, walking past the smith. He was looking around the forgery, observing the weapons lying around on the tables, on the floor, in piles. Weapons belonging to their fallen friends and belonging to those who were lucky enough to survive The Long Night. He stopped by the table that used to be piled high with newly forged dragon glass, but now had broken weapons still covered in blood.

"Your sister once stood there, threw three daggers past me, and ordered me to forge her a weapon," he commented. "She has perfect aim."

Jon smiled. "Aye, she does. She has yet to tell me how she learned all those things."

Gendry nodded. He was also unaware of what had happened to her to undergo such drastic changes. She had yet to tell him what happened to her after he was taken by the Red Woman.

He took a deep breath and looked Jon in the eyes. "Your Grace, what you've seen earlier at the feast-"

"Gendry," he stopped him, "my sister chose you -or rather claimed you publicly, or she would not be willingly kissing you in plain sight. Sometimes I wonder if she is more wolf than human. But despite my reactions, she does not owe me any justification for her acts. She was always so much smaller than I am, and I am not very gifted in my height, but lately, I feel her bigger than ever."

"She is," whispered Gendry.

"Lord Gendry Baratheon," spoke Jon, his voice now loud and firm, and the smith understood why he was chosen to become Lord Commander, then King in the North. "You once said you were not a soldier but a fighter. And you've proven yourself by surviving the impossible."

"I am a fighter."

"Then I hope you are ready to fight for my sister," he concluded.

Gendry was taken aback. He stared at Jon, confused, but elated by his approval. Was he setting a trap? "I love her."

"Every person who has lived through the Long Night loves her. She is the Bringer of Dawn, the saviour of humanity. What makes you any different than all those people?"

"I don't care about any of that," argued Gendry with passion, his fists tightening. "I've loved her before that night!"

"Why have you never told me that you knew her then?"

Gendry's resolve faltered, and he looked down. "You're her favourite brother, I feared your reaction if I told you that I had her with me, only to let her go and be killed at the Red Wedding. I thought her dead, and she's-she's a Lady, I was but a bastard."

Jon nodded sombrely in understanding and walked up to him. He was shorter than Gendry, and the smith had to look down at him. Despite that, he felt very small under the scrutiny.

"You seem to forget that I am also a bastard," he said, but he seemed tormented. "And yet, you say that I am her favourite brother. She may have a special place in her heart for bastards and outcasts, but it's because I understand Arya. She does not like to be paraded around. She is a Lady, but only in title."

Gendry's eyes widened in understanding and he felt stupid, so stupid.

Hiya its me again.

I lied last chapter, I decided to write more chapters. I really honestly don't know how many there will be. Not too many for sure, since the show is nearly coming to an end, but I want to extend the story a little bit.

Episode four left me so angry. It's crazy, I loved episode 3, even though the fighting is my least favourite part of the show, and I was excited to go back to the politics, but the politics did not make sense at all, and the episode just left me frustrated, and the dialogue empty and rushed. However, I will still watch it, as I still believe in it.

But funny enough, the part with Arya and Gendry was actually one of my favourite parts in the episode. It honestly made so much sense, and if she had accepted, then I would have been confused.

Anyway, thanks for reading, please leave a review if you wish, and til next time!