Chapter 4: and we shone brighter

"Did you know that when you are born in the Crownlands, your bastard name is not Rivers, but Waters?"

That was the first thing Arya said to him when he found her. She had known he was there without even looking, focused on shooting arrows like she was readying for another fight. Gendry was both proud and annoyed by the fact. She never seemed to want to take a break, breathe a little. She thought that danger was around every corner.

"You mean to tell me that you knew all this time, but never bothered to correct me?" he asked, affronted by the idea.

Arya smirked, still aiming her arrow at the target. "I chose not to correct you. You seemed oddly convinced by it. I must admit, it gave Hot Pie and I a good laugh."

"I feel like an idiot," he grumbled, rubbing his beard.

She turned around, her arm still extended. "You're not an idiot, stupid."

She released her arm, and without looking, hit the bull's eye. Gendry did not know whether he should be afraid or aroused. Definitely aroused, he thought, watching her remove the arrows from the target.

"I-" he started, unsure of what he wanted to say. He saw her brow twitch, and he swallowed nervously. "About what happened at the hall-"

She sighed, setting the arrows aside and finally looking at him expectedly.

"I was no one before," he continued. "Just a bastard amongst others."

"I know about being No One," she whispered almost ominously, slowly walking up to him. "You were never no one. You were always someone to me."

"Arya," he said.

"But you're a Baratheon now," she stated. "I'm happy that you've finally found a name for yourself. But it does not matter to me what name you go by. I already know who you are."

"I had a name," he retorted passionately. "Gendry Waters. It's the name you've always known me by and if that's what you want me to be, that's what I will be."

"You say that you were no one before the queen made you a Baratheon, and yet you insist upon your bastard name," she snapped angrily at the implication. "Make up your mind!"

"What about you? You say that you want me, yet you run away with your tail between your legs at the first sign of responsibility. What about what I want?"

They both stood there, facing each other, chests heaving with exertion. Gendry could stand in the forgery all day, hammering away, transporting weapons, and working on the heaviest and hardest metals to shape, but nothing drained him as much as facing Arya Stark has.

"What is it that you want?" she said. "To be a Lord, or to be Gendry Waters?"

"I don't know!" he nearly screamed. He looked into her gray eyes, where a storm was brewing, and Gendry felt lost in them for a moment, his heart in his throat ready to be heaved at her feet. Yet, he felt alight, and the words came spilling out like a torrent. "I don't know how to be a Lord, and I don't know how to be a bastard anymore. All I know is that you're beautiful, I love you, and none of it would be worth anything if you're not by my side," he said, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in his. "So be my wife."

Her eyes widened, and Gendry did not miss the rosy hue that came upon her cheeks. The effect his words had on her made him giddy with pleasure. "Have you been drinking?"

"No! I mean, yes, but that was hours ago. I'm no longer buzzed," he said, staring up at her. "So what do you say? Do you want to be my Lady?"

She flinched at the word, but her eyes nonetheless softened at his eagerness, and she dared to entertain the thought of being his wife for just a moment. But the fleeting thought passed, and she knelt with him. She held his face in her hands with unexpected delicacy, and gently placed her lips on his for a lingering kiss. She stood up with him, and slowly, her lips left his. "I'm not a lady, I've never been one-"

"I know, I know, I don't want you to be one," he cut her off, and there was something raw, something jagged in his voice that made her quiver with emotion. "The queen has it all wrong, I don't need a Lady. I want you, and I don't care about anything else. You never have to wear a dress, you can live in breeches if you'd like. You don't have to attend any meetings with any Lords. You can teach young boys and young girls to fight, to wield a sword, or to shoot arrows. I want you to be whoever you want."

Arya stared for a moment, recalling her time in Braavos. The House of Black and White required her to strip of all identity she possessed. It was something she was never able to do, something she had a feeling she would never accomplish from the moment she had decided to hide needle. One who is certain of their anonymity does not keep a piece of their past. But a girl was never meant to be a faceless man. A girl was always meant to be in Winterfell, to be Arya Stark. A girl fought for her right to be herself, and the blood on her hands was proof of all she went through, all she did to get here with her family. Hearing Gendry tell her that he wanted her to be whoever she wanted painted the stark contrast of the situation she was in compared to the time she almost died to retain her identity.

"I've been someone else for a very long time," she finally said, almost to herself.

"Then you can be Arya Stark with me, you don't owe me anything. I-I want to fight for you, but I do not want to fight you."

She looked down, and smiled bemusedly at the ground. "I lay with you once, and now you want to make me your wife? Did you marry those three other girls as well?"

He stared for a moment, before looking away from her. "I never lain with those girls. I lied."

She looked at him, surprised. "Why would you lie to me? You know I that I would never begrudge you for it."

"I don't know," he admitted. "I thought you would tease me, like you would when we were younger."

"Why haven't you?" she asked.

"What about?"

"Why haven't you lain with other girls?"

He looked back at her, their hands still joined, ignoring the ruckus of drunkards walking by them in the background. "Pretty girls were never interested in a boy covered in grime and soot, and I was too poor to seek it. Then we were on the run, and when the Red Woman took me, she forced herself on me and I never wanted to touch another woman after that. Until you."

Her eyes hardened at the mention of that witch, and her grip on his hands tightened. "I think her death was not painful enough. If she were alive, she's wish she'd never met me again."

Gendry sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I've heard tales of my father's whoremongering and drinking. I was always afraid of fathering bastards. I came close to-to being with a few girls, but I could never let myself go through it. With you, it was different. I didn't know whether I would live to see the light of day. If I did live through that night, I would never forgive myself for refusing you."

"If you refused me and died fighting the dead, I think your father would berate you in the afterlife," teased Arya.

He raised his brow at the implication. "They say you look exactly like Lyanna Stark."

"There's a statue of her in the crypts," she informed him, shuddering at the mention of the place that nearly took her sister's life. "She was a little taller."

"I think everyone's at least a little taller than you," teased Gendry. "That's why you're such a pain in my arse. There's too much anger in that little body of yours."

She hit his shoulder playfully, and just like that, the tension was diffused. "That's not the way a Lord should speak. Plus, you seemed to like my little body."

The young smith bit his lips, his eyes running over her frame, and Arya felt her knees weaken at the evidence of his desire; desire for her, Arya Horseface, the little girl who never wanted to be a Lady, the little girl who was never as beautiful as her sister.

"I do," he breathed out, and Arya felt need course through her body. Need not fuelled by the imminence of death, but a steady need; a need to take it slow, to bask in the moment, to feel him on her, around her, and inside of her. But she could only stare at him, as he stared back expectedly, and she realized that she hadn't given him an answer yet.

"Yes," she said, after a moment.

"Yes what?" he asked, confused.

"I'll be yours, or whatever being by your side means, if we both live through this."

Gendry smiled, his grin blindingly joyful, and Arya felt her heart swell at how good it looked on him; happiness. He looked positively stunning, delight radiating through every pore of his body. He took her into his arms, and her feet no longer felt the ground underneath her. If she were not a trained assassin, Arya would have screamed, but instead, she merely held him, her face split into a grin mirroring his.

When he put her back down, she saw his eyes glistening with unshed tears, and she felt guilt at having almost denied him. "I don't care if you're a Lord either. If you want to be a Lord, you will have to use someone else's help, for I do not know lordship. Sometimes I will leave, but I promise that I'll always come back. I cannot say yet that I want to give you children; I can't even say that I can have children."

His hand trailed down her sides, picturing those scars he saw littering her beautiful skin.

"We'll adopt, as many bastards as we can," he babbled. "I will feed them, give them a home, I'll take an heir."

"If we have children, I want the eldest to be your successor, boy or girl," she insisted.

"Anything, of course," he replied.

"You'll have to tell Jon, alone," she taunted him.

He smiled. "I told you, I will fight for you, even if it means facing your scary brother who came back from the dead. Besides, I've already talked to Jon."

"He knows?" she exclaimed. "If you're here with me and not six feet under, it must mean that he approves of you."

Gendry nodded. "I believe he does. He's the one who talked to me. He knocked some sense into me."

"Are we talking about the same Jon?" exclaimed Arya, laughing slightly. "It's like the blind leading the blind."

"Are you saying that I'm an idiot?" he asked quizzically.

"You're not an idiot, I've already told you. You're just stupid. Jon, on the other hand, is an idiot. He roared at a bloody dragon," she laughed despite herself. She had a hard time sneaking past them when it happened. The urge to stop and curse him out for his stupidity had been strong. "Did you tell him everything?"

Gendry reddened. "No, not everything. He knows that I love you, and he knows of my intentions to be with you."

Her eyes softened, she took a deep breath, dreading the next part. "I still have my list. It's not finished."

"Then I will help you finish it," he said, with as much conviction as his voice could muster.

The idea if having him follow her on a near-suicide mission made her shudder in fear. So many have already died, some ever for her. She still pictured Beric's face every time she closed her eyes, the way he was hanging limp while the dead took turns stabbing his body, and she thought, never again.

"I can't let you, it's too dangerous. Besides, it's something I must do by myself," she said, and he nodded in understanding.

"As long as you come back."

"As long as I come back."

Many moons later, when the Mad Queen was dead, and the Mountain but a memory, a girl returned to her home. The smith was first at the gate, walking past the throngs of people awaiting their saviour. He could hardly stand still on his feet, his smile brighter than any star the gods had put in the sky.

The girl jumped off her horse, her trepidation better concealed than the boy's, but nonetheless still visible. But one cannot be mistaken; a girl is not a lady. She's a fighter, a killer, a saviour, but also a lover.

The girl walked towards the smith with determination, and once she reached him, looked up into his eyes. The girl was much shorter, but the boy felt so much smaller than her.

"You're still here," she concluded, staring him up and down. "I thought you would not waste your time waiting for me. A lordship awaits you."

"Aye, I am still here, and you would be a fool to think that waiting for you is a waste," he replied, standing tall and proud.

"Well, it took a while, but I made it back," she said, referencing a prior conversation they had shared. "Ask me again."

He looked into her eyes, his head clearer and his voice steadier than the last time. "Be my wife."

The girl looked annoyed for a second, clicking her tongue. "No, not that one, the other one."

His eyes widened in realization, and he smiled, his grin contagious, and she could not help but mirror it. "Be my family."

Her eyes blurred with unshed tears, and she grabbed the front of his tunic, pulling him down to her level.

"That, I can do. I can be your family," she whispered, before kissing him.

Fin.

Thank you all for reading my little story. I loved writing it, and I hope you all liked reading it!

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