.
.
If you raise a hand to my sister…
Jon isn't his younger sisters or brother. He does not bother to hide his misgivings. Gendry stares ahead, dutifully bowing his head when Jon faces him, leaning in. Tully eyes, Stark eyes… he's doomed to be scrutinised as an outsider.
If I hear of you betraying her or this child…
Snow drifts over the ravencote, as the many, dark-winged beasts caw and fly above. He resists a shiver under Jon's warning.
You won't need to concern yourself with what Arya will do… I'll kill you first…
.
.
The masters say Arya is healthy and very early. No-one has to know Catelyn Stark was conceived before their vows.
(Or would their daughter be a Baratheon? Or both?)
Arya doesn't wish to overthink it. Not before even seeing the slightest curve to her belly.
She scolds Jon being overly protective and intimidating Gendry, and dodges a lively Sansa's questions about arranging a marriage feast. Marriage. Arya hasn't seen Winterfell in such high spirits since King Robert's arrival. There's talk of lamb being served on plates and roasted in herbs and garlic, racks of suckling pig and trout baked in claw. Caskets of good Dornish wine.
They can have their feast.
All she really wants is this — a quiet eve, without weapons or fear, surrounded by the heat of Gendry's arms.
His black hair glints in the taperlight. Arya observes in silence, naked and loose-limbed, as he kneels to her, running his strong hands over her ribs and hips. Gendry's mouth presses light, feathery kisses over stomach-scars. They've had time to think it over. Arya decides that whenever it happens — Cersei Lannister and the Mountain will die. And she'll be there to witness it.
"We could still run away, y'know…"
Gendry's laughter rumbles over her pale skin. One of his hands trailing over Arya's buttocks, up her spine comfortingly.
"That might be nice…" he mumbles, humoring a faint smack on his head. Gendry's thumb and forefinger brushes over Arya's navel, almost shyly, and she inhales, pressing her hand over his. Tugging him on his feet. Feeling every hardened, muscular line of his body. Gendry's cock stirring against her thigh. She kisses him, sure and steady, with turnips on her breath.
They imagine a girl with Arya's skinny, knobby knees and brown hair. The coldwater blue of Gendry's eyes.
It's a good life ahead.
.
.
GoT isn't mine. WELL OKAY it's being decided that I'm wrapping this up because if I planned on doing a full length fic originally, I would have started it that way. I'm really glad that so many people wanted more and left me nice comments and I appreciate the hell out of you. ILY. Thank you for taking this journey with me, even if it was short, and CROSS YOUR FINGERS FOR THAT GENDRYA ACTION TONIGHT. SO EXCITED. -blows kisses-