Chapter XVI: The Beginnings

He rubbed the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. Even though Beric had taught him swordplay and then knighted him, his hands still worked better with a hammer than with a sword. So, he had ended up going to the smithy after arriving in Winterfell, and not to the training grounds. Beric had been against it, but Gendry didn't want to fight. He liked being a blacksmith; working at the forge came naturally to him.

He hadn't seen Arya since the day the Lords had been gathered. He wouldn't say he missed her; he had been away from her for too long to miss her just yet. But he would've liked to be near her. It was no use of thinking about that of course, because she was royalty and he was just a smith and a knight. He would see her, when she would want it, neither sooner nor later.

Minutes before the Dragon Queen arrived, every guard was stationed near the gates. The King and Princess Sansa were there, but from his place, he didn't see Arya. His eyes searched, and he knew from the look on the King's face that he was searching for her too. The snow fell around them, covering their furs. Gendry shivered under his worn out leathers, and cursed himself for not bringing his cloak. The two direwolves stood at the head, their eyes shining and beautiful but ferocious at the same time, throwing a warning to any enemy that might dare to come near.

"You know if you are so intent on freezing to death." He almost jumped in surprise at the sudden voice. "I would have gladly buried you in snow myself."

"I know how much pleasure you will get from killing me, Arry." He kept himself from laughing. Barely. "What are you doing here when you should be at the front?"

She was wearing a cloak that hid her face when the hood was down. He realized all of a sudden that he liked her better in his own cloak. He shook the thought away.

"Wasn't I vocal enough about my desire to meet her?" She asked, sarcastically.

"You were," Gendry replied. The girl would never stop amusing him, that was sure.

"I am not going to stand there and pretend that I like her, even though I can do it more convincingly than Jon and Sansa are doing. Let me just enjoy everything from here."

"They are searching for you," he said, watching as the King looked around again, and then whispered something in a guard's ear.

"Let them," she muttered indifferently.

The gates opened slowly, and Gendry noticed the wolves still guarding. He saw more than a hundred men in armour, armed with spears and shields. They marched ahead, and a carriage was carried between them.

The men stopped at the gates, and one single man approached. The carriage was dropped, and the army made way for their Queen.

The first thing he noticed was that the woman's hair was silver. A few strands were braided and the rest fell down her shoulders to her waist. She looked beautiful even from afar. Her skin was fair and her face alluring. Gendry had learned from stories that Targaryen men were the most handsome and women the most bewitching. This Dragon Queen was no different. She walked with an air that promised power and regality, and Gendry could see the men were struck by her beauty instantly.

He heard Arya's sharp intake of breath, and briefly glanced at her to see her eyes fuming with hatred and staring straight ahead. Only when he looked back did he notice another person had come out of the carriage.

"Lannister," she said, seething. She sounded murderous and unforgiving and he found it surprising she didn't advance right then and there at the dwarf.

Gendry took her hand, her fist, actually. Arya didn't fight back. It may have been improper but he didn't let go, and she didn't pull away either.

The moment the King and Queen were in front of each other, Gendry could sense the tension. But from both sides, there were only civil words that came forth. Unlike their sister, King Jon and Princess Sansa didn't look repulsed by Tyrion Lannister, and instead met him like old acquaintances.

"I need to get out of here," he heard Arya say. She fought against his grip. "Please, Gendry leave my hand."

He looked at her, to find her brows inched together and her breathing harsh.

"Let me come with you," he offered. Arya looked hesitant for a minute, then nodded, and dragged him by his hand. She lowered her head making sure no one would see, but from the corner of his eye, Gendry noticed a pair of eyes studying them. He turned around to see Beric, but the man turned his head away as soon as Gendry looked at him. He and Arya were out of everyone's sight, and he didn't leave her hand as she took him towards a place he had never been to before.

"It's the Godswood," she said, clearing his doubt even before he could voice it.

The snow was thicker beneath his boots; there were no sounds of their footsteps and Arya too seemed to slow down her pace after they entered the place.

The first time his eyes fell on the big tree with the face, he almost didn't believe his eyes. The eyes of the face were crying tears as red as blood, and the face was bizarre to him. The air of the Godswood was thick with something mysterious, and the only thing that went constantly through his mind was that he was not supposed to be standing in a place like this, a place he couldn't really understand. The leaves of the trees were red too, and it's branches were wide and long. He looked at Arya, who stood there, perhaps waiting, for him to take it all in.

Their hands were still clasped together.

"I've never seen a Godswood before," he breathed out, still enchanted.

"I know, stupid," Arya said with a small laugh. "Your face says it all. You don't have to be scared, you know."

Gendry shook his head.

"I am not scared," he replied truthfully. "It's just... strange, actually."

"I know." She inched closer to the tree and he followed. "I don't remember the first time I was here, but I was present when Father brought little Rickon to pray here. He started crying and told Father to take him away from here because the face frightened him."

He was looking at her now, and felt her slowly slide her hand away from his.

"Father would have welcomed them too, just like Jon. I don't want Jon to be in the same place as him. A Lannister is a curse to this place. Everything is their fault. Every single fucking thing that happened to my family. If the stupid, fat King hadn't come here, Father would've been alive. And my mother and Robb and Rickon and-"

She stopped herself.

Gendry felt guilty thinking she was actually cursing his father. He didn't feel bad, though. He had never known who his father was until the Red Witch had told him. Arya was more of a truth in his life than his father would ever be.

"I am sorry. You should've stayed there with them," she said. "You don't have to listen to me."

"No, I don't have to," he agreed. "But I'd rather be with you than them."

Arya smiled.

"I am glad you're here, Gendry," she said, lightly nudging his shoulder with his.

"So am I, Milady." To his surprise, she said nothing. "I think I finally found someone worth staying for."

She hummed softly. He suddenly felt a craving for the days they had spent with the Brotherhood. But it was unfair to her for him to think that. She was with her family now, in her home. It was what she deserved, to live in a castle and be happy.

"Jon is a good King," she said, perhaps as a reply to his statement.

Gendry chuckled.

"With all due respect to your brother, Arry, I wasn't talking about him."

Arya narrowed her brows, then laughed, shaking her head. A cold rush of wind passed them, but none of them shivered. It messed Arya's hair and Gendry reached out to touch it, feeling the roughness of her locks between his fingers. Arya turned to him with an amused look.

"What?" She asked.

He shook his head, turning his head to look at the tree.

"Gendry?"

He rubbed his eyes and sat up, catching the form of Beric near his bed, holding a candle. He put the candle down, while Gendry put on his tunic.

"It is the middle of the night, Beric," he said, voice raspy from sleep.

"Why did you two leave earlier?" Beric asked.

Gendry narrowed his eyes.

"It is not something you should concern yourself about," he said, trying not to sound rude.

Beric put a hand on his shoulder.

"Be careful with her, Gendry."

"What are you talking about?" He started to sound frustrated.

"You know what I'm talking about. I know you are good friends, but anything more than that might not be a good move."

"Gods!" Gendry exclaimed in surprise. Sleep was clouding his mind, and he wasn't in the mood for this. "There isn't anything more. She just wanted to leave so I went with her."

"I see more with my one eye than most men see with two. Trust me, lad. You wouldn't want to go that way."

"I'd never think of her like that," Gendry said. "She is a Princess. I am just a bastard."

"It's not about that," Beric replied. "Birth will never stop her from doing anything. She is Arya Stark, for Gods' sake! That girl is more headstrong than a four-year old. She always has what she wants."

"But this will destroy you both," he added, with more seriousness. "She keeps too many secrets and her eyes are colder than ice. She could never give you the warmth you'd crave, and if you try too hard, she will break your heart and won't look back. I respect Arya, she is stronger than most of us will ever be, and not in strength. But take this from a man who cares for you as a father would for a son."

Gendry sat still, his head spinning. He couldn't fathom what Beric was getting at. Arya was his friend, nothing else.

She can never be, he thought, as his mind went to what happened earlier that day, and her hand in his.

"It wouldn't come to that," he assured the older man. "You do not have to worry."

Beric nodded.

"Go to sleep, lad," he said, and picked up the candle. Gendry watched as he went out the door, and fell back on the bed with a groan.

His sleep had disappeared, and all he could think about was what Beric had said.

I am still a bastard, he told himself. I am not worthy of her anyway.

He fell asleep only a couple of hours before dawn broke.