Always Gold

Weeks passed. No one saw Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister lay in the styes alone, his hand green and putrid, hanging from a rope around his neck, and Ramsay Snow was moving throughout Harrenhal with the determination and anger of a harsh winter storm. It seemed bringing in Jaime Lannister as a captive didn't quite outweigh the immediate realization that the Brotherhood had slipped through his grasp. His men didn't see it the same way. They celebrated, drinking wine and making the kitchen girls fearful. So Ramsay unsheathed one of his men's swords and rammed it through a girl's belly, promising the next man to utter a joyful phrase would find his sword poking out through his neck.

One thing did seem to bring Ramsay Snow a sick satisfaction: there was to be a hunting party. He unleashed his dogs and set out into the forests with his best men by his side. This was partially advantageous: it left the hall undefended. And without Ramsay in charge, work slowed to a more docile pace. Arya spent more time wandering the old tourney hall, more time tiptoeing through the corners and cracks of the castle, more time alone, silent and unnoticed. It struck her then, why Harrenhal was so unloved. It was the biggest castle in all of Westeros, it was wild, unruly, and impossible to keep a firm grip on. It could never be defended, nor maintained, in all areas at all hours of the day. It required an innumerable chain of guards and servants, cooks and keepers. And so it fell to disarray. It was ignored and mismanaged, it was cast off by it's owners, it was the most human place she'd ever seen.

She felt a strange sort of kinship with the hall, she could pass through any hall and feel as though she stepped where a member of her family might have stepped. Though the impossibility was grand, it was the first time in a while she felt hope, she felt certainty, she felt undeniable. This was something that couldn't be taken away from her, not like Needle, not like her family which had been ripped from her hands and scattered throughout the Seven Kingdoms, not like her faith in anything she'd ever been taught to believe. This was a memory passed down through time, and that could not be taken from her.

From that day on Arya was at peace with Harrenhal, though not with the people inside of it. But she was one with the walls, she could move about without being seen or heard, and it was a freedom she truly loved. She was the last Stark, this much she could only assume, and already, she was a ghost. But she was free.

Gendry worked, and then he worked some more, and then continued to work. And only once was the sun had set on Harrenhal did he pause. He'd waited four days and four nights, but now, he went off to visit his uncle where he lay half-dead in the sty. He began by simply observing from the shadows, there was no one around but being cautious had become first nature to Gendry. Keeping his head down and doing his work without comment or complaint was what had kept him alive, he was sure, but for the last bit of family he felt he had left, for the answers Jaime Lannister could give him, he was willing to risk that.

"You're being foolish," Arya said. Ever since Ramsay's departure she'd taken to sleeping in the Forge, or rather keeping him awake at night, imagining their escape as Gendry tried to sleep.

"Mayhaps," He said, taking some of the food he'd hidden away that day, saving for Jaime. "But we all have our ways of being foolish." He looked up at her pointedly.

"Me?" She asked. Gendry nodded, "And what have I done that's so foolish?"

Gendry looked at her, "You've grown." He wanted to say, but it wasn't simply that. Sure her hair was growing faster, shaping her face, making her look all the more feminine, but there was something else about her now, a confidence that hadn't been there before. As if in the absence of Bolton's Bastard, she'd taken over running the hall. It was ludicrous and dangerous, but it was also a good look on her. "You're overstepping your bounds, you think I don't hear people whispering about the Ghost of Harrenhal, hmm? That's you Arya, that's you skulking around the place, being careless and drawing attention to yourself when you should be working. You're asking for trouble."

She argued back. "Has anyone seen me? Has anyone mentioned me by name? No. So I think I'm doing just fine." Gendry let the subject drop. You can't tame a wolf.

Gendry packed a few more things for his once uncle, some medicine to keep the wound from getting infected. Then he prepared to set off, waiting for one last comment from Arya as he stood in the doorway of the Forge.

"Are you going off to be stupid now?" She asked. He nodded. She sat perched on the anvil, her feet kicking underneath her. After a moment of contemplation, she jumped up. "Fine, then I guess I'll go be stupid with you."

He was surprised to find the she followed him.

When he walked through the grounds into the darkly lit pig sty, he found his uncle in a desperate state. Kneeling down next to the man, who was covered in sweat and delirious from the pain and the shock.

"Uncle Jaime." He said, grabbing the shoulder of his good arm and shaking it. He felt a tap on his shoulder and received a glare from Arya. "Jaime."

The man's eyes fluttered open hesitantly and closed once more.

Arya who'd previously been behind him, standing in the shadows, stepped forward and swiftly kicked the bleeding stump where his hand once was.

Jaime screamed in his sleep, his eyes still closed. Gendry jumped forward, his hand covering Jaime's mouth and stifling his voice.

"Uncle Jaime, please you need to be quiet, we're here to help you." Gendry pleaded, looking to Arya to start treating his wounds while they talked. Wordlessly, she did so, though she did not seem happy about it at all.

"So you made it out..." Jaime mumbled, finally he seemed to have recognized who was talking, and his eyes went over to Arya slowly, "And you brought the Stark girl with you."

"How did you get here?" Gendry asked.

Jaime hissed in pain as Arya tended to his arm, in a way that was far from gingerly. "Catelyn Stark sent me South with that mountainous woman from Tarth, to trade me for the King in the North's sisters." He looked at Arya, "Guess he would've been disappointed."

Gendry looked at Arya too, finding no reaction in her eyes at the realization that her brother was trying to get her back to the North. It seemed that at the very least, all their efforts to hide Arya had worked. The girl just kept her eyes on her task.

"I always knew..." Jaime said, his eyes and mind delirious from pain, "I knew and I helped her cover it up, but she wanted more, she wanted her children on the throne, our children. I kept her sated as long as I could."

"This was always her plan." Gendry said shaking his head.

"No," Jaime said, "I fear it was much worse."

With that Arya stormed off, taking the medicine for Jaime's wrist with her. Her meager job would have to, as Ramsay waking up to inspect his victim and finding him bandaged and cared for would only worsen Jaime's troubles, and in that way, their own.

"She'll never be the same." Jaime warned, noticing Arya's absence perhaps through the pain that had died down in his arm.

"None of us will," Gendry noted, a sombre moment he couldn't allow to continue, "We need to get out of here. All of us."

"I will only slow you down." Jaime intoned, his head rolling back. As his hair fell back it reeled the glassy look in his eye.

"Yes." Gendry nodded, "But you were always decent to me. You didn't forsake me, I will do the same for you."

"Decency... does not make us allies." He commented.

"Well, then" He looked around a moment, Arya's cautions present in his mind, "Then as your king. You will keep going until I tell you otherwise."

"And where do you propose we go?"

Gendry hesitated, any plans had halted in his mind since he'd first seen Jaime's hand rolling through the grounds of Harrenhal. "We will get North, to Starks' land, they are our allies."

"The Starks are weakened."

"We're all weakened, Jaime." He said, his voice gaining a timbre at the disillusionment of both Arya and his uncle. "We will go North, to Winterfell, to find our allies, and we will keep going North to collect them. House Mormont, House Reed, the men of the Watch, all Stark allies." He struggled to think of more house names and banners, to remember his lessons, to find the few he could count on once he overcame the obstacle of getting out of this hell hole. "The Brotherhood are mine. It's not much but it's better than anything else I can devise."

"The North is falling apart as fast as it's freezing over."

"I don't have a plan." Gendry said, far louder than he should. His temper, a constant reminder of how much of his father was hidden within himself, often threatened him with trouble. "I have her." He said, motioning to the direction in which Arya had disappeared, his arm continued to wave aimlessly behind him as he spoke, as if Arya was everywhere, all around him. "And I have to get her somewhere safe."

"Because you love her." Jaime said, a defeated laugh on his lips. Mocking Gendry and himself.

"Because even when she refuses to speak to me, or acknowledge my damn existence, she is still the best ally I will ever have."

Gendry shook his head, finding no solace in talking to his uncle, the man was destroyed almost entirely. He placed the food he'd gathered for him within his reach and stood.

"We will leave tomorrow night, you will come with us, it can be as my ally or..." He paused, "Or as my prisoner for crimes against the rightful King of the Iron Throne, and the House Baratheon. Try and keep yourself together until then."

"I can't fight," Jaime reminded him as the walked away, "The Kingslayer is gone." He waved his stump of a hand for a moment, the missing weight sending it back down to his lap a moment later.

Gendry considered that statement for a moment. "Good, I don't fucking need a Kingslayer."

"What else of me is there?"

"You'll have to find out."

When he returned to the Forge, Arya was there, waiting. And for once, he felt like he knew what needed to be said.

"This is the worse way it could've gone." He said, "Jaime was wrong about so much, but about that most of all. There is no version of this worse than your father not being alive. He was a great man who will be missed." She sat, perched on the anvil, her feet now closer to the ground than they once were. He came to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "If I could change it, if I could make some kind of deal like you did with Jaqen, I would bring him back to you, I would trade places with him if I could, and-"

"No." she mumbled against his chest.

He pulled away, "What?"

"No, I... I would do anything, give anything, I would be anything to get him back. Gods, Gendry there is so much I would do." She sighed, "But it would've been worse, to have lost him and have not had you here with me too. To lose you too..." As if unable to finish the thought, she just shrugged.

It felt treasonous to think it in her mind, that to not have Gendry here with her could even be compared to the loss of her father. But the image penetrated her mind ceaselessly. To have him murdered in King's Landing, not executed but hidden away somewhere with those dragon bones in the hidden barracks of the Red Keep, it was a thought she couldn't stand to keep in her mind, and she had to get it out.

"I haven't been nice, or fair, or anything to you-"

"You've been grieving," Gendry said, making excuses for her.

"It wasn't your fault. And I treated you like it was." She knew very much whose fault it was now, and would remember that person forever, but for this moment, she would atone. "I'm sorry for that."

"I've never needed your apology," He actual managed a laugh, "I always knew you'd be hard to handle, I never cared. Whether times were good, or bad, or unimaginably terrible. I've never wanted to shy away from that, or beat that impulse out of you." He stepped back close to her again.

She rose on the anvil, sitting on her knees so that they were the same height, finally face to face. It felt like it had been too long since he'd seen her eyes. "I don't know how many Starks are left, I keep telling myself I can feel them alive still, in here," Her hand rested on her abdomen, "And that when they die it'll feel like it did when... it'll feel like a piece of me disappears. But maybe I can't feel that, or anything-"

"You're not br-"

She cut him off, "You're my best ally too. Even when you're a stubborn, emotional bull."

She'd been listening. She reached down and took his hand in both of hers.

"My father, he told me you'd always take care of me."

"I will."

"That I could trust you."

"You can."

"And Sansa, that night we found you in the godswood, she told me you two were going to keep me in the North, that you wanted me to be happy."

"I do."

"And you still thinks that possible? To be happy?"

"Yes."

"I'll take care of you too." She said softly,

"You will?" He asked, wanting to hear it again.

"I will." She nodded, "And you can trust me. And I want you to be happy too."

He smiled, lifting a hand to cup her cheek, but deciding against it, he joined with their other hands, which were placed gently over top of each other, equal distance between their two bodies.

Gendry wasn't sure what to do next, either to close the space between their bodies, or to get them out of this place. Arya solved the first problem for him.

Her fingers gripped his palms tightly, and he could feel a thin layer of sweat building on her hands. Though that could be from the roaring forge fire behind her, he felt it had a different motivation.

"Arry," He warned, trying to convince himself that she didn't even know what she was doing, intertwining their hands, saying these kinds of words, biting her lip like that and looking at him the way she was.

He'd seen so many shades of emotion from her the past months, her pure rage, her emptiness, her sadness and frustration. The look received now was none of those, it was determination, and comfort.

"We might be all each other has anymore." She said, a tone of sadness still underscored her words, at the implication that they might be the last Stark and the last Baratheon by this point. The implication that she trusted none of Jaime's words, whether they be outdated or straight lies. "And if that's true, I'm glad it's with you."

"They're out there Arry, you might not believe that you can feel them, but I do. They're out there and we'll find them together, and we'll make things right."

She nodded, "Together."

"Together." He repeated again.

She inched forward on the anvil, her knees teetering over the edge, and he stepped closer to make things easier for her.

For all her towardness, and her brash actions and impulsiveness, she chose this moment to become shy. He stopped himself from smiling at the idea, knowing it would only embarrass her and scare her away. The thought occurred to him then that this, he was absolutely sure, would be her first kiss, if she so chose it to be. At least he hoped it was, a selfish hope really. Though he didn't love that it would happen in Harrenhal, he knew it was something she had to do, nothing like their time in the Keep, him taking her hands, kissing her cheeks, giving her an angry blush. For this, she needed to decide for herself. She needed to want it.

She came so close, he could feel her shallow breath against the stubble on his chin. Then, changing her mind suddenly, her lips landed on his cheek, the corner of her lips touching the corner of his. She paused herself there for a minute and Gendry didn't think he'd be able to breathe for risk that she would flee.

Her breath shook as she pulled away slightly, from excitement or nerves, she couldn't tell which of the two ruled the combination. Arya couldn't define what had come over her except for the resounding feeling that had first struck her days ago in the storeroom, that he could be her family. She wasn't even sure if she'd said it or him, she'd been thinking it one moment and suddenly the words were in the air between them.

There was the feeling of comfort, of his body next to hers as they slept in the Forge. A feeling she'd enjoyed, then missed, then sought out, maybe even craved? A feeling developed over months on the King's Road, though she hadn't recognized it until right now, at her most desperate moment, when she didn't feel lost at all.

She pressed her lips to his. A moment of regret washed over her for every time she'd ignore Sansa stories about princes and knights kissing ladies, and for all the knowledge she had about fighting that taught her nothing about what to do when she wanted to quell this feeling in the pit of her stomach. A feeling of wanting to hold and be held and be tender. She wasn't tender, she was Arya Underfoot.

Gendry's hands parted from her own and for a foolish moment she thought he might push her away, but his hand rose to cup her cheek, and hers remained limp between them. This wasn't Water Dancing.

Instinct overtook her as her hands reached to either side of his toros, which Gendry took smartly as confirmation to deepen the kiss, his lips opening slightly as his hands wound into her growing hair.

She worked in opposition of him, her arms rising up to wrap around his neck as his moved around her waist, perhaps this was a bit like Water Dancing after all. He lifted her off the anvil and let her feet fall to the ground.

When their lips parts, Arya kept her eyes closed, and Gendry stared down at her, she looked bashful, and happy. He was a good look on her.

"We should get some sleep." He said, "Tomorrow, we're getting out of here."

She nodded, too stunned, and tired, and content to bother pretending to fight him.

They wrapped up together on his small feather bed in the back, Arya's back pressed against his chest, safe and sound with his arm gently pulling her close to him. A feeling in the pits of both their stomachs, that despite every terrible circumstance surrounding them, this above all-else was right.