He looks at her, there in the corner of his room sitting by the window staring at the sea. He's suppose to be working: working on the details of their departure next week. But he's distracted by her distraction.
She's been unusually quiet since their conversation about Jaqen. She wasn't naturally conversational, he remembered her younger self and the silence of their travel and time together in Westeros. But this was something different. This quiet was full of something ready to spill forth. He can see it in her face: seeing her surroundings but not altogether there. He wonders what is under her surface silence.
A strong breeze moves through the room and he blinks as he realizes it's from Arya as she escapes his room with the wind of her speed chasing her. One moment she's right there and the next she is gone without a word.
He follows after her, rushing down the stairs through the inn and out into the streets but she is too quick for him even in her damn dress. He curses under his breath and he feels a sense of dread at losing her again.
He moves through the city asking about her here and there but she is too stealthy for anyone to have seen her. He reaches the docks in short time and stops short when he spies her and he inhales sharply.
She is captivating- standing there amongst the ships and men milling about. Standing tall and straight, her shoulders back and her long hair moving against her body that is clearly outlined by the drape of her dress caught in the sea wind. She is strong and vibrant amongst the filth of the docks and he wants nothing more to take her away from this place, as if she doesn't belong in the place that she had lived for five years now.
It's only a flash of a moment before he takes in the entire scene and not just her. She is speaking with a man, a tall man with red hair with one lock of blonde hair running through it.
Jaqen.
Blood rushes to his ears and anger boils in him. Jaqen's face is not the face that he had last seen all those years ago. It is different... younger and more wild. He knows it is not Jaqen's true face but he can see small emotions roll over the features as Arya starts speaking and though he cannot hear the words from this distance he knows what she is saying, because her motions give it away. She points to his ships, the ones that he had sailed here in and then back to herself before becoming still. Jaqen's eyes give him away and Gendry watches him look over Arya with a small amount of sadness and resignation. He nods his head and reaches out to touch Arya.
Gendry's entire body tenses, not sure what to expect. Would it be the touch of a lover? A friend? Or foe? He didn't know and part of him didn't want to know. He just wanted her: to take her with him and to leave this place where he didn't know her, where she was someone new and frightening to him. He watches as Jaqen's hand lands on her arm and he pulls Arya toward him and Gendry has to fight the urge to move, the sudden desire to kill Jaqen. He's never been a violent man, war only makes men violent as needed, but he now grasps why some men are.
But instead of pulling Arya closer to himself, Jaqen leans in slowly and his lips touch the top of Arya's head in a quick motion before he releases her. Gendry's breath shutters out of him and he hadn't realized he'd been holding it. It wasn't a kiss of love or even lust, it was a gift of parting. If Gendry hadn't known better, he would have swore it was the same way in which a father parts with a beloved child. But then: what does he know of fathers loving their children?
Jaqen hands Arya two small bags and Gendry watches her shake her head, her hair bouncing around her elbows. Jaqen's hand rises in a swift and sure motion to cease her arguing, and he can see the reluctance in her shoulders as she holds her hands out to receive the small bags. It isn't a breath's time after she accepts them that she has thrown herself into Jaqen's arms and is hugging him fiercely, making Gendry chuckle despite himself.
That is the Arya he remembers. But he can see the tears staining Jaqen's cloak and his inward mirth dies. Jaqen's eyes meet his in that moment and Gendry wishes he could dig a hole where he stands. Jaqen's eyes are dark and Gendry knows what he is telling him silently, what his eyes are saying to him. Gendry nods once in acknowledgment. Jaqen pushes Arya from himself and touches her chin once before looking at Gendry, telling Arya that he is behind her. She swings her head around and he can see the tears still wet on her face and her eyes wide before she looks back to Jaqen, nods to him and turns away, walking to Gendry with her eyes on the ground.
Jaqen watches her the entire time, until she reaches Gendry. She sighs deeply before looking him in the eyes. Her grey eye's are alive and if he had been but a little weaker, a little less the man he is, he would have fallen over right there in the middle of the street. But he is not weaker and he is not a lesser man, so instead he reaches out to her and touches her wrist, it's small size surprising him for the strength in it and her eyes never leave his and he gently tugs her hand toward him. She allows him this: allows him to pull her gently toward him, past him, as she makes her way past him back to the inn and he lets her go on her own, his hand falling back to his side. He turns again to where to Jaqen stood to see him still standing there, his dark eyes still boring into him with unspoken threats and words and messages. Gendry doesn't respond this time but instead turns and walks toward the inn, following Arya.