Gendry
Gendry sighed, slamming the hammer down against the metal and sending sparks flying, but feeling none of it. The metal didn't sing today, it screeched. A dull, ringing screech. And though he had a mountain of work to do, and though he really needed to get it done, he knew his heart wasn't in it. Setting his tools down, he decided it was time for a break. Maybe lunch would clear his wandering mind.
It was Arya, he knew. Always Arya. She often used to drive him to distraction, though that was a quite different distraction indeed. Her now long, tangled hair, always shaking around her shoulders in dark waves, her eyes a cool dark gray. But when she smiled, there was a warmth in her eyes. A warmth that set his heart in his throat.
He had been a fool then. Tripping over himself to please her. Lingering in places she might be just in case she would happen by. But soon it became abundantly clear that Arya was far from forgiving him, or anyone. She was far from even herself, and her eyes did not smile at all. They were only cold.
Gendry might have been simple, but he was no fool. Jon's teachings had helped him some, and though Arya was softening, he knew that she had no regard for him. And why should she? Humble blacksmith that he was. Stupid and lowborn. What had he said all those years back in the Peach?
"Too lowborn for milady high."
Those words were full of wisdom. So he sought his pleasures elsewhere.
He had not thought she would care. Or even notice. It had only been twice that he had visited the pleasure house, and his visits, even in their small number, were far from frequent. In fact, he didn't really have an inclination to go again at all. Twice had been enough.
But then he was talking to that blonde haired girl, and suddenly Arya was crashing in, her horses hooves nearly crushing the poor girl's skull before Gendry threw her out of the way. But it was not Arya's rash act that had struck him.
It was the look of total fury and betrayal on her face.
BUT WHY? He wanted to shout after her. Why did she care? He had done nothing wrong. She had never even so much as looked at him in that way. Or had she? Had she? But that was impossible... Or was it?
As he stalked after Arya's horse, raining a thousand apologies upon the poor shaken girl, he felt a deep anger resonate within him. She cared, that was obvious, but she no right, no right to treat him with contempt. He had done nothing but wait! He had done nothing but apologize again and again and again! And all she ever did was leave and hit him and act like everything was all his fault.
He had felt sour towards her. Bitter and cold. And had treated her as such. If she was going to act the child, than he would play his part more than willingly.
And then she said it, the words that burned like acid in his mind, eating away at his flesh until it was set aflame.
"Why would I ever want promises from a bastard?"
Because, why indeed? Why would she ever want him? It was like everything he had ever dreaded her to be thinking was spitting itself back at him. It had never hurt so much to be who he was, and he had hated her for it.
Days later she had come back, apologizing for it, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because those words were empty and dead to him. It didn't matter because she ran like a coward, and he was sick of cowards. He was done with cowards.
When she had returned, he wanted none of her. He couldn't bear to see her, up on her horse, riding in like some sort of hero. She used to be a hero. When she was small, and scrawny, and brave. The Arya he had known would never run away.
But he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she would not let his anger lie. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he had already forgiven her, because he also knew that she needed his forgiveness. She wouldn't just let him fall away. He meant more to her than that.
She had come late, and though his back was turned, he could see her, standing there, ghostly in the pale moonlight, adorned in one of her foolish, lady dresses. But this time he wouldn't let her get away so easily.
If she wanted his forgiveness, she'd have to earn it.
And she did, in a way. Sometimes it was too easy to forget how broken she was inside. How spiderwebs were just holding her together by their tiny threads, and that running was the only way she could keep herself together.
After he had kissed her, and made love to her, and it was better than anything he had ever dared to dream, she left. But she returned within days, and after that, she was never gone long.
It was bliss, those happy three months, where the extent of her flights were a mere few days. They had spent many a wonderful hour trekking through the woods, bundled up to their noses to keep out the cold, laughing and talking. She would come to watch him work, and they would tease each other and talk there too. She also loved to spar with him, thwacking him with her wooden sword until he was covered with bruises, and then gently putting her lips to those bruises later at night.
And then it all came to crashing halt.
She had come to the forge practically naked and sobbing, and he had been horrified.
"Are you hurt?" He shouted, dropping his tools as she buried herself in his arms. She shook her head. "What's wrong? What's the matter?"
Arya's next words had hit him like a blow to the head.
"I'm pregnant. Gendry, I'm going to have a baby."
But they had been so careful! And she had drunk all sorts of teas and herbs and whatnot, but there it was. It seemed like the gods were determined to thwart them.
Though at first it had almost felt unpleasant, the arrival of a child brought on such hope that Gendry had never allowed himself to feel. She was with child. His child. A beautiful, innocent thing that was theirs. They were going to be a family.
"I love you," he whispered to her as she held the sleeping infant in her arms, a little girl that was more beautiful than anything Gendry had ever seen. "I love you."
The next morning she was gone.
Gendry could not have fathomed the feeling of waking up and finding the space next to him empty. Or the choking feeling of panic when he realized that she was gone. She had left him alone, with a newborn child and an empty heart.
When she had returned, he wondered if he would forgive her. Then he looked over at the wailing child in her cradle, and he knew that he would.
"Her name is Lawna," he told Arya when she had come to visit, tail between her legs. "You weren't here to name her."
Her silence was ringing, but when he looked up, there were tears in her eyes.
They never spoke of it, her leaving after Lawna's birth, but there had been silent consequences. They went a whole year without sharing each others bed, and Gendry wondered if they ever would lay together again. She must have known how deeply she hurt him. Just as he knew how terrified his declaration had made her.
They were both afraid.
But somewhere, in between the delight at Lawna's first words, her first steps, and every new thing she brought to their lives, they fell back together again. She brought them back together, when it looked like they would always be apart. Now, maybe, this new child would bring them closer still. Or it would tear them apart forever.
Gendry wasn't as foolish as he used to be, there was a certain dread that nagged at the back of his mind, and it was being made worse by her absence.
Want to or not, he missed her painfully. He missed being with her, talking to her, laughing with her, walking with her, and, of course, making love to her. It was a different kind of longing to have her so close, and yet she was so far away.
"Gendry, are you brooding?" It was Bran, funnily enough. He didn't visit the forge often, for he was usually studying magic or off with Meera, hunting and the like. They spent a good deal of time together.
"No," Gendry lied, standing up and picking up his tools.
"Well don't go back to work on my account," Bran said cheerfully, stepping into the forge.
"It's not on your account," Gendry said. "I have work that needs doing."
Arya's absence was making him grumpy as well.
"The maester says she can go out soon," Bran said, as if reading his mind. "Not out far, mind, just short walks, but I have a feeling those short walks are going to be to the forge and back."
When Gendry looked up, Bran was giving him an encouraging smile. Gendry couldn't find anything to say back, so he continued to work.
"She misses you too, you know," Bran sighed, his arms full of scrolls. "She tries not to show it, but she does."
"I wonder how much she'll miss me when she leaves again," Gendry spat, and instantly he felt guilty. It wasn't Bran's fault, and he did not deserve Gendry's bad mood.
But when Gendry looked up, Bran didn't look put out, but sympathetic.
"I pray to the gods everyday that she doesn't," Bran said softly. "I know we all don't want her to, you more than anyone. And I know that she knows this too. She loves you, Gendry. One of these days she'll return and never leave again."
"Yes," Gendry sighed, feeling hollow. "But when?"
Oh and a thank you to RavenGreenMoon, who asked to be my beta, and now, thanks to her, I sound educated