Arya
Arya felt like she could sleep for years. There had been many a countless night that she had lain awake, her eyes open, her hands clutched in a bloodied prayer, the ghosts of all she had lost haunting the caverns of her empty mind. Years she had been unable to sleep, properly sleep, with dreams that did not drown her or send her bolting awake. It was in Gendry's arms that she had learned what it was like to dream again.
It was in Gendry's arms that she lay now, her entire body aching and her head swimming with exhaustion. Yet she would not sleep. She could not let herself sleep. Not with the tiny wonder in her arms, keeping her there, transfixed, as its wide eyes drifting closed. The infant would sleep, but she would not.
"He's beautiful," Lawna said, nuzzled into Arya's side. She reached out delicate fingers to brush away thin strands of black hair from the babe's face. "Isn't he Mother?"
Mother. The words faded in Arya's mind, and yet they stayed there, lingering. This was the first time she had called Arya what she really was. It was also the first time that being called 'mother' didn't fill Arya will fear and foreboding. Rather, it felt right, as though that was what she should have been calling her all along.
Next to her, Gendry shifted, and Arya could tell he was looking at her, searching for her reaction. Looking for a sign of flight.
'Have you no faith in me?' She wanted to say. But then... She knew the answer to that, and it was deserved too. He'd hurt her once, when she needed him, and she was done trying to hurt him back. Her wounds would always far surpass his.
"He is," Arya sighed. "He looks like you, Gendry."
Gendry didn't say anything right away, but when she looked at him, his eyes looked misty.
"He's got your eyes, though," Gendry said after a few minutes. "I can tell."
"What are you going to name him, Mother?" Lawna asked, wriggling her finger between the babies soft pink ones.
"Ned," Arya said without missing a beat.
"After your father?" Gendry asked softly, and she could feel his fingers brush lightly against her forehead as he pushed some of her matted hair back.
"Yes," Arya felt a rush of unexpected tears brimming in her eyes. She wished her father was there now, to see the child named after him, and Lawna as well. He would have loved them, she thought sadly. He would have wished they were not bastards, but he would have loved them all the same, as he did Jon.
A tear fell down her face.
"Are you sad?" Lawna asked, looking alarmed. "Don't be sad!"
"I'm not sad," Arya said, brushing away her tears. "I'm not sad little one. How can I be sad with you by my side?"
She ran her fingers through Lawna's hair and then ruffled it, like Jon used to do when she was little. Poor Jon. He looked rather green when he finally got to leave the room.
"Good," Lawna said, curling closer to Arya. "I don't want you to ever be sad again."
Arya smiled, looking down at Lawna, whose face was turned away from her, hidden behind a heap of wild and tangled hair. It wasn't long before the little girl's breathing became long and deep, and she drifted off to sleep along with her baby brother.
Arya found herself staring at the babe again, so peaceful and content. Beautiful, like the child curled into her side. They need me, she thought to herself, and I need them.
Gendry's hand reached out and gently, ever so gently, he ran his fingers over their newborn's head.
She turned to look at him, only to find him looking at her. His eyes were such a searing blue, even in the dim light, but she saw it there; the questioning. He wants to know how long this will last.
Arya sighed, their newborn son in her arms and their daughter nestled into her side, and she knew the answer as though she had known it all along.
"I love you," she said.
And that's the end! Well, I mean, there's an epilogue because I love epilogues, but this is the official end.