A/N: Hiya! So yeah, this is going to be a version of what could happen in the book sin the future, though probably wont. All those dead are still dead. (Also found on tumblr) AND here starts the Arya x Gendry
Gendry
He bent over the anvil again, throwing his hammer down on to the metal over and over. The air in the forge was warm and sticky, sweat trailing down his back, his chest, his arms. But he didn't seem to notice, there was too much on his mind to notice heat and sweat and pain. Sometimes when his mind was clouded, full of thoughts of her, of the past, of what he should have done and what he did do, he'd escape to the forge. To the heat and sweat and pain and lose himself in a piece of metal, hammering it till there was nothing but a lethal weapon. Gendry would tell himself it was only a matter of time before he forgot, before all memories of that night left him, of her face. Small and childish, with eyes that had seen too much for such young age.
'You need to forget about her. You need to remember who you are and who she was. Even if she hadn't been lost, you'd have never been together. To bloody highborn.' it was his own words echoing in his head as the hammer fell down again. How many times had he told himself that? How many times had he ignored his own words? 'You stupid bull-head boy. 'Her voice still rang in his ears; her voice still told him how stupid he was.
"She's gone! She's dead! Just forget about her!" he shouted to no one. His words echoing around the empty forge, nothing but the metal and fires to hear his pain, his sorrow, his lost hope for that little she-wolf he'd once known. It wasn't like he knew her that well anyway, so why was he so attached? So...so angry at being left by her and angry at himself for letting her go? Sometimes, when everything got too much in the Inn for him, he'd pick up his hammer and take out what he'd been working on for 2 years. It was never perfect, never right. There was always something wrong with it. He was making it for her. Ever since he'd turned up, brought to them by Lem and Tom, he'd been thinking more and more. Not knowing what was right anymore. And she'd been in his mind more. It was like she was haunting him from where ever she was.
They heard to rumours about Bran Stark in the North, turning up and reclaiming Winterfell with the help of their bastard brother Jon Snow who'd been legitimized by King Robb before he was murdered. They're fixing it, making it right again he kept saying, and when it's done, you can go home. All of you can go home. The Starks of Winterfell. He could laugh at the thought of them, each one had found their way into his heart and he'd never even met half of them. 'You're not Northern man.' Jayne had said to him. 'Aye, I'm not. But all the Northern men I've met known what honour and family is better than any Southern one so far. Though I'm happy to be proved wrong.'
His eyes didn't help. They were so like hers, he was so like her in the way he ran wild when given the chance, the way he preferred the cold to the warm. But he was more of the North then she, he knew, he was wild as the North and wherever he went, the wolf followed. The Stark and direwolf. The wolf had tried to bite his arm off when he'd first arrived, but had stopped to sniff him. No one could understand what had happened, but instead of biting, he'd nudged his arm and moved on. The boy had trusted Gendry more then, anyone the direwolf trusted, he trusted and vice versa. Gendry wasn't sure why he was so protective of him. Mayhap it was because he'd failed his sister and he just wanted to make amends. But inside he knew, even if he'd never have known Arya like he had, he'd still want to protect him.
He barley heard the sound of a horse riding up to the forge, barley heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind him, but he did, however, hear the strangled cry come from behind him as the direwolf leapt up from where he'd been sleeping. Gendry turned around, the sword he'd been hammering in his hand, just in time to see the direwolf jump on the intruder.