5. Winterfell
It took a long time, but at some point Gendry realized that Arya wasn't coming back to him. Her body had never been recovered from that horrible night (the "RedWedding," they were calling it) and the rumors began flying.
No, the Frey's didn't kill her- the Hound did. No, it wasn't the Hound; she starved trying to run away. No, she escaped and she was living somewhere in Westeros, in secret. No, she sailed across the Narrow Sea and made a life in the Free Cities.
They all said so many things; at first he wasn't sure what to believe.
But as time passed and the small nagging in the back of his mind grew stronger, louder, Gendry became surer. Arya Stark was alive. He wasn't sure why he was so positive, but he was. He would know if she was dead. He would feel it.
She was alive.
Gendry's life, in the meantime, kept moving. Years passed, and he found a temporary home living in the Inn with Jeyne and the orphans, working as the smith. He had opportunities, with Jeyne, to make a life for himself, a family. But he couldn't. Jeyne was a nice girl, but she wasn't Arya.
Then that woman showed up, Brienne of Tarth. He remembered that he had saved her, once, and killed Biter in the process.
This time, the burly, unattractive woman came with two companions- a blonde man with only one hand and a pretty, black haired girl who held her head high and called herself Sansa Stark. That in and of itself was strange enough for him, but the real shock came when they tried to tell him he was Gendry Baratheon.
He didn't believe any of it. First of all, Sansa was nothing like Arya. She was demure and calculating, while Arya was dirty ruffian who said things without thinking. There was no way the two could be related.
Then, when he learned that the blonde man was Jaime Lannister, things made even less sense. What was a Lannister doing with a Stark anyway? Gendry remembered well enough the way Arya would whisper names to herself, every night. Granted, the Kingslayer wasn't on that list, but both his sister and his late nephew were.
And he was entirely unsure what to make of the strapping blonde woman who kept staring at him as if he had two heads. Sansa had told him one time that her staring was because of his resemblance to King Robert's brother, Renly Baratheon. It still made him uncomfortable.
Nonetheless, he found he couldn't rid himself of the three, and he learned quite quickly that you don't say no to Sansa Stark. They made an odd little pack- the hidden wolf, the grinning lion, the blonde bear, and the estranged stag. Though, no odder than he, Arya and Hot Pie, he supposed.
Before long, Lady Stark had shoved a war hammer in his hands and pushed them all off in the direction of Winterfell, along with the hordes of men she had managed to collect just by saying the name "Robb Stark." The siege did not last long, and the battle was easy, as the Bolton's hold on the castle was flimsy at best.
Sansa settled easily onto the throne, naming herself the Lady of Winterfell. Eventually, in another year or two, that title would change again, this time to be Queen of the North. Sansa ruled comfortably for a while Stannis Baratheon, Cersei Lannister and the Dragon Queen squabbled over the South. No one wanted the North anymore- not with Winter looming.
In the meantime, Starks who were thought to be long dead began crawling out of the woodworks. First it was Jon Snow, who was a Stark if Gendry had ever seen one, if not by name. The reunion between him and his sister was a hesitant one at first, but ended with Sansa breaking down into tears into her bastard brother's arms.
Next was the cripple boy, along with his big, oafish servant. His appearance caused a reaction of more immediate joy, as did the young wildling Stark that followed him.
Though no matter how many Starks walked through the doors to the throne room, Gendry always found himself disappointed. They were never Arya.
Gendry spent much of his day with the Queen, who insisted that he be legitimized as quickly as possible so that she could appoint him to her counsel. When he snidely pointed out that perhaps he didn't want to be on her counsel she spun around and snapped "Well too bad because I'll have you anyway."
And that was the end of that.
Gendry despised the fakeness of everyone in the court, but soon found a friend in the Queen. Once you had gained her trust, Sansa slowly began to disassemble her carefully built walls. Behind that, he found, lay an altogether wonderful person.
They didn't have a lot in common, but Gendry regaled her with stories of Arya while Sansa sat and listened to him, enraptured. They laughed together and they had fun together, but as hard as Gendry tried, she was still never Arya.
Sansa seemed to miss her sister as much as Gendry did, if not more. She nearly drove herself insane with the search parties. A few months after the reappearance of Bran and Rickon, Sansa must have realized that Arya was not coming home on her own volition, and she took matters into her own hands instead.
She put a bounty on Arya's head, and offered a reward to the man who brought her sister back to Winterfell. For months, they sat in court, weeding through impersonator after impersonator- some good, some bad, others hopeless entirely, but all claiming to be the long-lost Arya Stark.
There was one girl who was rather talented. She was small with brown hair, and indeed bore a striking resemblance to the little wolf girl he once knew. The man who brought her said she had lost the ability to speak, which worked in the girl's favor as well, as the Queen tended to ask many probing questions.
Sansa was convinced, having been blinded by her own desperation. Gendry harbored his own doubts. The grey in the girl's eyes was the right color, but it lacked the fire. Jon rushed home as soon as he got the raven from Sansa, but Gendry watched the hope and excitement diminish in the brother's eyes as he looked upon the girl. He didn't out the girl as a fake, but Jon knew too, somehow. She wasn't Arya.
The impersonator ended up staying with them for about two months. Gendry wasn't entirely sure what happened, but one morning he walked into the solar and Sansa was crying, alone. He asked what was wrong and she said she missed her sister. This made him think that she probably knew all along, but wanted to see if she could pretend for a while.
The experiment didn't work. Arya was still gone. Sansa called off the searches, and stopped accepting claims from the many Arya Starks. And Gendry came to terms with the fact that she was never coming back.
"Bastard!" Gendry's head whipped backwards, recognizing the voice of the only person who still referred to him in such a derogatory term. "The Queen is waiting for you in the throne room." Jaime Lannister's smug grin was a familiar sight to him now.
At first, he was confused by the golden-haired lion, who had a tendency to make cruel comments and jests while grinning ear-to-ear. After a while though, Gendry realized that the man wasn't exactly cruel, but many years of ego petting had caused him to lack the normal social skills.
"Tell her that I'm busy." Gendry grunted, turning his attention back to the sword he was currently forging.
"I don't think Her Grace will take very kindly to being ignored."
He shrugged, not caring much for Sansa's neediness this particular day. There was a pause, and Jaime's voice took a more serious tone. "It appeared rather urgent."
Gendry sighed, stopping his work. "Did she say what it was?"
Jaime shook his head, eliciting another long sigh from him. "Alright." He conceded, throwing on a dirty tunic. The Queen could still force him to drop everything at a moment's whim, but they were past the point in their relationship where she could dictate what he was to wear.
He walked across the grounds, taking long, purposeful strides. The doors to the throne room were open, but two dozen somber eyes reached his as soon as his foot hit the polished marble. The court of the North was full of serious, unlaughing faces, wrinkled by the harsh winter winds. Still, Sansa insisted that they were better than the powdered fools and liars of the South.
Two men wearing Stark colors stood before the throne where Sansa sat, looking regal as usual. Between them, they restrained a small, lithe figure, pushed to her knees. It took him a minute, but Gendry could pick out the subtle feminine curves. Her head was covered with a burlap bag and her hands were bound as if she was a criminal. Gendry stood at the foot of the throne next to the men and their prisoner.
"Ser Gendry," Sansa greeted him from her seat, her mouth turning down in a slight frown at his disheveled appearance. "You came."
"Of course, Your Grace." There was only a little bit of sarcasm in his voice as he bowed, undetectable to anyone but Sansa, who knew him so well.
He could see her eye twitch a little bit and he reveled in her displeasure. "We require your expertise." She began to explain, gesturing towards the men and the girl. "Please retell your story for Ser Gendry, here."
One of the men cleared his throat, clearly nervous and confused. "We found this little chit here on one of our ships comin' from the Free Cities." He explained, giving the girl a small kick with his foot. She was unresponsive.
"She must've snuck onboard in Lorath or Braavos. We found her sleeping in one of the barrels. One of our men tried to grab'er, and she…" The man stopped, swallowed. "She ran him through with her sword. We caught her, but she fought us hard. O'Malley and I brought her here for a trial. We ain't done nothing wrong, Your Grace, I'd swear it-"
Sansa held a hand up, effectively cutting him off without a word. She rose from her throne, her long hair swinging as she stood. She stopped dying it a long time ago, but she refused to cut the black ends off, leaving her with an extremely unique color. The top of her head flamed Tully red, but as her hair fell down her back in ringlets it darkened to an ashy-black.
"The sword, if you please." She demanded, holding a delicate hand out. Shaking but obedient, the man pulled from his belt a long thin object wrapped in cloth, handing it to his queen.
She turned her back to him and slowly unwrapped the object. Her heels clicked on the floor as she approached Gendry. "Do you recognize this sword?" She asked quietly, carefully, holding out the weapon for him to inspect.
Gendry's mouth went dry as the familiar thin blade glinted under the light of the torches. He reached his fingers out to touch it, pulling back when he felt the sting of steel draw blood, as sharp as ever. "Yes," He croaked out. "I do."
Sansa studied him, her face a passive mask of indifference. "Have you…" He began to ask, his eyes slipping over to the small, bound figure kneeling before the throne, her head bowed. "Have you talked to the girl yet?"
She gave a sharp shake of her head. "I have not. I was waiting for your counsel." Her voice was but a whisper, low enough to keep their conversation private.
Gendry nodded. Sansa turned around, her slippers clicking as she ascended the few steps leading back to her seat.
The Queen cleared her throat, her voice large, echoing and commanding. "If you would…" She faltered, but recovered quickly, sounding even stronger than before. "If you would remove the cloth covering your prisoner's face. I wish to look into the eyes of this… perpetrator."
Gendry had to remember to breathe as the sailor untied the bag, clumsily and slowly. The seconds felt like minutes, days, months, years as a hope like he had never known blossomed in his chest. The burlap was off her face in a flash, and the men stepped back, leaving the girl and Gendry alone in the center of the room.
She was small, though slightly larger than he remembered. Her hair was dark brown and chin-length, hacked off with no concern for fashion. Her skin was tanned and rough looking, as if she had known hard work and hot sun every day of her life.
She didn't look up; she didn't stand; she didn't say anything; she didn't move. She remained there, on her knees with her head down and her eyes closed, her face shrouded by the curtain of dark hair that hung around her head.
"How did you come upon this sword, girl?" Sansa asked, holding Needle like it was made of glass.
The girl did not respond, and Gendry grew even more agitated. His stomach turned and his heart pounded and he thought he knew. He never felt like this for any of the other "Arya's". Only his Arya has ever done this to him.
"You should look up when your Queen is speaking to you!" Sansa snapped, growing frustrated.
The girl made a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter, raising her head. She looked at Sansa finally, mirth evident on her face.
Her face was long, vulpine, and unknown to him, but her eyes were all too familiar. His dreams didn't do them justice. Fiery, passionate anger that sizzled, burned, blazed behind her thin veneer of icy grey, melting it more and more with each passing second.
Here she was, before him.
Home.
Gendry was shaking. The scene continued to play itself out before him, as Sansa had not yet reached his same realization. He struggled to pay attention.
"I serve no Queen." Arya said. Her voice had a bit of an accent, but whether it was real or not, Gendry was unsure.
"Pray tell, whom do you serve?" Sansa raised an eyebrow.
"Death."
"Did Death give you this sword?"
"No. A girl gives the sword Death, not the other way around."
Sansa was getting angry at Arya's disrespect, and it was beginning to show on her face. "I do not wish to play games with you. What is your name?"
She dropped her eyes again and Gendry nearly bit his tongue off to stop himself from yelling at her to look at him. "A girl has no name."
"Interesting," Sansa got up and began to pace, making circles around the recalcitrant criminal. "If you have no name… than what am I to call you?"
Arya smiled mysteriously yet again. "You may call me Beth."
Sansa nodded, eyeing Arya as if she were prey. "Well Beth, I'm not sure if you know this, but this sword once belonged to a girl who did have a name. A girl who was very important to me." She paused, trying to sense a reaction. Arya gave away nothing- she was all steady breathing and straight faces.
"Do you think you could help me find this girl, Beth?" Sansa's voice was deceptively cordial, but Gendry knew what the risk was if Arya refused her.
"No."
There was no crack in Sansa's pleasant, queenly expression. "Take her to the dungeons." Two members of the Queensguard moved forward without the slightest bit of hesitation, yanking Arya up by her arms and starting to drag her away.
"Wait!" The whispering of the crowd quieted in immediate shock as Gendry openly defied his queen. But he was far beyond caring about such meaningless things like courtesies. Sansa would just have to forgive him.
He approached Arya slowly, cautiously. In his peripheral vision, he could see Sansa give her guards a hesitant nod, and they dropped their prisoner. Arya watched him with suspicious eyes and Gendry had never been surer of anything in his life.
"You're from the Free Cities, aren't you, Beth?" He asked quietly, standing but a few feet away from her.
Arya's eyes shifted around the room like a caged animal. "Just so." Her voice was tight and nervous, as if she was sure that this was some sort of trap.
"And how long has it been since you were last in Westeros?"
Her eyes narrowed at the implication. "I have lived in Braavos my whole life."
Gendry smirked, glad to have caught her in a lie. "Would that your complexion was a bit darker, I might believe you. And your accent leaves much to be desired as well, I fear."
Arya said nothing in her own defense, merely glared at him. "Tell me, Beth," He began, taking another step closer to her. "Does the name Joffrey mean anything to you?"
"No." Her response was so knee-jerk that it sounded rehearsed. Sansa was barely breathing behind him, and he knew he had little time to get to the point. As tolerant as she was, she had only so much patience.
"No?" He repeated, remaining calm. "Then perhaps Cersei rings a bell?"
"No." She breathed out yet again.
He smiled. That was fine. He would repeat her whole little death prayer again and again until she broke. "Ser Gregor? Dunsen? Polliver?"
The names had her shaking, looking away. He was right. The names haunted her, just as they haunted her years ago. She wouldn't look at him anymore, but he wouldn't have any of that. Closing the distance between them, he held her chin between his fingers, forcing her to stare straight into his eyes.
He wanted to be the first person she saw when recognition finally dawned.
"Chiswyck? Raff the Sweetling?" He pressed further.
"Stop." She ordered, trying to wrench her chin free, but failing.
"The Tickler? Weese? The Hound?" If it was anyone else, he might have felt bad about the way he was making her shudder and struggle. But this was Arya- the girl who had single-handedly caused him more pain and heartbreak than he had ever known.
"Stop it!" She yelled it this time, beating his shoulder with the palm of her hand. He didn't care. Her hits were nothing but childlike swats against his chest.
"Ser Amory Lorch? Ser Ilyn? Ser Meryn?"
"I said STOP!" Her rage gave her strength, and her final push was enough to send him sprawling on the ground.
Sansa was at his side in an instant, helping him up. The guards were on Arya again, holding her down as she screamed and cursed and thrashed. They picked her up and the court was in mayhem and no one knew what was going on. Sansa was talking to him, asking him if he was alright, but he wasn't listening.
"Arya!" He shouted, surging to his feet. It was a terse syllable, but one that froze the tornado of energy. "That's your name, isn't it?" He said, staring at her intensely, trying to urge her on with his mind. "Isn't it?" The desperation was beginning to seep into his voice.
She said nothing, but looked close to tears.
"Gendry, stop this madness." Sansa said quietly at his side, her tone nervous.
"It's her, Your Grace." He responded, remembering to address her by her proper title. "I swear, by the old gods and the new. Let me prove it."
Sansa regarded him in a moment of nerve-wracking contemplation. "You may try." She conceded, looking at the small criminal as if seeing her in a new light.
Gendry took slow, noiseless steps this time, approaching the girl he knew to be Arya. He didn't make a noise, and the room became echoingly soundless. They were so close together now, and she didn't move away from him. He exhaled shakily, watching as his breath made a few strands of her hair flutter on her forehead.
She blinked, looking up at him with the grey eyes he was so enamored with. "It's alright, Arya." He soothed, his voice just as unsteady as his breathing. "You're safe now." His hand reached out, cupping her soft face in his large, calloused hand.
She let out a little sighing sound, closing her eyes and leaning into his caress. "You don't have to hide anymore." He told her, marveling at how soft her skin was, and how perfectly it fit into his unworthy hand.
"You don't have to be Beth anymore. Or Arry. Or Weasel, or Nan, or anybody else. And you don't have to be a Lady if you don't want to be. No one is going to make you. You just have to be Arya. Arya Stark." He could hear Sansa's short breaths behind him, beginning to recognize her sister again for the first time in years.
"We just want you to be home. We want you to be happy. Can you do that for us, Arya? Do you think you could be happy, here, with Sansa and Bran and Rickon? With Jon? With… me?" His voice caught in his throat and his thumb stroked her cheek a little more, catching the wetness of tears. She had been crying, tears streaming down her face silently.
"I missed you." He whispered his confession, close to tears himself.
Her eyes fluttered open, glistening and red and alive. Then she closed the final distance between them, wrapping her arms around him gently, pressing her face into his chest as he clutched her closer and closer. Never close enough.
Her body rocked with quiet sobs, sobs of a lost girl, a dead girl, a broken girl, a girl who was all alone for such a long time that she forgot what it was like to be loved.
"I missed you, too." Her voice was quivering and muffled, but he heard her with perfect clarity. "Gendry," She sighed, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. "Gendry."
He smiled for what felt like the first time in years. Finally, the last wolf had found her way home.
A/N: Ahhh I'm really nervous about this chapter because it's super AU. I had to figure out a way to get from Gendry in the Brotherhood to Gendry in Winterfell and this seemed like the simplest method. Sorry if anyone hates it. It's a really long chapter because it took me a really long time to basically explain how I got from point A to point B. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it. As always, I love your reviews and support :)