6. The Godswood
"Gendry? Do you have a minute?" Sansa stood outside the door to his forge, looking a little disdained at the state it was in.
Gendry lowered his hammer, blowing out a puff of air and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Anything for my Queen." He mocked, gesturing towards the bench with his hand, offering her a seat.
She rolled her eyes at him and walked in, fanning herself lightly with her hand. "How can you stand it in here? It's blisteringly hot."
He shrugged. "And it's blisteringly cold out there. What's your point?"
She shot a withering glance at the dirty bench and opted to stand instead, no doubt to keep her expensive-looking dress as pristine as possible. "You know, you don't have to smith anymore. You're a member of the royal court. It's rather unnecessary."
Gendry raised an eyebrow, shaking out a dusty shirt before pulling it over his head. "Are you here to tell me how to live my life, Your Grace?"
Sansa sighed quietly. "No, Gendry. I'm here to talk about my sister."
He deflated a little. "Oh." He had been expecting this talk for a while.
Ever since Arya came back, she had been distant. At first, Sansa hadn't minded, too overjoyed with having her sister back to care that she wasn't very talkative. But as the weeks passed and Arya continued to say but a few words a day, Sansa grew agitated.
"She worries me."
"Sansa…" Gendry began, running a hand through his short, cropped hair.
"Just listen to me." Sansa retorted, silencing him with a look. "I know you're in love with her. It doesn't bother me, even though you're a bastard and you probably don't deserve her. Seven, eight years ago I wouldn't have let you touch her with a ten-foot pole. But now… I consider you a very close friend. If you wish to court her, I will not stop you."
This was not the speech he was expecting. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. He didn't deny it, though.
Sansa smirked. "Close your mouth. It's impolite to gape at queens. And I am not finished." Gendry did as he was told, snapping his jaw shut quickly.
She bit her lip, smoothing her dress down with her palms. "However… I confess I am concerned for my sister's wellbeing. As far as I know, she has yet to tell anyone where she's been all these years, and at times it seems like… like she isn't completely here."
"You're not exactly open with your past either." He pointed out, finding his voice again.
Sansa sighed, forgetting to care about her appearance and sitting down on his bench. "It's different, Gendry. I've had people to talk to over the years, I've moved on from my pain. Arya hasn't. She gets this look in her eyes, sometimes, as if she's looking at me but not seeing me. And then she does that horrible thing where she talks about herself in third person, like she isn't really there." Sansa shuddered.
He knew how she felt. He had noticed it too, and had to admit it was somewhat upsetting. "What does this have to do with me?" He asked.
Sansa looked down at her clasped hands, her eyes a bit watery. "She won't talk to me. Gods, Gendry, she's right not to- look at me! I didn't even recognize her when she came back; you did. And she's my sister!" Her tears glistened at the surface and Gendry fidgeted, unsure of how to handle the situation.
He didn't have to do much, it would seem, as Sansa composed herself in a quick, calming breath. "She'll talk to you. I know she will. She looks at you differently. Make her open up."
"Oh, I, uh…" He stuttered, looking away.
"It wasn't a suggestion. Jon will be here in a few days, and I want their reunion to be a bit more than her standing there like an uncomfortable tree as he throws himself at her feet. Arya is in the Godswood now. Go talk to her." Sansa didn't hesitate, leaving him with a pointed look and a swish of her gown.
Gendry stood in the forge stupidly for a few minutes, having been completely thrown off by the turn their conversation took. He was nothing if not obedient, however, as he found himself mindlessly grabbing a cloak and boots, following the Queen's orders unthinkingly.
He was halfway to the Godswood before he even realized what he was doing. He could hardly go back at this point, seeing as he had exerted so much effort to even get this far. The snow reached his shins, and even that was a welcome change to the snows from a year or two ago, when the white dust piled up so high that some of the villagers couldn't even open their doors.
Gendry knew nothing but the warmth of King's Landing and a hot forge. He had a while still before he could become acclimated to the below-freezing temperatures of Winterfell.
Sansa insisted that the winter was dwindling, and that spring would be upon them soon, bringing with it a whole slew of new problems. However, any thoughts of an incoming spring were put on ice the minute her sister reentered her life.
He found Arya sitting before the great, twisted face of the Weirwood tree, polishing Needle with slow, steady care. She didn't look up as he approached and took a seat next to her, staring out at the black, glittering pool in front of him.
"Did Sansa send you?" Her voice was flat and emotionless, but Gendry thought it sounded a bit accusatory.
"Yes," He admitted, not bothering to lie to her. "But I came because I wanted to, not because she told me to."
Arya snorted humorlessly, still running the cloth up and down her already-spotless blade. There was a long, permeating silence and Gendry promised himself that he would not be the one to break it.
It was only a few minutes before she huffed, angrily setting the sword down in her lap, impatience getting the best of her. She looked up at him, finally, an annoyed eyebrow raised in question. "Well? Are you going to say something, or are you just going to sit there and fidget?"
Gendry smirked. "Am I bothering you, m'lady?"
Her eye twitched at the old, despised nickname. "Very much so, Ser."
The title was like a direct punch in his stomach, her poison-laced voice reminding him of his past indiscretions. He recalled her rage-filled words of so long ago, condemning him, calling him things like traitor and betrayer. He never should have left her.
She seemed to realize the effect the name had on him, but she didn't look perversely satisfied or proud like she usually did after a good insult. Instead, she adopted an air of resignation, sad acceptance. She got up to leave, brushing a few flakes of snow off her breeches as she stood.
Gendry caught her wrist just in time, stopping her from taking another step away from him. "I was stupid back then." He confessed, prepping himself for a big, monumental speech. "I thought… I thought being knighted might change things for me. I was wrong. I let you down, and for that I am sorry." He closed his mouth, too unsure of himself to say much else. So much for monumental speeches.
There was so much more that he wanted to say, and they ranged from things like "Where were you?" to "I love you." But for now, he would stick with "I'm sorry."
She jerked her head towards him, impulsively yanking her hand out of his grasp. "You left me." Her words sizzled and sparked in the air and he was reminded unfairly of his terrible dream so long ago, when she had spoken the same words to him.
"You left me alone. For what? So you could become some fake knight and run around giving sham trials to all the tart-snatchers that threatened the Riverlands? You're stupider than I thought."
"What was I supposed to do?" Gendry shot back, angered by her lack of understanding. "You cannot honestly be naïve enough to think that I would've just been able to walk with you, side by side, into your brother's army. You were a princess, Arya. You are a princess. I was a bastard. I would've had my head chopped off before I even got a word out."
Arya punched his shoulder, nothing playful about it. Her punches hurt now, a lot more than they did when she was ten. "He was my brother, damnit! Stop talking about him like you knew him, like you knew what he was going to do!" She yelled, as fuming as he's ever seen her.
"Robb wasn't like other people- he was kind and thoughtful, and the second I told him of how you saved my life he would have accepted you all the same. You could be a Lannister for all he'd care; he'd love you just as I did."
Her jaw snapped shut and her eyes widened as she realized her exact words. Gendry stared.
They blinked at each other for a few seconds and his mouth was completely dry. He was prepared, this time, for her to try and run away. But instead of snatching up her wrist in his hand, he surged forward to his feet, wrapping his entire arm around her waist and spinning her around to face him.
In a few large strides, he had her back pressed against the massive Weirwood, his entire body flush with hers. Their faces were inches apart, and he could taste her cold breath as it puffed against his face in clouds of white air.
She was quiet, simply staring up at him with wide icy eyes. He was so close to her. He could feel her heart beat against his, count the light freckles on her nose.
He slowly brought his hand up to her face, thankful that in his hurry, he had forgotten gloves. Ever since he had held her the day she got back, it was all he could think about. Her skin, underneath his fingers… her, underneath him.
He cupped her cheek in his hand and she was inhumanly still as he ran his thumb across the skin below her eye.
It was soft. He imagined her lips would be softer.
Then her voice, quiet as a whisper. "What are you doing?" She said it tentatively, and it made him stop. Arya was never tentative.
He examined her, trying to read her true feelings beneath the cold shell she had wrapped herself up in over the years. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He questioned indecisively, running his thumb back and forth along her cheek again, reluctant to give up the sinful feeling of skin-to-skin contact.
He must have said the wrong thing, because something in her gaze hardened at his words. She pushed him savagely and, taken off-guard by her new strength, he actually staggered back a step or two.
She glared him down as if he was Joffrey himself. "Don't touch me." She seethed.
He shook his head, staring at her in disbelief. "What happened to you, Arya?"
She didn't answer him, but the anger slowly began to melt off her face, settling into that same uninterested expression she constantly wore now. He wasn't so stupid that he couldn't catch on. This was her mask.
"You know," He began, taking a measured step or two back. "I used to think… that of you and Sansa, you were the stronger one. You were the fighter, the one who wouldn't let other people break her down. I used to think…" He stopped, laughed humorlessly.
He looked up, hoping to see anger, sadness, annoyance, frustration, anything in her face. But she was frozen, like a statue, eyes fixated forward, unseeing.
He continued in bitter disappointment. "I used to think, Sansa- she cries almost every week, and she can't use a sword half as good as Arya can. Sansa slept in a cozy bed in King's Landing while Arya and I slept on the ground on the King's Road and lived like slaves in Harrenhal. Sansa is the weak one. Gods, was I wrong."
Finally, a reaction. It wasn't much, nothing but her eyes flickering away for a second. But it was enough for Gendry. It was all he needed to try again, one last time.
"Look at you, Arya. You can't even look at me." He said, gesturing at her with his hand from where he stood, less than a foot away. "What have they done to you?"
This time, when she glanced back up at him, her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "They didn't do anything. It was me. I chose my life, and I did a lot of very bad things." She admitted, her voice hoarse with emotion.
His hand twitched, and he just wanted to hold her again, but he wouldn't, not this time, not without her permission. "I don't care."
"You don't understand, Gendry, I did terrible things-"
"I don't care." He emphasized, moving another inch closer without touching her. "I care that you're here with me, now. I don't care what you did when you were gone, if you were a thief or a killer or a whore or a traitor. It doesn't matter to me, do you understand?" He prompted, looking at her expectantly.
"I killed people. Innocent people. A lot of them." She whispered, chewing on her lip nervously. "I was angry, and so I joined the Faceless Men. They taught me to be other people, to be an assassin. I was supposed to forget about everyone. But I couldn't."
Gendry's chest felt like it was collapsing inside of itself, hearing the self-loathing and defeat in her voice. "It was war, Arya. We all killed people. What did you think I did when you left? Sat and twiddled my thumbs? I looked for you. I thought you were dead. I thought I was going to find you in pieces."
"I am in pieces!" She yelled, screamed, rasped, her words echoing in the empty, unforgiving air.
"I was there, Gendry! I was there when Joffrey beheaded my father; I was there when they murdered my mother, and I was there when they put Grey Wind's head on Robb's shoulders. So go ahead. Tell me again how weak I am." Her voice and his heart cracked simultaneously.
He stared at her, choking back the lump in his throat before speaking. There was a long silence before he found his voice again. "Arya." It was just her name, but it took so much effort for him to say it.
"Nothing I said was meant to hurt you… I just- I was angry. You make me so fucking angry sometimes, you know?" This wasn't what he was trying to say, so he swallowed, started over.
"You're the most important thing in my life, you were the only family I had for a long time, and it kills me to see you like this." Finally, something that sounded right. It did nothing to ease the ache in his chest, but he thinks it might be a step in the right direction.
She was quiet, her eyes fixated on a point over his shoulder, wavering slightly as she struggled to keep the tears at bay.
"Tell me how to help you." He took another step forward. "Tell me what to do Arya, because I don't know." He was begging, but he didn't care. He would fall to his knees before the Seven Kingdoms if it fixed her.
She looked at him this time, and something passed between them. "I don't know either, Gendry."
He looked down, then back up. He knew what he wanted. What she wanted, though, remained a mystery. She would always be a puzzle to him- one he gave up on trying to solve a long time ago.
Fuck it, he decided.
"May I touch you again, m'lady?"
She glanced at him, startled. After a moment, she nodded, hesitant. He took a few seconds to approach her again, giving her time to back out before trapping her in the same position as before.
For a minute, they merely stood there saying nothing, gazing into the wetness of each other's eyes. For a minute, Gendry wanted nothing more than to breathe her air, fill her senses, hold her in his arms until he made her forget every bad thing that had ever happened. He wanted to reignite the fire in her eyes.
He wanted to remind her: She was not broken. She was his.
His nose brushed hers and her eyes fluttered closed. His stayed open, intent on capturing every minute reaction, every intake of breath. He needed to make up for lost time, after all.
The first touch of lips was tormentingly light, not enough to taste, barely enough to feel. But it was enough to elicit the smallest of sighs from Arya's mouth, so Gendry did it again. This time, her sigh formed words. "Stop playing."
He gave a breathless laugh and brought his hand up, weaving his fingers through her short brown locks, his other hand being used to prop himself up against the tree. His knees were too weak at this point to stand without support.
"I love you, Arya Stark."
He didn't give her time to respond, merely leaned down pressed his lips against hers. She made it hard to breathe, but he pulled her closer, unable to get enough. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and he moved his hand from the tree trunk, choosing instead to rest it on her waist, fingers digging into her skin.
She tilted her head back to take a breath and he took the opportunity to kiss his way down her jaw and neck. Her skin was like silk under his lips and he could stand forever under this tree, kissing every inch of her, impervious to the cold and wind.
"Gendry," She whispered, running her fingers through his short hair.
"Hm?" He hummed back, not really paying attention, focusing his mouth on the soft spot above her collarbone.
"What are we going to do?"
He looked up, finally, and they both waited quietly for a second as he caught his breath. "What do you mean?"
She tilted her head at him. "I mean this, us. What are we going to do about it? We're not children anymore, Gendry. And I'm not stupid; I know things will be expected of me."
"Stop." He ordered, covering her mouth with his palm before she could go any further. "Nothing is going to be expected of you. Sansa just got you back; do you really think she's going to ship you off to some Lord a kingdom away? And I thought I made it clear before, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."
He took a deep, cleansing breath, taking his shaking hand away from her mouth to rest again on her cheek, preparing himself for the second half of his confession. "That being said…" He cut himself off, looking at her flushed face one last time to give himself strength.
"I would very much like to marry you, Arya. I won't force you into such a union, but I thought you should know that it would make me very happy. I have made a good name for myself in your sister's court, and she legitimized me as well, I have her blessing, you don't have to worry about-"
She stopped his rambling abruptly by pressing her mouth back against his fervently. He gave up talking just as quickly, not caring much that he couldn't finish his argument. "You're… so… stupid…" She huffed at him between frantic kisses.
He laughed, his heart soaring out of his chest. "I'll take that as a yes, then?"
She pulled back to look at him, her eyes glittering with a joy he'd never seen before. "Yes, Gendry."
And just like that, Arya Stark was whole again.
A/N: Last chapter :(. I'm a little sentimental. I really wanted this chapter to be perfect, because I had a lot of build-up to it, so I ended up writing it once, then not liking it, then rewriting it, then deleting it again, and then finally making this. So I hope it lives up to your expectations.
Again, thank you all for the massive support I've received on this story. I'm forever grateful, and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.