A/N: I know this chapter has been a long time coming, but it was really difficult to write, and I lost faith mid way through. It's another long one, and I really wanted to get the ending right, and it took a lot of time and many many re-writes.
Thanks for all my reviews to the previous chapter I really appreciate the feedback :) I'll hopefully have time to get to work on the next chapter this weekend :)
Hope you guys enjoy it
xBx
Chapter 20: Arya
When the chants finally ceased, Arya smiled and, still standing, officially accepted their fealty, before finally sitting down and inviting the feast to begin. There were ten of them at the top table all together: Arya was sat at the centre with Howland Reed on her left, and Galbert Glover on her right. Gellert Reed was seated on the other side of his uncle, with Ryon Forrester, Gellert's wife Natasha, and Ned Dayne filling the seats along that side. To her right, Glover was joined by Maege Mormont, Bryndon Norrey, and Gendry.
The feast, though modest, was plentiful and well received, particularly by those who had been travelling with Arya from Kings Landing and had been living off horse meat and broth for most of the march. The boggy marshland surrounding Greywater Watch didn't provided the opportunity for hunting meaty game. But there was still a variety of dishes that included frogs, eels, snails, and fish within them – the concept sounded slimy and unappetising to many at first, but the crannogmen were experts at cooking these local delicacies and the end results were nothing short of delicious, and far from slimy. Wine and ale flowed freely through the night, and Arya only hoped they were not depleting Greywater's winter stores too much. When Arya expressed this concern aloud to Howland, he smiled and quieted her immediately.
"Greywater is in such a unique position, the land does not lend itself to much, and to what little it does it is not much affected by the seasons. We are accustomed, we are prepared; in the dead of winter it is tough, as it is anywhere. But we have survived all previous winters; we will survive this one too."
Conversation never ceased throughout the courses; because of the distance between them, Arya was unable to speak to Gendry directly as he was right at the end, but her eyes were often drawn to him. He was rarely silent, engaged in conversation with Norrey and sometimes Maege, who attended their conversations when she was not joining in with Arya and Lord Glover. Naturally, further along into the evening, conversation grew more spirited and raucous as the drinks flowed. In between the courses musicians entertained, and at the end of the meal, when fruit platters were laid on the tables to indulge in for the remainder of the evening, the musicians kept up a steady play of song after song, eventually drawing out a few dancers from the crowd. It was at this stage Howland Reed excused himself, to retire for the night.
Despite the vast unevenness of numbers between males and females, there were still a healthy number of couples on the floor. Arya watched them, and for a moment it was easy to forget that they were in the middle of a war, these men would soon be following her north into battles to reclaim their homes.
"Your grace," Galbert Glover brought her out of her reverie. He had risen from his seat, and was holding out his hand. "I am an old man now, it's true, but I still know my way around the floor. May I be so bold as to ask for the honour of leading you out there?"
"Bold? Yes" Arya smiled courteously, accepting his hand and rising up from her seat. "Wise, however, probably not. I was never very good at these kinds of dancing lessons. Our Septa despaired of me," she joked and Lord Glover laughed.
"You much preferred your dancing lessons in King's Landing, I'm sure?" he smiled, remembering her story from last night.
"I was much better at the water dance, than I ever was at reels, it's true," Arya laughed in agreement as they joined in the dance almost seamlessly.
"Lucky for you, your grace, I was one of the best dancers in my day – I will lead you right, have no fear."
"Was, my lord," Arya repeated with an impertinent grin, almost like the fearless girl she had been before. "But that was many years ago now."
Glover guffawed at her brashness. "You are everything your brother described you as, and more."
When the musicians finished that song, Arya was approached by other Lords to lead her through the sets, and she danced with two more before Ned Dayne came to claim her hand. They hardly said a word as Arya was concentrating on trying to remember the steps, and it was the first time they had really spent any time together since their brief disagreement in King's Landing, where he and Gendry had got into an argument over his sword. Ned had actively avoided Gendry since that evening, and since Gendry was often by Arya's side, he had avoided her also. When they reached the end of their set, Arya excused herself back to the table for refreshment, despite the song not yet being at an end. By now, most people had begun to move around the hall, swapping seats and joining other friends about the place. As she left the set, Arya saw that Gendry had left the table and looked to be heading towards the nearest door. The wine she had drank throughout dinner, though not enough to get her drunk had been enough to fortify her and give her the push she needed to speak to him a little more forthrightly than she would be used to do. She meandered her way through to crowd, expertly weaving between bodies with graceful swiftness, and reached the doorway at the same time as Gendry.
"You're not leaving already, are you?" she asked, attempting to smile but feeling nervous, and sounding a little breathless from the dancing. "I've barely seen you since we arrived here, almost like you're avoiding me." It was intended to sound like a joke, but Arya regretted saying it instantly. She sounded just like Jeyne had done, back at the Crossroads Inn.
"I found the forge, it took a while to get the furnace burning hot enough; I want to take advantage of the time we'll be staying here to work on something," he explained, somewhat evasively. "You'll be needing a new crown now, your grace - that one is fine for a princess, but not quite right for a queen," he added with a small smile, and Arya frowned.
"I hit you once, for calling me 'milady'," she reminded him. "What do you think I'll do to you if you keep calling me 'your Grace'?"
Gendry chuckled, but continued in seriousness. "That was different, we're not children anymore."
"No, but we're still the same Gendry and Arya." At least, that's what Arya hoped they could be.
"I'm still Gendry," he nodded.
"But I've changed beyond recognition?" Arya finished after a moment.
"Not beyond recognition," Gendry countered, suddenly looking at her more intensely than before. "Maybe not at all really, deep down on the inside, but you won't let anyone close enough to you to see the real you. Not anymore, at any rate." He paused for a moment, steeling himself to say something it seemed. He had not over indulged in the wine over the course of the evening – Arya had noted he hadn't reached for his cup as often as most. But it would seem that he too had had enough to speak more than usual: he was not drunk, by any means, yet he was more forthcoming than he had been in a long time.
"Walder Frey," he said eventually, keeping his voice low so only they would hear. "That was you." It wasn't a question; he knew it was fact, he was just wanting her to admit it.
"Yes."
Gendry nodded. "You got in and out, and didn't leave a trace of evidence that you were there. Just one example of the many things you learnt in Braavos." Again it wasn't a question, and Arya finally had the confirmation of her suspicions.
"You know," she said simply.
"That you trained as an apprentice to the faceless men, the best, most sought after and highly paid assassins in the world? That the gift you spoke of giving, was in fact murder? I eventually figured it out, yes," he told her, looking her boldly in the eye.
There were many emotions swirling behind Gendry's eyes, but Arya didn't know what to make of them. She was too busy concentrating on making sure no emotions were showing behind her own. He wasn't walking away, that had to be a good sign. And he was looking at her, too, so he couldn't be so offended that he never wanted to see her again. He didn't appear angry, or afraid of her, or even wary of her. She could tell there were many questions Gendry was burning to ask – maybe he didn't know what he wanted answered first, or maybe he didn't think now was the best time to ask them.
Arya took the conversation into her own hands, and asked what she wanted to know instead.
"Is this what you and Maester Mathos have been talking about?"
Gendry frowned, looking genuinely surprised. "No, I haven't said anything about this to him. It was Thoros who told me," Gendry admitted. "The phrase 'Valar morghulis', I remember he says it often in greeting or in parting – I asked him about it. I steered the conversation from there, and lead through topics and got to Braavos, and the religions, and eventually asked about the House of Black and White," he explained. "I never mentioned you at all, but Thoros was definitely curious about why I was asking," he then added warily.
"I think he might know, or have some ideas," Arya admitted, remembering their first cryptic conversation after she had arrived at Stoney Sept, about what he had seen in his fires. "I may not worship his red god, but there is no denying he sees things in those fires of his."
There were a few moments of silence that followed, but Gendry made no move to leave, which gave Arya hope that he may not think too differently of her now that he knew. Yet she still felt a strong desire to explain why she did what she did – she wanted him to understand the circumstances, to understand her.
"You said to me, back on the road, that I hadn't changed, just adapted," Arya reminded him. "I hope you still feel that way. They provided me with food and lodging, with safety, when I had nowhere else to go. I had to make myself useful to them, to repay them for their kindness."
"I know," Gendry said simply. "We probably shouldn't talk about it here though, not if you don't want others to know; don't want to be overheard. I should go."
"Are you sure you won't stay? You haven't danced yet – in fact, I don't think I've ever seen you dance," Arya mused.
"That's because I can't. I was raised in a tavern, remember? I was never taught, like all you little lords and ladies."
"They're not too difficult to get the hang of I suppose. As long as you pick a partner that knows the dances well, you would be fine, I'm sure."
"Do you know the dances well?" Gendry asked, looking directly at her and Arya frowned.
"Not really, no," she admitted, glancing across at the couples dancing gracefully and looking slightly defeated. She looked back at Gendry and shrugged. "I hated those lessons when I was younger," she admitted and Gendry laughed, much more like his normal self.
"Then I guess I won't be dancing then," he smiled at her, and something stirred behind his eyes. "I would hate to make you look ridiculous."
"Even if you did," Arya teased, getting swept up in the banter, relieved that they finally seemed to be talking like they used to. "I'm a queen now, so no one could laugh at us. We could even make up our own steps, and the rest would probably try to follow along," she laughed. Gendry laughed with her, and the pair watched the dancing quietly for a moment.
"I should go, there's something I want to see to before I turn in for the night," Gendry said eventually, stepping back into the hallway to depart. "Goodnight, your Grace," he grinned, knowing full well it would annoy her.
Arya glared at him in annoyance, and made a disgruntled sound. "Why is there never anything to throw when I need it – this is more annoying than the whole 'milady' thing, you know that?"
Gendry laughed. "Maybe milady should start carrying crab-apples in her pockets, just in case," he teased, slowly walking backwards. "By your leave, your Grace," he bowed, that teasing grin still gracing his features, before turning and walking briskly away down the halls before Arya had a chance to retaliate.
She rolled her eyes and made her way back to her seat at the table, feeling considerably more light-hearted after that conversation. Once again, Gendry was in possession of her deepest – and this time her darkest - secret and he hadn't turned and walked away. Arya also knew he wouldn't tell anyone what he had learned, and he would not disclose what he had learnt about the death of Walder Frey. They had bantered once more, the way they used to, and this made her happy; the last thing she wanted was to lose the oldest friend she had.
She sat down in her seat at the centre, signalling to a serving boy to fill her cup with more wine. She looked out over the people, her people now, but didn't really see them: her thoughts were still on Gendry. She was struggling to deny her attraction to him now; ever since stopping at the inn at the crossroads, the sudden flares of jealousy that had been sparked on separate occasions there had made her confront her feelings and question if friendship was really all she felt. She hadn't thought much of it until now, this was really the first real moment alone in which she had allowed herself to think. And now that she was thinking, she was realising that perhaps it might not matter in the end: when they had first met they had been children, but Gendry had already been close to being a man grown. Arya had seen that in him, but she had most definitely been a child – what if that was just how he saw her now? He obviously recognised the woman she had grown into, pledged to follow her as his queen, but what if, deep down, she would only ever be the young girl he befriended on the Kings Road?
Before she could dwell on such thoughts, she was pulled from her reverie as someone took the empty seat to her left. She looked over to see Ned Dayne had joined her.
"Your grace," Ned bowed. "You dance wonderfully, so graceful. I enjoyed our turn on the floor," he complimented; it seemed dancing with her had erased all of his reservations about talking with her familiarly. Arya smiled graciously, but didn't take the compliment too much to heart – Ned has always been complimentary.
"Excellent news about Walder Frey," he commented taking the empty seat beside her. "Though long overdue. I thought the man was never going to die - how old was he?"
"Gods know - I think people stopped counting," Arya joked, and Ned laughed.
"Well, it is still a victory for us, for you, your Grace," he raised his cup in a small toast. Arya raised her own glass in acceptance, and drank to the victory as it would be rude to otherwise.
"A victory we can have no proper claim to," she reminded him. "It was his own guard that betrayed him,"
"A betrayal well-earned,"
"Just so," Arya nodded. "We can finally draw a line under that chapter now; the Frey's of the Crossing are part of Riverlands, and are therefore sworn to Riverrun, and under the rule of King's Landing. They are nothing to do with the north anymore; they are nothing to me."
There was a moment of silence and the pair stared wordlessly across the hall, and then Ned said: "I haven't seen much of Gendry; he's usually by your side as much as your wolf, such a faithful little puppy. I hope you two haven't quarrelled."
Clearly Ned had enjoyed a few more cups of the strong ale since their dance. There was hint of optimism at the end of the sentence which told Arya that he did in fact very much hope there had been a quarrel. There was also a sense of patronising disdain that coloured the sentence before.
Arya knew the two did not get along these days; back when they had been young, the pair had never really interacted, but there had never been any animosity and Arya was at a loss as to know where it had stemmed from, and when it hard started.
Regardless, Arya did not appreciate Ned's blatant disrespect - Gendry at least kept his opinions and feelings silent, though not secret, around her. She proceeded to make her displeasure known, while keeping a level tone of voice.
"Sir Gendry has other things to attend to that are keeping him occupied while we are here," she told him, echoing Gendry's own words despite knowing nothing of what was keeping him so busy. "And I'm not sure who you were refereeing to as a 'puppy', but whether it was Nymeria or Gendry, I wouldn't say it in front of either. One will likely hit you, the other will tear out your throat," she warned.
"Why do you continue to call him sir, when he is no true knight?" Ned asked. "He was never anointed."
Arya looked across at him calmly, her gaze piercing, as she answered calmly, "Gregor Glegane was anointed, so was Jaime Lannister. One killed a child in her bed and dashed a babes head against the wall, the other put a sword through his king's back. Yet, by your definition you would call them true Knights?" It was a rhetorical question, and before Ned could answer her she turned to gaze out over the hall once more and continued.
"Holy oils and anointing don't make a knight true - honour and loyalty do. Gendry was knighted by Lord Beric, the man you squired for, for many years. Both of you have been members of the Brotherhood, side-by-side for what? five-, six years now? You have lived as equals; all of us here now have been living as equals. The hostility needs to end."
"But we're not equals, are we?" Ned reminded her, though he spoke gently, not wanting to offend. Arya was growing impatient with his stubbornness - she had always liked Ned when they were young, even though he was a little on the quiet and softer side. But Gendry deserved more respect.
"You are right, we are not equal," she agreed, with a slight frost in her tone now, looking at him once more. "I am now your queen, and this over-familiarity in the way you speak with me is perhaps not as acceptable now as it once was when we were children. You have sat on my council a few times now, I respect you and I value your opinions. I also value the opinions of Harwin, of the Lords Liddle, Nott, and Norrey. And I value Sir Gendry's opinions, likewise. If you all wish to continue to sit at my table as part of the Queens war council, you will do so as equals, and you will show the appropriate respect: A queen's council is made up of Lords, after all, and so if Harwin and Gendry wish to continue to counsel me, they will receive their Lordships. However, if you cannot overcome your disagreements, Lord Edric, you have my leave to return to Starfall whenever you chose."
"I apologise, your Grace," Ned said, bowing his head in respect. "I meant no disrespect, to you or anyone. Though I sometimes miss my home, I would be honoured to continue by your side, to fight alongside you, and the others, to take back the North in your name."
"And I will be glad to have you fighting alongside us," Arya said, a little softer now. "We shall speak no more of it. The hour is getting late, I think I will retire for the night. On the Morrow, we begin anew."
Once in her rooms she poured herself a cup of wine from the pitcher that had been brought up at some time during the feast. She wandered over to the window in the solar that overlooked the outbuildings; the fire in the forge was still blazing hot and when Arya opened the window the sounds of hammer on steel drifted up to her on the cold night air.
She liked the smells here; the scents of a holdfast, and those of the trees just beyond, mingling with the cold and the snow – it was the closest she had come to Winterfell for a long time. The closer she was getting, the more her memories were coming back to her - or rather, she wasn't actively blocking them out as much as before. Sometimes she wished she was returning under different circumstances, returning to the home she had left. But she knew it would not look the same, would not be as whole as she had left it, nor filled with those who she remembered. But Winterfell was still her home, and now it was hers by right; she would take back the holdfast and the town, and build it back to its former glory. The ringing of steel drifted up to her on the night air, from the forge below, and Arya thought back to those times she would watch her brothers sparring in the training grounds under the instruction of Sir Rodrick. How she had wanted to join in, instead of learning how to sew; she suddenly remembered the last time she had run out of her lessons to watch her brothers at their sword play - she had sat with Jon, watching Bran go up against Tommen, knowing she could have done a much better job than either of them, and lamenting that she couldn't take part.
"Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms," Jon had said to her. She had thought it bitterly unfair, for both of them. And yet, Jon had given her Needle a couple of weeks later, and here she was now with an army at her back flying the Stark banners: she had both the arms and the swords now. If she could have both, why couldn't Jon?
"Of course, some bastards do get both," she thought aloud, bitterly, thinking of Ramsey Bolton. She was interrupted from her musings when the door to her chambers opened and the handmaids, loaned to her by the Reeds for the duration of her stay, entered to help her ready for bed.
Towards the end of their first week at Greywater, Howland's health began to noticeably fail and he was once more spending extended periods of time abed. They were anticipating the return of Harwin and the others any day now, on the third evening of anticipation Arya's presence was requested in Lord Reed's chambers.
There had been talk throughout the castle that Howland was most definitely ill, and there was great reference to his 'sickbed', however when Arya entered his chamber it seemed 'sickbed' was verging on the optimistic: Howland Reed was very much on his deathbed.
The room was warm, almost stuffy, a great fire burning in the hearth. Howland Reed was laid in his bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows, his nephew sat at his bedside and a Maester was arranging bottles over by the dresser.
"Queen Arya, my Lord," Arya's presence was announced quietly by the man who had escorted her.
"Your grace," Gellert rose as he greeted her, and Howland gave her a tired smile.
"Your grace, thank you for coming to me – I apologise, I am too week to rise."
Arya waved away his apologies with a gentle smile as she moved to stand at the foot of his bed.
"I am a guest in your home, my Lord, I am at your service."
Howland smiled, and then looked at his nephew. "Will you leave us please?" he asked, and then raised his voice a little. "All of you, I wish to speak with her Grace in peace."
Gellert was the first to heed Lord Howland's request, but he was soon followed by the Maester and the two guards stood inside the doors.
"You've have a new crown," he commented as the others departed and Arya took the recently vacated seat at his bedside.
"Yes," Arya nodded with a smile. "It was presented to me a few mornings ago, at my first council as Queen. My other crown would not do, apparently. Gendry intended it to look like my brothers, like that of the old Kings of winter." She removed it from her head as she spoke, and gave it to Howland to examine. "It turned out a little more – what was the word, Lady Maege used? – refined than Robb's, apparently," Arya smiled.
"It is very fine work," Howland commended as he surveyed the steel and bronze piece. "Gendry is the blacksmith? One of Robert Baratheon's many bastards? I recognised him as soon as I saw him; he looks exactly like Robert did when we were at that age," he added at Arya's questioning look, answering the question of how he knew before she could ask.
"But one of the few surviving," Arya added. "Yes, he was an apprentice in one of the better forges in King's Landing."
"How is it you two came to meet?"
"We escaped together. The Nights Watch rescued us both from there, though he didn't know it at the time. We didn't realise he was in danger until a few days later when the Gold Cloaks caught up with us – I thought they were after me, Gendry looked at me like I was stupid since he, like everyone else, had no idea who I was - what would they want with an orphan boy with no family name? " Arya laughed at the memory.
"And you've been together ever since?"
"Almost," Arya agreed. "We were separated just before Robb was murdered at the Twins, and I fled to Braavos."
"But then you returned, and met him again," Howland finished, and Arya nodded. "And I doubt you'll separate again," he added with smile that hinted at knowing more than had been said. He looked back at the crown. "It is very fine craftsmanship; the bronze and steel are welded together seamlessly. It's beautiful."
"It's bloody heavy though," Arya joked.
"And so it should be," Howland smiled wisely. "Ruling a kingdom is a heavy burden to bear."
Arya didn't know what it was about Howland Reed – maybe it was because he was on his deathbed, so that whatever she might say would not be long known, or perhaps it was because she knew how much her father had valued and trusted him in his own youth – but something had her opening up, and confessing her fears to him in a way she had not allowed with anyone else.
"I don't know how to rule," Arya whispered, sounding almost distraught. "I was never raised for this; I was only taught how to be a lady, and I even failed at that. My mother despaired of me – father was a little more understanding, but still Arya Stark was only ever expected to grow up, marry a Lord and keep his household, she wasn't raised for anything else, and she stopped being raised at ten years old. I haven't been Arya Stark for so long, I don't even know if she's in there anymore. Since fleeing King's Landing I've pretended to be so many people, and then I spent four years being no one. I learnt many things in four years, but they were taught to No One, not Arya. And then I returned to Westeros, and suddenly I'm supposed to be Arya Stark again, and rule the North. But Arya is still a child; No One is the one who grew up, but she only knows how to fight and give gifts. Arya never grew up, but that's who my army are following. I don't know who I am anymore; Arya or No One, I don't know who I need to be to do this."
The words had tumbled out of her before she could stop them, disbelieving that this man had drawn out her biggest fears in only ten minutes of sitting with her.
Howland gave a warm understanding smile, and gently took Arya's hand in his. "You are both," he told her with certainty. "And you must be both. Arya never truly left you, you just buried her: she was always there, growing up alongside every other persona you may have embodied, watching and learning from every one of them. I don't know what you experienced in Braavos, I don't know where you went or what you did, or what you learnt. But whoever you were then, whoever you were before, embrace them both. Remember your teachings as a child, all the things you know about living in and being part of a great household, but also remember everything you have learnt after. Every step you have ever taken has lead you to this moment; every skill, every little piece of information you have learnt along the way, you have learnt for a reason. Utilise it all, and rule the way you know how – everyone rules differently, don't be afraid to rule your way. You have much of your father in you, I can see him clearly when I look at you – I know he loved you greatly, and will have taught you many things. Remember his teachings, rule as he would, and you will rule well."
He handed the crown back to her as he spoke, a symbolic gesture for her to accept all the personas of her best and use the best of each to rule. Arya smiled gratefully at him, and nodded. She took he crown back and replaced it on her head where it belonged, and where it would stay, with a renewed sense of determination and clarity about where to go next.
"My father thought very highly of you," Arya told him after a moment. "He respected you greatly - loved you even, I think. You meant a great deal to him."
"Thank you for saying that," Howland smiled, almost sadly. "I felt the very same way about Lord Eddard – he was like the brother I never had. And I admired him, from the moment I met him."
"At the tourney at Harranhal," Arya remembered the story from the other day.
"Yes," Howland looked sad once more. "That tourney changed all our lives; when Prince Rhaegar rode past his wife to crown Lyanna as his queen of love and beauty, it set in motion a chain of events that affected us all; the seeds of love and hate were sown that day, and the vines that grew from it entrapped us all and destroyed a dynasty," Lord Howland said sadly.
"What do you mean?" Arya asked, wondering where this turn of conversation was taking them; the turn had seemed organic, but there was something in Howland Reeds voice and eyes that made Arya think he was now getting to what he had summoned her to discuss.
"When Rhaegar gave the crown of winter roses to your aunt, the jealously that reared itself in Robert was such as could not be quenched – Lyanna was promised to him and he believed he loved her greatly - I don't believe he ever really truly understood her, and as such I believe he loved his perfect version of her, and failed to see her as she truly was," he explained carefully. "When she ran away, his jealously and anger consumed him, and he rashly started a war."
"Ran away?" Arya interrupted with a frown. "I thought she was kidnapped?"
Howland smiled, "did your father never speak of this?"
"No," Arya admitted. "The stories I heard about it, I overheard from maids and guards. I think father only mentioned Lyanna three times to me in my whole life; always with a sad look and always to say I reminded him of her."
"He loved her dearly, and he knew her better than anyone. He wrote me once, not long before he went south, and told me how much you were like her. It was the first time he had written her name to me. He said you had defied some instruction or other – I cannot remember the particulars, but I remember what he said next clearly: 'Arya looked at me with such a stubborn determination in her eyes, it was as if Lyanna was once more in front of me, and my blood ran cold with the fear that my girl will be just as headstrong and meet the same end. I pray to the Gods that when the time comes for me to make the same decisions my father once made, I do not fall into the same mistakes that took Lyanna from us.' I don't think he would have made the same mistakes. I think if he had lived, he would have let you have your way in the end, just to keep you near. But we are not talking of you, we are talking of Lyanna, and their own father's mistake - Lyanna did not love Robert, and she did not want to marry him, and no one but Ned would ever listen to her. But she did fall in love with someone; someone she should not have. And unfortunately he loved her too; he should have forgot her, and remained with his wife, but he did not."
"Why are you telling me this?" Arya asked slowly, her mind trying to race ahead and come up with the story's end – Was he talking about Rhaegar? She had heard those stories, that he had been in love with Lyanna, but she had never heard that Lyanna was in love with him.
"Because I am the last survivor," Howland reed sighed. "Your father died before he could reveal the truth, and he deserves to know."
"Who deserves to know what?"
Howland took a deep breath, and finally came to his point. "What do you know of what transpired at the Tower of Joy?"
Arya had no idea where this was going, but she humoured him anyway. "I know that you saved my father's life that day, that only you and him survived; I know that five of you went there to free my aunt, and that only you and my father returned north with Lyanna's body."
"And a baby boy," added Howland quietly.
"And Jon, yes" Arya nodded; of course, she knew Jon had been born while her father was south fighting in the rebellion. "But what does he have to do with Lyanna?"
"Everything."
Arya frowned in confusion – what was Howland trying to say? Arya ran through every piece of information he had given her, her mind struggling to come up with the solution, until an outlandish thought took root.
"What are you…? Are you trying to say that…?" She trailed off, not sure she could believe what she was thinking. Howland, however, seemed to know what conclusion she had drawn.
"We did not find your aunt dead, we found her dying. In a bloody bed."
Arya knew the shock was clearly visible on her face, and yet she still needed Howland to confirm.
"But, if it's true, why did Father lie? Why didn't he say…?" Arya asked, barely above a whisper.
"Because Lyanna made him promise: she knew enough of Robert to know how he would react if the truth was ever known. Robert was so blinded by his own love, that he could never even accept that Lyanna did not love him, let alone that she might love another. Robert would have viewed that child as a vile consequence of rape and torture, as well as a potential threat to his throne; he would never see him as what he was – the product of love. An irresponsible and forbidden love, yes, but it was love nonetheless."
Arya didn't speak, she couldn't. If what Howland was saying was true, then Jon….
"Why are you telling me this?" Arya said after moment.
"Because Jon deserves to know the truth, and I cannot tell him. Winter is upon us; the coldest I've ever known, and the long night will follow. Only the Gods know who will make it to Spring, he deserves to know who is while he lives."
Arya remained quiet after that, trying the wrap her mind around this startling revelation. She left not long after; Howland was growing fatigued and Arya was struggling to fully digest what she had learnt. She left him to the care of his Maester, who had been waiting outside the doors ready to be summoned. Arya was unsure where she wanted to go – she didn't want to go back to her rooms just yet, nor she want to join her men in the Great Hall. She thought of visiting the Godswood, but what she really wanted was someone to talk it through with. Ordinarily she would have gone straight to Gendry, but he had hidden himself away again, and she was still unsure if he was avoiding her or not. In a split second she made her decision: this back and forth had been going on long enough, Arya needed to talk to someone and the only person she wanted to talk to was Gendry, so he was going to listen.
"You've been avoiding me, and it stops now!" Arya declared as she pushed through the door of the forge with a bang, without any form of greeting. Gendry turned to her, hammer in hand, looking taken aback. Before he could utter anything, Arya started ranting:
"I don't understand you! One minute we're fine, the next you disappear. Then the other night we talked like we used to, and I thought we were past you avoiding me; I thought you accepted me with everything I had done. But I haven't spoken to you since – you've holed yourself up in here and avoided me at every turn. Yes, I took people's lives and asked no questions – man, woman, child, it didn't make a difference, I did what I was told! I'm not proud of it, but I did it, I can't change it. And you told me you understood! But now you won't come near me. So which is it?" she demanded of him, anger and frustration clear in her tone.
"If you're so offended by what I did in Braavos, feel free to go back to the Riverlands, back to Jeyne and Willow and the orphans, and you never have to look at me again. But if you do understand, like you said you did, then Seven Hells Gendry, stay here and be here! Don't avoid me, because I need you: I need a friend now more than ever. I've just come from Howland Reed's bedchambers – he's dying, by the way, he won't be around much longer – and on his deathbed he has told me…. I don't even know how to get my head around what he's told me. My father lied to us our entire lives – and honourable lie, but still a lie. And now I have to tell my brother, my favourite brother, that he's not – he's a Targaryen love child! - And not brother, my cousin! - I have no idea what to do with this, I have no idea how to even begin to tell him – so I need my friend to help me, and I only have you!" She relaised her rant was not particularly coherent, but she needed to say these things and so she continued to shout.
"To everyone else I am Lady Stark, I am Queen Arya – but you have always seen me differently, you've treated me differently, like your equal. And I need that right now, so you need to stop avoiding me! Sort out your emotions, get past whatever it is. I may have made some less than desirable choices, but those choices kept me alive and brought me to this point,to right here and I can't change them now, so I need you to get over it! And gods! it's hot in here!" she finished, ripping her cloak from her shoulders and throwing it to the ground.
All through Arya's rant, Gendry had been looking at her with wide eyes an open mouthed, standing perfectly still trying to digest her unexpected appearance, and quite possibly an undeserved tirade. But once she went quiet, he snapped into self-defence.
"Of course it's hot in here! it's a forge!" Gendry sniped, before going into a rant of his own. "Seven hells, Arya! I swear I haven't been avoiding you; I don't care about what you did in Braavos! Do you think I've forgotten about Harranhal? About how you helped kill those guards to free your brother's men so they could take over the castle? Or how you slit a man's throat so we could escape in the dead of night? I know what you're capable of to survive, I've always known it, and I admire you for it - it's what makes you who you are! I've only been holed up in here because I've been working night and day on something that has taken a hell of a long time to try and perfect!"
"We haven't had a battle since King's Landing; all our armour is fixed, fitted, and ready to be worn. Our weapons are repaired and honed, what could you possibly have to work on that has you hiding in here all the goddamn time?!"
"If you would you just bloody well calm down, I'll show you! I was going to bring it to you first thing in the morning, if you must know! But first you can tell me what's happened to get you in this state, and what I've done to make you go off at me like this. You mentioned something about your brother and a Targaryen love-child? What are you going on about?"
"He's not my brother, he's my cousin."
"Who is? And I didn't know you had a cousin," Gendry frowned, his frustration suddenly dropping in the light of confusion. "You've only ever mentioned brothers."
Arya looked at him, exasperation slowly muting the anger that had flared.
"Jon!"
"Your brother on the Wall? What about him?" Gendry asked, struggling to keep up. "You're not making sense."
"Seven hells, Gendry, that's who I'm talking about," Arya explained. "Jon isn't my brother, he's my cousin."
"Oh," Gendry said finally understanding the semantics, before his eyes widened as he fully understood what she was saying. "Oh! But...what?" he shook his head, as if to clear it. "Come sit down, and explain from the beginning."
He led her through into the room off the main forgery, it was small but not uncomfortable with a decent sized bed in the corner, and a round wooden table large enough to seat four comfortably. Gendry took a bottle from the sideboard and a pair of cups, he poured a generous measure of ale into each and passed one to Arya and sat down beside her.
"Now, what happened?"
Arya took a mouthful of the ale, and then went into her narrative, slightly more calm – and a little bashful after her outburst – than before, and gave Gendry an overview of her conversation with Howland Reed. Gendry sat quietly throughout it all, listening intently and just letting her talk it out. When she finished she just sat there in silence, sipping at her drink. Gendry was quiet also, sat there with that pained look on his face that showed he was thinking hard.
"Are you going to tell him?" Gendry asked quietly after a moment.
"I have to; he deserves to know the truth. And I know he's always wanted to know about his mother. I just have no idea how to do it." She sighed and drained her cup.
"So, what have you been working on that's kept you busy for all hours? You said you would show me," Arya reminded him after a moment.
Gendry suddenly looked nervous; he pushed back from the table, moved over to the bed.
Arya stood up too, but before she could move away from the table, Gendry returned and cautiously placed the item he had retrieved on the table in front of her. He did not retake his seat, but remained standing a step back from her, not looking her in the eye.
"I hope it doesn't anger you," he said as she looked down, the nerves clearly audible in his voice. "I realise now I may have overstepped - and I'm so sorry if I have."
He had placed before her a sheathed sword. It almost looked to be a two-handed great sword, though not quite as large – perhaps more the size of 'bastard blade', a hand-and-a-halfer. The pommel had been carved into a wolf's head that looked almost like Nymeria, and the handle was wrapped with new leather, soft and dark, as yet unstained and untouched. She traced her finger delicately over the wolf-head; it reminded her of her father's sword.
"I've been working with Maester Mathos - he borrowed some books from King's Landing, we've been studying every chance we could get along the road," Gendry was saying, his sentences somewhat disjointed, his nerves becoming ever more clear the more he went on.
"It reminds me of my father's sword, Ice," Arya whispered, not really paying full attention to what Gendry had been saying as she made a move to pick up the blade.
"Well, it is," Gendry admitted hesitantly.
Arya's hand stopped over the sword, and she turned her eyes on Gendry. "What?"
"I mean, it's not the exact one, obviously - it's smaller than it should be, some of the steel will have been lost in the re-forgings." Gendry was starting to babble in his apprehension. He took a breath, and began to explain more coherently, as Arya looked back down at the sheathed sword laying on the table in front of her. Surely, he wasn't saying what she thought he was going to say; Ice had been ruined beyond repair, butchered into two blades, the steel contaminated with rivulets of crimson dye.
"You wanted your father's great sword back, I saw that when we took King's Landing. But instead you got back two Lannister blades, that you couldn't even look at. I'd seen Tobho Mott work Valyrian steel once, and I figured if it had been melted down and forged anew once, there was no reason it couldn't be done again. I asked Maester Mathos to help me, he's worked with Valyrian steel when he forged the links in his chain, and he found some books in Kings Landing that told us how to work it properly, the traditions of old Valyria and the spell-forging. We didn't do anything with the swords until we got here though; we didn't want to rush into the task. It took a few days to fully separate the dye from the steel, and then we had to make the cast for the blade-"
Arya had been still as stone as Gendry talked, but now she made a flash of movement and picked up the sword, ready to unsheathe it there and then. Was she truly hearing this? Hidden in this sheathe, was it really her father's Valyrian steel? No longer marred with the red? her heart was beginning to pound, and her hands were starting to tremor.
"Mathos counselled me on the process, keeping reference to the books, and Thoros assisted with the spell-forging - I don't know if it did anything, or not-" Gendry trailed off then, but Arya was only half listening.
She slowly eased the blade from its new sheath, still expecting to see those rivulets of red. It was not as heavy as she anticipated; she would still need to wield it with two hands at first, but with training Arya thought she might learn to fight with it one-handed. The blade was dark as smoke, and Arya could see the ripples where it had been folded back on itself over and over.
Out of nowhere, a rush of feelings accosted Arya and she had no power to push them back, and it that moment she didn't really want to. This was her father's sword – not exactly how it used to be, but the essence was there, it was the same steel Lord Eddard had carried with him every single day, and Arya felt closer to him than she had ever done since they had last been together.
"This is exactly what I needed, thank you," She whispered with feeling, before turning from the table and looking at Gendry with feeling. It was true, she had had no idea what she wanted to do when she took back the swords, didn't even think this was even possible. And yet Gendry had known exactly what she wanted, and had done it for her. She didn't really think about her next action; it was as if her body moved without her brain's consent. She closed the distance between them, and without thinking, she reached up, took Gendry's face gently in her hands and kissed him assuredly on the lips.
It was over as soon as it began, but in that moment Gendry's hands had moved to her waist as if on instinct, and he didn't remove them. Arya could feel them burning against her hips, and made no move to distance herself. As she lowered her heels back to the floor she didn't drop her hands, instead they gently lowered and came to rest just below his shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispered again, though this time it sounded a little breathless.
"You're welcome," Gendry whispered back, sounding almost hoarse.
Her eyes were still filled with tears, but she was no longer crying, as she looked directly at Gendry who was looking back at her just as intensely. She was aware of her heart pounding in her chest, the fluttering in her stomach, and a slight increase in her breathing, yet she did not look away and neither did he. Her eyes flickered briefly down to Gendry's lips, before returning to his gaze, and he did the same. Unconsciously she chewed her lip, the old habit back once more, and she was sure Gendry gave a tiny quirk of his lip as if to smile.
She didn't know if it was her who was moving in to him, or if was Gendry pulling her closer – maybe it was both. But she found herself drawn even closer to him than before, and once more she was rising up onto her toes as he lowered his lips back to hers.
It wasn't quick this time; it was slow, and deep. Arya's hands moved up around Gendry's neck and twisted into his hair, as Gendry's hands shifted to keep her close, one hand moving to the small of her back and the other snaking up to rest at her neck. They pulled each other closer, losing themselves in the kiss, relishing the taste of each other, and taking the time to savour every second.
A/N: Let me know what you thought :) I'm a huge believer in the R+L=J theory, and I have been since I figured it out in book one, which is why I've written it into here, even though it's not really major to the overall plotline of this fic.
Now that Arya has a (an almost) great sword, the sword needs a name...help would be appreciated here: should it be "Winter's Wrath" or just "Winter"? (I've been struggling with this from day 1, and I still haven't decided!)
XBx