Chapter Text
“Lord Baratheon looks well in his new leathers you gave him”, Bran said, absently.
Arya turned and saw Gendry walking toward the meeting tent on the platform in the Dragon Pit. He was accompanied by Ser Davos and Ser Brienne - the party representing the Stormlands. Davos was speaking to Gendry, whose face was stony and serious. A mask, she realized as she studied him closely, not unlike her own, though she was better at it. He was new to hiding his emotions, she regretted.
“Yes,” Sansa said, “He finally looks like a proper lord”.
And he did. He had on a black leather jerkin worn over a leather gambison. There were slashes at the shoulders through which gray fur showed through. His breeches were black suede and went down into his leather boots. The clothes fit him well, making Arya wonder how Sansa had gotten his measurements. Somehow, he looked stronger than he did even in the clothes he wore when working with steel. Stronger, but not as attractive, Arya mused, bringing to her mind the times she watched him at the forge. Those thoughts were not welcome, so she pushed them back from her mind, and turned her attention to the sword he wore. I suppose he couldn’t bring his war hammer, she thought to herself, I wonder if he made that sword.
“You gave him leathers?”, Arya turned to Sansa.
“It was the least I could do, given what he did for Jon”, Sansa returned.
“What he did for Jon?” Arya looked at Sansa, confused.
Bran answered. “The day Grey Worm was going to execute Jon, Lord Baratheon arrived with some of the Baratheon forces. He’s the one convinced Grey Worm to hold off until messages could be sent to the other Lords Paramount. It seems the two spoke quite a deal before the battle. I’m guessing to discuss the weapons for the Unsullied. Grey Worm must trust Lord Baratheon.”
Her heart leapt at the thought, Gendry had saved Jon. They would not be sitting here now, but fighting, once again, more horrors upon horrors. She shuttered internally, remembering all she had seen during the Long Night and the Sack of King’s Landing. Gendry had saved everyone, thought with a small, proud smile.
“How did I not know this?” Arya murmured.
“You were recovering”, Sansa said.
“He’ll be a wonderful lord, don’t you agree, Arya?” She blanched a the phrase, remembering. Bran was watching Arya now, his face mostly impassive, but for a slight, knowing smile on his face. Bran must know everything that had taken place between her and Gendry, ever, she thought, though she should have known that already. He probably even knew about what she had decided that morning. Her brother’s knowledge of all her secrets unsettled her, but there was nothing to do about it.
“Yes”, she agreed, quietly, as Gendry and his companions took their seats. She turned her head away just enough to not be able to meet Gendry’s eyes, but enough that she could still see him. He didn’t look at her. It hurt that he didn’t look at her. The image of the expression of love and adoration he had given her passed before her eyes, followed closely by his pained, heartbroken face. She had hurt him, deeply. She couldn’t expect him to look at her.
“He looks exactly like his father when he became king,” Bran added, still watching Arya.
“You would know better than I,” Arya answered, perturbed by the idea that her handsome, muscular blacksmith could in anyway look like that fat drunk king she had once known. Gendry is a better man, in every way, she thought. He'll be a better lord than his father had been a king.