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one.
It all started with an orange.
One would think an orange too harmless a thing to be the herald of everything that followed, but the more Gendry thought about it, the clearer it became how that not-so-harmless orange was the point where all his troubles began.
It was a crisp morning, and Gendry was humming softly under his breath as he made the steel sing in his forge, same as the day before, and the one before that. The war had been over for almost two years, and Winterfell, while still far from its heyday, had slowly begun to look more like a worthy seat for the new King in the North and less like the charcoal ruin it had been when the Starks reclaimed it.
As he turned towards the pail to dip the red-hot tip of the sword he had been working on, Gendry spotted Nymeria at the entrance of the forge, staring at him intently with her yellow eyes.
Gendry was man enough to admit it had taken him quite a while to not flinch around Nymeria and the other direwolves, particularly when their owners weren't present. No matter how many times Arya told him that they weren’t wild things, that they’d proven smarter than most people and perfectly capable of knowing friend from foe, there was something about the way they looked at him… or, well, to be honest, about the way Nymeria in particular seemed to look at him. As if she was considering Gendry, seizing him up. And for some reason he always felt as if he came up lacking.
So while Nymeria staring at him wasn’t an unusual occurrence, her showing up at the forge without Arya for no particular reason really was.
“You got lost, girl?” Gendry belatedly realised the absurdity of addressing a beast almost as tall as he was as ‘girl’, and Nymeria seemed to agree, because she tilted her head at him wonderingly as he laid down the sword. That was when he noticed she was carrying an orange in her mouth.
“Where did you get that orange? Stole it from the kitchens, did you?”
Slowly, Nymeria approached him and deposited the orange on the workbench he was leaning against with more delicacy than one would think possible for a creature whose fangs were easily the size of a grown man’s fingers. She took a step back and sat on her haunches, peering at him expectantly.
“What… I don’t…”
Nymeria looked from him to the orange and back, letting out a little huff of impatience.
“For… for me?” Gendry asked in confusion.
Huffing again, she pushed the orange closer to him with her snout. Gendry could’ve sworn it was her way of calling him slow-witted.
“Oh.” He fetched it hesitantly. “Thank you?”
Nymeria lowered her head in answer and it took Gendry an embarrassingly long moment to understand she was asking to be petted. He stretched out a tentative hand and buried his fingers in the soft grey fur, moving to scratch behind her ears. Nymeria made a pleased sound Gendry had only heard her make before for Arya when she fed her scraps of meat under the table, and for some inexplicable reason, he felt a warm swell of pride at the direwolf's approval.
Later, when Nymeria finally padded back into the courtyard and started trotting towards the South gate, Gendry was left staring stupidly at the orange in his hand, wondering what in the seven hells had just happened.
Two days later, it was another orange. And another every day for the next week.
Then came a squirrel. The day after that, a partridge. And a rabbit the next morning.
“Are you trying to get me accused of poaching, girl?”
Nymeria ignored him and deposited the rabbit on top of an unused anvil.
“Look, I just don’t-“
“Nymeria!”
Nymeria immediately stood at attention, head held high and ears almost comically peaked. When Arya appeared in the doorway, her tail started wagging like a puppy’s in a way that never failed to make Gendry smile. Arya made a quick hand gesture and Nymeria was instantly by her side.
“Has she been here long? She disappeared right after we broke our fast.”
“And a good morrow to you too, m’lady,” Gendry said with fake exaggerated cheer.
Arya rolled her eyes. “Good morning, Ser Gendry, do you happen to have any idea as to my direwolf’s whereabouts today?” she answered, adding a little mock curtsey for good measure. Gendry smiled.
“Well, she’s been hunting, apparently,” he said, pointing to the rabbit. “I was just asking your pet if she was trying to have your brother hang me for stealing his game.”
“Rabbits hardly count as game.”
“Wouldn’t you plead for my life if I was sentenced for poaching in the Kings’s forests?”
“Possibly. I suppose finding a halfway competent knight who could double as a blacksmith might prove quite a hassle.”
“Admit it, you’d miss me terribly, you’d beg His Grace to spare me!”
Arya swatted at his shoulder and leaned over the rabbit with a confused frown. “Why did Nymeria bring you a dead rabbit, anyway?”
“Well, I reckon it was alive when she found it.”
Arya made an impatient noise, and Gendry bit back a laugh at how similar it was to the ones he often heard from her direwolf.
“I’ve no idea. She’s been bringing me all these things… not just the rabbit, but also a partridge, and oranges, and one day-“
“She’s been bringing you gifts?”
“Gifts?” He asked, surprised. “Aye, I suppose you could call them that.” Arya’s expression was unreadable. “Is it… a bad thing?”
“What?”
“She hasn’t been fattening me up before she eats me, has she?”
“Don’t be stupid.” She was gnawing at her lower lip, staring at the rabbit as if it held the answer to a problem of utmost importance. “But don’t worry, I’ll talk to her, she won’t bother you again.”
“Oh, she’s no bother at all!” Gendry said, a little too quickly. “In fact it’s almost as if… as if she liked me. I never thought she liked me much, to be honest.”
“Why would you think that?” Arya looked genuinely puzzled.
Gendry shrugged. “Dunno. Just seemed that way.”
Arya opened her mouth as if about to answer him, but seemed to reconsider. Sometimes Gendry missed the way she used to be before Braavos changed her, how that long-lost girl would always say exactly what was on her mind at any given moment and Gendry was never left guessing the words she had decided to keep for herself.
“She seems to like you well enough,” Arya said in a quiet voice. “Still, she shouldn’t… I’ll talk to her,” she repeated.
Before Gendry could protest, Arya had spun around and left the forge, Nymeria at her heels. Gendry sighed and went to inspect the sword he had been working on earlier. When he looked up again, he spotted them across the courtyard. Arya was kneeling next to an empty vegetable cart, looking Nymeria in the eye. She seemed to be giving her wolf a stern talking to. Nymeria turned to glance in Gendry’s direction, as if she could sense he’d been watching them, and Gendry felt strangely, inexplicably guilty.
He felt even guiltier when Nymeria’s presents stopped completely.
two.
Gendry didn’t visit the tavern very often, but he couldn’t always say no to the other knights. No, no, bannermen, cavalrymen, never knights. Three years in the North and he still couldn’t get the customs right. He laughed out loud at that and immediately wondered whether he’d had a little too much ale. He gazed up at the clouds that had started to cover the darkening sky. Night was already closing in, and Gendry had made his excuses and left before the darkness made the men grow rowdier.
He hadn’t yet reached the castle walls when he heard a loud, desperate howl. Barely a moment later, Nymeria appeared from the direction of the forest, running straight towards Gendry. When she reached him, she charged him with her full force, paws pushing against his chest, almost throwing him to the ground. She kept moving in random patterns around him, and it was obvious that she was extremely distressed, and also trying to tell Gendry something.
“Calm down, girl,” Gendry said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. “What’s wrong?”
Nymeria howled again and Gendry just knew. “Where’s Arya? Is she hurt?” Nymeria pulled at the end of his jerkin with her teeth and started dragging Gendry towards the forest. By the time they reached the first trees, they were both running at full speed.
Arya lay in a shallow pit that might have once been dug as a hunting trap. Her right leg was trapped under what looked like the remains of an oak stump.
“Arya!”
She started to turn around to look at Gendry and winced. Gendry kneeled by her side and tried to remove the tree stump as fast as he could, Nymeria helping him push it off Arya’s leg.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know… I think it’s an abandoned trap, it was covered in leaves, that’s why I didn’t spot it soon enough. And when I tripped that log somehow moved and fell on me.”
Now that her leg was free, Arya attempted to stand but her ankle failed her and she would have fallen back down if Gendry hadn’t caught her. She pushed him away and sat on the edge of the pit, glaring at him murderously.
“What’s so wrong with needing help?” Gendry asked.
“I don’t need your help!”
“Oh, beg your pardon, m’lady, I’ll just leave you here alone, then.”
Arya was seething, lips pursed into a thin line. Gendry knew there was no point in waiting for her to agree, so before she could come up with another scathing remark, he grabbed her by her middle, hoisting her up into his arms.
They had barely walked a hundred paces when the first flashes of lightning tore through the sky, bright enough to illuminate the forest as if it was the middle of the day. Thunder followed almost immediately, and Gendry realised they would never make it back before the storm started. Arya seemed to be having the same thought.
“We need to find shelter,” she said, and another bout of thunder obscured her words as if agreeing with her. “And quickly. I can recall a small cave nearby…”
“Could you bring us there?”
“I think so, and if not… Nymeria?” Her wolf approached and nuzzled her neck. They seemed to have an entire conversation in that wordless language of theirs, and soon Nymeria was leading them in the right direction.
The cave was small but spacious enough to offer shelter for all three of them. Gendry gently deposited Arya on the leaf-covered ground and started arranging her fur-lined cloak around her like a blanket, but Arya batted his hand away. “Stop fussing like a septa, I’m fine.”
“Of course you are, m’lady. I can’t fathom why you’re not walking back to the castle by yourself right this minute.”
Arya glared at him, but whatever reply she had in mind was drowned by the sound of the rain starting to pour down violently. When she moved around searching for a more comfortable position, she visibly winced in pain.
“Does your ankle hurt?” Gendry asked.
“Nothing I can’t bear,” Arya shrugged.
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I’m fine.”
Gendry sighed. He fiddled a bit more with Arya’s cloak and moved to sit on her right, the side nearest to the entrance. Nymeria wedged herself in the space between them and Arya started stroking her back.
The night was far from the iciest ones Gendry had spent in Winterfell, but the storm was quickly cooling the damp air, and he absently rubbed his hands together.
“You should lie down and hold her other side,” Arya said, startling him.
“What?”
“Hold Nymeria. Her coat is warmer than any blanket, I assure you.”
Gendry eyed them dubiously. “And won’t she… mind?”
Arya looked at him as if he was an exceptionally dense toddler. When she seemed to gather that the look wasn’t enough, she added a curt “No.”
Gendry tentatively settled on the other side of Nymeria, but not close enough to touch.
“Closer, stupid.” Arya’s voice sounded exasperated.
Gendry started to move but froze as soon as he felt Nymeria stir. After a moment, however, it was obvious she wasn’t displeased, because she rested her head on Gendry’s lap. Arya was right, direwolves gave out a ridiculous amount of warmth. He scratched behind Nymeria’s ears in gratitude and felt himself slowly drifting to sleep.
Gendry stirred slowly awake but didn’t open his eyes. He felt snug and comfortable, with the softest of furs covering his legs. The air smelled of wet soil and fresh leaves, and there was a warm weight on his chest. Wait.
Blinking drowsily, he looked down and saw the top of Arya’s head. His arms were enveloping her and her right hand was clutching his tunic. In other words, there was no way Gendry could dislodge her without waking her. He glanced at Nymeria, who was resting partly atop the tangle of their legs but with great care to avoid Arya’s bad ankle, just to find her staring at him intently. He decided it was best to close his eyes again and pray for the Gods’ mercy.
Just as he was drifting back to sleep, he felt Arya stir. Her head was still resting on Gendry’s chest, and he wondered whether she could hear his heart’s frantic pounding. Gendry could tell the exact moment she woke in earnest and became aware of their predicament because she stopped shifting in her attempt to snuggle closer and abruptly stilled, quiet and unmoving like a corpse. In a quick, silent movement, she pushed away. There was a long silence and Gendry wondered what she was staring at him for. Just then, he felt a strong hand shaking his shoulder.
“Wake up, you lazy sod! We need to get back to the castle before they send out a search party!”
Gendry did the best impression he could muster of a man who’d just been mercilessly dragged from a deep sleep.
“Shouldn’t you be kinder to the man who’s about to carry you all the way back to your bed?”
Belatedly, he realised what he had just said, but before he could stammer an apology, he noticed that Arya was avoiding his eyes and blushing. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her blush before.
“Let’s just move, shall we?” Arya said curtly.
The next day, Gendry almost singed one of his fingers off when he realised Nymeria could have easily pulled Arya out of that ditch by herself.
three.
Chesleigh was the daughter of one of the older guardsmen, redheaded and curvy. Her visits to the forge were as frequent as her bodices tight, all in all leaving little doubt as to her intentions. Gendry carefully walked the fine line between playing along without encouraging her, and studiously avoided thinking about why he never took her on her less-than-subtle offers.
“Well, since you insist on being so boring,” Chesleigh smiled mischievously at the word, “I will just go back.”
Gendry smiled tightly. “They’re probably expecting those,” he said, pointing to her basket. He was quite sure she’d told him what she was carrying, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember.
Chesleigh’s smile grew wider as she leant over to pick up the basket, giving Gendry a view that left little to the imagination. He coughed and looked away.
“See you tomorrow, Ser Gendry.” She winked at him and walked away slowly, her hips swaying in a way that could not possibly be unintentional. Gendry sighed and went back to work, but barely a minute after Chesleigh had left, a piercing scream came from the courtyard. Gendry immediately dropped the breastplate in his hand and ran outside.
Pushing his way across the small crowd who’d quickly gathered in the courtyard, Gendry saw Chesleigh crouching on the ground, her small basket upturned beside her. She seemed unharmed, but her cheeks were stained with tears and her hands stretched before her, palms up in a pleading gesture. Nymeria was slowly circling around her over and over, teeth bared and growling.
Before Gendry had time to react, a strong voice came from the other side of the courtyard.
“Nymeria! To me!”
Arya was approaching them with a stern expression, walking fast enough that her long black hair flew wildly around her face.
“Nymeria!”
Nymeria seemed torn as to how to act, but in the end she growled one last time at Chesleigh and walked towards her mistress, standing proudly by her side.
“What happened here?” Arya asked in a level voice. It was probably only obvious to Gendry just how furious she truly was, but she had become quite adept at hiding her emotions over the years. He noticed how the hand she’d instinctively reached towards her direwolf was trembling.
“I swear, m’lady! I didn’t do nothing! She jumped on me out of nowhere… I… Gendry!” Arya visibly tensed as she turned to look at him, looking even more furious. “Tell them how I was just leaving the forge, Gendry! Please!” Chesleigh continued to apologise, “I didn’t have time to do anything, I was just… I beg your pardon, m’lady, I didn’t mean-“
“Stop,” Arya cut her off with a dismissive hand gesture. “What’s your name?”
Gendry was confused. He’d heard that tone before, it was the one highborns used when they wanted to let the smallfolk feel how insignificant they were. It wasn’t just that Arya never used it, there was also the small matter that she knew the name of every single soul to set foot inside the castle’s walls, from the wives of visiting noblemen to the very last kitchen wench.
“Chesleigh, m’lady. “
“Chesleigh,” Arya repeated slowly, as if she doubted it was her real name. “Are you hurt, Chesleigh?”
“N-no, m’lady.”
“Good.” Arya nodded once, then took a step back. “Well, then. It was obviously a misunderstanding. You may carry on now.”
“Thank you, m’lady,” Chesleigh muttered, curtsied and left in a hurry.
Arya glanced around pointedly. “You may all carry on,” she announced, and the small crowd quickly dispersed. Nymeria was licking Arya’s hand, as if she was the one in need of reassurance, and Gendry was even more confused.
“So what was that about?” he finally asked.
Without looking at him, Arya shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve no idea.”
They both knew Arya was a very skilled liar when she put her mind to it, and Gendry couldn’t understand why she hadn’t even tried to make her answer sound convincing.
four.
Gendry wasn’t sure why he had been sent to command the small retinue of twenty cavalrymen escorting the Lady Sansa to White Harbor. Her wedding to Willas Tyrell a fortnight earlier, (twice performed, once before the weeping face of the heart tree and once in Winterfell’s small Sept), had been a pleasant but muted affair, by express wish of the bride, and her husband had already left to welcome her at her arrival to Highgarden with all the pomp and circumstance he probably found had been lacking at Winterfell.
They were on the third and last day in their journey to White Harbor, and Arya’s silences seemed to grow longer and longer as they approached the sea. She had travelled most of the way with her sister in the wheelhouse instead of riding her beloved Dornish mare.
They had only spent two nights in the White Castle when the day of Sansa's departure arrived. The ship had set sail with the morning tide, and Gendry had last seen Arya standing like a statue on the pier of the Outer Harbor, Lord Wyman and the rest of his household a foot behind her. Arya was wearing a heavily embroidered gown and a thin golden circlet on her head, and Gendry had no doubt that she had gone through all the effort because she knew it would please Sansa. Arya looked more like a princess than Gendry had ever seen her, but not because of her different clothes or the elaborate braids – it was the way she held herself, chin high, refusing to cry or look away from the small boat carrying her sister away from the shore. The only word that seemed to fit was regal, and Gendry’s chest tightened at the thought, because it was easy to pretend Arya wasn’t a Princess in the North when they were passing back and forth a skin of wine in the woods, Arya in breeches and with smudges of dirt in her cheeks, but at times like these it was impossible to ignore.
No one had seen Arya since then. Dinnertime was fast approaching and Gendry was growing more restless by the second. Arya was all wolf, she had always needed to lick her wounds away from the world's eyes, but Gendry could tell that this time it was somehow different, and he desperately wanted to comfort her, even though he feared his efforts weren't likely to be welcomed.
For the twentieth time, he crossed the castle courtyard in long, angry strides, his boots hitting the cobbled stones with enough force to make the guards at the gate turn to curiously peer at him. Gendry straightened to his full height and threw them a poisonous look, and they quickly averted their eyes and started inspecting their armour with exaggerated interest.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he spotted a familiar figure leaving the side door that led to the castle kitchens. Gendry all but ran towards Nymeria, who was still chewing on whatever bounty she had managed to terrorise the cook into giving her.
Gendry knew well enough not to bother any animal while they ate, least of all a direwolf, but as soon as Nymeria took in his frown and hunched shoulders she abandoned the chicken leg and went to meet him halfway.
"Please," he said, feeling more than a little stupid. He leaned towards her, even though there was no one was close enough to hear them, for fear the guards from earlier were eavesdropping and that'd give them definite proof that he'd gone around the bend. "Please take me to her." Nymeria blinked. "I'm still not sure why you went to find me the other day in the forest but... if you still think I... please."
Nymeria observed him in that quietly appraising way she used to do.
"Please, girl," Gendry said again, and by this point he didn't care who might hear as long as it ended with Nymeria leading him to Arya.
Without warning, Nymeria spun around and started trotting away, not even bothering to ensure Gendry was following - probably because she had no doubt he would.
Nymeria led Gendry down the white stone way of Castle Stair, turning to look at him reproachfully when she thought he wasn’t walking fast enough. The lamps held up by the marble mermaids were not yet alight, and Gendry could see the small shapes of the fishing boats in the distance. Suddenly, Nymeria took a sharp turn left and started trotting faster. Gendry was so busy keeping up with her that he didn’t even notice they had crossed a passageway across the rock and were now inside a cave overlooking the harbours.
Arya was sitting at the mouth of the cave, her arms around her knees. Gendry went to look at Nymeria only to find she had vanished. He shook his head and strode towards Arya. As he approached her, Gendry cleared his throat and noticed her shoulders tense at the sound. She turned her head for a second to glance at him, then went back to stare towards the open sea. Gendry knew it was all the invitation he was likely to receive, so he walked slowly towards her and sat by her side. She had changed into her usual clothes, and Gendry couldn’t tell what that meant.
The sky was turning a deep shade of red when he finally dared to speak.
“I’m sure she will be very happy as the Lady of Highgarden.”
Arya moved a little to look at his face. Her expression was unreadable.
“I mean…” Gendry continued, suddenly uncertain. “I know it’s not much comfort, but at least you…”
“Sansa was always meant to rule over a huge castle.” Arya’s voice was rough, from disuse or tears or both, Gendry couldn’t tell. He nodded encouragingly.
“I can’t believe how it used to bother me so much,” she continued after a long pause, her voice barely above a whisper, “that she was seemingly born to be the perfect princess and I… well.” She sighed deeply. “No matter how much I protested and mocked Septa Mordane, a part of me wanted my stiches to be as straight as hers, my curtsies as perfect.” She let out a chocked laugh. “Can you imagine?”
They sat in silence for a long moment. “And now?” Gendry asked quietly, surprising even himself.
“Now?”
“The part of you that wanted to be good at everything Sansa could best you at, do you…”
“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “What I meant was… I coveted all those stupid things because deep inside I believed the world’s approval mattered, because I thought they would bring me happiness. I know better now. And the only thing that bothers me is that we ever let it get between us.”
“So you don’t…”
“I didn’t wake up suddenly wishing to have my hair braided with flowers and spun gold like the maidens in the songs, no.” She smiled and bumped her shoulder against his. “But not because I’ve learned hoping for princes is stupid. Those things stopped mattering when I truly understood none of it could ever make me happy.”
Gendry could barely hear his own voice over the pounding of his heart when he said, “No princes in shining armour wearing your favours, then?”
Arya bit her lower lip before answering. “No, no princes for me.”
Nightfall over White Harbour was supposed to be a thing of wonder, but all Gendry would later remember from that day was Arya’s head resting on his shoulder and the warm feeling of hope in his chest.
+one
Gendry kept poking the fire in the knights’ quarters in the moot hope that moving the logs and embers around would warm him more quickly. He’d spent the afternoon practicing his abysmal archery skills with Arya, because for some reason she’d got it into her head that he needed to be a ‘well-rounded knight’. He’d tried getting out of it asking her how her harp playing was coming along, since she was so concerned with well-roundedness, but that had just earned him an additional hour of practice. Outside. In the cold.
At some point Gendry had started to believe he would never recover the feeling in his hands.
“How can it be so cold? They’re called summer snows, aren’t they? Where’s the summer part?”
Arya snorted. “Don’t be such a girl.” The light of the fire painted strange shadows on her face, but Gendry could see she was trying to hide a smirk in her cup of wine.
“I’m not being a girl, Your Highness, I’m just cold. The only place I’m ever warm enough is at the forge, and since you forced that apprentice on me I seem to spend less and less time there.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, how heartless of me to not want one of my men to continue doubling as blacksmith!”
“I don’t mind the training, it’s just this bloody cold that—” He was interrupted by the loud clank of Arya putting down her wine cup.
“Well, if you hate the North so much,” she spat, “why don’t you go just back to King’s Landing?”
“What?”
“You’re obviously miserable here. Then by all means, you should leave. You can be a smith anywhere, you said it yourself. Or a knight even, as soon as they see what you can do.”
Gendry had half a second to feel flattered at the unintended compliment, and then he became aware of what she was really saying.
“You… you want me to leave?” Gendry’s perplexity was quickly fading to be replaced with fury.
“Yes!” she yelled, the strength of her anger seemingly propelling her out of her chair. “Why would we want a knight who hates life in Winterfell? I’ve no idea why you even came here!”
“You know what? You’re right!” he stood and towered over her. “I should leave, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here!”
“Fine!” she yelled in his face and spun on her heel, stomping away angrily.
“Fine!” he shouted after her.
Gendry threw the poker against the wall with such force that the handle fell off and flew all the way across the room.
Over the years spent suffering Arya’s infamous temper, Gendry had learned that the sooner he apologised, the easier things would be. Whether he had done something wrong or not was entirely irrelevant. An apology would appease her, give her the chance to let go of her anger without wounding her pride or stubbornness, and they could go back to normal as if nothing had happened. Or, to be fair, to what passed for their version of normal, this strange dance around each other that they’d been playing at since she came back from Braavos a woman grown and he had decided to follow her without a moment’s hesitation. Gendry wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the things that lingered unacknowledged between Arya and him – perhaps stupid enough that it took him a long time to see, yes, but not enough to believe it would come to anything unless… no, there was no sense in losing himself down the path of wishful thinking. Some days he was convinced the signs were clear as day, others he couldn’t read Arya at all. It was better to leave it at that. Unlike Arya, he had learned from the cradle to know which things weren’t his to have, and eventually he hoped he would learn to stop wishing altogether.
Gendry found Nymeria standing guard before the door to Arya’s chambers. She jumped to her feet as soon as she saw him, lazily wagging her tail. Before he even stretched his hand, she moved forward and licked it.
“That bad, is it?”
Nymeria let out a soft, sad whine. Gendry sighed and knocked on the door twice, with purpose.
“Go away!”
“Arya, it’s me!”
A long pause. “Go away, Gendry!”
“Arya, please, let me in!”
“I said go away!”
“You can either let me in, or…”
“Or what?”
“I’ll sit here until you open that door and we can talk.”
Arya let out a nasty laugh. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear you explain why you’re loitering before my door when someone walks by.”
Gendry looked at Nymeria. Arya did have a point. He raised his eyebrows, and Nymeria tilted her head. They looked at each other for a moment, and then she noiselessly turned around and walked towards the opposite end of the corridor, sitting on her haunches in a deceptively calm posture that Gendry knew by now meant she was ready to leap at any perceived threat before they could even see it happening.
“We’ll see,” he said, turning towards the closed door. “Until then, I’m staying.”
“Suit yourself, Ser Gendry.”
True to his word, Gendry stayed. After a while, he grew tired of standing and let himself slide onto the floor next Arya’s door, his head leaning against the cool stone wall.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he heard the sound of rushed footsteps quickly approaching. Probably a handmaiden. Immediately, Nymeria let out a low, menacing growl.
“Oh. I just…,” a soft, hesitant voice came. Yes, definitely a handmaiden. “I need to take these to the Lady Arya.”
Nymeria just growled louder. He wasn’t surprised when he heard a panicked cry followed by footsteps hurrying away – he’d seen battle-scarred knights cower in terror before Arya’s werewolf. Gendry exhaled, relieved. As sorry as he was for frightening that poor girl, he really wasn’t in a position to answer difficult questions. Nymeria was padding back towards him again. She stopped right before Gendry and nudged his ear with her wet nose.
“What am I supposed to do, girl?” he whispered. “Your mistress won’t let me in.”
Nymeria’s yellow eyes glowed unnaturally bright from such a short distance, but Gendry didn’t look away. After a moment, she rubbed the side of her head against his cheek and moved towards the door, scratching at the wood until Arya opened it and held it ajar. When she did, Nymeria swiftly wedged herself in so that Arya couldn’t close it again. Gendry didn’t think twice and profited Arya’s momentary distraction to push the door wide open and wrestle his way in. After some rather undignified scuffling, Gendry found himself panting heavily as he leaned against the closed door – but on the right side of it, finally.
“How did you trick Nymeria into helping you?” Arya looked at her werewolf with a betrayed expression. Nymeria’s ears were flat against her skull, but Gendry knew her enough by now to suspect the repentant stance was no more than an act.
“I didn’t trick her into anything!” Gendry protested, lifting his hands defensively. “She has a mind of her own, and to be honest I doubt anyone could trick her into doing anything she didn’t want to, least of all me.” Then he added, as an afterthought. “Takes after her mistress, doesn’t she?”
Arya answered with a murderous look.
“Anyway,” Gendry stepped away from the door and straightened his posture. “I came to make amends, even though I’m not quite sure what happened earlier. And possibly to beg your pardons, if it please m’lady, even though I’ve no idea how I wronged you.”
Arya let out a bitter laugh. “Either you’re even stupider than I thought, or the most callous man to ever…” she sighed loudly. “Look. It’s best if we simply forget about earlier.”
“Oh, no,” Gendry answered, shaking his head. “I am familiar with the fate befalling anyone who wrongs you, m’lady, and I’d much rather apologise so at least you’re obliged to forgive me.”
She shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Then what made you so angry?”
“I wasn’t angry,” Arya said and set her chin like a stubborn child.
“Pardon me if I don’t believe it for a second, Your Highness.” Arya narrowed her eyes at him, but Gendry just crossed his arms defiantly. “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
Arya sighed again. “You…” she started then trailed off.
“I?”
“You act as if you had nowhere else to go after the war, as if you’d been dragged here and—“
“Dragged?” Gendry interrupted her. He uncrossed his arms and moved towards Arya. “I came here of my own free will, Arya, how can you—“
“Then why?”
“What?”
“Why not return to King’s Landing? Or the Free Cities? Or anywhere else? Why Winterfell?”
Gendry couldn’t help but laugh. “Gods be true, do you really not know why I came here after the war, Arya?”
“I…” She seemed uneasy. Abruptly, she turned towards the window, staring into the night unseeingly. “A girl had a guess.” She used to do this often, right after she came back, this speaking of herself as if it was someone else. It used to disconcert Gendry, frighten him even, but now he understood she only did it when she wasn’t sure how to act. When in doubt, retreat into her training.
Gendry took one step towards her. “Did you think I followed you North because of the lovely weather?” Another step. “Or because I had nowhere else to go?” And another. “If you’d decided to move to the Red Waste, Arya,” he was close enough to touch her now, “I would’ve jumped on that ship right behind you. I woul—“
“No!” She turned around and covered his mouth with her palm to silence him. “Please don’t do this, Gendry, please don’t…”
Gently, Gendry removed her hand from his face but didn’t let go, holding it against his chest instead. “What is it you fear so? You’re a wolf, everyone in this castle thinks you incapable of fear, you know. What would they think if they saw you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding,” she replied automatically.
“Well, neither am I. Not anymore, and if you wish me to leave after this…“ He let go of her hand and started turning around.
“No!” she yelped and caught his arm in a tight grip. “Don’t… I don’t want you to leave, you stupid bull, I just… how can you be sure you’ll never want to leave?”
‘Again’ was left unspoken but Gendry heard it clear as day, with the familiar pang of regret that always accompanied that memory. “Do you plan on living anywhere else?” he asked.
“What?”
“Are you going to leave Winterfell?”
“Of course not!”
“Well then,” Gendry shrugged, “there’s no place I plan to be at.”
“It’s not that simple,” she said with a defeated sigh.
“It is.” Gendry tenderly took Arya’s hand and brushed a feather-light kiss against her knuckles. “It is if you let it.”
Arya shook her head stubbornly. “No.”
“Please, love, please let it.”
Arya’s eyes widened at the endearment and Gendry took advantage of her surprise to press his lips against hers. After a moment hesitation, she started melting into him and he tilted her head to deepen the kiss, burying his hands in her thick dark hair.
It didn't really surprise Gendry that Arya kissed the same way she did everything else, reckless and unyielding, demanding complete and utter attention. What did surprise him was how he felt kissing her, both familiar and exotic and once, and he wondered how he could have been so blind, and how he could have possibly believed he could spend a lifetime by her side without this. When they pulled apart, he bit on Arya’s lower lip the way he'd always seen her do and brushed the hair away from her eyes.
Arya gave a strangely bashful smile and kissed him again.
Later, much later, when they were lying on Arya’s bed (under the furs but fully clothed, because Gendry may have lost his head a little but still had a bit of sense in him), with Nymeria curled at their feet, he asked Arya, “Do you think…” then realised just how stupid the notion was and cut himself off.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Arya arched an eyebrow, and he knew she was not about to let this go.
“This may sound slightly…”
“Yes?”
Gendry took a deep breath and finally dared to speak his mind. “I’m aware it’s madness, but do you think Nymeria has been…” he closed his eyes in embarrassment to finish the thought, “trying to tell us something?”
“What makes you say that?” Arya’s reply came a little too quickly and her tone… Gendry opened his eyes and saw that she was… it couldn’t be.
“Gods be good, are you blushing?”
“No!” Arya exclaimed and wriggled to get out of his embrace but he just held her tighter.
“You knew!”
“No!” she hit him across the shoulder. “I didn’t… I didn’t even understand, until…”
“Until?”
“Until she almost attacked that girl.”
“Chesleigh?”
“Yes. Her,” she spat.
“Oh.”
“Direwolves know…” she swallowed. “They can feel what their masters feel.”
“Oh,” he said again. “So she was… helping you?”
“No!”
Gendry raised his eyebrows.
“I mean… yes. She was, but I didn’t… send her,” she said shyly and looked away.
Gendry put her finger under her chin and forced her to look him in the eye.
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she’s apparently smarter than the both of us,” he looked at the foot of the bed and addressed Nymeria, “aren’t you, girl?”
Nymeria lifted her head for a moment, let out a huge yawn that displayed most of her teeth and lay back down on her front paws.
Arya started giggling uncontrollably and buried her face in Gendry’s chest. Soon Gendry was laughing with her.
“Gendry?” Arya’s sleepy voice came from the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows to look at Gendry.
“I should leave before the castle starts to rise,” he said, pointing at the deep blue of the sky, just before first light.
“And that’s your idea of leaving?” she asked, tilting her head at him. Nymeria was lying on her back, neck stretched and letting Gendry rub her belly. He shrugged. “Do you even know what that means?” Arya sounded amused.
“That she likes her belly rubbed?”
“She’s not a dog, Gendry.”
“Well, she seems to enjoy it well enough.”
“That’s not… just don’t let Rickon see you doing that. Or Bran, for that matter.”
“Wh… why would His Grace take offence?”
Arya laughed as she burrowed back under the furs, but didn’t reply.
Nymeria made a displeased noise, and Gendry realised his hand had stopped moving. He gave her belly one last rub and got to his feet. “Sorry, girl, I have to leave now.” Nymeria’s eyes looked like two bright gold coins in the darkened chamber. Before he opened the door, he glanced at Arya’s sleeping form on the bed and leaned over to whisper in the wolf’s ear.
“Thank you.”