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i. Jon and Lord Chalybs (wherein Jon Targaryen is Hand of the Queen, and Gendry is in King’s Landing as one of his knights)
"Not knowing was easier, in many ways." Gendry sighed, took another sip of wine, and continued, "I was very lucky, for an orphan from Flea Bottom. A noble paid for my apprenticeship, and Master Mott was always kind to me. Fed me well enough, gave me a penny now and then... for all his bad temper and threats, he never beat me, not once, he believed not even slaves should be beaten, let alone freefolk."
"He sounds like a good man."
"He was. I will never stop regretting the things I said to him when he told me to leave and join the Night's Watch."
"You couldn't possibly know th-"
"No. And that's it. I never knew, to this day I don't even know why Lord Varys wanted to keep me alive so badly, to be honest."
"Other than the obvious?"
"And just how obvious is the obvious? What good could an unacknowledged bastard be to any of his schemes?"
"Lord Varys never does anything without a reason, and he went to great lengths to protect you all through your life."
Gendry deflated a little. "I sounded ungrateful, that's not what I meant to say. All I meant was... what good has it brought me to know who my father was? I can't carry on his name, I can't even be called Waters. This," he gestured around the armoury, "is more than a bastard from Flea Bottom could ever dream of, and yet..."
"And yet a legitimate son of King Robert Baratheon could marry a true Stark without anyone’s opposition?"
Gendry's eyes widened. "M'lord..."
Jon smiled. "How oblivious do you think me, Gendry?" He filled Gendry’s cup and they both watched the wine pour, dark and red like blood.
“Why not ask the Queen, then?” Jon said after a pause.
“Even if she were foolish enough to give herself a contender, I would never ask. I’ve no interest in being legitimised.”
“And why wouldn’t you want to be legitimised?”
Gendry snorted. “I don’t have the cunning to play this game of thrones, nor would I want to, even if I did. What’s the use of making myself a target then?”
Jon smiled. “A good soldier with a claim to the throne and no political ambition whatsoever. If you asked the vipers at court they’d probably say you’re either the stupidest man in the capital, or the wisest”, he said and raised his cup in Gendry’s direction.
The next day, Gendry received word that the Queen was waiting for him in the Council chambers. He found her deep in conversation with Jon and almost turned around, not wishing to interrupt them, but as soon as the heavy oak door closed behind him with a thud, they both looked up at him and smiled.
Gendry bowed.
“Ser Gendry, please have a seat,” the Queen said.
A long moment of silence followed, where Danaerys observed him with her eerie violet eyes. “Your father murdered my brother,” she finally said. That was… not what Gendry was expecting.
Gendry's eyes flew to Jon's face and back to the Queen. “Your Grace, I don’t…”
She raised her hand. “Jon never knew his father. I never knew mine. And it is my understanding that neither did you.”
“No, Your Grace.”
“There isn’t much sense in living by the grudges of men none of us knew. Which is why I’ve decided to grant my nephew’s wish.”
Gendry blinked, confused.
The Queen rose and both men immediately followed suit. Jon made a strange motion with his hand and Gendry somehow understood he was meant to kneel.
“Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill, for your services to the realm, I’ve decided to name you First Lord Chalybs, and-”
Gendry’s head shot up. “Wh-” he interrupted.
“And,” Danaerys said pointedly, raising her eyebrows. “I hereby present you with Goldswater Castle as seat of your House, from this day until the end of your line.”
“I…” Gendry hesitated. “I’m not a man of words, Your Grace, and as such I can’t find any to express my gratitude.”
“Your gratitude should be repaid in loyalty, Lord Chalybs,” she smiled and paused, as if tasting the sound of the unfamiliar title on her tongue, “not in words.”
Gendry bowed again and nodded.
“So tell me,” she said, “would you like to request anything from the Crown, since my nephew is here as witness?” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Permission to marry, perhaps?”
Gendry gaped at her for a long moment, until the unmistakable sound of stifled laughter caught his attention. Jon seemed to be suffering a violent coughing fit, but the way his shoulders shook told a different story.
“Lord Chalybs?”
“Your… Your Grace?” he turned to look at the Queen again.
“This would be the time when you make your plea.”
“Oh.”
Danaerys tilted her head, a knowing smirk pulling at the ends of her mouth.
“Oh. Yes. Right.” Gendry closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Your Grace, I do have a request, should Your Grace’s mercy wish to grant it.”
“Then by all means, my lord, speak!”
ii. Sansa and the fairy tale (wherein Sansa is Queen in the North and announces that she shall give Arya’s hand to the man who can beat her in combat)
"Your Grace, it's not my place to say, but..." Gendry trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"Oh, it's just your place, I hear," Sansa said, turning away from the window to face him.
"Your Grace?"
"Please don't look so alarmed, Ser Gendry. If you had any reason to be, rest assured that you'd be aware. So. You were saying?"
"Ary— the Lady Arya, I mean, she'd only resent him the more, the lord who could beat her."
"But you do understand, she'll have to be wedded one day."
"I do, Your Grace. Probably much better than she does."
"You're a good man, Ser Gendry, and a true knight. Both qualities are hard enough to find on their own, but they're even rarer together.“
Gendry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not knowing how to respond to the compliment.
"Do you lover her?"
"Your Grace?"
"Just…” Sansa raised a hand. “Just answer me. Do you truly love her?"
Gendry sighed, then squared his shoulders and looked the Queen straight in the eye. "More than I love my own life, Your Grace."
"Good." She nodded once, apparently satisfied. On the table, Gendry noticed for the first time, there lay a sheathed sword. In a swift move, Sansa freed the blade from the heavily decorated scabbard to reveal the unmistakable glint of a Bravoosi rapier. Even as a smith, Gendry had rarely seen this level of craftsmanship.
"Wh..."
"The Queen in the North has vowed in your presence to have her sister wed the Lord who can beat her at the water dance, has she not?"
"Y... yes?"
Sansa raised her eyebrows and looked intently at Gendry. Seeing he remained rooted to the spot, she gave an impatient tilt of the head towards the stone floor. Oh. Oh. Gendry knelt.
Sansa smiled down at him, then gently rested the blade on Gendry’s left shoulder. "Ser Gendry, do you swear, by the old gods and the new, that should you win my sister’s hand, you shall be a truthful husband, loving, honouring and protecting her from your wedding day, and until your last day?"
"I swear, by the old gods and the new."
"Raise, Ser Gendry."
She extended the rapier to him. “I hope this weapon serves you well.”
Gendry gingerly took it, admiring the fine work of the smith who made it, the unique shine of Bravoosi steel, and perhaps it was the oddity of the situation that gave him the courage to speak bluntly. “Still. There's the small matter that she is actually much better than me,” he said, then added as an afterthought, “Better than any man, really."
Sansa nodded, as if considering his point. "I was never instructed in weaponry by my lord father the way my brothers were, but I do recall him saying more than once that the most difficult man to defeat is not the strongest, but the one who wishes to win more than anything. I suppose the other side of that coin would be that the weakest adversary is the one who wouldn't be opposed to losing, don't you think?"
"She... she'd never..."
"We shall see, Ser Gendry. Good day. And," she pointed towards the rapier, "I wish you the best of luck in your endeavours." And with that she sat at her table and unrolled one of the many scrolls covering its surface.
Gendry's hand was already pushing the door open when Sansa heard him say in a low voice, almost shyly, "Do you really?"
Sansa looked up and smiled. "I lost two brothers in the war. Perhaps it's time to acquire a new one," she answered quietly. Gendry smiled back and pushed the door all the way open.
iii. Rickon, Bran and Cerwyn (wherein Bran is King in the North and everyone in Winterfell seems to have gone mad)
Gendry got along well enough with Rickon, but he couldn't really say that he knew him. In his three years in Winterfell, they'd spoken perhaps twice (not that Rickon spoke much to anyone, most of the time he communicated in grunts and ran around the woods barefoot), and never alone, so Gendry was quite surprised when he showed up in the middle of the knights' morning training session, Shaggydog in tow, and requested a word.
"Your Highness?"
Rickon grunted and made a displeased face that Gendry took to mean he didn't like being addressed by title. He bit back a smile, reminded of Arya.
"I'll be brief. Have you ever been to Cerwyn, Gendry?"
Gendry frowned. “No, I haven’t, Your High--" Rickon narrowed his eyes. "No, can’t say I have.”
“It’s just a half-day ride from Winterfell," Rickon spat out, staring intently into Gendry's eyes.
Gendry looked at him. He hoped there was more to this conversation because so far he couldn't make any sense of it
"It… it is?"
"Yes. But Shaggydog could probably make it in less than that."
Gendry couldn't for the life of him come up with a pertinent answer, so he merely nodded.
"And it's been a rather long time since he's tasted human flesh, you know."
Gendry began to wonder whether the Lords of Cerwyn had reason to be seriously concerned. Gendry certainly was starting to be, on their behalf.
"Do you understand me, Gendry?"
No. "I..."
"Good."
And with that, Rickon spun on his heel and headed back into the castle. When Gendry went back to his practice, he tried to come up with a subtle way of asking the other knights whether he'd been hit on the head that morning.
That evening after supper, when he was discussing with the King the replacement for one of the bowmen, Bran casually looked at him out of the corner of his eye and said, “I hear Cerwyn is lovely this time of year,” with a barely suppressed smirk.
A little later, Bran passed him a silver bowl of fruit. “Have you tried these cherries? They’re from Cerwyn Castle, their glass gardens a sight to behold, I’m told.” And then he winked at Gendry. Winked.
Gendry was beginning to have the distinct impression that people were keeping things from him. Either that, or the Starks had all gone mad and were planning to take a holdfast that was already sworn to them.
Gendry walked into his quarters to find Arya sitting cross-legged on his bed. She looked up at him as he sat down next to her and he could see she'd been crying. She didn't seem upset, however. In fact, she was wearing a watery smile. He brushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear and let his hand linger. Arya turned her face into his palm, leaving a soft kiss against his pulse point.
"I once asked my father if," she paused and swallowed with difficulty, and Gendry wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She hardly ever talked about Ned Stark. "I asked him if one day I would rule my own holdfast, and he said that I couldn't, but that one day I’d marry a high lord and rule over his castle instead."
There was a feeling of dread in Gendry's stomach, but if his worst fears were about to come true, why in the seven hells was she smiling?
"Lady Cerwyn is very ill, her fevers are only getting worse and the Maester said it was a matter of days."
"Cerwyn?"
"Yes, Cerwyn Castle is…"
"A half-day’s ride South."
"How do you…" Arya started to ask, but Gendry shook his head.
"It matters none. You were speaking of Lady Cerwyn."
"Yes. Jonella. She never married, her brother was killed when Winterfell was taken, and most of her relatives died at…” she trailed off and looked away. Gendry understood.
“The Twins?” he gently supplied so she wouldn’t have to say it.
Arya nodded. “Her only living cousin is married to a Lord in the Riverlands and has already declared she has no interest in claiming the title, since she and her husband are both on in years and childless. That means..."
"... the lands of House Cerwyn will revert to their King."
If Arya was surprised he knew that, she didn't let on. Slowly, she cupped Gendry's face with her small hands and smiled. "Bran has given me Castle Cerwyn."
Gendry swallowed, the lead in his stomach quickly turning to ice. “I’m… very happy for you.”
“Happy for me?” She frowned.
“I thought… you just said…”
“Do you have any idea what this means?”
“I think not, m’lady, because by my idea you wouldn’t be smiling. Shouldn’t, at least. Hopefully.”
Arya laughed. Laughed.
“Don’t you see, you oaf?” She said and gave him a quick kiss. “He’s set me free, Gendry. Free.”
“But…”
“And, as one of his most trusted men, he’ll be assigning you with my protection.”
“But won’t he… surely you’ll be expected to…” Gendry could barely bring himself to speak the words aloud. “… to take a husband?”
“Rickon’s betrothal to Shireen will be announced soon. Sansa is Lady of Highgarden and Jon is Hand of the Queen. Bran believes we’re pretty much served when it comes to royal alliances.”
Gendry just gaped at her in disbelief.
“Aren’t you…” Arya bit her lip nervously. “Aren’t you happy?”
“Happy?”
“Don’t you wish to come with me to Cerwyn, Gendry?”
“For…” he swallowed. “For how long?”
“For h— are you seriously this stupid? Forever, Gendry.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?”
Gendry leant forward and kissed her once, deeply.
“Well,” he said once they parted, “I hear the glass gardens in Cerwyn Castle are a sight to behold.”