#housearya post

[house-arya]

Friendly reminder that Arya’s seen Gendry’s dick in ASOIAF canon

[house-arya]

Gendrya prompt - they think theyre being sneaky but literally everyone knows theyre together

arya was wedged in between bran and jon, supping with all the survivors. it had been nearly a moon since the night king had fallen, and the joy from the victory had seeped into the spirits of all who occupied winterfell. 

she raised her eyes from the stew to grant gendry a small smile. he returned it quickly before his ears flushed red. whether it was from her or the ale, she could not tell.

the clamor of the hall faded into the background, nothing but a buzz in her ear. “i’m going to get some practice in the yard,” she announced, maintaining eye contact with gendry. jon looked at her, confused. “you just said you were starving!”

“and now i’m not! that’s what eating does - it fills you up.”

her brother only scoffed and resumed his conversation with his beloved dragon queen, who sat at the head of the table with sansa.

arya pushed her chair away rather hastily and disappeared from the great hall. moments later, she turned to find gendry lurking right behind her.

“you were supposed to wait at least a minute,” she chided, sliding her hands up along his chest. gendry only rolled his eyes. “maybe i couldn’t wait that long,” he whispered, leaning in to press the ghost of a kiss on her forehead. arya looked up at him and grinned.

sansa cast her eyes to the ceiling and said a silent prayer to the old gods while tyrion patted her arm. “my dear sansa, i’m certain she’s fine.” she could only huff in response. across the table from her, tormund took a massive bite of chicken. “everyone knows they’re fucking, nothin’ wrong with that.” seeing sansa’s glare, he hastily added, “my lady.”

further down the table, bran sat stoically from his chair. like his sister, he also glanced upwards. “i wonder when he’ll ask her to marry him,” he mused, breaking his silence. two seats down, jon turned his attention to him.

“who?”

“gendry.”

“bran, what are you on about…”

jon met his gaze with a quizzical look (typical, really) before his eyes fell on arya’s empty seat. his mouth formed a small o in the realization that had just dawned on him. it was now that daenerys chimed in: “really, jon, even you of all people should have been able to see that. even jaime and brienne are discussing it.” she gestured over to the other side of the hall, where the pair had engaged in hushed tones, waving wildly at gendry and arya’s now-vacant seats.

jon merely sighed and pressed a palm to his forehead. seconds later, the cry of sandor clegane rippled through the hall: “oh for fuck’s sake, get a room!”

[house-arya]

full offense but i think arya and gendry should name their firstborn son matthos in honor of davos’ deceased son because tbh he’s been their dad

[house-arya]

he’ll always be yours (i)

Braavos could not quiet Arya’s heart or settle her longing for Westeros and the people she left behind. She’ll always find her way back to him, and he’ll always wait for her. Series written for Arya x Gendry week.

-- let’s run away

It was hard, sometimes. Gendry spent his days locked away in the smithy, pounding away at any steel he could get his ashen hands on. He breathed smoke and flame day in and day out, barely stopping to eat and sleep. When he did break, it was with a smile on his heart as he watched the inn come to life with the giggles of the young children.

Like Gendry, Jeyne Heddle worked tirelessly. She cherished all the orphans Gendry had grown used to and served her customers with unparalleled care alongside her younger sister, Willow. Their routine was a simple one, and he liked simple. At nights, Gendry would say goodnight to the children and tell them stories of a fierce warrior girl he had known and the small band of warriors that helped the innocent people of the Riverlands. He would tell them of the soaring red towers of the Red Keep and the Street of Steel, all stories from another lifetime.

But once they were asleep, he would always return to his forge and continue his work. He was preparing for something. He didn’t know what it was, but he was determined to be ready for whatever came. 

Jeyne sometimes watched while he worked. Gendry was often too focused to notice or care, quite frankly, but he did give a grunt of acknowledgment if she spoke to him.

He never considered why she was always sneaking glances at him or testing out various hairstyles. The Brotherhood often made japes when she wasn’t around, but nevertheless, he would shake his head and resume polishing his steel. 

Gendry was always of the oblivious sort. A little slow at times, and altogether not too bright, which is precisely why he saw no reason to object when Jeyne bade him sit with her by the fire one night. Together, they nursed a bottle of wine Tom had managed to snag a few months ago. She laughed more freely than he had ever heard, and he saw the flush settle on her cheeks.

The inn had been closed for several hours, and the children were all snuggled away in their beds. The customers had retreated to the quiet of their respective rooms, too, and so they sat there alone. Fire danced in their eyes, strokes of orange and red painting the empty room they now occupied.

He was rather content sitting and watching the flames coax the logs to feed the crackling fire. Jeyne’s voice cut the silence like a fine dagger, and he shifted beneath her touch. “Why aren’t we married yet?” Her voice was a low, hesitant whisper. She stroked his arm gently, but the wine had dulled his head and he didn’t pull away from her feathery touch. 

They practically were married, he thought. They had even laid together in a drunken stupor once. But he didn’t love Jeyne, and he didn’t think he ever could. Gendry supposed they could wed, just for the simplicity of it. 

He considered their future together, what it would be like to permanently share a bed with her for the rest of her days. Staying at the inn, working at the single anvil the forge possessed. Nothing to call his own except maybe the wedding band he would have to make for him and his wife. And the hordes of children… No, he couldn’t stay here forever. Not with Jeyne or anybody, for that matter. And she would never sell her father’s inn or leave Willow.

“I can’t marry you,” he finally croaked out. In his peripheral, he saw her face fall. He should’ve looked her in the eyes while he denied her, denied their future, but he couldn’t bring himself to face that.  

“It wouldn’t ever work between us,” he continued, fishing for the right words. “You have your sister to think of and I--”

“--can’t stay here forever,” she finished, nodding sadly. The silence enveloped them once again. The tension was about to burst, and he squirmed uncomfortably while she withdrew her hand. 

Gendry thought of his friends, and the family the Brotherhood had come to be. Arya was likely dead, having been captured by the bloody Hound. He really should kill Sandor Clegane for taking her from him. Or he should go to her brother Jon up north and tell him how much Arya loved him and how often she spoke of him. 

Her love was fierce, and he had felt it when she asked him to stay and be his family. That was the biggest regret of his life, he reflected, while staring deep into the fiery red fury. The heat threatened to melt him to a puddle; sweat was beginning to gather upon his brow.

Jeyne deserves someone who doesn’t yearn for a dead girl. Jeyne was sweet and she was kind. Her eyes glistened in the light and were a beautiful hazel, but they weren’t the steel grey Gendry had been mesmerized by. She didn’t have the wild in her, either. Not like Arya.

Peace did not come easy to him that night. Surprisingly, the wine did not help lull him to the lumbering sleep he desperately wished for. Arya was all he could think about. He usually shoved memories of her away, but after tonight, the thought of her and her wolfish grin consumed him alive.

Less than a fortnight after Jeyne’s question, the storms hit as winter began in earnest. It had been storming all day, and a horrid wind screeched throughout the night. It threatened to shatter the windows and nearby thunder rumbled so loudly the children could not sleep. The inn was full to bursting with no room left unoccupied.

Gendry slept in a small room on the first floor. He liked it there, as he was able to slip in and out quietly without having to worry about waking anyone on the creaky stairs. Two of the boys slept by his feet tonight. They were small enough to curl around each other, and Gendry’s presence helped calm them as the storm raged on, violent as war. He could not sleep, but he was grateful that the children were able to find some small comfort. They tired easily with all the work to be done and the constant upkeep of the inn; those boys needed any rest they could find.

It came as a surprise to him when he heard the banging on the door. Somehow, over the howls of the wind and the snores of the boys, he managed to hear a knock. Gendry slid from his bed, careful not to disturb Jack and Alyn, and raced through the hall to the front door. He threw it open with a fury, ushering the stranger inside.

The stranger ducked inside and pulled off their soaking coat immediately. Once the hood was removed, Gendry caught sight a gnarled braid that streamed down their back. He assumed it to be a girl then, and he had barely started to say We don’t have any spare rooms, but I’ll set you up by the fire when she turned and locked those cloudy grey eyes on him.

“Oh,” was all she could manage as he swept her up in a fierce hug. “How are you alive?” he breathed into her hair. “Gods, you should be dead!”

“I will be dead if you don’t let go of me, idiot.”

He quickly apologized and released her, but kept his hold on her arms. Arya quirked an eyebrow and glanced down at his hands latched onto her forearms. “Sorry,” he said while pulling away. “S’all right, just be careful you great buffoon,” she quipped. Arya turned around and glanced about the empty room. The embers of the fire gleamed in the dark; the only other source of light was from the lightning that struck miles away. 

Gendry ran his hands through his hair, staring at her. “You look...good,” he finally said. She snorted. “I’m soaking wet in the middle of the night after riding against the wind for an hour, and I look good? You must’ve only gotten stupider with age.” Arya spun on her heel and headed to the fire, hanging her cloak by it.

He followed her, throwing some more logs into the fireplace and poking at the embers, encouraging them to reignite with the full force they burned at only hours ago. When the flames began jumping at the wood with sudden vigor, Gendry turned back to the girl. Not just a girl, a woman, he corrected himself.

And it was true. Her hair, no longer chopped sloppily, still dripped onto the floor but somehow glistened with the drops of rain. He once would have compared it to dirt, just to get a rise out of her, but now he would say it was akin to the sleek brown coat of a warhorse, or the kind brown of Alyn’s eyes. Arya was not much taller than she had been, but she was tall enough to look grown, and her chest had filled out. Some of her baby fat had fallen away from her cheeks, and now she possessed the long face of the North. Her troubled eyes looked hardened by the years, but otherwise, they remained unchanged.

“We don’t have any open rooms,” he started, but Arya cut him off. “I can sleep here. It’s no trouble.” She swiftly cracked her neck, and then collapsed to the floor. Gendry scoffed. “No, you can take my bed. I’ve slept on the ground before. I do have two of the boys asleep at the foot of the bed, but-”

“You have children?”

Her calm and steady face fell away into one of shock. Gendry quickly shook his head. “No! I mean, we look after them, but they’re not mine, we’ve got about a dozen or so I reckon? I’m not really sure, I haven’t counted them all, but-” He didn’t get to finish that thought, either; Arya cut him off again. “Who is ‘we’?” she interrupted.

“Jeyne, she’s the girl who runs this inn. With her sister. I help out where I can, but I mostly work in the forge and try to sell stuff to passerbys in need of a good sword or two. I’m teaching one of the boys, and will teach the rest, ‘cept only when they’re older.” He was rambling now. “They’re still a bit young to be frolicking about the fire and steel.”

Arya shook her head in wonder. “Well,” she remarked dryly. “You’ve certainly built up a life for yourself here.” Gendry swallowed thickly. Her tone changed, and she spoke much softer now. She was still a skinny little thing, but the fire in her didn’t burn as brightly as it would have. It was more… controlled. Restrained, perhaps? He couldn’t be sure.

“Right. Well, I’ll stay here. I’ll see you in the morning,” she announced before turning her back to him and curling up. She laid her head on her damp arm, staring into the flames. He nodded stiffly and turned his back on her.

He returned in under a minute, draping a blanket over her. She was already asleep, and she stirred lightly as he covered her with the wool. Jeyne had sewn it for him some months ago, but he figured Arya would need it more than him.

Gendry slipped into a dream where Tom sang songs about bells and acorns. Arya was laughing and dancing around the fire, but when he tried to join her, she turned into a great wolf and bit his head clean off. His head, now decapitated, watched as she prowled away into a dark forest. Tom and Lem laughed at him, and Jeyne gazed at him coldly.

You could have had me, y’know. Might still have had your head attached to your shoulders, then, she said. 

Then darkness consumed him.

Gendry did not see Arya in the morning, and he desperately hoped she didn’t take off once the storm settled. He worked sullenly in his forge, only speaking to Alyn when absolutely necessary. His student did not comment on his quiet demeanor. 

For hours, they slaved away, studying the craft of metalworking. He showed Alyn how to curate the perfect flame needed to beat a longsword into existence, taking the time to explain every step and make sure the boy thoroughly understood everything, down to the last detail. Come midday, Gendry and Alyn returned to the inn to help feed the rest of the orphans (and themselves.)

He snuck a glance around the tables to search for Arya. Unsurprisingly, she was not there. He considered asking Jeyne for her, but he could already see the ice in her eyes as she realized that the girl who ruined her closest chance for love was invading her home. No, he could not cause her any more pain.

Alyn and Gendry returned to the forge after the indoor work was done, studying their craft until the sun began to slink behind the trees and their hands ached. Gendry released his apprentice come supper, instead choosing to linger in his forge. 

For a time, he stared at the helmet he was making before setting to work again. How does a smith’s apprentice take metal and shape it into a lion’s mane? Gendry bit down on his lip, carefully studying the crude helm before him. Fucking Lannisters, he thought bitterly. But deep inside, he knew he’d rather think about the Lannisters than the girl who showed up on his front step during the thundering storm.

Gendry thought of the nights he spent curled up near her scrawny body. He thought of her hushed whispers to him and her hushed prayer she started saying after they were caught by the Mountain’s men. A cruel memory stabbed at the back of his mind, threatening to break through. He remembered being grabbed by the back of his ratted clothes, Arya’s eyes going wide as he was chosen to be taken to the Tickler. Even all these years later, the questions burned in his mind. 

Is there gold hidden in the village? Is there silver? Gems? 

Gendry set to work, biting his lip so hard it bled.

Is there food? Where is Lord Beric? Where did he go? 

The metal was hot enough. If he wasn’t careful he would burn himself.

How many men were with him? How many knights? How many bowmen? 

Bang. Clink. Bang.

How many, how many, how many, how many, how many, how many? 

The mane began to take form.

HOW MANY HOW MANY HOW MA-

Gendry missed the helm and pierced his finger. He swore loudly, leaping back from his workbench. He shook his hand furiously, cursing every damned god he could think of. The fucking Tickler. Fucking Lannisters.

Fucking Arya.

“Careful. Don’t want to lose those hands of yours,” a voice said. Of course, he already knew who it was. He turned around, glowering at that little smirk that rested so easily on her face. “I’m fine,” he said evenly. (Inside, he desperately, desperately wanted to tend to it.)

She rolled her eyes and stepped in through the door frame. “No, you’re not. It’s open and you’ve been working with metal. You need to clean that.” Arya moved closer to him and pulled him away from the workbench, taking out a small vial. She poured it onto his hand before he could ask what it was; it stung like the seven hells, though, and it took everything in him not to recoil from its touch. Quickly, she took a clean gauze from one of her pockets and deftly wrapped it around him.

Gendry noticed how she held his hand for a moment too long. He definitely noticed when her breath hitched as he yanked her closer to him. Looking down at her, he whispered, “Thank you.” She swallowed thickly before spinning away from him.

“I have a proposition for you,” she said. Gendry raised his eyebrow before gesturing for her to continue. “Why don’t we run away?”

[house-arya]

he’ll always be yours (ii)

-- marry me, now

“Might I fetch you another slice of bread, miss?” The boy had dark green eyes that glowed with mischief, his lips twitching upwards. Arya studied him for a moment, before nodding her head. He turned around the table and dashed behind the counter, vanishing into the kitchen. Arya swallowed the last remnants of her eggs and glanced sullenly about the room.

It was warm -- and brightly lit -- unlike the last time she was here with the Hound. It was strange to be back, and stranger still that Gendry of all people was here. She had last seen him just before the Red Wedding, right when she had been kidnapped.

After that day, she vowed never to be taken again. And so she trained and worked herself bloody to learn the skills of the Faceless Men. She had arrived at Braavos a child and left a warrior.

She thought it amusing that she should end up at the same place Gendry settled at. Ironic, but still a cruel joke by the Many-Faced God. She spent years trying to forget that face. Desperately trying to forget that stupid smile and stupid laugh. The entire situation was utterly and ridiculously stupid.

Maybe she hadn’t left Braavos after all. Maybe she was on a fool’s errand to come back and save the remainder of her family. But was Gendry part of her pack still?

Was he ever part of your pack? A voice inside sneered at her, taunting and unmerciful as ever. Shut up, she replied. 

She spent the rest of the morning exploring the area, poking around the High Road. Arya hadn’t accounted for finding Gendry here, or anywhere, for that matter. She just needed a place to stay for the night to wait out that brutal storm. Had Gendry not been here, she would’ve been on her way the moment the storm let up. She needed to reach the Wall as quickly as possible, and yet she wasted half a day nonetheless.

She might be too late by the time she actually made it there.

Thoughts of Gendry and home and the horrible truth she had realized in Essos plagued her mind for the whole day. She should’ve saddled her horse and rode off, but she couldn’t leave him. Could she?

Somehow, Arya found her way to the forge by early evening, just as the sun began to dip behind the surrounding trees. She watched him stare intently at the helm before him for several minutes as he pounded away. He let out a yelp when he accidentally struck his thumb, dancing away from his workstation. 

“Careful. Don’t want to lose those hands of yours,” she said, trying not to laugh. “‘M fine,” he grumbled, shaking his thumb lightly. Arya could only snort; she learned that lesson with steel the hard way.

“No, you’re not. It’s open and you’ve been working with metal. You need to clean that.” He huffed unhappily, but stretched out his palm nevertheless as she drew near him. She retrieved her vial of firemilk and took great care to dab it gently, remembering how the potion seemed to burn her own wounds worse than any actual injury she ever sustained.

Arya saw him clench his other fist to keep from squirming. She admired the brave face he put on. The first time she used it, tears stung her eyes. It did not take long to apply, but the feeling of his hand in hers was almost too good to let go of.

Gendry was not just a blacksmith. (And even if he was, he was her blacksmith, just like Mikken at Winterfell had been.) But Gendry was so very different than Mikken. Gendry was warmth and sturdiness. He was a certain kind of strength, and the lingering smell of grease and smoke felt like home. 

With a start, Arya realized she was still holding his hand. She stepped away, intending to release it at once, but he pulled her close to him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Her breath hitched, but she recovered almost instantaneously and twirled away from him. His eyes were stormy, just as it had been the previous night. Then she remembered what she had come here for in the first place.

“I have a proposition for you,” she began. “Why don’t we run away?” Gendry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m traveling North. I could use someone on the road with me.” He continued to stare. “Just to watch my back,” she hastily added.

“Arya, I…” Gendry screwed his eyes shut, struggling to respond. “They need me here, Arya. I can’t just leave.” She nodded sympathetically, biting the inside of her cheek before taking a step back. 

You wouldn’t be my family.

“No, it’s fine. I get it,” she said. “I’ve stayed here too long. I’ll be leaving in the morning.” Or in the middle of the night, when you won’t be there to change my mind. Gendry avoided her gaze and stared at his feet before looking up to her, just like Bran used to. That didn’t matter though. All that mattered was that she reached the Wall before it was too late.

He finally looked up to her and gestured to the helmet before him. “Well, I should… get back to work, I guess,” he said. Arya dipped her head, but hesitated: “Why are you making a Lannister helmet?”

Gendry ran his non-injured hand through his coarse, black hair and sighed. “I’ve been making helmets for every house I could think of. For protection. Just in case some noble passes by and wants some declaration of loyalty or some gift… I would have something to give them.” 

Arya peered around him and saw in the corner a helm with great, bronze antlers that reached towards the heavens, as well as a second that bore the snarling mouth of a wolf and glassy, hardened eyes. Her breath caught as she recognized its likeness, her house sigil. Great, beautiful, and dangerous were the Stark children’s direwolves. Arya could almost feel the sensation of wind ruffling in her fur. 

Gendry must’ve noticed that her attention fell on the helmet, so he retrieved it for her and practically thrust it into her hands. She gently grasped it, running her hands over the smooth grey metal. In its carved eyes, she saw Grey Wind and Robb, Lady and Sansa, Summer and Bran, Shaggydog and Rickon. But most of all, she saw Ghost and Jon. 

Gods above, she missed them all.

Arya swallowed thickly and handed the helmet back to Gendry, turning her back to him and leaving the forge without another word.

She had a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

Arya had officially gotten a room once one opened up. It was small, but it would work well enough. She peeled off her exterior coat and flung it across the room, marching towards her satchel. Tucked inside was her proof that the dead were walking. She opened up the parchment, just to see that it was still there.

She eventually slunk downstairs, hoping to snag a small piece of bread before dinner. She flitted from corner to corner, willing herself to remain unseen. Just for practice, she told herself. It wasn’t that she intended to eavesdrop on Jeyne and Gendry, but that’s exactly what happened, anyway.

“...needs to leave, Gendry.” “We can’t just...” “Yes, we can.”

There was a moment of silence, and for every moment that dragged on, her heart seemed to beat faster.

“Will you marry me?”

Her heartbeat skipped. There was no answer. Please, please say no, Gendry. Say no.

The silence persisted, and Arya’s heart was screaming for her to interrupt, to drag Gendry away from this place where he had to live in fear, away from Jeyne and her husband-and-wife fantasy, away from a life without Arya in it.

I lost you once Gendry, I don’t know if I could lose you again.

“We’ve...we’ve been over this before. You know I can’t.” “You mean you won’t. You want to abandon us all for that girl.” “For fuck's sake, Jeyne, I just...Gods!”

Arya heard shuffling coming her way and immediately darted off, dashing out of the kitchen and into the yard. She checked on her horse, trying to plot the rest of her journey up north. She would most likely have to stop near Moat Cailin, but it would still be best if she veered east of The Kingsroad. There would be too many eyes watching the road. 

Her concentration broke when she heard Gendry calling out her name. She stepped out from the makeshift stable, boots crunching on the dried hay. His face was red, but his eyes carried a gleam of determination that she hadn’t seen from him before.

“I’ll come with you. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

I will be your family.

“Good,” she said, putting a hand on the hilt of Needle, “The world’s about to end.” If the news she bore hadn’t been so grim, she would have laughed at the mere look on his face.

[house-arya]

So for a prompt could you do jealous arya?

I also got a request for a jealous gendry, so I decided to combine those two together!

this past winter was still hard on everyone, but the victors finally had their first truly warm day in months. the war with cersei was finally over, and peace had settled over the realm. much to arya’s relief, the monarchy was in the process of being redesigned into a more just system.

(”good,” gendry said to her one night. “a team of advisors to guide the people will be better for everyone.”)

she was originally the one to suggest a better way to balance power, rather than bicker over the throne. though her chest swelled with pride when everyone proclaimed that to be an excellent idea, arya felt as though she was being held captive in king’s landing until the talks were completed.

(”i just want to go home,” she confessed. “and be with you.”)

as the sun swept away the grey clouds that had dominated the skies for so long, arya had agreed to help podrick practice in the yard. after all, it would be a shame to stay inside and waste away.

“you’re holding your sword too low. you must be ready to pounce like a cat.” arya gestured for him to attack her. podrick ran a hand through his mop of hair, neglecting to wipe the beads of sweat collecting on his brow. determined to get it right this time, he positioned himself correctly and held his sword steady in front of him.

he lunged and arya danced away from him, twirling in circles with her sword behind her back. with a grunt of frustration, podrick managed to bring his blade close to her, but not before she deflected it and disarmed him.

“better. now try again.”

this continued for several hours as the sun beat down on the two warriors in the yard of the red keep. eventually, when they were both coughing on the dust they had kicked up, they took a break to share a water skin.

podrick gave her a small smile: “thank you for agreeing to help me, my lady. i really appreciate it.” arya was just about to dismiss his thanks with it’s no trouble, really when she noticed a tear glistening in his eye.

her brow furrowed in confusion. “what’s the matter, pod?” her voice was tender, intimate even. he noticed the shift in her usual direct tone and hastily scrubbed his eye with the back of his hand.

“nothing…” he murmured. arya raised an eyebrow. “i just wish i had been, y’know, better before. maybe i could’ve saved more people…” she put a steady hand on his shoulder.

“listen to me, pod,” she said evenly. “you are a great fighter. and you did all that you could with the skills you had. things turned out exactly the way they needed to be.” her face softened, as did his. “we’ve both lost a lot to war. we out it to our loved ones to live our lives in their memory.”

podrick glanced bashfully at the ground before offering a smile. arya grinned, “now come here, you.” she reached her other arm around his neck and gave him a tight squeeze. “we’ll be alright in the end, i promise.” pod simply nodded, in awe of the wise young woman before him.

after a moment, they brushed the dirt off themselves, stood, and picked up their weapons to begin training anew.

the only trouble was that gendry saw the entire thing, from across the pathway to the forge.

earlier that morning, he had glanced up to see her and his friend sparring in the yard. he smiled quietly to himself and continued to watch their blades collide. he loved to watch arya do watch she loved, and it brought him great pride to know the greatest warrior in all of westeros loved him of all people.

come midday, however, he paused his work to observe the fight once more. he noticed her little hand slip up to podrick’s shoulder; soon enough they were locked in a tight hug. he frowned and chewed the inside of his lip before turning back.

that didn’t sit right with him.

when dusk fell, gendry put his work away and went to have a quick meal before returning to his chamber.

gendry had refused the title of “lord baratheon” for some time now. maybe one day he would finally accept, but only if that’s what arya wanted. until that day came, dany insisted he at least stay somewhere inside the keep. gendry knew he would be closer to arya that way, so he had accepted. typically, he was very friendly with the staff, but after seeing that touch, that lingering embrace, he was tight-lipped and curt with them.

the blonde girl, who sometimes brought him food or drew him a bath, was quick to notice. “ser, whatever is the matter?” she asked of him after he grunted in the hall. “nothing,” he grumbled. she gave him a knowing look. “let me draw you a bath. mayhaps that will put your soul at ease.”

and for once, gendry didn’t protest. weariness had seeped into his bones, his soul, and his heart.

that evening, arya strolled down the halls of the red keep. her muscles ached after the day of teaching, but in the best way possible. it was with a smile on her heart she sought out gendry.

treading lightly on the floor, arya entered his private chamber with every intention of sneaking up on him. rounding the corner, however, she peered inside to see him stripping. with a smirk, she pushed into the room but came to an abrupt halt when she saw that he wasn’t alone.

the girl was away from him, her back turned, and she had just finished preparing his bath. gendry quickly set himself in the tub and picked up the soap, but the girl snatched it away from him. “you’ve clearly had a hard day, m’lord. allow me.”

if arya had stayed a moment longer, she would’ve seen gendry refuse. seen him dismiss her gently and seen the girl leave with a little flourish. but she didn’t stay.

the tears were burning in her eyes, and she angrily wiped them away as she melted back into the hallway of the keep. 

for the remainder of the night, arya lurked in the yard and stabbed angrily at any practice dummies she could get her hands on. eventually, she returned to her chamber for a feeble attempt at sleep. (it just ended in her punching the pillow frequently.)

at breakfast, she avoided eye contact with gendry; he didn’t seek her out, either. honestly, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to try or not. arya found podrick around midday and convinced him to spar with her. it was not twenty minutes into their session that arya had all but pummeled him to pieces.

“my lady arya, i ask that you do not beat my squire up any longer!” ser brienne had shouted. arya stalked off in response.

as the anger (and the fear of the truth) raced through her veins, arya resolved to  find gendry and - most likely - yell and demand an explanation. the only issue was she couldn’t find him anywhere.

in the end, it was gendry who found arya. he arrived at her chambers at midnight with a soft rap on the door. she hesitated to allow him in. 

“arya, i know you’re in there.” gendry called. with a deep sigh, her feet padded across the stone floor. she cracked the door open. 

“i heard you gave pod quite the beating today.”

“it was practice.”

a pause before he whispered, “can we talk?” gendry’s eyes looked frightened, desperate even. she nodded slowly, then gestured for him to slip in unnoticed.

they stared at each other for a moment, once securely inside. arya raised her eyebrows. “well?”

gendry summoned every ounce of courage he had and spoke. “do you not… want me around anymore? i know that pod’s a very attractive young man as well, and i’ve heard the rumors about him…”

arya’s eyebrows shot up once again. “i’m sorry, pod? whatever gave you that idea?” her lover cast his eyes to the floor, and heat flooded her. he must’ve seen their talk. “oh, gendry, no. podrick was upset and i just tried to cheer him up. that’s all it ever was.” seeing his look of relief, however, she turned on him quickly. “i think i’m the one that should be upset after your…experience last night,” she snapped.

it was gendry’s turn to be surprised. “what?”

“the girl. in your bath. with you.” arya’s gaze bore deep into him. “naked,” she added, for emphasis. gendry looked at her wildly. “arya, i…no! she just prepared the bath! i sent her away right after.” arya quirked her eyebrow. (gendry had always found that to be quite attractive.) 

“i mean, she offered to help me, but i declined. that’s when she left. i swear to you arya, i could never do something like that because i…” the words began pouring out of his mouth, a desperate cascade of something getting dangerously close to the heart of the matter.

arya let her gaze soften. “what is it?” gendry turned his cheek to her, wary. one wrong word and it was all over. “nothing,” he whispered. she put a palm, coarse but kind, to his face and turned it back to look at her. “i want you to say it,” she  said. 

“i could never hurt you because,” he took a deep breath. “because i love you.”

and that was all arya ever needed to hear again as she melted into his existence.

[house-arya]

important

@morzeczka in rehearsal today:

if i were betrothed to a frey, i simply wouldn’t break the pact. rip to robb stark but i’m different.

[house-arya]

gendrya prompt : what if she accept his proposal, what would it be then?💖

pity struck her heart like a bolt of lightning as she saw the fire in his eyes. they were ablaze with something - she didn’t know what - but in his drunken stupor, she knew what he was saying couldn’t possibly be true.

could it?

no, it was not feasible. he could not love her. she yearned for his touch, his mouth on her own. ultimately, she gave in and stooped to his height, pressing his lips to hers. her heart raced for a moment, but she forced it to slow as they stood. 

a girl cannot be loved.

the wolf inside howled in pain.

“i’m not a lady. i never have been. that’s not me.” her words came out as a whisper. his smile faded, and the joy began to vanish entirely. much to her surprise, he didn’t protest. didn’t argue. didn’t beg. he just…accepted it. he simply nodded and began to walk away, perhaps to drink some more, and her heart cried no! no! you’re making a mistake! 

she could see sansa sighing in exasperation, the hound cursing her, jon smiling sadly. even now, she knew bran would shake his head. if she ever told them what had transpired, that was undoubtedly what they would do.

“wait.” the word left her mouth before she even realized what she was doing. gendry stopped so suddenly, arya thought he must’ve ran into a wall. her heart pounded like the drums of war; she worried all of winterfell could hear it as she took a deep breath. 

“i couldn’t be a lady, not even yours. and i have something to do, but after…” she paused, her hands quivering.  “i don’t think my life would be worth anything if you weren’t by my side, either.”

gendry took a step back in her direction, cautious. so arya continued. “if you’re okay with me not being proper and all, if you can wait until after this shitshow is over, then yes. i’ll marry you. and we’ll figure out the rest-” she was cut off suddenly as gendry crossed over to her and swept her into a kiss.

this was deeper, more passionate than the last. just like their first one, she noted. her hands snaked their way around the back of his neck and held him with no intention of ever letting go.

[house-arya]

I finally wrote another fic!! I would love to hear your feedback :) much love gendrya fam!

(also major shoutout to @winteroses for reviewing it for me)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters Characters: Arya Stark, Gendry Waters Additional Tags: it's been two years since i posted on here, wait maybe three, Shit, I don't know, i hope you enjoy!!!, Angst, Canon Divergent, Post Season 8, Pregnant Arya, listen you don't get tully fertility and the baratheon seed and expect nothing, One Shot Summary:

Arya struggles to become herself again after a lifetime of war. There were many who helped her on her path, but none so much as these people.

[house-arya]

send me gendrya prompts and I’ll write something!

[house-arya]

Arya: I won't hesitate to strangle you.

Gendry: Can you even reach my neck?

[house-arya]

Gendry: there's only one thing worse than dying.

Gendry: *rips off a paper to reveal the word 'children' above 'dying'*

Arya: children.

Gendry: nO

[house-arya]

someone: gendrya

me: 

⊂_ヽ 　 ＼＼ ＿ 　　 ＼( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) here 　　　 <　⌒ヽ comes 　　　/ 　 へ＼ the 　　 /　　/　＼＼ underrated 　　 ﾚ　ノ　　 ヽ_つ otp 　　/　/ ya’ll 　 /　/| need 　(　(ヽ to ship 　|　|、＼ 　| 丿 ＼ ⌒) 　| |　　) / `ノ )　 Lﾉ (_／ 

[house-arya]

Can't die if you disappear from the show.

[house-arya]

sansa x margaery - down with the kings

[house-arya]

Arya whirled and left him there. A stupid bullheaded bastard boy, that's all he is. He could ring all the bells he wanted, it was nothing to her.