Chapter Text
-Arya-
Arya closed her eyes as she took in the briny smell of the water as the ship moved out of the bay and into the waters of the Narrow Sea. It would be a long journey, but thankfully there were plenty of ports along the way to resupply her ship before heading out into the Sunset Sea. She had contemplated sailing out of Lannisport, but the crew and captain she had acquired were predominantly from King’s Landing and hadn’t wanted to spend weeks crossing land when they could be on the water.
Arya had done her best to prepare for the journey, but the fact was that no maps existed of what lay across the Sunset Sea. She didn’t know what she would find or if she would even make it to land. For all she knew, she was sailing into an abyss or maybe sailing off the edge of the world. But she wasn’t frightened by the prospect of the unknown. She had seen enough horrors in her life that fear of the unknown was not one of the things she worried about.
When she reopened her eyes, she noted that dusk was approaching. The setting sun painted the dark waters in shades of deep orange and blood red. She could hear the sounds of her crew behind her, making bawdy jokes, already comfortable enough with her presence that they had no use holding their tongues around her. The scuffing sound of boots making their way across the deck and toward her caught her attention, but she didn’t turn.
Tentatively, his arms came around her middle and she leaned back into him to show it was alright to touch her. The last few days he had been approaching her like she was a frightened animal and he was scared she would run off. His chin dropped on top of her head and she felt a bit of the tension leave his body as he let loose an exhale.
Arya laid her hands atop his on her stomach, showing him she didn’t want him to move any time soon. At any other time, Arya could have stood in silence for hours, comfortable with the lack of conversation. But Gendry always brought out a different side of her, and this time it was uncertainty, which she hated. She chewed on her lip, an old habit from childhood which she thought she’d left behind in Braavos.
“You’re sure this is what you want?” Her own voice surprised her – quiet, unsure, a bit pathetic-sounding, if she was honest.
He chuckled into her hair. “What a stupid question,” he said.
“You’ve left behind a lordship,” she paused, “And before that, a kingdom.”
“We both know that I wasn’t fit to be king, or lord either.”
She turned in his arms and he stood up straighter, looking down at her in confusion. She imagined that her expression matched his. She’d known he was on the boat, of course, but they hadn’t had a detailed conversation of just how Gendry had come to the decision to leave it all behind. He was quiet, seemingly waiting on her to elaborate, but Arya didn’t have the words just yet to ask him the questions that were gnawing at her. They stared at each other expectantly, but Arya knew she’d win out. She could go hours without talking, while Gendry tended to have a need to say what was on his mind.
A look of exasperation flitted across his features and Arya suppressed a smirk as he finally cracked. “If you’re asking if I regret it, the answer is no.”
“Your entire life,” she said quietly, “you’ve had to fight to stay alive. You rarely knew where your next meal was coming from. You’re raised to lordship and within a few months, you leave it. How can you let go of the first secure thing in your life?”
“I didn’t want to be a lord to feel more secure, Arya. You know that,” his blue eyes moved from her face to look out over the water. “A lordship was a means to an end, but my plan failed. I have no need of it now.”
Arya knew he had laid it all out for her before now, but it was still difficult to believe that she was his primary motivation for the things he’d done. Arya remembered that before she’d left Winterfell, she had gone to visit Sansa in her solar. The door adjoining the solar to Sansa’s private room was open and they could hear the maids gossiping. Sansa had snickered when the maids had begun commenting on the new Lord Baratheon.
“So handsome.”
“Have you seen his eyes? Blue as the sky.”
“Tall, well-built….”
The girls had sighed and giggled as they shared their opinion on the newly-made lord and Arya’s mood had grown sour. She wanted to storm into the room and tell them he was more than a pretty face. He was kind, and protective, and fiercely loyal.
Now, she found herself thinking the same things those girls had been speaking about. Gendry was very handsome. She’d always known it objectively, but she hadn’t developed feelings for him because of how handsome he was. But now, staring up into those startling blue eyes, her fingers itching to trace his strong jawline, she wondered what he saw in her.
She had accepted long ago that she would never be as beautiful as Sansa – had even accepted that she was plain at best, and though she’d been told numerous times since then that she was quite pretty, she never really felt it. But Gendry had called her beautiful. Aside from her looks, Arya knew she’d always been difficult. As a child, her temper and impulsivity had gotten her into trouble from the time she could walk and talk. Then, after she’d spent her time at the House of Black and White, she realized that some parts of her had died along with her parents and her brothers.
She had come back colder, more distant, not near as sociable as she’d been as a child. She was unable to decide if she’d changed for better or worse. It seemed that she just shifted from one kind of difficult to another.
But Gendry had known both versions of her, had loved both versions of her to hear him tell it. In her darker moment, she had thought that maybe a better fit for Gendry would have been Sansa. They certainly would have made beautiful children. And when Gendry became a lord and it still looked as though the North may not gain its independence, it had even occurred to Arya that Gendry and Sansa might make a good marriage match. She had tried to be logical about it, but it had only made her inexplicably angry at both Sansa and Gendry, though she should have been angry at herself.
“What if I can’t make you happy?” Arya asked, her voice barely audible. But Gendry had been studying her face, watching her lips, and whether or not he heard her or read her lips, she wasn’t sure – but he knew what she’d said. And he laughed.
His arms squeezed her to him more tightly and he pressed a kiss against her forehead. She tried to ignore the big, stupid smile on his face that indicated he thought she was being ridiculous. “Don’t be so stupid,” he teased, throwing words at her that she might have said to him. “You make me happy all the time. Well, most of the time… I wasn’t happy when you left Winterfell without saying good-bye. You make me really happy when you pout like a child because you feel vulnerable when there’s no reason for it.”
“Shut up,” she hissed, wriggling out of his arms. She stomped on his foot, lightly kicked him in the shin, and jumped back while he bent over to rub at his sore leg.
“Best be nice to me,” Gendry said, smiling through a wince as he stood back up. He’d likely have a bruise on his shin. “I was a lord for a while, you know. I’ve grown used to being treated more gently.”
Arya rolled her eyes and snorted. “You’re traveling with the wrong woman if you want gentle.”
“Lady Stark,” Gendry said, something sparking in his eyes as he stepped close to her again, towering over her. She didn’t move back, but tilted her chin up to look at him. “Are you saying you like things rough?”
Arya lost the struggle to keep the smirk from her lips. “Might be.”
His hands fell to her hips, pulling her flush against him as he dipped down to graze his lips against hers. “Keep up this kind of talk and I’ll have to get the captain to marry us now.”
She swatted at his chest, but it was half-hearted. His breath ghosting against her lips was making her weak and rather than fight it, she closed her eyes and tilted her face up. “You’re such an idiot,” she murmured just before he kissed her properly.
~*~*~
Sansa sat watching Jon as they shared their last meal before she headed back to Winterfell. He looked much like he had whenever he had taken on a responsibility he didn’t want. His elbows were propped on the arms of the chair, his head dropped as he squeezed at the bridge of his nose. Davos was standing to Jon’s left, looking at least somewhat regretful for delivering the news.
“And he’s left no one in charge of Storm’s End?” Jon asked, not looking up at Davos.
“Uh, no,” Davos answered, wincing a little as Jon groaned. “There’s a castellan who’s been handling minor matters in Lord Baratheon’s absence, but he has not appointed anyone to replace him.”
“Not a very good lord,” Jon commented, finally looking up, his eyes meeting Sansa’s.
She couldn’t help herself. She was smiling brightly and it appeared that this annoyed her brother. Bran had informed them a few minutes earlier that Gendry Baratheon was gone, had taken leave of Westeros for an indeterminable amount of time. Alarmed, Jon had summoned Davos, who had confirmed it.
“He’s with Arya,” Bran said needlessly. Sansa had already figured out that part and she was certain Jon had as well.
“She-wolves are more appealing than empty castles,” Sandor commented in a bored tone from Sansa’s left.
Jon rolled his head to look at Davos, a pained look on his face. “Did he tell you he would be with her?”
Davos nodded. “Aye, he told me he was sailing with Lady Arya. Wanted me to keep my mouth shut until they’d set sail.”
“And Arya…does she know he’s on the boat?”
Davos nodded again. “Lord Baratheon discussed it with her some days ago and she agreed. He told me if she didn’t want to be a lady, then he didn’t want to be a lord and that was that.”
“He asked her wrong the first time,” Bran said flatly. “He’s going to do it right this time.”
“So romantic,” Sansa commented, still smiling stupidly as she thought about how Arya’s life had somehow turned into the songs she always hated.
Her husband snorted and made some derogatory remark about what he thought of songs, but Sansa ignored him. Jon was still looking between Bran and Davos as though they had ruined his day with their news.
“I don’t think it requires immediate attention, Your Grace,” Sansa said, drawing his attention by using a title she knew he hated. Her brother shot her a withering look. “You have plenty of other tasks that need to be looked after and I imagine that the castellan can handle things for a while,” Sansa turned to look at Davos. “Would you agree, Ser?”
“I would, Your Grace. Storm’s End is secure for now. Lord Gendry mentioned that there may be a girl in the Vale…”
“I doubt Mya Stone would want to leave the Vale to become the lady of Storm’s End,” Sansa said. “But at least it’s a start.”
Jon gave a nod and then looked back to Sansa, changing the subject, “When would you like your coronation to be held?”
“After the baby is born,” Sansa said. Jon had been stunned to learn of her pregnancy, but seemed genuinely happy. “Perhaps in six or seven months? I want you to be the one to crown me, Jon, so if you feel six months is too soon for you to leave the capitol…”
Jon shook his head. “It should be fine. I’m told a tour of the kingdoms would be helpful to my reign, so I may start it in the North and go from there.”
After dinner, Sansa and Sandor stood to leave. Bran was wheeled away back to his room. He’d decided to stay in King’s Landing to become the Master of Whispers, so he would not be traveling with her tomorrow. Sansa embraced her brother, realizing how much she was going to miss him when she left. But she was also so thankful that he was alive.
“I need to thank you, Sansa,” Jon said as he pulled away from her.
She stared at him in confusion. “For what?”
A light danced behind his eyes that she thought had died and he gave her a crooked smirk. “For everything. Need I list every item?”
Sansa pulled a contemplative face and tapped her chin. “Now that you mention it…”
Jon laughed and the sound made her feel light, like she was a child again and for a moment, the weight was gone from her shoulders. She grinned at him as he said, “Holding the North for me. Ruling the North for me. Saving my life.”
“I didn’t save your life, Jon,” Sansa said seriously. She didn’t want to think about the fear she had felt not so long ago when she had to face the fact that her brother may be put to death.
Jon squeezed her hand, nodding his head in earnest. “Aye, you did. I know I seem like a fool at times, but I’m at least partially aware of what you did to save my life. You brought it to everyone’s attention that Gendry was the heir after me. You must have known Gendry would never sentence me to death. Some good came from you learning to play the game.”
Sansa heaved a great sigh. “Well, I didn’t know that Gendry was going to then abdicate. That was all his doing.”
“Clever for a bastard blacksmith that can’t read.”
“Very,” Sansa agreed. “But then, he can’t be too clever. He did just abscond with our terrifying little sister.”
“Dumber than he is brave,” Sandor commented from behind her.
Jon chuckled. “Running away with Arya may not be clever, but he’s survived her before. I can forgive him easily for the stunt that put me here. I didn’t want to rule, but I think I can accept my fate. Certainly can’t escape it.”
“You’re going to do amazing, Jon,” Sansa said truthfully. “Just…listen to Tyrion.” Sansa laughed at the look Jon gave her. “Forgive me, but you are still too trusting and too honest. Lord Tyrion should be the perfect balance.”
“I think I’ll tell him you so, though I don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.”
Sansa reached over and hugged her brother, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she pulled away. “I’m going to retire now. You’re seeing us off tomorrow, yes?”
“Of course.”
Sandor growled at the guard waiting for them at the door, muttering that he could protect his own wife, thank you very much. As they made their way back to their chambers, the subject of baby names came up again.
“Percy for a boy?” Sansa suggested.
“No.”
“What about Myranda for a girl?”
“After that slut in the Vale?”
“Sandor!” She admonished.
“No, I don’t like that one either.” He quipped.
“Florian?”
“Seven buggering hells…”
“Ohhhh, ARYA for a girl!”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“OH! Tyrion for a boy! He always did treat me kindly,” she teased. “And wouldn’t it be an honor to name our son after a man who has been Hand for two kings and one queen?”
“A mad, boy-king and a murderous queen…and your brother. No.”
She pouted up at him as they reached their room. “You’re discouraging all of my ideas.”
“Because they’re shit ideas,” he told her, eyes softening and somehow affectionate despite the harsh words. “Might be I should in charge of baby naming.”
“Fine. What’s your ideas then?”
“Hmm. I had a sister once. Elinor?”
Sansa smiled up at him. “I like Elinor. And for a boy?”
The corner of his mouth twitched into the smallest of smiles. “Eddard?”
She felt her lips stretch into an even bigger smile as she nodded, “Yes, I like it. Eddard.”