Here, a sequel of sorts to that last one.
“I’ve seen them smile at you more times than I’ve seen them before in their lives.” The same words, two different sides of the keep, said by two different people, about the exact same thing.
Jon had finally returned to Winterfell to work on rallying the troops, finding Gendry there as he had sent. More importantly though, he had found Arya and Bran who… who had been dead. He was certain of it. There was nothing more concrete about their fates. Arya had vanished from King’s Landing, then had been accompanied by the Hound before disappearing from the earth once more. Bran had more literally died, his body burned to a crisp by fucking Theon. But he hadn’t, it hadn’t been him. Still, he was gone, and no one had seen him since he had abandoned Winterfell. Yet here they were: with him, and Sansa, back at home. They’d lost so much, but at least they still had each other.
And for Arya, one other. “Honestly, she spends her time smiling at your or screaming at you, which both indicate strong feelings.” Gendry looked embarrassed, and he didn’t look at Jon, focusing instead on his labor, hard at work, pounding, pounding, pounding at the steel of a blade. Winterfell would need his hammer, but for now, it needed it with anvil and tongs first. It helped that Gendry was so skilled, all his work was coming out like blades of legend. Jon was impressed; he had not anticipated his new friend to be quite so good at this.
“I don’t know, seems to me like we’ve got bigger problems,” Gendry dismissed Jon’s speech, though a little halfheartedly. He did have feelings for Arya, that much Jon had decided. And he could tell Arya felt the same way about him. Again, smiles or screams, both meant the same thing.
“Dammit Gendry you’re going to go leave here and tell her or I will for you.” Jon said straight up. Gendry bristled, paused in his work, looked to Jon. His blue eyes were intense, and his frame intimidating, but he looked more scared and anxious than anything else. Of course he was scared, he’d be confronting Arya if Jon had his way. “I’ve died once. Life is short, and it’s not going to get longer with that army headed this way. Worst case scenario, you both die content. Now, please, get to it.”
Gendry watched Jon for a little longer, as if still in disbelief. Emotions crowded his eyes, frustration, anxiety, but more than a little joy. At being encouraged to do this thing he’d wanted to anyway. Gendry left the forge.
“And I have seen his whole life, I know it for fact,” Bran said emphatically to Arya, who merely stared out her window at snow falling, feeling… frustrated. Obviously. Bran knew his sister, knew that she grew quiet when she didn’t know what to do. She was trying to come up with a plan, or an excuse, to escape him. But Bran was not letting her leave here without some kind of admission.
“Still very creepy you know,” Arya noted, not looking at her younger brother. “Spying on people’s lives,” It made her uncomfortable, Bran knew, but this was who he was. Who he had to be. The Three-Eyed Raven was essential to this war. As were Arya and Gendry, and they’d be better off if they ended this farce and got on with it. Bran was happy to help that along if he could.
“As you’ve told me. Does not make it less true Arya,” Bran watched her back as she continued to look out on Winterfell, busy as it was this hour. Every hour truly. There was no shortage of things to be done after all.
Arya turned to look at him, looking very insistent but also very scared. Bran almost scoffed. She was being entirely ridiculous. “You’re misinterpreting him. He can’t feel that way. I’m… Arya.” Bran inhaled deeply, before replying to her nonconcern.
“Perhaps I am. I’m not, but maybe I am. I’m not misinterpreting you. You like him.” Arya’s look betrayed he was right, not that he needed the confirmation. The way they behaved, always together, always content. And when they weren’t content, the passion of conflict was hotter than any forge fire. “And my sister, who fought assassins, soldiers, criminals, escaped King’s Landing, Harrenhal, Braavos, is not scared of rejection. Go.” She seemed immediately emboldened by his words, and Bran smiled softly, feeling effective, reasonable, and like he had helped a good thing come to be. Arya left the room without another word.
Arya and Gendry met halfway, outside in the snow. It fell onto their hair and clothes and was very cold but it didn’t matter. They looked at each other, pausing in the crossroads. “Hey,”
“Hey,” It wasn’t an impasse, rather just a start. A buffer, for as they looked at each other, they needed the time to think about why they were doing this. Not just because their friends and family had bugged them into submission, but…
Their lips matched perfectly, and snow seemed like it would melt off their skin. The warm embrace, the wet and nervous but still perfect kiss, it exuded everything that they needed. That they had wanted. The hardships they’d endured, the prices they’d paid, none of that mattered here and now. They did this because they loved.
