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The news that Torrhen’s Park had been let to a young gentleman and his wife was of little interest to Arya Stark. The house was old and grand, though not so old and grand as Winterfell, and it was common for well to-do families to give it patronage for a year or so. Ned Stark had promised it to Rickon when he was of age, but for the time being, the house provided an additional source of income for the Stark family (not that they needed it, in truth).
No, the news that Torrhen’s Park would be occupied for the summer did not pique Arya’s interest. It was the name of the incoming tenant that gave her pause. Mr. Edric Baratheon, a young nobleman and the son of her father’s late best friend, and his wife, Miss Arianne. The Baratheon name, uttered so casually by Robb’s wife, caused Arya to spin from the window, turning her attention from the garden back to the conversation.
“And there is word that he will bring along his brother,” Margaery carried on cheerfully, “The war hero. Apparently he is from Wintertown itself. Robb, darling, did you know him?”
“I have not had the pleasure of making Captain Baratheon’s acquaintance,” Robb said. No, he would not have known him. None of them had known him. Arya could feel Sansa’s eyes on her, but she kept her own firmly trained on Robb. “He was only a blacksmith when he lived in Wintertown. The man had no idea he was Lord Robert’s son until he rose through the ranks during the war and encountered Edric.”
“It is quite the story,” Meera said excitedly. “Like something out of one of your novels, Bran.” Bran smiled in agreement.
“Oh, how delightfully scandalous,” Margaery said with a clap of her hands. “Well, I hear he is rather handsome and very tall. The ladies of Wintertown will be all a flutter when such a man arrives. I wonder if he is married.”
-
She was happy, so indescribably happy.
Arya had never thought herself inclined to marry, but that had been before Gendry. They had met by chance - she had been attempting to help a child from the village find her way home and had stopped in his shop to ask for assistance. Gendry had known the child’s father, for the man trusted no one else to shoe his horses, and the little girl was returned home to her fretting mother without trouble. The woman had thanked Arya, and upon hearing the words ‘Miss Stark’, Gendry had frozen, shocked that he had spent the afternoon with a lady of such high standing.
He soon learned that Arya cared little about his social standing, for she was far more interested in his swords and armour. She would stop by his shop weekly, often ducking away from her sister as they made their way to the ribbon store.
They were friends, though he thought it improper to use such a word.
“What shall you call me, then?” Arya would tease, “If I am not your friend, then what am I?” Gendry would look at her, soot on his hands and his forehead, and shake his head.
“You are a lady, Miss Stark. I should address you as such, m’lady.” She would roll her eyes, wishing he might slip up one day, and forget to be so serious. She wanted him to tell her that he could not call her his friend because she was more to him than simply a friend.
She thought of him frequently - too frequently - and had all but given up hope when he finally gave in. Arya had been admiring his craftsmanship on a rather delicate sword when it slipped out.
“It’s for you,” he said. “The sword. I made it for you.” Arya stared at him, hardly daring to believe his words.
“Why?” She breathed.
“Because,” he said, looking down at his feet before meeting her eyes with his own stormy blue ones. “Because I think you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and…,” he hesitated, “and I’m fairly certain that I'm in love with you, Miss Stark. I love every minute you spend in my shop, and every joke you make at my expense. And I know that I cannot offer much and that I am a fool for hoping that you might return -,” But she had no patience to hear his misgivings - she kissed him instead, a brief but earnest thing that made him smile the way she had never seen him smile before. She stepped away, aware that she was blushing rather furiously as he said, hardly more than a whisper: “Will you marry me, Miss Stark?”
She nodded breathlessly and rushed home, utterly overwhelmed by her own happiness.
-
He had done well, then. After they had parted, he had left town and joined the army. Now he was rich, a part of society. A Baratheon, of all things. Perhaps he was married now, and would arrive in town with a beautiful young wife on his arm. Arya felt ill. He deserved to be happy, but such a thought made her miserable.
-
Her mother told him he was beneath her, that he couldn’t provide for her, than a lady of Winterfell marrying a blacksmith would stain the family’s name and ruin Sansa’s chances at finding a good match.
Arya didn’t care. She loved him.
Sansa was aghast at the realization that Arya’s little trips into Wintertown had led to such scandalous activities. It was foolish of Arya to even entertain such a match, and that a man like that, with no family and nothing to his name, was no doubt interested in her money and her title, rather than her heart.
Arya insisted that he was a good man, a hardworking man, a man who would take her as she was, with no mind to her title. He loved her.
It was her father’s words that persuaded her. He was concerned, unsure about this man that he knew so little about, this stranger that had wooed his youngest daughter. Ned looked at Arya sadly and echoed what Catelyn and Sansa had said, explaining that she simply could not marry a man like Gendry.
“You have only just turned nineteen, Arya. You are young and lively and beautiful,” he paused, searching her eyes for a moment before frowning and carrying on. “Until today I was certain that you had no interest in marriage.”
“Father, he -,”
“Arya, my dear, you cannot tell me that you want to become a wife at nineteen. You are not interested in starting a family and running a household so young, surely. I know you do not shy away from work, but it cannot be true that you wish to tie yourself here, to Wintertown, to this blacksmith, at such an age. You will not be able to travel as you please, you will be stuck here, with hardly a penny to your name. Tell me, Arya, is this what you want?”
She loved him. She shook her head.
-
Sansa cornered her after supper, as Arya tried to find a novel from the bookshelf to distract her.
“Have you heard from him since?” She asked, settling in beside her younger sister. None of Arya’s brothers knew of her history with Gendry - Arya appreciated that Sansa had not brought him up until they were quite alone.
“No,” Arya said, deciding not to bother feigning ignorance with regards to the man in question.
“Are you quite nervous?”
Arya sighed and closed her book. “I’ve no reason to be nervous, Sansa. We parted civilly and five years have passed since we did so. He has gone and made a name for himself in the war and accidentally inherited half a fortune, and I wish him every happiness.” Much of this was a lie, though it had indeed been five years since Arya had seen Gendry, and he had indeed made a name for himself and come into a rather large sum of money.
“I would be nervous,” Sansa said. “Do you still love him as you once said you did?”
I am terrified that I might. “No, Sansa, don’t be silly. I was only a girl.”
“Good, because I still believe you can do far better. If he loved you properly, he would have sent you a letter by now. We shall find you someone more constant than this Captain Gendry.”
-
She told him the next morning. It was her greatest shame, the fact that she could not meet his eyes as she told him that she would not accept his offer. She hoped he might argue with her, demand a proper explanation, fight for her. Gendry only looked at her as she mumbled about impropriety and the reality of her situation and the fact that she would never want to be tied to Wintertown at such a young age. She felt his eyes on her face, but hers were trained on his work desk, where the beautiful sword he had made for her sat.
Arya spared him one glance as she left. He was looking at the sword now, his face not giving anything away. He answered the call for king and country the following week, and she was certain that she would never see him again.
-
Sansa was to wed Cley Cerwyn, a handsome young man from an old, respectable family, and Cley had invited his relatives from White Harbour to spend the summer in Wintertown. Wynafryd and Wylla Manderly were pretty young women, and Arya found them rather pleasant company until to subject of Edric Baratheon was broached.
“Oh, I hear he’s very handsome,” Wyndafryd cooed, and Wylla giggled.
“His brother’s supposed to be the better looking one and he’s unattached,” the younger girl said, twisting a blonde curl around her finger. “We must make their acquaintance while in the area, must we not, Arya?”
Arya did her best to smile, but her goal for the summer was simple - she would avoid Gendry Baratheon at all costs.
-
Mr. Stark had the decency to look apologetic when he informed Arya that they had all been invited over to Torrhen’s Park to dine with the Baratheons. She stared at herself in the mirror - they were due to leave in mere minutes, but Arya was still in her undergarments, wondering what he might think of her.
Had she changed? Were her eyes as bright at twenty-four as they had been at nineteen? Would her smile convince him that she was perfectly at ease, that his presence was nothing to her?
Arya wondered what he might look like now, a man of almost thirty. He had been so tall and so strong. Had his sudden introduction to high society changed him? She wondered what dress might impress him most, wondered how he might like her hair.
Once, he had placed a flower in her curls - perhaps if she could find a spring of baby’s breath… no. He had surely moved on. The least she could do was attempt to follow suit.
-
Meera, the most wonderful and thoughtful sister-in-law that Arya could ask for, chose that evening to fall ill. She insisted that Bran carry on, that he must make the acquaintance of Ned’s dear friend’s son.
“I can stay!” Arya said brightly, “I’ve no appetite this evening, and Meera should not be left alone.”
It was settled, and Arya congratulated herself on avoiding Gendry for another day.
-
“Oh, Arya, he is so charming. I’ve never met a man so handsome, so… tall,” Wylla swooned as she and Arya took a turn around the garden. “Wynafryd must be furious with herself for agreeing to marry that Mormont boy.” Arya nodded, doing everything in her power not to show even an ounce of emotion. “Captain Baratheon was perhaps a little bit reserved, but he was pleasant enough. He spoke of all of the places he saw on duty, all of the fascinating people he had met. Bran was quite taken with him and extended an invite for lunch today.”
“What?” Arya snapped.
“Yes, look - here they come now.” Sure enough, a carriage was making its way up the path towards Winterfell’s front doors.
-
Wylla had rushed to greet them, and Arya had no choice but to follow, but she had stayed a few steps behind the Manderly girl as Edric helped Arianne out of the carriage before his brother stepped out.
He was, somehow, handsomer than she had remembered. His hair was a deep black, like his brother's, but Gendry’s fell a little haphazardly into his face. His jaw was sharp and his brows strong, and his lips were trained into a stoic straight line. She should have been used to the blue of his eyes by now, seeing as she had thought about them so frequently, both waking and while asleep, but when he looked at her, she felt as though she might come undone completely.
“Edric, Arianne, this is Arya Stark, Mr. Stark’s younger daughter. Gendry, she was tending to Miss Meera -,”
“We’re acquainted,” he said, and he turned to the front doors, where the staff were awaiting the guests. Edric and Ariane exchanged a glance before smiling and following suit.
“You never mentioned that you knew him,” Wylla hissed, eyes alight with curiousity.
“He is from Wintertown,” Arya offered vaguely. “It was a brief introduction, and many years ago.”
-
If he looked at her even once during their lunch, she missed it. He acted as though she was nothing to him. She supposed that was fair.
When Robb eagerly suggested that the men join him for a hunt and stay for dinner that evening, Arya excused herself. She was not a tearful person, but she felt her eyes well up as she rushed to her room.
Gendry had ever right to hate her, but it pained her all the same. She had feared that he might treat her like a stranger, but this was far, far worse than strangers. He wanted nothing to do with her.
-
She stood in his doorway and watched him work. His arms were rather impressive and, on occasion, her thoughts became rather unbecoming as she watched him hammer the metal flat.
“Are you going to stand there all day, Miss Stark, or were you planning on greeting me at some point this morning?”
“I find it quite fascinating, the work you do. Is it such a crime for me to simply look at you?” He looked up at this and smiled.
“If it pleases you, Miss Stark, you may watch me for as long as you like,” he said, “Though I will admit that I do not always produce my best work when you are in my forge.”
“And why is that?”
“Forgive me, Miss Stark, but I fear that I find pretty girls rather distracting.”
“Do pretty girls often come by to watch you work?” She swallowed nervously as he smiled and went back to his hammer.
“Aye,” he said, “You come by here one morning a week, at very least.”
-
Gendry spoke well over dinner. Arya could not help but be impressed by his manners - he had learned the customs of a gentleman well. He spoke of his time abroad and made light of how rushed his education had been. Edric chastised him for being so modest, and insisted that Gendry had picked up all of the necessary skills with ease, though his penmanship was perhaps a tad rough.
When Margaery asked if Gendry planned to spend all summer in Wintertown, he shook his head, stating that he had plans to visit two of his friends from the army down in the Riverlands. One of them, a Mr. Archer, had recently lost his wife to a terrible bout of pneumonia, and Gendry was hoping that company might lift his spirits.
“And what about you, Captain Baratheon?” Margaery asked. “Are you inclined to marry?” For a split second, he met Arya’s eye and she dropped her gaze to her pudding.
“Of course,” Gendry said. “It is what is expected, and I feel now that the wars are over, I am ready to settle down, should any woman deem me worthy.”
“What sort of a woman would please you, Captain Baratheon?” Wynafryd asked, and Arya felt her stomach twist into a knot. She had completely lost interest in her dessert. Gendry seemed to take an age to answer the question.
“Someone strong-willed, I think,” he said. “I could not marry a woman who did not trust herself to make her own decisions. And she mustn’t care for my fortune. If I would not have been good enough for her as a blacksmith, then why should I be enough for her as a gentleman?” Most of the table laughed agreeably at this proclamation, and Arya could not help but look at him again. He had a haughty face - he suited the high collared shirts and prim waistcoats of the upper class. She locked her eyes with his for a moment before turning her chin up and away, asking Robb if he might like a game of cards after supper.
-
“What do you think of Gendry, Arya?” Meera asked after dinner. “He’s a funny man, I cannot tell if he is friendly or not.”
“He is unsure what to do with himself in such company,” Arya said. “He is still getting used to his new life, I am certain.” Meera nodded.
“Do you not think that he and Wylla would make a nice match?” Meera suggested. Arya blinked but caught herself, forcing a smile.
“If it pleases them, I’m sure that they would,” she said. “Excuse me.”
-
She stepped from the room and leaned against the wall, doing her best to think of anything but Wylla and Gendry. Wylla was kind and fun and sweet, and there was no reason for her to not pursue the handsome, wealthy Captain Baratheon. And Arya could not help but resent both of them at the mere thought of such a union.
“It is a shame Arianne was not here last summer,” Margaery was saying. Arya turned to see Gendry and her sister-in-law standing in the doorway to the drawing room. She was out of their line of vision, hidden by a bust of some ancient ancestor. “Ned Dayne was in town, and he would have loved to have a Dornish comrade.”
Arya leaned further against the wall, praying that Gendry did not ask -
“I’m not sure that I know Mr. Dayne. Is he a friend of the Starks?”
“Oh, yes,” Margaery said, “He is a lovely young man. We were all certain that he and Miss Arya would be engaged by the end of the summer.” There was an excruciating pause.
“Did he not find her agreeable?” Gendry asked, and Arya held her breath.
“No, no. He proposed to her and she refused! It was shocking, Captain Baratheon - her mother was in fits.”
“I do not mean to pry,” Gendry asked, “But is Mr. Dayne not wealthy?” Margaery gasped and giggled.
“Oh, you are funny, Captain. He owns half of Dorne!”
“Then why did Ar- Miss Stark turn him down? He sounds as though he possesses every trait she might look for in a husband.” Arya winced at this.
“She did not love him,” Margaery said simply. “And it is difficult to force Arya to do something if she does not want to do it.”
“Is it?” Gendry laughed.
“Certainly,” Margaery said, “I know that her father had some reservations about the match, besides. He didn’t want her so far from home.”
-
Arya was ready to retire, ready to finally be free of him. She almost groaned audibly when Sansa began playing the piano forte for the guests. Hoping to avoid being called up to join her, Arya stepped slowly backwards. Perhaps she would sneak down to the kitchens and help the cooks dry the dishes (she was forbidden from washing when she was wearing one of her gowns).
As she stepped from the room, though, she ran right into a broad chest and there was a shattering of glass.
Wine stained the bottom of her gown and both she and Gendry dropped to the floor in attempts to retrieve the shards of the broken drinking glass.
“My apologies, Miss -,”
“Please, it was -,”
“Arya!” Catelyn cried, appearing above them. “You are bleeding! Oh heavens, someone fetch bandages, please, make haste.”
The cut on Arya’s finger was nothing serious, though there was a rather impressive amount of blood dripping from it, mingling with the pool of wine on the floor. It was mildly painful, but she would be quite fine once it was bound, she was sure.
She did not expect Gendry to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and bring it to the injured finger, putting pressure on the cut. She did not expect his hands - after all these years - to still be a little bit rough, to still feel like the hands of a blacksmith. She did not mean to look up at him and meet his eyes as she thanked him.
Bran arrived with a bandage and she was quickly taken care of. Robb insisted that Sansa carry on playing as soon as he was certain that Arya was no worse for wear.
-
“Captain Baratheon,” Arya said, catching Gendry as he made to follow Edric and Arianne out the door at the end of the evening. “Your handkerchief.” Gendry looked at the stained piece of cloth and then at Arya.
“It’s yours,” he said coolly, and he departed.
-
Arya had no interest in joining the party that was accompanying Gendry to the Riverlands. What business did she have travelling with him? She was furious with Sansa and Cley for inviting themselves and the Manderlys along, and furious with Gendry for encouraging them, and furious with Meera for saying that she would love to join them, and furious with herself for falling victim to Meera’s insistence that it would be far more fun if Arya came along.
“You know that I have always wanted to see the Riverlands, Arya,” Meera said, “I have never been further south than the Twins and it would be such fun to have you there with me.”
-
“Do you know how to use a sword?” Gendry asked, as Arya tested the balance of one of his creations.
“I am rather good at fencing,” Arya boasted. “How about you?”
“Prefer making them,” Gendry shrugged.
“You’re rather good at it,” Arya said politely. It was the first time she noticed just how handsome his smile was.
-
Arya did not miss the look exchanged between Lieutenant Archer and Private Lemoncloak when Gendry presented “Miss Arya Stark” after the long string of introductions. She wondered what he had told them about her, what words he had used to describe the way she had let him down.
Arya was sat beside Lieutenant Archer at dinner, though he insisted that she call him Anguy.
“Anguy, I must offer you my condolences,” Arya said. “Your Jeyne sounded as though she was a wonderful woman.” Anguy offered a small smile and nodded.
“She was,” he agreed. “Her dear sister Willow painted a beautiful portrait of her. It is hanging in the drawing room - it captures her likeness perfectly.”
“You must show me after dinner,” Arya said. “I must say, though it breaks my heart to see a man in such a way, it is touching that your love for her is so evident still.” He gave her another smile.
“A love like that is not something that fades. We men do not forget our feelings as quickly as you ladies do.”
“My apologies, Anguy, but I do believe that women are just as capable of feeling as you men.”
“Ah, Miss Stark, but what of the novels? And the poets, do they not often speak of the fickleness of women?” Anguy asked, raising an eyebrow. “I do not know of many novels about the wavering emotions of men.”
“Are those novels and poems not all written by men, though?” Arya shot back. There was no malice in their exchange, only a playful sort of disagreement. Private Lemoncloak, who seemed to go by ‘Lem’, roared with laughter.
“You have made a good point, Miss Stark. Rumours of your wit were not exaggerated it seems!” Anguy laughed. “Now, of all of these novels and poems written by men, which do you find the most agreeable?”
-
As they walked along the path by river, Lem took Arya’s arm in his. “I must say, Miss Stark, it was such a treat to see Anguy so lively last night. He has been so reserved since Jeyne’s passing.”
“He makes for pleasant company,” Arya said, “I do hope that he will not be grieving for the rest of his life.”
“Aye,” Lem said. “They do say that time heals all wounds, though I have seen many men linger on the past for longer than they should.” He looked down at her curiously.
“Perhaps some things are worth lingering upon,” Arya said, looking ahead to where Gendry and Wylla were walking, arm in arm.
“Gendry was right when he said that you were both lively and intelligent,” Lem said, “It’s hardly a -,”
But Lem was interrupted by the sudden sound of a horse approaching. From a path in the woods rode a man with a posh sort of face and rather large ears. There was something vageuly familiar about him.
“My goodness,” he said, “Miss Arya Stark? It’s been years!” He patted his horse and slid off, bowing to Arya and turning to Lem. “My name is Elmar Frey. Miss Stark’s family are dear friends of my father’s.”
-
Elmar was thrilled by Lem’s invite to walk with them to the nearby town of Raventree. He greeted Sansa excitedly, though Arya noticed Elmar’s smile falter when Sansa introduced Cley as her husband. Gendry seemed rather confused by the appearance of Mr. Frey.
Elmar looped his arm through Arya’s and began asking her about her family and telling her how much he missed his trips up north to see them (Arya was certain that she only remembered the Freys visiting once, and it had been when she was very young indeed).
-
“That Mr. Frey is sort of handsome, don’t you think?” Wynafryd asked as she picked out a periwinkle ribbon for her hair.
“He is,” Wylla agreed, “and far more talkative than Captain Baratheon. Though I shan’t complain - Gendry was the perfect gentleman on our stroll.”
“He seemed to like you, Arya.” Meera said.
“Gendry?” Arya said, taken aback.
“No, silly. Mr. Frey!” The Manderly sisters nodded in agreement.
-
Mr. Frey walked back to Lem’s home with the group. Wylla was rather taken with his horse, so he offered to let her ride the steed if it pleased her. With Elmar occupied with Wylla and his horse, and Wynafryd and Lem chatting excitedly, and Meera and Sansa and Cley arm-in-arm, Arya and Gendry were left to walk together. Neither spoke for a few moments.
“How is your hand?” Gendry asked.
“Pardon?” Arya said, before remembering the injury she had sustained. “Oh, it is almost healed. You see?” She held out her hand and, to her surprise, he took it. He touched the scar gently and Arya felt as though her hand was on fire. He quickly dropped her hand and stared ahead.
“I did not get a chance to properly apologize that evening,” he said. “I should have been more careful.”
“Please, Gen- Captain. I was the one not watching where I was going. I deserve the blame.” He glanced at her briefly before looking ahead again, saying nothing more.
-
Arya did not see what happened, but there was a yell and a crack, and Wylla had fallen from the horse. They rushed forward, Arya crouching down to inspect Wylla’s injuries. Her collarbone appeared dislocated and her elbows were badly scraped, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.
“She will need a doctor,” Arya insisted, “and some rest. But you will be quite alright, Wylla.” Arya turned to Gendry. “You are the strongest, you should carry her back to Lem’s.” He stared at her for a moment before nodding hurriedly and crouching down to pick Wylla up, Arya helping to keep her steady until she was secure in his arms.
-
Arya, Sansa, Meera, and Wynafryd sat with Wylla as she rested her shoulder, which had been popped back into place without much hassle and only a little pain.
“Mr. Frey was so apologetic,” she sighed. “He had to go to Storm’s End for business, but I believe he left me some lovely daisies. They look lovely with the daffodils from Private Lemoncloak.”
“Storm’s End?” Meera asked, “Arya, you are carrying on to Storm’s End next week, are you not?”
“I am,” Arya said. She had been invited by Jon, her favourite cousin, to visit for a few weeks, and she was quite looking forward to it.
“Well, if you see Mr. Frey, do tell him that I truly appreciated the flowers,” Wylla insisted.
-
“Miss Stark,” a voice called as she buttoned up her coat. She turned to see Gendry approaching her. “I did not realize you would be leaving us so soon. I wanted to thank you for being such a help to Miss Manderly the other day.”
“Of course,” Arya said. “It was you who did the heavy lifting, though. I should be thanking you.”
“There is no need, Miss Stark,” he said, “I would have done anything you asked of me to help Miss Manderly.”
“Miss Manderly is lucky to have such attentive care,” Arya said politely. “Farewell, Captain.”
-
Seeing Jon was like a breath of fresh air. He practiced law in the city of Storm’s End, and he was inclined to keep himself to himself.
“But I will not have you miss out on the wonders of this city,” he insisted. “We have engagements almost every night this week. My dear friend Shireen Baratheon is aching to meet you.” Arya froze.
“Baratheon?” she asked. Jon did not know about Gendry. She trusted her cousin more than almost anyone, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to put her anguish into words just now.
“Yes, they own the largest manor in the county. It’s quite a spectacular building. Shireen lives there with her uncle right now, but I believe the estate itself belongs to one of Robert’s sons.”
-
Shireen was very pretty, with shiny black hair and eyes as blue as every other Baratheon that Arya had encountered. She had a large birthmark across her right cheek, but it did not take away from her beauty.
“Oh, you are just as pretty as they said you were,” Shireen cried as she greeted Arya. “You must tell me how your trip to the Riverlands was, my cousin has written me so infrequently.” Jon looked between them.
“Is Arya acquainted with your cousin, Miss Baratheon?” Shireen raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, Captain Gendry Baratheon. He is my newest cousin, but I find him very agreeable. He had written to tell me that he would be travelling to the Riverlands with Miss Stark - among others, of course - and I found myself rather envious. Did you have a wonderful trip, Miss Stark?”
-
Shireen was thrilled that Arya would be attending a ball hosted by the Conningtons, one of the other wealthy families in town. To Arya’s annoyance, the first person she saw upon entering the party was Elmar Frey, who kissed her hand and asked her to dance. He was a rather relentless flirt, but Arya could not find that she was the slightest bit interested in his attention. In truth, she found his affection rather suspicious. She expressed as much to Shireen and Jon when they asked her about Mr. Frey after her third dance with him.
“He seems far too curious about our family’s properties and income,” Arya said. “I have no interest in marrying for money, and thus I have no interest in anyone who might.” Shireen gave her a funny smile.
“You remind me of Gendry,” Shireen said, “He will have to find a wife to help him look after Storm’s End, but he is so very picky. He seems determined to only marry for love, and is very wary of anyone who might only be interested in his newfound fortune.”
Arya’s heart sank. She, of course, would appear such a woman were she to show Gendry any interest whatsoever. He had very directly said that he was not looking for a wife who would not have wanted him when he was merely a blacksmith. But she had. She had wanted him. She still did. Arya excused herself.
-
Before Arya had so boldly kissed Gendry after he confessed his love for her, she had thought about doing so many, many times. She knew it wasn’t right to do so, but she lay in bed and thought of him, what it might feel like to steal a kiss from him. No doubt his sooty hands would spoil her dress or leave marks across her cheeks. She thought that if she did ever kiss Gendry, she may not be able to stop.
-
Elmar seemed to be present and nearly every social engagement that Arya and Jon attended. Jon seemed almost amused at Arya’s exhaustion with the man, though he agreed that the Frey man was not to be trusted.
“Miss Baratheon,” Elmar cried at one such party, the day before Arya was due to return home, “I believe congratulations are in order!” Shireen blinked at him.
“I’m not sure what you speak of, Mr. Frey,” she said politely.
“Is your dear cousin not engaged to Miss Wylla Manderly?” Elmar asked, surprised at Shireen’s confusion. “I received a letter from my sister who lives nearby Private Lemoncloak and she is certain that Miss Manderly is engaged, and Captain Baratheon has been spending so much of his time with dear Wylla, has he not, Miss Stark?” Arya felt as though all of the air had left her lungs.
“He has indeed,” was all she could manage. Of course, she had never been expecting him to forgive her. Arya had never thought that she might have another chance with Gendry Smith - though he was Captain Gendry Baratheon now. She had forced herself not to hope and yet here she was, utterly shattered at this news.
“You must be mistaken,” Shireen said confidently. “I would know if my cousin had become engaged.”
“If it is true, I do think you’ll find Miss Manderly an entertaining presence,” Elmar said. “And her family is rather wealthy, so she would be a fine match for any man.”
“Not for Gendry,” Arya said without thinking. All three of her companions looked at her. “Shireen said that he was not interested in marrying anyone for their money.”
“Then he is a fool,” Elmar said. “For there are many beautiful, intelligent women in this world who also happen to be very rich. Arya, would you do me the honour of dancing this reel with me?”
-
On her last morning in Storm’s End, Arya received a letter from Sansa.
Dearest Arya,
I am sworn to secrecy, but our dear Wylla is to be married. It is a wonderful match, but her father is not yet aware of the arrangement. Captain Baratheon and Private Lemoncloak are heading north to Wintertown to secure the plans with Mr. Manderly.
Please forgive the lack of information in this letter, Wylla does not want word to get out before her father has been informed of the engagement.
Cley and I look forward to seeing you at Winterfell shortly.
Yours,
Sansa
-
Shireen had been wrong, then. Gendry and Wylla were to be married.
Wylla was, after all, a sweet girl. She was kind and pleasant at parties and she would make a wonderful wife. Arya was pleased to have the carriage to herself all the way from Storm’s End to Winterfell. She found that Sansa’s letter had a couple of teardrop stains on it. She crumpled it in her hand. What right did she have to be unhappy? She had wounded him, had accepted his proposal and then so easily been talked into turning him down. She had broken his heart. How was it fair for her to resent him for healing and moving on? She might not be capable of such progress, but Gendry deserved to be happy.
She only wished that they could have been happy together.
-
Upon arriving at Winterfell, Arya decided to clear her head by taking a walk. It was a helpful, being outside, breathing in the fresh, northern air. It was calming, until she looked up to see a tall, black haired man approaching her with a woman at his side.
“Mr. Baratheon!” Arya cried. “Arianne! Hello! How are you?” She sounded overeager, too happy to be believed.
“We are well,” Edric smiled. “How are you?” Arya could not answer such a question honestly.
“I am tired from the journey, but I am otherwise well.”
“Have you heard about the engagement?” Arianne asked excitedly. Arya’s insides deflated.
“I have,” she said, forcing a smile. “How very exciting. You must be thrilled for Captain Baratheon.”
“For Gendry?” Edric asked, nonplussed. “Yes, I suppose so. He is quite happy for his friend.”
“For his friend?” Arya repeated.
“Yes, for Private Lemoncloak,” Edric said.
“It’s so romantic,” Arianne said. “Lemoncloak took such wonderful care of dear Wylla as she recovered from her fall. He brought her fresh flowers from his garden each morning.” Arya beamed. She was - truly - so very, very happy for Wylla and Lem.
-
She had been prepared to see Gendry at the celebratory dinner hosted at Winterfell. Mr. and Mrs. Manderly were staying with the Starks for another week, and Catelyn was using their daughter’s engagement as an excuse to throw a grand ball. Arya had been sent into the village to fetch some ribbons to help ensure that everyone looked their best. The rain had come suddenly, and she rushed into the store, utterly drenched. To her surprise, she was facing Gendry far sooner than she expected. He stood, also rather wet, just inside the doorway.
“Miss Stark,” he breathed, “you look… You must be frozen.” She shook her head.
“I’m a girl of the North, Gendry. I may be soaked, but it takes more than a bit of rain to chill me.”
“Are you looking for something for tonight?” Gendry asked. Arya nodded.
“Sansa is looking for something golden, and Margaery has requested some green ribbon.”
“And you?” Gendry asked. “Do you have anything in mind?” Arya bit her lip and blushed when he saw his eyes fall to her mouth as she did so. It was a silly habit, a childish one.
“I have no idea,” she admitted. “I’m not even sure what dress to wear, let alone what ribbon I should tie my curls with.”
“If I may,” Gendry said, his voice a little unsure of itself, “I always thought that you suited flowers in your hair.” Arya stared at him, unsure of how she was supposed to carry on breathing as he looked at her, his eyes impossibly blue. Before she could say anything, the door opened and Elmar Frey stepped in. Arya could have sworn that she saw Gendry’s eyes roll as Elmar spoke.
“A pleasant day for the ducks!” he said. “Ah, Miss Stark. Captain Baratheon.” He nodded at each. “I believe I must offer you my congratulations, Captain. Your friend and Miss Manderly make a fine match.” Gendry nodded in appreciation.
“They are very much in love.”
“And so quickly!” Elmar cried. “And here I thought that love was supposed to take time.”
“Sometimes it does,” Arya said, feeling rather hot. “Sometimes it takes far too long, I think. They are smart to act on their feelings. It would not do to miss a chance at happiness.” She could feel Gendry’s eyes on her, but she could not look at him. It was far easier to smile politely at Elmar, who was enthusiastically agreeing with her sentiment.
-
The party was pleasant, aside from the fact that Arya never seemed to find herself anywhere near Gendry. Every time she made to approach him, a pretty girl would introduce herself and ask him to dance (he refused, unsurprisingly) or Elmar Frey would step into her path and force her to politely listen to his inane chatter.
Elmar was growing more and more forward, feeling so bold as to touch the baby’s breath in her hair and tell her she looked beautiful. She stepped back, not wanting to encourage such behaviour. She excused herself and glanced around, only to notice that Gendry was nowhere to be found.
-
She wandered through the rooms of the ground floor, hoping to see a tall, dark haired figure, but there was no sign of Gendry. She slipped out onto the patio, wondering if he might have made his way outside.
“Miss Stark, wait,” she turned to see that Elmar was still on her trail. He followed her out onto the patio and closed the door behind him. “I have been looking for a chance to get you alone.” Arya froze as he grabbed her hand with both of his and knelt to the ground.
“Mr. Frey, I don’t think -,”
“I think we should be married, Miss Stark.” Oh no.
“I really don’t think we should, Mr. Frey,” she said hastily.
“Miss Stark, I like you. I believe that I might grow to love you one day.”
“I apologize, Mr. Frey, but I know that I cannot love you. My love is secured elsewhere, I am afraid, and I do not wish -,”
“Our parents would be thrilled by the match,” he said, and she snapped.
“I don’t give a damn what our parents might think. I will not be swayed by anything to say to me, Mr. Frey. I cannot love you and I shall not marry you.”
“Miss Stark,” Elmar began, but he was cut off by another voice, coming up the stairs from the garden.
“Arya?” Gendry asked. “Is there a - oh.” He glanced down at Elmar and Arya tugged her hand away.
“No!” she said. “Elmar was just -,”
“Trying to talk some sense into her,” Elmar said, standing up. “Miss Stark, I believe you are more trouble than you are worth. Good luck finding a husband with expectations so lofty.” He stalked away and Arya stared at Gendry.
-
“Does your family know that you come here?”
“No,” Arya shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“It might to them,” Gendry said. “Don’t think a blacksmith is the sort of company a gentleman would want for his daughter.”
“Well, a blacksmith is precisely the sort of company I want,” Arya said defiantly. He let the subject drop and asked her to hand him the rounded tongs from his workbench.
-
“Arya, I -,”
“Gendry, we -,”
“Miss Stark, I apologize but I must speak now, for I fear that I may lose the nerve should I wait any longer.” Arya nodded. “I have been cruel, cold, and I have done everything I can to feign indifference to you. I have spent the last few months being torn in two by agony and hope. I am guilty of being a fool, of being resentful, of operating under the assumption you were someone guided by money rather than your heart. But my feelings for you have never wavered. I am guilty of being many things, but never inconstant. I did not think it possible, but I love you even more than I did five years previous, and I must know if I am a fool for hoping that you might… that there is a chance…,” he stopped when she stepped forward and placed her hand on his cheek.
“I was a fool to not marry you,” Arya breathed. “I loved you then, and every part of me wanted you. I was wrong to have been swayed by my family when nothing in my life has felt more certain than the act of loving you.” He tilted his head and looked at her lips with a hunger that was hardly proper, considering that anyone could step outside and interrupt their embrace. She found, though, that she hardly cared.
“I have dreamt of holding you this close for five years,” he said quietly. “How can I be sure I’m not dreaming?” She stood on her toes to kiss him, snaking her arm around his neck as her lips moved against his. It was not as chaste as the one she had given him in his forge, all those years ago, but it ended the same way. She stepped away, her cheeks flushed, and she nodded as he asked her to marry him.
-
Ned Stark gave them his blessing the following morning. Arya hugged him and thanked him before telling him that she would have been forced to elope had he not allowed the union. Mr. Stark had chuckled and told her that it felt as though he was righting a wrong.
“I thought we were doing what was right for you, all of those years ago,” he said. “But I had a moment of doubt when I told you that you were beautiful and for the first time I can remember, you didn’t dispute it or roll your eyes. It felt wrong, telling you to turn down a man who made you feel so loved. I hope he can forgive us.”
-
Catelyn approved of the match. He was a Captain, a Baratheon, a man of high standing with good connections. He was in charge of the grandest manor in the Stormlands, and he was wealthy enough to summer in the north, should it ever please him.
“Plus, he’s a blacksmith,” Arya reminded her mother.
-
He gave her the sword as a wedding gift. She was speechless, shocked that he had kept it all these years. He admitted that there were days during which he felt inclined to throw it into the ocean so he would not be so frequently reminded of his broken heart, but he knew that he would rather be pained in thinking of her than not think of her at all. He was nothing if not constant.