The Bull of the Forge

He’s taller but looks just as stupid. Just as soot-covered, and just as strong. She takes a moment to become re-acquainted with the site of him, feeling her heart pound and her stomach tighten. There’ve been reunions where she has been so sure what will happen… with Gendry she’s never been sure. She’d have assumed he had new friends in the brotherhood, maybe married a nice girl in a tavern, smithing down in the Riverlands. Not here in her Winterfell, smithing like he’d always belonged in here.

She sees the shock in him before he moves towards her quicker than she liked these days. It takes everything in her not to move, suddenly expecting a hug, an embrace the same as Jon had given her. Her arms move around him, and her grin grows as laughter tumbles from her. 

She doesn’t expect his lips on hers, and the reaction comes unbidden. Arya pushes him away with as much strength as she’s ever known, letting go, and letting herself drop from his arms. Gendry was supposed to be different. Gendry wasn’t Raff but … He’s excited to see her, and this must be some Kings Landing custom she never learnt, but all she feels is Raff, and all she was to Raff. 

She turns to hide the shaking of her hands, the thin-lipped movement as she makes herself almost as small as possible, gripping her own hands to sort out the need to throw up before she turns around again.

“Missed you too,” She manages to say, not wishing to ruin their reunion. She’s better at acting now. Her teeth ground into her lower lip, whether to keep her from running or collapsing, she doesn’t know. “Sorry, I’m still feeling very Braavosi.” She almost feels the need to shield herself in low valyrian, call herself a different name, it was still her. 

He had messed up. He knew it the moment that he felt her hands go to push him away. The moment she moved to escape his arms, to escape his kiss. It feels like his heart is in his throat the entire time she is turned away from him.

Stupid boy, she is highborn, a princess, and you are a baseborn son of a tavern wench. You don't even have a name beyond your given. She is Arya Underfoot so she may be your friend, but don't think for a second she could ever be more than that. Harwin's growling voice rings in his head, reminding him once again of what was the truth of this world, as it had when she asked him to be her family. As it had when he told her she was his lady, the love of a Knight's heart that would forever be out of his reach.

He dropped to his knees, head bowed. A fool, is what he was. If anyone else had seen what he had done, he suspects that Lem boxing his ears wouldn't be the worst he had gotten for stepping out of line with her. Tears begin to roll down his cheeks and he desperately tries to rub them away.

"I apologise, my lady, for acting improper. I lost myself, it will not happen again." He wishes once more, that things had been different, wishes that they had never ran into the brotherhood. Wishes that she was born to some crofter or weaver. Anything but being highborn.