They married in the godswood at Winterfell.

Jon instructed Gendry on Northern wedding ceremonies, while Catelyn and Sansa prepared Arya. They'd sewed her a gown of fine white wool, using silver thread to embroider leaves twining around the neckline, waist, sleeves and hem.

When Arya slipped into the dress, she thought back to the private wedding gift Gendry had given her last night: a helm shaped as a wolf. Her betrothed would marry her in a gown or helm or anything between – and really, wasn't that all she ever wanted?

Her mother and sister left most of her hair tumbling loose, pulling back just a few curls and braiding them with winter roses. Once she was ready, Catelyn held her close and even Sansa smiled.

Ned seemed shaken as Arya emerged from her chamber.

"My little she-wolf," he whispered, taking her arm.

Arya swallowed, feeling tears well up and found she couldn't speak. Instead she squeezed his hand as tightly as she could. Her father seemed to understand.

The godswood was unusually bright when they arrived, the usual shadows dissolving in the remarkably warm sun and leaves seeming to hum in the breeze. The heart tree's face smiled down on Arya, while the black pool lying beneath it sparkled.

Everyone was there – Harwin, Jory, Mikken and all the other men of Winterfell; old Nan and the rest of the women; Robb and Wylla; Maester Luwin; Lord Manderly and Wynafryd; the Mormont clan; Alys Karstark; Bran with the Reeds; House Flint of the Arya Flint she was named for; even Nymeria, Ghost and the rest of the wolves sat at the edge of the crowd.

And there – at the front of it all, gazing at her adoringly with that stupid, lovable, stupefied face – was Gendry. And despite herself and solemnity of the occasion – Arya grinned at him. Gendry grinned back.

When she and her father passed through the crowd and reached the heart tree, Ned clasped her hand one final time and let her join her husband-to-be.

The ceremony passed in a blur – distantly Arya was aware of Maester Luwin's gentle voice, her father's claim; her vows clear and loud, while Gendry's were quieter but no less fervent.

For her, the only thing that stood out was the cloaking ceremony – she and Gendry had discussed it beforehand.

When it came time to Gendry to cloak her, the two of them simultaneously reached up and removed their own cloaks: Arya's was white edged in grey and decorated with a wolf, while Gendry's cloak was plain brown adorned with a bull.

A ripple of surprise spread across the onlookers as they put the mantles aside, but Jon stepped forward and handed them two fresh cloaks – white edged in brown and patterned with a wolf and a bull.

"We're House Stark," Gendry had said, when Arya wondered about what they should do for the cloaking ceremony and complained about how women normally had to give up their house. "It's certainly not me enveloping you in my no-name house. But we're own branch of Stark – our own seat, sigil, words. So, let's mark that at the ceremony."

"It will be our colours," she said, loving him more in that moment than she ever had before. "Grey for the Starks, but edged in brown like a bull, instead of white so everyone knows we're the Starks of Winter Helm."

And now, chest burning with affection, Arya let Gendry sweep the cloak around her shoulders. Then he bent and let her do the same, the cloak settling against his back. They grasped hands and in that second Arya flashed back to the first time they met – Gendry fighting beside her, jaw jutting stubbornly and eyes flashing. And she'd never felt so sure of anything in her whole life.

"I give you," Maester Luwin announced, "Princess Arya and Gendry Stark of Winter Helm."

X-X

The Starks settled in well at their new home.

For the first few years, the castle was consumed with near-constant building and activity, but it soon stabilised and the former Dreadfort was transformed. New windows threw light into the halls; freshly chiselled stone replaced the old teeth-like battlements; glass gardens filled with fruits and vegetables were erected; the old kitchen was refurbished; thick tapestries lined the walls and new mouldings and torches appeared everywhere.

Even when that was completed, the rulers of Winters Helm were busy.

Arya and Gendry held court in the great hall and passed judgement on disputes and crime; they managed to households and stores and prepared for winter; travelled to every corner of their holdings to meet their people and hear their stories. When they were at home, they invited a different man or woman to eat with them at the high table each night, listening to talk of copper counting or sewing or leatherwork. They visited and hosted other lords, setting up a merry court with many families of the North.

Sometimes they were alone – Arya donning breeches and sparring with the men in the training yard, while Gendry visited the forge and helped craft helms and shields and swords. But often, they stayed together – riding along the river, playing with Nymeria, bathing in the hot springs and curling close together in the cold nights.

In time, Jon was given a holdfast and lands on the New Gift to rule – becoming famous for his support of the Nights Watch and brokering peace with the Free Folk over the Wall, even letting some of them settle on his land. Correspondence between him and Gendry and Arya flowed constantly, and he was a common guest at Winter Helm.

For the couple's first anniversary, Jon commissioned a portrait of the two of them: Arya bearing the Knight of the Laughing Trees shield and brandishing Needle, the crown of winter roses on her head. Nymeria stood on one side of her and Gendry on the other, wearing his bull helm and wielding a hammer. Along the bottom ran their house words – By act, not stature.

"You know that's not actually right," Arya said. "I jousted, not sparred – and I'd never have worn that crown while doing it!"

"And I never fought with my hammer then," Gendry added.

Jon just smiled. "You don't understand legends at all."

All the same, they hung the portrait at the head of the great hall, alongside the shield of the Knight of the Laughing Tree. (Whose identity was now Westeros' worst-kept secret).

"Remember that." Arya would eventually tell their children, pointing to the shield and painting. "That was our beginning – House Stark of Winters Helm. You know our words."

X-X

And so, Arya and Gendry Stark lived and ruled.

Joffrey and Cersei were not to bother them again – for within a year, both of them fell prey to an infection of greyscale and King Robert exiled them from court for the rest of his short lives and instead had his second son Tommen, marry Joffrey's intended bride and rule Westeros.

King Robert did not live long, but lasted to see Arya and Gendry's first child, a daughter with her grey eyes and his black hair. Robert visited Winters Helm with Ned and held little Lyanna in his arms before he died.

And the North prospered.

Over time, House Stark of Winters Helm passed into history as House Bullstark – for the sigil marking the tale of the Bull and the She-Wolf, and their story passed from generations, marked by the portrait and faded shield hanging in their seat.

They were counted to be the kindest and fairest rulers the lands had known. And they continued to see the world not as people told them it was – but how it could be.

And they lived happily ever after.

X-X

A/N: And DONE! Massive thank you to everyone who has reviewed, supported or encouraged me during this fic! It ended up way longer than I ever expected. (My initial thought was this would be a quick three chapter fic. You know nothing, writer. But I'm happy with how it turned out).

Hopefully Joffrey and Cersei dying of greyscale didn't seem to sudden or shoehorned in. But it couldn't be a happy ending with Joffrey ruling the South and plotting revenge on Arya and Gendry, so in this fairytale version, karma totally got them. I envision they were infected in a similar way to Shireen, some visiting merchant and guest from Essos passed it on. (It's never mentioned, but Tywin is dead in this version otherwise he would have kicked up hell if Robert tried to exile them).

Also, not mentioned is that Joffrey/Tommen's bride was probably Margaery. She and the Tyrell's aren't perfect, but with Cersei gone, I think Margaery and Tommen with Jon Arryn – who is still alive here – as Hand could at least set up a stable rule for the South. That also sidesteps, the entire War of the Five Kings which isn't a happy ending in any way, shape or form.

(Littlefinger doesn't exist in this verse – hopefully Brandon Stark skewered him to death way back. So Lysa didn't get pregnant, forced to have an abortion and marry, then kill Jon. And Varys never came to Westeros, Daenerys stayed in Essos and Jon/Stannis never figured out Cersei's kids were bastards. So, everything stays simpler. And once Jon Arryn dies, maybe Tommen makes his favourite Uncle Tyrion his Hand? So, Tyrion gets a happy ending as well? And somehow, Jaime still gets redeemed and ends up with Brienne? Idk, trying to get a happy ending for everyone is tricky).

I didn't mention Bran's endgame either, but as you can guess from fairly heavy-handed hints that he marries Meera and either sets up a holdfast in the New Gift as well or even gets land/ruling further south somehow.

Jon, as hinted, still ends up doing a lot of the positive things he did in canon with allying with the Free Folk and might even have met Ygritte and/or Val in this verse. (Maybe he somehow saves Sam from the Nights Watch as well and makes him his Maester).

Previous versions had Robb marrying Myrcella but that didn't work as well, so I switched it to Wylla Manderly who would be a great Queen of the North.

I've got some more Gendrya plot bunnies brewing, but will see when I have the time/headspace to get to them!