Here it is, folks, the long-awaited final chapter. I'll save my thanks for the end, but I just want to say what an experience it has been to write this. It's the second of two multi-chapters I've ever written in my entire fic writing journey, the first being the first fic I ever wrote just over five years ago. I've loved every second of writing this, challenging though it has been, and I hope you have enjoyed it as much as me!

Five years after the world nearly ended, Gendry is woken by a loud knocking at the door and the maester's incoherent mumbling.

"C'min," he manages, just about pulling himself into a sitting position before the maester walks in.

"My lord." The maester ducks his head in deference, though Gendry's told him a thousand times that it's not necessary. "There's a woman demanding to see you. The maids found her in the dining hall; they say she won't leave until she sees you."

Gendy squints outside; it's barely dawn, well before half the castle would be up. "Well, who is she?" he asks. "And how did she get in? Come to that, why haven't the guards done anything?"

The maester winces. "She...threatened the guards, my Lord. She didn't give a name, either, but she said you'd know who she is if we told you this."

"She's right," Gendry says grimly. Only one person he knows would - or could - do something like this. It's been five years without any word of her, and yet he's somehow not surprised that she's currently sat in his dining hall; he thinks he might have lost the ability to be surprised by her long ago.

"Let her be," he instructs the maester. "I'll be down in a minute."

The maester splutters his protests, but Gendry just arches an eyebrow at him and he sighs. He's more than used to Gendry's strange style of lordship by now - though what exactly that style is, Gendry himself doesn't know. Nothing's burning yet though, so he supposes it's working well enough.

He pulls on his clothes as quickly as he is able, cursing as his fingers fumble the fastenings of his doublet. He hates these fancy clothes, though he knows his are simpler than most highborns'; when he'd first arrived here, he'd been forced to wear whatever Renly Baratheon had left behind, which had caused all sorts of problems.

He's done eventually, and a sort of nervousness sets in as he makes his way down to the hall. He's thought about her more often than he cares to admit - nearly every day, in fact - and he can't help but wonder now how these years have changed her. Whether she found whatever she was looking for in the west. Whether she'll stay, or sail off, never to be seen in Westeros again.

There are guards scattered around the hall when he enters, and the maids who found her stand in a corner with his maester. He came in through the back, so all he can see of her is a pair of booted feet resting on the table. It's enough, though, to know that it's truly Arya, any lingering doubts dispelled as the memories of her come rushing back.

It's enough to finally kick him into action, clearing his throat. "You know, I normally like to know when I'm going to be having guests."

She doesn't say anything.

"How did you get in? I have guards -"

"Shit guards," she interrupts, and it's her. Gendry has to fight to keep a grin off his face, even as his guards twitch at the insult. He rounds the table and meets her eyes, relief bubbling up in him as he sees that she's okay. Better than okay, really.

Beautiful.

Then he notices the half-eaten apple in her hand, and the remnants of his breakfast on the table. "Make yourself at home," he says wryly, quirking an eyebrow.

Arya stiffens at at, though only for a moment, recovering quickly enough that Gendry all but doubts it ever happened. She shrugs and tosses the apple onto the table, standing and sizing him up, and his heart seems to skip a beat in his chest.

"You look good," she pronounces eventually. "My lord."

He grins. "As do you, m'lady."

"I'm not a lady," she protests, oddly sincere, but Gendry barely gives it a thought as a new idea pops into his head.

"No, of course not." He bends into a half-bow. "Princess."

She shoves him then and, bent over as he is, he almost falls flat on his arse in front of half his household. But she's still got a hand on his doublet, and she manages to haul him upright before that.

"Stupid," she mutters, but she's smiling, and that's all that Gendry needs. "That's not what I meant, anyway."

She's got that earnest look on her face, one that Arya so very rarely wears. He frowns, confused. "Then, what?"

"Before I came here I was at Winterfell for some weeks. Sansa - she knighted me."

Gendry stares at her, stunned, realising all at once that he was wrong earlier; Arya Stark will never stop surprising him. He's overwhelmingly happy for her, and it's all he can do not to kiss her there and then. But even he has the sense to know that that wouldn't be received well, so he settles for the next best thing and pulls her into a hug, lordly protocol be damned. She makes a sound of protest, but then her arms come around him too, and Gendry thinks that this might be the happiest moment of his life.

She slips into his chambers that night just before he gets into bed. He's not surprised by the intrusion - far from it, really - though they'd spent practically the whole day together, and for a while it had been like the five years between them had never existed.

It's not like that now. As she stares at him, and he at her, he can't help but notice how much these years have changed her, changed him, changed everything between them. It's not a bad change, he doesn't think, but it's different.

"I thought I told you not to wait for me," she says. Her tone is hard, and her face gives little away, and yet there's something quieter there too. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and it's only then that he notices she's missing her weapons. She's abandoned her leathers as well, dressed in just her tunic and breeches, and Gendry realises it's the first time he's seen her so vulnerable, if such a word could ever be used to describe Arya. That means something, he thinks.

Without thinking, he reaches out and places a hand on her cheek, surprised when she seems to lean into the touch, if only a little.

"Apologies, m'lady," he murmurs, stepping closer. "But I don't take orders from you." His eyes flick to her lips, but she's still watching him carefully, refusing to give in just yet.

"How many?"

Gendry sighs; he would have preferred never to have this conversation, but she's owed the truth. "Five," he admits, searching her face for any sort of reaction.

"Why did you turn them away?"

He gapes at her, astounded. "You know why."

She tilts her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "Remind me."

"Because I love you," he answers, staring into her eyes. "And no amount of highborn ladies is going to change that."

Something changes in her expression then, and no sooner have the words left his mouth, than she's kissing him, her hands cupping his face as his move to her waist. It's frantic, almost hurried, but it's not the same urgency that comes with a goodbye, with an ending.

And Gendry knows it's dangerous to hope, but this, right now, feels awfully like a beginning.

Arya's gone when he wakes, and he gets a sinking feeling in his stomach, wondering if she came all this way only to slip away again in the middle of the night. Then the sounds of swords clashing reaches him from the yard below, and he frowns; judging from the light in the room, it's well past dawn, but still too early for any training, particularly at this point in winter.

He gets up and pads over to the window, and it's a struggle to keep from laughing as he sees his master-at-arms get knocked to the dirt, likely for the second or third time given the state of his clothing. Arya extends a hand out and he grudgingly takes it, huffing before settling in to a fighting stance once more.

Neither of them notice him - or, at the very least, Arya pretends not to have noticed him - so he continues to watch them spar. It's the first time he's ever truly seen her fight, and he's in complete awe of the ease with which she moves. And, gods help him, he feels himself fall just that bit further.

They fall into a pattern.

The nights are theirs, spent fucking or talking or simply just holiding each other. She's gone from bed every morning when he wakes, but he always finds her, sometimes in the lower town, sometimes training, sometimes elsewhere in the castle.

A few times, she joins him when he's entertaining lords, some of whom sent daughters or sisters or cousins to him. None of them say anything, but they all get that look in their eyes, as though they're wondering what Arya Stark has that their relations did not. Likely they think it comes down to a name, but Gendry's made it clear that he cares little for politics. He's had enough of it to last a lifetime and more, and he has no interest in playing games with his words.

Despite everything, though, despite the ease with which she's fallen back into his life, he still can't work out what she's doing here. It's been two weeks, more or less, and he's just as clueless as the day she returned.

He doesn't ask, though. He's hardly in a rush for her to leave and, besides, she'll tell him when she's ready. He knows she will.

It happens on one of the quiet nights. Her head is resting on his chest and his arms are curled around her, pulling her as close as they can get. It's peaceful, only the occasional dog or bird breaking the silence, and for a while, Gendry can pretend that it will be this way forever.

"I'll always be a Stark," she murmurs, and just like that the moment is shattered. This is the moment he's been dreading - she's saying goodbye, and he understands, truly he does. Her family is more important to her than anyone else; how can he begrudge her that?

"I know," he tells her. "They're your family, Arya, I understand."

She's silent for a while, then sits up suddenly, turning her body to face him. "I told you once that I could be your family." She bites her lip and takes a steadying breath. "Those weren't just words, Gendry. I meant them. I still do."

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, and when they do it feels like all the breath has been stolen from him. "But…" he manages. "You turned me down."

She punches his chest lightly, laying her head back down. "You turned me down first, stupid."

He laughs and tightens his arms around her, wondering how this is possible. How, after all this time and all this distance, she is still here, choosing him.

"I won't ever give up my name," she continues. "I've lost too much to give it up again. And I won't be a lady, not in anything but name. I never have been, and I never will be."

"I know."

"Then ask me to stay."

The question takes him aback, but he does it, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Stay."

"Ask me to marry you."

His heart has risen into his throat, almost choking him with love for her, but he pushes it down as best he can. "Marry me," he whispers, hardly daring to breathe for fear of missing her answer.

She kisses him, a yes on her lips, and for the first time in a very long time, Gendry dares to hope.

In the days leading up to their wedding, Arya tells him a story.

It is an old story, one that the songs have romanticised for years now, one that Gendry himself has heard countless times. But the tale she whispers to him in the dead of night is not a song. It is truth.

She tells him of the Hound, of a wedding bathed in blood, of years spent wandering this country alone. She tells him of a house in a foreign country where men change their faces as easily as he changes his clothes, of how she became one of them. She tells him of her scars, and how each of them came to be.

He kisses each one, and wishes he could promise to keep her safe from harm for the rest of her life. But it is not a promise Arya wants or needs, so instead he holds her close and listens as she finishes her story.

The wedding is a simple one. It takes place in the woods surrounding the castle; not quite the godswood it once was before Stannis Baratheon took a torch to it, but beautiful all the same. Sansa and Jon both insist upon being there, neither prepared to let duty or winter deny them, and Gendry is once again reminded how fiercely the Starks protect their own. It's a daunting thing and yet, somehow, strangely comforting.

Whispers follow them constantly, right up to when they say the words among the trees. Robert, they say. Lyanna.

They were irritating, at first; Gendry has always hated being compared to his shit of a father, and half the world knows by now the lies Robert and Lyanna's story was built on. But now, five years after all of this began, as they join hands and swear their vows, Gendry cannot bring himself to care about them.

Arya is beautiful, her hair half up, a smile reaching all the way to her eyes. She is beautiful, and she is perfect, and she is his and he is hers, for all the days and years to come.

"I love you," he whispers, just loud enough for her to hear.

She squeezes his hands tight. "I love you," she returns, leaning up on her toes. And when she kisses him, soft and slow, Gendry finally knows what true happiness feels like.

And that's a wrap! Thank you so much to everyone who has read this, whether you followed it from the start or you've only just discovered it now. Every review, every favourite, every follow has meant so much to me, and I'm honestly amazed at how much this has blown up. When I posted that first chapter all those months ago, I thought it would be a small two or three chapter thing that would get the standard amount of attention before I moved onto the next thing. But then I posted it, and the response was overwhelming. Even then, I never thought that I'd end up with a nine chapter long fic with so many wonderful people reading along, but here we are.

This is the most ambitious fic I've ever taken on, but believe me that this is not the end. I may be posting one or two deleted scenes from this fic that I still really want to share with you guys, and I have another project upcoming for these two which I can't say too much about, but I'm incredibly excited about it.

Special thanks must also go to the wonderful people who beta-ed this fic, without whom it wouldn't be nearly as good.

Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. It's been an absolute pleasure.