A.N.: You demanded it. Although I couldn't keep Alayne out of this.

Gendry

He wakes up before her, which is not a common occurrence by any means. Her back is to him, and he resists the urge to kiss some of the white little marks in her skin. He has never worked up the courage to ask her much about her scars, thinking it's more of a step back than forwards. Her breath is even, and he knows it's a signal that she's free of nightmares and he relaxes at the thought. The sun is just starting to appear and he's glad that it means she went through a whole night without bad dreams haunting her. She usually came to him in earnest to search either a relief to her nightmares or to her tensions, and he gladly complied. Ever since she arrived he had wanted her to feel at ease in Winterfell, if not for his love for her, for her family who had accepted them so easily.

He slowly gets up from the featherbed and walks towards his clothes, putting them on making as little noise as possible. Many times he wishes he could go back to the simplicity of his forge, but he won't deny that sleeping here is ten thousand times better that the old cot. Or the ground, if he's considering all the places he has slept in his life. Walking to the door, he takes one last glance at her sleeping form and smirks at the idea that he exhausted her enough to produce such a deep slumber.

He walks towards his chambers and changes into new clothes. He's sore and he has marks in his body. It doesn't surprise him to be honest, she tends to scratch and bite a lot during their bedding, but he has come to accept it as part of her wolfish nature and even like it. Not that he would be able to deny her anyway.

Most of Winterfellis still sleeping but some are getting up. He greets the service and whoever he encounters. Some of the things he likes the most is the North's simplicity, people here seemed to find no trouble in sharing japes and words with commoners or highborns. Someday Meera and him would go to Wintertown in Bran's name to see the state of the rebuilt town and he was surprised of the easiness in her exchange with the common folk. Bran was polite and amicable with anyone who came to his court to search aid and everyone spoke of how nice and just he was. He wondered daily how Sansa and Bran could be related to Arya and Rickon, who could hardly hold their tongue when it came to improper language and japes at other's expense.

He breaks his fast with Rickon and Lady Meera, little Robb next to her. Bran was still sleeping soundly as a result from the wine, and he doesn't feel guilty about the relief that overcomes him when he notices his absence in the table. He's pretty sure Bran is aware of everything that happens in Winterfell and that though enough was scary even if he didn't have add that Arya slipped into his chambers as usually as he slipped into hers.

"I saw you dancing with lady Lyanna Mormont Rickon." Casually commented Meera. Gendry suppressed a laugh at the woman's lack of sneakiness. Rickon merely grunted in response. "Now, It doesn't really concern me where your sort sword finds it's sheath, but please do be careful. The last thing Bran needs is some angry lord or lady coming here to demand for recommendation for a daughter lost's honor."

This time, neither Gendry nor Rickon could keep a straight face, before Rickon answered swiftly. "I hold no intentions of siring any bastards dear good-sister. I am aware of how harsh the world is to them. I am… very careful with my… lady friends."

Meera shaked her head, but ended up laughing along with them. On the other tables, lords and ladies from other houses were beginning to seat and eat, the sun finally rising enough to wake the guests from their sleeps. Last night they had celebrated little Robbie's third nameday and the wine and the feast had been good, as was the dancing. He didn't know a thing about steps and neither did Arya, and so they drank their Dornish wine as they laughed at the expense of what others were doing and sharing their fair share of dirty japes.

She looked so odd in a dress, but beautiful at the same time. She seemed uncomfortable and unnerved by all the stares from the men. Seven hells, even he was upset by them. Arya laughed at his furious glare and even made some stupid speech how he had no real right to feel angry. It had been that feeling and the stupid wine that had led him to clasp her hand and unceremoniously lead her all to way to her chamber and take her right against the door, and then her bed, numerous times.

"Good morning everyone." Happily saluted Sansa, Alayne came behind her along with little Ned. "Harry is still sleeping; apparently he and Bran had a good time yesterday."

"Yes, Bran and Harry enjoyed a drinking game, which I've always told Bran he is awful at, but apparently not even all his greenseeing wisdom can make him understand than there's nothing good about excessive amounts of drinking." Meera informed.

Everyone laughed at that. No matter how calm and wise, Bran was still a Northman and when a son reached three namedays he still celebrated in the ways of the North: with copious amounts of food and drink. Little Rob and Ned were starting a small food battle that was soon stopped by their mothers.

"Aunt Arya told me that neither of them would survive black tar rum." Offered Alayne. Everyone laughed at the little girl, but Sansa looked scandalized at her daughter's comment.

"I will go to White Harbor in search for some of that rum and hold a drinking game with Arya herself!" Japed Rickon. Gendry feared for Winterfell if Arya and Rickon ever truly played one.

"I accept that dare!" Arya, now dressed in her usual breeches and tunic, made her presence known from the door as she happily messed Alayne's hair and softly stroked little Ned in the head before taking a seat next to her niece. He had a hard time swallowing when she finally looked at him with mischief in her eyes. He felt Sansa's stare on them and he quickly averted his eyes, wondering how in seven hells could Arya act so naturally.

They all continued their eating and soon some lords offered the idea of a hunting party. Of course Rickon happily accepted in the name of his brother and many ladies offered their company, including the lady Lyanna. Alayne wanted to go as well but Sansa was not sure, only when lady Meera offered to go as well and watch Alayne did the girl get permission, if only because she was such a good rider that it was sad to keep her on the indoors when she was finally in Winterfell where she could ride as much as she liked.

Young lord Hoster Umber asked Arya if she wanted to go, her riding skills famous among the Northern men. The man lustful glance made Gendry's blood boil, but she simply answered that she had business to take care for the day. As most of the tables cleared and Sansa declared she was taking the little boys to the Godswood, he looked up from his plate to see Arya looking longingly at the door.

"If you wanted to go, you should have just gone." He said. She simply scoffed.

"And have them treat me like a helpless lady, with their courtsies and not letting me near the hunting weapons and…" She looked at him and he saw something else besides irritation in her eyes but he couldn't name it, "Well, it's stupid. They're stupid."

"Arya," he tried not to laugh, "there are other words in the common tongue besides stupid."

"How would you know? It's the only one that fits you." She quickly answered and he could hardly resist the urge to kiss her furrowed brow.

"Well, I'm going to the forge to examine what steel we have there. Lord Harrion Kastark requested a sword for his son. Apparently young Torrhen will be able to swing a proper sword by his next nameday and he heard of my trade."

"And of course you couldn't deny the chance of enclosing yourself in your forge and swing your hammer." There was no mockery in her voice, if anything; there was a subtle smile on her lips. "Can I come along with you? I want to polish Needle until it shines."

"Why?" He found that strange, she didn't really use Needle anymore, she had another sword that came with her from Braavos and was more adequate to her size. "I haven't seen you use Needle since we were near Harrenhal."

"Well… Alayne confessed to me she wanted a sword and I think Needle is appropriate besides… Nevermind." She was quiet once again and he wanted to shake her shoulder and demand she finishes her sentence, tired at the fact that she still silenced so many things. It wasn't uncommon that she stopped short whatever she was saying when they spoke. He knew caution was part of who she was before coming back, but he wondered how long it would take before she spoke freely of her feelings and opinions.

They went to the forge and as he worked, she went to a corner and started to polish her sword. He couldn't help stealing glances at her. With her long dark hair braided, her grey eyes full of concentration as she worked dutifully and Nymeria faithfully at her feet she looked truly as herself, not as fake and strange as she looked last night. He nearly lost his breath when her eyes suddenly focused on him. He saw the small hint of sadness in them and worry crept over him.

Her sadness scared him as it scared Rickon, Sansa, Bran and Jon. They all feared her sadness as they feared the Others. She had tried to adapt to her new life back in Winterfell and all of them were scared one day she would decide she didn't want to be there and run away. He left his tool on the table and approached her with heavy steps. He saw her bit her lip and his hands covered hers, the familiar electricity of their touch making his skin burn, and let her own tool and sword next to her as he sat on her other side.

"What is it?" She was avoiding his gaze, but no matter how much he wanted to shake her and make her respond, he knew better. He has had four years to learn how to read her again.

"Bran was in his cups yesterday and I had to ask him," she started and he was surprised by the vulnerability in her voice, "I knew he wouldn't tell me the truth when in his wits so I had to ask him if it was true he was planning on having me married."

He swallowed the knot on his throat with difficulty. He had never asked Arya for any promises, and Gods know he sometimes stayed awake at night trying to decipher what in seven hells were they doing. Putting pressure on Arya never seemed like a good idea but he was pretty tired of shutting up whatever doubts he had as long as he didn't make her uncomfortable. "What did he say?"

"He said that he had avoided it as long as possible but there was only so much he could do before it became rude for him to deny more proposals. He said that betrothals make for good alliances and well, even I know that."

"Hold on, hold on," He let go and stood up facing her. "You… you know that? What is that supposed to mean? Am I to stand in the bloody Godswood and watch as Hoster fucking Umber puts his cloak on your shoulders?!"

He knew he shouldn't raise his voice but he was furious and honestly, Arya was a little stupid herself, sometimes she needs someone to yell at her.

"No!" It wasn't hard to start fighting with her. "That is not what I meant!"

"Well could you explain yourself better, m'lady? I don't have all day you know?" He started to turn around but the fury in her eyes scared him just a little.

"Oh if I'm taking so much of your precious time then never mind me, go back to hammering pieces of metal you moron!" She was very agitated and of course now Nymeria was looking at him with reproach in her eyes.

"And you can go back to your wedding plans, I'm sure lady Sansa will be glad to help you!"

"You know what? That's not even what I… You stupid! You're so stupid! Do you truly believe that I would marry that idiot? I wouldn't marry anyone that wasn't you anyways!"

"How would I know? You don't tell me anything!"

"Well you don't ask! Am I supposed to guess you have questions? I am not able to read minds you know?! Not to mention that…"

He ignored her shouting, It was a stupid argument and especially considering that apparently she wasn't marrying anyone that wasn't him anyways, wait. Oh Gods he was stupid.

"… as if I was some fainting lady who would swoon over that – What are you doing, wha-!"

Her lips tasted delicious and her breath was already agitated from their quarrel. Her little fist tried to push him away but he had placed his hand firmly on her waist and he had no intentions of letting her go anytime soon. Finally his body came to terms with a little distance and he put some space between them.

"Stupid." Was all she said before her lips found his again. Content, she put her arms around his neck and he pushed her against the wall for a lazy kiss. Usually, they were much more impatient and eager, but now it seemed there was a calming quality to their kiss. It was never like that for them, since the beginning it was always fast and impatient, always fearing something would keep them apart.

He and Arya had been inseparable since she came back. He had duties as part of Bran's court but he had never been too fond of them and Bran soon realized that he much rather spent time sparring with his sister than sitting and planning. He enjoyed the responsibilities of taking care of the ever-growing Winterfell and Wintertown, but he cared little for the alliances that needed to be made. Seeing how happy Arya seemed to have him around Bran had easily let them spend as much time together as they liked.

His common sense and the respect he felt for Bran and Rickon had made him hold back his desires at first, but there was only so much he could do against Arya, who always got what she wanted. When she had first tried to kiss him, he had told her it couldn't be. But denying anything to Arya always meant she wanted it more. He was stubborn and resisted until the first talk of marriage to a Southern had come in one of Sansa visits. That night Arya went to him, so beautiful and close to him, making it so painful to think someday some other man would think the same. Being a lord was never what he wanted and he got it anyway, and if Arya was what he wanted now, why say no?

Ever from that first time it had always felt desperate between them. At least on his part, the thought of losing her again seemed such a cruelty from the Gods, when he had gone to such a great lengths to be as close from her memory as possible.

"Stop thinking, you're making it look hard." His lips were on the skin of her neck when she said it. He stopped his ministrations and looked at her.

"And how would m'lady know when she can't see my face?" Take that, smart girl.

"Well, I can just tell." She answered and he chuckled, she always had to have the last word. "There might be some things we need to discuss."

He didn't say anything, just nodded. Anything to keep her to himself. He was shit on a horse but he would ride an hour every day for the rest of their lives if it was her condition.

"I need to stay in Winterfell. I don't care if Stannis demands you go to King's Landing. I will kick his arse with my sword if it's necessary," she would, that he didn't doubt, "and I will not sew your shirts or sit around while you go have fun with Rickon drinking ale" only she would find drinking with Rickon fun, "and I will not wear dresses."

"I didn't expect you to, you know?" It was true. If he wanted a lady wife, he would have taken one a long time ago. Even if he was born a bastard, now they all seemed to see the King's nephew and some offers of marriage had come. Stannis had been close to marry him to a Tyrell maiden, but he had written to Shireen and she had spoken in his favor.

"Yes." She bit her lip and looked at him in the eye, her stance firm. "I don't want to be a mother. Ever, that won't change. I would tell you that I don't mind if you have bastards, but I know better."

She knew him. He would never have a bastard. It would be no children, ever. Just the two of them until death took them. It would take a while to get used to, but for years he thought he would never see her again. He never had a fantasy of children with her and he hoped letting go of something he never dreamed wouldn't be too hard. Having her and losing her, that would be unbearable.

He squeezed her hand and soon they were embracing again. She felt so real, tight and strong, like she had always been. Sometimes, during the nights, he could feel the weakness in her touch, the way she would search for something in him. Some to hold onto, he guessed. He could give her that. He would give her anything she wanted, really.

Closing his eyes, he let his forehead touch hers, and he wondered briefly if his gentle touches were making her uncomfortable. However, when she opened his eyes he found her grey ones looking at him with the infinite deep sadness that, no matter how much he wanted to take away, never seemed to go. It was a sadness that was in Rickon, Bran, Jon and Sansa's eyes as well. The same sadness that he had seen in her back when they were children. It would never go away, no matter how much all of them tried. Meera and lady Lyanna and Harry and him…. There was nothing they could do, just try to give them peace.

"Should I take you to the Godswood right now, m'lady?"

Her eyes light up with irritation and he tried to keep on a serious face. Oh how she loved a good fight, and how fun it was for him to fire her up.

"NO! Sansa is there you idiot. We wait until all those people leave and we go to the Godswood by ourselves. I bet Bran already saw it happening anyways."

He smiled and left the comfort of her arms to go back to his inspection of the steel. Again a question came to his mind and he turned around. "Why do you want to give Alayne that sword?"

"Because I will never have a daughter to ask me for one." She confessed.

He kept quiet for a long time afterwards, hating the atmosphere that they had created. "Sansa will kill you for that." He said, expecting to lighten the mood.

"Well, when we get married you will have to protect me from her wrath." She explained with a smile. How very convenient for her then. He returned the smile and walked to her again.

"Oh you need protection now?" She hummed as a respond, mischief in her eyes. "Well then it's good that I'm the King's nephew, they can't harm my lady wife." Her laughter filled the forge, and he felt so calm he wondered if this was what happiness felt like.

"If Stannis were to ever save my life, it would be because of Jon, don't think so highly of yourself."

"Oh, am I too lowborn for my lady high?" He asked. She stood up and walked to the door, shiny Needle in hand.

"I'm going to go leave this buried in Alayne's things. With some luck, I will avoid Sansa."

That night instead of going to the feast, they walk hand in hand to the Godswood. There's no maiden's cloack, no sigils, no escort, no lords and no ladies. Just the two of them, Nymeria and the Old Gods. The she-wolf goes with them all the way to the heart tree, but when they stopped she carried along and lost herself in the depth of the woods.

He is not a man of faith and the last time he prayed it was to the Seven, so he just sat in front of that weeping face and asked for health and happiness not truly believing something was listening to him. Instead, Arya sat next to him and closed her eyes, her lips moving but no sound escaping them. Then, when some time had passed, she finally looked up at him and with a solemn look took his hands in hers. "Do you take me?"

He nodded before giving his answer. "I take you, m'lady."

She smiled at him and said "As I take you." Her forehead touched his. "Do you want us to do the vows of the Southerners? "

He shaked his head. He already knew she was his, and he had been hers for the longest time. He kissed her, deeply and passionately. Could they consummate their marriage here? Would it be disrespectful?

She seemed to read his mind, for she announced. "I would rather we don't do this here. For all I know, Bran could be seeing." The idea didn't amuse him and he took her hand and quickly led her back to her chambers. They could hear Nymeria singing as they reached the doors. He stole kisses from her as they went up the stairs and never let go of her hand as he pushed her on the bed.

From that day until their graves, they would be family.

A.N.: Thank you for reading, favorites and reviewing!