AUTHOR: 372259

COLLECTION TITLE: Displaced Souls

COLLECTION SUMMARY: Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong song.

This story is the first in a collection. Please see Chapter 1.5 for details regarding each planned piece.

STORY TITLE: Alloys of Arryn

STORY SUMMARY: "Can you keep a secret?" -x- Gendry Waters wakes up as Gendrick Arryn, recalling only fragmented memories from his old world. He pieces together the shards... and in the reflection, Arya Stark stares back. -x- Time-travel. There's more than one time-traveller, but do they come from the same futures?

PAIRINGS: Mainly AryaxGendry. Will probably have NedxCatelyn, and I will try to find a way to slide some RickonxShireen hints in there (eventually). Sansa, Robb, Theon, and Bran pairings to be determined, but will likely be based on what pairings readers want to see.

OTHER CHARACTERS: All the Starks. Jon Snow. Theon Greyjoy. Elbert Arryn. OC Arryn children. OC Baratheon sister. Davos Seaworth. Shireen Baratheon. Tyrells. Stannis Baratheon. Tommen Baratheon. Oberyn Martell. Probably others to be added.

DISCLAIMER: Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/ hate it enough to flame ;)

A/N: This is an AU overtop of an AU.

- Essentially, the "original" timeline mostly aligns with cannon up to like the end of 8x03. This original timeline does have cannon-bending of 8x04, which will be revealed below and throughout the story by way of flashbacks.

- The "new" timeline, where Gendry is shoved into the consciousness of Gendrick, has quite a few changes to allow for there to BE a Gendrick in existence. These changes have butterfly effects, which will be revealed as the story progresses. P.S. the whole "marbled" eyes thing is not canon, it's just an idea for my original story that I'm testing out on here to see if I like the sound of it.

STYLES

"Speech"

'Thought'

('voice')

Long memory from the past or a dream

Short memory or "phrase" from the past

-|x|- Alloys of Arryn -|x|-

the hour of honour

Chapter 1

DispLaceMeNt

-|x|-

Zamak: an alloy made from zinc, aluminum, magnesium, and copper

-|x|-

"I am no one."

The girl standing before him says the damning words with apathy. Looking into her vacant grey eyes, Gendry's heart wrenches.

"No." Gendry shakes his head roughly. He grips the cold girl firmly by her arms, and deliberately pulls her towards his chest. (She has been saving him since they were children. It is his turn to save her. He refuses to lose her again, not even to herself.) "You are Arya Stark of Winterfell. That is who you will always be."

Her bowed mouth slowly curves into a smile. For the briefest second, Gendry thinks he has saved her. Relieved, he loosens his grip.

And then he notices the mocking tilt of her lips.

He stills.

She calmly draws one of her palms up to the stubble that lines his cheek. He sinks into her skin, chasing the warmth of her calloused hand. 'Come back.' He thinks desperately. 'Come back to me.' He knows the real Arya is in there, behind the mask; he saw her. He saw her true self in the familiar way they bantered in the days before the Battle for the Dawn, in the way she smiled and almost-laughed when she had first kissed him, in the way her eyes softened when he told her that he marched to Winterfell – that he had followed her brother beyond the Wall – to honour her memory.

Her hand is misleadingly tender in how it coaxes the skin at his jaw. She slips her body closer, and his eyes drift to the oval-shaped marks dotting either side of her neck. The frozen touch of the Night King's undead fingers, the place where the beast had grabbed her, and the forever-reminder of how close he was to dying. (Because even if Jon had somehow managed to slay the horned monster after Arya failed… there was no life for Gendry without Arya in it.)

Arya brushes her thumb against the thin skin above the bone of his cheek. His weary eyes close in response, indulging in her caress. Then he feels her breath, hot at his neck, and for a moment he almost pretends that—

"Arya Stark is dead."

His eyes burst open at her quiet warning.

She had whispered the dangerous words gently against his ear, mirroring the soft way he always dreamt she would one day whisper that she loved him. Her words are cruel in their meaning as much as their delivery; they match the macabre thoughts that haunted him for years after the Twins. But of course, she knew that. With that realization, he wants to push her away, this spiteful thing that wears his lover's face. (But he cannot. Not ever again. He is forever hers, even if she refuses to be his.)

He reaches out for her arms again. Sloppily now, in his despair. 'I'm losing her.'

She steps back gracefully - teasingly letting his fingertips just barely brush against the rough leather of her jerkin, as she glides out of his grasp.

"But, why would you care?" Not-Arya smirks, ruthless. "She wasn't enough for you to stay for back then. And now… well now, there is no one left for you to leave."

-|x|-

An ink-haired young man jolts awake. The taste of salt and the smell of iron meld in his mind. There is an echo of winter chill on his skin. 'But, no. That isn't right.'

Unfamiliar silken sheets drape over him, accompanied by a soft featherbed below him. Dazed, he wearily pulls himself from a plush pillow. Blearily looking left and right, his thick brows furrow further as he notes the much too lavish room surrounding him. His mind is hazy. 'Where am I? What happ—'

Memories assault him before he can finish the thought.

There is an onslaught of images and voices, people and places, emotions and experiences. The conflicting memories wage a war, winding about each other in ways that don't make sense and contradict each other: bastard or Lord? Bull or falcon? Armorer's apprentice or heir apparent?

A vision flies before his eyes, shoving away all the others with brutal efficiency. In his arms is a girl, beautiful yet bloodied, lovely yet limp. Her white and grey gown is soaked in red. Her grey eyes are unseeing. He carries her past weirwoods, and lays her before the unforgiving eyes of a weeping heart tree. Snow roars around them, whiting out the vision.

('But our godswood has no heart tree, and neither father nor mother follow the old gods.')

The familiar voice confuses him. It sounds like his own, but it's saying things that are wrong. 'I'm an orphan. I don't even know what gods my mum followed. All I remember of her is that she was a yellow-haired tavern girl from Flea Bottom.'

('You dare?! Mother is a noble lady from a great house - a royal house - with hair as black as yours, besides.')

In the place of a yellow-haired figure singing above him, he starts to see a night-haired woman with brilliant blue eyes. The images contradict each other as they superimpose. All of his memories do the same. And the voice keeps telling him things that feel true and untrue all at once.

'I grew up on the streets of Flea Bottom; I remember the taste of a bowl of brown.' ('You are a nephew to the King; you ran through the Red Keep's halls as a child.')

'I'm just a bastard.' ('You are a noble heir.')

'My name is Gendry.' ('Your name is Gendrick')

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

He clutches his head; the pain doesn't abate.

The girl in the gory gown flashes again, he knows her. Her name... it was... her name was...

'Arya.'

('Who?')

He screams.

{Two mornings later, outside the room next to where the young man had screamed, there is a young boy sleuthing about the halls and eavesdropping behind a heavy door.}

"A spontaneous fever, My Lord. The past two nights were quite dire, as I told you. I am grateful, but honestly surprised that such a high temperature was not fatal for him. The cooling must have helped. Based on my examination, he seems to be taking a rapid turn for the better now."

"I don't understand. What could have caused this, Maester Lenus? He was perfectly healthy at dinner, mere hours prior to retiring for the evening."

"I could not say, My Lord. There is no focus of infection that I can discern."

A pause.

"… Could it have been a poison?"

"His symptoms are inconsistent with any poisons that I am aware of, My Lady."

"Will he recover?"

"His… ramblings are only a side effect of the delirium, My Lady. Fever speech. I believe it should pass as he recovers."

Gendry groggily rejoins the living, lashes tangled and crusting at the edges of his eyelids. He opens them slowly, carefully, and needs to blink more than a few times in order to resolve the blurry silhouette seated next to his bed. It is a black-haired boy, whose marbled eyes widen almost comically in surprise when their gazes meet. A broad grin rapidly grows between the boy's rounded cheeks.

('Artys.')

"Gendrick!" The boy shouts in glee as he barrels over the bed and plows onto Gendry's chest.

('Brother. He's our baby brother.')

Gendry's arms come around the boy reflexively, despite their weary heaviness. Artys turns his head up towards Gendry eagerly, small arms still firmly locked around Gendry's stomach. "Why were you sleeping for so long? Were you really sick? Maester Lenus told mother and father you were. What does fatal mean? I wasn't supposed to know, you know, but I listened from behind the door. You shouldn't get sick again; mother was so worried! Father was too. Alys even cried! Well, Cass did too. But, Cass is always crying, since Cass is a baby, you know?" The boy takes in a deep breath to replenish his lungs before he continues to babble. "But, I didn't cry." He announces proudly, bringing one small fist to clout his puffed out chest. "Father and mother are just in the next room. They're talking to Maester Lenus. They didn't want to "disturb your healing" with their talk. So when they left, I snuck in! I must have done something right since you're awake now. Maybe I should be a knight and a Maester! I could get them. Want me to get them? When will you be okay enough for more lessons? I've been practicing and everything!"

('You've been teaching him the proper stances for sword fighting.')

Gendry nods, unsure of which on the long list of Artys's questions he is acknowledging. He feels a bit overwhelmed by Artys's words. Which is compounded, understandably so, by the fact that Gendry remembers having a brother, yet also remembers being an orphaned only child.

Artys quickly adopts an almost stern countenance, nodding back solemnly. The forged air of seriousness dissipates seconds later when the boy starts boasting about the task being "another quest to complete" on his path to becoming "the truest knight of the Seven Kingdoms" as he happily bounces off of Gendry's chest and heads towards the door.

Gendry doesn't have much time to sort through his conflicting thoughts. Within seconds, the room's door is shoved open once more. A (familiar but not familiar) woman and man come quickly race towards him, followed by a proud Artys (who is just about preening).

The dark-haired woman comes to him first, cupping his face in her warm hands before kissing his forehead and his cheeks. "Oh, my boy. My precious, baby boy."

"Hey!" Exclaims an affronted Artys. "That's me!"

"My older baby boy, then." The woman amends indulgently with an affectionate roll of her deep blue eyes.

Gendry's own eyes widen. "Mother," he rasps.

('Lady Senna Arryn.')

He has a mother now, and the knowledge causes his gut to twist. 'She is beautiful. She has such a kind smile and—' His thoughts are interrupted by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Son." The voice belonging to the hand's owner sounds deeply relieved. Gendry looks up towards the blond-haired man. "Glad to see you amongst the living again."

"Father?" He croaks out.

The older man smiles at him.

('Lord Elbert Arryn.')

-|x|-

Soon after, he meets his younger sisters.

At only age three-and-ten, Alyssa Arryn gracefully carries Cassana into the room before carefully handing the babe to her mother. Alyssa then approaches him with all the formal courtesy of a proper lady. The image breaks when he sees her watery eyes and hears the tremble in her voice. "I am glad to see you well again, brother."

He smiles at her gently, opening his arms. That is all it takes before she is running towards him, much the same way Artys had when Gendry awoke.

Artys. Mother. Father. Aly. Cass.

('Your family') whispers the persistent voice – the one that sounds too much like his own.

His echo's words send lightening up Gendry's spine. A submerged memory rises with the force of the fiercest storm.

"I could be your family."

'Arya.'

-|x|-

He tells his family he needs rest.

The moment the heavy wooden doors to his room close, he is flying out of bed and stumbling towards his desk for ink and two pieces of parchment.

And then he writes.

That in itself is a very strange experience. Gendry just knows the numbers needed for his trade. Gendry doesn't know his letters.

('But I do. All highborns know their letters.')

On the first piece of parchment, he writes out the salient points from a life where he was born into a noble house. He tries to record every way this life differs from the other – more painful – history in his head. In the easier life, Lady Cassana Baratheon (née Estermont) births her Lord husband four children. Lady Senna – the Baratheon's only daughter – weds Lord Elbert Arryn before the infamous Tourney at Harrenhal. Elbert stays by his wife's bedside as she nearly loses her life while miscarrying her first pregnancy, instead of riding with a raging Brandon Stark to King's Landing. Lady Lysa Tully weds Elbert's uncle, Lord Paramount Jon Arryn, to secure the Riverlands's support of the rebels during Robert's Rebellion. Elbert survives the war, but loses almost his entire left arm. Gendrick Arryn is born at the tail-end of the year following the Rebellion. And Gendry even remembers growing up in the Eyrie, frequently training and regularly finding mischief with his loyal friends Andar Royce and Roland Waynwood, his cousin and closest confidante Harrold Hardyng, and even his bastard cousin Mya Stone. There was even a time where he accompanied his mother to a visit to Dorne.

'Wait. That doesn't make sense,' thinks Gendry. 'Dorne would never welcome those with Baratheon blood, not after what King Robert allowed in both pasts.'

('The way the stories tell it, mother stormed into the Red Keep with her Arryn name and all her Baratheon fury. She argued against her new King's inaction in front of some of the greatest Lords of the Realm, demanding justice for her friend, Princess Elia. She finally convinced Uncle Robert into letting her and her escort take the Mountain to Dorne, where the Martells served their justice. You spent a few months at Sunspear with her prior to your warding at Dragonstone. You probably would have been betrothed to Prince Doran's second daughter, if he'd had one. Or maybe even a trueborn daughter of Prince Oberyn, if he'd had one.')

Warding. Yes. Warding. Gendrick Arryn spent four years in Dragonstone, learning from Uncle Stannis as a squire and running around the dark shores of Blackwater Bay with little Shireen. Gendry remembers it clearly: the briny air, the grim black-stoned halls, the reflections of dragons littered about the daunting Keep – right down to the claw-shaped torch handles. Gendrick's cousin loved to read stories about the dragons. In between his training she would frequently pull him through the many thick tomes and dusty ledgers lining the seemingly endless shelves of the library. Shireen was probably the only person in the entire realm whose love for libraries rivalled that of Senna Arryn's own. Lady Senna often bemoaned how none of her three older children inherited her love for books and reading. So, despite his cousin's young age, Lady Senna often wrote to Shireen exchanging information about their recent 'finds' in their respective libraries.

Gendrick Arryn has three other "cousins" too. Royal ones. 'Joffrey's still a shit.' Gendry snorts. 'Seems like that's true in any version of the past.' He remembers the annoying whiner from the time he and his parents spent at the Red Keep when he was younger. He also remembers that he got on quite well with Myrcella and Tommen. Gendrick still writes to the younger two, actually. He definitely did not get along with "Aunt" Cersei though. 'Probably thinks me another way someone could discover the illegitimacy of her children, that psychotic bitch.' His time at the Red Keep had been rather enjoyable, all things considered, as he ran about the expansive halls alongside Myrcella, Tommen, and Alyssa. But the more he tries to remember, the more he recalls. Something happened to sour their visit... what had it been… oh, yes. Lysa Arryn died after delivering a stillborn. 'Serves the madwoman right.' Thinks Gendry, not the least bit guilty for the nasty thought. He recalls all too clearly the story behind Lysa Arryn, Petyr Baelish, and what truly led to the War of Five Kings.

('She poisoned great-uncle Jon?! Her own Lord husband?!')

Gendry feels something prickling at the back of his mind. Something about Aunt Lysa… for a second he sees himself – younger and shorter – hiding under a bed, and overhearing a whispered conversation he shouldn't have—

"Agh!" Gendry clutches the back of his head. The baseline dull ache had sharpened, piercing him painfully. He isn't sure what he is forgetting, and (based on the shear sharpness of the pain he just experienced) he isn't too keen on attempting to chase down that memory again.

('It's important. But, you'll remember it soon enough.')

Gendrick Arryn has been to Sunspear, Dragonstone, and the Red Keep. ('But never the North. Never to a godswood with a heart tree surrounded by whirls of snow.')

Gendrick Arryn only returned to the Vale from his warding about a year ago, after his seven-and-tenth nameday. ('It was celebrated at Storm's End, actually. Uncle Renly held a tourney, and you won the squire's melee. You crowned Aly with the 'Princess' of Love and Beauty crown – Gods, Uncle Renly truly is over the top. Aly still has the crown; she pressed its flowers into a frame she hangs in her room. Her beaming smile that day when you put the crown atop her head made you feel like her hero, but Joffrey's reaction had been your true prize. The ponce had been so jealous, loudly bragging to all the (clearly fed-up and annoyed with his voice) Stormlords that he would have won if he had graced the tourney with his entrance. Uncle Robert guffawed at Joffrey's boasting and then he knighted you. He called you a true Baratheon, despite your eyes.')

The voice's last comment sends Gendry away from his parchment and towards the mirror placed at the other end of his large room. What he sees startles him. Instead of the cobalt blue he expects, that he knows, he sees the eyes of all his siblings and father reflecting back.

('The renowned alloyed eyes of Arryn.')

They're striking, now that he has the time to examine them closely. A marbling of bronze and brass and copper. ('It's a good thing that the Gods gave you at least one Arryn feature. If you were born all Baratheon, Aunt Lysa would have surely sent out whispers that you were Prince Oberyn's bastard. But that's something to think on later, I suppose... For now, there is still a blank parchment on the desk. I know you keep putting off... that history because it will be painful, but we don't have the time for you to dance around it.')

And so, with the voice's ominous warning, Gendry finds himself seated at the desk again.

On the next piece of parchment is the more painful story.

He tries to write down all the salient points, despite his shaking hands.

He remembers seeing the green sky when the Sept of Baelor exploded. He remembers Jon Snow - a bastard that became King in the North. He remembers standing in awe as dragons soared above him. He remembers Queen Daenerys Targaryen, smiling from the head table at a feast, and offering him a true name with lordship over Storm's End.

But… things are missing.

He grows more and more frustrated as he comes across blanks in his mind that he knows should not be empty.

He knows he befriended Jon Snow during a mission surrounded by snow and icy mountains, but he cannot remember what it was for. He remembers an army amassing at Winterfell, filled with Dothraki and Unsullied and even Wildlings, but why would they have done that? Had Cersei gained so much territory that her armies pushed on Winterfell? That they needed to rely on bringing Wildlings from the ice-lands beyond the Wall?

Gendry shakes himself, the dull aching in his head throbs louder.

('Go further back.')

He was imprisoned in Dragonstone. Davos freed him. The Red Witch. The leeches.

('Further, you need to go further.')

The Brotherhood. Hot Pie. Yoren. Lommy. Mott.

('Deeper, you need to go deeper.')

And then he remembers.

'Arya Stark.'

Her name blares across his mind so sharply, and like a blow to the chest, he remembers everything about her.

"Where'd you steal it?"… "It was a gift."

…

"No one can know...Yoren is taking me home to Winterfell."

…

"Do not call me milady."

…

"If things go wrong, you run along North and don't look back."

…

"What's that smell?" … "Dead people."

…

"You should stand side-face... smaller target"

…

"You're practicing for a fight; you should practice right."

…

"Stay here if you're afraid."

…

"I could be your family."

…

"You look good."

…

"Don't call me that." … "As you wish, milady."

…

"This is different... this is death." ... "I know death."

…

"Last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell."

…

"We're probably going to die soon. I want to know what it's like before that happens."

…

They were going to die… but why? Could the Lannisters really have been so strong that they stood a chance against dragons?

'Stop.' Gendry begs. 'Please. It hurts.'

But loving her had always been painful, hand't it? Back when she was too young, and he thought himself a monster for the feelings he was beginning to have towards her. Back when he thought she died at the Twins, because he chose to leave her to stay with the Brotherhood. Back when he was just a bastard smith in Winterfell, and she was not just a lady but a princess, who would forever be out of his reach. And even back when he finally became a lord, she… she gutted him when she refused to marry him. She wanted to forget everything to do with him in favor of her suicidal mission to complete her thrice-damned list.

"Only no one can kill Cersei."

'But, after Cersei was slain, she came back. I was helping rebuild her home, and she came back to me.' Gendry asserts, adamant. 'I remember that. She came back.'

('Only to for you to lose her again.')

The vision of Arya in his arms, as he carried her corpse, flashes in his mind.

For a moment, he hears Arya's voice, a warped and feeble version of it. "Stupid bull… you'll be okay."

'No.' Gendry refuses to believe it. Arya is too strong to die. "You're lying." He accuses out loud to the voice in his head. "You're lying. I would … I would not forget that."

The voice is quiet.

And then it isn't.

('You've forgotten a lot of things.')

And so with the messily scrawled-on pieces of parchment that he keeps on him always, his past is somewhat (not really) sorted. What he knows of it, at least. He pauses his identity crisis until further notice. For now, he will answer to Gendrick, and follow the voice's lead on how to interact with his family and friends whenever there are memories that he can't remember living through. It's still so confusing, having a deep love for these people and yet simultaneously feeling as though they are nothing more than characters from a song. Even the castle itself - it feels like home and a foreign land all at once.

And yet, there are more imperative things than sorting out Gendry Waters versus Gendrick Arryn right now. Which is exactly why he is striding with purpose down the hallway from his room towards his father's solar.

Gendry needs a plan for the future. He knows this, but grows increasingly irritated with his lack of progress on said plan because how can he make a plan if he doesn't even know if this world has the same future? After all, in his world, there was no true House Arryn after the death of Lord Jon (just a mariticidal woman masquerading Petyr Baelish's sickly bastard son as the Arryn heir). In truth, he isn't even sure if he remembers the future correctly. And if there is one thing the voice and he can agree on, it is that he is forgetting many vital things that would no doubt be helpful in concocting this (currently elusive) plan.

He knows one thing for certain, though.

'I need Arya.'

He'll get Arya first, and then he'll worry about the rest. If the vision is true, she died in the North. If he can bring her back to the Vale, then even Cersei's armies cannot reach her.

"Arya Stark. Dawn-breaker. Saviour of the Seven Realms."

The monikers ghost through his thoughts, but confuse him. Were they given to her because she was the one to finally defeat Cersei? Was she the one to put an end to the mad queen who set alight the Sept? Gendry can't remember.

('She will not leave her home, not even for you. Surely you remember that, at least.')

Gendry ignores the voice's warning. 'Arya will know what to do. She'll fill in all the gaps that I am forgetting. She will understand that we need to save the rest of her family, and that the only way to do that is to work together. Especially if her memories are as fractured as mine.'

The voice is quiet, again.

(There is a skittish part of Gendry that wonders if he is alone, but no, that can't be. He shoves the hesitant worries away and refuses to believe them. Arya came back; she must have. She is stronger than him in every way. She is here. She must be.) The image of her in a bloodied gown appears before him again, taunting him. He roughly shakes it away.

'I won't lose her this time. Not again.'

-|x|-

"Is this some poor jest? You cannot be serious, Gendrick."

His father's eyes narrow harshly, but Gendry keeps his face stern. "I am."

Elbert Arryn sighs, loudly and clearly exasperated from where he stands behind his heavy desk. "You were just on your death bed yesterday. Barring that, you only returned to us from Dragonstone, when? Not even a year ago? You are our heir, Gendrick. The Vale Lords will have my head if I send you away again." He snorts. "Of course, that is conditional on if there is anything left of me to dismember once your mother and Artys hear that I'm even entertaining your request."

('A wife. Use his desire to see you wed.')

"Just one year, father. That is all I am asking you for. One year, and if I don't come back with a betrothal, I will let you make one to whoever you see fit, with not a single word of opposition."

Suspicion flickers in his father's marbled eyes. "You have not expressed even remote interest in any of the noble ladies your mother or I have brought before you, let alone betrothals. I do not know if I should be impressed that you are trying to manipulate me, or embarrassed that you are so awful at it."

Gendrick smiles. "Nothing so crude as manipulation, father. I prefer to call it… opening negotiations."

His father barks out a huff of a laugh. "Well, you are your mother's son. I'll give you that." He says fondly. "Speaking of my sweet and stubborn wife, is there a reason that you haven't requested her presence at these…" His father smirks, "negotiations?"

Gendry smiles sheepishly, awkwardly bringing his hand to the back of his head. "I figured I'd have a better shot at convincing her if I already had your support?"

His father's brows furrow in confusion. "Odd. You haven't used that tell since you were Artys's age."

Gendry frowns. "What tell?"

His father nods to Gendry's hand. "Whenever you got nervous as a child, you would scratch the back of your head. It was a surefire way for us to know when you were hiding something. And here I thought that your mother rid you of it."

Gendry shrugs.

The Lord of the Vale groans, his sole hand brought up to massage his forehead. "You truly want this?"

Gendry places his hands on the desk, leaning towards his father. "I do. Please, father."

Elbert Arryn sits back in his seat, looking towards the corner of the room, quietly contemplating his son's request. After what feels like eons, his father speaks. "You will take Alyssa with you—"

"Huh?" Gendry interrupts, baffled.

His father raises an unimpressed brow at the rude – and crass – disruption.

Gendrick straightens his back. "My apologies, father. Please continue."

The older lord gives him a measured look before continuing. "You will take Alyssa with you. That way, even if you do not make a betrothal with one of the Stark girls," his tone implies that he very much doubts his stubborn son will, "then perhaps your sister will do her duty to our house and I can I can arrange for her to be with one of Ned's boys. He has three if I recall correctly, surely one will get on with her."

Gendry's shoulders sag in relief. "Thank you."

Elbert arches his brow. "Do not thank me yet. You still have to convince your mother. And then break the news to Artys." The Lord Paramount frowns, tilting his head to the side. "The boy was so young when you left for Dragonstone. He idolizes you, a fact of which I am sure you are well aware. He will not take well to losing you so soon after knowing you again."

(Gendry feels guilty, thinking about saddening the endearingly rambunctious boy, but then Arya's voice echoes behind his eyes."I could be your family.")

Gendry gives his father a tight smile. "I'll take care of it."

His father nods. "Good. You will tell them during our meal. And, if the Maester clears you tomorrow, join the lads in the training yard. If I have to ward off the pestering of Andar or Roland, or even Harrold just one more time…" Elbert rolls his eyes, but Gendry sees the affection in them. "Now, off you go. You can make your way over to the midday meal. I have a couple of things to finish up and then I'll join you all."

Gendry grins. "Thank you, father!" Before turning to leave.

Just as his hand wraps around the solar's door handle, he hears his father's voice again.

"And I do not know what has gotten into you lately. Perhaps it is still you recovering. But, clean up your mannerisms if you are actually serious about courting one of Ned's girls. Lady Catelyn was the epitome of propriety back when I knew her; she has likely raised her daughters in her image. And Seven knows your mother will have your head - and more importantly, mine - if she even suspects that you have embarrassed our House while you are up there."

"Do not call me milady!"

Gendry's mouth quirks into a half-smile, remembering Arya's wild eyes and wilder hair, the deftness with which she spun a blade between her fingers, the way she shoved him onto the sacks of grain the night they...

He forces himself back into the present to respond to his father.

"I'm sure Aly will keep me in line."

-|x|-

'Arya,' he thinks, excitement thrumming through his veins. 'I'm coming.'

The girl who he loved, but thought herself incapable of loving anyone. The girl who didn't deserve any of the terrible experiences life forced her to endure. Does she remember too? She must. 'She is probably waiting for me in Winterfell, muttering over her stupidly slow bull as she practices with Needle.' He can picture it so clearly.

'Arya. Arya Stark. Arya Arryn. Lady of the Vale, wife of Gendry Arryn.' He is certain he wears a fool's smile as he plays with her name on his lips while he walks with lightened steps towards the dining hall.

-|x|-

After convincing his mother – now there was a conversation he never wanted to relive – his father and Gendry agree that Elbert will write to Ned Stark and ask that Gendry and Alyssa be allowed to travel to Winterfell two months from now, after his 18th birthday.

(The voice sighs. 'The destination is right, even if the reason is wrong.')

'If you're not going to be helpful,' Gendry mentally sneers at the unwanted vague commentary. 'Then shut it.'

-|x|-

That night, his thoughts race. His heart wrenches again and again as he relives the moment from another life – the one where Arya refused to be his wife.

'This time is different.' He reassures himself, as he paces about his overly large room. 'This time I'm worthy of wedding her, Sansa won't have any ground to see us apart, and Jaqen won't ever come near her - she'll never be chased to Essos, and she'll never lose herself there either.'

Morning light sees Gendry heeding his father's instruction. He meanders through the winding stone-lined halls of the Eyrie, and makes his way to the training yard. On his way there, Gendry is unsurprised to see Artys sulking at the end of the hallway. Gendry stops his course. Artys moves his gaze up from the floor, and his sad eyes narrow when they meet Gendry's own. Then, he runs up to Gendry, and with all the gumption of a distressed boy of seven namedays, bangs his hands repeatedly into Gendry's stomach.

'So he's clearly still angry with me over my pending departure.'

('Did you expect different?' the voice sneers. 'You're abandoning him. Again.')

Gendry stiffens. 'I'm not abandoning him. I'm coming back. I just… I just need to save Arya first.'

('What makes you think she needs saving?')

Gendry shakes away the voice's question and looks down towards the shorter boy who is still punching his gut. Gendry gently takes Artys's fists into his own larger ones. Artys tries to pull them away, but Gendry's grip is as firm as it is temperate. Artys sniffles, steadfastly looking to the ground and refusing to meet Gendry's knowing gaze.

"Would you like to come with me to the training yard?" Gendry asks, quietly.

Artys sniffles louder before wrapping his thin arms around Gendry's torso, burying his face in Gendry's stomach.

Gendry's thicker arms encircle Artys's smaller form, and for a moment, for the briefest moment… he debates if… perhaps he shouldn't... but then he hears her voice again.

"I know death."

Gendry kneels to put himself face-to-face with his brother.

"Why?" Artys says, voice thick and cheeks wet. "Why do you always have to leave?"

Gendry's eyes soften further. He brings his hand to nudge the boy's chin, coaxing his gaze off the ground.

"Can you keep a secret? It is a very important one. If I tell you, you must promise not to tell anyone else. Not even mother, not even father. You can even think of keeping it quiet as a mission."

('What are you doing?')

Artys eagerly nods and his red-rimmed eyes widen in curiosity.

"There is someone important to me in Winterfell. At my year's end, she is going to come back here, to be home with me." Artys looks confused, so Gendry continues. "When she comes back, she can teach you swordplay even better than me."

"Really!?" Artys's voice breaths out in awe.

('You fool. How will you explain this to him when he is old enough to understand that you could not have possibly had this foreknowledge?!')

Gendry nods his head.

"So how about we head over to the nearest basin, get your face washed up, and then make our way to the yards, hmm?"

Artys beams.

(The voice sighs woefully. 'It wasn't worth it, you utter fool. One day, you are going to regret your words.')

-|x|-

By the time the Arryn duo make it to the yards, there is already a group congregated around one of the sparring pairs.

Seeing a familiar tall blond among the gathered crowd, Gendry makes his way towards him. The broad-shouldered young man turns to see Gendry and Artys, and his light blue eyes brighten. He clasps arms with Gendry, then smiles. "Gen, glad to see you out and about again." He nods to Artys. "Ser Arty," the blond ruffles the younger boy's black locks and Artys playfully bats the hands away.

Gendry smiles at Gendrick's closest friend. "Harry." Then Gendry nods towards the spar. "Andy and Rolly?"

Harry smirks, fond exasperation colouring his tone. "Rolly challenged Andy to a... friendly spar after some jape or another."

Gendry smirks back. They both knew that a 'friendly spar' between Andar Royce and Roland Waynwood translated into a death match. It was oftentimes easy to forget that the two squires were the best of friends, given how fond they were of beating each other bloody in training.

Artys nudges his way in front of Gendry and Harry so he can better view the spar between Rolly and Andar. Gendry looks on as well, examining the differing fighting styles of his two friends. He lets his eyes fall towards Artys's wide-eyed, wonder-filled gaze and gaping mouth often. 'Too cute,' thinks Gendry, patting his brother's head affectionately.

A few moments pass, and then Gendry one more kneels down next to his brother. "Who do you think is winning, Artys?"

Artys seems ecstatic at being tested in 'knightly' matters, and tapers his eyes to examine the fight more closely. His dark brows furrow in consternation. "I think Andar is winning."

"Correct." Gendry nods. "And what do you think Rolly is doing wrong?"

"Losing?" Artys offers.

Gendry hears Harry let out a not-so-quiet snicker at that.

Gendry pokes Artys's forehead before pointing to the Royce boy. "Andar is bigger, stronger. When you are a squire, and even when you are a knight, you will face opponents with stronger blows than you. When you face an opponent like that, don't try to stop the hit. Redirect it. You don't always win the battle by hitting hard; sometimes you win it by being hard to hit."

"Learn that from your Uncle?" Harry teases.

'No. They were Arya's words that I happened to overhear – advice that she offered to one of the soldiers she was training at Winterfell.'

Gendry just smiles and nods in response to Harry's query, unable to give credit to the true source. The Arryn heir is about to turn back to the spar when his attention is ripped away by Artys abruptly jumping behind him and running towards a dark-haired woman.

"Cousin Mya!" Artys greets loudly, before clamping himself onto her thigh.

To Mya Stone's credit, she only smiles warmly at the young boy's overly exuberant greeting.

Still glomped onto her leg, Artys looks up towards her with a bright grin. "I've been training my sword stances, want to see?"

She laughs and ruffles his dark locks. "I'd love to." She says indulgently.

"Okay! Awesome! Just let me get my training sword, and then I can show you all of them!"

With that, Artys runs off.

Gendry rolls his eyes fondly at his excitable brother's back, before striding forward to give his cousin a warm embrace. "What brings you up to the castle, Mya?"

"Lady Arryn sent word that you were sick. So, I made my way up from the Gates to check in." Mya gives him a soft smile. "I'm glad you to see you upright, cousin." Then her relieved smile turns wicked. "From what I just overheard, it seems like that bout of sickness did your fighting strategy some good. Want to put it to the test?"

Gendry grins back, eager to get out into the yard properly. "Aye, let's—"

"Aye?" Mya raises a brow.

('Fool.')

Gendry flushes. "I'm heading to the North for a bit. I figured I'd start practicing their accent?"

Mya's cold-water eyes widen when he says that he is leaving. Her smile wanes and her voice waivers. "Whatever suits your fancy, I suppose."

The minute Gendry leans away from Mya, Harry barrels up. He offers her a surprisingly tender "hello Mya," followed by a gentle kiss to her hand. Mya's smile tightens as she takes a step away from the blond's familiar greeting. For a second, it seems almost as though Harry means to keep her hand in his. The awkward moment passes though, and with only a slightly dimmed smile, Harry releases his grip on her.

('He loves her - has loved her since we were all children. And she persistently refuses his overtures because she is a bastard… Sound familiar?')

'Oh, fuck off.' Thinks Gendry, irritated.

('Though I suppose it is a bit different with them. Harry's getting more and more angered at her lack of reciprocation… She can tell, and it scares her.')

Gendry starts. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

('A king's bastard she may be, but lowborn all the same. Harry could force her into his bed, and face no consequence. At most, maybe he'd earn a slap on the wrist from father. And perhaps a couple of dirty glares from the few people who would believe her, if she was careless enough to tell anyone.')

Gendry frowns. 'Mother would not stand for that. She loves Mya as one of her own.'

('Mother's hands would be tied. Harry is the Hardyng heir, nephew to the Arryns. And Mya is a bastard girl with a late tavern wench for a mother. Some already whisper that Mya is treated far beyond her station because of mother's interference.')

Discomfited at the voice's warnings, Gendry sifts through his memories of young Gendrick Aryn and Harrold Hardyng. He sees them laughing together, playing together, and training together. They're more than just blood; they're best friends. 'Harry isn't capable of doing something like that.'

('I suppose we will find out when you leave.')

Gendry turns towards the stand with the wooden swords, noting a spear and arrow set.

('Curious thing… the terrible lengths Arryn boys are capable of going for their Baratheon girls.')

'What are you talking about?'

There's a flash of being under a bed again. Of hearing the muffled voices of a dangerous conversation.

('Oh, don't mind my words. You'll remember soon enough, I imagine.')

-|x|-

Training is… interesting.

He has the muscle memory of Gendrick, but retains the battle-tested instincts of Gendry. (He still can't remember which battles, or who he was fighting, but the senses are there. Like in the way he can tell the direction the swing his opponent's blade will take based on the subtle movement of their hips or shoulders.)

His first spar is with Mya, and it's amazing how… smooth, it is. Gendrick had swordplay ingrained into him from when he was younger than Artys, and now all that training is easily accessible from Gendry's mind.

And despite how well he takes to the sword, it still feels… wrong.

(Gendrick Arryn fights with a sword. Is in fact incredibly skilled at sword fighting. But, he has never saved a life with one... he has never killed a man with one.)

After his spar with Mya, Gendry's gaze finds a wooden war hammer hanging amidst the other training weapons on the wall of the shed. Her reaches for it, and gives it a practice swing through the air. His body is far from weak, but he isn't as strong as he remembered being after years of working in the forge. 'Fixable.' He thinks, as he once more swings the weighted training hammer during his fight with Harry.

The spar between cousins is over disappointingly fast, with Harry on the ground at the end of Gendry's hammer. When the familiar roar in his ears from battle fades, he notices that more than one of the men in the sparring yard have stopped their own training to stare at him.

('They're shocked by your skill. You've never used the hammer before.')

The master-at-arms, Ser Merick, is blustering. "M-my Lord! By the Seven, you are a natural! Why, I dare say you fight just like your uncle, the King!"

There's a round of praises from some of the audience, and Gendry thanks them with a smile before he leans down to help Harry stand. The moment the blond is upright, Gendry notices Harry's blue eyes searching the crowd. They lock onto Mya. The dark-haired girl doesn't notice her observer, too distracted by an animatedly chattering Artys that is making exaggerated hammering movements with his arms. Gendry sees the way that Harry readies himself to approach her. But before the blond can move, Gendry takes a firm hold of Harry's shoulder.

His friend turns towards him, confused.

"You're more than my cousin. You're my best friend; you know that."

Harry's eyes widen, clearly surprised to hear Gendrick say the words so bluntly. Harry opens his mouth to respond, likely in kind, but Gendry continues.

"Mya is my cousin too. I love her. My mother and Artys love her." Gendry's gaze hardens. "When I leave for the North… don't do anything stupid, Harry."

Harry's light blue eyes take on a look of understanding, then offense. (But there is a flash of guilt there too, and Gendry recognizes it easily.)

"I would never hurt her, Gen."

('Liar, liar. Arryn boys do dark things to win over their Baratheon girls.')

"I know, Harry. I am placing my trust in you. You're a good person. And that is the only reason I am not taking her to Winterfell with me."

Alyssa and Gendry are in the Eyrie's courtyard with their escort and family, readying themselves to depart.

"I want to come!" Artys complains, for the thousandth time that morning. At this point, everyone has stopped answering his unfortunately high-pitched whining (not that the tactic has had any success whatsoever in lessening the boy's petulance).

"Ladies do not ride astride mules!"

Alyssa's pitch matches Artys's, and Gendry can almost feel the blood spilling out from his battered ears. He shares a look of commiseration with Mya, who stands by one of the aforementioned mules with a cringing expression, as well as a finger pressed to her own (likely equally injured) ear. Then, Gendry's gaze shifts down towards the happily blubbering Cassana in his arms. 'How is it that the baby is the one of my siblings that is making the least ruckus over our departure?'

His mother approaches Aly the way a tamer might approach a feral mountain lion.

Lady Arryn speaks to her daughter in a familiar, coaxing tone. "You are just riding them side-saddle to the Gates, where you will then be travelling the rest of the way to Winterfell via wheelhouse. Surely you can tolerate that, sweetling?"

Aly pouts.

His mother smirks coyly and taps Aly's chin. "Ladies also don't pout, my darling."

It is exceedingly difficult, but Gendry gathers enough willpower to hold back his rising snort. Artys makes no such effort. Aly huffs before turning to say goodbye to her (still chortling) baby brother.

His mother turns to come back towards where Gendry is standing with his father. "Is it still not an option to oust Septa Harcelle?" His father (mostly) jokes to his wife.

His mother laughs brightly. "Alyssa loves her too much for it. Do not worry, my love. Aly will grow out of her… strict adherence. Seven knows I did with my own septa back at Storm's End. Besides, we'll have our respite. Dear Septa Harcelle will be accompanying the little troop to Winterfell."

His father sighs. "Perhaps the good woman will do my sanity a service and freeze on her way there."

Lady Arryn playfully pinches her husband's arm. He responds with a wide-eyed look that plainly reads: 'what? you know you were thinking it too!' Then his father smirks, shrugs, and uses his remaining arm to pull his wife closer to him. "It'd never be traced to us," he teases.

At his father's words, Gendry flinches. The earlier sharp pain in his head returns with a vengeance. There's another flash, slightly more vivid. Him, once more - younger and shorter - hiding under a bed, overhearing a whisper: "…Viper…they'll never be able to trace it to us—"

A bright flash, and the echo dissipates.

('Not yet. I will not give you that memory yet.')

"Eww! Father, that's gross!" Artys's exaggerated disgust separates Gendry from his mind. He turns to see the Eastern Lord Paramount giving a second pointed kiss to his mother's lips. Ever the polar opposite of Artys (who has progressed to mock-retching), Aly looks positively starry-eyed as she gazes upon their parents.

"It's sweet." Says Mya, as she takes a step closer towards him.

Gendry frowns. "A man has just locked lips with my mother. Sweet is not the word I would use. I'm of the same mind as Artys in this, actually."

Mya raises a dark brow and her lips curve in amusement. "That man is your father, Gendrick."

Gendry scoffs. "That is beside the point, Mya."

His cousin laughs. "You know, it's honestly refreshing to see a happy marriage. Especially between two people so well suited for each other."

Something prickles at the back of Gendry's head again, but he pushes it away.

Gendry kisses Cassana's smooth forehead before gently handing the babe off to the nearest servant.

He looks back to Mya. "You'll write me, if anything…" Gendry has no idea how to phrase his concerns. He is both afraid of betraying his own belief in his friend, as well as afraid of what should happen if that belief is misplaced. "If anything untoward... that is, if you're worried about... if… if you need to visit?"

She offers him a half-hearted smile. Her large blue eyes look at him in an indulgent manner - the way one might look towards a naive child - when she responds. "Of course."

('Liar, liar.')

Preview of upcoming content below

Want more chapters? Review please : - ) What do you like/dislike? Any grammar & spelling errors? Is the whole Gendrick's voice thing clear – like can you tell when it's Gendrick vs Gendry - or is it confusing?

Also if you enjoy my writing, check out my other GOT & ASOIAF fanfics.

Side note: there will be more than one character who remembers the "original" timeline. You might be surprised who I pick. Any guesses?

Fun fact, harceler is French for pester, and Lenus is a Celtic healing god.

We'll be in Winterfell next chapter, so you'll be getting all your Stark fixes ;) And, of course, gendrya!

COMING UP

He never knew Winterfell as the mighty pillar Arya described it as during their days traipsing through the Riverlands with the Brotherhood. By the time Gendry had reached the renowned Keep, it had suffered under Greyjoy and the Bolton banners. So seeing it now, in its full glory, Gendry sees what Arya meant. 'It's breath-taking.'

-|x|-

Hmm, I recall being owed a dance?

This is blackmail.

I believe the more accurate term is extortion, milady.

-|x|-

Bran speaks calmly, having been rolled into the Maester's room by Brienne. "A girl took skills without cost. A girl forgot what happened to her brother, another Stark who failed to pay their toll."

Sansa slaps Bran for the comment, so harshly and loudly that Gendry can feel it from his perch at Arya's bedside.

Bran is predictably unruffled by the blooming redness on his cheek, the silent tears of his oldest sister, and the gasping breaths of the newly bedridden one. "A girl was always meant to die in a bed of blood." He says, unaffected.

The words jar Gendry, but Sansa? Sansa lunges for Bran. She is nearly frothing at the mouth, with her screaming and sobbing and broken wails of "you knew! You knew!" Her assault is just barely prevented by the quick reflexes and strong arms of Jon, as well as Brienne stepping in front of the crippled boy.

-|x|-

I cannot even find the words to convey my disappoint in you, Alyssa. It shames me deeply to see that your actions today are neither Arryn nor Baratheon. Just those of a spoiled little girl.

-|x|-

"You have always been wild Arya, but this, you stain your father's reputation, you dishonour your house, you –x-x-x-x- Oh you foul girl! Oh Seven, how could you do this to your family? You've ruined yourself. Do you understand?" Catelyn collapses onto the chair and presses her hands over her eyes. "You're ruined." Catelyn wails.

-|x|-

She sneers with her eyes, but otherwise her face is placid. "I think I liked you better when you were an up-jumped bastard, desperately reaching your grubby hands towards what you were never worthy of."

Gendry's fists clench. He gives her a tight, baleful smile. "And I think I just might have liked you better when you were a simpering fool chasing after sadistic princes."

-|x|-

"I overheard Lord Robb tell Lord Theon that he didn't want to bring his family into war …... I would do my duty to our House, my Lord."

Gendry stiffens. 'Oh, Aly. What did you do?' ….. Gendry sees an image of a young Sansa flash before his mind, recalls the stories of how Joffrey's soldiers dragged her into the throne room to be stripped and beaten by the Kingsguard…..

-|x|-

"Not today"

-|x|-

"Brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes."

-|x|-

"Tell it true, my Lord. For I'm not sure which should insult me more - that you think me so dishonorable that I would take a lover, so daft that I would parade said lover around so brazenly, or so stupid as to take a lover that shares not a single feature with you.

-|x|-

If you take one more step towards me, I will consider it an untoward advance, and –x-x-x-x- will send an arrow through your eye.

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