Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5594743.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Arya_Stark/Gendry_Waters
  Character:
      Arya_Stark, Gendry_Waters
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-01 Words: 2140
****** Life and Death ******
by Gazyrlezon
Summary
     It has been a year since Jon Snow’s death, and Arya had never found
     peace again.
Notes
     I’ve been playing around with CSS recently, and thought I’d try to
     write a skin to make it look more book-like.
     Tell me what you think of it, and whether or not I should keep it for
     other stories.
     Also, does anyone know an alternative for text-align: justify, since
     it doesn’t seem to be allowed in a skin?
See the end of the work for more notes
Gendry crossed Winterfell’s frozen courtyard and made his way down the narrow
stairs that led to the Stark’s ancient crypt. Ever since he had first come down
here, he found the place made him uncomfortable, and he always feared his feet
may slip on the steep steps that laid down to this old stony tunnel.
Yet he gladly went down there, for he knew Arya would be there. He had searched
for her for almost half a day without success, and half the castle had begun to
fear what might have happened if no one found her again. Ever since Winterfell
had been restored halfway through that terrible night that had fallen upon the
north and ended for almost a year, she had become the Stark in Winterfell, and
should she be gone, the night would come again. Or so some said.
There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, they said, and Arya wasthe only
Stark left to them.
While he descended, he felt the warmth embrace him. Outside it was still
winter, albeit a much softer form than it had been before, but the ground on
which the great castle was built was always warm. And now Gendry was inthat
ground.
Deep inside the innards of the earth, the stone tunnel opened, with long-dead
kings on either side. In the light of Gendry’s torch, their eyes seemed to
glow. They see me.
He slowly made his way to the far end, where the kings had not been dead so
long and were not yet forgotten. Soon they had swords over their laps were the
older ones had only rust. Gendry had spent hours here, once, and looked at
every sword to see how they were made. He thought they might all be the same,
yet he had found them all to be very different from each other, as different as
the men that held them. In the end, he had taken ideas from every sword he’d
seen and made a new one with all of them combined, and made a gift of it for
Arya, who had then just retaken Winterfell from Ramsay Snow.
And at the very end, were the statues were no older than a year, stood Arya
with a candle in her hand and tears on her cheeks.
He had known he would find her there. It had only been a year since the raven
with that dreadful message had arrived, that Jon Snow had been lost beyond the
Wall, after he had taken his dragon to fly to the Lands were Winter never
ended. Her brother had saved them all, but for Arya, all there had been were
tears.
Why did the gods, old or new, decide to hate her so? Why does she have to see
joyous crowds every time she hears of a family member’s death?
She stood in front of the newest statue, were they had placed a stony likeness
of Jon Snow, beside King Robb, whom many now called the King who had stood up
again, after Torrhen had knelt three hundred years before.
Many had tried to dissuade her from burying him here, even though he had
technically been a Stark for many years without knowing, yet all she said was
If my father could have Lyanna buried here, then why shouldn’t Jon rest here,
too? There’s no Lord who’s ever done more for the North than him.
But there was no body, and the tomb was empty beneath the valyrian sword placed
on his lap, and Arya’s mind had never found rest.
“Arya?”, he asked, and found his voice sounded as old and deep as the crypts
around him.
She turned her head to look at him, and again he could see the tears on her
cheeks dropping on her clothes, glimmering in both the light of her own candle
and his torch. For a long moment there was silence, while her low sobs ebbed.
“There’s no one left but me”, she whispered, yet the echo in the darkness made
it almost seem like shouting, “They’re all gone, Gendry. Gone. Father’s dead,
and Mother and Robb were killed by Freys. Bran and Rickon are long gone, too,
and no one but me still believes them to live. Ramsay butcheredSansa when she
marched on Winterfell. And now Jon’s dead, too, already for a year. I’m the
only one left. I neither have a mother, nor a father. My sister was killed and
my brothers are all gone. I have no one left.”
“You have me”, he told her, and knew it would not really serve to comfort her,
but he could not think of anything else to say.
“I have you, yes”, she agreed, “But you’re not my brother.” She turned away,
and Gendry could see she bit her lip.
“No, that’s right”, he said, more sharply than he had intended, but that old
anger burned in him still. “I’m to bloody lowborn to ever be your brother,
right?” He knew he should not say these words. It was not Aryawho looked down
on him. Still, he could not help it.
“Just shut up, stupid”, she almost screamed at him, and for a moment he feared
he had screwed it all up, “You’re not my brother.” She turned towards him again
and made a step in his direction.
Then she reached out her hand, touched his stomach, but quickly moved down and
before he knew it, she had her hand wrapped around his cock. He heard himself
taking a sharp breath.
“You’re so much more than that.”
Gendry could not even begin to imagine why she was doing this now, when the
tears were still on her face, and he had even less idea on why he is not
surprised, why he felt as if he had almost expected it. And yet, the feeling of
her small hand gripping him so hard was even more wonderful than he had ever
imagined, when he had lied awake for whole nights and could only think of her.
Still, he had always known it could not be, and he knew it could not be now.
“Arya - ”, he started, and then wondered what he should say to her. One look at
her face, were the tears had started to dry out, with that hunger now coming
forth from beneath them, and he could not say what he had to.
“What?”, she snapped, in a voice that tried to imitate her usual one but was
incredibly full of nervousness and even, partly fear. “You don’t want me?
Because I want you, and I think you want me, too.”
She wants me, the thought made its way through his mind. In a way, he supposed,
he should not be too surprised.
When she wants something, she grabs it with both her hands and will never let
go until it is truly hers.
“Yes”, he told her before he could stop himself. It was true, he did want her,
but he also knew there was no way for them. He tried to get his mind thinking
straight again, before he’d find himself doing something unwise, while her hand
was still inside his breeches and he craved more.
“But Arya - ”, he started again, yet again, she cut him off.
“What?” She glared at him, while her hand started to moveand made his mind
almost give in.
“It can’t be. I’m a bastard, I’m not worthy - ”
“Not worthy?” Her eyes glared in disbelief, and even hurt, and Gendry started
to hate himself for bringing that expression on her face.
“Then tell me, Gendry, who’s more worthythan the man who found me in pieces and
build me back together? Who stood by my side ever since them, no matter how
dangerous a task that was? Who saved me more than once, even when it could have
meant his own death?”
Hearing all that from her made it all even worse, somehow. She had never
admitted that she had reliedon his help. Sometimes he had feared that maybe she
had never noticed how he’d always stay close to her in battles, how he’d
deflect the few blows she had not noticed and crush whoever had tried to hurt
her with his hammer. Yet she hadnoticed, and hearing that now, while had to
refuse her something he himself wanted almost broke his will.
“Could you explain me why some snobby green boy who just happened to be born in
a large pile of stone’s more worthythan that other man?”
He found no better reason than “That’s just the way it is.”
But of course, Arya would not take that reply. Instead, she started to move her
hand faster, and while Gendry’s head was clouded with pleasure, she wrapped her
other arm around his shoulders, and pulled herself up at him until their faces
were at equal hight and only inches apart.
“That’s stupid”
And while he was still trying not to give in to her hand on his cock, to her
face in front of his, to himself, she crushed down on his mouth, and felt
himself kissing her back before he thought better of it. Somewhere deep in his
mind some voice screamed to stop, but he only wondered why he had ever done
what that voice said.
He didn’t resist when she pulled his breeches down, or when she did the same
with her own. The only thing he shortly felt was a terrible sense of lostwhile
her hand was gone.
Yet that lost did not last long, and Arya’s hand soon guided his cock to her
entrance. Then she lowered herself, and Gendry was overwhelmed by a feeling he
had craved for so long, even though he had never been able to begin to imagine
how it might feel.
It was tight, incredibly tight, and he could see Arya almost crying out at the
pain, but it also felt so unbelievably good, and right, and he knew Arya felt
the same way about it, for she did never even slow down her movements. Then she
drew herself up again, then loosened her grip a bit to come down, and again up,
until Gendry felt her arm trembling where she held herself up, while he feared
he would soon fall over because he would be unable to stand upright for much
longer, not while she clung to him and moved like that.
This shouldn’t be, that treacherous voice called out again, but he could not
hear what it said, did no longer wantto hear what it said.
Soon he had his own arms behind her back to hold her even closer, if that was
even possible, and together they fastened their pace.
This shouldn’t be, insisted that terrible voice in his head and brutaly pressed
its way back into his mind. Gendry almost screamed for it to go away, between
his own moans and Arya’s much sharper shrieks of pleasure. All the while, he
could feel his climax coming. That voice screamed in his head.
He would not be able to hold for much longer, he knew. Not while he was inside
her, not while she clung to him and he to her. His face became distorted by
pain, and it felt like the hardest thing he had ever done when he lifted her up
again, higher than before, so that he slipped out of her again.
Only moments later he could feel himself releasing all that tension, and his
seed sprawled all over her belly and thigh.
He thought he ought to feel relieve that he had drawn away in time. Instead, he
found himself angry at that world where he had to stop here.
Still, I have done the right thing.
Then a slap broke the silence between them, and Gendry almost fell over. Arya’s
face was as terrible to behold as it had been when she had faced Bolton’s
bastard, a seething mask of an anger burning even deeper than his own.
“Take your hand”, she told him, sounding more dangerous than he had ever heard
her, “Take your hand, and stuff that thing back inside me, and do that again
inside me, or I’ll take Jon’s sword here and cut it off!”
And to Gendry’s terror, she had already clutched a hand around the sword’s
pommel where it lay on that great statue’s lap, ready to draw it and carry out
her threat.
She’s willing to break his peace for that, he realized. Then he looked at the
statue, whose eyes still seemed to glow. He remembered her brother well, he had
always approved of their friendship.
Gendry thought that probably he had never been so quick to obey an order, and
he also felt he was way too happy to do so.
End Notes
     So, well, my first attempt at writing smut … I hope it turned out
     well.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!