Lightbringer (To Temper Steel Chp 3)

[nrgburst]

Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV)
Characters: Arya Stark/Gendry Baratheon, Brandon Stark
Rating/Warnings: M, sex, language
Word Count: 2586
Summary: Because the woman is important too.

Also on AO3 here and FFN here

Dear Sansa,

No, I don’t plan on going to Winterfell. I just think it’s too depressing when neither Jon nor Bran can join us. I don’t know if it was Bran or Ser Brienne who told you, but while my plans to come to Storm’s End were made hastily, I am truly enjoying my time here. Yes, the whispers about Gendry and I are true and no, I don’t want or need a dowry. I expect I’ll be sailing back across the Sunset Sea before autumn.

I’m glad you’re well, and that the North prospers.

Your loving sister,

Arya Stark

 

---

 

Gendry still thinks the responsibility of lordship is terrifyingly heavy, even if strength is supposed to be in his blood. If he'd known the full extent of what being Lord of Storm's End had entailed in the first place –and if he'd been less terrified that the Dragon Queen was about to kill him-- he might not have ever agreed.

 

It’s been lots of learning: learning to read words and ledgers and maps, all the Stormlands banners and house/hold names and systems he’d never before had to think about, from taxes to roadwork to raven training. Not to mention all the dealing-with-people learning: getting to know bannermen and tenants, how to handle petitions fairly and what work to delegate to who- whom, negotiating with other kingdoms... It was a lot, like being confronted with the daunting task of arming the North with a small mine of dragonglass- he’d had no idea how to even start, just that it had to get done.

 

And just like that monumental undertaking, he’d learned on the job, contributed his ideas and gotten plenty of help, and now he’s the better for it, even besides the Baratheon name and castle. He’s always been decent with figures, but being able to read has really opened his eyes. Gendry’s never considered himself clever, but he’s sure that it’s easier to make better choices now that he has access to messages via raven and knows the history –and rewritten history-- of certain events.

 

It’s also nice to make a difference in people’s lives beyond putting weapons in their hands or giving them a decent price on armor. More and more, there's respect in people’s eyes based on a fixed well or fair judgment instead of who his father was or what he did in a battle up North.

 

Maybe taking up his family's legacy is what that feeling of destiny that had dogged him for so long was all about.

 

And Arya, charging into his life again like one of the sudden storms off the bay, changes things.

 

It’s not just the sex, but truly nothing feels as good as being inside her and sucking those perfect tits- except maybe feeling her reach her peak while he's inside her and sucking those perfect tits. She’s been even more hungry for him lately, waking up from strange dreams as needy as a bitch in heat, and he can hardly refuse her, despite the knowing looks his castellan and maester share when he's bleary eyed and yawning during the day.

 

It’s hard to resist proposing again, but he knows to hold his tongue this time. It's enough to hear her laugh and see her eyes light up as they share stories of their travels and troubles the way they hadn’t at Winterfell. To realize that she’s been making friends in odd places the way she does, although he knows he acts the lovestruck fool when Lord Caron’s young son, Old Oyster Tom down the bay or the butcher’s wife unexpectedly ask after her. Arya's comfortable enough now to help herself to cheese off his plate, hog all the ravens in the rookery to send flurries of messages and sprawl across his bed with a book, and he’s so happy that she seems content here that he’s terrified something is going to change.

 

He’s never known Arya to be content. Questing, questioning, fighting what’s unfair- that’s the Arya he knows. And once she’s done exploring the Stormlands and whatever this is between them…

 

He doesn’t want to think about that- what’s more pressing is that he has no idea how he’s supposed to deal with the whole Realm apparently knowing about them.

 

He’s had everything from unsolicited advice from Lord Bronn about not letting an unlanded second daughter catch his castle with her cunt, to unabashed delight from Ser Davos, with a hopeful note about the closest godswood location being King’s Landing since Stannis burned the one at Storm's End.

 

She just wants my cock and company and to sometimes watch me hammering steel is probably not a satisfactory answer to anybody, even if he thinks it’s the closest thing to the truth. He’s not ready for a baby either, and he’s glad she's taking that Silphium so they can make love without having to worry. It’s just that everybody expects there to be consequences for a lowborn lord taking a twice-over princess to his bed.

 

So he really has to assume the worst when King Bran summons them to King’s Landing.

 

Arya’s got that carefully blank look on her face when she reads the summons before she shrugs. “Well, there's the salt harvest next month, so I think we should go before.”

 

Sometimes, he thinks she acts as nonplussed as she does just to piss him off. “Do I have to remind you that Brandon and Rickard Stark went to King’s Landing to protest the defiling of Lyanna Stark’s honor and ended up murdered?”

 

Arya gives him a withering look. “That was for treason. And you haven’t defiled my anything."

 

He checks that none of the servants are in earshot before he scoffs. “Yeah, well, I know how I’d feel if I were your Three-eyed Raven brother and I could see how hard we were going at it last night.”

She has the sense to flush, at least. “I’m sure he doesn’t- that can’t be what this is about.”

 

“Well, what else could it be about?! You know I’ve been hearing from your uncle Edmure, even, about my intentions.” He straightens as a horrifying thought strikes him. "You think someone will tell Jon?”

 

As soon as he says it, he regrets it. Nothing makes sorrow fill her eyes the way thinking of Jon in exile does. “No. Bran says he left Castle Black for the far North more than a year ago.” She inhales shakily and continues. “It’s probably about the things I brought back, like the ore and hopefully, the Silphium. Since it’s a meeting with the small council it’s got to be official business. Anyway, we can hardly refuse to go.”

 

He grimaces and she gives him an impish smile. “I'll protect you."

 

Gendry sighs. “That actually makes me feel better,” he admits.

 

---

 

 

Gendry’s never been asked before the small council, but he knows that all the biggest decisions in Westeros are made in this little room. The reconstructed throne room is for official declarations and presentations, while the policies leading to those are debated and decided here. It’s somewhat comforting that he actually knows most of the powerful people who will be attending, even if only by correspondence.

Also somewhat comforting that he’s checked and double checked, and there isn't actually a law against unmarried people being lovers.

Still, he hangs back when Arya runs up to the King and hugs him. “Bran! You been keeping busy?”

 

“Of course. A great deal to do here every day. Sometimes I even spend more time here than away. You look happy.”

 

She hesitates and casts her eyes downward for a second, as if gauging, before she smiles back. “I am happy. And I’ll be happier if this meeting goes the way I want it to.”

 

Bran smiles enigmatically. “Anything is possible. Especially with a determined champion. You’re tired though. You’ve been dreaming of her.”

 

Arya meets his eyes anxiously. “I don’t understand why. I’m no warg- I never used to feel… disturbed after dreams. They were just... dreams. And I last saw her in the north part of the Riverlands, so she’s not even near here.”

 

“The blood of the First Men runs true, but you weren’t a woman yet then. Besides, she is near- traveling south to her mate.” Bran smiles. “Can you guess where his territory is? I doubt it's coincidence.”

 

Arya scowls. “Will the dreams stop when she gets there?”

 

Bran pauses reflectively. “I don’t know. But I suppose we’ll know soon enough.” He looks past Arya then, at Gendry. “Lord Baratheon, it’s good to see you again.”

 

Gendry bows the way he knows he's supposed to, although his stomach is in knots. “Your Grace. I was hoping-”

 

Bran holds up a hand to forestall his attempt at explanation. “You don’t need to be ashamed to love her. A conventional arrangement wouldn’t suit my sister anyway. And it is good to see her happy. The talk will die down now that we've spoken in public.”

 

Gendry exhales, feeling his nervous tension slowly deflate even as Arya flushes and looks away before muttering some excuse and walking over to Ser Davos. “I- thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome. I have an important question for you: Dragonglass carries edges sharper than any steel blade, but is almost as brittle as the glass it's named for. How did you make blades that endured through the Long Night?”

 

Gendry blinks at the unexpected change of subject. He’s never even seen Bran hold a weapon, but he was expecting to get challenged, to have to apologize, to have to beg, even. He glances around the room, noting that the Hand and Master of Coin still haven’t arrived, and tilts his head, scrambling to recall his line of thinking. "I…actually got the idea from a couple places. On Dragonstone, the men there kept talking about how the Dragon Queen was Azor Ahai come again. And there’s this story about how he made his best sword by tempering it a hundred days and then plunging the hot blade into the heart of his wife. Which sounds perfectly mad, and is not what I did, I promise,” he explains hurriedly. "…But I’d seen, for myself, a blood spell.”

 

“There is power in King's blood."

 

Gendry gapes for a moment- those were Melisandre's exact words. "...Right. And I figured it was worth a try; just to put in a couple drops before we filled the molds, see what happened. And it was like..."

 

“Magic.”

 

Bran meets his eyes, expectant, and Gendry suddenly understands. “That steel Arya brought back, I should quench it in my blood then, like the story? And it’ll what? Light on fire like Lord Beric's sword?"

 

“You fought at the Battle for the Dawn; you know any blade can be lit with a spell. Lightbringer was a sword imbued with the power to bring down the Others."

Gendry looks at the dagger that always hangs at Arya’s side, and he swallows thickly as understanding starts to dawn. “…Are- are you saying we could make Valyrian steel again?”

 

“I am saying you can make Valyrian steel again,” Bran says calmly.

 

An actual punch to the gut would probably have felt less shocking, especially since he’d been braced for something like. And from the little smile Bran is wearing, it might actually have been the exact effect he was going for- Gendry’s face is numb and his ears are ringing and all he can think is fuck I left Valyrian steel on a bench in the forge before Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, finally enters the room with Lord Bronn.

 

Ser Podrick hurries over from where he was speaking quietly with Ser Brienne to push the king to the head of the table, and everyone moves to stand behind a chair. Gendry automatically takes the one next to Arya at the end of the table, grateful they’ll be able to sit soon because he feels absolutely winded.

 

Bran gestures for them all to sit, and once they do so, Lord Tyrion begins. “Arya Stark, the Hero of Winterfell; Lord Gendry Baratheon, thank you for joining us here today. Our King has asked us to convene today to discuss something his sister has brought back from across the Sunset Sea.” He produces a small bag of heart shaped seeds that he pours out into a small dish on the table. “Following your last visit, the small council has frequently debated your proposal. Our King believes the introduction of the herb Silphium to the Six Kingdoms will improve the lives of many. There are, however, many issues to be addressed before the Crown invests in a controversial import.”

 

Despite still reeling over Bran’s revelation, Gendry notices the way Arya goes all alert, placing small numbered rolls of parchment in front of herself –correspondence she's been gathering at Storm’s End-- as she listens to the opening objections from the Masters, her expression carefully neutral.

 

That face masks her feelings, but he can see from her posture that this is the new battle that Arya’s chosen to fight.

 

She’s not the wildly defiant spitfire that she used to be- she’s figured out all her offensive strategies beforehand. And she wields them like swords once it's her turn to speak: economic figures, price comparisons to moon tea, and tax records to throw back at Lord Bronn; medical records from Oldtown to show how many young first time mothers and babies die compared to ones with mothers just a few years older; stories of prosperity in the lands over the Sunset Sea and a plea for common sense over possible religious objections.

“People will still have sex, whether in or out of marriage- Silphium doesn’t affect their passions or morality. The only thing it affects is whether the couple can decide to have a child or not when they do. Imagine King's Landing with only a handful of unwanted children on the streets. Imagine a farmer’s wife being able to give good meals to two children instead of struggling to feed five. Imagine girls being able to study and work towards a better future instead of birthing and nursing child after child until their bodies give out. It’s possible. I’ve seen it. I've walked through those streets, bought bread and cloth from their shops. If we give this opportunity to women, Westeros will be the better for it, I swear by the Old Gods and the New."

 

Looking at that blazing conviction in her eyes, Gendry thinks that Arya’s more a Lightbringer than any burning sword could ever be.

 

But if she wins this battle, she’s going to have to sail back to get more of that Silphium.

 

Which means he’s probably going to get his heart cut in two after all.