Post with 36 notes
Author: Remix Sakura
Genre: one-shot/drabble, fluff
Spoilers: none, just post-series speculation.
Oh dear lord, I’ve started writing fanfic. I think it’s safe to say Arya/Gendry has stolen my soul and eaten my brain. I don’t consider myself a writer, but this scenario popped into my head of its own volition, and the words just started pouring out from there. Due to my inexperience, feedback would be much appreciated. Otherwise, I’m just glad to give a something back to the fandom, since I’ve so loved the fics others have written. So please enjoy.
All the training Arya had ever received, in her entire life, was useless once she took up the basic of human task of farming. Swordplay could not kill all the flies that buzzed around them in the mid-day sun, embroidery could not make the plants grow the way it drew them with thread, and no amount of court manners could coax the sprouts from the soil any faster. None of that was going to help them grow a crop of wheat.
Even if she’d known she would end up here, on this land with its homestead war-burnt but its fields fertile from the melting snow, who would have ever taught her such things? She was supposed to have had all these things provided for her. She wasn’t supposed to have toiled the land like the small folk, while trying to forget that she had ever lived in a castle.
Yet, she was lucky – she had an excellent partner. He was tall, strong, broad shouldered, firm chested, and slow to tire. She was quick to take charge and make decisions on how densely to spread the seed and what angle of the hill would catch the best sunlight, and he faithfully carried out her commands. But whenever the ladder seemed to waver as she climbed down from setting roof tiles, or she overestimated how much fire wood she could lift, his hand never failed to appear and catch her, steady her, bear some of the weight. As if he could sense the moments when she really needed him.
And besides, it was spring again. There was reason to have hope.
The gradation of the sun from yellow to orange in the sky indicated the day’s transition into evening. Gendry wiped the sweat from his brow with a forearm no less sweat-drenched, and pulled the plow through the last row of the field to be planted. After considering the setting sun for a moment, he seemed to come to the decision that it was, in fact, time to rest, and dropped his heavy burden to the dirt.
"What do you say we call it a day? Not that you’d know anything about it, but pulling this plow is a bit exhausting."
Arya looked over from where she was laying down seeds a few rows away, and crossed her arms. “You were the one who bragged you were as strong as a bull.” She was trying to look as indignant as possible at his perceived laziness, but realized she’d failed when she felt herself grin and let out a small laugh. She enjoyed their play-fights far too much.
"Yeah, and even animals have to eat." He walked from the field to the nearest tree-shaded spot of grass, and sat with his arms splayed behind him ungracefully. "What’ve we got for supper?"
"Just… scraps and leftovers, really. A little bit of salt beef, maybe some butter… and those carrots, and potatoes and onions and… some other green thing from the market square." She scratched her head and bit her lip, somehow ashamed at how disappointing her answer was, how little they yet had. "I mean… I’m sure we could make it into a stew. Of course, it’ll take forever to chop it all up." She plopped down into the spot beside him, and poked him in the ribs playfully. "You’d better not be too tired to help."
Gendry chuckled in a way that seemed to show that he expected her to say something like that. “As if you’d let me get away with it. We’ll go get started… in a minute. Just… let’s rest for a little while.”
They watched the sky turn a deeper shade of orange-red and the sun fall ever lower in the horizon. They sat just close enough for their legs to touch, to feel just a bit of warm contact. Before long, however, Arya felt that strange need she always felt to be closer to him, as close as the propriety of their surroundings would allow. But nowadays, it was usually just the two of them. It only took her shifting over in front of him for Gendry to have the same idea; without words, purely by the force of habit, he took her into his arms and she sat between his legs, her cheek resting on his shoulder. It was an arrangement they’d grown accustomed to; an arrangement they sometimes lingered in for hours. Without her thinking about it, her hand moved to rest against his chest, just below his collarbone. It had grown accustomed to resting there.
Somehow, Arya was beginning to believe that the harvest they would reap, one day after so much more work was finally done, wouldn’t even be the best part of their endeavor, this simple life they had chosen. As long as they had what they needed to survive, the bounty wasn’t truly the reward for the hours and days and years it would take to build their life. The moments at the end of each day where they could sit, just like this, and watch the sun go down. The nights they would spend resting in each other’s arms. The mornings where they would wake up to be greeted by the new sun and each other’s smiles. This would be their reward.
Arya grinned involuntarily, and turned her head to look up at her husband with a slight blush, the kind she never used to want to show. Gendry knew it wasn’t her custom to do such things, but the surprise was pleasant. He couldn’t help but return the grin, and in reply, move his hand to rest on top of hers.
Maybe one day, when they had such luxuries as furniture, they would watch the sun set through the window, from a feather bed dressed with linen sheets. Or maybe, even then, they’d prefer to lay on the warm earth, just as they had always done in the old days.
"Spring is here," she thought. "The best is yet to come."