Chapter Text
King Gendry Baratheon, first of his name, king of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the first men.
The first time he heard his new name and title, he felt nauseous. It was a cruel joke, having wished all his life to have a surname and be somebody, only for the council of the remaining great houses of Westeros to saddle him with the burden of the seven kingdoms.
Six actually.
It was hard to keep track of everything that had transpired. Thankfully, it had been agreed that the crown was no longer the privilege of a family, it was a duty conferred to the man or woman elected by the council. That thought allowed Gendry to sleep at night, knowing that if he ended up being a shitty king, the great houses would be quick to depose him and elect someone better.
Why was he chosen? It could have been that he was the last known Baratheon or the fact that Bran Stark had said that a monarch born into the common folk was what the Realm needed.
He had been stunned, surely the rest of the lords and ladies there would be opposed to that, but then he had seen Arya's soft smile, that one that she rarely used, the same one on her face when he had called her beautiful and she had broken his heart. Tyrion had been quick to suggest Arya, the slayer of the Night King, be part of the small council, and she had seemed delighted. After that he was lost, if Arya was going to be in King's Landing, that is where he would be.
That was four moons before, the Red Keep was still in shambles, and the city was slowly being rebuilt. Ser Davos Seaworth served as Hand, Ser Brienne of Tarth was Commander of the Kingsguard, Tyrion Lannister was Master of Coin and Whispers, Samwell Tarly was Grand Maester, Bran Stark, the three-eyed raven, was Master of Laws, Yara Greyjoy was Master of Ships and Ser Arya Stark, knighted by Ser Brienne, was Master of War.
It had only taken a day for her to sneak into his chambers in the veil of night. Many things were spoken, and many more were left unsaid, but it was understood that where one went, the other would follow.
Once, many years before, Arya had asked her father if she could be lord of a holdfast and Ned Stark had told her that she would be a lady instead. All the possibilities denied to her because of her gender had marked her, and her choices had been determined since then. She had planned to set sail once the mess had been cleared and she had secured the safety of her brother Jon, but later the stupid bull had been named king, and Tyrion Lannister had suggested she be part of the small council.
The decision had been easy for her.
That first night she had come into his chamber she had told herself it was to see if there was still something there, if that whole deal in the storeroom atop a makeshift bed had been just her curiosity and the adrenaline of certain death.
It had not.
As usual, Gendry had started babbling the moment he saw her, apologizing for his fumbled proposal blaming it on the wine. She silenced him with a kiss, and they were quick to test if a featherbed had any benefits over sacks of grain.
In the months of the new government, they had fallen into a routine of sorts, during the day they were the king and one of his advisors, sitting in council meetings making sure not to cause suspicion. And from time to time Arya would find her way into his chambers at night.
They hadn't talked more about how Arya had turned him down; at the end of the day, Gendry felt fortunate for having her in his bed, even if he didn't know when she would find her way there. Nothing was promised, and nothing was demanded, but he got to fall asleep embracing her, and on those nights that she joined him, they told each other about their years apart.
"Whoever did this to you," he said while tracing her scars, "is no longer living, right?"
"I killed her," she replied.
"Good, if not, my first order as king would be to sail to Essos to avenge you."
She laughed and told him that she was not the maiden of a song that needed a hero to settle her affairs. And he had crudely reminded her he was well aware she was no maiden.
Arya soon discovered that while she always feared rejection from her family if they learned of her past in Essos, there was always pride and desire in Gendry's eyes whenever she disclosed her adventures in the East.
Rebuilding a city was no easy task and Gendry was doubly invested in the efforts: he was not only the king, but he had been born and raised in Flea Bottom, and so he rolled up his sleeves and worked with the people, and once a decent forge was erected, he had started to hammer away, making nails and hinges.
He had been burning the candle at both ends. The city tired him by day, and his secret lover exhausted him at night.
Four months later, he was ready for a rest. Oddly enough, the idea of taking time for himself had come from no other than Ser Bronn, the new lord of High Garden. Tyrion had suggested Gendry make him Master of Coin, but there was no way he was going to name someone who would make fun of him. He would only deal with him whenever Tyrion had to secure resources from the fertile lands of the Reach. And it had been in one of those occasions, during a feast, when Bronn had jested that their new king had not received a raven letting him know that he didn't need to work anymore.
"Our new king is loved by his people exactly for that reason Ser Bronn," Bran Stark had offered.
"But he could take a break from time to time, don't you have a hobby, your grace? I believe your late father was fond of hunting, are you not?"
That very night Arya informed him that he could take a hunting trip with her. Luckily, Ser Brienne had taken a leave of absence to visit her ailing father in Tarth, leaving Arya to lead the Kingsguard in her name.
It was all settled then, King Gendry would take a hunting trip to rest from the burden of leading the six kingdoms. When he had announced it to his small council Davos had looked stern, but whatever he thought of it he made sure to save it for when he could talk to his king in private; Sam had looked uncomfortable, and Bran had simply said: "It is all as it should be." Tyrion's only response had been a grin and to call for wine.
Gendry suspected he was blushing, but he had thankfully grown a beard that he prayed hid it from his advisors. It was in times like this that he envied Arya's Faceless Men training, for she did not show any emotion.
The day they were set to ride out, he was finishing packing his bag when Ser Davos came into his chambers.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, lad?" Davos asked him with obvious concern, "I mean, your grace."
Gendry laughed heartily.
"Lad is fine, Davos. If anyone has earned the right to call me as he pleases is you, just don't call me your grace," he asked the only man, besides Ned Stark, who had treated him kindly.
"Fair enough, Gendry, but maybe you shouldn't go on this hunting trip," he pleaded.
"Have I not earned a few days of rest?"
"You certainly have son, but do I have to remind you your late father met his end after a hunting trip?"
"Aye, but I am not my father. And I am not hunting for boar," Gendry noted.
"Of that, I am well aware," Davos replied and his eyes indicated that there was more to his concern. Gendry suspected that his Hand was well aware of what went on in the castle during the day, and certainly at night.
"Davos…" He warned him.
"While war is over and many of the common folk are thrilled to have you as king, there are still many lords who would be happy to see you meet a tragic end," his Hand justified.
"That is why I am not going on my own, my Master of War and current Commander of the Kingsguard is coming along. And you know I can take care of myself, I'm bringing my hammer," he added.
"I know you can take care of yourself, but I am concerned about it being just you and the Master of War. Consider taking some of your knights at least."
"They would only slow us down," he replied, going back to his bags.
"Of that, I am sure."
The tone was not lost on the new king.
"Davos!"
"Okay, just be careful. I have seen lady-, I mean, Ser Arya fight, but there are other… dangers… that you two should be careful about."
Gendry certainly knew, and since reuniting with her and being proclaimed king, he had made sure of taking every precaution, even to Arya's chagrin.
"We will be."