Work Text:
I
She stood in the doorway to the forge for a moment—a moment of hesitation.
The first thing he noticed about her was her grey eyes, in stark contrast to the dark brows just above them. As grey as Valyarian steel—and just as sharp.
Her hair was wild and wavy around her face and shoulders. But it was those eyes he couldn’t help staring at.
II
I’m here for the new armor. It was all she could choke out.
Her cunning on the battle field counted naught. When she had first seen, standing there at the propped-open door, he’d been working. His large arms swing his hammer into the hot metal. She’d never seen anything more beautiful. The Smith of the Seven is standing before me.
When he saw her, he stopped, put the hammer down. Their eyes met for a moment. His were as blue as the sky.
This is the man who loves me, or so they tell me.
When she opened her mouth to speak her heart leapt all the way to her throat—I’m here for the new armor.
III
“Yes, m’lady.” Her cheeks reddened at the pleasantry.
“Please come in. It will only be a moment.” She stepped forward surefooted, straight backed. Her head held high despite the obvious flush of her skin.
The forge is hot, of course she’s flush.
The robe that hung from her shoulders was made of light grey linen. The fabric gathered around her narrow waist with a belt of Valyrian steel. Her robe was held together at the shoulders with two brooches, in the shape of wolf heads, their teeth bared—the sigil of her house.
He closed the door behind her, and went to retrieve the armor her men had requested.
IV
She found herself staring into the flames dancing in the hearth. She felt a slight sweat spring to her skin.
She was mesmerized, when he emerged from his store room. It’s as if I am in a dream. The metal of the armor shimmered in the fire light.
“I hope it meets your standards, m’lady.” He said without looking her in the eye.
“Please, call me Arya.” She told him, more forcefully than she had meant to. I’ve had enough of pleasantries for a lifetime. His response was a nod, but no words.
She stepped forward to inspect the armor. It would suit her men perfectly. The grey steel had been pounded smooth; the rippling colors in the metal proved it was true Valyarian. The smith had taken care to carve the sigil of her house into the chest plates.
“These will do.” She said plainly and turned on her heel to leave. Her heart already felt heavy in her chest.
V
“M’lady… Arya…” He corrected himself. She froze; she was nearly at the door. She turned to face him. Sweat had beaded and shimmered at her brow.
“Won’t you need armor of your own?” He asked her.
“I suppose so.” Her voice was plain, but not harsh as it had been when she insisted he call her by her name.
“Making armor for men is easy… there are forms that I can follow.” He told her; unsure of what to do with him self he put a hand on the anvil. It was still warm from the metal he had just been working.
“You’ll need my measurements?” She asked intuiting his next thought. Still she stood stiffly, her back straight and head held high, her jaw grit.
“Yes, that would be necessary.” She nodded, and stepped near him once more.
She is as beautiful as her men told me. As fierce too.
VI
He went into the store room once more and emerged with a large sheet of parchment and a nub of charcoal.
“Please, hold this at your shoulders,” he said, handing her the paper. She did as she was told, holding each side of the parchment, so the top curled under her neck.
He guided her so that her she had her back to the fire. Then he began tracing her shape onto the parchment. She held her breath, afraid to ripple the paper under his deft touch.
His mark on the paper was as light as a feather, but Arya could feel it all the way to the bottom of her spin. It set goose bumps rising from her skin, despite the heat of the forge.
VII
She shivered under the parchment when he traced under her small breasts.
“Pardon me,” he murmured, “But the armor must be flush to the chest.”
She said nothing. He had her turn and he flipped the parchment over. She was small; her torso only covered the top third of the long sheet of parchment.
“Hold this to your shoulder,” he instructed her, handing her the bottom end of the parchment. She did as she was told and he began to trace the outline of her back.
VIII
When he was through tracing, she heard him fold the large sheet of parchment in half. She was staring at the fire once again, lost in her thoughts, until the smith said, “All through.”
She turned slowly to look at him, as if in a daze. His face covered in sweat and soot, shadows danced across it in time with the fingers of fire. They tell me this is the man who loves me.
“Pardon me, Ser,” she heard her own voice say, “But I don’t even know your name.”
“Ser Gendry, of Hollow Hill,” he said, “But I’m no true knight—just a simple smith.”
“Knight or no, your work is beautifully done,” she told him, her mouth moving, but the words were not her own.
No, I am the girl who is always harsh; these pleasantries are straight out of Sansa’s mouth. I’m just saying what she’d say. I don’t know how to talk to men as me, as Arya… not unless I’m barking orders.
IX
“Thank you,” Gendry said, taken aback by her soften tone, “I’ll set to work on your armor right away.”
“Thank you,” Arya said and turned towards the door. He watched for a moment, as she was leaving, but turned looked down to the roll of parchment he had set on his work bench. With his eyes he traced the outline of her shape on the paper.
When he looked up she was standing in front of the bench. Her eyes darkened as his locked on his. Wordlessly she approached him, in her sure-footed way. She was so close he could feel her breath as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Her mouth was soft and warm, so unlike the harsh tone she spoke with.
“My lady,” He said as he pulled away.
“Don’t” She commanded, kissing him again. Instead of protesting he pulled her in closer and cradled her head to tilt it back, deepen the kiss.
X
Their kisses continued until they both groped at each other, her hands on his bare chest, his on her hips. When he moved to plant kisses on her jaw and neck she gasped. He mouth moved to cover hers once again and she felt his tongue graze her lips and she moved hers to meet it.
The fire in her belly was as hot as the one in the hearth, and Arya could feel Gendry’s need pressing against her thigh. He jerked away when she moved his hands down his muscled stomach to the laces of his leather breeches.
“Arya…” he said breathlessly, “I can’t.”
“I thought you weren’t a true knight, just a simple smith,” she snapped, the harshness once again in her voice.
“M’lady,” he teased, and the fire inside her licked at her cheeks and her flush deepened, “I can not take your maiden...”
She kissed him hard so that he could not complete his sentence.
She retuned her hands to the laces, her fingers moved deftly. When she was done at his laces, she undid her steel belt and dropped to the floor.
XI
He had watched her loosen the laces of his breeches. He felt his cock jump at the closeness of her hands. She had taken off her heavy steel belt and dropped it to the forge floor.
She kissed him again, her lips parting and her tongue teasing him. He put his hands on her hips. They parted briefly and he ran his hands over the linen of her robe, over her stomach. She shivered under his touch. He moved his hands to her arms, and up to her shoulders. He undid each wolfs head brooch and the fabric of her robe floated away dramatically, revealing her taught body.
It’s as if The Maiden was standing before me.
He ran his hands all over her, her arms, her back, and her stomach. He traced the outline of each of her pink nipples and they tightened and Arya gasped.
XII
She stood nude before him. She was shocked when he took off her robe, after his protests to “protect her honor.” Honor be damned.
He touched her; his hands were calloused, but his caresses gentle. He was tracing her shape again, but not with charcoal. When he circled the peaks of her breast and she let out a gasp.
He moved and cupped her breast in one hand her cheek with the other, and kissed her, hungrily. She returned the kiss with the same force.
T hey tell me this is the man who loves me… Let it be true.
XIII
He moved the hand that cupped her breast to the warm fold between her legs. Again she gasped; he stroked her again and moved his mouth to cover hers. His fingers were wet with her fluid. He slid his finger along her folds, to her opening, he inserted a finger and she cried out in pleasure; her muscles tight against his skin.
Her hands work their way down to the top of his breeches once more. She hesitated for a moment, but then gasped his cock in her soft small hand. A moan escaped from deep with in him. She kissed him deeply and caressed his length.
This is madness. I must be dreaming.
XIV
Gendry removed his fingers from her sex and pulled away from her kisses. He fished her hand out of his breeches.
“My lady… I can’t… I can’t do this.” He stammered, breathlessly, but didn’t let go of her hand.
“Do what?” Arya hissed, stomping her foot on the forge floor.
“I can’t take your maidenhead,” He mumbled, unwilling to look into her eyes, but still holding her hand.
“Then don’t,” she spoke plainly, in her harsh tone.
This is me, this is Arya. Sansa would never do this.
She guided his hand back to her folds. She was dripping with desire. Gendry nodded. He understands.
He led her to the work bench, moving the piece of parchment to the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him. He understands.
XV
Arya kissed him fiercely, wrapping her arms around his neck so that her breasts were pressed to his bare chest. Gendry grabbed her hips lifting her to him, their bodies melded—two pieces of hot steel. He returned her kisses, kissed her down her neck to her collar bone.
She whimpered as their bodies parted, when he laid her down on the work bench, gently. Once again she guided his hands to her sex. He willingly obliged, inserting two fingers into her opening, curling them. She cried out.
Her muscles were tight around his fingers. She’s close to her edge. He thrust her fingers in and out of her, her gasps becoming more and more breathy. He pulled his fingers out and ran them over her folds once more, ghosting over her nub. She whimpered once more.
XVI
He’s teasing me. She realized when he thrust his fingers back in her, in and out a few times. She was getting worked up in spite of herself, and just as she cried out breathless he removed his fingers again, to work over her folds. This time she didn’t whimper and he took longer move his fingers back to her opening.
When he did, she moved to sit up on her elbows; with on hand she grabbed his, and made him move more forcefully in and out. She rocked her hips to match the motion.
Her head lolled back when the first wave of desire over took her.
“Look at me,” he growled. She did as he told her.
XVII
Her ice grey eyes bore in to him. She was reaching her peak. Her muscles were contracting around him. This time he didn’t remove his fingers. He curled his fingers into her and pressed on her nub with his thumb.
“Gendry,” she howled. Her pupils dilated and her eyes looked glassy, but she didn’t move her gaze. She stared through him as the pleasure ripped through her.
She was panting as she laid back, her elbow unsteady, as little ripples of pleasure moved through her. The heaviness of her breathing made his cock quiver in his breeches.
She sat up, sweat covering her nude form, her hair more wild than ever. Her eyes were sharp once more, and a wicked grin spread over her mouth. She moved her hand to the top of his breeches and took his cock in her hand once again.
“I owe you payment,” she said, still breathless, “for your services, kind Ser.”