Arya woke up slowly the next morning.
Sunlight was sneaking through the cracks in the shutters. Her body felt warm and heavy. Gendry's big arm was still draped over her waist, his chest rising and falling against her back. She could feel his soft breath on her neck. For a few minutes she just lay there, not moving. It was nice. Quiet. She almost never got quiet anymore.
She shifted a little and felt the sticky mess between her legs from last night. A small smile touched her lips. Gendry had been gentle but strong, just like she needed. Her thighs were a bit sore, but in a good way.
Gendry stirred behind her. His voice was rough with sleep. "Morning… Your Grace."
"Don't start with that," Arya muttered, turning in his arms to face him. "Not when we're like this."
He grinned, eyes still half-closed. His hair was messy. "Fine. Morning, Arya."
She leaned in and kissed him quick, then rolled out of bed before he could pull her back. She was naked. The cool air made her nipples tighten. She walked to the window and pushed the shutter open a little. The city below still looked broken — smoke rising from some parts, people moving like ants trying to clean up.
"Today's going to be long," she said.
Gendry sat up, the furs falling to his waist. His broad chest had a few new scratches from her nails. "You want me in the council meeting?"
Arya shook her head. "Not yet. They already think I'm strange for keeping a bastard smith close. Let's not give them more to whisper about." She turned and looked at him. "But stay in the Keep. I might need you later."
He nodded, watching her as she washed quickly with water from the basin and pulled on her clothes — black breeches, a simple dark tunic, boots. She strapped Needle to her hip. No fancy dresses. No crown. Just Arya.
Before she left, she paused at the door. "Last night was good."
Gendry's smile was slow and warm. "Yeah. It was."
She slipped out.
---
The Small Council chamber felt too big and too empty.
Only a handful of people sat around the scratched wooden table. An old maester from the North who had survived the battle. A tired-looking knight from the Riverlands. One lord from the Vale who kept staring at his hands. And a few others who had sworn loyalty fast when she took the throne.
Arya sat at the head. She listened more than she talked.
They spoke about food — granaries were low, winter stores were gone. They spoke about the Gold Cloaks — half of them were dead or had run away. They spoke about Dorne, which had gone quiet and that worried everyone.
Arya finally spoke. "Send ravens to every holdfast. Tell them the king wants grain shipments started within the month. Anyone who hoards food while people starve will answer to me personally."
The maester nodded slowly. "As you command… Your Grace."
One of the lords cleared his throat. "There is talk in the city, my king. People are saying a girl should not sit the Iron Throne. Some are calling it… unnatural."
Arya looked at him straight. "Then tell them to remember what this 'girl' did to the Night King. If they have a better idea, they can come tell me themselves."
The meeting dragged on for another hour. Small problems. Big problems. Arya's head started to ache. When it finally ended, she stood up.
"Tomorrow we start fixing the gates," she said. "And I want the training yard open again. Any man or woman who wants to learn to fight is welcome."
She walked out feeling restless.
---
By late afternoon, she went down to the training yard.
The sun was warm. A few Unsullied soldiers were already there, practicing in perfect lines. Arya picked up a wooden sword and joined them. She moved fast and light, like water dancing. Needle stayed at her side — she didn't need it for practice.
Sweat ran down her back. Her muscles burned in a clean way. For a while she forgot about being king. She was just Arya Stark again, training like she did in Braavos.
Gendry appeared after a while. He leaned against a wall, arms crossed, watching her with that quiet smile. When she finished, breathing hard, he tossed her a waterskin.
"You still fight like you're angry at the whole world," he said.
"Maybe I am." She took a long drink, water spilling down her chin. "Walk with me."
They walked the outer walls together as the sun started to go down. The air smelled like salt and smoke. Gendry stayed close but didn't touch her where anyone could see.
"Any word from the North?" he asked.
"Not yet. Jon might send something soon." She paused. "I keep thinking about the message that might come. The one that says I don't belong here."
Gendry looked at her. "You belong wherever you decide to stand."
Arya stopped walking and turned to him. The wall was empty except for them. She reached up, grabbed the front of his tunic, and pulled him down into a kiss. It was quick and fierce.
"Not here," she whispered against his mouth, but she was smiling.
He chuckled. "Tonight then?"
"Tonight."
---
When night finally came, the chambers felt warmer.
Arya had bathed again. She wore the same thin linen shirt as last night. Gendry came in after dark, carrying a tray with bread, cheese, and wine. They ate together on the bed, talking softly about nothing important — old stories from the road, the bull and the cup, how he once wanted to be a knight.
After the food was gone, things changed slowly.
Gendry set the tray aside. He pulled her into his lap again, kissing her neck while his hands slid under her shirt. This time he took even longer. He kissed every scar he could find — the thin ones on her ribs, the jagged one on her thigh. His mouth was warm and patient.
When he reached between her legs, he used his fingers first, stroking her slowly until she was wet and breathing faster. Then he laid her down and used his tongue, licking her with long, steady strokes. Arya's hands fisted the sheets. She came once like that, soft and trembling.
Only then did he take off his clothes and settle between her thighs. His cock was thick and hard. He pushed in slow, letting her feel every inch. They moved together without hurry — deep thrusts, bodies pressed close, skin sliding on skin.
Arya wrapped her legs around him and whispered his name when she came again. Gendry followed soon after, groaning low as he spilled inside her.
They lay tangled afterward. Arya rested her head on his chest, tracing a finger over one of his old forge scars.
Outside, a raven landed on the window ledge with a soft flutter of wings. It carried a small scroll sealed with plain black wax.
Neither of them noticed it yet.