this is our homecoming (this is a land half forgotten)

11

He's kneeling at the feet of the queen, and he knows, somewhere, that Arya is watching- from the balconies, or tucked back behind the crowd, but she is there, and the thought is not comforting.

"We would name you master of arms," Daenerys says, like he deserves it. He didn't even think it was a title. "Until such point that the royal armory is refilled. If you would have it."

It is meant to be a reward. It is phrased like a choice. It isn't. Not much good comes from little lords who turn down requests from their queens, even kind ones. Even one whose life you just saved.

"It would be an honor, your grace," those words are easy. It is the rebuttal that he does not know how to shape. "But,"

She moves from the throne and crosses down the steps to get to him, her skirt trailing out behind her. When she reaches him, she lays a hand on his shoulder and let's him stand, and he is grateful, even though the stab wounds in his side still pull at the skin when he tries to get up.

"But?" Her smile is so gentle. "But you would wish to go home, now."

Does he? He doesn't know where home is. He knows it in the abstract- an empty castle collecting dust, a bunch of fields that have not yet been planted, a group of people who did not have much love left for the Baratheon family. If Davos was still alive, he would have come and kept him counsel- his family is there, and seeing as how Stannis was Gendry's uncle, by rights, his loyalties would have been sworn to Gendry next. Gendry would have made him a lord, too, a real one, with a castle and lands and people to command. He might have even just gave over his station entirely, just claimed a spot in the forge for him to sleep. He is grown enough to know that there are worse things.

"You fought many battles for me." Her hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, and his breath comes out shaky at the touch. It is amazing, how gentle she can be, despite everything. When she looks at him, her eyes are kind, and he wonders how many other soldiers have died for her, how many she commanded into battle more times than she wanted. "Fought in more wars than you should, before you even had a name." He had a name. Gendry. Gendry Waters. He knows now, that that would have been enough. "You deserve to rest."

"If you require my service, I'll give it gladly." He is being too earnest. Too informal. Jon is at the side of the throne, face impassive, and over to the side, he can catch Arya, flitting from one column to the next, just a shadow. "And I said I would stay until Kings Landing is in order." It was his home. The people out in the streets, the ones that are left- for a long time, they were the only chance at family he had. "I'll keep that promise."

"And I release you from it." Her face is crumpling, like this hurts her. Maybe she was fonder of him than he realized. Maybe she just felt the burden that all good rulers must feel towards those who are willing to lay down their lives for them. He doesn't know. He doesn't much care. "If you wish to go back to Storms End, we will get you there. If you wish to go somewhere else, we will send you there, too."

"Thank you, your grace," He says, bobbing his head, and he drops to his knees. The motion is too fast- he feels the stitches tear again. Arya would have his head. "Thank you."

"Did you hear?" They had been sharing quarters for a while now. They were hers, officially, but no one had bothered to give him any rooms of his own and Jon seems to be purposefully ignoring every improper thing either of his sisters do, so when she sneaks into the room close to dawn, Gendry is still up, waiting. If she asked why he was awake, he would lie to her, say that all his stab wounds were paining him. She doesn't ask. She already knows that he is waiting for her. "We could go."