Chapter 4: The Arrival

The distant hum of the sea and the cries of gulls filled the air as Gendry Waters stood atop the battlements of Storm's End, gazing out at the turbulent sea. A year had passed since the Great War, and the realm was still reeling from the aftermath. He had almost given up hope of ever seeing Arya again, and yet, a part of him held onto the memory of their time together. As he walked along the castle walls, Gendry's thoughts drifted back to the day they parted ways. He remembered the pain in his chest as Arya rejected his proposal, and the bittersweet goodbye they shared. The memory of her sparkling eyes and the determined look on her face still lingered in his mind. The sound of horse hooves echoed through the courtyard, breaking the silence. Gendry's gaze fell upon a lone figure riding towards the castle. The rider was a young woman, her face obscured by a hood, and her horse was lathered and exhausted. As she drew closer, Gendry's heart skipped a beat. There was something familiar about the way she rode, the way her hair fell in tangled locks down her back. As the woman rode into the courtyard, she lost control of her horse, and it stumbled, throwing her off balance. Gendry rushed to her side, catching her as she fell. He pulled her into his arms, and his eyes widened as he took in her battered and bruised face. "Arya?" he whispered, his voice trembling. The woman's eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at Gendry, a mixture of pain and recognition on her face. "Gendry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Without another word, Gendry scooped her up into his arms and carried her towards the castle. He ordered for a servant to fetch hot water and clean clothes, and for the castle's healer to attend to her wounds. As he laid her on a soft bed, Arya's eyes closed, and she let out a faint sigh. Gendry's heart ached as he took in the extent of her injuries. She had been beaten, and her body was a canvas of bruises and cuts. He gently removed her boots and clothes, revealing more wounds beneath. The castle's healer arrived, and together, they tended to Arya's wounds. Gendry washed her hair, and the healer applied salves and bandages to her injuries. As they worked, Arya remained silent, her eyes closed, and her breathing shallow. As the night wore on, Gendry sat beside her, holding her hand, and watching her sleep. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her, what had driven her to this state. He knew that Arya was a fighter, but the look in her eyes had told him that she was running on empty. The sound of rain pattering against the windows and the gentle rise and fall of Arya's chest were the only sounds in the room. Gendry's eyes never left her face, his heart aching with concern and love. He knew that he still loved her, and he was determined to help her heal, to bring her back from the darkness that had consumed her. As the hours passed, Gendry's thoughts turned to the past, to the memories they had shared, and to the future they could have. He knew that he had to be patient, to let Arya heal at her own pace. But he couldn't help but feel a sense of hope, a sense that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to be together again. The darkness outside seemed to press in around them, but in the warm, golden light of the candles, Arya's face seemed almost peaceful. Gendry's thumb stroked her hand, a gentle motion that seemed to soothe him as much as it soothed her. He knew that he would do anything to help her, to bring her back to life. As the first light of dawn crept into the room, Gendry leaned back in his chair, his eyes still fixed on Arya's face. He knew that she would have a long road to recovery ahead of her, but he was ready to walk it with her, every step of the way.