Braavos was like a forgery. It was hot and loud and Gendry gave up to wipe away the sweat on his forehead.
A man sees and a man understands. You lost something very dear to you. Lost can be found. But not here in Westeros … a man has to travel to find what belongs to him. And there are a lot treasures to find in Braavos.
He had pressed the coin into Gendrys hands and whispered two foreign words that were strangely familiar to him. Valar morghulis. Then the man disappeared and Gendry found himself alone in the taverne, even it was crowded around him.
Whenever he showed people the coin, they just pointed silent into the direction he had to go. His eyes teared because of the strange herbs they burned in the temple. And then he heard the voice.
She had grown. Her hair was tied back into a knot but even after all the years everything in her face was hurtfully familiar as if it was just yesterday. Only her eyes … her eyes were as white as milk.
“Arya?” he whispered in a husky voice.
She stopped her chant and didn’t move for a long time. Gendry was so scared to move because of an irrational fear that he would wake up in Westeros again with nothing but a strange dream and the spastic pain in his entails, the legacy of a longtime nurtured guilt of not running after her.
Slowly, she stood up and her fingers found his face. Touching his skin, his jawline, his eyes and lips and nose, his beard and his neck, his broad shoulders. Her lips were moving but no sound escaped them.
Without another word he drew her against his body, his nose in her hair and Gendry felt the tears falling down.
“You stupid, stupid … girl!”
(c) aditu90, 2012.