.

.

Along the crags, there's boulders and rocks for shelter against the powdery snow billowing around them, keeping the lean-to relatively dry. Jon hunches down in this farthest one from their group, shivering a little despite himself. He nods to the only other occupant, sitting down by him.

"What's it like being King in the North?" Gendry asks suddenly, his teeth chattering noisily. He narrows his eyes slightly when Jon adjusts himself and sends a quizzical, doubtful look. Gendry's eyes appear to be a piercing, watery blue in the lack of light. No resemblance to the icy pale quality of their enemies. "… S'rry. Talking keeps me from freezing to death," he mumbles, crossing his arms tighter.

Jon's lips twitch upwards. He pulls out his full wineskin, offering it to the other man who gratefully swallows a mouthful and belches. "I didn't want it at first — I'm only a bastard," Jon says softly, knowingly.

Gendry snorts, appearing bitter.

"Has to be loads better than being only a bastard — everyone wants you dead then."

"Well, there's far more expectations to being King, I suppose," Jon confesses, taking back his wineskin. His mouth feels too-warm against the damp, sticky rim of skin. "As soon as I heard both of my sisters and my brother were alive, all I wanted to do was go back to Winterfell—"

"—Arya's alive?"

Jon watches as Gendry's expression thaws into shock, his body ramrod and tensing up.

"You know her?"

It takes a startlingly long moment before Gendry inhales, brows furrowed. "After your father was beheaded, we were traveling on the King's Road, headed for the Wall along with other boys from Flea Bottom and the dungeons," he says.

"She wasn't a boy."

Gendry snorts again, this time with clear and reminiscent amusement. "I knew that. Nobody else did or cared. It's like hardly of them have ever recognized a little girl with dirty, short hair before."

Jon folds his hands together, eyeing him.

"Were you protecting my sister? he asks, not bothering to disguise his harsh tone. Jon knows nothing of Arya's travels or where she has been, who she has met, who has dared to harm her or who befriended her — he would like to know it. Even to just pass the time in a storm.

Gendry smiles thoughtlessly, boyishly-wide, though Jon suspects he's unaware of it.

"More like she was protecting me half the time." He thumps his head against the cold, grey boulder behind him, sighing out. "Hells, I would have listened and gone to Winterfell if I knew she was there," Gendry mumbles.

Jon tucks away his wineskin, attempting to relax his aching muscles.

"If she's fond of you as you are of her, then Arya may be glad to see you after this," he points out, revealing no specific emotion in his voice. But he does grin when Gendry becomes visibly flustered, sputtering out something along the lines of "I wasn't meaning—" and "I respected her, Your Grace—"

"I believe you, Gendry."

Gendry stares at him cautiously, lifting his chin.

"You do?"

Jon spreads out a raggy, fur pelt. "If I hadn't, you would be the dead man we were carrying back to Cersei Lannister," he says bluntly, no longer grinning. Those dark Stark eyes hardening on Gendry's unnerved features before Jon rolls onto his side. "Get some rest. It's a long walk before we're there."

He doesn't hear any movement from Gendry until the crusty, thick snow crackles his weight.

Sleep would be nice, but he can't do it. Especially not with his bones trembling like Jon's been reborn a southron and Gendry's teeth making all that racket, gods damn him.

"Budge up," Jon mutters, rolling over. He presses himself against Gendry's back, causing the other man to jerk away initially, squirming as one of Jon's hands crawls under the top layer of his garments. Gendry makes a low, groaning sound, when the same hand drops from his abdomen and tugs open his laces.

"Whatareyou—"

Jon shushes him, breathing against Gendry's earlobe.

"It's cold, you're cold," he explains placidly, Jon's fingers clenching up before peeling off his boiled leather gloves. "I'm trying to help."

Gendry's cock feels hard and hot all over, the tip moist when Jon's thumb slides over a familiar slit.

Ygritte showed him how to warm someone Beyond The Wall, and Jon didn't expect his first someone to be a young, lean man carrying a bull-embossed war hammer — the ghost of Robert Baratheon, covered in leagues of soft-silk, muscular flesh, rutting against Jon's sword-hand, panting and writhing.

He can't blame the strongwine for this. Neither of them can.

.

.


GoT is not mine. YOOOOOOO LAST NIGHT'S EPISODE. I'm full of a lot of emotion and mostly screaming because Gendry and Arya are so close to each other, but neither of them know the other is alive and well, and I need that reunion so badly. In the meantime, I was thinking about how Jon and Gendry were gonna bond... then things led to other things, and here we are and now I lowkey ship them. Oops. PLEASE ENJOY. SCREAM IF YOU SAW THE NEW EPISODE TOO.