Author's Note:

Hello there! Thank you for reading this little fic of mine it's, my first attempt ever at writing anything. Arya and Gendry are precious and I hope i haven't done them wrong with this one. Good or bad, I'd love to hear from you guys so if you have the time, please do review.

She didn't quite know if she believed in God. As a child, she had prayed with her family to the old Gods and the new. She had prayed for Old Nan when a mysterious flu took a turn for the worse and prayed for someone (hell, something) to save her from the drudgery that was needle work with Sansa, Jeyne and the others. She'd prayed for a pet dog, for a sword as sharp and strong as the one that was hidden from view by her father's scabbard, and in her heart of hearts she had prayed to the Gods to make her look a little less like a horseface . She wasn't one of those vain girls who was excessively bothered about her appearance, where was the time for that when there were so many training sessions to best Bran at and so many new cuss words she had learnt from Theon to annoy Sansa with- but that didn't mean she didn't feel the sting when she was called Arya Horseface.

In retrospect, she realized that, against Septa Mordane's dire warnings (He who implores the Seven with vanity in mind implores in vain), she had been quite selfish and vain after all. But if she could take all that back and ask the Gods to grant her one wish now, it would be to give that stubborn bull the courage to take her here and now. Seven hells, he could tear off a foe's limbs without batting an eyelid but when it came to tearing off her clothes, a more cowardly man had never existed. Fine, be this way, she thought, I'm just going to have to take matters into my own hands. And that is how it came to be that Gendry Baratheon, newly anointed King of Kings, ruler of the seven kingdoms found Arya Stark sprawled across his bed, in a manner befitting her last name. Suffice to say, the guards posted outside His Grace's room didn't catch a wink that night.