This is really bad don't judge me

"Lady Arya Stark is the most fearsome warrior in all of Westeros!" The little girl on her fathers shoulders proclaimed to the forest at large, her voice ringing out against the trees, who stood silent, as if frightened to even disagree with her.

"The most fearsome?" Her father asked with a chuckle, bouncing her slightly as they went on their daily walk through the glen, laughing as she let out a shriek.

"Yes!" She all but cried, brandishing her wooden sword he had crafted for her after hours and hours of carefully calculated begging.

"You might want to rethink that one, sweetling," her father laughed as they neared the edge of the forest. "Haven't you learned of all the great warriors of the seven kingdoms? What of Stannis Baratheon, or Brienne of Tarth? Surely they deserve some consideration."

"I think not," the little girl said haughtily, and though he could not see her from her perch on his shoulders, he knew she was closing her eyes and shaking her head, her nose pointed at the sky. "None of them could best Lady Arya Stark. They say she is so quick and fierce, that she is almost like a direwolf, that she can run on the wind and that even the most horrifying creatures fear her name!"

Her father laughed as they broke through the trees, entering a meadow cracked with frost and lightly dusted with the snow of winter. It was a warm day to be sure, but they were both bundled up, the chill air biting at their exposed cheeks as they made their way through the crisp afternoon air.

"I believe that," he said, "especially when she is displeased. Even the Gods quake in their seats when they see her nostrils flare!"

"Now you're teasing me," the little girl said as her father's laughter sang out over the meadow.

"Never," he said, his deep laughs causing her to shake on his shoulders as he bounced her again.

"You can tease me all you like but you know it's true," the little girl said in a factual tone.

"If you say so, my dear," he teased, giving her leg a squeeze as they neared the farm, Winterfell just barely visible over the tops of the trees of the forest.

"Look! Look! It's Lawna!"

As they walked closer and closer to the farm, two little children, a boy and a girl, ran out into the yard, pointing and dancing. The man's daughter waved her hands enthusiastically, calling out to them as well. With all the commotion, a man came out of the farm's cottage too, and, smiling when he saw who it was, waved.

"You are early!" He called to the man, but before he could explain, his daughter cried out.

"Lady Stark is returning to Winterfell!"

"Ahh of course!" The farmer said as they came to a stop just outside the yard. "How could I have forgotten?"

"She wouldn't have us leave the usual time," the girl's father said, laughing. "She insisted on leaving early so that we would get back in plenty of time."

"Come and play with us Lawna!" The farmers children begged, running to the farm gates and climbing up on them, begging her to come and join them.

"I can't!" Lawna said in a haughty voice. "I don't want to be late."

"You won't be late," her father said, reaching up and grabbing her at the waist, hoisting her up and then setting her down. "Besides, you know how Lady Sansa is with us smallfolk, she doesn't like us crowding the ceremonies."

The girl shrugged and ran over to her friends, clamoring over the fence to join them in the yard, waving her wooden sword. Her face walked over and leaned on the gate, watching her play alongside the farmers children.

"She's been like this for weeks," the man sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You can't imagine what hour she woke me this morning. I swear I saw the dead walk."

"I can," the farmer said with a laugh, "because it was probably the hour I wake everyday."

Lawna's father sighed, but he smiled non the less.

"Still," the farmer said as they watched their children play, "I can see what you speak of."

As he said this, an argument broke out between all the children.

"Stop it Ruben!" Lawna shouted, looking cross. "I already told you, I will be Lady Stark, and you will be bad King Joffrey-"

"I don't want to be bad King Joffrey!" the farmer's boy protested. "He dies all the time! I want to be someone who lives! I'm tired of always playing the villain! I want to be the blacksmith."

Lawna's nose curled with annoyance.

"No!" She snapped. "This isn't a romance! This is a fighting game!"

"Then I want to be King Robb!"

"But King Robb dies too," Lawna said as though it were obvious. "I thought you were tired of dying?"

"Fine! Then if he dies, I want to be the blacksmith!"

"No!" Lawna shouted, stomping her foot.

"What is the matter girl?" The farmer asked, giving Lawna and skeptical look. "Do you not like the blacksmith?"

"He's all right," the little girl said, and both men roared with laughter. She grinned, looking pleased with herself.

"Then can I be the blacksmith? I always have to be the worst-"

"No! No blacksmiths!"

"All right," Lawna's father said quickly, opening the gate and coming in to stop the argument, "I think it's time we were heading back to Winterfell."

Lawna frowned with disappointment, but he knew she would not argue with him, not when she was so anxious to see Lady Stark's very eagerly anticipated arrival. Resigned, she nodded, throwing her playmates an apologetic look.

"Good day to you," her father said to the farmer, hoisting her up onto his shoulders again like she was no heavier than a sack of potatoes (truth be told, she was probably lighter). "Children."

And with that the two were off, bound for Winterfell, the sun on their backs as though desperate to warm them despite the freezing air. The farmer and his children called out their goodbyes behind them, but with her father's quick strides, their voices were soon lost to the wind, their faces but a speck in the distance.

It wasn't a long walk back to Winterfell, but Lawna could sense her fathers urgency that they might not get there on time, no matter how carefully they had planned. As they approached, they could see the banners flying, and there seemed to be more activity than usual outside the gates.

To confirm her suspicions, her father picked up his already brisk pace, nearly running towards the gates, as though frightened that they would be locked out. As it was, they were not, but their fears were confirmed. Lady Arya Stark had already arrived.

They couldn't see her in the hubbub of riders and horses that were crowded around the gates, but Lawna recognized her horse at once, and the line of Stark's all standing in a formal row was enough to prove it.

Despite the chaos of her arrival, it became rapidly apparent that the whole affair had been proper and hushed before the arrival of the little girl and her father, and, when they broke through the horses and riders, there was a sharpening in the air of permanent disapproval, radiating, of course, from Lady Sansa.

The girl's father dared not look at her, but he was no coward, and when he met her gaze, he did not shrink back in fear. It was a great accomplishment, to be sure, because the look Lady Sansa was giving him was nothing short of murderous. And it was not the usual malice either, there was real fury behind her usually pretty eyes, and he couldn't help but think that his late arrival had nothing to do with it.

"Gendry!"

Before he could even contemplate the source of Lady Sansa's anger, he was whipping around, looking out at the voice he knew all too well, calling his name.

She was as bedraggled as ever, heavily cloaked, with mud half way up her boots, but it was her face he was looking at, framed by wild hair, all flushed from the ride and beaming at him. It was as if every insecurity, every dreadful fear that she might not come back, or perhaps had finally grown tired of him, was washed away by the look on her face as she rushed towards him, grinning from ear to ear.

Lady Sansa's furious hiss was cut off by her sister, Lady Arya Stark, barreling him into a fierce hug, nearly sending the girl on his shoulders flying. He had to stumble to regain his footing, but it did not matter. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her back, and then his eyes shot open. He suddenly realized why Lady Sansa was so angry.

"Seven hells Arya!" He said before he could stop himself as he pulled away, eyes wide, to see if it was really true. If she was really pregnant. Again.

She gave him a sheepish shrug while Lawna gasped, and then let out a repressed squeal, clutching her father's head in her excitement.

"Arya!" Lady Sansa's voice barked from across the yard. Arya sighed, giving Gendry an apologetic look and rolled her eyes.

"Keep your hair on, I'm only saying hello!" She called over her shoulder, and Gendry could see Lady Sansa bristling, her face turning about as red as her hair.

"I'll try to sneak out if I can, tonight," Arya said to him in a low voice, smiling up at Lawna, who was no doubt beaming down at her, "to see you at the forge."

And with that, she took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, giving Lawna one last smile before turning and walking back to her family, Lady Sansa snatching her arm and whisking her inside with a speed Gendry didn't think was possible. As the rest of the Starks followed, Gendry couldn't help but let out a low whistle. Pregnant. Again. Leave it to Arya to return with a surprise.

I can't make up fantasy names for shit, obviously, but here's my one-shot. It's not as good as Just as Friends, obviously, but I suppose it'll do for now.

I'm going to start working on my 'research' if you will, for my other fics (I've decided to work on the two mentioned in the epilogue of 'just as friends') soon, and I'll post those as soon as possible. If any of you use tumblr (and this is not me trying to whore myself out, I just can't think of a better way to keep you all updated on my work), my url's are .com and .com (ofwingsandthings is my fandom blog, and that's where I will most likely be posting updates as to what I'm doing writing wise. Also, if you would like to ask me any questions or request one-shots for me to write to tie you guys over, I'd recommend putting them there).

Sorry, I'm done spamming.