For 13letters, to whom this was promised.

She wanted to say that there were no dragons in Dragonstone, but Daenerys Targaryen had sailed across the Narrow Sea with hers, and now they soared about the melted rock and over the restless sea. Her brother had seen those dragons, even touched one, but Gendry had not been there to witness it. Arya turned to him. "When were you in Dragonstone?"

"That's where the red woman took me," he admitted. After the brotherhood sold you. "To Lord Stannis before he died."

"Why would she bring you to Lord Stannis?" Had another king wanted him dead? Did Lord Stannis offer her gold as well? That pained look on his face meant he was thinking. It made her wary. "What did you do?" Fear cuts deeper than swords. "What did the goldcloaks want with you? Does it have anything to do with my father?"

"Lord Stark only asked questions," he answered. It did not ease her mind either way. "When the red woman brought me to Lord Stannis, he told it true. I'm King Robert's bastard son."

King Robert's son, she thought incredulously. Arya could scarce believe it. She remembered her own bastard brother Jon Snow. Small wonder where Gendry's strength came from, and his talent for fighting. He did not know his way around a sword, but put a hammer in his hands and he could cave a man's breastplate in. Gendry was a threat to all of Cersei Lannister's children. He has the better claim.

"Half-Robert, half-lowborn, he said, but I'm still a bastard."

"A bastard with more right to the throne than Joffrey," Arya pointed out.

"I'm only here because he grabbed my mother instead of the girl next to her in the tavern."

"That doesn't matter," she had not expected Gendry to need coaxing. Yet, the realization of it all was beginning to dwell on her. "Joffrey was not Robert's son. That's probably why my father came looking for you and the others."

"There were more?"

"Of course there were more," Arya shook her head. "The king liked to drink and eat and bask in the company of women who weren't his wife. He tried to do plenty of it in Winterfell, and I'm sure he had more luck on the actual throne," she paused. "Lord Arryn went asking questions, then my father. He must have found out what killed the last Hand, and Cersei would do anything to protect her children," Arya frowned. Father must have told her what he knew. Honor would compel him to tell the king. Loyalty is what cost him his head. "Why would Cersei send the goldcloaks for one bastard boy already on his way to the Wall, if she didn't want to rid of every threat to her children?"

Gendry pondered that. "Then it's my fault Lord Stark's dead."

"No," she said firmly. "He shouldn't have gone looking. He shouldn't have asked questions. He shouldn't have agreed to be the king's hand."

A quiet silence passed over them, allowing her time to remember her father. Arya still missed him dearly, and her mother, and her brothers Robb and Rickon. She found justice for them at the Twins, but for her father, it was not enough to know Joffrey choked on his poisoned wedding wine. Cersei Lannister must die. Her name was still on the list, and Arya intended to cross her from it.

.:.

"Are we going in? It's freezing, and the snow's starting to fall."

"It's still light outside, and I want to see you use that weapon," she reached for Needle and drew it. "You did say it's been a while."

Gendry felt for his warhammer and smiled, ever slightly. "The odds aren't even, m'lady."

"Are you afraid you'll lose to a girl?"

"No, but I am afraid of what the king will do to me when he finds out."

"Then I suppose we won't tell him," Arya smirked. She lunged at him before he could think of something to say, and soon they were sparring. Needle was not the best match for a warhammer, but she made do will her jabs and pokes and slashes. His weapon was massive, though, and it nearly hit her twice, but Arya was swift as a cat. Quick as a snake. Quiet as a shadow. She moved to thrust her sword into his side, but Gendry blocked the blow, shoved it aside, and drove the end of the hilt into her right leg. Arya nearly doubled over from the force, but managed to spin away, jabbing and thrusting and slashing time and time again. Once she made for a go at his chest and scraped his leather jerkin with the tip of her sword. Gendry already had his hammer at her side by then, and the sharp tooth of its edge was prodding her side.

"Dead," he said, setting the weapon down.

Arya made a face. "So are you. If this was real, you'd be bleeding right here," she pressed Needle's point into his chest where the heart would be.

"And if I had armor on," he raised a finger to gently pushed her sword aside, "you'd still be dead."

Arya shoved him and made to step back, but Gendry caught her arm. She stuck a foot between his legs and tripped him, but he yanked her down with him and they rolled across the ground. He was very strong, but she was quick. Every time he tried to hold her still she wriggled free and punched him in the chest. Gendry only laughed at the blows, which made her mad. He finally caught both her wrists in his hands and rolled her over, so Arya slammed her knee between his legs and wrenched free. She turned him on his back and held him down with all her weight, reaching for the knife in her boot and bringing it to his neck. Both of them were covered in dirt and snow.

"I win," Arya declared proudly.

His eyes flickered down to where she held him. "Where did you get that?"

"Forgot I had this one."

Gendry struck her hand aside and reached for her other boot. When he found the second blade, he sat up as best he could and hitched the sharpest end underneath her arm. "There's an artery here, and a slow death, m'lady." He flipped the knife over and offered it back by the hilt.

Arya took it and stood, holding out her hand. "Who taught you that?"

"The king," he said, accepting her aid. "He's the best swordsman I've ever seen."

.:.

"Have you ever been with someone before?"

Gendry looked at her and grimaced. "Why do you care?"

"We're talking," she pointed out. "I asked you a question. Answer it."

"Fine. Yes."

"Who was she?"

"Some woman. Most of them are."

Arya made a rude noise. She would have kicked him from where she sat, but he was too far away.

"It was the red priestess."

That shocked her. "Gendry!"

"What? It wasn't my fault."

"Why would you do that? She bought you for two bags of gold and so you shared her bed?"

He started to smile. "Imagine you're me. Never been with a woman. Never talked to a woman, really. And then she comes at you, big words, no clothes. What would you have done?"

Arya knit her brows together. He asked her that as if she could read his bull-headed, reckless mind. "I wouldn't have done anything."

"That's because you're a girl."

"That's because I wouldn't bed the person who bought me like a man buys a whore."

"What do you know about whores anyway?" He countered.

"I've been in a brothel before. A few times."

Gendry looked at her. He was probably thinking about how m'lady high could do such a vile thing.

"Under a disguise," Arya grinned. "I was looking for someone."

He frowned. "Everyone who goes into a brothel is looking for someone."

"Not that someone. A name to cross from my list."

That intrigued him. "Who was it?"

"Some gold-hatted prick who liked little girls." The mere mention of Meryn Trant was making her mad. She hated that man with every inch of her soul, just as the other names on her list. She didn't hate the Hound so much anymore, though. "One night, he took a nine-year-old girl from the brothel into his bed and beat her bloody. The mercy of a quick death would have been a kindness, and I made sure he bled well enough before cutting his throat."

Gendry was not surprised to hear it, even while her voice remained unchanged and flat. He had always known of her list. Perhaps he hadn't thought her strong enough to carry it out, but there were a lot of things Gendry did not know about Arya. She never told him about the Twins, or Braavos, or the road here for that matter.

"He killed my dancing master, Syrio Forel, and beat my sister with his sword."

"Who else is on your list?"

"The red witch," she grimaced. "Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Cersei Lannister, Gregor Clegane." Tywin Lannister, Walder Frey, Joffrey Baratheon, Rorge, the Tickler, she killed most of them. The others were at the mercy of another, but it mattered only that they were dead. "Why now? You never asked before."

"Making sure I'm not on it, is all."

"Because you left me for the Brotherhood?" The words fell flatly from her mouth, stark and straightward, but she hadn't intended for it to sound that way.

Gendry frowned. "You didn't sound happy about it then."

"You were an arse, but I vouched for you when the red woman took you away."

"Why?"

"Because you were my friend."

"Were," he nodded. "What am I to you now?"

It struck her, in a way, to hear the strain in his voice. Gendry sounded upset, but not angry like he had been when Arya wanted him to smith for Robb. Her childlike mind would have thought him a fool, but she allowed herself a small smile of recognition. There was something else going through his mind, and she had an inkling as to what it might be. Arya leaned forward. "Still an arse."

He knew she was taunting him, but in his eyes, she saw that he was searching for an honest answer. Perhaps he had felt this way toward her ever since, but she had been too young then to understand. "Far from the worst one, actually." Arya added, glancing at her folded hands in her lap.

.:.

They sat directly opposite of each other, grey staring back at blue, legs crossed and minds putting the pieces of the game together.

"I went to the Twins after. Walder Frey was on my list. He killed my mother and brother, but the north remembers. I spent three days and two nights watching, gathering faces and planning when to strike. The night Jaime Lannister came with his army, Walder Frey hosted a feast. I poured their drinks and served their food, but at night I listened, and learned everything I could about Walder Frey. What he did, where he went, what he liked, who he liked, who he hated. And when the time came, one by one his sons went missing from their beds, their faces stolen, each boy absent from supper with their father. Walder Frey wondered where they were, called them names, but they never came. I tried to kill him with poison, but he refused to be widowed again. There the knife was, shined and clean, right at his throat. He's dead now, as is the rest of his family."

Gendry said nothing for a while, but the look on his face meant that he was thinking. Perhaps he had heard what happened to the Freys—news traveled fast to King's Landing—or perhaps he had heard nothing at all. It did not matter. What mattered was that Gendry started to smile. Arya had told a similar story to Jaqen H'ghar, even lied about the insignificant details to try and catch the him off guard, but the faceless men always saw right through her. Gendry could not, and so Arya turned on him the way the Waif had turned on her. "Was that true, or a lie?"

His face fell. "What?"

"Did you believe every word I said?"

He only looked at her. Disbelief had ripped out his tongue, and once again, Gendry fell into deep thought. She brought him out of it, though, for the game of faces would not stop just yet.

"Back in Dragonstone," he began, after a while, "I saw things I'd never think to see. Lord Stannis gave me a room with a fancy bed and fancy wine, and dressed me in fine clothes to match his fine castle. But when the red woman came, she had as many pretty words as there were grains of sand by the sea, and she strapped me down, took off my fine clothes, and put leeches on me. I hated every minute of it."

"A lie," she said.

He furrowed his brows. "She tried to kill me."

"Another lie."

"Alright, they never got to it, but they wanted to," he answered this time. "I almost died on the way to King's Landing."

"Closer. And now the truth?"

Gendry swallowed. "I made it safely." He mumbled the first time. The second time he looked up at her, defiant. "I was afraid I'd drown. Never learned how to swim."

"Then we will have to teach you," Arya smiled.

.:.

They were in her room again, sharing another flagon of ale. Arya sat on the ground cross-legged, across from Gendry, who made himself comfortable lounging against the stone wall. Every now and then, when he reached for the flask, his knee would bump hers.

"I still can't believe you went north of the Wall."

He glanced up when she said it. "What?"

"The closest thing you had to battle was those Lannister soldiers in the Riverlands," she deadpanned. "Earlier, you told me you were getting ready for something, but you never knew what for."

"Yeah, that's true. We don't get to pick and choose our wars."

She almost smiled. "No, we don't." Arya paused. "But you chose not to fight for my brother Robb. You chose the Brotherhood. And then when you made it to King's Landing, you chose to stay and arm the Lannisters."

He stilled at that. "Only because it was the safest place to go where I could find work and hide from the queen."

"You dropped everything to join Jon," she bulled right over him. "Even went beyond the Wall and risked your life. When Ser Davos found you on the street of steel, you didn't even know who or what you were fighting for. So, when you saw it was my brother and the army of the dead, what made you trust him?"

Gendry just started at her. "You."

"I don't know what that means."

"I worried about you, you know," he said stiffly. "Wondered where you were, if you got to your family. When I found out they were dead, I thought you were, too."

"Not me," she said. "Not today."

For a moment, he smiled. "When I met the king, the first thing I noticed was that he looked just like you. I told him who I was, and hoped he might say somethingabout Lady Arya Stark, but he didn't. And then I thought maybe he found you, but never said anything because he still mourned his little sister."

She softened, ever slightly.

"Jon Snow might be the first king to ever deserve that title and hate it," he chuckled. "And if I never saw you again, well, at least I'd be fighting for your family." He leaned forward to grab the flagon of ale, but Arya caught his arm and drew him close, her lips at his ear.

"If it wasn't for you, my brother would be dead. House Stark owes you a great debt."

He did not say anything for a while, but when he did, his voice carried a fondness she had not yet heard, and he sighed softly. "House Stark owes me nothing, m'lady."

The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down her spine. She lowered her gaze to hide her smile when he leaned back. "I told you to stop calling me that."

Gendry hummed. "As m'lady commands."

They were nearly touching, and she was quite aware of just how close he was. The thought of it all excited her, and when she looked back up at him, he kissed her, and nothing had ever felt so sweet.

He was gentle, wary of some rejection, but it never came. Arya was not entirely sure if she was even doing this right. All she knew was that it felt good, and that she did not want him to stop. Is this what Sansa had been reading in her books all these years? She dreamed of how she wanted to fall in love with her fair prince Joffrey the way the knights loved their ladies in the songs. Sansa wanted to be whisked away to King's Landing and sail ships along the shore as the sun set behind them. Arya wondered how she managed to live the tale before her sister ever could, and without the promise of sunset ships and golden flowers.

When Gendry broke away, she felt her skin flush where his nose brushed against hers.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked.

"No," she said easily.

And then he was kissing her, again, and again, and again. Arya could not describe why she loved the way he did when there was nothing for her to compare. Gendry was her first, but she was not his, and that did not bother her as much as she thought it would. His mouth took her lower lip between his teeth in a way that made her heart beat faster and her mind run circles. She wanted him to do it again, and reached out to cup his cheek in her hand, but Gendry only kissed her harder. She liked that, too, and smiled against his lips.

He pulled back. "What was that for?"

"Nothing," she lied.

He stared at her briefly, trying to read her face. "You sure you've never been with another man?"

Arya wove her fingers through his dark black hair. "You sound ridiculous. Don't make me change my mind."

He grinned. "That sounds like a threat."

"Are you jealous?"

"No."

It was too easy. "You are."

"Who was he?"

"A boy from the south," she lied again, but his expression the moment she said it was invaluable. "Tall, dark hair, blue eyes like the sea. Gods, he was built like a mountain—"

Gendry cleared his throat. "Yeah thanks, I think I've heard enough."

Arya tried to smother her laugh, but the longer she stared at his face, the more she could not help it. She started to chuckle. "It's you, stupid."

"You're cruel, you know that? Worse than—"

Arya pulled him back to her, and the rest of their words were lost in each other's mouths. She kissed him as hard as he had kissed her, and his hand moved to brush along her leg before settling over her knee. She never imagined it would have come to this, after all. They were travelers at first, then prisoners, then servants, then runaways. He was stolen by the priestess in red and she the Hound, always moving, never stopping. Yet they had found each other again, reunited, kissing, away from the rest of Winterfell and everyone in it.

She never wanted this moment to end. Her fingers were tangled in his hair to hold him close, and Arya lingered in the moments where his lips steered from hers and brushed along her neck. Sometimes, when he felt bold, Gendry tugged at the collar of her leather jerkin and kissed her there, but she would bring him up before things moved too fast. She wanted to cherish the feeling of her first kiss, which had quickly turned into ten, and twenty, and fifty, but neither of them were really counting. It felt like an hour had passed before they lost their breath. The snow was falling heavier outside, but Arya felt warm. Gendry just watched her, his fingers tracing the lines of her face where he'd kissed her half a hundred times, and she thought about the taste of him and how it lingered on her lips. "Gendry."

"Arya."

The way he said her name made her smile. "I need to go."

He remembered then. "You don't have to."

"What would you have me say? I got distracted?"

"You could just tell the king what happened."

She pushed him back with both hands. "Are you that willing to die?"

"What? We didn't do anything."

"He has a direwolf," she warned. "The biggest one."

"Ghost loves me."

"You're a liar."

"You shouldn't insult people that are bigger than you."

Arya made a face. "Then I wouldn't get to insult anyone."

Gendry laughed. She loved that, too, but she needed to meet with Jon and Sansa. Arya looked into his sea-blue eyes and wove her fingers through his hair again. He had taken enough energy from her today. She supposed he would want to do that again, and more if she would let him. "If Jon found out, he would kill you," Arya said, standing.

"Now?" He objected, reaching out to grab her cloak. She twisted it from his grip with a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Now it is. As m'lady commands."

The moment she made to walk, Gendry stood and caught her from behind. Arya groaned, but secretly, she loved every second. "I hate you."

He pushed her hair aside with his nose and kissed that secret spot behind the ear. "No, you don't."