DISCLAIMER: Not mine :)

Hiyooo, how you all hang-a-langing? I hope you enjoy a new chapter of Arya being all angsty! Thanks again to all of you wonderful people that make my day with your lovely messages, I always super appreciate them! And on with the story! Over and Out xox

RECAP: Arya leaves the company after a fight with Gendry to clear her head, but only confuses herself more about what she wants. She ends up meeting a small farm group reconstructing a barn, and offers her help. From them she finds out that Gendry is a good lord who the people respect and admire (as well as hearing some amusing stories about herself, having remained anonymous). She goes back to the company and makes up with Gendry, apologising for starting a fight with him over nothing. They end up riding off together and talking about what Gendry plans to do now that he's home. They all FINALLY arrive (seriously, I only intended the journey to be a few chapters... sorry!) and Gendry introduces Arya to Davos and Shireen. When Davos mentions their betrothal there is an awkward tense moment, but Shireen saves them by offering to take Arya to her rooms so that she can refresh herself after her journey.

Arya hummed gently, so quietly that it was barely audible, other than the dull vibrations in her throat. She lay back against the bath, her arms anchored against the sides, fingertips trailing slowly through the water. Hot baths were still something she was unaccustomed to, in truth, but a luxury that she could not turn down after two months on the road. Though she had wanted to explore the castle, her aching joints had been tempted by the chance to soak and relax, and so she had found herself following Gendry's shy cousin to her rooms.

The maids had wanted to stay and help her, an idea that Arya found ridiculous- she was an assassin, did they truly think she could not wash herself? Part of her knew that wasn't entirely fair; no one knew that about her, and many ladies spent much time scrubbing their skin with different salts and lotions, combing through their hair with precious oils from Essos and the Free Cities, and would need a maid to do it. However, Arya was not a lady, and so she had sent them away before shedding her clothes and climbing hastily into the hot water.

She studiously ignored the mirror placed near her, a pretty thing, wrought with decorative roses in a thin frame around the speckled, polished glass (perhaps a long ago gift from the Tyrell's? She had wondered vaguely to herself.) She did not need to see herself, did not want to see what the people saw when she rode in with Gendry through the gates. Instead she allowed her mind to turn to other things, and found herself again pondering her relationship with Gendry.

She frowned as she recalled Davos referring to the betrothal between them, and Gendry's reaction. She was certain that Davos hadn't missed it- she had seen it, in the brief flicker of his eyes between them, the way his brow had twitched. But it wasn't Davos' reaction that had concerned her- it was Gendry's.

The way he had stiffened, his hand on her back tense, the almost audible clench of his jaw. Why had he reacted that way? He was the one who wanted this marriage... wasn't he? He was the one that had schemed with Jon, had dragged her hundreds of leagues south. A small wrinkle formed between her brows. She supposed that was neither fair nor true. While it was true that he wanted to marry her, wasn't that rather more because he and Jon had also done it to make her safe- as ridiculous as the notion was? Jon wanted her to marry Gendry, that was also true, their union would make sure that the throne was secure. It was also true that he had chosen the match because he had hoped to keep her safe, aye, and keep the Greyjoy bastard from having plausible motive to start a war.

But the common factor here was Jon; they were all Jon's motives for sending her south. What did Gendry want?

Arya knew that he planned to wed her, he had been more than open about that. But why? Because Jon had asked him? And what exactly had Jon said to him? Arya had not really considered it before. Had Jon gone to Gendry or was it the other way around? Had it been agreed, like a contract, leading to Gendry wanting to marry her, or had he wanted to marry her, leading to an agreement?

Arya's head dropped back against the edge of the back as she let out a weary sigh. If Gendry were any other lord she would have been long gone by now, would have escaped when they reached the Neck. If Jon were simply her king, and not her brother, she would have been able to disappear, leave Westeros and never come back, but she couldn't... and she wasn't even sure she wanted to do that anymore.

Why does it all have to be so damned confusing? She thought to herself, not for the first time. Beyond the Wall it had been so much simpler, where a man and a woman decided to be together and that was it. In Braavos- none of the same political scheming (though there had of course been the more subtle machinations, but the general population had not known anything about that...). It had been so much easier, so much more straight forward.

But then, she supposed, pulling herself back up violently, and slopping the water over the edge of the tub, perhaps it only seemed that way because she had been on the outside looking in. Perhaps it was always this confusing, and she had never considered it because she had never imagined that kind of life for herself.

Arya couldn't help but lament when things had been simpler, but with a sudden stab in her gut she realised- those were never simpler times. They were just familiar. Back then every move she had made, every thought, every decision- it had all been about survival. Surviving from the Lannisters, surviving from the danger of travelling alone, surviving from Frey's and bandits and all of the other foul people that would harm a child, surviving her training in Braavos and her dangerous relationship with the Faceless Guild and the way it had all culminated. Surviving the Sacking of Lorath and the slave ship, her time as a gladiator and everything that came after. But despite all of the different threats, the one thing she had truly had to fight against was the ever present danger of being alone. A child, with no one she could trust, no one she could rely on. And so, she had taken that threat and turned it into armour, a way to protect herself. Turned the danger of being alone, to making sure that she was always alone, so that she could never be hurt or betrayed.

But that was then. That was then, when she had had no choice but to be alone, and now- now it seemed her survival relied on whether or not she allowed herself to be close with others again. Her relationship with Sansa and Bran, reuniting with Jon- just being part of a family again, a pack, no longer the lone wolf. It was an uncomfortable realisation for Arya, as she picked up a coarse scrubbing brush and began to rub at her skin. That she didn't have to be alone, that while alone was familiar to her, it wasn't normal.

But was this, her relationship with Gendry- was this normal? Gendry had told her that he didn't expect her to marry him anymore, that the betrothal could be put on hold until she was ready.

"I didn't mean to scare you earlier," he said suddenly, his voice low. "When I showed you the Stormlands."

She didn't look at him. "You didn't," she said, but she knew Gendry knew it wasn't true.

"I did," he said bluntly. "I felt the way you stiffened. Saw your face when you were running. You were frightened."

Arya hesitated. "I wasn't... I just felt confused."

Gendry reached over and covered her hand. "I know."

She shot him an irritated look. "How could you possibly know?" she asked stiffly.

"How could I not?" He shrugged. "I know what it is to spend your life rejecting something, and then finding that it isn't what you think it is. When Jon made me a lord I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to be lord of anything, I barely knew how to use a fork-" he chuckled. "I'm still working on the fork part. But, what I did know, was that if I had to have a wife I wanted her to be you." Arya looked away, her face immediately becoming guarded again, but not before Gendry saw her eyes flash with pain. "I still don't know how to be a lord, or how to use a fork, but I do know that I love you, and you're beautiful and that none of it is worth anything if you aren't with me. So be with me."

"Gendry-" she started quietly, but he took hold of her wrist, pulling her to the side to talk.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, though I hope that one day you will," he said, looking her in the eye. "I know that, for whatever reasons, you can't say yes yet. So I'm just asking you to be with me. That's all."

Arya bit her lip, worrying it with her teeth, and remembered Gendry doing the same thing to her just hours ago. "I don't know how," she admitted quietly. "I'm just... I don't know how to be with someone. All I know is how to survive. I don't know anything else."

"And I didn't know how to run a kingdom-"

"or use a fork," she added with a small smile.

"Aye, that too," he conceded. "But I'm learning." He leaned over to press his forehead against hers, and she felt his eyelashes flutter against her skin. "Learn with me, Arya."

Arya pressed her lips to his, and remained silent.

She hadn't made an answer at the time, and she knew that if he said the same thing again she would still remain silent. Because how could she possibly explain to him what she was feeling, when she didn't even know herself? How could she possibly convey how she understood that his gift of time to her meant more to her than she could word, and at the same time made her feel afraid and guilty, guilty because he was trying so hard to make her happy, when moments before that she had been considering running away? Abandoning him, the same offence that he had committed all those years ago, that she hadn't forgiven for just as long?

It made her feel guilty, to realise what a truly good man Gendry was. At first he had been pushy, he had been forceful- but had he not later explained that it was all a part of the ploy to get her south and away from Euron? Now he had accepted her, that night at the burning village- he had seen what she was capable of, and instead of being revolted he had accepted her. That was something that Arya could not even begin to understand.

Of course, she knew her own motives for doing it. She couldn't deny that part of it had been to show him that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself, that though he wanted to protect her, despite knowing she didn't need it, it was unnecessary, but her real motive for doing it- that was another horror that she couldn't bare to show him. He had seen what she was capable of, and accepted her anyway. But would he still accept her if he knew why? That she had chosen to kill all those men simply to send a message to Euron herself?

When the raider that she had interrogated had illuminated to her that the attack on the village was a message to her from Euron, Arya had been horrified, revolted that he would murder innocents just to send her a message- yet, though the raiders had certainly been far from innocent, had she not herself done the very same thing? Killing all of those men- it had meant nothing to her. She had felt nothing for any of them, not when they were weeping and screaming, not as those the poison didn't finish of writhed in her arms, their blood spilling over her hand as she slit their throats. All she had felt was satisfaction that Euron would get his message.

Would Gendry still want her if she told him that?

Arya didn't know if he loved her, but if he understood why she had done what she had, surely any regard he had for her would wither and die? Was it possible for love to just die like that? Or would he love her despite it? Did she want him to love her despite it, or did she want him to love her because of it?

Did she want him to love her at all?

Arya jolted suddenly from her thoughts as a sharp pain blossomed on her arm, causing her to look down. She had been scrubbing so hard, with the stiff bristled brush, lost in her thoughts as she was, that she had taken the skin from her arm. She dropped the brush carelessly in the water with a plop, irritated with herself. She had been so lost in her thoughts that the water had grown stone cold, and goose bumps covered every inch of her skin.

There was a knock at the door, as a maid announced her presence. Arya looked over at the linen wrap, but decided there was little point getting out when she still needed to wash her hair.

"What is it?" She called, not unkindly.

"It's your things, my Lady," the maid called through the door. "Lady Shireen sent for them to brought to you. She thought you might like to be able to change into clean clothes.

Arya felt a spike of gratitude to Gendry's cousin for thinking of her. "Oh- thank you. Just leave them by the door, I'll bring them in myself," she told the maid, waiting for affirmation that she had understood before dunking her head in the water to wash her hair.

It did not take her long to soap and rinse her hair, as she cared little to do it slowly to ensure no tangles were created in the process, though it took several attempts at rinsing to be free of the suds. She dried herself quickly, rubbing hard in an attempt to chase away the goose bumps, before shaking her hair free of any loose water.

The trunks had been left outside of her room, as the maid had promised. For a moment Arya wondered what could possibly be in them, as she was certain she did not possess a wealth of belongings (other than her weapons, of course), before remembering that Sansa had mentioned packing her some of Robb's old clothes for her.

Shrugging, Arya dragged the trunks in, one and then the other, before flinging the smaller one open. She dressed quickly, uncaring of whether she wrinkled the clothes in the process, choosing a pair of brown breeches and a blue shirt. Robb had often wore blue, she remembered with a small pang. A small similarity then, between her and her dead brother, for her own shirt was a faded blue.

Once dressed she pulled her hair back in a plait, and yanked on her boots, lacing them hurriedly and tying the knot a small ways below her knee. It would not do to linger in her rooms much longer, thinking about things she had no answer to. Besides, she was eager to find Gendry, or failing that, an exploration of the castle.

Gendry watched as his younger cousin led Arya away towards the keep, luring her with the promise of a hot bath. He had expected her to turn down the offer, but supposed that it shouldn't come as a surprise; after two months on the ride, albeit they stopped in Kings Landing, it was only reasonable that she would want to wash of the dust and dirt of the road. He sighed at the thought of a chance to wash himself; he was all too aware that his hair had grown over long, and the stubble on his face threatened to become a beard. He was sure that he more than likely stank as well. He smiled, remembering how Arya used to tell him that whenever she was cross with him.

Gendry put the hammer down. "You look different now. Like a proper little girl."

"I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns."

"Nice, though. A nice oak tree." He stepped closer and sniffed at her. "You even smell nice for a change."

"You don't. You stink."

"So, that's the girl you just had to marry, huh?" Davos asked, tearing Gendry from his reverie. He turned back to the older man, a small smile taking place on his face. "She's a spitfire, that one."

"Aye," Gendry answered. "She is."

When Davos had brought up the betrothal, only moments before, Gendry hadn't been able to stop himself from tensing. He had tried to steer clear of the subject with Arya, not wanting to add more strain on her. He knew that she was still uncomfortable with the idea, and confused- he understood that. But over the last moon she had seemed to be more comfortable around him, more trusting, more easily comforted- aside from the last two days. He could see plain as the day that their arrival in the Stormlands had put her on edge again, and the last thing he needed was for mentions of their betrothal to frighten her off again. He would have to speak to Davos about it, and try to keep the reminders to a minimum if he ever wanted her to be comfortable at Storms End.

He smiled at Davos again before clapping an arm over his old friends shoulder and making his way over to the Keep. "It's good to be back, my friend," he said with a sigh. "Though there are things I must speak with you about soon."

Davos looked up at him, with a teasing smile. "Perhaps they can wait, lad, until you've had a bath. I could smell you the moment you entered the court yard."

Gendry laughed, and retracted his arm. "I don't doubt it," he chuckled. "I'll wash quickly, and then find you after so that we may speak properly."

"I'll have a bath sent to your chambers," Davos said with a small bow, turning off towards the kitchen.

Gendry watched him go with a hefty sigh. The man was like a father to Gendry; he had saved him from the Red Woman, and then found him in Kings landing and brought him to Jon. Truly, Gendry thought, as he turned towards the staircase, if Davos had not gone out of his way to find him, Gendry would probably still be smithing in Kings Landing, unaware of Arya's return. He would thank him, he decided. He didn't know how, perhaps he would speak with Shireen. Her affection for the man was even deeper than his own, he suspected, for if Davos was like a father to Gendry then he certainly was to Shireen.

Gendry left his clothes in a heap by the door before he climbed down into the bath and immersed himself with the hot water with a contented groan of satisfaction. Though he had bathed during their brief stop in Kings Landing it felt as though it had been an entire summer since last he had. Gendry was surprised at how exhausted he was after the journey. It had been a little under four months since he had been home, and while he supposed that was a long way to travel, it certainly wasn't the longest time he had spent on the road. First with Yoren, and then with Arya and Hot Pie after Harrenhal, his time with the Brotherhood, with Jon's army- it seemed to Gendry that he had spent most of his life on the road, though he knew that wasn't accurate. His whole life since her, though, was another matter.

As he scrubbed his face with a piece of linen, he wondered how the her in question was. She had been on edge since they left the Kingswood, clearly uncertain about how she felt as they had progressed towards what was hopefully to be her future home. He supposed that it was that very idea that was what made her tense. Home. A home with him. A soft smile crossed his face absently as he pictured it; Arya living at Storms End with him, his wife. Perhaps a black haired, grey eyed babe too, in her arms or running around their feet. It was a picture that he liked.

He shook his head. There was little point in thinking about it when he didn't even know if Arya would choose to stay or not. He had told her that the choice was hers, that he would not force her into anything. He had hoped to settle her nerves, to let her know that she didn't have to make a choice yet, not until she was ready, but he had seen something flash through her eyes, so quickly that he couldn't even be entirely sure it had happened. Fear perhaps, or something else.

He wondered what it was that she was afraid of. It was normal for people to have relationships, it was normal to get married. All Lords and Ladies married when they were of age, some even before. It was not uncommon for children to be wed, though of course they did not have to act as a married couple until they were of age. And really, what were her other options? As the youngest daughter of Ned Stark she had nothing to her name. Years ago the best she could have hoped for was marriage to some minor lord or perhaps a knight. Now though, what did she have? If she chose not to marry him he doubted she would turn to her one of her brothers and live under their protection until she was an old maid.

If she had her own home, even if it was just a small holdfast, things would be different. But she didn't, and he suspected that even if one was offered she would turn it down. He wondered if her struggle with coming to Storms End stemmed from the fact that she had spent so long pining for Winterfell, only to find that it wasn't home anymore. Perhaps she just simply did not have want of a home at all. Perhaps she would go back to Essos, become a sellsword, or travel. Maybe she would sail to the summer isles, or explore the Free Cities. He recalled her once mentioning her desire to sail away from it all, get her own ship and just go where the sea and the wind took her.

But he doubted that she would do that.

As much as Arya said that she wasn't a lady, that she didn't want to be and never would be, she was. It couldn't be denied. She was the daughter of two great and noble houses, the sister of two kings. He supposed that made her a princess, rather than a lady, though he would never call her that unless he wanted her to skewer him with that tiny sword of hers.

And as a lady- or princess- she had certain obligations to her family and to her people, even if she denied it. It was what had brought her back. She said she had tried to forget who she was, that she had long ago accepted that she could never be Arya Stark, that she had tried so hard to just be Arya, with no family, no attachments, no duties... but that in the end, she hadn't been able to do it. That was why she had gone beyond the Wall. She hadn't thought she could go home, and it was the nearest thing to. She hadn't belonged in Essos. But she hadn't really belonged north of the Wall either.

He wondered if that was her struggle. A long accepted belief that she didn't belong anywhere, because any time she tried to she ended up being hurt.

But he would show her, he thought. He would show her that she could have a home, that she had as much right to a home as he did. He would show her that he could take away her pain and heartbreak, that if she would just let him he could make her happy.

It was just a question of whether she would ever let herself be happy.

Even as a child she had always seemed so determined to be angry. He remembered that time, at Acorn Hall, when he had been a bastard on the run and her, and angry little stick of a girl, whose life had fallen apart. He remembered he had said she looked and smelled nice for a change, but she had shouted that he stunk, and pushed him. He had thought to cheer her up by wrestling and tickling her, just to make her laugh for a change, but when they finished she had only looked even more sad and angry than ever. As if she had been sad that he had reminded her of her brothers, and angry that he had made her sad again.

Is she still like that now? He thought about what had happened over the last couple of days, each time she had lashed out at him. It seemed that she still was the same, only far more complicated and far more confused.

Gendry wasn't stupid, though she liked to say he was, even if she meant it fondly. He knew that she had feelings for him, even if she didn't yet understand them. He knew that she battled with it every day- allowing herself to be happy, which scared her, or her self imposed duty to be forever angry at all of the world. It was so clear to him now. Every time she lashed out seemed to be a reflex after they shared any kind of moment of happiness, every time she started a fight was when she didn't know what else to do.

She may have denied it earlier, and he may have been joking at the time, but Gendry knew her. He understood her, the way her mind worked, and though sometimes he found himself growing angry at her outbursts, in the aftermath he understood that she didn't mean them maliciously, but because she was frightened of the alternative. It was like she stood just out of reach of happiness, but close enough that she sometimes felt it's touch, and when she did rather than stepping closer, she stepped away.

Gendry sighed, and reached for the soap, lathering it thickly over his skin. If he ever wanted her to warm up to him, he had better get rid of the smell.

When he pushed open the door to Davos' solar, Gendry was surprised to see another there, whose face he did not recognise.

"Davos?" he called, wondering if perhaps his friend had forgotten that they were due to speak.

"Ah there you are," came his friends thick flea bottom accent, it's owner appearing from around the corner. "I wondered if you might need another tub, to get off all that filth."

Gendry rolled his eyes as he shut the door."It wasn't that bad," he lied, knowing full well that he had stank like a pig. "Who's this?" He asked, nodding at the strange man, his eyes narrowing in alarm when he saw an array of blades on the table.

Davos smirked, his hands behind his back as he rocked on his feet slightly. "I figured you would need a shave and a hair cut, and thought you may as well do it while I fill you in on everything that's happened in your absence." He gestured to the stool beside him. "If you'd take a seat, my good friend Robho will see to that mess on your face."

Gendry huffed and grumbled, but took a seat nonetheless, narrowing his eyes at Davos as he reached behind him and pulled his shirt over his head.

"My Lord, I have a towel to save your clothes," the barber, Robho, protested. "You need not strip."

Gendry shrugged. "It doesn't matter," he said. The barber nodded, and picked up a pair of scissors. Gendry glared at Davos reproachfully as the man got to work, snipping away quickly at his hair. "So? Are you going to fill me in, or are you just going to sit there and torment me?"

Davos chuckled, and poured two cups of wine. "To be frank, there's little enough to tell you," he replied. "The Stormland's seem to be prospering. The storms have been easy enough since you've been gone, which has been good for the farmers. We've had near two hundred bushels of wheat, barley and maize these last two weeks alone. Just as well, as the new maester, from Old Town, said that the lack of storms probably means one is over due." he passed Gendry the wine, which he readily accepted.

He frowned, and grunted slightly as the barber tugged at a knot, waving off the mans apologies. "A bad one?" he asked, frowning further when Davos affirmed the question. "We'll send out seventy of the guard to assist those who are still rebuilding. I'll ride out on the morrow to enquire about safety points for those who can't get to the castle in time. When does he think it's due?"

Davos shrugged. "He said it's hard to predict, though he suspects we've at least a moons turn before it arrives, though it could be longer. Says it could last for just as long."

Gendry relaxed. "That's plenty of time. The people are used to storms, even bad ones. Try to find out if there is ever some kind of protocol for bad storms, agreed bunkers and the like. We'll need to be sure that they have enough supplies to last it out if it's too bad to get out safely." Davos nodded as the instructions. "So what's this new maester like?" Gendry asked, just before the barber pushed his head forward sharply.

Davos concealed a smile. "Young, to say it shortly," he answered. "But he seems very able. Owen, his name. A younger son of a branch of some Riverland family. Blackwood, I think. At least, he's mentioned Raven Tree Hall once or twice." Gendry nodded, and then froze when the barber clutched his head, preventing movement. He glared at Davos from under his brows.

Davos ignored the dirty glare. "Another matter," he said frowning. "Selyse Florrent is demanding that Shireen is wed soon. She's worried that the longer the girl remains unattached the harder it will be to match her." The older man sat down heavily then, his face troubled by the notion. Gendry felt a pang of pity for the man. He loved Shireen like a daughter, it was no secret, yet there was little he could do for her.

Gendry frowned. "She's still young. Certainly not enough to warrant any worry. How old is she, eighteen?" She was only a little older than Arya, she had plenty of time- though it didn't surprise him that Selyse was trying to get her married.

"Selyse says that just because her father is dead, doesn't mean the girl hasn't still got royal blood," Davos sighed. "She says that she believes Shireen would be a good match for any lord." he scowled here.

Gendry looked up, only to have his head pushed back down. "You disagree?" He was surprised- Davos had never bore his cousin any ill will, surely he would not begrudge her a lord?

"Aye, but only in that Shireen deserves so much more than some obscure lord," he growled. "What happened to Stannis was unfortunate, but the war is over, and she's a sweet girl, truly. She deserves some happiness, after the hell her mother has put her through." Gendry knew how Selyse tormented Davos. Though Shireen kept very quiet about it, he had heard of how she had spent her childhood kept like a prisoner, afforded little love or comfort. There had been a fool, Patchface or something like that, but from what Davos said the poor fool had not been an ideal companion, his mind twisted and dark, not at all appropriate for a child.

"Davos, if it is her wish to be married then she may be married," Gendry shrugged. "I won't stop her, and if she is happy then I will support her. But I don't understand why Selyse is writing to me about it."

Davos offered a half smile. "It's one of your responsibilities now, as head of her family and lord," he explained. "To find her a match. Traditionally it would be for her father, but seeing as he's dead, it falls to you to organise and pay for her dowry."

Gendry looked up. He would never begrudge his cousin a dowry, but he had not known. "Oh. Am I supposed to have done it already?" He asked, casting his mind back to before he left for Winterfell.

Davos shook his head. "No, but it's something to be aware of. Perhaps you could ask your bride to be if she will speak with Shireen about it. I don't doubt that Shireen would feel more comfortable talking to her about it than you or me."

The barber jumped suddenly as Gendry threw his head back, shaking with deep, bellowing laughter. "Davos, you would be better asking that old fool of hers to talk to her about it," he managed to get out once he had finished roaring with laughter. "Arya would be the last person to discuss marriage."

Davos couldn't help but smile at his friend's mirth. "Is she every bit as wild as they say, then?" He asked.

Gendry nodded, as Robho brushed the hair from his neck. "More," he said. "I mean to speak with you about her actually," he said, more serious now. He left it clear that he would not discuss it with the barber in the room. The last thing he needed was for rumours to spread, that Arya would no doubt end up hearing.

Davos nodded, understanding, but before he could speak the barber put down his scissors. "Your hair is done, my Lord," he said, offering Gendry a mirror, which he waved away. "Would you have me shave you now?"

Gendry had half a mind to refuse, seeing as he could do it well enough later on, when he had fewer things pressing on his mind, but before he could voice his answer Davos affirmed for him. Gendry rolled his eyes, but sat patiently as the barber applied the soap and began his work, listening as Davos told him about the merchants, and what they had traded, the missives from this house and that, minor and noble, the knights that had arrived a moons turn ago from a house Gendry had never heard of. He listened as Davos told him about a small dispute over some farmers about some sheep, the herd of one having got in with another.

"Can't they tell which sheep are which?" He asked, bored.

"Oh, fairly easily," Davos said. "Seeing as one herd was rams and the other ewes. The problem is they can't decide who gets to keep the lambs. The owner of the ewes will have to rear them with their mothers, and won't be able to sell the mothers while they're pregnant, but the rams were worth more as they came from the Reach. They can't decide how to split it fairly."

Gendry hummed. "The owner of the rams will pay half and half with the owner of the ewes while the lambs are being reared, and when they are old enough to sell either they can split the profits or one can buy the other out."

Davos nodded and moved on to a dispute between a merchant and a farmer, that made Gendry snort, because of how very similar it was to the first. "A farmer appears to have knocked up a merchants daughter," Davos began with a sigh. "The merchant doesn't want his daughter to marry him, and demands that the farmer take the child once it is born. However, the farmer can't afford to take a child without the dowry that comes with its mother."

Gendry sighed. "Well, what does the girl want? Does she want to marry the farmer?"

Davos shrugged. "No one seems to have asked her."

"Well, if the girls is happy, then she'll wed the farmer and I'll pay the bride price, if her father won't," Gendry sighed. He didn't have much, not as much as other lords, but enough that if he could see this family happy, and save the child from being a nameless bastard, then he would.

Davos smiled sadly at him. "I don't think it works like that, lad. And if you did then every girl that gets knocked up will come begging."

Gendry hummed, wincing slightly as the barber moved to his throat. "Which farmer is it? Do I know him?" Before he had left for Winterfell, Gendry had helped at a lot of the farms, offering what he could, usually put to work with helping build barns and reconstruct mills.

Davos paused. "He lives on one of the out farms, near Summerhall. I can't remember the lad's name. It was the merchant that complained." Gendry nodded, thinking. There was a lot of land by Summerhall that was disused.

"And what did you think of him?" Gendry asked. "The merchant?"

Davos snorted. "I didn't much. Seemed like a weasel to me, wanting to foist the child off without paying a penny."

Gendry nodded. "If his daughter is agreeable then she'll wed the farmer, and I'll give him more land so that he can earn a higher income. I'll give him a sum enough to rebuild and get the old land running again, employ a few labourers. As the farm gets running, he can pay back the sum whilst earning enough to keep the babe without the merchant having to pay a price."

Davos smiled. "You're a good lord, Gendry. Truly. Most would have just left them to get on with it, or forced the merchant to pay, though perhaps he doesn't deserve that kindness." He took a mouthful of wine, and wet his mouth with it, before swallowing. He watched as the barber finished up, wiping down Gendry's face. He grinned as Gendry sat up again. "There. You even look like a lord now. Thank you kindly, Robho, I'll see to it that you get your pay."

"Thank you, my Lord," he bowed, packing his things up, while Gendry run his hands through his newly cut hair.

Once the barber had closed the door, Gendry frowned. "It feels very short. How bad is it?" As long as his hair wasn't shaved off or in his face, Gendry cared little for his appearance. He had spent too long on the road with no time for that sort of care to begin now.

Davos shook his head. "It looks exactly the same as it did before," he said. "A mess, but a tidy mess now that Robho's been at it. Now," he said, flinging Gendry's shirt at him. "Tell me what's been bothering you. What was that I saw between you and my Lady in the yard?"

Gendry tugged his shirt on with a groan, not bothering with the ties at the neck. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows as he contemplated where to begin.

"Did you make this?" Arya asked, not bothering to turn around as Gendry entered the forge. She turned over the axe in her hand, inspecting the feel of it. She didn't need to lift it to know that the balance was perfect, that the shaft was strong enough to take any kind of pressure. It was a plain item, with no embellishments, which Arya found she rather liked. Weapons were tools, they didn't need decoration; her father had taught her that. Or at least, her father had taught her brothers that, while she had been listening in on their lesson behind the door.

"Aye, shortly before I left," he answered, walking over to her. He came to a stop directly behind her, hands rested on the work bench either side of her. "Do you like it?" He asked curiously. Arya had never shown any interest in using an axe, but he wouldn't be surprised if she knew how to use one. He concealed a snort. Of course she would know how to use one.

Arya smiled. "Too big for me," she said, turning it over again. "Too big for most... is it for you? I've never seen you wield an axe, I don't think." She tried to wrap her hands around the shaft. Gendry smiled as he noted her fingers fell just short of wrapping around it.

He placed his hands over hers, covering them entirely, and wrapped his fingers around so that they overlapped. "If I remember it right, you've seen me plenty of times with an axe."

She turned her face to her shoulder, her nose just short of touching his chest. "Cutting firewood, perhaps," she chuckled. "And if I remember it right, you were a right show off, too. You used to pile several logs on top of each other, and split them all with one fell!" He laughed, moving his hands as she put down the axe, so that his fingers encircled her tiny wrists, fingers overlapping by a large amount.

"You're just jealous of my superior strength," he teased gently, lifting her wrists to illustrate his point. "I remember you, scrawny little thing that you were, sitting and scowling at me as you plucked a chicken, cross at our designated chores."

Arya laughed and tried to turn around to see him, but he wouldn't let her, playfully holding her in place by pinning her arms to her chest, his arms wrapped around her tight. "I remember," she said affectionately. "I was always jealous of you. You were always treated like a man grown, while everyone treated me like a child."

"You were a child," he pointed out with a laugh. "And I was a man grown. Or near enough, anyway."

Arya tilted her head back, so that the top of her head was braced against the middle of his chest, her face turned upwards so that she could look at him. "You were the same age I am now," she pointed out. "Does that mean I'm not quite yet grown?" She was only teasing him, but he could see the question was genuine, as if she had been wondering whether he thought of her as a child.

"I think you're about as grown as you're ever going to get," he teased, gesturing to how small she was, making her scowl.

"That isn't what I meant," she snapped, though it was plain that she was not really angry at him. "I meant, do you see me as young, like you were?"

He chuckled. "You might be younger than me, Stark, but I think we both know you're far smarter than I am. So I suppose that makes up for the age difference." He shrugged and loosened his hold on her just enough that she could turn around, her hands coming to rest on his abdomen.

Arya smiled, one corner tugging up higher than the other. "I don't know," she said. "I think you're smarter than you let on. Even if you are still a stupid bull."

"That doesn't even make sense," he chortled. "How can I be both clever and stupid?" His fingers began to dance down her back and he pulled her backwards with him, until his knees hit the stone forge. He sat down, pulling her so that she stood between his legs, so that their faces were level.

"Hmmm," Arya hummed, bringing up one hand to his shirt, where the top still hung open from earlier. "Maybe not stupid, then. Just smart. Smart enough to make axes and swords and helmets, anyway. I couldn't," she said, both hands now fiddling with the laces.

Gendry tilted his head, his hands dropping from her waist to her hips. "I thought you could do everything?" He teased gently, rubbing his thumbs in circles.

Arya smirked. "I can do lot's of things," she said. "I can shoot a rabbit right in the eye, in pitch darkness. I know how to break a man's neck in four and ten different ways." Her tone was light, as she gracefully looped the laces through the holes. "I can track a man across an entire city, without being detected, and I know how to break every bone in a man's hand with one simple touch. But your skills are infinitely better," she said, as she tied the bow neatly.

Gendry remembered the first morning at Greywater Watch, when Arya had tied his shirt for him then too. "How do you suppose that? Surely being able to defend yourself is far more useful than what I do?" He caught one of her hands in his, and brought it to his lips, watching her intently, and Arya's heart fluttered.

"Maybe, but... you make things, Gendry," she replied, a wistful smile taking form. "That's what you do. You can take a shapeless lump of metal and turn it into something beautiful, and deadly. All I do is destroy things."

Gendry pressed her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckle. "That isn't true," he said. "Do you forget that I've seen you with a sword? Or any weapon, take your pick. You aren't just some meat cleaving butcher when you fight. I've never seen anyone fight like you." He tugged her closer again, so that a single hairs width separated them "You look... other worldly, when you fight. And I've never even seen you truly fight, when you aren't holding back. I'd still like to see that."

Arya smiled at him sadly. "No you don't, Gendry," she murmured. "And no matter how it looks when I fight, in the end it's about who is still standing, and whose body is bleeding on the floor. So you see? I destroy things. You make them beautiful." She swallowed as he dropped her hands to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her against him as he stood up.

"Perhaps," he said against her hair. "But you're still smarter than me," he added, trying to lighten the conversation. Arya let him, laughing once.

"I am," she teased. "Which is why I haven't forgotten the question you so deftly ignored earlier."

"Oh? And what question was that?"

"Who's the axe for?" she repeated. "I'm sure it isn't you, you don't fight with axes. I only know one person other than you who was big enough to wield that thing, and he's long dead." She recalled the way the Hound had knocked her over the head with one once, leaving her unconscious and dizzy for days after she woke up. Though perhaps that had been the grief.

She heard Gendry swallow, and when he made no answer, she looked up at him, to see his brow pulled low over his eyes, casting them in a dark shadow. His lips were pulled into a frown.

"Gendry?" She asked, uncertain about what had caused the sudden mood change in him.

"Arya, there's something I forgot to tell you," he said, stepping away a little, so that her hands, that had been braced on his chest, slid down a little ways. A stone began to grow in her stomach, and she watched him intently, her ears almost buzzing as she waited for an explanation. "That person, the one you meant, he's... well, he's alive. And he's here. At. Storms End, I mean." The words came out both jolting and rushed, and Arya did not react, other than to let her hands slide a little further down his chest.

"What?"

Gendry put a hand around the nape of her neck, his thumb under chin pushing her face up, while he grazed her cheekbone gently with the other. The heat of his thumb on her cool face would normally have sent shivers down her spine, made her close her eyes and utter a soft sigh, but she did not move. Did not react other than the gaze up at him, waiting for more.

"He came here, shortly before Jon found you north of the Wall," he explained quietly. "I was trying to track where you had gone, so when he turned up, willing to trade information for a place in my guard, I couldn't say no." The words came out slightly faster now, yet Arya still did not move.

Her lips opened just a little, and seemed to waver, hesitate as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. In the end she shook her head a little, disbelieving. "Gendry, he can't be, I saw him die. I watched his wound fester and putrify, he couldn't be alive." She watched him carefully, and while his words did not make any sense she saw that it was the truth. His face was an open book to anyone, but to her, a master of reading the truths and lies on a mans face- especially on a face so familiar to her, more than her own, even- it was like reading a well thumbed book that had already been memorised by heart, start to end.

"He survived," Gendry told her, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "He was a part of the army in the Long Night, and in the siege of Kings Landing."

Arya stepped back, needing her space. The last time she had seen him had been so long ago, and he had been fallen on the roadside, his mind and body riddled with infection. Yet, somehow, he was alive, and at Storms End.

"Where?" She whispered.

Gendry shook his head. "I don't know. Some tavern, most likely. He wanted a position in my guard in exchange for the information he gave me about you, but from what Davos has told me the man's drunk more often than not. He doesn't ever go to his chambers, just walks from one tavern to another, until he can't walk at all." He grasped her shoulders as she inhaled, thinking it through. "I know he stole you away, and killed your friend- if you want him gone, I'll have my guards escort him from the castle. Hells, I'll have them take him to the very border of the kingdom, if that is what you want-"

"Gendry." Though she spoke only one word, far quieter than his own, he stopped immediately, waiting for her to speak. "It's alright. I'm alright, truly, just... surprised."

"You are?" He asked, dubious. "Alright, I mean?"

Arya nodded, her face strangely clear of any fear or anger or upset. "I am. I think... I'm glad," she said suddenly, turning her face to look at him. He looked down at her in shock. "I mean... I never regretted my decision to leave him. But I always did wonder if I truly wished him dead, and hearing that he is alive... it's hard to explain."

"Try," Gendry asked, walking her backwards to the bench and lifting her onto it, so that their positions from moments prior were reversed, with him standing between her legs.

She chewed her lip, contemplating her answer. "I hated him," she said slowly. "I still do. He was cruel, and bitter and rough, but I trusted him. As much as I could, anyway. I hated him, but I also knew that I owed him. I hated him for it at the time, but he saved my life, getting me out of the Red Wedding, and after that he could have just left me to die, but he didn't. He could have left me again, when the High Road to the Vale was closed, but he didn't. He even fought the men at the inn for me when he didn't have to." She looked up, her eyes meeting his again, and Gendry could see her conflicted feelings for the man as clear as anything. "I hate him, but I'm glad he didn't die like that. Even a hound like him doesn't deserve that."

She watched Gendry as he waited, but he seemed to take her answer for truth. "So you won't seek him out and try to kill him?" He asked, as she hopped off the bench.

She laughed at his question, though he meant it seriously. "I won't promise anything," she answered, taking his hand and threading her fingers with his as she made for the door. "But I won't go looking for him just yet. Now, you promised me a tour of the castle!"

Gendry smiled and pushed the door open for her, evidently relieved by her reaction, if a little wary still. "Where do you want to go first?"

Arya smiled.

Alrighty, so there it is. They are finally at Storms End, and Arya knows about the Hound. I wonder what will happen if they see each other... o.O

So, if you liked it, leave a review, if you didn't like it... I'm sorry, I guess?

Anyway, stay tuned for the next chapter, but that's all for now, so in the words of Tigger TTFN- ta-ta for now!

Over and Out xox