Summary: Arya Stark grew up on music, on Mozart, Beethoven and her father's own music. She is as forced into the classical music as much as she loved the alternative when her half-brother Jon first played it for her. As such, she grows to breathe music more than air itself, and soon is met with other versions of musicians, and a very, very mysterious and talented one named Gendry.

Arya is 16, Jon, Robb and Gendry are 19, Sansa is almost 18, Bran is 13 and Rickon is 10. Jon is Ned's first child, born a few months before Robb, as Catelyn was already pregnant when they married. Whole family is into classical music, but Ned stopped his musical carrier (in which he mostly worked together with Robert Baratheon) years before and now is a manager. Baratheons own a complexion of buildings called the King's Landing, although previously it was a Targaeryen property. It was taken over by illegal means, but I'm still not sure whether this fanfiction would be as long to bother with those problems. It's mostly about Arya, her life, her story and… her Gendry.

If love was red then she was colour blind.

NED

Eddard Stark woke up at the sounds of impatient strumming of guitar chords. He sighed, with his moves still dull with sleep, before rolling onto his back and glancing at his wife by his side. Catelyn slept peacefully, and he thought these days it was the only time she looked peaceful. Sighing once again, he slowly sat up, putting his feet on the cold wooden floor as his skin prickled and cowered. The cold he loved so dearly helped removing the shadows from his mind and vision, and he stood up and went to the bathroom, still thinking of the melody coming through the walls.

It wasn't odd the way the music woke him up but not his wife, too; every morning one or more of his children would without exception pick their instruments up and start playing. Ned wasn't as used to this as Catelyn was – his 'new' profession not quite rarely had him traveling on months long trips to wherever it was needed. He would not complain, though: he was more than proud to sense his loved children's eagerness and affection towards music.

This morning, it was two of them. His oldest, Jon, sat by the window in Arya's (Ned's fourth and Catelyn's third child) room with her sitting on the window sill, repeating her half-brother's chords with trembling, insecure fingers. When they noticed their father, though, both stopped playing, and Jon looked up at him warmly and Arya a little scared.

"Good morning, father." Jon rumbled in his deep voice. He smiled. "Have you slept well?"

"Yes, well it was, not quite long, though." Ned glanced at the sky behind Arya's back. It was barely past sunrise. "When have you started with the guitar, Arya?"

Arya quickly glanced at Jon, who gave her an amused nod, and she averted her eyes back to her father's calm face. "I've been practicing a bit for a year. Never could find much time, though, since Jon's tutoring me and he's busy, too."

"Why haven't I known this before?" Ned asked. He was surprised by the news, although not very shocked; Arya was always of unexpected, various actions. He supposed her and Jon were quite alike, although Arya had a spark and anger in her a lot more. She always blamed something on someone, more often than not, herself.

"Dad, you've been away for almost 8 months. How could you have known?" Arya frowned.

Ned sighed – it was Arya's constant companion, the sharp honesty with no holding back. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms on his chest. "You could've said – it's not like I haven't called a lot or came back whenever I had a few days."

Arya shrugged. Jon answered instead of her. "You've been busy, dad. We all have. When you were here, there were always more important things to talk about."

"I would've found a moment for this." Ned defended himself. He didn't know if that was quite true: his irregular visits were heavily burdened with celebrations and visits from the rest of his family.

"Of course you would." Jon said. Arya huffed.

"Still, it's not like I'm pro or something; as I've said, I haven't practiced a lot. Haven't even tried playing anything harder than Jingle bells."

"I doubt you've really played Jingle Bells, dear." Ned said as John laughed at his sister's words.

Arya smiled almost shyly (but Arya was never really shy) and Jon said "Her first was Smoke on the Water, and it took her only three minutes to take down the chorus."

Arya smacked him on the head, holding the guitar close to her heart with the other hand. "It took me two, dumb!"

Ned laughed but still pointed one finger at her accusingly "Don't call your brother dumb."

"Okay, than fool."

"Arya!"

"Oh, just let her be father, better to take it out on me than other innocent humans." Jon was still laughing.

Arya snarled and muttered angrily. "You're more innocent than the lot of them, Jon Snow."

"Right, because I'm so cute and lovely darling."

"Dammit Jon, once in a year I say something nice and you can't take it properly!"

"If that was nice, I'm a ferret. On the other hand, as nice as it is, I doubt it's something of a yearly event. More like – every five years, sister dear."

Ned stood at the door, listening to his children's bickering for a while, not uttering a word. He smiled at them, his eyes softly grazing their sharp, cold features. Out of the lot, only Arya and Jon looked like him. Both with dark grey eyes and almost black curls. Arya was skinny and short, even for her young age of 16. Jon was shorter than his younger brother Robb, but looked older, a dark scruff visible over his jaw, his eyes older and his built bulkier. Jon's hair reached almost to his shoulders, as messy as ever, and Arya's, just a shade lighter than his, was only long enough to curl softly on the nape of her neck. She preferred the simpler, more practical look, and it was something both Catelyn and their older daughter Sansa like to scowl at. Ned was, secretly, proud of that. He never once joined the sharp words when they happened, but only smiled fondly at Arya, who in those moments stared at him or the walls. Never once would she look down at the floor, never once would she seem small, she would always keep her ground no matter how the words made her feel. Ned hoped one day she would come to him, spilling her thoughts and insecurities, and although Ned was never out in the open with his own flawed mind, he knew he could help her. He also knew, however, Arya would not come to him. She would rather lock away everything and keep those stubborn eyes of hers ahead, breaking through the brick walls with her head.

"Dad?"

He looked up, blinking, to see his two children staring at him. "Yes?"

"You sure you're awake?" Arya asked.

"Yes, I am." He laughed. "In fact, would you care to join me for breakfast? Bet you're starving."

"Well, we have been practicing for two hours…" Jon claimed. He looked up at his sister who stroked the guitar strings with tips of her fingers and chewed on her lip.

"Suppose we could use some energy. We'll come back, though, right Jon?" she jumped from the window and put away the guitar.

"Umm…" Jon looked guilty.

Arya sighed in annoyance. "Not her again!"

Ned shook his head and slowly stalked toward the stairs, pursuing the kitchen and whatever food they had. He heard their footsteps and voices, hushed to keep the rest of their family asleep, but Arya's tone was as sharp and annoyed as loud as a cannon would be.

When Catelyn told him Arya couldn't stay for dinner, since she was allowed to go out on Saturday whenever she wanted as long as she came back till 11, and Arya had a party to be at that night, Ned was more than shocked, more than sad, and just a little less than angry. Arya was his daughter, just like Sansa was Catelyn's, but he couldn't bring himself to understand what exactly made Arya actually brush her hair and clip back most of it, as if she was annoyed by the looseness of her hair, and he could not possibly understand why she let Sansa change her face with makeup and why she was not wearing a loose t-shirt and baggy trousers or jeans like every other day.

"So… this party – who's arranging it?" Ned frightfully asked his daughter as she fastened her combat boots on her feet. She took a second to look up at him and snort – Ned was visibly struck with her grey eyes being lined to look more catlike than ever. He thought there must've been something else on her face, something to sharpen those already sharp features even more, but Ned was no fashion crazed man. He couldn't tell what made his daughter look older than she was.

"Dad!" she snarled, looking back down at her boots. "No party gets 'arranged' anymore. It's just that someone calls someone else who calls someone else and so on, and one day, the place of the first party becomes a regular party-place every second Saturday or whatever day it's supposed to be. So yeah, I sometimes go there with my friends –"

"What friends?" Ned abruptly cut in.

"Sixteen year old, immature, young people who happen to for some reason tolerate, or even like me, the people I spend most of my free time with, and people that do not require your acquaintance!"

Arya jumped up to her feet, placing her expression into a cheerful, happy one, and quickly hugged her father, escaping his reach before he had the time to hug her back. "I'll be home around 11."

"Around? You mother said until 11!"

"Really dad, it's the same thing. I don't have a car, so I have to ask someone for a ride home, and everyone else gets to stay more than a couple of hours longer!" Arya smiled. "So be happy with around 11."

"I can pick you up whenever you want me to." Ned protested. Anxiety built up in him. He wasn't ready for this – he couldn't know if she'd be safe.

"Exactly – whenever I want you to. But I don't want you to. Bye dad, enjoy the dinner!"

And she was out, slamming the door behind her.

Eddard Stark, former successful pianist and one of the most respected people in Westeros was left slouching against the door frame, rubbing his face and sighing in fear and exhaustion fatherhood brought him.

ARYA

Telling her father about her 'friends' hurt more than a little bit, and seeing as it was a lie, too, she wished she could just detach herself from all the emotional distress having loving family brought her.

She didn't mean to lie to him, and she didn't like to either. But Arya knew there were some things her parents would never allow, and participating in creating or supporting music that they couldn't – no, wouldn't – understand was one of them.

Jon waited for her in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as the music silenced even the slamming of the door behind her. She sunk into her seat and glanced at him. Although he hadn't looked up from his phone in the hand free of setting the rhythm, she knew he knew she was there.

Finally, after at least three minutes, he sighed and put away his phone before turning down the blaring of guitars, drums and screams.

"When have you gone all heavy metal?" Arya wondered.

Jon glared at her sideways. He scoffed and turned on the car, slowly pulling backward and then starting to drive to their destination.

"I haven't." he kept his eyes forward, but the setting of his jaw made Arya wonder why would he be as anxious as he obviously was. "Ygritte recommended them to me." Arya snorted at this but he pushed on, defending himself and his dearly beloved girlfriend. "I should get as educated as I can in every piece of music, well, good music at least."

"They don't sound good to me." Arya bickered.

"That's because you're not listening."

And there that was again. When Jon quickly glanced at her for a moment, she noticed the same wideness and spark in his eyes there always was when he'd show her something new he found, a good song he somehow caught or even a piece he did on his own. The look in his eyes he sometimes had when she would catch him secretly sneaking up on her while playing her piano. The look in his eyes when she played something he showed her correctly on the guitar. The look in his eyes the first time she told him (before she even knew he was already on the same page) that she could not possibly keep forcing herself into classics, how she wanted more.

She wondered if there was a similar look on her face at times.

She decided not to consume herself in distracting thoughts but to listen to the song beginning to slowly growl in the car. She softly turned up the music and saw Jon smile from the side of her eye.

Ygritte was a complete rebel to everything that existed in Arya's world. She had the red hair that somehow burned your eyes, whereas Arya's mother and sister had the hair softly red, the hair that would soothe and calm. Unless you were as wild as Arya, of course, and it led to nothing but discomfort.

Aside with her looks, Ygritte smiled and growled at words completely normal to Arya. Ygritte held nothing back, fast in her temperament, faster in her witty, rude and right on the spot responses. Ygritte was, above all, something Arya thought was the best thing for her calm and troubled brother at the moment. She's never let him see that, though. She had let Ygritte see it, because, after all, she wanted nothing more than to be in Jon's life as long as possible, and if that meant being friends with his wild, rebellious girl – then so be it.

The screaming in the song seemed less wild and more emotional and fitting to the chords and melody once you were patient and observant enough to notice the fullness of it all together. Arya supposed she's need to be daily surrounded with this music to be able to enjoy it without previously distracting herself from everything else to be able to truly hear it.

After two more songs, her hand bolted out and shut down the music. Before Jon could complain or ask, she blurted out:

"Do you ever hear anything so strong and powerful and you relate to it so freakishly that you can't take it anymore unless you're completely alone and free to react anyway you'd usually react?"

Arya doesn't know if it makes any sense, but she knows, unless she'd like to explode, these were the only words able to express what she felt.

Jon doesn't even look at her, but she notices how his jaw twitches and how his hands start to grip the steering wheel a little stronger, and when he only says "Yeah.", she knows not only does he understand, he's feeling that way exactly then and there, just like her.

So she softly smiled and pulled out his CD collection.

She settles on one of Red Hot Chilly Peppers' first albums, as they were all quite easy on the ears, distracting and not slow to kill the mood they would need for the party.

"I never knew how they managed to make so many good songs with so simple melodies and not at all complicated vocal." Jon admitted. "Then I went on a concert, and as they were still testing their instruments, I noticed how different it all is when it combines. When the band started playing, I was swept off my feet, not because they were amazing or anything, but just with the raw power and possibility flowing through them. Anyone could have that, Arya, anyone."

Arya listened to him carefully before replying: "Maybe you should try forming a band."

Jon laughed long and hard.

"Dear, sweet Arya." She hated when he called her that. It was how people described Sansa. It was how Arya never felt and how she didn't want to be called. It felt too much like a lie, and she despised lies. "What would ever come out of it? How could it ever be good? I'm not good enough."

"You are good enough. I know it. Dad knows it. Ygritte knows it. If you only let other people hear, all of them would know it." Arya urged on, staring at him intently, and although she knew he couldn't look back at her, she knew he could sense her unbreakable stare.

"Ygritte never said that." Jon claimed and Arya rolled her eyes. Out of the bunch, those were the words he focused on. Ygritte. To the Seven Hells with her!

"First of all – you never asked. Second of all – you can't see her when you're playing something. And even if you could, you wouldn't notice it, Jon Snow, because you're too bloody modest and selfless to take any pride in anything." Arya almost swore, but she thought it was too early in the night for that. "Ygritte's a firm rock. She never speaks emotionally, never once looks at you like you're a sweet puppy or something." A smile tugged on Jon's lips, but Arya forced on. "Except when you're playing. Did you know, when you played that song of yours, the one she called 'Rotten Tomatoes', she actually blushed when you played the chorus?"

"In the name of Gods, Arya, are you listening to yourself? She named it 'Rotten Tomatoes' herself!"

"She probably would have called her 'Rotten Hearts' or something if it weren't for her stubborn façade. You know it as well as I do – it was as affectionate, giving your song a name, as it could be given it was her."

Jon shook his head. "We're almost there." He muttered.

"Come on, Jon, don't just change the subject on me!" Arya angrily yelled.

"I'm not, I know how much you hate it." Jon sighed and took one hand of the wheel to rub his forehead. "But we are almost there, and there's always time to continue this once we're alone again. But not now, we'd be late."

Arya huffed but nodded, the row of cars in front of them proving him right.

As they parked, almost half a mile from the party, the person in the car in front of them turned off the lights and stepped out. Ygritte smirked at them and walked to meet them.

"Welcome to King's Landing, y'all." She laughed at their uneasy faces, but took Jon's hand and shrugged. "The word is that dear old Joffrey might just stay off the scene for a night. Don't know what we'll do without his gorgeous voice."

Arya snorted in laughter and the two joined her. They were still standing in place, Ygritte playfully swinging her and Jon's joined hands up and down. "The Gods must be very gracious tonight – is it really possible?"

Ygritte nodded and winked. "They say, though, it might be open mic night tonight."

"Oh, come on!" Jon whined. "One gone, ten to come! With Joff's voice not screeching into the mic, it's good, yeah, but then we'll have to stand a bunch of lousy mice squeaking back!"

Ygritte punched him in the shoulder and stepped closer to him. She leaned her head back, pulling up to her toes, and said into Jon's frowning face "Not if you get up there, Snow."

Then she kissed him and Arya started walking. Without turning back around, she shouted "I'll be there, don't worry, work it out but please don't come too soon and keep working it out in front of me!"

She heard grumbled noises from behind and wondered if those were Jon's muffled responses or his muffled sounds of pleasure. She'd rather take the former, but with Ygritte, the latter was more probable.

Nearing the complexion of buildings, most flashing with colourful lights and completely discarding the stars in the black sky, Arya wondered if people would believe her if she said she was eighteen. She might have been skinny and not much of anything on regular days, but she convinced Sansa into working some of her magic with makeup that day, and felt pretty confident she could be taken the least for seventeen of age. Her cheekbones more profound, her lips slightly darker than natural, her eyes coated in black (though only by one thin line, there was only as much Arya was ready to go for without feeling restrained), she tried doing something with her hair, but as she was completely hopeless, Sansa advised her (she wouldn't let Sansa touch her hair, she was too sensitive) to just put most of it up to express the sharp features of her face even more. So she kind of pulled it up with numerous clips and whatnot.

And Sansa (although completely repulsed with the image of her sister's) was proud.

As she walked on, she turned around to see her two companions still on the same spot, completely entwined. She sighed and shook her head, just as someone catcalled behind her. She turned around to see a few guys looking at – wait – they were looking at her?

She quickly turned back around, feeling her face drained of blood. Well, that was almost what she asked for. In the mass of people moving toward the King's Landing, she wasn't to be noticed as a skinny little girl. There were too many young women (cough, cough, sluts, cough) so if anyone noticed Arya, it would be because she looked at least a bit like them.

Arya pulled her black leather jacket firmly around her body and zipping it up over her unbuttoned black shirt under which she wore a sleeveless black top. Shockingly, her tight jeans were not black, but, naturally, combat boots were made to be black.

She shuddered at the thought of her father if he ever found out where she was heading. She shuddered at the thought of her father seeing her with her shirt unbuttoned. Then, she just shuddered, because she hated lies, once again.

At the entrance gates of King's Landing, Arya flashed the guards with her phone, showing them the code in a message. They gave her a suspicious look, but in the end, that was the way the guards looked at everyone, and then they let her pass.

Just as she was closing around the corner, so close to the place she really wanted to be in, not in one of the bars or discos all over the place, all of them shaking with terrible, country, pop or rap music (not that she hated particularly any type of music, she just hated the terrible songs, no matter what genre) someone called out to her and she froze on the spot.

"Oi! Yeah, you over there! I bet you my car you're not a day over 17!"

She turned around to face a boy so round in his waist she thought he was wearing a pillow under his clothes. He was dressed in baggy black jeans and a dark, unbuttoned military shirt. Underneath it he had a black tank top, similar to Arya's, just… a lot wider.

"Oh, shut your eating-hole boy, it's obviously not good enough for anything else!" she snarled and turned to walk away. As she spun on her heel, she caught sight of another guy close to the fat boy and two more on her sides. One was just rummaging through some stuff next to a wall, and the other was walking into a bar anyway.

"Shut the fuck up!" And just like that, the boy started toward her, and Arya turned around to see him too close. Damn her combat boots – they were too heavy to run in.

So she quickly unzipped her jacket and fished for something in her inside pocket. Producing the item, she twirled it in her fist and pointed it at the boy so fast he almost pierced himself through her pocket knife.

"Bloody hell bitch, you could of' killed me with that pointy little thing!"

"What makes you think I still won't?" Arya growled. "You seem to be eager to run into things too dangerous for your own good."

Why, oh why, couldn't Jon and Ygritte show up? She couldn't bloody well stick this boy with a knife and she didn't know how to stalk. She wasn't as afraid as she was annoyed.

That was when someone's voice spoke directly from behind her.

"You also seem stupid. Go away prick, or take on someone your own size."

The voice was low and as annoyed as she felt, and it came not only from behind but both from above her. She still couldn't turn around to face the man, though, as she kept the knife pointed at the boy.

Speaking of the boy, he was now gulping for air and stuttering on words yet unspoken.

"Told you it was good for nothing but eating." Arya grumbled and thought she heard the man stifle his laughter.

"Oh, fuck off, both o' you!" the boy shouted and pulled back.

"Come on Hot Pie, it seriously is not worth it." The other boy called.

Arya laughed and let her hand drop. "Hot Pie?"

She swirled around on her heel and abruptly stopped laughing; she had to move back a bit to be able to look properly into the guy's eyes. Which were blue. Quite blue. Like, pretty much bluer than any other eyes she'd ever seen. And it was a dark alley, too.

"Hi." She slowly said.

The guy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're welcome."

"Hey – I didn't ask for you to jump in! I was handling it well myself!" Arya pointed at him and he moved away. Right. The knife. She put it back into her jacket and looked up sheepishly. "Sorry."

The guy shook his head, his black hair (maybe it wasn't black, maybe it was just dark – she couldn't know, it was too dark really) swiping over his eyes. He brushed it back. It was still too messy.

"Anyway, I think I might've helped to at least get them away a bit faster." He said, waving his hand toward a general direction in which the two had come from.

"Well, even if that is true, now we'll never know!" Arya smiled mischievously. The guy swore under his breath. As stubborn as she was, she really didn't want to pull the knife out again this night – and especially not because of her own behaviour. So she offered him her hand. "I'm Arya."

The guy gave her a suspicious glare before accepting her hand. He had strong features and his hand was just as strong. Arya's gaze travelled up and down his arm, then his body. He was strong, muscled. She guessed he could've been of help if the fight really happened.

"Gendry. Pleased to be met with the hand, not the knife." He cocked one eyebrow.

She smirked smugly, releasing his hand.

"You've got a strong grip for someone who really does look seventeen." He added.

Arya snorted. "I'd be pleased if you just held back after the 'strong grip' part."

"Then I wouldn't have spoken honestly. I rather like truth."

Arya's eyes flashed to his. He looked a little taken aback with the intensity of her gaze, and he blinked. After a few moments, she roughly replied "I prefer honesty, too." coming back to her senses, she crossed her arms on her chest, blinked and looked behind him to break their stare. "But I only love it when the one speaking is right."

"So you're not seventeen?" Gendry scoffed.

Arya heard footsteps and laughter and turned around to see her half-brother and his girlfriend coming their way. She quickly smiled at Gendry, just as Jon called at her. Before joining them, she laughed.

"No, honest Gendry, I'm not seventeen." Before Jon decided to stop and meet the guy she had only just met, she walked aside from him and waited for Jon with her hand extended. "I'm sixteen."

Jon took her hand and pulled her tightly against him, throwing one arm over her shoulders. As Ygritte continued her rant on a band they've been fighting over for centuries, Arya stole one last glance at Gendry, to see him frozen on spot, staring at her disbelievingly, shaking with laughter.

"Oi, Gendry!"

She almost thought it wasn't her voice calling out to him. She really held nothing back, had she?

"Yeah?" he yelled back.

"What's your age?"

She heard his laughter before he finally shouted "Nineteen!"

"TOO OLD!"

His laughter followed her all the way to Dragonskull, the best place in the whole of King's Landing, underground, hard rock station.

A/N Thought I'd see how this went. I love music. I love Gendrya. I don't have a nice family. I'm spilling my heart into this, and I hope it gets recognized. I'll try to upload every 5-7 days.