Arya Stark raised her head and gazed across to her left where her brother Bran sat. He was the new king, as Robb had died so he was not able to claim the throne for his own. He was grown now, a boy of ten and four now. He had named her Hand to the King, to save her, and she was plenty grateful. She sometimes found herself longing for her old life, even if it was filled with terror, sweat, blood and the pungent scent of death. She had killed a man when she was but 8 years of age, so death did not frighten her. It enticed her.

She excused herself from the court where her brother sat upon the Iron Throne, and as she left through the tall set of doors she whispered "Valar Morghulis". It was something she said silently to herself, to remind her of the times come prior to this time. All men must die. She would not be the one to do it; of course not, she loved her brother the most out of all, but someone would come for him as they had for the kings prior, but she would be waiting, watching. And she would strike, killing her enemy, just like a wolf.

Just like a Direwolf.

She found herself walking toward the smiths, and she smiled to herself. There she would find her friend Gendry, the only person she could confide in, and one of few people who could make her laugh. She pushed the door open lightly and spied Gendry; he was bent over a piece of metal that was glowing red, sparks flying as he beat it with a hammer. She tiptoed lightly over and placed a hand on his sweat-coated bicep that seemed to shimmer in the light of the fire. He leaped back, dropping the hammer onto the ground with a loud clang.

"By Gods Arry, don't sneak up on me like that!"

She took in his appearance, it had been weeks since she visited him. He was powerfully-built, with strong, firm muscles. He was glistening with sweat, his hair matted with sweat and dirt. She was proud of her friend, he had made himself a home within the castle, under Arya's supervision. She had begged her brother for days on end to let Gendry be the castle's permanent blacksmith. Finally, he had complied speaking of generous wages and plenty of food. Gendry had been so delighted that he had picked up Arya and swung her around, laughing, only to apologize a thousand times over.

She smiled at the nickname, one that had stuck ever since she pretended to be a boy for a short while on her Journey. Weasel was another that had stuck, Gendry cared to remind her of it every so often. But now, she could never pass as a boy, not even if she chopped off her teats. She was a girl of six and ten now and her chestnut hair had grown and now reached the bottom of her teats; she wore it down, where it swept against her teats releasing a smell of lavender, as it's silky sheen made her face glow.

Her gray eyes that were once as cold as ice towards him now glowed with an inviting playfulness in the light of the fire, and her slightly browned skin was adorned with little freckles. Those of which Gendry found irresistible. Her face had lost all of it's childlike pudginess, and had been replaced with soft, pink, full lips and high cheekbones. She wore a brown leather bodice, her favourite, Gendry had noticed, as she wore it often. Gendry's eyes wandered over her body and stopped for a short while at her teats, where a small amount of freckled cleavage was showing due to her tight bodice. She wore with those a pair of blackened leather pants that hugged her curves and her defined, muscular legs.

"I haven't seen you in a while, m'lady" Gendry grinned, his lips stretching over a full mouth of teeth, one of which was slightly crooked, but instead of looking awful, it made him look silly, yet handsome.

"I've been busy dealing with matters my brother doesn't care for, and you know I absolutely hate when you say that!" She smiled, but a tiny bit of annoyance slipped out of her lips.

"Say what, m'lady" His grin widened, a childlike gleam flickering in his eyes; they had not changed since they first met, even if he had aged four years, reaching an age of nine and ten.

"Oh shut up, you fool" Arya stepped over the fallen hammer and stood close to Gendry, so close she could almost hear his heart beating against his leather vest. He smelled of sweat, leather and smoke. A smell most intoxicating to Arya. It enticed her, almost to an extreme leveled compared to how much her lavender bath water had sickened her.

Gendry blushed a deep red, he towered over her, but not so much that she could go on her tiptoes and kiss him. And that she did. This had been happening a lot as of late, but nothing had progressed further than that. He was a grown man, yet Gendry still only her kiss him, and she was fine with it. She didn't understand yet the appeal of sex. She reached down and brushed her hand against his manhood, giggling against his lips.

He shuddered under her touch and leaned a hand back, only to rest it on the still glowing metal he had been working on. He jumped forward, knocking Arya back a few steps. He clutched his hand, and Arya saw angry red welts raising from it. She leaned forward, gripped his wrist and kissed his hand, knowing her cool lips would be soothing to it.

Still gripping his wrist she led him outside to where a stream of water was running out of a tap, she tested it and felt it's coolness, then shoved his hand underneath as he cursed and swore. She laughed the whole time, watching him scowl at her, but he was almost on the brink of tears, and that was funny to her. This big hardened man, crying over a burn. After a few moments she gripped his wrist tighter and led him back inside, over to a shelf where the bandages sat. She wrapped the cloth around his hand, tightened it and ripped the rest of with her sharp teeth.

"Just like a wolf you are, fierce and beautiful, yet kind." He winced as she tightened her grip on his hand.

"Just as a Direwolf is."