She was never meant to lead the life she was born into. Unlike other ladies who had been born soft and possessed many feminine features like the curve of their hips and the bulge of their breasts; Arya had been born lithe and her body was now hard with muscle. There was nothing soft about her: on the outside her skin was hard, all taut with muscle with nothing neither soft nor plump about her. Even her breasts were simply two little buds that slightly stuck out similar to that of a prepubescent girl, nowhere near as plump as the breasts a woman her age should possess. On the inside she was just as hard; no emotions ran through her, there was no heart to consume her into silly thoughts of happiness, love and comfort. Where other women were meant to court with young men to conceive children or take care of a household, Arya was meant to be a warrior. She had no time for the sweet talk of men and had no desire to see herself with one. She had never been in love before, she never wanted to either. Love made you weak, at the age of nine she had lost everything dear to her. There was now no longer anything that someone could use against her, there was nothing in left in her heart to cherish, nothing left inside of her to subject her into vulnerability or weakness. That is not until she saw... him.
He was bigger than she remembered, his shoulders were broader and there was now a fine layer of rough stubble covering his hard jaw and cheeks, indicating he was now a man grown. Externally he looked nothing like the boy she once knew, but his eyes still had the stubborn look she remembered. The brilliant blue clashed with the coal black hair but, for some strange reason Arya liked it. He's handsome, the thought registered in her mind unbidden. She felt a dull ache in between her legs and a fluttering in her stomach. She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks, was she... blushing? Arya did not know what was going on in her body, this never happened to her the last time she saw him. Granted the last time she saw him she was a mere child of nine, perhaps ten. She had lost count of time long ago. She did not know how old she was now but, she was no longer the little girl that escaped the vile city of King's Landing, she was no longer the little girl that would hide behind her mother's skirts when frightened and she certainly was not the little girl that would roam around the lands of Winterfell with her brothers. She was now a woman grown, she no longer had any brothers nor a mother to hide behind her skirts. She had lost her family a long time ago and was arguably the only Stark left in existence. There was no word on her sister Sansa, she had just disappeared after the assassination of Prince – no King – Jofferey, never to be heard from again. Sometimes she would wonder what happened to her sister, if she was breathing, if she was alright, if she was happy but, Arya would easily dispel those thoughts from her head. Those kind of thoughts made you weak, love made you weak.
She told herself the same thing as she peaked through the window of the random house she came across in the Saltpans. She saw Gendry encircle a little boy in his arms with the same coal black hair and blue eyes. The little boy was laughing as Gendry picked him up and placed a kiss upon his forehead. In a few moments a woman entered the scenery, she had long downy yellow hair and the curves and softness that a normal woman should have – something that she never had. The woman gently pressed her lips to Gendry's before carrying their child in her arms. Gendry wrapped his big strong arms around the two of them and it was then when Arya forced herself to look away. He was never yours stupid and he never will be yours. That day when Arya left the Saltpans she knew she was in fact the woman she never wanted to be. Like every other human out there she was weak and wanted to be loved. Too bad for her that the one man she ever harboured any feelings towards, belonged to another.