AN: Firstly, please make note that Arya's age in this story is bumped up a wee bit. In my mind she's about 14 going on 15 at the beginning of this story and in the second part she is 16 or there about, if anyone was wanting to know. I also would like to apologize for any grammatical errors as I do not have a Beta. If there's a mistake that's simply too ghastly to let stand, feel free to point it out, of course.

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones

Arya sat at the table with him, watching him shove bread and stew into his mouth like it was the first and last time. She couldn't help being both fascinated and utterly disgusted by the savage abandon with which he ate, huddled over the bowl, growling into it just like the dog he was.

"The fuck you looking at?" He glanced up.

"You're disgusting." She huffed at him, leaning back to get further away from him.

"Not so pretty yourself."

Arya thought on that a moment. "I don't need to be pretty. I've got a sword."

"Aye. And it'd do you a world of good if you knew how to use it." He grumbled, retreating back to his hunched shape and began eating again, paying no mind to Arya's sudden outrage.

She tried hard to ignore his brash comments but every now and then, when she couldn't think of a witty comeback, her tongue ran before her mind. "I know how to use it!"

He laughed. "How do you figure that?"

At that she grinned, grabbing Needle and placing it right against his inner thigh.

His body became stiff, he sat up straight at the feeling of her blade there, staring at her, not wavering a bit. "Go on, then."

She wondered not for the first time, and not for the last, if she could actually do it. Knick him in his artery right now and just run, run as fast as she could, and maybe find a way to the Wall too.

She wondered if she really had the heart to kill the great, blighted beast now, after all the time she had spent traveling with him.

Tracing the tip of her blade up and down the length of his inner thigh, she had a thought, and stuck Needle into the cloth of his trousers, ripping the fabric and placing the point against his bare skin.

His breath hitched quietly. His face froze, stuck in a small concern that she might finally finish it.

"I'm not a little girl anymore." She grinned.

"No." He agreed. "You're a little boy."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not really."

He eyed the tavern, the people there, then looked back to the Stark girl. "Oh, yes you are. If any one of these men knew what was between your legs, they'd fuck you bloody and leave you for dead."

She pushed forward, almost yelling above the sounds of chattering around them. "They're not all like that!"

"Aye and your noble knights there wouldn't think twice about jabbing at that cunt of yours, don't question that for a second." She huffed. He continued, putting his finger between her precious 'needle' and his groin. "You'll be glad to have me when they start lining up, believe me."

"They won't." She removed her blade, raising her chin to him. "They all think I'm a boy."

"And the second you open your bitch mouth they'll know you're not. So keep your fucking voice down."

And with that he finished his meal in silence, while she suddenly became very wary of the men in the room.

They had spent so long like this, her being a boy and him being her reluctant guardian that when the day was upon them, neither had expected the abruptness with which it came.

One Year Later

She could pass for a little boy, when she'd kept her hair short, and hadn't had any breasts to worry about.

But it had been longer than either the Hound or Arya had realized, and she could no longer pass for a boy. Overnight it seemed, her breasts had filled in, becoming terribly difficult to bind. Her body became softly curved and molded into a feminine shape that startled Arya when she caught a reflection of herself.

Aside from that, her face had lost its roundness, her jaw was trimmed sharply and her features were very defined and harsh, making her seem dangerous in a beautiful sort of way. All the time she had spent saying that beauty was of little consequence, she had failed to notice her own budding maturity, and now that she'd noticed it, she did enjoy the edge and advantage that it could give her.

The Hound, however, didn't. As she had cast aside her body's changes, he had not. At first it concerned him, making his mood even more sour than usual. He thought every day of how hard it was becoming to keep her womanly looking body hidden under those boy's clothes she had worn for so long.

But even he had forgotten about what happened when a girl was made a woman.

Arya hadn't spoken to him for 2 days and though at first, the quiet was a welcome change, it had promptly become infuriating. She would huff at something he said now and then, or stomp on the ground to make her annoyance known, but she wouldn't say a word, wincing from time to time when her horse miss-stepped or made a jump. That was when he began to worry.

"You hurt, girl?" He didn't turn around to look at her on his horse, just kept riding ahead of her, awaiting an answer as he tried not to seem too eager for one.

She said nothing, only tensed slightly at his words. When he didn't hear an answer he turned his head a little to the side, "Well?"

"It doesn't matter." She said, sterner than she'd thought she could in her weakened state, but a bit softer than she would've liked.

He said nothing in response, not wanting to seem overly worried about her. That'd give her the wrong idea, and he didn't want her thinking he was some type of father figure anyhow.

When they stopped at nightfall to make camp, it had become slightly chilly, and the colder it got, the stiffer Arya's insides felt.

When she jumped off the horse with a wince, she saw the blood spot she had left on the saddle and groaned.

"What is it, Girl?" The Hound asked gruffly as he stomped over to her and shoved her roughly aside. He looked at her saddle as she had and back at her. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

And then he trudged away, and didn't acknowledge it any more than that until after she had returned from rinsing herself, and dressing herself as best she could to prevent too much more blood from becoming free of her breeches. She didn't really know the logistics of moon blood. It wasn't something she was old enough for when she was in the capitol and after, the only people around her were men and boys, and besides, it wasn't something she had thought about until it had actually happened.

When she returned, she sat down on the ground, across the fire from the beast of a man that accompanied her, taking in her surroundings, steadying her breathing. One hint of her feelings inside and the Hound would pounce on it, just like a true dog, making her even more uncomfortable just because he enjoyed to.

"So the little wolf has flowered." He grumbled, and spat into the fire.

She said nothing to him, only laid down on her side, facing away from him, and the flames. "Doesn't matter." She meekly replied.

He chuckled bitterly at that. "Sure it doesn't."

She turned on him and growled. "Shut up, Hound."

He took a drink of his flask, and grimaced at her and replied in a mocking, but warning tone. "Mind your tongue, Bitch."

"Why? You don't." she huffed.

"I haven't got to." Was his short reply.

"Then why do I?" she glared at him, rolling her eyes.

"'cause yer a little lady. Got to act the part."

"But why? I don't look like a lady." She sat up.

He grimaced. "That's what you are."

"I thought I was a little boy." She said defiantly, crossing her arms.

"Aye, you were." He spoke hoarsely as his eyes roamed over her newly flowered body, taking in every bit of evidence that proved that to be a true statement.

"But not anymore?" she looked at him skeptically, cocking her head to the side as if she hadn't noticed his blatant gaze.

He shook himself out of his trance. "Why the fuck you ask so many questions, girl?"

With that he turned his back to her and laid down on his back, staring at the empty sky. She didn't say anything else, thank the Gods. He didn't know what he'd do if she said more. The thought that she had blossomed into a woman, frightened him. Well, perhaps it was his involuntary reaction to it that frightened him. He needed a good fuck, he supposed, hadn't had one in a while. And she needed to stop with her incessant questions.

Arya lay down again, on her side so that she could watch him while she said her list of names, quietly, under the sound of the crackling fire, so he couldn't hear her. She had gotten her point across once, it needn't be pointed out again that he was on her list. He knew the threat that she posed, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself, or to her.

She looked at the beastly man, his hulking figure splayed across the cold ground. There was a time when she feared him, silently, but feared him all the same. Still now, he scared her sometimes. But she took comfort in the knowledge that she also had the capacity to scare him, impress him even, though he was too stubborn to ever admit it.

But when he looked at her now, she could see that he did not look at her the same. Something in his eyes had changed when he had seen the blood on her saddle. Like he had just jolted to the realization that she was a woman, for all intents and purposes. That she looked like a woman.

And he was angry about it, too.

"Up." He kicked her a little before walking away from her sleeping form.

He had spent a few minutes after he'd woken up just looking at her. It was one of the rare times he woke up before her and despite his every intention to ignore it, he couldn't help but watch her, what a beautiful thing she was when she wasn't scowling at him.

When he realized what he was doing, he jolted up and became himself again. He was not happy about the way he saw her now, he dreaded to know what she would think if she saw him acting like a green boy. It was embarrassing enough as it was. He kicked her side a little to wake her up.

She huffed. "What was that for?" Arya got up and dusted herself off, glaring all the while.

He didn't dignify her pouting with a response, and instead, shoved a pack of supplies into her chest before stocking off to the horses. Arya watched him retreat for a few seconds, staring daggers into his back before making her way back to the stream to rinse herself. Gods, it was becoming the bane of her existence, this whole 'bloody' affair.

The Hound was waiting by the horses and looking rather impatient by the time she returned and grunted at her in discontent as she passed him to reach her horse. They spoke no words to each other all day, riding in what had become quite companionable silence, despite the denial of both parties.

It was an odd thing, Arya thought, that two people could be so different and yet still manage to involuntarily become a pack of their own. Looking at his broad, armored shoulders ahead of her, she realized (though she was quite loath to admit it) that she would kill to protect that mangled dog. She was even more reluctant to admit that she knew he would do the same.

She had never asked him, of course. It had become an unspoken sort of pact between them, that the only ones permitted to give either of them grief were the two of them. Sure, they'd sometimes come a hare's breath from pummeling one another to pulps but that was part of their strange relationship, and if a third party tried to touch one of them, they'd meet the other's wrath.

It was possessive and odd and above all, unspoken.

They only uttered words once they had camped for the night, whilst they were both lying across the fire from one another, on their backs. Her eyes open, his closed, but neither sleeping.

"Hound." She said, louder than she meant after festering all day in her thoughts.

"Seven Hells, girl. What?" He rumbled.

"Where are we going now?" she asked as she fidgeted.

"I don't know. Shut your mouth and go to sleep." He responded, and despite the rudeness of the words, they had no edge. It was startling actually, how softly they had left his ruined lips. Startling for both of them.

"I just… I've no family left. There's no one left to sell me to. I just… wonder what you plan on doing now." She sighed, shaking her head.

The Hound turned over on his side, facing her across the fire. "You think I'm going to leave you in the woods somewhere, cut my losses, girl?" It wasn't a question, not really.

She didn't need to answer. He huffed out a chuckle. "No, I won't leave you to die, you little fool. Now by the Gods, shut up and go to fucking sleep."

With that she turned to face him as well, but his eyes were already closed again. She watched him for moment, considering. Damn him, the bastard. Damn him for knowing that she was afraid of that. Damn him for being the last one she had left to care for and damn him for knowing it, too.

~Bailee