Author's note, disclaimer and other stuff
Let's start with the obvious. I don't own Arya, Gendry, or any other character whom you recognize. Any similarity with some other already existing fanfiction story is completely unintentional.
Now that we cleared this up. I know we all need a bit of cheering up after what happened to the Starks in the 3rd season, so here's something for all the AryaxGendry shippers while we wait for the 4th season.
Note: obviously includes spoilers for the 3rd season.
Now, onto the story.
Home
The sun was burning high up in the sky. Arya sighed and wiped the sweat off her eyebrow. Her long thick hair was braided, but some of it clung onto her forehead. She was wearing a linen shirt, brown woollen breeches and knee-high laced up boots. A long cloak was wrapped around her shoulders, covering two swords she was carrying-a good solid iron sword and her Needle.
She has been riding for days now and her thighs were sore. Both Arya and her mare were exhausted. She has had it with this thrice-damned heat on this thrice-damned Kingsroad. Five years have passed since she last travelled this road and a lot has changed for better. Queen Daenerys's reign brought wealth and stability to the Westeros. Arya passed through many villages and most people seemed satisfied with their new queen. With the big war finally over, people were reviving the land and preparing for the harvest. There weren't even that many outlaws as before. Arya hadn't encountered any, at least.
After about a mile of tired trotting, the trees thickened and formed a small forest. Oaks towering above her head and their lush leaves embraced her in the shade and protected her from the merciless sun. Her piece was not long-lasting, though. She narrowed her eyes and tried to make out the shape of the figure in the distance. It was only one man, she concluded. But where there was one, there could be others. Years and years of living in constant danger thought her to be wary all the time. The man was slowly approaching her.
When they finally met, he raised his eyes. He was now standing on the left of her mare. It was a middle aged man, with mousy hair streaked with grey, a long scar on his left cheek and watery green-grey eyes. He was dressed in ragged clothes, but he seemed to be well fed.
"Dear child, help a poor man fill his belly. D'you have a coin to spare, sweet girl?"
She looked at him suspiciously. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything."
"C'me on, girl, don't lie to me. I don't like it when people lie to me." His left eye twitched.
"Leave me alone, I told you, I don't have anything for you." The man was starting to annoy her.
"Let's make a deal, here, eh? You gimme money, and I let you go away unharmed, eh? If you really don't have any money, I'll take your mare and be gone."
She listened to him with slight amusement. "Are you threatening me?"
"Of course not," he began, putting his hand on her reins, "I was just.." but he was cut off in the middle of the sentence by a sword's point that suddenly appeared under his chin. Quick as a snake, she had unsheathed her sword. Its pommel was a dark grey wolf.
"Take your hand away," she said, her voice sweet as honey.
"Now, now. Where did you steal that sword?"
"I did not steal it. Get your hand off before I chop it off for you."
"Take it easy, girl, I mean no harm." He removed his hand. "See, no harm done."
There was a distant rustle in the trees and she turned her hand to the right to see where the sound came from. She didn't see anything, but for one moment she wasn't paying any attention to the man, and he quickly took advantage of it. He pulled her by her hand. She tried to slash at him, but he was stronger than her. She lost the grip and her sword went flying in the bushes. She managed to slither from his hands and made a run for the sword. Few seconds later, she found herself lying on her belly and a rusted dagger on her neck.
"Not so tough now, eh, girl?" he whispered in her ear, "I should teach you a lesson."
" ." she said, as he turned her over and started to pull down her breeches, dagger still in its place.
"Mmm," he started to rub himself against her, "so ripe and fresh." She was not about to panic. She is a wolf, a Stark of Winterfell. She was equal to any man, when she had a sword. But there was this little problem-her sword was at least 5 feet away. She kicked and scratched, but the man already had his filthy hand under her shirt. His breath reeked of wine. "I've never had a woman so young and beautiful." She heard the man say, as in some kind of morbid nightmare. The rapist was now trying to handle her small clothes.
Next thing she knew, the dagger was flying to the side, as was the man. She saw a man kicking him in the guts his foot, there were two other men pointing their swords at the bastard, and one man was helping her get back on her feet. She had already pulled her clothes back on.
"Here, let me help you." said the man with short brown hair and impossibly green eyes. He replaced her cloak with his own. Her cloak was torn; she hadn't even noticed that before. "My name is Jensen, Ser Jensen; at your service." He flashed her a grin. "That fellow over there would be Ser Thomas," Ser Thomas was currently still trying to kick the lying man. He had honey-blond hair and brown eyes. One of his friends was trying to calm him down a bit.
"That right there, talking to Thomas is Ser Misha." Misha was dark haired and blue eyed. The man who had tried to rape her was trying to escape the grip of a man who was whispering something in his ear. Arya could only see the back of his head, covered with thick black hair, but she had a clear view on the rapist's face. He was trembling like a leaf.
"So what's it going to be? The Wall or your sorry cock?"
The man gulped. "I..I can't go to the wall, Ser. I'd die, Ser. You can't ask me to..."
"I'm asking you nevertheless. Is this your answer? You will be a eunuch?"
"If I have to, good Ser, if I have to.."
"Oh, you have to. Off with you, now. Ser Misha, would you be so kind?" Misha nodded, approached them and took the rapist into the forest that was surrounding them. The black haired man turned around to face his friends.
"And this, my dear," said Ser Jensen, "is..."
"Arya?!"
"Gendry?"
"Seven hells! Is that really you?"
Arya swallowed the lump in her throat. "I can't believe this. What are you doing here?"
"I..I'm a blacksmith, of course. But where have you been? Everyone has been looking for you! They said you were dead, but your sister wouldn't believe them."
"Sansa's alive? What about Bran? And Rickon? And Jon? Any word from..."
A horrible scream was heard from the bushes, and Arya stopped mid-sentence. She didn't feel even remotely sorry for that man. He knew what in th punishment for rape, even an unsuccessful one. Ser Misha soon emerged from the forest. Tom quickly approached him and whispered something to him, while Misha glanced from Gendry to Arya (who were now standing close to each other while Ser Jensen was humming a tune to himself) and nodded understandingly.
"Are they really knights?" she quietly asked Gendry, "they aren't exactly dressed like knights."
"There's usually no need for that heavy armour these days. We were just following a game's trail when we heard the noise."
"Well, my lady" interrupted Ser Misha, "I sense that this will be a long story, so it would be good if we paid a visit to an inn. There's a village just over the next hill, and it's almost time to eat."
"If you ask Misha, it's always time to eat," joked Ser Jensen. Arya smiled, perfectly aware of Gendry's piercingly blue eyes glued to her.
"A hot meal, cup of ale and a warm bed sound amazing. I have only one more question-whom do you serve?"
"We are loyal to Lord Baratheon." Ser Jensen gave her that dashing smile again and with that they set off for the village.
Another author's note
Thanks for giving this story a shot. I'll try to update this as soon as possible, and in the meantime, feel free to check out my other stories.
Credit to my friend, Marionette008, who had a vote in naming the characters, and whom I own the beautiful description of Jensen's "impossibly green eyes".