I just wanted to delve into what was going on in Gendry's head during THAT SCENE, in fact I just wanted to explore all of his thoughts regarding Arya. So this is me, going into more detail from Gendry's POV. I love this couple so much, plus I wanted to practice writing romantic chemistry between characters so, here it is! I hope you guys enjoy my take on Gendrya! (As always I don't own anything GOT related.)

REMEMBERING THE GIRL

"I could be your family..."

Gendry Waters thought he had buried those words long, long ago, but from the moment he had crossed over into Winterfell he couldn't seem to stop remembering. Even back then he had always known she would have to leave him, she was a Lady after all, no matter how hard she had tried to deny it. It had only made sense for him to leave her first, to carve a future of his own away from the stubborn, fiery girl. The girl who had somehow become the closest thing to a family he'd ever had.

Now, as he stood in the scorching hot forge in the heart of Winterfell, he couldn't help but smirk to himself. Despite everything that had happened, despite all the years that had passed, he had somehow landed exactly where Arya had always wanted him to be.

He had heard rumours of her and he knew that she lurked somewhere within the castles walls. Jon spoke of her as though she were still a child, though the talk that swirled around her painted a very different kind of picture.

He had not let her name pass his lips once. He had not asked after her. He had not even admitted to knowing her. He wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was fear... Maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to open the box that he had so carefully closed shut all those years ago.

"I could be your family..."

It was in the forge alone that the box remained sealed shut. In the forge where there was only steel and smoke and purpose. He was a craftsman and metal was the only thing that mattered. Making it sing, making it strong.

"Gendry! He's here!"

Gendry pulled himself away from his work and turned around to see the giant hulking frame of the Hound standing in the middle of the forge. He nodded and pulled a giant axe from the wall. It was a hefty piece of work, and one of his best pieces yet. He still couldn't get over the sleek blackness of dragonglass, how it somehow made even the most ordinary weapons seem more brutal.

"It isn't easy making a blade that big with dragonglass." He said, passing the blade over.

The Hound took the blade from him with a grunt. "You're saying you're good, is that it?"

"I'm just saying it's a tricky material to work with-"

The Hound met his gaze, one half of his face covered in shadow, the other half covered in scars. "Do you know who makes weapons for the Wildlings?" The Hound snarled. "Cripples and cocksuckers. Which one are you?"

Gendry stood up a little straighter and gritted his teeth.

"Leave him be."

The voice cut through the noise of the hammers and clanging steel. Soft, clear...determined. The Hound span around and Gendry followed his gaze...he knew who the voice belonged to at once, and yet seeing her standing there, poised and purposeful... it undid him in some strange way. She was a lady now, though a strange one. She held herself like a noblewoman yet she was dressed in the style of a solider. She was so...different to the scrawny image of a girl that he held in his head. Taller. Colder. As a child Gendry remembered her wearing her rage like armour, visible for everyone to see. As a woman it seemed more hidden..but he could still see it. Simmering just beneath the surface, in the fierce gleam of her eye.

It was then he realised that while had been staring at her the Hound had been and gone.

They were alone.

"That was a nice axe you made for him." She said. "You've gotten better."

"Thanks, so have you." He said thickly. "I mean, you look..." He paused, flustered. "...Good."

Arya's face remained impassive. "Thanks. So do you."

They regarded each other for a moment and silence passed between them. Throughout the entire journey to Winterfell Gendry hadn't allowed himself to think of reuniting with Arya. Not once. Now though he wished he had, wished that he'd given some thought to what he would say to the girl he had spent so many months travelling the kingdoms with.

Abruptly he turned away, allowing her to follow him.

"Not a bad place to grow up, if it wasn't so cold." He said, picking up some of the already completed weapons that were laid out on a nearby table, examining them as if he didn't already know they were finished. He needed to do something with his hands. He needed somewhere else to look.

"Stay close to that forge then." She said, standing close to him.

Listen to her, handing out orders so easily. The thought made him smile. "Is that a command Lady Stark?" He asked.

He knew he shouldn't tease her. He knew he had no right. But there was a part of him - a big part of him - that wanted to see if any slither of the girl he knew remained.

"Don't call me that."

He grinned and turned to face her. She was still staring at him expressionless, but he had heard the tone in her voice and he wondered if he could push his luck just a little bit further. "As you wish M'lady."

Silence.

And then, almost shyly, a smile crept across her face.

So there was still some of the old Arya tucked away behind the grim stare. Almost against his will he felt his grin broaden.

Still smiling Arya withdrew a piece of paper from within her cloak. "Here's my wish." She said, handing it to him. "Can you make it?"

Gendry took the piece of paper from her and regarded the parchment carefully. The drawing was crude but clear. He wondered whether she had drawn it herself, then he wondered; "What do you need something like this for?"

"Can you make it or not?"

His eyes roamed her outfit more carefully, "You already have a sword, and what's that?" He pointed to the dagger on her side. Without passing comment Arya pulled out the dagger and handed it to him.

He examined the knife, it was a bloody beautiful piece of craftsmenship. "This is Valeryian steel!" He breathed, then he looked back up at her. "I always knew you were just another rich girl."

Arya took the dagger back from him, a curious expression flicking across her face. "You don't know any other rich girls." She said sweetly, and then she walked away. He followed her line of walk and then - to his surprise - she looked back at him. No, she spun, just long enough so that he could see her raise one mischievous eyebrow.

And then she was gone.