Chapter One

'The King is dead! Long live the King!' went up a cry, and Gendry turned to the gates, to see three knights on horseback marching in. They bore banners with the Lannister lion. Gendry threw on a shirt and followed the crowds to gather around the knights.

'People of Harrenhal, we bear news from King's Landing,' announced the knight at the front, a pale-faced man with a strong jaw, 'King Joffrey has died of the influenza, and King Tommen has taken the throne!'

The people around him gasped, by Gendry remained stony-faced.

'Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell has been named Hand of the King,' he continued, and then brought up the chant again of, 'Long live the King!'

The crowd cheered back, and Gendry moved his mouth half-heartedly along. He didn't see what difference the new king would make: he was just another puppet for Cersei Lannister to fight her brothers over. But Robb as Hand of the King? That would change things. His eyes frantically searched the crowd for her, his heart pulsing madly but his head telling him he was being stupid, she was still too short for him to spot her amongst this crowd.

But he did. She was stood on some steps, only half a head above the sea of the crowd. Suddenly, she spotted him, and her eyes locked onto his. His heart stammered. There was pain in her eyes, and fear, but mainly a sense of triumph. Her brother was in power, her sister wouldn't have to marry the evil boy who had murdered their father. It was the best news she'd had in a while.

But then she seemed to remember something, and she turned and ran off, darting off through the crowds. He soon lost sight of her dusky little head but he pushed his way after her anyway, burrowing through the crowds to where he'd last seen her.

He searched for an hour, and then surrendered, and went back to his workshop, figuring she might come looking for him. Hoping, rather.

She didn't. He waited all day, and then half the night, but she didn't come.

...

Arya carried on with her duties in a frenzy. She'd always been careless, but now she was spilling drinks everywhere, and, two days after the announcement, the steward gave her the day off to gather herself. It was a punishment, but Arya used it to her advantage.

She sat on the battlements for hours, watching people scurry by, going about their business like the world hadn't ended already.

There was only one person who could help her. Gendry.

She ran down to his forge, as fast as her legs would carry her.

And there he was, standing over his worktop, the fire drawing a sheen of sweat out to make his bare chest glimmer in its angry light. He was hammering at something, his eyes cast down at his work. She stood in the doorway, watching him work, the muscles in his arms rippling with sheer power.

Finally, he looked up, and she blushed involuntarily. Arya Stark did her best never to be embarrassed. She shot her eyes back to him furiously.

'Hello,' he said, his voice just loud enough to carry across to her ears.

Then she was across the room, so near to his chest she could smell the fresh, bitter tang of his sweat, looking up to his face. Two faces, both shocked and lost.

'Hello,' he breathed, and threw his arms around her. She moved only a hair's breadth forward to press her face to his chest, his intense heat glowing through into her skin. Gendry tipped his head down a little and realised that she was so tall now that he could kiss her crown without moving away. He let his lips delicately brush her hair and then rested his chin on her head.

They stayed like that for longer than either of them could say. When finally she pulled away, Arya was frowning.

'What's the matter?' Gendry asked, in a soft voice.

She looked up at him, sadness in her eyes.

'They've started looking for me again,' she said, 'Robb wants me back so he's sending out search parties everywhere.'

Gendry said nothing, but the fear had planted itself in his head.

'I don't want to leave,' she said.

He tightened his jaw and stepped away a little, picking up his shirt to wipe the sweat sheen off his face.

'You'd be safe in King's Landing,' he said, voice quiet.

Arya wanted to scream at him, scratch his skin, slap his face. Why was he being so stupid? He wanted to send her away, to be a lady and be smothered by Sansa and her boring friends, just like back in Winterfell. He was distancing himself from her, throwing her away, damn him. She wanted him to fight for her, argue with her, make her stay. She wanted their fiery friendship to go on forever, in a beautiful, grubby limbo.

'Goodbye then, Gendry,' she said, rage bubbling under the surface. She turned to storm out, but he caught her hand just in time. She span back. 'What?'

'Goodbye, Arya,' he answered, his voice cracking, 'I'll always remember you.'

She shuddered, trying to hold in the sob that had thrown up in her chest, and tugged her hand away.

And with that, she was gone.