"No…. I can't….die." Arya stumbled between bustling bodies and pushed her way through the marketplace, all the while clutching at her stomach. The feeling of her own blood pulsing through her fingers unsettled her. I can't die… not now. I can't be killed by a vengeful little girl after everything I have survived. Her mind was beginning to waver; she was unsure if the words were of her own head or if she were speaking them aloud. This isn't it! If this is death, its shit!
Her cloth shoes slapped against cold brick with every step. After emerging from the water she had fought against the mind-numbing pain and just barely managed to push herself to her feet, she certainly wasn't going to give in now and let her heavy body drag her back to the floor. Every shuffle was sapping great amounts of her strength and at each corner she passed she felt herself slip a little more into unconsciousness but she kept on walking, aware that if she were to be knocked off her feet she may never get up again. The Braavosi people didn't care. This wasn't the first time an injured - or just plain mad - person had gone tumbling through the streets. It didn't happen often but it wasn't unheard of. Arya was just one of a number.
Old crinkly men and young beautiful whores alike watched her as she passed, dripping wet and covered in blood. Nobody stopped; nobody helped. Arya's gaze flitted from one face to the next, pleading with her eyes that someone take pity on her. She had never wanted her father so badly. After everything these past years had brought her, even trying to forget herself, she had never forgotten him. She jerked around the corner of a large brown stone building into an almost deserted alley way. An open gate to her left caught her eye. The light pouring from it was like a beacon to her; a warmth she hadn't felt since leaving Winterfell years previously. She stumbled forward, her knees weakening. Her fingers barely brushed the gateway before she gave in, crumbling to the floor in a tangled heap of long limbs. Fuck…
She thought of her father. She stared at that strange glow leaking from the gateway and thought of him. Of all of them.
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Wailing could be heard over the hills surrounding Winterfell. The snow atop them shuddered and unsettled as Arya Stark screamed herself silly from the centre of the courtyard.
"Arya, stop it! A lady shouldn't make such a fuss!" Sansa, her feather-headed sister yelled at her, glaring over the fence that surrounded the sparring pitch. Sansa was young, around eight years of age, but her flaming hair was well past the small of her back and her neck was already abnormally long. In fact, her whole body was abnormally long. She stood only an inch below their eldest brother Robb who was nearing thirteen years and had long since started growing into a young man.
"Sansa, leave her be. I think she's really hurt this time." Robb called back, guilt lacing his voice. "Arya! Shut up for a minute will you!" He had to shout to be heard over Arya's screeching. Usually she wouldn't have made such a scene but her brothers had ganged up on her and, despite her small size, she hadn't managed to fully dart out of the way when Robb had hit her in the leg with a wooden training sword. Not only had she been hit hard, she had been tripped too and had managed to fall backwards over a pile of hay stacks into the wooden rack that housed the blunt axes.
Arya began to quieten down, slowing to small sobs but with tears still streaming down her face. She looked down at her wrist and noticed the strange way it was bent, however it was the burning coming from her thigh that was causing her to scream Winterfell to the ground. Jon came and knelt beside her, smoothing her hair away from her face and glancing at her arm with concern. "I think it could be broken." He said, touching her fingers gently causing her to whimper slightly in pain.
"No." She managed. "My leg, Jon. Its burning!" Arya began to cry all over again as Jon's eyes widened and he gestured for Robb to join him. Robb took one look at Arya's trousers caked in blood and ran for the castle entrance, shouting for help along the way. Jon tried to move Arya, to lift her into an easier position but as soon as he laid a hand on her leg she yelped and he had to back off again.
"Arya!" Her mother chose this moment to come scurrying from the God's Wood, Bran sticking close to her side and baby Rickon strapped to her chest in swaddles. She had birthed him just two weeks past and had spent every day since thanking the Gods for yet another son. "What in god's name happened?" She stopped at the fence nearest Arya, not wanting to bring her youngest children into the sparring pitch.
"She wanted to train with us, but Robb said no. When she insisted he bet his puddings for a week that she wouldn't last five minutes against the two of us. She was doing well, then Robb tripped her by accident with his sword and she tumbled into the racks. She went down quite hard on her wrist but it's her leg that got the most damage I think." Catelyn showed no indication that she had heard Jon speak other than to frown and turn her head away from him.
"You silly little girl. How many times do I have to tell you! Fist fighting and sparring are not activities a young lady like yourself should be attending. It's no wonder you got hurt! These sports are for men, Arya. You are most certainly not a man!"
Arya glared up at her mother, her tears drying up on her face with the heat her anger brought her despite the pain that was still lancing through her upper thigh. "I don't want to be a Lady!" She screamed back at her mother in fury. "It's not fair that Robb and Jon get to do all the exciting things while all I can do is practice needlework and dress-making with Sansa and Jeyne Pool!" She yelled into her mother's face, making her pull back in astonishment.
"Now then!" A deep voice boomed over all their heads. "What is going on here?" Her father opened the gate into the sparring ring and approached Arya gently, wary that he too might get a tongue lashing.
"She was yelling, father!" Sansa tattled. "Yelling right in mother's face."
"Sansa, that's enough. I think Jeyne was looking for you, maybe you should take your leave." Ned gave Sansa a pointed look that showed he in no way meant that as a suggestion. "Cat, go with her. Take the boys back inside it's much too cold out here for a babe." Catelyn took one lingering glance at her husband, clearly unhappy, but nonetheless pulled Bran by the hand back towards the castle.
He looked down at his youngest daughter, wounded and steaming with rage, and sighed. "You like to keep things interesting don't you girl?" He grinned at her, and she couldn't help but crack a small smile back at him.
Ned ever so carefully lifted Arya from the floor, being sure not to jostle her leg nor the large piece of splintered wood protruding from it. She winced and grumbled but let her father carry her to Maester Luwin's chambers. Once there, he held her hand and whispered stories to her about how his sister was the one who taught him and his younger brother to spar. He told her of the time her Aunt Lyanna got so frustrated with him for messing up a particular blocking technique persistently that she knocked him round the shins with her sword every time he failed until he finally got it right. Ned knew his daughter enjoyed hearing tales of his elder sister. Arya reminded him so much of how Lyanna was at a young age.
Arya was almost fully distracted by her father's words, and the stories of her Aunt. Maester Luwin managed to remove the wood fully and sew up her wound without much resistance from Arya at all, though he suspected she may have been slightly delirious from the pain. After having her hand set into a splint to help her broken wrist heal properly, she was given milk of the poppy and told that she had to rest for a few weeks before she could use either limb again. Her father once again scooped her small frame up into his arms and carried her to her bed chambers. She hadn't made it through the door before she was fast asleep, drained from the afternoons events. Ned placed his little girl in her bed and tucked her covers around her. Her toes barely reached half way down the mattress, as small as she was. Trust it to be Arya that challenges two boys, both more than twice her age, to a duel… for puddings. He thought with a chuckle.
"How is she doing?" Robb poked his head through the doorway.
"She'll live. But she won't be sparring for a few weeks so you and Jon can relax." He told his eldest, chuckling again as he noticed the pale skin of Robb's face turn a peculiar shade of green.
Ned ushered his son from the room and gently closed the heavy door behind him. He glanced and noticed a thoughtful frown grace the boy's face. When he asked, Robb only said, "I just realised I won't get any pudding tonight… she lasted longer than five minutes."
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"Arya…."
That voice, she thought. I know it.
Arya drifted back under the dark ocean of unconsciousness before she could think about it any further.
She did this for a while, or at least she thought she did, drifting back and forth between the real world and her memories. She was beginning to become confused, unable to tell the difference.
DING!
She felt herself being carried by a strong wide set of arms but she was unaware if they were her father's, carrying her to bed, or if they belonged to someone else.
DING!
She felt her clothes being shuffled and moved about but she didn't know if it was her mother changing her out of sweat-soaked night clothes when she had a terrible fever one winter or if someone else was the one dressing her.
DING!
At her most cognitive, when she drifted more towards the land of the living, she saw splashes of dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She heard her name being whispered over and over, and felt hands pressing her wrists and pushing back her hair. She had moments where she was shaking uncontrollably and others where she was so still she may as well be dead. Throughout it all though, she had a constant heat about her. She was always incredibly hot and it confused her in her foggy state of mind.
DING!
One thing she did know, very clearly, was that whoever was making that infernal dinging sound was going to feel the last of her strength if they didn't stop!
DING!
Arya huffed and grumbled, finally opening her eyes. The room she was laying in was small and dark and insanely hot. She was laid on a bed stuffed into the corner, covered with layers of blankets. Feeling extremely uncomfortable in the stifling heat, she began to swing her legs out from under the covers only to freeze in pain.
Then she remembered. The Waif.
She looked down at her abdomen and noticed only briefly that her clothes had been changed. She was no longer blood stained and her hands were clean instead of dripping red. A quick glance under her very large shirt confirmed that she had been bandaged rather well.
DING!
Growling under her breath again, Arya moved her feet to the floor more gently this time, taking care not to strain herself. She began to shuffle towards a curtain that covered the entrance to the room. Shuffling was good. Shuffling didn't feel nearly as bad as sitting up.
She heard the clatter of metal hitting metal and realised there was a familiar glow seeping through the edges of the curtain. It was hot. Way too hot, even for Bravos.
When she entered the next room she realised where the stifling heat was coming from. She was inside a blacksmith's shop. She wasn't alone.
The first thing she saw was a mop of dark hair, dripping with sweat. Then a thick neck followed by a very wide set of shoulders, glistening in the light from the forge. Droplets ran down a tanned back, muscles rippling under the surface as strong arms teased and tortured a red hot strip of metal into an intricate design.
Oh my, she thought.
That was when he whipped round, the light behind him making his face fall into the shadows.
Maybe that last thought hadn't stayed in her head where she had meant it to.
"Arya." He said her name.
If she wasn't so perplexed as to how this tall, dark stranger knew her name she might have begun to admire the frontal view just as she had his back.
"How do you know me?" She asked, pulling herself up to her full height, which undoubtedly wasn't much, and pulling her eyes away from the large expanse of male chest he had revealed when he turned. She was trying to focus on his face but the light from the forge lit him up from behind well, masking his identity. And plus… the chest….
"Sorry, do you still go by 'Arry'?" He asked, mirth straining his voice.
She gasped, "What?"
"Although you don't look half as much like a boy as you did when I last saw you. You've grown your hair out. I like it; it looks good on you." His voice rattled deeper than she had heard last, but she finally recognised it.
"Gendry?"
He stepped out of the light, circling around her to put his heavy gloves on the workbench on her right. It was him. He had grown, now a man, but it was definitely him. She would notice those eyes anywhere. They always were the first thing you saw on him; a startling blue as deep as the narrow sea. Still a blacksmith in trade, his physique had bulked out enough to rival The Mountain, and he had grown in his years to be a good foot or two taller than when she last saw him. Whereas she was smaller than him before, she was now dwarfed in his presence. His skin was tanned, but still paler than most here in Bravos, and his raven black hair flopped over his forehead, slick with sweat.
He was watching her. He hadn't taken his eyes off her. Then she realised he was only watching her because she was staring straight back at him, rather brazenly.
"How did you find me?" she questioned, dropping her eyes to the floor and shuffling further into the room.
"I didn't. You found me." When she glanced at him in confusion, he went on. "I was working in here for most of the day and the heat was getting a bit unbearable so I decided to step outside for a bit and there you were; laid on the cobbles, bleeding to death. Would you like to tell me how you came to be in that state?"
She watched him as he perched on a wooden stool next to the bench, his legs crossed at the ankles and his muscular arms folded over his chest.
"Not really." She muttered, jutting out her chin in defiance. She suddenly felt like a kid again, trying to stand up to Gendry as he teased her on her height or questioned her on whether anyone had bothered her.
"Arry, please. It's me. You know me, you can tell me anything. Are you in trouble? Have you been found? I assume you are still running from Lannister men?" He threw his arms out wide in exasperation when she didn't answer his questions. She almost wanted to step into them to give his long limbs something to do instead of flop there by his sides.
"It's nothing like that. They must think I'm long dead by now."
"Then what is it like?"
She pursed her lips and looked away from him again. After a few minutes she heard him sigh, and stand from his stool. He picked up his thick gloves again and started hammering a strip of metal pulled freshly from the fire.
"You should get some more rest. That wound is still a long way from being healed and you are going to need all the strength you can get."
"What do you mean?" she asked, her eyebrows scrunching in the middle and her forehead wrinkling up.
"That was done by someone who clearly has a grudge." He said, gesturing to her abdomen with the hot metal. "You may not want to tell me what happened but your wounds say enough. I was the one who treated you. I can tell that whoever did it wanted you dead; which you are not. You need your strength if you are going to have to fight against them."
Arya paled and heaved a heavy sigh, wincing when her bandages shuffled against her wounds. She folded her arms over her chest and her shoulders slumped. I'm feeling so tired all of a sudden, she thought. Maybe he's right, I should sleep.
Gendry watched her shrink into herself and it almost broke his heart. The young girl he once saw battle grown men twice her size had gone, replaced by a young woman who was shaken to her core. This attack must have been a huge shock to her system for her to be acting like this. This was not the Arya he had known years ago.
She watched Gendry approach her slowly like she was a frail doe that might bolt at any moment. She gritted her teeth and tried not to flinch as his hand stretched out to her. It was only when his warm palm touched her upper arm in comfort she finally relaxed, letting her limbs soften and the exhaustion take her. Arya realised just how weak she was when her knees began to buckle and she had no strength left in her to pin herself upright. It was lucky Gendry was standing so close or she would have fallen to the floor in a heap.
He swept her legs up carefully and cradled her in his arms, watching as her eyes began to slide shut. She was cold against his chest, or maybe he was just too warm from working in front of the forge all day.
Pushing back the curtain to his own room, he ducked through the doorway and lumbered the few steps to his bed. He must have jostled her as he tried to lay her down because her eyes fluttered open again.
"Gendry," she murmured. "I forgot to say thank you."
"You're thanking me? Well, you must be more ill than I thought." He teased.
She glared and tried to punch him in the stomach but it felt to him like a feather touch.
"That's more like it." He chuckled.
Arya managed a small grin, and swiftly fell back to sleep. He pulled the blankets back up over her small body, knowing it was best to keep her too warm in case she had an infection so she could sweat it out before it took her. He began to exit the room, turning before he shut the curtain to watch her for a second longer than he should have.
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Arya was still sleeping the next morning when Gendry checked on her. He had slept on the floor of the shop just the other side of the curtain instead of in the wooden chair in the corner of his room, like he had the last few nights, in case she had woken during the night and protested. He had a broken and uncomfortable sleep that wasn't solely the blame of the hard stone floor that was his bed. Arya talked in her sleep. He had poked his head round the corner of the doorway multiple times during the night because he feared she had sprung an intense fever but found that she was just turning in the bed sheets and talking to herself. She was sweating but her pallor was warm and rosy, not sickly and green like it would be if she were ill. She was healing well enough but her wounds were deep and jagged and he feared that if she began to thrash in her sleep, he may have to pin her down so she didn't open up his stitching. That wouldn't be easy to explain if she woke.
Arya mainly mumbled about her family. She called for her father a lot, and said her elder brother Jon's name just as much. Once or twice she yelled for Sansa but those times it sounded as though she were arguing or just plain annoyed. She constantly moved in her sleep too. She turned like a hog on a spit roast all through the night. When morning came Gendry found her on her front with the covers only half covering her body and his old shirt almost around her neck.
He flipped her over gently to check on her wounds and found she had bled through her bandages. Sighing, he tugged her clothing straight, and folded it just above her abdomen, below her chest. He reached under the bed to pull out a large chest full of herbs and medicines and various supplies he kept good stock of. Gendry freed her from her bandaging and inspected the wound. She hadn't broken any of the stitching, but her constant movement had made some of the clotting blood crack. He simply cleaned up the skin around her wounds, and put fresh strips of cloth that had been pre-soaked in a potent alcohol and left to dry over her stomach to act as a barrier between her wounds and the new bandaging. He had her fully re-wrapped and tucked back under the bed covers in little time, and without waking her in the slightest.
DING!
It wasn't until nearly sunset that Arya finally stirred, feeling well rested yet extremely stiff.
DING!
That infernal dinging again! She swung her legs over the side of the bed and realised that it hadn't hurt as much as last time. Taking that as a good sign, she rose to her feet with only slight discomfort and padded into the next room.
Yet again she found Gendry with his back to her, hammering away at the anvil. That's where that sound was coming from!
"Do you know how annoying that is?" She yelled over the sound of metal hitting metal.
He swung round with hammer in hand, startled to see her awake again so soon. He had expected to be waiting a few more days before she left his bed once more.
"Sorry." He answered, realising he was still brandishing the tool at her.
Arya saw that this time he was wearing a vest over his broad skin. Maybe he noticed me looking before, she thought.
Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by a thunderous growling sound filling the shop. Her stomach! How long was it since her last meal? Two days? Three?
He gestured her towards a small wooden table and stool in a pokey corner of the room that was divided from the forge by a screen. "Eat. It's still warm, I promise you."
Arya took one look at the pot of stew and loaf of bread and forgot herself. She all but ran to the table, pouring a large helping into a bowl and ripping off a huge chunk of bread. Her mother's training in Lady-ship long forgotten; she drank the broth straight from the bowl, only using a spoon for stuffing the wedges of meat and vegetables into her mouth. It was the best stew she had ever tasted.
She looked to find Gendry watching her with a small smile playing on his lips. Suddenly she remembered her manners. She put the bowl down and chewed on a corner of bread. His smile dropped and he pulled the stool from by his bench to the table and plopped down onto it. He re-filled her bowl and pulled her another chunk of bread from the loaf, then nodded at the food and sat back, crossing his arms. She assumed that was male gesturing for 'eat more'.
"Did you make this?" she asked, out of courtesy. He replied with a small nod of his head. "It's delicious. I didn't know you could cook."
"It's something I picked up along the way. I had to find some way to feed myself."
She emptied her third bowl full and finished the loaf of bread, then declined when he offered the pot to her again.
"How long have I been asleep? I can't remember ever being that hungry in my life!"
"A little over a week. You had been unconscious for about six days before you woke up last; then slept for almost another two. I managed to keep giving you water and sloppy soup in your slightly more awake moments but you barely opened your eyes let alone acknowledged me. I'm lucky you didn't choke but I had to get something in you or you might have died, the state you were in." He gave her a disapproving look and clasped his hands together on the table. He seemed like he might shake her vigorously, if she wasn't injured, for being so senseless.
"Thank you, by the way. I bet I looked a picture when you found me." She raised her eyebrows and chuckled darkly.
"I told you, I didn't find you. You found me."
"Still, thank you. I was sure I was going to die. I owe you my life."
"We'll call it even. If it wasn't for you getting me out of Harrenhal all those years ago I doubt I would be sat here now. So really, you saved your own life."
"Well, thank you to Me then." Arya tittered under her breath, smiling. It seemed like such a long time ago, her stint in Harrenhal. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember the last time she had smiled either.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, standing to tidy away the table. He carried the huge pot, still almost full of remaining stew, to a wooden unit nearby and lidded it. She followed close by with her bowl and spoon, washing it quickly in a large bucket of clean water and standing it out on the unit to dry.
"Better. I have a lot less pain than I did two days ago."
"In that case would you like to take a walk?"
Arya glanced up at him in alarm and began shuffling her feet nervously. "I'm not sure that's wise."
Gendry watched her, seeing her suddenly at war with herself. She was clearly concerned that she might be found by her attacker.
He grasped her upper arms gently, "I'm going three buildings down, to the Children's Home. There is still some light left, and I will be there. Nobody will hurt you while I am there."
She heaved a sigh and nodded tentatively, deciding it best to get out of this impossibly hot room for a few minutes.
He gave her a large cloth jacket to cover her large cloth shirt then picked two wrapped packages from a cupboard and handed them to her. They smelled of fresh bread he must have purchased only today. Heaving the pot down from the unit, he took her free hand and pulled her through the side gate of his smithy. She noticed as they walked through the familiar alley that there wasn't a spot of blood. She remembered the amount that she had lost and wondered if it had been washed away by an unlikely downpour or if Gendry himself had come out to clean it all up.
She looked from one side of the narrow street to the other on their walk, but still noticed no blood. She was sure she must have left something behind. The clothes she was wearing now were clearly not her own, but she remember the feeling of wet fabric stuck to her stomach as she stumbled through the town. Where was the blood now?
"Has it rained?" She asked Gendry as they passed a large white building, mirrored by a small black one that sat next in the row.
"No, why?" His face crumpled in confusion.
Arya gestured to the street, "I came through this street; I know it. Yet there isn't a drop of blood anywhere. I wondered if the rain had washed it away. The alley next to the forge is clear too." Gendry looked anywhere but her as they neared a pale grey building with a sign over the door. This must be the Children's Home.
She tugged his hand back before he could enter and turned him around to her. He glanced at her fleetingly. She gasped, "You did it." Her eyes widened, and she looked at him in a new light. He had washed away her blood. He had erased the trail, making sure nobody would be able to follow it and find her. "You cleaned the street to make sure I wouldn't be found."
He peered down at her with fire behind his eyes. "I told you; while you are with me nobody can hurt you. While you are with me, you're safe."
Forgetting the bread under her arm, she stretched up on her toes and ignored the prickly feeling in her stomach as she pulled her wounds. She had to wrap her free arm around his neck and pull his head down to her shoulder to embrace him. If Gendry was shocked, he didn't show it. He managed to enclose his arm around her waist and hug her back willingly. They stood like that, holding on to each other for a while; long enough for an old woman passing by to tut at them.
When she finally let him go, Arya stepped back tentatively. He looked to her with a smile and grasped her hand again, pulling her through the doorway. She couldn't hold on to him for long, however, because as soon as they passed the threshold he was bombarded by tiny bodies. He had a child at each leg and ten more surrounding him craving his attention. He laughed and patted each one on the head briefly before shouting over the top of them, "If you all keep pulling my legs I'm going to drop you're dinner!"
She laughed quietly as they all scrambled away from him to a long table with benches on either side. He gestured for her to follow and she kept at his heels, bringing the bread to the table now full with children ranging from those barely able to walk to some almost her own age.
"Everyone, this is Arry." Gendry told the table. He began spooning scoop after scoop of the delicious stew into bowls. Arya followed suit and unwrapped the bread, starting to pull it into chunks. "She's my friend."
Arya smiled at all the little faces peering at her in wonderment. She gave a small wave and piled the wedges of bread on the wrapping paper, sliding it to the centre of the table. When she and Gendry had passed out all the bowls, the room became eerily quiet. They nodded to the mistress who ran the Home and left while everyone was absorbed in their food.
"Do you do that a lot?" She asked on the way back, giving her hand to Gendry when he reached for it without a second thought. His huge callused palm engulfing her small one with such amazing warmth made her feel safer than she had felt in a very long time. "Feed the children?"
"Every evening if I can. I make good money in my trade so I don't mind buying the extra food; and cooking it myself means that I save Helena, the woman who keeps the Home, a little extra time and money each day. Plus, the children get a good meal and I get lots of lovely little hugs and smiles in return." Gendry smiled to himself. It was evident on his face that seeing those children happy and healthy was the highlight of his day.
"That's very kind. Not many people would do it." She watched his profile in the light from the sun that had almost set.
"I've been where they are. Parents gone or dead, never knowing whose hand you will go to next or where to find your next meal. I remember feeling hopeless, wishing someone would take pity on me and offer a little bit of kindness. I only doing for them what I hope they will do for others someday; what I hoped someone would do for me."
Arya was gobsmacked. Of all the travelling they did as their younger selves, she had never seen this side of him. She supposed it had come with maturity. "How long have you been feeding helpless children then?" She smiled at him, earning a small one back.
"For the past few months here in Braavos. I did the same in Pentos when I lived there for two small Homes nearby to my forge as well." They reached the gated entrance to the blacksmith shop and Gendry opened it and ushered her in before him.
Arya was getting weary after her walk, however short it was. Her shoulders had started to droop and her steps were becoming laboured. Gendry watched her stumble through his home to a stool like a puppy with a wounded paw.
"It's time for bed I think." He said, earning himself a sceptical look. "Can I check your bandages before you retire?"
Arya nodded to him and he ventured to his bedroom, nodding his head for her to follow. When she was comfortably sat on the bed, he dropped to his knees on the floor, lifted her shirt and tucked it just below her chest. Blood had started to seep through the linens, meaning that he once again was going to have to replace them and clean the wound.
"I need to change them." She nodded for him to continue. He began methodically unravelling the bandages from her torso, struggling to ignore her gaze watching him closely.
"How many times have you done this?" She asked, eyes narrowed.
"Every time you bled through your wrappings." He answered without looking up at her, ever conscious of the task he was undertaking. "So three times a day or more at the beginning and twice a day since you first woke up. Your wounds were deep, and I stitched as best I could but I couldn't stem the bleeding as much as I would have liked. It's part of the reason you have been bed-ridden as long as you have, because of the amount of blood you have been losing. It's slowed greatly since the first days but you should still be careful not to strain yourself. The more you move about the more you are likely to open up the dried blood." Arya sat in shock; she hadn't realised she had been so broken. He took her silence to carry on, "You wriggle too much in your sleep. You are constantly flipping over and over, so nearly every time I checked on you I had to change your bandages because you had managed to crack the wounds open again. It's a vicious cycle."
"Who taught you to do this? It's not usually something that a blacksmith has knowledge in."
"I was under the care of a medicine man for a while in Pentos; before I bought my forge there." He rose and left the room briefly, returning in minutes with a bowl of steaming water. Taking a small rag into his hand he dipped it into the water and began cleaning the pale skin between her wounds. Arya waited with her eyebrows raised at him, expecting him to continue.
"You do realise saying that has opened up so much more I want to ask."
Gendry laughed gently at her, looking up into her face. "Did anyone ever tell you you're a bit of a busy-body?"
"My mother always said I talk too much; ask too many questions."
"She was right." He smiled, he eyes crinkling at the edges and little dimples forming in his cheeks.
Arya watched him then instead of talking. The smile lingered around his lips for a while until he started to wrap strips of linen around her again, then his lips pursed in concentration. Gendry had become a man, similar to how she had grown to somewhat resemble a young woman. His body had thickened, his shoulders had widened. His hair had grown to curl at the nape of his neck, and he had gained height she never expected. The only that had stayed the same was his face. Other than the lines of his jaw hardening, his expressions were the same as the boy she knew from years before. His smile was a teasing as ever, his eyes dancing with the same humour they always had. Even those darn dimpled cheeks were just as alluring. She was studying him when she noticed a small scar above his left eyebrow.
Arya remembered.
"Mi'lady." Gendry teased her once again for what felt the hundredth time today, bowing as she passed him. Their party had stopped by a fast running river to gather water and rest the horses pulling the carriage. Arya had taken the opportunity, while all the other boys were busy, to go do her business in a close bunch of trees. She was just about to enter the clearing where the smell of food being cooked was drifting when he stepped out from between the bushes. She had huffed at him and carried on when he emerged. Then he said it. It stopped her dead in her tracks and had her whipping around to give him a piece of her mind.
"Shut up, you pig-headed idiot! Don't call me that! I'm not a lady!"
"As mi'lady commands." He said back, bowing low again.
She growled at him, making his façade crack. His body shook with laughter and he grasped his stomach, doubling over.
Arya picked up the first thing her hand came to, a sizable rock, and lobbed it at him in anger. It caught him by surprise and he didn't have time to dodge. He yelped, clasping a hand over his left eye; his right staring at her with betrayal. She jutted out her chin in satisfaction.
"You hit me!" Gendry screeched at her. "That wasn't very ladylike."
Her grin dropped, causing him to chuckle again. He removed his hand and she saw she had left a gouge above his eye, blood trickling down the side of his face.
"You stupid bull!" Arya huffed.
"You shouldn't insult people that are bigger than you." He laughed at her.
She turned on her heel and began marching back to the river. "Then I wouldn't get to insult anyone!"
She didn't speak to him for the rest of the day until it was time to sleep. His head hadn't stopped bleeding yet. Of course, it didn't help that every time he looked at her he started laughing, opening up the gash again and again. She found him sat by a slower-moving patch of the river a little away from the rest of their group. He was using his hand to try and clean the cut with water but winced every time the cold touched his head. She shuffled closer to him and pushed his hand down. Ripping a strip from the bottom of her shirt, she dipped it into the water and proceeded to press it to his wound. He bristled a little, but she carried on until the blood had stopped. He looked up at her in guilt.
"Stupid bull," She said, smiling slightly. "You should know better than to anger a wolf."
Arya watched him finish his work, her head cocked to the side. He tied the ends of the bandages together and tucked them in, then pulled his shirt back over her stomach.
Gendry gathered his supplies, filling up the chest once more and pushing it back under the bed.
"All done." He said, wadding the blood-stained linens into a ball and dropping them in the water bowl.
Arya outstretched her hand without thinking and prodded at the scar she had given him. "Stupid bull." She whispered, stroking her fingertip gently over the puckered skin that was now no bigger than her nail.
His jaw slackened and his eyes darted around her face fleetingly. He reached up with his own hand, hooking his long fingers around the back of her thin neck and dragged her towards him.
Their lips crashed together with impossible heat. His mouth was immensely warm, just like the rest of him. She could feel him push up on his knees, bringing his chest flush with hers. Arya instinctively opened her legs, allowing him to fit his body between them. She brought her other hand up to his chest, brushing it over his shoulder, and clasping them both behind his head. His fingers were gliding up and down her back, the hand that was on her neck now tangled in her hair. He pulled her closer towards him, removing his lips from hers only to move on to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. She gasped for air, clutching at the muscles of his back. Her nails scraped along his skin causing a shiver to wrack through his body. He left a trail of fiery hot kisses back up the soft flesh of her neck to reach her lips once more. Their bodies crushed together, trying to climb inside each other. It was only when his burning hands touched the bare skin of her waist just below her wrappings that she was jolted back to existence. She pulled her mouth from his, arching her head back to allow him access to her throat.
"Gendry…?" she murmured, her voice not her own.
"Mmh?" He grunted back, nipping below her collar.
"Stop." She whispered, not completely sure of her words.
"Mmh." He grunted again. It took him a moment to fully realise what she had said. When he did, his forehead dropped on to her shoulder. His chest was heaving between them, "Sorry."
She wound her fingers into his hair, tugging gently and causing him to groan. When he lifted his head, she gave him a small kiss on the lips. "I should probably sleep."
"Of course." He untangled himself from her and got to his feet. Picking up her legs, he swung her round to lay on the bed fully and pulled his many blankets over her. He collected the bowl of water and ventured towards the doorway.
Arya shuffled onto her side to watch him leave. "Goodnight," he said over his shoulder. He turned and began to slide the curtain closed. Halting, he smirked at her, dimples in full force. "Mi'lady." Bowing slightly, he pulled the fabric over. He chose to ignore her resounding growl.