She was not hoping that the smith might prove to be Gendry. She had no reason to hope for such a thing- it was more than likely that he had perished, after being taken by the red woman. She had never been more than mildly attached. It never would have been more than that. Arya had quickly learned, especially after the deaths of her father, mother, and brother, that it would never do to grow close to people- or one person in particular. Nothing in her life had proven permanent. Nothing was a constant. Her time with the Faceless Men had been only transient, as was her stint serving as an assassin for Danaerys Targaeryen. The only semblance of regularity in her life was the war for the Iron Throne, seemingly ceaseless. Still, she had her small cottage in Lorath, and she wrote to Sansa fairly regularly. Overall, it was not that bad.

Five years of her life were gone as though in an instant. Now, her days dragged.

When she heard about the arrival of a new blacksmith of prodigious skill, formerly of the Brotherhood Without Banners and more recently discharged from Danaerys' army, she had already learned not to hope. "Strong as a bull," she heard one man say, but she dismissed it, though a flutter of hope entered her unbidden. The Hound was dead, Joffrey was dead, Ser Gregor, Ilyn, and Meryn, yet still Cersei lived, and still Arya sought revenge. It was not until she received a raven a month later from the Faceless Men that it became a possibility. She read through it quickly, eyes devouring the page, and paused. Needle was her favorite sword, but she had more than outgrown it, making it little more than a rapier. She thought about paying the blacksmith a visit. She told herself the only way the visit could be disappointing would be if he refused to make her a sword- nothing more.

The forge was dark, its ringing melancholy. The smith was near the furnace with his bellows, bent over his work. Arya felt uncertain; he seemed oblivious to her presence, ceaselessly hammering away. There was something familiar about the slope of the shoulders, the way the arms moved, and even in the sharp ringing each blow coaxed from the metal. She cleared her throat loudly, but got no response. She tried again, still to no avail. She rapped the doorframe sharply with Needle's hilt, and the hammering stopped. The smith turned around, his silhouette dark against the roaring fire.

"Lady Stark?"

Arya felt her legs wobble beneath her and she gripped the doorway for support, her sword falling from her hand. As Gendry retrieved it and pulled out a stool, she found her voice. "You stupid. Don't call me that."

"As m'lady commands," he said, grinning.

"What are you doing here?"

"Smithing," he said. "What else?"

"What all were they saying about you?" Arya demanded, hating how young her voice sounded. "About you serving Danaerys and the Brotherhood and having protected children from Stoneheart and- and-" Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes, threatening to fall, and she kicked the stool legs, scuffing her shoes. She took a deep breath, and tried to make her face impassive. Impassive, like a river dancer waiting to strike.

"Only the truth," Gendry said, confused. "Why do you say it like it's an affront to you?"

"When were you in her army?" she asked. "Two years ago?"

"Likely," he said. "What's wrong?"

"You said you wouldn't serve, you were tired of serving," she snapped. "You said you wanted a family. You could have gone North with me-"

"And done what? Draw the gold cloaks like flies to honey? And then reach the North, only to hear that Robb Stark died?" He shook his head. "You're stupid." He reached for chin, turning her face to his.

"Stop." She slapped his hand away.

He reached again, laughing when after another attempt she stood and shoved him. "That's not very ladylike," he said. "You're wearing a dress, shouldn't you act the part?"

"You should have come to see me," Arya said heatedly, undistracted. "I was an assassin for Danaerys. You could have told me you were alive."

"How was I supposed to know you were there?" he pointed out. "Besides, you've been here longer than me, so why'd it take you this long to see me?"

"I didn't know it was you. Besides, how would I? I just heard a stupid old blacksmith was coming. Why would I see a blacksmith?"

"Why are you here now?" he asked evenly.

Arya finally turned to him, face impassive. "There's something I need to do."

A/N: I ship the hell out of GendryArya (do they have an official ship name?)…so here's a fic for my fellow shippers. This is set five years in the future though, so it's totes appropriate. I'll shed more light on what things are like in their world now as the fic progresses. So, we'll see how this goes. If you're up for the ride and ship these crazy kids… drop me a review!