So I am completely new to this category and just playing around with this ship. I have never read the books but have the TV series under my belt so will try to blend the two together in this. And reviewing would be great so let me know what you all think! Enjoy!

Arya & Sansa.

White snow was falling lightly from the grey skies, settling against the grounds, walls and the rooftops of Winterfell. A lone dark figure stood on the yard's overlook, silent and still as was her nature these days. A light icy breeze brushed against Arya Stark's cheeks and softly whispered her hair whilst she observed the training yard below.

The sharp clanging and scrapping of metal against metal, the tang of arrows being released from their bows and the grunts of exhaustion and strains of fighters were loud amongst the busy happenings of Winterfell's yard. Every man, woman and child was preparing for battle against the marching dead. Children run carrying buckets full of mud or water, both women and men were carrying armorer here and there and weapons were being sent to holds that were being stationed along the walls. It was an organized madness and flurry of action. The tension was high in the air Arya could feel it heavily. Jon had returned barely a few days prior bearing with him a Dragon Queen, two fully-grown dragons, an army of mismatched characters and news from Eastwatch that the dead had breached and destroyed the Wall. It had sent Winterfell into full military mobilization, every man, woman and child, high or low born, bastard or trueborn. The Night King was coming for them all.

So Arya had decided to train along with everyone else, largely helping to train those who had never held a weapon in their lives.

So she stood, stoic as ever and as tall as her status allowed, her hands clapped behind her back and her sharp silver eyes narrowed as she spotted a familiar pair sparring against each other. Brienne of Tarth's squire and him. It wasn't like she wanted to watch them, there were plenty of other fighters to observe and correct, but he was just so loud! Waving his bloody war hammer around, making such a spectacle, that it was near impossible not to notice.

Bastard, the vicious voice in Arya's head snarled. Her wolf's blood beat hot through her veins with anger as she watched the way he swung his war hammer with such power he easily dented Podrick's shield. She's always known his was strong for his age but she'd never seen him in his full glory until now. It sent something alight in her blood; anger? No, not just anger. Maybe pride? No, not that either.

He'd changed so much from the boy she'd known, from a boy following orders fighting only to defend, to now a man swinging a war hammer with such strength his only intention was to kill. She didn't truly understand what it was, but this feeling set her teeth on edge, made her restless, and she loathed it.

She watched as the squire jumped back a few paces as the bastard grinned twirling the hammer before swinging at the squire again. All power, Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes in annoyance, after all these years he still lacked speed. Stupid idiot with his stupid hammers growled that voice again.

It was at that moment Arya recognized her sister's footfalls coming up the stairs leading to the overlook where she was watching. Sansa paused on the top of the stairs her eyes on her younger sister for a quiet moment before she made her way over to her, leaning over the edge of the wooden railing to see what had captured her sister's attention so attentively.

The bastard kept swinging at him whilst Podrick leapt here and there, japing at his opponent when he could. But Arya knew eventually Podrick would begin to tire, his armor was new and heavy and the bastard's muscles were used to the constant strain and swing of his chosen weapon. He wore only his jerkin, his arms were bare and Arya noticed how the bulge of his muscles strained in long lean lines down his arms before she scowled at herself. His skin seemed even darker against the whiteness of the snow.

Suddenly Podrick stumbled a little over his own feet, and without a second hesitation the bastard took his chance, charging liked the bull he was, knocking the boy from his feet and in a single movement he swung his hammer over his head and brought it down, it's heavy thud against the ground marked the finality to the spar, landing barely an inch from the squire's forehead. Podrick's eyes were wide as saucers as he stared up at his opponent who's hard expression broke into a smirk as he pulled his hammer from the snow, took a step back and offered out a hand for the squire.

"Jon says he's Robert Baratheon's bastard son," Sansa said, "And he managed to escape Joffrey. Lucky for us, we need a skilled blacksmith."

"So it seems," was Arya's simple reply.

Sansa's gaze returned to her sister's face watching her closely

Too closely Arya thought. She turned her head, meeting her sister's Tully blue eyes before turning on her heel and stalking away. Sansa watched her leave thoughtfully, not sure what to make of Arya's attitude towards the blacksmith. She knew they had known each other during their early travels, Gendry had finally admitted it to Jon, but Arya's cold hostility towards the man was unexplained. Gendry said it was because he had intended to leave her for the Brotherhood without Banners, wounding her pride, and not travel any further to find Robb and their mother, but Sansa suspected it might be something a little deeper for Arya.

She looked back down at the squire and blacksmith. The pair were both grinning and chuckling about something or other as they left the yard, chatting together.

Sansa narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips thoughtfully. She'd seen the look on her sister's face when she'd reached the overlook. Her lips were slightly parted, her expression less stoic and her eyes were glued to the blacksmith as he swung his hammer. He was strong Sansa acknowledged, and he had a very handsome quality to his face, in a hard sort of way.

She had also noticed that whenever the blacksmith came into Arya's line of sight her gaze would follow Gendry closely, glare at him with such a seething gaze it could melt ice. Nevertheless, in each moment Arya had eyes only for him. Sansa didn't know whether to smirk or frown at the thought, she suspected Arya didn't quite understand what she was feeling which explained her terrible moods lately, but Sansa did. And she wasn't sure whether to let it set a flame or snuff out the light before it had consumed her younger sister whole.

Arya

"Stupid Sansa" Arya muttered under her breathe as she made her way down the corridor leading to her chambers, "Why do I care about who his father was!"

Knowing full well she was being childish she practically stomping into her room, slamming the door behind her and turned to glare at private space. Most of her chamber was the same as before she'd left all those years ago. A few pieces of furniture had been missing but what did she care for that? Her eyes landed on the small toy horse that she had found and had placed on her windowsill.

Robb's toy horse that he had given to Bran once he'd outgrown it.

Arya felt much of her anger ebb away as she crossed the room and picked up the horse feeling the smooth marble and hugged the plaything close to her chest watching the snow silently drift downwards outside her window. She didn't know why she was suddenly struck with wanting her oldest brother's comfort after all these years. Maybe because Sansa was nearly as cold as herself these days and Bran would barely utter two words to her and using that emotionless monotone voice of his if he did. Jon was in command now, being the man that she always knew he was, but she missed the times when her favourite brother only had time for her. He was so preoccupied these days to notice if his youngest sister needed to be reassured, if only for a moment. Somehow she knew if Robb were here he'd hold her tight, kiss the crown of her head and then ruffle her hair reminding her the she was a Stark of Winterfell, and wolves do not kneel to their sorrow or fear.

Yes, she was afraid, Arya mused, afraid of what came next. If, but the chance they defeated the Night King, and Arya marked off the remaining names on her list what would she be then? A Faceless Man with no faces left to take, a Lady who didn't know how to curtsy, or a wife who could probably bear no children after the Waif's attack?

Arya stopped her trail of thoughts knowing it was no good and placed Robb's childhood toy back on her windowsill stroking the horse lovingly for a moment before turning to her bed and finally noticed something that made her pause and frown. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

On her bed wrapped in a plain cloth was an instrument of some sort. Arya moved forward and slowly unwrapped the item and stared in her amazement. Gleaming up at her was a brand new sword. It was longer and thicker then needle, the blade was clean, sharp and beautiful. Arya knew simply by looking at it the blade was Valerian steel. She took the handle, testing the weight of the sword; the balance was perfect and the dark pommel fitted her hand perfectly. She saw on the end of the pommel there was engraved the head of a snarling direwolf, the same sigil that sat proudly on the Stark banners.

Arya swallowed thickly feeling her stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a beautiful creation. And she knew who had made it. There was only one blacksmith in Winterfell who had the skill to craft Valerian steel and would know her well enough to know exactly what she would need.