The rain beat wildly against the window as she gently touched the sensitive swollen skin of her eye as she examined the dark purple bruise that was forming.

"Hells," she swore under her breath. There was a bump that protruded from her right eyebrow that was tender to the touch. It shouldn't have happened, she should have had her guard up. She had been distracted, and she knew better than anyone that distractions got you hurt, or worse.

Dabbing some concealer gently underneath her eye to try and obscure some of the damage, she made her way back into the kitchen. Sipping on a cup of black coffee, and nibbling at a piece of toast, she ran over the events of the previous night in her mind.

"Idiot," she cursed herself, she should have never let that guy get the jump on her. She was better than that.

The rain was still pouring heavily outside as she finished her coffee, and made her way into the bathroom to get ready for the day. After a long hot shower, she toweled herself off, noting the array of new bruises along her ribs and arms.

Bundling in her heavy wool-lined coat, and weaving a thick scarf around her neck, she ran down the three flights of stairs and onto the bustling street outside, popping open an umbrella to protect from the rain.

By the time she stepped into her office building her hair was dripping wet despite the umbrella, and sticking to her face. She unraveled her scarf as she made her way to the elevators.

"Arya!" someone called from behind her, as the elevator dinged.

Turning around she saw Mya Stone rushing towards her, she was wearing tailored black trousers, and a navy blue blouse beneath a heavy leather jacket. She pulled a knitted cap from her head, her short black hair a mess beneath it.

"Gods above," she said when she caught sight of Arya's black eye. "What happened to you?" She leaned in close, inspecting the injury.

"I wasn't paying enough attention," Arya confessed darkly, before quickly adding, "at kickboxing, last night."

Mya straightened herself back up to her full height. "You know, I was kind of upset when you didn't invite me to join your little kickboxing class," Mya told her as they stepped into the elevator, "but seeing you now, I'm grateful."

"Gee, thanks," Arya said, bringing her hand up to touch the swollen egg on her head.

"I mean, did you even try to cover that thing up? It's blacker than obsidian."

"Let's talk about you for a while," Arya interrupted, keen to move the conversation away from her obvious injury. "Are you still mooning over that Mychel?"

She scrunched up her nose, "Can you believe he's actually engaged to Ysilla Royce? They haven't even known each other for…" Mya continued on about Mychel Redfort, who had been her first love growing up in the Vale. For the past six months Arya had been working with her, Mya had managed to bring him up at least once a week, with growing frequency since she had learned of his engagement.

As the elevator came to a stop on their floor, Mya gave her a pointed look before flicking her eyes over her shoulder.

Arya sighed heavily, as she watched Mya walk to her desk. Turning slowly she saw Tywin Lannister making his way towards her with long strides.

"Stark," he growled.

Around the office everyone called him the Old Lion, he'd been working for the Westeros Post for the nearly forty years, the last thirty as chief editor. He was a tall man, who may once have been handsome, but his face was weathered with deep lines and he let his whiskers grow long while the rest of his hair had thinned.

"Is that appropriate attire for the office?" he looked her up and down taking in her white t-shirt tucked into her high-waisted black jeans, on her feet were worn out trainers. Before he came to rest on her deeply bruised eye.

"I'm out taking interviews this morning," Arya told him, shrugging out of her coat, which was heavy with rain. She kept her gaze on his, as if daring him to comment. "Just came in for the meeting, and to get some supplies."

The Old Lion mumbled his assent before stalking away from her and into his corner office.

Arya dropped her belongings onto her untidy desk before making her way to the kitchen. Brienne Tarth and Podrick Payne were deep in conversation, she filled the kettle, half listening to their discussion on the new software IT had installed the previous week. Arya thought to herself what an odd pair these two made, Brienne was from a small island in the Stormlands, she was tall, well over six feet and broadly built, with bright blue sapphire eyes and light blonde hair she kept cropped short, she spoke with a refined accent, and she took things very seriously. Pod, on the other hand, was from the Westerlands, he was smart, Mya had told her he had graduated two years early from the Old Gate College at the University of King's Landing. He had short dark brown hair that always seemed to be a mess, and warm brown eyes. He was quiet, which made room for Brienne who could handle a conversation all on her own, but he would crack jokes at the most inopportune times, never taking things too seriously.

"Can you pass me a mug?" she asked, interrupting Brienne's spiel.

"Sure," the tall woman passed her the mug before catching sight of her face. "Seven hells Arya!" Brienne exclaimed. "Who did you piss off?"

"You should see the other guy," Arya quipped, pouring boiling water over the teabag in her mug. Pod grinned, but Brienne eyed her carefully. "It was just an accident from my kickboxing class, I didn't have my guard up and he got the better of me. It won't happen again."

Adding milk and sugar to her tea, Arya left the pair in the kitchen, Brienne complaining about how unreliable the new editing programs were. She slumped into her desk chair, turning on the computer and sipping her tea. Running her hands through her damp hair she tried to clear her mind, focus on the day ahead of her. She needed to head to the other side of Visenya's Hill in West King's Landing, and if the rain persisted, she'd have to catch the train from the offices on the Hook.

She scanned through her emails, ignoring the majority of them. She took out her notebook, and flipped to the page where she had scrawled the address the day before.

Draining the remainder of her tea, Arya strolled over to Mya's desk. "Every time I look at you," Mya said by way of greeting, "my own eye hurts."

"Shut up," Arya told her, giving her a gentle shove on the shoulder. "It's not that bad, is it?"

Mya looked torn, before nodding with a grim expression.

"Ugh," Arya moaned, "I've got to go out and do an interview in, like, two hours. They're not going to talk to me if they think I'm a thug."

"Well, you are a thug," Mya told her with a laugh. "I mean, look at these tattoos." She gestured to Arya's arms, which were speckled with illustrations, some she had designed herself, and some had been done in the spur of the moment while she was away at university.

"So, today might not have been the best day to wear short sleeves," Arya admitted running her hand up her left arm where a large direwolf with dark golden eyes stared fiercely out.

"I think I've got something you can wear here somewhere," Mya started shuffling through her things before holding up a dark grey woolen jumper with a triumphant smile on her face.

Arya pulled it over her head, before having to cuff the sleeves so she could still use her hands. It hung down to her thighs. "Thanks, Mya," Arya told her.

"It's meant to be oversized, but you look like you're swimming in it. But it's either this or that ratty old coat you're always wearing."

"Hey, that coat was my dad's!" It was one of the only things Arya had left of his, and she wasn't going to let it go despite its age.

"I know, I know," Mya held up her hands in surrender, "but you can still keep the coat without having it be the only one you wear."

"It's lasted some fifty of the harshest Northern winters, I think it'll do the job nicely."

At nine thirty the pair made their way into the conference room along with Pod and Brienne, as well as several Lannisters Arya hadn't bothered to learn the names of, a handful of journalists from different departments, trailed by interns, and Petyr Baelish, whom everyone called Littlefinger. The reason behind the nickname Arya didn't know, nor did she want to.

Tywin Lannister made his way to the head of the table, putting his mug down a little too forcefully, "Alright, everybody, last day of the week, and if we put out anything like that rubbish last week, you can all forget about coming into work on Monday, whether your name is Lannister or not," he gave a very pointed look to one of his cousins, Arya thought was maybe called Reginald.

The assembled team tossed around ideas, some bad, others worse, only a couple that would work and flow with the rest of the edition. The discussion went on for forty five minutes, with ideas getting fine tuned, like the scandal of the Prime Minister's mistresses, and how to make it elegant and not like it came from one of the many tabloids that would be running the same story. Arya was doing a story on a local relatively unknown artist working out of a mechanics in South King's Landing who was opening a show at Chataya's Gallery, which was renowned across Westeros. The arts section of the paper was only small, Arya being one of only three contributors in the office. So when she had a story, she was afforded some leeway in respect to its direction.

As the meeting ended she bundled herself back up in her scarf and coat, ready to face the dreary weather outside, she slung her bag across her body, and made her way to the lifts, nodding to Mya who was waving enthusiastically, as though they hadn't just been sat side by side in the meeting.

The rain outside looked to be coming down harder than before, she was going to have to run to the underground. Tucking the umbrella into her bag—it was only going to slow her down if she tried to run with it open—she pushed through the heavy oak doors and onto the wet streets.

She sprinted south round the bend of the Hook, carefully avoiding any metal grating so as not to slip and fall, before turning and running down the Muddy Way. Aptly named, she thought darkly as she rounded the corner, her trainers sinking into the damp ground on the turn, the rain unwavering in its onslaught. Without slowing, she ran for several more minutes before she came upon the stairs to the underground at Fishmonger's Square. Taking them two at a time she hurried along, and out of the rain, pushing her soaking hair out of her flushed face.

Pushing up the sleeve of her borrowed jumper, she saw that it was only ten thirty, and she still had an hour until her scheduled interview, she'd have to find somewhere to kill time. By the time her train pulled into the station, Arya was beginning to feel the chill of the rain through her wet clothes, and determined to find somewhere to warm up and dry off before making her way to the shop on Steel Street.

The escalators out of the station on Steel Street were long and steep, and when she finally found herself out onto the street, she noticed that the rain had eased to a drizzle, and that they were almost at the top of Visenya's Hill. Opening the umbrella overhead, Arya strolled along the empty streets; most everyone had been forced to stay inside due to the rain. Arya liked the stillness; it almost felt like home in a way, cold and quiet.

She came to a stop in front of a small café, shaking out her umbrella into the wind; she dropped it into a bucket by the door and hung her wet coat onto the rack beside it. She could smell coffee and chocolate, and relished in the scent. She ordered herself a large coffee and a serve of honeyfingers. At university she had lived for the sweet treat, bought from a Tyroshi vendor who could usually be found around the wharves on the Shivering Sea.

She found a table in the small café by one of the large front windows so she could look out onto the street. There were quite a lot of people for a miserable Friday morning, but Arya found herself taking in all the people, and snippets of conversations she heard. Sitting down, she took off her damp jumper and folded it over the back of her chair, waiting for her coffee to come out.

Opening her notebook, Arya flipped to a blank page and began doodling in pen, she should have been writing questions for her interview, but figured she could just work it out as she went. She'd found that the best conversations came off the cuff, rather than polished and structured, people are willing to be more honest if you don't sound as though you've rehearsed the entire exchange.

Her steaming mug of coffee came out and she blew on it, desperate for it to be cool enough to drink, but hot enough to warm her bones. The honeyfingers came out not long after, they were crisp and sweet, with a tang from cinnamon, the insides were a little doughy, but they still brought back memories of Braavos.

She felt herself warming with the combination of coffee and the heaters radiating from the walls. Her dark hair began to dry in messy curls about her face, swinging to the left where it ended below her chin. Savouring the dryness and the warmth, Arya enjoyed every sip of coffee and every bite of her sweets, still sketching in her notebook; there was a cat and a wolf, a sword, and a dragon.

Glancing at her watch again, the time for her interview was nearing, and the rain outside had all but stopped, though the trees on the street were waving harshly against the strong winds. Stepping back onto the wet street after wrapping herself in her abundance of outerwear, Arya noticed it had gotten busier now the weather had started to clear, people were bustling around doing their shopping, and chatting with friends. Arya bowed her head against the wind, and crossed the street, walking further up the hill until she stood in front of Tobho Mott's workshop. There was a small, gated area with cars stacked in like a game of Tetris, and the roller door into the garage was sitting open so she made her way inside.

A kindly looking man of about fifty stood up from behind a counter by the entrance, "Good morning, what can I help with?" Arya noticed the hint of an accent in the man's voice as his gaze flicked to her bruise, but she ignored it.

"Valar morghulis," she tested.

"Valar dohaeris," the man answered quickly, his smile widening slightly. "It has been a long time since I have heard those words, where are you from?"

"I lived in Braavos for several years," Arya told him, returning his smile.

"I am from Qohor originally. A beautiful place, have you been?" Arya shook her head in response. "I lived at the edge of the forest, where you could find creatures like spotted tigers, tree cats, and even Little Valyrians."

Arya let out a little laugh, "What exactly are Little Valyrians?"

"They are," he struggled for the word for a moment, "lemurs, like in the Summer Isles, but with silver fur, and big purple eyes. But where are my manners," he held out his hand, "my name is Tobho Mott."

"Arya Stark," she introduced, taking Tobho's hand and giving it a firm shake.

"Ah, Miss Stark, yes, we have spoken over e-mail, you wish to see the lad's work?"

"Kessa, kirimvose," she thanked him as he led her through the shop to a part that was sectioned off with welding curtains.

"Lad!" Tobho called loudly to be heard over the music from within the confines of the curtains.

The music quieted, and a man in a heavy mask and apron appeared. He was tall, over six feet, and when he removed his mask his blue eyes were bright and piercing, his black hair was tousled, and his brow was furrowed as he looked between Tobho and Arya.

Arya proffered her hand for him to shake, "I'm Arya Stark, I'm with the Westeros Post."

He took off his gloves and clasped her hand; his were warm and a little damp from the gloves. He still wore a confused expression, and didn't offer a greeting in return.

Arya quickly glanced at Tobho Mott before continuing on, "I'm guessing you're Gendry Waters?" The man nodded slowly, apprehensive. "Well, as I'm sure Mr. Mott has told you, I'm working on a story about local artists and I was fascinated by your work."

Taking off the apron, Gendry Waters stood up straighter, squaring his broad shoulders. "Alright," he seemed defensive Arya noted.

"Shall we take a seat somewhere…" she looked around the workshop failing to spot anywhere when Tobho gestured for the pair to follow him.

They were led into a back room, with a small television, refrigerator, microwave, and a table set. "I'll be out the front when you're done, Gendry can show you around if you need anything."

"So," Arya started, pulling out her notebook and pen, "can I ask a couple of personal questions first?"

Nodding his assent, Arya got out the basics; full name, neighbourhood, age.

"Okay, do you mind if I call you Gendry?" he shook his head, and she continued on. "So what inspires your art?"

"Inspires?" he repeated, staring kind of blankly back at her. "I just make what I see in my head."

"Okay, well walk me through the process then. You get an idea, then how does it progress?"

With a heavy sigh, and a slight roll of his eyes that had Arya almost ready to slap him, Gendry stated plainly, "I'll sketch something, doodle it in a notebook or on a scrap of paper, the back of a receipt, and then on Fridays, Mott allows me to make stuff in his workshop, so long as everything else is fine around the shop."

"So, you work here for Mr. Mott during the week?"

"Yes."

"I've seen photographs of some of your sculptures, and the metalwork is so intricate. Did you start designing before or after working with car engines?"

"After."

"Many of your pieces feature animals, is there a specific meaning behind that?"

"No."

"Can I see what you're working on at the moment?"

He stood up without a word and walked back over to the welding curtains, he held one aside for Arya to enter. It was a small space that was cordoned off, with a heavy topped welding table taking up most of it. On top of the table was a complex figure of a raging bull, with rippling muscles, and horns that looked sharp enough to gore.

"It's beautiful," Arya told him, to which he only nodded in response.

She glanced up at him; his eyes were focused on the figure of the bull, while his arms were crossed over his chest.

"Working with Chataya is a fantastic opportunity, not often afforded to such young artists." He scoffed in response. "Tell me, how did that partnership come about?"

"Mott was working on her car, and I had accidentally left one of those," he nodded to the bull on the welding table, "in the foyer."

"And does King's Landing, or more specifically North King's Landing, play any part into your art, or expression?"

"I don't see what being from Flea Bottom has to do with anything."

Putting down her notebook, Arya stopped and glared at Gendry Waters with a fierce look in her eye. "Listen, if you didn't want to do this interview, you could have just said, so we didn't have to waste both of our times."

He looked taken aback.

"I have better things to do than chat with bullheaded boys," she gestured to the raging bull he couldn't seem to take his eyes off, "who have opportunities fall into their lap that they don't even appreciate."

Before he had a chance to respond, Arya swung through the heavy curtains, and made her way into the foyer.

"Geros ilas Mr. Mott," she bade the kind man farewell as she made her way back onto Steel Street and back down Visenya's Hill.

What a waste of a morning, Arya thought as she hopped back on the underground.

Inspiration for Arya's tattoos came from the artwork of Hilary Heffron with GoT characters reimagined.