Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones.

Note: This is a future Arya x Gendry fic, which means that it's also an AU. There are also NO spoilers here, so long as you've seen the show. I'll probably be leaving this as a one-shot unless people would like for it to continue. Not quite sure how popular this pairing is. In any case, I'd love to hear what you think.

Incompatible Worlds ~

The gate outside the workshop slammed so hard that the whole building rattled in its frame around him. Gendry didn't even need to look up to know who it was. Arya always did like to announce her arrival and, over the years of working in Winterfell, he had it fine-tuned to an art. Today, the slamming gate not only told him she was there, it also told him that she was in a bad mood. That never boded well.

"What's happened this time, Arya?" He replied without looking up from his work, a smile pulling the corner of his mouth upwards. He was used to her moods by now and had taken to tackling them with teasing.

"I wish I'd never come home."

He laughed out loud at that. "If I had a soldier for every time I heard you say that, I'd have an army grand enough to take the iron throne."

"Oh, ha, ha. That's very funny."

"So," he continued. "What is it this time?"

"You've forgotten?" She sounded annoyed. "Seeing as how everyone seems to enjoy reminding me recently, I find that hard to believe." There was a pause before she gave him the answer: "I'll be sixteen, soon."

His mirth faded a little at that. "Ah." It wasn't that he'd forgotten. He'd just sort of…ignored it, perhaps in a misplaced hope that it would go away.

"Yes, 'ah'. It's a good job I didn't come here seeking wise counsel."

He forced a somewhat rueful smile. "You've always known that this was going to happen, Arya. You're a lady, milady." He dipped his head teasingly. "If it wasn't to the Frey boy then it'd be to some other highborn family."

"I never wanted that life." She continued boldly. "If my father was here…" She caught herself and Gendry, despite knowing better, tackled that half-finished sentence.

"Not even your father had the power to strip you of your name and family. And nor would you have wanted him to." He tilted the sword he had been working on, checking the flat surface for blemishes. He found none. "Besides, it might not be so bad, you know. Have you even met this man?"

"No."

"Well, in that case, it's him I feel sorry for. He has no idea what he's letting himself in for."

He leaned backwards as she flung a piece of coal at him, finally putting down the sword to look at her.

The years had not changed her overly much. She had gained some height recently, though lacking the curves one might normally like to find in a woman. And even now, when she had been at home so long after her time out in the world, she'd retained a wild, recklessness about her. Her hair had never been left to grow long and was frequently slashed about the shoulders. Today, it had been tied back in a short, scruffy braid. He was sure that her mother and sister must have lamented on a regular basis about her unruly appearance, though he honestly couldn't imagine her any other way. Her face, too, had matured, her jaw strong – almost hawk like – but the look in her eyes had remained dark and fierce. Sometimes she scared Gendry and he considered himself a friend. Her betrothed was certainly going to be in for a shock when they finally set eyes upon one another. Arya was not your typical lady. But that, he decided, was why he adored her so much.

That was also why he had made a point of not thinking about her coming of age; knowing that she would be taken and there was nothing he could do about it. All the love in the world could not change his lineage. Could not make him worthy in the eyes of her mother.

"You're not taking this seriously." Arya snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him from across the room.

"I'm sorry, Arya, but what did you expect?"

"Would a miraculous way out be too much to ask for?"

"So, what's the worst case scenario, here?"

"He could be another Joffrey."

"Unlikely."

"Of he could end up besotted and follow me around like a love struck fool."

He couldn't help it. He laughed at that; loud and unrestrained. Arya had never been much of a romantic and he was glad to see that age hadn't changed that in her. "Oh, how terrible that would be."

"You have no idea."

"And neither do you." He pointed out.

"I was thinking I could fake my own death."

"No alternative?"

"Strangle him in his sleep?" From most, that would have come out as a joke, but Arya's tone held deep seriousness. Gendry didn't doubt that if this man pushed her into it, she would not hesitate to do what was necessary to be free of him.

"You could always give a bad first impression; make them break off the deal."

"That would be too easy." Arya replied, looking suddenly defiant.

"But?"

"But the man has too many children and not enough lords and ladies to marry them off to. Even if I was a blathering idiot with boils all over my face, we'd still have to marry."

"Sorry," Gendry shrugged. "That's all I've got."

Their conversation faltered then and he returned his attention back to the sword in his hand. The weapon was nothing special, no intricate design or embellishment at all. But it was well-balanced and strong, made with patience and a firm hand. He could feel her eyes on him as he tried to concentrate on his work and wondered – for a moment – whether she thought of him as more than a friend, too.

"If I was a boy I would have gone to join The Night's Watch with Jon." She continued after a moment. "Why shouldn't women be allowed?"

"Not all women are like you, Arya Stark." And he said it with more fondness than he probably should have, shifting awkwardly when her eyes snapped up to scrutinise him.

And then voices, loud and mingled with laughter, interrupted the moment and Arya was on her feet in the blink of an eye. "The master?"

Gendry nodded, trying not to look alarmed at her flightiness. "What's wrong?"

"I can't be seen here."

"Why not? You're always here. That's not any great secret."

"Can I get out through the back?" She asked, seeming not to have heard him.

"If you like—"

"—I'll find you later." And she darted by with effortless grace.

"So, are you going to tell me what that was all about?" Gendry asked a few hours later when Arya had tracked him down. She was so good at finding him now, that he never needed to bother arranging a meeting place with her. How she did it, he didn't know. Perhaps it was a talent of the Starks with their affinity to wolves.

She shifted, uncomfortably, her fingers tangled together as she worded her response. "Mother says I'm not to spend so much time at the smith's. With you." The last part was said with some significance and his stomach churned. Arya was really the only reason he had stayed in Winterfell after their return. They'd been through a lot and it had seemed wrong to abandon her, somehow. He had been her friend long before he had been her…her admirer. "With the Freys so close to visiting. She said it's not proper." Arya scoffed. "She's worried about gossip, can you believe that?" And then, slightly quieter. "It's silly, isn't it?"

He found he couldn't look at her. "Yeah, it is."

Arya didn't know, but he'd had a visit from her mother, Catelyn Stark, almost a year ago now. He remembered the conversation well. Lady Stark had spoken with the air of confidence and authority, expressing her gratitude at his being there for her daughter during her time of need. And then she had warned him – in the nicest way possible – to keep his distance. He'd assured her, then and there, that nothing untoward had gone on between the pair of them. And that statement remained true to this day, even when his feelings for her had deepened.

"She probably thinks you might cause a scene; challenge Waldron Frey to a duel or something." She kicked out her feet. "As if I need a man to defend my honour."

"Particularly if that man is a bastard." He replied lowly.

"Don't say that." She snapped.

"I'm only stating the truth, milady."

"And don't call me that, either." She turned on him, making him all the more aware of their close proximity. "Are you trying to make me angry?"

"Believe me, I wouldn't dare." He held up his hands in surrender and blinked in surprise when she leapt to her feet. She might not have been traditionally beautiful but her intensity was undeniably attractive.

"So if you were the son of a lord and not a bastard, would you fight for my honour then?"

"What is this all about, Arya?" But his dancing heart was telling him exactly what she was trying to ask. In another life, would he have sat idly by whilst she was taken by another or would he have fought valiantly to win her over? And even if she had turned down his offer, she was asking what she shouldn't. She was asking him whether he thought of her as more than just a friend. He didn't know whether to be struck with grief or joy at the prospect.

Or maybe he was kidding himself. Maybe she was simply trying to think of ways to escape a crippling marriage – through any means possible. Perhaps she thought that if gossip did spread, no lord – in his right mind – would want to wed a woman ruined by a bastard.

But the earnest look in her eyes said otherwise.

"If I was a lord, I'd be married by now." His words sounded harsh even to him and he watched as her fists clenched tight.

"Fine." She spat the word with as much venom as she could conjure and then she turned to leave.

Before he could even stop to think, he found himself standing, too – his fingers curled tight around her wrist to prevent her from leaving. She looked back at him, as surprised as he was, and then the surprise turned to annoyance. She wrenched her arm free and whirled to face him. "Gendry!"

"I'm sorry, Arya. I know what you ask." His heart was pounding again. He'd never even conceived that she might have harboured feelings towards him. Had this been a recent change? He had no idea. Gendry was certain there had been no change in her behaviour. "How long?"

"Not that long."

"I'm sorry."

Her eyes hardened. "I thought I could make my own destiny. Wield my own power without having to marry into it like other women. I'm a Stark. I shouldn't have to answer to anyone. I shouldn't have come home."

"But this is where you belong."

"No I don't. I never did. Not before my father's death and certainly not after." She ground her teeth. "This is a world designed for men but only because women allow it to be that way. If my brother can break his oath to the Freys, then why can't I? Because he is a man and I am not?" The anger surged from her and Gendry wondered how long she'd been keeping it suppressed. Fuming over her treatment, betrayed by her family. He'd always thought that she'd understood the reasons even if she hadn't agreed with them.

"Breaking that oath was costly." Gendry reminded gently, not willing to provoke her into violence. "Has your mother ever forgiven him for that?"

Her whole body was stiff, her face frozen as if she feared that relaxing might bring forth tears. Arya was not a crier and the very thought of her being on the verge of it disarmed him. Carefully, he reached up and set his hands on her shoulders. They felt thin and cold beneath his touch.

"You're wrong, Arya. Everyone has boundaries they cannot cross; men and women both. Promises they need to keep. Paths they cannot walk down."

He hoped she would read between the lines.

Her eyes were dark and dangerous again and for a long moment she didn't speak. They stared at one another, into one another's gaze and then he realised how close they were to one another. The evening was cold but now her shoulders burned against his hands, almost welding him in place.

Her next question took him by surprise.

"Why have you never tried to kiss me?" He started to fumble out a reply, except that she shook her head fiercely and changed the question. She could probably guess the answer to the first. "Do you want to kiss me?"

"I—uh—Arya—!" He flustered, taken aback by the serious, businesslike tone to which she addressed the topic.

But she was not amused by his reaction, her brows pulling tight into a frown.

"Arya—"

"—I order you to kiss me."

"Oh, so now you're pulling rank?" And when he didn't get a response, he added: "Arya, you know I can't."

"Why not? Because I'm not on your path?"

Her head was tilted up openly and his hands were still on her shoulders holding her in place. It would have been so easy to kiss her then. To just lean down a little and claim her mouth; to let his carefully bound desire free and throw caution to the wind. For a moment he even thought that facing Catelyn Stark's wrath would have been worth it.

But something held him back.

Something that had been with him a long time.

He'd protected her – or they had protected one another – for a very long time now and he had succeeded in ensuring her safety. Succeeded in getting her home. Nothing had bested them. But now he had to protect her from something he had never envisioned. He had to protect her from himself. Kissing her now would only hurt her later when he would need to step back and watch her marry another man.

The pain of that realisation harboured deep in his heart.

"You can't miss what you've never had." He murmured a moment later, thinking how empty those words sounded. Sometimes even he was surprised by the strength of his will.

"That's stupid." She snarled. "And so are you."

Without any warning at all, she drove her fist into his chest and the emotional pain became a physical one. And when he looked up, gasping and clutching the place he had been struck, she was gone.

No, Arya Stark was not like other women. She was wild and untameable and any man who tried to take that from her would surely meet an early grave. Gendry hoped that would not be necessary. He hoped that, one day, she could understand why he couldn't kiss her—

—even if he was already regretting it.

Thanks for reading!