Journeys: An Orphan and a Bastard

Rating: M, for language, violence and sex.

Pairing: Arya/Gendry

Setting: Roughly three years after Gendry found the Brotherhood and the Hound found Arya. I've changed things up though, so definitely AU and not-canon.

Spoilers: General up to and including aDwD (although I've yet to read aDwD!)

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters appearing in this fic. They belong to GRRM and I love him for them. I make no money and would never wish to make money from his creations. On the other hand, please don't post this anywhere else without my permission, thank you!

Comments: I have no idea where this fic came from. It appeared randomly and forced me to write it. Take note, I have never written anything in this style or form whatsoever! I love every review, but would prefer no flames, please. I'm in GRRM's world in this fic, and I'm following rules I see that he has established, not that I believe exist in today's world. I am also using a pen-name for my Game of Thrones/ASOIAF stories; this is not my second! The first scene occurs and then time shifts backwards in Chapter two.

Journeys: An Orphan and a Bastard

The unusually warm sun started to stir Arya from her sleep and she fought opening her eyes. It had been days since she had truly felt the sun and she did not want to think it was just a dream; she was a child of summer. Shifting slightly against the ground, her cloak underneath her to stop the grass from itching, Arya felt something heavy thrown across her waist pulling her tightly to a warm body behind her. Still half sleeping, Arya sighed and smiled at the warmth behind her and upon her face. They had been travelling for four days since the last friendly inn and been on the cold ground ever since. With only one change of clothes each and a cloak each between them, they slept fully clothed with a cloak under and above them, close side by side to preserve some heat. After all the years of travelling the realm together, the closeness bothered neither of them, but it was only ever as close to touch when the ground was their bed. Ever since a night at an inn where a group of men had come upon Arya alone, soon knocking her to the muddy floor in the dark, covering her with bruises and trying to take her without any coin, they had resumed sharing a bed in inns. They fell asleep separately in the inns, but gravitated towards each other during the dark hours, until one woke up. He always thought that he was the first to awake, quickly turning away from her and rising from the bed to journey out of the room. Whenever she asked him where he went, he would grunt the word walk and they both left it at that. The truth was, she always awoke first, enjoying the warmth and weight of his arm slung over her, but she let him believe what he wanted.

He shifted in his own sleep in response to her movement and his arm moved brushing against her bare belly, sending waves of fire through to her core. During the dark his arm had found its way underneath her clothing for the first time. Over their years she had felt his skin on her, but normally on like for like, or his hands on her waist lifting her from one place to another, restraining her from a fight she should not enter. His hand twitched across her teat and the fire burnt stronger within her. Arya's eyes remained closed as she unconsciously arched her chest toward his hand, her ass backwards into his groin. It was a reflex and Arya was unaware from where it came, but ever since her first moon's blood Arya had not understood much of what her body did or felt. His breath was suddenly on her neck and she bared it more for him, rubbing as she continued arching. She knew that he was asleep and that as soon as he awoke he would pull away; she was a lady after all. Everything had been changing since her first blood and Arya refused to allow the moment to end for she knew that he would pull away and go for his walk.

Until his hand contracted, gently squeezing the teat now fully within its grasp and Arya let out a low moan. They were hidden within the trees, the dawn sun streaming through the leaves above, but there could still be anyone anywhere and as such Arya split her focus equally; a skill learned after more than three years living on the land. Then his lips brushed against her neck so softly that she was not sure if it actually happened. The hand began massaging her and she groaned low in her throat again certain that he was aware and awake as he kissed her neck before rolling her onto her back. Her eyes fluttered open, half lidded as she looked into his half-open eyes. There were only inches between them, she could see the sun bathing his face in yellow gold and she reached her hand up to touch his warm cheek. As he slowly lowered his face to hers, there was a smile on both of their faces as their lips met gently and almost chastely at first. Her reflex was to part her lips before he could and so she did, of which he took full advantage by hardening and deepening the kiss. His cock pressed hard and firm against her belly and his hand left her teat to find her hip, immediately snaking its way under her clothing. Moving her own hands to her hips, Arya shifted out of her breeches slightly, managing to free a leg without hassle. Once free, her hips moved upwards of their own accord, pressing against him; he ground down onto her briefly before he used one hand to still her hips and the other to hold his upper body up.

Suddenly bereft when he broke the kiss, Arya tried to not break the spell by opening her eyes too wide. His face was far too close to her and her eyes closed again, his forehead resting against hers as his breathing came faster than it should. She had seen him run for his life, run into battle against multiple foes, ride a horse all day and never heard his breathing that erratic.

"This shouldn't be happening," he whispered hoarsely as his voice always was when he first awoke. "Not here. Not now."

"There is no other time." Her voice was as hoarse as his and she realised her own breathing was as irregular as his. She did not understand. Altering the angle of her head, she met his lips and opened his with her tongue, allowing it to dart in deep. His hands moved to his own groin as her arms wrapped up and around his shoulders, forcing him closer. Quickly his cock was no longer up against her belly and as he groaned into her mouth, he moved into her body until she winced against him and their second kiss ended.

"I shouldn't be hurting you." Relaxing her eyes as the pain diminished, she opened them to look at him. "This shouldn't be happening. Not here. Not me. Not your… I shouldn't be taking your…"

"My maidenhead is mine to give, not sold to the Lord deemed suitable by my Lord-father or the crown." She paused and swallowed her nerves. "It has always been yours."

"No maidenhead should ever be mine. I should know only whores, not of ladies and highborns."

"I am no lady or highborn anymore. I can never be Arya Stark."

"But you should be wed," he protested. The pain meant that he already had her maidenhead, of that Arya was sure through all of her confusion. Her body was acting of its own accord, had been craving his body since her bleeding and she understood none of it, but she knew she wanted to feel it all. "It should not be some bastard hurting you on the cold ground."

"Just be gentle," she urged and he shook his head.

"I have the hands of a smith, I know not how to be gentle, m'lady." At the term that only he could say to elicit a smile from her, she stretched up and kissed him, as fully and deeply as she could without consuming him whole. He groaned into her mouth and pushed himself slowly, further into her until there was no further. Once there he paused and pulled his lips from hers so as he spoke they still brushed together: "Does it hurt?"

It was only a sting, like a slight glance from a sword or dagger and it was already fading from inside. Smiling her lips against his, Arya ground upwards against him and almost laughed at his groan. With a sword in her hand, Arya never felt weak no matter how tall or large the men were. With a sword in her hand, Arya held all the power. It was not until his cock was buried deep inside of her, her hips spurring him on to thrust into her repeatedly, slowly at first, that she felt truly powerful.

GOT – GOT – GOT