Arya paced back and forth in her chambers, Bran sitting on the repaired stool watching her amusingly. She was downright infuriated, and if anyone were to knock on her door at that moment, Bran did not doubt she would stick them with the pointy end of Needle herself. Only he and Robb knew of the sword Jon gave to her in secret before he left to the Night's Watch. If Sansa were to find out… he shuddered at the very thought.

"He's so stupid! Who does he think he is, prancing about all the way from bloody Highgarden demanding my hand? And he doesn't even look like a knight either! What kind of a knight chases innocent girls to the kitchen rooftops and tackles her down?" She fumed.

"Since when were you an innocent girl?" Bran scoffed. Even then, not too long after the incident, he already knew of the sour meeting. News travelled around Winterfell fast. After Ser Gendry caught Arya, Sansa shouted for them to get down. Arya was sent to her chambers, and Gendry apologized dryly. "From what I heard, you kicked his seat from under him."

"He deserved it." Arya stopped pacing from wall to wall and pointed at the stool Bran sat on. "He was just being so-"

"Stupid?" Bran guessed.

Arya groaned and sat on the edge of her bed. "I can't believe he actually expects me to accept his proposal."

"Will you ever accept any proposal, Arya?" Bran asked out of mere curiosity, and to prove a point.

"No, of course I won't marry. I'm going to stay in Winterfell forever; no one will ever marry me. Sansa is the one who is supposed to get married to a pretty lord and frolic off to who knows where, giving him sons and what not."

"But Sansa can't marry unless you marry." Bran leaned back in his seat, point proven. Arya just glared at him. He found that Arya and Sansa were similar in that matter at least, both hated to be proven wrong by their little brother and were very stubborn when it came to the matters of their father's last promise to their mother. He sighed and looked back to his sister, who was still glaring at him in defeat. "So, what is your plan for the feast tonight if you so heavily intend to avoid Ser Gendry?"

"A feast is being thrown?" Arya's eyes grew in worry. No one told her they were going to throw a feast upon the Tyrell's arrival. She almost stood from her bed and crossed her arms over her chest. She would have to act fast if she wanted things to work right.

Bran almost cursed himself. She did not know. Mayhaps Sansa could have caught her unawares and mayhaps Arya would have been more compliant with Sansa if she was surprised. It was a hope, but now crushed. He was sure that Arya would not go down without a fight.

"I have to go." Arya gathered a cloak from her oak dresser and shuffled towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Bran stood from his seat and watched his older sister all but dash down the halls.

"I'm preparing for the feast, what does it look like I'm doing?" She called back to him, already turning down the bend of the corridor. Bran went with Robb after that, both praying that Arya did not kill Ser Gendry the moment she laid eyes on him again.

When he found that Bran and Robb returned from the Godswood with a worried smile on their face, it only took moments after for him to find his youngest daughter. As expected, she was in the stables, doing her best to ruffle up her hair and make herself smell as the horses do and put mud on the hem of the skirts intended for the feast. When she saw that her father was now standing in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised expectantly, she almost dropped the garment from her hands.

"What do you think you're doing?" Her father asked in a reprimanding tone as if he was speaking to Rickon, not to Arya who was almost six-and-ten.

She would have lied, and she could have if it was anyone else but her father. But instead, she sighed and lowered her head in defeat. In truth, she actually was readying herself for the feast. She intended to dirty her appearance so much that even the persistent stupid Ser Gendry would be appalled by her that he would have to give up on his endeavors. "I cannot marry, father. I simply cannot."

Because her head was still lowered, she was not able to see her father's sad melancholic smile. She reminded him of his dear willful sister so much, he could not stay mad at her. He bid her to sit next to him on one of the near benches.

"Why do you not wish to marry so badly?" He asked her sweetly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

"I won't be Arya Stark anymore. I'll be the wife of Gendry, the idiot knight. I can't marry. I'm the daughter of Winterfell, the she-wolf of the North."

"You can still be all that after you marry, my sweetling. Marriage will not change you, and I am sure Ser Gendry will not even attempt to." Ned sighed and held his daughter closer to him. She was his flesh, his blood, the very spirit of his sister. He will not force the marriage upon her, he could not even if he tried, but he attempted to steer her in the right direction.

"But I don't even want to marry. That has always been what Sansa wants, not me." Arya shook her head against Ned's chest. "You need to let her marry, father."

"Arya, my sweetling, I made a promise to your mother, a promise I swore to keep. What is a man measured by, if not his honor?" He shifted so he could look better at his daughter. "Do you remember your mother's words, Arya?"

It was Arya's turn to sigh. Lady Catelyn died when Arya was still so young, and the few memories she remembered were vague and foggy at best, but at least she knew the words of House Tully. "Family, duty, honor."

"That is right." Ned nodded and stood from the bench, extending his hand to help Arya up as well, as if she was some dainty little lady. "Please, Arya, let tonight be peaceful. Do this for your sister."

Sansa all but shrieked when she arrived back in her solar after tea with Willas. Their father was behind Arya, his hands on her shoulders as if keeping her from running away at any moment. Arya had a scowl on her face, and looked like she would run away if she could. Ned saw that his work was done and hurried out of the room as soon as Sansa got her hands on Arya. Before he left, he gave Arya a pointed look, as if silently reminding her of their conversation. She glared, but nodded. How could she refuse her father?

Arya ordered a bath to be readied for Arya at once, with rose petals sprinkled into the water. A servant came to help scrub Arya's skin clean, the mud dissolving into the water. Arya had planned out her scheme so perfectly, too. She learned from other feasts exactly when it was too early or too late to hide from Sansa's willfulness to dress Arya accordingly, and if only Ned hadn't arrived, she would be free to hide by then. But no, instead, after the bath Sansa dressed her into one of her own gowns since she soiled the one intended for the feast. The gown was grey with a long skirt and sleeves which were cut to the elbow so if she were to put her arms up, half her arms would be revealed. Sansa pinned wisely where the skirt was too big, where her curves filled in but Arya's didn't, so the dress looked custom sewn for Arya. White flowers were embroidered onto the skirts, and the dress looked far too dainty and innocent on her. It almost gave off the impression that the woman wearing it was as delicate as the gown.

Keeping her promise to her father, Arya did not yell or fight Sansa when she put powder and rogue on her face and kohl on her eyes, or when she braided two parts of Arya's hair by her ear and connected them into one braid at the back of her head. She only squirmed and made minor sarcastic comments at times, but Sansa was so grateful, and yet so surprised that she almost did not believe it was Arya who she was dressing.

"There," Sansa said, letting Arya glance at the looking glass in front of her. Her jaw almost dropped. What had her sister done to her? She almost looked like a true lady; there was no way Gendry was to refuse her now. Which was Sansa's goal, Arya thought bitterly.

More sarcastic comments and japes were made while Sansa readied herself. Arya sat next to Nymeria and Lady, and she was sure the wolves hummed in agreement with every jape she made. Sansa was dressed in a blue gown with gold flowers, the neckline plunging and without sleeves. Arya puckered her lips as if she tasted a sour lemon. The dress was far too impractical, she was sure her sister was to freeze as soon as she stepped foot outside. The dress was a gift from Highgarden, delivered by Willas and Margaery.

"Isn't it lovely?" Sansa asked in a dreamlike trance as she twirled around. Arya was not sure if she spoke of the dress, or of her intended. Willas and Sansa did make a fine match, Arya admitted. Willas, although crippled, was handsome when he smiled, with curly Tyrell hair and hazel eyes. If the betrothal worked as planned, Sansa would fit into Highgarden perfectly.

"It's perfect." Arya admitted dryly. Sansa almost choked.

"Are you sure nothing is wrong with you today, Arya? Maybe you hit the roof too hard when Ser Gendry tackled you… should I call upon a maester?" Sansa's words would have been a jape from anyone else, but she truly was concerned. Arya was peaceful while she was dressed and she complimented Sansa? Surely, something was wrong.

"You act as if I have never said anything nice before." Arya scowled, ruining the image Sansa attempted to portray of the beautiful lady of Winterfell.

"Oh, don't scowl. You'll ruin your makeup." Sansa worried. Arya scowled further.

"Ser Gendry ought to know what he's getting himself into anyways." With that she stood from the two wolves and allowed Sansa to walk to her side. "Let us get this over with."

The feast was as lively as the North could manage. The Great Hall bustled with eager Northern lords and guests and the refreshed Tyrell visitors. With them, the Tyrells brought Southern wine traded from Dorne, and it seemed to have add its effect and charm to the feast. Such wine usually did not make so far North, and each attendant was making a fine job not letting any drop go to waste. Arya sat on her appointed seat at the dais with her elbow on the table, her hand holding her chin. On her right sat Sansa who was busy flirting with Willas, and on her left sat Ser Gendry who she refused to speak to. Call it stubbornness, but she was still quite annoyed at him, and who wouldn't be, considering he tackled her down on the top of the kitchens? The only words they exchanged as of yet were greetings, and even then he refused to meet her eyes. Now they both watched awkwardly as a singer sang The Bear and the Maiden Far and excited couples, already in their cups from the Dornish Wine, took to the dance floor. They were more jumping and stumbling than dancing, and it amused Arya.

Gendry opened his mouth to speak to her. I swear, if you ask me to dance…

"M'lady, I don't think I have apologized for… earlier this morning." He cleared his throat and tried to speak to her.

"No, you quite haven't." She agreed. It sounded much colder than she expected. She almost wanted to apologize. Almost.

He scowled, just as stubborn as she. "And you have not apologized for kicking my seat from under me."

She glared at him, but was not able to put her anger into words.

"Oh, sweet she was

and pure and fair

the maid with honey

in her hair, her hair

the maid with honey

in her hair"

"Listen here, you-" She all but yelled, but at that exact moment was when Sansa decided to show interest in her sister.

"Oh, dear sister!" Sansa turned in her seat and hugged her sister, almost stuffing her shoulder into Arya's mouth to shut her up. When she pulled away she feigned a sweet

smile and turned to Gendry. "Oh, please take her to dance. She does love her dancing lessons."

Arya almost froze in her steps as Gendry nodded and extended a hand for Arya to take. So Sansa knew of the secret sword practicing she does with Mycah, the butcher's boy. Sansa confirmed her thoughts with a smile that Arya knew as if you don't do as I say, I am telling father. So Arya reluctantly took Gendry's hand and let him take her to the crowd of couples.

"Oh I'm a maid

and I'm pure and fair

I'll never dance

with a hairy bear

a bear, a bear

I'll never dance

with a hairy bear"

His hand practically shook as he placed it awkwardly on her waist as gently as he could. He never touched or got this close to a highborn before, let alone a highborn lady. She smirked when she noticed his struggle. He frowned and reminded himself she was hardly a lady. It came for the part where the men were to lift their partner into the air, and so he did. She was definitely surprised; she had not expected him to be so bold after their "fall out" when they met. Her eyes were wide with shock and defeat, but she did her best not to show it.

"The bear, the bear

lifted her high

into the air

the bear, the bear"

"You look very beautiful tonight, m'lady." He said, unsure of what else to say. Ladies liked to be complimented, or so he thought.

"You're stupid, you know?" She said. He rolled his eyes.

"Your compliments are making me blush, m'lady."

Her scowl deepened. He was just as stubborn as she, and it would not do.

"I told you not to call me m'lady." She protested. Another lift came and she almost pounded her fists on his back to put her down. When she was back on her feet she realized she was making the same face she made when Sansa put on the dress from Highgarden. She smoothed her expression, not wanting to make a scene in front of her father and her sister. Her brothers were somewhere on the dance floor with her, but she was sure they were watching her as well. "What kind of a knight chases someone to the rooftops and tackles them?"

"I called for a knight

but you're a bear

a bear, a bear

all black and brown

and covered in hair"

He closed his eyes and sighed. He remembered his mother, and the deal that was to be seen through. If nothing else, do it for mother, he told himself.

"Why do you hate me so much?" He asked, merely curious. "Even before you kicked me from my stool, you seemed to hate me already."

She frowned. Why do I hate him? Father already talked to me and asked me to calm and at least try for Sansa, and Sansa, Gods know how much she needs my consent… "Truly, why did you come all the way from Highgarden, Ser? I know it was not for my hand. Why would anyone travel that far for the hand of the she-wolf?" She mocked, but her questions rang true. He almost scowled like her. She did not answer his question, but instead answered it with another question. How stubborn she was.

"Then she sighed and squealed

and kicked the air

she sang: my bear so fair

and off they went

the bear, the bear

and the maiden fair"

"I came because…" Before he could think of an excuse or decide to tell her the truth of the Tyrell's plan, the song ended and the couples stopped dancing to applaud the singers. He almost dropped on his knees and thanked the Seven. Instead, he returned with Arya to their seats on the dais. Sansa smiled happily and almost thankfully. From where she sat, their dance looked like a peaceful affair, almost romantic. Arya almost scoffed.

In Arya's vacated seat she noticed Margaery was now sitting next to Sansa. Margaery was comely with a heart shaped face and a small nose. She had the same Tyrell curls as her brother, but something about Margaery seemed daunting. She arrived with her brother's caravan, but was late to come out of the carriage which carried her. When she noticed Arya and Gendry were (reluctantly) returning arm in arm, she smiled and greeted both.

"Lady Arya, I am pleased to meet you. You look very lovely, my dear." Margaery spoke to Arya as if she was Sansa, as if she was talking to a sister. Sansa looked to Arya expectantly.

"Thank you, my lady." Arya said and nodded none too gracefully or kindly.

"If I may steal Ser Gendry for a moment? I saw you two dancing and I cannot help but want to dance as well." Margaery smiled sweetly and looked between Arya and Gendry.

"Steal him all you want, my lady." Arya sighed happily as if a burden was taken from her shoulders. Margaery giggled and took Gendry by the arm and almost dragged him back to the dance floor to dance to Milady's Supper. Willas' smile twitched when he saw that Margaery took Gendry away, but Arya could not guess why.

"How are you finding the North, Ser?" Margaery asked with a glimmer of humor in her voice as he danced even more nervously with Margaery. Sure, Arya isn't a lady, but Margaery is. How in the Seven Hells do you hold a lady?

"It is very cold, but it has its beauty." Gendry shrugged, unsure as to why she insisted to make such small talk.

"Much like your lady, do you agree?" Margaery asked, a beautiful smirk on her lips. He was speechless. He was surprised Margaery dared to say such things next to so many Northerners, but the singers were much too loud for anyone to hear even if they tried. He was not used to talking to such highborns, especially one as quick witted as Margaery. She took in his silence as an agreement. She leaned in closer, but not too close to be inappropriate. It was a part of the dance, after all. She whispered, "We cannot spend much time here. Willas needs to return to Highgarden soon, and we need his betrothal to Sansa Stark solidified before we leave."

He pulled away, stunned. He expected more time for Arya to ease into him, to get to know him. Now she all but hated him and wanted to kill him herself. Before he could object, say it was impossible, that Arya would never offer her approval, Margaery spoke again, her voice still smooth and casual.

"When we return to Highgarden, it will be a joy to visit your mother in your lands sometime, Ser Gendry." She smiled and wisely chose her words to remind him all that was given to him by the Tyrells if he only does this one task for them. He understood her silent threat. Do whatever needs to be done.

By the time the song ended, he let Margaery take his hand, but it was more of her guiding them back to the dais. He would never accustom himself to the company of highborns. He thought all ladies dressed in pretty dresses and listened to pretty songs while they let the lords do the work. He was, however, glad to find himself proven wrong. He liked girls like Arya, girls who did something else than listen to pretty songs and let the lords do the work. When they returned he saw that Willas was engaging in conversation with Sansa Arya and Ned, telling them a tale of Highgarden. Margaery let go of Gendry's arm and instead coaxed Arya up from her seat.

"Oh, lady Arya you do look so lovely tonight! I love your dress and your hair especially." Margaery would not stop cooing over Sansa's work, it was almost Sansa that said 'thank you'. Ned raised an eyebrow at both of his daughters while Margaery continued. "You will have to teach me one day."

"You must teach me to do my hair like yours, Lady Margaery." Sansa replied sweetly as if it was her Margaery was talking to. Which it was, technically. Margaery smiled and nodded then turned to Willas. His smile wavered for a moment before he cleared his throat.

"And how is the happy couple?" He smiled towards Gendry and Arya. Arya almost looked behind her, not knowing what happy couple he referred to. "Lady Arya, I saw your adventure on the rooftops this morning. I must say, you two are a match made by the Seven." Sansa and Margaery nodded in agreement.

Before Arya could tell them that they were all wrong, that they were a match made for the Seven Hells, that they were not a 'happy couple', or a couple at all. Gendry spoke instead as if this entire conversation was scripted. "Thank you, m'lord. But I fear Lord Stark will not let us wed until I gain milady's approval, but I am sure I will gain it soon enough." That stupid boy was brave enough to send a wink to Willas, and right in front of her father, too!

He better know that he will never gain my approval, that stupid boy…

Again, before she could say anything to differ, It was Ned's turn to speak, surprised by the sudden change of conversation. "Is this true, my dear? Have you a change of heart?"

All eyes were on her now. The singers stopped singing, excited with news that they would finally have a wedding for the two sisters. Even her brothers looked at her from the dance floor, awaiting her answer. Sansa's blue Tully eyes were wide and hopeful, wanting to finally wed. Margaery was only doing her 'Margaery smile', as Arya now liked to call it. Willas was the only one not smiling, but only watched Arya's reaction carefully.

Arya smiled sweetly to her father. She feigned the best happy in-love smile she could. She then turned to Gendry and showed him the same beam. When she turned back to everyone else, she let her true self go. How dare they believe I would change my mind so fast? Her expression quickly changed from sweet to furious, and she was ready to yell and make the scene her brothers prayed not to happen. Arya opened her mouth wide and shouted for the entire Great Hall to hear, "Of course I do-"

Before she could finish her sentence and say 'not', Gendry panicked. He did stupid things when he panics, he realized. Do whatever needs to be done. He made a silent prayer to the Gods that Arya would not kill him in front of everyone else. With that, he pushed his mouth over hers and kissed her words away. Her words melted in her mouth and before she could register he dared to kiss her to silence her, cheers broke out through the hall with the assumed proposal acceptance. The instrument players banged on their drums happily, the singers singed a happy tune, dancers clapped, and others cheered. Sansa wrapped Arya in a hug, and Margaery gave Gendry her congratulations.

Behind Margaery Gendry was brave enough to glance at Arya who was being smothered happily by Sansa. She sent him the worst glare she could muster, and he quickly looked to his feet. If she was not mad at him before, now she was ready to pull out her sword and stab him in front of the Heart Tree if she need to.

Her silent glare continued, and Gendry looked up only to see silent words moving around her lips. This isn't over, stupid.