*A/N: In this story I am saying that Seasons 1 - 6 are equal to 1 - 6 years/ Each season = 1 year. I also tried to make this chapter a little longer.

And, most importantly, thank you to those who have taken the time to read this and/or follow/review/like/etc. It's very much appreciate.

Enjoy.

Braavos

Five Years After The War of the Five Kings/The Stabbing of Jon Snow...

GENDRY

The shout was a low and loud "NO!"

Gendry, annoyed, dropped his arm and let his sword rest by his side. His opponent, who wore armor and a steel helm, smoothly sheathed their own sword and waited.

The man who had shouted was long of leg and had a mane of golden-grey hair to his shoulders. His beard grew in thick and coarse, surrounding a frowning mouth. He had sharp, accusing eyes, as green as emeralds. And though the small yard behind a Braavosi armory was lit only by the moon, it was easy to see his tattered clothing held no mark of distinct loyalty. Yet, despite his attempts at disguise, to Gendry there was no mistaking who the stranger was.

His long strides crossed the yard and reached Gendry quickly, and the forty-and-seven year old man glared into the blacksmith's face. "Have you learned nothing?! Pull your damned head out of your arse!"

Gendry, at six-and-twenty years of age, was taller, stronger, and quicker tempered than the shaggy looking man before him. After years of hammering steal in a forge, his muscles had stacked upon themselves. His neck was thick, shoulders broad, and his arms were colossal in both strength and size. He stood, breathing hard out of his nose and looking more like an actual bull than he had when he was nothing more than a stubborn boy and the name was given to him. His face reddened with anger and the grip on the hilt of his second hand sword tightened. He'd always had an immense stubbornness, and the past decade had done nothing but fuel a boiling rage within him.

When he spoke, his voice was a low, dark, threatening rumble that came from deep within his chest. "Get the fuck out of my face, Lannister."

Jaime refused to move and though he had to raise his eyes to meet the younger man's glower, he felt no fear in the meeting. "Slash! Not chop! Slash! You fucking imbecile!" He roared. "You've been at this all fucking night, get it right!" He turned on his heel and began walking away, calling over his shoulder. "And don't be afraid to strike her! You won't take her down anyways, but you might as well try!"

Bitter, Gendry spat on the ground before raising his sword again to meet his opponent. "I don't want to hurt you, Brienne!" He shouted at the knight.

From behind her steal helm came the gentle, feminine voice of Brienne of Tarth. "You won't, Gendry." He could hear the smile behind her words.

It only infuriated him.

The Bull charged, anger and momentum sending him flying across the small yard they practiced in. He attacked Brienne, bringing the sword down as if he would a hammer. He was heavier, by far, and over the years his power had aided in the few battles he'd fought in. The Bull was a proven warrior and able to swing a sword, mercilessly hacking anyone in his path. Yet, when it came to the technicalities and specifics of swordplay, he lacked the discipline and technique of a skilled fighter.

Ducking under, Brienne averted Gendry's superior weight, and spun around, causing him to lose his balance and stumble forward.

"For fucks sake!" Jaime growled, throwing his hands up as if defeated.

Steadying himself, Gendry shot an annoyed glare towards Jaime before he turned to Brienne and squared up to her. She mimicked him, pointing her sword as he did. They circled each other and then Gendry dove forward again.

It was a predictable move.

Brienne raised her own sword to stop him and took the impact of his superior weight. The Bull leaned over her, pushing his dinged and beaten sword down upon Oathkeeper - Brienne's own Valyrian steel - until the two hovered mere inches between their faces. Anger blazed in his eyes, as it always did. The same dark look that had haunted him long before he'd met Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister.

Quickly, Brienne bashed her helmed head against his bare forehead. Crack!

"Fuck!" Gendry snarled, stumbling backwards and rubbing the quickly swelling bruise. "What the fuck was that for?!"

"That!" Jaime shouted. "Was exactly what you should have anticipated! Where the fuck is your head tonight? You haven't landed a single blow to her, nor are you capable of standing on your own two feet! You worthless fucking -"

"Jaime…" Brienne interjected softly. She threw an apologetic shrug to Gendry, though he ignored her and stood with his fierce eyes fixed on Jaime.

He said nothing, but the look of him screamed fury. It required little effort to anger the Bull. And Jaime was no help, as he continuously antagonized the younger man. From the first time the two had met they'd hated each other. And yet, they'd been stuck as reluctant outlawed partners for the past five years.

Tonight was no different. Immediately, Jaime stepped squarely up to Gendry and pushed him hard. The Bull barely stumbled. "I want you to fight, damn it!" He pushed again, fully aware of Gendry's anger growing.

"How the fuck have you managed to stay alive all this time?!" Jaime exploded. They stood man-to-man, seething and red of face. "You may have Robert's face, bastard, but you have none of his skill! You're as useful as tits on a Silent Sister!"

Gendry stood clenching his jaw tightly. When he spoke, his voice was low, and rumbled with danger. "Get the fuck -" SMACK! Jaime struck him across the face with his golden sword hand.

"Jaime!" Brienne shouted. It didn't matter.

Without taking knowledge to his now cut and swelling lip, the Bull lunged for the Kingslayer and knocked them both to the ground. The two scuffled in the dirt and rock of the Braavosi yard, in a fit of rolls and kicks, swearing at each other and creating dust clouds that swirled in the moonlight.

Once Jaime slammed onto the dirt, the wind being knocked from him, Gendry grabbed him by the front of his shabby tunic. Being bigger, Gendry had the advantage and used his massive thighs to keep Jaime pinned under him and on the ground. "You fucking -"

"- Cock sucking -" Jaime struggled under the weight. His face bloody and bruising quickly.

" - Fucking Lannister!" The Bull roared, using his superior position to aid him in landing blow after blow all over the Kingslayer.

"Damn it!" Brienne swore. Unsheathing her sword, she marched towards the fight and promptly grabbed a fistful of shaggy black hair. Gendry grunted as she yanked his head back and stuck Oathkeeper below his chin.

"Calm down." Brienne warned.

Flushed and furious, The Bull heaved breaths of air. His fierce blue eyes glared at her and he snarled. Brienne tightened her hold on his hair and brought the sword closer to his neck. "Gendry…"

He let out a huff of breath and granted a quick nod. Brienne gave him a small smile and released him. Hastily, he raised himself from his position above Jaime and stalked off.

From the ground, Jaime shouted after him through a bloodied lip. "Where are you-"

"Fuck off!" The Bull growled over his shoulder.

Jaime snorted, and pushed himself to his feet. "My arse."

"Leave him be," Brienne intercepted him. "He needs to think."

Long before had winter set in and he'd come to Braavos, - before the Dragon Queen had come to Westeros, before he'd met Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth, before Lady Stoneheart and before Lord Beric Dondarrion - he was nothing more than a stubborn boy.

A stupid bullheaded boy.

Born in Flea Bottom to a golden-haired tavern wench, and no father, Gendry became an apprentice to the great amoror Tobho Mott after the death of his mother. He'd been a young child when she had passed and the only memories Gendry had of her were of yellow hair and lullabies. Soon after he was orphaned, he'd been brought to the the Street of Steel and given to his new master.

Being too young when he first arrived, Gendry spent his earliest years feeding coal to the massive, never ending fires and fetching tools for Tobho. But mostly, he ran up and down the many stairs of the forge. Tobho's smithy was the largest building on the Street of Steel, towering over all the rest. And Tobho had years worth of coal stocked in the top levels. For Gendry, it seemed as though the fires were always hungry. He ran so much that his legs were the first part of him to grow strong. And if he didn't run, he'd get a beating.

When he'd become big enough to swing a hammer, Tobho put him to work among the anvils and swords. Gendry had taken to his master's teachings grandly and promptly proven to be a hard worker and hold remarkable talent.

Among the fire and steel he felt the most at ease. Shaping and molding, beating and hammering...it was all a language he spoke fluently. His first creation had been a horseshoe - easy enough. Not long after, he began crafting a helmet that became the symbolism of his identity. Tobho had praised him often, saying that though Gendry was crude and stubborn, he was a fine a craftsman and good apprentice to him.

And yet, shortly after the death of King Robert Baratheon, Tobho Mott terminated the apprenticeship and instructed Gendry to join the Night's Watch.

And shortly after that...

Cliiiing! Cliiiiing! He brought the hammer down upon the sword with great might, beating it into it's proper shape. The high-pitched cry of metal being struck sang throughout the forge. With each strike his anger grew and he struck harder.

Again. Cling!

And again. Cliiing!

And again. Cliiiiing!

Seven years...He brooded. Seven fucking years…None of it had mattered.

He thought of the War of the Five Kings, and how the country had bled for years. Lannister men had ripped apart the country, killing thousands of innocents in the name of bastard of incest. For a time, Gendry had stayed on with the Brotherhood Without Banners and protected those fleeing from slaughter. He'd forged weapons for his fellow knights and brothers in a smithy behind the inn at the crossroads. He fought against ravagers who came to butcher the men and rape the women of the Riverlands.

And it didn't matter. Westeros still suffered. And people were still massacred.

The High Sparrow had sent armed fanatics to the streets of King's Landing everyday to punish sinners of The Seven. People were beaten for their crimes openly, with no protection from the City Watch. King Tommen and Queen Margaery turned a blind eye to the High Sparrow's actions. He was free to serve justice as the Seven had seen fit.

The faith and the crown are the two pillars that hold up this world. One collapses, so does the other.

Cliiiiiiing! He struck the sword.

The Mad Queen had set the Sept of Baelor ablaze with green Wildfire in a desperate final play for control. It worked, though she ruled over nothing more than ash and bone. When Tommen's body was found among the dead, Cersei had gone mad with despair. She locked herself away in the Red Keep - refusing entry to anyone that wasn't her twin. The only time Jaime had come to see her, she'd gone crazed with rage and guilt and flung herself from a window.

It doesn't fucking matter…

Hundreds, maybe thousands, had burned and bled and died in King's Landing that night. Gendry had heard stories of flames reaching hundreds of feet high into the sky, engulfing the shops and homes of the locals. The Lannisters had taken Westeros and ruined it faster and with more force than the country could withstand. Men had marched to fight in wars they would never return from. Women were raped and then murdered when mobs such as the Bloody Mummers came to their villages. Children were left scattered, wounded, ill, and orphaned all around the country.

And the Bull loathed it all.

He swung the hammer down. Cliiiiiing! Sweat dripped down his frowning brown. His face, flushed and red from the heat of the fireplace and work of shaping the steel. His jaw clenched and he huffed angrily threw his nose, grunting with each strike to the sword he worked on.

He thought of a girl.

The hammer stopped midair before Gendry slowly brought it down to rest upon the anvil. He stood frozen in place, his eyes fixed upon the flickering flames before him. He felt a lump form in his throat as memories returned to him. His heavy breathing stopped, and instead, a frigidness overcame him as guilt racked throughout his body. It was always the same, every time he thought of her and how stupid he'd been.

She was eleven when he'd first met her. Small and scrawny, with thick brown hair, cut short and unevenly. Her temper was fierce and flared unexpectedly when she had gotten upset. And her wit was sharper than any blade. And when she yelled at you, she fixed her steel grey eyes upon you in a way that flared with danger.

He had seen through all of her anger, though. He had seen through everything. When travelling on the Kingsroad together, he had seen her for a girl before the others in their camp - save Yoren. She'd yelled at him, called him stupid, said he was wrong. But he wasn't. And they both knew it. She was a girl.

He shook his head, remembering. A lady….

When Arry revealed herself to be Arya of House Stark, Gendry stood shocked and dumbfounded. She eyed him nervously, waiting and guarded. Uneasy under her scrutiny, Gendry flashed her a smile and threw her a tease about the title. The shove she gave him knocked him to the ground and left him laughing at her bothered and retreating form.

Arya ignored him for the rest of that day. He, however, held a small smile on his lips for hours. Her anger would subside, he knew. He could see through the frown and shove. She trusted him with her secret.

When night fell, Gendry found her stretched upon dirt and grass and leaves. She laid as still as a corpse and for a moment he panicked at the thought that she might actually be dead. Right as he was about to grab hold of her shoulders and shake her awake - because she couldn't be dead, right? - the wind blew and Arya shivered and rolled to her side, hugging herself.

Gendry let out a breath and smiled before settling down next to her. He lay on his back, one arm propped behind his head for comfort, and looked up to the stars. He'd taken to counting them during his nights on the Kingsroad. The activity helped settle his anxious and brooding mind and it wasn't long before sleep found him.

Sometime, late into the night, after the men had fallen asleep and campfires had died, Gendry woke to the soft sound of crying. Groggy and unsure, he first tried to dismiss the noise as part of a dream he might have been having. But as his senses returned to him and sleep swept away from his mind, he realised that the small, shivering Stark girl was weeping next to him.

"Arya?" He propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her with concern.

"I'm alright," she sniffed. "Leave me alone!"

Gendry frowned. "You're not alright. You're crying."

"Am not!"

He raised an eyebrow at her as she quickly tried to wipe away her tears. "You are. What's wrong?"

She glared at him, "Nothing's wrong, stupid! Go to sleep."

He frowned at her and lied back down, grumbling about trying to help. Not long after, he woke to her crying again. He rubbed his eyes open to see that she lay closer to him than before, though her back was turned to him. Without hesitating, the Bull reached out to her, wrapped his arms around her small, shivering body, and pulled her to his chest.

She didn't protest or strike him. Instead, she cried more. Her small body shook with each tear that fell. Her whimpers were hushed and soft. When she could not take more of the sadness inflicting her, she flipped around, buried her face in his chest, and sobbed. Instinctively, Gendry placed a hand on the back of her head and gently stroked her choppy locks. He didn't bother to say anything to her, there was nothing he could say to make her life better.

I can do this, he'd thought. I can hold her. And let her cry. I-I can watch out for her. Protect her if I have to.

When her tears had stopped and her breathing calmed she whispered, "Don't let anyone know. Please."

He rest his cheek upon her head. "I won't. I promise."

She nodded into his chest and let out a content sigh. Shortly after, he felt her relax in his arms and drift to sleep. Gendry laid contently, prepared to remain awake throughout the night. Nightmares would come for her, as he knew they always did.

I'll protect you, he thought and hugged her tighter to him. I promise.

Gendry's heart wrenched. She was so small then… It'd been seven years since he'd last seen Arya and he was nowhere near as close to finding her as he hoped. He'd searched all throughout the Riverlands with the Brotherhood Without Banners. And then, Lady Stoneheart - Catelyn Stark, Arya's mother - commanded him to join Brienne of Tarth and ensure she would uphold her oath.

"I have my own oath," He said in a low whisper, raising his eyes to the flames. The lump in his throat ached and he swallowed down a shudder. "I will find you."

*A/N: Again, thank you!

Next Chapter: Tyrion