Here we go! Chapter two! Enjoy! Please review and let me know what you think!

Gendry

Gendry was trying his best to avoid the Hound's blatant stare across the table over his mug of ale as he gulping the liquid heavily and slowly. He placed the mug down on the wooden table with a slow measured thud, keeping his eyes on the younger man as he licked his lopsided lips.

"Bless his Grace to the heavens and back," sighed Beric as he refilled his mug, "I haven't had good ale in moons. Reminds me of the Peach."

A chorus of agreement was joined in with some of the other members of the brotherhood whilst Tormund tore off a piece of meat from the bone with his teeth, chewing thoughtfully before saying, "What's a Peach?"

"A brothel my friend," answered Beric, "with little lasses as sweet as pie-"

The Wildling let out a bark of laugher, "Little?! Give me a woman like her. Loud and strong; a bitch in heat that needs a good thrashing!"

Gendry followed Tormund's line of sight. Brienne of Tarth stood fully armored, hand resting on her sword pommel near the high table. Her size as impressive and forbidding as usual, she was ever watchful for any threat that might be directed towards the Stark girls. Gendry would have chuckled at Tormund's failed wooing attempts but ever fascination with the lady knight except that this line of sight meant he found Arya as well.

And it was clear that tonight Lady Sansa had gotten to Arya.

Rather then her usual masculine style of wearing her hair like her half-brother and late father, her dark hair was down and framing her small face, which was clean and bright. And she was wearing a dress. It was a simple dark grey design with no fancy frills or patterns but it was figure hugging. It showed that Arya Stark was now a woman. And Gendry had nearly chocked on his stew when she'd entered the Great Hall, his ears flaming red and he was careful not to look at her again for the rest of the night.

She was sitting at the King's table with the rest of her family; Lady Sansa, Lord Bran, and Jon, of course. There was also the Dragon Queen, her white hair glowing in the candlelight, accompanied by her trusted handmaiden and Unsullied Commander and Hand of the King, Tyrion Lannister. There was a quiet stillness to Arya that had never been there during their travelling days from King's Landing. She'd never been one for much listening and observing, that had been more of his role. She'd been the headstrong one, running into danger without a second thought, only difference now was he knew she would most likely kill her opponent. He wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to her during their five year separation to have turned her like this.

He saw Jon laugh quietly at something Daenerys Targaryen murmured to him and Gendry dropped his gaze back down to his ale feeling like he was intruding on a private moment with his observations. His eyes flickered back to the youngest Stark girl as she sipping from her mug, even from here he could see her faithful Needle secured to her belt. She still hadn't spoken to him; her gaze was so full of mistrust that Gendry was torn between feeling hurt and knowing he rightly deserved her suspicions. His mind wondered to a conversation that Jon had had with him when he'd visited him in the Winterfell forge one afternoon.

"How goes the Dragonglass?"

Gendry held out a spear that he had been working on, only finished that morning, the sharp tip was black and shiny, ready to be plunged deep into a White Walker. He watched the King study the weapon, feeling it's deadly sharp tip lightly before turning his eyes back to Gendry.

"Ser Davos wasn't exaggerating. You are an excellent smith."

"The man I leant to smith under, Master Molt, used to clip me around the ears if I didn't improve fast enough. So I learnt, fast."

Jon's smirk widened before handing the weapon back to Gendry. They were both silent for a moment longer before Gendry spoke, "Can I help you with something else, Your Grace?"

For once Jon didn't correct Gendry on the use of his title and Gendry noticed. During their time beyond the Wall and the travels to Winterfell they had become fast friends. Gendry didn't know whether it was because Jon was a bastard too, they both understood the payment they had suffered because of their fathers' misadventures, or maybe because he felt like he knew Jon so well already, remembering the stories told to him by his youngest sister.

Instead Jon simply stood tall, his burning silver stare observing closely and Gendry tried not to be restless. He returned the stare though, stubborn bull that he was.

"You told me when we first met that you knew my father," he said lightly.

Gendry gave a nod, setting his hammer down on the anvil, "Aye, and every word was true."

"So why never mention Arya?"

The silence was filled with hesitation on Gendry's part, her name sending a ripple of something indescribable through his chest. He found his next words carefully knowing the man he was talking to now wasn't his friend Jon Snow, fellow bastard, but rather the King of the North, his favourite sibling being the topic of conversation.

"Because, Your Grace," Gendry finally lowered his eyes to the breastplate he'd been mending for an Unsullied solider, "I thought she was dead. I didn't think there was any point bring her up, for either of us. Would you not have blamed me for not protecting her better?" He paused slightly before continuing, still not able to meet Jon's gaze, "I didn't want to follow her to her mother and you're brother. Spend a life serving under a Lord King to satisfy the whims of a little lady knowing we'd never have the freedom to be friends again, not like we were then, when I could instead be fighting for the common people, doing something meaningful? So I decided against you're sister, chose the brotherhood, ignored all her warnings, and ended up in the exact place she warned me against. I nearly paid with my life for my stupidity. You're sister isn't stupid though, she was…she can just see people, understand their true intentions so quickly, better then anyone I've ever known."

Gendry stopped, didn't dare say anymore. In true it was actually nice to come clean to Jon. He'd forced himself to forget Arya Stark very quickly; keep you're head down and it won't come off. That had been the code he lived by since Ser Davos had saved him from the Red Priestess.

"Look at me."

Gendry snapped his eyes back up to the King, suddenly feeling like that fifteen-year-old boy again in Master Molt's shop, meeting the grey eyes of another Stark. Jon was staring hard before Gendry found himself speaking again, "I worried you wouldn't let me follow you if you knew what I had done. And I had to help you, I just, had to…I knew she would have wanted it."

Finally Jon's gaze softened a fraction and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

"I understand."

Gendry frowned and blinked stupidly, "You do?"

The corner of his mouth rose, "I thought joining the Night's Watch would give me a purpose beyond myself and earn the respect of others because I had deserved it through serving and hard work, not because I was born to parents who were married or to Lords and Ladies. But I was wrong, the Night's Watch was nothing of what I thought and everyone let me believe my fancies about it. But even if I had someone like Arya to warn me I think I still would have gone anyway, I was so desperate to prove myself, make a man out of myself that people might start to forget me as a bastard. See me as an equal, or something close anyway. We do stupid things when that acceptance is dangled in front of us, so easy to grasp too…"

That had been a few days prior. Before leaving Jon had made Gendry swear to never keep information like that about his siblings from him again. Arya had been right all along; he was stupid…

"You liking that view boy?"

Gendry's attention suddenly drew back to the Hound who was still watching the blacksmith very intently.

"What?" his blue eyes narrowed slightly at him.

A smirk began to spread over lopsided mouth, "You look like a man who could use some advice. So I'm gonna give you some advice; find yourself another woman, the little wolf'll chew you up and spit you back out."

Gendry shifted in his seat uncomfortable. Thankfully the others were too busy in their own conversations and refilling their ale mugs to have caught on to what the Hound had said.

"I don't need a woman right now," Gendry glared at him, "I'm a little busy helping to prepare for fighting the Night King. What have you been doing Clegane?"

"Oh, you need a woman alright," the Hound ignored Gendry's dig as his smirk turned into a full grin, his ugly deformed face showing just how much enjoyment he was getting from tormenting the younger man, "should've seen you're face when the little wolf walked in wearing a dress. You like her like that? All dolled up and pretty."

Gendry didn't reply, instead concentrating on stopping his hands from balling into fists, taking a measured drink from his ale, trying to hide the blush that was creeping up his neck. Fucking dog! His snarled to himself.

"I always wondered what you two got up to when you travelled with her," the Hound grinned, his teeth barring, "What did you do on those cold nights? Get up nice and close to her little lady arse? She never mentioned you blacksmith, can't have made much of an impression."

"Shut up," Gendry snarled, he could feel the heat rising into his cheeks and ears now and if the others on the table hadn't noticed their interaction they did now.

"I hit a nerve huh?"

"Leave the boy alone Clegane," Beric interrupted gently, "He's a good lad."

"Aye," the Hound still didn't take his eyes off Gendry who stiffened, they had all the table's attention now, "Maybe he is. Doesn't change that he wants to fuck the little wolf bitch-"

All Gendry remembered was seeing red. Suddenly he swung his arm hard, even harder then when he puts his hammer to mental, his fist colliding with the Hound's jaw with a hit so forceful it sent the larger man from his chair. Their whole table exploded into action and noise as Gendry leapt over the table before the Hound could recover, landing on the disgruntled man, and slammed his fist again into the Hound's ugly face as his head banged against the hard stone floor.

But his vision suddenly blurred and pain exploded along his face when the Hound suddenly struck him, throwing him off and it was like a fury he didn't know, he charged at the Hound, wanting to tear him-

Suddenly arms seized him and hurled him away as voices shouted, scraping of steel as swords were drawn and a yell cut through the commotion –

"ENOUGH!"

It was Jon, pushing into the middle of the commotion along with Brienne and Ser Davos. Tormund was holding Gendry whilst Beric had pulled his sword from his belt, keeping the Hound at bay. Compared to a seething Gendry who closely resembled Drogon before he descended upon his enemies with fire, the Hound seemed only slightly agitated; in fact he looked rather amused by the entire situation.

"They'll be plenty of time for fighting when the dead arrive!" Jon growled his voice booming in the now silent hall.

"All my fault really Your Grace," the Hound growled "the lad was being a good boy, defending her honor and all."

He nodded to Arya who Gendry hadn't notice had appeared standing close to Jon, Needle in her hand ready to pounce on her brother's order. But at the Hound's words she pulled back slightly and her surprised gaze locked with Gendry's for the first time since they had spotted each other in the courtyard of Winterfell.

Gendry could now taste the blood in his mouth, his right cheek throbbing as he struggled against Tormund until the Wildling let him go.

"My apologies your Grace," Gendry inclining his head as he uncurling his fists and heard his words muffled, his bottom lip felt swollen. Without another word he turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall leaving a silent party behind him.

The cold night air was a sudden welcome to Gendry. The moon was high and the night was quiet. For once Gendry didn't shiver. His skin felt hot as he stalked towards the forge trying to quiet the Hound's words about Arya.

You like her like that? All dolled up and pretty.

She never mentioned you blacksmith, can't have made much of an impression.

Doesn't change that he wants to fuck the little wolf bitch.

Entering the forge Gendry glared at his surroundings, seizing a helmet that was waiting for his mending and threw it hard against the opposite wall. He was mad…no, furious…

He leaned his palms against the anvil, sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes closed. He didn't even know why he was so furious-!

"You're stupid you know that, right?"

Gendry's eyes opened slowly as her familiar voice washed over him. He turned to see her standing in the doorway of the forge, the snow had stopped falling and she was framed by the silent dark night behind her. They stared at each other, blue eyes meeting grey as Gendry swallowed the lump in his throat. Needle was securely back at her belt and instead she now held a bowl in her hands. Without any hesitation Arya moved into the forge and nodded to his cot saying, "Sit."

She placed the bowl down which Gendry could now see was filled with clear water wringing a clean cloth as Gendry lowered himself slowly onto his cot, staring at her, not sure if the Hound had hit him so hard he was now having visions.

Gendry watched in silence as Arya moved the cloth to his injured cheek, pressing its coolness to his burning skin, wiping the blood and soothing the injury. She was silent too, concentrating on her self-appointed task whilst Gendry studied her, feeling very alert now at her proximity. Her eyes, nose, mouth were still the same, but her face had lost some her baby fat. It was more angular, high cheekbones, with dark eyebrows and hair that reached her shoulders now. He could smell the rose and lemon that he was sure her sister had made her bathe in. In other circumstances he'd have teased her ruthlessly but he knew it was wiser to keep quiet for now.

"You're stupid," she repeated, a little softer this time, as she wet the now bloody cloth, turning the water a light pink, before returning to her work but this time near his right eyebrow dabbing at a cut that had opened. Her voice had lost its high-pitch whiney quality that belonged to young girls. She sounded like a woman now, mature and strong, and it made Gendry's stomach knot a little.

Gendry shrugged, "I've always been stupid. Milady."

Her hands froze as she met his eyes, her annoyance evident at her glare, and he broke into a sudden grin, his bottom lip splitting further but he didn't care.

"I'm not you're lady," she snapped, taking his hand suddenly and placing the cloth in it before bringing both up to his bottom lip, soothing the ache there, "I'm nobody's lady."

"No you're not. You're Arya Stark of Winterfell."

Maybe it was the trick of light or his clobbered head but Gendry swore he saw a small smile stretch across Arya's lips at his words. He watched her as she observed the forge around her before she turned back to him, hands her hips and chin raised, looking every bit the commanding lady she claimed she wasn't, "I don't need any man defending my honor. I'm more then capable of giving that old dog a good kick up his arse."

"I know. I've seen you sparing," Gendry resisted the urge to roll his eyes before hesitantly adding, "Is Jon mad?"

"Is Jon mad?" Arya snapped at him in frustration and sudden anger, "You made me look weak, like some little girl in need of protection in front of all those lords and men! I'm mad at you! And you're worried about my brother?!"

"Well," Gendry suddenly grinned again, removing the wet cloth from his lip, "He is the King. And I caused a scene at dinner."

"Don't worry," Arya's expression darkened further as she scowled, "you can do no wrong in Jon's eyes."

Gendry laughed suddenly, the action hurting his side a little but he didn't care, "You're not jealous are you milady?"

"Don't be stupid!" Arya spat and Gendry hoped dearly she'd stamp her foot too. He just openly laughed at her.

But his laughter died slowly as he watched her stare at him. His gaze swept over her, from her dark hair to each new curve that was on sudden display in that damn dress. The curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the breasts that had not been there before, and knowing the lean legs she'd have under that skirt. He swore he saw her flush under his blatant observations and seeing her react like that only tightened the knots in his stomach.

"Wrap you're hand up," she said suddenly, the icy wall returning and Gendry suddenly felt guilty and ashamed for making her feel vulnerable under his stare, "It'll be bruised badly in the morning."

She moved to the door with such speed that Gendry panicked. He didn't want her to leave again, not after being separated for so long and such a short relapse back into their comradeship. It just wasn't enough.

"Arya!" even to his own ears his voice sounded strangled and desperate. He inwardly cringed. She paused in the doorway of the forge, her back to him, tension in her shoulders, "I-thank-you. For the water and bowl, and, helping me…"

She half turned to him then, a small smile on her lips before she said, "Returning the favour."

Gendry frowned, "What?"

"The sword," she said softly. Her grey eyes gleamed and Gendry felt a flush rise on his neck but he kept her gaze locked with his, "It's beautiful. Thank you."

She turned then, disappearing into the dark night beyond the forge and Gendry felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward as he gazed after the little lady of Winterfell.