Gendry watched her closely as she moved over towards the bar and noticing the barkeep starting a conversation with her. Once, he had asked her why she distanced herself and she explained that it was because she was still learning how to be around these adults, the men who leered at her, the women that glared at her. He saw the looks too, knew the men were lusting and the women jealous, but she had yet to learn that. She was still but a girl. The moment he had realised she was not just a girl hiding as a boy, but a highborn heir to Winterfell no less, Gendry had been mortified at the language he had used with her, the tawdry jokes and comments he and the others had made. Even now, whenever he held his own tongue he knew she flinched inside when someone else was crass. There was no visible sign, but he felt it. Just as he felt it whenever he did forget his manners in front of her. They were both still trying to fit into the other's world, the opportunity for him to truly try within hers had never really been. He already knew what would happen when their journey would end.

They would make it to Winterfell and he would help her take it back. He might die in the process, but he would be damned if he was going to let her die. If he survived to seeing her become Lady Stark, a sight that would have him rolling in the mud with laughter tears streaming down his cheeks, he would step into the shadows and find a home within Winterfell's forge, smithing for his lady. There was no other possibility in their future, he was already well aware of that. Distracted for a moment by the man to his right, when Gendry looked back to Arya she had gone and he immediately stood up to head after her. The night she had gone missing in the forest, when he had awoken alone, it had done nothing but scare him wondering if she had wandered off and got lost. Or perhaps she had been taken out from under his arm as he slept. The next week after, sleep avoided him as he watched her, making sure no one could run off with her.

"Your sister's a pretty little thing," the barkeep called as he walked past and he turned to her. "Bit boyish looking from some angles, but pretty none the less."

"What's it to you?"

"Nowt, was just telling her there's a whorehouse down the way."

"She aint never gonna be no whore."

"She's a maid, ain't she? Some men'll do a lot for that. Even kill older brothers in their sleep. An' she's full grown."

"She's only two and ten," he argued. Time moved too slowly and too fast all at once on the cold, dark, wet days behind and in front of them. Gendry was no longer sure of the month let alone year, his own age long forgotten never minding hers. She had been nine at the start of the King's Road, and surely more than one year had passed since then? But had there been more? Gendry was lost.

"One and ten, three and ten," the barkeep shrugged, "Don't make no difference to the moon's blood. You knew, right? Some men can smell it." She wrinkled her nose up. "I can see it on her. Like how dogs or wolves can, but they can protect themselves, little sisters can't." Gendry knew she had it wrong, Arya was a wolf. "If I was you, I wouldn't let her stay here another night. 'Specially not in no barn. Get yourselves as far away from those men down the way as you can. I've seen what they do." She laughed, her teats wobbling worryingly in her corset. "Or do like what they say the Queen and her Kingslayer did, take your sister's maidenhead yourself."

Without a word, Gendry stormed from the room, his brow darker than the darkest night. He struggled to see in the night, but the moon was near to full and he could see movement near to the barn. There were four or five men, all taller than he was, some were broader, too, but he could see a smaller figure darting in between them and he allowed himself a smile for a brief second. She was the fighter out of the two of them, more skilled than he could ever train to be, but his strength was greater than hers. He enjoyed watching her fight, dancing she sometimes called it, but then he saw her still and fall to the floor in a heap; neither of them saw what hit her. One man's hands grabbed her limp wrist and started to drag her against the rocky ground as the others shared laughter and cursed her for her spirit.

"She's too much trouble," one grunted.

"Nothing's too much trouble when they're a maid," another laughed, following the group.

Rage filled up within him and Gendry reached out for the nearest object, a hammer next to the horse-keep. Running at the five-strong group, he beat them all in a blur of motion and blood and a strength he had never known he fully possessed. Her eyes opened as he stood their panting, hitting the largest, the one who had had her wrist, across the head, the face spinning to see over his shoulder and blood sprayed out in a fan.

"Gendry?" her tiny voice whispered and he was reminded that whatever her age and whether her body had bled or not, she was just a child, a tiny thing that needed protecting. Concerned for her and his own display, the hammer dropped from his hand and he simply stared at his hands. There was blood covering the fallen hammer, covering the five men and even Arya from where she had laid, unconscious, but his hands were clean and dry. Never before had he killed in such a manner, with such an anger and hatred in his gut. "Gendry?" she repeated and he saw her trying to move.

Without a word, his mind still in shock, he moved and bent down, scooping her tiny frame up in his arms and carrying her into the barn. "Sleep," he commanded after putting her down next to him, his hand absently stroking her hair. Focussing his eyes on the doorway, Gendry knew that sleep was not an option after what had happened and after what he had done. He felt like a monster, until her hand crept forward from her own body and rested on his thigh, seeking comfort from him. He ceased stroking her hair and held her hand instead, which she took as an opening to move her head onto his thigh, using it as a pillow and Gendry could not help the small smile he had as her breathing became gentle snores. This was not the life anyone had ever wanted for her and he needed to make sure that she got home, to beds and feather pillows for sleeping, clean clothes and sweet smelling soap, all the girlish things she hated, but the safety that she needed. That was his purpose.

GOT – GOT – GOT