Chapter 6

Everything changes.

Arya had never felt so irritated by so many people, in such a short space of time and for such a stupid reason in all her life.

She was lined up with a gaggle of other ladies, waiting to make a grand entrance to The Great Hall. As much as she tried to ignore their excited twittering, these shrill ladies invaded her thoughts, setting her teeth on edge and shredding her already thinly stretched patience. Every time she closed her eyes, took a breath and started reciting Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow… she would hear the word 'Baratheon' mentioned and then some idiot female would giggle. Arya would curse under her breath and have to begin again.

Daenerys and Sansa had tried to engage her in conversation, but she'd had enough talk of dresses and lords for today. Indeed, with every passing minute, she was regretting having let Sansa talk her into any of this.

Her own image staring back at her from Sansa's mirror still burned behind her eyelids. To her surprise, her sister had cut her hair even shorter, but in the sleek Volantis style. Sansa had darkened her eyelids and lashes with kohl. A hint of red salve on her lips and cheeks made her look flushed. And then there was that red dress.

Arya had spent years trying to be invisible, to disappear, in order to strike when least expected. But not now. There was only one reason to wear a dress like this – to attract attention. Male attention. It was the most uncomfortable of feelings. Why could Sansa not have let her wear the grey dress? Why could she not have been content to stay in her room?

She was here now and she had to deal with it. As Arya had been trained to do, she immediately assessed and dismissed all of the assembled ladies as no threat at all. All except one; the lady immediately to her left. She was silent, but had cunning brown eyes that watched everything. Her clothes and jewels proclaimed her to be a lady of the highest order. Older than both Sansa and The Queen, she exuded a confidence and sophistication that left Arya in doubt this lady considered herself to be superior to them all.

To Arya's relief, she made no attempt to engage in conversation, seeming content to watch and asses everyone else in the line as Arya had done.

Finally, Lord Varys gave the order to go. The door to the Great Hall was opened. Daenerys stepped through and the parade began.

Queen Daenerys was, naturally, first, followed by Sansa and Arya as 'sisters' to King Jon. The red dress was tight and made it difficult to breathe, much less walk. Arya felt ridiculously exposed, although, in truth, more of her was covered than usual. The hem of the dress reached to her toes and the sleeves to her wrists, but it was her chest that was bare to the world, or at least that's what it felt like. Bits of her that had never seen the light of day before were pushed up and on show in a way that made Arya blush.

Worryingly, Sansa's dress fitted rather too well. Arya told herself it was because her shoulders were wider, her back broader. She had never given her breasts much thought before, except to bind them and curse that she had them at all. Now, every time she looked down, she could think of little else. She hoped 'twould be only her thinking like that tonight.

As the Ladies made their way into The Great Hall, the men who had been there for some time already, stood up, as was custom.

Although Arya felt a thousand pairs of eyes on her, she knew there was one blue set that followed her every move. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. Arya fought the urge to look up, knowing her eyes would find his. She would not do it. Besides, if she didn't keep her eyes fixed on her feet, she would no doubt step on the hem of her own dress, or worse Sansa's. That would be typical; she would trip and fall flat on her face in this stupid dress right in front of everyone. She did however manage to look up long enough to scowl and stick her tongue out at Jon. He only looked amused by it, raising one eyebrow at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Seven hells, but he was infuriating!

Then it happened.

Daenerys stopped beside Jon. Sansa took a few steps further and stopped between Aegon and another lord. Then there was Gendry, his hand on the back of the empty chair Arya was to sit on. He was clean shaven and much more the boy again she had known, grinning expectantly towards her. His eyes raked over her and her stupid red dress, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes and back again. 'Twas obvious he liked what he saw.

She looked from his face, to his hand resting on the back of her chair. It was such a simple gesture but it said everything. Of possession. She would sit beside him and he would pour her wine. His hand would brush against hers, accidentally at first, but then he would become bolder and take her hand in his. Perhaps he would make her laugh, his blue eyes twinkling as they shared some tale from their past and her blood would run hot and cold all at the same time. He would compliment her on her hair as an excuse to touch it, stroke her face and she would close her eyes again and imagine where it might end. But she knew where it would end. She knew what he wanted and she could not give it to him. She could not do it. How could she think of the future when the past was not laid to rest?

"I cannot sit there."

Arya grabbed the back of the chair nearest to her as a drowning man might grab at a rope. The sophisticated lady behind, the one with the cunning eyes, bumped into her, muttering a sailor's curse under her breath.

Varys glared at Arya and jabbed a fat finger towards the chair claimed by Gendry's hand. She shook her head and turned away, catching the perplexed and then annoyed look on Gendry's face as she did. The lady with the cunning brown eyes was ushered forwards to the empty seat. Arya was aware of Gendry nodding politely to the lady, but his reproachful eyes remained fixed on her.

Arya found herself clutching the back of the chair between Sam and Tyrion Lannister, who were currently exchanging puzzled glances.

"'Tis an unexpected pleasure Lady Stark." Tyrion bowed low. Arya noticed he was standing on a box, for otherwise he would not have been able to see over the table. A plump cushion was placed on his chair, ready to raise his golden Lannister arse to an acceptable height.

"You're not supposed to be sitting here!" Sam muttered out of the side of his mouth. "We're supposed to get Margaery Tyrell and you're supposed to sit beside you-know-who."

"No I do not know who and I am perfectly happy here, thank you Master Hand." Arya said, trying to sound regal and above reproach like Queen Daenerys.

Tyrion winked at Sam. "I am sure Sam and I are safer with you Lady Arya. Perhaps I should be more specific… our cocks need no longer fear for their safety tonight."

"Our cocks might be safe Tyrion, but I fear our heads are in mortal danger of losing our bodies courtesy of Lord Baratheon's sword."

Tyrion and Arya followed Sam's gaze. Sure enough, if looks could kill, Sam and Tyrion would already be welcomed into The Stranger's arms.

"What business is it of his where I sit?" Arya scowled. From further down the table, Gendry scowled back.

"Ah, you are but an innocent child," Tyrion sighed "You have much to learn of the ways of court my dear. I hear Lord Varys toiled day and night for all eternity over this seating plan."

Sam and Tyrion laughed heartily. Arya did not see the humour. As Daenerys was now sitting down, she decided she'd better sit also, before Varys changed his mind and made her sit beside Gendry after all, in accordance with his wretched seating plan.

Once Sam and Tyrion were similarly settled (Tyrion on his cushion) Arya asked them why their cocks were not safe from Margaery Tyrell. She asked in a loud whisper as an old lady was sat to Tyrion's other side. Arya did not wish to alarm such a frail old lady her with such an improper conversation. Had she known then, that the frail old lady was Lady Oleena Redwyne, grandmother to Lady Tyrell, Arya would have not bothered to hold her tongue.

"I hear your sister-in-law is insatiable and not too fussy either, as long as the cock is attached to a wealthy lord, eh Tyrion?" Sam waggled his eyebrows at Arya and Tyrion.

Tyrion showed no sign of being bothered by Sam's barbed comments and was quick to retort, "First, she is hardly my sister-in-law and second, I am sure you would know better than I Master Hand. I hear power, as well as wealth, are the aphrodisiacs the lady craves."

Sam blushed scarlet.

Arya craned her neck around Sam's bulk to catch a glimpse of this insatiable lady.

Arya could not see Lady Tyrell's face, as she was turned entirely towards Gendry, but Arya could see Margaery stretch out one pale, elegant hand to cover Gendry's. He did not remove his. The insatiable, not too fussy, Lady Tyrell then tossed her head, sending her chestnut main tumbling over her shoulder as she leaned in towards Gendry, her interest and intent obvious.

"She is too old for him and surely she must already be married!" Arya huffed, not liking what she saw.

"Aye, but look to her husband, my nephew." Tyrion nodded towards a podgy boy of about twelve, who still had soft, childish features and a rather simple expression on his round face. "You understand why she seeks her pleasure elsewhere?"

Margaery Tyrell sought pleasure from Gendry?! How dare she! And there it was; jealousy, like a stab in her heart.

"If he is foolish enough to bed another man's wife, then she is welcome to him!"

Sam and Tyrion exchanged knowing smirks behind Arya's back.

As the realm now had two Kings and one Queen, Sam and Tyrion attempted to explain to Arya what a nightmare the seating arrangements had become. Despite pretending not to care, Arya was secretly fascinated to hear how Varys had pointed out to Aegon that, with Jon sat beside his Queen, Aegon might be seen to be the second King if he sat to Jon's right. As soon as it had been mentioned by Varys, Aegon seized upon the issue and so the whole, age-old, established seating order had to be re-written. Now Queen Daenerys sat in the centre of the long table, with Jon and Aegon on either side. Thereafter the arrangement was lady, lord, lady and so on, in decreasing order of seniority.

To say Arya felt conspicuous amongst such illustrious company was an understatement. She felt as if she was the newest attraction at a freak show. It seemed as if all eyes were on her and, if they weren't actually looking at her, Arya was sure they were gossiping about her. If she could have possibly got up and walked away she would have, but to do so would probably annoy Jon so much he might suggest chaining her to her room next. So she sat and tried to keep her elbows in and her knees together as she looked at the bewildering array of cups and glasses, knives and forks in front of her.

She couldn't help imagining Septa Mordane rubbing her hands together in glee as Arya desperately tried to recall everything the old Septa had tried to teach her and Arya had been so determined not to learn.

For the first time in her life, Arya found herself wishing she had paid more attention. She could not see Sansa in order to copy what she did, which had been Arya's usual way of muddling through such situations when they had been younger. Much younger. She groaned inwardly. She would be reduced to copying fat Sam. Arya imagined his manners would be no better than a pig at a trough, but at least he wouldn't be likely to comment on her manners, or rather the lack of them.

Arya looked down the table towards Gendry. She couldn't catch his eye. In fact, as she bobbed her head in front of and behind Sam's bulk, repeatedly, she was tempted to think he was deliberately ignoring her. At least his hand no longer seemed to be captive of the Tyrell harlot.

Arya couldn't help but wonder how Gendry was coping as she never remembered him having a hint of any manners when they were children. She wondered if he felt as out of place as she did herself. Arya felt a sudden pang of camaraderie in adversity, but despite trying to surreptitiously take a look down the line at every opportunity, she was not able to make him notice her. It seemed he was in a huff. Stupid, bastard boy.

She need not have worried about her manners though, as both Sam and Tyrion's were impeccable and easy to emulate. As Sam pointed out, rather proudly, he had been raised to be Lord, before adding, rather sadly, that was before he had been sent to The Wall. Then followed a nostalgic discussion between Tyrion and Sam about life on The Wall. Arya was fascinated. She had always hoped to go when she was younger, to find Jon. How different things might have been if Yoren had managed to take them there. Once again her thoughts turned to Gendry; once again she did not wish to contemplate what had passed between them earlier in the day and his wishes, nae, his expectations of her.

As the first course of oysters in their shells was served, Aegon stood up. Of course, when one of The Kings stood, silence fell across the entire hall.

"Lords and ladies, good people of Westeros, tonight we are celebrating the safe return of our new Lord Baratheon and his Bad Company…" Arya watched Gendry raise his glass towards the back of the Great Hall. There was a loud cheer from that direction, followed swiftly by some booing from another section.

"Golden Company" Sam chuckled.

Aegon smirked, but was not distracted, "…as always, we must thank Lord Tyrell and Highgarden for its bounty…" The lord who sat on the other side of Sansa, nodded graciously. So that was Willas Tyrell of the flowers. Arya craned her neck to see him better. She was so busy peering that it took a jab in the ribs from Tyrion's stunted finger for her to realise that Aegon was now talking about her, although he was smiling down at Sansa "…and we have another cause for celebration tonight as Arya Stark has finally decided to prove to us that she is indeed a woman. Now House Stark can now boast of two beautiful ladies." He purred, like a predatory big, silver cat.

To Arya's absolute horror, when she turned her attention away from Aegon and looked out across the hall, a good proportion of the sea of faces was now looking directly at her. Aegon raised his glass in a salute to Sansa, before draining it down in one. Arya didn't know who was more uncomfortable; Sansa or herself.

Just when Arya thought things couldn't possibly get any more excruciatingly embarrassing, she heard the scrape of chair legs on flagstones echo around the silent hall as someone else moved to stand up.

Arya craned her neck to search for the culprit. Seven buggering hells! It was Gendry, drawing himself up to his full height with glass in hand. She would have happily let Baleron burn her to a cinder if it meant she didn't have to witness what she suspected was coming next.

Gendry turned towards her, his eyes boring into hers as he lifted his glass in a salute. His deep voice boomed around the Great Hall, just as his father's had all those years ago.

"To the stunning Lady Arya Stark!"

All assembled then lifted their own glasses and cups in a toast. The words "To Lady Arya Stark", spoken by a thousand voices all at once, echoed around The Great Hall. Every single eye was trained on her. Arya knew she was scarlet from the tips of her toes, to the top of her head. Gendry took a sip from his glass, raising his eyebrows at her over the rim. She felt herself gritting her teeth, screwing her hands into fists and digging her nails into her palms until she was sure she would draw blood.

Stunning? No-one had ever called her that before, unless it was in reference to some hard blow she had struck to their head. How dare he humiliate her like that! Was that his idea of a joke?! Everyone would be laughing at her from now until next winter, or perhaps the winter after that!

Arya cursed Gendry under her breath with every unsavoury oath she knew and a few she just made up. Tyrion turned from Lady Oleena Redwyne, with whom he was having a conversation about the merits of making wine by combining different types of grape (which Lady Redwyne appeared to regard as heresy), to Arya.

He fixed those mismatched eyes on her and said calmly,

"Cursing like a soldier is really rather unbecoming of one so stunning, Lady Arya."

"Don't you mock me too Tyrion! We freaks should stick together." She hissed, drawing him a menacing look.

Tyrion banged his cup down on the table with a ferocity that made Arya, and a few others nearby, jump.

"If anyone stood up in front of this crowd of sycophants and arse lickers and called this freak 'stunning' and what's more meant it, then I would happily get down on my knees, suck his cock and thank him any other damn way he wanted me to!"

"Eh? Sucking his cork you say? Are we still talking about wine?" The Queen of Thorns shrilled across at them, causing Sam to splutter so hard, his mouthful of wine shot across the table and landed on the floor on the far side, much to Daenerys' disgust.

Ignoring both Lady Redwyne and Sam, Tyrion continued fiercely "Considering the matter further, I might actually have to stand on a stool, to pleasure that particular Lord, but he defended you when Aegon sought to mock you and you curse him for it! For shame Arya, I thought you better than that!"

This time she was angry at herself too because what Tyrion said was right. That's what a friend would do for another friend wasn't it? Bugger. She might even have to thank Gendry for it. No sucking of cocks though. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

Arya huffed and cursed again, even angrier than before. "What are you doing here anyway Lannister? I though you lost this war. You should be off licking your wounds and counting your gold somewhere else."

"I am glad 'tis your brother I negotiate with and not you Lady Stark, for I assure you, King Jon wants me here, counting my Lannister gold into his eagerly outstretched hand."

"Watch your tongue Arya." Sam warned. For once, Arya took his advice and turned her back on Tyrion, leaving him to converse with old Lady Oleena about boring wine.

The rest of the meal passed slowly, as Sam was not half so entertaining without Tyrion and the meat, still oozing blood was not much to her liking. Nevertheless, she learned more about the precarious nature of the peace during that hour, than she had during the rest of her stay in the Red Keep.

Once the final course of cherries and cream had been served, Daenerys had a muttered, hurried conversation with Jon and he, seemingly reluctantly, stood up to address the crowd.

He clapped his hands loudly. The crowd felt instantly silent,

"Lords and ladies, good people of Westeros, we are at last at peace…" cheers broke out from all points around the hall. Jon had to raise his hands and call for silence before the crowd would stop cheering long enough for him to continue "… my Queen tells me that in peacetime we should dance."

He smiled down at Daenerys and she up at him. No-one could have mistaken the warmth between them.

"So… tonight we shall dance!"

At his word, a group of brightly clad musicians ran out from a side entrance to much enthusiastic applause and cheering. As they hastily set up their instruments, couples and small groups were already beginning to gather at the front of the hall, before the dais. An army of servants shooed away the diners who remained at the foremost tables and carried the tables and chairs away to be stacked against a wall. Within moments, the instruments were being tuned and the eager dancers stood impatiently, waiting on the Kings and Queen to take the lead.

Jon stood and offered Daenerys his hand. She accepted it willingly, looking every inch The Queen of the realm. Aegon was also standing, offering his hand to Sansa. She took it with deference, bowing her head to him, a sweet smile on her lips. On the other side of her, the look on the face of Willas Tyrell would have curdled milk.

Arya looked down the table to Gendry, glaring fixedly ahead. He seemed to be trying to resist the desperate attempts being made by Margaery Tyrell to get him to dance. To Arya's amusement, Lady Tyrell was rescued from her predicament by Sam, leaving Gendry alone. Perhaps he would come and rescue her now as she had no wish to dance or to be left sitting alone at the top table to be an object of everyone's pity.

But still Gendry did not look at her. Instead he lifted his glass and drained it in one. Every time she had seen him tonight he had that glass either in his hand or to his lips. She did not have time to ponder it further, as Willas Tyrell was standing before her asking for this dance, although he looked as if he would rather drink that milk he had just curdled than have to.

She opened her mouth to decline, but Tyrion caught her eye with another very disapproving look. So she tried to conjure up one of Lady Sansa's sweet smiles and accept Lord Tyrell's offer with good grace. As she rose to take his hand, Gendry finally looked her way. Yet another very disproving look. She was damned if she accepted, damned if she didn't. Well if he didn't want her to dance with Lord Tyrell, then he should have asked her himself!

Willas Tyrell walked with a limp, but at least his sour expression dissipated as they approached the dance floor and assumed their positions for the first dance. She had seen these stiff, formal dances many times before, but had never participated in one. How hard could it be? Lord Tyrell looked like he knew what he was doing and Sansa was there to follow. Dancing to music was just like water dancing only easier, surely.

It turned out not to be quite as easy as Arya had thought, but she was observant and her reactions were quick. Besides, Willas had a steady hand. This was a slowly, stately procession of a dance and she did not notice him limp much. He only grimaced once and Arya thought that was more to do with the sound of Sansa's laughter reaching them as King Aegon twirled her around unexpectedly, rather than any pain in his leg.

As they stepped apart and together again, Lord Tyrell commented upon how much like her sister Arya looked. As he said it, his eyes darted across the floor to Sansa; a vision of loveliness in green and auburn. Arya snorted in a most unladylike fashion.

"You have a twisted sense of humour Lord Tyrell."

Willas gave her a puzzled look. "I would have thought comparison to the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms would have pleased you Lady Arya. I am not sure why I am the recipient of your sarcasm. I merely sought to compliment you both on your comeliness, a trait which obviously runs strong in the Stark family."

Arya wasn't sure if he was still jesting or if the fool was serious. Perhaps his eyes were as damaged as his leg.

"Sansa is the beauty in the family, there is no doubt. I, on the other hand, do not count beauty amongst my list of accomplishments." She grinned wickedly at the thought. Put a sword in her hand and Willas Tyrell would know where her talents lay and 'twas not in looking pretty to please some lord.

He smiled as if her words amused him. "Pray tell me of this list of accomplishments then Lady Arya. It must be impressive indeed if beauty does not feature on it."

"Ah, beauty is not on it, but humility is Lord Tyrell…" Arya gave him a sly smile, "…so I shall not bore you with the details, except to confess that it is a long list."

As Willas laughed, his eyes crinkled rather attractively at the sides, "Such beauty and such humility. The Stark sisters are indeed peas in a pod."

Willas was a natural dancer and, when she was unsure of the steps, he guided her in the right direction without commenting on her lack of skill. It was almost a pleasurable experience, submitting to the ebb and flow of the dance, spoiled only when, on every turn, she would catch Gendry glowering at her over his wine glass.

She was quite sorry when the dance was over, Willas graciously bowed and kissed her hand, "The pleasure has been all mine Lady Arya. I confess my leg does weary me after a while, but I hope you will favour me with another dance anon. I find your beauty and your wit a pleasing combination."

Arya did not know what to make of that. Was he jesting with her again? But Willas had no sooner let go of her hand than Sam appeared beside them, offering his hand to her.

"May I have the pleasure lady Arya?"

"If you think dancing with me will be a pleasure, you are more fool than you look Samwell Tarly."

Still, she let him take her hand and this time the music was faster and the dance more lively. For a fat man, Sam was surprisingly light on his feet and his obvious enjoyment of dancing was infectious. He whooped as he twirled Arya away from him and cheered as she returned. Arya found herself laughing too as other couples took up Sam's enthusiastic version of the dance. She was too busy twirling and laughing to notice Gendry calling for another wine skin and draining down another glass.

She was flushed and giggling when they eventually stopped and Sam nodded to Gendry. "A word of…" he was panting, "…warning. He does not usually drink for fear of becoming his father."

To Arya's mind that's exactly who he looked like. Alone on the raised dais, wine glass in his hand, save for the fact that he looked sullen and angry. At least King Robert was a merry drunk.

"Tread warily Arya, for he is not himself when under the influence." Sam cautioned.

"I have every intention of avoiding him anyway!" Arya replied haughtily.

"I hope you do not mean me little sister." Jon said from behind.

"Errr…no, not you. But I was just going to sit down."

"Not yet. I need to talk to you."

Arya blew out a deep breath, certain that Jon was going to moan at her again. This time for ruining Varys' damn seating plan.

He led her into the line of dancers, standing waiting for the musicians to begin again. In front of them, Aegon stood beside Daenerys. Together they were the perfect image of a Targaryen King and Queen; Aegon so tall, slim with a regal bearing, Daenerys all soft, ripe curves and both, of course, with their unmistakeable Targaryen silver blonde hair.

Arya decided, on looks alone, Jon was by far the better match for The Queen of Dragons. They were light and dark, ice from the North, fire from the South, the perfect contrast, rather then the perfect compliment. Aegon and Daenerys were too alike. It was unsettling and too much of a reminder of Targaryen madness. Although Jon was as much Targaryen as them, his looks were pure Stark.

As she and Jon stood in line behind the Targaryens, Arya wondered how the two of them looked together. In this stupid red dress and with all Sansa's fixing, did she and Jon look as much the mirror image of each other as Aegon and Daenerys? Did their height, dark hair and eyes draw attention? Arya could not believe any couple could ever be as striking as two silver Dragons.

The dance started and Jon moved through the paces passably well, leaving Arya to struggle somewhat, as he was not the subtle, gracious tutor that Willas had been, nor the enthusiastic innovator Sam was.

"What are you doing here Arya?"

That caught her off guard. Had he not wished her to come to dinner after all?

"I am here because I love wearing dresses and dancing brother," she smiled as sweetly as she could, although the words might have come out as more sarcastic than she had intended.

"Do not try and play games with me Arya. Tell me why you are returned from Braavos."

Oh, that.

"Because you sent Brienne to fetch me and here I am." She tried another saccharine sweet smile. He was not amused. However, the dance took them apart for a few moments and she had time to gather her thoughts.

Brienne had called to her in the street in Braavos and had immediately spoken to her of Jon and Bran and Sansa. Arya had made the impulsive decision there and then to just leave with her. She had needle secreted on her person and there was nothing at the House of Black and White to hold her. She had turned her back on her old life in an instant, the hope of being reunited with her family overriding any thought of, or loyalty to, the Kindly Man.

That very night Brienne had obtained passage for them on ship bound for Westeros. Surely Jon did not know of her time with the Faceless Men? Brienne had never given any indication of knowing. A sick feeling washed over her, but she would not let it overcome her. Jon could not know and she would give nothing away.

"I fled to Braavos after what happened at The Twins. I had nowhere and no one else to go to. I tried for The Wall Jon, truly I did, but I could not make it. I was…only a girl then and all alone." It was all true, as far as it went.

She saw his expression soften. He always had a weakness for her and it was there still. She would use it if she needed to, but for now she had him where she wanted him. Arya tried to look sad and look up at him through her eyelashes the way she had seen silly women do when they wanted something from a man. If she had thought she could do it convincingly, she would have tried to tremble her lower lip.

"If I could possibly have saved you all of that, I would have. I searched for you too. I even thought I'd found you once. You must believe me Arya. You have always been so precious to me." It was said with such passion and sincerity, she almost felt a bit guilty for manipulating him like this. She threw her arms around him in a bear hug. He would like that and he would hate it in equal measure. Hopefully he would stop talking about it.

"Oh, I know it, I know it, Jon. But I am here and I do not want to think upon those awful times again. I have you and Sansa now and I want to be a good sister."

Jon was obviously taken aback by such demonstrative behaviour and, although he patted her back very briefly, he quickly extricated himself from her hold gently but firmly.

He held her at arms length, "And I want to be a good brother. I am pleased to see things are improving between us and you have made an effort tonight Arya."

"Thank dear Sansa, for 'tis all her doing – not mine." She tried to look humble and fluttered her eyelashes. He began to look rather sceptical. Perhaps she was overdoing it with the eyelashes.

As they joined in the dance again, he continued, "Lord Baratheon seemed to appreciate your efforts, although I doubt your refusing to sit beside him would please him much."

The both turned to look at that Lord, glaring at them over his wine glass.

"I do not want to speak of him," Arya said airily, trying to sound disinterested. She did not want to go over this again. Not tonight, not with Gendry's eyes following her everywhere and his having stood up and toasted her and not after what Tyrion had said and her beginning to think kindly of him.

"I was wondering how your meeting went?" Jon cocked his head, staring intently at her as they moved apart and then together.

Arya could not bear it. "I do not want to speak of it or him or marriage or any other lords or dresses or…or anything!"

"As you wish. We shall discuss it later." Jon shrugged.

"Aren't you going to chastise me and nag me like an old woman?"

"Not tonight." He said simply and, damn him, he finished the rest of the dance in silence.

Without the distraction of conversation, she was able to look more often at Gendry. A tall, broad man with greying hair was standing in front of the dais, talking to him, and from the look on Gendry's face, he did not like the conversation.

"The wine they serve to the Lords must be better than the sour piss we're getting tonight, judging by the amount of it you're drinking." Lem observed wryly as Gendry took another long drink.

"Aye. 'Tis acceptable." Gendry muttered, swirling the finest wine from the Arbour around his glass.

"Come and sit with us. At least you would have some company."

"As you know, my place is here now and besides, I prefer the view from up here."

Lem followed his gaze to the beautiful woman in the scarlet dress dancing so gracefully with King Jon. "Aye, well I cannot disagree with that. She has certainly grown up. If I had a choice between sitting across from Jack-Be-Lucky or watching her, I'd be sitting where you are sitting my friend."

Lem turned again to his one time pupil. "You're doing yourself no favours by getting drunk up here, while she's dancing over there boy."

"Have you finished your lecture old man? Then go and leave me in peace."

Lem narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. "Have I ever given you advice that wasn't good and true? Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"No," Gendry admitted reluctantly, "but you never taught me how to dance either."

Lem threw his head back and laughed long and hearty. "The transition from bastard Knight to great lord was never going to be an easy one, but I did not anticipate dancing present such an obstacle. I only wish all our problems could be so easily overcome."

Gendry didn't reply, instead he kept his gaze fixed on Arya. It was not hard to loose himself when he watched her. She moved with a grace that enchanted and fascinated him. He alternated between imaging her with a sword in her hand, fighting him with all the strength and skill he had witnessed in the training yard and imagining her naked under him, the long, graceful lines of her body arching up against him as he took her hard and deep.

Lem, seeing his comrade so lost in thought, simply shook his head and walked off, back to the rest of Bad Company and their piss poor wine.

Arya was not in the best of moods when the music stopped. Jon was all but ignoring her and immediately stalked off; Gendry was still silently staring, but would not ask her to dance. She was sick of both of them. Her mood was not improved when she heard a deep, rich voice behind her say, "So Arya Stark has breasts and not a cock after all."

She whirled around to find King Aegon standing there, a slow smile curving his mouth. Those purple Targaryen eyes, bewitching on Daenerys, were far too disconcerting on him. He held out his arm.

"Begone dragon. I'm not dancing with you." She snapped, wishing her breasts were not quite so obviously on show.

"I wasn't asking." King Aegon replied in a mocking tone. "Walk with me." He took another step towards her, arm still held out.

The other couples were pairing up and assuming their positions for the next dance. She wanted to get away from this place. Gendry's eyes still bored into her, Jon was also watching now, from his place on the dance floor beside Daenerys. Would she be forgiven if she caused another scene on the dance floor with another King? Probably not. Arya reluctantly took Aegon's arm. She might be able to steer him towards the door. As she placed her arm on his, Margaery Tyrell appeared in front of them.

"I thought this was our dance Aegon." She purred.

"Alas, Lady Arya claimed me first. She simply cannot bear to let me go, but as she is too exhausted to dance any more, she has begged me to take a turn around the hall with her."

Arya was speechless, 'twas all such blatant lies. Lady Tyrell narrowed her eyes. Margaery may have only shown mild curiosity towards her before, but now Arya knew she was marked as a rival. Arya could not have cared less. The grand lady reluctantly moved aside to let them pass.

As Aegon steered Arya from the dance floor, he murmured into her ear, "I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving me from that awful woman. I fear she will suck me dry, leaving only a magnificent, empty husk behind."

Arya glanced across at him as he led her on. Was he really so vain? He might be a Targaryen Dragon King, but he was still just a man. From what she had seen and heard, a spoiled, wicked, far too pretty man, but just a man all the same.

"I am glad you are saved and not to be sucked dry." Arya said, trying to sound cool and matter-of-fact. "Now please let go of my arm and I shall leave you to find some more agreeable company." She moved her arm away, but his fingers tightened on her wrist immediately, not so much that they hurt her, but just short of it. He was fast and strong, stronger than her and knew how to judge his strength precisely. She would not be able to break his hold easily. It was an uncomfortable thought.

"Who says I do not find your company agreeable?" he murmured.

They were at the edge of the dance floor now. Arya looked longingly towards the door, but Aegon steered them back towards the dais and to their seats in the centre. The top table was almost empty – most of the lords and ladies occupying themselves with the dancing. Gendry still sat sullenly in the same seat. A serving girl was filling his wine glass. Again. Arya gave him a beseeching look, which he studiously ignored. Why would he not come and save her from Aegon's unwanted attentions?

Aegon steered her past Willas and Tyrion, sat together, deep in conversation. As she passed behind, she saw Tyrion had drawn a frame or cage and that Willas' leg was laid across Tyrion's lap. The two of them gestured animatedly between the drawing and Willa's twisted leg. 'Twas a strange scene indeed to behold at the top table!

As Aegon reached the centre of that table, he pulled out the chair next to his and motioned for her to sit down. She didn't want to. She wanted to leave. Gendry was glowering at them both. There would be no rescue from him.

Aegon sat down first and hauled her down beside him. At least he let go of her wrist when they were seated. She rubbed at it angrily.

"I did not know you had such a magnificent figure under those ugly men's clothes you favour. I suspect you do not have an inkling of the effect such a figure has on a man, otherwise you would always dress like this." A wicked smile curved his elegant mouth. "I can assure you Lady Arya, every man would surrender to you immediately without the need for you to draw your sword."

She had no interest in his silver tongued lies. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but before she could utter a word, a gruff, deep voice above her growled, "You're wasting your time with the she-wolf Aegon. She wants no man. She's just a cock tease in a red dress."

Arya stood up and slapped him.

She slapped Gendry across the face as hard as she could. The sound was shocking, like the crack of a whip, echoing around the Great Hall. Everyone, all at once, fell silent.

Her hand was stinging with pain and she could see the mark of her fingers on his face.

He lifted his hand and for an awful moment she thought he was going to hit her back, but he touched his fingers to the side of his mouth. Blood was beginning to trickle from there, where Sansa's ring had caught him.

And then he made it even worse.

"You're welcome to her Aegon."

He turned and stormed out of the hall, his expression stopping anyone from saying anything to him.

He just needed to get away, not caring where he headed or why. He just needed to try and erase the sight of her, blazing with righteous anger in that damn red dress and the pain of seeing her with every other lord except him.

Arya, Aegon and every other person in The Great Hall stood and watched him go.

How dare he! Not caring what anyone else thought, Arya gathered up her skirts and ran after him.

By the time she reached the door of the hall, he was almost out of sight. The corridor was now only dimly lit by candles flickering in a few wall sconces. He looked like a black shadow flying down the corridor.

She shouted after him, demanding he stop. If he heard, he never turned. She started running after him, but in this stupid dress and with his long, angry strides, she doubted she would be able to catch him if he did not stop.

"You come back here and apologize to me Gendry Waters!" she yelled at the top of her voice.

That stopped him and he turned sharply around. His scowl did not soften, but at least he started back up the corridor towards her. She stopped and unwittingly took a step back when they met as his anger and the size of him was shocking. She felt vulnerable and exposed in this stupid dress and wished she had on her usual britches and tunic. Then she might feel more inclined to try and knock some sense into him.

In the flickering candle light, his face was all anger and shadows. A vein beside his scar pulsed with barely controlled rage. His fists were balled at his sides.

"I'll apologize to you, if you apologize to me for ignoring me while you throw yourself at every other fucking lord in there" he growled back, his voice deep and hard, reverberating around the empty stone corridor and making her shiver.

"What gives you the right to comment on what I do or do not do?! And I did not throw myself at anyone!" she yelled.

He took another menacing step towards her, "you laughed and flirted constantly with Sam and Tyrion throughout dinner, you were danced and kissed by Willas Tyrell, you threw yourself around Sam on the floor, embraced Jon and allowed yourself to be led away by that fucking cunt Aegon!"

She held her ground, shaking with anger and indignation, but her voice was not as steady as she would have liked, "'twas not like that at all."

His breath was fast and shallow as he approached her, dipping and tilting his head. She recognised that look in his eyes. She had seen it before; the first time they had met in Jon's solar. Lust.

"Tell me how it was then Arya. Tell why you want every lord except me."

She took a step backwards and found herself against the cold stone wall. She shivered again as he leant over her, but she didn't think it was just the cold. Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water.

"I do not want any of them."

He dropped his face down to hers so that his lips were almost against hers. His eyes were focused most disconcertingly on her mouth. He reeked of wine, his breath warm and moist against her skin.

"Do you want me?"

"You are drunk." Calm as still water.

"Aye, drunk enough to tell you that no other man will ever love you as I do."

He traced the edge of her bodice ever so slowly with his finger tips. She batted his hand away, he brought it back. Her red dress revealed too much skin, and at the same time, not enough. She smelled of roses and warm, aroused woman. It was hardly fair. No wonder he was lost. There was no one for him but her. There never had been. There never would be.

Everything about him was hard except his touch, gently sliding over the globe of her breast, feeling the rise and fall of her breast, hearing her breathing change.

She tried to take a step to the side to get away from him. He immediately placed one hand flat against the wall beside her, preventing her sideways escape. Before she could begin to slide the other way, he pinned her to the wall with his thighs. She had a wall against her back and his body was hard as stone pressing against her front. Arya knew exactly what part of him was pressed against her stomach now, but she tried not to think of that. She should be trying to free herself, but instead her hands were resting on his chest. She should be pushing him away, but instead the steady 'thump-thump' of his heart seemed to be all that anchored her in a storm of emotions.

He bent his head to kiss her, but she turned her head away.

"What are you so frightened of? 'Tis just a kiss Arya."

"Do not." Her voice was husky and raw.

He covered her mouth with his before she could say any more. She froze.

Why would she not respond to him, melt against him, fight him, anything rather than this…this…coldness? He could not bear it.

"Kiss me back." His own voice was hoarse.

She turned her head away again. He followed her mouth with his.

"Kiss me back." He repeated, his voice rough.

Finally she looked at him. Eyes huge, shining like silver steel in the darkness. "I cannot."

"Cannot?" he echoed. He was drunk, but not that drunk. She hadn't said "will not"; she had said "cannot".

She made the mistake of wetting her lips with the point of her tongue. He could not resist. His mouth was on hers again before she had time to realise what he intended. Her lips were parted and this time he slid his tongue into her mouth. This time he wanted to taste all of her.

That one kiss from him, tasting of sweet wine with a hint of metal from where she'd bloodied him, was more intoxicating than anything she had ever drunk in her life. Everything else was forgotten as his tongue slid against hers, teasing, dancing, sucking. And she wanted more.

He tried to kiss her slowly. He tried to control his rampaging body. He kissed her much more slowly than he wanted to, pressed himself against her much more gently than he needed to. He did not want to scare her. He did not want her to say 'cannot'. He wanted her to moan his name and say 'yes' and 'please' and 'now'.

Her body softened against him first, her hands relaxed against his chest, then her mouth, accepting him and finally, finally, the first tentative touch of her tongue against his.

It was wonderful. It was terrifying. He was drunk on wine and she was drunk on his kisses.

She was so lost in the kiss that she did not notice his hand until it touched the inside of her thigh. It was warm, reassuring and shocking, rough and gentle, all at the same time.

His fingers found one leather strap and his hand stopped. She did not want him too.

"Do not stop." She murmured into his mouth. She moved her hand to the back of his neck and wound her fingers into his hair, pulling him down. She did not want him to stop, did not want him to leave. Ever.

He ran his hand higher. He found the second strap and stopped again. His fingers follow the strap around until they touched the cold steel of Needle.

Gendry lifted his head forcefully. "At any moment you're going to slit my throat aren't you?" he muttered, his voice deep with desire.

"I might," she said, with a wicked glint in her eyes.

"There are worse ways to die." He kissed her again and this time she arched against him.

"Arya! Are you unharmed?" Sansa's voice rang out anxiously from the end of the corridor.

Hearing her sister's concern was like a bucket of cold water in the face. Arya froze. What was she doing? Gendry relaxed the pressure of his hips against hers and let her skirt fall down again as he withdrew his hand. They both turned towards the voice.

"She is fine." Gendry called back through gritted teeth, his annoyance obvious in his voice, his stance, in everything.

"She didn't ask you, Lord Baratheon." Aegon's smooth voice called back.

Arya felt Gendry stiffen with anger and heard the almost growl from deep in his throat.

"Yes I am unharmed," Arya shouted quickly before Gendry could reply to Aegon, adding "so far" under her breath, so only Gendry could hear.

Arya wondered what Sansa and Aegon could see in the shadows. Probably not much and Gendry was careful to shield her from view with his body. Arya peeked out from under his arm. Sansa stood at the top of the corridor, worry etched on her beautiful face. King Aegon was behind her, arms folded, face expressionless.

"You need to let me go." Arya hissed.

"Stay with me." His eyes glittered in the candle light.

It was too much and whatever spell had been between them was broken. "I want to go." She ducked under his arm.

Arya didn't know where the question came from, but all of a sudden she needed to know why he had almost ignored her all night then kissed her as if he was consumed with a need he could barely control. "If you want me so much, why would you not dance with me?"

His mood changed instantly. He straightened up and set his jaw. All cold, hard, fury again. She could see the muscles clenching and unclenching his teeth. "Where do you suppose a bastard like me would have learned to dance?" he snarled and, without waiting for an answer he turned on his heel and stalked away.

She was so shocked by the whole encounter she made no move after him this time and simply stood and watched his huge form retreat until he turned the corner, out of sight.

"Arya!" Sansa called again from the end of the corridor.

"Coming." Arya brushed her finger tips against her lips where he had kissed her. She felt bruised by his desire and shocked by her own response. This changed everything. Were such things visible? She walked slowly back towards Sansa and Aegon. She was about to find out.

And so will we, but we have to wait until next Friday…

This chapter owes a lot to Brazilian Guy and his astute insight. It would have been quite different and not nearly as good without him. I have to thank him for his advice and support. I am in your debt Ser!