Just another reminder, this isn't a story that I've put a lot of thought and effort into. It's just to satisfy my GoT obsession. As always, I really appreciate your thoughts and ideas, and I always take your words under advisement. Especially for something like She Rises, which is something I'm really invested in. But this is going to be a pretty short fic, and not super plot heavy or anything like that. I'm going to skim over some things, and make up some new things just because I'm too lazy to come up with good explanations. So if you read something and scratch your head and think "That's really unrealistic" or "It doesn't say anything like that in the books or movies", don't worry, I know exactly why you feel that way. It's intentional. This is a lazy fic. I don't feel like working too hard on it. Why do you think I update every day? Doesn't take me long to write the chapters.

Anyways, I hope you still enjoy it for what it is: just a light-hearted story that brings a few characters together. Don't think too hard about the details and plot. The relationships and dialogue are far more important.

That being said, smut warning for this chapter. I'm not going to post a warning at the beginning of every chapter, but since this is the first smut scene I thought I'd just give you a heads up.

And no, it's not between Daenerys and Jon. I'm sure you can guess who, though.

Giraffe :)

oooo

She couldn't help the pity that she felt. And she hated herself for it.

There was no reason for Arya to pity Cersei Lannister. No reason at all.

But as she poured the queen wine whilst wearing Qyburn's face, she looked into those cyan eyes and saw only madness and pain. And she felt sorry for Cersei – felt sorry that she had been born into an awful family, married to a terrible husband, lost all three of her poor, inbred children. And Arya felt her hatred melt away, suddenly feeling tired and old.

Cersei was the last on her list. Her knife was still sticky with the blood of Ser Ilyn Payne, and the Mountain lay crumpled in the corner of Qyburn's quarters downstairs. The Red Lady hadn't actually killed Gendry, and had brought Jon back to life – so she had a free pass. The same could be said for Beric Dendarrion and Thoros of Myr. The Hound…well. Sandor had worked his way off her list a long time ago.

So that just left Cersei.

She watched with a smooth, cool satisfaction as the queen drank the wine she provided. It was not the satisfaction that came with revenge. It was the satisfaction borne by the strange combination of justice and mercy. There was a certain peaceful feeling that came with this particular kill – a completion, of sorts. Arya felt as if something within her soul was knitting itself back together.

Cersei did not speak to her, even as Arya wore Qyburn's face. So she left, and hid herself away near the drain below the Keep from whence she'd come. She sat for only an hour. When she heard the alarm bells, she tore off Qyburn's face, stuffed it in her bag, and slipped through the grate.

Gendry met her with a torch. He swallowed. "I gather from the bells that it was a success."

"Yes," she confirmed quietly.

He gave a curt nod. "Ser Davos is holding the boat just offshore. The tide is high; we might get a bit wet."

oooo

After they'd rowed back out to their ship, the few Northmen that manned the vessel helped haul them aboard. Arya went immediately to the main cabin and began to strip her wet clothes from her body. Whilst the waters of Blackwater Bay were warmer than in the North, and the air still relatively balmy, winter was coming, and it was easy to catch a chill, even farther south.

She was just draping her clothes over a rack next to the wood stove when the door opened.

"You forgot your bag – "

Said bag dropped to the floor as Gendry's mouth fell open, noticing her state of undress. He stammered and covered his eyes with his hands.

"Don't be stupid," she said, snapping her fingers to get his attention. "Get in and close the bloody door."

He did instantly, still shielding his gaze from seeing her naked form. "I didn't mean to – I wasn't – I didn't know – "

"Oh, shut up," she said, rolling her eyes impatiently. She grabbed a blanket off the rickety bed and wrapped it around herself. More for his comfort than her own. There wasn't a whole lot of modesty left over these days. She had never been one for shy blushes and discretion in the first place. She tossed a fur blanket at him. "You're embarrassing yourself. Get out of your clothes before you catch a cold."

"I'll just…" He swallowed, and pointed towards the door. "I'll go below deck."

She shrugged, and sat down on the edge of the small bed. "Suit yourself," she said unworriedly.

He paused, looking puzzled. "I figured you'd want privacy."

"It really doesn't matter," she said, raising an eyebrow and rotating her ankles, holding her feet out by the stove. "I couldn't care less. If you want to stay, then stay. If you want to go, go." She paused, and looked sideways at him, wondering at her boldness. "But if you stay, don't just stand there like a fool. Get dry."

Something strange gleamed in his eyes. She swallowed, fisting her blanket tightly as if it would help keep her firmly on solid ground. For some reason, despite her general lack of care around men, she was nervous.

Perhaps it was because she had never been interested in a man. Except for this one.

Gingerly, he sat down on the floor at the end of the bed by her feet. He took off his soggy boots and socks, and then stripped his outerwear from his body until he wore nothing but his smallclothes. She let her eyes rove unabashedly over his bare torso, drinking in what she could before he slung the blanket over his shoulders and leaned back against the foot of the bed, sighing as he warmed himself by the fire.

"Better?" she asked quietly.

He hummed. "Yeah." He paused. "It's getting colder by the day," he murmured.

"Winter is coming," she said, thinking of her father. "Pretty soon it will start to snow."

"It won't get as bad as it is north of the Wall, will it?" he said, wrinkling his nose adorably. Suddenly she was reminded of their time together on the road, six years before.

"Probably not, no," she said with a smile. "Still. You'll have to get better clothes," she continued, reaching out with her leg and toeing at his wet tunic. "We'll make a Northman out of you yet."

When she looked back down at him, his head was turned, and he was staring at her bare leg with a hooded gaze. His pale blue eyes traveled from the arch of her foot up to where her blanket draped over her thighs, and then jumped up to where the furs had slipped off of one shoulder. They drifted languidly up her neck to her jaw and mouth before he met her eyes. The look in them was unfamiliar and terrifying, and yet she didn't want him to look away. She stared him down, and his nostrils flared when she let the blanket slide down even further, baring the tops of her breasts to his searching gaze.

Tentatively, he raised a hand to her foot, cupping her heel in his palm and running a callused thumb over her ankle.

She shivered, her mouth parting as a stab of desire shot straight through her body to her womb. She did not pull away. She did not want to pull away. He ran his hand farther up her leg to rest in the crook of her knee, and she trembled beneath his touch.

He stood, his muscles bunching as he rose smoothly to his feet. He stared down at her, still holding her calf in his hand. His other hand was clenched into a fist at his side, and she so badly wanted it on her body, so badly wanted his lips on hers and his cock buried inside her.

"Arya."

His voice was soft, searching; rough with a desire so deep it must have been painful. She stared up into his eyes and pulled the edges of her blanket apart, letting it slip from her body and fall back onto the bed. She lay back on the furs, completely naked and shameless before him. He towered over her, and she admired his height and the breadth of his shoulders and the way his abdominal muscles moved as he breathed harshly through his mouth. She could see the outline of his erection through the damp fabric of his pants.

When he slid his hand further along her body, skimming her hip to skate along her ribs, she shuddered and looked up to the ceiling. When she felt him grab her breast and flick his thumb over her nipple, she gasped and arched into his touch.

He leaned down over her, bracing his weight against the bed with his other hand, and her hands slid into his damp black hair as he pressed his lips to hers.

It felt like coming home. It felt like Winterfell and family and snow and the feel of a direwolf's fur under her hand. It was perfect, natural, and he released a low, guttural moan against her lips as his tongue slid into her mouth.

She had never done this before. She'd seen it done plenty of times – wandered through enough brothels and taverns and bathhouses to know how it worked. She'd heard a lot of talk by men and women alike. But the actual feeling itself was a revelation. Liquid heat trickled from her womanhood, leaking down to smear across her inner thighs, and she whimpered as Gendry broke away from her and slid her further up the bed, climbing up after her. He knelt between her legs, nudging her thighs apart and reaching down to run his thumb along her slit.

She arched off the bed, gasping in shock as pleasure snapped along her nerve endings. She heard him make a noise in his throat, and she sucked in a breath when he leaned down to take her nipple into his mouth as his thumb drew circles around the sensitive little nub at the top of her slit.

She keened loudly when he dipped two fingers between her nether lips and began to push them inside. His other hand went to cover her mouth, and he shushed her as he buried his fingers knuckle deep and pulsated them against a spot that had her biting down on the skin of his palm, her mind going blank as the pleasure overrode the discomfort of his intrusion.

Just as she had not done this before, it was clear that he had. The thought bothered her only a little; but she was glad that he knew what he was doing. And she wanted him; Gods, she wanted him. Just lucid enough to act rationally, she bent her knees and used her feet to shove his pants down his legs. His manhood sprang free, and she wrapped her hand around it, her thumb swiping the tip curiously.

He moaned, and the hand at her mouth flew to the mattress, steadying himself as he rested his forehead against hers. He breathed harshly against her mouth, and she nipped at his lips. He scissored his fingers inside her, and then pulsed them against that place again, and her hips bucked against his hand as she whimpered into his mouth.

"Please," she managed to say, her voice breathy and unrecognizable. "Gendry, please – "

He removed his fingers from her, and she jerked at the loss. Then he pried her hand from his cock and guided himself to the throbbing junction between her legs. He ran the head of it up and down her slit until she was squirming impatiently, her body trembling with the need for release.

"Arya," he breathed, pulling his head back from hers enough to look into her eyes. He was asking permission. She brought a hand up to grasp the back of his neck, and touched her lips to his in a butterfly kiss.

He sighed, and then the head of his cock pressed against her cunt and he began to work his way inside.

She choked on a groan, pleasure and pain swamping her body in equal measure. Gendry was a large man – tall, broad, built like a mountain; his penis was proportionate to the rest of his body, not massive but impressive in both length and girth. She hissed as he pushed in inch by inch, and threw her head back against the mattress as he broke through her hymen. He stopped, his breath coming in harsh pants against her forehead. Then he withdrew, and she winced, both relieved and disappointed at the loss. When he slid back in, there was no longer a barrier to impede his progress, and he buried himself to the hilt with one languid thrust.

He held himself there for a few moments, letting her adjust. His teeth scraped along her jaw as her eyes crossed with pleasure, pain, something –

Then she bent her knees, and squeezed her thighs around him, wanting him to move, to do something, because there was a pressure in her abdomen that was both wonderful and terrible, and she wanted – she wanted. She wanted him.

He released a shaky breath, and then withdrew slowly, the muscles in his arms bunching as he held his torso up, looking down at her with hot, lustful eyes. Eyes the color of a summer sky. She whimpered when he plunged back in, pleasure chasing the pain away as the sting began to lessen in the face of something greater, something better.

He was tender with her. His movements were steady, unhurried, and one of his hands explored her body as he fucked her deep and slow; his fingers pinched her nipples, his nails scraped across her abdomen, his callused palm cradled her neck.

She began to pant under his patient ministrations, and his hands grabbed her arms and pushed them up above her head, holding her wrists to the bed as his movements started to change tenor. She huffed in pleased surprise when he snapped his hips against hers, speeding up until he was pounding into her. The pressure of his hands made her wrists ache, his too-tight grip bound to leave delicious bruises on her pale skin. She bent her knees up for a better angle, and he cursed foully, his movements becoming rough as he lost control.

She hiccupped when he started to slam into her, his skin slapping against hers with an obscene wet sound that had the aching burn in her abdomen intensifying. She started to whine as her pleasure built, and he brought one hand down to her pussy to rub against her clit.

"Fuck!" The expletive escaped her lips before she could help it, and he huffed out a pleased laugh, flicking his thumb back and forth over the sensitive bud as he continued to shove his length into her again and again and again and again –

Finally she exploded, closing her eyes and throwing her head back as pure ecstasy traveled white-hot through her blood stream. Her legs quivered, and her channel clenched around his length as her spine bent and she arched up off the bed with a high-pitched keen.

She went boneless in his arms, her fingernails digging into his back as her body shook apart. She vaguely heard him groan, and then he whispered her name in rapture as he emptied himself within her. The hot feel of his seed within her compounded her orgasm, and she whimpered, still caught in the throes of her own climax even as he reached his.

He stilled, and they just lay there for a moment, breathing hard as they came down from their high. Eventually he made to pull away, and she locked her ankles behind his back.

"Stay," she whispered hoarsely, her eyes closed as exhaustion stole over her body, settling onto her skin like a blanket. "Just for a minute."

He nodded, and lowered his head to kiss her neck before he sank down on top of her, still sheathed inside her as his member softened.

He stirred a few minutes later, and he flipped them over so that she straddled him. She nuzzled into his neck, sighing in contentment. His fingers traced languid patterns on her back.

"Arya," he finally said, his voice soft and full of something that sounded suspiciously like regret.

She hummed, and then sat up, putting her hands on his wide chest and pushing herself into an upright position. His gaze flickered down to her breasts, and then down further to where they remained conjoined. Their shared fluids and the blood of her stolen virginity were spread messily around their groins, gleaming wetly in the dim light that the wood stove provided. Then those sky blue eyes slowly rose to meet hers, and she stared into them without a hint of shame.

"Don't," she said quietly, her voice firm. "Don't you dare pull away from me."

He closed his eyes, and his hands went to her thighs. "I don't want to, Arya, but Gods, you're a highborn lady and I'm – "

"A bastard?" she said with a bitter twist of her lips. "Do you think that matters anymore?" she said mockingly. "Look at my brother. He's a bastard. Now he's king, and quite possibly on his way to marrying a highborn queen." Her nostrils flared. "Besides," she continued softly. "My sister is the one that will marry for political advantage. I'm the second born daughter. Which means I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"Arya – "

She rotated her hips, and he hissed, his cock twitching inside her. She leaned down to kiss him, and his lips opened for her as his grip tightened on her thighs.

"Stop thinking about it," she whispered. "And be with me. Just me." She swallowed. "Stay."

His hands went to her triceps, and he squeezed, looking up into her eyes. "Always."

oooo

Jon drifted in and out of consciousness for the next few days. He would open his eyes to blearily see Tyrion or Daenerys or Tormund by his side, but was never able to speak before his eyelids fluttered closed again.

Finally he woke for good, groaning and blinking the sleep from his eyes. He shifted, and pain stabbed his side. He winced and grunted.

"You shouldn't move," a soft voice said from his left. "I was told to tie you to the bed if you wouldn't cooperate."

He turned his head, and stared up at Daenerys, who sat looking as beautiful as ever in a dark green dress. Ghost's head lay in her lap, and she was absently carding her fingers through the thick fur of his neck. Upon Jon's movement the direwolf lifted his head and craned his neck to bump Jon on the forehead with his cool, wet nose.

"Alright," he croaked out, grimacing as a steady, tired ache began to beat a rhythm against his ribcage. He looked down –

Heedless of the pain it caused him, he snatched the bed sheet from around his hips and yanked it up to cover his bare chest, shielding his scars from her gaze. He didn't want her looking at them, didn't want her to know –

"I've already seen," she said softly from beside him. "You've been out for five days. Tormund told us what happened. Or the abbreviated version, at least." She sighed, and reached forward to pry his hands away from the coverlet. He allowed her to do so, closing his eyes in embarrassment. She gently pulled the sheet back down to his naval. "The maester just refreshed the dressing on your wound a couple of hours ago. It needs to breathe. Just leave it be."

There was a moment of silence, and then he felt her small, warm hand settle on the junction of his chest and shoulder. Jon opened his eyes and met her cornflower blue gaze. He swallowed.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "You saved my life."

"Ser Jaime – "

"Yes," she said with a nod. "I owe him thanks as well. But you were the one that took the knife for me."

"It's nothing," he denied easily.

"It's not nothing," she said sternly, narrowing her eyes on him. "It can never be nothing, Jon Snow."

He cleared his throat and nodded, feeling uncomfortable. "I suppose we're even, then," he said, thinking of when Drogon had blasted wights away with jets of fire as he and his team had dashed for the caves. "A life for a life."

She shook her head. "It's not the same," she said quietly, her hand still burning a hole through his skin. He imagined that hand in other places –

Nope. No, no, no.

"I risked practically nothing when I sent Drogon north," she continued. "You almost just died."

He stared up at her. "You're far more important than I am," he said quietly; honestly. "I'm replaceable. My sister could easily take my place up north. She would make a good ruler. But there is only one Mother of Dragons."

Her lips turned up at the corners, but her eyes were sad. "You are many things, Jon Snow," she said quietly, sliding her hand down to rest over his heart, "but replaceable is not one of them." She traced the tips of her fingers over his scar – the one that Olly had given him when he'd plunged the final blade into his chest. His muscles jumped under her hand, and he dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to hold onto his control. Wounded or not, he itched to touch her, undress her, make love to her.

But that was foolish thinking. She was a queen, and he was a bastard, and despite possibly being attracted to him, as Tyrion had claimed, she would certainly never stoop to acting on it.

She stood, and pulled her hand back, sliding it over his skin and just barely brushing his nipple in a way that just prolonged and worsened his torture. "Get some rest," she said tenderly. "And try not to move. I'm going to find the maester. And I'm sure Mister Giantsbane and the rest of your men would like to know that you're awake."

He simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He watched as Ghost followed her to the door. She patted him on the head one last time, and then slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Ghost padded back over to the bed, laying down next to it and putting his head up on it to stare at Jon with red eyes. Jon scratched his companion behind the ears affectionately, and then drifted off to sleep once more.

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Alrighty then, there you go! Next chapter will be up tomorrow.