A/N: So Gendry and Arya both decided to come out and play in this chapter! I hope you all enjoy it. This is another turning point for both characters. You will see a scene that is familiar to all, but it's a huge point in Arya's life. Anyway, thanks for the reviews, keep them coming and Happy Game of Thrones day! Say five hail marys that we get to see a moment of Gendry, but I have a feeling we won't!

Gendry sat on a make-shift chair the men had built for him. At first, he felt stupid, but they had insisted. They had told him that he was to stand out when men came to call, and call they did. As news of what he was doing spread throughout the Riverlands, the men came. Some were old and wary, but some were young and angry. He accepted all that wanted to join, for each man had vengeance of their own, whether they be young or old. His little band of fifteen had soon grown to fifty. Each one of them looked to him for guidance, but he always acknowledged Lady Stoneheart, for she was his leader. She stayed out of his way where the men were concerned, allowing him to take control. All that she asked was to be able to kill as well as the men, and he gave her just that. She was unmerciful in her slaughter of the Freys, Boltons and Lannisters. No matter if they had anything to do with the Red Wedding, she called for their blood. Gendry gave it to her willingly.

Above his head, rocking slowly back and forth, was the body of Petyr Frey. The man's mangled face hung unnaturally to one side, already crows food. He was Gendry's trophy. A sign of his furious strength. His men gathered around him as Nymeria sat by his side. His hand was lightly petting her fur, as it did so very often without him thinking about it. He kept a constant connection with the direwolf, as if that connection kept him close to Arya.

A man was entering the Brotherhood's camp. His hands were raised above his head, his eyes looking warily around him. Gendry dug his finger's into Nymeria's fur, making the direwolf growl. He eased up, yet his anger did not fade. This was not a man from the Riverlands coming to join them. This was a vile being from that vile House that had become like a curse to his lips.

The man eyed Gendry, then turned to Nymeria. He staggered a bit, but continued his walk. It wasn't until his eyes turned upwards that he finally froze. In his hands, he carried a bag. Gendry knew at once that the man had come to ransom for the life of Petyr Frey. He began to smile at the man, who only had eyes for the dead hanging above his head.

Gendry turned to the men standing behind him and nodded. The ceased the man at once, pulling him forward, and made him kneel before Gendry's make-shift throne. "Your name," he commanded.

The man swallowed, his eyes darting from Gendry to the body hanging above his head. "Y—y-you killed him," the man whispered.

Gendry smiled, "He was the first, but not the last."

At that moment, Gendry's men moved to the side, allowing the man to look past them at the rows of dead bodies behind them, all of whom were Freys. The man began to shake. Tears flooded his eyes as he shook his head furiously.

"I did nothing wrong! I swear it, my lord!" the man cried.

Gendry's smile turned into a snarl. He rose from his chair, walking slowly towards the man. "Every one of you say the same thing. 'I did nothing wrong. I swear, I did nothing wrong'. The fact that you kneel before me now shows that you did everything wrong, you fool!"

"Please," the man cried, tears pouring from his eyes.

"Your name?" Gendry whispered.

"Merrett,"

Gendry knelt down to the man's level, cocking his head to one side as he watched him for a moment. "Does your family forget their last name when asked, or is it that you are too scared to give it to me?" he asked.

"My name is Merrett Frey, and I have come to ransom for the life of Petyr Frey!" the man squealed.

Gendry tsked, shaking his head. "Seems your a bit late for that."

He stood back to his feet, turning towards the direwolf. He knew she was itching for blood to ooze down her throat, and on her fur.

"I demand a trial!" the man screamed. "I demand to prove my innocence."

"And a trial you shall have, sir," Gendry responded. "You will be held accountable for you actions during the day the King of the North and his people were slaughtered."

"I—I—I had nothing to do with that horrible day! I was passed out from wine." Merett crawled towards Gendry, grabbing the end of his shirt, begging him to spare his life. Gendry kicked him, causing the man to cry out in pain.

"Do we have a witness to this man's crimes?" Gendry called out.

No one answered at first, and the man looked relieved. "You see! There is no one here to speak against me, because I am innocent!"

"I will speak against him," said the croaking voice of Lady Stoneheart.

Everyone turned their eyes to look upon the undead woman walking towards them. She was staring at the man, who began to scream when he saw her. Gendry knelt in front of him, watching as the fear grew within him. He recognized Lady Stoneheart.

"Is that recognition in your eyes that I see?" Gendry whispered.

"S—She's dead!" the man screamed.

"Oh she's very much alive." Gendry began to laugh, turning to look upon Lady Stoneheart. A smile had begun to grow on her face as well. "Very much alive."

Swiftly, he reached out, grabbing the man by his hair and wrenching his head back. Gendry's face grew dark, the smile falling immediately. "Were you the one that killed Arya? Did you watch them kill her?" he asked...he always asked before killing them.

"I didn't kill anyone. Please, just let me go! I will leave this place and never return!"

Gendry nodded his head thoughtfully, "Yes, you will leave this place and never return. You will be in the seven hells along with every other person in your House."

"He was there, Gendry. I remember seeing him at the wedding," Lady Stoneheart whispered.

Gendry's hold on the man tightened, his fury growing. For a moment, he closed his eyes trying to calm the rage within, but there was never a moment of calm, of peace.

"Guilty," he said low.

"No! No, please! Please!" the man begged.

Gendry stood to his feet, turning towards Nymeria. Their eyes met, staring at one another for a few moments before he nodded his head at her. How they communicated was something to behold. The men stood and watched them speak without words, only looks. The direwolf slowly rose to her feet, until she was to her full height. Her eyes turned from Gendry to the man, her head bending low as the growls began. The two men holding Merret let him go, moving back to get out of her way. Fear held the man down, for when his arms were free he did not flee.

"Nymeria, kill," Gendry whispered.

The direwolf ran forward, a blur of rage and fur. As Gendry looked on, he heard the man's screams turn to gargles as Nymeria's large teeth sunk into his neck. With the jerk of her head, his throat was consumed. Gendry felt nothing as he watched the man fall to the ground, his blood pouring out around him.

"Hang him with the other one. Hang them all and let the crows feast on this day. Allow all that pass this place to see my vengeance" Gendry commanded.

As the men did as he told them, he walked towards the river. The blood was still caked on his clothing and skin. He needed a wash. When he undressed, he weighed out into the current, allowing the water to wash over him. He dove underneath the water, staying there for as long as he could. With his eyes closed, Arya's face swam in his vision. She was alive and well, so beautiful it hurt to look upon her.

Finally, his body screamed for air and he went to the surface, leaving Arya in the dark water beneath him. His eyes opened, seeing the brightness of the day, yet he felt the darkness of his pain. If only he could stay down in the darkness of the water, stay down in the place where Arya's face would look upon him for all eternity. Yet every time, he always came back up without her.

"Gendry?"

He turned, seeing Hot Pie standing on the bank of the river. They had not spoken spoken in days, since their fight. By the look on the boy's face, Gendry knew this would not be a casual visit. He made no move to leave the water.

"Does it make you feel better to have blood on your hands? Does it make the pain any less bearable?"

"No," Gendry answered truthfully.

"Have you even stopped to consider that maybe your causing someone else the same pain you feel? These men have families too, you know! Families that will bear the pain you do because of you!" Hot Pie said miserably.

Gendry had never thought of it that way, nor would he let himself think it. These men, every one of them, deserved death.

"Go home, Hot Pie," Gendry said low.

"Why? Because you don't want to hear the truth? She's dead, Gendry! She's not coming back, and nothing you do will ever bring her back! This insane plan of yours to spread your fury will only lead you to an early grave!" Hot Pie seethed.

"GOOD!" Gendry screamed, slapping his hands down against the water. "I beg for that day to come!"

Hot Pie's eyes went wide, his face frozen in surprise. "Gendry?"

"Go home, Hot Pie."

"Come with me."

Gendry's brow furrowed, "What?"

"I want to show you something. Come with me," Hot Pie repeated again.

For a moment, he did not move from the water, wondering what Hot Pie was playing at. Finally, he moved out of the water, gathering up his soiled clothing. Turning, he headed for the forge. Over his shoulder, he called out to the boy, "Give me a moment to change."

Hot Pie lead him towards the inn. For a moment, Gendry faltered, remembering what had taken place in the building. Arya had almost been raped. He wasn't sure if he could face the room where his abandonment almost cost her so much. Hot Pie turned around, watching him for a moment.

"This place doesn't hold her ghost, Gendry. I promise," he said softly.

After a few more seconds, he began to follow again, until he found himself inside. He stood at the entrance, watching the children running around, the laughter filling his ears. There were so many, yet they looked happy and healthy. None of them took notice of him at first, but as he came completely into the inn, they stopped and looked at him. Some were teenagers, but most were very young. Several came running towards him and Hot Pie. He watched them attack Hot Pie, throwing their arms around him in delight.

"Who's he?" a small boy asked.

"This is a friend. I wanted to introduce him to all of you."

One by one, Hot Pie began introducing Gendry to the children. They nodded their heads at him when their name was called, and Gendry returned a greeted nod back. He spent the rest of the day in the company of the orphans. For the first time since losing Arya, Gendry actually smiled, for some of the smaller children were pretty funny.

"Gendry, this is Willow and her sister Jeyne," Hot Pie said.

Gendry looked up to see two girls standing by the bar. He walked towards them, following Hot Pie.

"Hi, I'm Jeyne," the older of the two girls said. She reached her hand out for Gendry to take. Reluctantly, he reached out and shook her hand. "Yeah, I remember seeing you that night," he said low.

"Yeah, but we weren't introduced," she said, laughing shyly.

"He's not as big as I'd thought. You'd think the men that whispered about you would think you were a giant," said the smaller girl.

Gendry turned his eyes towards her. She was staring at him, not hiding her disappointment. He laughed despite himself. "Men talk about me? My men?"

"No, these aren't your men. These are Riverland folk and travelers. Your becoming famous, though I don't see why," the girl, Willow, said.

"Willow!" Jeyne seethed, though Gendry just laughed again.

"No it's alright. It helps to hear things like that, so my ego won't grow any bigger."

"Yes, but it's rude," she said, giving her sister a pointed look. "You must be hungry? Thirsty?"

Gendry's eyes were on Willow as Jeyne spoke, and he saw the younger girl roll her eyes. Only one name came to his mind as he continued to stare at the small girl. Arya, she's got her spunk, he thought.

"I'm fine, thank you," he answered, finally looking at Jeyne. The moment their eyes met, he did not miss the look that passed in her eyes. A look of longing, which had him feeling uncomfortable. Jeyne looked away immediately, finding the orphans more interesting.

"So, where's the wolf," Willow asked. Jeyne kicked her softly, but she never looked at her sister.

"Eating," Gendry answered.

"When can I see her?"

Yes, so much like Arya. "You wouldn't be scared?" he asked, playfully.

"Nope," she said, popping her p. "I'd give her no reason to attack."

"Then I'll introduce you two soon," Gendry said softly.

Willow smiled at him, which squeezed his heart. She would never be able to replace Arya, but the similarities were uncanny. He turned his head towards Hot Pie, and saw the boy's knowing smile. He now understood why Hot Pie wanted to bring him here. The boy knew he would take to Willow right from the start.

"Ser Gendry! You need to come quick. There is a group of Frey soldiers heading this way, their numbers great. They've been spotted by our spies just up the road!"

Everyone turned to see three of the Brotherhood men hurrying towards Gendry. Their faces were flushed with the act of running all the way to the inn. The light feeling he had at talking with Willow vanished immediately, being replaced by his vengeance again. He turned towards Jeyne and Hot Pie, nodding his head and turned to leave.

"Can I come? I'm a good fighter," Willow called out.

Gendry stopped, turning towards the girl. He sighed, feeling his heart squeeze again. "Not this time, little one. You stay here and guard the orphans. Can you do that for me?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess," she said, her disappointment evident.

"Thank you."

Gendry turned and stormed out of the inn. His men were waiting for him with his horse in hand. He climbed on top of it and turned, heading towards the road. Nymeria was there beside him as they went to meet the Frey soldiers in battle.

There were twenty-five Frey soldiers in all. Gendry got the impression that Lord Frey was not taking him seriously. They made easy work of the soldiers, though Gendry took a hit to the shoulder. It was opened, his blood pouring out, yet his adrenaline was in overdrive, and he felt none of the pain.

"You have to get this seen about," Harwin said, as he took a look at his shoulder.

"I'm fine!" Gendry ground out.

"Fine you may be, but not invincible. The wound could fester and kill, your grace."

"What have I said about calling me that, Harwin? Gendry's fine."

The man stopped his inspection of Gendry's shoulder, staring him squarely in the eyes. "You are the son of the true king, your grace. I fight in your father's name and show loyalty where it belongs. You might want to be just Gendry, but to these men you are their prince."

"I am but a bastard, no matter who my father was. I am not even legitimized. I am no prince," Gendry said.

"You are what you are in the eyes of your men! You do not get it yet, do you? Your army is growing, your numbers expanding. Soon, you will be a sight to behold. Soon, you can take back the throne that rightly belongs to you!"

Gendry's head shot towards the man, his eyes growing wide. "That is not what this is about!"

"It may not have started out that way, your grace, but it can lead you to the iron throne! What do you think will happen as your wildfire continues to grow? Already, word is spreading of the bull that rides the wildfire. It is reaching parts of Westeros that was unheard of at the start of all of this. You have the Freys, Boltons and Lannisters shitting in their pants with fear, and when the day comes that people learn of your identity, your heritage, they will come to you in droves!"

Gendry scrambled to his feet, turning his back on Harwin and what he was saying. He did not want the throne, did not want to be king. All he wanted was for the men that took Arya away from him to pay. It was his only mission in life.

"Enough of this talk, Harwin! The iron throne is not what I want! I will not accept!"

Harwin stood, coming to stand beside Gendry. "In time, as your army grows larger than any known, you will change your mind, your grace. Until that time, if it is Ser Gendry you choose to be called, then so be it. Ser Gendry it is! But mark my words, the day is coming when a Baratheon will sit on the iron throne again, and they will call him the bull that rode the wildfire!"

Gendry could do nothing but watch the week pass and his numbers grow. The Brotherhood had expanded to hundreds in just days. Each man that came before him bowed as if he were already the king. They gave him their allegiance and their life. He was powerless to stop it. He was powerless to stop the seed that Harwin had planted inside his mind. He was powerless to stop the thoughts of the iron throne, his father's throne. He looked to Lady Stoneheart for guidance, but she gave him none. Her only words to him was to accept what was happening. He couldn't do that, not fully. It only got worse the day a man came screaming into the camp. His words rung in Gendry's ears, sending sparks of fire throughout his soul.

"THE KING IS DEAD! KING JOFFREY IS DEAD!" the man screamed.

They had been riding for days, until they came across an inn. Arya had not spoken to The Hound, and he had not spoken to her. She kicked herself, knowing how close she had come to escape. She should have been more aware of what was happening around her, but no, she had to be stupid instead. The Hound slowed their trot, looking upon the inn with hungry eyes.

"If you so much as squeak in this place, I'll slit your throat, understand?" he asked without turning to her.

"Squeak," she answered.

The Hound grabbed the front of her shirt, jerking her towards him. "I mean it, Arya! I'll kill you for sure. I'm hungry, thirsty and in a very fucking bad mood! Don't piss me off."

"Fine," she ground out.

After putting their horses away, they walked into the inn. There were few people inhabiting the inn, and they made their way towards the back to a small table. Once seated, Arya began looking around.

"Well, well, well...if it isn't The Hound," someone called out.

The voice that spoke caused cold fingers to scratch down Arya's back. She kept her head down, but slowly she could not stop her eyes from rising and meeting the faces of two men she wanted dead. Polliver and the Tickler sat two seats away. Their smiling faces were looking upon The Hound. They had not noticed her yet, and she sunk further down in her chair to keep her presence a secret.

"Polliver, Tickler," The Hound greeted roughly.

"What an ugly face you have," said a boy sitting beside Polliver.

"Shut up, boy!" Polliver hissed.

"No, I mean it's really ugly."

The boy received a slap on the back of the head. Polliver turned his eyes back to The Hound. "Where have you been Sandor? Your brother's been looking for you," he said laughing.

"I'm sure he has," he answered under his breath.

Underneath the table, Arya watched as his hand went to his sword, sitting lightly on the hilt. She realized he was expecting things to take a turn for the worse.

"Guess you haven't heard the news, have you?" The Hound shook his head in reply. "Your master's dead, dog. He was poisoned by his uncle, the imp."

Arya coughed, not able to keep it in. Could it be true? Could it be that Joffrey was dead? The Hound cut his eyes at her, a warning for her to remain quiet. His eyes were angry, furious, but she wasn't sure if it was because of her or because Joffrey was dead.

"Yeah, and the imp went and got himself married before the king's demise. Married that Stark whore, the one that was betrothed to King Joffrey."

It was Arya's turn to feel the rage take hold. Beside her, The Hound grew rigid. His hand holding the hilt of his sword began to squeeze, until his knuckles were white. The man went on, completely oblivious to the two's rage.

"Riverrun is under siege. Someone's growing an army and taking out all Freys, Boltons and Lannisters, or anyone associated with them. People are running scared, that's for sure. They say the bastard leading them has powers beyond any they've seen. Said he carries a beast on one side and the dead on the other. People are fleeing, claiming the wildfire is growing. Whatever the fuck that means," Polliver said, taking a deep swig of his wine. "But you wouldn't know about any of that, would you, craven," he finished with a laugh.

Before Arya had time to process what was being said, The Hound was to his feet, knocking over the table. He charged at the men, all of whom sat stunned. By the time The Hound reached them, the Tickler had drawn his blade, sending it towards The Hound's throat. He dodged it easily, heading straight for Polliver.

Arya jumped up, watching the boy, who she realized was a squire, head towards The Hound, a sword in his hand. She did not think, did not realize she could escape, but picked up the cup The Hound was drinking from and threw it straight at the boy's head. It hit its mark with a crash. The Hound began fighting both men, but was losing miserably. Arya allowed her rage to take control, and began to charge.

As she passed the boy, who was lying on the ground, he reached out and grabbed her leg. She fell forward, crashing to the ground. Kicking his hand off her foot, she reached out and unsheathed his sword. With a yell of fury, she thrust the blade into his stomach. The boy's eyes went wide as he stared into her dark face. Blood pooled from his wound, sending Arya into a frenzy the moment she smelled the iron scent. Wrenching the blade from the boy's belly, she stood and turned towards The Hound.

She watched as The Hound distracted Polliver and ended the man's horrible existence, but as he does, the Tickler struck him, cutting him deeply. Something grabbed Arya's attention, causing her to cry out in joy. She thought she would never see it again, but there it was. It was sitting in the Polliver's belt, calling to her like a lost child. Jon's face appeared in her mind, and she thought of the moment he had handed the blade to her. Tears swam in her vision for a moment, until she blinked them away. This man had it the whole time. Insane fury burned within her.

As quietly as she could, Arya walked up to Polliver's body, taking Needle in her hand. The Tickler had no clue she was there, had no clue his life was about to end. She would make him pay for everything he had done. She would make him pay with his life. She raised the boy's sword above her head and sent it hurling towards the Tickler's back. The blade cut through fabric and flesh, causing the man to cry out. As he went forward, falling to the ground, Arya went with him. She raised Needle, bringing both blades up and thrusting it towards his back again. One, two, three times she raised both blades and stabbed the man. She lost her mind, her control, as over and over again she stabbed him. She saw Joffrey's face, saw the queen. She saw everyone who had a hand in the massacre of her family, and she continued to stab the man. Blood and gore flew around her, soaking her to the bone, yet she could not stop. The Tickler's back was a gruesome sight, yet she did not see flesh, only faces.

Arya heard The Hound call her weakly, but she refused to stop. He finally grabbed her, pulling her off the dead man's body. "Go, now," he wheezed. She dropped the boy's blade, but held firm to Needle. They were reunited once more.

"End him, Arya," The Hound whispered, as they looked upon the boy withering in pain.

With rage still burning inside her, she walked towards him and thrust Needle into the boy's throat, silencing him forever.

Arya had to help The Hound on his horse, but as he mounted, she followed on her own horse. The galloped away from the carnage inside the inn, and Arya felt alive...felt Needle's power at her side.

"We will make for Saltpan, to a ship, and cross to the Vale," The Hound said softly.

Arya looked over at him, seeing him holding his side. Sweat ran down his pain-filled face. His teeth were clenched as he struggled for breath. She knew he was in bad shape, but she wouldn't know how bad until the next day when he fell from his horse. She had been thinking of ways to escape now that he was hurt, so when he fell, it took her off guard. Arya jumped from her horse, falling to The Hound's side. His face was completely white, void of any color. He was breathing hard. She knew he was close to death.

Dragging him off the road, Arya tied their horses to trees to keep them from running off. She looked around, making sure no one was around. They were completely alone. As The Hound withered in a fevered pain, she began to make a fire. For the rest of the day, she sat their and listened to his moans and gasps. The whole time, she wondered why she had not escaped yet. This was her chance, her moment, yet she stayed beside him tending to his wound. It had become infected and red. His skin was hot to the touch.

"S—S—Sansa," The Hound whispered in his agony. "Sansa."

Arya closed her eyes, hearing her sister's name fall from his lips. She felt him reach out, taking her hand in his. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his glazed ones. "I tried so hard t—to protect you," he whispered. In his mind, he thought she was Sansa, the fever making him delirious. When she began to pull away, The Hound began to cry. "Please," he whispered. "Please don't leave me, little bird."

She turned her head away, her heart pounding erratically. She hated the man, hated him with a passion, but his words struck a cord in her heart. She stopped fighting, allowing him to hold her hand.

"I'm here, Sandor," she said. "I won't leave."

This calmed him, sending him back into his fevered dreams. Arya looked back at him, hate and sadness mingling together, until she scooted towards him bringing his head into her lap. For the rest of the night, she held him while he struggled with the infection, yet he was in bliss thinking Sansa was the one holding him.

The next day, Arya stood above him, Needle in hand. She waited until he came too, his glazed eyes staring towards her and then towards Needle.

"Do it," he whispered. "Do what you have been wanting to do for a while now. Kill me," he begged.

She slowly raised Needle, yet she could not thrust the blade forward. She could not kill the man, nor could she help him any longer. Tears came to the man's eyes, as she felt her own tears appear.

"What are you waiting for! End me!" he begged.

Needle slowly dropped to her side as she bent before him. "For the love you bear my sister, I will not kill you. For the hate that I bear you, I will not help you," she whispered.

"You know, you really are a bitch," The Hound said, coughing on a laugh.

Arya closed her eyes, her lips twitching in a smile. A single tear ran down her cheeks. "I've heard that before."

"A—Are you going to t—take me off that s—stupid list of yours?" he wheezed.

She thought about it for a moment, then slowly began nodding her head. "I think you've earned it," she said, barely above a whisper.

Arya stood to her feet, turning to leave. She walked to her horse Craven, untying him from the tree. The Hound's horse, Stranger, was untied as well, and she slapped the horse to make it charge away. She was sentencing The Hound to his death, she knew, but she could not stop herself.

"If I make it through this, you know I—I am going to k—kill you, right?" he called to her.

She pulled herself onto Craven, turning the horse around so she could see The Hound. She gave him a watery smile, nodding her head. "And I just might let you," she responded.

With that, she kicked the horse into movement, leaving the man in the hands of the gods she did not believe in anymore.

A/N: Awww, The Hound...God Bless him! Okay people, thanks for reading! Get those reviews coming. Get ready for Game of Thrones tonight! YAY! It will be epic!