DISCLAIMER: don't own :((

Hi guys, I hope you are all doing super well, here is the next chapter of STMS, I hope you all enjoy it! Just a quick note to let you know that I have decided to go back and rewrite the first few chapters, as I wrote them so long ago that they no longer match my style now- this won't eat into my writing new content time as I have already written eight months worth of content, and will still continue to add to that when I can. Also, a quick but grateful thank you to all of my reviewers- you make me so happy! I have read all of them, but sometimes can't reply if you reviewed as a guest- so thank you to all of you guys too!

I hope you enjoy this update, so tally-ho and Over and Out xox

RECAP: Both Gendry and Arya ponder their relationship and what it means, each trying to understand the other. Gendry speaks with Davos about what has happened in his absence, things that require his attention. Gendry finds Arya at the forge and they reminisce and joke with each other, until Arya asks who a specific weapon is for. Gendry tells her about the Hounds presence, worried about how she will react, but Arya assures him that she long ago came to the conclusion that she doesn't want him dead anymore, and that though she hates him, she also understands that she owes a lot to him.

Arya had never considered herself to be a patient person. She did not attribute this flaw to the life she had lead, and did not try to pretend that if her life had been different she might be a little less impatient. "A personal failing that needs correcting," is what the Kindly Man would have told her, and indeed had, many times during her stay in Braavos. However, Arya could not say that it particularly bothered her either, or that she regretted it about herself. She simply did not possess her fathers boundless patience, rather more inclined to snap or lash out than to smile and sigh.

However, while she did not dislike the trait within herself, Arya was smart enough to understand that there were times when it was necessary to reign it in. For example, in a duel it was wiser to wait for an opportune moment to strike rather than rush in and end up getting hurt in the process. When observing a target it was prudent to wait until one had all of the facts before making any moves. Yet despite this, she also understood that there were times when patience, while a virtue, had little use.

Unfortunately, this was not one of those times.

"Faye, you don't need to hover around me all of the time," she sighed, not for the first time, having nearly accidentally hit the girl with a training sword as she lifted it from the barrel where they were kept. "You can do other things."

"Like what, milady?" The girl asked. She had a sweet disposition, it was true, and Arya had learned that while she did not always take the initiative she was a quick learner. Unfortunately, it was rather difficult for the girl to learn what Arya wanted her to do, as Arya had never had a maid and did not know what she wanted of her. Having been used to always doing things herself, Arya simply had neither need or want of one.

When she had brought her frustrations to Davos one evening he had smiled, and said that sometimes it was not about whether one needed help for themselves, but rather how they could help others by allowing them to. The conversation had left Arya feeling a like an ignorant child, and she had resolved to have more patience with the girl.

Sometimes there were days when that was not so easy.

"I don't know, Faye!" She sighed. "What do maids normally do?"

Faye looked down at her toes, her cheeks pink. "I wouldn't know, milady, I've never been one before."

Arya sighed again, this time not unkindly. She tried to remember what it had been like when she had gone to Harrenhal, where she was thrust into the role of a servant (though she supposed slave would be a better term) with no training or experience, but all she remembered was that she had carried out her chores as quickly, efficiently and silently as possible, to avoid a beating, or being fed to Weese's mad dog for that night's entertainment.

"Well, why don't you go to the kitchen?" She asked. When she had been at the House of Black and White she often had to help Umma in the kitchen, as one of her duties in the temple, and one that she had found she actually enjoyed.

Faye's cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. "I already did, milady, but they said they had no need of someone that had never worked in a kitchen before."

Arya almost groaned. Was there anything that Faye could do? She tried to rein in her impatience with the girl, a feat that was made even more difficult by the intolerable heat. Already Arya could feel her hair sticking to her neck, and she hadn't even started training yet. Suddenly inspiration hit her. "Oh- Faye, if you don't mind, perhaps you could fetch a large jug of water and some cups? My squire and I will no doubt need something to drink once we're done sparring."

Faye smiled and nodded eagerly, clearly as relieved as Arya was to have something to do. "Of course, milady- goblets or glass?"

Arya wrinkled her nose. "Neither, thank you. Pewter cups will do just fine." She smiled as Faye attempted a wobbly curtsy before dashing off, her skirts clutched in one hand. Arya exhaled in relief at the prospect of not having a shadow as she sparred, and grabbed another sword, smiling as she did so. They were proper training swords, like the ones she had used with Syrio- wooden, with a heavy lead centre. She remembered complaining about them, her nine year old self having struggled with the weight and claiming them to be too heavy.

"They are exactly as heavy as they need to be," he had answered, "to make you strong."

She strode out into the training yard, a good sized space with a floor of gravel, stone and packed earth to allow training all year around. It was a pleasant spot, too, with one side open to a view of the sea over a waist high wall, surrounded by a shaded walkway on the other three edges, tall stone towers rising over head.

She frowned as she crossed from shade to direct sunlight. It truly was overwhelming, how hot it was, despite the salty sea breeze. She spotted Jayce, leaning against a wall in the shade, and whistled him over. The boy was un-bothered by the heat, or at least, he did not seem to be affected by it, his boundless energy by no means strained.

She threw the sword at him, smiling when he caught it one handed. He was taller than her now, but though he was graceful and instinctive, he was still no match for her. The second the sword was in his hand Arya struck at him mercilessly, unafraid to deliver the blows that he failed to block. He even attempted his own attacks, once or twice, though they posed no challenge to his opponent.

"Left, left, right," she called as they parried, driving him backwards. "Right, left, right!"

There was a loud clatter as his sword was knocked to ground, and he winced at the blow. "You said right!" He accused her, picking up a sword sluggishly.

She thwacked his thighs with the flat of her blade as he bent over. "Is that how we pick up a sword, boy?" She asked, remembering how Syrio had said the same thing to her once.

He scowled, and picked it up properly, repeating his accusation.

"I did," she confirmed, nodding her head once slightly.

He frowned. "But you went left," he said. She nodded again. "You said right, but you went left."

"You were not seeing," Arya told him, circling him to keep herself moving. Her eyes darted briefly to the tall figure in the shadows under the walkway, watching them spar. She had noted his presence the moment he arrived, his deep blue eyes betraying him even from the shadows, but took no mind.

"I was, too!" He argued. "I was watching, but-"

"But, but- but will not save you in a fight," Arya chastised. "And watching is not seeing. My body said right, but my eyes said left. You must learn this, and much more, before you can ever hope to be a master swordsman." Arya felt a small pang of guilt as she berated him. It had been some time since she last gave him any instruction, too preoccupied with her own problems, so it was perhaps unfair to judge him too harshly. She was about to apologise when he opened his mouth.

"Maybe if you let me fight- really fight," he said with a sigh, "I could show you that I'm better than you think."

Arya threw back her head and laughed. She would admit that the boy had some natural grace and good instincts, but he was not by any means ready to fight someone properly. "Jayce, fewer than two months training does not a master swordsman make. I know exactly how good you are, but it seems that you don't!"

Jayce scowled at her, though not bad naturedly. Arya wondered if the heat was getting to him after all, as he was not one to complain. "How long did it take you to become a master?" He asked, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

All mirth drained from Arya at the question, though it was not intended badly. "It takes years, Jayce," she said, looking him in the eye. "Many masters train for longer than you or I have even been alive, and then some more. A true master would tell you that no matter how good one gets, one is never unbeatable. This is one of the things that you must learn."

Many would have accepted her answer, simply not realising the way she had avoided his question, but Jayce was rather smarter than them. "Yes, but how long did it take you?"

Arya frowned. This was not something she wanted to talk about, especially not with him standing and listening too. "It took me many life times," she answered simply.

Jayce creased his brow, unsatisfied with her answer. "But you're not much older than I am," he pointed out. "How could it have taken you many life times?"

Arya looked him in the eye when she answered, unblinking, a move that made him look away, pink colouring his cheeks. "I didn't say they were my life times."

Jayce opened his mouth to reply, his face one of contrition as he understood her words, but before he could utter even one himself a much deeper voice spilled out from the shadows. Though Arya did not so much as flicker, having expected him to speak soon, Jayce had not noticed him, and so spun around. Arya noted that his sword hung loose in his hand. That would not do. It was one thing to allow yourself to be taken by surprise, to to respond incorrectly was a whole other issue, a flaw that needed correcting.

Arya frowned. My, how you sound like the Kindly Man today, said the snide voice in her head. Arya pushed it away, unwilling to think about such things, and instead focusing back on Gendry, as he strode out into the sunlight.

"I wouldn't trouble yourself with arguing, lad," he said with a smile. "Her tongue is as sharp as her sword, and she'll rip you to shreds with it." He placed a heavy hand on Jayce's shoulder, and Arya could almost imagine his skinny knees buckling under the weight.

"Perhaps I ought to put it to use asking you why you were lurking in the shadows, unannounced?" She asked.

Jayce looked up at Gendry. "What were you doing, milord?" Another lord might have cuffed him over the ear for his impertinence, but Gendry just snorted.

Before he could reply, Arya corrected him. "A useless question," she told Jayce. "Do not bother yourself with the what, but the why. We already know what he was doing. What we want to know is why he was doing it." Jayce nodded, accepting the lesson, one she herself had been taught many moons passed. The recollection fouled her mood further.

Gendry must have seen it on her face, and sent Jayce to help Faye with the water, who had emerged moments prior, struggling with the tray laden with the heavy jug, which slid around the surface which each step she took. Arya could see where the water had sloshed over the sides, furthering the problem. She rolled her eyes. If she had been so clumsy at Harrenhal she would have been beaten, or worse.

"Are you alright?" He asked her, leading her over to the low wall overlooking the sea. "You've been on edge for days."

Arya sighed and nodded. "Just the heat getting to me," she replied. She laid her forearm along her knee and began to undo the crude leather and cloth supports she had once made for herself. The cloth wrapped around her arm, and then thick laces were wrapped around, criss-crossing her thumb to hold them in place.

Gendry pushed her hand away and undid them for her, tugging at the tight knots faster than she could have done one handed. As he focused on the laces, Arya watched his face, and the crease of his brow, the way his lips parted slightly.

"I have a question," he said suddenly, moving on to the next wrist. Arya was impressed by how deft he was, his thick, blunt fingers picking at the knots almost as quick as she would.

"I'm not surprised," she grumbled.

"You have to tell me if I'm right," he said, his tone light, though she could see that he was serious.

"I don't have to tell you anyt-" she was cut off before she could finish.

"Happy Nameday."

Arya looked up so quickly that she thought she had dislocated her neck for a brief moment. Wincing she looked up at his face, searching for any hint of a joke. In the end she wet her lips and looked away. "That's not a question."

His hand was on her face, gently but firmly, turning her to look back at him. "I'm right, though, aren't I?" He asked, softly.

Arya chewed her lip, wanting to look away, but his hand on her cheek kept her from turning away. "You are," she admitted reluctantly. "How did you know?"

His expression changed suddenly, his smugness practically radiating from him, in his smirk, the glint of his eyes and his very posture. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?" He asked.

Arya opened her mouth, appalled. "How?" She asked. There was no way he could know. No one knew. She doubted if even Jon or Sansa remembered.

Gendry's smirk grew, and for a moment Arya wanted to slap it off his face. "You mean apart from your foul mood all week long?" He asked. Arya pursed her lips. Surely she had not been that bad? He huffed a laugh at her expression. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I asked Samwell Tarly to look it up for me when we were in Kings Landing. Why didn't you say anything?" He asked, his expression curious now.

Arya chewed her lip. She didn't like name days. She didn't like pointless celebration... or any kind of celebration. She supposed that it had been so long since she had celebrated her name day that she had barely even remembered it herself. Most years she refused to even think on it, refused to acknowledge it at all. She leaned forward, forearms braced against her thighs so that her hands were clasped between them.

"It wasn't important," she said simply, unwilling to talk about it. However, when Gendry waited patiently for more, one eyebrow arched in the silence, she hissed. "Why was it in Kings Landing?" She asked.

He shrugged. "It wasn't, really," he answered. "All he could find was that you born under a blood moon in the summer."

"Then how did you know it was today?"

"Because I know you," he said quietly. He hastened to speak before she could deny it. "You always get edgy when there's something you're determined to ignore."

When Arya frowned he nudged her with his shoulder. Though he has only meant it playfully Arya had to grab the edge of the wall to stop herself from tumbling over the edge. "Ass," she muttered.

He smiled apologetically, and then in an attempt to lighten the mood, said "You've been stomping around for days, snapping at everyone who speaks to you. That's why I guessed it."

Arya scowled at him, and then at herself for illustrating his point. "I never stomp," she muttered.

He shrugged. "Fine then. You've been skulking and glaring and snarling at everyone who looks your way. You sent the serving wench running last night, when she tried to serve you wine."

Arya glared at the ground, as if it had personally wronged her. "She didn't run."

She didn't need to look to know that he rolled his eyes. "Close enough to. My point is that you've been het up about it all week long."

"No I haven't," she lied, and they both knew it, which frustrated her further. "I've been "het up"" she drawled, imitating him meanly (a display which he watched with amusement), "because it is hot. I hate this damnable heat."

"Mayhaps it's your clothes," he suggested,

She narrowed her eyes. "My clothes? There's nothing wrong with my clothes," she snapped, irritated again.

He pursed his lips at her outburst. "I'll speak to Shireen," he said, ignoring her scowl. "She might be able to source clothes more suited to the heat here."

Arya huffed. "I'll not wear dresses, if that's what you mean," she warned.

Gendry sighed, and wiped his hand down his face, smearing his cheek and chin with soot. He's been in the forge, Arya noted. "No, what I mean is that she is already of a mind to order you a new wardrobe as a welcome gift," he said. He braced his hands on either side of him against the wall, his face staring out into the yard. Arya followed his eye-line, to where Jayce had taken the jug from Faye and was chatting idly to her. When Arya looked back to the man beside her she almost started, to see him watching her avidly, amused rather than irritated by her foul mood. "Wouldn't you rather her gift you clothes that you can use rather than dresses that you and I both know will end up ignored or ruined?"

Arya bit her lip, her nose wrinkled slightly in distaste. "I don't need a welcome gift from Shireen," she said, uncomfortable with the idea. Over the last few weeks she had spent a decent amount of time in the company of Gendry's cousin, and found that she liked her well, but she had no want of a gift. "Gifts are stupid."

"Aye, well, I think she had thought to double it up as a name day gift, too," Gendry said.

Arya turned around to look at him so sharply that she thought she may have displaced her neck. He was deliberately not looking at her, though a smug smirk pulled at his lips. "What?" She said, disbelieving. She read his face, his cheeks turning a shade darker with guilt. "You told Shireen?" She punched his shoulder. "Who else did you tell?" She demanded, standing up and glaring at him.

He caught her hand as she made to hit at him again, refusing to let go when she pulled back with a snarl on her lips. "I wasn't the one who told people, and it's not like they know it's today, just that it's sometime this summer." He tugged her closer to him, despite her half hearted protests.

"Who is they?" she asked, suspiciously, pushing against his broad shoulders to create some space between them.

He groaned and stretched his legs out either side of her. "Why does it matter?"

"Gendry," She snarled, warning him.

"Arya," he growled back, imitating her. "Just the Brotherhood. And Davos," he added on thoughtfully. He took her hands in his again. "Nobody else. I promise."

Arya pursed her lips. "Anguy?" She guessed.

He hummed in agreement, pulling her down to sit on his thigh. "You know what he's like when he gets the drink down him," he said, pressing his nose against her neck and exhaling, his warm breath blowing gently against her skin and fluttering the loose hair that had come free of her braid. When he pressed his lips against her jaw, Arya wrinkled her nose and pulled back in order to stand up, though he was reluctant to let her.

"Don't you want to celebrate your nameday?" He asked, groaning at the lack of contact.

"No," she said resolutely. "besides, it's too hot for that," she added, pulling away successfully this time.

Gendry stood up, following her. "We really do need to get you some lighter clothes," he grumbled, while she rolled her eyes. "And remind me later to finish those gauntlets for you. These scraps of fabric are useless," he said, picking them up and passing them to her with distaste.

"They do the job well enough," she replied, walking across the yard to where Faye had set the water down on an upturned barrel. She watched as Jayce grinned at the girl over his cup, and smiled to herself.

"Hmm. Well I'll try to finish them soon, anyway," Gendry said. "I'd rather you had something that did the job properly, not just "well enough"," he quoted her, accepting the plain pewter cup she passed him.

"Did you enjoy your sparring, milady?" Faye asked, struggling to pour the water for her. Jayce took the jug from her hands again and poured both Arya and Gendry a cupful. As he did so his hands brushed against Faye's, and she blushed prettily. Arya watched the exchange subtly, smirking inwardly. Jayce may just be a boy, but not for much longer, and she didn't seem to be the only one who had noticed.

"Not in this blasted heat," she grumbled, glad of the cool water to wet her dry throat. Before she could drink a mouthful, she was stopped, however.

"It isn't even that hot yet," Gendry smiled, shaking his head. "You Northerners are so used to your cold and your snow that you can't even take a little bit of sunshine."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "And who was it that was all wrapped up like a babe in swaddling before we reached the Neck?" She asked, watching as he concealed his blush by looking away.

"You were the one that had to climb under my furs to keep your chattering teeth from biting your tongue off," he reminded her, causing her to scowl as she remembered the night that her ground sheets had been misplaced.

Arya looked down her nose at him- an impressive feat, considering how far she had to look up to meet his gaze. "You know what I think?" She asked haughtily.

Gendry laughed. "Something mean, I don't doubt."

Arye gazed up at him from under her eyelashes, a wicked smile crossing her lips. "I think it was you who stole my skins," she accused. "So that I would have no choice but to share furs with you and keep you warm." As he blanched, she snickered to herself. "Gallant knight indeed, ser."

As Faye and Jayce howled with laughter at Gendry's face- or at least, as Jayce howled while Faye giggled- Arya tipped her cup back, and allowed the cool water to run down her throat. Perhaps it wasn't to be such a terrible day after all.

The stables were positioned towards the back of the keep, in such a way that one did neither have to go far to them nor ride across the yard to leave. Gendry lead the way, well versed in the brief walk, striding as if eager to get out. Arya didn't blame him; while she knew that he was glad to be home, he was like her in that he disliked inactivity. When he had told her of his plans to ride out into the Stormland's to help prepare for the coming storm, inquiring if she would like to come, it had been evident that he was happy to be getting out of the castle.

It was a fine day, she thought. Sparring in the morning heat had been unbearable, but a healthy sea breeze had rolled in shortly before lunch, cooling her skin as they made to meet Davos at the stables. Her plait was lifted at a sudden gust, flipping it over her shoulder and snarling out a few strands. She supposed she ought to redo it, really. Only the very bottom third remained somewhat braided, while the top billowed out, free if not for the ends meeting in the braid.

"So where are we riding out to?" She asked, trying to remember what she could of old lessons with Maester Luwin about the layout of the Stormlands. She had liked learning about geography, if not the houses and minor lords so much.

"Fellwood, today," he replied, looking down past his shoulder at her briefly. "I've already had the Brotherhood and a rota of my household guard to go out and help with the preparations, but Fellwood is a particularly poor area. They were raided most frequently in the war."

Arya nodded, listening. Fellwood. House Fell... Lord Harwood? She enquired, uncertain.

He shook his head. "Lord Fell died on the march to Winterfell with Stannis. It's just Lady Fell, now, and her young daughter."

Arya lowered her brow. "The march on Winterfell?" When had Stannis ever gone to Winterfell?

"Aye," Gendry said, looking at her queerly. "Jon didn't tell you? Nor Sansa?" Arya shook her head. "After he left the Wall Stannis gained the support of the northern mountain clans and marched on Deepwood Motte, winning the support of many of the northern lords, who then demanded that he march on Winterfell against the Bolton's to rescue you."

Arya hummed. She forgot that she was supposed to have been married to the bastard of Bolton. "What happened to him? Stannis?"

"Well, he got stranded in the Wolfswood because of the snow, so he couldn't march in the end," Gendry said. "He sent that girl who was impersonating you to Jon at the Wall though, just before he was killed." Arya remembered what Jon had told her, about how he had been brought back to life by Melisandre. She frowned, and kept quiet as Gendry continued to explain.

"When he came back to life, Jon marched on Winterfell too, missing the delivery of the impersonator by days. The Boltons fought Stannis, and he died there. Then Jon fought Bolton in the Battle of the Bastards, joined last minute by the Knights of the Vale, sent by your sister. Stannis' forces then joined Jon's in the fight against the dead." He looked down at Arya, who had said nothing all the while he talked. "You won't bring it up with Shireen, will you? It upsets her, even if he wasn't the best father."

"Hmm?" She hummed absently, before looking up at his expectant face. "Oh. No, don't worry. I'll keep quiet."

He nudged her shoulder with his arm, so that she looked up at him. "Are you alright?" He asked. "You seem troubled."

Arya hummed. "I'm fine. I didn't realise how little I knew about my own homeland," she said bitterly.

Gendry smiled down at her, a little sadly she thought. "It isn't your fault, you know?" He said. "That you weren't there."

Arya nodded but kept quiet as they entered the stable yard, where the few that Gendry had chosen to accompany them were mounting up. She made directly for Astrid, who nickered at the sight of her rider.

"We feared that you had gone without us," Anguy japed as he pulled himself up onto his horse, a chestnut palfrey.

Gendry smiled, checking the girth of Rogue's saddle. "What, and let you laze around in the castle?" He japed, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Anguy snorted, before eyeing Arya. "Happy name day, little lady," he grinned.

Gendry shot him a look that Arya didn't miss, but she ignored it, stroking her mare's muzzle gently. As the men traded barbs with each other, Arya kept to herself, busying herself with checking her tack and mounting up in a futile attempt to push away the guilt that had settled in her stomach.

It isn't your fault, she told herself. How could you have known? As they rode out of the yard. You were alone, you had no way of knowing, as they made their way towards the Gatehouse. There was nothing you could have done, as they cantered under the portcullis and over the great stone bridge. You already did what you could, even if the Red Woman got the credit. But why should she get the credit? Arya thought to herself bitterly, as they galloped over field and farm, track and wood.

It was just another part of her life that she supposed she could never tell anyone. So many secrets, she thought bitterly. Are you even Arya Stark at all anymore? Or is hers just another face that you wear?

Upon arriving at Fellwood Keep, Arya was grateful for the distraction it provided from her own dark thoughts, which loomed over her alike to the coming storm. It was a small Keep, truly little more than a hold fast, and half ensconced in the remnant trees of the Kingswood. The walls were grey and had a crumbling sort of texture to them, she noted as they passed by them, the bricks interspersed by moss and ivy. It won't be long before the walls crack, Arya thought with a frown. It was always a danger to let weeds grow up walls- one of the contributing factors to the Broken Tower at Winterfell being irreparable.

She glanced up at the parapets, looking for guards and watchmen, but found only two, and one half a boy at that. His helm was too big for his head, the nose piece hanging near his lip, and she saw that he had to tilt his head back in order to look down through the eye slits. The spear he carried was a relic, and almost twice as tall as he was. She wondered exactly what Gendry meant when he had said that many in the Stormlands had suffered, and realised that this was the result of war in a land too ravaged to fight, where little boys had to pick up their fathers swords.

"How many others?" Arya asked, quietly, as they passed unstopped through the gate.

He didn't look at her when he answered. "Too many. Though Fellwood is one of the worse ones." His tone was dismal. "It was one of the few houses that I did not ask for men to join the company."

Arya felt her heart beat a little harder at that. He had told her that he had been sure to bring such a large host in case of a rebellion against Jon, sparked by Euron Greyjoy or Elmar Frey demanding her. She had not realised the lengths he had gone to, to ensure their safe travel. She wondered how many sons had been forced to take their fathers places after they left to escort her south. The thought made her frown.

"Lady Fell is a good sort," Gendry said, as they pulled to a halt. "Don't show her that you pity her, though, for she won't take to it well."

Arya nodded, and surveyed the yard. It was a dreary place, empty and quiet save for a few servants going about their chores. No squires training, no skilled workers working, no proud flags snatched up in the wind. She saw a small movement, behind an abandoned wagons, her eyes fixing on it out of habit. A twitch of dirty cloth, and a piece of lank blonde hair, caught in the breeze, a small, sallow profile. Arya smiled in spite of herself as she watched the little girl spying on them, before frowning, and realising that she was more likely hiding out of fear.

"My lord of Baratheon," came a warm and surprisingly jovial voice, forcing Arya to tear her eyes away from the girl and towards a woman with fly away grey hair and a wrinkled face. She was slightly taken aback by the old woman's demeanour, having expected a certain solemnity instead of optimism. The woman- presumably Lady Fell- wore a simple wool dress, with no adornments, her breast bare of brooches, her bony fingers naked of rings. "We are so honoured to receive you."

Gendry dismounted, and Arya followed suit. "Lady Fell," he greeted, bowing his head, a gesture which surprised Arya. She supposed that having grown up as bastard member of the small folk had left him with certain habits, ones that she found were not distasteful in any way, despite the demands of etiquette. But then, Arya had never been one to care much for etiquette herself. "It is good to see you looking well. I hope your grandson fares similarly?"

Lady Fell smiled, a faint pink blossoming on her pale and sunken cheeks. "Hoff is well, my Lord, though not here. He has gone to squire for a knight at Greenstone." Her smile faltered a little, and Arya felt a small pang as she understood the implication of what that meant for the woman before her. Her grandson was likely all that remained to Lady Fell, and so she had sent him away, to somewhere where he might have a better life, with food a plenty, a sacrifice that had left her alone in her silent and crumbling walls.

However, if Lady Fell was upset at the mention of it she did not let on, instead turning to Arya, her smile back neatly in place. Arya thought that her eyes remained a little sad, as the older woman took in Arya's messy hair, dirty face and scruffy attire, yet it seemed there was no judgement either. "My Lady Arya," she said with a wobbly curtsy. "It is so good to see you. It has been far too long since we've had a lady of Storms End; the last was of course Lady Cassana Estermont, our lord's lady grandmother."

Arya remembered Maester Luwin teaching her the history of their king, when she had been a young girl and Robert Baratheon still king. She remembered the grisly end that had befallen Lady Cassana, and tried to appear saddened by the reminder. "Of course," she said. "A sad end for any good lady, one whom's shadow I imagine I shall spend the rest of my life in." She smiled, remembering the scoldings she had received growing up, from her mother and her sister, even her father at times. The way he could just say her name with a look that filled her with regret for whatever she had been doing to cause it, and one that caused her smile to falter.

She was startled, however, when Lady Fell stepped forward and grasped her one hand that wasn't holding her reins, between her own gnarled ones. "My lady, the very fact that you believe so and grieve her though she died before you were even born," she said, clearly mistaking Arya's sadness for her father as sadness for Lady Cassana, "shows that you will be much her rival." She let go of Arya's hand with a pat, and turned back to Gendry, who had watched the interaction keenly, blue eyes missing nothing. His gaze lingered on her briefly, assessing her expression, clearly having noticed her sudden sadness and understanding that it was not for some lady she had never met. "Now, my Lord, I understand you are here to help with plans for the coming storm?"

Gendry tore his eyes away from Arya and nodded. "You are very astute, my Lady. I am here to offer whatever assistance I can with preparation. My men will happily help in anyway they can." He gestured to the fifteen or so men that had accompanied them.

Lady Fell bowed her head in appreciation. "Many thanks, my Lord, you are most kind to help an old woman. Let us speak inside and out of this wind, over a glass of wine." She turned and made towards the doors to the small keep.

Arya passed her reins to one of the men and made to follow, but Gendry held her back by the arm, turning her to him.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his tone etched with concern. "What was that about?"

Arya pulled her arm from his grasp, softening her action with a smile. "I'm fine," she assured him, motioning for him to follow after Lady Fell. "It was nothing."

He didn't seem convinced, but he let it go, urging her instead to keep up with Lady Fell, who had not yet noticed they were a little ways behind her, his hand pressed against her lower back. It was a move that would have once irritated her, but now she found that she did not mind, neither the action itself nor the way it made her stomach jump a little. She was certain that if she were to look in a mirror she would see pink on her cheek, that would extend down to the top of her breast. She pressed a hand flat against her chest, as if it would slow her heart down, but when he looked at her strangely she pretended she was rubbing away an itch.

Stupid! She scolded herself, irritated at her own reaction to such an innocent act. It's only his hand on your back. You're like a stupid little girl, like Jeyne Poole fawning over some stupid knight.

It was not a long walk to the receiving room just off of the small hall that Arya glimpsed through an open door. The walls were bare, rushes scattered over the floor instead of fine rugs, candles stuck in plain wooden holders instead of artful iron. She noticed that even the windows were bare of curtains, so that the cool, salty breeze wafted in. She imagined that the stone castle would be draughty at night, especially for an older woman like Lady Fell.

It seemed, however, that Gendry had thought of this before leaving. Or perhaps Shireen, Arya thought, doubting that the man beside her would have thought of it, even as he spoke the words.

"My Lady, as a token of our appreciation of your loyalty and kindness towards our house, we have brought a number of wool blankets and shawls," he said, sitting down in the chair he was offered at the small table, "to keep you warm when the storm comes. We hope that they will be of some use to you." Aye, definitely Shireen, she thought.

Lady Fell appeared touched by the gesture, her lips wavering as she tried to word her appreciation. "My Lord, truly you are too kind," she said. "House Fell owes our loyalty to your house regardless of your kind gifts, but believe me when I say that they are appreciated."

Gendry nodded. "Please, Lady Fell, do not worry yourself. We understand that times have been hard for all, these last few years. I shall have my men chop you some firewood as well, to keep your hearths warm."

When Lady Fell's eyes began to tear up, Arya wondered if it was an act, but as she watched the other woman her emotion was so genuine that it left no doubt in Arya's mind that she was sincere. It was strange, for her, to think how other people were built inside, real and genuine. Arya could call tears to her eyes and summon a sad smile in an instant, but perhaps the harder thing to do was to be honest. To be vulnerable- no. To allow yourself to be vulnerable.

"Smiles and scowls should not come upon you like sudden squalls. A smile should be a servant, and come only when you call it. Learn to rule your face."

"Show me how."

And oh, how they had.

"My Lord, there is little enough that I can ever do to repay your kindness and generosity, but please allow me to offer you and your lady a glass of wine? It is little, I know, but all I have." She twisted her hands as if nervous, though she relaxed when Gendry smiled gratefully and accepted her offer.

Arya watched him from the corner of her eye as Lady Fell poured them all some wine- a move that Arya understood to be out of true gratitude rather than lack of a servant. She had never seen this side of him before, and she found that while it was new it did not surprise her in any capacity. Gendry had always been one to help those who needed helping. She hadn't understood at the time, why he had wanted to mend Beric's armour, after the Hound killed him, nor why he had wanted to stay and join the Brotherhood, but now she saw that it was just a part of who he was, even with his surly and quick to anger temperament. She supposed it had been evident even when he chose to stay with her and Hot Pie and Weasel, when he could have just left by himself- no, even before then, when he had defended her against Hot Pie and Lommy.

She jerked back to attention as Lady Fell passed her the wine. Arya wanted to turn it down, or wrinkle her nose at the idea of it, but she took it politely. Lady Fell had said it herself; she had little to offer, yet what she had, she did, and so Arya resisted the urge to wince and took a number of mouthfuls of the stuff before setting it back down. She saw Gendry smile a little, and new that he had noticed, knowing that she did not care for it.

She settled back in her chair and listened as Gendry explained his plans to Lady Fell- to bring people into the castles of their lords, to make sure that all livestock were safe and secured in barns that his men were assisting in the construction of. With the men back from their journey to the North and back there were more than enough men to get the job done, indeed much of it already was done. She listened as he explained that food would be distributed in rotas, so that all had an equal amount, and that Storms End would be open to any that had nowhere to go. She listened to his instructions and his advise, offering her own thoughts at times, and when they were mounting up and riding back out through the gates, she realised that she had enjoyed it, helping and playing the role of some kind of commander.

It was with a painful and sharp thought that she realised the title she was looking for was lady. The thought soured her mood again on the ride home, even as she considered that perhaps there was more to being a lady than she had originally thought. After all, her mother had been a lady, and she was one of the strongest women that Arya could remember. Sansa was a lady, and she, too, was undeniably strong. Arya chewed her lip as the thoughts rolled around her head.

She had been so adamant that she was no lady, and she wasn't. She had fought tooth and nail all of her life to show that she wasn't. Yet now she considered that maybe there was a difference between being a lady, and being the lady of a castle. She frowned. She had not wanted this. She had wanted to hate Storms End, she had wanted to dislike Gendry and his company, she had wanted for it to be easy to ride away and leave. She had never wanted any of this. Yet, she thought, watching Gendry as he rode slightly ahead of her, perhaps it was something she could want. Perhaps.

That night, Arya sat on the window sill of her chambers, staring out across the black sea, lit up by a blood moon. She wondered if it was the same moon she had been born under, seventeen years ago. Perhaps time was just an illusion, she thought. Perhaps everything in the world all happened at once, simultaneously. She had read that somewhere, once, long ago in the library at Winterfell. She frowned. Did that mean that she was watching as her fathers head was cut off, right in that moment, though she was sat half a thousand leagues away in a strange castle? Did it mean that she was currently watching her brother's twisted corpse being paraded around while her mother was being tossed naked in the river? Did that mean she was currently wearing a wolfs pelt as she dragged that very same body out of the water, bloated and pale? Did that mean her brother was being shot full of arrows, just feet away from reuniting with his family?

She decided that she didn't like that theory very much.

Perhaps time did happen in some kind of linear pattern, then. Always moving forward, no matter what happened in the world. Had it really been a decade since she left Winterfell for the first time? It didn't feel like it, yet at the same time it seemed like it was eons ago. Another era, and someone else's life. She supposed, in a way, it had been. She had seen so much since then, done so much, been so many people- Arry, Nan, Weasel, the Ghost of Harrenhal. She had been the daughter of corpses, and death on six legs. She had been Cat of the Canals, Blind Beth, sweet natured Mercedene. No one. All of the names that had come after that. And now she was Arya Stark again. Or perhaps she wasn't.

Arya didn't like that very much either.

A soft knock at the door broke her out of her reverie, though she did not move as the door opened, allowing the light of the torches outside of her door to light up the otherwise dark room for just a moment, as the visitor hesitated, before closing the door and plunging them into darkness once again.

She didn't need to look, to know how the pinkish moonlight, like so much blood in so much water, would make his blue eyes glow. How his teeth would seem extra white, his skin just that much warmer than it already was. It was a strange thing, light, she thought absently, reaching out a hand and watching as the mottled pink waves drifted across her skin like water. So strange and so unfamiliar to her. Was light the absence of dark, she wondered, or dark the absence of light? She supposed it didn't matter.

"Do you remember the baths at Harrenhal?" She asked. Her voice cutting through the silence seemed to awaken him, and he stepped forward, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off of him in waves.

"I never had cause to go there," he said, his deep voice making the air vibrate around them. "Had to wash from a bucket, like all of the servants."

Arya hummed, still watching as her hand dipped in and out of the strange light, the way it wafted between her fingers. Fingers and thumbs, fingers and thumbs, her mother used to sing. A child's, a mother's, a father's, a lord's, fingers, oh fingers and thumbs. "I had to. Not to bathe, but when I had to carry messages, or scrub the floors."

She crept up as quiet as a shadow, but he opened his eyes anyway. "She steals in on little mice feet, but a man hears all the same." How could he hear me? she wondered, and it seemed he heard that too. "The scuff of leather on stone sings as loud as warhorns to a man with open ears. Clever girls go barefoot." "I have a message." She leaned in, until her mouth almost touched his ear. "Weese."

Gendry said nothing, though she could feel him breathing. She could hear his heart thumping in his chest, steady and strong. She fancied that she could even hear his blood flowing through his veins, but even her ears weren't as good as that. "It was like this in there. The bath house, I mean. All of the stone walls, the ceiling, the floor- all covered in shifting, dancing shadows of light striking the water. In there it was almost possible to forget what was happening outside, it was so peaceful. It reminded me a little of the hot springs at Winterfell, so I stopped going there."

He shifted and sat down opposite her. He was too big to curl up on the window sill like she had, but he drew one leg up, his back pressed against the wall of the little alcove that the window was built into. "Why'd you stop, if it reminded you of home?"

"It made me sad," she replied, her lips pulling down a little in the corners. "It made me think about home, about how my brothers and sister and I used to play in the hot springs together, and that made me sad." She looked at him finally, though half of his face was bathed in shadows. "And I preferred anger to sadness."

"Is that why you don't like your name day?" He asked her. "Because it reminds you of before?" Arya chewed her lip, and didn't reply. He cleared his throat. "I brought you something," he said. "For your name day, I mean."

Arya blinked. "You didn't have to do t-"

"I know," he interrupted, "but I wanted to. Will you look at it?" She hesitated, and then nodded, not wanting to turn him down. Besides, she was curious. What could he possibly give to her, that she didn't already have? She had weapons, she had a horse, she didn't wear fine dresses or expensive jewels.

She watched as he reached down, picked something up, and took it after a pause when he offered it to her. As her hands wrapped around it a smile formed across her face, and she looked up. "Gendry..." she said, at a loss for words as she fingered the buckle, a pin crafted in the shape of a dire wolf's head, like her family sigil. "It's beautiful." It was a sword scabbard, made of fine leather to fit across her back, a series of straps attached to wear across her chest.

He smiled and exhaled in relief at her acceptance of the gift. "I know that Dark Sister is too big to wear at your hip, so I thought a real scabbard was needed. I'm glad that you like it." Arya smiled, running her fingers over the straps, pausing when she felt a series of what felt like pockets, stiff and narrow. "You can put knives in them," he explained, seeing her confusion. "Not true daggers, but I've seen you throw a knife, and I thought it was about time you had somewhere to put them other than your boot. And this," he said, passing her another item, smaller than the last, "is to go around your thigh. A sheath, for a longer knife. I know you usually just use a bit of linen, but I thought you ought to have something more secure."

Arya was at a loss for words. No one had ever given her something like this- apart from Jon with Needle, all those years ago. Her mother and father had gifted her with fine cloaks, leather shoes, ribbons for her hair, but never anything like this. Robb had gifted her a fine saddle once, for her seventh name day, but it had been so big that she had never even had the chance to use it. She wondered what had happened to it. Perhaps it was still in Winterfell. "You made this?" She asked.

He nodded. "And these," he added, flinging the now finished gauntlets at her, making her chuckle as she remembered his distaste for her simple wraps. "Do you like them?"

Arya shook her head, disbelievingly. "Gendry, how could you even think that I wouldn't?" She put them aside carefully, and leaned forwards, watching his eyes, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. She pressed her lips to his gently, and he moulded his to hers almost instantly. When she pulled back her heart was beating hard and fast in her chest. "Thank you, Gendry," she said, almost whispering. "It's a wonderful gift. All of it."

And it was. The thought that had gone into it- how long had he been planning it? To take into account her fighting style, her size, her choices in weaponry. He had known that she liked to carry spare weapons at all times, and had made sure that they all had a safe, secure and convenient place about her person. Plain, simple and effective- just like her. Apart from the beautiful wolf's head pin, the pieces were plain and unadorned, yet beautiful in their precision and quality, all smooth leather and soft wool lining. Perfect. Perhaps not so much like her then.

"Well," he said, "I figured you had best have something for your name day that you will use. I stopped by Shireen earlier, and all I'll say is that I'm confident that you shall be suitably horrified by some of her choices for you."

He smirked while Arya groaned, thoughts of her long departed family almost pushed deep into her mind.

Almost.

I won't lie, that was a fun chapter to write, though Arya being grumpy is hardly anything new I guess XD

Anyhoo, if you liked, drop a review! And thank you to all of those who have pm'd me or reviewed- your thoughts and insights are, as always, appreciated! That's it from me, until next time my lovelies! Over and Out xox