AN: Turns out, even more people tried to help with the name snafu, but their comments were awaiting moderation. Thanks, everybody, for the assistance, the reads, the follows, favorites and reviews!

They walked all night. Arya wanted to put as much ground as possible between them and the Red Keep. She couldn't wait until they were free of King's Landing. Arya had no intention of seeking any kind of help at Riverrun. Seven Hells, she wasn't even sure who held it now. Nonetheless, she knew she would feel better in her mother's homeland and better still once she reached The North. The roads were closed in the South and patrolled by soldiers, so they would walk in the forests to the Trident, then follow the Green Fork of the river North. Once it was safe, they could take the King's Road to Winterfell. They would avoid settlements and other travelers, hidden by the woods when possible. Arya would disguise herself when there was nowhere to hide. She would do the hunting, and he would build the fires and cook.

For once in Arya's life, a plan seemed to be working. She was a decent hunter, and Gendry was a decent cook. They had just enough food to eat. They walked by night and slept by day. Few people took note of the couple.

Sleeping during the day had one main disadvantage for Arya. When she slept at night, she often dreamt she was Nymeria: breeding, birthing, hunting or fighting, but most often running through the forests of The North with her pack. In her dreams she felt strong and free. Not safe, but direwolves do not desire safety. They desire life.

When she slept in the day, she did not dream as the wolf. Her sleep was a hollow that nightmares rushed to fill. She dreamed of Joffrey, lopping off her father's head. Her brother Robb atop a horse, his head replaced with that of his direwolf. Her brother Bran consumed by the roots of a tree. Herself, a monster, slitting throats, leaving men for dead, chopping bodies and baking them into a pie. Her mother a dead thing, pointing at her with a gray hand of judgment.

She would waken with a start, disoriented by the glare of the mid-day sun. Her husband rarely roused. She shook her head and mused that it was a good thing she knew her way around a sword. Good, too, that he muscular enough that strangers didn't challenge him. Otherwise, he wouldn't last long. After all, winter was here. After a nightmare, she would press her ear to his chest. She would listen to his breath and his heartbeat and try to make hers match. Maybe that was the key to being someone else: not the killer Arya Stark, but peaceful, happy Arya Baratheon.

When the sun set and they had not yet risen, Gendry would touch her and kiss her, long and deep. She would pull him close, rubbing her body against his. Part of her wished he would just do it, just be with her already. Arya wondered whether he thought he was protecting her delicate, high-born sensibilities.

She may have been born a noble girl, but she'd grown up selling mussels in the brothels of Bravos. She knew that some men were cruel and did awful things in bed and that some were quite boring, but that others did things that made the doxies smile and argue over a customer, even though he was not the richest man in the room. She suspected Gendry was the third type, for she loved his strong hands on her skin and his mouth against hers.

When she asked him about it, he'd laughed, which had made fire blaze in her eyes. "I just want to get to know each other better first," he said. "We have plenty of time, don't we? Besides, it's not you I'm protecting. It's me! I'm the one married to a faceless assassin. You only have to deal with a blacksmith!"

Arya shoved him so hard that he nearly fell on his arse. "I'm not an assassin!"

"No?"

She thought about all the things she done. She wasn't ashamed of killing the men she'd killed, but she feared the joy it had given her. That wasn't who she wanted to be—not in Gendry's eyes and not in the eyes of her family. "No. Not anymore."

"Glad to hear it, 'Arry!" Gendry proclaimed and swept her off her feet. Generally, she detested being lifted because it made her feel too small and powerless. In this case, though, it just made her laugh to be twirled in the air. He kissed her deep, his hands running down her moonlit body. She dug her nails into his back, pulling him closer and caught his lip between her teeth before letting it gently pull free. He sucked in his breath at the sensation and whispered, "Gentle, Nymeria."

She pulled away. "Why did you say that?" She had never told Gendry of the dreams—never told anyone of the dreams. She wondered if any of her siblings had dreamt through the eyes of their wolves.

"Don't hurt me, 'Arry!" he pleaded with his hands up in supplication. "Sometimes you seem so wild and free…just as I imagine your direwolf. Not one to be tamed or domesticated."

She smiled. "Then I like it. Here," she said, handing him her pack. "I need to run a bit. I'm a wild thing, you understand." And with that she was gone.

" 'Arry? You are coming back, right?"

His wife howled, then laughed in the distance.

AN: More reviews, please! They've been quite helpful!