A/N: Look! A juicy new update for you to devour. Don't forget to review with your thoughts, my darling readers. Much love! xx-Kitten.

Winter Storm

By Kittenshift17

Chapter 13 : Falling Like the Rain

Arya let Gendry lead her inside Storm's End, curious about what it was he needed from her and why it meant she had to come to his bedchamber. She'd been surprised by how quickly he'd agreed to wanting to marry her when she'd put it to him so bluntly. She hadn't expected it. She'd expected he would request time to really think about it all and that he would most likely decline the notion once he'd considered it carefully.

"Is this you reverting back to the part where you tell me you'll marry me until I let you bed me and then you send me on my way?" she asked, smirking as she recalled accusing him of just that on her first night in his castle.

"No. This is the part where you have to pass one of my tests," he answered, "Close the door, would you?"

Arya narrowed her eyes at him before doing as she was asked, closing the heavy wooden door to his chambers and noting that it was much bigger and nicer than where she was currently staying. She knew it would probably be a problem that she'd done so when she caught sight of a few of his sister's handmaidens rushing away giggling over the idea of Arya being alone with Gendry in his chambers.

"What are you doing?" Arya asked when she turned towards him and saw him over by his chests, digging out his battle armour.

"Wait and see," he answered, slowly pulling on every piece of his armour. Arya watched his back in fascination as he put on each heavy metal plate, before he finally went for the crescendo piece of his collection. He turned to her then, pulling the enormous antlered helmet onto his head. Arya was shocked he could even manage to do so inside his chamber without having it scrape the stone ceiling. It was the biggest helmet she'd ever seen, the intricately detailed stag's antlers that made up the Baratheon house sigil extending above his already impressive height for several feet. With the helmet on, he wasn't a man. He was a demon. Something out of an old war tale. In full battle armour he was the size of a bull and at least ten feet tall. Arya wondered how he could even hold his head up with such a heavy and weighted helmet.

He turned to look at her and suddenly Arya realised what his test for her was. He'd been into battle in this armour countless times and Arya didn't doubt he'd struck true fear into the hearts of many a man. In fact she'd bet more than a few of them pissed themselves and fled their company. And he didn't want a wife who feared him.

Arya could honestly say she didn't. Not because he wasn't hulking and terrifying in the suit. He was. If she saw him across a battlefield and didn't know him, she would be afraid. But she knew him. She knew that no matter how angry she might make him he would never use his obvious strength advantage against her to harm her. She knew that no matter how terrifying he might look, she was safe in his presence.

And so she truthfully told him what she thought before he could even ask her.

"When we're married," Arya began seriously, eyeing him from head to foot and feeling her whole body throb with desire, "At some stage, I'm going to fuck you in that armour Gendry Baratheon."

"You're not afraid of me?" he asked her, eyeing her like she might be mental.

"I'm afraid I might fuck you in it before we're married if you don't take it off fast enough," Arya told him, her body thrumming with need the way it had when he'd fingered her in his forge.

He reacted like any hot-blooded male. He jerked the helmet off his head, tossed it carelessly onto the bed and reached for her hungrily. Arya leapt into his hold, ignoring the bite of the cold steel against her flesh as she recalled suddenly that she still only wore the butchered dress she'd snagged from the laundry and hacked up so she'd have something to swim in. Tangling her hands into his dark hair, Arya kissed him fiercely, biting back a moan when his tongue swept into her mouth.

Gods, she wanted him. Arya could honestly say she'd never much craved men in the past. She'd had a crush on Mycah when she'd been younger, but she'd never really imagined wanting to kiss anyone or fuck anyone until she'd met Gendry. He snogged her wildly, clearly overcome with her response to seeing him in his armour. Dropping down to sit on the end of his bed, Arya found herself straddling his lap, her hands knotted in his hair while his hands roamed her chest.

She whimpered when he cupped her pert breasts through her dress, making her whole body thrum even harder with how much she wanted him. She wanted him to put his hands under her skirt again. She wanted to feel his long fingers gliding into her cunt until the aching tingle there stopped throbbing. Arya had never known anything like it, but after what he'd done to her in the forge, she wanted him to do it again and again until she couldn't stand it anymore.

Just as she thought he might grant her wish a heavy fist pounded on his chamber door and Arya froze in his hold. Gendry froze beneath her, jerking back to stare at her with wide eyes.

"You coming to the feast Gendry?" Edric shouted through the door and Arya was eternally grateful he didn't open it.

"I'll be there in a bit," Gendry called, his voice husky with desire. Arya quivered when she felt his fingers gliding up the outside of her thighs beneath the skirts of her swimming-dress as though he meant to continue ravishing her.

"Want me to wait?" Edric called back again.

"No you go on. I'm filthy from working the forge. Got to wash," Gendry answered, his blue eyes fixed on Arya's panicked face. She could tell he was intent on ravishing her again before he was going anywhere.

"Alright, I'll meet you there," Edric answered before Arya heard the thud of his steps as he walked away.

She whimpered in horrified delight when Gendry's hand burrowed under her dress and he impaled her on two of his fingers. The invasion stretched deliciously at her flesh and he shushed her noises with another searing kiss when she couldn't hold back the moan he drew from her. Arya hated him a little for making her feel so out of control and needy but she kind of loved the way he gave her what she wanted. He tormented her one handed, pulling back to watch her face as he stroked the achy throb between her legs until she felt like she was going to explode.

When he fumbled with his armour until he could reach his cock, Arya opened her eyes, trying to see what he was doing, trying to learn what he liked. When she tentatively reached for his hand Gendry opened his eyes to smile at her. She didn't really know what to do, but she followed his lead, wrapping her small hand around his large cock. When she glanced at him worriedly Gendry wrapped his hand around her own, showing her how to grip him and slowly work her hand up and down over him.

His head dropped back and a string of curse fell from his lips when she did it. Arya bit her lip on a moan when he began moving his fingers inside her in time to her movements. She pumped her hand up and down slowly at first, mewling involuntarily at the way he curled his fingers inside her cunt that sent flames of pleasure scorching through her body.

"Gendry," she whimpered as the panic set in when something in her coiled tightly, ready to snap free. She needed…. Something.

He grinned at her ferally for the sound of his name on her lips and Arya gripped his cock tighter, needing something to hold onto when she felt something inside her spasm.

"Argh!" she cried out, her sounds muffled when he pulled her mouth to his, his tongue diving into her mouth and prolonging the ecstasy that flooded through her. Mindless with what he'd done to her, Arya worked her palm over his cock until he pulled away from her kiss with a curse and she felt something warm and sticky spurt into her hand.

She was breathing hard when he withdrew his fingers from her passage and Arya whimpered at the strange, throbbing emptiness of his loss.

"You'll be the death of me," he told her in a husky voice, flopping back on his bed and pulling her down on top of him. Arya laughed.

"Probably," she agreed.

"I need to fuck you," Gendry said then, tilting his head to hold her gaze even though she was sprawled across his broad chest, "Which I can't do until I marry you."

"I'll tell Father," she nodded, feeling strangely content. She wondered if it would be noticed if she and Gendry didn't come to the feast and instead just stayed in his chamber away from the world.

"How long do you think it will take them to prepare everything and invite everyone?" Gendry asked seriously.

"Probably more than a month," Arya groaned.

"Too long," Gendry complained.

"Knowing my mother the only thing left to do will be to send out invitations. She's been set on this marriage since before we arrived. Everything will be prepared already."

"I hope you're right," Gendry told her, his hands stroking down her back in a way that threatened to lull Arya into slumber.

"We should get dressed for the feast," she told him, though she really didn't want to.

"We could stay here," Gendry suggested and Arya laughed at the way his mind jumped to the same idea hers had.

"We could, but I think people would notice our absence, what with a being the guests of honour in a way," she told him, pushing her hands against his broad chest and levering herself up until she was looking down at him.

"It's hardly fair that you can look at me with those eyes and make me want to fuck you all the more," Gendry grumbled when she found a slow smirk slipping across her face.

"It's hardly fair that you look this handsome and formidable in armour. Imagine how I'll swoon when you're out of it," Arya retorted and Gendry laughed at that.

"I have trouble imagining you swooning about anything," he said.

"If you're really lucky, maybe it will happen. One day."

She was backing across the room towards the door while he began pulling off his armour when there was another, heavier knock on the door followed by the sound of the handle jiggling. Arya panicked, jack-rabbiting across the room until she was hidden behind the door.

"You coming to the feast, son?" Robert Baratheon asked of Gendry when he burst into the room.

"Got to wash," Gendry said, his eyes dancing between his father and where Arya was hidden behind the door.

"What are you doing in your armour?" Robert wanted to know, walking a few paces into the room and giving Arya the chance she needed to escape unnoticed.

"Been working on a new technique," Gendry answered, thinking fast, "I wanted to see if I could incorporate it into this piece of if I'd need to make a new one."

Arya smirked at Gendry from behind Robert's back before she ducked out of the room, slipping away down the hall and closing herself inside her own chambers securely. Nymeria was already there, lounging in front of the fireplace. Arya greeted the wolf happily, grinning when she saw that Bridy had clearly been in her chambers recently. The bathtub was full of still-steaming water just waiting for Arya to climb in so she could bathe. Locking her door quickly, Arya stripped out of her swimming dress.

She sighed at the feeling of the warm water caressing her cool skin after so long spent in wet clothes. It stung just a little between her legs, but Arya didn't mind. It only sought to remind her what she'd just let Gendry Baratheon do to her and Arya wasn't afraid to admit to herself that she liked it. A lot. She kind of hated him for making her feel so out of control but she wouldn't deny that she liked the strange sense of freedom and release he allowed her in that moment.

Arya opened her eyes slowly, biting her lip in trepidation at the idea of needing to speak to her father. Of needing to admit that he'd been right about Gendry probably being the only man in the entire realm that she wouldn't murder if she had to marry. Arya wouldn't lie, she still didn't want to get married. She didn't want to be stuck in this place with it's suppressive heat and it's endless storms. She didn't want to tolerate the constantly disapproving looks from Lady Mina and her daughters. She didn't want to be so far from Winterfell and her family.

But she had accepted that she had no real choice. She could refuse Gendry and end up saddled with some other horrible lord for a husband or she could flee the Seven Kingdoms. Neither option held appeal. Arya was beginning to understand that in order for her to put her title and her goals into practice she needed a husband and she blushed a little when she realised that if it had to be anyone, she wanted it to be Gendry. She'd spent much of her time since arriving in Storm's End in his company and he was growing on her.

She would admit she liked him.

She had grown to rather like the way his intense gaze so often fixed on her made her a little nervous. She liked when he got that look in his eyes that made her feel like she was beautiful and not a horseface. She'd really liked that he had been more than willing to spar with her when she asked him to. Since she'd arrived she'd taken to sparring often with Mya, teaching the older girl some battle tactics and picking up a few too. They trained every day and in Mya, Arya suspected she'd found a fast friend.

It was an uncommon occurrence in her life. Arya had never really had female friends. All the girls at Winterfell had preferred Sansa's company because so few of them liked the things Arya liked. And when Mya had been unavailable to spar with her a few days past, Arya had resorted to asking Gendry. Most everyone else had been off doing things to prepare for Storm season and she'd found Gendry atop the battlements, affixing a new long-range crossbow as part of the castle's defences.

When she'd spotted him she almost hadn't bothered asking him. They'd had a fight that morning when she'd pushed him too hard with one of her tests and he'd shouted at her about being an insolent little savage. She'd almost decided against bothering with him, but then he'd caught her staring. And she couldn't very well walk away letting him think she'd been spying on him or worse, admiring him.

So she'd swallowed her pride and asked him to spar with her. She'd half expected him to say no, and when he'd agreed Arya hadn't been able to hold back her grin. Sparring with him had been interesting to say the very least. He wasn't as quick as she was, but he was so strong that each blow rattled her considerably. She suspected he'd taken it easy on her too, not wanting to brain her by accident if she couldn't hold off one of his blows with her own sparring sword.

She'd admit it had been fun to fight him.

In fact, there were a lot of things about Gendry that Arya would begrudgingly admit she was fond of. She kind of liked the way when he was distracted he would take up the nearest object and bang it lightly against a flat surface in a replication of banging his hammer inside his forge. She'd caught him at it the other day when they'd sat through a hearing of all the current small-folk complaints that needed addressing.

After the seventh farmer in a row complained about needing better facilities to store their produce, she could tell his mind had begun to wander. Her own had admittedly done the same, else she wouldn't have been paying more attention to him than to the farmer, but that wasn't the point. She'd been unable to hide her mild fascination when he'd pulled out an awl from one of his pockets and began tapping it rhythmically against the arm of his chair.

After noticing it then, she'd begun noticing him doing it often. At dinner last night she'd caught him doing it with his fork, bouncing the back of the tined end against the tabletop while he listened to his father and hers telling some story of their days as soldiers. She'd also noticed he had a tendency to fiddle with any tool he came across and Arya could tell he had a passion for smithing not just weapons and armour, but everything.

She sighed heavily again when she realised telling her parents she'd marry him would most likely be the biggest blow her pride would ever take. After spending so long fighting tooth and nail against the entire concept, she felt almost stupid for agreeing to marry the big brute. But there was nothing for it. She had to be married and that meant she had to marry Gendry, otherwise she'd kill her husband inside a week. She'd known him a week and not once had she been struck by the urge to kill him. She'd thought about maiming him once or twice, and had whacked him a few times for good measure.

But she hadn't thought about killing him. And that was a rare thing indeed for Arya Stark.

She wondered how he would feel about her wanting to keep her name. She understood that marrying him would make her Lady Baratheon of Storm's End, but she didn't know how to be anything other than Arya Stark. Resigning herself to the whole mess, Arya slumped deeper into the tub and began using the soaps Bridy had left out for her to bathe her skin and clean her hair. She didn't really need to after she'd spent so long in the sea, but she did it anyway.

When she sat up again, wiping the soap and water from her eyes, Arya realised she wasn't alone.

"Did you hear me Arya?" her mother asked her from the edge of the tub.

"No," she answered, "I didn't even hear you come in. I thought I locked the door."

"I asked where you've been all day," Lady Catelyn asked her, frowning at her.

"I went with Gendry to see to the reconstruction of a barn today, and helped some children chase sheep. And it was so hot when we got back that I went swimming in the bay most of the afternoon," Arya answered honestly, batting her mother's hands away as she climbed out of the bath and the woman tried to help her dry her hair.

"Yes, I know about the swimming," Cat answered in a voice that suggested she disapproved, "The whole castle is buzzing about your swimming attire. Lady Baratheon was very disapproving."

"I know," Arya sighed heavily, "She dislikes me immensely, but there's little to be done for it now. I'm never going to be what she wants in a good-daughter."

"You could try to be," Catelyn replied, going to Arya's trunk and searching for something for Arya to wear to the feast. Arya knew there wasn't much in there and nothing that her mother would consider suitable. All of her tunics were currently being washed and the seamstress still hadn't finished with the dresses Catelyn has asked her to make.

"Mother," Arya began, sensing an oncoming lecture and not at all wanting to ruin her surprising cheerful day, "Please don't lecture me today. I know there are many things I could do to make Lady Mina like me better, but we both know that trying would only mislead her. I'm not a prim and proper lass like you or Sansa or her. I'm rough around the edges. I wear britches more often than skirts. I swear too much. I'm too wild for the likes of her. But this is how I am."

"I just…" Catelyn began before stopping and looking over at Arya seriously, "I just want to see you make a good match, Arya. I want you to be happy. I know you don't want to marry…"

"Mother," Arya held up her hand, stopping Catelyn. Her mother looked surprised when Arya didn't raise her voice or sound annoyed, "I know I have to marry, Mother. I know there's nothing to be done for it. I could make more of a fuss about marrying Gendry, ruin the chance and wind up with some other lord who I don't doubt I'll murder. Or I could flee the Seven Kingdoms. And neither of those options are acceptable because for all the fuss I've made, I am a Lady of the realm…. I don't want to be away from Winterfell, and I miss Jon and the others, but there is nothing for it."

"What are you saying?" Catelyn asked, looking entirely shocked.

"I'm saying it's fine Mother. I'll stay. I'll marry Gendry," Arya told her, shrugging her shoulder before sighing heavily.

She squawked in surprise when Lady Catelyn flung herself at Arya, clutching her in a tight embrace despite Arya still being naked.

"Mother, are you crying?" Arya asked suspiciously when she felt the way her mother's body trembled and heard the choked sound of her breathing. She was. Arya could tell.

"I never thought…. I'd hear you say…. You'd marry anyone…" Catelyn gasped between sobs.

"I'm not exactly thrilled about it," Arya told her dryly and she was surprised when Lady Catelyn laughed.

"What made you change your mind?" she asked when she pulled back from her and Arya bit her lip, looking away before going to the chest of her clothes.

"I realised that being in charge of a Kingdom matters more to me than remaining unwed does," Arya said seriously, "I want this Mother. I'd prefer to be running Winterfell, but I'll settle for Storm's End. I like the people here. I hate the heat, but I like the people. I have the chance to do more as Lady Baratheon married to Gendry than I will in any other castle in any other kingdom…. He listens to me when I offer my opinions… and he doesn't mind that I wear britches and use weapons."

"I have to tell you father," Catelyn announced and Arya didn't think she'd ever seen her mother look so excited about anything.

"I'd like to tell him myself, Mother," Arya told her truthfully. She and her father had always had a special bond and she wanted to talk to him about this before she committed to the idea completely.

"I'll get him," Catelyn promised, "And I'll find you something to wear. You literally have nothing to wear in this chest."

"Not a dress," Arya begged, watching her mother leave the room in as close to a run as the woman ever got when she wasn't being chased by something.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

When Lady Catelyn returned several long minutes later, Arya was dismayed to see her mother had obviously roused on the seamstress and rustled up a dress for Arya to wear to the feast. Arya could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the dress her mother brought in for her to wear.

Obviously made with the intention of catering to her disliking for the humidity and heat of the south, the seamstress had designed her a dress that would keep her cool, suit the style she already opted for, and yet make her appear feminine and ladylike at the same time. It bore a full-length flowy skirt but the midsection was another story entirely. Strips of fabric had been placed to criss-cross over her stomach and ribs, leaving several triangles of flesh, including her belly-button, bare. There were small pockets of fabric at the front to hide her pert breasts from view, though they were little more than triangles of silk.

"You had them make this for me?" Arya asked of her mother seriously, shocked beyond belief when she had the finished product wrapped correctly around her slim frame.

"I know it's much hotter here than at Winterfell, and I knew you wouldn't appreciate the full, stifling gowns I like. Being hotter means less fabric is needed. I asked them to model the style off the type of thing you already like to wear. When the seamstress noticed the way you liked having your arms free she suggested this. And it's not as though you don't have a lovely, lean figure to wear it nicely. The cutouts of fabric make it sensual and make your minimal curves more pronounced and feminine," her mother explained softly, "Knowing your distaste for dresses, I wanted to have something made that you might actually wear more than once. What do you think of it?"

"I don't like the skirt," Arya admitted, fiddling with the flowing fabric, "You know I hate skirts because they're hard to run in and easy to trip over."

"I know," Catelyn nodded, "I mentioned that to the seamstress, but with the cutouts you have to have a full skirt, otherwise you'll look like a whore. She made some others that are shorter, modelled off the tunics Sansa designed for you."

Arya stared at her reflection in the mirror, unsure she could believe her eyes. The fabric was a deep shade of violet that complimented her olive skin nicely and the cutouts drew her eyes to the minimal curves of her body. She knew she wasn't busty like Sansa and some of the other ladies. Even Mya had more curves that Arya did. She still had some, but they were understated. Her breasts were small, but her wide hips made up for it. Her waist dipped in enough that she still looked like a woman, despite being so skinny and muscled. Arya kind of hated that in this particular dress she thought she looked rather beautiful. Aside from her dislike for their restrictive nature and the expectation that ladies wear them, one of the reasons Arya disliked dresses was that so few of them made her feel anything other than stupid.

She was surprised that this one didn't. In fact, this one made her kind of want to see Gendry's reaction to it. Arya hated herself a little for that too.

"Is Father on his way?" Arya asked, unable to bring herself to tell her mother she liked the dress.

"He's outside," Lady Catelyn told her.

Arya wondered for a moment why her mother wasn't fussing with her loose long hair, insisting she style it. The curls were wild after the day she'd spent in the sea, long and loose and slightly tousled. Ordinarily her mother would be trying to braid it in intricate styles, but she didn't today.

"I'll send him in…. You look beautiful Arya," her mother told her and Arya felt her cheeks darken at the compliment she'd never truthfully received from anyone before.

"Thank you Mother," she whispered.

When Ned came through the door he stopped dead at the sight of her, his mouth falling open in shock to see her wearing such a dress.

"Hello Father," Arya greeted him, unable to hide her smile at his reaction.

"You…." He began, seeming like he didn't quite know what to say.

"Don't make me any more uncomfortable than I already feel, please," Arya asked him softly, her cheeks warming as she blushed again.

"You're beautiful," he told her honestly, despite her request, "You mother said you wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes," Arya answered, moving over to sit at the table inside her chamber and inviting him to join her, "I wanted to ask what you think of Gendry."

He looked surprised for a moment and Arya realised her father had perhaps been expecting her to tell him she wanted to go home.

"I think he's a better man than most and that he's the best thing you could hope for in a husband," Ned answered her truthfully, "He's got a decent head on his shoulders and when he's Lord, he won't steer you wrong."

"You like him?" Arya surmised.

"I do," Ned nodded, "Any other man I've ever known would've lost his temper with your antics and thrown you out of his castle by now. But that boy looks at you like he thinks it's funny and like he wants to see what else you'll throw at him."

"Is this your honest opinion?" Arya asked him seriously, "If we weren't here for the purpose of my betrothal to him, what would you think of him?"

Ned looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I wouldn't have a differing opinion. As a man he'll make a fine Lord. He's not a fool like Robert either. Doesn't drink much, and from what I've seen the only woman he pays any attention to is you. Robert told me he was surprised by that since Gendry apparently didn't have much time or attention to give the other ladies he had here as suitors. Honestly Arya even if we weren't here hoping to see you wed, I'd like the man."

Arya could tell he wanted to know why she was asking.

"What do you think of him? That's the more important question," Ned said finally when Arya began gnawing on her lip nervously.

"I like him," Arya admitted, her cheeks turning pink again, "He listens to my suggestions and he doesn't scold me or look disapproving when I do something unladylike."

"Will you marry him then?" her father asked seriously.

Arya nodded, unable to say out loud that she would. He pride wouldn't let her go that far.

"I thought you might," Ned smiled slowly, "When you climbed up on his horse after the bandit battle and asked him to take you to get your horse I thought he might be growing on you."

"Do you think he's been genuine so far?" Arya asked, "Do you think if I stay here, if I marry him, he'll stay the same? That he'll tolerate my behaviour."

"Have you asked him?" Ned asked rather than offering her his opinion straight away.

"Yes," Arya admitted, "I told him he needed to be sure he was strong enough to handle being my husband…. I told him that this is who I am, that if he doesn't want to be laughed at or thought ill of, he shouldn't marry me. That if he wants someone to smile and look pretty in his castle I'm not the woman to marry."

"What did he say to that?" Ned asked, taking her hand when Arya began to twisting the skirt of her dress nervously.

"That he wants to marry me. Warts and all," Arya said, repeating what Gendry had said to her.

"He meant it, Arya," her father told her, tilting her chin so she'd meet his gaze when Arya continued to fidget, "That boy has been intrigued by you since the minute he laid eyes on you. When you killed that assassin his first instinct wasn't to chide you for it, but to thank you for it. I saw the look on his face when you lost your temper about marriage and every other time since then when you've deviated from the usual behaviour of a high-born lady. His underlords and his mother and almost everyone else looks disapproving and Gendry just looks at you like he wants to see what else you've got. He's not going to be the type to lock you in this castle and use you like brood mare. If I had to guess I'd say he's falling in love with you with every passing day."

Arya nodded slowly, feeling a little better to know that her father thought the same things about Gendry that she did.

"If I stay…." Arya began, biting her lip, "If I marry him…"

"You'll always be welcome at Winterfell and if you need us we're a horse ride away. A long horse ride, but you get the idea," Ned grinned at her.

"What will I do every day without Mother grousing at me?" Arya asked in a small voice, meeting his gaze fearfully, "What will I do without Bran and Rickon and Robb and Jon to pick fights with? Who will I talk to without you?"

Arya hated herself for her weakness when her body lip trembled tellingly and her father's eyes softened at the sight of her fear.

"What if I can't do it? What if I can't be Lady Baratheon of Storm's End? What if he decides he wanted a simpering fool after all?"

"You can do it Arya," her father assured her, pulling her into a firm hug, "I've already seen you do it. When you dealt with that situation at the Inn with Helga and those girls you showed us all exactly what type of Lady Baratheon you'll be. The type of fierce she-wolf who will do everything and anything necessary to protect her charges. As for your brothers, they're only a raven away. It might do Rickon good to get out of Winterfell for a time before your mother can start getting ideas of seeing him married too. And you'll always have your Mother and me. Anytime you need us you send for us or you come home to Winterfell."

Arya couldn't hold back the little sob that wrenched from her chest as he told her those things. Her heart already ached with missing her family even while she stood there in her father's arms.