A/N: I'm spoiling you, aren't I? Did you like the last chapter? I can't wait to hear what you think of this one. Much love! xx-Kitten.

Winter Storm

By Kittenshift17

Chapter 14: Perfect Imperfections

Gendry looked up in surprise when the door to the hall opened from the chambers. He had no idea where the Starks had been until that moment. His father had told him Ned had been at the feast before Lady Catelyn had called him away for something. He had assumed that meant they had some private matter to discuss and he found himself surprised by the sight of the Lord and Lady strolling into the Great Hall of Storm's End hand in hand like they were star-struck lovers rather than husband and wife of many long years.

Ned Stark was smiling an easier smile than Gendry had seen him smile before and Lady Catelyn looked relaxed and far less tense than she'd been since she arrived. For a moment he wondered if the private matter they were attending was a good fuck, but when he caught sight of movement behind them, Gendry realised that wasn't the case. He could hardly believe his eyes when he spotted the beautiful maiden following Lord and Lady Stark into the Great Hall and for a long moment Gendry thought this must be some trick; a dream he was having that he would waken from at any moment.

The sight of Arya Stark dressed not just in a formal dress as was befitting a Lady of high birth, but wearing one with such sensual cut-outs made his cock fill and ache more than he thought possible. She barely looked the same girl he'd come to know since her arrival. It was one thing to see her in those fitted tunics she favoured with britches. It was entirely another to lay eyes on little cut-outs of her midriff while she wore such a dress.

He was sure he might've dribbled ale on himself at the sight of her when his jaw went slack in surprise.

Gendry could tell that for all that she walked with her shoulders thrown back, her spine stiff and straight, her chin lifted defiantly, that she was nervous. He could only tell because he caught her hands fidgeting with her skirt and caught the flash in her grey eyes that he'd come to know meant she was feeling uncomfortable or self-conscious. For all that his lady was fierce and proud, she had a shy side she tried hard to hide.

He'd never wanted to fuck her more and Gendry knew that had he not already decided to marry her, he'd have done so then. She looked phenomenal in her dress. He would admit he rather liked it when she wore britches and her tunics, adopting her own style that she was comfortable in, but there was something about seeing her in that dress that just made him want her all the more.

When he realised her eyes were fixed on his face, gauging his reaction, Gendry grinned at her. She blushed pink at the sight and he felt a little chuckle bubble up inside him, unable to restrain it. She was embarrassed and nervous in her dress and she probably thought he was laughing at her. Knowing her, she'd most likely stomp on his foot in punishment for laughing but he couldn't help it. Even the sight of her perked him up.

Gendry would admit he had it bad for the little urchin. She was everything he'd asked for and more, and he never wanted to let her go. She was intoxicating. Her mere presence made him feel better. Until she'd arrived he'd been sitting at the table, bored, listening to his father discussing the oncoming storm season with some of the northerners, many of them surprised by the amount of extra precautions that had to be seen to in order to survive the season. Mycah had been describing what had to be done in Winterfell during winter to reinforce some of the structures in preparation for heavy blankets of snow and Gendry had been trying to focus. His mind had been wandering to what Arya had said to him in his chambers, of course.

The butcher stopped talking when it became clear Gendry's attention, and indeed that of the entire hall had shifted to Arya as she made her entrance.

"What I wouldn't give to be you, Baratheon," Mycah muttered when he caught sight of Arya.

The girl had stopped when Nymeria had bounded towards her, her hands digging into the wolf's fur, clearly pleased to have a distraction from being the centre of attention for the first time in a long time. Gendry's mind immediately jumped to the memory of her hands on his own body and he wanted to groan when his aching cock twitched in his britches. She glanced up after a few minutes of rough-housing with the wolf and Gendry could tell her companion had made her feel better.

He felt Lord Stark's eyes on him, but for the life of him Gendry couldn't look away from his intended wife.

When Arya moved around the hall, coming to a stop before sliding into the vacant seat beside his own, Gendry tracked her every move with his eyes. She glanced at him sideways when she was seated and Gendry found himself staring at the strips of flesh she had on display. His hands itched with the urge to touch her skin and find out if it was as warm and silky as it looked. As though she could sense the itching, she reached out slowly and slipped her small hand inside his own large one, intertwining her fingers intimately with his.

"You look amazing," he told her honestly, finding his voice when his mother cleared her throat, clearly realising he was mesmerized.

"Thank you," Arya replied, smiling sweetly though her eyes narrowed a little.

"You look like a girl," Mycah complained, ribbing her good-naturedly and poking gentle fun at her change in behaviour.

"This will probably come as a shock to you, stupid, but I am a girl," Arya retorted, sticking her tongue out at her friend and making everyone at the table laugh with her words.

"Who would've thought?" Mycah teased and Gendry chuckled when Arya threw her dinner roll at the lad. It was clear to him they'd been friends a long time and that he often tormented her. If he had to guess he'd even say the butcher probably fancied Arya but knew better than to think he had a chance at her affections. She was a high-born lady after all, and Ladies didn't marry butchers.

"You're staring," Arya accused him when the others recovered enough from their shock to go back to their conversations and merriment as the feast began.

"Can't help it," Gendry admitted truthfully, shrugging at her. His thumb was drawing intricate patterns on the back of the hand he held, unable to keep from twitching with the urge to touch her.

Arya rolled her eyes doubtfully and Gendry realised then that his little she-wolf didn't think she was pretty enough to be stared at and admired by men. He supposed her sister and her mother were to blame for that. He'd heard Sansa Stark was undeniably beautiful, but Gendry had never had much interest in red-heads. To be honest he'd not had much interest in any female except Arya.

"I told them," she told him, changing the subject and lowering her voice to speak to him quietly.

"Your parents?" he confirmed, "What did they say?"

"They're all for it – not that I expected otherwise. Mother cried," Arya told him, blushing again and looking embarrassed.

Gendry felt the smile on his face grow from a small grin to a full-blown smile of triumph.

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

"Don't even think about it," Arya warned Gendry two weeks later when she was sparring in the yard with him. The preparations for the wedding were in full swing and though Lady Mina still seemed frosty, Arya knew the entire realm seemed somewhat relieved. Mother had written to Aunt Lyanna, King Rhaegar and Queen Elia, requesting the permission to have Arya and Gendry wed and they'd been granted the right to do so.

Mother was utterly thrilled and Robert had taken to toasting everyone at every chance he got, clearly pleased with the match.

"Or you'll what, Stark?" Gendry goaded her, circling her and swatting at her sides with his wooden practice sword.

"Stab you," she replied, doing just that and catching him by surprise when she drove the point of the sword toward his stomach rather than swinging it wildly. He grunted before whacking her hard with the long edge of his stick. Arya hissed as the wound smarted, twisting wildly when the young lord snatched hold of her arm and twirled her until her back was pressed to his front, one of his strapping arms folded over her chest like a steel band while he brought the blade of his practice sword to rest against her throat.

Arya narrowed her eyes, struggling feebly against his restraining hold to little avail. She grunted with effort when she managed to wriggle her arm around to shove the point of her sword backwards against his stomach.

"If this were a real fight I'd have just poked a hole in your belly," Arya told him when he didn't release her despite the stab she'd given him.

"True, but if it were a real fight you'd be missing an arm and I'd have slit your throat," he replied. Some of the smallfolk were cheering them on as they battled but Arya ignored them.

"Are you going to let me go?" she asked when he kept hold of her.

"Never," he promised in a husky murmur, pressing his mouth to her ear. Arya shuddered in his hold, hating him when – despite the heat – she felt a prickle of goosepimples across her skin.

She opened her mouth, intending to tell him to stop goofing around so they could get back to sparring and she nearly choked on her tongue when he nuzzled his face into her neck right there in front of every and kissed her skin hungrily.

"You make it hard to focus on fighting," he informed her between kisses while Arya began to squirm.

"You make it hard for me to not be laughed at," she retorted, unsure why she felt annoyed by his intimate actions in front of everyone but feeling it nonetheless.

"You worry too much what everyone thinks," Gendry told her quietly, nipping her skin and making Arya close her eyes against the feelings of desire that washed over her.

"You realise who you're talking to, don't you Baratheon? When have I ever cared what others think of me?"

"You care that they don't misconstrue you for a simpering airheaded swot, so you worry too much about projecting yourself as being tough and ready for anything. And I won't have it," he replied, nibbling her earlobe sensually and making her all the more furious with his words and his continued embarrassment of her.

"Excuse me?" she demanded, fighting in his hold until he let her loose. Arya spun to glare at him hatefully. How dare he think he could tell her he wouldn't have her making sure people knew she was to be taken seriously and not stupid?

"If I want to kiss parts of you, I'll bloody well do it, Stark. And if you don't like it, you'd better learn to," he insisted, narrowing his eyes at her and blocking her attack when she swung at him with her sword again.

"Now you're trying to tell me what to do?" she asked, beating at him as her fury grew.

"Oh, you've got a problem with that?" he challenged and Arya saw red. She swiped at him, whacking at him and snarling when he blocked each of her attacks. He drove her slowly back towards the far wall of the courtyard for all that she was on the offensive and Arya snarled like a wolf when he batted her sword out of her hands. Arya bared her teeth at him before swiping up another weapon from the box on the way, grinning evilly when she noticed it was a wooden Warhammer.

"What do you think you're going to do with that?" he asked her, taunting her now, "You can't hold onto your sword, how do you expect to keep hold of a Warhammer against someone my size?"

Hefting the heavy object with both hands, Arya swung at him. It was a different weight and feel of weapon to the sword she usually used and she cursed when she nearly overbalanced as he stepped back, easily avoiding the blow. Panting with exertion, Arya feigned defeat for a moment until he stepped in closer as though he meant to torment her or kiss her again.

"What? You've had enough now?" he asked, "You're going to do what I tell you?"

Arya realised he'd thought she couldn't lift the heavy hammer again when she back-swung it at high. He clearly wasn't expecting it, because he didn't move to dodge the blow and Arya's arm ached and her heart hammered in her chest when the heavy head of the hammer connected solidly with Gendry's jaw. The sound of the blow echoed in the yard and Arya's eyes went wide.

She dropped the hammer in horror, staring at him fearfully while he blinked stupidly from the blow.

"Fuck!" he cursed loudly, snarling angrily and glaring at her as he stumbled back a bit.

"Shit," Arya cursed in return, "I didn't think I'd actually hit you… shit… are you alright?" Arya stepped closer to him, leaning up to take hold of his chin and turn his head so she could see the damage she'd done. There was already a lump forming and an angry red mark where she'd hammered him.

"Bloody hell, that's going to bruise. I just hammered you in the face! Are you okay? I'm sorry," Arya babble, her heart racing. Her hands were shaking in shock over having actually hit him. She'd swung as hard as she could with her hammer and Arya knew she'd hit him with all of her strength.

"Shit, Stark," he cursed again, reaching for his rapidly swelling cheek and sounding pissed. Arya bit her lip. She felt awful. She'd wanted to hurt him for telling her what to do but she hadn't actually wanted to brain him. Beginning to panic, Arya did the only thing she could think of.

Reaching her arms up around the back of his neck, Arya climbed his strapping form until she could reach his face before peppering light kisses all over the wound she'd inflicted upon him. It was the only thing she could think of, recalling that whenever she was hurt as a child her mother had kissed her bruises and in that moment Arya reverted to the idea of kissing it better. She trailed a line of kisses all the way along his jawline where she'd clocked him, pressing feather-light against the swollen section before feathering more of them over his cheek and along his neck beneath his jaw.

She felt one of his arms, the one holding his practice sword, curl beneath her arse to help hold her in place.

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry; I'm sorry," Arya chanted between kisses, peppering them all over his face.

Gendry began to laugh after a moment of surprise, holding her to him.

"I didn't mean to hit you so hard. Or in the face," she told him, pulling back to meet his vibrant blue eyes for a moment before leaning in to kiss his jaw again. She felt terrible about what she'd done. What kind of wife would she make if she went about hitting her husband in the face with a hammer?

"That sucked," he told her, still laughing as she peppered more kisses over his skin, "But that might be the cutest reaction I've ever had to someone succeeding at clocking me one."

"I'm sorry," Arya repeated again, "I didn't mean to. Are you alright?"

"I will be if you keep kissing me," he told her, grinning widely and Arya did just that, pressing more kisses to his cheek, his jaw and his neck where she'd whacked him. She made a noise of surprise when he turned his head a little as she kissed towards his chin, capturing her lips with his. Arya sighed against his lips when he kissed her hungrily.

"I didn't mean to," she told him guiltily again when they came up for air.

"Yes you did," he disagreed with her, "Or you wouldn't have done it. You just thought I'd move. What are you going to do in a battle if you hit someone in the face? You can't just go kissing it better with just anyone?"

"I'm not marrying just anyone," she protested, realising suddenly that she'd wrapped her legs around his waist, her ankles locked against the small of his back. Her hands were tangled in his black hair and she was clinging to his chest where she could reach his face.

"That hurt," he told her, pressing her back into the wall he'd back her up against during the fight and laying his forehead against hers. Arya blushed guiltily.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't actually want to brutalise you."

"You did so," he corrected her, his eyes closed, "Maybe not in the face, but you wanted to hurt me for goading you."

"You were trying to tell me what to do," Arya protested, recalling suddenly what he'd been saying before she clocked him.

"And then you went and did what I told you you'd have to let me do anyway," he smirked, opening his blue eyes to look at her, "You got a problem with me kissing you in public Stark?"

"Yes," she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat to know the small folk around them were cheering for the way he had her pressed into the wall.

"Why?" Gendry asked, working his jaw a little as he pulled back, Arya still clinging to his chest.

"Everyone can see," Arya mumbled, "They'll know."

"They'll know what?" he asked, "That I want you? Because I think they already know that, seeing as how I'm marrying you in the next month."

"They'll know I…" Arya bit her lip, looking away from him as her cheeks darkened even more. She felt guilty and embarrassed over the idea that he was growing on her. They still fought often. In fact they were almost always arguing about something. Just yesterday she'd lost her temper with him and kicked him when he'd said something to annoy her. Arya knew it was partially due to the heat of this wretched castle and mostly due to the fact that soon guests would begin arriving to see them wed. It was a big deal throughout the kingdoms and Arya was dreading saying the words and wearing a nice dress in front of so many people.

She didn't like the idea of everyone knowing she was beginning to like the big brute currently holding her. She didn't like that he could make her feel all funny inside when he'd give her that hot look. She didn't like that everyone was making such a fuss about their marriage. After all the fighting she'd done on the subject of marriage at all, everyone was taking great delight in laughing at her for liking Gendry enough to wed him.

She'd didn't even like him that much. He was growing on her, slowly, but she mostly still wanted to maim him whenever he did something to irk her.

"They'll know you want to let me fuck you until you can't see straight," he smirked at her, touching the rapidly swelling lump on his jaw.

"I do not," Arya lied.

"Then why are you marrying me?" he wanted to know, still smirking and looking entirely too smug for his own good.

"Because you're the least offensive option," Arya snapped at him coldly before she could think better of it, squirming in his hold to be let down. Gendry lost is smile at her words.

"Fuck you, Stark," he told her, and Arya was surprised when he dropped her suddenly sending her plummeting to the ground. Arya glared at him, furious with him. Before she could stalk off, Gendry threw the wooden sword he'd been holding into the box of practice equipment and stomped away, leaving her in the yard glaring after him.

Furious, Arya stalked away in the other direction, heading for the battlements of the high towers. She was annoyed with herself over what she'd blurted out, even if it was partially the truth. The main reason she was marrying Baratheon was entirely because he was the least offensive option for a husband. That she kind of liked the big, bull-headed idiot was simply a bonus. The fact was that the only reason she was marrying right now at all was because she had to. Sure, he might be growing on her and she might be warming up to the idea of staying in this disgustingly hot castle with its suppressive storms and his disapprovingly mother. But that didn't mean she really wanted to get married.

She'd only known the man three weeks. She didn't want to marry. She simply had to if she wanted any chance of marrying someone decent who would let her get away with being so unladylike. She might, in another life, have warmed up to him on her own without their parents pushing them towards each other and without tradition and propriety dictating that she must be wed by a certain age or she would lose standing as a marriageable woman. But she hadn't warmed up to him so much that she would simply choose to marry him of her own accord if there weren't other pressures contributing to the decision to do so.

Arya stalked the battlements for a long time, Nymeria on her heels as Arya muttered to herself about stubborn, bull-headed men and about weddings, family, and the entire rotten mess. She kicked at the stones of the wall with her boots, looking out over Shipbreaker Bay. The midday sun overhead beat down on her stiflingly and Arya wished there was a cool Northern breeze blowing.

Her sister was supposed to be arriving later in the evening with Willas and the Tyrell representatives, all of them invited as the good-family of Sansa. Bran, Rickon and Jon were supposed to arriving on the morrow as well, alongside an extensive host from Winterfell. Robb was staying in Winterfell, for there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Arya wondered how Sansa's pregnancy might be progressing and what Meera would think of all this.

As she sat there atop the high towers of Storm's End watching the waves crash against the rocks in Shipbreaker Bay, slowly letting go of her fury with her betrothed, Arya's mid turned towards the future. Until recently she'd thought only about living in the moment. For Arya it had always been enough to be able to spar with her brothers and discuss the matters of Winterfell and the other goings on with the Seven Kingdoms. Beneath King Rhaegar's rule the kingdoms were prospering and there had been little call for war or battles.

Arya herself had thought mostly of riding, going hunting in the Godswood and simply enjoying her freedom. She supposed though, that the time had come to put such whimsies aside. After all, much had changed in the past moons. Her siblings had all been wedded except for Rickon and Jon, of course. He sister and two of her good-sisters were with child and expecting the next generation of Starks.

As she sat there watching the gulls fly, Arya realised that all too soon her future might look much like theirs. She'd not spent much time since the announcement of her upcoming wedding actually thinking about the part where she would be bearing Gendry's sons and daughters. She wasn't ready. She didn't want to be a mother yet. Arya still longed for the thrill of battle and the freedom of being unimpeded by such distractions as babes.

She imagined there would come a time when the idea of bearing Gendry's children would please and even excite her, but it wasn't today.

"We're really staying here, Nym," Arya told the dire wolf when Nymeria padded over to her when she sighed heavily, "Here in this sticky heat with it's never ending storms."

Nymeria sighed too, leaning against Arya's chest when she pulled the wolf into a hug, her arms tight around the enormous carnivore. Arya thought about fetching her horse and riding into the godswood of Storm's End. She thought about riding away to Winterfell. She thought about pitching herself into the wild sea from the cliffs just beyond the castle. Stretching out on the cool stone of the high tower, Arya shielded her eyes with her arm from the sun and laid there simply thinking about the turns her life had taken.

The crack of thunder overhead sometime later roused her and Arya groaned as she sat up. She'd spent too long laying on the stones beneath the sun. She'd stripped out of her shirt, laying there in only the binding strip of cloth she wore around her pert breasts to keep them out of the way and the tan britches she so often favoured. Her boots had been discarded too and Arya sighed in annoyance when she noticed that she'd gotten the tops of her feet sunburnt. She'd placed her shirt over her face, so she hoped she wouldn't have a line across it from her arm. Her taut stomach, chest and arms were also pink from the sun.

Grumbling to herself about the fact that she'd come up to the tower to escape the frustration of dealing with her mother, and her father and her soon-to-be husband, Arya sighed over the feel of the tender skin. Lightning rent the air over her head and Arya spent another moment simply leaning on the battlements and watching the heavy black thunder heads rolling it with the oncoming storm.

The wind was picking up, making the sea of the bay wild with white caps, the waves crashing heavily and swirling against the stones. Looking out the other way, over the castle and the Storm Lands, Arya could see a host of people hurrying towards the castle. She expected it must be the Tyrells, Sansa among them. Arya rolled the eyes. The last thing she felt like doing was smiling and being nice to her sister.

She sighed again, realising that her earlier fight with Gendry needed to be resolved. He was probably still furious with her after what she'd said, and after she'd clobbered him with that wooden hammer. She hoped he wouldn't have a large lump and a bruise on his face from it. She couldn't stand the idea of her sister's lecture and disapproving looks to know she'd been beating up her husband. Arya didn't even want to have to try and explain what had happened in the training yard. Mother would scold her. Sansa would lecture her on the proper way to treat one's husband. Lady Mina would be horrified and Mya would probably clock Arya for hitting Gendry so hard.

Arya smiled a little as she thought of Gendry's bastard born sister. She'd made fast friends with Mya. She wondered how Mya was. The woman had left for the Reach last seven day, intent on seeing her mother before the wedding. Arya had wanted to go with her, but mother hadn't allowed it, saying there was too much Arya was needed for regarding the wedding. Arya had been proving all week why it was that she wasn't needed, but Mya was already gone, so she supposed it was a wasted effort.

"Come on Nym," Arya sighed, ruffling Nymeria's fur, "Time to swallow my pride and apologise to Gendry for what I said."

She knew that this time it was on her to make it up to him. She'd whacked him in the face and then told him she was only marrying him because she had to and he was the least offensive choice. She knew it was unkind and also a lie. She didn't at all look forward to the idea of needing to apologise, but she would do so. It hadn't been fair to him, he just made her so mad!

Hurrying through the castle, Arya went out of her way to avoid even the possibility of running into her mother, Lady Mina, or any of Gendry's sisters. The younger ones were turning out to be alright, but the older girls weren't sold on Arya's brand of fun just yet. They would undoubtedly tell her mother where she was and what she was doing and Arya didn't want to deal with that mess.

She didn't even have to think about where she might find Gendry. She imagined that much like he did after every time they had a fight, he would have retreated to his forge where he would be tirelessly working out his frustration with her by creating some new weapon. He'd finally finished the gauntlets he'd been working on and had moved on to making bracers and a chest plate the last time she'd been in there.

Crossing the courtyard to the small forge quickly, Arya grinned politely at the smallfolk who greeted her. She hurried, hoping to avoid being spotted by her mother. She could hear the sound of the heralds announcing the Tyrell's approach and she knew everyone would soon flood out of the castle to greet them. She didn't want to get caught up in that mess, and she didn't want to greet them in her scruffy training gear, which she'd yet to change out of.

Inside the forge, Arya could hear Gendry hammering furiously, the rapidity of the hammer-strikes telling he was still worked up. His explosive temper was often outletted through his smithing, but Arya knew it would take more than that this time to calm him down. Especially if he was still mad hours later. He didn't look up when she entered, his back to the door. Arya felt a little flutter inside her herself as she noticed he was shirtless. His skin was coated with sweat and a fine layer of soot and grime from the heat and the work he was doing. He had sooty smudges marring his broad back where he must've scratched occasionally.

She watched, feeling mildly mesmerized as he lifted his hammer, bringing it down hard on the anvil where she could see he was crafting what looked like war-horse armour. The large plate of metal looked like it was made to protect the horse's chest. She realised with a jolt that she could stand and watch him work at his craft all day without growing tired of doing so. There was something about the way he moved, about the bunch and release of his powerful muscles as he crafted each hunk of metal into something useful and often beautiful, that Arya admired and might even be beginning to adore.

She closed the heavy forge door slowly, leaning back against it to bump it into the frame properly, knowing it needed a little shove to click into place. Gendry paused, his hammer raised, before glancing over his shoulder at the sound. Arya knew he was still angry when he narrowed his eyes at her before he went right back to hammering. Sighing heavily, Arya slid the deadbolt of the door into place, making sure no one would be able to interrupt them.

She leaned there a while longer against the door, suspecting he was too furious to talk to her yet and so giving him a moment to adjust to the fact that he would have to.

"What do you want?" he asked in a rough voice without pausing in his work or looking at her. Arya could tell he was still mad because he didn't address her by any name. When he was annoyed or goading he tended to call her Stark and when he was cheerful he called her Arya. A seven-day ago he'd called her Beautiful as an address, and Arya knew that he'd been extremely happy with her that particular moment. Not being called anything meant he was too angry to even think her name.

"The Tyrell host is arriving," Arya told him evenly. He was too mad to care that he was being rude by not making a move to welcome them. Arya could tell that he was when he didn't even shrug.

"That's all you have to fucking say to me?" he demanded, tossing down his hammer with a loud thud when he turned on her. Arya stayed silent as she stared at him. He'd turned fully to face her and Arya cringed a little at the sight of his left cheek along his jaw. It was swollen and dark blue with bruising. It wasn't horrific, but it was obvious he'd been hit with something heavy.

Arya pushed away from the door bravely, stepping towards him purposely as she crossed the forge. His blue eyes sparkled with fury as he watched her, narrowed to slits. His fists were clenched.

"You're jaw is bruised," she told him as she walked, and he looked even angrier. Arya knew he was waiting for her apology. She knew she needed to give him one. But she knew he'd doubt she meant it, no matter how sincere she might be.

She didn't say anything else. She just stalked closer and closer until she was right in front of him. He didn't back down from her and he looked more and more pissed at her silence when she refused to apologise. Arya ignored his anger, despite the risk of his wrath. Instead she reached up towards him. He jerked back like she was a venomous snake, recoiling in disgust and Arya narrowed her eyes at him.

"Don't touch me," he warned, still too mad to call her by name.

"Shut up," Arya replied, narrowing her eyes at him before she leapt at him, latching onto his neck with both hands and swinging her legs up to wrap around him. She hissed when he gripped her shoulders in a vice-like grip, her sunburn smarting and the joints aching. He was too angry to be gentle with her, as he was trying his hardest to pry her off him. Arya fought him, ignoring the pain that shot through her chest and down her arms, knowing she'd probably have bruises in the shape of his hands.

"Get the fuck off me, Stark," he snarled, "Get off me and get the hell out of my forge before I brain you with my hammer."

Arya ignored his threat too, though she could tell from the hateful glitter in his blue eyes that he meant it. She struggled until she managed to reach his jaw, peppering it with kisses where she'd hit him. He growled with fury, not at all loosening his grip on her or ceasing as he tried to remove her from his person. Arya knotted her hands in his hair, pulling it harshly to keep her lips to his jaw. Her legs squeezed his waist tightly, her elbows locked behind his neck as she plied his face with kisses of the lightest, gentlest nature she could muster. She peppered them over his left cheek beneath his eye and down along the length of his square jaw.

She nuzzled her face in under his jaw carefully, forcing him to tilt his head back enough with her hands in his hair until she could kiss the sensitive skin where his jaw met his neck.

"Stark," he warned through gritted teeth though Arya could tell he was surprised by her actions. He loosened his grip little by little as Arya laid kiss after kiss to his swollen and bruised skin.

"I'm sorry for what I did," she murmured to him when she kissed the length of his jaw towards his ear, "And I'm sorry for what I said… I didn't mean it."

She released him after that, unhooking her legs and letting go with her arms to drop to the ground before him. She turned away then, heading back for the door. She really needed to get back to her chambers so she could bathe hurriedly and change before meeting her sister.

"Damn it Stark!" Gendry snarled from behind her when she went to the door and tried to unbolt it. He followed her. Arya turned to face him when his hand pressed to the door by her face, refusing to let her open it. He glared down at her furiously as Arya held his gaze, his free hand fisting in the white fabric of her training shirt and leaving sooty fingerprints on it.

"I'm sorry," Arya repeated.

"You meant it," he shook his head at her, still glaring at her.

"I lied," Arya disagreed, swallowing a little of her pride to admit to that fact, "I'm not only marrying you because you're the least offensive option."

"But it's a factor," he pointed out.

"As though it isn't for you?" Arya challenged, "You don't want to be married either, remember? I'm just the only woman you met with who wasn't a simpering fool."

He narrowed his eyes at her for that and Arya held his gaze, silently daring him to call her a liar.

"That's not the only reason I'm marrying you," he said finally.

"And it's not the only reason I'm marrying you," Arya replied evenly, holding his gaze.

"Why are you so incapable of admitting that unless I'm ready to clobber you with something?" he wanted to know.

"Because I don't like admitting to having any kinds of feelings beyond hunger and anger," Arya admitted, "I don't like being girly and pathetic for liking you even after throwing such a tantrum about being wed."

"You're an idiot," he told her.

Before she could open her mouth to protest or pick another fight, he cupped her cheek, tilting her head to receive the furious kiss he pressed to her lips.