A/: Thanks so much to all your wonderful cherubs who take the time to review. You're such gems! Much love! xx-Kitten.

Winter Storm

By Kittenshift 17

Chapter 15: Braving the Storms

Gendry nipped her lips punishingly, his tongue tangled with hers, his hands clutching at her. She made him angrier than anything else ever had and he sometimes wanted to pitch her from the cliffs into the bay, but he couldn't deny he craved her like nothing else. His jaw was aching from the blow she'd dealt him earlier that day, and he was still pissed about her harsh words. Pressing her into the door, Gendry poured the remaining fury into the way he manhandled her body hungrily.

No one else had the singular ability to make him so angry and so aroused at the same time.

He couldn't name the ways it pleased him that even in the face of his fury, she didn't flinch. He knew he'd hurt her when she'd tried to climb him and he'd tried to pry her off. He'd gripped her much too tight for something so small, but she hadn't made a sound of protest. She hadn't backed down from his anger and she hadn't fallen for his threats. He'd meant them. If he hadn't been so shocked to find her peppering his face with those little butterfly kisses, he'd have thrown her to the floor and come after her with his hammer – he'd been so mad.

And Arya hadn't batted an eye. Instead she'd climbed him like a tree, latching on tighter than a tick and she'd showered him in affection in her strange little way. When she'd done it after she'd hit him earlier, he'd thought it was cute and sweet. He'd seen her shock and instant contrition at clobbering him and he'd expected profuse mutterings of apology. He hadn't expected her affection and her child-like idea of kissing him better. He hadn't been able to hold back his laugh of delight.

The action made him feel strangely cared for and he knew she'd not really meant to hit him quiet so hard. She'd only meant to swing at him and maybe clip him if he was slow. He knew that. Gendry didn't want to examine too closely the way it turned him on to know she cared enough to kiss him better when he was hurt. The fact that she would do so again when he was ready to kill her made it all the more potent an aphrodisiac for him.

He pulled her closer, pressing into her harder, kissing her with the last of his anger as it drained out of him in favour of the lust coursing through him for the feisty woman in his hold. Snagging one arm around her waist, Gendry dragged her up his body. He broke away from her lips, meaning to kiss her neck but before he had the chance she showered more of those feather soft kisses over the left side of his face where it throbbed numbly. The urge to grind his throbbing cock against her was too hard to resist and he heard the little whimper she gave as he rubbed himself against her cunt through the tan britches she wore.

She didn't stop kissing his face so lightly, despite the sensations and Gendry was alarmed by how strange it made him feel. Every time she did it made him feel like she adored him and that only made him want to fuck her all the more.

"This bloody wedding can't come fast enough," he groaned, resting his forehead on the top of her shoulder and enjoying the feel of the light kisses she traced along the line of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again between butterfly kisses and Gendry felt the corner of his mouth curl into a crooked smile.

"Me too," he murmured back to her, "Did I hurt you?"

Her lack of response told him that he had and she didn't want to lie to him but that she believed she deserved it and so shouldn't make him feel bad about it. Gendry brought his hands to the ties on her shirt, undoing them to pry open the shirt she wore and see what damaged he'd done. He winced when he lifted his head and caught sight if the red marks on her flesh where he'd gripped her so tight.

"Those will bruise, you know," he told her quietly. She hadn't stopped kissing his face the entire time and so Gendry did the only think he could think of. He returned the favour, showering little pecks across the top of her shoulders and around on each upper arm where he'd grabbed her. She shivered at the feel of his mouth against her skin and Gendry fought the urge to relieve her of the strip of fabric she bound her breasts with.

Skimming his hands lightly over the taut skin of her abdomen, Gendry marvelled at how warm and silky she felt under his hands.

"Is this… sunburn?" he asked, pulling his face back from her kisses when he noticed the pink tinge to her skin.

"Mmm," she hummed affirmatively, "I was up on the tower battlements all afternoon and it was really hot so I took my shirt off."

"What were you doing up there?" he asked, baffled by her announcement as he pulled back to meet her gaze.

"Thinking about what a bull-headed idiot you are," she told him, "And about how I wanted to avoid my mother and all the wedding preparations. And how it's been so long since I've seen anyone from home other than my mother and father and their company that I'm beginning to look forward to seeing Sansa."

"You spent the whole afternoon after our fight up there?" Gendry asked.

"You spent it in here," Arya defended.

"Yeah, but there's stuff to do in here. Up there the only thing to do is think."

Arya nodded, reaching up to trail her fingers over the swollen spot on his jaw. It was tender, though he'd had worse bumps in fights with his brothers. Contrition flashed in her eyes as she studied the bump. Beyond the forge Gendry could hear the storm beginning to rage. He knew it would be a doozy after the stifling heat all day and he wondered if anyone would notice if the two of them just stayed in his forge all evening.

The feel of her skin beneath his hands as he trailed them over her stomach and around her back made him wish all the more that they were already married so he could fuck her three ways from Sunday. He was leaving sooty fingerprints all over her, but if she minded she didn't say so. Gendry liked leaving his fingerprints on her. Not in the bruises he knew she would have on her arms, but he like the way the shape of his hand fit her cheek and the way they marked her flesh and her clothing, telling everywhere he'd laid a finger on his little she-wolf.

Leaning in to kiss his way along her collarbone, Gendry grinned when she rolled her hips a little, rubbing herself against his hard cock needily. He liked that though she didn't voice it, she had other ways of showing him she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Just as he was thinking of getting his hands inside her britches, a heavy fist began to pound on the door Arya leaned against. She tensed in his hold, jerking in surprise at the intrusion. Gendry tensed as well, glaring hatefully at the door and thinking cruel thoughts about whoever was on the other side.

"What?" he growled through it without opening the door as Arya began retying her shirt, covering herself quickly.

"Open up!" Gendry heard his father's voice boom back through and Gendry glanced at Arya for a moment. She stepped away from the door, ducking under his arm while Gendry fiddled with the lock before he jerked the door open.

"What?" he asked again, in no mood for being civil even with his father.

"Where the hell have you been? Have you seen Arya? The Tyrells are here and you two are supposed to greet them," his father stepped through the door, stopping suddenly when he spotted Arya, covered in Gendry sooty fingerprints.

Gendry watched the amused grin slip across his father's face and watched the way Arya blushed but didn't look away.

"You two better wash up. Cat's going barmy about Arya not being around to greet her sister," Robert told them both, smirking at Gendry knowingly. Arya bit her lip guiltily then, glancing down at herself and spotting the amount of black smudges all over her from touching him and struggling against him earlier.

"Seven Hells!" Robert exclaimed suddenly and Gendry flinched when the man reached out and gripped his chin, turning his head so that he could examine the bruise, "Who clocked you?"

"Arya," Gendry replied, glancing at the little she-wolf and laughing just a little at her expression.

"It was an accident!" she protested.

"Liar," he retorted, grinning at her.

"Hells, what did she hit you with son?" Robert asked, chuckling at Arya's indignant expression.

"One of the practice Warhammers," Gendry told him, "I wasn't expecting it."

"I can see that, seeing as you got hit. I haven't seen anyone clobber you with a hammer since you were twelve," his father commented, "Nice work Lady Arya."

"Thanks?" Arya said, looking baffled.

"Now, you two get on and wash up for dinner before Cat has kittens about Arya's absence," Robert told them, "I'll stall them all."

Gendry didn't even want to think about what the man meant to do to possibly stall them from noticing Arya and Gendry's absence. Offering Arya his hand, Gendry grinned when she slipped her hand inside it and let him lead her out into the storm. She hurried under the heavy downpour, rushing for the entrance towards the bedchambers.

"What are you doing?" she asked when he pulled her towards his chambers behind him.

"Bathing you," he told her, grinning at her ferally, and tugging her closer to him when she stumbled through the door of his chambers with him.

"You can't," she shook her head at him, pressing her hands to his chest to fend off his kisses when he tried to reach for her.

"Why not?" he protested, eyeing her soaked form hungrily.

Arya smirked at him in return.

"Because I suspect the first time we're naked together, we'll fuck. And if we start now we won't stop. We'll miss the feast, Mother will go wild and everyone will barge in on us. We'll be shamed and shunned for our lack of restraint and no one will ever respect me as Lady Baratheon."

Gendry knew it was probably true, but by the Smith he wanted her! Before he could voice a protest or try to talk her into joining him in his bath despite all that, she went up on her toes, kissed his bruised cheek five times, pecked him on the lips and dashed away out the door.

"You'll never get all that soot off by yourself," he called after her, laughing when she stopped at the end of the corridor, turned back and made a face at him before she disappeared.

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

Arya washed as fast as she could, scrubbing wildly at her hair before going to work on the number of sooty fingerprints Gendry had left all over her. She knew they were going to be in trouble for being late. She could already hear her mother and Sansa lecturing her about it. She could just imagine the scolding she would get. Especially for making them look bad and for being disrespectful by not being there to greet the others of the Tyrell host including Lady Olena, the matriarch of the Tryells.

Sansa would be furious about it.

As soon as she thought she was clean enough, Arya leapt out of the bath, dripping water everywhere. Nymeria barked at her when she dashed across her chambers dripping and naked, standing before her trunk and trying to find something she could possibly wear. Arya eyed the number of dresses the seamstress had fashioned for her. She didn't at all fancy the idea of wearing any of them, not even the one with the cut-outs that she actually rather liked.

But Arya suspected it might be going a bit too far to have neglected to greet the arriving host, and to arrive late for the feast, only to turn up in britches. She fingered the fabric of the tunics Sansa had stitched for her, knowing they made a nice substitute for needing a full-skirted dress. A dress was too much. Besides, she'd decided she wasn't going to let the fact that she'd given in on the idea of marriage effect the rest of her notions, including that dress wearing was a silly waste of fabric and time, designed only to make women delicate and helpless. She firmly believed it was only a practice in place to make women less capable of fighting, running away and otherwise being useful. She was sure it was a conspiracy of men's to keep them docile and to make men feel needed.

Turning up her nose at the dresses, despite the number of rather nice and easy-to-wear options the seamstress had fixed for her, Arya donned a comfortable pair of tan britches and the red tunic Sansa had stitched for her. Surely they wouldn't object to it. Sansa had made it, for a start, and it still looked sort of like a dress. It was long, reaching to her knees and a little beyond, with slits up the side for easy of movement. It was also fitted to hug her feminine curves and plunged at the neckline towards her cleavage.

Arya saw no problem with wearing it.

With her hair still dripping, Arya resorted to finding something to dry it, wringing the excess water out of the long dark mass and onto the floor. Dragging a square of cloth over it repeatedly, Arya refrained from scrubbing at it, not wanting to tangle it any worse than she'd already done in the tub. The last thing she needed was to be scolded for having fuzzy hair. As though the humidity didn't already make it curl up at the ends in an unruly mess.

When it was mostly dry, Arya found one of the combs Lady Catelyn insisted she use, snarling it through the tangles until her hair hung in a wavy curtain down her back. She found a becoming pin Mother had gifted to her on her last name day that she'd never worn before but that Mother had insisted she bring. Sweeping the hair that fell into her face off to one side, Arya used the pin to clip it back from her face, arranging it so it didn't lie too flat and make her head look strange but didn't look wildly outlandish either.

As soon as she was done, Arya spun towards the door stomping her feet into her boots and dashing for the exit. When she jerked the door open, Arya gave a startled shriek to find Gendry in the hall leaning against the wall of the corridor right outside her door. Dressed in a smart-looking black leather tunic and dark britches with his cloak about his shoulders, he looked entirely too handsome for someone like Arya. At least in Arya's opinion.

She'd spent a good deal of time since her arrival simply looking at Gendry. There could be no doubt that he was handsome by anyone standards. Arya wondered why he was bothering with a woman like her. She was hardly a beauty. Someone as handsome as Gendry ought to have a pretty woman like one of her Targaryen cousins for a wife, not a rough and tumble mess like her.

"You look nice," he told her, grinning when she simply stared at him for a moment.

"You too," Arya admitted, nodding indicatively at him, "Hells, that bruise is blue without all the soot covering it up!"

She stepped into the corridor, reaching towards the swollen spot on his jaw where a deep bluish-purple bruise had bloomed. He allowed her to brush her fingers over the lump gently, still grinning at her. Arya felt his large hands slide over the fabric of her tunic and around her waist to rest against her back. Despite feeling bad about the mark she'd left on him and about injuring, Arya couldn't say she entirely regretted it. She kind of liked peppering kisses all over his face and it was nice to have an excuse to do so.

Going up on her toes, Arya pulled him down a bit, noticing the way he smiled when she pressed lots of little kisses all over his jaw.

"If you keep doing that we're going to miss the feast," Gendry warned her, his hands gripping her waist hungrily.

"Shit, we're so late!" she exclaimed, grinning at him despite the trouble she knew they'd be in.

"You've still got soot smudged on your face, too," he told her, wiping at her cheek lightly after licking his thumb. Arya rolled her eyes, allowing him to wipe it away, "Now come, my lady, your sister and the Tyrells await."

Arya laughed when he tucked her arm through the crook of his elbow, escorting her through the corridors towards the Great Hall. They paused just outside the door when Arya heard the sound of Robert telling sound terrible war story at the top of his voice, enthralling the entire hall with some tale of battle.

"And then, I swung my hammer, like this," he demonstrated and Arya glanced at Gendry, giggling, "And knocked his head clean off, didn't I Ned? Smashed like a watermelon, it did. Brian went everywhere, splattered my boots…"

He looked up as Arya let Gendry escort her into the hall and Arya bit her lip on another giggle when Lord Baratheon shot her a subtle wink while all the women at the table looked mildly ill over the story.

"Arya?" Sansa's voice asked suddenly, sounding entirely surprised and Arya glanced in the direction of her sister.

She felt a smile slip across her face at the familiar sight of her sister and Arya realised that until that very moment – despite all their differences – she'd missed her sister.

"Hello Sansa," Arya grinned, watching her sister blink at her as though she couldn't believe her eyes. Unhooking her arm from Gendry's Arya hurried across the hall to her sister, watching the elder girl get to her feet. Her dress was fitted and showed off the slight bump of the babe that filled her belly.

Arya pulled Sansa into a warm hug, surprising her sister with her show of affection. Sansa hugged her stiffly for a moment.

"I hardly recognised you," Sansa said, pulling back to hold Arya's at arm's length, studying her carefully.

"It's just a hair-pin, sweet sister," Arya waved her hand dismissively, "And maybe a sunburn. How are you? Congratulations on your pregnancy!"

Arya pressed her hands around the little bulge of Sansa's pregnant belly, feeling Sansa jump a little in shock.

"Thank you," Sansa replied automatically, her manners remaining intact despite her obvious surprise, "I've been well. And you?"

"I'm alright," Arya shrugged, grinning, "I've missed you."

Sansa looked gobsmacked at Arya's proclamation.

"Seven hells, Gendry, what happened to your face?" Edric asked from down the table and Arya glanced in his direction to see Gendry had taken a seat by his brother. The bruise on his jaw caught the light.

"Arya clobbered me with a Warhammer," Gendry told his brother, smirking down the table at Arya.

"She what?" Lady Catelyn, asked, looking horrified and turning accusing eyes on Arya.

"It was an accident," Arya protested, holding up her hands defensively, "He goaded me Mother. It's hardly my fault he didn't see me back-swing the hammer after I missed him the first time."

"She actually hit you?" Gendry's eight year old brother Roland asked, looking gleeful.

"Yep," Gendry nodded, still watching Arya.

"I think you might be my hero," Roland turned to her, grinning. Arya laughed at the boy. He was young yet, but he had all the charm of his father and his brother and the grin to match. Arya grinned back at him.

"You let her strike you?" Lady Olena asked from further down the table.

"We were sparring," Gendry shrugged, "She got the better of me."

Arya watched the way the Tyrells looked baffled by his words, knowing that while the Baratheons had been slowly growing used to the weird condoning attitude Gendry held regarding Arya's behaviour, to others it was confounding.

"You were sparring with your husband?" Sansa asked her, sounding shocked by the notion though not looking all that surprised that Arya would do so.

"I usually spar with his sister, Mya, but she's away at the Eyrie at the moment, and I had to spar with someone," Arya shrugged. Sansa looked utterly baffled, glancing at her own husband, who seemed just as confused by the blasé attitude of Gendry and Arya.

"Let me get this straight," Lady Mina said, "You were sparring with Lady Arya with weaponry and she struck you across the face with a Warhammer."

"That's right," Gendry nodded.

"Seven Hells," Ned muttered, tipping his head back whilst shaking it slowly. Arya suspected he might be asking the Old Gods for strength.

"You hit your husband in the face with a Warhammer?" Sansa repeated, looking horrified as she stared at Arya.

"He's not my husband yet," Arya pointed out.

"Soon enough, Stark," Gendry told her from down the table and Arya stuck her tongue out at him before she could think better of it.

"He let you hit him? Without a care?" Sansa demanded.

"Well, he cursed a bit," Arya replied, glancing at Gendry.

"It bloody hurt," Gendry told her, "Hadn't been hit with one in too long. I'd forgotten how much it hurts."

"Have you gone mad?" Sansa asked, peering into Arya's eyes.

"Not at all. Maybe you should sit down Sansa, you look a little dizzy. I don't want you upsetting yourself and unsettling my little niece or nephew," Arya told her sister, taking hold of her arm when Sansa looked like she might faint from shock at the absurdity she was witnessing. Arya steered the girl back into her chair beside Willas.

"Hello Willas, how are you?" she asked when her sister was settled, clapping her good-brother on the shoulder and leaning it to brush her cheek to his, knowing it would be too much trouble to have him stand when he only had one good leg.

"I'm well, Arya. And you? Sunburned I see?" he asked and Arya smiled, She rather liked her good-brother, if she was honest. He was a decent enough man, and though he held certain ideals about women like most men in the Seven Kingdoms, he'd not said any word to Arya's knowledge about Arya's peculiar liking for britches over dresses, and weaponry over sewing.

"Yes, I was in the sun earlier today for longer than I intended. I'll be fine," Arya told him, squeezing his shoulder lightly before she rounded the table to join Gendry, sitting in the vacant seat beside him.

She paused as she lowered herself into her seat to tilt Gendry's jaw a little a press a soft kiss to the bruise once more, causing him to grin and several people – Sansa in particular – to gasp in surprise at her open show of affection for the man. She kind of liked the way he reached over and took her hand in his lightly. When Arya met her mother's gaze across the table she could tell Lady Catelyn didn't know if she should scold Arya's tardiness, lack of a dress and her unruly behaviour throughout the day or if she should be singing thanks to the Seven.

Arya grinned at the woman in response to her scrutiny and Lady Catelyn shook her head.

"We'd both like to apologise for our tardiness this evening," Gendry was saying politely, addressing the Tyrell host, "We ought to have been at the gates to meet you but Lady Arya and I were both otherwise engaged in matters pertaining to our betrothal. Our humblest apologies, Lord and Lady Tyrell."

"Matters pertaining to your betrothal?" Arya heard her father mutter from the seat to her left, clearly not believing that for a second.

"Making up after a row is an important matter, Father," Arya whispered to him, smirking a little when Ned laughed.

"I must say, I was most surprised when we received invitation to a wedding involving you, Lady Arya," Lady Olena said conversationally though Arya caught the sly gleam in the old crone's eyes. Arya had been subjected to Lady Olena when she'd attended Highgarden for Sansa's wedding and she knew the old woman was far sharper than many gave her credit for.

"Indeed, Lady Olena, I confess I was very much surprised to find it was the case myself. I had begun to imagine I might live out my days a disgraced spinster, gallivanting the wilds of the North and Winterfell," Arya replied smoothly, showing her teeth, "I had begun to believe that all men would be so foolish as to believe I could be tamed. To learn otherwise was rather a shock."

Lady Olena looked surprised for a moment, while many among the Tyrell and indeed, the Baratheon, hosts all looked like they didn't know if they should be embarrassed for her or for themselves. Then Lady Olena threw her head back and began to laugh.

"Does this mean you don't think me a fool, Stark?" Gendry grinned at her sideways, still holding her hands.

"Now, let's not push things, Gendry," Arya suggested chidingly, grinning in return and making Lady Olena laugh even more.

"Well, you'll never be bored, in any event Lord Gendry," Willas was trying to hide his smile and failing miserably.

"Indeed, I'll have my hands full for all of my days," Gendry replied in a drawl laced with double entendre and innuendo. Arya just knew from the way her betrothed leered at her that he was thinking crass thoughts. She hated herself a little bit for the way her body responded to the taunt with a resounding cry of approval.

The rest of the men, excluding Ned, had begun to chuckle a little when Arya had the decency to blush and swat Gendry's arm for the comment.

"Mother?" Arya heard Sansa asked questioningly, clearly concerned over the change in Arya's behaviour and over the turn of events that had landed Arya with Gendry.

"Now look what you've done Baratheon," Arya chided again, "You've gone and upset my sweet sister, and in her condition too! Shame on you!"

"My apologies, Lady Sansa," Gendry offered immediately, though Arya could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he was far from sincere.

"Don't be alarmed Sansa," Ned offered his daughter a wry smile when Lady Catelyn seemed too shocked to speak, "Your sister has reached an understanding regarding marriage and men. At least this man."

Ned nodded at Gendry indicatively.

"I assure you I'm in perfect health Sansa," Arya told her sister, "Now, tell me about the woes of child bearing. Is it everything I've dreaded all my life?"

Gendry snorted from beside her at her question while Arya hid her smile at the way Sansa's mouth opened and closed in shock for a few minutes.

"It's been wonderful, actually," Sansa said finally, clearly deciding the topic would be the safest she could pursue at that moment. Arya expected that later, when the feast was over and Sansa could get her alone, she would be drilled with questions.

"Come now, sweet sister, you and I both know pregnancy is no easy thing. Meera tells me she's been having terrible trouble keeping anything down. Have you been keeping yourself well nourished?" Arya wanted to know, guiding the conversation to calmer waters and smiling to herself when the men turned their attention to more battle tale – Lord Robert picking up his battle tale once more – while the women indulged in talk of babes and childbearing.

"I've begun having trouble keeping my breakfast down," Sansa admitted, her hands smoothing over her swollen middle carefully, "And I so often need the privy that it ought to be criminal, but things have been smooth otherwise."

"Nothing of the horrors Meera has been handling then?" Arya asked, knowing her good-sister had been suffering terribly with near-constant nausea and some pain. Her back ached constantly and she often developed a fever that came and went within hours.

"Thank the Seven, no," Sansa replied, "Poor Meera has been suffering terribly."

"No doubt Brandon's doing," Lady Catelyn injected into the conversation, "That boy was nothing but trouble every minute I carried him. Any son of his will be the same."

"Oh, you had trouble with Brandon, Lady Catelyn?" Margery Tyrell asked.

"Oh yes. Bran was a terror, never would let me have even a moment's peace. Which wasn't helped at all by having Arya for a toddler at the time," Lady Catelyn.

"Roland gave me trouble too," Lady Mina said primly, "As did many of my boys. The girls I seemed to carry with ease, but my boys were all trouble. I always knew by the third moon if I was having a son or a daughter."

"Boys are always more trouble than girls," Lady Olena insisted wisely, "Grow too fast, want to kick too hard and get into mischief before they're in the world yet."

The other experienced mothers nodded seriously.

"Lady Margery, how have your prospects of marriage faired recently?" Arya asked, "I've heard little from you since your time at Winterfell."

"It's been arranged that I will be courted by Prince Aegon to see if we're a match," Margery replied, beaming with pride. Arya felt a smile of her own crawl across her face at the idea.

"I think you'd make a fine Princess Targaryen, Lady Margery," Arya told the young woman honestly. In the recent moons Arya had been provided the chance – what with all the Stark weddings – to get to know many of her age-mates from different Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. While Arya had not at all approved of Margery as a match for Robb, she did approve of Margery being matched to Prince Aegon.

The prince was Arya's good-cousin, through Aunt Lyanna though he'd been born to Lady Eilia and Arya had hit things off with him immediately. He was cocky and commanding in the way only a prince could be, yet he'd been more than willing to seek out fun and a good time. When he grew bored, he often cracked hilarious jokes, proving that he was every bit as charming and charismatic as his father, King Rhaegar.

"Thank you, Lady Arya," Margery replied, looking mildly surprised by her comment. Sansa looked surprised as well, clearly having been suffering under the belief that Arya disliked Margery almost as much as she disliked Lady Larissa Lannister. Which was not at all the case.

"Not at all, you and Prince Aegon would make a very fine match, I think."

Arya watched the way her mother eyed her like Arya had lost her mind and Arya realised that for the first time in a long time, it was as a result not of Arya's misbehaviour, but of pride at the way she was maturing into a fine young lady. One capable of saying what she believed and not having that be at odds with cooperation amongst the Seven Kingdoms. Arya didn't doubt Lady Catelyn was surprised to learn it, but Arya had known, on some level that she was capable of doing so. It wasn't as though she despised all the ladies of the realm. She had simply disdained their notions of what was and wasn't ladylike and hadn't enjoyed earning their disapproval for her wild ways.

The rest of the feast continued much in the same vein, the men sharing battle talk and discussing war tactics and the state of the Seven Kingdoms while the women shared insights on child raising that Sansa listened to intently. For the first time in her memory, Arya found herself able to flit between both topics of conversation with the men and the women, without feeling the need to prove herself as not being a lady. She also found herself unable to resist sneaking little kisses onto Gendry's jaw when she though no one was watching her.

Every time she did it, Gendry would give her hand a squeeze and press a kiss to the back of it. She caught the knowing glance her father threw in her direction every time she did it, but Arya pretended not to care. As the evening wore on the bruise marring Gendry jaw and cheek grew darker, deepening in colour from a sharp blue that almost matched his eyes into a horrible shade of purplish-black. She didn't doubt it would be aching, though Gendry showed no signs of being outwardly effected by the pain. She suspected he was hiding how much it ached to keep from looking weak in front of the men and Arya felt her heart squeeze a little inside her chest at the very idea.

"Do I want to know how you got these?" Ned asked her quietly, much later in the evening when the ale and wine had loosened everyone's tongues and put everyone in a fine mood. Arya glanced at the finger he brushed over the hand shaped bruise developing on her upper arm closest to him where Gendry had gripped her, trying to shove her off him in the forge.

"I was rather insistent with demonstrating my contrition after fighting with Gendry earlier, when he didn't particularly want me trying to kiss him better," Arya admitted in a low voice, leaning into her father a bit.

"Are you alright?" Ned asked, frowning a little.

"I more than deserved it," Arya nodded, "And had I wanted to avoid that, I could simply have heeded his warning and backed off when he told me to."

"He manhandled you?" Ned asked, a rumbled in his voice though he was speaking with her quietly while Robert entertained them all with some other war story – this one featuring several of his bannermen and a merry chase after a band of ruffians that had been terrorising their cavalry.

"I was manhandling him, actually," Arya replied, "He was just trying to keep me off him because he was upset with me when I said something mean after hitting him. It's all sorted out now."

Ned narrowed his eyes, glancing between Arya and Gendry, noting the way their hands were still intertwined, Gendry thumb stroking the back of her hand distractedly while he spoke with Willas at length about raising hounds.

"You're not going to try and stab him in his sleep?" Ned wanted to know, clearly deciding against making noise to protect her honour or defend her. Arya was grateful, knowing it was a result of him trusting her to take care of herself.

"Not this time," Arya said, "I didn't mean to hit him so hard. He wasn't expecting the blow and we'd been arguing before I clobbered him. When I said something to make it worse we had a row, but it's past now."

Ned looked at her for a long time, his grey eyes assessing her carefully.

"You're happy here, with him?" he asked softly, though she didn't think he really sought an answer.

"I miss Winterfell," Arya replied, "I miss Bran and Rickon. I miss Robb and Jon. I miss the summer snows of the North… but Storm's End is growing on me."

Ned raised his eyebrows slowly, darting a glance at Gendry carefully.

"Him too," Arya sighed, admitting that Gendry was indeed growing on her. Like a fungus. She wasn't entirely thrilled about it, but she had no idea how to stop it.

"Your sister is shocked by your change of heart. I think most of the realm are."

"I know," Arya sighed, "Though they had to realise I would marry eventually."

"I think they envisioned you being dragged in chains to the alter," Ned replied, grinning.

"I did too, to be completely honest," Arya admitted, smiling ruefully, "But as you pointed out; there is little sense in fighting the inevitable. I imagine that had I clobbered anyone else across the face with a training hammer I'd have been beaten and thrown from the castle walls."

"What did he do?" Ned asked.

"Kissed me," Arya replied, smiling wider, "And cursed a lot. And then I said something to ruin the moment completely and he told me to shove it before stomping off to his forge to brood."

"Does that a lot with you around," Ned pointed out.

"I know," Arya sighed, "Aren't you pleased I won't be your headache for much longer, Father?"

"You'll always be my headache," Ned said, "Only I'll be half a realm away, worrying what mischief you're getting into and whether the gossips are telling truths or lies about you."

"I've been on my best behaviour," Arya protested.

"Yes, that's what worries me," Ned replied drily, "I'm only used to being on the lookout for bad behaviour and mischief from you. This well behaved version of you is making me uneasy."

"It's not like I'm donning dresses and simpering pretty nothings, Father," Arya laughed as she rolled her eyes.

"No, but you're sneaking kisses and being nice to the other ladies of the realm without insulting their intelligence and insisting anyone who thinks you ought to be a proper lady is stupid."

"I'd hate to be a one-trick show," Arya grinned at him and Ned groaned.

"Just don't do anything wild, at least for the rest of the night," he told her, trying to be stern but ruining the effect when he couldn't completely hide his smile.

"So I shouldn't flick food at Sansa for old time's sake?" Arya asked innocently.

"Are you getting into mischief again?" Gendry asked from her other side.

"Me?" Arya grinned innocently at him and Gendry immediately narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her.

"Don't give me that look, Stark, if you flick food at anyone I'm rubbing pie in your hair," he warned her.

"You wouldn't dare embarrass me like that," Arya retorted.

"You want to wager on that, Beautiful?" he asked, smiling widely at the very idea. Arya knew he would do it. He had before. He always made good on his threats if she wagered with him.

"You're no fun," Arya declared, "How am I supposed to remind Sansa that I'm her favourite sister if I'm not embarrassing her?"

"You mean beyond her and the Tyrells arriving on the day you whack me across the face with something?" Gendry asked and Ned laughed.

"That seems more embarrassing for you than for Sansa," Arya mused, grinning wickedly.

"You're trouble, Arya Stark," Gendry informed her before pressing another kiss to the back of her hand, "Now shut up and dance with me in front of all these people like a proper lady."

"Didn't we agree I'm not a proper lady and never will be?" Arya asked him mildly, not at all liking the idea of dancing but knowing he was going to make her. Several others were already up and dancing, even Willas and Sansa, though it was more of a shuffle than a proper dance.

"Then get up and dance with me like a whore, you little urchin," Gendry smirked at her, getting to his feet and lifting her out of her seat when she stubbornly refused to stand.

"You don't want me to dance," she protested, "I'm awful at it. I always ran away from Septa Mordane when she tried to make me learn."

"Woman, I've seen you spar," Gendry reminded her, "I know for a fact you have all the grace of a spindle-legged doe when you need to. Now dance with me."

He tugged on her arm, dragging her towards the other dances. Arya felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment when, from the back of the hall, she heard some of her friends crowing their delight and scorn over seeing her dance. She wanted to throw another bread roll at Mycah but it would have to wait. Resigning herself to the task, Arya let Gendry draw her into a dance, his hands warm against hers. It really was much too hot for dancing, despite the storm raging beyond the castle.

Arya grasped his hand tightly, her other hand laid against one of his strapping arms while he held her waist, guiding her around the dancefloor. Despite his size, he was rather graceful when he danced, as he was when they sparred and Arya realised that she could grow to like dancing with Gendry. In fact she suspected she could grow to enjoy a lot of things if Gendry was involved.

She caught Sansa gaping at her, open-mouthed when Gendry whirled them by where she leaned into Willas carefully, supporting him as much as he did her thanks to his bad leg.

"You're enjoying this far too much," she accused Gendry when he smirked down at her, dropping her hands to take her waist in both hands as he lifted her, giving a little turn with her in his grip.

"You're beautiful," he told her in response and Arya rolled her eyes.

"You're crazy," Arya retorted, pecking his bruise face on her way back to the ground.

"Shut up, would you?" he smirked at her in response, "How long do you think before I can sneak away with you without us being noticed missing?"

"When you say things like this, it makes me think marrying you might not be so bad after all," Arya taunted, smirking at him, "But I hope the answer is soon. Just as soon as Father gets Mother dancing we'll be free. He always distracts her when they dance and she forgets about keeping an eye on me."

"Think he'll hurry?" Gendry murmured, looking hopeful and Arya felt a devious smirk cross her face.

"I hope so," she admitted.