Chapter 3 – Arya

Arya was tired, and everywhere ached. Her head. Her heart. Pretending to be the hated queen Cersei was starting to take its toll.

After she was finished at the Twins, Arya had headed straight to Kings Landing, wearing the face of a simple serving girl. She had been tempted to reuse the disguise she had used at the Twins, but then she remembered Jaime Lannister had been there and she didn't want to risk him recognising her.

Arya found her task easier than anticipated. It was easy when you were posing as a servant. Within a couple of weeks, she had worked her way up to being one of Cersei's handmaidens. It was easy. There were not many women, or indeed men, left in the Red Keep in Kings Landing under Cersei's rule. The men were fighting. The women were scared.

She had headed out into the city the day before Cersei's death, disguised as a little orphan girl. It hadn't taken long to find what she set out for. Within minutes she had reached the Street of Steel, with the sound of clanging metal resonating off the walls. The thick smog from the scorching coals rising into the air, clinging to every building. The odd shout from a master or a lost child. She had gone into every forge, looking for him, getting more fearful with every passing one. Arya had convinced herself that her friend would have escaped from the Red Woman, just like they had escaped from Harrenhal, and she had escaped from the Hound and later from the House of Black and White.

Finally, her patience had been rewarded. She stepped into yet another smithy, with a fire, anvil, wheel, bucket… Several freshly-forged swords lay in unorganised heaps all around. Then she saw him. He had his back to her, but there could only be one person with hair that colour, even if it was shorter.

"Gendry?" she had started hesitantly. He turned around – it was definitely him – with an expression of confusion on his solemn, tired face.

"Sorry…" he replied. "Do I know you?" Arya had silently cursed herself for not removing the face before speaking.

"You used to," she responded.

He regarded her curiously. "What can I do for you?"

"Help me," Arya whispered, before turning her head away to get rid of her disguise.

When she had turned back to him, Gendry's mouth had fallen open in shock.

"Arry?" he eventually uttered disbelievingly.

"Sshh!" she hushed him. "Yes, it's me. But nobody out there can know who I am, alright?"

"They won't. Not from me." He grinned, then gave a short laugh. "I can't believe it's really you! I never thought I would see you again. I thought you were dead!"

"I thought you were too," Arya replied matter-of-factly. "But I thought I'd better check first." She made sure the coast was clear, before stepping forward. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You're my only friend in Kings Landing. I need your help."

Gendry had regarded her for a few seconds. "Tell me what you want me to do."

They sat together on the floor behind the anvil. And she had told him everything.

Arya Stark had thought long and hard about how she would kill Cersei Lannister: one of the first people on her list, second only to the monster that was Joffrey. Part of her had wanted to behead her, like she had conspired to do to her father. But Needle was far too skinny for that, despite her proficiency in wielding the blade. It also occurred to her that perhaps Cersei did not deserve such a quick and relatively painless death. Perhaps it would be better for her to suffer, just like Arya had over the years. Eventually, she decided to use the same method as she had on Walder Frey. Minus the pie, of course. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were all dead, and even if they were not, Arya knew the latter two were innocent, and they had been nice to her all those years ago at Winterfell and then Kings Landing. Arya wasn't sure she would have wanted to kill them too.

The day after she reacquainted herself with Gendry, she did it. She had got him to prepare a ship at the docks, and to then get ready to help her rally some Lannister guards to accompany her once she had taken Cersei's face. He had been willing to oblige. He told her he had found out who his father was: he was Robert Baratheon's bastard, and that the Lannisters had helped to kill him, as well as murder all of his many brothers and sisters. He wanted some justice and vengeance, just like she did, so his loyalty to the task at hand had come freely.

She decided they would go to Dragonstone: Arya had heard that Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, had set herself up there to plan her conquest of Westeros. She was the rightful queen, after all – and Arya hoped she would be just as good as the warrior Visenya that she had grown up hearing stories about. She had heard from Qyburn that Daenerys was said to own three real dragons too…

At nightfall, Arya reapplied her handmaiden disguise and entered the Red Keep. She found her way to Cersei within minutes; she remembered her way around the castle extremely well, which had proven helpful over the recent weeks. Once she had entered and locked the door, she wasted no time in striding over to the queen and pulling out the new dagger Gendry had made her the day before.

"Gillarya, go and get me –" The command died in her throat when she saw the dagger.

"I suppose I should really be more honest with you, Your Grace," Arya started smoothly, but spat out the title. "My name is not Gillarya." She held the blade out with one hand and removed the face with the other. "It's just Arya. Arya Stark."

"Arya Stark died a long time ago," Cersei said, choking out a mirthless laugh.

"Perhaps," Arya had scowled. "I prefer the term changed. But you're going to die now. Arya Stark is not the girl she was last time she was here. But she is still very much alive. I want you to know that. The last thing you're ever going to see is a Stark of Winterfell smiling down at you as you die."

"But my child," Cersei replied numbly, putting a hand on her stomach.

"I heard you talking to Qyburn," Arya scoffed. "There is no child. You couldn't find another way to ensure your brother's loyalty."

"What an honourable Stark of Winterfell you are," Cersei commented spitefully. "Listening at doors, and killing an unarmed woman in her chamber. How very like your father you are."

Arya took another step closer. "My father always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. I will try my hardest to live by those words for as long as I live. Our way is the old way." She took a final step and rested the cool metal blade against the back of Cersei's head, so as not to damage her face. She would be needing that, she knew. "And I, Arya of House Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North, do sentence you to die." Without wasting another second, she moved the blade and watched in grim satisfaction as the life slowly drained out of Cersei and she slumped forward over her dressing table.

The rest, as they say, is history. Qyburn, she had had thrown into a black cell as soon as she took Cersei's likeness. She drove a dagger through the Mountain's eye while he slept that same night.

Becoming more like Cersei so as not to rouse suspicion had been the most difficult part. Arya had noticed, with some dismay, that the Lannister queen was far taller than she was. Her training in the House of Black and White had taught her that looking the part was important. She went through trunk after trunk after disposing of the old queen's body, and eventually found some very high-heeled shoes, similar to ones Sansa had worn when they were younger. Arya hated them and only wore them when she had to. How did Sansa manage to wear these? How does any woman manage to wear these? she wondered dozens of times a day. She hated Cersei's wardrobe too, with all the long dresses and ornate decoration. One evening, in disguise, she had made her way to Sansa's old bedchamber and managed to find an old cloak, similar to what they had all worn in Winterfell all those years ago. She used the cloak to better conceal Needle and her new dagger, as well as her stature.

Two days later, she had assembled a few guards and with Gendry's help, they had begun sailing at once to Dragonstone.

Upon arrival, all the guards, and herself, had been arrested. Arya had expected no less, and was glad, for she had been pondering on how she would get the guards to turn their cloaks and back Daenerys.

But she was bored now. She had been taken to a (rather luxurious) chamber, but she wasn't allowed to leave. She couldn't leave, actually – this chamber could be locked from the outside, and it was. Gendry, meanwhile, had been taken before Daenerys and her companions, and Arya began to worry for her friend's safety, as she paced up and down the cavern like chamber for what felt like the thousandth time.

A rapping on the door brought her out of her reminisces.

"Are you in there?" Gendry's voice came muffled through the door. "Arya?"

"Gendry, shut up!" she said instantly. "They can't know, remember! Not yet!"

"It's only me," he replied. "One of the Dothraki is standing guard, but he cannot speak any Common Tongue at all. I can't come in and see you, but I can talk to you for a couple of minutes."

"You shouldn't," Arya responded, pressing her face into the door. "It'll look suspicious; like you're informing on Daenerys." Curiosity overtook her, however. "What's she like? The Dragon Queen?"

"You'll probably find out soon enough. I'm going to my own chamber, now. But I had to tell you – Jon is here."

"Jon?"

"Your bastard brother?"

"Shut up," Arya said again, sharply. "Jon is Lord Commander of the Nights Watch – why would he be here?"

"I'm telling the truth!" Gendry insisted. "I recognised him! He has the accent, and he looks a bit like you. And like your father, come to that."

"Get me a private audience with Queen Daenerys and Jon if possible." She spoke after a few emotional seconds. "Please."

"I'll do my best," Gendry promised her. "I know Ser Davos, maybe I can ask him."

"If you don't, I swear to the Old Gods, the New Gods, and the Many Faced God that I will escape."

"Then I will try my utmost to do what you ask," Arya could practically hear him smiling through the door. "Because that really would look suspicious, m'lady."

"Don't call me –"

But he was gone.

A/N: Is this the longest chapter yet? Maybe.

Thank you so much for reading again, all of you. I know half of you seem to love Arya/Gendry and half of you seem to hate it. I want to make all of you happy but I know that's going to be pretty tricky! Plus I felt this chapter needed to happen in order for the next couple to. The next chapter will be in either Jon or Daenerys' POV, I'm not quite sure which yet, but I'm leaning more towards Dany.

Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews; please do keep commenting them as they do help me and they are a great motivator. Hopefully I cleared up how Arya managed to deal with the whole Cersei's stature dynamic, but then again she hasn't really had much to do with Tyrion yet so that may all change…

As for when I'll be able to post again, I'm not too sure. I'm getting a bit behind with my college work due to prioritising this so worst case scenario the next chapter may not be up until next weekend. We'll see. I'll do my best.

See you all next time.