From the Mouth of an Injured Head

In the morning, she snuck out of her room before she could be told to braid her hair or put on a dress. She walked through the Red Keep unnoticed in her breeches with her hair tucked up under a cap. She went through the passages Gendry had shown her and used a few shortcuts of her own that she would tell him about later. She liked that they shared this little thing, of hiding out and escaping, and of being things they weren't. He'd told her that Queen Cersei didn't want her children leaving the castle grounds, but for someone who apparently wanted to keep her children close she didn't seem to spend much time seeing after them. Perhaps that's just how things were in the South.

But even so, everyone inside the Keep's walls loved the older prince. Creeping alongside the castle's walls Arya heard things. She knew he spent his mornings at his father's side in the Throne Room, or learning from meetings with Small Council, she knew he cared about this city, and all the others covering the Seven Kingdoms.

Now, he was in the Forge. She could hear him hammering away as she approached the small room, pushed off to the side of the Gold Cloak's barracks.

She walked in and saw his concentration on the fire. His shirt was stuck to his skin and there were stains of sweat running down his back. She smiled and hoisted herself up onto the anvil to watch him work. He didn't notice her at first, he was working by the fire and she wasn't sure how he could stand it. She could feel sweat dripping down her neck and she'd only been inside for a few minutes.

He turned around and still failed to notice her. As he began hammering away she noticed how the muscles in his arms twitched and bulged with every movement. He was strong.

He moved passed her to drop the half-made sword into a bucket of cold water and as the metal hissed his eyes landed on her. He jumped and dropped the hammer to the ground.

"Seven hells, Arry." He said while she chuckled.

"Took you long enough." She said.

"How long have you been sitting there?" He asked.

She shrugged and hopped down from the anvil. "Only a few minutes."

Gendry watched her as she inspected the wall of swords, helms, and hammers at the far end of the forge.

"You made all these?" She asked, picking up a bull's head helm and placing it on her head. It was too large and shifted to an odd angle.

"Most of them." He answered, chuckling at the sight of her. "That was the first thing I ever made, actually."

She inspected it carefully, nodding her head before passing it to him.

"It's quite good." She said. He believed it was the first time he'd managed to earn a compliment from her.

"Thank you, my lady." He said, placing the helm on her head again.

"Don't call me that." She pulled it off and chucked it at him, laughing as he fumbled to catch it.

He was distracted, awkwardly shifting the helm and the hammer between his hands, but he could hear the silver sing of the sword as she plucked it off the wall and let it slice through the air.

"And what about this?" She asked, her eyes following the steel as it glowed from the light of the fire.

He placed the helm on an anvil and shrugged at her, "Just an average sword. Not my best work."

"Should we test that?" She asked pointing it at him. She had a cocky smile on her face as she angled her body sideways to his.

"Arya." He warned.

"What?" She asked innocently.

He cleared his throat, "That would not be wise, my lady."

She lunged forward and carefully poked the leather of his apron with the tip of the sword.

"I told you not to call me my lady." She teased.

He didn't reply, only shook his head and went about cleaning up his work. She continued to sway and swing the sword and he watched her out of the corner of his eye, both making sure she didn't fumble and hurt herself and also to estimate her ability.

She was actually quite good, although he knew if he let her know it she would be smug about the compliment. Besides, he had a feeling she was already well aware of her skill.

"I have a teacher you know," She said. "My brother Jon, he gave me a sword of my own, before he left for the Wall and once my father found out he found someone to teach me how to use it."

She stepped back and forth, her movements slow and fluid, but quick and sharp when she needed them to be. She continued to speak but her concentration was so great she seemed like she was talking only to herself, hardly realizing him to be in the room anymore.

"This is the Bravossi style, called Water Dancing. Syrio says I've shown great improvement even though I've only been learning from him for a few months."

Her arm hung limply at her side and for a moment she just stared at him, and waited.

"Yes?" He asked as he continued to clean up.

"Well, aren't we going to practice?" She asked.

"Not sure where you got that idea, my lady." He said.

"I told you not to call me that, your Grace." She said. She seemed to be truly annoyed too and Gendry feared she might leave him then, when they're conversation was only just starting. But instead she just wandered around the shop, aimlessly playing with the weapons decorating the walls. "I used to practice everyday," She continued, "With my brothers. Not Jon, he was gone by thenl. But Bran would let me practice with him, before his fall, or Robb and Theon, but not very often, sometimes the village boys would practice with wooden swords but... that didn't end well. Then suddenly I was too old, and I was supposed to be a lady." She rolled her eyes.

Gendry had been following closely behind her and when she suddenly swung around, bring the sword in her hand in a unintentional arch aimed at his torso, he jumped backwards. She cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle and he smirked thinking that it was the most ladylike moment he'd yet to see from Arya Stark.

"The point is," She said "That I've had no one good to practice with for ages."

Gendry cleared his throat, "I'm afraid I'm no good with a sword, my-" She edged closer, the tip of the sword shining eagerly in his direction "Arya." He amended, not minding the sound of it.

She considered this for a moment then shrugged, "That's fine, you can use your warhammer then."

He began to laugh but she glared at him and that shut him up.

"A warhammer is very different from a sword, Arya, it doesn't just cut you and leave you bleeding, it breaks you from the inside, smashes you and leaves you there, crushed."

"Only if you can catch me." She countered, wiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm bigger than you," He said, and he did tower over her terribly. "And this room is small. It wouldn't be hard for me to do it."

But Arya's attention was lost already. Her hand was ghosting over a dozen other swords along the wall until she found one she liked better. She plucked it from it's spot and flipped it over a couple times in her hand. Her movements paused and Gendry moved closer, still cautious of the fact that she might turn around swinging again.

"Do what?" She asked, twisting around slowly, the sword still at her side.

This time it was her turn to jump away. She turned and found Gendry just inches away, looking down at her with those stupid blue eyes.

"Crush you completely." He said, his voice a strange mix of caution and something else.

She was about to push him away, call him a stupid bull, anything to get away from the ridiculous heat of the forge radiating off of him. Then he reached past her and pulled a sword off the wall and walked away, gripping it in his hand to get the feel of it just right.

"What are you doing?" Arya asked.

"Something tells me if you want to practice, nothing I say will stop you, so it's best for me to be armed when you start swinging."

She chuckled as he fumbled with the sword, and at how his movements slowed to halt when he tried to speak.

"That's very true." She said. "But what about your hammer?" She asked.

"I use the warhammer to fight, and to win, and to tear down my enemies." He said. "You're not my enemy, so why would I try to beat you?"

"So you're just going to let me win?" She asked, looking unimpressed.

"It's practice, as it turns out I'll be practicing just as much as you."

"If not more." She muttered, stepping into the centre of the room to meet him.

"What was that?" He asked.

"Nothing." She smiled, lining her sword up with his.

They smiled at each other, both with a menacing glint in their eye, as they prepared to duel. Arya loved this moment, when the two sword slid against each other like the hiss of a snake. The moment before the world turned into only foot patterns and stances and the sweet headache that could only come from the song of metal clashing.

She pulled her arm back and swung, eager to practice now that she had someone willing and ready. A friend.

Sweaty and tired, and still huffing and puffing from the hours of swordplay with the Prince, Arya skipped happily back to her room.

For the first time in King's Landing, she was truly smiling. And her family took notice.

"Arya." Sansa gasped. She and their mother were once again in her room, braiding her hair so it shined down her back.

"I haven't seen you smile like that since we left home." Cat said with a genuine smile.

"The Tourney starts this week," She said. "And I've had a good morning."

"Where did you run off to?" Her mother asked. "We didn't even see you at breakfast."

"I was training."

"In the yard?" She asked.

"No."

"With that dancing master of yours?" Sansa asked, scrunching her nose at the mention of Syrio Forel.

"No." Arya said. "With Gendry. In the Forge."

Her sister's face went pale.

"Arya," Their eyes all turned to find Ned standing in the doorway, staring at his youngest daughter, her sweat stained clothes and knotted hair. "Are you joining Sansa and I on our walk?"

Arya opened her mouth to answer in affirmation.

"Only once she changes out of these filthy clothes." Cat said, cutting her off.

Arya stomped towards the door, her mother called out after her telling her to wear the grey dress in the bottom of her trunk.

"Sansa, why don't you go find Princess Myrcella?" Cat suggested. "Perhaps she would like you to accompany her. to tea"

With a nervous quiver on her lip, Sansa left the room, placing a soft kiss on her father's cheek as she left.

Ned smiled at her and walked further into the room.

"Ned, Arya needs to be told of what we've planned for her here."

His face fell, "Why do we need to do that? She's finally getting used to being in the Capital. This is the first morning she hasn't woken up and gone flying out of the castle for a change. We can wait. We have time."

"Ned, Sansa's made a choice. She chose Gendry." She said.

"Gendry chose Arya." Ned pointed out carefully.

"And perhaps if Arya were truly ready to be married, or at the very least aware of it, he could make that claim. But she's still too much of a child to even be told what her fate is. And Sansa is more than ready, she's willing.'

"But-" Ned began. Cat cut him off.

"You favour her." She said simply. Ned looked hurt at the suggestion. "Oh, I know you love Sansa, quite dearly. But bringing Arya here, swearing us all to secrecy, letting her live completely oblivious to our situation, running around in breeches, playing with swords, and being taught to fight with them- yes, Ned, I know about the dancing instructor. It's all too much. And it can't last forever."

"Sansa's come to me, she wants to marry Gendry. We knew this day would come, Ned, and she will make a great queen. You can speak to Robert. You can make this happen, now."

"Now?! What's happened, Cat? Why the sudden urgency?" He asked.

"We don't have allies here, Ned. And this marriage has been in the works for so long. It's fragile, and other people are trying to break it apart. Sansa's made her choice, she and Gendry will do their duty, together. I want my daughters safe. They could find love... we did."

Ned sighed and wrapped his arms around his wife, kissing her softly on the lips before holding her close.

"Give me a few days." He asked, felling her tense in his arms. "Please, Cat. Give me time."

"And them time too." She sighed. "Very well."

She pulled away and smiled at Ned, "You've grown close to that boy, haven't you?"

"I have. He has a good head on his shoulders, and all of Robert's strength."

"Then take solace in the fact that no matter the outcome, he will become your good-son." She offered a consolatory smile.

"Why did she changed her mind so quickly?" He asked. "When we arrived, Sansa had her heart set on marrying Joffrey. Now she wants Gendry?"

"She's young." Cat said with a shrug. "And she's grown here. She's seen that Gendry is the wiser choice. And that she will be a great wife and queen for him."

"And what of Arya?" He asked.

Neither of them knew the answer to that.

Going for a walk. Practice yard. Lots of men for tourney. Arya talks about techniques and teaches Sasna. Ned notes her growth and maturation.

They began by wandering through the Keep. Ned could see how Arya bit her tongue every time they passed some narrow passageway dimly lit room, now doubt fighting her excitement to give away her favourite hidden haunts. Sansa told her own stories willingly, of where she'd become best friends with Myrcella, where she'd met Margaery, or where Joffrey has taken her and given her a necklace.

Ned remarked at his two daughters, suddenly exact opposites. For once Arya was quiet and well-behaved and Sansa could hardly keep still.

They passed by the Godswood and took a moment to pause in it.

The sunset over their heads.

"It's so beautiful here." Sansa mused.

"The one in Winterfell is more beautiful." Arya said, kicking the dirt under her boots.

"Of course it is." Sansa said, sounding almost offended at the suggestion that any other Godswood could compare. Her eyes returned the the blaze of colours above her head and for a moment, Arya smiled proudly at her big sister.

It was of no surprise to Ned when the noise of conversation and the clanging of swords brought them to the training yard.

What did surprise him was what followed. Sansa stayed at his side, despite the young Tyrell girl with her many cousins watching from the other end of the yard. Arya stay by his side too, instead of stealing a sword and jumping into the middle of the ongoing duel.

Ned looked at the yard, recognizing Loras Tyrell by his blonde curls, and the Lannisters by their golden crowns, a few older fighters he'd seen from the tournaments he'd attended in his own youth, and some so young he couldn't be sure they were men at all.

And their Prince stood off to the side for now, evaluating his opponents.

Cat was right, Ned has a great fondness for the boy. He liked the way he'd made his intentions clear from the get go, and tricked Arya in the process. His youngest daughter was stubborn and foolhardy enough to believe she could deceive anyone she pleased. But not him. Not immediately at least. And the boy looked so much like a young Robert, to him. The Robert who had existed before it all went wrong... Perhaps there were certain sentiments for him, when it came to matching Gendry with Arya. But he'd seen what would happen when young loves were kept apart. And he'd seen the wrath of a lovesick Baratheon before too.

"You see, the way he's standing, his weight isn't evenly distributed. He'll trip himself before he can even land a blow."

Sansa nodded diligently as Arya explained more to her. Surely enough, a few moments later, the young knight tripped and raised his hands in an eager plea for mercy.

"You learn this in your water dancing lessons?" Sansa asked. Shocking Ned even more.

"Yes. You have to know your opponents weaknesses and strengths so you can defend yourself and leave them vulnerable."

Sansa pointed down at the next knight, breathing heavily in preparation to fight.

"What are his weaknesses?" She asked.

"He's anxious, and probably going to overcompensate because of it." Arya wagered. "I won't know more till I see him fight."

"Who is he fighting?"

Gendry appeared from the gate, to the din of a roaring cheer, and stepped forward, sword in hand.

"I thought he'd fight with the war hammer?" Sansa asked, not expecting an answer from Arya.

"He's practicing with his sword," Arya said with a smile. "It means he doesn't fear his opponent."

"Oh."

The fight began slowly. Gendry paced calmly around his opponent who seemed to flail, quite nervously, with the sword in his hand.

"Take your time." Gendry said, allow the other man a few cursory swings of his swords to regain his confidence.

Arya watched the fight intently.

"The other man's weight is unbalanced." She explained to Sansa. "See how his shoulders swing to much? He doesn't have enough strength to keep control of his weapon and it will throw off his footwork."

The other man, Ser Lyncon, cut through the air, slicing near Gendry close enough to graze him but the Prince did not look afraid.

"Now he's more balanced," Arya continued. "But he's already showed Gendry his weakness."

"So what will the Prince do?" Sansa asked.

"Either wait, hoping the Knight will tire and lose his strength or he can rile him up and hope to throw him of his balance that way."

"What would you do?" Sansa asked.

Arya looked at her sister in surprise. Sansa enjoyed her visits to the practice yard for the same reason every other girl did. She enjoyed the view, and that chance to wave flirtatiously at the boys below. But this time she seemed to be actually watching, interested, and looking for the whatever Arya would describe. Then she turned to her sister, expectantly awaiting the answer to her question.

"I would rile him up, and make him think he's gonna win, and then in the last minute I'd exploit his weakness."

"Is that the wisest course of action?" Ned asked, leaning over his two girls to watch the fight below as it escalated.

"No," Arya pondered. "But its the most fun."

"Is that what Prince Gendry will do?" Sansa asked.

"I don't know." She replied. "It's what he should do."

Ser Lyncon was gaining confidence and it was quickly turning to arrogance. But in the Knight's haste and excitement he hadn't realized that the Prince was cornering him. He lunged forward with a decisive swing, slicing open the Prince's forearm and making the sword falter in his hand.

"Maybe he should've used the war hammer." Sansa said, her voice laced with worry.

"I wouldn't be so sure." Aray said with a knowing smile.

The Knight was in trouble now. He was so confident, he thought he'd one, bested his own future king. He looked around the yard triumphantly, his chest heaving with tired breathes. But Gendry's smile was slowly growing, and the yard was silent in anticipation.

With a quick, cool breath Gendry's sword switched hands and began seining furiously at the Knight until he was cowering in his small corner of the yard, admitting to his defeat.

"I taught him that trick," Arya smiled. "After Syrio made me do everything with my right hand for days."

Ned ruffled Arya's hair and smiled but Sansa looked forlorn, for whatever reason Arya couldn't decipher. Down in the yard Gendry was smiling up at her, our of breath and grateful.

It was the suggestion of Margaery Tyrell that Sansa help Gendry with the wound on his arm. In her words, Sansa was more than capable and all the Maester's attentions were focused on Prince Tommen.

So now Sansa, Ned and Arya sat with Gendry, the ongoing din of the fights echoing in through the halls.

"You fought very well." Sansa said quietly, wiping away blood and trying not to wince in disgust as she did so. She could believe Margaery had suggested she take this job. She'd done so with that suggestive, knowing smile of hers, reminding her of the talk they'd had in the young Prince's room the day before.

"Thank you, Lady Sansa." Gendry said, noticing how uncomfortable she seemed. He took the cloth form her hand with a gently smile. "I can care of this part."

Sansa smiled and placed her hands in her lap as Gendry wiped the hot, red blood from his arm.

"You stole one of my moves." Arya said. She sat off to the side, perched on a nearby crate, her feet swinging underneath her.

"My apologies, m'lady." He said, making her sneer at him. "I suppose I owe you a thanks for that, Arry."

"You owe me a new attack move." She muttered.

"Arya." Ned said, attempting to chastise her but unable to keep the smile from his lips.

Sansa continued her work, cleaning the wound and bandaging it tenderly, smoothing it down with her hands.

"Thank you for your assistance, Sansa." Gendry said gently. "Now I should go back out there."

"To continue fighting?" Sansa said, looking alarmed.

"Of course." The Prince and Arya said in tandem.

The Prince left and Ned's eyes shifted from him, to his two daughters.

"Arya," He said. "Isn't it about time for your lessons?"

She broke out in a smile and ran past her father down the hall,skittering to a stop before turning the cornering and disappearing from view.

Sansa sat there silently with her father, cleaning up her supplies. He'd never felt this kind of tension with his oldest daughter before. She was usually so open, her emotions displayed right on top for all who loved her to see. But now she was silent.

Then her shoulders shook, and her chest started to heave, and though she was still silent, she was crying.

"Sansa-" Ned began.

"He's hers, isn't he?" She sobbed, her hand lifting to cover her face.

Ned sat next to her daughter, wrapping an arm around her and letting her rest her head on his shoulder, as he had down when Lady had passed.

"Things don't always go as we plan, Sansa."

"But I've lost it all. I'm losing everything."

She continued to sob and cry. And as she did Ned could only hold her close, as his wife's words rang through his mind once more.