Author's Note: Hey everyone! I'm so terribly sorry for the long hiatus, but… I was kind of running low on jet fuel and I had my exams so I had to take a rather long break. But anyway it's Christmas break and I have some more time in my hands! And I'd really like to thank everyone who stuck with Songs of the North this far down… so here's a chapter! It's rather short, but… I do believe I have a surprise ready for everyone. Best regards to all!

Chapter 5: Gendry

Gendry had never accustomed himself to sitting at the high table during meals.

Truth be told, Gendry had never really taken into habit anything a son of high birth should be taking to—at least not when he had to. Of all the things that Gendry learned for his studies to be a ruler, it was the art of lying. Not that sort, anyway. Simply the art of presenting himself in social gatherings to pampered lords and ladies and learning how to handle them which, he learned—was mostly courteous chitchat and then eating and drinking in silence for the rest of the night Both his benefactors Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark had an utter dislike for the sort of thing, same as Gendry, and out of sympathy Robb was not overly strict with such things when there were no guests to please or nobles to entertain in Winterfell. He took into heart the better lessons and painstakingly pretended his way through the rest. Gendry had always understood why—his bastardry meant that he had a name to make for himself.

Tonight was the same as any other night at supper in Winterfell—Robb, Jeyne, Bran and Rickon Stark seated on the high table, the king and queen discussing matters to themselves—nothing seemingly serious. Robb preferred to leave those behind when he was with his wife. Both their faces were bright with grins and laughter. The two younger Stark boys were chatting happily to one another. Gendry, meanwhile, had taken to eating at a long table a little ways from the table where he, by rights, should be seated. He never really thought it mattered—it was just eating. And here in Winterfell, everybody got the same sort of treatment even in the matter of meals. He preferred to be seated with his friends—Lem, Tom, Anguy.

The great hall was filled with music and laughter, and Gendry ate his meal in silence. Capons drenched in buttery sauce with mushrooms, peas, carrots, corn, and potatoes.

Gendry hated mushrooms.

When a dish visibly had them, he would always spoon them all in a pile in a corner of his plate, but he never had to worry about them because Arya always took the mushrooms. She took everyone's mushrooms. Tonight, however, they sat untouched on his plate and that was when he realized that Arya Stark was nowhere to be found. The rest of his friends were drunk—singing to themselves and telling all sorts of stories drunkards tell and nobody would have noticed if he left the table. Gendry remembered Queen Jeyne's visit to him earlier that same afternoon—she had a fight with Robb. Gendry unconsciously creased his forehead.

Arya and Robb Stark hardly ever fought.

From what he'd heard, Arya had always been Robb's favorite sister. Her love for adventure and imminent lack of feminine qualities had always favored Arya to her older brothers. And with the death of their father Ned Stark and all the long years the Stark children had been pried away from each other—not knowing if one was dead or alive—had served to bring them closer. Somehow it had made him slightly jealous of their relationship, growing up with no father, no siblings, and only ever finding friends just when his life was turned upside down.

Arya and Robb Stark hardly ever fought.

Although on occasion, they would—Gendry was not one to ask why. Arya would tell him herself if she wanted to, and on most times it would not ever be about something of too big an importance, and usually they would get along again as soon as they had fought.

Gendry quietly pushed the empty plate—save for a small clump of mushrooms—away from him and stood up from the long wooden bench as discreetly as he could. He didn't exactly know where to look for her—or why he was going to look for her in the first place.

Gendry wasn't really in the mood for merrymaking that night, and on nights like these he looked for Arya's company the most. No particular reason why, just that it had always been a sort of thing between them since he could remember. Gendry had known a sort of companionship with Arya like he had with no one else—he had, after all, kept her secret about her gender and birth the entire time they were on the run since Yoren had been killed and they were left to fend for themselves. Plus, with her he could actually talk about things that made sense. The two had quite literally gone through blood and dirt, and excluding Hot Pie, she was his oldest friend. More like an inexorably annoying thing, but a friend. She'd saved his life and the other way around more times than either could count. And if there was anything Gendry had learned—the best friends you will ever have are those who did not make you feel like you owed them a thing.

In a few moments he was safely out of the hall unnoticed—he took a bottle of ale and two cups with him for good measure. He opened the great wooden doors and nodded curtly to the two guards posted outside, and they acknowledged him in greeting. Gendry stuffed his hands in his pockets—it was a chilly night, like most in Winterfell, but tonight seemed just a wee bit colder and he watched his misting breath in the air, tilting his chin up as he walked, not knowing where his legs would take him. He had a feeling he'd find Arya inside her chamber upstairs, so he headed there and if he did not find Arya there—Gendry decided he would retire for the night.

It was long walk up all the stairs, and the castle was abandoned for the most part save for a few servants and guards traipsing about. Eventually he reached her door, and he knocked thrice on the door without saying a word.

"I'm not hungry and I'm tired, thank you." Came the muffled answer behind the door. Gendry scratched the back of his ear, and he suddenly remembered something he had not done in a while. He knocked on the door again, this time with a certain rhythmic pattern and then he waited, folding his hands behind his back and staring up at the ceiling. For a while it was silent, as if the person on the of the door was struggling to remember as well. And then Arya opened the door gingerly, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at the sight of Gendry.

"What brings you here, Lord Bull?"

Gendry couldn't help but snort. He brought out his offerings and waved them in front of her.

"I thought you could use some company. And a drink."