Frilly pink dresses and high-heeled shoes were definitely an experience Arya was not going to repeat. Ever. She must have tripped at least ten times on the way to the garden, blushing every time, and Bran was certainly not helping by laughing at her. Although he did try to hide it behind his hand, for which she was grateful.

After arriving in the castle's gardens she had nothing to do but sit and wait. And wait. And wait. The minutes ticked by, each one more nerve-racking than the last. He would be late, Arya thought, now that I know who he really is. She was starting to give up hope, even thinking of leaving, when he finally arrived.

"Hello," said the King –no, Gendry. Arya had to remember that– "my apologies for keeping you waiting. Er… Shall we… Proceed?" He offered her his arm, which she took, although hesitantly. After a few awkwardly silent moments, he spoke.

"You look… Lovely?" He was so awkward, so... Naïve, even, that Arya almost laughed, but she was feeling the same, if her inability to think was any indication.

"I know," she blurted out suddenly.

He was confused. "Know what?" He got that pained look on his face, the look that meant he was thinking. Or trying to think, more like as not.

"Who you are… Gendry. But there is one thing I don't know. Why the hell are you king?" His lips curved up in a half smile.

"I'm hurt," he said, kidding. At least she thought he was. "It took you long enough. I recognized you the moment you walked in the dining hall, Arry." Arya stiffened at the use of the name she had used while traveling with Yoren. "As to how I became king… Well, it's a long story. And honestly, I do not want to be King." He said the last part in a whisper. Varys must have spies nearby or some such thing, Arya thought.

He explained it all to her: Robert's oldest male bastard, Stannis had legitimized him on his deathbed, and the Brotherhood had proclaimed him, Lady Stoneheart (she no longer had any of Catelyn's qualities or characteristics; she was a machine wanting nothing but vengeance) using him to bring down the Lannisters and finally have her revenge. Although her plan worked, once she had sated her thirst for revenge she had no purpose left, and she had jumped off of a cliff in her extreme depression and loneliness. The onslaught of information left Arya breathless. She held on to Gendry, not trusting her own legs to support her weight. He put his arm around her waist and half-carried her over to a bench where she could sit and rest.

"Are you ok?" He asked, looking worried, his voice low and soft. Arya hadn't realized until then how deeper it had gotten. And how much bigger he was. He could have picked her up and carried her to her room on his own with one arm without any effort. "Should I call for help?"

"No… I'm fine. Really, I just need a moment," Arya said. Then, on a sudden impulse, she asked "How did we get here? It seems like just yesterday I was ten and masquerading as a boy headed to the Watch, and now I'm marrying you… The Bull." She grinned.

"Yeah…" Gendry said, obviously uncomfortable, and far from done worrying about her. Just to prove that she was fine, Arya stood up and made for the door back inside, making it halfway before tripping over her stupid dress. He caught her elbow, a concerned look on his face. Arya yanked her arm away, irritated. She could take care of herself. She stalked back into her rooms, but she could still hear his trailing laughter through the door.

Slash, stab, dead. Another training dummy, hacked apart by Needle, but it wasn't the same. Not the same as a real opponent, on the battle field, the wind roaring in your ears… Arya was suddenly aware of a figure standing behind her. She whirled around, only to be face-to-face with the young king. She stepped back, and saw that he held a training sword, and had an inviting grin on his face. Backing up a few steps, Arya grabbed a random extra sword, identical to his, off the ground, and the fight began.

He was obviously trying to "take it easy on her," so as not to hurt her, but she didn't need that. After she smacked him a few times he began to fight harder, to the point where he was actually trying to win. Years of training in Braavos had taught Arya well; she could beat him with her eyes closed, something she had learned from her experience of actually being blind for a short time. She was trained like a waterdancer, and it showed. Her movements flowed gracefully, her tiny body quick, and he barely delivered any blows before the fight was over, and he was down. Arya reached out a hand to help him up, which he took, and pulled her down into the dirt with him. Laughing, they both stood up, leaning on each other for support.

Maybe being married to him wouldn't be too bad. He treated her like an equal, and not some small girl to be protected. Well, usually. And he hadn't asked about her past, or where she'd been, or anything, for which she was grateful. With him, all that mattered was here and now, and nothing else.

Well thanks for reading! Yes, I will try writing a third chapter, for those of you who care, and if you don't, well, too bad

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