Note: I had originally planned for this chapter to be the dance, but when I wrote it out, I realized that it would flow much better if I split the dance into two chapters instead of one. I'll post the other chapter soon.

Summary: In which Arya is displeased with the way her look for the dance has turned out, though Gendry has a very different opinion, and Joffrey is a little shit.

"This sucks," Arya groaned, dropping her head into her closed arms as Sansa let out another curse word, one of many she had uttered throughout the duration of the day.

"Hold still Arya!" she snapped as she grabbed another strand of mousse-caked hair, wrapping it around the curling iron.

"Fine," Arya grumbled, sitting up again and pouting in the mirror, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Don't do that again or you'll smudge your make-up," Sansa ordered, giving Arya a pointed look in the mirror.

This only caused Arya to scowl further.

"I hope you don't look like that for your mechanic," Margaery said, putting her diamond earrings on. "You'll set him off with that look on your face."

"His name is Gendry," Arya snapped grumpily.

"Honestly, I can't wait until we pick him up," Sansa groaned. "At least then you won't act so sour!"

"I am not acting sour!" Arya protested.

Both older girls gave each other meaningful looks.

"Fine," Arya relented. "But how can I not? I look like a poodle!"

"You do not look like a poodle!" Sansa said, but Arya thought she caught the hint of an amused smile on her sisters lips.

"You look pretty, Arya," Margaery said earnestly. "You should wear your make-up like that more often."

Arya had to give it to Sansa, at least she hadn't insisted on anything Arya was wearing being pink, including the make-up. Like with everything she did, Sansa had done a tasteful job, giving Arya a light hint of a smoky eye with cat eye style eyeliner and very light foundation, just enough to smooth the tones of her face. No sparkly lip gloss or thick lip-stick either, just a stain with a little bit of clear gloss for a bite of shine. Even if she didn't want to, she had to admit, she did look nice.

"I can't put on make-up," she sighed. "I always end up looking like a clown."

"It's true," Sansa laughed. "You should have seen her when she was twelve, for Robb's wedding, where she insisted on doing it on her own..."

"Do you have pictures?" Margaery laughed.

"No," Arya said, smiling in spite of herself. "I burned them."

"Much to all of our dismay," Sansa added as Margaery laughed, adjusting her dress. "Turn around Arya."

Arya did as she was told as Sansa rummaged around, coming up with a set of bobby pins and elegant clips, and then she set to work, pinning Arya's hair. She made a quick job of it, only pulling a few curls back up behind her right ear, and then stood back, looking throughly pleased with herself.

"You look excellent," she said, beaming. Arya stood up and turned around, and then let out a groan.

"I look like an oak tree."

Ooooooooooooooooo

Gendry couldn't help it, he was pacing. Nerves were getting the better of him, which was stupid. He tried to tell himself that it was because he was going to have to spend time with Joffrey, who he hadn't seen since they were kids, and who, as he remembered, hated his guts. But, if he was being honest, that wasn't the case. He was about to go to a dance. With Arya.

He tried to remember what Hot Pie was telling him earlier, that it was just a stupid dance with a bunch of half-drunk teenagers, something he had outgrown a long time ago. But he knew it wasn't the dance he was dreading. He and Arya probably would have a good time making fun of all her peers.

He had never felt this nervous for a girl, which was stupid because it was Arya, his best friend. But he just wanted everything to be perfect for her. He knew she had a hard time making friends, and that school had been anything but fun for her, and he just wanted this night to be different. And he could see it, through all her whining and complaining, that she wanted tonight to be special too.

And he was not about to muck that up.

He had been almost obsessively meticulous in getting ready for this stupid dance. He had gotten off work early, and then showered and scrubbed himself so clean that he felt raw. He had debated shaving, wondering whether appearing more rugged and dangerous was to Arya's benefit more than a clean-cut look (after all, he wanted to look the part of the dangerous, older boyfriend), but, in the end, he had decided to shave anyway. And then he had dabbed just the tiniest bit of cologne on, but hating it, had tried to wash it off, which had been questionably successful. And then on went the suit, and he didn't look half bad.

Really.

Damn! It was horrible having to wait around at the Forge where they were picking him up. It felt so weird to be around cars and not work on them because he didn't want to get dirty after he had gone to so much effort to make himself clean. There was some sort of crazy madness going on inside him, though, as he paced by the cars, an itch under his skin begging him to work on them, while also waiting for Arya to just show up. Seriously, what was taking them so long?

"Gendry."

He jumped so violently he was sure he was going to have a heart attack, and then, as he turned around, he was positive he was going to have one.

She looked... Amazing. Even if he blushed to think it, it was true. Sansa had done an amazing job. Her short hair was curled, part of it pulled back in elegant pins, her bangs swept across her forehead. And the dress, it suited her perfectly. It was a nice shade of deep green, with a tight bodice, one green strap going from the center and over her shoulder to the back, the rest of the shirt flowing out in different lengths. The strap was made of little green, leaf shaped jewels, that matched her silver earrings.

"You look..." He sputtered, trying to find the words that were swirling around in his head, "like a lady."

She snorted.

"I look like an oak tree," she said, wrinkling her nose. Gendry blushed, feeling stupid and furious with himself for acting like such a dolt.

"A nice one though, a nice oak tree. You even smell nice too," he said, sniffing her and then chuckling.

"Sansa attacked me with perfume," she said. "At least I bathed, which is more than I can say for you."

"I beg your pardon?" Gendry demanded.

"You heard me," she said, a devilish and irresistible grin spreading across her face as she turned to run.

"You little shit!" He shouted, grabbing her. "You take that back!"

"Never!" She was quicker than he was, but not quick enough, and suddenly they were tumbling to the ground, Arya shrieking and Gendry laughing.

"Take it back!"

"NO!"

She tried to wriggle away, but he was bigger than she was, and trapped her under him, pining her to the ground.

"Take it back."

Arya stared at him, chest heaving, as they laid there, panting, and then he realized what he was doing. Lying on top of her on the floor of the Forge, as she wore a dress that probably caused twice the amount of his suit.

"Sorry," he said, but she didn't seem to have heard him. Her mouth was slightly open, and she was staring up at him, an unreadable look on her face.

And then she was throwing him off her, leaping to her feet, her face screwed up in fury.

"STUPID!" She shouted. "I don't look so lovely now do I? Now Sansa's going to kill me! Just look at my hair!"

And with that she turned on her heal and stormed out of the Forge, leaving Gendry to scramble behind her, practically shouting a million apologies, which would all be useless once Sansa laid eyes on them.

The door to the pure white limo-of course the limo would be white, only the best for prince Joffrey-was open, and a very audible shriek came from inside it.

"ARYA! YOUR HAIR!"

Arya threw Gendry a glare before climbing in the limo, leaving him to clamor in after her.

It was just like out of one of his nightmares.

Joffrey sat at the front, glaring back towards him, adorned in a pure white suit that, Gendry couldn't help but note with satisfaction, made the blonde boy look like a pimp. His arm was around Sansa, who looked genuinely lovely, adorned in a strapless pink dress with a shirt that looked like it was made out of petals.

"What were you two doing?" A brown haired girl asked, a slight smirk on her face, as she took their disheveled state in.

"Wrestling," Arya said simply, and though she had yelled at him earlier, when she caught Gendry's eye, she smiled.

"Were you now?" the brown haired girl said, looking Gendry up and down, and he looked over at Arya again, who rolled her eyes.

"Oh honestly Margaery, give it a rest," Sansa snapped as she ran her fingers through Arya's curls, fixing them.

"I'm convinced that you two are hiding something," the brunette, who must have been Margaery, said to Gendry in a matter-of-fact voice.

"We're not," he said at once, feeling uncomfortable.

"Just ignore her," Arya said. "Margaery's lovely when she wants to be."

"I'm lovely all the time," Margaery said, flipping her hair over her shoulders and then wriggling her eyebrows. Arya and Sansa laughed.

"You've made us late," Joffrey snarled, glaring at Gendry.

"He didn't make us late," Arya snapped, rolling her eyes. "We left early."

"Shut up you little slag," Joffrey growled, his glare turned to Arya now. He literally looks like someone shoved pig shit up his nose.

"Oi!" Gendry said. "Don't you talk to her like that!"

"I'll talk to her however I like, bastard," Joffrey sneered, leering at Gendry, who felt his face growing very hot.

"You're looking to get a slap!" Arya shouted, but Sansa, sensing danger, quickly turned to Joffrey.

"Joffrey please," she said. "This is my last prom. You promised."

Joffrey scowled, wrenching his arm away from her.

"You know she only took him to humiliate me!" He spat, pointing at Gendry as though he were some horrible, disgusting thing.

"You think everything is about you, don't you, you little twat?" Arya snapped, turning around to glare at Joffrey. "And as it so happens, the reason I invited Gendry had nothing to do with you, I didn't even know we were going to be riding in this limo when I did."

"What did you think you were going to take, his motorcycle?" Sansa asked weakly as Joffrey sputtered, probably because he had been called a twat.

"You have a motorcycle?" Margaery asked Gendry, who grimaced.

"I don't believe you," Joffrey said, sounding like a two-year-old.

"Oh just shut up, will you?" Gendry snapped.

"Don't tell me-"

"EVERYONE! PLEASE!" Sansa roared, silencing them all. "Can we please just get to the dance without all this useless arguing?"

"I want her to apologize," Joffrey said, nodding towards Arya and folding his arms.

"Yeah, and you can take that apology and shove it right up your-"

"ARYA!"

Arya sighed, her lips pursed, and gave Gendry a very meaningful look as if to say, see what I have to deal with?

"Fine," she said. "Joffrey, I'm sorry you have to always be such an egotistical twat."

Gendry snorted with laughter, and even Margaery did as well, though she had the good grace to look guilty when Joffrey's glare shot her way.

"Oh come on Joffrey," she said good-naturedly, "telling Arya to apologize is like pulling a lion's teeth: nearly impossible and bloody."

Joffrey scowled and sat back, defeated, arms crossed over his chest, looking positively livid. Gendry had the sinking suspicion that this wasn't the last he'd hear of this.

Sansa sat back, looking very relieved that it was all over, and Arya scooted away from her, sitting next to Gendry and giving his hand a quick squeeze, as though to reassure him that they would be verbally abusing Joffrey for the rest of the evening. The squeeze, however, did not go by unnoticed. The smirk on Margaery's face was unmistakable.

Oh yes, it was going to be a long ride there.

So here are links to what I sort of, kind of, not really picture Sansa and Arya's dresses to look like if you're interested.

Sansa: .com/imgres?num=10&um=1&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=:en-US:official&biw=1280&bih=595&tbm=isch&tbnid=gO4zDYJmZD5UuM:&imgrefurl=&docid=T2S3SLXHpT3p1M&imgurl=&w=600&h=800&ei=_mTFT7y4HqjUsgLl6_GaBg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=109&vpy=65&dur=1104&hovh=259&hovw=194&tx=96&ty=149&sig=104381072726696218565&sqi=2&page=1&tbnh=122&tbnw=91&start=0&ndsp=30&ved=1t:429,r:10,s:0,i:93

Arya: .com/imgres?um=1&hl=en&client=firefox-a&sa=N&rls=:en-US:official&biw=1280&bih=595&tbm=isch&tbnid=y3rFrLKOUSvscM:&imgrefurl=.&docid=NmdbzH2tEJYBkM&imgurl=.&w=300&h=300&ei=xWPFT5WoFYjbsgKIvbHrCQ&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=843&vpy=238&dur=860&hovh=225&hovw=225&tx=105&ty=134&sig=104381072726696218565&page=2&tbnh=117&tbnw=117&start=30&ndsp=35&ved=1t:429,r:33,s:30,i:208