I'm sorry it's been so long since the last update. my days have been packed lately with an inturnship and redecorating my room, but now I'm back at school with nothing to do, soooo. here's the next chapter!

Chapter 22

Merida

She ran through the snow as quick as her feet could carry her. Her heart was thumping rapidly in her chest, and she frequently glanced around to make sure she wasn't being followed. The sound of a branch snapping caught her attention, and she jerked around. When she saw no one, she continued through the blackness, feeling her way with her hands.

She heard him before she saw him. He was whistling, a soft, low whistle that resembled a singing bird, but she knew better; it was their whistle, their secret signal. Following the sound, she reached a little stream, completely covered with ice. And there he was, standing on the other side with his hands crossed over his chest and his back leaned against a large tree.

Jarin smiled at her as she approached him. But the smile did not reach his eyes. She could see how worried he looked; nervous.

"We have to hurry," he told her and led her to his horse, tied up in the bushes a little further away. "Merida, my love, don't be afraid."

But she was afraid. She was afraid the witch would realize what had happened and come after them for revenge. What they had done had been folly, but necessary according to Jarin. He had not told her why, but promised he would as soon as they were far away from the King's camp.

They rode until the break of dawn before they found shelter beneath a crooked tree.

"Jarin, please, tell me the meaning of this," Merida urged and sat down next to him, her whole body aching from the long ride. "I understand that the young lady and her companion did not deserve to die, but why would you go against your own king to save them?"

The blonde man wrapped his arm around her, providing her with as much warmth as possible. "I believe I've already told you about my mother, have I not?"

When she shook her head, he continued in a calm voice. "Her name was Emeline and her hair was as yellow as the sun. When I was a babe, she left me with my grandmother while she left for the capital to work in an alehouse. She would visit as often as she could, but as her pay was low and the journey long, I rarely saw her. I was scarcely ten years old when we received a letter from the alehouse owner concerning her death. My mother loved me very much, I know she did, but I was not the only one her heart belonged to."

Merida looked at him, enchanted by the softness of his voice. He was such a good storyteller, she found herself longing for the rest.

"Who?" she asked excitedly. "Who else did she love?"

Jarin let his finger caress the edge of Merida's lips, smiling. "My brother," he said. Merida gasped in surprise. This she had not seen coming.

"Your brother?"

"We did not hear of him before after her death. My grandmother wanted to bring the child to us, but the alehouse owner told us someone had already provided the boy with an apprenticeship with a blacksmith, and who would cheat someone the possibility for such a yearned trade?"

Merida nodded. She was starting to understand where this was going, but found his voice so soothing she let him continue.

"I never met my half-brother - Until two days ago when we arrived with the king to the camp."

"The blacksmith! The king's bastard, is he truly your brother?" she asked eagerly.

Jarin hesitated. "Of course, I can't be completely certain, but the evidence is there! Do you now understand why I had to free them?"

Merida nodded, a small smile erupting on her face. "You could not watch your brother die." She kissed his cheek and ran her fingers through his blonde hair. "Your heart has always been big, my dear Jarin. As big as the love I bare you."

She snuggled up next to him, trying to see the resemblance between the smtih and the man she was hugging, but found nothing. While Jarin was tall and skinny, the smith was broad shouldered and muscular with black hair instead of blonde and his eyes were a deep shade of blue instead of Jarin's green.

"Your brother is as noble as you are. He had not eaten in many days, yet he insisted I gave the bread to Lady Stark instead of him."

Jarin smiled. "I only wish I had the chance to get to know him. I hit him you know. I'm afraid I treated the lady too gently, and gained suspicious looks from the other knights. They never trusted me; always knew I would turn against them someday. So I punched him – broke his nose."

"You only did what needed to be done."

"I know my love, I know. Now sleep, sweet Merida. When the darkness comes, we'll ride to the capital where we will start our new life together."

Arya

They ran throughout the night, climbing the mountains in the west to find a hiding place. Arya had insisted they returned to where Borin had captured her to find Nymeria's body, but Gendry talked her out of it; they had to get as far away from the camp as possible. They did not stop until the sun was visible in the horizon, and their feet were sore and aching. When they finally found a cave similar to the one they had stayed in while Gendry's foot were too injured to use, they were both out of breath and so tired they fell asleep in an instant. Arya were about to suggest that she'd take the first watch, but her eyelids shut before she could even open her mouth, and judging by Gendry's gentle snores, he was fast asleep as well.

She awoke by sudden movements next to her. Her feet were still aching violently, and she could feel that her toes were covered with blisters. As she turned over, a rush of agony jolted through her thigh. Despite all the exercise she had gotten on the Wall, she was completely drained of strength from the night's escape.

"We need food," she said quietly, keeping her eyes shot. She was afraid to look at Gendry, to see his face and know that he was hurt because of her.

"Arya," he said in a gentle voice. "Arya, look at me."

She sighed and sat up straight, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Do I really look that hideous that you won't even look at me?"

She shook her head, her throat thickening. He wasn't hideous. He never had been; he had had a beautiful face with handsome features. Yesterday his face had been covered in blood, but she reckoned the sweat caused from the night's run had wiped most of it away, and she would see the face she had ruined.

"When will you stop blaming yourself? I know that's what you're doing; that's what you always do. Now, will you open your damn eyes and look at me?"

She bit her lip, opening her eyes slowly. This was her punishment; to look upon his face and feel the guilt cut through her like a knife. The light stung her eyes as she looked around, adjusting to the brightness. And then she turned to him, finally taking in the sight of his cuts. The blood was completely wiped away, and she could clearly see the deep slices on his cheek.

"Oh, Gendry," she sobbed, reaching out to touch the cut. "Seven hells, what more must you be put through?"

Gendry flinched as her fingertips touched the edge of the longest scar.

"It's my fault entirely," she breathed, pulling away. "Everything that has happened is because of me. Look at you- Your face. And your leg! Seven hells, even your throat are hurt. What more did those sons of whores do to you?"

Gendry gave her a grim stare. "Arya, can you stop blaming yourself for everything? The wildlings hurt my leg, not you. Ser Terryn cut my skin open, not you, so just drop it, will you?"

But Arya could not drop it. She was tired, hungry and sad. Gendry's face reminded her of everything she had caused. Gendry was hurt and Nymeria was dead- Because of her. She did not deserve to go back to good old Winterfell. She deserved nothing but to disappear from her family's lives forever. She did not deserve the man in front of her, whom by some strange reason did not seem to hold a grudge against her. She wished he would scold her; yell or scream at her. She deserved that. But Gendry's blue eyes held nothing but affection.

"I found a bird's nest in a tree nearby. Although it tastes like shit, it's better than nothing." He handed her a pair of raw eggs. When Arya did not accept them, he frowned in frustration and sat down next to her.

"Arya, if you do not eat voluntarily, I will force the egg in you somehow. You know I'm a lot stronger than you."

Arya kept her face clear and stared straight forward. She just wanted it to be over. She was tired of the woods – of running. Her mother was right; adventures were not for young ladies.

Gendry

She refused to eat all day, and when he tried to pour the egg yolk into her mouth, she puked it out only moments later. Gendry felt miserable, and found that the frustration over her reluctance kept his mind off of his aching wounds. They spent the day in the cave, watching the snow dance in the wind. Arya's cold skin told him that she was freezing, but she showed no sign of it. Her eyes were staring straight ahead at the cave wall. He did not know what she was waiting for, or how to snap her out of it, all he knew was that he needed to get her home.

When the darkness returned, Gendry gathered Arya into his arms and started walking.

"What are you-" Arya contradicted, wriggling to get free. But Gendry was strong, and could easily hold her in a tight, inescapable grip.

"I promised your brother I would take care of you, and so I will," he replied stiffly, fighting his way through the thick layer of snow. "I will bring you back to Winterfell or die trying."

To his surprise, his words made Arya sob silently into his chest, her fingers draped in the fabric of his tunic. He let her cry, for as long as she needed. His feet were still tired from the night before, and his thigh ached, but he was determined to keep going. If he kept a steady pace, they could reach their old cave and spend the day there. Hopefully, he would be able to get Arya to eat something. Perhaps he would even start a fire and grill some meat for her, but doing so was risky, especially now when they didn't have any weapons.

Soon enough, Arya was asleep in his arms. Although she was light as a feather, his arms were starting to tire down, and he knew he would have to rest before he killed himself.

He had walked for what felt like an eternity before he put Arya down on a large rock. She stared down on the ground, her arms wrapped around her waist.

"Arya?" he asked. "I beg you; don't let me go through this on my own. I need you here with me -Not only physically, but mentally as well. I need your cleverness, your wit. Do not go blank on me, Arya, or I swear by your gods, I will never forgive you."

He waited, but she remained frozen on the stone, as if she was a part of it. Groaning, he sat down next to her, cupped his chin and forced her to look at him.

"Look at the scars, Arya. Look at them, really look at them. The sooner you get used to them, the better."

Arya tried to pull away from his grip, but he tightened his fingers. Suddenly, he realized he was probably hurting her and let go. "Dammit, Arya."

He buried his face in his hands, breathing sharply through his nose. He knew he wouldn't be able to carry her all the way back to Winterfell, but he didn't know what else to do. Had they only had a horse, he could have led it by his hands through the mountains and they would be back at Winterfell in a matter of days. But their horses were gone, as was Nymeria. It was only the two of them left, but Arya had already disappeared from her mind. She's hiding, he realized. She's hiding from her guilt.

"Think about your lady mother. Think about Lord Stark and Robb and Bran and Rickon. They are all waiting for your return. Think about Sansa in Dorne, who can't wait for the day when you visit her new castle." He rubbed her arms quickly, trying to transfer some warmth to her trembling body. "Think about Talla's baby. You can teach the babe to fight with swords and shoot with bows, but in order to do so you have to come back to me. Arya, do you hear me?

He thought he saw something flicker in her eyes, and when she nodded, it was so scarcely he barely noticed it. "Come back, Arya, so we can return to Winterfell – together."

She nodded again, a single tear escaping her eyes.

"Good," he breathed. "Good." He framed her face with his hand and kissed her lips lightly, relief flushing over him. She was still there.

a little mushy perhaps, but I felt the need to make Gendry the strong one for once. hehe. hope you liked it.