Hello, lovelies! Before going on with the story, I'd like to point out a couple things that I totally forgot to say in the beginning.

First of all (and this one apply to my other stories as well), some of you might not have noticed, but I'm not a native English speaker, and I may mess up with language and idioms sometimes, especially when it comes to what's modern and what's old-fashioned. So I'd like to apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. Feel free to let me know when I make them, and I'll do my best to correct all of them. :)

Also, I'd like to establish that there's no Edric Storm in this AU. If he existed here, it would be very unlikely that Robert would chose to legitimize Gendry instead of legitimizing his already acknowledged bastard, as Kate Poem very validly pointed out in her review (thanks again for that!).

So that's it! Thanks again for all the reviews & follows & favs!

Now on to the chapter... :)

Arya was sprawled on the floor, her breathing returning to its normality, her heartbeat slowing down. Syrio Forel had just finished his lesson for the day and left, and she was feeling sore all over. They had trained hard this time; not that the other times hadn't been hard, but she had gotten used to the training, and that's why Syrio decided it was time to make it harder.

His blows had become faster; his movements, more cunning. As a result, she had a new set of bruises all over her body, and they hurt.

She didn't complain though.

Every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better.

But she still couldn't bring herself to get on her feet. She wanted to stay on the floor for some more time, staring at the ceiling. But then she heard footsteps. She didn't get up at once, but turned her head to the source of the sound.

King Robert's son. What is he doing here?

He was staring at her with a puzzled look on his face.

Then she finally got up.

"What you're doing here?" she asked plainly.

"Err… I was wandering around the castle and I... got lost."

She raised an eyebrow and then gave him an amused look.

"Why, have you seen the size of this place?" he asked, his face reddening, and she chuckled. "But I'm glad I found you," he said, and there was a strange softness in the way he looked at her.

"Why?"

"I wanted to thank you… You know, for the other night, at supper."

"Oh, that… It was nothing, really. I saw the way my sister was looking at you, and I just get annoyed when she does that. She used to do that with my friends back in Winterfell, looking at them like she was better than them," she said. Or like they were rats that deserved to be kicked out.

That was also how her mother used to look at her brother Jon, but she didn't feel like talking to Gendry about this just yet. Jon was a bastard, just like Gendry, but he was her favorite brother nonetheless. His bastard status never meant anything to her.

"What kind of friends you had in Winterfell?"

"The butcher's son and our smith's apprentices. I used to play with wooden swords with them in the yard when Septa Mordane wasn't looking," she said.

She remembered about her friend Mycah, and how he had died because of Sansa and Joffrey.

"What kind of lady plays with wooden swords?"

"The kind that doesn't want to be a lady. I'd rather play with swords than do stupid sewing."

His eyes flickered to the wooden sword at the floor.

"You were playing now?"

"Of course I wasn't playing, I was training! I'm not a child anymore. I'm a woman grown!"

He laughed.

"You look like a child to me. You're what, ten?"

"I'm three and ten, stupid!"

"You know, you shouldn't insult people that are bigger than you," he said, getting closer and tapping her in the top of her head, like she was some puppy.

He's petting me?

"Then I wouldn't get to insult anyone," she said, moving away. Then she looked at him curiously. As son of the king, he could have used his royal status – instead of his size – as an argument. Joffrey used to do that all the time. But for some reason Gendry didn't.

"What kind of training are you having?"

"You ask too many questions, don't you think?"

"Your father said I can ask anything I want to know."

Seven hells, he's irritating.

"I'm sure he wasn't talking about my training," she said, giving him a side look. But she decided to answer nonetheless. "My father hired a dancing master for me."

"Dancing master? I thought you were learning sword fighting."

"I am learning sword fighting. Syrio is from Braavos, and he's teaching me a Braavosi technique called the water dance."

Gendry nodded in understanding.

"Can I watch you training tomorrow?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You will distract me."

"I won't, I promise! I'll be quiet."

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"Gods, you're such a pain in the arse!"

"And you're stupid! Why don't you go take care of your princely business?"

He made a huffing noise.

"As m'lady commands," he said, clearly irritated, and turned to leave.

But she decided she wasn't finished with him.

"You should know by now I'm not a lady, m'lord."

In the moment she let these words out, she regretted it. The way she stressed the word "m'lord" was meant to tease him, but then she realized he could take it as mocking. And by the look on his face, he certainly did.

"Do not call me m'lord. You can try to pretend you're not a lady, but you are. But I'm not a lord. And I doubt I will ever be."

And with that he was gone, leaving Arya staring guiltily at the door.