Summary: An embarrassed Arya meets a Prince.

Arya

Arya was sat on a chair whilst her aunt Lyanna worked on her hair. She braided strands from the side and tied them at the back of her head. For the rest of her dark mane, she just brushed, trying to get out the ferocious tangles. When done, it shimmered in a mahogany wave down her lower back. Arya had argued with her lady mother when she had insisted that she wore a dress and in the end stood defeated when Lyanna had heard her raised cries. It was a dark blue silk, its sleeves long and bell shaped. It pulled in at the waist when her aunt tied it, its neckline scooped and low. It was a gift from her sister and Arya hated it.

"Arya, don't look at me like that. You look lovely." Lyanna said, her eyes warning not to argue on the subject.

All Arya saw was pale skin, black-brown hair and grey eyes that were too large for her face. She didn't have the lovely red locks or deep blue eyes of the Tully's. She had her aunt's grey eyes and dark hair. All of her family compared her to Lyanna, saying how similar they were in looks and behaviour but Arya could never see the similarities in their appearances. All her childhood, Arya had put up with her brothers and sister calling her 'horse face'. Arya usually gave what she got and call them names in return, not really caring about the consequences.

Even some of the lords and ladies who visited Winterfell passed jokes and comments about her. They said she was almost a Wildling, with unruly manners and unladylike behaviour. When these comments had reached her mother's ears, Arya had been forced to become more like Sansa. Lady Catelyn said that she "had humiliated her family and herself". Since then she had tried to compromise. She had mostly obeyed her mother (with her aunts help) and in the meantime done as she wished. Since the last time comments had been made, Arya had grown a lot and learned to act properly in front of others. Except when his royal blue eyes had fixed on her Arya had waited for his remarks on her hair, looks, dress, manners, yet they never came. In the end she had been a little relieved when Lyanna had dragged her out of his sight. The thought annoyed her as her Uncle Brandon's words echoed in her head. The wolf doesn't cower. But she had. Like a small child she had awaited his observations without standing up for herself.

"Don't make me go out." Arya begged her aunt, seeing the surprise on her face as her niece pleaded. She smiled softly after a moment, seeming to know what Arya was thinking.

"Just because you do not look like your mother or Sansa does not mean that you are not beautiful. Arya you are a Stark of Winterfell. You have the wolf-blood in you and you are a daughter of the North."

"Yes but I-"

"Arya, listen to me. You are stunning. Never doubt that." Lyanna cut in and Arya shuddered, a deep breath escaping her as she listened to her favourite aunt. The wolf doesn't cower. Lyanna kissed her head and walked out, leaving Arya alone to gather herself.

All too soon she found her way down to the Great Hall where she could hear boisterous laughter and cheery music echoing. The long tables were piled high with food and wine. The walls were lined with candles that illuminated the sigils of both houses. The snarling grey direwolf of the Starks, were hung from the beamed ceiling to the floor, and next to them was the yellow and black flag of House Baratheon, the stag on its hind legs while it's head thrust into the air. At the high table sat her siblings and parents, her grandfather Lord Rickard in the centre speaking to his son on one side. On his other sat Lyanna, Jon and Prince Gendry. All of them were contentedly feasting and talking.

I am blood of the wolf. Arya thought to herself as she walked up to the high table. Her seat had been reserved so she sat between Jon and Lyanna. Arya was grateful that she wasn't sat next to the prince. For some reason he irritated her. She was happy to see Jon, but he was an outsider and she didn't believe Lyanna's story that he was here simply to quench his curiosity. The idea seemed stupid to Arya. She sat in between them and chewed some bread and meat while sipping a cup of wine, listening as her aunt spoke to the Baratheon prince.

"How do you find Winterfell Gendry?"

"It's lovely. I didn't expect it to be like this." He replied, leaning behind Jon to speak to her more easily. "It's so-"

"Cold?" Jon finished for him with a laugh.

Arya grinned, amused with the changes that the prince must have seen on his journey North. It was very different to the South. Travellers had often called it dreary and miserable, but Arya loved it. It was the South that she couldn't stand with its heat and smells; it was a place for ambitions and treachery. Whereas the North was clean and crisp, the summer snows frequent but not unpleasant. It was more honest here with the Old Gods watching over them.

She was yanked from her own thoughts as Rickon (her youngest brother only at the age of eight) ran up the table and pulled her up to dance. She disliked dancing greatly but she did it anyway, knowing that an argument would unfold with her lady mother if she didn't. She inwardly prayed that she didn't make a fool of herself as she moved to the sound of clapping and the beat of the music. Rickon laughed and turned her and for a while she forgot the people around her.

When she stopped, Jon was there and asked her to dance with him. She hit him and complained but he dragged her back and all the while she could hear a deep chuckling coming from the high table. Her eyes chanced a glance up and he could see that Gendry had moved into her seat in order to speak to her aunt more easily. Every so often his blue gaze would return to her and she didn't understand why.

"What do you think of him?" Jon asked her, following her stare. She turned to look at her favourite cousin.

"He irritates me." She answered honestly. There was no point in lying to Jon. "He makes me feel…uncomfortable." Jon sighed, seeing the sadness in her eyes."Like he's judging me or-"

"That is not his intention Arya; I want you to know that. He really likes you; he always listened when I told him stories of us. He always asked after you in the letters we received from Winterfell."

"Why?" She asked in shock. Why would a prince of all people care about how she was?

"He's a decent man Arya. He knew how much you mean to me, and as you know he and I are close. He's my best friend, so he probably felt close to you too." A distant part of her mind recognised the sense to his words. She also felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps she had misjudged him.

"I know that look too." Jon sniggered. "Don't feel bad Arya, you don't know him. It's natural for a wolf to be cautious around people she doesn't know. I am like that too in Kings Landing; around the people that live in the Red Keep." He leaned in close to speak in her ear. "Between you and me, I can't stand it there it's too, hot."

She smiled up at him; she adored knowing he was like her. They were both a little dissimilar to others around them though Jon and Lyanna never treat her any differently. He took her hand and led her back to the table where he sat in Gendry's unoccupied space, leaving her to sit between him and the prince. When she sat, he turned to her, blue eyes blazing with an emotion that she didn't understand.

"You are a wonderful dancer Lady Arya, although you do not attend your dance lessons." He smiled at her, a perfect flash of white in the dim room.

"I do attend my dance lessons." She retorted, referring to her Water Dance lessons. He knew what she meant and Lyanna chuckled next to him.

"My niece does not swoon at the sound of sweet words my Prince. She is not like her older sister, Sansa."

"Indeed? Then I shall have to double my efforts." He teased, the sound all good humour.

"No don't." Arya mumbled into her goblet. His gaze made her feel funny and she didn't like it. "Please excuse me." She said whilst pushing back her chair and striding from the room.


Gendry

Gendry sat and watched Arya leave, her cheeks flushed from embarrassment. He hadn't meant for her to feel awkward. He hadn't expected her to pay him much attention at all if he were honest. But he supposed it was inevitable. He was new here and a prince so almost everyone was a little intrigued by him.

"That wasn't you." Jon reassured him, coming into Arya's place.

"You're a terrible liar my friend." He laughed back.

"I'm sure she will be fine… she just doesn't like wearing dresses or having to be nice to people that she doesn't know all that well. Plus she feels a little self-conscious when people stare at her." Jon explained in a light-hearted manner and Gendry trusted him. Jon was the closest person to Arya – except her aunt.