Summary: For the first time, Arya see's what all the fuss is about.
Arya
Arya couldn't believe the person in front of her.
He was so… amiable; not at all what she had expected of a prince. Though she hated to admit it, perhaps Jon had been right. She could almost see why the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms was her cousin's best friend.
She watched him as he carefully gained his balance, removing his cloak and dumping the fur on the floor. Arya slipped into her well-practised stance, closing her eyes and breathing deeply to focus her senses. She knew when he saw her closed eyes that he would charge for her and he did just that. Her eyes snapped open as she spun to the left, Needle hitting his sword almost to the ground.
Surprise shone in his ocean blue eyes as he felt her strength. She used his twisted position to her advantage, swinging out her back leg to bring the Prince to his knees. With a grunt he slipped but easily dodged her swords blade as she brought it down. He parried and blocked and shoved her back, the flat edge of his blade slamming against her upper arm. She groaned at the sharp pain but didn't let it slow her.
He came at her again but she deflected his blow, the singing of steel ringing in the forge. It mixed with their pants and the hard slam of the rain outside. She loved this. Never had she felt so alive until she fought with someone; especially when they made her work for it. Soon enough they were both sweating, the prince's thick black hair was plastered to his head as if he had stepped from a bath.
He was better than she had anticipated his blue eyes careful as he studied her moves. He still wasn't fast enough however and she used that to her benefit. Arya twisted as he parried, managing to dislodge the blade from his hands. It landed on the ground with a clunk. She pointed the end of Needle at his chest.
"Dead boy." She laughed and he chuckled with her.
"I yield." She stepped away and sheathed Needle. She wiped the sweat from her face with her shirt sleeve. "I request for a re-match tomorrow." He panted and she laughed, only too happy to indulge him.
The next night they duelled in the forge again and Arya was surprised by the prince's improvement. But she was still more precise, which eventually enabled her to kick him in the chest. Not particularly hard, but enough to get him to the floor. He landed on his back with a gasp as the air escaped his body. She pounced, landing on top of him, her legs straddling his waist. Needle was pointed at the pulse point in his throat. He stared up at her, his eyes wide and bright.
"Yield." He managed to breathe and she lowered the blade, leaning back to catch her breath. "Well done Lady Arya."
Though she was pleased she had won, and hearing him say the words made the victory all the sweeter, she hated when he used her title whenever he addressed her. She didn't like it when people used titles to speak to one another. She looked down, trying to hide her expression.
"My Lady, are you alright?" He asked her softly as he sat up, resting his weight on his elbows.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't call me 'lady'."
"But it's what you are." The prince argued, his voice still rasping from their exertion.
"No, my mother and sister are ladies, not me." He watched her for a long time and she wondered if she had angered him but then he smiled radiantly.
"As you wish, but if I cannot call you by your title you cannot name me by mine." Her eyes flashed to his as the room lit up from lightening outside. She smiled back.
He rose even further so that their faces were close, his eyes level with hers. She felt uncomfortable with their proximity but couldn't move. Her body was stunned by his closeness. She really hadn't seen his handsome features until now. Before he had arrived the girls had swooned and giggled stupidly, telling tales of the prince and Arya had laughed at them. But now, being so close to him, she could see why they had said those things.
His eyes were a brilliant, deep blue, like the colour of the Narrow Sea. His skin was tinted golden, tanned and healthy over the well-built muscles of his arms and chest. A couple of times Arya had felt her gaze lower to his mouth, lips that looked soft and tender yet always tilted into a wicked grin. To distract herself (surely she shouldn't be looking at him like that), she spoke to him.
"Are you hurt?" She asked, suddenly concerned. He was still a prince even though he didn't want to be named it.
"No, though any longer and I would have been." He mumbled, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
Some part of her wanted to apologise, but she didn't. He knew what he had asked of her. He knew what she was capable of.
"And you? I hit your arm quite hard." She had forgotten about her arm, but now she realised it throbbed. She lifted a hand and moved her shirt sleeve so she could see the bruise that she felt forming. Her arm was red, already turning purple. He winced.
"I'm fine, I've had a lot worse."
While on her stay in Braavos, Arya's dance tutor hadn't treated her kindly. He had taught her that every bruise was a lesson and she had become stronger for it. Eventually her fighting had become more the end, she had stood victorious over Syrio Forel too.
She lowered her shirt sleeve, and returned her gaze to Gendry. Sweat and dirt streaked his handsome face and she felt herself sniggering at him. He had probably never been so mucky in his life. His eyebrow rose at her, a silent question.
"You're filthy." Arya answered.
"So are you." He retorted, a faint blush seeping into his face.
He suddenly squinted and tuned his face upwards, towards the ceiling. Though she couldn't see the hole among the stone and timber, a trickle of water began dripping onto Gendry's head. Arya laughed again as he frowned.
"Even the Gods agree with me; you need to wash." She was surprised at herself teasing him like that. It wasn't like her, but she couldn't help herself. She felt like a silly little girl, like the ones she always made fun of. She even reminded herself of Sansa, though less proper and less clean. He grinned back, one corner of his mouth turning upwards.
"I suppose I do, but then..." He brushed his thumb across her cheek, leaving a dirt trail. "You haven't seen yourself." He finished, his eyes sparking with mischief. Her face warmed under his touch. She swatted his hand away in embarrassment.
"You have spent too much time with Jon." Arya commented, thinking of how she could get her revenge.
"Mhm, perhaps I have. I need to spend my time in someone else's company." She was sure that he was mocking her. It was etched into the line of his mouth, the playful light of his eyes.
"Spend any more time with me My Prince and am sure you will end up limping." Arya said sweetly, watching him absorb her threat.
"Is that so My Lady?"
"Do not call me milady!" She growled at him, listening to his laughing echo in the forge.
She pushed at his broad chest as her anger with him soared. She had expected him to laugh. What she didn't expect was for his warm hands to take possession of hers as he flipped her over, so that she was now underneath him. She stared up, shocked. He had moved her so easily, as if she weighed no more than a feather. He chuckled again as she tried to buck him off, but she wasn't strong enough. Her legs were encased in his as took her wrists and placed them beside her head, so she was completely pinned under his body. Gendry sniggered at her expression.
"What were you saying about me limping?" He inquired, lowering his head closer to hers.
All she could see were his brilliant sapphire eyes. Arya felt warm suddenly, her skin heating and it had nothing to do with their fight. She didn't understand it, and she didn't know why she would feel like that when he pinned her down. She felt excited and tingly all over. It was strange, but not unpleasant. Something inside her stomach coiled tightly. His face never altered from being playful but there was a different light in his eyes. It was something that Arya couldn't place; it almost looked like… desire.
She shook her head, dislodging the thought. She was mistaken. He wouldn't look at her like that. No one ever looked at her like that.
"I was saying that you are going to have every limb broken if you do not get off me." She reared again and failed to move him so much as an inch.
"The Bull does not fear the wolf." He stated, his stare shining with stubbornness.
"Then The Bull is very stupid. The Bull should remember that he is in a wolf's den and she is surrounded by her pack." Arya commented, wriggling her body to see if she could squirm free. Gendry just tightened his hold on her until she was immobile. He was strong.
"That may be, but there are no other wolves around so for now, The Bull is safe." The corner of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting a smile. Annoyingly, she couldn't help but grin back up at him. He was right.
"ARYA!" Screamed her mother from the doorway and Gendry pulled her to her feet. "What are you doing?"
Her mother's furious blue eyes glared at Arya as she took in her unclean form. She stepped forward and roughly grabbed her arm before turning to look down at her.
"Go to your chambers and clean yourself… now."
