At breakfast Arya was unable to keep her head from drooping into her plate of bread and porridge. Though she had made it back to her room undetected the night before she'd not been able to fall asleep until early in the morning. Upon rising she'd felt a deep sense of embarrassment. She didn't know what was wrong with her. It was hard to blame Gendry for his comment about her having been at the cider when she had been behaving so oddly. She would have to be particularly sensible today.

Passing by behind her, Robb gave her head a gentle push forwards. "Up too late, by the looks of it? Mother said you were tired, but I told her to let you stay up, it's not every day your brother comes home from the war."

She gave him a doleful look and he stopped and swung a leg over the bench to sit by her. "What's it been like?"

Arya lifted a shoulder. "Easier than it was for you, I'm sure."

"Ah, but I know you don't like to sit and wait." He propped an elbow on the table. "You'd have been right beside me if you were allowed, defending the family honor."

She acknowledged that with a twist of her mouth.

"Mother needs you. Getting you and Sansa back, that was the only thing keeping her going, sometimes." Robb's light tone grew serious. "Sansa's much changed."

"I know. But she won't talk to me. She never did talk to me."

"She may always need looking after. You'll have to be the strong one, Arya. There are still—things ahead of us—we won't want to do."

His voice sounded strange and she cast a sideways look at him, realizing that he didn't want his part of the Frey betrothal any more than she did.

It was some comfort. Some, not much.

Robb squeezed her shoulder. "What are you going to do today?" he said, more cheerfully.

Arya glanced around but Catelyn was nowhere nearby and so she saw no reason to dissemble. "I mean to show Gendry how fine our lands are. He has never been this far north."

Robb groaned. "I suggest you keep nearby and on foot. None of us want to be riding again any time soon."

"I know," Arya said again, though she had, in fact, forgotten.

"And don't make a nuisance of yourself. He works hard—I want him to stay. Uncle said it was he brought you safely to Riverrun?"

"He is just a stubborn southern boy, but it is true we need a skilled armorer, and he is one."

Robb smiled at her. "Well. If Mother asks where you are, I'll say you're busy embroidering your engagement linen or some such thing, will I?"

She nodded, and for his complicity, gave him a smile. He rose, patted her back and moved away.

Later, she and Gendry didn't talk as they left the grounds of Winterfell and made their way up one of the rolling hills beyond. Then she turned sideways and mumbled a quick apology for her behavior in the godswood. He didn't reply at first, and she was preparing to prompt him by saying his name, or perhaps poking him in the arm, but then he said, "It's all right."

"Are you sure?"

"You just—surprised me, you know? How long has it been since we saw each other? And then you were practically climbing on top of me."

"I was not climbing on top of you." Arya felt heat rush to her cheeks. Put like that, it sounded awful.

"I didn't mind. It was unexpected, is all. What if someone in your family was watching, what would they think?"

"I don't care what they think." Defiantly she tossed her head.

He stopped, put his hand against a tree, plucked thoughtfully at the bark. "So are you going to tell me what it was about?"

Arya looked down. She wasn't trying to be coquettish or difficult, but suddenly, the daylight wasn't conducive to expressing herself any more than the night had been. "I don't know if I can."

"Try," he said, raising a dark eyebrow.

"I wanted this to be home," she said, after a moment. At least she could tell him part of what was bothering her, without having to mention the arranged engagement. "All the time I was at Riverrun, and after I left, at the Twins. And I just had these memories and this idea of what it was, when my father was still alive. I thought we could get that all back. Once we just got here. I told myself...I would make it home again. And it is, but...it's not. It's not right. I don't know why. And now Robb is here and I know I should feel that we're finally all together, but when I saw you I—"

She trailed off, not sure what she meant to say.

"You don't want me here?"

"No! That's not it, stupid." She thumped her fist on his arm.

"What then?"

She was quiet, rubbing her knuckles.

"Want to know what I think?"

Arya gave a meek nod.

"I think you always want to be going somewhere. On the move."

"I don't think I do," she said, but feeling the truth of it.

"Getting into trouble," Gendry added. "I saw that in you from the start."

"Then you should have stayed away," she said, pertly.

He nodded. "I should've."

She linked her arm in his and pulled him along. "Come over this way. You can see everything from here, even the winter town."

Gendry obligingly let her tug him over to where there was a break in the trees allowing a view of most of Winterfell. "It's very fine," he agreed.

She looked at him suspiciously. "Are you mocking?"

"No. I'm just not about to compose a song, or something."

"You don't have to be a bard to appreciate beauty." She turned her gaze back to the horizon, and they were quiet for a while.

"You're not wearing a dress today," he observed.

Arya flushed. "I don't mean to, any more, when I'm out. I trained myself to fight in one, but it's cursedly difficult."

"Still, it was pretty. The one you had on last night."

She ducked her head, embarrassed. "Don't try to flatter me into being a girl," she mumbled.

He laughed. "Is that what I was doing? I was just trying to be nice. And like I said right at the first, you are a girl."

She smiled, reluctantly, at this reference to their first encounter.

The next few weeks went by pleasantly. With Robb's return, Catelyn's focus was distracted from her younger daughter, meaning Arya was able to spend her time as she liked.

After staying briefly at Winterfell, Gendry had insisted on having some independence in his accommodations, and so Robb had made arrangements for him to stay in the winter town and work from there. Gendry still found the occasional pretext to come up to the keep, and it was only slightly less convenient for Arya to sneak out to visit him below. It had always been tacitly understood that the winter town was not an appropriate place for her to frequent, but as she had never been expressly told that she might not visit anyone there, she went with a relatively clear conscience.

They fell easily into their old way of passing time together, with Arya hanging around while Gendry worked, yet often persuading him to view the countryside with her. Sometimes they walked; occasionally she brought horses from Winterfell so they could go farther out. Arya had even decided that someone ought to teach Gendry to read and she thought it might have to be her, although she had not broached the subject to him yet since it seemed likely he would scoff at the notion and call it unnecessary. But that was a project that could be saved for the long cold days of winter.

She had convinced him, one afternoon, to come with her and carry some provisions to one of the tenant farms, where the man was ill. The grateful wife was welcoming, but they had stayed longer than intended and the sky was heavy by the time they started the trek back across the fields. Arya had a bit of skip in her step. She was in the middle of relating some story to Gendry when, coming up into the muddy street of the winter town, they passed a girl. Arya wouldn't have given her a second glance except for the fact that, though the girl murmured a polite greeting to both of them, her smile was only for Gendry.

Arya tucked a possessive arm around her companion's and shot a look upwards at his face, but waited till the lass was out of hearing before demanding: "Do you know her?"

"Seen her before," Gendry said. "Don't know her name."

"Good."

"Why's that?"

"She doesn't seem like the right sort of girl."

"The right sort of—Arya, she may not be a lady, but I'm no lord neither, recall."

"I'm not talking about lords and ladies. I am saying there's a right sort and a wrong sort."

They had reached the gate of the modest stone and wood dwelling in which he stayed. Arya swept in ahead of him as if she herself lived there. After a moment he followed. The main room had grown chill in their absence and he went to the hearth to start up the fire.

"I mean you do know what she does, right?" Arya pursued.

He stopped, stick in hand, and looked back at her. "Yeah, I do know what she does. At least she minds her own business, which is more than you do most of the time."

She was so unused to him saying something directly contradictory, much less appending an uncomplimentary remark, that for an instant she didn't know how to react. It felt like a slap, and she didn't know if that was due to his defense of the girl, or his criticism of her.

"I—I have to go." She turned for the door, pulling it open.

He was there before she could slip through, firmly pushing it shut. Surprised, but also with temper kindling, she glared at him.

"The last time I let you run away from me angry I didn't see you again for a year and a half."

"I wasn't running away! I had no choice about going. You know that."

"Well, no one's forcing you to go anywhere now." He glowered past dark brows at her. She might have been intimidated except she could never be afraid of him, for all the rumbling in his chest or the truculence in his gaze. She also knew that she only had to ask him to move and he would. Though she had no intention of doing so; it would be like relinquishing one's sword in the middle of an altercation.

He cocked his head at her suddenly. "Anyway, what do you care if I knew that girl or not?"

She lifted her chin, unconsciously mirroring his head-tilt. "I don't want to share you with anyone."

He gave a grunt of incredulity. "Listen to the cheek of her. See here, Arya, how long do you expect me to wait for you?"

"Wait for me?" she said, uncertainly, half pleased by the exasperation in his tone, half concerned that she knew exactly what he meant.

"Nothing. This is—" He rubbed the heel of his hand against his browbone as if trying to force away a headache.

"Stupid?"

"Theoretical."

She nodded appreciatively. "Now that is a big word for a blacksmith's apprentice."

"I'm my own man now," he said, laughing almost in despair of her impudence. "And just because I can't read doesn't mean I've never heard the maesters talking. You think you know so much."

"A little about everything," she agreed, noticing the lack of light in the room. "Seven hells, look how dark it's got. If Mother finds I'm gone—"

"I'll walk you back."

"You better not. That'll be worse, if they're out looking."

"Girls aren't the only thing walking these streets. I'm coming with you."

She capitulated with a shrug. But she found herself nervous as they started back to Winterfell. She had never yet been this late returning home. With any luck no one had bothered to check in her room, then she might yet be successful in slipping in unnoticed.

But Ser Rodrik was waiting for them outside the east gate.

Arya opened her mouth to explain, but the master-at-arms directed his gaze at Gendry first. "What do you mean by having her out at this hour?"

Gendry apologized at once, dropping his gaze. Ser Rodrik turned his eye on Arya. "Your lady mother was worried."

"There's no need for her to be worried. As you can see I'm perfectly well."

"Arya, go on," Gendry muttered. He gave her a gentle push to the elbow but perhaps he should not have taken the liberty because if Ser Rodrick's expression had been stony before it now became utter granite. "It's Lord Stark will be dealing with you," he rumbled, putting a hand on Arya's shoulder and turning her. She widened her eyes at Gendry before she was brought away, hoping to lighten the tone of their parting somewhat.

She was not particularly cowed by the master-at-arms, who maintained a disapproving silence as he conducted her into the hands of Catelyn at the entrance to the keep. Still, his unnecessarily dramatic attitude roused the dissident spirit in her, and she faced the lady of the house with a cool expression.

"Arya. Where have you been?" Catelyn demanded.

Robb appeared behind their mother, widening his eyes in just the way she had done to Gendry moments before, and the coincidence nearly made her giggle, but she swallowed the smile and said, "Just out visiting one of the farms."

"With that blacksmith from the lower town," Ser Rodrik delivered as his parting shot (somehow managing to make Gendry's occupation and location sound far more nefarious than necessary, Arya thought).

Catelyn thanked him and bade him good night, then drew Arya within. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Don't be too hard on her, Mother," Robb murmured. "Though I agree, she probably should have had more of an escort."

"You would indulge her, Robb, as you have been away all this time. Just like your father—" Catelyn broke off and stared at Arya. "An answer, please, miss."

"There is no particular meaning to it. Gendry was helping me carry some things. He's my friend. I won't hear anything said against him." She stood staunchly on her toes in the boots, making herself taller.

"Do you have so little regard for safety or honor?" Catelyn demanded. "Friend or not, you are too old to be running about with boys, in the winter town, no less! I see this is what comes of giving you more freedom."

You haven't given me anything, Arya thought. I took it and you're angry because you've only just noticed. She dared not say it; it was a lesson learned early that adults never liked to be reminded of their failings, perhaps least of all by their children.

"I've done nothing wrong," she said, at last. "I won't be treated as if I have."

"You will be treated as what you are, my girl," Catelyn said severely, and Arya wondered for a moment if her mother might actually strike her. Perhaps she was not that angry but there was something else in her voice Arya did not understand.

"Mother, it's late. Everyone's tired. Talk to her tomorrow." Robb intervened, and Arya was grateful for her brother's arm around her shoulders, guiding her away.

"Why is she so angry at me?" Arya muttered as they went.

"She was worried, that's all." Robb spoke soothingly, lightly. "It's very important to her that nothing happens to dissolve the engagements with House Frey. Especially since Sansa seems to be unsuited for marriage now...and Bran is unable to walk...and Rickon is scarcely of this world. Try not to upset her needlessly."

"I'm not trying to upset her. I've barely seen her the last few weeks."

"I know. Just smile and behave the best you can, she won't stay angry, and you won't be confined to your rooms. Get some sleep."

She stuck her chin out mutinously, at the door of her room. "No one can keep me in here. I'd like to see anyone try."

"I would not want to be your guard." He reached out and tugged at a stray lock of her hair escaping the braid.

"Good night, Robb," she said, suddenly sober, and then blurted out—"I miss Father."

"So do I."

She came to him for a hug. He pressed a quick kiss on the top of her head and left her to enter her room alone.

The following morning, Arya got up prepared to be accommodating. She permitted Margit to lace her into a dress and to fix her hair into some complicated manner, though the length of time she had to sit motionless was aggravating. After that she brought some greenhouse flowers to brighten Sansa's chambers, and visited with her sister, talking of pleasant things and sitting so straight that her muscles ached. Further, she stopped by to see Bran and inquire after his needs, and she even snagged Rickon in the hallway as he darted by, promising she would take him acorn hunting later if he would wash his face.

Having thus, in her own mind at least, fulfilled her familial responsibilities, Arya felt safe to curl up in an alcove with one of the books from the library tower, where she went undisturbed for a good hour before Margit discovered her and relayed the message that Lady Catelyn wanted to see her.

Arya found her mother gazing out a window.

Catelyn turned, examining her up and down. "Well. At least you look more respectable today. Last night I gave serious consideration to having you confined within Winterfell indefinitely, but Robb argued you should not be cooped up. I yielded on that point, but you must know you will not be allowed to see this—" Catelyn waved a dismissive hand, "—friend of yours again."

"What?"

"Am I not being clear? Have you not been spending most of your time in the company of that blacksmith? You are forbidden to do so, any longer."

"No," Arya said incredulously.

"I beg your pardon?" Catelyn said, icily calm.

"I mean that's not—fair. He hasn't done anything, neither have I. We were just late in getting back and that wasn't his fault."

"I am not interested in whose fault it was or wasn't. Understand this is not only about your coming home late one night, Arya. It is about presenting and maintaining a respectable image as a daughter of House Stark. You are no longer a child, you cannot spend your time climbing trees and cultivating friendships with those who are not so well-born."

"I don't give a f—fig's toss for how he was born," Arya said, tersely. She couldn't tell the older woman that Gendry was dead King Robert's son, it wouldn't make a difference since he was unrecognized as such, and she didn't think he would thank her for sharing such personal information anyway.

"Then you are a fool," Catelyn retorted. "We have nothing but our names and our standards."

"I wish I were nameless."

"How can you say such a thing?"

"It's as you said," Arya answered. "I'm no longer a child."

"But I must treat you like one, if you are not going to cooperate with my wishes for you. Is that what you want? Shall I see that you don't leave the gates of Winterfell until the day comes for you to go away to be married?"

She shook her head.

Catelyn's features softened. "I would rather not confine you, nor do I think it's what your father would have wanted."

He wouldn't have allowed you to send me away, either.

I won't give up Gendry. I don't care what you say, or do. I won't.

He's my only...

She didn't know what he was. Her only not-ghost, perhaps.

"Will you do as I ask?" Catelyn waited for confirmation.

"Yes," Arya lied.

She didn't care.

Gendry wasn't negotiable. Ever.

She waited for nearly a week—it felt an eternity—and nothing of any interest happened. Eventually she brought Margit into her confidence and asked her to carry a message to Gendry. Margit was at first reluctant to help but Arya wheedled until she agreed. So it was arranged that they meet. Arya had found the suspense diverting, but once the hour was upon them and Gendry finally arrived at the prescribed meeting place, a heavily wooded area, she realized she was irritated. It was so unspeakably silly to have to sneak about.

Gendry eyed her. "You wanted to see me."

"You don't have to sound like a servant," she said, further vexed. "I didn't order you here. I wanted to see you, I didn't 'want to see you'."

He gave her his dry you're-not-making-any-sense look.

She circled him as if preparing to engage. He stood patiently and waited for her to finish.

"It's just this," Arya said. "I need to know if anyone has been speaking to you. About us."

"Your brother came to talk to me."

"He did?" She twisted the corner of her mouth nervously. Please let him not have said anything threatening or stupid or...about the betrothal.

Gendry shrugged. "Said he didn't want there to be any—unpleasantness? I think that was the word he used. Said you were a bit headstrong and loyal to a fault and that was probably all that was going on, but that Lady Stark wouldn't understand such things and he hoped I would. Something like that."

"Did he say you couldn't see me?" Arya sucked in a bit of breath and suspended it, lest the sound of its exhalation should drown out his answer.

He was quiet for such a long moment that she came very close to scooping up a stone and hurling it at him.

"No," he said at last. "He didn't say that."

She breathed out. "Would you have come anyway?"

"I don't know."

"You were supposed to say 'yes'."

"You probably shouldn't be encouraging me to defy your kinfolk."

"When they are wrong, I defy them myself. I'd expect the same from you."

"You know it scares me when you talk like that?"

She was unable to keep back a tiny grin. "I didn't know you were scared of anything."

"I'm scared of lots of things."

"Like what?"

"Like...starving? My head getting chopped off? Being thrown in a dungeon? I don't know, seems like there's plenty can happen that wouldn't, you know, be good."

"True," she said, "but if we're being reasonable, you'd agree that none of those things is likely to happen just because you're spending time with me."

"If we defied your brother's wishes? I'm fairly sure the last two are possible."

"Robb's not a bad lord."

"No one's a bad lord," Gendry said, in a pessimistic manner, "until someone gets too close to his sister." He sat down on a fallen log, moving his feet along the ground, disturbing the leaves.

"So what else are you scared of?" she said, dictatorially, and seating herself, cross-legged, a little higher along the same tree.

He leaned towards her, putting just enough pressure on her knee that she was unbalanced and had to shift quickly not to fall off. "Bossy little high-born wenches like yourself."

She scampered higher on the log, out of the reach of his arm. "I'm not bossy."

"Not bossy, she says, and yet she does nothing but demand promises out of me and tell me what to do, who to talk to, where to meet her..."

"All right, fine."

"Fine what?"

"Just fine."

"Fine you're gonna change, or fine I'm right?"

"Fine, I'll do what you say, just once."

He laughed skeptically.

"I'm serious."

Even his silence was skeptical.

"I swear on my name, Arya of House Stark, I will do anything you ask me."

"I'll have to think about this."

"Take your time," she said, suddenly flippant because she had been serious and for an instant the solemnity had gotten ahead of her. "It doesn't have to be now."

"Come here," he said.

She frowned.

"That wasn't it. I'm just telling you to come here."

Arya slid back down the log.

He put out his hand. Trustfully, she didn't move.

"Got something in your hair," he said after a moment.

"That's not what you were going to say. Or do."

"Well, if you know so much, m'lady, why don't you tell me what it was?"

"I don't know. I kind of feel like you might have been going to do something strange like—kiss me."

But she didn't pull away when he touched the side of her face, even though there was time to do so, and the forest sounds around them seemed minute in comparison to the sounds of their breathing. His lips touched hers, warm and iron like the rest of him, and a new kind of exhilarating power surged in her bones, one she wanted to explore, and yet she felt a reticence holding her back.

"Was that strange?" he asked, unevenly.

"No...yes. Because I can't—" She tried to sort through her emotions. Was it possible to maintain a friendship with this new dimension added to it? Because if it wasn't, if this meant they had to follow each other about slavishly moon-eyed the way she'd seen some young couples, she didn't think she could do it.

Yet common sense reminded her of Ned and Catelyn, how they had been in happier times.

Gendry ran hands through his hair, looking wretched. "I won't stay, not if you don't want me here."

"It isn't that." Time, she thought, to tell him about the intended plans for her. Actually it was past time and she knew he was going to be angry that she'd waited this long to let him know. It was rather a big thing. Couldn't be helped now.

"It's that...it's—" Arya gazed upwards, looking for inspiration.

A crow flew by so near and low that she jumped, and it prompted her to remember that time was passing. Time that was no longer theirs to spend freely.

"Mother has promised me to Lord Frey. To one of his sons."

Perhaps she had phrased it somewhat obliquely, but there was no reason for him to stare at her like she wasn't speaking in the common tongue.

"You're saying you're meant to be married?" he said at last.

"Not right away...but yes."

He stood up, causing the log to shake and she had to grip it. "When did this happen?"

"Back around the time when you and I first met, but I didn't know about it until a little while ago."

His expression was stormy. "When?"

"Just before you came," she got out.

"Seven hells—Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to. I didn't know how." She thought of that night in the godswood.

"They should have been the first words out of your mouth."

"What?" she cried. "'Oh, Gendry, it's good to see you, and remember how I went to the Twins, well, I could possibly be the lady of it someday,' is that what I should have said?!"

"That is exactly what you should've said." He whirled on her and leaned in so close that there was nothing but the molten blue steel of his gaze. "I would never have let you spend all that time with me."

"Then I don't regret not saying anything."

He stalked a few steps away, turning away so she could barely see his profile. "Engaged. A kid like you!"

"If I'm old enough to be kissed, I'm old enough to have a fiancé!" she flung at him.

"I didn't plan that," he said angrily. "I didn't come here today for that—and I wasn't thinking about it two years ago."

Arya glared at him from under her eyebrows.

"What am I supposed to do?" he demanded.

"I haven't asked you to do anything. You could just wait until I figure out a way, instead of stomping about like a stupid bull, yelling at me." She spoke calmly although inwardly she was at least as agitated as he was.

"Right, well, you've had longer to think about this than I have, so where has it got you?"

"We leave."

She'd been circling the words in her mind for some time; it was just as well to say them aloud.

"Next plan. Your brother would find us no matter where we went."

"We have to leave Westeros," she said patiently.

He stared at her and then said with soft seriousness, "Let me tell you all the reasons why that is a terrible idea. First. Neither of us has ever set foot on a ship. Second, we have no way of getting on one, unless you sleep on a pile of gold I don't know about, and third, your brother would follow us to the end of the world."

"No he wouldn't," Arya said, choosing that point as the most easily rebutted. "He has his own problems to attend to."

He accorded her that with a wave of his hand. "What about the rest of it?"

"I don't know yet."

"Can't say I'm impressed with this plan so far."

Arya slid off the log and smoothed her dress down over her hips, instinctively rather than purposefully drawing his gaze. "Never mind, then. I'll go back now and tell my mother I shall be happy to wed Lord Waldron Frey and provide him with just...bunches of heirs."

She started to march past him as he pressed thumb and forefinger to his temples and then reached out and swung her back. "Wait. All right, wait."

She raised an eyebrow. He released his grip on her elbow and let it slide down to her hand, then took her other one. His fingers warmed hers.

"When's this meant to happen?" he said quietly, after a few moments.

"Next year—maybe. It hasn't been settled yet."

"So we have time. We don't have to do anything now. Do as your family says. Don't give them any reason to keep an eye on you, right? And you and me..."

He paused for a moment. "We can't meet. Not just for talking, no, Arya—" because she started to object. "Not unless you need me."

"I do need you," she muttered.

His eyes kindled.

"I mean I don't really need you. I'm not going to die without you or something, like the songs say," she added, sulkily.

"That's more like it."

She walked forward, into his chest. For a second she thought he might deny her that, too, but she heard him sigh and then he put his arms around her. They stood like that for a brief time. She rested her head against his collarbone. Again the light around them was fading, giving way to evening.