Riding into Riverrun brought to Arya's mind the first time she had come with Gendry to her mother's childhood home, the difference being now she was an expected guest for whose arrival the castle had prepared, and Gendry an acceptable escort.

Her uncle Edmure received them and, thankfully, refrained from excessive questioning when Arya was vague about what exactly had happened to their Frey accompaniment and her fiancé's subsequent disappearance. Edmure did suggest she have a raven sent to the Twins to find out if Waldron had returned there, though it was possible, considering the time passed and the distances involved, if he had been on his way back to his own home that he hadn't reached it yet. In any case they could do nothing but wait to find out, and in the meantime she could rest from her travels and conduct her visit with her grandfather according to the original plan.

Edmure didn't quite know what to do with Gendry, especially when Gendry explained (with an utter lack of embarrassment) that he'd been charged with the task of turning Arya into the care of someone he trusted, and as he didn't know Edmure personally, no offence, m'lord, he wasn't ready to leave her alone at Riverrun just yet. Fortunately Arya's uncle seemed to take this in good stride and they were shown their rooms after dinner with the general understanding that they could more or less do as they pleased during their stay, however long it was.

Arya's chambers weren't anywhere near Gendry's, which was appropriate but irking, when she discovered the rather circuitous route they would have to take to go between rooms and escape notice.

The first night in the keep she remained in her own room, having a leisurely bath, changing (unwillingly) into the provided gowns while her own clothes were washed, and going to bed early. By the second night she'd already had enough of playing the lady and was bored. She stole down the halls, wisp-quiet and unobtrusive, yet entertained by the fact that she looked enough like a ghost with her white night-dress and long loose hair that she would surely terrify a housemaid if one happened upon her.

She knocked on the door she'd determined to be the one to Gendry's rooms.

"Who's that?" he called.

"Let me in, stupid," she hissed. She'd come barefoot in order to aid her silent feet but now they were freezing.

He opened the door half an arms' length but she slipped underneath easily and through.

"What are you doing here?" Resigned, he glanced past her in the hall and then closed the door.

"Want me to go?"

"Arya, if someone saw you—"

"Nobody did."

"If they did—"

"They'd keep their mouths shut," Arya said, "well, unless it would benefit them in some way not to."

"That's what I'm worried about." He looked her up and down.

"It's a night-gown," she said, touching the lacings at the chest, which went all the way up to her throat. "I'm supposed to sleep in it. Though it's only comfortable if you lie completely still. Otherwise your legs get tangled and you practically choke yourself to death."

"Seems troublesome," he said gravely.

"Like most clothing designed for a lady," she said, sighing, "it is. Want to help me take it off?"

"We can't."

"I think we just untie this." Arya tugged at the top laces.

He put a hand over hers. "I don't want to insult your grandfather. Your uncle neither."

"It won't be insulting them if you sleep with me."

"I know that's not how you see it."

"Because that's not how it is." Irritated, she flounced away to stand by the fireplace, crouching and holding out her hands to it.

Gendry dragged one of the furs off the bed and brought it over, putting it near her feet without a word. After a moment she settled herself on it, tucking her feet sideways underneath her and patting the spot beside her by way of platonic invitation. He came, stretching out on his back and resting his head against her leg, looking up at her to see if she minded. She bent over, letting her hair fall around them like a curtain, putting her hand against his face.

She realized she craved this, too, the quiet simplicity of resting together. There had been so few such moments for them. Time had always been taken up with more pressing needs. Outside it could storm if it liked; there were no horses to care for, no food to scrounge, no shelter to build. Here no one was going to come to the door.

She hoped. But if anyone did they would not answer.

"I just want it to be like this," she said. "I don't care about anything else."

"It can't be." Gendry closed his eyes. "Not for much longer."

"Why not." An idle, perverse question, not one to which Arya didn't know the answer.

She thought he might reply by way of something about Waldron Frey, but instead he said, "I can't follow you around the country any more. I'm with the brotherhood now."

"But they make their own rules anyway, don't they? No banners. They wouldn't hunt you down for leaving."

"I want to be with them."

"What about me?"

"You know I want you. It just isn't meant to be. It never was. We talked about this before," he opened his eyes, "—remember?"

Of course she remembered, that had been their last conversation before she left Winterfell. Left Westeros.

Once again she had the piercing sensation that her life was moving in circles instead of ahead.

She smiled, suddenly thinking about something else. "I can't believe you told my uncle you didn't trust him."

"I don't not trust him. I said I didn't know him. He'll be feeling the same about me no doubt."

"He's not the kind to be troublesome, anyway. The most he would do to interfere with my plans is send word to Robb about them."

"You have plans I don't know about?"

"I'm just waiting," she said, vaguely. "I don't know what else to do."

Silence stretched for a bit.

"You should go back to your own room," he said, but without much firmness, and not moving his head off her leg.

"No," Arya said. "Later."

And when I say later I mean in the morning, she added mentally. She ran her fingers through his hair and watched the firelight shadows flicker on the wall.

Dutifully, Arya visited her grandfather, usually over the course of the afternoons. Some days were easier than others. When he was lucid he was quite able to carry on a proper conversation. Other times he would ramble on at length about nothing in particular and it was impossible to steer him in the direction of making any sense or discussing anything current. She usually knew what kind of interaction it was going to be as soon as she saw him. She didn't mind these visits so much. He was family, and clearly would not be with them for much longer.

The rest of the time was more difficult to put in. Difficult, too, to sit across the table at dinner with her uncle and Gendry, with a face masked in detached politeness. They could not really be seen together during the day, since it was impossible to know what someone else could read into what they considered a simple interaction. Which made the nights even less negotiable as far as she was concerned. She continued to drift through the passageways to Gendry's rooms after dark, fairly confident she was avoiding being seen (although there had been one or two near escapes, but she never told him about those). He had always allowed her in and although for the first few nights he had maintained his insistence that they needed to remain chaste, Arya had overwhelmed his resolve in that matter before very long. She didn't feel guilt over it. As he'd said, he wasn't a septon with vows to keep and they only had an indeterminate amount of time left to be together. It seemed foolish to deny themselves. Nights were occupied with more loving and talking than actual sleeping, which meant that most days she didn't rise until about noon.

When one morning a response from the Twins finally arrived, a fortnight or so after they had sent their letter, Arya was loath to read it at first, unsure what it would contain. She was alone in the dining hall, and she poked her food around on the plate for a while before perusing the message.

Waldron had returned without incident to his home. He wished her well but did not desire to continue with the engagement, and stated that his father was initally not pleased with his choice, but would come to accept it. He hoped she was not unnecessarily incommoded by this resolution.

She cast the message across the table top. Where she supposed she should have felt only relief there was an unaccountable sense of having been spurned, and impertinently too, though there was nothing in the wording of the missive itself to give her such a feeling.

Her stomach was already rather uncertain and the news sent it into further knots. Now she would have to send word back to Winterfell, and if Robb was angered by the dissolution, then the gods alone knew what further dealings she must endure, what new choices that weren't choices...

I'm sick of riding from one man's castle to the next. It is all I have done since coming back to these shores. I want to go where I want to go.

She gathered the message up and crumpled it satisfyingly in her fist.

The voice of one of the housemaids or perhaps the cooks drifted by. "Is the breakfast not to your liking, m'lady? You've hardly touched your plate."

"No, it's fine, I've not had the stomach for food lately. For some time now actually." Absently she glanced towards the speaker, who was unremarkable except for having surprisingly keen eyes.

"If you're ill my aunt has all manner of herbs and remedies. Can help with any problem." The other woman leaned in as she walked behind her and said in a conspiratorially lowered voice, "Even as far as an unwanted babe."

Arya felt a chill run across her shoulders and down her arms, but she said briefly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Not for a maid like yourself, m'lady, of course you don't! I'm only saying she's known round these parts for all such things. Couldn't hurt to speak with her if you feel a sickness coming on." She curtsied and disappeared back towards the kitchens. Arya couldn't decide if she had been insinuating something or if the exchange had been completely innocent on the other's part.

She wouldn't let it bother her. It was nothing at all. She had not had an appetite in the mornings for some time now, before she and Gendry had been intimate. There was no chance that—

Well, there was a chance. However slight.

What if it was that? It's not, it can't be, I am jumping at shadows because I'm still upset about the message.

Funny how she was suddenly longing for someone to unburden herself to. Overseas she had gotten so used to being alone, she had looked inward as a source of strength, and now here she was surrounded by a castle full of people and there was no one to listen to her. Gendry was the obvious choice, only she couldn't imagine he would find the broken engagement something to exult over, when as far as he was concerned that was only one of many barriers between them, and how could she possibly expect him to react calmly to the idea of her carrying his child—

No, she wouldn't even think it. It was not real, it was only a tiny possibility.

It was nothing at all.

She couldn't talk to him, she couldn't talk to anyone. That was fine. It was what she was used to, something she had already learned how to do. Keep your head down, don't stand out, don't walk like you're somebody. Don't give anyone a reason to ask you questions.

She couldn't go to Gendry that night, not when her head was still spinning, not when she needed more time to sort out her thoughts. She stayed in her own rooms and spent a wakeful few hours there. When she got up the following day she took a long, wild walk outdoors, avoiding contact with anyone, and rather than come down to dinner she bade a houseservant to tell the men she had a headache and would take food in her room.

Still, when night came, Arya was undecided about whether she should stay there or not. Gendry would think something was amiss, and if worried enough he would seek her out, which she didn't want since she far more trusted her own abilities to sneak undetected through the hallways than his.

At last she made the trip, dressed in her tunic and trousers rather than in her night-gown (which had become something of a private amusement for them when she showed up in it every night) because they made her feel less vulnerable.

He let her in, bolting the door and taking in her outfit with a slightly quizzical glance. "Going somewhere later?"

He was just trying to be funny, she knew, but for some reason it made her temper flare. "Oh, yes, I have many men to visit tonight."

His beginning of a smile faded, concern alighting in its place. "You feeling all right?"

"My stomach hurts," she snapped.

"I thought they said it was your head."

She should have remembered the first rule about lying was not to be too specific. She shrugged.

He stepped close and reached for her, putting his hand on her belly. She tried not to flinch, even though she knew it was utterly flat—she'd scrutinized her body last night, trying to reassure herself with its concavity.

"Why are you so—"

"What?" she said, nearly jumping with apprehension.

"Nervous." His eyes searched her face while his hand gently rubbed her stomach. "Does this hurt?"

"No!" She couldn't help it, she pulled away. He knew her too well, she should have stayed away; she might be a master at deceiving others but she was no good at lying to him.

"All right," he said, in the patient way he had when he was soothing one of the horses. "Where do you want me to touch you?"

"I don't want you to touch me."

He held up his hands.

"I mean," she said, collecting herself a little, "I'm fine. I was just tired earlier, I didn't want to bother dressing and come down. I didn't want you to worry so I came."

He nodded with exaggeration while widening his eyes like he didn't believe a word she said.

"So—I came," she repeated, twisting her fingers together and going to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Right, well, you just let me know what you feel like doing," he said, watching her, while he went to put another log on the hearth.

"Let's sleep," she said, scrambling under the furs on the bed. The faster they got to sleep, the less talking there would be.

Gendry placed the log on the flames, brushed off his hands on his knees, stood up, and looked at her for a long minute. Then with an attitude of tolerance he came over to the bedside and began to undress. She buried her face in the furs and said, muffled, "Don't take your pants off."

He did not say anything right away, but when he did his voice was mild. "You already told me you didn't want me to touch you. I wasn't planning on trying to change your mind."

"Well just—come to bed then."

He eased himself in beside her, careful not to make contact, but then he tugged the fur gently away from her face and looked her in the eye, their faces only inches apart.

"Oi," he murmured. "What is it?"

The tenderness was crippling; she was defenseless against it. "Nothing," she said, a final, feeble attempt to keep him at bay.

He smiled a little and she knew what it meant, because she knew him like he knew her...I know you, Arya Stark. I know the way the corners of your eyes wrinkle when you lie to me. I know it's not nothing, it's too much, it's everything, but you have to tell me anyway. She could see all that in his smile.

"Waldron Frey has called off the engagement," she said.

"He was enough of a man to do it on his own? What about his father?"

"I don't know. I don't think it was actually approved."

"And how do you feel about this?"

"I should be...unburdened," Arya said slowly, "but rather I feel unsettled. If Robb takes offense at this, it could be—" She let the sentence fall. She didn't think it was necessary to explain in detail how much needless suffering was caused by trouble of this nature between houses.

I wish I'd been low-born. But she didn't say it out loud because he would tell her that they had their own problems. Which was true enough; it was only she craved a different set of problems for a little while.

No, that wasn't quite right either. She wanted to hide in a cave and not come out until her soul felt like it had some steel to it again.

"So," he said at last, "what are you going to do?"

She shook her head minutely, her mind wandering again to the nausea in her stomach and whether or not that meant anything.

I need more time. More time to think. There is always a way.

"It doesn't change anything," she said.

"I know," he said.