Chapter Text
Chapter One.
Arya's shoes bit at her toes and squashed the side of her feet. Cramps were beginning to burn and her eyelids were threatening to drop. Arya couldn't remember the last time she slept a deep sleep; she couldn't remember what a proper bed felt like or what it was to be clean from dirt, sweat and grime. She fingered her brutally short hair as the uneven and sharp ends pricked the back of her neck and stung her cheeks. When was the last time my hair was washed? Arya thought, trying to ignore how stringy and greasy the strands were as they laid in uneven clumps on top of her head and gathered in groups around her eyes.
She could hear the chatter of the other boys and men behind her, laughing and bantering together; Arya, however, was alone and didn't know how she would talk to them. What if they were to find out she was a girl? Arya glanced down and saw that her chest was as flat as a boy's and her clothes bagged around her body as to not give away a hint of her femininity.
Still, despite her guise of a boy and the fact that no one here knew she was Arya Stark who was on the run, Arya couldn't help but be scared. Fear cuts deeper than swords. A small hand went to her sword, Needle, in hope of gaining some comfort that should anyone come and attack her, she could swing it out and stick them with it just like she did with that fat stable boy. Arya remembered how he bled, how his eyes almost popped out of his skull and how he begged her to take it out from his fat belly.
She gripped the sword tighter; it reminded her of Jon and how he would ruffle her hair and call her 'little sister'. This sword had protected her just like Jon would and it would continue to do so. It protected her in the alleys of Flea Bottom after she fled from the Red Keep; it protected her from when Hot Pie and Lommy Greenhands tried to intimidate her into giving it up and it would protect her through her journey to Winterfell.
But it didn't stop her father from getting his head chopped off.
Angry tears stung her eyes as the shouts of the crowd echoed in her ears; the rancid smell as Yoren grabbed her and held her to him as to make sure she wouldn't see what was happening. But she heard the sickening sound as Ice, her father's sword that he had used to behead the Night's Watch deserters, sliced through Lord Eddard Stark's neck and then the thump when the head hit the ground. She had never felt so terrified in her life. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The pain of Yoren's knife chopping away Arya's hair and his insistence that she was now a boy and to be called Arry added to her hurts. She was not allowed to be Arya Stark, she was not allowed to be a girl; she was to be a lowborn, orphan boy with no name.
More tears gathered and hinted of betrayal to fall down her cheeks. I will not cry; I am not some stupid child. I am not Rickon or Sansa. I am Arya Stark; I am a wolf.
But she wasn't. Her wolf was gone and she was all alone now with no family and her father dead. But she would not cry. She was nearly a woman now and tears were not going to solve anything. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya's mind was stuck on Syrio Forel's voice and it continued to play in her mind over and over. I am a wolf, Arya repeated to herself, I shall bare my teeth and my claws to anyone who harms me. She had to be brave and unafraid if she were to survive this long journey back to Winterfell. She had hoped somewhat Yoren would allow her to travel to the Wall in hopes of seeing Jon again. Arya longed to see her half brother, to have him smile at her, muss up her hair and for her to complain before a smile would creep onto her face to grin back at Jon.
Arya wished that she could run back to Winterfell or tell Yoren to hurry up; Arya glanced over her shoulder and, even from this distance through the trees, she could spy the Red Keep glaring against the high sun. Had it not been so long that she had been sleeping and eating within there? She tried to imagine what good food tasted like, or the touch of silk sheets against her skin. But it faded from her mind and in place was the taste of pigeons and rats that she had also traded for food, and the feather bed with silk were now stone cobbles. The Red Keep was now splattered with the blood of the North and with the blood of her father.
Her eyes had been so trained on what was behind that Arya did not see what was in front of her. Arya slammed into what felt like a wall, causing her to stumble back; she panicked thinking that she would get in trouble for annoying one of the men or he would slap her. Instead, when she looked up, Arya found it to be the boy who had defended her from when Hot Pie and Lommy were cornering her. He had a mop of black hair, darker than coal, and his icy blue eyes stood out in contrast. He was tall, she noted, much taller than her and he looked stronger than Jon. The Bull Lommy nicknamed him after his bull helmet. In truth, he scared her a different sort of fright; he was big and tall and strong and Arya was almost sure that if she should offend or annoy him, he could squash her easily.
"S - sorry," Arya muttered, holding a stare with him. She was meant to keep her head down, to not attract anyone's attention so that when the time came no one would notice that she had left to return to Winterfell. It was almost as if the boy knew she was scared but Arya knew she wasn't concealing it very well from how wide her eyes were and from the death grip on her sword.
"It's all right," he replied. "There's no need to act so afraid." Arya's grip on Needle lessened only slightly. Fear cuts deeper than swords. He continued to walk on and she hurried up her steps to walk alongside him. His slow, long strides were three of Arya's small, quickened steps.
"You're Gendry, aren't you?" Arya guessed; she had heard the others speaking in low, hushed voices behind her and Arya had picked up the name more than once, realising that the boy with the bull helmet's name. Arya often walked alongside or behind a group of boys and men, listening to their conversation whereas the boy, Gendry, kept to himself and never spoke to anyone.
"Is that a question, or a statement?" Gendry replied as he stared straight ahead. The dead leaves on the road crunched underneath his feet; the forest almost reminded Arya of the godswood at Winterfell; the leaves rustling gave her a sense of relief but it was not the same. She wished that Nymeria would let out a howl, or Bran would appear with his wolf trotting at his side. Arya wondered what Bran had named his wolf; he had left his wolf nameless before he fell from the tower.
Arya spied the bull helmet; Gendry gripped one of the metal horns tightly within his hand, as though he was expecting one of the men behind then to run and steal it right from under him. And it was likely to happen since their travelling companions were made up of thieves, pickpockets, murderers, rapists and people with no one and no place to go.
"Did you make that yourself?" Arya questioned, watching as the grey metal glinted in the faint rays of the sun. She could spy her warped reflection within it, truly seeing just how much of a boy she looked like with er short hair and the dirt smudged on her face. She wiped her face against the sleeve of her stained and sweat smelling shirt but it didn't help.
Gendry stared down at her from the corner of her eye. All of a sudden, she felt like she was truly a lowborn orphan with no family or money as Yoren told her that she was. I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, Arya chastised herself. I have blood of the wolf.
"Yes, I did," he replied yet again; He doesn't speak much, Arya noted as her legs began to burn from how quickly she was walking. But every step was a step further from King's Landing. Gendry seemed a brooding type of boy, with a scowl tugging constantly on his lips and his eyebrows knotting together. Arya had yet to hear him laugh or to see him smile. He was a lone wolf with no pack.
"You don't talk much, do you?" Arya questioned, almost a lilting tone in her voice. Her arms swung in arcs beside her, causing an ache to grow within her biceps. "How are you supposed to make friends on the Wall if you don't talk much?"
Arya always found it easy to make friends; she would talk as easy with the cook's son as she could with Jon or Bran. She would play with stable boys in the mud, causing the scrutiny of Sansa and her friends because, according to them, she was supposed to act like a lady. But being a lady was boring; all they ever did was gossip and do each other's hair and talk about boys.
"And you talk too much," Gendry retorted. "How are you goin' to make friends if you annoy people?"
"I don't annoy people," Arya scoffed at him, her eyebrows knitting together. Arya had always got on well with others, at least she believed she did. She wasn't like Sansa, who would turn her pretty face away from playing and sword fighting; It isn't what a lady does, Sansa's voice said in her mind as a memory of when Arya had asked her to come play with Bran in the mist of morning rain what felt years and years ago. "And I do have friends!"
"Really? Because you're annoying me now," he shot back, his eyebrows raising. A frown tugged at Arya's lips. She almost felt like a little child again, wanting to stomp her foot and turn away to march to her room but if she did that, she'd just end up in a midst of trees. "And I don't see you with any friends right now."
Arya scoffed again. "I don't see you with any friends right now," Arya said. "And just because I'm not with my friends, doesn't mean I don't have any. I have plenty of friends."
It had been a long time Arya had spoken to someone without being scared they would know who she was. It was a relief, something she had not felt in a long time. But Arya was still wary; Gendry didn't seem like a person who would rat on her but he also was not someone she could fully trust. He was a lot taller and more stronger than the other boys, Arya only stood only just below his thick shoulders. Gendry kept his hands clenched into fists constantly by his side as though he was waiting for someone to come up behind and attack. But the others were too cowardly or too stupid enough to do so. She doubted it was the latter.
"What ever you say, boy," Gendry replied with a smirk on his lips.
"My name is . . . Arry," Arya hesitated, hoping that he would not catch on to her slight pause. "My name is Arry not 'boy'." Arya's legs hurt from how fast she walked and how long her strides were in order to keep up. Gendry looked down at Arya, a glint in his ice blue eyes. I've seen those eyes before.
"Tell me, Arry," there was a tone in Gendry's voice that Arya thought to be amusement but she shook her head. Gendry had as much of a humour as a dead rat and she had seen plenty of those, even killed more than she would have liked. "How is it that a low born boy like you managed to get a hold of a well crafted sword like that?"
"It was a gift," Arya stressed, repeating her words earlier. It wasn't a lie; she just couldn't tell from who or why. He would become suspicious and would start to ask questions, which she couldn't have. But Arya knew Gendry wasn't stupid as the rest of them; for that, she hated him. But not really, she knew, because she did not know him enough to hate him. So far, in fact, he had been pleasant enough company after the people she's been surrounded by in Flea Bottom. He was far more pleasant than the others within the group by far; so far he hadn't intimidated her nor bullied her just because she was small and the youngest.
"A gift that was not given?" Arya knew now he was teasing her. He had to be as the smirk upon his lips had grown. "Is that the reason you've decided to join the Night's Watch?"
Arya scowled at him, offended that he considered her a thief. "I told you, I didn't steal it! I am not a thief!"
"I apologise; I didn't know you hated people asking so many questions." The smirk on his lips had turn to a smile now, revealing that he was, of course, mocking her. An embarrassed flush of blood bloomed across her grimy and dirt streaked cheeks. Arya let out a huff, crossing her arms over her boyish chest and turned away from Gendry. She wanted to push him into the dirt and to pout but she couldn't. Instead, she let the flush turn darker as Arya heard the first time Gendry laughed.
Faces began to blur within Arya's mind. She couldn't remember what it felt like to be hugged by her father; the soft touch of Lady Catelyn Stark had vanished; Jon's smile no longer burnt like a thousand suns within her mind and the ghost of his hand mussing up her hair and calling her 'little sister' was seeping away from her mind. She thought about Winterfell, and the godswoods with the weirwood tree with its crying face and tears of blood. At night, she would earn herself a headache from thinking too much of her family and of home.
What would home be like now? They had lost Father, Jon had left and Sansa was now a hostage and, supposedly, still to be married to the boy king Joffrey. Bran could no longer run along rooftops or play like he used to. Robb would become the Lord of Winterfell now that Father was dead, even though Robb was only five years years older than her, just the same age as Gendry if not a bit older. She had lost Nymeria and Lady was dead; would it ever truly feel like home again? Arya would think to herself. But Winterfell was better than sleeping on the forest ground and it was safer than King's Landing.
I wish I never left home, Arya would murmur to herself as she curled up into a ball whilst hugging Needle to her. I wish I was back in Winterfell with Jon and Father; I wish I had never come to King's Landing.
Of course, she never spoke about these thoughts to anyone. Hot Pie and Lommy Greenhands - named after being green to his elbows - were wary of her and were scared of Gendry but she talked to them nonetheless. It was better to make friends with enemies than to make enemies of friends. Hot Pie was an orphan just like Lommy; they had nothing and no one and Yoren had promised them hot food and a bed to sleep in and the only price was to join the Night's Watch. It was a kinder offer than to be left on the streets with the chance of being killed was higher than ever.
Gendry was a different story; he was a trained smith and, Arya thought, it would have been easy to find a master to take him in and to once again make steel and armour. She didn't want to tell the older boy, though, not wanting to sound stupid in case he would tell her it was something he had already thought of. Still, Gendry was nice to her - nicer than others. Most ignored her and the two of the men in irons pulled horrid faces and said even more horrible things. The bald one had disgusted her more than frightened her with his stump of a tongue while the other reminded her of a hairy ape with his coarse, black hair on his arms and with no nose but a hole on his face.
Arya wondered how that had happened.
But, heeding Yoren's words, Arya ignored them the best she could and tried not to meet the eyes of the youngest of the three, a strange but quite handsome man with odd red and white hair. Hot Pie bet Arya that he was a cut throat from the pits of Flea Bottom and Lommy said that he was a rapist who molested children - boys and girls alike. Gendry had told them both to shut their mouths if they didn't want the odd haired man to hear them or for Yoren to lock them in with the three to find out which the odd man truly was. The looks on their faces had made a smile turn the corners Arya's lips up as she caught Gendry's eyes. She knew him to only be jesting because Yoren was too far away to hear them and the odd man was locked up.
Arya pulled up her trousers up around her waist; she had made sure to go to the bathroom far from the group. She stood behind a large oak tree, her eyes darting around for any signs of movement and jumping at any sound. Yoren had told her if she were to piss, let it be far from them to not chance in being found out. Half of the would turn her over and the other half would do the same, only they'd rape her first.
That had caused her some nightmares.
Arya walked her way back to camp, hopping over large stones and large, thick branches that had fallen from trees above. A small creek gurgled beside her, slurping as it ran over worn rocks, smoothing them. Her feet were still sore from all the walking and her back was stiff from sleeping on rough ground. The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing had been terribly long and boring in itself even when she had been in a carriage instead of walking and spent nights in an inn. Still, she couldn't help think that she was enjoying this journey far more the other; the one from Winterfell had been soured with Sandor Clegane - also known as the Hound, Joffrey's faithful servant dog - murdering Mycah, the butcher's boy and with Father having to kill Sansa's direwolf, Lady, when Jory and Arya had chased Nymeria off with sticks and stones so that she would not be the one to be killed for attacking the then Prince Joffrey. Arya supposed Sansa never forgave Arya for that; in her sister's eyes, Arya was the one who had sentenced Lady to death and not Queen Cersei.
Arya thought that with every step she was closer to home and away from Queen Cersei and that monster Joffrey who had ordered Ser Illyn Payne to bring him her father's head.
And no doubt they wanted hers now.
Arya could hear the sounds of voices as they talked and some laughter from others. Arya stepped into view and bent down to wash her hands in the small source of water; she scrubbed at her skin and ignored the water soaking the ends of her sleeves. She pushed up the material on either arm and cupped the water in one hand to help wash the dirt on her arms, hoping to feel less disgusting. Arya placed both freshly cleaned hands in the water again and brought her face nearer before splashing the coldness all over. She rubbed her face and watched as tiny droplets fell from her eyelashes, the tip of her nose and her chin. The ends of her hair clumped together from the water and Arya had half a mind to dunk her entire head within the small stream.
"Yoren said that none of us should be wanderin' off," a gruff voice said near her. Arya raised her head, with water still dripping down onto her chest and underneath her chin; it caused her to shiver only a bit as it disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt. She wished that she could wash her clothes too but that was a very bad idea. Yoren would probably slap her if she asked him. Gendry squatted near the edge of the creek with a metal bucket within both his hands to collect water; Arya wondered how long he had been there for and whether he had seen her come back. He was only a stone's throw away from her so she must have seen him upon returning.
"I wasn't wandering," Arya frowned, trying to defend herself. Gendry was stubborn, she had come to realise. He had been nicknamed the Bull for his helmet but he truly did have the nature of the animal. He spent most of his time frowning and when he wasn't, he would laugh at Arya when he would catch her out on anything or at her reaction from his teasing and rudeness. "I went to gather some sticks for a fire."
Gendry cocked an eyebrow at her underneath his black, shaggy hair. Arya had never seen hair so black but his eyes had left her to think; because she swore that those eyes had been seen on someone else. Arya thought that, had he been a highborn lord or a knight and wore silks instead of leather and did not have dirt and grime smudged on his face, Sansa would fancy herself half in love with him. But Arya thought him to be as knightly as he was romantic like in the stupid songs that Sansa loved so very much.
"And where are the sticks then?" Gendry question, a smirk playing on his lips. Arya had been squatting, just like Gendry was doing, near the edge of the creek, ignoring the stones and pebbles that dug into the soles of her leather shoes, and let her hands knot together as if in prayer upon her knees. Her eyes darted beside her and realised just how stupid she was; all she had to say was that she had left to piss. But then he would have asked her why she had to go hide in the woods like a scared little child and Arya would stutter and think of a lie. Better to look stupid than to be found out, Arya supposed.
"I . . . forgot them,"Arya finally relented, dropping her head stared at the froth on the rippling water. She knew Gendry probably thought her to be a fool or stupid.
"What type of person goes out to find sticks and returns to only forget them?" Gendry taunted, as he scooped up the metal container full of water from the creek. Arya watched as water trailed down his arms with the sleeve rolled up, with his muscles moving underneath. Gendry was taller than Jon and looked to be stronger too; but Arya was small and quick, being able to doge out of the way from a swing of a sword. More than once had Arya been able to sneak past the sentries Yoren kept posted at night to relieve herself. They wouldn't even suspect a thing in the morning.
Arya stayed squatted at her spot as Gendry returned again. He ran a wet hand through his black hair, causing it to stick up in the most comical ways. Arya stifled a laugh by covering her mouth with her clean hand but Gendry still shot her a curious glance. After all the teasing he had done and his rude comments, Arya wasn't going to tell him. In truth, Arya couldn't remember the last time she laughed. She forgot what it felt like. Already the strands of Gendry's hair was falling down flat upon his head again. But it felt good to feel childish even if it were for a moment; these past few weeks had not allowed Arya to feel that way so.
The sound of hooves broke through and Arya and Gendry turned to the sight of six men dressed in fine armour upon horses. And upon their backs were golden cloaks.
Arya's heart stopped and her legs gave out from underneath her, causing her to fall sideways into the creek. She wasn't soaked completely, her hands had caught her and the water wet her sleeves up to the crook of her elbow. Her knees her soaked but yet, she could not help but stay frozen within the little stream. The Gold Cloaks glittered and shimmered from underneath the small rays of the sun. They were every bit as horrible as she remembered. At their sides were strapped perfectly forged longswords. Their horses snickered and whinnied underneath them as they were pulled to a halt.
All eyes were on them yet Arya felt like they were on her, prickling her skin and causing her stomach to churn. They've found me. They're going to take me back to King's Landing!
Arya scrambled to her feet with weakened knees, her hand flying to Needle with a death grip. I won't let them take me, not without a fight, Arya promised as her eyes darted around for a quick place to hide. The Gold Cloaks had not yet looked or paid attention to her. Quickly, she darted forward, pushing past a confused Gendry, and ducked behind the trunk of a thick evergreen tree. Arya's breathing quickened and her bowls turned to water as a stampede of horses threatened to burst against her chest.
"What are you doing?" Gendry asked, his face laced with disbelief and confusion. Arya couldn't answer because her voice was caught in her throat and she thought that if she were to speak, all that would be heard was a scream that wanted to be let out. But instead, Arya let herself sink the ground covered in dead leaves and placed two hands over her mouth to prevent herself from making a noise.
She could hear one of them speak, asking for who was in charge. Arya's mind began to race and she couldn't stop herself from shaking. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya knew that should anything happen, she would be able to run into the woods before they could catch her. But how long would that last?
Yoren's voice drifted up to her ears, sounded rough and full of his usual gruffness. "Who's asking?" Yoren asked.
Arya took her hands away from her mouth and placed her hands on the ground, ignoring the pricks from tiny twigs. Arya gathered up the courage to turn her body sideways and peer from around the thick bark of the tree. Her entire body shook with fear as one hand rose up to take a grip of the bark, ignoring the sticky sap underneath her palm. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Needle was firmly beside her, causing fake reassurance that she wouldn't be harmed. Arya was a water dancer and she could easily kill them if she wanted to. But they were so tall and the armour they wore protected their frail bodies and made it difficult to pierce their skin.
The Gold Cloak who spoke before lifted up a rolled up parchment in his hand, a look of disgust on his face as he glared down at Yoren upon his horse. The horse moved from foot to foot, the guard's golden cloak swaying behind him. The hem was covered in dirt and mud from being dragged on the ground. The other free hand was kept on the hilt of the longsword strapped to his side. "I have a warrant for one of these gutter rats, a certain boy - "
Even from this far a distance, Arya could see Yoren's eyes narrow at the Gold Cloak upon his horse. Arya watched as one hand went to his beard, scratching it, whilst the other slyly moved towards the hilt of the dagger that he kept opposite his own sword. "And who is it that wants the boy?"
"What are you doing?" Gendry questioned with exasperation filling his voice. He crept nearer towards Arya, bending over her to gaze out from the tree just as she was doing. It felt very odd to her but she decided she would not comment upon it.
"They want me," Arya confessed, saying it more to herself than Gendry. But, alas, he had heard it also and she could feel his blue ice like eyes staring at her with disbelief. If only he knew, Arya thought to herself as her fingernails dug into the tough bark of the tree with more sap oozing out and onto her fingers. Arya was scared, she admitted, because she knew exactly who is was that wanted her. It would not matter to them if she were dead or alive. Arya wondered if they had already killed Sansa. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
"Why would they want you?" It sounded more of an insult than a question but Arya didn't pay heed as she stared long and hard at the parchment held within the Gold Cloak's hand.
"The queen wants him, old man, not that it's your concern," replied Gold Cloak replied with an annoyed tone. Yoren raised an eyebrow and dropped the hand from his beard to place it on his belly. Yoren glanced around to the boys and men that were set to join the Night's Watch. Most of them stood with their feet with a few clutching stones within their palms. The Gold Cloaks were easily out numbered but they held proper swords and had armour to protect them.
"Thing is," Yoren began, drawing his eyes back to man upon the horse, a scowl deepening on his ugly face. "The boy's in the Night's Watch now. What he done back in the city don't mean piss-all."
Arya swallowed roughly as the scene began to unfold right in front of her. The other Gold Cloaks look around them, realised that everyone was watching them with scowls and looks of hatred on their faces; one man spat as he ground his teeth whilst throwing a thick rock up in the air before catching it again. But Yoren still just stared at the one he was speaking to, his hand kept on his belly and the other tightening on the hilt of his dagger.
"The queen's not interested in your views, old man, and neither am I," the Gold Cloak replied, his tone turning weary of the conversation he was having with the black brother. "I'll have the boy."
"You'll do no such thing," Yoren spat back, clenching his jaw as his eyes turned to slits. "There's laws on such things."
The Gold Cloak smirked, glancing back at his companions who shared the smirk. Turning back, the Gold Cloak shifted in his seat and the sound of steel scraping shrieked in Arya's ears. But Yoren was much quicker than the guard. In a flash, Yoren had the blade up against the inside of the thigh against the guard and cocked his head to the side. The smirks died from his and his companions' faces at the sight of the dagger.
"It's a funny thing," Yoren said as he pressed the blade edge up against the unprotected leg. "People worry so much about their throats that they forget 'bout what's down low." The horse snorted and moved uneasily beneath the guard as his companions stared wide eyes at Yoren, not believing what they were seeing with their own eyes. Slowly, Yoren reached over the legs of the guard and grabbed the sword he kept in his scabbard and pulled it out with the steel scraping.
"We'll just keep that." Yoren threw it behind him and it landed with a thump on the ground, scattering a few leaves. "Good steel is always needed on the Wall." The others were closing in on the group and the horses were moving from foot to foot and bucking their heads at how unpleasant the scene was.
Arya had not realised she was holding her breath until her lungs hurt and her chest felt like it was about to burst. She sucked in a sharp breath of cold air and the pain lessened but the panic did not. Things were going to turn very ugly, Arya realised. Gendry's breath was hot on her scalp with his chest just grazing her back as she clenched her jaw and kept her eyes straight ahead and not give into the temptation to burst out and kill all the Gold Cloaks.
"Seems you have a choice," Yoren continued. "You can die here at this crossroad a long way from home or you can go back to your city and tell your masters you didn't find what you were lookin' for." The threat hung in the air causing the mood to almost choke Arya as she tried to keep her breathing steady and lessen the grip she had on the bark. Her hands were sticky and felt almost glued to the trunk of the evergreen tree. Yoren and the guard stared at each other for a moment before the guard swallowed loudly, his eyes glancing down at the knife held at his inner thigh.
"We're looking for a boy named Gendry," he announced with a waver to his voice. Instantly the panic left her but flowed into Gendry. Her hearted stuttered in her chest from the relief that she had not been caught out but then another worry about why they had been looking for Gendry. He had told her that he was an armour's apprentice, unless he had lied to her in order to not seem like those monsters she feared. But she shook her head; Gendry was stubborn, rude and loved to tease her but she knew he wasn't a liar. He would have ignored her and bullied her like Hot Pie and Lommy did at first but he hadn't. He had been nice to her and defended her when the boys had cornered her. "He carries a bull's head helmet. Anyone turning him over, will earn the King's reward. We'll be back with more men."
Arya stood out from underneath the tree and stared wide eyed at Gendry as he stood out next to her. Slowly, as the Gold Cloak's cantered off, everyone turned towards them - even Yoren. Arya glanced at Gendry and knew that he was feeling what she felt when the Gold Cloaks arrived: the smallest hint of fright and disbelief could be seen on his face but, when his eyes met her, the fright swirled loud and clear within.