A song of Ice and Fire Just Another Face

He hadn't been horrified by her sudden presence. Understandable, really, she would think later, curled up under a single, sparse blanket (not shivering, despite how long it had been since she had slept in cold air). After all, he had no way of knowing what had happened to her. What she had done. What he helped do to her. She stopped those thoughts immediately because they were worth shivering over. She left the worst of the person she had been in Braavos. No more assassination of children, she told herself. Just those on her list. The ones who deserved it.

He had been shocked of course. Who wouldn't be? Seeing someone that could only be described as a ghost- a dead little girl he had once known. Two things she failed to realise (and he was thinking, as he gazed at her and attempted to rectify his open-mouthed expression), were one: he definitely did **not** see a little girl any more; and two: she had always meant more to him than that. She was his companion during some of the worst experiences of his life and had made a genuinely deep impression on him. He had respected her, and, as a young girl, this was hardly easy.

Of course, once he remembered who they both were (and where they were, and what colour the sky was...) he snapped out of his reverie and exploded with questions. Where had she been, how was she alive, why did she come here to him- she was here to see him, right? She let this continue until he calmed noticeably and finished with a hushed "Are you alright?"

This had been met with an uncharacteristically bright smile. It had been a while since she had really smiled. Not since she had heard of the death of Joffrey. It was so liberating that the anger she still held from their... parting of ways, dimmed in comparison. The urge to stab him (which she had expected upon this meeting) was only minor, and when she nodded in answer and he proceeded to pull her into a hug, she actively decided to let him, and to hug him back.

When his arms wrapped around her waist and she rested her head on his shoulder, the smile grew even wider, so much so that her little-used face muscles almost hurt. She couldn't stop the laugh that was wrenched from her when his grip tightened and her feet left the ground. "Put me down, stupid!" she managed through her laughter. He failed to reply with anything except a loud laugh of his own.

After returning her to the ground he pulled her by a wrist into the warmth of a tiny, pathetic excuse for a forge, and down onto a bench, just long enough to seat the two of them with their thighs touching. Only now did they allow themselves to properly look each other over, past her immediate recognition of his sooty, black hair and blue eyes and his hungry glances at the unmistakeable steel grey eyes and familiar proud stance that proved to him it was truly her.

He looked much like she remembered him. Frustratingly taller than her (although she had grown in the past three, almost four years, somehow he had too), visibly strong, covered in a slight layer of sweat and soot and very lightly stubbled on both cheeks. He was scrutinising her now, the familiar stupid look on his face where his brow crinkled, informing her he was thinking hard. She almost did stab him then, as she began to feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. "Would you stop looking at me like that!" she snapped. It wasn't a question, but an order.

"By the Seven, no need to be like that, M'lady!" he said, trying to sound angry at the outburst but being betrayed by his grin. She was about to tell him she wasn't a lady when his expression faded into a serious, slight frown. "You're really thin, is all. Do you want somethin' to eat?"

Arya glanced downwards. True, she was skinny. She hadn't been eating well for a long time and, when he knew her, she had still been retaining her "Lord's Daughter" figure, not to mention a certain amount of puppy fat. But she wasn't unhealthily thin, merely toned from training and, of course, she was a woman grown. She supposed her dark, dusty breeches were tight- they were specially made for her before she left Essos, the same as her shirt and similarly black jerkin. "I'm not thin," she told him, immediately disagreeing with his observation. "I'm just small, and have been through years of intensive training. Not to mention you've never seen me out of boys clothing and these are just tight and fitted- easier to fight in... But food would probably be a good idea," she conceded eventually.

Gendry retrieved his own meal for her and said he could find something for himself later. He was still taking her in and couldn't eat now, anyway. Her hair was longer, enough to hide her face if she wanted. The thought that he was glad she had it pulled back because she had grown quite beautiful occurred to him as his eyes glided over her small, red lips and the smooth planes of her skin. The cloak that had draped over her shoulders was shrugged off as she ate and he could properly see everything, without her being shadowed. Whereas, at first, he had registered she was very thin, now he noticed her clothes were indeed tight, perfectly outlining her long legs, round hips, small waist and-  
><em>Stop<em>, he thought to himself. _It's Arya, if she knew you were thinking about how much she had grown into a woman's figure, she'd want to hurt you._

She tore into her food ferociously and had devoured it completely before long. Once she was done she stood. "Are you leaving?" he asked quickly.  
>"I'm going to find Walder Frey. He doesn't deserve to die of old age. I intend to make sure he doesn't," she replied in a cool voice.<p>

"Is that why you came here, then? To eat and disappear again? I thought you died and you're just going to leave!" he was yelling now, shaking with anger and, though he would never admit it, fear.

"I DID DIE," she screamed, losing all her previous feelings and reverting to her anger. "ARYA STARK DIED YEARS AGO!"  
>Breathing heavily, she continued in a low voice that gave Gendry goosebumps and made him step back slightly. "The last time I saw you, all I kept thinking was 'another one that's leaving'. I wanted you with me but, after the Hound stole me away I realised something. I wanted my Father too. I wanted Jon. I wanted Winterfell. I wanted my family back. NOTHING I wanted was I ever going to have. You were just part of the list. So I threw everything I had into getting to Mother and Robb, even though I wasn't even sure they'd want me. I mean, you didn't, did you? And you were my best friend."<p>

He watched as she became less enraged, and then simply went on in a flat voice. "Well, I did find my brother. Did you know that? I was at the Red Wedding. I saw his direwolf die. And I saw my brothers body." She was staring daggers at him while her hand had subconsciously grasped at her side. Her hand now rested on the hilt of a blade. He took another step back.  
>No, he'd believed she'd died at the Wedding and, when she reappeared alive, he'd simply assumed the Hound has taken her elsewhere. He shook his head and stayed silent, heart pounding.<p>

"I decided to get out after that. So many things went through my mind as I travelled towards somewhere, anywhere I could get on a boat and leave. Mainly, faces. All the people who left. Jon, Jory, Father, Yoren. I don't even know what happened to Sansa or my little brothers. Then you. You were all I had, and you left. By the time I saw Robb's body and understood my Mother must be gone too... I died. Then I left Westeros behind." Arya was gazing past his left arm now, wearing a dead expression.

Although he was slightly scared of her (her hand still rested on her weapon) he stepped closer now. After all, she'd always been a little scary, and he felt the need to explain. "Arya. I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I was just another face, another person on your list of people you lost. Believe me, if I'd known then, about the Twins and all... I would have..." he trailed off, bracing himself for what he knew he had to voice next. "I would have followed you anywhere. I did want you, I was just afraid you'd leave me. Go back to your highborn life. You're family would've thought the same way as all highborns. They wouldn't have liked you being friends with a lowborn bastard." He ran a hand through his shaggy hair in a nervous gesture; she was still staring blankly.  
>"I'm not saying your family weren't good people. But you're the only highborn I know of that's actually worth knowing," he confessed, feeling his cheeks burn slightly as her eyes finally turned to him. "I realise now that what I did only made you leave me anyway. Faster and in a worse way. But I've always been stupid right?" he finished, offering a slight smile.<p>

Slowly, both her arms went limp. Silently cursing herself for it, Arya almost burst into tears at that moment. She didn't of course, but it was a near thing. As Gendry observed her shoulders slump and her eyes soften he silently cursed himself for blushing deeper as something in his stomach flipped. "Forgive me," Gendry borderline pleaded, trying to ignore how pretty she was when her eyes glistened, if only a little. "I've missed you, y'know? Refused to believe you were gone for ages. Everyone got really fed up with me 'till I finally gave up hope."

She thought about why she had come looking for him. Granted, he was between where she had arrived and Walder Frey resided, but she needn't have visited or revealed herself. The simple truth was she had wanted to see him. Wanted to know he was alive and well. Wanted to hear his apology... Wanted to forgive him.

"I don't seem to have much of a choice," she said, sounding annoyed. "I came here because I wanted to see you, 'cause I missed you too. Unfortunately." She sighed, dropping her façade. "I forgive you, yes."

His smile seemed brighter than the sun in Braavos. "Then I guess I can forgive you for dying. Seeing as you're back, that is," Gendry told her, still smiling.

She scowled at the joke and shook her head. "I'm still going to find Frey, Gendry," she said quietly. "That's why I came back to Westeros. To finish my list. I told you I'd been training remember? Training to kill."

She waited to see how he would take this. She didn't fear his reaction as much as she would her family's: he knew she had killed people. But he didn't know how many. And he didn't know exactly what she meant when she said that Arya died. What he did say was unexpected.

"Can I come?"

No questions, no recoiling, no judgement. She had to get him to repeat it before it sunk in.

"I told you before... If I'd known at the time what I know now, I'd follow you. And I obviously do so... Can I come?" He looked nervous. And excited. And handsome. She answered quickly before she stopped thinking stupid thoughts and started doing even stupider things.

"Another pair of hands can't hurt. Besides, you're strong and I like having someone to boss around," she joked, trying not to think about how much the way his lips quirked up just made her want to step forward and-

"Of course you do, M'lady. You always did. And I could certainly be useful," he added, sounding almost hurt.

"I was only joking, Gendry. I... I really do want you to come with me." She looked shy. She never looked shy. It was adorable in a way, he thought.

"You want to leave now, don't you?" he asked, knowingly. She nodded and he grabbed a few things from the rickety table beside them and nodded to the door.

The tiny group of people that lived in the area were indifferent to his departure. Their only thought was now they needed a new blacksmith. He didn't seem to have made any strong connections in this part of the riverlands. She questioned this as he put food and clothes he'd gathered from a couple of different buildings (with her in tow every step, he wasn't letting her out of his sight again) and he said something about people not living long in wars. He added that he hadn't been in the area long, either.

Seized by a wave of compassion- he had obviously lost people too- she reached for his hand and held it as he looked at her questioningly. He seemed to understand from the look on her face and put the bag down, turning to her properly. There was something in his eye she didn't recognise then. She leaned into him slightly and he tightened his grip warningly.

"If you get any closer you'll probably end up very angry with me, Arya," he told her in a tired voice.

"Why?" she whispered, then waited. Nothing. For the thousandth time in her life she wished she could be more like her sister. Pretty, perfect, exactly what people wanted. Then, for the second time, he said something she would never have expected.

"Because I've never forgotten you, you're beautiful and you're Arya and if you get any closer I'll kiss you. And you'll get angry because you're a lady, and you're Arya, and you'd never want that," he says everything in such a rush it takes a minute to process.

A million replies go through her head. _Really? I'm not beautiful. I'm NOT a lady. _  
>Eventually, she settles on "Who says?"<p>

"What?" he asked, confused. They both pulled back slowly and she held tight to him.

"Who says that I'd never want you to kiss me?" She feels kind of stupid now, but she soldiers on, propelled by his outburst.

"I-I just... Really?" he stammers, looking down at her, hope sparking in his chest.

"Stupid," she says, leaning up to bring their lips together.

It's not her first kiss. It's not his either. However, it might as well have been, because this one actually meant something. The first boy in Braavos Arya kissed had been a nice person, and was fun to spar with. She had liked his warm, brown eyes and similarly brown hair. The first girl Gendry had kissed only happened because he never spent the night with any whores whilst with the brotherhood, and was tired of their sword-swallower jokes. So he put on a show for them. He remembered nothing of her but her golden hair and wandering hands.

This kiss made them both feel completely inexperienced. It wasn't deeply passionate, not yet. It was slow, sweet and tentative, as if they both expected the other to pull away. When neither did, they moved simultaneously and dropped their linked hands, each to pull the other closer. Her arms snaked around his neck and his hands held her waist firmly as she ran her tongue along his bottom lip.

They both lost track of time and most everything else after that. He lightly rubbed her sides as the kiss deepened, surprised she was being as gentle as she was. As if reading his mind, her hands found their way into his hair and tugged, as she began to battle him for dominance. He couldn't bring himself to do anything but smile into it and let her have her way. She smiled too as they parted, opening their eyes to the world again.

"Not a lady," she stated happily, saying the first thing that came to mind besides _wow_.

"Perhaps not. Ladies don't kiss blacksmiths. And certainly not like that," he said, still smiling at her.

"The first time you see me I'm fighting a pair of idiots off with a sword and the one thing to finally make you admit I'm no lady is a kiss? Didn't know you were that stupid," she laughed.

"Yep. You'll have to do it often, won't you? So I won't foget," he replies cheekily. "Now, I thought you wanted to get going. You really delayed things you know that?" His smile seemed a permanent fixture as he lifted the bag and headed for the stables, taking her hand in his.

She was about to reply with a scathing remark when instead, she stops dead. "Gendry?"

"Arya?"

"We're sticking together this time, right? And you really don't care that it's going to be about travelling, mostly, and I'll be killing people? Because-"

"I really don't care. Honest, Arya. I told you I'd follow you, and I will. Now come on, it's time some people die that actually deserve it," he said, putting an arm around her and continuing. She immediately shrugged it off, making him laugh.

"You laughing at me?" she demanded, playfully.

"I've just really missed you, is all," he said, mentally thanking the gods for the small, dangerous woman beside him, as she laughed and her cloak billowed out behind her.

She had no horse, and had planned on stealing one at some point. Gentry had one though, so they rode double, travelling at a steady pace towards the Twins. When they eventually made camp, they talked some more. She slowly and carefully explained a bit about her time as No One, and he confided a few horrors of the seemingly never-ending war he had witnessed. Then, when they had both had enough for one night, they bedded down under a single layer of material.

Arya repeated her list a few times- the one thing that had helped her to hold onto Arya Stark- and then began to replay the days events in her head. It went better than she had ever thought possible and she ended up with something she didn't even know she desperately wanted. She drifted off to sleep to the feel of cold air, and the warmth of Gendry beside her.

**A/N**

**please let me know what you think! I know having dual viewpoints can be a little confusing :/**

**Anyway, thanks for reading.**

**-H**


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A song of Ice and Fire, Hurt-Comfort, Romance