Her Blacksmith, His Princess

Gendry

Arya looked a complete mess when she came strolling into the stable. And she clearly did not mind at all. She wore Gendry's robe and her hair had been hastily thrown in a tie.

"Gendry!" She called when she saw him and picked up a jog to reach him quicker.

"You look like hell, Your Grace," Gendry said jokingly.

"Shut up and stop calling me that. I need to talk to you," she snapped, obviously annoyed.

"Then get a horse. I am riding to the wall to check our defenses."

"I'm not wearing any pants!" She shrieked. Which of course only caused a small bubble of laughter to form in Gendry's throat. He heard her groan from behind when he started his destrier forward.

"Give me that," she grumbled angrily to a stable boy. She grabbed the reins to the horse she had rode into King's Landing on and grudgingly followed after Gendry. "You frustrate me," she told him. Gendry laughed.

Once at the far gates, Gendry rode ahead of Arya to speak with the commanding officer there. He was a Frey, which years ago would have angered him, but something he now invited. It was strange how one good friend could do that.

"Ser Waters!" Called a boy at the base of the tower. "Ser Tressan is in here, Ser. Awaiting your audience."

Gendry smiled at the boy. He said the words proper, but his face betrayed him and you could tell he had repeated that phrase numerously and memorized it well. Something Gendry often did.

He dismounted and handed his horse off, waiting patiently for Arya to do the same. He chuckled as she struggled to dismount without showing her bare flesh under the robe. A small moan escaped him.

"I hate you for this," she grumbled, taking his arm.

They ascended the steps to a solar with a table and chairs and a desk and even a small bed. The sheets moved slightly, and not to Gendry's surprise, he could see there was a woman lying there asleep. Sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed was a young knight, eighteen years of age, sketching the girl.

"Ser Waters, I do not believe I've had the pleasure of meeting your lovely guest," he said finishing a pencil stroke before standing to shake Gendry's hand.

"Yes. Ser Tressan Frey, I honor you with Princess Arya Stark." His courtisies earned him a jab in the gut.

"It's Arya." She replied gruffly.

Tressan looked completely stunned and stumbled over himself in his haste to say something right. During his confusion, Arya had wandered over to his sketchbook, picking it up and glancing over the pages.

"Is this her?" She asked, inclining her head towards the sleeping whore. Tressan nodded stupidly. "It's really good. You have talent."

"Thank you, Your - "

"It's just Arya," she repeated nonchalantly.

"I believe I came for an update, Ser. Hm?" Gendry interrupted.

"Oh, yeah. No. Yes. Yes I have that. Over here. I have that. Yes. Shit." He had dropped a parchment, "Sorry. My pardons. Fuck. Shit. Sorry. My God. Here. Here it is, Ser. Milady - Your - Arya. Shit. Sorry." His face was beet read and he simply could not get his feet to stay underneath him. Gendry had never seen his usually very serious officer acting so foolish. It made him smile.

"Thank you, Tressan. As you were," he said easily taking the parchment from his trembling fingers and offering his other arm to Arya.