Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is property of George R. R. Martin, I'm merely playing with his characters.

Devoted

Ser Gendry sat bitterly sipping at his tankard of ale, his storm-blue eyes watching her. His eyes never leaving her as she flitted around the hall with an odd sort of grace; her long, straight brown locks floated freely and wildly around her shoulders, falling to her waist in waves of beautiful chestnut.

She had changed much since he had last seen her, but at one and twenty, he could still see traces of the girl he had known. The girl he had given so much for, who he followed faithfully like a pup at her heels, even when she was so much younger than him.

Gendry wasn't sure when or how, but she somehow managed to instill in him a deep sense of protectiveness over her that he had never before felt and would never be rid of. And once when he had no one but his blacksmith master, she came along and replaced him with her big, sad, grey eyes that confused him and weakened his will and riled him up all at once.

She was unlike anyone else in all of Westeros, he'd always known that. She was different from every other girl he had ever met, and even from her family she was very different. There was simply one Arya in all the world, and the knowledge that somewhere along the way he had lost her long ago, left a gaping emptiness that did not allow him a moments peace.

He didn't quite understand what had happened. Of course, he was aware of when she was lost to them physically, when the damned Hound took her away. However, she was angry with him before that... and when he finally was reunited with her, it hadn't been what he had expected. Though, he wasn't sure why he expected anything less than the punch she delivered to his jaw, followed by a very brief hug.

Now, she was a princess. No longer just a lady out of his reach, but a damned princess. And he had condemned himself to be no more than her sworn shield, forever to watch her and protect her even as she disdained his efforts and mocked him by calling him Ser Gendry.

But he'd abide it; all the mocking, the name calling, the occasional abuse... he'd stand it all just to be at her side. It was where he had always belonged, though it pained him to see her becoming wrapped up in a slick Lorathi who would never marry her. But being away from her hurt infinitely more and he wouldn't allow the Lorathi to chase him away.

"You lost her long ago, for that I pity you," a familiar voice spoke near to him. Gendry tightened his large first around his goblet. Of all the people in Westeros, the man with half-red, half-white hair was the last he wanted to speak to.

Coldly Gendry cast his gaze about the crowd searching for her. He was unsurprised to see her bantering with her sister's husband, the Hound, arguing as they usually did. Her sister, the Lady Clegane, stood aside shaking her head with her arms crossed over her chest; she was bemused as always by her sister and husband's way of showing familial affection.

"But a man should know the woman he loves better," Jaqen H'ghar went on. Gendry didn't bother to look at the tall, slim Lorathi with long, straight hair. The man's odd looks bothered him, though everything about the man bothered him. And he wasn't particularly sure why Jaqen had decided to approach him and speak in riddles at this particular moment in time.

"And you think you are that man?" Gendry asked, nearly growling under his breath. If it had been any other man, Gendry would have smashed his massive fist into the other man's face already. However, Jaqen had always set Gendry a bit on edge and despite Gendry's larger size, strength and skill, he wasn't sure Jaqen was a man he could easily defeat.

"I do not think, I know," the man responded in that infuriating manner of his.

"Than why won't you marry her?" Gendry growled, whipping his face around to glare at the assassin. His dark hair fell in his eyes as he stared down into the impassive face of the other man, whose eyes were staring at the precise spot Arya was.

"That's why a boy doesn't have her, you don't understand her. Arya will never marry, a girl has a will of her own and will not conform to traditions. She will be free, and a man will not cage a girl," Jaqen responded, his eyes not leaving Arya as she started to shove at the Hound whose face was turning into a snarl. "Besides, a man who is sure of a girls love does not need the false security of marriage."

"And her? Doesn't she deserve security," Gendry asked in an accusatory manner, disgusted that the Lorathi would keep her as if she was no more than a mistress. "What assurance does she have of your devotion?"

It was then that Jaqen's eyes at last turned and looked directly at Gendry. As always, Gendry could not quite make out the color of the other man's eyes, but the expression in them was enough to freeze even the dragon's flames. "I allow you to remain near her," he responded in the tone with no mocking, so deadly serious that Gendry knew the threat that lay within. However, he didn't feel terribly threatened and could understand. He too would threaten any man if it came to Arrya Stark.

Without another word, the assassin walked away, his robes and long hair trailing behind him. For a moment, Gendry watched the lean man stride away; he felt an all consuming hatred then he had grown to know well over the years, burning its way through his veins. He never knew there could be so much hate for another person that it literally suffocated you.

Gritting his teeth, and clamping down hard on the goblet almost enough to break it, he watched Jaqen approach Arya. He watched silently as Jaqen H'ghar grabbed the slim waist of Arya and lift her away from the heated argument she had managed to get into with Sandor Clegane.

Envy coursed like red-hot lava through his veins as he watched the beautiful wolf-girl struggle for a moment in Jaqen's arms before bursting into shrieks of laughter and twisting in his arms. Like on a million other occasions, Gendry and the hall of Winterfell were treated to the sight of their princess unabashedly showing affection for her paramour. While other cheered bawdily and jeered saucily with affection for their wild child, Sansa Stark rolled her eyes. The Hound looked amused at his new sister's unladylike antics while Gendry tried to swallow the sudden bile in his throat and ignore the violent tearing at his heart.

But this was the path, his only path. Arya had turned him from a bull, to a dog. One so faithful and devoted that no matter how much his master kicked him, he could never leave.

~Fin~

A/n: Hope you enjoyed. Please review!