Arya Stark is his best friend, and she has never wanted to be treated like a lady. But sometimes Gendry forgets.

He bled out on the snowy grounds of the Night’s Watch, not expecting to wake again. But he did wake, and it was not in the forlorn outreaches of the Wall, but back at Winterfell, where King Robert Baratheon was a day’s ride away… Old Nan had always warned against changing fate, but how can Jon refuse a chance to prevent the game of thrones?

Five lives Arya Stark had with Gendry Waters, and the one that she didn't. Or, (This is how she meets a man with a mop of black hair and eyes the colour of the seas who is quiet and strong and tall where she is loud and brash and small.)

MSNBC Breaking News: Heir to Stark Fortune Snubs Merger with Billionaire Walder Frey; Frey Retaliates with Vicious Attack on Twitter.

Arya likes the way things are with her soulmate—playing softball in dreams, talking about nothing and everything. But it still feels like cheating when she dreams of Gendry.

The dead fell. The dead fell, and Gendry’s heart was racing, pounding so hard inside of his chest that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Silence crept across the courtyard and the sound of his heart beating only got louder. Puffs of air left his lips in tiny, gasping breaths as he stared down at the mountain of bodies below. Next to him, Tormund, the ginger wildling who had somehow wound up next to him atop the heap, spun in a circle, surveying. Across the courtyard, Gendry could hear someone shout, “What is this?” “Is this a trick?” Someone else responded. “He did it,” Tormund breathed. His voice was as soft as a whisper. Gendry turned to him, his heart still pounding in his chest and his fingers still wrapped around his hammer so tightly that he could seldom tell where his skin began and the shaft ended. Tormund’s blue eyes turned to him, wide, joyous. “That bloody crow did it.” Gendry couldn’t speak.