Arya could feel his eyes on her after she threatened the Greyjoy sister. She couldn't bear to meet those eyes, blue as the sea. They were eyes that could see into the deepest part of her soul. They would wash away all of her defenses, and she would eagerly allow him. She couldn't allow that to happen. She didn't know what had become of her soul. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the burning bodies, the smell of their flesh lingering on in her nose. It didn't matter how many times she had soaked in a bath since the fall of King's Landing; nothing could get rid of that stench.

She pressed her lips together tightly and using every fiber of her being, she refused to look back. What would happen if she did? They would have one of their many unspoken conversations and then what?

Gendry would become Lord of Storms End. He'd be a great lord, she knew that. There, he could find happiness. If she had even a single conversation with him, then he might renounce his title in order to stay with her. She couldn't have that. Her future was uncertain, but his was clear to her. She could have no part in it.

The rest of the council meeting went so fast that Arya barely had any time to process what was to become of her family. Bran would be the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa the Queen of the North. And Jon? Well, Jon was to be sent to the wall. At least he was going to be alive and in the north. He would probably reunite with Tormond and have the best life he could besides being with her and Sansa in Winterfell.

Sansa lightly touched her arm, making sure that she was there and in the moment. "I'm going to go speak to Tyrion. Will you be alright?" she asked.

Arya rolled her eyes. "As if anyone would dare touch me."

"That's not what I'm worried about." Sansa glanced over at the former blacksmith who looked as if he was saying his goodbyes to Ser Davos.

"I'll be fine, Sansa," Arya said, a mask of indifference protecting her true feelings. She didn't know how much her sister knew, only that Sansa was one of the most perceptive people she had ever known. Even as they were children, Sansa could spot the slightest scratch on Arya's body, indicating that she had been fighting with her brothers and not participating in her proper lessons. Things had changed since then, but Sansa was still Sansa.

As her sister approached her former husband, Arya placed her hand on Bran's shoulder. "Are you sure that this is what you want?" she asked him, crouching down so she wasn't looking over him.

The corner of Bran's lips rose slightly. "No, it is not. Tyrion is correct, though. This is the only way."

She nodded her head slightly. "Bran, can I ask you something?"

Her brother raised an eyebrow but did not speak.

"What is my way?"

Bran smiled, her father's eyes gleaming at her through him. "That is not for me to say, sister. You'll figure it out eventually." Bran placed his hand on hers. "Take care of yourself, Arya. You're always welcome here."

She lightly squeezed his hand back before standing up. That was all she needed. Bran confirmed that her destiny was not to be here. She would not protect him or have any part in rebuilding King's Landing. She didn't think her place was at Winterfell either. A fleeting thought of her traveling to Storm's End with Gendry crossed her mind, but she knew that it could never be from the moment she thought it.

Arya made eye contact with Sansa, tilting her head to the side slightly to let her know that she was leaving the courtyard. Looking down at the floor, she started to leave before she knew that this was unfair to him, unfair to Gendry.

She stopped herself before the corner, her hand resting on some of the remaining brick. With a deep breath, she turned her head to his direction.

He stood there, strong and tall, a true Baratheon she thought with a small laugh. Time seemed to stand still in that moment. Nobody else mattered. It was just her and her bull-headed idiot standing a few feet away from her.

She wanted to speak, wanted her mouth to form words, but her throat was dry and the words did not come.

He smiled at her, but it did not reach his eyes. He understood, and that was enough for her. His silent confirmation made her make up her mind. Arya would no longer stay in Westeros.

Podrick Payne had decided to go with her on her journey west of Westeros. He was there with Sansa and Ser Brienne as they said goodbye to her.

"Ser Brienne, with your permission, I would like to go with Lady Arya on her voyage," Podrick said, the nervousness he used to possess gone from his voice. "My whole life, I had been nothing but a squire. Now, I am a knight, and I wish to travel the world, if Lady Arya will have me, of course."

Arya was confused, but she shrugged. It made no difference to her. Plus, it might be nice to have someone she knew on her trip with her. She wasn't close with Podrick, but the two of them had an easy going relationship. They had become good acquaintances, possibly friends, in their time together at Winterfell.

Ser Brienne arched her eyebrow. "Are you sure, Pod?"

He nodded. "I am."

"Well, in that case, you do not need my permission. You are of my same ranking, Ser Podrick Payne." A sad yet proud smile danced across her features. "I thank you. You have been a great friend to me in the past few years, and I know no man more honorable than you."

Podrick smiled before ignoring the pleasantries and pulling her into a hug. It was an awkward hug, but it warmed Arya's heart.

When they pulled apart, Podrick joined her side with a goofy smile on his face.

"Take care of yourself, sister," Sansa said, pulling the other she-wolf to her. "Winterfell will always be your home as well."

"I know," Arya said into her shoulder. As they pulled apart, Arya grinned up at the woman in front of her. Gone was the young and frail Sansa Stark, a silly girl with hopes and dreams of marrying a prince and bearing his children. Instead, with grace and strength stood the Queen of the North.

Her heart swelled with pride, and Arya knew that her sister would move mountains.

Arya stood in her cabin in front of a mirror, braiding her hair back before twirling it around to make a tight bun at the back of her head. Grabbing her dagger, she slid out of her cabin and made her way up to the deck. They were about to set sail.

She walked in between all of the men who were working, stocking the ship with supplies and adjusting the sails, hollering at each other commands. She walked up to the front and wrapped her fingers around the railing. Arya took a deep breath, taking in the smell of the sea. For the first time since the burning of King's Landing, she didn't smell burning flesh or the clay that lingered on everyone's hands after all reconstruction.

Instead, she smelled salt and clean air. She didn't know what was to come, but she knew that she was on the right path, at least for now.

"Lady Arya?" one of the crewmen asked her. He was short and young, his features giving away that he was from the north. A part of him reminded her of her little brother Rickon with his boyish face and bright blue eyes.

"Arya," she corrected with a slight grimace. A lady she was not. If she was, she probably wouldn't be here.

"Right," he said with a nervous chuckle. "Um, I was given this to give to you. The way he was dressed, I'm assuming he was a lord."

Her stomach turned as he gave her the package. "Thank you. What is your name?"

"Berone, m'lady," he said, fidgeting with his hands. "I'm actually from Winterfell, as well. I grew up in the bakery."

Arya smiled recalling the biting cold and the crunch of snow beneath her feet when she was a child in Winterfell, the smell of freshly baked bread filling the streets. "Berone, I look forward to getting to know you. It will be good to have a reminder of home here."

Berone blushed, muttering something incoherent before walking away.

With curiosity, Arya ripped open the package to find a note before the box. She set the box in front of her before unfolding the note's contents.

My dearest Arya,

Since you shattered the last one, I figured you might want a new one. Hope it lives up to your expectations.

Sincerely,

Your stupid Bull,

Gendry.

Arya didn't realize that she had been crying until a tear landed on his note. She knew that he couldn't read or write, yet she somehow knew that this was his handwriting. Ser Davos must have helped him, she realized. Wiping her cheeks, she folded it back up and placed it in the back pocket of her trousers. She picked the box up and opened it to find a dual-ended spear similar to the one that he had made her before the battle of Winterfell. The ends were no longer made of dragon glass, but Valyrian steel. How he managed to get his hands on that, she didn't know. At the middle, there was silver grip with the Stark sigil engraved into it.

Her breath caught at the detail, the precision. The skill used to make it was far superior to anything she had ever seen. It was perfect.

"Arya?" Podrick asked, coming up behind her. "What is that?"

The boat was then released into the water, and they were officially on their way to nowhere.

Looking back at King's Landing, she smiled, twirling the gift in her hands and testing out its weight. "A gift from my family."