It was the horns sounding that woke him. By the time he had worked out what was going on, where he was and why he had slept on bags of grain, Arya was throwing him his clothes.

"Come on, it's time." She was pulling her hair up off her face and was already half dressed.

"Arya...I..."

"Hurry, they could be here any moment." He takes his cloak around and turns his back to her, in the cold light of day he felt embarrassed.

He turned when he was fully clothed to see her testing the weapon he had presented to her the night before. Well, at least she waited. He half expected to have turned round and her to have gone, as quickly and soundlessly as she often appeared.

"I just want you to know that last night was...you know."

"Good?" She smiled slightly, mocking him jovially. "Surely a blacksmiths apprentice can do better than good."

He smiled back and reached out to stroke her cheek.

"It was, I mean I..." He shakes his head. Surely she knows.

"When this is done, Arya, if I don't make it, burn me, I don't want to come back as one of those things."

She nodded swiftly. She wouldn't look at him.

"Well I suppose this is it then?" He dropped his hand from her cheek and looked down at his feet.

"You're not so bad for a bullheaded blacksmith." She whispered, making him smile

"And you're not so bad for a highborn lady."

She tried to hide her grin

"Don't call me that."

"As my Lady commands." He bent down as if to bow but kissed her instead.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Boomed Sandor as he entered the forge, axe in hand.

"Would you two hurry up only there's thousands of fucking dead people coming to kill us all!"

————————————————

"So how long have you too been fucking?"

"What?! It's not like that we're just-" Gendry flustered shaking his head as they walked through the gates. They passed men and women saying goodbye to loved ones. Some were readjusting the armour they had on. A few were shaking as they said their goodbyes.

"It's exactly like that. If you think you are going to both live and go off and have babies you're a dumber cunt than I thought you were."

"Fuck off." Gendry murmured angrily "you might think you know her but you don't. I don't care if I die, but she'll be ok. I've seen her, she can handle herself."

"Who are you trying to convince me? Or yourself ?"

"All I know is that I'm going to kill as many of those things as I can, then there's less for her. We need to buy them time before we die."

"Aye. Well maybe you're not such a dumb cunt after all."

They joined the vanguard and walked to the front. Sandor with his axe and Gendry with his hammer.

The hours passed with the clanging of swords, the screams of the injured and dying. The air was full of smoke and burning. He could feel nothing now. Not the cuts on his arms or legs or above his eyes, not the laceration on his shoulder nor the gash above his eye. He thought if nothing but the next blade coming towards him. He did not know how he was still going but he was. He had seen fleeting glances of Jon, the Hound and the trio of the Kingslayer, the lady knight and Pod. He was back to back with Tormund trading blows with more blows. He didn't know how much longer he could go on.

And then they fell. The ground rumbled with the weight of them falling. He lost his footing and fell amongst them.

She wasn't sure who found them first, only that she had refused to let anyone push Bran but her. She had passed Theon's body and had been struck with an unexpected feeling of grief. She has heard Theon's story, mostly from Sansa. He had always made jokes about her, joined in when Sansa called her horseface. He wouldn't let her practice in the yard with Robb, telling her little guys weren't supposed to play with swords. Jon would take her away, under the guise of taking her back into the castle but would take her to the back of the stables and let her practice with him.

Now, she felt his loss in a way she never thought she would.

She could smell death. Bile raised in her throat, past the lump that had formed after seeing Theon's lifeless body as she continued to push with her remaining strength through the snow.

The first familiar face she saw was that of Ser Davos Seaworth.

"Mi'lady you're bleeding, you should see a Maester."

"M'fine. Where's Jon? Sansa?" Every word hurt, her throat was bruised from where the Night King's hands had been. She had been lucky she had word a high collared tunic which had covered her from his touch.

"We are regrouping in what's left of the main hall mi'lady. Can I help you to push?"

Ignoring him she continued to push Bran, the adrenaline leaving her body, her feet sinking further and further into the bloodied snow.

She ignored the piles of bodies as she got closer.

She knew death. Just not on this scale. And she still knew nothing about Jon or Sansa. She caught a glimpse of red hair through the smoke and the darkness of the night, kneeling on the ground pulling a soldier to their feet, but as she grew closer she saw that it was more of an orange and that it belonged to the leader of the wildings. The soldier was covered in blood from head to toe but there was no mistaking the broad arms as they reached to pick up a war hammer. He was alive.