Updating this was a beast I'll tell you. It's over 20 pages in content and fight scenes take so long for me to write, I don't know why. Anyway I hope you enjoy. The song "King's Arrival," from the series soundtrack and 'To glory' by two steps from hell were largely listened to, as well as the new daughter album.

Gendry

The night air had a slight nip of chill as it breezed through Gendry's open window, the curtains rustling in a soft whisper. Winter was coming, he thought in a hushed voice inside his head as he lay there on the bed, unable to sleep. He had, for a short time, but his dreams had been restless and confused. When he awoke something in the dark morning, he couldn't remember what they were. Racking his brain was useless. Deep dreams like that never stayed with him.

He wished for sleep, but there would be none. His mind was alive, spinning. Today was the day of the tourney. Today was the day he would never crown Arya Queen of Love and Beauty.

He had known he would never set the crown on her head for some time. Ever since he had heard of the tourney taking place. It had nothing to do with Arya not wanting the crown, though he could hardly wonder why she would, or even him. It was simply because he wasn't the best competitor out there. A valiant fighter, a descent warrior, yes all that. But there was the Mountain, and his uncle Jaime. How could he even compare himself to them?

He got to his feet, the skin of his soles gasping at the cold stone as he made his way to the window. The city breathed silence, and as he gazed out across the vast quantity of land and water, he could see a thin hush of light whispering at the place where the ocean met the horizon. It was a blissfully peaceful moment, but Gendry knew the peace was tainted. Tainted with something else. Something inside him.

Somehow, he knew she would be up as well. He didn't even question himself as he left his chambers and walked down the halls. She was sitting in an empty room, crouched in the window. Needle was in her hand, and a sword was on the floor, waiting for him. If she heard him come in, she didn't say, or move to recognize him. She just sat there, limbs jaunt and tight, yet so relaxed at the same time. She too gazed out at the city, her form outlined with a strip of fading moonlight.

For a moment, he stilled himself to how beautiful she was. Long, wild hair tossed over her shoulders that were thin yet so strong. Instinct told him to go wrap his arms around her and forget about the thing within his stomach, but experience taught him better. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"You couldn't sleep?" He asked, his voice cracking slightly. She didn't answer him for a long moment and then looked over at him, staring at him for a long time.

"I was just picturing what a big idiot you'll make of yourself today," she said, always the quips. She never failed, did she? "The horror kept me awake all night."

"I'm sure it did," Gendry said with a laugh.

She slipped from the window and stood there, in breeches and a shift, legs held firmly apart, Needle lax in her arms.

"I thought we could practice," she said. "We always practice before a tourney."

"I know," Gendry replied and she smiled slightly. He picked up his sword. "I don't think it's fair though, this sword is heavy, Needle is thin..."

"If you break Needle you can fix it," Arya said, snapping into her stance like a cat. Gendry did the same, though much less gracefully. "Now at the ready."

He obeyed, his gaze never leaving hers. Her eyes were steady and focused, determined. He saw himself go from Gendry to her pupil in a matter of seconds. She would be merciless. He needed merciless.

Arya was never so alive than when they were sparring. Every time their swords clashed, her eyes sparked with such a wild, wonderful and magnificent passion and life. Gendry had often wondered if it was almost her form of making love. The power that hummed through their clanging steel, the anticipation and strength that worked in their bones as they danced together ruthlessly, dodging and striking, filled her with a sort of light. She was the sun, the stars, the moon. A wolf.

"You're not trying hard enough!" Arya hissed through gritted teeth. "You're playing too fair!"

Before Gendry could even respond she swept up her blade and twirled neatly away from the fight, looking almost disgusted. There was a moment as she stood there, her hair wild and plastered to her sweating face, and Gendry tried to catch the breath that was running dry in his throat.

"It's because I'm a woman-"

"It's because I don't want to ruin that bit of steel!" Gendry cut across her hotly. "If I hit it too hard, it'll break. This sword is too strong."

Arya gave him a look that told him she wasn't convinced. Gendry sighed.

"I made that sword remember," he said sternly, softening slightly at the memory of it. He had been in the forge, escaping an awkward family breakfast, when Jon Snow had come in. Gendry could still remember his face, flushed with a humiliation at having been a bastard caught in the presence of a prince. "It's the only thing I've ever made for you."

That sword was Arya. The steel had been melded and forged with her face in his head, the strange little northern girl who was like no one he had ever met before. To break the sword, to harm Needle, seemed almost like harming Arya.

"Fine," she said, swiping up the wooden swords. "We'll practice with these."

She tossed him one and he caught it (abet not very gracefully). He swung it around, locked into place and mirrored her. There was a moment's pause, and then she leapt at him again. Gendry struck back, hard.

He nearly knocked her off her feet with the force of his blow. She stumbled, but only for a moment. She quickly changed her tactics, dodging instead of striking, evading him when he meant to strike and keeping him alert and aware as she spun around and twirled, almost like dancing, her sword jutting out at the last second. Gendry tried to keep his footwork as he attempted to block her, but his body was thick and he was stumbling, still holding out but stumbling. Use your strength, he thought, his grip hot and tight against the splintering wood of the sword, face pulled deep in determination and concentration.

When she made her next move, he brought down his sword against hers with as much force as he could muster. It splintered in her hands and she was knocked to her feet, sprawling against the ground. Gendry rushed towards her, her hand was bleeding, but she rolled around, grinning.

"Now that," she said through gasps of breath, "…that was a fair fight."

Eyes alive, she held out her hand and let Gendry pull her to her feet.

"You are mad," Gendry told her. "An utterly mad woman."

"And you're late," Arya said, looking out the window at the city below, and the sky that had turned pink with the rising sun. "Myrcella won't be pleased."

No, she certainly wouldn't.

"I still have time," Gendry reassured her. It wouldn't have been that late anyway. "I'll see you at the tourney."

He laid a hand on her shoulder without thinking, and Arya looked down at it. Her shoulder was so small, he could cup it in his palm. Smiling, Gendry let his hand slide off as he passed, and when he turned back to give her a wave, he saw her standing and looking out the window, her hand on her shoulder where his had been.

"Brother!" Myrcella looked very pretty indeed as she rushed towards Gendry, who had just entered his chambers, a strawberry in her hand, and flung her arms around him. She wrinkled her nose at once and let go, making a face. "Ugh, you're all sweaty. What have you been doing?"

"What are you doing up so early?" Gendry neatly avoided her question. "I didn't expect you until-"

"Now?" Myrcella offered, finishing her strawberry. "It's nearly mid-morning."

"It is not," Gendry protested, but the sun was well up and he was hardly dressed, or washed. He hadn't eaten anything either and he was starving.

"Morning," Tommen said, who had barely lifted his head from the large quantity of food that was on the table. Myrcella, as per usual, had ordered quite the feast. Tommen, as per usual, was eating most of it.

"Did you even save any for me?" Gendry asked, pushing his little brother's head aside to look at the food.

"Yes," Tommen mumbled through a mouthful of fruit. "There's some cheese over there and a bit of ham."

"Oh Tommen tell me you haven't eaten all the little tarts already!" Myrcella cried in true distress, rushing to the table.

"You never said I shouldn't!" Tommen protested as Gendry laughed, going round the table to get his plate and fill it heavily. Myrcella swatted Tommen about the head and sat down with a huff, picking up another strawberry and eating it.

"Is Joffrey joining us?" Gendry joked and Myrcella snorted. It was sort of a tradition of theirs, before any tourney or name day to take breakfast together before as the royal siblings. Joffrey, however, always refused to come.

"He says he's feelings poorly," Tommen munched.

"What a surprise," Gendry said drily and both Myrcella and Tommen chuckled. Gendry filled his glass with milk (Myrcella refused him wine. Not before a tourney, she would insist. He needed his wits about him). It would have a dash of honey and cinnamon in it, he knew. Myrcella was quite the expert on planning exquisite breakfasts.

"So," she said as Gendry sat down to eat, "where were you this morning? I asked everywhere and no one seemed to know."

"No one?" Gendry mumbled as he nibbled on some toast. "Surely not. Not in this city."

"Well I would have asked Littlefinger or Varys if I really wanted to know," Myrcella snapped. "But that would be a waste since I'm sure I can guess."

"Then why bother asking?" Tommen wanted to know. Gendry shook a sausage at him in agreement, giving Myrcella a pointed look as she rolled her eyes.

"You were with Arya Stark, weren't you?"

"Oh," Tommen said at once, looking revolted. "I'd rather not know."

"Shut up," she cut at him, thoroughly annoyed. "Well? Were you?"

"I thought you knew," Gendry said, slapping on a healthy portion of jam to his toast and refusing to look up at her because he knew the smirk that would be on her face.

"It's much more satisfying hearing it from you," Myrcella informed him. "Oh come on Gendry! I'm right! I'm right, aren't I?"

Gendry sighed and shook his head at her, her eyes already lighting bright with her victory.

"Yes," he relented.

"I knew it!" She squealed, delighted, then suddenly serious. "What were you doing?"

"Oh," Tommen said again, the look of disgust on his face. "I would really rather not know."

She hit him.

Gendry shrugged.

"Just sparing," he grunted, pretending to look thoroughly uninterested. It did not work.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Tommen inquired with a shudder.

"No," Gendry said sharply with much annoyance. "It means what I said. We were practicing. For today."

"In the wee hours of the morning?" she said unconvinced.

"You have been listening to too many songs," Gendry told her, taking a swig of his milk. He had been right. There was cinnamon and honey. "Life isn't like that, you know."

"I'm allowed to listen to too many songs," Myrcella said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I'm a princess. And besides, can't I think it's nice? Can't a sister be concerned for her beloved brother's happiness?"

Gendry laughed.

"I'm serious!" she insisted, somewhat put down.

"I'm sure you are," Gendry reassured her. "Be that as it may... Must you ask so many questions?"

"I like Arya," Myrcella said, ignoring him. "She's funny and she plays a wicked game of badminton."

"I am sure she does," Gendry sighed. He could only imagine.

"You make a lovely couple," she added thoughtfully. "My handmaiden says you're quite popular with the small folk."

"That's because of the time Arya stopped to play in the puddles with the street children that one day on the way home from the Red Keep," Gendry said, laughing at the very memory. That had been quite the day.

"Yes," she smiled as well. "Mother was so mad."

"I've never seen her face go so red," Tommen observed. "Like a tomato."

Gendry felt the memory sour a bit. Yes, Cersei had been positively reeking with fury about that. He often thought of that moment as the beginning of the end between his mother and his bride to be. Arya had only been thirteen at the time, she hardly knew better, still just a child herself in so many ways, in others not. In a sense, he thought now as he looked at his food, it had been the beginning of the end with himself and Cersei as well. Every time Arya and his mother clashed... The deeper the gulf cut between him and her. Cersei just seemed to take it as a personal betrayal, though he could not understand it. He tried, he tried so hard to stay in the middle, but it did not matter to her. It did not matter because he had chosen a Stark. He had chosen a wolf over a lion in her eyes. She hated the Starks. She hated him.

It hadn't always been like this, Gendry had often thought bitterly. When he was young, he remembered vaguely his father tossing him in the air, his throaty laugh and fat fingers. Gendry had adored that huge, booming giant that to him was the greatest king that had ever lived. His father was so much larger than life, he had almost been a god, and he would sit Gendry on his massive knee and tell him vicious war stories of times long ago. Robert's affection lasted longer than Cersei's. There were memories, vague hints and whispers, of her singing to him as she held him in her arms, but they were only ghosts. Gendry was nearly three when Joffrey was born, and with his birth, everything changed. He could not explain it.

It was as though... It was as though Joffrey was everything better for his mother and everything worse for his father. Joffrey hated Robert when he was a baby. He cried and screamed whenever the King tried to hold him, so soon Robert stopped trying to hold him at all. But with Cersei it was the complete opposite. She loved him fiercely. He was her beautiful lion, golden haired and green eyed. A pure Lannister. It was almost as if there was not a single blood of Baratheon in him, while Gendry was all Robert.

He understood it now, as an adult, why his appearance had caused such grief for him. He had never understood as a child. He had cried, admittedly, quite a bit about it because he had thought it was something about him; that there must have been something wrong with him. How was he to know how toxic the marriage between the King and Queen grew with every coming year? And how was he to know that every time his mother looked at him, she saw his father, the source of all her misery and entrapment? Gendry knew it now, though. He knew it now and it made him so very bitter and angry inside. Not at them, but at himself. I hated my father for trapping her, he thought, but he was trapped as well, with her. And I hate myself now for doing that to Arya.

"Still," Myrcella said a tad bit too cheerfully, instantly picking up at the turn his thoughts had taken, "it will be quite thrilling when you crown her Queen of Love and Beauty."

"If I crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty," Gendry corrected her.

"He's going up against the Knight of Flowers and the Mountain," Tommen interjected, reminding Myrcella. "At least uncle Jaime's sitting this one out, or Gendry would really be beaten."

"Thank you for your shining faith in my capabilities," Gendry said sarcastically. Tommen merely grinned.

"Are you going in today as well?" Myrcella wanted to know.

"No," Tommen said with a scoff. "It's not my name day. Mother only lets me go in and joust with a scarecrow on my name day. I'm not old enough yet."

"Joffrey's nineteen," Gendry sneered with disgust. "And still he finds ways to avoid the saddle and sword. Any fight that's fair, and there's no sign of him."

"But that's just Joffrey isn't it?" Myrcella tried to brush it off, but for some reason an incredible anger and hate was boiling inside Gendry as he stared down at his remaining milk, his hand clenched around the goblet. It was probably all the tension before the fight, and from the night before. The wedding, and all its resulting pain and anxiety. But he could not shake the feeling.

He was lucky he didn't have to say anything, for the door open, and his uncle Renly appeared.

"What?" He said in false dismay. "No more breakfast?"

"Not with these two," Myrcella said, jabbing Tommen's round side with her finger.

"I'm storing up for winter," Tommen explained through a mouthful of berries. Renly laughed, and then he spotted Gendry.

"What on earth are you doing?" Gendry blinked.

"Eating," he said stupidly.

"Yes I can see that," Renly snapped. "What you should be doing is getting up off your ass and changing, which is what you were supposed to have done an hour ago! What have you been doing? We should be down getting your armor on by now, practicing for the tourney!"

"I've already been practicing," Gendry said thoughtlessly as he got up to go change. He cringed inwardly.

"Oh was that what you were doing with Lady Arya?" Myrcella said, catching it like she always did. She was far too quick.

"Lady Arya?" Renly gasped with an air of someone totally scandalized.

"Shut up the lot of you," Gendry grumbled as he went behind the screen to change into a new tunic and breeches.

"Nephew, nephew," Renly teased. "What will the court gossips say?"

"Nothing they haven't said already," Gendry grunted flatly.

"True, we aren't a very original lot are we?" Renly said with a dramatic sigh and Myrcella giggled.

"Tell me Uncle Renly," she said as Gendry came out from behind the screen, doing up his belt. "Is it true that Ser Loras has truly decided to join the Kingsguard?"

"That he has," Renly replied, suddenly very disinterested in what she had to say. "I say," he said to Gendry as he fumbled with his boots. "Don't you have someone to do that for you? Where's that good-for-nothing squire of yours anyway?"

"He's more of a personal baker," Gendry mumbled as he at last succeeded in his struggle to get his foot inside his boot.

"He made our breakfast," Myrcella piped up.

"Hrmmm," Renly said, thoroughly unimpressed. "Well hurry up or we'll have to put you out in the arena without armor."

"And then you'll never crown Arya Queen of Love and Beauty!" Myrcella said.

"The horror," Gendry muttered under his breath as he grabbed his cloak, and then he and Renly bid both his siblings goodbye, Tommen still eating what was left of the pudding.

"You don't seem too enthusiastic about the prospect of crowning your new bride," Renly observed.

"And you were very keen to change the subject when Myrcella brought up Ser Loras," Gendry counteracted, eager to avoid any subject including Arya. At the moment, they were starting to give him a headache. Renly looked disgruntled.

"Really?" He said dispassionately. "I hadn't thought so."

"Did it have something to do with you wanting to avoid discussion of his courtship of Lady Sansa?" Gendry pressed, enjoying the look of ill humor and annoyance on his uncle's face. Out of all his uncles, Gendry tended to enjoy Renly the most. He had an easy way about him, and they were the closet in age, but not temperament or taste. Still, Renly had an easy way about him, a certain comfortable nature and mirth that Stannis and Robert lacked.

"There has been no courtship of Lady Sansa," Renly snapped.

"Oh I know," Gendry grinned. "Not on Loras's part, not really. But he has made a few grandiose gestures of love towards her. Last time we had a tourney, he gave her a red flower, one that 'paled starkly in comparison to such a maiden fair, whose beauty and radiance—'"

"Yes, yes," Renly said in irksome tones, cutting Gendry off. "Would you deny her beauty?"

"No," Gendry answered honestly. "Sansa is one of the most beautiful women in all of Westeros. She is also kind, and of a good heart."

"I would remind you that it is Willas who actively seeks her hand," Renly said haughtily. Gendry sighed.

"Yes I know," he said. "And he will get it too, I have no doubt. A marriage of Sansa Stark to the heir of Highgarden, with my impending nuptials to Arya, will secure the complete and perfect balance of power amongst the strongest families in the Seven Kingdoms. Myrcella is to be engaged to Trystane Martell when she comes of age, and I have no doubt that Tommen's marriage will only strengthen the bonds that hold us all together."

"Then what have you to complain about?" Renly wanted to know.

"Nothing I suppose," Gendry said with a frown as they walked down towards the tents. "It's just something seems wrong."

"What do you mean?" Renly pressed.

For a moment, Gendry considered telling him everything. Of his strange feeling, of his mother's tears and his underlying gut knowledge that there was something Arya wasn't telling him. Of Ned Stark and Jon Arryn and everything that just seemed to be rotting away under the golden surface. But what was there to say? He had no proof, no evidence. It was all just speculation, but dangerous speculation. Speculation he had to keep to himself.

"I care about Lady Sansa," he said instead.

"You care about Lady Sansa?" Renly sputtered in indignation.

"She is like a sister to me," Gendry said quickly, though in ways Sansa wasn't. There was too much distance between them for any sort of bond like that. "I respect her. She's a good person, and does not deserve to be ill-used."

"That's a resentful accusation," Renly snapped.

"But not one that is unfounded," Gendry stopped his uncle as they were about to cross from the castle to the tents. "I know Ser Loras does not favor Sansa, and that his decision to join the Kingsguard is of no great news to you. You and Loras are very close."

"What are you implying—"

"Nothing uncle," Gendry said, "truly. I am just... I ask you to tread carefully when it comes to Lady Sansa. Her emotions are not to be toyed with."

"It's just as well you have nothing to worry about," Renly said somewhat grumpily, but he seemed to understand. "She prefers Willas anyway."

"I am glad," Gendry sighed. "I mean no offense uncle."

"I know," Renly said, and they resumed their walking. "It was distastefully done, I can see that now, but Loras at times does have the flare for the dramatic, despite his chivalry. He couldn't join the Kingsguard without leaving a string of broken hearts behind."

Gendry chuckled.

"It is just as well Lady Sansa doesn't favor him then," he said.

"She's shrewd girl when she wants to be," Renly observed. "Much less…loud than her sister."

"You flatter my bride to be," Gendry said drily.

"Lady Arya is tenacious," Renly said with a relish and Gendry rolled his eyes. "Come, come, surely we can joke."

Surely they could. Gendry just didn't want to.

"Sometimes you are so like Stannis," Renly sighed sounding gravely disappointed. "Whatever are we going to talk about on the hunt tomorrow if you won't talk about your bride?"

"The weather?" Gendry offered and Renly shot him a glare.

"The wedding is in a week's time," his uncle noted as they neared Gendry's tent. "I heard your uncle Tyrion saying something about ordering the most wine he's ever seen?"

"He wouldn't be Tyrion if he didn't," Gendry laughed.

"But no Lord Tywin yet?" Renly remarked, and something in Gendry snagged. His body went slightly numb and he stopped, frowning.

"No," he said.

"Well you don't have to look as if someone's died," Renly scoffed. "He's your grandfather. He'll be here soon."

But would he? Something about Lord Tywin not being there just didn't fit right.

"Don't you think it's strange though?" Gendry asked, his brain whirling though he wasn't quite sure why. But it was just, it was just this gut feeling he had inside. Renly, apparently, did not share this feeling.

"What?"

"Lord Tywin is my grandfather," Gendry said. "This wedding is one of the most important events that will happen in recent history. Jon Arryn has died, Ned Stark has been made hand of the King, and still he delays. Why?"

"Why not?" Renly said with a shrug. "I tell you he will come. Lord Tywin has more important matters to attend to. Besides, Lady Stark's family has yet to arrive."

"The journey South is a long one," Gendry reasoned. "They have been riding for little less than a month, and the recent rains have made it impossible for them to travel beyond the Trident. Lord Tywin has no such excuse."

"Nephew," Renly said, clapping his hands on Gendry's shoulders. "You think too much. Go drink some wine, get in your armor, and knock some men about for your lady love. Forget these imagined worries. I tell you they hold no weight."

Gendry nodded, but he could not shake the knowledge that he knew he was right. There was something foul going on, something different from the usual muck and shit. Arya could feel it too. He knew her too well for her to hide it from him.

Sighing, he went into the tent.

"Finally!" Hot Pie exclaimed as Gendry swept the tent flap shut. "I was beginning to think the Others had taken you!"

"It's not that late," Gendry snapped. "And I can see that you would run to my rescue if they had!"

"Too much work," Hot Pie waved him off.

"Yeah because I'm only the crown prince," Gendry said sarcastically. Hot Pie rolled his eyes.

"Look," he said, "I haven't been completely useless, all right? See? I polished every piece and laid it out for you."

So he had. Gendry felt a sort of old feeling stir within his blood, something deep and akin to pride, but not pride at all as he gazed at the armor laid out on the table. Thick, perfect steel, forged by his hammer. His first set of armor, and he would wear it today. He had spent years and years working towards this moment, and now it was finally here.

"It's beautiful."

Gendry and Hot Pie both jumped, neither of them having heard Arya come in. She smiled at both of them, and for a moment Gendry was utterly struck for words.

"Oh it's you," Hot Pie sighed dispassionately. "I hardly recognized you."

She did look different. Her hair had been braided the night before, and hung half down in waves, brushed smooth no doubt by Sansa. A ringlet sat atop her head, and she was clad in grey blue silks that hugged at her waist and hips, but the sleeves both had slits down the middle, leaving her arms bare. She was truly a queen in that moment, but this girl that stood before Gendry wasn't Arya. Not her, not really. It was easy to forget.

"Oh be quiet," Arya snorted. "You're just thrilled I came by so you wouldn't have to put on his armor for him."

"I am going to put on his armor!" Hot Pie snapped. "What's the point of me being his squire if I don't put his armor on?"

"The food?" Gendry offered, noticing an array of honey cakes on the table.

"Not a chance," Arya said, cutting him off. "You don't want to fight on a full stomach."

The perfect appearance of the honey cakes said otherwise. But who was he to argue with a wolf?

"Now are you going to help me put on his armor or aren't you?" She demanded of Hot Pie.

"Isn't it bad luck to have a woman in the tent before a tourney?" Hot Pie commented grumpily.

"Its worse luck to have you anywhere before anything," Gendry pointed out. Hot Pie gave him a dark look.

"You were the one who appointed me as your squire," he fairly reminded Gendry as he helped Arya pick up Gendry's breast plate. "Could've had pick of any high born young man, and you chose me."

"A mistake," Gendry declared with a relish and Arya snorted.

There was a commotion outside, and Hot Pie went to go see what it was as Arya began doing his straps. Her fingers brushed and bumped against the linen of his shirt and he tried not to feel every touch in his throat. More than one, he caught her eye and she blushed slightly, looking a cross between flustered and annoyed.

"What was that?" She asked Hot Pie.

"Just the Mountain," he replied with a shrug. He suddenly looked serious. "Are you nervous Gendry?"

Gendry swallowed hard and he could feel Arya looking at him. Her gaze burned and he could not meet it. He raised his head tall.

"Yes," he replied honestly. "And you really should call me your grace, you know."

"I've never called you your grace," Hot Pie said with a disgusted look on his face, "and I never will."

Such behavior was improper, Gendry knew. Hot Pie was far his inferior, and should not talk in such a cavalier way to his future king. For some reason, Hot Pie calling him "my grace" or "my king" felt so lonely and wrong. He was Gendry's best friend, apart from Arya, the only person Gendry felt comfortable in his skin around. The day Hot Pie called Gendry by his title was a sad thing to ponder.

They helped him into his armor in silence. A strange sort of atmosphere had settled between the three. Hot Pie and Arya worked together silently as Gendry stood dutifully, holding out his arms and letting them make him into a knight. He remembered how they all used to argue, like the time where Arya and Hot Pie had come to blows about what it really took to make a knight. All talk the both of them. Gendry looked at them lovingly as they helped him. His pack, as Arya had one time referred to the three of them. The label suited them well. If the world were to end, he would want Hot Pie and Arya at his side.

"How do I look?" He asked when they were finished. Arya and Hot Pie appraised him.

"Like a warrior," Arya said with a grin, silly and wolfish but there was no denying the shine in her eyes.

"You'll do," Hot Pie cut in and Gendry laughed.

"Milady," he said teasingly, holding out his arm to Arya. She took it, and then, winking at Hot Pie, they emerged from the tent the smiling, golden couple.

"Shall I give you my favor?" Gendry asked as Arya held his bull helmet in her hands. The stands were full by now with royals, and the small folk had gathered too. The entire world could see them. He was relieved. It was important that no matter what they felt, they must always present the united front.

"That depends on what your favor is," Arya said, running her fingers against the smoothness of the bull horns.

"A handkerchief," Gendry admitted and she snorted.

"The silly things people think are romantic," she sighed.

"Yes," Gendry said, and he felt his throat go slightly dry, wondering... Would she even like it at all, what he intended to give her after the tourney? Maybe she would snort again, or laugh at him.

"But yes," Arya said, smiling, "you may give me your favor."

"Oh I good because I intended to anyway," Gendry teased and she rolled her eyes. The trumpets were sounding. She needed to be in her seat.

"Go," he said, "or the queen will have your head."

"Not without your helmet," she reminded him, and she lifted her hands up to put it on his head, having to balance on her tiptoes while Gendry bent down.

"Perhaps I should kneel," he said as she secured it on his head. Arya made a grunted, hissing noise and Gendry was sure that if he hadn't been wearing so much metal, she would have given him a good thwack.

Instead, as he made to stand, she grabbed his helmet between her hands and then leaned forward and kissed the cool metal covering his mouth. Gendry could only blink like a stupid owl as she smiled radiantly at him, blinking her eyes prettily.

"I'll be awaiting your favor, my liege," she said, swooping low into a sweet curtsey. Gendry stood and raised an eyebrow, though she could hardly see.

"A true lady would mean that kiss!" He called after her as she floated away, waltzing and swaying almost with too much gander. Thankfully no one noticed.

"Who says I didn't?" She called over her shoulder with a grin.

Maddening, Gendry thought as he watched her go. Madding, insane girl.

As the crowd swelled and cheered, Hot Pie helped Gendry to mount his horse. The armor made it difficult to do much, but Gendry had his sword, and Hot Pie helped him to secure the handkerchief between his fingers. There was a moment's silence as they waited, the crowd cheering in the background. Gendry could see his mother and father sitting atop of it all, frosty to each other's presence. Myrcella and Sansa sat next to each other, as thick as thieves. Arya sat next to them as well, but he couldn't see her expression.

"Good luck," Hot Pie managed with a gulp. Reassuring, he was certainly not.

Gendry gently rapped his heels against his horse, Hot Pie gave her a good slap on the rump and he was off, trotting along with the other knights and for the spectators viewing pleasure. He fell in behind Edric Dayne and Loras Tyrell, the latter of whom slowed down so that Gendry might go before him. Gendry nodded in thanks and Loras tipped his helmet to him in a sign of respect. Gendry smiled. Respectful though he was, Gendry was sure Loras had a weighted lance.

The Mountain rode tall and unforgiving, his great hulk casting a shadow over everyone else. Gendry couldn't help but feel sweat and nerves pooling at the pit of his stomach. He wished for his hammer. He reminded himself of his strength. I'm tall, Gendry thought to himself. And besides I probably won't have to fight him anyway. The thought was little comfort.

As they all trotted past in a neat row, some knights giving their favors to pretty ladies, others not, Gendry saw Edric Dayne, the blonde haired knight in front of him, who had yet to put on his helmet, reach for something. For one blind second of jealous suspicion, Gendry wondered if... But no. Dayne handed his favor off to a pretty blonde haired girl and only dipped his head to Arya, who smiled at him in a friendly manner.

"My lady," he said, drawing up to where Arya sat. She stood, a better way to take his favor, and Gendry swore the crowd hushed as the bit of cloth passed between them. Oh the sighs of all the romantics, he thought rather cynically, and Arya gave him a half smile of someone who understood his pain. They nodded courteously, and then Gendry pulled his horse away and trotted along with the rest of the knights.

Ser Loras drew up behind him, and Gendry saw the handsome knight pull out a red rose and hand it across to Lady Sansa. Instantly he felt a flare of annoyance.

"From my brother," Loras said, and Sansa's face lit up in a genuine smile. "He says that he wishes he could give it to you himself, and that he will return to Kings Landing and to your ladies gracious presence before the bloom fades."

Sansa inhaled the flower's perfume.

"Thank you Ser Loras," she said kindly, dipping her head, a blush on her cheeks. "You are a very good brother to give me this."

Gendry saw Sansa blush again and then turn to whisper and giggle with Myrcella while Arya sat back in her chair, his favor limp in her hand and a bored expression on her face. He couldn't help but feel like he was doing it wrong. Should I send her flowers? He thought to himself as he rode back to the tents, the tourney gong sounding, signaling the start. Was that the way to properly woo a lady?

"Should I send Arya flowers?" Gendry asked Hot Pie as he waited his turn to joust. Hot Pie snorted.

"Only if you want a black eye," he said, fitting Gendry with a lance.

"It's just... Other ladies... They seem to like them," Gendry sighed with a frown, struggling. Hot Pie laughed.

"I hardly think Lady Stark is comparable to other ladies," he pointed out. "I wouldn't fret. I think she'll like what you got her."

"Is it ready?" Gendry inquired. Hot Pie nodded.

"I did everything as instructed and hid it where you wanted me to," he relayed precisely. Gendry let out a long sigh, his nerves getting the better of him.

"I think that's you," Hot Pie said, and without further warning he slapped the rump of Gendry's horse and both rider and knight trotted off to joust for the spectator's pleasure.

Gendry did well, as he always did in the beginning. He defeated each one of his opponents with ease. It was once the weak knights and bannermen were weeded out that he had trouble. Gendry was strong, and that usually allowed him to defeat most men with ease. But once he went up against skilled knights such as Ser Loras... Well then that was something else entirely. However, that didn't seem to be a problem. Weighted lance or no weighted lance, Loras went up against the Mountain and was hit with such force he was almost thrown from his horse.

"Where's your weighted lance now boy?" The Mountain crowed with laughter as he rode past a gasping Loras who could scarcely breathe.

By midday, the competition was winding down. After a short respite of lunch, Gendry found himself going up against Dayne in sword fighting. Hot Pie gave him refreshment and helped to adjust his armor as servants came and swept the arena, collecting bits of broken lance and armor. Gendry was just about to put his helmet back on, when Dayne appeared, swaggering towards him with his stupid floppy blonde hair. Gendry felt the muscle in his jaw jump.

"Oh lord here we go," Hot Pie groaned, and Gendry had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't complaining about Ned.

"Your grace, I hear we are to be sparing," Edric Dayne said with a courteous bow. Gendry returned it, abet grudgingly.

"So it would seem," Gendry replied shortly.

"Well," Dayne said, "may the best man win."

He held out an arm. Gendry raised an eyebrow, but Hot Pie was clearing his throat loudly, so Gendry took Dayne's arm and clasped it. The young knight's grin faltered slightly at the intensity of Gendry's gaze. That's right Dayne, Gendry thought, releasing his opponent's hand, I don't forget. You can smile all you like, but I won't be fooled. Not again.

"He will," Gendry vowed.

"Well," Edric said with a grand mixture of awkwardness and bravado. "Not to fear, if I best you on the field, then I will crown Arya Queen of Love and Beauty in your name."

"I would hardly worry," Gendry growled darkly, snatching up his helmet from Hot Pie's hands. "I have nothing to fear at all."

"Well... Well good," Edric managed with discomfort. "Excellent. I will see you shortly."

He turned on his heel and hurried away. Gendry watched him go, feeling a sweet anger and taste of revenge seep down his body. If I beat you on the field! He has a lot of nerve, Dayne does.

"You make friends so well," Hot Pie piped up behind him.

"Edric Dayne is no friend of mine," Gendry snarled, snatching up his helmet and putting it on.

"So glad we've put the past in the past," Hot Pie muttered, handing Gendry his sword. Gendry didn't respond. His sword would be his words.

Dayne was almost a head shorter than Gendry, and it was highly pleasing. He was skilled with a sword though, which was far less so. As they stood opposite each other, Gendry could see Arya in the crowd, still and watching. He thought of Dayne's comment, of crowning her queen of love and beauty, and his sword felt hot and vengeful in his hand.

A gentleman would have shown mercy. Gendry didn't feel like a gentleman that day. As soon as it was time, he threw his sword against Dayne's, the metal clanging so loudly it snapped a hushed silence though out the crowd. Gendry didn't waste a second. He pressed his advantage, using his strength as he beat the young knight back and back, Dayne's footwork and skill being no match for Gendry's strength. His muscles felt taunt and sharp and hot, and the steel sang. It sang until Gendry beat the sword from Dayne's hands. There was a moment's silence.

"It appears I will crown the lady myself," Gendry said, victory swelling in his chest, and he held out his hand to Dayne, who took it.

"I wish you luck against the Mountain," he said earnestly, and Gendry's throat went dry. He had forgotten about that. Now, with Dayne out of the game, and the Mountain's next opponent beaten to bits before Gendry's very eyes, there was no question of who would be in the running for the final duel.

It would be the stag verses the Mountain.

A hushed silence fell as the two warriors took their stances. Gendry tried not to feel the bubble of panic that was mounting inside him. There was a pause. Just for a breath of a second, everything was still.

Then the Mountain struck.

Heat rang inside Gendry's helmet. Sweat drenched his hair and poured from his neck. His breath was hot and wet against the metal which was thick and heavy, ringing like bells. But he didn't care. It was his bull helmet and it would not fail him yet.

The Mountain swung around and brought his sword slicing through the air, and Gendry could only react as a reflex, thrusting his sword up to block the blow. The swords crashed together with a screaming clang that shook throughout Gendry's entire body, even to his teeth that were locked together in bared, grating determination. With a roar, he slashed his sword out from under Clegane's and swung up and around, striking hard.

Clegane was no fool. He was twice the swordsman Gendry was, and had twice the strength. But he didn't have something Gendry had. He didn't have anything other than his black heart to fight for. Fight for love, he thought, his mind flicking to Arya. Fight for anger. He could see his father in the crowd, on his feet. Fight to show them all.

Clegane brought about another slicing blow, but this time Gendry was ready. With an all mighty yell he yanked his sword upwards and met the blow. The clang of metal had a strange effect. It block out all other sound, so there was only Gendry and the Mountain and nothing else. No lady fair, no fat King and yellow Queen. Only steel.

Gendry didn't strike. He cut. Sounds, war cries, ripped from his mouth as he struck his sword hard against Clegane's with all his strength. He slashed again and again and again, beating the great Mountain back as he attempted to block Gendry's blows which were furious and unrelenting. All it was, was steel. Steel singing and shrieking a song with each blow. Steel vibrating through his limbs and muscle. Steel humming through his blood.

"Get him Gendry! Beat him back!" Arya's voice sounded delayed, like something not real or there. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew she was screaming, and with each furious, raged blow, he could see her on her feet, beating her hands against the wood, shouting her lungs raw. Ready to climb into the pit with him.

The King was shouting too.

Gendry beat Clegane back ten paces, but the Mountain had had enough. There was a grunt, and he brought up his tourney sword to meet Gendry's, fighting back. The swords sparked together, but Gendry would not let go. The blades grated together, screeching as both men pushed with all their might, refusing to yield. The Mountain's face was so close, Gendry could almost taste his breath. His eyes were black, bottomless holes.

And then he threw Gendry backwards, stumbling, barely having time to block the Mountain's cutting blow. In that instant, Gendry knew he was done for. The Mountain wasn't fighting anymore. He was going to cut Gendry down.

It was all Gendry could to keep to his footing. The Mountain had been saving his strength. He was like a giant. Each strike drove Gendry backwards and into the ground. He felt like he was now the metal, and Clegane the hammer. Beating him back and raw until he was nothing but a pulp.

Gendry roared, teeth clenched, jaw tight and sweat pouring from his brow. His entire body felt shattered. His muscles were sinewy pain, tight and about to break. But he would not yield. He could not yield. The Mountain would have to cut him down to finish him.

That was exactly what he did.

His sword clanged loudly with Gendry's, and then Gendry was suddenly seeing stars as the Mountain smashed his hand into Gendry's helmet. The moment of ringing confusion was just enough for him. Clegane turned his sword around, and then with all his might he slammed the hilt into Gendry's chest.

The thick metal, so lovingly made, dented into his chest like it was made of soft clay and Gendry fell. He was already falling, and Clegane hit his sword against the side of Gendry's head for good measure. The steel rang with a thousand cries of pain, and Gendry crashed to the ground, all broken bones and no consciousness of what was going on. There was only a throbbing in his chest and his entire body was trapped by metal. Dust swirled around him until he could scarcely breathe.

"Gendry!"

It was Arya, rushing at him, though his vision was quite blurred and he could barely see her. Still, he knew she was there. Very untoward, he thought to himself over the dull humming going on in his helmet as Hot Pie tried unsuccessfully to drag him inside the tent. A young woman throwing herself at her husband to be like that. What would the court gossips say? The Princess running onto the tourney field. Very untoward indeed.

"Fine," he grunted as Hot Pie yanked him over the clumps of dirt and grass. "I'm fine."

"Take off his helmet you idiot," Arya demanded rather loudly, and before Gendry could even tell her to stop, he was fine, she had yanked it off his head, allowing for a very unnecessary amount of light to flood into his eyes. He recoiled back like a squirming infant.

"Do you need any help?"

"No," Gendry grunted loudly. Not him. Not Dayne. No way in hell. "Not you."

"Ignore him he's delirious," Arya snapped. "Grab his legs."

"Where are the attendants?" Hot Pie was complaining loudly. "There are supposed to be attendants! He's the crown prince!"

"Shut up and give me his other arm," Arya commanded. Gendry could feel her struggling to lift him with his armor. He tried to say something but his breast plate rammed into his chin and for a moment all he saw was stars.

When he could see properly again, it was darker, and he was being set down, propped against something. Dayne had let go of his feet, and Arya was setting to remove his armor, making quick work with her slim fingers, undoing the straps, unbuckling what needed to be unbuckled. She was right. She made a far better squire than Hot Pie.

"My lady, is this wise... The crown prince... People might talk..."

"Oh shut up," Arya snapped, and Gendry could only feel a swell of buoyant stupid victory at the sputter Dayne made. If only his vision would clear faster so that he could see the idiot knight's face.

"All right," Dayne said, sounding put out, "if I'm no longer needed—"

"Your services were much appreciated," Arya grunted as she worked a particularly difficult strap. "But they are no longer required. Please Ned, will you go and tell the King and my father that the crown prince is attended to? Hot Pie has gone for a maester."

"As you wish my lady," Dayne said in resigned tones. There was a soft cling of metal, and he was gone.

"Good," Gendry groaned. "I thought he'd never leave."

Arya snorted with laughter and sighed, pushing off his breast plate from his chest and helping him remove it. The loss of the weight was like a huge sigh of relief. He collapsed against what felt like a chest. Whatever it was, it was uncomfortable.

"You need water," Arya decided, and there was a clang as she dropped his armor (the nerve really after all the hours he had spent on it) to go get him the refreshment he needed. Vision starting to return to normal, Gendry remembered what he had wanted to do.

"I need..." He gasped, his chest hurting with a cankerous, dull ache. "I need..."

"Here," Arya said, grabbing the back of his head. "Be quiet and drink this."

"No," Gendry grunted, jerking away and then scooting towards what he wanted to show her, even though Arya was doing her best to yank him backwards. It was a fruitless attempt. Even when someone had struck him down with the blunt end of their sword, Gendry was still stronger than Arya. "I need to... I need to..."

"Later," Arya was insisting, but he ignored her as he fished around behind the trunk. Finally his hands curled over cold metal.

"I know I couldn't crown you queen of love and beauty—"

"Oh please," Arya said, sitting back with a huff. Her hair had come out of its braids, Gendry saw, and she was covered with dust and sweat, "don't even start with that."

"But I made you this," Gendry finished, and he pulled out the helmet from behind the trunk, and for once in what seemed like the entire time he had known her, Arya had nothing to say.

It was a wolf helmet. He had spent hours upon hours working the metal for her, using her ringlets as a measure for her head size, and then ever so carefully molding the steel into the shape of her house's fierce sigil. How many long hours had he toiled over the hot fires, tenderly stroking the red hot metal into the face of a wolf? Gently carving out the fur, the fierce eyes, the bared teeth? And all the while he had thought of her, her unforgivable Northern will. Her wild direwolf she had to leave behind in Winterfell, because future Princesses had no need for such pets. He had tried to remember every detail of that wolf, for her.

"You were never one for crowns and flowers anyway," he managed to croak out, his throat dry and his skin fevered. He awkwardly shifted back into sitting position, looking at her. He couldn't see her eyes because her face was bent over the helmet, her fingers absently ghosting over the smooth surface. He wished she would say something. Maybe this was the wrong thing to do. Maybe...

"You stupid," she said, looking up, but to Gendry's surprised her voice was a bit thick and he couldn't quite understand if this was a good or bad thing.

"Well don't keep me in suspense," Gendry grunted, wincing as he moved. "Do you like it or don't you?"

"Of course I like it!" She all but shouted at him.

"All right, all right!" Gendry groaned. "Keep your hair on you crazy woman."

She smacked him. He had just gotten the worst beating of his life and she smacked him.

"I'm worth two men," she informed him.

"You're worth far more than that," Gendry sighed, and he caught her eye. She was looking at him differently. He didn't dare hope...

But suddenly she appeared almost nervous, and she was taking deep, slow breaths, getting a steely look in her eye that told him she was resolved to do something that frightened her. He blinked, frowning slightly, and was just about to ask her what it was that was bothering her, but then she was leaning forward, and her hands were pressing ever so lightly into his shirt, and he was cursing himself for being so stupid because of course! But was this really what she was doing? She was leaning forward, her face so close to his, foreheads brushing, and he was wondering if she really was... Was she really going to kiss him? It seemed like a fantasy brought on by delirium.

"I've got the maester!"

Gendry was ready to destroy Hot Pie. The moment was broken. Arya gasped and jerked away, the heat from her body snatching backwards like a sharp intake of breath. Then she was leaping up, ushering the maester forward, acting as if nothing had happened between them. There was a flush to her cheeks though. Other than that, it might have not happened at all. Maybe he had been dreaming.

"Nothing appears to be broken," the maester said, feeling inside Gendry's shirt. It wasn't Pycelle, someone else. Gendry thanked the gods for that. "You should count yourself lucky, that armor must have been thick."

"It was," Gendry grunted.

"Is there anything to be done?" He heard Arya ask.

"Milk of the poppy," the maester said. "I'll bind his chest to keep things secure, just as a precautionary effort. The best thing I can advise is no strenuous activity."

"His wedding is in less than a week," Hot Pie said with a scoff, "I'm pretty sure there's going to be strenuous-OWW!"

There was a loud crack as Arya thwacked him.

"No milk of the poppy," Gendry groaned.

"Ignore him," Arya said at once.

"The feast..." Gendry tried to explain. "My father..."

"Oh who cares about the stupid feast!" Arya declared in all annoyance. "Just take the milk of the poppy and be done with it."

The maester offered the bottle to his lips, but Gendry refused it. There was a loud growling sound, and then out of nowhere Arya came rushing in, snatching the bottle out of the maester's hands and grabbing the back of Gendry's head.

"No!" Gendry squirmed, but it was no use. She was determined, jabbing his hands aside and forcing the bottle to his lips. Sweet liquid dribbled down his throat.

"You'll thank me later," she snapped as Gendry tried to spit it out. "Now stop squirming. The maester says you're not to move."

"I hate you," Gendry grumbled, but his speech was already starting to get thick and his tongue felt weird and pasty in his mouth. Above him, Hot Pie and Arya began to blur as his eyes rolled back towards his head under heavy lids. Just as he drifted off into space, he thought he heard her laugh.

"Arya?"

Gendry's voice sounded weak and feeble, rather like a frightened child as he blinked, adjusting to the darkened light. Whole hours had passed, and he was no longer in the tent but in his chambers, lying flat on his back in his bed. The windows were shut, the curtains drawn, and just a few feet away from him someone stirred.

"No, a white walker," she joked, sitting by the fire of his room in a great chair, dressed in a plain dress and robe. Her hair was tangled and undone, pulled back half-heartedly with a wooden comb.

"Have you been here all this time?" He croaked, trying to sit up but his entire body screamed in protest.

"Don't," she ordered sharply. "You aren't to move. Maester said so."

"What am I supposed to do then?" Gendry grumbled, laying back against the pillows. The room was pleasantly warm, and it felt strange for her to be there. Soon she would be there always. Soon she would claim that chair as hers and sit by the fire every evening. It was strange thing to think about.

"Heal," Arya said very unapologetically. Gendry grunted.

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking over at her as she beat over something. Firelight licked her face with soft and yellow tongues.

"Sewing."

"Sewing?"

"Don't sound so surprised," she snapped. "I sew quite a bit you know."

"Yes," Gendry agreed, "but never voluntarily."

"Well," Arya sighed with a huff. "It's a secret, I really shouldn't tell... But Willas, before he went back to Highgarden, proposed to Sansa."

"Did he?" Gendry asked, surprised and pleased by this news.

"Yes," Arya said with something of a wane smile. "It's customary to embroider something for the bride. I'm getting a head start so I can muck it up now and then fix it later, as opposed to the alternative."

"Seems a wise enterprise," Gendry grinned. "Given your talent with a needle."

"I'd say I have great talent with needles," Arya said loftily, teasing. "In fact, I say I sew better than most girls I know."

"You sew very differently than most girls you know," Gendry corrected her as he tried to roll his body towards her and instantly regretted it. It took him a few moments to recover from the pain, and by then Arya had lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

"You fought differently today," she said, staring into the fire as if seeing him in the flames. "You didn't hold back."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Gendry wondered. "Isn't that what you've been telling me to do for years?"

Arya didn't say anything for a moment.

"I thought you were going to beat him," she said at last. "But you didn't."

Gendry felt a pang of guilt and self-disappointment, as though he had let her down. And it wasn't about the stupid crown of flowers or anything else. He was a fool to think she held any merit in those things. The scene of him victorious flashed in his mind. The crowd cheering, his father's beaming eyes, and Arya. Arya happy. Arya kissing him. Taking him to bed...

He was a fool and an idiot.

"But I know you will," she spoke up unexpectedly. "I saw you fighting him today. I know one day you'll fight him, and next time you'll beat him."

There was such a strong, unwavering faith in her eyes that Gendry found himself astounded. For a moment, even he believed her.

"Why aren't you at the feast?" He asked instead. "You should be at the feast."

"My place is here with you," Arya recited dutifully, but Gendry had a sneaking suspicion she was doing anything and everything to avoid another social gathering. It would have been nice if she had meant the words though.

"You really shouldn't have forced me to drink that," Gendry told her with a frown.

"Mhmm," Arya hummed, already turned away from him, disinterested.

Gendry lay back against the pillows and let his thoughts consume him for a bit. His fight with the Mountain was still aching in his joints.

"I wish my uncle had been here," he said aloud.

"Which one?" Arya asked absently.

"Jaime," Gendry said. There was a sharp sound of wood against stone as Arya whipped around.

"Why?" She demanded rather accusingly.

Because he's a good swordsman. Because I think he might have been proud of me for almost beating the Mountain.

"You still hate him that much?" Gendry frowned. Something dark passed over Arya's face.

"He hurt my brother," she snarled. "Or have you forgotten?"

"That's an outrageous accusation which has no proof or merit," Gendry said angrily. "Bran's accident was horrible, but it was just that, an accident. Even Bran thinks so."

"Bran doesn't remember," Arya insisted. "But I do."

"Really?" Gendry sneered. "And what do you remember? Nothing, because you were with me at the time Bran fell. We were down at the beach looking for sand crabs and he fell from the wall of the Red Keep. It was an accident. He shouldn't have been climbing."

"It was the Kingslayer," Arya said.

"Never say that again in front of me," Gendry commanded, his voice soft and full of rage. "Do you even know what you are saying? Do you even know what kind of accusation that it? Attempted murder? If Jaime ever heard that, he could have your head on a spike!"

Arya got to her feet.

"I don't trust them!" She declared. "I don't trust the lot of them!"

"Then you don't trust me," Gendry said.

"That's not true," Arya snapped, tears of frustration and anger clouding in her eyes. She hastily wiped them away so she would not cry. "You're a stag, like your father."

"With lion's blood," Gendry told her. "You can't just erase one half of me. I am Lannister and I am Baratheon."

"No you're not!" Arya cried. "You're not. You're not like them at all!"

"Things aren't just cut in half you know," Gendry said. "You can't... You can't just divide people up to fit the places you choose."

Arya looked at him for a long time with an odd sense of anger and betrayal on her face. It wasn't fair. She had just accused his uncle, declared hatred for his family, and yet somehow Gendry felt like he was in the wrong and he had no idea why.

"I should go," she said at last.

"Yes," Gendry agreed bitterly.

She rocked back on her feet for a minute, opening her mouth as if to say something, and then thought better of it. Collecting up her sewing, she silently took a candle and left, the sound of her slippers against the stone fading until there was only quiet and the crackling of the fire.

oooooooOOOOOOooooooo

"What a fight that was!"

Robert's voice boomed throughout the King's Wood as he, Gendry, and Renly trekked through the trees and brush, trailed by servants and cupbearers. They were making such a racket, Gendry was wondering why they even bothered to go on the hunt in the first place.

"Speak a little louder brother," Renly said, "I don't think you've scared all the game away yet."

"Shut your god damn mouth Renly," Robert snapped. "I'm the King. I can do what I bloody like."

"Except catch anything decent apparently," Renly commented and Gendry tried not to laugh.

"You're lucky I don't stick this spear up your ass!" Robert said in his booming voice, shaking his spear at Renly, his gut jiggling as he did. Three hours of this had gone by, Robert's retelling of stories and Renly's sly comments. It was getting tiresome, and Gendry could fell the throb in his ribs and head, which were still badly bruised and hurt like the blazes. His father's face was bruised as well, an ugly reminder of the blows that had fallen between them. Every moment spent between father and son was growing more and more unpleasant.

"Fell like a fucking puppet he did," Robert went right on and Gendry felt his face flare. "You wouldn't have seen me do that! Back in the day, I could have destroyed the Mountain."

"How exhilarating," Renly sighed dispassionately.

"It's a right shame," Robert said. "I'd bet you'd get a good fucking out of that girl if you had crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty."

Gendry clenched his fists and tried to keep silent.

"Arya is a Lady," he said despite himself through gritted teeth.

"You think that matters?" Robert barked with laughter. "They're all the same once you give them a flower."

"You put romance in such an eloquent light," Renly observed, trying to keep the mood from falling as fast as it was.

"I would never dishonor—"

"Honor!" Robert shouted, looking annoyed. "You spend too much time with Stannis. Fuck your honor and give that girl a good fucking damn the seven hells!"

"I've come to blows with you over Arya's honor," Gendry said in a low voice. "I won't have it again."

"Enough of this," Renly said, coming between them. "I am tired of all this bickering. Come, let us share a drink and forget all this nonsense."

Gendry hardly wanted to. Again, he could feel his bitter anger mounting against his father, and it would only be the worse if Robert drank... But who was he to refuse? Not taking a sip of wine would be a gross insult, so as Lancel Lannister brought them two goblets and filled them, Gendry took a long and hearty swig and said no more about it.

The afternoon grew hot and sweltering. Flies buzzed throughout the King's Wood as they walked on and on, the sun streaming through the trees and beating down on their backs. Gendry's head began to swim, and he felt sluggish and not himself. His limbs felt like heavy weights, each step taking an extreme amount of effort. He wondered if he should say anything, but the world tilted and spun, and he could only imagine his father's annoyance and rude words.

There was a sound of something, and Gendry jerked to a stop, listening. A rumble, a roar of some sort, he could feel the earth begin to move... Something was coming...

He was vaguely aware of Renly and the servants roaring in a panic, scattering like bits of broken steel, but he couldn't run. His limbs were too slow, too out of place. And then he noticed something. It was a boar. And his father was running straight at it.

"No!" Gendry shouted as the earth shook and everything spun. "Father NO!"

In that split second, before the trees fell apart in splinters of shattering wood and the boar burst from the leaves like some great nightmare, Gendry saw Robert. He saw his father as if seeing him for the first time. The blind bravery. The desperation. The past that would never be relived as he charged at the boar drunkenly with a weak and lumbering swing.

Its tusks sank into him as if he were clay. Blood spurted and rained and there was the sound of ripping flesh and screaming pain. The world exploded and Gendry was knocked to his feet blindly. His father's spear sank into the beasts flesh, but hardly deep enough, and Gendry was gripped with the strange spell that had fallen over him since he drank the wine. He slumped over as the boar rumbled and raged past him, barely noticing Gendry as he slumped to the earth, crying and shouting but no sound coming out.

His vision was beginning to blue to the extreme from tears, and the world tilted and sloshed as though the Kings Wood was a boat in the sea. Gendry felt himself going numb as he crawled towards his father, who lay broken and bleeding against the green earth. Trembling hands cupped the great King's head.

"Help!" Gendry shouted, his tongue thick in his mouth and sobs choking his throat. "Help him! He's the King! He's my father! Help!"

But no one came, and before he could stop himself, Gendry felt his entire body sag, and then he slumped over into nothingness.

If certain things feel like their left hanging, or ambiguous, don't worry. They're supposed to be like that. I plan to pick them up in later chapters.