Author's Notes: More Stannis Baratheon! I know some people hate him, but I've always found him to be the most unintentionally hilarious character in the series. Plus, I really want him to meet Gendry, so that he can remember his lost brothers.

Disclaimer: Look, if I owned these characters, they'd be back together and not separated. GRRM owns all of them.

Tempering Winter
The Stag and the Bull

Arya had been spending her time getting reacquainted with her fellow Northerners. She'd told him that he could join her – had even tried to drag him along – but he'd thought that she should do it on her own. She needed to reconnect with these people, her people, people that lived in her world and not his. She needed to be with others that had the North in them. When he saw her with them, eating and talking, he saw how well she fit in and how she seemed to find herself again. This was her place, her home, and Arya Stark was returning. Winter is coming, he thought, but then, no, that's not right – she's already here, now.

So when there was a knock on his door, Gendry was confused more than anything else. Before he could say anything in response, the door opened to reveal Stannis Baratheon, two of his knights standing behind him.

Gendry nearly let go of the helmet that he was holding and dropped to one knee. "Your Grace." The king waved him to stand, which he did. Gendry edgily looked up from the ground, not sure what he was supposed to say or do. He'd never been around a king before. Arya had been the highest highborn he'd ever been around; and she wasn't exactly what people would describe as the typical highborn lady. "If you're looking for Ar- Lady Stark, Your Grace, I believe she's with the Mormonts, but I'm–"

"I'm not here to see Lady Stark; I'm here to speak with you."

Gendry stared at the floor hard. It felt strange and difficult to look at Stannis Baratheon: one because he was a king; and two because there was something very, very familiar about the man. It was like looking at his reflection in a dirty silver plate. Stannis had the same piercing blue eyes that Gendry had had all his life; and though his hair had thinned considerably, he had dark black hair that looked as if it had once hung down to his eyes as Gendry's did now. They both wore the most serious of expressions, looking like they might be pained when thinking. It left Gendry uncomfortable and befuddled.

"Why would you want to speak with me, Your Grace?"

Stannis stepped inside the small room and shut the door. This was to be between them. Though Gendry was stronger and broader than the older man, there was no doubt in Gendry's mind that Stannis could easily kill him if he wanted. This was a man that had been trained by a master-at-arms and had more experience in war and combat than Gendry ever would. "There is no need to play stupid with me," Stannis announced. His voice was powerful and made Gendry want to take a step into the corner. "I have received word about what is going on between you and Lady Stark. I will be as candid as possible, to make this clear to you. I will not have a lowborn bastard sullying Lady Stark."

Gendry flushed, despite himself. "I'm not sullying–"

"She comes to your room every night instead of staying in the quarters that were given to her. She looks as if she never sleeps. And I've been told that this has been going on for weeks before your party arrived here." Stannis' frown could not deepen further. Gendry wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with himself. He felt humiliated and angry and even frightened. He'd heard people talking about how Stannis gave those that were disloyal or disobeyed to the red god and its flames. It wouldn't matter to Stannis if Gendry had passively been following R'hllor for three years or if Arya cared for him. "If that's not sullying, then I'm not quite sure what your illiterate definition would be."

Every word or comeback or response Gendry could possibly think of stuck in his throat. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of that first night when he and Arya had gotten into it and they'd ended up kissing and rolling around in bed and doing nearly every sullying thing they could think of. He fiddled with the helmet in his hands, staring at it hard, and finally said, "We haven't… I never meant any disrespect…"

But how could he explain that he felt he could breathe again when she was lying next to him? How could he explain that the world felt right again after it had been slighted for three long years in her absence? Could he possibly explain to Stannis that Arya looked like Arya again when she was standing next to him? That he woke up every morning, afraid that it was all a dream, only for her to roll over and smack him in the arm and that those were the moments he loved the most, the sleepy smile on her face and warm look in her normally cold eyes and the soft expression that didn't speak of years of torment and loss? And that if he didn't have moments like that, then he didn't know what life was worth living for? Would he be able to explain how Arya looked like a distant storm on the horizon when standing in a crowd of people but she would snap back into the world the moment she looked at him? How could Stannis Baratheon even begin to understand things like that?

"I'm sure you didn't, but boys like you… You all have your filthy needs." Stannis gave him another one of those strange, distant looks, tinted with disdain, like Gendry might've done something disgusting. Gendry had no idea what he'd actually done to cause Stannis to loathe him so much. "Lady Stark is not one of your common whores. She is a highborn lady who will be wed to a highborn lord, not to some halfwit bastard knight. If you need to get your fix so badly, there is a whorehouse a ways away."

"Your Grace, I don't– I've never– we've never, I mean–" Gendry sputtered, his throat constricting painfully. He glanced up at Stannis, a meek and ashamed expression written on his face. "We've never lain together, not like that. I mean, we–" He did not want to talk about he and Arya did in bed, least of all with the man that looked at him as if he were scum. No, worse than scum. Stannis looked at Gendry as if he were someone that he'd hoped to never see again. "She still has her maidenhead." As far as he knew, at least. He hadn't the desire or need to ask her something like that. "I would never dishonor like that, I swear it, Your Grace. I know I'm just a bastard, and I have no right—"

"You're right," Stannis snapped firmly. "You have no right." He shook his head, balling his hands into fists at his side. Gendry felt as if he had been punched with one of those fists. "I should have known the moment I saw you…" Stannis was no longer looking at him. It was like Gendry was no longer in the room with him; and neither one of them wanted to look at the other. "Your blood has made you weak – made you succumb to acting with your cock instead of thinking with your wits and knowing your place. This will stop immediately or I will—"

"You'll do what, Your Grace?"

Gendry whipped his head up. Arya stood behind the king, who had turned to face her. She had somehow managed to slip into the room silently while Stannis had been talking. There was a blank expression on her face, but he could see that cloudy storm swirling in her eyes. He thought it was a good thing that she'd left her sword in her room, though he was sure that she had a dagger or two hidden on her somewhere. She always did, even when she was told to disarm herself before the king.

"Lady Stark, I was just explaining to your bastard knight that he would do well to stay away from you in the future."

Arya tilted her head slightly. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Stannis mouth twitched. "It is my business, when I am your king."

"So a king must be aware of who everyone in their camp is fucking? That must make things very complicated."

Gendry coughed, feeling as if the wind had been sucked right out of his lungs. He had been unsure if Stannis had believed him when Gendry had said that he and Arya had hadn't sex yet, but Arya had just said something to the contrary. He wanted to point it out again, but felt unable to speak. It wasn't his place, he kept thinking. This confrontation wasn't for him anymore, even if it was about him directly.

"You are a lady. Surely you understand what this means." Stannis had no idea who he was talking to. Gendry still struggled with not calling her m'lady, even though he knew that she hated it, if only because it had been ingrained in his brain for twenty years. But Arya was no lady and never would be, just as Gendry would never be a lord. Arya kept silent, though he was sure that her rage was building inside of her chest. "You are a Stark. A marriage would help secure a strong political alliance–"

"Perhaps you don't understand this, and maybe you never will," Arya cut in coldly, "but I will never be a pawn in your game. I will help you win over the North; I will help bring Winterfell back to my family; I will help you burn these traitors; and I will bend the knee to you. But I will never marry some fancy ass ponce just to strengthen your power in the North. I will do what I like; and if that includes lying with my bastard blacksmith knight or joining the Wall to be with my bastard brother or living beyond the Wall with wildlings, then so be it. I will not have someone else telling me how to live my life." She paused, glaring at the older man, before dryly adding, "Your Grace."

Gendry briefly thought that being sacrificed to R'hllor might not be so bad, compared to the fury that had grown on Stannis' face. He could practically hear the king grinding his teeth into dust. No, Arya was not the highborn lady that he could control. She was as wild as the North that he was trying to win over; and if he was to win over the North, he would have to win her. But Arya was not the type of person to be simply won. Gendry knew that well enough.

"We will speak of these matters later–"

"No, we will not," Arya said, jutting her chin up defiantly. "I'm sick of speaking of this, to the both of you. I am a woman grown; I will do what I please and if it bothers you, then pull the stick out of your ass and move on to next puddle of mud." Her mouth twisted into something that looked like a smirk. "And if it's really blood you're worried about, then I think we both know you've got no place in complaining, otherwise you wouldn't be fighting so hard to sit your ass on the Iron Throne."

Gendry furrowed his brow. Why did people have to always speak in so many riddles? He didn't understand why people couldn't just say what they were thinking outright or be plain about things. It didn't take sideways comments and beating around the bush to intimidate people; all it took was a sword and a scary enough look about a person, sometimes not even that much.

"Now if you'll excuse us, Your Grace, I am tired and would like to be fucked like the common whore you think I am."

Stannis seemed like he might want to lash out, but instead he snorted and said, "You Starks are all the same: brash and difficult."

"At least we're not as stubborn as you Baratheons. You should change your sigil to a bull." She made a little bow. "Your Grace."

Stannis Baratheon shot Gendry one more look, making him nearly bend in half to bow as fast as possible, and then strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. An awkward silence fell between the two of them, now that they were alone. Gendry wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Arya was still buzzing with anger; and he was scared of touching her or saying the wrong thing for multiple reasons.

"You're not a whore," was the thing he settled on saying, though it felt stupid and pointless the moment it came out of his mouth.

However, the tension in her body seemed to slip to the floor, and she stepped out of it like it was a piece of clothing, her feet not making any noises on the stone. Before he could say or do anything else, she stood on her tip toes and pressed her lips against his. It all felt so right, despite Stannis saying that it was wrong. How could something that felt this right be wrong?

"What did you mean earlier, when you mentioned blood?" The words tumbled out of Gendry's mouth. He immediately regretted them, wanting to pull them back into his mouth where he could keep them to himself, but it was too late. She heard him and pulled back, looking him in the face carefully. He took a deep breath. "King Stannis, he mentioned, well, he said my blood made me weak, and it could be just because I'm a bastard, born because some bloke couldn't keep his prick in his pants, and–"

"Not now, Gendry, I'll tell you later." She wore a tired and sad expression, like she'd heard a tragic tale about a knight. "I promise. It's just…now's not the time. I don't even think I'm the right person to explain it."

Gendry shrugged his shoulders. "If you're not the right person, then maybe no one is."

Arya smiled and kissed him gently again. "Stupid. Flattery will get you nowhere." She brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Let's work on your letters. We can impress Stannis with the fact that you're a lowborn bastard that can actually read and write."

"Arya," Gendry groaned, "I doubt that anything impresses Stannis."

"Then impress me." Her smile turned sly, and she pulled him down to whisper in his air, "In more ways than one."

In three nights' time, they would be waging the war for Winterfell. For now though, it felt good to pretend like they might not die before the week was over. It felt good to not worry about the king or blood or anything in the world. It felt good to act as if they were living a normal everyday life, because their lives were made up of anything but the everyday.