Part 10:

Jon stood on the battlements looking out at the line of people still pouring south to the gates. There had been no more sightings of Arya's Army in over a week but this was still her doing. Every village she had stopped at had sent out riders. Every village the riders had reached had sent more riders. It was a chain affect and a very effective tactic. The people had risen up to save themselves instead of waiting for their Lords. Jon was both proud of the people and disappointed at the Lords. But mostly he was proud of Arya.

He carefully pulled out the note that Arya had written him and re-read it. The parchment was worn and the ink was smudged from being handled so many times. The note had passed through so many sets of hands since Lyanna had given it to him that he had quickly lost track of it. It had only been through Ser Davos' intervention that he had gotten it back a few days later. When he had asked Ser Davos why the man had simply shrugged and said that he thought the note itself might mean something more to him than the words on the page. As he held this tiny piece of Arya in his hands he couldn't be more thankful to Ser Davos.

Arya's hand writing hadn't improved much, nor had her spelling, a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he looked at how she had spelt Dothraki. Close, but not correct. Yet she could spell the name of every battle maiden in every history book that she had ever read, and quite a few dragon names besides.

When Lyanna had first told him that Arya was riding north he had believed that she had no idea what she was doing. There was no way that she could stop the Night King. He had held onto that notion until the day that he had returned to Winterfell. He replayed the argument that he had had with Sansa in his head.

"How could you let her go?!" he had yelled at Sansa once the formalities were done and they had found a more private place to talk.

"Let her?!" Sansa had turned on him. "Let her?! This is Arya we're talking about. Nobody let's her do anything. She just does!"

Jon had been unwilling to back down. "You should have stopped her! She's going to get herself killed, and for what?!"

That was when Sansa had started throwing numbers at him. The number of people who had come through the gates, the number of those who were fit to fight, the amount of hay, grain, and livestock that those people had brought with them. And Sansa had given him updates on those numbers every day since. It was then that he had realised that it was him that had no idea what Arya was doing. She was saving lives, as many and as quickly a she could. His heart had sank, he was likely never going to see Arya again.

A drop if water landed on the parchment bringing Jon back to the present. He wiped it away, trying not to smudge the ink, but another drop followed. He looked up at the sky but it wasn't raining. It was only then that he realised that tears were running down his face. He quickly wiped them away. Funny how bastards learn to cry silently.

He re-read the last couple of lines:

I love you and I miss you. There is so much I wish I had the time to tell you. I can do this.

Your dark sister, Arya.

She had known what she was getting into all along. He wondered if Daenerys had understood the reference to Visenya Targaryen's blade. He was sure Tyrion had. He carefully folded the note away and headed the one place he had been finding solace lately. Gendry's forge.

Gendry looked up and greeted him with a brief "Lord Snow." Before going back to work on whatever it was that he was working on. Jon settled himself on the stool in the corner which had seemed to appear out of nowhere after he had visited Gendry a couple of days in a row, he suspected the stool had been put there especially for him but he hadn't asked. Despite the cold Gendry was sweating, he put his full strength into every swing of the hammer, never holding back. Somehow he made the metal sing every time he hit it.

"I hope you've done something about a suitable weapon for yourself with some of that Dragonglass." Jon asked. "Arya wouldn't be too happy with me if I got you all the way to Winterfell only to get you killed."

A gentle smile passed across Gendry's lips. "I think Mi'lady would forgive you of almost anything. She talked about you on the road, a lot. She was really not happy that Polliver took her Needle."

Jon nodded. "I'm glad the Hound helped her to get it back."

Gendry grimaced. "Don't call him that," he said softly. "He hates that name."

Jon frowned. "It's the sigil of his house…"

Gendry shook his head and put his hammer down. "No. It's the sigil of his brother's house. It's not his house. He doesn't have a house. His father proved that the day he covered up that it was his brother that gave him his burns."

Jon looked at Gendry in shock. "I didn't know."

Gendry picked up his hammer again and went back to work. "Most people don't."

They sat in silence for a while, save for the sound of Gendry's hammer as he worked. Jon noticed a slight smile slowly start pulling at the corner of Gendry's mouth.

"What's so funny?" Jon finally asked.

"Nothing." Gendry replied. "Just thinking how similar you and Lady Arya are. She used to sit and watch me work too."

Jon shrugged. "There's something kind of soothing about it. Even Mikken couldn't make the steel sing the way you do."

"Mikken?" Gendry asked. "Did he make Needle?"

Jon nodded. "He was the head blacksmith here for many years."

"What happened to him?"

Jon sighed. "The Bolton's, I think."

Gendry just nodded. He was about to swing his hammer again then stopped as something or someone across the courtyard caught his attention. "I hope it's not Lady Stark that you are hiding from, Lord Snow."

"I'm not hiding," Jon replied. "Just avoiding." He moved slightly back into the corner but it didn't save him.

"Lady Stark." Gendry greeted, giving her a curt nod and Jon a moment of warning.

"Gendry," Sansa greeted him her voice was polite but there was a tightness to her expression that suggested something was very wrong. "I don't suppose -"

"Corner." Gendry replied, nodding in Jon's direction and ratting him out.

Sansa turned on Jon abruptly. "So you've been hiding in here while I've been dealing with the Northern Lords, and our Queen, and everything else?!"

Jon shook his head. "Actually I was hiding up there." He said pointing up at the top of the wall. "Then I came down here to warm up a bit. Besides, you're better at it."

Sansa shook her head and Jon suddenly realised she looked close to tears. He stood up quickly, placing a hand on each of her arms. "Sansa, what's wrong?"

Gendry put his hammer down. "Do you want me to go."

Sansa shook her head quickly. "If Jon can't answer this you may be able to." She thrust a small object wrapped in fabric at Jon. "Bran found something, well his animal's found something."

She was really starting to scare him now. Jon unwrapped the object quickly, it was the hilt of a shattered sword, but it wasn't just any sword, it was needle. He rolled it over in his fingers until he found Mikken's maker's mark.

"Is it…?" Sansa asked.

Jon nodded slowly. He handled the hilt to Gendry, who took it with shaking hands.

"Needle." Gendry whispered.

"What did Bran say?" Jon asked.

A tear slipped down Sansa's face. "He doesn't know." She replied with a sob. "He can't see her. He's been having dreams but he doesn't know when they happened."

Sansa threw her arms around Jon's neck and started sobbing. Jon could feel hot tears running down his own face as well. Arya was dead, she had to be.

Gendry's words cut through their sorrow. "She's stronger than you think. Didn't she have a Valyrian dagger as well? Show me that. Show me a body. She's been thought dead before. She wasn't dead then and she's not dead now."

Jon could hear the denial and pain in Gendry's voice. Before Jon could think about his actions he reached out an arm and pulled Gendry into the hug.

That was how Tyrion found them. Sansa sobbing, Jon sheading silent tears, and Gendry defiantly whispering "She's not dead." over and over again.

~~/~~