Brienne moved swiftly along the balcony ringing the castle yard, sidestepping a crate of chickens, six bags of grain, and Maester Wolkan as she walked.
There was urgency in her gait, a mounting tension permeating her body she could feel heavily in her chest and shoulders. This might be her last opportunity to spar with the girl before the battle was joined.
Everything was moving more quickly now. The latest reports had put the wights well south of Eastwatch and moving relentlessly towards the Dreadfort, an ever-growing army of frozen dead now 400 miles north and east of Winterfell.
The forge smoked and glowed with activity night and day. The King's gathered armies would be taking the fight north once sufficient quantities of the obsidian-tipped weapons had been crafted.
As Brienne moved along the wooden walkway of the balcony, she glanced briefly into each room she passed, hoping to catch sight of Lady Catelyn's younger daughter. Snatches of an impassioned conversation in a chamber she was passing drifted her way.
"Let me come with you on Rhaegal."
"You've no experience at flying, Jon. I do."
Brienne quickened her pace and fixed her gaze straight ahead, embarrassed to be overhearing a clearly private conversation.
"Dany-"
"The North needs its King, Jon. Every living soul in Westeros needs you."
As she passed, Brienne offered a silent prayer over the mission she knew was scheduled for that evening.
Despite King Jon's vocal reservations, the Mad King's daughter would be taking a moonlit trip overnight aboard Drogon in an attempt to thin out the ranks of the dead, to slow them down. The whereabouts of the Night King and his dragon remained unknown, and tension gripped both the castle and its King.
Brienne forced her thoughts back to the task at hand and smiled broadly with relief when she saw Lady Catelyn's elder daughter emerge onto the walkway twenty feet ahead of her.
"Lady Sansa!" she exclaimed.
The younger woman turned and moved towards her, wearing the same grim expression she had for days.
The castle was beginning to fill up with refugees fleeing Last Hearth, Karhold, and other northerly holdfasts. The responsibility for so many lives was weighing heavily on Winterfell's lady.
"What is it, Brienne?" the younger woman asked, looking distracted.
"I was looking for your sister, my lady," Brienne replied as she reached her. "I thought we might spar today."
Lady Sansa's expression softened somewhat.
"Have you checked the forge?" she asked with a trace of a smile. Brienne was surprised to hear a hint of amusement in her voice.
"I haven't."
"Well, she's there most days. When she isn't training everyone."
"Is Lady Arya interested in smithing?"
The faint smile Lady Sansa wore expanded into a full-blown grin. It was the first time Brienne had seen her smile in nearly a week.
"Something like that," she replied.
~0~
Arya reclined comfortably against the stone wall adjacent to the hearth, her feet dangling a foot off the floor. Her eyes half closed, she soaked in the heat emanating from the hot-burning fire of the forge.
Winter had come, and the castle always felt cold to her. Only in the forge was she able to rid herself of the persistent chill. Whether it was the heat of the fire or the company that warmed her more she could never quite tell.
Immediately across from where Arya sat, Gendry turned from a metal table heavy laden with weapons with a glittering sword in his hand. Sharpened dragonglass formed the edge of its blade as well as the weapon's elongated tip.
Arya took an enormous bite from a muffin she'd pocketed at breakfast and looked on contentedly as she chewed while the smith thrust and parried awkwardly with the sword.
After a half-dozen maneuvers, Gendry looked over at her, and she rolled her eyes at him.
"What?"
"Sideface, remember?"
Gendry smirked and extended the sword to her. "Show me yourself you know so much."
Arya frowned slightly, reluctant to leave the comfort of her perch. She'd spent the morning training young Karstarks and Umbers and would be taking on Podrick and a half-dozen other middling swordsmen after lunch.
Gendry's smirk grew more pronounced as she hesitated. "You'll train everyone in the castle except me?"
"You're skilled with your hammer, Gendry."
"My hammer can't kill wights."
"Then fix it so it can."
"And if I can't work out how to do that in time?"
He was baiting her a little, and she knew it, but he also had a point. "Alright," she conceded, sliding off the stone counter.
She held out her half-eaten muffin towards him. Gendry looked at her quizzically.
"Hold my muffin," she instructed.
"I'm hungry. I might eat it."
"I'll risk it."
Arya slapped the muffin into his waiting hand and was reaching for Needle when Gendry interrupted her.
"Not with Needle. Let's see you do your thing with a real sword." The blacksmith extended the glimmering weapon as he spoke.
"Needle is a real sword," she said drily, knowing better than to take his light teasing to heart.
"It worked well enough in the wood last week. I'll give you that."
Arya stepped closer and took hold of the cool smooth hilt of the sword, her hand lightly brushing Gendry's as she did. She flushed involuntarily at the skin-to-skin contact.
Her face felt hot as she took the sword fully in hand, but she didn't back away from him. Avoiding Gendry's eyes, she pretended to inspect the weapon hoping he wouldn't notice her complexion.
"It's heavier than I thought it would be," she murmured as she lifted the sword slightly off the ground.
"It's big as you."
She was standing so close to him, she realized. The closest she'd been to him since the morning of his arrival at Winterfell, when in her shock and elation she'd launched herself into his arms.
As Gendry's gaze remained on the weapon, Arya glanced sideways at him, taking in the deep blueness of his eyes, the light stubble on his chin. For a few fleeting seconds she thought she might run her fingertips over the short black hairs along his jawline, but she recovered herself in time and resisted the impulse.
It was a sweet kind of torture, being so close to him. He was inches away from her, neither of them making any move to back away.
"No using two hands to pick it up now," Gendry teased, still looking at the sword.
Arya smiled, forcing her gaze away from his face. "Very funny," she said cutting her eyes at him. Reluctantly, she took a half step back so she could raise the sword fully.
"Lady Arya?"
Arya's head whipped around in surprise at the interruption. Brienne stood silently in the doorway of the forge. Something in the lady knight's expression made Arya's face go even hotter.
Self conscious suddenly, she took a full step back from Gendry and turned to face Brienne.
"Brienne, have you met Gendry?" Arya said quickly.
She marveled at how even her voice sounded, when her face still felt white hot.
"I haven't," Brienne replied. There was open curiosity and a trace of amusement in the lady knight's expression.
"This is Brienne of Tarth, Gendry. She's pledged to Sansa and me."
"Nice to meet you, m'lady," the smith said respectfully. "You must be that big lady Tormund speaks of."
Brienne stared wordlessly at the young smithy in surprise as Arya nearly laughed out loud at his blunt statement, her tension evaporating. He really is a moron.
Gendry's face went red as he realized his mistake. "I didn't mean any offense, m'lady," he added quickly.
"None taken," Brienne replied graciously, smiling at the embarrassed young man. She turned to Arya.
"I was thinking we might train today, my lady."
"Were you?" Arya replied, sounding less than enthused.
She glanced sideways at Gendry, who was pretending not to listen while absently wiping his soot-stained hands on an old rag he kept close to the forge.
"We may not get many more chances to spar," Brienne said pointedly.
Arya hesitated, again looking over at Gendry. I'd really rather stay here.
"Train her with this," the smith said suddenly, taking hold of the weapon still clasped in her hand and thrusting it forward, along with the hand holding it. Arya tried not to react to his touch.
"I'm training with Needle," she said to him, pulling free of his grip.
"And if something happens to Needle?"
"Nothing's going to happen to my sword."
"You don't know that. What if you have to use a regular sword?"
"I have my dagger."
"Which can't kill at a distance."
Arya hesitated. She'd never trained with any sword other than Needle and truthfully didn't want to. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Brienne watching their interaction closely. She felt her blush returning.
"Needle can't kill wights. This sword can," Gendry added pointedly.
She sighed, resigned. "You have a point," she conceded.
"It happens sometimes."
Arya smiled despite herself, and Gendry smiled back at her, looking pleased by her acquiescence.
She held her hand out to him, palm up.
"What?"
"My muffin."
Reluctantly, he slapped it into her palm. "And here I thought I might have a snack."
Arya grinned. "I'll have cook bring you some lunch."
"Thanks."
Arya turned towards the doorway, the obsidian sword in hand, to discover Lady Brienne grinning openly at her. She looked away, the heat in her cheeks again rising.
"Your knight friend, the lady, can carry that sword for you if it's too heavy," Gendry called after her, as she walked towards the door.
"Perhaps I'll use it on you when I return," she called back over her shoulder at him.
"We'll see," Gendry replied, smiling broadly as he turned to stoke the fire.
He's flirting with me.
The realization hit Arya like a thunderclap, her gait going a little wobbly. Avoiding Brienne's eyes, she brushed past the big lady and emerged into the chill of the castle yard smiling.