Tyrion

"I need a woman."

Tyrion looked up from his book and his wine as Bronn strode into the library unannounced. "Come again?"

Bronn shrugged. "I'm going into battle tomorrow – I could very well die. I've got no wife since your brother convinced me to leave Lollys behind, and I don't see your promised bride anywhere, so I'm going to find myself a whore for tonight. Not a blonde one though – I think all these blonde Lannister cunts have ruined that hair color for me."

Tyrion sighed and drained the rest of his cup in one long gulp. "I told you, when the war is over I'll give you twice what Cersei promised."

"What, two wives and two castles?" Bronn chuckled. "Regardless, that won't do me much good tonight. You want to come?"

"No thank you."

"Suit yourself then, I'll see you in the morning."

"Wait." Tyrion dug into his pocket, tossing a golden dragon coin towards Bronn, who caught it mid-air. "Get yourself the best-looking woman in the place, on me."

Bronn smirked. "You're a good man, Lannister. What are you going to do tonight? Get drunk?"

Tyrion shook his head. "I don't think so. If I want to stay alive tomorrow, I think it best that I'm not hungover."

"That's probably a good idea." Bronn stopped in the doorway, a look akin to affection in his eyes. "Stay safe tomorrow, Tyrion."

"You as well, my friend."

After Bronn left him, he tried to focus on the random book he'd selected from Winterfell's shelves: Winter's Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell by Maester Childer. But as Tyrion tried to read a ballad about how the legendary Bran the Builder constructed the Wall, he found that his mind could not focus, the words on the page seeming a jumbled mess. Usually reading could always ease his woes, but tonight it seemed his woes were too great. Finally he gave up entirely and left the room, hoping that a walk around the castle would clear his head.

First he went to his brother's room to see if Jaime cared to join him, but when he opened the door he was surprised to see Jaime was not alone. He was seated at the table across from the queen, talking over some glasses of wine. Well, Jaime was talking – Daenerys looked as if she'd been crying. When Tyrion entered, they both rose to their feet. "Am I interrupting something?"

"I was just leaving." Daenerys told him. She turned back to Jaime and he bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you for telling me the truth, Ser Jaime. I will not forget it."

"It was no trouble, Your Grace."

When the queen left, Tyrion gave Jaime a look. "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing." Jaime said, draining the rest of his wine. "She asked me about her father, what he was like, why I killed him. She said you told her that story once before?"

"Yes. Do you really think that what a prick her father was is what she needed to hear the night before the greatest battle any of us have ever seen?"

"She asked," Jaime said defensively. "And we didn't just talk about her father. She asked me about her mother too, and Prince Rhaegar. I answered honestly – figured I owed her the truth, since there's a chance both of us may die tomorrow." Tyrion couldn't exactly argue with that.

Together they went downstairs to hopefully clear their heads with a walk around the grounds, but when they went to cut through the great hall they stumbled upon quite a scene. All of the Wintertown residents were lined up, the Winterfell servants spooning them bowls of soup and pouring mugs of tea, those who had already been served eating and drinking on their pallets on the floor. Tyrion spotted Sansa walking among them, Lady Brienne by her side. Sansa would squeeze their outstretched hands or get down on her knees to pinch their babies' cheeks. Two little girls ran up to her and tugged on her skirt, something which their mother chastised them for, but Sansa only laughed and knelt to speak to the girls in a gentle voice.

"She has a kind heart," Jaime said, and when Tyrion turned his head he saw his brother was giving him a knowing look. "Lady Stark."

Tyrion cleared his throat. "Yes, well…" He glanced at Lady Brienne, who was smiling tentatively at two young boys playing with toy swords. "Do you fancy Lady Brienne?"

When he looked at Jaime again, his face had gone pale. "No," He sputtered. "No, absolutely not…"

Liar. Tyrion wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. "That's too bad, because I think she fancies you."

Jaime looked at him warily. "…You really think so?"

At that moment, Sansa caught Tyrion's gaze and she began to approach them, gesturing for Lady Brienne to follow. "Lord Tyrion," The Lady of Winterfell greeted them politely. "Ser Jaime."

"Good evening, Lady Stark." Tyrion noticed that though Jaime was speaking to Sansa, he was looking at Brienne.

Lady Sansa's blue eyes flicked from Jaime to Tyrion to Brienne. "Lady Brienne, you've had a long night. Why don't you and Ser Jaime go have a drink, or take a walk? I'd like to have a word with Lord Tyrion."

Brienne nodded. "Certainly." Jaime gave Tyrion a squeeze on the shoulder before he left.

Sansa extended her arm to him. "Care to take a turn about the room with me, my lord?"

"Of course." They walked arm-in-arm without speaking for a few moments, Sansa looking around to make sure that all of the smallfolk were eating. She ordered one of the maids to go upstairs for more blankets. "I have to say, Lady Sansa," Tyrion remarked. "What you're doing for them is very generous."

"It's the least I could do. Tomorrow all of our futures will be thrown into disarray, and I want to help them while I still can." At the mention of the forthcoming battle, Sansa's face grew serious. "You see, my lord, that is what I wish to discuss. You'll look after yourself tomorrow, I hope?"

Was this truly all? Had Sansa simply pulled him aside to ask about his welfare? "Indeed." Tyrion said. "I'd ask the same of you, but considering what I saw of you and Lady Brienne yesterday, it looks like I need not worry."

Sansa flushed and ducked her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I wish you hadn't seen that. I know I probably made a fool of myself…"

"I can assure you, you didn't." For a moment Tyrion couldn't help but remember the look of her legs in those pants, and he felt dirty and wrong. "As for me, I've miraculously survived my fair share of battles. Hopefully I'll survive this one too."

They stopped in their path as a child's ball rolled by their feet. A little girl was chasing after it, about four or five years old. Tyrion bent down to pick the ball up and the little girl stopped in front of him, suddenly looking bashful. "I believe this is yours?"

The girl smiled and ducked her head. "Yes m'lord. I'm sorry m'lord." Her hair was a tangle mess of red curls, her eyes a lovely shade of blue, and her words came out with a lisp because she was missing her two front teeth. As Tyrion handed the ball back to her, he could not help but notice that the child bore a striking resemblance to Lady Sansa, enough that she could've passed for Sansa's own daughter.

"No need to apologize." He told her gently. "Run along and play." The girl gave him a gap-toothed smile, curtsied to Sansa, and scampered off.

When he looked back at Sansa, she was smiling. "She's very precious. I…" She trailed off. "I think I might like to have children someday. If I survive this."

Tyrion was a bit surprised by the definitiveness of her statement. After what Sansa had been through, he would not have blamed her if she swore off marriage and children altogether. Though, after the loss of so many family members, he supposed he couldn't blame her for wanting to rebuild her home and have a husband and children, a complete family once more. "You deserve that."

He suddenly hoped, more than anything, that Sansa would live to achieve it.

Jon

He paused outside his chamber door at the sound of humming, quiet and sweet. His hand on the door handle, Jon couldn't help but smile to himself. He opened the door and slipped inside. "Daenerys, that's – " He cut himself off when he saw that it was not Daenerys, but Missandei, who was in the midst of folding and putting away some of Daenerys's dresses. "Missandei, I'm sorry. I thought you were Dany."

"It is no trouble, Your Grace." Missandei said, giving him a gentle smile. "Her Grace is in the bath. I've brought up some tea for the both of you, may I pour you a cup?"

"No need, Missandei. I can get it myself, thank you." He crossed the room to the bedside table and picked up the kettle, while Missandei resumed her humming. "What is that song?" Jon asked. It was not one he recognized.

"It's from my home country, Your Grace."

"Well, it's very pretty."

"It is indeed, Your Grace." Missandei replied. "A pretty song, and sad as well. It's about a pair of lovers, you see. The song is told from the woman's perspective, about how she and her lover lived together happily, until tragic circumstances took him away from her. They never saw each other again."

Jon took a sip of tea and it was sweet like honey and lavender, but Missandei's words left a bitter taste in his mouth. "That is sad."

Missandei smiled at him again, but this smile was small and tight-lipped, and accompanied by a melancholic look in her eyes. "It is – but the woman ends the song by saying that, even though she's lost her lover, she's glad that she had him even for a little while. Some people never get to experience a love like that."

"I know exactly what you mean." That was what he had with Daenerys, Jon thought. Even in times so fraught with uncertainty, being with Dany had made him feel joy that he'd never known was possible. But I'm not ready to lose her. He thought. For once in his life, he wanted to be selfish. He and Daenerys had only known each other seven or eight months, and as wonderful as those few months had been, he didn't want only a few months. He wanted a lifetime.

"Your Grace?" Missandei said as she put the last of Dany's dresses away. "Are you all right? You look like your mind is somewhere else."

Jon shook his head and placed the cup of tea down. He did not think he'd be able to drink any more. "I'm fine Missandei, just tired. Why don't you take a rest for the remainder of the night?"

"Are you sure, Your Grace? I still need to help Her Grace out of her bath, and dress her for bed – "

"I'll get her. Go to bed, spend the night with Grey Worm."

At the mention of her beloved, a tentative smile came to Missandei's face. "Of course, Your Grace. Goodnight, Your Grace."

"Goodnight, Missandei."

Once she was gone, Jon removed his jerkin and hung up Longclaw, before walking into the adjoining room to check up on Daenerys. She was submerged in the tub with her back to him, her silver-gold hair flowing loose, and she did not seem to hear him enter. The air smelled strongly of lilac-scented bath oil. "Dany?"

At the sound of her name, his wife bolted upright in surprise, spilling some water onto the floor. She turned around to face him and Jon saw her wipe furiously at her eyes. "Jon, I…I didn't hear you come in…"

Jon picked up a towel and moved closer to her, offering Daenerys a hand to help her out of the bath. She smiled at him as she wrapped herself in the towel, but it did not quite reach her eyes, and Jon noticed that her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, my love – "

Jon cut her off. "You've been crying. Do you want to talk about it? Is it the battle tomorrow?"

Daenerys shook her head. "No – at least, not entirely. I'm not afraid. I just…" She trailed off. "Can we go sit?"

"Of course." They retired back into their bed chamber and Daenerys dropped her towel to the floor, padding naked across the room towards her bureau. Her hair hung all the way down to her back and Jon could make out the barely perceptible swell of her belly, the newfound roundness between her hips the only physical manifestation of her two month pregnancy. Well, that and her increasingly large breasts. Jon could feel his breeches tighten at the thought, but he resisted the urge. Now was not the time.

Daenerys slipped on a nightgown and picked up a hairbrush. "Let me." Jon said.

She gave him a curious look. "You want to brush my hair?"

"Why not?"

Jon changed into his nightshirt and then slipped into bed behind Daenerys. He ran the brush up and down her hair for several moments in comfortable silence and he felt the tension leave Dany's shoulders. "That feels wonderful."

Jon smiled and kissed the top of her head. "I'm glad."

Daenerys paused, then turned around to face Jon and pulled her knees to her chest. "I was talking to Jaime Lannister tonight."

His eyebrows furrowed and he pushed a strand of hair behind Dany's ear. "Did he say something that upset you?" He tolerated Ser Jaime well enough, but if he'd made Daenerys cry, that was unacceptable.

"It wasn't like that. I had some questions for him…about my family." Daenerys leaned forward to rest her chin on her knee. "Tyrion told me once that Jaime killed my father because he was going to burn King's Landing down with wildfire – he would've killed every person in the city, half a million men, women and children, if Jaime hadn't driven his sword through my father's back. I asked Ser Jaime if this was true, and he said it was. He told me everything." Jon saw tears form in the corners of her violet eyes again. "I knew that my father was mad, but it was still not an easy thing to hear…"

Jon pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I'm sorry. I know this must be difficult for you."

"I asked him about my mother too. And Rhaegar. Ser Jaime said that my mother was kind and faithful, a devoted mother and a dutiful wife, even if her marriage to my father wasn't what she wanted. He said her smile was like mine, but her family was the only thing that could make her smile. He apologized to me for not protecting her better – from my father." Jon did not ask her to explain further. He could imagine what horrible things Aerys had probably done to Rhaella, and it was a thought he did not want to linger on...

"And Rhaegar?" Jon knew so little about his sire. Daenerys had told him a few things that she'd learned from Jorah or her dead brother, but in the moment he ached to know more. He wanted to know what Rhaegar had really been like, his strengths and his faults, and what it was that had made his mother fall for him. Am I anything like him? He couldn't help but wonder.

"He was studious when he was young. He loved to read and study, loved it more than sword fighting. He was introspective, though he did have a few close companions. He was quite brooding – that must be where you got it from." Jon chuckled to himself at that. "Ser Jaime says when Rhaegar decided he was going to do something, he excelled at it. The smallfolk loved him, because he was kind towards them and cared about their wellbeing – at tourneys they always cheered the loudest for him. The last time Jaime saw him, Rhaegar told him that when he returned, things were going to change in King's Landing. Only he never returned. He was going to call a Great Council to have our father deemed unfit to rule, and I think he was going to put Elia of Dorne aside, to make Lyanna his queen."

As glad as Jon was that his parents had been truly in love, he frowned at the thought of Elia Martell. He'd never heard anything but nice things about her, the kind and gentle princess with such a tragic fate. "I feel sorry for Elia." He found himself saying. "She didn't deserve what happened to her."

Daenerys nodded in agreement. "Ser Jaime said the same. My brother Viserys always talked so callously about her – said that if Elia had done a better job at making Rhaegar happy, he never would've needed Lyanna and the war would have been prevented. I don't think that was true. Elia did nothing to deserve what befell her, and Rhaegar was so blinded by love that he didn't protect her as he should have. My mother wasn't around to look after her, and my father never cared about her. Even someone as smart as Rhaegar makes mistakes sometimes."

Jon opened his arms for her and Daenerys scooted closer to him, her head resting against his chest. Her words reminded him of something. "Rhaegar used to write letters to Maester Aemon. He was your and Rhaegar's…great-great uncle, I believe. And my three times great uncle."

"You haven't told me much about him," Daenerys said. "Maester Aemon. What was he like? Was he a great man?"

"The greatest." How could he even find the words to describe what Aemon had been like? Jon had admired the man, and suddenly he missed him desperately. The old maester had been his flesh and blood, but he'd died without knowing that they were related. Jon wished for some of Maester Aemon's wise counsel right now. "He was dutiful, and always fair and just. He was the wisest person I'd ever met, and all the men on the Wall would go to him for advice. He would always listen to what you had to say and tell you the best thing to do in your situation. He was horrified about what had happened to House Targaryen – to Rhaegar, to Elia, to her children – but he had to be loyal to the Watch. He loved his family and it killed him that he couldn't do anything to help them. When he heard that you were alive in Meereen, he wished that there was something he could do to help you. I think he would be glad to know that we are together now."

"He did help his family. He helped you." Daenerys burrowed further into his embrace. "I know so much tragedy has befallen our family. But perhaps this time it can be different."

"Perhaps." They sat in silence for several moments and Jon tightened his grip around Daenerys, wishing that he could keep her there forever. He knew they were both thinking of the battle tomorrow and the uncertainty they were facing.

Daenerys pulled back to look at him. "Jon," She said, her voice tremoring. "Promise me you won't die tomorrow. Please be safe, I…I don't want to live without you."

Jon Snow was not the kind of man to say things he did not mean. I cannot make that promise. He wanted to say, because as much as he tried there was still a chance that something could go wrong. But as he looked into Daenerys's eyes, so sad and full of pain, it made him hurt too and suddenly he cared more about making her feel better than he did about telling the truth. He kissed her lightly on the temple and pulled his wife further into his arms.

"I promise."

Davos

"Who was the first man you killed?"

Davos rubbed his hands in front of the open flame. They were seated around a fire pit and a wineskin was being passed around, Tormund Giantsbane taking a swig from it as he asked that particular question. He handed the wineskin off to Brienne of Tarth and smiled at her, though she looked like she'd rather be anywhere but there next to him. She grabbed the wineskin but didn't take a sip, passing it off to Ser Jaime on her other side.

"Mine were Robar Royce and Emmon Cuy," Brienne answered. She was staring into the depths of the flames, looking as if her mind was someplace else. "It was after Stannis had Renly killed. I'd fought men before, even won my fair share of fights, but it was the first time I'd ever actually killed anyone. They had been my own sworn brothers, but they thought I'd killed Renly when they saw his body in my arms, and they would not listen to reason. It happened so fast, it's all a blur now."

Tormund nodded. "What about you, Kingslayer?" He asked Ser Jaime.

Davos could see Jaime Lannister roll his eyes. "That's not my name, you know." He said, taking a long sip from the wineskin before answering. "I was sixteen, during the campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood. Didn't know the man's name. I remember his face though." He passed the wineskin off to Davos.

Davos held the skin in his hands for a moment, staring down at it before he tentatively took a sip. It was a dry red wine, probably from the Arbor, and it tasted like dark cherries, black currant, and spicy oak, with a hint of a smoky aftertaste. "Hard to say, for me." He said. "After I pledged myself to Stannis's cause, I fought for him by captaining the Black Betha, and before that I had been a smuggler for many years. Sea battles are a very impersonal method of warfare. You can kill a man without ever having looked upon his face."

He leaned over to pass the wine to Sandor Clegane, who was sitting farther away from them at the other end of the fire. The other man muttered something under his breath and took the wine. He took one long sip, paused, and then took another. "Killed my first man at twelve. During the sack of King's Landing."

The Hound took another sip but Tormund was still staring at him. When he saw that the Hound wasn't going to add anymore, he raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And what?" The Hound replied. "He was just some City Watch cunt. He bled a lot."

"You were twelve," Brienne persisted stubbornly. "Wasn't it…I don't know, traumatizing?"

The Hound shrugged and drained the rest of the wineskin. "Not really. I was already fucked up by the time I was twelve."

"Well," Tormund sighed. "I've got you all beat. I killed my first man at eleven."

The Hound scoffed. "You're a liar."

"It's true! He was trying to steal our family's foodstuffs in the night, so I hit him on the back of the head with my father's spear. I saved our food, but I got a beating from my father for getting blood all over the hut."

The Hound snorted into the wineskin. "You are one sick fuck, Giantsbane."

"As are you, Dog." The two men held each other's gaze for a moment, and Davos was suddenly nervous one of them was going to punch the other, but then they both burst out laughing. Soon Davos found himself laughing too, and Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime joined in, and there they were, sitting around a fire and passing around the wineskin as the world ended around them, laughing hysterically.

They were finishing the wine when Gendry appeared from the forge. "What are you all doing?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he approached. "It's freezing out here."

The Hound rolled his eyes. "There you go, whinging again…"

"I'm not whinging."

"Now you're whinging about me saying you're whinging! By the way, you better go talk to your little wolf bitch – after what happened yesterday, I think she wants to cut your balls off." The Hound stood up. "I gotta piss." He grunted, before unceremoniously stalking off towards the castle.

"You know," Tormund said. "Beyond the Wall, we have plenty of ways to keep warm on a cold winter's night." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime.

Both of them immediately jumped to their feet, simultaneously mumbling excuses of "I think I heard Lady Stark just call for me" and "Oh, it's getting late, Tyrion's expecting me", to which Tormund bolted upright and went after them.

"Well, they can join in, if you'd like. The more the merrier, I always say – "

Now that they were alone, Davos extended the mostly-empty wineskin to Gendry, who moved to sit next to him by the fire. Gendry took a sip and winced. "Father Above, that's awful. Lords and ladies drink this by choice?"

Davos chuckled. "I think I'll always be an ale man myself, but I'll take what I can get tonight." He drained the last of the wine, his mind flicking back to something the Hound had said. "Clegane mentioned that something happened between you and Lady Arya yesterday?"

Immediately, Gendry grimaced. "It was stupid. Let's talk about it later."

"We're marching into battle tomorrow, lad. This may be the only chance we get."

Gendry was silent for a long moment. "I…have feelings for her. More than friendly feelings."

Davos nodded and waited for him to continue. Was this supposed to be some big revelation? Davos had suspected as much since the moment on the ship when he told Gendry that Arya was alive. The look on Gendry's face in that instant had been a look of love, even if he hadn't realized it himself at the time.

"And there was a…a moment, when I thought that maybe she felt the same way – which she doesn't – but I blew it, because what Melisandre did to me…it messed me up, I think. And Arya's pissed at me for what I did, and for being jealous about Podrick Payne of all people, but I don't know how to tell her that I'm still scarred over something that happened years ago. It's stupid, I know I should be over it by now…"

"Lad," Davos said, clamping him on the shoulder. "What you went through was horrible. You can't continue to blame yourself for what happened to you, and it's all right to be afraid. I'm sure if you went to Lady Arya and told her the truth, she would understand."

Gendry shook his head. "What does it matter?" He said. "She'll never feel the same way about me. She likes Podrick – and why shouldn't she? He's highborn, better for her than me…No matter what I do, I'm still just a bastard. She deserves better."

"Bullshit." Davos insisted. "You're the only son of King Robert of House Baratheon. And what does blood really matter anyway? We love who we love, and we have no say in it." When he saw that Gendry still wasn't convinced, he tried a different tactic. "You know, when I first met my wife, back when I was still a young smuggler, she had many admirers. She was one of the most beautiful girls in town – she could've had any man she wanted, and yet she chose me."

"Really?" Gendry said, incredulous. "How did you…how did you get her to fall in love with you?"

"I didn't do anything, really." Davos chuckled. "Except make a fool of myself. We were friends first, you see, and there was this apprentice at her father's carpentry shop who was trying to make a move on her. I couldn't take it anymore, so one day…I punched him in the face."

Gendry laughed before he could stop it. "And that worked?"

"Seven hells, no! I broke three of the fingers in my hand, and Marya wouldn't let me hear the end of it. 'What were you doing,'She said, 'trying to fight a man like that? He's twice your size!' But then she bandaged my hand and kissed me for the first time. Said that I was an idiot, but I was her idiot. A fortnight later, I married her. To this day, it's still one of the happiest moments of my life." Swore that I would spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of her, Davos added silently to hiself. But I don't know if I've lived up to that promise…

Gendry smiled forlornly. "It's a nice story."

"Marya is an exceptional woman, as is Lady Arya." Davos said. "You should talk to her, lad. I think she'll understand, and you'll never know if you don't try. We might die tomorrow – and if we die, we should die without regrets." It might be too late for me, but not for you.

They sat in silence for a long moment, both of them staring into the depths of the now dwindling fire. Above them, clouds had formed in the grey sky and it was beginning to snow. "Fuck that red god." Gendry said after a long moment.

Davos nodded. "Yes," He agreed. "Fuck that red god."

Gendry

He didn't know what to say to her.

Hey Arya, sorry I'm such a stupid lowborn idiot, but I'm still traumatized over being attacked by a red witch and by the way, I was angry at Podrick because I want to be with you more than I want to keep breathing?

No, bad idea.

He hammered away with a violent force, working on some finishing touches before the battle tomorrow. Maybe he should just go looking for her – he could figure out what to say in the moment, couldn't he? That was, if Arya would even hear him out at all…

Gendry dropped his hammer. He'd been such a bloody fool and he knew he didn't deserve her, but then he thought of Ser Davos's advice. There was a very good chance that his life could end tomorrow, and if he was going to die, he wanted to die knowing that he'd been completely honest with Arya.

But before he could go searching for her, he heard the telltale sounds of womanly feet tiptoeing towards him. He sighed. "You know Arya, you could knock."

Gendry turned around and saw her standing in the open doorway, the candle in her hand illuminating the smirk on her face. "Where's the fun in that?"

She placed the candle down on the tabletop and Gendry examined her unusual state of dress. Her hair was down, she wore only a nightgown with a fur wrap, and her feet were bare, even though it was snowing outside. "Couldn't sleep?" He asked her.

"Yeah." Arya paused. "I missed talking to you."

Gendry looked down at the ground, unsure of what to say. How could he even begin to explain to her the complicated mess that was his feelings? Instead he simply blurted out: "Want to see what I'm working on?"

"…Sure."

Arya closed the distance between them, pulling her fur tighter around her body, and he held up a black breastplate decorated with a Targaryen red dragon, curling across the chest. "I made this for Jon."

Arya's eyes were wide as saucers and she tentatively reached out to touch the swirling dragon design, staring in awe. "How did you make this?"

"It's red dragonglass. I carved out the design then filled it in with smashed pieces. You think Jon will like it?"

"Gendry, it's beautiful. He's going to love it."

"There's one more thing…" He felt suddenly nervous as he reached under the table and pulled out a second piece of armor, identical to the first – except this one was decorated not with a dragon, but with a snarling silver direwolf mid-leap. "This one is for you. It was a little hard since I didn't have your measurements – I had to sweettalk one of Sansa's handmaids to persuade her to steal some of your clothes so I could measure."

Arya opened her mouth, then closed it. Gendry didn't know if he'd ever seen her at a loss for words before. "Gendry, I…I don't know what to say…"

"You could say you'll wear it in the battle tomorrow."

Arya grinned at him and he felt a surge of pride run through him, knowing she liked his gift. "I absolutely love it. Of course I'll wear it!"

He placed the breastplate down on the tabletop while Arya stared in fascination at the silver detailing on the iron. Gendry wondered if he should just leave the conversation there, since she didn't seem to be mad at him anymore, but then he thought about what Ser Davos had said. "Arya…I'm sorry. For what I said the other day."

Arya's smile dissipated and she placed the armor back down. "About Podrick? So you're finally admitting you were wrong then?"

"Can you just shut up and let me finish?" Arya turned to look at him, crossing her arms over her chest, and Gendry took a deep breath. "I know I was stupid, but I…I knew he liked you, and I thought maybe you liked him, and I was jealous."

"Jealous?" Arya repeated. "Why would you be jealous?"

"Because I…" He fumbled with his words and Arya was staring at him impatiently, waiting for an answer. "Because…I like you. As more than just a friend. But after what happened in the forge, I didn't think you could feel the same way about me, and I didn't know how to tell you. I was an idiot, and I'm sorry."

Arya stared at him for a long moment, looking confused. Gods, Gendry thought. When is she going to stop being so shocked and finally realize that men find her attractive? "Why did you push me away then?" Arya asked quietly. "The night I kissed you."

An image of Melisandre ran through his mind, of how she had kissed him and touched him and taken off her clothes, then tied him up on the bed and stolen his blood. He had wanted to kiss Arya that night, had wanted to lay with her even, and maybe he would have but the minute she pinned his arms over his head, it had reminded him of Melisandre. It hadn't been Arya's fault, she hadn't known it would trigger him, but in that moment he'd snapped at her in his fear. "Do you remember what I told you, about what happened between me and Melisandre? When she took me, she…" Gendry paused. "She did something to me. Physically, and…on the inside too, I think. It's harder now. To get close." He looked down at the ground. "And besides – I'm just a bastard. You're a highborn lady. You deserve someone like Podrick, someone from a noble house, someone who can give you a good life."

He felt stupid saying it out loud and Arya stood in front of him silently for a minute, staring at him. Gendry wondered if she was going to turn and go, but then she caught him off guard by closing the distance between them. She had to stand on her tiptoes so she could reach to cup his face. "Don't say that." She said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're more than just a bastard. You're…you're one of the best people I know. And I would never, ever hurt you like she did. You know that, right?"

Slowly, Gendry nodded. "And I would never hurt you."

This time, he kissed her first.

Their lips crushed together and Arya's hands fell from his face to grab onto the fabric of his shirt, while his hands moved down the curves of her body to rest comfortably on her hips. She nipped at him like the little wolf she was and the kiss deepened, enough that he lost himself in it. It was only when Arya shrugged off her fur and reached for the buckle on his pants that he pulled away.

"Arya." As much as he wanted to keep kissing her, he knew that if they kept going he wouldn't be able to stop. He grabbed her by the wrist, halting her. "Are you sure…?"

Arya's eyes blazed stubbornly. "I want to. Don't you?"

"Yes, but…" He felt warm and he didn't know if it was from the fire in the forge, or his embarrassment. "Melisandre, she was the only one…and it wasn't exactly…pleasant." There'd been Flea Bottom girls he'd shared chaste kisses with as a boy, then Melisandre's seduction, but he'd never made love to a woman before. Especially not a beautiful, strong-willed, feisty highborn girl. "I've never done any of this before."

Arya's eyes softened. "We can go slow." She paused, biting her lip. "I don't know what I'm doing either. I've never been with anyone. This is all new to me too."

This surprised Gendry for some reason. They'd spent years apart and during that time she'd transformed into this young woman who was now standing before him, fierce and beautiful. He'd assumed that at some point in those years someone had taken her maidenhead. She spent all that time with Jaqen (who Gendry had always secretly felt a little jealous of), Lord Beric's squire had fancied her once upon a time, and Podrick Payne had been looking at her with infatuation in his eyes. Gendry assumed that there had been many more men who found her attractive, but perhaps she'd never returned their affections. "Never?"

Arya shook her head. "No. I'd never even kissed anyone, before you. You're the only one."

Their lips met again but still Gendry was unsure. "What if I get you with child?" He had sworn to himself he would never father a bastard.

Arya kissed him again, lighter this time. "That won't happen. That's what a girl has moon tea for." She pulled away from him to slip her nightgown down her shoulders and the fabric formed a puddle on the forge floor. She was not wearing anything underneath and Gendry's eyes swept over her body, taking in her small, goosebump-covered breasts, her slim stomach and thighs, every impeccable womanly curve. For the first time he noticed the long, puckered scar on her abdomen and he tentatively pulled her closer to him, tracing the line with his finger.

"Who did this to you? The Waif?" Arya nodded and Gendry cursed to himself. "That bitch is lucky she's already dead. Otherwise I'd kill her – slowly."

Arya laughed quietly as she pulled his shirt over his head. "Ours is the fury, indeed." Her fingers nimbly undid the buckle on his pants.

Gendry placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head upward, so she had to look him in the eyes. "M'lady, are you certain that you want to – ?"

She cut him off with another strong kiss. "I'm quite sure. We're marching into battle tomorrow. You wouldn't let your lady die a maiden, would you?" She pulled down his pants.

They stood there before each other, vulnerable, naked and willing, and Arya stared up at him, breathing heavily. In that instant, Gendry was certain that he loved her. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone…he wanted to savor every inch of her. "As m'lady commands."

This could very well be their last night alive, and they were going to make the most of it.