It was the same dream; a misty, strange dream. He remembered seeing his mother, her blonde hair swirling all around her as if it were dancing to the sound of the music that floated melodically from her pink lips. But then Arya was there too, only she was dancing around and around, keeping beat with his mother's song. Her bare feet stomped the ground and brought up clouds of dust that clung to her skin and trousers. He remembered thinking how completely opposite Arya and his mother seemed. His mother's pure, white flesh shined brightly within the fog, her tattered skirts hugging her hips. Arya's skin was dirty, making it easy to see her through the haze. Her silhouette was bold against the colorless atmosphere, making the happiness radiating from her face apparent.
It was fascinating for him to see her so carefree and joyful, he couldn't stop watching her. His mother faded into the background but her voice remained, weaving itself into the fog. Arya started to dance toward him and when she was close enough, he tried reaching out, but his arms didn't appear. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to see if she was real. He wanted to feel her. But he couldn't and she continued to dance near him, as if she was teasing him. Her eyes were closed blissfully and her mouth was in a content, crooked smile. It was relieving to see her really smile. He thought that if he could touch her, he would dance with her. He would take her hands and spin her around, see if he could even make her laugh.
But as he thought that, the song changed. His mother's voice became ominous and unsettling. The mist billowed around Arya, enveloping her in the sinister tune. Her dance slowed and stopped. The wind twisted and pulled her hair up above her head, her clothes flapping in the tornado. She crossed her arms and held her body, tucking her face down into her arms. He wanted to run to her or yell at his mother to stop singing; but he couldn't.
He tried moving with all his might and eventually, she got closer. Closer and closer until she was near enough to reach out and touch. He saw his hand appear in front of him so he quickly thrust his hand out, reaching behind Arya's head and attempted to pull her toward him. He couldn't feel the wind or her hair or her skin, he couldn't feel anything. His hand passed through her as if he was ghost. Her hand shot up and grabbed his, but this time, he could feel. She clutched tightly, her fingers constricting around to his palm. All he could think was how cold her grasp was when her head snapped up. Liquid ruby streaked her skin, her eyes open wide. They were clouded over, matching the mist that swirled around them. Her face creased in panic, the red streaming over her cheeks, down her neck. "Wake up…" she whispered, her void eyes bore into him, "Wake up, Gendry," He felt as if someone was suffocating him, the fog filled his lungs, choking him, "You have to wake up Gendry. Please."