Chapter 20

Arya

They were tied up together in the tent with Borin watching them closely. "I'm truly sorry," Gendry whispered to her for what had to be the sixth time that night.

"It's okay, Gendry. We'll find a way out of here," she replied. But she knew her words meant nothing to him; his pride was hurt as well as bad as his leg.

"Quiet lovebirds," Borin snapped.

Arya glared at him. Although he had kidnapped her, tied her up and brought her to a camp of drunk knights, he had prevented them from raping her and had not harmed her in any way. The old man had started to grow on her, until now. She wished Gendry had been more careful – if he had only managed to escape the other knights without running into her capturer, they could have overpowered Borin and returned to Winterfell, but no, he had to be clumsy enough to be caught as well. But she knew blaming him would only make matters worse. She too had, after all, managed to get herself abducted.

"How long are you intending to keep us here?" Arya asked. Her back was already aching by the awkward position.

"Until the king comes."

"When will he be here?"

"That is none of your business."

Arya frowned. "At least bring us some food. We haven't eaten in days."

"Does this look like an inn to you?" the man barked, sharpening his dagger on a whetstone.

"If the witch is to sacrifice us, I'm sure she needs us alive," Arya reasoned.

"Keep quiet, girl, or I'll strike you."

She felt Gendry stiffen by his words, and immediately knew what would happen next. "Don't you dare touch her!"

Borin chuckled. "And what are you going to do about it, smithy? If you haven't noticed yet, your hands are tied." The man reached out and cupped Arya's chin. She snapped after his fingers, making him laugh even harder. Gendry twisted in anger, jerking his hands in an attempt to break free.

"Calm down, Gendry," Arya muttered to him, but the smith ignored her.

"Get your filthy fingers off of her!"

Borin leaned closer to her, stroking her cheek. "I guess this answers my questions. The blacksmith you belong to is not your father, but your betrothed."

Arya scowled at him, clenching her jaw. "Don't touch me," she told him, pulling away from his caress.

"Leave her alone," Gendry demanded. Borin sighed and backed away, lying down on his elbows.

"Cute," he said dryly. "Almost sickening. I bet you'd repeat yourselves all night if I hadn't stopped."

"Bring us food and we will keep quiet," Arya told him. Borin smirked but shook his head.

"However tempting your offer is, I know from experience that once you're hungry enough you won't have strength to talk anymore. Why waste food when I'll get the result I desire for free?"

Arya groaned and leaned back against Gendry's strong shoulders. She was so tired her eyelids threatened to close at any moment.

"I have to say, I'm not very impressed by this smith of yours," Borin sniggered. "You talked so highly of him, I had expected someone a little more… well, not a klutz."

"Shut up!" Arya snapped, but Borin ignored her.

"What do a smith and his ladylove do in the forest by themselves anyway?"

She felt Gendry tense and prayed to the gods he wouldn't do anything stupid. They were in enough trouble as it was.

"Who said we're alone?" she asked. "Mayhaps there is a whole camp of people waiting for our return."

Borin scoffed. "We found your horses, little lady. And a wolf."

"A wolf?"

"Don't worry. It's dead."

The words hit her like a punch in the stomach. Nyemria? Dead?

Bran

When they didn't hear from neither Jon nor the group of guards he sent to the Wall in the next couple of days, Bran decided to write to his father and tell him about everything that was happening. Ned had been gone for seven months now; it was about time he returned and help clean up this mess. His mother had not talked to him since he had denied her to ride north and both Tall and Rickon was acting abnormally chilly toward him. Obviously, they did not agree with his decision. He was seated in his chamber in the first floor when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," Bran called, turning his chair toward the visitor. Maester Luwin entered, his hands folded behind his back.

"Lord Bran," he greeted, nodding. "It's about your good-sister. She's in labor."

Bran gasped in surprise. "Already? I thought she wasn't due until next month!"

Maester Luwin bore a grim expression on his face. "I believe the birth will be problematic and highly dangerous for both mother and child. I will need all assistance I can get."

Bran nodded. "I will send a raven to Torhen's square and have them send all the maesters they can spare."

"Thank you my lord. But I was hoping for your observation as well. There is a lot to learn by watching."

"I doubt Lady Talla will want me in the birth room. It's best to leave the delivery to the educated."

Maester bowed politely. "If it pleases my lord. I'm afraid we'll have to postpone our lessons to after the babe's arrival."

Bran nodded, slightly relieved. He was too worked up to concentrate on his studies anyway. He wanted his sister back more than anything in the world.

"Maester Luwin?" he asked just as the old man was about to exit.

"Yes my lord?"

"How many more guards can we spare?"

The old man hesitated. "Not many. A handful at the most. Why, what do the young lord intend to do?"

"I want to find my sister," Bran said tiredly. "I cannot sleep nor eat as long as she is missing. Now that she's no longer safe at Castle Black, I am too worried to sit quietly by and wait."

"Winter's coming. The forest is full of dangers. I do not think this is wise, Bran."

"I do not know what else to do," he admitted. "She is my sister and I have no idea of where she is."

Maester Luwin sat down by his desk, folding his hands in his lap. "Bran, listen to me. I do not mean to be cruel by saying this, but you will have no more luck finding her than the guards you sent had. Your handicap will only slow you down. You are more use at Winterfell than you are in the woods. Someone needs to inform the rest of your family of what's going on, and right now that is your task."

Bran sighed, hiding his face in his palms. He missed his sister terribly, and knowing there was nothing he could do to bring her back drove him mad.

"I need to return to the birth room, my lord. I will have a steward give you frequent updates."

"Thank you, maester. Do your best to save my brother's wife and their child."

Gendry

They were not fed for two days straight, and with the little they had eaten before being captured, Gendry and Arya were positively starving. Borin would take them out once a day so they wouldn't do their business in inside the tent, but other than that, they were cramped together in a corner, only entertained by Borin's mocking japes. Gendry's foot cramped up by the lack of use and, made it hurt more than it had since the maester had cut his skin off.

"I'm really sorry for getting you into this," Arya whispered to him the fourth day. Gendry wanted to laugh out loud by the irony; had he only managed to save her when he had the chance, they would be halfway to Wintefell by now.

"Do you think we'll ever get out of this alive?" he asked, ignoring Borin's loud snores. Arya scoffed, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Of course we will. We've survived this far, haven't we?" she tried to smile, but he recognized the frustration behind it. She was scared, just like him.

"Some adventure," he said dryly.

"Some adventure," Arya agreed.

They sat in silence for a while, finding comfort in the others company. He could almost feel the little fat she had on her body melt away by the lack of food, and wondered how long she would manage to stay conscious without neutrition. Gendry was bigger built, and much stronger than she was and his childhood in poverty came to his advantage. He was used to being hungry. But Arya grew up in a castle; she had been well fed all her life – being hungry had to be completely new to her.

"What if we die?" she suddenly asked.

Gendry sighed, feeling his skin crawl by her sudden change of heart. "Don't say that, Arya."

"We're young still. We have our whole lives ahead of us – it shouldn't end here. It can't."

Gendry felt his courage shatter. She had given up. The girl with the will of steel had given up on life.

"Stop talking. Save your strength. We'll get out of here, just wait and see."

But the days went by and all they were given was a cup of water a day to share. They were growing weaker and weaker, and soon it was difficult to tell the difference between sleep and consciousness. He did not know if it was day or night, and frankly did not care anymore. He was too tired to care. His whole body ached, his head throbbed and his breathing was heavy and hoarse. One did not need to be a genius to know they would not make it for much longer.

"A-arya?" he asked when he believed she was awake. He could feel her move beside him, and suddenly, something was clutching his hand. He recognized the soft, little fist of hers and wrapped his hand around it. If he was to die, at least he would die next to the woman he loved. Arya Stark. Lady of Winterfell. The girl who wanted to be a knight.

"Gendry?" her voice was thin and rasped. "I love you."

He wondered if it was only a dream, but decided it did not matter. It would be the last memory of her, hearing her say those three words. To him - She loved him.

Arya

She awoke by the sound of hooves. Her whole body felt as numb as her mind. Every pain and worry was long forgotten. Sudden shouts and cheers pierced her ears, making her shiver. She heard a man's voice yell before she drifted back to sleep.

She was being carried. She did not know by who or to where, but she could feel herself sway back and forth on someone's shoulder. When she opened her eyes, she stared down at the snowy ground. She caught a glimpse of a pair of leather boots before blackness surrounded her again. Nymeria, she thought.

It was dark. She could smell the scent of broth and meat, making her insides wretch. She tried to move, but could not find the strength to do so. Someone was touching her hair, her shoulders, poking her with something. A finger perhaps? Or a stick. She wanted to push it away, to make it stop, but was unable.

"I need her alive," someone said; A woman's voice with a thick accent. "Get some food in her you fools. What good is she to me dead?"

Arya felt something liquid touch her lips and some of the hot broth poured down her throat. She was about to wretch it back up when a hand covered her mouth, forcing her to swallow everything.

"Where's Stannis?" the woman asked. "Is he still with the boy?"

"Yes," a man answered.

"Make sure the girl lives. If she dies, so do you."

Arya was served more of the hot liquid and soon she welcomed the food hungrily. It had been days, perhaps weeks since her last meal. She was given water and wine, but when the woman feeding her asked if she wanted some meat, Arya felt completely drained of strength, and let unconsciousness swallow her again.

Gendry

Gendry was tied up to a pole in the middle of the camp. He was surrounded by the knights that had captured him, only now they were properly dressed in mail and equipped with arms. A tall man stood in front of him, his arms crossed, his blue eyes narrowed as he studied him from top to toe.

"Who are you?" the man asked. He had a thin layer of coal black hair on the top of his head and hollow cheeks, making him resemble a corpse.

"I-I'm no one," Gendry uttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. The man looked displeased with the answer and nodded to the knight with only one eye, who eagerly slapped his hand across Gendry's face. He shrieked in agony, feeling his sore cheek throb.

"When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer properly!" the man told him in a stern voice. Gendry glared up at him, hatred gleaming in his eyes. He knew who the man was; he recognized him from King's landing. He was King Robert's older brother- Stannis Baratheon.

"Who are you? Where are you from?"

Gendry knew there was a reason to why Tobho sent him away. He could not reveal his true identity; it was not safe. "I'm Gavin. Gavin Snow."

The king snorted. "You're no Snow. I can hear the southern accent of yours. You're a Waters, aren't you?"

"Forgive me. Your grace." Gendry breathed. He was not able to come up with an excuse for his lie. He was too tired, too beaten. The king came closer, stopping only a few inches away from Gendry's bloody face. He reached out and grabbed Gendry's chin, pushing his face upwards.

Gendry recognized Borin as he stepped out of the crowd and bowed before the king. "The boy's name is Gendry, your grace. I believe he is a blacksmith."

The king pursed his lips and removed his hand. "Thank you, Borin." Stannis studied him for several moments, his eyes glued to his.

"You look just like him-"the king said quietly, more to himself than to Gendry. "Who is your father, boy?"

Gendry jerked away from the king's grip. "I don't know."

"Are you speaking the truth? You have already served me with nothing but lies, Gavin."

"I swear I do not know who my father is. I'm a bastard. An orphan!"

The king backed away, waving for the one eyed knight to come closer. "Make him talk, Terryn."

The knight brought out his dagger and drew it up to Gendry's throat. Gendry closed his eyes, pushing his nerves away. He had to be strong, for Arya.

"What's your parents' name, boy?" Terryn asked, letting his dagger sink through his skin. Gendry clenched his jaw shut, determined not to make a sound; he did not want to give the man the satisfaction of watching him squirm in pain. He was stronger than that.

"I do not know," Gendry said.

"Liar," Terryn sniggered, expanding the cut. "Now, tell me their names, or I'll cut off that pretty little nose of yours."

Gendry felt a rush of panic jolt through him, but still said nothing. He was probably going to die anyway, what did his nose matter?

"How old are you?"

"one-and-twenty."

"Where are you from?"

Gendry hesitated. The king already knew he was from king's landing, lying now would do him no good. "The capital."

The dagger pierced his skin again, but instead of cutting of his nose, he made a deep cut from the corner of his mouth to right under his eye. Gendry groaned from the pain, taking several breaths to calm down.

"Now, what is your parents' name?"

"I swear by the old gods and the new, I do not know!" Gendry yelled, feeling the desperation jolt through him.

"All we need is their names, or I'll go rearrange your lady love's pretty little face!"

"Don't you dare!" Gendry spat, pulling the rope in an attempt to break free. Terryn laughed slyly, pushing Gendry back against the pole.

"Give me their names and I will leave the girl alone. For now."

Gendry sighed. "My mother's name was Emeline, that's all I know," he said through gritted teeth. Terryn smiled, revealing several rotten teeth, before he slized another cut right under the first on his cheek.

"Liar," the man repeated as a wide smile erupted on his lips and revealed his rotten teeth. "Bring the girl."

Gendry felt his heart skip a beat. No, they could not hurt Arya! He had promised Jon he would protect her!

It was a young knight with blonde hair that dragged Arya through the camp and shoved her into the arms of Terryn. But instead of being afraid like any other sane person would be, Arya spat angrily at the knight's face.

"Borin was right," the King sniggered. "This is a feisty one."

The knight seized her arm and pulled her into a tight grip, holding his arm across her torso. Arya's hands clutched the man's arm desperately, but her eyes revealed nothing. She was staring at him, at his cuts with blank, emotionless eyes.

"Now I'm going to ask you again, boy, who is your father?"

Gendry jerked his tied hands in frustration, but the rope was much too strong for him. "I swear it on my life, I do not know!"

Terryn pursed his lips and sighed. "That's too bad, lad." His bloody dagger cut through Arya's skin right under her eyes, threatening to slip and blind her permanently.

"NO!" Gendry shouted as Arya let out a scream. "STOP! DON'T HURT HER!"

Terryn eased the pressure on the dagger, and Arya's face returned to an emotionless mask. "I would not need to ruin her pretty face if you had only told the truth."

"I am telling the thruth! My mother was a bloody whore! My father can be anyone! Just let her go, or else I'll-"

"Or else you'll what? You're tied up, smithy, you can do nothing."

"Let her go," Gendry growled. Blood was streaming from Arya's cut, giving her a grotesque look; at least now she did not look like a lady no more.

"Fine, as soon as you give me one honest answer I will release her. Now, what is a blacksmith from king's Landing doing this far north? Headed for the wall are you? Who are you hiding from?"

"Don't tell him anything!" Arya yelled. Terryn tightened his grip around her, making her gasp for air. "Gendry, don't," she choked out.

Gendry sighed. If he did not give him a satisfying answer, they would give Arya more cuts. He did not want them to ruin her face. He loved her face.

"My apprentice sent me away. He said something about the queen wanting my head on a stake."

"Gendry, NO!"

The King waved the knight away and returned in front of him. "The queen? What would the queen possible want with a bastard as yourself? Unless…" he turned away, stroking his chin. "Tell me, what did your mother look like?"

Gendry shrugged. "She had yellow hair," he said.

"Her eyes?"

"Green?" Gendry was not sure. His mother had died so long ago; it was hard to remember what she looked like.

The king pursed his lips. "Bring me Melisandre."

Terryn left at once.

"Are you the bastard of Robert Baratheon?" King Stannis asked. Gendry's eyes widened in shock.

"I told you, I do not know who my father is."

"For your sake I hope you speak the truth."

AN: Now, I have to admit I never really gave Stanning much attention in the books, so I do not know if I have portrayed him correctly. Perhaps people who are fond of him will dislike my version of him, but after he killed Renly I couldn't find it in me to like him. Therefore I chose to make him a somewhat bad guy in this story.