It was abysmally dark in his small cell that reeked putrid and rank of decay, piss and shit. He tried to defecate and water in the farthest corner of his cell, but well that was barely a few feet away of him and there was no window to allow for fresh air. They had closed the wooden door hours ago, and he had not seen any daylight anymore since, or many days prior to it. The night is dark and full of terrors. Only this morning Gendry had been dragged into the daylight for his trial and his eyes had gone blurry with water and squinting against the light and gulping at the fresh air.
"So, how did your trial, go?" That was Jaime's whisper in the next dark cell. He somehow had found something to scrape mortar away from a loose brick of the wall between them and had pulled it out, and since then at least they held each other company in the dark by talking. Voices in the dark, Jaime called it.
"I'm to be beheaded, tomorrow morning." He had been leaning against the wall, but now he slid down and hunched on his heels, with his arms resting on his knees and his head hanging down.
"You should demand the jailor for a wineskin of Arbor or summerwine and share it with me, like the good old days on Winter Heart, huh." Even though Gendry was full of fear and anger and desperation, Jaime managed to make him chuckle nonetheless. "What?" quipped Jaime. "You're a dead man walking. Don't you know anyone sentenced to death has a right to a last wish, before going?"
"I wouldn't mind getting drunk."
"As long as the one bringing down the sword tomorrow morning isn't drunk - ugly business that. At least we could always count on Ilyn Payne being sober." He heard Jaime shuffle. He probably changed his position. "So, did Arya show up on your trial?"
Gendry closed his eyes and had to fight the tears. He shook his head, only then to remember that Jaime could not see that. He croaked, "No." Everything had failed. All of Arya's plan had failed. Eventually one of her bold plans was bound to fail. He wondered whether Arya was somewhere in one of these black cells as well.
Jaime's fingers of his one hand appeared through the hole where the brick used to be. If you sat here long enough, you could actually see some things in the dark. He let his hand fall and squeezed Jaime's fingers. Jaime had never come across as a comforter to him, but they only had each other in the dark for a long time already. It could be four days, a week or ten days. Judging by hte current state of his beard, Gendry supposed it was about a week.
"Don't worry, Gendry. She's alive. She made a good deal with the dragon queen. Daenerys needs her to reason with Rickon and bring the North back to the fold. If she locks Arya up or keeps her as a hostage, Danaerys will get fuck shit from the North."
It had been a mighty show down between those two women in the throne room, the day they had arrived and were welcomed in the Red Keep.
"Queen Daenerys Targaryen Stormborn, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Mereen, Princess of Dragonstone, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains and Slayer of Lies," the head of her Dragon Guards had shouted, when the silver haired queen entered the great hall to drape her small stature on the Iron Throne.
The queen wore a blue chiffon dress, surrounded by dragon skulls, Queen's Guard, her Council and dragon guards in boiled leather with lances. She was indeed beautiful as he had heard say, with big purple but hard eyes, silver heir, fully curved, and a face of stone as hard as marble. There was no doubt she was Targaryen, while Jon Snow looked as Stark as a Stark could look like, going by Arya's looks. He could see a resemblance of features with Edric Dayne, and he wondered whether the first Daynes may have originated from Valyria thousands of years before the Targaryens.
Hugo Wull behind him grumbled, "People who need that many titles to affirm their power must have little faith in themselves. Who cares about Mereen and Dothraki grasslands around here anyway."
Gendry thought Hugo Wull might have had a point as he admired Arya standing in front of the throne, wearing boots, britches and a new red dress, as well as a white fur lined cloak with a direwolf sown on it by one of her handmaidens. She had never cared for titles at all. If she insisted on people addressing her as princess it was only to emphasize that the North considered itself independent and that she was a Stark.
Asher whispered with an unrevealing face to him, "Perhaps we should introduce our princess as Princess of the North, Arya Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Mother of Wolves, Slayer of Dark Stars?"
Gendry had to suppress a chuckle and finished for Asher in his mind – Dark Heart Assassin of Braavos, Thrower of Crab Apples, Mistress of Acorns, Wielder of Needle, and my Queen of Love and Beauty.
Daenerys attempted to be dismissive of Arya. "So, you are one of the usurper's daughters."
"I am a Princess of the North, Arya Stark, yes, youngest daughter of the late Lord Eddard Stark who rebelled against King Aerys after the king demanded his foster father Jon Arryn to behead him for being nothing but the son of Lord Rickard Stark who was burned alive without a trial by King Aerys, because his heir Brandon Stark wished to retrieve Lady Lyanna Stark who had been allegedly kidnapped by the crown prince Rhaegar. If usurper means that he has no right to fight for his life, solely for existing, then yes, my father was a usurper and I am a usurper's daughter."
Daenerys narrowed her eyes at Arya and sat up straight. "What do you seek in King's Landing?"
"I have lived as a refugee in Braavos, Your Grace, after Cersei's children of incest took the throne and beheaded my father for wanting to reveal her deception. I wish to return home and help my younger brother, King in the North Rickon Stark, to gain back Winterfell, which has been our home since the Age of Heroes. There must always be a Stark at Winterfell, Your Grace."
"Queen Cersei was wise to protect her children from a man involved in child slaying," Daenerys snided.
"My father never condoned the murder of Elia Martell and her children, Your Grace, and expected King Robert to punish the culprit for it - Tywin Lannister's man the Mountain Gregor Clegane." Arya smiled, though her eyes did not. "I had thought you would have been better informed about these events regarding your family, Your Grace." One could hear a needle drop in the throne room then, and it was as if Arya had grown taller and towered over the Iron Throne.
Queen Daenerys ignored Arya's jab on history, and said, "What do I care for the state of the North or a Stark being needed in Winterfell? Your father usurped my father's throne. He was a traitor and he died a traitor. You should bow and bend the knee before me, like your sister has done if you wish anything of me. Otherwise you are no better than your father, you and your army of hundred and ten."
That last remark made the court laugh. Gendry had cringed at those words, sure that Arya would be fuming. But somehow, Arya did no such thing. "I would think a queen who lived in exile for so many years and lived on account of the begging of her brother - and who is not to blame for the madness of her father - would not blame the children of her enemies when they were born long after the rebellion. Both myself and Rickon survived the horrors of war and lived in exile just as well." Daenerys violet eyes lit with wildfire. "I have no interest in denying your rightful seat on the Iron Throne, Your Grace. You are queen by right of conquest. But my brother Rickon is King in the North and I, as Princess in the North, cannot bend the knee for him without consulting him. If you wish to include the North into your kingdom, you will either have to conquer it, or oblige me so I can put in a good word for you."
"Then I shall have to conquer it. I'll send a dragon rider and a Dothraki army to the North."
Arya smiled. "Your Grace, you know as well as I do that the Dothraki hate snow. Rogo was not even keen to go beyond Grassy Vale. What good is a dragon if there is no army behind it to rape and reave and sack the remains and the people as your Grace has done with so much success in Dorne and the Reach? It's such a pity that the Water Gardens were destroyed – a garden with nothing but innocent children of all classes put to death as they played in the water. Are you so keen to be Queen Daenerys of seven barren, lifeless kingdoms?"
The ladies and lords at court gasped. A highborn lady, heavy with child, standing near the throne with black, waving hair in ringlets had started to weep then. Edric whispered to him that was Princess Arianne Martell. The woman hastily retreated out of the throne room, her skirts in hand. The man who had stood beside Arianne must have been Aegon, for he had the silver blonde hair and blue violet eyes of the Targaryens and had a sour face and was glowering in general. Not that Gendry could have blamed him at the time - if he was truly Rhaegar's son, his own aunt had usurped his place. But at least, Gendry had supposed the man would try to console his wife after the retelling of the destruction in Dorne. The atmosphere in the throne room had changed. While before it had been filled with sycophants who were too afraid to say anything, the court had turned tangibly nervous and there were angry mutterings. All it took to make the dragon queen shrink was a dark haired she-wolf younger, no taller than the queen.
"Let us not quarrel about the past, your Grace," said Arya sweetly. "What is done cannot be undone. If King Robert's rebellion had turned out differently you and I might have been family. After all the crown prince Rhaegar loved my aunt and died with her name on his lips." Arya smiled, but her grey eyes were icy. "They tell me I look like her, and have her spirit." She gestured to the singer in the corner that Gendry had not yet seen – by the Lord of Light, it was Tom Sevenstrings. "Perhaps your singer can sing us a sweet song about Fire and Ice." Daenerys had cringed and blinked at that. "And to show you that I come in good faith, I will surrender one of my army for a trial – the Kingslayer."
The Imp who sat on a council seat near the Iron Throne had been eyeing Jaime for a while already. Jaime's dwarf brother looked angry and his green and dark eye twinkled demonically as he was whispering to a King's Guard. Jaime had been standing several rows behind them, all shiny, in a white cloak of a King' Guard, golden spurs and all. His beard had been shaven and his hair neatly done. He almost looked shiny and new again, except for the golden hand. But when he joined Arya's side on her signal the court was in uproar. Those who had recognized him had not expected neither Arya, nor Jaime to give him up to the Queen. Gendry craned his neck to watch Brienne behind him. Her face was like stone, and she stood like a statue, but he saw the glistening of wetness gathering in her eyes.
Quite visibly flabbergasted, Queen Daenerys had stared at the Kingslayer and needed a few moments to come up with words. "I-I thank you, Princess Arya Stark."
"I will only surrender him for a fair trial," said Arya, "so that actual justice can prevail."
The dragon queen had looked hungrily at the bait. "Yes, you have my word, Princess Arya. And please accept my hospitality. I will have rooms readied at the Maidenvault for you and your retinue. I invite you to dine with me tonight, so that we can discuss what can be done for the North." Arya's plan had seemed to work, exactly as she had wanted it. Gendry had been settled in a room near Arya's per her request. However, while she dined with the queen in her personal quarters, an arrest team had shown up at his door, accusing him of being a wanted outlaw by Lord Walder Frey, High Lord of the Riverlands, and a deserter of the Night's Watch.
They could hear a door open and footsteps coming their way. Jaime put the loosened brick back where it was supposed to be. The footsteps halted at their cells. Was it someone for Jaime or himself? Gendry's door opened and a fat man with warts and heavy roughspun robe holding a torch entered. "Ser Gendry Baratheon," the stranger in a thin voice, sharp as a whip, said.
Gendry looked up at the man. "What do you want of me? Do I know you?" he said gruff.
The stranger came closer and held the torch closer to look at his face. "My, my, the resemblance is really too uncanny. Even the voice. And now that you have a beard."
"Leave me alone and in peace," Gendry barked, looking away from the torch. He was not some freak show to be admired. "I never cared who my father was. Queen Danaerys only legitimized me so she can finally execute a Baratheon."
"A great pity, Ser Gendry." The man hunched down beside him. "It was I who alerted your master to get you out of King's Landing and sent you on your way with Joren to the Wall. Of course it was with the hope you would never return."
Gendry narrowed his eyes at the man. "Who are you?"
"They call me the spider, the master of whisperers. I am also known as Varys," said the man dressed as a goaler. Gendry had heard of that name before. It seemed like another life back then. Seven hells, it was another life. "So, why did you come back, Ser Gendry?"
He leaned his head back against the wall. "Because that's the road Princess Arya chose."
"Bu you came from the south, from Dorne. The Wall isn't in Dorne. Did the Night's Watch send you to Dorne?"
"None of your business, spider."
"Maybe this will help." Varys took out a wineskin from under his robe. "I heard you love drinking, another trait you share with your father." Gendry glanced at the wineskin out of the corner of his eye and he licked his lips. He could use a drink and hell if this Varys left it behind he could share it with Jaime. "I brought another one for your neighbor, the Kingslayer."
Jaime chuckled. "You sly old bastard! So, even here you have little birds working for you."
Varys tittered in response. "Did you never wonder why I had you put in these neighboring cells with a loose brick?"
Jaime laughed at that, and removed the brick. "Pass me the wineskin, Gendry."
This was ill news. So, this master of spies knew why Arya had voluntarily surrendered Jaime to Queen Daenerys. Was that why they had arrested him for being a wanted outlaw of the Riverlands? Who the bloody hell would even have known that Lem Lemoncloak ended up being alive, completely with yellow cloak, Hound helmet and broken nose? Or rather that Lem was actually Ser Richard Lonmouth.
Lem had been his only visitor in these dark cells, apart from Varys. Initially he thought Lem was offering to help him, but Gendry could not have been more wrong. Lem said that his real name was Ser Richard Lonmouth, who had been a personal close friend of Queen Daenerys' late brother Rhaegar, and that along with many other close friends of Rhaegar, including King's Guard Arthur Dayne and Oswald Whent, they had attempted to set up a council to have the Mad King abdicated, on account of his paranoia. But King Aerys' sycophants had caught wind of Rhaegar's plans and pitted son and father against each other. And then Rhaegar disappeared from the Riverlands with Lyanna Stark, without informing him. When Robert rebelled though Richard had joined him, expecting Rhaegar to reappear on Robert's side. But at the battle of the Trident, Robert had slain Rhaegar, and Richard himself had been wounded and left for dead in the bloodied Trident. He was fished out of the river, a broken man at the Quiet Isle, along with Rhaegar's rubies and brought back to health. He had remained in the Riverlands under the name Lem Lemoncloak. But after the massacre of the Brotherhood, he fled Westeros and joined the forces of Queen Daenerys, after hearing how she had tried to end slavery.
"The things you hear in a black cell," Jaime had said afterwards who had listened to Lem's story in deadly quietness.
Gendry cared little about Lem being Ser Richard Lonmouth, or having been Rhaegar's friend. It mattered little, until Lem said, "It was I who informed on the Queen that you were an outlaw of the Brotherhood without Banners."
"What? Why?"
Lem had whispered through the prison hatch, "Because you betrayed the Brotherhood to the Freys and Lannisters after Jaime was captured. How convenient that you just happened to disappear when they burned the Orphan's inn and now reappear in the company of Jaime and Brienne again, pretending to be a man of the Night's Watch. Seems like you deserted the Wall too for the princess. You're just like your father, drooling after the she-wolf. History repeating itself, hmmm?" Lord of Light, everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. "I warned you that day that you would be just an outlaw, would end up being hanged and there wouldn't be any wedding a princess. Queen Daenerys needs the Twins as a barrier between her kingdom and the North. The Freys helped her in preventing Stannis Baratheon to cross, and so she will have any publically accused outlaw executed for them."
It was a good thing that there had been a door between Lem and himself, or he would have throttled the man with his bare hands. "And the queen doesn't know you and Tom were members of the Brotherhood much longer than I ever was?" he had growled.
"Oh, she does," sneered Lem. "But nobody will accuse her commander of her Dragon Company, or her personal singer. She does not really care about the Brotherhood. But she can't have Lord Walder Frey know this."
Well, Queen Danaerys had no interest in recognizing his royal blood, not until he was arrested and she was sure she had enough witnesses to have him tried and found guilty for being an outlaw and helping to hang Freys. The trial had been a mockery. All sorts of people pointed him out as a wanted man, claiming he had lured this Frey into a trap, and that Frey, though he had never seen any of them. And neither Lem nor Tom had shown their face on his trial that morning. And of course, he could not choose to be pardoned and be sent to the Wall, as he already was a brother of the Night's Watch. He had not denied being an outlaw, but he had denied to have been a deserter from the wall.
Gendry opened the wineskin that Varys handed him and took a swallow. He squinted at the dark, strong taste of the Dornish strongwine. Varys tapped him on the shoulder as he rose. "I'll give Tobho Mott your regards then. It's a pity he's too old and sickly these days to forge Valeryan steel himself. But nothing can be done about that, I guess. Unless you're willing to tell my why the reforging of Ice is so important, that Arya Stark was willing to give up Jaime Lannister."
Gendry cursed, and Jaime said, "You'll have to try and find that out with your little birds, Varys. We're bound to secrecy."
"Hmmm, I can always insist with Daenerys to use torture."
Jaime sneered. "We ain't telling you anything. Gendry's already sentenced and I don't care for my life."
"Enjoy the wine then, Sers. I wish you well, Ser Gendry, when you'll meet your Lord of Light on the morrow."
Varys and the torch left his cell. The door was closed behind him and he swore and cursed and was so much enraged that he felt like he could hammer down a wall. He banged his fists against the wall until they were bloodied. "Why did she give you up, Jaime?" he asked finally. "I know you proposed it, but Arya was unwilling until the last, until the very morning we arrived. What the hell did you tell her to make her change her mind?"
He heard Jaime take several swallows of his wine bag. "I told her it was I who threw her brother Bran from the tower in Winterfell that he had climbed, and crippled him for life."
"Why the bloody hell did you do that for? For fuck's sake, why even confess something like that to her?"
"Bran caught Cersei and me fucking, while your father was out hunting with honorable Ned Stark at Winterfell. Couldn't have a boy telling people what he saw, did I? So, I did it for love." Gendry banged his head against the wall behind him. "I told you that both love and war can make a man do the best or the worst. My love for Cersei made me do the worst. And I told Arya this because I needed Queen Danaerys to be occupied with her trial for me to be found guilty for killing her father, so you could reforge Ice. Varys or Tyrion would have found out that I was part of Arya's Pack anyway. It was too dangerous for her to try and keep me concealed. I just didn't count on you getting bloody well arrested, did I?" Jaime chuckled. "Don't worry, perhaps Arya has a plan to save you tomorrow."
"Oh, shut up!" And though he felt like crying, the Dornish strongwine had gone well to his head, and he started to laugh in his misery.
Before long, Jaime and him were laughing tears so hard the goalar - who was not Varys - came to have a peek at them and told them to be quiet or they would rue the day they were born. That only made both of them laugh even harder. At least the strongwine on an empty stomach had made him so drunk he actually fell asleep, full of dreams about Arya and the time they spent on the road after Ashford to Grassy Vale, having their Dothraki tent all for themselves every night. It had been the best time of his life – carefree loving. They even rode double on Black most of the time, because the pace of a thousand Dothraki was slow enough for that.
The last night had been magical. He remembered every detail of it. It was at Kingswood, only a day's ride away from King's Landing. She had invited him to walk with her in the woods. He had said it seemed unsafe to have a night walk in woods, after the people of Grassy Vale had warned them against the many wolves roaming Kingswood the past year.
She had smiled to him, "The wolves will not harm us, just as they didn't in the Riverlands." She had been so confident and her eyes had appeared so other worldly to him, as if she was in some sort of dream. "We have friends amongst them, Gendry. Please trust me."
In the end, he had followed her into the snow, beyond the safety of fires, tents and horses into the cold night. When they breathed the air came out like a haze. She wore her thick woolen white cloak - with a direwolf sigil embroidered on it by Jhiri and lined with ermine fur - closely about her, with only her hand sticking out to hold his. He had been in his black shirt, thick woolen tunic and wolf fur cloak, following her. The only sound was the crunching of snow or snapping twigs and branches beneath his feet, but not hers.
She had smiled at him and said, "You still haven't learned to walk silently, after all these years, and you living in the woods with the Brotherhood for so long?"
"Where are we going?" he whispered. In the snowy, silent woods even his normal tone of voice seemed to carry far.
"You'll see, Gendry."
When he looked behind him, he could not even see the camp anymore. They had come across a round clearing. She turned to face him, stood on her toes, put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. He obliged her, and wrapped his arms around her cloak, but looked about himself warily. "Let's go back. You had your walk."
But she put her hand on the back of his head and kissed him with open mouth, her tongue rolling slowly, languidly in the way she knew it drove him wild. It was impossible to resist such a kiss of hers. He kissed her in the same way, his hand cupping her chin, lips smacking, rolling left and right, his tongue touching and tasting hers, closing his eyes, and the start of his erection. His mouth went from her lips to her jawline and to her neck as she laid her head back in a sigh.
"Undo your fur cloak," she mumbled.
"It's cold," he whispered.
"Please, Gendry."
He sighed, and unfastened his cloak and laid it across her shoulders, while he searched for her lips again. But she broke the kiss and laid his cloak out on the snow. He wanted to protest, but she had already climbed on it, and sat on her knees and hands. "What are you doing, Arya?" he whispered louder, looking around apprehensively. She lifted her cloak and revealed her legs were naked underneath her cloak. "Are you naked under that cloak?" he had asked alarmed.
"Yes."
"Are you crazy?" And yet his erection was straining against his britches at the idea alone.
She laughed. "No, but I'm cold now, and I need you to warm me up."
He thought she was playing games with him, but then he looked around in the dark. There was nothing but snow, trees and darkness. He licked his lips and fell down on his knees and slipped his hand underneath her cloak to feel for himself whether she had spoken truth. She gasped when his cold hands trailed her naked calf, felt her knees and then her warm thighs. His hand was trailing her thigh up and he widened his eyes when his hand stroked her bare silken cheeks of her ass. "You are naked. You're going to freeze here."
"Keep me warm, Gendry."
A part of him wanted to lift her up, waddle her in his fur cloak and carry her back to the encampment that very instant, but his cock had totally different ideas. "You want me to... you know... here? Like this?"
"Oh, please, yes, Gendry." She was panting, the vapor escaping rapidly into the frosty air, and her voice needy.
Still half shocked, he could not resist exploring her a little bit more with his fingers. He slid them between her thighs in search for the warmth of her opening and her little button beyond it. Her thighs clenched instantly. And she yelped at his touch. It was thick, hard, swollen and throbbing, and warm. He had never known her to be that ready before. He could not resist it, and began to rub and press her flower. She cried and sobbed and pushed her hips upwards.
"Take me, I need you now," she said hoarse. "Help me."
It was too much. Gendry had no need of any more encouragement by then. Something feral had taken control over him. He pulled his swordbelt loose with one tug, and was already on his knees behind her, yanking at his own laces, and freeing his thick, swollen cock in the freezing air, lifting her cloak rapidly and searching for her entrance in order to be warm himself again. And when he entered it was warm, wet, velvety bliss. He grunted surprised at how her muscles strained and rubbed him differently than they did otherwise. And Arya, she exclaimed in joy, panting and moaning, as he began to pump in and out, while he braced her hips and moved them towards him as he thrust. He lifted her cloak up to her waist to see his cock sliding in and out, wet and glistening with her juices. And then all control was gone. He leaned over her with a growl in search of her mouth and tongue, stretching her neck to meet his hungry mouth. The kiss was untamed, ardent, ravenous, as he shoved hard into her, wanting all of her, pumping deep, rough, his balls slapping into the cheeks of her ass, thrust after thrust, grunting and groaning, at a constant rapid rhythm. She backed to meet him as he dove in. She yelped, she cried, she gasped, she laughed. It was ferocious, animal. He had to let go of her mouth, pressing his forehead in her neck, as he lunged into her, over and over, again and again, gritting his teeth and snarling while he clenched his hips and ass, searching with his fingers for her hard pearl, rubbing it rapidly so she could come with him.
"Come!" she cried and he felt her muscles tighten and stiffen, clenching and squeezing.
"Gods," he grimaced and strained. And then he detonated, bursting inside of her, as she sobbed his name. His seed blasted out of his balls, rushed through, spurted and filled her. He was blown apart, in his mind, in his chest. The blast rushed through his stomach and legs down to his toes. He could not help it, but he collapsed onto her, taking her down with him, exhausted, panting, and compressed her body underneath him into his fur cloak, his forehead against hers. The vapor of their breaths intertwined. He had no idea where he was or when, only inside and on top her, resting.
She lay underneath him with a satisfied smile, catching her breadth and murmured, "Now, I'm warm."
He could not get up if he wanted to, not yet, not by a long shot. All he could do was lift some weight off of her and pull his fur cloak around her. He had no idea how long they lay likes this, but eventually the frost caught up with them, and he felt her shiver underneath him.
"Let's get you back to a warm tent," he grumbled hoarse and kissed her temple. He did not want to get up, but he knew he had too. If he was cold, surely she must have been freezing. He lifted his hips to slip out and his frozen fingers searched for his laces to tie them again.
Gendry helped her stand up, and pulled her cloak tight around her, picked his own and spread it across her shoulders, when she said, "Look, it's Nymeria and her mate."
He followed her gaze and at the rim of the clearing two giant direwolves were watching them, their eyes glistening spookily in the night. They were the biggest wolves he had ever seen. One was grey with golden firelights for eyes. The other black as night with green eyes. He felt apprehensive and stiffened, putting his arms around her waist trying to make her slowly move away from them. "You don't know that, Arya. It could be any wolf. We should get away, slowly, back to the camp before the rest of the pack shows up." Fuck, he was the only one with a sword.
"I do know who they are," she said. "I told her to come south to den and have her litter."
He frowned. "What do you mean, you told her?"
"I told her in a warg dream."
"A what?" He had never heard of the word warg.
All the while she had her eyes on the grey wolf, smiling, but she looked back at him again and kissed him. "A skinchanger dream. I can enter her mind, see through her eyes, hear through her ears. The black one is her mate since we arrived at Nightsong. They coupled and she is going to have his pups. But there was too much snow and too little food, aside from Freys. So, I told her to look for me south. And last night I dreamt she was in Kingswood."
His jaw had dropped, trying to comprehend what she was telling him – skinchangers were people with magical powers that could travel in animals. They only existed in children stories, the type to frighten children late at night at the flames of the hearth. Now she was telling him she was such a skinchanger.
"Don't you think her mate looks like you? He's handsome, big and powerful, and has a black coat." And before he could say anything, she stepped away from him towards the wolves that had not moved yet.
"Arya," he hissed. "Don't." But she was not listening to him. Instead she went down on her hunches and held out her hand. Nymeria got up and entered the clearing cautiously, and her mate followed her from a distance, even more warily. He hissed her name again, and the hairs in his neck stood upright from fright. But she was not listening to him.
"Come, Nymeria, it's me," she said in a soft, high pitched voice. "I won't throw any rocks at you this time."
He saw no other way to protect her, but by taking a step towards her and unsheathe his broadsword. Nymeria stopped in her tracks and her eyes went from Arya to him. And the black direwolf snarled lowly, showing his teeth.
"Put it away, Gendry." And then to Nymeria she said again in that soft voice. "He's my mate, Nymeria, my wolf. You saw us mate. He won't hurt you or me or your mate."
Nymeria looked at Arya again, lowering her head, while she crawled forward on all fours, and whimpered like a pup. Gendry stared wide-eyed in shock as he saw Arya open her arms and Nymeria bouncing up into her embrace, licking and yipping. Arya giggled and buried her head in her fur, tears streaming. And though he did not know wolf language, he had the distinct impression that Nymeria's mate was as confused and amazed as him, cocking his upright ears left and right, sitting upright and eyeing the scene.
"I'm so sorry, Nymeria, that I had to chase you away. But it was for your own good. They would have killed you for protecting me against Joffrey. Now you have your own pack and mate. And I do too. You took care of the Riverlands, and the Freys. You can build a home, here, while I go North, and watch my enemies here." Arya sniveled through her tears. "M-Maybe when it's spring we can meet again, North."
Nymeria whined and Lord of Light, Gendry thought her eyes were sad. Arya gave her one, last tight hug, and whispered, "I love you, Nymeria." She rose, wiping at her streaming tears, and stepped away from Nymeria. The direwolf took a step towards her. But Arya held her hand out to stop her. "No, Nymeria, go be with your mate. He loves you too, and you will have babies soon." Nymeria sat down and watched her retreat and then got up, turned around and joined her black direwolf. Arya lifted her head, sobbing, and held her hand out to Gendry. "Please, let's go back, Gendry," and then she chuckled through her tears. "I'm freezing." He walked with her, without awareness of the cold, still baffled about what he had just witnessed, when she giggled, "That was the first time she listened to me. I used to have a hard time training her and do tricks."
His dreams of his last night before his execution, were filled with reliving that animal like mating with Arya, and Nymeria and her mate guarding them. He was sleeping so soundly that he needed to be kicked awake by the jailor. He did not want to wake up from his happy dreams.
But the jailor dragged him up together with two dragon guards. "C'mon big fellow, time for your beheading. There's a big crowd waiting for you already. They might even name a mummer's play after you one day."
All he could think of was Arya, and how grateful he was that Melisandre and the Lord of Light had given him his chance to be with Arya, if it only was but a short while. The only thing he truly regretted was that he had insisted with Arya for her to keep on drinking moon tea as long as they were not wed. With the hour of his death so near, he lamented he had not left her with a baby as a reminder of him, even if the child would have been a bastard.
(Author's note: Lem and Richard Lonmouth, based on this theory of ladygwynhyfvar . wordpress 2014/02/03/lemuncloaked-the-true-identity-of-lem-lemoncloak/)