A Future We Would Make Ourselves

By littlelights

Disclaimer: I am not making any money, blah, blah, blah.

Thanks again for all the great reviews. I hope this update will keep you all entertained. I've had too many off shoot ideas, but they will have to go on the back burner while I finish another project.

XxX

Chapter 25

It was Meera Reed and Missandei who found them first. Arya began to emerge from sleep when she heard the two women talking to each other on their way to the tent. The melodious voice of the queen's handmaiden floated on the cold night air and through the thick fabric flap.

"My Lord Baratheon. King Jaehaerys and Queen Daenerys requested for you and your lady wife to join them for late supper in his grace's tent."

Even with the light of the brazier, the tent was in partial darkness. The last breath of deep and restorative sleep, which had eluded Arya since her husband left Winterfell, broke when she felt Gendry move beneath her. She woke slowly to the feel of his body sliding out from under hers, and receiving a soft kiss to her mouth.

"We'll be there in a bit." Her husband croaked.

Gendry began reaching for his abandoned clothes and attempting to don them quickly. Arya watched her husband struggle into his hose and boots, which were just a foot from the tent opening.

The handmaiden's voice sounded confused, but polite. "Are you and your wife well, my lord? Should I send for a healer?"

"Don't need a healer, thanks." Gendry stammered as he hastily tried to readjust his leathers. "We'll be along soon."

"They're coupling," Meera Reed said bluntly, making no attempt to lower her voice. "Let 'em have at it."

"Coupling?" Missandei's voice was confused.

"Having relations," Meera replied helpfully. "Marital ones. Told you they'd be busy." The conversation growing lost in the uptick in the wind outside. Their voices began to move away from the tent and grow distant under the footfalls of leather against snow.

Arya sat up herself, eyes adjusting to the semi-darkness. Her clothes were somewhere nearby. Before she could move, her husband was picking her stray clothing up, shaking them out, and placing them in her lap on the bed. He was fast, and he didn't look at her while he found what she needed. When she began to dress he tossed a few more logs on the fire and fetched a basin.

"Give me a second, and I'll get water for you." Gendry said.

Arya shrugged her shoulders, and finished dressing by the time her husband placed warm water from the metal cauldron near the fire into his basin. There were cloths, not overly clean ones, but it did feel nice to wash her face and hands.

Although he helped her get ready, and ensured she was warm enough to walk through the frigid night air, Arya felt there was a barrier between them now. Gendry was still himself, but he was serving her in a capacity like that of a servant than a marriage partner.

Gendry wasn't a coward. Never had been. When he was wrong, he fessed to it. What Arya didn't like to see was how far away he was standing from her when he spoke.

"I'm sorry 'bout what happened earlier," he said firmly. "I was wrong, and I promised the day I asked to marry you that I'd never do something like that to hurt you."

She didn't move closer. He didn't try to touch her. She nodded to him, it wasn't forgiveness as much as it was an acknowledgement. "You're bigger, and stronger than me, but you didn't hurt me." She said.

"Arya-"

"You tried to take something without asking, which isn't like you at all." She wasn't angry, but there was a fierceness which sprung out of her words. "I know you, and you may have had a moment where it all went badly. You apologized, and made sure I was alright. When we've been…" she paused trying to find the right words. "Together, you've told me what you've wanted and I've done the same. Earlier, it was different. You didn't hurt me, you just – it was good. Most of it was really good. If you'd wanted to be with me and not talk at all, you just could have told me. Just tell me or something next time."

"Just tell you?" Her husband deadpanned.

"Or something." Arya reiterated.

"Alright." Gendry replied. His gaze became heated for a moment. "So that bit where you had me undress by the tent flap?"

"I saw how you looked at me. You would have stood there and waited however long I wanted."

"Yeah," Gendry said, scratching the back of his neck and looking contrite. "I would have waited. However long you wanted."

"I know." Arya stepped forward, stood on her toes, and kissed him softly. When she pulled away, she said, "I'll expect you to keep me warm tonight, and for however long I'm here. And you'll tell me when you want me, and how you want me from now on."

The guilt in Gendry's eyes softened. "As m'lady commands."

She grinned faintly then, and finished her absolutions. Before they left the tent, Gendry provided her with a larger fur cloak, which was better than the one she'd brought for the journey. It was getting too cold to hold hands, so her husband joined their arms and they ventured to the King's tent side by side. They walked in silence, picking up their pace a little as they neared Jon's tent.

The guards announced them, and when Arya shifted the flap away she found Jon and the queen speaking softly and sitting adjacent to each other near the small center table. A dense cloth screen divided part of the tent, Arya could just make out a figure laying prone on a bed. It must be Bran.

Jon greeted Arya with a firm embrace, holding her longer now that they had the luxury of being away from a crowd. It was so much like the last goodbye they shared in Winterfell years ago, that Arya felt her heart beat heavily in her chest.

"It's your last meal, isn't it?" The words popped out before she could stop them. Thankfully they were muffled by the fur of Jon's cloak. He seemed to be the only one who could hear them.

"The walls have ears," Jon said in a low voice. "We'll talk about it later."

When he released her, he smiled faintly and kissed her forehead. He didn't make a quip about her and Gendry's lateness, but peeking over the king's shoulder she could see the queen giving Gendry a knowing look. Their reason for their tardiness wasn't lost on anyone.

"You need to eat something," Jon said as he walked her to the table. "You both do." He and Gendry nodded to each other and waited to sit down until Arya was settled. It wasn't the most comfortable way to begin a meal. There was a tension which almost seemed to snap like the wind. With no one to attend them, Jon poured ale into each of their cups. Everyone else loaded their small plates with bread, cheese, and cold meat. They said little during the meal. Jon seemed to have less than anyone. He didn't seem to be drinking much either. Arya looked questioning at her brother.

"Not hungry," Jon shrugged.

"You should try something," Arya countered, eating her meal determinedly, in a disciplined fashion. After the lack of food on the journey north, the meal in front of her was a feast. "You need to eat."

"My nephew is stubborn," Queen Daenerys said kindly. "I tried in vain to see him eat at least a mouthful earlier. I was hoping your encouragement would have better results."

Arya bit back the retort on her tongue. She may not trust the dragon queen, but her husband and her cousin had harnessed themselves to Daenerys' cause. It was easier to slip back into the discipline of the Faceless Men, to adopt a neutral face and wait for the person to reveal themselves. Arya could be cordial when she wanted to.

She could be a lot of things if she wanted to.

Taking another swig of ale, Arya changed her tactic. "Maybe this'll help. I have a letter for you from Sansa." She pulled out a piece of parchment from her inner chest pocket. "She was so tired, she had me finish writing the end of it."

Jon read the letter at the table. He didn't recite it aloud, but Arya watched the way his eyes devoured each word. Her brother-turned-cousin may have lost his appetite, but he was he was hungry for news of home. The time it took for Jon to re-read the letter several times, the rest of them were able to eat most of their meal.

"The babe, Robb." Jon seemed to have trouble forming words. "Sansa says he's a fine weight with dark hair. You've held him. What does he look like?"

"He looks like you," Arya said bluntly, cramming a piece of chicken in her mouth.

Jon barked a laugh. It was a sound which had everyone else at the table smiling.

"He has your forehead and chin," Arya continued. "His face scrunches up like yours when he's eating. And he eats. A lot."

"Like a piglet," Jon supplied, a small smile on his lips. He remembered what she'd said earlier.

"Yeah, he does." Arya agreed. "All he does is sleep and eat. He hardly ever cries. He has a solemn face and blue eyes."

"Tully blue." Jon said carefully. "Like Sansa's?"

Arya nodded thoughtfully. "Like hers and Robb's."

The name of her dead older brother fell from Arya's lips, but it didn't leave a bitter taste in her mouth. Robb and mother had been avenged when she'd carved Walder Frey's throat out. The old man's death hadn't brought peace to her heart, but carving him and his sons up had been cathartic in a certain way.

Her brother's name had a different impact on Jon. She could see the way his eyes sorted through the memories in his mind. Happiness and sadness mixed together.

"It's good he has their eyes," Jon said slowly. "Robb would have like that. Would have needled me with it constantly." Arya nodded in response. Yes, her brother Robb would have been full of smiles for his nephew. Over the moon for a babe with the same Tully blue eyes of himself and his sister.

"He'll grow up hearing people talk about his uncle, the Young Wolf and the King in the North," Jon continued. "He'll want to know who he was named for. What Robb looked like, what he sounded like, what kind of man he was."

There was a silence for a moment, a long quiet of sadness for loved ones lost. Jon was slipping into a brood, which he was oft to do when he was thinking about Robb, her father, Rickon, and the other people who'd filled his life and were now gone.

"We'll do that," Ayra supplied confidently. "You, me, Sansa, and Bran. But you're forgetting, he's just a baby, and he doesn't have to be anybody but himself."

Jon nodded, shaking himself to the present. "Sansa, she's happy?" He asked poignantly. "Does she like being a mother?"

"She wanted him before she knew for sure she was carrying him," Arya supplied. "I've never seen her want something so badly. She started praying in the godswood again when she felt him move inside her. Now he's here, and she won't let him out of her arms. She sings to him all the time. She always had a good voice. She sings all the old songs Old Nan and mother used to sing to us when we were little."

"That's good," Jon smiled again. "Hushabye Birdie?"

Arya nodded. "And Lullay My Sweet One and Blue Eyed Ennis. She was singing Hush My Baby before I left. She's a good mother. The best, actually. She wants more, you know."

The casualness of the statement wasn't lost on her cousin.

"More?" Jon almost half croaked. "She does?"

"The maester said she didn't curse your name at all during childbirth, which is a good thing." Arya said breezily. "The day after Robb was born, I saw her kissing him and smiling at him, and Sansa said she wanted ten more just like him. I said what if all of them look like you, even the girls? Why would she wish that on anyone?"

Jon laughed again, and this time, Arya was sure it could be heard outside the tent. Gendry's wide grin and the queen's sparkling smile made her feel as if she'd fought a hard battle and won. In a way she had battled for the fortitude of her brother's will. She'd made him laugh even at the darkest of times.

Even if he died tomorrow.

Arya was the one who frowned first, her fingers reaching out to clutch her brother's strong hand. "Jon," she said, her voice grave and her resolve to discuss the prospects of the trial were strengthening. "What happens tomorrow?" She let her eyes tell him her concerns and frustrations.

It was the queen who spoke when Jon gripped her hand with his. "House Targaryen has accepted Lord Baelish's trial by combat, and House Targaryen will see it through to the end."

Biting back a retort, Arya looked at the queen, who looked steadily back in return. The lone finger she held up in the air cautioned for silence. Daenerys seemed to be shedding some of the queenly façade Arya had first witnessed. There was a calmness to her words, a confidence which spoke of experience. Nothing false or fueled by ego. A glimmer of something Arya could just sense as knowing.

The queen nodded to Gendry, who leaned to whisper in Arya's ear. "They don't call her the 'unburnt' for nothing."

The meaning of her husband's words were unbelievable, leaving Arya completely floored. The confusion and disbelief look on her face must have been evident, when Jon squeezed her hand and nodded as well.

The queen couldn't be burned. Fire wouldn't harm her. And they knew. Her brother and her husband. They both knew. Maybe even some of the advisors were in on it as well.

Eyes wide with disbelief, she turned to Jon. Arya didn't speak, choosing to mouth the words instead.

She? Arya jerked her head at the queen. For you?

Jon nodded stiffly. Arya could see he wasn't happy about it. Not one bit. That was the reason why Jon wasn't eating. He was worried. Not for himself, but for his aunt, the last remaining Targaryen woman and familial ally in all the world. Obviously he hadn't seen her confront fire on that scale with his own eyes, because if he had, his demeanor would have been different.

Before Arya could say anything further, the queen spoke in a gentle tone. "Everyone knows a true dragon cannot be burned by fire."

Gendry's eyes were an open book. Trust me, they seemed to say. Trust the queen.

Arya nodded thoughtfully. If the Daenerys was willing to lay down on a fiery pyre for Jon, the queen had some redeeming qualities. Arya grasped her cup in her hand and held it in salute.

"I'll drink to that," Arya said swiftly, and drank deeply.

XxX

The next day dawned clear and cold. The wraiths remained out of sight. Tension in the camp was bubbling high. Arya emerged from her husband's tent at the invitation of Meera Reed. The queen had requested arrangements for Arya to bathe in a private chamber within Castle Black. Although she had never met Lady Reed before, Arya took an instant liking to her. Sansa had pretty much bullied her into writing a letter of thanks to Bran's friend, and now Arya was glad she'd made the effort.

As they walked the twisting path through the hob scrabble camp, they spoke a bit about Bran and Arya's new nephew. Meera seemed pleased by the arrival of a babe into the Stark family.

"Bran couldn't stop jabbering about it," Meera supplied. "He said your nephew is a Stark through and through. All except the eyes."

Arya nodded thoughtfully. "My sister's eyes." There was no reason to burden them both with her older brother's death.

"You might be having one yourself soon." Meera said unabashed. "Gendry's a constant in this camp, either at his forge or taking shifts on the Wall. The fact he hasn't been seen or heard from since you arrived has made tongues wag."

Arya kept her face passive even when she wanted to roll her eyes like she would when she was seven. "We're married and I haven't seen him for months. What did anyone expect?"

"I expect you'd want a descent wash," Meera said with a cheeky smile. "Wouldn't mind one myself, but I've got to get back to Bran at some point. Just thought you could use the company."

It felt wonderful to bathe in the small tub near a stove by the kitchens. The older she got, the better it felt to be completely clean. Her husband tried his best to have water heated for her this morning, but it was too frigid to wash properly in the tent. A quick slap of hot water to vital parts had been the best they could achieve without getting too cold. The experience had Arya remembering the long lounging baths they'd taken in Winterfell right after they'd been married. From the look of longing and desire on her husband's face, Gendry was thinking of them too.

She'd make sure they had a whole week together alone in their rooms in Winterfell when he returned home.

When the water cooled, Arya dried and dressed quickly. Meera was waiting for her outside the room, and suggested they stop by Bran's bedside. "He may have need of us," Lady Reed said thoughtfully.

Arya hadn't seen Bran experience a vision, so what she saw surprised her immensely. The milky white eyes of her younger brother had her staring at him for a surprisingly long time. He was completely unaware of what was going on around him.

"He's like this a lot?" Arya asked Meera.

"Most of the time," Lady Reed replied. "He surfaces when he needs to tell us something, but for the most part he's out there somewhere, looking for the Night King through the eyes of any animal within several leagues of the Wall. The thing about Bran, he doesn't give up, and he doesn't surface unless he's ready. He'll stay out there all day and most of the night. Don't think he's slept in a day or so."

Arya spent most of the day by Bran's bedside, talking softly with Meera and learning more about their adventures north of the Wall. They ate what little food was left in the tent at midday, and by late afternoon, Jon and Gendry had returned.

"He hasn't woken?" Jon asked, checking Bran's blankets again for himself.

"No," Arya replied. There was nothing else to say really.

Leaving Meera with the youngest Stark boy, Jon, Arya, and Gendry walked through camp toward the pyre which had drawn a huge crowd of onlookers from every cross section of the camp. Dornish and Knights of the Vale, Dothraki and Unsullied, Northmen and Free Folk. Arya could feel the eyes of all of them watching the three of them walk purposefully to the pyre.

The queen chose to arrive in style, her heavy fur coat and intricately braided hair made her look like something out of a fairy story. She made her way to Jon's side, looking on patiently while the crowd moved aside for the final player in the trial to arrive.

Lord Petyr Baelish was unchained and looked untroubled. Any other man would have been sweating, swearing, or nervously clutching a blade in his hand. Arya knew that wasn't Littlefinger's style. He cut a calm, cool figure as he followed the unsullied soldiers to an allocated space near the queen. Baelish bowed respectfully to the dragon queen.

"Your grace," he greeted in monotone.

"Lord Baelish," the queen stated politely.

There was a small stalemate of silence before Lord Tyrion stepped before the taller lord. "My lord, House Targaryen extends you the opportunity to plea for a lesser charge to forgo this trial by combat."

Lord Baelish looked respectfully at the queen while he spoke. "What would House Targaryen offer, your grace?"

"Take the black and serve at the Night's Watch as their master of coin," Queen Daenerys replied firmly. "You would have the redemption and respect of the realm for such service, as well as your life."

"Your grace," Lord Baelish began. "How can I confess to a crime I did not commit? The gods will see my fate through."

"Very well, my lord." Daenerys replied. She nodded to Lord Tyrion, who announced the trial by combat to begin.

The queen's handmaiden Missandei assisted her mistress with the clasps of her coat, which left her in a simple white shift.

In a fierce voice which rang with bell-like clarity through the wind, the silver blonde woman proclaimed, "I am Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name and Queen of Westeros. I will stand as champion of my house."

An immense wave of sound erupted from the crowd. There were bets being taken and shouts of encouragement heard in various languages from most of the known word. Lord Baelish looked surprised, but said nothing. The political calculus going through his head would be weighing the advantages and pitfalls of such a move.

Holding out her hand delicately to her nephew, both king and queen walked calmly to the pyre, where a large empty space had been constructed near the middle of the log base in full view of the crowd.

"You don't have to do this," Jon said fiercely when they arrived at their destination. His eyes were two wells of turmoil.

"Long ago, my father tortured and killed your grandfather and uncle," Daenerys said solemnly.

"King Aerys was my grandfather as well," Jon interjected.

Daenerys shook her head. "The Mad King dealt with Rickon Stark and your Uncle Brandon cruelly and unjustly. Your Stark family has lived with this pain and injustice for long enough. Today, I intent to right that wrong by saving you from the fire and bringing a would-be murder to justice. I would see this history righted. For you. For your wife and son. For the cousins who are as good as siblings to you. Your family has already sacrificed too much for Westeros. I will not see any of your mother's house suffer such a loss again."

With those words, his aunt placed her hands on either side his handsome face, and kissed Jon gently on the forehead.

"You'll need these," Jon said when they parted, and from his cloak revealed a small sack with the three dragons eggs found in the Winterfell crypts. "I heard you helped to hatch three dragons on a pyre before. Maybe this is the chance to gain a few more."

Daenerys nodded with a soft smile, and took the sack from Jon's hands. With a nod and one last look, he walked away to his sister's side.

Lord Baelish was the one to light the pyre with a large torch. The smell of oil, wet wood, and dead bodies filled the air as the pyre came to life in a small sea of flame. Clutching the bag close to her chest, the dragon queen's figure quickly became obscured by the dancing flame and smoke of such a wild inferno.

The crowd became silent as each man strained to hear the shrieks of the queen through the roar of the fire, but none came. As the pyre fire continued, some of the soldiers sat, drank, and watched the pyre burn. The ones closest to the fire stood as still as sentries, watching for any indication that the queen had survived the fire.

"You should call this off, Lord Tyrion, and send the men to their beds," Lord Baelish suggested in a smooth voice. "What use is it to let them watch their queen's body burn?"

"Your champion is still fighting," The Queen's Hand said just as diplomatically. "The trial isn't over until the fire is out. We have a long way to go yet."

One by one, soldiers and nobles alike sat on the cold ground. Some left to find their beds. Others huddled together watching the flames dance through the night. Arya sat between Jon and Gendry, both of them providing her with warmth through the night as they waited for the fire to burn itself out. The hours ticked by, and Arya found herself drifting in and out of sleep. She could see faces in the fire she hadn't thought about in many months.

Sandor Clegane. Jaqen H'ghar. The Red Woman.

The memories of each slid through her mind with each wave of drowsiness. Eventually, Arya succumbed to sleep completely. When she awoke several hours later, she found herself sheltered in her husband's arms surrounded by his warmth and the folds of his cloak. He was sleeping as well, his face tucked into her hair and his body obscuring hers from the cold.

As Arya shifted in his arms, she could see the thin grey of dawn breaking on the horizon. The pyre must have burned all night. There were few flames left now, most of them dying slowly in the cold morning air. Jon and Lord Tyrion were standing, watching the smoke clear from the remains of last night's pyre. There were a few hundred people sleeping or watching the flames die down to nothing.

Lord Baelish stood looking appraisingly at the charred logs and ash. He looked tired, but confident. A few flames remained, but they were burning out as well. Bones from the bodies of the dead burned with the pyre could be spotted next to the charred remains of the large logs.

With the amount of smoke and black remnants of the fire obscured the sight of the witnesses. As morning sun dispelled the darkness obscuring the land, curious eyes strained for some sign of the dragon queen. Finally, a cold chilly wind extinguished the last of the flame and smoke, leaving the pyre a cold ruin.

Arya found herself holding her breath. She was waiting for the queen to emerge just like everyone else. Even though it seemed absolutely unlikely, Arya found herself hoping anyway.

Hoping this trial would end. Hoping Lord Baelish's head would be mounted on a pike before midday.

Waiting to breathe again.

There was a small movement at first, just a slight shutter as soot and ash shifted in the still morning. A figure, hidden by a pile of ash, sat upright. The figure stood, the dark aftermath char dust and soot coating skin.

The queen emerged from the pyre slowly, three newborn dragons clutching at her body with their sharp little claws. She stood naked and proud, the shrill sounds of the dragons squawking breaking the winter quiet.

There were yells and cries from the soldiers witnessing the reemergence of the dragon queen, and men of all births and rank fell to their knees before her presence.

Daenerys stopped suddenly, admiring a small flame feeding on a log at her feet. She let the fire consume its source for a moment longer before snuffing it out with her foot. The dragons chirped as their mother continued her journey to the men assembled nearby.

When it was clear what they were witnessing, the noble lords and their attendants knelt before Queen Daenerys. She stopped in front of Petyr Baelish, who swept to his knees in respect and awe.

"Your grace," He said cautiously.

She let him kneel there briefly before summoning her handmaiden. Missandei assisted the queen with her coat, the dragons were shifted from one side of her body to another as the garment was fastened to her body. When her attire was set to rights, the queen looked out over the sea of kneeling men. The only ones still standing were her nephew, Jaehaerys Targaryen and his cousin Arya Stark. Both of them nodded their respect to her when she met their gazes.

"Lord Baelish, your champion has been vanquished. I hereby sentence you to death," Daenerys proclaimed loudly.

"How will you carry out this sentence?" His lordship's voice sounded strangled.

"By the sword," the queen replied smoothly. "Sentence to be carried out immediately."

Petyr Baelish looked shocked when Lord Tyrion yelled "Bring the block!"

A small log which had been fashioned and held aside for the execution was produced. The men in the crowd yelled in affirmation. It all happened so suddenly the guilty man had barely any time to fashion a rebuttal to the sudden turn of events.

"Your grace!" Lord Baelish yelled in supposition. "Your grace, I can help you with many important matters. The Iron Bank! The Ironborn reavers! I can give you with both!"

Daenerys looked unaffected by the offer. She turned her back on the Lord of the Fingers and walked to her nephew waiting a few steps away. His hand was tightened on the hilt of the sword at his side, and his stance was one of fierce anticipation. When the queen dropped her hand on his arm, Jon stalked toward the block, sword drawn and at the ready.

This was justice. Justice for the near murder of his son Robb Stark. Vindication for Sansa and her father Eddard Stark. Freedom for the realm from Littlefinger's meddling forever more.

Remembering how his Uncle Eddard had had conducted himself when he passed sentence, Jon held his sword respectfully in front of him. "In the Name of Daenerys Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of Westeros, and Protector of the Realm, I, Jaehaerys Targaryen of Houses Stark and Targaryen, King in the North, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?"

Lord Baelish was composed, but his eyes were manic in a way Jon had never seen before.

"I've had your wife," Baelish said smoothly. "She gave herself to me for several months before you were wed."

The insinuation was clear. Sansa had been unfaithful and Robb wasn't his son. The law of realm dictated a birth father could rid himself of any natural child he had out of wedlock. Any other man would have faltered, ceased the execution to beat the truth from anyone who would have accused their wife of such infidelity.

Jon didn't blink, and he didn't wait for more than a few seconds to respond.

"No, she never did." Jon replied with confidence and determination. And he swung the sword downward with a killing stroke. Lord Baelish's head rolled from his body and in the snow, his eyes and political mind finally ceasing their scheming.

XxX

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