Chapter 52

Ready

"Is it ready?"

Gendry held the long, narrow blade up to the light. It rested across his open palms as if 'twere an offering to the Gods. Slowly but surely the former 'prentice smith tilted the steel this way and that, looking for ripples on the surface or any other sign that the blade was not true.

Eventually a satisfied grin spread across his face. "'Tis ready."

When the old man on the stretcher managed to speak, his words came in a breathless rasp, "I told you the secret to Braavosi steel was all in the quenching."

Gendry nodded, setting the blade down beside the curved guard and grip he had fashioned earlier. All that remained was to assemble the sword and Arya's wedding gift would be complete.

On what should have been the happiest day of his life, Gendry's heart was heavy. He crouched down and placed his hand over the dying man's. Gendry had to force himself not to flinch as he touched Tobho's paper thin skin and bone. Once those hands had been bigger and stronger than his and Gendry had watched with awe and fascination as they skilfully forged wonders from plain iron and steel. Soon he would see these hands no more.

Masking his sorrow by fixing a smile to his face, Gendry squeezed the old man's bird-like hand as firmly as he dared. "We should make a Falchion next."

Tobho snorted in disgust and that started him coughing. His whole body heaved and convulsed as he fought for every breath. Red foam oozed from the side of his mouth and dripped down his chin. Anguy mopped it up when the old man's wracking cough eased enough to allow it.

When the coughing fit finally ended, Tobho lay still with his eyes closed. He was so frail, his skin so waxy that only the shallow rise and fall of his chest confirmed there was life left in him yet.

Anguy and Gendry exchanged worried glances. The end would not be long now.

Clearing his throat, Gendry continued from where he had left off, "So, a Falchion. I have a fine bit 'o steel we could . . ."

"Nae." Tobho rasped, causing Gendry to pause mid sentence.

The old man's eyes opened slowly, fixing Gendry with a watery stare. "I sold one once to that Bolton bastard. After what he did with it I could never bring myself to make another. Not a Falchion."

"Mayhaps a fine longsword then."

Tobho nodded as his eyes slid shut.

They both knew he would not live to see another sword forged, but neither man was willing to admit it.

"You should see the forge I have in Storm's End," Gendry said wistfully. "I have the sweetest anvil that sends the hammer rebounding right back at you. You can work it all day and your arm will still feel as fresh as a spring morn'. "

"I'd like to see that," Tobho mumbled drowsily.

'Twas a good dream. Much as he wanted to, Gendry had never managed to devote a whole day to smithing at Storm's End. There were always far too many other things demanding Lord Baratheon's attention. But Tobho didn't need to know that. Not today.

"You'll like it there."

Squeezing Tobho's hand again, Gendry tried to banish an image of Tobho's remains sitting in a box on a shelf in the smithy in Storm's End. But he knew that was the only way Tobho would travel to the Stormlands now.

The former master and apprentice sat together like that; Tobho lying on a stretcher, Gendry holding his hand while Anguy looked on awkwardly. The only sound in the once bustling forge was the laboured sound of Tobho's breathing.

"You'd best get that sword put together or you'll be late for your own wedding." Anguy said eventually.

Gendry reluctantly let go of his old mentor's hand and stood up, rolling his shoulders and flexing his knees. They were stiff after squatting beside Tobho for so long.

"Are the boys ready to carry him?"

Anguy looked at Tobho, wondering if the old man was asleep or if he could hear their conversation. Deciding not to take the risk, he stood up and joined Gendry at the side of the forge, whispering "Are you sure we should move him?"

Gendry shrugged and looked over at Tobho. "Better to go in the Godswood than alone here."

Anguy followed Gendry's gaze. "Widow Mott will be coming with us to Storm's End won't she?"

"She's not a widow yet," Gendry said tersely, "But Aye. She wants to help when the babe comes."

The two men stood in silence, each lost in their own contemplation of impending birth and death. Both looked up sharply at the sound of someone clearing his throat.

Aegon Targaryen, still dressed in a Brother's robe stood at the entrance to Tobho's shop. His silver hair glinted like polished steel in the sunlight.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, but I wanted to speak with you afore the day gets hectic."

King or no, Aegon was the last person Gendry wanted to see. "You are interrupting. I have a wedding gift for my wife that I need to finish." Without waiting for a response, Gendry turned his back on the King and began assembling Arya's sword.

Anguy was not sure what amounted to treason, but he suspected turning your back on a King and ignoring him when he wanted to talk to you, was probably pretty close. Wishing he were invisible, the archer promptly sat back down beside Tobho and busied himself wiping the bloody foam oozing from the sides of the old man's mouth. Having survived the war, Anguy had no desire to have his neck stretched as a traitor. He prayed silently to the Seven that the Dragon King did not recognise his face nor remember his name and would forget he was ever in Tobho's forge this day.

Gendry had no such fears. He started hammering the curved guard onto the sword grip, ignoring Aegon all the while. The King stood silently in the doorway watching Gendry smith and Anguy studiously avoided meeting those shrewd purple eyes.

After a while and accompanied by the sounds of Gendry's hammer, Aegon slowly paced around the forge, casting his eyes over the empty shelves and tools already beginning to rust through lack of use. He waited patiently until Gendry had completed assembling the hilt. Only when Gendry laid down his hammer, did the King speak,

"I've come to ask your forgiveness."

Gendry grunted, but otherwise continued to ignore his King. If he hoped Aegon would simply leave, he was to be disappointed. The King picked up the discarded hammer, contemplatively testing its weight in his hand while he waited for a reply.

Having Aegon standing watching him irritated Gendry so much that he could barely concentrate on what he needed to do. 'Twould be better to get whatever the Targaryen horse's arse wanted out of the way so he could get back to finishing Arya's sword.

"Alright. Apology accepted."

Aegon gave him one of those smug, arrogant grins that Gendry hated so much. Gods but there was no other man who annoyed him so thoroughly.

"Don't think I'm apologising to you though," Gendry gritted out between clenched teeth. "You deserved all you got." He held his hand out for his hammer.

"I agree." Aegon's grin grew even wider as he looked from Gendry's hand to at the hammer and back.

Seven buggering hells! Did the man have a death wish?! If Aegon didn't hand his hammer over, Gendry would wrench if from the King's lifeless hand. Treason be damned!

Just as Gendry was about to make a grab for it, Aegon flipped the hammer deftly and offered it back handle first.

With a growl, Gendry snatched it from the King's grip.

"You're welcome," Aegon smirked as Gendry glowered.

When Aegon still stood there, apparently with no intention of leaving, Gendry growled, "You've apologized. I've accepted. So are you just going to stand there all day?"

"Nae." Aegon said solemnly, shaking his head. "I regret I cannot, for I have a wedding in the Godswood I need to attend shortly."

That damned irritating grin was back on his face. 'Twas all Gendry could do not to smash his hammer into those gleaming white teeth.

"You should leave then. Now."

Aegon chuckled, looking down at the brown-and-dun robe he had not removed since leaving the Quiet Isle. "I find that since adopting this Brother's habit, I have much more time on my hands. I no longer have to worry about co-ordinating my tunics with my britches, my britches with my boots, not to mention my sword scabbard and my dagger and my rings and things . . . like necklaces . . . best just say all jewellery . . . and as I forsworn the wearing of capes too, I have so much more time for important things – like you Lord Baratheon."

Gendry ground his teeth frustration. Why would the damned Targaryen not just FUCK OFF and leave him to get on with finishing Arya's present?

"Get to the pint," Gendry snarled. "What. Do. You. Want?"

Aegon folded his arms across his chest and crossed his ankles. Leaning against the cold forge he looked as if he had all the time and not a care in the world.

"Your help," he said simply.

"Fuck. Off. Nae."

Aegon pouted. "You don't even know what help I want yet."

"It doesn't matter. The answer will always be – nae. A thousand times nae."

Gendry raised his hammer and began pounding the barrel that would fix the blade into the already assembled sword hilt – wishing with all his might 'twas Aegon's face he was pounding rather than Braavosi steel.

"Even if my request for help was a pressing matter that involved your Lady Arya?"

Gendry's hammer stopped mid air. He considered swinging it sideways and savoured the satisfying mental image of Aegon's head exploding beneath the hammer like a ripe watermelon.

Tempting though that course of action was, Aegon had mentioned Arya's name and they both knew Gendry was unable to ignore anything that involved his beloved.

With a defeated sigh, Gendry laid his hammer down. "This had better be important."

"Would I bother Lord Baratheon for anything that wasn't?" Aegon said, looking offended.

"So get on with it. I don't have all day . . ."

"Neither do I. As I mentioned earlier, I have a wedding to attend."

Gendry's snarl was sufficient to start Aegon talking. "Do you remember the conversation we had at my father's graveside?"

How could Gendry ever forget it? "Aye."

"Well my feelings for Lady Sansa have not changed, if anything they are grown stronger. 'Tis your good-sisterI am here to discuss …"

-o-

"I cannot believe you are not ready for your own wedding," Sansa sniffed, swiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "When I have gone to all this trouble and made all the arrangements. Do you at least have a dress to wear?"

Arya felt she should be saying something meaningful, something helpful which would solve all of her sister's problems, but she could think of nothing. So, with her sister in tears and with no idea what else to say, Arya found herself talking about something as inconsequential as a dress. "I brought one with me from Storm's End but it is . . . lost."

"Lost?" Sansa repeated incredulously.

"Aye," Arya muttered, looking around Sansa's room which was strewn with dresses. Any one of them would do, providing it had laces that could be loosened.

"'You are getting wed and your dress is lost?!" Sansa's hands were fisted on her hips, her toe tapping, and her tears apparently forgotten. "Tis your wedding day today Arya."

"I know." Arya's wandering gaze came to rest on a slash of red silk peeking out from under a pile of lace and fur. If that was what Arya thought it was – her problem was solved.

"How can you be so disorganised, so unprepared? Do you not realise this is the most important day of your life? You have a responsibility not only to your House, but to your betrothed and his House and Jon too, what would he think of your . . ."

Arya chose to ignore the rest of Sansa's scolding. Instead of listening, she stalked over to the open chest, intent on retrieving her treasure. The rest of the clothes were dumped unceremoniously on the floor as she revealed her prize.

"Perfect!"

'Twas the dress she had worn when Gendry had kissed her for the first time – after she had slapped him in front of everyone. She could not help but smile at the memory. "The damned red dress" he had called it. Hadn't both Sansa and Shireen said Gendry wanted no gift other than his wife? Well, his wedding present would be wrapped up in that damned red dress and he could unwrap it tonight.

Sansa standing at her shoulder jolted Arya out of her happy reverie.

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

Holding up her prize, Arya clutched it to her chest and twirled around, the way Sansa used to with their mother's dresses when they were children, "This dress will do."

"But Gendry has seen you in it afore."

"Exactly!"

"But 'tis red."

"So?" Arya asked, twirling around some more.

"So . . . I think you should tell me how you managed to lose your own dress."

The way Sansa looked at her through suspicious narrowed eyes, made Arya stop mid twirl. She knew she was going to have to confess.

"You never even had a dress did you?" Sansa said accusingly.

"I did have a dress!" Arya was indignant. "Even I am not that disorganised. But I tried it on yesterday and I ripped a seam."

"'Tis that all? I have my sewing basket right here. We shall have it mended in no time."

"Wait," Arya's hand shot forwards, stopping Sansa from picking up the basket. Sansa gave her a questioning look and Arya groaned. 'Twas nothing else for it – she would have to tell the truth.

"Shireen had a dress made for me in Storm's End …"

Sansa snorted, "I might have known you had nothing to do with it."

There was no point in Arya pretending 'twas otherwise – her sister knew her too well.

"'Twas a beautiful dress – blue like the sky and . . . and Gendry's eyes." Arya felt herself blush as she admitted to having such a silly notion, but 'twas true – she had chosen the silk as 'twas the very same shade of blue as her lover's eyes. Sansa seemed oblivious to Arya's embarrassment; indeed she seemed to appreciate the romance of the comparison, for she gave her sister a broad smile.

"Anyway, 'twas quite fitted across here," Arya ran a hand across her belly. "In Storm's End the silk flowed over my hip bones, but when I tried it on here . . . well I am so fat I ripped it."

"You're not fat, you're pregnant!"

"I never even got the dress up to my waist and it ripped – not that I have much of a waist anymore. I'm going to look awful. Like a fat old Septa."

"Oh little sister," Sansa said softly, taking both of Arya's hands in hers, "Do you not know that Gendry would like nothing more than for everyone in Westeros to see his babe growing in your belly?"

Arya had not thought on it like that, but she supposed Sansa was right. Gendry seemed to want her more than ever. He certainly couldn't keep his hands off her pregnant belly or her growing breasts.

"He loves you so much – everyone in Westeros can see that. Dear sister, you need never fear that you are only a trophy to him, that he only wants to wed you for your name and the connection you bring to your House."

Sansa sounded so sad and so wistful, that Arya was sure her sister was thinking on another Lord who was only interested in a wife as a decorative prize. Gendry was certainly not of that mind. Hadn't he readily agreed to their being equal in all things? Arya could hardly remember why she had been so reluctant to wed him.

"I suppose you are right." Arya conceded

Sansa looked at her sternly. "You know I am right and do not ever doubt Gendry's love for you. That man loves you more than . . ."

"More than I deserve." Arya interrupted glumly. For 'twas true – she could spend a lifetime trying to pay Gendry back for his patience, his perseverance and his forgiving of her past - and still 'twould never be enough.

"That is not what I was going to say."

"I know," Arya sighed. "I love him too you know. It's just . . . I am not very good at showing it."

Sansa squeezed her sister's hands and a twinkle sparkled in her eye. "Then show him tonight."

Arya looked at the red dress and remembered how wonderful, how alive and how desired Gendry had made her feel the first time she had worn it. She hoped that seeing her in it again, even if she was fat, would stir the same memories for him. 'Twas ideal. Why had she not thought of this red dress afore?

"After what you said – about him having everything he wanted, I had thought . . ."Arya felt herself flush scarlet as she admitted her plan to her sister, "I had thought I could be his present . . . seeing as I haven't got him anything else."

Arya would not have been surprised if Sansa had laughed at her, after all, before Gendry had returned to her, Arya had never consider anyone would want her, much less as their wedding present.

But instead of laughing, Sansa's face shone with approval and love. "We had better hurry sister if we are to get Gendry's wedding present ready in time."

-o-

I hadn't intended to bring it back – but LME on AO3 has told me so many times how much he appreciated Arya in her "damned red dress" that I had to let her wear it again. So Leon – that was for you.

I had to go back and read chapter 6 again – as it's been a looooong time since I wrote it – and I still liked it. A lot. Arya has come a long way since then too. It was nice to go back and revisit the sexual tension A&G had in the beginning. However, if there's one thing I have to improve on - it's brevity. It really shouldn't have taken me 300,000 words (eek!) to get from there to here. I can only thank you all for your patience over all those months.

I also have to thank Brazilian Guy as that forge scene was originally going to be quite different until he pointed me in a different (better) direction. This story owes so much to him as do I. He made writing those 300,000 words fun and I'm so gonna miss him when it's done.

So, we're all set up for the big climax. Although I've known since the beginning how it would end, there's a lot still to do. I would like to post it all at once or maybe over 2 days instead of drawing it out over several small chapters as I've done recently. But I just hate to keep you all hanging for so long. We'll see.

Please be assured I want to see then end even more than you do. Believe it when I say I will be back asap.

PS – for all those who asked, my puppy is a German Shepherd x Golden Retriever cross. He is supper cute, supper smart and a super pooper. A big dog like he's going to be needed a big name. So he's Hudson – or Hud for short. The name was inspired by the Paul Newman (swoon) movie of the same name. The kids approved – as they loved the "Hudson Hornet" (Paul Newman again – swoon again) in the movie "Cars" and it even ticked a box with BG who enlightened me about "Hudson soft". Happy days.

Do I just stop there or go on to explain more? I can't have Aegon reveal all, as G would never want Sansa to end up with A, but maybe I could allude to a threat to S or something? I will ponder it.