Sorry it's been a couple of weeks since I last updated, exams have been keeping me busy. Not long to go with those though, so keep an eye out for more frequent updates!

Calling the banners is a longer process than Gendry had thought it would be. He'd had to send ravens to all Houses who were supposedly sworn to him, asking them to come to Storm's End and ride with him. Only five had responded positively - Tarth, Meadows, Selmy, Swann and Buckler, his maester had said. The rest either refused to be led by a bastard or didn't respond at all. Perhaps a better lord would take action, but, in truth, Gendry does not blame them. Really, he should have asked their allegiance sooner, but he has barely been in the Stormlands two weeks. He has no right to their loyalty yet.

It does not take long for the five Houses to arrive and, as soon as the last - Selmy - enters the castle, a feast is called for that night. The preparations overwhelm Gendry somewhat; it is different to the hustle and bustle of King's Landing, where he only had to concentrate on the steel before him. Here, it seems there are a thousand different tasks that all need his attention, and he wishes he were able to escape it all, if only for a moment.

He doesn't see Arya until the feast itself. He's barely seen her at all, in fact, since the day he got Jon's raven, though it's not for lack of trying. He'd wanted to offer her a tour of the castle, but he supposes that she probably knows it better by now than he ever will. She grew up in a place like this, and she's likely spent the last few days investigating every corridor, mapping out its every shadow. Perhaps he ought to be the one asking her for a tour.

He thinks she'd be amused if she could see him now. The servants have dressed him in his finest leathers, and he's receiving lessons on proper lordly etiquette in preparation for that night. He wasn't exaggerating when he told her he couldn't even use a fork, and now he has to cope with three of them, all having different purposes. It's exasperating, to say the least; no wonder everyone else is starving when all these lords and ladies need about twenty pieces of silverware each. Nevertheless, he listens, and learns what he can, hoping that he doesn't make a fool of himself when the feast comes, almost praying that it doesn't come at all.

But come it does. Gendry's seated at the head of the table, the five lords gathered around him. Their retinues are scattered around the room, and Gendry doesn't miss the daughters and granddaughters and nieces they've all brought along to try and catch his fancy. He knows Arya has seen them too, from her place in the hall, and she quirks a teasing eyebrow at him when he meets her gaze. He flushes, embarrassed, and almost misses his mouth with the soup. No-one notices, fortunately, all too focused on their own meals, so Gendry swears not to look at Arya again for the duration of the feast.

Lord Meadows adresses him first, and Gendry almost misses it, focused as he is on not spilling his meal.

"Strange, to see a Baratheon in Storm's End again," he says, seemingly casual, but Gendry is not stupid; he hears the scathing undertones. "I confess, everyone thought you'd all died out, and yet here you sit. You have the look."

Gendry makes a non-committal noise. He never knows how to respond when people tell him how much like Robert he looks; he can't be sure whether it is a compliment or a joke.

"Yes, well, do you want to tell us why you've called us all here, Lord Baratheon?" Selwyn Tarth cuts an impressive figure, old though he is, and Gendry feels intimidated in his presence. He glares at Gendry, his eyes seeming to assess whether or not he is worth bothering with. Gendry finds himself wanting this man's approval, knowing that his cause is lost without it.

"King's Landing -"

"Is ash and rubble," Tarth interrupts, glare deepening. "We can't wage war on a dead city, boy."

"No," Gendry concedes, feeling a pang of sorrow. "But war is not what I'm asking. At least, not yet," he amends, seeing the lords ready to argue again. "I had a raven from Jon Snow, the Warden of the North, who asked me to support him with any men I could. He didn't say why, but I know it's something to do with the new Queen. I want to honour the friendship of our fathers by joining him, that's why I called you all."

There's a silence following his words, and Gendry wonders if he's somehow fucked it all up. He wouldn't be surprised.

Eventually, Tarth turns back to him and says, "That's all well and good, lad, but how can we send men up to King's Landing with you when we don't even know what we're going there for?"

Gendry sighs impatiently. "You all know what happened to that shit-stinking city. You all know how she burned it and all its people to nothing. I understand why you are reluctant to go, my lords, I don't want to march there either. But I've fought with Jon Snow before, and, if he says he needs us, then that's good enough for me."

It takes him a few seconds after he stops speaking to realise the entire hall has fallen silent. He feels a flush begin to creep up his cheeks and he almost hangs his head in shame, remembering only at the last second that he needs to look confident in front of these lords. They're all watching him closely and he can almost feel their judgement as the silence stretches out uncomfortably.

Gendry does not know how long has passed before the lords begin nodding.

"Alright," Lord Buckler says. "Let it not be said that House Buckler are not men of their word. We'll ride with you, Lord Baratheon."

The other four lords agree, Gendry breathing out a sigh of relief when they do. He's aware that he doesn't fully have their trust yet, but he hopes he's proved himself even a small bit worthy of it. As the other men begin discussing tactics and positioning, Gendry dares another glance over at Arya. Her face is blank, as usual, but a small smile plays at her lips when she catches his gaze, and he feels a sense of pride swell in him at her approval.

The journey to King's Landing is not a long one, less than a week, but the camp is on the opposite side of the city to the one facing Storm's End, so they have to travel all around the border. It's a sombre journey; not silent, but the men all quiet during the ride past King's Landing. There's a thick coat of ash lining the walls, and the jagged tips of buildings jut into the sky. It somewhat resembles Harrenhal, Gendry recalls, and he tells Arya this when she rides up next to him. She doesn't say anything, but stares tight-lipped up at the destroyed city, and he thinks she's probably remembering the same thing.

Or perhaps not; she still hasn't told him everything that happened that day. He can't imagine what it must be like, to see a city collapsing before your eyes, to have to run for your life even as fire rained down and people died around you. He's sure Arya's seen plenty evil since they parted those years ago, but he can't help but wonder if, somehow, the destruction of King's Landing was the worst.

He wants to ask her, but she's gone from his side when he turns to do so. She does that; flits around the line, disappears wherever she wants. Sometimes she'll ride silently next to him for the entire day, and other times he won't see her at all. It's probably for the best that she's gone now. Gendry thinks she wouldn't answer him anyway, even if he did try and ask.

When they finally get to the camp boundaries, they're stopped by a group of Unsullied, glaring at them suspiciously from under their helmets.

"Who are you?" one asks, hand tightening around his spear. Gendry swallows nervously, but Arya rides forward before he can say anything.

"I'm Arya Stark," she says. "This is Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End. Jon Snow sent me to bring reinforcements to help the Queen."

A lie, but told so masterfully that Gendry almost believes it himself. The Unsullied exchange a look, then point to Gendry and Arya.

"You follow us. The rest stay."

Gendry looks at Arya, and she inclines her head to motion him forwards. He takes a thankful breath, then motions to his men to stay put, the gesture feeling unnatural. It's strange, being at the head of an almost-army, and he's constantly surprised when the men actually do what he asks. He supposes he'll get used to it but, privately, he hopes he'll never have to.

He and Arya dismount to walk into camp, handing off their horses to two of Gendry's bannermen. He wants to let her take the lead - this is her world, after all, but he knows that would look strange, so he settles with matching her pace. They're led to a group of tents with the Stark banners flying over them, men milling about all around them. The Northerners stare with barely disguised distaste at the Unsullied, but their gaze changes to something like surprise when they set eyes on Gendry and Arya. He shifts uncomfortably, but soon enough they're stood outside the largest tent, Arya striding inside without hesitation.

He follows her inside, suddenly nervous as Jon Snow and Davos turn to look at them. As Jon registers who they are, he motions for the Unsullied to leave, waiting until they're gone to rush forward and envelop Arya in a hug.

Gendry turns away, feeling as though he's intruding on a private moment. When the pair separate, Jon keeps holding Arya's shoulders, intently scanning her face, clearly noting the new scars on her brow and cheeks.

"What happened?" he breathes.

"Your Queen burned the city," Arya replies, her voice hard as stone. Jon flinches at that and releases her, turning away and rubbing a hand across his face.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually. "It wasn't… The bells rang. That was supposed to be the end of it."

"That doesn't matter now," Arya tells him. "What matters is what we're going to do about it."

Jon doesn't reply, instead turning to Gendry and looking him up and down. "I'm grateful for your support," he eventually says. "How many men do you have?"

Gendry thinks for a second, trying to remember everything he was told that night they'd all gathered at Storm's End. "I think… Five Houses pledged their support, and I've got some of my own men...so that's…"

"About 500," Arya interrupts. Gendry shoots her a grateful look, thankful for her presence more than ever. Jon nods, then leans heavily on the war table everyone is gathered around.

"I don't know what to do," he admits, something like defeat bleeding into his voice. "Ned Stark taught me to be honourable and loyal above all else, but how can I do nothing? There were women and children in that city; they'd surrendered…"

He trails off and hangs his head, sighing heavily. Gendry thinks someone should say something, but before anyone in the tent can, another voice interrupts from the entrance.

"There's only one thing we can do." Tyrion Lannister strides into the tent, glancing at each of them in turn. Gendry notices that he's still wearing his Hand of the Queen pin and panic flashes through him; surely he'll turn them all in to Daenerys as traitors and she'll get that dragon to burn them all -

Jon looks at Tyrion tiredly. "There has to be something else."

Tyrion shakes his head sadly. "You love her. I understand; so did I, once. But you cannot deny that she has gone too far. Burning King's Landing to ash wasn't enough - you saw what she did yesterday."

Gendry frowns. "What happened yesterday?" he asks, embarrassed when everyone turns to look at him. Tyrion, in particular, surveys him with interest, eyebrows raised.

"The new Lord Baratheon," he says. "A surprise to see you here; don't you owe your position to the Queen?"

"Don't you?" Arya cuts in, glaring at Tyrion. He concedes the point, tilting his head in assent.

"Yes," he murmurs. "I suppose we've all had cause to reconsider." His gaze flicks between Gendry and Arya in a way that makes Gendry uncomfortable, afraid that maybe he knows everything that is - and isn't - between them. He doesn't get a chance to say anything, though, as Jon clears his throat and stands straighter.

"Yesterday," he begins, levelling his gaze at Gendry. "Daenerys brought a group of surviving Lannister soldiers to the city entrance. We were forced to watch as she burned them to death."

Gendry's mouth drops open, but he can't find any words. Fortunately, Arya comes to his rescue again, stepping forward and staring at Jon challengingly.

"He's right," she says, inclining her head towards Tyrion. "She knows who you are, which means you'll always be a threat to her anyway. There's only one thing to do."

Jon looks pained, but Gendry just frowns, confused at Arya's words. It's clear that Davos feels the same, as he steps forward.

"Pardon, but might I ask what my Lady means?" he asks, although he's looking at Jon, who sighs tiredly.

"What I'm about to tell you does not leave this tent," he warns, eyeing Gendry and Davos. They both nod. "I'm not Ned Stark's bastard. I'm the legitimate son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Lyanna ran away with him, and they married in secret in Dorne, where she gave birth to a son. Ned Stark promised to keep him safe, so he raised him as a bastard."

Davos's eyes widen almost comically. "Which means that you're -"

"Don't say it," Jon pleads. "I don't want it."

Tyrion steps further into the tent then, looking up at Jon intently. "You would do well on the throne," he says. "People trust you. You were Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, you were King in the North -"

"Aye, I was," Jon snaps, turning on Tyrion. Gendry takes a step back, startled at Jon's sudden outburst; he'd come to know him as a normally calm man.

"I was Lord Commander; my men killed me for it. I was King in the North, and I gave up the Northern crown - I gave up the North. I don't belong on a throne."

"Then who?" Tyrion argues.

Jon looks at Gendry, and he feels an unexplainable churning in his gut. "You're Robert Baratheon's son. You have the next best claim."

All eyes turn towards Gendry, but he barely notices. Jon's words echo in his ears and he feels a wave of shock come over him. "But… I'm just a bastard," he stammers.

"Not anymore," Tyrion says, looking at him with even more interest. "It could work."

"No," Gendry says, more forcefully this time. Anger wells up in him; how could they expect him to rule the entire fucking country, when he's only been a lord for a few weeks. He opens his mouth to go on, but Davos interrupts before he can.

"We can argue about this later," he says, and Gendry is grateful for his sense. He thinks he would have said something he'd regret if he'd been allowed to continue speaking.

"What matters now is how we're going to proceed."

There's a silence following Davos's words, all of them processing what needs to happen. No one has openly said it yet, but Gendry understands the implications.

They're going to kill the Queen.

Eventually, Arya speaks. "I can do it," she says, and Gendry stares at her in shock.

"I'd be the last to doubt your skill, my Lady," Davos says. "But how do you plan on getting past all her Unsullied and Dothraki and avoiding capture after it's done?"

Arya smirks. "Have you begun clearing the dead yet?" she asks Jon.

Jon blinks in surprise. "Yes, but I don't-"

"Are there any bodies that still have recognisable faces?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then that's all I need."

"Arya," Jon says, clearly as confused as Gendry. "What do you mean?"

Arya sighs, briefly glancing back at Gendry before she turns her attention to Jon again. "When I was...travelling, I joined a group of people called the Faceless Men. They taught me how to take other people's faces and make them my own."

"What?" Jon asks, brows furrowing as he stares down at his sister.

Cousin, Gendry mentally amends, remembering Jon's earlier revelation.

"Do you remember the death of the Freys?" Arya asks, glancing around at all of them. Gendry doesn't, but he suspects he is the only one as the others all nod.

"I killed Walder Frey, then used his face to trick all the others into drinking poison."

Gendry gapes openly at Arya. He's still not sure if he believes her story about swapping faces, but he's seen stranger things - he was almost torn apart by dead men, for gods' sakes. He thinks perhaps he should have stopped being so surprised by Arya by now, but she just has that effect on him.

"Are you sure you can do it?" Jon asks, that pained look crossing his face again. Gendry sympathises with him; the last thing he wants to do is send Arya on what is probably a suicide mission, but he knows her enough to realise that she won't back down.

Arya nods, and that seems to be the end of it. Everyone begins to file out of the tent, Arya hanging back to discuss more with Jon, and, after a moment's hesitation, Gendry follows. He hovers outside for a second, unsure of what to do, before he remembers his men stationed on the outskirts of the camp. He goes to find them, thinking of Arya and this plan the entire way.

Later that night, when he's sitting alone in a tent - his tent - the flap opens almost soundlessly and Arya walks in. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't need to; the way she's looking at him tells Gendry all he needs to know. He wants to walk over and accept everything she's offering, but he manages to hold himself back.

"Is this what I am to you?" he asks instead. "'I'm going to die tomorrow so let's fuck'?" Perhaps he should be ashamed at the way he's talking, but the frustration and anger are more important.

She regards him coolly, raising an eyebrow. "The only person that's going to die tomorrow is the Dragon Queen," she says, taking a step closer. Gendry swallows, but stays put.

"How do you know that?" he demands. "How can you?"

"This isn't the first time I've killed someone important," she says, still far too casual. "I know what I'm doing."

"I know that, but - Arya." Gendry finally rises from his seat, walking over to her and staring her down. She matches his gaze, and the rage inside him dims. "I don't want you getting hurt again," he admits quietly, looking down at the ground.

She raises a hand to his cheek, but he still can't look at her, doesn't want to see whatever's in her eyes. She doesn't promise him anything, which he's grateful for; he doesn't think he could bear it if she said she'd come back and then she didn't. Instead, she rises on her toes and kisses him gently, her other hand curling around his neck and drawing him down to her. Gendry doesn't resist, kissing her back, and there's something bittersweet in the way they come together.

This time isn't like the last time. It's slower, softer, more tender, and somehow that makes it all the worse. The way she moves on top of him makes Gendry forget about what's coming, about what's already happened, but when it's over it all comes crashing back, and he stares at her small, silent form until sleep finally claims him, dreading what the morning may bring.