Sorry for the late update. It's been too hot recently for me to be able to use my laptop lmao. Thanks climate change.
WARNING for major character death. (NOT Arya or Gendry)
Something is wrong.
Gendry can feel it in his gut; it's been hours since dawn broke, and yet there is still no word for better or for worse. Perhaps he is worrying for nothing - it can hardly be easy to kill a queen and escape unnoticed, but somehow he knows that it should not be taking this long.
He's not the only one worried either. Jon Snow has been sat at the head of the map table for the past hour, hands steepled, brooding silently, whilst Davos keeps pacing up and down the tent. For Gendry's part, he's stood at the tent entrance watching everyone who goes by, his hands twitching at his sides. He desperately wishes for something to do, preferably involving a hammer and steel, for he finds that there's nothing that takes his mind away from problems like the forge. But his place is here and, besides, the Street of Steel is gone, now. Not that he'd be able to get anywhere near it anyway, even if he wanted to.
He stifles a yawn behind his hand; he'd slept fitfully the night before and woken when it was still black outside, although Arya was gone by that point. As soon as the sun broke over the horizon, he'd called his lords bannermen around him, instructing them to be ready, that battle could break out at any moment. They'd questioned him of course, demanding to know why, but Gendry isn't so stupid; he knew to tell them would jeopardise everything.
The lords had shouted and argued, but Gendry had refused to tell them more than he already had, so they soon left, dissatisfied, but promising to do as he'd asked. He has half a mind to go back and make sure they have, because he can't shake the feeling that, whether Arya kills Daenerys or not, there'll almost certainly be some fighting to deal with.
But it is a long walk back to his own camp, and leaving would risk missing Arya's return. So he remains.
The air inside the tent grows suffocating after a time, thick and tense, so Gendry decides to step outside, although he makes sure not to stray too far. In truth, it's not much better; even on the edge of winter, King's Landing is still uncomfortably warm, and the stench of death lingers on the wind, but Gendry thinks anywhere would be better than inside that tent. He takes one breath, then another, tries to steady the nerves in his stomach, all the while watching for a flash of brown hair and smirking, steel-grey eyes.
There's still no sign of her, though, and he's almost despairing of all hope when Davos comes and joins him.
"I saw her, you know," Davos says after a beat. Gendry turns and stares at him, daring to hope for a moment.
"What? When?"
"During the night," he clarifies, and Gendry's heart sinks. "She was going to meet Jon. Strange, though, I don't recall your lot being anywhere near that stinking pile of corpses."
Gendry's eyes blow wide and he opens his mouth to explain, but the words won't come. Davos just shakes his head and sighs.
"No need to explain yourself to me, lad. But you're going to have to be a lot more subtle if you don't want Jon finding out." He turns and looks back towards the tent, where Jon still sits brooding. "He's got a lot on his mind right now, which I'll wager is why he hasn't noticed anything. But believe you me, he won't like it when he does."
Gendry knows what Davos says is true, but he can't stop himself from arguing the case. "Why? He said it himself, our families have been friends for years, why shouldn't we look to cement that?"
"The last time a Baratheon and a Stark were to be wed, Jon's father lost his head," Davos reminds him. Gendry goes to argue again, but Davos holds up a hand. "And I know that wouldn't happen again, and I can gather that the feelings are mutual, but the Starks protect their own. They're wary of outsiders, even friendly ones."
"So you're saying there's no hope," Gendry surmises bitterly.
"That's not what I said. I only mean that you'll have to go about it properly, that's all."
Gendry sighs and shakes his head. "No," he says. "She's already told me as much, anyway."
"Oh." Then, "Well, I don't think you need worry about her, in any case. I saw her during the battle at Winterfell; I've never seen a man fight like she does. Or a woman, for that matter."
"That's true enough," Gendry admits. He's barely ever seen Arya fight, truth be told, but she had killed the Night King, who had been protected by all his Walkers. Surely Daenerys Targaryen should be easy after that.
"We ought to go back," Davos says, and Gendry agrees, following the old man back to the command tent. Jon is still in the exact same position as when Gendry left, and he doesn't react when they enter. Gendry feels a pang of sympathy for him; it is likely even harder on Jon than it is on himself, knowing that Arya might be in danger and being able to do nothing.
He goes to speak, but he's barely thought of the words before the flap of the tent is opened again and a group of three Unsullied enter.
"The Queen demands the presence of Jon Snow and Gendry Baratheon," one says, not looking at either of them. Gendry exchanges a fearful glance with Jon, but he knows they have no choice but to follow. He manages to grab his hammer on the way out; he's under no illusion they'll be allowed to keep their weapons when they reach Daenerys, but the weight of it at his side is comforting.
They're led through the camp, right into the ruins of King's Landing, and Gendry can't stop himself from staring in horror at the destruction. He'd known, of course, that the city was ruined, but knowing is not the same as seeing. Once, not so long ago, he had known these streets intimately, could walk them with surety and ease. Now, they are all tangled, rubble and ash coating anything that might make them recognisable. The ground cracks and crunches beneath his boots, and Gendry makes the mistake of looking down.
He is walking on a graveyard, he realises.
Eventually, they reach a clearing, with a set of steps leading to what Gendry thinks might have once been the Red Keep. Daenerys has assembled her forces, Dothraki and Unsullied both, although they are a pitiful sight. Perhaps they had once been the greatest army the world has ever seen, but those days are long gone. Winterfell and King's Landing decimated them; Gendry's no mathematician, but he thinks the Northern armies and his own combined would outnumber them easily.
Not that it matters. Their own men are far away, oblivious to what's happening.
They're taken to the top of the steps, where the Dragon Queen waits. Six Unsullied guard her back, her last remaining dragon perched on one of the broken towers, and Tyrion and Grey Worm stand by her side. Tyrion does not seem surprised to see them, but his eyes are full of dread and sadness. Gendry wonders if he'll step in on their behalf, but he dismisses the thought. Tyrion still wears his pin, after all, and Gendry doesn't trust a Lannister to be anything but self-serving.
It's the Unsullied that catch his eye. There's nothing out of the ordinary at first glance, but one of them, the one closest to Daenerys besides Grey Worm, has a queer look about him. Gendry can't quite place why, but there's something in his stance that feels strange. He doesn't have time to think further on it, however, as Daenerys barks out a command and his hammer is confiscated. He turns his gaze up to her, and the sight of her chills him to the bone. This is not the same woman who legitimised him that night at Winterfell; oh, she had had a queen's look about her even then, but it is different now. Her hair is done up in an extravagant braid, her lips turned up in a triumphant, mocking smile. She regards them both coolly, and there is no kindness in them, no love, not even when she looks at Jon.
"Dany -"
"No." Daenerys cuts Jon off, almost glaring at him. "I am your queen, Jon Snow, you will address me as such." A pause. "At least, I thought I was."
"I never wanted -"
"I'm sure you didn't. But you betrayed me anyway. Do either of you deny it?" She looks between them, challenging them to speak up, to pretend they don't know what she's saying. Neither of them do.
Daenerys hums, satisfied. "No. I thought not. You shall learn the price of your treachery soon enough."
Gendry frowns; she has turned away from them, has made no move against them, and he can't help but wonder why. Then she nods at Grey Worm, and he seizes Tyrion, dragging him forward. Gendry's eyes widen in shock, and Tyrion looks as surprised as he feels, sputtering protests and trying unsuccessfully to fight against Grey Worm's grip.
Grey Worm pulls the Hand's pin from Tyrion's chest and gives it to Daenerys, who turns it over in her palm almost thoughtfully.
"Tyrion of the House Lannister, you stand accused of treason and conspiracy to murder your queen," she says. "Do you have anything to say for your crimes?"
"Your Grace, I don't -"
"You freed your brother, Jaime Lannister, and allowed him to enter the city, having planned for he and your sister to escape, thus aiding my enemies. It is only by chance that they were killed anyway.
"You later conspired with Arya Stark, Jon Snow and Gendry Baratheon to murder me, your queen. Do you deny these crimes?"
Tyrion lifts his chin and stares into Daenerys's eyes. Gendry realises that he knows he is doomed whether he denies it or not. "I did what I thought was right, Your Grace," he says, almost spitting the words.
Daenerys smirks, satisfied, and nods to her Unsullied. Someone grabs Gendry's shoulders and he is pulled back, until an area roughly five feet in diameter is cleared around Tyrion.
"Lord Tyrion Lannister, I, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, First of My Name, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, sentence you to die." There's a pause, a breath in which Tyrion opens his mouth, perhaps to try and talk his way out of death, as he has likely done many times in the past.
Then, "Dracarys," and Tyrion Lannister is no more.
Even as far away as he is, the heat from the dragonfire sears Gendry's skin, and he fears that he might die with Tyrion. But when the flames clear, he is still standing, and Tyrion is nothing but a pile of ash.
Gendry stares at the spot where Tyrion had stood just a moment ago, as a breeze blows past and stirs the ashes, scattering some into the city. Alive, Tyrion had been one of the most powerful men in the country, yet in death, he was indistinguishable from the lowest of the smallfolk.
Valar morghulis, he remembers, something Arya had once said during their time on the road together. Gendry shudders, then he and Jon are pulled in front of Daenerys once more, this time forced to their knees on the steps. The dragon rears up behind her and roars, Gendry flinching in anticipation of another burst of flames. But they don't come.
"I was a fool to think I could trust a Lannister," Daenerys says. "A fool to think I could trust anyone, so it seems." She sighs, as though in regret, but the steel and cold satisfaction in her eyes betray her. "I do not want war with the North. Or anywhere, for that matter. But I cannot let treason go unpunished."
Gendry's eyes follow her as she paces in front of them. She won't burn them, that much he is certain of; had she wanted to, she would have done it by now. Even so, she is still holding Tyrion's pin, he notices, and the sight of it - the memory of what just happened - weighs heavily on his mind. He may not burn, but he's still not counting on making it out alive.
"I strip you of all titles and lands you may currently hold claim to," she declares. "Any men you brought here with you will be allowed to return safely to their homes, with their queen's thanks for helping me win my throne. You shall live in exile, and will return to Westeros on pain of death. Furthermore, before you leave here, I shall take something from each of you, so that you will never again think of plotting against me."
She surveys them again, as though still debating whether or not to just kill them. Eventually, though, she sighs and purses her lips.
"I have shown you mercy today. You would do well to remember that."
Daenerys steps back, and her place is taken by Grey Worm, who eyes the two of them with disgust and hatred. He slides his dagger out of its sheath, and Gendry suddenly understands what Daenerys meant by taking something of theirs. He looks at Jon, wide-eyed, but he is just staring at Daenerys, and she at him. There seems to be a wordless conversation passing between them, but it only lasts a moment before she turns away from him, motioning to the Unsullied to seize them both. Jon's face falls and his whole body slumps, as though he's given up fighting.
Gendry hasn't though, and he struggles as one of the Unsullied roughly grabs him and tries to force him towards Grey Worm. He manages to throw the first one off him, but then more surround him, pinning his arms tightly behind his back, a knife at his throat. He sucks in a harsh breath, ready to try one last time, even it it kills him. He wouldn't mind that so badly, he thinks, not now that he knows Arya is likely dead already. Surely, if she weren't, Daenerys would have had her up here with them, to watch this mummer's farce of a trial.
But just as he makes to fight again, one of the Unsullied, the strange-looking one Gendry had noticed earlier, moves forward and grabs Daenerys, holding his knife to her neck. The men holding Jon and Gendry drop them, instead pointing their weapons at their brother-turned-traitor. Gendry looks up at him in astonishment; he'd moved quicker than anyone he's ever seen before. That is, anyone, except…
His eyes widen as the truth dawns on him, and he almost laughs in relief. At that same moment, as if in response to his realisation, the Unsullied reaches up and unmasks himself, revealing Arya's face underneath. She smirks and digs her blade into Daenerys's neck, just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood, and all hell explodes around them.