A/N: Sorry this took forever. I spent nearly two weeks tweaking this chapter and rewriting bits and I still don't like it. Honestly I just didn't want to look at it anymore.

Luckily Chapter 9 is already done and I like that one much better. You'll get that in about two weeks once I've survived my final exams.

Jon

He awoke to light filtering in through the window and smiled when he felt Daenerys nuzzle closer against his bare chest. She's my wife. Jon thought with reverence. Last night had been a dream and he didn't want to wake up from it just yet. In the midst of their precarious situation, being with Daenerys made him feel a semblance of joy – as much happiness as one could find when they were in the midst of a losing battle against an undead army. When he watched her walk towards him in the godswood last night, he'd thought that he had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. It had meant so much to him to marry in front of the Stark gods, to know that his family had given their seal of approval to his marriage and that Dany respected how important the Northern culture was to him.

Of course, Sansa still wasn't sure. When he told Arya that he was marrying Dany and then that they were having a baby, she had practically tackle hugged him and he swore she almost cried. Bran was different now, and not as emotional as he used to be, so his response of disinterested unsurprise hadn't been what Jon was hoping for, but at least it hadn't been disapproval. He'd been hopeful when Sansa agreed to perform the wedding ceremony, but when he told her of Daenerys's pregnancy he had watched all the color drain from her face. He couldn't fault her for that, he supposed – he certainly would not have planned to have a child when they were on the brink of war, but it had happened nevertheless and he couldn't help but feel excited. For just one night he wanted to pretend that he was a normal man, in love and newlywed and soon to be a father, but it seemed Sansa's newfound pragmatism made that impossible for her, and he would be lying if he said that her comments hadn't gotten to him…

Daenerys stirred in his arms then, opening her eyes sleepily. Jon kissed the top of her head. "Good morning, my beautiful wife."

Daenerys grinned at the final word he used. "Good morning, my husband." She said huskily, kissing him on the lips. "You tired me out last night."

After the feast was over they had stumbled back to their room, laughing and kissing and crying from joy, and they'd barely been able to make it to Jon's room – no, their room now – before losing themselves in each other. They'd savored each other's bodies with each gentle caress and desperate thrust, and once Jon had just pulled back to look at his wife in all her glory, wondering to himself what he had done to deserve something as perfect as her…

"Well," Jon said to her now. "I just wanted to make sure my new bride knew how much I loved her. How I worshipped her…"

Dany giggled. "And you did. Up against the wall. And on the floor by the fire. And then a few more times in the bed…"

They kissed again, deeper this time. As much as Jon wished they could spend all day in bed, it was time to go back to reality and they had a war to win. You need to go out there and come up with a plan. He reminded himself. A plan so that your wife and your siblings and your child can survive. Reluctantly, he pulled away and kissed Dany once more, chastely this time. "We have to get up, my love." Unfortunately, they could not live in this bed forever.

They dressed and walked hand-in-hand to the library where Tyrion was waiting for them, some heavy tome upon on the desk in front of him. "Your Graces," He said when he saw them enter. "I trust you had a…productive evening last night?"

Jon flushed. "Yes, we umm…discussed strategy."

"You can just say you were fucking. Everyone in the castle could hear you anyway."

Daenerys's cheeks turned red, but then she turned her attention to the two figures standing by the window. "So good to see our friends from the Iron Islands again." Jon watched as she rushed over to the window to embrace Yara, leaving Theon to stand there awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. "When did you arrive?"

Dany was asking Yara, but she only looked to Theon, prodding him to answer. "Yesterday morning."

"Why didn't you come to the wedding, then? We would've been happy to have you."

"We were…tired." Theon said, glancing warily at Yara. "Pardon my sister. She's not…feeling very talkative, Your Grace."

"But why wouldn't she be…?" Daenerys cut herself off, her face lighting up with realization. She touched Yara's shoulder. "Euron will pay for what he has done to you, my friend. We will get justice, I promise you."

Confused, Jon glanced at Lord Tyrion, who stuck out his tongue and mimed the act of cutting it off. Jon gulped. He had forgotten about Euron Greyjoy's reputation for collecting tongues…

"Justice has already been served, Your Grace." Theon replied to Daenerys. "Our uncle is dead."

Jon and Daenerys stared at Theon in shock, and Tyrion surprised them all by throwing his head back laughing. "Euron Crow's Eye, done in by a woman and a eunuch! How I wish I could've seen the look on his face!"

Daenerys ignored him and looked back to Theon and Yara. "What of the Iron Fleet?"

"Still in King's Landing with Cersei. We have Euron's new ships though – about a hundred, same as the Iron Fleet, but not nearly as big. Some of the crew agreed to serve Yara as their new queen, and those who would not were put to the sword."

Jon looked at him curiously. "You put them to the sword?"

He swore he saw a ghost of a smile on Theon's face. "I passed the sentence. I swung the sword."

They were interrupted when the door opened again. "Your Grace," Missandei said. "Lord Varys and Ser Jorah are here."

The two men came in and Grey Worm appeared a few moments later, followed by Sansa a few moments after that. In truth his sister knew little about military strategy, but she was the Lady of Winterfell and Jon had invited her to counsel with them as a sign of good faith. Even if she was no warrior, she was intelligent. Missandei closed the door behind Sansa and Jon gave her a curious look. "Arya's not coming?"

Sansa shook her head. "I went to see if she was up, but she threw a pillow at me and told me if I ever woke her before the sun rose again, she would stab me." She shrugged. "I doubt she really meant it, but I don't want to test my theory."

"Well then," Daenerys said. "Shall we begin?" Sansa averted her gaze and slipped into a chair besides Lord Varys. Jon frowned. He wanted his wife and his sister to get along, since they were two of the most important women in his life, but he didn't know how to reconcile them. They were both strong-willed women, and neither of them would bend easily.

"Your Grace," Grey Worm said, bringing Jon's thoughts back to the present. "I've spoken to all of the Unsullied and we unanimously wish to be your first line of defense. Allow us to protect you and your people."

"That's very kind of you," Daenerys replied. "But I would much prefer to spread out the members of the Unsullied across the battlefield. They say that you should not place all your eggs in one basket, do they not? I value your army's strength too much to risk you all at once."

Grey Worm nodded. "Very well, Your Grace, but I still wish to lead the charge against this undead army."

"As do I, Your Grace." Ser Jorah added. "I have fought the White Walkers before, beyond the Wall and at Karhold. I've seen their strengths and weaknesses firsthand, and I can look out for Grey Worm on the field of battle."

Jon saw Daenerys looked uncertain. "I do not want you to get yourself killed for me, Ser Jorah. Nor you either, Grey Worm."

But Ser Jorah only smiled at her. "Your Grace, to die for you and your husband would be an honor." Grey Worm nodded in agreement.

Dany glanced at Jon warily and he took her hand, squeezing it gently. When he glanced across the room he saw both Sansa and Lord Tyrion staring at their intertwined fingers, something in both of their eyes akin to sadness. "Very well." Daenerys was saying to Jorah and Grey Worm. "But promise me you'll both watch yourselves." The two men gave their agreement.

"Your Graces," Tyrion piped up. "I know my mind is much stronger than my body, but allow me to fight for you in the forthcoming battle as well."

Varys scowled. "You'll get yourself killed."

"I led the Lannister forces to victory against Stannis Baratheon at the Battle of the Blackwater."

"And you have quite a large scar on your face to show for it."

"Enough," Sansa interjected, and both Tyrion and Varys glanced at her, surprised by the conviction in her tone. "With all due respect Lord Varys, Lord Tyrion is very capable. He can decide for himself."

Varys frowned, but reluctantly nodded his head. "If you say so, Lady Stark."

"I agree with my sister." Jon said. "Lord Tyrion has a head for strategy, it is part of the reason why Queen Daenerys and I have him as our Hand. Lord Tyrion, you may command the archers, if that pleases you."

Tyrion nodded. "Thank you, Your Grace. If I may propose a suggestion?"

"You may." Daenerys said.

"At the Battle of the Blackwater, I used wildfire to secure a victory. We may not have any of that, but the Night King and his army are vulnerable to another thing: fire itself. I suggest that all our arrows be lit aflame."

Jon nodded his head. "It's a good idea. Inform all of the men and women under your command of the plan. Theon, I take it you will fight among the archers?"

Greyjoy looked hesitant. "Your Grace, due to the injury to my hand I sustained fighting my uncle, I am not sure I can hold a bow and arrow."

Tyrion scoffed. "Nonsense. If my brother can learn to hold a sword with one hand, you can learn to shoot a bow and arrow when you've lost a few fingers."

"I need both hands fully functional to hold my bow – "

But Tyrion would not hear it. "So learn to hold it differently! My brother could teach you. There's not much else to do around here anyway…"

Theon frowned. "I do not need to learn anything from kingslayers – "

Surprisingly, it was Dany who spoke up in Jaime's defense. "My lord, enough." She said sternly. "You are of no use to me sitting on the sidelines in this war. Ser Jaime will begin instructing you imminently. Or would you rather go back to the Iron Islands?"

Yara was glaring at Theon and Jon's eyes met his. He gave his best nod of encouragement and Theon wavered. "I'll train with Ser Jaime, Your Grace."

Daenerys gave a smug smile. "Excellent. Next order of business, my husband and I will be on back Drogon and Rhaegal of course – "

Jon faltered. "Are you sure that is the wisest decision?" He whispered to Daenerys. "Given your…delicate condition?"

His wife glared at him, a hand pressing over her midsection. "I'm pregnant, Jon, not an invalid. When I carried Rhaego, I rode on horseback across the Dothraki Sea for my full nine moons, and it was only when I was on my own two feet at a campsite that harm came to him. I am capable of looking after myself, and I would not do anything to put my child in danger. I need to do this to protect his or her future – to ensure that our child has a future." He saw a look of pain cross her face at the thought of it and Jon suddenly felt horrible, knowing he'd inadvertently caused it.

He nodded. "I'm sorry, I just don't want anything bad to happen to you." Even now the thought of his pregnant wife on dragonback in the middle of a battle for survival filled him with dread. He knew Daenerys was a strong and capable woman who knew what she was doing, but she was also his wife and the mother of his unborn child. He wanted to protect her, to protect both of them. He felt it was his duty as a husband and father, but he knew it was impossible to shield Daenerys and his sisters and Bran and himself all at once. He could not save everyone he loved and the thought of losing any of them was enough to drive Jon mad.

Daenerys smiled wearily at him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Nothing bad will happen." She said, though deep down they both knew no one could be sure of that.

Jon suspected he would be watching Daenerys's back in the battle as much as his own.

"Yes, well," Sansa added, clearing her throat. "Shall we discuss the knights of the Vale or – "

Before she could finish, they were interrupted by the sounds of commotion outside. It sounded like it was coming from the courtyard. "Seven hells," Tyrion sighed. "What could that be so early in the morning?" By the window, Sansa and Lord Varys arose and craned their necks to see.

The door to the library opened and Missandei rushed inside. "My queen, my king, you must come outside. There is a party at the gates."

Melisandre

In the great hall they slept in pallets on the floor, the tables having been moved out and makeshift beds covering every inch of the wood floor, practically on top of one another. To her left there was a young woman, widowed in the fighting it seemed, for she slept with a toddler boy and an infant girl beside her but there was no sign of a father, and sometimes at night Melisandre could hear the young woman sniffling when the children were asleep. To her right there was a married couple, the man looking to be in his early fifties and the woman in her late forties, and when the servants came around to give them ale and bread the husband would try to give the wife his food, but she would always good-naturedly snap at him that he needed to keep his strength up and refuse to take it.

Melisandre thought of the last time she'd been a guest at Winterfell, how she'd had her own private chambers and dined at the table, but the less than ideal conditions did not matter to her. She'd withstood much worse. Her pallet was close to the hearth and a fire roared day and night, the Winterfell servants replenishing the supply of logs without fail. In the three days she'd been at Winterfell, she watched the fire almost constantly, allowing it to renew her resolve and warm her soul, hoping for a message from her god.

One night she glimpsed in the flames an image of a sword with a wolf's head pommel, of a spider with a poisonous bite, and of a raven with three eyes flying over a frozen field lined with corpses, a pair of grey eyes staring back at her from the fire.

That night she dreamt. She dreamt of that familiar sword, plunged into a woman's exposed breast, and of a man with a face that was half-wolf and half-dragon fighting men made of ice with that sword in his hands, that sword now being wreathed in flames. A red sun burned in a grey sky and a flock of ravens took off from the branches of a tree with red leaves, all of them cawing and crying out their song.

She awoke with a violent start. There was a fiery pain burning in her chest. Melisandre pushed herself off the pallet and her bones creaked with the simple action. Covering herself with a robe, she quietly slipped from the great hall and towards the courtyard, where the commotion was emanating.

The lords and ladies had gathered outside on the frosty morning and Melisandre pushed herself through the throng – some shot her annoyed looks, but no one would dare to tell off an old woman.

In the center of the courtyard stood soldiers wearing armor painted in flames and leading them was a woman in a red gown, wearing an Asshai'i ruby necklace identical to Melisandre's own. The crowds parted and Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen walked forward, their councilors closed behind. Ser Davos was among them. Melisandre also spotted Sansa and Arya Stark making their way towards the front, and the Baratheon boy walking out of his forge. She smiled at the memory of the night they had spent together – he'd been quite fun. It made her almost glad her plan to sacrifice him had failed.

"Presenting Kinvara," One of the Fiery Hand proclaimed. "High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, and First Servant of the Lord of Light."

Kinvara curtsied. "Your Graces."

"Lady Kinvara," Daenerys Targaryen replied coolly. "We were…not expecting you."

"We have come very far to serve you and your husband, my queen." Kinvara replied. "The Lord of Light has sent us to you, to aid you in your battle against the darkness. It is His divine plan that has brought us to this moment."

Jon Snow's grey eyes scanned Kinvara and the soldiers warily. "Is…" He began to say. "Lady Melisandre is not with you?"

Kinvara smiled. "She is already here, Your Grace."

A murmur went through the crowd and Melisandre knew she had no choice but to reveal herself. She reached into the folds of her plain beggar's tunic and retrieved her ruby, placing it on her throat just as she stepped forward. There were looks of shock and awe as the magic took hold, her old form fading away into her youthful glamour. She bowed her head towards the bewildered looking king and queen. "Your Graces."

Jon squared his jaw. "How did you get in here?"

Now Sansa Stark stepped forward, her face ashen. "It's my fault, Jon. She…I thought she was an old woman, so I let her in with the other smallfolk. I'm sorry, if I'd only known…"

"It's not your fault." Arya Stark assured her sister immediately. Her grey eyes fixated on Melisandre and she scowled.

Melisandre smiled coyly at her. "I told you we would meet again, dear girl. I've come to help your brother, for he is the Lord's chosen one: Azor Ahai reborn."

"Your Grace," Ser Davos said – though he was speaking to Jon, his eyes were on Melisandre, and he was angry. "She killed Princess Shireen. She tried to kill Gendry. We agreed that if this woman ever returned to the North, she would be hanged as a murderer. Allow me to execute your justice."

"Who has time for hanging?" Arya Stark chimed in, drawing her dagger. "I could kill her here and now."

"Stop," Daenerys Targaryen commanded forcefully. "Both of you. Lady Melisandre and Lady Kinvara have brought a thousand soldiers to our cause." She looked at Jon. "Lady Melisandre is the one who told me to summon you to Dragonstone. She brought us together. We should hear what she has to say before we make our judgments." After a moment's hesitation, Jon nodded, and both Ser Davos and Lady Arya looked visibly displeased with that answer. Melisandre glanced back towards the forge and saw that Gendry had his jaw set, his arms crossed over his chest – but his eyes were full of fear. She smirked at him but the boy only recoiled and disappeared back into his forge.

"Kill us if you wish," Melisandre told the king and queen now. "But it is in your best interest to keep us alive. R'hllor has sent us to here to join with you, to drive away the Great Other and his darkness. You are Azor Ahai reborn, Jon Snow: I have seen it in the fires. I have come here to serve you, to guide you, even to die for you. We all must make our sacrifices…"

Jon Snow's facial expression was hard and unreadable. "That may be so," He said. "But Ser Davos is right. You killed an innocent child, and I swore to you that I would execute you if you ever returned to my lands. You did not keep up your half of the deal, and I am not one to break my promises."

"You can't kill her."

A new voice made itself heard in the conversation and the crowds parted again, allowing a boy in a wheelchair to roll himself forward. Melisandre was rarely cold, but she felt a shudder run through her body. She had seen this boy before in her flames: he was the boy with the wolf's face who she had seen with the man with a thousand eyes, servants of the Great Other…

"You can't kill her," The boy repeated. "Because we need her. If we want to defeat the Night King, we need her alive."

Jon looked unsure. "Are you certain, Bran?"

The boy nodded. "I'm certain."

Still, Ser Davos was not ready to give up. "Your Grace, she is a murderer – "

"Don't worry, Ser Davos." The boy said, his voice eerily calm. "She will die for her crimes, but not today."

Davos

Shireen deserved better than this.

That was all Davos could think that night as he sat in his chambers, reclined in a chair by the fire. Davos had never fathered a daughter, but he loved Shireen as if she were his own flesh and blood. She had been a smart girl, a kind girl, who would've grown up to be a wise and just queen. But now Shireen would never grow up – never marry, never have children, never become queen of anything. No, her life had been cruelly cut short, and that was all because of Melisandre. Tears pricked his eyes at the thought of Shireen's sweet smiling face, and the look of horror that must have crossed it when she realized her fate.

He hadn't been there to protect her.

If he had, maybe he could've stopped it…

"Ser Davos." He jumped in his chair at the sound of her voice and turned to see the Red Woman standing languidly in his doorway. "Your door was unlocked."

Davos's sadness transformed into anger at the sight of her standing there so casually. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help the king, just like you."

"Not here as in this castle," Davos said snappily, turning back towards the fire. He could not bear to see her face, that face that Shireen beheld as she died slowly and painfully. "I meant here as in this room."

He would not look at her but he heard the sound of Melisandre's feet gliding across the floor as she moved to stand before the hearth. She stared into the depths of the fire. "I know you dislike me, Onion Knight – "

Davos scoffed. "The word 'dislike' only begins to cover it."

" – but I am not your enemy."

"Bullshit." Again Davos felt like he might cry and he could not tell if the tears were from anger or grief. "You killed that little girl."

For a long moment, Melisandre said nothing. "I did." Her voice sounded almost remorseful. Good, Davos thought bitterly. I hope she lives with that pain of regret until the moment she leaves this world. He hoped that she was tormented by what she'd done for the rest of her life. "Luckily, you won't have to put up with me for much longer. I'll be dead soon."

Tentatively, Davos looked up and found the Red Woman's eyes filled with a serene resignation. She had just informed him of her own imminent death, and she did not look frightened. "…You're not scared?"

Melisandre shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I have been ready to die for many years, Onion Knight. More than you know." Her hands were moving and she was turning something in them, over and over, but Davos could not see what it was. "I knew you were meant to serve the true king in the Great War, Ser Davos. I was just wrong about who that king would be."

Davos looked down at the floor. "Did you ever love him?" He asked. "Stannis?"

"I would've done anything for him. Just as I would do anything for Jon Snow now."

For several moments there was silence, Davos sitting in his chair, Melisandre walking languorously about the room. Whatever it was she was holding, she placed down on Davos's bedside table – he could not see what it was. "Jon Snow is Azor Ahai come again. He was sent by R'hllor to save us from the Night King – I've seen it in the fire."

"Why should I believe you now?" Davos asked. "You were wrong the first time."

Melisandre did not seem offended by his jab. "Can you honestly look at me and tell me you don't think Jon Snow is the one true king?"

Davos said nothing.

"That's what I thought. We both serve the same king, Ser Davos, and we both have his best interests at heart. I don't expect you to forgive me, but for his sake, I hope you can put aside your hatred for a few more days. After this war, you will never have to see me again. I'll be dead by then, and you'll have justice for the princess you loved so much." She turned to go, but then stopped abruptly on her way to the door. "Ser Davos? I've seen something troubling in the flames: the Spider is weaving his web again. We will have to do something about him before he interferes with the Lord's plan. Goodnight."

Davos sat up a little straighter, but before he could ask the Red Woman what she meant, she had already fled from the room, the lingering scent of her perfume the only proof she'd ever been there at all.

Well, that and whatever it was she had left on the table. Davos got up and crossed the room, curious to see what she had left behind.

On the table was a burnt wooden stag.

Immediately the tears rushed to his eyes unbidden and he held Shireen's stag against his chest, as close as he possibly could. He silently promised himself he would never let go of it again. Shireen, dear girl, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. Oh you poor child, how could they have done this to you…

But suddenly, Melisandre's parting words resonated with him again: The Spider is weaving his web again.

Davos realized he knew exactly what she meant.

But it couldn't be true, could it? It had to be a mistake, after all Melisandre's prophecies had been wrong before…

Still holding onto Shireen's stag, he exited his room and walked down the hall to another man's chambers, luckily finding them empty. Not sure exactly what he was looking for, he began to scan every inch of the room, from the papers on the desk to the robes hanging up in the wardrobe, even to the mattress on the bed. It was in the bedside drawer that he ultimately found it.

A half-empty vial of red-speckled mushrooms.

Arya

After midnight, when all the castle was asleep, she put on her cloak and slipped outside, making her nightly walk towards the forge. She paused in the open doorway and watched silently for a moment as Gendry worked. He clearly didn't hear her enter, lost in his work, his back towards her as he continued molding dragonglass into sharp arrowheads and skinny blades. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back, dripping down his muscles, his exposed skin dusted with soot. All over again Arya found herself impressed by how strong he was and she felt a smile come to her lips.

"You didn't forget about our nightly date, did you?"

Gendry flinched, startled, and then turned around to look at her. The smile he gave her was tight and forced, not genuine like usual. "You need to stop creeping up on me, m'lady."

"Maybe you just need to pay more attention." Arya quipped back, kicking a stone across the forge floor. Gendry went back to shaping dragonglass in the fire and Arya gave herself a boost so she could sit on the anvil.

Gendry furrowed his brow when he turned and saw her sitting there. "I need that, you know."

"Take a break. Come talk to me."

Begrudgingly, Gendry put down his tools and disappeared into the back room, reappearing a moment later with a shirt now on. Arya was unable to deny the disappointment she felt in that instant. Don't think about him like that! This is Gendry. Your friend Gendry! She gulped, trying to think of something to get her mind off of Gendry's muscles, to no avail…

"I wanted to make sure you were okay." She said. "With the Red Woman here, and everything…"

"I'm fine." Gendry replied a little too quickly.

But Arya could tell he wasn't fine. He couldn't meet her eyes as they spoke and he kept his arms crossed over his chest, like a barrier between them. Every word out of his mouth sounded annoyed, and below that annoyance she could hear his voice tremble, as if from fear.

"Gendry." She said gently. When he still didn't look at her she grabbed him and pulled him closer towards her, forcing his arms to his sides. Gendry didn't even bother to fight her this time. "What did she do to you?"

"It was nothing, I…" He shook his head. "It was nothing."

"You're lying."

"Arya – "

"What happened to us being able to tell each other anything?"

Gendry was silent for a long moment, staring at the floor. "She made it seem like she cared." He finally said, voice low, not looking at Arya as he talked. "She was the one who told me that Robert was my father. She had me bathed, and fed, and clothed…She made me feel important…" He trailed off, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. "She told me about her life, how she grew up poor. It made me feel like she understood what I'd been through. She gave me wine. And then…she kissed me. Took off my clothes. I wasn't sure, I'd never…" His voice broke. "But she was this beautiful woman and she made me feel like I mattered. Like I was more than a nobody. Only then she tied me to the bed, and she pulled out the leeches…"

Arya saw that he was getting upset now and she could feel her anger coursing through her veins just hearing the story. I want to kill her. She thought. She deserves to die for hurting him like this. She cut Gendry off by hugging him. "You don't have to say anymore. She'll die for what she did to you."

Gendry pulled back. "Arya, don't – "

"I mean it." Melisandre took advantage of him and tried to kill him. She deserves to die for that. "I hate that she hurt you." She paused, biting her lip. "Melisandre tried to kill you for your king's blood. And Shireen, the innocent child she was burned, was your cousin. I know Ser Davos and I have talked about killing her, but her life isn't ours to take. It's yours."

"Maybe so." Gendry sighed. "But I don't want to kill her. I mean, when I saw her in the courtyard, for the first time since that night…I wanted to. But I won't."

Arya hesitated. "I would kill for you." She whispered. "You know that right?"

Gendry smiled wearily. "I know. But I don't want you to."

"Because that's what you and I do. We protect each other. Ever since we were children, we've protected each other."

"We did. We do."

It was only then that Arya realized at some point she had grabbed his hand again, like she did two days ago at Karhold. They were so close to each other, Arya sitting on the anvil, Gendry standing before her so close that her knees were brushing against him. "It's always been us against the world," She mused. "Hasn't it?"

Gendry nodded and wet his lips. "Yeah. It has."

Their eyes met and they stared at each other, Gendry breathing heavily, Arya feeling like she wasn't breathing at all. He's my best friend. She realized with a crushing clarity. I would die before I let someone hurt him like that again. She never wanted to see Gendry in pain, not now, not ever. But this protectiveness she felt towards him, this need to shield him from harm, it was different than the defensiveness she felt over her siblings. Gendry was the person she wanted to talk to at the end of the day, and recently she'd found that she couldn't sleep if she didn't come to the forge first. She loved to tease him more than anyone else, she always felt a surge of pride when she elicited a smile out of him, and more than once she had found herself marveling at how handsome he was…

"What are you thinking?" Gendry asked her.

Arya tightened her hold on his hand, interweaving their fingers. "That you're stupid."

He smiled at her and she felt that little surge of pride again. "Oh yeah?" Gendry laughed. "What did I do this time?"

She hesitated. "I've been waiting for you to kiss me for days and you haven't noticed."

Gendry's blue eyes went wide. "Arya…"

So she leaned forward and kissed him herself. She'd always been the type of girl who went after what she wanted.

Their lips met gently at first and then more passionately. It was no surprise that Arya kissed with the same bold determination she did everything else, and Gendry's lips on hers were as strong as she had imagined. Her hands curled against his chest, pulling him closer.

Gendry pulled back slightly and pressed his forehead against her own. "Seven hells," He started to say. "This is…seven hells."

Arya simpered. "Seven hells indeed." She wrapped her legs around his waist and their lips met again, Gendry's hands touching her back, pulling her hair down. There was a fire burning in her belly only it was not the hotness of anger, but a low simmering that was gradually rising. Arya had never felt this way before, not about anything or anyone, and she couldn't remember the last time she had wanted something as desperately as she wanted Gendry in that instant.

She nipped playfully at his lip, and Gendry's hands were in her hair as Arya began to realize that there was a chance things might go far tonight. She tried to remember what her septa had told her about the things men and women did together. Septa Mordane had been so vague and made it sound so clinical, just a thing a husband and wife did to make heirs, but duty wasn't what this was. She didn't talk about feelings like this. So instead Arya acted purely on instinct, allowing Gendry to kiss her along her jawline and her neck and her collarbone, while her fingers nimbly worked on pulling up his shirt, tracing his muscles. She pulled away from his embrace only for a moment to pull his shirt off, and instinctively she pinned his arms over his head…

Immediately Gendry yanked himself away and Arya was so caught off guard she started to fall off the anvil, managing to catch herself before she could fall to the dirt floor but scrapping the back of one of her legs. She cursed to herself when she saw that she'd made herself bleed, but when she looked up again she found Gendry facing the corner as he pulled his shirt back on.

Arya's brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"I…" He couldn't look at her again and one of his hands scratched the back of his neck nervously. "I…I can't…"

"You can't what?"

"I can't do this with you, Arya!"

A wave of cold washed over her. Now, all Arya felt was foolish. "Oh." She said. It came out like a pathetic squeak. Of course he doesn't want me. She thought to herself. Why would he? "I see. I'll leave now."

She straightened her clothes and silently willed herself not to do anything stupid like cry. She wanted to pull her hair back up but she didn't know what Gendry had done with her clip and she was too embarrassed to ask for it back. Instead she started to head for the door, hoping Gendry couldn't see the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

"Arya – " He started to call after her. "It's not…it's my fault I can't – "

"It's fine." Arya said, not looking back at him. She resented the way her voice faltered over the word 'fine'. "I'll see you around." She burst out of the forge and was halfway across the courtyard when she finally lost it, the first tear running down her cheek. You're Arya Stark. She told herself. You don't cry over a stupid boy. Yet the tears kept coming all the same. She didn't know if she'd ever felt so humiliated.

I was so stupid, thinking that maybe we could be something. I'm not made for love. And how could someone like Gendry ever have feelings for a killer like me? Of course he was going to come to his senses sooner or later…

She didn't come to the forge the next night, and she tossed and turned in bed for hours, not sleeping a wink.