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Chapter 21

Arya

Arya was half asleep when she heard someone enter the tent she was lying in. The meal had definitely given her some of the strength back, but she still felt too tired to move, and the throbbing pain beneath her eye did not help the matter.

"Is this the girl?" a man's voice asked. Stannis, Arya recognized and kept her eyes shut, pretending to sleep.

"Yes," the woman with the thick accent replied. "She's perfect. Untouched and high-born."

The man scoffed. "She doesn't look very high-born to me."

"This is Arya Stark of Winterfell, my king."

"Arya Stark? Eddard Stark's daughter?"

"Indeed. The youngest one."

"And the boy? Was he telling the truth?"

Arya felt soft fingers brush through her tangled hair. "Yes. His name is Gendry Waters, and he is the eldest bastard of your brother."

Arya had to bite her tongue not to shout in surprise. Gendry, the bastard of King Robert? Could that be?

"The rightful heir," the man stated. "What do I do? Kill him?"

The woman's hand stroke Arya's cheek.

"You needed royal blood, did you not?" Stannis asked. "We've got my brother's bastard, and I need him out of the way."

"Are my king afraid the boy might claim the throne for himself?"

The man snorted. "At this point, nothing surprises me anymore."

"I will have the boy killed, my king, fear not."

"And the girl?" Arya could feel Stannis' gaze upon her.

"She will be killed as well, my king. The gods will be pleased with you for your sacrifices."

Arya listened to their conversation, her heart thumping harder and harder in her chest. They were going to kill Gendry as well. Gendry was the rightful king. Gendry was no low-born smith – he was king!

"We will have the ceremony in the morrow," the woman said. "We will need a large fire, as large as it can get."

Arya chewed the inside of her lip. They were going to burn them alive, she was sure of it. Fire had always seemed like the most horrible way to die, much worse than a clean cut through the neck like her father always killed the deserters from the Wall.

"And a fire you will have. But first someone's got to feed the boy, or he'll die within the night," King Stannis replied. "Have someone tie the girl up outside with him, she looks far too comfortable."

"As you wish, my king."

"And make sure none of the men are foolish enough to put a hand on her, or I will remove it and have them eat it."

She could hear the sound of footsteps, and knew the king had left, just as a pair of new steps entered the tent. Someone gathered her into their arms and carried her – surprisingly gently – through the camp. She dared to open her eyes, the sun stinging them as she did. How many days had it been since they left the Wall? When would the guards from Winterfell arrive? But more importantly, how badly had they hurt Gendry?

When she caught sight of him, she felt her heart jump in guilt. His head was resting on his chest, his face covered with blood. She wanted to kill the person who had done this to him; to revenge what they had done to his pretty face. But she knew she would not get the chance as long as she was tied up like this. Gendry must have heard someone approaching, as his head jerked up and he looked around, his eyes alert. The blonde man carrying Arya put her down beside him, careful to hold her wrists at all times as he tied her to the same pole as Gendry.

"Are you okay?" she asked, no matter how stupid the question was. Of course he was not okay, he had been tortured, cut, beaten.

"You're still alive," he breathed in relief. "You're alive and almost unhurt."

"I'm sorry I can't say the same about you," she whispered. "It's all my fault." He opened his mouth to respond when the man tying her gave Gendry a punch in the nose.

"Shut up!" the knight hissed. Arya could hear a loud crunching nose, and knew his nose were broken. Gendry however, grinded his teeth and put on a brave face. Stubborn bull, she thought grimly. Even close to death he refuses to let people see his vulnerability. She caught herself envying his courage and felt her throat thicken. He could have done so much with his life – their life. They could have gotten married, moved to some village where Gendry could have his own forge. She could have given him lots of little bull-headed sons and horse-faced girls. Arya no longer cared about becoming a knight; all she wanted was for Gendry to live. She wanted to return to Winterfell, to her lady mother and lord father, to Bran, Robb and Rickon. She wanted Sansa to return as well and become Jory's wife instead of lady of Dorne. She wanted Jon to come back and live with them again. She wanted Nymeria and Lady to be alive and play side by side as they had when they were little pups. Why couldn't it all just go back to normal?

"Eat," a young woman said. Arya recognized her as one of the girls who had fed her back in the tent, and guessed she was one of the witch's maids. The girl had dark hair and brown eyes and was holding a piece of bread in front of Gendry's mouth.

"Give it to her instead," Gendry said, leaning back against the pole, refusing to eat.

"Don't be stupid," Arya contradicted. "I've already eaten. Please, just eat the little they'll feed you. The Gods know we'll need the strength if we ever wish to get out of here."

The maid's eyes widened and she seemed highly uncomfortable overhearing their conversation. But Arya did not care. It did not matter if the girl told Melisandre what she said; there were nothing the witch could do to stop a plan that was not yet made.

"You speak as if we actually have a chance," Gendry spat grimly, taking a big bite of the bread, nearly biting off the girl's fingers.

"We have until tomorrow night," Arya told him. "A lot can happen in one day."

The girl with the dark hair whimpered and shot Arya a pleading look. "Do not talk like that so they can hear you, my lady. Melisandre can see the future in fires, if she suspects anything, she'll know about it."

"What do you mean?" Arya asked. The girl glanced nervously around, edging slightly closer.

"The fire is her friend. It gives her visions if she asks for it, but only then. If she suspects nothing, she'll know nothing." The girl shoved the rest of the bread between Gendry's lips and ran off; her head bent as a shield from the knights' hungry stares.

"She'll help us, I'm sure of it!" Arya whispered to Gendry. "We only need to gain her trust, persuade her."

Gendry sighed. She wanted to kick him for being so indifferent. It seemed as if he had accepted their fate, just like she had a couple of days ago. But seeing the deep cuts on his cheek had given her new vitality, and she was determined to get him out of the mess she had brought him into.

Bran

He sat outside the birth chamber in his chair, listening to the screams from within. Talla had been in labor for a day already, and was going into her sixteenth hour. Maester Luwin's steward, Phillip, frequently escaped the room to give Bran the promised updates.

"We can see the head, my lord, but I'm afraid that if the child does not come out within the hour, it will die."

Bran nodded. "Thank you, Phillip." He had dreaded that something like this might happen. Robb would be devastated when he returned only to find a gravestone instead of a son or a daughter. He waited for what felt like hours before the steward returned again, a grim expression on his face.

"It does not look promising, my lord. Maester Luwin is going to have to pull the babe out. It is so very small…" the boy was not much older than Bran. His face was pale as snow and he looked as though he might throw up.

When Phillip left him, Bran took a stroll around the empty castle; it seemed as a different lifetime when he would run around the corridors with his siblings, playing with fake swords or simply chase each other. The days had seemed so much shorter and lighter back then. Now, all he did was worry. He worried about his father and Brother in the capital. He worried about Sansa in Dorne, and wished she would be blessed with many healthy babes. He worried about Jon on the Wall, and about how little his lady mother was eating these days. He worried that Talla's child would not live to see the day, but most of all, he worried about Arya. The men he had sent had already reached the wall, but she had been nowhere to be found on their way there. Bran had ordered them to search the woods between Castle Black thoroughly; she couldn't possibly have gotten further south than that.

His thoughts were interrupted by another ear-piercing scream from Robb's chamber. He returned, waiting patiently outside the door. Although the maester had wanted him to watch, Bran did not want to intrude on his good-sister's privacy. His lady mother had stayed by Talla's side from the very beginning, as had Maester Luwin. Phillip were frequently sent home to rest, only to return a few hours later, ready to assist. There were three other maesters from Torrhen's Square in with them, and Bran prayed that they together managed to save the little babe.

As another scream echoed through the empty castle, Bran covered his ears and closed his eyes. It was heartbreaking to know that Talla's pain might be in vain.

Suddenly, someone was thugging at his arms. Bran looked up and saw Phillip in front of him, a large smile plastered on his face and sweat running down his forehead.

"It's a girl, my lord!" he told him excitedly. "A tiny, but living baby girl." Bran felt the joy rush over him, and realized it had been so long since the last time he truly had been happy, he had forgotten how it felt like.

"You can enter, my lord," Phillip said, pushing the door up for him. Bran rolled inside, peering curiously over the edge of the bed where Talla – sweaty and exhausted – was seated with a little bundle in her arms. The babe was crying, stretching its arms into the air, and the new mother rocked it steadily in her arms, tears streaming down her face.

"Isn't she beautiful?" she asked, beaming. Bran rolled closer, looking at his lady mother, who hurried to wipe the tears away from her cheek.

"She looks like you," Bran said with a smile. He caught Catelyn looking at him, and for the first time in months, his mother did not turn away, but reached out to touch his shoulder and gave him a warm smile.

"Have you thought of a name?" she asked, looking down at the smallest babe Bran had ever seen.

Talla bit her lip and stroked the babe's nose. "Atheena," she replied quietly. "It was Robb's favorite."

Gendry

As the twilight set in, it grew colder in the air, and Gendry could feel Arya tremble behind him. He realized she wore nothing but the woolen tunic Jon had given her on the wall. Someone must have stolen her cloak, he thought bitterly. His cloak was gone as well, but he never got cold anyway. He was a giant compared to Arya's tiny figure and warmth never seemed to leave his body.

"Don't think about the cold," he told her under his breath. Arya looked at him, her eyes big and tired.

"It's impossible. I can't feel my toes any longer."

Gendry sighed. "Look, if you can manage to turn you can put your feet under my knees. That way you might regain some warmth." Arya did as he said, and although it looked like a very uncomfortable position, she slid her small feet under his legs and leaned back against the pole.

"That helped," she breathed, forcing a smile. "Thanks."

"Have you come up with a plan yet?" he asked. Arya shook her head and bit her lip like she always did.

"I was hoping you might," she confessed.

Gendry snorted. "We both know you're the clever one. You know what happens when I try to play hero."

Arya scoffed but nodded. "Yeah, you really are a klutz, aren't you?" it felt good hearing her laugh, he didn't even care that it was on his expense. She could make fun of him all she wanted as long as it kept her smiling.

"I'm a smith, not a knight," he said shortly.

Arya snuggled up next to him, as close as she managed to get with the rope holding her back, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Knight or not, I'm glad we met." Her voice was weak but earnest.

"Stop it, Arya," he told her, his heart aching.

"What?"

"You're talking as if you've given up again. You're Arya Stark, you don't give up."

He could see that his words hit a nerve, and she nodded, the stubborn expression returning to her face.

"You're right. We still have the morrow. Anything can happen."

Her hair tickled his cheek as she tried to move even closer. They had to share the little body heat they had, and when he felt her cold forehead against his neck, he realized how much colder she was compared to him.

"Gendry?" she asked, her voice tired.

"Yes?"

"Do you forgive me?"

He looked down at her. It seemed as if she was half asleep, yet he knew she was waiting for his answer.

He leaned his head on top of hers and sighed. "Of course I do, Arya."

He must have fallen asleep at some point, but when he awoke by footsteps coming closer, it seemed as if he had only slept for a few minutes. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he recognized the silhouette of a man – although he was not wearing his armor, Gendry knew he was a knight. It was something about the way he walked that made him certain. The man glanced nervously around, and when only a few feet away, he threw something toward them. It was a dagger that landed only a few inches from Gendry's foot, its blade buried in the snow. Gendry looked around to make certain no one had seen before he pulled the dagger to him with his boot. The movement woke Arya, who gave him a mix of irritated and curios look.

"What is it?" she asked in a hushed voice. Gendry knew better than to reply; they should not earn unwanted attention, or their rescuers effort could be in vain. However, Arya noticed the knife between his legs only seconds after, and a smile erupted on her face. Gendry brought his legs as close to his hands as he could possibly get them, but it was still impossible to reach it. Arya leaned down and caught the dagger with her teeth, before dropping it by his fingers. Gendry hurried to cut over the rope tying his hands together, before slashing the one around his legs in one movement. After Arya was freed, they remained seated for a while, making sure the coast was clear. As their horses were caught, they would have to escape on foot, and with his worsening leg, it would be a slow journey.

"Let's go," she urged and stood up, her feet crumbling slightly by the lack of use. He followed close behind, pain throbbing in his thigh. They ran silently across the camp, and dodged into the dark woods. Neither Arya nor Gendry ever looked back.