*Update 22/02/17 - I noticed a glaring typo as I was working on the next chapter, accidentally used a wrong character, which I have now fixed - to those of you who get notified of story updates, I apologise that I haven't uploaded 2 chapters in 2 days. But I am writing chapter 23 right now!

A/N: So it seems I've been channelling George R.R. Martin with these last few updates, and taking a stupidly long time to get them written and out there. I am incredibly sorry for such a long wait, this chapter proved very difficult to write, but I hope you guys enjoy it.

For anyone still playing the 'find the hidden lyric' game: last chapters lyric was "Don't tell me it' not worth fighting for, you can't tell me it's not worth dying for" and that was from (Everything I do) I do it for you by Bryan Adams. This chapter's lyric is from a song by The Script.

Thank you to everyone who has read so far, thank you for sticking with me and waiting for this update. And an extra thank you for my reviews :)

xBx

Chapter 22: Gendry

The takeover of Moat Cailin went almost exactly as Arya had described, though Gendry was not there to see it. She and Anguy had taken a handful of the best archers apiece to rid the sentries from the two most southern towers, and she had chosen Ned to lead the climbers. Admittedly, Gendry was a piss-poor shot with a bow, and he wasn't much better at scaling the walls, so he would have been of little use in this venture. But he still wasn't happy at being left behind.

For the first time, they halted the main march during the black of night; Arya had been slipping into Nymeria throughout the night to look ahead, and before their torches would come in sight of the towers she called a stop. From there, she, Anguy, and Ned, led their chosen few onwards with just the wolves for protection and guidance.

He knew she would be fine, that she was more than capable of looking after herself, and that she had good men and her wolves to protect her, but he couldn't help but worry.

"Stop your pacing, lad," Harwin grumbled at him as they waited at the edge of their temporary camp. He didn't like the waiting either, but he was better at hiding it the Gendry. "You'll wear yourself out, and you're turning the snow into melt. You're not the only one who doesn't like being left behind – they're all itching for a fight."

Gendry stopped his pacing and stood beside Harwin, next to their torch. They had chosen to take watch until dawn: Harwin for reasons he alone knew, but Gendry didn't feel like resting while Arya was out there storming a keep.

"She'll be fine," Harwin said gently, sensing Gendry's concern. "She knows what she's about, and the others will die for her if needs be."

Harwin's attempt at reassurance did little to comfort him and Gendry gave him a contemptuous glare, which Harwin simply shrugged off. They stood there quietly for some time, listening to the howling of wolves in the distance and picturing the battle in their minds.

As the sky began to lighten Harwin called the men to order and led them on towards Moat Cailin, as they had been ordered to do. When they arrived, they marched through the gates, above which the direwolf of House Stark was now flying proudly, just as the sun was beginning to appear along the horizon. There had been a little bit of a fight in the inside of the walls, it would seem, and the wolves were still tearing at the corpses as the men entered.

Arya was in the great hall when they arrived, with Anguy and Ned Dayne on either side of her and the others scattered along the long table at the top of the hall. Gellert Reed and his crannogmen were there also, having stormed the northern walls as the others came from the south. They all looked a little roughed up, but there were no visible signs of severe injury, and there was a rowdy energy in the air that only comes after a battle victory.

There had been a total of thirty-five Ironmen in the holdfast: five had been on patrol, a further ten sleeping nearby had woken and armed to fight as Ned had breached the walls. The wolves were now feasting on their remains, and the remaining twenty – who had yielded when they had finally become aware of what was happening – were now locked in in the dungeons. The only other occupants were a handful of servants – a cook, a handful of maids, and a few boys. Whoever had held Moat Cailin before the Ironmen had taken it had either abandoned the place or died – and given the number of bones and severely rotted corpses that had been found in the dungeons, Gendry was going to guess it was the latter.

They stayed two nights in Moat Cailin before marching once more. They left some of their number behind – a few of the younger lads better suited to stewardship and life behind castle walls as opposed to war, along with a few older who would likely not survive the harsh conditions should they continue, as well as a handful of women and camp followers they had picked up along the way.

After his service at Pyke, and for his continued loyalty to her, Arya had raised Anguy to a Lord and had gifted him Moat Cailin, on the provision he and his remain loyal to Winterfell and House Stark, and would continue to fight alongside her. Anguy sourced himself a steward and named him as castellan of his new holdings while he continued north.

"The stones aren't going anywhere," he grinned. "She'll be waiting for me when I return, but I still have a few arrows in my quiver that I have a mind to use."

For his house sigil he took a grey bow and arrow on a field of green, and now good-naturedly insisted he be called Lord Archer from now on. Gendry didn't know what Anguy's last name actually was – or whether he even had one – but from now on he would be Lord Archer. Gendry had been a little surprised that Arya appeared to have overlooked Harwin for Moat Cailin, and he mentioned as much when he and Harwin were sitting alone by a cook fire a few days into the march.

"I don't think she did," Harwin said quietly. "She asked me, while we were there, what I wanted when the warring was done – asked if I saw myself in a holdfast of my own, with lands and a title. I told her that, honestly, I just saw myself in Winterfell once more. It was my home once, too, and my father's home all his life – I think I'd like it to be my home once more. Though I wouldn't say no to a promotion," he joked with a grin. "Maybe I can be her master at arms, when it's all said and done."

The march to Torrhen's Square was much the same as the others, though with more palpable tension and excitement – there was a general consensus that this time there would be a battle. Before departing, Arya had discovered that Torrhen's Square was held by Asha Greyjoy, and that she had a healthy number of men with her. They would not be able to take this castle by stealth; steel and power would be the only way – the men might finally be getting a chance to bloody their swords.

They continued to march through the nights, surrounded by torches, and were now so used to sleeping during the day that it almost natural to them all. By now, the cold was starting to get to them – Gendry hadn't felt warm in months, not since they had crossed the Neck, and the fires that were lit during their rests did little to dispel the ice that seemed to have settled in their veins.

Whenever he got the chance, at the end of a day's march, Gendry would sneak into Arya's tent using the concealed entrance she had used to slip out to the Twins many months ago, so that they could spend time together away from the prying eyes of the rest of the camp. Most of the time they sat on a pile of furs and pillows in front of the brazier, keeping close together to keep warm, simply talking and laughing. Sometimes Arya would take this opportunity to warg into Nymeria or her raven; she was getting better at it every day, and she was now able to warg to Nymeria while remaining present, effectively seeing through Nymeria's eyes and her own at the same time.

This evening they were reminiscing about long ago, when they had first been with the Brotherhood.

"I remember the first time I saw you appearing as a proper little lady – at Acorn Hall. The first time I'd seen you in a dress," Gendry said with a grin. He was laid out on his left side in front of the brazier, propping himself up on his left elbow, head resting on his hand while his right hand swirled a cup of beer thoughtfully.

"I remember it too. Vividly," Arya grimaced. She was positioned in an almost mirror image of Gendry; she too was on her left side, and their bodies were almost curved around each other so their faces were looking directly at each other. There was little distance between them: Gendry's head was roughly in-line with her knees, and if he reached out his hand it would find itself resting easily on her upper thigh, just below her hip, and Arya was close enough to his side, that she could have rested her head on his thigh if she desired.

"You laughed so hard, wine came out of your nose," Arya was saying, sounding mortified at the memory. "I felt ridiculous at the time, and you didn't help."

Gendry laughed fondly. "I apologise – I just…I don't know. I'd never seen that side of you before – I knew you were raised as a lady, but I always had trouble believing it, because you weren't exactly ladylike."

Arya gave a small chuckle. "Putting me in a dress did not make me ladylike," she reminded him.

"No," he agreed with a grin. "You ruined the dress within an hour I think."

"You ruined it," Arya countered. "You were the one who ripped it."

"You started it,"

"I did not!"

"You tripped me to the ground!"

"You didn't have to pull me down with you!"

Arya started to laugh again, "Do you remember Harwin's face when we returned inside? He knew it was all my fault, and laughed so hard," she remembered.

"I remember getting clouted by Lem," Gendry grumbled. "And I doubt Harwin would find it as funny now," he added. Arya gave him a grin and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Planning to wrestle me again, are you?" she teased. "I warn you, I'm a lot quicker and stronger now; even if you did catch me, you wouldn't keep me long."

"That almost sound like a challenge," Gendry grinned. "And you're not the only one who's gotten stronger – you won't be going anywhere when I catch you."

"If you ever catch me."

Gendry moved quickly, trying not to think as he knew that any thought would register on his face and Arya would know instantly what he was about to do. She wasn't the only one who could move fast, and in the blink of an eye he had turned himself around and got Arya on her back with him straddling her waist. She wriggled beneath him, cursing him for trapping her. She moved to use her hands against him, but Gendry grabbed her wrists, and them pinned above her head. He quickly pinned them with one when she let out a laughing shout, and used his free hand to cover her mouth.

"Shhh," he reminded her with a smile of laughter. "We're not surrounded by stone walls here; what will people say if someone were to come in and find us like this?"

Arya glared at him, in that fierce way that she always used to do. Her eyes were no longer ice, but full of fire – at least they were when it was only him and her. He was hovering low over her, his face so close to hers; she was still wriggling underneath him, trying to get free. He removed his hand from her mouth, and moved it down to her waist to tickle her like he had done all those years ago. Except this time, when she scolded him loudly he silenced her with a kiss. He kissed her deeply, hard at first, but within seconds it softened as both their bodies reacted.

Arya stopped fighting against him, instead she wriggled closer and Gendry revelled in the feel of her arching her back from the ground to press her body flush against his. He stopped trying to tickle her now, instead his hand smoothed against her body, slowly running from her stomach, along her side, and down to her waist before slipping around her back. It didn't take long for Arya to reposition herself around Gendry so that one of her legs came to the outside of his. Gendry let go of her wrists now, gliding his hand down her arm and her side, to pull her newly freed leg over his hip, as her hands moved to his hair.

He loved the feel of her beneath him, and no doubt Arya could feel how much he liked it. He had never felt like this before, never wanted anyone so badly as he wanted her right now. Arya gave a small moaning sigh as she wrapped herself around him and pulled him closer; it was almost enough for Gendry to lose what little self-restraint he had left, and he knew Arya was able to feel just how much he wanted her in that moment. He allowed himself to continue to kiss her a few minutes more, savouring the feel of her tongue explore his mouth as his own tongue explored hers. But before it could go too far, he reluctantly pulled back, and lifted his lips from hers with a sigh.

He kept his eyes closed and leaned his forehead against hers. She was breathing heavier than usual, he could feel her breath on his lips in short, sharp, bursts, and he knew he was breathing just as hard.

"Is everything ok?" Arya whispered, sounding breathless. Gendry smiled. He kissed her quickly and lightly, and the lifted his head so he could look into her eyes. The steely grey was burning with a different kind of fire, making her eyes more beautiful than Gendry had ever seen them before. He wondered, briefly, if his eyes were burning in the same kind of way.

"Yes," he nodded, answering her question in a husky voice. "But if I don't stop now, I don't think I will ever be able to," he admitted. He felt heat rise in his cheeks, and he hated himself for blushing in this moment.

Arya chewed her lip – her favourite habit, and Gendry loved how she did it in that moment. It was almost shyly, and he was certain he could see colour rising in her cheeks too. What was she thinking? How he longed to be able to read her, the way she seemed to read everyone else.

"We don't have to stop," she whispered.

His breath hitched, and for a moment Gendry almost forgot to breath. He pulled himself together quickly though, and slowly moved himself from Arya, sliding off her body and coming to rest by her side. The sudden loss of the warmth from her body almost made him shiver.

"Yes, we do," Gendry sighed. "I will be castrated if not – Harwin would actually kill me if I bedded you tonight." Once again, he could feel the heat in his cheeks; he had never been very good at talking about these things, and Gendry knew he was turning bright red. He avoided looking at Arya, and so could not tell how she had taken his words.

She gave a quiet laugh, but she wasn't laughing at him – it sounded like a nervous laugh. She moved closer to him, almost hesitantly, coming up to lay against his side and resting her head on his chest. Her arm rested gently on his torso, her fingers gently, and somewhat timidly, tracing small circles on his chest. Gendry smiled at her touch.

"I didn't mean…" Arya started quietly, but trailed off. "I mean, there are other things to do."

Now Gendry did look at her, eyebrows raised. He stretched his head back to look down at her face, but she was staring studiously at her own hand on his chest as though purposefully avoiding his gaze.

"What other things?" Gendry asked slowly, teasingly. "And how would milady know such things?" He could help but grin a little as he teased her, hoping she would not be offended. Arya looked up at him then, looking as if she had been caught out and was about to get into trouble.

"Braavos?" For some reason, she said it as a question.

"Ah," Gendry nodded. Something else she had learned while training to be a faceless man. Gendry couldn't help but wonder why she had needed to learn these things, and how she had learnt them.

"Why?" he started to ask, but stopped, and gave a small shake of his head. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to know.

"If I tell you another story, will you think worse of me?" Arya asked quietly, and for once Gendry could see uncertainty in her eyes. Was she afraid to tell him? He had never seen her look uncertain, not since before she had disappeared with the Hound.

"Of course I won't," he assured her with a smile.

Arya took a deep breath, and repositioned herself back to her head resting on his chest so that she was no longer looking at him as she spoke. Gendry relaxed back into her, and brought his arm around her to keep her close.

"On one of my assignments, I was a plain faced, but pretty, serving girl in the Happy Port." Gendry gave a small laugh before he could stop himself.

"You have never been plain faced," he told her. "You've always been more beautiful than pretty."

He could feel her frown against him. "I didn't use my own face, stupid! I wore another's, from the room of faces."

"From the…? What?" Gendry asked, completely confused now. "How do you wear someone else's face?" He asked. As soon as he said it, however, he felt he probably wasn't quite ready for that answer yet.

"I don't really want to know that, do I?" He asked Arya, who was once again looking at him.

"Probably not, no," Arya agreed. "Not yet, anyway."

Gendry nodded, wondering if his imagination was too vivid or spot on, and Arya continued.

"The Happy Port is a brothel – one of the best. I lived and worked there for a few weeks, while I waited for the right time to deliver the gift to the named man." When Arya said 'gift' Gendry knew she meant the gift of death; he let her continue without interruption.

"I was only a serving girl, so I was never sold. But I was a maiden, and the face I wore was fairly pretty, so I would have fetched a good price. But before I could be sold, I had to be taught. In the hours that I wasn't serving, the best girls would teach me…. things. Different ways to pleasure, and finish, a man. Using my hands, and my mouth."

Arya spoke quietly, and Gendry wondered if she was nervous talking about these things? Her voice was steady and calm, but he could feel the heat of her cheek on his chest and wondered if she was blushing? He didn't say a word; he didn't want to interrupt her, and he wasn't sure he would be able to speak if he wanted to. He knew what she was talking about, of course, having heard Tom and Anguy talk many a time of what the girls at the Peach would do, and now he was struggling to keep away thoughts of Arya doing such things to him.

"I never touched a man, though" she assured Gendry in a rush. "Nor have I been touched by one either, not like that. I completed my assignment, gave the gift and disappeared, before I could be sold."

Arya trailed off into silence and Gendry was still struggling to find something appropriate to say while his mind was wandering though very inappropriate territory. He was spared the necessity of speaking, however, by the sounds of Nymeria's warning growls coming from the front of Arya's tent – someone was intending to enter, most likely Lommy, and so Gendry made a stealthy departure back the way he had entered.

For the rest of the journey, Gendry continued to spend some time alone with Arya when he could, but Arya began spending more time walking through the camp while they rested, talking to, and drinking with, as many of her men as she could. They never talked again of the tricks she had learnt in the Happy Port, though Gendry found it hard not to think of them when he had moments to himself, and his dreams were now more inappropriate than ever.

When they finally arrived at Torrhen's Square the ironmen were waiting for them in the dim light of early dawn. Their main host held back, while Arya moved forward to the gates to treat, with only a handful of men – Harwin, Gendry, and Anguy, among them, the grey direwolf of house Stark flying high and proud above them. A dozen foe came to meet them – few enough, but Gendry was very aware of the men along the walls who were all poised with crossbows. The dozen that approached, walking beneath the Greyjoy cracken blowing brazenly in the breeze, were led by a female: long-legged and lean with short-cut black hair, she strode towards them in defiant boldness, dressed in salt-stained leather with a dirk at her hip and a nonchalant smile on her lips.

"Lady Asha," Arya greeted, sounding light-hearted, it was the ice in her eyes that gave the bite to her smile. "It appears you're trespassing in my bannerman's holdfast – we've come to take it back."

"So," their female leader said with ease, directly to Arya, ignoring Arya's greeting. "You're the Stark Pup; back from the dead it would seem."

"I'm not much of a pup," Arya smiled with easy confidence. "And I was never dead."

"I am a little disappointed – we heard you rode ahead of a pack of vicious wolves, on the back of a monstrous beast…" Asha trailed off and looked about them pointedly and Arya smiled.

"She's only monstrous to those who cross me. Nymeria is around – you'll see her soon enough; when she's needed. The way I see it, this can go one of three ways," Arya declared, getting down to business. "Each way will result in the same outcome: my men and I will be in that castle by nightfall. Ideally, you'll all lay down your weapons, yield, and open the gates for us – we can enter peacefully, take back what is rightfully ours with no lives lost, and you can all return to the Iron Islands unharmed – for a reasonable ransom of course."

There were a few scoffs from the men, but Asha remained silent. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, and gave Arya a scathing look which clearly intimated that they would be doing no such thing. Unperturbed, Arya continued in the same conversational tone as before:

"While that would be the swiftest course, I imagine it doesn't seem quite palatable enough for you – perhaps you would prefer to retreat behind the walls after this little parley, bar the gates and wait out a siege? That would be a waste of everyone's time, and let me tell you why: Firstly, you will receive no relief from any of your kin on Pyke, because they are all trapped there for a time as we burnt the entire fleet – which you probably know by now. And secondly, Anguy and I will take out your sentries in record time, never missing a shot, taking you out one-by-one. It will be time consuming, but possible." Arya pulled out her bow and a single arrow as she spoke, and nonchalantly fired it directly above them, before anyone could react.

"Ignore the arrow," Arya continued. "It won't hit you. As I was saying, once we take out all your sentries, my men will storm the walls and open the gates, and we will flood the holdfast, cutting you down where you stand. And from where your sentries once stood, we will rain down our plentiful leftover arrows on you, never missing a man – unlike the arrow I just fired which will land right between your feet in 3…2…" There was a soft thump as the arrow returned to earth and embedded in the packed snow in front of Asha's right foot. Ashe gave a sharp step back in surprise, but never uttered a sound. Arya, however, frowned.

"You've started favouring your left," Anguy commented conversationally, as if they were stood at the training butts as opposed to a potential battlefield.

"Apparently so," Arya agreed, echoing his conversational tone. "I never used to." Arya looked back to Asha, and continued: "A siege might buy you a night and another day, but in the end, we will be fighting you behind the walls. Which brings us to the third and final option: forget the siege, and let's just go right ahead and engage in the battle we all know is going to happen in the end – our forces will meet here, at midday, and the winner takes all. So, what will it be? Surrender, siege, or skirmish?"

"I am no craven – we are no cravens – to hide behind walls, or yield without a fight," Asha fired at her fiercely; the serene mask she had upheld during the parley was dropped and the fighter within now shone through for all to see. "If you're so good as you make out, then prove it," she challenged Arya. "We are not going anywhere – we claimed this castle fair and square. You want it? Come and get it."

Gendry watched Arya closely as she smiled slowly and serenely, but it was a cold smile, and her eyes burned with ice – it was a beautiful, yet terrible. "Battle it is then."

As Arya spoke, she must have subtly reached out to Nymeria, as it was now that Nymeria made her presence known. Howls erupted from the treelines, sending shivers up along the spines of Asha and her men.

"My men are anxious to bloody their swords, and the wolves are hungry," Arya threatened. "We'll meet again soon."

The portcullis was raised and the ironmen retreated behind the walls once more. Arya turned with Gendry and the others to return to the rest of the host.

"Damn," Arya sighed quietly, as they walked back. "I like her."

"She's the enemy," Gendry reminded her, slightly confused.

"But I like her; she's forward, honest, tenacious, and fierce," Arya reiterated, before giving a sigh so quiet it went unnoticed to all except Gendry. "It will be a shame to have to kill her."

The men were rallied before the sun hit its apex; their lines were formed and there was a palpable tension among the ranks: This was what they had been marching and working towards – their first real battle.

Gendry took his place on the front line, right beside Arya, who was now walking up and down the lines shouting encouragement to her men, rallying them up making them eager to bloody their swords.

"We've had a long march, but tonight a castle awaits us. This place belongs to us, not them; this is what we've returned for – to take back what is ours! And Torrhen's Square is ours! They are of a good number, but no match for us. We'll be behind those walls in no time. Let's take back what belongs to us! For Winterfell! For the north!"

Echoes of "Winterfell!" and "The north!" echoed through the ranks, as well as cries of "Stark!" and "Queen in the North!"

Arya retook her place at the front and centre of the mass, back next to Gendry, with Nymeria on her other side.

"Stay safe," She said quietly to Gendry so only he would hear, as she struck forward to lead her men to battle.

Gendry grinned at her. "I'll try," he only half joked, falling in line half a step behind her. "As long as we keep you safe – that's all that matters," He added, causing Arya to frown at him.

"You're more important than I am," he reminded her, keeping their conversation low.

"Not to me," Arya stated. They said no more – now was not really the time. Instead they continued a steady purposeful march in silence.

There was eagerness to the group as they moved forward, that had to be tempered by the snow; Arya had outlined their plan of attack when they had first returned from the parley, and had expressly warned her men not to charge ahead at a run.

"Travelling over snow is hard work at the best of times," she had told them. "Keep a steady pace; we don't want to exhaust ourselves from running before we even cross swords. If the ironmen become impatient, let them run to us – so much the better."

Nymeria's pack kept back from the throng, but the air was rent with howls as they marched and their presence was known to all. As they marched closer to the walls of Torrhen's Square, the gates opened and expelled the iron-born army. Their number was greater than had been expected, but still not enough to overpower Arya's army – Asha's men would be outnumbered three-to-one at the very least.

More war cries went up at the sight of their foe, and the ironmen echoed back with gusto. Both armies surged forwards with determination, but the Northern army still maintained restraint. As hoped, the ironmen were impatient to engage and struggled to move quickly over the snow to meet the oncoming host.

The two hosts finally met in a clash of steel and shouts; as the first lines of Arya's army engaged, the rear split down the middle and came around to surround the ironmen from both sides, until they were trapped within a circle of foes.

The ironmen were not highborn lords or knights who had been trained by a master at arms in the arts of formal combat; they were sailors and raiders, and as such their attack was unpolished, erratic, and almost spontaneous. Arya and her men met them blow for blow; the adrenaline that had built up from months of anticipation and the bloodlust ignited by fist contact made them almost fearless in their attacks.

The rally cries of "Stark", "Winterfell" and "Greyjoy" were soon replaced with the screams and groans of the wounded and dying. These were joined by the intermittent growls of Nymeria as she wound her way through the fight, without straying too far from Arya's side.

Gendry had a blade in one hand and a hammer in the other; the physical exertion of the fight warmed him more thoroughly than anything else had in the last few months, and for the first time in a long time he was sweating beneath his plate and mail. The ironmen had little armour and relied mostly on boiled leathers, which were little match for the well-honed steel the northerners were armed with.

Despite being in the thick of the fighting, Gendry was constantly aware of Arya and made sure he was never far from where she was fighting. She had already taken down half a dozen men, and was now fearlessly fighting Asha, who was proving to be a tenacious match. Needle was strapped to her side; it was Winter that she wielded in this fight, the Valyrian steel rippling in the weak sun that now shone directly overhead.

Gendry could not allow himself to be too distracted by Arya, he knew she was more than capable of defending herself, and he needed to keep his head in the battle before him: His current foe was his hardest yet, and the two were locked in a furious battle of strength and will, swords violently clashing at an ever-increasing rate as they parried closer together. The closer they stepped, the harder it was for Gendry to avoid bodily contact with his opponent's blade. Despite the few cuts and grazes he received, Gendry managed to get close enough to his foe to use swipe his legs from under him with the sword. The man went down easy: Gendry's brute strength coupled with the melting snow that had now formed in reaction to the blood and constantly moving feet which had made the ground treacherous. The cut to the back of the legs was not enough to keep the man down, and so Gendry finished him off with a well-aimed swing of his hammer, crushing his foes skull and turning the snow beneath them a vivid crimson.

Gendry straightened up and turned in time to see Arya knock Asha off her feet, just a few metres from him. Gendry froze, seconds turning into a lifetime as he watched her move with an ethereal grace, mesmerised: Arya swung Winter in a wide, sweeping arc, around and over her head, two hands gripping the hilt as she plunged it downwards.

"Yeild!" Asha shouted, panicked, and Arya abrubtly halted her movements. The blade hovered steady, barely a hairs-breadth above Asha's heart.

"I yield!" Asha repeated. She cast aside her weapons in the snow and raised her hands up, palms open, in surrender. "We all yield!" she said, a little louder this time, that her men might hear her and follow suit.

Arya's eyes flickered briefly onto the nearest men before returning to Asha. Gendry likewise glanced around and saw the nearest of the ironborn falter at their leader's words.

"We yield!" Asha repeated, stronger again. This time, Asha's men closest to her began to echo her words.

It took a few moments, but soon enough the fighting began to gradually die out across the battlefield, as the message to yield slowly spread.

"Finally," Arya smirked. "If only you had done so at the start, you could have saved a lot of lives."

"I owed it to my men to at least try," Asha panted. The snow around her side was slowly reddening and Gendry realised she must have been badly wounded to have eventually yield.

Arya swiftly removed her sword away from Asha's chest and took half a step back as shouts of victory began to roll through the battlefield.

"Take the survivors to the cells," Arya shouted commands to those of her men who were nearest. "Make sure their wounded are tended to. Take the Lady Asha to a chamber: treat her wounds, keep her there and lock the door. And most importantly, keep her alive. I want a guard posted outside – no one goes in or out until I say so. She may be our enemy, but she is a Greyjoy; I want her treated how you would treat any highborn."

"What about Theon, your Grace?" Lord Glover, who had been fighting nearby, asked her. "The turncloack bastard is here somewhere, I saw him but he got away from me."

Arya seemed to freeze for a moment. "Put him with his sister for now," she said calmly, but there was a bite to her voice that Gendry heard. The knowledge of Theon Greyjoy's presence somewhere near her had affected her, but she wasn't letting it show on her face.

"Whatever else he is, he is still a Greyjoy." She began to move through the men – through friend and foe; past the standing, the wounded, and the dying. Her men were already attending to her commands, grabbing those ironmen who were still standing and beginning to march them back through the gates into Torhen's Square. The Direwolf standard had already been raised above gates.

"Start building a pyre; leave the dead be for now, the wolves will take care of them. But whatever they leave, I will want burnt by nightfall. Come the night, I want no trace of the dead left," Arya commanded before she passed through the gates and out of sight.

For once, Nymeria stayed behind. Her howls called out to her kin, and soon her pack was slowly creeping forward over the snow to begin scavenging the bodies that now littered the ground beneath the castle walls. Gendry began picking his way through the carnage, reclaiming the steel that was no longer needed by the fallen; plate and armour were gathered from friend and foe alike – death never picked sides.

Now that the fighting was done, the adrenaline was wearing off and Gendry was beginning to feel the exhaustion settle within him. Every bone and muscle was aching, and his shirt was sticking to him as his blood mixed with his sweat – he had a few cuts here and there, that he should probably get seen to some point, but there were others more seriously injured than he was. For now, Gendry was content to help with clearing the battlefield.

As the sun began to lower, a fire was lit just outside the gates, and whatever was left of the dead was tossed onto the pyre to burn before dark fell; the wolves had made good work of the corpses and as such the burning of the remains took little time.

Eventually Gendry made his way into the great hall, where most of their army were now gathered. The wounded were being attended to by Maester Mathos with the aid of Lommy and a few of the female camp followers; Arya was still nowhere to be seen, and Gendry assumed she had taken herself off to the Godswood for a moment alone.

The kitchen hands had made a start on providing the fighters with some much-needed sustenance, and as Gendry wound his way through the tables, serving girls were beginning to supply the men with bread, broth, and mead. Already, the stirrings of triumphant celebration were beginning to seep into the atmosphere as the men began to rally once more after eating and drinking.

Gendry found Harwin at the front of the hall sat at the table on the dais, among some of the other council members.

"You're hurt, lad," Harwin commented, nodding to Gendry's tunic.

"It's nothing, a few scratches," Gendry shrugged, unconcerned. He took a seat next to Harwin, and helped himself to the ale already sat on the table.

"How many did we lose?" Gendry asked Harwin, who shook his head.

"I don't know, not many by the looks of it. A fair few injured, some bad – we may lose a few more before the sun rises again. But a victory is a victory – another holdfast back in the hands of the northmen. Stark banners are once more flying above the ramparts. And it deserves to be celebrated – the God's only know how hard the next fight is going to be."

Gendry was warily quiet – the next battle they fought would be for Winterfell.

"Where's Arya?" Gendry said after a moment. "I thought she would have been back by now."

"Her Grace," Harwin corrected him with a frown. "is in the other room, Maester Mathos has been attending to some of her injuries – only minor ones," he assured Gendry. "She has sent for Asha and Theon, they are being brought here now. No doubt our Queen will join us momentarily."

Harwin was quiet for a moment, and looking at Gendry thoughtfully. Gendry could tell there was something on his mind – no doubt he was readying himself to give Gendry another of his talks. But Gendry was in no mood to hear it.

"Don't give me another lecture, Harwin," Gendry begged him quietly. "Not right now."

"I'm not going to," Harwin sighed in defeat, and looked down at the cup in his hand. "Sometimes we don't learn from our mistakes. And sometimes we've no choice but to walk away," he muttered quietly, more to himself than Gendry. He looked back up then, and laughed wearily.

"You two are as bad as each other - though granted, she hides it better than you. I've seen you when you lose yourselves in your conversations and forget that people are watching. You've got a strong bond- I can't deny that."

"I know you think I'm not good enough for her," Gendry started, but Harwin cut across.

"I've never said that, and you will never her me say that. You understand her, better than anyone else, I can see that. And she trusts you, more than she trusts anyone else, always has done. I can see that too." There was more to his thoughts, Gendry could hear it in his voice, but Harwin didn't seem to want to continue.

"But?" Gendry prompted.

"She'll be expected to marry a Lord – an established Lord," he warned gently, before giving a humourless laugh and shaking his head. "But, she's always tended to shy away from doing the expected. I just don't want to see you get hurt, Gendry. I don't want to see either of you with a broken heart. Because I'm fond of her too, I always have been."

Their conversation was put to an end by the arrival of Arya, who now entered from a side chamber and ascended the dais. Like the rest of them, she was still dressed in the clothes she had fought in; her clothes were stained with sweat and blood, but she still looked beautiful and queenly. She had removed her crown for the battle, but was wearing it once more as she stood before her men.

At her entrance, the unchecked chatter that had been slowly swelling towards the beginnings of a raucous celebration of victory ceased into a quiet. Arya stood silently and gave a small nod to the two men guarding the doors at the far end of the hall; at her command the doors opened and Asha Greyjoy was led down the centre of the long hall, two guards gripping her arms and guiding her to Arya. Following a step behind was Theon Greyjoy being led in a similar fashion to his sister.

"Lady Asha, step forward," Arya commanded. The guards who had escorted Asha into the hall released her arms, and she took a couple of strides to stand tall and proud beneath Arya. The guards took half a step forward, but followed no further: Asha was surrounded by hundreds of northmen, and there were guards at every door to the hall – there was nowhere she could go.

"You have yielded Torrhen's Square back to me and mine; we will honour your surrender, and no harm will come to you or your men while you are our prisoners, unless they are found guilty of a crime punishable by death. Your men in the cellars are having their wounds tended to; and they will remain there until we decide what is to be done with them. You will remain our protected guest, until we receive word from your kin on Pyke regarding ransom for your return. You will be allowed movement through the castle and grounds, with a suitable guard and escort of course, so long as you make no attempts to escape or harm any or my men here,"

Asha gave a scoff. "I'm you're prisoner then, not your guest."

There were some murmurs of discontent around the room at Asha's audacity at talking back to the queen, but Arya just gave her a cold smile and answered her impertinence.

"Yes," she agreed. "But a prisoner who is given certain licence and freedoms, for as long as she behaves. Otherwise you'll be in the cells and you'll never see Pyke again. I will not demand you to bend the knee to me – the Iron Islands are not part of the North, they swear fealty to the King on the Iron Throne, but I will expect your obedience so long as you are being kept in my domain. Do agree to these rules?"

"Do I have a choice?" Asha retorted with stubborn bitterness.

"Not really, no," Arya said with a shake of her head and an almost imperceptible smirk.

"Fine." It was not an absolute agreement, but it was as much as Asha could bare to give in front of so many people. Arya accepted it for now, and gave a tiny nod to Asha's guards. The two men came forward, took her arms once more and pulled her back in line with Theon, towards whom Arya now turned her gaze.

The change in Arya was undetectable to the others, but Gendry saw it: There was a stiffness to her spine that hadn't really been there when she had been talking to Asha, and when her eyes rested on Theon Greyjoy, there was a simmering rage that had ignited behind the ice – not yet burning through to the forefront, but there was enough there for Gendry to recognise.

"It's been a long time, Theon," She said quietly, but her voice carried through the hall with ease.

The silence in the room changed: there was a tension that hadn't been there before. Everyone knew the story of Theon's betrayal to the Starks; that he had turned his cloak on the family that had raised him, stolen their home, and murdered two of Arya's brothers. And now they would find out just how he was going to pay for these crimes.

Unlike Asha, Theon was not bold, and had to be walked forward by the guards and physically placed in front of Arya.

"You are not how I remember you," Arya frowned. "What happened to you? How did you go from the arrogant youth who betrayed his King, stole his sire's home, and murdered two young boys he was raised alongside of?"

The tension in the room seemed to reach new levels, and it felt like everyone was now holding their breath.

Arya remained calm and poised, but the anger was clear in every word she spoke.

Theon had yet to meet her eye, and still he looked down at the floor.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, almost incoherently.

"That's not what I asked. I want to know what happened to the overconfident boy to turn him into the less than a mere shadow of his former self that I see before me." There was contempt in her voice, but also tones curiosity.

Her curiosity, however, was not likely to be sated as Theon appeared reluctant to answer this question.

"Theon Greyjoy, you are known for a traitor: You have been accused of treason against your King, to whom you swore your fealty, and against the North. You escaped persecution for your crimes, only because of the death of King Robb, and your supposed disappearance. But you must answer for them now." Arya spoke calmly and forcefully, but there was fire burning behind her eyes. And the more she spoke, the more palpable her ire became.

"You were Robb's companion since boyhood; you played together, trained together, fought together. You were like another brother to him – I know because I was there; I witnessed it all. You rode south with him, accepted him as your liege and then knelt before him to proclaim him your King. And yet, the first chance you got you betrayed him,"

"I'm sorry," Theon called out. Only those nearest the front could hear him, but they were unimpressed by his apologies.

Murmurs of "traiter", "coward", and "turncloak" went around, almost drowning out the remainder of Theon's attempts at answering for his crimes.

"I never meant….I didn't plan….I'm sorry."

"You were tasked with brokering a pact between the North and the Iron Islands," Arya continued clearly, putting an end to Theon's struggling apology. "Instead, you invaded Winterfell and named yourself Prince of the Iron Islands and the North: you took Robb's home from him, and murdered his brothers! – my home. My brothers!"

"I didn't kill your brothers!" He shouted desperately, finally looking up at Arya, distraught and pleading. "I swear it! Yes, I betrayed Robb, and I took Winterfell – and I'm sorry, I am. I've regretted that decision every day! But I didn't harm your brothers, I swear! They ran away, I couldn't track them, I never found them! So, I took a couple of farm-boys from nearby, who were of a similar size. I killed them, burnt their bodies beyond recognition, and passed them off as being your brothers. I'm telling you the truth," he begged. "Bran and Rickon are still alive!"

The room went deathly still and quiet, more so than it had ever been before; no one stirred an inch. Gendry looked at Arya, knowing this revelation would be causing a storm of emotions within her. But she wasn't showing anything; the rage and emotion that had been stirred just moments before was suddenly gone. Arya was staring down at Theon with eyes that had returned to that icy, unfeeling, blank, stare that she had perfected in Braavos.

A/N: Next chapter will be back to Arya, and I will try my hardest to get an update to you by the end of March...

xBx