It was all she could do not to burst into tears. Winterfell had become as much rubble pile as castle, whole buildings flattened during the cold mammoths' charge and ensuing rampage. It's only stone, she told herself. Only stone, and stone can be rebuilt. Nymeria's nose was of little help finding Gendry in the madness- all she smelled was blood, death, snow and ash. There was no direction to the crowd, people going this way and that and everyone in a hurry to get nowhere. Of course, nobody was in a hurry to crowd Nymeria nor the members of the pack that trotted over to greet her. Blinking the glow of the crypts' tunnels to blink out of her eyes, Arya climbed a nearby pile of broken stone. The first day in who knows how long, and I was hiding underground. The impulse to just start sobbing rose again, stronger this time. When I am with Gendry, and we are somewhere private. There could be no tracking Gendry down as yet, though. First, order must be wrought out of this godsforsaken mess. She stood at the top of the heap of broken stone looking out over the crowd, a world's worth of people without the faintest idea what to do next. Nymeria gave a yelp, Arya feeling Lady shrinking away through her direwolf. There was nothing for it but to try to spot Sansa in the chaos, even as Nymeria's nerves grew steadily more frayed. By then Lady had gone too far to sense, leaving Nymeria behind without a second thought. This isn't death, Arya thought. Lady can't die, and I would feel if Sansa did. But then, what had happened? Ghost was in the godswood, as was Shaggydog, with Summer racing to meet them. You cannot catch her, girl, Arya thought as Nymeria began to pace, whining with dismay. She put her hands to her mouth and shouted as loudly as she could, though she went all but unheard even to her own ears. Bugger. Still trying to decide what to do, Arya's thinking was upended completely when Nymeria put her nose to the sky and gave a long, mournful howl. Soon, her kin and kind were joining in, drowning out all other noise. Do they mourn Lady? That wasn't right, even the wild direwolves were twitchy and decidedly unassured in her presence. By the time the noise had begun to fall away, every head was turned toward the ring of wolves around the rubbish pile, every face sliding up to look at Arya. Her first thought was to ask if anyone had seen Jon or Daenerys, but such a question left unsaid the possibility that either or both had died. I would know, she thought firmly. Ghost would feel it and through him, Nymeria and so me. She settled on something more tactful.

"We need to order ourselves." she said, louder than she meant to but still nowhere near the previous noise. She swallowed, squinting at a large gaggle far to the back.

"You lot look like Free Folk. Go south, just outside the wall, and tell the giants to join you, if any among you speak the Old Tongue."

"Hold, you want us outside the ring?" One of the shouted, a number of disbelieving voices breaking out before Nymeria howled them down.

"The Others aren't coming back, at least not right away. Even after everything there's still more of you than the rest of us, if we're going to sort ourselves, we need to start big and go smaller from there." She tried to ignore how much the girl she sounded but there was no time to be self-conscious. "Those of us come from Essos will go just so far east, the Dothraki and Unsullied north of them and the Golden Company below. That ought to make it a bit easier to order from there, count our losses and see who's still around. Westerosi will go as we always do. Northmen will pool 'round the North Gate-"

"Eh, what gate be that, princess? Their giants knocked it down and that bone dragon saw clean to what was left-" began a man wearing a Karstark sunburst at the foot of the rubble pile.

"Your mother's." Arya snapped in reply, prompting a goodly amount of snickering, sniggering and dumbfounded guffaws. "Now if there are no more stupid questions, I'll continue. Rivermen below the northmen and so on, most all of you have seen a map or can at least be counted on to go where you ought be." She clapped her hands. "No time like now, so move like there's a sack of gold in it for you."

"But there ain't, is there?" Another person asked, his red cloak marking him for a Lannister worthy.

"There sure as seven hells isn't now, so best move." Arya replied.

She made her way down the pile after that, as if she'd said all she cared to say. When she made it onto solid footing she took the red-cloaked man aside.

"When did you get here?"

"Came north with the fleet from Lannisport. 'Twas us and those of the ironmen made it through the Others' pounding their rocks to pebbles and the infighting come before." Westermen and ironmen, Arya thought. So they did make it. Though, just how many and in what state was something she'd have to determine.

"No Dornish?" she asked. The man shook his head wearily. "None?"

"Not a one, princess, though I'm scarce the man to ask, for certain. It were the Kingslayer who took us in, coming out the trees like we did."

"Well, you know where to go. As soon as he's found, send him to the godswood." Arya instructed.

"Aye, as soon as he's found." The man repeated, though he sounded as though the Kingslayer's living to be found was no sure thing. The westermen will put someone forth, Arya thought. Lord Tyrion if they must. She gave the same instruction again and again, that the lords paramount of each kingdom ought go to the godswood after putting their countrymen in order. Wading through the countless moving bodies was a lost cause, and so Arya waited until it seemed the flood was beginning to thin out. When it became possible to approach people here and there, she began to ask if anyone had seen Sansa. One man trudging west toward the Hunter's Gate removed his helm and Arya recognized his face. Even with a beard.

"Tylon of Lannisport." He bowed.

"Princess Arya. I'm glad you managed to find your way home."

"It's only too bad you weren't afforded the same fortune."

"I'll say. I have a wife I have to see about and a baby on the way…or I did, at least. The Seven only know what state they're in now…" he shook himself. "One of the lads told me it was Princess Sansa who took the dead on, after the Others began slinking off into the wolfswood. She took two lion swords, pulled the gold off them with her bare hands…and…weaved them back together, I suppose. I didn't see it myself, but…" Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail. One had been in the care of Brienne of Tarth, the other Arya had given to Sandor Clegane herself. Ice, rewrought. I'm still going to give Clegane more than a piece of my mind when next I see him. "Then she simply disappeared, in front of a hundred pairs of eyes." But where? There was no point thinking on Sansa, Arya had to focus on what she could achieve.

"Tylon, I want you to get your countrymen around you. The westermen are-"

"-heading west, proper and fitting."

"Maybe your wife came up from Lannisport with the fleet. Or she holed up somewhere in the westerlands the Others didn't hammer."

"Only one way to find out." Tylon said, following the stream of red tunics. If the gods are good, he has someone still to find.

Arya asked as many people as she dared if any had seen what became of the green dragon. Certainly there was no corpse anywhere to be found, and as far as she was concerned it meant the wily beast was still alive. Anything that pointed to Jon's survival was worth clinging to, a counterpoint to the devastation that loomed large everywhere she looked. There are more than a few of us left, though. Plenty to keep on with, though who knows when that will be. She meandered south toward where the stormlanders were gathering, getting more than one relieved greeting when she was spotted by this lord or that knight. Rolland Caron all but burst into tears on seeing her, just the sort of sight she didn't need to see.

"Comport yourself, Lord Rolland. Or is a little snow enough to make you blubber like a babe?" Through his tears he gave a hiccupping chuckle. "Has Gendry been found?"

"I was just on my way, princess. I suppose one poxy face was easy for you to lose in the crowd, but I was standing not twenty feet away from you." It was Sansa I was looking for, my lord. It struck her as peculiar that she felt no more than typical unease at the thought of Gendry's fate by comparison. He's too much the stupid bull to die. The lummox. When they reached the center of the stormlanders and Arya spotted him lying on the ground, armor warped with the force of the blows it had taken and a horn missing from the bull helm he wore, her calm abandoned her. She dashed for him, slipping in the mud to land atop him as she fumbled at the bashed-in helm.

"Gendry!" she cried, all those present forgotten.

"As if I didn't have enough to get on with. Someone goes and drops an anvil on my chest."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not in the least, I just can't move. Uh…at all." he replied. His voice sounded muted, tinny. Probably to do with his dented helm. "It's really a shame, if only I could at least get this helm off I could see what a proper sight you're making of yourself. And with all my lords present, it's not very ladylike." She heard him snigger. Gods save me. Irritation colored her panic and she actually slapped her palms against his breastplate.

"You're lucky you're locked into your armor, else I'd be giving you more than harsh words! Someone helpless as a flipped turtle ought be nicer to those who might be better served leaving him flipped!"

"Well, if you're going to leave me in here, that just means I can say what I like until you can be bothered to see about getting me out."

"It does not!"

"It does not!" he mimicked her, voice high and reedy.

"I don't sound like that!"

"How would you know? Everyone knows anvils don't have ears. Then again, they don't have mouths either and you never shut up, so…" She sniffled and pressed herself flat against his armor, kissing every bit of the battered bull helm she could reach. Sniffles became sobs and she heard him curse as he tried to move, tried to wrap his arms around her. "None of that, sweetling. You'll hurt yourself on some damnable sharp edge or other and we can't have that. Lord Andrew, I'll need you to drag me to the foundry so we can see about getting me out of this." A tall figure stepped forward, coughing gently when Arya did not move off Gendry. "If my princess will allow Lord Estermont to drag my broken behind…" he said beneath her.

"Lord Estermont?" Arya asked, sniffling and wiping her cheek on her sleeve before she sat up primly.

"Aye, princess." Andrew swallowed. "Alyn was commanding part of the wall that got caught in the bone dragon's breath."

"My condolences, my lord. I'm sure this oaf has offered them as well." She went on making empty small talk with the rest of the present storm lords, the lot of them beginning to chuckle when they realized she was only prolonging Gendry's stuck state.

"Never mind, lads. It seems the princess thinks I'd be a better flowerpot than a lord, so best you lot toss some dirt on me and pray it's still cold enough for winter roses."

"No flowerpot ever ran its mouth so." Arya said, feeling red fill her face.

"Flowerpots don't have mouths. Everyone knows that, save anvil-heads it seems." Arya huffed, hot beneath the collar as she crossed her arms.

"How are we even going to get him out of there?" one of Andrew's knights asked.

"We might do with one of the Others' blades…"

"And lop an arm or leg off for our trouble. Any bits he loses will stay lost, he isn't one of those gangly fuckers." Andrew said, scratching his chin and murmuring into his fist.

"Why don't we ask Shireen? She might be able to do it, and she's sometimes at the foundry besides." Gendry suggested. "It's the only bloody place she fits. We might try the kitchens, but they need nowhere near as much heat." Arya swallowed and looked at her shoes, soaking up mud.

"She won't be at the foundry. If you lot can be bothered to drag this loss to the foundry, I'll meet you there with Shireen in tow." She tapped Gendry's side with her heel.

"Ooh, that sounded like an order. Not sure any of us have the stones to let a princess' order go unheeded. Then again, what are you going to do if I don't? Beat me up? You're welcome to try." Gendry said, making Arya go red-faced all over again.

"If the gods are good Shireen will sneeze or something and we'll have a fine roast bull to present the dragons with!" Should she manage to get him out of that armor I'm going to give him the messing the Others couldn't!

"What bloody good is roast bull? The green dragon likes seals and fish, the white one chomps corpses like all lizard-lions and the black one went where no cattle have ever been raised. Shows what you know." Arya flung a snowball at Gendry's head, making him laugh aloud- and then yelp as the snow managed to get past the bull's eye slits and into his face. Arya finally rose with Andrew's help, the storm lords half dragging, half carrying their liege in the direction of the foundry. Arya reached out to scratch Nymeria behind the ears, nearly biting her lip before she beat the urge away. She supposed it might be a moment before she found an entrance that hadn't been blocked up or destroyed outright, but Winterfell had taken a battering that opened plenty of new ways in and out and so Arya took advantage of the one nearest the Great Hall. People were getting torches lit where sconces still clung to the walls or else just getting fires going in everything from upturned breastplates to iron buckets. All the way down she struggled with the urge to bite her lip, sweat beading her brow as the heat steadily built. Arya found the corridor quite free of Unsullied. Gone to fight, no doubt. The door was shut, though small wisps of smoke were escaping here and there. The air had begun to shimmer and on closer viewing, Arya could see the door itself had begun to split, smoke finding its way not just around the wood but through. She swallowed, feeling nervous. What could possibly be going on in there? She half moved to knock before realizing she'd likely sear her hand to the bone and deeper on the wood, instead clearing her throat and calling loudly for Shireen.

"Princess Arya! Gods, best get gone and quick! It's much too hot down here, let alone in here!" came an answering cry.

"It's no never mind to me." Whatever 'it' is. "I need your help getting Gendry out of his armor." Another voice, older and harsher, spat a curse as Shireen relayed Arya's request.

"Bytarys says we're too far along, it would be better if I remained."

"Perhaps it would, but surely a few minutes won't spoil whatever you're up to."

"Back away from the door a good ways, princess, I'll need to work my way under and through the door. Perhaps shut your eyes once you're away as well…" Arya waited by the stair as Shireen wormed through the wood, doing her best it seemed to keep the door intact. Gods, but Gendry's forge is cooler and that while he's got steel going soft with it. Shireen grew steadily dimmer, darker, until she was less a walking sun and more the fireling people were familiar with. "Princess, I'm not sure if you're aware, but your mother fell during the battle. Her friend as well." Arya felt as though the floor had fallen out from under her.

"How?"

"The two of them were tarring up one of the Others'…lord-sorts. While he was so stuck, I boiled the three of them to nothing. I thought Lady Catelyn and Lady Talisa might…reconstitute, but they didn't…"

"Well, at least she's good and gone to my lord father. And Talisa to Robb, I suppose." That's someone else gone I'd have liked to see me marry Gendry… Still, Arya felt as though her mother's returned nature had caused more than a little disquiet in Lady Catelyn. Alive, she was never one to linger in her lonesome or avoid contact with people. Now freed from the waters of the Green Fork.

Arya's muted mood persisted even as they reached the foundry, several stormlanders falling over themselves to get out of Shireen's way.

"Is that you, coz?" Gendry asked, lying out on a table. It might have been but for a red witch. Instead, we have a fireling.

"You took a battering." Shireen observed.

"So it seems, I can't exactly look to see. I knew you sealing me in here was the right move, though." She put a hand on a rent in Gendry's side.

"We'll get that helmet off you first. Best shut your eyes, my lords, this will take some eating through." A finger began to glow, bright enough to make Arya turn around. A sound half hiss, half rasp began, joined afterward by the whine of steel being rent by heat. I do hope she's careful! When at last the sound stopped Arya brushed countless awful outcomes out of her mind, daring to peek. "Care to do the honors?" Shireen asked. Arya stepped over, gingerly prodding the bull helm.

"It isn't hot. I learned well how to keep heat where it needs to go…and off where it doesn't." Shireen intoned. Arya pulled off the helm, Gendry's grimacing face visible beneath a healthy coat of sweat, dirt and grime. At once her mouth was to his, Gendry mumbling against it.

"Gods, don't kiss me now, girl, I must stink like a slaughterhouse-" he spluttered when she paused for breath, an accompanying kiss silencing him.

"You'll do no more fighting, not for the rest of your life." She told him, looking down into his blue eyes. Even upside down, his smile was something to make her heart beat a bit faster.

"Who says?"

"I say, and now your helm's gone you'd best think hard on what you intend to say next, Gendry Baratheon." She could tell he was struggling with the urge to make some smart remark. Baratheon blood.

"As my princess commands." Though cutting Gendry out of the armor proper couldn't have taken more than ten minutes, it was hardly quick enough for Arya. By the time the last of the steel was clattering to the floor of the foundry, she was all but atop him. Gendry hissed through his nose, wincing sharply. "Not the anvil again…" he groaned, Arya seeing the ugly bruises blotching him up for the first time. Still, even stiff enough to be kept from sitting up, there was no hiding the steel beneath Gendry's skin.

"Do you need a maester?" she asked anxiously.

"Why, are you feeling ill?" he replied, slowly sitting up through what must have been an awful back spasm. "I'm sure there are plenty in worse shape than I am, no sense pulling a maester off a grievous wound so he can prod the feeling back into my shoulders." He couldn't so much as reach up to pull his shirt off, so the task fell to Arya. More bruises waited for her to discover, the sort that made her wince to even look at.

"Then I'll bloody do it. I'm sure that's to my lord's liking?" Gendry spluttered something unintelligible. "Now who's filling the air with nonsense?"

Though Arya more than had reservations about letting Gendry limp across Winterfell's yard without anything more on than pants, there would be no getting another shirt over his bruises without causing him agony. When he mused on returning to their bedchamber, Arya bit her lip and promptly tasted blood.

"Oh, that'll never do." Gendry said, looking around for a half-clean rag to daub at her lip with. A Buckler man provided him a kerchief and with a nod of thanks he gently wiped the blood from the corner of Arya's mouth. She meant to avert her gaze or even look irritated, but she found there was no looking away from his blue eyes. Worse, there was no hiding how she truly felt from them.

"We could try the hot springs below the castle…" she murmured. "Now that's a treat if anything is. A hot bath these days is worth all the gold a man could carry."

"It depends on the man. Or woman. I couldn't carry half what you could-" Arya began.

"Well, of course not. How would you carry yourself when that's my job?" Gendry replied, slowly sliding off the table.

"You can accompany us, Shireen. You should be getting back." Arya said, the fireling nodding (or so it seemed to Arya). Once they were outside the cold had Gendry reeling.

"Can't say as I missed this, freezing my bastard's arse off with the rest of you as haven't got anvil-heads or flesh-of-flame."

"Fresh air must be worth a bit of chill." Arya said evenly, snug in her furs. Gendry could walk unassisted, but slowly, and all the while he was asking about everyone he could think of. Probably to distract himself. "I had the stormlanders rally to the south, but…" Arya looked down, murmuring. You were the only one on my mind.

"Well, bugger it. We'll find out soon or late who made it anywise, no sense worrying about it just now." She was certain he knew quite why no names were coming to her mind, yet played it off as he did most everything he knew would make her uncomfortable to speak of. She was still trying to push away such troubling thoughts when a panicked cry rang out. Now what? Arya looked over, expecting to see someone holding the corpse of someone dead of a lingering wound, but instead she saw a woman pointing frantically at the sky. Squinting up into the clouds, Arya saw aught but the sun- and then the sleek shape of a drake snaked out of one bank and into the next. A hooting call was answered by more of the same as body after body emerged from the clouds, circling above. The dragons won't like that. Arya braced on instinct but the beasts did not dive, content to slowly descend as they circled. "Come on." she said, nudging Gendry as gently as she could manage. "If they meant to have a go, that's not how they'd be coming." Perhaps they're just having a look before joining the rest. Arya put down every fearful utterance from those around her with the same sharp logic, confident the Others above had no plans to make nuisances of themselves. A furious roar from the godswood demonstrated quite clearly the black dragon's feelings on the matter, rising up to shoo the drakes away. Daenerys was not on his back, which might mean nothing or everything. The largest of the drakes hooted at him in reply, a high harmless sound. The white dragon ascended next, Meera a dark dot where his wings sprouted from his body. The drake might have been bigger than its fellows but even one of the dragons proper steadily outstripped it in terms of size and weight. A cat yowling at two tigers. The big drake made to descend further, unbothered it seemed by the white dragon following him all the way to the ground. The crowd could not get out of the way fast enough, of course, any pretense of stepping back with a hint of grace lost when it came time for the drake to land.

The Other atop it was tall for one of his kind, looking amongst the crowd unhurried and unbothered by the dragon shadowing him. Over his color-shifting armor he wore a long grey cloak that seemed more to dwindle away rather than end. He opened his mouth and a sound like water dripping off a curtain of icicles came out. Arya was flummoxed, unsure what might be done except to dash for Root when Shireen answered, a chorus of pops a log might make once laid in a hearth. The sound had the Other's head snapping in their direction, a soft tap of his foot against his mount's side enough to have it cantering toward them. These creatures are built for flight, Arya thought on seeing it move along the ground. It was able, but surely there was little and less call to remain earthbound in its natural realm. It stopped before them, Nymeria's growl enough to have it baring long needly teeth. The Other slid off its back, ran a hand down its neck to where it met the base of its skull, murmuring all the while.

"He asked if anyone among us spoke his tongue. I suppose he expected to be talking to one of the Children…" Shireen whispered to Arya.

"What's he saying now?"

"He's just shushing his drake. The dragons have it on edge." Well, they've bloody got me on edge. Shireen made another sound, the whoosh of leaves going up once tossed on a fire. The Other answered promptly, meeting Shireen's gaze with the ease that came with experience. There was a bit of back and forth, but with Shireen not having a face exactly and the Other being an Other, they might have been talking about anything.

"He says something came to them while they were in the mountains to the south."

"Which mountains?" More True Tongue.

"There was a white castle. It had a hole in it, all the better for the drakes to come and go." The Eyrie.

"What came to them?" There was still more True Tongue, it seemed an abstract concept was at hand. The Other looked up and whistled, longer and clearer than any man might manage. A second drake descended; its rider visibly less skilled. Then again, that might have been due to the second figure on its back, bundled so heavily in furs it appeared almost comical. What do Others need with furs? Upon landing the Other in front likewise dismounted, sliding from the drake's back in a single effortless motion. His companion tumbled off in a helpless heap- or would have, had the person below it been a mortal man and not an Other. Without a sound, without a sign of discomfort he caught the bundle, setting it on two feet just barely visibly poking out from the bottom. From his waist he pulled an icy dagger, splitting the furs in a single downward stroke. Arya didn't know what she was expecting, but whoever or whatever it might have been was not a young woman with Gendry's hair and Gendry's eyes, tall for a girl and rather strapping besides.

"The fuck?" he said, rather higher than might be proper for the Lord of Storm's end. The girl gasped aloud once freed from the furs, shivering visibly at once. She gasped again, slack-jawed at the sight of the countless people around her (to say nothing of Shireen and Viserion). Arya darted up to her. "A fur cape for the lady, and gloves, and whatever else can be found." she ordered, while slapping her in whatever Arya herself could spare. Several men-at-arms hastily stepped off to bring the garb. Or to get away from the Others.

"I'm no lady neither, I'm Mya Stone." the girl murmured in Arya's ear.

"We'll see about that." Mya Stone gulped. The Others' purpose for being there having evidently been fulfilled, they remounted their drakes. Shireen asked their commander something, a sound of cracking ice his only answer aside from a finger pointed at Mya Stone. Their thin wings stretched wide, and Arya could see the fire flickering behind Viserion's teeth through the membranes. Then they were ascending back into the cloud cover, the only trace of their coming being the Baratheon-blooded girl shivering nearby.

"What did you tell him?" Arya asked Shireen.

"I said we thought they wanted us all dead."

"And what did he say?"

"Not all of you." Shireen replied, with what might have been a shrug.

There was little time to waste before they faced a blizzard of questions.

"Mya, for now just stay with us. I don't know what's keeping those oafs, but we're heading somewhere warm anyway and Shireen has duties to return to."

"Alright…" Mya replied, voice shaky. As they moved toward the keep, Arya did talking enough for the both of them.

"I want to see about getting this lout a bath. Gendry, close your head, lords oughtn't gawk." Arya said sharply, Gendry still dazed.

"Even an anvil-head like you ought see it-"

"How could I, if anvils haven't got eyes? Hush your face just now, maybe we'll talk more once we get the both of you warm." Gendry huffed.

"You hush your face." Beneath the castle (or what remained of it) Shireen took her leave of them, all but dashing back down a certain corridor…that seemed to have reacquired its contingent of Unsullied.

"Here we are." Arya said, leading the pair into the hot springs.

"I wonder if anyone's ever poured a barrel of broth in one and made a great big soup." Gendry mused.

"Hot Pie would love to try, for one." Arya replied, daring to smile briefly. Gendry stepped over to one of the pools. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"You lot to turn around." Arya blinked.

"Whoever heard of a shy bull?"

"Whoever heard of a chatty wolf?" Scoffing, she turned, arms crossed.

"I hope you got your mother's wits." she told Mya Stone. "He certainly did, but there's more than a bit of Baratheon blockheadedness in there as well."

"Baratheon?" Mya asked, lost. Arya softened her tone.

"The same. Coal-black hair, blue eyes…sound familiar?"

"I grew up in the Vale…"

"And you were born right around when Robert was Jon Arryn's ward, I'll daresay. As was mine own father." It occurred to Arya that she hadn't introduced herself. "I'm Arya Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. Uhh…welcome to Winterfell, and all that, I guess." Mya Stone looked overwhelmed.

"And you lot are…are safe, then?"

"I'm not sure 'safe' is the word." Gendry called, as he slid into the water.

"The Others gave us a sound seeing-to, as Winterfell's sorry state can attest. They finally left off last night, or this morning. Dawn." Arya added.

"What about that talking flame?"

"I don't know, and it seems neither does she, really. Mostly she's just around, and that's about that. She used to be Shireen Baratheon, but…not everybody's road here was short. Or safe." Mya had nothing more to say on the topic, perhaps eager to push away any notions that she had highborn roots.

"So what happens now?"

"We're just picking ourselves up off the ground. There's no hurry to go anywhere or fight anybody, might be someone will want to put walls and roofs about us before we do anything else." Arya shrugged. "No one's much asked my opinion. Might be when the king is found, he'll have some idea. Until then, it's all snapping noses and fingers back into place and trying to keep warm. Not so hard as one might think, even in winter. Three dragons even out the snows."

"I only saw two…"

"There's a green one, too. He went somewhere, perhaps he wanted to have a last go at some cold giant or other. But bugger him, how did you come to find your poor self in the Others' company?"

Mya took a long breath.

"I was at the Gates of the Moon when the cold came. Lord Royce and all them had already gone north of course, to help fight the Boltons. The castle was held by those too young or old to go, and they weren't what was needed to hold off a tide of dead men dumped on our shores and horse-sized spiders creeping through our woods. There was no escape through the woods or footpaths, so instead of running away, I ran up."

"Up?" Arya asked.

"Up, into the mountains. A stone is a mountain's daughter, after all…and I just kept going. There were gangly things to avoid living in the caves, fearsomely bad weather…but I didn't fall. When my mules died, I made do with rope and spikes. When my rope frayed and my spikes blunted, I kept on with my hands. At last I reached Sky, one of the Eyrie's waycastles…and then the Eyrie proper. I found the place a tomb, overrun with spiders and the hoots of worse things up in the halls and towers and the sky cells besides. Rather than just stroll down a corridor and catch a cold blade, I scaled the Eyrie's exterior. There was no way the Others and their pets didn't see or hear me, but neither did a one of them make to pluck me off." Mya Stone's face alit with the briefest smirk. "I might be the first mortal in all the Eyrie's centuries to use the Moon Door to get in."

"Wait until the Valemen hear you've made it, if they haven't already. Wait until the stormlanders hear another child of Robert Baratheon's has been dug up." Arya wore a smirk of her own then.

"Wait until I can feel my bloody legs again," Gendry called from behind her, "I'll give the stormlanders plenty to cheer for."

"This from the bull who can't stand." Arya snorted.

"What are you good for?"

"Bugger all just now, but at least I'm warm for the first time since who knows, and even walking the long road to being clean." He put a hand to his cheek. "I'll have a shave when next I have a chance as well."

"Speaking of your face, shut it just now." Arya said. "King Robert was fond of women, it might well be there are more gems than just the you two and Ser Edric to find."

"Might be Ser Davos could help with that, keeping king's blood out of the hands of the red woman was something of a pastime of his."

"We'll need to find him first." Arya replied doubtfully.

"Then best we start looking…after you've had a warm and a wash as well. If he hears I let you catch a chill, he'll upend a barrel of onions on my head and my lordly clothes will be ruined."

"If my brother hears you let me catch a chill, he'll have more than a barrel of onions to serve you with."

"Obviously, everyone knows the king's no good with onions." Arya was about to agree when her brow furrowed suspiciously.

"He is so!"

"Is not."

"Is so!" Gendry raised an arm out of the pool, steaming water dripping from his cupped palm.

"Look, it's your opinion." He flicked it at her, a warm rain that made Arya shriek and Mya laugh. Face flushing, Arya dashed from the springs only to return a minute later, arms full of snowballs. "What are you going to do with those? You couldn't hit m-pluh!" Gendry spluttered when one took him in the chin.

"What was that, my lord? Could you speak a little clearer?"

"I said you're no anvil-head, I've met real anvils more ladylike than you."

"'Course they're more ladylike, I'm a bloody princess, aren't I?"

"All I see's a wet wolf nattering on like a common jay."

"Wet?" A splash later and Arya was standing soaked (but warm) at the edge of the pool, Mya Stone forgotten as her face turned scarlet. With a wild cry Arya jumped at Gendry, who caught her as if she were no heavier than a feather.

"What was that, my princess? Could you speak a little softer?" he asked, looking down into her eyes.

"I said you'd best kiss me right here and now, Gendry Baratheon, or find yourself another girl to marry." Arya said, heart hammering.

"As my princess commands." he said, not wasting another breath.