A.N.: Thank you for your patience! This chapter is a long time coming!

Valyrian Steel

57

Litter

Breath fogging the diamond-paned window as she peered too close to the glass, watching the diamond-dust glitter and sparkle in the air. A vicious cold oozed through every tiny crack in the ancient stones and she was glad of the insulated walls, heat pumped throughout the castle. For the first time since her return to Winterfell, she kept her gloves on and tucked a heavy fur-lined cloak close. It was the coldest day the maesters had on record in over a century. Yet it was also one of the most beautiful days, the particles of water in the air frozen and glittering like jewels as they floated in the still air.

It reminded her of the great weirwood. How many times had she watched the air sparkle like diamonds from the cave entrance? The quiet was the same, even here; Winterfell had slowed down. It was too cold to risk going outside.

For weeks, they had endured relentless storms – some of sleet, some of snow, some of thunder and lightning that had made the foundation-stones of Winterfell tremble. They had been trapped inside the castle proper, the sun a stranger veiled from sight. They had lingered in darkness for too long: it was beginning to take its toll on those unused to it.

Larra had grown accustomed to an enforced patience that ate at the pit of the stomach and wore away at the will to endure, as surely as the wind carved through stone. With ceaseless perseverance. It was an old companion of hers; but she could appreciate people's frustration. This was the first winter in far too long and most in the castle had yet to experience true cold.

She watched the air sparkle and sighed softly to herself. It was truly a wondrous gift of nature, the diamond-dust, no matter how dangerous it was. In nature, danger and beauty were often intertwined. The bait and the trap.

Attuned to the castle about her, Larra's ears twitched at the sound of footsteps echoing in the hall outside. She recognised Gendry by his walk and smiled softly to herself as the great oak door burst open, Gendry already untucking his sodden shirts. The castle may be quiet but the forge was not idle.

He smiled and bent to give her a kiss on the cheek before going to the trunk, pulling out a fresh linen shirt.

"How is the forge?"

"Busy. People have a sudden fascination with blacksmithing," Gendry said, his eyes alight with easy humour.

"Put them to work," Larra muttered, and Gendry nodded. He tucked his shirt in and glanced at her.

"What did the maesters say?" he asked. Only until her breasts had been sore to touch had Larra paid any mind to the dizziness and nausea she had occasionally endured, the strange sensation in her belly. For all the injuries she had suffered the last seven years, Larra had never once taken ill. At Gendry's urging, Larra had finally gone to consult the maesters.

Larra sighed, turning away from the window to watch Gendry. "Nothing helpful," she said quietly. "I spoke to a healer trusted by the Free Folk."

Gendry nodded. "What did he say?"

Larra stared at him. This magnificent man. Her husband. "She said I'm with child."

Gendry glanced up quickly. Larra's heart sank at the light dancing in his eyes, the broad grin that snagged immediately at his lips. The sheer, undiluted delight. His excitement.

She gazed back at him, still too stunned to know how she felt. It was the first time she had said it aloud.

She was with child. Pregnant.

Gendry's smile faded quickly, a shrewd glint in his eyes as he frowned at her. Approaching her, he squatted before her and took her hands in his, carefully examining her face.

Carefully, he said in a gentle voice, "If this isn't what you want, we can go to the maesters for moon-tea."

Larra reached out and stroked his cheek, her smile miserable. "Thank you for saying 'we'." She rubbed her eyes. "Anyway, it's too late for that. I've felt them. I've been feeling them…fluttering."

She gazed down at her belly, still stunned that anything could be growing in there. She had been putting weight on but she was still slender as a whip. And as far gone as she was… The healer had told her it was not uncommon not to show signs of pregnancy – especially slender as she was. She had described the sensation of feeling as if butterflies were flitting about in her belly and the healer had cackled, smiling at the confirmation that Larra was indeed as far along as she had guessed. The healer had advised that "the little one's comfortable". She had taken Larra's hand and pressed it to her abdomen, telling her what exactly it was she was feeling. A kick. She could feel it kicking already.

And she had had no idea…

She had had no idea she was even capable of bearing children, so deathly thin that her moon-blood had stopped years ago. It had only returned, and irregularly, since she returned to Winterfell and ate regularly, since she had started to put weight back on.

Gendry gazed up at her, reading her so well. "You're upset."

She admitted quietly, "I don't know what to feel."

"Tell me," Gendry coaxed. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hands, coaxing her to relax her grip, and raised her palms to his lips, his eyes saddened at the sight of the bloody crescent-moons in her palms.

"The healer said I'm nearly six months gone…" Larra said, her eyes stinging, and she was aware that her voice was thick and wobbly. She didn't know what to do. "Six months, Gendry. It's been too – it's been too long already. Six months since we – Six months since you came south from the Wall. You saw the Night King's hordes. What's he doing?"

Gendry watched her carefully. He weighed his words before he spoke. "He can't get past the Wall – they can't get past."

"Yet. They cannot get past the Wall yet. But they will find a way," Larra said, her voice trembling. A baby. It changed everything. "And they will march south and then – and then I'll either be carrying our child or…or I'll have a babe in arms and… And I can't sit by with my sword sitting idle just out of reach, Gendry. I will not watch as we fail."

"We won't fail – "

"We might," she interrupted, sniffing harshly and wiping her eyes. "And I cannot be the last one left. I cannot watch…"

"Come here." Gendry sighed and gathered her up in his arms. She was enveloped by his heat, his scent, and melted into his embrace. The only safe place in the world.

"Promise me…if it comes to it and you must make a choice between me and the babe…" she whispered hoarsely. "Please choose me."

Gendry leaned back, his brilliant sapphire eyes intense as they held her gaze. He cupped her face in his hands, tenderly kissing her lips. "Always." He enveloped her in his arms again, hugging her tight. He stroked her long braid, soothing her. After a long while, he said softly, "A baby, then?" She could hear the smile in his voice.

"A baby," Larra nodded, wiping her face as she sat back. She gazed at Gendry sorrowfully. "I'm so sorry."

Gendry stared at her. "Why?"

"You were so excited," she said miserably. "I ruined it."

"Larra…" Gendry smiled then sighed. He kissed her lips. "How could I be excited when you're so frightened?"

"I am frightened," she admitted. She gazed at Gendry beseechingly. "I don't know what to do."

"Nor do I," Gendry smiled easily. "I don't know anything about babies, except they need milk and love."

"Milk and love?" Larra repeated. Was it that simple?

"I can't help with the milk but…there's no-one I know who loves more fiercely than you," Gendry said warmly.

"I can start there." She nodded, her eyes glittering with tears. She still looked spooked – pale, wide-eyed. He gathered her up in his arms, holding her tight. He stroked her hair and breathed deeply of the scent of it, sighing and squeezing her. Squeezing them, he realised, and grinned into her hair, kissing her head. She gripped the back of his jerkin and gradually relaxed in his arms as he rocked her and she sighed contentedly, "I love you."

He smiled to himself. "I know."

The fire crackled in the hearth, illuminating the dark solar that was quiet but for the scrape of cutlery. They had taken the opportunity to share a meal – Gendry and Theon were present. They were family.

A soft knock echoed on the door and one of the maesters' apprentice darted inside with an ill-practised bow.

"A raven, Your Grace," he murmured, gazing across the illuminated table at Jon.

"I'll take that," Sansa said, and the apprentice bowed again, handing Sansa the scroll. The apprentice disappeared beyond the solid oak door, leaving them to their meal.

"Open it, then," Arya said softly, her tone only slightly impatient.

"It is news from the Reach; it can wait until after we've finished eating," Sansa said, but at Larra's coaxing, she unfurled the scroll. She broke the wax seal and scanned the elegant writing. "Oh! Lady Alynore Tyrell has given birth to her child. Willas Tyrell's posthumous child. A daughter – well, that must be a relief to the Tyrells. It makes things simpler. Garlan remains Lord of Highgarden rather than an infant."

"A daughter?" Jon said, and Sansa nodded, still reading the scroll. Larra gazed across the table at Gendry, whose eyes glittered in the candlelight. She saw his smile and returned it; his excitement was infectious. For days, Larra had tried to work through the news of her own impending motherhood. She was terrified – of the timing, of the risk, of loving the baby too much – but Gendry calmed the worst of her worries. She was coming around to the idea of being excited.

It was difficult. She had never imagined that she would ever have children of her own. Had never dared to even yearn for the possibility. She had known her place at Winterfell and in her brothers' lives and had taught herself never to wish for a thing that could never be.

"What did they name the child?" Larra asked.

"Hm? Oh… Alysanne," Sansa said, and Jon choked on his stout, coughing. He wiped his mouth and set his tankard down, avoiding Larra's questioning gaze.

"It is a good name," Arya said, nodding her approval. "The only Targaryen with any sense."

"You only like her because she was a fierce advocate of the Queen Who Never Was."

"Imagine if Alysanne had outlived Jaehaerys," Arya sighed. "Do you imagine the Dance of Dragons would ever have occurred?"

Larra chuckled and glanced at Jon, who smiled: they were both reminded of their lessons with Maester Luwin, their cyvasse tournaments where they rewrote history to learn how single events, even the innocuous, could alter everything.

Arya continued, "House Targaryen would never have reached extinction. The dragons would never have disappeared from the world!"

"Dragons have returned to the skies, Arya," Larra reminded her.

Bran murmured, "And the Targaryens are not yet extinct."

Gendry caught Larra's eye across the table and gave her an encouraging nod, smiling. His eyes glowed in the candlelight.

Larra cleared her throat.

"Gendry and I had something we wished to tell you…" She glanced around at her family. Flushing, she told them, "I am expecting a baby."

Their reactions were almost comical. Certainly, Larra herself had had no idea how to respond to the news. But Arya's excited gasp, Jon's eyes glittering with tears, Sansa's hesitant look were not what she might have expected. She glanced at Sansa, who was assessing her much the same way Gendry had. Whatever she saw in Larra's face made Sansa's guarded expression melt, warmth pouring from her, excitement glinting in her eyes.

"Our first litter!" Arya exclaimed. "It's about time – pups! We're to have a baby!"

Gendry stared at Arya, eyebrows raised. "I would never have imagined you'd be so excited, Arry."

"Why shouldn't I be? Oh – when they're old enough I shall play every trick on them you ever taught me, Larra!" Arya grinned. "And I shall teach them how to wield a knife and – "

"Oh dear. An infant assassin," Sansa said, and they laughed.

" – and they shall ride every day across the moors!" Arya continued. Gendry laughed as Arya went on. Sansa remained quiet, watching Larra carefully. Larra glanced at Bran, who remained silent. His eyes glittered in the candlelight, a warm smile on his face. Bran, her brother, shone from that smile, a little boy full of excitement that matched his sister's.

"When will the baby come, Larra?" Jon asked. "I do not believe I can outlast Arya's anticipation." Arya jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow and he reached out to muss her hair, chuckling.

"Soon; fewer than three moon-turns, the healer said," Larra said, glancing at Gendry. His soft smile soothed the nerves that always rose to the fore when she thought about it. Childbirth. Motherhood. The Night King's hordes. It was all happening too quickly – and yet not quickly enough.

Arya bounced in her seat, her eagerness palpable. Gendry laughed and teased her. Theon approached her and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek, congratulating her and wishing her above all things a safe and easy labour. Bran took her hand and held it, smiling contentedly, his eyes shining. Only Sansa remained reserved in her reaction; Larra suspected she did not wish to cause any upset by revealing her true feelings on the matter.

Larra told her quietly, as Jon and Theon congratulated Gendry and clapped him on the back for a job well done, "Any reservations you have, Sansa, I have already thought of them, and dread them. Whatever happens, I need to be able to rely on your support."

Sansa gazed back at her, relaxing somewhat, but her expression was sad and grim. "You will always have it, Larra."

A.N.: I know, it's short! And I'm sorry I've been neglecting Larra for so long. I got to the point where I know what I want to happen but couldn't adequately put it into words!