Falling Like || Jon Snow ✔

66| 𝔳𝔦𝔭𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡

winterfell, the north

— THE NORTHERN MORNING IN THE COURTYARD WAS BRISK. Nymeria stood in the shadow of one of the walkways holding an object wrapped in cloth, watching the blacksmiths. Gendry was still among them; even as a lord, it would seem he felt most comfortable working amongst the others in his old profession, which was understandable.

With a small sigh, she finally emerged, approaching him. "Gendry."

He straightened quickly at the sight of her approaching. "Your Grace."

She laughed softly. "How about Nymeria? Save the 'Your Grace's for your queen."

He nodded slowly. "Nymeria. What can I do for you?"

Hesitating only a second longer, she finally took the cloth wrapped object from under her cloak and laid it on the smith's table, flicking the cloth aside to reveal...

Gendry's eyes widened. "Is that...?" She nodded. "How??"

"I don't know."

"No, I mean," he leant closer with rapt interest to study the Valyrian Steel dagger, one of the two deadly-looking prongs snapped off right at the hilt, blackened slightly around the broken edges. "I don't even know what could burn Valyrian Steel like that, short of maybe dragon fire, but even then you'd need an incredibly concentrated stream to break only that section."

She remembered the fire she'd felt coursing through her veins when she stabbed it through Jorah's chest, her stomach twisting at the unwelcome memory. "Magic, I assume." She muttered. "This was right before I lit up a sword just like Beric."

Gendry raised his brows at her. "Are you...?"

"A fire priest?" She snorted. "Gods no. But Valyrian blood has always been incredibly mysterious, and I do still have a little left in me. And Melisandre was always going on about some Promised Prince of Targaryen blood... who knows what's been happening around here lately."

He nodded. "So what do you want me to do with this?"

She took a long breath. "Valyrian Steel is tricky. There's so little of it left and so few who can properly reforge it. But you're skilled. I'd hoped you might try your hand at it. It's useless to me the way it is now anyway."

He blinked widely at the task, but there was a spark of excitement in his expression too. Nymeria imagined he probably never thought he'd get to work with Valyrian Steel. "I, uh... what do you want it reforged into?"

She thought about that for a moment. She could ask for another dagger. It wouldn't match the other, but what did it matter? It was simple and practical and deadly. It was Northern, she realised. But she wasn't only a Mormont. She was a Martell now, too. Her mother had been the cousin of the Red Viper himself, a shining symbol of Dornish pride.

She bit down on her lip at the idea of the dagger being reformed. It was more than just a dagger. It was the Wall and every experience she'd had there. It was the mercy she'd shown to Arryk the day they met. It was her child, her adolescence, and one of the few things that had remained ever-consistent as her entire world had shifted under her feet... It was Jeor.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat. So is the other one. She reminded herself. And it was high time she embraced Dorne if she had any hope of ruling it. "A spear." She told him.

Gendry nodded with a small, excited grin. "One Valyrian Steel spear, coming up... I hope."

She laughed. "Me too."

°

Though Winterfell was rebuilding after the damage inflicted during the Great War, things were looking a little bit more bleak for all of the armies currently residing there. Proof of that sat before them two days later as they stood around the war table. Half the Northmen were now gone, as well as the Knights of the Vale, the Unsullied, and Dothraki.