As you wish M'Lady- Gendrya

Brandon

Bran walked through the battle. Blood everywhere. Fire all around. The heat, so intense even Bran could feel it. He saw the dragon queen, and he saw the night king. And as he walked across the battlefield, he spotted Gendry. Swinging his hammer with barely a scratch on him, aside from a large burn on his shoulder. He left the scene and woke up, a cripple again.

Gendry was alive. But so was the night king. 

Arya was in the blacksmith's. She sat on her stone and wept as she stared at the anvil. It looked incomplete without Gendry.

"You like picking on the little ones do ya? You know I've been working on an anvil these past ten years? When I hit that steal it sings. You gonna sing when I hit you?" 

It really did sing. With every swing of the hammer, it would sing. And so would Gendry, sometimes. He'd sing to himself, so quietly that nobody could hear it. But Arya was so fixated on him, she could hear every word as clear as day. 

As she thought of him, she felt her eyes fill with tears. But, she took a deep breath in to stop herself. It didn't make sense why she stopped herself, but she did never the less. She looked at her home. It had never seemed so lifeless. She felt like she was in one of her dreams. The snow fell slowly, in a way that made it seem like everything was dead. Everything but her. 

She decided to go for a walk around the castle. She saw the holes in the wall from when she was learning to shoot. She saw the chips in the stone from when she tried to swing an axe. She ran her hand down the wooden post her father brought her to practise how to swing a sword. Or, her dancing, as her mother and sister thought. She saw the pictures she had calved into it years ago. Carvings of her and Nymeria. And a man. Tall and strong. And the rest of her family too. She ran her fingers over the markings of her father, Robb and Rickon. And then, her mother. She honestly didn't miss her mother as much as she should. But her father. His death left a hole in her heart that even Gendry couldn't heal. And Robb, her older brother. She never the same bond with him that she had with Jon or Bran. But then again, they were always the outcasts. Bran was one of the youngest, and he cared more about climbing than fighting. And then when he became a cripple, he lost everything he'd ever wanted. And Jon was a bastard. The bastard that even her mother hated. And Rickon. He was always the happy one. So innocent. She'd have loved to kill Ramsay for what he did to her family. She took Gendry's dagger from her boot and carved a new picture next to the man. A hammer. And then, she drew a little girl. She'd become more skilled with a knife over the years, and so her carvings were more clear now. But still, she knew what the pictures were. 

She left the hall and burst into the room of people. Sansa, Jon, Tyrion, Davos. Everyone with any importance.

"You aren't leading. Non of you! You're hiding in the castle because you're afraid, when we could be doing more useful things. Training some of the women to defend themselves. Making weapons for if the dead reach winterfell, or supplies for the men out there, fighting for us. If non of you are going to take the reigns and lead what's left of our people, I will. And I won't do it from up here." Everyone was looking at her in shock, "Is anyone going to move their arse and protect our people, or shall I?" nothing, "Fucking cowards. When you all grow a pair of balls, feel free to join your people. This isn't about kings and queens. This isn't about whats fucking proper. This is about the real world. And how to save it. Surely you must know that there's no plan that will help in this war! We just have to do whatever we can to survive!"

"I'm with you, Arya," Sansa whispered. Everyone else, including Jon, were speechless.

"If I were you, I wouldn't wear a dress. I'm teaching you how to fight too,"