it is fun in a slow motion car crash way to watch cersei gleefully help the high sparrow set a trap for herself and then also step right into that trap but it’s exactly the same as theon getting reeked in that ultimately they don’t deserve what comes next, no one and nothing in the world deserves what comes next. and the so called “punishment” is so divorced from what they actually did wrong, that of course neither of them “learns a lesson” from it. theon’s torture is about like class + societal breakdown + hostage feudal system stuff, and he doesn’t actually start dwelling on, ya kno, the people he murdered and raped, until well after the physical torture has stopped. and similarly, cersei’s walk of shame is about like class + patriarchy + societal breakdown, and while it certainly beats her down for a while, all it ultimately does is remind her that she doesn’t get the dignity of death if she loses, she gets humiliated, so next time she takes her shot she has to make sure she doesn’t miss.

and you know what. she will not!!

Slipping Through My Fingers - Epilogue

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter 

warnings: none 

an: i can’t - just enjoy, ok? 

Two Years Later

All was quiet. Peaceful, warm. 

And she couldn’t stop staring, down at the precious, precious bundle in her arms. A wee little baby who had only known the world for two short days and already yearned towards the sky, her chubby hands grasping at the strands of light that danced through the window. 

Elide gently rocked the babe, humming an old Blackbeak folk tune her mother used to soothe her as a child. 

Stella blinked her slender eyes - having inherited her mother’s monolid shape - up at Elide and cocked her head to the side, settling down as Elide continued her song. 

“Oh, you like that one, do you?” Elide asked, smiling gently as she leaned down to kiss Stella’s brow. “You know, little one, my mama used to sing that to me when I was as itty bitty as you.” 

She heard the door to her hospital room open and knew, by the sound of his Chucks scuffing across the floor, that it was her husband. Elide turned away from the window and smiled at Lorcan, whose face remained neutral, but he could never hide the look in his eyes from her. “Well, hi there.” 

Elide smiled as he walked closer to her, “Hi to you, too.” 

He turned his dark gaze from hers to the child in her arms and with a little maneuvering, Lorcan managed to get Elide back in the hospital bed and pluck his daughter from her. She gently eased back onto the mattress, hissing slightly at the discomfort, but the sight of Lorcan so enamoured by their daughter had any pain slip sliding away. 

There was only one thing missing from this moment. “L, did you call Mia and Fen?” 

“Yeah, they’re on their way. Should be here in–” he was interrupted by a knock on the door and smiled, “I guess now.” He crossed over to her and passed Stella back to her, leaning down once Elide was comfortably cradling the babe and pressing his lips to hers for a brief moment. 

Lorcan opened the door and Elide craned to the side to see Nehemia and Kohana standing there. The seven-year old’s eyes found her and he pushed his father out of the way, racing over to her. “Hi, mom.” 

Her heart clenched and it was hard to breathe every time he called her that, never mind that he’d been using it for a year now - ever since he’d let it slip one late night, barely awake as Elide put him to bed and dutifully let Tigger pass her to curl up in his human’s arms. 

“Hi, baby,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek, still round and soft, “how was Mi-Mi and Fen’s?” 

“Fine,” he said flippantly, all too distracted by Stella Luna. “Is that my sister?” 

“It is indeed,” Elide replied, tilting the bundle so Ko could see her more clearly. 

“She’s so little.” 

“She’s a newborn, my love, that’s how big they are.” 

“Oh. Isn’t it dangerous if they’re so tiny? They could get squished, I think,” he told her, finally looking up with his big brown eyes. 

Lorcan laughed quietly as he shut the door and walked over to the bed, scooping their son up and carefully setting him down beside Elide. 

Kohana instinctively nestled against her, looking down at Stella. “Hi, Stella Luna.” The baby silently opened her eyes, her brilliant amber gaze staring right back at her brother. “I’m Kohana, but you can call me Ko or something else. I’m your big brother, ok? So I’m gonna protect you. We’re Ozuye, we’re warriors, you know. I’ll be there for you until you’re big and strong and then I’ll still be there, ‘cause we’re gonna be really good friends.” 

Stella gurgled quietly, still staring up at Ko like she knew what he was saying. “One day, I’m gonna teach you how to speak like us, but mom’s still learning and,” he dropped his voice to a quiet whisper, “she’s not very good yet.” 

Elide chuckled tearfully and looked up at Lorcan, who was discreetly wiping his eyes. He winked at her and mouthed Hormones.

That had her rolling her eyes and turning back to their children just in time to see Kohana pull something out of his hoodie. “This is Robert. He’s a hippo-po, see? He’s my favourite stuffy and he makes me feel loads better when I’m sad, but since I’m a big kid now, you get him, ok?” 

Stella looked at him seriously, as if she understood what Kohana was telling her and Elide didn’t doubt it for a second. Elide helped Ko open the swaddle slightly and put Robert down beside her. “There,” he said, leaning down to kiss Stella’s cheek. “He’ll take care of you.” 

Elide smiled and leaned down, kissing the top of Kohana’s head, “Thank you, baby.” 

“Mom, can I hold her?” Kohana asked, looking up at Elide, who nodded and helped him get situated, keeping her hands under Ko’s as Lorcan shifted the baby until Ko was holding her properly. 

“You’re doing so good,” she whispered to Ko, who smiled happily and started speaking in Lorcan’s native tongue to Stella. 

She only caught bits of it and her heart cracked in two when he said, “I have a different mama than you, but we have the same mom. It doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m still your big brother, even if we don’t always look the same.” 

Elide flicked her eyes to Lorcan, who was staring at their kids with an emotion she couldn’t name, but one she fully understood. He glanced up at her and reached out his hand, taking hers and squeezing once. I love you, he mouthed, something in his eyes flickering with joy when her smile echoed the statement. 

They stayed in their little bubble, one perfect little moment, until someone knocked on the door and opened it. It was Yrene, “Hey, guys. I need to take Stella Luna for some tests, is that alright?” 

Elide nodded, “Of course. Ko, sweetheart, can you say bye to Stella? She has to go for now.” 

Kohana’s eyes widened into near perfect circles, “Go? Why? Why does she have to go? She just got here.” 

Elide stifled her laugh and smiled, “The doctors need to make sure everything’s all good with her, alright?” 

Yrene wore a warm smile as she walked in and carefully took Stella from Kohana, “Wow, you’re a great baby holder, Kohana.” 

He wore a worried frown and held his hands out in case Yrene dropped Stella, “Be careful. She’s really little.” 

“I will be. Do you want to come with me? You can make sure nobody hurts your sister.” 

Kohana looked up at Lorcan and Elide for permission and they both nodded, letting him climb off the bed and take Yrene’s hand, walking out with her. After the door clicked shut, Elide patted the mattress beside her, “Come.” 

Lorcan huffed a laugh and did as she said, stretching his legs out and sitting still as Elide shifted until she was happy, her leg half hitched over his hip and one arm stretched across his waist. Elide pressed her face into his side, sighing once and settling down to sleep. 

She said something muffled and he didn’t quite catch it. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Lorcan murmured, “What was that, E?” 

“I said, thank you,” she whispered, tilting her head back to look up at him. 

“What for?” 

“Everything.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: and we’re done! im very emotional and im so happy that you guys loved this dumb lil story as much as me 🥺 and im so excited to show yall some lil tings i got in the works 👀 

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe​ @schmlip-scribble e​ @the-regal-warrior​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @rhysands-highlady​ @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​ @flora-and-fae​ @thesirenwashere​ @queenofxhearts​ @maastrash h​ @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @superspiritfestival @empress-ofbloodshed @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books @beccasophia95 @exersize-me-i-dare-u @thewayshedreamed @hizqueen4life @ifinallygavein @bat-wing-rhys @awkward-avocado-s @b00kworm @mu-si-ca-l @lovemollywho @tacmc @soitsgorgeous @staarligght @starrynightsbooks @keshavomit

Arya and Gendry hints from the books...

Ok, I should had written about them to be honest, but life got it in the way. So, for you, lets go. I have to admit that once I reread Arya’s chapters last year, her relationship with Gendry was absolutely delicious to read. There is a lot of foreshadowing for this couple, I am not sure if they will end up together … One of the first foreshadows happens pretty much in the first book, there is always references of hammers and blacksmiths on Arya storyline, its actually pretty funny.

She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands." When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed."Arya has the hands of a blacksmith."

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Arya has the hand of a blacksmith!!!!! This is pretty good.

“Is that why you killed all the Starks?”

“Not all,” said Jaime. “Lord Eddard’s daughters live. One has just been wed. The other…” Brienne, where are you? Have you found her? “…if the gods are good, she’ll forget she was a Stark. **She’ll wed some burly blacksmith** or fat-faced innkeep, fill his house with children, and never need to fear that some knight might come along to smash their heads against a wall.”

- Jaime, ADWD

Again, thats pretty on the nose.

Their friendship begins because Gendry takes her side when everyone else is either ignoring her or bullying/attacking her. And later on they become pretty much inseparable, they even share their food with each other.

“Leave him be,” said the boy with the shaggy black hair who rode behind them. Lommy had named him the Bull, on account of this horned helm he had that he polished all the time but never wore. Lommy didn’t dare mock the Bull. He was older, and big for his age, with a broad chest and strong-looking arms…

The Bull shouted, “Behind you,” and Arya spun. Hot Pie was on his knees, his fist closing around a big jagged rock…

Lommy Greenhands wasn’t even hurt, yet he stayed as far away from Arya as he could get. “Every time you look at him, he twitches,” the Bull told her as she walked beside his donkey.

Arya, A CLASH OF KINGS

Once they are together, Arya is always trying to be in the company of Gendry, she still doesn’t understand why she wants his company all the time, but she does…. And she is clearly attracted to him, but  since she is still so young, she again, doesn’t really understand why....

"She climbed to the roof and peeked down. Gendry was beating out a breastplate. When he worked, nothing existed for him but metal, bellows, fire. The hammer was like part of his arm. **She watched the play of muscles in his chest and listened to the steel music he made. He’s strong, she thought.”**

Gednry also, thinks Arya is beautiful and is also, always by her side. BTW, this is by far one of my favorite chapters in the books. Gendry loves being a smith and when he finds out there is a smithy close to the inn they are staying he invites Arya to go see it with him. She is the only one he shares any personal information or secret.

"Arya?" Gendry had followed her out. "Lady Smallwood said there's a smithy. Want to have a look?"

"If you want." She had nothing else to do.

In this conversation Gendry is sharing how he was going to make his first sword. He telling something to Arya that he propably told no one else. He is playfull with her, pinches her face, calls her pretty. He is soooo smitten with her, ughhh, my fucking heart

"He won't remember me, but he used to come to our forge." The Smallwood forge had not been used in some time, though the smith had hung his tools neatly on the wall. Gendry lit a candle and set it on the anvil while he took down a pair of tongs. "My master always scolded him about his flaming swords. It was no way to treat good steel, he'd say, but this Thoros never used good steel. He'd just dip some cheap sword in wildfire and set it alight. It was only an alchemist's trick, my master said, but it scared the horses and some of the greener knights."

She screwed up her face, trying to remember if her father had ever talked about Thoros. "He isn't very priestly, is he?"

"No," Gendry admitted. "Master Mott said Thoros could outdrink even King Robert. They were pease in a pod, he told me, both gluttons and sots."

"You shouldn't call the king a sot." Maybe King Robert had drunk a lot, but he'd been her father's friend.

"I was talking about Thoros." Gendry reached out with the tongs as if to pinch her face, but Arya swatted them away. "He liked feasts and tourneys, that was why King Robert was so fond of him. And this Thoros was brave. When the walls of Pyke crashed down, he was the first through the breach. He fought with one of his flaming swords, setting ironmen afire with every slash."

"I wish I had a flaming sword." Arya could think of lots of people she'd like to set on fire.

"It's only a trick, I told you. The wildfire ruins the steel. My master sold Thoros a new sword after every tourney. Every time they would have a fight about the price." Gendry hung the tongs back up and took down the heavy hammer. "Master Mott said it was time I made my first longsword. He gave me a sweet piece of steel, and I knew just how I wanted to shape the blade. Only Yoren came, and took me away for the Night's Watch."

“You can still make swords if you want,” said Arya. “You can make them for my brother Robb when we get to Riverrun.”

“Riverrun.”** Gendry put the hammer down and looked at her. “You look different now. Like a proper little girl.” “I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”

Part of the reason Gendry doesn’t like the idea to go to Riverrun and serve Robb Stark  is because once he does that, their magical moments together will be gone. You see it, as long as they stay hidden on the roads of Westeros together, there is a tiny part of Gendry that can dream of being with Arya, they are just  dirty kids running away from the Lannisters together; once they are reunited with King Robb and Lady Stark, Arya, of course will retake  her position of a high born Lady and he will be just a bastard boy serving House Stark. Sometimes reality is just too painful.

“Nice, though. A nice oak tree.” He stepped closer, and sniffed at her. “You even smell nice for a change.”

“You don’t. You stink.” Arya shoved him back against the anvil and made to run, but Gendry caught her arm. She stuck a foot between his legs and tripped him, but he yanked her down with him, and they rolled across the floor of the smithy. He was very strong, but she was quicker. Every time he tried to hold her still she wriggled free and punched him. Gendry only laughed at the blows, which made her mad. He finally caught both her wrists in one hand and started to tickle her with the other, so Arya slammed her knee between his legs, and wrenched free. Both of them were covered in dirt, and one sleeve was tom. on her stupid acorn dress. “I bet I don’t look so nice now,” she shouted.

Gendry is always described as a serious and grumpy boy, the only momments he seems relaxed and happy is when he is with Arya. Look at the way he talks to Arya about his art of making swords, he was sharing a very special thought with her and he will do this with only her. He is falling for her, but she is a Highborn Lady and he is a bastard and he knows what this means.

Tom was singing when they returned to the hall.

My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down,

I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown.

For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord.

I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.

Pay attention to those lyrics, “I will dress you in yellow silk”.. yellow is the colour of House Baratheon … and on your head a crown… you all know that Arya is going to be a queen, you have been warned by me, lol. “For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.” This is a love declaration…

Harwin took one look at them and burst out laughing, and Anguy smiled one of his stupid freckly smiles and said, “Are we certain this one is a highborn lady?” But Lem Lemoncloak gave Gendry a clout alongside the head. “You want to fight, fight with me! She’s a girl, and half your age! You keep your hands off o’ her, you hear me?” “I started it” said Arya. “Gendry was just talking.” “Leave the boy, Lem,” said Harwin. “Arya did start it, I have no doubt. She was much the same at Winterfell.”

Tom winked at her as he sang:

And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree.

She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me.

I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass,

But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.

In the second verse of the song, the lady accepts the love of the Lord, but refuses his proposal “She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me.” But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.

I think that George was trying to tells us, that even tho Arya desires love, she may not desire marriage. Her hungry for independence may be stronger. I hope I am wrong, I would like to see them getting married.

Gendry was actually very jealous of Arya friendship with Ned Dayne.

Poor Ned seemed to grow more miserable with every mile. “When I wear my helm, the rain beats against the steel and gives me headaches,” he complained. “But when I take it off, my hair gets soaked and sticks to my face and in my mouth.”

“You have a knife,” Gendry suggested. “If your hair annoys you so much, shave your bloody head.”

He doesn’t like Ned. The squire seemed nice enough to Arya; maybe a little shy, but good- natured…

“You have a House?” That was stupid; he was a squire, of course he had a House. “Who are you?”

“My lady?” Ned looked embarrassed. “I’m Edric Dayne, the… the Lord of Starfall.”

Behind them, Gendry groaned. “Lords and ladies,” he proclaimed in a disgusted tone. Arya plucked a withered crabapple off a passing branch and whipped it at him, bouncing it off his thick bull head. “Ow,” he said. “That hurt.” He felt the skin above his eye. “What kind of lady throws crabapples at people?”

“The bad kind,” said Arya, suddenly contrite. She turned back to Ned. “I’m sorry I didn’t know who you were. My lord” …

Just like Arya is also very much jealous of Bella:

Then maybe I’ll go find that black-haired girl and ring her bell for her.”

“But…”

“I said, go away. M’lady.”

Arya whirled and left him there. A stupid bullheaded bastard boy, that’s all he is. He could ring all the bells he wanted, it was nothing to her.

BTW, just like in the tv show Gendry decided to join Jon Snow and serve him, I believe the same will happen in the books. The last time Gendry and Arys talked in the books Arya was mad at him because he decided to join the brotherhood and not go to Riverrun to serve Rob.

I think Gendry regrets this decision and wishes to make it right with Arya, not to mention, Jon will be the last chance he will have to reconnect with Arya. I have no doubt they will reunite in the books too.

There is so much more about them in the books, this is just a tiny piece. I can easily say they are one of my favorite couples of this story. I love, love love them and will write more about them for sure. I hope Gendry survives season 8, his death would break my heart!!!

BTW - Imiss writing metas and I miss tumblr, life has been crazy these past months, but I will be here for sure for season 8!!!

All things Gendrya - ASOS part IV

Run, she thought, run for Riverrun, run for home. Had she lost them? She took one quick look, and there was Harwin six yards back and gaining. No, she thought, no, he can’t, not him, it isn’t fair. Both horses were lathered and flagging by the time he came up beside her, reached over, and grabbed her bridle. Arya was breathing hard herself then. She knew the fight was done. “You ride like a northman, milady,” Harwin said when he’d drawn them to a halt. “Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna. But my father was master of horse, remember.” The look she gave him was full of hurt. “I thought you were my father’s man.” “Lord Eddard’s dead, milady. I belong to the lightning lord now, and to my brothers.” That he was not Robb’s man, she understood well enough. I was a wolf, she thought, but now I’m just some stupid little lady again. “Will you ride back peaceful now,” Harwin asked her, “or must I tie you up and throw you across your horse?” “I’ll ride peaceful,” she said sullenly. For now. The next night they found shelter beneath the scorched shell of a sept, in a burned village called Sallydance. Only shards remained of its windows of leaded glass, and the aged septon whogreeted them said the looters had even made off with the Mother’s costly robes, the Crone’s gilded lantern, and the silver crown the Father had worn. “They hacked the Maiden’s breasts off too, though those were only wood,” he told them. “And the eyes, the eyes were jet and lapis and mother-of-pearl, they pried them out with their knives. May the Mother have mercy on them all.” “Whose work was this?” said Lem Lemoncloak. “Mummers?” “No,” the old man said. “Northmen, they were. Savages who worship trees. They wanted the Kingslayer, they said.” Arya heard him, and chewed her lip. She could feel Gendry looking at her. It made her angry and ashamed. The next day they rode to a place called High Heart, a hill so lofty that from atop it Arya felt as though she could see half the world. Around its brow stood a ring of huge pale stumps, all that remained of a circle of once-mighty weirwoods. Arya and Gendry walked around the hill to count them. There were thirty-one, some so wide that she could have used them for a bed.

***ACORN HALL***

It was a long day’s ride, but as dusk was settling they forded a brook and came up on Acorn Hall, with its stone curtain walls and great oaken keep. Lady Smallwood welcomed the outlaws kindly enough, though she gave them a tongue lashing for dragging a young girl through the war. Arya promptly found herself marched upstairs, forced into a tub, and doused with scalding hot water. Lady Smallwood’s maidservants scrubbed her so hard it felt like they were flaying her themselves. They even dumped in some stinkysweet stuff that smelled like flowers. And afterward, they insisted she dress herself in girl’s things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem. Supper was being served in the hall by the time Arya was all washed and combed and dressed. Gendry took one look and laughed so hard that wine came out his nose, until Harwin gave him a thwack alongside his ear. The outlaws were adamant. “Go on with you, skinny squirrel,” said Greenbeard. “Be a good little lady and go play in the yard while we talk, now.” Arya stalked away angry, and would have slammed the door if it hadn’t been so heavy. “Arya?” Gendry had followed her out. “Lady Smallwood said there’s a smithy. Want to have a look?” “If you want.” She had nothing else to do. “This Thoros,” Gendry said as they walked past the kennels, “is he the same Thoros who lived in the castle at King’s Landing? A red priest, fat, with a shaved head?” “I think so.” Arya had never spoken to Thoros at King’s Landing that she could recall, but she knew who he was. He and Jalabhar Xho had been the most colorful figures at Robert’s court, and Thoros was a great friend of the king as well. “He won’t remember me, but he used to come to our forge.” The Smallwood forge had not been used in some time, though the smith had hung his tools neatly on the wall. Gendry lit a candle and set it on the anvil while he took down a pair of tongs. “My master always scolded him about his flaming swords. It was no way to treat good steel, he’d say, but this Thoros never used good steel. He’d just dip some cheap sword in wildfire and set it alight. It was only an alchemist’s trick, my master said, but it scared the horses and some of the greener knights.” She screwed up her face, trying to remember if her father had ever talked about Thoros. “He isn’t very priestly, is he?” “No,” Gendry admitted. “Master Mott said Thoros could outdrink even King Robert. They were pease in a pod, he told me, both gluttons and sots.” “You shouldn’t call the king a sot.” Maybe King Robert had drunk a lot, but he’d been her father’s friend. “I was talking about Thoros.” Gendry reached out with the tongs as if to pinch her face, but Arya swatted them away. “He liked feasts and tourneys, that was why King Robert was so fond of him. And this Thoros was brave. When the walls of Pyke crashed down, he was the first through the breach. He fought with one of his flaming swords, setting ironmen afire with every slash.” “I wish I had a flaming sword.” Arya could think of lots of people she’d like to set on fire. “It’s only a trick, I told you. The wildfire ruins the steel. My master sold Thoros a new sword after every tourney. Every time they would have a fight about the price.” Gendry hung the tongs back up and took down the heavy hammer. “Master Mott said it was time I made my first longsword. He gave me a sweet piece of steel, and I knew just how I wanted to shape the blade. Only Yoren came, and took me away for the Night’s Watch.” “You can still make swords if you want,” said Arya. “You can make them for my brother Robb when we get to Riverrun.” “Riverrun.” Gendry put the hammer down and looked at her. “You look different now. Like a proper little girl.” “I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.” “Nice, though. A nice oak tree.” He stepped closer, and sniffed at her. “You even smell nice for a change.” “You don’t. You stink.” Arya shoved him back against the anvil and made to run, but Gendry caught her arm. She stuck a foot between his legs and tripped him, but he yanked her down with him, and they rolled across the floor of the smithy. He was very strong, but she was quicker. Every time he tried to hold her still she wriggled free and punched him. Gendry only laughed at the blows, which made her mad. He finally caught both her wrists in one hand and started to tickle her with the other, so Arya slammed her knee between his legs, and wrenched free. Both of them were covered in dirt, and one sleeve was torn on her stupid acorn dress. “I bet I don’t look so nice now,” she shouted. Tom was singing when they returned to the hall. My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down, I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown. For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword. Harwin took one look at them and burst out laughing, and Anguy smiled one of his stupid freckly smiles and said, “Are we certain this one is a highborn lady?” But Lem Lemoncloak gave Gendry a clout alongside the head. “You want to fight, fight with me! She’s a girl, and half your age! You keep your hands off o’ her, you hear me?” “I started it” said Arya. “Gendry was just talking.” “Leave the boy, Lem,” said Harwin. “Arya did start it, I have no doubt. She was much the same at Winterfell.”

Tom winked at her as he sang: And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree. She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me. I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass, But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass. “I have no gowns of leaves,” said Lady Smallwood with a small fond smile, “but Carellen left some other dresses that might serve. Come, child, let us go upstairs and see what we can find.” So the next morning as they broke their fast, Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, belt, and tunic to wear, and a brown doeskin jerkin dotted with iron studs.“I’m sorry, my lady.” Arya suddenly felt bad for her, and ashamed. “I’m sorry I tore the acorn dress too. It was pretty.” “Yes, child. And so are you. Be brave.”

Tyrion

Motionless as a gargoyle, Tyrion Lannister hunched on one knee atop a merlon. Beyond the Mud Gate and the desolation that had once been the fishmarket and wharves, the river itself seemed to have taken fire. Half of Stannis's fleet was ablaze, along with most of Joffrey's. The kiss of wildfire turned proud ships into funeral pyres and men into living torches. The air was full of smoke and arrows and screams.

Downstream, commoners and highborn captains alike could see the hot green death swirling toward their rafts and carracks and ferries, borne on the current of the Blackwater. The long white oars of the Myrish galleys flashed like the legs of maddened centipedes as they fought to come about, but it was no good. The centipedes had no place to run.

A dozen great fires raged under the city walls, where casks of burning pitch had exploded, but the wildfire reduced them to no more than candles in a burning house, their orange and scarlet pennons fluttering insignificantly against the jade holocaust. The low clouds caught the color of the burning river and roofed the sky in shades of shifting green, eerily beautiful. A terrible beauty. Like dragonfire. Tyrion wondered if Aegon the Conqueror had felt like this as he flew above his Field of Fire.

The furnace wind lifted his crimson cloak and beat at his bare face, yet he could not turn away. He was dimly aware of the gold cloaks cheering from the hoardings. He had no voice to join them. It was a half victory. It will not be enough.

He saw another of the hulks he'd stuffed full of King Aerys's fickle fruits engulfed by the hungry flames. A fountain of burning jade rose from the river the blast so bright he had to shield his eyes. Plumes of fire thirty and forty feet high danced upon the waters, crackling and hissing. For a few moments they washed out the screams. There were hundreds in the water, drowning or burning or doing a little of both.

Do you hear them shrieking, Stannis? Do you see them burning? This is your work as much as mine. Somewhere in that seething mass of men south of the Blackwater, Stannis was watching too, Tyrion knew. He'd never had his brother Robert's thirst for battle. He would command from the rear, from the reserve, much as Lord Tywin Lannister was wont to do. Like as not, he was sitting a warhorse right now, clad in bright armor, his crown upon his head. A crown of red gold, Varys says, its points fashioned in the shapes of flames.

"My ships." Joffrey's voice cracked as he shouted up from the wallwalk, where he huddled with his guards behind the ramparts. The golden circlet of kingship adorned his battle helm. "My Kingslander's burning, Queen Cersei, Loyal Man. Look, that's Seaflower, there." He pointed with his new sword, out to where the green flames were licking at Seaflower's golden hull and creeping up her oars. Her captain had turned her upriver, but not quickly enough to evade the wildfire.

She was doomed, Tyrion knew. There was no other way. If we had not come forth to meet them, Stannis would have sensed the trap. An arrow could be aimed, and a spear, even the stone from a catapult, but wildfire had a will of its own. Once loosed, it was beyond the control of mere men. "It could not be helped," he told his nephew. "Our fleet was doomed in any case."

Even from atop the merlon—he had been too short to see over the ramparts, so he'd had them boost him up—the flames and smoke and chaos of battle made it impossible for Tyrion to see what was happening downriver under the castle, but he had seen it a thousand times in his mind's eye. Bronn would have whipped the oxen into motion the moment Stannis's flagship passed under the Red Keep; the chain was ponderous heavy, and the great winches turned but slowly, creaking and rumbling. The whole of the usurper's fleet would have passed by the time the first glimmer of metal could be seen beneath the water. The links would emerge dripping wet, some glistening with mud, link by link by link, until the whole great chain stretched taut. King Stannis had rowed his fleet up the Blackwater, but he would not row out again.

Even so, some were getting away. A river's current was a tricky thing, and the wildfire was not spreading as evenly as he had hoped. The main channel was all aflame, but a good many of the Myrmen had made for the south bank and looked to escape unscathed, and at least eight ships had landed under the city walls. Landed or wrecked, but it comes to the same thing, they've put men ashore. Worse, a good part of the south wing of the enemy's first two battle lines had been well upstream of the inferno when the hulks went up. Stannis would be left with thirty or forty galleys, at a guess; more than enough to bring his whole host across, once they had regained their courage.

That might take a bit of time; even the bravest would be dismayed after watching a thousand or so of his fellows consumed by wildfire. Hallyne said that sometimes the substance burned so hot that flesh melted like tallow. Yet even so . . .

Tyrion had no illusions where his own men were concerned. If the battle looks to be going sour they'll break, and they'll break bad, Jacelyn Bywater had warned him, so the only way to win was to make certain the battle stayed sweet, start to finish.

He could see dark shapes moving through the charred ruins of the riverfront wharfs. Time for another sortie, he thought. Men were never so vulnerable as when they first staggered ashore. He must not give the foe time to form up on the north bank.

He scrambled down off the merlon. "Tell Lord Jacelyn we've got enemy on the riverfront," he said to one of the runners Bywater had assigned him. To another he said, "Bring my compliments to Ser Arneld and ask him to swing the Whores thirty degrees west." The angle would allow them to throw farther, if not as far out into the water.

"Mother promised I could have the Whores," Joffrey said. Tyrion was annoyed to see that the king had lifted the visor of his helm again. Doubtless the boy was cooking inside all that heavy steel . . . but the last thing he needed was some stray arrow punching through his nephew's eye.

He clanged the visor shut. "Keep that closed, Your Grace; your sweet person is precious to us all." And you don't want to spoil that pretty face, either. "The Whores are yours." It was as good a time as any; flinging more firepots down onto burning ships seemed pointless. Joff had the Antler Men trussed up naked in the square below, antlers nailed to their heads. When they'd been brought before the Iron Throne for justice, he had promised to send them to Stannis. A man was not as heavy as a boulder or a cask of burning pitch, and could be thrown a deal farther. Some of the gold cloaks had been wagering on whether the traitors would fly all the way across the Blackwater. "Be quick about it, Your Grace," he told Joffrey. "We'll want the trebuchets throwing stones again soon enough. Even wildfire does not burn forever."

Joffrey hurried off happy, escorted by Ser Meryn, but Tyrion caught Ser Osmund by the wrist before he could follow. "Whatever happens, keep him safe and keep him there, is that understood?"

"As you command." Ser Osmund smiled amiably.

Tyrion had warned Trant and Kettleblack what would happen to them should any harm come to the king. And Joffrey had a dozen veteran gold cloaks waiting at the foot of the steps. I'm protecting your wretched bastard as well as I can, Cersei, he thought bitterly. See you do the same for Alayaya.

No sooner was Joff off than a runner came panting up the steps. "My lord, hurry!" He threw himself to one knee. "They've landed men on the tourney grounds, hundreds! They're bringing a ram up to the King's Gate."

Tyrion cursed and made for the steps with a rolling waddle. Podrick Payne waited below with their horses. They galloped off down River Row, Pod and Ser Mandon Moore coming hard behind him. The shuttered houses were steeped in green shadow, but there was no traffic to get in their way; Tyrion had commanded that the street be kept clear, so the defenders could move quickly from one gate to the next. Even so, by the time they reached the King's Gate, he could hear a booming crash of wood on wood that told him the battering ram had been brought into play. The groaning of the great hinges sounded like the moans of a dying giant. The gatehouse square was littered with the wounded, but he saw lines of horses as well, not all of them hurt, and sellswords and gold cloaks enough to form a strong column. "Form up," he shouted as he leapt to the ground. The gate moved under the impact of another blow. "Who commands here? You're going out."

"No." A shadow detached itself from the shadow of the wall, to become a tall man in dark grey armor. Sandor Clegane wrenched off his helm with both hands and let it fall to the ground. The steel was scorched and dented, the left ear of the snarling hound sheared off. A gash above one eye had sent a wash of blood down across the Hound's old burn scars, masking half his face.

"Yes." Tyrion faced him.

Clegane's breath came ragged. "Bugger that. And you."

A sellsword stepped up beside him. "We been out. Three times. Half our men are killed or hurt. Wildfire bursting all around us, horses screaming like men and men like horses—"

"Did you think we hired you to fight in a tourney? Shall I bring you a nice iced milk and a bowl of raspberries? No? Then get on your fucking horse. You too, dog."

The blood on Clegane's face glistened red, but his eyes showed white. He drew his longsword.

He is afraid, Tyrion realized, shocked. The Hound is frightened. He tried to explain their need. "They've taken a ram to the gate, you can hear them, we need to disperse them—"

"Open the gates. When they rush inside, surround them and kill them." The Hound thrust the point of his longsword into the ground and leaned upon the pommel, swaying. "I've lost half my men. Horse as well. I'm not taking more into that fire."

Ser Mandon Moore moved to Tyrion's side, immaculate in his enameled white plate. "The King's Hand commands you."

"Bugger the King's Hand." Where the Hound's face was not sticky with blood, it was pale as milk. "Someone bring me a drink." A gold cloak officer handed him a cup. Clegane took a swallow, spit it out, flung the cup away. "Water? Fuck your water. Bring me wine."

He is dead on his feet. Tyrion could see it now. The wound, the fire . . . he's done, I need to find someone else, but who? Ser Mandon? He looked at the men and knew it would not do. Clegane's fear had shaken them. Without a leader, they would refuse as well, and Ser Mandon . . . a dangerous man, Jaime said, yes, but not a man other men would follow.

In the distance Tyrion heard another great crash. Above the walls, the darkening sky was awash with sheets of green and orange light. How long could the gate hold?

This is madness, he thought, but sooner madness than defeat. Defeat is death and shame. "Very well, I'll lead the sortie."

If he thought that would shame the Hound back to valor, he was wrong. Clegane only laughed. "You?"

Tyrion could see the disbelief on their faces. "Me. Ser Mandon, you'll bear the king's banner. Pod, my helm." The boy ran to obey. The Hound leaned on that notched and blood-streaked sword and looked at him with those wide white eyes. Ser Mandon helped Tyrion mount up again. "Form up!" he shouted.

His big red stallion wore crinet and chamfron. Crimson silk draped his hindquarters, over a coat of mail. The high saddle was gilded. Podrik Payne handed up helm and shield, heavy oak emblazoned with a golden hand on red, surrounded by small golden lions. He walked his horse in a circle, looking at the little force of men. Only a handful had responded to his command, no more than twenty. They sat their horses with eyes as white as the Hound's. He looked contemptuously at the others, the knights and sellswords who had ridden with Clegane. "They say I'm half a man," he said. "What does that make the lot of you?"

That shamed them well enough. A knight mounted, helmetless, and rode to join the others. A pair of sellswords followed. Then more. The King's Gate shuddered again. In a few moments the size of Tyrion's command had doubled. He had them trapped. If I fight, they must do the same, or they are less than dwarfs.

"You won't hear me shout out Joffrey's name," he told them. "You won't hear me yell for Casterly Rock either. This is your city Stannis means to sack, and that's your gate he's bringing down. So come with me and kill the son of a bitch!" Tyrion unsheathed his axe, wheeled the stallion around, and trotted toward the sally port. He thought they were following, but never dared to look.