Arya felt lighter. She felt warm and whole and comfortable in a way that she hadn't experienced since before her father's death.

Not that she had ever forgotten, but Arya had been once again reminded why Jon had long been her favorite sibling. No matter the distance between them, or the time spent apart, he always understood her, even the darkest, most sinister parts.

She and Jon had talked until the sun got low and Jon had to be at dinner. He was still the face of Winterfell and he wouldn't leave his queen to the wolves.

That had been an unexpected surprise – the soft look in Jon's eye as he spoke about the Dragon Queen. He, of course, had adamantly refuted that anything was going on between them when Arya asked, but she knew him better. And, while she had yet to come to a conclusion on the alignment of Daenerys Targaryen, Arya couldn't help but be thankful that she had made her brother happy.

It would be a shame if Arya had to kill her after all of this was over.

But the Dragon Queen wasn't Jon's first love – he would move on if need be. Arya wished that she had gotten a chance to know Ygritte. Jon spoke of her wistfully, if briefly. The pain on his face allowed Arya to gather what had happened, even if he hadn't been able to tell Arya himself.

Arya had laughed, loose and carefree as her brother regaled her with stories of how she and Ygritte would have gotten along. A free woman, that was what Jon had said. Even as a prisoner, a free woman.

Jon, of course, had trouble understanding. He was clueless, and she had told him as much. He had just laughed, informing Arya that Ygritte had said something similar.

Now, as she wandered the grounds of Winterfell, snow chilling her face, Arya couldn't help but question the last time she had been free. For so long, she had been bound by desire for revenge. Every move she had made for the past few years was to avenge her family. Going to Braavos to get the training she needed to hurt those who had hurt her, leaving Braavos to finally cross names off of her list. Until she returned to Winterfell, she hadn't acted freely since she allowed the Hound to live.

She had begun to lose herself long before she became No One.

As she often did, Arya soon found herself staring into the blank, stony eyes of her father. The statue itself was wrong – it was at the same time too pretty and too stern. It held none of the kindness of her father, and none of the grit. It was a mere shadow of the man he had been.

And yet it was better than nothing, which was what Robb had gotten.

Robb Stark, the forgotten King of the North. The Young Wolf. The King Who Lost the North. It had taken all the restraint Arya possessed to not kill the man she had heard say that.

All of the atrocities she had seen, and Robb still stung the most. Robb had been so much like her father, bound by honor and justice. He was so quintessentially good. And it had gotten him killed. Why had Arya, who had done monstrous things, survived, while her parents, and Robb, and Rickon had died?

Arya still awoke from visions of Grey Wind on Robb's body. It was a sight that would haunt her until the day she died. However soon that may be.

Robb Stark deserved more than just a disgraced name and no statue. Robb felt so unfinished, with his foreign wife and unborn babe.

He had been a good King. A worthy King. Someone that people had been proud to fight for, just like Jon after him.

Arya blinked twice, stepping away from her father's statue. She left the crypts hastily, a destination in mind. When she hit the cool air of the courtyard, she realized that she had been wandering longer than she had thought – it had reached the small hours of the morning.

But she saw a light through the window, and banging in the quiet night, so she continued on. Snowflakes landed in her eyelashes and wet her hair, but she paid it no mind.

Gendry was seated in the forge, back to the door. He had a hammer in his hand, not the gaudy, Warhammer that she had seen him wield initially. This time it was a blacksmith's hammer, and he was working at the dark metal of the dragon glass shipment.

Arya waited a moment, grounding herself, as she took in the sight of him.

"Why Jon?"

Arya knew he heard her. His shoulders tensed, and the hammer faltered in midair. He seemed to take a deep breath before turning towards her.

His face was covered in soot and grime, and he looked unspeakably tired as he took her in.

"What?" he finally said, after a minute of silence.

"You heard me, Gendry," his name felt foreign in her mouth. "Why Jon?"

He rolled his shoulders. "Would you rather I make swords for Cersei," Gendry cracked a crooked smile, "or the Night King?"

She said nothing, only waited.

He deflated slightly. "I needed to help. I couldn't sit at my forge, pretending there wasn't a war around me anymore."

Arya still didn't say anything, just looked away from him. She turned to the swords that lined the walls, fraught for a distraction.

"Arya, what do you want me to say? I came to help! I needed to help. I was tired of not doing anything." Desperation colored her voice, but she didn't care. "Arya—"

"Why Jon and not Robb?" she spun to Gendry as she spoke.

Arya saw him pale behind the soot on his face.

"Arya—" he tried again, softer, but she cut him off.

"Why? I'm serious Gendry, why? I am glad you're working for Jon, that you are finally doing something for someone other than yourself, but why not Robb. His cause was just as noble as Jon's. You could have helped just as much with Robb. But you chose not to. You chose to leave, to run away. So why Jon?"

Gendry sighed, slouching down on one the stools that lined the forge.

"It wasn't Jon over Robb, you have to know that Arya." He gestured to a seat near him, but Arya remained where she was. "It wasn't even really about Jon, if I'm being honest. It was about me finally doing something other than hitting metal. And I was doing it for the Lannisters. The family that killed my father. That killed your father. I was going mad. But there was nothing I could do, so when Davos found me, it was finally the chance to do something. And I couldn't let anymore –" he trailed off, picking up a dagger from the table and examining it.

"What? You couldn't let anyone what, Gendry?" he didn't say anything. "You don't get to go silent now. You don't get to disappear for fucking years and then just not explain why you suddenly decide –"

He threw the dagger down, so it stuck point down in the table. "I couldn't let anyone else die, Arya! I thought I killed you. And now I see these things you do and I can't help but –"

"Stop." Her voice was quiet, but he stopped speaking abruptly. She knew she must be a sight to behold. Cold flooded her veins.

"You left Gendry. You left me. And yes, the Red Woman took you, and I will kill her for that, but you left me. You were leaving either way, with or without the Red Woman. You don't get to judge what I did after you left me. I survived. I did what I had to, alone. I watched as the Freys and Lannisters paraded my brother's dead body around with his wolf's head sewn on. I was stabbed. I was blinded. And I have killed. But I survived. And everything that happened after the Twins? I'd do it again. I'd become what I am now, again. Despite getting stabbed and blinded and every other shit thing I have faced, because I killed the Freys for what they did to Robb. I killed Meryn Trant for killing my friend. I killed Littlefinger for getting my father murdered. And I will kill The Mountain for Harrenhal. AndI will kill Cersei Lannister for my father. And I will do it with a smile on my face because they deserve it. And you get absolutely no say in it, because you left, and because I am grown. I might be young, but I have seen more than men four times my age. So you don't get to judge my choices."

If Gendry was the fire of the forge when he spoke, Arya was the icy wind and snow that howled outside. And, right now, there was more reason to be scared of winds of the North than the fire of the South.

Gendry had stood at some point while Arya had spoken, her voice quiet but laced with venom, her words sharp as the blades she wore.

He was staring at her. Arya's face was blank, but her eyes were vicious. Gendry opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

She didn't know why she was still there. She didn't know what she expected Gendry to say. But she wanted him to say something. She wanted to not feel like this, like she was exposed, vulnerable. She didn't want to feel anything.

Arya closed her eyes for a moment, and when they opened again, they were void of any emotion.

"Goodbye, Gendry. I'll see you on the battlefield." Arya sharply turned, and left the forge.

The chill of winter felt rejuvenating as Arya stepped into the cold. But her mind was blank. She felt drained, empty, wrung out. She felt tired. She felt young and so very old.

She crossed the courtyard as she heard a crash behind her. From the forge, she could hear Gendry curse, but she didn't look back. She tuned out any noise besides the roar of the wind. She didn't falter. She kept walking, not heading in any particular direction, just away.

Her breathing had become steady again when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Without thinking, Arya pulled her dagger out and had it at the person's neck.

She wasn't surprised that it was Gendry. He immediately held his hands up, showing he meant no harm. Arya noted his palm was bleeding. While holding a dagger to him had felt immensely satisfying, she still dropped her hand, returning the dagger to the sheath. Without a word, Arya turned around, and made to leave again.

"Milady is a reminder for me!" Gendry called after her.

At his words, Arya stopped, confused. Of all the things she had thought he might say, she hadn't expected an explanation for her least favorite nickname. She hadn't even thought there was an explanation, beyond him liking to needle her. Curious, despite herself, Arya pivoted back towards him. "What?"

Gendry released a breath, seemingly glad he had her attention. He crossed to her, until he was about two feet away. "'Milady' was a reminder for me. It was a reminder that you were a highborn lady, and I was a bastard blacksmith. And that ladies and blacksmith's don't get to be friends, or have any sort of relationship."

"Gendry, are you daft? I told you I couldn't care less about that?" Arya felt her eyebrows knit in confusion.

He smiled at the involuntary movement. "I know that, Arya, but the world does care. Your brother would have cared. And I cared. I was young, and far more immature than you, and I cared, and I was scared. And I couldn't go with you because I thought I knew what would have happened. You wouldn't have meant to, but life would have gotten away. And I would have ended up alone, again. At least with the Brotherhood I wouldn't have had to be alone."

Gendry to another step towards her, and Arya fought the overwhelming urge to run away. She wanted to look away from him, but she refused to give him the upper hand, so she kept eye contact, not even blinking.

"As for judging you, Arya, I wasn't. I wouldn't. I just –" Gendry huffed, seemingly at a loss for words.

The anger that had been so vast before had dwindled significantly, so Arya allowed him the time to think of what he wanted to say. She wanted to know what he had to say.

Arya palmed Needle as waited, the familiar steel calming her, the hilt perfectly fitting her hand, until Gendry spoke again.

"I would have followed you to the ends of the world, you know? If life was different, and we were different people. I would have followed you to The Twins, and to Braavos, and to killing the Freys. And I knew that I would, which is why I couldn't. You were the one who saved my life, time and time again. And I would never judge you for what you did to survive. I am eternally grateful that you survived, no matter the circumstances. I couldn't care less about who you've become, because I am on your side first, Arya Stark. Not Jon Snow's, not Daenerys Targaryen's, not the Brotherhood's, yours. I'm upset that you had to do all of it alone. Even when I thought you had died at the Twins, I wished I could have been there. I never wanted you to be alone, Arya. Do you understand?"

And she did, at least theoretically. She could understand how someone could care that much. She cared that much about her family. But she had a hard time coming to terms with someone caring that much about her.

But this was Gendry. She had never understood how he had left her after all they had been through. So Arya nodded, still mute. Too overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions, some she hadn't experienced in years, that washed over her.

Gendry smiled, a full, breathtaking smile that she had only seen a handful of times before.

"Good," he said, relaxing, "because good luck getting rid of me this time. I know you have people to kill, and I'm not going to get in the way of that. But I'm not leaving again. I'll hold your extra weapons as you go and kill Cersei, but I will be there."

Embarrassingly, this was when tears pricked her eyes.

Gendry, uncharacteristically observant, noticed. He began to move towards Arya, arms opening it was likely to be a hug, when he paused. But, when Arya did nothing to stop him, he continued, wrapping her in his arms. Arya didn't sob, she didn't make noise, she just allowed the tears to fall silently and cleanly, as she slowly snaked her arms around Gendry in return.

They stayed like that for a few moments, standing alone in the snow as the world slept around them. Eventually, they pulled their heads away from each other, bodies still pressed to one another.

And Arya had no idea what to do next.

Thankfully, Gendry did. He stepped away, but grabbed Arya's hand, with his own, hissing as he put pressure on the cut.

"What happened?" Arya asked, finally finding her voice again.

"I may have, in my haste to catch up with you, grabbed the wrong side of a sword that was in my way." Gendry sounded sheepish.

Arya smacked his arm, "Well, that was stupid, Stupid!"

"Yea well, you call me that for a reason. Come on, lets go back to the forge, I'm freezing my balls off out here." Arya finally noticed his lack of quote, and the shivers that ran through his body.

She smiled, "what? This? This is nothing! This is merely a flurry!" She laughed.

"Yea, well you might be a wolf of Winterfell, but I am a Southern bull, so let's go." Gendry grinned at her, as he led her back to the forge with his good hand.

"Is that really why you call me milady?" Arya asked, a joking lilt laced with genuine curiosity in her voice.

"Yes," Gendry answered. "Well," he relented, at the sharp look from Arya, "mostly. It didn't hurt that you hated it."

"Ass," Arya said, hitting him again.

"Yea, you missed it." Gendry grinned cheekily, leading her to a seat once they entered the smithy.

"Yea, well, I can be a bit stupid, too." She smiled back. Then, with a start, she remembered, "Oh! I didn't tell you! I saw Hot Pie!"

"You could've led with that! Where?" Gendry perked up at the news.

"At the inn, right where we left him. Nothing had changed."

But it had. Everything had changed. But Arya was starting to be okay with that.