Sansa hadn't been gone but five minutes when Ser Carrick breezed into Gendry's shop. Hearing the flap move, he looked up from where he was leaning against the work bench with his and gave the man a nod.

"Ser Carrick," Gendry said in the formal tone he tried to inflect whenever he spoke to someone in authority.

"Please," he said raising a gloved hand up. "Call me Dorian."

Gendry smiled slightly and nodded again. Her always appreciated when men in power asked him to forgo formalities. It usually meant they weren't above being kind to a lowborn worker.

"I have those repairs you wanted," Gendry pulled a large sword from its place on the wall. He held it out for Carrick's inspection.

Carrick reached out and took the hilt in his hand, turning his wrist slowly. Gendry watched as he lifted the steel in the air, the steel catching the light of the fire.

"Like it was never even broken," Carrick smiled. He sheathed the sword, and looked down amazed.

"Fit's like it never left," he turned back to look at Gendry. "Incredible work,"

Gendry smiled. "Thank you,"

Carrick considered the man in front of him for a moment longer, looking over his face like he was searching for something. A beat before it would have become inappropriate, Carrick looked around the shop.

"How long have you been in the North?" he asked, beginning to pace around, inspecting the other weapons. Gendry turned to watch him.

"King's Landing," he answered. "Flea Bottom."

Carrick clicked his tongue as he reached out to inspect something on the table closest to the door. "Rough place," he said, touching something gently with his fore finger. Gendry took a few steps closer to see what he was fiddling with a piece of a broken hammer.

"You don't look like a city boy," Carrick said, dropping the piece against the table. Gendry took in the man's profile. A once broken nose, receding hair line that fell to thin curls behind his ears, and freckles speared by age lines. Carrick's pale green eyes flicked up to him. "Would have thought you a Northerner. Or a Stormlander, more like."

Gendry shrugged.

"Your parents from there?"

Gendry shrugged again.
"Mum lived in Flea Bottom her whole life. Don't know who my dad is,"

Carrick nodded before looking back up to him.

"You like it here?"

"Sorry?" Gendry asked

"In the North," Carrick said with a small chuckle as if what he was saying was obvious, and swept his hand across as if trying to illustrate his point.

Gendry ground his teeth.

"Yeah, I suppose." He said. "I prefer the cold."

"You ever think of going back? I hear they have dragons now," Carrick smiled.

Gendry thought red hair spread on his pillow. The soft snores she made when she was asleep and he had woken up and just watched her. Her laugh.

"No," he shook his head. "I'm happy here."

Carrick nodded and went back to scoop his sword. After a pause he turned to look at Gendry.

"Can I ask your mother's name?"

Gendry's eyebrows shot up.

"Why? Do I resemble your younger brother?"

Carrick laughed. Gendry couldn't tell if it were sincere.

"I lived there as a boy, until I was 14." He said. "I may have known her."

Gendry felt his shoulders relax. He uncrossed his arms.

"Elinor," he said. "She worked at brothel and then at a bakery, after I was born."

Carrick nodded. "The name sounds familiar…I'll think on it." he held the sword up again. "Again, thank you for this. You're gifted," He pulled a small pouch of coin from his side and placed it on the table.

Gendry nodded.

"Of course," he said walking to open the oilcloth for his visitor. Carrick pushed past and gave Gendry another nod before turning to head to the barracks.

He let the flap shut behind him, and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the strange feeling the meeting had left on his skin. Trying to push the thoughts out of his head, he made for his work bench, picking up his hammer off the anvil.

Sansa sat in the library, looking over a spread on maps on her lap. She had gone through the raven's notes that Bran had been archiving for her ("Honestly Sansa, I've had to forge your responses to some of these. Where has your head been these past few months?") and pulled each one that mentioned a violent death. Carefully with a quill, she marked each x on the map with red ink. She had been working for only thirty minutes when Meera bounded up the stairs.

"Your Grace," she said, causing Sansa to jerk her head up from her study.

"Meera, I've told you to call me Sansa. You're on my council," she smiled. Meera nodded, and gave her a small smile. She reached out a piece of parchment sealed with a bright blue seal.

"Came for you just now," she said. Sansa motioned for her to sit after taking the rolled piece of paper from her hand. Meera's eyes traveled over the maps surrounding Sansa, who was sitting in a very unladylike cross legged position.

"What are these?"

"The attacks that have occurred in the past six months," Sansa said, picking at the seal. Carefully she unfurled the parchment and read over the script quickly. Sansa sighed and placed the parchment aside, returning to her list.

"Another invitation," she said, running her finger along one of the bright blue rivers of the map. "Edric is having his coronation."

"Oh," Meera said, as if she were trying to act impressed for the boy's sake. Sansa smiled to herself.

"I suppose they'll want me to go," she nodded to the doorway.

"Well, honestly…" Meera bit her lip. Sansa marked another x on the map.

"That's why they sent you to tell me," she said, looking for her next target. Sansa scratched another x before continuing. "That bright blue wax is from Bran's desk. I bought it for him on his last name day."

Meera took in a sharp inhale.
"I didn't want them to read it before you, honest, but then Bran started ranting about foreign policy-"

"It probably hasn't helped that I burnt an invitation from Jon Arryn a few weeks ago," she said dipping her quill in the ink pot. Of all the good, strong people who died during the war, and Sweet Robin, the sickly little bastard, survived.

"I suppose not…" Meera trailed off. Sansa reached for the invitation and handed it out to her Treasurer.

"Tell him I'll go," she didn't look up from her map.

"Truly?" Meera balked. She cleared her throat when she realized how improper she had sounded "Sorry, it's just that you- haven't really wanted to-"

"I know," Sansa smiled up at Meera. "It's about time, don't you think?"

Meera returned her smile and rolled the parchment back up. "I'll go let them know," she said, and trotted off to the door. When Sansa could no longer hear her footsteps, she marked another red 'x' over Storm's End.

After Carrick had gone, Gendry had a slow day. He had finished all of the repairs he was scheduled to return this week, and everything else wasn't due to be returned for another month. His commissions were already ahead of schedule. Gendry reflected on the fact that the months he had been avoiding Sansa were his most productive months.

Never fall into a woman's arms, boy. Nothing but trouble. The old drunk man who hung around his mother's shop used to tell no one in particular. They're the sweetest treasure at the beginning. Then they break your heart and leave you with pain. If you don't get it out one way, it'll come out another. He would always throw his head back and drink after that advice.

Looking over his past trysts, Gendry was grateful he was at least a productive when heartbroken. It could be worse.

And now he had the whole day to do anything. Stretching his arms up, he considered his options. The men he had befriended in his time at Winterfell were gone for the week, given leave to work on rebuilding the southern town's well. The stone had been knocked loose in the frenzy to fight the fire and had started to fall into itself in the weeks after. He had wanted to go, but something had kept him there.

That something was probably busy at work, as well. Gendry tapped his fingers along the work bench, thinking of the night before. He looked over at the pile of metal that the previous smith had left in his escape from the Stark armies. He went over and pulled the largest piece away from the wall, inspecting the shorter pieces below. Carefully he reached down and plucked a thin sheet from the pile. He held it up and traced a small circle with his finger. Nodding, he placed the piece under his arm and made for his drafting bench.

Sansa waited until after supper to sneak to the kitchens. She waved kindly at the women before ducking into the pantry, and pulling a bottle of wine from the top shelf. Before she left, she grabbed a small loaf of bread and hid her tokens under her cloak. She thanked the women again before dipping through the door. She had told Alyson she wouldn't need her for a second night in a row, and knew that people would begin to suspect it was for a reason beyond "giving the poor girl a break, I can brush my own hair".

Tugging the cloak around her tighter, she picked up her pace. She saw that the oilcloth had already been pulled down and the torch was out, but warm orange light shone through the bottom. She smirked and pushed the cloth back just in time to see Gendry standing in front of her.

"Oh," she said.

"I was just coming to look for you," he said. Sansa felt her cheeks warm.

"Can I come in?" she asked sweetly. He nodded.

"Of course,"

She moved past him and made for the door to his room. He stood watching her, perplexed, before following her in. When he pushed the door open, he saw that she had dropped her cloak on the floor and placed small loaf of bread on top of the rumpled fabric. She stood in a plain, white linen dress, and yanked the cork from the top of the wine with a satisfying pop.

"We're getting drunk," she told him, tossing the cork somewhere in the corner. She took a swig of wine and handed it to him.

"That's not going to get me drunk," he said, reaching out to take the bottle. He took a sip, keeping his eyes on her.

"Then we'll drink the spirits I saw in your trunk," she said, pointing over to a chest without looking where. She reached out for the wine bottle and took another drink.

"I thought it was so well hidden, too." Gendry took the bottle from her hand. He hadn't even opened the thing yet. It had been on Bess when she died. He turned his attention back to Sansa, who was waiting for him to take a drink.

"What are we getting drunk for?" he said, taking the hint and bringing the bottle to his lips.

"Because my sister is alive," Gendry choked on his sip. Sansa reach out and took the bottle, offering him a halfhearted pat on the arm as she took another, longer swig.

"W-What?" Gendry coughed into his fist. Sansa kept drinking.

She finally dropped the bottle, and handed it back to him, significantly lighter. He looked in and saw that the two of them (more her, he reasoned) had already drank 3 /4 of the bottle.

"She killed Mace Tyrell," Sansa explained. Gendry's eyebrows shot up. Sansa hiccupped and pulled a piece of parchment from her dress's pocket. She unfolded it and held it up, moving to stand beside him so he could look over it with her. It was a map, with small marks peppered across.

"This is where they found Mace Tyrell," she pointed to a small red 'x'. "He had his eyes missing. His cock was shoved in his mouth," Gendry felt a bit shocked by her crude language, but realized she had also just drank a good amount. He took another sip of the wine.

"They found a sword in his stomach. It was the small one that our brother," Sansa paused. Cousin? She shook her head. "-Jon, had made for her."

"Needle," Gendry said.

"Yeah!" Sansa squeaked a little more excitedly than she meant. Gods, that was strong wine.

"That's incredible," he said. Arya. The last time he saw his friend she was still small. If she could do this to someone…Gendry reminding himself not to call her "m'lady" even in jest when he saw her.

Sansa nodded enthusiastically returned her attention to the map. "The sword went missing later than night. And look," she coughed a bit before pulling the map more taut. "I went through every raven's message of the past five months. There's been attacks in all of these cities…" she drew a line from the south-western border of Highgarden to the tip of Storm's End. "I hadn't wanted to read these when they came," she explained "but apparently, of the twelve men who…" Sansa shook her head. "…of the twelve of them, 9 of them are dead. That leaves three more," she pulled a hand full of small notes from her pocket. Gendry wondered how much she could fit in there. Sansa held up three scraps of paper, sticking out between her fingers like claws.

"These three. Lord Evrett, Lord Obine, and Lord Trenton. I thought they had been put to the sword when the war ended, but their coin saved them. They abandoned their homes in Highgarden and…" she pulled her finger across the map. "One relocated to Casterly Rock. King Tyrion sent me a personal apology, claiming he was trying to find him."

"And you believe him?" Gendry asked. Sansa's eyes flicked up to him.

"I do," she says sincerely. She turned her attention back to the map. "Last Tyrion wrote, he believe he's somewhere along the shore. Cersei was a childhood friend, and her home is along the coast…" Gendry dropped his hand down and took Sansa's hand in his own, giving it a quick squeeze. He saw her smile before continuing on.

"That leaves Lord Obine and Lord Trenton. They relocated to the Stormlands just months ago, and found a place at Stannis Baratheon's court." She trailed her finger down towards Summerhall. "Obine has a cushy job in Summerhall, and Trenton found a place right on Stannis's council…" she dropped a finger on Storm's End. "She went there at first, but she missed them. Since Mace was found so close to the border, I think she's looping back for Edric's coronation."

"Where she can get all three at once," Gendry nodded.

"If not more," she folded up her map and put it in her pocket. She reached out and took the bottle. "I'm going to the coronation."

"Why?" he asked. "If they see you there, and she's caught, they'll declare war."

"They'd declare war if she was caught either way," she said. "Stannis is hungry for the North. His Lords ousted him from his throne in Storm's End as a political move to gain favor with Margery. But if they gain a territory, someone will have to be at Winterfell. If I go, I can distract Stannis. Discuss an engagement."

Gendry felt his fist clench.

"What if she doesn't come back?" he asked. "You go and nothing happens? You just have to see those men again."

Sansa nodded.

"It's a risk."

"And when Stannis figures out you won't marry? What then?"

"It is not an act of war for a woman to change her mind about the possibility," she said. "He'd have no support."

Gendry took the bottle from her after she took another swig. He brought it to his lips but felt it was empty with the exception of maybe a few drops. He stuck his tongue in the bottle neck to change them.

"You're really good with your tongue," she said out of nowhere. Gendry felt his cheeks flare. "Have I told you that?"

He dropped the bottle from his lips and made for his chest.

"I'm going to need more," he said, reaching in and plucking the bottle up. He twisted off the lid and took a swig.

"Not all of it!" she said hurrying over. "I haven't even gotten to the hard part yet!"
"Hmmpf- the hard part?" he swallowed.

Sansa sighed.

"I want to talk about it," she said, looking at her palms.

Gendry took a moment to comprehend what she said. He lifted the bottle up.

"Here," he said. She took the drink and took a small sip, immediately coughing and handing it back.

"I feel like I just swallowed dust," she coughed again. Gendry smiled and brought the bottle back up to his mouth.

Sansa regained composure and looked him expectantly as he took another sip and twirled the top back on.

"Alright," he said. He gestured to what he had come to consider 'their' place – right in front of the fire. He had found an old rug that morning under one of the chests and spread it out. He had imagined them sitting on it, Sansa laying back with her legs on his shoulders-

Gods, Gendry. What's wrong with you? She's about to talk about something terrible and you're thinking about-

"Gendry?" she asked. Her big eyes looked up at him expectantly.

Without thinking, he dropped his hand to his pocket, running his palm over the small, hard piece inside.

"Yes, love," he said sitting down and placing the bottle in between them. He took her hand. "I'm listening."