Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or any of its characters.

Note: Last chapter! And wow, this one was a lot easier to write. Thanks for all the support! Glad that so many people have enjoyed reading this story.

Twelve years. Twelve long, dark years. Some days, Gendry had despaired. Some days he had thought he would never live to see another summer or that, perhaps, the winter would never end at all. That it would consume everything until there was no more food. No more life.

Nothing.

And Winterfell had suffered more than he had ever thought it would. Newborn children had died; frozen in their mother's arms. Toddlers had caught their deaths as the chill worked into their bones and attacked their lungs. The elderly had suffered, too, and with the passage of time, petered out altogether. It had become clear, too, that women were preventing pregnancy; holding off for warmer days when there babies would have a greater chance of life.

Occasionally a raven would arrive with news, but when it did he rarely heard what words it had brought. Most of the time, there was no word at all. Ravens weren't immune to cold, either.

Life had become nothing more than survival. Living on scraps of food, struggling to make a living. Even his apprentice had died of some winter-related sickness, wasting away to the sobs of his inconsolable mother.

And of Arya, there was nothing.

Nothing.

White Walkers stalked through the frozen landscape, slaughtering any not safe behind walls of stone or unguarded by direwolves. And those who fell rose again as dead men. Dead but living. Killers. Puppets. Mindless soldiers who felt the bite of winter no longer. And when the White Walkers came, the thick drifts of snow shifted from enemy to friend, slowing their movements.

And, in the dark, the flames of funeral pyres blazed. Those men, women and children would never rise again. They were the lucky ones.

The first sign that winter was on its way out was a gentle glow on the horizon – where the sun had once risen proudly up to light the day. It was there for only half of an hour, a strange sort of twilight, full of promise and hope. And every day since, that fragile light had come and gone; each time a little longer than the last.

Over the coming weeks, the snows began to thin and the world awakened slowly from its slumber. The people stirred into activity, the eyes in their hollow faces coming to life again.

They had made it. They had lived. The worst had come and gone.

"It were the dragons that did it." He heard the traders murmur. "I hear them Targaryens are back. They came and chased off the winter."

"With the winter gone, war will come again. You mark my words. Those dragons will want their throne back."

Gendry had never seen dragons, though.

The rumours soon died when the Lord of Winterfell stepped into the courtyard, Grey Wind with him. The winter had made them leaner and harder and the direwolf had a hungry, savage look about him. No one could say that Lord Stark had sat in warmth and luxury whilst his people had suffered. If it were not for the wolf at his side he could have walked amongst them unnoticed.

Gendry, preferring not to be seen, ducked his head and moved on, listening to Robb Stark's voice fading out behind him. If war did come again, he'd soon find his days forging weapons and armour. He'd need another apprentice before too long. One to replace that poor dead boy who had shown such promise. But he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Winter, at last, was coming to an end and Gendry was three-and-thirty.

But still, there was no more news of Arya.

He was hammering steel when he heard the ruckus outside; though at first he paid it no mind. With the snows melting and the roads becoming easier to traverse, there had been people arriving every day to trade or reunite themselves with family.

It was only when a young knight - wearing Frey colours - appeared to request a new shoe for his horse that he realised just how clear the roads were becoming.

"You come all the way from the Twins, ser?"

"We have."

"Good to know the roads are becoming usable again. What brings you this far north?" Perhaps he might find some way to make the journey down to Arya. Surprise her with a visit instead of the other way around. There were other smiths who could craft in his stead. For a time, anyway.

"We accompany the Lady Arya."

Gendry hoped he kept the shock from his face, trying desperately to seem unfazed. But despite his casual smile, inside he was shaking and nervous and afraid. At last, he said: "it has been a long winter. Come to see her family, I suppose?"

"That's right."

"How long do you plan to stay?"

"A while, I should think."

Gendry wondered how long that would be. Wondered whether he and Arya would be allowed to talk freely now that so much time had passed. Her mother was no longer in the best of health. Surely she would not be so intent on making sure her daughter kept her distance from him.

Surely…

Determined to find out, he pulled on his coat and stepped out into the cold courtyard—and almost straight into the path of a young boy tearing his way past the forge.

"Woah, careful there, what's the hurry?"

The boy – who had quickly regained his balance – span to face the blacksmith; chirping a cheeky apology. He had a mop of scruffy, dark hair that tussled down into lively blue eyes.

"The knights are going to train," he explained. "I'm going to train, too."

"A little small to be a knight, aren't you?"

He straightened, looking comically offended. "I'm one-and-ten."

"Almost a man grown, then," Gendry replied, smiling with amusement.

"I have a sword, too," the boy retorted. "And I know how to use it."

Gendry's eyes flicked to the slender sword at his hip and the smile dropped off of his face. "Who gave you that sword?"

"My mother."

He knew the answer before the boy had spoken but hearing the words still twisted pain into his heart. This boy…this boy with his dark hair and blue eyes…

"A strange gift for a mother to give to her child."

"You don't know my mother," the boy replied with a proud grin.

"Oh, he does."

She had slipped up beside them so quietly that – until that moment – neither had noticed her approach.

At the sound of her voice, Gendry jolted upright, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

At nine-and-twenty, Arya had become a striking woman to behold. She may have been shorter than average, but her lean body hinted at a predatory strength. Her long face, with its strong jaw, was more handsome than pretty, but her hair was a little longer than the last time he had seen her. Her eyes – normally bold and fierce – seemed softer. Apologetic, perhaps. Or nervous.

He could guess at the reason why.

The boy…the boy was…

"He's the stubborn bull I was telling you about, Benjen," Arya continued.

The boy blinked up at him with those frighteningly familiar eyes. "You helped mother get home during the war?"

"Well…she didn't give me much say in the matter."

The boy grinned knowingly and Arya ruffled his hair.

"I thought you were off to watch the knights?" she said.

"I am."

"Well, off you go then. Later, you can show me what you learned."

The child bobbed his head enthusiastically and raced off, disappearing amongst the crowds.

For a moment the pair looked on in silence.

Arya was the first to break it.

"I'm sorry." Her voice sounded small, almost frightened. "I'm sorry."

"He's mine, isn't he?" This wasn't how he had pictured their reunion playing out. His hands clenched at his sides and she touched his arm; cautious.

"Yes."

"Did you plan for this to happen?" He felt his throat tighten with pain and her grip on his arm constricted.

"No. I would never do that. Gendry, you have to believe me." She sucked in a sharp breath. "I thought I was the one who couldn't have children. It's always the woman's fault, isn't it? Well, this time it wasn't. This time it was a man who failed to be a husband. Not a woman who had failed to be a wife."

"And no one knows?" he asked, grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face him. "Arya. Does anyone know?"

"Of course not," she bristled. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"She'll know. Your mother will see him and she'll know."

"And what will she do? Risk her daughter and grandchild by coming out with the truth? My mother would never do that."

He fought for a response, hating the silence hanging between them and the sudden churning of emotions in his head. And, after a long time, the only thing he could utter was: "I'm a father." But he wasn't, was he? He could never play any part in his son's life. Never be recognised as anything more than Arya's friend. He'd acted as an accidental surrogate, nothing more.

He looked up to meet her eyes and was startled to see that she was holding back tears. Startled to feel his own eyes burning.

"I didn't want you to find out like this."

But it would have hurt no matter how she had broken the news.

Later, in private, the pair of them shared a gentle embrace; almost consoling in nature. He kissed her brow, breathed in the scent of her hair, and wished that they never had to part again.

"There is so much to tell you," she had said when she had first arrived.

He had offered her a sad smile and said: "tell me about you. Tell me about Benjen."

And she had, with both joy and sadness in her voice. "I wanted to tell you. Send word. But I was afraid that someone might find out the truth. Afraid he would not last the winter. He came early and I was warned that he might not make it. But every day his health improved and one morning he looked up at me with his father's eyes and smiled. And he lived."

"Of course he did. He's got too much of you in him to just give up."

"The winter took grown men but it didn't take my son." And then she met his eyes and he drew back to see her better. "It even took my husband."

His eyes widened. Had he heard correctly? Arya was a widow?

"And before you ask. It wasn't me who did it."

Gendry smiled, despite how inappropriate it was to do so. "What does this mean for you?" For us?

"A Frey cousin has taken over my late husband's responsibilities until Benjen comes of age," she replied. "But there are no urgent matters calling me back. I intend to stay for as long as I can and I won't return until I have found Nymeria again."

"You think she still lives?" he asked, wondering how long a direwolf's lifespan was.

"She does."

He'd often wondered how she knew such things but had never felt able to ask. He didn't question it this time, either. He believed her.

"But when I do go back, I was wondering…would you like to come with me?"

His heart leapt. "Is that possible?"

She arched her brow at him. "Of course it is."

His expression must have still shown concern, because she leaned in and kissed him gently on the mouth. "We will find a way to make it work."

He believed her this time, too.

Fin!

Once again, thanks for all the support. Any other GoT fanfic I write will now be in the ASoIaF section as they'll likely contain spoilers from all books (which I have now read!).