They did what they could to counter the new threat that was upon them. They sent the small Seaworth fleet to scout the coastline, hoping to at least be warned when the Dornish ships returned to attack. They moved troops from the Northern border, where they had been stationed to guard against attacks from the king to the southern coast where Dornish ships were expected to land.

But this left them open to attacks from the capital instead. If the king found out about their child he could come for them at any time.

The world closed in on them. Threats came at them from all directions. Life became stressful and hard to handle.

The night after the news of the Dornish threat arrived was the first time a new dream haunted Meera. Then it came back every night afterward.

The dream was always the same. So vivid. So real. So terrifying.

A few weeks later she was once again stuck in that dream. Unable to flee from it.

She held her child in her arms and Bran stood in front of her. Or not Bran, the King. She could see in his eyes that he was not Bran. The king didn't move, he just stood there. Behind him was a flock of ravens, so many that the sky turned dark. Then he raised his hand to command the birds to attack Meera and her child. She had nothing to defend herself and the child with. But just as the birds were upon them Jojen stepped in. With a sword in his hand, her brother chased the oncoming threat away.

But the sword wasn't a sword. She saw that for the first time now. It had a hilt like a sword but the edge of it wasn't metal. It was weirwood. A pale branch of weirwood with red leaves was what Jojen used to defeat the ravens.

And that's when she woke up. Drenched in sweat.

"The same dream?" her husband asked as he leaned and moved some tangled strands of hair from her face. She must have woken him up from twisting in her sleep or perhaps kicking him.

She nodded and reached down towards her belly. The small bump, that grew right under her belly button, reassured her. The child was still there. Still inside of her. The king couldn't get to it.

"It must mean something," she said. "Just like Jojen's dreams."

Gendry nodded but appeared too sleepy to try to interpret the dream.

As he laid down on the bed again Meera pondered the dream. Maybe it wasn't symbolic, but literal. Maybe it was that simple. Maybe all she needed was a blacksmith.

"Can you forge a sword out of weirwood?" she asked her almost asleep husband, the only lord in the kingdom who also knew how to forge a sword.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he replied with his face in the pillow. "Wood burns."

"I know that, dear husband," she said and poked him teasingly in the side. "But can you try anyway? Weirwood is different than other wood. Perhaps it will act differently. Maybe that's what the dream is telling me."

"I can try," he said, probably just wanting to shut her up so he could go back to sleep. "I'll have Mychal help me. He's more skilled than me these days anyway."

When they got back to Storm's End from the Neck Meera had planted the branches of weirwood she brought in the courtyard. Every day since she had gone by and watered and cared for them. The plants hadn't turned into a godswood yet, but they appeared to have rooted since Meera had seen some new leaves sprouting at the ends of the branches.

One day her new home would have a godswood. One day her children would play there. And their children.

***

The next morning Gendry went down to the forge and put Mychal to work. The other blacksmith shook his head when introduced to the idea of forging weirwood. But he went along with it anyway. Lord Baratheon was after all the one who paid his salary. So if he wanted to waste Mychal's time on futile efforts it was on him.

Meera had carefully cut off some branches from the budding weirwood plants that morning. These branches were now presented to Mychal.

"I don't think you can make a sword out of this," he said skeptically, looking at the short and thin branches.

"Perhaps a dagger then," Gendry replied with a smile. Although he was just as skeptical as Mychal.

"I doubt you can forge anything out of weirwood. So not much use planning what to make of it."

"Just give it a try. For my wife's sake."

"I will. Because I know a thing or two about the requests women make when they're with child..."

They had announced the pregnancy to everyone at the castle a few days earlier since it was getting difficult to keep it a secret. Everyone had also been told that this news should not travel outside the walls of the castle.

Mychal put some wood in the furnace and got to work. As they waited for the furnace to heat the two men sat down on a workbench together.

"I heard your child was born while I was away," Gendry said.

Mychal nodded. "A boy," he said.

"What did you name him?"

Mychal put his hand on Gendry's shoulder. "You didn't hear?" he asked. "I named him after you. His name is Gendry."

Gendry looked astounded at Mychal. "Why?" he asked. The thought of children being named after him felt preposterous.

"You know why," Mychal said. "You saved me, my wife, and my child. You're a good man. Who hasn't forgotten who you were before. That you were just like me."

"I'm still just like you. A title doesn't change anything."

"You're not like me. But as long as you think you are you will remain a good and humble man."

Gendry nodded, he wasn't going to dispute that. Perhaps he was a bit different than he had once been. He certainly had more responsibilities.

He didn't feel like being a lord had truly changed him. But he suspected something else that would happen soon would.

"By the way, I fixed the lock on your door while you were away," Mychal said. "No one else seemed to bother with it so I took it upon myself. There wasn't much smithing to do anyway. I figured a married couple needs a lock on their door, so they can make children in peace. Although I guess you've already done that part..."

"Thank you," Gendry replied. "I had forgotten about that myself... I always have so much else on my mind these days."

"I figured as much. It must be a lot with everything that is going on."

"There is," he said. "I thought being a bastard blacksmith was hard... being a lord is harder. Just in a different way. I don't have to fight to survive myself every day now, instead, I have to fight so everyone else survives."

"And soon you'll have a child to fight for too. Let me tell you, that changes everything. No matter if you're a lord of a blacksmith."

A child that was of his blood. And Meera's. It was hard for him to grasp still. He probably wouldn't fully comprehend it until the child was born.

"What does it feel like?" Gendry asked. "To hold your child for the first time."

"Best feeling in the world," Mychal said. "Suddenly everything else but that child feels unimportant. You yourself become unimportant. The rest of the world becomes unimportant. Unless it threatens your child. Then you will do whatever is in your power to take it down."

Gendry nodded and looked down at the ground. There was already a threat to his child. And he would do whatever was in his power to take it down.

The question was just if he had enough power.

Mychal went over to the furnace and poked the coals. It appeared to be hot enough. So he put one of the weirwood branches into the heat.

"Let's see what happens," he said.

Nothing happened at first. No fizzle or burn. Mychal sat back on the bench while they waited for whatever would happen. If something would happen.

"We're leaving Storm's End," Mychal suddenly said. "Me and my wife. We're going back to the capital."

"Why?" Gendry asked. "It's not safe there."

"I got a letter from a friend who went back. Stannis read it to me. My friend wrote that my mother and sister have returned. We were separated from them when the city burned. I thought they died, but now they're back. I have to go see them. I have to let them meet my son."

"You can bring them here."

Mychal shook his head. "My mother would never agree to that. The capital is her home. And they will need me there. We all lived together before the city burned. My mother makes some money as a seamstress but it's not enough for them. My sister had a child, a bastard son just like you and me, who she has to care for. So she can't work much. But a blacksmith makes enough to support all of them."

Gendry put his hand on Mychal's shoulder, he knew he couldn't make him stay. "Just know that if you ever need something, you can come here," he said.

"I know. That's why I named my son after you."

As smoke started to pour out of the furnace Mychal jumped down from the bench and used a pair of tongs to remove the branch from the fire. It was black and sooty but hadn't full burnt. He put it on the bench. A loud clonk was heard as he dropped it.

Gendry looked over in surprise and walked up to the bench. So he took a hammer and poked the branch lightly. It was hard. Like metal.

Mychal appeared confused as well. He picked up a pair of tongs and used them to turn the branch over and look at it from different angles. It looked the same everywhere.

"I believe you might be able to forge that into something," Gendry said.

Mychal nodded. "It appears like it," he said. "I will give it a try."

***

A few days later Gendry and Meera said goodbye to Mychal, Lilya, and their baby son Gendry in the courtyard of Storm's End.

As he embraced Mychal a hug the other man put something in his hand. "There's your dagger, " Mychal said. "Your wife was right. It was possible."

Gendry looked at the weapon. It was small and light. But still appeared very sharp and durable. The handle was carved so it looked like leaves and the white blade shone in the sunlight. The work of a skilled blacksmith. A last gift from a friend.

He handed the dagger to his wife, who looked at it in amazement. "It looks just like the sword in the dream," Meera said. "But smaller."

A dagger out of weirwood. A weapon to defeat evil. A dream that would come true.

"So what do we with it now," Gendry asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "But I think we'll need it one day. Thank you, Mychal."

"I only did what your husband told me," the blacksmith said. "He's the one who pays me, after all..."

"Thank you, my friend," Gendry said. "I hope I'll see you again someday."

"I hope so too," Mychal replied. "Perhaps when all this is over you will come to the capital."

The capital was where they would meet again. In a moment of despair, Mychal would be there. He would open the door to let hope in once again.

Author's Note: I hope you remember Mychal. I know he's not like a huge character and his main purpose is really to serve as a mirror of who Gendry used to be.  But he will appear one more time, and that time will be important.