The wind rattled the worn tent fabric--supposedly yellow but turned the color of mud from time and weathering. The air was never still in the Stormlands. There was always another storm. Just as there always was another Baratheon with vengeance in his eyes marching through the lands.

The painted table in front of Gendry was filled with colorful tiles. Yellow for Baratheon. Gray for Stark. Red for Lannister. Blue for Arryn. Green for Redwyne. Orange for Marbrand. And so on. The board quickly became a pretty mosaic, painting a complicated picture of the war to come.

Gendry had stood by a war table before. As a confused newly minted lord, he'd watched the preparations for the final battle of King's Landing in the halls of Winterfell.

Every battle was always the final one. Until the next battle.

Now he wasn't confused, or new anymore. He was determined and scarred from battle. And he was accompanied by three men who could add the experience and knowledge he hadn't. Davos knew the strategy of war. Howland knew the ins and out of staging a rebellion. Bastian knew the men and the lands.

The yellow tiles clanked as he placed them on the board. One tile equaled a thousand men. So many lives reduced to a small wooden square. Lives of peasants forced to become fighters.

Davos sighed beside him. "If only we knew where the king's men are stationed. Then maybe we would have a chance. We could use our knowledge of these lands to our advantage." He shuffled a gray tile aimlessly across the board. "They could be anywhere. Bronzegate. The Kingswood. Wendwater. Blackwater Bay."

"Doesn't matter." Gendry kept fiddling with the yellow tiles. The six tiles were all he had. Six thousand men. Against who knew how many men the king commanded. Twenty or thirty thousand were the reports from the city. Although, presumably, the king wouldn't be stupid enough to march them all to the Stormlands. "No matter where they are. We'll fight them. We'll fight them with all we have." He rammed his hand in the table, making the tiles dance and mingle. Ever since Meera disappeared, the Baratheon fury seemed to burn in his veins.

"But we need to be smart, Lord Baratheon," Bastian interjected, fiddling with a pile of red tiles on the other side of the map. "Because you need to win this fight. Alone. After you get out of the Stormlands, there are more tiles to play with." His hand dangled over the blue, and green tiles. "Arryn. Redwyne-"

"Reed," Howland quickly added. "My crannogmen might not be many, but they're the fiercest fighters you've ever met."

Bastian nodded in agreeance, although a raised eyebrow betrayed that he perhaps were not as convinced of the crannogmen's fierceness as the lord of their swamp was. "Lannister," he continued and grabbed a pile of red tiles. There was a slight tremble in his voice as he said the name. Perhaps there was history there. Bastian had after all served as a page at the castle when it was under Lannister reign.

""Marbrand," Davos corrected. "The Lannisters are no longer in charge of the Westerlands, remember."

"That may be," Gendry said, reaching over the table for a red tile. He held the square up to the light. "But Tyrek Lannister is the only one who has answered my call so far. He may not be a lord Paramount anymore, but he still possesses some of the Lannister troops as well as the Tarly men of his wife's house. He promised me his loyalty long ago, as gratitude for letting him walk away from Storm's End unscathed. And I believe, that his support may be more important than the support of any other lord."

Davos gave Gendry a skeptical look.

"Tyrek will help us get the other support of the other lords." Gendry let the red tile wander across the board. "He gave up the Westerlands to his uncle, Lord Addam Marbrand, but the name Lannister still means something there. I believe that if he goes there, which he said he would, to ask for Lord Marbrand to join him in our cause, then his uncle and his men will follow him." Gendry shuffled a pile of orange tiles together with the red one.

"Then there's Lord Hobber Redwyne. He is married to Janei Lannister, Tyrek's cousin, and I believe she won't let him deny a request from House Lannister." A row of green tiles joined the already gathered ones. 

"And then there's Lord Arryn... and I think we all know--the whole fucking kingdom know by now--that there's no one in this world that's closer to Robin Arryn than Tyrek Lannister. Not even his own wife. If Tyrek asks, Robin will follow." The blue tiles were plentiful. As many as the tiles Gendry had already gathered from the other houses.

"If what you say is correct..." Davos surveyed the board. "Then we might have as many men as the king..." His gaze turned back to the yellow tiles in the Stormlands, which represented their current location and manpower. "But we still need to get out of the Stormlands."

Between the yellow tiles and all the other tiles that were possible to play, were a line of gray tiles. A line they didn't quite know where it was drawn.

"We will get out of the Stormlands," Gendry stated confidently. Because there was no other option. He had to believe in victory. He had to believe he could get Meera back. Otherwise, he could just lay down and die right here.

Once again, he peered over the map. The solution to victory had to be there. In his focused determination, he didn't notice anything else around him. Not the wind that flapped the tent. Not the whirl that swept across the floor. Not the reddish glow that followed along with it.

It appeared insignificant at first, just a few specks of dust finding their way inside on account of the stormy winds. But then, the dust grew into a vortex of leaves and dirt.

That's when Gendry saw the swirling entity out of the corner of his eyes. "What's..." he mumbled in confusion. "What's going on?"

The other men in the tent didn't reply, as they were too busy gaping in confusion. They all stared at the spectacle, amazed, confused, and unsure what to do.

Then the vortex started to take shape. It turned into a body. A boy with blonde hair and swampy green eyes.

Gendry recognized those eyes. His wife's eyes looked just the same. Like still water beneath hanging moss. But he didn't recognize the boy.

"Who are you?" Gendry called out, trying to channel the fury in his veins. He was not afraid of anything, because he could no longer allow himself to be.

That's when Howland sunk to his knees beside Gendry. In disbelief, he rubbed his eyes as he looked upon the boy, turned from leaves into flesh. "Jojen," he whispered. "How... "

Jojen. Meera had of course told Gendry about her brother. They had named their daughter after the late boy.

"Father," the boy replied. His gaze was unemotional and calm. Like he already knew what was coming. "I'm here. I'm real. But I don't have much time. I can't explain."

It didn't even seem like Howland heard the words. With the speed of a much younger man, he rose from the floor and walked up to his son to place a hand on a shoulder that he had believed was turned into dust long ago.

Gendry could see Howland's hand grasp firmly. The shoulder was real. It was of flesh and blood. Just like the rest of the boy.

"Jojen." Howland embraced Jojen--if that's who he was--tightly. His arms met on the back as he held the thin boy. "My son."

"Father," Jojen said, his voice now softer. Like he couldn't resist the emotional magnitude of the moment. "I've missed you too."

Gendry didn't know what to believe. Why was his missing wife's dead brother in his tent? That was a question he'd never thought he would have to ponder.

It seemed Jojen could sense his confusion. "Lord Baratheon?" He freed himself from his father's embrace to meet Gendry's eyes. Those eyes looked too much like Meera's to not be real, to not be Jojen. "I've never met you and you've never met me. But you love my sister and she loves you. Hopefully, that means we can trust each other."

Gendry nodded, because what else was there to do? The situation was too absurd to not go along with. "Meera," he asked. "Do you know where she is? Is she... safe?"

Just the thought of his wife not being safe made Gendry's stomach churn. He had to find her. He had to bring her home. No matter what it would take. No matter if it killed him.

"Meera's safe," Jojen replied.

A spark of relief ignited inside Gendry. Just knowing there was hope was enough. He didn't even care how Jojen could know this. He chose to believe it because he needed it to be true.

"Where is she?" he asked, mentally preparing to take his war hammer and march there tonight. Whatever stood in the way didn't matter.

"She's in the capital. I.. talked to her. I have abilities that let me do that. Let's just leave it at that. Because I can't stay for long, and I need to tell you something that I heard when I was there."

Already, Gendry could see Jojen starting to face. Eyes no longer dark like deep water but rather the waves of the shore.

"Speak." He said, wanting whatever intel he could gather from his wife's suddenly resurrected brother. He could evaluate the information later.

"Wendwater," Jojen said, his voice weak like the wind. "That's where the king's men are waiting. On the western side of the river."

Skin turned translucent and limbs disappeared. "I'll be back when I can," were the last words Jojen said before the spot where he had just stood was once again empty. Not even a footprint on the ground as proof of his presence.

The men in the room looked at each other, not sure if they should even believe what had just happened was real.

Howland bent down on the ground and picked up a leaf in the spot where his son had stood. A red leaf. Like Weirwood.

Davos broke the silence. "Do you believe him? Do you believe that was Jojen Reed? "

"That was my son," Howland replied before Gendry could speak. "I know my son, Lord Seaworth, just like you know yours."

"And do you believe what he said was true?" Bastian continued. "Because if it is... then we know what to prepare for."

Gendry nodded, his eyes once again surveying the board. "I do," he said and gathered the yellow tiles to shuffle them toward the bridge over the river Wendwater. It was only a day's march away. That's where the first battle of the rebellion would stand.

Author's Note: I have not abandoned this story. I promise. I will finish this (and I will try to not butcher the ending like the showrunners). Because I know how the ending of this story will look like and it's glorious.