Her gaze did not flinch. But her fingers did; again; still. Sansa tipped her chin and asked the barest question she could muster: "Yet where would I be without you?"

Dead, a hundred times upon the road. Disavowed of knights. Ignorant of smiths. A puppet within her own city, and swayed by the very Minister he but alluded to. She had family aplenty, but for honest and natural reasons none had been there to intercede -- and although she was certain they would have done so, it was Ser Gendry who had.

Then again! Without him, she would not have been forced into other pains and sores. Without him, she would never have learned of the Mother Merciless. The memory still tore.