⭒ TV Shows Directory ⭒ Books Directory ⭒ A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
⭒ House of the Dragon
GOT Masterlist | @thenoblehouseofdayne
Game Of Thrones Masterlist | @blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms
Game of Thrones - Recommendations | @taereaderwriter
GoT/HotD Masterlist | @entitled-fangirl
Masterlist | @jetblack4real
Masterlist | @fallatyourfeet
Rec list | @maryleclerc
asoiaf masterlist!! | @finchytv
𐙚 Robb Stark
NOTICE ME | @finchytv
you’re his mothers ward who won’t give him the time of day and he hates it.
GIVE ME MY WIFE BACK | @/finchytv
robbs family are obsessed with his wife to the point he can’t get a moment alone with her
OF ROSES AND WOLVES | @eviesaurusrex
After agreeing upon a marriage proposal, both Stark and Tyrell agree upon a meeting so Robb and his future wife can be properly introduced to one another.
"Lady Stark" | @/eviesaurusrex
The Lion and the Wolf | @iydiamartinx
In the cold of Winterfell, a southern princess learns that duty is not always a cage—and that sometimes, the heart’s desires align with the good of the realm.
Frey Girl | @axelsagewrites
When the war is done Robb can finally enjoy alone time with his queen
Dream, part 2 | @/axelsagewrites
Robb questions reader on the dream they had not relaising it had been about him.
Arranged | @/axelsagewrites
Goodnight Dear Husband | @/axelsagewrites
Snowfall | @little-spicy
an alliance of house Baratheon and house Stark was going to set place in Winterfell. Y/N Baratheon and Robb Stark were to be wed and be man and wife.
Entangled Fates | @luvinescent
The Targaryen name has brought nothing but misery to Y/N— her half-blood placing a curse upon her. She’s observed the toll her presence takes on the people she loves; no longer wanting to form a close tie with anyone. Nevertheless, her heart steered its own course. And it steered towards a certain man.
Mismatched Hearts, part 2 | @/luvinescent
Y/N and Robb have been friends since childhood; the two harboring feelings for one another without the others’ knowledge. When Robb’s mother makes the choice to meddle in his love life by constructing an engagement between the two—Robb is left with guilt at the belief that he has trapped her in an unwanted marriage with him because of his status. Neither one choosing to confess their feelings or address the situation; they do more harm than good towards their friendship and future marriage.
Give Them A Chance | @chloe-skywalker
Robb and Y/n don’t know that their fathers plan to betroth them. But Ned has a reason for not telling. Will his reason work?
For You | @/chloe-skywalker
Y/n’s uncle has been captured in the war between her blood family and her family by law. The one person that really cared about her growing up. Will her husband kill the one person closest to his wife?
everyone adores you (at least i do) | @raven-dor
in which robb stark and his new bride get aquainted
A change of sigil. | @entitled-fangirl
After wedding Robb Stark and becoming the Lady of Winterfell, the reader learns about the king’s death and the treason of Ned.
Duty Masterlist | @asongofmarvelanddc
Y/N Myrrton is set to marry the King in the North, Robb Stark. Unfortunately, they’re both in love with other people.
The Northern Heart, part 2 | @novaursa
Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.
dry hands | @talesof-old
make his queen smile | @daenysx
king robb and you have a night filled with your slow tears for him and his comfort.
And My King | @justauthoring
being a secret Lannister and wife would include | @witchthewriter
Betrayal | @fearlessmercenaryimagines-blog
Be With Me | @intoxicated-chan
When Robb over hears of your potential marriage, he cannot stand the idea of loosing you to some random lord.
𐙚 Jaime Lannister
Vows, part 2, part 3, part 4 | @reader-imagines-blog
Corruption of Innocence, Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 | @/justauthoring
The Capital was cruel. The people there even more so. If this arrangement truly was meant to follow through, Jaime knew you would be corrupted by Kings Landing. But staring at you now, with bright doe eyes and a soft smile on your lips as you engaged in a conversation with your brother, hushed so as not to be disrespectful, Jaime knew he would put all his focus and strength into making sure that never happened.
Our Cages | @/justauthoring
“That’s the difference between us. I’ve been in my cage for ten minutes. You’re been in your cage your entire life.”
You’ll Never Know | @/justauthoring
Fate sometimes just brings people together, time and time again.
Night | @hirethia
The Golden Oath | @/novaursa
The lion falls in love with the daughter of the Mad King, which starts a domino effect that eventually collapses the realm onto itself.
Remnants | @/novaursa
At Harrenhal, Jaime Lannister reunites with his lost love.
Golden | @kitkatkitzune
Children always like to mimic their parents.
i’m not made by design, part 2, part 3 | @ichorai
wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.
river of gold | @heavensfiction
the game of thrones wasn't just a fight between kings and aspiring lords. all of westeros was pulled into this sanguinary conquest in some way, and you came to learn sooner than later that you were no exception. and with a jest from the seven, all your paths led to jaime lannister, but surely you wouldn't associate yourself with a known oathbreaker...
𐙚 Gendry Waters
For A Moment | @justauthoring
Rough and Tough | @/justauthoring
Reunited | @thecometseries
Escapees | @wonwoosthetic
All That Rowing | @archieimagines
Imagine constantly making jokes about Gendry rowing to Kings Landing until he gets so angry he explodes and backs you against a wall.
What Happens on the Road | @beautifultypewriter
Reader finds themselves on the road with Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie. When Gendry gets injured, he’s only a little reluctant to let Reader help him.
I’ll Teach You | @/beautifultypewriter
It’s time for the first feast of Storm’s End since Gendry has become the Lord. All the preparations are running smoothly, except for one; Gendry doesn’t know how to dance. Luckily for him, Reader does.
Lady Baratheon | @/beautifultypewriter
When the reader had to say goodbye to Gendry after aiding her father with his escape, she never imagined that she would see him again. Fate is funny though as it brought them back together, then threatened to rip them apart again with the Great War, and then gave them another chance. There’s no way to tell how much time they have left in this world, but Gendry knows one thing; he’s not going to waste another moment without the reader.
Dating Gendry Waters Would Include | @tessimagines
The calm before the storm, part 2 | @fluorescentbalaclava
After taking the lead of your house, you have to face your first battle.
A Change of Fate | @megsironthrone
Caught in the Act | @/megsironthrone
OBSIDIAN | @konigslittleliebling
Perfect World | @plus-size-reader
Having to keep your relationship with Gendry a secret because you’re highborn and he isn’t.
He’s Only Here for the Cake | @crowkingwrites
Gendry Waters is a regular at your bakery. Every day he orders the same thing. Bertha, a family friend, thinks that Gendry isn’t just here for the sweets.
𐙚 Sandor Clegane
The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog | @catsteeth
You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King’s Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won’t admit it.
Listen to me | @myfictionaldreams
Sandor Clegane x Reader Insert Fics | @pinkykats-place
She Hates Yellow | @darkdevasofdestruction
Sandor Clegane masterlist | @thebookbutterfly
𐙚 Jon Snow
Trueborn - Masterlist | @fallatyourfeet
(YN) is the only trueborn daughter of King Robert and Cersei. Growing up she spent a lot of time at Winterfell, falling for a particular curly dark-haired boy. When responsibilities and circumstance separate them they think its forever, but little did they know after a string of tragic events their lives would once again come together for a reason which they are still to understand.
Unbroken | @/fallatyourfeet
Shortly after the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa discovers some unexpected news regarding YN. Jon is thrilled to hear you’re alive, but unfortunately, the news is bitter sweet.
your words mean something to jon snow | @dipperscavern
You Are Not Happy? | @/justauthoring
The Bastard of Winterfell | @onceuponaoneshotfanfic
Jon Snow is nervous to meet his future wife- and even more nervous to prove himself in front of her.
I Told You I’d See You Again | @tismfanatic
When you left with Sansa to Kings Landing, you and Jon made a promise full of whispered confessions and kisses that you’d see eachother again. Now, after four years of physical and psychological trauma, you and Sansa were brought to the wall where you reunited with a lost love.
Bastards of the North I | @motherofdogs1010
Born as the bastard to the mysterious Lord Bloodwright, Y/N Snow finds herself as the bride to be to House Stark's own bastard, Jon Snow as a means to strengthen the North's power. Unfortunately for these Snows, they soon find that being bastards are not the only awful thing that can happen when Y/N catches the eye of the Baratheon heir to the Iron Throne, Joffery.
Northbound | @cherryofthenorth
As the daughter of a Northern Lady, you spent a lot of time in Winterfell growing up. Fate rips you out of the North, but 13 years later you receive a raven. The King is looking to marry, and he has had you on his mind for a while.
To Have and To Hold | @maybestrid33
Jon returns from battle, bloodied and victorious. But all you care about is the fact that he came home to you.
The North Remembers, Part 2, Part 3 | @delicrieux
My Lady | @daniellewritesfr
You arrive in Winterfell lending aid to House Stark but seeing Jon brings back lost feelings you both share.
The Dreadful Need in the Devotee Masterlist | @feyhunter78
During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together.
jon snow fic recs | @skzyeri
𐙚 Jorah Mormont
Show Me Love | @springdandelixn
Jorah ends up failing his quest to search for the princess and take her back to the feast in the Red Keep.
Imagine | @/cas-kingdom
"You're not contagious, are you?" "Do you feel better?"
𐙚 Robb Stark / Jon Snow
of storm and snow - masterlist | @jetblack4real
robert baratheon’s only true heir, a dark-haired girl like your father in many ways including your inability to fall out of love with bright-eyed starks.
- if Gendrya is meant to be what Lyanna and Robert could have been if Robert was a decent man and this is why they are physically compared so much
- and Snowstorm is meant to be what Lyanna and Rhaegar could've been or what Aemon the Dragonknight and Naerys could've been.
- and Briemie is meant to be what Duncan the tall and Rohanne could've been.
- Sansa is meant to be with a man that is a mix of Ned and Jaime, since she is compared to Catelyn and Brienne, and Sandor is there looking like Ned and creating a beauty and the beast-sque relationship with her like Brienne and Jaime.
table of contents; fluff, mutual attraction, your teeth might rot from the cuteness, suggestive in places, awkward!gendry, sexual tension, strong language.
it’s finally hereee. i think i’m more excited for this than you lot 🌚 oh well. and why are there no fics with this man?? he’s so fine! enjoy, loves <3
“i miss the north.” you grumble, eyeing the scum of flea bottom as you wade through them atop your silver, a fast-growing direpup at your hoof and heel.
elenei. one eye of reddish-purple and the other almost as light as the silver-blond fur that dusts her muzzle. as for the rest of her, black as pitch, save for the white streak down her neck’s right side; similar to the platinum strand that grows from your own head of noir.
“aye, so do i.” says your father, riding a little ways in front. “but you’ll learn a lot from this place, and it’ll be good for you to see some more of the world.”
you roll your eyes and flick a dark curl from your brow. “i wish you never brought me with you.” and your wolf whines as if to agree.
ned sighs, shoulders slumping wearily. you and your sisters haven’t been giving him the easiest of times. “i know, love. i just thought you’d rather be here with me than with your step-mother.”
stuck in winterfell with catelyn. that would be worse than this; but at least you’d have robb and rickon and the godswood.
“besides, arya would’ve spat feathers had you stayed behind.” he adds, and jory cassel chuckles at your flank.
you smirk, then tug gently on your mount’s reins when your father starts to slow.
“are you sure this is the place for a lady, m’lord?” jory asks him, scanning the narrow street. “in fact, you shouldn’t be here either. there are eyes everywhere, milord, and you never know who’s watching.”
“let them look.” ned tells him, stepping down from his saddle. you who was riding side-saddle simply slide from your horse, then pet her braided mane — white like the hills at home. “good girl, mag.”
“elenei, come.” you beckon your pup and she follows you into the blacksmith’s forge, the next location on your father’s list of places his predecessor last visited.
the workshop hasn’t a door, only a thick wall of steam, and the smell of malted steel and sweat fills your nostrils. you blink, eyes watering. it’s like the royal saunas in here.
“lord hand.” greets who you presume to be the owner of this rather fine establishment. not the word most would use, but it’s rather fascinating to you. “i wasn’t expecting you, not that it’s a bother.”
beyond him, where the ringing of steel sings beneath a cross-peen hammer, you spot a young man. no older than you, but quite the bit bigger. you take a step forward whilst your father asks the forge keeper of jon arryn, and a pair of blue eyes look up from their smith work.
a very striking blue. not like the sky or the sea, but far more beautiful than that. his arms glisten against the flame he works over — shredded, rippling muscles swollen beneath the skin that stretches over them. you can see each tendon flexing, his strength not stopping at the wrist. his hands look too old for him, blistered and covered in patches of black—probably where dust and grime have caked to the residues of quenching oil.
“he came to see the boy.” you hear who you now figure must be the younger man’s master say.
“i want to see the boy, too.” your father replies.
you won’t be disappointed. you muse, still admiring him.
“as you wish, my lord. gendry!”
those pretty eyes tear from you at the call of his name and he steps away from his station, hands behind his back when he joins you. he glances at you again, then lowers his head.
“here he is.” introduces his master. “strong for his age.”
you don’t say. your gaze latches to the slither of bare chest you can see through his rags — solid and defined.
“show the hand that helmet you made.”
gendry looks between his master and your father, then turns to retrieve something from the table behind him. a gorgeous steel helm, shaped like a bull’s head. the finish of it is smooth, some of the best forgery you’ve ever seen. you take another look at his hands, astonished by their ability to craft such an intricate design.
he passes it to your father who appears just as wonder-struck as you. he turns it in his hands, marvelling the attention to detail and its polished sheen just as you had. “this is fine work.”
“it’s not for sale.” gendry tells him, nonchalant.
you quirk a brow, not expecting him to be so casually forward. your father smirks, nodding.
his master doesn’t find it amusing. “this is the king’s hand, boy! if the lord wants the helm, he shall have it!”
“i made it for me.” gendry shrugs, stubborn.
he glances at you, the corner of his lips tugging upward when he catches your amusement.
“forgive him, my lord.” the master asks of your father, unimpressed.
“there’s nothing to forgive.” ned tells him, handing gendry his helmet back. “when lord arryn came to visit you, what did you talk about?”
the lad with hair the same shade as your own frowns, then looks quizzically at his master. “just asked me questions is all, m’lord.”
your father narrows his eyes. “what kinds of questions?”
gendry looks to the older smith again who nods, then averts his gaze. “about my work, first. if i was being treated well, if i liked it here.” he pauses, hands resting at his belt. “then he started asking me ‘bout my mother.”
you tilt your head, curious.
“your mother?” your father echoes, just as confused as you.
gendry nods. “who she was, what she looked like.”
you’ve asked similar questions about your own mother. questions that have yet to be answered. you look to your father who avoids your gaze, then divert your attention to the ground.
ned stares at the boy intently. “what did you tell him?”
“she died when i was little,”
so did mine.
“she had yellow hair,”
i don’t know what mine looked like.
“she used to sing to me sometimes.”
at least you knew yours long enough to be sang to.
as if hearing your inner monologue, his gaze flits to meet yours again — gentle and warm.
your father shuffles beside you, fixated on the boy. “look at me.”
gendry does, and only now do you see it — the man from your father’s stories. eyes like ice; hair like coal; hands like spades. you know by the look on ned’s face who the young apprentice must be, you only need look at him to see.
there’s a short pause, then your father returns to the present. “get back to work, lad.”
without a word, gendry turns on his heel and returns to his labours. you find yourself admiring the bull’s head helm once more, then your feet are carrying you through the steam and toward his station.
“are you a one-trick pony?” you ask him, and those pretty blues snap up to confront yours.
he appears stunned, like he’s never spoken to a girl before. perhaps he hasn’t.
then he looks down again, like he’s forbidden from conversing with you. “what’s that mean?” he mumbles, hammering away at what looks to be the beginning of a rather impressive sword.
“could you make something like that again?” you motion to his helm.
“sure,” he looks you up and down. “why?”
“i know someone who would love a helmet like this.” you reach over to twist it in your hands again, gripping the slopes of its horns and feeling the wrinkles of its snarl.
gendry watches you, enticed. “what did you have in mind?”
“a wolf.” you reach back to unfasten your hair pin and hold it out to him. he takes it, mucky fingers grazing your palm. “a direwolf, to be precise.”
he holds it up, inspecting the design of house stark’s sigil. “how big?”
“my sister’s head is only small.” you tell him, and look down at elenei when she whines at your feet. “up.” you command her, patting the wooden worktop. she balances on her hind legs and leaps up so she’s eye-to-eye with gendry. you scratch the underside of her chin. “this is how it should look.”
he doesn’t question that you’re asking he make a helm for a little girl, nor does he appear frightened in the presence of your pup. “she bite?” he asks you, grabbing some sort of measuring device from the shelf.
“not unless i tell her to.” you smile, stroking a comforting hand down her back. gendry smirks, then wraps what appears to be string around her head, then stretches it taut from her snout to her neck.
“alright.” he says, snipping the string where it overlaps. “it’ll take some time, but nothin’ i can’t do.”
“down, girl.” you order softly, and the pup hops down from the counter. “thank you, gendry.”
his eyes flit between yours, totally mesmerised. then your father calls you from the horses and you both take a step back. you hadn’t realised you’d been standing so close. he clears his throat. “uh, yeah. no problem, m’lady.”
“i’m no lady.” you tell him sweetly. “i’m a bastard, too.” then you leave him to his work, wishing his master farewell on your way out.
“you forgot your pin, m’la— miss!” gendry shouts after you.
“keep it! it’s worth thrice your annual pay!” you shout back as you clamber atop mag.
your father watches you, hands poised at his ride’s reins. “what’re you up to?”
“nothing,” you smile, blowing your platinum ringlet from your face. “he’s king robert’s son, isn’t he?”
ned glances at jory, then clicks his tongue at his horse. “yes, love.” he lowers his voice. “i think he is.”
as the days roll by you find yourself stopping by often to check up on gendry’s progress, without your father’s knowledge, no less.
“visiting again, miss snow?” asks the forge master.
“most certainly am.” you parrot back, making your way to the back of the shop.
you spot gendry hunched over a spread-out scroll of parchment and peep over his shoulder, stretching on your toes. “watcha doing?”
he peers over at you, lips quirking. “same as i was yesterday.” he steps aside so you can get a better look. “still ironing out the details and whatnot.”
your brows shoot up at the different sketches that ink the page. some are detailed designs that’ve been scored out, others are just rough drafts. either way, they’re all beautifully drawn and some of the best etches you’ve seen.
“you entered the wrong profession.” you jest, coasting a finger over his doodling. “you’ve quite the talent. . . not a one-trick pony at all.”
he sniffs awkwardly, fidgeting at your side. “yeah, well. . . they’re just ideas. which one do you like best?”
you hum, leaning down to inspect them a little closer. “they’re all exquisite.”
you’re met with silence and turn back to him, a small smile curling at your lips when you see he’s already staring at you. “it quite literally means fine craftsmanship.”
“i know what it means.” he says, eyes dancing over your features.
you feel a strange warmth spread to your cheeks, one you can’t blame on the forge ovens around you, and quickly avert your attention back to the scroll. “i like this one.”
he moves closer, leaning over you to follow your finger when you point to it. he nods. “me too.”
when you turn your face to the side, his is barely an inch from yours and his eyes snap up, then meander south. you swallow. “you’re the expert.”
his gaze lingers at your lips. “mm-hmm.”
you stay as you are for a moment, then the clanging of metal snaps you from your daze and you push yourself away. “okay, well. . . i best let you work.”
he looks in the direction of where the noise came, then reaches his hand back to scratch at his neck. “uh, yeah. i’m sure you’ve got shi— stuff to do, anyway.”
you nod, suddenly shy or nearer to bashful. “yes, stuff. i do have stuff.”
you exchange awkward smiles, unsure of what to do with yourselves, and you spin on your heels to take your leave, only something catches your eye.
beneath some discarded tools hides a pile of scrap paper, dogeared and crumpled. “oh, are these the ones that never made the cut?” you ask, reaching for them.
gendry appears confused for a second, then realisation dawns on him and he steps forward to stop you. “no, that’s nothin—”
but you’ve already unveiled it, holding the tattered sheets up to the light. you barely get a glimpse before he’s snatched them off you and concealed them behind his back. he moved with such speed that you’re surprised you’ve not any paper cuts to show for it. you shoot him a puzzled look. “well? what are they? let me see.”
you reach for him but he takes another step back. “really, it’s nothin’. just old plans from previous weapons, boring stuff.”
“so why can’t i see? this sort of thing really interests me, i always used to visit the forge back home.” you try to approach him again but he goes stiff and you stop dead, frowning. “what’s wrong?”
“nothin’.” he blurts, a little harsh. you shrink back at his tone and he sighs. “they’re just not that good, is all. you’re not missin’ much.”
you smile softly, a mischievous flash in your expression. “you’ve not been drawing naked ladies, have you?”
he looks horrified as if you’re being serious. “what? no, i’d never— no. like i said, it’s nothin’.”
“alright, then.” you eventually relent, and make it look as though you mean to sidle past him. he offers you a flat, embarrassed smile and relaxes slightly.
“i’ll just be on my way. . .” once you’re close enough you shoot your arm out and rip the papers from his grasp, almost tearing them in half. he lunges to take them back but you dodge him and slink to the other side of his work station.
“i’ve got four brothers,” you tell him with a triumphant grin, waving the papers tauntingly. “you need to do better than that.”
his shoulders sag and he grimaces the way one would after treading in a heap of horse dung. the shameful look of dread on his face only fuels your curiosity all the more.
you peer down at the wrinkled papers in your hands, a little stained and aged by stray sparks and soot, but you’re still able to make out what’s been pencilled onto them.
they’re not forgotten weapon designs at all, but girls just as you said. only, each page portrays just the one girl, and she’s not naked.
her hair is wild and has been shaded to the led’s darkest capacity, probably coloured with black chalk; but one strand at the front of her head appears blank, save for the light pencil strokes that depict a reflective shine. freckles pepper her nose and subtle shadows have been shaded to carve out her cheekbones where a small scar curves toward her left ear.
you lift a subconscious hand to touch the pinkish stripe of flesh that stretches over your own left cheek, a wound you’d obtained when you fell into the brambles as a child.
then your eyes find those of the girl, glossy and full of life. they’re blacker than her hair, wispy eyelashes sprouting from their lids.
as soon as you’re able, you shuffle it to the back of the pile so you can look at the next one. it’s a portrait of the same girl, the only thing that differentiates her from the previous sketch being the alteration of a few minor details. her hair is curlier and her eyebrows bushier. you can see the disturbance on the paper’s surface where her mouth has been erased and redrawn a few times. in this final draft, she sports a pair of pouty lips, plump and bowed at the top, shaded to appear rouged.
“what is this?” you finally muster, bearing to drag yourself from the artwork long enough to regard him with a stunned gape that opens and closes again.
he shifts his weight between feet, head lowered. “like i said, it’s nothin’.” he speaks with a small voice that you scarcely hear.
you do a double-take between him and his sketches. “nothing? gendry these are remarkable.”
he lifts his head at your words, stammering like his neck is too weak to do so. “you don’t have to spare my feelings—”
“i’m not, these are incredible! well. . . maybe a slight exaggeration of my appearance, but incredible still.”
“i didn’t exaggerate nothin’.” he says, then looks away again, clearing his throat. “i just mean, it’s difficult to capture faces by memory. . . like, their essence and beauty and all that.” then he cringes, like he wishes he could swallow his words, then have the ground swallow him afterwards.
your insides thaw and you clutch the papers to your front like a rogue gust of wind might slither in from the street and pluck them from you. “i think you captured my essence very well, gendry.”
his eyes widen like he was hoping you wouldn’t realise the sketches are of you, but of some other girl who just so happens to be your spit. “oh, well—”
“may i buy these from you?” you make your way back toward him, holding them out to gaze at them again. some might call you vain, but in truth this is the biggest compliment anyone’s ever given you.
he appears thunder-struck that you’d even ask. “no.”
your face drops.
“i only meant, you can have them for free.” he trips over his words slightly, and there was you thinking you couldn’t like him enough.
your face lights up. “thank you.”
he shrugs. “it’s—”
“nothin’?” you assume, mirroring his drawl. “well, to me it’s something.”
his mouth twitches, teasing a laugh. “besides, you already gave me this.” he reaches into his chest pocket and pulls out your hairpin. you wonder if it’s been in there since you gave it to him. “worth thrice my pay, remember?”
you quirk a brow. “are you even paid?”
“no, i’m an apprentice. an apple is worth thrice my pay.”
you snort at that. so he’s got jokes.
“you should come back to the keep with me, you’d be paid well by the royal forgery. i’m sure the lannisters would greatly appreciate some steel as fine as yours.” you squint at him while he says nothing, eyes glued to the metal he’s yet to make a miracle of that scatters his workbench.
“. . .or i could employ you as my personal painter.” you propose in jest, though you wouldn’t mind. “jon and i were never included in family portraits; catelyn forbade it.”
“that’s hardly fair.” he frowns, all too aware of the discrimination one faces as a bastard, not that he knows of his true paternity.
“eh, she’s done worse.” you tell him, indifferent.
he allows a small smile to grace his lips, and it feels like forever since the last time you saw that. “you should smile more often.”
“don’t have much to smile ‘bout.” he shrugs again, small wonder his shoulders are so broad. “but, uh, i do with you. i mean, you’re nice and. . .” he trails off.
a comfortable silence settles between you like dust and this time it’s you who can’t maintain eye contact, suddenly very interested in the cobbled flooring.
“erm. . . your sister’s helm should be ready in a couple days.” he tells you after a beat, hands fiddling behind his back.
“oh, that’s good! i’ll come by and pick it up.”
he nods, eyes darting aimlessly as he thinks of a way to fill the silence. “but, uh, if you wanted to come down tomorrow — just y’know, to make any last changes or anythin’, you can.”
you smile, sheepish, and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet. you don’t know what else to do with yourself, strangely conscious. “aye, okay. i can do that. only if it’s no trouble—”
“no trouble.” he blunders, eager. “uh, yeah,” he corrects himself. “no trouble at all.”
you giggle. men don’t come like this in the north. “great.”
“miss snow!”
you both jump at the interruption. in all honesty you forgot you weren’t alone.
gendry’s master appears from the shopfront. “jory cassel is here for you.”
“shit.” you murmur, and gendry’s brow shoots up in amusement at your use of language. you turn to him, tucking your latest prized possessions under a protective arm. “um. . . same time tomorrow, then?”
he gives you a nod. “lookin’ forward to it, m’lady.”
you glare back at him on your way out. “thought i told you to stop calling me that.”
“you’re no less your lord father’s daughter than your sisters.” he tells you, genuine.
your heart flutters, and you offer him an appreciative smile in response, then utter your goodbyes to his master.
“your father has been worried sick.” jory warns you as he helps you onto his horse, then lifts himself to mount the saddle. “you girls will send the poor man to an early grave. arya especially.”
you hold onto him with your free hand, the other gripping gendry’s sketches in an iron claw. “how did you know where to look for me?”
“sansa said you won’t stop talking about a boy named gendry.” jory says, a kidding undertone to his words.
blood rushes to your cheeks. “oh.”
“are you wearing makeup?” your youngest sister pesters you like she has been all morning. “why are you wearing makeup?”
“because i want to.” you tell her, touching up the paint that lightly stains your lips. it’s not too much, but enough to make your eyes pop, or whatever.
“can i come with you?” she continues to badger, following you around like a lost dog.
“no, arya.” you huff, fixing your hair. “i’ll be back later.”
the young girl groans, shoulders sagging like sacks of grain. “it’s not fair!” she gripes, “you and sansa get to go out and do things while i’m stuck inside all day.”
“sansa has important duties to tend to.” you tell her, ferreting around your cedar chest for a pair of shoes. “and i’m an adult, so i can do as i please.”
“well, i’m not that much younger, you know. i’m nearly ten.” she whips out her sword, swiping at the air with it.
you feel a waft against the back of your head. “stop that! you’ll have somebody’s eye out.”
she resheathes it with some begrudging and mumbles something under her breath. “please?”
“no.” you repeat yourself, growing tired of her nagging. “besides, you have your lessons with syrio. i thought you were excited about that.”
“i’m not allowed to fight anyone yet.” she grumbles, flopping down onto your bed. “i’m only allowed a wooden sword but it’s really heavy, and i barely even get to use it. he has me chasing after stray cats and now i’ve got blisters.”
“you’ll get better.” you assure her, finally finding your shoes beneath numerous books and other items that accompanied you to the capital.
“but what does running around with cats have to do with fighting? it’s stupid.”
the mattress dips when you sit beside her to tug on your shoes, her scrawny body sliding against you.
“it’s supposed to improve your speed and agility. father used to have jon and robb chase chickens when they were learning, and that was before they had wooden swords.” you sit up once your shoes are on, and scrape a long chestnut strand of hair from her face. “you might look a little silly, but it’s all for the greater good.”
she considers your words for a minute, then wrinkles her nose up when you boop it.
“always expect the unexpected.” you warn, then lay an onslaught of tickle attacks upon her underarms and torso.
she squeals and lets out a series of snotty laughs, wriggling and kicking against you. it’s the happiest you’ve seen her since you came here. “stop, i can’t breathe!”
so you surrender, grinning as she catches her breath.
“and anyway, if you come with me, it’ll ruin the surprise.” you then tell her, standing from the bed.
arya frowns as you shoulder your cloak. “what surprise?”
you eye her from the door. “if i tell you, it won’t be a surprise. and if you catch a cat today, i might let you come beyond the castle walls with me next time. how does that sound?”
her eyes widen and she shoots upright, beaming over at you. “really!?”
“really.” you promise, pulling your hood over your head. “and don’t go through my things while i’m gone, i noticed one of my pillow’s now has a hole in it.”
she wrings her fingers and avoids looking at you. “sorry. . . i was trying to make a dummy by tying it to the broom, but the stupid thing wouldn’t stay standing up.”
you smile at her. you remember how the smallest of things seemed so significant when you were her age. “that’s okay, the sooner you catch those cats, the sooner you’ll be running after men instead.”
her head snaps back to you, a mischievous glint in her giddy grey eyes.
“behave yourself!” you call back to her as you head for the door, elenei scampering at your heels.
“your makeup looks ridiculous!” she calls back to you.
when you arrive at the forge for what may be the last time, you rein in just outside, hopping down from mag to check your appearance in the reflection of a nearby window.
your painted lips have faded a little, your hair slightly askew from pulling your hood down. so you ruffle it and comb your fingers through the black ringlets, wincing when you rip through a knot.
“well, well,” clicks an unfamiliar voice. “what have we here?”
you turn to face them, swallowing when confronted with the sour twist of a gaunt man’s face. mag shuffles anxiously beside you and elenei’s lips peel back over her teeth.
“hair as black as night; skin as light as day; and eyes like lumps of coal. . . you must be a snow.” his mouth splits from ear to ear like a gash and your stomach drops.
“i don’t want any trouble.” you tell him, pulling your cloak to the side to reveal your wolf, her muzzle wrinkled as she snarls.
his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t appear fazed by the threat. “the hand’s bastard, are you?”
“i am,” you stand tall, but still much smaller than him. “so it’d be in your best interest to leave me alone.”
he chuckles, grim. “northern scum—”
“watch it.” warns a voice much more welcoming to your ears. “i only hammer anvils for a livin’ — ain’t got a problem with hammerin’ you, too.”
you smile to yourself when gendry wipes his hands on his apron and steps close to your side, glaring at the man. “you ever heard the noise steel makes when you hit it?” he motions a strike through the air with a swing of his arm.
the man shakes his head, taking a cautious step back.
“it sings,” gendry tells him through his teeth, taking a step forward. “i wonder what noise you’ll make when i hit you?”
you purse your lips, refraining the urge to laugh.
the man lingers for a second, weighing up his options, then thinks better of it and skulks into the hustle and bustle of the street, head low and footwork frantic.
you watch him scuttle away with a smirk, then glance at gendry who does the same.
“thanks.” you grin, clasping your hands at your front.
he eyes you, concerned. “you need to be careful out here, this is no place for a—”
“—lady?” you assume, taking a step toward him.
“exactly.” he doesn’t dare move a muscle.
“well, we’ve already established that i’m no lady.” you remind him, eyes prancing over the muck and grime that cake to his bronzed face. “my sister’s helm?”
he blinks slowly, then shakes himself from his daze. “uh, yeah. right this way—”
but you’ve already started making your own way toward his bench, elenei bounding ahead of you. he watches you with a mouth that hangs ajar, eyes unable to look anywhere other than you.
you perch yourself atop his station’s edge, legs swinging. “catching flies?” you call to him with a toothy grin.
“just my breath.” he mumbles, then hurries to join you.
the wait for him to retrieve his work seems like a long one and you drum your fingers against the wooden ledge, elenei circling at your feet.
then he’s in front of you, hands behind his back. you give him an inquisitive look to which he offers you a lopsided smile. “close your eyes.”
you huff out a giggle. “really? i already know what it is.”
“i don’t care,” he shakes his head, pinning you with a piercing stare. “close your eyes.”
it surprises you, but you manage to tear yourself from his gaze long enough to close your eyes. you hear something clink, and then the creaking of his leathers, before something weighted and cool sinks into your open palms.
“got it?” he asks, cupping your hands within his. for a moment his skin against yours is all you can focus on.
“it’s heavy.” you say through an impressed smile.
“it’s alright, i’ve got you,” his voice is soothing. soft like silks and sweet like nectar. you feel him lift your hands slightly with his, then adjust the helm within them. his fingertips hover at your wrists, steadying them. “open.”
and you do, eyes pealing apart to land on the helm. a gasp crawls from your lips, your breath fogging the fresh steel, paler than milkglass. you thought you knew what to expect, but this is far better than you could have imagined.
“gods,” you whisper, cranking the hinges of its jaw. “i’ve no words.”
“is that a good thing?” he implores, nervous, searching your face for any signs of disappointment or underwhelm.
“yes, gods yes!” you hug it to your chest. “arya will love it. . . or maybe i’ll just keep it for myself.”
he chuckles. “you fight?”
you shake your head and show the helm to elenei who tilts her head and flattens her ears. “father never permit me.”
“you don’t seem like the kind of girl who cares for permission.” gendry challenges with a smirk.
“i’m not, but nor is arya, the little scamp. father grew sick of her nagging — she’s very convincing.” you turn it in your hands and a piece of folded paper falls onto your lap. “oh, what’s this?”
you go to open it but he beats you to it, plucking the paper from your lap and dropping it back inside the helm. “that’s just a receipt, you can read it later.”
“a receipt.” you eyeball him, suspicious.
the tanned skin of his cheeks darken. “it’s custom. more for my master’s records, or if it got damaged or—”
“a fine idea,” you stand from the worktop, chest bumping his. he goes rigid. “arya’s not known for delicacy. . . i fear i might be back soon to ask that you sand down some scuffs or fill some dents.”
in truth, you know arya will protect this gift with her life and take as much care of it, if not more, as she does with needle.
“that’s fine,” gendry murmurs, voice low. “if there’s any problems, you know where i am.”
you smile. “i do.”
the narrow gap between you is thick, and even the newly sharpened blades that surround you couldn’t slice through it.
you clear your throat. “well, thank you again.” and reach into your cloak pocket for your small purse of silver.
his hand shoots out to grab yours. “i don’t want your money.”
“gendry—”
“your company has been plenty,” he tells you, eyes swelling with the sort of thing sansa sings about, the stuff you’ve read in your stories. “it’s been somethin’ you cannot. . . buy.”
his hand rests against yours, not quite closing around it, barely even touching. “are you sure?” you query, flexing a tentative knuckle against his palm.
“i’m not so sure of many things, m’lady, but this,” he seems to drift, gaze shifting fleetingly before it’s back on you. before, he couldn’t look at you but now, it’s like he can’t bear not to. “. . . i’m sure—never been more sure. please, keep your silver.”
it touches you, but you can’t help the sadness that seeps through you to the bone. all of this hard work, never a complaint, and all you can give him is your thanks and a hairpin.
“maybe i will become a fighter,” you quip, “so i can return to you with another vision; another dream for you to make a reality.”
he thumbs his belt loops, eyes alive with something you can’t quite decipher. “well then, m’lady, i hope you do. when the day comes that you need a weapon of your own, i’ll gladly be of service.”
“i suppose i’d be in need of a breastplate, as all great warriors alike.” you tease with a smirk that broadens when the tips of his ears stain red like the point of a blade that just claimed a life.
he finds it in himself to look away from you, throat bobbing when he takes a swallow. “uh, well yeah, we do make those—”
you take an experimental step forward, not that there’s much room between you. “would you have to take my measurements. . . ?”
he only stares at you, battling with himself to not give in to the temptation and allow his eyes to travel south of your neck.
you chortle and jab him lightly in the arm, his bicep tensing where your finger prodded. “i’m pulling your leg.”
he appears perplexed, as well he usually does around you.
“y’know, yanking your chain. . ?” you rephrase, though he doesn’t seem to know that one either.
“i’m horsing around, gendry!”
“oh,” he lets out an awkward chuckle, forced and rehearsed. “ha-ha, that’s funny. you’re funny.”
“well, i should get this to arya. she’s come down with a serious case of cabin-fever and has resorted to taking it out on my pillows.” you tell him and he snorts, his amusement crinkling at the outer corners of his eyes.
oh, those eyes.
“i hope she likes it.” he says, something similar to sadness present in his tone. it takes a bite out of your heart and you sigh, wishing to stay a little longer. hopefully you’ll be able to think up a reason to visit again soon.
so you do just that. “well, maybe i could swing by tomorrow and let you know?”
he perks up, nodding like it’s the greatest idea he’s ever heard. “yep, yeah. feedback is always appreciated.”
“okay, then,” you’re still loitering, hands absentmindedly stroking the polished surface of the wolf helm.
gendry hums, studying you like a muse. you wonder if he’s made any other sketches, and that childish fluttering within your chest returns. this must be how sansa feels about joffrey, and you understand now why she gushes the way she does.
“and. . . thanks again, for the help out there.” you tell him for the second time, or maybe it’s the third.
“oh, that was—”
“nothing?” you assume again. “is that the only word you know?”
his eyes flicker with something you’ve not yet seen. something one doesn’t read in books or hear from hymn. it’s what keeps you from sleep’s jaws at night, when your head swims with the kinds of thoughts a lady should not have.
“i know of a few others.” he utters, strangely confident. his self-assurance seems to come in waves, like you’re the tide that reels it in.
you’re lost in him for a moment, then elenei’s whines draw you out. “hungry, girl?”
“i always thought direwolves went extinct.” gendry tells you, wriggling his fingers at his side. she sniffs them, then gives his hand a curious lick.
“my father and brothers found them on a hunt,” you tell him, chuckling when your pup starts to chew at the corner of his apron. “their mother was dead.”
“oh, in birth?” he ponders, trying to tug his apron away.
“elenei, off.” you command softly, and she obeys, sitting on her haunches to look between the pair of you with floppy ears. “no, father reckons she was defending the litter from a stag. she had its antler in her throat.”
“stags go after wolves?” he asks, unbelieving, or fascinated.
you lift your head, a few bouncy, black coils falling over your face. “yes, apparently they do.”
he lifts a hand to tuck your hair from your eyes, only it springs back. he drops his arm. “elenei’s a pretty name.”
the pup in question squirms in recognition of the word.
“legend says that during the age of heroes, fair elenei gave her maidenhead to king durran godsgrief, a name given to him after he wed elenei despite her parents’ disapproval. her father was a sea god, her mother the goddess of the wind. they forbade their love since elenei would have to commit herself to a mortal life. the gods destroyed durran’s keep on their wedding night in retaliation, and for every keep he built after that, the gods lay siege to them with storm.”
gendry looks as though your voice is music to his ears whilst you tell him the story of fair elenei. you suspect he’s only half-listening, or can’t comprehend most of what you’re saying if he is listening, but his undivided attention is on you all the same.
“after durran refused to return elenei to the sea, many say it was the children of the forrest who helped him build storm’s end, where elenei protected him with her life during its construction.”
when you’re done, you glance down at the black-and-white-blotched wolf. “a strong name for a strong animal, wouldn’t you say?”
“i would.” gendry agrees without a doubt.
“and my horse,” you go on to explain. “i named her mag, which translates to great in the old tongue. magnar, the male variant, means lord. it’s still spoken by giants, and some think the free folk beyond the wall might still speak the old tongue, too.”
“you can speak the old tongue?” he queries, impressed but not shocked.
you shrug like it’s nothing, not used to your achievements being recognised. “i’m not fluent, but i could hold a conversation.”
“you’ve put a lot of thought into it, though.” he smiles, “if only our parents were as imaginative.”
you snort. “aye, well. . . i think gendry is a nice name. strong, like you.”
“i don’t think it translates to anythin’. don’t think it even means anythin’ in our language.” he pockets his hands, a habit of his, you’ve noticed.
“neither does mine, but it doesn’t matter.” you assure him, then remember that you have in fact stalled quite the bit longer. “well, i should probably get going, for real this time.”
“oh, yeah. don’t let me keep you.” he moves out of your way, allowing you to slip past him.
“alright, well. . .” you pull yourself together, standing tall. “until next time, then.”
he shifts his weight, expression conflicted, like he’s holding something back or deliberating internally. “actually, before you go.” he disappears to the back, rustles around, then reappears as quick as he came.
“i, uh, made you somethin’.”
you turn back to face him, heart swelling against your ribs. “you didn’t have to—”
“i wanted to.” he admits, not so sheepish as he was.
you smile, giddy and wide with flattery. “do i have to close my eyes again?”
he pauses, then crosses the space to stand in front of you. “not this time.” then he hesitates again, before unravelling a small rag to reveal a dainty necklace.
it snatches your breath from your lungs, winding you. despite having been surrounded by lannister gold for quite some time now, you’ve still never seen such beauty. not even cersei owns jewellery quite as fine as this.
the chain is silver, its links fragile beneath the eye. you fear that if you look too hard, it’ll break. little black stones connect at each one, white ripples splitting their dark surfaces like rays of silk. they gradually increase in size until they reach the biggest stone at the centre, mounted by a frame of pale, milky steel.
“gendry. . .” you’re afraid to touch it, like it’ll shatter in your hands. “this is the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen.”
“i’ve seen prettier.” he retorts, “may i?”
you flit your gaze up to his, then turn your back to him in silent consent. you go to twist your hair from his way, but his hands meet yours at your neck, gently pushing your mane over one shoulder.
his breath sends a soft gust over your skin, the steel kissing it coolly when he loops it around your neck, fastening it at the back.
“do you like it?” he then asks, hands hovering.
“like it?” you spin back to him. “i love it.”
a relieved smile slices his face in two, balling at his cheeks. it’s infectious, and if you weren’t grinning already, you’d steal it and wear it for your own.
“the stones, they’re—”
“obsidian.” you say at the same time.
he’s almost as captivated as you are by the necklace. “i thought you’d like it.”
“you thought correctly.” you hum, “how much time have you spent staring at me to know it would fit?” you jeer, placing a hand where the biggest stone sits proudly against your sternum.
“well, you’ve seen the sketches.” he answers, eyes lingering where your hand is.
it might be improper but you’re past noble conduct. it’s never applied to you before, not unless it suited the reputations of others. no place at the dinner table, no appearance in family portraits.
so you close the gap and wrap your arms around his neck, chin resting atop his shoulder. his musk is sweet from his labours, sending you on a new high.
it takes him a second, but he reciprocates your embrace with some gladness, arms encircling your waist. you know he’s holding back, his uncertainty obvious in the way he’s stiffened against you.
“it’s perfect, thank you.” your words are hushed, tickling their way from his cheek to his ear. “i’ve never received such a gift.”
“a crime.” he utters back. “you should wear it proudly.”
“oh, i will.” you pull away, but his hands stay poised at the slope of your back. “i’m never taking it off.”
he swallows, finding his voice. “i was going to have it delivered to you, but i was afraid it’d fall into the wrong hands.”
“i’d rather you gave it to me in person.” you tell him, fingers toying with the rags that peak from his apron. “i had no idea you melded. . . is there anything you can’t do?”
“i can’t talk to women.” he chuckles, embarrassed.
his smile isn’t the only thing you find contagious, and you laugh with him. “i don’t think you’re half as bad at that as you think you are.”
when you reach the stairs to the tower your family has been housed in, still smiling to yourself like a maiden struck by infatuation, you stumble upon your sister, one foot in the air whilst her arms stretch at her sides.
you stop, waving a hand in front of her face. “earth to arya?”
“i’m concentrating.” she grumbles, not blinking.
“i can see that.” you smirk, shooting an arm out to catch her when she wobbles. she bats your hand away, then stabilises herself. “what are you doing?”
“practicing.” she tells you, eyes staring straight ahead.
you look her up and down. “practicing what?”
“how to stand on one toe.” she says in a duh-ish tone like you were stupid for asking.
elenei leans up on her front paws to lick the foot your sister holds in the air and arya anchors herself to the wall. “elenei, no! bad wolf!”
you shoo your pup away with a jut of your chin and she slinks up the stairs like a shadow. “that so? which toe?”
arya glares at you. “any toe!”
you chuckle. “alright, twinkle toes, ready for your surprise?”
she returns to a two-legged stance, flashing you her gappy teeth through a cheeky grin you’ve missed seeing. “uh-huh!”
“sit.” you pat the step as you take a seat and she plops down beside you.
“here, be careful,” you pull the helm from behind your cloak. “it’s heavy.”
she rolls her eyes and makes grabby hands for it. you wince when she carelessly rips the cloth away, but you soon brandish a worthwhile smile when her face lights up. “seven heavens!”
she leaps up, placing the helmet over her head. the receipt falls from it when she does and you quickly tuck it within your sleeve. “what do you think?”
the helm’s jaws crank apart in her haste, a beaming grin shining through its growl. “now i’m a real warrior!”
she whips needle from her belt and resumes balancing on one leg. “do i look scary?”
you take a stand to cower from her, hands raised in mock surrender. “the scariest!”
then a thud that almost sends you both tumbling down the stairs crashes against your middle, her skinny arms enveloping you as she peers up through the helm. it’s a rather funny sight.
“thank you.”
“you’re welcome, munchkin.” you pat her helmed head. “look after it.”
“i will, i will!” and she starts bounding up the stairs. “i must show father!”
you watch her go, head shaking when you hear her fall at the last step, then lower yourself back down to take the folded paper from your sleeve.
your eyes skim over the ink that scrawls it, brow furrowing with each word you read. the font is scruffy, a few words misspelled, but you’re still able to interpret it well enough.
“an address.” you mumble, then your eyes widen. “his address.”
the wait for your father and sisters to take to their chambers was a long one. you sat at your window, fingertips drumming against the obsidian atop your chest whilst you gazed out over the city.
over the dimly lit avenues of flea bottom, if it was indeed flea bottom you were looking at. you weren’t sure.
“arya’s helm,” your father had begun from your door. “it’s brilliant, i’m jealous.”
you chuckled as he did. “it should keep her happy while we’re here.”
“aye, it will. that was very thoughtful of you, love. where’d you have it made?”
you knew that he’d have already gotten that information out of jory, but he just wanted it from the horse’s mouth. you sighed. “i went back to the forge.”
ned nodded, that stern fatherly look creasing his features. it wrinkled the deepest at his forehead and eyes where having to berate and scold his children had aged him the most.
“but i was careful, father. i had elenei with me and i kept my head down and my hood up, i didn’t talk to anyone, i’d go down there and come straight back—”
“that’s alright, love.” he waved off your fussing, giving elenei a scratch behind the ear before joining you at the window seat. “that’s a nice necklace.”
you looked down when he motioned to it, then looked back up with a shy smile. “oh, well i thought i might as well get something for myself whilst i was down there.” you started to fiddle with your gown, fingers finding a loose thread to play with.
“obsidian.” ned observed. “a fine gift for a fine girl.”
you’d gawked at him you’re pretty sure, which must’ve been amusing to witness. “oh, it wasn’t—”
“he’s a nice lad.” your father told you, standing to press a kiss to your temple. “i only ask you be careful, and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do.”
“well that doesn’t leave me with much room to put a foot wrong, does it?” you smirked when he let out a hearty laugh, which he doesn’t do much anymore.
“aye, well, even so.” then he stopped just outside your door. “wherever you’re thinking about going tonight, don’t.” he turned to you with a firm, knowing look. “i grew up with a sister, i’ve seen all this before.”
you swallowed. “i’m just enjoying the view, father.”
“very well. night, love.”
and as soon as you heard his door close, you slipped down from the window. “elenei, stay.” you tussled the wolf’s fur, then darted for your cloak and shoes.
and now mag lopes beneath you, sniffing at the wind. her hooves trot gentle prints against the winding dirt paths and she responds to every tick of your teeth, every rap of your heel to her side. your filly was trained special, to respond to rein and voice and touch.
you look between the street ahead of you and the directions in your hand, wherever your eyes fall, mag follows.
“are we lost girl?” asks a voice from the shadows.
you ride on, shuddering. perhaps from the night’s chill, perhaps from flea bottom’s eeriness.
you start to recognise where you are, the low candlelight from several windows illuminating your way. then you see it, just as described to you on paper.
you scan your surroundings, hoping you’ve seen the last of the shadow lurkers, then slide from your saddle and guide mag toward a wooden fence with posts that look sturdy. she’s stubborn, wrenching her head back in protest.
“i know, girl.” you coo, cupping a hand to the side of her silver face. “come on.”
she lets you lead her to the side where you secure her reins, then give her braided mane a comforting stroke. “easy, now.”
you take one last look behind you where everything seems too quiet. you suppose flea bottom doesn’t have much of a night life, the groaning of poorly maintained buildings creak in the wind — the only noise that might keep a man from his madness.
then you look up at the small house where the whitewashed slabs of concrete stairs climb to a door on the one side, sealed off by merely a curtain. it’s not even a curtain, but a sheet that’s been nailed to the doorway.
you glance back, rethinking your decision. this can’t be the right place. then you spot his apron draped across the top step, a sprinkling of soot trailing a black streak down the side of the stairwell.
you pin your cloak at your sides, scrunching it in your fists when a sudden nervousness stirs in your gut. you feel pathetic, gulping down a breath to drown your nerves before you make your ascent.
you stop short at the door, the low light of a flickering flame plunging at your feet. you lift your arm the way you would to knock, then drop it at your side again. “knock, knock?”
there’s a beat of silence, then you hear some rustling on the other side followed by a series of footsteps that fumble. the curtain rips back, and those piercing blues find you in the dark. “you’re here.”
“i am,” you fidget on your feet, like standing still is foreign to you, or impossible even. “you. . . weren’t expecting me?”
he reaches for you, inviting you inside. “not this late, i wasn’t. it’s not safe down here at this time, or at any time, really. you came down here alone?”
“well, would you rather my father was with me?” you ask with an implicative undertone, then you realise he’s shirtless, dressed in nothing but his usual trousers — probably the only pair he owns. your eyes dart to his bare torso, thickly built but leanly shredded where his abs ripple.
gendry blinks. “does he know you’ve come here?”
“gods no.” you spin on the spot to take it all in. anything to divert your mind from his body.
the room is similar in size to your own chambers, maybe a little smaller. he has a bed in the corner, a shelf in front of it, and in the opposite corner sits a basin and a bucket. “you live in this one room?”
“it’s nothin’ special, i know,” he tells you, pulling the curtain back over. “but yeah, it’s home. i lived here with my mother.”
“it’s very cheek by jowl.” you say with sweet intent, crossing to the desk where papers have been strewn over it, a nearby candle crying its wax onto the oak. “is this where you sketch?”
you feel his warmth radiate beside you. “sketch, eat, work.”
you flick through the papers, all of them blank. “starved of inspiration?”
“i guess.” he responds after a minute.
you turn to face him, bumping into his front from the closeness. you don’t move away, though. neither of you do. “so,” you start. “that ‘receipt’ of yours.”
you expect him to look away like he normally does when he’s embarrassed, but he doesn’t. if anything, he’s calmer than you. “what about it?”
“why did you give it to me?” you ask, scarcely above a whisper.
“it’s good to have a friend in this place.” he answers, but you sniff out his excuse from a mile away.
you arch a brow. “good for me, or for you?”
he mirrors you, arching his own brow. “does it matter?”
your breath catches in your throat, demeanour crumbling. “no, i suppose not.”
“why did you come so late?” he softens his voice like he sensed the shift in the air.
you swallow, something you do a lot in his presence. “did i wake you?”
“couldn’t sleep.”
“me neither.”
you’ve never known words to be so hard to come by, like whenever they succeed a thought, they die on your tongue and never see the surface.
“gendry, i—”
“say my name again.”
you part your lips to pass it through them once more, and as soon as you do, his mouth is on yours, swallowing his name.
