#gendry; interaction.

[fightsbck]

‘     ye’    -     ...    ye’ll be by the crypts t’night,   yeah ?    ’     /    from gendry for @fullofaces​ !

  soft one-liner sc.    

[fightsbck]

‘    aye,    if the fawns aren’t runnin’ away,   yer’ doin’ it right.    ’    /    from gendry for @dracharenae​ !

  soft one-liner sc.    

[fightsbck]

      he hasn’t got an idea at how much time has passed since he’s closed his eyes.    n’ fact,    he hasn’t got much o’ an idea at how he’s got his eyes closed ‘n the first place.    he remembers fightin’,   aye,   and that they were deads everywhere:    the air smelled somethin’ horrible,   like decay and burnt flesh,    and that he wasn’t really seein’ most o’ the time.    ‘t was just war and ashes and blood.   and then    -     then everythin’ stops.    ‘t takes him a while,   knuckles tightenin’ on th’ mace ‘fore he realises the walkers ain’t risin’ up no more,   and—    and he’d went out searchin’.     he went out searchin’,   callin’ for her name that’s stuck at the back o’ his throat    (   he remembers the walls she pointed only a few hours b’fore,    how her little brother used t’ climb there,  and where she used t’ hide;   and how it’s all covered wit’ nothin’ but ruins    )   until ser davos caught him.   and then—     a weight stops him ‘fore he could fully sit up right.      and ‘t takes him a moment,   it does,   until he could make up the frame o’ her against him;    the dark o’ her hair,   the grimes on her face.    for a second,  it’s like he’s eighteen ‘gain and she,  nothin’ but the small girl he’d somehow learned t’ take care of,   t’ trust.      ‘   ... arya?    ’    he rasps,   slowly leanin’ his head back ‘gainst the cold o’ the make-shift pillow.   /   from gendry for @xneedlepoint !

    continued?  sort of?

[fightsbck]

                he’s busy workin’    —      but not busy ‘nough t’ spot his king.    no,    not king now,    he supposes.   his lord.     maybe a friend.       ‘      heard you rejected a ride on a dragon,    m’lord.      ’      /    from gendry for @soughtlove !

    aka correcting canon  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆

[fightsbck]

       ‘     wasn’t much o’ a choice.    not when the gold cloaks came attackin’ us and held us prisoners ‘ver since.      ’       gendry’s never spoken much o’ his days in the riverrun,    let alone at harenhaal.    a wretched destination t’ be in,   no doubt,    and ain’t a pleasant story t’ ever be recalled     -     not even right now,   as gendry’s tryin’ his best t’ unfasten the man’s armour.     damn.   the metal’s there are all screwed up.     ‘      aye,   s’gendry,   sir.    hold on—     ’     he bites out,   and,    a strength o’ his fist alone,     the smith wretches the damn steel apart.     the injuries under,   as he suspects,   aren’t pretty.       ‘       right.   not turnin’ ye’ into one o’ these deads just yet,    lord commander.     help !    injured !     ’     and help does come,    another man,   limping,   but bringin’ clothes that could be used t’ wrap.     ‘     m’strong,    m’lord.   i can carry ye’ to where it’s nearest for water.    help clean yer’ wounds up.     ’    /   from gendry for @thedolorous !

    continued.

[fightsbck]

            ‘     you can stop starin’ at it.     ’     the sound of the fire crackling is soothing;    the warmth it exudes even more so.    being in the forge anywhere,   he learns,   is the same.    the places are different,   sure;    the one who would come and asks for his services speak the same requests even if it isn’t in the same words.    but there is still and soot and dirt and fire.    having her here,   though   ...    seeing her so near when he thought he wouldn’t ever be able to again,   it takes the comfort out of the place he’d long thought was his location of refuge.   she send shivers down his spine    -    but not like how the walkers had.    s’ more of an ache.    more personal.      ‘    no matter how long you’d stare,   it won’t grow back.     ’     he’d coloured it when he first stepped into king’s landing.   but sooner,  too soon,  his black hair grows out.    half robert,   he’d hear stannis’ word echo,   so he cuts them.   never really lets ‘em grow again.   maybe after the war s’ over and he’s had half a brain to not let himself get killed by the dead,   he’d grow them again.     /     from gendry for @murios !

:)

[fightsbck]

          ‘      you’re here f’ the weapon,    then?     ’      it’s still    -    so odd.    for years,    gendry had thought he’d never see her again.      the twins,    that was where the brotherhood had wanted t’ her last,     the red wedding.     for months,   years,   gendry’s held out hope that maybe she’d survive     —     if anyone were t’,   it’d be arya,    he’d thought:    stubborn and determined,   but quiet,   as if speakin’ ‘em aloud would make it true that she’s gone now,    she won’t come back,   and s’ all ‘cause o’ him    —    and who would’ve thought?    all those damned prayers    -   no.    not quite prayers.   pleas,   maybe.    hope.     -    and she’s right there,   n’ flesh and blood and everythin’.      s’ like one o’ those things where he remembers the brotherhood used t’ make its members do,   see into the light,   lad,    they would say,   and the lord o’ light will show the way.     magic,   all o’ them.    nothin’ but damning tricks.

          s’ she a trick right now?      —    the handle he’s made are once again bein’ put into the forge    -    it needs a bit more reheatin’,    then they’d be able t’ shape it better.        ‘      i ain’t got it with me yet,    but it’ll be done.     ’      he tells    -    direct,   quick to th’ point.    she looks like a proper lady now,    gendry can’t help but t’ speak like he’s facin’ one.    then again,   she is.   a proper lady,   that is.    a sister of a king.    and what is he?    just a damned forgotten bastard seconds-away from bein’ sacrificin’ like some lamb.    quit it,   he tells himself,   sneakin’ a glance,   because    -   arya’s different.    always had been.    she was your first true friend,   idiot.      /      from gendry for @lcgendaris !

      season eight episode based starters.

[fightsbck]

        ‘     i ain’t no son of any king.     ’      gendry couldn’t even think about it.    he’s seen the castle,   ‘course,   seen the riches that’re pourin’ right from the walls that’s guardin’ the king and queen,    and heard tales from maids and staffs who worked ‘nside ‘bout the supplies of food,    and clean water,   and how children there learnt t’ read and write like no kids in the village could really do.    like gendry couldn’t.     he’s fortunate ‘nough what memories of his mum left n’ his head got her bein’ the few that taught him t’ count,    or gendry’s no doubt he’ll long get cheated on with whatever few garbs or things he’s owned.    and then working with master mott,   travellin’ all the way t’ a foreign country n’ everythin’,     counting became more important.    how many shields would ye’ want?   how many armours?    have you got the coins?    why s’ it not enough?    but readin’,   writing.    he recognises symbols,   aye,   some o’ the alphabets repeatin’ t’ make a name or a word,    but the whole thing ...

          n’ now the tiny lil’ princess s’ telling him he’s a son of a king from the country he’s long fled?     suns,    he could barely remember how king’s landing looked like.    he thinks the streets are the same:   narrow and filled with workin’ people,   bustlin’ with orders and demands n’ voices shoutin’ just damned nonsense sometimes.     it’s    -    bigger,   though,   he thinks.   king’s landing.   or was it westeros that was big and gendry,   young he was,   never have gotten the chance t’ explore the rest o’ the seven kingdoms?    it didn’t matter,   he decides quickly later,   still puttin’ away all o’ the steels and tools to where it’s supposed t’ go.    he’s in corona now.    this is where he lives.      ‘      whoever the gold cloaks r’ searchin’ for,    it can’t be me.      ’      /    from gendry for @towercursed !

    corona au like we discussed 💖