#gendry.

[forgaeven]

cleanin' the dead ain't easy.

gendry has never expected it to be. though, to be frank, there's a lot o' things he wouldn't have expected : to be alive, for once. to be called out o' his lineage in front of so many others, for another. and that night was– was torturous. nerve-wreckin' as anythin'. the dragon queen and him 'ave never even talked, and she'd looked to him as though they were so much in cahoots. gendry remembers jon snow's eyes flittin' away while in the corner, davos' own complexion pales. most o' them, though shocked, had raised their glasses. under the queen's order, they cheered.

gendry remembers pukin', so horrendous the turn o' event was. so sudden. then he remembers arya. brave, stubborn arya with her stupid lil' list, refusing to stay. ( and gendry knows, he knows, the list is far from stupid. he'd heard it a million times b'fore, when she thought none o' them would ever heard her mutter them under her breath, right before she sleeps. and gendry knows s' important, but it's preposterous t' him that she'd ever want to leave after tryin' to make her way back for s' long. ) ser davos had caught him later, his face grim, but endlessly concerned.

i never- i didn't tell anyone, 'cept jon snow– he had tried telling him, panicked. and ser davos had nodded, solemn but understanding. i know. i know. good lad. i know. it'll work out.

and that was that.

ser davos had explained t' him later that the process of legitimisin' ain't easy. there are still factions back home, branches from older generations o' baratheons before, that might not fully approve, for not all of them had knelt to the queen, would even properly recognise her decree unless she is to fully seat the iron throne. so we wait, says ser davos, we wait until she does – though letters, gendry knows soon enough, are still being sent. and now the stormlands know, so does the rest of the north and whatever bannermen jon snow has gathered here.

gendry distracts 'imself, 'course he does. he cleans where he can, and thankfully, there's much t' clean. until news came: the dragon queen is dead, killed by jon snow's hands.

the news is equally devastatin' as it is shocking. gendry isn't sure what t' make of it. there are noises then, quickly, talkin' of what will happen next. will jon snow rise as the conquerer, and would the rest o' the seven kingdoms acknowledge them so ? – or what of robert's bastard ? hasn't he been legitimised ? what was the lad's name again ? it won't be too bad, will it, t'have a common folk, for once, be our king. he's still got robert's blood in 'im. much better than a foreigner's, i'd say. and gendry—

runs. or at least, he finds 'imself in the godswoods, heavin', his chest suddenly contractin' the way it did whenever he remembers how the red lady touched him. it is the sound of a fallen branch breaking that has gendry turn, high on alert, expecting davos, when– ❛⠀m'lady. ❜ he takes in the sight of her, relieved that it's her at all, and gendry's shoulder loses a little of its tension, though not completely. ❛⠀ye've heard the news, then ? bloody nonsense, s' all are. they– they wouldn't put a bastard on a throne, would they ? ❜

@womanlives ♡

[forgaeven1]

❛ i've no business with ye' than i have with the red lady and stannis baratheon— ❜ your grace, or my lord ? gendry couldn't even tell the difference now. had it mattered ? he had still lost arya, and king's landing will never be completely safe again.

they did that. the highborns, the blasted lot.

❛ m'just a smith. ❜

@fallesto — short starter call

[lordsnow]

s1e01 / s8e02

[fightsbck]

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

  soft one-liner sc.    

[thcblacksmith]

⚜  GENDRY.  ≻  ❪  joe dempsie. cis-male. he/him.  ❫  the sound of metal hitting metal & calloused hands. is that the bastard from flea bottom ? they haven’t aged a day. i can’t believe they’re only twenty four years old and already so stubborn and proud. it seems they’ve sworn their allegiance to the people. gods have mercy on the blacksmith’s soul.

When he worked, nothing existed for him but metal, bellows, fire. The hammer was like a part of his arm.

– A Clash of Kings, Arya IX.

HEADCANONS:

Gendry doesn’t know about his Baratheon heritage but he does look a lot like his uncle, Renly who looks a lot like his brother Robert. I feel like people -especially does who knew Robert in his youth, like Ned Stark- might get suspicious fairly quickly upon meeting the boy

His mother worked as a tavern wench at an alehouse and she died from an unknown illness when he was still a young boy. He doesn’t remember much about him other than the fact that she had blond hair. So Gendry was alone as a child, having to look after himself after his mother’s death and having grown up with that mentality he is convinced that he doesn’t need anyone else and is quite suspicious and untrusting of the people he meets.

When he was old enough, an unknown lord paid his apprentice fee so he could learn to be a blacksmith. He then took up work as an apprentice blacksmith under Tobho Mott, a master weaponsmith from Qohor, forging high-end armor and weapons for the nobility. 

Growing up having to work for a living, at Mott's smithy, Gendry became disciplined and doesn't have any of his father Robert's negative qualities of self-indulgence in food, drink, and women.

Gendry is from the slums Flea Bottom, the poorest part of Kings Landing. He has spent many long, hungry nights in a cold cottage, not knowing if he’d survive the week while the lords and ladies of the land sat in their extravagant castles with their golds and silvers. So he dislikes highborns quite a bit. He deeply resents the great lords for oppressing the lower classes and tearing Westeros apart with their bloody wars.

[forgaeven1]

gendry is handsome and charming when he smiles!!!!!!! when hes angry and scowling, it's all bobby b's, yes. but when he smiles or laughs, his face gets all soft and his eyes gets wrinkly and then u just see the gentleness he inherits from his mum

[forgaeven1]

[sleeves] meera for gendry, your honor, he has nice arms :)

you chose: sender sees receiver roll up their sleeves.

his is the blood o' the southerner.

in the south, people wear things thinly. they've got little amount o' layers on 'em, and sometimes their clothes are sheer to aid them workin', or interactin', or socialisin', under the sun. people 'ave said that the sun shines brighter in dorne, so they'd wear even less, but gendry has a hard time imaginin' that. the state o' king's landing could be smothering as is, hot with the heat o' the sky and the people crammed in the narrow spaces o' fleabottom as the city roars under the baratheon's ruling. how could any places be hotter than what he knows ?

then, o' course, he wouldn't know much, would he ? a boy born and raised in the streets o' the most congested place in the crownlands his whole life, he wouldn't imagine any place colder than perhaps that one season when once, for weeks, the rain and storm couldn't stop hailin' through the city. 'course, back then, he didn't know yet he could've ever been travellin' through riverrun. he didn't know yet he would learn what it's like t' sleep under the flimsy shelter of trees, or rotted wood, and on floors with varied degrees o' dirt and worms and bugs alike.

he didn't know he'd be in the north.

( he didn't know he'd be touched the way he had. marked, like he's some o' curse. some of dirty thing that could be easily killed if needed. )

'ver since, gendry's a bit more grateful for any extra layers of cloth he could find. what he didn't need, he learns to store for later. in the meantime, what he could, he'd cover. it  — feels safer this way, he learns. feels good. gendry doesn't need t' be seen. it's never been his goal to be... to be famous or 'nythin'. to be watched. admired. ( he's learnt that baratheons tend to be warriors. they were built massive, and strong, and capable. gendry doesn't even need to be that, really. he needs no name of his in the history books, he doesn't. just a good place, really. somewhere t' sleep. to work at. no more killing. no more losses. tha's all. )

it is only a coincidence that the animals they've gathered needed skinning and scalin', and gendry has learnt not to get blood on his clothes. he rolls up his sleeve.

❛ — is this all, or are there more ? ❜

@womanlives — seggsual tension.

[fightsbck]

‘i’m not like them.’ ( soft angst starter meme, for gendry )

‘    why ?   just ‘cause ye’ haven’t killed me yet ?    ’

it’s strange   -    how many times ‘ave the thought crosses his head?    a family.   that’s all anybody could ‘ver really wanted when you’re an orphan at flea bottom.   a place t’ come back home to,   someone fer’ ye’ to call “ma” and “da” and know that ye’ could trust ‘em.   trust and love,   maybe,   if they were kind ‘nough.   gendry had never even asked for much,   even.   never asked for more than just a cot,   most night.   

but he’d    -    he’d wanted that too,   sometimes.    wanted a smithy all t’ himself,    then a wife,   maybe.   few children he could love,   and he’s strong.   everyone says so.    he’s strong so he could protect ‘em.    but no.

he’s got his name like a target,   like a calling t’ be killed,   ‘cause o’ the very thing that he thought was safe.    ‘cause o’ his blood.    cause o’ his so-called “family”.    the baratheons ‘ave not only tried to murder him,   no,   but they’ve burnt away all hopes he’d ever pinned on a silly little dream that he fancied every time he tried to ruck himself to sleep.

just a few fancy words aren’t enough t’ convince him,   though the image staring back is startling.   he’d seen stannis,   yeah,   that old sod,   but he was grey around the temple,   and whatever’s left o’ his matte black hair had thinned ‘round his skull.    aside from his blue,  bright eyes and forlorn looks,    there wasn’t much t’ him that gendry thought had been similar t’ his own looks.   renly,   though.

was that why the lady knight had called him that when she first saw him ?   fuck.

‘    if ye’re worried i’m here t’ threaten yer’ throne or whatnot,    don’t bother.    don’t need that old,  creaky chair.   i can build one be’er.     ’

   from an old meme.