#gendry.

[forgaeven]

gendry isn't sure how long he's walked.

couldn't even remember, really, how he'd arrived here. not tha' he's certain where here is : the sky's here got a colour to it tha' something in his head takes as nonsensical but simply accepts ( like s' a dream, it is, where all o' things that couldn't possibly happen in real life unfolds in this place with no hesitation ), and the paths gendry's found are winding and twisting and leadin' him to places gendry isn't even sure if he'd ought at all t' walk there. though he does, putting one foot forward 'fter the other simply so he could get somewhere. so he could arrive anywhere.

and then— a garden. again, the true markers or milestones to how he got here went o'er him like mist. one minute, it'd been the dense of the forest. the next, the road had made way to a cobblestone path. when gendry moves ahead, the green around becomes thick, neat bushes. and then, before he knows it, he's following the perfect row of it until more flowers exist in his peripheral. instantly, gendry could feel his hackles raised. everyone knows – everyone who are poor knows – that tended garden could only mean tha' it belonged to a lord or a fortunate merchant. ye' don't just walk on in. ye' could be accused of wantin' t' steal something. take their riches, their food, even these damned flowers.

and all lowborn knows tha' the words o' a highborn, or a man with money, triumphs all else.

gendry gulps, but he's got t' move ahead — trustin' this might lead him t'someone — until, his instinct proven right, in his eyesight, arrives a lady. all sharp-eyes and furious lookin' face. gendry could feel the instinctive need t' lower his head, and he does, for only a second, 'fore he squares his shoulders a lil', and hope he comes across as ... as better. more than the dirt-muck face or seasalt sweat marrin' his eyebrows. ( seasalt ? tha's odd. was he 'ver near a water ? he can't recall. ) gendry licks his lips.

❛ pardon me, ma'am. ❜ he tries, tone uncertain. ❛ it seems m'lost. don't mean t' frighten ye' if i have. ❜

@flourblooms, as plotted ♡

[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.

[forgaeven]

❛⠀DON'T TOUCH ME ! ❜ the words have roared out of him 'fore any chance he could take it back. before any chance he could think twice, really, as he scrambles as far back in the cot as he could, chest heavin'. his eyes are wild, a blue piercing thing that scatters o'er all his surroundings, it did, like it's trying it's best to see where he is. to see if there's a chance he could make it out, could fight his way if he has to. because no four walls so far had ever been safe. every comfort he thought he had, it'd been ripped out of him. bartered. sold. like he'd nothin' much but a piece of tool or cloth.

not even a weapon, no, because a weapon is sharp. it's meant to hurt. in this instance, it feels like the whole world s' a weapon instead, and gendry's just the thing they hurl it at. something to maim. to kill, if they're quick enough.

gendry shakes his head and think nothing of it. he focuses on her, instead : all wide-eyed in her milk-colored clothing. somewhere in the back of gendry's mind, he knows this uniform from somewhere. know what it means, he does. but in the moment, under the rapid beatin' of his heart, he can't make no sense of anything. all he knows was that he'd been without proper food for days, maybe weeks. he was so hungry, and the sea was relentless. endless. he hated it as much as he'd almost hated bein' used by the highborn. almost.

❛⠀where am i ?  ❜ he rushes to stand next, falling out of the cot, and hastily pickin' himself up proper. even then, he notices quickly how weak his knees were. of course they were, he angrily thinks. stupid, useless bull. he can't do one thing right, it seems. ❛⠀wha— wha' 'ave ye' done t'me ? why am i here ? who're you ?!  ❜

@nursc ♡'d starter call !

[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]

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