#gendryaedits

[aryaisms]

GENDRYA, CONTRAST OF BEGINNINGS.

[forest-lass]

“All I know is that you’re beautiful, and I love you, and none of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me...”

There, fixed it.

Reblog, do not repost.

I’m new to Tumblr and I haven’t a clue what I’m doing, I just wanted to share my edits somewhere. So here are two versions, a regular one and a ‘sailing off into the sunset/sunrise’ (whichever you want it to be) version.

This is how their stories should have ended.

—Forest-Lass

[aryaisms]

HIGHBORN LADY, LOWBORN BASTARD. "I . . . you're highborn then, a . . . you'll be a lady . . ." Arya looked down at her ragged clothes and bare feet, all cracked and callused. She saw the dirt under her nails, the scabs on her elbows, the scratches on her hands. “Septa Mordane wouldn't even know me, I bet. Sansa might, but she'd pretend not to. "My mother's a lady, and my sister, but I never was." "Yes you were. You were a lord's daughter and you lived in a castle, didn't you? And you . . . gods be good, I never . . ." All of a sudden Gendry seemed uncertain, almost afraid. "All that about cocks, I never should have said that. And I been pissing in front of you and everything, I . . . I beg your pardon, m'lady."  - A Clash of Kings, Arya V Tom was singing when they returned to the hall. My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down,  I’ll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown.  For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord.  I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword. Harwin took one look at them and burst out laughing, and Anguy smiled one of his stupid freckly smiles and said, “Are we certain this one is a highborn lady?” But Lem Lemoncloak gave Gendry a clout alongside the head. “You want to fight, fight with me! She’s a girl, and half your age! You keep your hands off o’ her, you hear me?” “I started it” said Arya. “Gendry was just talking.” “Leave the boy, Lem,” said Harwin. “Arya did start it, I have no doubt. She was much the same at Winterfell.” Tom winked at her as he sang: And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree.  She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me. I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass,  But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.   - A Storm of Swords, Arya IV  "It's only a trick, I told you. The wildfire ruins the steel. My master sold Thoros a new sword after every tourney. Every time they would have a fight about the price." Gendry hung the tongs back up and took down the heavy hammer. "Master Mott said it was time I made my first longsword. He gave me a sweet piece of steel, and I knew just how I wanted to shape the blade. Only Yoren came, and took me away for the Night's Watch." “You can still make swords if you want,” said Arya. “You can make them for my brother Robb when we get to Riverrun.”  “Riverrun.” Gendry put the hammer down and looked at her. “You look different now. Like a proper little girl.”  “I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”  - A Storm of Swords, Arya IV An old man sat down beside her. “Well, aren’t you a pretty little peach?” His breath smelled near as foul as the dead men in the cages, and his little pig eyes were crawling up and down her. “Does my sweet peach have a name?” For half a heartbeat she forgot who she was supposed to be. She wasn’t any peach, but she couldn’t be Arya Stark either, not here with some smelly drunk she did not know. “I’m...”  “She’s my sister.” Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man’s shoulder, and squeezed. “Leave her be.”  The man turned, spoiling for a quarrel, but when he saw Gendry’s size he thought better of it. “Your sister, is she? What kind of brother are you? I’d never bring no sister of mine to the Peach, that I wouldn’t.” He got up from the bench and moved off muttering, in search of a new friend.  “Why did you say that?” Arya hopped to her feet. “You’re not my brother.” “That’s right,” he said angrily. “I’m too bloody lowborn to be kin to m’lady high.” Arya was taken aback by the fury in his voice. “That’s not the way I meant it.” “Yes it is.” He sat down on the bench, cradling a cup of wine between his hands. “Go away. I want to drink this wine in peace. Then maybe I’ll go find that black-haired girl and ring her bell for her.” “But...” “I said, go away. M’lady.” Arya whirled and left him there. A stupid bullheaded bastard boy, that’s all he is. He could ring all the bells he wanted, it was nothing to her.  - A Storm of Swords, Arya V