and from forever ago, here are the rest of the posters that people had dibs on. i don't really remember who had who but let me know and i'll send it to you. i think ned was taken though. robb too. i don't remember about bran, but i know no one's got the sansan one yet
with one hand you free me, with one hand i'm steel
The master of the forge she found was a solemn, slightly rude man, but he treated her with respect. Though she suspected that was only because she went in dressed as a lady. Today she was in her riding clothes, and hoped he wouldn't shoo her away immediately.
Only he wasn't there when she walked in. In his place was a tall boy with inky black hair bent over a sword. He looked up when she stepped through the door, raised his eyebrows, smiled, and went back to his work. Arya exhaled slowly and turned to the display of swords. The exchange had been easier than she imagined. As she browsed through the weapons she imagined herself capable of just picking one out, and riding off to the Wall, or Dorne, or Storm's End, with no one questioning her moves.
"That's Vayrian steel." Arya spun around to find the blacksmith standing next to her, and accidentally nicked her finger on the sword he was talking about. "Oh sorry, let me help you." He dunked an old cloth into a pail of water and wrapped it around her cut finger, pressing down slightly.
"Thank you." He nodded, smiling again, and she noticed he had ice blue eyes, and his cheeks, though dirty, were smooth.
"You said it's Valyrian steel?"
"The master knows how to work it," he said, stepping around her and pulling the sword down for her inspection. "Be careful. It's the sharpest in the world."
Arya bit her lip, running her unbandaged finger along the hilt. It was a simple silver one, open to customization. The steel flowed like a river under her gaze, making her think of the Targaryens, and how they must have loved these weapons. "It's just like other swords," she said, forcing herself to turn away. "Sharp and pointy."
The apprentice- he had to be an apprentice- chuckled and put it back in its place. "To be sure. Just like other swords." He sounded sincere, but he was smirking, and she decided she liked that.
"Do you know how to work the steel?"
"I'm learning," he sighed.
His name was Gendry. He'd been smithing for a few years, he had a bull's helm, and he knew the city like Arya knew Winterfell. From that day on, while Sansa strolled in the courtyards and Bran practiced in the yard, Arya followed Gendry from the Sept of Baelor to the abandoned dragon pits. They spent long afternoons on the coast watching the ships roll in, talking about nothing very important, and with his help she missed her brothers a little less each day.
On the day the prince was said to arrive, Arya woke late, and in a foul mood. Her lessons with Syrio were building in intensity, and to make matters worse, she'd spent half the night dreaming of wolves. Tension hung thick in the castle as everyone hurried to make everything fit for the young noble. He was set to arrive after breakfast, and it was all anyone could talk about.
Arya dressed quickly and went down to the dining hall. The meal passed silently, and she took the opportunity to study her father. The news of the prince didn't seem to phase him, but he had grown thin and worried of late. He didn't like the tourney the king was planning, and liked his duties of command much less. She tried to find things to ease his stress, from reigning in her habits to smiling and nodding more than speaking her mind. She still snuck out to explore and see Gendry, but she made sure to return when she was needed, in time to bathe, and she was always well dressed.
Today she wore a deep purple dress that accented what little feminine attributes she had to offer. Even Sansa said it made her look pretty, and when she looked in the mirror she could see she was no longer the Arya Horseface of her childhood. Still, the real beauty at the table was Sansa, radiant in a light blue. She shone every time she moved.Her cheeks reddened when she spoke of the prince, but it only served to make her more beautiful.
Breakfast finished quickly, and Arya excused herself with a kiss upon her father's cheek. She wanted to find Syrio and have a lesson, or look for Bran amongst the squires. But both those things would soil her dress, and she was determined to do what was asked of her today. So she walked along the high walls of the castle, looking out over the city.
Her friend was down there somewhere, making steel sing in a way she never thought she'd find mesmerizing. There was grace in each powerful stroke, precision in the dance. Septa Mordane had once said Arya had hands like a blacksmith. Right now, she thought it wouldn't be a bad dance to learn. And Gendry could teach her.
He would be a good teacher, kind and patient, with just enough of a tease in his tone to make her want to work harder. And afterwards, if they wanted, they could take whatever money they made and their own hand crafted swords and travel the seven kingdoms, forging their way on. It didn't sound at all bad to her. The company would certainly be enjoyable.
"Shouldn't you be lining up for His Grace?" Arya turned, startled from her revelry, to find Jaime Lannister walking up to her, his golden hair shining in the sun.
"Of the two of us, your duties seem the most dangerous to desert. But then you're no stranger to that, are you?" Jaime smiled slowly, and then laughed outright. It might be an insult, if someone were to mention his slaying of the Mad King, but her time in King's Landing had made her better acquainted with Jaime, and him with her. Try as she might, she couldn't share her fathers reasons for hating him.
They fell in step with each other on the way back to the Great Hall. "You don't seem to share your sister's excitement."
"For the prince or the king's tourney?"
"Both. If I didn't know better I'd say you were quite the dull girl."
She chuckled, and raised her eyebrows. "What exactly do you know better?"
"Oh please, Lady Stark. Half the knights in your father's party sing your praises. And you've only seen fifteen name days."
Arya shrugged, stopping before the double doors. "Sixteen in a fortnight. And I would so loathe to be unentertaining." Jaime smirked and they entered together, Arya taking her place between Sansa and Bran.
The king's brother, Lord Renly, arrived first, in splendid green and gold robes, emblazoned with the stag of his house. Arya thought him better dressed than half the ladies in the room, but quick to smile, and not nearly as serious as Stannis. He winked at her when they met, and shook her hand rather than kissed it. She thought he must have heard stories of her, and liked his reaction. The prince filed in next, sending Arya's heart through the floor and obliterating the smile from her face.
It was Gendry. Gendry from the forge, Gendry of Flea Bottom and now Gendry the king's son. As she sank into a bow, it started to make sense. That's why his name had sounded familiar, that's why he didn't want to sneak in and explore the castle, and that's why they never parted at his home. He was probably staying at an inn with his uncle the whole time.
The forge was the only part that didn't fit in. She tried to puzzle it out and not let her anger make her act rashly, but all she could think about was him lying to her the whole time. When he reached her and introduced himself she made sure to look right into his eyes, but there was no shock there. Only a hint of sorrow.
"My lord," she said, plastering on a fake smile and sinking into a curtsy. He bowed in response, and only lingered a second too long before turning to Bran. The introductions and courtesies over and done with, Arya asked to be excused. Her father's brow wrinkled but he nodded. As Sansa rushed to his side, Arya bowed hastily in the prince's direction and walked away, each step leaden and more painful than the last.
so i just got back from a season two commentary rewatch and my biffle had this asoiaf calendar that she was gonna put up as posters but instead she gave them to me. ofc i'm too selfish to give away the ones i want myself (dany with purple eyes and oberyn vs. the mountain and mel with red eyes and arya and jon and all that good stuff)
i am gonna give away a ned one, a robbone, a sansan one, and a bran perched on a gargoyle type thing one
i'm going to put up pictures later so you can see what you're getting, but i just wanted to let you know. and if we're mates on here i might make it a little package thingy, not just the poster (with like a letter from me and idk some candy type stuff, we'll see)
and i'm not tagging cause i kinda just want to keep it to my followers, but if you're interested and can trust me with your address let me know.
Not everyone was so accepting of her new passtime. It had taken a long time to convince her father, and even longer to understand the sneers and disapproving looks. The first time they stopped at an inn she had burst into the dining hall, soiled and breathless, her braid in an unruly tangle. Sansa's surprised gasp was nothing to the king's loud booming laugh. That night she dined next to His Grace, and from then on she accepted the way it would be. A few kind words wasn't worth being stuffed inside all day.
She imagined it was how knights must have felt, on the way to war. With the sun overhead and Nymeria at her side she was immortal, strong, and above all, free. Upon her return she kissed her father, greeted her sister politely, ruffled Bran's hair, and retreated to her tent. Sometimes her brother joined her on these rides, but mostly he liked to speak with father and the knights, so she ended up alone.
She was anxious to know everything about these lands and King's Landing both, but her first and last day with the queen, spent in all politeness and civility, left her less than impressed with what she learned there. From then on, she turned to the cooks and the serving girls for stories. At first they only bowed and milady-ed her, but soon enough they warmed to her presence and spoke freely of everything from the king's appetites to the peasant boys they were returning to.
The knights she warmed to as well, for reasons similar to Bran's. One night she'd dressed as a squire, her hair tucked into a cap, and sat with the rowdiest bunch she could find. In the middle of a rather vulgar story, one of the girls walked up with fresh wine and recognized her. The poor thing had almost dropped the jugs she was carrying, and the knight turned as red as the setting sun. Arya only laughed, offered him a jest, and the whole table erupted in laughter.
She was no fool. She knew there was no place for her erratic behavior. Not among the royal heirs, or by the king, and certainly not when they reached their destination. But on the open road it was hard to remember that. Jory indulged her with war stories, the men with their company, and the others with a world she wasn't privy to. She allowed herself one last hurrah before she had to grow up.
Toward the end of their journey, her father asked her to stay close to the group. They were nearing the city and he wanted her safe. She obeyed happily, and took his lessons on how to act when she explored King's Landing as a sign that he trusted her. Their last night brought the only restful sleep she'd known and dreams of Jon. Her brother had left for the Night's Watch weeks earlier and only now would she allow herself to think of him.
His leaving hurt her like a sword through the heart. All the bravery in the world hadn't stopped her from crying the second his horse disappeared. He was a man of twenty, off to have adventures and responsibilities. He was grown, and he'd gone without her. All that kept her hopeful was visiting the Wall one day, hugging him close and letting him ruffle her hair, although she'd be much too old for that. With every step closer to her new home the place in her heart where Jon belonged grew ever more empty.
King's Landing did not make a good first impression. It stank. The first steps through its gates brought Arya's hands flying to cover her mouth and nose, so quickly she almost dropped the reigns.The other ladies and the queen daintily raised their kerchiefs, but it was all Arya could do to keep from emptying her lunch on the cobblestones. Once they got into the castle however, she found the stench weakened, and her high chambers brought her farther from it.
Baths had been provided for them, and fresh clothes to change into, but all Arya could think of was the city. Smell as it may, she'd never been in one so large before, and there would surely be many things to amuse her. All she wanted was to pull out her breeches, strap Needle to her waist, and go explore.
To do that she had to suffer through a boring lunch in a very form fitting light grey dress. It was no joy to be eating with the same people she'd seen for weeks, not when there was so much to find out beyond the castle doors. But she made herself sit and eat slowly, trying to find something around the room to interest her.
Sansa shone in a deep red dress that matched her hair. Her and Myrcella had become fast friends, whispering and giggling to each other. Arya hoped to find someone who held her attention like that. Beside her sister, her father laughed with the king, although she thought she saw worry in his eyes. The queen looked radiant in the late afternoon sun. Beside her sat her three perfect blond children.
There was supposed to be a prince there too. She only remembered because Sansa wouldn't stop talking about it, but he wouldn't be joining them for a while. The king said he'd been visiting his uncle. It was just as good. Right now the company felt close and comfortable. Even the queen smiled more, though only after the news about the prince. Arya hoped he'd never arrive. She hadn't met many princes-none in fact- but she'd heard nothing that made her want to.
