Ser Gendry Waters (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bullhorned) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
eachdraidh2014-11-27 08:43 am
bullhorned) wrote in eachdraidh2014-11-27 08:43 am
Forge Three - (Audio/Action)
Bloody fairies never manage to get things right, do they?
[Like many, Gendry received his boon two days ago, but he hasn't gotten any closer to making proper use of it. Oh sure, walking back and forth through a set of mirrors is a jolly experience, but it's a pain in the ass if they're both in the same room. Though he won't deny he did have a bit of fun setting them across each other and walking through the portal over and over. But! That's not what he'd wanted!]
Seems if you want something decent, you've got to be specific. Seven hells... [He has no choice! He must do the unthinkable:] Stiles, you still about?
[Yes. He must ask STILES for help. That most dreaded of occurrences! Sure, there might be other people who could teleport him from Cothromach to Troichean Beinn in a blink of the eye. But those are other people and Gendry's faith in other people is roughly equivalent to his faith in this war ending amicably. If he's called a suspicious bastard, then it is a one hundred perfect accurate description of him.
But the locket is still in his hand and he realizes he's addressing both courts at large. Damn.]
... just, be careful about your boons, eh? The fairies like to be stingy, if you let them. [There. He's done the community at large a favor.]
[At the Cothromach]
backdated to 26th
When Gendry wasn't in his room messing about with a set of magic mirrors, he was hard at work at one of the forges. Though he wasn't officially apprenticing at any of the shops, one of the master smiths had agreed to hire Gendry on while he was in the city. So that meant keeping busy as he hammered tirelessly at some new sword. His Shard ached as he drew on its power to give superhuman blows. It was hard work and the sword wouldn't even be his, but he now knew enough about dwarven magic that he could finally give his uncle a good and strong sword. This is what he'd been doing ever since the battle had ended and he'd at last turned his work to other projects. This item was now nearly done and by evening, after he'd honed it to a razor's edge, he would find his uncle's home in the Cothromach to come knocking.
27th
After his message on the lockets, Gendry left to be at his normal routine. He was living in the Keeper's tower now and so he would eat his first and last meals of the day there. Other hours would see him in the market, working at one of the forges earning his wages by small commissions of tools or shoeing horses. Hardly work for an apprentice of Bordan Gret, but he did not seem to mind this simpler work. For those looking to find him or simply anyone in the city looking for goods, he was an easy man to find. His grumbling about boons aside, he was in as good a mood as he could be expected to be in.
[Like many, Gendry received his boon two days ago, but he hasn't gotten any closer to making proper use of it. Oh sure, walking back and forth through a set of mirrors is a jolly experience, but it's a pain in the ass if they're both in the same room. Though he won't deny he did have a bit of fun setting them across each other and walking through the portal over and over. But! That's not what he'd wanted!]
Seems if you want something decent, you've got to be specific. Seven hells... [He has no choice! He must do the unthinkable:] Stiles, you still about?
[Yes. He must ask STILES for help. That most dreaded of occurrences! Sure, there might be other people who could teleport him from Cothromach to Troichean Beinn in a blink of the eye. But those are other people and Gendry's faith in other people is roughly equivalent to his faith in this war ending amicably. If he's called a suspicious bastard, then it is a one hundred perfect accurate description of him.
But the locket is still in his hand and he realizes he's addressing both courts at large. Damn.]
... just, be careful about your boons, eh? The fairies like to be stingy, if you let them. [There. He's done the community at large a favor.]
[At the Cothromach]
backdated to 26th
When Gendry wasn't in his room messing about with a set of magic mirrors, he was hard at work at one of the forges. Though he wasn't officially apprenticing at any of the shops, one of the master smiths had agreed to hire Gendry on while he was in the city. So that meant keeping busy as he hammered tirelessly at some new sword. His Shard ached as he drew on its power to give superhuman blows. It was hard work and the sword wouldn't even be his, but he now knew enough about dwarven magic that he could finally give his uncle a good and strong sword. This is what he'd been doing ever since the battle had ended and he'd at last turned his work to other projects. This item was now nearly done and by evening, after he'd honed it to a razor's edge, he would find his uncle's home in the Cothromach to come knocking.
27th
After his message on the lockets, Gendry left to be at his normal routine. He was living in the Keeper's tower now and so he would eat his first and last meals of the day there. Other hours would see him in the market, working at one of the forges earning his wages by small commissions of tools or shoeing horses. Hardly work for an apprentice of Bordan Gret, but he did not seem to mind this simpler work. For those looking to find him or simply anyone in the city looking for goods, he was an easy man to find. His grumbling about boons aside, he was in as good a mood as he could be expected to be in.
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"You would deserve two," she confessed, "if they were given in such good faith and honesty."
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The danger came for the words he spoke, when he was told to be silent. Sansa knew that, but so did Tzilan. Where Sansa was glad for it and forgave him the moment he spoke them, Gendry suspected the Minister never would.
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Dead, a hundred times upon the road. Disavowed of knights. Ignorant of smiths. A puppet within her own city, and swayed by the very Minister he but alluded to. She had family aplenty, but for honest and natural reasons none had been there to intercede -- and although she was certain they would have done so, it was Ser Gendry who had.
Then again! Without him, she would not have been forced into other pains and sores. Without him, she would never have learned of the Mother Merciless. The memory still tore.
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Could. But wouldn't. Some words did not bear being brought to live. Especially when those words also came with darker deeper undercurrents. Sansa couldn't truly chart what was worse and what was better in her life -- suffering, it seemed, lurked in many places. For a moment, some further confession seemed to catch in her throat.
But propriety brought her up short. "Gendry," she began -- slow yet certain. "My apologies. I've brought us far, far, far from our lesson." It was easy to assume the blame, when it was more accurately shared between them. "And I've kept you longer than necessary. You mustn't allow it."
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"As you say. Well past my bed time, I think." Or guessed, rather. Time was a tricky thing down here. "Sleep well, m'lady."
Whether he called her Sansa or not, those last three words always punctuated their partings after these lessons, whether their nights were of the lighter sort or the heavy.