Ser Gendry Waters (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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eachdraidh2014-04-09 11:22 am
bullhorned) wrote in eachdraidh2014-04-09 11:22 am
Forge One - (Audio)
[The forge had echoed loudly from the sound of hammer on steel. Such had been the case for a week now, ever since Gendry had discovered the forge and learned he had the freedom to use it and its materials. He had fallen in love immediately. At the Crossroads, he had suffered a shambling forge that he'd had to largely put back together himself. The forge in Harrenhal had been better, but he was one of many who worked it. Tohbo Mott's own forge came close, but it lacked the size of this one. It was expertly crafted and spoke of a skill he could only imagine. His old master had talked of the forgs in Qohor and Volantis and how great they were. He could only imagine them being like this one.
And so Gendry had set to work. His half finished sword was completed. The blade was made sharp and glimmering. He did not bother himself with anything but the most basic of hilt and crossguard. Why should he? The sword had been forged from the only steel he could acquire. Now he had superior metal to work with and he imagined how he might forge himself a sword of the finest steel as could be found. And then, armor. A new helmet. Greaves, gauntlets, breastplate, pauldrons, and gorget. And why not? They were generous in their provisions and Gendry though to himself that when he had finished, he would look more a knight than even Ser Loras Tyrell. And then he would be more than just King Robert's bastard son born in Fleabottom. He would be a self made knight, secure and confident in his own armor.
A week in the forge. Drenched in sweat and smoke, with nothing but a damning heat as company. It suited him fine. He was hard at work creating a new helmet, after all. Indeed, he was so utterly devoted to his craft that he had not even returned to his bedchambers. He found the hard ground of more comfort than the feather soft bed provided to him and the distant heat of a cooling forge like a friendly reminder of home. And though he could not claim to have friends among his fellow arrivals, there were at least people of note that concerned him. Even if some, like Arya Stark, thought him as little more than a stranger.
And so he tried the locket.]
[Audio]
I found a forge. A good one. Better than any I've ever seen, at least. These fairy folk might be a queer sort, but they make for fine things. So I've been doing the same.
[He paused and wondered at his own message. Did he want to offer to craft armor and swords for others? No. And certainly not for charity. He only wanted to arm himself and make himself a knight. Once he had, he'd only need the forge to maintain what he already had or replace what might be damaged. So he keeps himself from offering something foolish.]
If there's other smiths about, you might find the place of use. [And then he lingers after that, unsure if more should be said. And so stupidly he can be heard lingering. Breathing.
And then it cuts out.]
[Afterwards, Gendry resumes his work at the forge, where he has discarded his shirt and set himself to the first steps of his new helmet.]
(ooc: prose and brackets are both welcome.)
And so Gendry had set to work. His half finished sword was completed. The blade was made sharp and glimmering. He did not bother himself with anything but the most basic of hilt and crossguard. Why should he? The sword had been forged from the only steel he could acquire. Now he had superior metal to work with and he imagined how he might forge himself a sword of the finest steel as could be found. And then, armor. A new helmet. Greaves, gauntlets, breastplate, pauldrons, and gorget. And why not? They were generous in their provisions and Gendry though to himself that when he had finished, he would look more a knight than even Ser Loras Tyrell. And then he would be more than just King Robert's bastard son born in Fleabottom. He would be a self made knight, secure and confident in his own armor.
A week in the forge. Drenched in sweat and smoke, with nothing but a damning heat as company. It suited him fine. He was hard at work creating a new helmet, after all. Indeed, he was so utterly devoted to his craft that he had not even returned to his bedchambers. He found the hard ground of more comfort than the feather soft bed provided to him and the distant heat of a cooling forge like a friendly reminder of home. And though he could not claim to have friends among his fellow arrivals, there were at least people of note that concerned him. Even if some, like Arya Stark, thought him as little more than a stranger.
And so he tried the locket.]
[Audio]
I found a forge. A good one. Better than any I've ever seen, at least. These fairy folk might be a queer sort, but they make for fine things. So I've been doing the same.
[He paused and wondered at his own message. Did he want to offer to craft armor and swords for others? No. And certainly not for charity. He only wanted to arm himself and make himself a knight. Once he had, he'd only need the forge to maintain what he already had or replace what might be damaged. So he keeps himself from offering something foolish.]
If there's other smiths about, you might find the place of use. [And then he lingers after that, unsure if more should be said. And so stupidly he can be heard lingering. Breathing.
And then it cuts out.]
[Afterwards, Gendry resumes his work at the forge, where he has discarded his shirt and set himself to the first steps of his new helmet.]
(ooc: prose and brackets are both welcome.)
audio.
Shouldn't it matter? [ but do you use this tone of voice with her? do you treat her thusly? because although sansa is pitiably late to the role of caring older sister, she felt it rush aggressively into her bones when she saw arya in the feasting hall. where once she looked at arya's associates with judgement and derision, she now looks with concern and criticism and a lurking understanding that anyone might betray her sister like they've betrayed her. ] Shouldn't it matter a great deal?
audio.
[And you hid in a castle. Married a Lannister. He keeps that added derision to himself. It was not that he disliked Sansa. He had liked her a great deal. And this sudden reversal of her opinion about him stung his pride. He'd managed to be somebody to her for his actions and not because of who his father was. And now? Now she didn't believe it.
He would have none of it. Because he could not hope to explain himself or convince her to believe him. Highborns were too stubborn for that and there was no Tickler here to force him to talk.]
audio.
that admission -- though perhaps the knight (if he is indeed a knight) had not intended it as an admission -- brings her up short. the decision is a crossroads: if she refuses to believe him, then he is a liar and a danger to her and her family. but if she takes him at his word...
if she trusts him and takes his claims on faith, then she must believe her sister has suffered. at the feast, the little girl she'd found stealing bread had been as yet untouched by the worst of what westeros would throw at the stark family. she wants her sister to stay that girl -- she doesn't want her to muck through the countryside with bad-mannered knights. and so gendry gains her ire for the simple sin of having lived through hell. ]
You can see, surely, why one might hope it isn't true.
audio.
It changed nothing.]
Hoping don't change nothing. It is what it is. It happened and you making me a liar don't change that.
audio.
[ we, she might have said. but her tongue is wrapping itself around someone else's words. someone who went on to assure her that every one of them in the court was a better liar than she could ever hope to be.
but the conversation, however brief, has brought upon a flush and an unhappy fervour. all of it threatens to dissolve her sense of self, and her ability to keep control on her emotions. so, stiffly: ] No matter. I'll leave you to your hawking -- [ assuming, erroneously, that he must be trying to find customers for his craft. ]
Good day, ser. [ archly, she stresses the title. ]
audio.
In frustration, he lifted his hammer and made the steel sing.]