eachdraidh | Forge One

[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.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I believe she has had some time to grieve. I have taken her under my protection, however. She is an honorary ward of House Baratheon, while we stay here, and I will keep watch on her.

[Perhaps that meant Sansa was under his protection as well. But she had only just rebuked him. She did not trust him and he told her she didn't need to. He frowns.]

... there's something you ought to know, m'lord. Only not over these lockets.

[ He pauses, wondering, before he heaves a hefty sigh. ]

Will you come to my rooms, then?

[He doubts Renly will believe him. Perhaps it would be best to simplify the story. Perhaps he did not need to say Catelyn was dead and brought back. Or that he followed the red god now. He hesitates.]

Yes, m'lord. I'll be there when I can.

[ He nods, though he knows Gendry cannot see it, and lifts the locket closer. ]

I will await you. Perhaps we might dine together?

[... dinner? With his uncle? Gendry cringes at the thought. He'd never eaten with lords, save for at the feast they all arrived to. But no one had really stayed in one place to sit and talk. And it had not been so intimate as two sitting across from one another, with a vast chasm of class and experience between them. Still...]

Aye, dinner sounds fine. Only, I ain't got no decent sort of clothes for anything at your table.

Don't fret over that. Clothes, while handsome, are often reserved for those who have far too much money - like myself.

[ It's an easy jab at his own nature, considering the vast wardrobes he has at King's Landing waiting for him, greens and golds and blues of all colours and fabrics. ]

Perhaps we could dine together with the lady Sansa and Ser Loras and Lady Margaery, then speak after?

[Gendry gapes as this goes from a private meeting, to dinner, to an entire affair with lords and ladies. Perhaps if he left the forge now, while it was still only morning, he might find time to wash up at least.]

... what of Lady Arya? She ought to be under your protection as well, right?

[ He hums, not picking up on the poor lad's worry. ]

I was not sure she was here, but I will invite her, too.

You might let me invite her, m'lord. We know each other. [Only recently from Arya's perspective. But that's not the point.] And maybe we might do the dinner on the morrow instead, it it pleases.

As you wish. I will contact Loras and arrange a meal for a few days ahead of this, then, and ask him to invite his lady sister.

Thank you, m'lord.

[And damn you as well. I don't want the Stark girls to know about this. Or the bloody Tyrells either.

Gendry closed the locked and groaned. He had time now, at least. Perhaps he might even see to making himself look decent for this dinner. He would just need to find help in doing that.]

Forge One - (Audio)

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