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)
eachdraidh2014-04-09 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.)
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If anyone starts making rings down there he'll flip his shit with the rest of the Elven quotient.]Would you oblige me, young man? How do the swords seem to your eyes, on the whole — are they well-made?
[ Doubting they'll be up to Elven standards, but with Celebrimbor here that will likely change should the Feanorian seek to rekindle his craft (in harmless ways). Until such a time, Thranduil welcomes an overview from a professional. ]
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They're of decent quality, m'lord. They were made by men what knew their business.
[He undersells them. And why not? He knew of no smith better than Tohbo Mott and these swords were good and better than anything Gendry had made. But Gendry maintained a persistent faith in his old master. And besides, he hadn't yet had the chance to truly see how well he could make a sword.]
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Cutting corners first isn't the best idea, though, and he still needs a weapon in the interim. So. ]
Are they all made by Men?
[ If the smith knows what he's looking at, he ought to be able to pick out the differences from what he is accustomed to when it comes to Elvish steel. ]
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Of course they are. Who else would be making them? I ain't seen any woman what could work steel.
[Perhaps the Tarth woman. She was as big as Gendry was. But otherwise, the question struck him as absurd.]
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Some. Light armor mostly. Not much plate armor to be found.
[He'd found a shirt of ringmail and had already claimed it for himself. Chainmail was a terribly time consuming process that required great patience and though he had spent many weeks in his apprenticeship on such tasks, he was not eager to start again.]
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My thanks. [ Probably best to head down there at some point and see if he can find someone else to fit him with his own armour. ] Please, return to your work.
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I will, when it suits. Why's it you wanted to know all that?
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Should I intend to ride out in the future, I would wish to be properly attired. As I am taller than many Men and this castle is dominated by them, I find it hard to believe anything ready-made will fit me accordingly.
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Tall? How tall?
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[ Anyone who mistakes him for Legolas's brother would definitely place him the elder on height alone. ]
Elves move differently. We have our own ways of creating lighter armour than that of Men which allows for us to travel at speed. [ A pause, and he elaborates further. ] My son is here. If he is to be drafted into a war, my priority is setting aside armour for his use that will not hinder his natural movements in the trees or render him an easy target.
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But not so interesting as the rest of it.]
You know these ways of making armor, do you?
[Gendry is eager to learn. He never finished his apprenticeship, but had reasoned he knew well enough to function on his own. Experience and experimentation would serve to improve his craft. But the mention of new methods to craft armor was intriguing. Enticing. It was exciting and it made his bull helmet seem almost unimportant.]
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[ Thranduil shakes his head. ]
I could never own the skill that you wield. [ And while they're being honest, ] I would not put it past my clumsiness in a forge to send coals flying into my own eyes.
[ Many things Thranduil is accomplished in, but metalwork is not one of them. ]
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If you see him, m'lord, tell him he'll have my skill to add to his own. Any smith, no matter how good, always works best with a second pair of hands.
[And that he is able to say humbly. Thranduil was gracious enough to praise Gendry's skill and though Gendry had no idea what to say to it, he could at least show some humility in turn. It was a rare chink in the armor of anger, bitterness, and resentment that he had forged around him.]
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I will, though I do not know your name, young master —?
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[Gendry Waters? Perhaps. But it admits to a kinship he holds no pride in.]
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Thank you, m'lord. What ought I call you?
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... my apologies, your grace. I didn't realize you was a king.
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[ And off goes the locket, closing. ]