Call me Out

[dammitmasa]

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code by cawaii
- Refer to the list above for an active muse. -
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- Prose or commentspam are fine! -
- Start with a scenario or give a prompt for one you'd like to see.

Preferences:
- I don't play for shipping, fluff, or smut. If it arrives naturally, I'll play it. But not as a starting point.
- In universe, AUs, crossovers, post-game, or other situations are cool.
- I will play prose or brackets, but definitely prefer prose.

Comments

[bullhorned]

"In King's Landing, our shop was far from the castle. Our neighbors might grumble if we worked our forge at night." They often did so, when their orders exceeded the time in the day they had to finish it. "They were too afraid of us to do much of it."

But that had been a time when he did matter. Smiths may not be lords, but among the common people, they were somebodies. They had a trade and whether in war or peace, their work was highly prized. But in the world of nobles, they were like horses. If it went bad, you simply got rid of it.

[steeledskin]

"I never minded the sound..."

The Eyrie's towers lifted high above its forge. Robin's rooms might have been invaded by the noise, but hers had barely been. However, back in Winterfell had been a different story. The whole castle seemed to clump around Mikken's workshop, betraying the North's value for strength and steel above many other things. In Winterfell, she'd heard the ringing of his work since she was a baby. She may never have wanted to wield a sword, but she was comforted by the sounds of one being made.

"But there who mind it rather a lot. In the moment, at least. In the light of morning, Robin Arryn wants nothing but to meet you."

[bullhorned]

The name Arynn reminded him that even though Lord Baelish controlled the Vale, it was not him who truly ruled it. And he realized that Robin Arynn would be the son of the first Hand of the King. Gendry was wary of meeting another Lord, but he realized if he was to work the forge again, he would need more than the permission of a bastard daughter.

"He does? Why?"

[steeledskin]

"He's young. He's lonely. He doesn't know how to make friends."

Sansa felt for a moment that she was speaking about herself. So she shook her head and ventured deeper into Gendry's room. "I imagine his mother never allowed him to meet a smith."

[bullhorned]

A lonely lord. The idea seemed almost like a joke to him. How could a lord be lonely when people were spilling over one another to ingratiate themselves to him?

"I'll talk to him." As though I have a choice in the matter. "What should I say to him?"

[steeledskin]

"What do boys ever say to other boys?" She asked, indicating she barely knew how to converse with Robin on a good day. "Whatever you say, be gentle about it. For your own sake."

[bullhorned]

"Gentle," he repeated warily. It was strange to think that with Ned Stark's daughter, they wrestled like brothers. But with Jon Arynn's boy, he would need to be gentle. "Aye. I can do that."

Says the smith. There's nothing gentle about me.

[steeledskin]

"I am sorry," she said -- almost as an afterthought as she moved to lead him from the room. "I should have warned you. Or him. I can't help but feel that I'm at fault for..."

She pulled a kerchief from her sleeve. Sansa had learned to keep one on her person back in King's Landing, when blood was frequently on her face. She offered it to him, knowing it would help little when it was so dry and his wounds no longer fresh.

[bullhorned]

He was hesitant to follow, yet follow he did. When she offered him the kerchief, he hardly know what he was expected to do with it. She'd given him a blanket before. He knew exactly what that was for. But this dainty piece of cloth seemed next to useless in his rough, dirty and calloused hands.

"It's not the first time I've had my nose bloodied. I'm from Fleabottom, remember? A bloodied nose is how we say hello to one another. And a few knocked out teeth is how the knights tell us goodbye. I'd call myself lucky to have the former."

[steeledskin]

"...Is that really how it is?"

She once believed a knight to be beyond reproach, but now she knew better. Then again, she'd also wondered whether she was alone in how she suffered under the Kingsguard's blows.

"We should expect more from our knights."

[bullhorned]

What she spoke of was wishful thinking and though she might reprimand him for saying otherwise, he did so anyway. "Expecting more is how you lose your teeth."

[steeledskin]

She touched her jaw. Perhaps she should be grateful that Meryn Trant had never taken any of her teeth.

"I would rather not have the men of this house striking any guests. They will be spoken to."

[bullhorned]

He had nothing to say. Was he supposed to thank her for that? Maybe. But he wondered how much influence she truly had. She had got him free, but only, it seemed, to the great reluctance of her father.

"What's he like? This Lord Robin?"

[steeledskin]

"Sickly," she confessed. "Often petulant. He is only six."

He takes fits. But that felt like a personal piece of information. She would not want someone speaking of her in such a way to a visitor.

[bullhorned]

"A young one, isn't he? I've never been around children that small before." No children ever came by the forge, unless they wanted a hot coal tossed at them for their trouble. And certainly none as young as that. There had been that girl they called Weasel that tagged along with them, but she'd never spoke a word. It was easy to forget she was even around.

[steeledskin]

Sansa hesitated upon the truth. Could she confess that she has two younger brothers? Or would that spoil everything? Perhaps the truth need only be tweaked by a word or two: "I have half-siblings. Younger ones. But even the youngest was--is never so demanding as our Sweet Robin."

[bullhorned]

But you call him Sweet Robin all the same.

He wondered what she meant by siblings, though. He had seen no other children in the keep so far. Why were they not here with her?

"I don't have anything to give him."

[steeledskin]

"Promise him a toy." Much to her chagrin, her voice came out smug and certain. A little like how Petyr sounded when he seemed to be deliberating a point to her, whenever she was struggling to understand his motives. "He cannot complain about your work in the forge if you're working at his behest."

[bullhorned]

"A toy?" He'd never made toys. For a smith like Tohbo Mott, that was beneath his skill to bother with trinkets. Gendry wasn't anxious to try, but he knew that it was better to ingratiate himself to the little lord. "I can do that. It only means no sharp edges."

[steeledskin]

A servant held open a door that would lead them to a brief walk outside, straight over to the main tower. The High Hall practically took up an entire ground floor.

"A play-sword, perhaps. Lord Robin will never go to war." Sansa doubted he'd live until his next name day. "But he would play at it."

[bullhorned]

It was still strange to have servants who opened doors and tried to blend into the background so as to be unnoticed. It unsettled Gendry, as he'd always tried to do the same around his betters.

But now he was walking with a lady to meet another lord. And she called me Gendry Waters before.

"Even a dull sword can do harm and I don't do woodwork."

[steeledskin]

Who could Robin harm?

But she thought better of the question before she gave it voice. The boy had wrecked so much. She still mourned for her snow castle.

"Armour, then. Or anything. It doesn't matter much."

[bullhorned]

"I could make a helmet. A proper one. Shaped like a falcon."

He thought of his own helmet, now long abandoned. After he made the little lord's helmet, he might try and remake his own.

[steeledskin]

"...Really?"

Mikken had never made armour shaped like anything else. The North was filled with steel, but it was all so stale and serviceable. "Won't that be difficult?"

[bullhorned]

Gendry, for a rare moment, smirked to be able to brag about his own skill. He was no master smith, but he knew well that he was better than most.

"It will take some doing. But my master learned me well. Tohbo Mott was the best smith in the Crownlands."