Call me Out

[dammitmasa]

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code by cawaii
- Refer to the list above for an active muse. -
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- 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.

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[steeledskin]

"She knows things. Like songs. Alayne knows the best lullabies."

Sansa could only suffer the discussion in a haze of beatific silence. To argue with the little lord, or else to invite disagreement into his day...it might bring on another fit. When with Robin, she felt as though she only ever existed to curtail his malady.

[bullhorned]

Gendry was trying his hardest to pay due respect to the boy, but he found it taxing to do so. In Fleabottom, a boy that would tell such stories was likely to get ignored at best. Or beat at worst. But Gendry could do neither and had to treat these words as he would from any great lord.

For a moment he noted Alayne's silence. That was more like the woman he'd been coming to know.

"She says you might like a helmet, one like a proper knight. I thought to make you one at your forge. It would be like a falcon, fit for a true Arryn, if it pleases you, m'lord."

[steeledskin]

"How wonderful!" She gushed, leaning down and widening her eyes. All in the manner of an elder hoping to inspire excitement through some sort of contagious verve. "A helmet, Sweet Robin. All for you."

For a moment, the boy seemed to almost smell a lie. A plot. Some contrivance to steal something from him -- permission or compliance or something. But it passed quickly. He remained curious: "A real one?"

[bullhorned]

There she went again, shifting all at once to coddle him. Acting as though she were more a mother than... what? An older sister?

"Made with the best steel in your forge," he promised. He'd yet to go through what was at his disposal here, but there'd be no lie otherwise. He'd make use of the best of what was on hand.

[steeledskin]

Robin hung his head back at an odd, tilted angle. He looked to his Alayne for encouragement, and she only smiled. The lord was so often unable to see how her smiles often didn't creep beyond her lips, but today they crept a little further.

"Make it so," he commanded. Or tried to command. It always came out weak and petulant when he tried to give orders. It was a good thing he had Petyr to play regent for him, because otherwise the Eyrie would be a wreck.

[bullhorned]

"As m'lord commands," was all Gendry said. And just as the little lord looked helplessly to Alayne for support, Gendry was left to do the same.

Had he already overstayed his welcome? Should he stay longer to entertain the little lord? He felt at a complete loss already. He only knew now that he had orders to work the forge. He needed to get the fires going. Make the steel sing. And try to make himself indispensable for as long as he could manage it.

[steeledskin]

Robin certainly believed the smith had outstayed it. He was off in a trice, gone to assemble everything else he might need to be a proper knight. Without his mother alive to keep him on her lap, he had unprecedented access to the castle. Sansa could not summon the effort to tie him to her apron strings in the way Lysa Arryn had done.

But she could be bothered to offer a sly opening to the new resident smith. "Will you be requiring anything at the forge?" She asked, by way of offering to join him there later. If even under the pretext of making a delivery.

[bullhorned]

Gendry had been at court for far too short a time to be nearly so sly as her. He took her at her word and for a moment, tried to imagine anything he might need to best do his work at the forge. There was little that came to mind, save one thing.

"I've always been an apprentice, m'lady. My master Tohbo did sums. Made sure we had all the metal we needed. If you've a servant what might help me work out what all is to be had..." He trailed off, feeling like a fool to even need such assistance.

Some bastard lord I am. I can't do sums or letters. I'm good only with a hammer in my hand.

[steeledskin]

"...I am certain we can spare someone."

She misread his signals, seeing appreciation where she deeply hoped to see it. Sansa thought Gendry was participating in her little game, praising her learning in as sly a way as she had offered to come to him.

[bullhorned]

He bowed his head. "Thank you, m'lady."

And so when he was led to the courtyard, he was allowed to go on his way. Having broke his fast before the meeting with his new liege lord, he had little reason to waste time with other things. He wouldn't idle away for her servant to come find him. Sums could come later. He'd gone through some of the supplies already, so he found steel as best as he could find and began the process of heating the force, so it could be melted and shaped. The Eyrie may have been cold, but the forge burned with a monstrous heat. But Gendry barely felt it.

He'd always liked the forge, even as a boy. It was here he had power. It was here he commanded the flames.

[steeledskin]

"You are playing with fire, sweet girl," Petyr spoke quietly. He always spoke so quietly, making others lean towards him in order to pick up on his words. But Sansa stood still. Her hearing was good; she could make out his meaning just fine over the rhythmic strike of the smith's hammer in the courtyard below. "But we learn our best lessons when we are burned."

She had left his chambers with fire on her mind. She feared it, certainly. Fire had eaten up her younger brothers, though the Greyjoy traitor had first fled those flames. The Hound had feared fire, too. And she had coincidentally heard that tale from Petyr, as well. She had witnessed the Hound's fear, he had come to her looking for a song and more. He had taken his kiss, and he had left.

Now, in a late hour of the afternoon, she ventured willingly into the forge's heat. She was dressed in pale blue and had worn a shawl over her head to protect her ears from the cold, but had soon realized that it wasn't necessary once she'd reached the narrow wooden canopy signalling the forge's entrance.

"It's hot," she observed -- a little lamely -- when she finally caught his eye. Before then, she'd let him work. And she had watched, fascinated.

[bullhorned]

The steel had not yet begun to sing. Even with cold winter air seeping in through the cracks, he'd abandoned his shirt so he could shovel more coal into the fire. It required more work than it had in Harenhal, back when the days were still warm. But the cold could never defeat flames. Only hinder them.

It surprised him to realize she was standing there. He'd expected a servant, not a lady. All at once, he felt self conscious to be exposing himself the way he was. But he felt sillier still when he considered covering himself.

"... it needs to be," he answered warily. He still feared reprise for any small slight. "Or I can't work the steel. Is there something the matter, m'lady?"

[steeledskin]

Her gaze remained on his face; she had drunk in her fill long before he'd noticed her, and she had been startled see him so at ease. Even after captivity, it was impossible not to see the benefits bestowed by his trade. Up until this very moment, Sansa had always assumed such physiques were the sole domain of knights and warriors.

She ought to look away. But somehow, looking away would draw even more attention to his naked torso. So she persisted in keeping her eyes locked with his.

"N-nothing." Her answer was not exactly informative, and she seemed a little stuck in place. "Nothing is wrong."

[bullhorned]

He did his best to maintain eye contact, but a life in Fleabottom made that difficult and his eyes soon fell to the ground. Submissive, as always.

"Is there something m'lady needs?"

Gendry could only guess what prompted her visit. He was not stupid enough to recognize she had some fondness for him. Indeed, he was growing very fond of her in turn. But he was not so stupid as to think...

She may call me Waters, but no one else has. It might all be a game still."

[steeledskin]

She could read and write better than any of her brothers, but she had always been hopeless with sums. Even still, she'd come to him under the promise that sums would be done. Given time and patience, she could work through them. If she had to, she could consult someone else. But if sums were what Gendry wanted, then she would have to impress him with sums.

Somehow.

"For now, I am the one who is at your service. The rest of the household is...engaged. But I gave you my word you would have help."

[bullhorned]

And there she left him startled. When he had requested assistance, he'd never expected it to be her. At best, she might have sent the maester to teach him enough to get by. This was quite another thing altogether.

"You? But--" Do as your told. Don't question things. "It it pleases you, m'lady. I'm sorry you must come out here to do this. The forge is no place for a lady."

Highborn or otherwise.

[steeledskin]

Now was not the time to tell him that even she had been on friendly terms with Winterfell's smith. Instead, she took the time to pull her shawl from her shoulders and fold it neatly over her arm.

"It was this or suffer Lord Robin's games all afternoon. I know which of the two I would prefer."

[bullhorned]

Suffer his games.

Gendry's expression betrayed what he thought of that. It didn't seem appropriate for a lady to be reproaching her liege lord in front of him. At least he knew better than to join in and get himself into trouble by agreeing with her.

"You seem to have a way with him."

[steeledskin]

"He lost his mother only recently." She could still remember the horror of watching Lysa thrown from her own Moon Door, and her complicit part in the cover-up surrounding her murder. Only now did it occur to her how dangerous it might be for Gendry to keep him here. She never feared for her own life; she felt a sly sort of power in the way Petyr provided for her. But anyone else was fair game. Robin himself was likely only still alive because Petyr did not expect him to live much longer.

"And Lord Baelish is...not his father, but his mother's second husband. He has little love for the boy."

Her implication was, of course, that it all fell to her: the lady of the house.

[bullhorned]

Gendry could hardly recall his mother's face. Indeed, only through his old master's description did he have any Idea who or what she was. But he could sympathize with such losses. He had no family now. Gendry never had any at all.

"You've become his family, though. He seems to need one."

He recalled a little girl who wanted a family after losing her old one. Perhaps if he'd been more like Alayne...

"You've a better heart than most, m'lady. High born or low."

[steeledskin]

"...Everyone needs family, even if they don't believe it."

When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. It had been a long time since Sansa had been part of a pack. She had been cut off from her family in King's Landing, and she had to make due with a false one in the Eyrie. But only recently had she come to appreciate what being a Stark had given her. Strength; belonging; a steadiness.

[bullhorned]

He merely nodded. "I wouldn't know. I've never had family."

There were the girls at the inn. He protected them, but they weren't family. They just were. Orphans and starving children, all in need of looking after. And now I'm here, where I can't do them any good at all.

[steeledskin]

"The smith you apprenticed with -- was he not like a father to you?"

Perhaps her assumption is a crass one, but it seemed as though stern master tradesmen were always behaving like fathers to one hero or another in the romantic tales of her youth.

[bullhorned]

"Fathers don't sell their sons."

[steeledskin]

"Why not? They sell their daughters."

Her argument bordered on insolence. Worse, it painted a darker picture than she intended. Eddard Stark had not sold her, per se. But who can deny his king when he asks for your daughter's future? Robert had wanted their houses joined, and so she was the currency exchanged to make that happen. She understood that, now that all her daydreams of golden haired children had turned into nightmares.

And then Joffrey had handed her off to the imp, again for political power. Now Petyr spoke in similar terms, mentioning Harry the Heir. Promising her Winterfell.