our faith is placed in second chances (asoiaf; arya/gendry)bloodofpykeJanuary 18 2012, 04:36:49 UTC
“I did this for you!” He wanted to shout after her, wanted to fill his lungs with dust until she came back. Would it even make a difference? Gendry asked himself as he pounded patterns in the dirt with his boots. If she heard, would she even come back?
“No,” he breathed, answering his own questions. It wouldn’t make a difference; she wouldn’t come back if she heard. I did this for you! The words echoed in his head, in the trees, in the road until it felt like they were seared into his bones. Was that even true? Gendry asked himself, stopping as the wolf of winter disappeared through the trees. He shook his head, turning on his heel, starting back to the brothers. The question was too loaded, too heavy, and he didn’t think he was up to unraveling the threads tonight.
Or ever. Whenever Gendry tried to, whenever the question popped into his mind, all he could see was Arya’s face, twisted up with betrayal and anger. She was everywhere he went, now, so he buried himself in his work, hitting the steel until it not so much sang as hollered. He pushed himself, working until the last drop of sunlight vanished, until even the glint of the stars became too dim to see by. And then he collapsed into his bed, still not quite believing he had a bed to collapse in, hoping his dreams wouldn’t be colored by Arya Stark and hoping they would.
“No,” he breathed, answering his own questions. It wouldn’t make a difference; she wouldn’t come back if she heard. I did this for you! The words echoed in his head, in the trees, in the road until it felt like they were seared into his bones. Was that even true? Gendry asked himself, stopping as the wolf of winter disappeared through the trees. He shook his head, turning on his heel, starting back to the brothers. The question was too loaded, too heavy, and he didn’t think he was up to unraveling the threads tonight.
Or ever. Whenever Gendry tried to, whenever the question popped into his mind, all he could see was Arya’s face, twisted up with betrayal and anger. She was everywhere he went, now, so he buried himself in his work, hitting the steel until it not so much sang as hollered. He pushed himself, working until the last drop of sunlight vanished, until even the glint of the stars became too dim to see by. And then he collapsed into his bed, still not quite believing he had a bed to collapse in, hoping his dreams wouldn’t be colored by Arya Stark and hoping they would.
Reply
akjerlakj
smooches your words and engraves them on my walls
Reply
Leave a comment