Fic: and time will give us nothing
Title: and time will give us nothing
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Gendry
Warning: Spoilers for A Storm of Swords
Story Summary: In his dreams, he saves her. Drabble
In his dreams, he saves her. In his dreams, he’s fast enough to catch her, to prevent her from being taken by the Hound. But he wakes up on his lumpy cot, the sky dark outside his window and he remembers how it just wasn’t enough.
(When they said that Arya Stark was likely dead, the ‘no’ is out of his mouth faster than he can think. It was a massacre, they said. All dead.
Not her, he thinks desperately. She won’t die that easily.)
The sight of the bodies from the Red Wedding still crosses his mind.
She was probably there somewhere. Maybe they dumped her lifeless body in the river like they did her mother. The thought was almost too much for him to bear so he chased it away the only way he knows.
(He pounds and pounds and pounds. The steel sings when the hammer strikes but not flesh. When it strikes flesh he hears the sound of armor smashing, bones cracking and screams and chocking, when air mixes with blood.)
The fact that he doesn’t really feel anything but the rush of blood should bother him. But he’s tired and Arya’s dead and a hammer is a hammer and a target is a target.
(A target that lived and loved and hated and ate and drank but a target, nonetheless.)
Freys and Boltons and Lannisters, they beg for mercy when they catch them.
(You didn’t give her any, why should we?)
Hot, red blood splatters on his face and he raises his hammer again.
(He looks at his hands and wonders when they started breaking things instead of making them.)
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Gendry
Warning: Spoilers for A Storm of Swords
Story Summary: In his dreams, he saves her. Drabble
In his dreams, he saves her. In his dreams, he’s fast enough to catch her, to prevent her from being taken by the Hound. But he wakes up on his lumpy cot, the sky dark outside his window and he remembers how it just wasn’t enough.
(When they said that Arya Stark was likely dead, the ‘no’ is out of his mouth faster than he can think. It was a massacre, they said. All dead.
Not her, he thinks desperately. She won’t die that easily.)
The sight of the bodies from the Red Wedding still crosses his mind.
She was probably there somewhere. Maybe they dumped her lifeless body in the river like they did her mother. The thought was almost too much for him to bear so he chased it away the only way he knows.
(He pounds and pounds and pounds. The steel sings when the hammer strikes but not flesh. When it strikes flesh he hears the sound of armor smashing, bones cracking and screams and chocking, when air mixes with blood.)
The fact that he doesn’t really feel anything but the rush of blood should bother him. But he’s tired and Arya’s dead and a hammer is a hammer and a target is a target.
(A target that lived and loved and hated and ate and drank but a target, nonetheless.)
Freys and Boltons and Lannisters, they beg for mercy when they catch them.
(You didn’t give her any, why should we?)
Hot, red blood splatters on his face and he raises his hammer again.
(He looks at his hands and wonders when they started breaking things instead of making them.)