#enstorm

                      he doesn’t talk about the slight moment o’ happiness that he’s got when the news is delivered,     that little jump o’ pride he had t’ learn that maybe he’s finally had it    :       a place in this world,    or the proper recognition of it.   and he definitely doesn’t try t’ remember the way arya had pushed him away.     stay in the north,    he asked.    i might be a lord soon if the dragon queen wins.    next t’ you,    i can be more than just a poor southern bastard and we can have good lives again.    peaceful ones.    north and the storms t’gether.   but she doesn’t want him.     and ‘t hurts,    it does.    more than any pain ‘n the smithy had given him during work,    more than the rough handling o’ any guards who had ever touched him t’ put him in jail,    more even than knowing he’s wanted for his blood,    cruelly,   from his own family who ought t’ keep him safe. 

                     ‘cause that’s what family does,    ain’t it?     war ‘s a funny thing,   it is     -    it makes men easily forget these things.     and the highborns,   lots o’ them,   all they’ve ever given a shite about was the name,    the blood.     what of the person?      i won’t be the same,    gendry remembers vowing    -    and just as he did,    another one o’ robert’s kin ‘s introduced to him.    immediately,     the black hair and blue eyes s’ too startling.     too similar.    gendry is not a fine brother    -    the first time he met the younger lad,    he is filled more with stuttered words and long hums in his sentences.     yet,    ‘fter the great war is done,    he feels...      there’s a need,   really,    t’ always know edric is safe.     now he kneels down at his brother’s feet,    his stance is surrender,    o’ resignation.     some may spat at him,    they would    -    an older o’ the two showin’ a stance o’ submission.     but what does it matter ?      he vowed t’ never wrong a family member o’ his,    he wouldn’t.     he won’t be breakin’ no vows now.

         ‘      the queen may named me,   and i    -    m’ too quick t’ agree,    i was.    but we will name you ‘stead,    if it’s what y’ wish.      ’        none o’ it will mean anything if you’re not here with me,    gendry had remembered his own voice claim only a few hours ago     -      only t’ realise now o’ how wrong he’d been.    aye,   ‘course,   the title would mean none without arya ‘round.    but it would mean much less if,   in his reward,    he’d t’ put aside his own family,   t’ not be able to share it,   or give,   truly,   what ‘s theirs by right.    ‘fter all,    gendry ‘s only a bastard;    unacknowledged,    even.    edric    -    he is so much more.       ‘      i think the queen may only want me t’ control.    m’like chess pieces,   i am  :   always a pawn in somebody else’s war.   y’ know better than i,   ye’ do.    commons and courtesies i never did learn.    yer’ well suited,   yet she named me.      ’         a pause.     ‘     but ‘t doesn’t have t’ be.     i am your brother.   your older one by age.    i swear t’ myself t’ not wrong any kin o’ mine like the baratheons did to theirs.    whatever ye’ decide,    edric   -   we’ll fight t’ make it true.    i   -   i’ll protect ye’.      ’

‘       hm.       ’           s’ a snort,    maybe a hum     -      a short guttural o’ noise,    truly;     but behind the mask,    there isn’t a way,    no,     for the other t’ see how gendry’s eyes ‘ave lingered,    they ‘ave,     on the kid.    lithe,   smaller body.    quicker,    gendry assume;    more agile n’ the sort.    was this why stannis had taken the kid in?     was this what gendry had died for?      ‘      li’le boys aren’t s’pose t’ play in the dark,     they don’t.     yer’ da’ didn’t teach ye’ that ?     oh,  wait.     ’     but he’s no mere boy,    gendry knows.     they both do.    s’ nice anyway t’ play the game;    t’ test the water.    any other time,   maybe,   gendry thinks he’d call this kid   his brother.    he’s certainly got the black o’ hair done to a T.      any other time,    aye    -     but this time,    gendry just didn’t make ‘t out alive,    is all.

         ‘     almost.      ’           

                   gendry smiles,     kind n’ small,   it is,   as he trudges o’er branches and allows the flat o’ his boots t’ land on the mud.     woods should scare ‘im,   he thinks;    months o’ it bein’ trapped and lost in the riverrun with the burnin’ fear that he’ll get caught someday,    arya and hot pie as well,   and they’d be dragged t’ a worser place,    they would,    and there’d be no more suns for them t’ witness,    no more dawns t’ look forward t’,   no more days t’ complaint in when the hours stretched.     but it doesn’t.    it doesn’t scare gendry.    in fact,    nothin’ much o’ storm’s end was scary.   intimidatin’ and tall,   aye,    but it was    -     beautiful.   large.    strong.    gendry likes the idea o’ strong.    they’re dependable and meant t’ protect,    they are.    just like him,   he thinks sillily,    turnin’ around t’ see if edric follows.     

                years ago,   if someone would tell him,   they would,   that he won’t be in king’s landing no more,    that he won’t have a time in his life that he’s constantly afraid and lookin’ o’er his shoulders holdin’ his breath t’ be caught,    gendry’s sure he’d pelted them with the nearest smithing tool he could find.    but now…?    now he’s got a place he can call home.   and   -    lookin’ t’ the bright blue eyes o’ edric’s own   -    he’s got a family he can care for,   he can do right by.    and the people o’ stormlands who are fierce and strong and brave,    maybe ‘ven stupidly so at times,   but they’re true,   aye.    true and loyal.   one look at gendry and edric t’gether,   and they had whispered instantly,   they had,   that the stags o’ their land had come home.

         ‘      i won’t leave ye’.    a pesky little bugger,   ye’ are,   but    -    i’ll never leave ye’.    come on,    now.    just move a bit faster,   won’t you  ?      ’

              ❛    the barren land is unamusing for hours on end.   ❜     𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘’𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒.   rein woven between leather clad fingers, the finest furs draped over slender shoulders in order to withstand the bite of the north’s winds. seeming unfazed, refusing the appearance of weakness !  a proud display. there’s a look of distaste that sits comfortable across scathing features. the crown prince is not impressed, it is his first journey north   &   decidedly his last.     ❛   at least it doesn’t smell like shit.   ❜

        summer   was   too   much       more so for the heated blood that rushed through his veins.          pulsing rabidly making him feel    CAGED.         the inner cities too loud   ,   too crowded.          so he took to the forest     ———      paws leaving    LARGE    imprints in the soil.         large coal fur head decorated with      A   SKULLED   FACE      almost like a mask embedded into skin   &   fur    ,    antlers decorating the top.         truly monstrous .         besides the vines that curled on each horn   ,    besides the flowers that bloomed beneath his feet    ,    the birds that perched on his back as he sat upon haunches.         head dipping back to      LOOK UPWARD      at the taller tree that provided a great deal of     shade.