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The Forge	By : KissingtheShadows Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 40687 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series nor it's characters. I am no making any money off this piece of fiction

Chapter List
- 1-The Forge
- 1
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The rhythm of the hammer created a sort of music Gendry flowed into sync. The large hammer slammed down on the red hot steel, molding the two pieces together and forming a long sword. Once balanced, he dipped the hot metal into a bucket of cool water where it hissed loudly. If he spotted a crack, into the fire the sword went; allowing him to return to his music again. The sword fully completed, the tall, dark-haired youth brought in coal and shifted them around in the fire, then grabbed more steel. The hilt in his hand, he watched the hard metal slowly grow hotter into a bright orange. Sparks flew as he pounded away on the sword.
After the war, Gendry found finding work difficult. Half of Westeros was left in ruins due to The Dragon Queen’s little pets. It surprised him people praised her so much, but then again, the silver-haired woman had three enormous dragons. He would bend down to anyone who could sic a trio of dragons on him. Though, he heard whispers in the dark corners of taverns and brothels:
‘The Dragon Bitch burned down my village. Her dragons blew fire all over the place and burned my house. My family were one of the lucky ones.’
‘If she didn’t have them damn dragons, her head be rollin’ by now.’
Gendry found no reason for worrying anymore. The Dragon Queen ruled the south where the sun boiled every day. Here in the north, the sun hardly shined. Winter left its mark on the northerners. Whenever he managed leaving the forge The Queen in the North left for him, he trudged along in two feet of toe-numbing snow, naked trees looming over him like monsters, and cold air clung onto his warm skin. Some day even the heat of the forge did not bite back. Today turned a bit differently.
He toiled mostly in the early morning. Customers strolled in occasionally for new pieces of armor or for repair, which he gladly obliged. A young man must make a living somehow, and he wasn’t fit for castle life like Arya was, even though she did not like it much either.
“Hello good sir,” A voice said behind him playfully, “I was wondering if I look at that new sword right there.”
“Feel free,” He turned around still holding his sword, “It’s freshly made out of…”
There she stood, the morning light silhouetting her skinny body. Arry the orphan had been a thin, small little boy whom he met on his way towards The Wall. Weasel the cup-bearer, he remembered, worked with him as a slave in Harrenhal. Lady Arya of House Stark, however, developed into a tall, slightly slender young woman with long brown braid hanging over her shoulder. Gendry remembered days where she wore stained breeches and shirts, her hair cut incredibly short and messy. This girl-this woman-had the appearance of a beautiful lady…though, Gendry never said anything.
“Milady,” He bowed with a smirk, “So pleased to see you. I am honored to have you in my shop.”
“Shut up,” She shoved him lightly, making him laugh, “I hate it when you call me ‘milady’.”
“Why? It’s what you are.”
“No, my mother is a lady,” She said, picking up a small shield and examining it. “My nieces are ladies. I’m no lady.”
He laughed, returning to his work, “If you’re no lady, then why wear ladies clothes?”
She wore a powder blue woolen dress with an under-dress covering her chest; a blue and white fur cloak hung over her shoulders. Gendry gazed her over for a short second, observing the small curves and breasts. She looked beautiful as a lady. Then shook his head slightly, going back to his symphony of hammer and steel.
“Because my mother makes me,” She grumbled.
“It’s not that cold today,” He said, “There were worse days.”
“Jon says the worst of winter is over, but it doesn’t stop the cold.”
“This is the north…I thought you grew up in the cold.” Gendry was raised in the south and even he was accustomed to the climate.
She fell silent for a time. He sealed the two pieces in the water, forming a short sword. He felt her eyes on his back, watching him closely. Gendry normally felt uncomfortable under another’s gaze, but he liked Arya. Well, as a friend. Nothing more or less. The two of them went through hell and back again before he left to join the outlaws. During that time, he realized he missed her. He missed her snide insults, her fire, her voice, her eyes, everything. Back then, he felt guilty for longing after a young girl. Now, in the present, he couldn’t help but notice.
“Gendry?” Arya no longer sounded confident.
He looked over his shoulder, “What?”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
The blacksmith faced her. He saw her look away when he stared at her. “Um…I…I don’t…I…When you were young, you weren’t exactly…Why would you think you weren’t…”
“Marion Greyjoy said the reason I’d never get a husband is because I’m ugly…Not that I want a husband!” She quickly added, “I don’t want to be a stupid housewife with a stupid husband in a stupid castle! It’s not me! I never want that!”
“Then why do you care what Theon’s son thinks of you?” He leaned against the forge.
“It’s…I don’t really care…I just wanted to know if you…if you thought I was.”
“Why would a highborn lady be concerned with a blacksmith’s feelings about her?”
“I don’t!” She snapped.
“Then why ask?” He chuckled. Her anger only made her cuter.
“Because…Because, I just asked that’s why! Now tell me do you think I’m-“
“-I think you’re more than pretty,” Gendry interrupted. She paused; he casually walked over, “I think you’re beautiful…milady.”
She did not snap back for once. Those grey hues stared at him in amazement. “You really think so?”
“Well, when you take away the dirty trousers, doublets, and swords, yes I think you are.”
“When I look like a lady you mean,” She rolled her eyes away.
“When you look like a girl.” Absentmindedly, he took her hand. Surprisingly, those slender digits were soft against his calloused ones. Years of blacksmithing roughened his palms, but swords held no effect on Arya. They both gazed up from their hands to the other’s eyes. “And when you aren’t throwing apples at the back of my head,” He chuckled, remembering the one time in the forest.
Arya dropped the shield on the table, still looking at him. Gendry’s eyes fell to her lips. They were the kind of lips made for kissing; not too plump but not too thin and the perfect shade of pink. The cold left a slight blush on her cheeks. Queen Sansa always called her ‘Horse-Face’, but Gendry thought differently.
“Marion’s only a small lad. He would not know beauty if it hit him.”
She smiled. Gendry found himself bringing her close, his hand on her elbow now. He expected recoil, but received none. Her hand sailed up his arm, touching the burn that stretched from elbow to shoulder.
“You never told me how you got it,” She said.
“You never asked.”
“I’m asking now.”
“I got it when the dragons invaded the River Lands. I tried saving a little boy from a burning house, and a rafter fell on my arm…The boy came out alright, but my arm didn’t.”
Her thumb grazed over the scar. “Very brave…for a bull…”
“You’re braver than me.”
“I’m only brave when I have to be, and even then I’m still scared…like when I think about the dragons coming back. I still dream about them sometimes; the screams, the smell of smoke, the roaring of the dragons. I used to think they were like in the stories, mighty and glorious. When I saw them that day, soaring over the Riverlands and burning everything and everyone, I was scared.”
“The dragons ain’t ever comin; back. That Dragon Queen stays over in the south. We’re in the north. She can’t touch us here.” He brushed a stray strand from her face, lightly grazing her skin.
Then he kissed her. His lips latched themselves on hers, massaging and caressing. Gendry hardly cared if she pushed away and punched him. He just wanted her lips, even for that brief moment. However, Arya never moved. Her lips parted slightly in the kiss. He deepened it. His tongue kneads up against hers, playing with him and exploring her mouth. Gendry’s surprise went further as her thin hips grinded his. Automatically, his hands traveled down her sides. The layers of cloth and wool no longer hid her curves.
“Wait,” He broke the kiss, “We should stop. This…This isn’t right.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a lady and I’m just a-“
“-But you’re my friend. You’re different.” She beamed and continued kissing him.
His strong arms enclosed around her tiny waist, lifting her up. Torrhen’s Square barely stirred in the early morning hours, but kissing a noble lady in the middle of the doorway might draw eyes. Out of sight, Arya’s back reached the large tub carrying mounds of coal. His hands found their way behind her again, able to palm her soft backside gently. They pressed against each other in their embrace; her breasts felt good against his hard muscles; her body melted so easily with his. His lips left hers only to end up on the crook of her neck, biting and sucking. Her soft sighs, her small hips, her hands grasping his shoulders made him stiffen.
He laid her down on the large pile of coal. She spread her legs out and allowed him to settle in between them. Their lips met again. A moan rumbled from his chest as she rolled her hips on his groin. Gendry’s restraint hung on a thin string now. His hands cupped her breasts; they fit perfectly in his palms, which he used for tender squeezes. She groaned into his mouth. He loved her feeling already. Arya Stark felt wonderful, smelled wonderful, and tasted wonderful.
“Arya…”
Her hand groped his crotch. The bulge hardened at her touch. Gendry pecked at her lips before standing upright. Arya watched him lift up her dress up to her waist. His mouth gaped open at the sight. He already spotted moisture between the lips, brushing up against the wool of his breeches. She leered at him as he lied on her, bringing her lips to his again. His hand snaked towards her aching femininity. Her shudder made him smile in their kiss. He sucked down on her neck, allowing her low whimpers into the air. Her hot stickiness coated his fingers; her tightness squeezed them. She squirmed under him, grinding down onto his hand. He gave her pleasure, but not enough to finish her.
The strings of Gendry’s breeches loosened; a sudden chill went through him. The mixture of the cold on his exposed skin and the warmth of Arya’s thighs aroused him further. His cock brushed against her, erect and ready. He watched Arya unbutton the front of her tunic and under-dress. Out came her breasts for him. His hands and mouth began playing with the hand-full lumps, swirling his tongue and licking at each of them equally.
“Gendry,” She whined, “Fuck me already.”
“Well, that’s not a very lady-like request,” He grinned, giving one breast a small nibble.
Without warning, she grabbed his member, stroking it using her own juices for coating. His eyes fell shut at the contact of her cold hands. He continued fondling her breasts until she took him inside her. Arya felt exactly as he imagined: Taunt and sopping wet. Gendry positioned himself as best as he could with his hands against unsteady coals, and began sliding in and out of her.
Arya closed her eyes, her hips moving in time with his. He worried she might still be a maiden, but after seeing how well she took it, he guessed otherwise. Callings of his name, occasionally swearing and moaning mingled with the branches whacking against the window panes. He groaned along with her, his arms and abdomen contracting and relaxing with each thrust. The forge nearby still burned, giving the couple the warmth they needed. Beads of sweat glistened on their foreheads and flushed their cheeks.
“Harder,” She said, her back arching upward.
Gendry immediately gripped her hips. The Bull went to work, slamming himself endlessly into the little lady. A familiar tightness built up in his lower stomach; surging as Arya’s walls clenched around him. He hovered over her, one hand pinching her nipple and the other holding him up. The mere sound of flesh against flesh drove Gendry closer to his edge. He watched her breasts bounce as much as small ones could.
“Oh…Oh…Gendry…” She said, her body slowly beginning to constrict.
He needed no telling. Gendry felt it himself. He pumped into her faster, staying in place as she brought herself down on him over and over. Eventually, a nearby rag muffled Arya’s climax. Her whole body froze as she practically screamed through the coal dusted cloth. Soon enough, the stirring inside him exploded and shot his hot load inside Arya.
The strong body collapsed on top of her, the two of them panting as their bodies came down. He planted weak kisses on her chest, rested his forehead on her shoulder before standing. She looked delightful: Her legs apart, his seed tricking down between her thighs, her rosy cheeks and red lips, with small bite marks along her breasts and neck. She uneasily sat up from the coal pile, dusting off what she could and buttoned up, as he did with his breeches.
“That was,” He leaned against the forge, the heat blowing in his face, “That was…Have you done this before?”
“Let’s not talk about it right now.” She got up, her knees wobbled some and she moved over to him. “Can we go upstairs?”
He chuckled, “Tired?”
“No…We’re only just starting.”
She shut the door behind him and tugged him by the hand. Arya Stark always surprised him.
- 1
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The Forge