.

.

"Don't swing around like you are bringing down a hammer."

Arya mentally notes how Gendry awkwardly jerks and maneuvers his right leg during a lunge. She knocks him to his arse, pacing around until he stands up, flustered and grunting in irritation, returning to his defensive stance.

Gendry can whing all he wants, but it's better to train in the dimness of the forge. It's a long, lone corridor made of dark stone and a faintly glowing sconce against a wall. The older smiths grant Gendry half a day for training under Lady Stark's orders. Arya could hear them mocking noises in Gendry's direction like wet, smacking kisses, laughing and patting each other's backs.

Too many distractions.

"S'not like I won't be using my hammer while fighting," Gendry insists, raising his hand. "Might as well practice with it."

Arya gazes over him blankly, and then spins and parries, hitting him with her shoulder in the gut. She wretches away his wooden sparring sword, finally glaring at his lack of concern. "What happens when you lose your hammer? Or it's too far to reach? How about when the only thing keeping you alive is a corpse's sword?" Arya's jaw clenches. "That's all it takes," she says sourly, observing as Gendry wipes his face, looking away and shaking his head. "One stupid mistake and Death takes you."

There's bits of steel in Gendry's blue eyes. He's powerful. Strong. But strong gets you killed if you can't think under pressure.

Breathing hard, Arya tosses the sword. Gendry catches it easily with his sword-hand, raising his eyebrows and cracking a wide, pleased smile. He's improving.

"Looks like you got on just fine," Gendry states, lifting the wooden sword into position.

Something hot feels near-bursting in Arya.

Without thinking about it, she robs her palm over her leathered doublet. "Came close a few times," Arya mutters, backing away slightly when Gendry places down what's in his hand, motioning for her. When she doesn't say anything, Gendry moves in, his brows puckered, his hands touching her lightly. Arya feels like she's shrunken, her flesh too-thin and tender over her bones.

"Arry," he whispers, slow-sliding up and gripping onto her elbows. "Let me see."

It takes a moment but Arya inhales sharply, unbuckling her furred cape, working open her doublet and yanking her tunic. The multitude of stab-scars gleam on Arya's stomach even in the dimness. Gendry's thumb and forefinger brush the deepest one.

She's never seen him this furious.

"… I'll kill 'em."

"They're already dead," Arya says dully, lowering her tunic.

"You did it?"

She nods firmly and the steel-blue of Gendry's eyes darken.

"Good, I'm glad of it," he replies, cupping the back of Arya's head, his mouth pressing on her skin. The warmth on Arya's forehead ticklish. The corners of her mouth perk up, as she hugs her arms round Gendry's muscular waist, leaning against his front and shutting her moistening eyes. She's the distraction.

Arya can't let Gendry die for this.

.

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GoT isn't mine. EPISODE 2 IS SO SOON! AAAAH! Requested by SnowTigerFairytale: "Gendrya; forge." You were allowed to ask for a prompt way early on and got to make it recently so I'm putting up your drabble today! Hope you enjoy it! And I hope everyone else does too! :) Any thoughts/comments on it appreciated!

((Want a request for GoT? I'm doing 100-500 word drabbles of any ship + any prompt until S8 ends. Rules: you need to comment here and provide a ship and prompt, as well if you want NSFW or SFW. The only requests I'll be looking at is if you ALSO commented about the fic you just read as well. It's only fair. You came to this fic to read it and me doing something for you later on is a sweet bonus!))