Worse than the sight was the noise; the gasping, spluttering and wailing of the hunched figure at Gendry's feet. Gendry knew the sound would haunt him for the rest of his life, though admittedly, the boy doubted that would be very long. There had been a sickening crack when Gendry's sword struck the shoulder of the Lannister; the armour had buckled immediately against the force of the blow and Gendry had buried his blade deep into his opponent. The sword met no resistance once it had split the armour, cutting through the many muscles, tendons and sinews underneath as though he had been dipping a warmed knife into butter. His weapon landed with a dull thud as he struck the man's collarbone, which shattered on impact; the strength of his hit shook Gendry's arm so hard he almost dropped let go of the sword. Instantly the man had collapsed afore him as though all the bones in his body had turned to water, by the time Gendry had withdrawn his sword he knew that he had killed the man in front of him… truly, the Lannister wasn't dead, but it would be but a matter of moments before the wound claimed him.
Around Gendry the battle raged fiercely; most of the recruits had taken up whatever weapons they could to defend themselves, but even though they outnumbered the enemy host almost two to one, the fight was already lost. The recruits were clad in light leathers and whatever clothes they had brought with them from King's Landing, they had no armour and pitchforks would do little against steel. Many of his companions had already turned to run, realising the futility of the defence, and bodies were strewn here and there – some crying out ghastly screams into the night, offering prayers to the gods with outstretched arms, others were silent and still. At some point one of the wagons had caught ablaze, casting a deathly orange over the fray of fighting men and boys. Gendry cursed as the familiar whistle of a crossbow bolt shot near him and crouched low to the ground, surveying the situation; their attackers had training, proper weapons and a commander, most of the recruits had not so much as held a weapon before and the only man amongst them who could've rallied them was dead. Gendry didn't look – in truth he suspected he couldn't – but he knew not far from him the body of Yoren would be hunched over, pierced by spears and swords in a crumpled heap on the edge of the field.
Yet in all this chaos there was only one person Gendry was looking for. The ex-armourer's apprentice cursed himself as he crept low, stepping over the body of one of the recruits and using the storage wagon as cover. Gendry you bloody fool, he thought to himself, sword clenched so tightly in his hand his knuckles glowed white against the pale light of the moon. The boy's eyes scanned the field for her, praying to the seven that she wasn't amongst the many bodies that littered the earth. Yoren told you to take Arya and run. But Gendry hadn't listened; he had led the charge forward to avenge Yoren and fight the Lannister bannermen, aware even as he ran that Yoren was already dead. A soldier ran past the wagon, caught sight of him and raised his crossbow at Gendry. The man had a clear shot, Gendry realised too late, and even as he went to duck he heard the sharp twang of the bowstring being released and the whistle that followed, only one thought passed through his mind. You've lost her, the ex-armourer's thought, waiting for the impact that he knew would kill him, you've fucking lost her. After what felt like a lifetime, the bolt struck him, and the ex-armourer's apprentice dropped to the ground.
Gendry awoke to the warmth of the sun against his face and smiled at the soft jostle of the wagon underneath him; he didn't know why but it gave him some comfort to be moving, perhaps it was just the feeling of heading into the unknown after so many years of staying still in King's Landing? Regardless, he didn't stop to think about it but instead stretched out his limbs lazily amongst the furs of the storage wagon before pulling himself into a sitting position and looking forward to the column of recruits. At the head Yoren was mounted on one of the horses not being used to pull the wagons; they travelled with more horses than were needed to lead the wagons so some could rest while the others pulled; it meant that those pulling the carriages were always fresh. Nearby Yoren, Lommy and Hot Pie were side by side chatting and laughing though after a few moments Lommy must have said something to annoy his friend for the straw head boy suddenly ran out of the line and sprinted towards the trees with Hot Pie in pursuit. Gendry knew Hot Pie wouldn't be able to catch Lommy; the straw haired boy was too fast on his feet, and sure enough he could see Hot Pie leaning against a tree, panting and out of breath – though it wasn't long before Lommy came back and, after receiving a jab in the ribs from his rotund friend, they both burst out laughing.
Instinctively Gendry scanned the rest of the recruits for Arya; Yoren had been easy to spot because he was on horseback, Lommy had his distinctive blonde hair but damn near half the recruits had unkempt, short brown hair – spotting Arya was significantly trickier. After a minute or so of being unable to spot her he pulled himself to his feet, wobbling for a moment as he held his balance on the jolting wagon, and, content that whatever pain he had felt from his training session had turned into just a series of dull aches, jumped off the back. As his feet hit the ground he realised he'd leant forwards too much and tripped, landing face first in the ground. The feeling of his cheek against the earth triggered a ripple of pain that caused his face to twitch involuntarily, the cut Yoren had given him still stung like the seven hells. As he brushed the mixture of dirt and dust from his breeches he heard a childlike laugh from behind him. His annoyance that he had tripped immediately melted and he found himself grinning.
"I was just looking for you," Gendry said, turning to Arya with a smile, brushing the dry clay like dust from his hands and walking over to her.
"Strange place to start?" She mockingly questioned, indicating to the patch of mud he had, until moments ago, been sprawled out upon. He laughed and gave her a playful push, an action she returned with more fervour than he had expected and almost knocked him over.
"Well, milady has made habit of turning up in strange places," Gendry jested and paused while Arya rolled her eyes in protest, "I wonder, what would all your highborn friends say if they saw you now? Aren't ladies supposed to wear dresses," He joked, looking at her attire, his eyes admittedly lingering on her tunic for a little too long.
"I couldn't care less what they would say," Arya protested, oblivious that Gendry had been staring at her bust and frowning petulantly before adding, somewhat aggressively, "and I don't wear dresses."
Anger flashed across her eyes and her brow furrowed when Gendry started laughing, she presumably thought he was laughing at her, but, after a few moments, her resolve softened and she joined in with him, realising he'd just been poking fun. As their laughs died down into wide smirks and then just into slight smiles Gendry knew he would never tire of hearing her laugh or watching her smile.
You've fucking lost her.
The bolt clipped the edge of Gendry's forehead, nicking him in the temple just above his eyebrow before glancing off and landing somewhere behind him. He dropped to the ground, feeling the warm liquid run down the side of his face and into his left eye, stinging as it did. For a split second Gendry was frozen, unable to move and braced for death, he scrunched his eyes shut and waited for a second bolt to hit him before he heard a voice from his memory shout out I always hated crossbows, take too long to load! In an instant, faster than he thought possible, Gendry found himself on his feet charging towards the soldier, possessed by sheer instinct and a blind rage. You almost lost her, he told himself; in truth he didn't know if she was still alive but if she was, he couldn't help her if he got killed. In that moment all that mattered was staying alive. He stormed towards his opponent with all the strength he had, closing the gap in a matter of moments and reaching his attacker before the man had even pulled the string of the crossbow taught. When Gendry went to strike him the ex-armourer's apprentice realised too late he had left his sword back where he fell; but it made little difference. His only chance to stay alive, to keep his promise, was fighting – he would be killed if he turned back for the sword.
The ex-armourer's apprentice screwed his hands into a ball and swung hard against the red and gold helmet in front of him, hitting it with such force that the metal guard that protected the soldier's cheek dented under his attack. Blinding pain shot through Gendry's clenched fist as his knuckles split against the metal, sending sharp twinges up his arm. The soldier in front of him dropped the crossbow and stepped backwards, staggered by the punch. Unwilling to lose his advantage Gendry ignored the agony in his hand and punched the helmet again, his raw knuckles cracking against the cold steel and driving the soldier to the ground. Gendry gritted his teeth so hard he thought they'd break in his mouth before grabbing the man's breastplate with his left arm; as much to steady himself as to line up his next swing. Tears of pain welled in Gendry's eyes; he felt sick and light headed from the burning in his arm and he could barely see his target as he struck the helm again with his bloodied fist. One after another Gendry let out a barrage of savage blows until he had crumpled the cheek piece into the soldier's face and made the Lannister bannerman to spit blood. With each hit he thought of Yoren, of Arya, of Hot Pie and Lommy, of everyone around him who had risked and lost their lives because of him. He thought of the life he could have had, the life he should have had. He released all his anger and hatred and guilt into every swing, the torment of each blow not half as painful as the anguish in his soul. He became more beast than man; striking the helm furiously, harder than he ever had metal in the forge. He gave out a guttural roar, yelling in the face of his enemy louder than any lion ever could.
Gendry kept pounding against the helmet until the burning in his arm became so unbearable he thought his fist would shatter with the next hit, his breathing was ragged and short and bile rose in his throat. He struck and he struck and he struck in blinded furor until he felt nothing at all, until he thought of nothing at all. A great darkness swept around him, claiming him and lifting him up. He rose, weightless, as though he had begun to fly, for a brief moment he felt peaceful, the throbbing in his hand distant and remote; he closed his eyes and relaxed… that was until he noticed an uncomfortable, vice-like grip around his arms. Panic flooded in as he realised he was being dragged; even as he struggled he knew it was hopeless, he didn't have the strength to break the hold of the man behind him. The Lannister bannerman Gendry had been hitting struggled to his feet, coughing, and removed his battered helm, revealing the swelling and bruising that Gendry had inflicted. The pounding heart of the ex-armourer's apprentice stopped beating when he saw the man pick up his crossbow and walk towards him. He waited for the Lannister soldier to cock the bow, drop a bolt against the string and take aim but instead the man turned the weapon around, walked towards him and struck Gendry hard with the wooden stock in the chest, winding the boy and knocking him to his knees.
Gendry's vision was blurred from pain and blood and sweat, he wasn't prepared for the soldier's second attack; bringing the stock of the crossbow down on the side of his head, catching his ear and knocking him down into the mud. The fight left Gendry, all around him the muffled screams and clashes of steel were blotted out by intense ringing. A great tiredness fell upon him, pinning him to the ground, dulling his senses to such an extent that he barely noticed when the Lannister soldier's steel boot kicked his stomach. He drifted in and out of consciousness, barely able to keep his eyes open and surprisingly ignorant of the sustained beating he was receiving. With his last exertion of his strength he tried to focus on his surroundings, to find Arya, he had to make sure she wasn't hurt. He made out the shapes of the enemies dragging prisoners back into the field from the trees and he felt a slight smile creep across his lips when he saw what, based on his size and bumbling figure, could only be Hot Pie walking unharmed amongst them. His slight relief quickly turned to horror though when he spotted Arya's thin sword, Needle, on the belt of a bald soldier, strutting smugly towards him.
Gendry tried to pull himself to his feet but fell immediately, pushed down by the soldiers around him. Feelings of loss, grief, guilt and despair surged through him, racking his body. Tears of desperation burnt in his eyes as he made another failed attempt to escape his captors. The pain that he had felt was nothing to the anguish that gripped him, tormented him. He'd given his word that he'd protect her, he'd sworn to the seven new gods and the old gods beyond counting he'd keep her safe but it hadn't made a blind bit of difference. The bastards had got to her anyway. In sheer, unbridled panic and denial he tried to call her, to shout out her name but the word stuck to the back of his hoarse throat. He struck his hands against the dirt in front of him, oblivious to the wave of agony it triggered. His second chance at life, everything he had dared to hope for, came crashing down on him. The ex-armourer's apprentice was pinned to the earth, unable to move, every breath caught in his lungs. He shut his eyes, welcoming the shadows that greeted him. He stopped struggling.
Yoren had set a fast pace for the march and it had long passed midday when they broke for food. Gendry strolled over to Hot Pie, giving him a hand unloading the bread from the storage wagon and passed it around. Strict instructions had been given that they weren't to stop for long so they had no time to prepare a broth; rather it was the same monotonous meal of stale bread and hard, and rather disconcertingly slightly sweaty, cheese. Hot Pie wore a slightly nervous look as he distributed the food, revealing to Gendry that they were nearly out of provisions. The rounded boy said to him that Yoren had told him to only slightly decrease people's amounts so they wouldn't panic, but they only had food for another few days and the food that they did have had seen better days. Yet, after the gruelling training the night afore and several hours on the road chatting with Arya, Gendry's hearty appetite meant he had little trouble getting through his portions, forcing himself to ignore the small blue specks that had appeared in the cheese. He even had some of Lommy's after the straw-haired boy had had his fill and left spares. Gendry did feel a little guilty afterwards; the scrawny ex-dyer's apprentice could use more fat on him. Gendry thought much the same of Arya, who he noted didn't finish her meal either; he knew better than to say anything, but he grimaced and promised himself he would pay more attention to what she was doing, the least he could do was make sure she was eating enough. The gods know, he thought as he realised she was staring off into space amongst her dark memories,with everything that's happened to her she probably isn't thinking straight.
He went to walk over to her but was intercepted by Yoren; Gendry's heart sank a little as he saw the man of the Night's Watch wore as black a look as Arya. "You should be resting." Yoren called out, "you'll need your strength."
"I'm good," Gendry assured him, but even as he said it he knew Yoren didn't believe him. As the two of them started walking away from the column for some privacy Yoren broke the silence first, frowning and scratching the greying hairs on his chin.
"Truth is, we'll be lucky if we've got 'til nightfall… there's an old holdfast another nine miles down the Kingsroad, afore the turning to Gods Eye, if we're to make a stand, that'll be the place to do it." The man told him, the reality of their situation only then beginning to dawn on Gendry.
"What are our chances?" Gendry asked, instantly regretting his decision to when Yoren said nothing and the black look on the man's face returned.
"If anything goes wrong–" Yoren began, but was cut off by Gendry.
"I know, take Arya and run."
They stood for a moment looking out at the woodlands all around them, Gendry couldn't help but remember the last time the two of them had stood together by the river and how peaceful everything had seemed compared to now; his heart ached a little at the memory. The river had been awash with birdsong and colour, here all Gendry could see was the entwining and twisting branches of the gnarled trees as they locked together like the bars of a sprawling cage. More time, Gendry thought to himself, realising afterwards it was more of a prayer than a thought, we need more time. The idea of the impending encounter made Gendry feel sick and trapped; he could feel his heart pounding and the air escape from his lungs. He would have given anything for the peace he felt looking out at the river but a few days afore.
After several few moments Yoren turned back to look at the boy and patted Gendry's shoulder, offering the ex-armourer's apprentice a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and did little to comfort Gendry's growing nerves. Gendry watched Yoren turn back towards the column, barking out orders that they'd be marching again shortly. A very dark and sombre sensation rolled through Gendry as he realised he was already preparing himself to say goodbye to that man of the Night's Watch, the closest thing he'd had to a father. He tried not think much on it, I haven't lost him yet, he reflected bitterly, I haven't lost any of them yet. Arya, Yoren, Hot Pie, Lommy; my family, the word felt foreign to him, the only family he'd ever had was his mother; while there had been a time when he would have considered his old master Tobho family, that time has passed. Family, he repeated to himself, not noticing he'd said it out loud. It felt right somehow, it was the only word that could possibly describe the rag-tag group of outcasts he had found himself part of. My family; Arya, Yoren, Hot Pie, Lommy… I haven't lost them yet; right now they're all still here.
Gendry didn't know it then as he watched the man of the Night's Watch walking away, he couldn't have known it, but that would be the last time that he and Yoren would ever speak alone.