~Freedom~

Gendry breathes in deeply.

The smell of salt coats everything the sea touches, crusting it with white dust that sparkles in the afternoon light. Above, the gulls are circling, calling out to each other across the vast emptiness of the sky. One of them angles sharply, plummeting down into the water and sending sprays leaping into the air. For a single, perfect moment in time it looks as though the sea and sky have switched places, and the gull swims beneath the waves. Seconds later it rises to the surface, bobbing along gently beside his boat.

He rows.

It's something he's been doing for a while now, rowing. He has never done it before and doubts he ever will again, but despite his lack of experience he feels he's starting to get good at it – there's a rhythm to it that soothes his nerves and reminds him a little of smithing. When he manages to forget that he doesn't know how to swim or the ever-looming threat of pursuit, it's almost relaxing. Just steady, repetitive movements and the hushed murmur of water lapping at the oars. He's almost content to stay like this forever; that is, until the next alarming pitch of the boat or a glimpse of some pale and massive shape drifting beneath the waves reminds him of just how out of his habitat he truly is.

And for all the calm that washes over him, there is no denying that he drifting along in a tiny boat in the middle of the ocean, and he has no idea where to go next (or indeed how to find it – one endless strip of water looks pretty much the same as the rest to him). He can't go back to the Brotherhood, not after how quickly they'd sold him out. King's Landing? They'd kill him before he reached the gates. The Wall...? He shies away from it, shaking his head. Too far North, he thinks. Too close to... it's too far away. To some tiny and forgettable village then, to a future of monotony and a slow, anonymous death. And why not? That was all his life had been, once upon a time, and he'd never minded it then. What more is there for someone like him?

Back in Flea Bottom, he'd never dwelled much on the future – there were too many uncertainties, too many orders to keep him occupied. He'd eaten when hungry, slept when tired, and never thought of much beyond the forge for his whole life. Hells, even the corner at the end of the street had seemed a world away. A commoner doesn't have the time nor the luxury to afford dreams. After all, what good did dreams do Loran, killed before he'd ever even glimpsed the North? What good did dreams do his mother, who'd spent her last breath pining for the father he'd never known?

The oars still for a moment, the sudden rush of emotions overwhelming. How long had he been waiting, wondering who his father was? Of all the possibilities... he had never thought that such a thing could happen to him. Gendry the armourer's apprentice, yes. Gendry the Bull, fine. But Gendry the King's bastard son?

He shivers and stares at his calloused commoner's fingers and dirty commoner's nails. Of all the men he has ever known, Robert Baratheon is the only one he truly fears becoming. He clenches his hands and draws royal blood, and it makes him sick. At last he sees the true form of the monster that lurks in the darkest corners of his mind, the one that ruined his relationship with Arya and almost got him killed by Melisandre. He wants to think that he will never give in to it again, but knows that it is only a matter of time. It is a hopeless task to keep the beast at bay, but he cannot do anything else – he is a bull, not a stag. He prays every day that this is true.

A gull squawks at him, and he shakes himself from his thoughts and starts to row again. He can't stay here forever. He'll find land first. Land and landmarks, and go on from there. Farmsteads litter the countryside of Westeros, it won't be that difficult to find one, and everyone needs a blacksmith. It'll be stable. Reliable. No adventures, no imminent death, just work and a bed and maybe one day a wife that won't remind him of her. Restlessness stirs in his gut.

He sighs.

No, that isn't the life for him. Not anymore. Since leaving King's Landing, since meeting Arya, everything has changed. The thought of spending an eternity working without hope or aspiration, so far removed from the rest of the world, fills him with dread. Gendry has seen too much to ever be content with so little, has learned to want more than what he has been given. He dreams of the future now – a place in Winterfell by Arya's side, a home with her and her family. Their family. He wants it more than anything he has ever known.

His mother told him that love is planning for the future, and he thinks he is beginning to understand. Alone as he is, as close to death as he was, there is no denying what he feels for her now. It sings as clear and pure as the song of the anvil, and everything he has done to sabotage it is so completely and utterly stupid that he winces to think of it. It was selfish to leave, selfishness disguised as martyrdom, and he only hopes that it is not too late.

It is here and now, in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by seagulls and ominous giants that may or may not be thinking about eating him, that he vows to find her, to pledge his life and undying loyalty to her. She will call him a stupid bull, probably severely wound him, and he will laugh and never leave her side again. As her lover or as her friend, he will stay with her until the sea dries up and the fish learn to fly.

First, though, he has to find land.