A Bull in Flea Bottom
“Gendry,” Arya whispered cautiously. “You’ve never told me about your family.” She was sitting on the bed beside him, perched on the edge and running a round brush through her hair. Arya’s hair had grown from short and spiky to thick and unruly in what felt like overnight. Her hair now fell to almost her shoulders, and had become unmanageable. She could not recall how she had been able to waste so much time attempting to tame it when she was younger. Even now, it seemed like an absurd task.
“What d’you mean?” Gendry asked. “It was only me and my mum.”
Arya swept her hair over her shoulder and began to braid it messily.
“I know that.” She answered. “But I want to hear about it. What was your mum like?”
Gendry sighed and leaned back on his pillow. “Oh I don’t know. I suppose she was like any other-kind, gentle. She was nice. She used to sing to me and she smelled sweet, like flowers.” He smiled timidly.
“What was her name?” Asked Arya quietly as she curled up beside him.
“Wylla.” He replied. Arya sighed.
“That’s a pretty name.” She whispered. She leaned over and blew out the candle beside the bed, leaving them in darkness. Arya pulled the coverlets over them and kissed Gendry on the cheek. A few minutes later, Gendry spoke again.
“I remember the day she died.” He said.
“What happened?” She chewed on her bottom lip, staring at the ceiling as she lay beside him.
“I knew she was sick, but I was only little. I thought that she would get better, but they sent me out to the back garden and when I came back in, they told me she was dead.” He gulped.
“What did you do?” She asked.
“They didn’t want me there anymore-said it was no place for a little boy. So I went to Flea Bottom. I don’t know how I stayed alive for the first few years. I stole and begged and slept on the streets. Then, I started making things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Carvings, crafts. I took anything I could find and turned it into something people could buy. With the money, I could finally eat and live.” Gendry continued.
“But you worked in the forge.” Arya said.
“That was later. One day, when I was selling on the street, in the gutter, a man with a dark hood and a red cloak started asking me questions. My name, where I came from, who my parents were. I answered him, and when he came to find me the next day, he offered me an apprenticeship.”
“And you became a blacksmith.” Arya whispered. Gendry nodded.
“And then, I became a blacksmith. That is, until my mentor was tired of me, and sent me to join the Night’s Watch. And then, I met you.”
Arya leaned her head against his shoulder.
“That’s a sad story.” She said. Gendry shook his head.
“I don’t think so. I’ve got you now, haven’t I?”
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