Chapter Text
Sinopse:
Before you stands the Reborn Laughing Storm, the Legendary Dragonrider, the Supreme Pyromancer, the Superb Water Wizard, the Charismatic Wild Stag, the Breaker of Chains, the Destroyer of the Long Night, the Collector of Dragons, Wolves, and Roses, and the One True Sun across the Narrow Sea.
What’s that? Too many titles to keep track of?
This is Gendry—the story of a blacksmith’s rise to greatness.
…
Chapter 1: The Spider and the Bastard
Aegon’s 293, Westeros, King’s Landing, capital of House Baratheon.
One tall figure and one smaller slipped onto the Street of Steel and followed its winding path upward. Even Visenya’s Hill seemed to stretch on endlessly. Along the way were smiths hammering beside blazing forges, free knights haggling over suits of armor, and gray-haired ironmongers hawking old, worn blades from their carts. The street was loud and crowded, a constant churn of voices and motion, all in the pursuit of coin and reputation.
“King’s Landing is like a spider’s web. Only a spider can truly move through it,” the hooded man leading the way thought with quiet satisfaction. Across the Narrow Sea, he and his allies held the last remnant of the Dragonlord’s line. And here in Westeros, who would ever imagine that he also held the stag’s bastard son? Once that secret, that great secret buried deep within the Red Keep, came to light, the rewards would be immeasurable.
The tall boy following behind watched the hooded man’s back, his gaze holding both curiosity and resignation. His face was still youthful, yet his eyes were different, carrying a calm and maturity far beyond his years.
The hooded man thought nothing of it. A bastard whose father was absent and whose mother had died young would naturally grow bitter and prematurely hardened. It never crossed his mind that the boy carried the soul of a grown man.
Gendry even caught sight of Lannister knights in crimson cloaks and half-lion helms. House Lannister seemed to have its reach everywhere in King’s Landing.
They climbed higher, and the buildings grew larger and more imposing. The more famous the smith, the grander his residence. At the top of the hill stood a particularly tall structure.
Tobho Mott’s shop dwarfed every other on the Street of Steel. Built of timber and lime plaster, it rose high enough to overlook the entire road below. Two massive doors of ebony and weirwood were carved with a hunting scene. On either side stood stone knights in red armor, posed like a griffin and a unicorn standing guard.
“Quick, pour wine for the Lord!” The sharp-eyed, petite maid took in the leader’s fine clothing at a glance and immediately hurried inside to summon the shop’s owner, the finest smith in King’s Landing. The man at the front was powerfully built, broad-shouldered. His cloak was heavy purple velvet trimmed with silver, clearly expensive, though his hood hid his face, revealing only a brown beard threaded with red.
Tobho Mott wore a black velvet coat, silver thread stitched into hammer patterns along the sleeves. A heavy silver chain hung around his neck, set with a sapphire as large as a pigeon’s egg.
“My lord, if you’re looking for a new suit of armor, you’ve come to the right place,” Tobho said proudly. “I guarantee my work is unmatched in King’s Landing. You’re welcome to compare it. Others make armor. I make art. I’ve served many highborn clients, Lord Renly among them.” He was not boasting without cause; he had once trained as an apprentice in Qohor.
“Master Tobho, I desire neither armor nor helm,” came a muffled voice from beneath the hood, deep and resonant, carrying the greedy lilt of a Tyroshi accent.
“I wish to place this child here as your apprentice.” The hooded man set down a small pile of gold. They were not the familiar golden dragons, but coins from across the Narrow Sea. Gold was still gold.
Tobho’s eyes moved to the boy. He was tall for his age, with coal-black hair and a striking pair of blue eyes.
He did his best to suppress the sudden surge of unease. He had seen Renly, Robert, and Stannis with his own eyes. The resemblance to Renly was unmistakable, yet Renly could not possibly have a bastard this old. Stannis was even more impossible. That left only one answer.
“My lord, I want no trouble,” Tobho said hesitantly. The hooded man answered by placing down a second share of gold.
“Say nothing, Tobho.” After a moment’s thought, Tobho nodded and accepted the boy. “This child is my apprentice now. Whoever he was before coming here has nothing to do with me.”
“Excellent. I trust you’ll keep this secret,” the hooded man said, satisfied, and turned to leave.
“Thank you, my lord,” Gendry said.
“I hope you take to this life. It’s better than running errands in some tavern,” the hooded man replied, walking away without looking back.
“I know it’s you, Spider,” Gendry thought to himself. The eight-legged spider’s talent for disguise truly was second to none. A soul from another world, and yet he had once again become a blacksmith’s apprentice in A Song of Ice and Fire.
At least Gendry’s looks and strength were exceptional. The whoremonger and the fat king had once been the Laughing Storm reborn, after all. House Baratheon had always produced broad-shouldered, clean-cut men with clear eyes and an undeniable, rugged charm.
Gendry accepted his fate. Born in a tavern, he lived quietly as a tavern errand boy. It was the safest path he could take.
House Lannister’s influence in King’s Landing was immense, and he had no wish to end up like those brothers and sisters who had been quietly eliminated. Besides, the king was never a man who cared about family or children. Once he climbed into bed, all vows and promises were forgotten. Bastards mattered even less. That was how things remained until the ever-watchful Spider noticed him and sent him to a blacksmith’s shop.
“What’s your name, boy?” Tobho asked.
“Gendry. I don’t have a surname.”
“No one cares about that. King’s Landing is full of people without names, barely scraping by. You’re lucky to be with me. Come on, boy, I’ll show you where the work’s done.” Tobho gestured and led him onward.
He took Gendry out through the back door, across a long, narrow courtyard, and into a spacious stone-built barn where the real work of the smithy was carried out.
The moment Tobho, the weaponsmith, pushed open the door, a blast of heat rushed out, making Gendry feel as though he were stepping straight into a fire dragon’s maw. Forges roared in every corner, and the air was thick with smoke and the sharp stink of sulfur. The foreman glanced up briefly, just long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow, before returning to his hammer and tongs. Bare-chested apprentices worked hard at the bellows, muscles straining with each pull.
Gendry took it all in, finding it new and fascinating. It was clearly hard labor, but even so, learning a craft like this was far better than running errands in a tavern.
“Blacksmithing is heavy work, but it’s skilled work too,” Tobho said proudly. “Learn this trade properly, and knights and lords alike will come begging you to make armor and helmets for them. There’s never enough to go around.” As the words left his mouth, though, he hesitated. This boy’s background was far too sensitive. Even keeping his head down and forging iron would not be entirely simple.
Still, Tobho called the foreman over and drew him aside.
“This child is my new apprentice. From now on, you’ll be in charge of him. Don’t give him work that’s too heavy right from the start.”
And just like that, Gendry’s life as an apprentice began.
...
Chapter 2: The Little Blacksmith of Iron Street
Year 295 of the Conquest, atop Visenya’s Hill, Tobho’s smithy.
Gendry was eleven now and had grown used to life as a smith’s apprentice.
Behind the smithy stood a spacious stone-built barn. Every corner held a blazing forge, and the air was thick with smoke and the sharp reek of sulfur.
With coal-black short hair and deep blue eyes, Gendry was forging a breastplate, completely absorbed in the task. The world around him faded away until only metal, bellows, and furnace fire remained, forming a kind of steel-born rhythm. The hammer felt like an extension of his arm. A moment later, he took up the long-handled tongs, lifted the breastplate, and plunged it into the quenching trough. The armor hissed loudly as it met the cold water.
Gendry felt as though there was endless strength in his body, a kind of inborn toughness. Perhaps it was something inherited from the father who had never cared for him. His forebear, the Laughing Storm, had been a towering brute nearly two meters tall, and King Robert himself stood close to one meter ninety-six.
“Very good, Gendry. For your age, you’re tall, strong, and diligent,” Tobho said with approval. To him, the boy looked like a proud, sturdy young stag. Though Tobho owned a large smithy, at heart he was still a craftsman. With a build like this, if Gendry did not go to war, he truly was made for the forge.
“Thank you for the praise,” Gendry replied evenly, without breaking his rhythm. In truth, he genuinely enjoyed his work. Blacksmithing was brutal, heavy labor, one of life’s great hardships, but at Tobho’s smithy there was always enough meat and proper nourishment. He grew tall and solid here, far better than starving in a tavern.
“Boy, smithing is slow work,” Tobho went on. “Above pig iron is fine iron, and above fine iron is Valyrian steel. All told, it’s three years after three years. You need several such stretches before you can become a truly great smith. Back in my day…” He was about to boast about his apprenticeship in Qohor, but then stopped himself. This apprentice would not stay here for long anyway. Robert’s bastard, and older than the heir at that. The boy was already faintly caught in the whirlpool of power. The Queen’s pride and stubbornness were well known in King’s Landing, and she especially despised the king’s bastards. Gendry was never destined to remain in this smithy forever.
“Do you miss your parents?” Tobho asked quietly.
“Missing them doesn’t help,” Gendry said. “I’ve almost forgotten them. My mother died when I was very young. I only remember her singing to me, and that her hair was yellow. As for my father, he’s probably been dead for a long time.” He ran a hand through his black hair, already soaked with sweat.
Tobho felt the words stick in his throat. The child was ignorant of the truth. Compared to his well-fed, well-dressed legitimate brothers, all he could accept now was the dull, exhausting life of a smith. But perhaps that was for the best. If the boy ever learned who his real father was, a bastard dreaming of being the king’s son would never stay quietly at the forge. That would only lead to worse trouble. House Lannister was not something to provoke lightly.
“You’re a clever child, just a bit stubborn,” Tobho said. “All right, this breastplate is well done. You can stop for today and go play.”
“Thank you,” Gendry replied. After finishing his work, he was free to spend some time with the other apprentices.
“Come on, Gendry! We’re playing knight duels!” As he stepped out of the barn into the smithy’s narrow courtyard, Gendry saw his companions, most of them around thirteen or fourteen. They all wore the same simple sweat-stained shirts, standard attire in the smithy. Some were sons of smiths from the Street of Steel, sent here by their families for the reputation of the finest forge. Others were second sons of bankrupt nobles or children of smallfolk.
“You go ahead,” Gendry said, watching them. “I don’t like that kind of game.”
“Here he goes again. No spirit at all. Big as he is, and he doesn’t even like picking up a weapon!”
Gendry found a place to sit and watched the apprentices play at make-believe. Inside the smithy were discarded, blunted weapons, mostly dull swords, which served as toys for the apprentices at play.
“Careful! I am the Sword of the Morning!” A chubby, blond-haired boy waved a blunt sword and swung it a few times with exaggerated flair.
“You’re killing me!” A thinner boy with freckles burst out laughing. “If the Sword of the Morning were as fat as a pig like you, he’d have been thrown out of the Kingsguard long ago!”
“Damn it! Then duel me!” the chubby boy shouted angrily.
“Fine, let’s do it!” The freckled boy raised his own blunt sword. “I’m Barristan the Bold, the most legendary swordsman!”
“Sword of the Morning. Barristan the Bold.” The names sounded familiar to Gendry. All white knights, all famed masters of the blade. None of it had anything to do with him. Right now, his only goal was to keep his head down and survive without being noticed.
The two traded blows back and forth. It looked less like a knightly duel and more like a clumsy street fight. These smith’s apprentices had never learned any real technique; it was just children fooling around.
By the time they were both exhausted, the match ended in a draw.
Gendry had no interest in their circus-like knight games. As far as fighting went, he believed it mostly came down to being stronger and bigger. In that respect, it was only a matter of time before none of them could match him.
“Enough, enough. Looks like none of us are ever becoming knights! Gendry’s the only one with a chance. He’s the strongest, and he’s built right!”
“Forget it. All Gendry does is hammer iron!” someone said. “Gendry, do you even want to be a knight?”
“No.” Gendry shook his head. “I’m here to be a smith. What do I need knighthood for? Being a blacksmith is just fine. As long as our work is good, those noble lords will still have to come begging us to make their armor.”
“Hahaha!” His companions laughed. They were already used to hearing that answer. Gendry had no knightly dreams at all. He really did seem born to work the forge.
...
That night, Gendry lay awake, listening to the noise in the room. Four apprentices slept there. One snored loudly, another ground his teeth in his sleep.
The noise left him restless, unable to fall asleep.
“I need to run,” Gendry thought. It was an idea, but an unrealistic one. He had no allies and was still just a boy.
King’s Landing was a dangerous city, and staying here was far from safe. More than that, he felt as though he was living inside a spider’s web. Among the apprentices who entered the shop from the Street of Steel, Gendry knew there were agents of the Spider.
They watched him, kept tabs on his situation, and tried to get close. His best disguise was to live like a born blacksmith: forge every piece of iron well, avoid politics, avoid talk of knights. That was the safest way to hide.
As for revealing his identity to King Robert, or exposing the secrets of those legitimate children, Gendry had never even considered it. That would be courting death. King Robert felt little affection for his bastards, and even his lawful children were hardly raised with care. He was never fit to be a father. And in King’s Landing, House Lannister’s power was overwhelming.
At least for now, only the Spider knew who he really was, King Robert’s eldest bastard. Who knew how long the spider intended to sit on that secret? Perhaps it was nothing more than something to trade for favor someday.
Gendry hated spiders. The Spider had sent him here. Varys saw him as a valuable piece, something to be sold for a high price and thrown away when the time came. But what Gendry feared even more was House Lannister. If any of them discovered his existence, that cruel queen would surely have him killed, just like his other bastard brothers and sisters.
...
Chapter 3: Four Stags, One Stage
As far back as Gendry could remember, it always seemed to be summer. King’s Landing lay under a wash of green, lively and thriving.
Westeros’ weather was fickle, with each season able to last for years. A long summer brought prosperity, a long winter brought suffering. This summer had begun in the 289th year of the Conquest, and even now it still showed no sign of ending.
People said it was because King Robert was a lucky man, blessed by the Seven. Others worried, because summer and winter were bound together. If a long summer lasted eight or ten years, then the winter that followed would be the longest and harshest of all. But voices like that were always few. The people of King’s Landing continued to live loud, crowded, and decadent lives. A long summer suited them fine. This was the season for indulgence.
“Come on, boys. Let’s go have a look around the Great Sept of Baelor,” Tobho called. “Submitting to the gods’ glory is better than you lot running off to Flea Bottom to watch dogfights, gamble, or get led around by cheap women.”
Gendry’s days were not always dull. Now and then, Tobho would take the apprentices up to the Great Sept of Baelor on the crown of Visenya’s Hill. Tobho was not truly devout; he simply liked the spectacle. And besides, the Smith was one of the Seven. The Great Sept of Baelor was close to the smithy, and there were always people coming and going.
Gendry saw the broad white marble square, and at its center, the towering statue of Baelor I. It stood calmly on its pedestal, wearing an expression of solemn compassion. Beneath the dome of glass, gold, and crystal, he also saw the Seven in their seven aspects: the Father, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Stranger, the Crone, the Smith, and the Mother. The Smith stood for craft and labor, and people often prayed to the Smith for strength when work had to be done.
“The Maiden brought a lady gentle as a willow, with eyes like a deep blue pool. Hugor swore to wed her. Then the Mother blessed her with fruitfulness, and the Crone foretold she would bear the king forty-four strong sons. The Warrior made them mighty, and the Smith forged each of them a suit of steel.” The septas sang from The Seven-Pointed Star, and beneath the great dome the air felt holy and solemn, as though everyone were wrapped in the gods’ virtues.
Most of the apprentices, though, listened with little interest. A free stroll through the Great Sept of Baelor was all well and good, but they would rather spend a few coins in Flea Bottom and find their own entertainment. Still, it beat sweating in a stifling workshop, so they did not mind the brief rest.
When the septas finished the hymn, Tobho gathered the apprentices and led them back out, ready to return to the smithy.
“Listen to me, boys,” he said, launching into another lecture. “Every boy loves the Warrior, but few love the Smith. And what do warriors really do? They wave blades around and leave slaughter behind, along with widows’ wailing. But we Smiths create the things that make life possible. The hammer in our hands puts food on the table. Can a knight say the same?
“Smiths make plows to break the earth for crops, nails to mend ships, horseshoes to protect a loyal horse’s hooves, and shining swords for lords. A smith’s worth is beyond question. That’s why the Smith is one of the Seven. The Father rules, the Warrior fights, the Smith labors. Together they stand for the duties a man ought to fulfill.”
He spoke with spit flying, trying to drill into them that their work mattered, so they would stop dreaming only of fighting and charging as knights.
Just as they were about to leave the Great Sept of Baelor, something unexpected happened. King Robert’s procession arrived. The king was coming into the sept.
It looked like a river of gold, silver, and steel: Gold Cloaks, White Knights, bannermen, sworn knights, and more besides.
Ten standard-bearers of House Baratheon rode at the front, their banners streaming from long poles: a crowned black stag on a field of gold.
“Make way! Make way!” the Gold Cloaks shouted, shoving common folk aside to clear a path.
Deep in the crowd, Gendry caught sight of King Robert. The fat man rode near the front, guarded on either side by two white knights in snow-white cloaks. He was Gendry’s father, yet there was little that felt like kinship between them. Gendry also spotted an older knight, elegant despite his years, who could only be Ser Barristan Selmy, one of the greatest of them all.
King Robert had once been a warrior without equal, but now he had grown seven or eight stone heavier. He was enormous, his belly jutting out, dark hollows under his eyes impossible to hide. Robert had always been greedy for pleasure, always eager to indulge. Since taking the Iron Throne, his body had swollen like an overfilled wineskin.
As the king passed, the crowd cheered, though not with much warmth. Many in King’s Landing had not forgotten how House Lannister had sacked the city, and it made it hard to truly love the king who sat above them now.
“Did the king’s two brothers come as well? That’s rare,” someone murmured. Gendry had sharp ears and caught it clearly. He looked toward the procession behind the king, and sure enough, two more men bearing the sigil of House Baratheon followed close behind. The same deep blue eyes. The same coal-black hair.
Stannis was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, his face drawn tight, his skin hardened by years under the sun, as unyielding as iron. He was not old, yet only a thin ring of black hair remained on his head, like the shadow of a crown circling behind his ears. His beard was cut short and neat, a bluish shadow covering his square jaw and the hollows of his cheekbones. As he passed, the crowd’s cheers sank lower and duller. People thought of Stannis as a block of iron, and few truly felt fond of him.
When Renly appeared, the mood changed entirely. He wore green velvet embroidered with swans, his golden cloak fastened with a golden stag brooch. There was nothing about him that was not lavish. The Great Lord looked much like King Robert in his youth, tall and handsome, with black hair falling straight to his shoulders. The difference was that Great Lord Renly was not famed as a fearsome warrior, nor known for unmatched valor. Renly lifted a hand and waved to the crowd, and their cheers swelled to several times what they had been before.
King Robert laughed loudly, unconcerned. Stannis, however, cast his brother a sharp look, his brow furrowing. Gendry noticed the contrast at once: Stannis’s simmering anger, and the king’s complete indifference to it.
Stannis’s clothing and bearing were far plainer than Renly’s. That was partly due to Stannis’s own frugality, and partly because Dragonstone, though important, was a barren place. Storm’s End was clearly larger and far richer than Dragonstone, and that imbalance had long festered in Stannis’s heart.
“The Knight of Flowers?” Gendry spotted another youth, slim and not yet fully grown. He wore fine armor, and on his green cloak bloomed three golden roses against a field of green. This boy seemed inseparable from Renly. He had long, flowing brown hair and striking golden eyes. He too waved to the crowd, and the people cheered for the noble youth of House Tyrell. King’s Landing had always loved beautiful faces.
“They’re really close,” Gendry thought. It was said that the youngest son of House Tyrell had once been fostered at Storm’s End as Renly Baratheon’s attendant.
The king’s procession swept past like a rolling storm, heading straight for the Great Sept. Only after they had fully passed did the Gold Cloaks finally relax their control.
What a mess, Gendry thought. King’s Landing was a pot on the boil: Robert and his two brothers, the Lannisters, Lord Jon, and that spider lurking in the shadows, along with Littlefinger. He had no interest in the shifting balance of power. His only wish was to escape the fate of being a pawn and live a little more safely.
“Our Fat King. Hard to believe,” an elderly woman muttered. “When he was young, he was so handsome. Clean-shaven, clear-eyed, strong and charming, like something out of a maiden’s dream. And now, look at him.”
“Say no more,” her husband added once the Gold Cloaks had gone. “If a man drowns himself in wine and whores, even a warhammer will rust.”
“Rare to see three stags out together. Looks like the High Septon really does have some pull. Is it faith, then?”
Four stags, Gendry thought. And one wild one.
“Faith my ass. More like borrowing money from the High Septon.”
...
Chapter 4: Bloodlines and Talents
After King Robert’s three brothers rode off, the Gold Cloaks finally eased their guard. The king’s resplendent procession headed for the Great Sept of Baelor, while the apprentices merged with the flow of commoners and left the white Sept.
“Stannis, what’s on your mind?” Renly urged his horse forward, calling out to his second brother, who looked distracted, his head already nearly bald. Renly was always lighthearted, and there had never been much closeness between him and this stiff, obstinate brother. Stannis was far too rigid, and not handsome enough.
“Nothing,” Stannis said, waving it off. Yet when he looked at Renly’s face, his unease only deepened. For a fleeting moment, he had thought he saw a tall boy in the crowd, only for the figure to vanish in the next blink. That face, that build, that bearing were all too familiar. He looked just like the king in his youth, just like Renly. The boy fostered at Storm’s End, the one who had cost Stannis his reputation, Edric, seemed more like that boy’s true brother than anything else.
“I’ve never bested Robert at anything,” Stannis said with a bitter laugh. Power, looks, charm, even the number of children.
“Perhaps I imagined it,” he thought. “But why is it that Robert’s three legitimate children are all golden-haired, with none of the Baratheon look, while every one of his bastards has black hair?” He pressed the doubt down and continued with the procession. He knew there was another of Robert’s bastard daughters at the Eyrie in the Vale. Perhaps he could ask Great Lord Jon.
King Robert’s redistribution of power had already sown the seeds of chaos. Renly gained Storm’s End without lifting a finger and drew close to House Tyrell, while Stannis was left with bleak, barren Dragonstone. A man who lives with resentment is bound to grow suspicious, and Stannis was no exception. He had always chafed at how King Robert treated him. He could not compare with the queen’s kin, nor even with his youngest brother, Renly.
“All right, lads, move along. Best not to crowd the king’s Gold Cloaks. They’re not known for their good temper,” Tobho said, herding the apprentices back the way they had come toward the smithy.
“Those knights looked incredible. I saw Barristan. Seems the ‘Lion’ Ser Jaime didn’t come this time,” one apprentice said wistfully, even as the king’s procession, a river of steel, faded into the distance. Compared to smiths, knights were far more dazzling, far more admired.
“The ‘Lion’? You’ve forgotten that Ser Jaime has another nickname.”
“Enough. Shut your mouth and watch your tongue. I don’t want trouble,” Tobho snapped, suddenly stern as he clapped a hand over the boy’s mouth. There were too many powerful people in King’s Landing. If you wanted to live longer, you learned to keep quiet. Lannister red-cloaked lion soldiers were everywhere in the city. The Lannisters had spent two generations entrenching themselves here. They were not to be provoked.
“Pack away those knightly dreams, all of you. To become a proper knight, you need at least a hundred gold dragons. A fair price, but do you have that kind of coin?” Tobho mercilessly tore their fantasies apart. A master-at-arms, armor, the ceremony of knighthood itself all cost gold dragons. For children of common smiths or landless townsfolk, being a smith was hard and tiring, but at least it put food on the table.
Gendry looked at his companions, their faces still marked by the sting of shattered ideals. The dream of knighthood set against the reality of the forge. That was life.
Among this lot, Tobho felt there was only one who might truly have a chance. She glanced at Gendry beside her. He was tall, solidly built, and handsome, though his background was a thorny problem. There was envy in his deep blue eyes, but far less than in the others. He was calmer, more restrained.
“His Grace is no longer young. He’s more like a wild boar now. It’s a good thing this boy hasn’t noticed how much he resembles Renly,” Tobho thought.
Gendry did not idolize knights or kings. What he envied was their freedom, not the constant fear that shadowed his own life. King’s Landing was a mess, and anyone trying to survive there was bound to get dragged into trouble sooner or later. He needed a way out.
“Kids, the truth is, even a village smith can hammer out a suit of armor. So why do my pieces cost more?” Tobho said, warming to his topic as he lectured the apprentices. “Because what I make is art. My craftsmanship is second to none in King’s Landing. That’s why you can’t just know how to swing a hammer. You need to understand how to deal with lords, how to talk to them properly. You need some letters, some language, a bit of math, and even drawing. Only then can you become a smith whose work sells for a high price.”
Gendry nodded along. Tobho truly lived up to his reputation as the finest smith in King’s Landing, especially when it came to selling his own story. In reality, the iron itself was much the same. The price depended on whether you could charm nobles and Lords into being pleased.
Still, Gendry knew Tobho was not telling the whole truth.
Tobho’s real strengths lay in two techniques. One was infusing color directly into fine steel. Compared to that, simple painting or glazing really was child’s play. The other was his skill with Valyrian steel. Calling it forging was misleading. It was closer to reforging. That was what puzzled Gendry most. The Qohoriks guarded their craft fiercely. Anyone who stole or leaked those secrets would lose an arm.
“A smith’s different stages… I’ll probably only ever learn glazing and painting,” Gendry thought. “Those two peak techniques, Tobho will never pass on. Even if I stayed here eight or ten years, I might only get a glimpse of the core. That’s just not realistic.”
Even so, Gendry genuinely liked Tobho’s way of training apprentices. After all, Tobho was a top-tier weaponsmith.
The days were still filled with the monotony of hammer and anvil, but Tobho also had others teach the apprentices additional skills: mathematics, languages, drawing. Without a sense of beauty and artistry, it really was impossible to become a first-rate smith.
Gendry soaked it all up eagerly, determined not to end up an illiterate who could not even earn his meals. A skilled smith’s apprentice was always valuable.
True, he could not compare to the education of great nobles’ sons, who studied language, literature, arithmetic, music, and history, along with formal knightly training in swordsmanship, horsemanship, and archery. But that was only for now. One day, he would have his chance.
“Clang! Clang!”
Gendry plunged an iron sword into the cooling trough. Steam hissed sharply as the blade met the water. Today’s work was finished. The sword looked straight and well-shaped. It was not exceptional, but it easily surpassed the level of a village smith.
“Hah.”
Gendry untied his leather apron, revealing arms thick with muscle. Day after day, maybe tomorrow’s work would be better.
Inside the workshop, it felt like standing in the jaws of a fire dragon. All Gendry could feel was the searing heat, truly one of life’s great hardships. He ran a hand through his soot-darkened short hair, and a panel suddenly appeared before his eyes.
[Gendry]
[Bloodlines: Blood of the Storm (Activated, 30% Awakened), Blood of the True Dragon (Unactivated), Blood of the First Men (Unactivated), Blood of the Rhoyne (Unactivated), Blood of the Green Hand (Unactivated)]
[Talents: Caste Fortitude (Descendants of the Stag are tall and strong, blessed with many children, bearing offspring with black hair and blue eyes)]
[Skills: Smithing: Proficient, Drawing: Proficient, Mathematics: Proficient.]
Gendry stared at his bloodlines. It felt as though he had every possible buff stacked on him.
If he wanted to escape King’s Landing and find a place to stand on his own, it no longer seemed impossible.
He knew that many of these bloodlines traced back to an ancestral marriage with Princess Rhaelle of House Targaryen. Princess Rhaelle’s father was Aegon the Unlikely. Her mother came from House Blackwood. Her grandmother was of House Dayne, and her great-grandmother from House Martell.
Gendry looked over the bloodlines again. Each of them usually carried some form of magic.
The Blood of the True Dragon might allow control over dragons and fire. The Blood of the Rhoyne was said to command the waters of the Rhoyne, like the Rhoynar water sorcerers. Yet now, only the Blood of the Storm glowed. All the others were locked in a dull, solid gray, clearly unactivated. Of his talents, only Caste Fortitude had awakened.
Gendry no longer felt lost.
With this ultimate trump card in hand, he still had the hope to change his fate and reshape his future.
...
Chapter 5: The Bastard of Driftmark
Conquest Year 296, King’s Landing, a blacksmith’s shop on the Street of Steel.
Inside a barn crowded with blazing furnaces, Gendry lifted a finished fine steel breastplate with his tongs and plunged it into cold water. A sharp hiss rose as steam burst forth, and he then set it aside to cool.
This was the task Tobho had assigned him: forging a breastplate for a client in King’s Landing.
Gendry guessed that this young lord was not especially wealthy. The armor was made of fine steel, but it lacked the currently fashionable lacquered or glazed finish, let alone the most expensive technique of infusing color directly into the steel. Most likely, the buyer was a minor noble, or perhaps a noble house’s bastard.
He examined the breastplate with satisfaction. It was flawless, clean, and uniform. Aside from the helmet, most of the armor was already complete.
This was the life of twelve-year-old Gendry. Hammer and flame filled his days. Thanks to his sturdy build and strength, the work itself was relatively easy for him.
Recently, Gendry had discovered that beyond Caste Fortitude, he had awakened a new Talent, also derived from the Blood of the Storm God.
[“Storm’s Wrath”: When severely wounded or in a state of fury, unleashes even more ferocious and powerful attacks.]
Among all the weapons he had forged, Gendry liked his warhammer the most. Swords were certainly more elegant, but when it came to killing power, the warhammer was far deadlier. Blunt weapons struck over a wider surface and were far more lethal. Unless one faced Valyrian steel, their power was unmatched.
“Immersing myself in smithing isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It also draws less attention,” Gendry thought.
If he continued living like this, content with an ordinary life, others would gradually lose interest in him. A bastard born in a tavern settling into the life of a smith was only natural. Even those around the forge saw Gendry as nothing more than an unremarkable young smith, let alone the Spider’s agents. Tobho himself had grown used to it. A smith’s apprentice might earn a few extra questions, but there was nothing truly suspicious about him.
At times, the older apprentices would try to coax Gendry into visiting the flea pits to watch dogfights, cockfights, or brutal brawls between children who filed their teeth sharp. Gendry went once or twice, then never again. It was too bloody, and it cost money. As for the low-grade brothels hidden in the flea pits, the foreman strictly forbade all apprentices from entering.
Gendry rarely spent coin. Among the apprentices, he worked the hardest and produced the best results, spent the least, and saved the most. He had already begun thinking about leaving King’s Landing. Next year, a grand tournament would be held for Prince Joffrey’s twelfth nameday, a display of unity between House Lannister and House Baratheon. But that sort of excitement belonged to others. It had little to do with him.
King’s Landing felt like a powder keg. It was better to keep one’s distance.
“Should I stay in Westeros and choose another city, or cross the Narrow Sea?” Gendry weighed the two paths before him. Compared to Edric Storm, the king’s bastard known throughout the realm, Gendry was far more discreet and far freer.
The Spider treated him as a piece on the board, but not an important one. With a more legitimate and highborn bastard already residing at Storm’s End, Gendry was little more than a spare piece. The Spider’s true schemes lay with the Targaryen remnants in his grasp, whether in the open or in the shadows.
“The world is vast once you travel far. Blood of the True Dragon, Blood of the Rhoyne… my opportunity lies in Essos,” Gendry decided.
He had already settled on his escape route. First, he would lie low and make his way across to Essos.
Just as Gendry finished his work, Master Tobho Mott entered the barn carrying a silver helmet. Its beauty lay in its elegant shape, especially the seahorse motifs adorning both sides. Sea-green gemstones formed the eyes of the seahorses. It was a difficult piece, one Tobho had crafted personally.
“House Velaryon?” Gendry recognized the design at once. It represented the Velaryons of Driftmark. In the past, the lords of Driftmark had once held the title of Lords of the Tides, but the Velaryon house had long since declined. Now they were little more than a second- or third-tier house, sworn to Stannis of Dragonstone. Even so, they still carried the air of fallen nobility, and it was hard to say how sincere their allegiance truly was.
“Well done, lad,” Tobho said with a nod of approval. “Your skill keeps improving. You were born for this trade.”
“A plain suit of armor is worth five gold dragons,” Tobho continued. “But when it comes from Tobho’s smithy, it’s worth ten.”
The others nearby looked on with envy at Tobho’s praise. Natural physique and strength were gifts from birth, and no amount of jealousy could change that.
“Back to work, all of you,” Tobho barked. “Spend less time thinking about women, drink, and dice. Gendry, stay a moment.”
Gendry looked at Tobho in surprise.
In the courtyard, they finally met their client. He wore sea-green robes and a silver cloak, glancing around as he waited. The colors marked him clearly as a member of House Velaryon.
“Young Master Aurane, this is the armor you ordered,” Tobho said, presenting the full set to him. Fine plate armor, gorget, greaves, and a fully enclosed helm were laid out in order.
Aurane Waters was lean and well-built, with silver-gold hair and gray-green eyes. He was the bastard half-brother of Lord Montford Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Lord of Driftmark. His looks still carried traces of old Valyrian blood. It was no wonder that the Queen Dowager would later see him as a substitute for Prince Rhaegar.
“A vivid seahorse helm. Even children would want to touch it,” Aurane said with clear satisfaction as he carefully inspected each piece of the armor.
“I’m glad it pleases you,” Tobho replied proudly. “To be honest, even a village smith can make armor, but what I craft is art.”
Aurane Waters froze for a brief moment, as if he had seen a ghost. His gaze slid past Tobho and settled on Gendry standing behind him, a trace of confusion flashing across his eyes.
“This is my apprentice,” Tobho said quickly. “He works hard and learns fast.” Gendry’s hair was thick and coarse, black as fresh ink.
Aurane looked at Gendry for a moment, then lowered his voice. “Where are your parents, boy?”
“They’re gone, my lord,” Gendry said with a crooked grin.
“Come now, Lord Aurane,” Tobho said hastily, laughing it off. “The boy’s just unlucky. King’s Landing is full of children like him.” He felt he had been careless just now.
“Unlucky,” Aurane murmured. “Just like me.” He drew two gold dragons from inside his cloak. “One for sharing my misfortune. The other is a tip for you, boy.”
Gendry hesitated and did not take the coins. “My lord, I’m an apprentice. The foreman pays me.”
“Don’t just stand there like a fool. Take them,” Tobho urged. “It’s a gift from Lord Aurane. This boy’s stubborn as an ox. I can’t do anything about that, so please don’t take offense.”
“Thank you,” Gendry said, finally accepting the two gold dragons.
“All right. My squire is waiting outside,” Aurane said. “Once I take the armor, I’ll be heading back to Driftmark. Compared to King’s Landing, I still prefer the sea breeze there.” The Velaryon bastard gave Gendry one last look, then turned and left.
Gendry tucked the two gold dragons away. It seemed he could no longer remain completely unnoticed. Still, even if Aurane had realized something, he was unlikely to speak of it. Aurane was too far from real power, and there was no need for him to take such a risk.
As for the two gold dragons, they felt priceless in that moment.
A bastard’s gift to another bastard.