In 293 AC, on the continent of Westeros, in King's Landing—the capital of the Baratheon Dynasty—two figures, one tall and one small, turned onto the Street of Steel. Along the winding path, Visenya's Hill stretched upward, lined with blacksmiths working at their forges, free knights haggling over armor, and gray-haired ironmongers selling old iron knives from their carts.
The air was noisy and bustling, filled with the sound of hammering and bargaining—all driven by profit and fame.
"King's Landing is like a spider's web; only a spider can navigate it," the hooded man thought triumphantly as he led the way.
Across the Narrow Sea, he and his allies held the last scion of House Targaryen. And here in Westeros, who would have thought that he also held the stag's bastard? Once that secret—hidden deep within the Red Keep—came to light, he would surely gain immeasurable rewards.
The tall boy following him stared with a mixture of curiosity and helplessness. His face was youthful, but his eyes were calm and observant—far older than his years.
The hooded man was not surprised. A boy whose father had abandoned him and whose mother had died young would indeed grow up bitter and precocious. It never crossed his mind that the child before him carried an adult's soul.
Gendry occasionally saw Lannister knights clad in crimson cloaks and half-lion helms. House Lannister seemed to be everywhere in King's Landing.
As they climbed higher, the buildings grew taller and grander—the more renowned the blacksmith, the finer his dwelling. Finally, they reached the top of the hill, where a large house stood.
Tobho Mott's smithy was the grandest on the Street of Steel, built of wood and plaster, its roof soaring above the surrounding shops. Two great doors—one ebony, one weirwood—were carved with a hunting scene, and two stone knights in red armor flanked the entrance, their poses like those of a griffin and unicorn guarding a gate.
"Quickly, pour wine for the lord!" called a sharp-eyed handmaiden upon noticing the richly dressed visitor. She hurried inside to fetch the owner—Tobho Mott, the finest blacksmith in King's Landing.
The hooded man was broad-shouldered, wearing a heavy purple velvet cloak trimmed with silver. Though his hood shadowed his face, a brown beard tinged with red was visible beneath.
Tobho himself wore a black velvet coat, its sleeves embroidered with silver hammers, and a thick silver chain hung around his neck with a sapphire the size of a pigeon's egg.
"My lord, if you desire a new suit of armor, you have come to the right place," Tobho began proudly. "My craftsmanship is unmatched in King's Landing. Others forge armor—I create art. I have served many nobility, including Lord Renly."
He was not entirely boasting; Tobho had indeed apprenticed in Qohor.
"Master Tobho, I do not seek armor or a helmet," said the hooded man in a thick, muffled accent that hinted at Tyrosh. "I wish to send this child to you as an apprentice."
He placed a few gold coins upon the table—not Westerosi gold dragons, but coins from across the Narrow Sea. Yet gold was gold.
Tobho looked at the boy. He was unusually tall for his age, with dark hair and striking blue eyes. The blacksmith's heart gave a nervous start. He had seen Lord Renly, King Robert, and Lord Stannis. The boy looked alarmingly like Renly—but Renly could not have a bastard of this age. Nor could Stannis. There was only one remaining possibility.
"My lord, I do not wish to invite trouble," Tobho said warily. But when the hooded man laid down another gleaming pile of gold, he hesitated.
"Say nothing of this, Tobho," the man warned.
Tobho nodded slowly. "Very well. From now on, this boy is my apprentice. Whoever he was before this—it matters not."
"Good. Keep this secret," said the hooded man, turning to leave.
"Thank you, my lord!" Gendry called after him.
"Enjoy your new life," the man replied without looking back. "It's better than running errands in a tavern."
Gendry watched him go. "I know it's you—the Spider," he thought. Varys's disguises truly were first-rate.
He was no ordinary boy, but a soul from another world—the Blue Star—now reborn as the blacksmith's apprentice in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire.
At least he had inherited the strong body and handsome features of House Baratheon. The so-called whoring, gluttonous king had once been a storm reborn, after all.
Gendry accepted his fate. Better to work in a smithy than die nameless in the slums or be used as a pawn by those with too much power. The Lannisters' influence in King's Landing was immense, and he wanted no part in their games. The king himself had long forgotten his bastards.
Until The Spider found him.
"Boy, what's your name?" Tobho asked.
"Gendry. I have no surname."
"Nobody cares about that," Tobho grunted. "This city is full of nameless folk. You're lucky I took you in. Come, I'll show you where you'll work."
He led Gendry through the courtyard to a large stone workshop where the real magic happened. The moment Tobho opened the door, a blast of heat hit them like a dragon's breath.
Inside, every forge blazed bright. The air reeked of smoke and sulfur. Blacksmiths hammered and shouted, their naked torsos slick with sweat; apprentices pumped the bellows endlessly.
Gendry felt both awe and excitement. It was hard work—but it was an honest craft, far better than serving ale.
"Forging steel is tough work," Tobho said, "but it's a noble trade. Learn it well, and knights and lords will one day beg for your craftsmanship."
Still, the master's eyes flickered with unease. The boy's blood was dangerous. Trouble would come sooner or later.
Tobho called the foreman aside. "This child is my new apprentice. See to it he learns the trade, but don't give him tasks too heavy for now."
And so began Gendry's life as a blacksmith's apprentice in King's Landing.