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.