It wasn't until King Robert's three brothers had disappeared from view that the Gold Cloaks relaxed their guard. The King's magnificent procession headed toward the Great Sept of Baelor, while Tobho and his apprentices followed the crowd away from the white-domed temple.
"Stannis, what are you thinking about?" Renly called out as he rode forward, catching up with his elder brother. Stannis, nearly bald and perpetually stern, sat brooding atop his horse. Renly, ever the lighthearted one, was naturally distant from his rigid and humorless brother. Stannis was too stubborn—and too lacking in charm—for Renly's liking.
"Nothing," Stannis muttered, waving him off. Yet even as he spoke, his eyes searched the crowd again. For a moment, he thought he had seen a tall boy among the commoners. The boy's build, face, and bearing had all reminded him—uncannily—of Robert in his youth, even of Renly himself. It unsettled him. Edric Storm, his ward at Storm's End, looked so similar that it stung Stannis to think of him.
"I've never surpassed Robert in anything," Stannis said under his breath with a bitter, self-deprecating laugh—neither in power, looks, charm, nor number of children.
He frowned, his thoughts turning darker. "All of Robert's trueborn children are blond, yet all his bastards have the black hair of House Baratheon." He suppressed that thought and spurred his horse after the procession. There was another bastard girl in the Vale fostered by Lord Jon—perhaps one day he would inquire about her.
King Robert's reign had already sown the seeds of division. Renly, the youngest, had been granted Storm's End with no effort and now courted the favor of House Tyrell, while Stannis had been sent to rule over barren Dragonstone. Resentment bred suspicion, and Stannis carried both like armor. He would never forgive the King for such treatment, nor the Queen's kin for their hold on power.
"Come along, children! Best not to linger near the King's Gold Cloaks. They are not so patient with loud mouths," Tobho warned, signaling for his apprentices to follow him back toward the Street of Steel.
"Those knights are so impressive! I even spotted Ser Barristan—but it seems Ser Jaime, the Lion, wasn't there this time!" one boy said, eyes gleaming with envy. To most boys, knights were brighter and grander than any blacksmith.
"The Lion, eh? You've forgotten Lord Jaime has another name!" another apprentice teased.
"Silence, boy!" Tobho snapped, clamping a hand over the child's mouth. His voice was sharp with real fear. "We are not in Qohor. In King's Landing, a careless tongue can cut deeper than any sword."
House Lannister's red lions were everywhere in the city. For two generations, they had ruled the capital in all but name. Tobho knew better than to provoke them.
"Put away those knightly dreams, apprentices. A single suit of proper armor costs a hundred gold dragons—and that's just the start. Do you have that kind of coin?" Tobho said coldly. "To become a knight, you need armor, a worthy horse, an instructor, and anointing gold. Better to be a blacksmith. It's hard work, but at least it keeps bread on your table."
Gendry glanced at his companions and saw the sparkle fade from their eyes. Dreams of knighthood vanished as quickly as mist under the sun. Such was life: the dream and the forge.
Tobho's gaze lingered on Gendry. Among all his apprentices, this one showed the most promise. Strong and handsome, tall for his age—but his origin was dangerous. Still, Tobho admired his calm focus. Gendry's deep blue eyes held a flicker of envy, but no arrogance.
"The King has grown fat—more boar than man," Tobho thought quietly. "A good thing this boy doesn't see his resemblance to Renly. That would draw trouble faster than gold draws thieves."
Unlike the others, Gendry felt no awe for the King or the knights. What he envied was not their titles but their freedom. His own life was full of fear and caution. King's Landing was chaos, and anyone caught in it could be crushed. He needed a way out.
"Children, any country smith can make armor," Tobho said as they walked. "But why is our work worth more? Because what I forge are not just weapons—they are works of art. My skill is unmatched in King's Landing. To reach this level, one must not only forge well but also understand manners, reading, writing, mathematics, and drawing. These skills make a master blacksmith, one the lords will pay dearly for."
Gendry nodded silently. Tobho's words had truth. A fine smith sold not just metal but reputation. Still, Gendry knew Tobho guarded his best techniques—the true secrets of Qohor. One was the infusion of color into steel; the other, the reforging of Valyrian steel. For the Qohorik, those secrets were sacred. Any who leaked them lost their hands.
"Of these realms of smithing, I'll only get to learn painting and glazing," Gendry thought. "Those top techniques will never be passed down. Even spending ten years here might not earn me a glimpse."
Still, he respected Tobho's methods. The master didn't just train his apprentices to hammer metal; he taught them drawing, arithmetic, and basic literacy. Without those, no blacksmith could climb beyond mediocrity. Gendry learned eagerly, determined not to be the illiterate son of a tavern worker. Skilled craftsmen would always survive.
Though his education could not compare to that of noble sons—who studied history, arithmetic, languages, music, and fought with steel instead of hammers—Gendry comforted himself. Every fish waited for its moment to leap and become a dragon.
"Clang! Clang!" Gendry quenched the red-hot blade in cold water, and the metal hissed and smoked.
"Phew…" He untied his leather apron, revealing his muscular arms glistening with sweat. Another long day's work done. The sword before him glimmered—simple, balanced, and sharp. Not yet a masterpiece, but finer than anything forged by a country smith.
The workshop roared with fire like the throat of a dragon. The heat was suffocating, one of life's harshest hardships. Gendry ran a hand through his soot-dark hair—and froze.
A glowing panel appeared before his eyes.
[Gendry]
[Bloodline: Storm's Blood (Enabled, Awakened 30%), True Dragon's Blood (Not Enabled), First Men's Blood (Not Enabled), Rhoyne River Blood (Not Enabled), Green Hand Blood (Not Enabled)]
[Talent: Caste Resilience (Descendants of the stag are tall, strong, and prolific, bearing black-haired, blue-eyed offspring)]
[Skills: Blacksmithing: Master, Drawing: Master, Mathematics: Master]
Gendry stared at the strange display. His bloodline was stacked with blessings and possibilities. Escaping King's Landing no longer felt impossible.
He recalled how many of his ancestors had intermarried with noble houses. Princess Rhaella of House Targaryen—his distant ancestor—was the daughter of King Aegon the Commoner. Her mother hailed from House Blackwood, her grandmother from House Dayne, and her great-grandmother from House Martell.
Each bloodline carried hidden power.
The True Dragon's Blood might control fire—or dragons themselves. The Rhoyne River Blood could command water, like the ancient Rhoynar water wizards. For now, only Storm's Blood shone faintly—the others remained dormant, sealed in gray. His Caste Resilience alone had awakened, the mark of Baratheon strength.
For the first time, Gendry did not feel lost. With this secret strength burning within him, he knew he held a card that could one day change the world.