In 296 AC, at a smithy on the Street of Steel in King's Landing, the forges glowed red like dragon fire.
Inside the barn filled with furnaces, Gendry held a pair of tongs, lifted a heated fine-steel breastplate from the coals, and plunged it into cold water. Steam hissed up in a white cloud. He then hung the piece to dry.
This was a task Master Tobho had given him—to forge a breastplate for a new client from the city.
Gendry guessed the young noble who had commissioned it wasn't particularly wealthy. The armor was crafted from fine steel, not the lacquered or glazed finish that fashionable lords now preferred, and certainly not the costly technique of color-infused steel. The patron was likely a lesser noble or a noble's bastard.
He examined the piece with quiet satisfaction. The lines were clean, the symmetry perfect. All that remained was to finish the helmet.
Such was the life of twelve-year-old Gendry: iron, smoke, and the steady rhythm of the hammer. Thanks to his strength and build, the work came easier to him than to most.
Recently, Gendry had discovered a new awakening within him—another gift from the Storm God's blood that flowed in his veins.
[Storm's Rage: When severely injured or enraged, he unleashes a surge of power and attacks with increased fury.]
His favorite weapon was a warhammer of his own making. Though less elegant than a sword, nothing matched its destructive force. A warhammer's blow could crush armor, shatter shields, and break a knight in half—save for those who wore Valyrian steel.
"Being buried in the forge isn't such a curse," Gendry thought. "It draws less attention."
So long as he worked and lived quietly, others would soon forget him. To the world, he was just another bastard born in a brothel—destined for a life of hammers and heat. His fellow apprentices already saw him as an ordinary blacksmith boy, and even The Spider's spies had stopped watching too closely. Tobho, too, had grown relaxed. A smithy boy posed no danger to anyone.
Sometimes, the older apprentices lured Gendry to Flea Bottom to watch dog fights, cockfights, and boys with sharpened teeth tearing at one another in bloodsport. He went once or twice, but the cruelty and cost quickly disgusted him. As for the filthy brothels that lined the alleys of Flea Bottom, the foreman forbade them from stepping inside altogether.
Gendry saved what little he earned. Unlike the others, he never squandered his coins on drink or dice. By the age of twelve, he had a small but growing stash—his escape fund. He already planned to leave King's Landing.
Next year, a great tourney would be held in celebration of Prince Joffrey's twelfth nameday—a show of unity between House Baratheon and House Lannister. But the festivities meant nothing to him. The city was a tinderbox, and Gendry wanted to be far away when sparks began to fly.
"Should I stay in Westeros—or cross the Narrow Sea?" he wondered.
Compared to the well-known noble bastard Edric Storm of Storm's End, Gendry lived in anonymity and freedom.
Though The Spider had placed him in the smithy, he was clearly of little significance. There were more useful bastards in play, and Varys's true schemes revolved around the Targaryen heirs hidden across the sea.
"My path lies beyond—Essos, where the blood of dragons and the River Rhoyne still stirs. That's where my fate will change."
He already had a plan: to slip away quietly and cross the Narrow Sea.
Just as Gendry wiped the sweat from his brow, Master Tobho entered the forge carrying a gleaming silver helmet. Its sides were shaped into curling seahorses with green gems set in their eyes—delicate and intricate work, clearly made by the master's own hand.
"House Velaryon," Gendry realized at a glance. The seahorse, the silver and sea-green motif—it all fit. Once they had ruled the tides from Driftmark, but now the Velaryons had waned, their house reduced to minor lords sworn to Dragonstone. Yet for all their decline, old noble blood still ran strong in their veins—and their loyalty was never certain.
"Excellent work, boy!" Tobho praised. "You are improving quickly. You were born for this craft."
"A simple suit of armor from a country smith costs five gold dragons," he added proudly. "But a set made under my roof is worth ten."
The other apprentices shot Gendry glances of envy. Tobho's praise was rare and meant something. His strength, however, was his alone—something no apprenticeship could teach.
"Back to work, all of you!" Tobho barked. "Less time chasing girls and gambling, more time hammering steel! Gendry, stay here a moment."
Gendry hesitated, surprised by the tone in Tobho's voice.
In the courtyard, they found a man in sea-green robes and a silver cloak waiting. The seahorse sigil gleamed faintly on his chest—Velaryon colors.
"Lord Aurane, this is the armor you commissioned," Tobho said, unveiling the completed set: bright plate, polished greaves, a gorget, and the seahorse-helmed headpiece.
Aurane Waters stood tall and lean, with silver-gold hair and storm-grey eyes. The bastard half-brother of Lord Monford Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, he bore all the beauty of old Valyria. It was easy to see why Queen Cersei would one day call him "the second coming of Rhaegar."
"The seahorse helm is exquisite," Aurane said as he traced a gloved hand over the steel. "Children will want to touch it when they see it."
"I'm pleased it meets your expectations," Tobho replied. "Any smith can forge armor—but my work is art."
Aurane smiled faintly, then froze when his gaze drifted behind Tobho. Gendry stood there silently, watching. Aurane blinked, momentarily speechless. Something in the boy's face struck him—a familiarity he couldn't name.
"This boy is my apprentice," Tobho said quickly. "Diligent and hardworking."
Gendry's black hair was thick and coarse, his blue eyes bright beneath soot and sweat.
"Where are your parents, child?" Aurane asked after a moment. His tone softened with an echo of curiosity.
"Gone, my lord." Gendry grinned faintly.
"Let's not trouble the boy," Tobho said briskly, breaking the silence. "He's had a hard life—like many in King's Landing."
"Unlucky then," Aurane murmured. "As am I." He reached into his purse and drew out two gold dragons. "One because we share misfortune, and one as a gift for your work."
Gendry hesitated. "My lord, I am only an apprentice. The foreman pays me."
"Take it, boy," Tobho said sharply. "A gift is a gift from Lord Aurane. You're stubborn as a mule."
"Thank you," Gendry said, bowing as he accepted the coins.
"My attendants are waiting," Aurane said with a nod. "Once I've collected this set, I'll return to Driftmark. I prefer the sea air over the stench of King's Landing any day."
He glanced once more at Gendry before turning to leave.
When the courtyard fell quiet again, Gendry slipped the two gold dragons into his pocket. Even a simple gesture could draw eyes, but Aurane was unlikely to speak of him. Bastards, after all, protected their own.
As the waves of heat rolled from the forge, Gendry looked down at the coins gleaming in his palm.
A gift from one bastard to another.