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.