Year 296 AC, King's Landing , the forge atop Steel Street.
Amid the blazing forges of the smithy, Gendry gripped a finished refined steel breastplate with tongs and dunked it into the quenching trough. The sizzling hiss of steam filled the air before he lifted it to dry.
It was Tobho's latest assignment: a breastplate for one of King's Landing's clients.
Gendry guessed the young lord likely wasn't wealthy. The armor was refined steel, not lacquered or enameled, and far from the rare and expensive technique of coloring the steel itself. Probably a minor noble, or perhaps the illegitimate son of a noble family.
Gendry surveyed his work with quiet satisfaction. The chestplate was nearly perfect, smooth and symmetrical. Apart from the helm, the set was complete.
This was the life of twelve-year-old Gendry, hammer, fire, sweat. His strength made the labor lighter than it appeared.
Recently, he discovered that in addition to "Born of the Stag", a new talent had surfaced from the Blood of the Storm:
"Storm's Fury":When wounded or enraged, attacks become even more ferocious and powerful.
Gendry's favorite weapon remained his warhammer. Though a longsword was prettier, nothing compared to the blunt impact of a hammer. Its wider striking surface made it deadly, save for a Valyrian steel blade, nothing could rival its force.
Immersed in smithing, no one pays me much attention, he thought.
As long as he stayed humble, no one would pry into his life. A tavern-born bastard quietly forging armor, natural enough. Even Tobho's assistants treated him as just another hardworking apprentice. Only the Spider's spies would notice, but even they had no reason to care.
Occasionally, older apprentices would try to drag Gendry to the flea markets, dog fights, cockfights, or kids sharpening teeth for a brawl. He went once or twice, but never returned. Too bloody, too costly. As for the low-tier brothels around the flea pits, Tobho strictly forbade any apprentice from entering.
Gendry spent sparingly. Among the apprentices, he worked the hardest, saved the most.
He was already planning to leave King's Landing. Next year, Prince Joffrey's twelfth naming-day tourney would showcase the alliance between Houses Lannister and Baratheon, but the spectacle had little to do with him. King's Landing was a powder keg; the farther he stayed from it, the safer.
Stay in Westeros, pick another city… or cross the Narrow Sea? he thought. Compared to Edric Storm, Robert's widely known bastard in Storm's End, Gendry was more obscure, freer.
The Spider treated him as a pawn, but hardly a priority. The true focus was remnants of the Targaryen line, whether openly or in secret.
The world is wide. True Dragon's blood, Blood of the Rhoyne… my chance lies in Essos.
Gendry had already plotted his escape: first vanish, then cross to Essos.
As he finished his work, Master Tobho Mott entered the forge carrying a silver helm. It was exquisitely crafted, with decorative seahorses on each side. The eyes of the seahorses were aquamarine gems. Tobho had done it himself, no easy feat.
"Someone from House Velaryon?" Gendry recognized the design. Tidewater Island's Velaryons. Once rulers of the tides, now a declining house, vassals to Stannis at Dragonstone, but still carrying remnants of their old prestige.
"Well done, lad!" Tobho praised him. "Your skill is growing. You were born for this work."
"A plain suit might fetch five gold dragons. But a set from Tobho Mott? Ten gold dragons!"
The other apprentices gawked, admiration mixed with envy. But Gendry's physique, born of his blood, was not something they could emulate.
"Back to work! Keep your minds off women, wine, and gambling. Gendry, a moment!"
Gendry looked up, curious.
In the courtyard, they met the client: a slender youth in aquamarine robes and a silver cloak, glancing around. The Velaryon sigil.
"Master Oreyn, here is the armor you requested!" Tobho presented the set: finely made plate, gorget, greaves, and helm.
Oreyn Velaryon was lean, with silver-gold hair and gray-green eyes. He was the illegitimate son of Monford Velaryon, Lord of Tidewater and Tide King, and thus had some of the old Valyrian features. No wonder he would later be mistaken for a proxy for Prince Rhaegar.
"The seahorse helm is perfect, any child would want to touch it!" Oreyn said, inspecting every detail.
"Glad you approve," Tobho said proudly. "Village smiths can make armor, but mine is art."
Oreyn's eyes flicked to Gendry behind Tobho, hesitation in his gaze.
"This is my apprentice. Hard worker!" Tobho said. Gendry's black hair shone in the sun, thick and coarse.
"And your parents, boy?" Oreyn asked softly.
"They're gone, sir," Gendry replied with a faint smile.
"Well, Oreyn," Tobho said, laughing with the young lord, "this boy is unlucky. There are plenty like him in King's Landing."
"Unlucky, huh… like me," Oreyn muttered, producing two gold dragons. "One for being unlucky like you, and one as a tip, boy."
Gendry hesitated. "Sir, I'm just an apprentice. My master already pays me."
"Don't dawdle! Take it. It's from Oreyn Velaryon himself. The boy's stubborn as an ox, can't be helped!"
Gendry accepted the two coins.
"My attendants wait outside. Once the armor is delivered, I'll return to Tidewater Island. The sea breeze suits me better than King's Landing," Oreyn said, glancing briefly at Gendry, then departing.
Gendry tucked away the gold. Subtlety was no longer an option, but even if Oreyn had noticed him, he had no reason to meddle. His reach did not extend to King's Landing politics.
For now, those two gold dragons were priceless: a gift from one bastard to another.