Only after the king and his brothers had disappeared into the Great Sept did the Gold Cloaks relax their cordon. The magnificent procession was gone, and Tobho Mott's apprentices followed the dispersing crowd away from the white marble plaza.
"Stannis, what troubles you?" Renly asked, riding up beside his older brother. He had noticed Stannis's distracted gaze. Renly was ever the charmer, and found it difficult to connect with his rigid, unyielding brother. Stannis was too severe, too plain.
"Nothing," Stannis grunted, waving a hand dismissively. But as he looked at Renly's handsome face, the image from the crowd returned to him. He had seen a tall boy, briefly, before the crowd swallowed him. The boy's build, his black hair, his blue eyes… it was a startling echo of Robert in his youth, and of Renly himself. Even Edric Storm, the bastard fostered at Storm's End, looked more like a true brother to that boy in the crowd than to the king's own children.
"I have never surpassed Robert in anything," Stannis muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. Not in power, not in charm, and certainly not in the number of children he sired. *I must have seen wrong,* he told himself, forcing the thought down. *But why are Robert's three children golden-haired, while all his bastards are black of hair?* He suppressed the question, knowing it was dangerous. He knew Robert had another bastard girl in the Vale; perhaps he would ask Lord Arryn about it. The seeds of discord had been sown long ago, when Robert had given the lush and wealthy Storm's End to Renly, while he, Stannis, was granted the barren rock of Dragonstone. Resentment was a fertile ground for suspicion.
"Let's go, boys!" Tobho called out, leading his apprentices back the way they came. "It is best not to linger near the Gold Cloaks. Their tempers are short."
The river of steel was gone, but the apprentices were still buzzing. "Those knights were magnificent! I saw Ser Barristan! A shame Ser Jaime the Lion wasn't with them." Compared to the soot-stained life of a smith, a knight's existence was impossibly dazzling.
"The Lion," another boy scoffed. "You forget his other name, don't you?"
"Hush!" Tobho's hand shot out, clamping over the boy's mouth. His voice was sharp. "Watch your tongue. I want no trouble in my forge." In King's Landing, where every wall had ears, a closed mouth was the key to a long life. The Lannisters were not a house to be provoked.
"Put aside your dreams of knighthood," Tobho said, his tone softening slightly as he herded them along. "To become a knight costs a hundred gold dragons, and that's if you're lucky. Do any of you have that kind of coin?" He saw the disappointed looks on their faces. For boys born to commoners, the path of a blacksmith, though hard, was one that offered a life. The path of a knight offered only an early grave.
Gendry watched his companions, their fantasies shattering against the hard reality of their station. He felt a flicker of that same envy, not for the armor or the glory, but for the freedom. He was trapped, a piece in a game he didn't want to play. *The king is no longer young,* Tobho thought, glancing at Gendry. *He's a fat boar now. It's a good thing this boy doesn't see how much he resembles Renly.*
"Any village smith can hammer out a suit of armor," Tobho said, lecturing as they walked. "But why do our pieces command a higher price? Because my work is art. My craft is the best in this city. You must not only know how to work the steel, but how to speak with lords. You must know your letters, your numbers, and how to draw. That is how you become a smith whose work is valued."
Gendry nodded. Tobho was a master of his craft, but also a master of selling it. He knew how to please the nobility. But Gendry also knew Tobho held his greatest secrets close. The Qohorik art of infusing color directly into steel was a marvel, making paint and enamel seem like children's toys. And it was said Tobho knew the secret to reforging Valyrian steel. Gendry knew the smiths of Qohor guarded their secrets jealously; those who shared them often lost their hands. He was unlikely to learn those arts in the few years he had.
Still, Gendry absorbed everything he could. Tobho insisted his apprentices learn mathematics, languages, and drawing. An armorer without an eye for aesthetics could never be first-rate. It was not the education of a highborn lord, but it was a start. He would not be an illiterate brute, begging for scraps. One day, he vowed, he would be free.
Later, back in the forge, Gendry plunged a newly finished sword into the quenching trough with a final, satisfying hiss. The day's work was done. He untied his leather apron, his arms corded with muscle from the endless hammering. The heat of the forge was like the breath of a dragon, one of life's great hardships. He ran a hand through his damp, charcoal-black hair, and as he did, something shifted in his mind.
It was not a vision, but a sudden, overwhelming clarity, as if a lifetime of hidden knowledge had just unlocked itself. Information flooded his consciousness, arranging itself with crisp logic.
*Gendry.*
*Bloodlines: Blood of the Stormlands (Awakened). Blood of the Dragon (Dormant). Blood of the First Men (Dormant). Blood of the Rhoynar (Dormant). Blood of the Greenhand (Dormant).*
*Talent: Baratheon Vigor (The descendants of the stag are tall, strong, and sire black-haired, blue-eyed offspring).*
*Skills: Smithing (Adept). Drawing (Proficient). Mathematics (Proficient).*
He reeled for a moment, the sheer density of the information staggering. All those dormant bloodlines… a confluence of powerful lineages. He knew his history. The traits came from his Baratheon ancestors' marriage to Princess Rhaelle Targaryen. Her own father was King Aegon V, her mother a Blackwood, her grandmother a Dayne, and her great-grandmother a Martell. Dragon's blood could mean a connection to fire, perhaps even dragons. Rhoynar blood could grant power over water, like the water wizards of old.
For now, only the blood of the storm was active, glowing in his mind's eye, fueling the strength in his limbs. But the others were there, sleeping. Suddenly, the path ahead no longer seemed so hopeless. With this knowledge, this hidden power, escaping King's Landing was no longer a distant dream. It was a possibility. He had his greatest secret, and with it, the hope of forging his own destiny.