In 295 AC, atop Visenya's Hill, stood Tobho Mott's smithy.
Gendry, now eleven years old, had fully adapted to life as a blacksmith's apprentice.
Behind the smithy lay a spacious stone barn. Forges roared in every corner, and the air was heavy with the smell of smoke, metal, and sulfur.
Gendry, with his coal-black hair and deep blue eyes, stood before the fire, forging a breastplate. He was completely absorbed in his work. His world had narrowed to the rhythm of hammer and anvil, the hiss of the bellows, and the glow of molten steel—a symphony of iron and fire. The hammer had become an extension of his arm. When the metal's color burned to orange, he lifted it with long-handled tongs and plunged it into a trough of cold water. Steam roared as the armor was tempered.
He felt an endless strength within him—a raw, inherited toughness. Perhaps it came from his father, though that man had never cared for him. His ancestor, the Stormlord of legend, had been a giant of a man, and King Robert stood nearly two meters tall. That same blood flowed now in his veins.
"Very good, Gendry," Tobho praised, watching him work. "For your age, you are strong and diligent." The master saw before him a boy built like a young stag—broad and resilient. Though Tobho oversaw one of the largest smithies in King's Landing, his heart was still that of a craftsman. And in his eyes, Gendry's strength and discipline were made for the forge.
"Thank you, master," Gendry replied flatly, returning to work. He did not mind the labor. Although the work was exhausting—one of life's hardest trades—at Tobho's smithy he had good food, steady meals, and purpose. It was far better than starving in the tavern where he'd once worked.
"Child," Tobho said, wiping his hands, "smithing is a slow path. Above pig iron is refined iron, and above refined iron stands Valyrian steel. Years upon years are needed to master the craft. It took me three and then three more to reach Qohor's level…" He stopped himself mid-sentence. This boy would not remain here forever. Robert's bastard, older even than the prince—his presence was dangerous. The queen's pride and disdain for her husband's bastards were well known throughout King's Landing. Sooner or later, fate would pull this boy into the currents of power.
"Do you miss your parents?" Tobho asked quietly.
"Missing them is useless. I've almost forgotten them," Gendry said, setting down his hammer. "My mother died when I was small. I only remember her voice when she sang… and her yellow hair. As for my father, he's probably long dead." He brushed sweat-soaked black hair from his forehead.
Tobho sighed. The boy's words were heavy. Compared to the king's legitimate children, who lived in splendor, this one toiled in heat and smoke, chained to iron. But perhaps ignorance was mercy. If Gendry ever learned who his real father was, he might dream dangerous dreams—and House Lannister did not take kindly to such dreams.
"You're a smart child," Tobho said. "Stubborn, too. The breastplate's well done. Go on—take a break."
"Thanks," Gendry said simply. After finishing his work, he could relax a while with the other apprentices.
Stepping out into the narrow courtyard, he saw his companions, boys of thirteen or fourteen, sweating and laughing. All wore coarse linen shirts—the smithy's standard garb. Some were the sons of local blacksmiths; others, the second sons of poor knights or minor craftsmen hoping to find a trade.
"You lot play. I'm fine watching," Gendry said, sitting down on a stone step.
"There he goes again!" one boy complained. "Big as an ox, but he never joins in!"
Gendry smiled faintly and watched as the apprentices swung their practice weapons—blunted, discarded blades from the workshop.
"Watch out! I am the Sword of the Morning!" cried a chubby, yellow-haired boy, waving his blunt sword.
The others laughed. "If the Sword of the Morning were as fat as you, piglet, he'd have been kicked out of the Kingsguard long ago!" a thin, freckled boy shouted.
"Damn you! Then fight me!" the fat boy retorted.
"I'll duel! I'm Barristan the Bold, the greatest knight of the realm!" the freckled boy said, grinning.
Gendry heard the names—familiar ones. Ser Arthur Dayne. Ser Barristan Selmy. True knights, legendary swordsmen. But such men had nothing to do with him. His purpose was simple: to survive, unnoticed.
The two boys clashed, their fight little more than a wild scuffle, swinging dull blades with no form or grace. Eventually, they both dropped their weapons, gasping for breath.
Gendry shook his head. "Being a knight isn't about swinging a sword," he muttered to himself. "It's about standing tall."
"Forget it," one of the boys said. "None of us will ever be knights! But maybe this blacksmith here will make their armor one day! Look at him—strong as an ox!"
"Gendry, you like being a blacksmith so much, don't you?" another teased. "Don't you ever dream of being a knight?"
Gendry shook his head. "Why would I want that? A blacksmith's work is good enough. If you're skilled, even lords will come begging for your armor."
The others laughed. They were used to Gendry's answer. He was a born blacksmith, not a dreamer.
That night, the sleeping quarters were filled with noise—one apprentice snored, another ground his teeth. Gendry lay awake, restless.
"I have to run," he thought. It was the same idea that came to him many nights—but running away wasn't easy. He had no allies. He was still only a boy.
King's Landing was dangerous, filled with spies and whispers. Even here, he could feel The Spider's web tightening. Among the recent apprentices, some were surely informants planted to watch him. Gendry played his part—kept his head down, spoke little, worked hard, and stayed far from politics. It was the safest disguise.
As for revealing his identity to King Robert, he had never even considered it. The king had no love for his bastards—barely even affection for his legitimate children. And the Lannisters ruled the Red Keep in all but name.
For now, only The Spider knew Gendry was Robert's eldest bastard. How long that secret would remain hidden, he did not know. Perhaps Varys merely kept it to use him later as a pawn.
Gendry hated The Spider. It was Varys who had placed him here, not to protect him, but to keep him caged. Still, he hated House Lannister more. If they ever discovered who he was, that cruel queen would have him killed—just as she had done with his other bastard brothers and sisters.