The year was 293 AC. In King's Landing, the capital of the Baratheon Dynasty, two figures—one stout and the other still a lanky youth—made their way onto the Street of Steel. The path winding up Visenya's Hill stretched before them, a chaotic artery of commerce. The air rang with the clang of hammers as blacksmiths toiled in the heat of their forges, sellswords haggled over dented armor, and grizzled ironmongers hawked dull blades from wobbling carts.
The hooded figure leading the way smiled beneath his cowl. *King's Landing is a spider's web,* he mused, *and only a spider can truly know its every strand.* His little birds across the Narrow Sea watched over the last Targaryen whelps, and here, in the heart of Westeros, he was personally delivering the stag's own forgotten blood. All it would take was one carefully plucked thread—one great secret whispered from the Red Keep's depths—and the ensuing chaos would yield unimaginable opportunities.
Gendry, trailing his silent guide, observed the man's back with a feeling of weary resignation. His own face was young, but his eyes held a knowing steadiness that didn't belong on a boy his age. The hooded man likely chalked it up to a harsh life—a tavern-wench mother dead too soon and a father who never was—and the bitterness that bloomed from such soil. He would never guess that Gendry's soul was far older, transplanted from another world entirely. As they walked, Gendry spotted the crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms of Lannister guardsmen, a constant, suffocating reminder of who truly held power in this city.
They climbed higher, passing grander buildings as they ascended the hill. Finally, they stopped before the largest structure on the street, a tall house of timber and plaster that overlooked all the others. This was the smithy of Tobho Mott. Its two large doors, crafted from ebony and weirwood, were carved with an intricate hunting scene. Flanking the entrance were two stone knights sculpted in the likeness of a griffin and a unicorn, both painted in faded red armor.
A serving girl with sharp eyes noticed the quality of the hooded man's purple velvet cloak and hurried inside to fetch the proprietor. Moments later, Tobho Mott himself appeared. The renowned armorer wore a fine black velvet coat with silver hammers embroidered on the sleeves and a heavy silver chain bearing a sapphire the size of a pigeon's egg.
"My lord," Tobho began, his voice exuding pride. "If it is armor you seek, you have arrived at the finest forge in King's Landing. My work stands above all others; these are not merely plates of steel, but works of art. I have had the honor of serving many great lords, including Lord Renly himself."
"Your reputation precedes you, armorer," the guest replied, his voice a muffled baritone with a hint of a Tyroshi accent. "But I am not here for myself. I am here to place this boy with you as an apprentice." He gestured to Gendry and placed a heavy pouch of gold on a nearby anvil. They were not the familiar Gold Dragons of Westeros, but gold was gold.
Tobho Mott's gaze fell upon Gendry. The boy was tall for his age, with a thick mane of black hair and the deep blue eyes of a summer sky. A jolt went through Tobho. He had seen that same look in the eyes of Robert, Stannis, and Renly. The boy looked most like the youngest, Renly, but the age was wrong. Stannis was an impossibility. That left only one conclusion, a dangerous one.
"My lord," Tobho said, his voice dropping, "I am a simple smith. I do not seek… complications." He hesitated, but his protest died as the man laid a second, heavier pouch of gold on the table.
"Do not speak of it," the hooded man said softly. Tobho weighed the silence against the gold. The gold won. "The boy is my apprentice now," he declared, his voice firm. "Who he was before he crossed my threshold, I do not know."
"Very good! I hope you keep this secret," the man said, satisfied. He turned to leave.
"Thank you, my lord," Gendry said, his voice quiet.
The man paused. "I hope you enjoy this life. It is better than scrubbing pots in a tavern." Without another word, he disappeared into the crowded street. *I know it's you, Spider,* Gendry thought, a shiver running down his spine. Varys's skill for disguise was truly exceptional.
So this was it. Gendry, a soul from a world he once called Earth, was now a blacksmith's apprentice in the world of 'A Song of Ice and Fire'. He had to admit, his new body had its advantages. The current bloated king may be a shadow of his former self, but in his youth, he was the Demon of the Trident, and the Baratheon blood ran strong. It gifted its sons with powerful builds and sharp, commanding eyes. Gendry had resigned himself to his new life, working quietly in a tavern because it was the safest path. The Lannisters had eyes everywhere, and he had no desire to end up in a shallow grave like some of Robert's other bastards. The King, his own father, was a man ruled by his appetites, quick to forget the women he bedded and even quicker to forget the children they bore him.
"What is your name, boy?" the armorer asked, breaking the silence.
"Gendry. I have no surname."
"Few in this city do," Tobho grunted. "Having a roof and a trade is what matters. You are fortunate to have found both with me. Come, I will show you the heart of the forge."
He led Gendry through a back door and across a narrow yard into a vast, stone-walled barn. When the door swung open, a wave of heat rolled out, so intense Gendry felt he was standing at the maw of a dragon. Forges blazed in every corner, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and hot metal. A foreman glanced up, wiped a sweaty brow, and returned to his hammering. Shirtless apprentices strained at the bellows, their muscles gleaming. Gendry took it all in, a mix of fascination and apprehension. This would be grueling work, but a skilled trade was a world away from his old life.
"It is demanding labor," Tobho said, his voice full of pride. "But it is a noble craft. Learn it well, and lords and knights will one day seek you out, begging for your steel. You will never want for work." He seemed to reconsider, his eyes lingering on Gendry's face. The boy's lineage was a dangerous variable. Calling over his foreman, Tobho spoke in a low voice. "This is my new apprentice. You will be his guide. See that he learns, but start him on the lighter tasks."
And so, Gendry's life as an apprentice began.