Gendry was sitting on the grass, his back leaning against the heart-tree. It was late afternoon, and the breeze felt pleasant on his skin.
He had had a long day. After breaking his fast, Lord Stark had come to see him and introduce him to his uncle Renly.
He was shocked when he first saw Renly Baratheon, because it was like seeing himself in a mirror. If he still had doubts that he had the King's blood, they had just vanished. Renly himself was amazed at the resemblance, and he seemed so excited that he took upon himself the tasks of providing Gendry with clothes fit for a prince and teaching him how to read.
Renly had said he wanted to spend as much time with Gendry as possible, so he could teach his nephew to be more like him rather than like King Robert – he wasn't sure if it had been a joke. Actually, it didn't matter. He had liked Renly well enough, and he'd rather spend time with him than with his father. Not that the King had time for him anyway.
Renly had started teaching him the alphabet, and also showed him the letters that formed his name, Gendry Baratheon – it was strange having a surname now, and even stranger that this surname was Baratheon.
After giving him his first lesson, Renly had gone to take care of other businesses, and Gendry had decided to explore the castle. He had already been introduced to all the guards so that they wouldn't mistake him for an intruder.
The place was huge, and he was sure he was going to get lost. And he did.
But he had ended up in the Tower of the Hand and he came across Lord Stark's younger daughter. She was a feisty little thing, and the other night she had managed to make him feel comfortable at supper, unlike her sister. He thought he would get along well with her, and then he had taken the opportunity to start a conversation, but she had proved to be stubborn and quite irritating.
And, truth be told, he had liked it.
He had felt irritated when she called him m'lord in that mocking tone, but then he realized she might just be teasing him. He had called her m'lady first after all, and she hadn't liked it either. But it was late now, because he had taken his leave abruptly without looking back. He wondered if he had been too rude.
He wondered if he would have another chance to befriend Arya. He could only hope. Only the Seven knew how much he wanted a friend.
Of the few people he had met since the day he was brought to the Red Keep, Arya was the only one who seemed worth becoming friends with, even if she was younger than him. She was different from any lady he had ever met – not that he had known many, and he never talked to the ones he had met anyway. But he could see how they were like. And from what he had seen so far, she was nothing like them. He liked that in her.
He couldn't bear the idea of living in that castle without someone to talk to, without someone to share his worries and his joys – if he ever found any joy at all, that is. He had never wished so much for a friend in his life.
Everything had changed so abruptly, and he still didn't know if it had been a good thing. He didn't know if being son of the King instead of a mere smith's apprentice was a good thing.
He had never had a very good impression of the King; he knew he used to be drunk half the time, and knew he used to visit whore houses. People also used to say that he was a better king than the previous king, the mad one. At least this one was a good thing, he supposed. But he never – never, not even in his wildest dreams (or nightmares) – had imagined that King Robert Baratheon had been the man who left his mother all by herself with a child.
And now I have to pretend I respect this man.
"Prince Gendry?"
Gendry grimaced at the word "prince" before opening his eyes. He hadn't noticed closing them.
Arya.
It wasn't until getting to his feet that he noticed she was carrying a sword.
"I hope you didn't come here to stab me," he said, raising an eyebrow.
She snorted.
"And have my head on a spike? You're not worth the trouble."
He chuckled.
"What about this sword?"
"It's called Needle. Father said you might like to see it. He said you used to be a smith's apprentice."
Arya handed him the sword. He took the blade, feeling the balance, and studied it carefully.
"This is a very fine blade. Is it yours?"
"Yes."
"Your father gave it to you?" he asked in disbelief.
"It wasn't him."
Gendry wanted to ask her who had been, but he wasn't sure if he should.
"It was a gift from my brother Jon," she said, as if reading his mind. "Father doesn't know it was him though, but he let me keep it anyway."
Had she just shared a secret with him? He tried to fight back a smile.
"Apart from my father, Jon was the only one who never reproached me for being… you know, different from Sansa," she said with a shrug.
"I see. That's why Lord Stark hired you a dancing master?"
"Yes. He said I should learn how to use it."
Gendry took a last look at Needle and gave it back to Arya.
"Tomorrow's lesson will be after breakfast. You can come too," she said, almost nonchalantly. Almost.
He grinned.
"Really?"
"Yes. But I'll have you know that I don't want you to cry like a little baby if my wooden sword happens to fly away from my hand and hits you in the head," she warned him with a smirk.
"I better wear my helmet then," he grinned even wider.
"Do you have armor?"
"No, only the helmet."
"What good is it to have only the helmet?"
"It was never my intention to get into battles, you know. I just felt like making myself a helmet, and I made it in the shape of a bull's head. The other apprentices used to call me bullheaded, so I thought it would be just appropriate," he said, shrugging.
"They used to call you bullheaded? I wonder why…" she said as she turned to leave.
"Are you going to insult me again?"
She turned and looked at him again.
"I can't help it. I found that I quite like to insult you."
He saw a ghost of a smile playing on her lips, and then she turned her back to him again and started making her way back to the castle.
Gendry watched her as she walked away, wondering.
And then he realized that he liked being insulted by her in return.