Part 23: Gendry

Gendry let out a yelp of pain and dropped his training sword as Arya wacked him across the knuckles, he yelped again as the lead weighted wooden sword hit his foot. Suddenly he was hopping and waiving his hand in the air, trying to numb the pain. Gods, how could somebody so small be such a pain in the ass!

"You're making it too easy." Arya muttered, her lips pursing in disappointment. "You're taller and stronger than me, with long arms… are you letting me win?" She accused.

Gendry tucked his throbbing hand under his opposite armpit and stopped hopping, he shook his head. "No, mi'lady, I am not. You have years of training over me… I'm never going to get this."

Arya's expression softened. "You're holding the sword wrong." She told him. "Pick it up and let me show you."

Gendry shook his head. "I think I've had enough for today."

"Well if you give up that easily then you're right, you are never going to get this, pick the sword up." Arya insisted.

Gendry sighed and picked up the wooden sword, he listened and watched as she adjusted his hand on the grip, whose bright idea had it been for him to spar with her anyway? He had spent most of the session trying to ignore their audience. The two direwolves sat and watched him, amber eyes and yellow, either one of them could have torn him apart on a whim. The Dothraki woman and Arya's two warrior maids were no less intimidating. Mya was comfortable with them, but Gendry was not. The Lady Karstark was pleasant enough, but he had seen her spar with Mya, the Lady Mormont… now she was a scary one.

Then there were the other spectators, there were the usual crane-necks, servants, busy bodies, off-duty guards, board nobles with nothing better to do. (And their retinues.) Lord Renly had warned him to pay them no head. Then there were the guards; there was a clear tension between the Stark guards assigned to protecting Arya and the Royal guards assigned to protecting him. The Royal guards were fearful of the direwolves and wanted them locked away. The Stark guards were protective of the direwolves, treating them almost as if they were furred, four-legged, Starks. The direwolves roamed wherever Lady Arya roamed, the King allowed it, so who could speak against it?

To make matters even worse, not only had Lord Stark come to watch, but the King and half the Kingsguard as well, and that meant more Royal guards, and more noble crane-necks, and more guards for the noble crane-necks. Every inch of the walls seemed to be lined by people wanting to see them train. Maybe a hundred people were watching them all up, maybe more? And all of them witnessing a little girl beat the crap out of him, it was humiliating.

He dropped the sword again and felt his shoulders slump, Arya picked it up for him and encouraged him to continue, but it felt pointless. He heard whispering and looked up at Lord Stark and the King, their heads bowed together, they were clearly talking about how disappointing he was. Soon they would realise that this was all a big mistake and send him back to his old life. He'd best not get too attached to a full stomach and a soft bed.

Arya gave him a few more instructions and then they went back to sparing, she went easier on him this time. Pity from a child. Could today get any worse? Oh, yes, it could. The King and his guard walked off, likely disgusted by how appalling Gendry's fighting was, at least that took a dozen or so people away. It wouldn't be long now… they'd give up on him soon enough. Why did he want to impress them anyway? He was an armourer, and a weapon maker, not a prince. He didn't belong here.

Hushed voices whispered amongst the crowd at the King's departure, a babbling brook of slowly growing noise. Yet Mya smiled at him, one of her hands lazily running through the soft silvery fur of Lady, the smaller direwolf, and Lord Stark nodded encouraging in his direction. Nymeria, the larger direwolf, sitting at attention at Lord Stark's side. Arya picked up the sword for him again, and what was he to do but take it? The girl's grey eyes looked so earnest as she gave him instruction, and there was something about her determination that made him want to try.

About half an hour later the King returned, with his famous war hammer in his hands. "Arya, take a break. " King Robert commanded.

Arya nodded and took a step back. Lord Stark cleared his throat loudly and suddenly the eleven year old remembered her manners. "Yes, your grace." She nodded, dropped a half-hearted curtsey, then retreated to her father's side, her hand sliding into Nymeria's grey fur.

King Robert chuckled and shook his head, thankfully amused, not insulted. "Wolf-blooded, that one." He muttered as he turned his attention to Gendry. "I struggled with a sword at first too, Bronze Yohn almost deemed me untrainable, but I mastered it… thanks to Ned. A hammer however, this makes more sense to me than any damned sword ever did." The King confessed, he pressed the hammer into Gendry's hands. "Maybe it will make more sense to you as well?"

Gendry stood gobsmacked, this was King Robert's famous War hammer, the one forged by Donal Noye, at Storm's End… the Weapon that had killed Prince Rhaegar! It was over twice the size of a standard war hammer, and beautifully crafted. It was heavy…

"Are you going to stand there and drool on it all day, lad? Or are you gonna use it?" King Robert asked.

"On what?" Gendry muttered.

The king laughed and dummy targets were quickly set up. Gendry smashed them down faster than they could build them up, much to King Robert's approval. They kept at it for over an hour, King Robert would show him swings then he would copy.

"That's my son!" King Robert roared, laughing, when the armourer announced that they were out of targets. "Now, give the hammer back, boy. For every six hours of sword training I'll give you one hour with this."

Gendry nodded and reluctantly handed the weapon back, then he smirked. "Maybe I'll make my own, a Valyrian Steel one, when you let me finish my blacksmith training..."

King Robert regarded him carefully. "Start wearing the Baratheon crowned stag, and accept your place as my heir, and we have a deal."

"Let me finish my blacksmith training first." Gendry replied, was he really negotiating with a king? Yet what did he have to lose?

"No, not until you're sure what sort of weapon you want to make yourself, you'll want to train with a few different types of swords and hammers first. And you still need to learn to read and write."

"I can help with that, your grace." Mya suggested quietly. "Jon Arryn taught me my letters, and most of the people that taught me my weapons are here, Lady Jorelle can train him in mace, chain mace, and Morningstar, and we can all help him with the sword, bow, and whip, it's only hammer and axe you'll have to look to others for."

The King frowned. "He doesn't need to learn the whip."

"It served Jon well enough... your grace." Lady Jorelle replied with a touch of defiance, the 'your grace' was almost an afterthought. Were all northern women so damn insolent?

"Whip training will help regardless of what weapon he chooses, your grace." The Dothraki woman said quietly. "It will aide with balance and reflexes, and help strengthen the small muscles in the wrist and hand."

"Fine, fine." The King replied, he turned to Lord Stark. "I'll leave this in your hands to sort. I want him reading, writing and fighting before I hand over Valyrian Steel."

Lord Stark nodded. "Arya, your handwriting could use some improvement as well, you will assist Mya with every aspect of Gendry's training, you can start by teaching Gendry the Major Houses and their Vassals of the Stormlands and Kingslands."

Arya groaned. "That's so boring." She muttered. "Do I have to?"

"Ivezh Zolat Ver, knowledge is an important weapon." The Dothraki woman said quietly. "And one that Khalakka Gendry will need now that he's been acknowledged, regardless of if he allows Khal Robert to name him or not, you have been asked to help arm him, do as your Lord Father asks."

Arya bowed to the Dothraki woman and nodded. "Yes Khalakki Jeshi."

The woman gave her a sad smile. "I am not a Khalakki anymore, now apologise to your Lord Father."

Arya turned to her father and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Father, I will do as you ask."

Lord Stark nodded. "Two hours of reading and writing every day before you train."

Arya groaned. "Yes Father."

~~/~~

"Nephew! How did your training go?" Lord Renly asked, lengthening his strides to catch up with Gendry, as he crossed the drawbridge to Maegor's Holdfast. Gendry stopped, as did the four guards whom followed him everywhere. Maybe it hadn't been quite so terrible as he had imagined if word hadn't gotten to Renly yet?

Gendry looked at his swelling hand and groaned, no, it had been terrible. "Bad." He muttered.

Renly chuckled. "She's quite scary, isn't she? The little wolf girl."

Gendry rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't say scary, but… fearless." She had actually been quite kind considering.

Renly gave one of his careful smiles, the ones that said 'I don't believe you' and didn't reach his eyes. "She killed Joffrey, did you know?" Renly tried to make the remark sound casual, but the tension in his shoulders belied the tone of his voice.

Gendry shook his head in disbelief. "I find that difficult to believe." He could feel Renly watching him, assessing him, measuring his response.

Renly picked at a fingernail absently, as if they were discussing the weather. "The guards told me, apparently Joffrey snapped after discovering he was a bastard and tried to charge my dear brother with his sword. They say she calmly unsheathed her blade, stepped in, and skewered him. They say she moved faster than even Ser Barristan."

Gendry shook his head. "But she's just a child…"

Renly shrugged. "A Northern child, they're barbarians, the lot of them, keep your wits about you. I know Mya is your half-sister, but she is more like them than like you, she's dangerous too."

"No, I don't believe it." Gendry protested. "Lady Arya-"

"Oh, Arya Stark is not a Lady." Renly countered, he produced a locket and handed it over to Gendry. "This is a Lady, open it."

Gendry opened the locket carefully, inside was a finely detailed portrait of a doe-eyed girl with brown hair, the brushwork was exquisitely fine and delicate, the artist was exceptionally talented. "Who is she?" He asked curiously.

Renly's smile brightened. "Lady Margery Tyrell, Ser Loras' sister, beautiful, isn't she?"

Gendry frowned, paintings could be misleading. "I… the painting is very delicate." He responded.

Renly smirked in approval. "A carefully worded response, good, you're learning. When you meet her in person you'll see. The painting doesn't do her justice, and she is sweet, and kind, she does a lot of work with orphans… you'll see. Once we've dealt with this Tywin nonsense Loras is going to bring her to court, I'll introduce you, you're around the same age."

Gendry's frown deepened. "Why would you do that?"

Renly clapped him on the shoulder. "Oh, my dear boy, you have so much to learn about court. Come, walk with me, let Uncle Renly teach you." Renly flicked a glance up at the gathering clouds. "Do you think it will rain today?"

~~/~~