As Gendry followed the path from the port to the main town, he spotted a single wooden sign by the sea.
"Here lie the wolves"
As he read the words, a chill spread through his spine. A grave marked with only a sign located far from the town, no names, or anything. It feels more like a warning than a grave for the dead, he thought as the chill made him shudder at the thought. If Gendry was a religious man, he may have prayed for their souls, but he wasn't. He stared out at the sea instead, and noticed that instead of blue all he saw was grey-green.
He looked back to the grave and wondered, what exactly happened here?
He wandered back to the beaten path, overcome with a flurry of cargo boxes and laborers. He followed them until they arrived in what appeared to be a market square. The stalls were all brightly colored, with busy stall keepers preparing their goods for show. He strolled through the numerous stalls, faintly hearing the beckoning of the merchants to their stalls as he passed. There was multiple varieties of food and liquor, but most of the stalls he passed oddly contained armor and weapons.
Gendry approached one merchant with a stall full of armor and weapons. The merchant looked him up and down, taking in his appearance. He wondered what people thought when he saw him, he wondered now what he looked like. Not like a paying customer most likely, he thought as he surveyed the guarded expression of the merchant. He felt the eyes of the merchant on him, watching every move he made, oddly enough it reminded him of Flea Bottom.
"See anything you like?", the merchant said. The merchant was young looking, with an accent to his voice but suspicion laced in every word. His skin was tan probably from being under the sun day in and day out.
"Where'd all these weapons and armor come from?", he asked. Maybe he got it from a blacksmith nearby, he dared hope.
He saw the merchant give him an odd look. Before Gendry could try to discern it, the merchant spoke.
"You're not from around here are ya? You look like the rest of the smallfolk around here, but you don't know much you must be blind. Why don't you take a closer look? Tell me what you see"
Gendry forced himself to remain calm on the outside, though his pulse quickened and he was unsure if he was still breathing. He looked to the merchant untrusting, but did as he bided anyways. He looked closely at the swords first. From afar, it was glistening like new, but up close the swords' edges were blunted and chipped. He looked at the different armor now, all dented.
"They're used." Are all the weapons and armor in this market used?, he wondered, then he thought back to the grave he saw earlier and realization dawned on him on what it means.
"Aye, they are. Never heard of the Battle at Duskendale, when you're standing in Duskendale, what kinda fellow are you? Been living under a rock?"
Well under a castle more like , he thought. So I'm in Duskendale.
He thought of what lie to tell this man, but Gendry was never good at lying. So he settled on the truth, the very minimum he could tell.
"I'm nothing but a lowborn from Flea Bottom, a whore's son. Not much learning where we come from."
The merchant relaxed a bit, realizing the truth in his words and that he won't make money from him.
"Flea Bottom from King's Landing, hm, explains much about ya. You trying to start a new life or something? No matter, at least know a bit of where you are. Here was where the North scums fell against the Lannisters. Nothing but downhill for those Northern folks, dumb scums."
Before Gendry could talk, the merchant interrupted.
"Now, you don't seem like someone who can buy anything. I've shown you enough kindness, now leave before I call the guards on ya."
"Wait, I'll leave soon. But, do you know of any blacksmiths around here?"
The merchant laughed a deep hearty laugh. "You think there are blacksmiths here? Boy, open your eyes and look at those guards, look around you even."
Gendry looked at the guards scattered around the market, patrolling for thieves. They were all dressed in chain mail, with spears in their hands. He watched as one guard turned sideface and he saw it. There's no swords in their hilts.
"There are no blacksmiths here, there's more than enough of that where you're from. This town may be large but it is what it is. A fishing village with a market square. You a blacksmith?"
"Aye, I apprenticed under Tobho Mott."
"Good fella, overpriced, but good. Sorry boy, better find something else to do or go back running to Flea Bottom."
The merchant turned around then as he saw a potential customer near him.
Now, what? Gendry asked himself.
With one of his worst fears realized, he wandered aimlessly through the stalls looking for a way into the main town.
Maybe the merchant lied, there must be a blacksmith here somewhere, there has to be, Gendry thought.
He found his way to the town. It wasn't narrow and crowded like Flea Bottom. The streets still cobbled, with mostly one story buildings, except for one that was four. He looked at the castle he saw from when he was still rowing. It looked much larger now up close. Larger than the one in Dragonstone, he thought.
He noticed the sigil on the banners. There were two black warhammers crossed on a white saltire on blue. He had no idea what House it belonged to, but he knew one thing for sure from his conversation with the merchant, their loyal to the Lannisters.
And King's Landing must be nearby, he thought. As he realized in dismay, that there were no blacksmith shops in sight. He passed by multiple septs, and took note that they abided by Faith in the Seven here.
Gendry considered his options on what to do.
I can't travel by sea anymore, and I can't blacksmith for work anymore, he thought as he let a sigh escape his lips. I could try to find the road to King's Landing, he pondered, but the empty bag of food rations told him that would be unwise right now.
I need food and water. I need work.
He pondered on what to do, while his feet unintentionally led him in front of the large four story building.
He stopped in his tracks and looked closely at the building. It was large and appeared to be well maintained. He could hear boisterous laughter and raucous voices from inside. He looked at the sign hanging in front of the building. There were seven wooden swords painted white.
Either a pub or an inn, he thought. Gods, please be an inn. A pub would need women more than men.
He pushed the wooden doors open and walked inside to what appeared to be a common room. The inside was larger than it appeared from the outside. There were multiple tables along the length of the room, and a fire was on to one side. He saw stairs leading upwards, and with a sigh of relief noted multiple rooms throughout the second floor and higher.
It's an inn.
The smell of food wafted throughout the room. He felt his mouth water at the smell and his stomach growl. He was hungrier than he realized. But first things first.
First, he needs to work.
The place seemed busy, and it seemed like people kept passing through their wooden doors. He looked around and saw an elderly woman talking to a younger woman with a liver colored birthmark over her left eye. The elderly woman didn't appear frail in the slightest, though her back was hunched over a bit, she still appeared to be strict and cold. The younger woman left, scurrying off to do whatever the elder woman bided. That must be the inn keeper, he thought. Then with sure feet, he crossed the room to approach her.
"Seven Blessings," he greeted the inn keeper, remembering the numerous septs he passed by.
"Seven Blessings, you want a meal? A room? What?" she replied in a raspy voice, while her cold black eyes surveyed him taking in his appearance.
"I have no money, but I'll work for food and lodging if possible. I'm strong, I worked as a blacksmith, I can chop wood for your fire"
She replied with a derisive snort. "We have enough workers here. I don't think I'll need you. You don't look that strong to me. Leave if you can't pay."
Gendry felt disheartened but he was desperate so he persisted. "Please, I can do whatever odd jobs you need to be done. I'll help in the kitchens, clean the tables, whatever you need."
He begged, his hunger and fatigue overcoming his pride. He felt helpless in front of the cold eyes of the inn keeper. But his pleas fell on deaf ears, or so he thought.
"If you don't need him, I'll take him," a gruff male voice said.
"Take him," the inn keeper said as she looked at the man who spoke. "Put him to good use." Then she walked away.
Gendry looked at the man who spoke. His face though wrinkled looked kind, and his hair was still brown but balding.
"Come boy, and sit. I'll pay for your food," he said as he lead Gendry back to two tables away. He waved for the young woman with the birthmark and said, "Get me some hot stew with bread, and a mug of milk and honey." The young woman never said a thing but rushed away in understanding.
"Why'd you help me?" Gendry asked the man, hesitating on whether to trust him.
"You look strong enough for me, and I need more men," the man replied while slurping up spoonfuls of hot stew in his mouth. "The name's Everard Bennett."
He tried to think of a different name, but couldn't think of anything. "Gendry," he said. "What's you need my help for?"
"You ever been on a boat?", Everard asked him.
"Yes."
"Good. See this stew here? It's made with the crabs I catch for them. I catch fish as well and sell it to those merchants or the other smaller inns. You're young and you seem strong enough, well at least once you eat probably."
"I've never caught fish before," he admitted to the man.
"Well, you'll learn. It's easy enough," the man said dismissively.
"How many men do you have working for you?"
"None anymore." He said, and Gendry swore he saw his brown eyes darken. They were disturbed by the sound of clacking bowls and mugs, as the woman from before placed a bowl of soup and a mug in front of him. Just like that, the moment was gone.
"Eat up boy, you'll need it."
Gendry obliged and his stomach thanked him. The hot crab soup was one of the best he'd ever tasted. He grabbed onto the bread given to him and took a large bite. He couldn't stop eating, in minutes, he devoured the soup and bread. As he was sipping the mug of milk and honey, he overheard the stories being shared at the table.
"...those corpse cart drivers have been trying to trick everyone I hear. They dressed up those smallfolks they have in their cart, saying they were casualties of the Red Wedding," said a man at their table. The man was gruff and was largely built, he looked like a proud man, though he couldn't guess what the man did for a living.
He looked to Everard beside him, and noted his steely expression.
"Gods bless the Lannisters! For finally giving those Northerners what they deserved", said another man at the table. To which all the rest cheered their mugs up in the air, spilling bits of the fluid from their cups onto the floor.
"You heard what they did to the leader, the one they called the King of the North, Robb Stark?" asked another.
But Gendry felt his blood run cold when he heard the name he's heard many times before. Robb. Stark. Arya's brother.
"After all the arrows they put in him, the boy didn't go down. Not until, Lord Bolton stabbed him in the heart. They killed his direwolf and cut off his head, and sewed it on the boy's body. Parading it around the Twins," another man said and laughed at the story. The rest of the men there laughed as well.
"I guess the Young Wolf remained young forever, aye? To the King of the North!" they cheered mockingly. Rounds of laughter followed, and the topic eventually changed.
But Gendry didn't notice, everything that followed those words fell deaf on his ears. He gripped his mug tightly in his hand. The warmth from his meal was now gone. Shock and anger coursed through his veins, followed by fear.
The Lannisters wanted the Starks dead, even more than they wanted him gone. He pictured his highborn friend's face in his head.
If she was there..his thought trailed away, interrupted by the voice of Everard. Gendry didn't notice he had stood up until the man placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Come on boy, we got work to do," he said. Gendry noticed there was no cheer in this man's voice like the many voices around him. Gendry looked at his face and saw nothing, he's guarded.
He willed himself to swallow the rest of milk in his mug. Though the mug felt warm, the liquid flowed cold in his throat until it settled in his stomach.
He followed Everard's lead and stood up and walked away. Inwardly digesting the disturbing news he heard. He silently mourned for the Starks, especially his friend who he believed right now is probably dead.
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The Red Wedding is still a painful memory for me, and it hurt me to let Gendry learn about it this way. But I felt it necessary. :(
On a lighter note, thank you to all those who have read my story up to here. I still think the Gendry in my story has some more growing and learning to undergo. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. :D Till, next time :)