Reminders

The next morning, the Prince woke with his eyes in a blur. There was a beam of light standing over him, a glowing, golden haze. When his eyes focused in, he realized it was Cersei, watching him sleep.

"Morning, mother." He grumbled, sitting up in his bed. Cersei held her hand out and he stopped moving. She stood over him, lips set in a firm, rigidly straight line. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long." She said, fixing her skirts and sitting next to his bedside. "You know, I appreciate everything you've given me. You've been a constant reminder of how much love I have for my children."

"Oh really?" He asked.

She attempted a smile. "Seeing you with Myrcella, and Tommen, and how you make them laugh, how they enjoy being around you, perhaps even love you. But I am their mother and I know what's best and I know they deserve better than you. Myrcella, so beautiful and gentle, and she's got a life in Dorne to look forward to, thanks to you. And Joffrey, my oldest son, my boy, he is the rightful heir to the throne. Not you, you base, bastard boy."

"Ah, so that's what this is about."

"I should've killed you the day Robert's little bitch brought you to the Keep's back steps."

"What's stopped you, you've had plenty of opportunities since?" He said.

Cersei scoffed, "You think I haven't tried? Robert has seen to your safety at every possible moment. But not much longer. All of his whoring around over the last decade, i've seen to it that there are no more... traces lying about. And now he's gone too."

Gendry sat bolt upright in his bed. "What?"

"Your King passed away in his sleep this morning after a bad bottle of wine poisoned him. Grand Maester Pycelle would normally check his body to find the cause of death but he's been sent out of the city on urgent duty. I've selected Qyburn to do the honours." She stood and swirled her skirts around. "Naturally, the city will be in a uproar, and the country soon after that. But your betrothal to Sansa Stark should quell some of the fear. I suppose now we'll see how long you can last."

Arya wasn't sure if she'd gotten any sleep that night. She kept replaying it all in her mind.

Her mother shuffling her along from the guest tower, to the Sept for the ceremony, to the feast afterwards. The itchy, uncomfortable dress, the hours of yelling after Gendry unmasked her at the tournament.

She noticed Gendry and her sister sitting together when she entered the Sept and when she asked if she could go join them her mother told her no, which was fine because after a second thought Arya realized she didn't really want to be near Gendry anyways. She asked why they were sitting together but her mother and father only looked awkwardly at each other before telling Arya to quiet down for the ceremony.

Next was the feast. She remembered tugging at the sleeve of her dress when suddenly Sansa and Gendry were up before everyone, holding hands and wearing shy smiles. It looked so posed to her. And someone had produced a brand new blue flower crown for her to wear.

She looked happy and very beautiful. She was getting everything she wanted.

Arya felt her mother's hand on her shoulder but she turned to her father and looked up at him.

His eyes drifted to the doorway and together they walked out. She wondered if drunkeness felt like this. If perhaps she'd accidentally drunk from one of her parents' wine cups instead of her own which was filled with water. Was it this inability to put one foot in front of the other, this tightness in the chest. "Yes." She whispered to herself. "I must be very drunk. As drunk as the King."

They didn't speak, that was the great thing about walking with her father, sometimes they didn't need to. He walked her aimlessly around the castle's halls for what felt like hours. She might've told him what she was thinking and how she felt, but she couldn't put it into words, she wasn't even sure she understood it. She didn't want to think about it.

Eventually, they wound up in the Godswood. He asked her not to run instead of telling and for once she promised she wouldn't. Instead she just sat there, in the closest place she had to home. She let her mind go blank until she fell asleep against the crisp white bark of the Weirwood.

She wasn't sure how she got to her bed that night. But the next morning she was seated on her father's work table, bright and early. She felt like she hadn't seen him in weeks, he'd been so busy with his new duties as the Hand. The previous night had been the only time she'd seen him without being scolded. She could tell her mother was worried about him, he looked so tired and worn out, Arya noticed it too.

Her father had this look in his eye, like he was about to yell at her, and she wondered if his calm silence last night had been holding some kind of disappointed anger at bay... but father never yelled. She'd padded in silently, catlike as always, and then hopped up on the table, covered in books and waited patiently for him to speak.

But he didn't.

"I-"

"How are the dancing lessons going?"

She stared up at him, eyes wide and confused. "They're good."

"They looked like they were paying off."

She felt her face get hot, memories of the tourney came flooding back into her mind. Her mother had given her an earful, or twenty, on this topic already. But her father had remained silent. Now he was going to let her have it. She tried to picture him in the stands that day but her memory fell short. She wondered what it must've looked like from the outside, or how her family must've felt when she tore her helmet off.

"You fought well." He smiled.

"Were you mad?" She asked in her small, childlike voice.

"I was... caught off guard." He said. "Your mother was more caught off guard. But mostly, I was impressed. Not proud mind you, but I came to terms quite a while back that you will never be the girl who happily puts on her skirts and sits in the stands. You would be stuffed into them and made to mask a grimace with a strained smile. You won't marry a high lord and rule his castle."

Arya smiled, "No, that's not me."

Ned chuckled, "That's not you. You will always fight for what you want. And one day, you will take care of yourself, and do what you want as you always have."

"I will." Arya nodded. She was determined. She would be all she needed, and she would find her way back North.

"Although," Her father continued. "When the time comes, let Gendry take care of you too."

"What? Why? He's not my friend. And soon he'll be married to Sansa and then he'll have to care for her." Arya said. "Besides, I'm not planning on staying in King's Landing much longer."

"Oh, is that right?"

She nodded proudly, and his smile broke through. "I'm going to steal you away and take you back up North where you can be happy again."

"And I'm sure you could do it. But it's my lot to remain here so long as the King needs me. Just like it's your lot to listen to your mother when she tells you to put on a dress and let her comb out your hair. And just like it's Sansa's lot to marry into the royal family. We must follow our lot in life."

"Not me." She declared.

"No, probably not you." Ned said with a tired laugh. "But not all of us are that strong."

"You are." She said, staring up at him wide eyed.

"Perhaps I once was." He answered. "You're strong enough for the both of us. And so is Sansa, and Gendry. And since he's your friend, will be your King as well as your good-brother, promise me when the time comes, you will listen to him and heed his advice."

She stared at him in disbelief, "Why should I?"

"Because he means well, and he means well for you. He will see to it that you are safe and happy." Ned said, urging his daughter out of the room with a soft tap on the back. Arya hopped off the table and felt him guide her out, not sure why he was suddenly so quick to get rid of her.

"Why are you telling me this now?" She asked.

"Because, it's a lesson you need to learn. You may be different from the rest, you may think you don't need anyone, but just because you think something doesn't make it true. Don't be afraid to let someone help you, especially when you need it."

"But-"

"Arya." He said, stopping her words. "Promise me you'll try to trust him?"

"Fine. I'll try." Arya said, looking up at her father. "I promise."

He ruffled her hair, just like Jon used to do. "Thank you." Then he reached down and hugged her, it lasted long, and he held her tight and when it was over Arya glanced up at him in childlike confusion.

"You're welcome." She said, laughing at how serious he was being. Even more so than usual.

He smiled his sad smile and opened the door for her to continue down the hall.

She didn't make it far before she felt herself crash into someone else. She looked up and found Gendry. How could she trust him with anything when she couldn't even trust him to not step on her feet?

"Hi." She said, skeptically.

"I don't have time to talk, I have to see your father now." He said, bouncing anxiously from foot to foot, staring at the door over her shoulder.

"Fine," She countered, rolling her eyes and brushing past him. "I don't want to talk to you anyways."

He took off like a shot down the hall. Arya scoffed and sauntered on, "Trust has to be earned."

Gendry heard about it from Anguy, in the dungeon where they'd revived Beric only a few days ago.

"Last night the gold cloaks stormed the city, breaking into the poor villages homes, the brothels, the bars, even the one Lem and I were in. Course he was passed out and I was... otherwise engaged. Otherwise I might've done something about it."

"How many?" Gendry asked.

"Numbers are a tricky business when you're talking about the illegal, covert murders of bastards. It's not usually something people keep close track of." He was dodging the question.

"How many?" Gendry asked, the skin of his fist grating against the table's wood.

Anguy straightened up immediately. "Some say as many as sixty. Some are saying upwards of a hundred. Knowing the king, I'd reckon it could be anywhere between the two. He was a virile man, gods save his soul."

Gendry grimaced and Thoros placed a hand on Anguy's shoulder, pulling him back.

"He was a good man, your Grace."

Now, Gendry wasn't so sure. He'd always known his father wasn't the best king the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen, but between his conversation with Cersei before dawn, and the revelations Anguy had provided later on, his world felt shattered.

He walked into Ned Stark's offices, and sat silently at the table.

"So all the bastards are dead." he said.

Ned's eyes widened but he quickly adjusted to the topic.

"Not quite..." He said softly. "A few remain, a few Cersei wasn't able to get her hands on."

"Where?" Gendry asked.

"The Vale. We believe there's one out there somewhere. And Stannis has been raising one, safe and sound in Storm's End."

Gendry scoffed, "Course he has. Uncle Stannis never did warm too much to the idea of the Capital. I've never even met my little cousin."

"There may even be more. Robert travelled all over the Seven Kingdoms, during the Rebellion, and tours of the country."

"Is this why you're here? To bring all this up? To help him keep his mistakes covered up? So the Lannisters wouldn't have something to hold over him?"

"Partially..."

"Was I the other half?" Gendry asked, eyes clear he watched as Lord Stark paced before him. "Because I'm a bastard too?"

Ned stopped pacing.

"How long have you known?"

"My whole life." He said. "Cersei's rarely manages to actually be subtle in her complete dislike of a person and her total hatred of me hasn't been well hidden over the last seventeen years. I've never heard her really admit it though, we both just always quietly acknowledged it. Until this morning." Ned waited expectantly for him to continue, "She was waiting in my room this, watching me sleep." His eyes clouded over, "She's going to kill me next, isn't she? Just like all the other bastards."

Now Ned seemed to flinch at the word. Gendry supposed it was difficult for the man to hear, Ned had believed in him, supported him, Ned had wanted him to be King, and he'd made Gendry want it too. And now that life was slipping away.

"I'm sending my wife back to Winterfell." Ned said. "And ensuring my daughter's have safe passage back home too. To send them out all at once is too risky. Especially with the engagement we've just announced between you and Sansa. Still, I need them out of this city." He paused. "A few nights ago, Lady Stark asked me if we were safe here. We're not, not anymore. I know too much and now my family is in danger. There are two choices before me: I can continue the work of Jon Arryn, and your father and expose Cersei for what she's done, or I can wait here and end up just like them."

"What has she done?" Gendry asked. "Aside from the murders she's ordered today. What's her motive?"

"She's threatened by you, that much is sure. That's why she arranged for Margaery to marry Joffrey, that leaves you with Sansa. It severs the ties between the North and the crown, between Robert and his old allies. Plus, once you were out of the way, Joffrey would be primed to become king. He's Robert's next born son, and with a new wife by his side accompanied by her powerful, wealthy, Southron House. She wants to see her natural born children on the throne."

"Then why not just expose me? Why set me up for failure, why play this game with Robert and let Myrcella be sent to Dorne? Why allow the engagement to go on between your House and mine? Why not just take me, as a small baby and hold me over the gates of the city for all to see before smashing my head against it like the Mad King did all those years ago?"

"The Mad King ordered the deaths of natural born children, actually."

Gendry quelled the rage that was storming inside him. "What's so important for her to hide that she kept his secret too?"

"That's what you're father and I were trying to figure out." Ned said sadly.

They sat in silence then, neither could keep the image of the dead king from entering their minds.

"When will your daughters be leaving?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"Catelyn began to prepare for the road home as soon as we heard the news, she should be out of the Capital before the night is over. She'll leave as discretely as possible with two of my men from the North. I plan to sneak the girls from the city soon after. Sansa will go North to the Vale where she will meet with her Aunt Lysa, until Cat arrives."

"And Arya?" Gendry asked.

Ned smiled despite himself "She'll be sent to Storm's End. I've sent news to you Uncle Stannis and he's agreed to support he opposition of the Lannisters in King's Landing. And he'll protect my daughter, she's to become a companion for your cousin, Shireen."

He nodded, unsure of both what to say and how he felt.

"And you? Surely, you're in as much danger as I am."

"I'll leave once my work here is done. I made a promise to your father, and the events of last night, of the last few weeks, are only proof that things will only fall apart even more if someone leaves."

Gendry nodded,

"It's dangerous for us to be seen together, your Grace. If the queen should think you've been helping me, I-"

"No offense, my lord, but I'm already as good as dead. And that's not going to stop me from trying to help you. She can come at me and make any claims that she wants, this is still my city."

Ned nodded and smiled, "No one could ever doubt that you are Robert's son."

Dinner was solemn that night, and there was no feast.

They just all looked so fake to him. Cersei barely looked upset, Jaime and Tyrion looked indifferent, and probably were. As were the Tyrells. The kings guard just looked hungry and tired. And his children, the children of Robert Baratheon, Myrcella was sniffling into her plate, Tommen hadn't uttered a word all night, and Joffrey was all but his usual self. Though a paler, shakier version.

They didn't even look like his children. Why weren't they shaking with anger? Where was their fury? How could they sit next to the woman who'd orchestrated the murder of their father? Their king? Because they don't know, he reminded himself, Because you are the future king, despite whatever they might try to do to you, and it is your responsibility to know these things, his eyes passed over his two youngest siblings. You know so they don't have to.

He wished he could eat with the Starks, up in their guest towers. He wished he could ask Ned to tell him stories of his and Robert's youth. He wished he could apologize to Lady Stark, and to Sansa. That he could comfort her for all the trials she'd been put through, and all the false hope. And he wanted to hear Arya's laugh, one last time before she was sent off somewhere safe. He wanted to tell her that he wished he could've been the one to keep her safe, but he didn't know how to do that for himself at the moment.

Gendry ate quickly, before pulling a few bottles of wine from the kitchens and sitting out in the gardens, drinking and staring up at the stars.

He was alone for a long time when he finally heard another's voice.

"You're a spitting image of him, you know?" His Uncle Tyrion... though he was not his uncle, he supposed, waddles down into the gardens and sat next to him. "Not so much as he is now, all purple, and bloated and slightly decaying."

Gendry nearly threw up in his mouth.

"You look like him as he was, right after his glorious and triumphant rebellion, when he still drank for pleasure."

Gendry scoffed, "He always drank for pleasure."

"No," Tyrion corrected, "After a while, he drank for very different reasons. Like father like son, it would seem."

"Well, someone has to carry on the great Baratheon tradition."

"The Baratheons hardly have a monopoly on drunkeness, though you are the sloppiest drunks. And it would seem you're the only one able to take up the job."

"Well there are so few of us left, thanks to your sister."

"I told you, you're chess pieces. and she had the opportunity to wipe out the whole board, leaving Robert's king vulnerable." Tyrion looked around himself carefully, "Speaking of vulnerability, you'd do well to not get drunk quite this publicly. You are hardly a discreet man."

"She's going to kill me anyway, why should I bother with carefulness?"

"Because carefulness will get you killed a lot slower."

Gendry cringed, misinterpreting his non-uncle's meaning.

Still he knew what he was doing was stupid. But just now he felt like a child, not a man, not a king, a child who had lost his father, and more, all in one day.

"I never even met my mother." Gendry said, staring at the harsh, dusty path under his feet.

Tyrion didn't deny it, or pretend to not understand, of course everyone understood, of course everyone knew. But no one admitted, or acknowledge the truths.

"You met her once." He said, catching Gendry by surprise.

"I did?" He asked.

Tyrion grabbed the second bottle of wine and drank heavily from it.

"You weren't supposed to, mind you, but she showed up one day, outside the stables, down by the Street of Steel begging to speak with the King. As luck would have it you were walking by just then with your septon, plain as day, she knew you were hers. She knocked down two kings guards to get to you. They thought she was going to kill you, and we tried to drag you back into the Keep but she pushed past us too, scooped you up in her arms and spun you around. There is really nothing greater than a mother's love for her son. You were about five at the time. Once I realized who she was I tried to clear the courtyard, and the septon went off to find your father. He wasn't a terrible man, though there were some who thought of him like that. He offered her money, and in repayment for her continued cooperation, she got to see you."

"I remember her." He said slowly. He had this vision, though it was so foggy, and he was quite drunk, but he could practically feel the memory on the tips of his fingers.

There was a woman, with long, yellow hair, and face so warm and lit up with excitement. And she'd cradled him in her arms and he could remember as everyone around him paused, and the world seemed to hang there for a minute, tense and steady, but he didn't care about that because this woman was holding him and kissing his cheeks and crying but laughing at the same time and he didn't understand it. Why was she crying when they were both so happy? He was laughing and holding onto her and she stayed down there with him in the stables until the sun started to set. And his father was there too, smiling and laughing and paying no mind to whatever else was happening. And all it was was that one day.

"She never came back." He said.

"No, she didn't." Tyrion said, his voice showed no hint of emotion. "She fell sick shortly after, we couldn't risk her entering the castle grounds."

"And then she died." He said. "And now I'm alone."

Tyrion had no words of comfort for him now. Instead he stood, leaving the half-full bottle next to his nephew.

"We're all alone here."

Sansa and Arya were wandering the castle. Both had a terrible feeling they couldn't quite name. They could sense change in the air. Neither of them mentioned the feeling, just linked arm in arm and agreed to stroll the castle's halls together, despite the confusion it caused their mother.

They'd spent the night by her side. Now she was gone and it made them terribly sad. Their father had explained it to them that night at dinner, and afterwards the Starks had stayed their in the Keep's guest towers together knowing they wouldn't see each other for a long time.

Catelyn would leave in the wee hours of the night, accompanied by Jory Cassel and some of her father's other men. Arya would be snuck out of the castle three days later, with the remained of her father's guards. She would be taken to Dragonstone and live under the protection of Gendry's Uncle Stannis. Sansa would leave a few days after, taking the seaward route up to The Vale with a childhood friend of her mother's Petyr Baelish. She could tell her father felt anxious about the plan but her mother trusted Petyr and Ned trusted her.

Ned would stay in the Capital, ensuring Gendry's safety while working to restore order and peace to the crumbling hierarchy that was the Royal Family. He would leave as soon as he was able.

"I'm sorry you won't be getting your royal wedding." Arya said to Sansa. Her sister had been quiet all night. "Not yet, I suppose."

"Perhaps not ever." Sansa said, her eyes far off in the distance. "After everything we've heard tonight, and learning that mother and father will be apart, that it will be so many months before we are all back in Winterfell, as a family. That hardly feels like it matters."

Arya could hardly believe her ears. "Truly?"

Sansa stopped in her tracks and turned to her sister, "Of course truly."

"I thought you hated Winterfell, and the North." Arya said.

"Perhaps, there were times when I hated it, and times when I didn't appreciate it as I should have. But now that it all feels like it's so far away, so lost, and gone. Now there's nothing I want more than to be back there, yelling at you for dirtying your dresses in the muddy snow." She giggled but Arya was in too much awe to reciprocate. "Now I'm off to meet our aunt in the North, you're going to be in Storm's End with an Uncle none of the Queen's children have ever even met. But they say he's a very strict man. I don't know when any of us will ever see each other again. And I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid." Arya said, placing a hand on her sister's arm and guiding her along. "Winter is Coming, but we're wolves."

They arrived at the Godswood and stepped inside hoping to find solitude and a hint of home, instead they found their Prince sitting drunkenly against the Heart Tree.

Arya stepped forward either to help or harass him.

"Wait." Sansa said. "You should know, Gendry and I, after our engagement was announced, after he wedding, he was planning on sending you home, we were going to make an official decree keeping you there, saying you didn't have to get married. We wanted to make you Warden of the North."

Arya was even more awestruck now, "Could you even do something like that?"

Sansa shrugged, "We were going to try. He would have, for you." She straightened her skirts and walked on, towards the drunken future king.

"Gendry." She said carefully, feeling Arya's impossibly quiet steps on the dirt ground behind her.

"I have no one." He mumbled into his empty wine bottle.

"Well, that's not true." Sansa said.

"Nah," Gendry groaned, attempting to sit up. "You don't know just how true it is."

"Sansa, he shouldn't be here." Arya said, looking around waiting for someone else to appear. She didn't feel safe out here, she felt like a million eyes were watching.

"I know." Her sister replied. But the Prince would not be moved. "Gendry, don't be silly. You have you're whole family still. Myrcella, and Tommen, and even Joff. And you have you're uncles and your mother the Queen."

Gendry shook his head, a said "You're wrong." With enough spite to make Sasna's lips shut tightly, save for a small, discouraged whimper.

Arya, with steely resolve, stepped forward. "You have us."

Sansa and Gendry both looked at her. GEndry's eyes wide, and blue, and clear.

"Come on," Arya decided. "We'll take him to father. He'll know best what to do."

The two Stark girl lifted up the drunk and dumbstruck prince, finding him to be much heavier than they could've anticipated, and began their trek towards the Tower of the Hand of the King.

They arrived at their father's door. He was alone, with mountains of books, in his study.

"Where's Jory, father?" Sansa asked, looking about and finding no guards posted.

"I would assume, sound asleep in his bed, unlike my two daughters... apparently."

Arya smirked, though it turned to a groan as she attempted to peel Gendry's heavy arm from her shoulder.

"Is he hurt?" Ned asked, easing the Prince into a chair and examining him.

"No just drunk." Arya replied.

"I'm sorry you girls have to see him like this." Ned said, the apology felt familiar on his lips. He'd given it so many times in Robert's place. He shook his head in disappointment. "Gendry?"

"We've seen worse." Sansa said.

"That hardly makes me feel better." Ne replied. He shook the prince gently. "Gendry? Are you awake, your Grace?"

"She's dead." he said.

"Who's dead?" Ned asked.

"My mother." Gendry sobbed.

"The Queen died?" Arya whispered.

"How should I know?" Sansa said, very worried. "I've been next to you all night."

"I remember now, how she came to see me once. My Uncle Tyrion told me tonight, although I suppose, he's not really my uncle."

"What?" Sansa asked quietly.

"Girls," Ned interrupted. "It's time for you to go, this isn't something you need to hear."

"No. Let them stay." Gendry shouted. "They'll all know soon enough anyways. She came to the castle grounds, she wanted to see me, she was going to see me. He made a deal that she could come visit." His words were coming out so fast and Sansa's head was spinning. "I remember her now. She had yellow hair and smelled like beer and flowers. And she was warm and she smiled so big when she saw me. Tyrion says she fought the guards to get to me."

Ned stared at the Prince in disbelief. "You remember your mother?" He asked. Gendry nodded. "And so does your Uncle Tyrion." He nodded again.

Ned said nothing more.

"He's not talking about the Queen at all, is he?" Arya said.

Sansa turned around and ran from the room.

"Sansa!" Arya shouted after her.

"Arya, please go after her. Find her and then you two go back to your rooms together." Ned instructed. "It's too late for either of you to be running around the castle alone."

She nodded and took off after her sister.

Gendry, for his part, was left on the cold floor, with Ned Stark's hands on his shoulders. "Now they know," He laughed bitterly, "And so will everyone else, I'm no royal, I'm just a bastard."

"But perhaps not the only one..." Ned whispered, looking the Prince up and down.

Gendry didn't register any of his words, he was already asleep. Ned lifted the boy up, and after finding it to be quite difficult marvelled at how his two daughters had managed the feat.

Once he was resting silently, Ned returned to the books he'd been pouring over for hours. But he read them with new eyes. And as the light of day spilled into the room, he'd solved the final riddle.

Gendry Baratheon certainly wasn't the only bastard living in the Red Keeps walls.