Author's Notes: This might just be my favorite AU to write. I've got a lot (that's pretty much all I do these days), but I love the Baratheons so much.

Disclaimer: GRRM owns all of these characters and also my soul. Sucks to be me.

A Legitimate Matter of Blood
A Bastard's Pride

The week before the Starks arrived in King's Landing only served to make Gendry feel as if he'd been run over by a stampede of horses.

He had to make up for nearly five and ten years of not being a highborn in a matter of a few weeks; and the last one had definitely been the worst. Of course he did his best to learn things as soon as possible, but there was no way he could remember all the lessons he'd been taught. The fact of the matter was that he had lived a lowborn life and therefore had a lowborn mind. At least, that was what Maester Pycelle had said after Gendry had shown abysmal results of his reading skills at the end of his third week as a highborn. I'm the first illiterate prince to exist, he couldn't help but think. When he'd said this out loud, Lord Renly had been most comforting, telling him that the words would come to him in time. His father had just laughed and told him that words were useless anyways. "As long as you've got a sword or hammer in your hands, no one will question you," King Robert had said.

The King couldn't know how right he had been. Gendry missed the feel of a hammer in his hand and the heat of the forge. He'd felt good there, like he knew what he was doing and what he was meant for. There hadn't been any questions about his intelligence or skills. He had been good at that, much better than he was at reading and writing. He hadn't needed words back then, but now they were crippling him and he couldn't get his hands on a hammer if he tried. He knew that because he had tried. A little over a week ago, he'd asked about making a sword, but then Robert showed up with a fantastic sword ordained with the Baratheon colors a few days later.

A sudden thwack to his head sent Gendry reeling and he toppled backwards onto the ground.

"Are you even paying attention?"

When Gendry pulled the lid from his helm open, he saw Lord Stannis standing above him, a frown on his face and a disappointed look in his eyes. That was what Gendry had come to hate the most: he hated the way that he only seemed capable of disappointing his new family. It truly frustrated him, to the point where he'd begun to lose sleep. He'd never once disappointed Tobho Mott, but no matter how much his father clapped him on the back or Renly congratulated him for not stepping on his dancing partner's feet, Stannis never hid his disappointments behind a smile or glass of wine. He had to deal with his troubles during his lessons with Stannis; and he was particularly unforgiving.

"Sorry, I was just–" Gendry pulled himself to his feet, the armor shifting on his body uncomfortably until he was standing up straight. It felt strange to be the one wearing the armor and not the one making it. "I was just thinking about my lessons with Lord Renly."

Stannis rolled his eyes. "Well, you're not dancing anymore, so you need to pay attention to the here and now." He tapped Gendry's helmet again with the tip of his sword, making a pinging sound. "The moment you stop paying attention in battle is the moment you get yourself killed."

Gendry pulled his helmet off his head and gave his uncle a sullen look. "But I'm not going to be in battle."

"You might be one day."

"You don't think… I mean, you don't think a war will start, do you?" Gendry could not stop his brow from furrowing worriedly. During one of his history lessons (and why in Westeros he needed to learn history was beyond him), he had learned about the Blackfyre Rebellions, all of which had occurred because bastards had been legitimized. At least, that was what he thought they were about. Or maybe it had been the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Bullocks, I can't remember a damned thing.

Stannis looked at him carefully, having forgotten at least for a moment what they were doing. "Your father is in control of the Seven Kingdoms. His rebellion brought them closer together than ever before."

Gendry's shoulders dropped; and he relaxed slightly, but there was still a slight nervous tension in the air. He might not have been incredibly bright, but he was smart enough to know that Stannis hadn't truly answered him. Gendry had asked a yes or no question, neither of which Stannis had answered with. His head hurt too much to think about it though, both from the blow to the head that Stannis had given him and all the lessons that had been crammed into his mind in a short amount of time. Part of him wanted to prod Stannis for further answers, but he still didn't feel like it was his place yet, even if he was a prince now.

"Come on then," Stannis said, pointing at him with a sword. "You're not going to be in any shape to compete in the Hand's Tourney, but maybe, if you keep up, you'll be better than a hedge knight in a year's time."

Gendry glanced around and spotted a few different types of weapons. "Could I try out the warhammer, my lord?"

Stannis sighed and let his sword fall down, so that its tip grazed the dirt. He glanced at the warhammer, which was nearly new-looking, despite it being old. No one used the warhammer. Gendry could tell its history just by looking how few of scratches was on the metal. "You would ask things like that." When Gendry glanced at him nervously again, Stannis shook his head and waved his free hand in that direction. "I cannot tell you no; and it will be healthy for you to get to feel of many types of weapons, not just a sword." As Gendry excitedly made to switch weapons, he could hear Stannis mutter under his breath, "No one's touched that thing since Robert for nearly seven years. Why do they still have it?"

For me, Gendry thought as he picked the warhammer up and admired it. It felt like home in his hands. They have it here for me.

"And – one, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three – there you go, Gendry, you're getting the hang out of it!"

At least Renly was pleased with Gendry's progress. Gendry himself still didn't know what the hell he was doing; he just felt like he was spinning around in circles and he didn't know where he was going and all he could do was pray to the gods that he did not step on this poor girl's feet again. Despite the fact that he'd stepped on her feet enough to break her toes, his dancing partner seemed surprisingly in good nature and wasable to keep a smile on her face nearly all the time, although he'd catch a cringe whenever he did bumble and step on her toes. How Lord Renly was still able to find other highborn girls that were willing to dance with him during lessons was beyond Gendry. He was certain all the girls he'd danced with previously had grown tired of his incessant apologies and stumbling nature.

For all the grace that his Uncle Renly had, Gendry was certain that not a drop of that grace had been given to him through his father. Maybe it wasn't really a Baratheon thing. Maybe Renly was just gifted whereas his father, Stannis, and Gendry were not. After all, his father wasn't really one for dancing; and he knew without a doubt that Stannis wasn't either. No, Renly had all the grace, but he was doing his best to ensure that Gendry at least wouldn't make a fool of himself during feasts.

Honestly, Gendry preferred waving a sword around in the sweltering heat while clad in armor against Stannis than he did dancing in the cool room in highborn clothing with a pretty girl. He was still trying to get used to actually looking highborn ladies in the eyes and not muttering, "M'lady," every time he passed one. It was hard enough to do without turning an alarming shade of red. How was he supposed to do this every day? It was like he was being forced to change every, little thing he'd been taught and had beaten into him.

"Very good, Gendry, very good." Renly clapped as he walked over to them, a smile on his face. He always seemed to have some sort of smile on his face. Gendry liked that about Lord Renly. He was always in a good mood, unlike Stannis who was never in a good mood and his father who had mood swings that were worse than any storm. Gendry and his dancing partner, a highborn girl whose name Gendry had not been able to hear when she'd squeaked it out to him early, parted. She curtseyed to him; and he gave her an awkward bow. He was supposed to bow, right? Or was he since he was a prince? Seven hells, this was confusing. He watched her scurry away. "I know you've been very wary about dancing, but the moment you stopped thinking about it so hard, it came to you easily enough. And you weren't wearing that scrunched up look that you do when you're thinking hard." Gendry gave his uncle a somewhat embarrassed look; and Renly put a hand on his shoulder. "You just have to be more confident in yourself, is all."

"It's kind of…" Gendry heaved out a tired sigh. "It's kind of hard to do that. I wasn't born… Well, I guess I was born with it, but… I don't know."

"You're not used to this kind of life; and it's a bit overwhelming now that you've been thrust into it, I know." At least Renly was understanding. There were times when Gendry was sure that he would fail so terribly at being a prince and highborn that his father would unlegitimize him and toss him back out onto the streets. Even Renly grew frustrated when Gendry struggled with a word in a children's book, but then they would see just how hard he was trying and all would be well again. If a child could do it, then so could he, but it felt so much harder to learn now that he was nearly a man grown. "But you've come very far; and we are all very proud of you."

"I don't think Lord Stannis is," Gendry muttered under his breath.

Renly let out a laugh. "Stannis probably thinks it's too optimistic to show pride, but rest assured, he is proud of you. He wouldn't be so hard on you if he didn't think you showed potential or growth." That was nice to know at least, seeing as how Stannis seemed to try to beat every bit of his knowledge into Gendry's head. They began to walk out of the room. Gendry didn't know where they were going, but anywhere but this room would be nice. He was so done with dancing, even though he still had three more lessons before he'd actually have to do it in public.

The Stark girls are going to think that I'm so bad at dancing that I'm a court fool, Gendry thought with an inward growing panic. He dreaded their arrival more than anything. It was one thing to be judged by his new family, but it was another to be judged by another family. So far, he'd only danced with a handful of highborn girls, all of whom he was rarely able to actually speak with. But the Starks would be living with them in the Red Keep. He would see them on a daily basis. They were on his level of being highborn, so they'd be able to make fun of him and everything, he was certain.

"Maester Pycelle says that you are greatly improving with your letters," Renly spoke up.

"Oh, well, I'm…alright." Gendry mustered up a weak smile. "I don't think they're meant to be learned completely in just one month."

Renly chuckled again. "No, you're quite right. It will take months; and even then, you will struggle. But you must be practicing on your own outside of lessons. He said there was a marked improvement."

"I read every night and I write down every word that I struggle with, sometimes right before the sun comes up," Gendry admitted.

"Determination – that is very good." Renly nodded his head knowingly. "I know few boys that would be so vigilant in their lessons. Your father certainly wasn't. He probably skipped as many lessons as he could when he was a boy."

But it was a lot more than that to Gendry. Besides learning swordplay and dancing and all the proper etiquette, Gendry mostly wanted to learn how to read and write. That was by far the most important thing for him right now. Not every prince was a great swordsman or jouster; not every prince was fluid at dancing; and not every prince was perfectly charming – but all princes, even probably all highborns, knew how to read and write. That was a defining feature between highborns and lowborns. Everyone knew that. His father and uncles and their highborn friends might not be able to understand it, but Gendry knew that no amount of titles, wealth, or House name would ever make him feel like a highborn until he could read and write.

"I just want to be a good Baratheon," Gendry said, thinking about his father. So this was what it felt like to have a parent – a crushing, desperate need to please the one person that could take everything hope away with a frown that nearly consumed him. It wasn't nearly as grand as he and the other orphans at Flee Bottom used to make it out to be.

Renly stopped and gave him a careful look. "You are – you will be. Your father is very proud of you."

I just wish he'd tell me that when he wasn't drunk, like you do.

This was the worst idea to have ever been thought up in history. Gendry was more than certain that no amount of history lessons would change his mind otherwise. This had to top the cake. This had to be the most excruciatingly painful and awkward thing that anyone could have gone through. He was half in mind to tell his father that he wanted a whore right this instant, if only so he could escape the room and never come back again, but it was hard enough to open his mouth to breathe, much less speak about whores.

When he had pictured having a family and what it might be like to sit down and eat as a family, Gendry had never once pictured something as awkward and terse as eating with his father, the Queen, and her three children. This was miserable. More than anything, he wished that he could've eaten supper with his uncles and his father or even just with his father. Anything would be more bearable than this. It felt like punishment to him, so he was worried that he might have angered his father in some way. Still, he didn't think so, considering that his father didn't look too cheerful either. In fact, no one looked pleased to be here, except for maybe Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella, both of whom didn't seem to care that Gendry had been legitimized.

Prince Joffrey, on the other hand, looked as if he wanted to stab Gendry with the knife he was using to cut his meat with.

So much for a happy family.

Some people might try to make small talk, but Gendry had learned from an early age to know when to speak up. The truth was that it was very rare when someone should speak up. All of them just seemed to want to get through this as quickly and painlessly as possible; and if that meant eating in silence with just their silverware and plates clanging and the sound of his father and the Queen drinking wine, then so be it. Gendry was not fool enough to open his mouth and allow room for Joffrey or the Queen to make biting remarks towards him. He was wary of what his father might do should they do that; and he didn't want anyone to get slapped on account of his honor or whatnot being besmirched. He was so tired of that.

Having found his throat and mouth dry, despite having not spoken for what felt like hours, Gendry picked his goblet up and went to take a drink, only to find that he was out of wine. He'd only had one cup and it wasn't nearly enough to go to his head, but he was both too nervous to ask for more because he was insecure and because he thought it might look bad. He wasn't going to drink nearly as much as he noticed that his father did; and he didn't want anyone, especially not the Queen, to think he was.

It didn't slip past King Robert's sight though. "Do you need more wine, Gendry?"

"N-no, Your Grace," Gendry stammered out. He still wasn't sure what he was supposed to call his father, so he opted for the proper titles, especially when around the Queen and her children. She liked it when he acted as if they were high above him; and he wanted her to like him, even if she did scare him. "I'm fine. I–"

"Lancel!" Robert called, his voice booming over Gendry's meek one. Seven hells, when did he turn so meek anyways? When had he ever been like that before? It was stupid – but this was the King and Queen. "Lancel! Where is that bloody fool?" As if having not known he was called for until he'd been called a fool, Ser Lancel Lannister, his father's squire, appeared at the table, already holding a pitcher filled with more wine. "Give my son more wine. And fill up my cup while you're at it. I doubt you'll know to show your face again. You're never here when I need you anyways."

"Yes, Your Grace," Ser Lancel said stiffly.

"Oh, no, I don't need–" Gendry couldn't even finish his sentence before Lancel had filled up his cup again and started on the King's. Gendry felt bad for him, but he did have to hand it to Lancel: while he was constantly assaulted with insults from the King and would turn red and stutter sometimes, he never once snapped back or looked angry or upset. Gendry didn't think he'd be able to handle such verbal abuse, even if it did come from the king or his father. He'd just shut down completely. I best never anger him then.

"How come Gendry gets a second cup of wine and I don't?" Joffrey demanded, sounding accusing and hurt. Never once did Joffrey ever seem to want more than one glass of wine and besides, his mother wouldn't allow it. Normally, Gendry was able to sip on his one glass and make it last throughout dinner, but he'd been so parched after all his lessons today. He'd forgotten to drink as much water throughout the day.

King Robert took a large gulp from his wine and sat his cup down on the table hard. "You're too young. Gendry is older than you."

"Only by two years," Joffrey countered, and then, throwing Gendry a heated glare, he added, "Besides, I'm the heir to the throne. I'm above him. I should get more than he does."

"That's absurd," his father snorted. "You're both princes. When you're as old as Gendry, you can have as much wine as you want. Now stop whining."

Gendry made the stupid mistake of holding out his cup and offering it to Joffrey. "If you really want more, you can have mine. I'm fine, really; I don't need a second cup."

"I don't want your cup!" Joffrey snapped, scooting away from him and looking at the cup as if it was filled with blood. Gendry slowly pulled his hand back and held the cup close to him. "It's filled with your bastard germs!"

Robert slammed his fists down hard on the table. All the plates rattled and the table shook, making both Myrcella and Tommen jump back away from the table in surprise. "He is not a bastard!"

"It's fine, Father," Gendry tried to say weakly. He didn't care what they called him. He really didn't. He'd been called a bastard his entire life; it wouldn't hurt him now even if they tried. "It's fine…"

"Then what is he?" Cersei asked coldly, completely ignoring him. "I do not remember him passing through my womb."

"He is my son! He is a Baratheon! And he is a prince!"

"He can't write; he can't read; he can't do sums; he can't do anything," the Queen accused. "What kind of prince is that? It's embarrassing."

Gendry saw the way his father's fists clenched on the table, how he seemed to stop breathing, the way he went silent and stared at his wife from across the table with an equally venomous look. He'd seen that look in many men's eyes right before they did something incredibly stupid and attacked someone on the streets. But this wasn't on the streets. This was in the Red Keep, the castle. This was his family. He'd seen men treat women badly, when he'd been younger than Tommen, when his mother had still been alive and working in an alehouse. "Never treat a lady badly," he could still remember his mother saying. Or maybe it had been one of her friends that had helped raise him in his early years. He could never remember.

"Speak like that one more time, woman, or so help me…"

"So help you what?" the Queen replied, a sneer on her face. "What will you do? Slap me? In front of the children?"

Gendry felt the urge to take the pitcher of wine and down the entire thing in one gulp.

Robert raised a fist. "You test me and my ruling too much!"

Without warning, Gendry jumped to his feet, so fast that he nearly tumbled back down into his seat. Still, the action startled his father and the Queen out of their argument and everyone turned their eyes upon him. Immediately, he regretted the action and felt the urge to sit back down and hide in his seat, but he could no longer do that. Someone had to do something. "I'm finished with supper. I'm going to..to…" He didn't know where he was going to; he didn't know where he wanted to go. He hadn't even thought of that before standing up. All he'd wanted to do was end their arguing. He hated that it had started over him in the first place. "I'm going to read." Read? Really? That was what he came up with. He tried not to cringe, even when he saw Joffrey smirk out of the corner of his eyes. "Would you like to join me, Princess Myrcella? Prince Tommen? Lord Renly said both of you picked up reading at an early age; and I could…" Don't cringe; don't cringe; just be honest. "I could use the company. It's more fun with other people, right?"

Myrcella's smile was as bright as her hair. "That would be fun, Gendry."

"Can we play games too?" Tommen asked. "Myrcella is the one that likes to read."

"Of course, any games you all want to play." All children played the same games, when it came down to it. He might not have been a child anymore and they might have been half his age, but they were sweet and nice. And honestly, he just didn't want them to have to witness their parents arguing like this. It frustrated him to see them so upset and crowed.

Both children had started to get out of their seats and he'd started for the door when the Queen said, "Myrcella, Tommen, I do not think I excused you." When Gendry looked back though, she was not looking at her children but glaring at him. To his credit, this time, he stared back. A mother should want her children to be away when things like this occurred. His mother had tried, shutting the door on him whenever a visitor came over and whenever she got into an argument, but it hadn't been enough. Gods, he wished Renly and Stannis were here. Neither his father nor the Queen would have argued like this with them around and Renly would have made jokes and they would've laughed and had fun. Why couldn't it just be them? Maybe things like this wouldn't happen nearly as much when the Starks arrived.

"They can go play with their brother," his father said, looking up. There was a strange look on King Robert's face; Gendry couldn't tell if it was a look of shame, anger, or exhaustion, but it was something. He probably hadn't liked being interrupted by Gendry, but it had been the only way. "Go on, children; you're excused."

Gendry bowed awkwardly to them and then turned and stalked out of the room, Myrcella and Tommen on his heels. He headed in the direction where he knew where the books and games were, so that they'd be able to pick whatever they wanted to do. At this rate, he'd do anything. His whole body was brimming with energy. Mostly, he wanted to go to the armory, grab a tourney sword, and beat a target so hard that all the straw came out and he was covered in sweat and he was shaking. Even more so, he just wanted to go into the forge, pick up a hammer, and beat any metal flat. But he couldn't do that anymore. He was a prince now, not a blacksmith's apprentice.

When they were halfway to the room, he felt a presence at his side and a soft hand slide into his rough one. He looked down and saw that Myrcella had taken hold of his hand and was walking quickly next to him, to keep up with his long strides. Tommen was hurrying next to her. Immediately he began to slow down, so that they wouldn't have to nearly run. His whole body relaxed then. All of a sudden, he didn't feel so frustrated; in fact, a small smile perked at his lips and he felt lighter than he had the entire month.