Author's Notes: Baratheons are my actual favorite to write. This one is less Baratheon-centered though since the Starks have arrived. It's kind of haphazard and I'm not really pleased with how it turned out, but whatever. Also, you'll probably start getting the slight and very small hints of Arya/Gendry because I'm a sucker.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A Legitimate Matter of Blood
chapter three: to be royalty
Gendry couldn't help but fidget as he stood next to his father. Though he'd tried to secure a spot next to his Uncle Renly, his father had put a hand on his shoulder and pulled Gendry back next to him. The Queen stood on his father's other side, occasionally shooting Gendry a cold glare, while Joffrey stood next to him, not even bothering to hide his hateful glares. Gendry wasn't stupid. He knew that Joffrey should be the one standing next to the king, considering that he was the crowned prince, but that just hadn't been the way things worked out.
"I can't wait to show you off to Ned," his father had said, a broad grin on his face. "It will shock him to see how much we look alike."
The queen hadn't liked that one bit. She'd started fuming even more than before, which Gendry hadn't thought possible.
"Your dress looks very beautiful, Your Grace," Gendry said, thinking about all the courtesies that Lord Renly had taught him. People liked getting compliments, especially women. Right? All everyone seemed to do around here was compliment each other on this or that and tell one another that their new clothes looked nice. And the queen did look very beautiful, even if she looked a bit terrifying as well.
Cersei Lannister's lip curled for a moment, like she might smile or sneer, but then it went flat again and her eyes flickered away from him. Gendry couldn't tell if that had been a success or a failure on his part, most likely the latter. No matter what he did, no matter how well he improved in the things everyone was teaching him, no matter how much Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen seemed to adore him, the queen loathed him.
"You cannot win everyone over," was what his Uncle Renly would say, but that didn't make Gendry feel any better.
He could tell how excited his father was. From what he'd heard from his uncles and his father, Lord Eddard Stark was his father's oldest friend. They had been fostered together in the Vale under the watchful eye of Lord Arryn. They'd grown up together in their formative years, learned how to fight together, gone out and whored together. Or, well, his father had done the whoring while young Lord Stark had teetered about nervously. ("He blushed about as much as you whenever a girl came up to him," his father laughed the other night.) When Lord Stark's father and brother had been killed by the Mad King and their heads had been called for, they'd gone to war together. They had fought for one another. Lord Stark was his most loyal man and would be the Hand of the King.
Part of Gendry had wanted to ask his father why he had not asked either of his brothers to be his Hand. His Uncle Stannis was one of the toughest and bravest men that Gendry had ever met. The lord would've been a more than capable Hand of the King. Why had his father felt the need to call on someone that lived so far away in the comfort of the North when he had good men, good brothers, here? Maybe it would've looked bad to have both a Baratheon king and Baratheon Hand. Maybe they needed new blood in their council. Gendry didn't really know how any of that worked. It wasn't yet in his lessons. He knew the basics of the small council and how the kingdom was ruled, but he hadn't asked many questions on the matter.
The van was close now. A few horses were starting to trickle in, the front of the guard that protected the important people in the middle. Gendry could feel his father brimming with excitement; he could also tell that Cersei Lannister was not one bit pleased at this incursion of Starks. No one talked about just why she was so angry with the king, but Gendry knew. He'd stumbled across them arguing more viciously than usual about two weeks ago. She was apparently furious with him for not asking her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, to be the Hand of the King, especially since he'd served so well during the Aerys' reign.
"He also betrayed Aerys, sacking this city, and had his son stab Aerys in the back, if you remember," his father had snarled behind the closed door of their bedchamber. "I trust your father as much as I can, but I know for a fact that Ned will never betray my trust."
The Queen had screamed at him for that, maybe even slapped him, and then there had been a cold silence between them for the week after. It hadn't seemed to faze any of the children much, as if they were used to such childish and terrible behavior between their parents. Gendry had felt more than despaired about this fact, seeing as how he'd always longed for parents. Now that he had them, or at least a father, he'd come to find that it wasn't really much of a family. He preferred spending his time with his uncles, even Lord Stannis, and his younger half-siblings, despite the large age difference.
A man rode up to them on a powerful steed. Though there was nothing about his appearance to suggest anything, except for a somber look, and Gendry had never seen or met the man before, Gendry could immediately tell that he was a high lord. He knew almost instantaneously that he was finally looking at Lord Eddard Stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, soon-to-be Hand of the King. Gendry felt panic grip his heart in his chest, making it pound furiously. So far, he'd seemed to live up to most of his new family's expectations, but it would be another to live up to others'. He found it more difficult to please other people. He knew what his uncles and father wanted from him, for the most part, but he could never tell what other people wanted. It always seemed to change on him.
And then there were Lord Stark's daughters. What the hell was he supposed to do with them?
The man, Lord Stark, swooped down from his horse with ease, as if riding came to him as easily as walking (would that Gendry had that ease), and almost immediately went to his knee before the king. "Your Grace." His voice was deep, like timbre, like the weirwood trees that Gendry was told filled up the North. They had one godswood in the Red Keep, but he'd never really known what to do with it. The man looked to the Queen, still on one knee and nodded his head to her as well. "My Queen."
"Oh, get up, you bloody fool," his father said, sounding nothing like the king he was dressed up as. His father had a love for taking a piss on all kingly duties and acted as such. Gendry was almost certain that he could hear his Uncle Stannis grinding his teeth in response. Lord Stark rose on command. Here was a lord, a true ruler. Despite the fact that he looked fairly average, Gendry saw power behind his grey eyes.
It's the North, Gendry thought to himself. It hardens anyone.
Though he had seen one winter, he knew that he was a summer child. He wondered if any Northerners were summer children or if they were all children of winter deep down. He bet Starks were always the latter.
"It's been too long, Ned," his father said, his face breaking into a grin. Even Lord Stark returned the smile, his face warming up slowly, as if the coldness of the North was melting off of him in the summer heat and light of seeing his oldest friend. "Would that you didn't live so bloody far away."
"You installed me to keep peace in the North," Lord Stark replied. "Of course, if you were perhaps not too fat to ride a horse…"
The bluntness of his words startled Gendry and the Queen harrumphed on the king's other side, but his father only laughed. "Bastard, still, I see." The two of them embraced in a clap of a hug. It was gruff and hard, but when his father pulled away, Gendry saw something startling in his blue eye: a look of longing, nostalgia, relief, and happiness.
For not the first time, Gendry couldn't help but think of how lonely being a king must be. Just being a prince made him feel more cast off than being an orphan and a bastard. When he'd been a bastard orphan, he'd had all the children of the streets to keep him company; and even when he'd been alone, in the forge or in his cot at night, he hadn't really felt alone. He could always sneak out and get into mischief with the other children. Now that he was a prince though, he couldn't do any of that and there wasn't really anyone his age that he could be around, besides Joffrey and some of the men and ladies' of the courts children that came every now and then. Most of the time though, he was either alone or in the company of his family or maesters, which made for a strange and lonely time.
"Where are your children?" his father asked.
"Ah, they are coming up in the carriage near the back," Lord Stark said, looking somewhat embarrassed. "We had a few…spats between them, so I had to calm them down. None of them have ever traveled this far out of Winterfell. They've grown restless during the trip, even my second son, Bran."
"They're children," his father stated, almost approvingly, as if children having spats was the right thing in the world. That certainly answered a lot of questions when it came to all the fights that Joffrey provoked with Myrcella and Tommen and now Gendry. "We'll have a bit of fun for them to ease their nerves. In the meantime, I can show you my children, since you were too buggered to come up during their births."
Gendry couldn't help but be struck by how seemingly rude they were to one another, or at least how rude his father was to Lord Stark, but it all seemed to be done in warmth and fondness. His father never acted this way with anyone. For the most part, he tried to be kingly. The closest he ever got to this was when he was with his brothers, but he was always so terse with Stannis, teasing him, and flippant with Renly, since he was so young still.
And that was when Gendry felt his father's hands on his shoulders and realized that his father had just said that he was going to show off his children – starting with him.
He felt incredibly sick to his stomach all of a sudden, but did his damnedest to not look like it. Still, he panicked when he realized he didn't know what type of facial expression he should use or if he should bend the knee or bow or shake Lord Stark's hand or-or—
"This is my newest addition, Gendry, the oldest now," his father said, somewhat teasingly. He squeezed Gendry's shoulders again, trying to perhaps calm him down, but it only made him feel more nervous.
"My lord," Gendry greeted, still teetering between bowing and just standing there awkwardly.
The way that Lord Stark looked at him was…terribly peculiar (that was a new word he'd learned). It was a distant, foggy look, like he'd seen someone from his past. It was something of the same look he'd worn when he'd first laid eyes on Robert Baratheon. Instead, this time, it looked like he was recalling a face from a dream that he hadn't had in a long time. It wasn't a look of disgust or loathing. Gendry could vaguely remember something about how Lord Stark had a bastard son of his own that he'd raised alongside his trueborn children, something almost unheard of. Still, it was strange though and somewhat unsettling, for the both of them.
Lord Stark didn't look away, his grey eyes locked onto Gendry's obviously Baratheon blue ones; and to be honest, Gendry didn't want to look like a wimp, so he didn't look away either. "He looks…"
"Just like me when I was his age, I know," his father said proudly. "When I first laid eyes on him, it was like looking at a walking painting. You should see him with a hammer, Ned. He worked in a forge, but Stannis is teaching him how to really fight, and he swings it like I did."
"He looks more like the you that I remember than you do now," Lord Stark pointed out.
His father laughed again. "That's what happens when you become king, Ned. You get to eat and drink whatever you want and no one wants to fight." He smoothed down Gendry's hair, as if he was a child of Tommen's age, the same thick, black hair that his father and Uncle Renly had. "The Seven knows I've got more bastards running around out there, but when I looked at him, Ned… I knew he had to be a Baratheon. I knew it."
Lord Stark smiled a bit, just ever so slightly. Gendry tore his eyes away from Lord Stark and glanced up at his father. It was the first time Gendry had heard him talk whatsoever about why he'd been legitimized in the first place. Whenever Gendry had tried to broach the subject, his father would just wave him away or tell him that he should be grateful. Mostly he just said that Gendry was a true Baratheon in blood. ("You look more Baratheon than Renly, that pansy sot," his father had muttered one night while heavy into his cups, "more Baratheon than those three golden-haired children that witch gave me…") He was horribly curious, but he knew that he would not get the chance to talk to his father about it. Neither Lord Renly nor Lord Stannis would tell him either; they always said that it had been his father's decision and he hadn't told them much either.
His father's hands left his shoulders as the man moved on to introduce his other son, the crowned prince. Glancing over slightly, Gendry saw the way that Joffrey stood up straight. He wore a genial look, but one that spoke of pride. It looked strange on his face, nothing more than a mask to show off to his father's friend. When he looked at Myrcella, who had also been watching Joffrey, Gendry connected eyes with her and she rolled her eyes in response, causing him to grin a little. She knew that Joffrey was playing a farce as well. He turned his head away and out of the corner of his eye saw that the Queen was looking at him again. When he faced her, filled with at least a little hope that hearing his father say that Joffrey was to be king after him would soften her, he was dismayed to find that she was glaring at him again.
Cersei Lannister turned her head to look straight ahead and watch the arrival of the Stark household and its men. "You may be the oldest," she said in a low voice that only he could hear, "but Joffrey will always be the first."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Gendry replied, looking away from her and clenching his jaw tightly together. He saw her look at him sharply, but he refused to look at her again. His heart was jamming wildly in his chest. That had been rude – he should've just kept quiet – but he hated letting people walk all over again, especially if they did it all the time. He was a damn prince now, not some common lowborn bastard. He was a highborn now, just as much as she was.
"Let us go inside!" his father suddenly announced. "You, your men, and your children must be famished from the ride. You could probably do for a drink as well."
Lord Stark waved to a man with a scar over one eye. The man walked up to him dutifully. "Make sure that Sansa, Arya, and Bran are brought to the hall when the carriage arrives. I can see it now, but if they're still fighting…"
"I'll make sure they stop, m'lord, at least long enough to be presentable to His Grace," the man responded before walking back to his horse and swinging up on it. He rode to a carriage that was in the back of the line.
Most of the Stark men had arrived and were working with servants from the Red Keep. The moving in was in full swing. The actual feast wouldn't be until tomorrow night, so that the Starks had time to rest and recover after their long journey from Winterfell, but any excuse his father could find to drink and eat a lot was not unused. Seeing his best friend for the first time in nearly ten years was certainly cause for that. Once the King and Lord Stark started to walk into the Red Keep, everyone else followed. The Queen went first, tended to by a pretty lady from the court, with Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella following. Gendry waited back a bit so that he could walk with his uncles.
"You did well," his Uncle Renly proclaimed, clapping him on the shoulders, as they walked together. Gendry glanced at his Uncle Stannis, but the older man said nothing, his jaw clenched tightly. "Did you see the look on Cersei's face? She looked fit to murder someone."
"That woman is poison," Stannis muttered under his breath.
Renly smiled a little. "I feel like I'm taking the words out of our dear brother's mouth, but – Stannis, aren't all women poison to you?"
That only earned Renly a glare from Stannis and the older man stormed off into the castle ahead of them, leaving Gendry alone with Renly. His young uncle laughed, sounding very much like the young man that he was. Gendry had to remind himself that Renly was only twenty and one, just seven years Gendry's senior.
The two of them made their way into the castle with Renly chattering the entire way about House Stark. Gendry had been learning more about the great Houses of Westeros, but the maesters could not tell him anything, especially not the little things. Renly was able to fill in the blanks, explaining to him the old gods of the North and about the Wall. Gendry found the Wall the most intriguing, but Renly didn't seem to care much for it, seeing as how it wasn't nearly as glamorous anymore, and only mentioned it briefly. They continued talking – or rather, Gendry continued listening – even as they sat down and the welcoming feast began.
When the doors opened, Gendry was expecting some more servants (there seemed to be a never-ending amount of servants in the Red Keep), but was surprised to see the man that Lord Stark had commanded to bring his children, along with the three children that Gendry guessed to be Lord Stark's. The oldest girl and the boy looked more similar to each other, but the younger girl looked very much like her father. The blood of House Stark ran deep in that one. She looked even more like her father because of the sour look on her face, as if she already cared very little for this place and missed home. When the boy nudged her in the side, she smiled at him though; and he smiled in return.
Lord Stark stood up to greet them. Gendry watched with amusement as the younger daughter started forward, probably to hug her father, but the older daughter held her back by the wrist and whispered something in her ear. It only made the young girl stick her tongue out, but she hung back. Clearly this girl didn't really understand how the court went either. Gendry recalled something about his father saying that he'd probably get along well with the younger daughter since he didn't much like the court. Once the three children reached the table where the king sat and Lord Stark was with them, the other man bowed and then left, leaving the highborns together.
Just a little over a month ago, he wouldn't have even been allowed to see the arrival of these people.
"Your Grace," Lord Stark said as he walked over to them, "these are my children."
"Late?" The king laughed. "That is not like you at all, Ned."
"Pardons, Your Grace," the oldest daughter said, curtseying gracefully. She turned to their father. "It was Arya's fault, Father. She left the carriage to go exploring ahead and–"
"Later, Sansa," Lord Stark sighed. It was like he was already tired of the children's antics; and they'd just arrived. "This is Sansa, my oldest daughter; Arya, my youngest daughter; and Bran, my second son."
The king waved at them all. "Come, sit, sit. You all must be hungry and tired from the journey."
As the children walked up to the table to sit with them, Gendry watched them look around for spots. Right as they reached the tables, Joffrey jumped from his seat and pulled out a chair. "Here you are, my lady," he said to Sansa, offering her the chair.
When Sansa smiled, it was so earnest and pretty. "Thank you, my prince," she replied in a shy voice. She sat down with such grace that Gendry was sure that she had been born with it. They were still in their more Northern-styled dresses, which he figured made it more difficult. He didn't really know. All the clothing that highborns wore made moving around difficult and more restricted.
"Uh…" Gendry scratched his head and then stood up as well, taking cue from Joffrey. He held out a chair for the younger daughter. "Here's a seat for you, my lady."
"I'm not a lady, you dolt," the girl, Arya, replied.
Well, all Gendry could really do in response to that was blink and gape back at her stupidly. "What?"
"Oh, do be nice, Arya," Sansa pleaded. "He's a prince. You can't talk to him like you talk to everyone else."
Arya merely rolled her eyes in response, which only made Sansa huff. It appeared as if it really didn't matter whether Gendry was a prince of not. A part of him felt slightly affronted that she had acted so rudely with him, but another part, a larger part that he tried to hide so hard, felt pleased to be treated so normally. With the exception of the Queen and Joffrey, everyone was always so nice to him to his face, even if he was sure they didn't like him. This girl, however, clearly did not care about things like that.
The boy Bran laughed and plopped down in the seat that Gendry had originally offered to Arya. "Don't mind her, my prince. Arya is simply moody from having not slept well on the trip."
"If Sansa hadn't been too busy gushing about meeting the princes," Arya muttered under her breath as she sat down next to her brother. She cast Gendry a sideways glance, sizing him up. It made him feel a little awkward, so he sank back into his chair. "My apologies."
"Er, you're – well, you're…pardoned, I suppose."
Arya was still looking at him when her eyes narrowed. "What kind of prince are you?"
"Oh, Arya!" Sansa gasped. At her side, Joffrey was wearing one of his trademark shit eating grins, clearly getting a kick out of the whole situation. Of course he would though. No one was good at making Gendry feel like a bad excuse for a prince than Joffrey did, if only because Joffrey was so good at being princely. Renly assured Gendry that he would grow into the role, but it was hard.
Gendry rubbed the back of his head. "Not a very good prince, most like."
"You're the bastard one then, right?" Arya asked as she stabbed a potato with a fork.
"You can't just ask things like that!" Sansa reprimanded, sounding positively horrified. She had every right to be, Gendry knew. From what he'd learned about etiquette and all that other stuff, Arya was not acting anywhere near proper. She shouldn't have been talking to a prince like this. Had she been talking to Joffrey like that, he would've flown off the handle and complained to his mother about her already. "I really am sorry for her, my prince."
"It's alright, m'-my lady," Gendry said, a little, embarrassed smile on his face. "I've been called much worse." Sansa seemed a little relieved at that, though she shot her sister a despairing look. "I guess you could say that though. I mean, I was a bastard before the king legitimized me. There's no denying that."
"Still acts like one too," Joffrey cut in. "He can't even read or write."
Despite himself, Gendry flushed as all three Stark children looked at him. "That's not – that's not true. I can a little. I'm, ah, learning. Lord Renly, my uncle, says I'm a fast learner though."
"Reading and writing are a lot more difficult than people give it credit for," Bran spoke up, not bothering to look back at Joffrey who looked a little displeased that his joke wasn't being enjoyed. Gendry felt a wave of gratefulness towards this young boy though he did not know him. "We were all raised to read and write so it feels easy to us. It's a lot harder to pick up when you're older though."
More food came and all of them became more involved with eating. Gendry found that he wasn't that hungry, his thoughts still running around what Joffrey had said. The Stark children were famished, though Sansa was a lot more proper about eating than her younger siblings. Arya and Bran laughed with one another as Sansa became involved in a conversation about something with Joffrey, though it was more him talking and her listening. Gendry folded in on himself, like he almost always did during family dinners. It was when he felt like he belonged the least. This wasn't his family. He wasn't of royal blood. But then it was and he was.
What Joffrey had said was right though. Gendry may have had the title of prince and Baratheon now, but he was still very much a bastard at heart.
A hand was laid on his; and when he looked over, he saw Myrcella smiling up at him. "Don't let his cruel words bother you, Gendry," she told him. "He only mocks you because he is jealous."
"Jealous?" Gendry shook his head. "Why would he be jealous of me? I am still a bastard. And it'll take me ages before I get to the level that you or even Tommen are at with reading and writing."
"Because you are a true and earnest prince and he is not," Myrcella told him. "It takes more than being able to read, write, smile, and act proper to be a prince. You are a good person, Gendry. People naturally like you. That is hard to come by in royalty."
His chest felt warm, as it always did when he was with his youngest half-siblings. He knew that many people thought that Myrcella was childish and that she wasn't smart, but he knew different. She hid a very bright mind behind that sweet smile. His uncles Renly and Stannis were all doing their best to help him to be a better prince and his father was his father, but Myrcella and Tommen never expected him to improve; they just seemed to adore him with no questions. That was what family truly meant.
Gendry looked around the room, watching people eat and talk and laugh. His father was having a loud and animated conversation with Lord Stark about a glorious battle they had been in together when they had been younger, reliving his youth back when he had looked just like Gendry. The Queen was at his side, glowering and silent, like a beautiful statue. (His father ignored his wife too much. That had to be it. If he was just kinder to her…) Joffrey and Sansa were still locked in a conversation, her listening raptly. Bran was now talking to Tommen about their shared hatred of beets, of all things.
"What did you do before the king legitimized you?" Arya Stark asked suddenly, pulling him out of his people watching.
"I was a smith's apprentice." Just saying the words made him think of the forge, its heat, the smells, and he missed it all.
"So you must be good with a warhammer, like the king was," Arya replied. "Father says that's what the king used during the Rebellion."
Gendry shrugged his shoulders. "I'm alright. Lord Stannis is teaching me. He's not the normal Master-at-Arms, but my father decided to put both my uncles in charge of my different lessons." He gave her a crooked grin. "There are a lot of lessons when it comes to learning how to be a prince."
"Well you've got a lot of learning to do."
Even though it was an insult, Gendry couldn't help but laugh. "And you're clearly still learning how to be a lady."
He had been dreading the arrival of the Starks ever since his father had told him about it over a month ago, but now that they were here, well, maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe this was exactly what King's Landing needed: some fresh, new blood that didn't act like the stuck up prigs here. When he glanced over at his uncles, he saw that Lord Renly was smiling and nodding his head. Perhaps he could make his father and uncles proud after all.
