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Gendry could hear his drunken bellows from halfway across the castle. Sighing, he made haste towards his family's living quarters. It appeared the guards had not been able to placate the 'King of the Seven Kingdoms' tonight.
The young boy did not blame them. Whenever they tried to lessen the king's indulgences, they ended up being threatened with flogging or, if the king was in a particularly happy mood, the executioner's blade. Neither option seemed to appeal much to the men of the Kingsguard, surprisingly enough, so they kept their lips tightly sealed when the king went on a drunken rampage.
As he turned the corner, Gendry heard the sound of glass smashing violently off a wall. Frowning, he entered the room the noise had come from. Before him, the king sat at the wooden table, clearly in the middle of some huge rant, about what only the Gods knew. A couple members of the Kingsguard were also present, one stationed to the left of the king and the other to the right. They were actively trying to ignore the insults and curses falling from the king's tongue, and they kept their gaze fixed to the wall in front of them, their eyes boring holes into the stone. Gendry waved them away, and they went gladly, the relief showing on their faces.
As the door closed shut, the king seemed to finally notice his presence.
"There you are," he said, barely glancing at Gendry. Within seconds his attention was focused elsewhere. Seeing as he had destroyed his glass, he now had no instrument to pour his beloved wine into. Settling for drinking straight from his wine bottle, he refocused his attention on his oldest son.
"You've had enough, father," Gendry protested, as the man before him gulped down another mouthful.
"You don't tell me what to do, boy. Nobody tells me what to do," Robert warned.
It took all of Gendry's strength to stop an eyeroll. Something told him his loving father wouldn't appreciate that very much.
Suddenly, the king swayed on his chair, the alcohol making him woozy, and Gendry hurried to catch his elbow to steady him. "Get me to my room, boy, before I piss myself or pass out," the King ordered.
"Yes, father," Gendry muttered.
Taking his arm, Gendry slowly led the king out into the hall and towards his bedchambers. A lone knight swept past, running towards the rooms of the Hand of the King. The young boy wondered momentarily what that was about, but he didn't give it much more thought as the king stumbled, mumbling insults at the stray knight, and gripped the prince's arm tighter. Gendry could already feel the bruises beginning to form, but he didn't protest.
Reaching the king's chambers, Gendry led him inside and sat him up on the side of the bed.
"Quick, boy!" the king said. Being as they had done this countless times before, Gendry knew exactly what he wanted. Grabbing the basin from nearby, he laid it on the king's lap before quickly looking away. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he heard the king deposit the contents of his stomach into the basin, the stench of vomit filling the air.
"I saw her," he said when he finished.
"Saw who?" Gendry asked, taking the basin from the king's hands and laying it near the bed.
"Lyanna," the king said. A smile formed on his lips, which Gendry thought looked absolutely horrid, as drops of vomit still clung to his greying beard. "I saw Lyanna." The name was smooth as honey coming from the king's lips, so unlike his usual roughness.
"All of the Starks are dead," Gendry reminded him, as he helped his father into bed. The king immediately fell into a drunken slumber.
Hearing light footsteps, the prince whipped his head around and came face to face with Varys, a member of his father's Small Council.
"Pardon me, My Prince," the eunuch said with a bow, "but might I have a word with the king? I have urgent business."
"He's sleeping," Gendry answered, "Whatever it is can wait until the morning."
"Of course, My Prince." The eunuch walked slowly to the door, turning once his pale hand rested on the doorknob. "Did I hear the king say he saw Lyanna Stark?" he asked, a look of curiosity troubling his features. His eyes were deceptively innocent.
"All of the Starks are dead," Gendry repeated.
"Quite," Varys replied, with a smile, before leaving the room. His smile unnerved the young prince. It was as if the eunuch was always one step ahead of everybody else in Westeros.
Gendry knew for certain that he would never learn to trust that man.
As he made his way down the halls towards his own bedchambers, Gendry spotted a familiar mop of blonde curls inside one open door.
Leaning against the door frame, the young boy said, "I see the guards are doing an alarmingly terrible job."
"Gendry!" the little girl exclaimed, running towards him and enveloping him in a tight hug.
"Is there any particular reason you're wandering the halls in the dead of night? You should have been in bed hours ago, sweet sister." Gendry tried to put on a stern voice, but he could never quite manage it where she was concerned.
"I couldn't sleep."
"What are you even doing here?" he said, gesturing around. It was hardly the most exciting place in the castle. Surely, she would have found more excitement out of her dolls and books in her own room.
She pointed at the wall in front of them, and it was only then that Gendry noticed the new portrait hanging there. "He even painted Joffrey with a smile on his face," Myrcella commented.
Examining the painting, Gendry was amazed at how much it conflicted with his family's real life personalities. His father looked trim and healthy and every inch the proper king, something Gendry thought was at odds with his real life persona. The young prince supposed that no-one was a hero to those closest to him. The rest of his family members, including Gendry himself, wore beaming smiles. The prince shook his head, tearing his eyes from the painting.
Nothing could be farther from the truth.
"Where were you today?" Myrcella asked. "I looked for you everywhere."
"I went exploring."
"Tommen fell into the lake this afternoon," she informed him.
A frown formed on Gendry's face. Tommen didn't even like water, and the few attempts Gendry had made to teach him how to swim had been a complete and utter disaster. Why he had gone anywhere near a lake was beyond Gendry's comprehension. "How is he?" he asked.
"He's fine. Some townboy saved him," she said before looking at him suspiciously, "What were you doing in town by yourself? Mother says you're not supposed to go anywhere without Sandor." Myrcella always followed the rules too closely for Gendry's liking.
"And who is going to tell on me? You?"
"No, I wouldn't do that." She looked positively outraged that he would suggest such a thing.
"Glad to hear it. Now, come on, little princess. Time for bed."
"Will you give me a piggyback ride? Like when I was little?" She looked so sweet and innocent that Gendry could not deny her.
"Sure, I can do that," he agreed, before bending down and letting her clamber up on his back, her little hands clasped around his neck.
"Joffrey says you're not our real brother," Myrcella whispered as Gendry tucked the covers around her.
Gendry sighed. "I may not but your full brother, but I'm your brother in every way that counts."
But Joffrey says-"
"The day Joffrey says something of merit will be the day the dragons rise from the dead," Gendry dismissed. "Now, sleep."
"No, tell me a story," she pleaded.
"Why don't you read a book?"
"I've tried," she said, as she searched for imaginary dirt under her nails, "The letters get all jumbled up in my head."
"I'm not very good at telling stories, Myrcella."
"Then just tell me about your day. It must have been more exciting than mine. I've been trapped inside the castle walls all day."
Gendry sat down on the edge of the bed. "I met a girl today. We sparred and she beat me hands down." The boy couldn't help the smile that rose on his face as he remembered the feisty, young girl from that afternoon.
"A girl beat you?" she said, her eyes curious, as if he said something she didn't quite understand. "What age was she?"
"Just a couple of years older than you, I suspect," he said, "Now, sleep, little princess."
Myrcella shifted to the side and sleep seemed to overcome her. The young prince began to rise from the bed and leave the room. "Gendry?" he heard her say softly as he neared the door. "Could I fight with a sword if I wanted to?"
"Yes, you can do anything you like," he replied.
Rubbing his eyes, Gendry walked down the hall towards Tommen's room. He wanted to make sure his little brother was doing well after his accident.
Opening the door, Gendry discovered that the sleeping boy was not alone. He closed the door and coughed to announce his presence. The fair-haired woman glanced up from her seat near the bed, stopping her strokes of Tommen's hair. "Where is the drunken fool?" she asked.
"Bed," Gendry replied, sitting down on the vacant oak chair next to her. "You know, you should not talk about him like that, especially in front of the children. He is still their father, and he is still the king."
Cersei smirked at him. "Such loyalty. He has never spoken such kind words about you."
Gendry knew that was true. His father thought him weak, as he had not yet seen a real battle first hand. But with the Iron Islands threatening to rebel again at any time, that possibility was becoming more and more real. "They are not kind words. They are facts," he replied.
"And the fact is that our wonderful king is a drunken, old fool." Cersei said, as she took a gulp from the goblet of wine she held in her hand.
"Are you sure you're in a position to talk about drunkenness?" Gendry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Before she could reply, the door swung open, and Jaime Lannister stepped inside, stopping in his tracks when he saw Gendry. The young prince saw the knight swallow hard before looking to Cersei and giving her a nod. Looking at his step-mother, he saw a curious mixture of relief and pain clouding her eyes. She raised her goblet to her mouth and gulped down the rest of her wine swiftly.
Gendry glanced from one to the other, wondering what on earth had just passed between them. Jaime seemed to collect himself and asked, "How is my nephew?"
"He's fine," Cersei answered, barely looking at him.
"Good," the Kingslayer replied, "I'd better get back to my duties. My Queen. Prince Gendry." He bowed and left the room, his footsteps echoing all the way down the stone hall.
Cersei didn't raise her eyes from Tommen's sleeping figure, and the Prince decided his time would be better suited trying to get some sleep. He excused himself and headed for his own chambers at long last, nodding at Sandor who stood guard outside.
Slipping into bed, he felt the exhaustion creep up on him suddenly. He could also feel a couple of tender spots, one on his arm and one on his thigh, where Arya had struck him that afternoon. Absently, he wondered if he'd see her again soon. He hoped so.
It took only minutes for sleep to finally consume him.
It was the next morning that word came that Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, was dead.