Gendry walked swiftly around the corner, narrowly avoiding a gift a lovely pigeon had decided to drop from the sky above. Cursing the stupid bird under his breath, he strolled down the shabby row of houses, trying to pin-point which way to go next. It wasn't often he wandered down this route, so it took him a few seconds to get his bearings.
"Are we lost?" he heard Arya ask from behind him, clearly noticing his hesitation.
"We're not lost, little lady," he replied, his lips curving up slightly, as her vicious mutterings reached his ears. The major dislike she had for that nickname only spurred him to use it more often. He turned to the right, and motioned for the young girl to keep up. Absently, he wondered what time it was. His presence would be expected at the castle earlier that evening to greet the numerous guests who were due to arrive that day.
"Do you live around here?" Arya asked, as they continued walking down the brick lane.
"Do you ever stop asking questions?"
"If I didn't ask any questions, then I wouldn't get any answers, would I? You don't exactly volunteer information about yourself," she grumbled.
Gendry's felt a twinge in his stomach. He had been hoping to avoid this conversation at least for a little while longer. It wasn't often he found a friend he could just be himself around.
Actually, it was never.
The time he spent with Arya was the only time he was allowed to forget that he was the heir to the Iron Throne.
It was the only time he could just be Gendry.
He desperately didn't want to lose that freedom.
"We're here," he announced suddenly, making his way up to one of the houses and knocking sharply on the door.
A woman with hair the colour of straw opened the creaky door, and greeted them with warmth before leading them inside. "They're over there," the woman said with a smile. "Take your pick."
Gendry walked over quietly so as not to alarm them, with Arya following close behind. The three balls of fur were sprawled out in front of the hearth, basking in the heat from the fire.
Reaching out tentatively, Arya stroked the top of one of their heads, her smile widening as the kitten began purring in response. Her small fingers disappeared into the soft, fluffy fur each time she stroked, and the delight she felt lit up her grey eyes. Gendry took the time to pay attention to the other two kittens, while the mother cat watched his every move from a few feet away, and the young prince was certain she was ready to pounce if his mistreated her babies.
"Well, which one are you going to take?" Arya asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor as the ginger kitten placed its front two paws on one of her knees, her pale fingers never leaving its fur.
After examining the kittens one last time, Gendry made his decision. He picked up the small, tabby kitten with the curious eyes. It seemed like a nice, quiet kitten and Gendry was sure that his little brother would adore it. "This little one, I think."
"I second that motion," Arya said, as she rubbed the little tabby behind the ears.
"Well, motion carried then," Gendry said with a smile. It amazed him how much more easily his smile appeared outside the castle walls.
Arya gave the ginger kitten one last tickle behind the ears before rising to leave, a wistful expression on her face. "I wish I could get a pet, she said, "Mother wouldn't allow it though. She says our house is fit to burst as it is."
"Well, maybe you'll be able to get a kitten someday," Gendry said, as he nodded to the woman who was sewing patches onto a pair of breeches across the room.
The kitten snuggled into the crook of Gendry's elbow, and closed his bright eyes, absolutely content in that position.
Arya slid the door open, and they were halfway down the street before she spoke again. "I don't really want a kitten though."
"Well, what do you want then? A dog?"
She shook her head. "I want a wolf," she said, her eyes meeting his.
Amusement forced Gendry's lips into a grin. "I don't think wolves make the best pets, Arya."
The young girl merely shrugged.
Gendry found he didn't know what to make of her half the time.
When he reached his family living quarters, the kitten seemed to sense they had arrived at their destination. His iridescent green eyes opened wide, as he took in his new surroundings.
As he passed the Queen's chambers, the young Prince heard voices. Leaning on the open doorframe, he saw that his step-mother had already started her drinking for the evening. Gendry found that curious, as she usually didn't consume even half as much as the King. She must be stressed about the feast that evening, he supposed.
"Don't bother. That's my bed," Cersei was saying, a distinct bitterness inherent in her tone. "He wouldn't have gone near it."
Gendry cleared his throat loudly. "Is there a problem?" he asked.
Glancing at him, Cersei had the grace to blush a little, or maybe her cheeks were just flushed from the wine. Gendry couldn't tell for sure.
"No, no problem," she answered quickly before turning her attention back to the brown-haired servant girl, who was on her hands and knees searching for something near the foot of the featherbed. "Did you not hear me? It's not here. Go and search the King's chambers."
"I've already looked there, Your Grace," the girl said in a timid voice.
"Well, go look again. Just get out of my sight," the queen said, with a wave of her hand.
"Yes, Your Grace," the girl replied, as she curtseyed low before darting out of the chamber as fast as her legs could carry her.
Gendry hardly had time to move to avoid a collision, stepping inside the chamber. "How much have you had to drink?" he asked.
"Not enough," Cersei answered, "Go find your father. He's probably got his cock buried deep in some whore, but bring him back. He needs to start getting ready for the feast. The Gods know how big a job it is to get him looking presentable."
Gendry couldn't disagree with her in that regard.
Taking his leave, he decided to drop off the kitten to Tommen first. The tabby was beginning to get a little frisky, tired of being held for such a long time.
The Prince couldn't wait to see the expression on his little brother's face.
He knocked once on the oak door before stepping inside, the kitten alert and curious in his arms.
Tommen looked up from the leather-bound book he was reading. In an instant, his face transformed to show an expression of pure joy. Gendry thought it was certainly worth the detour to pick up the little thing. "Is that for me?" he asked, his eyes wide with excitement. The words trembled slightly as they left his mouth, almost as if he was afraid to believe the kitten was his, for fear that it wasn't.
"Of course," Gendry replied, placing the kitten in the young boy's waiting arms. "I thought you deserved a little treat after your accident."
Gendry watched as his brother caressed the kitten's silky smooth fur. Smiling, he sat down on the bed next to Tommen. He let the boy savour the first few minutes with his new kitten before speaking. "Tommen, what happened at the lake that day?"
The light immediately left the younger Prince's eyes, and his hand stilled. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, resuming his strokes. The kitten purred contentedly.
"It's just you've always hated water," Gendry said. He tried to keep his tone light. "You were with Joffrey that day, weren't you?"
"I don't want to talk about it," the boy repeated in a firm voice.
Gendry could see that it was getting nowhere so he rose to leave, giving an exasperated sigh as he went. "Don't forget about the feast tonight," he said, "Mayhaps you can show off your new kitten to the other children."
The prince moved to open the door, but not before he heard his brother whisper. "Thank you, Gendry."
Gendry got the feeling that he wasn't just thanking him for the kitten. He was also thanking him for not pressing the issue about his accident.
After much time spent searching the castle, Gendry found his father sitting on a pew, close to the body of Jon Arryn.
"Father?" he said as he approached him. "It's nearly time for the feast."
The king glanced at him, and it was only then that Gendry discovered that his eyes were red-rimmed. He took another gulp from the skin of wine he held in his left hand. "Sit," he ordered.
Being as his father was noticeably upset, the Prince obeyed and sat on the pew beside him. He shifted his gaze around the room, looking anywhere, but at the drunken man next to him. They sat there in silence for a number of minutes while Gendry waited for the king to speak. When a few minutes had passed, Gendry wondered if his father was expecting him to say something, or if the king just wanted a silent companion in his melancholy state. The Prince figured his best option was silence. If he was unfortunate enough to say the wrong thing, then it would be his guts for garters after all.
"I have no-one on this earth that I trust," Robert said eventually, his eyes glued to the floor. "I once had two people that I trusted more than anything. One I lost to my own stubbornness. The other is lying in that coffin."
Gendry didn't say a word. He didn't look at his father. He didn't move.
It was in that moment that Gendry realised that he had never once had a real conversation with his father.
It was also in that moment that he realised the reason why. He was ashamed of him. There was nothing more to it.
But it was also in that moment that Gendry thought that their relationship could be salvaged.
His father had opened up to him, and some part of Gendry still hoped and prayed and wished that his father might magically turn into the father he had always dreamed of having. Some naive little part of him still held on after all these years.
"I've never been close to my brothers," Robert continued, "but it's the loss of the brother that I chose for myself that still haunts me." The King drew in a deep, shaky breath. "When you are King, keep good people around you. Don't let your rage blind you to who your true friends are, and have a good relationship with your siblings."
"I don't think I'll ever be particularly close to Joffrey," Gendry said.
The king's laugh was sour, holding the bitterness of a thousand lemons. "I suppose not," he said, rising from his seat. "Oh, and Gendry?"
"Yes, father?"
"Anger will keep you going for a while, but it will burn you up in the end," he said, draining the last of his wine.
"You should stop drinking so much, father," Gendry tried.
The king laughed, a quiet, pitiful excuse for a laugh. "Don't worry, son. This guilt will kill me long before the alcohol does."
And with that the king left, swaying slightly as he walked, his eyes clouded with the nostalgia of times gone by.
As Gendry was wandering back towards his own chambers to change for the feast, he heard two distinct voices whispering in an alcove. He paused for a moment and listened, instantly recognising one voice to belong to his Uncle Stannis.
"Well, what did you find out from the merchant?" he heard his uncle ask.
"He swears he never sold poison to anyone resembling him," another man replied.
"He could be lying," Stannis said, his voice sounded like he was deep in thought.
"Not this merchant. I've known him since my days in Flea Bottom. I can guarantee that he would not lie to me."
"Well, see what else you can discover and report back to me immediately if you find anything," Stannis said in a low voice. "You're the only man I trust with this."
"Yes, M'lord."
Gendry inclined his head against the wall, his raven black hair falling into his eyes, as the footsteps disappeared down the next corridor.
His thoughts had turned into a tornado rushing through his head.