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Gendry sat with one knee to his chest, his back leaning against the harsh, rough bark of a tree, watching as the river swirled around the rocks as it headed downstream.
He wondered if she'd turn up today.
Possibly not.
Probably not.
It had been days since their little encounter in the marketplace, and the prince had neither seen nor heard from her since. He couldn't blame her for her disappearing act, but he did still want to be friends. The young prince missed the girl with the flyaway hair and the mischievous grin. Her insatiable competitiveness had kept him on his toes and distracted him from the comings and goings of the castle, and that had meant more to him than he realised until she was gone.
Sighing, he rose from the ground, and stretched. Gathering the play sticks in one hand, he began to make his way back to the Red Keep, but not before making one last stop along the way.
As Gendry passed the entrance of the shop, he took a short moment to admire the two stone knights that guarded the double doors. The intricate detail of the red armour never failed to amaze him. The shapes of griffons and unicorns on the armour paid such attention to minute details that it took the young prince's breath away every time he laid eyes on them.
Entering the shop, he was immediately greeted by the owner who bowed low, even though Gendry always wished he didn't, but the man would not cease no matter how many times he protested that it was not necessary.
"Is it finished?" Gendry asked, after a few minutes of pleasantries and idle chatter.
"Nearly, my prince," the man replied. "I'm just about to add the last few details, so it should truly be a work of art."
"Excellent," Gendry replied.
At the sound of footsteps, they both turned towards the entrance. A boy around Gendry's age, with red hair and freckles, entered.
Giving a slight smile to the owner of the shop, Gendry approached the boy. "Have you had any luck, Mycah?" he asked, hopeful for a positive answer.
"Yes, my prince," the boy replied. "I ask'd around, and I reckon I found where she lives."
"Good," Gendry replied, the boy's answer forcing his lips into a smile.
All was not lost.
Mayhaps he might be given a chance to explain after all.
Mayhaps he could make amends.
Mayhaps she would forgive him for not telling her the truth.
Turning back to the blacksmith, Gendry said, "Mycah will deliver the sword when it is ready."
"Yes, my prince," Tobho Mott replied.
Roaming down the corridors of the castle, Gendry was once again struck by the sheer number of guests sitting in corners playing cyvasse, downing goblets of wine although it was still afternoon, and chattering loudly to their hearts' content. Noble men and woman from miles around had begun to descend on the capital in the days after Jon Arryn's death had been announced. At this moment, some were swapping stories about their favourite memories of him, and others were discussing some of the more controversial decisions of his tenure as Hand of the King. Gendry had watched the influx of people from a castle window with Myrcella and Tommen, and he had to admit he felt surprised by the mass of mourners, but he supposed that when a great man died people felt compelled to pay their respects.
The castle was abuzz with speculation over who would be named the new Hand of the King. Gossip abounded that the king might appoint one of his brothers to the position, or mayhaps a member of his wife's family, but it was all just idle speculation. Gendry wasn't so quick to believe such rumours. King Robert had never had much time for his brothers, and he had no time whatsoever for his wife's family. The young prince was almost certain the king had even less an idea of who to appoint to the post than the courtiers and servants who speculated over his choice from dawn until dusk.
Just a few days ago his father had admitted that there was not one person left on the earth that he trusted. Gendry wondered how you could give someone that amount of power without having the utmost certainty that they would never in a million years stab you in the back, or make you regret your decision.
It wasn't like his father had much interest in running the realm himself. King Robert was contented to plan tourneys, drink wine, and any other merriment he could think of. So, any Hand of the King would ultimately be ruling the realm in his name.
Just at the second his hand touched the doorknob of his chambers, Gendry's attention was ripped from his thoughts as the sound of a piercing wail penetrated the corridors. Feeling a sense of foreboding settling in his lower abdomen, Gendry instantly realised that the sound had come from the direction of Myrcella and Tommen's chambers.
The boy darted down the corridor towards their chambers, slowing only as he noticed the dark droplets of liquid seeping into the stone floor below him.
Still shiny and wet, he noticed.
He arrived outside their chambers in record time, slightly out of breath, and unprepared for the scene before him. Myrcella stood tall facing Joffrey, whose wormy lips were turned into a scathing smirk. The little princess had her left arm spread to the side to protect her younger brother Tommen, who cowered behind her. The little boy's cheeks were stained with tears, and he was clutching something desperately in his grip, dark patches staining his clothing.
In the fleeting second Gendry had to process the scene, he found himself amazed by the look of utter determination upon Myrcella's face. The girl had a backbone of steel underneath the graces of a princess. Tommen would never dare to stand up to Joffrey, but Myrcella would do so in a heartbeat.
"What's going on here?" Gendry asked, scanning the three children before him.
Joffrey's smirk disappeared the second he heard Gendry's voice, taking a step backwards. A slight hint of fear shone through in his eyes. The older prince could not mistake the look of relief that flooded his little sister's face when her blue eyes met his, but Tommen's sniffles and sobs continued nonetheless.
It took him a moment to register the identity of the bundle in Tommen's arm.
The kitten.
And it was then that the dark patches made sense.
"What happened?" Gendry asked once more. His voice was quiet but his tone was firm.
None of the three spoke a word. The youngest prince's sniffles, as he stroked the ruined fur of the kitten with a bloodied, shaky hand, were the only sounds in the corridor.
"Myrcella?" Gendry prompted. The older boy figured that Tommen was too upset to speak, and Joffrey wouldn't tell him just to aggravate him.
"I...the kitten," she said, glancing at Tommen sadly, "Joffrey..."
"Take Tommen into his chambers," Gendry ordered. Myrcella did as he asked, guiding her little brother by the elbow with a gentle hand. She hesitated for just a second before closing the door, her eyes downcast.
In a flash, Gendry had Joffrey pinned against the stone wall, his forearm firm but not crushing against the younger boy's throat. "Why did you do it?" he asked.
The blond-haired prince let out a slight laugh, a smirk once again gracing his haughty features. "Because I wanted to," he had the audacity to answer. His smirk held for a moment before he began to panic, fearing that Gendry would harm him, no doubt. "Let me go," he protested. "I'll tell mother."
Gendry had never wanted to hurt someone so badly before.
He had never wanted to hurt Joffrey this badly before.
Joffrey's usual taunts and insults were nothing compared to this.
Distracted as he was, Gendry did not hear the soft footsteps approach. "Ah, the famous Baratheon temper. How wonderful that you've inherited it," he heard someone say. Looking down, he found the face of Tyrion Lannister gazing back up at him, one side of his mouth curved upwards, and a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes. Tyrion looked from one boy to the other. "Let him go," the dwarf said in a firm voice.
Gendry obeyed reluctantly, releasing his brother and taking a step backwards, slightly disappointed that he didn't get the chance to take things further.
"Go to your chambers, Joffrey," Tyrion said, his voice betraying little concern for his nephew's wellbeing, if he had any at all.
"You cannot order me-" Joffrey began, anger flaring in his eyes.
"I can and I will. Go to your chambers."
"I am a prince of the Seven Kingdoms, and I demand your respect," Joffrey spat.
"The day you start acting worthy of my respect will be the day I give it to you," Tyrion retorted. Gendry got the sense that Tyrion was going to win this little argument. The shocked look on his brother's face made him smile just a tiny bit.
"I won't forget this," Joffrey snapped, shooting a look of contempt in Gendry's direction before disappearing down the corridor. The older prince was not fazed in the slight. Joffrey made him feel a lot of things, but scared was not one of them.
"Promises, promises," Tyrion muttered to his nephew's departing back before glancing up at Gendry. "I daresay he deserved it."
"You have no idea," Gendry replied. A few seconds later he spoke again. "Every single day I pray to the old gods and the new to find the strength not to bash his head against a stone wall."
"Even the old gods?" Tyrion asked, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
"I figured I'd need the extra help," Gendry replied honestly.
Tyrion smiled. "Keep praying. Mayhaps something will come of it." He walked a few steps away before turning back and facing Gendry once more, a more serious expression on his face. "You know, a true king is able to resolve conflicts without resorting to violence much of the time. It's a trick your father never learned, unfortunately. I hope you will," he said.
"I'll try," Gendry answered.
The dwarf nodded. "But, nevertheless, I do hope you got a good hit in there for me," he said, the faint hint of amusement returning to his eyes. "Now, I must not deprive the castle's guests of my delightful company any longer."
"I'm sure they're mourning your absence."
Tyrion let out a laugh. "We haven't had much of a chance to speak since I arrived. We must rectify that soon."
"I'd like that," Gendry said, and he wholeheartedly meant it.
Nodding again, Tyrion left, whistling a merry tune as he went.
Streaks of sunlight shone through the green leaves of the trees as Gendry stood with Myrcella and Tommen in front of the small hole he had just dug.
Tommen stepped forward, his eyes shining with fresh tears, and knelt down to place his engraved toy box, which had served as a makeshift coffin, into the small hole with quivering hands and covered the box with the unearthed soil.
When he returned to Gendry's left side, the older boy placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Joffrey's an abomination," Myrcella said quietly from his other side, her eyes fixed on the sight before them.
"That's a big word for a little princess," Gendry replied, hoping that by not labelling Joffrey as that, that it wouldn't be true, but also because he didn't want Myrcella to see the badness in the world.
He didn't want Myrcella to see the badness in their family, but deep down he knew she already did.
Myrcella raised her eyes to his. "They don't see it, but we do."
Gendry knew what she meant, though he knew she was wrong.
They saw it, but they just did nothing.
His father and Cersei ignored Joffrey's behaviour.
They let him do whatever he liked because they didn't want to admit the truth.
The fair haired princess stepped forward and laid a bunch of crimson flowers, which she had tied with a golden ribbon, upon the raised mound of earth before taking Tommen's hand and leading him back to the castle.
Gendry followed behind.