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The cool breeze of evening had broken the seemingly endless heat of the day hours before, and as the sun retreated and darkness formed a cloud over the city; Gendry watched as Willas Tyrell limped towards his awaiting carriage. A sombre expression had taken up a permanent residence on his face since the feast days earlier, but now, in addition, his eyes had a haunted look to them, a look filled with so much hurt it that it worried Gendry. It was almost like, if Willas let himself, he would be swallowed up by the ferocity of his hurt.
The Keep was abuzz with gossip of unrest in the Tyrell family, and there were fresh rumours today of servants and courtiers overhearing quarrels in the Tower of the Hand. Connecting these incidents with the rumours of Willas's romance with a commoner was child's play, and now the castle whispers were quick to suggest that Willas already fancied himself half in love with the girl and had gone so far as to propose marriage to her. Although, Gendry usually took such idle gossip with a pinch of salt, it appeared that the whispers had some solid grounding in this regard, considering the behaviour of Willas for the past few days and the stern look on Lord Mace Tyrell's face as he watched his son's departure from a window above them. It would come as no surprise to Gendry to discover that this sudden departure from the Red Keep was an attempt by House Tyrell to whisk him away to Highgarden under the cover of night, far away from the rumours of King's Landing and far away from this girl he had found himself in love with.
Despite the fact that he and Willas were not exceptionally close, certainly not close enough to discuss personal matters; Gendry had felt compelled to say goodbye when he had spotted the carriage waiting outside. He did not know what to say to make him feel better- or if anything would- so they just settled for brief banter spoken in stilted sentences. Nevertheless, the tiny smile Willas gave him after he had helped him into the carriage made Gendry believe that he appreciated the effort anyway.
"I'm sorry," Gendry said as he stepped back from the carriage.
Willas just nodded, the pain in his eyes almost palpable, before the carriage set off on the road towards Highgarden and a fresh wave of pity passed over Gendry as he watched the carriage depart, leaving him alone in the courtyard.
The fire crackled loudly as Tyrion poured two cups of wine. Handing one to Gendry, he took the seat opposite him and swirled his wine slowly around his cup as he listened to Gendry's tale of Willas Tyrell's departure. He was unusually quiet as he took in Gendry's words, not uttering a single syllable until Gendry had finished recanting his tale, and his eyes stayed firmly trained on the dark liquid occupying his cup the entire time. "It's probably for the best," he said solemnly before draining his cup in one gulp and rising to fill it again.
Basking in the warm glow of the fire, Gendry nodded before taking a sip of the sour liquid, and decided to ask the question that had been plaguing his mind since that afternoon in the dungeons with Arya. "Was my father responsible for what happened at Winterfell?"
Tyrion hesitated for a second before answering, "That would depend on who you are asking."
"I'm asking you," Gendry answered.
The conversation grew quiet for a moment, and the air felt heavy with the weight of the unspoken words hanging between them. Tyrion sighed before he spoke, "It would depend on your perspective. Some merely blame the Boltons for instigating a rebellion against their ruling House, some blame the people who supplied the gold to fund their army, some say that if you cannot defend a seat then you do not deserve to sit on it, and, yes, some blame the king."
Even though Tyrion had not explicitly stated that House Lannister had helped to fund the Bolton Rebellion in the North, Gendry assumed that they had played a part due to Yoren's words in the dungeons days earlier. His rage towards House Lannister seemed as strong and as fierce as his rage towards the king, and Gendry was certain it would not be as strong if the Lannisters were innocent onlookers during the fall of House Stark. He did not for a second doubt that Tywin Lannister had supplied the gold for such a cause. There were not many men Gendry professed to hate in the Seven Kingdoms, but Tywin Lannister was surely one of them, and he had no doubt that the feeling was mutual. One thing he did not understand, however, was why it would be his father's fault if he had neither supplied the gold or the soldiers for the rebellion. "Why?" he asked. It did not matter that his question was vague. He knew Tyrion would know that it was his father, and not the other anonymous villains in this tale, that he would want to focus on.
"A king need only issue a command and his subjects will obey, but our beloved king has a fiery temper, and when it is roused, I believe he would condone almost anything." He took a sip of his wine. "Indeed, he already has," he added as an afterthought.
"So it was his fault?" Gendry asked.
Picking up on the disappointment inherent in his tone, Tyrion continued, "Gendry, you still see your father through the eyes of a child and that is a dangerous thing."
"I know he's not perfect," Gendry dismissed. He did know that. His father had been letting him down for his entire life. Calling him 'perfect' was laughable.
"Do you?" Tyrion asked gently. "Broken men don't make the best kings. They don't make the best fatherseither, and you've been growing up in his shadow your entire life. You've also been defending him, imagining him to be a better man, and denying the reality of his character since the day you were born."
Gendry didn't say a word. He didn't need to. Tyrion's words had cut straight to the bone. Although, he knew that he would have to reconcile himself to the reality of the father he had and forget the imaginings of the father he could have had, he found that incredibly hard to do.
"Did you know your father and Lord Eddard Stark were fostered together at the Eyrie?" Tyrion asked as he cradled his cup of wine between his hands.
"What?"
"By some accounts, they were raised as brothers and acted accordingly," Tyrion murmured, his eyes trained on Gendry.
This revelation made Gendry start. If this was true, then was the fact that his father did not come to the aid of House Stark part of a personal vendetta against Lord Eddard Stark? What reason would he have not to come to the aid of a friend? Much less a friend he viewed as a brother? What had come to pass to break the bonds of friendship between them? Utterly confused, Gendry furrowed his brow. Information about House Stark was sparse. All he knew was that Lyanna Stark had been betrothed to his father before she had run away- dishonouring her betrothal- with the Dragon Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen. His Maesters told him that House Stark, led by Lord Eddard Stark, had been vehement in their lie that she had been kidnapped, but that had later been proven false. Gendry struggled to think of what else he knew about the former Wardens of the North, but the more he thought about it, the more questions rose to his mind about them. More often than not all that was said about them was that Lord Eddard Stark was a traitor and that Lyanna Stark was a Targaryen whore. "There are a great many things I do not understand," he said.
"That is because you do not go out and seek the answers for yourself. You will not be spoon-fed the truth, especially not in your position. People will tell you what they wantyou to know and the only way you are going to discover the truth is if you go out and find it for yourself," he said. Tyrion's tone was serious and Gendry could see the sense in his words. As king, he would have to deal with a great many people trying to further their own agenda and being able to decipher the truth from a lie would be a must in his role. "It's time you start learning how to play the game, Gendry. Read books to fuel your mind and hold conversations with travellers and others to expand your knowledge. Your legacy is being shaped by the choices you make today. As well as the type of king you will be."
"I will be a good king," Gendry said firmly and in that moment he wondered, not for the first time, if Tyrion would accept the position of Hand of the King once he ascended the throne. He could think of no-one better for the role, no-one he would trust more.
"I do not doubt you will try," Tyrion replied, cracking a slight smile which caused Gendry to smile in return.
A knock at a mahogany door of Tyrion's chambers captured their attentions. The door swung open revealing a slender young woman whom Gendry did not recognise, although he had a fair idea of her purpose in Tyrion's chambers so late at night.
Turning to his friend, Gendry raised an eyebrow to which Tyrion responded with a playful shrug, "I had a deep need to complain and she seemed willing to listen."
"For how much gold?"
"That does not matter," he said with a smile.
Saying his goodbyes, Gendry left Tyrion to his own devices and headed towards his own chambers.
The halls were dark with only occasional dim torches lighting the way. The quiet murmur of voices increased in volume as he neared his family's living quarters. Sourcing the voices, Gendry continued along the corridor towards them.
As he entered the lavishly-decorated, candlelit room, Joffrey's quietly-spoken words reached his ears. His brother sat with his back to Gendry, and Cersei sat opposite him, a goblet of wine in her hand. "When I am king-" Joffrey began, obviously in the middle of some rant or another. It was not such an uncommon occurrence to find his brother writhing with rage over some trivial matter or seething with jealously over being the second-born son, so Gendry did not think much of it.
Leaning against the doorframe, he interrupted, "You will never be king, brother."
Joffrey snapped his head around to face him, scowling all the while. "And you will never be my brother," he retorted. It always struck Gendry as strange that he could pinpoint the exact moment when Joffrey began to hate him. As children they had always gotten along rather well considering that Joffrey had always been quite a petulant and demanding child. Some of his fondest memories involved running through the castle gardens with his brother, sharing pieces of blood oranges and playing tricks on their Maester when he tried to reel them in for lessons. But all that was a long time ago, and all that was left in Joffrey's eyes when he looked at Gendry now was hatred and resentment. Most of the time Gendry hated him as well, but sometimes he looked at him and it wasn't just hate he remembered; and he despised Tywin Lannister for poisoning Joffrey against him.
Gendry's chuckle was devoid of all humour. "How lucky for me," he said drily. "Not to have a brother who murders kittens for sport."
Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he rose and turned to face Gendry. "I do not have to stay here and listen to these false accusations," he said before striding down the corridor towards his chambers, his footsteps thundering against the stone.
"Are you trying to insinuate the kitten murdered itself?" Gendry called with fake incredulousness as went before turning and refocusing his attention on Cersei. Her goblet was at her lips and she drank the sourwine freely, smiling slightly as it slid down her throat.
"He doesn't want to be king. He wants to be called king," Gendry said.
"Is there a difference?" she asked. Her green eyes met his and they were gleaming with such malice that Gendry was taken aback for a moment. He never knew what to expect from Cersei. The day Tywin Lannister's words had crawled inside Joffrey and taught him how to hate was the same day his words had crept inside Cersei and reminded her that she was first and foremost a lion of Casterly Rock and had absolutely no business behaving in any way kindly to the boy who was robbing her own flesh and blood of the throne. That was the day things changed. And now Cersei's attitude towards him had the potential to change at any given moment; sometimes she tolerated him and sometimes she hated him. It was something Gendry had learned to live with.
"He wants the power of being a king without the responsibilities," he argued.
She shrugged, sending droplets of wine everywhere as her goblet danced from side to side. "Power is the most important thing there is," she said. "Besides, the last thing the realm needs is another Baratheon king."
"I am not my father," Gendry protested in a firm voice.
Rising from her seat, Cersei moved towards him. "Not yet," she said with a vicious smirk before brushing past him and leaving him alone with his lingering doubt.