Followers & reviewers as of 4/24/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, JediClaire, WildDragon26221, Atlantos, bobbinbird, Alowl, Theos Ghost, Delphine Pryde, The Earthdragon & V.S. Milton
Disclaimer: Sadly, I am not the genius behind A Song of Ice & Fire, nor one of the ones behind Rise of the Guardians. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess.
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Chapter Sixteen: GENDRY
The blade hissed and growled as Gendry shoved a whetstone along its length. His movements were rougher than was strictly necessary, but he ignored the metal's protestations, focusing a heated glare on the small crowd gathered near the back of the cave. It was mostly composed of the refugee children, though a good number of the women and even a few of the men were also sitting around starry-eyed. At their heart was the big man they had captured, gesturing wildly (they'd long since given up on keeping him restrained) as he told stories. Every now and then, his booming voice would erupt dramatically, the harbinger of delighted laughter or gasps of anticipation.
Gendry found it disgusting. Mummers, singers, and storytellers all fell under one much simpler title: liars. And this North was by far the worst of them. Just the thought that he was the offspring of that whore mongering Robert was enough to make his blood boil. For that was the only king at the time of his birth. True, North could have been referring to Renly or Stannis, but everyone knew Stannis found women distasteful and growing up in King's Landing taught you that Renly, however secretly, favored male company.
That left Robert.
Gendry ground the stone against the blade again.
There was a swirl of faded red at his side and he glanced over as Thyros sat beside him. "You do look a great deal like Robert," the priest said, his tone meant to be consoling. It was not.
"I also look a lot like him," he snarled, jabbing a thumb towards the story group. "Maybe he's really my father. Or maybe he's some lunatic trying to find a new poker to stick in the fire, like this war isn't bad enough without madmen running around proclaiming people as bastard princes."
Thyros held up his hands in surrender, shrugging his shoulders. "Stand down, lad. I meant no offense. Regardless of who your father may or may not be, you're your own man here. Don't let anyone change that, mad or otherwise." With a reassuring smile, he stood again and moved away, vanishing into the semi-darkness.
Gendry watched him go before casting another scathing glare at North, who continued with his gesturing unawares. Sneering, the boy let his mood darken and focused his ire on abusing his sword to a deadly sharpness.
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That night, Gendry sat outside the cave under the hill, watching for any threats that might approach through the darkness. The tip of his scabbard twisted back and forth, furrowing deeper into the moist earth below his feet, moving in time with the grinding of his teeth. Growling under his breath, he picked up a stone and chucked it into the night. It struck something larger hidden in the gloom with a satisfying thud, muffling the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.
"You have good arm. As good as Jack, maybe."
He shot to his feet, half-drawing his sword, a snarl forming on his face as he turned to glare at North. "What do you think you're doing?" Honestly, did the man not grasp the concept of "prisoner"? As answer, the towering man held up a pair of small circular objects.
"Petrov cannot sleep until he has gingerbread. I have spoiled him, I'm afraid." North leaned back on his heels, crossing one arm across his chest and raising the other to stroke his beard, peering at Gendry intensely. The gaze made the boy uneasy; it felt like he was being taken apart piece by piece and studied. "You do not like me," he said finally. It sounded like a question, but Gendry knew better.
"I don't typically have a fondness for liars, no."
The older man was silent for another long moment, musing to himself. "No, I think that is not why. I think you want me to be lying; you are afraid what I say is truth."
Gendry faltered, his stance relaxing slightly. The words resonated within him, causing an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. "I'm no prince," he insisted.
"I said you are son of king. I did not say you are prince. MiM has not told me his entire plan, but I know I am not supposed to be placing you on throne. You have different part to play in ending this war. It is why we are here in your Westeros." North stood up straighter and crossed both arms, becoming an imposing figure, his face unreadable. "Who are you, Gendry Kingson, and what do you fight for?"
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A/N: Okay, that went in a WAY different direction than I had originally planned, but I still like it. Hopefully, you do too. Sorry about the late update. I've become a RotG/Harry Potter crossover junkie and had to add my own story to the stash. It's titled "Harlequin" if you're interested. I also went insane and started a RotG/Biker Mice from Mars crossover, which is the first of its kind. I foresee that ending with me in a fiery mess, but…meh, what can I say? No accounting for the tastes of the muses, I suppose. Anywho, this pointless, unrelated ramble is ending now. Reviews are always appreciated. '3'