In his quiet room at Firegrass Manor, Gendry cleaned his warhammer. The dark steel was cold to the touch, its head scarred from battle. On the table beside it lay two new acquisitions: the curved arakh taken from the Meereenese gladiator, and the spiked morning star that had belonged to his fallen brother-in-arms. The arakh, half-sword and half-scythe, felt strange and foreign in his hands. He longed for a warhammer forged from Valyrian steel, a weapon against which there was no defense.
He could feel the change within himself. The storm in his blood, awakened by the heat of battle, was growing stronger. With each life-or-death struggle, his strength and power seemed to climb to new heights. He was learning that only on the razor's edge between one breath and the next could this power be truly forged.
"I, too, was once obsessed with the links of my maester's chain," Qyburn said from the corner, "until I discovered the vastness of the world and the grandeur of magic. The men of Westeros live in a dim room, yet they seek to extinguish the candle of magic rather than use its light. It is better to seek the truth than to be a grey sheep, deaf to the world's real music."
"You crave truth, Maester," Gendry replied, setting down his hammer. "I pursue security. A life free from fear." He yearned for the kind of easy happiness only a highborn lord could know, but his very existence placed him at the center of a storm. The Baratheon dynasty was unstable, and he, as Robert's unacknowledged and eldest son, was a threat to the Lannisters, to Joffrey, and even to his own uncles. He knew the fate of Robert's other bastards; all but Edric Storm, protected at Storm's End, had been quietly eliminated by the queen.
"The family lives of kings are often a cesspool," Qyburn mused. "Viserys the First, Aegon the Unworthy, the Mad King Aerys… all of them left a legacy of chaos. Robert is no different. A king who does not care for his children and a queen who is ruled by ambition is a path to disaster."
Gendry knew the stories. Viserys's failure to secure the succession led to the Dance of the Dragons. Aegon IV's careless desires sowed the seeds of the Blackfyre Rebellions. And the Mad King… his name said it all.
"So be prepared, Qyburn," Gendry said, his voice hard. "Whether my identity is exposed or not, House Lannister will be our enemy." The Lannisters were powerful and wealthy, their lands united under Tywin's iron fist. Even the victorious Robert Baratheon had bent the knee to their influence.
"An unfortunate truth," Qyburn agreed. "Which is why we need manpower. It is a pity I could not take the body of that gladiator. He would have made a perfect tireless, invincible warrior." The old maester still mourned the lost opportunity. "You should have such guards, Your Highness. A Kingsguard of your own, loyal only to you. An unkillable soldier is worth more than any White Sword, for they are not burdened by emotion."
"There will be opportunities," Gendry said, cutting him off. "But not now. We are merely sellswords here. Such experiments would see us cast out."
"Perhaps there are other paths to power," Qyburn said, his eyes gleaming. "If we could acquire a dragon egg… you have the blood of the dragon in you, Your Highness. Perhaps you could hatch it. Even a small dragon would be a tremendous asset to your cause."
"Dragons," Gendry scoffed. "Many fools have died trying to wake dragons from stone. Besides, we are not the only ones with such dreams. A pair of exiled siblings have never given up their claim." He knew the three fossilized eggs were in the hands of the Magister of Pentos, but he was more interested in finding living eggs, hidden away in Dragonstone or the ruins of Summerhall.
"You mean the Beggar King and his sister," Qyburn nodded. "Their blood is the purest, it is true. But others have ridden dragons. The children of the Sea Snake, even his bastards, all became dragonriders." He leaned forward. "In fact, Princess Daenerys may be our greatest opportunity. A shortcut to power."
"Daenerys?"
"Yes," Qyburn confirmed. "She is said to be the most beautiful girl in the world, with the blood of Old Valyria in her veins. Do not think that all the Dragon's supporters have vanished. Dorne has not forgotten. The lords of the Claw Peninsula remember their oaths."
"How can you be so certain of her beauty, or her power?" Gendry asked. "You have never met her."
"The true dragon-blooded have always been known for their inhuman beauty," Qyburn said, a dreamy look in his eyes. "I have never heard of an ugly Targaryen. And though I have not seen the girl, I have seen her brother, Rhaegar. He was tall and impossibly handsome, with deep indigo eyes and hair of silver-gold. When he played his harp, he could make any woman in the court weep. His sister, they say, has that same unearthly beauty."
"We are enemies," Gendry stated flatly.
Qyburn shook his head. "Fortunes change. Love and hate shift with the winds of interest. Orys Baratheon was loyal to the Targaryens, yet his descendants overthrew them. Everything changes. And you both share a common enemy in the Lannisters. You both desire the Iron Throne." The maester's voice became a persuasive whisper. "Think of it. A girl who has known nothing but fear and exile. What would she want? She would want a protector. A pair of strong arms. An invincible warrior. You, Your Highness, have beauty and charm to match her own, and the strength she lacks. As long as you appear before her, we have a chance."
Gendry had to admit the old man's logic was sound. An alliance of beauty and power, of dragon and stag. It was a mad plan, but it might just work. "We will need to find news of Viserys and Daenerys," he said finally. "The smugglers and pirates in the Disputed Lands will have ears everywhere."
"I would be delighted to facilitate such a beautiful arrangement," Qyburn said, a triumphant smile spreading across his face.