As far back as Gendry could remember, it always seemed to be summer. King's Landing lay under a wash of green, lively and thriving.
Westeros' weather was fickle, with each season able to last for years. A long summer brought prosperity, a long winter brought suffering. This summer had begun in the 289th year of the Conquest, and even now it still showed no sign of ending.
People said it was because King Robert was a lucky man, blessed by the Seven. Others worried, because summer and winter were bound together. If a long summer lasted eight or ten years, then the winter that followed would be the longest and harshest of all. But voices like that were always few. The people of King's Landing continued to live loud, crowded, and decadent lives. A long summer suited them fine. This was the season for indulgence.
"Come on, boys. Let's go have a look around the Great Sept of Baelor," Tobho called. "Submitting to the gods' glory is better than you lot running off to Flea Bottom to watch dogfights, gamble, or get led around by cheap women."
Gendry's days were not always dull. Now and then, Tobho would take the apprentices up to the Great Sept of Baelor on the crown of Visenya's Hill. Tobho was not truly devout; he simply liked the spectacle. And besides, the Smith was one of the Seven. The Great Sept of Baelor was close to the smithy, and there were always people coming and going.
Gendry saw the broad white marble square, and at its center, the towering statue of Baelor I. It stood calmly on its pedestal, wearing an expression of solemn compassion. Beneath the dome of glass, gold, and crystal, he also saw the Seven in their seven aspects: the Father, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Stranger, the Crone, the Smith, and the Mother. The Smith stood for craft and labor, and people often prayed to the Smith for strength when work had to be done.
"The Maiden brought a lady gentle as a willow, with eyes like a deep blue pool. Hugor swore to wed her. Then the Mother blessed her with fruitfulness, and the Crone foretold she would bear the king forty-four strong sons. The Warrior made them mighty, and the Smith forged each of them a suit of steel." The septas sang from The Seven-Pointed Star, and beneath the great dome the air felt holy and solemn, as though everyone were wrapped in the gods' virtues.
Most of the apprentices, though, listened with little interest. A free stroll through the Great Sept of Baelor was all well and good, but they would rather spend a few coins in Flea Bottom and find their own entertainment. Still, it beat sweating in a stifling workshop, so they did not mind the brief rest.
When the septas finished the hymn, Tobho gathered the apprentices and led them back out, ready to return to the smithy.
"Listen to me, boys," he said, launching into another lecture. "Every boy loves the Warrior, but few love the Smith. And what do warriors really do? They wave blades around and leave slaughter behind, along with widows' wailing. But we Smiths create the things that make life possible. The hammer in our hands puts food on the table. Can a knight say the same?
"Smiths make plows to break the earth for crops, nails to mend ships, horseshoes to protect a loyal horse's hooves, and shining swords for lords. A smith's worth is beyond question. That's why the Smith is one of the Seven. The Father rules, the Warrior fights, the Smith labors. Together they stand for the duties a man ought to fulfill."
He spoke with spit flying, trying to drill into them that their work mattered, so they would stop dreaming only of fighting and charging as knights.
Just as they were about to leave the Great Sept of Baelor, something unexpected happened. King Robert's procession arrived. The king was coming into the sept.
It looked like a river of gold, silver, and steel: Gold Cloaks, White Knights, bannermen, sworn knights, and more besides.
Ten standard-bearers of House Baratheon rode at the front, their banners streaming from long poles: a crowned black stag on a field of gold.
"Make way! Make way!" the Gold Cloaks shouted, shoving common folk aside to clear a path.
Deep in the crowd, Gendry caught sight of King Robert. The fat man rode near the front, guarded on either side by two white knights in snow-white cloaks. He was Gendry's father, yet there was little that felt like kinship between them. Gendry also spotted an older knight, elegant despite his years, who could only be Ser Barristan Selmy, one of the greatest of them all.
King Robert had once been a warrior without equal, but now he had grown seven or eight stone heavier. He was enormous, his belly jutting out, dark hollows under his eyes impossible to hide. Robert had always been greedy for pleasure, always eager to indulge. Since taking the Iron Throne, his body had swollen like an overfilled wineskin.
As the king passed, the crowd cheered, though not with much warmth. Many in King's Landing had not forgotten how House Lannister had sacked the city, and it made it hard to truly love the king who sat above them now.
"Did the king's two brothers come as well? That's rare," someone murmured. Gendry had sharp ears and caught it clearly. He looked toward the procession behind the king, and sure enough, two more men bearing the sigil of House Baratheon followed close behind. The same deep blue eyes. The same coal-black hair.
Stannis was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, his face drawn tight, his skin hardened by years under the sun, as unyielding as iron. He was not old, yet only a thin ring of black hair remained on his head, like the shadow of a crown circling behind his ears. His beard was cut short and neat, a bluish shadow covering his square jaw and the hollows of his cheekbones. As he passed, the crowd's cheers sank lower and duller. People thought of Stannis as a block of iron, and few truly felt fond of him.
When Renly appeared, the mood changed entirely. He wore green velvet embroidered with swans, his golden cloak fastened with a golden stag brooch. There was nothing about him that was not lavish. The Great Lord looked much like King Robert in his youth, tall and handsome, with black hair falling straight to his shoulders. The difference was that Great Lord Renly was not famed as a fearsome warrior, nor known for unmatched valor. Renly lifted a hand and waved to the crowd, and their cheers swelled to several times what they had been before.
King Robert laughed loudly, unconcerned. Stannis, however, cast his brother a sharp look, his brow furrowing. Gendry noticed the contrast at once: Stannis's simmering anger, and the king's complete indifference to it.
Stannis's clothing and bearing were far plainer than Renly's. That was partly due to Stannis's own frugality, and partly because Dragonstone, though important, was a barren place. Storm's End was clearly larger and far richer than Dragonstone, and that imbalance had long festered in Stannis's heart.
"The Knight of Flowers?" Gendry spotted another youth, slim and not yet fully grown. He wore fine armor, and on his green cloak bloomed three golden roses against a field of green. This boy seemed inseparable from Renly. He had long, flowing brown hair and striking golden eyes. He too waved to the crowd, and the people cheered for the noble youth of House Tyrell. King's Landing had always loved beautiful faces.
"They're really close," Gendry thought. It was said that the youngest son of House Tyrell had once been fostered at Storm's End as Renly Baratheon's attendant.
The king's procession swept past like a rolling storm, heading straight for the Great Sept. Only after they had fully passed did the Gold Cloaks finally relax their control.
What a mess, Gendry thought. King's Landing was a pot on the boil: Robert and his two brothers, the Lannisters, Lord Jon, and that spider lurking in the shadows, along with Littlefinger. He had no interest in the shifting balance of power. His only wish was to escape the fate of being a pawn and live a little more safely.
"Our Fat King. Hard to believe," an elderly woman muttered. "When he was young, he was so handsome. Clean-shaven, clear-eyed, strong and charming, like something out of a maiden's dream. And now, look at him."
"Say no more," her husband added once the Gold Cloaks had gone. "If a man drowns himself in wine and whores, even a warhammer will rust."
"Rare to see three stags out together. Looks like the High Septon really does have some pull. Is it faith, then?"
Four stags, Gendry thought. And one wild one.
"Faith my ass. More like borrowing money from the High Septon."