"You're a celebrity now, Gendry!" Qyburn joked from the cabin.
During the fighting on the deck of the Far-Seer, the boy wielding the spiked warhammer had inspired real awe. Wild and unrestrained, he had saved the ship.
"The pirates demanded we surrender. How could I ever agree to that? You'd be tossed into the sea, and I'd be sold to the Perfume Gardens."
Gendry spread his hands helplessly. His left arm was still wrapped in a rough bandage, but he was strong and sturdy, and such wounds healed quickly on him.
Most of the pirates came from the Three Daughters. When dealing with Free folk from the Three Daughters, they usually demanded exorbitant ransoms and rarely took lives. But Westerosi received no such mercy. Being sold into slavery was the most common fate.
"That's true, lad, but this victory brought you quite a reward," Qyburn said with a smile.
He knew that Captain Dunstan, the Myr sailors, and the Westerosi passengers had all given Gendry plenty of gifts. It was the boy's courage that spared them from bodily harm and from being ruined financially.
"The fight wasn't what I imagined. If Goldtooth hadn't grown so overconfident and scattered his men, I wouldn't have had a chance to turn things around. If twenty of them had rushed us at once, we'd never have held them off."
Gendry replayed the battle in his mind. It had been extremely dangerous. You needed heavy armor and a helmet, protect yourself first and only then strike back. He had fought without armor only because he had no choice.
"If those pirates had all been armored, we would have been dead for sure."
"That's right, Gendry. War is a dangerous game, but luck is part of strength as well. War isn't a flower-strewn tourney. A puddle of water, a patch of mud, filth left from supper, a sour mood—any of it can tip the balance. As long as we're human, we all have limits."
Qyburn studied Gendry closely, clearly intrigued by the face beneath the iron mask.
"History speaks of godlike warriors who surpassed mortal limits, but those belong to centuries ago. The Valyrian Dragonlords, the princes and princesses of the Rhoyne—they mastered both battle and magic. What we have now are only wars fought by ordinary men."
"I originally planned to take you on as my apprentice. Medicine may not have the splendor of knighthood, but it's safe enough and keeps food on the table. But looking at you now, boy, you seem born for the battlefield. That kind of talent is rare indeed."
Qyburn fell silent for a moment, thinking.
"Being a warrior is fine, but I'd like to live a bit longer. Learning medicine doesn't sound bad either."
"I'd be delighted. And I don't only know medicine and poisons. I also study history, law, poetry, faith, and the Old Valyrian language."
"That all sounds far more complicated than blacksmithing," Gendry said, feeling encouraged.
A scholar as broadly skilled as Qyburn was someone he would rarely have the chance to meet, especially after being driven from the Citadel. Another advantage was that Qyburn stood alone, with no backing of his own. He could only attach himself to power, and to Gendry himself.
"It's certainly more interesting than hammering iron. I'd be quite happy to shape warriors. When we reach Myr, you may still need a weapons master. Knightly arms training is a profession in itself."
Qyburn went on, "Many people think fighting is only for brutes, but that isn't true. A warrior can be learned as well. Take Prince Rhaegar, for example."
"Rhaegar!"
Gendry's interest was immediately piqued.
"I know he was a prince who died at the Trident."
Though Rhaegar was long dead, his ghost seemed to linger in the sky, tearing the realm apart.
"I'm very interested in that period of history myself. Unfortunately, I'm only a maester, with no strength to change anything. I could only imagine the heroes of that age through the Citadel's battle reports. Our obese king was once sharp and unstoppable in his youth."
Maester Qyburn continued.
"Back then, Prince Rhaegar and King Robert were the brightest stars, along with the Sword of the Morning, the Wild Wolf, the Darling of the Vale, and Barristan. But they were two very different kinds of men."
"Prince Rhaegar was melancholy. He preferred books to swords and loved to play the silver-stringed harp. Women wept for his beauty and his sorrow."
"His Grace Robert was nothing like that. He was the Storm Reborn, always hungry for joy and laughter. Hunting, drinking, women, tourneys—he loved them all. In his youth he was tall, broad-shouldered, openhearted, and famed for his ferocity in battle."
"And then?" Gendry pressed.
"What happened afterward is known to every Westerosi. Two proud warriors became entangled over a woman, a woman with the blood of the she-wolf, and an entire kingdom paid the price for a mistaken love. As for what truly happened between Lady Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar, that's impossible to say for certain," Qyburn said thoughtfully.
"Right and wrong can't really be sorted out anymore," Gendry replied. "But the Mad King and his son did lose the throne."
"That's true. The decisive moment was the Battle of the Trident, when His Grace Robert crushed Rhaegar with that hammer blow. Once you lose militarily, the rest hardly matters. Still, for Prince Rhaegar to seriously wound Robert was no small feat. His status was too lofty and his interests too scattered. He was never a natural warrior."
Gendry considered this and found it hard to argue. Jousting with lances was nothing like a real battlefield, and Rhaegar had never devoted himself entirely to war.
"Whether it was Robert or Rhaegar doesn't really matter. Aesthetics, music, dancing, medicine, all of that is just ornamentation for a knight. What matters is winning wars, winning everything. You have to be tougher, more fearless, and more cunning than your enemies. Prince Rhaegar forgot that, and that's why he lost to Robert." Fire seemed to flicker in Qyburn's eyes as he spoke.
"Mm."
"Now then, an old man has a small request. Would you mind removing your mask? If you'd rather not, that's fine," Maester Qyburn asked.
Gendry took off his mask. Short black hair, deep blue eyes, and the shape of his mouth, jaw, and cheekbones were laid bare.
"My gods!" Qyburn pointed at Gendry's face, his mouth hanging open. "I should have realized it sooner. I really should have." He had seen Robert, and he had seen Renly. This face was like a smaller version of Renly's, though this boy was clearly destined to be sturdier.
"It's a bit eye-catching, but I don't have a better solution," Gendry said politely.
"Forgive me for speaking ill of the king. Your temperament is nothing like his. The king was violent and proud. If not for that, I would have formed a guess much earlier. Bloodlines are remarkably resilient."
"It doesn't matter. The king has forgotten me anyway," Gendry said with a casual wave of his hand. For now, he had no interest in involving himself in Westeros. His claim was too weak, and it was better to grow quietly in the shadows.
"Then all the better. In some far corner of the world, a bastard and a disgraced maester will surely bring something new and interesting into being. And damn the Lannisters!" Qyburn grew visibly excited. In an age without dragons, martial prowess and personal charisma mattered enormously. During the War of the Usurper, Robert became king not just because of his blood, but because of his charm and his victories.
"The Lannisters? Do you have some history with House Lannister?" Gendry asked, puzzled.
"There was such a time," Qyburn admitted awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. "After the Citadel expelled me, I tried to seek Tywin's patronage, but I was driven out. Lord Tywin is powerful and wealthy, and ruthlessly pragmatic. He could order the abuse of children and the sack of King's Landing without hesitation. I thought he might be willing to fund my research. Unfortunately, he is also stubborn and full of aristocratic airs. He despises fallen maesters like me."
"But none of that matters now. Compared to those studies, helping to train an invincible warrior is far more fulfilling." Qyburn looked at Gendry. The boy held no power yet, but his potential was immense. "You carry the blood of dragons, stags, the First Men, and the great rivers."
"But the king's legitimate children… why…" Qyburn hesitated, his words tinged with unease. He had seen the king's eldest son, a fair-skinned, proud boy with blond hair and blue eyes, yet with none of the traits of House Baratheon. The king also had a bastard at Storm's End.
Still, that in itself was not unusual. Rumors of the king being cuckolded had never been rare. In the days of the Foolish King, the king himself had fabricated tales of his wife's affair with his dragonrider brother.
"Oh, I've never met them, and I don't know anything about it," Gendry said coldly. If secrets were bound to be exposed sooner or later, it was better not to be the one who revealed them. That would draw too much attention.
Seeing Gendry's reaction, Qyburn understood a little more.
"It is my honor to serve as your subordinate and your mentor. Let us work toward your cause, Your Grace," Qyburn said respectfully. At that moment, he had completely severed himself from the Lannisters.
"The honor is mine, Master Qyburn."
As he thought about it, Gendry realized he had effectively raised a third force in Essos, though its numbers were still small. The other two belonged to the dragon siblings, and to the hidden Jon and "Aegon."