munebox | Dragonsmith

Perhaps it was. She was still in sight of the camp, though, and it wasn't as if she did this often. And besides, a khaleesi and queen could go wandering by herself if she pleased. She'd had the argument with both knights before (employed the first points, kept the last one to herself) but she also knew that the occasional stroll benefited her more than the argument (a subset of greater arguments, really) annoyed her.

She actually cracked a smile at the observation. "I'm used to the heat," she shrugged. "It's simply nice to -- well."

Because he most likely didn't care to hear her reasoning, and it might not do to share it so bluntly.

"So am I. The heat, that is. Every day I'd spend in my Master Mott's forge. Now, it seems like anywhere else is almost too cold. Even this place."

But that was because it was evening and the temperature had dropped. But reasoning and stories of his past were things he could not imagine a queen having time for. He hesitated a moment. "If you like, I'll leave you be. I don't reckon I need tell anyone you're out here."

She tipped her head at him, affecting curiosity. "Don't feel you need to," she murmured. It was really only certain company she sought to bypass, and the boy -- the man -- who had so recently come into their circles intrigued her more than she had had an opportunity to express yet.

Instead of anything else, she prompted, "Tell me more of the forge, perhaps."

The invitation to stay, such as it was, left him surprised. Gendry did not reckon his company to desirable to most, much less to her in particular. It unbalanced him and at first, he only nodded dumbly as he fell into step with her. It was a relief, at least, that she gave him something to talk about. Otherwise he could think of no other use for his tongue.

"The forge?" he repeated dumbly. He took a moment to collect his wits again. "Well. It's no easy thing learning to work the forge, m'lady." Absently, he defaulted to a title more easily remembered by him. "I've been apprenticed with Master Mott for ten years, but I still didn't know everything. I was only just learning swords when he sent me away. If I'd stayed around, he might have taught me to work Valyrian steel."

For one, there was the fact that he was someone new and different -- that alone made him good company. If just for the stories (those of the land she sought in particular), the variety of him, the fact that she still wasn't sure of what kind of a man he was and wanted very much to figure that out.

And she didn't mind the slip from him, or at least not enough that it was worth mentioning. (For true, she was called so many things now that there was little keeping it straight.) "I see," she nodded, both polite and of a genuine effort to engage. "I imagine that would take quite a while. How long is it meant to take to learn it all, then?"

"I don't know anyone ever stops learning. I s'pose my Master Mott had learned all there was. But he was an old man. And smart." Not like me. But he smiled as if to excuse the fact that he knew he wasn't so intelligent as the company she normally kept herself in.

"But you likely know lots of things. Who taught you?"

"Certainly, the practice would make it simpler," she agreed. "And I think that's true of most subjects, that the more you practice the more you know." A little shrug. She could hear that addendum, and while she'd be quick to tell a true friend that such things were irrelevant, she barely knew him and would not press.

The question, though, required a bit of thought. "I suppose some of it must have been taught by my brother," she said. Perhaps some of the lessons he'd taught were not of the sort that Gendry meant, but they'd been taught anyhow. "Quite a lot of it has been experience; riding and the Dothraki language and -- and such things fell to my handmaids to teach. It's nothing so interesting, really."

He was only vaguely aware of her brother, his importance, and that he hadn't met the most dignified of endings. A Dothraki woman who had smatterings of Westerosi tongue had told him something about being crowned, but it had made little sense to him.

"Seems more interesting that what I've learned," he said. "I ain't ever learned to read or speak any language other than the common one. Or how to properly ride, for that matter."

It wasn't the sort of story she would want to tell a stranger (she had barely ever discussed Viserys with anyone -- coolly with her knights, vaguely with her maids, but no more than that) but she knew that someday, it would be less a secret to such strangers and more a piece of common knowledge. She tried not to think of such things often, in truth.

His comment caused her to shrug. "I've found that if you're around a language enough, you're like to pick up at least a bit of it," she said, meant as encouragement somehow. "And riding is much the same." The sentence trailed off there, but the implication was meant to be something like anything is possible in time.

"I've been learning a bit so far. There ain't many to talk to without knowing Dothraki or Valyrian." He shrugged. "Ser Jorah talks to me sometimes. But not Ser Barristan. He don't seem so fond of me. I reckon he's too busy for he likes of me."

In truth, Gendry was wary of the old man and he feared the old man knew his secret. The man seemed to show recognition when they first met, but had said nothing on the matter. But that look and expression was familiar. Jon Arryn had it, Ned Stark had it, and so had Stannis Baratheon. He liked the queen, but he didn't trust her with his secret. Not when he had heard how ruthless she could be.

With the slightest of frowns, because she couldn't abide even imagined discord among her followers if she could help. "Whether or not Ser Barristan is busy likely doesn't reflect his opinion of you," she pointed out. "He's not the most sociable of men, nor the most demonstrative. But if he mistrusted you, I would likely have heard of it."

After all, that could be said of all of her counselors: any truly worrisome element was brought to her attention quickly, if not dealt with. Her knights were nothing if not diligent.

"Mayhaps," he said. There was not much to be gained in disagreeing with her, he thought. He could be blunt and brutally honest when called on it, but there was little reason to argue on this matter. And so, he shrugged. "If he did, what would you do?"

The question gave her pause, though she couldn't say quite why. Perhaps it was that she wasn't used to being asked such things, or at least not in such a conversation as this.

Finally, she settled on: "Listen to what he had to say and what you did in turn, then make decisions accordingly." That was what she'd hope would be the truth, at least.

"There was a man that did that. An outlaw lord. He didn't know who to believe though, so he settled it with a trial by combat." Gendry glanced back at the camp and frowned. "I think I'd lose that trial."

Ser Barristan was an old man, but Gendry knew well he stood no chance against such a man.

"How did his turn out, though?" Daenerys asked, unsure of whether he was telling some true story or a legend she just wasn't familiar with (she could never tell when something was obvious to those raised Westerosi and not her). "The trial, I mean?"

She'd get to his statement in due time, but the context of the story was important.

Dragonsmith

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