Author's Notes: I can't believe how long it's been since I've updated this! I've updated it on other sites, but not on here. Wow, I am made of suck.

Disclaimer: We all know I own nothing and am poo.

A Legitimate Matter of Blood
embarrassment

It had been a week since the Starks had arrived in King's Landing; and there was no longer any chance to avoid the coming embarrassment. A proper celebration was being held tomorrow in the honor of Eddard Stark being named Hand of the King. Not only was there going to be a tournament, but there would also be a feast where there would be dancing and singing and jesters from all the land. King Robert Baratheon did not waste any expense on his best friend, though it fully appeared as if Lord Stark would have preferred a simple ceremony with only the small council to see.

All in all, while most of the people were excited about the celebration, there were a few set of people that Gendry wasn't sure who were looking least forward to this whole affair: Lord Stark, Cersei Lannister, his uncle Stannis, or Gendry. The queen seemed to despise the Starks on basic principal, though she did her best to hide behind pleasantries. The only problem was that she couldn't stop herself from making cutting backhanded remarks or shooting glares at Lord Stark from across the room. Every time Gendry caught her eyes afterwards, she'd glare at him so heatedly that he'd turn bright red and look away in embarrassment. He didn't like being privy to the queen's feelings, but she couldn't seem to hide them for now.

When Gendry asked his uncle Renly while Stannis had taken to himself for the past week, Renly just shrugged his shoulders. "Do not mind your uncle," he said, "the idea of celebrating anything makes him ill. I am not so certain he takes joy in anything."

"I think he takes joy in wholloping me upside the head during training," Gendry muttered, which made Renly guffaw as loud as his father did when he was too drunk.

Lord Stark's youngest daughter, Arya, appeared somewhat sour at the concept of dancing and singing, but she was excited about the tournament. He stumbled across her randomly in one of the many courtyards while on his way back from training with Stannis. She was waving a stick around like he had been waving a sword around an hour ago. Both of them halted immediately when they caught sight of one another.

Normally Gendry would have simply nodded to her, muttered "my lady," and scuttled away before she could throw the stick at him, but he was too tired from having dealt with two hours' worth of berating and beating from Stannis. "What in the seven hells are you doing?"

"I'm practicing," Arya Stark replied defensively.

"For what? The tournament?" Gendry wiped the sweat off his face. "You'd get killed."

"I would not!"

"You're tiny. One hit and you'd be cut clean in half."

For a moment, Arya looked as if she wanted to hit him with the stick as much as she could. The tournament was the only thing she was excited about, he knew. While her sister Sansa was elated with the prospect of dancing and seeing singers and other court entertainment from all over Westeros and even her brother Bran was intrigued, Arya was not so pleased, much like her father. It wasn't fair of Gendry to sour this for her, but he was so tired. Stannis had gotten harder with him in the past week during their sessions, to the point where Gendry felt in pain even when he laid still in bed.

And then, she bit her lip and dropped the stick to her side, looking like a child. "Do you practice every day with Lord Stannis?" she asked.

"Every day, for usually an hour or so," Gendry answered, "except my uncle thought it best that we start practicing longer up until the tournament so I will know what I'm actually watching."

"I wish I had a master-at-arms that could teach me." There was not only jealousy on her face, but a strange sort of pain as well. It was something that he recognized all too way. It was the pain of wanting something that you could not have. As an orphan and a bastard child, he had worn that face all too often while growing up on the streets of King's Landing. The simple pain of wanting a father that would ruffle his hair, proclaim his pride, or a mother that would clean up a cut on his knee. Everyone wanted a life that they could not have at some point. Except while she would never fully be able to have what she wanted because of her gender, he had somehow miraculously gotten what he'd wished for. A bastard orphan with a family.

Gendry cleared his throat. "It's not so great." He lifted up his tunic to show a nice blossoming bruise on his side. "I can't even sleep on this side without it hurting."

Arya stepped close to him, warily, looking at the bruise with intent fascination. "What happened?"

"Well, we use tourney swords to practice, so no one really gets injured," Gendry explained, looking at the sky and thinking back to the memory. "My uncle was trying to teach me how to, uh, well, how to stop an aggressive attack – but I wasn't paying attention. I was tired. I'd been up all night reading, you know, or well trying to read – and we wear armor so we don't get injured, but even then, he wacked me real hard with the flat of the sword and– Oy, that hurts!"

Gendry jumped away from her hands, which had suddenly prodded his bruise. He jerked his shirt down and glowered at her, but she just shrugged her shoulders, uncaring about what she'd done. Her hands had been cold against his skin. All of a sudden, the situation hit him upside the head. He'd been pulling his shirt up around a lady and she'd had her hands on him. How improper that might have looked to anyone else, even though it had been innocent. His face turned bright red in that moment and he just gaped at her for a second.

"I've – I've got to go. I've got lessons with my uncle Renly now."

Arya folded her arms across her chest. "What kind of lessons?"

He certainly didn't want to tell her, but he couldn't think up a good lie either. "Dancing."

"Eugh." Arya made a face, showing him exactly what she thought of dancing. "You better clean up first. You smell and you don't want to insult any girl you dance with for smelling bad."

"I don't–" Except he did. After stumbling about in armor and trying to fend off Lord Stannis's attacks for two hours in the hot sun, Gendry was sure that he more than smelled bad. There was a little, triumphant smirk on Arya's face. Gendry forced a stony expression on his own. "I will see you at supper, my lady. Have fun practicing with that stick."

And then he was off, hurrying back into the castle so he could bathe quickly as possible and get to the dancing lesson. He was so much better at wielding a warhammer and sword than dancing, but it would only be his dancing that he would be judged on at the feast.

After an abysmal dancing lesson that had involved him accidentally stepping on a girl's dress and causing her to fall on her face, Gendry retired to his bedchambers and threw himself onto his bed. He lay face first on the soft mattress and put all the pillows he could find over his head in hopes that they would smother him should he be able to fall asleep. Then no one would be forced to deal with him anymore. He would never shame his father for being a terrible excuse for a prince; he'd never have to have Lord Renly apologize profusely to the girl who he'd accidentally injured; he would never disappoint Lord Stannis for not being able to remember the simplest of maneuvers with a sword or the terms for a ship. He would never embarrass anyone for the fact that despite all his studying he could barely read a child's book still. His father would never have to regret legitimizing him.

A timid knock on his door jerked him out of his moody thoughts.

"What?" he called, his voice muffled under the mountain of pillows.

"It's your sister," the person replied. "May I come in, Gendry?"

He wanted so hard to tell her off, to send her away, to shout at her to leave him be, but he couldn't do that to her. If it had been anyone but her at the door, even his father perhaps at this point, he would have ignored them or yelled at them to leave him alone, like some petulant child, but he couldn't with Myrcella. She was too kind to him, too unendingly sweet, despite his failings.

"You can come in."

He heard the door open and shut with a squeak, then the soft padding of feet across the room. He didn't even bother to move or pull his head out from underneath the pillows when he felt her sit on the bed next to him.

After a moment of stillness, she said, "I heard about what happened during your dancing lesson."

"Come to mock me then?"

"Gendry," and it was all she had to say in that hurt, little voice of hers. Just the way she said his name, like he'd struck her in the face as their father did her mother, and it was enough to pull him out of whatever pity cloud he'd been hiding in. He knocked the pillows off his head and sat up, giving her a pathetic look. "I would neverdo that."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just–" Gendry took a deep breath and looked down. He moved around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed next to her. She was so small compared to him, her feet dangling off the side of bed while his touched the floor. He forgot how young she was compared to him, how she was just a child, but so much smarter than him at the same time. "I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I didn't think it would be this frustrating either. I just don't want to embarrass our father or make him regret his decision."

"Oh, Gendry, he would never feel like that. Father is very proud of you – and he loves you, just as Tommen and I do." Myrcella grasped one of his big hands in her tiny small smalls. She was so delicate, like a golden-haired doll. Her mother dressed her in such pretty gowns. When she was older, Gendry knew that suitors from all over Westeros would fight for her. She smiled at him, so earnest and open; and he knew in that moment that he would protect her from any boy or man that treated her badly. No man would ever treat her as their father treated her mother. Should any man strike her or make her cry or frown, he would kill them.

Gendry smiled at her. "You're already too smart. Did you know that? How is that you can always make me feel better with just words?"

"A princess must be pleasing with words and kind in her demeanor," Myrcella replied, sounding as if she was reciting something that a septa might have told her. It certainly hadn't come from the queen. The little smile on her face faltered suddenly though and she leaned her head against his arm. The action startled him and he glanced down at her. "I know this must be terribly difficult for you and I know it disheartens you, but I… I am so glad that you are here."

His brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?"

When Myrcella tilted her head to look up at him, there was a shiny film of tears over her bright Lannister green eyes. "We never talk about it. No one ever talks about it – how unhappy Father and Mother are, how cruel Joffrey is, how Mother still favors Joffrey over Tommen and me and both our parents only pays attention to us when we do something wrong…"

"Now that's not true," Gendry started.

"No, but it is," Myrcella replied, her lips trembling ever so slightly. "Mother loves us, I'm sure, but… Joffrey is the crowned prince. He's all that matters in her eyes. And there are nights when I could hear Father and Mother roaring at each other from the other side of the castle."

Gendry scratched the back of his head. "Are you sure they don't do that even more now? The Queen is still unhappy with my legitimization."

"Who cares what she thinks?" Myrcella bit back, startling Gendry even further. He had never once heard her say anything bad about her mother, not one word out of place. She was always kind to everyone around her, even the people that were unkind to her. This time though, she sounded very much like the King, who had assured Gendry that the Queen's concerns mattered not. "I am happy that you were, and so is Tommen. You… You're the big brother that Joffrey should have been. You're the big brother that I always wanted. He doesn't bully us anymore when you're around. You actually play and talk with us. I don't… I don't feel so alone or scared now that you're here."

Gods, she looked so much like a child in that moment. She was young, scared, just a little girl, not just a princess. Gendry pulled her into a tight hug and she wrapped her arms around him as much as she could. He kissed the top of her head. "And you're the best little sister anyone could ask for. I'd be miserable if it weren't for you and Tommen."

"Just don't ever think that you're not loved," Myrcella mumbled into his shirt, sniffling a little. He could feel her smile against him. "No one else would ever just sit and let me read to them for hours until the sun comes up."

"You're the best reader I know," Gendry proclaimed. "What better way to learn than from the master?"

As they continued to talk, the despairing feelings that had overwhelmed Gendry just an hour before began to fade away into existence. He might not have been able to be the greatest prince that Westeros had ever seen, but he could be the best big brother possible. Myrcella's pride in him meant more than anything else in the world right now. How could he ever want to go back to his old life in the forge if it meant never knowing his little sister or the pure love that someone might have for him? He may have been unsure and insecure about his father's love for him, but he would always be sure of hers. If she thought that she had been alone before him, then she could not comprehend how alone he would have felt without her here. It had only been a little over a month since he'd been brought here, but her unconditional love for him had helped carry him forward and given surety to his steps.

Supper turned out to be much better than Gendry had expected. The Starks had decided to eat dinner on their own the night before the feast. The Queen and King had gotten into a sour argument that day, which meant that they were not eating together as a family. Gendry had decided to eat with his uncles. He'd been in such foul mood after today that he wanted to show both of them that he was intent on not letting it bother him. Lord Renly knew especially how weighted down he felt and how easy he let things get to him. Besides, he always enjoyed eating dinner with them more because they didn't judge him so much as the Queen did. This time, his father had joined them as well, which was all and well, except that Stannis being there did not stop him from drinking too much.

"I heard about the mishap with the girl during your dancing lesson with Renly," King Robert stated halfway through dinner.

Did everyone in the Seven Kingdoms know about his clumsiness? "I am not… I'm not the best dancer," Gendry admitted.

King Robert waved a hand around. "It's not dancing on the floor that you need to worry about anyways." A grin split onto his face. "You're nearly a man grown. It's dancing in the bedroom with girls that should concern you more."

Gendry swallowed his food too quickly, nearly causing himself to choke on the turkey.

"Don't start on the boy now," Stannis grumbled, his voice filled with disgust and aggravation. "Just because he's of bastard blood does not mean he's nearly as lecherous as you."

Before the king could even start on about how Gendry was not a bastard, Renly cut in, "What our brother is trying to say, Your Grace, is that Gendry is still a boy. He's probably not too concerned about girls and more about his lessons." His uncle peered at him. "Aren't you, Gendry?"

"Of course," Gendry replied, nodding his head with as much enthusiasm as possible.

His father eyed him carefully. "So, no girls have caught your fancy? You're royalty now. You can have almost any girl you want."

"No, I–" Gendry felt like there was a lump caught in his throat or maybe a piece of turkey that he hadn't been able to swallow completely. All three men were looking at him, as if they expected a list of girls to come spilling out of him, as it probably would his father. He'd already had the displeasure of going to see his father, only to find Ser Jaime Lannister standing outside the king's bedchambers while a harem of women was entertaining the king. Gendry had been so embarrassed by the peals of laughter and moaning that he'd hid in kitchen for hours so no one could find him. His father was the king; and as king, he could have any amount of women that he wanted. As a prince, well…he had certain liberties as well, something he hadn't even begin to think about yet.

"Ah, he's young and still shy," the king decided, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "In another year or two, that hot Baratheon blood will almost be too much to handle. It was for me. I had my first bastard when I was still in the Eyrie with Jon and Ned."

"One of your proudest moments and finest accomplishments in your youth, I'm sure," Stannis added.

It struck Gendry then and there that he was not the first bastard that Robert Baratheon had whelped. He had thought that maybe that was why he had been legitimized while the king's other bastard children had not been. If he was the first, then maybe there was some sort of reasoning for him being the only one legitimized. But who knew how many had come before him or after him.

"How many did you have?" Gendry blurted out. The king just stared at him, so Gendry continued, "I mean, how many bastards did you have, Your Grace, if it not too improper for me to ask…" Still, no one said anything. A part of him was screaming at him to stop, to apologize and keep eating his food, but now that the thought was in his head, he couldn't get it out. How many bastards had he been chosen over? How many had Robert ignored in his place? How many were still running around, not knowing who their father was, maybe even completely parentless, on the street or in a little town without a name. How many could not even comprehend what it was like to have a father's love or pride? "It's just… I want to know how many siblings I have."

"Well, that is a good question," the king finally said. He picked up his glass of wine, thought for a second, and then sipped on it. It was the slowest drink that Gendry had ever seen the man take. "There was the girl in the Eyrie, then another girl somewhere in the Riverlands, that girl from the whorehouse in King's Landing…"

"Don't forget the one you created on my wedding night," Stannis pointed out, sounding grumpier than ever before. Renly seemed to be biting back a smile at that comment, but said nothing on the matter. "Edric Storm."

"Ah, it does not matter though now," the king said, shrugging his shoulders and draining the rest of the wine from his cup. "What matters is that you are here and so is Ned and there is going to be a grand tourney and feast tomorrow." He squeezed Gendry's shoulder. "Mayhaps we can even make a man out of you."

Gendry was so lost in his thoughts about the amount of siblings he had floating around the Seven Kingdoms that all he did was nod his head in response. He didn't even flush or hide away from the thought. What was it about him that made him more Baratheon than all the others? What had it been about him that had made his father legitimize him almost on the spot of finding out his existence?

"Don't think about it too much," his uncle Renly said after dinner, having noticed how quiet that Gendry had become. "It'll only give you a headache, trying to think about what goes on in a king's mind. He has some fairly fanciful notions."

"Like when it came to legitimizing me?" Gendry asked.

Renly only smiled. "That was one of his better decisions, I think."