AN: So I just reworked part of this story because I wanted to keep it partially canon accurate. I probably wont retouch this one. I don't have a beta so I do my own editing (which is hard being that English is a hard language for me to master). I want to make this story as accurate as possible so I can take it into my AU world. Hopefully you are happy with the results.

Sins of a Father

Vanity

Being young meant never having to realize the sins of his father had haunted him through half of the country. From one kingdom to the next he could feel the shadow of his father behind him and had never known what it meant.

As a young, naïve child he had begged his mother to tell him about his father. Chubby and trusting, he would drink in every word she had every told him about this man. The whispered promises of existence were his keepsakes and wishes. Every night after being tucked in his small cot with the green quilt his Mama had made, Gendry would sneak into her cot and climb under her sheets and lay his head on her breast. Her long yellow braid would tickle his forehead and she would run a hand under his nightshirt, up and down, up and down, in a soothing rhythm. She would whisper wild stories about his brave father. And he would smile and giggle and shudder and gasp and cringe. His father was mighty and tall, a brave knight who could swing a powerful hammer above his grey Charger steed. He was a nameless, faceless man that haunted his closed eyes and his waking hours. He loved this imaginary man.

His father, His father was an all powerful knight who would one day come and pick him up under his arms and swing him 'round and 'round like Fred's father did. Fred, the carpenter's son, would be jealous. His father wasn't a carpenter his father was better. His father would sweep his mother off her feet and kiss her and they would ride on his gallant steed to a faraway castle, out of the tiny room they shared above the Orwell's cloth shop. He would be a Lord of a Faraway place and they would ride together into battle, defeating enemies and brining peace to the land. And his mother would love him and kiss him and bring him lemon tarts. He liked lemon tarts.

Anne Orwell would make them for him when she bought lemons at the market. She was a tall woman; she always wore her mousy white, brown hair braided and had yellow eyes. Her hands were so soft hand and would mess his hair at any opportunity. When he sat in her lap, he would follow the lines from her fingernails up to her elbows. Wrinkles, she called them. She had these lines on her eyes and mouth and neck too. Gendry's mother didn't. She was beautiful and perfect, like the Lady Swan. Old Orwell was tall and balding. 'Too skinny', his wife would say every day and he would never respond, only smile.

"You have his eyes," his mother would tell him one day as they broke fast, before she went back to work downstairs. She would pass her fingers through his thick, unruly black hair and he would fuss and complain. Anne would call them from downstairs with new orders for the day and their day would begin. He would play in the shop in between the piles of dyed cotton, silk, and wool. He would run his fingers up and down the colored cloths and Anne Orwell would sit him on her lap as she sewed intricate lace flowers and his mother would sing softly as they made dresses and bodices and scarves and headpieces and all manners of things. Anne's husband, would tell him stories of knights in far away places and teach him important life lessons: Never fart in front of a woman, always say your courtesies, and if you have to wank make sure you are alone.

Gendry asked Anne what wank meant. Old Orwell wasn't allowed any lemon tarts that night and he was allowed to eat it.

Old Orwell's job was to dye each and every cloth and thread that came into the shop. In the back room there were large vats of dye and drying rack where hundreds of yards of fabric hung. His arms always took on different shades of colors up to his elbows. Once Gendry thought it would be fun to sick his hand in one of the vats of dye. His mother wasn't too happy at him being half-green for three weeks. Old Orwell had only laughed and Gendry hated that his mother had scrubbed him raw with hard soap and a sponge.

When he was old enough she began to teach Gendry how to read and write; it was slow at first. Colors came first. Names and numbers came next. A-M-E-L-I-A. That was his mother's name. She had Y-E-L-L-O-W hair and G-R-E-Y eyes. She was N-I-N-E & T-E-N. He was G-E-N-D-R-Y and he was F-O-U-R years of age born in winter. He was a B-A-S-T-A-R-D.

When Old Orwell told him that, he and his mother stopped talking all together. He didn't know what a Bastard was. But he was one.

It was the biggest mistake that could have been brought up. He wanted to know why he was a bastard and what it meant. Why wouldn't his mother tell him? Was he sick or ugly? Was his father a bastard, too? What was his father's name? Who was he and where had he come from? Why didn't he have a have a father? Why didn't his mother have a husband? Fred had a mother and a father. Was he a bastard too?

When his mother refused to answer his questions he threw a tantrum. He didn't eat and didn't sleep in her cot. He tried to ignore her crying and would stomp down the stairs to hide in the silks.

"Little bull, little bull," Old Orwell would call, because Gendry was stubborn and bullheaded and his favorite story was the tale of Toboren the Little Bull and the Lady Swan. He would kneel in the silk and clutch Gendry close to his chest.

"Why can't you be my father?" Gendry would ask and Orwell would reply," I'm too old to be your father, but I could be you're great, great, granduncle can't I?" and he would kiss his forehead and wipe his tears. The man would pick him up and rock him as he sobbed and wiped the back of his hands on his runny nose. He would pray to the gods for his father the Knight to come. To love him as his mother did. But he never did and Old Orwell would hold him as he cried his wishes and slept in the dyed arms of the aging man.

He was the first to die of Greywater fever two moons later on Gendry's fifth name day. Anne had cried hard when he passed and she followed him quickly not three weeks later in her sleep.

His mother was shocked and fearful. Collectors had come to the store wanting money for the tax on the store. She took to leaving him or hours on end locking him in the room above the store. When she would come home she would smell: of something he couldn't recognize, of something sticky and vile. She wouldn't smile so much and would tuck him in with her as she slept, crying when she thought he was asleep. She was the first one between the both of them to start coughing. Thick and wet, the hacking coughs racked her body and would leave her feeble. She hadn't been able to keep up with the night's work and had stayed home. Without the money they fell onto hard times.

Gendry tried doing what Anne had done for her husband. He wiped down her sweaty forehead and fed her broth that she had made. But once that finished he didn't know what to do. He lied in her cot and laid his head on her breasts listening to the wet, shuddering breaths of his mother. Her skin was hot and moist with sweat, and she held him feebly, but her eyes were bright and she looked at him fiercely.

"Would you like to here the story of Toboren the Little Bull and the Lady Swan?" she said quietly. He nodded and coughed and she brushed his hair back, pulling the quilts tightly around them.

"Toboren is the great bull that protects the Lady Swan." One day he would have a Lady Swan.

"Yes, my love."

Toboren the Little Bull was at least two heads shorter than every other bull at Lord Sol's barn. His horns were too long and his feet too short. For this he could not run. And all the other bulls and cows laughed and picked on him.

For these follies Toboren did not want to be a Bull. He would spend his days at the Shady Lake testing the waters and trying to swim. He ever so wanted to be a Swan. Swans were graceful and not awkward in the least. They were very unlike Toboren.

Toboren was laughed at by many others when he learned to swim, but he ignored It, and made friends with the people of the lake: Roderick the Turtle and Samuel the wise fish who had lived one hundred years beneath the waves of the Shady lake and had never been caught in a fisherman's net.

His short legs and long horns were not good for swimming but he would sit in the shallow water and swish his tail and admire all the people of the lake. He would swim in small circles and laugh, for swimming was his favorite thing in the world. He would never stop swimming.

One day a newcomer came to the lake. Her name was Lady Swan. Small and white she was shy and fearful of the water.

"I cannot swim," she admitted to Toboren as did not want to drown.

He had bravely tried to teach her, his lessons awkward at best. For how could a bull teach a swan to swim? But she would grace him with a smile and try.

"How can a Swan not swim and a Bull not run," the other people of Shady Lake laughed at them, and angered Toboren stomped off to hide under the shade of the godswood.

"I am cursed, I do not swim because I am not a swan," said Lady Swan to him. Toboren was confused for how could this be? Her father had angered a maegi and turned her into a swan to teach him a lesson. She wouldn't be able to return to her human form until she found a knight brave enough to fight for her kingdom and restore the peace the maegi had stolen from them.

Determined to comfort her, Toboren talked with Roderick and Samuel.

"Something must be done," Little Bull said.

"But what?" asked Samuel, "I am but a fish? I cannot leave the lake. Roderick is but a turtle he is too slow."

"But you!" Roderick exclaimed, " You could be the knight she is looking for, and we could teach her how to swim."

"But I am not a Knight! I am a bull, too slow to run, too short. I cannot swing a sword or fight off maegi."

"You must try Little Bull."

So Toboren left the Shady Lake for the kingdom of Lady Swan. Many leagues away it was and it took days and weeks and months for him to arrive. His legs were short and his horns too big and they weighed him down.

When he arrived at the kingdom, he requested an audience with the Maegi. The people of the kingdom laughed at the Little Bull, for how could he defeat this all powerful witch, how was he to bring back the Lady Swan and lift the curse.

The maegi was a tall woman, with icy blue hair and wild blue eyes. She smiled at Toboren and sat with him.

"You have come to fight for your Lady Swan?"

"I have my Lady," he replied determined. He stood as tall as his small legs would allow and lifted his great horns. They were heavy on his head.

"Many others have come to me. But none like you. They have all failed, will you fail Toboren Little Bull?" she smiled wickedly at this.

"I will not fail my Lady for I know I can do anything for my Lady Swan."

"Why would you sacrifice for Lady Swan?"

"I am but a but a bull stubborn in my ways but willing to change! Lady Swan is my friend and you have wronged her for this I must fight you! I would give anything for her happiness, her life."

"You will give up anything?" she asked.

"Anything."

"Then Toboren I will lift the curse from your Lady Swan, if you never swam again."

At this Toboren paused. He was truly shocked by her request and remembered all the times he had spent swimming. He had never wanted to give it up. Was he foolish for doing so?

"I promise to never swim again, " Toboren said giving his word to the maegi. And she lifted the spell.

When he returned to the Shady Lake Lady Swan was gone. The people were in awe of how she had suddenly transformed from swan to a beautiful young princess. Free from her curse she was returned home to her father's kingdom.

Toboren was sad. He had lost his friend and lost his ability to swim. He sat under the godswood and would cry. A young woman cam to him and asked, "Why do you cry Little Bull?"

"I miss my friend. And I want to swim. I want to swim with my friend."

"Do you regret your decision to save Lady Swan?"

"Of course not," He answered shyly.

"Oh, Little Bull do not be sad, I have come to thank you for all you have done for me." The young woman was the princess, the Lady Swan transformed. Her name was Alea.

"You will head of my Kingsguard and live with me in my castle. And though you may not swim you shall be happy in our godswood. The Kingdom his happy and free thanks to you."

At this Toboren was happy, for he had found fulfillment in his life.

"I'm sorry Robert," she had said quietly, crying as she held him. It was hot and the cicadas too loud in his hears, her coughs thundering and her breathes too soft. Gendry was too achy to cry and he fell into a deep sleep. His mother had not woken and she coughed no more. It was the old man that found them. Her body had been cold and quiet for three day and he had been hungry and coughing.

"Amelia, Amelia?" he called from downstairs. The air was stiff and stale and smelt of death and decay in the long summer heat. But he had not cared. He stayed in the cot under the quilts in his mothers grasp. Her eyes were closed, her lose yellow braid faded gray with sickness.

The man coughed when he entered the room covering his mouth with a handkerchief.

"Gendry, are you here boy?" he called, but Gendry did not answer, he was too tired and too cold. He heard the footsteps as the man pulled back the quilts and inspected him. Pulling him from the stiff body, Gendry began to struggle. He pulled the button she kept on her dress, her favorite dress because had had helped Old Orwell had let him dye the silk. He tried and tried to hold onto her form. But the old man's grip was tight on him and Gendry's strength was sapped with sickness.

"No, no, Mama!" he called "Mama!" he screamed over and over racked with coughs. The old man was too strong and he wept. He held tight to the little swan button in his hands. He had never let it go.

"By the gods you look like him," Lady Sansa exclaimed. It came in a hairsbreadth above a whisper but he heard it nonetheless.

Two heads taller than any man in the Brotherhood and built wide with thick tree trunk arms and legs, Gendry knew exactly to whom she was referring. She was all Tully and not enough Stark in his opinion, but he tried not to judge and he kept his face impassive as she walked up to him with slow but sure steps.

"M'lady," he bowed he bowed to the heir of Winterfell. She didn't move as she looked at him; sad eyes stared at through him. And he stared back. 'This wasn't enough' he thought. The rest of the camp had cheered and roared with glee at their victory against the Queen's sell swords. Again they cheered after the battle when Sansa Stark and the man called Littlefinger had given there identifies, letting the Brotherhood in on the secret of Winterfell. But it wasn't enough and she, like him, knew it.

Brienne of Tarth came to escort her away, speaking to her of mother and family, and her quest to find the Stark girl. Her eyes stayed on him as he turned. Angered at the knowledge that only one Stark daughter (the wrong one in his mind) had been found he stomped off to go find something to hammer. He needed to taste iron. Reel iron. Not the red iron of men that tainted his lungs.

Sansa saw Robert Baratheon I. Not Gendry, no, he was a bastard son to the king and nothing more. To her he would be nothing. His eyes stung as he kicked at the mud sloshing and stomping his way off. Stomping his way through the camp he went into the tent he shared with Podrick. Throwing aside the curtain, he tossed his helm to the ground and kicked it, unbuckling the straps to his armour as he made his way towards the small cot. He didn't want to think ill of the dead but Robert bloody Baratheon could go fuck himself.

Someone had thought him a little bull once. Someone had made him her bull again. And he would get her back at any cost. He would be her anything; He would be in her Kingsgaurd as her bull and she, his princess of the North. M'Lady, he called her and she hated the jape.

He tugged at the thin leather rope he kept under his tunic and pulled it out. The little gold swan figurine was damp with his sweat and he wiped it off. Holding it tightly in his hand. Maegi, Lannister, Bolton or Frey, he would give anything to have her back, his Lady Swan.