On a cold, sea-wind-swept morning in the Bay of Crabs, Gendry arrived aboard the Tyrosh at a quiet cove near Dyre Den. There were not many ships here. With the shadow of war looming and the Crackclaws poor as dirt, merchant vessels rarely came this way.
The oceangoing merchant ship drew deep in the water, with two banks of oars, a gilded prow, and three tall masts. Its sails were raised, and its hull was painted a flashy, extravagant red, Tyrosh style to the core. Nor was this the only merchant ship. The soldiers had been split among several of them, all among the fastest ships available.
The sea breeze brushed Gendry's face as he looked out at the barren, desolate land in the distance, mostly pine woods and marshes. Every dark valley on the peninsula had its own Lord, and neither those lords nor their people trusted outsiders. Most of them were descended from the First Men.
Gendry was the first to disembark. His height and build made him stand out at once, and the Crackclaws immediately noticed this tall, powerful warrior who looked born for battle. Anguy came next, followed by five hundred elite cavalrymen.
Like Gendry, the soldiers led fine warhorses and wore black scale armor. Their golden cloaks bore the Quartered Arms, the once bitterly opposed Leaping Stag and Three Red Dragons answering one another across the field. The Crackclaws found the sight a little absurd, but that was history for you.
Under the curious gaze of the arriving soldiers, the men of Crackclaw Point had already been waiting there for quite some time. Ser Mortimer Boggs led the gathering, and House Boggs, House Brune of Brownhollow, House Brune of Dyre Den, House Crabb, House Hardy, House Pyne, and others had all sent their men.
The soldiers they brought were a rough lot, some older, some younger, and there were even burly women carrying spears. Yet none of them lacked that fierce, unruly edge. No wonder they were called half wildlings. The War of the Usurper had taken too many of Crackclaw Point's young elites, so they could only make do with what remained.
"Prince, we've already put the armor you sent us to use," Ser Boggs said.
Gendry looked out. The soldiers in black scale armor stood like a black forest, their long spears shining with a cold gleam.
"Good."
The Crackclaws studied this warrior with open curiosity. He was tall and strong, brimming with the hard masculine vigor of a fighter. On both sides of the Narrow Sea, people said no man could match him in battle. He had fought Myr, slain the Horselord, taken the Twin Cities, and never known defeat. They said he stood shoulder to shoulder with the Conqueror himself, and even the Crackclaws had heard those stories again and again.
"Prince, welcome to loyal Crackclaw Point," Ser Mortimer Boggs said as he dropped to one knee.
"I have seen your loyalty," Gendry said, helping Ser Mortimer Boggs back to his feet, then lifting the others behind him one by one as well. He needed to learn their names and remember their faces. Before, he had known them only from letters, but he would not waste the chance to win over every warm and loyal heart.
"Jack, Jack Crabb."
The head of House Crabb was a young man with brown hair and brown eyes, but he was tall and broad, looking very much like the legendary giant on his house's sigil.
"Arryn Brune of Brownhollow."
...
The Crackclaws were flattered beyond words. The king truly did possess that legendary charm, the kind that made men willing to die for him.
Most of these houses had barely appeared in the original course of events, yet the Crackclaws were every bit the diehard royalists of the True Dragon their reputation claimed. They had always treated royal decrees perfunctorily. For one thing, the region was famous for its poverty, and King's Landing saw little worth squeezing from it. For another, Crackclaw Point was difficult country, and its people were stubborn and hard to control, so King's Landing had mostly let them be. At most, it added a token bit of tax and kept its distance.
"Ser Boggs already led us in killing The Mountain. We'll send Tywin a few more gifts," Jack said.
"Let the Lannisters howl because they crossed paths with us."
"Beat the Lannisters."
"Beat the traitors," the Crackclaws roared, old warriors, children, and women alike.
Of all the names the Crackclaws hated most, Lannister, Arryn, Baratheon, Stark, the traitorous Lannisters were the filthiest and the cruelest by far. Naturally, they hated them to the bone. Now that King Robert was dead and the stag and dragon had reconciled, taking vengeance on Tywin needed no further saying.
"Prince, I've got the men assembled. As you commanded, I've organized two thousand five hundred cavalry. We can set out at once. I also prepared the big riverboats on Crackclaw Point in advance. They can carry the soldiers across as well," Ser Boggs said.
Two thousand five hundred horsemen were not the full limit of what Crackclaw Point could raise, but if one spoke only of picked elites, this was about it.
"Good," Gendry said. "We're still waiting on one more group of reinforcements."
"All right." Ser Boggs knew exactly who Gendry meant. The Bluecoats from the Vale.
Gendry had his "Goldcloaks", golden cloaks bearing the Quartered Arms, form ranks by the cove and wait.
The quartered banner snapped in the wind, and everyone fixed their eyes on the harbor, eager to see how many ships the visitors from the Vale had brought.
The Vale ships soon came ashore as well, but the men at their head were two old men, Ser Barristan and Jon of Bronze Yohn. Behind them stood two young men, the commanders from Redfort and Gulltown. Then came the elite cavalry of the Vale.
The Vale had no shortage of knights, and they were well equipped and well trained. That spoke not only of their martial tradition, but of greater prosperity as well. Orange cloaks from House Royce, red cloaks from Redfort and Gulltown.
Yohn looked at the elite Goldcloaks lined up along the harbor. They were silent and cold, mounted on tall warhorses, confidence shining in their eyes, their lances giving off a faint chill. Only a victorious army carried itself like that, as if it could crush every obstacle in its path, as if it were born to lead the charge. Even the impoverished Crackclaws had now cast off their old ways and put on a fresh new look.
"We're here, Prince," Bronze Yohn said first, offering Gendry an apology. "For secrecy's sake, we did not go through Gulltown. We had to dispatch ships from Runestone with great care, so we lost some time."
"It makes no difference," Gendry said, putting him at ease. Gulltown was where Littlefinger had first risen, and the place had been infiltrated like a sieve, so departing from there would have been unwise. House Royce, however, was mighty and deep rooted. As one of the Vale's foremost noble houses, they could field more than five thousand men. No one could match that reserve of strength, and keeping seagoing ships was hardly difficult for them.
Bronze Yohn was a tall man. His face was lined with wrinkles, and his hair had already gone gray, yet his broad hands still made him look immensely strong. He had gray eyes and thick brows. His armor was plated in silver and engraved with the same bronze protective runes his forebears had worn.
"Lord Yohn brought a thousand men. Six hundred from Runestone, and two hundred each from Redfort and Gulltown," Ser Barristan said. He was the messenger Gendry had sent ahead.
"Prince," the young man representing Redfort said in greeting. "Mychel Redfort. My father sends you his regards." Rumor had it he was one of the finest young swordsmen in the Vale, and a man of exceptional courage.
"Oh, I know you. And my sister Mya."
"That's right." Mychel's cheeks reddened. It was precisely because of that connection that his father had begun to see hope of raising the family even higher, and his attitude had changed completely. If the overall situation was settled, it would be much the same as taking a Princess into the family.
"Prince. My father sends you his regards as well," said the young man representing Gulltown. He was Mars Grafton, heir to Gulltown.
Mars then handed Gendry an envelope. "This is a gift from my father."
"Then I will gladly accept this gift." Gendry took the envelope. Inside was everything Lord Grafton knew, Littlefinger's trusted network in Gulltown, his personnel arrangements in the Vale, and the matters Littlefinger had once entrusted to him. Littlefinger might have thought Grafton nothing more than a man stinking of copper, but Grafton looked down on Littlefinger just as much, and Grafton still had the option of changing sides.
"We have always stood with the King, ever since my grandfather's day," Mars said with a smile.
"I will remember your goodwill."
"Good. Now all our people are here." Gendry looked over them. The Vale knights came from three houses. Yohn was rigid by nature and tied to House Stark by marriage. House Redfort had thrown its weight behind them because of Mya. House Grafton was well informed, had fought for the King's Party before, and understood its own strength. What mattered in war was not numbers, but quality. These were already some of the most reliable troops the Vale could offer.
"Let the men have a full meal first. Then we move," Gendry said to them all.
"Time is pressing, Prince," Yohn said.
"I know what you mean. These men and I are not bound by blood. We have all come for justice. Let them eat first, then we will go take our vengeance. Once we begin a forced march, the men will only have poor food."
"All right, then."
So the soldiers gathered together, men of the Vale, Crackclaws, and Gold Cloaks. The ships from across the Narrow Sea had brought no small amount of supplies, cured meat, fruit, white pears, dried meat, sweets, and more. Part of it was taken out at once so the soldiers could eat their fill. The Crackclaws also brought them fresh hot bread, along with roasted pork and fish.
The soldiers gathered in groups of a dozen or so, spreading blankets casually around the camp and eating right there on the ground. They were not allowed wine, but Gendry made sure they had all the meat, fruit, and milk they wanted.
Gendry personally poured honey lemon water for the soldiers one by one. Lemons were expensive, and common soldiers rarely had the chance to enjoy them, so every man drank with obvious delight.
Once everything had been arranged, Gendry sat down with Barristan, Yohn, and the others on the ground at the center of the camp and began to eat. The food was rich and fragrant, and Gendry ate quickly. Everyone could see what the commanders were having. These noble figures were eating the same food as the men, officer and soldier alike.
"Once we break the siege, I will drink the victory wine with all of you."
"Certainly, certainly."
Just as the men around the table were warming to one another and relations were improving by the minute, a burst of cursing threw everything into disorder.
"Damn you, you filthy wildling."
"Shut your mouth. You Vale men are only fit to bed sheep."
A Crackclaw and a Vale knight started fighting. Shoving each other back and forth, they stumbled away from the eating area into the passage, ruining everyone's meal as the whole camp turned to watch the two fools.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Mychel Redfort and Jack Crabb immediately stepped in to deal with their own men.
Gendry watched the farce unfold. The Vale and the Crackclaws had never been on good terms. The Vale had been the first foothold seized by the Andals, while most Crackclaws carried the blood of the First Men and had fought the Vale many times. On top of that, after the War of the Usurper, most of the punishments imposed on them had come from the old Great Lord Arryn.
"He called me a wildling."
"He said all Vale men do is bed sheep, and that Lord Arryn's house cannot produce children."
...
These soldiers were all quick tempered to begin with, and there was bad blood between the two regions besides.
"All of you, shut your mouths." Gendry strode over and let out a roar, his voice ringing like struck steel. The two men stopped talking at once. He looked at them and saw they were only two immature young men. At that age, men were most likely to come to blows over pride and regional grudges.
"Bring me my warhammer," Gendry said as he walked up to the quarreling Vale knight and Crackclaw. The two young men froze.
Then both of them, faces red, asked, "Together?"
"One at a time," Gendry said.
Gendry's warhammer rested beside the commanders' dining table in the center of the camp, so everyone fell silent and watched what would happen next.
The proud Vale knight went first. Under the gaze of thousands, he stepped forward and tried to drag the warhammer over, only to find that lifting it was hard enough, let alone swinging it. His face turned crimson, sweat beading across it.
"Can I use both hands?" the Vale knight muttered. He put both hands on it and still found he could not swing it.
"Let me try," the Crackclaw warrior said with open scorn. He was not tall, but he was powerfully built. Even so, his face quickly flushed red as well. The weight of the warhammer was beyond what an ordinary man could bear, much less wield. He barely managed to lift it a few times before dropping it back onto the ground.
"Go on, argue some more. Don't tell me the only hard thing about you two is your mouths," Anguy mocked.
"Prince, you're a warrior descended from the heavens. This is just tormenting us." The two men slunk back to their places, both red faced with embarrassment.
Gendry looked at them, then walked over to the warhammer himself. This hammer had been forged anew to match the growth in his bloodline, height, and strength. No ordinary man could handle it.
Then, before everyone present, Gendry lifted the enlarged spiked warhammer with one hand. He swung it with effortless ease, as though he were dancing with steel, his movements still light and supple, as quick and fluid as a hunting leopard.
Holding the warhammer in one hand, Gendry walked back to the two men. He was a storm, a storm of strength, inexhaustible and overwhelming.
The two young men who had been arguing were completely subdued. That kind of strength was simply beyond human.
Yohn's eyes widened. His elite men had been raised on knightly training since childhood, and in terms of stamina and experience they could already be counted as strong second tier warriors, but could the gap in sheer strength really be this great? This was even more frightening than The Mountain.
"You never told me this," Yohn said to Barristan.
"I told you he was a born warrior. I just did not expect it to be this extreme," Barristan said with a helpless smile. "He seems even fiercer than the Laughing Storm in his day."
"Long live the Warhammer!"
"Long live Gendry!"
"Long live the Breaker!"
Applause and cheers erupted like a tidal wave. The Crackclaws worshipped mighty warriors, while the Vale knights were famed for their loyalty, dependability, and devotion to knightly virtues. Seeing such overwhelming strength with their own eyes only filled them with greater confidence and pride.
"Take these to the beach five hundred yards away." Gendry picked up a plate, skewered five bright red apples onto the tips of five longspears, and had Anguy place them all five hundred yards out.
Bronze Yohn, the heir of House Grafton, Mychel, Ser Boggs, the men of House Crabb, even Ser Barristan, all of them stared with their eyes wide open.
The Dragonbone bow was said to be the finest bow in the world, and its range was rumored to reach five hundred yards. Rumored, being the key word. Even if the bow truly had no equal, drawing it to five hundred yards and striking the target dead on still required incomparable strength and eyesight. One also had to account for wind, elevation, and other advantages. It was not something one could casually do on flat ground. And Gendry had just carried that heavy warhammer for well over a hundred yards. Could he really be unaffected?
"Yes, Prince." Anguy rode off into the distance with complete confidence, then returned after setting everything in place.
"Bring me my Dragonbone bow." Gendry took up his gilded double curved Dragonbone bow, loosened his muscles slightly, and drew the bow without pause.
Gendry caught the speed of the wind. The targets were clear in his sight. His five senses far surpassed those of ordinary men, and he fixed on each target with razor sharp precision. He loosed five arrows in succession.
"Go fetch them," Gendry said confidently.
Anguy rode back in delight. All five arrows had pierced straight through the centers of the red apples, and he held up the ruined fruit for everyone to see.
Five hundred yards was not even Gendry's limit, yet it was already shocking beyond belief. After killing Drogo and after the dragon hatching, his strength, speed, and endurance had all risen to an even higher level.
Gendry watched the soldiers' faces. Their reverence and admiration were exactly what he wanted. These men had come from different factions. Giving them good food and drink before the battle was a gesture of favor. But more important still was having the strength to make others submit.
"Try the apples. They have holes punched through them now, but they should still taste fine." Gendry smiled and handed out the red apples with holes through their middles. The two unlucky fools who had started the quarrel were now mortified. They each received two apples and hurriedly began eating.
Gendry's gaze swept across every face present. His eyes were sharp as razors, and no one dared meet them head on.
The camp fell silent. A moment later, the soldiers broke into thunderous applause again, even louder than before.
This time, they were truly convinced. Whether it was wielding the oversized warhammer or shooting apples at military range, both feats were far beyond ordinary strength and agility. Even Ser Barristan was left staring in astonishment.
"Even the Conqueror, or the warrior Daemon Blackfyre, would have been no more than this."
"Yes." Barristan nodded.
There were countless truths in the world, and strength was surely one of them.
Among these soldiers, no one had any thought left of provoking or challenging him. The gap was simply too great, so great that all they could do was look up at him in awe.
"We have raised this host to relieve the siege of Riverrun and aid those poor smallfolk. How can you trade insults with one another over petty nonsense?" Gendry said from the raised platform. "That is not true knightly spirit, nor is it the conduct of a true warrior. I am ashamed of you."
"We were wrong." The two troublemakers looked utterly ashamed.
"I want you to stand as one family and fight beneath my banner."
"We will." The soldiers roared the answer. In this camp, no one could rival his authority.
"You hail me as king. Can you obey my command?"
"Yes."
"You hail me as king. Can you obey my military orders?"
"Yes."
"Then now, to the Riverlands."