A row of long silk banners hung before the dais in the great hall of Lord Caswell's castle:
the gold of the royal House Breaker, the green of House Tyrell, the orange-red of House Royce, the blue-purple of House Redwyne, the gray of House Crabb, and more.
Gendry Breaker stood upon the dais, dressed in black threaded with gold, the cloth worked with pairs of golden quartered sigils.
Queen Daenerys had changed into a purple velvet gown and wore the crown left by Queen Rhaella. It matched her violet eyes, and on her wrists were golden rings engraved with runes and set with amethysts.
Daenerys's companions, Margaery Tyrell and Sansa Stark, wore green and white gowns, each beautiful in her own way.
The brightest stars of the night were the King and Queen. Gendry wore the golden circlet from his coronation, its ruby dragon, black onyx stag, pearl Wolf Pack, and blue jade Free Folk all carved in lifelike detail.
Gendry was taller and more handsome than Robert Baratheon had been in his youth, with short, tousled black hair, deep blue eyes, and a warm smile. This was the bloodline of "Durran Godsgrief," the seed that ran strong.
Gendry had broad shoulders and the strong arms unique to a smith.
The "Dragon King Storm" stood over six feet seven, tall as a great giant, yet he looked both powerful and graceful. He had become the very image of the Warrior and of charisma.
Daenerys was equally worthy of being called "the most beautiful woman in the world." With silver hair and violet eyes, every smile and movement showed the bearing of the true dragon, a beauty and dignity beyond ordinary mortals.
"White knights, come forward," Gendry said clearly, his voice like steel.
"I grant each member of the Kingsguard a sword. All of them were forged by my own hands."
A stir ran through the hall. A sword forged by the King himself was also a kind of honor.
Everyone in the Known world knew Gendry had once been a smith's apprentice and a Sellsword's apprentice, though now no one dared mention it in the King's presence.
Smith, Warrior, knight, Dragon King.
For Gendry to call himself a smith and for others to call him one were two very different things.
"Those hands of yours were born to seize a hammer."
Gendry still remembered what Tobho Mott had once said to him.
When Tobho had told Gendry it was time to forge his first longsword, Gendry had left the smithy. Since then, Tobho had vanished without a trace.
Shoeing horses, mending mail, hammering plate armor, those had all been Gendry's old trades. He could forge swords as well, and daggers and decent helmets were no problem either.
Tobho had never taught his apprentices the core techniques of Valyrian steel or the methods of mixing lacquer into armor, but Gendry had mastered the rest.
"But none of that is a problem. When it comes to glazing and lacquering armor, the Qohorik are not stingy."
Gendry brought out the swords he had forged. Their blades were made of fine steel and shone silver.
Their scabbards were gilded cherrywood wrapped in yellow leather, embroidered with the letters "Gendry I."
The pommels were rounded, somewhat like Orphan-Maker's, and each was set with a red gemstone.
The blades were double-edged, with black leather-wrapped hilts. On either side of each grip were a stag and a dragon.
Gendry raised a sword, then gently laid it upon a white knight's shoulder, beginning one by one.
"I grant you this longsword. May you always be true knights.
"Before gods and men, do you swear to defend the weak, protect women and children, obey the King, and no matter how difficult, humble, or dangerous the road ahead may be, fight bravely and faithfully, never failing your duty?"
During the forging, Gendry had added a little runic fire to the swords, mainly the Stubborn Stone rune. These blades were his first experimental works.
Carving runes into armor and weapons, testing them in such a way, even as temporary consumables, was still rare and valuable.
Gemstones, steel, and stone all seemed to make excellent carriers for runes. They were hard, but less dense.
"We do, Your Grace."
"Rise. These are swords I forged with my own hands," Gendry said, and the white brothers accepted the blades.
The swords of the white knights were excellent in both appearance and sharpness, and their origin was even more legendary. They had been forged by the Smith King, the Warrior King.
Some knights looked at the swords. At first, a few had thought the King was merely playing at the craft.
But they knew good steel when they saw it. After seeing the blades, they had to admit that the King was truly skilled at smithing.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
Fervent shouts rang through the hall. Lords, knights, and noble ladies all cried out loudly.
In Westerosi culture, smiths had always held a sacred place, representing one face of the Seven.
And Gendry, in turn, seemed to have received the blessings of both the Warrior and the Smith.
Great Lord Renly Baratheon had only imitated King Robert in those days, similar in form but lacking the spirit.
Gendry had already surpassed Robert. He was not imitating him, but going beyond him.
The first Dragonrider Storm. The first Storm to hold Myr and Tyrosh. The first Storm to kill a Magister of Myr, the Archon of Tyrosh, the leader of a great Sellsword Company, a Dothraki Horselord, and a Triarch of Volantis all in the same age.
"My knight, my King," Daenerys thought sweetly.
The tall, fearless, handsome knight was like sunlight, scattering the shadows that had once hung over Daenerys.
Daenerys had regained hope, courage, freedom, and love.
After three hundred years, the blood of the true dragon and the blood of the Storm had joined together once more. That, too, felt fitting.
"May the gods bless His Grace Gendry and Queen Daenerys."
The lords and knights raised their cups together, politely offering blessings to the King and Queen.
Clink! Clink!
Hundreds of hands lifted cups, and hundreds of throats spoke words of blessing. The cups struck together with a crisp sound.
The feast was abundant, though the fires of war had already swept into the fertile Reach.
"For a year of disaster, this really is rather lavish."
Gendry and his guests first enjoyed pears cooked in strong wine, followed by delicious little fish fried crisp in salt, and roosters stuffed with onions and mushrooms.
After that came great loaves of bread baked golden-brown, mountains of turnips, sweet corn, and peas, fine ham and roast goose, and heaping platters of venison with ale and barley mash.
For dessert, Lord Caswell's servants brought out dish after dish of pastries prepared in the castle kitchens: cream swans, spun-sugar unicorns, rose-shaped lemon cakes, spiced honey biscuits, blackberry tarts, apple crisps, buttered cheese, and more.
There were no singers or mummers performing at this feast, only the tension of war waiting to ignite at any moment.
As an opening act, the King had named Robar Royce, Guyard Morrigen, and Rolland Storm to the Kingsguard all at once, and had given them famous swords besides. Now, only two seats among the white knights remained.
Many knights of The Reach were eager to try for them. To be a white knight was the highest glory a knight could seek.
After all, so many second sons, bastards, and youngest sons needed a path upward.
Those knights could only hope to distinguish themselves in the campaigns against the Iron Islands or the Westerlands, and then join the white knights.
"Everyone, drain your cups!"
Gendry began to feast heartily. From time to time, he picked out food for Daenerys, then shared a sweet kiss with the Queen.
Anyone could see the sweetness in the Queen's smile.
Gendry enjoyed food and wine, and he could eat a great deal, but the King ate naturally, not like a glutton.
A tall, powerful warrior needed vast energy, and Gendry was also devoted to studying runes and fire magic.
Gendry laughed openly now and then, gentle toward everyone. Whether speaking with a highborn lord or a lowly maidservant, he could converse warmly and easily.
That a legendary knight and king unmatched in the world could still be so courteous and graceful left the people of The Reach present deeply taken by Gendry's bearing.
The feast was lively. Some knights pulled serving girls onto their laps, nuzzling their necks while sliding hands into their bodices.
"I will offer everyone a song."
The new white knight Ser Guyard Morrigen considered himself something of a singer. He plucked at a harp and played a song about knotting the lion's tail.
The song also involved the Kraken, telling how the Kraken Dagon had once raided the west and harried the lion and the Direwolf.
"Kill the Kraken, kill the lion!"
"Kill the Kraken, kill the lion!"
The lords and knights shouted together.
The knights of The Reach did not have the face to compete over who would be the first warrior to scale the walls of Oldtown or the Shield Islands.
Nor did anyone dare claim they could kill Crow's Eye in single combat.
After all, when it came to war, no one understood it better than Gendry "the Storm." All they had to do was charge with the Storm.
"Winter is coming," Lord Yohn said to Lord Randyll Tarly beside him as he watched the lively scene.
"I fear winter, but there are still many children of high summer who know nothing of fear. To them, winter will never come.
"In songs, it is always summer. In songs, every knight is a hero, every maiden is a beauty, and the sun always shines upon the earth," Randyll said.
Gendry looked at the knights. Aside from the veterans who had followed him through countless battles, most were young men born in the height of summer.
But even among Gendry's veterans, he did not believe they had no fear of the long winter. Only northerners were harder to manage in that regard.
At the end of the feast, Gendry called for Garlan.
"Ser Garlan," Gendry said. "Daenerys and I are going out to feed the Dragons. Come with me."
Garlan rose at once. "It would be my honor."
The smell of fire and sulfur drifted from Lord Caswell's courtyard.
Gendry's Dragons were not bound in chains. With runes and his pyromancer's nature, the Dragons were easier to command.
Aside from the Dragonkeepers, there was also the Hound, a warrior of the highest rank in the world, watching over them.
The Dragons' eyes were especially striking: Balerion's molten red eyes, Vhagar's bronze eyes, and Viserion's eyes like molten gold.
A Dragon's eyes were brighter than polished shields, flickering with their own heat.
"Your Grace, Queen."
Sandor Clegane dropped the steak in his hand and hurriedly bowed.
Garlan looked at Sandor, then held back what he wanted to say.
The Hound had found a kind of ease he had never had before. Perhaps this, too, was his path.
"It is time to feed the Dragons."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Slaughtered goats and dismembered bulls were pushed in heaps before the Dragons. The black dragon ate the most, followed by the green dragon and the white.
"Eat, Balerion, Viserion."
"Look at me, Vhagar."
The Dragons roared, their cries shaking heaven and earth.
Gendry and the others stood at the edge while the three Dragons prepared to burn the food in the center.
"Dracarys."
"Dracarys."
Gendry and Daenerys gave the command together.
The three Dragons opened their mouths at the same time. Smoke rose, and light and heat rushed toward them.
Behind rows of sharp black teeth, one could glimpse a furnace-like glow. The sleeping flames were a hundred times brighter than torches.
The Dragons breathed fire, each flame different, each a hellish storm of heat.
Balerion's flames swirled black and red. Vhagar's orange-yellow storm was streaked with green. The white dragon Viserion spat pale golden pillars mixed with blood-red and orange-yellow.
Dragonfire could already melt steel, let alone flesh. It was only a matter of heat and concentration.
The beef and mutton were wrapped in faint rings of flame, and the air filled with the foul stench of roasted wool and sulfur.
The stench of Dragons.
When Dragons fed, they also swayed their tails.
Daenerys watched the Dragons as though looking at her own children.
"It stinks," Garlan said, watching the burning scene and feeling the terror of Dragons even more deeply.
"Ser Baelor Hightower is a good man, but he is useless in the present war," Gendry said.
"Yes, Your Grace." Garlan nodded. Oldtown had never been known for martial virtue, and Baelor was no born knight.
"Crow's Eye's power is not something Baelor can deal with," Gendry said. "My follow-up force is the longship fleet of Lord Melisent of Seagard."
"Longships?" Garlan was startled.
"Exactly. Starting from Bitterbridge, the longships will set out and retake the Shield Islands first."
Gendry had already learned that the Ironborn commanders on the Shield Islands were not Crow's Eye's trusted men. Crow's Eye still had to keep his hidden strength near Oldtown.
Garlan listened. If the Shield Islands were the first target, then Oldtown would only be the second place to be relieved.
"Highgarden is at your command," Garlan said. This was the King's order, and he could not change it.
"For now, Oldtown's wealth, gold, libraries, and craftsmen. What can be moved should be moved. This is also a way of spreading the risk."
"Could Oldtown be destroyed?" A chill ran through Garlan.
"I can only say it is possible. Why has Crow's Eye kept striking at Oldtown? It can only mean Oldtown has something that suits him," Gendry said calmly.
Crow's Eye would use the Shield Islands as bait to lure him deeper into the hook. The decisive battle would be at Oldtown.
Oldtown had the Sphinx, the Dragon in the shadows, and four hundred thousand residents. Those were excellent materials for a blood sacrifice. Crow's Eye would wait for him at Oldtown.
And then there were Oldtown's Hightowers. What if they stabbed him in the back? Gendry had never trusted them.
"Do you understand what I mean?"
"I do." Garlan Tyrell nodded. Taking the Shield Islands first meant House Hightower would have to hold on a little longer.
They had to hold even if they could not. The Iron Throne could not support them for the moment. Even with Dragons, it would not act rashly.
But that was not so strange. Back when the Bloody Kraken ravaged the Westerlands for years, the Iron Throne had pretended to be dead and left House Lannister to endure it alone.
Now was an age of great chaos. No war was impossible.
Beginning with the destruction of the Reynes and Tarbecks, the law of the jungle in Westeros had entered a new stage.
The Lion seized by blood and iron. The Rose maneuvered with polished skill. Even the Stag had previously weakened the Griffin.
Did House Hightower think it could survive the flames of war simply because it was noble and rich? That was exactly the road to disaster.
Besides, with the Lord of the High Tower keeping himself apart, the Rose could not command him at all, and even the Iron Throne would struggle later.
"Highgarden is at your command." Garlan took a deep breath and made his decision.
Whether Oldtown fell or flourished, the Rose had to follow the winner.
Even if Oldtown were turned into bare earth, it would be enough so long as the Rose continued to bloom.
Once the longships arrived, they would first go to retake the Shield Islands.
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