Among the guards and vassals who entered the camp alongside Robb Stark was a female knight who immediately caught Gendry's attention.
She wore a green surcoat over her armor, embroidered with the sigil of House Mormont—a black bear standing in a dark green forest.
Gendry recognized her instantly.
Dacey Mormont.
She was the eldest daughter of Maege Mormont, the ruling Lady of Bear Island, and the heir to House Mormont. Unlike most noblewomen of Westeros, Dacey had been raised as a warrior.
She was tall and lanky, standing nearly six feet tall. Her posture was straight and confident, and her long limbs gave her the look of someone accustomed to combat rather than courtly life.
While most girls her age had once played with dolls, Dacey had grown up wielding a morningstar, training alongside warriors of Bear Island.
Gendry turned slightly toward Robb.
"Isn't your guard supposed to be permanent?" he asked.
Robb nodded.
"Yes. Most of them are young men from noble families… though there is one girl."
He gestured toward Dacey.
Robb had adopted a habit of riding beside a different vassal every day. It allowed him to learn more about their houses and customs while also granting them honor by showing public favor.
His personal guard worked in a similar way.
Every guard chosen to stand beside him represented the honor and loyalty of their respective house.
Gendry observed them carefully.
"Vassals' sons… the hostage Theon… and even men from the mountain clans."
The majority of the guards were sons of northern families, fiercely loyal to House Stark.
As Robb rode into the camp, cheers erupted from the soldiers.
The men who had fought under Gendry's command shouted loudly, praising their victories.
Soldiers worshipped victorious commanders.
The admiration that came from victory was far more powerful than respect earned through noble birth or ancient bloodlines.
Robb heard the cheers but felt strangely hollow.
He leaned closer to Gendry and spoke quietly.
"Father always said I should learn to read people's faces."
Robb looked toward the northern lords gathered nearby.
"But I cannot read the faces of the northern nobility… nor can I read the face of power."
His voice carried quiet frustration.
Comparing himself to Gendry felt like comparing a young wolf to a war stag.
The difference between them was enormous.
Even during Robert's Rebellion, when Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon had fought side by side, the gap between them had never felt this large.
Others might see Robb as merely the son of a great lord, someone relying entirely on his father's legacy.
Gendry, on the other hand, seemed like Aegon the Conqueror reborn—unstoppable and unstoppable.
Robb had hoped to prove himself on the battlefield.
But the war was already nearing its end.
In terms of military achievements, territory, and reputation, he lagged far behind Gendry.
Even his great-uncle Brynden Tully, known as the Blackfish, would likely soon return to the Riverlands.
After all, the Riverlords had already chosen their own king.
Gendry's attention shifted back to Dacey.
"Are you related to Jorah Mormont?" he asked casually.
Dacey stiffened slightly.
"I am the niece of Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."
"My mother is Maege Mormont, Lady of Bear Island."
She paused briefly.
"Ser Jorah… is my cousin."
Her voice became colder.
"He betrayed the North."
"When Lord Eddard Stark came to execute him, he fled into exile."
Dacey spoke firmly, though a faint trace of sadness lingered beneath her words.
"Jorah often misses his family on Bear Island," Gendry said thoughtfully.
Dacey shook her head.
"He is a criminal."
"A criminal belongs on the Wall."
She looked at Gendry seriously.
To her, Gendry was the most impressive young warrior she had ever seen.
Handsome, powerful, and confident.
But she could not understand why someone so remarkable would defend her disgraced cousin.
Gendry merely smiled.
He chose not to argue.
In truth, Jorah's situation was simple.
The closer someone was to home, the harder it became to return.
Unless Jorah received a royal pardon, he would never dare step foot in Westeros again—let alone face his own family.
"That's enough, Dacey," Robb interrupted gently.
They entered the massive command tent.
A large hearth burned in the center, filling the space with warm light.
Despite the warmth, Robb felt uncomfortable.
The arrangement of seats made everything clear.
Gendry sat at the highest seat.
Robb sat beside him, but not as an equal.
The seating carried deep symbolic meaning.
They were not equals.
They were liege lord and potential vassal.
Robb knew his mother Catelyn Stark and the Blackfish would arrive later.
For now, he had to hold the gathering together.
Most northern lords were straightforward men.
Many of them were warriors first and politicians second.
Unfortunately, that simplicity often turned into recklessness.
Suddenly a booming voice shattered the quiet.
"Is this how you treat your guests?!"
Greatjon Umber stood up angrily.
He pointed toward the seat beside Gendry.
"Why can't our Lord Robb sit there?"
"If you expect us to sit like this…"
"I'll march my army home right now!"
Ser Barristan Selmy frowned slightly.
"Lord Umber."
Northern politics were never simple.
Even Robb's authority over his vassals was not absolute.
Gendry looked calmly at Greatjon.
The man resembled a walking mountain of muscle.
Nearly seven feet tall, he towered above most warriors.
Members of House Umber were famous for their enormous size and loud personalities.
Their house sigil—a giant—suited them perfectly.
Most northern lords valued strength above all else.
Cunning schemers like Roose Bolton were rare exceptions.
These northern warriors only quieted down once they felt the lash of discipline.
"Greatjon," Robb said sternly.
He was clearly embarrassed.
If he had known the man would cause trouble, he might not have invited him at all.
Gendry smiled faintly.
"You should keep a tighter leash on your vassals, Robb."
Then he turned toward Greatjon.
"In truth, feudal loyalty is not absolute."
"Even during the Targaryen dynasty, kings were challenged by their own vassals."
"King Maekar died suppressing a rebellion."
"The Mad King himself once suffered humiliation at Maidenpool."
Gendry's voice remained calm.
"But if you continue like this, Lord Jon…"
"I may have to hang you as an oathbreaker before we even deal with the Lannisters."
Greatjon snorted.
"Hmph!"
"I'm not a fool."
"But do you really expect me to believe a green boy like you defeated the Kingslayer?"
His voice was loud, but he remembered something important.
The last time he provoked Robb, the direwolf Grey Wind had bitten off several of his fingers.
Still, his pride forced him to challenge Gendry.
Robb quickly intervened.
"Lord Gendry, forgive him."
"I will restrain my vassal immediately."
But Gendry stood up.
"Draw your sword."
The command echoed across the tent.
"There's little entertainment in an army camp."
"Let's settle this with a duel."
Many northern warriors respected strength above all else.
If Gendry defeated Greatjon, his authority would become unquestionable.
Soon a crowd gathered outside.
Soldiers formed a wide circle around a wooden platform.
Two enormous warriors stood facing each other.
One was the towering Greatjon Umber.
The other was Gendry.
"Victory!"
"Victory!"
"Long live the Storm!"
The soldiers shouted excitedly.
Greatjon drew a massive greatsword.
It was the largest and ugliest blade Gendry had ever seen.
Gendry accepted a simple iron sword from a soldier.
The blade was heavy and blunt.
Greatjon attacked first.
His sword came crashing down like a falling mountain.
Clang!
Steel collided violently.
The sound echoed across the camp.
Greatjon's strength was terrifying.
Yet Gendry blocked every strike effortlessly.
To the watching soldiers, it looked as though he were casually strolling through the fight.
Greatjon's attacks became faster.
But Gendry remained calm.
After several exchanges, Greatjon finally realized something frightening.
His opponent was just as strong as he was.
Maybe stronger.
"Is that all?" Gendry asked calmly.
Greatjon roared.
"Not even close!"
He launched a furious assault.
But suddenly—
Gendry moved.
His sword flashed like lightning.
The blunt blade struck precisely at the gaps between Greatjon's armor.
Bang!
Greatjon staggered.
Before he could recover, another strike slammed into his knee.
With a thunderous crash, the giant fell to one knee.
The wooden platform shook beneath his weight.
Greatjon barely managed to plant his sword into the ground to stop himself from collapsing completely.
Gendry lowered his blade.
His gaze was sharp and steady.
"I lost," Greatjon admitted.
"You are a true warrior."
"A true Heir of the Storm."
He knelt on one knee before Gendry.
The crowd exploded with cheers.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Victory to the Storm!"
The army's morale soared.
Robb watched silently.
His heart sank.
How much negotiating power did he still have left?
At that moment, Catelyn Stark and Brynden Blackfish arrived.
They witnessed the astonishing scene.
Greatjon Umber—Robb's strongest warrior—was kneeling before Gendry.
Gendry stepped down from the platform.
Greatjon followed him, now smiling broadly.
He had already become one of Gendry's biggest admirers.
Strength like that deserved respect.
Gendry approached Catelyn.
"Lady Catelyn," he said politely.
"I am deeply sorry for what happened in King's Landing."
Catelyn forced a smile.
"My thoughts are… somewhat scattered."
She had recently learned shocking information.
If Lysa Arryn truly caused Jon Arryn's death…
Then many tragedies—including Ned Stark's fate—might have begun with her own actions.
Her mind was heavy with regret.
"I did not expect to see you here, Prince Gendry," she said quietly.
Gendry nodded.
Robb stepped forward.
"Prince Gendry, allow me to introduce the lords of the North."
"It would be my honor."
"Lord Roose Bolton."
Roose's pale eyes resembled dirty ice.
"The Dreadfort is at your disposal."
"Lord Rickard Karstark."
"Karhold as well."
"Ser Wylis Manderly and Ser Wendel Manderly."
"White Harbor welcomes you."
Soon the great tent filled with nobles.
Gendry sat at the head seat.
The northern lords gathered on one side.
Knights of the Vale, Riverlands, and Crownlands sat on the other.
Outside the camp, music began to play.
Bards sang songs celebrating Gendry's victories.
"What song is that?" Theon asked.
"It's called The Stag of the Night," Anguy said proudly.
"It celebrates the battles of the Whispering Woods, Riverrun, and the Twins."
Theon laughed awkwardly.
Robb stood and raised his cup.
"A toast to your victories, Prince Gendry."
The Blackfish also stood.
"Victory to the Storm!"
"Victory to the Storm!"
Cups clinked together.
Gendry raised his own cup.
"To the friendship between the Stag and the Direwolf."
The crowd echoed the toast.
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)