The large military tent was crowded and warm despite the cold night outside.
Flames flickered inside several iron braziers, spreading gentle heat throughout the tent. Their light reflected across polished armor, silver cups, and the richly colored banners hanging from the wooden supports.
The tent was filled with nobles.
Many of them were famous lords, seasoned knights, and hardened warriors who had survived countless battles. Tonight, however, they set aside the weight of war and gathered together for celebration.
The rich aroma of roasted meat drifted through the air, blending with the sweet scent of wine.
Barrels of fine wine had been opened for the feast. Dornish Summer Red flowed freely, and golden wines from the Reach filled many goblets.
These wines had once been part of Lord Walder Frey's private collection, treasured for years. Now they were being generously shared among the assembled guests.
At the center of the tent stood a long wooden table reserved for the most important guests.
Gendry sat behind the high table, dressed in a magnificent velvet outfit colored black, gold, and crimson.
Gold and black were the ancient colors of House Baratheon, and before them, the legendary House Durrendon.
The crimson red combined with black symbolized the bloodline of House Targaryen.
The clothing itself seemed to represent the union of storm and dragon.
Across from him sat Robb Stark.
Robb wore a gray velvet tunic trimmed with white wool, representing the traditional colors of House Stark—the gray wolf against the white snows of the North.
The mood inside the tent was lively.
On one side, Ser Boros of the Claw Peninsula rose to his feet and lifted his goblet high.
His voice echoed loudly across the tent.
"To His Highness Gendry!"
"The heir to the Iron Throne!"
"The Lord of the Stepstones, Myr, and Tyrosh!"
"The liberator, the triumphant storm!"
He paused dramatically before continuing.
"And to his future bride—the last true dragon, the stormborn princess with silver hair, Daenerys Targaryen!"
He raised his cup higher.
"To the friendship of the stag and the direwolf!"
"May it be as rich and enduring as this fine wine!"
Laughter and cheers erupted across the tent.
Then Bronze Yohn Royce stood up, his deep voice booming like thunder.
"To the Old Gods and the New!"
"May the gods bless us all!"
"Marriage!"
"Friendship!"
"Victory!"
Immediately, the crowd echoed his words.
"Marriage! Friendship! Victory!"
The Gold Cloaks shouted.
The crabfeeder warriors roared their approval.
Lords from the Vale and the Riverlands raised their goblets.
The cheers filled the tent like a rolling storm.
They celebrated the alliance forming before them—the union of dragon, wolf, stag, and fish.
Even the Northern lords joined in.
The first to shout was Greatjon Umber, whose booming voice shook the tent.
"Marriage! Friendship! Victory!"
Lady Catelyn, the Blackfish, Robb Stark, and the other Northern lords followed.
"Marriage! Friendship! Victory!"
The sound of celebration echoed into the night.
Robb Stark watched the scene carefully.
The storm has arrived…
Across the table, Gendry stood like the center of gravity around which everyone revolved.
The gathered lords seemed almost drawn to him.
After the recent battles, many of these men had become fiercely loyal to the young Baratheon.
It was not merely loyalty born from politics.
It was loyalty born from victory.
From strength.
From charisma.
Gendry possessed a powerful presence—an aura shaped by authority, confidence, and battlefield triumphs.
In that moment, Robb felt a strange realization.
Compared to the man sitting across from him…
He himself seemed like nothing more than an impulsive youth standing before an unstoppable storm.
His face flushed slightly.
Even the proud Northern lords appeared subdued beneath that overwhelming presence.
Many of them behaved as if they were naturally meant to follow the storm.
Greatjon Umber was already acting like Gendry's most enthusiastic supporter.
Robb knew he had only subdued Greatjon earlier with the help of Grey Wind.
But here, things were different.
Even Roose Bolton, whose cold demeanor rarely changed, now appeared strangely obedient.
The sight reminded Robb of another man.
King Robert Baratheon.
Robert had once possessed an incredible ability to attract allies.
He was approachable, bold, and charismatic.
He could turn enemies into friends with surprising ease.
Robb looked at Gendry again.
Even if I must bend the knee…
I must consider my position carefully.
In Westeros, alliances between great houses were usually sealed through marriage or the granting of titles and positions.
But the situation was complicated.
The wolf and the stag were both still very young.
And the marriage between the stag and the dragon—Gendry and Daenerys—already seemed inevitable.
Daenerys possessed unmatched beauty.
But beyond that…
She was the last true Targaryen.
Even the most foolish lord understood the value of such a bloodline.
Robb, on the other hand, possessed little beyond the loyalty of the North.
His army was brave, but supplies were limited.
He had no wife.
No heir.
And worst of all…
His sisters were still prisoners in King's Landing.
Their fate remained uncertain.
Beside him, Catelyn Stark quietly watched her son.
She could see the thoughts weighing on his mind.
Robb had begun growing a beard, attempting to appear older and more mature.
But to a mother's eyes…
He was still just a boy forced into a man's responsibilities.
Across the tent, Gendry looked like a warrior descended from the heavens.
The young Baratheon commanded attention effortlessly.
Even seasoned lords seemed drawn into his orbit.
The Blackfish leaned toward Catelyn and whispered softly.
"He looks far too much like Robert."
"The same height."
"The same generosity."
"And the same fierce spirit in battle."
Catelyn nodded slowly.
In Robert's youth, he had been a handsome and powerful young man.
Clean-shaven, broad-shouldered, with bright eyes that captured the hearts of many.
Robb and Gendry were nearly the same age.
Yet the difference between them was obvious.
Gendry seemed more confident.
More decisive.
More natural as a leader.
The comparison reminded Catelyn of the difference between Brandon Stark and Eddard Stark in their youth.
She almost spoke aloud.
He is even more suited to rule than Robert…
But she stopped herself.
Words could wound deeper than swords.
It was best not to speak carelessly.
Soon, the first course arrived.
Servants carried bowls of hot soup into the tent.
It was a simple dish—onion soup with small pieces of goat meat and carrots.
But in the middle of war, even simple food felt like a feast.
The warm broth filled the tent with comforting aromas.
Fresh brown bread made from whole grain was placed on every table.
Butter and salt were already prepared.
Musicians began playing soft melodies.
Flutes, violins, and tambourines blended together as a bard started singing an old heroic ballad.
During a break between courses, Ser Boros suggested dancing.
Several lords immediately agreed.
The guests respectfully left Lady Catelyn alone, sensing her quiet sadness.
War had taken much from her.
Gendry and Daisy began the first dance.
Daisy was known as a skilled fighter.
Yet without her armor, wearing a flowing dress, she appeared surprisingly graceful.
Her slender figure moved elegantly with the rhythm of the music.
A shy smile brightened her long face.
The guests applauded and laughed warmly.
The pair looked like shining stars in the center of the gathering.
The future of the Seven Kingdoms seemed to revolve around them.
Greatjon Umber leaned toward Roose Bolton and spoke loudly.
"They say the Dragon Princess is the most beautiful woman in the known world."
"Perhaps we'll be lucky enough to see her someday."
Roose Bolton watched the dancers quietly.
For a moment, an unfamiliar sadness crept into his heart.
If Domeric were still alive…
His legitimate son had been intelligent, talented, and refined.
A boy skilled with the harp and horseback riding.
A child who seemed born to lead.
Yet he had died two years earlier from a mysterious illness.
Roose's thoughts darkened.
If he had lived…
He could have danced tonight.
Perhaps he could even have married a Stark girl.
Soon, Daisy invited Robb to join the second dance.
Even Lady Maege Mormont joined the celebration, dancing happily with the Lord of Karhold.
Because there were few noblewomen present, even humble maidservants were invited to dance.
For a short time, laughter filled the tent.
Everyone enjoyed a rare moment of happiness before returning to the brutal reality of war.
Eventually, the music faded.
More dishes were served.
And gradually, everyone understood something important.
The true purpose of this gathering was about to begin.
Robb Stark stood up.
Then, unexpectedly, he knelt before Gendry.
He placed his longsword at Gendry's feet.
"Your Highness," Robb said clearly.
"I request permission to join your ranks."
"To fight your enemies."
"And to protect your life."
A stunned silence fell across the tent.
Gendry immediately stepped forward and helped Robb to his feet.
Robb had made a wise decision.
Gendry lifted his hand.
Traditionally, he might have sealed the oath with a kiss on the cheek.
But Gendry preferred something simpler.
A soldier's greeting.
"So be it, brother."
Cheers erupted across the tent.
The Northern lords stepped forward one by one.
They unbuckled their weapons and knelt beside Robb.
But such loyalty would not come without reward.
In Westeros, loyalty was always tied to honor and opportunity.
"Long live the storm!" Roose Bolton declared.
"Long live the storm!" Lady Maege echoed.
The alliance now looked incredibly powerful.
The wolf.
The fish.
The stag.
All united.
Gendry observed the gathered Northern lords carefully.
Three of the four great houses beneath the Starks had arrived.
House Bolton of the Dreadfort.
House Karstark of Karhold.
House Manderly of White Harbor.
Roose Bolton's eyes were cold like dirty ice.
Rickard Karstark resembled an old wolf filled with fury.
The Manderly sons were enormous men, round as walruses.
Their father, it was said, was even larger.
At the moment, they all appeared loyal.
But Gendry understood the truth.
Politics was never that simple.
Behind every oath lay hidden motives.
Still…
For now, unity was what mattered.
And unity was exactly what this storm intended to create.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)