Golden banners quartered with crowned stags fluttered fiercely in the mountain winds.
Below them, a long column of armored knights advanced like a winding steel serpent, glinting under the cold light. The procession twisted and coiled through the treacherous paths of the Mountains of the Moon, heading steadily toward the Bloody Gate.
The journey was far from safe.
Every step through the mountains carried danger.
Falling rocks could crush entire squads without warning. Landslides could swallow men and horses alike. Packs of shadowcats prowled the cliffs, their eyes glowing in the dark, waiting for stragglers. Even the wildlings who roamed these passes were fierce and unpredictable.
And yet, despite all of this…
The army moved forward with surprising stability.
Their numbers were large, their discipline strong, and most importantly—they had guides who knew these mountains well.
Gendry rode near the center of the column, his expression calm but observant.
The Imp did one good thing, he thought.
In a rare stroke of unconventional brilliance, Tyrion had conscripted a group of wildlings from these very mountains into the army. Those savage warriors, once the greatest threat along these routes, had now become part of the marching force.
With the most dangerous inhabitants removed, the mountain paths had become noticeably safer.
It was an ironic kind of peace.
Resting across Gendry's saddle was a thick, ancient tome.
Its black lacquered cover gleamed faintly, decorated with a crowned stag in gold.
The title read:
"Storm Kings — Genealogy and Legends of House Durrandon of Storm's End."
Gendry's fingers brushed lightly over its surface.
This book recorded the entire lineage of the Storm Kings—from the legendary Durran of the Age of Heroes to Argella Durrandon, the final queen of that ancient line.
Compared to the other great houses of Westeros, House Baratheon was, in truth, a relative newcomer.
Through marriage with House Durrandon, they had inherited Storm's End and its legacy, rising rapidly to become one of the Great Houses.
Such a meteoric rise would make lesser houses—like the Freys—green with envy, and even older houses fall silent in comparison.
Yet, through their maternal bloodline, the Baratheons could still claim the ancient royal heritage of the Durrandons.
In that sense, they were both new… and old.
"A fortunate find," Gendry murmured, weighing the book in his hands.
This tome had long been considered lost.
Maester Qyburn had mentioned it to him more than once.
And yet, somehow, it had been gathering dust in the Frey family's library.
Gendry almost laughed.
The Freys had likely never even opened it.
They were far more interested in counting coins, collecting tolls, or hunting game than studying ancient history.
Even their maesters might have ignored it—tossing it aside among piles of forgotten texts.
Such was the fate of knowledge in this era.
It faded quickly.
Books were fragile.
Memories were fleeting.
And in a world ruled by steel and blood, knowledge was often treated as secondary.
Gendry knew this well.
In Westeros, a knight who couldn't read might still earn respect.
But a weak scholar?
He would be ridiculed.
The sword mattered more than the quill.
"Still…" Gendry thought.
"Knowledge, craftsmanship… even magic."
His gaze grew distant.
"One day, I'll have to deal with the Citadel."
As a blacksmith, he valued skill and creation.
Craftsmen could survive anywhere.
But knowledge…
Knowledge was controlled.
Monopolized.
The Citadel held the keys to learning—medicine, records, communication.
And according to Qyburn…
There were factions within it that feared magic.
Feared it so deeply that they sought to erase it entirely from the world.
If dragons truly returned—
Conflict would be inevitable.
Night fell over the mountains.
The army halted.
Tents were raised, fires lit, and strict watch rotations established.
At least a third of the soldiers remained awake, guarding against any threat.
Inside one of the larger tents, Gendry sat quietly.
With him were two guards.
Ser Barristan Selmy.
And Anguy of the Marches.
The flickering firelight illuminated the pages as Gendry turned them slowly, immersing himself in the past.
The book told stories of kings.
Some were heroes.
Some were fools.
Some were conquerors.
Others were cowards.
There were even bastards who had seized the throne through cunning and ambition.
For a moment, Gendry forgot his identity as a warrior… as a smith.
He read like a scholar.
Like a maester uncovering ancient truths.
"Durran, the first Storm King…" he read softly.
The founder of the Storm Kingdom.
His story was legend.
Durran had fallen in love with Elenei, daughter of the gods of wind and sea.
They married in secret.
But the gods, enraged, destroyed his castle on the night of his wedding—killing all within.
Durran did not yield.
He declared war on the gods themselves.
Again and again, he built castles along the coast.
And each time—
The storms destroyed them.
Six castles fell.
But the seventh…
Storm's End.
It stood.
Unbroken.
Some said the Children of the Forest had aided its construction.
Others claimed Brandon the Builder had a hand in it.
The truth was lost.
But the legend remained.
Gendry closed his eyes briefly.
"Black hair. Blue eyes. Strength. Resilience…"
The traits of the Storm Kings.
"They were warriors… like the storm itself."
Without such strength, the Storm Kingdom could never have expanded.
"I am the rage…"
Gendry murmured.
That was their essence.
Their identity.
Unlike other legends where heroes submitted to gods—
Durran defied them.
It was a story of rebellion.
Of human will.
Of raw, untamed defiance.
Even in a land battered by storms, filled with rugged mountains, rocky coasts, and dense forests…
The Durrandons rose.
They conquered.
They expanded.
At their peak, they held the Riverlands, pushed into the Reach, and battled multiple kingdoms at once.
They were not passive rulers.
They were aggressors.
Storm incarnate.
"Before Aegon's conquest…" Gendry said quietly.
"They were a power."
Ser Barristan nodded.
"That is true."
Gendry turned another page.
Argilac the Arrogant.
The last Storm King.
A warrior of immense strength and pride.
He fought Dorne.
He defeated the Reach.
He even marched across the Narrow Sea to oppose Volantis.
And yet…
He could not stop what was coming.
Dragons.
Fire.
Aegon the Conqueror.
"No matter how strong…" Gendry muttered.
"There's always something greater."
Ser Barristan spoke softly.
"Some legends are just stories."
"But courage… that is real."
"The blood of the storm still flows."
Anguy chuckled.
"The Stormlands used to be much bigger, you know."
He leaned back, speaking casually.
"We once held the Riverlands. The trout served the stag."
Gendry smirked slightly.
"And now?"
Anguy shrugged.
"Times change."
Ser Barristan added:
"Power rises. Power falls."
"Such is the way of the world."
Gendry closed the book slowly.
His mind was no longer on history.
It was on the present.
On the future.
On legacy.
He stood.
Ser Barristan and Anguy looked at him in surprise.
"The late king…" Gendry said suddenly.
"Was a failure."
Silence filled the tent.
Ser Barristan frowned slightly.
Gendry's voice remained calm—but firm.
"He reached the peak of power."
"And then abandoned it."
"He indulged himself."
"He grew weak."
"And in the end… he died as a joke."
His eyes hardened.
"The stag is pride."
"It is strength."
"It is defiance."
"But if it drowns in wine… if it fears hardship…"
"Then it is no stag at all."
Ser Barristan said nothing.
Gendry continued:
"One must not rise through hardship… only to fall in comfort."
True strength…
Was not just power.
It was discipline.
Will.
Intelligence.
A storm did not stop.
It did not weaken.
It consumed everything.
Gendry looked down at the crowned stag on the book.
His voice was low.
But filled with conviction.
"I am the rage."
He clenched his fist.
"I am the storm."
"I am power."
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)