Petyr Baelish and Lysa Arryn were dead.
Their bodies had vanished through the Moon Door, cast into the endless abyss beneath the Eyrie. Far below, the mountains would claim what remained of them.
Cold wind rushed through the open hall.
Gendry stood before the Moon Door with the Falcon Sword in hand, his cloak snapping behind him. Beyond the opening stretched an endless blue sky where falcons soared through the clouds. No trace of the two traitors remained, save for the faint smell of blood lingering in the chamber.
"High as honor, high as victory," Gendry said quietly. "Honor belongs only to those who stand at the highest peak."
Sansa Stark watched him from across the hall.
For a moment, he looked less like a man and more like the prince from old songs—a warrior forged of strength and light. Tall, broad-shouldered, handsome, and confident, he seemed to shine brighter than everyone around him.
Gendry's lips curved into a sharp smile.
"Littlefinger is dead. Lysa is dead. Next will be the Lannisters… and Varys."
Inside him, the Blood of the Storm surged wildly. His strength felt sharper, fiercer, more alive than before. Every victory seemed to temper him like steel in fire.
Tywin. Varys. If they fall too, I will become stronger still.
The thought pleased him.
He had no love for schemers, traitors, or those who preyed upon the weak. To cast aside such burdens was freedom itself.
"Close the Moon Door," he ordered.
"At once, my lord."
The blue-cloaked guards moved immediately. They obeyed with reverence, as though serving a king chosen by the gods themselves. Together they shut the heavy door and began scrubbing away the bloodstains from the marble floor.
The matters of the Vale were settled.
Now, Gendry wanted only one thing—to return home.
To see Daenerys.
To see the black dragon Balerion.
To see Pear Orchard once again.
But first, there was war to prepare for.
Lords of the Vale Gather
Gendry returned to the high seat of the Eyrie.
The hall had fallen utterly silent. The gathered nobles barely dared breathe.
Among those present were the senior officers of the Eyrie—Lord Nestor Royce, steward of the Vale; Ser Vardis Egen, captain of the guard; and Maester Colemon.
Also present were allies from beyond the Vale: Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, Sansa Stark, and Jon Snow.
Then came the great lords of the Vale themselves.
Bronze Yohn Royce of Runestone.
Lady Anya Waynwood of Ironoaks.
Lord Belmore of Strongsong.
Lord Redfort.
Lord Hunter of Longbow Hall.
The Corbray brothers of Heart's Home.
Many proud houses stood assembled.
Before today, some had doubted Gendry.
Now none did.
King Robert had once been famed for monstrous strength, but Gendry seemed to possess something even greater—effortless power.
Even Ser Lyn Corbray, proud and dangerous as he was, had openly admitted he could not defeat him.
Gendry rose.
"My lords," he said, his voice carrying through the chamber, "Jon Arryn has been avenged. His name has been cleared. Littlefinger's followers have been rooted out."
"This matter ends today."
He paused.
"Now we turn our swords toward the true enemy—the Lannisters."
The room stiffened.
"All who stand with us shall be treated as friends, welcomed with bread, salt, wine, and honor."
"But those who hide daggers behind smiles…"
His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
"…will meet the same end as Littlefinger."
The threat was clear.
No one spoke.
The Vale had escaped the devastation suffered by the Riverlands. Its castles stood untouched, its knights fresh, its granaries full, its horses strong.
And now, its future stood before them.
The Claim of Kings
Ser Vardis stepped forward first.
"By the will of the gods, the traitors are dead. Lady Sansa Stark has escaped the lions. There remains only one task—to cast House Lannister from the Iron Throne."
"The throne belongs to the rightful heir of King Robert."
Nestor Royce nodded.
"The Imp upon the throne is no king of ours."
Another lord spoke.
"Renly claimed a crown, yet by what right? He was only the king's younger brother."
Others muttered in agreement.
Lord Redfort raised his voice.
"Winterfell and Riverrun now move with Gendry. If the Vale joins him, and the Stormlands rise to his banners, then five great powers stand united."
"Even if Highgarden or Dorne move, they will be too late."
Bronze Yohn struck the floor with his staff.
"Let the falcon and stag banners fly together. Let the lions tremble."
"Revenge!"
"Revenge!"
The cry thundered through the hall.
The Vale remembered Jon Arryn.
The Vale remembered old friendships with the North.
The Vale remembered the marriages that had once joined wolf, trout, falcon, and stag together.
Their blood ties had not been forgotten.
Gendry looked across the room with satisfaction.
The North had courage.
The Riverlands had spirit.
But the Vale possessed something precious—discipline, wealth, and thousands of armored knights.
A dangerous force, once awakened.
Long Live the Storm
Then Ser Lyn Corbray suddenly stepped forward.
"If I must kneel," he shouted, drawing Lady Forlorn, "I will kneel only to Gendry Baratheon!"
He knelt and laid the blade before the dais.
"Long live the Storm!"
Dumb Harry followed at once, dropping to one knee.
"Long live the Storm!"
Then another.
Then another.
One by one, the lords and knights of the Vale knelt in a rising wave.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
The hall shook with their voices.
Above them, the blue-and-white banners of House Arryn fluttered proudly in the wind.
The Vale had chosen.
Troops, supplies, roads, ports, and banners were immediately discussed. Gulltown would likely serve as the safest route for any campaign.
The war had begun before the first sword was drawn.
Tourney in the Garden
While the elder lords planned war, the younger men sought glory elsewhere.
In the Eyrie's famed garden, a practice tourney had formed.
White towers ringed the circular grounds. Grass and blue flowers covered the earth, and marble statues stood among trimmed hedges.
No weirwood tree grew there.
The Eyrie had been built atop bare mountain stone, where no sacred roots could take hold.
Today, however, the garden belonged to steel.
Dumb Harry wore silvered armor.
Jon Snow stood in black scale mail.
Together, they faced Gendry.
Wooden practice swords rose.
"Begin!"
Steel-shod wood clashed with ringing force.
"Clang!"
"Clang!"
"Clang!"
The sound echoed like music.
Knights, squires, guards, and noble ladies watched eagerly from the edges. Among them stood Sansa Stark and Mya Stone.
Jon Snow was skilled.
He had trained with sword since childhood, learned discipline at Winterfell, and sharpened himself further at the Wall.
Dumb Harry was strong, handsome, and quick.
Yet together, they struggled.
Gendry moved with impossible ease.
He wielded the blunt sword as if it weighed nothing. His strikes carried crushing force, yet his feet moved with the speed of a hunting cat.
Jon felt the pressure instantly.
Every block numbed his arms.
Every exchange forced him backward.
Before ten moves had passed, sweat ran down his face.
Then—
"Clang!"
Gendry knocked Jon's blade aside, pivoted, and struck Harry's sword from his hand in the same motion.
Harry stumbled back, red-faced and frustrated.
The crowd roared.
Now only Jon remained.
Gendry vs Jon Snow
Gendry turned toward him.
Jon tightened his grip.
He knew Gendry was stronger. He had expected that.
What he had not expected was speed.
For such a tall man to move this fast was terrifying.
Gendry advanced.
His sword came down in a brutal overhead strike.
Jon barely sidestepped.
Another swing followed.
Then another.
Wave after wave.
Jon tried to evade, but Gendry's reach was longer, his reactions faster, his pressure relentless.
Wood struck wood.
His hands went numb.
His vision blurred.
Then with one final strike, Jon's sword flew from his grasp.
It landed in the grass several feet away.
Jon raised a hand and laughed bitterly.
"I yield."
Though exhausted, he was smiling.
Only by facing monsters could a man improve.
And Gendry was certainly that.
Eyes of the Maidens
Sansa Stark applauded warmly.
She had noticed Dumb Harry's interest in her earlier.
But now she barely looked at him.
Compared with Gendry, Harry seemed dim.
Harry was handsome enough, yes—but shallow, arrogant, and known for chasing women.
Gendry, by contrast, held strength, authority, and purpose.
Mya Stone observed Sansa quietly.
She knew that look.
Many noble girls would wear it now.
A handsome warrior with power always shone brightly.
And Gendry was more than handsome.
He was becoming a king.
Nearby, maidservants whispered among themselves.
"How fortunate the Dragon Princess is."
"Lord Gendry is tall, strong, handsome, and may wear many crowns."
"What maiden would not dream of such a husband?"
Another sighed.
"Poor young Lord Robert…"
They stopped there.
Few in the Eyrie held affection for the sickly boy.
Sansa's heart skipped strangely.
She thought of Daenerys Targaryen—the beautiful dragon princess far away.
How much envy such a woman must inspire.
A Warning Between Siblings
Gendry looked toward Sansa and smiled.
Only slightly.
Yet the warmth of it made her cheeks flush.
Jon Snow noticed at once.
His brow tightened.
He knew Sansa too well.
Later, he decided, they would need to talk.
Ravens Ready
Ser Lyn Corbray laughed loudly.
"I told you two boys were not enough. Jon is skilled, Harry is promising—but beside Gendry, both are lacking."
The gathered knights cheered.
"Gendry!"
"Gendry!"
"Swordbreaker!"
"Swordbreaker!"
Gendry bowed slightly to the crowd.
The cheers only grew louder.
Then Maester Colemon hurried into the garden, robes flapping.
"My lord," he said breathlessly, "the ravens are ready."
Gendry nodded.
"Good."
Before the stag could return to its nest…
There were still letters to send.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)