The early autumn sun cast a warm golden glow across the sea.
A crisp breeze drifted through the air, carrying the faint scent of salt and distant lands. The ocean stretched endlessly, calm and deep blue, its surface barely disturbed by the steady movement of the ship slicing through it.
For now, the world seemed at peace.
Fortunately, the season had not yet turned harsh. The climate remained stable, the storms still distant. It was the perfect window to cross the Narrow Sea—and Gendry had seized it without hesitation.
Standing at the bow of the ship, he watched the horizon with steady eyes.
Behind him, the golden quartered banners fluttered proudly in the wind, alongside the blue-and-white crescent falcon banners of the Vale. The sight of those banners still lingered vividly in his mind—symbols of alliance, power, and ambition.
"Smash the lion's body… cut off the lion's head."
The words echoed faintly in his thoughts.
The Gulltown fleet had done more than simply transport them. Alongside Gendry's forces, they carried a portion of Ser Boggs's cavalry from the Claw Peninsula. Some remained stationed in the Twin Rivers, but once the others returned home, rebellion would ignite without delay.
Their target was clear.
Cut off King's Landing from its northern grain supply.
Starve the lion.
As for Ser Brynden Tully—the Blackfish—he would escort Sansa Stark safely onward. Gendry had already warned him about the Free Folk roaming along the Vale Road. But the Blackfish was no fool. A seasoned knight with decades of experience, he would know how to handle them—whether through diplomacy or force.
Gendry exhaled slowly.
Everything was in motion.
The Soldiers of the Storm
"My soldiers… my warriors…"
His gaze drifted across the deck.
The Gold Cloaks knights stood tall despite their exhaustion, their armor dulled by travel and battle but their spirit unbroken. Among them were squires in blue robes following Harrold Hardyng—"Dumb Harry"—and a handful of young attendants, including Jon Snow's loyal companion.
Their faces told a story.
Joy.
Relief.
Longing.
They were returning home.
Gendry walked among them, offering quiet words of reassurance, placing a hand on a shoulder here, giving a nod there. These men had followed him through fire and blood—and remarkably, they had returned with minimal losses.
Out of more than four hundred cavalry, only a handful had fallen.
Still… even one death was too many.
The fallen were remembered not as numbers, but as names—names that would be recorded and honored in the Pantheon of the Storm.
Gendry's expression hardened slightly.
"This is war."
Casualties were inevitable.
But meaningless deaths?
Unacceptable.
He remembered their laughter, their youthful faces, their dreams of returning home. They had marched proudly from the Two Cities… only to die in distant lands, beside unknown lakes, under unfamiliar skies.
He had done everything he could.
Better equipment.
Better supplies.
Shared meals.
Shared hardships.
He had slept beside them on open grass and within worn tents.
But even that wasn't enough to save everyone.
The only thing he could do now… was ensure their sacrifice meant something.
Pride and Fatigue
"The Liberator!"
"The Storm!"
Voices rose among the soldiers.
Despite their fatigue, pride burned brightly within them. They had followed Gendry through countless victories, crushing enemies and carving a path through chaos.
Under the Storm's banner, there had always been triumph.
But even the strongest warriors grew weary.
The endless marches.
The constant battles.
The unrelenting strain.
They longed for home—for the warmth and greenery of the Two Cities.
Gendry understood.
And yet… the war was far from over.
The Gathering Storm
At the bow, Gendry stood beside his closest companions.
His raven had already been sent ahead.
The next storm was coming.
And this time—it would be greater.
At his side stood Ser Barristan Selmy, ever vigilant. Alongside him were five squires and companions: Anguy the archer, Dumb Harry, Jon Snow, Dacey Mormont—the fierce She-Bear—and Lothor Brune.
Each of them carried their own strength.
Each of them was essential.
"The Vale's cavalry will secure our rear if they join us," Barristan said calmly.
"They're among the finest in the Seven Kingdoms."
Dumb Harry grinned proudly.
"Of course they are."
Jon Snow nodded in agreement.
"The Vale's lands are richer than the North. Better resources… better equipment."
Gendry's gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"I've already secured alliances with three northern kingdoms."
His voice was steady.
"The rest… is only a matter of time."
If he could claim the Stormlands, the alliance of stag, wolf, fish, and falcon would become unstoppable.
The Lannisters still held power—but Tywin's greatest strength was not his army.
It was division.
If the alliance fractured—if the stag split, if the wolf and fish turned on each other, if the falcon remained idle—then everything would collapse.
Gendry would not allow that.
Dreams of War
"If Lys and Volantis join the conflict…"
Gendry's lips curved faintly.
"…then I might have the chance to face three kings in succession."
Anguy chuckled.
"Thinking about the silver-haired Dragon Queen already?"
Gendry shot him a glance.
"Careful. I might find you a wife instead."
Anguy immediately paled.
"Mercy!"
Laughter spread among the group, briefly easing the tension.
Arrival in Essos
The ship eventually docked in northern Pentos.
The riders disembarked swiftly, their movements efficient and practiced.
Without delay, the Gulltown fleet turned back toward the sea.
Ahead lay the rolling hills of the Andals.
As the cavalry advanced, banners rose once more, gleaming under the sun.
"This is the ancestral land of the Andals," Gendry remarked.
The terrain was gentle, ideal for cavalry charges.
Lothor nodded.
"Fertile land… though mostly abandoned now."
The green fields stretched endlessly—but few worked them.
A waste.
Further south, they followed the Little Rhoyne River until they reached a ruined settlement.
Gaeh Doth.
Ruins of a Lost Civilization
Once, it had been a beautiful Rhoynar city.
Now… it was a graveyard.
Broken canals.
Collapsed temples.
Fountains reduced to stagnant pools.
Reeds and mud had swallowed what remained of its elegance.
"The fall of a civilization…" Gendry murmured.
The Rhoynar had once thrived here—masters of water magic, skilled artisans, traders, and scholars.
But they had been destroyed.
Fire had consumed them.
Dragons had ended them.
Now, only silence remained.
A Small Act of Mercy
"There are still people here!"
Dumb Harry pointed.
Hidden among the ruins were small groups of tribespeople—descendants of the Rhoynar, perhaps.
They watched cautiously.
Starving.
Barely clothed.
Children stood barefoot in the mud.
Gendry's expression hardened.
"Clear the stagnant water. Burn the reeds. Stop the mosquitoes."
"Yes, my lord!"
The knights dismounted and began working immediately.
Fires were lit.
Water was drained.
Food was distributed.
The tribespeople watched in awe.
"Good people…"
They didn't know his name.
But they understood kindness.
Lothor smiled faintly.
"Not just good people."
"…The Liberator."
The Valyrian Road
They didn't stay long.
Soon, the cavalry moved again.
And then—
They saw it.
The Valyrian Road.
A masterpiece of ancient magic.
Smooth.
Endless.
Forged from fused stone and fire.
"No cracks…" Jon whispered.
"Wide enough for three carriages," Dacey added.
Compared to this, the roads of Westeros seemed primitive.
Gendry urged his horse forward.
The closer he came to his destination…
The heavier his heart felt.
Reunion of Fire and Blood
At last, they arrived.
The pear orchard outside Wolfs Den.
The air was filled with sweetness—masking the faint scent of sulfur.
And there she was.
Daenerys Targaryen.
She rested in his arms, her silver hair catching the sunlight.
"I dreamed of this…" she whispered.
"Every moment… I thought of you."
Gendry smiled softly.
"You're not dreaming."
A dragon climbed onto his lap.
Balerion.
Larger than before.
Stronger.
Deadlier.
It exhaled smoke before letting out a low roar.
Gendry fed it a piece of meat.
Flames engulfed it instantly before it was swallowed.
The Future of War
"The Mountain is dead," Gendry said calmly.
"Amory is gone. The Kingslayer has lost his hand."
Daenerys looked at him with admiration.
"You are my knight."
"And you are my queen."
They kissed.
Soft.
Brief.
But filled with meaning.
"Are we close to victory?" she asked.
Gendry shook his head slightly.
"We will win."
"But something worse is coming."
"Winter."
Daenerys shivered.
She was a child of summer.
But above them—
Dragons soared.
"They will protect us," she said.
Gendry didn't answer immediately.
"Dragons are powerful… but not invincible."
The war ahead would not be simple.
It would be chaos.
Fire.
Magic.
Gods and monsters.
The dead themselves.
Beneath King's Landing
Far away, deep beneath the city…
Darkness reigned.
Tyrion Lannister stood within a cold stone cellar, wrapped in thick layers to fight the damp chill.
Beside him was Hallyne the Pyromancer, holding a dim oil lamp.
Around them—
Hundreds of jars.
Wildfire.
Green.
Viscous.
Deadly.
"This is dangerous," Tyrion muttered.
Hallyne smiled.
"The most dangerous."
"Seven thousand jars remain," he added.
"Some even from the Mad King's time."
Tyrion's grip tightened.
Enough to burn a city.
Enough to end everything.
And yet…
He needed it.
Because war… demanded fire.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)
75% offer are going on my patreon for limited time only. Claim yours as soon as possible.