Cape Massey's Hook was a narrow stretch of land that any ship traveling from the southern seas to King's Landing had to pass. At its very tip stood The Hook, a modest but strategically important castle overlooking Blackwater Bay.
Together with the Claw Peninsula to the north, Dragonstone, and Driftmark, control of Cape Massey effectively tightened the noose around King's Landing. Whoever held these territories could slowly isolate the capital and turn it into a trapped island surrounded by enemies.
Inside the great hall of The Hook, torches burned brightly against the stone walls.
The golden stag banners of Gendry Baratheon hung proudly above the assembled lords and knights. Beside them fluttered the banners of House Bar Emmon and House Massey, the two principal noble houses of the region.
House Bar Emmon's sigil displayed a leaping blue swordfish over silver waves, while House Massey's banner bore a striking red, green, and blue triple spiral on a white field.
The Cape was small, and these two houses ruled nearly all of it.
Though technically sworn to the Crownlands, their loyalties had long leaned toward Dragonstone and Lord Stannis Baratheon.
The crackling sound of burning charcoal echoed through the hall.
Gendry stood beside an iron brazier and slowly unsheathed Orphan-Maker.
The dark Valyrian steel blade glimmered in the firelight. Waves of rippling patterns flowed across the metal like smoke trapped beneath glass.
Using the priceless sword as if it were an ordinary poker, Gendry stirred the glowing coals.
Sparks flew into the air.
Several people winced at the sight.
Perhaps no more expensive pair of tongs had ever existed.
Even when buried among the burning embers, the Valyrian steel remained completely unchanged.
Gendry studied the blade and smiled.
"It truly is bloodthirsty."
The sword had already earned a terrifying reputation on the battlefield, and under his command, it would undoubtedly claim many more lives.
Lord Durran Bar Emmon stared at the weapon with admiration.
"The legends were true," he said. "No ordinary fire can damage Valyrian steel. Not even dragonfire seems capable of harming it."
Despite being a lord, Durran was only fourteen years old. His round face and plump figure gave him the appearance of a sheltered child rather than a noble commander.
Ser Justin Massey laughed loudly.
"Oh, come now, Durran. You sound like you've never left your castle."
He stepped forward and pointed at the sword.
"Valyrian steel is priceless. What is a little fire compared to that? When Aegon the Conqueror died, the sword Blackfyre was burned alongside him during his funeral rites. Yet when the ashes cooled, the blade emerged completely unharmed."
Justin stroked his unruly hair.
"At most, its color darkened slightly. That's all."
The knight was broad-shouldered and sturdy, with a perpetual grin on his face and a reputation for enjoying wine, women, and battle in equal measure.
The Red Priestess Melisandre watched the blade with unusual interest.
"Valyrian steel possesses a strange magic," she said softly.
"It endures. It changes little with time. Ordinary flames cannot harm it, and even dragonfire would struggle to destroy it."
A trace of regret entered her voice.
"Sadly, the secret of forging it was lost with the Doom of Valyria. Now only a handful of smiths in distant Qohor possess the knowledge to reforge broken pieces."
Gendry listened quietly.
His thoughts drifted to Tobho Mott, the master blacksmith who had once employed him in King's Landing.
The more he considered it, the stranger the man seemed.
Was Tobho Mott truly just a blacksmith?
Or was there far more hidden beneath the surface?
The ability to work Valyrian steel was one of the rarest skills in the known world.
Perhaps the old smith carried secrets that even kings would kill to possess.
Shaking away the thought, Gendry turned toward Melisandre.
"My lady, can you see any trace of Blackfyre or Dark Sister in your flames?"
Among all the legendary weapons of Westeros, those two swords fascinated him the most.
Blackfyre represented kingship itself.
Dark Sister, though originally crafted for a woman, had become famous in the hands of countless warriors.
Gendry already possessed Orphan-Maker, a Valyrian steel arakh named Storm, and a dragonbone bow.
Yet extraordinary weapons were never something a ruler could have too many of.
Melisandre lowered her eyes.
"I am sorry, Your Highness."
"The flames reveal no sign of either sword. They have been hidden for too long."
Then her lips curved into a playful smile.
"If you allow me to burn every sept in the realm, perhaps the Lord of Light would grant me clearer visions."
Several people coughed awkwardly.
Gendry merely sighed.
"No, Melisandre."
"I refuse to burn down half the kingdom just because you find the idea appealing."
The Red Priestess looked genuinely disappointed.
Gendry did not believe wholeheartedly in any god.
The Faith of the Seven and the Old Gods held enormous influence throughout the realm. They could be managed, negotiated with, and utilized.
The Lord of Light was different.
Its followers carried a dangerous fanaticism.
Allowing that influence to spread unchecked would be like opening floodgates before a storm.
"You will understand eventually," Melisandre replied.
"The Lord of Light's power cannot be ignored forever."
Before Gendry could respond, Ser Justin stepped forward.
"Your Highness."
The knight placed a fist over his chest.
"I once served your father, King Robert. Like him, I long for victory on the battlefield."
His grin widened.
"Allow me the honor of leading the vanguard."
Gendry studied him carefully.
The man had grown broader with age and was beginning to resemble Robert Baratheon in more ways than one.
He shared the king's appetite for feasts, women, and glory.
Whether his request came from courage or a desire to impress Melisandre was difficult to say.
"I will lead the vanguard myself," Gendry replied.
"The main army will follow behind. Once they arrive, I will assume command of the entire campaign."
Justin nodded immediately.
"As you command, Your Highness."
Then he laughed.
"Truthfully, I prefer it this way."
"Battles are meant to be fought from the front. Lord Stannis always commands from the center. You fight like King Robert."
Many knights in the room nodded in agreement.
Stannis Baratheon, Tywin Lannister, and Eddard Stark belonged to the school of strategic commanders.
They directed armies.
King Robert inspired armies.
There was a difference.
Gendry understood both approaches.
He preferred a balance between the two.
A commander needed wisdom.
But sometimes he also needed to stand where the fighting was fiercest.
"Before we march," Gendry said, "there is another matter."
The hall grew quiet.
"The people of the Kingswood must be won to our side."
Everyone listened attentively.
"I am granting them permission to gather wood and hunt limited game within the forest."
Several eyebrows rose in surprise.
Gendry continued.
"We will recruit local hunters as scouts and guides."
"They know the terrain better than any soldier."
His voice hardened.
"Furthermore, any soldier who steals from the smallfolk will face military punishment."
"If supplies are needed, they will be paid for."
The room erupted with murmurs of approval.
"The Imp will undoubtedly unleash his wildlings into the Kingswood."
A cold smile crossed Gendry's face.
"Very well."
"We shall hunt them in return."
"Any man who brings down a wildling raider will be rewarded."
"If Tyrion's pets enter these woods, they will never leave them."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
The response thundered throughout the hall.
Victory created authority.
And Gendry had earned plenty of victories.
From Essos to Westeros.
From Dothraki khals to the Kingslayer himself.
His reputation now carried tremendous weight.
Even Ser Barristan Selmy appeared impressed.
The old knight studied Gendry thoughtfully.
"Your Highness, those tactics seem familiar."
Gendry smiled knowingly.
"They should."
"They were once used against the Kingswood Brotherhood."
Barristan's eyes widened slightly.
"Arthur Dayne."
"Exactly."
Gendry nodded.
"The Fletcher taught me many stories during my years learning archery."
"Dick Fletch was once part of the Brotherhood himself."
Understanding dawned on Barristan's face.
The old knight remembered those days well.
The Kingswood Brotherhood had terrorized the region for years.
Kings had tried to destroy them through force.
All had failed.
Then Arthur Dayne changed everything.
Rather than targeting the outlaws directly, he won the support of the common people.
Once the people abandoned the Brotherhood, its downfall became inevitable.
Gendry intended to do the same.
History often provided the best answers.
One simply needed the wisdom to recognize them.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)