In 299 AC, following the death of King Robert Baratheon, the flames of war spread across nearly all of Westeros. Though battles erupted on multiple fronts, the true center of the conflict was undoubtedly the Crownlands, where King's Landing stood as both the political and strategic heart of the realm.
The vanguard of the Stormlands army advanced like a shining river of gold, silver, and steel through the vast expanse of the Kingswood. Stretching along the shores of Blackwater Bay, the ancient forest formed the final natural barrier before King's Landing.
Local hunters, familiar with every hidden trail and forgotten path within the woodland, served as guides for the advance force. Under their direction, the vanguard traveled along a narrow and rugged route deep within the forest. Though more difficult to navigate, it offered greater concealment and allowed for a much faster approach than the heavily traveled Kingsroad.
Meanwhile, the main body of the army marched openly along the Kingsroad, banners flying proudly and horns sounding across the countryside.
One force advanced in plain sight.
The other moved through the shadows.
This was the first stage of Gendry's strategy.
"I need to seize the initiative," Gendry thought as he rode at the head of the column. "If I want to dictate the course of this war, speed is essential."
The Kingsroad provided a stable route, but it also slowed the army's pace. The hidden forest path was dangerous, yet it offered a significant advantage.
A gentle autumn breeze swept through the trees.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Dozens of magnificent banners fluttered overhead.
Among them flew the crowned stag of House Baratheon, the three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen, the running wolves of the Wolf Pack Company, and the broken chains that symbolized the liberation of slaves.
At the front rode Gendry himself.
Dressed in black scale armor, he cut an imposing figure. Years spent as a blacksmith had given him a deep appreciation for quality craftsmanship, and he maintained every piece of equipment with meticulous care.
His breastplate was decorated with black-and-red crystal inlays forming the images of a stag and a dragon. At his waist hung Orphan-Maker, while a Valyrian steel dagger rested on the opposite side. An arakh and a heavy spiked warhammer were secured to his saddle.
Unlike many commanders, Gendry chose not to wear his helmet.
The narrow forest trails demanded clear vision.
A restricted field of view could prove deadly.
"Tell the knights not to overexert themselves," Gendry ordered.
He glanced toward Anguy and Ser Gude.
"Maintain a steady pace. Rest when necessary. I don't want anyone exhausting themselves simply to march faster."
"Yes, Your Highness," they replied.
Both men immediately relayed the command through the heralds.
The column adjusted accordingly.
As Gendry watched the armored knights moving beneath the trees, he reflected on the realities of warfare.
Even the finest plate armor was heavy.
Its weight was distributed efficiently across the body, but no amount of engineering could eliminate the physical burden entirely.
Mounted knights could endure for long periods.
Dismounted knights were another matter.
Once forced into prolonged combat on foot, even the strongest warriors gradually lost effectiveness as fatigue accumulated.
Forced marches only worsened the problem.
Fortunately, the cool autumn weather prevented overheating and reduced the risk of exhaustion.
The Stormlands army had its own strengths and weaknesses.
Unlike the Reach, which possessed the largest number of knights in Westeros, or the Westerlands, whose soldiers benefited from excellent equipment and regular training, the Stormlands valued raw courage and martial prowess above all else.
Its warriors were fierce.
Aggressive.
Fearless.
But they lacked experience in prolonged, large-scale campaigns.
Fortunately, Gendry had earned their respect through deeds rather than words.
The soldiers trusted him completely.
All they needed to do was follow him into battle.
"This forest truly is magnificent," Gendry remarked as he surveyed the towering trees surrounding them.
In the past, he had never paid much attention to the Kingswood.
Now, as a commander responsible for thousands of lives, every hill, stream, and pathway held strategic value.
Above the army, his trained falcon circled gracefully in the sky, providing a watchful eye over the advancing force.
"Indeed," Ser Barristan Selmy replied.
The old knight gazed into the distance with visible nostalgia.
"We are entering the Kingswood once again."
For Barristan, the forest carried many memories.
It was here that the legendary Kingsguard of a previous generation had destroyed the Kingswood Brotherhood.
It was also where King Robert Baratheon now rested.
The old knight wore a magnificent suit of armor gifted by Gendry.
Its gilded chainmail gleamed in the sunlight.
The white-glazed plate shone like freshly fallen snow.
At his waist hung a longsword and dagger, while a pristine white cloak flowed behind him.
"Through the Kingswood," Gendry declared, raising his riding crop toward the distant horizon, "we will seize the lion."
The surrounding soldiers immediately responded.
"Through the Kingswood! Seize the lion!"
Their voices echoed through the forest.
Morale soared.
Still, concerns remained.
"The Reach can still field another hundred thousand men," Ser Barristan cautioned.
"And Highgarden's knights have yet to make their move. Many originally intended to support Lord Renly."
The Reach was enormous.
Only the North rivaled it in size.
Its fertile lands supported the largest population in Westeros, allowing House Tyrell to raise armies on a scale few others could match.
Yet its strength was also its weakness.
Too many powerful lords ruled beneath the Tyrell banner.
Each possessed their own ambitions.
Each pursued their own interests.
Keeping them united was never easy.
"Numbers alone don't win wars," Ser Guyard Morrigen said dismissively.
"And Lord Mace Tyrell isn't exactly a military genius."
Several nearby knights laughed.
Everyone knew that many of House Tyrell's greatest military successes had depended heavily on Randyll Tarly.
"If the Reach marches against us," Anguy added with a grin, "then we'll simply give them a proper fight."
The Stormlanders responded enthusiastically.
They had always respected strength above all else.
For centuries, the Stormlands, Reach, and Dorne had fought bloody wars against one another.
Old rivalries remained deeply rooted.
Gendry rested a hand on the hilt of Orphan-Maker.
Even if Highgarden chose neutrality, it would be a tremendous advantage.
His greatest concern was that Mace Tyrell might make the worst possible decision and support House Lannister.
Fortunately, preparations had already been made.
"Our letters have reached the Reach," Lothor informed him.
"And Ser Loras has personally delivered our greetings."
Gendry nodded.
"Good."
Beyond House Tyrell stood numerous powerful families.
House Hightower.
House Rowan.
House Redwyne.
House Tarly.
House Florent.
House Oakheart.
Many of them possessed ambitions of their own.
If necessary, those ambitions could be exploited.
"The Reach appears united from a distance," Gendry said thoughtfully, "but beneath the surface, divisions remain."
Those divisions might determine the fate of the entire war.
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