The Kingswood lay shrouded in darkness.
Towering trees stretched toward the night sky, their twisted branches casting long shadows beneath the flickering glow of countless torches. The sounds of insects and distant wildlife echoed through the forest, while the disciplined movements of soldiers broke the silence.
Ser Barristan Selmy accompanied Gendry on an inspection of the military camp established deep within the woods.
As one of the most experienced warriors in Westeros, Barristan's advice was invaluable. From the War of the Ninepenny Kings to Robert's Rebellion, he had fought in nearly every major conflict of the age. Few living men possessed his understanding of warfare.
The camp before them had been arranged with remarkable care.
Watch posts had been established around the perimeter, and sharpened wooden stakes were stacked nearby, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice. Rows of tents lined the camp in neat formation, separated by broad pathways that allowed soldiers to move quickly during emergencies.
The horses were tethered together on the northern side of the camp, while latrines had been dug near a flowing stream. The current would carry away waste and help prevent disease from spreading among the troops.
Golden banners bearing the crowned stag of the Stormlands fluttered proudly above the camp.
Armored sentries armed with longspears and crossbows patrolled beneath them, their eyes constantly scanning the surrounding forest.
"The soldiers of the Stormlands are capable fighters," Barristan said quietly. "But they lack experience fighting in large formations. Too many of their lords are proud men unwilling to yield authority to one another."
He paused before continuing.
"In situations like this, a strong commander is essential."
Gendry nodded.
The Stormlords were renowned throughout Westeros for their courage and martial spirit. Unfortunately, they were also stubborn, hot-tempered, and fiercely independent.
Many of them were troublemakers.
In truth, this problem existed throughout much of Westeros.
The Westerlands maintained one of the most centralized military structures among the Seven Kingdoms, but most regions were divided among powerful bannermen with competing interests.
The Stormlands and Westerlands shared one important advantage, however.
Neither region possessed overly powerful subordinate houses capable of challenging the authority of their ruling family.
As they continued walking through the camp, Gendry inspected every detail.
Leading an army involved far more than commanding soldiers on a battlefield.
A military camp was essentially a temporary city. Food supplies, sanitation, morale, discipline, and logistics were every bit as important as swords and shields.
History had proven repeatedly that disease could kill more soldiers than enemy armies.
Freshly roasted rabbit and boar filled the air with a rich aroma. Soldiers sat around campfires enjoying bacon, bread, and citrus fruits imported from across the Narrow Sea.
The food helped maintain morale.
At the same time, Gendry understood that these moments allowed him to build trust with his soldiers.
Even the lowest-ranked infantryman deserved respect.
If men were expected to risk their lives for a cause, their commander needed to protect their interests in return.
As he passed through the camp, cheers erupted from every direction.
"Storm!"
"Storm!"
"Storm!"
The soldiers raised their cups and weapons in salute.
Gendry acknowledged them with a nod.
Men would willingly fight for a leader who shared their hardships.
They would never place the same trust in some pampered noble hiding safely behind castle walls.
Leading from the front had always been the tradition of Westerosi lords.
It was the knightly way.
Nowhere was this more evident than in the Stormlands.
For generations, the Lords of Storm's End had charged directly into battle alongside their men.
Reckless courage seemed woven into the blood of House Baratheon.
After all, theirs was a family whose legends claimed they had once fought against gods themselves.
Argilac the Arrogant, the last Storm King, had slain a Gardener king in battle.
The legendary Duncan the Tall had fought storms both literal and political.
King Robert Baratheon had personally killed Prince Rhaegar Targaryen upon the Trident.
Such feats were remembered with pride throughout the Stormlands.
Eventually, Gendry returned to his command tent.
Inside stood a large hand-drawn map of King's Landing, spread across a sturdy wooden table.
The capital's streets, gates, walls, and defenses had been meticulously marked.
Standing before the map, Gendry slowly unsheathed Orphan-Maker.
The Valyrian steel blade reflected the torchlight with an eerie shimmer.
Countless ripples flowed across the dark metal, evidence of craftsmanship beyond modern understanding.
Its edge was so sharp that it could slice effortlessly through flesh, bone, and armor alike.
The sword had remained dormant for more than a century since the Dance of the Dragons.
Now, it seemed eager to taste blood once again.
"King's Landing doesn't have many weapons capable of threatening us," Gendry said, looking around the tent. "But the few that remain are dangerous enough."
Around him stood Ser Barristan, Anguy, Lothor Brune, Jon Snow, and the Red Priestess.
"Wildfire," Barristan answered immediately.
His expression darkened.
The memory of King Aerys II remained vivid in his mind.
Even now, the old knight could not forget the horrifying green flames that consumed everything they touched.
"I never thought I'd see wildfire become a threat again."
"And the Three Whores of King's Landing," Lothor added.
"The trebuchets."
The nickname referred to three massive trebuchets mounted near the Mud Gate.
The Gold Cloaks had given them their crude title years ago.
With the protection of King's Landing's walls, Tyrion's six thousand defenders could potentially fight with several times their actual strength.
Wildfire and siege engines made the city even more dangerous.
"We shouldn't underestimate Varys either," Jon Snow warned.
"Littlefinger is dead, but the Spider remains."
"And he's far more dangerous."
Barristan's expression hardened.
"Aerys's madness was worsened by Varys."
"The king trusted no one—not his wife, not his children, not even his Hand."
"Varys fed those fears."
"He built his influence by controlling information. Every rumor and whisper passed through him."
"The more Aerys listened, the more paranoid he became."
Gendry nodded.
"Which means that even if we capture the city, we may inherit a starving and angry population."
"Just like during the Dance of the Dragons, when traitors hid in secret tunnels and stirred unrest from the shadows."
"Varys specializes in the same tactics."
Lothor leaned over the map.
"Tyrion doesn't have enough men for complicated strategies."
"His options are limited."
Jon remained silent.
Despite everything, he still remembered Tyrion fondly.
The Imp had been one of the first people to treat him as more than just a bastard.
The thought of meeting him as an enemy felt strange.
"The wildlings under Tyrion will serve as scouts," Gendry continued.
"The Hound and Balon Swann will likely lead assault forces."
"Ironhand will command the Gold Cloaks."
"Those are the people Tyrion can truly rely upon."
Barristan snorted.
"My former brothers of the Kingsguard aren't particularly impressive."
"Balon Swann is capable enough."
The old knight folded his arms.
"The rest lack the qualities expected of true Kingsguard."
Anguy chuckled.
"The Swanns certainly know how to survive."
Everyone understood what he meant.
House Swann had effectively placed wagers on both sides of the war.
Their lord remained safely at home, claiming illness.
One son had joined Gendry.
The other remained loyal to King's Landing.
Regardless of who won the Iron Throne, House Swann would likely endure.
Gendry tapped the map thoughtfully.
"If we breach the wildfire defenses, King's Landing cannot stop us."
"But the casualties would be unacceptable."
"So you intend to besiege the city?" Barristan asked.
Gendry nodded.
"I've prepared a feast outside King's Landing."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"The only question is how many guests will attend."
The others exchanged curious glances.
For now, they could only wait.
Wait for information from Highgarden.
Wait for news from across the Narrow Sea.
Wait for the next move in the great game of kings.
And as every experienced commander understood, patience often won battles long before swords were drawn.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)