The torches and braziers inside Gendry's command tent flickered in the night, casting dancing shadows across the faces of everyone gathered within. The uncertain state of the war weighed heavily on their minds as they absorbed the latest reports.
Gendry stared into the flames.
A true world war is coming, he thought. And I stand at its center, trying to navigate the storm.
With the Iron Islands mobilizing in the west and both Lys and Volantis making aggressive moves across the Narrow Sea, the conflict had grown far beyond a simple struggle for the Iron Throne.
The war had effectively split into two massive fronts.
The Western Front stretched across the Riverlands, the Westerlands, the Iron Islands, and even the distant North. Meanwhile, the far more important Eastern Front encompassed King's Landing, the Narrow Sea, the Triarchy, Volantis, and the distant slave cities of Slaver's Bay.
It was no longer merely a civil war.
It was becoming a struggle that threatened to engulf half the known world.
"A gathering of talented young men," Ser Barristan Selmy remarked as he looked around the tent.
A faint smile crossed the old knight's face. Being surrounded by ambitious young warriors made him feel younger than he had in years.
Among them, Gendry stood the tallest.
With black hair, blue eyes, and a powerful build, he possessed the unmistakable traits of House Baratheon—or perhaps more accurately, House Durrandon. His broad shoulders and muscular arms still carried the strength he had developed as a blacksmith.
Jon Snow was his opposite in many ways.
Lean and solemn, with brown hair and gray eyes, he carried the distinctive Stark features. His long face and reserved demeanor reminded everyone of the wolves of Winterfell. Unlike most Starks, however, Jon lacked their imposing height.
Anguy sat nearby, slightly older than the others. Thin as a bowstring, he had red hair, a face covered in freckles, and the relaxed confidence of a master archer. His studded leather armor, fingerless gloves, and quiver filled with gray-feathered arrows were all familiar sights.
Then there was Ser Lothor.
Quiet.
Reliable.
Loyal.
The kind of man who rarely spoke but whose presence could always be counted upon.
As the fire crackled, Gendry felt as though he could hear another sound beneath it—the snapping of ropes.
The ropes holding the world's fragile peace together.
One by one, they were breaking.
And from every direction, predators were being unleashed.
The krakens of the Iron Islands.
The schemers of Lys.
The slave masters of Volantis and Slaver's Bay.
All were preparing for war.
"He is a Greyjoy, after all—not a Stark," Jon Snow said quietly.
His eyes remained fixed on the glowing coals.
Though he and Theon had rarely gotten along, hearing that Theon had returned to the Iron Islands and that Balon Greyjoy had once again raised the banner of rebellion left him feeling unexpectedly conflicted.
Everyone had assumed Balon would strike the wealthy Westerlands.
Instead, he had sailed north.
Toward the colder, poorer lands of the North.
"Balon is following Dagon Greyjoy's example," Gendry said.
Nearly a century earlier, Dagon Greyjoy had terrorized the western coast of Westeros.
Beginning in 211 AC, his Ironborn fleets had raided the shores of both House Stark and House Lannister, spreading fear throughout the Sunset Sea.
"I saw it in the flames," Melisandre said softly.
"The Drowned God is cruel. He sits upon a throne of skulls, with blood staining his lips."
"The Ironborn reflect the nature of their god."
Her ruby necklace glimmered in the firelight.
"Balon has crowned himself king. He is a usurper."
"If that is the case, perhaps any Greyjoy prisoners captured in the future could be entrusted to me."
Ser Barristan immediately frowned.
"Lady Melisandre, we will kill the krakens on the battlefield if necessary."
"But we will not burn them alive."
The Red Priestess merely smiled.
She offered no reply.
Silence settled over the tent.
Finally, Gendry spoke.
"Whether he's a kraken or a wolf doesn't really matter."
"Perhaps he's simply Theon."
Theon's greatest enemy had always been himself.
He wanted to be both Stark and Greyjoy.
Both wolf and kraken.
But sooner or later, he would be forced to choose.
And whichever path he took would determine his fate.
"Theon knows Winterfell well," Jon said.
"That makes him dangerous."
"I'm a better swordsman than he is, but he's an excellent archer."
Jon's expression darkened.
"Robb should never have allowed him so much freedom."
"He escaped from Seagard almost effortlessly."
Anguy snorted.
"Excellent archer?"
"I'd like to see how good he really is."
A few chuckles spread through the tent.
Gendry shook his head.
"We all warned Robb."
"Ser Brynden. Lady Catelyn. Ser Barristan. Even I advised caution."
"But they've lived together since childhood."
"It's difficult to distrust someone you've called a brother for years."
Lothor finally spoke.
"Prince Gendry has sent countless letters to Riverrun, the Twins, and Winterfell."
"Robb Stark and Roose Bolton have both been warned."
"Winterfell's defenses have been strengthened. Coastal patrols have increased. Lady Mormont guards Moat Cailin."
"Everyone understands the danger."
"Unfortunately, King Balon seems determined to repeat his mistakes."
Jon nodded.
"At least we've prepared for the worst."
"That should reduce the damage."
"Hopefully," Gendry agreed.
"Ser Rodrik is old."
"Bran is still a child."
"For now, Lord Manderly is Winterfell's strongest supporter."
"And Lady Catelyn may need to return north eventually."
Though Wyman Manderly appeared slow and complacent, Gendry knew the lord was far more intelligent than many realized.
The true problem was the lack of capable Starks.
Too many members of the main Stark line had disappeared over the years.
If Benjen Stark had never joined the Night's Watch...
If Jon's birth had not been such a sensitive issue...
Winterfell would have possessed far stronger defenders.
Jon lowered his gaze.
He understood exactly what Gendry meant.
Had circumstances been different, he could have protected Winterfell himself.
Unfortunately, politics made such a solution impossible.
"Balon never forgave Robert Baratheon or Eddard Stark," Ser Barristan said.
"He has waited years for revenge."
"He knows the wolves and stags have marched south."
"And he fears Lord Tywin."
Gendry's eyes hardened.
"The late king and Lord Eddard were too merciful."
"Pyke should have been broken completely."
"Balon still sees Robb and me as children."
A cold smile appeared on his face.
"I'll teach him otherwise."
Only steel and blood could convince the Ironborn to abandon their madness.
And Gendry had every intention of bringing war directly to Pyke one day.
The discussion soon shifted toward larger concerns.
"Our greatest challenge remains King's Landing," Gendry said.
"Tywin commands a massive army."
"Tyrion controls the city's defenses."
"And more enemies may soon arrive."
"The slave masters hate me."
"The Lysene and Volantenes may cross the Narrow Sea at any moment."
The war was growing larger by the day.
And every new ally gained by his enemies would make the coming battle even more dangerous.
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