In the courtyard of Deep Den, the air was thick with sulfur and the acrid smell of charred meat.
The Dragons had gathered in the courtyard. Gendry looked at the three of them. Today, he would ride a Dragon and rise with the wind.
Balerion was covered in black scales, while his eyes, horns, and the spines along his back were blood-red.
Balerion had always been the largest of the three Dragons, and life in the wild had made him more imposing still.
His wingspan was roughly twenty-seven or twenty-eight feet, and his body was about nine feet long. He was taller and stronger than the other two Dragons.
Vhagar had two bronze eyes, brighter than polished shields.
His scales were dark green, the green of moss deep in a forest at dusk, in the moment before the last ray of sunlight faded.
Viserion's scales were mostly cream-yellow, almost white, while his horns, wing bones, and spine were golden. His fangs were two rows of shining black blades, and his eyes were like twin pools of molten gold. People often called him the White Dragon.
The soldiers of Deep Den once again pushed over bull carcasses cut into great chunks. The beef had been loaded onto carts, then unloaded in the square.
"Dracarys!" Gendry shouted to Balerion and Viserion.
"Dracarys!" Daenerys called to Vhagar. Beside her stood her companions, Margaery, Sansa, Dacey, and Brienne.
The girls had overcome the dangers of the mountains and followed behind the warriors all this way. Margaery had a sharp mind, and Sansa, unwilling to be left behind, had come with them as well.
The soldiers had no objections. Victory was all that mattered. Besides, King Gendry now had a Queen who could ride a Dragon too.
"They're so alive," Margaery Tyrell said, gazing at the Dragons in the square. The sight of Dragons stirred delight in anyone. No one could ignore the greatest war beasts in the world.
After all, it had been Dragons that destroyed House Gardener, allowing House Tyrell to rise overnight.
The three Dragons tore into the bull meat, breathing fire as they ripped at it with black teeth sharp as swords.
The outer skin of the beef still burned faintly, and the scent of fire grew heavier in the air: scorched meat, searing heat, and sulfur.
Then a herd of lively goats was dragged over. But the moment the goats saw the Dragons' shapes and heard their roars echo through the empty mountains, their legs began to tremble. Foam spilled from their mouths, and in the end, the Dragons devoured them bite by bite.
"Your Grace is truly a god among men," Lord Lydden said obsequiously.
"Isn't your heir still being held hostage in Casterly Rock?" Gendry asked. This father did not seem worried in the slightest.
"That was all Tywin's coercion. He gave the order as soon as he retreated to the Westerlands, and we dared not resist... To be honest, Your Grace, I do have a few bastards," Lord Lydden said pitifully. He had clearly already prepared for the worst.
Although the lords of the Summerlands had truly given up the right of first night, with their advantages in rank and wealth, fathering a few bastards was still easy enough.
"Put down this rebellion and return a clear tomorrow to the Seven Kingdoms."
Gendry found that the lords of the Westerlands were now extremely cooperative. It was not only because of Dragonfire, but also because of Gendry's fearsome reputation as the "Warrior Descended from the Heavens," "Westeros's Greatest General," and "The Seven Kingdoms' Foremost Knight."
A defeated general had no courage worth boasting of. Tywin's aura had long since been smashed apart by Gendry.
The Lannister battle reports were all black tidings. Their lines kept retreating, and every chance slipped away.
The Ironborn and Renly, who had stirred up trouble alongside them, had all been crushed. Even the slave army that had come from afar had collapsed. This was a dead end.
Gendry had crushed the Lion more than once. The first time was in the Whispering Wood, where he beat the Kingslayer badly enough to leave him maimed. The second was at the Blackwater Rush, where he smashed the slave coalition and Tywin's army.
Although Tywin had briefly won the Battle of the Ford and defeated two thousand Winter Wolves, that victory had cost more than it was worth.
Then Gendry had crossed the Bloody Gate in return and won the support of the Vale.
As military leaders, they were not even on the same level. Comparisons were cruel that way.
No matter how loyal the lords of the Westerlands were, after seeing Tywin's golden image of shrewd competence broken again and again, they could not help having thoughts of their own.
"Your Grace is wise," Lord Lydden said.
He and Ser Gerold Serrett exchanged a look. The sooner they surrendered, the sooner they could preserve their houses. If the Dragons bathed the castle in fire, the whole place would be finished.
"My son will simply have to suffer a little," Lord Lydden decided, hardening his heart. These were necessary sacrifices. Everything was for the house.
Ser Gerold Serrett felt the same. He had already begun imagining his future as a Lord.
Now that this day had come, he suddenly felt much closer to becoming a Lord.
Balerion and the other Dragons folded their leathery wings in the courtyard, and their bodies seemed to shrink by a great deal.
Dragons were entirely different from horses. Gendry had once studied the differences in their structures.
A Dragon's build was closer to a bird's, and a Dragon's flesh and blood were made of Fire and Blood.
Its vast wings, neck, and tail made up most of its body. Light yet hard Dragonbone and a streamlined form meant a Dragon was far lighter than an animal of similar size.
Gendry had even tested it before. When Balerion's wingspan was twenty feet, he still could not lift the carcass of a full-grown horse into the air.
Of course, a horse carcass was simply too heavy.
An ordinary desert thoroughbred, an Arabian horse, stood around 144 to 152 centimeters tall and was a little longer in body, but a horse could weigh four to five hundred kilograms.
When Balerion's wingspan reached twenty feet, he could already carry Daenerys.
Gendry was tall and broad, and men were heavier. So he had waited until Balerion grew a little larger before choosing, with confidence, to become a Dragonrider.
"It's time, good friend." Gendry stroked Balerion's muzzle.
Balerion bumped his black snout against the soot-colored Valyrian steel breastplate over Gendry's chest.
"I have paid far too much for this day," Gendry thought.
Bloody battlefields, the fires of Dragonstone, all manner of runes, and the flesh and blood of the Bleeding Sea Kraken had allowed these Dragons to grow so quickly, without delaying the coming War of the Long Night.
The onlookers watched in excitement. A Dragonrider. A Dragonrider had returned.
Gendry took up the black saddle he had prepared and placed it first at Balerion's neck. Four short iron chains hung from the saddle, meant to fasten the belt to it.
Gendry had studied the dragon battle accounts and illustrations in books such as Fire and Blood. The Targaryens had ridden Dragons in much the same way one rode warhorses.
They relied on saddles, steel-tipped whips, and of course the bond of the Dragonlord's Bloodline.
More advanced binding spells had not appeared since the fall of Valyria. As for the Dragon Horn, its side effects were severe, and it pressed upon the Dragon's nerves besides.
Gendry would ride the Dragon by the simplest, least refined method.
"Be careful, Your Grace," Daenerys said softly.
If they could fly, how beautiful the heights must be. Still, riding a Dragon into the sky carried real danger.
For more than a hundred years, no Dragons had appeared, and neither had any Dragonriders.
"Don't worry, my love."
Gendry helped Daenerys fasten the black saddle onto Vhagar.
"And now, Balerion, we fly!"
Gendry walked toward the black Dragon, and Balerion nuzzled him with his snout.
Then Gendry slowly climbed into the saddle on the Dragon's back, fastened the short chains, and took the black steel-tipped whip in his hand.
Balerion let out a piercing roar. The sound filled the entire square, and furnace-hot wind swept over them.
Everyone watched, hardly daring to breathe. A Dragon, and the Dragonlord knight who would rule the world.
"I understand you, my friend. You are the lord of the sky. You are the fiery death god of war." Gendry looked into Balerion's eyes, which burned like a hell of molten lava. The strong. Only we are the strong ones of this world.
The whip cracked softly through the air. Gendry did not strike his companion hard. Balerion obeyed him well enough.
Besides, the Dragon was covered in scales. The whip was probably little more than a signal.
Balerion raised himself up, his wings blotting out the sun.
His black wings unfurled like thunder, and the stone square suddenly dropped away beneath them.
The long whip was in Gendry's hand. He did not lash his companion, only commanded, "Rise!"
The Dragon beat his great leathery wings, and Gendry could even feel the scorching heat beneath his scales, Fire and Blood.
Balerion carried Gendry into the sky. Up, higher, and higher still, until Deep Den suddenly became a black speck on the ground.
The sky was high and the clouds were thin. The gray-brown mountains were nothing more than ridgelines, and galloping horses looked like ants.
Endless mountains, silver-bright streams. Everything lay clear before his eyes.
"Good friend, Balerion!" Gendry shouted joyfully.
They soared above the clouds and roamed the sky.
Balerion, a winged black shadow, was like an eagle threading through distant clouds, leaving the far mountains behind in a song of flight and freedom.
Gendry coaxed Balerion onward, beginning to grasp the Dragon's sense of direction.
"To the right!"
A Dragon was not a horse. When Gendry's whip fell on Balerion's right side, the Dragon turned right, because a Dragon's nature was to attack.
The whip could only bother him, not truly harm him, for Dragon scales were harder than horn.
Of course, if Gendry swung with all his strength, he could certainly split Balerion's hide and flesh, but that would be far too great a waste.
Balerion was his companion, and he obeyed only Gendry's commands.
Gendry guided Balerion's direction through the signals of the whip and his calls.
"The world. The world is beneath my feet."
And now, let me fly.