The War of the Five Kings had begun in humiliation.
In the Riverlands, defeat followed defeat in swift succession, leaving its lords battered, disorganized, and with little strength to retaliate against the Westerlands. What was once a fertile and prosperous heartland had quickly become a battleground soaked in blood.
First came the Battle of the Golden Tooth, where four thousand men of House Piper and House Vance were slaughtered in a disastrous engagement. Then, beneath the walls of Riverrun, more than ten thousand Riverlands soldiers were routed. The Lannister advance had been merciless, decisive, and devastating.
Within the council chamber of Wolfs Den, the Quartered Banner hung proudly upon the stone wall. It was a bold emblem of unity and ambition: a crowned stag on a golden field, the crown and warhammer mirrored symmetrically above its antlered head; three red dragons coiling upon a field of black; beneath them, a white snowfield bearing a galloping wolf pack; and finally, a silver slave breaking his shackles against a sea-green background.
The banner symbolized more than conquest. It represented liberation, legitimacy, and a claim to a fractured realm.
Today's council was convened to discuss one decisive question: how and when to enter Westeros.
Seated around the heavy oak table were Gendry's most trusted commanders and advisers. There was Anguy the Attendant, loyal and sharp-eyed; the Handsome Man, master of coin and treasurer; Maester Qyburn, serving as intelligence officer and chief counselor; Dick the Fletch, quartermaster and veteran strategist; and Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
From the Wolf Pack Legion stood Longspear, Steel Fist, and Black Billy. From the Free Legion came Grey Wolf, once leader of the Unsullied, and Gilo, former commander of the Spear Company. Ser Jorah represented the Second Sons. Moros of Myr commanded the Two Cities fleet, while Harris, once an enslaved exile from Volantis, led the Narrow Sea fleet.
It was an unlikely gathering: mercenaries, liberated slaves, disgraced scholars, exiled knights, smugglers, and soldiers of fortune. Yet under Gendry's leadership, they had become something greater than the sum of their origins.
In Westeros, assembling such an army would have been nearly impossible. Noble hierarchy and rigid bloodlines dictated command. Across the Narrow Sea, however, merit ruled over birth. Talent was recognized, ability rewarded.
Gendry rose.
He wore a black leather jerkin reinforced with studs, the Quartered emblem embroidered across his chest. Myr's southern climate required no heavy armor, and he preferred mobility to ornamentation.
At six feet six inches tall, Gendry towered over most men in the chamber. His frame was massive, his shoulders broad, his arms thick with the strength of a lifelong smith. The warhammer at his side was so heavy few others could even lift it. Yet despite his size, there was refinement in his bearing—black hair falling neatly around a strong, handsome face, blue eyes clear and resolute.
He sometimes reflected that he might not even be the tallest of Storm's blood. The Mad Storm of old had rivaled the height of Ser Duncan the Tall, who had stood near seven feet. Still, Gendry's presence alone commanded attention.
"We are perhaps the last to prepare for the Westerosi civil war," he began.
Laughter rippled around the table, edged with pride.
"Other lords rushed to claim crowns," someone muttered. "The Old Lion. Renly the Usurper."
Early ambition had brought them nothing but ruin.
Gendry's voice deepened.
"That is irrelevant. What matters is that we will win."
His gaze swept the room.
"Winter is coming. And what comes with it will be unlike anything this realm has endured."
He turned toward Maester Qyburn.
"How long has summer lasted in Westeros?"
Qyburn folded his pale hands. "Summer began in 289 AC. A long summer is a rare and ominous sign. If we assume nine years—conservatively—then winter may last just as long. Perhaps longer."
Silence fell.
"A winter of nine years," Qyburn continued softly, "would be catastrophic."
Gendry nodded.
"Victory in battle is only the first step. Feeding the starving. Healing the wounded. Preserving order through famine—that will determine whether we truly rule."
He placed both hands upon the table.
"Our discipline must be absolute. We are not merely an army of summer conquest. We must be an army of winter survival."
The crown was not only glory. It was burden.
In that, he felt an unexpected kinship with Stannis Baratheon.
The commanders answered in unison.
"Yes."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"The war in Westeros stands at a stalemate," Gendry continued. "We must find opportunity within chaos."
He let the words settle.
"That opportunity lies in the Riverlands."
No one expressed surprise. The plan had been discussed in fragments before.
"Many expect us to strike the Stormlands," Gendry said. "But compared to that, the Riverlands offer a far greater opening."
Ser Barristan leaned forward. "What of Riverrun?"
Qyburn responded first.
"Riverrun remains under siege by the Kingslayer's divided forces. After his victory at the Golden Tooth, Ser Jaime marched directly upon Riverrun and defeated Edmure Tully's hastily gathered army. Edmure had dispersed his forces to protect villages from Gregor Clegane's raids. When news of the Golden Tooth reached him, he recalled them too late."
"His army broke," Qyburn continued. "Edmure and several Riverlords were captured. Only Lord Blackwood escaped and managed to reopen the sluice gates, flooding the moat and securing Riverrun's defenses."
Ser Jorah nodded. "Riverrun can endure. It holds provisions for two years. But morale inside must be fragile."
Riverrun's triangular design was ingenious. Two rivers flanked it, and when the sluice gates were opened, it became an island fortress—nearly impregnable.
Yet morale was another matter.
"Edmure Tully is no great commander," the Handsome Man remarked. "Good intentions do not win wars."
Gendry did not argue.
"The Riverlands lack experience in positional warfare," he said. "And Edmure is inexperienced. But now is not the time for criticism. It is time to break the siege."
He tapped the map.
"If we strike swiftly and ambush near Riverrun, we may destroy the Kingslayer's host in a single blow."
Ser Barristan's voice was calm and seasoned.
"Jaime Lannister has won repeatedly. That breeds arrogance. His forces are divided into three camps beneath Riverrun. Their numbers are diminished by siege duties. Their tempers worn thin."
He paused.
"I once served beside the Kingslayer. He is bold. Proud. Impatient."
Arrogance was a weakness even in lions.
"Then we must exploit it," Gendry said.
Dick the Fletch spoke next. "What of crossing points? And our approach?"
"Speed is essential," Gendry replied. "If our main forces move, Lys or Volantis may intervene. Instead, I will lead an elite contingent."
Murmurs stirred.
"I will recruit the Crabfeeder's men and secure the Knights of the Vale."
The Handsome Man frowned. "You have never met these Vale knights. Fighting with newly joined forces is dangerous."
"I will go myself," Gendry answered. "If I stand before them, I will persuade them."
The Vale's loyalty and discipline were renowned. Their interests aligned against Lannister dominance.
Ser Barristan rose slightly.
"Then I shall accompany you."
"And I," Anguy declared eagerly.
Gendry smiled faintly. "Both of you will come."
Logistics followed—supplies, fleet routes, timing. Ruby Beach would serve as their crossing. They must move before Tywin Lannister consolidated at Harrenhal.
"Tywin will watch the Kingsroad," Barristan warned.
"Then we flank him," Gendry replied.
A bold maneuver. Dangerous—but possible.
"Another concern," the Handsome Man added. "If you appear in Westeros, our enemies across the Narrow Sea may strike."
"I will relieve Riverrun, secure the Riverlands, and reopen the path between North and South," Gendry said coldly.
"If House Stark refuses submission—then I will block the North's passage south."
His voice left no room for doubt.
"As long as the Vale, the Crownlands, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands stand united, even if Tywin retreats to Casterly Rock, he will only cling to survival."
Silence settled across the chamber.
Outside, the Narrow Sea winds howled faintly against stone.
War was coming.
And it would begin at Ruby Beach.
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