Late at night, darkness blanketed the Riverlands. Only the red comet burned in the heavens, trailing its bloody tail across the sky like an omen of war.
Fountainhead stood near the shores of Crackclaw Bay, its castle perched atop a modest hill and the town itself enclosed within sturdy walls. To the east stretched forested hills thick with pine, the trees standing silent and unmoving like ranks of grey-green soldiers awaiting command. From the sea came the steady murmur of waves, carried inland by the cool night breeze.
Yet despite the hour, few in Fountainhead slept.
Rumors of Lord Tywin Lannister's brutal campaign had spread like wildfire. Villages burned. Smallfolk butchered. Castles sacked. No one believed Fountainhead would be spared if the Lannister host marched this way.
"My lord," said the Captain of the Guard, red cloak fluttering behind him as he hurried through the corridor. "There are ships entering the bay—many ships. You should see for yourself."
The sigil upon his back—a red salmon leaping upon a white field bordered in gold—marked him as a man of House Mouton.
Lord William Mouton grumbled irritably as he rose from his chair. Soft-bodied and pale, with anxious eyes and a perpetually worried brow, he lacked the confidence of a born commander.
"What nonsense is this?" he muttered. "Lannister marches with infantry and cavalry. I ordered you to watch the western roads, not stare at the sea."
"My lord… these are no fishing boats."
Reluctantly, Lord William climbed the winding steps of the watchtower. From its height, he peered across the black waters of the bay.
Ships.
Dozens of them.
Even beneath the ink-dark sky, he glimpsed faint glimmers of steel reflecting starlight. The low, restless nickering of horses drifted faintly over the water.
These were troop transports.
"My lord… what should we do?" the Captain asked nervously. "Are the men of Crackclaw Point coming to attack us amidst the chaos?"
Lord William frowned. "If they meant to attack, they would land closer. No… this is something else."
The lords of Fountainhead knew little of the Claw Peninsula beyond its reputation. Attempts by House Darklyn of Duskendale—and later House Celtigar—to subdue the region had only earned blood feuds and resentment. The peninsula's swamps, forests, and honeycombed caves belonged to its native clans. Outsiders fared poorly there.
"Leave them be," Lord William decided at last. "Our concern is Tywin. When his Red Cloaks appear, I want word at once."
As he descended the tower, he thought of his late brother, Ser Myles Mouton—a brave knight who had once ridden beneath the dragon banner. Myles had possessed courage William never found within himself.
"To die in battle is glory," William murmured bitterly. "But to butcher children and burn towns… that is sin."
The Landing at Saltpans
Far from Fountainhead, beneath the same red comet, another force made landfall.
Lord Gendry's fleet reached Saltpans first.
Under cover of darkness, disciplined soldiers slipped ashore. They moved swiftly and silently, seizing control of the small harbor town before resistance could organize.
Saltpans was subdued without bloodshed.
Ser Quincy Cox, elderly and grey-haired, emerged from the square tower of his modest castle to find its courtyard filled with armored men. Torches flared. Spears formed a forest of steel.
He stared at the banners—quartered gold and black, a stag and a dragon intertwined.
"Gold is the king's color," he muttered. "But why quartered so?"
Anguy stepped forward. "Kneel, Ser. Before the lawful heir to the Iron Throne."
Only when Ser Quincy beheld the tall warrior at the center—broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, gripping a massive warhammer—did he understand.
Lord Gendry.
Ser Quincy knelt smoothly and unbuckled his sword, placing it at Gendry's feet.
"I am sworn to House Tully of Riverrun," he declared. "But I pledge fealty to the rightful king."
Ser Barristan spoke solemnly, reciting the titles:
"King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm…"
Gendry raised the old knight gently.
"Rise. We are not here to plunder."
"And your sons?" Gendry asked.
"They fight for Lord Tully," Ser Quincy answered.
Gendry nodded. "Then from this night onward, you fight for me. I leave men to maintain order."
Saltpans fell quietly.
The army did not linger.
March Through the Riverlands
From Saltpans they rode through Ruby Beach beneath the moon.
Tywin Lannister's army had yet to fully consolidate the Riverlands. Burdened by infantry and siege engines, it moved slowly. Fortune favored Gendry; surprise remained intact.
"Full speed," Gendry ordered. "We ride for Seagard."
Bronze Yohn Royce snorted. "And what of the Freys?"
"The Freys will be dealt with in time," Gendry replied calmly. "They value tolls above honor."
Scouts fanned westward, eliminating any Lannister outriders encountered. Not a single rider returned to Jaime Lannister with news.
Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard joined the growing host. Mercenaries, minor lords, and remnants of defeated Riverlords swelled their numbers.
Tywin's brutality had achieved what diplomacy could not: unity through hatred.
By the time they reached Whispering Wood, Gendry commanded over five thousand men.
The forest was perfect for an ambush—dense, uneven, crossed by narrow streams. Riverrun lay nearby, still besieged.
Under moonlight, armor shifted softly. Warhorses stamped. Banners stirred.
Gendry laid his warhammer across his knees and waited.
They were fishing.
And the bait was the Kingslayer.
The Trap Springs
Reports came swiftly.
Jaime Lannister had ridden out again—impatient, aggressive, pursuing scattered Riverrun forces.
Bronze Yohn's scouts ensured no warning reached him.
"They don't know we're here," Yohn said confidently. "Not a single scout escaped."
Jaime's cavalry—two to three thousand strong—charged into the valley in pursuit of fleeing trout banners.
Then—
Horns sounded.
From east and west.
From ridge and riverbank.
Mallister forces thundered down. Vale knights erupted from the trees. Crabclaw longbowmen loosed arrows in deadly volleys.
And from the ridge—
Gendry's Gold Cloaks descended like a golden avalanche.
"Follow me!" Gendry roared.
Five hundred heavy cavalry formed a line of iron and fury.
The impact was devastating.
Where Gendry's warhammer fell, armor crumpled like tin. Helmets split. Horses toppled. Men were hurled from saddles as though struck by thunder itself.
He fought without flourish—pure strength and precision.
A knight lunged. Gendry's hammer punched through breastplate and bone alike.
Another swung. Gendry's backswing shattered his jaw.
Around him, the Gold Cloaks carved through red cloaks like scythes through wheat.
Panic spread among Lannister ranks.
"Robert reborn!" someone screamed.
"The stag lives!"
"Retreat!"
But retreat was impossible. The valley had become a killing ground.
The Kingslayer
Jaime Lannister turned in the chaos.
Even beneath moonlight, his golden armor gleamed pale silver. His crimson cloak trailed like shadowed flame.
He saw him.
The giant in gold and black, stag and dragon blazing upon his helm.
"Robert's whelp," Jaime muttered.
Men around him faltered.
"Ser, we must withdraw!"
"The enemy is overwhelming!"
Jaime's jaw tightened.
"Too strong?" he spat.
He raised his gilded longsword.
Then he charged.
Through smoke, steel, and screaming horses, the Kingslayer cut a path toward Gendry.
Their eyes met across the carnage.
"Kingslayer!" Gendry called.
Jaime answered with steel.
The valley roared as the two forces collided around them—dragon and lion, stag and sword.
The night would remember this clash.
And by dawn—
Only one would stand unbroken.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)