Under the pale gray light of dawn, the war was over.
What had begun in darkness ended beneath a cold, colorless sky. Smoke drifted across the fields around Riverrun, mingling with the morning mist. The smell of blood and ash lingered in the air, heavy and inescapable.
Victory belonged to them.
Gendry and Anguy moved through the aftermath alongside the jubilant Gold Cloaks. Their celebration, however, was restrained. A commander who had seen enough battle understood that triumph always carried a price.
The wounded were tended first. The dead were counted next.
War, no matter how perfectly executed, always demanded payment. The names of the fallen had to be recorded. Their deeds would be remembered. Their families would receive compensation. Honor would be preserved.
Much like the Kingsguard's White Book in King's Landing, where great knights' deeds were inscribed for eternity, this record would ensure that none of these men were forgotten.
Bronze Yohn Royce, Lord Jason Mallister, Lord Jak, and Ser Boros each oversaw different responsibilities. One tallied captives. Another counted spoils. Others recorded the fallen Lannister dead.
It had been, by every measure, a beautiful victory.
And yet.
Anguy crouched beside a wooden crate, carefully writing down the names of soldiers who had distinguished themselves in the night's battle. His dragonbone longbow rested nearby.
Gendry, meanwhile, personally inspected the wounded.
Though he could be ruthless in war, he did not see men as expendable grain to be harvested. Casualties were sometimes unavoidable—but waste was unacceptable.
A true commander sought meaningful victories.
Victories with fewer losses.
Victories that preserved strength.
Ser Barristan Selmy walked quietly beside him. The old knight's white cloak was stained with soot and blood, yet he carried himself with the same dignity he always had.
"You fight hard," Barristan said softly, watching Gendry kneel beside an injured soldier. "But you remember mercy. That is rare."
"Cruel knights are not true knights," Barristan continued. "Compassion and protection of the weak—those are the true vows."
Gendry nodded without speaking.
He removed his gold cloak, now soaked dark red with blood. The once-brilliant fabric clung heavily to his shoulders.
"Wrap it carefully," Gendry told Anguy, gesturing toward a grim prize nearby.
Amory Lorch's severed head lay on the ground.
Mud and dried blood streaked his pale, pig-like face. His small eyes remained frozen wide with terror.
Lord Jason Mallister exhaled slowly. "So ends one of Tywin's mad dogs."
Amory Lorch had been infamous. A cruel, petty man—second only to Gregor Clegane in brutality. He had ravaged the Riverlands without restraint. And years ago, when King's Landing fell, it had been Amory who dragged Princess Rhaenys from beneath her father's bed and stabbed her repeatedly until she died.
Even among hardened men, his name carried disgust.
"Such cruelty invites cruel ends," Jason said.
Ser Barristan's expression darkened. "Tywin Lannister raises monsters because he is one himself. Cold. Rational. Without mercy."
Other lords of Westeros possessed flaws—pride, ambition, stubbornness—but Tywin embodied something different.
A calculated, disdainful evil.
Gendry's thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Jaime Lannister had escaped.
The Kingslayer.
The Mountain had fallen. Amory had fallen. But Jaime had managed to flee—though not unscathed.
Future events were shifting. The tree of fate had branched again.
Would Jaime still fulfill the whispered prophecy? Would he still be the valonqar, the younger brother destined to strangle the queen?
Gendry did not know.
"It is already a glorious victory," Bronze Yohn said, breaking the silence.
"And decisive," Lord Jason agreed. "Jaime's cavalry is shattered. Amory's reinforcements broken. Nearly a hundred knights captured. A dozen lords taken alive."
Anguy grinned. "Lord Westerling. Lord Banefort. Ser Giles Greenfield. Lord Estermont. Ser Tytos Brax. The Dornishman Mallor. And three nephews of Lord Tywin himself."
He practically glowed with excitement.
Gendry raised a hand gently. "Not perfect. A lion escaped."
His gaze turned south.
"Prepare the army. We march on the Lannister encampments below Riverrun immediately."
"And collect their red cloaks and banners," he added thoughtfully.
A new idea had taken root.
The Second Night
If the first night of war belonged to the forest valley, the second would belong to Riverrun.
Jaime had divided his besieging army into three camps—north of the Tumblestone, south of the Red Fork, and west between the rivers. The arrangement was strategic, but rivers that separated enemies could just as easily divide allies.
With Jaime gone and his cavalry destroyed, those camps were vulnerable.
Gendry intended to ensure they were annihilated.
They marched without delay. Fatigue pressed upon the men, but victory fed their strength. Morale burned brighter than any torch.
At the head rode Gendry.
Six feet six inches tall, clad in fine iron armor. His helmet bore a red-gold winged dragon and a crowned black stag wielding a warhammer. The sigils flared like twin horns.
He looked less like a bastard and more like a king from ancient legends.
Lord Jason Mallister stepped forward. "Allow me to lead the assault on the northern camp."
Gendry studied him briefly, then nodded.
Jason and Ser Boros would take Seagard's purple-robed soldiers and the fierce crabfeeder men. Gendry, Bronze Yohn, and Ser Barristan would strike the western camp.
Then—
The horn sounded.
Low.
Desolate.
Deadly.
"Kill!" Lord Jason roared.
The northern camp erupted into chaos as Seagard soldiers stormed through the darkness. Tents caught fire. Lannister guards fell before they understood what was happening.
"Long live the storm!"
"Long live the storm!"
The battle cry thundered.
Flames rose high, painting the sky red.
Across the river, Lord Andros Brax of the western camp saw the inferno and panicked.
"Rafts!" he shouted. "We must aid the northern camp!"
It was a fatal mistake.
In the darkness, the current proved merciless. Rafts spun and drifted. Then—stones launched from Riverrun's trebuchets crashed into the river, smashing vessels apart.
Men in heavy armor drowned quickly.
Lord Brax himself slipped into the black water, dragged under by his own shining plate. His purple unicorn banner vanished beneath the surface without a sound.
At that moment—
War drums thundered from the west.
Gendry's cavalry surged forward across the narrow crossing.
"Long live the storm!"
They crashed into the western camp like a golden avalanche.
Confusion reigned. Leaderless. Afraid. Disorganized.
"Surrender and live!" Gendry bellowed.
Few listened.
His warhammer rose and fell.
Plate armor crumpled like thin tin beneath its focused force. A gentle brush became a deathblow. Hearts burst. Helmets shattered.
Ser Barristan moved like a silver ghost at his flank. Bronze Yohn's runic armor glinted in firelight as he cut through spearmen.
Anguy stood behind them, calmly shooting down any man attempting to release a messenger raven.
From within Riverrun, Lord Blackwood led Tully forces across the drawbridge to strike from the rear.
The Lannister western camp collapsed.
On the battlements, old Lord Hoster Tully was carried to the gatehouse.
The "Old Fish" watched the golden figure burning through the night.
"Whose banners are those?" he asked weakly.
"The quartered banner from across the Narrow Sea," came the reply. "The crowned stag and the dragon. Gendry's."
Hoster's eyes widened.
"Not Stark? Not Arryn?"
"No, my lord."
Hoster's expression turned complicated—surprise, bitterness, realization.
"Baratheon," he whispered. "They call him bastard. Blackheart. Ambitious."
He watched as Gendry shattered another formation.
"He fights like a king."
A sharp pain seized his chest.
"When Lannister took Edmure, I feared we were finished," Hoster murmured. "But tonight… tonight I see hope."
He straightened as much as his frail body allowed.
"Carry me down," he ordered. "If a king has come to save Riverrun, I will greet him properly."
"My lord, your health—"
"My health fades regardless," Hoster replied softly. "But I would see my children safe. And meet this young stag."
Below, flames still roared.
The lion banners fell one by one.
And beneath the rising dawn, Riverrun was free.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)