"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Liberator!"
"Lannister dogs, surrender at once!"
"Surrender! The Kingslayer is dead!"
The shouts rolled across the fields outside Riverrun like thunder.
Bronze Yohn Royce gave the order without hesitation. His Vale cavalry surged forward, torches in hand, setting fire to the massive siege towers the Lannisters had painstakingly constructed during the long siege. Flames leapt skyward, devouring wood, rope, and canvas. Within moments, the western camp was ablaze.
Thick black smoke rose into the sky.
The fields outside Riverrun had become a true Field of Fire.
Inside the city, soldiers and civilians crowded the sandstone walls, cheering wildly. On every bastion, the banners of House Tully snapped proudly in the wind: a silver trout leaping against rippling red and blue.
"Long live Lord Gendry!"
"Savior of Riverrun!"
The western Lannister camp collapsed in utter chaos. With Lord Tytos Blackwood leading Riverrun's defenders in a bold sally, the Lannisters were struck from two sides. Their famed longspear formations broke apart under the relentless assault. The northern and western camps disintegrated into scattered pockets of resistance before finally collapsing entirely.
It was not merely defeat.
It was annihilation.
Lord Tytos Blackwood wasted no time. He personally led men to free Ser Edmure Tully, who had been imprisoned for months.
Edmure was a broad-shouldered young knight with auburn hair and a fiery red beard, but the siege had left its mark upon him. His breastplate was scratched and dented from countless skirmishes. His red-and-blue cloak hung in tatters, stained with blood and dust. A bandage wrapped tightly around his neck wound.
He blinked as sunlight struck his face.
"Who has come?" Edmure asked hoarsely, still dazed. "Is it my sister Catelyn? My nephew Robb?"
He had heard only distant battle cries before the sudden collapse of Lannister resistance. In his confusion, he had assumed the northern army had arrived.
Lord Tytos exchanged a glance with his men.
"It is not your nephew, my lord," he said carefully. "You will understand when you see him."
Edmure frowned, confusion deepening, but he allowed himself to be led out of the prison tower.
Below the walls of Riverrun, amid the smoldering remains of the western camp's siege towers, Lord Gendry waited.
He had dismounted from his black warhorse and stood silently beside the ruins, watching flames consume the enemy's works. Warriors around him cheered and celebrated, but he remained still, composed.
Victory.
The taste of it was intoxicating.
But victory was not enough.
It must serve purpose.
If war did not serve politics, then it was meaningless slaughter.
I am the warrior.
I am the storm.
I am the power.
At his side stood Ser Barristan Selmy, silent and watchful as ever. The red-haired archer Anguy lingered nearby. Behind them, the Goldcloaks stood in disciplined ranks. Bronze Yohn Royce, Lord Grafton of Gulltown, Lord Redfort, Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard, Ser Boggs of the Claw, and Lord Jak were also present.
They formed a powerful circle of allegiance.
Lord Tytos recognized Gendry immediately.
The young lord stood taller than any man present, clad in black scale armor that shimmered in the firelight. A golden cloak flowed from his shoulders. His helmet was removed, revealing a face marked not by cruelty, but by fierce triumph.
He looked like a living tempest.
The blood of House Baratheon was unmistakable in him—clear blue eyes, strong jawline, dark hair cut short and practical. He was as handsome as King Robert had once been in his youth, perhaps even taller.
Lord Tytos half-knelt at once.
"A great victory, my lord."
He nudged Edmure discreetly.
Edmure swallowed and bowed stiffly.
"Th-thank you for your rescue, Lord Gendry."
"You both endured much," Gendry replied calmly. "A siege is suffering for all."
Then he turned to Tytos.
"You are the true hero of Riverrun. Without your resilience, the city would have fallen."
Tytos' expression tightened.
"I guarded Riverrun," he said bitterly, "but my own lands may have burned while I stood these walls."
Edmure lowered his head in shame. As commander, he felt every loss personally.
"There are still stragglers," Gendry continued. "The commander of the southern camp fled with discipline. But mercenaries within their ranks have already begun defecting."
The Lannisters' wealth had always been their strength. Gold bought swords, ships, loyalty—at least temporarily. Mercenaries and free riders followed coin before banners.
"Sir Flement Prester commands the southern remnants," Gendry added. "He retreated with order. But the Tyroshi mercenaries have cut down their own banners."
Tytos nodded grimly.
Even victory required vigilance.
"I had intended to bring you a living captive," Gendry said mildly. "Instead, I bring the Kingslayer's sword hand… and his blade."
A murmur rippled through those gathered.
Anguy stepped forward and unveiled the grisly trophies.
Jaime Lannister's severed hand.
And his gilded longsword.
Tytos inhaled sharply.
Had any other young lord made such a claim, he would have doubted it instantly. Jaime Lannister was infamous, yes—but also one of the finest swordsmen of the age.
But this was Gendry.
The man who had defeated Bloodbeard, slain a Khal, toppled governors across the Narrow Sea.
Bronze Yohn spoke gravely.
"His Highness severed Jaime's hand under siege and fought off hundreds of knights who attempted rescue."
Ser Barristan added quietly, "Had the Lannister horses been slower, the Kingslayer would be dead."
Edmure's scalp prickled.
He felt painfully small by comparison.
Lord Tytos invited Gendry to enter Riverrun.
Gendry shook his head.
"Our numbers are too great. We will encamp in the former Lannister camp."
Tytos hesitated but did not question him.
Before further discussion could continue, a stir erupted near the gates.
Lord Hoster Tully himself emerged from Riverrun.
He lay half-reclined upon a low litter, surrounded by attendants and guards clad in trout-emblazoned armor.
The old lord looked diminished—once tall and broad, now gaunt and shrunken, as though time had melted flesh from bone. His face was hollow, his skin loose.
"Lord Hoster," Gendry said gently. "You need not trouble yourself."
"You… are the King," Hoster rasped. "Forgive me for not greeting you properly."
"I am not yet crowned," Gendry replied.
"You are the rightful heir," Hoster insisted.
Wind tugged at the old lord's blankets.
"You should return inside," Gendry said quietly.
"No," Hoster whispered. "I must speak."
Later, inside the former Lannister command tent, torches burned brightly.
Lion banners still hung along the canvas walls.
Hoster Tully insisted on remaining.
Edmure stood nearby, eyes red from tears.
"I beg you," Hoster said, voice trembling, attempting to kneel again. "Look after my son."
Gendry stepped forward and gently stopped him.
"Do not kneel."
"Edmure is not strong in war," Hoster continued. "He has a good heart… but this world devours good hearts."
Edmure clenched his fists but said nothing.
"Power binds the Riverlands," Hoster whispered. "If you rise… protect him."
Gendry regarded the frail lord carefully.
"You have a brother. You have daughters. House Tully is not without strength."
Hoster smiled faintly.
"I once believed I had raised House Tully to its peak. But I see now… power is a whirlpool. Vast. Merciless."
Silence filled the tent.
Outside, flames from the burning siege towers crackled in the night.
Finally, Gendry spoke.
"I will look after him. But only as far as he proves worthy."
It was neither warm nor cruel.
It was honest.
Hoster nodded weakly.
"That is enough."
For a long moment, the old lord simply looked at Gendry—not as a king, nor as a conqueror, but as a force of nature.
The storm had come.
And the Riverlands had chosen to kneel before it.
Not from fear alone.
But from necessity.
And from hope.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)