The trial of Lysa Arryn—and Petyr Baelish in absentia—had finally come to an end.
But judgment was only the beginning.
Now came the aftermath.
The Vale stood at a crossroads. Decisions had to be made—decisions that would shape not only the fate of House Arryn, but the future of the entire region. At the center of it all was one fragile child:
Robert Arryn.
The young Lord of the Vale.
A boy too weak for the world he had inherited.
The great hall was filled with tension as the Lords of the Vale gathered once more. Their concerns were no longer about guilt or innocence, but about survival.
Gendry stood at the head, his presence commanding yet measured.
"Speak freely," he said, his voice steady. "We must decide what comes next."
Maester Colemon stepped forward first, his expression weary but resolute.
"My lords… before anything else, we must discuss Lord Robert's condition."
The hall fell silent.
"You all know I am a Maester," he continued. "But there are limits to what knowledge and medicine can achieve. Congenital weakness… cannot be cured. Only managed."
He hesitated briefly before continuing.
"Lord Robert is six years old, yet his body is far smaller and weaker than other children his age. His limbs are thin, his complexion pale… and he suffers from episodes resembling seizures."
A murmur spread through the room.
"And there is something worse," Colemon added gravely. "The child has been given sweetsleep—far too much of it. Its effects accumulate in the body. Over time… it becomes poison."
"Gods…" Bronze Yohn Royce muttered, his face darkening. "Lord Arryn was granted an heir… only for him to be so frail."
Many of the lords shared the same fear.
A weak lord meant a weak Vale.
Gendry remained silent, but his thoughts were sharp.
A child born to an elderly father… a mother plagued by miscarriages… and now poisoned by ignorance.
The odds had never been in Robert's favor.
And in Westeros—
Weakness was unforgiving.
"This is not just about survival," one lord said quietly. "The boy must one day become a knight."
That single statement carried immense weight.
Knighthood was not merely a title.
It was identity.
Honor.
Power.
The Vale had been built upon the strength of knights.
House Arryn itself had risen through war—through steel and blood.
From the legendary Artys Arryn, the Falcon Knight, to Jon Arryn, every generation had upheld that legacy.
And now—
It rested on a child who could barely stand.
Maester Colemon continued, his tone urgent.
"We must begin with the basics. Nutrition, sunlight, companionship."
He glanced at the others.
"The boy has been isolated for too long. He needs children his own age. He needs to laugh, to play… to live."
Ser Vardis nodded grimly.
"I've seen it myself. Lady Lysa kept him confined, driving away other children. Even those of noble birth were deemed 'too rough.'"
"And the children of servants?" another lord asked.
"Unacceptable, in her eyes."
A bitter silence followed.
"That is no way to raise a lord," Ser Brynden, the Blackfish, said.
Gendry finally spoke.
"No. It is a way to raise a prisoner."
The discussion shifted.
Where should Robert be raised?
"The Eyrie is unsuitable," one lord argued. "Too high. Too cold."
"Then the Gate of the Moon," another suggested. "More accessible. More livable."
"Or Runestone," Blackfish added. "House Royce has long served as guardians of Arryn heirs."
"Or rotate him between noble houses," someone proposed.
Suggestions flowed one after another.
But none addressed the true problem.
Until—
"Why not entrust him to the strongest knight in the realm?"
All eyes turned.
"To Gendry."
The hall grew still.
Gendry didn't react immediately.
Then, slowly, he spoke.
"My lords… I appreciate your trust."
His voice was calm, but firm.
"But Lord Robert is too young—and too fragile—to leave the Vale."
A pause.
"And I am not suited to raising a child."
A faint ripple of surprise passed through the room.
"I can protect him," Gendry continued. "I can serve as his guardian in name and in duty."
"But I cannot be his caretaker."
That distinction mattered.
Greatly.
"However," he added, "I do have suggestions."
The lords leaned forward.
"First—companionship."
"A child must grow among others. He must choose his own companions, regardless of birth, as long as they are kind and well-mannered."
Bronze Yohn nodded slowly.
"That… is wisdom."
"Second—education."
"Do not force knighthood upon him too early. His body cannot bear it."
"Instead, find instructors who are patient. Gentle."
"Let strength come later."
Gendry's gaze hardened slightly.
"If it comes at all."
No one spoke.
But everyone understood.
"In that case," Ser Vardis said, "we bring him to the Gate of the Moon."
"And form a council to oversee his upbringing," another added.
"A Guardian Alliance," Earl Hunter proposed.
"Seven members," Baron Nestor suggested. "Like the Small Council."
Gendry considered it.
Then nodded.
"Make it so."
Names were put forward.
Bronze Yohn Royce.
Ser Vardis.
Baron Nestor.
Earl Hunter.
Maester Colemon.
Lady Anya Waynwood.
And—
Gendry himself.
A council of seven.
Bound not by ambition—
But by necessity.
"I will protect him," Gendry said.
His voice carried through the hall like a vow.
"Until he comes of age."
"And if anyone threatens the Vale…"
His gaze swept across the room.
"…I will answer with blood."
No one doubted him.
Not after everything he had done.
Then—
The mood shifted.
From discussion…
To something greater.
Recognition.
Respect.
Loyalty.
Ser Vardis was the first to kneel.
"You avenged Lord Arryn. You restored honor to the Vale."
He placed his sword at Gendry's feet.
"You are a true knight."
Others followed.
"Long live the storm!"
"Long live the stag and the falcon!"
One by one, the Lords of the Vale knelt.
Not in submission—
But in unity.
"Rise," Gendry said.
His voice was steady.
But his eyes were sharp.
"The lion will tremble."
Later—
In the gardens—
Robert Arryn was brought out.
Small.
Fragile.
Dressed in pale blue and cream.
His large eyes wandered curiously.
"I am your great-uncle," the Blackfish said gently.
Robert frowned.
"My mother said you were a traitor."
No one responded.
"Do you want to fly?" Gendry asked suddenly.
The boy blinked.
"Yes!"
Without hesitation—
Gendry lifted him.
And tossed him into the air.
Gasps filled the garden.
But Gendry caught him effortlessly.
Again.
And again.
Each motion smooth.
Controlled.
Perfect.
The boy laughed.
Bright.
Carefree.
For the first time—
Alive.
"Again!" Robert shouted.
Gendry smiled faintly.
And continued.
To the watching lords—
It was more than a game.
It was proof.
Of strength.
Of control.
Of something greater.
When it ended—
Robert stood steady.
"Will I fly like that again?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes," Gendry said.
"If you listen. If you grow stronger."
As the boy was led away—
Gendry looked up.
Toward the mountains.
Toward the sky.
And beyond—
To war.
To dragons.
To destiny.
Can this child truly survive?
He didn't know.
But one thing was certain.
The storm had begun.
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