The gardens of the Eyrie were quiet, serene, and touched by a rare sense of order.
High above the white marble towers, a falcon soared gracefully through the sky, its wings cutting through the crisp mountain air. Its feathers were as white as untouched snow—pure, proud, and unyielding, like the honor the Vale so deeply cherished.
Beyond the garden walls stretched an endless expanse of blue sky, where soft clouds drifted lazily, carried by the wind.
For the first time in a long while, the Eyrie felt… stable.
The chaos that had once defined its rule had been swept away.
Lysa Arryn's erratic governance was gone, replaced by something far more structured—something far more formidable.
The Alliance of the Protectors of the Vale had been established.
This council now governed in place of the fragile young Lord, Robert Arryn, ensuring that the Vale would not fall into disorder again.
At its center stood Gendry—recognized as the protector of the young lord and the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. He held the title of Chief Protector, though his role was more symbolic than authoritarian.
The true governance of the Vale rested in a collective.
Among its members were some of the most influential figures in the region:
Lord Bronze Yohn Royce, steadfast and unyielding.
Baron Nestor Royce, the seasoned Grand Steward of the Vale.
Lord Maekar Grafton of Gulltown, representing the strength of the Vale's coastal power.
Lady Anya Waynwood of Ironoaks, whose influence extended through lineage and alliances.
Ser Vardis Egen, the loyal Captain of the Guard.
And Maester Colemon, ever the voice of reason and tradition.
Together, they formed a regency council—ruling on behalf of young Robert until he came of age… or until he was capable of ruling at all.
Gendry, for his part, did not interfere much.
He had no desire to micromanage the affairs of governance.
To him, leadership was simple: choose the right people—and let them do their jobs.
The administrative backbone of the Vale had already existed under Jon Arryn. Nestor, Colemon, and Vardis were all loyal retainers of House Arryn, experienced and dependable.
Meanwhile, Bronze Yohn represented the military backbone of the Vale.
Grafton controlled trade and naval strength.
And Lady Anya represented powerful succession interests—particularly through "Muttonhead Harry," the secondary heir.
With responsibilities clearly divided, the Vale moved like a well-oiled machine.
Servants hurried through halls.
Knights trained in courtyards.
Messengers carried orders across the mountain passes.
And for the first time in years—
There was purpose.
"We must investigate thoroughly," Bronze Yohn commanded.
His voice echoed through the stone halls.
Ser Vardis bowed. "At once, my lord."
Baron Nestor nodded as well before turning to leave.
Vardis began sweeping through the Eyrie with soldiers clad in blue, while Nestor descended toward the Gates of the Moon to extend the investigation beyond the castle.
Their priority was clear.
They needed to root out any lingering influence left behind by Lysa Arryn and Petyr Baelish—Littlefinger.
Fortunately, the results were reassuring.
Littlefinger had not had enough time to entrench himself deeply within the Vale.
And Lysa… had never inspired loyalty.
Her unstable temperament had alienated many.
Few had trusted her.
Even fewer had served her willingly.
The second task was just as important.
The Lords and Knights of the Vale were to formally swear allegiance to the Alliance of the Protectors.
One by one, they gathered in the great hall.
They knelt.
They pledged.
They swore to defend House Arryn—and the young lord.
More importantly, they pledged loyalty to stability… and to strength.
Gendry stood at the center, receiving their oaths.
But he did not linger long.
Once the formalities were complete, he stepped away, leaving the administrative duties to those better suited for them.
The Vale's nobility quickly shifted their attention to Bronze Yohn and Ser Vardis—the true pillars of governance.
Meanwhile, something else stirred within the Eyrie.
Something far more lively.
In the gardens below—
A tournament had begun.
Though modest in scale, it carried immense significance.
Knights gathered in polished armor.
Spectators filled the edges of the courtyard.
And at the center—
Steel met steel.
Gendry stood tall, clad in black plate armor, a golden quartered surcoat draped over it.
His short black hair and commanding presence reminded many of Aegon the Conqueror himself.
Opposite him stood Ser Lyn Corbray.
Slim, sharp, and dangerous.
His white surcoat bore the sigil of three crows clutching broken hearts.
The contrast between them was striking—
Storm and steel.
Power and precision.
The clash began.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Blunted swords struck against each other with explosive force.
The sound echoed through the garden, drawing cheers from the crowd.
Gendry pressed forward aggressively, his strikes heavy and relentless.
Ser Lyn parried skillfully, his movements swift and calculated.
But the difference in strength became clear.
Each impact forced Lyn back.
Step by step.
Blow by blow.
Gendry moved like a predator.
Closing distance.
Applying pressure.
Never allowing his opponent to recover.
Their swords blurred, flashing in rapid succession.
Then—
A heavy strike landed.
Gendry's blade slammed against Lyn's armor, leaving a deep dent.
Lyn staggered.
His balance faltered.
He retaliated with a swift upward slash—
But Gendry was faster.
Their swords collided again.
This time—
It was a contest of pure strength.
Lyn gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face as he tried to hold his ground.
But the force behind Gendry's blade was overwhelming.
Like a mountain bearing down upon him.
"I yield!"
Lyn stepped back abruptly, raising his hand.
The match was over.
Cheers erupted from the crowd.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
"Lyn! Lyn!"
The spectators roared with excitement.
Even in defeat, Lyn had earned their respect.
Breathing heavily, Lyn wiped the sweat from his face.
"It seems… I had little chance of winning."
He planted his sword into the ground.
"Duels between skilled swordsmen usually take time… but this ended too quickly."
Gendry nodded slightly.
"You're strong."
And he meant it.
Few could endure even a few exchanges against him.
Lyn was among the best in the Vale.
Soon, another duel began.
Elsewhere in the courtyard, Ser Brynden "Blackfish" Tully entered the fray, reluctantly facing a challenger.
Meanwhile—
Gendry, Lyn, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Anguy retreated to a quieter balcony above.
From there, they watched the ongoing battles below.
Lyn spoke first.
"Your Highness… I must confess something."
"I've taken money from Littlefinger."
There was no hesitation in his voice.
Gendry shrugged.
"You're not the only one."
"Most knights have, haven't they?"
Lyn nodded bitterly.
"I'm always short on coin."
"And Littlefinger… was generous."
Gendry understood.
Knighthood was expensive.
Armor, weapons, retainers, appearances—
All required gold.
And House Corbray, though ancient, was no longer wealthy.
"Many trusted him," Lyn continued.
"He had no great house… no noble lineage."
"And yet—he fooled us all."
"His ambition… was far greater than we imagined."
Barristan spoke calmly.
"He relied on Lysa."
"He needed her power."
Lyn spat in disgust.
"He's a treacherous jackal."
"Raised by House Tully. Promoted by House Arryn."
"And this is how he repays them?"
Gendry turned to him.
"How much do you owe?"
Lyn hesitated.
"…A lot."
"My expenses are… considerable."
"My brother can't help me."
"I survive on tournament winnings… and selling positions."
Barristan frowned.
This was not uncommon.
Many knights lived on the edge of poverty.
Pride… without wealth.
Gendry spoke plainly.
"Serve the Eyrie."
"Protect Lord Robert."
"And I'll compensate you."
"Better than Littlefinger ever did."
Lyn smirked slightly.
"Talking about money is vulgar…"
"But I'll accept it as your goodwill."
He paused.
"…Just don't make me a tutor."
"I'd lose my mind teaching that boy."
Gendry chuckled.
"No need."
"Just protect him."
"And you'll prosper."
Then—
Gendry said something unexpected.
"My sister is here."
Moments later—
Baron Nestor returned.
Beside him stood a young woman.
Tall.
Strong.
Dressed in noble attire that clearly did not suit her.
She looked… uncomfortable.
Uncertain.
Out of place.
This was Mia.
Once, she had been nothing more than a girl delivering supplies up the mountain.
Now—
She was addressed as "Lady."
The shift was overwhelming.
The knights paused.
They watched her.
Whispers spread.
Gendry stepped forward.
He studied her carefully.
Dark hair.
Blue eyes.
Strong build.
There was no doubt.
They were the same.
Bound by blood.
"Prince Gendry…" Mia said hesitantly.
"They say… you're my brother."
"And that I'm… the king's daughter."
Gendry smiled gently.
"That's right."
"But just call me Gendry."
"No titles."
"We're family."
Barristan confirmed it.
"It is true."
"The late king acknowledged his children."
"You are Baratheon."
Mia stood frozen.
Her entire life had changed in an instant.
From nothing—
To nobility.
"I… I don't want to be a princess," she said quietly.
"This is my home."
Gendry nodded.
"You don't have to leave."
"But you must accept who you are."
He looked at her seriously.
"We're all that's left."
Mia's eyes filled with tears.
For the father she barely knew.
For the siblings she never met.
For the life she never had.
And finally—
She broke down.
The winds of the Vale continued to blow.
But within the Eyrie—
A new chapter had begun.
One shaped not just by power…
But by blood.
And family.
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