In the early days of 299 AC, beneath the towering White Tower, a quiet breeze drifted across the garden balcony where Gendry stood alongside Ser Barristan Selmy.
Below them, the garden bustled with activity.
Knights in polished armor clashed steel against steel, their movements swift and precise. The sharp, ringing sound of swords striking echoed through the courtyard, drawing the attention of lords, attendants, and soldiers alike.
At the center of it all stood two figures.
Ser Brynden Tully—the seasoned Blackfish—faced off against a young knight clad in a sky-blue robe, representing the Vale.
Gendry watched intently.
Beside him, Ser Barristan stood as straight as ever despite his age, his pale blue eyes calm yet sharp. Gendry held deep respect for the old knight. Barristan was not only a warrior of unmatched skill but also a living chronicle of Westeros itself. His experiences spanned countless battles and political upheavals, making him far more insightful than any maester's written record.
After all, maesters recorded history.
Men like Barristan lived it.
"Clang! Clang!"
Below, the duel intensified.
Despite his age, Ser Brynden moved with astonishing agility. His red-and-blue cloak fluttered as he stepped forward, deflecting the younger knight's strike with practiced ease.
With a sharp twist of his blade, Brynden broke through the young knight's defense, forcing him back.
"Hey—!"
The knight stumbled, his face flushed with embarrassment. Lowering his blunted sword and shield, he retreated reluctantly.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
Then, almost immediately, another challenger stepped forward.
Defeating a legend like Ser Brynden would bring instant fame. For young knights, tourneys were not just sport—they were opportunity.
"Ser Brynden takes another victory," Gendry remarked calmly.
Ser Barristan nodded slightly, though his expression remained thoughtful.
"A tourney is not the same as true combat," he said. "Here, honor binds their actions. In war, that young knight might have relied on endurance or cunning rather than direct confrontation."
Gendry smirked faintly.
"But knights of the Vale prefer straightforward clashes," he added.
Before Barristan could respond, a stir rose from the crowd.
Another challenger had entered the field.
Ser Lyn Corbray.
Thin as a blade and just as dangerous, the young knight stepped forward with quiet confidence. His rust-colored hair caught the sunlight as he drew his sword.
The air shifted.
This would be no ordinary duel.
"Lyn!"
"Ser Brynden!"
Cheers erupted—though noticeably, more voices called for Lyn than Brynden.
Gendry's gaze sharpened.
Politics, even here.
The shadow of Lysa Arryn's scandal still lingered, straining the relationship between House Arryn and House Tully.
Honor, once tarnished, was not easily restored.
The duel began.
Steel flashed.
The two knights circled each other, their movements fluid and precise. Each strike was met with a counter, each feint answered with equal skill.
For a moment, they seemed evenly matched.
Gendry folded his arms.
"It seems knights are more admired than blacksmiths," he said lightly.
Barristan chuckled softly.
"In times of peace, people admire spectacle," he replied. "In times of war… they learn the difference."
Gendry's eyes lingered on the battlefield.
King Robert's lavish spending on tourneys suddenly made more sense.
These displays of strength and skill weren't just entertainment—they were tools of influence. They built reputation, inspired loyalty, and distracted from deeper problems.
Even if they came at the cost of mounting debt.
"Your Highness," Barristan continued, his voice steady, "these knights… they will eventually understand their limits."
Gendry tilted his head slightly.
"Limits?" he repeated.
"Every man has them," Barristan said. "No matter how strong, how fast, or how skilled—he is still human."
Gendry's gaze hardened slightly.
"That may be true for ordinary men," he said. "But in a world of dragons… of magic… of the impossible…"
He paused.
"You may find those limits are not as fixed as you believe."
Barristan frowned slightly.
"Magic is a dangerous thing," he warned. "A sword without a hilt—impossible to wield without harm. Blood for blood. Fire for fire. It corrupts more than it empowers."
Gendry smiled faintly, offering no direct reply.
Instead, he changed the subject.
"In close quarters," Gendry said, gesturing toward the duel below, "a weapon like an arakh becomes a disadvantage."
Barristan glanced at him.
Gendry drew the weapon from his waist.
The valyrian steel arakh gleamed darkly, its rippled blade catching the light. The dragonbone hilt rested comfortably in his grip.
"This weapon excels in open space," Gendry continued. "From horseback, with momentum—it's devastating. But in confined areas… it lacks flexibility."
He handed it to Barristan.
The old knight examined it carefully.
"Valyrian steel," he murmured. "Lighter than expected… yet deadly."
His fingers traced the ripples along the blade.
"These patterns… marks of countless hammerings. A lost art."
Gendry nodded.
"I've been considering my options."
Barristan looked up.
"You have two," he said. "Melt it down and forge a new weapon… or seek another valyrian steel blade."
He paused.
"Neither choice is easy."
Gendry took the arakh back, his expression thoughtful.
"This one is too rare to destroy," he said. "Arakhs are far less common than swords."
He smirked slightly.
"But perhaps… I'll simply acquire more."
Barristan laughed.
"Many great houses would take offense at such confidence."
Gendry shrugged.
"Let them."
Below, the duel reached its climax.
Lyn Corbray pressed forward relentlessly, his strikes growing sharper, faster.
Brynden parried—but his movements slowed.
Then—
Clang!
Brynden stepped back.
"I yield," he said with a bitter smile.
The crowd erupted.
"Lyn! Lyn!"
The Vale knights cheered loudly.
Barristan sighed.
"House Tully's reputation suffers another blow."
Gendry's expression remained calm.
"This will be blamed on Littlefinger," he said. "Lysa's actions… will be softened, for the sake of stability."
Barristan nodded.
"High as Honor," he murmured.
Silence fell between them for a moment.
Then Barristan spoke again.
"Your Highness… why do your letters not bear the name Baratheon?"
Gendry looked out across the horizon.
"Because," he said slowly, "I intend to create a new name."
Barristan's eyes widened slightly.
"A new house?"
Gendry nodded.
"Just as Baratheon replaced Durrandon… so too can something new replace Baratheon."
Understanding dawned.
"A new dynasty…"
"The realm is fractured," Gendry continued. "Dragon. Stag. Lion. Wolf."
He clenched his fist.
"I will unite them—not under old banners, but under something new."
Barristan studied him carefully.
Then nodded.
"You think beyond crowns," he said.
Gendry smiled faintly.
"The crown is only the beginning."
A cold wind swept through the balcony.
"The future will be darker than anything we've seen," Gendry said quietly.
"Long Winter. The Long Night. Sorcerers. Faceless Men… and worse."
He turned to Barristan.
"Will you stand with me?"
Barristan placed a hand over his chest.
"I will follow you."
Below, the echoes of celebration continued.
But above—
A new storm was gathering.
And Gendry intended to become its king.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)