"Go on," Daenerys said with a playful smile. "Crown this lovely warrior."
Then, standing on her toes slightly, she leaned forward and gently kissed Gendry on the cheek.
A wave of cheers and laughter spread through the hall.
Daenerys turned her violet eyes toward Brienne of Tarth, carefully observing the towering woman before her. As a warrior, Brienne was unquestionably exceptional. As a noblewoman, however, she possessed little of the beauty Westeros admired.
Yet Daenerys respected her deeply.
Brienne was not some delicate lady who survived by clinging to powerful men like a gilded bird in a cage. She was a woman who remained true to herself in a brutal, male-dominated world. That alone made her rare—and worthy of admiration.
"I am honored to knight a true warrior," Gendry replied with a smile.
Then he stepped down from the raised platform and approached Brienne.
As he walked, he slowly unsheathed his longsword.
The black blade instantly drew everyone's attention.
Orphan-Maker.
A legendary hand-and-a-half sword.
Some even considered it one of the finest longswords ever forged.
The pommel of the blade was round and polished, set with a glowing crimson gemstone at its center. The crossguard resembled jagged mountain peaks surrounding a trident, while the dark blade itself rippled like black smoke beneath torchlight.
Even among Valyrian steel weapons, it looked extraordinary.
Daenerys narrowed her eyes slightly.
"The Targaryens once possessed two legendary swords of their own," she thought quietly.
Blackfyre.
Dark Sister.
Both weapons had become symbols of Targaryen glory.
But after Robert's Rebellion and years of chaos, the swords had disappeared from history, much like the fading strength of House Targaryen itself.
The sight of Orphan-Maker stirred old memories and old ambitions within her heart.
Brienne stared at the blade with open curiosity.
"Is that Valyrian steel?" she asked. "I've never seen one with this color before."
Brienne of Tarth was not a traditionally feminine woman.
She was enormous—taller even than Renly Baratheon, though still slightly shorter than Gendry himself. Her shoulders were broad and powerful, and years of battle had left her body hard and muscular.
Her face was rough and freckled.
Her nose had clearly been broken multiple times.
Her teeth were uneven and protruding slightly, while her mouth was wide and her lips thick.
Her straw-colored hair appeared dry and brittle, lacking the softness noble ladies prized so dearly.
Yet despite all of that, Brienne possessed a pair of large blue eyes filled with honesty, courage, and unwavering conviction.
Perhaps those eyes were the most beautiful thing about her.
"Yes," Gendry answered calmly. "This is Orphan-Maker, a sword believed lost since the Dance of the Dragons."
His fingers brushed lightly against the dark blade.
"Today, I will use it to knight you."
A murmur spread throughout the assembled lords.
Several Stormland nobles had heard tales of the infamous sword. During the Dance of the Dragons, it had slain many famous warriors. Barristan the Bold himself had once wielded it in battle, and countless enemies had fallen beneath its edge.
Now, after generations of disappearance, the sword had returned.
Gendry stopped before Brienne.
Then he suddenly paused.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"There's just one small problem," he said.
Everyone looked at him in confusion.
"I'm not actually a knight yet."
Laughter rippled through the hall.
Gendry turned toward the elderly white-haired warrior standing nearby.
"Ser Barristan Selmy," he said respectfully, "I ask for your assistance."
Instantly, every gaze in the hall shifted toward Barristan the Bold.
Even in old age, Barristan Selmy remained impressive.
Tall and dignified, with white hair and sorrowful blue eyes, he still carried himself like one of the greatest warriors in Westerosi history. Though age had touched him, it had not broken him. His posture remained elegant, and his presence commanded respect from all.
If there was anyone truly qualified to knight Gendry, it was Barristan Selmy.
His reputation was legendary throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
"I would be honored, Your Highness," Barristan replied.
He descended from the platform and accepted Orphan-Maker carefully from Gendry's hands.
For a brief moment, emotion flickered across the old knight's face.
"I was knighted by King Aegon V," he thought silently.
"And now… I have the honor of knighting a king."
His fingers tightened slightly around the hilt.
"And this sword once wielded by Barristan the Bold…"
"…is now wielded by Barristan the Bold once more."
The hall gradually fell silent.
Even the drunken nobles straightened themselves.
This moment carried weight.
Barristan raised the blade solemnly.
"Gendry of the Storm," he declared.
He placed the sword gently upon Gendry's right shoulder.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."
The blade moved to the left shoulder.
"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."
Back to the right shoulder.
"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the weak and innocent."
The left shoulder again.
"In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women."
His voice echoed clearly throughout the hall.
"In the name of the Smith, I charge you with strength and labor."
"In the name of the Crone, I charge you with wisdom."
"In the name of the Stranger, I charge you with reverence before death."
Seven blessings.
Seven vows.
Seven sacred charges.
The sword moved between Gendry's shoulders with each declaration until the ceremony was complete.
Finally, Barristan lowered the blade.
"Rise, Ser Gendry Baratheon."
Gendry stood.
At that moment, he officially became a knight of Westeros.
Thunderous applause erupted throughout the hall.
"Long live Storm's End!"
"Long live the Storm King!"
The nobles cheered enthusiastically.
This was no ordinary knighting.
It was Barristan the Bold knighting Gendry of the Storm—two legendary warriors sharing a single historic moment.
Jon Snow applauded politely from the side.
Beside him, Dacey Mormont also clapped.
However, neither of them seemed particularly moved by the ceremony itself.
The North followed the Old Gods, not the Faith of the Seven. Knighthood held far less cultural significance for northerners.
Gendry smiled faintly.
"This is a rather poor version of a proper knighting ceremony," he thought.
Normally, knighthood ceremonies could be elaborate affairs involving sacred oils, nights of vigil inside septs, and lengthy prayers to the Seven Gods.
Most squires earned their knighthood upon adulthood, though exceptional warriors could receive the honor earlier through victories in tournaments or acts of bravery during war.
Knighthood itself was deeply tied to Andal culture.
Any knight could create another knight.
Over centuries, Andal customs had spread across most of Westeros, making knights the backbone of the Seven Kingdoms' military forces.
Still, some regions resisted Andal influence.
The North.
The Iron Islands.
Dorne.
Though knights existed there, knighthood was far less culturally important.
Followers of the Old Gods especially viewed the tradition with indifference.
Gendry turned back toward Brienne.
Now it was her turn.
He raised Orphan-Maker once more.
"Brienne of House Tarth," he said solemnly, "do you swear before gods and men to defend the weak, protect women and children, obey your rightful king and liege lords, and fight valiantly no matter how difficult or dangerous the path before you may become?"
Brienne knelt immediately.
Tears already glistened in her eyes.
"I swear it."
Gendry touched the sword lightly to her shoulders.
Then, after the final vow, he lowered the blade.
"Rise, Brienne of Tarth."
"A true knight of Westeros."
For several seconds, Brienne simply remained frozen.
Then slowly, she stood.
Her eyes were red with emotion.
All her life, she had dreamed of becoming a knight.
Yet because she was a woman, the world had denied her that honor repeatedly.
Today, that dream had finally become reality.
The hall exploded into cheers.
"Brienne the Beauty!"
"Knight of Tarth!"
Even nobles who once mocked her now applauded sincerely.
Not far away, Lord Selwyn Tarth watched with tears in his own eyes.
He felt both pride and sadness.
Tarth was wealthy and beautiful, yet every marriage he had arranged for Brienne had failed.
His daughter had walked further and further down the path of a warrior instead of a noble lady.
She had become respected.
Admired.
Feared, even.
But perhaps never truly loved in the way ordinary women wished to be loved.
Still…
At this moment, Selwyn Tarth had never been prouder of his daughter.
Gendry suddenly waved toward the crowd.
"Anguy!"
"Lothor!"
The two men hurried forward immediately.
The Stormland lords recognized them well.
Anguy, the legendary archer from the Dornish Marches, was renowned for unmatched skill with a bow.
Beside him stood Lothor Brune—the rough, reliable warrior known as "Lothor Apple-Eater" and "Finger Killer," a humble-born fighter who had played an important role in Littlefinger's downfall.
Both men were among Gendry's most trusted companions.
Gendry smiled at them.
"Rise, Anguy, Knight of the Marches."
"Rise, Lothor Brune, Knight of Crackclaw Point."
The two men grinned widely as the sword touched their shoulders.
"I hope both of you become true knights," Gendry said seriously.
"A knight without honor is no different from a murderer."
The words caused many nobles to nod thoughtfully.
These new titles were more than ceremonial.
Once the wars ended, these men would likely receive lands, castles, and noble status.
War destroyed houses—but it also created opportunities for new ones to rise.
The winners claimed everything.
Anguy laughed happily as he rose.
Lothor also looked deeply satisfied.
After all, being knighted personally by Gendry of the Storm was an immense honor.
Two more men soon stepped forward eagerly.
"We also request permission to join the Stormcrow Order," Lord Karren declared loudly.
"Our loyalty belongs to Storm's End and its rightful king!"
Ser Guyard Morrigen quickly followed.
"Prince Gendry is Robert Baratheon's true heir!"
Although Brienne had stolen much of the attention earlier, neither man wished to miss the opportunity for glory.
Gendry considered them briefly before nodding.
"Granted."
"Welcome to the Stormcrow Knightly Order."
The two men bowed deeply.
Though Gendry privately believed their combat ability was only average, the Stormcrow Order still needed loyal members.
A growing kingdom required growing strength.
As more knights gathered beneath his banner, Gendry's ambitions expanded further.
"One day," he thought, "the Stormcrow Order will become one of the greatest knightly orders in Westeros."
House Gardener of the Reach had once built something similar with the legendary Order of the Green Hand.
The Stormlands possessed fewer people than the Reach, but there were still plenty of knights to recruit.
Nearby, Wendel Manderly spoke quietly to those around him.
"Our family still considers itself the last remnant of the Green Hand Order."
House Manderly had once lived in the Reach before being driven north centuries ago. Because they fled before Aegon's conquest, some of their ancient knightly traditions survived even after the original Green Hand Order perished at the Field of Fire alongside King Mern Gardener IX.
History lingered heavily in halls like these.
Old kingdoms died.
New powers rose.
And tonight, something new had begun.
Gendry finally returned to the platform with a satisfied expression.
Including himself, four new knights had been created that evening.
The atmosphere inside the hall grew increasingly lively.
Wine flowed endlessly.
Laughter echoed from every corner.
Yet beneath the celebration, everyone understood the truth.
The true battle still lay ahead.
The knights had gathered.
The banners had risen.
And now only one goal remained—
Drive the lions from King's Landing…
…and reclaim the Iron Throne.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)