Narrow Sea, aboard the Balerion.
Amid the sound of horns and sailors shouting orders, the warship cut through the morning mist.
Its iridescent sails displayed three red dragons, a crowned stag, and a warhammer. Well-equipped frigates sailed on either side, accompanied by brave and experienced sailors. At the helm, the Onion Knight's skill at sea was second to none.
The sea breeze swept across the deck.
Gendry and Daenerys stood side by side, gazing at the endless blue sea. Seabirds soared overhead, flying fish occasionally broke the surface, and three dragons circled above the ship.
Gendry wore a black studded vest and black breeches, with a golden cloak draped over his shoulders. His sword belt carried the black sword Orphan-Maker and a dagger. His Tiger Roar, Storm scimitar, and double-curved dragonbone bow were all stored away.
For close combat, a rapier was more agile and better suited to his current fighting style. Besides, Gendry's immense strength allowed him to combine speed and power effortlessly. He also possessed a fire-wielder ring, which granted him control over flames.
Beside him, Daenerys Targaryen wore a purple velvet gown and a white lion-fur cloak, making her look almost like a fluffy little cub.
The gentle sea breeze ruffled her hair.
Her long silver-gold hair occasionally brushed against Gendry's face, making him smile.
Ahead of them, Gendry could see the trumpet-shaped estuary where the Blackwater Rush poured endlessly into the sea.
On the southern bank of the river stood dense forests and countless military tents.
Across the river, the Red Keep rose like a gigantic red beast, its golden banners fluttering in the wind as it overlooked the estuary.
Daenerys stared at the unfamiliar sight and pointed toward the castle.
"That is the Red Keep, isn't it? King's Landing?"
Gendry nodded.
He knew King's Landing far too well.
"King's Landing is a massive city with nearly five hundred thousand people. It's the largest city in Westeros.
"It smells terrible, and its streets are always packed with people. Honestly, I'd much rather live on one of the three hills surrounding the city."
Their fleet would not enter King's Landing directly. Instead, it would arrive at the great camp on the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush.
Gendry had already informed Lord Stannis and the other important ministers of their arrival under his new title:
Gendry Targaryen Baratheon, the Liberator.
"Cities in other regions are much smaller, such as White Harbor and Gulltown," Daenerys said.
She was diligently learning everything she could about Westeros.
However, seeing the land with her own eyes was completely different from reading about it in books. The feeling of actually standing here was far more profound.
"Only Oldtown, ruled by House Hightower in the Reach, can truly compare with King's Landing in size," the tall and slender Dacey Mormont explained.
"The North only has one major city, White Harbor. It is practically the gateway to the North.
"Besides that, there are several winter towns where people can take shelter during the Long Winter."
Gendry nodded thoughtfully.
It was no wonder House Hightower was so wealthy.
The Lord of the Hightower controlled a vast and fertile region at the mouth of the Reach, while also possessing Oldtown, the second-largest city in Westeros.
Both its population and tax revenue were enormous.
"The Vale has Gulltown," Robar Royce added. "It is one of the most beautiful cities and ports in Westeros.
"Other territories have ports as well, including our own lands."
House Royce's port at Runestone was not as impressive as Gulltown, but the territory itself was blessed with diverse terrain.
It had plains, docks, valleys, and forests.
That was one of the reasons House Royce had long remained one of the most powerful houses in the Vale.
"Your Highness," Brienne of Tarth said, "the Stormlands has no true cities. We only have a medium-sized market town called Weeping Town.
"Tarth and the Isle of St. Hesh are mainly used as transit points and shelters for ships, so neither has developed into a major city."
Brienne had a pair of innocent, striking eyes that were arguably her most beautiful feature.
The Maid of Tarth wore blue armor and looked like a towering blue giant.
Among those present, only the Iron Knight Jon Strong and Gendry were taller than her.
Gendry thought for a moment.
The most suitable location for a major city in the Stormlands was undoubtedly Weeping Town, the seat of House Whitehead.
However, because of the tense relationship between the Stormlands and Dorne, the region had developed very slowly.
In truth, the Stormlands had always been like that.
Its people were straightforward and excelled as warriors, sailors, and marksmen, but they were not particularly skilled at commerce or political intrigue.
"I know that place," Daenerys said.
"It's called Weeping Town because after the Young Dragon was murdered in Dorne, his body was first brought there and remained for three days."
She turned toward Brienne.
Gendry laughed.
"If she continues studying and improving like this, my family might soon have a female scholar."
In reality, Gendry also loved reading.
However, his impressive martial achievements often caused people to forget that fact.
Having a tiger in one's heart while still being capable of appreciating a rose were not contradictory.
Just as a true king should possess both the courage of a lion and the cunning of a fox.
"Then I suppose I'll have to devour candles and books too," Daenerys joked.
She then turned her violet eyes toward the distant horizon.
Her expression carried a trace of emotion.
"From Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and then to Qohor, Volantis, and Lys…
"I wandered from place to place without ever having a home.
"Then came Pentos.
"And now…"
She smiled softly.
"I'm finally home."
Gendry gently took her hand.
"I'm not like you, Daenerys.
"When I was young, I always lived in King's Landing.
"First, I lived in a small tavern. Later, I lived in a smithy."
He paused before continuing.
"I saw King Robert several times from afar.
"Once, during a tourney. Another time, at the Great Sept of Baelor, when the Gold Cloaks pushed us aside to make way for him.
"And once, when he was returning from a hunt. I was playing near the Mud Gate, and he was so drunk that he nearly rode his horse straight into me."
Daenerys looked at him curiously.
"What if you had recognized each other back then?"
"That was impossible."
Gendry shook his head.
"Actually, not recognizing each other was a kind of luck.
"If I hadn't possessed some value, and if my true identity had been discovered, I probably would have died sooner or later."
The Lannisters had already arranged for groups of Robert's bastards to be killed.
The older a bastard was, the greater the perceived threat.
Edric Storm was born to a noble mother and had been fostered at Storm's End. Mya Stone was a girl, which made her less threatening in their eyes.
Gendry, meanwhile, had remained hidden right under their noses.
"Do you miss them?" Daenerys asked softly.
She turned toward him.
She was asking about Robert Baratheon—and Gendry's mother, whose name had never been known.
Gendry thought for a moment.
"How should I put it?
"One sign of a young man's maturity is that he eventually defeats his father psychologically, surpasses him, and breaks free from his shadow.
"As for my mother…"
His expression softened.
"She died when I was very young.
"I miss her very much."
King Robert had always craved joy and laughter.
In many ways, he himself had remained an overgrown child. He never truly understood how to discipline children properly.
Before Joffrey and the others were exposed, even his affection toward his children had been incomplete.
"Me too," Daenerys whispered.
"I miss my mother, Queen Rhaella."
She gently caressed Gendry's large, calloused hand.
There was a certain broken beauty in a wounded man.
Gendry's handsome and fearless face rarely revealed vulnerability, but when it did, it made him seem far more human.
Neither of them had many fond memories of their fathers.
Daenerys knew the cruel truth about her father, yet she still deeply missed her mother.
When she was young, Viserys had repeatedly blamed Daenerys for their mother's death.
He had never truly forgiven his sister.
The people around them fell silent.
As a young and legendary self-made man, Gendry "Storm" was often viewed as something beyond ordinary humanity.
People remembered the victorious warrior who seemed to descend from the heavens, leaving corpses behind wherever he went.
They often forgot that beneath the legend was still a young man.
Only moments of tenderness revealed the mortal heart beneath the seemingly invincible warrior.
Ser Barristan looked at Gendry and Daenerys.
Of everyone present, he had witnessed the storms of power that had repeatedly swept through King's Landing.
He had seen brilliant young kings rise.
He had trusted them.
He had expected them to accomplish great things.
Yet both the Mad King and Robert Baratheon, despite being born into noble bloodlines, had ultimately plunged the realm into chaos.
Now, these two young people had rekindled hope within Ser Barristan.
Perhaps only those who had endured hardship could become true kings.
I will protect the true kings, even if I must die for them.
Ser Barristan silently made his vow.
"The past is gone," Gendry said.
"Look toward the future."
"I know."
Daenerys nodded.
The past was the past.
There was no need to judge it endlessly or become consumed by old grievances.
Westeros was a land where nearly every great house was connected by blood.
If they relentlessly pursued every past crime and grievance, they would eventually become tyrants themselves.
The only thing they could do was learn from history.
When the bloodlines of Targaryen and Baratheon merged once again…
When the Stag and the Dragon were united through marriage…
When the songs of the Field of Fire and Blood and Fire were sung once more…
A new dynasty would rise.
A new House.
A new era.
A slight ripple passed across the sea.
The crew immediately began preparing for the landing.
Knights and squires also made their final preparations.
Gendry looked toward the endless land ahead.
The coastline was almost within reach.
The great camp on the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush was just ahead.
Across the river, the Red Keep stood in the distance.
That deep red color reminded Gendry of blood.
Others had once reached for the crown and throne.
But now…
He was going to claim them himself.
The golden battle banner unfurled in the wind.
"Well done, boy."
For a brief moment, Gendry imagined his father, Robert Baratheon—the bloody, confused, overweight drunkard and womanizer he had once known—as though Robert were raising a cup to him from beyond the clouds.
Gendry remembered many people.
He remembered the failures of the Mad King Aerys and his son Rhaegar Targaryen.
The failures of Rickard and Brandon Stark and their descendants.
The failure of Lord Jon Arryn, the first Hand of the new dynasty.
The failure of his father, King Robert Baratheon.
The failure of Lord Eddard Stark.
The failure of the ambitious Lord Renly.
The failures of Lord Tywin Lannister and Lord Hoster Tully.
The failures of Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, and Varys, the Master of Whisperers.
The failures of Khal Drogo and Khal Jhezkahn.
The failure of Commander Marajo of Volantis.
The failures of the Triarchy's governors.
The failures of the slave masters of Slaver's Bay.
All of these people had either been dragged unwillingly into the river of power or had willingly thrown themselves into it.
They had all wanted to keep winning.
But maintaining victory in the game of power was incredibly difficult.
Some players were insane.
Some were superstitious.
Some valued honor above everything else.
Some indulged in wine and women.
Some were greedy.
Some were reckless.
Some were ruthless.
Some were sinister.
Some were fragile.
Some were crude.
Others simply neglected the upbringing of their children and the people around them.
But in the game of power, there was one undeniable truth.
They had all lost.
House Baratheon's motto was:
"Ours is the Fury."
The phrase "Field of Fire" sounded powerful, but it also carried the unfortunate association with the Battle of the Field of Fire.
The meaning behind the Baratheon motto was simple.
We are the fury.
We are the storm.
The bloodline of the Stormlands should be fearless.
It should overcome everything standing in its path.
A storm could be reckless.
A storm could be stubborn.
But a storm could never be weak.
Gendry tightened his grip around the hilt of Orphan-Maker.
His eyes hardened.
"I move forward.
"I win.
"I deceive.
"I lure my enemies.
"I kill.
"I conquer.
"I have come to touch the highest power—the supreme power that cannot be shared with anyone.
"I will defeat the Long Night.
"I will eliminate every enemy standing in my way.
"The entire known world, billions of people, will rest upon my shoulders."
His grip tightened further.
"My fury is true fury.
"My power is true power."
Gendry no longer hesitated.
I am the Storm.
I am the Fury.
I am Victory.
I am Power.
Arm in arm with the fluffy Daenerys, Gendry stepped off the ship.
The Lords of the Stormlands, the Vale, and the Claw Peninsula were waiting for them at the great camp.
As soon as they arrived, all the Lords knelt.
"Good morning, Prince Gendry. Princess Daenerys."
"Good morning, everyone."
Suddenly—
ROOOOAR!
A dragon's roar shattered the morning mist.
The horses in the nearby tents immediately became restless and began panicking.
Three dragons rode upon the wind, soaring above the camp like living flames.
Black.
White.
Green.
They circled downward.
The green dragon immediately burrowed into Daenerys's lion-fur cloak.
Meanwhile, the white dragon and black dragon landed on Gendry's shoulders, one on each side.
Their molten-gold eyes swept over the gathered Lords.
Selwyn Tarth and Harold Haddon, two of the most well-informed members of Gendry's inner circle, remained completely calm.
The other Lords, however, were stunned.
"It's a dragon…"
"It's a dragon!"
One timid Lord immediately collapsed onto the ground.
More Lords craned their necks upward, desperately trying to witness the miracle unfolding before them.
Dragons had disappeared from Westeros for more than a hundred and fifty years.
Yet now…
They had returned.
Moments later, the Lords' initial fear transformed into uncontrollable excitement.
This was not merely the return of a True Dragon.
Actual dragons had returned to Westeros as well.
Looking at the eager and enthusiastic faces surrounding her, Daenerys once again remembered her brother Viserys.
She remembered his thin, haggard face.
His endless hunger for the crown.
His obsession with reclaiming what he believed belonged to House Targaryen.
That obsession had ultimately driven him mad.
Viserys had told her countless times about the lands across the Narrow Sea.
He had described rolling green hills, blooming plains, and deep rivers.
He had spoken of towering black-stone castles surrounded by magnificent gray-blue mountains.
He had told her about armored knights riding into battle beneath colorful banners.
The Dothraki called the land Rhaes Andali, meaning the "Land of the Andals."
The people of the Free Cities called it Westeros, the Sunset Kingdom.
It was their land.
It had always belonged to the Targaryens.
No one had the right to take it away.
A True Dragon never forgot.
Daenerys looked toward the land before her.
Brother… Viserys Targaryen.
Daenerys has returned.
But I am not the restorer you dreamed of.
I will not reclaim this land through endless bloodshed, swords, and fire.
A True Dragon is not afraid of fire.
A True Dragon should be free to fly.
And I have chosen my own path.
I will build a better Westeros through peace and prosperity.
This time, the dragon has returned home.
But it has returned not to burn the world…
but to build a new one.
________________________________________
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