The dragons were growing impatient with the tedious formalities of the gathering.
Balerion flapped his wings restlessly, clearly wanting to take to the sky, but even dragons had to follow orders.
Balerion suddenly swung his tail, giving Viserion a warning. The white dragon, understanding the threat of his larger companion, had no choice but to take off. He spread his milky-white wings and began circling above the area where Gendry and Daenerys stood.
Meanwhile, the domineering Balerion claimed the best position for himself. He spread his enormous black wings and lazily hovered above Gendry's head, his wingtips occasionally brushing against Gendry's face.
Then, without the slightest hesitation, the black dragon landed one foot on Gendry's head and the other on his shoulder.
No one would dare step on the head of a powerful man.
Except a dragon.
Although Balerion was only about the size of a black-and-red pony, his body was surprisingly light yet incredibly tough, almost like Valyrian steel. Gendry had no trouble bearing his weight.
"Alright, Balerion. Go fly for a while."
Gendry grabbed the black dragon's claw and gently pushed it away.
Balerion let out an unhappy shriek before spreading his wings and soaring into the cool sky.
"And you too, Vhagar."
Daenerys smiled as she stroked the green dragon's horn.
Vhagar was slightly smaller than Balerion, but she was still an imposing creature. She reluctantly lifted herself from the shaggy white lion's mane before giving a shriek and joining the other dragons in the sky.
The three dragons circled and danced together overhead, their movements resembling three enormous rotating rings.
The smell of sulfur and burning flames drifted through the air.
The Lords, knights, and squires widened their eyes as they stared at the dragons again and again.
They had finally confirmed it.
These were three living, powerful dragons.
And they were completely different from the dragons that had appeared in recent history.
"Dragons... Oh my gods."
"How is this possible? The first Baratheon to possess and ride a dragon?"
"It's a miracle..."
No one dared shout disrespectfully, but the minds of everyone present were already in turmoil.
The Dance of the Dragons had truly opened their eyes.
It wasn't surprising that Daenerys had brought a young dragon with her. But what shocked everyone was that Gendry could effortlessly command two dragons.
The black dragon and the white dragon both obeyed his commands.
Dragons only trusted their own masters.
Therefore, the answer was obvious.
Gendry the Liberator had become a new Dragon Rider.
A new Dragon King.
House Baratheon had intermarried with House Targaryen several times throughout history. Orys Baratheon was rumored to have been Aegon the Conqueror's bastard half-brother, while two Baratheons had also been half-siblings of Jaehaerys I, the Conciliator.
The closest connection between the two houses came through Rhaenys Targaryen, the "Uncrowned Queen," daughter of the Dragon Prince and Jocelyn Baratheon.
Yet House Baratheon had never produced a true Dragon Rider.
House Velaryon had.
Now Gendry had changed that.
House Baratheon had become the third great dragon-riding family after House Targaryen and House Velaryon, excluding the bastard dragon riders who had appeared during the Dance of the Dragons.
"What are their names, Your Highnesses?"
Young Ser Donnel Swann's voice trembled slightly.
Humans naturally feared powerful creatures.
And dragons were the ultimate embodiment of violence and destruction.
Daenerys smiled.
"The black dragon is Balerion. The green one is Vhagar, and the white one is Viserion."
She glanced toward the sky.
"They belong to Gendry and me."
Ser Donnel Swann, Roland Storm, and the others had already heard the dragons' names, but hearing them directly from Daenerys made the reality even more impressive.
The names of the dragons alone carried enormous weight.
And now, their riders stood before them.
Ser Donnel looked at the calm Gendry and suddenly regretted his father Lord Gillian's refusal to leave their home.
Dragons.
Valyrian steel weapons.
An empire across the sea.
Never before had House Baratheon possessed such glory.
Gendry had brought more prestige to the family than anyone could have imagined.
Yet his father had remained overly cautious.
Gendry then began introducing the Lords who had come to greet them.
Among them were nobles from the Stormlands, the Vale, and the Claw Peninsula.
Everyone who had witnessed the dragons was respectful and completely convinced by Gendry's power.
Several knights led by Bronze Yohn had also gone to welcome the other distinguished guests.
"Lord Selwyn Tarth of Tarth," Gendry introduced. "A good man and my current Master of Whisperers."
"Your Highness, Tarth is at your command."
Selwyn bowed respectfully.
He had always been known for his gentle demeanor.
"Ser Harold Haddon of the Vale, one of my squires."
"Ser Gulltown Morrigen of the Stormlands, another of my squires."
"Harold is at your command."
Harold, who closely resembled a young Jon Arryn, gave a military salute. He was a sturdy young man with blond hair, blue eyes, and an aquiline nose.
"Gulltown is at your command."
"Count Jak Crakehall of the Claw Peninsula. He is currently working with Lord Roose Bolton to clear the Kingsroad and deal with the remaining people."
"Lord Bryce Caron of Nightsong. One of his ancestors was a renowned bard and singer."
"Ser Roland Storm of Nightsong. Brave and fearless."
"Nightsong is at your command!"
Ser Roland immediately puffed out his chest.
Being praised by the most powerful warrior of the age felt extremely good.
Daenerys, with her silver hair and violet eyes, also greeted the nobles one by one, taking the opportunity to familiarize herself with their faces.
"Ser Donnel Swann of Stonyhelm, heir to House Swann."
"Lord Bennard Bellmore of Horn Hill."
Bennard was a large, heavyset man with a pear-shaped belly, rounded shoulders, and a fleshy chin covered in countless short, pale-yellow and gray whiskers.
He was also considered a good man.
"Stonyhelm is at your command."
Ser Donnel bent his knee.
"My father is already on his way here. He doesn't want to miss the coronation ceremony."
"My father, Lord Gillian, has always claimed to be ill and remained at home rather than choosing a side," Lord Bryce pointed out with a hint of sarcasm. "Meanwhile, your brother serves as a Kingsguard in King's Landing."
House Caron and House Swann both claimed to be among the oldest noble houses of the Marches, so a little verbal sparring between them was hardly unusual.
"My father is old, my lord. He is over forty and has been sickly for years. He has long been unfit for the battlefield."
Donnel immediately made his position clear.
Gendry glanced at him.
House Swann was a powerful noble family of the Marches, but they were also extremely cautious when choosing sides.
Still, there was no need to dwell on it.
After all, everyone wanted to follow the victor.
"Lord Haywood Fell of Fallen Leaves," Gendry continued. "A kind man."
"Fallen Leaves is at your command!"
Lord Haywood smiled broadly.
"King Robert won every war he fought, and Prince Storm is even more fearless than King Robert!"
The compliment was rather ironic considering that Lord Haywood's grandfather had died at Summerhall by Robert's hand.
Yet House Fell had eventually become one of Robert's supporters and had always praised the late king's courage.
"Ser Justin Massey."
"...The Earl of the Horn..."
Gendry continued introducing the gathered nobles.
Eventually, Daenerys smiled and spoke.
"I appreciate the loyalty of all my Lords and the support of the knights. However, I think we would be more comfortable discussing matters inside the military tent."
Although these Lords had never met the exiled Targaryen princess before, they had heard countless stories about her extraordinary beauty and regal bearing.
And now she had arrived with dragons.
That alone was enough to make everyone respect her.
The enormous military camp stood on the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush.
Silk tents belonging to Lords and knights stretched across the camp in neat rows, resembling a field of enormous blooming mushrooms.
There was also a designated prisoner-of-war camp nearby.
Wherever an army gathered, life became lively.
Spearmen, swordsmen, armored soldiers, servants, horses, and banners filled the area.
Everything was organized in perfect order.
Bronze Yohn was an old-school commander, and the knights of the Stormlands had also learned that Gendry demanded strict discipline.
The soldiers had gone to great lengths to display their identities.
Golden quartered banners were embroidered onto the right side of soldiers' and servants' clothing. They also fluttered from golden silk standards attached to longspears and wooden spears.
The same banners decorated shields outside the tents.
"Two fighting black-and-white swans. That's House Swann."
Daenerys looked around with interest.
"The black raven flying against a grass-green background belongs to House Morrigen. House Caron has the Nightingale banner, while House Estermont uses the green sea turtle..."
Daenerys was slightly proud as she identified the various noble sigils.
Apart from the brilliant golden stag, she had always been interested in the heraldry of the other Lords and knights.
Heraldry and etiquette were essential parts of noble life.
Soon, everyone entered Gendry's large military tent.
It was spacious but not particularly luxurious.
His warhammer and enormous oak-and-steel shield stood near the entrance.
Gendry sat behind a desk while Daenerys sat beside him.
The Lords took their places on folding campaign chairs.
A large Myrish rug covered the floor, and the dragons rested nearby.
"Once we smash Casterly Rock, we can eat in the lion's hall!"
Roland Storm spoke dramatically.
His face was scarred by measles, but his courage was famous throughout the Stormlands.
"Exactly. We have dragons, and dragons never stop growing. Killing Tywin and Balon will be no problem!"
Ser Donnel Swann spoke enthusiastically.
His former caution had vanished, replaced by an almost fanatical faith in Gendry.
"Exactly!"
The plump Bennard Bellmore nodded repeatedly.
Most knights were straightforward men.
They admired strong warriors and preferred simple solutions.
Follow the commander.
Charge.
Fight.
There weren't many subtle strategists among them.
But that was precisely why Gendry found them useful.
They could be commanded like a hunter directing his hounds.
There were few great generals, but there were plenty of capable soldiers who could serve as useful tools on the battlefield.
Daenerys watched the passionate Lords and knights shouting around her.
She listened.
She observed.
This was another kind of battlefield.
The battlefield of the court.
A woman could extend friendships to retainers, use rewards and incentives to secure loyalty, arrange marriages, and support her husband's cause.
"Balon might already be dead."
Gendry casually threw a piece of meat toward the small dragon.
Balerion immediately pounced on it with the speed of a striking cobra.
"Boom!"
Fire erupted from its mouth.
The smell of sulfur and burning meat filled the tent.
Balerion completely charred the meat before swallowing it.
Like humans, dragons preferred cooked meat.
Gendry suddenly remembered something.
"I heard I have many more siblings?"
"Yes, there are many of them," Ser Gulltown Morrigen replied. "But according to Duke Stannis's investigations, they are all imposters. Some even dyed their hair black and their eyes blue."
He lowered his voice.
"Lord Stannis rewarded several of them with a whipping. Their numbers have decreased considerably."
"Those people saw the fall of King's Landing and simply wanted to join in the excitement."
Selwyn Tarth sighed helplessly.
At the docks of Maidenpool, ships from Gulltown continued streaming into the harbor.
Because the port of King's Landing had not yet fully recovered, the docks of Maidenpool had once again become extremely busy.
The steel hammer banner of House Lykke stood prominently at the harbor, while the golden quartered banners flew highest of all.
"Your Highness."
"Lord Robert."
"Lord Grafton."
Lord Yohn Royce had been waiting at the docks with a group of people for the guests he intended to welcome.
Dressed in a robe beneath his bronze armor, Lord Royce stood prominently among the crowd.
House Grafton's fleet had arrived carrying Mya Baratheon, Duke Robert Arryn of the Eyrie, Lord Grafton, and several others.
Behind them stood a group of knights wearing blue robes.
"Thank you for coming to meet us, Lord Yohn."
Mya quickly bowed.
Although she had suddenly become a princess and now moved among the highest levels of nobility, she still felt somewhat uncomfortable with her new status.
Not long ago, these important figures had been completely beyond her reach.
"Can I still see the young big brother who flew me around the Eyrie last time?"
Robert Arryn asked eagerly.
"No one at the Eyrie has ever taken me flying like that."
Although Robert still seemed restless, he was much better than before.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Yohn smiled.
"But you must call him King now."
"Where is my brother... Prince Gendry?"
Mya asked.
"His Highness should have returned by now," Lord Royce replied. "However, he isn't in the Red Keep. He is staying at the military camp on the southern bank."
He paused.
"Prince Gendry has instructed that you may reside directly in the Red Keep. Your uncle, Duke Stannis, is there as well."
"Good."
Mya nodded.
She was still slightly nervous, but when she saw the golden banners flying high above the camp, courage suddenly filled her heart.
The Stag stood proudly above everything.
She carried the blood of the Stag.
She should be brave.
She should strive for the glory of the Storm.
"Lord Yohn."
The young and handsome Ser Michel Redfort also bowed to Yohn.
He wore a white cloak embroidered with a red castle on a white field bordered in red—the sigil of House Redfort.
"Lucky boy," Bronze Yohn said quietly. "But remember your place."
Michel was the second son of a second son.
A good marriage would be an extraordinary opportunity for someone in his position.
Yohn actually admired the young man.
Unfortunately, the famous sword already had an owner.
Perhaps he would have to find another suitable match for his daughter.
As he thought about it, House Stark suddenly came to mind.
"I will remember your teachings, Lord Yohn."
Michel was the youngest son of House Redfort and one of the finest young swordsmen in the Vale.
He was exceptionally brave.
"Lord Yohn, why didn't you greet me?"
Lyn Corbray asked lazily.
His rust-colored hair was slightly messy, and Lady Forlorn hung at his waist.
"Then I wish you a pleasant mood as well."
Lord Royce looked at Lyn.
The cynical knight seemed rather dissolute compared with the old-fashioned Lords of the Vale.
Yet there was no denying that Lyn Corbray was one of the finest swordsmen in the Vale.
"Haha. Of course I'm in a good mood."
Lyn laughed.
"Prince Storm gave me a generous reward. My life is comfortable now."
He smiled.
"But I can't spend all my time protecting Princess Mya and Lord Robert. I'm also preparing to fight the lion."
His hand rested on Lady Forlorn.
"My lady still needs to drink blood."
"There will be an opportunity."
Yohn smiled indifferently.
"Everyone wants a taste of the lion's blood."
The golden banners flew proudly above the camp as Mya and Robert Arryn boarded the carriage.
The knights mounted their horses and surrounded them as escorts.
Far away, on the Rose Road in the Reach, a green field decorated with golden roses stretched beneath the summer sky.
A large wheelhouse moved slowly along the road.
A hundred intertwined roses were carved into its sides, while green-cloaked Tyrell soldiers surrounded it.
The convoy also carried a considerable amount of grain.
Lady Alerie Hightower occupied the upper level of the Rose Wheelhouse.
Below her sat Margaery Tyrell and her grandmother, Lady Olenna.
"The wheelhouse is already extravagant enough," Olenna complained.
"And your foolish mother still insisted on gilding the roses. She truly is a perfect match for your father."
She shook her head.
"Gilding them certainly makes them look beautiful, but isn't it simply showing off?"
"My mother only wants to bring glory to House Tyrell."
Margaery smiled.
"Glory doesn't come only from gold coins."
Olenna's expression became serious.
"It also comes from swords and fire."
"Are you afraid of winter?"
Margaery's beautiful eyes sparkled.
"Or are you afraid that other Lords will become jealous of us?"
"Roses cannot survive an especially harsh winter, child."
Olenna looked at her clever granddaughter.
She had raised Margaery since childhood and knew her better than almost anyone.
"If the Storm and his ministers are correct, a ten-year Long Winter will bring unprecedented hunger and war."
Olenna's voice became solemn.
"The Reach is wealthy, yes, but we cannot feed an entire continent of starving people. The Riverlands have already been devastated, while the North is falling into chaos."
She paused.
"What do you think will happen when those hungry people turn their eyes toward the Reach?"
"War."
Margaery answered seriously.
"The Lords will unite and invade us, demanding our grain."
"Exactly."
Olenna nodded.
"The Reach is wealthy, but our lands have few natural defenses. In the past, we fought the Ironborn, the Storm Kings, and the Dornish, often over grain."
She sighed.
"The Ironborn and Dornish are poor, and the Stormlands aren't much better. They have more forests than farmland."
Olenna's expression darkened.
"Grain and gold are valuable, but only military strength can protect them."
"In war, I don't see anyone who can currently match the Storm."
She lowered her voice.
"That man is a demon on the battlefield."
"Your brothers are talented, but they lack the divine inspiration of a truly legendary commander. Individually, they cannot defeat Gendry."
"The most capable among them is Randyll. We can suppress him and try to win him over, but who can truly understand what lies in Randyll's heart?"
"And then there is Mace Tyrell..."
Olenna continued.
"The Riverlands will soon be ruled by the fool Edmure. The Vale is controlled by a mere child who will follow the Iron Throne for more than a decade."
She shook her head.
"We cannot withstand the kingdoms dividing themselves against one another."
"I understand."
Margaery nodded.
Then she looked at her grandmother.
"I will become a close companion to the Queen at court. I will bring peace and happiness to Highgarden while speaking on behalf of our family."
Olenna's heart felt slightly bitter.
Men clung to power.
Women clung to men.
That was simply the reality of this age.
"But you must not become involved with the King."
Olenna's expression became stern.
"I don't want my sweet girl to become some common mistress in the royal court."
"Besides, if that Targaryen girl inherited the fiery temper of her ancestors, you may suffer greatly at court."
She sighed.
"If you cannot endure it, we'll simply return to the warm and peaceful Highgarden."
"I can handle it."
Margaery answered firmly.
"But if the King..."
She hesitated.
"I think... I think he shouldn't be as mad as Robert, right?"
She forced a small smile.
"When we meet, I'll advise him."
The Queen of Thorns sighed.
"He wants to kiss our Rose, but even if he is King, he cannot give us something so precious without paying a suitable price."
Olenna rubbed her aching temples.
How should she handle this?
Could she control the King as easily as she controlled her granddaughter?
"But why do you believe the Storm's prediction about the Long Winter?"
Margaery asked curiously.
"Grandmother is old, but her eyes aren't dim yet."
Olenna looked out at the distant fields.
"Summer doesn't last forever. A Long Winter will surely come eventually."
She paused.
"Besides, look at the Storm's rise over the past few years. He has dominated both the political and military fields and has never lost a war."
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
"I believe his prediction."
________________________________________
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