The Sparrows were gone, but the bloodshed remained.
With the High Sparrow's death, his dream of establishing a theocratic state vanished like smoke in the wind.
History certainly created heroes, but it was also heroes who pushed history forward.
The bloody traces and bodies inside the Great Sept had been cleared away, and the statues of the Seven Gods were carefully rearranged.
The remaining Sparrows carried the High Sparrow's body away.
It was ironic that the High Sparrow had died wearing the robes of a king.
The thieves had been punished, and the spectators who had remained to witness the chaos gradually dispersed.
Under the protection of soldiers, only a group of great lords and high-ranking church officials remained inside the hall.
The atmosphere was quiet and oppressive.
Outside, the Silent Sisters silently gathered the bones near the statue of Baelor. The remains would eventually be buried in the church cemetery alongside the people who had died inside the Great Sept.
"A dangerous enemy."
Although the High Sparrow was truly dead, Gendry felt none of the usual joy that came with defeating an enemy.
He looked toward the High Septon and the group of archbishops who had already taken their positions.
"They're all fat and complacent, but this group of fools certainly doesn't have much fighting ability."
Gendry wasn't particularly impressed by them.
But perhaps that was exactly what a king needed.
Useless people were often easier to control.
"This is an unprecedented scandal for the Faith in the past hundred years," the High Septon said mournfully.
"I will make sure something like this never happens again."
He repeatedly apologized to Gendry.
As the highest-ranking religious figure in the kingdom, allowing bloodshed to occur inside the Great Sept was both a sacrilege and a sign of his own incompetence.
"I will sell some of the Faith's gold crowns and luxurious garments and use the proceeds to purchase grain," the High Septon continued.
"Your Highness can then distribute it among the common people and the army."
At least this High Septon possessed some compassion.
He was far better than the previous fat High Septon who had been torn apart by an angry mob.
The other archbishops also had no objections.
Power was simply too frightening.
Unlike the High Sparrow, these men lacked his unwavering faith, ascetic discipline, and charisma.
They could only place their hopes in the protection of the royal family and its knights.
Gendry was quite satisfied with the High Septon's attitude.
After being frightened by the Sparrows, these people had finally learned to show some compassion toward the suffering of the world.
"Learn from this experience," Gendry said calmly.
"Only when there is peace can something like this be prevented from happening again."
"Yes. Yes. Yes."
The High Septon nodded repeatedly.
"Sometimes, sacrificing one person is better than allowing an entire group to die."
Gendry looked across the empty hall.
In truth, the path the High Sparrow had chosen wasn't entirely wrong.
The High Sparrow had seen the suffering of ordinary people.
The weak and forgotten had been his foundation.
First were the common people.
The Riverlands and parts of the Crownlands had suffered terribly because of the wars. Countless civilians had lost their homes because of the devastation caused by the Lannisters.
That was why the High Sparrow had chosen to remain in King's Landing.
There were simply too many poor and desperate people there.
Then there were the low-ranking knights.
Most were retainers of great lords or hired swords, while some came from noble families—second sons without inheritances, minor lords, or old warriors seeking to atone for their sins.
Under Gendry's strict orders, the direwolf pups had remained relatively well-behaved and calm.
The North itself had not deployed an excessive number of soldiers.
Furthermore, because the war in the Riverlands had not continued for as long as it otherwise might have, the power of the Sparrows had been considerably weakened.
But they were still a force that could not be underestimated.
"You helped me before you died, High Sparrow."
Gendry looked toward the place where the High Sparrow's body had been.
"This world should be peaceful."
"And perhaps it's better for the Sparrows to become fewer and fewer."
"Wouldn't that, in some way, be close to your own ideal?"
"But you were unwilling to surrender your desire for power."
The High Sparrow had never been a harmless man.
During the Long Winter and the wars, people would inevitably need something to believe in.
The High Sparrow had tried to use religious faith to summon strength from the masses during a time of confusion and suffering.
His ambition had been no smaller than that of any great lord.
He wanted to rebuild the Warrior's Sons and the Faith Militant, turning the Faith into an independent political force—one that could even stand above the secular king.
"Only when there is peace, and only when people can live and work peacefully, will they have less reason to lose themselves in religion."
Gendry gently stroked the hilt of his longsword.
Killing could never solve every problem.
The Lannisters' oppression of the people had inevitably created the conditions that allowed the Sparrows to rise.
There was more than one way to solve a problem.
Besides killing, there was appeasement.
It was much like the relationship between summer and the Long Winter.
On the stage of power, there simply wasn't room for too many players.
"If the High Sparrow hadn't died, he would have become a major problem," Randyll said quietly.
"What kind of logic is that? Are the king and the great lords supposed to dance to the Sparrows' tune forever?"
"That's why he died."
Gendry glanced at Randyll.
Randyll's insight had always been sharp.
The older man fell silent.
A strange light appeared in his eyes as he seemed to understand something.
Randyll wanted to keep winning.
To do that, he needed to follow the strongest person.
And who could possibly stand against the mad storm that was Gendry?
After a moment, Randyll sighed.
"If every lord were a powerful knight capable of protecting his people, there wouldn't be so many desperate Sparrows."
"Most of the Sparrows came from the Riverlands," Bronze Yohn said bitterly.
"They've suffered too much."
The Vale had been relatively fortunate.
Its mountains had protected it from much of the devastation of war.
The Riverlands, however, was completely different.
Whenever war erupted, the Riverlands was almost always dragged into it.
It was essentially the Central Plains of Westeros—a battlefield that had repeatedly been ravaged throughout history.
The Dance of the Dragons.
The Battle of the Trident during Robert's Rebellion.
And the more recent devastation caused by the Westerlands.
The Riverlands had suffered through them all.
"Let's go see the Dragons."
Gendry removed his cloak.
Without it, he looked much more relaxed.
"The Dragons is ready."
Randyll nodded.
There was indeed no reason to remain in this bloody place any longer.
The group bid farewell to the High Septon, mounted their horses, and rode toward the Dragons on another nearby hill.
Golden battle standards and the banners of the knights of the flower fluttered in the wind.
The enormous dome above the Dragons in King's Landing had been mostly destroyed, but its sturdy walls remained largely intact.
The huge bronze gate was also still in good condition, and the smaller oak door had already been reinstalled.
Workers carrying wood and stone moved everywhere.
Soldiers were busy helping with construction, while military tents had been erected around the square to house them.
Randyll had taken the lead in organizing the work.
"Your Highness Gendry!"
"Lord Randyll!"
"Lord Yohn!"
The soldiers saluted one after another as the nobles passed.
Because the construction deadline was so tight, Randyll had made full use of whatever materials were available.
Stone from the ruins, pieces of the destroyed dome, and timber from ships were all being reused.
Following military camp standards, he had constructed a large square barracks in the center of the site, with an open courtyard in the middle.
"Eventually, there will be a Hall of Warriors for the soldiers," Randyll explained.
"But that will take too long to construct."
"The veterans' hospital will consist of seven buildings."
He pointed around the area.
"The square, residential buildings, and church will make up the entirety of the veterans' complex."
Gendry looked toward a temporary platform that had been erected.
"What's that?"
"The coronation platform," Randyll replied.
"When Your Highness is crowned, more benches will be placed around it. The great lords will sit in the front, while the common people will sit farther back."
Gendry nodded.
"Besides the Dragons, we'll also visit the Great Sept of Baelor during the ceremony."
He looked around at the construction site.
"This is already very good, Count Randyll."
"However, because this will be connected to my coronation ceremony, make sure the soldiers and common workers aren't mistreated."
"As you command, Your Highness."
Randyll nodded respectfully.
After a moment, he hesitated before asking another question.
"If the Dragons becomes a place for disabled soldiers to live, where will the dragons stay?"
"Once the dragons appear, ordinary warhorses will become uncontrollable."
Gendry considered the question before answering.
"The dragons are temporarily living on the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush and at Dragonstone."
"As for King's Landing, the Dragons' buildings obviously aren't suitable for them."
Randyll nodded.
Gendry was very satisfied with his arrangements.
With the Dragons chosen as the main venue, he was confident that the coronation ceremony would be a success.
Just then—
"Your Highness!"
Anguy the Archer rode into the Dragons on a white horse.
"Lord Eddard Stark has returned with his family. Several lords from the North and Riverlands have arrived as well."
"I didn't expect the Northerners to be the first to arrive."
Bronze Yohn smiled.
Besides the Northerners, ladies and nobles from the Reach, Dorne, and even the Stormlands had also begun arriving.
"I'll go greet the lords from the North and Riverlands first," Gendry said.
"I'll leave this place to you, Count Randyll."
The other nobles shouldn't be far behind either.
"It is my honor, Your Highness."
Randyll bowed.
Gendry and the others immediately spurred their horses forward.
On the Kingsroad north of the Old Gate, they soon spotted the approaching procession.
Lord Roose Bolton had also joined them.
Banners stretched endlessly into the distance.
Knights, soldiers, sworn swords, Free Riders, and proud vassals accompanied the great lords.
The grey direwolf banner had returned.
Beside it flew the leaping trout of House Tully, along with the banners of numerous great houses from the North and Riverlands.
Gendry soon recognized many familiar faces.
Lord Eddard's stern, long face looked somewhat healthier than before.
Beside him was the somewhat reckless red-haired young man, Edmure Tully.
There was also Eddard's wife, Catelyn, and their two daughters, Sansa and Arya.
One bore the blood of the fish.
The other carried the spirit of the direwolf.
"Your Highness."
Lord Eddard dismounted and bowed.
"It is my honor to attend your coronation."
Lord Edmure and the others also dismounted, while servants quickly came forward to take care of their horses.
After exchanging the initial greetings, the introductions began.
Great lords first.
Then their children.
Then the remaining nobles.
"Your Highness."
Sansa Stark stepped forward.
Her hair was the auburn color of autumn, while her eyes were the deep blue of House Tully.
She had grown into a charming and graceful young woman.
"Hello, Miss Sansa."
Gendry returned her smile.
Sansa blushed politely.
She had always been overly concerned with appearances and manners.
Then Gendry turned his attention to the other Stark girl.
Arya Stark.
Arya possessed the classic features of House Stark—a long face, grey eyes, and brown hair.
But there was something wild about her.
"Your Highness."
At her family's urging, Arya bowed.
She had finally been given proper shoes and was dressed like a noble lady.
Yet her eyes were anything but obedient.
Arya carefully scrutinized Gendry.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and powerful.
He no longer resembled the blacksmith he had once been.
Instead, he looked like a legendary knight—the demon of the Whispering Woods and the Blackwater Rush.
"Dangerous girl."
Gendry immediately reached that conclusion.
Although Arya was still young, she had survived in the wilderness for a long time.
She had even personally killed several people.
The wild blood of the direwolf was strong within her.
Eddard also glanced toward his youngest daughter.
Her time in the wilderness had made her even more untamed.
She was truly a daughter of the direwolf, with calluses on her feet and scars on her body.
"Is this a good thing or a bad thing?"
Eddard himself didn't know.
The wild blood of the direwolf could be both a blessing and a curse.
"Will Arya still become one of the Faceless Men?"
Gendry was actually somewhat curious.
"Thanks to Thoros of Myr and the Brotherhood," Eddard explained kindly.
"They found her and brought her back."
"Lord Eddard's daughter is quite a fighter."
The Red Priest Thoros laughed.
"She even managed to break the nose of one of my men."
Arya remained expressionless.
She had once been frustrated by constantly being overshadowed by Sansa.
But now, she had decided that she would simply be herself.
She could ride well, and she possessed surprising physical strength.
Thoros and Beric Dondarrion had also arrived with them, along with several members of the Brotherhood who were still hunting down stragglers and bandits throughout the Riverlands.
"We lost our banner."
Beric lowered his head shamefully.
"You completed your mission."
Gendry smiled.
"You've lived up to the name of a true knight."
Gendry then noticed another familiar face.
Rickard Karstark's son.
Harion Karstark was still young, but he already wore a beard and had a fierce appearance.
A black cloak decorated with a white sun hung from his shoulders.
"Your father was a brave and fearless warrior."
Gendry's expression became solemn.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"It is a warrior's fate, Your Highness."
Harion answered honestly.
"I heard my father died bravely."
Gendry patted the young man's shoulder.
The bond between a father and son was always complicated.
The Karstark sons weren't as impulsive as their father had been.
Perhaps they had already understood that death was something every warrior eventually had to face.
At the very end of the procession, Gendry saw an unexpected acquaintance.
The Hound.
The tall man with half his face scarred by fire was none other than Sandor Clegane.
"He killed Jaremy Frey and several bandits, Your Highness," Thoros quickly explained.
"The Hound also escorted Miss Arya, so..."
Gendry looked at Sandor.
"Your bravery and your bastardry have canceled each other out."
Sandor's eyes were filled with confusion.
He clearly didn't know what to make of that statement.
Then he suddenly knelt.
"I beg you to guide me."
"Even if it means killing me."
Pain filled his voice.
"I never became a knight. I threw away my white cloak, and now..."
"I'm lost."
"I don't know whether I'm alive or dead."
Gendry stared at him for a moment.
Then he pointed toward the Dragons.
"Go there."
"Lord Randyll needs someone like you."
"You're not a knight anymore. You're simply a warrior."
"Perhaps you can find a new path for yourself there."
Sandor looked at him.
Then he slowly nodded.
"Yes."
He stood up as though he had just been pardoned.
Gendry arranged accommodation for the Stark family.
However, the Starks firmly refused to stay in the Red Keep again.
Too many Northerners had died there.
They eventually decided to stay in the military camp instead.
---
The Blackwater Rush
South of the Blackwater Rush, Gendry hurried back to the camp.
Daenerys accompanied him.
The dragons followed their movements through the sky.
As they arrived, they happened to encounter another group of distinguished guests.
The entire Tyrell family had arrived from the Reach.
They would be staying at the "Rose Camp" on the western side of the area, but they had come to pay their respects first.
Gendry and Daenerys rode out to greet them.
The fiery glow in the sky came from the dragons flying overhead, their enormous shadows sweeping across the ground.
Margaery hurriedly dismounted.
Her grandmother and mother also descended from their wheeled carriage.
"Your Royal Highnesses."
Margaery curtsied.
She wore a beautiful green dress, and her brown hair and brown eyes complemented her slender, graceful figure.
"We are honored that you have come to greet us personally."
"You can simply call me Daenerys."
Daenerys smiled warmly and helped Margaery to her feet.
Meanwhile, Gendry helped Margaery's mother and grandmother down from the carriage.
Ser Garlan, Ser Loras, and Lord Mace accompanied them.
"You are far too kind to come and greet us personally, Your Highness."
Lady Olenna smiled.
"Former Dragon Kings weren't nearly this approachable."
"You certainly know how to flatter someone."
Gendry laughed heartily.
"They're only small dragons."
He glanced toward the creatures circling overhead.
"Compared to those beasts, I still prefer blacksmithing."
"A dragon is a dragon."
Lady Olenna's expression became serious.
The old woman was thin and small, but she was every bit as sharp as a rose covered in thorns.
She carried the faint scent of rose perfume.
"I've known your family for several generations," Olenna continued.
"Though I can't say we were ever particularly close."
"Your great-grandfather, Maegor, was the only man of his generation to marry into the Dragon Kings' family. That was after Maegor's father, the Mad Storm, rebelled."
"Your grandfather Steffon, meanwhile, stood alongside Tywin and Aerys. The three of them were practically a three-headed beast."
"But your grandfather was terribly unlucky."
"I remember their faces and voices."
Gendry's expression softened.
"Night falls equally upon everyone."
Olenna's tone was somewhat flat.
"It's simply that everyone dies in a different way."
"Your great-grandfather died on the battlefield. Your grandfather died at sea."
"Unlike my husband, the former Lord Roose."
"He was an idiot."
"He was kind-hearted, and he certainly wasn't lacking in other areas."
"But his mind simply couldn't turn quickly enough."
"Do you know how he died?"
"He fell off a cliff while hawking."
"They said he was staring at the sky and forgot to pay attention to where his horse was going."
"Mother."
Lord Mace's face turned bright red.
He lowered his voice.
"I am a high-ranking court official now."
"Please..."
"Fine, fine."
Olenna waved her hand.
"I know you're an important man at court. I'm merely stating an objective fact."
Gendry spread his hands helplessly.
"I don't think there's anything I can say to that."
Daenerys and Margaery continued smiling politely.
After a moment, Olenna spoke again.
"Your Royal Highnesses, please keep us away from the Dornish during the ceremony."
"Whenever I see them, I feel terrible."
Gendry and Daenerys exchanged a glance before nodding.
"Your Highness," Lady Olenna continued.
"We have also brought some grain."
"Consider it an early gift for the king."
"Thank you for your generosity."
Gendry nodded.
At that moment—
A tremendous roar echoed across the sky.
The dragons of the Shriekers descended from above.
They circled Gendry and Daenerys before landing nearby.
Lady Olenna's eyes widened.
She stared at the magnificent creatures before her.
Margaery's face turned slightly pale, but she bravely forced herself to continue looking.
Olenna gazed first at the black dragon's lava-like eyes.
Then at the green dragon.
Finally, her eyes settled on the white dragon, whose eyes gleamed like molten gold.
For perhaps the first time in her life, the sharp-tongued old woman was left speechless.
Then she quietly murmured:
"To see a dragon..."
"That is truly something to rejoice over."
________________________________________
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