The crowded war tent was warm, packed with highborn guests, mostly famous lords, knights, and warriors. The fire cast a welcome heat, and the scents of roast meat and warmed wine were just as enticing, Summerwine from Dorne and golden wine from the Reach. These were part of Frey's treasured stock from years past, and now he had dragged them out to the benefit of every other guest.
Gendry sat behind the high table, dressed in black, gold, and red velvet. Gold and black were the colors of Baratheon, and before them, Durrandon. Black and red belonged to Targaryen. Robb wore a gray wool tunic trimmed in white, the colors of Stark.
From one side, Ser Boggs of Crackclaw Point raised his cup and gave a toast. "To the Heir to the Iron Throne, Lord of the Stepstones, Myr, and Tyrosh, the Breaker, Prince Gendry, the 'Storm of Triumph', and his betrothed, the Last True Dragon, Stormborn, the Silver-Haired Maiden, Princess Daenerys! To the friendship of the stag and the direwolf, as rich and mellow as fine wine!"
Bronze Yohn Royce rose next and shouted, "To the old gods and the new. May the gods bless us! Marriage! Friendship! Victory!"
"Marriage! Friendship! Victory!" The Goldcloaks, the Crackclaw men, the lords of the Vale, and the lords of the Riverlands all took up the cry, roaring it out. To the joining of the two storms, to the rising again of dragon, wolf, stag, and fish.
The northern lords drank as well, and Greatjon Umber was the first to bellow along. "Marriage! Friendship! Victory!"
Lady Catelyn, the Blackfish, and Robb joined in too, along with the rest of the northern lords. "Marriage! Friendship! Victory!"
The storm is here, Robb Stark thought as he looked across at the excited lords opposite him. The stag commanded them as easily as moving his own arm. After the battle, every one of them was fiercely loyal. It was an aura forged by strength, authority, victory, and charisma, and it spread to everyone around him. In that instant, Robb realized that perhaps he really was nothing more than an impatient boy, and what stood before him was a storm. His face turned as red as his hair.
Under that overwhelming presence, even the northern lords, proud as they usually were, seemed diminished. They looked as though they had been born to serve him. Greatjon, that reckless brute who had practically turned into a raving admirer of Gendry, hardly needed mentioning. Robb had managed to subdue Greatjon, but Grey Wind deserved no small part of the credit for that. Robb could see with his own eyes that even Roose Bolton had become as meek as a lamb. Just like Robert, who had been famous for his easy charm, his blunt and open nature, and his remarkable gift for turning enemies into friends.
Even if I have to bend the knee, Robb thought, I need terms worth offering. Most alliances between lords were built on marriage and advancement, usually the promotion of squires and foster sons.
But both the wolf and the stag were too young, and a marriage alliance between the dragon and the stag was already inevitable. Setting aside that almost inhuman beauty, even the stupidest fool could understand the worth of the Last True Dragon. And that was with most people still knowing nothing of the birth of the dragons.
Other than the northern soldiers, Robb had almost nothing in hand. Food and supplies were lacking. He was too young, with no children and no wife. And his sisters were still trapped in King's Landing, their lives uncertain.
He has to shoulder his own responsibilities. Catelyn looked at her son beside her and could tell he was still burdened with worries. She could not help but worry for him in turn. Even with a beard, Robb was only pretending to be a man grown, while his ally was the true leader, like a warrior come down from the heavens. The stag had won everyone over through sheer force of presence and charisma.
"He really does look far too much like Robert, only a little taller. The same broad frame, the same open-hearted nature, the same valor in battle," the Blackfish said softly to Catelyn.
Catelyn nodded. In his youth, Robert had been a powerfully built young man with a clean, well-kept face and clear, captivating eyes, the very image of a maiden's dream. Robb and Gendry were almost the same age, yet Gendry was plainly handsomer, broader of spirit, and harder in bearing than Robb. Set side by side, they were much like Brandon and Eddard had once been.
No, he is more thoughtful than Robert, as though he were born to rule, Catelyn wanted to say, but the words never left her mouth. Words could wound more deeply than swords. They could not be spoken carelessly.
The first hot soup had already been served. It was no courtly feast, but the onion soup, with bits of goat meat and carrot in it, was still rich and nourishing. It tasted excellent and warmed the belly nicely. A singer began his song, accompanied by flute, fiddle, and hand drum. Salt and butter had already been set on every table, and with the soup came a loaf of coarse brown bread, fresh from the oven and still warm.
During the lull between courses, Ser Boggs began urging everyone onto the dance floor, and the others quickly followed his lead. Everyone knowingly spared Lady Catelyn. After all, her gloomy expression and her sorrow were plain for everyone to see.
Gendry and Dacey danced the first dance. Though Dacey excelled at fighting, she was no less graceful in a gown. Without her armor, she was strikingly beautiful, slender and long-limbed, and her shy smile lit up her long face.
The guests laughed and applauded them. Beautiful, youthful, full of life, the two of them shone like stars at the center of the crowd, the future of the realm.
"They say the Dragon Princess is the most beautiful maiden in the known world. Maybe we'll get the chance to feast our eyes on her yet," Greatjon said loudly to Roose beside him.
Roose Bolton watched the dancers, and suddenly an inexplicable sorrow rose in his heart, like a dagger carving scar after scar into an old wound. The grief came over him without end. If my son, if Domeric, and not that bastard, were still alive, he would be dancing now. Perhaps I could have had him marry a Stark Princess, or any girl he fancied. Domeric Bolton had been quiet but gifted, well versed in history, skilled with the harp and on horseback, as though born in the saddle. But the boy had died two years ago of a "stomach ailment."
Dacey invited Robb to dance a second time, and even old Lady Maege happily shared a dance with Lord Karstark.
There were hardly any noblewomen present, so aside from Dacey and Lady Maege, even the humblest maidservants were invited out to dance. After a few songs, everyone was laughing freely. They were holding on to a little laughter in the face of the brutal war to come.
The music and laughter went on and on. But as the music faded and one dish after another was brought out, everyone understood that the time had probably come to put everything on the table.
Robb rose, then dropped to one knee and laid his sword at Gendry's feet. "Prince, I ask to join your cause, to fight your enemies, and to protect you."
Gendry helped the Young Wolf back up. Fortunately, Robb had seen the situation clearly soon enough. He raised Robb's hand. By rights, he ought to have brushed a light kiss across Robb's cheek, but Gendry preferred a soldier's courtesy.
"So be it, brother."
At once, everyone burst into cheers, and the northern lords stepped forward as well. One after another, they unbuckled their weapons and knelt beside Robb. Naturally, they were not kneeling for nothing. The loyalty of the North ought to be repaid.
"Long live the Storm!" Lord Roose said.
"Long live the Storm!" Lady Maege shouted as well, her weapon a spiked mace.
...
Under the current circumstances, even with other powers still in play, the addition of the wolf, the fish, and part of the other lords made their grand alliance look deeply formidable.
Gendry looked over the northern guests who had pledged themselves. Of the four great pillars beneath House Stark in the North, three were represented here: Bolton of the Dreadfort, Karstark of Karhold, and Manderly of White Harbor. Roose Bolton's eyes were like dirty ice. Karstark was like an ill-tempered old wolf. And the Manderly sons, Wylis and Wendel, were each as fat as walruses. It was said their father was even fatter. House Manderly was one of the very few houses in the North that followed the Seven.
At this moment, all those who had sworn allegiance looked so loyal, yet the truth was nowhere near as simple as it appeared. House Karstark's strength was actually the smallest of the four, and it was also the least scheming and the most loyal. Those left behind at home were only the old, the weak, the sick, and the wounded. But in these chaotic times, brute force alone was not necessarily enough. The Manderlys and the Boltons still had strength in reserve, while House Dustin had simply chosen to sit things out.
"I am grateful for everyone's support of my cause. Let us move quickly to wipe out the Lannisters. But where are the men of House Dustin and House Ryswell?" Gendry asked softly after returning to his seat.
The atmosphere instantly turned a little strange. Roose's eyelids twitched, but in the end he said nothing.
"The Lady of Barrowton, widow of the late Lord William Dustin, and the youngest daughter of Lord Rodrik Ryswell of the Rills. Lady Barbrey says she is only a woman, but she did send men," Robb answered seriously. It was said that Lady Barbrey did not get along with her father, but Robb had not thought much of it. War, after all, was no game for women.
"I see." Gendry nodded and did not pursue the matter. He needed their loyalty, but even more than that, he needed their unity. Some matters only needed to be touched on lightly. Dealing with the enemy was what mattered most.
Gendry felt that Robb perhaps had not learned enough yet. Power was power, after all. Beneath it, every person carried a beast in their heart.
Next, each noble began to speak his mind, chiefly the northern lords. One by one, they seized the chance to make their case in measured tones. The speeches went on for a long time, but it was hardly a pleasant business. Cursing, reasoning, coaxing, joking, and threatening were all common tools of the trade.
The hot-blooded Ser Marq proposed that they combine their armies and strike west together at Casterly Rock. Many of the more aggressive men shared that view.
Lord Jason Mallister, however, spoke of how long the war had already dragged on. They had been fighting for far too long. Better to use Riverrun to choke off the Lannisters' supplies, prevent Tywin from gaining more men and provisions, strengthen their own defenses, and give their exhausted armies time to rest and recover.
"I think we should take advantage of our strength while it is at its height and march on Harrenhal together, end the war as soon as possible, and then take King's Landing," another Riverlands noble suggested.
The Riverlands and the North had suffered the most since the war began. The Riverlands had been ravaged by the Lannisters, while the North had lost its liege lord, and others were imprisoned in King's Landing.
Gendry waited until they were finished before speaking at last, his words landing with force. A leader was there to decide the broad course, not to listen to his subordinates ramble without end. He was there to set the tone.
"With me added to the count, the realm now seems to have four masters, all of them appearing to have a claim to the Iron Throne," Gendry declared.
Everyone knew what he meant. Gendry, Joffrey, and the still-silent Stannis and Renly. No one knew how far talks between Stannis and Renly had progressed.
"My lords, Renly is not king, and Joffrey is no king either. Lord Stannis has made no move so far, so for now we can only treat him as a potential enemy," Robb said. According to the late king's will, Joffrey should have been removed from the succession. And Renly, as the third son, had even less right to crown himself king.
Lady Maege nodded. "It is a little strange for Renly to claim the crown when Stannis is still his elder brother."
These truly were times when all order had broken down. The Seven Kingdoms seemed to have dissolved into a pot of chaos, as though the realm had fallen back into the disorder of earlier ages. None of the seven kingdoms were at peace. At least three were already at war.
"Renly has already been crowned, and Storm's End supports him. I imagine the Dornish are weighing their choices as well," Ser Marq said. "But now that Winterfell and Riverrun have joined forces, even in the Stormlands, I think that if Prince Gendry were to appear, quite a few Stormlords would turn against Renly. And if we can draw House Arryn over as well, then our advantage will be considerable. It would be much the same as when King Robert rose in rebellion."
"House Arryn? With Lysa holding power, will the Eyrie support us?" Bronze Yohn could not help asking.
"Lysa." Hearing that name, Catelyn felt a sharp wave of sadness. In truth, she was still thinking about the possibility of peace talks, but how could she even begin to say it?
"What if we exchange prisoners for now? I have heard that Prince Gendry has taken quite a few Westerlands lords captive as well. My two daughters..." Catelyn said softly. This was not a peace proposal, only an exchange.
"Mother, they killed my father, your husband. I do not think the Lannisters will make peace with us, or exchange hostages either." Robb drew his longsword, and the cold gleam of the castle-forged steel flashed in the light. "This is what we should use to speak to them."
"My lady, you are a woman. Women do not understand such things," Greatjon said in his deep, booming voice.
"I do not think peace is possible either," the Blackfish said. "An exchange of prisoners, perhaps. But peace is not realistic. Peace requires the right conditions. If we make peace today, turn our horses out to pasture, and then take up arms again tomorrow and return to the battlefield, there is no meaning in that."
Seeing the mood of the room, Catelyn said no more. In truth, she already understood that peace was impossible. They had marched to stop Lannister plunder and slaughter, and to save Great Lord Eddard. But that was no longer likely to happen. Peace comforted her far more than killing did. Still, she could not go on. This was the stag's ground.
Quite a few northern lords began to voice their agreement, but the Vale lords and the Crackclaw men remained silent, waiting for Gendry to speak. After all, it was the stag who had taken those captives, and it would be the stag who decided whether they were exchanged.
"I propose we strike Casterly Rock first."
"I propose we march straight on Harrenhal."
In any case, there were reasonable arguments for attacking the Vale, the Stormlands, or King's Landing.
To attack the Vale would mean uniting the three northern kingdoms, eagle, wolf, and fish. To attack the Stormlands would mean gathering the strength of House Baratheon. To attack King's Landing would mean destroying Tywin completely.
"My lords." Gendry rose to his feet. "I regard Lord Eddard's children as my own brothers and sisters. I will never stand by and watch them remain trapped in King's Landing. This is the time for us to stand united and act together. If the war achieves nothing, then it means nothing."
All eyes turned to Gendry at once, and they yielded to his judgment. That was the authority war had won for him.