Hidden beyond the outskirts of Wolf's Den, there lay a secret estate known only to a handful of trusted people—the Pear Orchard.
The manor was surrounded by gentle hills and dense woodland, carefully concealed from prying eyes. Within its walls, countless plants were cultivated: rows of pear trees imported from Tyrosh, rare medicinal herbs from Myr, and even carefully nurtured gunpowder plants whose value far exceeded gold.
The Pear Orchard was not merely a garden—it was a stronghold.
Unsullied attendants patrolled the grounds in silence, their presence unyielding and disciplined. Beneath their watchful eyes, the estate maintained an air of serenity that masked its immense strategic importance.
And today, something far more astonishing than rare plants occupied the orchard.
Dragons.
Beneath the largest pear tree, a finely woven Myrish tapestry had been laid across the grass. Upon it sat Gendry, Daenerys, Maester Qyburn, Anguy, Dick the Fletch, and Grey Wolf, enjoying what looked like a leisurely picnic.
Bowls of fresh fruit were arranged alongside cups of wine and chilled drinks. The scent of pears drifted through the air, mixing with the warmth of summer sunlight.
Above them, three small dragons wheeled and circled in the sky.
They were still young, no larger than cats—but they could already fly.
Balerion.
Vhagar.
Viserion.
Balerion was slightly larger than the other two, though all three were deceptively light. A dragon's body consisted mostly of neck, tail, and wings, giving them a far lighter build than their appearance suggested.
Yet the most terrifying aspect of dragons was not their current size.
It was their potential.
A dragon could consume several times its own body weight in meat each day. As long as it fed, it would grow—relentlessly, unstoppably—until it became a weapon capable of reshaping the world.
Among the three, Balerion was the most ancient in appearance.
His scales were black as obsidian, streaked faintly with dark red. His eyes, horns, and dorsal spines burned with a deep blood-crimson hue, as though forged from fire and shadow.
He was wild, bold, and constantly hungry.
Vhagar, by contrast, shimmered in shades of emerald green and bronze, reminiscent of summer leaves and autumn metal.
Viserion gleamed with creamy white scales, his wing bones and spine tinted a dark gold that shone brilliantly under the sun.
Vhagar and Viserion chased one another playfully among the pear trees, circling higher and higher as if competing for dominance.
Balerion flew as well—but higher, and farther.
The black dragon was bolder than his siblings. He was always the first to rush into the sky, and one day, he would also be the first to hunt and kill.
Dragons preferred to attack from above.
They would position themselves between their prey and the sun, fold their wings, and dive with a piercing roar—slamming into their target in a storm of claws, teeth, and whipping tails.
When the three dragons first fought midair, Gendry and Daenerys had feared they might injure one another.
It turned out to be nothing more than play.
As they neared the ground, the dragons would separate instantly, shriek in excitement, and rise once more into the sky.
"Regarding King Robert," Maester Qyburn said softly, breaking the calm, "please accept my condolences."
"The dead are dead," Gendry replied calmly. "What matters is the future—and avenging the King."
"Under our banner, House Lannister will surrender their lands and wealth."
His voice was cold, steady.
In truth, Gendry had met King Robert only a handful of times.
Had his identity been discovered earlier, House Lannister might have had him assassinated long ago.
It felt strange—like a long-absent biological father suddenly leaving behind a vast inheritance.
Bitterness, gratitude, resentment… everything was mixed together.
Gendry remembered Robert's fat face, his booming laughter, the way he cursed and drank without restraint.
Boy, Robert had said in his memory, I know you don't want this gift. But it's the last thing I can give you. Avenge me.
It was posturing. A performance.
But it made climbing to the peak of power far easier.
Daenerys studied Gendry's expression. His hair was as dark as an endless night, and his face held sorrow, joy, and something deeper—loss.
People said Robert Baratheon had once been as strong as a bull.
Yet he had died at the tusks of a wild boar.
Daenerys herself was uncertain how to feel.
The War of the Usurper was not as Viserys had described it. The madness of her father, Aerys Targaryen, had been just as horrifying as the treachery of House Lannister.
Through Gendry, Ser Jorah, Maester Qyburn, Anguy, and even the Old Knight Barristan, who had come briefly to greet them, Daenerys learned more and more of the past.
Perhaps Gendry was right.
Reconcile. Endure. Face the future.
And destroy House Lannister.
After a long flight, Balerion descended and landed directly in Gendry's arms.
Whether bound by blood and fire, or drawn by the violent power within his master, the black dragon was completely satisfied.
Daenerys watched the scene in fascination.
"Truly incredible," Anguy said in awe. "A dragon rider…"
Once fearful of dragons, Anguy now felt an indescribable pride. This black dragon—unique in the world—felt like the reincarnation of the Black Dread itself.
"To see a dragon is a blessing," Grey Wolf added. "They are the most wondrous creatures in existence."
"I am truly fortunate," he said.
"Not 'fortunate,'" Gendry corrected gently. "You are not my slave. You are my subordinate—my friend."
"Yes, my lord!" Grey Wolf straightened proudly.
The Unsullied were no longer slaves. They were the Free Folk of a new nation.
"They're so hot," Daenerys murmured, touching Balerion's scales.
The heat was intense, like sun-baked armor.
Balerion growled softly but did not resist.
The dragons were exceptionally friendly toward Gendry.
"A dragon's flesh and blood are forged of blood and fire," Qyburn said reverently. "They are creatures of magic—power beyond human imagination."
"How large can they grow?" Daenerys asked.
"In legends, dragons were said to hunt sea monsters," Qyburn replied. "But based on history, Balerion the Conqueror once cast a shadow large enough to engulf an entire town."
"How long do they live?"
"More than two hundred years, at least," Qyburn said. "Though I doubt that is their true limit."
He paused.
"Ancient Valyria possessed sorcery beyond measure. Their dragons may have lived far longer—and grown far larger."
"Leaving magic aside," Gendry said thoughtfully, "we must consider dragon eggs and Dragonstone."
"If word spreads that dragons have hatched, dragon eggs will become priceless beyond measure."
He did not know whether other eggs could hatch naturally, or if they required sacrifice—but control was essential.
"Unfortunately," Qyburn said, "dragon eggs have vanished. But I believe clues may remain—Dragonstone, the Red Keep, Summerhall…"
"Even at the ends of the earth, I will find them."
Qyburn's organization now served many roles: intelligence, sorcery, and dragon-seeking.
"Very good," Gendry said, stroking Balerion.
More eggs meant more dragons.
Dragonstone meant stronger dragons.
Both were indispensable.
"Stannis does not worry me," Gendry continued. "But Renly will claim the throne."
"He is ambitious," Anguy scoffed. "A second son backed by House Tyrell."
"Is war coming again?" Daenerys asked softly.
"Yes," Gendry replied, kissing her fingers. "A nation where people live happily is guarded by blood and fire."
"To your cause," Qyburn said, raising his cup.
The others followed.
"To your cause. Long live the warhammer."
Anguy stood and began to sing.
The song was rough, nostalgic, and filled with sorrow.
The Brotherhood Without Banners… his past… his lost friends.
He longed to return to the Kingswood.
But the world had moved on.
And so would they.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)