Outside the camp at Wolf's Den, banners snapped in the wind, and Gendry's own standard flew above the rest.
Rows of fine military tents stood in neat formation. The closer one drew to the center, the thicker the crowd and the louder the noise.
Shouts. Cheers. The shrill cries of horses. The clash of steel.
Beneath a hastily built wooden grandstand, the tournament was in full swing.
This was the first martial tourney of the Twin Cities Alliance, and the excitement was undeniable. Alongside jousting, archery, team combat, and mixed melee, there were also contests popular across Essos, such as mud wrestling and the game of Cyvasse.
The grounds beneath the stands had been cleared and fenced. Tracks were laid out, platforms erected. Hundreds, even thousands, had gathered to watch, most of them Gendry's own soldiers.
They caught sight of the Lord Governor's betrothed. Though still young, she was already breathtakingly beautiful. Daenerys wore a black velvet gown, and around her neck hung a square-cut ruby necklace. Black and red, the traditional colors of House Targaryen.
Her gaze was fixed anxiously on the battlefield below. Many knights had already withdrawn. Only the strongest remained. The man she loved was among them.
"Princess, do not be afraid. I have heard the Breaker cannot be defeated," said the young maid at her side, Ava. She had a round, flat face. Though youthful in appearance, she was sharp-minded. Once a slave, she had been freed and assigned by Gendry to serve Daenerys.
"Do not call yourself 'your servant.' Say 'I,'" Daenerys corrected her gently. Both the old gods and the new in Westeros despised slavery. If she was to return there one day, those around her could not carry the habits of bondage.
Gendry rode a black warhorse clad in dark armor. In his hand was a long-handled warhammer, and his helm bore the mark of the hammer at its center.
His opponent wore deep blue plate and moved with unsettling calm, swinging a blunted morningstar in steady arcs. His horse's armor bore no sigil, only a sapphire. He had chosen to conceal his house.
Gendry regarded the Blue Knight with interest. Besides his own soldiers and mercenaries seeking glory, there were even fallen knights from across the Narrow Sea who had come to try their luck. This fierce and mysterious knight hailed from Westeros itself.
The man stood nearly a head taller than most, broad and powerfully built, reminiscent of a lesser Mountain. Gendry had a faint suspicion of who he might be, but he did not expose it.
The two warhorses collided and wheeled together like dancers at a harvest feast, though instead of embracing, their riders traded blows. Each held a shield in one hand and a weapon in the other. The warhammer swept down. The chained morningstar spun and struck. Both weapons had been blunted for the tourney, yet their impacts still rang out with terrifying force.
"Ser Jorah, do you know who this knight is? He looks extraordinarily tall and fierce," Daenerys asked softly.
"A mysterious knight from across the Narrow Sea, Princess," Jorah replied. "Judging by his size, he is a formidable man. Yet he hides his face. Perhaps he is a Westerosi knight of some standing."
Jorah watched calmly. He had complete confidence in Gendry. No man had yet defeated the Lord Commander in open battle.
"Gendry, go!" Daenerys was swept up in the roar of the tourney and could not help clapping for him.
Gendry kept his head, swinging his warhammer with steady precision, smashing at his opponent's helm and shoulders. The Blue Knight fought back just as fiercely, his morningstar shrieking through the air before slamming into Gendry's shield.
On the shield were the Four Marks: the Warhammer, the Three-headed Dragon, the Wolf Pack, and the Freed slave.
Gendry glanced at the dents. The Blue Knight's strength had even warped the shield out of shape, but it still held. He did not panic. His warhammer crashed into the Blue Knight's shield again and again until the shield split. The Blue Knight threw it aside and pressed the attack with only the morningstar, the chained head darting and snapping in unpredictable arcs. His skill was real.
The whistling of the chain set teeth on edge. The spiked ball shot in, and Gendry caught it on his battered, ornamented quarter-shield.
Then Gendry suddenly sped up.
His warhammer blurred, the strikes coming so fast they made the heart jump. With one sharp blow, he knocked the morningstar clean out of the Blue Knight's control. The Blue Knight froze for a breath, then recovered quickly. Their warhorses separated, turning to line up for a final charge.
The soldiers' cheers rose to a fever pitch, voices howling like wild beasts.
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Long live Wolf's Den!"
It's over, Gendry thought.
The two warhorses slammed together. Gendry's warhammer came down with brutal force, hammering the Blue Knight's already battered plate.
By any normal measure, the Blue Knight should have been finished. Yet some surge of strength came from nowhere. Steel-gloved fingers clamped around the shaft of the warhammer, and the Blue Knight tried to rip it from Gendry's grasp by sheer power.
"Want it?" Gendry stared into the Blue Knight's rage.
It was strength against strength. The horses screamed beneath them.
But the Blue Knight's fury did not last. He realized his opponent was still calm, still in control, and that his proud strength was not enough.
Gendry's horse slipped past. The attempt failed. The warhammer remained locked in Gendry's hands. The hammerhead dropped toward the Blue Knight's helm, and with no shield and no weapon, the Blue Knight teetered. He even slid from the saddle. He did not fully fall, but he landed unsteadily on the ground, dazed, his horse shrilling beside him.
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Long live the Lord Governor!"
The cry rolled through the stands like a wave. Daenerys clapped until her palms stung. Victory always tasted sweet.
The Blue Knight's arms and cheek felt as though they had been ground beneath a millstone. This had been nothing but raw strength, hammered into him again and again.
Gendry's heavy blows broke the last of his stubbornness. As the next charge formed and the warhammer rose, ready to pry open the faceplate, the Blue Knight finally forced out the words through torn, bleeding lips.
"I… surrender."
Gendry heard it clearly. The Blue Knight's voice, for all the disguise, still carried something unmistakably feminine.
Gendry turned toward the crowd first. He raised his warhammer in salute. The Lord Governor removed his helm, revealing a handsome young face. The cheers swelled higher, the atmosphere cresting at its peak.
Then Gendry returned to the field, dismounted, and steadied the defeated Blue Knight.
"This one is a true warrior as well, and deserves praise."
Flowers and shouted admiration rained down onto the ground in response, honoring the knight who had come from afar.
The Blue Knight looked at Gendry. Gendry could not see the full face beneath the helm, yet he caught a glimpse of striking, wide eyes.
Up close, the Blue Knight's brilliant blue armor no longer looked splendid. It was scarred all over, dented by warhammer blows and spiked strikes, gouged by longswords. Enamel had flaked away from breastplate and helm in chipped patches, and the cloak had been torn into ragged strips. Even the way the Blue Knight shifted made it clear he had taken serious punishment.
Behind the visor, the Blue Knight's thoughts churned. It was as if she were looking at Renly, but remade into something harder, more martial, more unyielding. She had seen Renly before: slender limbs, broad shoulders, smooth straight hair like black coal, blue eyes, even the same faint smile. Yet Renly did not carry this presence, this warrior's air, this fierce courage.
"Thank you," the Blue Knight whispered.
Healers moved in to tend to the fallen knight.
The Blue Knight refused to let anyone remove the helm or lift the faceplate. Still shrouded in secrecy, the knight was taken away, like a brief, brilliant interlude in an otherwise glorious match.