"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Breaker!"
"Surrender, you Lannister dogs!"
"Surrender now, you Lannister dogs! The Kingslayer is dead!"
Bronze Yohn ordered his Vale cavalry to put the torch to the siege towers the Lannisters had worked so hard to build in the West Camp. The flames roared and spread, tongues of fire racing outward.
It seemed as though everything outside Riverrun had caught fire. A sea of wrath blazing across the land.
Soldiers and smallfolk alike lined the sandstone walls of the castle, shouting Gendry's name and crying out, "Long live the Storm!" and "Savior of Riverrun!" On every battlement flew the banner of House Tully, a leaping silver trout against rippling red and blue.
Lord Tytos Blackwood led the garrison in a charge out from Riverrun. Struck from both sides, the Lannister West Camp collapsed completely, and the longspear formation was ground away. Both the Lannister North Camp and West Camp were shattered.
"Ser Edmure!"
Lord Tytos first brought out the long imprisoned Edmure. Ser Edmure Tully was a broad built young man with a mass of chestnut hair and a fiery red beard, but now his breastplate was covered in scratches and dents left by war, and his red and blue cloak was stained with blood and soot.
"Who came? Was it my sister Catelyn and my nephew Robb?" Edmure rubbed at his eyes, still dazed. He looked utterly spent, worn down by one battle after another and by the strain of it all. There was still a bandage wrapped around the wound on his neck.
Edmure had no idea what had happened. All he knew was that battle cries had suddenly torn through the night, and then the Lannister soldiers had broken. He had thought the northern army had come.
"It is not your nephew, Lord Edmure. Well, never mind. You will understand once you see him," Lord Tytos said, leading Ser Edmure to meet the reinforcements and the savior who had come for them.
Gendry stood quietly beneath Riverrun, beside the burned out ruins of the siege tower from the West Camp, waiting as Lord Tytos brought the rescued Edmure to him first.
Gendry leaped down from his black stallion and stood there, watching the fire rage and listening to the warriors shouting in triumph.
Victory was as sweet as this. He wanted to win, and to win better, cleaner, more completely. If war did not serve politics, then it meant nothing at all.
I am the warrior. I am the storm. I am power.
Ser Barristan stood beside Gendry, along with red haired Anguy, with the Gold Cloaks behind them. Beside Gendry were also Bronze Yohn, Grafton of the Vale, Redfort, Lord Jason of Seagard, Ser Boggs of Crackclaw Point, Lord Jack, and the others.
Lord Tytos recognized Gendry at a glance. The towering warrior in black scale armor and a golden cloak had already taken off his helm, revealing a face lit by victory and a faint smile. He was like a raging storm, a man with the strength of ten thousand. His body was strong and supple, taller than everyone around him, and he stood in the most prominent place of all.
In build and features, Gendry carried the unmistakable stamp of House Baratheon, blood made strong and plain to see. Those deep blue eyes, that straight, smooth short hair, that powerfully masculine frame. He was as handsome as the king had been in his youth, perhaps even taller.
"A great victory, my lord," Lord Tytos said at once, dropping to one knee with deep respect, then signaling for Ser Edmure to show a little sense.
Lord Tytos stood straight backed, with a short gray beard and a hooked nose. His bright yellow armor was inlaid with intricate black jade vines, and a cloak of raven feathers hung from his narrow shoulders. He was the one who had held Riverrun all this time, enduring the siege until now.
"Th, thank you for coming to our rescue, Lord Gendry," Ser Edmure said awkwardly.
"You have both suffered," Gendry said. A siege was misery for everyone, whether they were the attackers or the defenders.
"You are the real hero," Gendry said to Tytos. If not for Tytos being both tenacious and clever, Riverrun might truly have fallen. Great Lord Hoster was frail and sickly, so most of the defense of the castle had likely been handled by Tytos.
"I held Riverrun, but my own home may already be burning," Tytos said bitterly. While he had been here defending Riverrun, his own castle might already have been put to the torch by the Lannisters.
Shame showed on Edmure's face. For a knight and a commander, incompetence was a kind of sin.
"There are still fish that slipped through the net, Lord Tytos. The commander of the South Camp was very sharp. He already ran. Though he has not gotten entirely away, it seems the mercenaries in the camp are making trouble," Gendry said.
Because of Lannister wealth and their control of the coastline, it was easy for them to hire mercenaries and freeriders who loved gold. Even in the Twin Cities, those hardened mercenary rogues who refused to accept Gendry's new order still had to earn their living somehow. At worst, they would simply go elsewhere and fight for gold.
The Lannister South Camp was commanded by Ser Forley Prester, a short, thin man with a tough and steady temperament. Seeing the neighboring positions fall one after another, Forley led his two thousand spearmen and two thousand archers in an orderly retreat to the west. But the Tyroshi mercenaries in the South Camp who commanded the freeriders cut down their banners and went over to the enemy.
"A great victory," Lord Tytos praised. "You are the savior of Riverrun."
"I had meant to bring you a gift. A living prisoner. Unfortunately, all I managed to keep was the Kingslayer's sword hand and his sword, along with Amory's head," Gendry said with a smile, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Tytos was startled. If any other young man had said such a thing, he would never have believed it. The Kingslayer was infamous, yes, but he was also one of the most renowned warriors of the age. How could he have been routed so easily?
And yet, hearing it from the young man before him, Tytos believed it completely. This was a born warrior who had defeated Bloodbeard, the Horselord, and the Magisters of the Twin Cities. For such a man, defeating the Kingslayer almost did seem effortless. He was the very image of victory and valor.
Anguy had the gifts opened, and Tytos began to tremble all over. There lay the famous gilded sword, and beside it, the blood soaked hand.
"We ran into Ser Jaime's force. In the middle of the fighting, while surrounded by the Lannisters, Prince Gendry cut off Jaime's sword hand. The lad is finished now. A pity, too. I still think he was the most gifted young swordsman I have ever seen," the old knight said with a sigh.
"His Grace first led us in surrounding the Kingslayer's knights and swallowing them whole. Then, with only a few dozen riders, he held off the several hundred Lannister knights who came to reinforce them. He came through it without a scratch, killed Amory, and cut off the Kingslayer's hand."
"That is exactly how it happened. If the Lannister horses had not been so fast, the Kingslayer would have died yesterday," Bronze Yohn and Lord Jason both said with nods, wiping away the last of Tytos's doubts. By now, everyone had turned into open admirers of Gendry, because what he had done really was monstrous.
Lord Tytos and Ser Edmure listened with numb scalps. Edmure felt even more useless than before. This man had fought from the beginning of the battle to the very end, had fought outnumbered, and the foe he beat was the Kingslayer himself, the finest of the enemy. He had even killed the commander of the relieving force.
Everything that had happened that day felt almost beyond belief to Lord Tytos and Ser Edmure. But on a battlefield, severed limbs and shattered bones were ordinary things. Such was the life knights had to face.
"Please, come into Riverrun," Lord Tytos invited.
"No." Gendry shook his head. "There are too many of us. We will camp tonight in the old Lannister camp."
Lord Tytos was puzzled, unable to guess what the savior of Riverrun was thinking.
But what happened next cut off his thoughts. Great Lord Hoster himself had come out of the city, escorted by a cluster of attendants, half reclining on a low bed as they carried him from Riverrun. Soldiers in fish crested helms stood on either side, guarding the pitiful old man.
"Lord Hoster, why go to such trouble?" Gendry could not help saying as he looked at the old man before him. Of all House Tully, perhaps only these two brothers could be called normal.
"You... you are the king. Please forgive me for not being able to welcome you with the proper courtesies due a king. I ought to kneel halfway, lay my sword at your feet, and bend the knee," Great Lord Hoster said, pain written plainly across his face as he looked at the tall warrior before him.
Hoster Tully had always been a large man. In his youth, tall and broad shouldered. In old age, somewhat heavy. But now he looked shrunken somehow, as though all his flesh had melted into bone. His face was so gaunt, and he looked wretchedly frail.
"Father..." Ser Edmure burst into tears at once, overcome with grief.
"Do not do this, child. You should go and rest, then wash yourself," Great Lord Hoster said to his son, cutting off the weeping like one scolding a child.
"I have never been crowned," Gendry said to Great Lord Hoster. "So I am not a king."
"You... you are the king's heir. The lawful one," Great Lord Hoster said.
"It is windy out here. Shall we go back into Riverrun?" Gendry asked.
The Riverlands and the Lannisters were now bound by deep hatred. If they did not draw close to the royal house near King's Landing, then they could only drift along behind their in laws. But it had not been the Starks who came to relieve them. It was the legitimized bastard heir from across the Narrow Sea. Hoster had already sensed that Gendry's arrival carried larger ambitions. The debt of lifting the siege could never be repaid, and the lords of the Riverlands would naturally lean toward their benefactor, especially one who possessed such power and such an army.
"Here is fine. Please have torches raised. The warmth will help me. I have something important to say," Great Lord Hoster pleaded.
"Father..." Ser Edmure pleaded as well.
"You stay here too," Hoster said to Ser Edmure, insisting on his will, his eyes full of pleading.
"Very well." Gendry nodded, then said to Great Lord Hoster, "Please order your maester or your messengers to forbid any summons to your bannermen. No word that Riverrun has been relieved is to spread."
"Follow Prince Gendry's command. Not a single bird, not a single message is to be let out," Great Lord Hoster ordered Lord Tytos.
"Yes, my lord," Lord Tytos answered with a nod, though he did not understand Gendry's intention. No celebration. No summons to the bannermen.
The command tent was ready for use, taken straight from the former Lannister commander's position. The fire inside burned fiercely. Gendry wanted to hear what was truly in the heart of the old Great Lord Hoster. Because the commander had died so abruptly, nothing in the tent had been tidied up. Even the Lannister lion banners were still hanging there, red as fresh blood.
"I beg you. I beg you to show a little care for my house. For my son Edmure. He may be incompetent, but at least he has a good heart, and he knows how to love his people," Great Lord Hoster said in a trembling voice, still trying to kneel once more.
Gendry stopped him. Those hands had once been large, but now they were withered, loose skin hanging over bone, all strength long gone.
"How is that to be done?" Gendry looked at Hoster. "You have a brother, and daughters."
"In the riverlands, power rests on loyalty. I only ask that you look after him, in some small measure. He is not made for such times—too chaotic, too bloody. He was never a born warrior, and a kind heart does not win wars," Lord Hoster pleaded.
Gendry looked at the old man.
"I will look after him a little. But no more than that."
"Th, that is enough." Great Lord Hoster's face was lined with sorrow. "I once thought I had brought House Tully to its peak. I never imagined the whirlpool of power would be so vast, so dangerous."
...
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