A crimson streak cut across the morning sky.
The tail of the red comet burned brightly above the towering peaks of the Eyrie, resembling a blood-soaked longsword slashing through the heavens. Its ominous glow painted the white marble towers in shades of red, casting an eerie yet mesmerizing beauty over the Vale.
"So beautiful… the dreamland of the Andals."
Gendry stood alone on the intricately carved white balcony of the Maiden's Tower, gazing out over the vast expanse of the Vale of Arryn. The wind howled fiercely at such heights, tugging at his cloak, yet the view before him was nothing short of breathtaking.
Far below, forests stretched endlessly like a green sea. Rivers shimmered like silver threads winding through the land, and distant fields lay peaceful and untouched. Snow-capped mountains stood like ancient guardians, their peaks gleaming under the rising sun.
A white falcon circled above him before landing gracefully on the railing nearby. It had taken a liking to Gendry and followed him almost every day now.
Gendry smiled faintly.
"You'd better be careful," he said softly to the bird. "If you run into a small dragon, you might be swallowed in a single bite."
The falcon tilted its head, as if trying to understand.
Gendry's appearance was striking. Tall and long-limbed, he carried himself with a natural elegance. He wore a finely tailored velvet robe in shades of gold, black, and red. His deep blue eyes and short, slightly messy black hair gave him a sharp yet youthful charm.
At his waist hung two weapons.
One was an arakh with a dragonbone hilt, forged from Valyrian steel—a weapon both beautiful and deadly, symbolizing strength and conquest.
The other was a sword once belonging to Jon Arryn, entrusted to him by Ser Vardis as both a token of trust and a symbol of vengeance.
The Maiden's Tower, the easternmost of the Eyrie's seven spires, offered the most unobstructed view in the entire fortress. Bathed in the golden light of dawn, the Vale looked almost unreal—like a paradise untouched by war.
Yet Gendry's thoughts were far from peaceful.
He missed her.
Daenerys.
Her silver hair, her unwavering gaze… and the dragon, Balerion.
Beyond the Narrow Sea, his empire, his companions, his destiny—all waited.
But he could not leave yet.
This was a fleeting moment in history—a window of chaos and opportunity. War was coming, and with it, the chance to reshape the world.
And he intended to seize it.
"Your Highness," a voice interrupted his thoughts.
Gendry turned slightly to see Bronze Yohn Royce approaching, his heavy armor clinking softly with each step.
"You should consider moving into the Moon Tower," Royce said respectfully. "It is the proper residence of Lord Arryn."
Gendry shook his head.
"That place carries too many memories," he replied calmly. "It reminds me of Lord Jon… and his tragic end."
Royce nodded, understanding.
"This is not even the Eyrie at its most beautiful," he added after a moment. "When winter comes, the Giant's Lance will be covered in pure white snow. It will be a sight unlike any other."
He gestured toward the distant cliffs.
"In summer, the waterfalls of Alyssa's Tears freeze into massive icicles—twenty feet long or more. But when winter truly sets in, even the Arryns must abandon the Eyrie and descend to the Gates of the Moon to survive the cold."
"Winter…" Gendry murmured.
"It may arrive within a year," said Ser Barristan Selmy, stepping forward with a troubled expression.
"The northerners believe the red comet is the blade that cuts the seasons apart. Not long after its appearance, white ravens arrived from Oldtown, announcing the coming of autumn."
The mood shifted instantly.
Westeros was a land of unpredictable seasons. Summers could last for years, even decades, while winters were long, harsh, and unforgiving.
And this time—
"It will be the Long Winter," said Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, his voice heavy.
"The last summer lasted nearly ten years. The longest in living memory. A winter to match it… will be devastating."
Ser Barristan nodded.
"Since the dragons vanished, winters have grown longer, and summers shorter. Some fools once believed this meant an eternal summer under King Robert's rule."
He glanced meaningfully at Gendry.
"But dragons are creatures of fire and blood. Their absence has consequences."
Gendry remained silent, but his thoughts stirred.
The theory made sense.
Dragons represented fire, warmth, life.
And now—
The balance was shifting.
The battle between ice and fire was approaching faster than ever.
Anguy shivered.
"A ten-year winter…" he muttered. "May the gods protect us."
Jon Snow, standing nearby, looked grim.
"I've heard the stories," he said quietly. "Endless snow. Starvation. People selling themselves… or worse, their own families… just to survive."
A heavy silence fell over the group.
Gendry looked up at the red comet once more.
The timeline has shifted, he thought. But not enough to change what truly matters.
The deaths of Khal Drogo and Viserys…
The birth of dragons…
The fall of King Robert…
Everything was unfolding, just slightly out of sync.
"The Long Winter is inevitable," Gendry said finally. "All we can do is prepare… and survive."
Jon nodded.
"My father always said, 'Winter is coming.'"
He exhaled slowly.
"And now… it has."
Bronze Yohn crossed his arms.
"Your suggestion to have Robb consolidate his forces is wise," he said. "The North will suffer the most in the Long Winter. If the south collapses, the North will not endure."
Gendry's gaze sharpened.
"The problem isn't just the war," he said. "It's control."
He turned to face them fully.
"Have you seen the Bolton eyes? The Karstarks? The Umbers? Robb can start a war… but he cannot end one."
Jon frowned but nodded.
"It's not entirely his fault," he said. "Everything happened too quickly. None of us were ready."
"And House Stark lacks strong leadership," Gendry added. "Too few adults. Too few commanders."
Jon's expression darkened.
"My grandfather's line was already thin," he said quietly. "Now… my father is in King's Landing. My uncle is at the Wall."
"That leaves only us."
Bronze Yohn sighed.
"The same is true for House Arryn," he said. "Few heirs. Few allies. The great houses are not as strong as they once were."
Gendry listened carefully.
One conclusion became clear—
They needed more people.
More leaders.
More heirs.
More strength.
Otherwise, even the greatest houses would crumble.
At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed from behind.
Ser Vardis and Maester Colemon approached, both looking urgent.
"Your Highness," Ser Vardis said, bowing. "Lysa has revealed the pattern and timing of Littlefinger's letters."
"And ravens have arrived from King's Landing," Colemon added nervously. "Including private letters from Littlefinger himself."
The group immediately grew alert.
"What does the Iron Throne demand?" Bronze Yohn asked.
"Nothing new," Colemon replied. "They want troops."
He hesitated.
"But Littlefinger's letter… is far more interesting."
Ser Barristan opened it, scanning quickly.
His expression darkened.
"He urges Lysa to remain in the Vale," he said. "To send no troops. To stay still."
A pause.
"And… he promises to return to her."
A cold silence followed.
"The opportunity has come," the Blackfish said quietly.
Ser Vardis clenched his fists.
"If he dares return to the Vale…" he said, his voice filled with killing intent, "it will be his end."
Gendry remained calm.
Littlefinger was cunning.
But he had weaknesses.
Lysa Arryn.
And her son.
Unpredictable variables.
Dangerous ones.
"Have Lysa write back," Gendry said. "Naturally. No suspicion."
Colemon nodded.
"She will speak of her longing… her loneliness… as she always does."
"Good," Gendry said.
Then he added,
"And send another letter—to Seagull Town."
His eyes gleamed coldly.
"When the mockingbird flies into the trap… we close the net."
Ser Vardis nodded eagerly.
Finally—
Gendry turned his attention elsewhere.
"How is young Lord Robin?"
Colemon sighed.
"Still fragile. Weak. He struggles without his mother. We are trying to wean him… slowly."
"But he smiles now," he added softly. "At times."
Gendry nodded.
"That's enough for now."
He looked out over the Vale once more.
The red comet still burned in the sky.
War was coming.
Winter was coming.
And somewhere in the shadows—
A mockingbird was about to fall into a carefully laid trap.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)