Beside Storm's End, the enormous gray castle rose straight into the clouds, while dawn crept quietly closer. This battle had begun in haste, and its ending came even faster.
The first war led by King Renly Baratheon had its opening battle become its decisive battle. Renly suffered a ridiculous defeat, though at least he kept his life. His splendid armor and fine appearance had not saved his fate. If anything, they made his war look even more like child's play.
The Stormlands army not only failed to break through Stannis's Dragonstone camp, but also lost Loras Tyrell. When they fell back, Ser Bryce Caron and Ser Cortnay Penrose, who had turned against him from the rear, cut them off. The Stormlands troops, who had never had much will to fight, almost all abandoned Renly.
Bryce, Cortnay, Ser Guyard, and the others took command of the retreating Stormlands army. Once the army had been reorganized, they did not continue attacking Stannis. The two sides settled into another standoff.
"Have the gods lost all pity for me?" Renly lamented inwardly. His good fortune seemed to have ended in that moment.
Renly dismounted helplessly and looked at the hostile faces around him. He had once been a king, until he lost the war.
"Ser Bryce Caron, Ser Guyard Morrigen, you were once my guards. Ser Cortnay, I appointed you castellan. I treated all of you well. That was my gift to you."
"Lord Renly." The soldiers looked at him with complicated eyes.
"I am sorry, my lord," Ser Bryce Caron said, looking at Renly. "But everything you have was given to you by King Robert. We do not wish to see the Stormlands bleed any longer for your selfish desires."
"By courtesy, you should address me as king."
"I am sorry, my lord. You betrayed King Robert." Ser Guyard turned his face away and no longer looked at Renly. At first, Renly's confidence had swelled, perhaps with everyone's encouragement. But no one had expected the war to move so quickly, nor the Storm's victories to come one after another. The decisive news was The Eyrie's stance. Now they could only abandon the carriage before it crashed.
"I see." Renly gave a bitter laugh. There was no one left beside him. No one was willing to fight for him anymore, not even Loras, who had been carried away by the Highgarden guards because of his burns. "In the end, I am not Robert. I only learned part of his charm, but never won the loyalty he did."
"What are you doing?" Brienne of Tarth, the tall, strong green-robed knight, broke free of her bonds and rushed to Renly's side. Brienne gripped her sword tightly and looked at the men surrounding Renly: Ser Caron, Ser Cortnay, and even Ser Guyard, who had been his vanguard, had all abandoned him.
Brienne knew the Storm and could have gone over to him, but she had to repay Renly. Renly had once been the light of her youth.
"Girl, I bear you no ill will, but in my opinion, as a woman, you should return to your father's side instead of staying on this bloody battlefield," Ser Cortnay said to the Tarth girl.
"That is enough, Brienne." Renly smiled. "You have already repaid what you owed me. If not for you on the battlefield just now, I would nearly have been killed by a thrown spear. Your duty is done. Let me be a true knight now, not one who hides behind a woman."
"How is Ser Loras?" Renly asked.
"Young Lord Loras's face was not injured, and his life is not in danger. But the boiling oil burned his back and neck. He has been sent to the Maester for treatment," Ser Parmen Crane said. House Crane of Red Lake was one of the houses directly sworn to House Tyrell.
Even though the Knight of Flowers had joined Renly in his folly, the lords and knights still treated him well. The Knight of Flowers was only a youth at most. Besides, the Reach was the great granary of the Seven Kingdoms, with the largest population.
Renly was taken under control. As the former lord of the Stormlands, the lords and knights still showed him the utmost respect. Though he remained mounted, his helm, weapons, and dagger were removed.
Great Lord Stannis Baratheon also stepped out of the camp, accompanied by the red priestess. Chainmail and plate clattered as knights hurried along, while most of the sellswords wore shabbier leather armor. Stannis was, after all, a veteran of battle. With such a patchwork army, he had still held out for quite some time.
Stannis looked at Renly's army, which had scattered and then gathered again into a defensive posture. He had won a victory, but not the fruits of victory. The Stormlands army had only gone through the motions, and its strength had not suffered much.
Stannis and the Stormlands army met before the battlefield, yet neither side would accept the other.
"I lost." Renly, still on horseback, smiled bitterly and spread his hands at Stannis. "But you did not win either, brother."
"What will you do with him?" Stannis asked.
"We await the true king's command. Renly is a traitor, my lord," Ser Bryce said, looking at Stannis and bowing from horseback.
"Will you swear fealty to me?" Stannis asked.
"I am sorry, my lord." Ser Cortnay shook his head. "The king has sons. Besides Gendry, there is Edric. You have always been loyal to the king. I hope you will be as you were more than ten years ago."
"Lord Stannis, with the situation as it is, why keep being so stubborn?" Catelyn Stark advised. She had not expected the battle to end in such confusion, with both brothers becoming losers.
"I understand." Stannis sighed. He looked at the Stormlands lords opposite him. They wore armor plated with gold and silver, their helms decorated with silk plumes, feathers, or carvings shaped like their house sigils, with gems set as eyes. Stannis longed for this force, these highborn, privileged, battle-hardened Storm knights.
"I could have done more for you," the red priestess whispered to Stannis Baratheon. "If I had burned the statues of the Seven on Dragonstone, this war would have been far easier. Those beautiful idols would surely have pleased R'hllor. My true god would have granted me more power."
The red priestess meant the statues in Dragonstone's sept. Those statues had been carved from the masts of the ships that carried the ancestors of House Targaryen across the sea from Valyria. Over the centuries, they had been painted over and over, gilded, silvered, and set with jewels, making them treasures without equal. The red priestess was not asking to sell them for coin, but to burn them outright to please R'hllor.
"It is a little late to say that now. They fought for Renly before. Now they have changed sides, but not for me," Stannis replied. Those old wounds cut him deeply. What should he do now? Was he truly to do as the red priestess said, kill Renly first, then kill the children Robert had left behind?
"Ships!"
"A fleet!" A lookout from Stannis's fleet hurried to Stannis, dropped to one knee, and delivered the news.
"Whose fleet?" Stannis's face turned grim, and he asked at once.
"They are still in the sea mist, so we cannot make out the ships clearly. But judging by their size and scale, it is either the Redwyne fleet or an even stronger fleet," the lookout answered. On the Narrow Sea, aside from the Redwyne fleet, the answer was obvious. It was a fleet from across the Narrow Sea.
"It is Robert's son. He has come," Stannis said through clenched teeth.
"House Tarth did not spot them?" Stannis asked the lookout.
"Perhaps Lord Tarth is the one who brought them here," the lookout replied.
"Why did you not see them?" Stannis looked at the red priestess, confusion in his eyes.
"I..." The red priestess seemed to choke on the word. Only life could be exchanged for life.
Her sight in the flames was not something she could use at will. If she wanted a higher-grade shadow killer, she had to draw on a man's life fire. Even a strong, cold-iron warrior like Stannis could only endure having his life fire drained twice at most, let alone an ordinary soldier.
The warship Storm advanced with the full tide, its sails snapping in the fickle wind. The Wolf Pack and the Daenerys were divided to either side.
There was the largest, sturdiest warship, the Storm; the four-hundred-oared great ships Wolf Pack and Princess Daenerys; the two-hundred-oared escort ships; and then the hundred-oared Myrish warships.
"Will Great Lord Stannis kill Renly?" On the Storm, Gendry leaned on Orphan-Maker. The black-and-red dragon Balerion was curled in the pouch above his belt. Even curled up in the cold night, the dragon was hot as burning coals, his scales gleaming. Dragons were lighter than their size suggested, because part of their bodies was wing.
Gendry looked at the rolling waves. The sea wind still carried a trace of cold. Dawn was slowly arriving. Before morning, he would have Renly and Stannis wrapped up together.
Ser Barristan stood to his left, Maester Qyburn to his right. His two squires were also with him: Anguy the marksman and the bastard Jon Snow. Behind Qyburn stood the tall guard "John Strong," who never tired and never slept.
Dacey Mormont, the Bear girl, and Lothor Brune were below deck, guarding Daenerys and the other two dragons. The Young Falcon, Harry the Arse, was still in the Kingsguard camp, needing to grow stronger. There, he had found a companion: Lord Royce had sent his second son, Robar, who had been wandering all over the world. The boy had become a little sharper now and had not recklessly joined Renly's guard.
"If Lord Stannis kills Renly, how will you handle it?" Ser Barristan asked.
"He will die on the battlefield. If he survives, I will send Great Lord Stannis to guard the Wall," Gendry answered cleanly.
In terms of ability, Stannis was indeed a capable man. But whoever became a kinslayer, Gendry would have to cut ties with him. That was the order and rule of the age.
Ser Barristan nodded. "Prince, if the Great Lord of Dragonstone does not go too far, I believe you need him. He is an outstanding sailor, warrior, and fleet commander. He is not suited to be king, but he can become the king's blade."
"Renly's army clearly has the advantage in numbers, and Lord Renly's equipment is better," Anguy said.
"Numbers and equipment are not the heart of an army. Because of the king's will, and because House Tyrell has not given him strong support, Renly's army does not have especially high morale. And as far as I know, Great Lord Renly is not much of a warrior," Ser Barristan explained.
"We are fully prepared. According to our intelligence, the red priestess has indeed been following Stannis all this time. Great Lord Stannis's lady was taken in by the red priests long ago, though Great Lord Stannis himself has not gone too far," Maester Qyburn said.
By "fully prepared," he meant not only the dragons, which could see through illusions and shadow assassins, but also "Lord Strong," the living corpse Qyburn had forged. Dragons were different from men. A dragon's flesh and blood were made of fire, and fire was power. Against supernatural forces such as magic, dragons were an excellent counter.
"If Stannis commits kinslaying, I will exile him. If the red priestess does evil, I will kill the red priestess." Gendry picked up Orphan-Maker and fastened it at his waist. Of course, he still hoped to take both men alive, since both were rare talents. As for Renly, that embroidered pillow and ambitious schemer, the Wall suited him well enough.
"Tell Morosh and the fleet at Tarth to advance at full speed," Gendry said to Ser Barristan.
"Yes." Ser Barristan nodded.
...
As sunlight split the morning mist, the Stormlands army, the Dragonstone army, and the fleets all watched the great fleet break through the waves and gradually draw near. The Myrish fleet was a neat, beautiful white, while the Tyroshi fleet was gaudy with purple, blue, and vermilion.
The Storm glittered with gold. Its sails were patterned with a stag and dragon facing each other in motion, a leaping stag and a roaring dragon, while the sea wind filled the canvas.
With the Storm's arrival, the Wolf Pack, the Princess Daenerys, and the other ships all appeared in view. No more than twenty yards separated one ship from another. These vessels were not only imposing, but also quick and agile.
Both sides of their decks were lined with scorpions. A catapult could originally have been mounted at bow and stern to throw flaming barrels of pitch, but for the sake of speed, none had been installed. There were not many armored knights or infantry on deck either. It was very much a light force.
"The Onion Knight told me Morosh was a capable man. It seems he was not lying," Stannis said to the red priestess. Among Davos's smuggler friends, the Lysene Salazar and the Myrman Morosh were men who knew the sea wind and waves well.
Gendry rode a black steed, his black scale armor gleaming under the sun. His attire was not especially luxurious, yet it had a warrior's bearing. His golden cloth cloak carried flowing images of stag and dragon.
Ser Barristan the white knight and several squires followed close behind him. Gendry's standard-bearer was the bastard Jon, who held the beautiful golden war banner high, as if golden flame were burning.
Catelyn looked at the bastard Jon, who seemed full of spirit. He had indeed carved out a place for himself. From that expression alone, he was doing far better than he had at Winterfell.
Stannis and Renly. This was their first meeting with him. The successful king, the failed king, and the man who had never touched the crown.
Gendry looked at Renly. Renly was slender and elegant, while Gendry was taller and more powerful. One was a noble young lord, while the other had broad shoulders and the strong arms unique to a blacksmith. As for Stannis, his clothes were truly plain, with no crown or ornament, only simple leather armor.
The Stormlands lords immediately grew excited and took a few steps forward.
"The Storm!"
"The Storm!" the lords cheered.
Ashen-faced, Renly looked at Gendry, anger and resentment boiling in his heart. That radiant, high-spirited figure should have been him.
Stannis rode over, then dismounted and unbuckled his sword.
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