These wildlings traced their origins to the Andal invasion of the Vale. Unwilling to submit to the Andals, the First Men had retreated into the Mountains of the Moon, where they multiplied in the mountain forests and formed one clan after another. As descendants of the First Men, they naturally knew the stories of the White Walkers, and they were experiencing the cold themselves.
"Long live Storm!"
"Long live Storm!" Cheers rang throughout the camp.
The soldiers of the Stormlands were also half-convinced, half-doubtful, but if Gendry kept winning, would that not mean the Warrior, one of the Seven, was blessing him? He fought as though the Warrior had descended to earth. The Stormlanders knew nothing of gods and spirits; they only knew that their victories were thoroughly satisfying.
The Red Priestess's speech added another divine halo to Gendry: the chosen one, the savior.
Flames burned on both banks of the Blackwater Rush, in the woods on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush and near the docks on the North Bank of the Blackwater Rush. Black columns of smoke rose into the sky like so many fingers.
"Well played, Tyrion." Through the Myr Telescope, Gendry saw the flames in King's Landing. Tyrion had ordered everything between the river and the city walls burned, including the impoverished dock district.
Those places had once held bait stores, eating houses, warehouses, shops, taverns, and cheap brothels. Though built without permission, they were also the livelihoods of many poor people.
"He's always been a clever man," Jon said.
"If he survives, I wouldn't mind meeting him," Gendry said. Tyrion's wits had always been sharp, but he was the enemy's strategist, propping up House Lannister in its crisis. In truth, all three of them were outsiders: Jon and Gendry were bastards, and Tyrion