"You want to study a Stark?" Gendry looked at Qyburn. He really was a mad scientist.
"The Old Gods' influence doesn't reach the lands of eternal summer. If the opportunity arises, I should be able to operate on one. House Stark has more tales of magic than anyone else, and there are the miracles of their wargs." Qyburn was eager to try. "Take Storm's End, for example. Some believe the Children of the Forest helped build it, using their magic to make the castle withstand storms. Others say a little boy helped-the future Bran the Builder, Brandon, an ancestor of the Starks."
"Enough, my maester. Rein in your curiosity and focus on the present," Gendry advised.
"I understand, Your Highness. It's only a possibility-that's all I meant," Qyburn corrected himself. Still, with the old wolf coming south, he would at least have an opportunity.
"If only Marwyn were here," Qyburn sighed again. "I could achieve twice as much with half the effort. Working with someone who shares your interests is a joy."
Like Qyburn, Archmaester Marwyn was an oddity within the Citadel. He possessed a Valyrian steel link, signifying profound expertise in magic and the occult.
"With Daenerys here, he'll want to come and see the last True Dragon," Gendry said confidently.
"I think he'll come too. But his movements are unpredictable, and he may not even be in Oldtown right now," Qyburn replied after some thought. "The Citadel in Oldtown is hardly a safe place. Marwyn is a slippery fellow too."
"Because of those Grey Sheep you mentioned?"
"Yes, Your Highness. The Citadel devotes itself to studying a world without magic or dragons. They forbid maesters from studying magic, considering it disgraceful and a sign of an unsound mind. Fortunately, those archmaesters are weak enough that they don't dare kill anyone themselves. They can only find excuses to suppress such research."
Chapter 105: Brienne the Beauty
Numerous banners flew over the military camp outside Wolf's Den, with Gendry's own banner flying above them all.
Fine military tents stood in neat, closely packed rows. The farther one went toward the center, the thicker the crowds and the louder the noise became.
Roars, cheers, horses screaming, steel clashing.
Below a temporary wooden viewing stand, a tournament was underway.
This was the Twin Cities Alliance's first tournament, and it was lively indeed. Besides jousting, archery, team melees, and mixed melees, there were mud wrestling and Cyvasse, both immensely popular in Essos.
The people below the stands cleared the grounds, erected fences, laid out the tracks, and built viewing stands. Hundreds upon hundreds came to watch, the vast majority of them Gendry's soldiers.
The spectators saw the Archon's betrothed. Though young, she was already extraordinarily beautiful. Daenerys wore a black velvet dress and a necklace of square-cut rubies. Black and red were the traditional colors of House Targaryen.
Daenerys watched the battlefield below anxiously. The knights had gradually withdrawn, leaving only the strongest contestants still fighting. The man she loved was among them.
"Don't be afraid, Princess. This humble servant has heard that the Liberator is invincible," said Af, the young attendant beside Daenerys. She had a flat, round face, and though her features were childish, she was exceptionally clever. A freed slave girl, she had been assigned by Gendry to serve Daenerys.
"Don't say 'this humble servant.' Say 'I,'" Daenerys patiently corrected the little maid's phrasing. Both the new and old gods of Westeros abhorred slavery. If she was to return to Westeros, she could not let those around her retain the habits of slaves.
Gendry rode a black horse clad in black armor, holding a long-handled warhammer. A warhammer emblem adorned the center of his helmet. His opponent's iron armor was a deep, dark blue. With extraordinary composure, the Blue Knight swung a blunted morningstar. Her horse's armor bore no family crest, displaying only sapphires.
Gendry studied the Blue Knight with interest. Besides his own soldiers, the tournament had attracted mercenaries looking for entertainment, and even a few down-on-their-luck knights from across the Narrow Sea hoping to make their fortunes. This fierce mystery knight had come from Westeros on the opposite shore.
The Blue Knight was probably around six feet five inches tall and massively built, rather like a lesser version of the Mountain. Gendry had a vague idea of her identity, but did not expose it.
The two warhorses wheeled together like lovers at a harvest dance, though their riders swung weapons instead of leaning into a dance. Each held a shield in one hand and a weapon in the other. The warhammer swept past, the flail whirled, and though both had been blunted beforehand, they still produced terrifying crashes.
"Ser Jorah, do you know where this knight comes from? They look very tall and powerful," Daenerys asked softly.
"A mystery knight from across the Narrow Sea, Princess. Judging by that build, they must be an exceptionally sturdy knight. But they don't want us to see their face, so they may also be a Westerosi knight of some standing." Jorah watched the Blue Knight. Still, he had great confidence in Gendry. No one had yet defeated the Commander-in-Chief head-on in battle.
"Go, Gen!" Caught up in the excitement of the contest, Daenerys could not help clapping for Gendry.
Gendry calmly swung his warhammer, striking at his opponent's head and shoulders. The Blue Knight fought back fiercely, her whistling morningstar slamming into Gendry's shield. Its quartered design displayed a warhammer, a three-headed dragon, a wolf pack, and a freed slave.
Gendry looked at the dents in his shield. The Blue Knight's strength had even warped it, though it remained barely usable. Unruffled, he smashed his warhammer into her shield. It cracked under his blows, and she discarded it altogether, attacking with only her morningstar. The weapon darted and whirled unpredictably. The Blue Knight was skilled indeed.
The morningstar's whistling was unsettling. Its ball shot out, and Gendry caught it on his flattened, decorated, quartered shield.
Gendry suddenly moved faster. His warhammer flashed with alarming speed, seeming to leave a trail of afterimages, then knocked the morningstar clean out of her hand. Though briefly stunned, the Blue Knight recovered. The two warhorses pulled apart, preparing for the final charge.
The soldiers' cheers reached a fever pitch as the fighting intensified. They began to shout like roaring beasts. "Long live the Wolf Pack!" "Long live Wolf's Den!"
The game's over, Gendry thought. The two warhorses collided violently, and his warhammer smashed toward the Blue Knight's battered armor with brutal force.
By all rights, the Blue Knight should have been doomed. Yet from somewhere she summoned a tremendous surge of strength, clamping her steel-clad fingers around the weapon's haft. She actually intended to wrench the warhammer away through sheer force.
"Want to take it?" Gendry looked at the raging Blue Knight. It had become a pure contest of strength. Their horses screamed beneath them, but her fury did not last long. She realized that her opponent was still handling her with ease. Even the strength she took such pride in seemed about to fail her.
Gendry's horse swept past the Blue Knight. Her attempt had failed, and the warhammer remained firmly in his grasp. It descended from above her head. With neither weapon nor shield, she looked all the more unsteady. She even slipped from her horse. Though she avoided falling, she stood dazed on the ground while her horse whinnied.
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Long live the Archon!" The voices swelled into a roaring tide as everyone cheered. Daenerys clapped with all her might too. Victory was always sweet.
The Blue Knight felt as though her arms and cheeks had been brutally crushed. This had been a contest of pure strength.
Gendry's heavy hammer had beaten the stubbornness out of her. Another charge was about to begin, and the warhammer was poised to pry open her visor.
"I... I yield," the Blue Knight uttered through torn, bleeding lips.
Gendry heard her voice. Though the Blue Knight was disguising it, it still had a woman's quality.
Gendry first turned toward the crowd. He raised his warhammer in salute, then the Archon removed his helmet, revealing a handsome young face. The cheers grew louder still, and the excitement reached its peak.
Then Gendry returned to the field, dismounted, and helped the defeated Blue Knight steady herself. "This is a true warrior too, and worthy of praise."
The spectators duly showered the field with flowers and praise, applauding the knight who had come from so far away.
The Blue Knight looked at Gendry. Though he could not make out the face beneath her helmet, she certainly had a beautiful pair of large eyes.
Up close, the Blue Knight's splendid blue armor had lost its luster. It was covered in damage: dents left by warhammers and mace heads, gouges carved by longswords. The enamel on her breastplate and helmet had chipped away in patches, and her cloak was torn into strips. Judging by how she moved, she had suffered considerable injuries.
The Blue Knight reflected that she seemed to be looking at a stronger Renly, one with more of a warrior's bearing. She had seen Renly before: slender limbs, broad shoulders, smooth, straight coal-black hair, and deep blue eyes. Even the faint smile was identical. But Renly lacked this presence, this warrior's air and greater courage.
"Thank you," the Blue Knight answered quietly. Then the medics entered the grounds to tend to the defeated knight.
The Blue Knight refused to let anyone remove her helmet or visor. She was led away with her mystery intact, like an interlude in the splendid tournament.
Chapter 106: The Ragged Prince's Dream of Pentos
Standing beside the Blue Knight, Gendry felt her imposing presence even more keenly. They were almost the same height, but she looked bulkier and more powerfully built than he did. Such a build was acceptable for a man, but genuinely difficult for a girl.
"Your Highness, what is this?" the Blue Knight asked softly. The soldiers with white strips of cloth on their clothing seemed highly practiced as they examined her injuries. Some were old, others very young. Unlike ordinary soldiers brimming with murderous intent, they seemed more like kindly old maesters.
"Medics. A specialized branch within the army," Gendry answered. In truth, these medics might not possess advanced medical knowledge, but having them sterilize things with heat and enforce strict hygiene in camp would help prevent blood plague and improve the soldiers' chances of survival.
"Arrange a private room for my guest."
"Yes, Your Highness," the medics replied.
"Thank you so much. Thank you for your courtesy." The Blue Knight was deeply earnest, expressing her gratitude at length before the medics took her somewhere private to treat her wounds.
"Brienne of Tarth." Gendry had already guessed the Blue Knight's identity: the heir to Tarth, the Evenstar's only daughter, and a female knight who defied every convention. He valued talent, and Brienne's noble character meant he could safely assign her to protect Daenerys.
But that would be difficult for now. Brienne would also have to consider her elderly father on Tarth, and would not readily enter Gendry's service. That matter would have to wait. Fortunately, more than one guest had arrived today.
Brienne did not want Gendry and the others to see her whole face, not merely because it was improper to run off across the Narrow Sea to join the excitement, but because she truly was ugly beneath her visor. Her eyes might have been her only attractive feature. They were all she could allow Gendry to see: large and blue, innocent and frank, shining with confidence in battle.
Gendry watched as the Blue Knight, Brienne, was helped away without ever removing her visor. Then he received another great round of applause.
Everyone had seen the entire fight clearly. That powerfully built Blue Knight had been a fearsome opponent, yet she had proved astonishingly outmatched by the Archon.
Gendry was confident he could recruit second sons, landless nobles, bastards, and farmers. But to attract noble heirs with real influence, he might need to present himself better.
Gendry ascended the stand, where Daenerys waited eagerly for him. The Unsullied guards and the Twin Cities' senior officials saluted him. He greeted them one by one, then walked to the central seat.
Gendry shone, as though he had been born to stand above others. He still wore his Black Scale Plate Armor and no mask, but a steel circlet bound his short hair. Its black band was set with red gems. Daenerys had come up with it especially for him; Aegon the Conqueror's crown had been just like it.
"This game is too dangerous," Daenerys said.
"The games on future battlefields will be even more dangerous, but we're already part of them, Dany. I'm your shield and your sword." Gendry stroked her hair.
Daenerys's face lit up with a proud smile. "You're my knight. I'll pray that you keep winning."
"I will."
"Oh, our guest has been waiting for you for a long time," Daenerys reminded him.
Gendry had also noticed a certain guest on the stand: the commander of the Windblown, the runaway prince of Pentos.
"Your Highness, Archon. Your Highness, Princess. It's an honor to meet you." The Ragged Prince bowed to him with considerable elegance.
The Ragged Prince spoke softly, his gaze sorrowful. Heavy bags hung beneath his eyes. His hair and armor were silver-gray, but his cloak was sewn from pieces of differently colored cloth.
The Ragged Prince secretly studied Gendry's gait, breathing, and bearing, and could not help feeling shocked. After that fierce clash, he had emerged uninjured and had still seemed entirely at ease during the fight. This rising star's strength was truly unfathomable. A bulky, powerful opponent like the Blue Knight would have been a nightmare on the battlefield, yet the young man's storm of attacks had completely dominated her.
"Prince, when you meet Their Highnesses, you should kneel before them." Ser Jorah fixed the Ragged Prince with a sharp stare.
"I'm sorry, but from the day I fled Pentos, I understood one thing: a sellsword is not a servant. I cannot kneel," the Ragged Prince replied firmly.
"Enough, Jorah. Why make things difficult for an old man?" Gendry signaled Ser Jorah not to pursue the matter.
"You're most welcome, Prince." Gendry smiled. The princes of Pentos had grown weaker with each passing year. Unlike the princes of Dorne, they held no real power. Pentos was now controlled by magisters like that fat man.
"I once wanted to send you a gift, but it has probably rotted by now."
"You mean Bloodbeard's head, I presume. I must thank you for that, Your Highness." The Ragged Prince expressed his gratitude with gentle courtesy. Deep hatred had always existed between the Windblown and the Cat Company.
"But my friend, you've come rather late," Gendry said to the Ragged Prince. "Bloodbeard has been dead for so long. Why have you only come to see me now?"
"Please forgive my lateness. I had another commission in Volantis at the time," the Ragged Prince said apologetically.
"It doesn't matter. It's enough that you've come to see me. I still regard you as an honored guest," Gendry said sincerely. Apart from the Golden Company, the Cat Company, and the Brave Companions, which he had crushed, and the Second Sons and the Long Spear Company, which had joined him, the Windblown was the only remaining company with any real strength.
"I'd like to discuss a business arrangement with you," the Ragged Prince said, lowering his voice.
"Please, go ahead."
"Many years ago, some people wronged me. I was forced to flee my home and have never returned. I'd very much like to go back, and take revenge on those who drove me away."
"What you want is rather expensive, Prince. Can a little company like the Windblown afford it?" Gendry asked him.
Gendry understood that the Ragged Prince was referring to the tragedy of many years ago. According to Pentoshi tradition, when times were bad, the prince of Pentos had to be executed to appease the gods' wrath. In year 262 of the Conquest Calendar, the previous prince had just been beheaded by the magisters, and the Ragged Prince, then twenty-three, had been elected by them as the new prince of Pentos. Not daring to accept their invitation, he had fled to the Disputed Lands and never returned to his native Pentos.
The Ragged Prince looked somewhat embarrassed. Two thousand men truly amounted to little before the newly risen Liberator. Still, he was confident he retained his silver tongue.
"Your Highness, my two thousand men are indeed a small number compared with your forces, but they are well trained, neither novices nor fools. Moreover, though I've been away from Pentos for a long time, I still have some old connections there that I can use," the Ragged Prince said thoughtfully.
"You want it, don't you? Pentos," Gendry asked.
"Yes." The Ragged Prince nodded.
"There are formidable obstacles," Gendry replied. The difficulty lay not only with the magisters, but also with the powers behind Pentos. Invading the city would mean offending Braavos, as well as the khals who came to Pentos every year to beg for handouts.
"We'll discuss that another day," Gendry said. "But at your age, Prince, do you still want to return to Pentos?"
"It's my home. If possible, I'd most like to die of old age on the shores of Pentos."
"As for power, you can have it. I only hope for a little redemption, and revenge on those who hurt me back then," the Ragged Prince added. "I know history has already made you a great man. As for me, I'm old and weary, unfit to become a king."
The Ragged Prince was making grand promises, but Gendry had little interest.
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