At Pear Manor, the pear trees spread like beautiful satin. The little hill was covered with pear trees, along with canals, fountains, and wooden houses. Tall watchposts rose above the walls, keeping watch on every movement nearby.
Gendry and Dany sat on a tapestry, with his trusted men beside them. Anguy and Ser Barristan were both there. Harry the Arse, Jon, and Dacey, however, had first been sent to the guard barracks. Among the young, the three of them could be counted as excellent, but they still needed to be raised higher, especially Harry the Arse.
Balerion curled beneath Gendry's arm, as hot as a stone left under the blazing sun for an entire day.
Vhagar and Viserion fought over a piece of cooked meat, striking each other with their wings while smoke puffed from their nostrils.
A dragon's attack had signs before it came. First, they would roar and smoke would pour from their pointed mouths. Then their heads would bend back and forth, and fire would follow.
"These children are so proud and unruly," Daenerys said with a smile. Her silver-gold hair and violet eyes shone beneath the sun, a beauty that belonged to ancient Valyria.
"From now on, it will be nothing but coal-black and deep blue," Gendry thought. "Dragonblood" held no real advantage before "Stormblood." House Baratheon was known for the strength of its blood, with the power of the storm running through it. The history of the Targaryen dynasty was not quite the same. There had been children without silver hair and violet eyes, such as Rhaenyra's first three sons, or Baelor Breakspear, but none of them had later touched the Iron Throne. They had all died through various accidents.
Orys, the founder of House Baratheon, was said to have been a Targaryen bastard. His hair, beard, and eyes had all been black. After he married into House Durrandon, Baratheon descendants began to have black hair and blue eyes, perfectly inheriting the appearance of their Durrandon mother.
"They are growing quickly, but they are still too small. I cannot let them come to any harm," Gendry said, looking at the three dragons. Their growth was truly extraordinary. In another year or two, Balerion might be able to carry a rider.
"Dragons are creations of Fire and Blood," Maester Qyburn said. Behind him stood a knight eight feet tall, with legs as thick as trees, a powerful chest, and the strength of an ox. His name was "John Strong." He was a guardian knight trained by Qyburn, a terrifying sight to behold. He neither ate nor drank. His armor was made of black plate, his face hidden behind a massive helm, with a carved galloping horse atop it.
Gendry knew this was a stitched-together thing. Qyburn had made this inhuman warrior from "The Mountain's" body and the head of a Dothraki Khal. The Mountain's head had already been ruined and sent to Dorne by the Red Viper. Drogo's head had been ruined as well, so another way had to be found. Khal Zekko's head was still available, so it had been put to use.
"Lys and Volantis still have not moved?" Gendry asked.
"Indeed, there has been no movement. They are wavering between war and peace, though the exiled Magisters of Myr and Tyrosh, as well as quite a few city-states in Slaver's Bay, such as Meereen, have sent large sums of money to Volantis and Lys to stir them up. Since we took Tyrosh and Myr, we have effectively cut off their sources of wealth," the Handsome Man said. "I think they will move eventually."
"We will have to wait for the Lord Governor election, and for the Tiger party to fully step onto the stage."
"It seems the heat is not high enough yet," Gendry thought. It was also possible that the Twin Cities had been frightened by his stormlike offensive and had not yet had time to react. "Once the war grows livelier, perhaps they will make their move."
"I will continue to focus on intelligence from them: Lys, Volantis, Pentos, and Braavos, which we are watching especially closely."
"Braavos," Daenerys murmured, remembering the red house where she had once lived.
"One day, we will go to Braavos again." Gendry held her hand. For now, Braavos seemed more like a friend, but he was not sure how long that friendship would last.
After staying under Gendry's hand for so long, Balerion grew bored and restless. He spread his wings again and flew up, settling into a different posture.
"For now, we wait for Volantis and Lys to move. If they can draw out a few more royalists from the Twin Cities and the Disputed Lands, all the better." Gendry looked at the people around him: the treasurer, the Handsome Man; the spymaster, Qyburn; the quartermaster, the Fletcher; the captain of the guards, Barristan; and Greywolf, commander of the guards and the Free Company.
This was the order of the Twin Cities that Gendry had shaped after the original Magisters either died or fled. The Free Folk associations, soldiers, bankers, craft guilds, wine guilds, and small merchants were the Storm's new supporters. He had pushed these people into the council, while the professional technicians were assigned to City Hall and the Court of Arbitration.
"It would be best if they came. These people almost make me feel young again," the Fletcher said, stroking the purpleheart longbow in his hands.
"Winter is coming. We do not have time to play war games with those fools from Lys and Volantis," the Handsome Man said with a sigh. He naturally knew of the changing seasons.
"Have the dragon seekers arrived, Maester Qyburn?" Gendry asked Qyburn.
"They have, Prince, Princess." Qyburn nodded. "Since the red comet appeared, the fluctuations of magic have intensified. There are still some skilled mages who can connect the dragons to the red comet."
"Would you like to meet them?" Qyburn asked.
Ser Barristan frowned. "Magic is water without a source. These mages should not be received."
"There is no need to meet other mages. Has anyone come from Qarth?"
"Yes." Qyburn nodded. "Two Qartheen arrived on camels. They have been waiting for quite some time. One is a strange male warlock, and the other is a woman wearing a mask."
The next day, in the bright courtyard, Gendry, Daenerys, Ser Barristan, Qyburn, Anguy, and "John Strong" received the two sorcerers who had come from far away.
"Before you stand the Breaker, the Triumphant Storm, the Breaker of Swords, heir to the Iron Throne, Lord of the Stepstones, Myr, and Tyrosh, Prince Gendry, and his betrothed, the Last True Dragon, Stormborn, the silver-haired maiden Princess Daenerys," Anguy announced loudly, looking at the two oddly dressed figures.
"Travelers from afar, speak your names. We are here," Daenerys said.
The pale-skinned man with blue lips spoke in rough Dothraki. "I am the Great Warlock Pyat Pree. We originally had a great merchant companion, but he feared the hardship of the road and chose to turn back."
The woman in the lacquered wooden mask spoke in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms. "I am Quaithe of the Shadow Lands. We have traveled in search of dragons."
"Far across the sky," Daenerys Targaryen told them, "and yet right before your eyes."
Gendry looked at the two of them, one hand resting beside the dark-bladed sword, Orphan-Maker. The male warlock represented the Undying, while the witch was even more mysterious. As for the one who had not come, he was the merchant representative of Qarth. Qarth was also in chaos, with warlocks, merchant guilds, and royal families tearing at one another.
"I have seen the Storm." Quaithe half-knelt before Gendry. "I see the shadow of the Storm upon you, the ancient Storm. You are the Storm that will sweep across the world."
"Great Storm, may we see the true dragons?" the Great Warlock Pyat Pree asked.
"The true dragon stands before you. She is my wife," Gendry said flatly, showing no warmth toward the Qartheen warlock.
"This... I ask to see the real dragons, the scent of sulfur and fire."
"And what will you offer in exchange? You have come all this way. Surely you did not come only to open your mouth." Gendry snorted coldly and rose to his feet. His towering figure was enough to inspire fear.
Seeing this, the warlock grew somewhat afraid. Within a few steps, a sword was faster than any spell.
"Dragons are only a lesser path. If the Prince permits it, I will lead you to witness the most dazzling truth in the world, sorcery itself. I bring the Shade of the Evening, which can reveal glimpses of the future. If you are interested, you may also come to the House of the Undying and witness the secret of immortality." The Great Warlock spoke smoothly, his mouth full of honeyed promises.
Ser Barristan's gaze was hard as iron, and he tightened his grip on his blade. This man felt like a superstitious preacher, one who bewitched hearts and minds.
"Enough. Get out," Gendry said loudly, cutting him off. "I have no time to see your House of the Undying, unless you still wish to see Fire and Blood."
"This..." the Great Warlock tried to persuade him again. "If you turn away, the door of wisdom will close forever."
Gendry gave a slight signal. Ser Barristan stepped forward, his sword shining cold and bright. When the Great Warlock saw those icy eyes, he withdrew from the room on his own.
Gendry looked at Quaithe again. Quaithe was a mage with true ability. At the very least, her prophetic power was strong. As for her power to attack, perhaps her value was comparable to Melisandre's. Quaithe's attitude was clearly close to the dragons and the true dragon.
"You did well, Storm," Quaithe praised. "You should be careful."
"Careful of whom?" Dany asked. Was she an enemy too? Or a dangerous friend? Dany could not tell.
"Careful of everyone. They will come day and night to behold this miracle reborn into the world, and then greed will rise within them. A dragon's flesh and blood are made of fire, and fire is power," the witch replied.
"Can you serve me?" Gendry asked Quaithe. He very much wanted to see the witch's face, but it seemed he would have no chance. Blood, fire, and power. Dragons truly did contain power. Those Great Warlocks had in fact wanted to draw on Daenerys's life force, or his own, to shelter the shell of their immortality.
The witch shook her head. "Serve you? What service is there to speak of? Most magic is blood and fire, blood for blood, fire for fire. As for you, I find your power stranger still. You have been breaking open the mysteries of bloodlines all along, haven't you? After all, the Storm God's bloodline comes from Durran. Durran married the daughter of a god, and the bloodline of the Storm is ancient and stubborn. Some power comes from bloodline, and some from faith. Every generation of the Storm has carried the blood of the Storm. The only question is how much of it they can ignite. The strong grow stronger, and the weak find no path."
Everyone held their breath. The power of the Storm was indeed extraordinary, though most people dismissed those stories as absurd. After all, every noble claimed to have heroic ancestors.
"There is no need to be surprised," Quaithe said, then looked at the Storm and the True Dragon. "The glass candles have been lit, and all else follows. Storm and True Dragon, Kraken and wolves. Those who dance shall dance together, and those who awaken shall awaken together."
Gendry looked at Quaithe. They needed to have a proper talk. This age truly was overflowing with bloodlines. Beneath the tide of magic, gifted people were appearing one after another.
Several of the Stark children were skinchangers: Jon, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Their house was practically a den of skinchangers. As for the Kraken, Crow's Eye seemed to have that ability as well, and he was a blasphemer besides.
...
Tyrion stared at the dark green liquid in the jar. In the cold cellar, the wildfire looked terrifying.
"I heard that Redflame once drank a jar of wildfire, trying to turn himself into a dragon?" Tyrion asked Hallyne.
"That did happen. He was a complete fool and a devil," Hallyne replied. "As you know, the Targaryens always carry a touch of madness."
"He truly was mad, but now the shadow of the dragon has returned," Tyrion thought. After Prince Daeron, Maekar's eldest son, died, Aerion became heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Aerion believed wildfire could turn him into a dragon, and in 232 AC, he drank a jar of it and died.
Tyrion put the jar back. The table was full of them, arranged neatly in rows of four, stretching into the dim depths underground. After the Pyromancers' Guild had suffered its break, there might still be other wildfire left somewhere in King's Landing.
"Can the Mad King's fruits still be used?"
"Of course they can, but great care is needed. Once this substance has been stored for too long, it becomes extremely unstable. Even the smallest spark will set it burning at once. If the temperature rises, the jars may ignite on their own. That is why they must never be exposed to sunlight, not even for a short while..."
Tyrion nodded. If they could be used, that was enough. These jars of wildfire, stored for more than ten years, truly carried great danger. Wildfire left too long became unpredictable and easily exploded. One jar exploding, then setting off the jars beside it in a chain, flames roaring to the sky. The thought filled him with dread.
"You said earlier that last year you found two hundred jars in a storeroom beneath the Great Sept of Baelor. No one knows why they were put there?"
"Yes, my lord. Our great order suffered a shortage of members several decades ago."
Tyrion nodded. The matter seemed connected to his brother Jaime, but Jaime had never been willing to say much about it. There might be jars of wildfire in other places too, but Tyrion no longer cared. The Pyromancers' Guild providing him with seven or eight thousand jars of wildfire was already a terrifying number. He had originally thought these pyromancers could only boast, but he had not expected them to work so efficiently.
Tyrion ordered the pyromancers to keep working day and night, but he demanded perfect wildfire. He would allow no defects, and no accidents. So much wildfire was exciting, and frightening.
"Lord Hand, please rest assured. There will be no accidents," Pyromancer Hallyne promised him. The pyromancers were a well-trained institution. Hallyne said that the ceilings above the wildfire workshops were protected by powerful spells, and that there was a room filled with sand to keep any fire from spreading.
"Make absolutely sure they are watched," Tyrion reminded him again. King's Landing had seen two riots recently, and what he feared most was the mob finding its way here. If that happened, King's Landing would be utterly destroyed.
"Lord Hand, we have proper procedures."
Tyrion also asked for several thousand "jars," though these were all empty. He intended to distribute them to the captains of the City Watch, so the City Watch could become familiar with them in advance. Wildfire was too terrifying. Even the slightest leak could cause disaster.
Tyrion looked at the pyromancers. Aside from that substance, they truly had no great talents. No wonder they had declined more and more over the years. Only in the Mad King's era had the pyromancers once been heavily favored.
"I have seen enough. Please escort me back to my litter."