A/N :- THIS CHAPTER IS FULL OF HIDDEN MEANINGS READ IT CAREFULLY SERIAL READERS 🧐🔥
The gates of Storm's End groaned open in the gray light of dawn, their iron hinges singing a song that had echoed through these halls for three centuries.
There were no trumpets, no banners snapping in the wind—just the quiet, purposeful sound of steel on leather and the soft thud of hooves on ancient cobblestones.
Three hundred and fifty knights rode forth in perfect formation, their armor polished to mirror brightness despite the early hour.
The crowned stag of House Baratheon adorned every tabard, every shield, every banner that hung limp in the still morning air. It wasn't an army by the standards of the great houses, but it was a force that demanded respect. More importantly, it was a statement written in steel and horseflesh: the Stormlands were no longer content to watch from the sidelines.
Lord Gendry Baratheon rode at the column's head, his weathered face set in the same expression he wore when examining a blade for flaws. His warhammer hung across his broad back, its head polished to a gleam that caught what little light filtered through the overcast sky.
He wore no crown—had never wanted one—but every man who saw him knew without question that here rode the true Lord of Storm's End, the ruler of the Stormlands by right of birth and strength of arm.
Beside him, Thor Baratheon presented a stark contrast to his father's martial splendor. Where Gendry wore fine mail and a surcoat bearing his house's arms, Thor had chosen simple traveling clothes—a dark leather jerkin over a white linen shirt, sturdy riding boots, and breeches that had seen better days. His only concession to ceremony was the silver pin bearing the Baratheon stag that held his cloak in place. To the casual observer, he might have been any young lordling's son, perhaps a squire or minor knight seeking his fortune.
But those who looked closer saw the way he sat his horse—perfectly balanced, utterly relaxed, yet somehow coiled like a spring. They noticed how his violet eyes moved constantly, cataloging faces, counting weapons, measuring distances. And if they were very observant, they might have caught the faint shimmer that seemed to dance beneath his skin when the light hit him just right.
The two men rode in companionable silence for the first hour, each lost in his own thoughts. Gendry's mind turned to the delicate political dance that awaited them in King's Landing. He had never been comfortable with the games that lords and ladies played, preferring the honest work of hammer and forge to the subtle poisons of courtly intrigue. But he had learned enough in his years as lord to know that one wrong word, one misplaced gesture, could undo everything they hoped to accomplish.
Thor's thoughts ran along different lines entirely. He was thinking about power—not the political kind that his father worried over, but the raw elemental force that hummed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.
The lightning had been quiet since that night on the tower, content to slumber in whatever corner of his soul it had claimed for its own. But he could feel it stirring now, responding to his anticipation like a warhorse scenting battle.
Finally, unable to bear the weight of his own thoughts any longer, Thor broke the silence between them.
"So," he said, his voice carrying that peculiar style, "what exactly is the plan if Bran completely loses his shit when he sees me?"
Several of the knights riding behind them shifted uncomfortably at the casual blasphemy, but Gendry didn't so much as twitch. He had long since grown accustomed to his son's... unique way of expressing himself.
"We don't give him a reason to," Gendry replied simply, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Thor snorted. "You sure me just breathing won't count as provocation? Because from what I hear, our tree hugging king isn't exactly the forgiving type when it comes to things that threaten his precious visions."
"Let me handle the politics," Gendry said, finally turning to look at his son. "You just focus on not turning the Red Keep into a pile of smoking rubble."
A grin spread across Thor's face, bright and dangerous as summer lightning. "Aw, come on, Dad. You're taking all the fun out of it."
Behind them, several knights exchanged nervous glances. They had heard the stories, of course. Every man in the Stormlands had heard whispers of what Lord Gendry's youngest son could do when his temper was roused.
Most assumed the tales were exaggerated—the usual nonsense that followed any lord's child who showed even a hint of strangeness. But riding with him now, seeing the way shadows seemed to bend around him when he moved, they were beginning to wonder if the stories might actually be understated.
---
The Road
The first three days of their journey passed without incident. They followed the ancient road that wound through the heart of the Stormlands, past villages that had weathered centuries of war and peace with equal stoicism.
The smallfolk watched their passage from doorways and field edges, offering the proper bows and curtseys when the column passed, but Thor could see the wariness in their eyes. News traveled fast in the countryside, and by now every farmer and innkeeper from Storm's End to King's Landing would have heard that the Baratheons were on the move.
Some of the villagers looked hopeful—perhaps thinking that Lord Gendry's presence meant improved trade or protection from bandits. Others seemed fearful, remembering too well what happened when great lords gathered their banners. But all of them watched Thor with a mixture of fascination and dread that he found deeply unsettling.
"They're afraid of me," he said to Gendry on the second night, as they sat by their campfire while the knights settled into their bedrolls around them.
"Can you blame them?" Gendry asked, poking at the flames with a stick. "Last week you lit up the sky like it was the middle of summer. Half the countryside probably thinks you're some kind of demon."
Thor was quiet for a moment, staring into the dancing flames. "Maybe they're right."
"You're not a demon," Gendry said firmly. "You're my son. And whatever power you carry, you're still the boy I raised."
"The boy you raised would never have been able to do what I did that night."
"The boy I raised," Gendry continued, his voice gentle but implacable, "was always special. I just didn't know how special until recently."
They made camp on the fourth night near a small stream that burbled cheerfully through a grove of oak trees.
The knights had grown more comfortable with their young lord's unusual speech patterns, and several of them had begun to approach Thor directly rather than speaking only to Gendry. He seemed to appreciate their efforts, answering their questions about the road ahead or the weather with the same casual friendliness he showed everyone.
But Ser Marcus Fell, the grizzled veteran who served as Gendry's captain of guards, noticed that Thor never fully relaxed. Even when he was laughing at one of the men's jokes or sharing a skin of wine, his eyes were always moving, always watching. Like a man who expected attack at any moment.
"He's been hurt," Marcus said quietly to Gendry as they checked the sentries before turning in.
"I've seen that look before, my lord. Something's put the fear in him, deep down where it won't come out easy."
Gendry nodded grimly. He had seen it too, though he wasn't sure what had caused it. Thor spoke little about his feelings, and Gendry had learned not to press him on subjects that made him withdraw into himself.
On the fifth day, they crested a hill and saw the Kingswood stretching out before them like a green sea. The ancient forest had stood since the dawn of memory, its vast canopy hiding secrets and dangers that most men preferred not to think about too closely.
The road they followed was well-maintained and heavily patrolled, but even so, Gendry found himself checking his weapons more frequently.
"Dad," Thor said suddenly, pulling his horse up beside Gendry's. "Want to go hunting?"
Gendry raised an eyebrow. "Now?"
"We're making good time, and the men could use some fresh meat. Besides," Thor's grin was infectious, "when's the last time we did anything together that didn't involve politics or training?"
It was true. Since Thor stared his education, their relationship had been cordial but distant, more like lord and retainer than father and son. Perhaps it was time to remedy that.
"Very well," Gendry said, signaling to Ser Marcus. "We'll make camp here for the night. Thor and I are going to see what we can bring back for supper."
They left their horses with the knights and entered the forest on foot, carrying hunting bows and a pair of long knives. The Kingswood was dense and green, its floor carpeted with centuries of fallen leaves that muffled their footsteps.
Shafts of golden sunlight filtered down through the canopy, creating a cathedral-like atmosphere that seemed to demand whispered conversation.
For the first hour, they walked in comfortable silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. Thor moved through the undergrowth with surprising grace for someone his size, barely disturbing the branches as he passed. Gendry found himself remembering the boy Thor had been—always quick, always clever, but with a restless energy that seemed to demand constant motion.
"You know," Gendry said eventually, his voice low to avoid spooking any game, "I used to dream about taking you hunting when you were small."
Thor glanced at him. "Yeah? What stopped you?"
"Lordship," Gendry said simply. "It kept me busy. By the time I had a chance to be a proper father, you were already grown."
They paused at the edge of a small clearing where deer tracks were visible in the soft earth. Thor knelt to examine them, his fingers tracing the sharp-edged prints with professional interest.
"Recent," he murmured. "Maybe an hour old. Small doe, probably alone."
"You've learned to track," Gendry observed.
"Had to. You learn to read the signs or you go up above the sky." Thor stood, dusting off his hands. "There's a lot of things I learned that I never told you about."
"Such as?"
Thor hesitated, then seemed to come to some internal decision. "You really want to know? About what I could do, even when I was little?"
Gendry nodded.
"Remember when I was ten"
He gestured toward a large stone that lay at the base of an ancient oak. "I stared at a rock and wished as hard as I could that it would fly up and crack a skull open. I could feel something building up inside me, like pressure in a kettle. And for just a second, I swear the damn thing actually moved."
Gendry stared at him. "What happened?"
"I passed out. Blood everywhere—apparently I'd given myself one hell of a nosebleed. You found me about ten minutes later and assumed I'd been out in the sun too long." Thor shook his head. "I was so scared of what I'd almost done that I spent the next year trying to pretend it never happened."
They walked on in silence for a while, following the deer tracks deeper into the forest.
Finally, Gendry spoke.
"I wish you'd told me."
"What would you have done? Sent me to the maesters? Had me examined by some septon who'd declare me demon-touched?" Thor's voice was matter-of-fact, but Gendry could hear the old hurt underneath. "I was terrified that if you knew what I was becoming, you'd look at me differently. That you'd be afraid of me."
"I'm your father," Gendry said quietly. "It doesn't matter if you can call down lightning or turn lead into gold. You're still my son."
Thor stopped walking and turned to face him. For a moment, his carefully maintained composure cracked, and Gendry saw the uncertain boy he'd once been.
"Even if I'm dangerous? Even if I might hurt people without meaning to?"
"Especially then." Gendry reached out and gripped his son's shoulder. "That's when you need family most. When you're afraid of what you might become."
They found the doe an hour later, grazing peacefully in a sun-dappled meadow. Gendry raised his bow, drew back the string, and let fly. The arrow went wide, burying itself in the trunk of a birch tree twenty feet from the target.
"Damn," he muttered. "I'm getting old."
Thor bit back a laugh. "Here, let me try."
He nocked an arrow and drew back the bowstring in one smooth motion. But instead of aiming immediately, he closed his eyes and seemed to be listening to something only he could hear. When he opened them again, there was a faint shimmer around the arrow's point.
"Thor," Gendry said warningly.
"Relax, Dad. I'm not going to fry anything. Just... improving my accuracy a little."
The arrow flew true, taking the doe cleanly through the heart. It collapsed without a sound, and Thor lowered his bow with a satisfied expression.
"Are you not being dramatic now," Gendry said, but he was smiling.
That night, as they sat around their fire sharing the roasted venison with the knights, Thor found himself more relaxed than he'd been in weeks. The wine was good, the company was better, and for the first time since his full conscious awakening , he felt like he might actually belong somewhere.
"Tell me about your plan," Gendry said suddenly, his voice pitched low so
"What do you think about coming to King's Landing?"
Thor considered the question seriously. "We need to be careful. That kings don't like competition, especially the kind they can't understand or control."
He looked at his father. "But sometimes you have to take risks if you want to change things."
"And do you? Want to change things?"
"Hell yes," Thor said, his voice carrying a conviction that made several of the nearby knights look up from their conversations. "This whole system is fucked up, Dad. The strong prey on the weak, the rich get richer while the poor starve, and everyone just accepts it because 'that's how it's always been.' Well, maybe it's time for something new."
Gendry studied his son's face in the firelight. "That's a dangerous way of thinking, especially for someone with your... capabilities."
"Maybe. But what's the alternative? Sit in Storm's End and pretend the world outside doesn't exist? Watch while good people suffer because I'm too scared to use what I've been given?"
"There's a difference between using power and being consumed by it."
Thor nodded slowly. "I know. Trust me, I know. But I also know that doing nothing is a choice too. And sometimes it's the wrong choice."
They sat in comfortable silence after that, watching the fire burn down to embers. Around them, the knights began settling into their bedrolls for the night, their quiet conversations gradually fading to whispers and then to silence.
"Thor," Gendry said finally.
"Yeah?"
"When we get to King's Landing, try to remember that not everyone who disagrees with you is your enemy. Some of them might even be right."
Thor grinned. "I'll try to keep that in mind. But if some pompous lord starts talking about divine mandate or the natural order of things, I make no promises about keeping my mouth shut."
"Fair enough," Gendry said, standing and stretching. "Just... try not to electrocute anyone on the first day. It would make the negotiations more difficult."
"Only the first day? After that, all bets are off?"
"We'll see how it goes."
-The Capital
By the tenth day of their journey, the landscape had begun to change. The wild forests and rolling hills of the Stormlands gave way to more cultivated lands—neat fields of grain and root vegetables, orchards heavy with fruit, prosperous-looking villages with stone houses and well-maintained roads.
This was the Crownlands, the heart of the Seven Kingdoms, and its wealth was evident in every carefully tended acre.
Thor found the transition unsettling. There was something too perfect about it all, too controlled. It reminded him of a stage set, beautiful but artificial, designed to impress rather than to truly serve the people who lived there.
"Makes you wonder where all the wealth comes from," he said to Gendry as they passed a particularly elaborate manor house surrounded by manicured gardens.
"Taxes," Gendry replied grimly. "And trade. And the fact that when you control the capital, you control the flow of gold."
"While the people in the outer kingdoms scrape by on whatever's left over."
"That's the way it's always been."
"Doesn't make it right."
Gendry glanced at his son. "You sound like you're planning a revolution."
"Maybe I am," Thor said casually. "Would that bother you?"
"Depends on what kind of revolution you have in mind."
They crested a hill on the twelfth day and saw King's Landing spread out before them like a cancer on the shore of Blackwater Bay.
The city was vast, sprawling, and obviously prosperous, its white walls gleaming in the afternoon sun. The Red Keep dominated the skyline, its towers reaching toward the sky like grasping fingers, while the remaining Great Sept of Baelor squatted nearby like a brooding hen.
But even from this distance, Thor could see the darker side of the capital.
The Flea Bottom district spread out below the hill like a stain, its narrow streets and ramshackle buildings a stark contrast to the mansions of the wealthy.
Smoke rose from a hundred chimneys, and even with the wind in the wrong direction, he could smell the stench of too many people living too close together.
"Christ," he muttered. "It's bigger than I thought."
"That's the thing about power," Gendry said quietly. "It always looks more impressive from a distance."
The gates of King's Landing stood open as their column approached, flanked by ranks of gold-cloaked city watchmen.
The guards' expressions were professionally neutral, but Thor could see the tension in their shoulders, the way their hands rested casually near their sword hilts. Word of their coming had obviously preceded them.
A small group of minor lords waited just inside the gates—Stormlanders, by their colors, men sworn to House Baratheon who had likely been summoned to escort them to the Red Keep.
Thor recognized a few faces from his childhood, though he doubted they would remember him.
Lord Wenton of Felwood stepped forward as Gendry dismounted, offering a deep bow that was perfectly calculated to show respect without subservience.
"Lord Baratheon," he said formally. "Welcome to King's Landing. I trust your journey was pleasant?"
"Was Pleasant enough My Lord," Gendry replied, clasping the man's hand. "Though I'll be glad to sleep in a proper bed again."
"Of course, my lord. Arrangements have been made for you and your men at the Red keep. The accommodations are quite comfortable, I'm assured."
Thor remained mounted, studying the assembled lords with interest. They were trying not to stare at him, but their curiosity was obvious.
He could practically feel their eyes cataloging his appearance, comparing him to whatever stories they'd heard.
"And King Bran?" Gendry asked. "When might we expect an audience?"
"His Grace awaits you in the Red Keep," Lord Wenton replied. "We're instructed to escort you there directly, if you're not too fatigued from your travels."
"We're fine," Gendry said, remounting his horse. "Lead the way."
As they rode through the streets of King's Landing, Thor found himself fascinated by the city's contradictions. Grand boulevards lined with magnificent buildings gave way without warning to narrow alleys filled with beggars and sellswords. Nobles in silk and velvet shared the same streets with merchants hawking their wares and whores advertising their services. The smell of exotic spices and costly perfumes mingled with the stench of human waste and rotting garbage.
"It's like two different cities occupying the same space," he said to Gendry.
"Three different cities, at least," his father replied. "The nobles see one version, the merchants see another, and the smallfolk see a third. Most people only ever experience one of them."
"Which one do we belong to?"
"That," Gendry said with a slight smile, "remains to be seen."
The Red Keep loomed larger as they approached, its red stone walls seeming to glow in the afternoon light. Thor had seen pictures of castles before, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer scale of the place.
It was less a fortress than a small city in its own right, with towers and courtyards and gardens spread across several acres of prime real estate.
"Impressive," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.
"It's meant to be," Gendry replied. "Everything about this place is designed to make visitors feel small and insignificant."
"Is it working?"
Gendry looked at his son and saw the familiar glint of defiance in his violet eyes. "What do you think?"
Thor's grin was sharp as a blade. "I think it's going to take more than pretty architecture to intimidate me."
As they rode through the Red Keep's gates, Thor caught sight of a figure watching them from one of the upper windows—a thin, pale man in a wheeled chair, his eyes ancient and knowing despite his youthful face.
"Time to meet the tree king," Thor murmured, his voice too low for anyone but Gendry to hear.
The game was about to begin.
________
Chapter End
🫡