Three days later, news of King's Landing burning in wildfire swept the Seven Kingdoms.
Hundreds of thousands died. Renly, nearly all the great houses of the Riverlands and the Stormlands, and seventy thousand elite troops inside the city were reduced to ash in the blaze.
Rumor said the Lannisters left in King's Landing had planned it. They had colluded with the Alchemists' Guild's pyromancers to make the massacre happen.
The Mad King Aerys's unfinished "masterpiece" had been finished by the Lannisters.
...
Rumors then ran through every tavern in the Seven Kingdoms that Cersei and Jaime were children of the Mad King and Joanna. The alleged architect, Cersei Lannister, had shown the same madness in the wildfire as Aerys II.
Another report followed. King Joffrey, driven mad, had slaughtered civilians during the siege of King's Landing and was in turn executed by those very people. His head was hung above the Gates of the Gods.
That news sparked another wave of outrage across the Seven Kingdoms.
By now no one doubted the stories. Everyone believed Cersei and Jaime were the Mad King's children.
Only dragonblood would love a sibling. Only dragonblood would be that mad.
The Stormlands were first to answer this crime.
At the stronghold of Storm's End, Castellan Cortnay Penrose summoned the few surviving lords of the Stormlands. The great hall was cold and grim. Candles flickered in the draft, throwing light on faces torn by grief and burning for vengeance.
"Lannisters!"
Cortnay's voice was hoarse. He slammed his fist onto the long table spread with old maps.
"Oathbreaking! Kingslaying! Massacre! The seven hells cannot hold their sins. They have defiled the gods and defiled mankind. The blood of His Grace Robert, the blood of House Baratheon, must not be cut off!"
His gaze swept the room and settled on a nervous boy in the corner.
Edric Storm, not yet ten.
He was King Robert's bastard by Delena Florent. He had the Baratheon black hair. His face still held childishness and a trace of bewilderment.
Cortnay's voice climbed.
"By the gods above, lords of the Stormlands bear witness. The rightful blood of His Grace Robert is here. Today we proclaim Edric Baratheon King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men—the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms!"
A brief, dead silence filled the hall. Then anguished cries broke out.
"Long live His Grace Edric!"
"Long live House Baratheon!"
"Revenge! Revenge on the Lannisters!"
Edric's face went pale and then flushed with agitation. He opened his mouth but no words came.
The old knight seized a quill and wrote on a parchment already prepared.
Cortnay shouted, "Send word to all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. The whole House Lannister are traitors. All houses loyal to the Baratheons must join us in exterminating this disgrace from Westeros!"
…
The Reach, Ashford.
The tavern was packed, smoke swirling thickly through the air, voices clamoring. But today's noise wasn't the usual mix of bragging and laughter—it was weighed down by grief and rage.
In a corner, at a greasy wooden table, sat two men who stood apart from the chaos. One, white-haired and bearded, wore a set of badly worn brown leather armor. Yet his back remained straight as ever, and in his cloudy eyes surged the fury of storms. It was Barristan Selmy, living under an assumed name.
Opposite him sat an unusually tall, broad-shouldered young man with Blackhair and heavy brows drawn tight—it was Gendry.
"Wildfire! By the gods, wildfire!"
A half-drunk sellsword stood on a table, waving a jug of mead, spittle flying as he shouted hoarsely, "My brother—he was in the camp outside the Gates of the Gods! The raven said it was the Lannisters! That old mad dog Tywin, that poisonous bitch Cersei—they blew up the whole damn city! His Grace Renly, Ser Loras... our Rose and Stag of the Reach... all gone!"
"Butchers!"
Another sellsword slammed his fist onto the table. "They killed His Grace Robert, and now they've used the Mad King's wildfire to slaughter King's Landing! They murdered His Grace Renly! By the Seven Gods, is there a fouler, more shameless house than theirs?!"
"Revenge!"
A thunderous roar erupted through the tavern. Cups and plates smashed to the floor in fury, their shattering echoing through the smoky air.
"Slaughter Casterly Rock!"
"Exterminate the lions!"
"For Highgarden! For the souls of King's Landing!"
Barristan's hand trembled slightly around his cup, his eyes filled with disbelief and deep pain. He had lived through countless wars and betrayals, but this—this slaughter, stripped of all humanity—lay beyond the bounds of anything he had ever known.
Robert, the king he had sworn to protect, had died by Lannister treachery.
Eddard Stark, framed by the Lannisters, had been executed before the people by Joffrey.
Now Renly was dead too, along with hundreds of thousands of innocents.
The Lannisters' crimes were monstrous—utterly without limit.
"Ser..."
Gendry's voice sounded beside him, his dark eyes blazing. "Are we just going to sit here and do nothing? We must act!"
Barristan swept a quick glance over the furious crowd, his voice low. "Gendry, quiet! Your position is too sensitive. The Stormlands have already proclaimed Edric. If you show yourself now, you'll only draw attention—invite danger, perhaps even..."
He didn't finish, but the worry in his eyes spoke plainly.
After Renly's death, the alliance between the Stormlands and the Reach had crumbled instantly. Edric had already been pushed forward as a symbol. The appearance of another son of King Robert would only bring more chaos.
Just then, the tavern's creaking wooden door was thrown open with force. The noise inside broke off at once.
A squad of fully armed soldiers marched in, armor clanking. Their breastplates bore the sigil of House Ashford: a white sun on an orange field, with a white inverted triangle at its center.
At their head stood a tall knight. His sharp gaze swept across the room before stopping on two unusually quiet figures at a corner table.
Especially the tall, black-haired, dark-eyed young man—those features...
The knight's pupils narrowed slightly.
He pushed through the crowd and strode toward Barristan and Gendry's table. His heavy footsteps echoed clearly in the sudden silence.
He looked down at them, his eyes pausing briefly on Barristan's weathered face before settling on Gendry in suspicion. Then he turned back to Barristan.
"Old man, what's your name?"
Barristan gave a faint smile. "My lord, I am Arstan, an old sellsword from the Stormlands."
The knight's brow twitched slightly. He turned to Gendry. "And you—what's your name, where are you from?"
Barristan shot Gendry a warning glance, urging him to stay silent.
But Gendry ignored the plea.
"I am Gendry, son of Robert Baratheon."
Buzz—
The entire tavern fell silent. All eyes fixed on him, the air thick with shock and the clash of a thousand emotions.