It was only when he was in the midst of battle, slipping and sliding across the deck of a Redwyne ship, that he found out where his future was.

It was currently covered in blood, slicing ironborn throats left, right, and fucking centre, and didn't look particularly welcome to company – but ah, well, such is the life of a Flea Bottom bastard.

When King Bran had asked him to lead Crown and Stormlands soldiers west to defend the Riverlands and the Westerlands from ironborn raiders, Gendry was feeling downright mutinous. The whole point of being a Lord Paramount was that he emdidn't/em have to fight amongst the shit and piss anymore.

Those were his thoughts riding out in the slopping rain. The next weeks were spent in rough leathers that smelt constantly of damp, seeing as the rain had politely followed them across Westeros. And those were particularly his thoughts when he had to listen to Lord Bronn Blackwater wax poetic about whichever King's Landing brothel he had been so cruelly ripped away from.

Even Pod seemed a bit weary of it, after weeks travelled.

Bronn had married a cousin to the late Tyrells, some Redwyne maid – Gendry could never remember these godscurst names – and they both seemed quite content to let her run things in the Reach while he did his duties in King's Landing as Master of Coin and errant whoremonger. There were a few children though, from their brief reunions, so Gendry guessed the arrangement must be working.

Tyrion insisted that an affinity for brothels had always accompanied the role of Master of Coin, but Gendry was sceptical. He tried to do his duty as Lord of Storm's End first, and Master of War second, and let that be the end of it.

Except it wasn't, because Gendry could never be idle while his men fought for him, so his duty as both had apparently led him here, fighting once more amongst the piss and shit.

It had been a rough morning.

Their soldiers had arrived to the colossal camp on the outskirts of Lannisport in the early hours, campfires low and drowning in rain. The only light came from the slightest sliver of sunlight on a horizon choked with black clouds, and fertile grounds had long since been trampled to thick mud in the rain. With each tired step his warhorse made, Gendry could hear the slurp of mud and the squeak of his saddle.

"Oi, lad." Bronn leant over to nudge him in his saddle. "The fancy sods and good ale is that a'ways, in the fortress at the city gates. Maybe if you get there quick enough you can avoid the fancy sods."

With his wisdom now bestowed, Bronn left Gendry and Pod staring blearily after him as he made his way whistling to the city gates in the distance, House Lannister banners displayed over its walls. Next to the golden lion was House Blackwater of Highgarden's black sword on a field of green, King Bran's grey raven on a field of white, and Gendry's own stag.

Gendry grimaced to Pod, who as Commander of the Crown's forces had as much authority as he. "Should we get the men set up before we get comfortable?"

At that moment, Ser Willas Caswell of the Kingsguard addressed them, "Lord Baratheon, Ser Podrick, I believe I can take care of settling our soldiers within the camp, if it pleases you."

Arse-kisser. Pod looked at Gendry, who shrugged. Pod clicked his tongue but responded, "We would be grateful, Ser Willas. I'll have one of Lord Baratheon's knights aid you."

With that, Gendry motioned to Ser Ormund Cafferen, a stocky man with a paunch and a sharp look to his eye. Cafferen had quickly become one of Gendry's chief advisors when he first arrived in Storm's End, and had rarely left Gendry's side since.

"Ormund, you'll aid Ser Willas here with settling our soldiers." Gendry cast an appraising eye back over the irritable, soaked Baratheon and Crown men, before turning back to Ormund, "And I want no fights before the battle. First man that does so is shovelling new latrines for however long these godscurst ironborn keep up their reaving."

Ormund gave a small smile, no doubt at the thought of inflicting latrine duty, "Yes, my lord."

"And Cafferen? Take the Trant lad with you." Gendry's squire, Duncan Trant, woke from his saddle at the mention of his name. After a confused glance around, and Ormund's figure retreating into the distance, he dismounted clumsily and scuttled after the knight.

Pod grunted, "You're going to be the death of the poor lad."

Gendry shrugged, "Either that or he might turn out to be a good knight." The very idea of having a squire, and that the noble families of the Stormlands had bickered over who was to be his squire as if it were a grand honour, continued to disturb Gendry.

With that matter sorted, Gendry and Pod set off for the city wall with a small retinue of soldiers. Once inside Lannisport, they were escorted to a small stone hall within the fortress, just big enough for a warm hearth and a large group of lords planning the realm's defence.

Personally, Gendry preferred the warm hearth, but that was just him.

When he and Pod walked through the doors, all but Bronn stood to welcome them. Gendry thanked the Seven for introductions, as he only recognised perhaps one or two of these highborns.

Genna Lannister stood to one side, boxed in by her nephew, Martyn Lannister, her son, Lyonel Frey, and her grandson, Willem Frey. Gendry knew that aside from a smattering of daughters and bastards, they were all that remained of House Lannister's main line. Next to them was a Lannister cousin, Daven, who had inherited their blond hair but evidently not their good looks. The man seemingly out of place beside them with the sunken eyes and tired smile was Lord Addam Marbrand of Ashenmark.

Gendry knew of them only by Tyrion's constant complaints, and he knew that every so often, another Lannister daughter would be sent by them to King's Landing in an attempt to catch the Lord Hand's eye. Gendry could sympathise, the lords of the Stormlands liked to play similar games. And like Gendry, Tyrion wouldn't be able to hold out much longer before marrying.

Every lord needed an heir, after all.

Reluctantly surrounding Bronn on the other side of the table was his good-father, Lord Paxter Redwyne, as well as Ser Baelor Hightower and a handful of other Reach lords that Gendry forgot as soon as they were introduced.

It had been one of the smarter moves Tyrion had made in those initial years after Bran's ascension, annulling Bronn's marriage to Lollys Stokeworth and brokering it to Paxter Redwyne's daughter instead. As the girl's mother was a Tyrell, it gave a sense of legitimacy and stability to Bronn's rule over Highgarden and the Reach that wouldn't have been there else-wise.

Another thing that struck him was how old all the Reach lords were. In almost all of Westeros, a good deal of highborns of the older generations had died in the many coups, conflicts, or the cold that the last winter had brought. They were lucky, in the Reach.

And lastly, there were several lords of the Crownlands and the Stormlands that were sent ahead with the first contingent of soldiers. They bowed deeply toward Gendry and Pod, and had banded together near the head of the table, where two seats had been left.

The most prominent of the storm lords present were Ser Aemon Estermont, Lord Arstan Selmy, and Ser Balon Swann. Ser Aemon was the thick-browed, middle-aged heir to Greenstone and Gendry's distant cousin. Their ties of kinship had made it easy for Aemon to install himself as one of Gendry's advisors at Storm's End and King's Landing, as twice as difficult to remove – not that Gendry had bothered trying.

Lord Arstan was much more amiable, however was given to strong flatulence, and so wasn't often brought to council unless the situation was dire. These two men were amongst the many that threw their daughters at Gendry, and their sons at Mya in hopes to land a Baratheon marriage.

Ser Balon Swann, while of the Stormlands, was one of Pod's sworn brothers – the only to survive the fall of King's Landing. Bran sending three Kingsguard alongside Gendry to aide him with the ironborn seemed a little excessive, but Balon seemed decent and Gendry was glad of it.

The only lord of the Crownlands present was Lord Olyvar Rosby, a tall but slightly anxious looking man only a few years older than Gendry. Gendry knew him as a steadfast ally of King Bran, and he was always a welcome addition to the King's Landing court.

Yet there was one face Gendry hadn't put a name to yet. Peering closer, he realised he recognised the house colours, and took a sharp breath.

Bemused, Genna Lannister gestured to the young girl, "Ah, yes. This is Lyra Mormont of Bear Island. She arrived just yesterday eve with a band of Northmen. She brings a letter informing us that the North has likewise been attacked by ironborn across their western coasts, and that with the King's permission, the Stark Queen will be sending support to aid us, her brother, and her uncle, Lord Edmure Tully."

Genna picked up letter from the table and waved it, "We just received a raven from the King, confirming this."

"The little queen is apparently so poor that she sends children to do her work." Paxter Redwyne jeered. Baelor Hightower winced, evidently embarrassed of the balding Arbour lord.

The girl eyed him evilly, "I have seventeen years, Lord Redwyne, a woman grown. And it is a great honour to my house that I was chosen to serve my Queen, and to stand as her representative until the North arrives."

Gendry interrupted Redwyne's sneering reply by stepping forwards and bowing shortly to the girl. Meeting her eyes, he said, "Both Ser Podrick and myself served alongside your older sister, Lyanna Giantsbane, at Winterfell. It is an honour."

Beside him, Pod bowed as well, "If you are anything like your sister, my lady, it will help us greatly to have your council."

Slightly appeased, the girl settled and nodded to them both, eyes lingering on Gendry with a knowledge he couldn't understand. After sending another poisonous look toward the Reach lord, she sat down in a chair that had been quickly dragged to the table as boldly as if it were a throne.

Bronn cleared his throat, "So, if we are done with all the fancy posturing, can we get a fuckin' move on?" Seemingly oblivious to the disgusted looks he was receiving, Bronn poured himself another cup of wine.

Pod smirked at Gendry, who smirked back. He had grown to deeply appreciate Bronn after their many years on the Small Council together; a fresh sea breeze compared to the dank and overly-perfumed air of the Westerosi lords. They both took their seats near the head of the table, and everyone sat.

As Master of War and Tyrion's representative as Lord Hand, Gendry wearily realised it would be up to him to lead these discussions. Looking around the table, Gendry waved an encouraging hand, "So what do we know of the enemy's current numbers and their positions?"

Lyonel Frey begun rising, but Olyvar rose quicker. After sharing what Gendry could only imagine were hateful glares, Olyvar turned to Gendry, "My lord, the Lannisport fleet, numbering some twenty ships, have been presumably destroyed or captured by the ironborn. Without a defence in place, reaving and raiding grows closer to Lannisport every day. The Banefort, the Crag, and the Fair Isles have been taken, while we have reports that currently Kayce is under attack. Our scouts suggest the fleet numbers some one hundred and ten longships of varying size. Many have one hundred oars."

Alarm coursed through Gendry, and he sat back in his seat, "This is much worse than we were led to believe, then. Kayce is barely a day's ride west of Lannisport." Another thought fluttered across his mind, "At least we know that these are no pirates."

"No," Genna Lannister agreed, "If we do not succeed in crushing the Iron Fleet, it could mean that Asha Greyjoy will fully commit herself to a rebellion rather than just supporting men in the shadows."

Meeting her eyes, Gendry asked the Lannister matriarch, "Besides your destroyed ships, how big of an army can you field?"

Genna nodded, "We have assurances that the last of some twenty thousand men will arrive here a day, as you saw by the fields outside Lannisport. They have with them enough supplies to last several months or at least until Reach supply trains arrive."

Gendry replied, mind churning, "We have brought ten-to-fifteen thousand Stormlands and Crown soldiers. Combined that should be more than enough to lay siege to the mainland castles they have taken, and rip them out."

Genna smiled, a truly fearsome thing, "I look forward to it, my lord."

Gendry turned to the Mormont girl, "What can we expect from Winterfell."

She stood immediately to attention, shoulders broad and sturdy, "Eight thousand men will be here in three weeks, Lord Baratheon, and we have sent down what sea vessels we can spare to attack from the north."

The men would be too late, and the ships would be mostly trading vessels, and therefore not much use. Gendry heard titters from the Lannisters, much to his dismay, but still replied gratefully with, "Thank you, Lady Mormont."

The situation was looking more and more severe.

Finally, "As for other ships, Lord Blackwater, what can we expect from the Reach?"

Bronn glared at Paxter Redwyne, who stood, "My Lord, we are sending one-third of the Redwyne warship fleet to Lannisport, approximately sixty galleys, while several trains of rations and supplies are being sent overland, and are expected to be here within the fortnight."

Gods be good, only sixty? They would be massacred. Seething, Gendry found his voice, and hissed, "And why is it that only one-third of the Redwyne fleet is arriving?"

"Yes, good-father," Bronn said caustically, "Tell them why."

Paxter Redwyne shuffled nervously from one foot to the other, and blustered, "Well, quite frankly my lord, we need to maintain defence for the Reach. We lost the Shield Islands and almost the Arbour to Euron Greyjoy during Cersei's reign. It cannot happen again."

Pod interjected, "And with all the ironborn ships currently occupied here, you don't think you could have defended your seat with less than one hundred and thirty ships?"

The mocking undertone to Pod's voice wasn't one that Gendry remembered from when they first met. Like so many other things, it was something acquired from years spent in King's Landing. At least the Lannisters seemed to be enjoying the show, a smile playing over Genna Lannister's face as she watched Paxter Redwyne be humiliated.

Ser Baelor Hightower spoke, "My lords...Lord Blackwater, Lord Redwyne and myself have reassessed the situation, and are sending a further seventy war vessels, which can be here within the month."

"A month?!" Genna Lannister cried, "Every day we wait is another chance that the fleet will continue raiding the western coasts, that they will gain more ironborn followers, or that they will grow bold enough to attack Lannisport itself. We cannot afford to wait more than a sennight, lest we lose the West!"

"Perhaps we could have afforded to wait the month if your Frey son hadn't foolishly sent your whole fleet after the godscurst ironborn!" Baelor shouted back, "The Lannisport fleet had only been built to twenty war vessels when he gave the order for green boys to go to the slaughter!"

"Silence!"

The room went quiet as the grave, and Gendry suddenly felt weary. Sighing after his outburst, Gendry asserted, "We're never going to succeed with these odds if we are at each other's throats. We'll take several hours break and return. You're all dismissed."

Gendry watched as the lords and ladies rose and left. Bronn held back, waiting until everyone had left before speaking, "I told that bastard to send three-quarters of the fleet."

Gendry brows knitted, "What?"

Bronn gazed at him and Pod, eyes dark, "I told that Redwyne bastard to only leave a skeleton defence for the Arbour, and yet he has retained over a hundred ships."

Both Pod and Gendry were silent – they both knew what it meant when men started disobeying their overlords.

Bronn sighed, "After we get through this shit fight, I'm going to have to return to Highgarden and re-establish myself. I never thought that getting a castle would come with so much cunt baggage."

"Didn't we all?" Gendry snorted.

All sharp edges, Bronn grinned, "Who knows, maybe I'll just go impregnate his daughter again. That'll show the prissy bastard." Almost thoughtfully, he continued, "She always does have such a sweet smile for me when she comes."

With that, he strode out, leaving Gendry once more to stew in anger.

Jaw clenching, Gendry muttered to Pod, still seated beside him, "I've heard about these new kraken warships, Pod. We have little chance of winning this without further support, and yet if we don't do something soon we'll risk a full-blown rebellion."

Pod tapped the table, not meeting his eyes, "'Tis a difficult position. I suggest going ahead with regaining the mainland holds, but we might have to accept losing the Fair Isles. Even with a defensive position, there's no telling if the Redwyne fleet will hold against the Iron Fleet."

"The Westerlands lords will despise us either way."

Pod gave a humourless chuckle, "You don't have to tell me that, House Payne is a Westerlands family, remember?"

As they left the room gladly, Gendry noticed Olyvar Rosby talking to one of his knights. Nodding for Pod to go ahead without him, Gendry walked over to the lord. He saw Gendry approach, and dismissed the other man.

"I couldn't help but notice the looks the Freys were giving you...what have you done to them, and can I help?" Gendry asked jokingly.

Olyvar looked taken aback, then confused. Finally good-humoured realisation came to his face, "They see me as a blood traitor, my lord. You were solidifying your claim to Storm's End when I became lord of Rosby, so I don't expect you to remember. I was originally of House Frey, Lord Walder Frey's fourth son to Bethany Rosby, and a squire to Robb Stark. After the Red Wedding I fled to my great-uncle's castle to escape my traitorous family."

Gendry's brows shot up, but Olyvar was staring out with an expression of true hate to the field where a Frey banner was just visible, "Robb was good friend and a better man. I will never forgive them for what they did to him, and I have made sure no house in the Crownlands will ever trade with them. When I heard Robb's sister had slaughtered them all at a feast, my father included, I drank more wine than I ever had in my life."

"Then I am glad for your great-uncle." Gendry's gut clenched uncomfortably, and he changed the subject, "That would make your sister Roslin Tully, Lady of Riverrun, right?"

Olyvar smiled, "Aye. She, too, pretends that she were never a Frey. I suppose once she popped out several heirs, people like to let her believe they forget. She and that idiot, Edmure, trust me to represent their interests here."

"Bran told me that none of the Riverlands lords could be here, but gave no reason as to why."

Olyvar rolled his eyes, "The new lord of Harrenhal died without heirs. The river lords are currently chomping at the bit for it, and old rivalries and conflicts have arisen and are threatening to spill out. They're too busy to care about Iron Islanders when the Crown and the Lannisters are taking care of the problem for them, although some have sent men to fight with Blackwater forces."

Gendry's face pinched, "What of the river lords that hold lands on the western coast?"

Olyvar shrugged, "House Seaguard hasn't reported anything. Either they've fled, are dead, or are holding the ironborn off somehow. North and south are the Twins and Oldstones, respectively. The ironborn aren't stupid enough to try and attack the Twins with a Tully garrison there, and Oldstones is a ruin."

Once again Gendry sighed. It seemed like all he had been doing recently. With a pat on Olyvar's shoulder, he nodded to him and continued on his way. He had much to think about.

Five days later, Gendry was onboard one of the sixty Redwyne vessels to the southern side of the Feastfires peninsula, and regretting the decision to ever come west.

Pod had left two days ago, heading some twenty-five thousand men first to Kayce, then north to dismantle ironborn control. It left roughly ten thousand men here to defend the land around Lannisport, and Gendry was pleasantly surprised to find the Redwyne fleet consisting of colossal war galleys.

They had packed as many soldiers onto the galleys as possible. The odds were as good as he could make them.

"We've just had a raven from Lannisport, my lord," said Ormund beside him, "The whole Iron Fleet is about to round the peninsula."

Gendry took a steadying breath, "Let the men know, then."

Beside him, Duncan was fidgeting with his plate-armour. Gendry swatted his hand, "Face forward, shoulders back, and don't fidget. It makes you more nervous. Keep your head about you, and you'll be fine, lad."

The green lad's wide eyes met his, "Yes, my lord."

Seven, was he ever truly once that young?

When Gendry turned back, he found Ser Balon looking at him with a queer smile, "You make a good teacher to the lad, my lord. And by the Seven, you remind me of Robert Baratheon on his better days."

Gendry puffed, "I'm a ghost for many people, Balon. Hopefully I have a better fate than my predecessors."

And then, the horns rang out. The pealing sound echoed over the water, and shivers rushed their way down Gendry's spine.

"Here they fucking come." He heard Balon mutter.

One ship soon became three, then nine, and before long dozens were racing down the peninsula. The longships leading the vanguard were giants, easily holding a hundred oars. The fronts were carved into rams made for piercing hulls.

Gendry felt sick, "Ready the archers and the fire barrels, make sure the ships are always facing toward the ironborn, and brace. The impact will be greater if we are moving, so don't raise the sails under any circumstances. Let the captains know."

One of the men nodded, and raced off.

Moments before the ships came into the archer's range, Gendry looked to the sky. It was such a faultless blue, the sound of gulls in the distance and the smell of salt heavy in the air. Nothing had been wrong with the day, yet soon the sky would soon be clogged with smoke, the sounds of screams and the smell of blood replacing paradise.

Gendry sighed, and held tighter onto his warhammer.

"ARCHERS!" The scream came from the top deck, and the men nocked their arrows from barrels placed on every ship. There were other barrels to use if things became desperate, but Gendry was reluctant to even touch them. They held a fire that was a shade Gendry hadn't seen in nearly ten years, and had hoped to never seen again. It was partly the reason he was so nervous.

"READY...FIRE!"

An iron rain ascended to the sky. Even from a distance, Gendry could tell they'd landed true.

A closer scream had Gendry whipping his head around. Fuck. One archer had dropped his lit arrow, and the fire was spreading. Luckily, it was put out quickly. The men fired individually now, the thwip of the bow was all Gendry could hear.

Glancing back toward the ironborn, Gendry could see they'd erected a shield wall around the oarsmen. For all the men killed, it made little difference.

He looked at the Trant lad, and sent a prayer to every god that he made it through this alive.

"BRACE!"

An unearthly crash knocked Gendry off his feet, and the ship rocked again as another ironborn vessel hit it head-on. Gendry clambered to his feet, and hefted his warhammer off the deck. With the battering rams nested so deeply within the hull, they wouldn't be able to shake the ironborn off.

Taking a breath, Gendry gave himself to the battle.

It was only moments of consciousness from that point. The taste as a hot spray of blood hit his mouth, the ringing in his ears after a shield hit him over the head, the vacant look on a man's face as Gendry smashed his skull in.

But one thing he realised, as his very bones and blood sung with the fight, was how much he'd missed this. Yet, so deeply was he in the battle fury that he almost took Ormund's head off.

"Gen-Gendry!" Ormund roared through the haze, "Look at me, we need to get off this ship! Another ironborn ship is about to board, and we don't have the men to repel them. Our fleet is almost gone, half the men dead!"

Gendry looked around, aghast. There were men still alive on their vessel, but on almost every Redwyne ship around them, the ironborn had outmanoeuvred and outnumbered them.

His men were tired and broken, many wounded. Gendry staggered when he met the unseeing eyes of Duncan Trant, his throat opened to the world and drowned in a river of his own blood.

Barely conscious, Gendry crouched down to the boy and closed his eyes with one hand. With the other, he rested his forehead in his palm and let out a loud sob. The boy should have lived.

"My lord, what do we do?!"

The panic in his steadfast knight's voice drew him back to the present, and he swallowed his grief. Not bothering to wipe his tears, Gendry turned to the men that remained.

He gathered them close, "We have no way off this ship without being captured, and the ironborn do not keep prisoners." He met each and every man's eye as equals, no matter what their house or birth, and said with a strength that belied his heartbreak and resignation, "I'm giving you an option to jump ship now, because I'm about to ask you all to give your lives to take these fuckers to the seven hell with us."

To their credit, not a single man moved.

Gendry nodded, jaw clenched, "In the captain's cabin, there are ten barrels of –

"The North!"

Gendry reeled. But the shout was echoed by both mainlanders and ironborn alike, all pausing in their desperate struggles.

For around the peninsula came at first one lone Stark warship, long and sleek as any of the Iron Fleet, and then two, then more. Gendry thought that perhaps the knock to the head was making him hallucinate, because coming their way was dozens, if not hundreds, of direwolf ships.

Ormund fell to his knees and openly wept, "Thank the Seven for the Starks."

Gendry felt like he had been reborn, vigour pulsing through him. The feeling was contagious. And so, when the third ironborn ship crashed into Gendry's ship, knocking them all to their arses once more, they arose angry and ready to throw themselves into the fray, wildfire forgotten.

Gendry led, his warhammer raised high and his voice eternal, "Kill the bastards!"

He sliced through the first ironborn's throat, so deep it was almost a beheading. The man's gristle lay bare to the world, the same as Duncan's had.

After that, he was pushed back slowly onto the deck. He used both sides of his warhammer, part axe and part true hammer, equally. Although, he thought as he crushed a man's kneecap and then his head, he did prefer the hammer side better.

His rage turned sour when he slipped in a pool of blood and his beloved hammer when sliding across the deck, under the dancing legs of men.

"Shit."

No other option, Gendry spotted a corpse with a fine-looking sword. He tried to rise, but slipped and fell again. An ironborn had finally noticed his struggle, and came with a bloody sword and a bloodier grin.

"Shit."

Gendry resorted to crawling, hoping the momentum of slippery decks made him faster than the other man. He was about to reach the sword when the ship lurched again, throwing the sword further away.

That's it. The gods obviously wanted him dead.

But instead of a descending sword, he instead heard a wet gurgle. Startled, he flipped over and was blinded, because it's only when he was in the midst of battle, slipping and sliding across the deck of a Redwyne ship, that he found out where his future was.

It was currently covered in blood, with a knife buried so deep in a man's ribs that her arm was practically in there as well.

"I thought you might need a hand," she grinned lazily, and he sighed for what he hoped was the final time.

Arya fucking Stark.

A/N: I've made a lot of assumptions with this story, e.g. the military strength of the Westerosi houses. I've assumed the population size has readjusted after all the shit going down in seasons 7 & 8 just so I can use similar military numbers from the books, but tbh it's unlikely.

Also just a note on the Mormonts: Dacey, Alysanne, Lyra, and Jorelle never existed in the show. To fit in with the show's canon, Maege and Dacey Mormont were killed at the Red Wedding, Alysanne was childless and was held under Riverrun with the other Northern lords, presumed dead and only returned once the Freys were ousted from Riverrun, while Lyra and Jorelle were younger than Lyanna at the time of the show. Alysanne is currently Lady of Bear Island, with two children.