After the dragon escaped his grasp the king locked himself in his chambers. Stuck in a dark temper tantrum. Trying to once again control the fiery beast. Failing.

Dragons were smart creatures. What had worked once wouldn't work again. He would have to find another way.

As he wallowed in his chambers bad news kept arriving. Fueling his anger even further.

If only he could have seen what was coming. If only Meera hadn't ruined everything. She and her bastard husband.

From the Highgarden came the news that Lord Lannister and Lord Arryn had been freed. Which once again put them on the board as possible players against him. They were corrupted and out of his grasp.

From Storm's End came the news that the castle was still in Baratheon hands. The dragonfire hadn't been enough. Somehow the walls still stood and the soldiers were still there. Meera and her damn child must still be there as well. But the king couldn't send more men because of the threat Lord Arryn and Lord Lannister now posed. If the king marched his men elsewhere they could attack the capital. Together with the remaining Lord Redwyne, who had been responsible for freeing them, their forces were not to be underestimated. Even if Lord Arryn hopefully still was afraid his secret would be revealed if he went against the king.

From Cape Wrath came the news that the Dornish attack on the Stormlands had failed. Arya Stark had arrived to help take out their fleet. Bran's sister. His siblings weren't supposed to betray him, that wasn't part of the plan. They were supposed to be loyal to the boy they assumed to be their brother. Why would Arya pick the bastard's side instead of his? Lord Baratheon was no one, and he should mean nothing to Arya.

And the worst news of all; Lord Baratheon was still alive. He had fallen, but he had got back up again. Weakened, but still standing. The king's man in the Stormlands, Lord Penrose, had fallen instead after his betrayal had been revealed.

The king had lost control. All the pieces he so carefully had put in place were blocked or taken out of the game.

This wasn't how the game was supposed to be played. His opponents didn't even know the rules, but somehow they still outplayed him.

The king was supposed to win.

And there was someone else. An unknown player had entered the game. Traveling the same dreams as himself. Revealing his moves to his opponents.

He sensed the presence of this player at times. He saw a glimpse of blond hair in his visions. He thought he knew who it was now.

The king escaped into his dreams. Trying to catch the intruder. Trying to find a way to win.

***

Gendry watched as Meera nursed their daughter beside him on the bed. She sat with her legs crossed and Joreen propped up on a pillow in her lap. They both looked so peaceful and content, and so was he. Despite a throbbing headache, a useless arm that was locked in place, and other lingering effects from his injuries.

His limbs were tired and heavy. It felt like they wouldn't quite obey his commands and any small movement exhausted him. His thoughts felt muddled which meant he couldn't focus on tasks for long and had a hard time remembering the things that were told to him.

It was all a bit much. Cortnay Penrose betraying them. Stannis saving Gendry. Bastian slaying the traitor. A dragon attacking Storm's End.

But despite his pain and struggles, Gendry was so happy to be alive and to be with his wife and daughter.

"You want to hold her for a moment?" his wife asked as the little girl seemed full.

"My arm doesn't work..." he replied.

"You got two arms, dear husband."

"I never was very good with my left though," Gendry said and sighed. "And my hold isn't very strong at the moment. I might drop her."

"You're on the bed. She won't drop, she'll just roll a little," Meera replied. "And I'll help you support her."

He nodded and put out his left arm so that Meera could put Joreen beside him. His wife put the little girl so she was nestled between his chest and arm, then she sat down beside him and put her hand on his arm to help him.

Joreen looked suspiciously at her father at first. Her dark hair had started to shape into curls, just like her mother's hair, and hung down over her forehead. She made some gurgling sounds and flailed her arms around. Then she fell asleep in his arms. Luckily feeding usually made her tired.

***

The towers of the city stretched all the way up to the sky. The buildings weren't carved out of stone or built by bricks but rather shaped out of one form like glass or clay. Uninterrupted fluid forms that looked like waves, waterfalls, and clouds. As if nature itself had been built into a city.

Among the icicle-like towers, dragons circled, not as enemies but as friends. They lived here, just like the people. The people who had learned to master the dragons. The Valyrians.

The king had never gone this far back before. But now he needed to know their secrets.

He traveled through the city. Not walking, but flying like a raven. Through walls, trees, and anything else that came in his way. Around him were smooth roads that didn't seem to wear and tear from shoes and wheels treading upon it. People dressed in gold and silk walked these roads. Perhaps at this time humanity would still have been worth saving. But it was too late now. The humans had corrupted themselves.

Even Valyria had fallen after all. They had doomed themselves in the quest for more knowledge and riches. They had dug too far under the ground and built too high on top of it until one day it all collapsed in a sea of fire.

Soon the king found himself at the heart of the city. This was where he sought was kept. The secret to controlling the fiery beast that had escaped his grasp.

But as he was about to pass through the door to the Dragon master's chambers his surroundings changed. The city turned into a field.

Something had changed. Someone had interfered with his vision.

The intruder.

***

"You should be resting," Davos said as he entered the room. Gendry had asked his wife to call for his advisor. "The maesters say it will take quite some time for your body to recover from that blow. You should be thankful you're still with us. I will deal with whatever needs to be dealt with in the meantime."

"I can't rest," Gendry said, speaking slowly to find the right words. His brain did not cooperate with him. "I can't rest when he's... coming for us. For my wife and daughter."

"The king still believes they're at Storm's End. As long as Lord Reed holds the castle that's what he'll believe. Your wife and daughter are safe here."

"For now... but he won't stop."

"We'll march and break the siege once we're victorious against the Dornish. Lady Stark is fighting them at Estermont and Commander Storm marched the land troops down along the coast to take back the castles we lost."

"Commander Storm? Who... my memory is not what it should be, although it's getting better."

"Bastian. I made him commander of your troops after he took out Lord Penrose. I hope you don't mind me promoting him."

"I don't mind. A bastard commander for a bastard lord. It's fitting. Bastian's young but he's brave and smart. He and Stannis saved me. I do remember Meera telling me that."

"Good to know your mind isn't totally lost," Davos said with a smile and patted Gendry's hand lightly. "You just need some time, and I will try to give you that. You might have to fight the king eventually but you need to heal first."

"With this arm, I'm not sure I will ever be able to fight again," he replied with a sigh. "The maesters won't tell me how bad it is, but I'm quite sure it's bad. Even if I keep it I'm not sure it'll be of much use."

"There's always a way to fight. Jaime Lannister wielded a sword after he lost his hand. I'm sure you can find a way to fight regardless of how bad your arm turns out to be."

"Jaime was a champion fighter, to begin with, I wasn't. I will be of no use now."

"Hand-to-hand combat isn't the only way to fight, son. You're a lord. Lords don't have to stand on the battlefield. They're leaders, symbols to rally behind. You're King Robert Baratheon's son. You're the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Nothing will change that."

"My father was a fighter, that's how he commanded respect."

"That was Robert's way, but maybe that's not the right way. I understand that you're concerned though. You're still a young man and you don't want to be impeded. But listen to this old man when I say that something will always impede you, and the only thing you can do is find a way to overcome whatever it is. It might seem dire but your broken arm might very well have saved your life. It stopped the blow from hitting your head full force, which probably would have killed you. It almost still did. So be thankful for what you have instead of dwelling on what you don't."

Gendry nodded, he was thankful. But he was also worried. Because he was stuck on this bed, unable to fight or do anything to protect his family, while the king was probably plotting against him.

***

The king turned around to see a boy, or rather a young man, standing behind him. A bit taller than when they last saw each other, but mostly the same. Dark melancholic eyes and blond unruly hair.

"Jojen Reed," the king snarled. "You died."

"Everyone dies," Jojen responded with a smirk. "But not everyone stays dead. Just like Bran Stark died when darkness took over. But he might not stay dead either."

"Bran Stark is gone."

"He's not. You're still him. I know you are. Underneath the darkness you are. You're Bran Stark, son of Ned Stark."

Bran was dead. Bran was weak. Bran was human. The king wasn't Bran.

Jojen wasn't strong enough to keep them wherever he had brought them. The tree seemed to have given him some powers but they were far from his own. The king focused on where he wanted to travel. To the secrets about the dragons.

That's when a man walked towards them on the field. Shoulder-length light brown hair and a serious expression. Sword at his side and shield on his back. So young back then.

Ned Stark.

Bran's father. His father.

The King lost focus on where he wanted to go. They stayed right where they were. On a field divided by a river that forked in two. The Trident river.

"You need to remember," Jojen said. "You need to remember what has happened before. Who our fathers were and what they did. How it ended that time, and how it will end again."

Ned Stark walked up on a hill and stood next to another man. Dark melancholic eyes and blond unruly hair, just like his son. Wrinkles had not yet appeared in the corners of Howland's eyes.

There was a big crowd of soldiers and noblemen gathered below the hill. Thousands it seemed.

Above them, stood a man dressed in yellow with antlers on his helmet. Black hair and blue eyes. Just like the bastard.

Robert Baratheon was taller and seemed more confident than his son. But they were also the same. They were Baratheons. Headstrong, passionate, and determined.

Robert spoke in a booming voice to the thousands of men gathered below the hill. Bran remembered the stories his father had told him and he traveled closer to hear what Robert said.

"...I will take him down," Robert bellowed in front of the cheering crowd. "I will take his crown. I will take his throne. I will take his power. I will take everything from him."

There was a short pause as Robert grabbed his war hammer from his belt. He raised it into the air.

"And I will be your king!" he shouted.

The men below cheered and raised their weapons in the air as well.

This wasn't where the rebellion started, but this was where it ended. At the Trident was where Robert staked his claim, and it was where the war was won. After the battle that was about to take place, there was no way for the crown to win.

The king realized that he had let Jojen distract him. It couldn't happen again. He focused his powers again on where he needed to be.

***

Gendry groaned as the maesters moved his arm out of the cradle. His wife sat by his side as they inspected his arm. He held her hand as they carefully turned it to check how it was healing. It hurt a lot.

"We could give you something for the pain, Lord Baratheon," one of them said. "It'll hurt more once we splint it."

Gendry shook his head. "My head is fuzzy enough as it is," he said. "I'll deal with the pain."

It was getting better though in the weeks that had been since he woke up. His head hurt less and his mind was able to comprehend and remember most things told to him.

"Can you move your fingers?" the maester asked.

Pain radiated up his elbow and shoulder as he tried to control the injured arm but eventually, his fingers flexed. It took a lot of effort, but they did move.

"The arm is healing better than we expected," the maester said and nodded.

"Will I be able to use it?" Gendry asked.

"It probably won't regain full function but it shouldn't be completely useless for you either. Time will tell."

"Will I be able to hold my daughter? Or wield a hammer?"

"I think you'll be able to hold the child. I'm don't know about the hammer though."

"My daughter is more important anyway."

He heard Joreen screaming through the walls, she seemed less than pleased to be left in Marya's care. Little as she was, his daughter was already an opinionated little lady.

Gendry gritted his teeth and squeezed Meera's hand as the maesters splinted and bandaged his arm. Then they placed it in a sling around his neck. It felt unwieldy and clumsy but at least he could sit up on the bed now, which he had been unable to do as long as the arm was in the cradle.

"Can I try to get up from the bed?" he asked. He was damned tired of being stuck on that bed.

"You could try," the maester said. "But only a few steps. Your head is still healing and you shouldn't overexert yourself."

They called on Davos to help Gendry finally rise from the bed. With Davos' hand on his back, he tried to get up to a standing position. His limbs felt heavy and controlling them was an effort. But he eventually he was standing. Now it was time to try to take the first step.

It was like he no longer remembered how to walk, the mechanics of it scrubbed from his brain. He tried to tell his feet to move but they wouldn't quite listen. The movements were not what he planned. Perhaps they had gone unused for too long and his body had forgotten how to execute the action.

Then there was the headache. It started as soon as he stood up and got worse as he tried to move. It radiated from the spot where he had been hit and overwhelmed him with its intensity. He felt nauseous and faint.

He felt Davos catch him as he stumbled. "I think you might need to sit down, son," he said. "That's enough for today."

As he leaned back on the bed again he felt exhausted. From standing up. And any flicker of light or small sound made his headache even worse.

This recovery was going to take some time. Hopefully, they had time.

***

As the smooth streets of Valyria once again took shape around him Jojen knew the King was once again in control. It was unavoidable. The king was much stronger. Jojen couldn't win against him. He could only stall and distract.

In the green dreams, time passed differently. What seemed like mere minutes were actually weeks.

His plan had worked. Seeing Ned Stark had rattled the King. He had forgotten who he was, or perhaps remembered who he really was. He was Bran Stark still.

Jojen had tried to show Bran the unavoidable storm that was coming. It had happened before and it would happen again.

But before that Jojen needed to give his sister and her husband time. Time for Gendry to recover enough to do what he needed to do.

Then it would all happen again, and it would end the same. It always did.

It was always the same story, but always a different story as well. Because they were not their fathers and their fathers weren't them.

Author's Note: I'm trying out a new narrative device here... hopefully it works :)

This chapter will continue into another part (or perhaps two) but I need to do some more editing on the rest before it's ready to publish.