Stepping onto the makeshift stage, Gendry forced every ounce of doubt from his mind. This wasn't the time to ponder whether he belonged there or whether he was doing the right thing. At this moment, he needed to be confident. He needed to feel it, he needed to embrace it, he needed to exude it. Because if he wasn't confident, no one else would be.

He knew this because he'd been on the other side. He'd stood in the crowd while Jon Snow spoke to a crowd of men, all ready to fight for him. Gendry had believed whole-heartedly in Jon then, and now, he needed everyone to believe in him like he'd believed in Jon that day. He needed these men to fight for him.

No matter how ridiculous that notion was.

He chased the thought away. If he let the surrealness of this situation sink in, he wouldn't be able to do what he needed.

And if he didn't do what was needed, then Meera would never return to him. And that option was unthinkable.

This was for her, for Joreen, and for the unborn child.

So Gendry lifted his gaze toward the gathered crowd outside Hayford Castle. With eyes as blue as his father, he didn't waver as thousands of eyes stared back at him. Men from the Stormlands. Men from the Westerlands. Men from the Vale. Men from the Reach. Men from the Neck. Men from the North. Men from beyond the wall. Men who had taken the black.

Lords, commoners, and bastards. Gendry had been all of them. Today, he was none of those things anymore. Today, he was a rebel, an usurper, and a pretender for the throne. Today, he was the Storm, sweeping the kingdom and uprooting everyday life.

He wasn't nervous. He couldn't allow such emotions to rattle him. He knew what he was going to say. This wasn't like that first time when he rallied the Baratheon troops in the Neck. The day before he met Meera. It felt like yesterday and it felt like forever ago.

Back then Gendry hadn't thought he would ever get used to being a Baratheon. But as he stood there, overlooking the men who would fight for him, a weird sense of calm instilled itself in his belly. He felt like this moment was what everything in his life had led up to. He felt centered and assured. He felt like he was meant to be there. Right there and then, he was this man that everyone thought he was. He was Gendry Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The son of a king. And he was going to get his wife back. No matter who stood in the way and what he would have to do.

The gathered men were quiet, all waiting for him to speak. All that was heard was the wind rattling leaves and grass.

Gendry looked over toward Davos, who together with Devan and Jon had walked up on one side of the stage. Behind them, not too keen on the spotlight, stood Howland Reed; Gendry's father-in-law; and Bastian Storm; his commander. Lord Arryn, Lord Lannister, Lord Marbrand, and Lord Redwyne had gathered on the other side.

Davos gave Gendry an approving nod, telling him it was time. Gendry cleared his throat. "I greet you all welcome. No matter who you are. Whether you're a lord, commoner, or bastard, I need you just as much," he started, letting the words land before continuing. "For those who don't know me: I am Lord Gendry Baratheon. And I'm here to fight a war. A war for the kingdom, for the throne, and or the future."

He took a moment to look at the faces of the men who would fight for him. Some of them would die for him. That was the inevitability of war. Anyone who started such a fight carried that burden. And it did weigh heavy on Gendry's shoulders.

Someone would never return to their wife. Someone would never see their children grow up.

"It's a war that's been fought before," Gendry continued, raising his voice so everyone would hear. "My father, Robert Baratheon, fought this war long ago. He already won this war. But I am not my father, just like you aren't your fathers. And this isn't our fathers' war."

Using his left arm, Gendry raised his warhammer in the air.

"This is our war!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

The men on the field followed suit. "This is our war!" they chanted in unison.

When the chanting quieted down Gendry continued speaking, fired up by the response. His voice grew louder with every word.

"It's not just a war for my children," he yelled. "It's a war for everyone's children. So they don't have to fight the same wars as we did. And if you fight this war for me, if you win this war for me, I will fight for all of you today and every day for the rest of my life! Because, I, Gendry Baratheon, will sit on that throne. I will rule the kingdom. But I won't be the kind of king my father was. I won't be like any other king. Because I am not like them. I am just like anyone of you. I am a bastard, a blacksmith, and a warrior. I'm a husband and a father. I am a man who knows what it's like to have no power at all, and I will never forget how that feels like. So if you aid me in gaining the ultimate power of this kingdom, I promise I will in turn give that power back to you to ensure that you can care for your children as I care for mine."

He lifted his warhammer in the air again, ignited by the feedback from the crowd. At that moment, he believed his own words. He believed he could be everything he said he could be. He believed that sitting on that throne would give him the power to fight for the powerless child he had once been himself. "For our children!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"For our children!" the men replied, swords waving in the air.

Lowering his warhammer, Gendry reveled in the continued cheering from the crowd. Their belief in him made him believe in himself. He only hoped he wouldn't let them down.

As he turned his back, getting ready to exit the stage, the cheers suddenly quieted. A weak voice cut through the silence, "Lord Baratheon!" it called, "We need you!"

Gendry turned back to see the crowd parting to make room for a young boy, still running at undeterred speed.

"Steffon!" Devan gasped, jumping down from the stage to come to the aid of his brother. Their father was close behind, although not as agile in jumping as his son he opted for the stairs.

Steffon fell into the arms of his older brother. "Dev..." He said, letting himself get swallowed up by the safe embrace. "You're here."

Devan sat down, cradling his exhausted brother, whose cheeks were flushed and hair was standing in all directions. Gendry crouched down to try to figure out why the boy was there. Steffon should be safe and sound at Storm's End with his mother and Stannis. He should be tending to Joreen, who he'd sworn to never leave unprotected.

"How did you get here, Steff?" Davos asked, confused to see his ten-year-old son miles from where he should be, without any adult companion to keep him safe.

"I ran," Steffon mumbled. "I hitched a ride with a wagon for a while, carrying turnips, to get out of the Stormlands. I told the farmer I was looking for my father. A group of knights from The Reach let me ride with them the last way, as they were also traveling here. We arrived just as all the troops gathered."

It seemed a ten-year-old boy with initiative and drive could travel the kingdom with surprising ease, as no one could see any danger in his movements.

"Why did you come here?" Gendry asked, dreading the answer.

"To tell you that Storm's End is under attack," Steffon answered, confirming Gendry's nagging suspicions. "They're coming for Lady Joreen, I know it. So I had to leave to save her. I couldn't trust anyone else to deliver that message, so I went myself, even though Stann told me not to."

"Who is attacking?" Gendry asked, already making plans in his head. The king must have realized he'd left Storm's End without much defense to be able to march on the capital. He must be going after Joreen, knowing Gendry would do anything to keep her safe. And Gendry could do nothing but play right into the king's hands, right as he was about to march on the capital. Because while Meera was in danger as well, she would never forgive him for forsaking their daughter's safety in favor of her own.

"I don't know," Steffon replied. "Stannis said it may be both Dorne and the King's fleet but I don't think he knows as much as he thinks. Ships are coming from the sea, hundreds of them. Stann won't be able to hold the castle for long. You need to come there and save them." Trying to cover up flooding tears, Steffon covered his face in Dev's jacket.

Gendry looked at Davos, who looked back, giving him a faint nod. They both knew what needed to be done. They couldn't leave their families to fend for themselves. Storm's End may never have been taken but that didn't mean it couldn't be done. Not when all that was left to defend it was a teenage boy with a few hundred men in his command.

"How long can he hold it?" Gendry asked Davos, relying on both his expertise in military matters and his insight into his son's skills.

"A week or so... maybe a bit longer if circumstances are in his favor," Davos sighed. "When did you leave from there, Steff?" Gendry could see the strategic calculations going on in his advisor's head. Traveling from Storm's End toward the capital usually took at least a week, if you had an eager horse to rely on.

"Eight... or maybe nine days ago," Steffon replied. "I can't remember."

"It'll be more than two weeks since the attack once we get there then," Davos surmised, hope seeping from his eyes."Stannis is a smart boy though. He may come up with something that will buy them some time."

Gendry trusted Stannis but he knew the odds were stacked against him. Someone needed to come to his aid. Fast.

"We'll leave at first light tomorrow," Gendry decided, quickly and without hesitation. "I need to protect my daughter at any cost. I'll bring most of my men to march toward Storm's End. Davos and Devan will come with me, as their families are there too." He turned toward the other lords, his gaze immediately falling on a man he knew would be able to step into his boots. Because he'd been there before himself. "Jon," he said. "I'll entrust the remaining troops and the command of the rebellion in your hands in my absence. I trust you to make sure the men are prepared to march on the capital once I return."

Despite a pained expression on his face, Jon nodded. "I won't let you down Lord Baratheon," he just said.

Walking away from the stage toward Hayford Castle, where a plan would be made for the march toward Storm's End, there was only one objective in Gendry's mind: he needed to protect his daughter. Because if Joreen wasn't safe, everything would be for naught.