"Bloodbeard is dead, and the Cat Company is wiped out!"
"The Second Sons surrender! The Long Spear Regiment surrenders!"
The fall of the Cat Company tolled a death knell for Myr—a grim omen for its governors and slave masters. The slaves of Tyrosh and Lys, hearing of Myr's collapse, rose in agitation. Chaos and rebellion swept across the cities.
In this war, the Wolf Pack and the Free Army had won a resounding victory.
Bloodbeard's Cat Company, once fierce and feared, was annihilated after its leader fell in battle. The Second Sons, whose commander—the "Titan's Bastard" Mero—was slain by Gendry, laid down their arms under their new leader, Brown Ben Plumm. Brown Ben, however, would later claim he could not abide the Wolf Pack's control and "rejoined" Myr's service.
The Long Spear Regiment defected mid-battle, swearing allegiance to the Wolf Pack.
Meanwhile, Myr's three governors, who had retreated with two thousand mercenaries and slave guards, were overwhelmed by a slave revolt. Some were captured by Gendry's men; others fled back to Myr in disgrace to deliver the disastrous news.
Myrish warships that had supported the army hastily retreated to Myr's harbor upon hearing of the army's destruction.
Rumors spread that the Golden Company had secretly aided Gendry's forces, but regardless of the truth, one thing was certain: in the Disputed Lands, no armed host remained capable of challenging the Wolf Pack and the Free Army.
"Long live freedom!"
Across the Disputed Lands, cries of rebellion echoed. The slave uprisings at the Three Daughters' Manors grew fiercer by the day. Many plantation lords had already fled back to the cities before the Free Army even arrived. Aside from the chaotic hub of mercenary activity known as "Crown Town," and a few vassal estates near the Three Daughters, the Disputed Lands had fallen entirely to the Wolves and their allies.
The Wolf Pack's influence soon spilled beyond these territories, spreading into Myr's vassal lands like wildfire.
Their advance was relentless, reminiscent of the wars of the Ninepenny Kings. Yet their methods were entirely different. The Ninepenny Kings had ruled through mercenaries, pirates, and gold, holding sway by force and fear. Gendry's Free Army, however, conquered manors and liberated slaves, transforming them into laborers and soldiers—a living tide of freedom.
At the edge of Myr, Gendry's three massive siege engines stood like mountains, casting long shadows over the city's walls. Myr now stood isolated—its port and lands surrounded by the Wolf Pack.
Each catapult had been given a name: "Wolfpack," "Liberator," and "Freedom." The sight of these towering engines alone was enough to fill Myr's governors with dread.
"Commander-in-Chief, you clearly have the strength to take Myr," said a burly, dark-skinned man beside Gendry. "So why don't you strike?"
The man was Ser Jorah Mormont, once of Bear Island—an exiled knight from the North. Though middle-aged and balding, his frame was still powerful, his arms thick with muscle. A soldier of both honor and exile, Jorah had become a valuable ally—one who understood the politics of Westeros and now fought to regain his worth under a new banner.
Gendry stood gazing at Myr's distant walls, the faint light of dawn glinting off his steel armor.
"There's no rush, Jorah," he said calmly. "War is not a game. I don't want my beloved Myr—the city of craftsmen—reduced to ashes."
Myr was no ordinary city. In Gendry's eyes, it was the crown jewel of the Free Cities: a haven of artisans, the source of weapons, armor, and endless wealth. To destroy it would be folly.
Jorah nodded, understanding. For him, this campaign was also redemption—a chance to prove himself to the Wolf King. Even if the North had cast him out, carving a place for himself in these lands was a new beginning.
While Myr remained under siege, Gendry bled it dry. The city's governors, desperate to stave off total ruin, paid immense reparations in gold. From captured nobles, Gendry seized warships and armories, turning their own strength against them.
"Our next goal lies elsewhere," Gendry said one evening to his closest companions—the Handsome Man, the Long Spear, the Steel Fist, and Jorah the Bear.
"So what's your next move?" Jorah asked.
Gendry only smiled, his eyes glinting like polished iron. He appeared poised to strike Myr, but his mind was already elsewhere. His true aim was not the city before him—it was the Stepstone Islands.
"If we seize the Stepstones," he said finally, "we'll encircle both Tyrosh and Myr—by land and sea. Tyrosh will choke before they realize what's happening."
He still remembered Tyrosh's treachery—their fleet's betrayal in Myr's last war. Now, vengeance and strategy aligned.
"I've planted spies inside Myr," Gendry continued. "Outside, we've taken their estates and granaries, and built our catapults. When the final step is in place, we'll see how long they can endure."
War, to him, was not merely battle—it was politics in motion. Military victory laid the foundation for lasting rule.
"A direct assault won't work against the Third Daughter," he mused. "Her cities are ruled by merchants and cheesemongers, not soldiers. To conquer them, you need ships, not swords."
Jorah frowned. "Will all this movement in the Disputed Lands draw King Robert's attention?"
The Handsome Man nodded thoughtfully. "Ser Jorah, you know King Robert better than any of us. What do you think he'll do?"
"The Robert I once knew was a great warrior," Jorah said grimly. "But that man's long gone. The crown now dances to Lord Jon Snow's tune."
He gave a low chuckle. "I met the king once, during the Ironborn Rebellion. He was bold then—a true knight, fierce and handsome. Now? He's just a fat drunk, chasing women, wine, and the ghosts of old battles."
"Other than whoring, drinking, and hunting, he likely cares only for exterminating the last Targaryens," Jorah went on. "He hated Prince Rhaegar more than anyone. The Free Cities' wars won't trouble him."
"Even so," said the Long Spear cautiously, "the Iron Throne still holds power. Eddard Stark, Jaime Lannister, Stannis Baratheon, Randyll Tarly—men like them could still act."
"Perhaps," Gendry replied, "but the Iron Throne's reach ends at the Narrow Sea. Robert's realm is too divided to interfere here."
He turned his gaze toward the horizon. "Our greater concern lies eastward. Myr's envoys are already seeking allies in Tyrosh, Lys, and Volantis. Some even whisper they've gone as far as Slaver's Bay."
"Volantis!" Jorah spat. "That serpent's nest once invaded Myr. It could do so again."
"True," Gendry agreed, "but remember—Volantis is ruled by the Elephant Party now. They're merchants, not soldiers. They won't stand idly by as the slave trade collapses, but they're cautious."
The Elephant Party, he explained, had governed Volantis for centuries after the Bloody Century wars. Comprised of traders and lenders, they believed in conquering the world through commerce, not conquest. Many of their founding members had even been women—visionaries who helped overthrow the old Tiger Party. Since then, the Elephants had controlled most consulships and trade routes.
"Still," Gendry said, "they rarely march to war. Even if they plan one, they'll wait for the next election. Only when the Tiger Party returns will they act."
He spoke with certainty. His network of spies was vast—Qyburn's agents, Golden Company informants, and sailors loyal to him. Information was his sharpest blade.
"Besides Volantis," Jorah said suddenly, "we should also worry about the Ironborn."
The room fell silent. Even Gendry's expression darkened.
"The Ironborn have recovered since their last defeat," Jorah said grimly. "They're greedy raiders, ever hungry for gold and glory. They've already begun harassing the Disputed Lands and the Stepstones. It wouldn't surprise me if they turned their longships against us next."
"Then let them come," Gendry said coldly. "We'll feed them to the sea."
His voice carried the weight of iron—unyielding, dangerous, and absolute.
The Great Bear gave a half-smile. "Aye. But remember, Commander—the sea's teeth are sharp. Even wolves can drown."
Gendry looked out once more toward Myr, its towers gleaming faintly under the fading sun. Smoke rose from distant manors; ships drifted idly in the harbor, too afraid to sail. Around him, the Free Army camp bustled with life—liberated slaves, Northern knights, and mercenaries now bound by one name: the Wolves.
"Let them fear," Gendry said quietly. "Fear is the first step toward freedom."
The Great Bear crossed his arms, nodding slowly. "Then we'll give them plenty to fear."
The wind carried their words eastward—toward Myr, toward the sea, and toward the uncertain dawn of a new age.
The Wolf Pack had conquered the Disputed Lands. But the world beyond the Narrow Sea was vast, and Gendry Baratheon's storm was only beginning to rise.
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