"King of the Narrow Sea?" Gendry repeated, savoring the title. To others, it might sound glorious, but to him, it meant something far greater. He was no longer just a warrior or a commander—he was about to become the sole ruler of the Narrow Sea, the Stepstone Islands, the Contested Lands, and the Three Cities Alliance.
"King of the Narrow Sea is no new title!" Maester Qyburn reminded him. "Many have claimed that crown throughout history—the King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones has risen and fallen countless times."
"This crown," Gendry said quietly, "is not so easily earned. Perhaps only by winning over the third daughter can it truly be called a crown."
He knew this was a golden opportunity. The Ironborn and Dornish were still recovering from their wars, and the fragile alliance of the three cities—Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh—had collapsed. None of them had the strength or focus to look eastward. It was a rare window of time. If he could fully conquer the Stepstone Islands, he would control the sea routes between Myr and Tyrosh—cutting off their lifelines and securing the Narrow Sea for himself.
Gendry turned his gaze toward the pirates kneeling on the deck of the black ship. These men had once come from Westeros, Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr—but now they were all pirates. They knelt before him like lambs before the slaughter, trembling, begging for mercy. Yet, remembering their years of plunder and bloodshed, no one in his company felt inclined to forgive them.
"Tell Harris," Gendry ordered, "to split the fleet into two groups. One will continue patrolling the Narrow Sea—blockading Bloodstone Island and Grey Gallows Island, watching for any support from the Lyseni fleet. The other will sail immediately to Mil Harbor. I have given the people of Mil many chances."
He could have simply used his catapults to annihilate Mil from afar, but brute force would only rally the city-states and their people against him. Too much bloodshed would unite his enemies. Gendry also valued what Mil possessed—its artisans, its craftwork, its ships. He wanted Mil intact.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"And you!" Gendry's voice turned to the pirates still kneeling before him. "Now is the time to prove your loyalty. My fleet will soon strike at Myr from the sea—you will be the vanguard. You've made your living on the waves; do not disappoint me. Serve me well, and you will share in the spoils."
Killing these men outright would have been wasteful. Better to let them serve a purpose—to turn their lawless skill against Myr itself.
"We are willing to join the Wolf Pack Fleet!" cried one of the pirates.
"We are willing to serve the Commander-in-Chief!" shouted another.
They dared not meet his eyes. Those who had defied him earlier had already been slain by the Gunpowder King and his Unsullied guards. The surviving pirates understood the choice before them: die now, or gamble their lives in his service. Faced with such odds, even desperate men found obedience preferable to execution.
Milton—a shining city of artisans built in white marble, its towers rising above a bay of silver-blue water—was now gripped by fear.
"Mil is doomed!" many governors cried.
The nobles and slave owners had retreated into the fortified inner city, abandoning the outer districts to chaos. They no longer trusted the commoners or slaves who filled the outer streets. Slave uprisings were spreading, and the once-proud city guard was powerless to restore order.
The ruling governors of Mil could now rely only on their private militias and hired mercenaries. The wiser among them had already fled with their families and treasures to Pentos or Lys, leaving the rest to face ruin.
"Bloodbeard is dead! Titan's Bastard is dead!"
"The Cat Gang is gone! The Spear Gang has defected! The Wind Gang won't fight, and the Golden Gang refuses orders!"
Bad news poured into the governor's council chambers like a flood. Since the corpses of Bloodbeard, Titan's Bastard, and the Death Governor had been returned to Myr, despair and fear had consumed the city. The governors no longer trusted their mercenaries or their citizens. Their armies had been broken, their allies scattered. The only force capable of standing against Gendry—the Golden Company—had chosen neutrality, and rumor said they had secretly joined with the Wolf Pack.
From Mil's high city walls, the people could see the three massive siege engines looming to the east—monstrous catapults known as the "Three Wolf Crows." Ironically, they had once been built to defend Mil against Gendry's armies, but now they stood ready to hurl destruction upon Mil itself.
A long stretch of the Valyrian Road led straight toward the city's eastern gates, and along it, the Free Army's camp sprawled in disciplined formation. Deep trenches ringed the encampment, lined with sharpened stakes. Rows of tents stood in perfect order, with wide pathways between them. The banners of the Free Army flew high—gray and white wolves against storm-blue cloth.
Armored soldiers patrolled the perimeter with crossbows and rifles, and along the other two sides of Mil, more Free Army detachments formed a tightening noose.
"Mil is surrounded on three sides!" the citizens whispered. Everyone knew the truth—the wolves had seized every vassal town and estate belonging to Mil. Trade routes were cut, merchant ships were captured or sunk, and famine began to stalk the city.
The slave masters prayed desperately for aid—from Tyrosh, from Lys, from Pentos, even from mighty Volantis—but no help came.
Then one morning, a cry went up from the watchtowers.
"At sea! There's a fleet approaching!"
"Our reinforcements have arrived!"
The people of Mil crowded onto the ramparts, gazing toward the horizon where black specks appeared on the glittering waves. The outlines of ships slowly took shape—sleek, fast-moving vessels. The Myrians wept with joy. Their pleas for help, they thought, had finally been answered.
But as the ships drew nearer, hope turned to horror. The banners that snapped in the wind bore no familiar sigils—not the three-headed god of Tyrosh, nor the goddess of pleasure of Lys, nor the black tiger of Volantis. Instead, they saw the banner of the gray and white wolf—the standard of the Free Army, the same army that had shattered their defenses and broken their chains.
"What are the Tyroshi doing?" cried one governor.
"They let the Wolf Fleet slip through their patrols! The Stepstone Islands must already have fallen—or the Tyroshi have surrendered!"
A deep horn blast echoed from the Free Army camp outside the city.
"Boom!" "Boom!" "Boom!"
The siege horns of the wolves sounded again, shaking the ground beneath Mil's marble towers. The catapults that had been hurling stones now flung leaflets over the walls instead—messages of surrender.
"Long live the Free Army!"
"Long live the Free Army!"
The chants rose like thunder from the plains. Steel Fist and Gray Wolf led their soldiers from the trenches, the Free Army surging forward in tight formation. The "Three Wolf Crows" catapults turned once more, launching fire and stone upon the city's walls—delivering final judgment on Mil's fate.
The Wolf Pack's fleet entered the harbor from the sea. Mil's warships, undermanned and commanded by trembling captains, offered only token resistance. Many of their crews were slaves, their loyalty uncertain. Some ships fled, pretending to seek reinforcements, while others were captured outright.
Within hours, Gendry's banners flew over the docks.
"Beautiful ships," he murmured as he surveyed the captured fleet. "My grand navy is finally complete."
The Mil fleet was far larger and finer than his own collection of converted merchant vessels and pirate ships. Now, with their sleek hulls and polished prows under his command, Gendry possessed a true fleet—one worthy of a king.
Inside the city, chaos reigned.
The slaves rose in open revolt, breaking chains and storming their masters' mansions. They overturned the old order, shouting the slogans of freedom. The streets burned with vengeance.
"Down with the slave masters!"
"Freedom for Mil!"
Some of the city gates were thrown open from within, allowing the Free Army to surge through.
"The inner city has fallen!" cried a soldier, breathless with disbelief.
"The inner city has fallen! The Second Sons have opened the gates!"
Then came an even greater shock: the Second Sons—mercenaries infamous for their shifting loyalties—had once again betrayed their employers. This time, they had opened the gates not against the Wolf Pack, but for them, ushering Gendry's soldiers into the heart of Mil.
The city that had once been a beacon of art and industry now burned in the smoke of its own downfall.
By dusk, the banners of the Free Army flew from every tower. The people of Mil—slave and citizen alike—watched as Gendry Baratheon, the Storm's Bastard turned Wolf King, rode through the gates of the conquered city.
The King of the Narrow Sea had claimed his crown.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)