The boundless sky stretched over the blue sea, reflecting the brilliance of the beautiful white city ahead. The great gates of Myr stood wide open, and an endless array of warships—large and small—filled the harbor, blockading the coast.
Grey and white banners fluttered in the wind, and as the triumphant knights marched into the city, the clamor of battle gave way to a heavy silence. Steelfist had already led part of the Free Army inside to maintain order, aided by Brown Man's Second Sons regiment.
Gendry rode atop his sturdy Dornish steed, his gaze sweeping over the city of Myr—the City of Artisans, the fairest of the three daughters.
Behind him followed five hundred of his most elite Wolf Pack knights, all clad in black plate armor, their ranks resembling a forest of steel. Next came the pike regiment, less imposing but equally disciplined, and behind them marched the infantry of the Wolf Pack and the Free Army.
"Long live freedom! Long live the Commander-in-Chief!"
The roar of liberated slaves filled the streets. They flooded every avenue, cheering their liberators. Yet among the crowds, the city's nobles and governors were conspicuously absent. Some had fled, others hid in their manors. In Myr, the ratio of slaves to free citizens was roughly three or four to one; the slaves were, without doubt, the majority.
"Don't damage those beautiful workshops and docks—it would be a waste," Gendry said to the spearman beside him. "And I don't want to hear of looting or raping in the chaos."
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief!" replied Long Spear, saluting sharply before departing with a squad of Free Army soldiers.
During the siege, the city had fallen into anarchy. Bands of rioters and criminals prowled the streets—former mercenaries, escaped slaves, and opportunistic robbers taking advantage of the confusion. But as the disciplined army entered the city, order was swiftly restored, and the lawless were ruthlessly purged.
Maintaining order was paramount. In this age, few armies were truly disciplined. Tywin Lannister's soldiers, and even the Northern warlords, were infamous for their cruelty; Tywin himself had allowed his men to ravage the Riverlands like dogs of war. Only a handful of commanders—Stannis Baratheon and Randyll Tarly among them—were known for their strict discipline.
To prevent chaos, Gendry had divided responsibilities among his officers: Steelfist would handle order, Sir Cobb intelligence, Handsome would oversee the city's wealth and spoils, and Captain Harris would control the fleet. It was a system designed for efficiency and accountability.
My army, my steel—they must be disciplined and resolute, Gendry thought. The Wolf Pack prided itself on its discipline, and even the Free Army, drawn from the oppressed lower classes, proved far more reliable than any band of mercenaries.
"Ben Brown," Gendry said, turning to the kneeling man before him. "You led the Second Sons through hardship and humiliation. Your service has been considerable."
"I am but a loyal servant of the Commander-in-Chief," Brown Man replied, trembling. "I dare not claim any credit."
In truth, the Second Sons had sided with Myr's governors, but when defeat loomed, they had thrown open the city gates to let the Wolf Pack in. With only a few hundred men, they had little choice. Against overwhelming power, schemes and betrayals meant nothing.
"You've done well," Gendry said evenly. "I expect you to remain in Myr and help maintain order. You know these old Myrish nobles better than most."
"Yes…" Brown Man swallowed hard. The task would make him many enemies. The old nobility still held influence, and rooting them out would draw their hatred. Yet he had already betrayed them; there was no turning back now.
"Enter the city!" Gendry commanded, raising his whip.
The columns moved forward once more. Myr—the first great city he had conquered—lay before him. Yet victory on the battlefield did not mean complete triumph. The old order still lingered, hiding in the shadows, plotting to return.
Myr was in disarray. Its governors had fled, and their once-proud regime had collapsed like a withered leaf scattered by the autumn wind. Many noble mansions stood empty, their owners vanished.
Gendry established his headquarters in the Governor's Mansion—a grand white estate at the heart of the city. In its elegant council chamber, he met with the white-haired Qyburn to discuss the city's future.
"Myr is the first major city under our control," Gendry said, studying the maps spread before him. "The administrative system we establish here will become the foundation for all others."
"Conquering Myr is only the beginning," he continued. "The true challenge is ruling it in the long term."
Qyburn nodded thoughtfully. "Short-term conquest is meaningless; true domination endures."
He recalled history's lessons: after the Bloody Century, all three Daughters—Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh—had been conquered repeatedly, yet each had eventually reclaimed its freedom. Volantis had once ruled Myr and Lys for two generations. Later, Tyrosh had been under the control of the cunning Silvertongue Aquis for nearly a decade during the War of the Ninepenny Kings.
"Destruction brings rebirth," Gendry said. "If Myr's old order cannot bring peace, then we shall forge a new one. We will rely on freed slaves and common citizens to stand against the old slave traders and nobles. Only then will Myr truly change."
It was the world he envisioned—a realm free of chains, where power was earned by merit and loyalty, not birthright. After the abolition of slavery, many of the newly freed flocked to his banner, willing to fight for a new life.
Qyburn's expression grew grave. "What concerns me most is the shifting balance of power. Every time a nation has tried to dominate the Three Daughters, others have risen to oppose it. When Volantis expanded, Braavos, Pentos, and even the Stormlands stood against them. And if we abolish slavery, our greatest threat will again be Volantis—especially with Tyrosh and Lys so close."
Gendry nodded. "While we prepare for war, we must also restore Myr's strength. I will reorganize its power structure completely. There will be no Governor's Council. Instead, we'll establish a new City Council filled with runaway slaves, artisans, and merchants loyal only to us. Myr will have no governor. I will serve as its interim Consul until a new order is secure."
Qyburn smiled faintly. "Govern. That's a good word. The meaning is clear from the first syllable."
For now, Gendry would rule as Consul, but his ambitions reached farther. Only after subduing Lys and Tyrosh could he truly claim to be King of the Narrow Sea.
Just then, footsteps echoed down the marble hall. Captain Harris, commander of the Wolf Pack fleet, entered with a wide grin.
"A tremendous prize, Commander-in-Chief!" he announced. "All one hundred and forty ships of the Myrish fleet remain in port. They're ours now! Only seventy escaped with the fleeing governors."
"In other words," Gendry said, rising from his chair, "we now command the seas."
"Yes, Commander!" Harris replied proudly. "When combined, our fleets form a force greater than any single realm's. The Ironborn fleet in Westeros fields about a hundred ships, the Redwyne fleet has around two hundred, and the royal fleet totals two hundred and ten."
Gendry considered this. "And with the ships of Myr added to ours?"
"Our total stands at one hundred and forty major warships," Harris said. "Alongside them, we have two hundred smaller vessels stationed throughout the Stepstones, plus countless transports, cargo ships, and merchant vessels. In naval power, we are now unmatched in the Narrow Sea."
A slow smile spread across Gendry's face. From the black-armored knights of the Wolf Pack to the liberated people of Myr, his dominion was expanding—by steel, by sea, and by will.
The Conqueror of Myr had risen, and the Narrow Sea would soon tremble beneath his banners.
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