The sea wind howled. To the heavy, rhythmic beat of the oar master's drums, the smuggling ship fled Myr's harbor before the sun had even touched the horizon.
"Winter is coming! The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives!"
The chant echoed in the swaying cabin of the *Mead*, a solemn promise renewed in the face of loss. Beneath the tattered grey and white banner of the Wolf Pack, the surviving mercenaries swore their allegiance to Gendry, their new commander. Handsome was the first to kneel, laying his longsword at Gendry's feet. Dick the Fletch, Steel-Fist, Longspear, and all the others followed. Obedience and loyalty were emotions bred into the bones of Northmen. Gendry's courage had won their respect; his strength had conquered their doubts.
He slid the heavy, iron-and-bronze ring onto his finger and looked at the men before him: Qyburn, the disgraced maester; Dick, the aging legend; Handsome, the crippled warrior; and the weary, battle-hardened veterans. It was a broken little force, but it was his. It was the beginning of everything.
"Rise, my brothers," Gendry said, his voice ringing with a newfound authority.
"I have lost an arm," Handsome said, his voice rough. "I can no longer fight. I volunteer to be the new commander's aide." Gendry nodded. The man was honorable and forthright. He would be a valuable advisor.
"The previous appointments will not be changed," Gendry declared. "Handsome will be our quartermaster and my second-in-command. Steel-Fist will continue to lead the knights, Longspear the infantry, and Dick our archers. Qyburn will be our physician." In this chaotic new world, stability was paramount. The men nodded their agreement.
"Now, we unite," Gendry said, raising his fist. "Only then will we have the strength to deal with Magister Joey. We will make him, and the pirate-merchants of Myr, regret the day they crossed us. The Wolf Pack never forgets!"
"The old Wolf's Den is no longer safe," Handsome warned. "It is too close to Myr, and without the Magister's protection, it will be overrun."
"Then we will take Firegrass Manor," Gendry said. The estate had belonged to Karasso. Now it was ripe for the taking. "It is far from Myr and close to the coast. The steward and the slaves there are our friends." He paused, a hard look in his eyes. "We need men. The more, the better. We were once wary of the Myrmen, but now, why not liberate the manor slaves and openly oppose Myr? Let us ignite the Disputed Lands, stir up chaos, and free the slaves from their masters."
A murmur of agreement ran through the men, quickly growing to a roar. The gods of the North and the new gods of the South both abhorred slavery. Westerosi had a natural hatred for it. And now, they had a personal vendetta against the masters of Myr.
"Joey also has several firegrass manors," Gendry added. "They are his money bags. We will take our provisions from the enemy."
A moment later, Salladhor Saan swept into the cabin, a wide grin on his face. "Young hero!" he cried, clapping his hands together. "The sea wind brings news of a new talent rising!" He gave a theatrical bow. "My respects to the new commander of the Wolf Pack. Bloody Benjen Stark took the field at eleven, Tywin Lannister became Hand at twenty, and Robert Baratheon started his rebellion at the same age. The courage of youth often rewrites history."
"You think too highly of me," Gendry said, his face hidden behind his mask. He was wary of the pirate prince. The man danced between too many masters—Stannis, the Magisters of Pentos—and could not be fully trusted.
"I did not come to mock you in your grief," Salladhor said, his tone turning serious. "I came to discuss a partnership. I have always wanted a company of fearless, loyal men. The Golden Company is too expensive, and the Unsullied are too rigid. I have been waiting for my friends from the North for a long time."
"What kind of partnership?" Gendry asked.
"Simple. I have ships, secret routes, and spies in every port. You have warriors. We can help each other."
"And become pirates?" Longspear asked, a skeptical look on his face.
"My family has been in the business of 'piracy' for three centuries," Salladhor said with a laugh. "One of the Ninepenny Kings was my ancestor. Pirates and mercenaries are natural friends. You would not be my subordinates, but my partners."
"I understand," Gendry said, looking the cunning old pirate in the eye. "We need a foothold in the Disputed Lands. Your fleet can protect our coast, and we can provide men for your… endeavors."
"A smart choice," Salladhor beamed. "Firegrass Manor is a good place to start. And if the Myrmen come for you, you can retreat to the Stepstones. In return, you can provide a little help for loyal old Salladhor."
"We will target only the enemies of our friends in Myr," Gendry stated firmly.
"Deal," the pirate agreed. "But once you start freeing slaves, all the Myrmen will be your enemies." He had his men bring a large cask of warmed wine, and he clinked glasses with Gendry. "To a profitable partnership! And to avenging my poor, dead friend Greybeard!"
"One more thing," Gendry said, his voice hard. "If we are besieged by the Three Daughters, will you come to our rescue?"
Salladhor shrugged. "Then, I can do nothing. My help is all covert, you understand. There are bold pirates, and there are old pirates, but there are no old, bold pirates. If you are wiped out, I will pretend we never had this conversation." He grinned. "Now, let us plan to do something big. A certain Myrish magister, the head of the Seafarers' Guild and the man who orchestrated Karasso's downfall, has a merchant ship docked in Volantis. It is returning from Qarth, laden with spices, jade, and a new shipment of Unsullied…"