The changing tides in the Disputed Lands were like the beating of a butterfly's wings, threatening to unleash a storm across the Narrow Sea.
"The Ninepenny Kings," the Queen of Thorns mused. "They certainly brought a few years of excitement to the world. King Robert's own grandfather died fighting them."
"It was just a game for pirates and slavers," Lord Mace said dismissively.
"This time may be different," Willas countered. "This 'Butter-King' has fallen out completely with Myr. He frees slaves and seizes the manors of the Myrish magisters. The other two 'Daughters,' Lys and Tyrosh, must be watching with great unease." He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. "The chaos has driven the price of firegrass sky-high in Myr, but this Butter-King has his own supply, and it is more affordable. Armies will have urgent need of it. I think we should get in touch with him."
"What kind of logic is that?" Mace sputtered. "A lord of the Reach doing business with a… a slave-freeing bandit?"
"It is always right to observe the world carefully," the Queen of Thorns said, her sharp eyes on her son. "Willas, do not be like your father. Sometimes I wish I were a simple farm wife, so I could take a wooden spoon to that fat head of his and knock some sense into it."
"Mother!" Mace's face turned red.
"When a man, slaver or not, has resources, it is a different matter entirely," Lady Olenna continued. "Firegrass has always been expensive. This is for the future of our family, for the chaos that may be coming. The clouds of war linger. This summer has been too long, and the coming winter will surely be cruel."
"I will continue to monitor the situation," Willas said. "The sailors from Oldtown and the Redwyne fleet will bring us word. If necessary, we may have to meet this Butter-King ourselves. But I worry. Will the Spider in King's Landing not try to meddle in our plans?"
"That eunuch is more cunning than you imagine," the Queen of Thorns declared. "His thoughts are his own. He is everyone's friend, and no one's. For now, he will not ruin our affairs. King's Landing is full of lions, and a resentful, stubborn stag."
"Can I go to the Disputed Lands, too?" Margaery asked suddenly. "I have read of the War of the Ninepenny Kings. It sounds like a rich but chaotic place."
"Absolutely not," Mace said immediately. "There are pirates in the Stepstones who prey on the nobility of Westeros."
"What if our little rose is accompanied by the valiant Garlan?" a voice said from the entrance to the gazebo. A tall, strong knight appeared, resembling his younger brother, Loras, but broader and more powerfully built. It was Garlan the Gallant.
"Brother!" Margaery cried happily. "I would feel safe with your protection!"
"I am also interested in this Butter-King," Garlan said as he joined them. He wore a beard, which made him look more like a rugged warrior than a delicate courtier. "I suspect he may be an exiled knight from Westeros. The Wolf Pack has always had such men. But a knight of such valor should have already made a name for himself in the tourneys."
"Perhaps he does not care for honor and fame," Margaery suggested. "Like you, brother, he is a humble and practical man."
"Then he is all the more terrifying," Garlan mused. "A young man who does not care for false glory must want something more. And he is a practical man indeed, fighting Meereenese and Unsullied to the death." Garlan, who often practiced against three or four opponents at once to simulate real combat, yearned to meet such a warrior.
***
Not far from Firegrass Manor, another estate belonging to a Myrish magister was surrounded. The black banner of the Free Army, depicting a slave breaking his chains, flew high. "Freedom! Freedom!" the liberated slaves chanted.
The crowd parted, and Gendry appeared like a storm on a black warhorse, with Longspear and the other veterans of the Wolf Pack at his side. The sellswords were fully armed, a menacing wall of steel and leather. The Free Army's equipment was much simpler, crude weapons scavenged from the slave manors. But the Wolf Pack was not short on coin, and Steel-Fist and Longspear were already training the new recruits in the use of shortswords and shields.
Gendry, in his iron mask and black scale armor, his famous warhammer held high, was a fearsome sight. War had refined him, hardened him. He raised his hammer, and the cheers of his men grew louder. In war, there is only one truth: victory.
"The Liberator!" the Free Army roared. "The Breaker of Shackles!" The newly freed men were thin and sallow, but their eyes shone with a new, golden confidence.
The manor gates opened. The slaves within had rioted, killing their Myrish steward and offering up the estate to their liberators.
"The seventh manor," Qyburn said quietly from behind him. Manors meant wealth and men, but also great responsibility.
"Qyburn, you will count the population and survey the lands," Gendry commanded. "Longspear, maintain discipline. The Free Folk are our brothers, not our spoils."
"Yes, Commander!"
"Enter!" Gendry waved his hand, and he rode his black horse into the manor, the wind rustling his hair. In that moment, he was a stag in full gallop, a king in all but name. The freed slaves threw down the banners of Lys, their former masters, and raised the banner of the charging wolf in its place.
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