Along the winding coast of the Disputed Lands, four long, black ships dropped anchor. Their sails bore the grey-and-white banner of the Wolf Pack, flying alongside the newly created standard of the Free Army: a pair of broken shackles.
The ships belonged to a band of escaped slaves from Volantis. After fleeing their masters, they had become pirates on the Rhoyne, preying on the slaver ships that plied the river's waters. They had heard tales of the "Butter-King," the liberator who had appeared in the Disputed Lands, and they had come to join his cause.
"We will serve you," the lead captain said, laying his longsword at Gendry's feet. The other three captains did the same. Their faces were a latticework of ugly scars, self-inflicted wounds carved over the slave-brands on their cheeks. "You have broken the shackles. You are the Liberator. We will follow you, even into the Long Night."
"From this moment on, you are the naval captains of the Free Army," Gendry declared, his voice ringing with authority. "All men are born free, and on my land, there are no slaves." He accepted their fealty, surrounded by the veterans of the Wolf Pack and the elite of his new army. Lightly armored Unsullied stood guard, their loyalty absolute.
"The slaves of Volantis eagerly await your arrival," the captain, whose name was Harris, whispered. "Many of your messages were spread to us by the Widow of the Waterfront. I think you should contact her."
"The Widow of the Waterfront?" Gendry repeated. It was a name that carried the weight of power.
"She is a prominent figure in Volantis," Harris explained. "She was once a bed slave from Yunkai, but a Magister of Volantis named Vaggaro bought her, fell in love with her, and granted her freedom. He eventually married her and, when he died, she took over his businesses—docks, warehouses, and all manner of trade. She has not forgotten her origins."
Gendry noted the name. Attacking Volantis, with its massive army and ancient power, was a distant prospect, but an ally within its walls was a powerful asset. He led the four captains toward Firegrass Manor. Along the way, they saw the new nation he was building: fields of wheat and firegrass, tended by men and women who held their heads high, their faces filled not with fear, but with a fierce, defiant pride.
The manor itself had been transformed into a formidable new Wolf's Den. The walls were higher, the moats deeper, and a sense of military order pervaded the camp. Luv, the old steward, still managed the manor's affairs, his gentle nature having earned him the trust of the freed slaves. "We came to the right place," the captains murmured among themselves.
***
In another part of the Disputed Lands, a secret meeting was being held in the opulent, gold-threaded command tent of the Golden Company. Their camp was a model of military precision, as orderly and well-organized as any regular army in the Seven Kingdoms. Before the tent, a row of gilded skulls sat atop longspears—the skulls of their fallen commanders, a grim promise that one day they would be carried home to Westeros.
"This little bastard is ruthless," one of the officers complained, his jewel-encrusted sword glinting in the candlelight. "He means to turn the Free Cities into a burning battlefield."
"It is a ruthless move," another, Tristan Rivers, conceded. "But an effective one. As long as his banner flies, the slaves will flock to him. To make an enemy of every slaver… it is a mad gamble."
"Forget him," another captain grunted. "Our goal is to go home, not to fight the wars of the Three Daughters."
"What of the Myrish proposal?" their commander, 'Homeless' Harry Strickland, asked. He was a mediocre man, but the company he led was the most disciplined fighting force in the world. "They offer us a mountain of gold to attack the Wolf Pack."
"A fool's proposal," Tristan Rivers said dismissively. "The Wolf Pack has never been weak, and their new commander is fierce and cunning. Think of the Unsullied and the Brave Companions. And slaves fighting for their freedom are the most dangerous soldiers of all. Even if we were to win, it would be a bloody, costly victory." He leaned forward. "Why not contact the Wolf Pack ourselves? They want the Disputed Lands; we want Westeros. Once they secure their position, they could support our own landing in the Stepstones or the Reach. We still have friends there."
"You are mad," Strickland said, cutting him off. "We support a true dragon. We wait for our opportunity, then we blow the horn and return to Westeros. Not before." The secret of young Aegon Targaryen's survival was known only to a select few.
"Wait for a true dragon?" another officer, Franklin Flowers, scoffed. "Are you talking about the Beggar King? Have you forgotten we laughed in his face when he invited us to dine? The Ninepenny Kings did not wait. They took what they wanted. We should follow their example."
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