Bloodbeard lies slain, and the Cat's Company stands annihilated!
The Second Sons have yielded, and the Spear Company has followed suit!
The utter destruction of the Cat's Company rang like a final toll for Myr, a dire warning echoing through its halls for the Magisters and slavers alike. Even the slaves in Tyrosh and Lys drew fire from the crumbling of Myr's forces, stirring unrest that boiled over into fervent chaos within their own walls.
Through this fierce conflict, the Wolf Pack Company and the Free Army claimed a resounding triumph that reshaped the landscape.
Cat's Company: Their leader Bloodbeard perished amid the clash, leaving the mercenaries routed and broken beyond repair.
Second Sons: Commander Mero, known as the Bastard of the Titan, fell in the heat of battle. Those who survived bent the knee to the Wolf Pack Company, guided now by their fresh leader, Brown Ben. Soon after, Brown Ben professed he could no longer bear the Wolf Pack Company's demands and slipped away to rejoin Myr's ranks.
Spear Company: They turned coats right in the midst of war, merging their strength with the Wolf Pack Company.
From the trio of Myrish Magisters who once marshaled two thousand free mercenaries alongside throngs of slave guards at the rear lines, one met his end in a furious slave revolt, another fell into the Wolf Pack Company's grasp, and the last bolted back to Myr in wild panic to spread the grim tidings.
The Myrish warships that had bolstered the land assault turned tail and raced for Myr's harbor the instant word spread of the ground army's devastating rout.
Leaving aside the enigmatic Golden Company—whispers even suggest they lent a hand to the Wolf Pack during the fray—no substantial armed band lingers in the Disputed Lands to challenge the might of the Wolf Pack Company and the Free Army.
"Long live freedom!" Across the Disputed Lands, uprisings among slaves tore through the manors of the Three Daughters with growing fury. Countless estates saw their overseers scatter back to the cities in utter disarray long before the Free Army could even approach. Beyond the wild heart of Crown Town, that notorious den of rogue mercenaries, and a handful of outlying vassal towns and holdings tied to the Three Daughters, the Disputed Lands now bowed fully to the Wolf Pack and the Free Army. What's more, the Wolf Pack pressed onward from these conquered grounds, striking deep into the vassal realms under Myr's sway.
The Wolf Pack's relentless surge engulfed the whole of the Disputed Lands, evoking the brutal campaigns of the Ninepenny Kings' time in scope and fury, yet their approach marked a sharp departure from those old wars. The Ninepenny Kings had gripped the region through brute force, drawing on the Golden Company's steel, pirate hordes, and sellsword bands, but their hold proved shaky at best. The Free Army, however, turned each seized manor and freed slave into a wellspring of fresh recruits, building an army that swelled without end.
Gendry's forces had dragged the three colossal Myrish trebuchets to the fringes of Myr itself. Now the city clung to its lone walls and harbor, boxed in on all sides by Gendry's encircling troops. Those towering siege engines loomed as harbingers of doom. The Free Army arrayed itself for the onslaught against Myr, though the first volleys had yet to fly.
Dubbed anew as "Wolf Pack," "The Liberator," and "Freedom!", the trebuchets' immense silhouettes stretched like omens over the souls of Myr's Magisters, seeding endless waves of terror in their minds.
"Commander-in-Chief, you've got the power to seize Myr right now—why hold back from the assault?" A sturdy middle-aged warrior at Gendry's side pressed the question, his voice laced with keen curiosity.
Jorah Mormont, a knight cast out from the North. He cut a robust figure, his skin weathered dark and hair thick, though thinning atop his head. Still, his frame radiated unyielding power. As a banished Northern knight, Jorah brought rare insight into Westeros's tangled webs, earning him a swift place among the Wolf Pack's inner circle.
"Hold steady, Jorah! Battles aren't mere sport, and I won't let the splendid City of Crafts—Myr at its finest—crumble to ruins under my watch!" Gendry's gaze lingered on the tantalizing spires of Myr, so close he could almost taste victory. He reined in his hunger, knowing restraint would yield a richer prize. In his vision, Myr outshone Lys and Tyrosh by far; it was a haven for artisans, a forge of endless prosperity waiting to be harnessed.
Fate had thrust the hapless Jorah into Gendry's orbit, and he burned to prove his mettle before the Wolf King. Though the North had shut its gates against him, carving out a role in the Disputed Lands offered a bold new dawn.
Gendry kept the pressure on, draining Myr's coffers dry. The Magisters, reeling from their battlefield losses, forked over a king's ransom in gold to appease him. From the kin of the seized Myrish Magister, Gendry claimed a fleet of sturdy warships to bolster his own.
"Our path forward lies elsewhere," Gendry confided to his closest allies gathered near: The Handsome Man, Longspear, Steel Fist, and Jorah, their faces etched with anticipation.
"So what's the play ahead?" The Great Bear leaned in, eyes sharp with interest.
Gendry's smile hinted at secrets, saying nothing outright. He postured as if poised to storm Myr, yet his true strike aimed at the Stepstones' jagged isles—a clever ruse. Seizing Myr alone fell short; Tyrosh demanded reckoning too.
Should Gendry's armada claim the Stepstones, Tyrosh and Myr would find themselves hemmed in by unyielding barriers of land and wave. He hadn't forgotten Tyrosh's earlier folly in backing Myr's naval push.
"Spies weave through Myr's veins—the Second Sons stand ready inside. Without, I've seized their outlying manors, storehouses, and planted those three mighty trebuchets. When my last move falls into place, let's see how Myr endures the squeeze."
Strategy in governance and warfare entwines seamlessly; triumphs on the field pave the way for lasting dominance.
"Against the Three Daughters, charging headlong won't serve. These are lands of traders dealing in cheese and fine butters, after all." Storming the Three Daughters with raw force demands cunning rarity. The Free Cities diverge from Westeros's ways, where ships hold sway even more fiercely.
"With our strides shaking the Disputed Lands, won't that rouse King Robert's watchful eye?" The Handsome Man ventured, glancing toward Ser Jorah for wisdom. None knew the touch of King Robert's court like him. Shifts beyond the Narrow Sea could well snag Westeros's gaze.
"Robert's lost the fire of his youth; the realm bends to Duke Jon's steady hand these days!" The Great Bear rumbled. "I crossed paths with the King only during the Ironborn uprising. He knighted me then—a vision of bold grace and unbowed spirit. Tales now paint him as a bloated reveler, lost to brothels and excess."
"Beyond his pursuits of vice, drink, and the chase, the King fixates perhaps solely on purging the last Targaryen shadows, fueled by his deep grudge against Prince Rhaegar's kin. He won't rush to meddle in the Free Cities' fresh tumults!" Jorah felt certain the Iron Throne would turn a blind eye to the Wolf Pack's ventures.
"Even a bloated Robert commands pillars like Eddard Stark, the Kingslayer, Stannis, and Lando at his flank," Longspear cautioned. "We ought to weigh our foes with care."
"Set the Iron Throne's whims aside; they rarely stretch Across the Narrow Sea, and a realm ruled by revelry scatters like chaff. The real threat brews from Myr's diplomats racing to allies—Tyrosh, Lys, and Volantis chief among them. Word has them venturing to Slaver's Bay too, though that's a distant gamble!"
"Volantis! They once swept into Myr with conquering blades!"
"Days shift like sands; slavery anchors Volantis deep. Though the Elephant Party holds the reins now, they won't ignore the Disputed Lands' fall or the abolitionist fires spreading." The Elephant Party draws from traders and lenders, pushing conquest through coin and commerce. In its founding, bold women among them tipped the scales against the Tiger Party's grip. For three centuries since the Century of Blood's close, the Elephant Party has steered Volantis, claiming no fewer than two Magistrate seats.
"Fear not—the Elephant Party shies from bold strikes! Any force they muster would lag until the next Magistrate vote hands power back to the Tiger Party!" Gendry broke it down with cool precision. His web of scouts ran deep; Qyburn's network hummed alongside tips from the Golden Company.
"Apart from Volantis, Commander-in-Chief, keep the Ironborn's shadow in view," The Great Bear interjected suddenly, his tone grave.
"The Ironborn have likely licked their wounds from the last fray; they're a rapacious crew of reavers through and through. They prowl the Disputed Lands and Stepstones often, and they might well throw in against us for the spoils!"
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