Gendry set aside the detailed map of the Stepstones he had been studying, turning his full attention to welcome two esteemed visitors: the second son and the youngest daughter of House Tyrell from the Reach.
He rose from behind his desk and approached the dining table with measured steps.
"What a privilege to host the golden rose blooming from those verdant fields in my modest quarters!" Gendry declared warmly, then swept his hand toward the chairs arranged around the table, beckoning the pair to join him.
"I figured an envoy from House Redwyne might sail here first, not the very offspring of Highgarden's lord."
"It appears the Commander-in-Chief has pieced together who we are! Though I never imagined the Commander-in-Chief would prove so youthful and insightful," Garlan responded, a note of genuine surprise coloring his words.
Though Garlan felt a quiet satisfaction that the Wolf Pack's Commander-in-Chief had chosen to greet him personally, questions lingered in his mind.
Word on the wind held that the Wolf Pack Company had already encircled Myr—did forging ties with the Reach truly outweigh the prize of claiming that city?
"Your welcome warms us, Commander-in-Chief! We ought to have arrived draped in the Reach's true banners, green and gold, but urgency pressed us onward!" Margaery's light laughter softened as she lifted her veil aside.
Gendry took in Margaery's features: cascading brown curls, eyes soft and wide like a deer's, paired with a smile that blended bashfulness and genuine sweetness.
She truly was a captivating beauty, and beyond that, her presence could unlock the vast resources of prosperous the Reach.
"This insight comes courtesy of my whisperer; he's a man of sharp intellect." Gendry gestured toward Qyburn, drawing Garlan's notice.
Only then did Garlan and Margaery spot the elderly figure tucked in the room's corner; he carried an approachable air and clearly bore the weight of many years.
Yet as the whisperer, he undoubtedly wielded a arsenal of subtle arts.
Qyburn inclined his head respectfully to the son and daughter of House Tyrell, offering a silent nod of greeting.
"Mace may falter in his duties, but he's raised his children with true finesse.
Beyond their close bond, each shines with real talent.
The eldest wields keen strategy, the second balances courtly grace with battlefield prowess, and even the lively third has forged a strong alliance with Renly.
As for the Little Rose, she grasps the weight of her role as a lady of the realm with grace."
Gendry studied the siblings before him; it stood out how seldom one saw young nobles shaped with such care, unlike the often wayward heirs of the Lannisters or Tullys.
Garlan and Margaery took in the room's sparse yet purposeful decor: intricate Myr tapestries adorning the walls, stacks of well-thumbed books, scattered campaign charts, an array of weapons, and sturdy chairs.
The Commander-in-Chief's armor caught the eye most starkly, a suit of black scale plate marked by the scars of battle and hasty mends, free of any gilding or gems.
Nearby rested arms of varied make: a spiked morningstar, a finely curved yew longbow, a wickedly hooked arakh.
The Valyrian steel scimitar lay sheathed in quiet repose, its legendary edge hidden, and Garlan sensed no hint of its extraordinary worth.
"This speaks of a leader forged in discipline!" Garlan reflected inwardly.
The Free Cities overflowed with coin, and for one commanding such sweeping lands and treasures to shun opulence suggested ambitions that stretched far beyond the horizon.
"Let's cut to the heart of it, Commander-in-Chief—we seek a steady supply of gunpowder herb from your stores!" Garlan Tyrell stated directly, his earnest gaze locking with Gendry's.
Garlan held back on haggling terms, confident the Reach's deep coffers would leave Gendry well satisfied.
"The Reach's gold and bountiful harvests surely lift the spirit, but I crave a different form of alliance." Gendry met their eyes steadily, weighing the moment.
"The Stepstones—a den of slavers and cutthroats; those raiders prey endlessly on honest folk.
Why let such a blight fester when a firm hand could bring order?"
"You aim to claim the Stepstones!" Garlan paused, turning the idea over; seizing those isles would indeed deliver a crushing blow, sealing Tyrosh and Myr off from sea and shore alike.
The Wolf Pack Company's Commander-in-Chief revealed a daring edge, bold and unyielding.
"If gold and grain will flow, House Tyrell stands ready to deliver in abundance, but the Stepstones fall under Westeros's domain, rightfully the Iron Throne's to oversee."
"The Iron Throne—the King scarcely tends to King's Landing itself, much less those forsaken rocks!
The Reach and House Redwyne share marital bonds; as I move on the Stepstones, I ask that the Redwyne Fleet sails on without hindrance."
"And the Royal Fleet?"
"The Royal Fleet poses no concern for you, Ser Garlan." Qyburn interjected with assured calm.
Stannis juggled weightier crises, leaving no room for distant squabbles.
"I'll carry your proposal back to my father." Garlan pledged, his tone resolute.
House Redwyne and House Tyrell intertwined through marriage; in truth, House Tyrell held greater sway over the Redwyne sails.
"Countless paths to partnership await us down the line, long before the Long Winter descends."
"Long Winter!" Garlan's eyes flared wide as he searched Gendry's masked face; this man grasped Westeros's brewing storms with a clarity that surpassed even Garlan's own reckonings.
"Winter is coming! We of the Wolf Pack Company hail from the North, and no one knows winter's bite like we do." Gendry's smile carried a hint of shared knowing.
"And the Golden Company! What are your thoughts on the Golden Company, Commander-in-Chief?" Garlan probed further.
"They stand as exiles, yet they wield an army of formidable steel."
"Within the Golden Company, exiled lords from the Reach fill many ranks." Garlan ventured carefully, testing the waters.
"The Golden Company yearns to reclaim their homeland, a feat impossible without allies like you!"
"I take your meaning fully!" Gendry replied, his smile broadening with subtle warmth.
Both the Golden Company and House Tyrell angled to draw him in, yet Gendry resolved to steer the currents himself.
Garlan exhaled softly, tension easing; this exchange served as a vital safeguard...
Under a vast, unclouded sky, Garlan and his sister lingered in the Disputed Lands, savoring the unexpected respite.
Gendry extended invitations for Garlan to share drink, join the hunt, and cross blades in spirited sparring.
Their views on warfare aligned seamlessly, both relishing mock clashes where one faced waves of foes in tactical display.
Margaery, meanwhile, found herself drawn to Gendry with growing fascination.
She peered into Gendry's eyes, the mask denying her a glimpse of his features, leaving only her imagination to sketch his form.
The figure beneath surely gleamed like a blade fresh from the forge—keen, radiant, and full of promise.
Rarely did she witness her brother hold such open regard for another young leader.
On the training grounds, where gray and white Wolf Pack banners fluttered alongside the Free Army's standards, the Wolf Pack's foot soldiers drilled their precise advances.
The knights charged like a howling gale, while the infantry held firm as unyielding peaks.
"What an unstoppable force!" Garlan breathed, awe threading his voice.
Longspear commanded the Wolf Pack Company's mounted ranks; the riders urged their steeds forward, armed with sweeping longswords, thrusting longspear, crushing morningstars, and hefty greataxes.
Moreover, the eight hundred knights of the Spear Company, once rivals, now rode under their Commander-in-Chief's banner after yielding to the Wolf Pack, swelling the cavalry's thunderous might.
Steel Fist marshaled the Wolf Pack Company's footmen, the ranks...
Garlan absorbed the spectacle, zeroing in on the Wolf Pack Company's gear; their finest warriors clad themselves in full plate and layered scale, gleaming under the sun.
The Wolf Pack embodied the North's spirit: bold in the thick of combat, alive with unquenchable fire.
Yet their panoply rivaled the richest armories.
Garlan watched the Wolf Pack's horse and foot surge as one ironclad wave, charging with valor that knew no fear.
As for the Free Army, Garlan sensed that in their roles as sworn retainers, they had honed real discipline; they grasped Westeros's proven maneuvers and even adopted echoes of the Unsullied's rigid lines.
"The Wolf Pack's shadow looms larger than even the Golden Company's!" Garlan contemplated gravely.
"Their hosts swell steadily, backed by high spirits and superior arms.
The Golden Company's ranks remain fixed, while the Free Army's tide builds like a gathering storm, ever expanding.
No matter the angle, facing such a juggernaut demands early vigilance..."
Their visit passed all too swiftly; Gendry savored only a fleeting stretch of days in the Roses' company before seeing the siblings off with reluctant farewells.
"He reminds me of someone, brother!" Margaery murmured softly aboard the departing ship.
"Do you mean Renly?"
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