The courtyard of Tyrosh basked in bright morning sunlight, a light breeze drifting through from time to time. Gendry was already on the training grounds, sweat pouring from him as he drilled.
His speed was astonishing. The longsword in his hand whirled in a blur that dazzled the eye. Opposite him, Lothor Brune held his ground with calm precision. Steel rang sharply through the air as blade struck blade. The Unsullied guards stood at the edge of the yard, watching the fierce exchange without a word.
Gendry's deep blue eyes never left his opponent, tracking Lothor's movements closely. There were no horns, no thunder of hooves. Just a pure contest of strength and skill between two men. Gendry was not only fast, his blows were heavy and forceful. He favored powerful cuts, and the blunted sword he trained with weighed more than most.
Lothor had a flattened nose, a square jaw, and close-cropped gray hair. Not handsome, but not ugly either. An ordinary face on a loyal warrior. His plainness was, in its way, an advantage.
Clang. Clang.
Moments later, Lothor was knocked to the ground and conceded defeat. He was a quiet, steady man, strong as an ox and sparing with words. He had clearly endured hardship to hone such solid skill at arms.
Gendry reached down and pulled Lothor to his feet. Lothor's arms were sore from the impact, and he looked genuinely taken aback. Being valued, being taken seriously, meant more to him than he let on.
Praise from a tall, handsome, and seemingly invincible commander was enough to bind a man's loyalty. Lothor felt that the Lord Commander carried a certain invisible pull, something born of power and unshakable will.
"You are the one blessed by the gods, with both strength and virtue," Lothor said earnestly. Flattery did not come easily to a man like him.
"That's enough, Lothor. Your tongue is as sharp as your sword now," Gendry replied with a faint smile.
"I am appointing you Major of the Royal Guard. It has not yet been announced," Gendry said.
Beyond the First "Wolf Pack" Legion, the Second "Free" Legion, and the Third "Second Sons" Legion, there was the Royal Guard. It served as Gendry's personal retinue and his elite protective force.
Lothor understood the basics of Gendry's newly designed standing army system: soldiers, non-commissioned officers, junior officers, field officers, generals. Each rank was harder to attain than the last. It was entirely different from the Lord and knight feudal levies of Westeros.
Under Gendry's framework, in Myr and Tyrosh, rank meant pay and status. For a newcomer like Lothor, holding an officer's rank in the Royal Guard was more than satisfying.
"It is truly my honor," Lothor said. After spending time here, he had grown to appreciate life in Tyrosh. Warriors spoke the same language as other warriors.
Gendry knew his story. Though Lothor had earned his knighthood, he was born into poverty. He was a distant relative of House Brune of Brownhollow, an ancient knightly house on Crackclaw Point.
"After my father died, I went to seek shelter with the main branch," Lothor admitted. "They splashed dung on me and said we weren't of their blood."
"Lothor, do you have any close ties left on Crackclaw Point?" Gendry asked.
"Very few," Lothor replied awkwardly. His birth had been too humble. On Crackclaw Point, no one paid him any mind. He had no influence there, no standing at all. If anything, it was a place of bitter memories.
"But with Princess Daenerys in your hands, you have a way to step into Crackclaw Point's affairs," Lothor said, quickly catching on to Gendry's intentions. "And Crackclaw Point is not far from King's Landing. It's easy to defend and hard to take."
"Crackclaw Point…" Gendry repeated.
He did have designs on that peninsula. In King's Landing, people mocked it as a land of wild folk and bumpkins. Every shadowed valley there had its own Lord, and neither lords nor smallfolk trusted outsiders. Since Queen Visenya brought the region to heel, Crackclaw Point had remained fiercely loyal to the Targaryen kings.
At the Battle of the Trident, the great houses of the peninsula had fought alongside Prince Rhaegar to the very end. The locals still took pride in saying that the men of Crackclaw Point were model subjects of House Targaryen.
"Is the Lord Commander sending me to Crackclaw Point to gather men?" Lothor asked Gendry.
The old king's son-in-law, the new king's bastard, could always find a way to vent the simmering temper of Crackclaw Point. During the Usurper's War, the peninsula had suffered grievously.
"No. Not to Crackclaw Point, not yet. There's something more important."
"What's your impression of King's Landing?" Gendry asked Lothor Brunn directly.
"A bloated, filthy city. But with so many wealthy men there, it keeps plenty of freeriders and freeswords fed," Lothor replied. In truth, had he not crossed the Narrow Sea to try his luck, he might already have found work in King's Landing.
"I want to send you to King's Landing," Gendry said. "There's no shortage of trouble there, and I need someone of my own."
"I'll follow your orders, my lord," Lothor said after a brief pause, without the slightest hesitation.
"Men deal with each other based on shared spirit. I hope you won't take offense," Gendry said with a faint smile. "Going back to King's Landing isn't exactly honorable work. If it doesn't sit well with you, I can give you a chest of gold and let you go."
"I have no need of gold. A warrior should be as hard as steel," Lothor replied. "You have my word."
"Good. Lothor, there will always be a place for you in my Kingsguard." Gendry met his gaze steadily. Gold could bind men together, but so could shared resolve.
He did not know whether events would unfold as they once had, but he had already set his pieces in King's Landing.
The Spider's intelligence came from his little birds, from years of careful cultivation in the capital, from his monopoly over the hidden tunnels beneath the Red Keep, and from his alliance with Illyrio.
Littlefinger's information came from gold, from his deep roots in the realm's finances. The Keepers of the Keys, the King's Counter, the King's Scales, the heads of the three mints, the harbormasters, tax farmers, customs officers, wool factors, toll collectors, pursers, wine factors, all were his men.
And Gendry would build a web of his own.
His intelligence would come from warriors who admired him, slaves yearning for freedom, second sons, adventurers, merchants, landless nobles.
"Just wait, the two of you. I'll show you how disputes are settled with steel. The game is only a game. It's warriors and smiths who hold up a kingdom, not little fingers and spiders hiding in corners."
In the reeking cesspool that was King's Landing, Cregan's methods were what a soldier-statesman truly needed.
"Who are you now?" Gendry asked.
"A down-and-out freerider, a nobody in Westeros. A distant kinsman of House Brune of Brownhollow Mountain on Crackclaw Point," Lothor answered.
Gendry was satisfied. Loyal, dependable, and unremarkable, Lothor would fit well in King's Landing. The others at his side, Jorah, Longspear, Brown Ben, were too conspicuous, and none had Lothor's careful mind.
"But what exactly should I do?" Lothor asked.
"Just live as you always have. A freerider earns his bread with his blade. You're skilled enough. Sooner or later, some great lord will want your service," Gendry said plainly.
If things did not stray from their course, Littlefinger would gladly accept this gift. Chaos was coming to King's Landing. Though Gendry's reach could not stretch that far, he could still plant a spy.
"Be wary of the Spider. Be wary of Littlefinger. The Spider's birds are everywhere. If you need somewhere to conceal yourself, the godswood in King's Landing is one such place. As for Littlefinger, the Master of Coin has many claws."
"I understand, my lord." Lothor grasped the meaning. He was to lie low in King's Landing and wait for orders.
"But what if those two try to recruit me?"
"That would be even better."
Gendry expected Littlefinger to notice Lothor. A lowborn, loyal, down-and-out freerider was exactly the sort of man Littlefinger favored. Besides, after being intimidated across the Narrow Sea, Littlefinger would be even more demanding when it came to personal guards.
Born of humble origins himself, Littlefinger could not command the loyalty of the great old houses. Most would never stoop to serve him. He had to rely on freeriders and the truly desperate. And lacking martial strength, he needed to draw capable men from the ranks of sellswords.
"Maester Qyburn will see you shortly. He'll tell you what to watch for."
"Yes, my lord."