The tension around Firegrass Manor had become a constant pressure in the air, like a storm gathering above the Disputed Lands. Even the usually optimistic Handsome Man now carried a grim expression whenever Gendry saw him. The Bandit Mercenaries prowling the region had dwindled after the brutal clash with Purple Beard, yet the danger had not lessened. If anything, a greater threat loomed.
One afternoon, Gendry found the captain standing atop the manor's high walls, staring across the rolling hills as if searching for answers in the red-gold landscape.
"The situation in Myr is worsening," Handsome Man said quietly when Gendry approached. The wind tugged at his cloak. "And not just here at the manor. Trouble is swelling in the city itself."
Gendry leaned on the stone parapet. "Because of the governor's election?"
"Because of everything," Handsome Man replied. "The Free Cities pretend their elections are clean and honorable, but anyone with eyes knows how the game is played. Beneath the parades, speeches, and coin showers lies a melody of knives—poisonings, assassinations, bribes, backroom pacts. This year, Governor Kasu is losing ground. And we…" He exhaled. "We may be dragged down with him."
Gendry frowned. "We're only mercenaries. Why would we be targeted?"
"Most sellswords belong to many companies in their lifetimes. They drift like leaves. But the Wolf Pack Company is… different." Handsome Man's gaze softened as he looked out toward the horizon. "We have Northern blood. Old loyalties. And a history with Governor Kasu's family that spans generations."
Gendry understood immediately.
"You're saying the Wolf Pack and Kasu's house stand together," he said. "So their enemies become ours."
"Exactly," Handsome Man replied. "We can't abandon them easily—not after decades of trust. To the Myrish merchants and guild lords, the Wolf Pack isn't just hired steel. We're an extension of Kasu's power. If he falls… we'll be next."
He paused, then added more softly:
"But you, Gendry… you don't need to fall with us."
The words were spoken like an elder entrusting something precious to a younger warrior.
"You have a future beyond this mercenary life. Strength, courage, charm. You were meant for more than dying nameless in someone else's feud."
Gendry swallowed. A part of him felt the weight of the captain's sincerity. Another part felt the burn of responsibility. "Has it truly grown so dire?"
The Handsome Man nodded. "Greybeard sent word. The merchants who always backed Kasu have started refusing loans. The Myr Bank shut its doors to him. Whether by fear or bribery, someone has convinced them to withdraw support."
"In the Free Cities, gold is the heart of power," Gendry murmured.
"And without gold," the captain continued, "there are no votes to buy. No supporters to woo. No guards to keep. That's why Kasu needs the gunpowder herb harvest so desperately. It may be the only coin he has left."
Gendry pictured the Volantis elections Qyburn once described—ten days of chaos, entertainment, violence, and corruption. Compared to that, the elections of Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh weren't far behind. Men danced, bribed, threatened, and killed for power that lasted only a handful of years.
"Forget worrying about Myr," Handsome Man sighed. "Firegrass Manor is under attack, and our enemies are hidden and well-funded. The governor must strengthen his city defenses, so part of the Wolf Pack will be recalled to Myr. Another company is being sent to reinforce us here."
"I hope Governor Kasu wins," Gendry said honestly.
The captain chuckled. "Let's hope for miracles, then. Now go—train, Little Gen."
---
When Gendry descended from the wall, he passed the fields of gunpowder herb—lush red plants swaying under the sun like burning embers. Slaves moved back and forth, harvesting and carrying. The scent was sharp and spicy in the wind.
"Red," Gendry murmured. "The color of the world itself."
Red like blood.
Red like fire.
Red like war.
Whether the world ended in fire or in ice, he felt certain he was already caught in the storm.
Whenever there were no raids or patrols, Gendry spent his hours in the training yard. It had been his sanctuary since joining the Wolf Pack Company. Under the instruction of Longspear, Flail, and other veterans, he had learned to wield a variety of weapons.
The long spear left his gambeson riddled with bruises and cuts until he finally adapted to its rhythm. The flail—chain swinging unpredictably—nearly shattered his wrist the first time he faced it.
"Longspear, Morningstar, flail…" Gendry muttered, wiping sweat from his brow after a long session. "I've learned the feel of many weapons. But the mace is where I shine."
A knight should know every weapon. But every knight had a favored one.
For Gendry, it would always be the hammer.
After hours of sparring, sweat dripping down his back, Gendry finally sat down to rest—only for Maester Qyburn to rush toward him.
"Your Highness!" Qyburn called, glancing around to ensure no one else was listening. "Two urgent matters."
Gendry straightened. "Go on."
"The Beggar King has made new moves," Qyburn whispered. "He and his sister remain protected in Pentos—closely watched. He sold his mother's crown… and now has little left. Except Daenerys."
Gendry's jaw tightened. The exiled prince was desperate. Cornered men made dangerous choices.
"Few people are willing to gamble their armies to challenge the Iron Throne," Qyburn continued. "But time is running short. Once Daenerys is used as a bargaining chip, she'll be lost to someone else."
"And snatching her from the fat governor of Pentos won't be simple," Gendry replied. "He's no fool. And he wants a high price."
"Exactly. Which is why timing is crucial."
"What's the second matter?" Gendry asked.
Qyburn's expression darkened. "Troubling news. According to smugglers, our employer—Governor Kasu—is cornered. The Seafarers' Guild has begun plotting with merchants to overthrow him."
"The Seafarers' Guild…" Gendry scoffed. "Glorified pirates."
"And extremely wealthy ones," Qyburn reminded. "If they turn against Kasu, Myr will erupt in chaos. We must consider leaving while we still can."
"The captain already told me everything," Gendry replied. "We can withdraw at any time. But I won't leave yet. The Wolf Pack is the first true army I've walked with. I want to see how this plays out."
Qyburn exhaled in relief. "So you already had a plan. Good. Still… there is opportunity in chaos."
Gendry smirked. "Don't tell me you want to rally the slaves and raid the Disputed Lands."
Qyburn's eyes gleamed. "Where there are mines, manors, and unprotected wealth—opportunity exists. And men follow strong leaders."
"Dangerous talk," Gendry warned.
"Danger often walks beside greatness," Qyburn replied smoothly.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Remember, Your Highness. King Robert won kingdoms with his warhammer. Why should you not do the same? Even the Targaryen exiles have patrons. You are no less valuable than them."
"Patrons are greedy," Gendry said. "And I have too few cards to bargain with. Robert won the throne but gave half of it away. Dorne hated him, and he bound himself to the Lannisters by marriage. A compromise that cost him dearly."
Qyburn nodded. "Politics is a board of knives. Robert played as a warrior, not a king. He left Old Jon to rule for him."
Gendry grew thoughtful. "Old Jon was the true cornerstone of the alliance—bringing the eagle, fish, wolf, and stag together. Without him, Robert's throne would have collapsed."
"Exactly," Qyburn said. "But Old Jon is aging. Westeros is fraying. And the storms ahead will be fierce."
He looked at Gendry gravely.
"We need allies, Your Highness. Supporters. And soon."
Gendry gazed toward the sun-bleached hills of Myr, fire-red with ripening herbs.
Allies.
Storms.
War.
Power.
The world was changing.
And he would need to rise with it—or be crushed beneath it.