The sky over Myr slowly lightened as dawn crept over the horizon. In the cold morning mist, the grey-white banners of the Wolf Pack billowed proudly above the walls. From their vantage point, Gendry, the Red Viper, Brown Ben, Qyburn, and the Arrow Maker gazed toward the open plains.
There, stretching as far as the eye could see, was a vast, rolling tide of humanity—the Dothraki Khalasar, tens of thousands of riders glistening like a sea of dark steel under the early sunlight.
The Dothraki would attack at sunrise.
They always attacked at sunrise.
Out on the waters of Myr Bay, Moros' tall warships cruised steadily. The Dothraki feared the open sea, and the fleet—armed with soldiers and longbowmen—acted as a steadfast wall on the western flank.
"We rely on the walls. We hold, then counterattack," Gendry said, his eyes fixed on the enemy formations. "The Dothraki fight simply. Western Essos isn't prepared to resist them—but Myr is not like the rest."
And indeed, Gendry had reshaped the entire city's defenses. A multi-layered system now protected Myr:
• Unsullied forming a hardened shield wall outside the gates
• Longbowmen positioned along the city walls
• Catapults arranged behind the gatehouse
• A fleet guarding the sea approach
The Dothraki fought like wolves—fast, vicious, overwhelming. They advanced in strict patterns: scouts sweeping ahead, vanguard riders guarding the flanks, and after the slaughter, Jacaqars with great axes harvested heads from the dying. Child slaves plucked arrows from corpses to refill the riders' quivers.
The land outside Myr had already been prepared. Civilian houses around the gates were dismantled and taken inside the city, leaving wide killing fields. Directly before the west gate, Gendry's infantry stood in perfect formation.
At the front, the Unsullied struck their shields with longspears, a booming metallic roar rising like thunder.
Boom. Boom.
They wore spiked helmets and carried spears and reinforced shields—armor newly fitted by Myr's skilled craftsmen. Though there were only a few dozen Unsullied, they stood like statues carved from obsidian.
Behind them stood the Wolf Pack soldiers, Gendry's trained Free Army infantry. Further back were another two thousand infantry in plate armor and chainmail, their weapons drawn, their faces set and grim. They were not the most disciplined of warriors; some had never fought beyond a tavern brawl. But Gendry had forged them into something that could stand—for a time—against the storm to come.
"Lady of Spears," the Grey Wolf murmured from beside him, "bless us. Bless our commander, our liberator. Give him victory."
---
The Dothraki Draw Near
The roaring of hooves shook the earth. The once-fertile fields of rye and lentils were torn to shreds beneath thousands of horses. The Dothraki Screamers howled, the jingling of the bells braided into their hair merging into one chilling music.
From atop the wall, Gendry spotted the leader of this Khalasar.
"There. Khal Jhaqo."
Khal Jhaqo rode a pitch-black horse. Around forty years old, he had bronze skin and long black hair braided into a thick rope that fell to his thighs, adorned with tiny golden bells. His posture was regal, his body sculpted by years of battle. Age had carved thin lines on his face, and a few white strands glimmered in his braid—but his presence radiated authority.
"The scouts counted around seven thousand Screamers," said the Red Viper calmly.
"Khal Jhaqo has brought his whole fortune to this assault," Gendry said. "The Dothraki don't cross the sea for charity. Since they accepted Tyroshi gold, they expect a grand harvest."
Myr, if taken, would be that harvest.
Gendry had also gathered every mounted unit he could muster:
• The Wolf Pack cavalry
• The elite Spear Company
• Free Army knights
• One hundred Dornish light cavalry led by the Red Viper
The Second Sons were also cavalry, but Gendry trusted them as far as he could throw a fully armored warhorse.
The Red Viper laughed. "Let's see who brings down the first barbarian of the Dothraki Sea."
His attendants handed him a wicked-looking weapon—an eight-foot Dornish longspear with a leaf-shaped steel head.
"I forged this for another brute," he said.
Gendry didn't need to ask. "The Mountain."
Gregor Clegane—eight feet tall, thirty stone of pure violence. He wielded a two-handed greatsword with one hand, and his armor was so heavy no other man could even lift it.
"Indeed," the Red Viper said. "A spear is the best way to slay that monster. But I don't plan to let him die peacefully."
Gendry frowned inwardly. The Viper's confidence bordered on arrogance, and arrogance on the battlefield killed even the greatest warriors. But he held his tongue.
The ground trembled again.
Khal Jhaqo's forces had come within striking distance—but strangely, he did not order an immediate charge.
Instead—
"Run! Run fast!"
A group of enslaved boys were driven forward like cattle. No girls were among them—girls were property, worth keeping. These boys had bronze skin, almond eyes, flat faces, and short-cropped hair. They ran barefoot toward Myr's gate, screaming.
"They're sheep men," Brown Ben muttered. "Lhazareen. A gentle people from Lhazar. The Dothraki call them 'Hesh K'lathi'—sheep men—because they herd sheep and submit easily."
"And this is how the Dothraki show off," Gendry said, jaw tight. "With blood."
The boys scattered chaotically, far too slow to escape the mounted riders behind them. The Screamers lashed them with whips. Blood sprayed. Some boys collapsed and crawled on hands and knees. A few Dothraki, bored, lazily drew their bows and shot arrows into the children's backs.
In moments, all of them lay dead.
The battlefield fell quiet.
"Savages," the Arrow Maker growled.
What the Dothraki displayed in cruelty, they lacked in strategy. Their violence only hardened Myr's resolve.
Gendry turned to his commanders. "When our cavalry rides, I leave it to you three."
Brown Ben, Qyburn, and the Arrow Maker nodded.
"I want to test how good these riders really are," the Arrow Maker muttered darkly.
The massacre had been an appetizer—a warning. But something puzzled Gendry. The Myrish infantry had not moved or fallen back in fear. The Unsullied remained firm.
The Dothraki scouts soon realized the truth:
there were no thousands of Unsullied—only dozens.
Their tension evaporated.
They relaxed.
They sneered.
Khal Jhaqo raised his arakh and gave the long-awaited order.
"ARRRRRRAAAAH!"
The Screamers charged.
---
The Charge
Under the clear blue sky, the Dothraki thundered forward. Their long black braids whipped behind them. They wore no helmets, no heavy armor—only painted leather vests, horsehair leggings, and bronze belts. Khal Jhaqo's golden belt gleamed brightest among them.
The catapults released with a deafening CRACK.
Massive stones hurtled through the air. One boulder smashed into a cluster of riders, spraying red mist and broken limbs. A horse exploded beneath its rider. Another stone flattened a man entirely.
But the Dothraki did not falter.
They surged forward, screaming curses.
"Cowards in armor!"
The Unsullied braced. Behind them, the Wolf Pack infantry lowered their shields and spears. Grey Wolf and Steel Fist moved through the formation, shouting orders.
The ground suddenly shifted as the first wave of horses hit the soaked earth.
They slipped.
Because Gendry had prepared something special.
Before the battle, he had ordered his men to soak the battlefield with wildfire residue, turning the hard earth into sticky mud that slowed cavalry to a crawl.
A deadly trap.
Horses stumbled. Riders toppled. The Unsullied spear wall met the charge with brutal efficiency, impaling riders who crashed into them.
One Dothraki screamed as an Unsullied spear pierced through his throat.
Another was crushed under his own horse.
The shield wall did not break.
A second wave hit.
And a third.
Free Army infantry, though less disciplined, held behind the elites, pushing forward and reinforcing weak points. Every man knew that if the shield wall collapsed, Myr would fall.
Above, Gendry clenched the battlements so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"My victory," he whispered, "depends on how long the Grey Wolf and Steel Fist can hold…"
The fate of Myr rested on that shield wall.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)