Firegrass Manor's exterior may have been plain, but its interior was a testament to the exquisite craftsmanship of the Free Cities. As the sellswords of the Wolf Pack, led by their captain, Handsome, ascended the steps into the main hall, Gendry was struck by the elegance. The floors were polished marble, and the walls were adorned with beautiful Myrish tapestries depicting vivid hunting scenes.
The men sat on long benches while the steward, Luv, and Handsome took seats at the head of the hall. The food was served by an old cook and a procession of male and female slaves whose eyes were as empty as their expressions. The manor had several layers of walls, making it a formidable fortress, yet the Myrish would rather trust sellswords than arm the slaves who outnumbered them three to one.
A feast was laid before them, its aromas filling the air: smoked chicken, fried pork chops, and savory mushroom soup. There were also local delicacies—spicy Tyroshi sausages and roasted Myrish snails. The drink was just as varied, with Tyroshi pear brandy, Myrish firewine, and red and white wines from Lys.
"A toast!" Luv declared, raising his cup. The hall filled with the clinking of glasses. As was the rule of the Wolf Pack, half the men drank wine while the other half drank juice. Someone always had to remain sober. Gendry savored the food, the rich flavors a world away from anything he had ever known. He remembered the gnawing hunger of his childhood in King's Landing, and even the simple fare at the forge had never tasted like this.
"You have outdone yourself, old friend," Handsome said, taking a long drink of wine.
"It is nothing," the steward laughed. After the meal, he made another announcement. "Gentlemen, we also have some beautiful serving girls who will attend to your other needs, if you so desire."
Cheers erupted from the sellswords. The Wolf Pack's oath forbade rape, but it did not interfere with a man's other appetites.
Later, as the hall grew quieter, Handsome leaned toward the steward. "You have been more than generous, Luv. This mission is not as simple as guarding against a few petty thieves, is it?"
Luv's smile vanished. "You are correct," he whispered. "With firegrass so expensive, we fear more than just bandits. Rival merchants, their own stores depleted, may hire men to burn this manor to the ground. Destroying our harvest would send the price skyrocketing."
"But what of the Magister's own stores?" Handsome asked.
"He has already sold his aged stores for gold. He needs it for the coming elections. You know how it is in Myr—threats and bribes are the only way to win office. He must protect this harvest at all costs."
After the feast, the sellswords retired to their quarters. Some went in search of the promised serving girls, while others went to relieve the men on watch.
"The Disputed Lands are fertile, Your Highness, but they are no place to build a kingdom," Qyburn said quietly as he and Gendry returned to their room.
"Tell me your thoughts, Maester," Gendry replied.
"This territory is caught between the Three Daughters and Volantis. They would never allow a new king to rise in their midst. And the sellswords and pirates who infest this land are loyal only to coin. They would never bend the knee."
"The Band of Nine did it," Gendry countered, referring to the infamous alliance of pirates and mercenaries who had once carved out their own kingdom in the Stepstones.
"Their strength was formidable, it is true," Qyburn conceded. "But they were merchants, pirates, and the Golden Company itself. We are but two men."
"The Band of Nine failed to unleash a greater power," Gendry said, a cold glint in his eyes. "Freeing the slaves… that would bring a new kind of change to this world."
Qyburn stared at him, his mouth agape. "Free the slaves? That is madness! That is like unleashing the fires of the seven hells! Slavery is the heart of commerce in Essos. To oppose it is to make an enemy of the Three Daughters, of Volantis, of all of Slaver's Bay. No king in Westeros would dare such a thing."
"And from chaos comes new life," Gendry said. "Our only footholds are here, in the Disputed Lands and the Stepstones. Besides, it is just an idea. The road is long."
The old maester was silent for a long moment, the audacity of the boy's vision settling in his mind. "I will do everything in my power to help you," he finally said, his voice full of a new, fervent purpose. "And I hope that one day, the world will indeed move according to your will." He then smiled mysteriously. "However, there may be another path. A pair of exiled Targaryen siblings currently strike fear into the hearts of the great lords in King's Landing."
"The Beggar King and his sister," Gendry mused. To ally himself with the last dragons… it was a thought. But Daenerys and Viserys were currently the well-protected guests of the Magister of Pentos. For now, strengthening himself was the only path that mattered.
The next morning, in the manor's training yard, Handsome challenged Gendry to a spar. The commander's longsword was a blur of motion, but Gendry met him with his blunted warhammer, each blow heavy and powerful. They circled each other, the clang of steel on steel echoing through the yard. Gendry seemed to enter a berserker's trance, his strikes coming faster and harder, driving Handsome back again and again.
"Again!" Gendry roared, his voice raw.
Handsome, drenched in sweat, fought on until his training sword finally shattered. His chest heaving, he dropped the broken hilt. "I yield," he gasped. "It will not be long before my command is yours to take."
The yard erupted in cheers. "Iron Hammer! Iron Hammer!" his new brothers roared.
Another sellsword, a lanky man nicknamed Longspear, stepped forward, his weapon held at the ready. "I'm next."