"Liberators! Liberators!"
"Father! Father!" the freed slaves cried as Gendry rode his black horse through the streets of Tyrosi. Apart from the inner city, the city had fallen entirely to the Wolves and the Free Army.
The grey-white banner of House Stark's wolf and the Free Army's standard now fluttered above the ramparts, replacing the old flag of the three-headed god of Tyrosi.
"No slaves! No killing!" Gendry raised his hand high, gazing at the faces of the freedmen who crowded both sides of the street, cheering his name. They smiled with unrestrained joy, trampling their broken shackles underfoot and tossing their identification tags into the air.
The Onion Knight followed close behind. He had to admit—this was the true charm of the Baratheon line: charismatic, direct, and capable of turning enemies into allies with little more than honesty and strength. Yet beneath that straightforward exterior, Ser Davos sensed something deeper—a shrewd and strategic mind. Stannis Baratheon might have been the exception of his house, but this boy had inherited its true fire.
Behind Gendry and Davos rode the Wolf Riders in grey-white cloaks, the cavalry of his lance regiment and Free Army knights who had joined his cause. The Unsullied marched in disciplined ranks, shields and spears ready, the cold steel studs on their helmets gleaming like daggers as they scanned their surroundings with silent vigilance.
Gendry halted before the largest temple in the city—the Temple of the Trisolarans. The structure rose like a great tower ringed by three corner spires. The first head of their god devoured the dead; the third bestowed new life. A massive statue with three heads stood guard before the entrance, and a broad square spread out before it.
There, the knights saw them—the hanged slaves. An oppressive stillness fell. Hundreds of corpses swung in the dawn breeze like a black forest. The governors of Tyrosi had executed them before sunrise for daring to rise against their masters. But now, the world had turned.
"They died for freedom," Gendry said solemnly. He stepped forward, kneeling to drape a shroud over the first of the fallen. "We will remember them. Burn their shackles. Cleanse ourselves."
"Yes, Commander!" a grey-cloaked rider answered.
Inside the temple, the nuns of Tyros performed their rites—chanting prayers for the souls of the dead. In this city, even slaves were entitled to their final passage. The bodies needed to be burned quickly before stench and plague could spread.
"Commander-in-Chief," Ser Jorah Mormont and the wildman Raymond hurried to him. "There have been incidents of looting and rape within the city. Most were not by our soldiers, but by freed slaves who've joined our ranks."
"After the city fell, I declared order," Gendry replied, his eyes cold. "In the North, we have punishments for rioters."
Both men nodded. Talent and discipline were hard to find. Even if Gendry restored order, he would still need trustworthy men to rule what he had won.
"Commander-in-Chief!" called Grey Wolf, the Unsullied Captain, arriving with a black raven perched on his arm. "A message from Maester Qyburn."
Gendry unrolled the parchment. The words darkened his expression.
> "As you predicted, riots have broken out in Myr. The rebels are attacking Free Army soldiers and freed slaves alike. The Brownmen might have suppressed them—but the Centaurs have crossed the Lorne River. They're not ravaging the Disputed Lands; they're marching on Myr. Judging by their banners, they don't seem to belong to Khal Drogo—but their numbers are great."
"The same dilemma Daenerys will face," Gendry muttered to himself. Reformers and liberators always met rebellion from the old masters. The difference was that, unlike the Dragon Queen, he commanded disciplined soldiers and the strength to meet the storm head-on.
Now came the bitter days—the endless fighting. He faced not only the siege of Tyrosi but also the uprisings in Myr and the oncoming Dothraki horde. Such blood and hardship were beyond what any cunning mercenary would endure. Only true soldiers could see it through.
"Which Khal could it be?" he wondered aloud. The scale didn't fit Drogo's horde, but any Khal's riders were deadly on the plains.
"This is a rare opportunity," he said at last. "If I can defeat them, my name will be made—and the nobles of Myr and Tyrosi will bear the blame for betrayal. It's a victory whichever way it ends."
"Summon all commanders immediately," Gendry ordered.
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief!" Grey Wolf bowed and rode off.
---
The camp at the Fountain of Dionysus was packed with soldiers. Unsullied stood in a ring of steel and silence, while their leaders gathered at the center.
"Gentlemen," Gendry began, "a bloody battle is inevitable. We cannot waste time battering Black City's walls. The Tyrosi lords and the fleeing governors of Myr have bribed the Dothraki to strike at us."
"What!" cried Raymond the Savage. "Are you abandoning us?"
"Not abandoning you," Gendry said evenly. "But the Dothraki have crossed the river—they will destroy Myr if we delay. I must defeat them first."
He turned to the rest. "To save Myr and Tyrosi, and all the Disputed Lands, I will march to Myr. The rest of you will hold here."
The commanders exchanged grim looks but raised no strong objection. Fighting on two fronts was dangerous, yet Myr was their rear and supply base. To lose it was to lose everything.
"Give the order," someone called.
"Give the order, Commander-in-Chief!" the rest echoed.
"The siege of Tyrosi will continue," Gendry said. "The Handsome Man will command the siege of Black City. Ser Jorah, the Free Army, and the Wolf Pack remaining here will be under your command. Raymond the Wildling will serve with you. Do not attempt a full assault before my return. Harris will command the Tyrosi fleet, and Moroshu will handle troop transport."
Black City was nearly impregnable. There was no need for reckless assaults. Once Myr was pacified, the fortress would fall naturally.
"Yes, Commander!" the Handsome Man replied. Though he had lost the feeling in his sword hand, his mind was sharper than ever—a loyal and brilliant strategist. Gendry would not have left such an asset behind were it not for necessity.
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief," Ser Jorah said reluctantly. He would rather face the Dothraki in open battle, but he knew Tyrosi also required warriors.
"Ser Davos," Gendry said then, turning to the Onion Knight. "Myr will be dangerous, and your task is nearly done. Stay in Tyrosi and aid my treasurer."
His tone left no room for debate. It was not only because Davos was not of his household, but also because Gendry did not wish him to see too much of what came next.
That evening, under secrecy, Moroshu ferried Gendry's chosen soldiers across the sea to the coast opposite Telos in swift boats.
---
Across the river from Tyrosi, Gendry saw Prince Oberyn Martell and a hundred Dornish light cavalry approaching.
The Dornish lived up to their reputation—their bronze-rimmed armor gleamed red-gold in the torchlight. They carried round shields, long spears, and double-curved bows. Lightly armored in leather scales stitched with bronze, they wore turbans over their helms to shield against the desert sun. Few in Westeros could match their speed or skill in mounted archery.
"A brilliant victory, Commander-in-Chief," Oberyn called, raising his lance in salute. He had already seen battle at sea—ships burning, men screaming, the waters of Tyrosi harbor choked with wreckage and blood. And now, on land, flames of rebellion engulfed the city.
"You didn't come all this way just to watch," Gendry said with a wry smile, studying the Red Viper.
They rode side by side. Oberyn's admiration was genuine, but his heart was uneasy. The mercenary-king he had sought to ally with was a Baratheon by blood. Yet Gendry, who carried the lost Targaryen heir within his ranks, shared his hatred for the Lannisters and the corrupt order of the Throne.
"I'm not here for spectacle," Oberyn said. "I came to fight beside you."
"Then your timing is perfect," Gendry replied. "The Centaurs are on the move. Myr is in revolt. War's at hand."
Oberyn's eyes burned with excitement. "I've heard the same rumors—the Dothraki massing, the cities in chaos. The world's turning, Commander-in-Chief."
"Tyrosi is also an opportunity," Gendry said. "Why not help me take it?"
"I will not attack Tyrosi," Oberyn answered sharply. "The city's lords have long ties with Dorne. Many of their sons were fostered at the Water Gardens. We have no quarrel with them."
"Aren't you afraid the Iron Throne will hold you accountable?" Gendry asked.
Oberyn laughed. "It's only Oberyn who's here—not Dorne. I haven't set foot in King's Landing in years. Besides, Dornishmen and Myrmen look alike. Who will know whose knights I bring? Oberyn Martell has always been his own man. What's wrong with earning a little honor on the battlefield?"
Gendry's lips curved into a faint smile. "Then welcome to the war, Red Viper."
The night wind swept through the camp. Somewhere in the distance, drums began to beat—the rhythm of another storm approaching.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)
Last two days more for giveaway