The battlefield before the walls of Myr had become a shifting tapestry of clashing colors and sounds. From the high ramparts, the commanders saw everything—the black tide of the Dothraki Screamers, the pale stone of Myr's walls, the off-white banners of the Wolf Pack, the red stains of blood that spread across the mud, and the gleam of steel and silver armor flashing under the weak daylight.
Below, the world had dissolved into noise: the thunder of hooves, the shouts of men, the ring of steel, and the guttural cries of survival. Gendry listened carefully. The battlefield always told its own story—rage, fear, desperation—and today was no different. Every sound was a reminder that this was man killing man, the oldest language of war.
A series of deep horn blasts rolled across the plain—
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Long, low, and deliberate.
Gendry's men were not like the Unsullied; they were not bred from birth to fear nothing. They needed horns, commands, and their commander's presence to steady their hearts. And so the horns sounded again and again—hard, iron notes meant to force trembling hands back to discipline.
Gendry inhaled, steady and calm, studying the flow of the battle. The Grey Wolf's shield wall was still holding, though it contracted slightly with every Dothraki wave. Behind them, the Unsullied stood firm, directing the Free Army soldiers and taxi soldiers to maintain formation. Their longspears jutted outward like a forest of death.
The Dothraki had charged repeatedly, chipping at the formation—never enough to break it, but enough to make each clash cost blood.
Gendry's jaw tightened.
"There is only a brief moment left. I have to strike before that window closes."
His soldiers were not Unsullied. A man who had known freedom, family, pain—such a man could not stand through eighteen consecutive cavalry charges. The shield wall would not last forever. The instant it showed signs of collapse, the Dothraki would pour through it and the battle would be lost.
The time to attack was approaching.
---
The Khal's Advance
On the opposite side of the field, Khal Jhezkahn pushed forward resolutely. His hair bells chimed with each thunderous stride of his horse.
"The Unsullied are only a handful," he growled. "The ones behind them are soft—people who live behind stone walls, wrapped in armor. They are prey."
He led his front ranks directly through the free infantry behind the shield wall. The slaves—recently freed and barely trained—had shaky morale and no battlefield discipline. They scattered easily under the Dothraki's pressure.
"Charge again! Kill them all!"
The Khal's voice cut like a whip.
The Red Viper, watching from the city wall, muttered, "The Dothraki truly are born riders."
Westeros relied heavily on infantry. Few would dare build an army entirely around cavalry the way the Dothraki did. Their speed, discipline, and unity in motion were unmatched.
"Kill!" the Dothraki roared as they plunged forward again.
Their light cavalry stormed the field, wielding arakhs, longbows, and whips. Even the mud—slicked with oil—did not slow them much. They advanced like a sandstorm.
But Myr was not idle.
Behind the gates, trebuchets hurled stones in rapid succession. Each boulder smashed into the charging lines, crushing men and horses alike. On the walls, Longbowmen released volleys that hissed downward like sheets of rain.
Death reaped in all directions.
The Dothraki fell in dozens.
So did Gendry's infantry and Free Army soldiers.
Armor helped little against arrows, hooves, and the crushing chaos of close combat.
The Screamers had already made seven full charges. Each one chipped away at the shield wall.
Some horses, unable to avoid the hedge of longspears, impaled themselves and collapsed, shrieking. Their riders were cut down before they even hit the ground. But the falling bodies also smashed into the shield wall, crushing soldiers with sheer weight and causing brief moments of panic.
"Hold the line!"
"Stand firm!"
Steel Fist—leading the elite Wolf Pack infantry—bellowed commands as he braced the collapsing front. The Wolf Pack stood like an iron barrier, while the Free Army soldiers behind them hurried to plug every gap.
Arrows whistled as the Dothraki pulled back then scattered, peppering the shield wall once more.
And still—the Grey Wolf lived.
Still—Steel Fist stood.
But too many soldiers they knew had already fallen.
The Grey Wolf glanced back toward the walls, licking dry lips stained with blood.
"The rest is up to you now," he whispered to Gendry, though the young commander was out of earshot.
---
The Khal's Impatience
Drums began to beat from the Dothraki line—
Boom… boom… boom…
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
The sound was heavy, like the judgment of the gods.
Khal Jhezkahn scowled at the still-intact wall of shields. Seven charges should have broken them. If he pressed too much longer and failed to shatter the formation, his own men would be the ones broken beneath Myr's defenses.
"This must end now."
He regretted listening to Tyrosh's promises. He had expected an easy victory. But Myr's defense was proving costly.
---
Gendry's Decision
On the walls, Gendry watched for the precise moment.
The Dothraki morale was beginning to dip. Their fatigue—though well hidden—was starting to show. Meanwhile, the Wolf Pack's shield wall was seconds from collapse.
It was time.
Gendry spoke to Brown Ben and the Arrow Maker:
"Disrupt their momentum. Launch fire arrows. Even a moment of confusion will be enough."
He pointed across the field.
"The Second Sons will act as the rear guard. Hit the Dothraki from behind."
Orders were relayed instantly.
Gendry descended the wall with Longspear, The Red Viper, and Brown Ben. The upcoming clash would decide everything. There would be no retreat, no holding back.
The Red Viper murmured, "The Warrior will grant us strength."
Gendry nodded. "And may the Smith strengthen our weapons."
---
The Fire Arrows
"Draw!"
"Loose!"
A rain of fire arrows streaked into the trampled, oil-covered ground in front of the shield wall. Some spots still ignited, forming small pockets of flame. The ground had been churned too much for a full blaze, but the smoke and sparks startled several horses.
The Dothraki reacted with irritation, confusion, and a hint of surprise.
"That is all they have?"
"Such tiny flames?"
Before they could recover—
Myr's cavalry surged out from a second city gate.
---
The Charge of Myr
Gendry led from the front—
six hundred Wolf Pack cavalry,
eight hundred Spear Company riders,
hundreds of Free Army knights,
and one hundred light Dornish riders under the Red Viper.
Over two thousand cavalry.
The best that Myr had.
Their charge struck the battlefield like a hammer.
A Dothraki warrior charged at Gendry, arakh raised high. Gendry met him head-on. His warhammer smashed into the man's chest, crushing ribs and lungs in a single brutal blow. The rider fell dead before his body hit the ground.
Gendry did not stop.
He swung again and again, battering through enemy riders. The heavily armored cavalry under his command punched into the Dothraki ranks like a massive, unstoppable fist.
"Kill!"
"Kill Khal Jhezkahn!"
Gendry roared, driving his horse forward. With his black scale armor, massive warhammer, and unmatched momentum, he was the spearhead of the entire assault.
---
Gendry Meets the Khal
Dust swirled.
Steel clashed.
Horses screamed.
Then Gendry's gaze locked onto him—
Khal Jhezkahn.
Over forty years old, not in the prime physical condition of Khal Drogo, but a veteran of countless battles. A true Dothraki warlord.
The Khal recognized him too—
the armored warrior atop a powerful Dornish warhorse, surrounded by elite knights.
"The king of stone houses," Jhezkahn muttered.
The bells in the Khal's hair chimed as he raised his arakh, shimmering like a crescent moon.
"Face me!"
He charged.
His arakh cut through the air with terrifying speed—agile and vicious, like a leopard's strike. The blade seemed to blur as it slashed toward Gendry's throat.
But Gendry did not retreat.
In that moment, with the battlefield roaring around him, he felt no fear.
Only purpose.
Only strength.
He raised his warhammer.
The Warrior had descended to earth.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)