A large round table dominated the central hall of the Archon of Tyrosh's manor, where nearly all the high-ranking leaders of the Twin Cities Alliance had gathered. Bowls of fruit—melons from The Reach, sweet peaches from Tyrosh, and fire plums from Myr—decorated the tabletop, their rich aromas mixing with the salt-tinged breeze from the distant sea.
Around the table sat Gendry, Qyburn, The Handsome Man, Arrow Maker, Longspear, Steel Fist, Grey Wolf, Jorah Mormont, Harris of the Narrow Sea Fleet, Moros of the Myr Fleet, and other key figures who now shaped the course of the alliance.
Tyrosh and Myr had finally been pacified, and Gendry had focused all forces on stabilizing the cities, calming the people, and restoring administration. He had no intention of reckless expansion. Whether it was Lys or the lands across the Narrow Sea, once the fleet set sail with hostile intention, the delicate balance of the region would collapse instantly.
"Try these," Gendry said as he gestured toward the fruits. "The fields of The Reach produce some of the finest crops on the continent. These melons, peaches, and fire plums came from the last supply ships."
"Thanks to this long summer," The Handsome Man said with a laugh. "Since our Wolf Pack left the North, it seems we've almost forgotten the smell of winter."
A faint smile crossed Qyburn's face. "You may feel winter sooner than you expect. The long summer began in 289 AC, and it still hasn't ended. Many believe it will be eternal—a summer without winter. But from the knowledge I've studied, long summers often mirror the length of the Long Winter that follows. A summer this long… might herald a winter beyond imagination. Though I sincerely hope I am wrong—for Westeros would not survive the harshest winter in history."
"Even if a Long Winter comes," said Moros of Myr, "Essos won't suffer the way Westeros does."
It was true that Westeros suffered the most extreme climate shifts; the northern tip of the continent stretched deep toward the mysterious Land of Always Winter. Essos, however, extended sideways and not northward; its northernmost edge aligned only with the latitude of the Neck.
"That's correct under ordinary circumstances," Qyburn replied. "But if a Long Winter lasts ten years or more, even Essos will feel it. The approach of winter is slow and silent—but inevitable."
"Regardless of how long the winter will be, storing grain and supplies is essential," Gendry said.
"You will be responsible for this," he told The Handsome Man.
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief."
Beyond the room's warm light and cheerful food, an unseen shadow loomed: the Long Night. While most people played their endless game of thrones—scheming, maneuvering, or simply ignoring the warnings—the threat grew stronger. The Others had awoken, and the Night's Watch had dwindled to a mere flickering candle in a storm.
Gendry's thoughts drifted as the discussion continued. The tide of events is rising. What I must do is guide it, brace myself against it, and seize the place the new age offers me. Grain, soldiers, commanders—these were the foundation. And for a future as terrifying as the Long Night, now only a distant rumor, he had to prepare every possible measure.
In Gendry's mind, the world faced three great trends.
First was the magic tide—the slow but unstoppable approach of the Long Night. The Others were awakening, ancient powers were stirring, and in time the age of magic would fully resurface. If dragons ever returned, the world would change again.
Second was the political struggle in Westeros. The Baratheon dynasty's foundation was crumbling. King Robert had no absolute power—no dragon, no legend, no unifying force. His rule was a loose alliance at best, destined to fracture.
Third was the slave liberation movement, a path difficult and bloody, yet noble. It would reshape Essos, whether the old powers liked it or not.
"Commander, I will now report on recent developments," Qyburn said as he rose from his seat. The others quieted. "First—Pentos and Braavos. Pentos remains relatively weak. Braavos, as always, keeps to itself. My agents believe this is because the old Sealord is gravely ill. Nevertheless, we will continue monitoring them."
Gendry nodded. He had expected that stance. In these turbulent times, Braavos had remained oddly still. Perhaps the dying Sealord was incapable of decisive action… or perhaps Braavos preferred to watch, wait, and profit quietly, for chaos in the other Free Cities only benefited them.
"Next—our restless neighbors. The Lyseni remain unstable," Qyburn continued, "but Lys is only a single city-state and cannot threaten us alone."
Moros scoffed. "Lys has sailors, yes—but their land forces are weak. They cannot fight wars with pleasure gardens and perfumed boys and girls. They rely on mercenaries, and mercenaries alone will not dare provoke us."
"The Lyseni have been sending gold to Volantis," Qyburn added.
The room fell silent.
Everyone knew the greatest threat was Volantis. Despite its decline, its population remained massive, and its history as the first and greatest of the Free Cities weighed heavily. Worse still, Volantis had an enormous slave population—five slaves for every citizen. To them, Gendry's liberation of Tyrosh and Myr was nothing short of a dangerous spark.
"In Volantis," Qyburn went on, "the Elephant Party holds the majority among the Triarchs. The current Triarchs are: Malakho Maegyr of the Tiger Party, Nesisso Vhassar of the Elephant Party, and Triarch Malaquo of the Elephant Party."
"The Tiger Party Triarch, Malakho, will undoubtedly push for war against us," The Handsome Man said. "What of the other two?"
"Nesisso is wealthy beyond measure—his fortune built entirely upon the slave trade. Though an Elephant, he also advocates attacking us."
"And Malaquo?" Gendry asked.
"Malaquo opposes war, seeing it as costly and unnecessary. But if he fails re-election next year, the Triarchs will share a unified stance—and they will attack."
Jorah crossed his arms. "Volantis's strength is substantial. Their standing army, the Tiger Cloaks, is larger than any other Free City's. And their Great Fleet remains formidable. Though weakened compared to the past, Volantis still has the population to wage a long war."
Grey Wolf leaned forward. "Volantis is drowning in slaves. The Tiger Cloaks are slave soldiers. Their cheeks bear green tiger-stripe tattoos. The Great Fleet is manned largely by slave sailors. If we can grant freedom to these people, Volantis will realize the price of its cruelty."
"War with Volantis is inevitable," Gendry said calmly. "But not now. We must not waste our strength prematurely. First we stabilize Tyrosh and Myr, then rebuild. Only then can we fight properly."
Qyburn nodded. "There are ways to delay them. I can forge false reports—rumors of Dothraki attacks, or perhaps that our fleets have sailed for Westeros. We can also spread misleading intelligence through our spies. Mixed lies and truths will confuse Volantis and stall them."
There were murmurs of agreement.
"And next—" Qyburn continued, "the Dothraki."
The commander of the Spear Company spoke up. "We must prepare outposts. The horse people can appear out of nowhere."
Khal Jhezkahn's fall near Myr might keep the khalasars quiet for now, but the Dothraki never remained still for long.
Finally came the decisions that would shape the alliance's military future—new appointments and reorganized commands.
"The Wolf Pack Legion," Gendry said, "will be commanded jointly by Longspear and Steel Fist. It will consist mainly of heavy cavalry and heavy infantry."
"The Free Legion will be under Grey Wolf," he went on. "He will be assisted by the commander of the Spear Company. They will lead our light infantry, supported by light cavalry."
"The Second Sons Legion," he continued, "will be commanded by Brown Ben, with Ser Jorah assisting him. They will organize mercenaries, landless nobles, and adventurers who join us."
"The Narrow Sea Fleet will be commanded by Harris," Gendry declared. "He will oversee the seas between the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones."
"And the Wolf Pack Fleet will be commanded by Moros, responsible for the waters around Tyrosh and Myr."
One by one, the commanders nodded, understanding the massive responsibility placed upon them. This was not merely about holding territory—it was about shaping the fate of the region against storms both political and supernatural.
The Long Night approached.
And the general trend of the world was shifting.
Gendry looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each commander. "The tide of the age is rising. Nations will rise and fall. Magic will return. And winter will come. But we will stand prepared. The Twin Cities will not be swept away—we will meet the storm head-on."
The meeting continued deep into the afternoon, but one thought lingered in every heart:
A new era was coming.
And they were building the army that would face it.
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