The Gathering Storm

The situation in Myr was deteriorating, evident by the increasingly gloomy expression on Handsome's face.

The marauding bandit mercenaries were still operating in small groups, not as numerous as the bandit knights. Moreover, the gunpowder grass manor, with the cooperation of the Wolf Pack mercenaries and the slaves, had dug deeper and wider trenches. Yet, Handsome couldn't find it in him to be cheerful.

The troubles the magistrate faced were not confined to this manor but were more deeply rooted in the city of Myr itself. The competition for the seat of the magistrate in the Free Cities was, at best, orderly, but occasionally punctuated with bloody overtures. Assassinations, poisonings.

"The Wolf Pack might be tied too closely to Magister Karasso!" Standing atop the manor's wall, with the distant mountains and waters stretching out before them in a picturesque scene, Handsome confided in Gendry.

Gendry, being one of the more cultured members of the mercenary band—brave and strategic—had earned the admiration of his fellow mercenaries for his strength, especially after dispatching a Meereenese gladiator.

"We're just mercenaries, right? Why are we entangled in the Myrish game?"

"Hired swords lack loyalty, and free riders have no discipline, but the Wolf Pack is different. We have a long-standing and close relationship with the Karasso family! We have a long-term and intimate contract."

Gendry understood what Handsome was implying. Magister Karasso and the Wolf Pack were mutually supportive. Out of blood and camaraderie, the Wolf Pack wouldn't easily abandon the magistrate. Moreover, with their long-standing cooperation, the magistrate's enemies would also target the Wolf Pack.

"But it's not that serious. Dying in battle is a mercenary's fate. Riding a fine horse, wielding swords, fighting and adventuring in the Free Cities, carousing in brothels, and then dying in some senseless war—that's our life. But you're different, kid. You don't have to go down with the Wolf Pack!" Handsome wanted Gendry to be mentally prepared.

"You're a good kid, with a bright future ahead. Handsome and fearless, the Wolf Pack is just your first stop. Normally, a mercenary would serve in many different bands. But we're different. We have the blood of the North flowing through us, and we don't want to move on anymore!"

"Has it come to this?" Gendry mused. There was a hint of resignation in Handsome's words.

"Graybeard has sent word. This year's election is going to be tough. The merchants who usually support the magistrate seem to have received some sort of hint and are refusing to lend money. The Myrish bank is also turning its back. That's why the magistrate is so desperate to exchange gunpowder grass for gold!" Handsome pondered. "Without money, there's no way to bribe or please the voters."

Gendry was aware of the dynamics in the Free Cities. Money was the sinew of power. The most famous was the election in Volantis, but the Free Cities were largely similar.

The Volantene election lasted ten days, during which the electorate indulged in pleasure. Candidates would go to great lengths to win over voters. In these ten days of revelry, there were torchlight processions, speeches, and performances by mimes, singers, and dancers.

Assassins would duel for their favored candidates, and elephants bore the names of contenders. Some candidates even allowed their slaves to sleep with voters, doing anything to secure their votes.

"Forget about Myr, which is beyond our reach! Because of the attacks on the gunpowder grass manor, the enemy is strong and mysterious. Plus, it's an election year, and the magistrate needs to bolster his defenses. The Wolf Pack will send a group to protect him, and another part will come to reinforce us!"

"Hope the magistrate wins this time!" Gendry could only hope. The Myrish election scam was only navigable by local freemen; it wasn't something brute force could solve.

"I hope so too. Go train, Gendry!" Handsome smiled and let Gendry get on with his business.

Gendry descended from the manor's wall and saw the rust-colored gunpowder grass, as beautiful as burning flames, with slaves bustling about. The gunpowder grass was nearing maturity, to be dried and sent to Myr.

"Red! The color of the world is red!" Gendry thought. The world would end in fire or ice. The chaos in Myr, they were already entangled in it.

When not engaged in battle, Gendry enjoyed the training ground, where he received combat training and learned to wield various weapons.

The spearman's spear was elusive, once leaving Gendry's jerkin covered in dents and bumps, but he had gradually grown accustomed to its rhythm. The odd flail also gave Gendry a hard time.

A flail typically consisted of a stick connected to a chain, somewhat like a mace. At the end of the chain was a metal head, either a blunt hammer-like end or a spiked ball like a morning star.

"Spear! Mace! Flail! I've become familiar with the construction of many weapons, but the mace is still the one I'm most proficient with!" A knight should be adept at various weapons to adapt to the battlefield.

After a long and intense session of sparring, Gendry finally had a moment to catch his breath. He would train until late and exhausted, his strength and resilience earning the admiration of all the mercenaries. Maester Qyburn approached him again, clearly with urgent news.

"Your Grace, two matters. First, the Beggar King and his guardian have made some moves; they're hiding in Pentos," Qyburn whispered. "After selling his mother's crown to sustain themselves, the Beggar King has little left to sell. Now, perhaps only his sister remains. Using his sister to barter for an army is a tall order; few are interested in directly challenging the Iron Throne. But our time is running out as well."

"It is pressing! But we need a good moment to strike. Snatching food from a shrewd merchant's hands is no easy feat. And the second matter?" Gendry knew the Fat Magistrate of Pentos had the Targaryen siblings under his protection and control.

The Fat one was looking for a suitor for Daenerys, but finding someone with a strong army and the will to cross the Narrow Sea was no easy task, which is why the Dothraki Khal was eventually chosen. Interfering needed the right opportunity; they couldn't just let the Fat one have his way.

"There's another thing! According to the smugglers, our employer seems to be in a tough spot. The merchants of the Navigator's Guild are planning to unite and squeeze him out of his position!"

"The Navigator's Guild, pirates, right!" Gendry scoffed.

"Pirates, they may be, but they don't miss a beat. We need to consider extricating ourselves as well!" Qyburn laid out his plan.

"The captain has already told me this! We can leave at any time! But I think we should wait and see. The Wolf Pack is, after all, the first army we've come into contact with."

"So you've already made your plans! That's good to hear!" Qyburn felt reassured. "These nearby gunpowder grass manors, mines, and the wealth of the Disputed Lands are not lacking."

Gendry glanced at Qyburn; if it came to it, they might have to incite a slave uprising and plunder in the Disputed Lands. The population was already there for the taking.

"Your Grace. King Robert won victories with his warhammer; we might be able to do the same! But besides courage, we might also need a patron. The exiled Targaryen descendants all had patrons, and your identity won't be short of them either." Qyburn had witnessed the stag's fearlessness on the battlefield; going from a bastard to a king was perilous but not impossible.

Once the news of the king's legitimate children being products of adultery was exposed, there would always be wealthy merchants and bankers sniffing around to invest in Gendry.

"Patrons are insatiably greedy, and our cards are too few. The king won the War of the Usurper but didn't fully capitalize on the victory. Dorne is angry, and the Lannisters were brought in through marriage alliances." Gendry didn't like a compromised victory.

Overall, the centralization of royal power was weak to begin with, and Robert Baratheon's mind wasn't on the throne. A divided Baratheon family made it hard to evaluate such a suffocating move.

"You're right, but politics is always like this, full of weighing and choosing, considering pros and cons. Robert didn't think with his head; most of his alliances and compromises came from Duke Jon."

"The linchpin of the throne seems to be the king, but in reality, it's the hardworking Duke Jon." Gendry thought about the alliance of the eagle, fish, wolf, and stag; the eagle was the lubricant and facilitator, even in the later reconciliation with Dorne and the marriage alliance with the Lannisters.

"Yes, Your Grace! The burden rests on one man, but how old is Duke Jon now? He can't keep cleaning up after our king forever. We're in Essos; we can't afford to be in disarray and need allies and supporters."

"Indeed, Your Grace! The burden rests on one man, but how old is Duke Jon now? He can't keep cleaning up after our king forever. We're in Essos; we can't afford to be in disarray and need allies and supporters."