The sky was a vast, unblinking blue, reflecting the calm waters of the Myrish Bay. Before it stood the walls of Myr—pristine, white marble that usually shimmered with the wealth of the Three Daughters, but today stood open like a wound. The coastline was a forest of masts; Gendry's disparate fleet of cog-ships, river-boats, and captured pirate galleys now completely blockaded the city's lifelines.
As the grey-and-white wolf banners were hoisted over the landward gates, a heavy silence fell over the marble districts. Iron Fist had already led a vanguard of the Free Army into the city to secure the granaries, and the Second Sons—led by a sweating Brown Ben Plumm—had taken control of the inner gatehouses.
Gendry rode into the city on a black sand steed of Dorne. Behind him marched five hundred elite Wolf Pack knights, their polished black plate armor creating a dark, shifting forest of steel. Following them were the cavalry of the Spear Company and the endless columns of the Free Army infantry.
"Freedom! Long live the Commander!"
The roar of the slaves was a physical force, shaking the very air of the cobblestone streets. Thousands of men and women who had spent their lives as property now crowded the thoroughfares to catch a glimpse of the man who had broken their chains. The ratio of slaves to freemen in Myr was nearly four-to-one; the power shift was not just political, it was seismic.
"Keep the men in line," Gendry said to Longspear, his voice amplified by the iron mask. "The workshops and the docks are to remain untouched. Any soldier caught looting or raping is to be executed in the square before the sun sets. We are here to rule, not to scavenge."
"As you command, Regent," Longspear replied, leading a detachment of riders to enforce the peace.
Gendry knew that discipline was the only thing standing between a new kingdom and a riot. He modeled his order after the hard justice of Stannis Baratheon and Randyll Tarly, knowing that the Free Army—composed of those who had known the lash—would be easier to discipline than the cynical sellswords of the Company of the Cat.
Gendry established his headquarters in the Magister's Palace, a sprawling white estate that overlooked the harbor. In the gilded council chamber, he sat with Qyburn to map out the future of the city.
"Conquering Myr was the easy part," Gendry said, looking at the city below. "Ruling it is where the real war begins."
"A lasting conquest is the only one that matters," Qyburn agreed, his voice a whisper of old memories. "Volantis once ruled Lys and Myr for two generations after the Century of Blood, only to lose them to internal rot. Even Aegon the Silvertongue held Tyrosh for years before the tide turned. You must replace the old order, not just suppress it."
"I'm dissolving the Conclave of Magisters," Gendry declared. "There will be no 'High Magisters' in my city. I will appoint a new Council of Governance—artisans, merchants who were quick to flip, and representatives from the freedmen. I will rule as Provisional Regent until the dust settles."
"Regent," Qyburn mused. "A title that implies a king yet to be crowned. It is a wise choice."
The door to the chamber swung open, and Captain Harris entered, his face flushed with the kind of excitement usually reserved for a man who has just found a mountain of gold.
"The harbor is secured, Regent!" Harris announced. "We've captured one hundred and forty Myrish warships intact. The fleeing Magisters only managed to take seventy with them. The rest are yours."
Gendry stood and walked to the window.
"One hundred and forty galleys," Gendry whispered. "Added to my two hundred mixed vessels from the Stepstones... that gives me a fleet of three hundred and forty ships."
"The Iron Fleet of Westeros numbers barely a hundred," Harris added. "The Redwyne Fleet and the Royal Fleet are around two hundred each. Regent... you now command the most powerful naval force on either side of the Narrow Sea."
Gendry looked out toward the horizon. He had the city, he had the army, and now he had the waves. The blacksmith's apprentice had forged a throne out of marble and salt.