Gendry set aside the map of the Stepstones and rose to greet his two distinguished guests: the second son and youngest daughter of House Tyrell of Highgarden. Leaving his desk, he walked over to the dining table.
"The Golden Rose of the green fields honors my humble home with its presence," Gendry said, gesturing to the chairs and inviting them to sit. "I had expected envoys from House Redwyne. I didn't imagine the Great Lord of Highgarden would send his own children."
"It seems the Lord Commander has already guessed who we are," Garlan replied with a smile. "I simply didn't expect the Lord Commander to be so young—and so perceptive."
Though pleased to be received in person by the Lord Commander of the Wolf Pack, Garlan could not hide a trace of curiosity. Rumor had it that the Wolf Pack had already surrounded Myr. Could an alliance with Highgarden truly matter more than taking the city?
"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Commander," Margaery said lightly. "We ought to have met you dressed in Highgarden's colors—green and gold—but time is short."
Her laughter faded as she lifted her veil.
Gendry looked at her closely. Long brown curls framed her face; her eyes were soft, like a doe's, and her smile shy yet sweet. She was a rare beauty—and more than that, the key to securing the support of wealthy Highgarden.
"That is thanks to my Master of Whisperers," Gendry said, gesturing toward the corner. "A most insightful man."
Only then did Garlan and Margaery notice the elderly man seated there. He looked mild and unassuming, clearly advanced in years. Yet as Master of Whisperers, he must possess methods of his own.
Qyburn rose and bowed politely to the son and daughter of House Tyrell in welcome.
Mace may be a fool, Gendry thought, but he has raised his children well. They are close to one another, and each has real ability. The eldest is clever. The second is skilled in both pen and sword. Even the flamboyant third son has strengthened ties with Renly. And Little Rose understands her duty as a noblewoman.
Families that raised their children as poorly as the Lannisters or the Tullys were not so common, after all.
Garlan and Margaery took in the room. Myr tapestries hung on the walls. Shelves of books lined one side. Battle maps were spread across the table. Weapons rested within easy reach.
The Lord Commander's armor was the most striking object in the chamber: black scale plate, clearly repaired in places, without gold inlay or jeweled ornament. The weapons were equally practical—a spiked warhammer, a purpleheart longbow, an arakh. The Valyrian steel blade remained sheathed, and Garlan did not recognize its worth at a glance.
A disciplined man, Garlan concluded.
The Free Cities were never short of coin. A man who possessed vast lands and wealth yet shunned extravagance could only harbor ambitions greater than expected.
"Let us speak plainly, Lord Commander," Garlan Tyrell said earnestly. "We wish to purchase some Fire Herb from you."
He did not name a price, but Highgarden's wealth would not disappoint.
"Highgarden's gold and grain are indeed tempting," Gendry replied, studying the two siblings. "But I require another kind of assistance."
He tapped the map lightly.
"The Stepstones. A haven for slave traders and pirates. They prey upon honest folk year after year. Rather than leave them unchecked, it would be better if someone governed them."
"You want the Stepstones?" Garlan fell silent for a moment.
Taking the islands would be a ruthless move. From both sea and land, it would choke Tyrosh and Myr alike. The Lord Commander of the Wolf Pack was no ordinary man.
"Gold and grain, House Tyrell can provide," Garlan said carefully. "But the Stepstones belong to Westeros. They fall under the authority of the Iron Throne."
"The Iron Throne?" Gendry let out a faint scoff. "The king barely concerns himself with King's Landing, let alone those desolate rocks. Highgarden and House Redwyne are bound by marriage. If I move on the Stepstones, I expect the Redwyne fleet to behave as it always has."
"And the royal fleet?"
"The royal fleet is not something you need worry about, Ser Garlan," Qyburn said calmly.
Stannis had more pressing matters to occupy him.
"I will relay your intentions to my father," Garlan promised.
House Redwyne and House Tyrell were kin by marriage. In truth, when it came to the Redwyne fleet, it was House Tyrell whose word carried the greater weight.
"There is plenty of time ahead. We have many opportunities to work together—before the long winter sets in."
"The long winter?" Garlan's eyes widened as he looked at Gendry. The man before him clearly understood the shifting winds in Westeros far better than Garlan had expected.
"Winter is coming. The Wolf Pack comes from the North—we remember winter better than anyone," Gendry said with a faint smile.
"And the Golden Company?" Garlan asked. "What is the Lord Commander's view of them?"
"They are exiles," Gendry replied calmly, "but they are also a powerful army."
"There are many exiled nobles from the Reach within the Golden Company," Garlan said carefully. "If they wish to return home, they cannot do so without your help."
"I understand what you're implying," Gendry answered with a smile.
Both the Golden Company and House Tyrell sought to draw him to their side. But how events unfolded would remain in his own hands.
Garlan let out a quiet breath. It was only a precaution.
...
Under the cold, clear sky, the Tyrell siblings remained in the Disputed Lands for some time. Gendry invited Garlan to drink, hunt, and spar. The two men shared a similar understanding of warfare, both favoring battle simulations that pitted one against many.
As for Margaery, her interest in Gendry only deepened. She often found herself studying his eyes. She could not see his face beneath the mask and could only imagine what he looked like. The man behind it was perhaps like a newly forged blade—keen and gleaming. It was rare, after all, for her elder brother to show such admiration toward a young man.
On the training grounds, beneath the gray-white banners of the Wolf Pack and the Free Company, the soldiers drilled in formation. The cavalry moved like a raging wind; the infantry stood steady as mountains.
"What a formidable force," Garlan murmured in admiration.
Long Lance commanded the Wolf Pack cavalry. The riders sat tall in their saddles, armed with longswords, lances, flails, great axes, and more. The eight hundred knights of the Long Lance Company, led by their own commander, had also surrendered to the Wolf Pack, greatly swelling its cavalry strength.
Steel Fist commanded the Wolf Pack infantry.
Garlan's gaze lingered on their equipment. The most elite among them were already clad in full plate or plate-and-scale armor. The Wolf Pack fought like true northerners—bold, relentless, unafraid of brutal combat—yet they were outfitted in the finest armor.
He watched as cavalry and infantry advanced together like a single iron fist, unstoppable and fearless.
Then there was the Free Company. Though technically retainers and vassals, they had undergone serious training. They were familiar with Westerosi tactical systems and had even adopted portions of the Unsullied formations.
The Wolf Pack may prove an even greater threat than the Golden Company, Garlan reflected. Their numbers are considerable, and their morale and equipment are strong.
The Golden Company's strength was finite. The Free Company, however, was like an avalanche—once it began to grow, it would only grow larger.
Whatever the future held, such a massive armed force demanded careful preparation.
...
The days of companionship were brief. Gendry had little time to enjoy traveling alongside the Rose before bidding farewell to the Tyrell siblings.
"He reminds me of someone, brother," Margaery said softly aboard the ship.
"You mean Renly?"