The Golden Company was founded by Aegor Rivers—better known to history as Bittersteel, once called the Noble Bastard.
Born of House Targaryen's Blackfyre branch, Bittersteel had been a man forged by ambition, resentment, and exile. When Daemon Blackfyre fell and the rebellion collapsed, Bittersteel carried not only his bitterness across the Narrow Sea, but also a vision. He gathered exiles, defeated knights, disgraced lords, and desperate sellswords, forging them into a single force bound by iron discipline and absolute loyalty to contracts.
Thus, the Golden Company was born.
Over the course of nearly a century, it became the largest, most prestigious, and most expensive mercenary company in the Free Cities. While other sellswords gained reputations for betrayal, desertion, and sudden changes of loyalty, the Golden Company cultivated a single, unbreakable virtue:
They never broke a contract.
Their motto was carved into banners, armor, and memory alike:
"Our Word Is As Good As Gold."
It was not merely a boast. It was a promise paid for in blood.
Harry Strickland
Harry Strickland—mocked behind his back as "Homeless Harry"—was the current commander of the Golden Company.
He was an exiled knight of House Strickland, a family that had lost its lands generations ago for supporting Daemon Blackfyre. Since then, three generations of Stricklands had been born in Essos, their ties to Westeros fading into distant memory.
Harry himself had never set foot on the land his ancestors once ruled.
He was corpulent, broad-faced, and balding, with pale grey eyes and thinning hair carefully combed to conceal the truth. His armor was immaculate, his sword polished, the pommel shaped like a gilded skull—but nothing about him suggested a legendary warrior.
In truth, he was not one.
Harry Strickland complained about blisters from marching, disliked prolonged campaigns, and before his promotion had served as the paymaster of the Golden Company—a position requiring caution, numeracy, and patience rather than valor.
Two years ago, the former commander, Myles Toyne—"Blackheart", had died.
As tradition demanded, Toyne's skull was gilded and mounted as one of the company's standards, a grim reminder that command within the Golden Company was both an honor and a debt paid in death.
Harry Strickland took his place.
Many doubted him.
But Davos Lannister did not.
Gold and Elephants
From the railing of his warship, Davos Lannister leaned forward, squinting at the massive shapes on the neighboring transport.
"Will they get seasick?" he asked curiously.
Harry Strickland followed his gaze and chuckled softly.
"Some will. Some won't. Elephants aren't much different from men in that regard."
The beasts were enormous, their dark forms barely restrained by reinforced decks and chains. War elephants—rare, expensive, and terrifying—were Harry's personal indulgence. They symbolized prestige, power, and psychological dominance.
And Davos Lannister had paid for them without hesitation.
Across the Narrow Sea, dozens of ships cut through the waves, their banners fluttering in the wind. Each standard represented a different mercenary company, united by one thing alone:
Lannister gold.
There were the Brave Companions, better known as the Bloody Mummers, their banner depicting a black goat with blood-red horns. Their reputation was infamous. Murderers, rapists, torturers, and exiles filled their ranks, commanded by the lisping, cruel Vargo Hoat of Qohor.
Harry Strickland watched their ship with mild contempt.
Bloody Mummers indeed.
Then there were the Second Sons, the Iron Shields, the Company of the Cat, the Long Spears, and the Windblown, among many others.
Over the past few months, Davos Lannister had done something unprecedented.
He had hired nearly every mercenary company of note in the Free Cities.
He was not selective. Reputation mattered little. Discipline mattered little.
If they could fight—and if their name carried weight—he welcomed them.
With the Lannister name behind him, these mercenary captains saw only opportunity.
A rich fool, ripe for plucking.
They did not care what he wanted them to do.
They did not care if the campaign succeeded or failed.
All they cared about was gold.
And Davos Lannister had promised them plenty.
The moment they set foot on Westerosi soil, payment would be delivered in full.
As a result, in mere weeks, he had assembled an army of nearly twenty thousand sellswords.
The Free Cities Watch
At first, the rulers of the Free Cities—Archons, Princes, Magisters—had been alarmed.
An army of that size crossing the Narrow Sea was no small matter.
But once they learned the truth, their fear transformed into fascination.
A Lannister funding a war in Westeros?
Now that was interesting.
The merchant princes began calculating profits, trade disruptions, and political leverage. Some wondered whether they could profit indirectly—supplying food, ships, weapons, or loans.
After all, wars were profitable.
Especially when someone else was paying.
Harry Strickland withdrew his gaze from the banners and ships and turned toward Davos Lannister.
"To be honest," he said slowly, "I find myself wondering whether House Lannister truly has enough gold to satisfy all these appetites."
There was something almost weary in his voice.
Davos glanced at him sideways, eyebrow lifting slightly.
"And why would you doubt that?"
Harry smiled faintly.
"Because it's my responsibility to ensure the Golden Company gets its share," he replied. "Among all these hyenas."
He studied Davos carefully.
"Everyone in the Free Cities knows how rich House Lannister is. Even beyond the Dothraki Sea, your reputation is… legendary."
He paused.
"But as a former paymaster, I have a particular fondness for gold—and a sensitivity to shortages."
As he spoke, Harry casually smoothed his wind-tousled hair, then drew a dagger to clean dirt from beneath his fingernails. The gesture was idle, but his eyes never left Davos's face.
Davos laughed confidently.
"If that's your concern," he said, "then you'd be better off worrying whether your ships have enough lemons."
Harry blinked.
"Because the gold beneath Lannister lands," Davos continued smoothly, "is far more plentiful than the lemons in your holds."
He stepped closer, pulling aside his red velvet cloak to reveal gilded armor beneath. Resting his hand on the railing, he gazed out at the sea, glowing gold beneath the sunset.
"House Lannister hasn't managed to spend it all in hundreds of years."
Harry's lips curved upward.
"But if my information is correct," he said lightly, "the Iron Throne still owes a considerable debt to the Iron Bank of Braavos."
Davos's eyebrow twitched.
"Why worry about that?" he replied.
Harry smiled wider.
"Because the Golden Company never breaks contracts," he said. "Our honor is expensive."
"Our motto is Our Word Is As Good As Gold—and gilding commanders' skulls is not cheap."
It was a joke.
But beneath it lay calculation.
Davos did not hear the warning hidden within the humor.
"House Lannister lacks nothing when it comes to gold," he said firmly.
The sea glittered like molten metal.
And across it, war awaited.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)