"Renly! But Renly wouldn't have a bastard this grown!"
At the prow, Margaery Tyrell pictured the man in her memory—the handsome young lord with a carefree air.
Great Lord Renly had slender limbs and broad shoulders, smooth black hair, bright blue eyes, and that warm, easy smile.
"People say Renly was as handsome as the King in his youth. That's why so many lords flocked to him," Garlan reminded his sister.
"We couldn't see the Breaker's face, but his hair, eyes, and build resemble Great Lord Renly's. He's far sturdier and stronger, though. Renly was elegant and slim. The Breaker is solid, powerful. If he's the King's son, then everything makes sense." Little Rose's eyes brightened.
The Baratheon line was known for its strength. Most of House Baratheon were as tall and powerfully built as the Laughing Storm. In that, they were much like House Stark's wolf blood, or the Dragonlord family's silver hair and purple eyes.
"His bearing is completely different from Renly's," Garlan went on after a moment's thought. "He's a fierce, ruthless warrior. Renly would tidy himself, dab on perfume, trade jokes with Littlefinger at court—but he was never much of a fighter. He spent his attention on too many trifles. The Wolf King beneath the iron mask is like the King in his youth—blood and warhammers always at his side."
Garlan was perceptive and clear-eyed. He did not see Renly through the soft haze his younger brother did.
"How could the King have such a grown bastard?" Margaery found it almost absurd. A bastard was a stain—among the great nobility, it was an insult to a marriage alliance. And to father one before a wedding was an even greater slight to a betrothal.
Lord Eddard's late brother, Brandon the Wild Wolf, had been shrewd in that regard. He enjoyed chasing maidens and was known as the Bloody Sword, yet he left no bastards behind. He still pursued Catelyn Tully for the sake of duty. Like most noble sons, he kept desire and obligation carefully apart.
"The King has always been that sort of man," Garlan said. "Headstrong, indulgent, doing as he pleased. Even before he married—when he and Great Lord Eddard were fostered in the Vale—he fathered a bastard daughter with a maid. After the wedding, his affairs never lessened. He even sired Edric Storm on his brother's marriage bed. I've heard the Queen has been cleaning up after him, murdering those poor bastards in their cradles."
"Now this is interesting. There'll soon be a new player at the table in King's Landing." Garlan smiled faintly. "The Fire Herb King is older than Joffrey, stronger than Renly. Across the Narrow Sea, countless men are willing to die for him. He'll step into the game soon enough."
"Then what about us?"
"There's never been a place for the rose in King's Landing. Our family had intended to throw its full support behind Great Lord Renly. But now we must find a position more advantageous to House Tyrell. Who wears the crown doesn't matter. What matters is that you become queen." Garlan paused. "Father dreams of his grandson sitting the throne, but he needs to calm himself. We can't stake everything on a single wager."
What House Tyrell envisioned was the place House Lannister held—queen to whichever king prevailed. In the current court at King's Landing, House Lannister wielded immense influence. With Tyrell wealth and manpower, they deserved a greater voice as well.
"But the King still lives. And this is only a bastard." Margaery hesitated. Renly's ambitions had already bordered on rebellion. Could there truly be someone with even greater designs?
"The times have changed, sister. Without dragons, it's armies, warhorses, and grain that decide the throne." Garlan's tone was steady. "King Robert's crown came from war, marriage alliances, and his warhammer—and that scrap of dragon blood. Is that thin dragon blood worth more than the Beggar King's? Robert's throne was never as sacred as the Targaryens'."
"Even a bastard, once he commands enough strength, will hunger for the throne. Just as Daemon Blackfyre once did."
...
"Prince, House Tyrell's wealth is famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms," Maester Qyburn said within the chamber. "You may be able to gain more from them."
"The roses have wealth and grain in abundance, yet they've long been shut out of court. No wonder they're entertaining wild ambitions." House Tyrell sought the same niche House Lannister occupied. The Lannisters had dominated King's Landing through marriage ties. It was only natural the Tyrells would think along the same lines.
"House Tyrell is powerful—and greedy. Let them cool their heels for now," Gendry said after a moment's thought. "We proceed as planned. We sweep the Stepstones."
…
Beneath a vast azure sky, gray-white wolf banners snapped in the wind as the Wolf Pack fleet roamed the Narrow Sea.
The fleet was a motley collection. Most of the ships were riverboats and black ships offered up by escaped slaves, along with a number of merchant vessels once used for trade. They were not as tall or imposing as standard warships, but their crews were seasoned sailors. In the narrow channels of the Stepstones, weaving between wind-carved stone pillars, these smaller ships moved swiftly and with ease.
"Join the Breaker!"
"Join the kingdom without slaves!"
Across the scattered islets of the open sea and amid the ruins along the Rhoyne, many escaped slaves had turned to piracy or river raiding to survive. When word of the Breaker's rising power spread, quite a few brought their ships to pledge themselves to him.
While the Myrish stood on edge, staring anxiously at the catapults raised outside Myr, living in constant fear—the Wolf Pack fleet's swift ships and war vessels suddenly struck the pirates of the Stepstones in a feint, attacking from one direction while meaning to strike another. Ordinary pirates were no match for a disciplined force, especially not one with superior numbers in ships and men. The smaller, nameless islands fell one after another. Pirate dens were cleared out, and the most defiant among them were put to the sword.
Only two hard bones remained: Bloodstone Isle and Grey Gallows Island.
"Bloodstone and Grey Gallows Island truly live up to their reputations," Gendry said from the deck, watching smoke rise from Bloodstone Island.
The Wolf Pack fleet had launched a surprise assault on Bloodstone's outer docks, looting the pirate shipyards and carrying off their vessels. The pirates left behind on Bloodstone and Grey Gallows Island were abandoned to their fate. Hunger would soon become their only companion.
"Your tactics are brilliant, Prince," Maester Qyburn said. "Bloodstone Island and the Stepstones are built on rocky terrain, riddled with complex fortifications. The pirates hole up in deep caves and winding tunnels. Earth-and-stone defenses are notoriously difficult to take. Even Prince Daemon, mounted on his dragon, needed considerable time to subdue them."
"And the broader situation favors us," Gendry replied. "The Three Daughters have fallen into chaos. The Ironborn have yet to recover from Greyjoy's rebellion. Dorne keeps its head down. These pirates have little outside support. Without aid, and with no fresh water or food, they'll starve soon enough."
"Bring up my spoils."
At his command, the Unsullied guards marched the prisoners forward. They were pirates captured from the islands—adventurers and cutthroats from various Free Cities. There were Tyroshi with purple hair, pale Lyseni, olive-skinned Myrish, and even black men from the Summer Isles. Coarse ropes bit deep into their arms, some cutting so hard that blood seeped through.
"I want ships and sailors," Gendry said to them calmly. "But I don't intend to pay for either."
"You bastard! The Drowned God will punish you!"
A gray-haired, hawk-nosed pirate spat the words, likely an Ironborn who had drifted from the Iron Islands to prey on the Stepstones.
"Give the Drowned God my regards," Gendry answered evenly.
Two Unsullied stepped forward. They struck the Ironborn hard across the face, then cut out his tongue. Moments later, they nailed him alive to the prow of the ship.
Gendry respected skill, especially craftsmanship. But some pirates were too stubborn to be of any use.
"These ships and this island belong to me now," he said, his voice carrying over the deck. "You have two choices. Submit and follow my commands—or die, and go meet the Drowned God like that Ironborn."
The Unsullied forced the pirates into line. Crossbowmen stood a short distance away, raising and cocking their weapons.
"King of the Narrow Sea!"
One quick-thinking pirate dropped to his knees and shouted the title.
"King of the Narrow Sea!"
The others followed at once, voices rising together, clinging to that cry as if it were their last hope of survival.