The plains of Myr belonged to the roaring wolf.
The Wolf Pack, the Long Lances, and the Free Army cavalry ran down the remnants of Khal Jhezkahn's horde. With the Khal dead and his bloodriders slain, the Dothraki center completely collapsed. The sudden appearance of Prince Oberyn's Dornishmen on the flank and Brown Ben Plumm's Second Sons in the rear turned the retreat into a slaughter.
Gendry spurred his destrier across the blood-soaked grass. With Jhezkahn gone, the sheer terror of the khalasar had evaporated into blind panic. Any screamer foolish enough to turn and fight met the blunt, bone-crushing force of the Hammer King.
Gendry felt an eerie, fluid rhythm settle into his muscles. The warhammer felt less like a weapon and more like an extension of his own arm. Where a blade might glance off bone or snag on leather, the heavy iron head simply pulverized everything it touched.
"The Khal is dead!"
"The Khal is dead!"
The cry echoed across the plains in a dozen dialects. On the high walls of Myr, the citizens who had braced for their own annihilation now wept and cheered. The contagion of victory swept through the Black City, transforming a funeral vigil into a thunderous festival of life.
By Dothraki law, a Khal's bloodriders were bound to follow him into the Night Lands, and Jhezkahn's two fiercest guards had indeed died at Gendry's feet. But the kos—the sub-commanders of the horde—held no such suicidal oaths. Without a central warlord to unite them, the kos gathered their own khas and scattered to the winds, taking whatever plunder they could carry.
As the dust began to settle, the true scale of the victory became apparent. Brown Ben Plumm, true to his sellsword instincts, had closed his trap around the Dothraki baggage train, securing a staggering amount of wealth, horses, and slaves.
One by one, the surviving Dothraki screamers were herded toward Gendry's command post. Defeated and disarmed, the fiercely proud horse lords knelt in the bloody dirt and drew their daggers. They sliced off their long, oiled braids—the ultimate symbol of Dothraki pride—and tossed them at Gendry's boots.
The mountain of black hair grew, a silent testament to the victor's strength.
Surrounded by his captains and the bloodied but unbowed Unsullied, Gendry raised his warhammer high. The Free Army erupted into cheers, clashing their spears against their shields. The sweet taste of vengeance was heavy on the tongues of the freedmen; they had just broken the men who had once enslaved them.
Gendry looked down at the kneeling Dothraki. The giants with copper skin and almond eyes now stared at the earth, their spirits broken.
He nodded to Brown Ben Plumm, whose Dothraki grandmother had gifted him a fluent, albeit rough, command of the tongue.
"Commander Gendry is the Shield of Myr!" Brown Ben bellowed, his voice carrying over the wind. "Your Khal is dead! His kos have fled like whipped dogs! Swear your blood to the Hammer King, or run back to the Great Grass Sea with no hair and no honor!"
A heavy silence hung over the knelt warriors. The Dothraki respected only strength. To return to Vaes Dothrak as defeated, braidless men was a death sentence; other khalasars would simply slaughter the men and enslave the rest.
"Khal!" a warrior rasped, pressing his forehead to the dirt.
"Khal!"
"The Hammer Khal!"
The chant spread through the survivors. They chose life.
Gendry surveyed his new cavalry. The Dothraki were wild and undisciplined, useless in a heavy armored charge, but as outriders, scouts, and archers, there were none finer in the known world. If he could break their crueler habits, they would be a terrifying asset.
A sudden clatter of hooves announced the return of Prince Oberyn. The Red Viper rode back into the Myrish lines, dragging a body behind his sand steed by a rope.
"I bring you a gift, Commander," Oberyn smiled, tossing the rope aside.
The corpse was young, barely a man grown, but his chest had been hollowed out by a Dornish spear.
"Jhezkahn's son and heir," Oberyn announced casually. "He attempted to rally a counter-charge to avenge his father. I ensured the bloodline ended today."
Gendry looked at the boy's face, marred by dirt and death. A harsh world, he thought. The Dothraki lived by the sword and died by it. History was littered with such brutality. Even the great Khal Temmo, who died at Qohor, had built his reputation by capturing his rival, Khal Dhako, roasting his limbs before his eyes, and burning his family alive.
"I will use the heads of the father and the son to speak to the Tyroshi," Gendry said, his voice devoid of pity. "Let the Archon look upon the men he hired to kill us."
"There is another prize, Hammer King," Oberyn said, gesturing behind him.
A column of two hundred men marched forward. They bore the copper skin and almond eyes of the Dothraki, but their faces were entirely smooth, free of the traditional mustaches and beards. They wore the spiked bronze helms and carried the shields of the Unsullied.
Gendry raised an eyebrow. "Dothraki eunuchs?"
"Prisoners of war, sold to Slaver's Bay and trained in Astapor," Brown Ben explained, riding up beside them. "The Good Masters likely gifted them to Jhezkahn as a bribe. The horse lords despise eunuchs; they probably kept them as mere baggage guards and refused to let them fight."
With their Khal dead, the Dothraki Unsullied fell to their knees before Gendry, lost and awaiting a new master.
Gendry dismounted and walked toward the kneeling men. He extended a hand to the leader, pulling him to his feet. Grey Worm stepped forward, embracing his Dothraki brother-in-arms. A few words in High Valyrian secured their absolute loyalty—they were no longer slaves, but free men of the Wolf Pack.
"I owe you a great debt, Prince Oberyn," Gendry said, turning back to the Dornishman.
Oberyn offered a slight bow from the saddle. "A minor assist, Commander. It was your heavy iron that broke the Khal's back."
"Count the prisoners," Gendry ordered Brown Ben Plumm. "Separate the warriors from the women, children, and slaves. And enforce my law: any Dothraki caught raping, looting, or murdering civilians hangs from the walls of Myr. They ride for me now."
"It will be done," Ben nodded.
The plains of Myr were secured. Now, it was time to return to the sea and crack the fused black walls of Tyrosh.