Crownlands map
On the island of Dragonstone, there was a legendary chamber known as the Chamber of the Painted Table. Carved by Aegon the Conqueror himself, the massive table was shaped and painted to depict the entirety of Westeros, serving as the ultimate symbol of royal ambition and conquest.
Gendry now possessed a map room of his own within the Wolf's Den, though it lacked a carved wooden table. Instead, the walls were adorned with massive, breathtaking tapestries depicting the known world. Gendry could not help but marvel at the skill of the Myrish artisans; their woven maps were stunningly detailed masterpieces.
The tapestries not only accurately depicted the geography of Westeros, but also meticulously detailed the castles, borders, and heraldry of the Great Houses.
In the center of the room sat a long, oval table. Gathered around it were the highest-ranking officers and administrators of the Twin City Alliance. Gendry had spent months forging a highly organized, efficient command structure from the chaos of the mercenary world, surrounding himself with genuinely talented men.
The map room was packed. The Treasurer managed the coin, while Qyburn oversaw intelligence and healing. Old Dick Fletch served as a senior strategic advisor. Captain Spear, Steel Fist, and Black Balaq commanded the formidable Wolf Pack. Grey Worm and the former captain of the Long Lances led the Free Legion, while Brown Ben Plumm and Ser Jorah Mormont managed the Second Sons. Grey Worm also doubled as the commander of Gendry's personal Kingsguard. Finally, Admirals Harris and Morosh commanded the combined Stepstones and Twin Cities fleets. As for the Dothraki outriders, though nominally under Brown Ben's command, they answered only to Gendry.
"The King has reached Winterfell. He will undoubtedly bring Lord Eddard Stark back South with him," the white-haired Qyburn announced, opening the council.
"Lord Stark has not ridden South in nine years," the Treasurer noted, studying the ledger in his hands. "But at the King's direct command, he will have no choice but to leave Winterfell."
At the mention of the name, Ser Jorah shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Years ago, driven to desperation by the extravagant demands of his wife, Lynesse Hightower, Jorah had sold poachers to Essosi slavers. When the scandal broke, Eddard Stark had traveled all the way to Bear Island to personally take Jorah's head. Seeing that his life was forfeit, Jorah had fled into exile.
"If anyone here knows Lord Eddard Stark best, it is Ser Jorah," Qyburn said, gesturing for the knight to speak.
Jorah cleared his throat. "To speak plainly, Lord Stark is not the towering, handsome warrior his older brother Brandon was. He is a solemn man, and outsiders often mistake his quiet nature for coldness. But Lord Stark is deeply loved in the North. He adheres strictly to his honor, and he administers justice with absolute, unflinching fairness, earning the immense respect of the northern houses. However... if Lord Stark goes South, it may not bode well for him." Even in exile, Jorah held a grudging respect for the man who had ordered his execution.
A heavy silence settled over the room as the commanders absorbed Jorah's assessment.
"Northmen belong in the North," Jorah continued, his eyes reflecting a bitter sadness. "If they go South, they invariably find conflict, especially in a viper's nest like King's Landing. Furthermore, Lord Stark already harbors a deep, venomous hatred for the Lannisters and their treacherous ways."
"Regardless of his feelings, the King is bringing Lord Stark back into the game to prepare for war against us," the Treasurer deduced.
"The King's authority remains absolute," Captain Spear analyzed. "Lord Stark will help him coordinate a massive, unified army drawing from the North to the Reach."
"A massive army?" Steel Fist scoffed, his lip twitching. "I hear the Usurper is so fat he barely resembles the warrior he once was. Can he even lead an army from the front anymore?"
"Do not underestimate him. The King is still beloved by the martial lords and the freeriders," Jorah defended Robert Baratheon. When it came to Westerosi high society, Jorah was their only true expert. "He may despise the tedious work of ruling, but if he sounds the horn, men will flock to his banner."
Robert's endless tourneys and hunts had drained the treasury, but his boisterous generosity had won him the absolute loyalty of thousands of knights. Furthermore, the sheer, storm-like fury of Robert's youth was a legend that still struck fear into the hearts of men.
"If King Robert and Lord Hand Eddard march to war, the North and the Stormlands will naturally follow," Qyburn outlined, pointing to the tapestry map. "Lord Tywin Lannister will undoubtedly send his armies and his gold to protect his grandson's inheritance. As for the Riverlands and the Vale—one is ruled by Lord Stark's good-father, and the other by his nephew, Robert Arryn. The Reach will provide the grain. That leaves only Dorne, and their population is too sparse to alter the tide of the war."
The reality of the situation was daunting: six of the Seven Kingdoms would raise their banners for the crowned stag.
"Do not let the numbers frighten you," Gendry said, his voice calm and resonant, instantly anchoring the room. "The internal rot within King's Landing is far worse than we can imagine. Civil war will likely erupt in the capital before their armies even manage to cross the Narrow Sea. When the direwolf and the lion are forced into the same cage, blood will inevitably flow."
King's Landing was a city built on powder kegs: Littlefinger's poisoning of Jon Arryn, the ancient Stark-Lannister feud, and the explosive secret of the Queen's incest. Any one of these secrets was lethal, but they were all about to ignite simultaneously, threatening to drag the Seven Kingdoms into the flames.
"Even so, we must be prepared to strike," Gendry continued, unable to fully explain his prophetic knowledge to the council. "First, the men. The drilling must intensify. The Wolf Pack is currently our vanguard, possessing unmatched discipline. But the Free Legion and the Second Sons must not be allowed to grow complacent."
Gendry looked around the table. Maintaining high morale and iron discipline before a campaign was paramount.
"Aye, Commander!" the captains chorused.
"Second, our armaments. I want the finest, most durable weapons in the world," Gendry ordered. "We hold the Myrish artisans and the Tyroshi blacksmiths. I want heavier plate, reinforced hulls for the galleys, and I want the new scorpion ballistas and repeating crossbows entering mass production immediately."
"As you command," the Treasurer nodded. "The foundries in Myr and Tyrosh are operating at maximum capacity. The engineers are finalizing the designs for the heavier siege engines."
The Myrish possessed unparalleled engineering ingenuity, while the Tyroshi smiths were famous for their ornate, master-crafted armor. Gendry intended to squeeze every ounce of war potential from the Twin Cities.
"My lord Regent, there is one issue," Brown Ben Plumm interjected. "The Dothraki light cavalry absolutely refuse to wear armor. The horselords claim that steel suits are the mark of a coward."
"Leave the outriders be; their customs are too deeply ingrained," Gendry sighed, shaking his head. The Dothraki were magnificent riders, perfect for ambushes, skirmishes, and breaking enemy formations, but their stubborn refusal to wear armor meant they would suffer horrific casualties against Westerosi archers. It was a waste of good men, but the horselords demanded it.
"That brings us to the most vital question: the landing site," Qyburn announced, bringing the council back to the map. "At the Commander's behest, the generals and I have drawn up several proposals."
Qyburn gestured to the coast of Westeros. "If the realm falls into chaos, our fleet must secure a beachhead immediately."
"There are two primary targets: Storm's End and Dragonstone," Qyburn explained.
"Storm's End is an impregnable fortress," Captain Spear argued. "Lord Mace Tyrell besieged it for a year with an enormous host and failed to breach its walls. Dragonstone is no better; it reeks of Valyrian magic and its walls are carved from solid stone. Why not bypass the castles entirely and strike directly at the throat? We sail straight into Blackwater Bay and assault King's Landing."
"Your courage is admirable, Captain, but a direct naval assault on a fortified capital is suicide," Morosh of Myr countered sharply. When it came to naval warfare, Morosh was a seasoned veteran. "We must secure a land base first to establish supply lines. If we drive straight for the capital, we risk being trapped and crushed in the bay by the royal fleet."
"We will not attack King's Landing. Not yet," Gendry said, offering a much bolder strategy. He pointed to a long, rugged peninsula jutting out into the Narrow Sea, north of the capital.
"The third option," Gendry declared. "We sail north to Crackclaw Point. We incite a rebellion among the semi-barbaric locals, then march our armies out of the peninsula to seize Harrenhal. From there, we hold the geographic center of the continent and put suffocating pressure on King's Landing. The Point itself lacks major cities or noble castles, meaning we will not need to leave a massive garrison behind to defend our rear."
Even with his overwhelming strength, Gendry knew that besieging King's Landing required a methodical approach. The city was massive, its population volatile. It was far wiser to secure the Riverlands and wait for the powder kegs inside the capital to detonate on their own. He would let the lions and wolves bleed each other first.
"It is a brilliant stroke," Jorah said, his eyes widening in realization. "The Clawmen—the crab-gatherers and bog-dwellers of the Point—are notoriously fierce, and they have been historically fanatical in their loyalty to House Targaryen. If they see the dragon banner, they will rise for you. They will bring the Crownlands to its knees."