Dragonstone is known throughout the Seven Kingdoms for its legendary Round Table Hall. At the heart of the room stands Aegon the Conqueror's famed map table, carved from a single great slab of wood and shaped to depict all of Westeros in exquisite detail. It is a symbol of kingship, of conquest, and of ambition.
Wolf's Den—Gendry's seat—has no such fabled table, yet his map hall possesses its own striking grandeur. There is no carved map table, but the walls are draped with immense, finely woven tapestries crafted by the master artisans of Myr. Their textile artistry surpassed that of any other city in the known world. The maps they created were so precise, so vivid, that Gendry often found himself pausing merely to admire them.
Each tapestry depicted not only the contours of the land—rivers, mountains, castles, and forests—but also the sigils of every noble House, rendered in thread with lifelike color. The direwolf of House Stark, the lion of Lannister, the stag of Baratheon, and the rose of Tyrell all seemed to stand out from the fabric.
In the center of the chamber stood an oval-shaped table of dark, polished wood. Gendry had designed the room with both strategy and ceremony in mind. Now, seated around the table, were all the highest-ranking officers and advisors of the Two Cities. The hall was full; every seat was taken.
The Handsome Man served as financial steward. Qyburn, with his pale face and white hair, oversaw intelligence. The Old Arrow Maker—once a master fletcher—now functioned as an advisor. Longspear, Steel Fist, and Black Billy commanded the Wolf Pack Company. Gray Wolf and the former leader of the Spear Company led the Free Army. Brown Ben and Jorah Mormont co-commanded the Second Sons Legion. Gray Wolf, in addition to his military role, also served as head of the Kingsguard. Harris and Moros were responsible for the Stepstones Fleet and the Two Cities Fleet, respectively. As for the Dothraki horsemen, though nominally placed under Brown Ben, they followed Gendry with an obedience that bordered on devotion.
The room buzzed with anticipation. Everyone knew why they had gathered: the political climate across the Narrow Sea was shifting rapidly.
Qyburn spoke first. "His Majesty has gone north to Winterfell. By now he has surely made his intentions clear—he will bring Lord Eddard south again."
"It has been nine years since Lord Eddard last traveled south," the Handsome Man added. "If the King himself requests it, he cannot refuse."
The mention of the name "Eddard" visibly unsettled Jorah. He remained silent for a moment before finally exhaling. Back when the truth of him selling poachers into slavery had been revealed, Eddard Stark had personally ridden to Bear Island to sentence him. Only by fleeing with his Hightower wife had Jorah escaped death. Even now, years later, the memory carried a sting.
Qyburn noticed his discomfort. "Since you know Lord Eddard better than any of us, Ser Jorah, your insight would be useful."
Jorah hesitated. "Lord Eddard is not as striking as his late brother Brandon—nor is he as boisterous. He is stern, quiet, and often appears cold to those who do not know him. But among the Northern Houses, he is deeply respected. His strict sense of honor and unwavering adherence to duty have earned him admiration throughout the North."
Jorah paused, his gaze distant. "However… his going south may not bode well."
The room fell still. Jorah's words carried the weight of someone who understood both North and South.
"Northerners should remain in the North," Jorah continued. "King's Landing is a nest of vipers. It devours the righteous and rewards the cunning. If Lord Eddard enters that pit, conflict is inevitable—especially given his disdain for the Lannisters since the war."
His voice carried bitterness, as though speaking of his own past mistakes.
The Handsome Man frowned. "If the King intends to bring Lord Eddard south, it may be part of preparations for a war—likely against us."
"Indeed," Longspear agreed. "The King still holds authority. With Eddard's help, he could rally a great host from the North and the Stormlands."
Steel Fist snorted. "A great host? I hear the King has grown so fat he can barely climb onto a horse. Will he lead an army himself?"
Jorah straightened, defending Robert with surprising earnestness. "Even now, King Robert is adored by knights and warriors. He may not govern well, but he commands loyalty. When he raises his hammer, men still remember the Stormlord of old—the man who crushed Rhaegar at the Trident."
It was true. Robert's generosity, his good humor, his love for feasts and tourneys—they consumed vast sums of gold, but they also won him the hearts of many.
Qyburn summarized the political landscape: "If the King calls for war, House Stark and the Stormlands will answer without hesitation. Lord Tywin will undoubtedly lend gold and soldiers to support his son-in-law's throne. The Riverlands and the Vale are tied to Lord Eddard by marriage and blood. The Reach can supply grain in abundance. Only Dorne remains uncertain, but their small population limits their influence."
Six of the Seven Kingdoms under the stag's banner—an intimidating prospect.
Gendry, however, remained calm. "There's no need to fear. King's Landing is more unstable than it appears. That city is overflowing with powder kegs waiting for a single spark. The Starks and Lannisters distrust one another; Lord Jon's death remains suspicious; the truth about the royal children festers beneath the surface. Even one of these is enough to ignite chaos. If they erupt together… they will drag all the Seven Kingdoms into disaster."
He spoke as though he could already see the flames rising.
"Still, we cannot grow complacent," he added. "Whether or not they come, we must prepare."
The officers nodded. Every man in the room understood that readiness was survival.
"First—soldiers," Gendry said. "Training must intensify. The Wolf Pack Legion remains our elite force, unmatched in discipline and ferocity. But the Free Legion and the Second Sons must raise their standards as well. Morale must be high. Before the first battle, our army must be united."
The chorus of responses echoed throughout the hall:
"Understood."
"Yes, Magistrate."
Gendry continued. "Second—equipment. I want the best weapons that can be forged. Myr and Tyrosh are ours now; their craftsmen must work at full capacity. Their ballistas, crossbows, armor, and warships are among the finest in the world."
The Handsome Man nodded. "As you commanded, the workshops in Myr and Tyrosh operate day and night. The craftsmen are designing improved models of crossbows and scorpions—stronger, deadlier."
Gendry knew the artisans well. Myrish craftsmen poured their souls into their work, creating pieces that were both beautiful and lethal. Tyroshi blacksmiths forged blades renowned for their balance and durability. These cities were treasure troves of talent and resources.
Brown Ben raised a hand. "There is one issue, Magistrate. The Dothraki refuse to wear armor. They say it is a coward's burden."
Gendry sighed. "Let them be. Their customs will not change easily. They excel at ambushes and charges. If they choose to fight lightly armored, we must adapt. Perhaps we can train the younger riders in new ways."
Brown Ben nodded, though his expression remained troubled.
Qyburn spoke again. "Magistrate, there remains the matter of our landing point. According to your instructions, the generals and I have discussed the possibilities."
All eyes shifted to the map.
"If Westeros plunges into chaos," Qyburn explained, "our fleet must land swiftly and decisively. After careful consideration, we have identified two primary targets: Storm's End and Dragonstone."
Longspear immediately objected. "Storm's End is legendary for its defenses. The Tyrells besieged it for months and failed. Dragonstone is no easier—its fortifications are old Valyrian stone. Why not bypass them and strike directly at King's Landing?"
Moros, a master of naval warfare, shook his head. "A direct attack on King's Landing is folly. If we fail to take the port instantly, we would be trapped between the walls and the sea. Better to establish a foothold first."
Then Gendry made an unexpected proposal.
"We will not take King's Landing—not yet."
The hall quieted.
Gendry pointed to the northern coastline above King's Landing, toward a long and narrow stretch of land—the Claw Peninsula.
"Our third option is here. We sail north to the Claw, incite the half-wild clans who dwell there, and secure the peninsula. Once we have our foothold, we march south to seize Harrenhal. From there, we can squeeze King's Landing slowly, letting the city tear itself apart."
It was a cunning plan.
King's Landing, with its swollen population and volatile politics, was more dangerous inside than out. If the city turned on itself, it would weaken before Gendry even arrived.
Jorah's eyes brightened. "The Crabfeeder's men are fierce and loyal to the Targaryens. If the clans on the Claw rise for you, it will cause enormous trouble for the capital."
Gendry nodded. That was exactly the intention. Westeros was approaching a storm unlike anything it had endured since Robert's Rebellion. And when the chaos began, he intended to be ready—not to strike first, but to strike last and decisively.
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