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"Hour of the wolf"
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 11:00:18 +0000 UTCChapter 71 – "Hour of the wolf"
Second Sons Camp – Outside Volantis
"What do we do?" Prendahl asked, his voice low and wary as he looked over the latest report.
"Are we really that afraid of a man we outnumber nearly three to one?" Daario Naharis scoffed, arms crossed, confidence oozing from every gesture.
"You don't know the man like we do," Prendahl replied, frowning.
"Shut your damn mouths, both of you," Mero growled. "We already took the gold. We'll do the job. But we won't confront him directly—that's not what we're paid for. We're here to squeeze his allies, disrupt his routes, not fight a full-blown war."
Prendahl nodded. "Aye, that would be the smart move."
Daario, however, remained unimpressed. "That's absurd. We could end it quickly if we just kill the Wolf and be done with it. Then enjoy the rest of the gold while he's in the ground."
Both Mero and Prendahl turned to glare at him.
"What do you actually know about that wolf, boy?" Mero asked.
"Not much," Daario admitted with a shrug. "Only that he's a good fighter and commander."
"Everyone in upper command of a mercenary company is a half-decent fighter and some kind of leader," Mero snapped. "That doesn't mean a thing. It's vague. It's soft."
"So what is he, then?" Daario asked, clearly annoyed.
Mero leaned forward, voice dark and cold. "What do you think of meeting the Dothraki in the open field?"
Daario raised an eyebrow. "It's stupid. Only a suicidal fool would face them on open ground."
Mero grinned. "Right. That's what any sane man thinks. But Cregan Stark did exactly that... and won. He decimated the Dothraki. On the open field."
Daario blinked. The cocky smile slowly vanished from his lips.
"He didn't just survive," Prendahl added. "He obliterated them. That's one of many reasons we're not eager to see him face-to-face."
---
Volantis — Company of the Rose Stronghold
"No reply came," Edwyle Snow said, setting the sealed scroll aside.
Cregan sat at the head of the stone table, arms crossed. "Expected. Mero won't fight me directly unless he's forced to. He'll go after our partners first, harass our allies. He knows my reputation, and he's hoping to avoid a proper clash."
"Aye," Edwyle agreed. "He's probably gambling you won't retaliate fast. He still thinks like a coin-sword. Disruption over confrontation."
Cregan smirked. "Someone sounds eager."
Edwyle just shook his head with a quiet chuckle.
Cregan leaned forward, his tone shifting from amused to razor-sharp. "Ready the forces. Divide them into small, mobile units. Have them hit every small groups they can find—supply wagons, outposts, scout camps, other mercenaries hired. No time to regroup. We'll cut them to pieces before they know what's happening."
Edwyle raised a brow. "Bold. You think the magisters won't object? It could stir tension."
Cregan shrugged. "We already have our deals with the magisters and merchant families. And it's not us threatening their holdings—it's Second Sons. Magisters don't like threats. Makes them feel insecure. Their support will hold, as long as we keep their coffers safe and trade moving."
Edwyle grinned, already rising. "Then I'll mobilize the forces. It's time the world remembers why we were feared."
"Involve the Sand Snakes in this they are experience in quick combats.
---
Volantis Region – The Strike Begins
The jungle-thick coasts of the Rhoyne near Volantis trembled—not from the march of great armies, but from the soft thunder of precision strikes.
No banners flew. No horns sounded.
Only cold steel, silence, and death.
Cregan Stark's orders were clear.
"Break them. Bleed them. Don't let them breathe."
His small, scattered units of the Company of the Rose—just fifty to a hundred men at a time—moved like ghosts through the backroads, hidden passes, and forgotten ferries. Armed with discipline and knowledge of the terrain, they hunted Second Sons.
The first strike came near a wine-trading outpost west of Volantis. A Second Sons resupply unit—eighty men, two wagons, and three oxen carts—was ambushed at dusk.
They attack with speed and precision. Killing all men with suprise and momentum to overpower the forces.
By nightfall, only seven survivore were left alive to get the information about other camps and supply routes .
Same things were happening at other camps also .
One of these places was attacked by team that were lead by Sand Snakes. They mixed poison with their attacks and killed with efficiency and pace that even most experienced cutthroats will be impressed .
Second Sons were being hunted at the hour of the wolf and given no chance to retreat.
A Second Sons detachment guarding a warehouse was surrounded in the dead of night. Fire arrows set the stores ablaze while swordmasters cut through the confused defenders.
None survived.
Their heads were found the next morning—mounted on pikes with red roses carved into their foreheads.
Traps were also set the next morning
A mercenary patrol tried to intercept a rumored trade route being protected by the Company of the Rose. But instead of a caravan, they walked into a trap of pitfall trenches and tar-filled ditches. As they struggled to escape, a hail of arrows and blacksteel blades fell upon them.
Cregan's men didn't just attack. They were killing with no fear to consequences and retailaition. Trusting their Commander and Ex-Commander (Cregan) to deal with it.
---
Second Sons War Camp – Tensions Boil
Mero stood staring at the blood-stained map, jaw clenched, fists trembling.
"Another patrol gone. Thirty men. Gone. Slaughtered," he barked.
Prendahl paced nearby, pale and tense. "They aren't just attacking—they're erasing us piece by piece. Like we never existed."
"They've cut off the southern approach," said a courier, dropping a scroll. "Magister Urrio has refused access to the docks. Says we're drawing too much heat."
"Fucking cowards," Mero spat.
Daario Naharis leaned in the corner, arms folded, watching.
"I told you to attack directly we outnumbered them, still it's not too late we still have numbers. But if things go like this we won't even have that advantage."
Mero snarled, "Enough Boy."
"Then listen to the facts," Daario shot back. "We're outmaneuvered, out-thought, and soon we'll be out of allies. The Magisters are already favoring Stark's side. Soon, even the gold from Westeros won't matter."
"You're saying we parley again? Back down?" Prendahl asked.
"No," Daario said, "I'm saying we fight smart... or we die stupid."
---
Back at the Company of the Rose Camp
Cregan stood at the edge of the Volantene bluff, overlooking the river route. His armor was scuffed, his sword still stained. Shadow, his direwolf, sat at his side, muzzle red from the last kill.
Behind him, Edwyle approached with a grin. "Three outposts hit, minimal casualties on our side."
"Good," Cregan said simply.
"But Mero won't stay in camp forever," Edwyle warned. "Sooner or later, he'll gather his full strength and move."
Cregan nodded. "Let him. The more men he brings, the bigger the hole he'll dig."
Edwyle smirked. "And what happens when he digs too deep?"
Before Cregan could said something A Captain of Company of rose entered in the tent.
Both looked at him.
Captain "A rider approached us saying he is from Second Sons they want to parley."
---
