Chapter 14: The Serpent's Kiss for Lys
The conquest of Myr resonated through the Free Cities like a death knell for the old order. Vaelyx Targaryen, the Dragon Khal, was no longer a distant rumor from the Dothraki Sea; he was a tangible, terrifying force, his shadow falling heavily upon the coastal powers of Essos. His next gaze fell upon Lys, the city of alabaster skin, perfumed air, and whispered poisons. Lys, unlike Myr, was not known for its martial prowess, but for its insidious cunning, its mastery of espionage, and its almost religious devotion to pleasure and profit. Vaelyx intended to turn these very traits to his advantage.
The Lysene Magisters, having received Vaelyx's chilling counter-offer – double tribute and their best spies, or face Myr's fate – were in a state of panicked disarray. Lyra's agents within the city, now bolstered by a few terrified Myrish informants with Lysene contacts, painted a picture of internal strife. Some Magisters advocated for immediate capitulation, others for hiring every assassin and sellsword company from the Stepstones to Qarth, while a desperate few clung to the hope that Tyrosh or Volantis would intervene.
Vaelyx decided against a direct, brutal assault akin to Myr. Lys's true wealth lay not in its walls, but in its networks, its people, its secrets. A city reduced to ash would yield little of that. He would offer Lys the serpent's kiss: an embrace that promised continued existence, even a degree of its silken luxury, in exchange for its soul.
He dispatched an envoy – Kaelen, his grim Westerosi Marshal, whose blunt honesty was more intimidating than any diplomat's guile – with a formal "invitation" for the ruling Magisters of Lys to attend a parley aboard his flagship, "The Sea Serpent," now anchored provocatively just beyond Lysene territorial waters. The unspoken alternative was, of course, a visit from his dragons.
The Lysene delegation, a collection of pale, perfumed men whose rich silks could not conceal their trembling hands, arrived under a flag of truce. Vaelyx received them in his grand cabin, not surrounded by overt displays of force, but with an atmosphere of cold, absolute power. Vorlag and Ignis were visible through the sterncastle windows, circling lazily over the fleet, their immense forms a constant, silent threat.
"Magisters of Lys," Vaelyx began, his voice soft but carrying the weight of command. "You have considered my… proposal?"
One Magister, a corpulent man named Lotho Lornel, known for his vast wealth from the pleasure trade, attempted a sycophantic smile. "Great Dragon Lord, Lys is a city of peace, of art, of… companionship. We have always valued strong protectors. Your terms, while… significant, are perhaps negotiable?"
Vaelyx's smile was devoid of warmth. "Negotiation implies a position of comparable strength, Magister. You have none. You have assassins. I have dragons. You have spies. Soon, they will be my spies. You have wealth. Soon, a significant portion of it will be my wealth." He leaned forward. "Myr chose defiance. Myr now serves. Lys has a choice: serve willingly, retain some semblance of your city's character under my dominion, or serve from its ashes. There are no other terms."
It was then he chose to unveil another layer of his power, a demonstration tailored for the Lyseni appreciation of the subtle and unseen.
"You believe your city's secrets are your shield, Magisters?" Vaelyx mused. "Allow me to disabuse you of that notion." He closed his eyes for a moment, his mind linking with Veridian, his jade-and-bronze scout, who had, under Lyra's direction and its own burgeoning stealth capabilities, already spent a day silently mapping the inner sanctums of Lys.
"Magister Lornel," Vaelyx said, his eyes snapping open, fixing on the portly Lyseni. "Your hidden vault beneath your manse, behind the tapestry of the hundred intertwined lovers… it contains an impressive collection of Qartheen fire-opals and a rather compromising correspondence with a certain Tyroshi Archon, does it not? And the poison gardens of Magister Tregar, so carefully warded… their prize bloom, the Tears of Lys, is currently being harvested by a servant with a distinctive scar above his left eye, a servant who also reports to your rival, Magister Orlos."
The Lysene Magisters stared, their faces paling from rosy pink to a sickly white. The accuracy of his knowledge, the casual revelation of their most guarded secrets, was more terrifying than any overt threat of dragon fire. This was a power that transcended mere brute force; it was an omnipresent, all-seeing eye.
This was, of course, Veridian's work, the dragon's unique empathic and magically attuned senses allowing it to perceive these details, relayed instantly to Vaelyx. The Lyseni, however, could only imagine a network of spies so pervasive it was beyond comprehension, or a sorcery that laid their city bare.
To cement their terror, he gave them a glimpse of Astra. As the negotiations – if they could be called that – stalled, with some Magisters still muttering about defiance, Vaelyx made a subtle gesture. From the skies above, previously unseen, a new dragon descended – Astra, her snow-white scales shimmering, her sapphire eyes blazing with cold, regal light. She did not roar, nor breathe fire, but simply hovered above "The Sea Serpent," her presence radiating an almost palpable aura of concentrated power. A Lysene galley, accompanying the envoys and bristling with hired archers, nervously loosed a volley of warning shots towards the new dragon.
Astra merely tilted her head. A shield of pure sapphire light flickered around her, and the arrows either shattered harmlessly against it or were deflected with contemptuous ease. Then, with a focused gaze, she unleashed a narrow beam of colorless energy that struck the Lysene galley's mainmast. The mast didn't burn or explode; it simply… disintegrated, turning to fine dust that scattered on the wind. The galley, crippled and adrift, listed heavily, its crew staring in catatonic horror.
The Magisters in Vaelyx's cabin witnessed this silent, precise, and utterly devastating display. Their last vestiges of resistance crumbled. Lys would serve.
The terms were harsh, but fell short of utter ruin. Lys would pay a massive annual tribute in gold, gems, and its finest luxury goods. Its renowned academies of spies and poisoners would be repurposed to serve Vaelyx exclusively, their loyalty ensured by Lyra's oversight and, where necessary, subtle magical compulsions Vaelyx himself would weave. Key Magister families, those who pledged immediate and unwavering fealty, would retain their positions, but as vassals to the Dragon Lord, their every move monitored. A contingent of Vaelyx's Serpent's Scale veterans, backed by a Myrish Legion, would garrison key points in the city, including the formidable Lysene shipyards. Lys's fleet was now Vaelyx's fleet.
Within weeks, Lys was transformed from a city of independent, decadent intrigue into a vital cog in Vaelyx's burgeoning empire. Its wealth flowed into his war chest. Its spies, now his spies, fanned out across Essos and even began to make inroads into Westeros, using Lysene trading contacts as cover. Lyra, with a vast new network at her command, became one of the most feared and effective spymasters in the known world.
Malakai, now effectively Chancellor of the Exchequer for Vaelyx's expanding territories, established a new trading entity, "Valyrian Ascendant Holdings," its headquarters in Myr but with major branches in Lys and Pentos. This company began to dominate trade routes, its ships sailing under the protection of Vaelyx's dragons (or at least, the fear of them), funneling immense profits back to its shadowy owner.
The intelligence from Westeros, now flowing more regularly through Lysene channels, painted an increasingly grim picture. King Aerys's paranoia had escalated dramatically after the "Defiance of Duskendale," an event Vaelyx recalled from the fan-memory. The King was rarely seen outside the Red Keep, his cruelty legendary, his obsession with wildfire growing daily. Lord Tywin Lannister had resigned as Hand, a significant destabilizing event. Prince Rhaegar, while loved by many, was rumored to be increasingly melancholic and obsessed with prophecies, spending much time at Dragonstone. The Great Houses were uneasy, sensing the Targaryen dynasty was fracturing from within. Vaelyx filed away this information, his long-term plans for Westeros slowly taking shape. The time was not yet ripe, but the fruit was clearly beginning to rot on the vine.
The subjugation of Lys and the continued consolidation of Myr did not go unnoticed by the other powers of Essos. Tyrosh, now feeling increasingly isolated, redoubled its military preparations, hiring every sellsword company it could find and strengthening its formidable fleet. The Archon of Tyrosh even sent feelers to Volantis, proposing a grand Essosi alliance to counter the "Dragon Scourge."
Volantis, the ancient First Daughter, was finally stirred from its proud inertia. The Tiger party, always advocating for war and conquest, gained ascendancy. Their legions, renowned for their discipline, began to mobilize. The black walls of Volantis, which had stood unbreached for centuries, were being reinforced. They saw Vaelyx not just as a new warlord, but as a potential Valyrian revivalist, a threat to their own claims as the true inheritors of the Freehold. They would not bow as Myr and Lys had.
The seven dragons continued to grow, their presence a constant drain on resources, but also Vaelyx's ultimate assurance of power. In the secret dragon roosts near Myr, he began training them in more complex, coordinated aerial maneuvers. Vorlag, Ignis, and Tempest formed the core battle flight. Argentus and Aurumel provided specialized elemental and defensive support. Astra, his queen, was often by his side, a symbol of his regal power and a devastating weapon against singular, powerful foes. Veridian, the silent jade hunter, became his personal intelligence asset, capable of infiltrating almost anywhere, its empathic senses and subtle magic providing Vaelyx with unparalleled insight.
One evening, Lyra brought him an urgent report. "Lord Vaelyx," she began, her voice low, "our agents in Tyrosh confirm it. The Archon has concluded a formal military pact with the Triarchs of Volantis. They are mustering their combined fleets and armies. They intend to march on Myr within three moons, to 'liberate' it and extinguish your 'unnatural flames'."
Vaelyx listened, a predatory stillness upon him. He looked at the map of Essos spread before him, Myr a beacon of his power, Lys a subservient jewel. Tyrosh and Volantis, the two greatest remaining military powers of the western Free Cities, were finally uniting against him.
"Let them come," Vaelyx said, his voice a soft hiss, his pale lilac eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight like chips of ice. "They seek to extinguish my flames? They will find only the inferno of a new Valyria. And they will burn."
The game was escalating. The Free Cities were choosing sides. Soon, the Dragon's Dominion would face its greatest test.