Chapter 18: The Weight of a Continent
The annihilation of the Grand Alliance before the walls of Myr was not merely a victory; it was an earthquake that reshaped the political landscape of Essos. The carefully constructed balance of power between the Free Cities, maintained for centuries through shifting alliances, trade wars, and mercenary contracts, shattered like Myrish glass under a dragon's claw. Vaelyx Targaryen, the Dragon Scourge, now cast a shadow that stretched from the Summer Sea to the Dothraki plains, and the surviving powers scrambled to appease the inferno they could not hope to extinguish.
Tyrosh, its flamboyant Archon a blackened smear on Myr's plaza stones, its vaunted fleet reduced to kindling and captured prizes, was the first to break. A delegation of ashen-faced Magisters, stripped of their finery and their arrogance, arrived in Myr aboard a single, battered trading cog, their white flag of truce a stark symbol of their utter capitulation. Vaelyx received them not in his palace, but in the vast, newly cleared training grounds outside Myr, where his Myrish Legions drilled alongside the still-feral Dothraki, while five of his dragons – Vorlag, Ignis, Tempest, Argentus, and Aurumel – performed terrifying aerial maneuvers overhead, their roars a constant, deafening counterpoint to the Tyroshi pleas for mercy.
The terms were brutal and non-negotiable. Tyrosh would become a vassal state, its remaining fleet surrendered, its formidable dyeworks and artisan guilds now serving the Dragon Lord's needs. A crippling annual tribute of gold, slaves, and manufactured goods was imposed. A Tyroshi council, handpicked by Vaelyx from Magisters Lyra identified as pliable or easily blackmailed, would govern in his name, with a permanent garrison of Serpent's Scale veterans and a Myrish Legion to ensure their… cooperation. Tyrosh, the proud city of mercenaries, was now a jewel in Vaelyx's iron crown.
The fall of Tyrosh sent the remaining Free Cities into a paroxysm of fear. Lorath the Labyrinthine, Norvos with its bearded priests and bell-ringing warrior monks, and Qohor of the Black Goat, all dispatched delegations bearing tribute and hastily scribed oaths of fealty. Vaelyx accepted their submissions, extracting resources and demanding hostages from their ruling families to ensure continued compliance. He had little interest in garrisoning these smaller, more remote cities for now; their fear, and the flow of their wealth into his coffers, was sufficient. Norvos, with its famed martial discipline, was ordered to provide a legion of its best axe-men for his armies, a demand their cowed priests dared not refuse. Qohor, renowned for its Unsullied garrison, was commanded to deliver a thousand of its famed eunuch soldiers – a potent infantry force Vaelyx was eager to acquire and re-purpose.
Pentos, under a fawningly subservient Illyrio Mopatis, became Vaelyx's primary western trading hub and listening post, its coffers bleeding gold into Valyrian Ascendant Holdings. Qarth, the ancient city of spice merchants and Warlocks, sent an even more lavish tribute than before, its Pureborn practically prostrating themselves, offering Vaelyx access to their eastern trade routes and even, cautiously, the services of their navigators who knew the Jade Sea. Vaelyx accepted, knowing Qarth's wealth and maritime knowledge would be invaluable.
Only Volantis, the Old Blood, the First Daughter, remained defiant, though grievously wounded. Their legions were shattered, their fleet crippled, their Triarchs in disarray. Yet, the Black Walls of Volantis stood proud, a symbol of centuries of unbent power. They refused to send emissaries of submission, instead offering a sullen, bitter peace treaty that acknowledged Vaelyx's conquests but offered no fealty.
Vaelyx, after consulting with his war council, decided against an immediate, costly assault on Volantis itself. The city was a fortress, and a direct siege, even with dragons, would be a bloody, protracted affair, consuming resources he needed elsewhere. He would let Volantis fester in its pride for now, an isolated pariah. He declared a full blockade of its ports by his newly acquired Tyroshi and Myrish fleets, strangling its trade, while Lyra's agents worked to exacerbate the existing tensions between the Tiger and Elephant factions within its walls, and to foment unrest amongst its vast slave population. Volantis would fall, Vaelyx decreed, not necessarily to dragon fire, but to its own internal contradictions, when he was ready to pluck it like overripe fruit.
With the western Free Cities largely pacified or cowed, Vaelyx turned his gaze south, towards the sun-baked cities of Slaver's Bay: Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen. He had no moral objections to slavery; it was an ancient and, in his view, often efficient system of labor. What he objected to was the wealth and manpower of Slaver's Bay being outside his control. He had no desire for a prolonged campaign to conquer and hold these distant, culturally alien cities. A more insidious approach, one befitting Voldemort's cunning, appealed to him.
"Lyra," he commanded, during a strategy session focused on Slaver's Bay. "Astapor is known for its Unsullied, yes? An army of perfect discipline, bred for obedience."
"They are, my Lord," Lyra confirmed. "The Good Masters of Astapor consider them their finest product."
"Products can be… re-purposed," Vaelyx mused. "Unleash your agents in Astapor. Spread whispers among the Unsullied and the city's general slave population. Speak of a Dragon Lord in the west who shatters chains, who offers slaves a place in his armies, a chance for glory and revenge against their masters. Veridian will assist you."
The jade dragon, Veridian, now a magnificent creature whose scales shimmered with an almost hypnotic light, was dispatched on a series of clandestine missions. Flying under cover of darkness or magical illusion, Veridian became Vaelyx's unseen messenger, its empathic senses allowing it to identify key figures among the slaves – discontented Unsullied officers, charismatic leaders in the fighting pits, literate bedslaves with access to their masters' secrets. Vaelyx, through Veridian, didn't offer true freedom – he offered a change of master, a chance to exchange the whips of Astapor for service under the Dragon's banner, a far more appealing prospect for many. He promised them weapons, training, and the chance to visit upon the Good Masters the cruelties they themselves had endured.
While Lyra's network laid the groundwork for chaos in Slaver's Bay, Vaelyx focused on building the administrative and military structures of his new empire. Malakai, his title now Grand Exchequer of the Valyrian Dominion (a grandiose name Vaelyx had begun to use for his territories), established a ruthless but efficient system of taxation and resource extraction across Myr, Lys, and the tributary cities. Valyrian Ascendant Holdings became a commercial juggernaut, its profits fueling Vaelyx's ever-expanding war machine.
Kaelen, as Lord Governor of Myr, proved a surprisingly effective, if grim, administrator, his military discipline keeping the city in line. Boros, now styled "Great Rider of the Dragon's Horde," struggled with the more complex task of transforming thirty thousand Dothraki screamers from a raiding band into a semi-disciplined cavalry arm of a standing army, though their fear of the dragons and respect for Boros's sheer brutality kept them largely in check.
New legions were being raised. The Golden Company, under Ser Damon Sand, was re-equipped and retrained, their loyalty closely monitored but their martial prowess undeniable. The Myrish Legions swelled with new recruits, eager to serve the power that had conquered them. From Tyrosh and the other vassal cities, contingents of soldiers arrived, adding to Vaelyx's diverse, multi-ethnic army. The thousand Unsullied demanded from Qohor, when they finally arrived, were a marvel of discipline, and Vaelyx immediately saw their potential as an incorruptible, unwavering core for his personal guard and elite formations.
The Dragon Fleet, now incorporating the captured and refitted vessels from Tyrosh and the remnants of the Volantene armada, became a dominant force in the Summer Sea, patrolling trade routes and projecting Vaelyx's power. He appointed Captain Orzono as Grand Admiral, the Tyroshi sailor's initial terror having morphed into a grudging, pragmatic loyalty.
His seven dragons, now truly colossal, were the ultimate symbol and instrument of his power. Their upkeep was a monumental undertaking; entire herds of livestock were driven daily to their secret roosts in the hills above Myr. Vaelyx spent considerable time with them, their bonds deepening. He flew Astra, his snow-white queen, on regular patrols over Myr, her regal presence and the focused energy she commanded a constant reminder of his authority. Veridian became his shadow, his invisible eyes and ears across Essos. The other five – Vorlag, Ignis, Tempest, Argentus, and Aurumel – were his mailed fist, training in devastating coordinated attacks, their roars echoing through the Myrish highlands like the thunder of a new, terrible god.
News from Westeros continued to filter through Lyra's expanding network. Aerys's madness was now an open secret, his paranoia consuming him. The great Tourney at Harrenhal had occurred, and whispers of Prince Rhaegar's fascination with the Stark girl, Lyanna, and the ominous prophecies surrounding his own children, reached Vaelyx's ears. He listened with cold interest. The cracks in House Targaryen were widening into chasms. His brother was diligently dismantling their dynasty, paving the way for Vaelyx's eventual, fiery return. He began to discreetly earmark a portion of his vast new wealth and a cadre of his most trusted agents specifically for the "Westeros Reclamation Fund," as Malakai dryly termed it in their private ledgers.
Vaelyx stood one evening on the balcony of his Myrish palace, overlooking the sprawling city, now illuminated by countless torches and the distant, flickering glow from the dragon roosts. He was no longer Valerius the sellsword, nor even Vaelyx the Dragon Khal. He was Vaelyx of House Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Flames, Master of Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh, Suzerain of Pentos, Lorath, Norvos, and Qohor, and the undisputed Dragon Scourge of Essos. His empire was a patchwork of conquered cities and terrified vassals, held together by dragon fire and an iron will.
Lyra entered the balcony. "My Lord," she reported, her voice a low murmur. "Our agents in Astapor send word. The Unsullied are… restless. The seeds we planted have taken root. They await only a signal, a spark."
Vaelyx smiled, a slow, predatory expression that held no warmth, only the chilling promise of flames to come. "Then let us provide that spark, Lyra. It is time Slaver's Bay learned the true cost of its arrogance, and the true value of its… assets."
His gaze turned south, towards the distant, wealthy cities of the Ghiscari coast. Another piece on the grand chessboard of Essos was about to fall. And with each conquest, his power grew, his legend spread, and the shadow of his wings stretched ever closer to the shores of Westeros.