Chapter 6: Midon
The merchants of the Free Cities disdained the sword, and relied instead on Free Companies to fight their many wars.
"The problem with sellswords," Uncle said, peering at the Free Company of the Battleborne below the walls, "is they've no loyalty but to coin. Men like that can't be trusted not to stab you in the back for the right price."
The magisters put together owned five hundred Unsullied spears, and perhaps another three hundred crossbows could be scrounged up to defend the city in short order. Counting all the men that might be pressed into service who had experience with war, including the two hundred and fifty men that owed loyalty to the Velaryons, gave Myr access to half the men the Lashare had. Any battle in the open would leave Myr hopelessly outnumbered by the Golden Company's ten thousand.
"As long as the gates are held and the Sea of Myrth remains open, the city can withstand siege," Lelouch said.
"It will fall without blood being spilled," Uncle said. "These merchant princes are weak-willed people. They will bow at the first sign of a storm and sign a peace."
"Why would Lys agree when they might enforce harsher terms by taking the city?" Lelouch asked. "They could even annex Myr."
"War in the Free Cities is fought differently. Proper sieges are unheard of, and sackings unpopular. Even Dothraki khalasars rarely put a city to torch nowadays, so long as they pay proper tribute," Uncle said.
"A strange way to conduct war," Lelouch said.
Uncle shrugged. "They are a strange people."
Words were exchanged between the Council of Magisters and the Lashare, but eventually the gates were opened. Two and a half thousand hardened veterans armed with halberds and crossbows marched in unopposed. On the first major junction, the company splintered. The first and largest column marched east around the Lense Hillock towards the docks. The second kept on the dragon road heading north, and the third took up positions by the Gate of Lace.
"Forgive me, Uncle, but does this not look like-"
"The beginning of siege preparations, aye," Uncle said. "That worries me. I had hoped to return before Mysaria gave birth."
"Have you at last decided on a name for my cousin?" Lelouch asked as they descended down the stone steps.
Uncle nodded, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "I should name him after a great hero. Mayhaps Alyn? There was no greater man of our blood than the Oakenfist."
"A fine name," Lelouch said. "Take heart. There may still be hope. Magister Rasporos knows me, perhaps he will have news to share or an exception be made."
Uncle scoffed. "I have not lived this long by thinking the best of men."
Magister Rasporos stood just before the Gate of Lace, a gleeful look on his face. Cici bowed in greeting.
"You seem pleased, Magister Rasporos," Lelouch said.
"On the matter of letting the Lashare's sellswords in, we outvoted Zoutos and his ilk," he said. "Magister Parazhar sided with us and carried the day!"
"That is good news," Lelouch said. "We could not help but notice the men marching towards the docks though. It has left my uncle here quite anxious."
"There is nothing to fear, my friend. It is merely a precaution to keep fighting men from deserting Myr. We will need strong arms on the walls in the coming days," Rasporos said.
"Are we expecting a siege?" Uncle asked.
Rasporos tilted his head. "It is so, unfortunately. Tyrosh threw open its gates and was robbed for it, in defiance of the customs of civilized warfare. The same will not happen to us."
"Civilized warfare?" Uncle repeated.
Cici nodded. "That is what Magister Rasporos has said."
Uncle snorted. "A contradiction of terms."
"Does this mean no ships may depart?" Lelouch asked.
Rasporos' smile faded. "A necessary measure, though a hard one. It pains me as much as any, for I had a great many ships ready to set sail if not for this."
"Can exception not be made? My uncle's woman is expecting a child within the fortnight."
"I am sorry, there is nothing more to be done," he said.
Uncle's features twisted with anger and frustration. His handsome face was marred by a vicious scowl and eyes that promised pain as he stormed off. People parted before him, cowed by his wrath that clung to him like a foul odor.
Lelouch could only barely hold back his frown as he turned and addressed the magister. "You will have to forgive my uncle. That he may not see the birth of his own child is ill news to any father."
"I understand fully," Rasporos said. "If it might ease some of his pain, or make his stay here more enjoyable, he and your men may stay in my manse for the duration of the siege."
"That is a generous offer, Magister. I will accept on his behalf."
Myr was woefully unprepared for true warfare, and it showed in what they had as way of defense. A single curtain wall protected its inhabitants, without even a ditch or moat to make assault difficult. Towers from which flanking fire might be utilized were few and far between. The walls were of considerable height at the very least.
Nine Eyes and his Jolly Fellows made camp outside the walls the next day. The siege of Myr had begun.
-ZeroRequiem-
"The Jolly Fellows had more men than we expected," Rasporos said as they prepared for another game, eyes steeled with determination. "From four thousand like the Battleborne to five and a half thousand… a smaller Free Company must have signed on with Lys to reinforce them."
"Could it not be men from the Golden Company?" Lelouch asked as he helped set place the screen down the middle to obstruct his view of the Magister's side of the board, and vice-versa.
"The Golden Company is not known to split their strength," Rasporos said. "Besides, I have taken a look at the men who threaten us. None wore the many golden rings that denote years in the Golden Company."
"That sounds like a lot of gold to put on a man," Lelouch said. "A fortune for anyone who could best them in the field."
"If they can be bested. I have never heard it happen in my lifetime." He shuddered, and then took the first move. "They do not break contracts like other sellswords do, but gods preserve you if you try and break faith with them. Qohor learned this the hard way. It will cost us much to buy them to our side, but it can be done. Their contract with Lys lasts only a few days more, and we might reverse this poor fate."
"I am certain it will work out," Lelouch said. He paused, eyes flickering to his opponent before settling back on the board. His hand reached out and moved his first piece, the spearman, before continuing to speak, "The walls remain strong, so long as we are not betrayed."
Rasporos nibbled on a slice of pie. "The Lord of Battles is loyal to Myr, if not the magisters. He will not deliver us to the enemy."
"How are you certain?" Lelouch asked.
"Because Liomond Lashare is of our blood," Rasporos said. "He is descended from a great line of men, and even his father was a magister for three terms when he lived. Had he been inclined to the way of coin rather than the sword, he would have become a magister as well."
"A worthy lineage," Lelouch said, gesturing to Cici. "Speaking of, where does Cici come from? If I cannot have her, I might at least know where I can get someone similar to her."
"She is a strange one," Rasporos said. "Her manner of speech is Lorathi, yet her name is Braavosi. She has the hair of Tyrosh, but her eyes are Lysene. In truth, I do not know where she is from, though the merchant that sold her to me claimed her to be from Yunkai. It is a poor answer, I know, but I believe the vastness of her heritage is what allowed her to come up with the Myrish pie in all its forms."
"You cannot be blamed for not knowing. She is unique," Lelouch said. "How did she learn the Common Tongue of Westeros though?"
Rasporos shrugged. "She has always had an affinity for matters of tongue, and we do not lack visitors from across the narrow sea in Myr."
"That is fair enough," Lelouch said, and placed a horse in range of his king. "Morghulis, by the way."
Rasporos shook his head. "You ought to give me better odds. One thinks I am hardly a challenge for you anymore."
"Nonsense. I do enjoy our games."
"Of course you do," Rasporos said. "You win all the time. Just as well, Lashare has requested the Council vote on another matter. I will have my revenge tonight, young lord."
"I will be waiting," Lelouch said. That left him alone with Cici. "We have not shared words, you and I."
"A woman apologizes, my lord," Cici said, averting her golden eyes. "It is not this woman's place to speak her own thoughts, only the words of those she services."
Lelouch grabbed her arm. "I would know at least, where it is you think you come from."
"When a woman was a child," she said, "A woman dreamed she was from a far off land. Beyond the Bone Mountains, maybe even beyond YiTi and the Jade Sea. It was a land without peace, or happiness."
"We seem to have precious few of either as well," Lelouch said.
"Then perhaps I was not born so far away," Cici said, and scurried off.
Not quite Lorathi after all, are you?
-ZeroRequiem-
A city such as Myr had many markets, each with its own purpose. There was one for food and drink, and another for boats. The trade of slaves was catered to by many markets, divided by function. The greatest of these was the High Bazaar, a roofed enclosure built on elevated ground parallel to the Lense Hillock.
It was here the great crafts of Myr were bought and sold in bulk, from many-threaded carpets to aged nectar and fire wine. Fine tapestries and vivid paintings of great beauties, ancient names, and breathtaking scenes from a maester's books lined the streets.
On the highest point, visible from every tall building and high place, a wooden gallow towered. Eight magisters stood below it, dour looks etched on their face.
"Quite the stunning contrast, isn't it?" Lelouch asked. "The man has an eye for theater."
"Reminds me of someone I know," Donnall said, staring at him.
Lelouch ignored him.
Liomond Lashare stood before them on a platform, a stack of letters clenched in one hand and the other pointed at the bald Magister Parazhar. He raised his fist for all to see. "I have in my hands evidence of treason against the people of the city of Myr!" Lashare said. "Magister Parazhar has written letters to the First Magister of Lys."
"No crime!" Parazhar croaked out. "No crime to write a letter!"
"What are they saying?" Donnall asked. Lelouch summarized.
Lashare unfolded a letter and read, "'I write to you now that we might come to an arrangement of mutual benefit.' This wretch intended to hand over our city, and in exchange his wealth would be preserved." Lashare tore the letters into pieces. "Is this how free Myrmen ought to be treated, like common dredges to be discarded when it becomes inconvenient?"
A low booing undercut the murmurs from the crowd.
"Is the man mad? He just destroyed his own evidence," Donnall said.
Lelouch glanced about. "We're in the court of public opinion now. Evidence matters little and less than sentiment."
"The magisters," Lashare said, "have not been able to reach a judgment on the issue. As per the founding tenets of Myr, I now submit this matter before the people of Myr."
A stunned silence met his proclamation, and then-
"Guilty!" a man near the front screamed. "Treason!"
"Treason! Treason!"
"Criminal!"
More and more voices joined in, and soon the whole crowd spoke as one. Parazhar's shoulders sagged while the magisters whispered among them.
Magister Zoutos stepped forward, raising his hands. "People of the city of Myr, you have found Magister Parazhar, whom you have chosen to lead you, guilty of treason. The magisters have heard your judgment and accept. We will now discuss the matter of judgment."
"With respect, Magister Zoutos," Lashare said, "but it is the people who have proclaimed judgment. It ought to be them that proclaim his fate. What say you?"
"Death!"
"Hang him!"
"Hang! Let him hang for his crimes!"
"Well," Donnall said, "I don't need you to translate to know he's fucked. A crowd out for blood looks the same anywhere."
"Magisters of Myr are not hanged like common criminals," Lelouch said.
"Has anyone told Lashare that?" Donnall asked. "So fascinating as this excursion has been, I'm starving. Let's go get some food."
"When are you not hungry?"
Donnall scratched his cheek. "Have to keep my energy up. I have to spar with that cunt Chaseman twice as often, no thanks to you." They pushed their way through the pressing crowd.
"Are you trying to guilt me into paying for your meal?" Lelouch asked.
"Is it working?"
Lelouch reached for his purse. "I am, but just so you know, you're horrible at it. You have to hide your intent better."
"Hide my intent? From you?" Donnall asked. "What would be the point, Cousin. You read faces like books."
"You could at least try," Lelouch said.
"You're the talker between us. I just swing the sword."
Lelouch rolled his eyes, and he turned to the stallkeep. "Two slices of salted meat," he said in Myrish.
"And one of cheese," Donnall said.
"And one of cheese," Lelouch translated.
"Few minutes," the stallkeep said.
"Why is it you spend insist on that translator when you can already speak Myrish?" Donnall asked.
"I know a few words. That doesn't make me fluent," Lelouch said. "How are the men faring cooped up?"
Donnall shrugged. "Lord Wells has been drilling them hard, and no one's been caught sleeping with the women yet. Oh, Hughes did start a betting pool on you."
If the men weren't fighting, they were fucking. If they were neither fighting, nor fucking, they were gambling. "Of course he did. What about?"
"Whether you've bedded the green-haired girl yet," Donnall said.
Lelouch laughed. "You mean Cici? No, of course not. Whatever gave them that idea."
"They haven't quite realized you're a reprobate that likes staring at everything," Donnall said with a shit eating grin.
"Studying everything," Lelouch said.
"Right, studying everything," Donnall said. "Like Myrish tongue work."
Lelouch accepted the slices from the stallkeep, and considered them. "You're making me regret paying for your meal."
"If you don't give it here, I'll drag you to the courtyard for a spar tomorrow, bright and early," Donnall said.
-ZeroRequiem-
The next day, young bravos dressed in red with gold trims paraded through the streets to a cheering crowd, and Lashare was greatest dressed atop his white charger.
"Only in fucking Essos can they celebrate while under siege," Donnall said.
"If we can call it that," Lelouch said. The situation was surreal enough with the army outside having made no attempts to take the walls. It was understandable given the Jolly Fellows did not have so large an advantage in numbers to make an attempt feasible. Still, he had expected them to try.
The outer layers of lace the men wore were ceremonially removed, and given to those that lined the streets. Bread was thrown too, alongside silver Myrish crafts. Young women wove between their ranks, dancing and clapping and singing. Lelouch spotted some of their sailors being dragged into the spectacle by the women, and others were served wines and slices of Myrish pies.
"The men must be getting restless," Lelouch said, "if they're being swayed so easily. The women are not much nicer to look at than common whores."
"Can you blame them? We've done nothing for several days now, and I'm certain they've gambled away most of their coin by now."
Lelouch untied the pouch on his waist and tossed it to Donnall. "Spread that out, and try to make it last for them," he said. "I have little coin left and we may be here for awhile."
"All hail Lelouch the Charitable," Donnall said. "Lelouch the Giver."
"Lelouch the Bankrupt," Lelouch said dryly. "Now off with you."
Bored men got into fights, fights they could not avoid with the situation so volatile. Myr was a city ready to explode in violence, hopefully directed at those outside rather than the people within it.
The Battleborne worked quickly, overrunning the Unsullied guarding Magister Parazhar's manse and seizing his assets before the man had finished hanging.
Now, the Council of Magisters was down a member and special elections had to be held. Lashare insisted they be held immediately, given the crisis the city faced. Few merchants had the coin lying about to host a spectacle, preferring to keep their wealth in land, slave, ships, and good. None would be able to match the elaborateness Lashare had just thrown before the vote was held.
The free men of Myr would acclaim Lashare magister before the day was over.
Lashare's first act was peace. An unusual choice for a man who made his living out of war, yet he was extolling the virtues of trade to the Council of Magisters.
"Was he not mere days ago saying Myr could not fall to the enemy? Now he seeks to treat with them," Lelouch said with a frown. "Liomond Lashare is a mystery of the highest order."
"I will admit it strange, but Lys' offer was not so onerous as we had expected," Rasporos said. "Some minor territorial concessions of tributaries in the Verdant Heel, and a token tribute in the form of Unsullied are not so terrible a burden."
"They did not want gold instead?" Lelouch asked. "Is that common?"
"Gold or goods is the preferred tribute of many, yet it is not unheard of to ask for slaves," Rasporos said. "The Unsullied will be gifted to the Jolly Fellows as compensation for the men they will leave behind to reinforce our defenses and to keep the order."
"So they might have a knife to your throat," Lelouch said.
"They can be… managed," Rasporos said. "Sellswords can be bought."
"Well, at least business can return as usual," Lelouch said. "I imagine Uncle will be pleased to know we might depart soon."
"...About that."
-ZeroRequiem-
"This cannot stand," Uncle said to the hundred or so fighting Velaryon men. These were the men-at-arms that would be relied on if their ships were ever assailed by pirates or sellsails. "That they barred us from our ships when at war, I could still stomach, but now they've made peace with Maelys the Monstrous and still we cannot leave!"
"What would you have us do?" Lelouch asked. "Lashare's men outnumber us in the city and have fortified the entrance to the docks."
"Regardless, I say we take back what's ours! Numbers do not decide everything!" Uncle said.
"No, but they certainly help," Lelouch said wryly.
"We will have the element of surprise!"
"Not if you keep shouting like that, we won't," Lelouch said.
Uncle growled. "Moreo, how many men do they have in the docks?"
"A hundred men would be my guess," Bluebeard said. "We would not need to overwhelm all of the Battleborne, merely those in our way."
A local superiority in numbers to create a decisive breakthrough. It was not tactically unsound. If they armed the sailors, they would have the weight of numbers to execute it. Yet… did he want to leave with unfinished business? The truth of Cici was still veiled to him, and Magister Rasporos would not release her despite his best efforts and incentives.
"The timing is not right," Lelouch said, raising a hand to stop protest before it began. "I am not saying we do nothing, but that we be patient to increase the odds of our success. Things will fall into a comfortable routine before you know it, and the guards will get complacent. Then, we will strike."
"Lord Velaryon speaks wise counsel," said Ser Tallfield. Ser Morren's younger brother did so more to spite Uncle than to support Lelouch, but he would take what support he could at a time like this. Every voice would count.
"He speaks cowardice," spat Ser Chaseman.
"Watch your tongue, ser," Donnall barked, hand on hilt, "or I will watch it for you!"
"I have watched him for a sennight, and he's wasted his time rubbing coins with copper counters," Chaseman said. "That is, if he isn't being led around by the cock. I've seen him make eyes at the green-haired serving wench. Women and merchants have made him weak!"
"That is no way to speak of your lord!" said Lord Wells.
"Keep silent!" Uncle bellowed. "That is my nephew you speak of, Ser Chaseman! Be grateful we have need of your blade, or I would have your head for your words!" He turned to Lelouch. "Is it true?"
"Of course not," Lelouch said.
"Then will you support an attack?"
Lelouch shook his head. "I cannot. We ought to wait."
His eyes narrowed. "We can afford no distractions," Uncle quoted, "not when the future of our house is at stake."
"My mind is clear. Believe me when I say that," Lelouch said.
A moment of silence passed. "Forgive me, nephew," Uncle Adamm said, "but this time I cannot."
Lelouch froze, like he'd been seized tight by a giant in winter, as his uncle turned to the crowd and asked who was with him.
"I will not wait here and twiddle my thumbs when there is work to be done," said Ser Harrock.
"You have my blade!" Chaseman said.
"This is madness! We owe our service to Lord Velaryon first and foremost!" said Donnall, pointing at Lelouch. "Here is our lord's son."
"And here is his brother," Ser Goodchair shot back, pointing. "Adamm Velaryon is a proven commander with battles to prove it." And Lelouch was not, went unspoken.
How many men? Lelouch thought, mind racing, heart pulsing. How many men will stay with me? How many men need I draw away to convince uncle from this path? How many men would choose a boy heir over a captain seasoned by years of hard seamanship and skirmishing?
Lelouch's throat felt tight as he thought of something, anything to say that might step the tide.
These men were loyal to Driftmark, but who that meant in practice was muddier than the banks of the Trident after a storm. True, he was the heir to the Driftwood Throne, but it was also true these men saw him as a boy, not even sixteen. He'd fought no battles, won no glories, and Adamm Velaryon had both. He was also the Captain of Tides, Father's right hand man in matters of war at sea.
Father's order for this voyage had been ambiguous too, enough that Lelouch could claim to have commanded the voyage and present himself at court with a notch under his belt, but also so that an experienced hand rested on the rudder. They'd never foreseen, never thought this could happen.
We've never disagreed on something so important so publicly. Everything was usually settled by behind locked doors, before any of their lords even had an inkling of what their true thoughts were.
This… this was the first time they'd broken rank, and it was breaking the ranks of Driftmark.
As more and more of the lords and their knights and men-at-arms assented to assault, Lelouch found his mouth still scorched dry. Two in three men at least…
Lelouch was not blind to the fact that his preference for the bow over the sword, or his consorting with merchants sat less than well with some of their more conservative bannermen. It had just… it had never mattered before. So long as his decisions were backed by his uncle, or at least there was no one of rank to countermand him, the malcontents were neutered.
But now, now, his uncle was a rallying point for those voices.
Not in his wildest dreams did he ever expect to have to fight family in this life as well, least of all his own uncle. True, it was not unheard of for uncles to wrestle the inheritance from their nephews, but this was Uncle Adamm. The man had taught Lelouch most anything he knew about sailing, was a father to him in ways Jaron Velaryon hadn't been.
His father had a few years left in him too despite his poor health. By then, Lelouch might have won some great victory, proven his worth, and secured a smooth succession against any who might have opposed him.
Donnall was with him, as was Hughes and most of the men-at-arms sworn directly to them. The Tallfields were opposed to Uncle, and the Brynes were not complete ingrates to turn on him after Lelouch had eased them from financial ruin. Wells was the only Lord truly loyal, still a northman at heart despite being the second generation born in Driftmark already.
But Swyftfoot, Harrock, Goodchair, and Chaseman all preferred to act, and their men began streaming out the room.
Lelouch grabbed his uncle's arm, stepping in close. "Uncle, I beg of you, do not do this," Lelouch said in a low voice, too low to be overheard.
"It has to be done. When we succeed, we will send word back to you," Uncle said, eyes hardening. "This will not be the end of us. This will not be the end of you, not even if it costs me my life. Tides take you."
"Where it flows," Lelouch said, completing that Driftmark seaman's goodbye. He watched his uncle walk out of the room, out of his life, and it stung though he knew Adamm didn't do it out of malice.
Lelouch turned his eyes to those that remained true to him. "Scour the city. Bring every man and sailor here, and arm them with what we have on hand. Double the watch tonight. I must speak to Magister Rasporos about this."
The docks were not so far away they could not hear the shouts when battle was offered. They knew exactly when the battle ended too.
"I pray to the Mother for mercy," Lelouch murmured. "The Warrior for courage. The Smith for strength. I pray to the Crone for wisdom."
"This woman did not take you for a religious man," Cici said.
"Faith has its comforts in times of distress," Lelouch said. "Do you have faith, Cici?"
"This woman does not put her trust in gods," she said.
"What about in men?" he asked.
Cici eyed him. "That would depend on the man in question."
They sat in silence. Lelouch knew what was coming, anyone with half a mind would. To all appearances, he simply sat and waited, sipping his nectar wine and appreciating the flavor in the moments of peace he had left. But his mind continued to work. He thought of what he knew of the people of this city, the magisters, his uncle, of the sell swords and slaves. He thought of the layout of the city, and what he knew of their culture. Plans were formed, evaluated, and discarded. And as he began to hear the steps of the men marching towards him, he was ready.
Liomond Lashare marched up the street, accompanied by hundreds of men. Not young bravos who played at war, but hardened killers who lived by it. Their faces were hard and focused, and none more so than Lashare's who focused in on him. The air was heavy, but Lelouch let nothing show on his face. The mercenary caption stepped towards him with the vigor of a man half his age. This was a man who forged by war into a honed, strong blade.
But no matter how sharp and tempered the blade, how fine the craftsmanship or stained with blood the steel, it was the man who swung the sword.
Liomond Lashare marched up the street, accompanied by hundreds of men. Not young bravos who played at war, but hardened killers who lived by it.
"Magister Lashare, I see congratulations are in order," Lelouch said, a mask settling on his face as he raised a glass of nectar wine to the mercenary captain. "You have captured my treacherous uncle." His stomach twisted at the lies he spoke.
"He is not with you?" His voice was incredulous.
Lelouch scoffed. "I kept my men from aiding him, did I not? With a little more force, he may have succeeded. Praise the Seven that he did not. Tell me, does he still live?"
"He does," Lashare said.
"Unfortunate." Lelouch frowned. "Well, will you surrender him to me so that I might pay him back?"
"That will not be possible," Lashare said. "If you were so against your uncle, why did you not stop him?"
Lelouch shrugged. "He had the greater force, and no man is accursed as the kinslayer."
"This was not what I expected." Lashare sighed. "Your men will have to be disarmed while in my city, though you will keep your freedom."
"Whatever for, Magister Lashare?" Rasporos asked. "Lord Velaryon is an honored guest of my manse. It is not your right to strip him of arms, but mine."
Lashare tilted his head. "As you say, Magister Rasporos. Will you disarm them then?"
"I will not." Rasporos crossed his arms. "They have done no wrong. The son is not judged for the sins of the father, and it makes less sense to judge the nephew for his uncle's actions."
"They have threatened the peace of the city. It must be dealt with," Lashare said.
"It has been dealt with by yourself. The instigators are in your custody, are they not?" Rasporos said.
"Most of them."
"Then I suggest, Magister Lashare, that you find those that have escaped you instead of accosting my guests in front of me," Rasporos said.
"The Council will hear of this," Lashare said.
"Yes, they will."
-ZeroRequiem-
"Is it strange," Lelouch mused, as thirty Unsullied and Velaryon men marched in ranks around them, "that I feel the siege more keenly now when we are at peace, than I ever did while men actually threatened to storm the city?"
"You ought to be thankful we can still walk freely like this even under heavy guard," Rasporos said.
A passing merchant shot them a dark look as his cart was forced roughly to the side so they could pass.
"In the last three days," Lord Wells said, "we've had six men killed in 'bar fights' and another eight injured. All of them in scuffles with the Battleborne." Well's eyes hardened. "Nevermind the men we haven't found."
"We can't keep this up," Lelouch said. "They're better at knife work than we are."
"It helps that they can blend in with the locals," Wells said. "Most of our men were raised in Westeros, and their manners mark them out clear as day even after we've removed the seahorse sigil from their clothes. Keeping the men in the manse has stopped us bleeding strength for now, but—"
Lelouch sighed. "But it's a stopgap, not a solution. Not to mention the morale. The men are getting antsy."
Wells nodded. "In my experience, men-at-arms who can't spend their coin on whores freely get that way."
"I know peace has been made, but now would be an excellent time for the Golden Company to attack," Lelouch said. "It might draw out Lashare."
"Or drive the people further into his arms," Wells said.
"Either way, it will not come to pass," Rasporos said. "The Golden Company has not renewed their contracts, yet still they occupy the Disputed Lands. Now, I hear a man named Adarys has been acclaimed Archon of Tyrosh as well. You know, I have ships that can take us from here."
"I will not leave without my uncle or my stolen ships," Lelouch said.
They stopped at the gilded gates of a manse. "Is this really the only way?" Rasporos asked
Lelouch shrugged. "He seeks to monopolize only salt. I know who I'd prefer."
The Unsullied guarding the manse were adorned in blue, with a golden trim. "Halt! State your business," the leader, distinguished by the extra spike on his cap, said.
"Magister Rasporos Basil and Lelouch Velaryon request an audience with Magister Zoutos Ayas."
"The others must stay here," the Unsullied said.
The manse was sparsely decorated for the richest man in Myr. That still meant it was twice the size of Rasporos' and wonders from as far as Yi Ti were treated like common wooden furnishing.
Zoutos was tending to the green-petaled halemin flower in his garden. A dozen collared slaves and a girl that shared his high cheekbones waited beside him. She looked no older than Alarra.
"Grandfather," the freckled girl said, "we have guests."
Zoutos did not answer, content to keep clip away at the thorns that riddled the halemin's stem. A minute passed before Zoutos nodded to himself and handed the blade to a slave. "Leave us," he said.
His attendants, minus the girl, bowed before scattering. "It has been many years since you've visited me in my own manse, Magister Rasporos," Zoutos said. "These are desperate times indeed. This must be your guest, the Velaryon?"
"Lelouch Velaryon, Magister Zoutos," Lelouch said. "I wanted to thank you personally-"
"Thank me?" Zoutos repeated.
"Magister Rasporos tells me you voted with him, and swayed the Council to rule in my favor," Lelouch said.
"Oh, I didn't do that for you," Zoutos said. "It was to teach that upstart Lashare a lesson, but you are welcome for it. If that is all, you may leave."
"Grandfather, mind your manners," the girl said.
"It pleases me to know you inherited your mother's courtesies, as well as her beauty, Omorfia," Rasporos said.
"You are too old by far to be courting my granddaughter, Rasporos," Zoutos said. "I mislike bandying words. Tell me what you want, and get out. Or just get out. I don't care much either way."
"You wished to teach Lashare a lesson," Lelouch said before Rasporos could speak, "but I doubt he has taken that lesson to heart."
Zoutos turned to face him. "What would you know of it? You are new to Myr."
"The great game plays much the same whether we are in Westeros or Essos," Lelouch said. "Lashare has more men than the magisters put together. That gives him power over your life."
"A Magister of Myr is not so vulnerable like you petty lords are to your Targaryen King," Zoutos said.
"Because you are each limited to a hundred fighting slaves," Lelouch said. "Lashare has broken the spirit of that agreement by being the leader of twenty-five hundred sellswords."
"Eight thousand," Zoutos corrected. "I have received word that Nine Eyes is returning with his Jolly Fellows from subduing the lesser cities. They have left behind the Unsullied contingent that was granted to them, in order to keep order. A blind man could see Nine Eyes and Lashare are in accord."
Lelouch stepped forward. "Then you must see the peril you face. Every passing day sees Lashare's power grow. Something must be done before it is too late."
"I am aware," Zoutos said. "The Council will vote to bar the entry of Nine Eyes on the morrow. I trust you will not oppose me in this matter, Rasporos?"
"I will vote with you," Rasporos said through gritted teeth.
"It is not enough," Lelouch said. "Even now, Lashare has more men than all of us in the city. He may defy the Council whenever he pleases. He has a monopoly on violence."
"Lashare would not dare," Zoutos said.
Lelouch looked him in the eye. "Magisters of Myr do not hang like common criminals."
"The people—-"
"Let us not pretend," Lelouch said, "that the people have ever been consulted for matters of import."
Zoutos frowned. "What would you have us do then?"
"Myr is a sinking ship," Rasporos said. "It is time to cut our losses."
Zoutos' eyes widened. "You want to abandon the city?"
"Would you rather die in it?" Rasporos asked.
"Lashare controls the prisons, the docks, and the gates. There is no escaping," Zoutos said. "And to be seen doing so would further incite the people against us. They are our only shield now."
"That they can protect you is a lie," Lelouch said.
"And of our wealth?" Zoutos asked, clenching his fists.
"Load them up into ships," Lelouch said. "Load as many jewels as can be carried, and leave."
Zoutos rubbed his face. "Omorfia?"
"The wealth of the magisters is in land, craftsmen, and industry," Omorfia recited. "Coin and pretty things account little for it."
"Then bring the slaves," Lelouch said. "Industry can be rebuilt. Land can be bought. Your lives are not so cheaply had."
"This is easy for you to say," Zoutos said. "But if someone asked you to leave your castle and lordship, would you be so quick to agree?"
Lelouch put on a contemplative face. "I have a sister back home about Omorfia's age. Her name is Alarra. If it might spare her life, I would give it all up in a heartbeat."
Zoutos' shoulders sagged. "How would we go about this, hypothetically?"
"For starters, you might submit to their whims and welcome Nine Eyes in," Lelouch said. Then his smile became all teeth. "How did that song go again? 'So the drunk slept in the sea'?"
-ZeroRequiem-
The sound of feasting and fucking could be heard across the city. Nine Eyes had been welcomed with open arms by the magisters of Myr and a night of celebration proclaimed from every street corner.
The familiar drumbeat of Driftdance echoed across Magister Rasporos' manse.
"Three minutes," Lelouch said, stringing his longbow. "Get ready to move."
Donnall nodded without a word.
"A woman reminds the honored guest that Magister Rasporos remains in the clutches of Nine Eyes," Cici said.
"It is the other way around," Lelouch said. A minute passed them by. "Tell me, do you ever dream?"
"A woman dreams of many things," Cici said.
"What of freedom?" Lelouch asked. "In Westeros, there are no slaves."
"There are many free and freedmen in Essos. Are they happier for it?" Cici asked.
"Some are," Lelouch said.
"A comforting guarantee," she said drily.
"Then do you dream of happiness?" Lelouch asked, turning to face her.
"Does not everyone dream of happiness?"
He peered into her eyes, into her soul. "Are you happy here? Answer truly, and I will not pester you any longer."
"That would make a woman very happy indeed," she said. He kept her gaze and Cici blinked first. "...But I cannot say I am happy here, Lelouch Lamperouge."
The world stilled around them. "You remember," he whispered.
"I remember," she agreed, and her eyes turned hollow, sad, "everything. I saw you betrayed and beaten. I saw you die."
"We had a contract," Lelouch said.
"That was from a different time, a different world," Cici said.
"I know. You know." Lelouch smiled. "Hasn't it always been that way, Witch?"
"I have no magic to give you," she said. "The power of kings here is… different. Beyond my purview."
Lelouch held out his hand to her. "I remember different terms. I promised you would not die unhappy. I intend to see it through in this life at least."
"Your boldness has only grown with death, Lelouch," Cici said. "Do not promise me what you cannot be certain of. You may yet die."
"I won't," Lelouch said. He kept his hand out. "I won't."
"There is no immortality for you to take," she said.
"That was never the point between us," he replied.
She took his hand. "If you die tonight, I will be very cross. Asking a woman to follow you across worlds twice would be presumptuous, even for you."
Lelouch pressed his dagger into her hands. "To keep you safe tonight," he said.
"I'm not the one straying farther from the ships."
-ZeroRequiem-
Aim.
Donnall played quite the convincing drunk. He even hummed a popular Myrish sea shanty as he stumbled towards the pair of guards, spilling a bit of wine on his shirt for good effect, before dropping to a knee.
Draw.
One of the guards scowled as he walked up to Donnall. "Get a move on, boy!"
Loose.
The arrow lodged itself into the soft, fleshy throat of the other guard as Donnall shoved his dagger in the first.
From the shadows and dark corners, Velaryon men in brown drabs surged forward. Donnall snatched the keys and opened the doors to the underground cells. Myr's lack of proper fortifications left their prison a poor one at withstanding assault.
"Open the cells, quickly!" Lelouch grabbed a nearby torch and waved it in the faces of the shackled men. He recognized many of them, but his uncle's was nowhere to be seen. "Where is he?"
"We've gone through all of the cells, he's not here," Donnall said. "We have to go."
"I won't leave my uncle," Lelouch hissed.
"We can't risk being caught," Donnall said.
"He was your father."
"He was a shit father," Donnal said, then in a smaller voice, "and he betrayed you. Come on!"
They emerged from the underground to the sound of laughter. Lelouch turned his eyes towards Lashare.
"I thought I might find you here tonight," Lashare said. "Your uncle isn't here, in case you didn't already know."
Lelouch narrowed his eyes. "Take him!"
Three Driftmark spears charged at him.
Lashare whistled, and a barrage of crossbow bolts from the roofs pincushioned them. "Is that all?"
"Shield wall! Shield wall!" Donnall screamed, picking up a fallen buckler and pushing Lelouch behind him. The rest of their men bunched together, locking shields above their heads. "We have your friend, Lashare!"
"I wouldn't exactly call Nine Eyes a friend," Lashare said. "More a stepping stone."
"We'll trade him for my uncle," Lelouch said. "At the docks."
The Lord of Battles tilted his head. "What makes you think I want to bargain? I could take him back by force easily enough."
"My men will kill him before that happens," Lelouch said.
Lashare smiled. "All the better for me."
A rain of bolts fell on their shields.
"It was all too easy to read them, you know," Lashare said. "The magisters are a predictable lot. Old men who close ranks when threatened and love their gold dearly. Imagine my surprise when they offer to throw me a feast instead of a fight. Far too generous, far too convenient."
Lelouch's fingers numbed. "You knew we would try this."
"I did," Lashare said, tipping his head. "I have to thank you for it really."
"Why?"
"You've given me all the pretext I need. The magisters I catch will be hanged on the morrow for treason. Those that get away will be branded enemies of Myr. Siding with a foreigner to seize our ships? There's no explaining that," Lashare said.
Another volley struck.
Twenty seconds between shots, Lelouch thought. Too slow for Myrish crossbows.
"I was born to rule this city, "Lashare said. "With the magisters dead or fled, there will be none left to contest me."
"You could have seized power well before this," Donnall said, eyes shifting from side to side.
Lelouch squeezed Donnall's shoulder with three fingers. Prepare to scatter after the next volley.
Donnall nodded, and whispered to the men beside him.
"To rule a city through force alone is easy, but brittle. If my authority is earned through the death of my enemies, will not others think to do the same to me?" Lashare asked. "But to be acclaimed by free men of their own volition, how many can claim such? How many dare?"
"Few and less," Lelouch answered. The quarrels thudded against their shields.
"Legitimacy," Lashare mused. "Such a fickle, useful illusion, is it not? Tell me-"
"Now!" Donnall said. They broke into a run.
"Oh do stay and chat," Lashare called out. "My men do enjoy your company!"
Myr was a storm of violence around them. Fat Unsullied men and Jolly Fellows slaughtered each other with spears. Slaves died in the droves to crossbowmen lining the roofs. Houses burned. People burned.
Lelouch's chest burned. They ran and ran and killed.
Myr was fire and blood.