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Chapter 8 Part 1
=Sith=
291 AC
Meereen
It was rare for all the Great Masters of Meereen to meet together. Rivalries, feuds, and political and economic interests ensured that their different factions rarely needed, much less wanted, to come to the same place and mingle, no matter the reason.
Weddings, funerals, great Khalasars approaching the walls, and much more required only representatives of the factions to come together and make the necessary decisions while keeping the more volatile Great Masters away.
For months, Astapor's fall was no different. The Targaryen Prince, who broke ages-old customs, was willing to talk and trade instead of leading a campaign of conquest. Viserys Targaryen wasn't crusading against slavery; besides, Yunkai shielded Meereen from the Valyrian's reach.
Still, there was no faction among the Great Masters willing to trade with the upstart. Making him more powerful through commerce was out of the question. Besides, in some way, the fall of Astapor and the Good Masters was beneficial to Meereen's slave trade. Demand didn't diminish that much, and supply decreased, increasing prices and profits.
All should have been well.
That happy state of affairs persisted until Yunkai's envoys returned from Astapor, shocking the Masters over there. News spread like a locust swarm and soon reached all corners of Meereen. Even the most self-absorbed Great Masters heard of what Viserys was doing with the slaves he liberated. The great slaver families of Meereen had no choice but to gather and discuss their city's future! The future of the great trade itself might be at stake!
"Tell us, good man, what horrors did you see in Astapor?" Oznak zo Pahl spoke in the stead of his uncle, the wealthiest man in Meereen.
The Pahl patriarch was ailing. It was only a question of time before control of the family fell into the hands of Oznak and his father, the commander of the City Watch, for old man Pahl had sired a legion of daughters but no sons. The young noble's other uncles simply lacked the hard power to make a bid for control of House Pahl.
Agnak zo Ghaqa stood tall and proud, facing the Great Masters. He was a Wise Master of Yunkai with a noble lineage stretching back at least a thousand years. A richly decorated silk tokar kept him cool, while a cloak jingling with bronze disks displayed his station and wealth for all to see. The more disks a Wise Master was allowed to sew in their cloak, the more powerful and wealthy their House was.
"The Sorcerer Viserys feeds us honeyed words, which mean nothing! It matters not if his ambition and appetites are focused on the barbaric Westeros alone or if he will come for us first!" Agnak's voice rang throughout the great hall of the greatest pyramid in Meereen, which was full to bursting.
Those words were enough to gain everyone's attention.
"I've seen what Viserys is doing in Astapor! He is reshaping one of our cities into a second Braavos! Freed slaves prowl the streets! They train day and night as warriors! I've seen their hatred, and it is focused on us all, Great Masters! It doesn't matter what the Sorcerer wishes or intends! What he buys is anathema to our very way of life! His army of liberated slaves will sooner or later turn on us! They are a dagger ready to slit the arteries of the great trade we all rely upon!"
Many of the Great Masters reacted like struck. This was the kind of danger only Braavos was known for, and that cursed city was very far away. You could get to Astapor in less than two sennights of hard riding. Viserys Targaryen and his mad ways were practically right around the corner!
"Such unnatural things can't be allowed to stand!" A Loraq scion shouted.
"The Sorcerer is a greedy and covetous creature!" An unfamiliar voice rose above the others. "I am a Good Master, one of the last of our exalted kind! I was at the Plaza of Pride when the Sorcerer used foul magic to murder two of us and steal the Unsullied! He gleefully stripped us of our pride and hard-won wealth! We had to beggar ourselves to earn the privilege of an exile! How long do you believe his greed will be sated with Astapor alone!? How long before he comes demanding you all ruin yourselves so he might let you live?!"
Shouts of support met that proclamation.
Oznak zo Pahl smilled. For too long, the Ghiscari had forgotten their roots, enjoying decadent, empty lives. Those among the nobility hungry for change and glory were few and far between. They were always young scions like him, usually unlikely to inherit much. Most of his people were content to waste their lives toying with slaves when they could be at the forefront of a resurgent Ghiscari Empire! New Ghis showed everyone the way, and now, a bastard Valyrian took Astapor, reshaping the city with mere liberated slaves!
How couldn't his people see this as a grand opportunity to grasp destiny by the throat and forge a glorious future? Oznak would never know. But that didn't matter! He saw this opportunity for what it was and would be damned if he didn't seize it!
Hizdahr zo Lora, an up-and-coming merchant who might soon be one of the wealthiest among the nobility of Meereen, stood from his seat, and everyone calmed down. Hizdahr had many friends across the various Great Master factions, which, combined with his cunning, explained how he rose so far and kept reaping more and more riches.
"We all profit from the great trade. We depend on it! There is no point in pretending otherwise," the merchant spoke softly but clearly. "Astapor's fall is a boon to our coffers. However, that good fortune won't last. We all know how Braavosi ships hunt down slavers and liberate precious cargo. There are no slaves within the reach of their armies, and we are not shielded by distance like Pentos, so empty words and gestures could protect us. We can not have a second Braavos rise at our doorsteps! Astapor is not a far-off place on the other end of Essos; months of sailing away! It is right here, in our own Slaver's Bay!"
Oznak nodded in agreement like everyone else. As it was his wont, Hizdahr spoke sense. The young noble didn't watch the merchant speak but instead focused on the other young scions hungry for glory, blood, and fame. Many of his compatriots appeared more alive now than in any other time and place save when fighting in the pits or fucking in the Pleasure Palaces.
"The forever cursed Valyrians saw distant Braavos as no threat when it first rose, for they had hundreds of dragons! Our Empire is long gone! We can afford ourselves no such luxury. We have no dragons and no Iron Legions!" Hizdahr kept bringing up good points.
Oznak met his father's gaze. The Commander of the City Watch gave him a slight nod of approval. Oznak had the backing he needed then, and through his father, he had House Pahl, no matter what his sick uncle might have wanted. The old man had the luxury of dying in peace, drowning in pleasure slaves. Oznak craved more, so much more than he could put in simple words.
"Astapor represents a danger that goes beyond Meereen. Every city save for damned Braavos is threatened by the Sorcerer's actions, if not intent," Oznak spoke again. "We are not the only ones set to lose greatly if this threat persists. Yunkai, New Ghis, and even Elyria and Tolos will choke if Astapor strangles the great trade! We don't have to spend treasure alone when Viserys Targaryen endangers everyone! Let us drown him and this second Braavos in mercenaries and slave soldiers so everyone remembers the order of the world!"
Oznak knew that mere words wouldn't be enough. Not today, this week, or even in the coming months. War, true war, was expensive. Astapor had thousands of Unsullied holding it, and to bring it down, those slave soldiers had to die. The Great Masters would have to pour their resources, buy the finest killers money could buy, and raise their own slave armies.
If the young noble had anything to say about it, Meereen would take this opportunity to form and raise its own Iron Legions, reclaiming the glories and power of the old Empire!
The Sorcerer of Astapor witlessly offered Oznak an opportunity for greatness, and he wasn't going to waste it, for a chance like this came once in a generation at best!
=Sith=
Chapter 8 Part 2
=Sith=
291 AC
Astapor
Training without slave masters yelling at you was different. His groin no longer hurt, which made enduring what each new day brought easier. He was among the last prospective Unsullied, bought and neutered by the Good Masters before Prince Viserys took Astapor and brought the slavers low. Part of him resented the Sorcerer for not arriving earlier, saving him from all the pain and becoming less of a man.
Yet, he was free now and had a choice. He could have striven to be anything else, that much their new Prince promised and toiled to deliver every day. In his experience, that by itself was more than any gods did for him or the countless other slaves in Astapor.
In the short time he was a prospective Unsullied-to-be, the youth wore a different name each day. He suffered his manhood being sacrificed to a goddess he wasn't worthy of learning the name of as of yet. He couldn't even remember the name his mother gave him so long ago before a slaver tore him out of her hands.
When Prince Viserys took Astapor and changed his world, he was Grey Worm, for he had been grey from dust since the previous night. For months, the youth couldn't make up his mind and instead kept joining his brothers in training to earn his place among the Unsullied. It took him that long to find a meaning of the Resol'nare that resonated with something deep within his heart.
He was Gray Worm. He would be a warrior. He wanted to carve his name into a legend marching beside Viserys, the Liberator, smiting slavers all over the world.
From that day on, Grey Worm threw himself into training to be the best warrior he could become with renewed vigor, for this was his choice instead of what the Good Masters demanded on the pain of death.
=Sith=
291 AC
Volantis
The Golden Company spent two days properly setting up a camp for potentially long haul beyond the walls of Volantis before Myles Toyne gave his people a leave to go into the city and spend their gold. He was sure the locals would be even more welcoming than usual, for the Golden Company returned victorious after destroying the ambitions of yet another Dothraki Khal who dreamed of sacking Volantis' countryside before demanding a much larger tribute than usual.
Between mercenaries and Volantis' own military, such stunts tended to end bloody for everyone involved. It has been long since a Khal gathered enough strength for such stunts to receive any other response but blood and steel. The Golden Company made much gold when the Dothraki became too large for their britches in this part of the world.
Myles looked forward to a hot bath in a pillow house with curvy maidens helping him relax after the last campaign. From the officers, only that tightfist cunt Gorys Edoryen, the paymaster, would remain behind, officially overseeing the camp. Instead, Myles was sure that the bastard would be busy counting their pay from the city and sorting through loot, for that made him happier than the sweetest of wines and most experienced of whores.
"Captain-General, we must speak. Now!" Lysono Maar pushed his way into Toyne's tent just as the Blackheart was about to leave. The Lyseni spymaster threw away his hooded cloak with a nervous gesture, revealing his long, braided golden hair.
"More Dothraki?" Myles asked. Lysono was a veteran mercenary; he wouldn't be this concerned if there was no danger.
"We aren't that lucky. We've been out of the loop until we got back yesterday. I had enough time to speak with my spies and confirm their stories. We might have a problem."
Toyne sighed and waved the spymaster into a nearby chair. There was always some kind of headache to deal with since becoming Captain-General that others couldn't deal with.
"What has got your small clothes in a twist?" Myles demanded. He could already feel warm water over his skin and the caress of maidens. Whatever Maar was on about, it better be good!
"While we were hunting Dothraki, Viserys Targaryen took Astapor and crowned himself Prince of the city. He is confirmed to be somehow a powerful Sorcerer and has an army of Unsullied at his beck and call. As of last sennight, the Great Masters of Meereen are on the market for mercenaries to end free Astapor."
Myles blinked at the spymaster, trying to make sense of his words.
"Lysono, what have you been drinking? Can I have some? Or better yet, tell me so I can avoid it! That was a nice jape! Viserys Targaryen, a sorcerer! You got me going there for a moment!" Toyne laughed.
"Everyone in the city is talking about him. He apparently murdered his way through Pentos after a bunch of Westerosi threatened his sister. Then the Magisters paid him off handsomely to fuck off, and he went to conquer Astapor! I'm shitting you not, Captain-General."
Myles groaned and went to the nearest free chair, collapsing in it with a groan.
"You can ask anyone you want in the city! I did the same to ensure my spies haven't been compromised!" Maar added.
"You were right there with me a few years ago when we laughed in his face," Myles reminded his spymaster.
"He might have forgotten or not care now?" the Lyseni didn't sound convinced at all.
"Find everything you can about Viserys fucking Targaryen, what he is up to, and what people claim he can do now!" Blackheart ordered. "I want to know who pays to take him down and how much!"
"Do you want us to end the Targaryens if the gold is good enough?" Maar inquired.
"I am still trying to wrap my head around all the shit you just told me," Myles grumbled. "We might be able to work with Viserys. Or he might want our heads for spitting him."
Back then, the Targaryen cause was deader than the Blackfyres. Aerys the Mad burned it, Rhaegar fucked it, and Viserys had no one of consequence backing him. The boy's only chance was to join the Golden Company, prove himself, and make a name for himself. Only then might they have considered backing a restoration, especially if loyalists were willing to pay for the company's services.
Instead, that foolish boy requested that they restore him to the throne for rewards that would only come if they won.
And somehow, that boy was now a Sorcerer with an army and a city.
"We will rest, recover, and gather information. It might not matter what Viserys Targaryen is if enough of the Slaver Cities move against him. Is Meereen alone in seeking mercenaries?"
"Their representatives got here first last week. Ships from Yunkai, Elyria, and Tolos might still be on the way, and New Ghis is much further away," Maar pointed out.
"Then we will keep our ears open and bide our time," Mlyes decided. He got up and stretched. That pillow house and bath beckoned.
=Sith=
291 AC
Elyria
Outside Volantis, Elyria was the last light left from the destroyed Valyrian Freehold. The city's first rulers after the doom were the Valyrians from the by-then-gone homeland, who married into prominent local families, shaping the city's nobility into what it is today.
It should have been no surprise that when Viserys Targaryen took Astapor months ago, Elyria was the only city in the region that received the news with more interest than fear. Nobles, merchants, and commoners alike might have had to mingle and intermarry with Ghiscari over the past centuries, but they never forgot their origins. Their Temples were those of the Fourteen Flames. Their looks were still more fair than not. Men and women with silver hair and purple eyes still called Elyria their home and mourned mother Valyria.
More importantly, when Viserys Targaryen took Astapor, he didn't do something as foolish as proclaiming a war on slavery despite his Westerosi upbringing. And at the end of the day, no matter what, the blood of the last dragonlords flowed in their veins. That the Targaryens lost their wings over a century ago mattered far less in that regard.
When the Prince of Astapor's envoys arrived, speaking of peace, trade, and eventual restoration in far-off Westeros, the Elyrian nobility listened. There was an opportunity for profit here, stirring the interest of the Merchant Houses.
When their other distant kin, Hizdahr zo Loraq, sent his own envoys speaking of a second Braavos and war to strangle that threat in its cradle, Elyria listened.
Elyria was divided. Keeping slaves was their right. It was the way of the ancient Freehold. Prince Viserys might not have intended to create a threat, yet did that matter? Astapor was changing in a way that couldn't be unmade without taking the city, enslaving its population, and scattering it to the winds. People didn't need Hizdahr zo Loraq to show them the way. Everyone who visited Astapor and had eyes to see saw what Viserys was doing with his city.
On the other hand, it had been a very long time since the blood of Old Valyria flowed so strongly in anyone, much less a Dragonlord, even if one was without a dragon. There was no doubt that magic sang in Viserys' blood, and equally importantly, he could harness it.
Elyria's various factions gathered in the cool of night, discussing what was happening in Astapor and what it meant for them. Meanwhile, Priests and Priestess tended the Temples of the Fourteen Flames, praying for guidance.
The only answer they got was simple yet profound. For the first time since the last Targaryen dragon died, the altars remained warm even when no fire heated them, no matter how cold the nights became.
Ultimately, no matter how persuasive Hizdahr zo Loraq's allies could be, Elyria's nobility decided to bide their time, retain its neutrality, and wait to see the truth of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen.