"These are our terms: one hundred gold dragons!"
"For ship?"
"No, for person."
Inside the Great Pyramid of Meereen, the silver-haired Queen, who had initially looked pleased, once again received the Lannister brothers.
Jason was covered in mud, except for his face, which had been roughly washed, and he was in a daze. He couldn't believe it—he, a Lord of the First Rank, had not only been beaten up but was now being held hostage in the main hall for ransom.
Tyland opened his mouth wide in shock. "Even if we wanted to, we couldn't pull together that kind of money."
His brother had led a large fleet, but all the sailors had been detained. To rescue them, he would have to pay one hundred gold dragons per person, which was better than just killing them all and being done with it.
"I can't come up with that kind of money, and don't even think about it!" Jason exclaimed, his face bruised and swollen. He would never spend an extra gold dragon to rescue anyone—not even if the Conqueror were still alive!
"There you go again, crying poverty." The silver-haired Maiden sat on her throne, her tanned long legs folded to the side, looking down her nose at Tyland. "Who would believe that, coming from a Lannister?"
She began counting on her fingers. "Everyone knows that your stables and kitchens are made of solid gold.""Yes, everyone knows!" Racallio, dressed as a woman in seven colors, crossed his arms and agreed with the Queen.
"No, not even one gold dragon!" Jason shouted again, like a clown performing on stage.
The silver-haired woman covered her forehead with her hand and waved impatiently. "Maybe we should shut him up. A complete idiot, who has no right to an equal dialogue."
Bang!
Racallio punched Jason in the stomach, sending him crumpling over like a golden shrimp.
"Hey, we agreed to negotiate, not fight!" Tyland protested, his eyelids fluttering in shock. Although he admittedly didn't like his twin brother much, he couldn't just let him be bullied in front of his eyes. What did they take the Iron Throne and House Lannister for?
Seeing this, the silver-haired Maiden nodded. "Take him away and treat him like a guest."
"Yes, my Queen." Racallio gave a wicked smile and dragged the semi-unconscious Jason under his arm.
"No, no!" Tyland was horrified and moved to stop him. His niece was only two years old, and he couldn't allow his brother's reputation to be ruined.
"Don't worry, Racallio has some strange quirks, but his orientation is still quite normal," the silver-haired woman reassured with a feigned air of generosity.
Tyland, ever the cautious adviser, had always maintained a polite demeanor in her presence. Upon hearing her words, he hesitated but didn’t dare to question her. Instead, he turned away and took a deep breath. "Lady Irina, I can agree to those terms on Jason's behalf. Let's move on to business."
There was no denying that Jason was an arrogant fool. As his twin, Tyland felt it was his duty to protect him, but it was up to Jason to show some sense. 'This is not Westeros, and it is certainly not the Westerlands ruled by House Lannister,' he thought. 'Perhaps a good beating will teach him humility and courtesy.'
"Call me "Your Grace"!" Irina raised her chin, emphasizing her status once more.
Tyland chuckled. "Haha, and what is your law, and where do you rule?"
"My bloodline is my law, recognized by the three Free Cities rebuilt from the ruins of the Old Empire of Ghis," Irina replied, twirling a lock of her silver-blonde hair around her finger, flaunting her Valyrian heritage.
"As far as I know, your rule rose as suddenly as a storm," Tyland remarked, his gaze betraying a hint of surprise as he studied her silver hair and purple eyes. He asked cautiously, "Forgive my impertinence, but what is your family name...?"
Just four years ago, Slaver's Bay had been devastated by a bastard dragonlord lineage.
Irina straightened her back, her eyes reflecting distant memories. "Daeryon! The ancient and noble Dragonlord bloodline, the Warden family of the Thirteenth Peak of the Fourteen Flames."
"..." Tyland was stunned by her bold revelation, momentarily at a loss for words. 'Another Dragonlord bloodline... Wow. I wonder how the king will react to this news—perhaps he’ll burn Slaver's Bay again.'
"Er, this is truly surprising information," Tyland coughed twice, hesitant. "You should be aware of the disaster that befalls anyone who falsely claims an unknown Dragonlord surname."
He was being polite, offering her a warning, as she had shown him a similar courtesy. Not just anyone could claim descent from the Dragonlords by adopting a fabricated surname.
Irina Daeryon remained unfazed. "Do you think I'm lying, Lord Tyland?"
"Not at all, it's just... the truth," Tyland replied with a forced smile. He had no desire to be beaten like Jason.
"You're very honest, and that annoys me," Irina said, resting her hand on her side and looking away. "I've heard of the Bastard Dragonlord, an impostor with Aethyrys blood. I am nothing like that."
She had been born in the Lands of the Long Summer, was well-versed in the oral tradition of inherited knowledge, and had escaped the cursed land with great difficulty. She was a true dragon, like her kin on the Western Continent.
Tyland hesitated slightly before interrupting, "You are right. Let's move on to the troubles with the slave ships."
The previous topic was too sensitive. It was better to hurry up with the negotiations and leave with everything intact.
"Speak," Irina gestured with a raised hand, always maintaining the refined etiquette of the aristocracy. She was still adapting to her new environment, learning to integrate into a world with different norms and values. Ancient Valyria had fallen, and aside from their kin on the Western Continent, the prestige of the Dragonlords surnames had faded.
"Lady, the slave ships have been raiding vessels near Volantis and the Stepstones, which has severely disrupted our maritime trade," Tyland said, regaining his composure as he explained the purpose of his visit. On behalf of the Iron Throne and Prince Maekar, he admonished Slaver's Bay for its vile actions.
"I'm sorry for the impact on your business," Irina replied, her eyes flashing with a hint of regret as she offered the apology.
Tyland, quick-witted, couldn't help but respond with a touch of cynicism. "My father once told me that any elaborate excuse is meaningless before the word 'but.'"
Irina smiled slightly and quickly added, "But!"
Tyland:...
He realized then that reasoning with women like her was futile.
"This is Slaver's Bay, and we need slaves," Irina continued, her voice unwavering. "Just as House Lannister sits on a mountain of gold, I cannot forbid you from digging for it."
'If the Slaver's Bay doesn't capture slaves, what do you expect us to do—farm barren land or fish for stinking shrimp in the sea?'
Tyland was exasperated and he responded firmly, "You should exercise some control. Besides, the slave trade is a sin and will be punished by both the old and new gods."
"The slave trade is an ancient tradition," Irina retorted, frowning. "Both the Old Empire of Ghis and ancient Valyria permitted the existence of slaves."
"Precisely, and that's why both of those great powers you mentioned have already fallen," Tyland countered, seizing the opportunity to press his point.
"This..." Irina was momentarily speechless. The origins of the Doom were uncertain—whether natural or man-made—but one thing was undeniable: the ancient Valyrians had committed countless atrocities.
Sensing her hesitation, Tyland spoke with a touch of arrogance, "On behalf of the Iron Throne, I am officially warning you to cease the brutal practices of the slave ships at sea, or you will face dire consequences."
With the weight of authority behind him, his words carried a threat.
"And what if I refuse?" Irina's face darkened slightly. Without the slave trade, what would sustain her people? The slave trade was legal in the Freehold Empire; she had committed no crime.
"Then you..." Tyland paused, then said, "Then you will face serious trouble, and my king will be furious."
"You are a loyal adviser who knows how to stay out of trouble," Irina observed calmly, neither offended nor intimidated. "It seems we cannot reach an agreement. When your brother pays the ransom for his freedom, I will release you as well."
"What?" Tyland was stunned. He didn’t fully comprehend her words until the slave soldiers seized him by the shoulders.
"Treat him well," Irina instructed, feeling weary and in need of rest. "Prepare a plate of quail for me, and don't let any mutton near the table."
"No, no! You can't treat an adviser like this!" Tyland cried out in desperation, struggling against his captors.
Irina merely rolled her eyes and walked away, heading back to her sleeping quarters.
Suddenly, a strong wind gusted through the window, causing the lightly draped curtain to billow.
“Huh?” Irina paused, her breath catching as something caught her attention.
Boom.
A massive shadow streaked across the sky of Meereen, swiftly ascending the Great Pyramid. The sheer force of its impact shattered large panes of glass.
“Dragon!”
A heart-wrenching cry echoed from outside the tower, followed by the chaotic sounds of people stumbling and falling.
Irina’s eyes widened in alarm as she rushed to the window.
“Roar!”
A colossal creature with a silvery-gray body and misty wings flashed by, moving with the agility of a swallow.
“Dragon! Prepare yourselves!”
“Hurry...”
The slave soldiers shouted, frantically turning the scorpion crossbows on the city walls and launching long steel spears.
Boom.
The silver-gray dragon dove through the red-brick sky of Meereen, unleashing a torrent of gray Dragonfire that billowed like smoke or fog.
The Dragonfire obscured everything in its path, and the dragon darted in and out, its terrifying roars reverberating through the city.
Suddenly...
“Roar!”
The silver-gray dragon soared out of the Dragonfire, gliding effortlessly past the towering city walls. The scorpion crossbows struggled to find their mark as the dragon swept through the gray Dragonfire like a string of beads.
“Ah!”
“Fire! Help...”
The city walls erupted in flames, reminiscent of a festering wound, as the slave soldiers screamed in agony, tumbling to the ground and trampling over one another in their desperate attempts to escape.
“A dragon! A living dragon!”
Inside the Great Golden Pagoda, Irina trembled, her eyes brimming with tears.
...
A long time later, in the square of Meereen...
“Roar!”
The silver-gray dragon stood tall, its enormous head swiveling as it surveyed its surroundings. Its cold, vertical pupils were filled with an ominous intensity.
The slave soldiers surrounded the beast from a distance, tensely gripping their spears but not daring to approach.
“Quiet, Tyraxes,” Maekar commanded from the saddle, his small face calm and vigilant. He had lost his teacher, and Volantis could no more do without Tyland Lannister than the Stepstones could do without their uncle, Aegon.
Well... it shouldn't make much difference.
“Prince!”
After a long wait, Tyland finally appeared, his face flushed with excitement. He knew that someone would come to his rescue. Accompanying him was Irina, flanked by her bodyguards.
Irina's gaze was fixed on the menacing silver-gray dragon. At over twenty meters long, it stood as tall as a small castle. It might not be as large as the fully-grown dragons, but to the tiny slave soldiers, it was still a fearsome beast.
Tyraxes was unlike any other dragon. Apart from its silver-gray scales and misty wing membranes, its head was about three times larger than that of an average dragon, and its exposed fangs were like a giant guillotine, capable of splitting mountains and crushing stones.
The dragon's tail lacked a dorsal fin, ending instead in a flattened, shell-like shape that resembled a powerful battering ram as it swayed. One shoulder blade and half of its wing were covered in silver-gray scales that shimmered with a colorful sheen, reflecting halos of light in the sun.
At first glance, Tyraxes appeared fierce and hideous—a war machine designed for maximum lethality.
“Have you been kidnapped, Lord Tyland?” Maekar asked, tilting his head to the side with a mischievous gleam in his sapphire-like eyes.
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