Map of the lands of Xandar.
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Essos, Meereen
1st Moon of 58 AC
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On the peak of the Great Pyramid of Meereen, Caspian sat on what resembled an ebony throne—the single point in the entire audience chamber that allowed him to command every corner, every column, and every exposed neck with his gaze. His broad shoulders held his back straight, a stoic posture reinforced by the weight of his armor and the fur cloak cascading behind him. To his left stood Aerea Targaryen. His wife wore dark riding clothes embroidered with dragons in silver thread; her violet eyes scanned the Ghiscari nobles with undisguised contempt.
Behind Caspian, guarding their lord's life with knuckles turning white over the hilts of their arakhs, were his Bloodriders. The Dothraki warriors scoured the shadows fiercely, longing for someone to cross the line so they could slit their throats.
The murmur of the petitioners was an annoying buzz of flies. The Great Masters who had survived Aerea's purge huddled against the stone walls, wearing their silk-and-lace tokars, staring with silent horror toward the pyramid's windows. Outside, lining the entrance road to the city, thousands of wooden posts remained erect. On each one, a slave master rotted under the unforgiving Essosi sun. It had been Aerea's direct order when her forces took Meereen: a bloody, relentless response to the tyranny of the noble families.
"The noble lord Hazzak mo Pahl requests an audience with the Great Khal and the Khaleesi," announced a Dothraki acting as the court herald, his voice echoing through the chamber.
Caspian didn't even blink. His hard, calculating gaze cut through the air.
"Let him approach," Caspian commanded. His voice broke through like a dry rumble—the tone of a man who no longer took orders, but one accustomed to issuing directives paid for in blood and life.
Hazzak mo Pahl stepped forward along the marble aisle. He wore loud blue silks, his dark, curly hair shining with aromatic oil, and a heavy gold necklace clinking against his chest with every step. Reaching the foot of the dais, he bowed deeply, though the rigidity in his spine betrayed the wounded pride of the old blood of Ghis.
"Great Khal Caspian, Khaleesi," Hazzak spoke in the Common Tongue, trying to force a diplomatic smile. "The tales of your dominance and the terror your hosts inspire did not do justice to the reality that presides over Meereen today."
Caspian held his gaze in absolute silence. No nod, not a single courtesy. He hated beatings around the bush. Beside him, Aerea simply arched an eyebrow, measuring the Meereense noble as if he were a bothersome bug.
Hazzak cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable with the lack of response.
"Mine is one of the oldest and proudest families in Meereen," the noble prefaced, lifting his chin slightly to maintain an air of dignity. "My father, one of the most respected citizens of this city, supervised the restoration and maintenance of its most important monuments. This very Great Pyramid is among his works."
"A solid structure," Caspian commented, breaking the silence with coldness. "It will hold up well enough when we have to reduce the rest of the city to ashes if you people don't learn how to behave."
Hazzak tensed. His copper skin lost a shade of color. "My father was not an armed enemy, Your Grace. He..."
"Your father is dead," Caspian interrupted without ceremony. "I know because I saw the legs of those hanged men stop kicking on their stakes when I arrived."
A murmur of suppressed panic rippled through the Meereense nobles standing near the pillars. One of Caspian's Bloodriders took half a step forward, resting a hand on the hilt of his arakh with a guttural growl. Hazzak clenched his fists, his diplomatic mask cracking entirely.
"My father spoke out against the worst cruelties of the council!" Hazzak snapped, his eyes burning with contained rage as he looked at Aerea and then Caspian. "He denounced the useless violence before you ever reached the walls. But his opinion was dismissed. Is it justice to answer the past by crucifying thousands of Meereen's most illustrious men? To impale my father like carrion?"
Aerea stepped forward, cutting in before Caspian could answer. Her voice resonated with the echo of a dragon:
"Your father traded in human lives, Hazzak," Aerea said, her violet eyes gleaming dangerously. "He bought men, sold women, and used children until they broke. If he 'spoke out' against cruelty, he did so from the comfort of his halls, dining on lamb and drinking spiced wine while the rest of the city bled in chains. The thousands of masters I put on those stakes paid the blood debt this city accumulated over centuries. Do not ask me to weep for the executioner who ended up on the gallows."
Hazzak ground his teeth in helpless rage. He turned to Caspian, seeking a shred of pragmatism in the Khal.
"What is done is done, Great Khal," the Meereense said, lowering his head in a submissive gesture that carried a icy venom. "You rule now, and I am a servant of Meereen. A servant who does not wish to see the few traditions we have left eradicated."
"What traditions?" Caspian asked.
"The tradition of funeral rites," Hazzak said, his tone pleading. "My father and the other nobles remain impaled on those stakes along the roads. They are food for vultures, rotting in the midday heat. Your Grace, I beg you to order these men brought down so they may receive a dignified burial in the Temple of the Graces."
Caspian remained silent. The image of the stakes in the sun did not cause him the slightest remorse. On the grass sea, the dead were simply meat returning its strength to the earth. However, his stoic, analytical mind evaluated the situation: leaving thousands of rotting corpses at the city's main entrance only bred plague, an unbearable stench, and a resentment that could turn into armed rage.
"The flies are stinking up the access roads," Caspian said finally. "And I don't want my riders or my people breathing in the stench of your ancestors."
Hazzak looked up, startled.
"Does that mean...?"
"Take your father," Caspian decreed in an unshakeable voice. "Take them all down if you wish. Take them to your temples, bury them under tons of stone, or burn them—I couldn't care less. But if I hear that you are using these burials to hold rallies, conspire against me, or incite rebellion, I will hang the living sons next to their fathers' graves. Is that clear?"
Hazzak bowed deeply, the gold at his neck glittering beneath the torches.
"It is clear, Your Grace. Thank you."
As the noble retreated at a swift pace, dragging the silks of his tokar, Caspian let out a heavy sigh. Dealing with Meereense nobles caused him more physical exhaustion than a three-day march on horseback.
As soon as Hazzak crossed the bronze portal, Aerea approached Caspian. The queen's stiffness vanished instantly, replaced by a soft, genuine warmth. She rested her small, warm hand on Caspian's armored shoulder.
"That man hides a dagger behind every bow, Caspian," Aerea whispered softly, searching her husband's eyes. "Do not trust his gratitude. Men who wear silk and oil their hair do not fight face-to-face; they wait for you to lower your guard at night. It was like that in King's Landing, and they are no different here."
Caspian turned his head toward her. The harsh, impenetrable expression he wore before his subjects softened completely. He took Aerea's hand in his, gently caressing her knuckles with genuine affection.
"I know he does, my Khaleesi," Caspian replied softly, offering his wife a warm smile. "But while they are busy digging graves and shrouding their dead, they won't have time to forge weapons. Besides, my Bloodriders watch over us, and we have the witches."
Essino took a step forward and struck his chest with an iron-clad fist. "Hash m'athchomaroon, me nem nesa, Khal," [I am eager to kill someone], the Dothraki declared in his native tongue.
Caspian nodded to his bloodbrother, laughing at his comment. Then he looked back at Aerea, wrapping a protective arm around her waist to draw her close.
"Let us continue," he said. "Let us finish these audiences before I lose my patience."
The following hours were an insufferable parade of petitions. The liberated city was a chaotic web of conflicting interests.
First came Grazdan, an old Great Master with a shrill voice who demanded half the profits from a group of young former slave women who had opened a weaving workshop near the harbor. The man claimed he had purchased them years ago and that they had learned the trade from an old woman he owned, meaning the girls' "skill" belonged to him by right of investment.
"What was the name of the old woman who taught them to weave?" Caspian asked, resting his chin on his hand.
Grazdan blinked in confusion, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.
"There were... there were many slaves on my estates, Great Khal. I do not keep track of the names of the rabble..."
"Then you taught them nothing," Caspian declared with a voice like thunder. "You didn't lift a single finger at the loom. The girls owe you not a single copper. And to make up for your poor memory, you will buy them two new looms made of the finest oak in the city. If they are not installed in their workshop by tomorrow noon, I will go to your mansion and collect the value of the looms by destroying your own furniture. Get out of my sight."
The man scrambled away, stumbling over himself, trembling with rage and fear.
Then came a wealthy noblewoman demanding the return of her mansion, which had been taken by freed slaves while she fled to her brother's house during the fall of the city. Caspian allowed her to keep the jewelry she was wearing, but made it clear that if someone abandons their home out of cowardice in the middle of a battle, they cannot expect the city to safeguard it for them.
The moment of greatest tension came at the end of the day.
A young boy, no older than fourteen, presented himself before the throne. He wore an ostentatious silver tokar stained with mud, and a fresh, reddish scar slashed across his left cheek. Voice breaking with hatred and trauma, the boy recounted how his family's slaves had rebelled during the chaos of the conquest, slaughtering his father and older brother, and murdering his mother.
"One of my mother's killers still lives in my father's house!" the boy screamed, pointing toward the exit, his body shaking with accumulated rage. "And the other joined your troops! I demand to see them both hanged! I demand justice for my blood!"
Caspian observed the boy in silence. He could see genuine grief in the child's eyes, the devastating trauma of a son who had witnessed the downfall of his house. Caspian knew loss and the fury born of seeing loved ones bleed, and for a moment felt a pang of pity. However, a ruler's judgment could not be guided by favoritism toward the old elite.
"We issued a general pardon for acts committed during the uprising," Caspian said, his voice firm yet devoid of malice. "I will not punish slaves for rebelling against the men who kept them in chains. What happened to your family was a tragedy, boy, but it was the direct result of the violence your own parents sowed for generations."
"They were murdered!" the boy shrieked, out of his mind, taking an impulsive step forward. "They were monsters! You are a worse monster if you protect them!"
"The audience is over," Caspian said coldly. "Go home."
Blind with rage, the boy made the fatal mistake of charging up the steps of the throne with a gut-wrenching cry, drawing a small knife hidden beneath his silks.
Before he could take three steps, Essino and Onno intercepted him. Essino grabbed his wrist violently, and Onno slammed him face-first onto the stone steps with a heavy thud that echoed through the entire room.
"Enough," Caspian ordered, leaping to his feet. "Release him."
The warriors stepped back. The youth lay on the ground, gasping, sobbing in pain and humiliation while clutching his injured shoulder.
Caspian walked down the steps slowly, stopping just two paces from the boy. He crouched down to his eye level.
"You are just a child," Caspian said with quiet, severe hardness. "I will forget that you tried to attack me here. You should do the same: take whatever you have left and build a life far from this city before violence consumes you."
The boy stumbled to his feet, spitting blood onto the stone. As he retreated, he glanced back over his shoulder and cast a look of pure venom at Caspian and Aerea. In his eyes, there was not the slightest hint of remorse—only a burning desire for vengeance.
With the session ended, Caspian and Aerea retired to the upper chambers of the Great Pyramid.
The sun was beginning to set over the horizon, painting the clouds and the Bay of Dragons in deep shades of red. On the grand marble balcony, perched above the structure where the massive bronze harpy once stood before Aerea had it torn down, was Endaxia.
The dragon's bronze scales gleamed like molten ingots under the twilight light. The majestic creature rested with her wings half-folded. When she saw Caspian and Aerea step onto the balcony, her gaze locked onto her rider, emitting a deep, guttural purr that vibrated through the stone flags beneath their feet.
Caspian walked straight toward the dragon. He approached Endaxia's head and rested his palm against her warm snout. The scales were as hard as diamond, and Caspian could feel the scorching heat of the creature's inner fire.
"Hello, girl," Caspian murmured softly, scratching the soft spot behind the dragon's jaw.
Endaxia closed her eyes, enjoying the touch. Aerea walked up to her husband, leaning her hands against the balcony railing as she surveyed the vast city below.
"Meereen seems peaceful from up here," Aerea remarked softly. "But down there, the air is heavy; the situation remains tense."
"The Meereense won't accept change overnight," Caspian replied, without stopping his caresses on the dragon. "Hizzak and his people will take down their dead, but hatred isn't so easily buried."
No sooner had Caspian uttered those words than a third presence manifested. "Valery, follow the boy who lost his parents. He surely seeks vengeance and will gather with those who want the same. Cut the problem off at the root," he ordered the witch. Valery nodded and departed.
"What is done, is done," Caspian said with stoic hardness, resting his hand on the dragon's head to calm her. "The boy made his choice in the audience chamber."
Night fell suddenly over Meereen, bringing a thick, moonless darkness. And with the night, just as Caspian and Aerea had foretold, the latent violence of the city finally exploded in the shadows.
Guerrilla warfare began without warning.
There were no trumpets or armies marching down the main avenues. Instead, the Sons of the Harpy—emerging from the darkest alleys, wearing golden masks with demonic faces and armed with curved steel daggers—launched a series of coordinated ambushes in the lower districts.
Caspian was in the war room of the royal apartments alongside Aerea, mapping trade routes to Xandar, when the double doors burst open.
A Dothraki entered the room, drenched in sweat and with splashes of fresh blood on his steel armor.
"Khal!" the Dothraki warrior exclaimed, breathing heavily. "The rats have crawled out of their sewers!"
Caspian stood up from the table, his eyes burning with grim satisfaction. Aerea was at his side in a second, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword.
"Speak," Caspian commanded. "What is happening down there?"
"A coward's war," the Bloodrider spat with contempt. "They stab from the shadows. Three of our night patrols were ambushed in the Weavers' District and the Street of the Red Bricks. They hide daggers under their tokars, throw boiling oil and roof tiles at us from the rooftops, and run through alleys so narrow horses can't turn. They slit the throats of four of our men before vanishing into the dark."
The news ignited Caspian's impulsive temper. The fierce, possessive love he felt for his people transformed instantly into destructive rage. He slammed his fist onto the wooden table with such force that the surface cracked.
Aerea placed a firm hand on his chest, feeling her husband's racing heart. Caspian looked at his wife, and for a brief moment, the warmth he held for her flared in his eyes before turning into iron resolve.
"There will be no panic," Caspian declared. "There will only be fire and hunt."
He turned to the Dothraki with a series of sharp, ruthless commands:
"Change the patrols immediately. From this moment on, no more small groups of three or four men. The streets will be patrolled in heavy squads of twenty warriors. No rider enters a narrow alley alone."
"And the buildings they throw things from, Khal?" the Dothraki warrior asked.
"If a single stone, a single dagger, or a drop of oil falls from a window or a roof," Caspian ordered in an implacable voice, "you have direct orders to kick down the doors and burn the entire house down with everyone inside. If the Harpy wants to use the shadows and alleys as their battlefield, we will take the shadows away by burning every corner of Meereen until they have nowhere left to hide."
"Arrissat hash idde, Khal!" [It shall be done, my Khal!] shouted the Bloodrider, beating his chest with wild enthusiasm before rushing out to pass along the commands.
Caspian walked back out to the balcony. Aerea stepped up beside him, entwining her fingers with his.
"This city will be hard to tame, Caspian," Aerea murmured, resting her head against her husband's armored shoulder.
Caspian pulled her close to his side, gently kissing his queen's temple.
"Meereen will learn to obey, Aerea," Caspian answered with absolute resolve, "just like everything else we touch."