I reposted it; I didn't realize that when I uploaded it, I didn't post the whole thing.
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Essos, Meereen
1st Moon Of 58 AC
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The afternoon sun fell upon Meereen with a suffocating, dense weight, building a sweltering heat that seemed trapped between the thick walls of lime, marble, and stone of the Great Pyramid. The salty breeze that usually rose from the bay at this hour was non-existent, leaving behind heavy air saturated with the smell of kitchen charcoal, dry dust, and the faint trace of rancid fish from the docks. From the terrace of the royal chamber, Caspian looked out over the city spread before his feet. The shadows of the lesser pyramids stretched like giant dark claws over the lattice of colorful bricks in the lower districts, while the streets still buzzed with the distant murmur of daily life. Freedmen bought goods, merchants haggled, and Dothraki patrols rode along the main avenues with the bells on their braids ringing rhythmically.
"Nothing here is as calm as it appears," Caspian observed silently, knowing that to his eyes, that apparent normalcy was nothing more than a thin shell about to break. Beneath the market's hustle lay a dangerous void: thousands of men and women whose only trade, for years or decades, had been violence. Pit fighters, demobilized mercenaries, former guards of noble houses, and crippled veterans wandered the alleys with no possession other than the steel they knew how to wield, their stomachs empty and their gazes fixed on the shadows. Aerea had left an hour ago, accompanied by Essino and Qrano, to preside over a meeting with the guilds of weavers and silk artisans in the lower level of the pyramid.
Caspian had stayed behind in the great audience hall on purpose. "I want no interruptions or diplomatic softness," he thought, knowing his wife usually brought such nuance to debates. Around him, the immense room of polished marble remained in shadow, illuminated only by the orange light streaming through the high windows. Stationed along the room with the stillness of bronze and steel statues stood five of his Bloodriders: Zirqo, Gezro, Kakho, Cakoqqo, and Mottaekho. They wore the steel armor they had learned to use, and beneath it, studded leather doublets, their long braids heavy with bells falling over their shoulders, hands resting naturally near the hilt of their arakhs. Their faces, hardened by years of marches and battles in the Dothraki Sea, reflected absolute indifference toward the politics of the sedentary folk; for them, the only valid command was that of their Khal.
Caspian walked at a measured pace toward the large dark wood table positioned in the center of the room. The surface of the table was covered in meticulously organized clutter: detailed maps of Meereen, blueprints of the walls, lists of confiscated fighting pits, tax ledgers, and a bronze bowl filled with dried dates that no one had touched.
He stopped beside the table, leaning his knuckles against the edge. His face showed no emotion whatsoever. "There is no room for regret over yesterday's executions," he told himself, nor did he feel any hesitation regarding the threats from the Sons of the Harpy. For Caspian, governance was not a search for affection or a matter of abstract morality, but a problem of social engineering and force management. "If violence is not channeled through a rigid structure, it will end up devouring the city from within."
"Bring in Hazzak Mo Pahl," Caspian ordered without raising his voice. His deep, dry tone cut through the silence of the chamber.
Zirqo, the Bloodrider with the sharpest gaze, gave a slight nod and strode toward the bronze gate to relay the order to the guards at the outer door. The other four warriors did not even move; their eyes remained fixed on the room's entrances, assessing every shadow.
Barely a few minutes passed before the heavy gates swung on their iron hinges once more. Hazzak Mo Pahl advanced along the central marble hallway. The Ghiscari noble wore a gown of gray and blue silk, fine yet neat, holding its folds with both hands crossed over his belly. He advanced with the humble, submissive stoop he had adopted since the fall of the Great Masters, but Caspian immediately saw the contained tension in his posture and the hungry gleam in his dark eyes. "He smells political opportunity the way vultures spot carrion on Essos's dry plains," Caspian noted mentally. Hazzak had come that morning to request the reopening of the arenas from the Khaleesi; now, summoned alone by the Khal, he knew the scales could tip definitively.
"My Khal," Hazzak said upon reaching the table, bowing deeply so that the sleeves of his robe nearly touched the polished floor. "You honor me by granting this private audience. "Am I to understand that the Khaleesi and your excellence have carefully considered the humble petitions presented this morning by the free fighters?"
Caspian remained standing, arms crossed over his chest reinforced with strips of bullhide. His imposing figure cast a long shadow over the table. Behind him, Cakoqqo and Mottaekho kept their eyes fixed on the noble, their faces as expressionless as wall stone.
"The Khaleesi spoke to me about it," Caspian said in a cold, unadorned voice. "That is why I summoned you, Hazzak. "Sit down."
The Ghiscari obeyed without hesitation, settling into one of the carved wooden chairs with the graceful, rehearsed elegance typical of Ghiscari aristocracy. Caspian did not sit right away. He remained standing, staring closely at the noble's receding hairline before sliding the bowl of dates toward the center of the wood—an automated gesture devoid of any hospitality.
"This morning you brought those men before the throne," Caspian continued, taking a step around the table. "Goghor, the woman Barsena, the Spotted Cat. They did not come to beg for alms. They did not come to weep over the freedom given to them, nor to plead for bread from the crown. They came to say they want to keep killing, but demanding their own gold in return. That is understandable to me. Blood is all they know. I also want them to feel happy and at ease, and if that means they kill, so be it. But not under the old rules of Meereen."
Hazzak tilted his head, intertwining his fingers over his lap.
"The old rules, my Khal?" Hazzak asked. "The Great Masters maintained order in the arenas with an iron fist. The tradition of Ghiscar spans three thousand years of history..."
"The old rules were an economic absurdity," Caspian cut him off sharply, stopping a meter from the noble's seat. Gezro, from the back of the hall, let out a low snort in Dothraki upon hearing the word "tradition." Caspian continued unfazed: "The Masters treated those fighters like draft beasts. "They fed them in cells, whipped them to fan their fury, and kept one hundred percent of the profits while the miserable crowd applauded. It was a vanity spectacle for fat old men wearing togas. Now the city is free, which means I will not maintain thousands of idle gladiators with the royal treasury, nor will I allow a few nobles to enrich themselves again through a monopoly on fear. If the pits open, it will not be to restore the nostalgia of the Great Houses. It will be to turn violence into the financial engine of Meereen."
Hazzak furrowed his brow, blinking slowly as he processed the Khal's words.
"The financial engine?" Hazzak inquired. "Do you aim for the entire city to depend on the fighting pits?"
"I aim for every drop of blood spilled in this city to pay a tithe to the crown," Caspian answered with unrelenting coldness. He leaned slightly against the back of an empty chair, looking the noble straight in the eye. "Meereen does not have the trade of the Free Cities, nor anything to sustain its economy beyond businesses backed by slave labor. "What it does have is a legendary reputation for cruelty and thousands of men who only know how to handle a sword. We will make the entire continent come here to spend their coins. I am not just talking about the freedmen who find no work in the shops. I am talking about mercenary companies from the Free Cities, outlaw knights from Westeros, Dothraki warriors seeking to prove their valor outside the khalasar, and wealthy nobles from Westeros and the Free Cities paying absurd sums to sit in high boxes. They will come to fight, gamble, and drink. And for every gold dragon or honor coin that changes hands, the Crown will take its cut."
The Ghiscari ran his tongue over his dry lips. Initial fear was beginning to be replaced by the cunning of a natural calculator.
"It is an unusual proposal, my Khal..." Hazzak mused. "But Meereen's social structure is not designed to operate the pits without ownership over slaves. How do you sustain a martial spectacle if the fighters can simply walk away if they dislike the pay?"
"Through contracts and ambition," Caspian said calmly. "Listen closely, Hazzak. I will explain this to you once. You will be given the blueprints of the project on paper, but I expect you to memorize every figure, because you will be the one making the numbers fit into the accounting books."
Caspian began walking slowly around the perimeter of the table, his firm footsteps echoing on the stone. The Bloodriders followed their Khal's movement with their eyes, acting as silent witnesses to the negotiation.
"The central product of this new system is simple: 'Free blood, paid glory,'" Caspian stated. "Gladiators and anyone, man or woman, who wishes to enter the pit will do so by signing a voluntary contract. "The chain disappears; in its place comes mercantile law. The Crown will not organize the fights as the Masters did. The Crown will not buy food or pay for whips. We restrict ourselves to regulating, licensing, and levying tribute on every aspect of the activity."
Caspian extended a finger, marking points on the wooden table.
"First: ownership of the pits," Caspian declared. "No noble will own a fighting pit by birthright or ancient inheritance. "All pits become property of The Crown. The crown will grant operating licenses to private managers for a specified period. You, Hazzak, will be the first to receive a license to operate one of the main pits. In return, you will pay a fixed fee to the royal treasury for each fight day, in addition to handing over twenty percent of the total box office receipts."
Hazzak opened his mouth to object to the percentage, but Caspian's stern look made him shut his mouth immediately.
"Second: official gambling," Caspian continued without altering his tone. "The real money is not in ticket sales, but in the greed of the spectators. Unregulated underground gambling is strictly forbidden. We will create official betting houses with royal licenses operating near the arenas. The crown will impose a direct fifteen percent levy on the total of each betting pool collected before the fight. Anyone who attempts to set up an illegal gambling house in the alleys of Mazdhan's Labyrinth without paying for a license will lose their business... and both hands. Kakho and Mottaekho will ensure that rule is understood clearly in the lower districts."
Kakho, hearing his name, placed a heavy hand on the pommel of his arakh, wearing a cold smile that made Hazzak swallow hard.
"Third: revenue sharing with fighters and direct taxes," the Khal proceeded. "Every match will be governed by a public contract. Of the total collected at the box office for that specific match, the victorious fighter will take fifty percent. The loser, if they manage to leave the pit alive, will receive a lesser portion, equal to fifteen percent. From their net earnings, the fighter will pay a direct tax to the crown ranging from fifteen to twenty-five percent, depending on the tournament category. Likewise, we will levy taxes on private sponsors, training schools, gambling houses, and food and wine stalls operating along the perimeter of the plazas."
The Ghiscari noble reclined slowly against the back of his seat, running his withered fingers through his silk gown. Hazzak's face reflected a mix of astonishment and arithmetic fascination.
"I understand the core engine, my Khal," Hazzak noted. "It is a ravenous tax machinery... But such a system requires a much broader infrastructure so as not to collapse after the first few weeks of novelty. Constant violence eventually exhausts the population if it is not diversified."
"That is why the city's economy will be reorganized into three interconnected layers that will feed one another," Caspian replied, pointing to a detailed layout of Meereen's urban plan spread on the table. "Layer one: "The Spectacle. We will not open only the Great Arena for the elites. We will divide spaces. The Great Arena of Ghiscar will be reserved for major events, but we will reopen smaller neighborhood pits in each of the four main districts of the city. There will be an official schedule for what we will call 'Festivals of Blood.' Smaller weekly fights to maintain a steady flow of local coin; large monthly fight days aligning with full moons; and four grand annual tournaments on a continental scale."
Caspian slid his finger across the map, marking the areas outside the city walls.
"We will not limit ourselves to foot duels with sword and shield," Caspian explained. "We will incorporate Westerosi-style jousting tournaments to attract exiled knights from the West, mounted combat so Dothraki warriors can display their skill with the bow and arakh, group company-versus-company battles, and controlled hunts where fighters face exotic beasts brought from the southern continent or the jungles of Sothoryos."
Cakoqqo, the largest Bloodrider, adjusted his bronze belt and whispered in Dothraki to Zirqo, "City men like watching blood flow without stepping in the mud. The Khal will make them pay to watch what we do for sport."
Zirqo nodded silently, letting out a chuckle without looking away from Hazzak.
"Layer two," Caspian continued, ignoring his warriors' murmurs, "is the peripheral business around the spectacle. The arenas are merely the bait; true wealth will circulate in the adjacent streets. Official regulated guilds will be established: guilds of trainers, armorers specializing in exhibition weapons and heavy combat gear, pit healers expert in cauterization and quick sutures, 'fight masters' to run local schools, and 'talent scouts' who will scour the ports of Essos looking for the best free combatants. Taverns, luxury inns, brothels, and high-end dice houses will flourish on tournament days. And the black market..."
Caspian paused, locking a icy stare onto Hazzak.
"I know very well that mild poisons to cripple favorites, rigged weapons, and judge bribes have always circulated in the pits," Caspian remarked. "I will not waste time trying to eradicate the pit black market. We will tolerate it within strict bounds, but illicit operations running in the shadows will pay an indirect protection fee through the supervisors' guild. If corruption occurs, it will occur under our knowledge and while paying its corresponding cut to the treasury."
Hazzak let out a muffled laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
"And what is the third layer?" Hazzak asked. "How do you prevent the city from becoming a den of bloodthirsty criminals who end up slitting each other's throats outside the arenas?"
"Layer three: "Social and fiscal legitimation," Caspian articulated with a firm, absolute voice. "In the old system, gladiators were disposable slaves who died in the dirt. In our system, the most victorious fighters will become Meereen's local celebrities. Free men and women who will earn fortunes, own villas in prosperous neighborhoods, wear silks, keep personal guards, and, most importantly for us, pay the highest taxes in the city for the luxury of flaunting their wealth. The general population will not view gladiators as miserably chained victims, but as role models of social mobility through steel."
Caspian paused, letting the words sink into the noble's mind before addressing the core element of the measure.
"And for those who fall in the pit or are crippled for life, we will create the 'Blood Fund,'" Caspian stated. "Ten percent will be automatically deducted from all official bets collected in the city to feed a common fund managed by the crown. If a contracted fighter dies in the arena, their registered family will receive a direct indemnity payment to prevent poverty. If they are left disabled, they will be granted a modest pension to guarantee their lifelong livelihood. And their names will be engraved on bronze plaques in the Temple of the Graces. We will transform slaughter into a dignified, respected profession. Violence will cease to be a crime or slavery and become a taxed career."
Caspian approached the table once more and rested both hands on the map of Meereen, leaning slightly toward Hazzak.
A heavy silence took over the audience hall. The evening wind began to whistle softly through the high windows, bringing the muffled hum of the harbor. Hazzak Mo Pahl remained motionless in his seat for several seconds, fingers intertwined, eyes fixed on the ink figures written across the documents on the table. In his eyes, there was no longer the fearful subservience of a defeated noble; there was the calculating shine of a Ghiscari aristocrat recognizing a masterpiece of social and financial control.
"My Khal...", Hazzak said finally, speaking slowly and weighing every syllable. "This is not simply reopening the pits to appease hungry combatants. This is completely restructuring Meereen's economic soul upon the foundations of organized war. It is impressive... but extremely dangerous."
"All real power is dangerous," Caspian replied with indifference. "The question is not whether fire burns, but who holds the torch."
"There are factions among the Old Families who will view this with horror," Hazzak noted, adjusting his gown. "Not because blood is spilled, but because you put money and glory directly into the hands of former slaves. A wealthy freedman with weapons and followers is a threat to the old aristocracy."
"Meereen's Old Families no longer have an army or ships," Caspian said in a cold voice. "If they wish to keep their pyramids, they will pay the hundred gold coins for every dead freedman as the Khaleesi ordered this morning, and they will buy box seats in the pits to watch the same men fight whom they used to whip. If they dislike the new order, the walls are open for them to leave with the clothes on their backs, just as was communicated to the houses Zhak and Merreq."
Hazzak swallowed hard and nodded slowly, drumming his long fingers on the wooden table.
"And in this grand machinery... what exactly is my role and my profit, beyond the license you mentioned?" Hazzak asked.
Caspian stared at him, his coldness making the noble keep his back rigid.
"You gain the opportunity to be the first great manager of the new system," Caspian said. "You know the architecture of the ancient pits, you have contacts among the old Ghiscari artisan guilds, and you know how to handle veterans who still feel nostalgia for martial spectacles. If you operate efficiently and honestly toward the crown, within a year you will be richer than you were while serving the Council of the Great Masters. And more importantly: you will be protected by the power of the khalasar. You will not depend on the intrigues of your peers, but on a direct contract with the Khal's crown."
Hazzak went silent again. He looked toward the back of the hall, where the five Bloodriders remained alert. Zirqo watched him with arms crossed; Mottaekho toyed absentmindedly with the hilt of his dagger; Gezro, Kakho, and Cakoqqo maintained absolute stillness. The noble knew perfectly well he was in no position to dictate terms. Nevertheless, his instinct as a slave trader turned manager kept him from not trying to secure a larger cut.
"I want the exclusive concession for the Pit of the Dragon's Pyramid," Hazzak said, raising his chin slightly and dropping the submissive tone for a moment. "It is the largest pit in the east area, the best preserved. And I wish to be granted the official title of 'Royal Manager of Martial Spectacles' during the first year of operations. I do not wish to be seen as a mere tenant of the crown, but as the Royal official directing the restructuring."
Caspian did not blink. He sat down slowly in the carved chair across from the noble, resting his forearms on the table.
"The Pit of the Dragon's Pyramid is too symbolic to grant to a single noble house right now," Caspian declared in a firm, unappealable tone. "I will grant you the license to operate the Pit of the Three Graces. It is nearly as spacious as the Dragon's Pyramid pit, located in an unbeatable position near the central markets, and features large underground stables for mounted combat. As for the title of Royal Manager... we will evaluate it in six moons. If by then tax revenues meet the projections I have set and disturbances in the lower districts have decreased, the title will be yours. If the numbers fall short or I detect you diverting a single coin from official bets away from the royal treasury, you will lose the license, the property, and your head. Do you accept the terms?"
Hazzak held the Khal's gaze for a long moment. He saw in Caspian's eyes the resolve of a man who did not negotiate out of desperation, but out of sheer calculation. He knew one misstep would put him on the same level as the families banished from the city.
"I accept the terms, my Khal," Hazzak said with a slight nod. "But I ask one final concession of a practical nature."
"Speak," Caspian said.
"Allow the fighters who presented themselves this morning in the audience hall—Goghor the Giant, Barsena Black-Hair, the Spotted Cat, and Khrazz—to be the first to sign public contracts under the new regulations," Hazzak requested. "Grant them a place of honor on the bill for the first 'Festival of Blood' at the Pit of the Three Graces. The common people of Meereen need to see familiar, respected faces to understand that the system has changed. If the crowd sees their old pit heroes fighting now by their own choice and receiving real bags of gold at the end of the day, the success of the new order will be guaranteed from day one."
Caspian gave a slight nod, accepting the suggestion without changing his composure.
"That was already considered," Caspian noted. "Tomorrow morning I will have them summoned to the main pyramid plaza. "You will be present with the registration ledgers and contract scribes. We will sign the initial agreements in full view of the freedmen and the captains of the urban guard. From that moment on, you will have seven days to prepare the arenas at the Pit of the Three Graces; the Crown will handle reconstructing the Pits entirely and getting the structures ready."
Hazzak Mo Pahl stood up calmly. He offered a deeper, more formal bow than before, adjusting the folds of his silk gown.
"I will not fail you, my lord Caspian," Hazzak promised. "Meereen will begin to bleed gold before the next moon reaches its zenith."
"Ensure that it does," Caspian answered from his seat without standing up. "Because if blood does not turn into gold, steel will once again find its place on the necks of the nobility."
The Ghiscari noble turned and walked quickly down the marble hallway. Zirqo accompanied the visitor to the great bronze gate, ensuring he left the royal quarters without straying into other chambers. When the heavy doors closed again, silence returned to the massive audience hall.
Caspian remained alone at the table, surrounded by his five Bloodriders. He leaned back in the dark wood chair, contemplating the urban map lines and tax diagrams illuminated by the twilight. He felt no pride or satisfaction over the concluded negotiation. To him, the deal with Hazzak Mo Pahl was merely one piece fitting into a complex machine. "Violence cannot be eradicated in a land shaped by millennia of conquest and slavery," he reflected. Trying to impose an idyllic peace based solely on moral decrees was a recipe for disaster and constant rebellion. "The only lasting way to control the destructive force of thousands of armed men is by giving them a legal channel to express their nature, charging a heavy price for every spectacle."
Mottaekho stepped forward from the back of the room, approaching the table with arms crossed.
"Khal," the Dothraki warrior said in his native tongue, his voice raspy, "that man in the fine gown speaks too much with his tongue and too little with his hands. City men think they can trap blood in books."
Caspian looked up and answered in Dothraki with fluency, "City men only understand gold, Mottaekho. As long as they believe gold flows from the pits, they will have no time to think of night daggers or rebellions. Let them count coins. We will keep our options open—the carrot and the stick."