Chapter 105: Maegor Reborn
"A Prime Minister without a kingdom, heh, he must be having a tough time." Watching Otto Hightower and the two other city-state governors' representatives leave, the Governor of Lys sneered, then turned to look at the mural depicting Lys's resistance against the Volantene fleet during the Bleeding Century. Two men pulled back a tapestry embroidered with Lys's goddess of love and emerged from a hidden door in the wall.
Lysandro Rogare, dressed in lavish robes, also sneered. "House Hightower's defeat is certain. He should be thinking about how to preserve his family now, not trying to seize the Iron Throne. Lord Bartimos is a fool; you are far more suited to rule alongside me."
"Lord Rogare." The governor's representative stood up, stretching his aching legs. "Otto brought several million gold coins to the Free Cities and borrowed millions more from the Iron Bank." He looked into Rogare's sapphire-blue eyes and said with a faint smile, "You had a hand in getting the Iron Bank to approve the loan, didn't you?"
"Isn't it every banker's lifelong pursuit to undermine the Iron Bank?" Lysandro laughed heartily, then turned to Commander Loja and said, "Well? Are you taking this job? With Otto's gold, Commander Loja, you might once again contend with that fop Lycario for the title of Pirate King."
Commander Loja had spent many years recovering from the trauma of having his painstakingly accumulated fleet annihilated by the Varese Silver Fleet. Now, he had no desire to provoke that family again. "You want me to take on the Varese Silver Fleet?" Commander Loja pointed at himself, somewhat incredulous. "It took me nearly seven years to rebuild seventy ships. Gentlemen, don't forget who keeps your sea lanes safe. What good would it do you if I were gone?"
"I didn't say those fifty ships had to come from you, Commander Loja." Lysandro Rogare picked up a gold coin from Loja's chest, making it dance between his fingers. Loja stared at it intently, ready to snatch it back at any moment. "Myr and Tyrosh have plenty of captains who resent the Silver Fleet's dominance in the Summer Sea. We only need to mobilize them and tell them they don't have to fight to the death—just make the Silver Fleet believe Otto's mercenaries will land along the Dornish coast."
"How is that any different from sending them to their deaths?" Commander Loja snatched back his gold coin and carefully returned it to his necklace. "But three thousand gold coins per ship is enough to make those fools fight like madmen."
The three men laughed for a while before moving on.
"Have you heard about the situation in King's Landing?" the governor's representative asked, sitting down again.
Commander Loja looked curiously at the two governors; he lacked their intelligence network and knew nothing of it.
"Heh, otherwise where do you think Otto got all that money?" Lysandro Rogare smiled as he poured wine for both men, taking a sip from each cup before pushing them forward.
"Queen Rhaenyra is currently in dire straits over coin and provisions. She burned the Stormlands host and reportedly killed Lord Baratheon's daughter. That act cut off the kingsroad and the route to the Reach. The Reach is still at war, and she inherited an empty treasury and half a million starving mouths. What she needs now is gold."
Lysandro understood Rhaenyra's predicament well. With the Silver Fleet and House Velaryon's fleet, she did not lack food in the long term. But an empty treasury—empty even of rats—was fatal. House Velaryon was wealthy but lacked liquid coin. The Varese family had gold, but Rhaenyra, no matter how reckless, would not risk offending Dragonzel by demanding it.
So taxation was her only option.
Her Master of Coin, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, reluctantly reinstated the harsh tax policies of his ancestor Edwell Celtigar: port duties tripled, forty-seven essential goods heavily taxed, and citizens forced to pay in kind—cloth, salt, bread, wine, ale, honey, and meat. All shops, taverns, inns, and builders were burdened with nine additional levies.
Then came new taxes: wine and ale taxes doubled again, port taxes tripled once more, businesses charged heavy licensing fees, and inns and brothels taxed per bed. The city gate tax—abolished under King Jaehaerys—was reinstated and tripled. Every citizen, from lord to beggar, paid property tax.
Lord Celtigar even declared openly: "This is the price they pay for cheering the usurper Aegon."
He also charged three copper pennies for citizens to watch executions at the Dragonpit.
Through this brutal taxation, Rhaenyra refilled her treasury somewhat—but at the cost of widespread resentment.
Crash.
In the Varese camp in the Reach, Jacaerys Velaryon slammed the letter to the ground in fury. "How could Lord Celtigar do this? Is there no one in King's Landing to advise my mother?"
Valarr picked up the letter, scanned the endless list of taxes, and felt a chill run down his spine. He quickly passed it to Lord Thaddeus Rowan, who had arrived three days earlier with fifteen thousand men, including three thousand fully armored knights.
The Reach had rallied behind Valarr: Houses Fossoway, Merryweather, Caswell, Ashford, Oakheart, and others. None believed the Greens—already down two dragons—could recover.
"Is Lord Celtigar trying to destroy the Queen's support?" Lord Rowan said grimly. "Your Highness, we should open the kingsroad and send grain to King's Landing."
"My lord, King's Landing lacks coin, not grain," Valarr replied. "Unless you can turn grain into gold before sending it, it won't solve anything."
He glanced at the silent Jacaerys.
The letter had come from Tigaro Dagareon, Dragonzel's Master of Whisperers—the "Shadow Finger." Alongside him were the Five Fingers: Aslan Rondell (Blood Finger), Sebastian Blaze (Golden Finger), Hofa the Law-Holder (Steel Finger), Tigaro (Shadow Finger), and Ray (Silver Finger).
Tigaro never softened his words.
His assessment of Rhaenyra?
Maegor reborn.
No wonder Jacaerys was furious.
"Lord Valarr," Jacaerys said at last, steady despite his anger, "we must advance faster. The Greens moved the gold. We must recover it."
"If I'm right, one of their destinations is Oldtown."
Valarr grinned. "Spoken like my brother's finest pupil."
He rose at once. "Lord Rowan, we march at full speed, defeat Lord Ormund Hightower, and take Oldtown. That will solve everything."
"Should we not wait for Dragonzel?" Rowan asked cautiously.
"It would be safer," Valarr admitted. "But the Greens have at most one dragon left in the south. Silverwing and I can handle Dreamfyre, and with Vermax we have nothing to fear."
Rowan nodded. It was true—their strength was already overwhelming.
As the Black host began its march through the Reach—
Storm's End.
Lord Borros Baratheon sat upon his seat, watching coldly as a cloaked man entered through the sea tunnels. The man lowered his hood, revealing Otto Hightower's lined face.
"Lord Otto," Borros said flatly, "don't tell me you've come to mourn my daughter."
"Your folly cost you your daughter, your honor, and my coin," Otto replied calmly. "You said the Baratheons would stand aside until a victor emerged."
"Then why are you here?"
Otto produced a small slip of parchment and handed it over.
As the maester read it aloud, Borros's expression changed.
"Are you trying to destroy House Baratheon?" he snarled.
"No, my lord," Otto said quietly. "I am offering you vengeance—and the greatest opportunity your house will ever have."
"The rightful king rewards those who serve him well."
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