Tyrosh, The Purple Palace, The Throne Room
"Yes, Lord Aegon!"
At Jon's prompt, Garo snapped to attention. Under the influence of Jon's rigorous, military-style protocols, the former Dornish captain had developed a conditioned reflex, his spine straightening instantly.
He took a heavy scroll from Kapo's hands—a ledger meticulously compiled by the Tyroshi Maesters. In Essos, the Maesters were a different breed than those of the Citadel in Oldtown; they were less a cohesive political power and more a class of skilled clerks and advisors tethered to the city-states.
Jon placed a high value on these professional academics. By integrating them into the "Chainbreakers," he was effectively building a loyal civil service to bypass the traditional Tyroshi nobility. He knew the history of the "Band of Nine" and how "Silver-Tongue" Aquedo Aderys failed precisely because he didn't manage the middle-class and commoners, leading to his assassination by his own queen. Jon's strategy was to uproot the foundation of the slave-masters by empowering the disenfranchised through a professional bureaucracy.
With Jon's nod of encouragement, Garo began the first official presentation of the Round Table Council.
"Our infantry currently stands at approximately 20,000 men," Garo reported, his voice growing steadier as he read. "The majority are freed slaves. Though they still carry the scent of the pits, their morale is an absolute fire."
"Our naval strength consists of roughly 2,000 vessels," he continued. "While the Tyroshi Purple Sails fled rather than face us, we have the ports and the shipwrights. Most of our freedmen have years of experience at sea. We can forge a navy that will make the Stepstones look like a pond."
Jon listened, tapping his fingers against the gem-encrusted armrest of the Archon's seat. Tyrosh was a premier military supplier, capable of equipping 30,000 men. The problem wasn't gear; it was "indigestion." Taking the city was easy; digesting it without the system collapsing was the true battle.
"Well done, Garo," Jon said calmly. "Sit. A fine debut."
"Thank you, Lord Aegon!" Garo sat, a flush of pride on his face. He and the others who had followed Jon from the beginning knew they had to evolve, or be left behind in the wake of the Dragon.
The Blueprint of the Dragon
"I have prepared the drafts for our military reform," Jon announced, his voice carrying the weight of a sovereign. "This includes a total restructuring of the Tyrosh City Watch."
Sarene, acting as Jon's personal secretary, moved around the table with the grace of a dancer, placing dossiers before each councilor.
Jon's vision was a departure from the fractured feudalism of the Seven Kingdoms. He intended to experiment with a centralized administrative system—a "Commandery and County" model—to strip local lords of their autonomy.
"The City Watch will be split into three independent departments?" Ser Barristan asked, squinting at the parchment. "Oversight by a Minister of Justice? My Prince, we lack the literate nobility for such a complex web. Is this not a burden?"
"Security is the heart of a city, Ser Barristan," Jon replied. "I will not have a subject robbed or murdered in an alley with nowhere to turn for redress. We build the base first. If the smallfolk feel safe, the throne is unshakable."
Jon's military plan was equally radical: a "Military-Agricultural" colony system.
The Praetorian Guard: 10,000 elite, full-time professionals.
The Logistics Corps: 20,000 supporting troops.
The Reserve: A "Citizen-Soldier" class that farms during peace and trains during the off-season.
In an era where lords relied on peasant levies or expensive, fickle mercenaries, Jon was building a self-sustaining machine. He knew that the legendary Golden Company thrived because they were professionals; he intended to outmatch them through sheer organizational efficiency.
"We are creating something this world has never seen," Jon said, looking each man in the eye. "I expect total cooperation."
"As you command, Lord Aegon!" the councilors echoed.
The Shadow of the Lion
Knock. Knock.
A messenger hurried into the hall, handing a raven-scroll to Ser Barristan. The old knight's brow furrowed as he read the contents.
"My Prince," Barristan said, his voice taking on a tone of disbelief. "News from the capital."
Jon took the scroll. As his eyes scanned the lines, his expression shifted into a wry, intrigued smile. The report from the "Chainbreakers" in King's Landing mentioned the rise of several powerful figures, but one name stood out.
"Tyrion Lannister has declared himself independent of House Lannister," Jon read aloud. "He has adopted a 'Black Lion' as his sigil and claims he will seize Casterly Rock through his own means."
Jon tapped the parchment against his chin. "And the most interesting part? He was seen boarding a merchant cog bound for Tyrosh last week."
A ripple of murmurs went through the room.
"It seems 'The Imp' has seen the smoke rising from Tyrosh," Jon said, his eyes reflecting the sunlight. "He's coming to trade his wits for a crown. Let him come. I have a feeling the Black Lion will have much to say to the Dragon."