Within the vast hall at the heart of the Merchant Council, Baelon sat upon a chair set atop an elevated stone platform.
The chamber itself was a relic of mercantile arrogance. Pillars of dark marble rose toward a vaulted ceiling etched with faded mosaics of ships, coins, and distant shore.
Braziers lined the walls, their flames low and steady. At the far end of the hall, the massive bronze doors stood open, flanked by rows of Unsullied.
They did not shift. They did not speak. Their spears grounded, shields resting against their legs like extensions of their bodies.
Though several ornate chairs had been arranged upon the platform, only one was occupied beside Baelon.
Helaena reclined there with a poor attempt at interest, her head tilted back, silver-gold hair spilling over the carved backrest as her eyes traced idle patterns along the ceiling.
Her expression was distant, almost dreamy.
Clearly, someone was bored.
Baelon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
She had not wanted to attend. He had known that from the moment he asked. Still, he had insisted, bordering on pleading.
He was not about to rule Tolos alone, nor would he allow the city to think otherwise.
Leaning forward slightly, Baelon's fingers rested together as his gaze swept across the assembly below.
"You all know why you're here," he announced.
Before him stood the Merchant Council of Tolos, once resplendent figures of wealth and influence, now reduced to a disordered mass.
Their robes were still opulent, made of silks and velvets, but dust clung to hems and sleeves, and more than a few garments were wrinkled from rough handling.
Rings and chains glittered faintly beneath the brazier-light, a poor shield against the reality of Unsullied encircling them on all sides.
None answered.
They stared up at Baelon in silence, fear tightening their faces, defiance curdling into something brittle and uncertain.
Then a roar rolled through the air.
A dragon's cry thundered from outside, shaking the very bones of the hall. The braziers flickered violently, dust raining down from the ceiling in thin veils.
Still, it was not just the hall that suffered from the roar.
Several of the merchants flinched. One man staggered backwards before dropping to his knees, hands clutched to his ears. Another retched.
A woman's breath hitched into a panicked sob. More than a few hostages trembled openly now, eyes wide, knees weak.
Baelon exhaled slowly, averting his gaze from the pathetic mess.
"I will take your silence as agreement," he said, pressing down the memories of what he had just seen.
The darkened patches spread across a handful of robes. The vomit on the floor. The trembling and dirty figures scattered before him.
'They're not in any immediate danger,' he mocked privately, irritation threading through his thoughts. 'Why the terror?'
Still, he tempered it. Fear was useful. Cowardice? Less so.
'I can only hope a few of them retain enough sense to speak.'
"In the name of Baelon, of House Targaryen," he continued, "this city is now under my control."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, swiftly silenced when they glanced at the Unsullied around them.
"Accordingly," Baelon went on, leaning back into his chair with ease, "I have several new rules to implement."
Helaena shifted at last, lowering her gaze from the ceiling to the men below.
"For the next three days," Baelon said, "Tolos will remain under martial law. Curfews will be enforced. The gates will stay closed as order is to be restored."
A pause.
"And...the Merchant Council," he added, "is hereby dissolved."
Reluctant shock showed on their faces, but none refuted his words,
"I will assume the title of Prince of Tolos," Baelon continued evenly. "All authority flows through me. Whether it be law, trade, or governance they will all answer to my word."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"And finally," he said, voice cool, "each of you will send your heirs to reside under my protection."
That broke them, despite their fear.
A plump man near the front swallowed hard before stepping forward. His face was pale, his hands trembling despite his best effort to compose himself.
"My lord," he began, bowing deeply, "my name is Qarvo." His knees quivered as he straightened. "Surely you cannot imprison our heirs. We are the heart of this city. To antagonise us so would place your rule in jeopardy."
Baelon raised an eyebrow, faintly amused.
"Are you threatening me?"
Helaena's head turned fully now, her gaze settling on Qarvo with peculiar interest.
"Allow me to remind you of something," Baelon said, his smile fading. "You possess no power. No rights. No dignity. You are defeated foes. Your lives rest entirely in my hands. You have no authority to refuse."
He paused, then added lightly, "Of course, you may attempt resistance. Perhaps you have devised an ingenious method of defeating several thousand Unsullied and three dragons?"
His tone was earnest.
His expression was not.
Qarvo visibly wilted. Sweat beaded across his brow as he bowed again, deeper this time, his acquiescence complete.
Thankfully for them, Baelon was not finished.
"Now," he said, steepling his fingers, "to matters of trade."
Confusion rippled through the crowd.
"The port will reopen in three days, once martial law is lifted," Baelon declared. "All existing contracts will be honoured. Taxes will remain halved for the next three months. Repairs to damaged infrastructure will be funded from my own treasury."
A collective breath was released. Relief spread like wildfire.
Baelon noted the sudden shift with quiet satisfaction.
They understood now. Halved taxes meant increased trade. Greater volume. Greater profit for them.
As for him, the temporary loss mattered little. The gold taken from Astapor was vast enough to fund such generosity many times over.
And when taxes returned to their proper levels, his coffers would swell all the same.
Assuming, of course, that he did not spend it first.
After all, Baelon had not taken Tolos merely to claim it.
He needed it to thrive.
A city strong enough to support his ambitions. A port to expand his influence. And, perhaps, a place where he and Helaena could finally call home.
And this, this trembling assembly, was only the beginning.
Baelon rose from his seat, the scrape of wood against stone echoing through the hall.
"You will return to your estates at once," he said. "By nightfall, your heirs are to be delivered here, unharmed, unarmed, and unhindered. Those who comply will sleep soundly."
His gaze hardened.
"Those who do not," Baelon added quietly, "will dread tomorrow's dawn."
No further explanation was given. None was needed.
The Unsullied moved as one. Spears shifted, boots struck stone, and the assembled merchants were seized and ushered from the hall.
Some stumbled, others went willingly, faces pale and minds already racing through desperate calculations. The great doors groaned shut behind them, the sound final as a tomb sealing.
For a moment, the hall was utterly silent.
Even the Unsullied who had guarded the entrance withdrew, taking up position outside. Only Baelon and Helaena remained beneath the vaulted ceiling, the braziers' flames the sole witnesses.
The instant they were alone, Baelon sagged back into his chair, posture collapsing as though his bones had finally remembered exhaustion. He exhaled long and deep, staring at the ceiling.
Helaena laughed softly.
"Did the meeting tire you out that much already?"
"Oh, please," Baelon replied, lips quirking as he turned his head toward her. "You are directly responsible, Lady Helaena the Conqueror." He carefully enunciated the title, voice heavy with mock reverence.
She snorted.
Clicking his tongue, Baelon reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "You're also responsible for helping me rule," he went on, shaking his head in exaggerated sorrow, "yet you remained silent the entire time."
"Alas," he sighed theatrically, "it seems my journey to ruling will be most perilous indeed."
Helaena rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand. "You know perfectly well I wasn't needed. I have no interest in ruling."
Then, after a brief pause, her tone shifted.
"But why all this trouble?" she asked quietly. "Why do we need to conquer Tolos?"
Baelon considered her question carefully before answering.
"I've already told you how it helps us explore Valyria," he said at last. "We fly out, search the ruins, and return here when needed to resupply. But that's not what you're really asking."
She nodded.
"We left Sallosh because, for all its peace, it was too isolated," Baelon continued. "News from Westeros would reach us late, if at all. I don't intend for us to emerge from seclusion one day only to discover our father has already died."
His grip on her hand tightened slightly.
"And there's more," he admitted. "Self-protection."
Helaena tilted her head. "Self-protection?"
"With Tolos as our base, we have something solid beneath our feet," Baelon explained. "If others choose to act against us, we'll have more than three dragons as deterrence. After all, many could doubt the strength of dragons without bearing witness, but they will never doubt the deterrence of having several thousand men heed our call."
"And…" Baelon tilted his head. "…this is without considering the massive influence we will gain regarding trade. We may be able to end wars without even raising a single blade."
Nevertheless, Helaena did not full believe him.
She studied him, eyes narrowing. "Why do I feel like there's still something you're not saying?"
Baelon coughed lightly and looked away. "Whatever do you mean?"
Her stare did not waver.
Sighing, he relented. "And… I suppose it would be rather strange to raise a family in a ruin like Sallosh."
Her answer was an immediate burst of laughter. Soft yet delighted.
Baelon endured her teasing gaze in silence, cheeks faintly warm, until the levity slowly gave way to something more serious.
"But when do we leave for Valyria?" Helaena asked. "Surely we can't go immediately."
"You're right," Baelon said, nodding. "There's no rush."
Valyria would offer knowledge of magic, of dragons and perhaps of things even greater.
Any eggs or Valyrian steel they uncovered would be a welcome boon, but not the goal.
"I'd say we leave in…" Baelon trailed off, mind already racing ahead.
First, consolidate the rule in Tolos.
Then, subjugate Elyria.
Secure trade routes with Unsullied and dragon patrols.
Only then would they fly into the shadow of the Doom.
Baelon exhaled slowly.
"…a year."