Sarhys sighed as he stood by the doors to the Merchant Council's Great Hall.
No.
The thought corrected itself at once. It was no longer the Merchant Council's Hall. It was the Prince's Estate now, whether he liked it or not.
He could only lament how much Tolos had changed over the years, how it had clawed its way to a prosperity he had never thought possible since the Doom.
Trade flowed thicker than blood through its streets, ships crowding the harbours in numbers unseen for decades.
Much of that prosperity, he knew, came from their Highnesses' dragons, whose shadows were a common sight over the Gulf of Grief and Slaver's Bay, and from the Unsullied who now served as escorts upon merchant vessels, their mere presence enough to ward off pirates and slavers alike.
'Though it is my first time seeing Unsullied get paid,' Sarhys thought sourly. 'What in all the Gods do they even use the coin for?'
His fingers betrayed his unease. He smoothed the folds of his robe, then tugged at the collar, then smoothed it again, as though the fabric itself were to blame for the tightness in his chest.
His eyes flicked to the Unsullied guarding the great doors, motionless, helmed, spears grounded in perfect symmetry.
Not a single glance was spared for him, yet their presence pressed upon him all the same.
Those Unsullied, paid and free, seemed to have little notion of indulgence. Vast sums of silver and gold gathered in their keeping, far more than any common man might see in a lifetime.
Though they were nowhere near as wealthy as the merchant princes of old, each one of them possessed enough coin to live comfortably for years.
And yet, all they did was replace worn weapons, eat well, drink better, and, most galling of all, contribute to a fund established with the Prince's aid.
A fund meant to ensure food, shelter, and care for comrades maimed in service and forced into retirement.
Even those who had fallen had made their wills plain: every last coin they owned was to be given to this fund.
'Fools,' Sarhys scoffed inwardly.
Yet he lacked the courage to say it aloud. One did not strike a dog without first considering its master, and their master commanded three dragons. The wisdom of silence, in this case, was obvious.
"You may enter."
The doors parted as an Unsullied stepped forward, gesturing him inside.
Sarhys drew in a breath, steadied himself, and nodded. Then he crossed the threshold into the hall beyond.
The chamber was vast, familiar and still utterly different.
Dark stone walls rose high overhead, their surfaces smooth and dense. A long crimson carpet stretched from the doorway all the way to the far end of the hall, its colour stark against the blackened floor beneath his feet.
Gone were the ostentatious displays of gold and jewellery that once proclaimed Tolos' wealth. No gilded columns, no jewelled plinths, not a single opulent display.
The hall stood bare now, save for the banners that hung along the walls, black and white, each bearing the sigil of a three-headed dragon.
At the rear of the chamber, where the carpet ended, rose a pair of thrones.
They were hewn from the same dark stone as the walls themselves, broad and severe in form, their surfaces inlaid with veins of glossy black glass that caught and reflected the firelight like frozen flame.
Sarhys dared a glance toward them.
Upon those thrones sat a pair of children, or near enough to be mistaken for such.
Youthful faces, barely past the threshold of adulthood, crowned with authority no king of old could have imagined.
And yet, none would dare slight them.
They had taken Tolos by storm, its walls broken beneath fire and fear.
Elyria had fallen without a blade drawn, strangled instead by trade. No longer were Tolos and Elyria separate powers; they had been remade into a single body…Dragon's Bay.
A dominion that encompassed both cities, the waters between them, and the lands along the fringes of the Valyrian peninsula itself.
With such foundations, the Prince's rule had been made unassailable.
Silver hair caught the torchlight as they regarded him, pale as moonlit steel. Violet eyes cool and far too knowing for such young faces, settled upon Sarhys with casual interest.
Under their gaze, he felt smaller than he ever had within these walls.
Forcing his gaze downward and away from their inhuman beauty, Sarhys lowered himself to one knee upon the crimson carpet.
The fabric was thick beneath him, its red deep enough to seem almost black in the torchlight.
"Your Highnesses," he said, head bowed, his eyes catching nothing but scarlet and shadow.
"Rise."
The Prince's voice was calm, neither warm nor cruel, and only after it sounded did Sarhys dare stand.
Even then, he kept his head inclined.
"You know well why we have called you," Prince Baelon said.
"Of course." Sarhys straightened, schooling his expression into something approaching confidence "It must be in regard to the Royal Company."
The Royal Company.
A business established directly by the two Highnesses, young in years, yet terrifyingly decisive. Its reach was not vast, not yet, but its influence was undeniable.
Within Dragon's Bay, it was a blade pressed lightly against every merchant's throat.
Its fingers stretched from shipbuilding to grain, from dockyards to storehouses, entwining themselves around the very lifelines of the region.
Naturally, merchants like Sarhys, whose ventures overlapped, had felt the pressure keenly.
They had been presented with a choice.
Join.
Or be quietly and efficiently bled dry.
As for resistance…don't be foolish.
They were merchants, not knights. They prided themselves on sharp minds and sharper still instincts.
And when those instincts were paired with the sight of three vast, winged behemoths blotting out the sun as they passed overhead, even the most stubborn found reason swiftly.
Still, it was not all ruin and resentment.
The Prince possessed an unsettling fluency in matters of agriculture.
Under his guidance, yields had risen sharply. Fields that once lay fallow now thrived, worked by disciplined farmers who flourished under centralised instruction rather than fractured local customs.
Land had been divided with care: one valley for grain, a slope for legumes, another stretch reserved entirely for hardy roots.
And then there was the dragon dung.
A foul-smelling miracle. Crops fed with it grew taller, thicker, richer. Though the supply was pitifully small, three dragons could only produce so much for all of Dragon's Bay; it was enough to prove the principle.
'Alas, if only we had more dragons,' Sarhys lamented inwardly, his merchant's heart aching. 'Our profits would soar.'
Yet the Prince's mastery of farming stirred other curiosities.
'They fled Westeros three years ago,' Sarhys recalled.
Did they till fields in exile? How else could such knowledge be explained?
And still, why would a pair who commanded three dragons concern themselves with soil and seed at all?
"Very well." Princess Helaena inclined her head slightly, silver hair sliding over her shoulder. "Just as before, summarise the progress of the Royal Company."
Still, he could not shake the feeling that she seemed rather uninterested at present.
Sarhys drew a slow breath as he settled himself into the familiar rhythm of figures and outcomes.
Numbers, at least, did not judge him. Nor could they kill him.
"The Royal Company continues to expand its influence, Your Highnesses," he began, confidence returning as he spoke. "New trade agreements have been secured with the cities of Slaver's Bay. Through controlled pricing and guaranteed escort, Dragon's Bay has become its predominant source of grain and preserved foodstuffs. In the past year alone, more than half of the grain entering Meereen, Astapor, and Yunkai has originated from our lands."
He paused only briefly, ensuring the weight of that claim settled.
"Agricultural production has risen once again, though not as sharply as during the initial reforms. The innovations introduced earlier have now been largely perfected, and further gains are expected to remain steady. Current estimates suggest a sustained increase of three to four percent in coming years, barring drought or unrest."
Sarhys inclined his head slightly before continuing.
"The Navy has likewise seen remarkable growth. Unlike before, where Tolos only possessed little more than harbour craft and merchant hulls pressed into service, the Royal Company now commands a fleet nearing one hundred ships. This includes dedicated escorts, patrol vessels, and newly constructed transports, granting Dragon's Bay reliable control over its coastal waters and trade lanes."
His gaze shifted briefly, acknowledging the wider picture.
"Elyria has also prospered under this year. Long famed for its artisans and craftsmen, its goods once struggled to reach distant markets. Now, with land routes established through Tolos and brought under firm protection, Elyrian wares travel farther than ever before. These caravans are guarded by Unsullied detachments whose presence alone has deterred Dothraki incursions, despite the numerical disparity."
There was a hint of pride in his tone now.
"Currently, trade flows freely, production remains stable, and the Royal Company's grain reserves are steadily being filled. At our current rate, the storage houses should reach full capacity well before the next harvest season…"
***
Having finally shaken free of meetings, petitions, and the dull arithmetic of governance, Baelon and Helaena stepped out from the basalt halls and into the streets of Tolos.
The city greeted them not with the sullen silence it once had, but with life and a hint of cheer.
Merchants called out prices from shaded stalls.
Fishermen hauled in nets along the quays, salt and brine sharp in the air, while children darted between adults without fear of being dragged away.
Now, no slaves walked the streets of Tolos. Unlike in Astapor, where they held little sway, in Dragon's Bay, their word was law. Thus, abolishing slavery was accomplished with little difficulty.
Thanks to his tax cuts initially, the merchants did not react with great antagonism. And, by year's end, everyone's profit had swelled, so they cared little for the freed slaves.
Baelon slowed his pace, eyes tracing the city as it passed by.
"A year has flown by…" He murmured.
Helaena answered him with a quiet hum, her arms interlocked with his as she looked around.
Time truly had raced ahead of them, like a horse loosed upon the Great Grass Sea, unstoppable once it found its stride.
Where once Tolos had worn the scars of neglect and corruption, there was now order. Clean and tasteful order.
The streets nearest the harbour had been repaved, dark volcanic stone laid in careful lines. New watch posts stood at every major junction.
Unsullied and local levies stationed together. People moved freely beneath their gaze, unburdened by it rather than fearful.
They had spent much of the past year bending Tolos and Elyria fully beneath their rule.
And, the effort had not been in vain.
Dragon's Bay had grown into a small hegemon in Essos, but was yet to command the vast coffers or ancient prestige of the Free Cities.
But its strength placed it uncomfortably close to the lesser powers, including Tyrosh, which had suffered greatly during the recent War of the Stepstones.
And that was before one accounted for the dragons.
With three of them, Essos itself would bow unless every city united in fear and desperation.
Considering their rivalries, betrayals, and mutual hatred, such unity remained a distant dream at best.
"When we leave for Valyria," Helaena said, turning to him as they passed beneath an archway newly cleared of beggars and refuse, "who will rule in our stead?"
Baelon did not answer at once. Faces flickered through his thoughts as they walked.
"Grey Fist will maintain order," he said at last. "The Unsullied respect him, and the locals fear disappointing him more than they resent him. For trade and coin…Sahrys."
Helaena's lips thinned faintly.
"I do not trust him," Baelon admitted, "but he fears us. After all, his palm has been cut. All of them have. Their loyalty cannot be doubted. That fear is sufficient to keep him from doing anything foolish."
Helaena winced as she heard his words, a look of regret as she glanced at his palm, but shook her head nonetheless.
"For the fleets, Rhevos remains in command," Baelon continued. "He knows ships, crews, and storms better than any man we have. As for Silvo…" His mouth twitched.
Helaena gave him a knowing look.
"After we took Tolos," Baelon said, "Silvo made sure to stomp out any unfavourable elements, those unwilling to forgo slavery and our rule. He ate their food, drank their wine, and made them sit bound at their own tables while he negotiated ransoms with their kin, politely, I might add. He even had the gall to complain about the quality of the bread in one house."
Helaena snorted softly despite herself.
"Some men are born with extraordinary talents," Baelon said dryly. "Silvo's is a complete absence of shame. And by the Seven, it is unmatched."
They turned onto a broad avenue where the crowd thickened. The people here walked openly, many smiling as they passed, some offering shallow bows or murmured greetings.
Still, their appearances attracted much attention. However, none dared to interrupt them.
After all, there were only two people in Tolos with appearances like this at their age, and that was them.
Most of the typical Valyrian features of Tolos and Elyria had faded due to the relations with the Ghiscari following The Doom.
Amber skin and dark hair replaced the typical features the Dragonlords were known for.
However, the occasional silver hair did pop up, like with Sahrys.
"They should suffice," Baelon said. "Maela can oversee the estate while we're gone."
Helaena tilted her head, studying him as the city flowed around them. "When we finish our exploration of Valyria… can we return to Sallosh for a time?"
Baelon glanced at her, brow lifting slightly. "You miss it?"
She nodded without hesitation. "It was our first home. One we built with our own hands, bit by bit."
His steps slowed.
He did miss it. The modest house, the emerald gleam of trees beneath the sun, the clear streams running through the city and into their homes.
"I think that would be fine," he said quietly. "We can return whenever we wish." He allowed himself a small smile. "Consider it a place to relax. Just the two of us."
Helaena's warm and genuine smile told him that perhaps…just perhaps, some victories were measured in more than just cities and crowns.
Still, their return to Sallosh may have to wait. After all, Valyria was beckoning them from the West.