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The next three days turned Lys into a blood-soaked purge. Tywin's iron fist showed the Lyseni exactly what happened when the young king lost his temper—he killed, and he killed in numbers that made the city feel scrubbed raw.
Governor's Tower.
"Your Grace, every suspected traitor is in chains. Lys is clean now, like it got washed head to toe."
Valarr's face stayed dark. He couldn't find it in him to smile.
Tyrion got it. He looked around the table. A few days ago this room had been packed with governors. Now only eight were left breathing.
It felt brutal. Cold. But the young king was right—if you didn't go far enough when you straightened something broken, it just snapped back crooked.
Lys was terrified, sure. But nobody rebelled. They rolled over like scared kittens.
"Fitting name for the 'Lovely Lys,'" Tyrion muttered, hiding his face behind his wine cup.
Compared to his father and the king, he felt soft. Weak.
"Lys talks big but folds fast. That's why you hit hard in times like these."
Valarr started to snap back, but Tywin cut him off cold.
"You got a problem with how we clean house?"
The Iron Throne had the whip hand now. The killings had tested Lys and found them hollow—loud threats, zero spine. The old lion wasn't about to ease up.
Valarr's power was gutted. He backed down. "Your Grace, the purge is done. Can we stop now?"
"Of course."
Daeron answered too quick. Valarr barely relaxed before the king kept going.
"My brother Jaehaerys got stabbed in the back here. The suspects we chased down had too many friends in high places. Tells me Lys security is a joke."
"Governor Valarr, when Ser Alliser gets here you're going to help him whip this city into shape. Train a real guard force that actually answers to the crown."
Valarr swallowed it. He knew he had no ground to stand on.
Daeron moved on, tying the failed poisoning plot to the Disputed Lands and the need to watch Volantis. When he finished, the talks were basically over.
"Your Grace, next time you visit we'll show you a Lys that's worth your time."
Fredo handled the smooth talk.
Daeron just smiled. "You and Valarr pack your bags. You're coming back to King's Landing with me. I want every soul in Westeros and the Disputed Lands to see the new order with their own eyes."
The meeting wrapped. Time to head home for the victory feast.
Fredo bowed. "It would be an honor."
---
Volantis.
The city sat at the mouth of the Rhoyne, split in two by the river. East side belonged to the old-blood nobles. West side was for sellswords, outsiders, slaves, and commoners. The Long Bridge tied them together so the nobles could keep ruling from on high.
They hid behind a two-hundred-foot oval black wall, surrounded by flowers and clean air, while the city slowly rotted underneath them.
"My lords, Ulf Baratheon's poisoning plan failed."
Dofas Panymion's voice was heavy as he read the latest raven.
"Dragon King Daeron the Third got angry. He tore through Lys, ripped out every spy and contact tied to the old Three Daughters and to us. Governors who worked with us didn't survive the purge. Lys has surrendered for real."
The room exploded.
Dofas looked around. Every man and woman here was Black Wall blood—nobles with votes, masters of Volantis.
"Ulf's a waste of skin. Same as most Lyseni. They'll lick boots and beg like whipped dogs the second they get scared."
Nesos Vysarys spoke slow and calm. He was an Elephant Party archon, ruling alongside Dofas and the Tiger Party's Malacho. Right now only the two Elephant men were in the room. Malacho had been pushed out after his fleet got wrecked trying to take the Stepstones.
Dofas muttered, "Lys quit. All three cities belong to House Targaryen now. This is bad."
"So what?" Nesos didn't even blink. "They swallowed three Free Cities in one bite. They're not stupid enough to come at Volantis right away."
"We still need to watch our backs."
Nesos gave him a flat look. "We already reached out to Osg o Graelen and the other pirate captains. We're funding them to build a fortress at Twin Lakes. That'll slow the Targaryens down if they keep pushing east."
"Twins Lakes?"
Nesos pulled out a map of the Disputed Lands and tapped the two big lakes sitting southeast of everything the old Three Daughters used to control.
"Perfect spot. Far enough that even if the Targaryens grab more territory they'll have a hard time reaching it. Build a real fortress there and it becomes a wall they don't want to climb."
The nobles leaned in, talking fast.
One of them grinned. "Give the pirates enough coin to start and they'll tie down the Seven Kingdoms army for years."
Nesos smiled like a man who already saw the win. "Exactly. Dragon King Daeron isn't some untouchable god. He'll trip eventually."
He said it loud on purpose. These Black Wall nobles didn't see an Iron Throne or Seven Kingdoms. They saw one thing rising—House Targaryen. A real dragonlord family. The last one left. And that family had just taken the Stepstones, Tyrosh, Myr, and now Lys without breaking a sweat.
They were scared shitless.
If Daeron's army ever reached Volantis, the dragons would tear the place apart. And these nobles? They used to take orders from dragon kings. When the real thing showed up again, what the hell were they supposed to do?
"Archon, I'll donate thirty thousand honors to fund the pirates at Twin Lakes."
"Same here—twenty thousand."
"I can do sixty thousand."
The nobles started throwing money around, rushing home to grab coin.
Nesos watched them go, smile dying on his face.
"Cheap bastards. Every last one of them."
A real fortress would cost millions. These people scraped together pocket change and acted like heroes.
"Can't see the storm coming even when it's right on top of them."
Fados leaned in. "We could squeeze Meereen for more coin."
Nesos laughed once, ugly. "You actually think Meereen or Slaver's Bay gives a damn about us? After the Smoking Sea blew up and wiped out half our fleets, they turned around and started raiding our ships for slaves. They're competitors, not friends."
He waved a hand. "Go get Arios Chida and Palachiro Valeros. I need to talk to them."
Fados left fast, muttering about dealing with Malacho.
When the two old Black Wall nobles arrived, Nesos got straight to it.
"One of you is going to Qohor. You're going to meet that so-called dragon king they've got up there—Olyvar. When you get back alive, I'll make sure you win the next archon election."
The two men looked at each other. Sparks flew.
Arios smiled, all charm. "What about Berisio Stangoni? He's got money and name too."
Nesos didn't blink. "I've got plans for him. You just worry about your own ass."
Arios backed off quick. "Fine. I've got ships to rebuild anyway. The ironborn and that volcano already cost me too much."
Nesos watched them leave and let out a long breath.
Volantis was running scared. And scared men made stupid, expensive mistakes.