An ending at dawn
The dawn light Dawn Tyrosh today came much later than the morning mist over the Narrow Sea.
However, before the first rays of dawn pierced the eastern sky, this city-state, built upon handicrafts and renowned for its artisans' gold-making skills, which had rapidly developed into a wealthy city thanks to the discovery of the purple conch shell, was torn to pieces by the clamor of riots.
The once towering the Black Wall of the inner city stood like a cold dividing line; within those walls came the sounds of nobles' horses' hooves and the clatter of looting.
Those noble lords who had sworn allegiance to Selos when they seized their position as High Lord of Tyrosh were now leading their private soldiers, guards, and slaves, smashing open the iron gates of the High Lord's private residence. The clattering of gold and silver, mixed with screams, spilled from the carved windows and splashed onto the cobblestone streets.
Outside the "tall" the Black Wall, an even more surging crowd stretched out:
The citizens of Tyrosh, holding torches and chanting "Overthrow the Kingslayer!", smashed the head of the newly erected statue of the new Tyrosh High King to the ground. Although the previous High King was mediocre, his family had a long and deep-rooted history in Tyrosh, enjoying widespread popularity. He had even spearheaded the Triarchy — the Kingdom of the Three Daughters —with the Lys and Myr, repelling the oppressors of Volantis.
In 96AC, Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr put aside their long-standing animosity and joined forces to drive Volantis out of the Disputed Lands.
After defeating Volantis in the frontier war, the three victorious city-states declared a "perpetual alliance."
Subsequently, Admiral Crahas Hal of the Myr Navy led a fleet to sweep across the Stepstones, eliminating pirate strongholds and ensuring the safety of the Narrow Sea trade route.
However, the mercenary jackals summoned by the new Grand Prince with money are now prying open the doors of every shop in Tyrosh. Although they are stealing, they are not looting as usual, because even more terrifying people are rioting in the city. Instead, they have spontaneously organized a defensive line to stop the rioters from the slums and the slaves from the slave quarters who are revolting.
As for the pirates, whether they were the last batch under Lord Tyrosh, those previously incorporated into the Triarchy Fleet, the pirates of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea, or the pirates who were recruited by Racallio Rendon.
Now they could only gather at the edge of the harbor, watching the sails of the Joint Fleet gleam coldly in the morning mist. Their scimitars remained unsheathed, their gazes greedily fixed on the city, yet none dared to cross the line.
The scorched marks left by Prince Baelon's Dragonfire outside the harbor last Targaryen, Vhagar quietly nestled on the distant beach, his enormous and terrifying body seemingly reminding them who truly ruled this sea.
"Hold your ground! No one is to disembark without orders!" Baelon Targaryen's voice echoed through the Joint Fleet via the bronze horn. The turquoise Vhagar once again took to the air and hovered above the "Royal Standard." Dragon breath landed on the shallows that had just been occupied in the harbor, and the white mist rising from the sea, carrying the smell of sulfur, formed an invisible barrier.
Today, Baelon wore his black armor trimmed with crimson gold, the massive Vhagar- style dragon on his breastplate gleaming coldly in the dim light. His gaze swept over the restless Westerlands ships— Taimond Lannister stood at the bow of the "Golden Lion," his gold ring spinning rapidly on his finger, while his nephew Lancel Lannister and his trusted men held their wolves firmly in check.
There were quite a few Westerlands soldiers in the Joint Fleet who wanted to land and plunder, but that wasn't surprising, since most of them were recruited by him using the Golden Dragon.
Although these soldiers conscripted from the Westerlands coveted the gold in the official residence, none dared to disobey the orders of their Warden of the West.
Corlys House Velaryon's "Sea Snake" was moored in the middle of the harbor, the seahorse pattern on its silver sails blurred by the morning mist.
He held a brass telescope in his hand, through which he could see nobles on the inner city's the Black Wall carrying treasure chests onto carriages. A cold smile curled at the corner of his lips, "These fair-weather friends of Tyrosh, last night they were sending their cronies to us, pleading their innocence, and today they're busy dividing the spoils."
Beside him, Rhaenys Targaryen rode on Meleys, her crimson dragon shadow sweeping across the rioting crowd, yet she did not unleash her Dragonfire.
Calm and collected, she knew that any rash action at this moment could lead the envoys from Lys and Myr in the city to believe that the Iron Throne's Joint Fleet was about to occupy Tyrosh, thus triggering a united counterattack from the entire Free Cities -State of Essos.
Daemon stood at the bow of the "Blackfyre," his fingertips rubbing the amulet in his pocket.
Grey Ghost curled up at his feet, the small, pale grey dragon occasionally whimpering at the city's firelight, only to be gently pressed down by the Glutton's claws.
The Black Dragon seemed to sense its master's restraint; its jet-black scales gleamed with a dark gold in the morning mist, and it watched the pirates at the edge of the harbor warily.
"How's it going with Racallio?" Daemon asked Rayford Rosby beside him. Last night, the "King of the Narrow Sea" had volunteered to go and appease the mercenary pirates who had surrendered, but he hadn't returned yet.
"News just came that he has gathered his old subordinates from the Tyrosh mercenary pirates together, and they are helping to maintain order in the slums. It seems they have also rescued quite a few slaves."
Rayford handed over a roll of parchment with Racallio's scrawled words. "He may be mad, but he didn't let the mercenaries harm civilians. These people can still be saved."
Daemon nodded, recalling the clear eyes beneath Racallio's purple and orange striped beard, and suddenly felt that this mad "King of the Narrow Sea" understood the meaning of "protection" better than those opportunistic nobles.
Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from the entrance of the port.
Three carriages covered in black cloth broke through the morning mist. The lead guard wore the scarlet uniform of the personal bodyguard of Grand Lord Tyrosh, but the three-headed divine mark on his chest had been torn open, clearly indicating that he had been through a fierce battle.
As the guard dismounted, the bloodstains on his armor smeared onto the stone slabs, leaving dark red marks. He carried a blond child in his arms, followed by a dozen women and children, and a large group of servants. One of the women wore a silk dress embroidered with pearls, but the hem was torn. According to those who had surrendered earlier, she was a member of Selos's family.
"I am Selos Vance, Erryk Theros's second-in-command!" The guard knelt before the Blackfyre's pier, his voice trembling with sobs, yet he maintained his last shred of dignity. "The Lord sent me with his family, the servants of the Bleeding Tower and the manor, to seek the protection of the true dragon! He said—he said he could not allow the internal strife he instigated to implicate innocent people, nor could he allow the innocent of Tyrosh to die in his final madness!"
Daemon flipped and leaped off the pier, the scabbard of the Blackfyre gently striking the stone slab.
He helped Erryk up, his gaze sweeping over the women and children—the youngest being no more than three years old, clutching a jeweled ornament in his hand, clearly Selos's youngest son;
The oldest woman, whose hair was already turning white, still stood upright; she was probably Selos ' mother.
"Where is your lord?" Daemon's voice was colder than the morning mist, yet it held none of its former hostility toward those with High Heart, loyal men, and those who had repented.
Erryk's tears finally fell, and his voice trembled as he revealed the truth Dawn: "Yesterday, the Great Khan returned and led us into his own palace, not to escape, but to distribute the gold from his private treasury to the common people! He said the wealth of the Tyrosh should belong to the Tyrosh people," and then told us to leave with our families and the servants of the Bleeding Tower, while he himself remained in the Bleeding Tower with three old slaves and his personal guard—he also said that if he saw a fire on the tower, he should tell everyone that he had not set off the Wildfire in the city, nor had he chosen to leave any last words of revenge; he simply—simply wanted to preserve the last vestige of dignity that belonged to the Tyrosh people."
Before the words were finished, a burst of light suddenly lit up the eastern sky—
From the direction of the Bleeding Tower, thick smoke shot into the sky like a giant black serpent, followed by a muffled explosion. A ghastly green Wildfire quickly rose up, and the ignited flames spread across the top of the tower, turning the building that symbolized the power of Tyrosh into a ghastly green and crimson hue.
"Go check it out!" Baelon's voice came from behind. Vhagar spread his wings, and the turquoise dragon shadow swept across the port, flying towards the Bleeding Tower.
Daemon rode the Glutton close behind, the Grey Ghost clinging to the Black Dragon. The small, light gray dragon let out a rapid roar at the flames, but dared not approach—the last conflagration of the flames lacked the ferocity of Wildfire, instead exuding a tragic restraint, burning only within the tower and not spreading to the surrounding buildings.
When they arrived at the Bleeding Tower, the flames had already engulfed the pheasant butterflies at the top.
In the plaza below the tower, a servant in tattered uniform knelt on the ground, weeping, clutching a piece of blood-stained silk in his hand.
According to Corlys's private information, it was the purple and green silk shirt that Selos often wore.
Upon seeing the silhouette of the Targaryen, the squire quickly rose and bowed in the direction of the Glutton: "My Lord—when the Lord dismissed us, he said that Tyrosh could live without us, but not without a future." If the Targaryen lords have mercy, we hope you can support a Lord who opposes war, and prevent Tyrosh from being dragged into pointless conflicts again—"
The servant's words silenced everyone.
Daemon looked down and saw that although the flames of the Bleeding Tower were fierce, they had precisely avoided the surrounding civilian area, and even the garden at the foot of the tower was not affected.
It's clear that Selos had calculated the burning range before lighting the Wildfire.
He recalled Racallio's private rebuttal to Daemon Targaryen that day, saying, "Selos rose to power through murder, but he loved his Tyrosh more than anyone else."
He recalled the secret letter that Jarman wrote to the Council of Myr: "What I want is not power, but the eternal foothold of the Tyrosh in the Narrow Sea and Essos."
All of this made Daemon realize that this mad tyrant was far more complex than he had imagined.
The Glutton let out a deep dragon roar, its dark wings lightly brushing the edge of the flames, as if bidding farewell to its fallen opponent.
The Grey Ghost seemed to sense Daemon's change in mood. It landed beside the servant and, as it had done to comfort Jeyne before, nuzzled his hand with its head. The pale grey dragon breath burned a small spot of light on the ground, as if offering solace.
By the time the Joint Fleet returned to port, the riot had gradually subsided.
When the nobles saw the Bleeding Tower on fire, they knew that Selos was dead, so they stopped looting and retreated to their own territories with their families and soldiers.
Citizens gathered in the square, torches in hand, listening to the servants recount Selos's final actions; their initial angry shouts gradually turned into silent mourning.
The mercenaries and pirates returned to the edge of the harbor, looking at the sails of the Joint Fleet with a newfound respect than their former hostility.
Taimond Lannister stood on the deck of the Golden Lion, the gold ring finally resting on his knuckles.
He looked at the embers of the Bleeding Tower, listened to the messages relayed by the men who had followed the princes into the city, and said to Lancel beside him, "Remember this scene—power is not based on murder and gold, but on protecting what you want to protect."
Lancel nodded, his gaze sweeping over the commoners in the port. For the first time, he felt that the gold of the Westerlands might not be more important than the stability of the Westerlands.
Corlys, who had entered the city with Rhaenys, walked up to Baelon, holding a newly received intelligence report, "The envoys from Lys and Myr have arrived outside the city. They say they are willing to recognize the Iron Throne's control over the Stepstones and accept our recommended new Highlord of Tyrosh, provided that the Iron Throne does not interfere in the internal affairs of Tyrosh or even their Triarchy."
Baelon nodded, his gaze falling on Daemon Targaryen: "Who do you think we should support?"
Our Rogue Prince had previously served as an envoy to Tyrosh, and had some understanding of the former Grand Prince and the nobles of Tyrosh. Having experienced the ravages of war, he had also matured over time.
So when Daemon looked at Daemon Targaryen, he remembered the "anti-war faction" he had mentioned, and he remembered what Daemon Targaryen and Racallio had said, "Among the nobles of Tyrosh, there is a nephew of the same name who went to Highlord Erio and has always opposed the war with Westeros."
However, just as Daemon was thinking this, he heard Daemon Targaryen speak up, "The nephew of Erio, the former High Lord of Tyrosh, was previously exiled by Selos and should now be in Lys. He opposes the ambitions of the Triarchy and understands the situation in Tyrosh. Supporting him would reassure Lys and Myr, and given the deep roots of his family in Tyrosh, it would certainly be accepted by the Tyrosh."
Baelon nodded in satisfaction, then turned to Corlys and said, "Then send someone to Lys to bring him back. Also, inform the representatives of the various lords in the Joint Fleet of the results King's Landing the battle at King's Landing, and then inform the three cities that the peace conference will be held in three days. Have their representatives of the Tyrosh, along with the envoys from Myr and Lys, come to our port to present their surrender."
Daemon walked to the edge of the pier, looked at the embers of the Bleeding Tower, and touched the amulet in his pocket again with his fingertips.
He recalled his half-brother, Aegor Rivers, a century before he traveled back in time. Rivers, along with "Fireball" Quentyn Ball, had incited him to raise the banner of rebellion against his other half-brother, Daeron. How similar his former demeanor and temperament were to the fallen Great King of today—both were equally ruthless and ambitious.
However, this Lord Selos, though also a tyrant, chose to protect his city-state rather than seek revenge in the end.
These two drastically different endings were like two marks etched into his heart.
He knew that the path he would walk in the future, in this life, was one of protection, not revenge.
The Grey Ghost rubbed against the back of his hand, and the Glutton fell from the sky, its dark dragon wings gently brushing against his shoulder.
Daemon looked up and saw the Dawn sunlight finally piercing through the mist, shining on the harbor of Tyrosh and turning the sails of the Joint Fleet golden-red.
The flames of the Bleeding Tower gradually diminished, yet left a clear mark in the morning light, as if reminding everyone: power may eventually come to an end, but perhaps their actions will ultimately leave a trace in history.
On the distant, Narrow Sea, a raven-like ship was sailing towards King's Landing's Landing.
Daemon knew he should write to Gael, to tell her that the war in Tyrosh was over, and that he would soon be back to fulfill his promise of the ancient Old Valyria wedding.
Meanwhile, in a secure council chamber in Tyrosh, envoys from Lys and Myr had begun speaking with envoys from the Joint Fleet. The flags of the Seven Kingdoms and the tricolor of Tyrosh were temporarily hung side by side on the wall, and a new "peace" was slowly unfolding amidst the embers of the Bleeding Tower.