Chapter 219: Bury Us in Gold Instead
More than ten hours later, the fleet arrived at Dragonstone.
There, Daenerys divided her forces into two separate fleets.
She would personally lead one half against Braavos, the strongest military power among the Nine Free Cities.
The other half would be commanded by Yara Greyjoy, beginning with Pentos and then advancing city by city across the remaining Free Cities.
Braavos lay across the Narrow Sea, near the coast of the Shivering Sea.
The distance from Dragonstone to Braavos was roughly the same as that between Dragonstone and King's Landing.
Unlike the other eight Free Cities, Braavos had never been ruled by the Valyrian Freehold.
It was often called the Bastard of Valyria.
Not because it had been strong enough to resist the dragonlords, but because its founders had once been their slaves.
Generations ago, slaves forced to row Valyrian ships had risen in rebellion.
They seized a small fleet and fled beyond the reach of their masters.
Eventually, they settled in the hidden lagoon that would become Braavos.
When the dragonlords later discovered the city, they surprisingly chose not to reconquer it.
Instead, Braavos paid an enormous indemnity for the stolen ships and was allowed to retain its independence.
It had remained free ever since.
More than ten hours after leaving Dragonstone, Daenerys's fleet of three hundred warships arrived outside Braavos.
The city was unlike any other in the known world.
Hundreds of islands dotted a vast lagoon, all linked together by bridges and canals.
Massive rocky islets ringed the outer harbor like natural fortress walls, leaving only a single narrow channel wide enough for one warship to pass through at a time.
Guarding that entrance stood the Titan of Braavos.
The colossal statue stretched across both sides of the channel.
Fashioned from stone and bronze, the giant rested one hand against the cliffs while raising a broken sword high into the sky with the other.
The Titan was more than a monument.
It was a fortress.
Arrow slits and defensive towers covered its immense body from chest to thigh.
Looking at Braavos's natural defenses, most commanders would feel as though there were nowhere to strike.
Of course...
That only applied when dragons were not involved.
Daenerys studied the harbor for a moment before turning to Jorah.
"Send word to the Sealord."
"Tell him to surrender the city and open the gates."
"Otherwise, I'll burn the Titan to the ground and lead my fleet directly into Braavos."
The Sealord was the true ruler of the city.
Chosen through a notoriously complex and secretive electoral process involving the city's magistrates and representatives of the Iron Bank, the office was considered one of the most unusual political institutions in the world.
Jorah quickly drafted the message.
A small boat was lowered into the water.
One of the sailors shot the sealed letter through the harbor entrance using a longbow.
Then they waited for a reply.
Inside Braavos, on a small island not far from the Titan itself, four individuals sat around a table.
The first was Sealord Ferrego.
Age and illness had reduced him to a frail, exhausted figure who seemed barely capable of remaining upright.
Across from him sat three others.
An old man whose face was hidden beneath a hood.
A stern middle-aged man dressed in brown robes.
And a woman in her thirties, veiled in flowing white silk.
"The Mother of Dragons has arrived."
Leaning weakly against his chair, Ferrego sighed.
"So tell me, what exactly are we supposed to do now?"
No one answered.
Two minutes passed in silence.
The Sealord's expression darkened.
"I warned you all from the beginning."
"I said we shouldn't provoke the Dragon Queen and her dragons."
"Now she's here."
"So why has everyone suddenly lost their voice?"
The hooded elder finally spoke.
His tone was calm.
Almost gentle.
Yet the words carried a chilling certainty.
"All men must die."
"The Faceless Men do not fear her."
"If she enters this city, only death awaits her."
The veiled priestess spoke next.
"With the protection of my god, Braavos will come to no harm."
The brown-robed man, who had remained silent until now, let out a cold snort.
"When the allied fleet was annihilated, I didn't see your god stepping forward to save a single Braavosi soldier."
His voice dripped with contempt.
The priestess's eyes narrowed immediately. The atmosphere in the room grew noticeably colder.
The brown-robed man was none other than Albert, the current head of the Iron Bank of Braavos.
"Our... our god is merely weakened at the moment," the Moon Singer priestess retorted, glaring at Albert. Yet her voice had noticeably lost some of its confidence.
Albert shot her a sidelong glance but chose not to continue the argument.
The Sealord, Ferrego, looked at the three of them before fixing his gaze on the kindly old man.
"I know the Faceless Men are formidable," he said gravely, "but if the assassination fails, all of us will be left to face the Black Dragon's flames."
"Do you intend to drag all of Braavos into the abyss?"
"I oppose any assassination attempt."
"Daenerys is protected by the Black Dragon at all times. Even the Faceless Men would struggle to reach her. And even if you somehow succeeded..." He paused, his expression hardening. "Can you guarantee the dragon can be killed as well?"
The old man's face froze.
Kill the Dragon God?
With poison?
Ordinary dragons were already notoriously difficult to poison, let alone the divine black dragon, Drogon.
As memories surfaced of the battle outside Dragonstone—the horrifying might the Black Dragon had displayed—the room fell silent.
A sense of helplessness settled over them.
Even sea monsters as large as warships had fallen before Drogon.
How could ordinary soldiers possibly hope to stand against him?
"During the age of Valyria, we never bowed our heads," the old man declared, emotion finally breaking through his calm facade. "Must we now submit to a queen who commands only three dragons?"
The moment he finished speaking, both the Sealord and Albert gave him identical looks.
Never bowed our heads?
That was only because the Valyrian Freehold had never considered the descendants of escaped slaves worth conquering.
Had they wished to, Braavos would have become part of their empire long ago.
True, Daenerys possessed only three dragons and could not compare to Valyria's hundreds.
But among Valyria's dragons, had there ever been one with four legs?
Had there ever been one capable of shrugging off scorpion bolts?
The comparison was hardly comforting.
"We should negotiate," Albert finally said with a weary sigh, turning toward the Sealord.
"Negotiate?" Ferrego replied. "She demanded surrender. How exactly do you negotiate with that?"
Surrender meant submission.
It meant Braavos becoming part of Daenerys's realm.
At best, the city might retain some autonomy as a vassal territory of Westeros.
Neither outcome was particularly appealing.
Yet they had little room left to maneuver.
If they waited until the Black Dragon reduced the Titan to rubble and Daenerys's army stormed into the lagoon, the losses would be catastrophic—and the terms offered afterward would undoubtedly be far harsher.
At the Titan's channel entrance, a small boat emerged from the harbor and rowed toward the flagship of Daenerys's fleet.
Jorah ordered the sailors to bring the visitors aboard.
The Sealord and Albert climbed onto the deck and formally presented Braavos's proposal.
They sought peace.
And they were willing to pay reparations.
Daenerys listened quietly.
Then she rejected the offer without hesitation.
The soldiers who had died in the battle off Dragonstone had not shed their blood for nothing.
Braavos had flown more banners than any other city during that conflict.
There was no way she intended to let them off so easily.
Hearing her response, Ferrego and Albert exchanged bitter smiles.
Albert took a breath and tried again.
"Your Grace, we are prepared to pay substantial reparations for our role in that war."
"Name your price."
"Are they seriously trying to bury us in gold?"
Drogon immediately caught the implication behind Albert's words.
To be honest, he was curious to see just how deep the Iron Bank's pockets really were.
The Iron Bank's wealth exceeded that of all the other Free Cities' banks combined.
And wealth was only half of its reputation.
The institution was feared because of its ruthlessness.
Its most famous saying was known across the world:
"The Iron Bank will have its due."
Its debtors ranged across Westeros and the Nine Free Cities.
Even King Robert Baratheon had once been one of its largest debtors.
And when someone refused to repay a debt, the Iron Bank collected—one way or another.
If a king defaulted, the Bank simply financed his rivals.
It would bankroll a challenger, transfer the debt to the pretender, and once the old king was overthrown, recover every coin it had lent.
The Iron Bank never forgot a debt.
And it never accepted losing money.