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Escorted out of Archon Bambarro's ruined estate by Logar, the young Prince Viserys trembled slightly from head to toe.
He looked up, eyes filled with a mix of fear and hope, and asked in a small voice, "My lord… did my mother send you to rescue me?"
Logar looked down at the boy and gently ruffled his silver hair. "Of course, my prince."
He remembered clearly: after the Dance of the Dragons ended, Viserys would first serve as Hand of the King to his brother Aegon. Then, after Aegon and his heirs passed, he would take the Iron Throne himself and rule Westeros with wisdom and steadiness that would be remembered for generations.
But right now, Viserys was still just a frightened little boy—far from the calm, capable king he would one day become.
Even so, the composure he showed in front of dragons and dragonriders already hinted at the wise ruler he would grow into.
Logar felt a genuine liking for the boy's maturity beyond his years. More importantly, he had finally fulfilled Prince Jacaerys's dying wish by rescuing Viserys from Bambarro's clutches.
"I'm so glad, Lord Sea Burner," Viserys said, breathing a huge sigh of relief as his eyes brightened. "After I got separated from Aegon, I was really scared. I'm happy Mother didn't forget about me."
He carefully pulled a smooth dragon egg from inside his clothes. "This has been my only friend these past days in Lys."
Logar's eyes narrowed slightly. Unlike his brother Aegon, who already had the young dragon Stormcloud, Viserys's egg had never hatched—an regret that would haunt him for the rest of his life in the original timeline.
"You don't have to be afraid anymore, Your Highness. I'll take you home soon."
Logar spoke gently, reassuring the boy before handing him over to Nettles.
At that moment, Lysandro Rogare, the head of House Vhyss, and several other Lysene councilors approached cautiously now that Bambarro was dead.
"Lord Logar, you came for Prince Viserys. Now that the prince is safe and the man who kidnapped him is dead, you should honor our agreement and leave, yes?"
Lysandro Rogare stepped forward with the others. Behind them, the surviving Unsullied from the collapsed temple of the Love Goddess formed a silent wall of bronze shields and spears, quietly surrounding the estate.
Logar's lips curled into a faint smirk.
He lightly patted the Cannibal's scales and replied, "Of course. I am the Lord of the Stepstones. I keep my word."
The moment those words left his mouth, every Rogare, Vhyss, and councilor present let out a visible sigh of relief.
To them, losing one Bambarro was nothing if it meant getting rid of this terrifying dragonrider.
Anyone could sit on the Archon's seat, but they only had one life. Being burned to ash by dragonfire wasn't an option.
After watching Logar and Nettles collapse an entire temple and crush their prized Unsullied, none of them had any desire left to fight.
As long as Logar didn't decide to wipe them all out, ending this through negotiation was the best possible outcome.
"However…"
Just as everyone's hearts began to settle, Logar's tone suddenly shifted.
"The prince has been recovered, but we still haven't settled my account. Wouldn't you all agree?"
One sentence sent every Lysene leader's heart straight back into their throats.
"Your account?" The head of House Vhyss frowned deeply, forcing a show of strength into his voice. "You already burned our harbor, killed dozens of our men, and now you want more?"
Logar let out a cold laugh, his gaze sweeping across them all. "Have you forgotten? Just days ago, the Triarchy fleet invaded my waters and attacked the Stepstones. How are we settling that debt?"
"Sea Burner, don't push your luck!" one councilor shouted angrily. "You burned plenty of our ships during the Gullet battle too! You've already slaughtered people inside our city—do you really think Lys has no teeth left?!"
"Oh? Then let's find out."
Logar didn't waste more words. He simply gave a light tug on the Cannibal's reins.
The black dragon understood instantly. His enormous wings snapped open with a thunderous boom. He lifted slowly off the ground, obsidian scales gleaming coldly in the sunlight. His savage, majestic presence pressed down on everyone like an invisible weight.
The Cannibal let out a deafening roar.
On the other side, Nettles—holding Prince Viserys on Sheepstealer—immediately tensed up.
The two dragons, one black and one brown, radiated overwhelming pressure. The air itself seemed to freeze. The entire square fell into a deathly silence.
"Ahem…" Lysandro Rogare quickly stepped forward to ease the tension, forcing a polite smile onto his face.
"Lord Sea Burner, you came a long way for the prince. We admit fault in this matter.
We will not pursue any further conflict regarding Archon Bambarro. But Lys is not a city that can be trampled at will. I hope you understand that."
He paused, then continued in a more conciliatory tone: "As for the damages your territories suffered during the Battle of the Gullet, we deeply regret what happened.
To preserve our new friendship, House Rogare is willing to speak for the city and offer compensation. We'll discuss the exact amount with the council. What do you say?"
Logar wasn't unreasonable. Seeing them offer an olive branch, he accepted it smoothly.
"I'll give you one day. I return to Westeros tomorrow.
Before sunset, I want to see your compensation. Otherwise, I don't mind letting Lys taste dragonfire one more time."
With that, he gave Nettles a slight nod.
The two dragonriders mounted their beasts. Their wings spread wide, and in moments they shot into the sky and vanished over the horizon.
"Lord Lysandro, do we really have to pay this Westerosi bandit?" the head of House Vhyss asked bitterly. "We suffered terrible losses in the Gullet too! They burned half our city! This is outright extortion!"
"Yeah! They're being far too arrogant. We can't just roll over like this!" other councilors chimed in.
Lysandro Rogare's expression turned cold. "Then what? Our Unsullied are broken. The Strangler failed. Do any of you have another way to deal with two dragonriders?"
The question left everyone speechless.
"Even if we fought to the bitter end and somehow won, it would be a pyrrhic victory. They control the sky. The only thing that would burn to ash is our city and our people."
Lysandro sighed heavily. "Paying a reasonable sum to send them away is the best possible outcome."
"Besides," he added, "if we can turn this into a friendly relationship instead of enmity, we'll have a better chance when Tyrosh and Myr come at us from both sides. Isn't that right?"
After his words sank in, no one objected. They all nodded in reluctant agreement.
Using money to end this disaster was indeed the smartest move.
Continuing the fight would only turn more of the city into the smoking ruin of Bambarro's estate.
Without another word, the leaders turned and headed toward the city hall to discuss the exact amount of compensation.
All that remained was the still-smoldering wreckage of the Archon's mansion, its warm embers flickering in the wind—a clear reminder that two dragons had once descended upon Lys.