Chapter 34: Tides of War
The weeks following the Faceless Man's audacious escape from the Unmasking Chamber saw Meereen transform further under King Baelon's iron will. The initial shock among the Westerosi and Volantene administrators had given way to a grim, fearful efficiency. Decrees were executed with ruthless speed. Resources, both material and human, were marshaled with a singular focus: to fuel Baelon's expanding war machine and to insulate the King from any further incursions by his shadowy Braavosi foes. The Great Pyramid, once a symbol of languid Ghiscari tyranny, now pulsed with a cold, relentless energy, the nerve center of an empire stirring to a new, more aggressive phase of its existence.
Baelon himself was a figure of terrifying dynamism. He seemed to be everywhere at once: overseeing the accelerated training of the new Meereenite legions, whose ranks swelled daily with men eager to escape the harshness of forced labor or drawn by the promise of plunder and status; conferring for hours with Archmaester Vaellyn and his scholars over the enigmatic properties of the assassin's blood and the obsidian-like projectile shard; and spending long, silent nights in communion with Umbraxys, their combined consciousnesses probing the æther for any hint of the escaped assassin or the ripples of the ancient, abyssal power she served.
Vaellyn's mages had made some disturbing progress. The assassin's blackish blood, they discovered, possessed remarkable regenerative qualities at a cellular level and was subtly resistant to most common forms of magical detection, as if it actively 'hid' itself from scrying energies. It also carried trace elements of metals not found in any known geological formations on the surface of the known world, suggesting either an extraterrestrial origin or, more chillingly, materials dredged from the deepest, lightless trenches of the ocean floor, places where life, if it existed, would be utterly alien. The projectile shard, Vaellyn theorized, was not merely volcanic glass but a kind of bio-crystalline structure, possibly 'grown' through dark alchemy or by creatures of the abyss, and imbued with a necrotic energy that actively sought living tissue. These findings only deepened Baelon's conviction that he was facing an enemy whose roots delved into horrors far older and stranger than the mercantile intrigues of Braavos.
The Southern Blade: Aemond in the Basilisk Isles
The first tangible results of Baelon's new offensive strategy came from the south. Prince Aemond 'One-Eye' Targaryen, unleashed upon the pirate lords of the Basilisk Isles, was a tempest of fire and blood. Astride Vhagar, whose ancient fury seemed to find a perverse joy in the volcanic landscape of the isles, Aemond systematically eradicated the pirate scourge that had plagued the Summer Sea for centuries.
Reports reaching Baelon, often delivered by raven alongside grisly trophies (a pirate king's skull, a particularly infamous corsair's tattooed hand still clutching his useless cutlass), painted a picture of utter devastation. Vhagar's flames had turned pirate strongholds, carved into volcanic rock or hidden in dense jungle coves, into molten slag and smoking ruin. The "reformed" Unsullied auxiliaries, under Aemond's brutal command, proved exceptionally effective in rooting out survivors, their disciplined advances a chilling contrast to Vhagar's apocalyptic fury. They fought with the cold precision they were bred for, now augmented by a fanatical loyalty to the Targaryen regime that had given them a new, albeit equally harsh, purpose.
One dispatch from Aemond was particularly noteworthy. After the annihilation of the notorious pirate stronghold on the Isle of Toads, he reported the discovery of a hidden shrine deep within the island's volcanic caves. It was not dedicated to any known pirate deity. Instead, it featured crude, unsettling carvings of a many-tentacled sea creature, its form disturbingly reminiscent of the nine-armed kraken on the assassin's coin, though with local, more primitive variations. Within the shrine, Aemond's men had found several obsidian daggers similar in composition to the assassin's projectile shard, and a collection of barnacle-encrusted chests containing not gold, but offerings of strange, phosphorescent fungi and preserved, unidentifiable deep-sea organisms. More significantly, they had captured a priestess of this shrine – a wild-eyed woman, her skin tattooed with coiling tentacles, who spoke in a debased dialect of Old Ghiscari mixed with guttural clicks and whistles.
Aemond, in his typically blunt fashion, had written: "This woman babbles of the 'Deep Father' and 'She Who Swims in Eternal Night.' Vhagar finds her screams… unappetizing. She claims her masters are not the petty pirate kings, but 'those who wear masks of woven water and silence in the City of a Hundred Isles.' She awaits your judgment, or my blade. The isles are nearly cleansed. Construction of the new citadel, 'Dragonroost,' has begun on the ruins of Port Plunder."
Baelon ordered the priestess sent to Meereen under heavy guard. Another piece of the puzzle, another tendril of the Kraken God's influence, this time far to the south, yet still pointing inexorably towards Braavos. The Basilisk Isles, once a haven for lawless pirates, were swiftly being transformed into a formidable Targaryen naval base, a southern dagger aimed at the underbelly of Braavosi trade.
The Choking Grip: Economic Warfare
Lord Crakehall, from Yunkai, reported with methodical diligence on the effects of the economic sanctions. Merchant houses across the Free Cities with deep ties to the Iron Bank were beginning to feel the pressure. Contracts were being broken, supply chains disrupted. Whispers of financial instability, cleverly amplified by Larys Strong's agents, were causing runs on smaller, less reputable banking houses, forcing the Iron Bank to extend credit and deplete its own reserves to maintain an illusion of impervious strength.
The most significant impact was felt in the trade of luxury goods and essential raw materials that Braavos relied upon from the east. Volantene silks, Myrish lenses, Tyroshi dyes, and even Lysene pleasure slaves – all commodities that often passed through Braavosi intermediaries or were financed by the Iron Bank – now faced heavy tariffs or outright embargoes if their ultimate destination or financial backing could be traced to the Titan of the North. The flow of wealth that had sustained Braavos's dominance was being deliberately, systematically constricted.
Of course, Braavos was not without recourse. The Iron Bank, ancient and immensely powerful, began to retaliate. They called in outstanding loans from lords and merchant princes across Westeros and Essos, creating political and economic instability in regions far from Baelon's direct control. They financed new, more heavily armed trade convoys, some of which managed to fight their way through the blockades, though often at great cost. There were even reports, unconfirmed but persistent, that the Bank was offering lavish sums to any sellsword company willing to take up arms against Baelon's Essosi protectorate. The economic war was a slow, grinding affair, but Baelon, with the vast resources of multiple conquered cities now at his command, was prepared for a protracted siege of Braavos's coffers.
In Westeros, the reaction from Lord Corlys Velaryon was, as Baelon had anticipated, one of barely concealed fury. Larys's sources in King's Landing reported that the Sea Snake had initially raged against Princess Rhaenyra, seeing Baelon's decree as an affront to Velaryon naval supremacy and a direct threat to his house's wealth. However, Rhaenyra, displaying a political acumen that sometimes surprised even Baelon, had managed to soothe her father-in-law's pride, framing the directive not as subjugation, but as an opportunity for House Velaryon to become the primary enforcer of maritime law in the Narrow Sea, with the implicit backing (and financial rewards) of the Iron Throne. Begrudgingly, Corlys had complied, his formidable fleet beginning to interdict ships suspected of smuggling to Braavos, though he made it clear to Rhaenyra that his patience for Targaryen overreach was wearing thin. Baelon filed this away; the Sea Snake would require a more permanent solution in due course.
The Huntress in the Labyrinth: Larys in Meereen
Within Meereen itself, Lord Larys Strong's hunt for the veiled Braavosi woman, the suspected accomplice or quartermaster of the assassin, had become an obsession. The city's underbelly, its hidden alleyways, its forgotten cellars, and its dwindling foreign enclaves were subjected to an unceasing, methodical search. Larys, armed with the dockworker's vague description and the knowledge of her preference for untraceable pearl currency, moved like a patient spider, spinning his web of informants and enforcers.
Several false leads were pursued with brutal efficiency. A reclusive Lysene courtesan who dealt in rare gems was interrogated for days, only to be found innocent of any Braavosi connection. A group of Ibbenese traders, their ship impounded in the harbor, were subjected to intense scrutiny due to the 'ghostwood' clue, but they too proved to be a dead end regarding the woman herself, though their knowledge of northern trade routes was duly noted and cataloged.
The breakthrough came, as it often did, from a moment of desperation. A minor Meereenite artisan, a jeweler known for his skill in setting pearls, had fallen into debt with a newly empowered Freedmen moneylender. Facing ruin, he approached Larys's agents with a piece of information he had previously been too terrified to reveal. He claimed that a heavily veiled woman, matching the description, had commissioned him several months prior to craft a series of intricate silver settings for unusually dark, lustrous pearls – settings that incorporated a subtle, nine-pronged motif. He had thought it merely an odd design choice at the time. More importantly, he had, out of professional curiosity and a touch of fear, discreetly followed her on one occasion to a dilapidated manse in the old Ghiscari quarter, a district largely abandoned since the conquest but now slowly being resettled by the city's overflowing populace.
Larys moved with swift, silent precision. The manse was placed under covert surveillance. It appeared deserted, its windows shuttered, its courtyard overgrown. But his keenest agents, former assassins and spies in his own service, noted subtle signs: a faint trail of displaced dust near a side entrance, the almost imperceptible scent of exotic incense clinging to the air, a single, freshly watered pot of pale, night-blooming moonpetals on a crumbling balcony – the same flower the assassin had left as a taunt in Baelon's study.
Instead of a direct assault, which might allow their quarry to escape or destroy evidence, Larys opted for a more insidious approach. He had his agents begin a campaign of subtle harassment and observation, designed to flush the occupant out or force a mistake. Deliveries of rotting fish were left at the doorstep. Strange, unsettling symbols (unrelated to the Kraken, but drawn from local Meereenite superstitions of bad luck) were painted on the outer walls. Whispers were started among the nearby settlers that the manse was haunted, or cursed.
For days, nothing. Then, one moonless night, a cloaked figure was seen attempting to leave the manse via a hidden rear passage leading towards the now heavily patrolled docks. Larys's men, lying in ambush, moved to intercept.
The figure, as expected, was the veiled woman. And she was no mere merchant or quartermaster. When confronted, she moved with a deadly, viperish speed, producing two slender, dark stilettos that gleamed with poison. A fierce, desperate fight ensued in the narrow alleyway. Two of Larys's agents were killed, their throats slit with surgical precision, before the woman, sustaining a deep wound to her arm, was finally subdued by a weighted net and the sheer number of her assailants.
She was dragged, snarling and spitting curses in a pure, aristocratic Braavosi dialect, to the dungeons beneath the Great Pyramid.
Braavos Stirs, The Deep Responds
News of Baelon's multi-front war – Aemond's rampage in the Basilisk Isles, the tightening economic noose, the Velaryon fleet's interdictions, and now the capture of a suspected high-level Braavosi operative in Meereen – sent shockwaves through the City of a Hundred Isles. Larys's spies within Braavos reported an atmosphere of unprecedented alarm. The Sealord made public pronouncements condemning Baelon's "unprovoked aggression" and "barbaric tyranny," calling upon the other Free Cities to unite against him. The Keyholders of the Iron Bank, usually so aloof and inscrutable, were said to be in almost constant, panicked session.
More disturbingly, there were whispers of strange occurrences in the city's deeper canals and within the hidden sanctums of the Faceless Men. Rumors circulated of ancient rituals being performed, of sacrifices being made to appease the Many-Faced God, or perhaps, something darker. Some sailors spoke of an unusual number of large, unidentified shapes moving beneath the waters of the lagoon at night, and of an unsettling, oily sheen appearing on the surface of certain canals, accompanied by a faint, cold scent of brine and decay.
The Drowned Brethren, if they indeed existed as a distinct cult, had gone utterly silent, all previous, tenuous leads vanishing as if swallowed by the sea. It was a silence more menacing than any open threat.
Baelon received these reports with grim satisfaction. He was shaking the foundations of the Titan, forcing its hidden elements to react. The capture of the veiled woman in Meereen was a significant victory in this shadow war.
The Unveiling of the Accomplice
Larys Strong brought his captive before Baelon in a secure interrogation chamber deep within the Pyramid. The woman, her veil now removed, was revealed to be surprisingly young, perhaps no older than thirty, with sharp, intelligent features, eyes like chips of obsidian that burned with an unyielding hatred, and a severe, aristocratic beauty common among the oldest Braavosi families. Her arm was bandaged, the wound clearly causing her pain, but her demeanor was one of defiant contempt.
"This is Lyra Maelon, Your Grace," Larys said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Of the Maelon banking family, a lesser but ancient house with significant ties to the Iron Bank and, more interestingly, a long history of… unorthodox maritime pursuits and patronage of obscure religious sects. We found this in her possession." He placed a small, lead-lined coffer on the table – identical to the one described by the dockworker. Inside were several more of the nine-armed kraken coins, along with a collection of dark pearls and a small, rolled-up piece of parchment containing a list of names, some Meereenite, some Volantene, a few even Westerosi, with coded symbols beside them.
Baelon looked at the woman, his gaze like a physical weight. "Lyra Maelon. You have been busy in my city, it seems. Facilitating murder, consorting with shadows, serving forgotten gods."
Lyra Maelon spat on the floor. "Your city, Dragon King? This world does not belong to your kind. The Deep remembers. The Deep always collects its due." Her voice was cultured, laced with venom.
"And what due does your 'Deep' imagine I owe?" Baelon inquired, a dangerous silkiness in his tone.
"You are an abomination," she hissed. "An ageless serpent who defies the natural order, the sacred cycle of life and death. He of the Nine Arms will not suffer such… perversions to endure. Your reign is a fleeting nightmare. We are the true eternal."
The Voldemort within Baelon felt a flicker of amusement at her religious fervor, mixed with a cold contempt for her defiance. "Your devotion is… noted. Now, you will tell me everything about your little cult, about your Faceless associate, about the masters you truly serve in Braavos."
Lyra Maelon laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "You will get nothing from me, monster. My soul belongs to Him Who Slumbers. My silence is my final offering."
Baelon smiled, a slow, chilling expression that promised unimaginable pain. "We shall see, Lyra Maelon. We shall see. Lord Larys has… persuasive methods for loosening stubborn tongues. And I have my own ways of plumbing the depths of a recalcitrant mind." He leaned closer, his eyes like burning embers. "You see, I too have a debt to collect. The Kraken's Debt. And I always collect in full."
He turned to Larys. "Prepare her for interrogation. I want every name, every contact, every secret she possesses. And I want to know how she communicated with her… 'friend'."
As Larys and his guards dragged the defiant Braavosi woman away, Baelon picked up one of the nine-armed kraken coins from her coffer. He felt its unnatural coldness, its faint thrum of alien power. The tides of war were indeed turning, and he was steering them towards a confrontation not just with a city, but with the ancient, abyssal darkness it had clearly embraced. The capture of Lyra Maelon was not the end of this hunt, but it was a critical blow, a wound inflicted upon the hidden body of his true enemy. And Baelon was eager to see how the Kraken would react when its own blood was spilled.