Maro Nartalos I
32AC
The soft scratching of quill on paper was a familiar one for Maro Nartalos, Sealord of Braavos. His position was one of extreme influence and power, but such influence did not come without responsibilities and costs.
Maro thought his position easily rivaled any other on the planet when it came to workload. He had stacks on stacks on stacks of paper spread about his solar. A veritable army of scribes and learned men on his payroll just to help with the administration of the greatest city in the world.
Fishing licenses, trade permits, sellsword contracts, notices from the Iron Bank, construction requests, and the bills passed by the magisters, all made it to his desk, either for a simple stamp or his decision.
His was a position unlike any other but he loved it all the same. The position of Sealord of Braavos was a stressful one. What with hundreds of thousands of eyes upon you and knowing there were always knives in the dark. But the power that came with his position was unrivaled across all Essos.
Not since the days when the dragonlords reigned supreme over Essos could a single man wield such power. The armed forces of Braavos, along with the foreign policy of the most powerful city in the world lay at his fingertips. Sure he had to work with the Conclave and Keyholders when it came to most internal matters, but his say was more valuable than theirs.
Thinking of Dragonlords brought a disgusting taste to Maro's mouth. Braavos was called Valyria's bastard daughter for a reason. Theirs was a much more complicated relationship when compared to Braavos's sisters. Born of rebellion and a thirst for freedom. For over a hundred years they hid themselves from the outside world, fearing the retribution of the slavers who had once controlled them. Yet the dragonlords and freeholders of Old Valyria did not care about Braavos when she revealed herself to the world.
The arrogance of their former masters was a sight to behold. Maro thought that Old Valyria surely would have taken back what they perceived to be theirs. But apparently, their former masters in Old Valyria thought that they were not worth the effort to reclaim as slaves, or even as subjects.
Maro would have smiled at their fate in the fires of the Doom, had it been complete that is. If only Old Valyria perished entirely that day. But no, Valyria had not been kind enough to die quietly. Her pathetic children fought over the carcass of their Mother.
Volantis, Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, Pentos, Lorath, Qohor, Norvos, and eventually Maro's beloved Braavos would all fight over the succulent bounty that Valyria's fall had provided for them. The fruits of an imperial project eight millennia old. Ripe for the taking after almost all of the Dragonlords were buried under fire and ash.
Braavos had burst onto the stage readily after the Doom. Wading into the mess of Essosi politics that followed the collapse of Old Valyria. Working with and against her sisters depending on the situation or need.
The situation had changed greatly since Braavos finally revealed herself to the outside world in its entirety. Volantis used to be their main concern. Valyria's eldest daughter claimed to be her heir, and she fought to claim what their mother had left after her passing.
It would have been laughable to assume one daughter could subdue the rest of her siblings. But Volantis had been a force to be reckoned with. Led by their brilliant general Symond Honorro, the might of Valyria's eldest and formerly most powerful daughter was wielded at its fullest.
Volantis had picked a fight with all of Valyria's daughters, besides Lorath. Ships were sent up the Rhoyne to challenge Norvos and Qohor. Clashes in the Golden Fields with Pentos and Myr. The disputed lands were bled dry, the once lush region reduced to nothing more than a desiccated wasteland, ruined by a century of war.
Yet Volantis could not win, their campaigning slowed after the timely death of their brilliant general. Myr and Lys were subjugated but Volantis could not very well face the rest of Essos on her own. A stalemate on Dagger Lake against the river fleets of Norvos and Qohor, coupled with Braavos, Pentos, and Tyrosh paying to ferry King Argilac across the sea, and finally the timely intervention of a dragonlord ended Volantis's dreams, seemingly forever.
Maro's spies behind the Black Walls of Volantis told him that the elites thirsted for another war, but the city itself had not much left to give. Even with the boost received from the influx of refugees from Qohor and Norvos, Volantis could not throw itself into war once more so easily.
Their coffers remained weak, their population still below the pre-doom levels, not to mention the lack of leadership. Volantis would posture for some time, especially with the new developments in the region but Maro was confident Valyria's eldest daughter would not march to war.
Yet Maro did not need to only worry about Volantis any longer. Valyria's self-proclaimed heir may be put to bed but new challengers rose to the occasion. Namely among them, their vile neighbor to the south.
Maro would not deny he had a few sleepless nights over Khal Temmo and his Dothraki horde. But the Dothraki were poor sailors, as were their new Sarnori slaves. Not to mention that Braavos was shielded by mountains and forested hills. But his suspicions were confirmed after Braavos's new problem slew the horse lord outside Ghoyan Drohe.
The secret weapon of Braavos was their Faceless Men, the greatest assassins in history, and firmly within Braavos's ability to use. Maro had been setting aside gold for a long time now, working with the Iron Bank on the off chance they needed to dispose of a certain horse lord. But that never came to pass.
Instead, a dark reminder of their past would haunt them instead of a barbarian. A threat even greater than any horse lord or even Volantis returning to form. Prince Maegor Targaryen crossed the sea and now Pentos had access to a Dragonlord.
House Targaryen, the last remnants of a dead world. Saved by the mad ravings of a girl two and ten years before the Doom. House Targaryen had avoided their deserved fate. They should have died in the Doom, rid the world of dragons and their egotistical riders once and for all, but the gods were cruel.
House Targaryen was perhaps the one thing that Braavos feared more than Volanteen hegemony. A true dragonlord house, with real dragons at their command. They were without a doubt the most dangerous force currently in the world.
It was easy to have this view validated. As Aegon Targaryen had done the seemingly impossible just over thirty years ago, and united the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros under one crown.
Such a fantastical conquest had been both a relief and a shock to the wealthy and powerful of the free cities. Aegon's interest in Westeros was certainly more welcome than the interest he showed in Pentoshi politics in his youth. But his display of power made it abundantly clear. House Targaryen was profoundly dangerous.
Maro was content to largely ignore House Targaryen. Dangerous they may be, but ever since Lord Maegon had freed the slaves of Dragonstone, House Targaryen looked less like Old Valyria reborn and more like a potential partner, if not an ally.
Aegon's actions in Westeros were even seen as a positive among some Braavosi circles. Trade with the Riverlands and the newly minted Crownlands had opened up after years of heavy taxation under House Hoare. Not to mention Aegon continuing the Targaryen policy of anti-slavery. It looked as if Braavos would not be troubled with House Targaryen.
Yet that hope would not last. King Aegon would banish his second son from the Seven Kingdoms after some marriage dispute. Maegor Targaryen had then settled in Pentos and now Essos had to contend with a dragonlord once more.
'Maegor Targaryen,' Maro thought with a clenched fist so tight that he broke his fine feather quill.
When Maegor Targaryen first arrived in Pentos and was merely hosted as a guest. Maro and the conclave perhaps could have stomached his presence, so long as he eventually left of course. But that was not to be, as the foolish magisters of Pentos saw salvation in the snake they had invited as a guest.
Maegor Targaryen had saved Pentos of course. Khal Temmo stood no chance against dragonfire, even if Prince Maegor's young dragon paled in comparison to the demons ridden by Aegon and the long-dead dragonlords of old.
Yet Pentos paid a heavy price for their victory, not only in gold, but they had sold their freedom too. Maro would have laughed at the irony of the slavers to their south falling into bondage due to their own foolish mistakes, but this was no laughing matter. For a dragonlord, all but conquered a free city.
Prince Maegor now wielded influence all across Pentos, at every level of their society. From the slaves he freed, from the artisans he employed, from the small farmers he coerced into contracts, to even magisters at the top of Pentos. Maegor Targaryen was clearly preparing to fully take over Pentos.
But what after that? That was the question that haunted Maro for the last year. Ever since Khal Temmo was defeated, Maro had been using his informants to keep a close eye on Maegor Targaryen's actions. Would he be content as a wealthy magister? Or would he seek further increases in his power?
Maro's decision was sealed when it became clear what Maegor Targaryen was doing in the Velvet Hills. The purchasing of lands all across the Velvet Hills and even into Old Andalos, building up a permanent military camp in the region, along with forays into the Hills of Norvos. It all became clear to Maro. Maegor Targaryen needed to die.
While Maro did not possess the same luck as House Uller in Dorne, he was prepared to use every resource at his disposal. Including the great sum of gold and favors, he spent a lifetime accruing for just a scenario like this.
Four days ago Maro did what he hoped he would never have to do. He contacted the Faceless Men who dwelled in the city with the consent of the Keyholders and the Magisters. The first Sealord of Braavos had long since established ties and communication with the fanatics but it was still nerve-wracking to do.
Faceless Men, were perhaps the one group of people in the whole world who could rival and even outclass House Targaryen as a threat. They had perfect disguises, expert weapons and poison training, unrivaled talent for infiltration, and a fanatical loyalty to their god, which could be bought.
Braavos and the Faceless Men had long since become tied to one another. Braavos permitted the construction and maintenance of their temple and welcomed their presence. In return, Braavos got discounted rates on assassinations and could even count on the Faceless Men for the defense of the city in times of strife.
Now it was time for them to do their work. Maro Nartalos, Sealord of Braavos, could stomach Maegor Targaryen's presence in Essos no longer. After a failed plea to King Aegon, Maegor Targaryen's fate was sealed with a vote from the keyholders and conclave.
Maro knew logically that his issues should die away. But he could not help but get a sickening feeling in his gut. As if he knew something was about to happen but he could not place what.
Deciding to take it as a sign, Maro put away his fifth quill of the night. The sun was almost gone now, and he would have to break out the candles soon if he wished to continue any further. Maro decided against it, busy he may be but overworking himself would merely send him to an early grave.
With any luck he would receive good news that he could break to the council of Magisters and the Keyholders. Prince Maegor's death would be welcome but Maro needed to be ready for the chaos ahead.
…
The distinctive roar of the Titan rudely woke Maro from his comfortable bed. Maro groggily pulled himself up from his bed, his wife following just behind him.
"What is going on?" they asked in unison before two roars sounded out simultaneously. One unmistakably from the Titan, and then another. The second was different somehow, Maro could almost feel himself shake at the roar. It was unlike the Titan, but just as ferocious.
Just then, before Maro could even get out of bed, the doors swung open and a dozen guards entered the room. The head guard, marked by his distinctive armor and purple cape, spoke then. "Sealord Maro, we must get you to safety! Braavos is under attack!" the guard yelled and Maro's entire body went cold.
"Under attack? From who?!" his wife yelled first, only to be interrupted by another series of roars from both the Titan and another unknown source. It seemed that Maro was not imagining the shaking, as the Sealord's Palace seemed to shutter at the second roar again.
"We do not know, but there are flames consuming the temples!" the head guard said before dragging Maro from his bed and onto his feet.
"We must get you to safety!" he said with another harsh tug as they were escorted outside of their room. They rushed down the hallways as more roars resounded across the city. It was not long until they reached the exit of the Sealord's palace and they could finally see what was happening.
'Who would dare to be so foolish as to attack Braavos!?' Maro thought with rage before the fires of his rage were doused with a veritable sea of cold water.
Great greenish-bronze flames rose high into the night sky. Illuminating the city even from where Maro was standing on the great steps leading into his palace. Like a pillar of light, the flames ascended into the sky, lighting the city like a false sun. The new light only added to the horror he could now see, in addition to hearing and feeling.
"Dragon!" one guard unhelpfully yelled and Maro felt the color drain from his person.
A great dragon, far larger than Maegor Targaryen's was reported to be, was currently flying directly toward him. Maro was frozen in place at the sight. 'This has to be a dream,' Maro thought with a dumbfounded look on his face. Surely this was not real.
"SEALORD!" the guard yelled again, freeing Maro from his stupor as he looked around, only to be grabbed by the wrists, first by the head guard and his son Corvio too.
"Father! We need to leave!" Maro heard his son just barely get out before another deafening roar rolled over him.
Maro screamed at the pain, most likely just like everyone else in the courtyard did as well as they all dropped to their knees or lower. Maro raised his hands to his ears and felt the distinctive wetness of blood leaking from him but the agony from his now bleeding ears could only distract him for so long. Unfortunately, the attack upon his home and person was not just from a roar. The dragon had landed in the courtyard.
With an earth-shaking THUD, all the temporarily deafened souls looked to the center of the courtyard to find a building-sized monster, larger than any building in Braavos save his own palace or the temples. Maro focused his eyes to see through the darkness but it was unnecessary, as soon the beast opened its maw a sea of greenish bronze flames once more illuminated the area.
The green hellfire shot forward at an unimaginable speed, directly at the gates of his palace. The fine wood and gold melted under the assault as smoke began to billow out from his home.
Maro took the chance to use the light birthed from the dragon to see the courtyard more clearly. His eyes darted to the dragon naturally, following the shape of the dragon until he spied the comparatively small woman sitting on top of it.
It seemed he was not the only one with the same idea as the woman appeared to be looking in another direction. Maro was once more shaken from his stupor once he noticed the great bronze dragon's maw shift right. The fires moved from assaulting his home to the courtyard just outside of it.
Maro stared in awe as great plumes of steam from the destroyed fountains sprang up like bonfires of superhot water. Before the shaking began again the dragon started shifting on its feet.
Before Maro could even react, he was pulled to his feet and urged into a full sprint. He understood why, the dragon was systematically killing everyone in the courtyard and this was likely his chance to escape.
Maro ran as fast as he could, faster than he ever had in his nearly forty years of life. Just barely reaching the exit to the walled courtyard of his manse before the fires burst from the gates.
Maro hit the ground as fast as he could, feeling the ferocious heat from the flames. He rolled to extinguish any potential flames on his person before turning his gaze back at his home. The walls were cracked and exploding, as fires consumed the courtyard.
He saw the dragon look in his direction before being urged back into the sky by its rider. The great green beast took flight over the palace and continued to rain fire down all the while.
Maro Nartalos of Pentos could only stare in horror at his home. The Sealord's Palace, a marvel for the ages that could put even the most fantastical palaces behind the Black Walls to shame. Yet none of that mattered anymore, as all Maro could see was fire and ash.
…
Maro felt empty, kneeling on the ground before his manse. He had not realized it at the time but neither his wife nor his son had made it out of the courtyard before Vhagar had let her fury known.
He just idly sat before the courtyard, which was still too hot to even enter. The superheated rocks that made up the fountains, statues, and walls made entering a death trap. It meant he could not even go to retrieve the bodies of his wife and son.
The city continued to burn around him. Each and every temple in the center of his beloved city burned to ash, besides the Temple of the Lord of Light. Meanwhile, Sellagoro's Shield continued to burn.
Vhagar and Queen Visenya had not stopped their assault after leveling his manse. No, the devilish duo descended first upon Chequy Port, completely reducing it and all of its ships and cargo to ash. Then Vhagar had descended upon the Arsenal.
Braavos's famed Arsenal, the lifeblood of their city. Where the ships that traded Braavos's goods and were supposed to keep them safe were crafted and stored. Now the island was a burnt ruin, much like his own palace and a certain temple in the center of the city.
Then Queen Visenya sought to display her power further. First Vhagar had bathed the Titan in fire, silencing the brave archers and defenders inside before she had burned the forested islands which enclosed their lagoon. Only then did Vhagar's assault end. The dragon circled the city one more time before departing south, likely to Pentos.
Now the islands continued to burn, even hours later, long after sunrise. While the rest of the city was intact, the soldier pines and black spruce were kindling, keeping the flames alive and a reminder of the night assault.
The entire city was in disarray from the attack. Much of the residential and commercial areas of the city were fine but the Arsenal and the Chequy Port were leveled. The entire city almost seemed shocked at the sight. The titan did not roar to meet the sunrise, and neither did it roar throughout the day, the city was similarly quiet.
There was bustling around him, that much Maro could tell. But he did not pay attention to what it was. No, he just remained where he had been since the attack. Sitting on his knees before the courtyard of his palace. Staring at the charred inside.
Maro heard someone walk up behind him but he did nothing to acknowledge them. That was until they whispered in his ear.
"Sealord, no one would like to meet you," he heard a guard, different from his usual retinue whisper into his ear and Maro felt his emotions spring to life once more.
"Take me to them!" Maro roared into the face of the guard, grabbing him by the chest plate.
"Of course, Sealord," the guard demured and led Maro down the streets of Braavos. Toward an unmarked building closed off from the crowds on the streets.
Maro was led up the stairs and into a room before the door was closed behind him and Maro saw it. A Faceless Man. Faceless Men did not have names or identities, they were merely tools for their god. So Maro would address them as such.
"Sealord," the emotionless freak, addressed him first and Maro's eyes blazed with rage.
"Did you see what happened last night?" Maro asked in a low, rage-filled voice.
"I did," the freak answered simply and it set Maro off.
"Then explain it to me! Queen Visenya should have been none the wiser about our plans!" Maro's rage poured out of him in a torrent, much like the flames that had destroyed his life.
"The one sent after Maegor Targaryen must have failed then," the creature said nonchalantly and Maro could have sworn he heard something pop inside of him.
"Failed?! You do not just fail! You are a Faceless Man! I pay you, and then the person I pay for dies!" Maro roared, uncaring if people outside heard his tirade.
"I believe I recall telling you assassinating a Targaryen is much more difficult," the thing said and Maro noted that this one must have been the same one he organized the hit with.
"I also recall you saying he would die!" Maro turned it back around onto him. Maro was prepared to deal with the political ramifications of Maegor's apparent death by a disgruntled guard. But he was certainly not ready for an almost immediate attack on their city.
"I should have known better, my teacher mentioned not provoking dragons, I figured they meant the actual beasts," the worthless assassin said and Maro raised an eyebrow.
"Do elaborate…" Maro asked, intrigued and worried all the same.
"I have nothing more to tell, the elder disliked talking about the past, he said it must die," the emotionless creature almost seemed to emit bitterness, but it was quickly buried under a mountain of indifference.
"I do not care about your past failures! How many of you survived the attack? I heard your house was attacked as well," Maro said with venom dripping from his voice. The amount of gold and accrued favors Braavos spent for this assassination attempt could not be replaced in fifty years.
"It is just myself and three others, we were all still in our temple from our vote days ago," it said simply and Maro descended into a rage once again.
"ONLY FOUR?! Then YOU will all fix this! Kill Visenya Targaryen, and finish your duty!" Maro roared again. He was not in any real position to command a Faceless Man, but it mattered not, he could tell by the look in its eyes that it would agree.
"Of course, I will contact the others. It will be done," the thing promised again and Maro nodded angrily, only the heads of Visenya and Maegor Targaryen would satiate his rage now.
Nevio Iranhor I
32AC
An endless stream of whispers seemed to fill the hall of the temple their conclave meeting was held in today. Each magister seemed to be speaking with the one to his right. All about one thing, Maegor Targaryen. The damnable Targaryen Prince who was trying to take over his city.
Nevio brought his eyes around the room one more time before signaling to his guards, who tapped their blunt spears against the ground before he began to speak. "Ahem! My magisters! Let us begin this meeting of the Pentoshi Conclave!" he yelled over the crowd of whispers.
Nevio grit his teeth before beginning, there was only one topic of discussion for this emergency meeting of the Pentoshi conclave. Whether or not to go to war with Braavos.
"Two nights ago, there was an attack on our fellow member of the conclave, Prince Maegor Targaryen!" Nevio began, hating every word he said. 'If only the faceless monster could have succeeded,' Nevio thought while actively fighting off a frown.
The crowd descended into jostling and anger then, much louder than the reserved whispers before. Each man seemed to fight for the chance to get his word in but the tapping of the spears got them back in line.
"Prince Maegor has claimed it was a Faceless Man!" Nevio said to a chorus of shocked gasps and murmurings. Most people in the city knew that the traitorous prince was attacked in some way. His manse burned for a full night and he was carried through the streets after all. But this was likely the first many were hearing of the details.
"Now we must decide what to do! Our fellow member was attacked in the night! By an agent of Braavos!" Nevio said with a now visible frown, no longer needing to hide it. He could mask his disgust for Maegor as disgust for Braavos, which certainly was not absent from his feelings.
A hatred of Braavos was practically baked into a Pentoshi. Their bastard sister to their north was their greatest rival. Pentos was the elder sister but the damnable brat continued to shine brighter and brighter from her lagoon.
Chants of "War War War" began in earnest after that by some of Maegor's more zealous followers and Nevio looked at them with disgust.
'How could this have happened,' Nevio thought with rage. Prince Maegor had lured them in with promises of friendship and aid, only to turn around and stab them in the back. Now the very conclave of Pentos was split in half. One side allied with Maegor, and the other side against him.
He was disgusted to even remember how he was once part of that posse. It was so easy to fall for the allure of a dragon rider, for the prospect of earning the trust and friendship of one of the most powerful people alive. It meant many were willing to sell themselves and their loyalty to him.
"Then let us call for a vote, if you desire war with Braavos, move to the right of the temple entrance, if you are against it, go to the left," Nevio said with his once more forced expression.
If he was lucky, enough magisters would be weary of war and its costs and would vote against it. If Pentos voted against the war, then Maegor would be hampered in any war effort, only having his private army face to down the wealthiest free city.
Nevio's dreams were quashed in an instant, however, as every single magister made their way to the right side of the temple, practically squeezing together just to all fit. 'Not one vote… impossible!' Nevio thought with a shocked expression. Pentos had not had a unanimous vote in decades. Even the defense measures against the Dothraki did not earn unanimous votes.
"...I suppose we need not count then. Pentos marches to war once more!" Nevio said with all the energy of a dying animal while the rest of the temple erupted into a chorus of cheers of varying volumes.
Nevio took the chance to glance at his allies, they would need to speak.
…
"What the hells was that!? Unanimous!?" Nevio roared at Magister Thorello, still the head of the anti-Maegor faction in the conclave, despite Prince Nevio joining them.
"Do you want to be known as the magister who voted against war with our hated sister?" Magister Thorello said with a look of disbelief on his face. As if It was the most obvious decision imaginable.
"No but… how can you just let him get a unanimous vote? He is all but dictating our foreign policy now!" Nevio yelled and he thanked himself for the decision to meet in a small, secluded manse on the outskirts of the city.
"He has been dictating our foreign policy for a while now. Just look at who we appointed to the position of Prince of Norvos. The kin of one of his staunchest supporters now sits on the throne of another free city, even it if is not even a shadow of its former self.
"And you do not think we should endeavor to change that? We are all but enslaved by the dragonlords again! It is as if the Doom never happened!" Nevio descended into a rant. How he had ever imagined that Maegor Targaryen would be a boon for himself and his city was beyond him.
"How would you propose we go about doing that? Prince Maegor is wildly popular, even more so now. Many of the common folk are calling him invincible. We must pick and choose our battles carefully," Magister Moredo Seltra said next.
Moredo Seltra was an excellent catch for their faction. For he was their inside man, his daughter had survived Shiera Qoherys's poisoning attempt and retained her friendship with the witch, even if it was just for show and the witch was not overly fond of people anymore.
Moredo being close to Prince Maegor's inner circle was a great boon for them. They got access to his plans and goals before he spoke them aloud. Which gave them time to develop counter plans and even stop some of them before they left the docks.
Like their targeted purchases of property in the Flatlands, forcing Maegor and his puppets to refocus their efforts on Old Andalos and the Velvet Hills. It was brilliant, Old Andalos had serviceable land, the Velvet Hills too, but they both paled in comparison to the wealth the Flatlands provided.
Farms in the Flatlands could produce all manner of fruits, vegetables, grains, and cash crops. The Flatlands and trade were what filled Pentos's coffers after all. Meanwhile, the fields of Old Andalos were good for little more than grain, and the forested Velvet Hills could hardly be farmed at all, especially in winter.
The idea to voluntarily give Maegor land was a worrying one for Nevio. Rightfully so it seemed as Maegor's influence continued to grow. But they had picked the best land to give him. If he must be in Pentos, let him be their buffer with Braavos. Not to mention the lands were naught but a drain on his wealth right now. They were able to reacquire much of the gold they were forced to pay him because of his incredible land purchases.
"Bah, invincible? I have heard he can barely stand," Horo Eranaar said next. The four of them made up the leadership of their small group. There were many more fearful of Maegor's influence but this was an impromptu meeting, disguised as a private meal.
"Yet he lives all the same, after being attacked by a Faceless Man," Magister Moredo said with a scowl and Prince Nevio never felt more disgusted.
How was he supposed to get his revenge? He had asked himself that question for years now. Ever since he had heard the sobs and screams of his darling little girl as they tied the noose around her neck he had sworn revenge. He would not rest until Maegor Targaryen and his witch wife were dead before him.
"Pentos must be free, we cannot allow Prince Maegor to take over our city," Prince Nevio spoke with renewed vigor. Even despite his aging frame, he was motivated like never before.
"That is a sentiment we all share but how? Planning an assassination is hard enough without the target already being wary as can be," Magister Moredo said in response.
"When would be the best chance to get at them?" Horo Eranaar asked no one in particular.
"During this war would be ideal," Prince Nevio said with resolute determination.
"Hmm, why is that?" Magister Moredo asked with a raised eyebrow and Prince Nevio wanted to punch him. It was obvious why, this was their last real chance.
"Take a look at what has happened since the last time Prince Maegor won a war. If he wins this one, he could very well assume total control of Pentos," Prince Nevio said with a disgusted frown. The power-hungry monster should never have been allowed to stay in Pentos. They should have hired him on to fight the Dothraki and then sent him on his way.
"They are exhausted and weak right now, what are the odds we can overpower them with the current forces in the city?" Horo Eranaar asked with a quizzical look and was met with three frowns.
"Almost zero, they may not have an army in the city but they have two dragons, one of which is currently inside Magister Narratys's manse," Magister Thorello answered this time and Prince Nevio thought long and hard.
"Then I propose we put off this venture, Prince Maegor is currently riding a high of support. Targeting him now would only put a massive target on our backs. When what we need now more than ever is to secure as much power and wealth as we can," Moredo Seltra said with a sigh.
"We cannot put this off forever! If we wait too long I will be disposed of and you all will be left out. Should Prince Maeor assume control of the city he will no doubt do away with you, it is no secret all of you but Magister Moredo are opposing him!" Nevio said with a shaky voice. Seeing his daughter die scared him, knowing the same fate likely awaited him if he did not act soon.
"Then we must plan around new developments, Prince Maegor's mother just revealed that we cannot merely kill Maegor. Not only will she need to die as well, but so will Prince Maegor's wife and children, not to mention those fanatically following him," Magister Thorello answered him but it did not assuage Nevio's concerns.
"Then what is our plan?" Nevio asked impatiently.
"Truth be told, making one right now is foolish, especially with the whole city in flux, we should wait for the excitement over the war and memory of Prince Maegor's assassination attempt to fade," Horo Eranaar said, uncharacteristically calculating.
"I concur," Magisters Moredo and Thorello said in unison and Nevio was caught flat-footed.
"We should focus on the war right now, ensure we are not left out of the spoils to be gained. I would ask you all to plan behind the scenes of this war. We will continue to meet like this for a while, so if you can think of anything let us all know," Magister Thorello seemed ready to dismiss the table and Nevio regretted his past allegiance to Maegor even more.
His folly had led to him, the Prince of Pentos, not even being the head of the conclave faction that wanted Maegor gone. Instead, he had to dance to the tune of another Magister. A noble and skilled Magister but still someone of technically lower rank. Not to mention Thorello's House Pharyl was nothing compared to his House Iranhor.
"Then let us return home, we shall meet again before the army departs Pentos to campaign," Magister Thorello dismissed the table and the rest of the group agreed, albeit he did so reluctantly.
…
Prince Nevio Iranhor tossed and turned in his sleep that night. Assaulted by memories, unpleasant memories that had haunted him for the last three years.
Nevio remembered the day his daughter died all too well. The court session had been a catastrophe, he did not know how. But it seemed as if the entire conclave was ready and willing to just throw his precious daughter's life away.
All it took was a false sob story from the evil witch and a very vocal threat from Prince Maegor. "She hangs or I leave you to the Dothraki," was all he had to say and his beautiful, darling little girl was doomed to death.
After the court hearing, it took all the energy Nevio had to face his daughter one more time. The day she was to be hanged by the neck until death.
"Father! You came! You really came!" His daughter looked so happy to see him. Like he would be able to save her, rescue her from her foul imprisonment.
"Indeed, Tyanna. I am here," Nevio said while fighting off tears. His daughter, his own flesh and blood, was to be executed in just half a day.
"Then get me out Father, you can save me!" Tyanna desperately called out to him, for protection and salvation. Neither of which Nevio could provide for his poor daughter.
"I cannot, my dear," Nevio said through a choked sob and he could not dare to look his daughter in her eyes.
"What?! Of course, you can Father! You are the Prince!" Tyanna hysterically called out, no doubt fearing what was coming.
"You know better than to place your hopes on my title, my dear. I tried, I really did, I pulled in as many favors and paid as many bribes as I could pay Tyanna but it did not matter. Prince Maegor wants you dead, and I was powerless to stop him," Nevio began to cry properly now. Helpless to defend his own child, how could he ever live with himself?
"No… no, no, no, NO! It cannot be true. Prince Maegor is noble and righteous and good. It was his witch wife who corrupted him Father, let me speak to him! I can change his mind!" Tyanna suddenly begged and Nevio looked stunned.
She had been charged in absentia, due to her recovery from the dastardly witch's poisoning attempt. But had nobody told her about the details of the judgment? Just how cruel were the guards here?
"I am sorry, my daughter. Prince Maegor did everything he could to get you put to death. From exchanging favors to even threatening the conclave. He wants you dead, Tyanna. Witch or not," Nevio hated to crush her dreams, her hopes but he could not stomach lying to his little girl.
"No…" Tyanna began to sob before she suddenly lurched forward and pressed against the bars of the cell she was being kept in.
"Free me, Father! Please, let me go and I will disappear! I will go to Myr or Lys or Braavos. Let me leave! Please Father please!" Tyanna begged as her sobs turned to proper tears.
Nevio could feel the stares of the guards to his left and right. He could not accept to do so, it would be grounds for his death after all. Not to mention the two guards to his right would surely thwart any plans he may have been able to make.
"I cannot do that, Tyanna. I am sorry," Nevio began to cry too, helpless to save his daughter, his own flesh and blood.
"Father, please! Yes, you can! You are the Prince!" Tyanna began again but all Nevio could say was "I'm sorry,"
Nevio gasped awake after recalling the most horrifying day of his life. The day he was made to watch the daughter he had raised for almost twenty years die like a common criminal. Falsely accused and killed to cover up the failed plan of a whore witch.
A desire for revenge burned hot within Nevio. An unending fire that continued to burn with every breath he took. The mental image of his little girl dangling by the neck from the gallows was almost enough to make him vomit.
He would get his revenge. He had to, to avenge his daughter was the only reason he continued to breathe. Maegor Targaryen, his bitch mother, his whore wife, and his two brats all needed to die. It was only fair recompense after all.
Thinking of Maegor Targaryen's brats seemed to light a spark within Nevio. An idea, a real hope at victory.
'When Maegor and Visenya leave the city, his whore wife and brats will be defenseless,' Nevio thought with a sinister grin.
He may not be able to do away with Maegor. His untimely death was already pretty much a guarantee. The conclave just needed to come up with a suitable excuse to kill him after all. But if he could not get his hands on Maegor himself. He would make the dragon prince feel the same pain he was cursed with, even if it killed him.