Hidolf exhaled slowly and sank into the seat opposite him, rubbing his temples.
"Our position in Essos grows more difficult by the day," he said. "Most of the Free Cities thrive on slavery. Their merchants either refuse us outright or demand prices so high they might as well refuse. We cannot buy what we need."
He spread his hands, frustration plain in the gesture.
"Myr and Lys stir restlessly, and the other slave cities watch us like wolves circling a wounded beast. To speak of overthrowing slavery under such pressure feels almost foolish."
Aegon listened without interrupting, his expression attentive but distant.
"There are many cities in Essos," he said at last. "Most of them profit from chains. If you wish to break that system, you must accept that the road will be long."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I will grant you the Kalyos Plains."
Hidolf's eyes widened.
"The plains?" he repeated.
"They lie east of Tyrosh's holdings, bordering Myr," Aegon continued. "Fertile land. You will grow your own grain, raise your own herds, and feed your own soldiers. Self-sufficiency is the first step toward independence."
Hidolf's fingers tightened around the arm of his chair. Gratitude warred with concern in his gaze.
"There has always been friction along that border," he said carefully.
"I know," Aegon replied. "That is precisely why I am giving it to you."
Plains were easy to assault and hard to hold. With the Rebel Army standing on that exposed ground, Aegon could develop his rear without distraction. And when the time came, a single push would send Hidolf's forces straight into Myrish territory.
Chaos would follow. From chaos came opportunity.
Myr first, then Lys. After that, whatever wreckage remained could be dealt with at leisure.
The plan had shifted from its original shape. Aegon had expected Myr and Lys to at least feign unity, to send token forces for the sake of appearances. Instead, they had hidden behind their walls, pretending ignorance.
If they did not see it, they did not know of it.
In truth, Tyrosh had been the hardest of the three to crack.
Myr and Lys lacked spine. Daeron's marriage into the Rogare family might still be useful, but it was no longer essential. Aegon would ask his brother's thoughts upon returning to Drakoncrest.
With or without Rogare gold, he could clear Daeron's path himself.
Hidolf, unaware of the thoughts unfolding behind Aegon's calm gaze, continued speaking. He listed shortages, threats, and the many perils facing the Rebel Army, each word carefully chosen to invite further aid.
Aegon listened, silent and composed, his fingers drumming softly against the chair as the future of Essos took shape in his mind.
A Day Later
By the following dawn, Tyrosh was no longer a conquered city in name only.
Prince Aegon had taken full possession of it, and Hidolf departed for the Kalyos Plains with an ease in his step that had not been there when he first arrived. The man's confidence was well earned. Before leaving, Aegon had pledged a further three hundred suits of armor and sixty bows with arrows to the Rebel Army.
With eight hundred full sets of armor in total, supplemented by leather harness seized from Tyroshi storehouses, Hidolf could now equip a hardened core of soldiers. Not a rabble. Not a mob. An elite force capable of meeting the slave masters in open battle.
That knowledge alone made the winds of the eastern plains seem far less hostile.
Once Tyrosh was firmly in his grasp, Aegon wasted no time.
On the very day Hidolf departed, new laws were proclaimed throughout the city. Heralds in crimson cloaks rode through every district, their voices ringing from street to street.
First came the announcement that Tyrosh was no longer a Free City, but the Province of Tyrosh, bound to Aegon's rule and governed in accordance with the customs of the Seven Kingdoms.
Slavery was abolished.
The words alone struck like a hammer.
Merchants were permitted to hire former slaves, but no man or woman might be worked more than fifty hours in a week. Wages were to be paid without delay, with a minimum monthly compensation set at one thousand eight hundred copper coins. Any who violated these laws would answer directly to provincial authority.
Second came the creation of the Tyrosh Provincial Round Table Council.
The upper councilors would be appointed directly from Drakoncrest, ensuring royal authority and oversight. The lower councilors, however, would be elected from among the people of Tyrosh themselves.
All Tyroshi were granted the right to vote.
Freemen and freedmen alike.
Aegon swore publicly that the elections would be absolutely fair, and that no house, guild, or faction would receive special favor. His voice carried across the square as he spoke, steady and unyielding, and none could mistake the seriousness in his gaze.
Finally, he announced a vast reconstruction effort.
Funds would be poured into hiring laborers to rebuild districts damaged by dragonfire. Roads, warehouses, homes, and docks would rise again. Aegon promised that within one month, Tyrosh would return to a state fit for ordinary life.
For many, these proclamations were salvation.
For others, they were an unforgivable insult.
Perhaps it was because Aegon had forbidden his army the traditional three days of burning, killing, and looting. Perhaps mercy had been mistaken for weakness.
Within two days, several hundred Tyroshi freemen gathered in the streets, shouting and waving banners. They claimed loyalty to Aegon's rule, but rejected the abolition of slavery outright.
Their demands grew more absurd with each hour.
They called for dragonriders to be sent against the Rebel Army. They demanded slavery be restored not only in the Stepstones, but even in Westeros itself, as if such words carried any weight at all.
When the report was brought to Aegon, he laughed.
Not a cold laugh. Not a cruel one.
He laughed in genuine disbelief.
"These men truly believe this is still the Tyrosh of yesterday," he said, leaning back in his chair. His fingers tapped idly against the carved armrest. "They mistake restraint for permission."
Hugh Hammer stood nearby, arms folded across his chest.
"Your Highness," he said after a pause, "shall I deal with it personally?"
Aegon's smile lingered as he considered the question.
"Yes," he said at last. "You will handle it yourself. But our soldiers are not to intervene."
Hugh raised an eyebrow.
"Form a temporary city guard," Aegon continued. "Five hundred men. Three hundred newly freed slaves. Two hundred Tyroshi freemen."
He leaned forward, his expression sharpening.
"No blades. No spears. Arm them with stout short clubs. Beat the protestors until they are half-dead. Make certain the lesson is unforgettable."
Hugh nodded slowly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"I will see to it at once."
True to his nature, Hugh was swift and efficient.
Within hours, the temporary city guard was assembled.
The three hundred freedmen came with fear in their eyes and fire in their chests. Many still bore the marks of chains, both on their wrists and in their memories. Their hands trembled as they accepted their clubs, but resentment burned hotter than fear.
The two hundred Tyroshi freemen, by contrast, were almost cheerful.
They felt no guilt at the prospect of beating their former compatriots. If anything, they were pleased. Service in the city guard promised steady meals, warm shelter, and a chance to rise in the new order.
A comfortable life without hunger or worry was worth a few bruised neighbors.
When the five hundred arrived at the protest, they did not shout warnings.
They did not issue commands.
They charged.
The street erupted into chaos.
Clubs fell again and again, the dull sound of wood striking flesh echoing between stone walls. Screams replaced slogans. Banners were trampled underfoot.
The blows grew heavier with every strike, fueled by old hatred and newfound authority.
After the third blow, the protestors broke.
Men who moments before had shouted demands now collapsed to their knees, hands raised, voices cracking.
"Sir soldier, please stop!" one cried, blood streaming from his brow. "I support the abolition of slavery! I truly do!"
Another wailed as he curled on the ground, clutching his ribs.
"Please, do not hit me again," he sobbed. "It hurts so much. Please."
The lesson was learned.
Tyrosh, at last, began to understand who now ruled its streets.