Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 548: The Surrender of Meereen

Chapter 548: The Surrender of Meereen

Time flies. Half a month later.

Slaver's Bay, on the banks of the Skahazadhan River, where the three Free Cities of the slave trade are located.

Roar!

Outside the towering multicolored city walls, a black dragon slowly soars, its melancholy green pupils surveying the entire city. The garrison on the city walls is on high alert, with scorpion crossbows ready to strike at any moment.

Hoo—

After a while, the black dragon lost interest and disappeared above the clouds.

...

On the other side of the river, a large village encircled the city. Five thousand Unsullied occupied the area, driving the farmers into concentration camps and cutting down trees to build their camps. Two dragons, one red and one gold, circled the sky, sniffing the scent of ash before quickly avoiding it.

Boom!

Cannibal plunged down through the clouds and landed quickly and steadily.

"Roar?" Syrax lay in the flowers, like an oversized curious baby, rolling to get some distance.

Rhaegar smiled and dismounted from the dragon's back. The natural environment was beautiful, with mountains, rivers, and herbs growing everywhere. Meereen was only fifty miles from Yunkai, and the army would be there the next day. Along the way, villages of all sizes had already been adorned with the banners of three red dragons.

Back at the camp.

"How is the defense of Meereen?" Rhaenyra immediately got up and went over to remove Rhaegar's black robe.

Rhaegar shook his head. "It's very well fortified. It'll take a lot of effort."

"Meereen is the largest city in Slaver's Bay. The city walls are at least 100 feet high, and there are bronze statues of Harpies at every corner that can spit boiling oil," Sea Snake Corlys spoke in a low voice, sitting at the round table and looking at the sand table. After two months of recuperation, his injuries had healed. He went to the battlefield as soon as possible.

Rhaegar responded with respect, whispering, "These are not the real problems. The key is to ensure that the bastards Dragonlords and Great Masters do not escape."

"Just burn it all down," Aegon said, playing with a wine cup in a lackluster manner. "War is so boring. I already miss the salty sea breeze of the Stepstones and the Lysian beauties in the brothels."

"Think carefully before you speak," Rhaegar glanced at him and gave a lukewarm warning.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and took the black robe back to her seat.

The Sea Snake analyzed the situation carefully. "Meereen is in a difficult position. There is no choice but to go to sea." He took a dragon sculpture off the sand table and placed it in the northern wasteland of the Great Pyramid. Meereen is located on the banks of the Skahazadhan River, with a rocky beach to the north, and the estuary and mountains to the east and west are blocked.

Daemon leaned back in his chair and smiled faintly, denying, "Who knows if there are secret passages in the city? Those scum understand the truth of the saying: Don't put all your eggs in one basket.'"

Astapor and Yunkai had fallen one after the other, and the forces of the Iron Throne had converged.

The Sea Snake glanced at him and retorted, "Where can a lost dog escape to?"

Daemon straightened his posture, and his eyes suddenly became sharp.

Dongdong!

Rhaegar knocked on the table, interrupting the brewing tension. “Okay, let's get to the point.” He glanced between Corlys and Daemon, sensing the undercurrent of resentment. It was becoming unbearable.

Rhaenyra smirked, hiding her amusement with a drink. Unlike Daemon, she and Rhaegar had no issues with in-laws, and couldn't fully grasp the challenges their uncle faced.

“Brother, you must be thirsty.” Sensing the need to lighten the mood, Daeron hurried forward to pour Rhaegar a drink. Rhaegar smiled and accepted it gratefully.

Five dragon riders from the same family gathered in a small tent, strategizing the attack on Meereen, a city now defending itself in isolation. Daeron poured the wine and stood obediently behind his brother, while Aegon looked on enviously, raising his own cup to his lips. Daeron pretended not to notice.

“Haha,” Rhaenyra laughed, wiping Rhaegar's mouth with her handkerchief. Rhaegar enjoyed the moment, catching the faint scent of milk and glancing back to see her smiling eyes.

“Your Grace, Meereen is not a monolithic city,” Corlys interrupted, producing an envelope sealed with beeswax from his sleeve. The wax bore the Harpy symbol of Meereen.

Rhaegar frowned, took the envelope, and opened it. Inside was a thin sheet of paper, written in High Valyrian. “Showing off with words,” he muttered, sneering.

High Valyrian was typically concise, but this letter was ornate, full of pretentious flourishes mixed with a few useful sentences. It was clear the writer was either uneducated or very arrogant.

Rhaegar read through it and noticed the signature: “Sizir Loraq.” He passed the letter to Rhaenyra, who exclaimed, “House Loraq, one of the oldest slave-owning families in Meereen.”

“Yes, representatives of the peace faction,” Rhaegar noted. “They want to negotiate peace and are willing to offer the bastard Dragonlord.”

“Quite a good idea,” Rhaenyra smiled, soon, everyone read the letter

Rhaegar pondered, “Slave owners cannot be trusted. They are too insincere.”

“Not necessarily,” Daemon argued. “Meereen is rich. They don't want to follow in the footsteps of Astapor and Yunkai, do they?”

The passage of the army was like the passage of locusts through the two slave Free Cities. The Good Masters of Astapor were all executed, and half of the slaves were relocated to the Disputed Lands. The Wise Masters of Yunkai survived, but the slaves were almost completely wiped out. Rhaegar issued a decree to close the sea, making it impossible to restart the slave trade. All that awaited the two Free Cities was a steady decline.

Before Rhaegar could respond, the Sea Snake mocked, “If they really wanted peace, they should have opened the gates.”

“What do you think would happen if they opened the gates to Astapor?” Daemon gave a knowing glance at his nephew.

Rhaegar let out a “tsk” and leaned back in his chair. War is all about deception. The nightmares that had tormented him since childhood had taught him that only a ruthless attack could achieve the desired effect.

“Don't be angry.” Rhaenyra patted his head, as if comforting a child. Rhaegar rolled his eyes and turned away in silence. After the baptism of blood and fire, Rhaenyra seemed a little overexcited. The siblings seemed to have returned to their childhood.

The Sea Snake ignored the king and queen's intimate behavior and spoke out against Daemon: “Compared to your victory in Yunkai, Astapor has been better at winning the hearts of the people.”

Daemon was too ruthless. In Yunkai, he burned and looted, torturing everyone equally, regardless of their status. Both slave owners and slaves alike cursed his cruelty. In contrast, the reputation of the Iron Throne in Astapor was beyond compare. Your Grace the Dragon killed all the slave owners, liberated the suffering slaves, and provided jobs and land for those without work. Although they had to move to the Disputed Lands, at least they were alive and free. Without the slave owners, the liberated slaves achieved class revenge. They were grateful to Rhaegar and recognized only him.

Daemon didn't like what he heard and impatiently said, “If they don't accept the peace offer, then let's just ride the dragons and burn Meereen to the ground.”

The Sea Snake snorted and continued, “Dragons can solve 70% of the problems, but 30% require the expenditure of troops.” As a qualified Lord, if you can avoid sacrificing your soldiers, you should naturally try to preserve them. Taking a city without a single soldier is proof that a military strategist has talent.

Rhaegar rested his hand on his forehead, watching the two allies argue. For a moment, he realized why his father had been so keen to keep the peace when he was in power.

“Enough! We won't get anywhere arguing until the sun goes down.” Rhaegar slapped the table, interrupting the quarrel. “House Loraq is a point of entry. Take the opportunity to contact the slave-owning families in the city and minimize the chance of fighting.”

“I’m in!” Aegon immediately stood up, eager to find a girl in the village.

Rhaegar gave him a disapproving look and emphasized, “The rest is secondary. First, make sure the bastard Dragonlord doesn't escape. It would be best if the slave owners could deliver the bastard Dragonlord to us.” The source of the war was nothing more than the unusual lineage of the Dragonlord. In any case, the entire house must be wiped out.

“Yes!” Aegon’s enthusiasm was contagious, inspiring Rhaenyra and Daeron to raise their hands as well. Daemon’s eyes flickered with interest, though he merely swirled his glass indifferently, as if to say, "That's it."

The Sea Snake slowly rose to his feet, his tone solemn. “Slaver's Bay is within our grasp, but we must remain vigilant against other forces.”

“Such as?” Rhaegar asked.

Sea Snake’s thick lips parted as he listed, “Qohor and the Dothraki cavalry.”

Braavos and Pentos were manageable, having been warned by Rhaegar beforehand and now only daring to engage in small-scale, covert activities. Qohor, however, was a different matter. Its remote location had allowed it to become a significant arms dealer, supplying Slaver's Bay with weapons funded by various factions.

Rhaegar pondered for a moment before recalling, “Aemond went to Qohor, right?”

At this, Daemon’s eyes gleamed with interest.

Sea Snake nodded, adding, “Prince Aemond traveled to Qohor to borrow funds from Storm's End and recruited a mercenary army of 2,000 men.”

He paused, puzzled. “However, Aemond didn't travel with the mercenaries. Instead, there were sightings of an ugly dragon in the Dothraki grasslands.”

“Oh, Aemond wants to conquer a Dothraki cavalry?” Aegon’s eyes lit up, and he leapt from his seat.

“The Dothraki are very stubborn,” Daeron reminded in a whisper. In the books, they were described as bloodthirsty savages, and reality reflected that.

Rhaegar considered this and realized, “The Dothraki are formidable. They might be hired by the Slaver's Bay.”

“Exactly my concern,” Sea Snake agreed, pointing to the vast Grass Sea on the sand table. He traced the mountains east of Meereen with his fingers and speculated, “According to Dothraki tradition, they will first loot the sheepmen of Lhazar and then enter the Khyzai Pass after obtaining supplies.”

On land, Dothraki cavalry were a formidable challenge, especially with the protection of scorpion crossbows.

Rhaegar, however, was confident. “Let them come,” he smiled. With five dragons surrounding the city, even the resurrected Old Empire of Ghis or the Yi Ti Dynasty would have to submit.

In contrast, Aemond’s movements across the Great Grass Sea seemed wild and unpredictable. Rhaegar suggested, “Let Aemond attempt it and see what he can do.”

If Aemond succeeded in assembling a Dothraki cavalry, he would indeed earn respect.

“That makes sense,” Sea Snake agreed, fulfilling his role as an adviser.

The meeting concluded quickly. Rhaegar led the way out, leaving Daemon alone in the tent. Daemon sipped his wine thoughtfully and murmured, “Qohor, the one-eyed boy.”

His good nephew seemed to have forged a Valyrian steel sword, but Daemon himself was in need of a suitable weapon. And there was also the matter of his niece-in-law, far away in Storm's End.

“Ask Mysaria for an update,” Daemon ordered, a cold light flashing in his eyes.