The Triarch obsessed with expanding Volantis's military power was named Malaqo.
[AN: For simplicity i am changing these canon triarchs names.
Malaquo Maegyr ~Malaqo
Doniphos Paenymion ~Dofas
Nyessos Vhassar ~ Nessiso]
His thinning hair and missing teeth testified to the decay of his body,
yet they stood in stark contrast to his burning enthusiasm for war.
One million gold honors— forget nearly a hundred warships, it would not buy even ten.
He was certain that the Targaryens, having just lost the Iron Throne, were weak. This was open, naked profiteering in the midst of disaster.
"One million gold honors—surely they won't agree?" Triarch Dofas, of the trade-minded Elephant Party, voiced his caution.
Malaqo snorted, still dissatisfied.
"One million is already too much!
Didn't that Targaryen envoy say their king would soon come to Volantis himself?
When he does, we detain him. He and his fleet will serve as compensation for what his ancestors owe us!"
By "ancestors," Malaqo meant Aegon the Conqueror.
In those days, Volantis had sought to revive Valyria's former glory and had proposed an alliance to Aegon.
Aegon refused—and instead flew Balerion to Volantis, burning its armies back across the Rhoyne. From that day on, the Tiger Party's influence plummeted.
Malaqo wanted vengeance for the dragonfire that had consumed his predecessors.
His proposal immediately met resistance.
"Lord Malaqo, we are a trading city," protested Nessiso, another Elephant Party Triarch. "This would ruin our reputation."
"That's easily solved," Malaqo replied smoothly. He had already planned this on the way.
"We don't make a grand reception. If few people know, what does reputation matter? And even if rumors spread, gold will seal their mouths."
Nessiso and Dofas exchanged a look.
The temptation was enormous. A fleet taken for free.
In the end, they agreed.
"This is simply what the Targaryens owe Volantis," they told themselves.
They decided the Targaryen fleet would remain outside the harbor. Volantis would provide food and fresh water.
Outside the harbor, merchant ships instinctively kept their distance from the black-sailed fleet.
The Onion Knight—who had spent most of his life as a smuggler—had never received treatment like this.
Aboard the Black Pearl, Davos arrived in this distant city-state for the first time.
He watched ships pass and countless vessels moored along the docks.
On the prows stood figures in distinctive robes. At first glance Davos thought them Rhoynar, but their skin was noticeably darker.
One such ship was unloading cargo.
When the hold was opened, men and women with shackled hands and feet, wearing nothing but scraps of cloth, were driven down like cattle.
Slavers' Bay.
Davos had traveled far and wide—he knew of that distant region where slaves were trained and sold.
Even the famed Unsullied were used by many Free Cities.
As the Black Pearl sailed deeper in, Davos caught the scent of spices.
They came from lands even farther away. One whiff told him they were of the finest quality—worth their weight in gold by the time they reached Volantis.
Soon, however, the stench of filth and fish joined the air.
Even so, it was nothing compared to King's Landing. At least here, amid the strong odors, there was still the faint trace of flowers.
Davos raised his spyglass and studied the harbor.
To his surprise, he spotted elephants used as draft beasts.
Only then did he fully grasp how vast and deep Volantis's harbor truly was.
They had been sailing for nearly half an hour and still had not reached the inner docks.
Guided by the slave-soldier assigned to them, they were finally nearing their destination.
Davos lowered the spyglass and turned, only to find Dale still peering through his.
Davos raised his own spyglass and followed his son's gaze.
Dale was still watching the slave ship.
From it, men were carrying down a bed. A woman lay atop it, barely clothed, great swaths of skin exposed to the air.
A bed slave—high-grade merchandise—clearly destined for immediate auction.
Seeing Dale adjust himself awkwardly, Davos flicked him sharply on the back of the head and muttered,
"Get off the ship. Tell Allard to come see me."
The soldiers sent to receive Davos were baffled.
Behind him came dozens of men carrying basket after basket of copper stars. Each bamboo basket was large enough to fit two grown men.
"My lord… this is—?"
The official receiving him was at a loss.
Was this some sort of display?
"Just coins," Davos said casually, scooping up a handful of copper and showing them.
He even stepped aside, inviting inspection, then grabbed another fistful and stuffed it into the Volantene soldiers' arms as though tossing peanuts.
Even copper stars were not refused.
The soldiers accepted them with feigned reluctance.
With more than a dozen baskets of copper coins in tow, Davos and his men followed their escorts into the harbor.
The trumpeting of elephants, the shouting of merchants and captains, the chatter of sailors— the noise nearly drowned them out.
The harbor was a place of unloading. Goods piled high, people of every race moving in endless streams.
Copper lacked the shine of gold, and so Davos's group drew little attention.
Seeing no officials nearby, Davos gave a subtle signal.
At once, his followers pulled away the red cloth covering the baskets and shouted in High Valyrian and the Common Tongue:
"Viserys Targaryen the First will soon arrive in Volantis!"
To draw attention in the deafening harbor, others climbed onto carts and beat copper gongs with all their strength.
"Viserys Targaryen the First will soon arrive in Volantis!"
As they shouted, they flung handfuls of copper coins wildly into the air.
Their Valyrian was imperfect, and many greenlander merchants nearby could not hear clearly— but when the copper clattered down in showers, everyone understood.
"Viserys Targaryen?"
"Targaryen… the dragonlords?"
A Slaver's Bay noble in a tokar robe murmured to himself, "The Targaryens… the ones with dragons?"
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