Chapter 30: The Dragon's Gambit
The deaths of Lord Grafton and the mystic Anathos, particularly the latter's demise within the very heart of the Great Pyramid, had drawn a line in the sands of Meereen. King Baelon I Targaryen's controlled fury had solidified into a terrifying, crystalline resolve. The Faceless Man was no longer a mere nuisance to be managed; they were a contamination to be purged, a challenge to his absolute authority that demanded an overwhelming, exemplary response. The serpent would not just strike back; it would lay a trap so intricate, so laden with peril for his foe, that the hunter would become the hunted, and the prey would become the bait in a far larger game.
The atmosphere within the ruling tiers of the Pyramid grew heavier, colder. Baelon moved with a chilling, almost preternatural calm, but his eyes held the glint of a drawn Valyrian steel blade. He summoned a council, not of his usual military commanders alone, but a select group: Lord Larys Strong, his face etched with the strain of the ceaseless hunt; Archmaester Vaellyn, head of the Meereenese Royal Academy, his mind a repository of arcane lore; Ser Corlys Vaelaros, captain of his Dragon Guard, representing the martial steel of his protection; and a handful of his most powerful, loyal mages.
He stood before them in his private war room, now dominated by a vast, newly drawn map of the Great Pyramid and its immediate surroundings, every corridor, chamber, and secret passage meticulously detailed.
"The efforts to merely find this… 'faceless child'… have proven insufficient," Baelon began, his voice resonating with a quiet power that commanded absolute attention. "We have been reactive. Defensive. That ends now. We do not simply seek to catch an assassin. We seek to make a statement, to send a message back to Braavos, to the Many-Faced God and its deluded acolytes, that some contracts are best left unsigned."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over them. "We will set a trap. Not a simple snare, but a grand deception. We will offer our elusive guest precisely what they believe they seek: an opportunity, seemingly perfect, to strike at me. And when they take the bait, we will not just neutralize them. We will endeavor to unmask them, to understand their methods, their network, and if possible, to turn their own weapon back against their masters."
Larys Strong shifted slightly. "A dangerous proposition, Your Grace. To deliberately expose yourself, even in a controlled scenario…"
"Danger, Lord Larys," Baelon cut in, his eyes like chips of obsidian, "is a matter of perspective. For a god, what is danger to a gnat? My plan minimizes true risk to myself, while maximizing the potential for… revelation."
The Unveiling of the Gambit
Baelon then proceeded to outline his strategy, a plan of such audacious complexity and chilling ruthlessness that even his most hardened advisors felt a mixture of awe and trepidation.
The core of the gambit involved creating a "perfect storm" of perceived vulnerability. Baelon announced, through carefully leaked channels designed to reach Braavosi ears (via terrified merchants allowed to depart Meereen after 'rigorous' screening, or through deliberately compromised diplomatic correspondence with neutral cities like Pentos), that he had made a monumental discovery: a hidden chamber beneath the Great Pyramid containing a cache of pre-Doom Valyrian artifacts of immense power, including several intact dragon eggs and, most significantly, scrolls detailing the lost art of controlling dragon dreams and influencing dragon bloodlines – knowledge that would make House Targaryen unassailably dominant for millennia.
"This," Baelon explained, a predatory gleam in his eyes, "is bait of irresistible allure. Not just to an assassin seeking to fulfill a contract, but to the powers behind them. The Sealord of Braavos, the Iron Bank, even the Faceless Men themselves, covet any knowledge that could diminish Valyrian power or be turned to their own advantage. They would see the acquisition of these (entirely fictitious) artifacts, or the elimination of the one who possesses them before he can fully utilize them, as a strategic imperative far outweighing a mere assassination fee."
The second part of the deception involved Baelon himself. He would make a highly publicized, yet supposedly clandestine, nightly visit to this "Vault of Ancients" for several consecutive nights, ostensibly to study and secure the artifacts. He would be accompanied by only a minimal guard – Ser Corlys Vaelaros and a handful of Dragon Guard knights – giving the appearance of utmost secrecy but also profound vulnerability.
"The assassin thrives on anonymity and striking at moments of perceived weakness," Baelon continued. "We will offer them such a moment, magnified. They will believe I am distracted, isolated, my attention consumed by these newfound treasures."
The true nature of the "Vault of Ancients" was where the trap lay. It would be a specially prepared chamber deep within the Pyramid's foundations, a place chosen for its limited access points and its thick, ancient stonework. This chamber, and all approaches to it, would be an intricate web of Baelon's most potent magic.
Archmaester Vaellyn and the Royal Academy mages were tasked with its preparation. Glyphs of warding, far more sophisticated than simple defensive spells, would be inscribed into the very stones – wards designed not just to repel, but to detect, to record, to ensnare. Illusions would mask the true nature of the chamber, making it appear as a dusty, treasure-filled vault, while concealing hidden observation posts and antechambers filled with elite legionaries and Kael's most ruthless Freedmen. Temporal spells, subtle and difficult to detect, would be woven to create slight time dilations in certain corridors, designed to disrupt an intruder's timing and coordination. Magical sensors, attuned to specific Valyrian frequencies and known Braavosi magical signatures (researched from Anathos's cryptic clues and ancient texts), would act as an early warning system, silent to the intruder but screaming alerts to Baelon and his hidden forces.
Umbraxys, Baelon elaborated, would be the ultimate guardian. The shadow dragon, in its intangible form, would saturate the entire sector of the Pyramid, its consciousness linked directly with Baelon's. It could manifest localized pockets of absolute darkness, generate chilling fear, or even subtly manipulate the physical environment to channel the intruder towards the designated kill zone or capture point.
"The assassin will believe they are entering a vault," Baelon said, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "In truth, they will be entering their own tomb, or better yet, their unmasking chamber. Our goal is not merely their death – though that is an acceptable outcome. Our primary objective is capture and interrogation. Failing that, we will at least learn their methods, their face, their magic, and perhaps trace their escape to identify their support network within this city."
Ser Corlys Vaelaros, ever the pragmatist, asked, "And if they do not take this bait, Your Grace? If they perceive the deception?"
"Then we have lost nothing but a few nights' sleep, Ser Corlys," Baelon replied. "And we will have demonstrated that my 'vulnerability' is an illusion they cannot penetrate. But I believe they will come. The prize is too great, their arrogance, as demonstrated by their recent… gifts… too profound. They believe themselves gods of death. It is time they met a true divinity of destruction."
The City, A Stretched Nerve
While Baelon meticulously prepared his grand trap within the Pyramid, Larys Strong was tasked with turning the screws on the city of Meereen itself. The information gleaned from the mystic Anathos – the pale wood from a cold land, the ancient drowned city coin – became the inquisitor's new scriptures.
Larys's agents, now infused with a cold dread of their King's displeasure, descended upon the merchant quarters, the docks, and any establishment known to deal in foreign or rare goods. They focused particularly on traders who had dealings with northern Essos, the Ibbenese, or even, through intermediaries, the Westerosi North. Every ledger was scrutinized, every shipment manifest examined. The discovery of even a sliver of pale, unfamiliar wood in a carpenter's shop or a strange, ancient coin in a money-changer's till could lead to days of brutal interrogation.
The pressure was immense. Several unfortunate merchants, whose only crime was possessing common northern pine or an old curiosity coin, were ruined or imprisoned. Fear became a corrosive acid, eating away at the already fragile trust within Meereen. Neighbors informed on neighbors for the slightest perceived anomaly, hoping to win favor or deflect suspicion from themselves. The city, once a hub of Ghiscari pride, was now a place of hushed whispers, furtive glances, and the constant dread of a midnight knock on the door.
This reign of terror, however, yielded a small, crucial breakthrough. An elderly shipwright, who had once sailed to the distant Port of Ibben, recognized a sketch of the intricate carving on the assassin's wooden box. He claimed it was reminiscent of the bone-scrimshaw work of the reclusive, savage tribes who lived beyond the northernmost Ibbenese settlements, in the frozen wastes bordering the Shivering Sea – peoples rarely seen, and feared for their strange gods and silent ways. He also recalled that such tribes sometimes traded pale, incredibly hard "ghostwood" for iron tools.
Simultaneously, scholars at the Royal Academy in Volantis, working with rubbings of the coin Anathos had described, identified it. It was a Pre-Doom Valyrian Baqalion, a currency used in a short-lived Valyrian tributary state established in a now-drowned archipelago far to the west of Old Valyria, a place consumed by the sea centuries before the Doom itself. Such coins were incredibly rare, museum pieces almost. For one to be used as payment suggested a collector of immense wealth and esoteric tastes, or direct access to hoards lost for millennia – something only the Iron Bank or a very few ancient families might possess.
Larys presented these findings to Baelon. "Ghostwood from the far north, Your Grace. And a coin from a drowned Valyrian outpost. This assassin, or their quartermaster, has access to exceptionally rare and geographically diverse resources. It suggests a network far more sophisticated and well-funded than a typical Braavosi cutthroat."
"It suggests the Iron Bank's backing, or a Keyholder of immense influence," Baelon mused, his eyes narrowed. "The Faceless Men are but their tool. Good. The more threads we unravel, the more of their web we can burn." He instructed Larys to discreetly investigate any known Meereenite citizens, particularly those of wealth or foreign origin, who might have connections, however remote, to Ibbenese trade or the collection of ancient Valyrian numismatics. The net was tightening, not just around the assassin, but around their potential facilitators.
Distant Rumblings, Singular Focus
Even as he prepared his gambit, the wheels of Baelon's empire continued to turn, though his primary focus remained resolutely on the immediate threat in Meereen.
Prince Aemond sent word from Astapor. The city was fully pacified. The first contingent of 'reformed' Unsullied, now bearing Targaryen black and red, and drilled into a new, equally fanatical loyalty to their liberator-king, was ready for deployment. Aemond, with his characteristic bluntness, requested a true battle, stating that Vhagar was "weary of burning empty barracks and disciplining trainees." Baelon sent back a curt reply: "Patience. Your talents will soon be required for a task worthy of Vhagar's appetite. Prepare your legion for immediate embarkation upon my signal." He had a specific role in mind for Aemond and Vhagar should his trap for the Faceless Man succeed in… unexpected ways, or should Braavos require a more direct message.
From Westeros, Rhaenyra's letters continued their delicate dance of fealty and subtle inquiry. She expressed 'sisterly concern' over reports of harsh measures in Meereen, while simultaneously praising his strength in bringing order to the 'lawless East.' Lord Corlys Velaryon, Larys reported, had begun to quietly finance new trade expeditions that deliberately skirted Baelon's declared zones of control in the Narrow Sea, a minor but clear challenge to his economic dominance. Baelon made a mental note to address the Sea Snake's ambitions once the current Essosi campaign was consolidated. For now, these were distant rumbles.
His true focus was the chamber beneath the Pyramid. Night after night, he personally supervised the mages as they laid their arcane snares. He walked the corridors, Umbraxys flowing beside him, sensing the flows of magic, testing the illusions, ensuring every detail of his deadly stage was perfect. He felt a cold, exhilarating thrill, the same he had felt as Voldemort when plotting the downfall of a powerful enemy. The stakes were high, but the potential rewards – the unmasking of a Faceless Man, a direct insight into Braavos's shadow operatives, and the sheer satisfaction of outwitting such a vaunted foe – were immense.
Umbraxys shared his anticipation. "The air grows thin for this shadow-walker, Speaker," the ancient dragon conveyed, its thoughts like the rustle of dry scales. "They believe they move unseen, but your light, your darkness, will illuminate them."
"They will be illuminated, Umbraxys," Baelon affirmed, a sliver of Voldemort's predatory hunger in his mental voice. "And then they will be extinguished, or rendered into a tool for our own designs. This city, this Pyramid, will be their crucible."
The Eve of Unmasking
Finally, all was in readiness. The "Vault of Ancients" was a masterpiece of deception, its illusory treasures gleaming invitingly in the magically conjured torchlight, its real purpose concealed beneath layers of arcane craftsmanship and lethal intent. The city above was a coiled spring of fear and surveillance, Larys's agents and Baelon's legionaries forming a suffocating net. The rumors of Baelon's nightly visits to the vault had been carefully disseminated and, Larys confirmed, had reached ears known to have Braavosi connections.
On the eve of the first staged visit, Baelon stood on the highest balcony of the Great Pyramid, looking out over Meereen. The city lights glittered like captured stars against the vast, dark canvas of the desert night. A chill wind, carrying the scent of dust and distant fires, whipped his black cloak around him.
He addressed his key operatives one last time – Larys, Ser Corlys, Archmaester Vaellyn, and Centurion Kael, whose Freedmen would form the outer cordon, a visible but ultimately expendable layer of the trap.
"Tomorrow night, the performance begins," Baelon stated, his voice calm, yet imbued with an intensity that made the air crackle. "Each of you knows your role. Perfection is expected. The slightest deviation could unravel our work. Remember, we are not merely catching a killer. We are dissecting an enigma. We are challenging a god of shadows in its own game."
He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze lingering, ensuring his will was imprinted upon theirs. "The assassin believes they are the inevitable hand of fate. We shall show them that fate, too, can be rewritten by a stronger hand."
A predatory smile touched his lips, a fleeting expression that promised not mirth, but destruction. "Let the Many-Faced God send its chosen. The Dragon of Valyria awaits. And this dragon is hungry."
He dismissed them, remaining alone on the balcony, save for the immense, unseen presence of Umbraxys. The game was set. The pieces were in motion. The Dragon's Gambit was about to unfold. And Baelon Targaryen, the Serpent King, the Ageless Emperor, felt a thrill of anticipation he had not experienced in a very, very long time. Tomorrow, the unmasking would begin.