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Chapter 259: The Fall of the Free City
🕑 Added 2025-04-10 10:59:56 +0000 UTCMeanwhile, in the barracks of the Second Sons at Myr’s northern gate, their leader, Mero—known as the Titan’s Bastard—was uncharacteristically sober. He neither drank nor called for prostitutes that night. Only his deputy commander, Ben Plumm, and the captain of the men-at-arms, Kaspario, remained with him inside the tent. The three sat silently on a thick carpet, as if waiting for someone.
The tent flap was lifted, and a man entered with a smile. The guards outside remained eerily still, as if they had vanished into thin air.
“The Mouse King of Myr.” Mero narrowed his eyes, stroking his beard while signaling subtly to Kaspario.
Kaspario rose, walked to the tent entrance, and peered outside. He saw that all the guards had collapsed on the ground, while a dozen short, wiry figures stood nearby—dwarves.
“The Mouse Guard lives up to its reputation.” Kaspario let the flap fall back into place but didn’t return to his seat. Instead, he stepped to Mero’s side, standing at attention like an ordinary guard.
The man who had entered the Second Sons’ camp was none other than Dahax, the underground ruler of Myr, the so-called Mouse King. This time, he had left his lair on the orders of Lynd.
“Speak. What terms has your lord offered me?” Mero asked directly.
“My lord’s offer is simple—your lives,” Dahax replied, glancing over the three men before him. “Once you open the northern gate, you’re free to leave. The followers of the Scourge God outside the walls will not stop you.”
“That’s it?” Ben Plumm snapped angrily. “You expect us to throw open the gates for nothing?”
Dahax responded calmly, “No, my lord has given you the most valuable thing of all—your survival.”
“Are you mocking us?” Mero’s expression darkened as he rose to his feet, his hand drifting toward his weapon’s hilt.
Dahax remained unfazed, meeting Mero’s gaze steadily. “I am not mocking you. I am simply stating the truth. Whether you open the gate or not makes no difference. Even as we speak, Magister Eamond has already defected to our side. The Miracle Fleet has landed at the docks completely unscathed. If you insist on holding the northern gate, it will only be a minor inconvenience in our takeover of Myr. The outcome will not change. But if your Second Sons miss this opportunity, you will cease to exist.”
Ignoring the hostile glares of the mercenaries, Dahax turned to leave. As he reached the tent entrance, he suddenly paused and glanced back.
“Oh, by the way,” he said lightly, “it seems that the Magister’s residence inside the city is barely defended. Almost everyone has been pulled to the walls and the docks. A dangerous oversight. What if someone were to take advantage of that?”
With that, he lifted the tent flap and stepped out. His footsteps faded into the night.
Inside the tent, Mero never drew his weapon—because he knew that if he did, all three of them would die where they stood.
When Dahax was gone, Mero exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. After a moment of contemplation, he gave his order. “Wake everyone up. We’re making our move.”
Ben Plumm and Kaspario hesitated for a brief moment, but then understanding dawned. They exchanged knowing grins—cold and predatory.
That night, the Second Sons betrayed Myr’s Magisters. They looted several of the Magisters’ residences near the northern gate before fleeing the city through the very gate they had been guarding.
At the same time, the army of the Scourge God’s followers marched into Myr unopposed, streaming through the opened northern gate to crush the last remnants of resistance.
Almost simultaneously, the Miracle Fleet sailed into the harbor and seized control of the docks. Myr’s navy offered no resistance. As scattered uprisings were stamped out, Myr fell completely.
The next day, at Myr’s Magisterial Council—mirroring the events in Tyrosh—the Magisters voted to submit to Summerhall. However, unlike Tyrosh’s submission, they added a new clause: official recognition of Lynd’s rule over the Disputed Lands.
The abrupt transformation of the three major cities in the Disputed Lands left the world stunned. Not long ago, news had spread of a great plague ravaging the region. Then, just as suddenly, the sickness vanished—and the three cities were swiftly divided between Volantis and Summerhall.
Aside from the naval and landing battles that took place when Volantis seized Lys, Summerhall’s conquest of Tyrosh and Myr had met no significant resistance. It was as if both Free Cities had long been waiting to surrender.
Tyrosh’s allegiance to Summerhall did not surprise the other Free Cities. With Summerhall’s army entering Tyrosh and the city completely abandoning its defenses, its fall was inevitable—the only question was when.
However, Myr’s swift surrender caught everyone off guard. Its fleet was still intact, and it retained some naval power. Like Tyrosh, Myr was protected by high walls, and if the Magisters had transferred even a portion of their forces to defend the city, they could have withstood several waves of attacks—at least until Lynd personally intervened.
Yet, against all expectations, Myr’s fleet collectively surrendered the moment the Chosen Fleet approached. Many struggled to understand this, though the betrayal and flight of the Second Sons, who had been in charge of defending the city, was somewhat easier to comprehend.
In the end, Lynd did not even need to appear on the frontlines; he seized control of two Free Cities without resistance. With Myr’s submission, he declared his dominion over the Disputed Lands, and Tyrosh promptly followed suit with the same declaration.
At the same time as Tyrosh’s proclamation recognizing Summerhall’s rule over the Disputed Lands, something unusual was happening in Lys.
Perhaps the ease of Lys’s conquest had made the generals of Volantis complacent. Or maybe the Merchant Princes and Magisters of Lys had been so cooperative that Volantis deemed them harmless. Either way, the Volantenes had failed to impose any restrictions on their movements.
In Lys’s famed Purple Rose Courtyard, a group of nobles in flowing robes and hooded cloaks were led through a secret passage beneath the brothel to a hidden chamber.
When they removed their hoods, their faces were immediately recognizable—these were Lys’s Merchant Princes and Magisters, the very men who had wielded the city’s highest authority just days ago. Now, they were nothing more than wealthy merchants.
“Tregar Ormollen, why have you summoned us here?” The speaker, Bylomir, prided himself on his Valyrian heritage. His long, silvery hair and violet eyes marked his lineage. Before the Volantenes took the city, he had overseen shipping at the Lysene docks. Now, he had not only lost his power but also a valuable shipment stored in his warehouse. Desperate for answers, he wasted no time confronting their host.
“No need to rush, Lord Bylomir. We are still waiting for a few more people.” Tregar Ormollen gestured for patience. After a brief wait, two more individuals arrived. Only then did he raise a hand to silence the room. He took the hand of a hooded woman beside him and led her to the center, motioning for her to lower her hood.
The woman revealed herself with a cascade of golden curls, a voluptuous figure, and striking beauty. On any other occasion, the gathered Merchant Princes and Magisters would have been eager to court her, perhaps even compete for her attention. But tonight, they had more pressing concerns.
Seeing their confusion, Tregar Ormollen spoke. “This is my beloved, Lynesse Hightower. Yes, the very same Hightower you are thinking of. She is the youngest daughter of the Lord of Hightower. However, I did not bring her here because of her family name, but because of her other connections. One of her sisters is the Lady of Highgarden in Westeros. But more importantly, another is an influential figure—the right hand of the Lord of Summerhall, Malora Hightower, the Lady of Blackcave.”
Murmurs spread through the chamber. Those present were not fools; they quickly grasped the implications.
A doubtful voice spoke up. “I thought Summerhall and Volantis were on good terms. Volantis moved against us only because Queen Nymeria of the New Rhoynars mediated the conflict between the Elephants and the Tigers. Nymeria is the wife of Summerhall’s lord, which means Lynd Tarran must have known about Volantis’s plans. He might even be their ally. Otherwise, how could they coordinate so seamlessly? While Volantis attacked us here, Summerhall seized Myr and Tyrosh.”
More murmurs of agreement followed. The consensus was clear—Lynd Tarran could not be trusted.
Tregar, unperturbed, raised his hand once more to quiet them before continuing. “According to my latest information, Lynd Tarran arrived on Grey Gallows in the Stepstones three days ago. The fleet of the Triple Kraken Alliance has gathered there as well. If I am not mistaken, Lynd Tarran should already be leading their fleet toward Lys.”
“He intends to take Lys too?” someone blurted out.
Tregar remained calm. “Myr and Tyrosh have publicly recognized his dominion over the Disputed Lands, effectively acknowledging him as their king. Lys is part of the Disputed Lands as well. Do you really think he’ll let us be?”
A heavy silence settled over the room. Reality sank in like a stone thrown into deep water—they were powerless, at the mercy of forces far beyond their control.
"Who will emerge as the ultimate victor—Volantis or Summerhall?" someone suddenly asked.
The question made many uncomfortable, but they all understood the reality of their situation. Lys was no longer a participant in this struggle; it was merely a prize to be claimed.
"It should be Summerhall," someone quickly answered, and the others nodded in agreement.
Had this been the past, they might have considered the two forces evenly matched, making the outcome uncertain. But after word of Lynd's exploits in Qohor spread, no one believed in Volantis’s chances anymore. Not only did Lynd command the fearsome Three Sea Krakens, but he alone was rumored to be capable of sinking the entire Volantene fleet. After all, he was the true incarnation of the Storm God.
Someone spoke up, saying, "Honestly, swearing allegiance to Summerhall might not be such a bad thing. From what I hear, most of the Magisters and rulers of Tyrosh and Myr were allowed to keep their positions, and their powers weren’t greatly diminished. Only the military forces, such as the city garrisons, were placed under Summerhall’s control."
Many nodded in agreement. Others remained silent—not outright opposing the idea, but lost in their own thoughts.
Bylomir’s deep voice broke the silence. "Tregar, what about you? Do you think it’s better to submit to Summerhall or remain under Volantis?"
Tregar Ormollen, ever shrewd, gave a noncommittal response. "I’m merely the one who brought us together. I’ll follow whatever decision we reach. If the consensus is to submit to Summerhall, I’ll send Lynesse to meet Lynd Tarran. Given her connections, getting an audience with him shouldn’t be difficult, and she could ensure that he takes us seriously."
Those familiar with Tregar knew better than to expect a straightforward answer from him, so they pressed him no further. Instead, they turned to one another, discussing the feasibility of pledging loyalty to Lynd.
It didn't take long for them to reach a decision—Lys would align itself with Summerhall. To make the arrangement official, they retrieved the seals of their offices as Magisters and Merchant Princes and signed an annexation agreement. The document declared that Lys had submitted to Summerhall, granting it dominion over the city. Furthermore, as Myr and Tyrosh had already done, the agreement formally recognized Summerhall’s sovereignty over the entirety of the Disputed Lands and their Free Cities.
Once all the Magisters had affixed their seals, the agreement was entrusted to Lynesse. Tregar then used his network of secret passages to smuggle her out of Lys. From there, she boarded a waiting ship offshore, setting sail toward Lynd’s fleet.
...
"Send this order to Braavos and Pentos immediately," Lynd said, writing a command with swift strokes. "Tell them they’re moving too slowly. By the time I return to Summerhall, I expect to hear that printing and papermaking have already begun circulating in those cities."
He handed the letter to Jon, who took it without hesitation.
Jon exited the captain’s cabin and stepped onto the deck, where he found Baelor Blacktyde. "Prepare a few carrier pigeons," he instructed. "This message needs to go out at once."
After ensuring the order was being dispatched, Jon turned to head back below deck—but before he could, the lookout’s horn suddenly sounded.
Immediately, the lookouts on several ships pointed toward the horizon. Jon followed their gaze and spotted a fast-approaching ship, its distinctive sails marking it as Lysene.
As the vessel neared, ships of the Three Sea Kraken Alliance moved to intercept. Sailors boarded to inspect it, questioning the crew about their origins and purpose. Once it was confirmed there was no immediate threat, they escorted the passengers aboard one of the Three Sea Kraken ships and brought them to Lynd’s flagship.
Jon, whose keen eyes had already picked out one of the passengers, stared in shock. He couldn’t help but exclaim, "Lady Lynesse? What are you doing here?"
