XXIV.

Bessaro, like everyone else of importance summoned to the meeting, was already seated in the front row of the elongated semi-circular stone bench of the Amphitheater, where Braavos hold its elections. The place in where all the Keyholders, Magistrates, Archons, Electors and great landowners of the Braavosi territory were now present was the same where more than four hundred and fifty years had place the first vote taken place to elect the first Sealord of the then hidden city.

And now both Bessaro, as his colleagues and some of his relatives, as well as other Braavosi leaders and landowners, were meeting to decide whether, not only were they once again part of the

entity they fled from, the Freehold. They would also decide if they were going to give up in exchange for mere and unrealistic promises, all the power that the great Braavosi families had amassed during those years.

'Especially those related to the foundation and management of the Bank.' Bessaro meditated internally the importance and repercussions that would have this occasion that would be marked for posterity and the pages of history.

'I rather die, than what they intend to happen.' Bessaro raged to himself inwardly. 'This meeting will ultimately serve to eliminate these cursed Valyrians spawns once and for all, ingratiate ourselves with the westerosi King and see what potential traitors to our cause are among us.' He reflected, trying not to show a smile that would betray his solemn face.

Supposedly, Bessaro should be listening to the spiel that the damn dragon boy was giving. Boy that yes, he had to recognize him, with his armor and his bearing, seemed out from the songs. The boy's alleged father, the somehow revived prince, today unlike the day before during the meeting at the Bank, seemed in the background.

Rhaegar Targaryen, returned from the Seven Hells, was with the rest of the Targaryen family on the right side of the black stone dais. The identity of the famous Last Dragon was one of the few certainties Bessaro had about the people who showed up yesterday after descending from the cursed supposedly extinct beasts.

Along with those already present at last night's meeting in the Bank, the Targaryens had appeared today with new companions. Practically acting as a shadow of the silver prince and the supposed Lyanna Stark, there was the one that Bessaro identified as the Third Sword of Braavos.

'Although now with completely golden blonde hair and a military cut, but without a doubt it is the such Aucturum of Tyrosh.' Bessaro thought to himself, while watched the snowy cloak that fell from his shoulders clinging to the bridles of the full armor, except for the helmet. Armor which Bessaro would swear was identical to that of the Kings Guard of the Seven Kingdoms, but in black steel that undoubtedly must be of Qohorí made. Above Aucturum left shoulder was a golden cross hilt, topped by the head of a roaring lion, with emeralds for eyes.

The supposed Aucturum, like the prince, the eerie child, as well as the man with the blond hair and emerald eyes, along with the two young men who apparently were guarding the supposedly deceased Rhaella and Rhaenys Targaryen, were dressed in steel from the neck to the feet.

The blonde man and the young men wore black surcoats on which were perched simple double- ringed heavy chain mail. On top of these, at least the two young men, wore steel breastplates and backs plates covered by a black tabard. For his part, the middle-aged man, emerald-eyed and without helmet, wore a completely crimson with gold trim tabard. Over the blonde man right shoulder protruded the hilt of a great greatsword that crossed his entire back, protruding far from the other side.

The two young men wore a helmet with a T-visor, greaves, knee pads, and gorges of apparent Qohori workmanship. The taller of the two wore a white cloak in the style of the so -called Aucturum. On the left arm, both wore simple rhomboid shields. The one of the boy with the white cloak had a totally white field and seven sword on a circle on it, while the shield of the other young man was in a white field and in the center was a black ship facing the front surrounded by what appeared to be black and red clouds.

'I could swear both shields are freshly painted because of the vividness of the color.' thought Bessaro as he stopped his gaze on the shields. On that same side, on the left hips of both young

men, two long steel swords were resting.

To this must be added the fact that the three alleged Starks also carried weapons. The woman who was supposedly the maiden for whom the dragons fell in Westeros, carried on her right hip a myrish-type sword, forged in the bluish of castle steel. At the Stark woman waist was a black hilt topped with a golden flame of what Bessaro assumed would be a dagger or a dirk. The girl who looked like a small copy of the supposed Lyanna Targaryen-Stark, and who according to all Bessaro's sources if she was the real one, should be found in Winterfell and not before them, carried a sword practically identical to that of her aunt, although shorter.

Even the unsettling and mysterious-looking boy carried on the back a long sword that was almost taller than the boy himself. The sword for its hilt and because its sheath allowed to see part of its steel was easily recognizable. Darksister.

'Certainly they don't lie about that. Both the dragons, as well as all the historical pieces of the Targaryen Dynasty have ended in some way in the power of these people. Including some that were thought lost to the ends of time. The Bank itself spent its good sums trying to locate the bastard sword that protrudes over the dragon boy's right shoulder and that according to all information, myth and legend surrounding it, it must have been lost or in the Disputed Lands, or in the property of the long dead Lord Bloodraven.'

All of this, not to mention the prodigious armor the boy wore, supposedly lost to history around the Conqueror's tenth year of reign. As well like the boy's Valyrian steel band last seen around Daeron the Young's head, could certainly both be worth for, which according to all the sources and records that the bank had recorded, what the Dragon threatened to do more than three hundred years ago. To buy the Iron Bank and the city of Braavos itself.

'Allegedly, this same boy.' An internal voice said to Bessaro. Internal voice that he did not intend to listen to. Magic might exist, but it wasn't going to bring the fucking Dragon back into the world.

'Although I believe that in his day the Conqueror fell short in his estimation. Only with the ruby band could he have bought this Free City. With the armor he could buy all of Essos except Qarth, Volantis and the descendant city-states of Ghis.' Bessaro corrected in his head the true value of what the supposed Aegon Targaryen carried.

'If I were in his position, I would use the armor that way, instead of for protection. For the protection I would pay the Faceless Men and mercenaries.' Inwardly, Bessaro rebuked the boy's stupidity.

The reason that the Targaryen representation, curiously without the dragons flying above the city or in the near view, had presented itself armed to the teeth, derived directly from the fact that the Sealord's personal guard had come armed. And above of that, Bessaro and his colleagues themselves were interested that even scribes could carry weapons. Therefore, there was no impediment to this.

'Not to mention that one, or those two young men who are supposedly guarding, are Faceless Man paid by us to take down these incest spawn of inordinate ambition. At the most the weapons and armor will help them last a little longer alive, while they watch the women and children die.' Bessaro gloated inside, trying not to convey any possible external evidence of what he was thinking. That is why he focused his gaze on the boy with the incipient silver hair.

The supposed Aegon Targaryen was in the center of the rectangle of that strange and almost unique molten black stone that served as a dais from which to expose. Supposedly, only in Oldtown, Dragonstone, Volantis, in the Five Forts of Yi-Ti , among the basalt of the Westerosi

Neck and probably, among the still smoking remains of Valyria, could stones like that be found.

Nobody knew where those stones came from or how they were formed for sure, but they all had one thing in common behind their legend. 'The reappeared damn beasts that shouldn't exist. The fucking Dragons.'

Beasts that seemed to have suddenly disappeared from the Braavosi skies. Something that in a way relieved Bessaro. 'What we needed is to be able to kill the Targaryen, without then have their dragons burn us.' thought that was accompanied by a cold sweat all over his spine.

The boy who was closing his speech about why they had to vote in favor of his proposition, was undoubtedly a descendant of Old Valyria and imposed even on Bessaro, a healthy respect.

'Although I wish his death above anything at this time, I cannot help but feel respect for the boy. Although his plans are utterly insane and impossible to carry out, not to mention the imposition of a tyranny on a continental scale, the boy has a stone balls. Surely without a head attached to his necks, he's incapable of coming back to life.' Bessaro rejoiced, while contemplated the image presented by the boy totally erect and with his shoulders back, easily reaching above meter eighty five in height. Denoting in his apparent relaxation but at the same time in complete muscular tension, a power and self-confidence like no one Bessaro had seen before.

This image of power seemed to be accentuated by the boy's contrasting shadow on the back wall of the hemicycle. Projected and enlarged by the orange, reddish and almost bloody tones of the sky, thanks to the reflections of the sun setting in the west.

The wall where the shadow was cast was a huge composite of relief and bas-relief murals, depicting the history of the city of Braavos. To be exact, represents from the escape of the yoke of the Dragonlords of yesteryear to the construction of the Iron Bank and the revelation to the world of the then hidden city after the Doom.

Under the dais made up of the extraordinary stone that rose only a scant foot from the ground, a huge mahogany table was arranged, occupied by five scribes. 'Really only one of them is a scribe, being the only one to record what happen. The other four are water dancers and catspaws hired especially for this occasion.'

"After what has been stated by His Grace Aegon Targaryen, we will now proceed to vote on what will be the decision of the Keyholders and Magistrates in relation to the property of the Iron Bank and the sovereignty of the Free City of Braavos." the voice from the scribe pulled Bessaro out of his thoughts.

The scribe possibly had even less suspicion than the Targaryens about the eventual ambush. 'After all, today he's the only one here doing his regular job. Perhaps on a topic never discussed before, but that basically consisted of doing the same job as always. Take notes of all expressed. Announce the speaker and his presentation before the representatives of the City, start the vote, then do the accounting of votes and proclaim the result that said accounting offered.'

All the ceremonial and mechanics around the scribe's profession, something that was a centuries- old tradition in the trade, fascinated Bessaro during his youth. 'Although my father made it clear to me that it was better to be the one about whom the scribe wrote, than to be the poor and vulgar scribe.'

With the words of the young scribe, came the moment in which each of the twenty-three citizens with the right to vote in this assembly would publicly expose, and if the aforementioned wanted, in argued form, their vote. There were thirteen Keyholders and thirteen magistrates, however, some

doubled in their positions, making them twelve magistrates and only eleven Keyholders. 'And that's where my family and our ability to buy votes come into play.'

Voting had always been public affair and on some occasions, arguments as to why one was voting for or against a proposal had caused vote changes, leading to unpredictable results beforehand. 'But not this time.' Bessaro assured himself.

Today the majority of the no against the proposal presented by the descendant of Old Valyria was assured, although Bessaro did not know for sure by how much margin.

'What is certain is that thanks to the odd number of voters, we will triumph for sure, even for one vote.' Bessaro rejoiced inwardly, trying not to show the slightest outward reflection of his joy.

'I'll be able to be magistrate of the City and father will be the new Sealord after tonight. Thanks to the Targaryens from the legends and unseen by them, we the Reyaan and the Dimittis will control Braavos and the Bank for the next four hundred years. '

It would be the Keyholders and their political and clientele networks who would tip the balance in the vote. For both Bessaro, and his colleagues in the Bank's management, had clear that the great landowners of the Free City would undoubtedly be attracted by the offer to change masters at the end of their leashes.

'Disgusting. They prefer to submit to the Dragons again, than to be led by their compatriots,' Bessaro ranted to himself, as he watched the brain after the ambush rise from the stone bench to emit his vote.

"[I, Master Noho Dimittis, as Keyholder of the Iron Bank's management and Second Archon, say no to the yoke of Valyria and the Dragonlords.]" Bessaro's colleague intoned loud and clear, linking equal parts disgust and revulsion at the mention of the origin of the bidders.

As Noho sat down, the one who now proceeded to rise up to cast his vote was Bessaro's father. Although father was well into the forty days of his name, closer to fifty than forty, he still maintained a vigor like the one Bessaro never had. Fully upright and exhibiting a better personal image than the current Sealord, Bessaro's father directed a look into the direction of the alleged Targaryen. His glean turquoise gaze fixed on the boy, while announcing his vote.

"[I, Lord Tycho Reyaan, Third Archon and Lord of the Moonsbridge, say no. Braavos has been, is, and will be, Free.]" Bessaro's father stated in such a way that it sounded like a promise. Never had Bessaro been more proud of his father than at that moment.

'It will be shown as the only landowner who wanted to save Braavos from the Valyrian yoke.'

Bessaro pondered the way in which these words and the actions that would take place next, would create a story about how his family rose to the top of the power in Braavos.

As soon as Bessaro's father sat down, the next voter, Oro Tendyris was already on his feet. Along with the Antaryon and the Nestoris, Tendyris was the largest landowner in Braavos. And to add salt to injury, Tendyris was also inside the Bank as Keyholder. Tendyris and his family had gained a lot of power in recent years and should be uprooted like weeds. 'I just hope he votes for the Targaryen proposal, so our assassins will go after him.'

"[I, Lord Master Oro Tendyris, as Keyholder, First Archon and Lord of Freneros say yes. Yes to a new future. Yes to a common project that restores greatness to our continent. If there is anyone who can do it, these are the last of Valyria with our help.]" announced Tendyris in a lofty and honeyed High Valyrian, with which he no doubt intended to ingratiate himself with those sure

Tendyris hoped would be his new masters.

'Disgusting.' Bessaro thought to himself when he saw the submission of his colleague, after which came his own turn to vote.

Standing as tall as his plump body allowed, with a totally neutral gesture and in a forced braavosi tongue, he announced his vote "[I, Master Bessaro Reyaan, as Keyholder of the Bank's management, say no.]"

Then Bessaro smiled in the direction of his father and Noho Dimittis, to then, sit down again.

'Three to one goes the vote. Everything as planned. Just as it was foreseeable that now this difference would become a single vote.'

Since the day before, Bessaro was convinced that Tycho Nestoris had been conquered by the Prince's plan and now was being, along with his uncle and possibly Izembaro, the great defenders of voting in favor of the Targaryen proposal.

"[I, Master Tycho Nestoris as Keyholder of the Bank's management and Archon, say yes. Yes to the future. Yes to the unity of two continents. Yes to a common project among all, in order to achieve greater common prosperity. With our help and guidance, I have no doubt that the domains of the Freehold will reach a splendor like never before, or after, will be seen.]" Nestoris uttered in lofty High Valyrian, though without any of the mellow present before in Tendyris.

"I, Master Gyllo of Purple Harbor as Keyholder, say no." Bessaro'scolleague pronounced dryly, before Tycho Nestoris had even sat down, and was practically back in his seat before finishing the vote.

"I, Master Tychoros as Keyholder, say no." said the man who had become the latest addition to the thirteen Keyholders. A petty thief who managed to steal enough to buy his place and who would never give up his little piece of power. 'And much less to some damn outsiders who seek to take control of half the world.'

"[I, Master Jakob Fugger, as Keyholder, say yes.]" said the next voter, who unlike Tychoros, was a self-made man. Fugger, thanks to a keen instinct for business and the opportunities presented to him, owned or had shares, in almost all the artisan sector of Braavos, Lorath and Qohor. Fugger was a real danger to what he and his family represented. And Bessaro had no doubt that Fugger would side with the Targaryen.

'It will certainly be Fugger's chance to become the one and only Banker that he craved so much.' Bessaro thought, unable to not cast a contemptuous glance at the upstart merchant and moneylender.

"[I, Lord Master Brusco Forel, Keyholder and Lord of the Marshes, say yes. On a personal note, I would like to offer the services of my house in everything that their Graces and Excellencies may need.]" intoned seductively and slavishly the second largest landowner in the Free City and the one who controlled the strip of land connecting the various islands of Braavos to the rest of the continent and the dragon roads. Before sitting down, Forel performed an exaggerated bow in the direction of the Targaryen, which he somehow matched with his seating on the stone bench.

The Forel were among the first families to establish themselves as magistrates and Keyholders in Braavos. As well, due to the enclave of their land possessions they were the most militarized family in Braavos. Brusco's nephew to be exact, present as Antaryon escort, there was a time when he was the first sword of the city and now he was still part of the group guarding the plump Sealord.

'For not mention that they are house Reeyan centennial enemies.' Since the beginning of the Free City of Braavos, Bessaro's house had always been in their shadow. If there was anyone Bessaro wanted to see go down even more than the dragonspawn, it was the Forel family.

"I, Master Allaquo, Keyholder and master of Ragman's Harbor I say no." brought out of his thoughts the voice of his colleague, previously bribed by Dimittis. When Bessaro made the mental count, he noted that few Keyholders remained to cast their vote and that, although not as wide as he wanted, the vote was going in the expected directions. 'With the victory of no over madness and tyranny.'

"I, Master Daaro, Keyholder and master of Antaryonos, say yes." said the Antaryon puppet inside the Bank.

Although no one spoke it openly, everyone suspected that Daaro was a bastard son of the Sealord, Ferrego Antaryon. And thanks to that Daaro had obtained the necessary coin to access the position.

'Daaro has never been shown to be suitable for commercial bets, but curiously, today faced with the biggest bet in our history, he's favorable to it. By the gods, they are not even able to maintain the charade of for who he really speaks for.' thought Bessaro, knowing that Antaryon, since taking the position of Sealord had his vote inhibited.

'At least in this way it confirms what we suspected; Antaryon is crazy about the music that the Targaryens play and believes that its benefit is to tie his future to them. It is good that beforehand we have ordered that Ferrego and his spawn be liquidated.'

"I, Master Jyssan of Malaqovos, say no" uttered another of his colleagues as Bessaro continued lost in thought, anxiously awaiting the moment to reveal the truth.

"I, Master Donano de Freneros, say no."

"I, Master Pylan, Keyholder and master of the Andal Coast, say no." announced the sworn enemy of the Nestoris, looking with rather undisguised revulsion in the direction of Tycho and Tycho's uncle.

Now came the turn of the magistrates, beginning with the voice of the people who was generally a merchant or intermediary without great wealth, but in contact with both the richest and the poor. This made it the perfect meter of what the common people wanted and that from time to time had to be attended to. On this occasion, the magistrate and voice of the people was an old Water Dancer converted into a courtier, theater producer and spice merchant.

'An absolute climber that would kill his children if it allows him to rise through the ranks. I have no doubt that he will be insane for allying himself with the Targaryens as a means of continuing to climb the ladder of power.'

"I, Izembaro the Great, Magistrate and voice of the common people of Braavos, say yes." the vote confirmed what Bessaro already suspected and thought, while observed the little man in extravagant clothing get up and sit down to cast his vote.

'Absolutely disgusting. Luckily he is included in the list of the soon to be dead allegedly at the hand of the Targaryens.' thought Bessaro with joy.

The greatest genius of the scheme with which they would seize the almost absolute power in Braavos and the Iron Bank, was that the fault of everything would end up being the responsibility of the also deceased Targaryens.

Bessaro already imagined what they would say after the meeting 'Enraged and beside themselves with the negative result of the vote, they tried to destroy us all. But thanks to the first sword, the brave Water Dancers and the Faceless Man of Braavos, we have managed to prevent a tyranny from being imposed.'

"I, Essorio, Magistrate, master of the fleet and lord of the Arsenal, say yes." the admiral of what was possibly the third or fourth largest fleet in the world took Bessaro out of his thoughts again, surprising him unpleasantly with the favorable vote.

'Killing Essorio may present a problem, but now we cannot change the orders given beforehand. We'll deal with that problem when it hits. Although it will surely involve bribing, replacing or eliminating those related to Essorio within the fleet and shipyards.'

"I, Lord Master Tormo Fregar, Magistrate and lord of Ironport, say yes." said someone who would clearly benefit incredibly if the Freehold aberration was re-created. Fregar's lands on the shores of the Lorath Sea and the Shivering Sea could become a port of merchandise with the entire north of the continent, especially with Norvos, Lorath and Qohor, if the Targaryens survived beyond that night.

"I, Lord Master Gyleno Prestayn, Lord of Prestaynos, say yes." voted favorably another of those who would undoubtedly benefit from a possible incorporation to the Freehold, since Prestayn's lands adjoined the roads that led to the main Valyrian road in the north of Essos.

Bessaro, like his father and the Dimittis thought that without a doubt, like the presence of the Iron Bank, the old Valyrian road was one of the factors that had made the last descendants of the Forty start their conquest of Essos from Braavos. In a way, the dragon's road would offer the Targaryens a route that crossed almost the entire essosi continent still populated.

The road of more than five thousand years old, begin in the foothills of the Andal Mountains east of Pentos, at the birth of little Rhoyne in the Velvet Hills. Then the dragon road continued parallel to the river until Ghoyan Drohe, where it separated into three branches; One branch continued towards Norvos. The second branch towards Qohor. And the third branch ran parallel to the eastern bank of the Rhoyne until it reached Ny Sar, where north of Dagger Lake and The Sorrows there was a ford. After that, the ancient road veered east through the abandoned lands of Ar Noy, then cross part of the Great Grass Sea until reach the desolate Anogaria, terminal of the Valyria road from the North.

"I, Lord Tagganaro Volentin, Lord of Malaqovos, say no." said the father of the first sword of Braavos, for the dismay and concern in the already serious grin of the Sealord.

'Antaryon sure thought that his precious First Sword would convince his father to participate in this madness. What a disappointment he will had when Qarro himself pierces Antaryon's chest with his sword.'

"I, Lord Cossomo Zalyne, Lord of Daerves Hills, say no." intoned the Lord of the Hills, who had been purchased by the Dimittis, dryly and scowling.

Precisely after Cossomo, Noho's brother had the vote. The lands of the Dimittis were swampy marshes from which resources could hardly be extracted to support the population that lived in them. Hence, all the wealth of house Dimittis was intimately linked to the Iron Bank. Almost unlike all the great landowners in the history of the city, the Dimittis had accessed land once settled in the Bank.

In its origins, the Dimittis family was the monopolizer of the bank's profession of scribe and

accountant, being, as it were, the entity's stewards. With the passage of time and the key role that house Dimittis played for their volantine connections during the century of blood, at the same time that a certain territorial expansion of the city as consequence of the involvement and revelation of the city in Essos after the Doom, allowed give the family of his friend and colleague Noho access to possession of large parcels of land.

Generally, the path to power in Braavos was the reverse. In the case of Bessaro and his family, one had land as a descendant of the founding families of the city. Thanks to these lands, the families had created businesses that allowed them to amass coin, which they later reinvested in the Iron Bank. Thus, in many cases, an eternal circle was created. As in the case of the Antaryon, Bessaro's family or the Nestoris, in which the more produced their land, the more they reinvested in the bank. With the profits invested in the bank, they improved their lands, strengthened their artisan industries and created greater commercial and clientelistic networks. In this way, some of these families had been exercising power in the shadows for almost four hundred years in Essos.

"[I, Lord Master Gyleno Dimittis of Moroggos, say no.]" said dryly, barely holding back a disgusted grimace in the direction of the Targaryen, Noho's brother. His vote was the twelfth vote against, so they already knew they had won. However, that did not stop the voting.

'Well, supposedly, after this voting, what has been voted on today could be challenged, in a vote within a week.' However, this time the tradition would be broken, because there wouldn't be who to challenge the contested vote, or speakers to make a challenge.

Still, tradition is tradition and the voting has to end. And it would not end until the final result was announced. That would be the moment when Noho would give the signal to put an end to this issue once and for all.

After the vote of the one who next to Noho and Bessaro himself was more against the Targaryen and who had definitely tipped the balance in favor of no against the proposal, ironically now it was the turn of the one who, without a doubt, was the person that more in their favor was and who more benefit would get from all the Targaryen plans if they had come to pass. The lord of the Andal coast of Braavos. Tycho's uncle. Beqqo Nestoris. The owner of the largest commercial fleet in Braavos and the second largest shipyards of the known world.

The location of the lands of the Nestoris was the closest point to Westeros, as well as being the greatest strip of land in the Braavos land and that also controlled all maritime traffic on the eastern bank of the Narrow Sea from Pentos to the Shivering Sea. This had meant at the beginning of the city's history, the Nestoris held inordinate power. To this it had to be added that in his domains were the best agricultural lands in the entire city.

'And that was something that, until the city was revealed to the world after the Doom, it made them enormously rich and powerful.' Bessaro cursed internally.

'If there has been one constant throughout the history of Braavos, it has been house Nestoris. Today we will put an end to that constant.' Bessaro thought, trying to contain the growing anxiety, as he watched as Tycho's uncle rose from his seat, bowing first in the direction of the Sealord, then another bow in the direction of his nephew Tycho and finally, another one in the direction of the occupants of the black stone atrium.

"[I, Lord Master Beqqo Nestoris, lord of the Andal Coast, say yes. I fully agree with the statements made by my nephew Tycho, Lord Master Tendyris and Master Fugger. We are facing a unique opportunity to expand our commercial networks in previously unimaginable ways. Imagine what we could achieve by putting all the available resources in some companies. Think of the prosperity that we could achieve not only ourselves, but the whole world in general. I know the vote is lost,

but that does not mean that you cannot vote again in a week. I believe that an agreement can be reached between both parties. A better agreement that satisfies both us Braavosis, as you, Their Graces and Their excellencies.]" finished Nestoris's uncle the passionate speech delivered in a mixture of High Valyrian and Valyrian bastard typical of the Braavos Tongue. Beqqo made a subtle bow in the direction of the atrium, in the same maneuver to sit down again.

Bessaro knew in advance that something like this could happen, but the eloquence and passion of Tycho's uncle did not enter into his calculations. The speech that Bessaro thought would only be directed at them, was also directed at the Targaryen. In a way, Beqqo Nestoris was even defending the negative victory of the vote because it is a very demanding proposal and does not have an option for negotiation.

'Good thing there is not going to be a second voting on this matter, because looking at the Targaryen, it certainly seems that they are even willing to compromise on some of their points after Beqqo's speech. And a week with the Targaryen opening their hands and the Nestoris, Antaryon, Tendyris and their networks running at full speed, would have ensured an overwhelming majority vote in favor of yes. '

"I, Commander Araldo of the Titan of Braavos, say yes. Braavos has little military capacity to maintain the urban watch as it is. And in any case if we had to go to an open war, we would depend on mercenary companies. I prefer that we be the tail of a dragon, to be the head of a mouse condemned in time to perish." said the last of the voters, surprising him like before Essorio.

'I never thought I would see the day when the two military commanders of the city would show themselves in favor of a foreign invasion.' Bessaro was internally disgusted and fuming by what he had just seen.

'Worst of all, I know neither of them has been bribed. They have voted in favor of the proposal without being coerced or bought by anyone. Do they prefer to die by Arakh, arrows or disease, than continue to control the forces under their command now?' Bessaro wondered, trying to find an explanation for the favorable vote of both men. 'Perhaps they covet glories and feats of arms, or are simply bloodthirsty fools.'

It could be a problem to kill Araldo as well, at the same time as Essorio. In addition to the fact that both men were also armed and therefore would defend themselves. But the scheme has no turn back.

At least the faces of Noho and his father reassured him, however he could not help but start to feel uneasy when Bessaro saw the numbers that would face against each other. 'From the Targaryen side, sure there are at least five of them that are not going to die without a fight. To this should be added Tendyris, Forel and his nephew Syrio, Essorio and finally Araldo. That is ten men in all.'

For their part, they had the four false scribes, three Faceless Men, the two Volentin and Volentin's men. In total fewer than two tens against ten.

'Suddenly the stakes have been placed two to one.' Bessaro thought to his horror, trying to shake off the increasingly negative feelings he was beginning to have regarding the ambush against the Targaryen and all those who voted for them.

"Due to his current position as Sealord, Lord Master Antaryon has no voting rights. Therefore, the voting is concluded." The scribe added to everything already said, removing Bessaro from his bad feelings about a possible debacle of the plans made in a hurry throughout the night before and that same morning. 'If we fail, I have no doubt that we will not see a new dawn.' Bessaro thought as a chill began to run up through his spine.

"The final count is eleven votes in favor of His Grace Aegon Targaryen proposal, and twelve votes are against. Therefore, as dictated by the laws of the Free City of Braavos, the decision taken by the Council of the City is to reject the proposal presented by His Grace Aegon Targaryen, rightful Lord of Valyria and Westeros."

Bessaro knew that now would come the moment he had been waiting with growing anxiety during the meeting and that deep down, although he didn't want to admit it, was beginning to fear.

When Noho give the signal, the Faceless Men, the Volentin with the hired men and the false scribes will launch themselves after the damned Targaryens and all of those who have voted in favor of their proposal.

Before Bessaro could even register it, Noho Dimittis got up from his seat and started laughing outrageously.

"Hahahahaha...[It is a pity, Your Graces and Your Excellencies, that you will not be able to return to challenge this voting. Today, we, the true braavosi, have freely demonstrated by voting it, that we will not submit to the slavery of the Dragonlords again. Unfortunately, some of my fellow citizens have shown their true colors and intentions, joining their luck with yours. Therefore I can only say one more thing; Valar Morghulis.]" Noho Dimittis exclaimed full of disgust in bastard Valyrian, spreading his arms when he finished saying it, while directing a fierce look in the direction of the supposed Aegon Targaryen.

Immediately, chaos broke out.

The sound of bolts being fired from crossbows in the direction of the stone bench where were the Magistrates and Keyholders who had voted yes, caused screams and moans to begin from some of his already ex-colleagues.

The swords began to sing as they were drawn, as shocked and strangled screams came from the dying Ferrego Antaryon, Sealord of Braavos who had just been pierced in the chest by the Myrish sword of Qarro Volentin, the First Sword of Braavos. The one who ironically was sworn to protect Antaryon first and foremost.

"Damn sons of bitches! We never talk about killing anyone, only about rejecting the terms and changing them for ones that are more beneficial to us. After having tempted and pressured them they could have given us the woorl... arhg." Antaryon cried regurgitating blood, before Qarro Volentin pierced his throat with his Myrish sword.

"If you hadn't resisted or voted for these bloody incest monsters, we would have been seven and seven. Equally odd numbers. We only try to look after the interests of Braavos and our entity. In addition, many of us found ourselves with the problem of having a lot of wealth and few free lands belonging to the sovereignty of the city in which to invest, so we could never become magistrates. Surely you understand our motives." Bessaro yelled over the general commotion, trying to let his colleagues know that it wasn't about anything personal, just business. As he said this, Bessaro made his way to the central column of the hemicycle where his father and the Dimittis brothers had looked for shelter.

Looking at his father, Bessaro saw that father's had a plasticized smile on the face, just like Noho. Gyleno Dimittis, the brother of his colleague, had a more concerned expression than Noho, although seemed satisfied with what they were seeing.

In the right corner of the hemicycle, in an attempt to flee to the possible security offered by the bank building, Tendyris, Syrio and Brusco Forel, Araldo and Essorio had made a protective semi-

circle. Behind them, the Nestoris, Gyleno, Izembaro who seemed wounded and Fugger, were defended from the Volentins and the hired assassins of the late Sealord's entourage. The rest of magistrates and Keyholders, were now dead or in the process of it.

Above the black stone atrium, almost at its front edge, the Dragon danced with his wonderful sword clutched between his two bare hands, whose knuckles were totally white. The Dragon's adversaries were two of the three Faceless Men, who, as Bessaro had previously intuited, were the supposed protectors of the supposedly deceased Rhaella and Rhaenys Targaryen.

Although it was true that was outnumbered, to Bessaro's disgust and some apprehension, the self- styled Dragon Reborn seemed to be defending himself against his two assailants with ease, almost as if the matter was not even with him. 'And the level demonstrated by the Faceless Men is exceptional. But no matter how good it is the Dragon, sooner or later he will get tired or he will be left alone.' Bessaro convinced himself, wondering which would come first. 'Exhaustion or being vastly outnumbered??'

At the foot of the rectangular black atrium, in its two front corners, Aucturum of Tyrosh and the silver prince were defending themselves against the four false scribes. Both pairs of water dancers seemed to be putting the prince and the now blond tyroshi in a bind at some moments. However, it seemed that also they were both measuring themselves when it came to counterattacking and hitting back the water dancers. Especially the so-called Aucturum, seemed like he was going against what his body and the expanse of it in form of wonderful Valyrian steel he had for a sword, wanted to do.

In the center of the atrium behind the fight between The Dragon and the two Faceless Men, forming a protective crescent, was the man with the blond hair and greatsword, the supposed Lyanna Targaryen-Stark and her supposed niece, forming a barrier in front of the supposed Rhaenys and Rhaella Targaryen. The unsettling Stark child seemed to have been shot down by a crossbow or, by the remaining Faceless Man who Bessaro did not even know who he was, because the eerie boy was in the arms of the woman they claimed was Rhaella Targaryen, totally pale, without the left eye under which sprang a tear of blood and his right eye was completely blank

'Another one who bites the dust.' Bessaro thought with some relief and concern at the same time, when he saw that with the exception of those recounted and the scribe who was hiding underneath the mahogany table, the rest of those who had started the voting council, were dead. Including some of those who had voted against the Targaryen proposal. Only those he had just enumerated remained alive.

'We'll be lucky if the four of us survive.' Began to think nervously Bessaro.

To his panic and total paralysis of his body and even his soul, three deafening roars were suddenly heard, shaking the very stone floor on which he was standing. 'The bloody dragons are here.'

A new roar, this one amplified a hundred times over the previous ones, seemed to shake his body. Some of the hired men and members of the Volentin entourage had stopped fighting to put their hands to their ears, something that Bessaro even seemed to be doing without realizing it himself. It seemed as if his ears were bleeding.

A voice cold as ice echoed throughout the hemicycle after the roar "[ENOUGH! WE GIVE UP! I DON'T THINK OF LETTING MORE THAN SEVENTH HUNDRED THOUSAND PEOPLE DIE FOR YOUR GREED! ENOUGH!]" the Dragon Reborn's voice rang out imperatively completely baffling Bessaro.

Silence invaded the hemicycle, while the tension soared with the cessation of the exchange of steel

blows.

Looking at Aegon Targaryen, the alleged Dragon had lowered his sword and had both Faceless Men's long swords pointed near the exposed neck. These last ones seemed to be waiting for a gesture from Noho, as they looked in his direction. Dimittis nodded to them and cleared his throat.

"[What will be your last words, Hells spawn?]" asked Noho Dimittis haughtily and with satisfaction.

"[I would like to know how far you've contacted to prevent the success of our plans. Because I'm convinced you've a hidden card up your sleeve. If all my family, the ones who I love the most, as well as I, are going to die, I would like to know at least how many people were involved in our deaths so that I could curse them from the depths of the Fourteen.]" said the Dragon coldly and impassively, facing his death and that of all his family with an astonishing fortitude and tranquility.

'Without a doubt he is absolutely mad and thinks that he will be able to come back to life as his supposed daddy.' Bessaro began to laugh openly, but was interrupted.

"[Bessaro, my friend. Why don't you do the honors and tell them our plans in case they would have managed to escape our trap?]" Noho Dimittis asked to him in a sugary voice.

Bessaro did not expect any of this, much less the attitude of Noho, but it is seen that seeing the triumph of his plans had moved Noho and showed more sympathy and warmth in his tone than the one Bessaro had ever seen his colleague and friend use.

Nodding his head, Bessaro began to detail the plan that had led to the circumstance in which they were all now, being at times insulted by his braavosi peers who had voted in favor of the proposal and were still breathing.

"Lastly, should you have managed to get out of Braavos alive, we've taken it upon ourselves to alert Volantis, Tyrosh, and Myr of the return of the dragons. Now we will have to send them the good news that at last they have all died." Bessaro finished explaining, totally haughty, all the time focusing his gaze on the supposed Conqueror returned to life.

He met his gaze, making every hair on Bessaro's body stand on end. If looks could kill, Aegon Targaryen had just killed him countless times. However, all Aegon Targaryen did was to nod in his direction and in Noho's direction, then smile.

'Why is he smiling? Is he not aware that he and his entire family are going to die in a few moments ...' Bessaro wondered internally, but was interrupted in his thoughts first by two sudden silver lightning bolts that had been thrown at the neck of Noho's brother and a third white one directed at his leg, causing him an excruciating pain, as it threw him face first to the ground.

The copper and iron taste of the blood in Bessaro's mouth from the blow when he fell and the pain caused by the prodigious teeth of a furry white creature, which he still could not identify, on his right leg, were turning his stomach.

When Bessaro succeed in turn the head to the left, he could only see the twiching feet of Dimittis' brother. From the noises coming from the spasmodic body lying next to him he could only intuit that what he now realized were fierce grayish and silver wolves coming out of nowhere, had ended Noho's brother life.

"Valar Dohaeris" Aegon Targaryen's cold, steely voice suddenly rang out.

This was accompanied by an image that Bessaro would not be able to invoke even in his worst

nightmares.

When Bessaro look at his father, he had to contain as best he could the urge to throw up. Before his eyes he was seeing how his father, or the one who Bessaro believed was his father, began to remove his own face. Revealing a young, handsome face, with fine and smiling features. His hair was long, straight and shiny, falling to his shoulders. White on the left side and red on the right.

Trying to deny the reality of what Bessaro had just seen that had him totally numb, causing him to almost forget the pain of the white wolf's powerful jaws closing on his calf, Bessaro turned his gaze towards Noho Dimittis. He did it just in time to see how Noho's face was replaced by that of the Kindly Man, leader of the Faceless Men, whom they were supposed to have hired.

At that moment, Bessaro, lying face down on the ground, couldn't take it anymore and throw up, causing him to almost choke on what was uncontrollably coming out of his mouth. At the same time Bessaro felt a warm liquid flood his crotch and his legs.

'I'm wallowing in my own fluids... How could it all go so wrong?' Bessaro thought with a clarity he hadn't had since the appearance of the dragons the day before. It seemed that the humiliation Bessaro was suffering was enough, for the wolf let go of his torn calf and bolted in the direction of the atrium.

Bessaro tried to get to his feet, but only managed to make a painful moan and start crying in pain, only to roll over onto his back. From where he lay on his vomit, blood, and urine, he could vaguely gaze at the cyclopean towers of the Iron Bank, illuminated by the reddish evening sun. Above the bank building, high in the sky, three huge figures soared through the air. One of them, the black shadow that was undoubtedly Balerion somehow come to life, began to dizzily descend towards where they were.

Launching a deafening roar that shook the floor on which Bessaro was sprawled, the monstrously humongous black dragon landed with unprecedented violence on the roof of the Bank building, instantly collapsing and destroying much of the entire left side of the huge building.

The effect of the collision of the dragon with the building was as if a giant hammer fallen from the sky had struck the island on which the cyclopean and centennial building was founded. So powerful was the collision that was able to lift Bessaro briefly from the stone-floor, to return to fall on his back and his own waste and fluids.

With his face covered in his own fluids, he could barely see except for blurred shapes, although Bessaro could continue to hear.

"[Ser Jaime, father, Jaqen, Kindly Man, you know what to do. Kill anyone who has attacked us or our braavosi allies. Lord Gerion, Dale, Allard, protect the family.]" the cold, iron and commanding voice of the one who by now was undoubtedly, the damm Dragon Reborn, was transported through the dense, warm and sticky air impregnated with the smell of death that had settled in the braavosi hemicycle.

Bringing his right forearm to the eyes to try to clear his vision, Bessaro tried to rejoin his position, leaning on the left arm. As he did so, he was able to observe to his right that the two Faceless Men who had posed as his father and Dimittis were heading coldly and calmly in the direction of the Volentins and their retinue of mercenaries, whom were now more concerned about the nature of the situation than to attack the magistrates and Keyholder still alive.

Looking to his left, Bessaro could see that the supposed Aucturum was depriving of head to one of the water dancers, as already directed his next lunge toward the throat of the other. The silver

prince, with less speed, but with equally astonishing ease, in a single maneuver, pierced one of the dancers from shoulder to hip, while with the elbow of his free arm he caused a terrifying blow to the face of the second, leaving at his mercy lying on the ground. To Bessaro's surprise, Lyanna Targaryen-Stark appeared like a lightning bolt besides the prince, thrusting her Myrish sword into the heart of the fallen water dancer.

If with everything that was happening around him, Bessaro had reason to know that his life was about to end, when he looked straight ahead Bessaro swallowed hard down his throat, trying to face the end with some composure.

When he did so, Bessaro almost throw up again, since all he swallowed was a mixture of vomit, blood and pee that made him nauseous. As Bessaro managed to control his retching and look straight ahead again, he wished at that moment he hadn't.

Advancing in Bessaro's direction, less than ten paces away was Aegon Targaryen with a glare of eyes and an attitude that produced absolute panic in all of Bessaro's fibers.

On the right side of the Dragon was the fierce and terrifying white wolf with red eyes that had dismembered half of Bessaro's right calf, having all the muzzle of its pristine white fur impregnated with Bessaro's blood. Barely two paces behind Aegon Targaryen's right shoulder, the Stark boy whom he had presumed dead was stroking the back of a gray wolf, smaller than the white, but with a bloodstained muzzle. Beside him, the Stark girl was emulating the gesture her alleged brother was making with the other silver wolf that was just as impregnated by the blood of Noho's dead brother.

Three steps behind Aegon Targaryen's left shoulder stood Rhaenys Targaryen with her grandmother and three escorts, watching with some contempt in Bessaro's direction, but not showing an iota of disgust or discomfort at everything that was happening. A dry cough returned his gaze straight ahead.

Less than two steps away from Bessaro, the towering figure of the Dragon loomed above him. Looking at Bessaro with those unfathomable eyes that at that moment seemed to emit purple and silver sparks, Blackfyre girded in the right hand, where on the middle finger was a wonderful gold and ruby ring with the sigil of house Targaryen. The young man's face seemed to be sculpted in white marble, transmitting a hardness and coldness that was almost palpable at the time.

"[Bessaro Reyaan, for conspiring and attempting against my life and that of my family, I, Aegon Targaryen, the Dragon Reborn, Lord of Valyria and of the Nine Provinces of the Freehold of Valyria, find you guilty and condemn you to die. Do you have any last words?]" Aegon asked him sharply in a cold and hard tone.

"[We just wanted a free Braavos....]" Bessaro tried to exonerate himself, but was interrupted.

"[And that is why you should kill me and my entire family, as well as many of your colleagues and fellow citizens? Don't bother answering me. You have the whole other life to think about the answer.]"

With no option to reply and without having noticed, Aucturum had kicked Bessaro in the back, and had brought him to his knees before the Dragon.

Bessaro felt a vibration in the air above his head. As he glanced to where it came from, he could see Blackfyre's incredible blade cutting and vibrating through the air towards his ..