1. The Economic Ledger Beneath the Red Walls
The morning light in Meereen always carried a hint of warmth; the red city walls glowed with an amber luster under the rising sun, distinctly different from the salty sea breeze of Pentos or the biting chill of the Dothraki Grasslands.
Lord Illyrio stood on the terrace of the council hall, his fingers clutching the economic report Tyrion had sent.
The edges of the parchment were slightly curled by the sea wind, but the dense numbers on it concerned him more than any battle report—the revival of Slaver's Bay would never be achieved by dragonflame alone.
"Lord Illyrio, here is the spice trade ledger you requested." A handmaiden's voice came from behind him.
She held a copper tray on which three scrolls of parchment were stacked, the top one sealed with the hawk emblem of the Free Cities of Tyrosh.
Illyrio turned and took them, his fingertips touching the cool copper tray, recalling the chaos three months prior when the "Manor Redemption System" was first implemented—former slave owners refused to surrender land, freed slaves lacked farm tools, and Tyrosh merchants seized the opportunity to inflate spice prices, almost dragging Meereen's economy into a dead end.
"Where is Tyrion?" Illyrio unrolled the Tyrosh ledger, his gaze sweeping over the words "Spice acquisition price: thirty gold dragons per barrel," his brow furrowing slightly—this price was two gold dragons lower than last month, clearly a sign that the merchants, sensing Meereen's ample grain reserves, intended to depress profits.
"Lord Tyrion is at the granary, verifying the quantity of newly arrived wheat," the handmaiden replied, her voice tinged with timidity—she had once been a personal handmaiden to the Masters of Meereen; though now free, she still couldn't hide her nervousness when facing them, the "outsiders."
Illyrio raised a hand to dismiss her, his gaze returning to the ledger, his fingertips pausing on the name "Tyrosh."
These Free Cities were always opportunists; if Daenerys could not quickly demonstrate her deterrent power over Westeros, Slaver's Bay's trade advantage would sooner or later be replaced.
As he walked through the corridor of the council hall, he heard a clamor from the plaza below.
Illyrio leaned on the stone railing and looked down, seeing a group of slaves dressed in coarse cloth gathered before the bulletin board, cheering as they pointed at the notice.
Posted on the bulletin board was a "Skill School Enrollment Order" personally written by Tyrion, stating in simple Common Tongue: "All those aged twelve or older who wish to learn blacksmithing, weaving, or shipbuilding skills will receive free room and board, and upon completion, will be assigned work by the city-state."
Among the crowd, a middle-aged slave with a severed right arm was caressing the word "shipbuilding" on the notice with his left hand, the light in his eyes reminding Illyrio of the first time he saw the Unsullied in Astapor—then, their eyes held only numbness, but now, the people of Meereen finally had the look of "hope."
Illyrio recalled the "post-war economic reconstruction" theories he had read in history books before his transmigration; it seemed that no matter the era, providing people with marketable skills was far more important than mere "freedom."
"What are you looking at?" Tyrion's voice came from behind him.
He held a half-eaten apple, his clothes dusted with chaff, clearly having just returned from the granary.
"Are the Tyrosh merchants trying to lower prices again?"
"They lowered it by two gold dragons," Illyrio handed him the ledger.
"They claim House Lannister promised them lower tariffs and want to pressure us into concessions."
Tyrion bit into his apple, chuckling indistinctly: "Cersei's promises are less useful than the apple in my hand—she can't even persuade the bakers in King's Landing, and she thinks she can win over Tyrosh?
But we still need to be cautious; the Golden Company has been active in the Free Cities recently, and it's said their leader, Griffon, is very close to the Slaver's Bay Alliance."
"Griffon?" Illyrio's heart sank—according to intelligence previously obtained from Pentos spies, this Griffon's true identity might be a former retainer of Rhaegar Targaryen, holding lists of old Targaryen loyalists.
If he truly sided with the Slaver's Bay Alliance, it would be a significant blow to Daenerys's "legitimacy."
"Have the intelligence network keep a close eye on him, especially his connections with the remnants of the Masters of Meereen."
Tyrion nodded, tossing the eaten apple core into a nearby flowerpot: "Don't worry, I've already had Faceless Men apprentices monitor the Tyrosh port.
Oh, Daenerys wants you to go to the dragon pit; Viserys's injury seems to be recurring."
Illyrio's heart tightened, and he quickly walked towards the dragon pit.
Meereen's dragon pit was built upon the old Great Masters' underground treasury, with glowing fluorite embedded in the walls to provide "warmth" to the young dragons even at night.
Just as he reached the entrance, he heard Viserys's low whine.
He was curled up on a stone platform covered with straw, his right wing still bandaged with the linen and herbs Illyrio had applied earlier, and now faint streaks of blood were seeping through the bandage.
Daenerys was crouching beside him, her fingertips gently stroking his scales; the black dragon scales shimmered faintly in the fluorite light.
"Illyrio, you're here." She looked up, her purple eyes filled with worry, "Viserys refused to eat today, and his wound seems to be inflamed again."
Illyrio knelt down and carefully unwrapped the bandage—the edges of the wound were indeed red and swollen, with a little pus.
Illyrio recalled the "wound infection treatment" he had learned before his transmigration, and pulled out a small pottery jar from his in my arms, containing a disinfectant paste made from boiled strong wine and herbs: "The previous herbs might not have been potent enough; use this now, change the dressing twice a day, and don't let him rub his wing against the wall."
Viserys seemed to understand his words, gently rubbing his head against Illyrio's hand, the warm touch reminding Illyrio of the first time he saw the dragon eggs in the Red Waste—back then, no one expected these three stones to hatch a power that would change the world.
Daenerys watched them interact and said softly: "Illyrio, Tyrion says the Golden Company might attack the port, and our fleet isn't ready.
What should we do?"
"First, reinforce the port defenses," Illyrio re-bandaged Viserys, "Have the Unsullied build arrow towers on both sides of the port, place more wildfire pots, and ignite the wildfire with rockets once the Golden Company's ships approach.
Additionally, send Daario and the Second Sons to patrol the Tyrosh border to tie up the Slaver's Bay Alliance forces and buy us time to build the fleet."
Daenerys nodded, reaching out to stroke Viserys's head: "I always feel that Meereen is just our transit point; Westeros is the ultimate battlefield.
Sam's letter says Jon has already begun attacking Winterfell, Cersei is still threatening nobles with wildfire in King's Landing, and the Night King's army is also approaching the Wall… We can't wait any longer."
"Wait one more month," Illyrio stood up, his gaze falling on the dragon egg fragments deep within the dragon pit—they were left from the previous hatching, now revered as Meereen's "holy relics" by the slaves.
"In a month, the first batch of warships will be launched.
Then we'll go to Dragonstone first; it's the birthplace of the Targaryen, has the dragonglass mines we need, and will allow us to form a pincer movement with Jon from north and south."
Daenerys looked at him, her eyes full of trust: "Alright, I trust you."
2. Westeros's Winds of Change in the Intelligence Network
That afternoon, Illyrio met the intelligence officer who had rushed from Pentos in the secret chamber of the council hall—he wore the common white robe of Slaver's Bay, but his face bore Northern features, with a knife scar below his left eye, left three years ago in Qarth while protecting Daenerys.
"Lord Illyrio, here is the intelligence you requested." He pulled a folded parchment from his in my arms, densely covered with coded writing.
"Jon Snow has left the Wall with the Night's Watch and Northern volunteers, arriving at a safe house outside Winterfell about five days ago and reuniting with Sansa.
It's said that House Manderly's army has also joined them, bringing their total forces to about five thousand."
"Five thousand?" Illyrio unrolled the parchment, his finger tracing the words "House Bolton's forces: eight thousand," a hint of worry in his heart—Jon's forces were at a disadvantage, and House Bolton had a cavalry advantage; a direct confrontation would likely not end well.
"Has Jon formulated a siege plan?"
"Not yet," the intelligence officer lowered his voice.
"House Bolton has tied Old Hobb to the walls of Winterfell, threatening to kill him if Jon attacks.
Sansa wanted to send people to secretly rescue Old Hobb, but Jon stopped her, saying he didn't want more people to die."
Lord Illyrio recalled Sansa's forbearance in Winterfell and Old Hobb's sacrifice to deliver the message. His fingers unconsciously tightened around the parchment: "Have our contacts in the North cooperate with Sansa to find an opportunity to rescue Old Hobb.
Additionally, send a letter to Jon Snow, informing him of a 'feint' tactic—pretend to attack the east gate to draw out Bolton's forces, then send elites to infiltrate through a small window in the northwest corner, attacking from both inside and out."
The intelligence officer nodded and handed over another small note: "There's one more thing.
Cersei has sent an envoy to meet Griffon of the Golden Company, promising them lands in the Riverlands if they can prevent Daenerys from returning to Westeros.
Also, news from The Citadel says Sam has discovered a 'Dragonglass Vein Map' which indicates large quantities of Dragonglass on Dragonstone and in Winterfell.
The Night King's army is most vulnerable to this."
"A Dragonglass Vein Map?" Lord Illyrio's heart leaped—this was crucial for countering the Night King.
"Have Sam send a copy of the map to Dragonstone.
We will need a large amount of Dragonglass to make weapons then.
Additionally, keep a close watch on Cersei's envoy; once they reach an agreement with Griffon, immediately inform Daario and have him act preemptively."
After the intelligence officer left, Lord Illyrio organized the information, preparing to discuss it with Tyrion.
As he stepped out of the secret chamber, he saw Daario standing at the entrance of the great hall.
He was wearing black leather armor, with two Arakh scimitars at his waist, and his face showed the fatigue of travel—he had clearly just returned from the Tyrosh border.
"Lord Illyrio, you need to see the port." He hurried over, his tone urgent, "The Tyrosh merchants have moored their ships outside the port and refuse to unload, saying they will only dock once we agree to their price."
Lord Illyrio followed Daario to the port, and from a distance, he saw more than a dozen Tyrosh merchant ships anchored on the sea, like a group of sharks poised to strike.
The Unsullied at the port stood on the shore with spears, confronting the merchants on the cargo ships, the atmosphere tense.
"Why won't you unload?" Lord Illyrio walked to the shore and shouted at the merchants on the cargo ships—the leading merchant was Tyrosh's "Spice King," named Valan, with whom they had dealt several times before; he was a mercenary fellow.
Valan stood at the bow of the ship, wearing a luxurious silk robe, holding a gilded telescope: "Lord Illyrio, it's not that we refuse to unload; it's that your price is too low!
House Lannister said that if we sell them spices, they'll give us thirty-five gold dragons per barrel and no tariffs.
And you? Only thirty gold dragons, plus a five percent tax—anyone can do that math!"
"What Cersei can give you, we can give you more." Lord Illyrio replied loudly, his gaze sweeping over the spice barrels on the cargo ships, "But you need to think carefully.
Cersei can't even supply King's Landing with grain; how will she honor her promises?
As for us, Meereen has enough wheat and salt to exchange for your spices, and we can guarantee the safety of your caravans in Slaver's Bay.
Furthermore, Daenerys has promised that once we reclaim Westeros, Tyrosh merchants' tariffs in King's Landing will be reduced to three percent, ten times better than Cersei's terms."
Valan's expression changed, clearly hesitating.
Daario walked up to Lord Illyrio, drew an Arakh scimitar, and swung it towards the sea: "Valan, don't be ungrateful!
Our dragons are nearby; if you still refuse to unload, Drogon's dragonflame won't distinguish between spices and ship planks!"
Valan looked at the blade in Daario's hand, then at Drogon circling in the distance—the black dragon's shadow cast a huge silhouette on the sea, full of deterrent power.
He finally relented, waving to his crew and shouting: "To the shore! Unload!"
The cargo ships slowly docked, and the Unsullied began to move the spice barrels.
Daario patted Lord Illyrio's shoulder and said with a smile: "You always have a way; no need for force, and they still obey."
"It's not that I have a way; it's Daenerys's dragons that have a way." Lord Illyrio looked at the slaves moving the spices; their faces were smiling because for every barrel of spice moved, they received a silver coin as payment—something unimaginable in Meereen before.
"However, we also need to resolve the Golden Company issue as soon as possible, otherwise these merchants will waver again."
Daario's smile faded, and he said seriously: "I've already sent people to investigate the Golden Company's movements.
They've recently gathered twenty warships at the Tyrosh port, seemingly intending to launch a surprise attack on our port.
I suggest we take the initiative and burn their warships before they are ready."
"No." Lord Illyrio shook his head, "Our fleet isn't fully formed yet; an offensive is too risky.
Instead, let's use a 'lure the enemy deep' tactic: have Daario lead the Second Sons to feign an attack on the Tyrosh slaver estates to attract the Golden Company's attention, then have Rhaegar and Viserys launch an aerial assault on their port, burning their warships."
Daario's eyes lit up: "That's a good idea!
Dragons are faster than ships; they definitely won't react in time.
I'll set out with the Second Sons tonight and try to lure them in within three days."
Watching Daario's retreating figure, the stone in Lord Illyrio's heart eased slightly.
Meereen was like a ship sailing in a storm; they needed to carefully control every direction to avoid the reefs of the Golden Company and sail towards the shores of Westeros.
3. The Cross-Sea Strategy in the Dragonpit
That night, Lord Illyrio, Daenerys, and Tyrion held an emergency meeting in the Dragonpit to discuss the specific plans for crossing the sea.
The dim light of the phosphorescent lamps in the Dragonpit illuminated their three shadows, cast on the walls, like three warriors fighting side by side.
"According to intelligence, Jon Snow will launch a full assault on Winterfell in about ten days." Lord Illyrio unfolded a map of Westeros and drew a circle with charcoal at the location of Winterfell.
"We need to send an envoy to contact him before he attacks the city to confirm the details of the alliance—such as attacking Cersei from both north and south, sharing Dragonglass veins, and the autonomy of the North after the war, etc."
Tyrion sat beside him, holding a wine glass filled with Meereenese wine: "I suggest sending Sam as the envoy.
He knows Jon Snow, understands history, and can clearly explain our position.
Moreover, he has the Dragonglass Vein Map, which can convince Jon Snow of our sincerity."
"Sam is still at The Citadel; how will he get to Winterfell?" Daenerys asked, stroking Drogon's scales.
The black dragon lay at her feet like a docile giant beast.
"Have our messenger take Sam to Winterfell." Lord Illyrio replied, "It will take about seven days from The Citadel to Winterfell, just in time for Jon Snow's siege plan.
Additionally, have Sam take a letter to Jon Snow, telling him that we will await his news on Dragonstone; once he reclaims Winterfell, we will depart from Dragonstone to attack King's Landing."
Daenerys nodded, her gaze falling on Dragonstone on the map: "Dragonstone has Dragonglass mines and an old Targaryen castle; it is indeed a good place.
But our fleet isn't ready yet; the first batch of warships won't be launched for another month.
Will it be too late?"
"No." Tyrion put down his wine glass and pointed to Dorne on the map: "I have already sent an envoy to Dorne.
Ellaria Sand hates the Lannisters to the bone and will surely agree to an alliance with us.
Dorne's army can tie up Cersei's forces first, buying us time.
Additionally, Loras Tyrell of House Tyrell is still imprisoned in King's Landing; we can send people to rescue him.
Once Loras is freed, House Tyrell's army will also join us."
Lord Illyrio added: "Also, we need to resolve Meereen's internal issues before crossing the sea.
The remaining forces of the Sons of the Harpy are still active in the shadows.
Yesterday, they ambushed the granary; although repelled by the Unsullied, it reminds us not to be complacent.
I suggest that Grey Worm lead the Unsullied to thoroughly clear out Meereen's old Great Masters' estates, capture all hidden Sons of the Harpy, and ensure Meereen doesn't fall into chaos after we leave."
Daenerys agreed: "Good, let Grey Worm handle it.
Additionally, Lord Illyrio, the 'dragon and army coordinated combat' training you mentioned before must continue.
We need to get the dragons accustomed to working with soldiers so that when we reach Westeros, we can better counter Cersei's army and the Night King's wights."
"I will." Lord Illyrio nodded.