Volantis lay east of the Disputed Lands, west of Valyria— the Free City closest to the ruins of the Valyrian Freehold. It sat at the mouth of the Rhoyne, the foremost among the Nine Free Cities, standing alongside Braavos as one of the most powerful, known as the Eldest Daughter of Valyria, Mistress of the Summer Sea, and Queen of the Rhoyne.
After the Doom shattered the empire of the Freehold, Volantis declared its independence.
In the aftermath of the cataclysm, the people of Volantis grew conceited, believing themselves the rightful heirs of Valyria's legacy and the world's legitimate rulers. Yet they could not agree on how best to rule. The "Old Blood" favored military might, while the merchants and moneylenders championed trade.
Their struggle for control of the city birthed two factions: the Tigers and the Elephants.
Currently, Volantis had three Triarchs. Malajo of the Tigers, and Naesiso and Dofas of the Elephants. For centuries, the Elephants usually held two seats among the Triarchs, while the Tigers were granted only one.
During the Bleeding Years, Volantis pursued expansion, but the debate over how to conquer the world dragged on for generations. The Tigers leaned toward force, the Elephants toward commerce.
Military and trade formed the foundation of any state. Thus, the two factions kept each other in check, coexisting from independence to the present day.
When Drogo's fleet arrived at the docks of Volantis, the first light of dawn painted the sky pale, and the stars began to fade. It was a vibrant morning—they had escaped the sea.
Two Volantene spearmen guarded the gates to the docks. The flickering torchlight gleamed off the steel talons protruding from their gauntlets.
The spearman on the left wore a tiger-faced helm, with green stripes tattooed across his cheeks.
The one on the right had an elephant-shaped helmet, with white tattoos across his face.
These two, representing the Tigers and Elephants, kept the muttering vagrants at bay and shielded the three opulent carriages in the middle of the road, pulled by white dwarf elephants.
The carriages were empty; their finely dressed owners stood nearby, faces grim and hands wringing nervously as they watched the troops descend the gangplank like a tide.
They had every reason to be nervous—for only the gods themselves could hope to destroy the force Drogo now led.
Three full armies, giants, and above them the three dragons wheeling in the sky above the Khal. Who would not tremble?
One glance was all it took for Drogo to know these three were Volantis's ruling Triarchs.
Argo beamed with pride. "The people of Volantis welcome us with open arms."
Drogo agreed. The display was befitting his majesty.
Before they reached the foremost spearmen, the three Triarchs suddenly raised their arms high, then waved them down. In response, the guards atop the walls lowered several corpses with blood still dripping from their bodies.
The dead had died horrifically. They wore tokar robes and had their hair twisted into grotesque devil's horns—clear signs that they were Sons of the Harpy.
Drogo surmised they were likely slavers who'd escaped from the Free Cities of Meereen, Yunkai, or Astapor—regions with close ties to Volantis.
They're offering a gesture of goodwill, he thought, hoping to preserve Volantis's legacy and grandeur.
The Horse Lord left no village standing in his wake. If they wished to avoid destruction, they had to offer an acceptable gift.
But Drogo inwardly scoffed at their "first offering." These clever schemers clearly sought to turn foes into friends.
As the Khal's horse stepped onto the silk-covered road, the Triarchs grinned obsequiously and hurried to greet him.
Though he loathed any faction that had dealings with the Sons of the Harpy, Drogo stayed his hand—for now. One does not strike a man offering a smile.
Malajo, the eldest, took the lead, blocking the Elephant leaders who, mindful of their dignity, had hesitated to grovel. Malajo bowed and greeted the Khal who held the reins:
"Khal Drogo, welcome. I am Malajo, a Triarch of Volantis. Your arrival graces our city. A grand feast awaits you, to cleanse you of the dust of travel."
Then, with a smirk, he added, "Surely, the Ghiscaris we hanged along the walls will whet your appetite."
Drogo stared at him coldly, asking, "A feast for me alone? And let my warriors drink the wind?"
Naesiso and Dofas leapt on the opening. "Stingy Malajo lacks all courtesy," they said in unison. "But we Elephants have prepared a feast not just for the mighty Khal Drogo but for all his brave warriors. There will be dancers and music in the square before the Temple of R'hllor to ease the fatigue of the road."
Malajo scowled and breathed heavily, saying nothing more.
Drogo took note. Indeed, Malajo is a poor host. My favor lies with the other two.
"Lead the way. To this temple of the so-called Lord of Light."
Naesiso and Dofas beamed, gesturing invitingly as they moved to mount the elephant carriages.
Just then, Malajo stepped closer and whispered in Drogo's ear, "Khal, beware the Red God R'hllor's high priest."
Drogo tugged hard on the reins to calm his fire-red stallion, which had grown restless near the white elephants. "Why?" he asked.
In a hushed tone, Malajo replied, "Because the High Priest of the Red Temple is a devotee of the true dragonblood."
"She is my wife," said Drogo, letting go of the reins.
With a crack of his whip, the stallion leapt forward—only to halt abruptly near the elephants.
Drogo turned and barked, "Roman, clear the way!"
The giant surged forward, and under the stunned gazes of the Triarchs, he smashed the white elephants to death and reduced the ornate carriages to splinters with his hammer.
Drogo glanced at the Elephant leaders. "Why the gawking? Lead the way."
Naesiso nearly lost his temper. "Khal, you—"
But the more pragmatic Dofas grabbed his companion and strode ahead, forcing a smile and gesturing back at Drogo.
The Khal smirked and followed on horseback. If those two dared let my army enter their city, they must have their own plans.
"What threat lies hidden in Malajo's warning?" he mused. "And what role does he play in it?"
There was doubt—but no fear—in Drogo's heart. Who could match the force he commanded?
As he vanished through the gate, Malajo looked toward a black-robed figure hidden among the Golden Company ranks and gave a slight nod.
Jon Connington answered with a small nod of his own.
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