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The two sides muttered among themselves, then turned to Jiang Gan with their answer. Lorath couldn't stand on its own. They were willing to bend the knee and accept Targaryen rule as vassal principalities.
No one spoke up to object.
Jiang Gan wiped his hands and cleared his throat. "Good. After all the fighting with no clear winner, a single unified Lorath isn't what the people need."
He let the silence stretch. "So we're splitting the archipelago into three. The main island becomes the Duchy of Lorath. The Fisher Prince rules it as duke."
The Fisher Prince jumped to his feet, grinning like he'd won the lottery. He bowed deep. "Thank you, Great Conqueror! Long live King Viserys the Third!"
The other two princes went pale but kept their mouths shut. The hall was full of white cloaks and blue-robed enforcers. One wrong word and they'd be joining the dead.
Jiang Gan kept talking. "The second-largest island, Lorathon, becomes its own duchy run by a council of the old magisters. The third island becomes the Duchy of Morosi under the Harvest Prince."
He laid out the borders quick and clean. Everyone got a slice. Everyone except the Prince of the Streets. He squirmed in his chair, clearly unhappy.
Jiang Gan caught it. "I know you're itching to speak. Hold it."
"His Grace set aside land for you near the Velvet Hills. New duchy. I even picked the name—Little Rhoyne. You'll be its duke."
The Street Prince's face twisted. Running his own show on the islands where the King was far away was one thing. Sitting right under Viserys's nose in the hills? That was something else entirely.
He stammered, "My lord… could you ask His Grace to split off one more small piece on the islands instead? It doesn't have to be big."
Jiang Gan leaned in. "The King made his decision. You take what he gives. Or do you want him rewriting royal law just because you're nervous?"
"Sounds to me like you don't trust him to treat you fair. Maybe you'd rather not stay close to the throne."
The Street Prince wanted the islands. But the others weren't about to let him screw up their deal. The Fisher Prince shot up again, glaring. "Look at you, getting worked up over nothing."
Jiang Gan rapped the table, annoyed. "Sit down."
The Fisher Prince forced a smile and dropped back into his seat.
The Street Prince opened his mouth, met Jiang Gan's eyes, and shut it. He sank into his chair like a man who knew he'd already lost.
It was settled. Viserys had spoken. They got their little kingdoms to play lord in. Push back and the army would land. Lorath's navy was a joke next to Targaryen power. Their army was worse—mostly conscripted peasants who could barely hold a spear. They had no cards left to play.
"Since we're agreed, the fighting stops today. Then you all sail with me to Braavos and meet the King in person."
"We hear and obey!" both sides answered, smiling wide.
Jiang Gan didn't care if the smiles were real. Show him real discontent and they'd taste dragonfire.
With Lorath carved into three pieces and folded into the Targaryen empire, the first city to panic was Myr.
Norvos sat safe in the hills, wrapped in mountains and wooden walls. Those bearded monks figured nobody could ever crack their fortress.
Myr wasn't so lucky. A coastal city that had spent years bleeding over the Disputed Lands with Lys. Pentos used to be rich but soft. No real threat. Now Pentos had a hungry new master who kept swallowing neighbors whole. Myr's leaders started sweating blood.
They quietly dropped some claims in the Disputed Lands, hoping to cool things with Lys. They tried to make Tyrosh and Lys see the bigger problem—a dragon that never stopped eating.
Myr wanted the old Three Daughters alliance back. Stand together the way they once did against Valyria.
Tycho, one of the Iron Bank survivors who'd slipped the net, arrived in Myr with a fortune pulled from the insurance vault. He played middleman, pulling the three cities into talks about forming an alliance to crush the Targaryen "bandits."
He even hired the famous Golden Company from Essos on a six-month contract. Spent a fortune buying two thousand Unsullied on top of that.
Tycho used the hires to show the three cities exactly how serious he was about stopping Viserys.
He stood in front of Myr's magisters and the envoys from Tyrosh and Lys and let it rip.
"Give Pentos back to the exiled governors! Put Braavos back under a real Sealord! Reunite the Lorath islands! Put everything back the way it was!"
"I went to Slaver's Bay, to Astapor. The Good Masters there don't want some aggressive kingdom breathing down their necks either. They're with us."
"For the Beggar King Viserys? We've got one answer—punishment. More punishment.
He needs to learn the Free Cities have rules.
We don't roll out the welcome mat for conquerors. We'll hit him so hard he'll understand—his days of sitting on the throne fucking his sister while wearing the crown are finished!"
Tycho worked the room like a born rabble-rouser.
"Yes! Yes!"
The nobles and envoys roared their approval.
"We fight the dragon in Myr! We crush his claws in Pentos! We cut his wings in Andalos! We end him in Braavos!
When that dragon roars at us, we look it in the eye and say no.
We will never submit!"
Cheers exploded through the hall. Fists slammed tables. Feet stomped the floor. They were all in.