Under the blazing sunshine, a contingent of tall, imposing soldiers marched in perfect formation through the streets of Myr. They bore aloft banners emblazoned with a black tiger on an orange field—the emblem of Volantis. These were no ordinary troops, but the elite Tiger Cloaks.
Clad in their distinctive tiger-skin robes and ornate, pointed-collared helmets adorned with plumes and metalwork, they shimmered under the sun with a presence as fierce as their namesake.
At the center of the procession, an elaborately decorated elephant carried a gilded sedan on its back. Seated within was Malachor Megea, the Tiger Party Consul of Volantis. Despite his age—his sparse gray hair and deeply lined face bearing the marks of time—his piercing eyes and proud bearing betrayed no weakness. He remained a man of authority and iron will.
Drawing aside the velvet curtain of his sedan, Malachor gazed upon the unfamiliar city with quiet disdain.
Malachor (muttering to himself):"If not for the threat posed by this so-called Dragon King and the tiresome flattery of Theron of Tyrosh, I would never have set foot in this cursed city."
Soon, the procession reached the plaza before the Governor's Palace, where a gathering of opulently dressed Myrish governors and flamboyantly haired Tyroshi dignitaries awaited.
One of the Myrish stepped forward with a practiced bow.
Myr Governor:"Welcome to Myr, esteemed Consul Malachor. The council chamber is prepared. Lord Theron and the others await you inside."
Malachor nodded once. Behind him, slaves unfurled a crimson carpet from the elephant to the palace steps. The beast knelt, and more slaves formed a living stairway for the Consul's descent.
With calm authority, Malachor stepped from his sedan and proceeded into the palace.
Inside the grand council hall, a triangular table of exquisite craftsmanship dominated the space, adorned with gemstones and gold filigree—an ironic remnant of the old Tri-City Alliance once formed against Volantis.
As Malachor entered, the entire hall rose in greeting.
On one side stood the Myrish governors, their rotund frames draped in fine silks and eyes gleaming with calculation. On the other side were the Tyroshi, led by the hawk-faced Lord Theron, a man whose sharp eyes and colorful garments concealed a ruthless mind.
Theron offered a diplomatic smile and extended his arms.
Lord Theron:"Welcome, Consul Malachor. We are honored by your presence and grateful you've joined us at such a crucial time."
Malachor snorted, unamused, as he swept to his seat.
Malachor:"Hmph. Don't insult my intelligence. You did not invite me here out of respect—you did so out of desperation."
His bluntness sent murmurs rippling through the room. Several governors exchanged offended glances.
Theron raised a hand, silencing the whispers, though irritation briefly flickered in his eyes.
Theron:"Let's not deny the gravity of the situation. Gavin Belerion—this so-called Dragon King—has taken Lys in a matter of days. His ambitions won't stop there. We must act, before his fire spreads across the Narrow Sea."
Malachor's expression remained unreadable, but his voice was cold and sharp.
Malachor:"Volantis fears no dragon. We have tens of thousands of Tiger Cloaks. And we've slain dragons before—during the Bloody Century, we killed not one, but three."
A Myrish governor stood quickly, puffed with pride.
Myr Governor:"Volantis is not alone in that! Myr once felled Jacaerys Targaryen and his dragon. Tyrosh struck down another during the same age. You're not the only dragon-slayers at this table."
Malachor leaned back with a sardonic smile.
Malachor:"Then why summon me? If you're so adept at dragon-slaying, why beg for Volantis's aid? Why should we risk war to fix your mistakes?"
Theron intervened before tensions rose further.
Theron:"Because Gavin Belerion is not just a conqueror—he is a symbol. He commands not only dragons, but fleets, and the loyalty of Lys. If we do not stop him now, all Free Cities may fall one by one—Volantis included."
He paused for effect.
Theron (cont'd):"As a sign of goodwill, should you assist us, we will cede half of Lys's disputed territories to Volantis once Gavin is overthrown. We'll also offer substantial gold and provisions to fuel your war machine."
Malachor laughed softly, though there was no humor in it.
Malachor:"Half a dead kingdom? That barely feeds a tiger. Gavin controls a dragon and the sea. His fleet is stronger than both your city-states combined."
The chamber erupted into argument. Myrish governors shouted in protest, their jowls quivering. Tyroshi leaders muttered darkly, their colorful locks bouncing with frustration.
Theron raised his voice.
Theron:"Enough! Silence!"
Gradually, the room stilled.
Theron (calm but firm):"Then name your terms, Consul. What does Volantis want?"
Malachor's eyes gleamed with cold cunning.
Malachor:"Total control of Lys. Its ports, its fleets, and its taxes—all will fall under the banner of Volantis."
Gasps followed. But Malachor wasn't finished.
Malachor (leaning in):"And the girl—the Targaryen princess. She carries ancient blood, a treasure beyond coin. If she's captured, she will be delivered to Volantis. Alive."
An uneasy silence fell over the chamber.
Theron (voice measured):"A bold demand. But dangerous. Should we fail to destroy the dragon king, there will be nothing left for any of us."
Malachor stood, the folds of his robe falling around him like the cloak of a judgmental god.
Malachor (with finality):"Then let us make sure the dragon dies... before it learns to fly higher."