After receiving Viserys' summons, Tyrosh's upper echelons gathered at the Archon's palace.
Among them were the Windblown's sergeants, the bureaucrats and officers Viserys had promoted from the ranks of former slaves, and Tyrosh's old nobility. They were already aware of Jhaqo's visit to Tyrosh some time ago, and though they had their own speculations, Connington had remained tight-lipped, revealing nothing. Viserys had now called them together to discuss the looming threat of war with the Dothraki.
"Those damn Dothraki!" Darsent exclaimed angrily. Originally from Tyrosh, he had been appointed as the "Deputy Commander of the Guard," a position far superior to his previous life as a sellsword. The job offered safety and a good salary, and the thought of the Dothraki disturbing his peaceful existence infuriated him. But then he noticed Caggo's cold stare.
"I-I-I-I didn't mean it that way," Darsent stammered, quickly backtracking.
Caggo said nothing and walked straight into the council chamber. Although he was a Dothraki by birth, he had long abandoned the life of a barbarian. If Tyrosh were threatened, his own interests would be at risk. To Caggo, Viserys was the most powerful Khal imaginable. Like many of the Windblown's sergeants and officers, he had married into a Tyroshi family. They were no longer mere mercenaries; Tyrosh's affairs had become their own.
As the group made their way to the throne room, they discussed the situation in hushed tones. The throne room itself had been completely transformed, a project overseen by Connington. It was now adorned with dragon motifs and modeled as closely as possible after the Throne Hall of the Red Keep in King's Landing. While the Iron Throne was unattainable, the original Archon's throne had been elevated by three feet, and its back was raised by one meter, with a three-headed dragon pattern carved into it. The walls were draped with alternating black-and-red Targaryen banners and blue-and-white-striped Windblown banners, the latter featuring a new three-headed dragon emblem that everyone agreed was quite imposing.
In addition to the dragon imagery, Connington had incorporated elements of the Faith of the Seven, as well as statues of other gods, such as the Red God and the Moonsingers, at Viserys' suggestion. The Windblown prided themselves on tolerance and assimilation, values that had led to their growth. Now numbering 11,000, they were the largest mercenary group in the Disputed Lands and even the entire Free Cities.
Though officially a mercenary company, the Windblown had effectively become a permanent fixture in Tyrosh. With 4,000 soldiers, they had far surpassed their previous size, and their sergeants and officers had naturally risen to become Tyrosh's new elite.
In the council chamber, nearly 50 people—comprising Tyrosh's old nobility, led by Kambron, the Windblown's new elite, and the talented individuals Viserys had promoted from the ranks of slaves—gathered to discuss the Dothraki threat. As they waited for Viserys to arrive, whispers filled the room. In any war, there are always those who advocate for peace and those who favor conflict. Darsent was clearly in the former camp, a staunch advocate of peace.
"We're on an island anyway. The Dothraki can take what they want. Sending an army would only cost us more." His words were quickly met with opposition.
"But what about the taxes?" Dick retorted sharply. "Do you really think a small island can support Tyrosh's 300,000 people?" As a nobleman of Westeros, Dick understood that while a lord might live in a castle, he couldn't ignore the needs of the peasants under his care. If he did, they would flee, leaving his castle worthless. To him, the so-called Free Cities were just larger castles that required more help to maintain. Though he kept his thoughts on the Free Cities to himself, he ran a hand through his red-and-blue hair, stood, and addressed those around him.
"Everyone knows how vast the Grass Sea is. The Dothraki... well, they're all horsemen. We can't catch up with them! And as for Drogo, you all know he commands 50,000 warriors—all cavalry. There's no way we can win this battle."
"Hmph! I'm not afraid of 500,000, let alone 50,000. No wonder the Prince never takes you anywhere. Pah! Coward!" Regis, fresh from the battlefield and full of energy, glared at Darsent and shouted.
"Who are you calling a coward?" Darsent shot back, though he knew deep down he was one. Still, he couldn't afford to show it here.
"You!" shouted Gerrold, a dark-skinned man, as he stood up.
Among the Windblown officers, there was now a chain of contempt. At the top were those who had fought alongside Viserys against the pirates and during the slave uprising—a testament to their bravery and loyalty. Next were those who had joined him at the Battle of the Dragon's Flame Fortress, the last group to be added to the Windblown.
The room erupted into noise as the arguments escalated, but some remained calm. The Unsullied officers, like Conwyra, were focused only on following Viserys' orders. Others, like Virgil, who had died in battle, hadn't thought about anything beyond the battlefield. For them, Viserys' promise to reduce their military service by one year for every three heads taken was all that mattered. They were only interested in killing, indifferent to who the enemy was.
Then there were men like Kambron, who had no real influence. When the time came to fight, they would simply collect their pay and be done with it. Viserys had kept him alive only to prevent the nobles of the other Free Cities from overreacting.
In the Great Hall, it became clear that the war party held the majority.
Just as the group began discussing strategies, the guards outside announced, "The Regent Prince is here!"
Everyone stood up as Viserys entered, accompanied by Dany, Jon Connington and the others.
All eyes were drawn to the black robe he wore, reflecting the admiration they held for him. This young man, who had proven his strength in one-on-one combat just over a year ago, had now grown into a commanding figure. Though the mercenaries lacked the literacy to express their admiration with eloquent phrases like "dragon among men" or "divine presence," their respect was unmistakable. Especially for Kambron, Viserys had arrived at the palace a year ago as Hoyt's escort and now he is the master of the house.
Viserys ascended the high throne and addressed the assembly with a calm authority, "Please sit." His tone was measured, and though he dispensed with the formalities, his sheer presence ensured that no one dared to challenge him. The hall fell into a hushed silence as they awaited his words.
Regis, who had once expressed a desire to learn combat from Viserys, had since become a fervent advocate for war. Sensing his eagerness, Viserys gave a slight nod, signaling him to speak.
"Prince, are we going to war with the Dothraki?" Regis asked, his voice charged with anticipation.