"All men must die."
Hizdahr zo Loraq spoke, his voice shaky but resolved. Hizdahr became the head of his family after Rhaegar took the city. The Masters of Meereen, upon hearing of Rhaegars approach crucified a child slave every mile marker for sixty three miles leading to Meereen. Once Rhaegar was in control of the city he returned the favor by crucifying sixty three of the most influential and powerful slave masters in the city, most of them heads of great families. Hizdahrs fathers was one such master, if Rhaegar remebered correctly his fathers body had hung on its cross for nearly a week before Hizdahr sought audience to request his body be taken down and interred in his familial crypt. Hizdahr zo Lraq has since become a member of Rhaegar small council depsite how much he despised the man and his slavers ways. Rhaegar heeded wise council and permitted Hizdahr a seat to help him govern the city thusly granting him support from the rich.
Rhaegar leveled a steely gaze at the man across the table from him as the small council meeting neared its end.
"All men must die,"
He said again.
"But not all can die in glory."
"Glory?"
Rhagear scoffed, hardly restraining his disgust.
"Why else do men fight? Why did your ancestors cross the Narrow Sea and conquer the Seven Kingdoms?... So their names would live on. Those who find victory in the fighting pits will never become kings but their names will live on. It's the best chance they'll ever have."
Hizdahr spoke, almost pleadingly, to make his case. Rhaegar was hardly moved, his gaze unwaivering.
"Is that what you used to tell men before you set them to butchering each other for sport?..."
Rhaegar asked coldly. Hizdahr blinked, the question set him back but he pushed his case reguardless.
"Your Grace, today is the traditonal start of the fighting season."
"I do not recognize this tradition."
The Father of Dragons snapped scornfully.
"Traditions are the only thing that will hold this city, your city together. Without them former slaves and former masters have nothing in common. Nothing but centuries of mistrust and resentment. I can't promise that this is the answer to all our problems but it's a start."
Hizdahr spoke truths. The city was split in two. Half of the city hated Rhaegar for ripping them from power and taking from them the slaves that had brought them so much wealth. The other half called him Kepa and praised him for their salvation. Bringing Hizdahr on the small council was a tiny way of winning back some of his doubters but it didn't help that when Hizdahr spoke Rhaegar struggled not imagining punching him in the jaw. The council sat in silence awaiting Rhaegars response. Varys did not speak, nor did Daario Naharis the leader of his mercenaries. Grey Worm the commander of his Unsullied was silent as well but he rarely spoke so that was no suprise. Lord Commander Selmy leveled a stare at Hizdahr that could break bones while Tyrion was astonishingly lack of words. Rhaegar tensed his jaw, his mood was sour to say the least due to the discussion of the fighting pits for the third time this month.
"That is where you are wrong Hizdahr zo Loraq. It's not a start, it is the end. The end of Meereens chances of coming back from centuries of cruelty and mistreatment. I am the breaker of chains. I will not free slaves only to send them to their deaths fighting one another for yours or anyone elses amusement. I understand that this... tradition is an old part of your world but I will make this plain to you here and now. You, and others like you, can either live in my new world or you can die in your old one."
The silence in the small council chamber was deafening but The Dragon had made his decision and he would not be moved. Ser Barristan seemed pleased, as did Grey Worm and Varys. Tyrion was the only one who was difficult to get a read on. Hizdahr looked as if he was going to soil himself. He swallowed hard before lowering his head in defeat.
"If there is nothing else this meeting is over."
Rhaegar said before getting to his feet. His council all rose and left the room, leaving him in what he thought was an empty chamber.
"Do me a favor Your Grace and remind me never to get on your bad side."
Rhaegar Targaryen turned to see Tyrion Lannister still in his seat at the small council table. A cup of wine in his hand he seemed thoroughly amused by the events of the meeting. Rhaegar poured himself a cup of wine and joined the youngest son of Tywin Lannister at the table.
"That man damages my calm."
Rhaegar said in almost a growl before taking a thirsty drink from his cup. Tyrion chuckled with a nod of his head.
"Does he? I couldn't imagine why. Has Varys told you about the missing Stark?"
Rhaegar nodded tiredly.
"He wants me to invade The North."
"And what do you want to do?"
"Not invade The North."
Rhaegar replied flatly. Again Tyrion chuckled as he sipped from his cup.
"Invade, don't invade... either way a choice will need to be made sooner or later. Rhaegar Targaryen is too important to sit out of this for much longer."
Rhaegar looked up from him cup, a cautious curiosity playing across his strong features.
"Why do you say that?"
Tyrion smiled, that dark smile of his that told Rhaegar he knew how things were going to play out ten steps ahead of everyone else and was enjoying watching the events unfold.
"Pentos is marshalling an army, as is Volantis, as is Dorne, as is Naarth, as is The Reach and thirty or fourty other major and minor countries, terriorties and free cities looking to improve their power base. The North is one of the oldest kingdoms in the world, near as old as Valyria itself. Whoever ends up commanding the Throne of Winterfell will find themselves well situated to wield that power like a lion playing with house cats."
Rhaegar rose from the table and stared out the window, past the city he now ruled, past Slavers Bay and The Narrow Sea to a land of cold and snow where wolves howled and winter loomed.