Chapter 739

Aegor did not invent finance. But years ago, when he first arrived in King’s Landing, he had coined a new term—combining the words for gold and flow—while convincing Tyrion to issue Night’s Watch Bonds.

No one could have predicted that this offhand invention, meant to entice investors, would one day become part of the Common Tongue.

And even more unlikely—

It had now become the name of a major street in King’s Landing.
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Running through the eastern half of the city, linking the city center to the Iron Gate, and cutting straight through what was once Flea Bottom, Finance Street—or, as the locals preferred, Goldflow Street—was more crowded than ever.

Newsboys shouted at the top of their lungs, vendors haggled, and eager investors shoved their way through the throngs gathered around the trade boards.

The cause of the excitement?

Braavos—long a distant, mysterious power to most Westerosi—had fallen.

After enduring weeks of naval blockade and relentless bombardment by the Targaryen fleet, the city had finally broken. The victorious War Committee, having seized power amid the chaos, had wasted no time in declaring surrender.

They had capitulated completely—accepting all of Queen Daenerys’s terms.

Braavos, the great Free City, was no longer independent.

It had been absorbed into the Targaryen Empire, becoming the dynasty’s second overseas holding in Essos.
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Ten thousand years ago, the First Men crossed into Westeros through the broken land bridge at Dorne, taking the plains, forests, and rivers from the Children of the Forest.

Thousands of years later, the Andals sailed westward across the Narrow Sea, landing at the Fingers, breaking the peace between the First Men and the Children, and seizing the lands south of the Neck.

Three hundred years ago, the Targaryens left their Valyrian stronghold at Dragonstone, setting foot on the lands where King’s Landing now stood. They conquered the Seven Kingdoms, subjugating both First Men and Andal alike.

And now—

For the first time in history, a Westerosi power had launched a counter-invasion of Essos—and won.
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But the crowd gathered on Goldflow Street today was not here for history.

No—they were here for profits.

The fall of Braavos had set off violent fluctuations in the markets—war materials, commodities, and state-backed financial instruments were all in flux.

Everyone wanted their share of the frenzy.

And today, no one would leave empty-handed.

A public ladder was set against one of the trading boards—one that rarely saw updates. A young worker climbed up, tools in hand, and began a long series of revisions.

And then—

It happened.

Three months ago, when it was first issued, Targaryen War Bonds had been mocked as nothing more than the Queen’s worthless scraps of paper.

But today—

The market price had finally surpassed face value.

For the first time ever.
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King’s Landing – The Temporary Red Keep

Aegor arrived at the same time as the news—his dragon allowing him to overtake even the fleet returning from war.

So while the streets of King’s Landing exploded in celebration, one place remained quiet.

High atop Visenya’s Hill, within a private courtyard of the former Great Sept of Baelor, Daenerys Targaryen’s temporary residence awaited the completion of the Red Keep’s reconstruction.

Here, away from the noise of the city, Aegor Waters—Hand of the Queen—sat before Daenerys herself, delivering his personal report on the fall of Braavos.
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“From all the intelligence we gathered,” Aegor began, “our consensus was unanimous—Braavos would fight to the bitter end rather than surrender outright.

“To minimize losses, we decided on an artillery-first strategy.

“On day one, the fleet focused all firepower on the Titan of Braavos, reducing it to rubble and eliminating the city’s primary watchtower and defensive bastion.

“Once we confirmed that the reefs were undefended, we advanced the fleet closer, extending our range into the city itself.”

Daenerys nodded, signaling him to continue.

Aegor’s voice remained calm, precise, and analytical—but he could still feel the heat of her gaze, the subtle sway of her silk gown as she reclined, the way the sunlight played upon her skin.

He forced himself to focus.
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“We deployed hot air balloons—anchored to our ships by ropes—to serve as artillery observation posts.

“We also dispatched shapeshifters to control birds, sending them deep into the city to observe enemy troop and fleet movements.

“After wiping out the Arsenal, we moved in to systematically clear the enemy’s blockade at the reef entrance—while maintaining constant bombardment on Braavos’s northwestern districts.”
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Day Three: The Titan’s remains were cleared from the harbor.

Day Four: The fleet entered the inner lagoon.

“But we had no intention of launching a landing operation or engaging in narrow waterway combat.

“Instead, we circled the outer lagoon, systematically bombarding the city’s defenses and infrastructure.”
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“Sweetwater Canal.”

Aegor’s voice sharpened.

“Your Grace, as you know, the so-called saltwater lagoon upon which Braavos is built is not fresh water. The city’s founders constructed the Sweetwater Canal to bring drinkable water from the mainland—transporting it across marshlands and shallows into the heart of the city.”

He smiled coldly.

“We collapsed one of its key bridges.

“That cut off the city’s primary freshwater supply.”

Daenerys’s eyes glinted with understanding.

“The Moon Pool?” she asked.

Aegor nodded.

“Yes. There were reserves—but not enough for a population of hundreds of thousands.”
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“After that,” Aegor continued, “Braavos’s perfect geography, once a blessing, became a curse.

“The fleet bombarded the city daily, targeting every last military structure, while our allies within the city stoked internal dissent.”

The defenders attempted counterattacks.

None succeeded.

Their ambushes failed. Their raids were predicted. Their tactics—obsolete.

“We even established a forward artillery post on the ruins of the Arsenal—turning their former shipyards into our own stronghold.”

Each morning, the fleet would advance, unleashing devastation upon the city.

Each evening, they would withdraw, covered by the cannons of the Arsenal fortress.

Day after day.

Like clockwork.

Like a factory shift.
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“After ten days,” Aegor concluded, “the enemy’s water reserves ran dry, their morale collapsed, and their hope of victory vanished.

“They could not hold out.

“And with a little push from our allies within the city…”

He smiled.

“…Braavos fell from the inside.”