Mortarion’s new realm existed upon maps before it existed in the minds of those living within it.
Daetosh formed its centre, protected by seven thousand Unsullied camped inside and beyond the town’s walls.
Four days to the south-west, one thousand soldiers under Green Slug occupied Freerider Gate and controlled the road running towards the coast.
Another four days beyond that, Corsair’s Bay waited for the arrival of the fleet and the two thousand Unsullied guarding its ships.
Three positions now belonged to the same authority.
That did not yet make them a united territory.
Each settlement possessed different laws, taxes and measures of weight.
Daetosh collected duties from northern caravans, while Freerider Gate earned much of its income from tolls charged to travellers using the old coastal road.
Corsair’s Bay possessed no functioning administration at all, only burned ruins, abandoned foundations and a harbour that had not served legitimate trade in more than a decade.
The people of Daetosh had begun accepting Mortarion’s soldiers, although acceptance remained far from loyalty.
Merchants no longer closed their shops whenever an Unsullied patrol passed, and farmers had returned to fields close to the river despite Anaxion’s presence.
Local guards followed orders from Unsullied officers without open resistance.
They still watched the western roads whenever dust rose in the distance.
Generations of changing allegiance had taught them not to trust any ruler until he survived his first invasion.
Mortarion understood their caution.
He had no interest in demanding devotion from people who had seen dozens of banners rise and fall above the same walls.
Loyalty required proof, and proof required time.
For the moment, obedience would suffice.
Mortarion spent the week after Freerider Gate’s occupation inside Daetosh’s magistrates’ hall.
Maps, tax records and lists of property covered the broad table that had once been used to record payments to Tyrosh.
Belarro Vezhar remained in his position as chief magistrate.
His knowledge of the town was useful, and he possessed the particular talent of understanding how much change a population could accept before fear turned into resistance.
Blue Bat attended every meeting concerning military matters.
The commander spoke through an interpreter when local officials were present, though Mortarion had begun requiring several magistrates to learn basic High Valyrian.
A realm could not depend permanently upon translators.
Belarro opened the first meeting by placing three bundles of records upon the table.
“These contain the most recent accounts from Daetosh, Master Mortarion.
The first covers market taxes and property duties.
The second contains grain purchases made under Tyroshi authority.
The final bundle records debts owed by the town.”
Mortarion looked at the last collection.
“To whom are these debts owed?”
“Several merchants from Myr, two Tyroshi houses and a Lyseni banking family.
Some debts are nearly twenty years old.”
“Why have they not been paid?”
“Because every new occupier declares the debts of the previous government invalid, while every merchant insists that Daetosh itself remains responsible.”
Mortarion opened one of the records and examined the numbers.
“Which argument has the town used?”
“Whichever argument allows us to delay payment.”
Belarro’s honesty was refreshing.
Mortarion returned the parchment to the table.
“No debts will be recognised until each claimant provides the original agreement.
If the money was borrowed for the benefit of Daetosh, we will negotiate repayment.
If it was borrowed by a foreign garrison to fund its own soldiers, the creditor may seek payment from that city.”
Belarro looked relieved.
“That will remove many Tyroshi demands.”
“It will also anger Tyroshi merchants.
Ensure the records are exact enough that they cannot accuse us of inventing excuses.”
“They will accuse us regardless.”
“Then they will do so without evidence.”
Mortarion moved to the tax records.
The figures were inconsistent.
Some merchants paid duties at the gate, again within the market and a third time when their goods left the town.
Wealthy families negotiated exemptions whenever a new army arrived, while poorer craftsmen carried the burden.
The system generated less revenue than it should have because half the payments disappeared before reaching the treasury.
Mortarion had seen the same corruption throughout the Aurellian Empire.
He did not expect Daetosh to be different.
“No new taxes will be imposed until a census is completed,” he said.
“The existing market duties will remain, but they will be collected once rather than at every stage of trade.”
Belarro frowned.
“The gate officials will lose income.”
“They receive wages from the town.”
“Their official wages are small.
Most consider private payments part of their position.”
“Then their wages will increase, and taking private payments will become theft.”
Belarro glanced towards the other magistrates.
Several appeared uncomfortable.
Mortarion noticed.
“Anyone who believes his office cannot survive without corruption may surrender it today.
I would rather replace half the magistrates now than discover later that they have been stealing from me.”
No one volunteered.
Mortarion ordered new ledgers created for Daetosh, Freerider Gate and Corsair’s Bay.
Every payment would be recorded twice, once by the civil official collecting it and once by an appointed inspector.
The system would not prevent all theft.
Nothing did.
It would make theft more difficult and easier to punish.
He also refused to seize the town’s existing treasury for the army.
Mortarion’s own gold remained sufficient for immediate military expenses, while Daetosh’s revenue was required to repair walls, wells and roads.
The people needed to see that taxes collected from them returned in visible form.
Blue Bat supported the decision, though he raised one concern after the magistrates finished presenting their accounts.
“The army will eventually require food from these lands.
Our provisions remain substantial, but transporting everything between Daetosh, Freerider Gate and Corsair’s Bay will consume animals and labour.”
“We will purchase grain under contracts rather than take it through forced collection,” Mortarion replied.
“The magistrates will determine how much food can be sold without creating shortages.”
Belarro responded carefully.
“A poor harvest could still leave the towns unable to support ten thousand soldiers.”
“Then the fleet will purchase supplies from elsewhere.
My army does not gain strength by starving the population beneath its protection.”
The magistrate studied Mortarion for several moments.
“You intend to remain longer than the rulers who came before you.”
“I would not waste time creating records if I planned to abandon the town next month.”
That answer spread through Daetosh before the meeting ended.
Servants listened from doorways, clerks repeated what they heard, and merchants discovered that Mortarion intended to spend local taxes on walls and roads rather than immediately empty the treasury.
The information did not create loyalty.
It created the first cautious expectation that his banner might remain longer than the last.
Messengers travelled between the three settlements each morning.
Green Slug reported that Freerider Gate remained peaceful.
Its magistrates had provided records, though many were incomplete or deliberately confusing.
The town’s western wall required repairs, and the gates would not withstand a determined assault without reinforcement.
Mortarion authorised the purchase of stone, timber and iron from nearby villages.
He instructed Green Slug to hire local labourers at set wages rather than compel them to work.
Freerider Gate’s existing tolls would fund part of the repairs, while the remainder came from Mortarion’s treasury.
A second message arrived from Corsair’s Bay.
The fleet had entered the harbour after the navigators marked a safe channel between the submerged wrecks.
Fifty-nine galleys now filled the sheltered water.
Horon’s first inspection concluded that two of the burned docks could be restored within several weeks, while complete reconstruction of the harbour would require months.
The ruins contained enough stone for warehouses, but usable timber had to be brought from inland.
Mortarion ordered the two thousand Unsullied to establish a fortified camp around the bay.
One thousand would guard the ships and shoreline.
Five hundred would begin clearing the ruins and roads, while the remainder patrolled the surrounding countryside.
Corsair’s Bay would become more than an anchorage.
It would become the realm’s route towards the wider world.
A road linking all three settlements received equal priority.
Sections between Daetosh and Freerider Gate remained usable, although several bridges were damaged and roadside wells had collapsed.
Mortarion ordered milestones established at regular distances and small fortified posts built at important crossings.
Each post would hold between twenty and fifty soldiers, depending upon its location.
The garrisons were small enough not to weaken the principal settlements while still protecting merchants and messengers.
Blue Bat questioned whether local guards could eventually replace the Unsullied at those posts.
“They should,” Mortarion answered.
“The Unsullied are too valuable to spend their lives guarding toll roads.
We will train local watchmen beneath our officers and gradually transfer responsibility.”
“Can they be trusted?”
“Not immediately.
Trust will be earned in stages.”
Mortarion had no intention of allowing the army to become the only institution holding the realm together.
Ten thousand Unsullied could defeat invaders, but they could not permanently patrol every road, judge every dispute and protect every farm.
Civil authority had to exist beneath military protection.
That required rules shared by all three territories.
Mortarion established several simple laws.
Soldiers could not seize civilian property without written military necessity and compensation.
Merchants travelling between Daetosh, Freerider Gate and Corsair’s Bay would pay one recognised toll rather than separate demands at each settlement.
Murder, rape and deliberate arson were punished by death.
Theft required repayment and labour, unless committed by a soldier or official abusing authority, in which case the punishment became more severe.
Local customs governing marriage, inheritance and minor disputes remained unchanged.
Mortarion had no reason to interfere with every aspect of life.
He wanted stability, not endless resentment.
Belarro accepted most of the laws without objection.
His concern appeared when Mortarion ordered every proclamation copied under the same seal.
“The sphinx is recognised by your soldiers and our officials,” the magistrate said.
“However, the neighbouring cities will ask whose authority it represents.”
“It represents mine.”
“That may be sufficient within Daetosh, although foreign rulers will expect more than a personal name.
Tyrosh, Myr and Lys are governed by ancient families and institutions.
Even sellsword companies possess titles and histories.”
Mortarion looked towards the black stone seal resting beside the parchments.
He had delayed choosing a family name because the decision could not be made carelessly.
Once adopted, the name would appear upon contracts, banners and diplomatic messages.
It would shape how Westerosi nobles eventually received him.
Mortarion could continue using only his given name.
That would make him appear like a sellsword captain or freed slave who had gained unusual power.
Neither image suited his greater purpose.
He required a lineage.
The claim had to explain his Valyrian appearance, his dragon, the armour he wore and the ancient seal in his possession.
It also had to be credible enough that sceptics could not dismiss it without confronting the evidence before them.
Mortarion ended the council early and returned to the fortified residence prepared for him beside the magistrates’ hall.
Aurion Belaerys’s armour rested upon a wooden frame inside the largest chamber.
The black Valyrian steel reflected the light of several lamps, its rippling surface almost appearing alive.
The crimson lines across the metal had faded while the armour remained empty, though traces of colour still marked its joints and engravings.
Dreaded Deliverance rested beside it.
The Valyrian steel sword remained dark and severe, its blade capable of proving wealth and ancestry more effectively than a chest of written records.
Aurion’s crown, seal and remaining possessions lay upon a nearby table.
Mortarion examined them in silence.
He could simply claim the name Belaerys.
The house had been one of the forty dragonlord families of the Valyrian Freehold, and Aurion had been among the few dragonlords known to survive the first hours of the Doom.
Claiming direct descent would explain the relics.
It would also create unnecessary difficulty.
The name belonged to Aurion himself.
Any historian with knowledge of Valyria might know that no recognised descendants survived.
Claiming to be Aurion’s direct heir would encourage questions about marriages, children and records Mortarion could not provide.
A distant branch was more believable.
Valyrian families had been vast, with cousins, cadet households and lesser relations spread across colonies and estates.
The Doom had destroyed records alongside people.
A branch living beyond the centre of the Freehold could easily vanish from history without dying.
Mortarion required a cousin whose existence could not be disproved.
He summoned Belarro, two senior scribes and a local scholar named Qavo Merrax.
Qavo had spent much of his life copying Valyrian fragments for Myrish collectors and understood enough of old family traditions to identify obvious mistakes.
The men entered after sunset.
Belarro looked towards Aurion’s armour with visible unease.
Qavo reacted differently.
The scholar approached the empty suit slowly, his eyes fixed upon the rippling steel.
“I have seen Valyrian steel blades,” he said.
“I have never seen enough of the metal to cover a man.”
“This armour belonged to Aurion Belaerys,” Mortarion replied.
Qavo stopped.
Belarro looked between them.
“The dragonlord who declared himself emperor after the Doom?”
“The same.”
The scholar examined the engravings without touching them.
“If this is genuine, it would be worth more than many cities.”
“It is genuine, and it is not for sale.”
Qavo turned towards Mortarion.
“You recovered it from Valyria?”
“I found Aurion’s final resting place and took what remained.”
“That alone would allow many to claim inheritance.”
“I intend to claim more than possession.” Mortarion placed the black seal upon the table.
“I will assume the family name Baraeris.
It will be recognised as a distant branch of House Belaerys, descended from a cousin of Aurion who departed central Valyria before the Doom.”
Belarro repeated the name quietly.
“Baraeris resembles Belaerys without being identical.”
“That is the purpose.
The branch preserved part of the old name while becoming distinct from the principal house.”
Qavo considered the proposal.
“You require an ancestor.”
“I require one whose life is possible, not one decorated with so many achievements that historians would have recorded him.”
The scholar nodded slowly.
“A lesser cousin could have existed without appearing in surviving histories.
Many records of the dragonlord families were lost.
What position would this man have held?”
“An estate overseer or military officer sent east before the Doom.
Someone important enough to possess Belaerys blood but distant enough that Aurion remained the recognised head of the family.”
Qavo sat beside the table.
“A first cousin to Aurion would invite questions, but a cousin through Aurion’s mother or grandfather would be safer.
The connection remains believable while becoming difficult to trace.”
Mortarion accepted the reasoning.
They spent several hours constructing the lineage.
The invented ancestor became Maerion Belaerys, the grandson of Aurion’s great-uncle.
Maerion had served as an overseer of distant family interests beyond the eastern colonies of Valyria.
Several years before the Doom, he moved his household farther east after a dispute concerning inheritance.
When Valyria fell, Maerion and his descendants abandoned the principal family name to avoid rivals and opportunists searching for surviving dragonlord wealth.
They adopted Baraeris, preserving enough of the original name to remember their blood without openly declaring themselves heirs.
Over six generations, the branch travelled between distant estates and hidden communities, protecting fragments of its history while losing most written records to war, fire and exile.
Mortarion became the final known male descendant.
The story was difficult to prove.
It was equally difficult to disprove.
Belarro leaned back after the final lineage was read aloud.
“Some will call it convenient.”
“Every surviving claim from Valyria is convenient,” Mortarion answered.
“The Doom destroyed the witnesses who might confirm or deny it.”
Qavo looked again towards the armour and sword.
“You possess stronger proof than parchment.
A man may forge a family tree, but he cannot easily forge Valyrian blood, a dragon, a full suit of Valyrian steel and an ancestral sword.” Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
“Anaxion does not descend from House Belaerys,” Mortarion said.
“He is a wild dragon claimed in Valyria.
I will not weaken the story by pretending otherwise.”
“That honesty may make the rest more convincing,” Qavo replied.
“You can claim that the Baraeris branch preserved knowledge leading you to Aurion’s final holdfast.
You returned to recover the relics of the greater house and found Anaxion among the ruins.”
Mortarion approved.
He refused to create ancient documents.
Fresh parchment stained to appear old would eventually be examined by someone skilled enough to identify the deception.
A false relic could damage the entire claim.
Instead, the lineage would be presented as a reconstructed history based upon family memory and surviving knowledge.
The physical evidence would carry the greater burden.
Belarro read the name once more.
“Mortarion Baraeris.”
It sounded different when spoken aloud.
Not foreign.
Not borrowed entirely from a dead man.
It belonged to this world.
Mortarion looked towards the sphinx seal.
“The old symbol will remain, but it will be changed to distinguish House Baraeris from the greater Belaerys line.”
He described the new sigil to the scribes.
A silver sphinx would stand upon a field of black.
Green accents would mark its eyes, claws and the edges of its wings.
The black represented the ruins from which House Baraeris had returned.
Silver represented Valyrian blood, steel and survival.
The green belonged to Anaxion, the dragon that made the rebirth of the line possible.
Belarro studied the rough drawing produced by one of the scribes.
“It will be recognised from a distance.”
“That is necessary.
A banner that becomes meaningless beyond several paces has failed.”
“Will the sphinx face east or west?”
“West.”
Towards Westeros.
The detail remained unspoken.
Mortarion ordered banner makers in Daetosh and Freerider Gate to begin work immediately.
Black cloth was common enough, though silver thread and green dye required purchase from merchants.
The first banners would be simple.
Later standards could become more elaborate once Corsair’s Bay began receiving trade.
Two weeks passed,d and in the morning, Mortarion gathered Daetosh’s magistrates, merchants and local captains within the central square.
Unsullied soldiers stood around its edges in ordered ranks.
Townspeople filled nearby streets and watched from windows, curious about the black cloth covering the pole beside the magistrates’ hall.
Mortarion appeared before them wearing Aurion’s armour.
Dreaded Deliverance rested across his back, while his silver-white hair and violet eyes remained uncovered.
Anaxion watched from beyond the walls, his dark shape visible above the riverbank.
Belarro stood beside Mortarion and read the proclamation.
“Let it be known throughout Daetosh, Freerider Gate, Corsair’s Bay and every land accepting his protection that Mortarion Baraeris claims descent from the ancient blood of House Belaerys.
Through Maerion Belaerys, cousin of the line of Aurion, House Baraeris survived the Doom and preserved its blood beyond the ruins of Valyria.”
The square remained silent.
Belarro continued.
“By possession of Aurion’s armour and seal, by the blade Dreaded Deliverance, by the bond of Anaxion and by right of conquest and protection, Mortarion Baraeris assumes lordship over the territories presently beneath his banner.”
The black covering fell.
The new sigil opened in the wind.
A silver sphinx stretched its wings across a field of black, its eyes and claws marked in deep green.
The design was not as detailed as Mortarion eventually intended, but it remained clear from every side of the square.
The people studied it.
They had watched many banners rise above Daetosh.
This one came with a name, a lineage and an army unlike any that had previously occupied the town.
Mortarion stepped forward.
“I will not ask you to believe that this banner will remain merely because I declare it.
You have heard the same promise from Tyrosh, Myr, Lys and every sellsword captain who believed himself powerful enough to rule these lands.”
His voice carried across the square.
“Judge House Baraeris by what follows.
Your markets will remain open.
Your property will be protected beneath law.
Your roads and walls will be repaired.
Soldiers who abuse you will be punished, and officials who steal from you will answer before the same authority.”
Several magistrates shifted at the final promise.
Mortarion continued.
“In return, taxes will be paid, laws will be obeyed, and no citizen will provide aid to the enemies gathering against us.
Those who honour these obligations will receive protection.
Those who betray them will discover that House Baraeris is less forgiving than the rulers who came before it.”
No one cheered immediately.
Mortarion had not expected them to.
Then several merchants lowered their heads.
Local guards followed, striking spear shafts against the ground.
The sound spread unevenly through the square until hundreds acknowledged the new banner.
It was not devotion.
It was recognition.
For now, that was enough.
Copies of the proclamation travelled towards Freerider Gate and Corsair’s Bay.
Green Slug was ordered to replace the temporary sphinx standard above the town with the new colours as soon as a banner arrived.
The fleet captains received formal documents naming Corsair’s Bay a protected harbour of House Baraeris.
Merchant vessels could enter after inspection and payment of a modest duty.
Letters were also prepared for the rulers of Myr, Lys and Tyrosh.
Each introduced Mortarion by his full name and lineage.
Each declared that Daetosh, Freerider Gate and Corsair’s Bay now rested beneath the protection of House Baraeris.
The letters sent to Myr and Lys offered trade and peaceful relations.
The letter sent to Tyrosh was more direct.
Mortarion acknowledged that Tyroshi banners had previously flown over parts of his territory.
He stated that those claims had ended when Tyrosh failed to provide meaningful defence or administration.
He invited the Archon to recognise the new borders and continue trade.
Mortarion did not expect acceptance.
The purpose of the letter was to establish that House Baraeris had offered peace before Tyrosh chose war.
Black wax sealed every message.
The silver sphinx was pressed into each one.
Ravens rose from Daetosh throughout the afternoon.
Riders carried additional copies towards coastal posts and neighbouring settlements.
By sunset, Mortarion’s new name was already travelling across the Disputed Lands.
Mortarion Baraeris.
The surviving heir of a distant Valyrian branch.
Lord of Daetosh and Freerider Gate.
Protector of Corsair’s Bay.
Dragonrider of Anaxion.
Some would call the lineage false.
Others would question how a hidden family had survived for generations without appearing in known records.
Those doubts would matter less each time Mortarion appeared in Aurion’s armour, carrying Valyrian steel beneath the shadow of a dragon.
Truth and invention had been bound together carefully enough that separating them would require evidence the Doom had destroyed.
Mortarion stood upon Daetosh’s western wall that evening.
The new banner moved above him, its silver sphinx visible against the darkening sky.
Beyond the fields, Anaxion slept beside the river while Unsullied patrols moved along the roads of the small realm.
House Baraeris had no ancient castle, recognised allies or generations of living relatives.
It possessed two towns, a ruined harbour, just under ten thousand soldiers, fifty-nine ships and one enormous dragon.
That was more than enough for a beginning.
Mortarion had entered the world carrying the name of a life that no longer existed.
He had now chosen the name by which this world would remember him.