"A Dothraki warhorse and five Chosen Golden Dragons—no one in all of Myr can outbid me."
Late at night, a slightly overweight Lysene merchant of clear Valyrian descent arrived at Lynd's camp, eager to negotiate the purchase of a Dothraki warhorse.
The merchant was well-traveled and knowledgeable. When he saw Lynd clad in an exquisitely crafted suit of armor, he paused for a brief moment before quickly regaining his composure and getting straight to business.
What surprised Lynd was that the merchant's currency of choice was neither Myr's ship coins, nor Tyrosh's tower coins, nor even Lysene gold coins, but instead the very currency Lynd himself had minted—the Chosen Golden Dragons.
Although Lynd had never actively promoted the Chosen Golden Dragon, with the expansion of the Miracle Trading Company, Summerhall's minted coins had already become the predominant currency circulating among the Free Cities.
This wasn't solely due to Lynd's personal power influencing the value of his coinage. The superior craftsmanship of his coins played an equally crucial role. By employing advanced goldsmithing, alloying, and stamping techniques, the Chosen Golden Dragons were far more refined than other gold coins. They were more resistant to wear, heavier in the hand, and aesthetically superior in every way. Naturally, merchants preferred them for transactions.
At present, the exchange rate for a single Chosen Golden Dragon in the major banks of the Free Cities stood at two Lysene gold coins plus thirty-seven ship coins, or two Pentoshi gold coins plus fifty-three Braavosi square iron coins, or two Norvoshi gold coins.
Even in Westeros, the Chosen Golden Dragon held a significantly higher value than standard gold dragons. The going exchange rate was roughly one gold dragon plus twenty-seven silver stags for a single Chosen Golden Dragon. With the exception of regions like Casterly Rock, which possessed their own gold mines and controlled their own minting rights, most merchants and nobles had grown accustomed to using Chosen Golden Dragons and silver stags for trade.
Despite their superior appearance, the actual gold content of a Chosen Golden Dragon was equivalent to that of a Lysene gold coin. The addition of alloying metals ensured that the weight remained comparable, and the alloys themselves required extremely high temperatures to be separated from the gold. This made counterfeiting or debasement nearly impossible.
As a result, Lynd's minting operation not only processed raw gold ore into coins but also took in foreign gold coins, melted them down, and reminted them into Chosen Golden Dragons before distributing them through the Miracle Trading Company.
Though trade in this world was already highly developed, with both economic warfare and banking institutions, neither merchants nor rulers fully grasped the significance of coinage rights. They failed to understand that whoever controlled the right to mint currency also controlled the economy. This ignorance allowed Lynd's Chosen Golden Dragons to freely circulate within the Free Cities, gradually displacing their native currencies.
Already, the three Free Cities closest to Summerhall had seen their gold-based economies dominated by Chosen Golden Dragons. Even Lys, which had its own coin-minting tradition, had begun adopting them. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before the other Free Cities followed suit, unwittingly placing their financial systems under Lynd's influence.
As Lynd pondered the growing reach of the Chosen Golden Dragon, he turned back to the merchant and gave his response. "I've already promised to sell the warhorse to someone else…"
"Fenya?" The merchant, well aware of Lynd's relationship with Fenya, smirked. "Even if she could afford such a hefty sum for your warhorse—which I highly doubt—she probably has more pressing concerns right now."
"What do you mean?" Lynd asked.
"Not long ago, Magister Gaemon Belaerys declared at the Magister's Council that Fenya had failed to deliver Merchant Prince Pash's goods to their intended buyer. Instead, she sold them off midway, effectively embezzling Governor Pashe's assets."
The merchant's tone carried a hint of schadenfreude. "As a result, all of her assets have been seized, pending an investigation by the council. She barely has enough funds to keep her trade company afloat, let alone strike a deal with you."
Lynd's expression darkened. "Are you working for Magister Gaemon Belaerys? Or Merchant Prince Pash?"
"No." The merchant shook his head. "I don't get involved in Myr's power struggles. I'm only interested in making money. And those warhorses of yours? They're a golden opportunity. That's why I'm here."
Lynd had never intended to sell the warhorses to local merchants in Myr. His plan had always been to transport them across the Narrow Sea to Summerhall. Fenya was merely an excuse to avoid other buyers.
"Apologies," Lynd said. "Since I've already given my word to Fenya, I won't trade with anyone else unless she cancels our deal."
The merchant raised an eyebrow, his expression briefly flickering with surprise before shifting to one of quiet admiration.
With a chuckle, he said, "There aren't many people like you who still honor their word. Though I suspect the outcome will be the same regardless, I respect your decision. If Fenya cancels the deal, please consider me first—I stand by my offer. Oh, and I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Tregar Ormollen. Ask around the city, and you'll easily find my residence."
Lynd stiffened slightly at the name. He recalled that in the future, a man by that name would be the one to cuckold Jorah Mormont. Judging by the merchant's current status, however, he had yet to rise to the rank of Merchant Prince of Lys.
The next morning, a haggard-looking Fenya arrived before Lynd, accompanied by several Myr guards. With an apologetic expression, she said, "I'm sorry, Lord Ornstein. You may have been implicated because of me."
"Why?" Lynd asked, feigning ignorance.
Fenya then recounted what had happened after she entered the city the previous day. Her account closely matched what Tregar Ormollen had described.
It was understandable that the Merchant Prince Pash would be suspicious of her. After all, the cargo she had brought in this time was far too large, and her financial struggles were well known among Myr's merchants. When she took on the delivery task, she was already at her wit's end and had no extra money to purchase such a large shipment. Naturally, many suspected that she had not followed through with the delivery, choosing instead to divert the Magister's goods for her own trade.
To make matters worse, word had already reached Myr that Pash's collaborator had been wiped out by another Dothraki khalasar. Many believed the two events were connected—for instance, that because Fenya failed to deliver the weapons, their ally was annexed by another Dothraki faction.
With this, the issue had escalated beyond a simple trade dispute between Fenya and the Merchant Prince Pash. It had become a serious political matter—one concerning whether she had betrayed the Free City.
This also meant the situation had moved beyond the Pash Magister's control and had landed in the hands of Magister Gaemon Belaerys, the head of the Nobles' Council. As a political rival, Gaemon seized this opportunity to undermine the Merchant Prince Pash's authority, aiming to diminish both his influence and the power of the Merchant Princes in Myr.
With the rise of Summerhall and the unification of the Stepstones, trade along the Narrow Sea had flourished. As a result, Myr's merchants had gained increasing influence, and the Merchant Princes, as their leaders, had amassed considerable power.
Conversely, the authority of the Nobles' Council and the aristocratic magistrates had weakened. Though the Nobles' Council wished to reclaim their lost influence, the growing tide of commerce left them powerless to do anything, forcing them to watch as their control eroded little by little.
Now, with an important shipment—one tied to Myr's security—coming under scrutiny, the Nobles' Council saw an opportunity to strike at the Merchant Princes. They swiftly took control of Fenya's case, making a grand spectacle of it and pushing the narrative in their favor.
At this point, Fenya was nearly under house arrest. Even when she came to meet Lynd, she had to be accompanied by guards.
"Do you know anyone from the Miracle Merchant Guild?" Lynd asked.
"Yes, but not well," Fenya replied with a nod.
Lynd said, "Find the guild's overseer in Myr and tell him I have a batch of warhorses and slaves to sell to Summerhall."
Fenya frowned. "I can reach ordinary members of the Miracle Merchant Guild, but the overseer of the Myr branch…"
Lynd pulled out a high-level membership token and handed it to her. "Don't worry about that. Just give this to the guild."
Fenya hesitated for a moment, then took the token and examined it closely. After a brief pause, she glanced at Lynd with surprise.
Becoming a member of the Miracle Merchant Guild was not difficult—one only needed to complete a few procurement tasks at any branch or contact office, and once their assets reached a certain threshold, they could join.
However, attaining high-level membership was a different matter. That required an invitation from the guild's headquarters in Miracle Harbor. As far as was known, the primary requirement for high-level membership was successfully completing particularly challenging procurement and trade missions assigned by the guild.
The benefits of high-level membership extended beyond access to superior weapons. Members were also granted a quota for selling Summerhall's prized potions.
Not only were Westerosi nobles eager for Summerhall's potions, but even Essos's elite coveted them. The Elixir of the Seven, which could preserve life, was especially sought after, along with various medicinal potions capable of treating epidemics.
Furthermore, in cases like Fenya's—where smuggling contraband was involved—a high-level member would face far lighter consequences. Only the individual directly responsible would be punished, while the shipowner would simply be fined. The ship itself, along with any legitimate cargo, would not be confiscated.
Fenya had recognized the potential of the Miracle Merchant Guild as soon as it established itself in Myr, joining as a member early on. Over the years, she had worked tirelessly to climb the ranks toward senior membership. If not for this unexpected incident, she might have reached that status within a year or two.
So now, as she looked at the senior membership nameplate, a flood of emotions washed over her.
Just as Fenya was about to leave, Lynd suddenly asked, "By the way, do you know Tregar Ormollen? Yesterday, a Lyseni merchant named Tregar Ormollen came to see me, wanting to buy the warhorses I have."
"Tregar Ormollen?" Fenya was momentarily stunned before responding, "He's a friend of Merchant Prince Pash. He was right there when I went to see Pash yesterday."
She paused for a moment, waiting to see if Lynd had any further questions. When he remained silent, she turned and left.
...
Back in the city, Fenya made her way straight to the Miracle Merchant Guild's branch near the port docks.
As she walked, many familiar faces in the streets deliberately kept their distance. No one dared to approach her, let alone speak to her, as if she carried some unseen contamination.
Anyone well-informed knew that Fenya was caught in the political struggle between merchants and nobles, and that she was likely finished. Some looked at her with contempt and ridicule, while others showed sympathy or pity.
Fenya paid no attention to the stares. Her mind was focused on only one thing—finding a way to rescue her subordinates who had been dragged into this mess.
The southern city gate of Myr was not far from the docks. It took her little more than ten minutes to reach the Miracle Merchant Guild's branch.
The branch itself was nothing extraordinary—just a two-story warehouse. It had originally belonged to a Braavosi merchant, but after a streak of bad luck led to his bankruptcy, he had been forced to sell off his assets in Myr. After changing hands multiple times, the warehouse eventually ended up under the control of the Miracle Merchant Guild.
As usual, the guild's building was bustling with merchants from various Free Cities. Some had come to check on daily procurement tasks, others were simply networking, and many more were there to monitor the weekly trading prices of various goods.
From the very beginning, when Lynd founded the Miracle Merchant Guild, he had envisioned it as more than just a merchant association—he wanted it to function as a trading hub and an exchange center. That was why every branch in major Free Cities and even smaller port liaison offices featured a prominent bulletin board directly opposite the entrance, displaying the latest trading prices for various commodities. These prices were updated weekly to reflect market fluctuations.
Because of this bulletin board, Miracle Merchant Guild locations naturally became gathering places for merchants from all over.
Many had attempted to imitate Lynd's trade exchange model, but they quickly abandoned the effort. Running such an operation required not only vast resources but also a level of credibility that was difficult to establish. True credibility wasn't just built on power—it required reputation as well.
Across both Westeros and Essos, only a handful of figures possessed both power and unwavering trust—figures like Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne or the Sealord of Braavos. However, among those who commanded absolute trust from the merchant class, Lynd stood alone.
This was not just because of his strength and influence, but also because he had the backing of the Faith of the Seven. To many, "The Chosen One" was more than just a title—it was a divine endorsement, making him the church's living representative. Countless tales of his deeds had only solidified this belief, with many convinced that Lynd was nothing short of a god's incarnation.
With such divine authority as the foundation of its credibility, it was only natural that merchants placed their full faith in the prices displayed on the Miracle Merchant Guild's bulletin boards.