Surprise! Back-to-back updates! What can I say, I had a lot of free time to use. Wrapping up things in Essos, before setting sail across the Narrow Sea. Let us commence.

Getting an audience with the Pureborn required a very… traditional approach. I made the traditional sacrifice in the Temple of Memory, offered the traditional bribe to the Keeper of the Long List, sent the traditional persimmon to the Opener of the Door, and finally received the traditional blue silk slippers summoning me to the Hall of a Thousand Thrones.

Also, by an unspoken but just as ancient tradition, I had bribed some of them before my meeting. Well, really all of them. I'd still had gold left over from my enchanted spindle and spinning wheel, and my new secret weapon had made transmuting stuff into gold even simpler. And much as it turned my stomach, despite a lifetime in this world to acclimatize to the industry, I'd plied them with exorbitant numbers of slaves, just enough to be a great gift without becoming too many to feed or find work for. I'd as good as bought the fleet already, with all the resources I had gifted to each individual descendent of the ancient kings and queens of Qarth. If they refused my request, they would be the most gutless, three-faced pack of nobles I'd ever had the misfortune to deal with.

They were two dozen of them, arranged on wooden thrones all but dripping with jewelry and precious metals. Each throne was unique and hundreds of years old, rising in curved tiers from a marble floor to a high-domed ceiling painted with scenes of Qarth's ancient glory. If only the men seated had matched the grandeur. But they were one and all listless, spoiled fossils. The youngest was almost forty, and the oldest was nearing on a century. I had yet to even speak, and I could already tell that they had no intention of listening to a word I said. I was an amusement, a curiosity, something to break the monotony.

Well, time to shake them up. It was said in the streets of Qarth that it was easier to milk the Stone Cow of Faros than to wring something from the Pureborn. But I had a plan. As one of the greatest leaders of my world had once said, "speak softly and carry a big stick."

"I'll make this quick and simple," I said, in Qaathi and dressed in one of the beaded vests and billowing trousers favored by Qartheen men. I felt like an extra in a production of Arabian Nights, but I stayed focused. I was about to make a highly calculated risk. "I request half the Qartheen fleet, and the men to pilot and sail them. Grant me that, I'll restore you all to your youth. Refuse me, and my dragons will burn this palace to the ground with you inside it." I made sure to speak in a genial and pleasant tone. The Qartheen were nothing if not polite.

That broke them out of their stupor.

"What did you just say?" demanded one, sounding like he'd genuinely hadn't heard, but was reacting to the shock of those around him.

I plastered a smile on my face. "Most revered and venerable Pureborn of Qarth, esteemed gentlemen and lords, I want half your ships. Hand them over, and I'll use my magic to make you young men again. And if you don't, the dragons outside will set this whole building on fire. Which will it be?"

Quite a few of them burst in tears. I doubted that any of them were real. It was considered civilized among the Qartheen to have the ability to weep at will. One of the younger ones, Wendello Qar Deeth, put on a smile faker than his hair. "Honored guest, perhaps the heat or wine has gotten to you. You speak madness."

"It's remarkable how often madness and brilliance coincide." I shrugged. "It's really not that complicated. Give me what I ask, and all your aches and pains will be healed, and you'll be horny as rabbits again. If you don't, you all end up as ash and dust, buried in the ruins of this Hall. The choice should be obvious."

"You lie," hissed one of them. "In both your promise and in your threat."

I gave a polite laugh. Then I summoned Fire.

In an instant, we were surrounded. From right behind me to the walls, a line of flame higher than my head appeared. The guards at the entrance cried out and charged, but the flames proved too hot, impenetrable to even the most devoted. Nothing hurts worse than a burn, after all. Every avenue of escape was blocked. Even the secret doors and passageways hidden on their side. Red-hot blazes guarded the entrance to each. I had effectively trapped us all.

The Pureborn did not react well. Some of them screamed like children.

"Keep in mind, I said you would burn, not I." I spoke as if nothing had happened, and this was just a polite business meeting. "Fire does not touch the dragon. My dragons will set the whole building alight, while my own fire will keep you stuck here until the ceiling collapses down on you or the smoke chokes you." I banked down the flames, so they were still present but not quite so threatening. "But please, there's no need for you all to suffer a horrific death. Surely not, when the other option is just a few dozen galleys and the cure to old age?"

Egon Emeros the Exquisite, one of the senior members, licked his lips. He eyed the flames warily. "You say you can restore our youth. Even the great warlocks at the height of their power could not accomplish such a feat."

"They weren't me." I smirked cockily. With some sleight of hand and Wind magic, I made it look like a chalice appeared from thin air in my hand. I reached for my belt and carefully doled out some of the precious liquid inside. "A demonstration, to show my good faith. Who here will try my Elixir?"

There was furious muttering and signing among the Pureborn, those that weren't huddled and soiling themselves from the sight of the fire at least. Finally, one on the bottom tier of thrones, Mathos Mallarawan, wordlessly stood up and walked forward. I noted the giant amethyst on a collar around his neck. It sensed a weak enchantment to guard against poison. It wouldn't be needed. The Elixir of Life was as far as poison as if was possible to get. It didn't hurt, it healed.

"Drink and be restored," I offered in a kind tone, as if he were doing me a favor by drinking. Glaring at me with rheumy eyes, Mathos took the chalice and gulped down the contents.

Seconds later, he was unrecognizable. His robes hung loosely around his waist while being quite tight in the shoulders. His skin was firm and glowing, his hair shining with health, and the subtle pain in his stance had vanished. He held up his own hands as if he didn't recognize them.

The Pureborn gaped.

I gestured to Mathos with one hand even as I conjured a flame in the other. "So, the choice is yours. Lose the ships and gain something infinitely more precious, or be lost to the fire. Decide now."

I walked out of the Hall of a Thousand Thrones half an hour later. A sealed scroll was in my hand, for me to deliver to the Master of the Pure Pier. Half of one of the finest-crafted and manned navies in the world. All for the low, low price of some intimidation and giving some old fogies another sixty or seventy years to play god in their little palaces.

I walked over to Lucifer, taking up a great deal of the square at the entrance to the Qartheen palace. With a word in High Valyrian, he flapped his wings and ascended into the air, me seated at the juncture of his neck and shoulders. I flew out of the city, coming to a landing in the Dothraki camp. Leaving Lucifer to get comfortable, I walked over to Dany and Drogo's tent.

I paused at the entrance, recognizing the sounds inside. I turned to Irri, who was holding a sleeping Rhaego. "How long do I have to wait?"

She smiled at me, looking up from the face of her prince. "They should be finished soon. They started an hour ago."

I don't know which impressed/disgusted me more sometimes, Drogo's stamina or the fact my baby sister could keep up with him.

I waited until there was a guttural cry and high-pitched squeal. I counted out a minute, and then walked in. I was too desensitized after the year with the Dothraki to bat an eye at their nudity. They were spooning on the bed of furs, flushed and panting.

"Hello Dany, Drogo."

"Vis," they said in concert. Daenerys giggled and turned to press a kiss to Drogo's mouth at the cute couple thing. Drogo… reacted.

"Before you get back to trying to make Rhaego a big brother, I thought you might like to see this." I held up the scroll.

Dany grinned fiercely. She got up, reached for the fertility shroud that had been her wedding gift, and then gave me a tight hug. I hugged her back, sharing her grin. "Is this it?"

"Well, we still have to wait a few days. I need to survive the night; it wouldn't surprise me if the Pureborn sent a Sorrowful Man after me to retrieve this before I can use it. Then I have that audience with the Undying Ones Pyat Pree arranged. And it will take a while to load all the Dothraki onto these ships and the ones I purchased from Xaro Xhoan Daxos…"

"Brother, please. The moment? Enjoy the moment."

I laughed. "Yes, this is it. We can set sail. I've decided that Rhaego can be the one to liberate Slaver's Bay. We grab the Unsullied, and then we're off to Westeros. We're going home, Dany."

She hugged me tighter.

I extracted myself from them and left the tent. I heard Drogo moan before I was ten steps away. Guess Dany wanted to… celebrate. By all the gods, what was wrong with that girl?

I walked over to my tent, where Jon was waiting for our daily spar. I spent a couple hours beating him to a pulp in the name of education and exercise, and then I retreated into my tent. Might as well get some sleep.

As I was nodding off, I pulled the blood-red stone out of my pocket. It was shaped like a dodecahedron, and other than its interesting shape seemed utterly uninteresting, just a bauble of semi-precious stone. It's worth was far from obvious.

The Elixir I'd given to the Pureborn had been just water. What had given it life-giving properties was my channeling of magic through the focus of the stone. The Philosopher's Stone was not just a tool, it was a focus. It was better than any wand or staff, being created purely from my power and clotted dragon blood I'd gotten from weeks of snagging a few drops from Lucifer. With it, I could transmute any substance. The obvious use was to turn stuff into gold and be rich, but there were many other applications. I could turn the air into steel and form a shield out of nothing. I could turn a man into dust. I could turn a hail of arrows into flowers, if I wanted. And let's not forget the cure-all of the Elixir of Life.

I grinned. This was going to be so easy it wasn't even funny.

There was indeed a Sorrowful Man out for me. He appeared the next day, while I was lounging by Lucifer, watching the string of seekers come to see living dragons. Lucifer, Elianna, and Winter had become something of a tourist attraction. Always ready to turn a profit, I had set it up so none could enter the camp unless they offered tribute to me, the Father of Dragons. I'd made out like a bandit over the weeks it had taken for the Pureborn to deign to see me. He walked up to me, seeming like any other man, and offered me a box. As I opened it, he said "I am so sorry."

I smiled at him, even as I felt the scorpion, excuse me, manticore sting me. "I forgive you. You're just doing what you're told. So, do this now," I said, pulling the manticore out of its makeshift cage and crushing it in my fist. "Tell the Pureborn that this insult will be remembered."

The already pale Qarth turned pale as a ghost. "I-I-I will pass a-along the message." Then he turned to run. I called out in Dothraki to let him go unmolested.

Then I opened up my bleeding palm, shook off the arachnoid carcass, and reached for my waterskin. I focused magic through the Philosopher's Stone and drank Elixir. Sure, I could have purged the venom with Water magic and then closed the wounds with one of my potions. But why bother when the Elixir would solve it so much simpler and faster?

Call me lazy if you want. I had easy access to a fucking panacea. Of course, I was going to exploit it.

I was in no hurry to return to Death. It had been horribly boring. I'd live as long as I damn well pleased as an immortal witch-king with a pet dragon, thank you very much. Eat your heart out, Galbatorix.

I checked in around the camp with all the people I cared about, and then set out to the palace of Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Pyat Pree and I had arranged to meet at the man's home. I flew fast and unseen, settling down in the central courtyard. I noted with a pang in my heart the young boys clad in wisps of silk that danced in the gardens. Homosexuality was one thing, pedophilia quite another. I was a self-proclaimed man-whore, but even I had standards. It was one of the reasons I hadn't gone for it with the member of the Thirteen.

I set about finding Xaro Xhoan Daxos. I found him in his solar, reading a list. He put it away when he saw me. "Oh King of Dragons, I had not heard you had arrived."

"You wouldn't have. I didn't come through the front door." I smiled enigmatically at him. "Forgive me, but I didn't feel like traveling through the city. I had a visit from a Sorrowful Man this morning, and who knows how many others are lurking in the streets looking for me before the one I spared lets them know I don't appreciate their efforts?"

"How horrible!" Xaro Xhoan Daxos (man this guy's name was a mouthful) weeped at the news. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Well, if you will follow me, I will escort you to Pyat Pree. He has been waiting for you since dawn."

"Well let's not keep him waiting."

I met with Pyat Pree, who was as unctuous as he'd been at our first meeting. He led me into a palanquin and instructed the slaves to carry us to the House of the Undying. I wasn't worried about archers. The Sorrowful Men preferred a more up-close approach. I remained silent, despite Pyat Pree's desire to draw me into conversation. He was as fascinated with me as he was afraid. I had power he'd never known, and command over a dragon.

I knew he was hoping his superiors would capture me and learn all my secrets, so he could steal Lucifer away from me. And I think he knew I knew. Which raised the question of why I had consented to the audience with the Undying Ones.

Frankly, I just wanted to sate my curiosity. Old and powerful magic was woven into that building, relics of a time when the warlocks of Qarth were a true force to be reckoned with. I wanted to investigate the mazelike-interior, the beating blue heart in the chamber of the Undying, and see what the men drunk to the gills on shade-of-the-evening would tell me.

The House of the Undying was a grey and ancient ruin. It was long and low, without towers or windows and coiled like a stone serpent through a grove of black-barked trees with inky blue leaves. No other buildings stood near, almost as if the city itself feared this thing in its heart. Black tiles covered the palace roof, many of them fallen or broken. The mortar between the stones was dry and crumbling.

"Not much to look at," I said irreverently.

Pyat Pree bristled. "Heed my words, my king. The House of the Undying Ones is not meant for mortal men. If you value you soul, take care and do just as I tell you."

I followed him down a winding path through the trees. It was darker under the trees than should be natural. Pyat Pree instructed me that the path would be confusing, I would see things that may drive me mad, but I must always take the first door on the right and go up a staircase. I nodded, and the moment of truth came. He offered me a crystal glass filled with shade-of-the-evening, in the shadow of a door shaped like a human mouth.

I used the Philosopher's Stone to augment my Water magic and analyzed the contents of the glass. The knowledge flowed into my mind in seconds.

Huh. It was essentially magical LSD. It forged new connections and channels in the brain, allowing greater magical ability, at the cost of hallucinations that may or may not be prophetic and eventually insanity. It was also highly addictive and created a physical dependency after too many doses. The Undying must be the ones who'd taken it longest and managed to survive and maintain some functionality.

Fortunately, I had 100 Magic. I didn't need any aid at all.

Before Pyat Pree's eyes, I drank the shade-of-the-evening. He had no idea that I was converting it to Elixir even as it passed my lips. I was filled with a bubbly sense of well-being and love of life, but nothing else. No foul taste that turned into every taste I'd ever known. Satisfied, he opened the door for me. I walked in, and he closed it behind me.

I surveyed the room with clear eyes. There were three doors before me. I was meant to take the one to the right. I cast out my magic and sensed the working implanted in the bricks.

The door on the right would take me on a long and winding trip through the entire building, eventually making it to the chamber of the Undying. Along the way I would be hit with visions of the past, present, and future. The door on the left led down into the catacombs, where the warlocks lived and studied. The door in the center… led directly to the heart of the building.

Well, who was I to turn down a shortcut?

I barged through the center door. I found the room gloomy. A long stone table filled the room, above which floated a heart swollen and blue with corruption. It beat with a deep throbbing sound and each pulse sent out indigo light. A small dwarf no more than knee high with a snoutish face, garbed in purple and blue livery, huddled in the corner. And arranged around the table, garbed in the grey cloaks of the warlocks, were the Undying. Every inch of skin exposed was the eerie blue of Pyat Pree's lips.

I paid no mind to the yells and demands of the Undying. When one went to touch me, I moved with Wind out of his reach. Most of my attention was focused on the beating heart. It positively radiated magic. Old, complicated… fading magic. It was a spell set into motion millennia ago, losing energy with every beat. It was this magic that suffused the trees, their roots reaching under the stone of the House, and created shade-of-the-evening. In effect, this heart was the source of the warlocks' power, the filter through which the accessed the wild magic of the world, the key to their visions and workings. And it was dying.

Well, in another life, Daenerys got the warlocks to declare war on her. Perhaps I could have them in my debt instead.

I poured my magic into the heart, revitalizing and cleansing it. I killed off the magical parasites that infected it, cleaned out the negative energy that had seeped in, reconnected and spruced up the connections and bridges holding the inner workings together, and generally shined it up until it gleamed. A beam of light emerged from my palm, connecting to the heart. With each second, it looked healthier and the beat stronger. When I finally stopped, it was hale as a horse, and glowed with a gentler sky blue light as opposed to the indigo of earlier.

I turned to the gobsmacked Undying. "Warlocks were never meant to drink shade-of-the-evening. The original magic users of Qarth had glow-of-the-dawn. The potion you make from the leaves should be much less toxic from now on."

"Who… who are you?"

"Viserys Targaryen. Remember my name. The world certainly will."

With that, I left the chamber and walked out the door I entered through.

Pyat Pree was muttering prayers in Qaathi. He jumped when he saw me. "What have you done, Targaryen?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't take that tone with me. I just saved your dying order. That heart was about ready to keel over. Your magic should be much stronger, not to mention cleaner, now. Enjoy. No need to thank me."

Then, before his disbelieving eyes, I used the Wind to fly up into the sky, making back for the Dothraki camp.

The next day, I walked through the streets to the harbor. No Sorrowful Men made a move against me. I presented the scroll to the Master of the Pure Pier. He read it with both brows raised high, but the signatures of each Pureborn could not be forged, nor their seals copied. He went about making the arrangements, rousing the captains and having them gather their crews.

With great procession over the next week, the Dothraki of Drogo's khalasar rode through Qarth to the port, where they and their horses boarded the grand galleys of the Civic Guard the Pureborn had turned over to my use. The Dothraki were hesitant of getting near the poison water, but Drogo (seemingly) fearlessly rode onto the flagship. After that, apart from a few incidents, the Dothraki boarded the ships with little trouble.

On the last day, when the last ship was being loaded, three ships bearing the colors of Pentoshi traders sailed into port. I recognized the flags that flew from their main masts.

"About damn time. I was worried we'd miss them," I said to myself.

I and a party of relevant individuals met the ship's captain, as well as the man at his side.

"Belwas," I nodded at the eunuch captain. He grinned and nodded. We recognized each other from when I stayed with Illyrio and did errands for him. He handed me a parcel of letters, which I handed off to Sezgin, who was kind of my butler when he wasn't my lover or religious consultant.

I turned to the other man.

"Ser Barristan Selmy," I greeted. "It's been a long time."

The aged knight had such a look of guilt on his face. He knelt down before me, moving as if the full plate he wore wasn't there. He hadn't lost any of his strength with age. "I beg your forgiveness, my king. I failed to protect your father from one of our own. Afterwards, thinking only of myself, I swore allegiance to the Pretender that took his place."

I chuckled and brought him to his feet by grasping his shoulders. "None of that, now. What matters is that you're here, now, and willing to swear fealty to your true king." I paused. "Wait, you are swearing your sword to me, right? This would be terribly awkward if you weren't."

Barristan found himself chuckling. "There's much of your brother in you, my King."

I was touched. I had very fond memories of Rhaegar. I would always think of him as the best man I'd ever known. "Thank you. Now, we can find you a white cloak later. For now, turn around and get back on that boat. We're sailing for Astapor."

"Astapor?"

"Forty thousand Dothraki screamers are a formidable force, but an army built on one kind of fighter is doomed to fail. We're off to get the Unsullied."

"The slave soldiers?" he asked in disgust. "Erm, my king," he tacked on.

"Please, just call me Viserys. Vis, if you're comfortable with it. You're Lord Commander of my Kingsguard, you're meant to be as close to me as my queen one day will be." I smiled. "And yes. I know you consider it a sin and trust me that in my heart I do as well. But I need an army. The Dothraki are a rampaging horde. They have their tactics and strategies, but it's chaos at its heart. They don't follow orders very well. The Unsullied are the most obedient soldiers to be found in the world."

"That might be… dangerous." Barristan was clearly uneasy. "If you arrive at the head of a slave army, many good men would oppose you for no good reason than that. Why not just call the banners and trust in the Houses to be loyal?"

"The dragon fears nothing. Or that's what I say if I was as crazy as dear old dad." I clapped the poor man on the shoulder. He had no idea what he'd gotten into by becoming my bodyguard. "Just trust me. There is an enemy much more frightening than Joffrey waiting for us back home."

He clearly didn't understand, but he bowed to the will of his king. "Very well. How many can we afford?"

I chuckled. "Oh, you misunderstand. We're not buying them. We're taking them. Dragons make very effective leverage."

On cue, Lucifer, Elianna, and Winter came back from hunting. I warged with Lucifer and had him land on the one of the three ships, his siblings landing on the others. The men on deck screamed and some fell overboard.

"Seven hells. The rumors were true," Barristan gasped.

"Indeed, they were. I plan on repeating what my ancestor Aegon did so long ago. Three dragons to unite seven kingdoms."

We had the ship Lucifer landed on renamed Balerion, with the other two becoming Vhagar and Meraxes, in memory of the original three dragons. Then, with the three leading the ships-of-the-line of the Qartheen navy and the decorated but deadly galleons of the Thirteen, the first khalasar in history to cross the ocean set out.

One last stop, and then on to Sunspear. Reclaiming the Iron Throne would hopefully be a formality at best. It was what came after that I truly feared.

I had a lot of Valyrian Steel weapons to make. I had to arm the whole khalasar, the Unsullied, and the knights of Westeros after all.

In a truly unexpected turn of events, Pyat Pree had sworn his magic to me. He came with the first barrel of glow-of-the-dawn, which was now more akin to cyan absinthe than indigo mushroom juice. The magical stimulant was much healthier than it used to be, let's leave it at that. I fixed him up with a touch of Elixir and then started mass-producing glow-of-the-dawn out of seawater to feed to him, Sezgin, and any Dothraki interested in learning magic. Selenia was left out of it, on account of the little one growing inside her. I'd done a scan and was proud to announce that I'd have a daughter by the time I made it to King's Landing if all went according to schedule.

Together with my new cadre of apprentices, I set about fashioning Valyrian Steel arakhs, dragonglass arrowheads, and dragonbone bows. I toyed with the idea of a Mithril whip but figured it wouldn't be that effective against the Army of the Dead. Would be funny as hell to see a White Walker choking on a lash, though. I made no secret of my activities, transmuting the raw materials in broad daylight to load into the depths of Balerion where my Order of Mages (a grandiose name, yes, but I needed to call them something) cranked out rough but serviceable weaponry that was both superior to the current ones and would work against wights.

Dany spent the first few weeks miserable, getting sick almost constantly. When I went to check her, it proved to not be seasickness but morning sickness.

"Well that's just great," I sighed. "How in the seven hells are you going to ride into battle on Elianna when you're fat with child?"

Daenerys slapped me. "I was never fat."

"Sorry, poor word choice."

"I can always warg with her."

"Well, good enough. Congratulations, by the way. Another boy, unless I miss my guess. Drogo will be so proud, I'm sure."

And indeed he was. I was glad I slept on another ship that night. Everyone on Drogo's ship either complained or laughed about the night-long lovemaking the next day.

We cut a straight line across Slaver's Bay, making it to Astapor in two months. The city was something to see, with its pyramids and fighting pits and tall walls, all made of a crumbling red brick. I was sure that a stiff wind would kick up enough dust to mimic a sand storm. At least the port had the wind of the sea to provide refreshment from the endless red particulates.

"So, this is Astapor, older than even Valyria," Jon said at my side.

"One of the more ancient parts of the world." I tried and failed to keep the disgust out of my tone. "You think what the Dothraki do is bad? Slavery here has a whole new meaning. You can buy an infant out of its mother's arms for one silver mark. The Unsullied have the most brutal, sadistic training out of any military in the world. The start training at five, and only a third survive to get their spiked cap. And the things they have to do to earn it… the sad thing is that it works. The Unsullied are unmatched in certain aspects."

"What aspects are that?" Jon turned to me. "I don't know you well, uncle, but I know that you hate slavery, even if you can force yourself to use it. Why buy an army of slaves if it turns your stomach? You could win the Iron Throne with nothing but Drogo's riders and the forces of the Martells."

I hesitated, but I'd told Dany so I might as well tell him. "It's not the Iron Throne I need the Unsullied for. It's for what's beyond the Wall. I need men who won't panic and flee at the sight of the walking dead."

Jon's eyes widened. "The Others? They're just old stories."

"So were dragons." I nodded at Winter flying above us. "They're there. Trust me. And they've been building an army for centuries. I've made the weapons, but I need to trust the men to wield them. There are some among the Dothraki and eventually the Westerosi who simply won't be able to handle fighting the White Walkers and their wights. It will drive them mad. That's why I need the Unsullied. They feel no pain, and they'd slit their own throats if commanded to. They will be the infantry to break the Army of the Dead."

Jon swallowed. "I thought magic was bad. Now the monsters turn out to be real too."

"Yeah. It sucks, doesn't it?"

We commiserated for a bit, and then I had us spar. We both needed the distraction.

To the Dothraki's consternation, they weren't able to come off and ride their horses across the red earth. It simply would have been too grand an ordeal to load them all off only to turn around and get them back on again. They'd have to wait until we got to Westeros. Many men dealt with their frustration by finding their wives. Forced proximity had only made the Dothraki even more likely to fuck the day away. A great many Dothraki babes would be born on Westeros rather than Essos.

We docked, and I quickly made the arrangements to meet with the Good Masters. All of them. Such a request would normally take a great deal of time, but when the Father of Dragons shows up, people make way. I could only be grateful that the magic of a proper bonding had sped up their growth. They'd literally be less than half as intimidating by now if it weren't for the bond.

The next day, I met with Kraznys mo Nakloz and his associates in the Plaza of Pride. The Unsullied in their entirety were arranged in the Plaza, standing in 86 ranks of a hundred. I was carried in by Lucifer. The men, most of them morbidly obese, fanned themselves and marveled at his sheer bulk. Lucifer was almost the size of a small ship himself, and had discovered a pleasure in swimming beneath the depths to hunt fish in their natural environment. His wings worked just as well with water as wind. Who knew?

Kraznys turned to his translator as I approached. His High Valyrian was twisted by the characteristic growl of Ghis, with some slaver slang thrown in. "Tell the stupid western boy that all the Unsulllied, my beautiful creatures, are arrayed before his eyes."

Missandei, recognizable even as a ten-year-old by her golden Naath eyes, said in the Common Tongue "Kraznys mo Nakloz greets you, Viserys Targaryen, Father of Dragons. He says that every Unsullied is here for your inspection as you requested."

I smiled down at her. Then I turned to look at Kraznys. "I hate slavers," I said in flawless Valyrian. Then I used Wind magic to drag the harpy's fingers, the symbolic cat-o'-nine-tails that signified command over the Unsullied, out of his hands and into mine. "Dragonfire," I instructed Lucifer.

The Good Masters were, to a one, rendered ash.

I rose the whip to the unflinching Unsullied. They had not reacted. Horrific as their training was, you couldn't deny their discipline. "To the boats. Kill any man who wears a tokar or bears a whip along the way. Strike the chains from every slave."

The Harpy of Ghis looked down from her fountain in disdain as the Unsullied did my command. Astapor was sacked from within, and for a brief time, every slave was free.

At the port, when all the Unsullied were on the ships, I turned and threw the harpy's fingers overboard. "You're free now. If any of you so desire, you may leave. But if you come with me, I will give you homes and names and freedom in a land where slavery does not exist."

The leader of them all, with a three-spiked cap, stepped forward. "This one is Grey Worm. We will follow you."

And just like that, I got almost nine thousand infantry. The five thousand still in training could become a militia to guard the city from the backlash the other cities of Slaver's Bay would have.

But I couldn't concern myself with Essos anymore. That was Rhaego's to deal with in a couple decades. The immediate threat and concern from me lay across the Narrow Sea.

"To Westeros!" I called. And we sailed out of the port of the liberated city, Lucifer roaring as he and his siblings flew above.

This may feel rushed, but it just came pouring out. Hopefully you don't mind that it's a little rough around the edges. Next stop, Westeros!