If I look back, I am lost. Daenerys recited as she stood in front of her three dragons. The largest was Drogon, his wings now nearly fifty feet in length. Viserion and Rheagal were only slightly smaller, the latter munching on a dead horse.
"I've always wanted to see a dragon for myself," Tyrion wore a terrified smile. His eyes moved to each one, fascinated at the sight.
"Consider this a small reward for being in my service." And a warning against betraying her. Tyrion might be useful, but Daenerys still cared little for the depraved dwarf. He'd spent much of his time drinking and whoring.
"They never lose their wonder, do they?" Beenero remarked. Each dragon looked at him with a friendly gaze, her advisor one of the few her children would allow near without harm.
"Drogon, will you. . ." Daenerys approached his back, attempting to appear confident. Despite their mind, dragons had minds of their own and grew increasingly independent as they grew larger. Drogon huffed at her but did not growl. "Please, I need your help."
"Do you think I can. . ." Tyrion approached Viserion, only for him to roar. He crashed to the ground and skittered away, taking several breaths. "Your dragons do not appear to be fond of me."
"Viserion doesn't dislike you," Daenerys commented. "If he did, you would know. . . for a few moments, at least." She approached Drogon's back, but he turned around and refused to let her ride him.
"There is nothing to fear," Bennero approached and raised his arm. Drogon bared his teeth but soon relaxed. "Your mother needs you, as do we all." Drogon lowered his head and stared mere inches away from Bennero's body. The man in red observed with curiosity, making eye contact.
Drogon lowered his back and allowed Daenerys to climb on top of him. Bracing herself, she climbed into the saddle, covered in dirt. None of her servants had dared to try and take it off him, not when it took such effort for her to get Drogon to allow it.
Daenerys threw on her riding chains with the knowledge everything in Meereen was at stake. Tyrion approached Viserion again, although slower than the previous attempt. He watched the dwarf while finishing his meal.
Only Drogon had allowed her to ride him. Daenerys remembered the old stories Viserys had told her, that dragons only bonded with a single rider. Viserion and Rheagal had usually followed her instructions. . . usually. Now is not the time to go wobbly. "Viserion, Rheagal, we have a battle to win!" She prayed her children would follow but could do nothing if they did not.
Drogon ran across the stadium and took off into the air, cold wind blasting into Daenerys' face. Her heart pounded with anticipation, embracing her family heritage at long last. They had mistaken her kindness for weakness, and would pay for such an error.
I am the blood of the dragon. Drogon took off higher and higher into the air, until those on the ground appeared as nothing but ants. She held onto her riding chains tight enough to hurt, her adrenaline demanding that she swoop down into the fray.
She stared down, fear filling her veins. Not once had Daenerys ever flown so far, though it was said her Valyrian ancestors could soar above the tallest mountains. Even Meereen now appeared minuscule from her dragon's eye view. Viserion and Rheagal were nowhere to be found, but Daenerys had faith they would not let her mother down.
"Now!" Daenerys tried to instruct Drogon to descend, unable to hear the sound of her own voice. She spat hair out of her mouth, pulling it out of her vision. Whether her chains would hold steady, Daenerys could do little but pray.
After a few moments, Drogon circled and dove, the enemy formations now becoming visible. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, knowing they would soon be within range of their arrows. Daenerys looked from left to right, with no sign yet of her other dragons.
Less than a minute. Daenerys took the deepest breath she could, telling herself to live up to what her ancestors accomplished. The enemy host took no apparent notice of her, nor made any attempt to evade.
Drogon increased his speed, baring his teeth. Daenerys' hands wrapped around two spikes on his back, counting down each second. Three hundred meters. . . two fifty. . .
A handful of arrows flew in her direction, but none came anywhere near her. Drogon swirled around, turning faster than any creature had a right to do. "Dracarys!" Daenerys screamed when they had descended to one hundred meters.
At forty meters, Drogon unleashed his dark flame onto an enemy phalanx, immolating dozens in a single pass. Daenerys buried her face into Drogon's scales, not wishing to see any of the arrows aimed her way. Her ears picked up the screams of the dying, while others dropped their spears and fled.
Drogon flew higher once again before launching a second dive, deeper than the first. He made no sound, no utter from his throat, only a burst of raw power that obliterated everything in its path. Several carts were burned, as were a pair of trebuchets. Daenerys delighted in seeing her enemy humiliated, witnessing the full might of her dragons.
Archers at the near nocked their bows, standing firm despite the odds they faced. Viserion and Rheagal concentrated on the flanks, sending the enemy into disarray. "Loose!" Daenerys made out an order.
Drogon roared in defiance, more than twenty arrows striking his scales, but none penetrated so much as an inch. Few held their ground long enough to prepare another arrow, and those who did had no opportunity for a second shot. He needed no encouragement from Daenerys, slaughtering them like bugs.
Only a tiny portion of the enemy host had become casualties, yet thousands threw down their spears and fled as quickly as they could. Let them! Daenerys decided. She could not make out slave from master, but in the heat of battle, it made little difference.
Commanders on the ground screamed at their men to get back into line, with varying degrees of success. Daenerys wanted more, a vicious grin spreading across her face. "Dracarys!" She turned him to the largest group she could locate.
Two large bolts flew past her eyes, each weighing almost half as much as she did. Drogon launched another burst of flame, turning around and soaring away from the launchers. Rheagal set the nearby grassland ablaze, trusting the wind to carry it onto the enemy lines.
An arrow came close enough to Daenerys' body to tear her clothing. She hardly dared to breathe, let alone look at those attempting to fight back. Her muscles seized up, refusing to cooperate with her.
They won't take me that easily. Drogon roared with all his might, sending the bowmen into a panic. He turned and torched two nearby food caravans, crippling their ability to sustain the siege. Daenerys did her best to keep the joy off her face.
Viserion and Rheagal torched the encampments in the back, with only a skeleton guard within them. Those brave enough ran forward with water buckets to save their supplies, but most refused to go anywhere near the dragons.
Until her dragons abruptly turned around and flew back to within Meereen's walls. Daenerys cursed in fury and demanded they return to the battlefield, but even if her voice could carry to them, each refused to heed her words. A couple more bolts loosed in their direction, although none impacted anywhere near them.
Drogon fired a last blast of flame before he abandoned the battlefield as well. "What are you doing?" Daenerys demanded, pulling the chains with all her might. The enemy was broken, the day was hers! Why were her children retreating?!
Drogon ignored her demands and flew back within Meereen's walls, his breaths increasing in intensity. Behind them, men, horses, and caravans burned, smoke floating into the sky. Hundreds were dead and more were injured, along with a substantial portion of their supplies.
He refused to stop until they were back at the arena, nearly crashing to the ground. Daenerys bit her tongue with a curse, falling out of her saddle. Only the chains kept her from serious injury.
Drogon grabbed a dead horse and ate without making another sound, not even bothering to burn it first. Viserion landed and turned to his side, tongue extending against the dirt. Rheagal settled for eating human corpses, only a few sparks coming when attempt to breathe flame.
None of her dragons moved more than necessary, panting and gasping for breath. Bruised and filthy, Daenerys staggered to her feet, her exultation fading. Each of her dragons ate corpse after corpse, while her soldiers watched with fascination and horror. None dared to come near for fear of being a meal.
Daenerys looked them over for wounds while they gulped down large servings of flesh whole. She observed numerous buckles on their scales from arrow wounds, but none succeeding in causing any harm to her dragons. Then why did they. . . Oh. Her eyes widened in realization. She'd gotten so caught up in victory that she hadn't realized how exhausted her children were.
In all the tales Viserys had told her before his death, he'd never described dragons tiring. Daenerys had assumed they could destroy entire hosts without rest, only to be proven wrong. Beenero stood at her side, heat radiating from his body. "They possess great power, Your Grace, but have not yet matured. Even your ancestor Aegon lost one of his dragons in combat."
Daenerys nodded, acknowledging his words. She glanced over at Tyrion, who appeared torn between retreating from the dragons and approaching them.
By the time they were finished, the sun and set and Daenerys estimated each of her children had eaten a significant percentage of their body weight in food.
Now they know what I'm truly capable of. Her dragons were still young and would continue to grow stronger. Her enemies would not forget this day.
Nor would she. Each of her children possessed enormous power, but had their limits. Had any of them fallen to the ground, sheer numbers would have overwhelmed them.
She had struck a blow, but the siege was far from won.
XXXXXXXXXX
"I knew launching a war right when a severe winter was on its way would be a disaster." Matthew slammed his fist down on the table. He'd spent the past three hours going over reports of famine throughout the Riverlands and Westerlands. It had been war to the knife, with few prisoners taken on either side.
Every field and village between Riverrun and Ashemark had been burned and there was no time to plant further crops before winter came. Matthew glanced over at the fireplace, which was now constantly lit in his chambers. Casualties were unknown but likely to be massive. Those who failed to take shelter inside castles were dead or displaced.
And his own methods to improve agriculture would take a decade or more to fully implement, even assuming they worked. "Let the traitors die a traitor's death!" Joffrey screamed in his mind. Matthew ignored him. Responding would only require the man whose body he inhabited.
Hopefully, the deal I made with Margaery will at least mitigate the damage. He'd given blueprints of the cannons in exchange for food shipments to the Westerlands, which would at least offer some relief. Everyone needed to be at top strength in the war to come. And I haven't been able to do anything to prepare, for all intents and purposes.
Nothing could be done for the Riverlands, and his subordinates would never accept giving aid to them, anyway. Matthew had no guarantee they wouldn't simply launch a war of revenge the instant winter was over, in any case. It reminded him all too well of what things were like in America before the war, where they were on the verge of slaughtering each other over different viewpoints.
But in the end, we united against a common threat. I don't know if Westeros could do the same. Matthew put down his quill and got to his feet, rubbing his temples. He delegated what he could, but too many around him were corrupt and self-serving, even if their worst excesses had been curtailed. It left him to do the job himself.
Matthew glanced at himself in the mirror, seeing a few strands of grey hair mixed in with the blonde. More prominent were the dark bags around his eyes. Anyone else would be happy in my position. My enemies have been crushed, the Iron Throne is secure, I have a beautiful wife, and the Small Council has been purged. Sometimes he cursed his knowledge of future events.
"You don't have to do everything alone, you know." Margaery frowned at him that night. "Even my Grandmother will entrust certain tasks to those capable."
"I don't, at least no more than necessary." Matthew wondered if she was pregnant yet. He didn't like having a child under such circumstances, but had long since learned 21st century viewpoints would lead him to disaster. "Being King is such an enormous amount of work, I wonder why anyone would want this throne in the first place."
"I haven't come all this way just to have my husband kill himself." Margaery rested her head on his shoulder. Despite distrusting her, Matthew found himself opening up more and more. "Besides, I'd like you at my side when we punish the dwarf for trying to kill me."
"So long as he dies, I'll be happy." Last Matthew heard, Tyrion had made his way to Meereen, though had heard nothing about him since. Perhaps his assassins had taken him out. I won't believe it until I see his body. Even then, it could be a mistake.
"I know you're considering delivering food to the Riverlands, but it would be a mistake. The Blackfish still holds Riverrun in Robb Stark's name and they would only be stronger when summer comes."
"They're on their own." Matthew doubted they would let go of any grudges, even against a common enemy.
"Are you coming back to bed, my love?" Margaery lay down on the bed, still nude. "I'm interested to learn if you have any other tricks to teach me."
"So that's way you decided to marry me in spite of everything." Matthew attempted to joke.
"I did take it into consideration," Margaery's eyes gleamed with mischief. "And I didn't wish to have a Dornish whore steal you from me."
"Hopefully, they're not in a position to cause further trouble." Matthew knew how naïve he had been to think merely giving them Clegane would smooth things over, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Dorne's geography made them next to impossible to conquer. However, Matthew knew their military capabilities were grossly overestimated.
And now I am truly alone in King's Landing. Cersei had been a burden, but she was a reliable ally, one of the few he had. Everyone on the Small Council cared only for power and many at court bristled under his attempted reforms.
"Even my Grandmother knows when it's time to delegate some of her responsibilities." Margaery led him to the bed. Matthew knew she was attempting to distract him, but didn't have the energy to refuse. They slept together twice that night, Matthew's heart lightening despite himself.
By the time he woke up, it was early afternoon. Matthew groaned and dressed, not bothering to wait for any servants to assist him. Breakfast had already been made for him, while Margaery waited at his side with a patient smile. "How long have you been waiting for me?"
"Long enough, Joffrey." Margaery smirked. Both ate in silence while Matthew stretched his arms and legs, prepared for whatever the day would bring.
As he ate, Matthew looked over one of the latest reports from his Master of Whisperers: the Golden Company had disappeared. He knew they had some sort of significance to Westeros, but couldn't remember what it was. All Matthew knew was, they were among the few sellsword companies to not switch sides at a whim. His knowledge of Omelos was far from encyclopedic.
"Stark's still in love with you, you know." Margaery turned her head.
"I'm well aware of that." Matthew didn't need any jealousy from her. He still considered marrying her to Tommen but feared the Northmen would kill him if they traveled to Winterfell. "There's nothing going on between us."
"Perhaps there should be." Margaery placed a hand on his shoulder. "She'll do anything for you and to be blunt, you don't have a lot of allies in King's Landing."
"I can't believe you're encouraging me to sleep around." Matthew chuckled despite himself. "Thought wives wanted to discourage that kind of behavior."
"Both of us know infidelity is much more common than anyone wishes to admit. Not unusual for Kings to have mistresses, as your. . . father continued to prove."
"You mean our undying love could survive a few affairs?" Matthew played it off as a joke. Sansa seemed too young for him and he still wanted to be faithful to Margaery.
"Renly Baratheon had unconventional tastes, yet we still married. More importantly, you'll have someone who will do anything for you. Not an asset you should waste. She's sheltered and naïve, but won't attempt to resist your charms. It's not as if the Starks could hate you more than they already do. As for the possibility of bastards, there are ways to avoid it."
"Did your grandmother teach you this?"
"She taught me a lot of things, most of all how to survive. I don't think Stark will need much persuasion, and your skill in bed will make up for any qualms on her part." Margaery hugged him from behind. "But I would ask not to forget about me."
She's at least fond of me, even if I wouldn't call it love. Matthew didn't think Margaery was as indifferent to the suggestion as she wished to appear. And it is something to consider.
Despite a Small Council meeting already held in the morning, Matthew requested another one. They were his subjects and would work according to his schedule. He didn't trust reports to give him the whole truth. Most of it was routine, save for the news coming from Meereen.
Davos informed him they would possess enough ships to hold back any assault on King's Landing, although only a handful possessed cannons. Matthew knew how difficult it would be to hit a dragon from a boat, nor did he have sufficient to try and train them to do so. "She'll be here soon enough. I expect all of you to be ready for it."
Maybe I'll get lucky and have her story end in Meereen. Matthew doubted it, but considering all three cities and surrounding towns were suffering mass famine, Daenerys would bring the same to Westeros. She made him look like a prodigy of ruling by comparison.
Once the Small Council meeting was concluded, Matthew spent much of the afternoon sparring with Ser Barristan. He'd never be an exceptional swordsman, but after a couple years of practice, he had at least learned enough to hold his own. Best of all, Matthew rarely had to listen to Joffrey in his head anymore.
He allowed his squires to remove his armor and returned to court, where Matthew knew a hot bath would be waiting. Even the first of my public baths should be open soon. At least there would be some lasting improvements in King's Landing.
Sansa waited for Matthew near a staircase, curtsying as he came near. "Joffrey. . . Your Grace. . . may I speak with you?" Sansa's lip quivered. She was worried about something, although Matthew didn't think it was him.
"What can I do for you, Lady Sansa?"
"Is it. . . true you're refusing to send aid to the Riverlands?" Sansa turned her head away. "It's what my mother tells me, but you'd never do something so cruel."
"There's been a lot of devastation, Lady Sansa. You've been spared from the worst of it. I'm doing everything possible to avert a famine, but there isn't enough food to go around." He'd already had to give up his main advantage in exchange for it.
"You're not answering my question, Your Grace. What are you doing for my Mother's home?"
Nothing, because the instant Daenerys arrives, they're liable to take up arms again, even with hostages. Matthew wasn't about to tell her that, however. "I've sent a few food shipments, but some of my advisors have certain concerns. They've told me they believe your family will launch another rebellion at the first opportunity."
"Your Grace, please, you can't let them starve." Sansa fell to her knees. "I know you; you're a good man. I'm certain you can assist them."
"All right, I'll do what I can to relieve their suffering." Matthew promised. Perhaps a few symbolic shipments to those who had swallowed their pride and borrowed money from Casterly Rock. "With winter on its way, life will be difficult, and I'm sure you haven't forgotten your house's words." He considered making a move, certain Sansa wouldn't refuse his affection.
"No, Your Grace." Sansa bowed. "All I ever wanted once was to see the Capital. This Game of Thrones. . . had I been Queen, I don't think I could have won it. No one here has the concept of honor or loyalty."
"I'm afraid not." Matthew rubbed his temples. "In case you're not aware of this, I'll inform you: no one truly wins the Game of Thrones. Surviving is winning, Sansa. Everything else is bullshit. Just a bunch of fairy tales people tell themselves to avoid looking at reality."
"I see." Sansa didn't appear surprised at the news. Perhaps even this version was capable of learning. Matthew looked down at her, faint scars from her attack still visible. "I hear what they're saying about you, that you've become a puppet of the red woman. They're worrying you're going to abolish the Seven entirely."
"I punished the High Septon's murderers, committed in a holy building, no less." Matthew knew he'd have to deal with the repercussions, but refused to let the High Sparrow win. "How often have you heard this?"
"Many have a loose tongue when the only person around is a stupid girl." Sansa hid her smile behind her hand. She plunged her hand underneath her dress and handed Matthew a piece of paper. "Some sounded like they were merely grumbling, but a few appeared more serious, so I wrote down their names."
"I am most appreciative, Lady Sansa." Matthew scanned the names. Most were of no surprise, but a couple were those he'd assumed were loyal. He'd wait until there was more solid evidence, intent on ripping out their plot root and stem. "And I know the risk you took giving me this."
"If things were different. . ." Sansa lowered her head. "But they are not, and it is something I must accept."
Matthew held her hands in his. "I've thought about that myself. Our families were manipulated into war and hatred feels so natural, we cannot give it up." He kissed her cheek.
"I've tried to tell my mother, but she refuses to believe me. Lord Baelish was a childhood friend of hers."
"Betrayal rarely comes from the direction we expect." Matthew debated kissing her. With Sansa's still-lovestruck eyes, she wouldn't try to resist. But I don't think it's necessary. She's already taking risks to help me, even without being a lover. "And have you given thought to my proposal regarding Tommen?"
"I have, and he's always kind to me. But. . . I believe I could grow to love him as well."
Matthew expected it would make him a target, since Tommen was still unprepared for ruling. Still, he felt Tommen and Sansa could be happy together. "I've always hoped for your happiness, Lady Sansa. You hoped our marriage would be a symbol of reconciliation, but marrying my brother could achieve the same goal." And it would deprive Margaery of any hold on a Stark heir.
"Perhaps we could visit Winterfell as well."
"I'd love to show you, though I would advise waiting until things settle down. How much traveling did you do in the winter?" Sansa took his point. Matthew wasn't eager to remove a bargaining chip, though Catelyn would still serve as a hostage.
XXXXXXXXXX
For the first time in months, Daenerys witnessed hope on the streets on Meereen. No longer would any man or women suffer slavery. She chose to ignore those who attempted to sell themselves back.
Surrounded by her Unsullied, she strolled through the streets, overlooking the dung and urine her footwear touched. Now the time had come to finish her enemies off. Perhaps I can liberate those in the Free Cities as well, once I've taken the Throne. It would take many years, of course, but she refused to allow her suffering to blind her to that of others.
Daenerys wore a shirt of mail underneath her gown. Since coming close to having an arrow in her flesh, she refused to go into battle unprepared again. Daenerys kept her eyes forward, trusting her Unsullied to kill any potential assassins. Grey Worm held a helm in his free hand in lieu of a spear for her to use when burning the enemy lines.
Drogon, Rheagal, and Viserion had all recovered and stared in greeting. Drogon immediately lowered himself to the ground so she could ride him, only for Rheagal to roar in protest. He snarled and approached, smoke coming out his nose.
"What is it?" Daenerys questioned. "Oh." He was jealous. Despite herself, Daenerys covered her mouth to keep giggles from escaping. "All right, Rheagal, I'll take you into battle instead. Drogon fumed but accepted her decision.
I've forgotten both of you, haven't I? As they'd grown, Daenerys found herself spending much of her time with Drogon. Rheagal and Viserion made no protest, so she hadn't realized how it had impacted them. Daenerys uttered a mental apology and placed the helm on her head. It was the smallest one Grey Worm could find, but she still struggled to make it fit.
Daenerys lowered the visor until she realized the inability to see out of the many tiny holes would impact her combat performance. "This is what I was born for." She announced. Her soldiers bowed in response, keeping a safe distance from the dragons. Not even Aegon ever rode more than a single dragon. She'd never even heard of those in Valyria do so. Only she had ever accomplished such a feat.
Prepared to deliver the death blow to her enemies, Rheagal flew into the air in silence, lacking his bigger brother's ferocity. He moved slightly faster and his body took a bit of time to adjust to, but Daenerys succeeded.
She flew high enough to be out of the enemy's reach, yet low enough for them to see her. Large portions of enemy's host had abandoned the battlefield, though none had actually bent the knee to her. Drogon and Viserion roared with all their might, sending shivers through the slavers.
Blackened grass decorated the rear of their lines, a reminder of the power she yielded. At a guess, Daenerys estimated the besieging host to be half its previous size. Let those who fled speak of the power of Daenerys Stormborn. Warn the leaders of Astapor and Meereen what will happen if they enslave another human being.
Ships besieging Meereen had thus far been untouched. Daenerys required them for taking back the Iron Throne and didn't wish to destroy them if it could be avoided. Let them stay in the bay. They couldn't take Meereen and without a host on land, ships would prove useless.
All three dragons circled the battlefield for several minutes, while Daenerys searched for weak spots in their lines. Most trebuchets had been abandoned, even those she had not yet burned. In a dozen locations were crossbows bigger than any she'd seen before.
I think I've got my first target. Daenerys considered flying into the clouds before swooping down, but didn't want to exhaust her children anymore than necessary. Rheagal flew in a circle, turning at random. A few arrows impacted Rheagal's scales, though he hardly seemed to notice them.
Drogon dived down into the rear of Astapor's lines, torching the masters who forced their slaves to fight and die. Viserion kept his focus on the flanks, making no distinction between slave and master.
"Dracarys!" Daenerys bellowed just as the first bolt flew toward her. Laughing she realized the operators didn't have a prayer of hitting Rheagal. Two struggled to reload the ballista, while the others realized they had no time and fled.
The ballista went up like kindling, catching those who did not possess the sense to flee. Even from a distance, Daenerys failed to tune out their screams. Archers threw down their bows and ran for the nearest available cover, tripping over themselves in their haste to get away.
Two crews prepared their bolts as Drogon flew near, keeping track of his every movement. He opened his mouth to make them pay for their foolishness. "No. . ." Daenerys' voice lowered to a whisper when she saw Drogon struck. The bolt had penetrated his chest, through the scales and into his flesh. Drogon struggled to stay aloft, his flight slow and erratic.
They won't take him from me! Forgetting her previous goal, Daenerys urged Rheagal onward, intent on exacting her vengeance. Operators of the two scorpions had just reloaded once she arrived. Rheagal lowered his head, teeth bared while the bolt flew past him.
Daenerys torched both operating crews, along with everyone in the vicinity. In her rage, she cared little whether they were slaves or masters.
Viserion increased his flame to maximum power, with no rhyme or reason to his attack. Another ballista prepared a bolt, which he spotted just too late to evade. He moved fast enough to avoid a lethal blow, but it sunk into his right leg.
Daenerys cursed, urging Rheagal to go faster. Drogon staggered back within the city walls, his cries of pain audible to everyone taking shelter within.
Meereen's gates open, her Unsulled and sellswords charging out. Disorganized and demoralized, Astapor and Yunkai's forces stood little chance. Daenerys did not dare to use more dragonflame, not wishing to harm those who had risked everything to stand with her.
Those who remained raised white flags and went to their knees, screaming for mercy. Rheagal landed on the grass, while Daenerys checked to ensure no ballista were within range. Spears and swords were thrown on the ground. Few bothered to try and flee, disheartened.
Her Unsullied stopped once it became apparent they were broken. Sellswords waited for Daenerys, eager to collect more scalps and a larger paycheck. "What shall we do with them, Khalessi?" Grey Worm questioned, blood staining his armor.
Burn them all. . . Daenerys shuddered at the voice within her. They had wounded two of her children, murdered her soldiers in their sleep, attempted to starve out the former slaves. After inflicting so much suffering, now they had the audacity to surrender?! Rheagal opened his mouth, ready for her order. More than a few of her Unsullied looked ready to do the same.
"All of you will lower your weapons and surrender them to us." Daenerys spoke once she was sure of her control. "If anyone so much as raises a sword to me again, you will be annihilated. Tell everyone on your ships to embark and bend the knee. Any delay, any excuse, and my Unsullied will finish slaughtering you." Rheagal roared with all his might, snapping his neck toward those prostrate before Daenerys.
After this day, none in Slaver's Bay would even consider standing against her again.
XXXXXXXXXX
This is a serious lesson Daenerys has been forced to learn. Matthew's a lot more dangerous than those besieging Slaver's Bay, and has prepared for her from the moment he arrived. Dragons are powerful, but they have their weaknesses. I admit, how long they can fight is pure speculation on my part, since GRRM has not elaborated. (And the Targaryens would have a powerful motive to keep this secret)