He knew mother would be angry with him when he returned to his perch, but Viserion knew, just like his brother, that a chance like this would never come again. There were thousands of men trying to raid his city, attack his mother, and kill her allies, this would not be allowed. The White Dragon did not care if he had to set the waters afire alone, he would not let them destroy his home, and Meereen was his home. He had lived in Meereen longer than any other place, and he had grown accustomed to the people, the climate, and the food that was brought to him and his brothers. He even liked the giant growly creature called Kevan that had joined them in the sand nest they all slept in. He would not allow his nest to be destroyed, which was why he was comfortable sailing through the skies behind his brother.
Soaring over the Maw was not a new experience for Drogon, he had mapped the area so well that even in the densest fog he could find his way around. What he had around him now was not fog, it was battle. Something in his blood screamed with the men he set aflame, but in exhilaration.
He had never been in pitched battle, never soared so quickly that balls of fire aimed at him simply missed, never truly expelled the fire in his belly. Beneath him, humans cooked to ash, past the point of taste and into an unpleasant crispy crunch. Drogon did not understand why humans enjoyed their crisped pig creature, but the sounds of enjoyment that they made put him of mind when he ate entire cows.
Thoughts of cows and feasts whirled through his head as he bit into a man not quite so crispy as the others. The squealing biped screeched in pain and horror at being devoured alive, but honestly, what had he expected?
The entire fleet sailed straight into the waiting and eager jaws of death, what with Mother, Marian, he, and his brother. It was a shame that Rhaegal was not with them, the green brother would have enjoyed setting fire to the ships. Viserion was fun to fly with though, so they circled the fleet, which had abandoned its siege and instead writhed towards the shore. Ships slammed into each other, men fell into the water, and the screams of the dying penetrated the air.
It was great fun for Drogon and Viserion, who took pleasure in plucking drowning men from their watery graves and then feasting a bit before throwing the now dead men back on their friends. It wasn't pretty, admittedly, but if there was one thing that Marian had taught the boys, it was that pretty things were for when people weren't trying to kill you.
And the men in their ships were trying to kill the dragons, even if they were doing a piss poor job of it. Catapults were too slow to strike them, and arrows clattered off of their scaled hides. Even shots at the weak membrane of the wings failed to penetrate, though that was because of Marian more than the Dragons being badasses. The mage had spent years imbuing magic into the boys, mostly to make them actually intelligent, but also to help them grow into indestructible tanks.
They were so tough, hardy, and not to mention massive, that when they slammed into the water, they overturned the warships with just their splashes. What would have been ripples in the water for lesser creatures were tidal waves of death for the unfortunate slaves and slavers of the attacking fleet.
While the Dragons were enjoying their revels out to sea, the Scalebound were facing the survivors on the beaches. As much fun as the massive beasts had laying waste to the fleet, the sailors and slaves were unwilling to perish so easily.
Men tore themselves from the water and towards the city, knowing that the way behind them was blocked with no chance to escape. They rushed from the tide, and without care threw themselves upon the spears of the scalebound. They crashed, every one in ten men impaling himself on a pointed stick in his hurry to escape, but that did not stop them soon enough to cease the charge.
The near drowned men clashed with the Scalebound, forcing most of the first line of former unsullied to drop their spears and draw their swords. The melee was joined with ferocity, with blades singing as they passed through the air, men screaming in each other's faces, and the splashes of the drowning and the dying.
Grey Worm, having joined his men, issues calm orders from the back of their formation. It was not due to any form of cowardice or hesitation to join their ranks that he was in the back, merely the fact that he had arrived to the battlefield after they had already formed lines. He could issue orders from any place in his army, as had been trained into him since the removal of his balls. He could order, and he could fight, and he was itching to fight and sink his blade into the masters of the Free Cities.
His eyes narrow at that thought, and he seeks out one of his men to issue an order, "Trod!"
Trod Underfoot gives a yell as he bisects a man to indicate that he has heard his commander. Dodging another and slapping the man's legs out from under him to send him tumbling face first into the water, he waits for his new orders as he drowns the downed man while blocking another's sword.
"Take one alive," Grey Worm orders, "Our Empress must know who sent them."
It was not just Trod who gave the agreeing shout, but the entirety of his platoon, and like a well oiled trebuchet, they switch gears within seconds and suddenly every man who breaks through the first line finds himself divested of his hands and thrown to the Scalebound further on.
The pained screams of the now disarmed prisoners reverberates much more loudly than the screams of the dying, for they lasted longer and were more of pain than horror. With the added screams of pain, he madly advancing men coming from the sea slowly come to a stop, their fear of whatever is causing such agony over-riding their fear of the Dragons for long enough that the Scalebound are able to reform their lines.
Behind the Scalebound, Trod underfoot drags a man who isn't bleeding as terribly and possesses both of his hands still towards the city.
Inside the city, the Sons of the Harpy try to reclaim what they think of as theirs. They had remained silent since the failed coup at the arena, choosing to shore up their numbers rather than wipe themselves out in another foolish attempt at killing the Empress. They had managed to grow their numbers somewhere into the thousands by the time that the fleet began its attack. Sons of the Harpy flooded the streets as best they could as soon as the battle was joined, and for close to ten minutes that had been able to enjoy themselves in any way they wished.
This naturally ended when Daario Naharis stuck a rapist through the heart with one of his blades. The scene of revelry, debauchery, murder, and rape that was taking over one of the market squares within the city ends quicker than it started. The sound of the dead man slapping into the ground and the young woman's screams bring the attention of the Sons to Daario, who smiles and twitches his blades in challenge.
Beside the former sellsword, Barristan Selmy scowls at the terrorists, and his own blade is raised, ready to strike. The old knight may not be as spry as he had been in the days of Robert's Rebellion or the War of the Ninepenny Kings, but as he had proven with Marian, he was as deadly as he ever was.
The Sons, seeing two of the deadliest warriors in the Empress's armed forces, are quick to drop their victims and bring their own weapons to bear. There is a tense moment of silence, the smog of unease spreading through the square as each side assesses the other. The two hundred plus men of the Sons of the Harpy against two of the deadliest men to ever live.
It was clear from the start, who would break first, and the weakest of the Harpies did not disappoint. The Harpy, a terrified and angry young man behind the expressionless mask, finally gave to his fears. The sound of piss dripping to the ground draws many eyes to him, and then they follows him as he finally gives the fight up before it even begins and rushes from the square in the opposite direction of Daario and Barristan.
The two warriors exchange looks and snort in amusement at the sight, and are even more amused when the second, and then the third, and so on until only about twenty of the bravest or stupidest Harpies remain in the square.
It is then that the actual battle begins.
Barristan lowers his sword until it is even with his eyes, and as the first of the twenty Harpies leap at him, he steps back and brings his blade down in a quick downward slice. The Harpy's arm is taken off at the elbow and he begins to scream. Barristan's swing back upwards, returning his blade to its previous position, takes the screaming man's head off and ends the sound.
One down in two swings of a blade, and nineteen men left to die.
Though three of them would not die against Barristan or Daario, for they flee at the sudden and efficient death. Daario does not give the rest time to flee, leaping forward into a run towards his closest adversary. The Harpy attempts to grab up the woman who he'd been enjoying before the interruption and use her as a human shield, but the woman kicks and cries, and distracts the man enough that only the cool slide of steel against his throat reminds him of the danger of Daario Naharis far too late.
As the man's life blood squirts out of his neck, Daario turns to catch a blade coming towards his back. The dagger tings against his own sword, and the blades lock. Daario, more equipped than the man who attacked him, uses his second sword to stab the Harpy through the eye hole of his mask.
Three of seventeen are now dead, and the steady advance of Barristan Selmy promises the rest of the Harpies in the square that soon their number will dwindle all the more. Two more of their number turn to flee, leaving the rest of them to their fates.
What the fleeing Harpies are subjected to is not truly any better, for they are quick to run into the city guard, who make short work of the pair of them. This fate had befallen all of the Harpies, one way or another. But there was no place in Meereen for the fear mongers anymore. People rose to fight back when they came, the guard slaughtered them where they stood, and even the women that they chose to violate would grab their own daggers and slit their throats if they had the chance.
Meereen was not welcoming the slavers.
The only slaver that could be said to be welcomed, would be the man dragged into the Throne Room of Daenerys Stormborn, Empress of the Maw, by Trod Underfoot. The man was shivering in fear as he knelt below the silver haired ruler, awaiting judgement. Dany staring down at him, decides on the easiest question first, "What is your name?"
"Trout, Mistress," The man tells her.
She sighs, with his name and his response knowing the man to be a slave, "Peace, trout, you will not be punished for what your masters forced you to do. All I need are answers."
"Answers, Mistress?"
"Yes, who is behind this fleet?"
"I was owned by a fisherman in Volantis, Mistress," Trout tells her, "And did not sail far when I was sold to the fleet."
"Do you know why my Empire is being attacked?"
"You spread freedom, Mistress. Your god preaches freedom. Master Frexis said you and your God were a threat to the Free Cities and the Lord of Light."
"The Lord of Light? The Red Priests are trying to kill me?"
"Yes, Mistress, Master Frexis was a Red Priest, and he said that those of the true faith were joining the battle."
Dany leans back in her throne, staring down at the downtrodden slave, and nods to herself, "Trout, you will be given a chamber to clean yourself in, and new clothes to wear. They will serve you better than your rags. When this battle is over, you will be free to do as you please, and if you so wish, my advisor Mossador will find you employment within the city. Trod, please take him."
Trod nods, and far more gently than when he entered, escorts Trout out of the Throne Room.
Dany stays in her position for several hours as the battle rages in the city beyond. She knows that her forces will win. She has Dragons, Marian, the people, and everything else that mattered in a fight. The fleet of Volantis was already burning tinder in the water, the soldiers already drowned or dead by the might of her Scalebound, and whatever Slavers tried to creep through the cracks within the city would be dealt with by Daario, Barristan, and the city guard.
She knew that Marian was countering any magics that the red priests tried to throw at her, and she was sad to see that Marian and Varys had been proven right in that regard. She had not intended to go after the Free Cities so soon, but it was clear that they were not going to let her be, thus she could not let them be.
From Varys, she knew that Pentos was still under the control of Aegon's interim government, and that through fear they were deferential to her rule. She would have to make use of them far sooner than she had planned, it looked like.
"Hey Dany!" Marian steps into the Throne Room, "There's a second fleet coming towards the Maw."
Dany raises an eyebrow, pinches the bridge of her nose, and then sighs out, "Let's hope they're smarter than our friends from Volantis."