Kraznys mo Nakloz and his fellows were all there to greet Daenerys. Other well-born Astapori stood in knots behind them, sipping wine from silver flutes as slaves circulated among them with trays of olives and cherries and figs. The elder Grazdan sat in a sedan chair supported by four substantial copper-skinned slaves. Half a dozen mounted lancers rode along the plaza's edges, keeping back the crowds who had come to watch. The sun flashed, blinding bright off the polished copper disks sewn to their cloaks, but she could not help but notice how nervous their horses seemed. They fear the dragons. And well, they might.

Kraznys had a slave help her from her saddle. His hands were full; one clutched his tokar while the other held a whip. "Here they are." He looked at Missandei. "Tell her they are hers . . . if she can pay."

"She can," Missendei told him.

Ser Barristan barked a command, and the trade goods were brought forward. Six bales of tiger skins, three hundred bolts of fine silk. Jars of saffron, jars of myrrh, jars of pepper and curry and cardamom, an onyx mask, twelve jade monkeys, casks of ink in red and black and green, a box of rare black amethysts, a box of pearls, a keg of pitted olives stuffed with maggots, a dozen casks of pickled cave fish, a great brass gong and a hammer to beat it with, seventeen ivory eyes, and a massive chest full of books written in tongues that Daenerys could not read. And more, and more, and more. Her people stacked it all before the slavers.

While the payment was being made, Kraznys mo Nakloz favoured her with a few final words on the handling of her troops. "They are green as yet," he said through Missandei. "Tell the whore of Westeros she would be wise to blood them early. There are many small cities between here and there - cities ripe for sacking. Whatever plunder she takes will be hers alone. Unsullied have no lust for gold or gems. And should she take captives, a few guards will suffice to march them back to Astapor? We'll buy the healthy ones and for a good price. And who knows? In ten years, some of the boys she sends us may become Unsullied in their turn. Thus all shall prosper."

Finally, there were no more trade goods to add to the pile. Her Dothraki mounted their horses once more. "This was all we could carry," Daenerys said. "The rest awaits you on the ships, a great quantity of amber, wine, and black rice. And you have the ships themselves. So all that remains is . . ."

". . . the dragon," finished the Grazdan with the spiked beard, who spoke the Common Tongue so thickly.

The Professor looked over at Grazden and Kraznys, then he walked over to Daenerys. "Are you sure about this?" he asked her.

Daenerys turned to face him and cupped one of his hands. "Trust me. Please," she said, leaning up to kiss him softly. Looking at him, she turned to the litter where Drogon lay in the sun. She took the chain in her hand, and Drogon raised his head. He hissed and unfolded his wings of black and scarlet. Kraznys smiled broadly as their shadow fell across him.

She walked towards him as Drogon flew above. She handed the slaver the end of Drogon's chain, and in return, he presented her with the whip. The handle was black dragonbone, elaborately carved and inlaid with gold. Nine long thin leather lashes trailed from it, each tipped by a gilded claw. The gold pommel was a woman's head with pointed ivory teeth.

Daenerys turned the whip in her hand. Such a light thing to bear such weight. "Is it done, then? Do they belong to me?"

"It is done," Kraznys agreed, giving the chain a sharp pull to bring Drogon down from above. "She holds the whip. This bitch has her army."

Daenerys turned around to look at the Unsullied that were standing behind her. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She felt desperately afraid. Was this what my brother would have done? She wondered. She wondered if Prince Rhaegar had been this anxious when he saw the Usurper's host formed up across the Trident with all their banners floating on the wind.

She straightened her posture with a surge of resolve, channelling her inner strength. Raising the harpy's fingers high above her head, she presented them to the assembly of Unsullied, ensuring every eye beheld their significance. Her voice rang out, piercing the air like a clarion call, as she uttered the ancient Valyrian words, "Dovaogēdys!" Her proclamation ignited a palpable shift in the air as the Unsullied stiffened in response to her command.

"Naejot memēbātās!" she exclaimed, her voice resonating with authority. And like an unstoppable tide, the Unsullied began their march forward, a testament to their unwavering loyalty. But Daenerys uttered a final decree, her words slicing through the charged atmosphere. "Kelītīs!" she commanded, halting their advance in a moment of unwavering obedience.

Daenerys took a glimpse at old Grazden, turning his grey head sharply. He heard me speak Valyrian. The other slavers were not listening, however. They crowded around Kraznys and Drogon, watching as he failed to get him to listen. Though the Astapori yanked and tugged, Drogon would not come down and stop flying.

"Tell the bitch her beast won't come," Kraznys ordered in low Valyrian.

It is time to cross the Trident, thought Daenerys. She turned around and looked at Kraznys. "Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor."

Kraznys turned his head sharply to look at Daenerys. "Ydra ji Valyre?"

"Nyke Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen Targārio Lentrot, hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogar iksan. Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa," Daenerys replied, then she turned to the Unsullied again. "Dovaogēdys! Āeksia ossēnātās, menti ossēnātās, qilōni pilos lue vale tolvie ossēnātās, yn riñe dōre ōdrikātās. Urnet luo buzdaro tolvio belma pryjātās!"

As her words reached the ears of the Unsullied, a transformation began to unfold. Once trained to be obedient, soulless soldiers, the Unsullied now embraced their newfound freedom and true purpose. Determinedly, they turned against their former masters, their once-impervious facade crumbling in the face of their retribution.

Kraznys watched in horror as his grip on power slipped away like grains of sand through his trembling fingers. The very ones he had sought to control now became the instruments of his downfall. His eyes widened, and his heart pounded with dread as he realized his terrible mistake in underestimating the woman before him.

He tried to regain control of the Unsullied, but it was useless. They weren't listening to his orders anymore. He was not their master anymore.

Daenerys looked at him, then at Drogon flying above. "Dracarys," she sang out to Drogon. The black and scarlet dragon flapped his wings and roared.

A lance of swirling dark flame took Kraznys full in the face. His eyes melted and ran down his cheeks, and the oil in his hair and beard burst so fiercely into the fire that, for an instant, the slaver wore a burning crown twice as tall as his head. The sudden stench of charred meat overwhelmed his perfume, and his wail seemed to drown all other sounds.

Then the Plaza of Punishment blew apart into blood and chaos. The Good Masters were shrieking, stumbling, shoving one another aside and tripping over the fringes of their tokars in their haste. Drogon flew almost lazily at Kraznys, black wings beating.

When Daenerys turned to look, a third of Astapor's proud demon-horned warriors were fighting to stay atop their terrified mounts, and another third were fleeing in a bright blaze of shiny copper. One man kept his saddle long enough to draw a sword, but Jhogo's whip coiled about his neck and cut off his shout. Another lost a hand to Rakharo's arakh and rode off reeling and spurting blood. Aggo sat calmly, notching arrows to his bowstring and sending them at tokars. Silver, gold, or plain, he cared nothing for the fringe.

Once the fighting had calmed down, the Unsullied moved back to their ranks. Daenerys moved through them, looking over at them. The Professor joined her side, and he looked over at her.

"They fought bravely," the Professor remarked. "These Unsullied have now chosen their own path. And you as their leader. I think they are truly a testament to your leadership."

Daenerys nodded her expression a mix of gratitude and responsibility. "I never imagined witnessing such a transformation," she said.

The Professor placed a reassuring hand on Daenerys's shoulder. "You have sparked a revolution," he said softly. "You've allowed these soldiers to reclaim their humanity and rewrite their destinies. It is a remarkable feat."

Daenerys looked up at him and smiled. He always did have the fullest support for her. She moved over to where her silver mare stood and mounted her. Sitting high in the saddle, she took another look at the Unsullied. Her Unsullied.

"Unsullied!" she called out as she addressed the Unsullied in Valyrian. "You have been slaves all your life. Today you are free. Any man who wishes to leave may leave, and no one will harm him. I give you my word. Will you fight for me? As free men?"

A hushed silence settled over the Unsullied, their eyes locked on their leader. Then, in unison, they raised their spears and began rhythmically pounding them against the dusty sand beneath their feet, a thunderous response of agreement.

The Professor moved to stand before Daenerys. "It seems they have chosen to follow you," he said. "They see in you what I have always seen in you. A leader who inspires others to rise above their circumstances and achieve greatness." He beamed at her. "This is a testament to your unwavering spirit and the hope you inspire in everyone."

Daenerys turned to face the Unsullied again, her eyes shining with determination and gratitude. She was humbled by their loyalty and the trust they had placed in her. With renewed resolve, she raised her voice one final time, her words filled with conviction.

The night air was thick with tension as Daenerys guided her khalasar and the formidable Unsullied through the outskirts of Astapor. The city had been liberated from the clutches of slavery, but their departure was met with mixed emotions. The freed slaves, who had found solace and hoped in Daenerys' presence, lined the streets to bid her farewell, their faces a mixture of gratitude, fear, and uncertainty.

Daenerys rode at the forefront of the procession, her silver mare gracefully carrying her through the dimly lit roads. The Professor rode steadfastly at her side, his eyes scanning the surroundings for potential threats. Missandei and Ser Barristan Selmy followed behind them, as did Irri and Jhiqui.

Her Dothraki bloodriders, Qhono, Aggo, and Kovarro, followed closely behind, their mighty steeds snorting and kicking up dust as they kept pace with the khalasar.

Daenerys looked at the whip in her hands, then tossed it aside, letting it sink into the sands of the outskirts of Astapor. The Unsullied had chosen her as their leader. She didn't need a whip to control them. They would fight for her out of loyalty.