NOTES:
This chapter, like the last, is laying the groundwork for future plot developments.
The events depicted in the final scene of this chapter unfold on the same day as those narrated in the previous chapter.
Jaenara Vaelorn: Original Character
This is a story based on the Game of Thrones books and TV series, but be warned, it's a very AU (Alternate Universe) story. If you're someone who doesn't enjoy a story that deviates a lot from canon, where certain characters may act out of character, or if you're not a fan of romance with a good amount of fluff, and a story that ultimately has a happy ending, then this may not be the right story for you.
VALYRIA (VALYRIAN SENATE) 298 AC
Senator Aelora Balaerys delivered her report. Her voice, usually commanding, now carried a note of relief as she addressed her colleagues from the Valyrian senate.
"My esteemed colleagues," Aelora began, "I address you today to provide news regarding the relocation of our people to Numenor. After fifteen years of tireless effort, it is with great satisfaction that I announce the successful conclusion of the first part of our migration plan; the vast majority of Valyria's inhabitants have already been relocated."
The assembly listened intently, absorbing Aelora's words with relief . Senator Jaenara Vaelorn, known for her directness and unwavering convictions, raised a hand to inquire
"And who, as of today, remains in the peninsula?" Jaenara's voice cut through the air like a blade, her violet eyes piercing as they fixed on Aelora.
Aelora held her gaze with unwavering determination, maintaining her composure. "As of today, only we, the members of the Triarchy and our families, along with the forty dragon lord families, remain in Valyria. Additionally, approximately half of our armed forces also remain on the peninsula, along with the servants and slaves belonging to our families.
A murmur of approval rippled through the assembly, but Jaenara Vaelorn's skepticism remained unyielding. Rising to her feet, she spoke with a hint of sarcasm lacing her words.
"Isn't this just splendid news?" Jaenara remarked, her tone dripping with skepticism. "Does this mean that after fifteen long years, Valyria will finally be able to exert its influence in Essos?"
Jaenara paused, her gaze sweeping over the gathered senators, her expression one of defiance as she locked eyes with Aelora and the other members of the Triarchy.
In that moment, she observed a faint smile appearing on Aelora's lips, a smile that sent a shiver down her spine. "Please, continue, Senator Vaelorn," Aelora's voice was calm, almost unnervingly so.
Jaenara's lips curled into a sneer as she pressed on, her tone now tinged with anger. "Oh, spare me the platitudes, Senator Balaerys," she spat. "You speak of safety and well-being, yet you seem to ignore the current situation in Essos."
"Do not misunderstand me, esteemed Senator Balaerys, esteemed fellow senators," she continued. "The news that the vast majority of the peninsula's inhabitants now reside on the continent of Numenor fills me with joy. However, over these fifteen long years, I have learned of events in Essos spanning the last four hundred years that have shattered my heart and tarnished the pride of Valyria."
Her voice grew somber as she recounted the grim truths. "In our absence, the Dothraki laid waste to our former ally, the kingdom of Sarnor. Not only that , our once-prosperous colonies now grovel at the feet of those savages, forced into humiliating tributes."
Jaenara's eyes blazed with determination. "My pride as a Valyrian cannot be appeased until we take decisive action against these eastern invaders. We cannot afford to stand idly by while our legacy is tarnished and our allies suffer under the yoke of barbarism."
Aelora's composure wavered for a moment before she regained her poise, her eyes meeting Jaenara's with a steely resolve. "Senator Vaelorn speaks true," Aelora conceded, her voice resolute. "Our absence has left a void in Essos, one that has been filled by chaos. It is our duty to restore order and reclaim our rightful place in the world."
As Aelora spoke, she noticed Ser Jorah Mormont entering the chamber, making his way toward her. She also observed Jaenara Vaelorn's gaze fixating on Jorah's approach. Aelora couldn't help but notice the subtle change in Jaenara's expression, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.
As Jorah reached them, Aelora greeted him with a nod, acknowledging his presence in the chamber. Jaenara's blush deepened slightly, but she remained composed as she observed Ser Jorah leaning in to whisper something into Aelora Balaerys's ear.
Aelora smiled at Ser Jorah's words and then shifted her gaze to Jaenara Vaelorn. "Indeed, Senator Vaelorn, the threat posed by the Dothraki is not one to be taken lightly," she responded, her voice firm. "That is why actions are already underway to address the situation."
Jaenara Vaelorn was about to speak, but she noticed that Ser Jorah was looking at her, subtly indicating that she should listen while smiling at her. A subtle smile formed on her lips, and she decided to continue listening to what Aelora Balaerys had to say.
Aelora glanced briefly at Ser Jorah before continuing. "Esteemed senators, just recently, Harry Strickland, Captain-General of the Golden Company, provided crucial information regarding the Dothraki threat," Aelora explained. "Three years ago, Pentos ceased paying tribute to the khalasars, sparking tensions. Strickland's intel indicates that at least five khalasars have formed an alliance and are currently en route to Pentos."
aenara's eyes widened with concern as she processed the gravity of the situation. "So, they are moving against Pentos," her voice tense with urgency.
Aelora nodded solemnly. "Yes, Senator Vaelorn. The Triarchy is already in the process of mobilizing our forces to defend Pentos and prevent further chaos in Essos," she affirmed.
"As such, esteemed senators," Aelora continued, her voice gaining a note of urgency, "this presents us with a crucial opportunity for Valyria to demonstrate its strength and resolve. Ninety dragons, thirty from each family of the Triarchy, stand ready to fly to Pentos and obliterate those five khalasars."
Senator Viserys Targaryen, accompanied by Maester Aemon, who still remained in Valyria, spoke up, saying, "This is our chance to make a statement, to show the world that Valyria will not tolerate threats to its former colonies," he added, his voice firm.
Viserys grinned mischievously as he addressed Aelora. "You Triarchy folks always want to hog all the fun, don't you?" he said playfully. "How about this: why don't we spice things up a bit? Instead of just the Triarchy contributing, how about each of the forty families of dragon lords throws in two dragons for this expedition?"
After Viserys proposed his idea, the chamber erupted into a lively discussion among the senators.
Senator Aelora Balaerys, seizing the moment, raised her hand to call for order. "Esteemed colleagues, it seems we have an exciting proposal on the table," she said, her voice ringing out with authority. "Shall we put it to a vote?"
The room fell silent as the senators nodded in agreement. Aelora continued, "All those in favor of Senator Targaryen's proposition that each of the forty families contribute two dragons for this expedition against the Dothraki threat, please signify by raising your hand."
One by one, the senators raised their hands until it was clear that the vote was unanimous.
Aelora nodded in satisfaction. "The ayes have it. Senator Targaryen proposal is approved."
As murmurs of approval filled the chamber, Aelora raised her hand once more to signal for attention. "Esteemed senators, there is one more matter I must bring to your attention," she announced. "In addition to our dragons, a fleet of ships is poised to set sail for Pentos."
Curiosity flickered in the eyes of the senators as they awaited her explanation.
"Why mobilize the fleet?" one of the senators inquired, his brow furrowing with curiosity.
Aelora's expression remained composed as she replied, "To bring thousands of Dothraki prisoners."
"For what purpose?" Jaenara Vaelorn spoke up once more, her tone more measured now.
Aelora's lips curved into a mysterious smile. "We intend to perform a powerful blood magic spell," she replied cryptically. "One that will allow us to move the entire capital of Valyria to Numenor."
The senators exchanged incredulous glances, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of Aelora's proposal.
"But how is such a thing possible?" another senator inquired, his voice filled with awe.
Aelora's eyes gleamed with determination. "The spell that saved our lives four centuries ago showed us that with a sufficient amount of blood, anything is possible," she declared. "We will show the world the true might of Valyria."
A murmur of astonishment rippled through the chamber as the senators exchanged bewildered glances. With that, the senators nodded in solemn agreement, their minds racing with the weight of the decisions that lay ahead.
TWO HOURS LATER, TARGARYEN MANSE, VALYRIA
"How have you found your experience in Valyria these past weeks, Maester Aemon?" Aelora Balaerys inquired with curiosity.
The old maester's eyes sparkled with wonder as he replied, "It has been an incredible experience, Lady Aelora. I have learned so much during my time here. Among the many lessons, I have been privileged to hear stories of my Targaryen ancestors, tales that were long lost in Westeros."
Aelora nodded, her interest piqued. "The stories of your ancestors are indeed fascinating."
Maester Aemon paused, his expression thoughtful. "Lady Aelora, if I may ask, do you not think using hundreds of dragons against the Dothraki is a bit excessive? Surely, three, or at most five dragons, would suffice to destroy their khalasars."
Aelora's lips curved into a knowing smile as she leaned back in her seat. "Ah, Maester Aemon, you raise an interesting point. But have you heard of the Rhoynish Wars and the three hundred dragons?"
Aemon nodded slowly. "Yes, indeed. Songs still echo the tales of those wars to this day."
Aelora's smile widened. "Precisely. We intend to use hundreds of dragons to send a message of strength and authority, not only to the Dothraki but to all who witness our might. Pentos, as you know, is a bustling port city, a hub of trade and commerce. It is likely that people from all corners of the known world, from Westeros in the west to the distant lands of Yi Ti and the Shadow Lands in the east, will be present in the city."
Aemon's eyes widened with understanding. "Ah, I see. It is not just about defeating the Dothraki but about demonstrating Valyria's might to the world."
Aelora nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Maester Aemon. Our actions will resonate far beyond the borders of Pentos. They will serve as a reminder to all that Valyria has returned, and we will not be trifled with."
"Furthermore," Aelora continued, "I prefer to spill Dothraki blood now than the blood of a Lysene, Pentoshi, Myrish, Tyroshi, or any of our former colonies when the time comes to unify the Valyrian Freehold."
Aemon observed the glint in Aelora's eyes and sensed there was more behind her resolve. "Is there a personal reason driving this decision as well, Lady Aelora?" he inquired gently.
Aelora's smile softened, a flicker of emotion crossing her features before she composed herself. "Yes, Maester Aemon, there is," she admitted, her voice carrying a weight of history. "Four hundred years ago, I had friends in the Kingdom of Sarnor. The Dothraki swept through those lands, leaving devastation in their wake.
PENTOS 298 AC
Emmon Frey gazed out of the window of Illyrio Mopatis' opulent mansion, his mind swirling with apprehension. His fingers drummed nervously against the ornate armrest of his chair as he watched the bustling streets of Pentos below. Beside him, his wife Genna Lannister sat with a serene expression, though her sharp eyes betrayed the worry that lay beneath the surface.
"Genna," Emmon began, his voice tight with concern, "I spoke with the ship's captain this morning. Once we give the order to return to Westeros, they'll be ready to depart."
Genna smirked. "Of course they will. With the amount of gold my brother Tywin paid them for this mission, they'll fulfill our orders to the letter."
"I just hope Magister Illyrio attends to us quickly," Emmon replied, his voice agitated. "With the Dothraki on the horizon, I don't want to linger in Pentos any longer than necessary."
As Emmon and Genna continued to wait, they heard the sound of childish laughter echoing through the halls. Emmon's expression shifted to one of concern, while Genna's smile softened into one of genuine warmth. They turned to see Tommen and Myrcella, their young great-nephew and great-niece, darting around the opulent corridors of Illyrio's mansion, their laughter filling the air.
"Tommen! Myrcella!" Genna called out, her voice with affection. "Careful now, don't run too fast."
The children skidded to a stop, their faces alight with excitement as they approached their great aunt and great uncle. Tommen, the younger of the two, grinned up at Emmon, his cheeks flushed with the thrill of their impromptu game. Myrcella, ever the poised young lady, smoothed down her dress before addressing her great aunt and great uncle with a polite nod.
"Great Aunt Genna, Great Uncle Emmon," Myrcella said, her voice tinged with curiosity. "When are we returning to Westeros?"
Genna sighed, ruffling Tommen's hair affectionately before turning to address her great-niece. "Soon, my dear. Very soon. We're just waiting for Magister Illyrio to finalize a few matters before we can depart."
Genna placed a reassuring hand on Myrcella's shoulder, offering her a comforting smile. "And once we're back home, you'll have plenty of time to explore Casterly Rock."
Myrcella nodded, her expression brightening at the thought. With a final glance at her great aunt and great uncle, she took Tommen's hand, and together they scampered off down the hallway, their laughter fading into the distance.
"There's no hope with Joffrey; he's already a lost cause. But with Myrcella and Tommen, there is hope," Genna thought to herself as she watched them depart.
"I still don't understand why your brother wanted his grandchildren to accompany us on this mission," Emmon said at that moment, his expression of concern still evident.
"Tywin has his reasons," replied Genna somewhat curtly. "Remember, when we return to Westeros, the order is for Myrcella and Tommen not to stay in King's Landing but to accompany us to Casterly Rock."
"I don't want to have someone like your niece Cersei as an enemy," grumbled Emmon.
"What do you prefer to face, the wrath of my brother Tywin or that of my niece?" Genna retorted, looking at him coldly. "You know very well what my brother is like."
Just then, a towering figure approached them, clad in armor that seemed almost too small for his massive frame. His dark skin glistened in the soft light of the hallway, and his face bore the scars of countless battles. With a deep bow, he introduced himself in a rumbling voice.
"I am Belwas, servant of Magister Illyrio Mopatis. He bids you follow me; he is ready to receive you now."
Emmon and Genna exchanged another glance, a flicker of uncertainty passing between them. But with a nod of determination, they rose from their seats, ready to face whatever awaited them in the opulent chambers of Illyrio Mopatis.
Together, they followed Belwas through the winding corridors of the mansion, their footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors. As they neared their destination, the anticipation grew, mingling with the lingering worry that had plagued them since their arrival in Pentos.
Finally, they reached a set of ornate double doors, guarded by two imposing figures. With a gesture from Belwas, the doors swung open, revealing a lavishly decorated chamber beyond.
Seated at the head of a long table was Illyrio Mopatis himself, his rotund figure draped in silks and velvets. His eyes gleamed with shrewd intelligence as he gestured for Emmon and Genna to approach.
"Welcome, my friends," he said, his voice as smooth as honey. "I trust your journey has been uneventful?"
Emmon and Genna exchanged a glance, their expressions guarded. "As uneventful as can be expected," Emmon replied cautiously. "But time is of the essence, Magister."
Genna leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Illyrio. "Did you receive a sealed letter from my brother, Lord Tywin Lannister? It announced our arrival to negotiate the hiring of sellswords."
Illyrio's smile widened, revealing a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Ah, yes, the esteemed Lord Tywin's missive did indeed reach me," he replied smoothly. but first, let us dine together and discuss matters in more detail. Belwas, see to it that our guests are comfortable and well-fed."
With a nod, Belwas motioned for Emmon and Genna to take their seats at the table, where a feast fit for a king awaited them. As they began to eat, the conversation turned to matters of politics and intrigue.
As the sumptuous feast unfolded before them, Emmon couldn't help but voice the concern that had been gnawing at him. "I must admit, Magister Illyrio," he began, his voice laced with disappointment, "I had hoped we might negotiate with the Golden Company. Their reputation for discipline and skill is unmatched."
Illyrio chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to shake his entire body. "Ah, the Golden Company," he said, a hint of puzzlement in his voice. "A formidable force, indeed. However, my dear Lord Emmon, they have become quite reclusive in recent years. I haven't heard of them accepting any contracts for nearly fifteen years."
Genna raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Her sharp mind was already analyzing the possible implications of this information. "And do you know why that might be?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and suspicion.
Illyrio shrugged, spreading his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "Truth be told, I do not. Their motives have always been somewhat opaque. Some years ago, I did hear some rather outlandish rumors..." He trailed off, as if considering whether such tales were worth sharing.
"Rumors?" Genna pressed, her interest piqued. She leaned forward, her green eyes glinting with intensity. "What sort of rumors?"
"Oh, just tavern tales, really," Illyrio replied dismissively. "Drunken ramblings about the Golden Company involving themselves in some grand scheme. Talk of them working for... Valyria."
At that moment, Illyrio noticed Emmon Frey nervously coughing and Genna Lannister looking incredulous. The tension in the air was palpable, as if the mere words had conjured an unsettling specter.
"Indeed, it seems like rumors spread by the ramblings of a madman or a drunken fool, esteemed Magister," Genna replied, her tone laced with skepticism. "In these fifteen years since the reappearance of Valyria, only silence has emanated from them, as if they do not wish to have contact with the rest of the world."
Illyrio nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Precisely. Which is why I dismissed the rumors as the fancies of drunken fools. Yet, the Golden Company's silence and inactivity remain a mystery."
Just as Emmon was about to delve further into the topic, another guard entered the chamber, bowing deeply before Illyrio. "Forgive the interruption, Magister," the guard said, his voice hushed, "but the sellsword Vargo Hoat, leader of the Brave Companions, has arrived."
A flicker of interest crossed Illyrio's face. "Ah, Vargo Hoat," he mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "A curious fellow, to be sure. Very well, show him in."
The guard bowed once more and retreated from the chamber. A moment later, a man of average height with a lean build and a swagger in his step entered the room. His most striking feature was his nose, or rather, the lack of one. In its place was a gaping hole, the result of some past injury or cruelty. This was Vargo Hoat, and the cruel glint in his eyes hinted at the ruthless nature that had earned him a fearsome reputation throughout Essos.
"Magister Illyrio," Vargo Hoat said, his voice raspy and accented, "a pleasure as always."
"Vargo Hoat," Illyrio replied, gesturing towards Emmon and Genna. "Allow me to introduce Lord Emmon Frey and Lady Genna Lannister, emissaries of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock."
Vargo Hoat's gaze shifted to Emmon and Genna, his eyes lingering on them with an unsettling intensity. A sly smile crept across his face as he bowed mockingly. "Lord Frey, Lady Lannister," he rasped, "the pleasure is all mine."
HOURS LATER
The feast had long since concluded, and the shadows of dusk crept through the ornate windows of Illyrio's chambers. Emmon Frey had retired to his quarters, leaving Genna Lannister alone with the Pentoshi magister.
Genna sipped from a goblet of Arbor gold, her sharp gaze fixed on Illyrio. "Magister," she began, her tone measured yet tinged with a hint of steel, "I must confess, I have my reservations about the Brave Companions."
Illyrio raised an eyebrow, his expression one of polite curiosity. "Oh? And what reservations might those be, my lady?"
Genna set her goblet down, leaning forward in her chair. "Their reputation precedes them, Magister. Tales of their cruelty and disregard for honor have reached even the halls of Casterly Rock. I wonder if the gold my brother Tywin is paying is worth the risk of associating with such... unsavory individuals."
Genna pondered silently for a moment, her gaze drifting to the flickering candlelight dancing upon the polished surface of the table. Her thoughts lingered on the tarnished reputation of House Lannister, marred by the likes of Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. Adding more individuals of dubious repute to their ranks could indeed bring about unforeseen consequences for the family. She weighed the potential benefits against the risks, her expression a mask of contemplation as she considered Illyrio's words.
A faint smile played upon Illyrio's lips. "Ah, but Lady Genna, you must understand that in times of conflict, one cannot always be choosy about one's allies. The Brave Companions may lack in chivalry, but their prowess on the battlefield is unmatched."
"Even so," Genna countered, her voice firm, "my brother values loyalty and discipline above all else. Can we truly trust these sellswords to follow orders once the fighting begins?"
Illyrio's expression grew somber, and he nodded slowly. "A valid concern, my lady. However, I can assure you that Vargo Hoat and his men are bound by the iron laws of contract. Once their price is met, they will fight for your cause as fiercely as any sworn knight."
Genna's brow furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. She knew her brother Tywin would not have made this decision lightly, but still, the thought of entrusting the Lannister name to such dishonorable sellswords left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"Very well, Magister," she said at last, her tone resigned. "I will trust in your judgment and my brother's wisdom. Just ensure that the terms of this contract are ironclad. The Lannisters will not tolerate any betrayal or deviation from the agreed terms."
Illyrio raised his goblet in a solemn toast. "You have my word, Lady Genna. The gold your brother has provided will ensure the Brave Companions' unwavering loyalty. They will fight for the Lannister cause as if it were their own."
As Genna took another sip of her wine, a sudden thought crossed her mind, a concern that had been simmering beneath the surface since their arrival in Pentos. She turned back to Illyrio, her voice laced with a hint of apprehension.
"Magister," she began "there have been whispers... rumors of Dothraki khalasars approaching Pentos. Does this not concern you?"
Illyrio's jovial demeanor faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of unease. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes gazing into the distance as if contemplating a distant threat. "Indeed, Lady Genna," he admitted, his voice laced with a touch of gravity, "the Dothraki presence is a matter of concern. They are a force of nature, unpredictable and often ruthless."
He paused, a knowing glint returning to his eyes. "However," he continued, his voice regaining its usual smoothness, "one must remember that everything in this world has a price, even the loyalty of a khalasar. With the right amount of gold and a touch of diplomacy, agreements can be reached, even with the most fearsome of adversaries."
Genna arched an eyebrow, intrigued by Illyrio's perspective. "Are you suggesting that Pentos will simply... pay off the Dothraki?" she inquired, her voice laced with a hint of skepticism.
"The Prince of Pentos was a fool to cease paying tribute to the horselords," Illyrio replied, a hint of disdain creeping into his voice. "He believed that the city walls would be enough to deter them, but he underestimates their cunning and ferocity. I suspect negotiations will soon be underway, and tribute, in some form or another, will resume."
Genna pondered Illyrio's words, her mind racing with the implications. The Dothraki were a wild card, a force that could disrupt the delicate balance of power in Essos and beyond. Their presence added another layer of complexity to the already intricate game of thrones that was unfolding.
"And what of Westeros?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "If the Dothraki are on the move, could they not pose a threat to the Seven Kingdoms as well?"
Illyrio chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to shake his entire body. "The Narrow Sea has long protected Westeros from the Dothraki hordes," he replied, his tone dismissive. "They have no ships, no understanding of naval warfare. The Seven Kingdoms are safe from their reach, for now."
Genna fixed Illyrio with a determined gaze, her green eyes glinting with resolve. "Magister," she said, her voice firm yet tinged with a hint of eagerness , "I have a request, if you would indulge me."
Illyrio raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden shift in Genna's demeanor. "Of course, Lady Genna," he replied smoothly, "I am at your service. What is it that you desire?"
Genna leaned forward, her hands clasped before her. "I wish to be present in Pentos when the Dothraki arrive," she declared, her words hanging in the air like a challenge. "I want to observe them from a distance, to witness firsthand the might of these famed horselords."
Illyrio's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "My lady," he said, "while I admire your resolve, I must advise against such a course of action. The Dothraki are unpredictable, and their presence in the city could be dangerous."
But Genna was undeterred. She held up a hand, silencing Illyrio's concerns. "I am aware of the risks, Magister," she said, her voice laced with determination. "But I am a Lannister, and we do not shy away from danger. I will take the necessary precautions, of course, but I must satisfy this curiosity."
Illyrio studied Genna for a moment, weighing the resolve in her eyes against the potential perils. Finally, he nodded, a smile of admiration tugging at the corners of his lips. "Very well, Lady Genna," he conceded, "I will make the arrangements. You shall have your glimpse of the Dothraki, from a safe distance."
Genna smiled, a sense of triumph washing over her. "Thank you, Magister," she said, inclining her head in gratitude. "And worry not, once my curiosity is sated, my husband, Tommen, Myrcella, and I will make our way to the port and set sail for Westeros. We have tarried in Pentos long enough."
Illyrio nodded, his expression one of understanding. "Of course, my lady. I shall ensure that your ship is ready to depart at a moment's notice. Your safety and swift return to Westeros are of the utmost importance."
As Genna rose from her seat, a sense of anticipation thrummed through her veins. The prospect of witnessing the Dothraki, even from afar, filled her with a thrill she had not felt in years. It was a reminder that the world was vast and full of wonders, even amidst the chaos and turmoil that threatened to engulf them all.
With a final nod to Illyrio, Genna made her way from the chamber, her mind already racing with the preparations that would need to be made. She knew that her decision to linger in Pentos was a gamble, but it was one she was willing to take. For a fleeting moment, she would indulge her curiosity, and then, with the memories of the Dothraki seared into her mind, she would return to Westeros, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As she walked through the winding corridors of Illyrio's manse, Genna Lannister couldn't help but smile.
SOME DAYS LATER: ON THE WALLS OF PENTOS
"I can't believe we're doing this," Emmon Frey muttered, his voice laced with trepidation as he gazed out over the vast expanse of the flat lands.
From their vantage point atop the imposing walls of Pentos, Emmon, Genna, and the children had a commanding view of the rolling plains below. The air was thick with the pungent scent of horse and the thunderous roar of thousands of hooves.
Beside him, Genna Lannister stood tall, her green eyes alight with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "This is an opportunity we cannot afford to miss, Emmon," she replied, her tone firm. "We must witness the Dothraki firsthand, to understand the true nature of this threat."
Emmon fidgeted nervously, his fingers drumming against the weathered stonework of the ramparts. "But what if something goes wrong? Pentos is not prepared to withstand a Dothraki onslaught. We should be on that ship, heading back to Westeros, not standing here like fools waiting to be trampled!"
Genna placed a reassuring hand on her husband's arm, her touch calming his frayed nerves. "Magister Illyrio has assured us that the city's defenses are more than adequate to deter the Dothraki. And besides, the port isn't so far away. If we see that the situation becomes dangerous, we'll immediately set sail to Westeros. Also, we're not alone here – the most influential Magisters of Pentos stand with us, ready to negotiate a peaceful solution."
"Just as if following a signal, Illyrio Mopatis approached them, his imposing figure adorned with opulent silks and velvets. "My friends, the Dothraki horde is approaching. Lady Genna, I hope your curiosity is satisfied by seeing them from here, at a distance. I must leave you for now; I need to speak with the other magisters to be ready for the parley."
After nodding to Magister Illyrio and watching him walk towards the other magisters, Emmon and Genna turned to see Tommen and Myrcella, their young great-niece and great-nephew, standing beside them, their eyes wide open in a mix of fear and fascination. Genna smiled reassuringly, placing a protective hand on Myrcella's shoulder."
"Stay close to us, my dears," she said, her voice soft yet resolute. "We will not let any harm come to you."
Tommen, ever the curious child, inched closer to the edge of the wall, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "I can hear them, Aunt Genna," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Thousands of horses, and the sound of their war cries."
Genna nodded, her expression solemn. "Yes, Tommen. The Dothraki are coming, and we must be ready to face them."
The sound of thundering hooves grew louder, and soon the vast horde of Dothraki warriors came into view, their fierce shouts echoing across the plains. Emmon Frey felt his heart pounding in his chest, and he instinctively reached for his sword, only to be gently restrained by Genna.
Emmon Frey gripped the edge of the wall, his knuckles turning white. "Genna," he whispered, his voice trembling, "what have we gotten ourselves into?"
"Easy, my love," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the approaching riders. "Remember, our ship is ready to sail at any moment."
As the Dothraki horde drew nearer, their war cries growing louder and more intense, but a strange, distant rumble suddenly echoed across the plain, causing all those atop the wall to turn their heads in unison. On the horizon, what appeared to be a storm was rapidly approaching, its dark clouds swirling ominously against the clear blue sky. Emmon's grip on the stone tightened, his eyes scanning the horizon with a mix of trepidation and concern. "What in the Seven Hells...?" he muttered.
Genna, standing beside him, frowned, her brow furrowed in confusion. "How peculiar," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "The wind is blowing in the opposite direction, yet that storm seems to be heading straight for us."
The Dothraki's cries had faded into an eerie silence; their eyes, too, fixed on the advancing tempest.
The hush over Pentos and the flatlands deepened as the strange storm drew closer, its dark clouds swirling with an unnatural speed. The rumble intensified, building to a crescendo that culminated in a blinding flash of lightning. For a fleeting moment, the electric light played across the storm's heart, and to the astonished eyes of those watching, it seemed to take the shape of a colossal dragon, its silhouette etched against the swirling grey. A collective gasp arose from the onlookers, a mix of awe and terror gripping their hearts.
Emmon Frey, his voice trembling, muttered, "What manner of sorcery is this? Is it some trick of the light, or a portent of something far more sinister?"
Then, as quickly as it appeared, the illusion vanished. The storm, however, did not dissipate but instead began to break apart, revealing what had been hidden within its depths. Emerging from the swirling clouds were hundreds of dragons, their scales shimmering in the sunlight that now broke through the receding storm. They were a breathtaking sight, creatures of all sizes, their wings beating the air with powerful strokes as they descended upon the plains.
Emmon, speechless with shock, could only point a trembling finger at the sky. Genna, her initial fear giving way to a sense of wonder, watched with wide eyes as the dragons filled the sky, their roars echoing across the land.
"By the Seven..." she whispered, her voice barely audible above the din. "The Valyrians... they've returned."
From the backs of the dragons, figures clad in gleaming Valyrian steel emerged. Their faces were masked, their eyes burning with an ancient fury. With a collective roar that shook the very foundations of Pentos, the dragons unleashed their fiery wrath. Streams of incandescent flame erupted from their maws, engulfing the Dothraki ranks in a sea of fire. The screams of men and horses mingled with the roar of the flames, creating a symphony of terror.
The Dothraki, who had moments ago been charging across the plains with their thunderous war cries, now found themselves caught in the onslaught of the Valyrian dragons.
The plains below erupted in a sea of flames, the acrid stench of burning flesh and the agonized screams of the Dothraki filling the air. The dragons, with their razor-sharp talons and devastating breath, tore through the horde with ruthless efficiency, leaving behind a trail of charred bodies and shattered dreams.
In that moment, Illyrio Mopatis hurried back to where Genna and Emmon stood, his typically composed demeanor now tinged with apprehension. "My friends," he said, his voice trembling, "I believe the Valyrians have come to confront the Dothraki horde, not to engage with us."
Emmon's eyes widened, her mind racing with the implications of this unexpected turn of events. "Then we are mere spectators to a battle " he murmured, his gaze fixed on the unfolding spectacle before them.
"This is no battle," Genna replied as she watched the carnage unfold. she breathed, her voice laced with horror. "It's a massacre."
Genna, her face etched with a mix of awe and fear, could not tear her gaze away from the spectacle. "I have never witnessed such raw power," she murmured, her voice tinged with a strange sense of fascination. "The Valyrians have truly returned, and they have brought the full force of their dragons to bear against our foes."
As the battle raged on, the Dothraki, once a formidable force to be reckoned with, were reduced to a disorganized and panicked mob, their vaunted horsemanship and ferocity no match for the sheer might of the Valyrian dragons. The sky above Pentos was a whirlwind of scales and fire, the deafening roars of the dragons echoing across the land.
Emmon, his face pale with shock, turned to Genna, his voice trembling. "We must leave, Genna. This is no place for us, or for the children".
Genna nodded, her own resolve hardening. "Yes, Emmon. We must make haste to the port and set sail for Westeros".
Gathering the children, the small party hastened towards the docks, their steps quickened by the growing sense of urgency. As they fled, the thunderous roars of the dragons and the agonized cries of the Dothraki warriors continued to echo in their ears, a haunting reminder of the raw power that had been unleashed upon the The Flatlands.