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Chapter 16 Part 1
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A fortnight and two moons into the year 292 AC – a significant year in the history of the Targaryen dynasty – the Targaryen armies gathered to march once again. Yunkai hadn't been properly put to rights yet. After capturing it, we needed to train more troops to hold Meereen and more administrators to manage the city and ensure it didn't fall into anarchy.
We needed more time.
The cruel realities of war, with its relentless demands and unforgiving circumstances, ensured we had to march anyway. After conquering Yunkai, there were too many mouths to feed. The city was far from self-sufficient, and even after slowly taking control of the farms and estates beyond its walls, little changed.
The Worm River fed Astapor, ensuring there was enough farmland and water to feed most of its population, thus significantly reducing the need to import food. Meereen was situated near the mouth of the Skahazadban, surrounded by lush fields capable of supplying a large amount of food. The river itself and its two large tributaries offered even more sustenance. While Meereen was the largest city in Slaver's Bay and Astapor the smallest of the three, they were in a much better position to feed their people than Yunkai.
Ultimately, the need to secure more food sources and end the war compelled Prince Viserys' to act. Thus, we marched upon Meereen at least three moons before the Prince believed us ready to take and hold the city.
from the gathered notes of Maester Marwyn
=Sith=
292 AC
Yunkai
Maester Marwyn sat on a desk deep within the pyramid, sorting through invaluable ancient tomes. Many of these books might be priceless, with no copies left in the world. They contained endless pages in Old Valyrian, written in runes no one had used since the Doom. Others were in obscure dialects, even someone as learned and traveled as Marwyn had never seen or heard of before. Some of the books possibly held secrets protected in code.
In Astapor, Marwyn already had an extensive library of tomes that possibly held magical knowledge to evaluate and test. Taking Yunkai significantly increased the available books that might contain some hint of true magic. Meereen was another ancient city that was larger than Astapor and Yunkai combined. Scouring the libraries of the Great Masters over there would be an incredible opportunity.
Marwyn sighed morosely. All this knowledge lay at his fingertips, yet he didn't have the time to go through even a fraction of it. He spent most of his time in Yunkai helping set up a government that wouldn't fall apart the moment they left tomorrow. It was a minor miracle that Marwyn had time to oversee a few trusted assistants in setting up and securing an arcane library. He brushed his fingers over parched leather binding yellow scrolls covered with runic scripts. The tomes on his desk might contain anything from priceless arcane secrets to something as mundane as trade agreements from long-lost people or worse.
As a Maester, Marwyn knew that the ancient secrets in these books were a treasure trove in themselves, no matter their nature. However, the Last Targaryens were shining beacons heralding a new age of magic unseen since Valyria fell. Magic and magical knowledge went from mere curiosity and tricks to one of the world's most valuable pillars of knowledge. Magic might not have returned in full yet, but now it was only a matter of time. Marwyn felt it in his bones. It would be glorious, and he would be right there, in the center of it, learning and chronicling the truth of a new age.
But not yet. Marwyn sighed and ponderously got up. Everyone would have a very long and tiring day, not only tomorrow but in the coming days and months. The Maester looked at the tomes on his desk regretfully before gathering them. Their place was in the library, which would be guarded by a century of Unsullied when they left.
=Sith=
At sunrise, Marwyn joined his lieges and their other advisers after quickly washing and breaking his fast. The army was busy assembling, with scouts already riding ahead. A thousand Unsullied would soon march at the head of a leagues-long column followed by the First Yunkish Legion, The Liberators. Meanwhile, people crawled like angry ants over hundreds of carts, doing a last check on their cargo wheels and guiding animals of burden to pull them to Meereen.
Marwyn knew that another nearby plaza held more carts, this time containing building materials and builders to make signal towers and forts for the army. While alien to Westeros, this was of war wasn't new. It was ancient, something invented by Old Ghis, then taken up by the Valyrians during their endless conflicts.
It was fitting that the last true Valyrians picked it up from the embers of the past to reforge a new Freehold, a second Valyria. Marwyn's fingers itched to write down all his impressions while they were fresh in his mind. Compared to countless other Maesters over the centuries, he was right in the middle of history unfolding. It was his duty to write it all down so people in the distant future knew the truth instead of stumbling through embellished accounts of people who weren't there and merely heard of what had happened!
=Sith=
292 AC
Meereen
Boros would have thought he and his comrades had joined the Golden Company by accident if he hadn't known better. After nearly a decade of fighting all over Essos, he knew for a fact that there was no other fighting force doing something like this! He certainly never witnessed such things during the Usurper's Rebellion back home!
The army stopped a few hours before dusk every evening to set up fortified camps. The people in their baggage train got themselves busy creating permanent wooden forts that would hold supplies and small garrisons, ensuring the army would receive regular deliveries of food, water, and everything else needed. These fortifications would also protect the rear and warn them if a hostile force attempted to cut them off from Yunkai.
Doing something like this took much coin, manpower, and effort. Under most circumstances, even thinking of something like it would be sheer madness. Indeed, no Great Lord in Westeros ever contemplated such a thing, Boros knew. Even the cursed Lannisters, who shit gold, couldn't afford such a thing.
The Targaryens were a different breed, Boros thought with pride. The last few months proved that his Prince was no green boy playing with war and relying on the Fourteen's blessings to get as far as he did. And the Princess… she was a real Valyrian woman, the likes of which the Targaryens haven't produced since Princess Rhaenys during the Dance of Dragons, perhaps not since Queen Visenya.
At two and ten, she had the blood of the dragon awake and burning brightly in her veins. Boros keenly remembered each time he spared with the Princess. She was a whirlwind of steel able to match grown men who had spent their lives on the battlefield. He simply knew that when his Princess grew up and came into her own, she would be heralded like the next coming of Visenya.
Everything Boros and his friends experienced elated them and soothed the old wounds from the rebellion. At the same time, their shame had never been greater. If they only had searched for their lieges, as they should have… Who knew where they might be now?
Boros straightened his shoulders when Meereen came into view. He rode at the head of a small party of riders. Aryk carried a peace banner, while everyone else had a spear crowned with Targaryen banners. They flapped in the breeze, making the red three-headed dragons seem alive.
Instead of heading for Meereen's gates, Boros led his party towards a large tent city in the shadow of the walls. The sell sword camps were even larger than those the loyalists left behind a few moons ago. It didn't matter. Behind Boros marched thousands of Unsullied and fanatical soldiers, backed up by even more "garrison" troops, far better trained and equipped than ever the Lannister levies. More importantly, the Targaryens were in command, ready to unleash ancient sorcery upon their enemies.
In Boros' mind, victory was a foregone conclusion. The only question was how many people would die before Meereen fell. His job was to ensure as many sell swords switched sides or die trying. Today, his real penance began, and he was glad for it. He would either succeed or die under a Targaryen banner. That was all that really mattered in the end.
=Sith=
Chapter 16 Part 2
=Sith=
292 AC
Meereen
Boros Celtigar led his riders toward the Bloody Swords camp, observing as rows of mercenaries assembled for combat. It was surprising that they still needed to prepare for battle. Earlier that morning, scouts from Meereen had screened the approaching army before riding away. There was no way the Targaryens' march on the city came as a surprise. Likewise, the lack of soldiers on the city walls was striking, especially after the news of Yunkai's fall reached Meereen. Boros suspected that his Prince would have sensed a trap even without his warning.
Thinking about surprises… Unsurprisingly, Boros' former sellsword comrades greeted his return with hostile glances and quiet curses. Unlike some other companies, the Bloody Swords did not specialize in a specific form of combat; they weren't exclusively cavalry or spearmen and certainly lacked the numbers and diversity of groups like the Golden Company. The Bloody Swords were primarily men-at-arms, each wielding weapons they felt most comfortable using. While they did have a small detachment of light cavalry for scouting and delivering messages, most of their forces were infantry.
However, there were sellsword cavalry formations present. Nearly a thousand horses were massing on the flank of the tent camp, preparing to strike the Targaryen army once the engagement began. Boros had to admit that this was a solid strategy. With the presence of wildfire, the city, and the army of sellswords, an infantry force could easily perish in a failed attempt to capture Meereen.
Boros' eyes swept over his former comrades until he found Commander. Huzhor was a tall, dark-skinned man with almond-shaped eyes in the color of sapphire. As his name suggested, he claimed to be a distant descendant of the long-gone Sarnori people.
Huzhor tilted his head to the side, critically examining the envoys. Meanwhile, far behind them, the leading elements of the Targaryen army marched slowly into the dusty plain that stretched before Meereen. The Last Targaryens rode at the head of the host, flanked by the Royal Guard. All Boros knew was that his Prince planned something special for Meereen, which Viserys claimed would aid in the negotiations.
"Ya know," Huzhor rumbled in his exotic accent, "we're a free company. Ya're all free to join us or leave as you deem fit," the large warrior scowled. "Unless it's to go to the enemy when we're on a contract we've been already paid to uphold," Huzhor spat in the dust and glowered at Boros. "What do ya want, Celtigar? I know ya well enough, yar not here to beg us to accept ya back."
"That's true, Commander," Boros lowered his head in respect due to the long years they fought together. "I bring you a proposition in the name of Prince Viserys Targaryen. To you and every other sellsword commander out here," Boros spoke aloud, letting his voice carry as much as possible over the bustle of stirred war camps.
"We all have contracts with Meereen," Huzhor scoffed. "Do ya really expect us to break them? We might as well hang our weapons and become farmers or something else boring!"
A rumble of agreement came from the gathered mercenaries. Another ripple went through them, and Boros noted they were no longer focused on him or his party. Instead, everyone before his group looked far behind them. He did so as well and smiled. Prince Viserys had stopped a fair distance from Meereen's gate. Boros' liege was clearly using his magic, and it was also clear that he wouldn't even give an ultimatum to the Meereenese, who wanted to burn him with wildfire.
A clump of soil as large as a cart hovered before Viserys. Boros watched with fascination and glee how the dirt compressed into a much smaller volume before his Prince hurled it at the ramparts above the city gates as if he were a catapult! A heartbeat after it hit, green flames erupted, cascading like a hellish waterfall. Pieces of the walls simply shattered into dust while larger chunks flew everywhere like burning pieces of wood. Only then did distant booms like echoes of thunder carry over Boros' and his men. Large parts of the gatehouse were gone, leaving gaping holes filling with hellfire. Wildfire seared through stone and bricks, melting and deforming them until they washed away like glowing sludge. Liquid fire fell into the holes, igniting everything in its path until the gatehouse turned into a blazing inferno.
Eventually, Boros managed to tear his gaze away from the spectacle. He looked at his Prince with vindication shining in his eyes. Meereen was going to fall. If not today, then in the next few days, depending on how much wildfire would have to burn out before the army could storm the city.
Viserys tore another cart-sized clump of soil from the ground and prepared to spring another deadly trap. Boros finally turned to look back at his former Commander.
"You are, of course, free to refuse Prince Viserys' kind offer, Commander Huzhoz. There is honor in such a choice," Boros admitted. "Then we will fight. You and your men will die. There will be no victory against my Prince here. You must know it now."
More booms sounded. Boros glanced over his shoulder to see the top of the wall near the sea gone in a pillar of green piss. The poor bastards on the ramparts burned like torches, some fool doused in too much oil. The rest of the sods on the walls decided that burning alive for no gain was madness and ran for the closest way off the deathtrap they were on top of.
Still, Prince Viserys took no chance and tore a third clump of dirt. It was clear that the army wouldn't be storming Meereen anytime soon. Not before all the traps were sprung, and the wildfire burned itself out. That was most wise, Boros knew. And now he had all the time in the world to negotiate with the sellswords.
=Sith=
On a terrace on the largest pyramid in Meereen, Oznak zo Pahl and the greatest among the Great Masters watched in stunned disbelief how their plans and hopes burned. Most of their army was away from the walls, deep into the city. The walls and the houses closest to them were all trapped with wildfire, ready to immolate that never sufficiently cursed Valyrian Sorcerer.
That should have been enough to give them a fighting chance, if not a sure victory.
Oznak cursed while watching the Targaryen tear a chunk of the plain before the gates and use it as a weapon. He should have seen this coming! If the Sorcerer could drag whole ships and smash them like toys, why couldn't he do the same with rocks or turn the ground itself into a siege weapon?!
They should have left the bastard to take the walls with little opposition, lured him into the city, and then burned him down, even if it cost them much of Meereen. That way, it would have been cheaper than losing everything.
"Father, we must go," Oznak spat. Voicing his fears hurt, yet the Pahl scion couldn't afford pride and hope to blind him to the truth.
"Despite everything, we've underestimated what the Sorcerer can do. Our best chance to put him down is now lost," he admitted.
As Oznak spoke, more booms echoed over Meereen, heralding another section of the walls shattering and burning. A torso-sized chunk of the fortifications flew into a house containing more wildfire. A flash of green followed, momentarily blinding those watching. Then, the house was simply gone, replaced by a geyser of green fire. All the buildings nearby simply shattered as if they were sand castles kicked by a petulant child.
"I don't know about you, but we are leaving," Agnak broke the stunned silence. "I won't let my family fall into the hands of that murderous madman," the envoy pointed at Viserys' distant form. His voice was pained and bitter. After today, liberating Yunkai would be far more challenging than anyone feared possible. The same would be true about liberating Meereen herself.
"Father!" Oznak moved quickly, turning his back to the pyres of his hopes and dreams. "The wildfire will serve to shield us and buy us time. We must leave now while we still can. We can't allow what happened at Yunkai to repeat at our harbor!"
Those words stirred the Great Masters from their dazzled disbelief. Instead of outraged accusations, Oznak only faced subdued murmurs of shocked agreement and pale faces carved with terror the likes of which no Great Master had experienced in many generations.
They still had an intact army, blazing fires to shield them and sellswords to bleed the enemy. Not all was lost. They could still recover and seek their revenge. That belief gave Oznak courage as he ushered his father towards their home to gather their family, all the treasure they could carry in a hurry and flee.