Days later, sitting in the manse that had become her unofficial palace, Hermione reflected on the events that had changed everything.
The day had been quiet at its start, fading into a stifling hot afternoon in Pentos. She had been perched on the edge of her balcony, poring over maps of Essos. She had spent the last couple of weeks trying to organize the city's chaotic infrastructure. As usual, the magisters preferred to drink fine wine and bribe their enemies rather than prepare for the inevitable.
The faint sound of hoofbeats broke her concentration. At first, she thought it was just another Pentoshi merchant caravan passing through the city gates. But then the sound grew louder. Hermione frowned, tilting her head toward the horizon. Something felt off.
Suddenly, one of her gryphons, let out an agitated screech from the aviary. With the other joining in, pacing their massive claws across the tiled floor as if sensing a threat.
Sirius burst onto the balcony, his usual smug grin replaced with genuine concern.
"I don't want to alarm you," He said, hands on his hips, "but it looks like a few thousand bloodthirsty horsemen are about to storm the city."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, thank you for stating the obvious. Where's Melisandre?"
"Still lurking in the shadowy part of the manse, probably setting fire to something weird for the you know what," Sirius replied. "But before we run to our friendly neighborhood fire priestess, don't you think we should discuss the massive horde of horse maniacs? What's the plan, Princess Pentos?"
Hermione bristled at the nickname, but there wasn't time to retort. She had something most others in the city didn't: Three fierce, majestic gryphons, currently roosting in the manse's aviary. She glanced at the horizon, her mind racing. "We use the gryphons."
Hermione immediately took charge. She had long since learned that the magisters were useless in a crisis, so she didn't even bother trying to reason with them. Instead, she gathered her small, loyal group of allies, including Sirius and Melisandre, who had been lingering in the shadows of the manse.
"We don't have time for a proper evacuation," Hermione said, spreading a map of Pentos on the long dining table. "We have to hold the city, bring everyone who could be at risk into the manse only."
"Hold the city with what?" Sirius asked. "The magisters don't have an army. Their guards can barely hold a sword without cutting themselves."
Hermione ignored him and pointed to a series of defensive checkpoints along the city walls.
"The walls are high, but the eastern gate is weak. We'll need to reinforce it with magic and create barriers to slow them down. Melisandre, I'll need your fire."
The priestess of R'hllor gave a small, knowing smile. "Fire will come, my lady. But fire alone will not save you."
"Which is why I'll use the gryphons," Hermione continued. "Their size and strength will scatter the riders. If we can make it seem like we have a monstrous air force, it might buy us some time."
Sirius leaned on the table, smirking. "You've got this all figured out, haven't you?"
"No," Hermione admitted, running a hand through her curls. "I don't have time to figure it out. We have to make it up as we go."
The gryphons– named Aquila and Nimbus– were every bit as majestic as legends described. With the bodies of lions and the wings and heads of eagles, they towered over Hermione and Sirius as they strapped leather harnesses to their broad chests.
Hermione muttered to herself as she worked. "If I ever get back to Hogwarts, I'm writing an entire thesis on the untapped military potential of gryphons."
"Forget the thesis," Sirius said, hoisting himself onto Nimbus' back with a grin. "If this works, we're going to have to write a guidebook for How to Conquer Essos in Three Easy Steps."
Before Hermione could respond, Melisandre appeared, gliding into the aviary as if the chaos outside were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Her crimson robes billowed, and her ruby necklace glowed ominously.
"Do you have any actual advice, or are you just here to look ominous?" Hermione said impatiently.
Melisandre smiled faintly. "The gryphons will inspire fear, yes, but fire will make their fear absolute. Allow me to bless your beasts with the power of R'hllor."
"Bless them?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean, like, literally on fire? Because I feel like that's a bad idea."
Ignoring him, Melisandre placed her hands on Nimbus's head and began chanting. The gryphon let out a deep, resonant screech as flames licked along the edges of its feathers, harmless but dazzling. The other gryphon followed suit, glowing like celestial warriors.
"Well, that's bloody terrifying," Sirius muttered, but he looked impressed.
The chaos of the Dothraki charge was deafening. Hooves thundered across the earth like an unrelenting drumbeat as the Dothraki riders closed in on the city walls. High above, Hermione and Sirius soared into action, their gryphons shrieking and diving through the air like furious, flame-winged deities.
Hermione's heart sank at the view of the Dothraki hoard. She had read extensively about their brutal raids and devastating tactics. Unlike the disciplined armies of Westeros, the Dothraki were a chaotic storm of speed and violence, overwhelming cities before anyone had time to react.
"How many?" She demanded, her voice calm despite the knot forming in her stomach.
"At least five thousand, and that's just the beginning from what it looks like. Khal Rhozo leads them."
Hermione's gryphon screeched, it's fiery wings a blinding display against the night sky. Sirius followed closely on Nimbus, clearly enjoying himself.
"You know," He yelled over the wind, "This might be the most fun I've had since I escaped Azkaban!"
"This isn't fun, Sirius!" Hermione snapped.
"Speak for yourself!" he called back, veering Nimbus into a swooping dive that scattered a group of Dothraki riders.
Meanwhile, Melisandre stood on the city walls, chanting in a low, melodic voice. Columns of fire erupted from the earth, cutting off the Dothraki's advance and creating a searing barrier around the city.
Sirius, riding Nimbus with less grace and more reckless enthusiasm than she would have liked, found himself in the midst of a harrowing dive. He and Nimbus swooped low to scatter a group of riders, but a Dothraki archer spotted the opportunity. The rider fired an arrow that grazed Sirius's shoulder, ripping through his sleeve.
"Bloody hell!" Sirius cursed, clutching his arm. "Kitten, they're shooting at me!"
"What did you expect? A welcoming committee?" Hermione shouted back, her wand sending a volley of hexes into a group of riders below.
As another arrow sailed toward him, Sirius reacted instinctively, raising his free hand. Without a wand, he focused all his will on deflecting the projectile– and to his surprise, a shimmering, translucent shield appeared in front of him. The arrow ricocheted harmlessly to the ground.
Sirius blinked in astonishment. "Did I just…?"
"You cast Protego without a wand?" Hermione yelled, her tone a mix of amazement and exasperation. "Good! Now do it again before you get yourself killed!"
Sirius grinned despite the pain in his shoulder, raising his hand again as more arrows flew in his direction. "Don't mind if I do."
Hermione and Aquila darted toward the center of the Dothraki horde, where Khal Rhozo himself rode at the front. The khal's braid was long and adorned with bells, a clear sign of his prowess in battle. He held a massive arakh, his movements precise and deadly as he cut through the fiery chaos.
Hermione aimed her wand and shouted, "Expulso!" A blast of magic exploded near the khal, scattering horses and riders alike. But Rhozo was quick, pulling his horse into a sharp turn to avoid the brunt of the attack.
"I need to get closer," Hermione muttered to herself. She urged Aquila into a steep dive, her grip tight on the reins.
Aquila swooped down with a deafening screech, it's talons catching one of Rhozo's lieutenants and throwing him to the ground. Hermione fired another spell, this time a stunning charm aimed directly at Rhozo. The khal deflected it with the flat of his arakh, glaring up at her with a mixture of rage and awe.
Meanwhile, at the city walls, Melisandre continued her chants. Her hands glowed with the fiery power of R'hllor as she conjured wave after wave of fire to hold the Dothraki at bay. But the Horde was relentless, finding gaps in the flames and pressing closer to the gates.
One particularly bold group of riders breached the fiery barrier, charging toward the gates with battering rams.
Melisandre narrowed her eyes and stepped forward. She raised her hands, and the ground beneath the riders cracked open. Fire erupted from the fissures, consuming the rams and throwing the riders from their horses.
"You shall not pass," She said in a voice that carried across the battlefield, her red hair billowing in the heat.
While Sirius and Nimbus were swooping low to scatter another group of riders, a Dothraki warrior on horseback managed to jump high enough to grab onto Nimbus' tail feathers.
"Get off my gryphon!" Sirius shouted, kicking at the warrior with his boot. But the man held on, his arakh swinging dangerously close to Sirius's leg.
Nimbus let out a furious screech and spun in midair, throwing the warrior off balance. But as the man fell, he managed to slash his arakh across Nimbus' side.
The gryphon faltered, its flight unsteady as blood dripped from its wound. Sirius clung tightly to the saddle, his teeth gritted. "Hold on, boy. Just hold on!"
Hermione, noticing Nimbus' distress, quickly flew to their aid. She sent a stupefy spell at the warrior just as he was preparing to throw a spear. The man fell limply from his horse, and Hermione guided Aquila to steady Nimbus.
As the Dothraki stormed closer to the city walls, Hermione found herself standing on the battlements, sweat dripping from her forehead and her wand shaking in her hand. The barriers Melisandre had conjured were failing. The battle for Pentos was at its fiercest, the city walls shaking under the relentless assault of the Dothraki. Hermione was in the thick of it, her wand flicking with precise, practiced motions, unleashing barriers and counter-spells to defend the city. Her gryphons, swooping overhead, screeched and clawed at the enemy ranks, keeping the horde at bay.
But then, through the clamor of war, she felt it– a deep, primal pull, as though something both ancient and powerful were calling to her. The dragon eggs, tucked away in a reinforced cellar deep within the manse, pulsed with heat and life.
A single thought pierced her focus: They're hatching.
Hermione hesitated for a split second, torn between the battle raging around her and the undeniable urge to reach the eggs. Then she made her choice. With a quick flick of her wand she conjured a shimmering shield over the nearest soldiers, buying them time. Turning to Sirius, who was dueling a Dothraki warrior nearby, she shouted, "I have to go!"
"What? Go where?" Sirius deflected an incoming strike with a hasty shield cham, his voice rising in alarm.
"The eggs!" Hermione yelled over the din of battle. "They're hatching!"
Sirius's eyes widened, but he nodded. "Go, I'll hold the line!"
Hermione raced through the winding streets of Pentos, her heart pounding. The sounds of battle faded as she neared the manse, replaced by an eerie silence. She slipped through a hidden side entrance she had memorized for emergencies, her wand drawn and ready.
When she reached the chamber where the eggs were hidden, the heat was overwhelming. The reinforced cellar glowed with an otherworldly light, its enchantments straining to contain the energy within.
Of the dragon eggs that she amassed during her trek through the Misagaenys vaults, three of them were no longer dormant. Cracks webbed their surfaces, glowing with fire and life. A moment later, the shells split apart, a moment later, the shells split apart, and three tiny dragons emerged, their scales glinting like jewels in the dim light.
Hermione fell to her knees, her breath catching. The hatchlings let out soft, high-pitched cries, their wings fluttering uncertainly. She reached out a trembling hand, and the white and metallic gray scales of what was clearly an Ironbelly hatchling nuzzled her palm, a puff of smoke escaping its nostrils.
"They're beautiful," she whispered, awe-struck.
Mother, you're ugly a voice had whispered.
Hermione froze, her gaze snapping to the gray little hatchling, which had stirred in its nest. She could feel its hunger as if it were her own, a gnawing, insistent need.
You feel it, don't you? The words weren't spoken aloud, but they echoed in her mind, strange and distant, as though carried on a warm breeze.
"What–?" She whispered, staring at the dragon clutching her knees.
The hatchling opened one eye, a glowing ember in the dim room.
You hear us now, came the voice again, though this time it felt plural, as if all three dragons spoke as one.
"Is this… are you speaking to me?"
The black dragon lifted it's head lazily, yawning and spreading its wings.
Yes, it answered. We are yours, and you are ours.
The bronze and gold dragon looked at her next, its voice resonating with a calm, soothing tone.
You are like us.
Hermione felt a strange warmth spreading through her chest– not just physical warmth, but emotional, as though she had just been embraced. She realized she could feel their emotions now: curiosity, hunger, protectiveness, and something deeper– trust.
You must protect us, Mother, the gold one said, nuzzling the sand. We are small now, but we will grow. And when we grow, we will grow bright for you.
The word Mother made Hermione's breath hitch.
"You can't call me that," she said, though her voice was soft. "I'm not your mother."
The black dragon snorted, a puff of smoke curling into the air. You brought us life. That makes you our mother. That makes us yours.
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to process the enormity of what had just happened. Her thoughts swirled with questions and concerns. What if someone finds out? What if they try to take you? The dragons must have felt her fear, for they all stilled and fixed her with their glowing eyes.
We will not let them take us, the Ironbelly said.
Hermione shook her head. "You don't understand. You're not just animals– you're dragons. People will kill for you. They'll kill us to get to you. Do you know what happened to the last dragons in this world?"
The hatchlings were silent for a moment, their presence in her mind shifting to something darker, heavier.
They died, the gold one said simply.
"Yes," Hermione whispered. "They were hunted. And if anyone finds out about you– if anyone realizes you're here– they'll come for us, too. That's why you have to stay hidden. You must stay small and quiet until it's safe."
The Ironbelly tilted its head, studying her.
We will listen to you, Mother. But we will not stay hidden forever.
"Not forever." Hermione's throat tightened, but she nodded. "But for now."
Coming back to the battle was like a sense of whiplash. From the eerily silent city to the loud screams of the Dothraki. It seemed like the city wouldn't last much longer before the streets would be laid bare. Her mind raced through her options. An idea stuck her, as sudden as it was dark and dangerous. She told herself that she wouldn't use it again. But desperate times…
Sirius, perched on the wall nearby with blood on his torn robes and a defiant glint in his eyes, caught the expression on her face. "Hermione, whatever you're thinking, don't do it."
"I don't have a choice," she said, her voice cracking.
"There's always a choice!" Sirius snapped limping toward her.
"And live for just a few moments longer to see everyone I have left die a martyr?"
She ignored his silent plea, raising her wand and closing her eyes. She focused on the spell. It was forbidden for a reason, but it was powerful– terrifyingly so.
"Fiendfyre" She whispered.
The words tore through the air like a scream, and a torrent of living fire erupted from her wand. The flames roared to life, taking the shapes of massive serpents, lions and dragons. They surged forward, an unstoppable tide of destruction, consuming everything in their path.
The Dothraki charge broke instantly. Horses reared, throwing their riders as the fiery beasts roared toward them. The horde scattered in every direction, the warriors who had survived so many battles now screaming in terror as the flames chased them.
The battle was over, but the Fiendfyre was not. The flames writhed and twisted, their monstrous shapes clawing at the air, hungry for more destruction. Hermione struggled to maintain control, sweat pouring down her face as she fought to contain the dark magic.
"Come on, Hermione," Sirius urged, grabbing her shoulder. "You have to stop it!"
"I'm trying!" She gasped, her wand trembling as she directed the fire away from the city walls.
The Fiendfyre resisted her, like a living thing rebelling against its creator. It surged towards the gates, but with a final scream of effort, Hermione forced it back. The flames imploded, collapsing in on themselves and leaving nothing but scorched earth in their wake.
She dropped to her knees, her wand clattering to the ground. Her hands were shaking, and her vision swam.
Sirius knelt beside her, his voice low and tense.
"What did you just do?"
"I… I didn't see another way," She whispered, her voice hollow.
Quickly, Melisandre made her way over, bending over to snatch the fallen wand and gripping Hermione by the elbow, forcing her onto her feet.
"Unhand my daughter!" Sirius snarled, "We're not through talking."
"Now is not the time." Melisandre replied. "We must hurry to press any advantage we might possibly have. The people will have their princess. We must go to the magisters at once."
The opulent council chamber of the magisters was unusually somber. The ornate walls, gilded with gold and silver seemed dull in the flickering torchlight. The magisters of Pentos sat in their high-backed chairs, their faces pale and uneasy. Outside, the sounds of the cities citizens cheers and whispering about the battle filled the air.
Hermione and Sirius entered the room together, the doors creaking open as if heralding judgement itself. Hermione still bore the weariness of the battle, her flying leathers singed and torn. Sirius, his shoulder hastily bandaged, leaned casually against the doorway, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his carefully controlled anger.
"You summoned us?" Hermione's voice was cold, cutting through the tense silence like a blade.
The magisters exchanged nervous glances. They were used to scheming behind closed doors, not dealing with the people who had saved their lives.
"Lady Hermione," began Magister Callerio, his voice trembling slightly, "your… efforts during the battle have not gone unnoticed. Truly, you and your dear father are–"
"Enough." Hermione's sharp tone made him flinch. "We didn't come here to be flattered. Pentos would have fallen if Sirius, Melisandre, and I hadn't acted. While you cowered behind your walls, your people fought and died."
One of the bolder magisters, a heavyset man with a hawkish nose, cleared his throat.
"Your methods were… unconventional. That kind of magic is dangerous. Reckless.
Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously, and Sirius straightened, stepping forward with a wolfish grin. "Oh, you've got thoughts on the matter now, do you? Where were those thoughts when the Dothraki were knocking on your gates? Or when we were out there saving your sorry hides?"
The hawkish-nosed magister paled but didn't back down. "This city has its traditions–"
"Traditions," Hermione interrupted, her voice rising. "Like letting the prince be a puppet to sacrifice while you hoard wealth and send bond servants to die in your place? Tell me, did your traditions defend Pentos last night?"
The chamber fell silent.
Outside the chamber, a crowd of bond-servants had gathered, their faces still carrying the awe they had felt watching Hermione's magic. Many had never seen such raw power before, let alone used to protect them. Whispers of "The Gryphon Queen" spread through the crowd like wildfire, and many began to wonder if Hermione's victory signaled more than just salvation– it hinted at change.
A young woman stepped forward from the crowd, her hands shaking but her voice firm.
"You fought for us," she said, her voice echoing in the courtyard outside the council chamber.
"Not for the magisters. Not for their gold. For us."
The crowd murmured in agreement, their confidence growing.
"We've served them for too long," said another, an older man with weathered hands.
"We need someone who will protect us, not just their coffers.
"The murmurs turned into chants. "Queen Hermione! King Sirius!"
Inside the chamber, the magisters could hear the chants growing louder. Sirius smirked and leaned toward Hermione.
"They've got a nice ring to it, don't they, Kitten?"
Hermione shot him a warning glance, though her cheeks flushed slightly.
Hermione turned back to the magisters, her voice steady and firm. "The people of Pentos deserve better than you. They fought for this city when you wouldn't. They bled for it. They need leadership that will defend them, not exploit them."
"And you think you're that leader?" the hawkish-nosed magister sneered.
"I don't think. I know," Hermione said. "And so do they" She gestured toward the window, where the chants of the bond servants could now be clearly heard: "Hermione! Sirius! Hermione! Sirius"
Sirius stepped forward, his tone light but carrying an edge of steel. "You had your chance to lead. You failed. Now you've got two options. Option one: you step down gracefully, let us rebuild this city, and maybe keep a sliver of your dignity. Option two…" He grinned wolfishly. "Well, let's just say the people outside seem ready to decide for you."
The magisters looked at one another, their faces pale. They weren't stupid– they knew when they'd been outmaneuvered. One by one, they nodded reluctantly.
Hermione truly didn't want bloodshed, but she knew she couldn't let the magisters retain power. She forced them to swear magical oaths of loyalty to Pentos and its people, stripping them of much of their wealth and influence, although one or two might have been purposefully misplaced during the commotion. Those who refused were put into chains to be dealt with after they'd finally gotten some rest.
The current prince, a timid and easily manipulated man, was given a choice: step down and live comfortably as an ordinary citizen, or face public scrutiny. He chose the former, grateful to disappear from the political stage.
Sirius, ever the strategist, made sure the transition was as seamless as possible. "We don't need chaos," he told Hermione as they worked late into the night. "We need stability. And you're the only one who can give it to them."
Later that night, after the fires had been extinguished and the city was quiet, Sirius found her sitting alone in the manse's garden. She stared at her hands as if they belonged to someone else, her wand lying on the ground beside her.
Sirius sat down next to her, his movements slow and deliberate. For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Finally, he broke the silence. "That wasn't you out there."
She flinched but didn't look at him. "What do you mean?"
"You're Hermione Granger," he said. "The one who fights with her mind, her heart, and her bloody annoying sense of moral superiority. What I saw out there today… that was something else."
"I saved the city," she said quietly, though her voice lacked conviction.
"And at what cost?" Sirius asked. "I've seen what dark magic does to people. I grew up with it, Hermione. My family worshipped it. They thought it made them powerful, untouchable. But all it did was twist them into monsters."
"I'm not a monster," she said, finally meeting his gaze.
"No, you're not," he said firmly. "But you danced dangerously close to the edge today. Dark magic doesn't come without a price. You think you're in control, but it worms its way into you, piece by piece, until you're not the same person anymore."
She looked away, guilt and doubt written across her face. "I didn't see another way, Sirius. If I hadn't used it, we would have lost. Pentos would have fallen. People would have died."
"And that's exactly what dark magic wants you to believe," he said. "That it's the only solution. That you need it. But you're smarter than that, Hermione. You're better than that."
Her hands curled into fists. "I'm so tired of always being the one who has to find a way. Why do I always have to make the impossible decisions?"
"Because you're the best of us," Sirius said, his voice softening. "And because you care enough to hate yourself for it afterward. But that doesn't mean you have to carry it alone. Next time, talk to me. Let me help."
"You're right." Hermione let out a shaky breath, " I… I let the pressure get to me. But it worked, didn't it?"
"For now," Sirius said. "But don't let today define you. You're not your mistakes, Hermione. You're the choices you make afterward."
The air in Pentos was warm, fragrant with the spices and oils being burned in preparation for the grand festival celebrating their victory. Hermione sat by the tall window in her chambers, her gown half-fitted by a patient seamstress. She was lost in thought, gazing out at the bustling city below. Despite the celebrations, a shadow lingered in her mind– the memory of the Fiendfyre she had conjured during the battle. Her conversation with Sirius that same night and the chaos it unleashed within her mind.
Melisandre entered the room quietly, her flowing red gown brushing against the marble floor. Her presence seemed to dim the flickering candlelight, making her scarlet hair and glowing skin all the more otherworldly. The seamstress, sensing the gravity of the priestess's aura, quickly excused herself, leaving Hermione and Melisandre alone.
"Princess Hermione," Melisandre began, her voice as smooth and measured as ever, "you have been distant since the battle."
Hermione turned from the window, her brow furrowed. "Is it that obvious?"
Melisandre smiled faintly and gestured to a chair. "Only to those who see the flames." She sat gracefully, her red robes pooling around her like molten lava. "You have been troubled by the flames you unleashed."
"Fiendfyre isn't like a normal fire." Hermione sighed and folded her arms. "Its… alive. It's uncontrollable, destructive. I used it to save Pentos, but it didn't feel like a victory when I saw what it left behind. Those men–Dothraki or not– they were obliterated, reduced to nothing. And I… I called it forth."
Melisandre nodded, her expression unchanging. "The fire is a force of life and death, Hermione. It is both a gift and a curse. You used it to protect these people, to save this city. There is no shame in wielding such power when it is done for a righteous cause."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Thats easy for you to say. You've lived in fire your whole life. You thrive in it. But this isn't just fire. Fiendfyre corrupts. It consumes not just what's in its path but also the soul of the one who wields it."
Melisandre leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Do you think the flames of R'hllor are any different? The fire I summon is just as destructive, just as consuming. And yet, through fire, there is light. Through destruction, there is rebirth."
"Hermione frowned, her mind torn between Melisandre's wisdom and her own fear. "What if I can't control it next time?"
"Do you fear the fire, or do you fear yourself, Hermione Granger?"
Melisandre tilted her head, studying Hermione carefully. Hermione stared at Melisandre, unsure how to respond. The priestess rose from her chair and walked to the window, gazing out at the city below.
"You are right to be cautious. Power like yours is dangerous, and it will always tempt you. But it is also necessary. There are battles in this world, Hermione– battles far greater than the one you just fought. And when those battles come, the choice will not be whether to use your power but how to use it."
"How can I trust myself to make the right choice?" Hermione asked quietly.
"By remembering why you fight." Melisandre turned to her, her expression softening. "You do not seek power for its own sake, as so many do. You fight to protect, to build, to save. Hold onto that, and the fire will serve you, not consume you."
Hermione nodded slowly, her thoughts beginning to settle.
"And if I falter?"
"Then I will be here to guide you," Melisandre said firmly. "As will your father. Sirius may joke and swagger, but his love for you is unwavering. He will keep you grounded, just as I will remind you of your purpose."
As Melisandre spoke, she took Hermione's hand and led her toward the gown lying on the dressing table– a beautiful white gown, with layered tulle that turned a near iridescent blue towards the bottom. Off the shoulders with a deep v-line to accentuate the corseted waist. Butterflies and intricate flowers lined the edges to complete it. It was a garment fit for a princess, one that would draw every eye during the festival.
"You are not just a warrior, Hermione," Melisandre said as she helped her into the gown. "You are a symbol. A beacon of hope for this city. And tonight, you will show them the light that burns within you. Let the people see your strength, and they will trust in you to lead them."
And here we have the latest chapter, finally updated on one of the days that I promised I would!
LOL, we're currently at page 89 out of 130 that I have written up so far and if you think this is a lot just wait till you see what I have in store for y'all!
A successful takeover of Pentos, what do you think is next?