LordDarkness89 - Unfortunately, Rhaenyra is quite unlucky that she has a father like Viserys who is not preparing her at all. Rhaenys had Aemon as a father and would have likely been a good queen from what we can tell. Perhaps that was more Rhaenys, perhaps not, but I am leaning that nurture is more important than nature.

Tony McNucklz - the Topaz eyes are quite relevant, particularly to Aegon. Whether or not it is relevant to the story...who knows :) . Yes, Aegon did alright in dealing with the Red Priests. Half-Truths and twisting things into his favour is best way to go with prophetic vision addicts like the Red Priests. Sometimes, it has to be done *shrugs*.

The Azor Ahai and war of the Dawn is part of it as well of course, but that only became so pronounced after Aegon kind of...winged it. Might as well get Slaver's Bay up to speed with the aid of the Red Priests who do share the goal of wanting to stop extinction level threat. Regardless of whether or not R'hllor was real or not.

Saera's spawn being part of the story is to be seen. At this stage, Aegon is more or less paranoid to the nth degree. It's a good thing. He's not exactly amongst friends.

Vaegon being convinced will depend on meeting Aegon, I think (says the author). Even if Vaegon dislikes some parts of the Citadel, most of it is to his liking. Whether or not it will be worth giving up the remaining parts, is to be seen.

Rhaenyra is very naive at this stage of her life. She is after all a girl still in her teens. It will depend many factors whether or not she'll grow out of it. Laena giving up on trying to convince is kind of part of how much a challenge that will be.

Zerias - Aegon won't have the might - or the lives - to be able to do something as crazy as the rupturing of the arm of Dorne, lol.

DodemGM - Yup...having to watch your back from foes - and friends - is par for the course when you're as personally powerful as Aegon is, especially if you're upending entire structures of existence. The Red Priests are a great threat, yes, but Aegon knows he can't exactly not try and get amicable with them...otherwise...going to war with the Red Priests is just asking to get murked lmao.

And given that they'd seen Aegon to be...important to thier Faith...well, scorned lovers are often the worst kinds of enemies you can make, you know.

mind liger - All things considered...Aegon thinks, if the Gods exist, that the Seven-who-are-one are probably the best kinds of Gods around. No sacrifice, no craziness... Whether or not they exist...Aegon isn't sure one way or another. He knows that there are things that seem as if they are gods but really arent but isn't sure if that is a blanket thing or if real gods do exist.

He does believe the 'Christian God' or some kind of 'God' in his old world probably did exist as he considers them the reason why he's in Planetos. He doesn't really want to think that the Planetos Gods exist and definitely doesn't want them to be responsible for his existence.

coldblue2015 - Always thought Vaegon didn't really deserve to be forgotten. Aegon does the same, haha. If Aegon is successful in recruiting him, he'll have a fantastic well of knowledge in Elamaerys. The real challenge will be getting Vaegon to 'teach' lmao, if he ever did accept Aegon's proposal.

Aegon playing with prophecy and backfiring is very possible. In fact, it is almost guaranteed to backfire in some way. The Red Priests are fanatics. Crazy people. They're going to be a problem now that he's given an inch, almost certainly. But at that moment in time, getting them on board was the lesser evil...

Aegon won't convert. He's too invested in the Faith of the Seven. Plus, he likes enough of the doctrines - which he will change a little to fit more into the Orthodox doctrine he was raised in his old life (note I am not of this religion nor am I religious of anything) - that he can't see Elamaerys ever needing to not worship the One-Who-Brought-The-Seven... ;).

Oh definitely Aegon feels vulnerability about magic...he hates it too. Part of the pillaging of tomes is to get all of the info he can on magic so that he can create something to defend his family and Elamaerys from the shenanigans.

Bio RL - No, Daemon does not. He wouldn't really care anyway. Not really. The girl is a bastard.

Trado - Vaegon did leave an impression on Aegon to be fair! Vaegon is pretty much Aegon's kind of people, even if it doesn't seem like it. The kind that values one of the few things that is most important.

Yes, Rhaenyra is pretty much f*cked. It's honestly kind of a tragedy, if you think of it. She is alone. That is undisputable. Viserys is absent and only sees in her his guilt. The nobles at court only want her for her position and importance and even then, many think that she is usurping her brother's right. Daemon...well, Daemon is Daemon and any connection she might have with him is not...quite what she would think she'd need. He isn't much of an escape since she is betrothed to his son. And Baelon is young...and distant.

So yes...Rhaenyra is playing life on hardmode at the moment and no one has told her that simple fact. She feels it but she deludes herself to keep herself strong. It is foolish. Her opinions on Aegon and Elamaerys are borne of this foolishness and naivity.

Vaegon is human. At least in my characterisation. He does regret being as harsh as he was a child to Daella. Growing older and wiser and being able to reflect on his relationships with his family. Daella was a victim if you really think about it. She had no right being married off to some old man, lmao.

Her characterisation in the books seem like she had serious mental problems. Of course, this is medieval times...but still...damn, her parents really did her no favours...Vaegon realises this.

Dreaming of Unrelenting Storms - :( Sorry, I don't think I can help it. It's a bad habit, I know (and my grammar at times) but I don't think I can fix it so easily.

Everyone else, thank you for your reviews and comments, I always read them even if I don't respond to them. As always, please enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think.

Note: If you would like to read ahead, the next three chapters after this chapter are available on / Boombox117

Mid to Late 112 AC - Yunkai

Horeqor (Former Yunkai slave) POV

He watched on from the balcony, the chinks and the clamouring and the hooves along with the weeping and the cheering and the begging, all mixed together into a miasmic sound that drew one into all that was transpiring, leaving none in the city capable on focusing on anything else.

The army was leaving towards Meereen today, a decision that left an undercurrent of anxiety and fear amongst the people.

'I understand your fear, people of Yunkai' the Prince had said when he'd addressed three days before this morn. 'You fear that my and my men's departure means that the peace and freedom you have enjoyed is coming to an end.

You fear that in our absence that the slavers will come and put you back into chains, and be more cruel and wicked onto you than ever before.

Have no such fear, people of Yunkai.

We leave you not unprotected for the men we leave behind will strive to ensure the peace that your fellow brothers and sisters in the regency councillors have worked to install remains in place.

The Prince had talked about how liberty was a right that had to be fought for and though the Prince and his men were fighting for them against the armies of the wicked slavers, the people of Yunkai would also need to fight for liberty.

'Liberty is not something that be granted.

Liberty is as important to the spirit and soul as bread and water are to your stomach. It is something that must always be defended!

It is not something that can be given or from you. It is, and always will be, something that must be defended. That must always be remembered needs a price!

You feel now, do you not, people of Yunkai? You feel how easy it is to breathe!

You feel how free your spirit feels without the weight of chains on your soul!

And just like food and water must be paid for, in blood and sweat and coin, so too must Liberty be paid for by your blood, sweat and coin!

The flames of Liberty must be refreshed every day in your hearts, in the hearts of your countrymen and countrywomen, and if necessary, when your enemies who stand against your liberty and the liberty of your people, the flames of Liberty in your hearts must be roused and make you pick up a sword or spear and defend yourselves, your family and your city!

So I ask you, I, Aegon of House Targaryen, your ally, that you grasp this chance that you hold and grow! Grow strong, grow smarter, listen and work with the Regency Councillors, and pick up how to use a sword for you must feed the flames of liberty in your hearts with blood, sweat and coin!

This is how you can honour my and my men's battles against our common foe, the slavers, and honour me by becoming the best men and women I know you can be!

That is all that I ask of you, people of Yunkai!

Will you honour my request?!'

Prince Aegon had asked them – a Prince! A Prince asked them, former slaves ! – to honour his and his men's efforts by working together with the regency council and the 'peacekeepers'. No demands. No threats. Just a request made by a free man to other free men and women.

The resounding cheers that day, cheers that had almost deafened him and many others, had answered Prince Aegon's question if they would honour his request.

'By the end of this year, the rest of all of Slaver's Bay will have no more masters and it is through the deaths and destruction of all slavers that Yunkai and its sister cities will know peace and will know freedom until the ends of time!

And it will be through your work, through your sacrifices and your determination to see Yunkai flourish, to see Yunkai rebuild, to see Yunkai be strong and grow, that Yunkai shall be a beacon that is to be the envy of all cities in the Known World!

I believe this. I believe in you, people of Yunkai!

So have no fear, people of Yunkai and prove to me that my faith in you is deserving'

The words of the Prince that day in the main square had quelled many of the great unhappiness that was felt by the former enslaved Yunkai'i and the words that the Prince had spoke further had only emboldened the people.

And it could be felt every day in the city.

There were a great many opportunities for the people of Yunkai – and the labourers who had come from the fields nearby.

The shops and industries that had been owned by the freedmen and the nobility were now gifted away to the weavers, to the artisanry workers, to craftsmen and builders alike, all of whom would be given 'grants' to hire and train some of the lesser skilled members of the city, those who had been servants or whores before.

Guilds were to be set up, guilds for different kinds of crafts, guilds for farmers and guilds for anything that there was a need for.

For scribes and teachers, like him, there was opportunity to learn the Law or to become an apprentice in one of the government positions with the aim that they become, in time, administrators aiding in the running of the city and the hinterlands.

There was also the military where young men, often those who had been purchased from the Dothraki and decided to stay, had elected to join and undergo training under a famous gladiator and Unsullied commanders.

The pay for those men was the best amongst all of the new positions though it was also the hardest.

The second best paid work was the builder's pay. Those who were being taught the ways of concrete and the ways of building by some of the regency councillors.

Food was secured, it was said, by the agreements that the Prince's army had gotten from the newly liberated labourers who were gifted the lands of their former masters. He remembered well what the news had been.

That food was going to be at the same price as before.

There was a great deal to be optimistic about, and it could be felt in the city too.

There was even rumours that distant lands like the Summer Isles would be happy to trade with Yunkai and the other liberated cities!

"Will big brother return now that the bad men are gone?" a childish voice broke him out of his thoughts and he turned towards the source of the voice.

There, standing not far from him, was a young girl, about five namedays, olive-skinned with a head of hair the colour of sunset orange, held aloft in her mother's arms, a young girl whom he had seen grow every day.

Her mother, who the girl took after, wore a hard and almost contemptuous face, when their eyes met, a face that swiftly changed when she turned to look at her daughter. "No, he will be away for some time yet." The woman said in a kinder voice though the hardness was still strong on her face, not being quite to let go of the bitterness and anger that was still brewing inside of her.

Dineh, was her name.

A Ghiscari woman, aged in her late thirties, not quite noble but still a social rank above the common freedmen and freedwomen of before. Though now, he supposed, she was no better than anyone, something he knew rankled and terrified her, even if she never dared show her fear. Not in front of him…her lesser.

Even if he saved her life, he had little doubt that she hated him and everyone else in the city for what has befallen her family…and her place in society.

Dineh brought her daughter down from between her hands and, after, patting the girl's dress down, she said "Go back inside, Sesha" the young girl groaned in irritation and a sharp look, a look once reserved as a promise of beatings now used to entice compliance of her own child, from Dineh silenced the groan ably.

Dineh continued "And do not leave your room." Dineh's expression shifted slightly "If you behave, we can have honey breadsticks." The spark in the five nameday's eyes was adorable to see and after hastily agreeing, the girl ran off inside.

Dineh got back to her full height and turned her gaze towards him, the warmth that had shown itself momentarily in the presence of her daughter had been extinguished and its place that was only coldness…and contempt.

He looked away from her eyes, an odd sensation of terror and submission blooming, and looked back towards the moving army.

When the dragon had swept across Yunkai, burning palaces and pyramids and estates down with flame and fire, untold scores of families were burnt along with the buildings or died from the dark ash and the black smoke breathed in.

When the fighting settled, and they, the now former slaves, returned to Yunkai, they were greeted by a sight of slaughter and death.

The old nobility were all dead and so too were many of the freedmen and the free Ghiscari. There were none of the men surviving. Even amongst the women and children, especially after the fire at the estate, there were few left.

When he returned back – he still did not understand what had driven him to return, not when so many other did not – to his master's…his former master's estate, he found the corpses of his master, Dineh's husband, her five and ten nameday son, and many of the other members of the family…including a few of the women.

He'd felt great sorrow for the boy's death, even as he turned out to be more like his father every day that passed. He'd seen him grow all his life…

He hadn't found Dineh's or Sesha's bodies and a sudden thought had struck him, a thought that made him remember that his master had an old cellar that was well hidden.

Though Yunkai was not often threatened, either by roaming Dothraki or New Ghis or the other Slaver's Bay cities, there was still ways for his master and their family to ensure their survival, if they had need of it.

Plus, he was sure that was also where they kept much of their valuables.

He wasn't supposed to know, for he was merely his master's children and their cousins' teacher of numbers and letters, but he, along the other servants had known nonetheless.

There was few secrets that the slaves had not known about their masters.

He'd gotten to the cellar, hidden behind furniture and more, and moved the furniture that entrapped the cellar door, and found Dineh and Sesha there. His hand went towards his shoulder, and he winced slightly. Dineh had slashed at him with a dagger, and looked like a rabid animal.

She could have killed him then. He'd been struck by the familiar terror that he always felt under his masters' rage and had begged for mercy of her.

She could have killed him.

Yet she had not. Instead, she demanded to know what had happened and he told her everything he knew. When she saw the bodies of her husband and her son…

He'd never seen her cry. He'd seen her cry then. He'd not seen her cry since.

He was startled out of his thoughts when she stood by the banister of the balcony, and he saw her gaze expressionlessly at the leaving army.

When the soldiers returned, they had not returned alone. Slave servants, cooks and maids, who used to tend to this home, had come with them and when they saw Dineh, she was taken away when slave servants told the soldiers who she was.

He stared at her from the corner of his eyes, his eyes gradually falling towards the brand on her neck. He did not know why he defended her so vigorously. He did not know why he even returned to this…place.

He considered that mayhaps, mayhaps it was because it was his place of birth, his own mother having given birth to him in this place as she'd worked as a maid.

Mayhaps, mayhaps, it was more…as if blood was calling to blood. He doubted this otherwise, how could blood treat blood the way he'd been treated? The beatings, the castration…

Mayhaps it was because it was all that he knew.

In any case, he had to 'make a case' with regency councillors by the soldiers when they took Dineh away, and left Sesha to his care when he said he'd look after her.

He'd feared that Dineh had died with the rest of the nobility in that fire but luckily she had not gone there and he pleaded on her behalf that she was not a cruel slaver.

It was not true. Yes she was not cruel, not compared that of the likes of her husband. But she was cruel still, like his old master, master Crollohar, the old patriarch of the family before Dineh's husband took over, the one who had him taught in his letters and numbers, but also who had him castrated.

In the end, it hadn't been needed, for they said that they would release her and 'pardon her' but that her properties and her wealth would be taken away from her.

This home was the only thing left in Dineh's name. All of the valuables, gold and jewellery and even the furniture, was taken away from Dineh, with only a small portion of silver coins, several pouches' worth, remaining with Dineh.

He eyed her cautiously, his eyes set on the still red brand that was on her neck, an ugly thing. They'd branded some of the freedwomen and the noblewomen, the ones that survived, with this brand. It was a symbol of two ripped harpy wings.

A mark given to the women, by proxy through their families and husbands, had an active hand in the slave business. His former master had several slave breeding houses and traded with Astapor throughout the years.

The brand was a mark to ensure that no one forgot those who profited from slavery, even if they were not responsible.

"Are you comparing my mark with that of your own?" her sharp tone of voice startled him slightly and, before he knew it, he was shaking his head.

"No." he said, a little more composed, his eyes cast away.

She scoffed before she placed her hand on his chin and forced him to look at her, and he was gazing upon cold and unkind black eyes. She stared at him for long few moments after which she pushed him away.

He thought he'd heard her mutter 'weak'.

He was ashamed to admit that it was an opinion that many thought of him.

Even the former slaves, others who had been in the home with him, thought that of him too, angered as they were that he'd defend her so.

None of them would talk to him anymore and he was sure if he'd not find any kind of work had he been not employed by the administrators to help teach letters and numbers to orphan children in exchange for pay.

He was sure some of them would even want to kill him – and Dineh – had it not have major repercussions for themselves. Under the new laws, there was no distinctions between the peoples of Yunkai. All had the same rights.

Which meant that killing anyone would result in judgement and if you were found guilty, you would be executed for committing cold blooded murder.

Even killing a former slave owner like Dineh, was not permitted. The soldiers who killed all those women and children in that fire were executed for their crime and they had been the Prince's men.

"If only I didn't need you to make sure Sesha was looked after." Dineh said with a bitter note to her voice.

He knew what she meant.

Dineh was well aware that she was amongst the very few, less than a thousand that was certain, women still alive that came from slave owning or slaver families.

With the army going, and with it going much of the power of the regency council, there was a good chance that revenge killings would happen.

It also didn't help that it was unlikely that she'd be welcomed anywhere. Even her old friends, the few that still lived, did not want to be anywhere other than their homes.

"You could always go somewhere else." He said a little quietly and she laughed harshly, contemptuously.

"As if anywhere else is safe." She said bitterly. "With that sisterfucking spawn" there was real hatred behind her voice as she said that "-and his monstrous beast, there is nowhere safe." There was sorrow in her voice. Faint but it was there. "Everything that was worth anything, will be gone…"

"You shouldn't call him that. You could get in trouble if someone hears you."

The dragon Prince was seen as a God by many of the people.

Even he himself thought…

"I will call that evil spawn whatever I like!" She said sharply, venomously and she looked at him sharply, harshly. "You're the only one here and we both know you will not betray me. Not if you want Sesha to grow up without a mother."

He looked away from her gaze and he found a small echo of courage as he spoke further. "I won't say anything. But if you want Sesha to be with you, then you still should stop saying things that will get you punished." Even as he said that, he felt a shiver of terror running down his spine.

She laughed at his comment and it was a bitter laugh. "To have you, of all people, dare talk back to me?" she said with a great deal of bitterness.

It was more than he ever dared say before.

Before the liberation, he knew that such talking back would see him caned, or worse, even killed if his master had been in a foul mood. And they both knew it.

"It can't be helped, can it?" she said with sadder but still bitter tone of voice and he glanced at her, seeing her stare hatefully at the army.

He thought he understood.

Everything she knew was dead and gone.

"No." he said quietly. He did not feel sympathy for her. Or her husband. Or the other slavers or slave owners. He did not understand why he kept staying, true.

Nor did he understand why he felt like he should keep helping Dineh.

But he did understand that it was a good thing that things were…different. Better.

Riznil, Dineh's five and ten nameday son, the son who died, was like Sesha, once.

But like many others in the family over the years, much like his father, he was beginning to grow into the skin of cruelty much like his father had. Much like the rest of his family. Into the rest of the Ghiscari freedmen and nobles. Masters.

Cruel and terrible.

Sesha did not need to be like her father. Or her family. Or like Dineh. Mayhaps that was why he was staying, he thought to himself. It made sense. He did see her grow.

He'd have no children of his own, not with what was done to him…

He shook his head slightly.

Yes, things were better. The Wise Masters and the others were terrible and cruel people. Every generation grew to be the same as the one before, passing down their terribleness and their cruelty like how words and letters were passed down.

He turned away from the sad, hateful bitter look of Dineh, back towards the army.

So many people died. Always. Always.

He'd seen entire cities worth of people pass through the ports of Yunkai in his many years of life, near fifty namedays of life.

Suffering. Dying. Begging. Many of them young and no more than children.

Many of them children of the women of the pleasure houses of Yunkai, the sons and daughters borne of the seeds of the freedmen and Wise Masters.

Yes…things were becoming better.

Not for those like Dineh, he knew, but sometimes…

Sometimes that was better.

Better for everyone else.

-Break-

Mid to Late 112 AC

Admiral Lutherys POV

'SHIPS AHEAD' rang around the deck and around the ship, and Lutherys was quick in his steps to get on deck, and as he got a Far-Eye to his eye, horns sounded out, horns that came from port and starboard just as well as a horn sounded out from his ship.

Through the lens of the Far-Eye, he saw a fleet of more than a fifty and hundred, mayhaps a dozen or two more, cogs and galleys.

"Found you…" Lutherys said with slow crawling smile on his face. Prince Aegon had informed them, a day into their sail and two days into the army's march, that his dragon had seen there were no ships in the ports of Meereen which had been alarming.

No ships? At a city like Meereen which was a trading city who depended on life and blood on the trade through ships?

It could only mean one thing…that the Meereenese knew of their coming. How, he wasn't sure. He didn't know. And truthfully…he didn't care.

He only cared that he found them…and he supposed, where he found them.

He frowned as he squinted his eyes to notice the sails but he only notice the colours this far away but that was enough, for only the Elyrians painted their sails with a purple dye that could only be found on their shores.

He wasn't surprised to find Elyrian ships amongst the almost certain enemy fleet.

They'd swung around the shores of Slaver's Bay and headed straight towards Tolos so as to hunt for the Meereenese ships.

And, he thought as he tried to look further and further through the Far-Eye by squinting more, it was likely that this fleet comprised of more than just the Meereenese and the Elyrians.

After all, the ships were heading directly for them, from the direction where Tolos laid. Yes…

It was likely that this was a coalition of fleets, Tolosian, Meereenese and Elyrian, mayhaps more if the small port towns and cities had joined arms against them.

Prince Aegon had suspected that by the time they marched on Meereen that their enemy would know of their coming and would plan to do something about it…such as allying with the neighbouring slaver cities and hiring sellswords from these places.

Whether or not sellswords were aboard, they couldn't tell, and mayhaps they wouldn't be able to tell if things went perfectly, but they did know that the Meereenese had worked and worked well for getting the Elyrians and mayhaps others to ally themselves in just days.

He honestly was impressed that they managed it. Weren't the slavers meant to be difficult? Or was that just to everyone else who wasn't a slaver?

He set aside that thought.

He supposed that you had to work fast and quick if you wanted to survive, which they would have come to learn they would need to do if they knew what happened to Yunkai.

There was a chance that their fleet missed an incoming ship or two when they attacked Yunkai, busy as they had been then, allowing the Meereenese enough time, mayhaps as many as a fortnight or more, to use to gather their wits and plan.

It didn't even have to be the ships...it could have been others, from the times they took Astapor or from the hinterlands, that rode for Meereen and informed them of what was coming their way. It didn't really matter. The only thing that mattered was their enemy knew they were coming and prepared for it.

Unfortunately for the slavers, they were facing an enemy that had them in their grasps and plans for many moons…and an enemy who had Prince Aegon and a dragon.

"Admiral!" the call of his title drew him away from his Far-Eye and he gazed upon the worried but determined face of his second officer, Dale Longheart, and Lutherys knew what the glint in his eyes meant.

"Aye" Lutherys said with a firm "Sound the horn and signal the fleet. We'll work the plan." He said to his second officer and a flicker of excitement showed itself in the man's eyes, the kinds of excitement that was oft found in the young men that never tasted battle, on sea or on land.

"Yes admiral!" and his second officer quickly walked away, his bellows and shouts of orders ringing out like the sounds of a hammer on steel.

Lutherys looked from his second officer and looked back towards the enemy fleet.

"Tch. If only I had the two dozen more ships." He muttered to himself as he looked through the Far-Eye. He didn't like disparity in numbers. The enemy outnumbered by more than twice the numbers and likely had three to five times, if not more if they had the sellswords, the men aboard the ships than he had on his.

Yes, their ships, discounting even the Prince's Flagship, Victory, a ship he captained, were, pound for pound twice if not more as heavy as the ships in the enemy fleet but that mattered little for the enemy would seek to board them.

Or at least that would have been so in the past, before they had the jar-bolts.

Still, it did not leave the problem of his sailors, the archers and the Summer Islander archers, having to possibly fight off the boarders if things did not go to plan exactly.

If they had more ships…

A significant portion of the fleet had sailed back to Astapor, their port of safety and where the majority of their people outside of the army and volunteers were located, taking with them gold, coin, wealth and their injured and the urns of their fallen, along with some children too and with them went about five and twenty of his ships.

Of course, their fleet was reinforced before they set sail and were made to go on this mission, with forty ships from Astapor, making their fleet five and sixty strong though he could but think that the five and twenty, had they stayed with the fleet, especially the sailors, could have made a marked change to the battle to come.

"No matter." He shook his head. They'd win nonetheless.

They'd drilled and drilled until their heads were as sore and burnt as their palms were when roping, far more than they ever did when they warred in the Basilisk Isles, a war where many of the captains and sailors had first tasted war and blood.

The vigorous strategy lessons and matters of discipline were burned in their heads. Lessons that drilled into them the importance of order and discipline and not allowing the call of glory ruin the prospect of victory, the only important thing in the heat of the battle.

Some had rebelled in their own small ways, captains that had grown too big of a big head thanks to their successes as captains of merchant ships, doing away with the naval standards and conduct the Prince wanted of his captains, which included basic things such as to speak clearly, to speak with respect and honour to the sailors and to keep to the Corinthos naval doctrines, and instead, these captains did away with it all and thought their ships to be their personal fiefdoms.

They soon came to know how terrifying the commanders and the Prince could be when they were angered.

Though none lost their lives, for they did not commit treason or any other such crimes that warranted execution, but they were demoted for their disobedience and now they were serving their punishment, no, their sentence, as common sailors.

'Do not see this as punishment. This is a way for you to earn back your place. Serve well and you will have the chance to become a captain again or even admiral should you serve well and true.

However, should you forget that you have this second chance, should you decide that this is a slight instead of a reprieve, know that there is no place for foolhardy men in my navy…or in our lands.

Just as it is in our navy, or in our army, it is never about the individual when it comes to the matters of our people. It is always about the People first.'

As far he could tell, the men were taking on board the advice and he had not heard the demoted captains, some of whom were serving his very fleet now, misbehaving or showing traces of treason.

He shook his head and returned to the matter at hand and he eyed the men who were more alive now than they had been mere moment ago.

'Preparation, preparation, preparation! There is nothing more important than preparation before the battle!' he thought to himself and he quickly fell into his proper skin of admiral and oversaw the men checked over the scorpions, the ropes and the jigs one last time before the battle.

It was possible that the Meereenese knew about the wildfyre…or the jar-bolts. After all, it has been many years since the Basilisk Isles and he knew for a fact that there were corsairs that escaped. Chances were that people knew though…

He doubted they actually planned for it.

The war was unexpected and so they had little reason to prepare for such a circumstance. Plus, he mused to himself silently.

The fact that they thought ships of all things were going to matter, regardless if they carried ten thousand soldiers or more, when they were faced against an army that had a grown dragon in its arsenal…?

Well…

He shook his head. He couldn't underestimate his enemy.

'There is no greater folly than underestimating your enemy. Never succumb to arrogance or overconfidence. Fates are decided by the smallest of decisions. Do not let folly and arrogance be the decider of yours and your men's fate.'

"Dale!" he bellowed as he walked towards the upper deck and the man turned his head towards him "Sound the horn again!" the first horn told them the plan was underway and this horn told them to start the first phase of the plan.

"Aye, admiral!"

They had three different horns, and each one had a different sound, a different pitch. The bull's horn was deep and low whilst the elephantine horn was high pitched, the horn they used to make others aware of enemies sighted.

The last horn was the loudest of them all, an elephantine horn though it was fashioned differently than the high pitched one. This horn signalled general retreat.

Only he had this horn and only he had the rights to use it, a responsibility he loathed as much as he liked. He hated the idea that it was needed but to fight another day and to save the lives of the men was more important than his pride and honour.

The horn, the Bull's Horn was blown, and so began their gambit, he mused silently himself and it'd be blown a final time to signal the men to turn around and fight the battle plan truly, a plan he and Prince Aegon had agreed they'd use should they come across the enemy fleet if it outnumbered them.

He'd sat down with his captains and told them that they were going to implement the 'Hook, line and sinker' plan, a plan that the captains were well aware for it was one of the ones that they were trained in performing.

The first stage of the plan was to sail closer to the enemy fleet. Once he was assured the enemy was not changing course and had seen them, the fleet would 'suddenly' change course, disarrayed, giving the appearance of panic at the sight of a 'superior' fleet.

This would embolden their enemy, especially the undisciplined slavers. The others, should there be any cautious ones, would have to follow despite their reservations.

Those smart ones would probably be at the back. Hmm, he hoped there were none such smart and cautious men captaining those ships.

In any case, their fleet would allow itself to be caught up on, giving the appearance the enemy's fleet was faster and more manoeuvrable. They were more manoeuvrable, true, but they were not necessarily faster, not in the open sea.

Still, they did not know that, nor would they get to know.

…

…

Hours passed and just as expected, their baiting worked and now the enemy fleet pursued, slowly, but surely gaining distance on them.

"How much longer, admiral?" Dale asked and Lutherys looked towards the man who was peering the Far-Eye.

Lutherys looked back at the enemy fleet.

They needed to allow for enough time for their ships to turn around and set their scorpions against their enemy with the enemy being well within range.

Presently, he had calculated, at their speed, they'd have to wait for mayhaps an hour or more until the enemy was within range.

They also couldn't drop their speed lest they make other suspicious since they giving the appearance of running and slowing down when there was no reason or cause was a suspicion he didn't want to risk.

"An hour. Mayhaps an hour and a half maximum." He said to his second officer before he glanced at the man. "Mirror the other captains the time to turn is soon approaching." The mirrors were the same tools they used in the Basilisk Isles war to signal one another, a small piece of glass with a thin and highly polished and oily sheet of silver.

There weren't yet many different types of signals and those like hours and days were easy to indicate but every captain and senior officers of the ship was required to learn the meanings behind the small blips and flashes.

They had come a long way since those days, he mused to himself.

The message spread amongst the fleet and, though it felt like an age, the hour and some more had passed and then…

The horn was blown, a deep and grumbling sound rippled through the ship and throughout the open sea, and soon, their ships began to turn, the sound of the creaking boards of the ship, and the sounds of the smashing sea against the hull was drowned out by the voices and shouts of the crew.

Shouts that he hear even below the deck, where the men who manned the lower deck scorpions were.

His gaze swept across the deck, falling on the men who commanded the scorpions above the deck almost obsessively cleaning and preparing the jar-bolts and the gears that fired it, before his gaze towards the archers.

The archers, the Summer Islanders and the Elamaerysians archers, who totalled five and ten in total, a number similar to others on the ships in their fleet.

They'd be the ones that prevented to keep the hordes of potential enemy boarders at bay and to strike at the enemy as they passed through.

They were not meant to be too much of a dependence in this battle, though, he mused to himself, he'd expected the Elamaerysian archers to test out their new bows vigorously, bows that were almost as good as the goldenheart bows of the Summer Islanders.

The bows were six foot long, taller than nearly all men, and were made of the redwoods of Elamaerys, far better than any other type of wood, save for the Goldenhearts, to be used in bows.

It could fire as far as three hundred yards, a good distance though fell short of the five hundred yards of the goldenheart bows, and could penetrate through plate armour though that was only possible if the archer was a hundred or so yards from the knight.

Soon enough, they were all turned and they were all in their positions and he shouted at one of the boys, a shiphand, to make sure that he kept the Flare-Candles save and at hand.

In the haze of battle, should they find themselves amidst failure and mired amongst the enemy ships, the flares would signal the men, wildfyre flare candles that were dyed in red and yellow, the red to signal retreat and yellow to signal the next phase.

He hoped he did not have to use but hope was not to be something relied upon, not when you were at war.

The time before the enemy ships came into range was short yet, it felt like an age still, an age that saw the ships turn to starboard, all of whom were in position in three collectives of ships, and they all opened their scorpion ports and primed the jar-bolts, ready to fire.

The range of the scorpions were improved over the years, now able to fire at two, two and a thousand yards away.

It was almost eerie, he thought to himself, as he stared upon the masses of enemy ships that still sailed towards them without a dip in their speed, the sound of the calm sea and the silence of the crew who stared at him with bated breaths.

His arm fell almost without an effort of his own, and his words came out his lips, "Fire" long before he recognised he said them, and, in a flash, three jar-bolts were fired and soared towards the targeted ships, and behind those jar-bolts, was a scorpion bolt on fire…green fire.

They watched the bolts soar and they watched the jar-bolts hit the decks and hull of the one ship in front and he could hear the faint traces of voices carried through the sallow winds and, when the on-fire scorpion bolt hit the ship, the ship was engulfed in a sea of green fire, the flames and fire spreading like a fever across the hull and deck, the enemy men trying their best to drown the fires in water and cloth.

"Fire!" he said again "Fire at will!" and so, a hail of scorpion jar-bolts and fire-bolts were launched at the enemy, first from his ship and then from all of the other ships, the skies blotted out by dozens, hundreds of scorpions the lengths of men and the weight of two, and now, beyond the sight of whistling bolts and beyond the sight of his own men reloading and redoing the springs, he saw the panic that their actions had induced in the enemy fleet.

One ship aflame became two, and then three and a dozen and a dozen more, so was they were greeted to a sight of green bonfires and the shouts and screams of the enemy men.

The barrage continued for some time yet, and, when he thought that the enemy and the burning ships were too close, he decided then that the next phase of their plan needed to be brought to life.

"Boy!" he barked out and the young lad, his hands full with a box of candles, beckoned towards him with a falter in his steps though he did not fall.

He quickly undid the lever on the box and took out the yellow painted candle and he pointed it upward before he, with the other hand twisted at the base of the candle and he heard a click and the turning of the small and strange gears as the bottom as he felt the candle heat up and moments later, a small bolt of yellow light erupted from the top of the candle far into the sky before it exploded into a small deeply yellow sun.

"We're turning! We're turning!" shouted the men and Lutherys turned towards the helmsman who turned the ship around so that they faced the enemy.

"All sails up!" the men bellowed and soon all of their sails were up and angled to catch the winds and soon they sailed forwards, towards the enemy lines who were breaking and breaking off.

His own fleet had too broken off, more than they already, three segments of the fleet forming their own fleets now and would be headed by the long chosen captains who would act under their own agency.

He and Prince Aegon trusted them to do their duty well and they knew that.

There was risk involved in this method, they knew that, but it also allowed them the initiative if they were the ones to act proactively.

There was also the risk that they'd be mired amongst burning ships whose men who would be desperate in trying to board their ships and so, it was better that they drive through the enemy's disarrayed lines and use the forward scorpions as they pushed through, and, at the same, catch the ones who may be trying to escape.

Lutherys planned for total annihilation and the men knew it too, wanted it too.

Still, the next while was a time fraught with nerves as they waded through the first line of sinking enemy ships, their forward scorpions firing at will at whichever ship still stood floating, though, it was a slower pace and more measured for now they were in between foe and in between friend.

There were some survivors on some of the first line of enemy ships, desperate men, but the Elamaerysian archers quickly turn them silent through hastened arrow.

The rear fleet, on his portside, was caught in a slugfest of a battle, he saw between green fire and mast and sail, though, it seemed like it was nothing truly out of control, still, he endeavoured to turn around on the first opportunity and come from the back.

As it was, his small fleet of two dozen would need to contend with the twice the number of ships that lay before them. As they ate up more sea, so the distance close and so did hails of arrows come towards them.

The arrows were lacking in power and most of them had hit the sea long before they arrived to the ships, yet, some did managed to make the distance.

"Shields!" bellowed the men and men took care to protect the scorpion bolt loaders from the arrows whilst the other men took cover wherever they could.

He too took cover. "Yande!" Dale shouted from across the ship.

"Yes, we know!" the tall Summer Islander said and soon they returned fire just as the other ships had done with their archers.

"Come on men, get the seven damned scorpions going again!" Dale shout out furiously though it worked for more jar-bolts were being fired and he saw the bolts were being fired more towards the decks than they towards the hulls which had been previously the main strategy to use, to get the ships sinking.

He didn't disagree with the decision of the loaders. They were too close now and it wouldn't long before the archers were needed to keep the enemy bay.

Hours later…

The last lights of day bore down at them as he surveyed the fleet. Out of five and sixty, three and ten of the carracks were lost, only a few men had been rescued.

And, out of the remaining two and fifty, there were a number of casualties, ranging from one to five and ten, on average about four men dead.

He looked around at the sea, a sea that bore broken hulls and blackened wrecks.

Not many of the enemy fleet managed to escape. From the accounts of the captains and the men, they guessed that mayhaps between one and ten and seven and ten ships had managed to escape out of the sixty and hundred ships.

A near total annihilation, but, he thought as he surveyed his fleet, his lessened fleet, it was a hard won battle and the losses left a bitter taste to his tongue.

They won the day, true, and by numbers alone, discounting the size of their ships, they had no right to win so ably with only a sixth of the fleet lost, but nonetheless, it almost felt like a defeat.

He looked towards Randall, the man who had led the van fleet, and said "Take your ship and three others. Scour our wrecks one more time for survivors before the first of the morn." It was unlikely there were any survivors, he knew, but he still wanted to check one last time.

He noticed the looks but said nothing of it, changed his expression not, and Randall nodded after a moment, his expression shifting slightly to one of deep understanding "Aye, admiral." He said before he looked to one of the captains who nodded and soon he stood up and they left.

Soon enough, he was left in the captain's quarters, writing down all of the things that he and his captains – who had brought points of discussions of the other captains – in preparation for the meeting with the Prince.

He glanced towards the window. It was night now. He glanced back towards the glass candle that sat in front of him. It wouldn't be long before the Prince would come calling. Always since the missing Meereenese ships was known, during the night, did the Prince call.

And this night, he thought to himself tiredly, there would be a great many things to discuss. Including the topic that their calculations had been almost assuredly right…

For the enemy fleet almost certainly did carry sellswords or soldiers.

Sellwords and soldiers that were now bloated meat for sharks to feast upon.

-Break-

Mid to Late 112 AC – on the Road to Meereen

Ser Tryas POV

"More of the poor bastards." One of the men riding beside him remarked gruffly but not without a hint of gloomy sentiment as he peered down the Far-Eye.

He and some of his men were scouting ahead of the army by half a days' march, and they were not far from Meereen now, mayhaps a days' march to the city.

The other units, some more than forty units, were all still scouring and taking the countryside, far from the beaten path.

So, for them to find another group of wretches on the path between cities made it all very likely they were being sent directly to their paths now…

He took one of the Far-Eyes offered to him and gazed through it.

In the distance, through the distortion of the sun and land, he saw a bunch of them coming their way. The first time he'd seen this…

He grunted displeased as he looked away from the Far-Eye. "Ride back and inform our Prince." Trytas said with a displeased note in his voice.

This was the fourth time the Meereenese were doing this. Or mayhaps only the fourth time they were able to find such wretched people on their path to Meereen.

It was likely others died along the way, walking away from the path due to their delirium and wrongness of mind…

By the time they'd made it a day into the journey to Meereen, their scouts discovered that the Meereenese were not being idle at all.

Their scouting riders had caught some of the Meereenese burning down several farms, and later, they discovered it was not an isolated instance.

Entire fields of farm, plantations and entire estates were being burned down and as they travelled closer to Meereen, they'd discovered that they were being more thorough than he thought them capable of being.

They had to send out more of their cavalry to hunt down these men and further still towards the Khyzai Pass and though they were successful in stopping more of the lands being burnt, it also exposed something else…something terrible.

He rode towards the group of people and, as he neared them, he saw the similar depravity in which the Meereenese were willing to go to.

The people, most of them young, children, even, naked and walked on bloody feet. Their arms were stubs, their wounds forcibly closed through fire or hot metal, such was the skin blackened at the ends of their stubs, and their faces…

Their faces were sunken, grey and with eyes mad with fever and delirium though, to call them only mad would be wrong to, for they had the mind still to shout and cry and beg at him 'Please, turn back, they'll do this to everyone!'

'my son' 'my daughter' 'father' 'mother' 'sister' 'brother'

The Meereenese left behind slaves, butchered and maimed, at the estates and farms and plantations they successfully burned down, like this, but since they largely scoured everywhere between Yunkai and Meereen – the distance between the cities was but six days' ride apart – and prevented the slavers from doing it anymore, they were now sending out slaves like this on the main road between the two cities.

He did not know what they had done to these people, to have them so devoted – all of them were like this – in trying to get them to turn back, to leave Meereen alone, but it was honestly…unsettling, more than the sight of such wretched innocents.

Not even he, Trytas thought, had been able to get the pirates sing the tune he wished them to sing without a thought of their own. These wretches…they were broken. Without repair, he mused, as he met their gazes. Just like the ones before.

He scowled as he passed them. These people didn't deserve this. It was evil.

Pointless evil.

He did not speak to the slaves, even as they begged, even as they fell to their knees from exhaustion and from their wounds, his wits and his eyes instead focused as he surveyed the surroundings, and when all of his men – some of whom had been sent to scout several leagues in a radius – returned, they waited day and night.

Some of the men fed the two dozen slaves water and bread, their kindness despite all that this war has demanded of them not yet burnt out, and when midday arrived, they were greeted with the sounds of their army arriving long before they were seen with the naked eye.

The slaves, like the ones before them, were taken to Prince Aegon, who listened to their begging and their pleas and Prince Aegon, like before, empathised at them.

"I understand." Prince Aegon said as he sat in front of the slaves in his armour at one of the camps, surrounding by the men, his eyes flickering from one side to the other, staring into the tortured eyes of the slaves with sympathy, empathy, sorrow.

The slaves were half dead already, the bloodied feet were half gangrene, their teeth bleeding. They were not long for life…not without a great deal of aid.

Aid they could not reasonably provide.

The volunteers with them had healers amongst them, yes, but they could not stop to march and stop to march would be needed for they could not leave the volunteers nor could they spare some of their army to protect them.

Bowls of hot soups was brought forth, and Prince Aegon personally took the bowls to each of the slaves, like he did for the ones before, and the slaves took the bowls with their stumps, stumps that were red stained, leveraging the bowls in between them, and drank the broth greedily.

"This should not have happened to you." Prince Aegon said quietly the familiar words said thrice before no less sincere and it was heard by the first and likely the second and third row of curious men despite the quietness, his eyes devoid of anything but sorrow and anger.

Trytas looked around, and he glimpsed the angry faces of many of the man, even amongst the Unsullied. This was the fourth time some of them had seen this, personally, the depravity the Meereenese were willing to go…willing to show.

The sound of a bowl falling made him turn back his gaze towards the slaves and he saw one of the younger ones, a child of no more than ten namedays, fall, the remnants of the bowl of soup soaking his feet.

It shocked the other slaves but they were given little time to react for they too were feeling the effects of the poison that was in the soup.

Soon, they all fell into sleep, a sleep that they'd never wake from, and the Prince walked towards them, and moved the bowls of soup, half tipped, away from them, before he moved to lay them out with some level of dignity and closed their eyes, an act that quickly was followed by several of the other men.

"This is what we fight." Prince Aegon said as his gaze swept across the faces of the men, his expression hard and stoic though his voice, solemn and ringing with quiet wrath, belied the intensity of anger that their Prince must feel.

"This is what we face. This is the true face of the slavers." The Prince said as he gestured towards the dead but sleep-seeming bodies of the slaves.

"What have these people done to deserve this? Nothing. They were seen as nought but tools of convenience. They were not given the dignity or peace that all men deserve. To the slavers, the fates of innocent men, women and children is to be nothing more than tools to be made to endure their sick cruelty."

The Prince looked back at the bodies of the slaves.

"We fight so that our people" the Prince said as he glanced at their men, the Elamaerysians, drawing back to the war of retribution "or any people, all people, all of you men can live without the shadows of these evil men, false men who consider themselves masters and have no mercy, looming over the horizon. We fight, my men, so that all can live freely from such remorseless evil."

There was a long moment of silence as they considered the Prince's words, a silence that was broken when the Prince spoke further.

"Prepare a pyre." Prince Aegon said, his voice solemn as he eyed the bodies.

"Like the others, we shall have the winds of these lands take their poor ashes."

They continued to move again, on a faster march, towards Meereen, which was no more than one or two days' march away.

They all knew that the slaves the Meereenese were sending were aimed at sowing discord amongst the army, to question their Prince, if not outright trying to change their mind on waging war on Meereen by attacking their morale.

'This is what will befall the slaves and yourselves should you dare attack us'

Fools, Trytas thought to himself as they continued to march towards Meereen, his eyes glazing over the sight of thirty thousand men marching towards Meereen with several thousand more people following their army with supplies and more.

Rather than demoralising their enemy, they'd only solidified their own fates.

They thought their cruelty, cruelty they wrought onto people, cruelty they used to make their slaves, breaking them as though they were a horse, could be enough of a weapon to wield against them.

He could understand why they thought it could work.

It was a tool they had always used. Had always known to be capable of working just in the exact way they wished. And, he thought as he glanced at the men, he suspected they even know many of the people in the army were not born free men.

Many of the men, nearly all of them, were from a slave background, this was true. Even amongst the Elamaerysians, the majority were of a slave background. Yes, their background was easier, far easier than that of borne of Slaver's Bay, but the methods of enslavement was similar.

It made him remember something that had stuck in his mind.

Some of his knights, years ago, during some stupid night at one of the taverns where they drank to their hearts' content, spoke to him about their early lives, their similar, almost exact same early life.

They'd spoken of how their own mothers were crueller than their slavemasters had been, in their early lives. They'd talked about how their own mothers would wilt and bow down their heads in front of the slavemasters and happily comply with every command given, and hurt them to do the same.

The men understood it now, now years after, most just shy of having half or even a decade of freedom, what it was that had made their mothers betray their own children to the slavemasters.

They'd been broken in, like horses, they'd said, drawing parallels to the horses that had, then, being broken in in Corinth.

A life of misery and a life being broken, with whip of body and with whip to make witless mind, the mothers were made to have broken minds that made them into accomplices of the slavemasters.

The perfect accomplices that aided the slavemasters in making their children as mentally weak, compliant and dependent as the mothers were.

He could only imagine how much worse it was for the Unsullied and the five thousand of Astaporean and former slave soldiers.

And seeing the cruelty the Meereenese were willing to show…

Mayhaps it could have worked. This display of cruelty. Of promise should the Meereenese get their hands on them.

The only problem the Meereenese faced was that their Prince was no ordinary leader. Not only because he had a dragon, a beast of legend to many of these people, a beast that the Prince had complete control over, but also…

Also because of the way their Prince simply is.

The way their Prince spoke to these men, the Unsullied and the other former slaves, with respect, with authority, none of which they had ever known and there was not a single moment that their Prince looked out of control, and that mattered.

He'd known it himself, when they went to war in the Basilisk Isles, when he knew nothing, truly, about war and the shadow of death that loomed over one's shoulder.

Their Prince was that hand on their shoulder, to push them forward, onward, and, if need be, to lean back onto the Prince's hand when they have need of it.

For they knew, he'd keep them standing.

And he'd seen them lean onto their Prince more and more each day, their reverence and trust in their Prince growing.

The acts of compassion, releasing these poor wretches from the grasp of the slavers into the peace of death with dignity and compassion, silently shown the men the kind of man their Prince was, who gave these people, these wretches, personally the means of their final freedom. They came to know who their Prince was.

Compassionate yet iron of heart when it was needed.

And it was not hard to see that many of the men had taken such traits onto themselves, steeling themselves for the battle to come. Battles to come.

Yunkai and Astapor had been easy. These cities had been taken through subterfuge and cleverness. Meereen knew they were coming.

They likely knew they'd have to fight with everything to survive.

There would be no easy win, there'd be no easy victory.

Even if their plans worked perfectly, and chaos helped destroy them from within, they knew that they'd have a long and hard task at hand.

They'd be quick, they'd have to be brutal and they'd have to be merciless and ensure that none escaped the rope that they were going to pull around their necks.

There could be no survivors. No nobility. No old slaving family. No slaveowners.

They'd all have to die to ensure that peace, endures.

The Ghiscari and their slavery must die, a final punishment that Trytas and many of their people thought was worthy of their want of retribution, he thought darkly as he remembered his old friend Jace, the friend, the brother he lost to the corsair slavers, lost to wherever the fuck they took him…sold him to.

He shook his head, removing his thoughts away that subject and he grunted as he eyed the almost silently marching men. Yes, he thought, the fates of the slavers was also a punishment that was long overdue for their crimes against many, many a people. And, for thousands of their army, the thousands of former slave soldiers, it'd be the first time their mettle and their iron stomachs would be tested.

He wasn't worried. The men wouldn't disappoint…nor did he think they'd fail in doing what must be done. Yes…the men would have no mercy for the slavers.

And, he thought to himself as his gaze went towards his own men, 'the butcher-men' as some of the men had taken to call themselves, he and his men would do the hardest part and clean Meereen thoroughly so that the olive trees can grow.

He looked away from his men, back towards the front, his mind thinking back on how much his men, already been hard men with iron stomachs before they were called to duty, had grown in less than two moons.

Astapor had been the hardest for the men. The first time they'd been called to duty.

'Every deed you do, is entirely on mine own soul. Your hand is nought but performing mine own will. It is I who commands you. It is I who the Gods shall judge for my deeds, deeds carried out on my behalf.

Live free of heavy heart for your souls shall be pristine when the Gods welcome you in their halls for you have lived good and you lived to see wrongs righted'

Such had been the words of the Prince when he'd spoken with the men before their departure for Astapor and after the deeds had been done, the Prince once again had spoken to them, assuring them that they had no dishonour or stain on their souls.

The sight of the freed slaves and the contentment they had at the disappearance of their tormentors had softened many of the men's hearts at the harsh acts, more than the words of the Prince had, he was sure, yet still some could not be relied upon doing it again, like Ser Brunn, and were made to reassign to another unit.

Fortunately, the vast majority were steadfast in their commitment though killing the bulk of the remaining members of the slaver families in the great fire in Yunkai, a dispassionate and distant act, made it easier of course, something he'd hope could be done again if only to lessen the burden on his men.

Still, he thought, with the kinds of cruelty the Meereenese were willing to sink to, he knew that many of his units would have the weights on their hearts lessened even more just so evil as what they have witnessed would disappear for all time.

For with just with a stroke of a sword, or a jab of a dagger, this generational evil would be made less possible, and Trytas…

Trytas would see it fully killed with the stroke of his sword, a thousand times, root and stem if need be, just so that any such evil would not come again.

That…he thought to himself, was a legacy he could proudly leave behind when it was time for him to be in the halls of the Gods.

Knowing that his deeds ensured that there would be no brothers, no families, separated from one another. Aye, he thought, that was a good legacy to leave.

Two days later…

The sound of hammer hitting nails and wood and words of heave and push rang around the field, his eyes staring at the constructions, a good five dozen siege war machines, as he walked passed them.

The trebuchets were arrayed in a single great line, less than a third of a league away from the walls of Meereen though some of them would be moved eastward.

They were simple things, not capable of slinging great masses of rocks, and their construction was not complicated either, with much of the beams and structures long before having built in Corinth and during the campaign since. But, then, that was not their goal, he thought as he turned to look at the walls.

Formidable, he thought to himself. The tall walls, taller than Yunkai and Astapor were built atop a great ridge of rocks, all around, that were anchored by great defensive towers that allowed the defenders every possible angle to fire from.

Towers that were all occupied on this southern wall of Meereen, he thought as he caught the glint of bronze and silvery steel from atop those towers, towers that also boasted bronze harpy heads with open mouths, known to be capable of squirting out searingly hot grease and oil against attackers.

He understood why Meereen was said to have been unconquerable for centuries since the Doom of Valyria. The other side of Meereen, where the river Skahazadhan hugged the northern walls, were said to be even more formidable, where the walls were thirty to fifty feet taller than the southern walls.

His lips pulled to one side, a gnarly smile fashioned itself on his face as he looked upon those glinting bronze and gleaming silvery steel, and he swept his gaze across the walls, looking for the glints of scorpions that Prince Aegon said were mounted on some half a dozen of the towers, scorpions that were quickly and likely poorly built.

This time, there were no jumped-up Ghiscari demandingly strutting around.

No, gold and coin served up on a platter like they were whores to pay off.

They knew they were fucked and yet still they were relying on those walls, walls that no ordinary army, he could admit, could take, not without a great deal of death amongst a great host of invaders many a time larger than their own, and relying on the pitiful number of scorpions to defend them against Mīsaragorn.

Delusion or desperation, it didn't matter.

They'd die all the same regardless of whatever was the cause of their stubbornness. At their hands…or at the hands of their slaves…or their traitors.

He turned his gaze towards the eastern side of the city, towards the parts of the land that led to the Khyzai Pass, a fertile region that was the most productive of much of Slaver's Bay.

Four thousand of the cavalry, light and heavy, led by Ser Maerro and several of his deputies, were sent out to secure the edges of the hinterlands.

There were several Meeereenese outposts there to protect the bridges that led to Meereen and through the Khyzai Pass. Taking those outposts was a priority second only to preventing the burning of the hinterlands.

They'd be using the 'Flare-Candles', the same kind of contraption used by Ser Galaenys in Astapor, to signal each other, for the men were not to be too far apart from one another, and the flare-candles were capable to be seen from a league away…or more if the weather was rightly.

He was not certain how it worked, only that it used some kind of version of wild-fyre and dye, different dyes used to mean different things, and some clever contraption inside to allow for the 'flares' to shoot up on high, higher than even an arrow, even arrows the new kind of bow inspired by the bows the Summer Islanders was capable of firing, could fire.

In any case, with Mīsaragorn flying all around the land, scouting for enemies and movement, with the dragon commanded distantly by the Prince to destroy walls and fortifications of towns and outposts in the hinterlands, they were not concerned their cavalry units would be caught unawares by the slave and freedmen soldiers.

Beyond the outposts, the Meereenese hinterlands, which boasted wheatfields, olives, fruit plantations, pastures and much more, were very important to secure, especially after the attempts of burning and destroying the lands they'd witnessed.

They'd considered it but with how fast they'd been moving, the risk had been deemed too low and thus less of a priority to consider. They'd been wrong on that.

It made sense, he supposed, that the Meereenese would see it happen so quickly.

They estimated that it must be part of their defensive doctrine, to burn down as much as possible to deny their enemies food and water and force the enemy to abandon long sieges.

It could also be that rather than the Dothraki being the ones that caused the lands north of the Skahazadhan river to be returned to wild grasslands amidst the ruins of cities and towns, it could be that the Meereenese went for a scorched earth tactic against the Dothraki, or other enemies mayhaps, choosing to defend lands south and west of the Khyzai Pass, the most fertile lands of this region.

And given that these crops would feed not only their army, but also the people of the lands, they could not allow the Meerenese to destroy the lands' productivity.

He eyed the walls of the city.

It was a good thing that the Meereenese did not have a standing army of any significant numbers…especially a standing army of freemen. From Ser Uthrik's assessment, the total number of soldiers Meereen could boast of having was no more than two and ten thousand, with only a fifth of that number being freedmen.

With such numbers…well…

It made taking the rest of the Meereenese lands significantly easier.

Of course it helped, he mused, as he walked back towards the camp, away from the line of siege war machines, that the Meereenese did not have the time to assemble a fighting force capable of dealing with their army…and the dragon, of course.

Three quarters of a moon, it has been, since they took Yunkai. Just shy of a moon and a sennight since they took Astapor.

From the looks of things, the Meereenese only caught notice once they were on their way to Yunkai – likely bearing news of the fate of the slavers in Yunkai – and it did not leave them much time to get sellswords to Meereen. Not near enough time for companies of sellswords to make the journey east on land.

Only by sea did the Meereenese have a chance…and that was gone now too.

Sellswords, if they could guess rightly, were largely now at the bottom of the seas, if the estimations of Admiral Lutherys were correct. Over the glass candle, the Admiral had told their Prince that the majority of the enemy fleet had been sunk.

A great victory, given that their fleet was heavily outnumbered and one that would be celebrated richly with ale and wine when they took Meereen. Though, he supposed, not exactly surprising. Wildfyre was a dangerous weapon and there were many a clever men amongst their people to maximise the use of the substance.

They'd seen it during the Basilisk Isles campaign and the veteran captains of that war had plenty of ideas themselves on how to use their ships and the jar-bolts in the best way.

…

…

It was at the time of near eve that he found himself in the Prince's tent with Ser Uthrik, Ser Galeanys, Rhaegar, Tyqor – one of the old gladiators – Ser Aethan Celtigar and Ser Lomerys present amongst the Prince who stood a makeshift table with a city map on the table.

A unit of the light cavalry had returned to the camp with word that the majority of the hinterlands were under control now though there were some severe casualties wrought in one of the more populated towns left untouched by Mīsaragorn.

Ser Maerro personally went to sort out the mess there.

There could be no native Ghiscari leadership remaining in Slaver's Bay, not in the slightest. It was brutal, yes, but ultimately, the Ghiscari culture was not one to be allowed to survive, not in its present harpy shape.

Prince Aegon made that explicitly clear, that there could be no victory if they only came and conquered. They must be able to set the conditions for a 'stable transition' of slave-owning Ghiscari society to a more free society which cannot happen if there are legitimate Ghiscari nobility that have causes to live and die for.

And that meant wiping out as many of them as possible, at least all the towns and estates that were in the vicinity of the three slaver cities. Ser Maerro knew that, even if they stopped short of total elimination like the butcher-men did in the cities.

"Ser Jace will shortly arrive with two thousand cavalry to blockade the eastern roads." Prince Aegon said as he gestured towards the roads on the map.

"With the fleet positioning itself at the mouth of the river, not far from the Meerenese ports, the city will be surrounded" Ser Aethan remarked before he pressed a finger on a bridge, the sole bridge of Meereen. "If it were not for the bridge."

It was the only bridge that connected north of the river to the south of the river for many leagues.

It was an impressive bridge, one that was enough to fit three elephants side by side, and it would be a cunt of a bridge to take with all of the defensive towers and its three gates. At least normally anyway.

"I still think we should destroy the bridge." Ser Lomerys said with a displeased expression. Aye, the slavers would be fools not to consider the bridge as a means to escape the city. Trytas would bet all of his share of the gold and coin that they were certain to use it to escape.

"If it becomes necessary, we'll do so." Prince Aegon said with a light nod before he looked towards the map.

The plan was to take Meereen whole – minus several of the pyramids – but, of course, there were contingency plans in place to avoid the number of the casualties amongst their men should the chaos of the Prince let loose was not to be as severe as they planned for.

Of course, there was no real need to spare the bridge. Their flank was secured in the south and it was the north that could be problematic. Trytas eyed the Prince.

He was sure their Prince had some kind of plan with the bridge…or rather the slavers. Did he want them to escape? He'd thought about it. Mayhaps, he decided.

It wasn't as if the slavers would be able to pose a problem, not when they would have to travel light to stay ahead of their pursuing cavalry. He didn't like the idea of slavers escaping…or the thought of slavers being allowed to escape…

Hmm…mayhaps the Prince wanted them used to spread the news of their presence…

"For now" the Prince continued and Trytas stopped and listened. "there is no need to destroy the bridge. Not only because our plan has not needed to be adjusted, but also because it can cause the enemy to become desperate, more than they already are." Prince Aegon said as he turned to look at Ser Lomerys who grunted.

"And desperate men can become unpredictable in their desperation." The man acknowledged somewhat grudgingly.

Yes there was that too. It was better not to make them too desperate…yet.

It was why the Prince had Mīsaragorn away from their army, scouting and aiding the cavalry and leaving no survivors to tell tale of his presence. Of course, the Meereenese knew the dragon existed but, he thought to himself, it was one thing to know a dragon exists…and it was another to see it.

With the arrogance he'd seen of the slavers, they were blind to their shortcomings and their insignificance. They thought themselves superior. Greater.

And so, it was not impossible to come to understand that these kinds of people thought themselves capable of weathering an army and a dragon with only a few scorpions to be deemed enough to slay a dragon.

Not all of them would be this arrogant, he knew, but enough likely were.

That none decided to send an envoy to treat with them was telling enough that they believed they could win in some way or another.

Mayhaps they even thought their fleet full of sellswords would rescue them…

Fools…

Prince Aegon inclined his head in agreement before he took to look at Ser Uthrik "Are you and your men ready, Ser Uthrik?" Prince Aegon asked with a hint of commiseration as he met the gaze of Ser Uthrik.

Ser Uthrik bowed his head slightly. "Aye, my Prince. When first light comes, we'll be ready to open the gates." There was determination in the man's voice. Good.

The way the city gates were built into the ridge of rocks was truly terrible.

For their army anyway.

Using dragonfire to destroy the city gates would collapse large parts of the city walls, far worse than what had happened in Yunkai, where, ironically, the aged and decaying walls worked well in their favour.

Dragonfire burnt stone and steel just as easily as it burnt wheat and grass, and the Yunkai walls had been as soft as clay with how decayed they'd been, allowing the gaping hole the Prince had made in the gates to be relatively…easy to rush through. Once the fires had died down.

Such would not be the case with the Meereenese walls. The rocks were likely, the Prince had said, be blown apart once the first layers of rock were burnt away by his dragon's fire, and cause a large cave in.

It would make it difficult for the army to get through into the city.

With the gates built into the ridges of rock, and the walls on top of it, you'd be asking the men to climb over the ruins to get into the city. Yunkai's fragile walls around the gates had largely been blown apart and away cleanly when Mīsaragorn had attacked. Mīsaragorn would have to melt the cave in, delaying the attack for they would have to wait until rock had cooled and that'd take far too long.

And so…they needed a way to get around that unwanted problem lest they resort launching a naval attack but Prince Aegon had long ago forgone that choice.

So, Ser Uthrik's role was the riskiest in the strategy to take Meereen.

And the foulest…

For many years, Ser Uthrik had toured the Slaver's Bay cities – which Trytas attributed greatly to his changes, seeing all of their filth and depravity – and in those tours, Ser Uthrik had been tasked to discover the weaknesses of these cities.

The walls. The gates. The means of invasion.

The places were the nobility and other important people and families were located. The places that were necessary to capture. The secrets that these people may hold.

And amongst all of that, was also finding ways to take the cities.

And the sewers of Meereen were one of these ways.

The sewers of Meereen emptied into the Skahazadhan river at several different locations…including not far where the fleet was stationed.

Brick sewers, not unlike the kinds of sewers that would one day remove waste from their city in Elamaerys, lay beneath the walls.

The mouth of the sewers were closed with iron grates, and though Ser Uthrik did not know where exactly he may be able to get out from the sewers, as long as he was able to get out before the break of dawn, there was better than good chance that he and his men would be able to get in unnoticed.

After that, the hard work would only continue for they had to open the gates and had helped incite chaos and rebellion. The men and Ser Uthrik, who'd number six dozen men strong, would be around the areas where they'd launch the artillery and help kick off the stampede as the Prince destroyed the symbol of the Harpy.

"Have you tested the…suits?" Ser Aethan asked with hesitation in his voice and a look of faint paleness and barely concealed disgust. Trytas wanted to snort but he felt like he shouldn't. At least not now.

Later, when they took Meereen, he'd subject Uthrik to all of the jokes that he'd kept to himself all of this time over casks of ale and sweetwine.

"I have." Ser Uthrik said and though he was straightfaced and without tension, Trytas understood that even if he did not show it in the slightest, that the man was certainly not keen to talk or to think about it.

The suits were leather-skinned, made extremely soft through a means that he hadn't cared to learn about, though he knew that there was something about using coconut oils and the like to soften the leather so much that they were very easy to move around in, even if one wore chainmail underneath it.

The face of the suit was more…intricate. Much of the helm-like, well, helm, was made of leather, though, around the mouth, there was a kind of palm-tree frame of a kind, built to be put around the mouth, with a pipe that snaked around the head and allowed the person to breathe in air, minted air, through the pipe to the mouth.

Not that the minted air would do much…but it would reduce the risk of the men from getting sick of the…smell. And the suits were to prevent the men actually getting sick.

It was a shame that it was needed. Meereen, unfortunately, was a city far different from the likes of Yunkai and Astapor. The smaller cities were weak, incredibly weak, and unawares of their true intent.

Meereen, unfortunately, was a well-built, well-defended city and not unaware of their schemes…or desires. Combined with that of the number of Ghiscari, which numbered a hundred thousand, far more than the other two cities combined, well…

Such things posed many different challenges, not only on how they were meant to cull the noble families, but also how they were meant to control the city.

The Ghiscari culture was far too strong in this city.

There were simply too many people.

Too many people to kill as well.

So, they needed chaos to help do the work for them to soften and lessen the strain.

Chaos that would incite the slaves within the city to rebel out of panic and want of freedom, a chaos that their Prince would spark and enflame with Mīsaragorn and a chaos their artillery along with Ser Uthrik and his men's efforts would help fan.

"It works well enough. Though we'll still need the perfumed waters to cleanse ourselves." Ser Uthrik explained with a hint of a sharpness in his tone of voice, subtle but distinct enough that he did not wish to talk further about the…intricacies of the mission…or the ways to prevent the foulness of the smells to give them away.

"Your sense of duty, Ser Uthrik, and that of your men, will not go unrewarded." Prince Aegon said, his expression unmoving but there was a glint of appreciation towards Ser Uthrik.

Aye, no doubt that there was heavy appreciation from the Prince. It was a tall ask, he thought to himself with some amount of disgust. An ask that may have been a long time coming, given what Ser Uthrik had told him.

Ser Uthrik explained, not long after the plan for Meereen had been shared by the Prince in Corinth, that he thought the Prince may have deliberately asked him to look into the sewers of the cities and secret passageways.

Given that Ser Uthrik had been away years ago, long before the murmurs of war with Myr had even been shared, it was a tough thing to wrap one's head around.

He shook his head slightly from those thoughts. If he's learnt anything in the past few years, is that the Prince worked in a way only the Gods understood.

Still, he mused to himself, he wondered if the Prince's history with Kings Landing sewage system had a finger on why he even thought of using the sewers…

"For the cause." Ser Uthrik said with a smile, but to Trytas, it looked like a grimace more than it did a smile. Well, he thought to himself, it was well earned.

He'd try and make sure that none of the men would mock the men volunteering on this mission. To literally crawl through shit and piss for the cause was nothing but admirable.

Even Trytas would be hard-pressed to accept the mission and his loyalty to their Prince was unquestionable.

They continued to talk throughout the evening, with more than a few of the subcommanders and Unsullied commanders making an appearance to go through again the details of the battle plans along with shoring up the patrol patterns to ensure that there wouldn't be any assassination attempts or sabotage in the dark.

The subcommanders were those who had distinguished themselves during the campaign and who could be trusted, not only by the Prince and the rest of the leadership, but also by the men themselves, to act responsibly with their lives and the cause.

The Unsullied commanders were less so distinguished but then they were almost akin to a separate army, in many ways.

They kept their traditional wears, quilted tunic, a short sword and their telltale plain spears.

In comparison, the Astaporeans and the other former slave soldiers were all granted the same standard armour as the Elamaerysians, though of a slight different in quality, largely due to the hastiness that they'd been made in the moons before their departure from Corinth.

Nonetheless, the armour was far better than the worthless armour they had before.

Deeply uncomfortable in this weather, true, but like the Corinthos army had gotten used to wearing it in hot weather, these soldiers would do the same…with time.

Still, like, the Unsullied, the Astaporeans and the former slave soldiers, which had now been consolidated into a single unit, also had some distinctiveness about them.

Their armour was painted with the 'symbols' and colours of their homelands.

Prince Aegon encouraged somewhat, allowing the men to form bands of brotherhood amongst themselves amidst a shared goal to see all of Slaver's Bay liberated. An army united in goal but an army with many roots, the Prince had said.

In any case, the meeting was a dull affair, despite the fact that come this time tomorrow they'd be fighting in the streets, in the pyramids and on the walls.

Though, he suspected, he doubted that the division of their forces would be maintained all that much when they were in the city. And, like ink into water, their forces were going to fall into the chaos of the city.

The subcommanders just had to make sure they kept their men alive through it all.

A hard ask, to be sure.

He'd eyed the men around the table. Everyone else got that sense too. Meereen was a different problem, a hard test, they all knew. Getting through it with the fortuitous few losses amongst their men like before was going to be a hard ask.

It didn't help that Meereen was a maze of a city, chokeful with narrow and twisty alleys, branching out from the wide brick streets that was littered with temples and granaries, and hovels and palaces alike, all neighbours to one another with little sense or reason to their place.

Though, Trytas supposed that was a lie, given that most of these places were congregated around the fighting pits the Meereenese so loved.

Tyqor, the old gladiator, had fought in those fighting pits, once upon a time.

He explained that the fighting pits were like the heart of the city, where slave and freedmen sat beside one another – though not literally for the slaves could only seat atop the last few rows of the fighting pits – to watch the 'games'.

The Prince had used that notion, that idea that the fighting pits were the heart of the city and divided their forces using the location of the fighting pits themselves.

There were three and twenty fighting pits in Meereen, ill-spaced but generally speaking, they could use the fighting pits akin to the stars and fight their ways to these pits to meet up with the others later on in the day or the next once the markets and other places of importance were secured…or cleansed.

The markets were amongst the primary targets to secure. Not only had they open areas that they can control and navigate from, but also because they were the natural locations of the slaves in the city, particularly in the markets by the western gates, which held the bulk of the slave trading in Meereen.

Freeing the slaves from their pens would greatly aid in the making of chaos, especially many of these people were likely only recently captured into slavery, and the expectation was that many of these slaves would be able to be some of the more…effective contributors to the chaos.

The pyramids of Meereen would be the most difficult to overcome.

Unlike the aged and badly maintained pyramids of Yunkai and Astapor, if the gates of these pyramids were closed, they'd either need to use wildfyre to burn down the wooden gates or they'd need to break them down…neither option was well liked.

So the plan, instead, was for Mīsaragorn to simply cook the families inside of the thinnest walled pyramids alive from the inside and destroy the buildings.

Once that was observed by the city whole, after the destruction of the harpy, the expectation was that the pyramids would be opened from the inside. Either through panicking slaves or by panicking noblemen, though, there was a hope that the slave soldiers would help slaughter the noble families during the chaos and panic.

It was only a hope, and it would not be relied upon. 'Never rely on hope when you can plan'. One of the many, many sayings the Prince had.

And another saying that the Prince had was that 'No plan survives contact with the enemy', one that readily applied to the strategies for Meereen.

Ultimately, the subcommanders and the Unsullied commanders were to apply their best judgements once they were in the city, judgements that focused in ensuring the maximum number of their men surviving whilst he and his butcher-men would do the same…from neck to naval…root and stem.

…

…

The first trickle of light crept up from beneath the horizon.

The sun waking to wake the land of the living, though not for them, for they, he and the rest of the men, were long awake, waiting, anticipating, their chests of steel fitted and tightened with cords of lint or rope, their hands clasped around the hilt of sword or shaft of spear, the song of blood and fire singing to the tune of their hastened heartbeat, a beat that called for their spears to taste blood and a beat that called for their sword tips to cut through neck and flesh.

The night had been long, long to come and long to leave, and now, with the beckoning of the dawn, so too beckoned the day that would see their lust of blood sated and their bellies full from satisfaction, satisfaction found in the long-due retribution and slaughter, one and the same for many.

Rows of men a thousand deep were arrayed in the frigid and chill morn, only just beyond the reach of arrows and ballista, their gazes set at the skies, waiting and watching for the Prince to beckon just as the dawn had beckoned whilst others gazed at the top of the walls, watching all the same with bated hungry held breaths, gazing upon the shiny gleam of bronze, harpy-heads with their blackened mouths, and tiny shiny shine of silver, helms of soldiers and tips of spear.

Beyond the rows of men sat the rows of war machines, their long arms primed and readied, though, these war machines, unlike the rows of men tens of thousands strong, were far more spaced, matching the curve of the Meereenese walls and manned by only a few of their army. They were spaced to allow for more of their artillery, their delivery, to make it to all the corners this side of Meereen.

Murmurs travelled through the army moments before the sound of a vicious roar drowned out all other noises and all gazes, even those atop those walls he guessed, looked towards the direction from where the sound had come from.

Though Mīsaragorn may well be leagues away in the skies, his presence, even from so far away was daunting, a daunting presence that grew with every moment that passed, every moment Mīsaragorn came closer towards them.

The Prince had purposefully hidden away Mīsaragorn throughout the way to Meeren and still when they arrived at the gates, there was no sign of the great dragon, one other way of the Prince to instil a sense of hope and a sense assuredness amongst the slavers, hope and assuredness that surely died the moment they saw and saw and realise and understood the true size of Mīsaragorn, the dragon they thought their pittance of scorpions and bolts would be able to slay.

There was nary a sound as they watched the dragon come closer, enraptured as they were by the sight of a beast that they all knew would do them no harm.

He eyed the men for a moment, a moment that let him see the confidence and awe, particularly amongst the former slave soldiers grow, before he looked back at the dragon that was only moments away from landing in front of them, the dragon's monstrously large wings seeming to be as tall as Meereen's walls themselves.

Mīsaragorn landed with a thud, a rumbling noise coming out from his giant and snaking neck through his sword teethed maw, and he gazed up with a craning neck at the dragon, the sight of the Prince unseeable behind the form of Mīsaragorn.

Mīsaragorn then lowered his head and it was then that they saw their Prince.

Prince Aegon stood atop his dragon, a sword unsheathed and held low, at half mast.

"MEN!" the word said by the Prince was a bellow, a bellow that echoed and carried far through the air by hollow winds.

"LOOK TO YOUR BROTHER TO YOUR RIGHT!

LOOK TO YOUR BROTHER TO YOUR LEFT!

DO YOU SEE, MEN OF THIS ARMY?!"

The words came fast and hard, though they rang long and still in the cool air.

The pause by the Prince was just for a moment, and, before the echo of his words died, he bellowed again, his sword rising as his words travelled and unravelled.

"I WILL TELL YOU WHAT I SEE!

I SEE STANDING THE GREAT MEN WHO WILL ACCOMPLISH WHAT NO OTHER MEN HAVE EVER ACCOMPLISHED BEFORE!"

There were cracks in the Prince's voice, cracks made as his voice grew in strength and volume, yet, despite that, the words sang true with a passion and a fury, and it almost seemed as if the cracks in the Prince's voice were akin to rams beating down the walls of patience and calmness.

"I SEE STANDING THE GREAT MEN WHO HAVE COME AS FREE MEN AND DARED TO COME TO FREE ALL OTHER MEN IN THIS BAY!

I SEE STANDING THE GREAT MEN WHO CHOSE TO THINK AND SAY AND BELIEVE 'ENOUGH, NO MORE' AND CHOSE TO TAKE ARMS!

I SEE STANDING THE GREAT MEN WHO SEE THOSE TALL WALLS, WHO SEE THE DEFIANCE OF THE SLAVERS AND HAVE DECIDED, YOU WILL ALL DIE TODAY!

I SEE STANDING THE GREAT MEN WHO SEE THOSE TALL WALLS AND HAVE DECIDED 'NO MORE WILL OTHERS BE CHAINED'!"

By now, the Prince's sword had risen to touch the sky, and just as the sword had risen, so too did the conviction of the men, and, just as the Prince's sword touched the sky, so too did the passion and the fury in the Prince's words touch their hearts and their minds.

"AND I SEE STANDING THE GREAT MEN WHO LIVE FREELY AND WHO WILL DIE FREELY MANY YEARS FROM NOW WITH A SMILE ON THEIR FACES, KNOWING THAT YOU, THE GREAT MEN, STRUCK OFF THE CHAINS ALL OF THOSE IN THIS BAY!

I SEE STANDING THE GREAT MEN OF THIS AGE!

THIS IS WHAT I SEE!

DO YOU SEE WHAT I SEE?!" The Prince asked of them, demanded to know of them.

"YES" "YES WE SEE!" were their hastened and tumbling words, words said in unison and words that rumbled like thunder on a dark night.

"WILL YOU SEE TO IT YOUR BROTHER TO YOUR RIGHT, TO YOUR LEFT, WILL DIE A FAT AND OLD MAN IN HIS BED?!

"YES MY PRINCE!" "YES!"

"WILL YOU SEE TO IT THAT YOUR SWORD WILL DROWN THE STREETS OF MEEREEN WITH RIVERS OF SLAVER'S BLOOD?!"

Once more their answer was resounding though in this instance swords and spears and vicious roars were raised in answer and only slowly did words make it through the haze and flight of roars, words that sounded like fire and blood, the hymn and omen of House Targaryen.

And it was a hymn to which Mīsaragorn took flight to after a short but fast take-off, a hymn that roared stronger and fiercer with every flap of his great fleshy wings, and soon enough, Mīsaragorn flew high and far into the sky, and they lost sight of the dragon under a blanket of cloud amidst a still light starved sky blotted with them.

Long moments passed. Moments that led more of the sun to touch the land of the living, and soon, the skies, blue and red and orange, were made to take the light.

He turned his gaze back towards the city, towards the walls, walls that now bore few glinting silver moons and gleaming stars, he noticed, and soon the sight of Ser Galaenys atop his horse strode forward, ahead of the army, his arm raised.

The fervour died down greatly, a moment that he could call akin to that of the ends of a great song on a cheery drunken night of celebration at the tavern, a moment that stretched and stretched until it became a point of anticipation, eyes latched and searing onto the tall arm of Ser Galeanys, waiting and waiting to fall.

And fall…fall it did.

And so too did the mechanisms of the war machines fall down and the arms that had been down were swung and its artillery was flung, a haze of whistles and chinks and rattling impregnated the cool and still air.

Chains, they were.

Chains of slaves of Yunkai and all others they found on their ways to Meereen.

Chains that were flung over the walls and flung into the streets and rooftops and into the markets, a sight that soon would spell greater fear amongst the Ghiscari slavers and slaveowners than a thousand rocks against their walls would ever do.

Fear…

Fear was a powerful weapon. A weapon that can paralyse a strong man and a weak man alike. However, it is also a weapon the strong and the weak hated alike and hated more so wielded against them.

The Ghiscari slavers wielded it like an expert swordsman from the times of the Age of the Dawn, and now…

Now they would come to face an opponent that wielded a hammer of hope better than they could ever wield a sword of fear.

From the corners of his eyes he saw something and he quickly turned his head towards that direction, and up went his eyes, eyes that widened as the small but incredibly fast moving dragon grew and grew in size and it flew directly downwards.

By the time the dragon could be recognised in his form, one could tell he was flying above the city, and, as time went on, they saw that he was at the edges of the city, and, with bated breathes they waited until they watched Mīsaragorn unfurl his wings and get pulled upwards though his wings quickly were made smaller, tighter, and he proceeded to dive down in sweeping arc towards the walls and, Trytas, likely with all others in the army and on the walls and mayhaps in the city itself, watched as Mīsaragorn swept down from above with tremendous speed, and it was a heartbeat later that a great shock of fire rupturing from out his maw that shattered the tower apart and soon, Mīsaragorn swept within only just a few heartbeats across the walls, shocks and gushes of dragonfire exploding and melting one tower after another, the few scorpion bolts that were fired missing and pointless until none fired for all of the towers those scorpions were mounted upon were destroyed.

All of this took place in only a few moments. It took far longer to take a piss than it did for Mīsaragorn to destroy more than half a dozen towers.

It left him in awe and yet, he knew the best was not yet to come as Mīsaragorn swept above the walls by the gates, a trace of blue fire and flame rupturing from out his maw though, the dragonfire did not touch the walls, or the battlements, no, the dragonfire traced above the walls and, yet, despite that, the haunting cries of agony and misery that followed the path of that tracing fire, agonised and miserable cries that only lasted as long as an eyeblink, cries and their shortness signified how hot the dragonfire was even if it did not touch them, even if it was spewed several man's lengths of height above them.

He knew that dragonfire could melt stone and destroy steel as surely as it could destroy a man into ash.

But to see men die simply because of the heat of the dragonfire that did not touch them…

Truly, dragons were beasts unlike any other.

Mīsaragorn then flew away from the walls, walls that though melted were still intact though steaming – he suspected it was likely steaming flesh than steaming stone – and left the gate untouched too, leaving it to Ser Uthrik and his men to do their final part.

"MEN! MAAAAAAAAARCH!" came the bellow of Ser Galaenys, bellows that were soon followed by the bellows of the commanders, stirring all stupefied men from their stillness and so they marched towards the gates, though their eyes were still yet fixed upon the figure of Mīsaragorn who flew towards the pyramid that dwarfed all else in the city…the Great Pyramid of Meereen.

It felt like time had slowed, the slowness in which Mīsaragorn flapped his wings, like witnessing leaves of a blooming tree shake and move under a gentle breeze, so mesmerising was it to see Mīsaragorn hover and float towards the top of the Great Pyramid.

And, as Mīsaragorn floated right next to the great and bronze harpy, a bronze beast that looked to be almost half the size of Mīsaragorn, time went dull and still as Mīsaragorn's maw opened.

And then…

Time marched, marching in lockstep with the march of the army, great fumes of blue and white flame spewed out of the maw of Mīsaragorn, flame that danced and roared with the ferocity that was unlike any other sound, where flame was made to sing as loudly as the ocean sang during storm and lightning, and it was a song that the foul bronze bitch harpy could not withstand for it shrunk under the spell of roaring fire, shrinking and melting until it drowned the stepped pyramid with its foul bronze blood.

"The harpy is dead! Long live the dragon!" sang the men in merriment and with a thick touch of bloodlust.

Mīsaragorn flew away, a triumphant roar that he imagined, for those in the city, for those who were in the great dragon' s proximity, must feel like he was roaring in their very heads, and during this entire time, the flinging of chains over the walls did not end, did not stop.

And as the army approached the walls, they could hear voices, loud voices, angry voices, and he knew that they were close, close to tipping everything over the edge and, as he thought that, Mīsaragorn flew towards one of the smaller pyramids, one near the southern walls and then he breathed out a torrent of death once more, great fumes of blue and white flames were exhaled onto the pyramid as Mīsaragorn flew around the top of the pyramid in a arcing dance of death and fire, and the voices of discontent grew louder and louder and by the time they neared the gates, the sounds of clashing became clearer and clearer.

He eyed the top of the walls, walls that no longer steamed but still did not bear a single glint of copper or gleam of silvery steel, and, by the time they arrived by the gates, they no longer could see Mīsaragorn spewing flame but they could hear it clearly.

When they were less than five hundred paces away from the gate, the sounds of the gates opening, the sight of the gates opening caused a cascade of roars amongst the men and shouts and roars and chants rang as the men began to run at the gate.

And not long after, Trytas too began to run surrounded by his units of men, and before long, he too found himself chanting alongside the army, a sweet chant, a glorious chant, the chant that was soon becoming a hymn of their army…

"KILL THE SLAVERS!"

They all chanted.

A chant…Trytas thought as he passed through the gates…

A chant that was sung so as to write the future in being.

-Break-

Mid to Late 112 AC – Temple of the Lord of the Light, Meereen

Three days since the opening of the gates, two days since fall of Meereen

Lessela POV

Copper and soot and the smell of turgid foulness still stained the city.

Its markets, its homes and pyramids and the mazy streets where the popular shops lay were the worst smelling, she thought as she eyed a corpse of a man, whose pink silken robes were riddled with bloody holes and stained with that of blood, lay on the ground on her way to the Meereenese Temple.

There were many such bodies. Many such deaths. Men. Women. Children. Entire families were slain as the thousands of Prince Aegon's men stormed through the gate that had been opened from the insides.

The bloodletting had not stopped, not for a day and a night and a morn. Slaves rebelling against their masters, freemen fighting against everyone, Prince Aegon's army against the Ghiscari and anyone who bore a sword or weapon against them.

It was…fascinating, she thought as she stared with wide eyes at her surroundings.

There was much death. She could taste it in the very air, she thought with a smile as she walked up the steps towards the temple.

She walked into the temple, walking passed devout men who mopped at the steps of the sandstone temple, cleaning off the blood and struggle that must have taken place here. She walked through the hall of the temple, smiling at the servants who remembered her and bowed to her as she walked passed, servants that bore red and black flame tattoos on their faces, markings that signified their piety and their devotion to their Lord of Light.

She arrived at the central chamber of the temple, licks of flame the colour of gold and the colour of dusk enriched the hallowed temple with its light.

Tall and wide, were the walls, grave and sensual flames were painted all across the pillars and the walls, beneath the burnt engravings of the excerpts from the scripture of Lord's Bright Wisdom, the hallowed tome that was written in the burning blood of the first High Priest, the Nameless One, anointed by their Lord of Light R'hllor himself.

At the very back of the chamber kneeled a man on warm and bare stone in front of a dancing fire, his arms aloft as he took in the warmth and wisdom of R'hllor.

"Priestess." The word echoed against the walls of this domed temple, a word spoken by the man who still had his back towards her.

She inclined her head slightly, eyeing the curve of the dome. It did not compare to the Volantis Temple of the Lord of the Light, but it was finest temple amongst all other temples in Slaver's Bay.

If it were any place where the wildfire would spread, it would be here, in this temple.

"Priest Qraesthor." She acknowledged as she continued to walk towards him, her hands back behind her red robes, walking sedately, her feet gliding across the floor.

She turned her gaze towards the still kneeling priest, whose honey eyes were fixed and taken, his tattooed face twisted with lines of devotion and colours of enrapture.

She turned her gaze away, towards the fire, and a shudder of a silent breathe escaped her lips as she let the warmth and wisdom of R'hllor take her, warmth and wisdom that has been fed well and many, so much so she was gaining glimpses of R'hllor's truth in the dancing and teasing fire almost as soon as she let herself.

Glimpses of the same truths she'd seen in the Temple of the Lord of the Light, a sweeping pale fire with countless tails of emerald and violet that rode ahead of a sea made of light the colour of dawn and R'hllor's might.

"You've been busy, Qraesthor." She remarked, her eyes wide-eyed as if to burn the wisdom of R'hllor into her very being.

"The opportunity was there." Qraesthor said plainly and she hummed agreeably.

Yes…she thought, there were much chaos in this city, when it was falling. A few or a few dozen taken in the midst of the chaos would not raise questions or worry.

Though, she wondered as she returned her eyes towards the warmth of R'hllor, whether or not such noble sacrifices had been needed at all, given the death that surrounded them…many of the deaths happening by one touched by R'hllor.

They both sat staring at the fire for some time yet, and it was only some time later that Qraesthor broke the silence.

"What he is like?"

His voice was flat but she could tell the curiosity, the interest, that lay in his voice.

"A heretic." She answered truthfully as she remembered the time that she spoke with him. "Yet R'hllor favours him greatly." She said with a plain face though internally there was uncertainty. "He burns brighter than any I have seen before."

When she met him in that room in Yunkai, she'd seen it.

There was a spark in him, a spark akin to a pyre stacked as tall as the Great Pyramid itself, and it was not even ignited. Her black eyes were left wide, as wide as they could go, at the remembrance of it all.

None of than the High Priest and two other Priestesses could match the brightness that was within the Prince and he was not even yet ignited by R'hllor's warmth, and those three had seen seven or six decades of life, a life that took them half a lifetime to even ignite their spark by R'hllor, finally earning their Lord's boon.

Even with that unignited spark of his, he was able to affect the life and warmth of fire, a skill that only the High Priest was capable of to that degree of skill.

She shuddered to think what could happen if that spark, that pyre, was ignited by R'hllor. Though he was not to be the Prince who was Promised like some of them thought he might be – R'hllor had remained silent to that question, a question that even the High Priest was not given an answer too, which they took to mean that he was not the Prince who was Promised – but he was…significant.

To R'hllor.

To the True Faith.

He was a heretic and yet he'd be one of the greatest servants of R'hllor in the ages to come, one favoured and one touched by their Lord. A man who truly believed in the War for the Dawn and was preparing his people for it.

A dichotomy, truly…

"Yes. Meereen has felt his brightness."

She turned to him, her black eyes almost shining with delight. "Did you watch?"

She watched from afar as he burned the harpy, as he burned the pyramids and made fire dance to his song. And made it dance, he did.

To the ignorant, they'd thought that dragonfire was meant to behave as it did.

It was not and certainly not in the ways the dragonfire had bent and weaved around the pyramids that were melted into pillars of blackened stone.

"I saw." He answered. "I saw dragonflame bent to his will." Qraesthor then turned to look at her. "I also saw dragonflame be as alive as the Living Flame in Volantis."

There was a sense of travesty in the way he spoke then.

She understood it. What he was implying. To command Living Flame…

Dragonflame was not Living Flame. It was perhaps the closest approximation, yes, but it was not true Living Flame like their Living Flame in Volantis.

But nonbeliever commanding even a facsimile of it was…almost heretical.

No it is heretical. A sacrilege. Yet Aegon was no ordinary man. A dragonlord with the blood of the last of their Lord's most cherished and most wayward children, a man touched by R'hllor's flame and light, just a stretch and a push away from having his Eyes opened to their Lord and the Truths he showed and whispered.

"Yes." She responded after a time.

They fell into a moment of silence.

"It is quite the conundrum."

"Yes." She agreed as she stared into his honey eyes and she saw something in his eyes that she did not quite like. "He is to be left untouched, Qraesthor."

"I do not plan to touch him." Qraesthor answered simply and she narrowed her eyes at him. Like all priests that were afar from the guidance of the High Priests and the Temple in Volantis, some priests and priestesses took their own…guidance over that of the Volantis Temple.

They often turned a blind eye, allowing the priests and priestesses to operate with some amounts of…impunity. So long as they did not commit heresy against their God or against their faith, much could be…allowed.

But this instance…

She stared wide-eyed at him, her black eyes boring him and only after long moments of silence she speak and did she speak calmly but with a promise tainting her words.

"Kill him and you will go directly against the wishes of our Lord, Qraesthor."

This caused a flicker of irritation and frustration to show on Qraesthor's face.

Finally, he acquiesced.

"I could never go against the wishes of our Lord, Priestess." Qraesthor said as he turned his gaze back towards the flame, the flicker in his eyes burning to grow into a wildfire of devotion.

"Others, however, will not be so restraining of themselves if they see him command a likeness to the Living Flame."

That was true. There were many priests and priestesses who were too…unshackled in their ways of things, she thought as she thought of the priestess who remained at the edge of the Known World.

She peered at their Lord's light, fire dancing in her eyes.

She wondered if that was why she alone was sent visions by her Lord, visions of a shadow with veins of blood hooked into the dragon's claws and tail, threatening to subsume its pale light before the flames of their Lord's light swept through the crowned ladies that stood apart to form the shape of a bird's beak.

In these visions, in some of them, she saw a woman, shrouded in crimson flames and a mask made of blood with eyes as black as the starless night, ripping out the hooks of the shadow, piece by piece, though, an emerald gemstone was peeled off of the dragon's tail.

She was meant to protect him from something, likely an agent of the Great Other who sought to kill Prince Aegon.

She did not think that this…shadow was ordinary. If Prince Aegon died in an ordinary way, by poison or by sword, did it truly matter? It was the cost of war.

But if he died by magic…?

Yes, she thought, eyes would be on her and the Faith as the ones who orchestrated the death. Even if there was no evidence, she'd seen the way Aegon's people looked at her, with suspicion, fear and with barely concealed hostility.

She was an enemy, to them, and if Prince Aegon died through magic, so too would the Faith become an enemy to these people…and through them, when they returned to Elamaerys, so too would the children of Aegon see them as enemies.

And, she thought, if Prince Aegon was but a push and a pull away from igniting his spark, she imagined the children must be too.

She couldn't be sure however, for Saerra's Targaryen's children did not have such a spark. Yes, they had a spark, and King's Blood, but they were not exceptional.

Prince Aegon however was.

Yes…she thought. She understood why their Lord wanted to protect him whilst he was in Slaver's Bay, whilst he was serving their Lord.

Even if she must protect him against one of their own. She did not see any visions that would pit her against brother or sister so she relieved in that regard.

Yet, she knew that there were many who befouled the Lord's gifts and who would not be pleased with the fall of Slaver's Bay…least of all to the True Faith.

She brought out a folded letter. "This must reach the High Priest." She said as she extended out the letter to Qraesthor. The man looked at the letter with dispassionate eyes. "It must be now and it must be as fast as possible."

"There's ways yet to get a few devoted out of the city unseen and unheard." Qraesthors said as he took the folded letter though he stopped when she took hold of his arm, her black eyes wide-eyed as she peered at him.

"This is for the eyes of the High Priest alone."

Qraesthor looked at her hand for a moment long, before he looked to meet her gaze and he dispassionately nodded his understanding.

"My devoted will obey."

She nodded silently and she let go of his arm. Qraesthor put the letter in his robes and she took to leave.

Three Days later…

She was wide-eyed as she stared at the dragon who had its claw atop the fallen bronze harpy and all around her, people clamoured and awed at the sight of the dragon, and at the sight of Prince Aegon atop the dragon who was to speak soon.

She eyed her surroundings, surroundings that showed her heads and bodies was as unending as the seas beyond. It would surprise her if this place was filled with every abled bodied person in Meereen.

From what she understood, there was still a sense of fear around the Dragonlord and his dragon. Even though the slaves began their rebellion once they understood, through chains flung over the walls and through the destruction of the harpy, that the army was not intent on harming them, only the slavers, they still had a sense of fear that the army would exact something, anything, on them.

Days had passed since then. Days were they saw the army collecting bodies and sending wounded slaves to healers that had been part of the army.

They understood now that Prince Aegon was not coming as a conqueror. Or at least not a conqueror like they feared he'd be.

She turned her black wide-eyes towards a woman and a child, both dressed in little better than rags, the child pointing excitedly at the dragon despite the attempts of the woman to try and control her excitable likely daughter.

She veered her eyes around. Most were not as excitable as that girl but enough were close to it, even grown men. Even old men.

Tales of Yunkai and Astapor had spread amongst the people. Promises that scarcely real yet appeared to be and now that they truly were free of their owners, it was clear to see that they were more eager to believe in anything that they were told.

Already, she mused as she turned her gaze back towards Prince Aegon, already there was a legend building around him.

'The Slaver's Bane' 'Prince Aegon the Liberator' 'Defender of Liberty Bay'

There were many such epithets of Prince Aegon. And likely more, she thought, by the time the others were taken and remade into something else.

"PEOPLE OF MEEREEN!" Prince Aegon shouted though the shout was only little more than a whisper, and people all around urged and pulled and glared to keep their tongues so that they could hear and soon there was only silence.

"FIVE DAYS HAVE PASSED.

FIVE DAYS SINCE YOU NO LONGER HAVE ANY MASTERS!

FIVE DAYS SINCE YOU HAVE TAKEN THE RIGHT OF LIBERTY!"

This elicited a great cheer amongst the slaves though a great hush descended down amongst the slaves as Prince Aegon raised his hand.

"YOU SHOULD KNOW OF MY NAME NOW AND IF YOU DO NOT, I WILL TELL YOU. I AM AEGON, SON OF HOUSE TARGARYEN.

I AM OF ELAMAERYS AND THE LEADER OF THE MEN WHO HELPED YOU GAIN YOUR FREEDOM THAT YOU ALWAYS SHOULD HAVE HAD.

HOWEVER, ONE THING THAT I AM NOT, IS YOUR RULER."

She was amused to see the deflation and confusion in the faces of many of these slaves. Some even had the look of anger and betrayal on their faces.

The noises that escaped the mouth of the dragon stilled the crowd and Prince Aegon stood higher atop his dragon, his left arm raised. She was curious to see how he would address this sense of betrayal from the slaves.

For many, freedom was just an idea they heard but did not understand.

What would they know what freedom was, people who only saw it manifested through their slavers, people who coveted this freedom but did not know what it was they coveted?

"I SEE YOUR ANGER. I SEE YOUR CONFUSION.

BUT, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, YOU MUST KNOW…

I AM NOT A CONQUEROR. I AM NOT HERE TO RULE OVER YOU.

NO, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN!

I CAME TO FREE YOU. TO FREE ALL MEN. ALL WOMEN. ALL CHILDREN FROM CHAIN AND FROM UP BENEATH THE BOOT OF SLAVERS."

This was far better received, she could tell, as she eyed the slaves.

"WHAT I AM, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, WHAT ALL MEN IN MY ARMY ARE, IS A FREE MAN AND A FREE MAN WHO WISHES FOR ALL MEN AND ALL WOMEN AND ALL CHILDREN TO BE FREE.

I AM A FREE MAN WHO WISHES ALL MEN AND ALL WOMEN AND ALL CHILDREN TO HAVE CHOICES THAT WAS ALWAYS DENIED THEM!

THAT IS WHO I AM, AND TELL ME, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, IS THAT WHO YOU ARE?"

"YES!" the slaves roared and she doubted they truly understood what Prince Aegon was speaking off but they fed off the energy, the passion and the sincerity with which Prince Aegon seemed to speak with, not only with his voice but also his body. Chants of "FREE MAN!" "FREE WOMAN!" sounded all around her.

Again the slaves quieted down, eager as they were to hear Prince Aegon speak once more.

"TELL ME, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, WHO DOES THE CITY OF MEEREEN BELONGED TO?!"

"US!" "THE PEOPLE OF MEEREEN!" "ME!"

"TELL ME, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, DO YOU BELIEVE THAT SLAVER'S BAY SHOULD BECOME LIBERTY BAY?"

"YES!" "LIBERTY BAY! YES! LIBERTY BAY!" "YES! FREE ALL!"

"TELL ME, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, DO YOU BELIEVE OTHERS LIKE YOU, STILL IN THE CHAINS OF SLAVERS, SHOUILD BE FREE LIKE YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN ASTAPOR AND YUNKAI AND IN MEEREEN?

"YES! FREE ALL!" "YES! FREE ALL!"

"TELL ME, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, WILL YOU DO AS I DO, AS ALL THE MEN IN MY ARMY DO AND STAND AND PLEDGE TO DENY THE HARPY AND ITS FOUL WAYS?"

"I PLEDGE!" "CRUSH THE HARPY!" "I PLEDGE!" "DEATH TO THE HARPY!"

"TELL ME, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, WILL YOU PLEDGE IN THE NAME OF LIBERTY THAT YOU WILL RISE AND HELP ALL OTHERS IN LIBERTY BAY GAIN THEIR LIBERTY?"

"I PLEDGE!" "I PLEDGE!" "LIBERTY TO ALL!" "I PLEDGE!"

"I AM PLEASED TO HEAR YOU PLEDGE, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, AND I, AEGON, SON OF HOUSE TARGARYEN, WILL PLEDGE TO YOU THAT I WILL NOT FALTER TO FREE ALL MEN AND ALL WOMEN AND ALL CHILDREN IN LIBERTY BAY.

I PLEDGE TO YOU, I WILL NOT ABANDON YOU NOR WILL I ALLOW CHAINS TO RATTLE AROUND YOUR NECKS.

I PLEDGE TO YOU, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, THAT I AND MY PEOPLE WILL BE A FRIEND TO MEEREEN AND DEFENDER OF YOUR FREEDOM.

I PLEDGE TO YOU, PEOPLE OF MEEREEN, THAT IF YOU STAY TRUE, IF YOU STAND WITH ME AGAINST THE SLAVERS, I PROMISE YOU THAT YOU AND ALL PEOPLES OF LIBERTY BAY WILL SEE AND BRING A DAWN THAT NEVER ENDS!"

Her black eyes wide-eyed, staring at the sight of Prince Aegon through the maze of arms as men and women cheered and roared with words and pledges on the tip of their tongues, words that promised their devotion and their intent to follow Prince Aegon to the ends of the Known World if it meant that slavers were all killed.

Yet, for all that she was deafened with such words and such pledges, her black eyes gleaming like black dragonglass, she only had ears for a chain of words, a chain that contained a word almost as frequently said as the word 'liberty'…

"BRING THE DAWN!"

And, she thought, as she let herself listen to the choir of slaves sing the chain of words that her Lord of Light must delight in, she never heard a sweeter thing before.

Hearing…listening…seeing…the beginning of a wildfire that would sweep all in these lands into her faith, the true faith…and in to the Light of her Lord.

-Break-

Late 112 AC – Kings Landing, Westeros

Lyman Beesbury POV

He glanced around the table, the tension thick and permeating throughout the Small Council chamber.

Lord Lyonel Strong, the Hand of the King, sat in the seat next to His Grace's seat, his expression nondescriptive. His eyes veered onto the next member of the Small Council. Grandmaester Mellos, was unusually tense, far from the calmness he typically exuded.

The old lord Mootoon, the Master of Ships, looked grave-faced and uncertain whereas Lord Eustace Darklyn, the Master of Whispers, was hard-faced and unhappy. It was not surprising he'd be hard-faced. That he'd be unhappy. Given how much he'd been led astray about the matters of Prince Aegon and Myr, how much he'd failed His Grace in his duties, he was not far from being dismissed from his position.

His Grace was angry enough to see it through.

Lord Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, was the only one who seemed unbothered by the tension, stiffly postured as he may be.

The doors opened, the echoey sounds of moving oakwood scraping against the stone floor disturbing the tense air in the room, and they all stood up from their seats, their scraping chairs adding sharp sounds to the discordant melody in the air.

The King walked in with Lord Commander Ser Harrold Westerling in tow, the King's eyes radiating with a quiet fury that seldom several orders of magnitude worse than his anger had been for the past few moons.

"Your Grace." They all said in differing manners, quiet or calm or begrudgingly.

"Sit." King Viserys commanded, the usual levity in his voice absent.

They all sat down as the Lord Commander took his place standing behind the King.

"Lord Eustace." The King began, his voice calm but there was an undercurrent of fury in his voice as he said the Master of Whispers' name. "Have you learnt anything further about my brother and these Slaver's Bay rumours?"

To say that it had been a shock to hear that the King's younger brother was in fact waging war in Slaver's Bay instead of against Myr, was an understatement.

Several moons ago, they had delegations from Myr and the Triarchy come to Kings Landing, all but demanding, just falling short, that the King 'do something to reel in his errant brother'.

Their audacity had rankled all of the lords of the Small Councils, including the normally calm Hand of the King and more importantly, it had sent the King into a spiral of fury and only quick words from one of the delegations had soothed the tension that had been wrought.

For a moment, he thought that the King may call back his brother and call the Lords of the Realm to arms for the audacity of the Triarchy.

Calmer heads prevailed that day, but only just, and the fury of the King had still simmered, barely abated, when the shocking rumours came that Prince Aegon was warring with Slaver's Bay instead of Myr.

The rumours had come from Braavosi merchants in Kings Landing, rumours that quickly spread, and before long, much of the Crownlands had come to know of it, and with them, the rest of the Realm.

They'd pieced together that Prince Aegon had sent an envoy to Braavos to request aid in liberating Slaver's Bay and whose sailors of the envoy fleet had let it slip amongst the inns and whorehouses of Braavos.

"Yes Your Grace." Lord Eustace said with light incline of the head, his expression twisting slightly. "This morn, I received a raven from Oldtown."

The merchants of Oldtown had longstanding trade with the Summer Isles, particularly Lotus Port. Merchants returning from those isles were well-suited to bring back word of anything noteworthy.

"Corinth is abandoned, Your Grace. The city has been returned back to Prince Jalla's possession. There is…credence to the Slaver's Bay rumours."

There was a delicateness in Lord Eustace voice as he'd said that, and the King's expression darkened. Lord Eustace continued. "Word has spread that ships carrying freed Summer Islanders from Slaver's Bay have been sighted at Omboru, one of the islands in the Summer Isles…one of the last places Prince Aegon was known to have flown to."

"So it is true then." King Viserys only said, his voice flat but it deceived no one.

The King was on the precipice of erupting.

"My brother is waging war against Slaver's Bay."

"The evidence seems to suggest so, Your Grace. And perhaps there is truth to the rumour that he has already taken Astapor and Yunkai."

"There cannot be surety of that." Lord Jasper denied as he stared at the Master of Whispers. "The rumours hint towards it, yes, however the distances that we spoke of prevent any knowledge that isn't moons old from becoming known."

"You're not wrong." Lord Eustace agreed before he returned "Yet it is exactly likely that Prince Aegon has achieved what he has had his envoys boast with Braavos." Lord Eustace said as he eyed Lord Jasper before he eyed a few of the others. "He misdirected everyone that his grievances were with Myr and Myr alone."

"And in the same instance make it easier for him to wage war against an unsuspecting enemy." Grandmaester Mellos commented with a heavy frown.

"It is dishonourable." He said with a distasteful expression on his face. Where was the honour in waging a war with such cheap deception such as this?

"Dishonourable?" Lord Eustace said with a raised eyebrow. "You speak as if he is breaking oaths or treaties or guest rights. Wha-"

"Enough." His Grace's sharp rebuke silenced them and he looked towards the King. "I did not call you to discuss whether or not my brother's actions are honourable or dishonourable." There was an anger in the King's voice, an anger that showed itself on his face more so before it twisted and changed into a cool and hard look as he looked towards the Master of Whispers.

"Lord Eustace." The King called out once more, his voice far from friendly and on the precipice of taking this pent up anger against the Master of Whispers.

"Where are my envoys?"

Silence.

"Well?" His Grace demandingly said. "Or will you tell me that your contacts in Oldtown had nothing to say about my envoys?"

"Your Grace" there was great hesitation in Lord Darklyn's voice, and he was encouraged to speak faster as the King's eyes narrowed angrily at the Master of Whispers.

"The raven's confirm that the envoys did make it to Lotus Port however…they did not make it back from Corinth."

The mood shifted once more in the Small Council chambers.

He'd only known recently that His Grace had sent an envoy mission to his brother. Once it became clear that there was a great deal more involved in the happenings with the King's brother…

The King had seen that it would do no good keeping it from the Small Council.

"There are confirmations that Prince Aegon's dragon, Mīsaragorn, had been seen to burn any ships that approached Corinth." The Master of Whispers paused for a moment, a look of great hesitation on his face and the levels of tension grew dramatically as a dark look passed across Viserys' expression.

This was the worst kinds of news he could bring to the King. That his brother had a hand in killing His Grace's men.

"My brother…killed my envoys?" There was a strange quality to the King's voice and Lord Darklyn was quick to answer.

"No, Your Grace, Prince Aegon was not seen back at Corinth moons after the arrival of the envoys at Lotus Port."

"You're claiming that the be-, the dragon, attacked the ships on his own volition?" Grandmaester Mellos said with a sceptical note in his voice. "Dragons do not have such agency, my Lord."

"That is what the locals in Lotus Port have claimed." Lord Darklyn said with a hard look to the Grandmaester. "I can only bring his Grace the news that I have available."

"Of course, of course." Grandmaester Mellos said with a slow nod before he looked to the King who looked deep in thought, his hands tightened into twin fists.

"Your Grace, you cannot consider this…rumour to be something to hold true. It is far more likely that the envoys have fallen to pirates or worse mayhaps fallen to Prince Aegon's men who may have mistook them for pirates." There was dismissal in the Grandmaester's voice.

Lord Jasper spoke up next. "So the envoys are likely dead." He said in an uncaring tone of voice. "And we do not know with any measure of confidence how, or why, they have died." Lord Jasper looked towards the King who took to lean back in his chair, disquietingly quiet.

"Your Grace." Lord Jasper continued "If you wish to call back your brother, I recommend that you send Bartimos Celtigar and mayhaps even Lord Corlys, both of whom share bloodties with your brother."

It was a good recommendation and Lyman understood why Lord Jasper was recommending those two men. Yes, they did not know, not for certain, that the envoys were killed deliberately and were killed by Aegon's people…or dragon.

But, those two men, with their fleets and their importance, not only to their Houses but also to Prince Aegon, would ensure that they would have a thick cloak of protection against any…including, especially, Prince Aegon.

And, if indeed Prince Aegon was going rogue, and refused the authority of the Iron Throne, a traitor, they'd have a better chance of learning of it through the two men who Prince Aegon would not harm or kill.

"A good suggestion, Lord Jasper." The King said before he turned his gaze towards the Grandmaester. "Send a raven to Claw Isle demanding that they come to Kings Landing."

"Your Grace." Grandmaester Mellos said with a bow of the head.

The King said before he added. "I will speak with Lord Corlys on this matter this very eve." His Grace then turned his gaze towards the rest of the men.

"My brother has gone too far. Beyond too far. He is out of control." There was a great deal of anger in his voice. "Not only has he embroiled the Realm into a situation that nearly seen us on the precipice of war with the Triarchy, all because he could not let of a inconsequential grievance, an embroiling that was completely and utterly a dishonourable scheme of my brother's" the King's voice rose and tinged with anger and he had to pause himself to get his anger under control.

"And now we learn his true goals, a war, a war against an entire region of people he is certain to lose and a war that see the entirety of Essos plunged into chaos!" His Grace slapped the table with his hand, his face twisting in a great bout of fury.

"It is clear that my brother has no consideration of me and the Iron Throne." The words were squeezed out of the King's voice and he took on a cool and hard look as he spoke further. "Offer me solutions. Now."

Lyman remained silent. So too did the rest of the Small Council. Because, to be truthful, what is there to be done? Even the envoys, with whatever instructions they were to have for Prince Aegon, would take near enough half a year to get there.

By that time…by that time, it was possible that Prince Aegon was dead or it was possible that he'd taken the bulk of Slaver's Bay.

And should Prince Aegon take Slaver's Bay, what could be demanded of Prince Aegon? He'd now rule a land, barbarian savage desert lands, of course, but still a land that was equal in size to the Stormlands.

"Your Grace." Lord Strong was the man who broke the silence. "Prince Aegon has left us in a difficult position." The Hand of the King admitted. "And so too have the rumours that taken on a life of their own in Kings Landing…and beyond."

Lyman kept a neutral expression though inwardly he was concerned. He'd heard the kinds of rumours that were told in the inns, in the taverns, in the ports and likely in the whorehouses.

Everything between how Prince Aegon was doing the Seven's work in liberating people from the chains of slavery to how Prince Aegon was the Conqueror Reborn.

It was…unsettling, to say the least.

Fortunately, he had not heard words of treason, but…it would not surprise him if such words were uttered...words that cast the King in a bad light. He eyed Lord Japser. He knew a little of what the man was doing with the cityguard, ensuring that the peace was kept and that tongues were kept from waggling.

The last thing they needed was a mummer's show that mocked the King in comparison to his younger brothers, both of whom were more…abled in war.

"Matters are under control, Lord Hand." Lord Jasper remarked calmly and Lyman silently wondered how filled the prisons of speakers of treasonous words.

Lord Strong inclined his head towards the Master of Laws and looked towards the King. "From a certain standpoint, Your Grace" the Lord Hand continued "Your silence on your brother and his war is perhaps the best course of action, at least until we can understand more of what is happening…of what Prince Aegon's true goals are."

"You want me to ignore my brother and his doings?" the King sharply questioned and from the expression on his face, it was something dearly did not suit the King.

"For now." Lord Strong advised. "The ramifications of your brother's…war in Slaver's Bay is something that we cannot tell at this time."

"Lord Strong is correct, Your Grace." Lord Darklyn agreed. "The slave trade is a vital life's blood of Essos. If your brother is successful in taking Slaver's Bay, there will be such ramifications of a kind that will leave Essos in great deals of chaos and instability." Lord Darklyn paused for a moment before he continued.

"And then there is to consider what Prince Aegon intends to do with Slaver's Bay."

"You're putting credence to the liberation rumours." Lyman stated, speaking for the first time in some time.

Rumours that spoke that Prince Aegon intended for the cities not to be ruled over by him but instead liberated completely, and become 'true free cities like Braavos'.

"Aye." Lord Darklyn stated. "But again, we do simply do not know what Prince Aegon intends nor do will we, not until a representative brings back word."

"In any case, Prince Aegon's actions may well the cause of civil wars within many of the Free Cities."

"So, we may not even have to act or respond but just simply be vigilant." Lord Jasper said shrewdly and both Lords Strong and Darklyn nodded.

"So your suggestion" His Grace finally spoke, a hard look on his face as he eyed his Hand and then towards Lord Darklyn "Both of you, suggest that I…do nothing?"

"For now, Your Grace." Lord Strong advised. "Unfortunately, Your Grace, Prince Aegon's distance is a great inhibitor of what can be done."

This did not please the King, they saw.

"And the rest of you?" the King then asked as he looked around the table.

"No?" the King's voice grew stern and low until, finally, the King's scowled heavily and sat back in his chair, words on the tip of his tongue but he found the control to keep his words to himself.

"You advise me to do nothing when you say that Essos will soon be embroiled in chaos by the actions of my brother." The King finally spoke up after a long moment of silence and his jaw set for a moment before he relaxed, as he spoke.

"You, both of you, speak as if my brother has a chance of succeeding and throwing Essos into a chaos." The King remarked harshly.

"Your Grace…" Lord Darklyn glanced at Lord Strong before he took to look at the King again "I believe that there is a good chance that Prince Aegon will be…successful in taking Slaver's Bay."

"Why?" the King asked, demanded, to know. "My brother does not have the army or the backing of a kingdom to achieve what you're suggesting."

Lord Strong was the one who spoke up. "Your Grace, that is true, however he does have Mīsaragorn."

"One dragon cannot conquer." The King's rebuke was harsh. "At most, my brother could have five or mayhaps seven thousand men under his command. That is not enough to take an entire region."

Lyman kept his tongue silent. The Conqueror managed to conquer nearly all of Westeros with just three dragons and a thousand men.

It was not so outlandish to believe that Prince Aegon could do something similar with just one dragon and a larger army but Lyman knew that such words spoken would only be faced with an angry tirade.

It was strange, the way His Grace was dismissive of his youngest brother. He understood, of course, Lyman thought. His Grace was under tremendous scrutiny.

Two brothers, and both of them were dragonriders and both of them were capable warriors and both of them could be considered to be leaders of men.

"No, Your Grace" Lord Darklyn spoke up "A dragon cannot conquer, true, and nor does Prince Aegon have the men to hold the cities of Slaver's Bay. However, these cities have one thing that make it possible."

"Slaves." Grandmaester Mellos said with an understanding tone of voice.

Lord Darklyn nodded. "It is well known that Prince Aegon buys the freedoms of slaves."

Lyman eyed the rest of the Small Council. None of the men present here partook in…the doubt that was casted on Prince Aegon's honour and his intentions.

That, of course, has largely stopped, ever since the rumours about Slaver's Bay. Lyman had no doubt though that some of the court were feeling concerned too, knowing there was an element of retribution in the Prince's war in Slaver's Bay…

"And with the cities outnumbers four to one, five to one, even mayhaps seven to one, Prince Aegon will find no difficulty in gaining allies from the slaves." Lord Darklyn said and it was not an answer that the King wished to hear.

Long moments passed.

"So." The King began. "By the time the envoys make it to Slaver's Bay, my brother may well have become…successful." The word was said with a great measure of discontent. "And by that time, Essos may well be stricken into chaos."

The King was now looking at his councillors. "And you do not know or even can guess how severe the ramifications may be to the Realm."

"No, Your Grace." Lord Strong said as he looked at Lord Darklyn. "We cannot foresee the severity or what the ramifications will be."

"Trade with the Free Cities may also be severely affected, Your Grace." Lyman added to the conversation. Already they had little access

"Your Grace." Grandmaester Mellos interceded. "There is one other option that you could take, one with various levels of severity."

Lyman frowned. What could the Grandmaester be thinking of suggesting?

"Speak, Grandmaester." The King ordered.

"You could chose to publicly support your brother."

The King's expression twisted darkly and the old man rushed to speak further.

"Slavery is a grave sin, Your Grace, and the Prince's actions will be, and is, looked upon favourably by the people of the Realm. The nobility, smallfolk and the Faith alike. By choosing to support your brother publicly, you would gain the support of many of the Realm."

"It would also cause insurmountable issues with the Free Cities, the Triarchy in particular." Lord Strong said with a heavy frown.

"And can you reasonably state that relations with the Triarchy is not already beyond repair?" Grandmaester Mellos said with a raised brow.

"And can you also reasonably state that eventually, His Grace will need to make some judgement or comment publicly? Especially if it becomes as you believe it will be, a successful liberation of Slaver's Bay?"

This made Lord Strong pause for a moment.

"I cannot." Lord Strong admitted. "However, it validates the Prince's actions, actions that have been taken without the permission of the Iron Throne." Lord Strong paused for a moment as he eyed the King. "It sets a dangerous precedent."

"A precedent that has already been set by Prince Daemon and Lord Corlys, has it not?" Lord Jasper commented dryly. Yes, Lyman thought. It was a precedent already set by those two men. A precedent that saw no real consequence to them both.

"Daemon had my approval." The King was quick to deny that comment.

For a moment Lyman though Lord Jasper would not relent and say what his expression suggested he was thinking. That the permission had come after the deeds were already done, for the most part.

Instead, however, he did relent.

"Of course, Your Grace." Lord Jasper bowed his head.

"And that is beside the point. What Daemon did was address a problem to the Realm. Aegon is not doing that. He is, a Prince of the Realm, directly attacking a region that has no connection or no conflict with the Realm." The King added with quiet fury laced on his face.

The King then looked towards the Grandmaester. "I will not validate my brother's actions." The King decided and the Grandmaester bowed his head. The King continued, his expression darkened still.

"Nor will I condemn him, as much as I wish to." The King stood up though he spared a look towards the Grandmaester. "Send a raven to Daemon to come as soon as he is able."

Lyman's brows rose. Prince Daemon and Prince Baelon were due to come to Kings Landing in a moon's time. To ask Prince Daemon to come now…

"Your Grace." Grandmaester bowed his head and with that, the King departed without another word said, followed by his Lord Commander out of the chambers.

Lyman exchanged looks with Lord Darklyn whose expression was neutral but there was something in his eyes that indicated exactly what Lyman was thinking.

The last thing they needed was Prince Daemon taking advantage of the King's anger.

Yet, he thought to himself, that may well be what will happen.