Stepping into the city of Pentos was like stepping into a world made of technicolor. The people were well and alive with joy and relief. Streets once scarred by fear now overflowed with jubilation. Lanterns lit the night sky, their soft glow casting a magical light over the city. Servants, merchants, and even the wealthiest nobles mingled for the first time in memory, united in their awe of the man and women who saved them. Tables stretched along the city's great square, laden with fragrant roasted meats, honeyed pastries, and pitchers of rich Pentoshi wine.
As they walked side by side through the jubilant crowds, Sirius leaned toward Hermione, a smirk playing at his lips.
"You see that merchant over there? He's been trying to hand me a crown of laurels since we arrived. If he tries again, I might just have to take it and make it official."
Hermione chuckled, adjusting the silver clasp of her chiffon capelet.
"You do look the part, Sirius. Pentos has never seen a king quite like you."
His smirk deepened.
"And I doubt they've ever seen a ruler quite like you. How does it feel, walking through a city that once saw you as an oddity, now chanting your name?"
Hermione cast a thoughtful glance at the people around them. Their faces beamed with admiration, their cheers unrestrained.
"It's humbling. But it also means expectations. They look to us not just as their rulers, but as their future. That's a weight heavier than any crown."
Sirius nodded, his expression turning more serious.
"That's why we have to make this speech count. Not just for them, but for us. This is where we set the foundation of our reign."
A sudden cheer erupted as an elder from the merchant's guild approached, bowing deeply before them.
"Your Majesty, Princess-Regent, you honor us beyond words. The city thrives under your leadership. Would you grace us with a few words before the grand feast begins?"
At the height of the celebration, Sirius and Hermione appeared on a raised platform in the heart of the square. The crowd hushed immediately, eager to hear from their new King and Princess Regent. Sirius, ever the showman, strode to the front with a wide grin. He wore no extravagant finery– just a simple black robe trimmed in gold, a crown of dark Valyrian steel resting easily on his head. He raised his arms dramatically, and the crowd erupted into cheers.
"To the people of Pentos," Sirius began, his voice carrying with ease. "Let me start by saying that I didn't come to Pentos looking for a throne. During my time here in this city, I saw something in all of you. I saw courage. I saw loyalty. I saw a city worth fighting for. And if there's one thing I learned from war– it's that people like you deserve leaders who fight for you, not over you."
The crowd erupted into cheers but Sirius held up a hand to quiet them.
"Let me make you a promise," he continued, his tone more serious. "Under my rule, no one will be treated as less than human. No more bond-servants dying in the name of magisterial greed. No more puppet princes left to the whims of corrupt councils. This city belongs to all of us, and together, we'll make sure it's a place where anyone can live with dignity and pride."
Hermione stepped forward, her presence commanding despite her smaller stature. Her gown flowed gracefully, and though she lacked a crown, the people saw the fire in her eyes– her intelligence, her determination.
"I won't lie to you," Hermione began, her voice clear and steady. "What we face is not easy. Rebuilding Pentos will take time, effort, and trust. There will be challenges, and there will be sacrifices. But I promise you this: I will dedicate every ounce of my strength, every ounce of my magic, to ensuring that Pentos becomes stronger than ever before. Not through the oppression of the weak, but through the empowerment of all. This city belongs to all of us, and together, we will make it a beacon of strength and justice. Now, we ask that after the festivities are held, we be given some time to set our affairs in order. We shall appoint a minister for the people, and through him our proclamations will be made henceforth."
The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, voices chanting their names in celebration, Hermione leaned over to Sirius. "I need to get some space," She whispered, keeping her voice low enough not to draw attention.
Sirius, already several goblets deep into the finest wine Pentos had to offer, gave her a sly grin. "Don't be to too long. They'll start to miss you– and by "they", I mean me."
Hermione rolled her eyes with a small smile before slipping away. She moved quietly, using the chaos of the festival to her advantage. A well-placed Disillusionment Charm allowed her to vanish into the shadows unnoticed, making her way toward the private council chambers. She needed to act while the city was still distracted by the festivities. Pentos needed leadership– real leadership– and she wasn't about to squander her first opportunity to shape the city's future.
Hermione entered the council chamber, the air thick with the scent of parchment and ink. Illyrio Mopatis waited for her, summoned earlier with a note that bore her seal. He bowed low as she entered.
"Princess Regent," he said. "To what do I owe this honor?"
Hermione didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I need your help."
"Help?" Illyrio raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "From a humble merchant such as myself? I am at your service."
"You and I both know that Pentos is at a crossroads." Hermione stepped closer, her voice firm. "The bond-servant system is crumbling, the people are restless, and the magisters are seething under the guise of cooperation. If we don't act now, this city will fall into chaos."
"And what do you propose?" Illyrio stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"I need resources," Hermione said. "Gold, provisions and connections to stabilize Pentos quickly. In return, you'll have the favor of the crown– and my word that your interests will be protected under our rule."
"A bold move." Illyrio's eyes gleamed with interest. "And what will be your first decree as Princess Regent?"
Hermione pulled a scroll from her sleeve, unfurling it on the table. It was filled with neat, precise handwriting– her plan for Pentos's immediate future. "My first act as Princess Regent is to abolish the bond-servant system. Effective immediately."
"Abolish? Your grace, the economy of Pentos–"
"Will adapt," Hermione interrupted, her voice sharp. "The bond-servant system is an atrocity. It breeds resentment and weakens us from within. The Dothraki invasion proved that we cannot afford the internal instability. Every citizen of Pentos deserves the right to live and work freely."
Illyrio hesitated, but Hermione pressed on. "We will replace the system with fair labor laws and establish a council of citizen representation to ensure their voices are heard. In the meantime, we'll create work and schooling programs to provide employment and housing for the former bond-servants.
She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering.
"This is not negotiable. If we want Pentos to thrive, we must begin with justice. Now, will you stand with me on this?
Illyrio, seeing the determination in her eyes, lowered his head.
"As you wish Princess Regent. It will be done."
The following morning, Hermione convened a meeting in the palace council chamber. The magisters, summoned reluctantly, arrived in their silken robes, their expressions ranging from wary to openly resentful. The grand hall was suffocating with tension. Sirius lounged in his throne at the head of the room, while Hermione stood beside him, a scroll in her hand. Illyrio Mopatis loitered nearby, his ever present smirk barely concealed beneath his beard. He had much to gain from her success– and much to lose if she failed.
Hermione's grip tightened on the parchment in her hands before she set it down. She didn't need it. She had committed her words to heart.
She stepped forward and let her voice ring clear through the hall.
"Magisters of Pentos," Hermione began, "our city stands at a crossroads. For too long, we have lived in the shadow of the slave cities– kowtowing to Myr, Lys, and Volantism afraid to act without their approval. This ends today."
Murmurs erupted through the chamber, but she did not waver.
"As rulers of Pentos, our first act is to declare the immediate abolition of the bond-servant system. No man, woman, or child shall be treated as property within these walls again. I will not tolerate it. I will not allow our city to be complicit in this barbaric practice."
The room erupted into protests. Magisters shouted over one another, their faces red with indignation.
"This is madness!" one of them exclaimed. "The bond-servants are the backbone of our economy!"
"You'll destroy Pentos!" another cried.
An older magister, Mordeo Prestayn, rose from his seat, his red silk robes billowing as he spoke.
"And what, pray tell, do you expect to replace it with? Trade thrives on labor! Without our bond-servants, entire industries will collapse. Who will plow the fields? Who will build the ships?"
Hermione raised her hand, silencing them, her gaze as sharp as Valyrian steel.
"The bond-servant system is a relic of the past, and it weakens us. The Dothraki invasion proved that. A city divided by slavery is a city vulnerable to destruction. From this day forward, the people will be paid a fair wage for their work. It is not servitude that sustains an economy, but opportunity. We will build schools to educate the next generation, training them in trades and crafts so that our people will thrive without the need for shackles."
The magisters exchanged uneasy glances. Sirius leaned forward, a sly grin on his face.
"You heard the princess Regent. If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it."
A few magisters exchanged glances– some skeptical, some thoughtful. She pressed forward before they could interject.
"You say we cannot afford this. I say we cannot afford to be left behind. Do you think Braavos nor Westeros will trade with us when we harbor slavers? Do you think they will lend us coin when we act no better than Volantis?"
That silenced them. They all knew of Braavos's hatred for slavery, it's animosity for Pentos falling just shy of that.
Hermione shifted her stance, moving to the next part of her plan.
"To ensure our prosperity, I have already begun negotiations with the Sealord of Braavos. We will establish trade agreements that benefit both our cities. Braavosi shipwrights will aid us in expanding our navy. Their military advisors will help train the beginnings of our new standing army."
This time, a murmur of approval swept through the hall. A stronger military meant safety from raiders, from Myr, from the next Dothraki horde that dared test their gates.
Magister Otherys Vhaan, a man with thinning white hair and ink-stained fingers, leaned forward.
"Braavos does not give its favors freely. What price will they demand?"
"Fair trade." Hermione stated. "A seat for their representatives in our council. A guarantee that Pentos will never again allow slavery within its borders."
A ripple of unease passed through the wealthiest of the magisters.
Illyrio, ever the opportunist, finally spoke.
"Braavos will lend its strength to our city, and in doing so, we will no longer have to fear the slaver lords." He turned his gold-ringed fingers over thoughtfully. "It is a fair price."
Hermione shot him a look, knowing full well that he had grown rich through illicit dealings, but for now, his voice in support was useful.
As the murmurs died down, Hermione took a breath, preparing for her boldest move yet.
"There is one more matter to address," she said. "For too long, the voices of the people have gone unheard. Pentos is not just a city of magisters– it is a city of merchants, craftsman, sailors and scholars. It is their labor and loyalty that keeps our city alive."
"And you would have us listen to the rabble?" Magister Prestayn scoffed. "To fishmongers and beggars?"
"Yes. I would." Hermione met his gaze without flinching.
Silence.
She continued, her voice unyielding.
"I am establishing a new court– one that will allow the people to present grievances and disputes before appointed magistrates. Not just nobles, but representatives of the people themselves. A People's Council, with the power to oversee matters of trade, labor, and justice."
Moredo Prestayn nearly choked on his wine.
"A council? Of peasants?"
"They are not peasants. They are Pentoshi."
The chamber erupted into chaos. Some magisters argued amongst themselves, others whispered urgently. Hermione stood firm, knowing that her words had already taken root.
By the time the meeting ended, Hermione had secured key victories:
The magisters had begrudgingly accepted that slavery was no longer viable. The Braavosi alliance was moving forward. The People's Court was not outright rejected, though many magisters opposed it.
Illyrio approaced her after the meeting, chuckling.
"You certainly enjoy making enemies."
"I enjoy building a future." Hermione smirked.
"Well, that was certainly entertaining." Sirius clapped her on the back. "I half expected them to throw their wine at you."
She sighed. "Give them time. They're still adjusting to the idea that their power isn't absolute."
Far away across the Narrow Sea, Lord Varys received a raven, detailing the events in Pentos. A Valyrian princess, ruling with magic– what an intriguing player she was becoming in the great game.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson glow over the palace of Pentos. The air inside the council chamber was heavy, laced with tension that lingered like a shadow long after the magisters had filed out, their murmurs echoing through the stone halls.
Hermione stood by the tall arched window, her hands pressed against the cool marble sill. She watched the city below– the flickering lanterns, the distant hum of voices, the streets still lined with remnants of the festival celebrating their victory. A victory that felt increasingly fragile.
The magisters had not actively defied her, but she was no fool. She had seen the sharp glances exchanged across the chamber, the thinly veiled threats disguised as "concerns for the economy." Change was a dangerous thing, and those who profited from the old ways would not give up their power easily.
Behind her, Sirius lounged in a chair, boots propped on the table, swirling a goblet of wine. "That went well," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"They barely accepted the abolition of the bond-servant system." Hermione turned, her expression weary. "The Braavosi alliance is tentative at best, and the magisters still think they can outmaneuver me."
Sirius tilted his head, watching her carefully.
"And yet, you held your ground. You did what no one else dared. That's a win, Hermione."
"A win means nothing if we can't defend it." She rubbed her temples, pacing. "The slaver cities will retaliate, and the Dothraki won't stay away forever. We have freed people willing to fight, yes, but they need training, discipline, and numbers. We can't rely on the Braavosi to carry our burdens forever."
Sirius set his goblet down, straightening, rising from the chair hecrossed the chamber to her.
"Let them plot. We've both faced worth than scheming old men. Besides, you made your point. No more slavery. If they don't like it, they can find another city to ruin."
"I appreciate the optimism." Hermione allowed herself a small smile. "But I need more than words to keep them in line. I need a stronger military. Pentos barely survived the last invasion– I won't let this city be that vulnerable again."
Sirius' smile faded, replaced by a rare look of concern.
"You're thinking about the Unsullied."
"I am," Hermione admitted. "They're the best soldiers in Essos. Loyal, disciplined… but they're also slaves. I can't simply buy them like cattle."
Sirius tilted his head.
"And if you freed them? Would they follow you?
"I don't know," Hermione confessed, her voice quieter. "And that's the problem. I can't gamble on something this important."
Hermione stopped, her gaze flickering to the brazier in the corner of the room, its embers glowing faintly. The answer had been smoldering in the back of her mind all day, and now it burned bright.
"I need to speak to Melisandre" She said, her voice resolute.
Sirius arched a brow. "The priestess? I thought you didn't want to talk to her after she brought up some of the common folk wanting to do something about a statue?"
"I'm not, at the moment." Hermione admitted, her fingers curling into fists. "But she understands power. If anyone knows how to turn a fractured city into a military force that can withstand Essos, it's her."
Sirius stood, stretching. "I'll find her."
"No," Hermione said, already crossing the room to the brazier. "I'll summon her."
Hermione stood before the brazier, her wand out, the flames casting long shadows across the stone floor. She had seen Melisandre perform this ritual before– small offerings to the flames, words whispered in the tongue of Valyria.
She closed her eyes, focusing, channeling her magic into the fire.
"Melisandre," she whispered. "I need you."
The flames surged, crackling as they turned from orange to deep red, then a brilliant gold. The room was warm– too warm. Hermione felt the heat brush her skin like a living thing. The air was thick with the scent of myrrh and a moment, the room was silent except for the hiss of burning embers. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.
Melisandre, as if she had been waiting, stepped into the room, her crimson robes flowing like liquid fire. The glow of the brazier reflected in her eyes, making them seem almost inhuman.
"You called for me seeking counsel," Melisandre said, her voice like silk. "And I have come, Princess."
"I need your help." Hermione turned on her heel, swallowing her apprehension. "I need to build an army– one that can protect Pentos from the forces that will come for us. I would speak to you about the unsullied."
Melisandre's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. Her eyes– bright and burning embers that seemed to pierce through flesh and thought alike.
"You would take the soldiers of Astapor and make them your own?"
"If I must," Hermione said. "I won't let Pentos fall because we are too weak to defend ourselves. But I won't become a slaver to protect the city. There must be another way."
Melisandre moved with the slow grace of a serpent, circling the brazier as she regarded Hermione. She sighed, arms crossed, pacing the length of the room.
"I don't doubt their skill. They're the finest soldiers money can buy. Loyal, disciplined, fearless. But that's exactly the problem. They've been stripped of everything that makes them human. They are slaves in all but name, conditioned to obey without question."
"You are wise to hesitate. Power without purpose consumes those who wield it. But there are ways to take what you need while remaining true to your cause. You would free them, would you not?"
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest. "Of course I would. But freed men don't always follow orders. They might leave. They might turn against me. I would not buy an army just to watch it disband the moment I unshackle them."
Melisandre lifted her hands, palms facing the flame.
"The Unsullied are broken. Their bodies are strong, but their spirits have been severed. This is why they serve without question. If you would take them, you must restore them. Not with gold, but with fire. Give them purpose."
"I'm not making any sacrifices. Explain yourself." Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"The unsullied have spent their lives serving masters unworthy of their loyalty. But what if, instead of a master, they had a cause? What if they were not mere soldiers, but warriors of fire, reforged with new purpose?"
"You mean to make them followers of R'hllor?" Hermione exhaled sharply.
"Not just followers." Melisandre inclined her head. "Chosen. They have only known darkness. Give them the light. Let them fight, not for coin, but for a future. Show them that their chains were not merely physical but spiritual. You need not bind them with whips and coin, Hermione. Bind them with belief."
Hermione was silent for a long moment, weighing the words.
"And if they do not believe?"
"Then let them go." Melisandre smiled. "You do not need numbers, my princess. You need devotion. And those who remain– those who see your fire, who understand your vision– will fight harder than any army of gold."
Hermione clenched her jaw. She had no love for the methods of slavers, nor did she wish to rule with zealotry. But she did need an army, and she would not let these men be tools of oppression any longer. If she took the Unsullied, she would give them a choice.
"A ritual," Melisandre murmured, eyes half-lidded. "With the right magic– your magic– you could burn away the chains that bind them. Free their minds while strengthening their bodies. They will not be mere soldiers; they will be something more."
Hermione hesitated. Blood magic. Ritual magic. She had always drawn a line between herself and the kinds of magic that warped the will. But Pentos's survival demanded strength. If she could take the Unsullied without owning them– if she could give them back their freedom while building a force to protect the city– was it not worth the risk?
"And what would this ritual require?" Hermione asked warily.
"Blood." Melisandre smiled faintly. "Fire. And a choice. You cannot force freedom. But if the Unsullied accept your gift, their loyalty will be unbreakable– not because you bought it, but because you earned it."
Hermione breathed deeply, feeling the weight of the decision settling on her shoulders. She had always believed that magic was a tool– a means to protect, not to dominate.
"Then I will do it," she said softly. "But on my terms. I will not buy an army. I will liberate one. And those who stay will fight– not for me, but for a world where no one is ever bound in chains again."
Melisandre's expression did not change, but her voice grew softer, as though the fire itself approved.
"You are stronger than most realize, Hermione Misagaenys. But strength alone is not enough. You must decide what kind of queen you will be."
Hermione met her gaze without flinching. "Not a queen. A protector."
Melisandre watched her carefully, then inclined her head in approval.
"Then let us make warriors of fire"
The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows along the walls of the chamber as Hermione studied Melisandre, the red priestess' expression unreadable. Their discussion of the unsullied had left her with much to consider– their discipline, their unwavering obedience, and the terrible price of such perfection.
"They are bound to their purpose," Melisandre murmured, her crimson robes swaying as she stepped toward the window. "As are all things in the Lord's design."
"The question is whether that purpose is one of their own choosing." Hermione exhaled, crossing her arms.
Melisandre only smiled, enigmatic as ever. "Choice is an illusion, my lady. You will come to see that."
Before Hermione could press further, a soft knock at the door interrupted them. A steward entered, bowing deeply.
"The Braavosi representatives have arrived, my lady."
Hermione straightened, smoothing the fabric of her dress. Melisandre's gaze followed her as she turned to leave.
"A word of caution," the priestess said softly. "The men of Braavos may not kneel, but they are not beyond playing their own games. Be mindful of the masks they wear."
Hermione met her gaze, nodding once before stepping into the corridor. She made her way to the great hall, where torches burned low, their golden light illuminating the richly adorned room. Servants moved with silent precision, pouring spiced wine into goblets, arranging fruit and fine cheeses on polished silver trays. The air carried the scent of myrrh and citrus, a deliberate choice to lend warmth to the evening's proceedings.
She knew that securing Pentos's future would require more than internal city's proximity to the Dothraki Sea and it's position as a key trading hub left it vulnerable to external threats. The military, though bolstered by their recent victory and the loyalty of freed bond-servants, lacked discipline and training needed to protect their growing kingdom. To Hermione, there was only one logical ally: Braavos.
Illyrio Mopatis, ever the pragmatist, saw the alliance with Braavos as an opportunity to further his own influence. Though he had initially been wary of Hermione's ideals, her strategic mind and growing popularity had impressed him. He understood that aligning himself with her vision would solidify his position as a trusted advisor– and ensure his continued prosperity.
As Hermione's unofficial spymaster and financier, Illyrio arranged a secret meeting with a key representative of the Iron Bank of Braavos.
"The Iron Bank holds the strings of all Braavosi power," Illyrio explained to Hermione during a late-night strategy session. "If we secure their favor, the Sealord will be much more amenable to an alliance."
Hermione nodded, her quill scratching across parchment as she drafted an outline of her proposal.
"How do you suggest we convince them to invest in Pentos?"
Illyrio grinned, his rings glinting in the candlelight.
"You'll offer them a future. The Iron Bank doesn't deal in ideals– they deal in returns. Present Pentos as a city on the rise, with trade routes flowing freely and a military capable of protecting their interests. They'll see the value in supporting you."
"And your role?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'll serve as your intermediary, of course," Illyrio replied smoothly. "A merchant prince who understands both sides of the table."
Hermione considered him for a moment before nodding.
"Very well. You'll remain in your position as Master of Trade in our court. But know this, Illyrio: if I suspect for even a moment that your ambitions threaten Pentos, I will not hesitate to remove you."
Illyrio chuckled, bowing his head. "You have my loyalty, Princess. Always."
The last week has been INCREDIBLY hectic for me in both my personal life and my work life as well, so I'm so sorry for the lack of an update!
I'm currently trying to work on transitions in between certain scenes so I hope it's not quite as choppy moving forward.
As always! Reviews are my lifesblood and I love reading them.