The sea air was thick with salt and celebration. The banners of House Misagaenys snapped proudly in the wind, their sigil–dragon and gryphon entwined– standing bold against the golden light of the late afternoon. The docks of Pentos were a frenzy of movement, citizens pushing and clamoring to catch a glimpse of the returning princess, the conqueror of Astapor.
From the deck of her ship, Hermione gazed at the city she had left behind, the place that had once been a gilded cage. Now, she returned not as a noblewoman under careful watch, but as a ruler, a force unto herself. Beside her, Aquila preened her golden feathers, letting out a sharp cry that sent a ripple of excitement through the crowds.
Sirius was waiting at the docks.
He stood taller than she remembered, his dark hair streaked now with lines of silver, his eyes sharp but softened with emotion. For all his swagger, his careful mask of confidence, she could see it– the relief, the barely contained joy in seeing his daughter again.
As soon as her feet touched the dock, Sirius moved, pushing through the crowd without hesitation. She barely had time to speak before he wrapped his arms around her, holding her in a rare display of vulnerability.
"Took you long enough," he murmured, though his voice was thick with emotion. "Did you intend to take over an entire city, or did that just happen along the way?"
"A little bit of both." Hermione said, hiding her smirk into his shoulder.
Sirius pulled back, looking her over as if making sure she was real, whole and unharmed.
"You've been gone too long, love. And you brought back an army with you."
"A free army," she corrected, stepping back to let him see the ranks of Unsullied disembarking behind her. "Astapor belongs to no master now."
Sirius exhaled, shaking his head with something between admiration and exasperation.
"Pentos will be talking about this for years."
And indeed, the people of Pentos were roaring their approval. They had expected her return, but not with a fleet, not with dragons and gryphons in tow, not with an army of freed warriors marching under her banner. Cries of her name rang through the air, and flower petals rained from balconies as she and her forces moved toward the city gates.
She caught sight of Jorvan watching the crowd with an amused expression, while Marcus muttered about the fanfare. Melisandre, ever the enigma, walked through the adoration with quiet amusement, her red robes flowing like fire through the streets. Melissande, her newly acquired aide, stayed close, her expression carefully schooled despite the clear wonder in her eyes.
But there was something else– someone else.
Standing just a step behind Sirius was a woman Hermione did not recognize. She was tall, with dark hair pinned elegantly, her features sharp and intelligent. There was a calm self-assuredness in the way she watched the reunion, an air of quiet strength that reminded Hermione of the nobility of Volantis. Her dress was Pentoshi in style, but there was something in the way she carried herself that spoke of distant origins.
Sirius cleared his throat, following Hermione's gaze.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet. This is Lythene Narro." His lips twitched slightly, as though amused by the idea of introducing her. "She's… been keeping me entertained in your absence."
"Princess," she greeted smoothly, inclining her head, her expression unreadable. "Your reputation precedes you."
Hermione arched a brow. "For better or worse?"
"A bit of both, I expect," Lythene admitted, eyes twinkling with a knowing glint. "You've done what many have only dreamed of. That commands both admiration and caution."
Sirius grinned, clearly delighted. "She's sharp, this one."
Hermione crossed her arms, studying Lythene. "And where do you stand? With admiration or caution?"
Lythene did not hesitate "Both, of course. Only a fool would choose one without the other."
A flicker of amusement passed through Hermione. She turned back to Sirius.
"Well, she's certainly got your number."
Sirius laughed, throwing an arm around Lythene's waist. "That's why I like her."
The crowd cheered as they reached the gates of the city, and Hermione turned back to face them. Pentos had once been her home, but now, she was something else. Something more.
The chambers of the Red Keep were dim, lit only by flickering candles that threw long, dancing shadows across the walls. Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers, sat hunched over a carved wooden table strewn with parchments, scrolls, and cryptic messages delivered by ravens and spies alike. His usually placid expression was troubled, his smooth face betraying the slightest hint of concern.
In his pale, slender hands, he held a small piece of parchment, its edges curled from the journey. HIs eyes moved swiftly across the words, absorbing each detail with practiced care. A faint sigh escaped his lips, heavy with the weight of the news he had just received.
"Astapor has fallen," he murmured softly, almost to himself. "And not to any ordinary conqueror, but to a girl. Hermione Misagaenys of Pentos… and dragons. Gryphons. And an army of freed slaves"
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. It was a tale that sounded too fantastic, too reminiscent of old legends and long-forgotten prophecies. But the reports from his little birds in Essos were rarely wrong. This was no idle rumor. Hermione Misagaenys had accomplished what no Westerosi lord had dared attempt in generations–she had struck down an entire city of slavers, and not gently.
"Fire and Blood," he whispered, the Targaryen words feeling bitter on his tongue. "It appears the Free Cities have given rise to a new power."
He sat back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly on the table. King Aerys II, his mind fractured and unpredictable, would surely see this as a threat– a girl with dragons was a haunting echo of his own house's storied past. And the younger Baratheons, ever restless, ever brash, would likely demand action against what he would undoubtedly see as a foreign danger.
Yet, Varys hesitated. He had spent his life preserving balance, guiding Westeros away from the precipice of chaos. He had long feared what a dragonlord reborn could mean. Was this girl the harbinger of doom, or something else entirely? A liberator who freed slaves was unlike the Targaryens who had conquered and ruled with fire. Now with gryphons… creatures of ancient lore, now ridden by warriors?
"This will set Westeros aflame," he murmured quietly. But perhaps it need not be so soon."
He carefully set the parchment aside, deciding to wait. Knowledge was power, and he was not yet ready to relinquish that power to a mad king or a war hungry lord. He would watch, listen, and learn before choosing his next move.
"Let us see who you truly are, Hermione Misagaenys," he said softly to the empty room. "And whether your flames will cleanse or consume."
Varys rose silently, slipping into the shadows, preparing his web of whispers. Westeros would hear of this eventually, but it would be on his terms.
In a grand chamber adorned with tapestries depicting ancient legends, Hermione stood before a tall gilded mirror, her expression serene yet thoughtful. Melissande, her advisor, and Melisandre, the enigmatic priestess, moved gracefully around her, each detail of her attire and appearance meticulously attended to with reverence.
Melissande selected a gown of deep midnight blue, crafted from luxurious silk from the distant lands of Yi Ti. It shimmered softly under the glow of candlelight, embroidered with delicate silver stars and intricate patterns that traced the constellations known to sailors, symbolizing guidance and clarity. The gown's sleeves were long and flowing, lined with fine silver lace. Its neckline modest, yet elegantly adorned with tiny sapphires that glittered like captured starlight.
"This gown will command both respect and admiration," Melissande said softly, adjusting the fall of the fabric. "It conveys wisdom, strength, and dignity– qualities you must embody tonight."
Melisandre approached holding a circlet of delicate silver, set with a single, radiant sapphire.
"The gem of the sea," she intoned softly, placing it gently atop Hermione's head. "It signifies your dominion over waters and men alike. Remember, my lady, every word spoken tonight carries weight far beyond this room."
As they prepared her hair, intricately braided with silver threads and tiny, shimmering pearls woven throughout, Melissande began to speak carefully.
"Envoys from the great houses of Westeros will attend. House Velaryon, represented by Lord Monford, is of particular importance. His support will secure your fleet, ensuring safety for Pentos and Astapor."
"Be wary," Melisandre interjected, her voice tinged with mystery. "All who attend tonight seek something from you. Your grace, your power, your favor. Keep them close, but your thoughts closer."
Hermione listened intently, absorbing their counsel. "Trust and caution," she mused aloud. "It is a delicate balance."
Melissande nodded solemnly. "You have allies among the Pentoshi, but remember, the Magisters hold many secrets. Speak wisely, promise little, yet imply much. Your goal tonight is to strengthen bonds, not forge chains."
"Indeed," Melisandre added, her red robes billowing gently as she moved. "Your words tonight will echo in history. Use them to inspire, to reassure, and to bind hearts."
Finally prepared, Hermione gazed once more into the mirror, seeing a princess of strength, grace and vision reflected back. She straightened her posture, feeling the weight of responsibility settle comfortably upon her shoulders.
"Then let us not keep them waiting," she said firmly, resolute. "Tonight, we secure our future."
As Hermione stepped from her chambers, her gown gliding softly over the polished marble floors, she moved with an air of regal grace through the grand corridors leading to the dining hall. Servants and attendants paused, their tasks momentarily forgotten, eyes widening in awe and admiration as they bowed deeply, whispering reverently among themselves. Hermione's calm gaze acknowledged their respect, reinforcing her presence as not only a ruler, but a symbol of hope and unity. Each step brought her closer to the feast where destiny awaited, the halls echoing softly with anticipation.
The grand hall in Pentos sparkled under the soft glow of countless candles and ornate lanterns, casting golden hues across marble columns and silk-draped walls. Tables overflowed with the finest delicacies– roasted meats seasoned with exotic spices, ripe fruits from distant lands, and sweetened wines from the fertile valleys of the Free Cities. Musicians played haunting melodies, their harps and lyres weaving an enchanting backdrop to the celebration.
Hermione, adorned in an elegant gown embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like moonlight, stood gracefully at the center of the gathering. She greeted each noble and envoy with poise, her warm smile and wise eyes winning immediate favor. Guests marveled at her stories of Astapor's transformation, listening intently as she spoke of freedom, prosperity and unity.
Upon reaching the top dias where the thrones laid bare, Hermione found Lord Monford seated in a place of honor among the envoys. As the feast continued, she motioned subtly for him to join her in a more private alcove, where the flickering candle light reflected off the golden goblets and polished wood of the table. She reached into her beaded bag, her fingers searching through its enchanted depths, and withdrew a miniature baroque ship, its sails unfurled in stunning detail, the craftsmanship exquisite.
Monford's eyes widened as he took in the delicate masterpiece.
"This… is remarkable," he murmured, running a hand over the smooth wooden hull.
"A ship of vision, yet tangible in form. What is it you wish to propose, Lady Hermione?"
Hermione leaned in slightly, her voice a hushed but confident whisper.
"A fleet, Lord Monford. A fleet unlike any before, one that will not only secure Pentos and Astapor but establish a dominion over the seas. This model represents the vision I have in mind– swift, agile, and capable of carrying not just warriors but trade, forging an empire of influence. I discovered this among the ruins of Valyria, the place where I was born, and I have many more such treasures. The ship itself is much grander, but I used my magic to shrink it for easy travel. If your shipwrights can replicate these designs, we can build something truly magnificent."
Monford studied her, intrigue and calculation flickering across his sharp features.
"Such ambition is not without cost. Ships of this caliber require skilled hands, resources, and above all, commitment. What will House Velaryon gain in return for this venture?"
Hermione smiled, her fingers tracing the hull of the miniature vessel.
"Exclusive rights to the most profitable ports in the east. A fleet to rival even the Ironborn, a name that will be whispered in both Westeros and Essos as the true master of the waves. I am also aware of the struggles your house has faced since the Dance of Dragons. The waning power in the courts of Westeros. I remember well the words of Calyaris Velaryon at the ball we attended– his promise of a bond of allies between our houses. Aid me in building this fleet, and I will aid you in restoring the Velaryon name to the greatness it once commanded. We will not simply endure– we will rule the seas together."
The Velaryon lord nodded slowly, clearly considering the weight of her words.
"You have given me much to ponder, Lady Hermione. Perhaps, together, we shall make history upon these waters."
Hermione raised her goblet slightly, a silent toast to the possibilities ahead.
"Then let us chart the course of the future together."
Rising smoothly from her seat, Hermione offered Lord Monford a final knowing glance before turning toward the ballroom doors. The echoes of laughter and the steady hum of conversation awaited her. As she stepped back into the opulent hall, a few of the gathered lords and ladies turned their heads, curiosity and admiration shining in their eyes. The music swelled once more, and with a graceful nod, she resumed her place at the heart of the celebration, where the nights true dance of power and diplomacy would continue.
Soon after her return, whispers among the visiting dignitaries from beyond Pentos began to rise. Their curiosity, it seemed, would not be satisfied with words alone. A bold envoy from Volantis stepped forward, bowing with exaggerated deference.
"Princess, the wonders of your rule are spoken of across the seas, but words pale in comparison to proof. Might we be graced with a glimpse of the legendary creatures that guard your domain? A gryphon, perhaps? One of your own mighty dragons?"
Hermione's fingers curled around the stem of her goblet, her mind already slipping into the depths where her bond with her hatchlings lay. The mental tether, ever present, pulsed with awareness as her thoughts reached outward, brushing against the consciousness of her creatures.
You are safe, little ones. There is no need to wake.
A sharp response, bright as firelight, curled through her mind.
Danger? Hunger? Blood? The youngest, ever eager, stirred first, his thoughts wild and unbridled. The others followed, shadows in her thoughts, coiled and patient.
No. Not Yet, Hermione assured them, even as part of her wrestled with the temptation. A demonstration would silence doubts. It would prove her strength, her dominion over the beasts that no other dared to command. And yet– was it dominion, or something else entirely?
Memories flickered, moments spent with her creatures, the way they moved, their instincts raw and untamed. They were no mere spectacles, no trophies to parade before foreign dignitaries. They were creatures of sky and flame, bound to no chains but the ones they chose.
Her jaw tightened as she returned to the present, lifting her gaze to the Volantene envoy, who waited expectantly. A few other lords and ladies leaned forward, intrigue shining in their eyes. Would she indulge them? Would she feed their hunger for awe?
Slowl, Hermione stood, the rustle of her silken gown breaking the silence.
"You wish to see my creatures," she mused, her voice quiet but carrying the weight of steel."You think them wonders to behold, to be tamed, to be controlled." She let the words settle before stepping forward, the candlelight casting sharp shadows across her face.
"You mistake them," she continued, her tone a touch softer, yet unmistakable firm. "They are not playthings for courts nor pets for display. They are power. They are fire. They are fury. To gaze upon them is to understand what it means to respect the forces beyond your control."
She let silence fall, watching as uncertainty flickered in the envoy's expression. Then, with deliberate purpose, she turned toward the towering windows that overlooked the darkened courtyards beyond. A whisper of a thought, a mere brush against the minds that waited beyond the walls.
A flicker of movement– a pair of silhouettes darting across the moonlit sky, wings cutting sharply against the darkness. Gasps rippled through the gathered dignitaries as they caught sight of them, the creatures gliding effortlessly on the night air, their iridescent scales catching just enough light to shimmer like falling stars.
Murmurs swelled among the guests, excitement mingled with unease. A woman from Lys clutched at her companion's arm, while a Norovoshi lord leaned forward, his goblet forgotten, eyes wide in wonder. The Volantene envoy himself tilted his head slightly, the initial smugness in his expression tempered by something more contemplative.
Hermione let them watch, let them take in the fleeting moment before turning back to the room.
"You have seen them," she stated, her voice calm. "But they are not yet beasts of war, nor prizes for amusement. They are growing, learning– understanding their place in the world. One day, their shadows may darken the skies of those who dare provoke us. But that day is not today."
She took another measured breath before allowing a small, knowing smile.
"However, if it is a closer look you seek, I will grant you this much. One of my gryphons is in the eastern courtyard. You may witness its majesty, if you wish."
Relief and anticipation flickered across the envoy's face.
"A generous offer, princess. I would be honored."
"Then let us go and see what true power looks like up close."
With a graceful motion, Hermione extended her arm toward the entrance to the courtyard. As the doors swung open, the night air carried with a crisp chill, laced with the faint scent of damp stone and distant sea salt. The dignitaries followed, their hushed murmurs trailing behind them as they stepped onto the wide stone pathway leading to the courtyard. Torches flickered along the walls, casting long, shifting shadows across the ground.
Sirius was the first to appear from the far side of the courtyard, his imposing figure cutting through the dim torchlight. His sharp eyes swept across the gathered guests before his gaze settled on Hermione, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Quite the show, Starling," he murmured, using the affectionate nickname he picked up after the dragons hatching.
Beside him, Lythene walked with a poised intensity, her gaze shifting between Hermione and the approaching guests.
"All is ready, your Highness," she said smoothly.
Hermione nodded, her expression unreadable as she turned her attention toward the massive enclosure ahead. The air thrummed with restrained energy, a deep and knowing stillness settling over the space. Then, from the darkness beyond, a ripple of motion– a powerful silhouette shifting in the torchlight.
After the gryphon's display of majesty and the dignitaries' awe-filled observations, Sirius stepped beside Hermione, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"Are we ready to return to your ball, or shall I find another excuse for you to stay away?"
"Tempting, but I suppose I must face them again." A ghost of a smile played on her lips.
As they turned back toward the ballroom, Lythene falling into step beside them, Hermione cast a glance over her shoulder at the gryphon.
"They expected a spectacle," she murmured. "Instead, they received a lesson."
Sirius chuckled. "And yet, they still hunger for more."
They reentered the grand hall, the music and lively chatter resuming its hold. As Hermione took her place once more among the dignitaries, she knew the night's true conversations were only beginning.
The grand ball continued in a swirl of opulence, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and blooming nightflowers. The chandeliers overhead cast golden light upon the polished marble floors, where nobles and dignitaries wove through intricate dances, their silks shimmering with every turn. Laughter, the tinkling of goblets, and the quiet murmurs of courtly intrigue filled with the vast hall as the evening stretched on.
Sirius stood near the arched entrance, his sharp gaze ever-watchful as he nursed a goblet of fire wine. He had always disliked these kinds of gatherings– too many false smiles, too many well-dressed vipers hiding behind their jeweled finery. He sighed, rolling the stem of his goblet between his fingers, just as a noble lord from Myr, a man of middling years but extravagant wealth, approached him with a calculated smile.
"Lord Sirius," the Myrish noble began, dipping his head in a show of respect. "A most splendid evening, is it not? Your Lady Hermione has truly outshone all in attendance. She is, without question, the jewel of this court."
Sirius arched a brow, already sensing where this was headed. He took a slow sip of his wine, his silence inviting the noble to continue.
The man cleared his throat and straightened his extravagant cuffs.
"It is precisely this radiance, this… undeniable grace, that compels me to speak. I have a son, a fine young man, well-bred, well-educated, and poised to inherit substantial holdings in Myr. A match between him and the Princess would be most advantageous. Imagine, a bond between Myr and her dominion– trade, security, influence."
Sirius let the words hang between them for a long, deliberate moment, his expression unreadable. He had heard these proposals before, whispered by ambitious lords who saw Hermione as a key to power rather than the force she was in her own right. HIs lips curled into a humorless smile.
"A generous offer," he said, voice smooth, yet carrying an unmistakable edge. "And tell me, High Prince, does your son share even a fraction of Hermione's will? Her fire? Does he command the skies as she does? Or would he merely seek to dim her brilliance beneath the weight of politics?"
The Myrish noble hesitated, clearly taken aback by the pointed response. Before he could muster an answer, Lythene approached, her presence striking as always. Dressed in dark silks, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, she gave the noble a slow, appraising look.
"You seek to tether a dragon, High Prince," she said cooly, her voice a melodic contrast to the underlying steel in her words. "Such creatures do not take kindly to cages, no matter how gilded."
The noble shifted uncomfortably, glancing between Sirius and Lythene. He forced a chuckle, as if to brush away their words as playful banter.
"Ah, of course, of course. Merely a thought– one must consider all possibilities in these ever-changing times."
Sirius leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "A thought best left to the wisest of men."
The noble dipped his head once more, his smile now strained, before excusing himself into the sea of revelers. As he disappeared, Lythene smirked, taking Sirius's goblet and sipping from it as though she were the one who had just endured the exchange.
"They never learn," she murmured, glancing toward the ballroom where Hermione stood, her presence effortless yet commanding.
Sirius exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
"No, they don't. But they will."
As the ball drew to a close, Hermione moved through the room with effortless grace, exchanging final words with esteemed guests before making her way toward the grand staircase. The soft glow of candlelight followed her as she ascended, flanked by a pair of trusted guards. Upon reaching her chambers, she exhaled slowly, allowing the weight of the evening to settle upon her shoulders. The gown, heavy with intricate embroidery, slid from her form as attendants moved to prepare her for rest. Yet sleep did not come easily; her mind raced with the night's events, the whispers of political maneuvering, and the implications of alliances yet to be forged.
The following morning, Hermione rose before dawn, the cool touch of the marble floors grounding her as she stepped toward the balcony. The sun had yet to fully rise, painting the sky in hues of violet and gold. A new day, another test of her resolve.
Her attendants dressed her in garments suited for the meetings ahead– a deep rubied gown, woven from the finest Myrish silk, its bodice adorned with golden embroidery in the shape of cascading waves, a subtle nod to the maritime interests of the visiting dignitaries. A belt of delicate gold filigree cinched at her waist, while a matching cloak, lined with plush velvet, trailed behind her. Her hair, often left untamed in the comfort of her own chambers, was arranged in intricate braids interwoven with fine silver chains, signifying both elegance and power.
The grand hall of the Pentoshi palace was alive with murmurs of anticipation. The high ceilings, adorned with banners of red and gold, bore witness to a gathering unlike any before. This was no simple courtly session; not a discussion of trade or a hearing of grievances. It was a declaration of intent, a shift in power that would shake the very foundations of Slaver's Bay. It was the moment the world would shift beneath their feet. The princess who conquers had summoned her court, both high and low, and none among them knew what was to come.
Hermione sat upon the high throne beside Sirius, her gaze sharp and unwavering. The golden light from the hanging braziers reflected off the intricate embroidery of her deep crimson gown. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his fingers interlocked in silent contemplation, his posture exuding authority. Lythene stood just behind them, arms crossed, her silver hair catching the flickering candlelight.
Before them stood a mix of Pentoshi nobility, merchants, military commanders and envoys from the weeks long celebration of the liberated Astapor. The other half of the room was filled with the people's court– freedmen, soldiers, farmers, and artisans. All had gathered to hear their rulers speak, to understand the direction of their empire.
When Hermione rose, the murmurs died. Silence stretched across the great hall, thick with anticipation.
"We have secured Pentos," she began, her voice even but carrying throughout the chamber. "We have a standing army, we have freed Astapor from it's chains and we are building a fleet. We have proven to the world that we are not weak, that we do not falter in the face of tyranny." She let the words settle before she took another step forward, her hands resting lightly on the gilded edge of the dias.
"But the work is unfinished."
The silence did not last long. Gasps rippled through the noble side of the hall. Murmurs rose in protest.
Lord Deltario, an aging noble with decades of wealth tied to the Free Cities took an uneasy step forward.
"Princess-Regent, surely you do not mean–"
"I do." Hermione cut him off, her tone sharp. "Yunkai and Meereen remain in the hands of those who see our victories as temporary. They mock us as usurpers, yet they sell men like cattle. They call us conquerors, yet they have built their empires on the bones of the suffering. I will not stand idle while our enemies sharpen their knives and grow fat from their trade in flesh."
A sharp intake of breath came from several nobles. A merchant, Selya, folded her arms and shook her head.
"This is war beyond war, Princess. Astapor was a risk, but this? Yunkai and Meereen have gold, armies, allies. If we take them, the Free Cities will take notice. Volantis has long invested in the slave trade; they will not sit idly by."
Sirius leaned forward, his voice measured but unrelenting.
"And yet, if we do nothing, they will rise again. They will rebuild their slave markets, rearm their forces, and see us as weak. We are not weak. We are an empire in the making." His eyes swept across the chamber. "We shall have a fleet hat rivals the Free Cities, our gryphons darken the skies and our army grows stronger by the day. If we hesitate, we invite doubt. If we act, we strike before they have the chance to resist."
"This is no mere campaign," Hermione continued, her voice ringing with finality. "We will not simply conquer. We will break them. And from the ashes, we will forge something greater than the Free Cities, greater than Volantis, greater than the masters of old." Her gaze swept across the room, lingering on both the nobles and the people's court. "I do not seek to merely take Yunkai and Meereen– I will establish an empire free of chains, an empire where no man, woman or child is born in servitude. House Misagaenys will not rule over slavers; we will end them."
The chamber erupted.
Some of the nobles balked, their voices raised in protest. Others whispered hurriedly amongst themselves, struggling to grasp the weight of what had just been spoken. But it was the people's court that roared with approval. Soldiers slammed their fists against their chests. Freedmen shouted their agreement, their voices raw with emotion. A man, with his hands calloused from years spent in the mines of Yunkai, stepped forward, tears brimming in his eyes.
"I was born in chains," he said, his voice trembling but defiant. "My children were born free because of you. There are thousands like me, waiting, hoping." His gaze swept over the nobles before locking onto Hermione. "You speak of war, but you also speak of justice. If you fight, we fight with you."
A roar of agreement followed, echoing through the hall like thunder.
Lythene let out a quiet chuckle as she observed the division within the room, her voice smooth as silk when she spoke.
"They did not expect this, my lady. They thought you would be satisfied with Pentos, with Astapor." She turned toward the nobles. "Tell me, did you truly believe she would stop at a single victory? That she would be content with a single city while the world still rots under old power?"
Lord Deltario swallowed hard. "The cost–"
"The cost of inaction is greater," Sirius interrupted coldly.
Hermione stepped forward one last time. "I am not asking for permission." Her voice was soft, yet it cut through the chaos like a blade. "I am telling you what comes next. House Misagaenys does not beg. It does not yield. We forge. We build. We free. And we do not turn back."
The hall fell into a stunned silence. The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, knowing they had no choice but to fall in line. The people, however, had already decided.
A chant began– low at first, then rising, sweeping through the chamber.
"Misagaenys! Misagaenys! Misagaenys!"
Hermione turned to Sirius, then to Lythene. She let the sound wash over her, let the weight of the moment settle in her bones. Then she spoke the words that would mark the beginning of their next conquest.
"Then it is decided. We shall sail for Yunkai at the end of the year."
Hermione Granger leaned against the balustrade of the manse's balcony, staring out at the sprawling city of Pentos. The sea sparkled in the distance, its salty breeze doing little to ease her mood. She sighed deeply, inhaling the mingling scents of citrus blossoms and roasting meats wafting up from the streets below. It had been over a year since she had found herself stranded in this part of Essos, and while the city had its charms, she was reaching the end of her rope.
Behind her, Sirius lounged on a cushioned chair, boots propped up on the balcony rail and an exotic drink in hand.
"You know, for someone who always preached about appreciating other cultures, you're doing an awful lot of complaining," he teased.
Hermione shot him a glare over her shoulder. "Sirius, I've tried. I have. I gave the firewine a chance– burned the inside of my mouth. I tried the fermented crab stew– got food poisoning. I even attempted to make friends with those horrid little Pentoshi pastries, and they turned out to be stuffed with pigeon liver! If I have to eat one more bizarre dish, I'm going to scream."
Sirius smirked. "Ah, the great Hermione Misagaenys, defeated by a plate of pigeon liver. Never thought I'd see the day."
"I'm serious! Don't you DARE say it!" Hermione snapped, stomping her way over to him. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had a proper Sunday roast? Treacle tart? Or even–" Her voice cracked. "Even a jammy dodger?"
Sirius burst out laughing, nearly spilling his drink. "A jammy dodger? That's what's breaking you? I thought you were made of sterner stuff."
Hermione flopped into the chair beside him, burying her face in her hands. "You don't get it Sirius. It's not just the food. It's the normalcy of it. A year of honeyed goat and fermented whatever– they don't even have tea, Sirius! Tea!"
Sirius tilted his head pretending to ponder. "No tea, huh? That's rough. But I think I'm coping pretty well." He gestured dramatically to the tray beside him, which held a glass of firewine, a plate of roasted snake skewers, and a bowl of pickled locusts. "I've embraced the Pentosian lifestyle, Hermione. Maybe you should try it."
Hermione stared at him horrified. "You're eating locusts?"
"Don't knock it till you try it," Sirius said, popping one into his mouth with a smug grin. "Crunchy, slightly nutty. Honestly, not bad."
She groaned. "You've gone native on me Snuffles. I can't believe it. You, whom once refused to eat Molly Weasly's casserole because it looked 'suspicious' are now snacking on bugs."
He shrugged. "Adapt or starve, Kitten."
Hermione stood abruptly and began pacing the balcony, her frustration boiling over. "I've adapted enough! I've endured their flatbreads, their bizarre fascination with pigeons and that one time they tried to serve me fried jellyfish. I just… I just want a biscuit, Sirius. Is that so much to ask?"
"Technically," Sirius said, leaning back lazily, "it's not just a biscuit. It's our biscuit. And yes, apparently, it is too much to ask. Welcome to Essos."
Hermione stopped pacing, staring wistfully out at the horizon. "Do you think they even know what shepherd's pie is here? Or a Cornish pasty. Or bangers and mash?"
Sirius took another sip of his firewine, raising an eyebrow. "You're spiraling, Hermione."
"And custard," she continued, ignoring him. "Gods, I miss custard. Why does everything here have to be stuffed with figs and honey? Can't they just serve something bland for once?"
Sirius snorted. "Only you would complain about food being too flavorful."
Hermione whirled around, pointing at him accusingly "You're not helping."
"I'm trying," he said innocently, holding up the bowl of locusts. "Want one? They're high in protein."
Hermione glared at him so hard he nearly choked on his laugh. "If you offer me one more insect, Sirius, I will hex you into next week."
He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, Alright! No need for wands, kitten. Look, if it's that bad, why don't we just… I don't know, make some British food ourselves?"
Hermione blinked. "What?"
"You know," Sirius said, sitting up. "Get some flour, some butter– whatever the Pentoshi version of that is– and make something. How hard can it be?"
Hermione stared at him, a spark of hope lighting in her eyes. "You'd help me?"
"Of course," Sirius said with a grin. "Though I can't promise it won't end in disaster."
She sighed, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. "Disaster or not, it can't be worse than a honeyed goat."
Sirius stood, clapping her on the back. "That's the spirit! Now, let's raid the kitchen and see what these Pentoshi call 'ingredients'. If we're lucky, they might even have something that resembles pepperjack."
The scent of herbs and sizzling meat filled the dimly lit kitchen, a far cry from the grand feasts of the palace. The flickering lanterns cast long shadows against the stone walls, illuminating the quiet laughter of two figures moving about in secrecy.
Sirius, sleeves rolled up, stood over a steaming pot, stirring carefully as Hermione kneaded dough at the worn wooden table beside him. The flicker of a smirk crossed her face as she watched him struggle to keep the fire from flaring too high.
"You're burning it," she teased, dusting flour off her hands.
Sirius shot her a look. "I am not." He leaned closer, inspecting the bubbling stew. "It's called browning. It adds flavor."
She leaned in, sniffed, and scrunched her nose. "It smells scorched."
"It smells rich." He gave her a playful shove with his hip, and she let out a quiet laugh, pressing her hands back into the dough. It was a rare moment of peace. No court, no generals, no advisors– just the two of them, stealing a sliver of normalcy in the dead of night.
For a while, the only sound was the crackling fire and the rhythmic tapping of her fingers against the table. Then, as she worked the dough into shape, she spoke, her voice quieter than before.
"Sirius."
He glanced at her, noting the shift in her tone. "Yes?"
She didn't look up from her hands. "You and Lythene. Are you… serious?"
Sirius stilled for just a moment before settling the wooden spoon down. He wiped his hands against his tunic, considering his answer.
"She challenges me," he said finally. "Keeps me from becoming too comfortable."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Hermione's lips. "That sounds like her."
"She's sharp. Fierce. More than capable." He exhaled softly, glancing toward the narrow window where the moonlight streamed in. "But I don't know if she'd want marriage. Or if I would, for that matter."
Hermione studied him, her expression unreadable. "You think she'd leave?"
"She was born into war," Sirius murmured. "Raised in it, molded by it. If the world ever became still, if peace truly lasted, I think she'd have to learn to be someone else." He turned to her then, eyes steady. "You've seen how she is. She's at home when she's moving, when she's fighting. I don't know if she'd ever settle."
"And if she did?" Hermione asked, voice softer now.
He tilted his head slightly, a small chuckle escaping him. "Then I suppose I'd have no choice but to keep up."
Hermione smiled, though something flickered behind her gaze. "And where does that leave me?"
"What do you mean?" Sirius frowned.
She let out a slow breath, brushing her flour-dusted hands against her tunic. "One day, you'll have your own path. A wife, a family. And Lythene– if she stays, that's hers to decide. But I wonder… where will I end up?"
Sirius watched her for a long moment before shaking his head. "Hermione, you are building something no one else has dared to dream of. You don't just have a place– you are the reason this place exists."
She let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. "That sounds like a grand way of saying I'll always belong to my throne."
He sighed, stepping around the table to face her properly.
"You belong to yourself," he corrected. "No throne, no fleet, no kingdom can claim you if you don't let it."
She met his gaze then, something unspoken passing between them. Then Sirius smirked slightly and added, "And even if I were to marry Lythene, you would always come first."
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by his sincerity.
"You're my daughter," he continued, his voice warm but firm. "That doesn't change just because my life might shift. And besides, you and Lythene–if you gave yourselves the time– you'd adore each other. I know it. You're too similar not to."
Hermione exhaled softly, her expression unreadable, before finally nodding.
"Then I suppose we'll have to get to know each other better."
"That's the spirit." Sirius grinned.
She shook her head and turned back to the dough. "I suppose that's a question for another day."
Sirius nodded, picking up the wooden spoon once more. "Well, until then, let's see if we can at least make something edible before someone finds us and drags us back to our duties."
Hermione smirked. "No promises."
The late afternoon sun bathed the half-constructed halls of the Academy in golden light, casting long shadows over the carved stone walls and wooden scaffolding. Hermione walked at a steady pace, her hands folded behind her back, while Lythene strode beside her, her sharp gaze sweeping over the apprentices working tirelessly under the guidance of seasoned shipwrights.
A few paces ahead of them, perched atop a half-built balcony, one of Hermione's dragon hatchlings stretched its wings lazily before snapping them shut again. Her dark scales gleamed in the light, hints of deep crimson flashing as she shifted. Lythene tilted her head, watching as the young dragon eyed the workers below with something between curiosity and idle hunger.
"They're getting big," Lythene commented, her tone almost casual. "I remember when they barely had the strength to flap."
Hermione smiled slightly, reaching out to scratch beneath the hatchling's jaw. It trilled softly, leaning into her touch before huffing in satisfaction.
"They are," she agreed, watching as the young dragon turned its gaze to the open sky. "Soon, I think they'll start hunting on their own."
Lythene crossed her arms, watching the creature carefully. "That'll be a sight. Watching something that powerful figure out what it's capable of."
Hermione glanced at her, detecting something in her tone that felt oddly familiar. She turned her attention back to the academy, where the apprentices chiseled intricate runes into wooden panels.
"That's what I want for them. And for the students here. To give them the means to build something greater than themselves. To become something greater."
Lythene smirked. "Sounds familiar."
Hermione exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Maybe."
A comfortable silence stretched between them as they continued walking. Workers nodded their greetings as they passed, and the sounds of chisels and saws filled the air. Hermione found herself feeling strangely at ease– until Lythene spoke again.
"You know," Lythene began, rolling her shoulders, "when you were off securing Astapor, there were a few men trying to pressure Sirius into a political marriage."
Hermione's brow furrowed slightly, turning toward her. "They tried to force his hand?"
Lythene let out a short laugh.
"Not force, exactly, but push. Make him see reason, as they called it. A king needs a queen, they said. And they had plenty of candidates lined up." she shrugged. "I was the one who helped him hold them off. Kept them at bay while he figured things out."
Hermione's steps slowed. "You helped him?"
Lythene nodded. "At first, it was strategy. Buying him time. Then, well… feelings caught up." She glanced at Hermione. "And here we are."
Hermione was quiet for a moment, mulling over the words. It made sense– Sirius was no fool, and he wouldn't have let just anyone manipulate his future. And Lythene? She had never been the type to let anyone back her into a corner.
"So," Lythene continued, nudging Hermione's arm, "you've spent all this time worrying about where you'll fit in. But let me ask you something– has anyone caught your eye?"
Hermione blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Lythene smirked, clearly enjoying the sudden shift. "You heard me. You're a princess, a conqueror, a force to be reckoned with. Surely there's someone out there who's made you pause."
Hermione scoffed, shaking her head. "I've been a little busy freeing cities, Lythene."
"Uh-huh," Lythene teased. "Still doesn't answer my question."
Hermione sighed, though there was the barest hint of amusement tugging at her lips.
"I suppose that's a question for another day."
Lythene chuckled. "I'll hold you to that."
The two of them continued their walk through the academy, side by side as the foundations of something unspoken began to take root between them.
Okay, this is likely going to be the only post for the next couple of weeks. Unfortunately, I had to put down my sweet furbaby early this morning and I am absolutely devastated. I'll still be working and writing on this story behind the scenes but it's just not the same with my cat purring on my lap.
Reviews would be greatly appreciated! And I havent read ACOTAR in quite some time, but I am looking into how I would write one OhHysteria. In the meantime, I'll be looking into making an account and transferring my work there!