Essos Conquest 3

The journey was swift, the horde moving like a storm across the land, their destination set. The city of Pentos loomed on the horizon, the distant sight of high walls and red-roofed palaces growing larger with each passing day.

Daenerys rode beside Aegon, the wind whipping through her silver hair. The black dragon Balerion, her dragon curled against her shoulders, content and watchful.

As the sun began to set, she turned to Aegon.

"Do you plan to take the city with dragonfire?"

Aegon did not look at her immediately, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. Then, after a moment, he exhaled.

"It is not my first choice."

His voice was calm, and measured.

Daenerys frowned slightly.

"And if they resist?"

Aegon finally turned his gaze to her. His expression was unreadable, but the promise in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Then I will burn Pentos to the ground if I need to."

Daenerys felt her breath hitch.

There was no hesitation in his words. No empty threats, no foolish boasts.

He would do it.

The air between them grew heavier. The city loomed in the distance, its fate still unwritten.

But one thing was certain.

Aegon Targaryen had come.

And Pentos would bow… or burn.

The walls of Pentos loomed tall and imposing, their ancient stones bathed in the dying light of the setting sun. From a distance, the city still looked untouched, pristine but within, there was only fear.

Outside the gates, the Storm of the East had arrived.

Aegon's horde stretched endlessly, their numbers vast, their banners fluttering in the evening breeze. Thousands of Dothraki warriors sat atop their horses, silent and waiting, their blades glinting under the fading sky.

And above them…

Three colossal shadows darkened the heavens.

Bahamut, Igneel, and Albion circled lazily, their roars echoing across the land, reminding Pentos of the power that now stood at their gates.

Magister Illyrio Mopatis sat in his lavish palace, his massive form sweating despite the cool night air. His chin quivered as he downed another goblet of wine, his mind racing.

"He's here…" he whispered.

Aegon Targaryen had come.

Illyrio was not a brave man, but he was a practical one. And practical men survived wars.

A group of nervous Pentoshi nobles had gathered in his chamber, their faces pale, their hands trembling.

"We must surrender," one of them croaked.

"No," another hissed, fear tightening his voice. "If we surrender, we are at his mercy! The Targaryens have returned, and this one does not look as… forgiving or as foolish as Daenerys and her brother."

Illyrio's mind worked quickly. He had once planned to use Aegon when he had first heard the rumors of him in the Dothraki sea, to set him on a path against Westeros. But now…

The Dragon had outgrown its leash.

Illyrio set down his goblet and stood. His fat fingers wiped the sweat from his brow as he turned to the gathered men.

"We will not surrender," he announced.

The nobles flinched.

"We cannot fight him!" one of them cried. "He has three dragons!"

Illyrio smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.

"And that is why we will not fight," he said smoothly. "We will do what Pentos does best."

"We will bargain."

The great gates of Pentos remained sealed, the city's soldiers standing atop the walls, gripping their weapons tightly.

They watched as the Dothraki horde shifted restlessly, their leader at the front.

Aegon Targaryen sat atop a black stallion, his purple eyes fixed on the city. His armor was black, trimmed with crimson, and at his hip a sword.

Beside him, Daenerys rode her silver mare, Balerion curled around her shoulders, its tiny body shifting as its bright red eyes observed the world.

The dragons above roared, the air thick with tension.

Then, a voice called out from the walls.

"Prince Aegon!"

The large gates remained shut, but from above, Illyrio Mopatis appeared, flanked by two nervous-looking Pentoshi guards.

The Magister's fine robes were drenched in sweat, but he forced a smile.

"It is an honor to see you again, my friend."

Aegon did not move.

"Open the gates." His voice was calm, but the weight behind it was like a blade pressing against a throat.

Illyrio swallowed hard.

"I am afraid that… is not an option."

Aegon tilted his head slightly.

"Not an option?"

Illyrio spread his hands, his rings glinting.

"Pentos is a city of merchants, my prince. We do not seek war. But we will not bow to a conqueror, not even one of royal blood."

Silence.

Aegon's cold gaze remained locked on Illyrio, unblinking.

"Then I will take your city by force."

Illyrio grimaced but did not panic. Instead, he lifted his hands in a placating gesture.

"There is no need for such unpleasantness," he said smoothly. "Instead of bloodshed, we offer you something else....gold, food, and ships to take your war elsewhere."

Daenerys' expression darkened beside Aegon, and a murmur ran through the Dothraki.

Illyrio pressed on quickly.

"I have long been a friend to House Targaryen," he continued. "And I still wish to be! But Pentos will not fight you, nor will it surrender. Instead, we offer you wealth, enough to fund your war in Westeros."

Aegon said nothing, but his dragons stirred overhead, sensing his mood.

Bahamut let out a deep rumbling growl, and the soldiers on the walls flinched.

Illyrio smiled, though his face remained tense.

"Take our gold, Aegon. Take our ships. And leave Pentos untouched."

Silence stretched between them.

The horde waited.

The city waited.

And Aegon did not answer.

Not yet.