Essos Conquest 5

Screams filled the night.

The first victims were the city guards, foolish enough to hold their ground. The Dothraki cut them down like grass, their arakhs slicing flesh and bone as they rode through the market districts and the rich avenues where the Magisters lived.

At the Magisters' manors, the fighting was fiercest.

Some hired swords tried to resist, but they were no match for seasoned Dothraki warriors. Soon, the streets ran red, bodies piling near the gates of their palatial estates.

Gold, silk, spices, and wine were dragged from the lavish halls, carried off as spoils of war.

A few Magisters tried to flee, scrambling for hidden tunnels or bribing their guards, but there was no escape.

The dragons circled overhead, their roars drowning out the cries of the dying.

All the while, Aegon did not move.

He remained seated upon his black stallion, watching the city burn, his expression unreadable.

Daenerys stood beside him, wrapped in a thick fur cloak. Her violet eyes flickered with the light of the inferno, her face torn between awe and unease.

"You're smiling," she murmured.

Aegon glanced at her.

"Am I?"

She nodded.

"You enjoy this," she said, not accusingly, but as a statement of fact.

Aegon did not deny it.

"I enjoy winning," he replied. "I enjoy watching my enemies kneel. Is that so different from what you once wished for?"

Daenerys hesitated, memories of Viserys's dreams of conquest creeping into her mind.

But this was not Viserys.

Viserys had been weak, a boy who boasted of his power but had none.

Aegon was power incarnate.

Above them, Illyrio fell to his knees, staring in horror at the city he had once ruled from the shadows.

His ships were gone.

His wealth was being looted.

His allies were burning in their homes.

He looked down at Aegon again.

The young conqueror sat there, serene and untouched, surrounded by an army of killers, his three dragons soaring through the flames.

As the night stretched on, the sack of Pentos continued.

Aegon sat silent and watchful, his purple eyes reflecting the inferno.

The scent of smoke and blood thickened the air as Aegon waited.

Before him, four Dothraki bloodriders dragged a struggling, trembling Illyrio Mopatis across the bloodstained ground, his fine silks torn and soaked in sweat.

The once-proud Magister of Pentos was barely recognizable; his face was red and puffed from crying, and his many chins quivered as he pleaded.

"M-My prince!" Illyrio choked out as he was thrown at Aegon's feet. "Please, I am your loyal servant! I have always...."

Aegon tilted his head, watching him with cold amusement.

"My loyal servant?" he repeated, his voice mocking.

Illyrio nodded furiously, his hands grasping at Aegon's boots.

Aegon's purple eyes gleamed.

He lifted his right hand, fingers flexing.

A hush fell over the bloodriders, their dark eyes watching closely. They had seen Aegon wield his fire before, but they never tired of watching gods walk among men.

Illyrio flinched, sensing something terrible.

"My prince, please!" he sobbed. "I can still be of use! I have gold! I have knowledge! I can...."

Aegon sighed.

"I gave you a chance," he said, almost gently.

Then, he snapped his fingers.

Flames burst from his palm, roaring to life like a living beast. 

Illyrio's screams ripped through the square as the fire consumed him.

He thrashed, his body collapsing, his flesh melting away.

The smell of burning fat and silk filled the air as the Magister of Pentos, one of the richest men in Essos, was reduced to nothing but blackened bone and ashes.

Aegon did not watch.

He simply turned away, his black cloak billowing behind him as he mounted his black stallion.

As Aegon entered the ruins of Pentos, the streets were painted red.

The bodies of slain soldiers and magisters littered the ground, blood pooling in the cracks of the stone roads.

The common people hid in the shadows of broken homes, their wide, terrified eyes watching the riders pass.

Aegon paid them no mind.

His stallion's hooves splashed through the blood, but he remained unbothered, his expression impassive.

This was war. This was conquest.

And soon, the world would learn to kneel.

Beside him, Daenerys rode in silence, her violet eyes flickering between Aegon and the ruined city.

Aegon had not destroyed Pentos blindly.

He had taken exactly what he needed, had burned only what was necessary, and had left the rest intact.

He was no mad king, no bloodthirsty savage.

He was a dragon with purpose.

And that's even more terrifying.

Aegon pulled his horse to a stop before one of the grandest estates a fortified palace of pale marble, its great doors flanked by silver dragon statues.

It would do.

He turned to his bloodriders.

"Secure the palace," he ordered. "No one enters unless I allow it."

Baqo and Rakarro nodded, immediately riding ahead to claim the stronghold.

Aegon turned to Daenerys.

"You will stay here," he told her.

Daenerys frowned. "And you?"

"I have a city to rule."

Her gaze flickered with something unreadable. But she did not argue.

Aegon dismounted, stepping forward and handing Maegor, his son, to her. The child slept soundly, his silver hair barely visible beneath the thick furs.

Daenerys cradled the boy, looking down at him.

"You are leaving him with me?" she asked.

Aegon's purple eyes were sharp, piercing.

"He is your son now, too."

The words hung between them, heavy and undeniable.

Slowly, Daenerys nodded.

Aegon turned to his remaining bloodriders.

"Patrol the streets," he commanded. "Guard the gates. Kill any who resist."

The Dothraki roared their obedience, spurring their horses in different directions.

Aegon exhaled, turning back to Daenerys.

"I will return before dawn."

Then, without another word, he turned and strode back into the dying city.

The night was far from over.

And Aegon had work to do.