The Gathering Storm
The winds of war stirred across Essos.
With Volantis secured, Daenerys knew she could not linger. She had torn down the old order, but the Free Cities would not submit willingly. The rulers of Myr, Lys, and Pentos had already declared war, seeing her as a threat to their power and wealth.
And they were right to be afraid.
Daenerys stood atop the Black Walls of Volantis, gazing at the horizon. The Rhoyne shimmered in the morning sun, and beyond it lay the cities that still profited from slavery.
She would break them. One by one.
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The Council of War
Inside the Great Temple of R'hllor, the war council gathered. Tyrion, Grey Worm, Ser Barristan, Varys, Missandei, and several commanders of the freedmen army stood around a massive map of Essos.
Tyrion tapped a goblet against the map, pointing at Myr and Lys. "They have formed a coalition. Their fleets are gathering in the Summer Sea, and they will not wait for us to come to them. They mean to attack."
Varys nodded. "They fear what you represent, Your Grace. They know that if you take Myr and Lys, their own people might rise against them as well."
Daenerys exhaled. "Good. Let them fear."
Grey Worm folded his arms. "If they attack, we must be ready."
Tyrion smirked. "Which is why we should attack first."
The room fell silent.
"You want us to sail for Lys?" Ser Barristan asked.
"Exactly." Tyrion refilled his goblet. "Lys is the weakest of the three. Their wealth comes from pleasure houses, not armies. If we strike first, they will crumble."
Daenerys considered the plan.
Myr and Pentos would still stand, but Lys could be removed from the equation swiftly. If she took their fleets, she could turn their own ships against them.
She turned to Grey Worm. "Prepare the army. We sail at dawn."
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The Fire Over Lys
The journey across the Summer Sea took only days. The fleet of Volantis, combined with the ships of the freedmen and the Red Priests, sailed toward Lys like a shadow over the water.
The city was a jewel upon the sea—white marble, golden domes, and pleasure palaces that had entertained kings and merchants for centuries.
But now, it would burn.
As the sun set, Daenerys rode Drogon into the sky. Below her, the Lyseni fleet lay anchored in the harbor, their sails fluttering in the wind.
She raised her hand.
"Dracarys."
Flames erupted.
Drogon's fire engulfed the first ship, and within seconds, the harbor was an inferno. Rhaegal and Viserion followed, their flames turning the sea into a boiling graveyard of burning ships.
The city of Lys awoke in terror.
From the walls, archers loosed arrows, but they were no match for dragons. The Unsullied landed on the beaches, cutting through the city guards with brutal efficiency.
Daenerys landed Drogon in the city square, her army storming the palace. The rulers of Lys, fat merchants who had built their fortunes on flesh, cowered before her.
One of them, a trembling woman draped in silk, fell to her knees. "Please, Your Grace! We surrender! Spare us!"
Daenerys' gaze was cold. "Did you spare the slaves you sold?"
The rulers of Lys met the same fate as the Triarchs of Volantis.
By morning, Lys belonged to the Breaker of Chains.
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The Response from Myr and Pentos
Victory was swift, but war was far from over.
Messengers arrived from Myr and Pentos with grave news. The two cities had allied with Tyrosh, and their fleets were gathering for an assault.
"They mean to reclaim Lys," Tyrion muttered. "And if they succeed, they will push us back to Volantis."
Daenerys clenched her fists. She would not allow that.
She turned to Ser Barristan. "We march for Myr."
If the Free Cities would not submit, she would break them.
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End of Chapter 33