The Last Bastions of Slavery
The conquest of Myr had sent ripples of fear across Essos. Volantis had fallen. Lys had burned. Myr had surrendered to the dragon.
But victory did not mean peace.
Daenerys knew this war was far from over. The last great slave cities—Pentos and Tyrosh—had allied against her, gathering their fleets and armies for one final, desperate battle.
If she crushed them, the chains of slavery in Essos would be broken forever.
But to fail meant being buried beneath the weight of the Old World.
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Securing Myr
The morning after the battle, Daenerys stood on the high balcony of Myr's grandest palace, now her command center. The city sprawled beneath her, smoldering from the fires of conquest, but still standing.
Her forces had been victorious, but the cost had been high.
Grey Worm and the Unsullied had lost nearly a thousand men breaching the city's defenses. The freedmen militias, though brave, had suffered even more. And her dragons, though unstoppable, had begun to show signs of exhaustion.
Missandei approached, parchment in hand. "The freedmen in Myr are already dismantling the old system, Khaleesi. The nobles who surrendered are demanding to be spared."
Daenerys exhaled slowly.
She had spared some nobles in Volantis to help rebuild the city, and they had proven useful. But Myr's nobility had financed mercenaries, slavers, and assassins against her.
Would they ever truly accept her rule?
Tyrion sipped from a goblet nearby, watching her. "Mercy is a powerful weapon, but only if wielded wisely. Spare the useful ones. The rest…"
He made a slicing gesture across his throat.
Daenerys looked down at the kneeling nobles in the courtyard below. Some were weeping, others trembling.
She raised her hand. "Bring me their names and their crimes. Those who profited from slavery will have no place in my new world."
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The Threat from Pentos and Tyrosh
Even as Myr was secured, troubling news arrived.
Varys swept into the council chamber, his expression grim. "The Archon of Tyrosh and the Magisters of Pentos have united their fleets. They are preparing to strike before you can march on them."
Daenerys clenched her jaw. "How many ships?"
"Over two hundred," Varys replied. "They will strike Myr's harbor within a fortnight."
Tyrion cursed under his breath. "A full naval assault. They mean to cut us off from Volantis and Lys, trapping us here."
Grey Worm straightened. "Let them come. We will fight them on the shores."
But Daenerys was already thinking beyond defense.
She would not be trapped.
She turned to the map of Essos, her eyes narrowing. "We will not wait for them to strike first."
"We take the war to them."
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A Plan of Fire and Blood
A war council was called that night. The temple halls of Myr flickered with candlelight as Daenerys and her commanders debated their strategy.
"We cannot fight them at sea," Tyrion admitted. "We lack the numbers."
"Then we do not fight them on the water," Daenerys said. "We take Pentos before their ships ever set sail."
Varys, once a resident of Pentos, leaned forward. "A bold move. But Pentos is well-defended."
Tyrion smirked. "No city is well-defended when three dragons are burning it from above."
Daenerys nodded. "We march at dawn."
Pentos would not be given the luxury of choosing the battlefield.
She would bring the war to them.
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The March on Pentos
Within days, the army was moving. Unsullied, freedmen militias, and the remnants of Volantis' forces all marched under the dragon banner.
The journey to Pentos took weeks, but Daenerys did not waste time. As her army moved, she sent envoys ahead—whispers of her victories spreading like wildfire.
Some of Pentos' lesser Magisters defected before she even arrived.
Others prepared for war.
When Daenerys finally reached the walls of Pentos, the city gates were shut tight.
But gates meant nothing to dragons.
That night, under the cover of darkness, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion descended upon the city.
The first gate melted beneath a torrent of flame.
The second was broken by battering rams as Unsullied poured inside.
The battle for Pentos had begun.
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The City Burns
Pentos fought harder than Daenerys expected. Mercenary companies, paid in gold and desperation, battled fiercely in the streets. The Magisters had hired assassins, hidden archers, and war elephants to slow her advance.
But it was not enough.
Grey Worm led the charge into the inner city, cutting down resistance with brutal efficiency. Ser Barristan and the Dothraki carved through the remaining mercenaries.
And Daenerys, atop Drogon, watched from the sky as her enemies burned.
By dawn, Pentos had fallen.
The last Magisters were dragged before her, pleading for their lives.
She stepped forward, her voice cold. "You enslaved thousands. You sent assassins against me. Tell me, why should I spare you?"
One of the Magisters trembled. "We—we can be useful!"
Daenerys studied them for a long moment.
Then, she turned to Grey Worm. "Kill them."
The last rulers of Pentos died screaming.
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The Final Battle Awaits
With Pentos conquered, only Tyrosh remained.
But even as Daenerys stood in the ashes of the city, a scout arrived, breathless and pale.
"Your Grace—the Tyroshi fleet has landed near Lys. They mean to retake it!"
Daenerys felt a slow, burning fury rise inside her.
The old world would not die quietly.
She turned to her commanders. "Prepare the fleet. We return to Lys."
The final battle for Essos was at hand.
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End of Chapter 35