The Road to Westeros
The banners of the dragon flew across every great city of Essos. Daenerys Stormborn had done the impossible—she had crushed slavery, toppled the might of the Free Cities, and carved an empire from the ashes of the old world.
But this was not the end of her war.
It was only the beginning.
Across the Narrow Sea, Westeros still belonged to the Usurpers. The Iron Throne, the seat stolen from her family, still rested in the hands of weak, grasping men.
She had won Essos. Now, she would reclaim her home.
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The Gathering Storm
The Red Temple of Volantis blazed with firelight as Daenerys held her final council before the march west. The chamber was filled with the greatest minds and warriors of her empire.
Tyrion, ever the strategist, stood by the war table, studying a map of Westeros. Varys, the master of whispers, sat with his hands folded, his face unreadable. Grey Worm and Ser Barristan stood at her side, both silent but ever watchful.
The rulers of Volantis, Lys, Myr, Pentos, and Tyrosh had all been summoned. They had bent the knee, pledged their ships, their soldiers, their loyalty.
Now, they waited to hear the next step.
Daenerys' voice rang through the chamber.
"The Free Cities stand united for the first time in history." She met their gazes, letting the weight of her words settle. "But our war is not over. Westeros still kneels to false kings. It is time we correct that."
There was a murmur among the rulers. Some looked eager, others uncertain.
One of them, the Archon of Tyrosh, spoke first. "You have conquered Essos, Your Grace. Why risk it all on Westeros? Why not rule from here?"
Tyrion snorted, sipping from his goblet. "Because the Iron Throne is hers by right, and because the wolves and lions of Westeros will never stop seeing her as a threat."
Daenerys stepped forward. "I did not fight to free Essos only to sit in a palace while the Usurpers rule my home."
Her voice was fire, her gaze unyielding.
"We sail for Westeros."
The rulers of Essos looked at one another, then slowly, one by one, they nodded.
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Preparing the War Machine
Conquering Essos had given Daenerys vast resources that no Targaryen exile had possessed before her.
Her empire now commanded:
Over 500 warships from Volantis, Lys, and Tyrosh.
100,000 soldiers, including Unsullied, Dothraki, and freedmen militias.
Three dragons, fully grown and unstoppable.
Yet, for all her strength, Westeros was no easy target.
Tyrion pointed to the map. "King's Landing is well-defended, but it is also a pit of vipers. The Seven Kingdoms are divided. Cersei Lannister holds the throne, but she has more enemies than allies."
Varys nodded. "The North is rising under Jon Snow. The Vale follows him. The Reach is in chaos. Dorne may still be our ally."
Daenerys listened, her mind already forming a plan.
She would not rush this war.
Essos had taught her patience, strategy.
This time, she would strike with overwhelming force.
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The Blood of Valyria
As her armies prepared, Daenerys took flight with Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, soaring over her empire one last time.
Beneath her, the Free Cities burned with dragonfire and victory.
She had brought them freedom, but they had given her something in return—power.
The dragons flew over Volantis, where the Red Priests chanted her name.
They passed over the ruins of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, where the freedmen still cheered the Mother of Dragons.
And finally, they flew over the Dothraki Sea, where the horse lords had sworn to follow her across the Narrow Sea.
Daenerys closed her eyes, feeling the wind, the fire, the power of her ancestors coursing through her.
She was no longer a frightened girl in exile.
She was House Targaryen reborn.
She was fire made flesh.
And she was ready to take back what was hers.
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The Fleet Sets Sail
The morning of departure came at last.
The greatest fleet Essos had ever seen gathered in the waters outside Volantis.
Hundreds of black-sailed warships, each carrying the sigil of the three-headed dragon, bobbed on the waves, waiting for their queen.
On the docks, thousands of soldiers stood ready.
The Unsullied, clad in dark armor, their spears glinting in the sun.
The Dothraki, restless and eager, their arakhs thirsting for blood.
The Free Folk of Essos, once slaves, now warriors of the dragon.
Daenerys stood at the edge of the dock, the wind whipping through her silver hair.
Tyrion joined her, exhaling slowly. "It's time."
She turned, looking at the faces of the men and women who had fought for her. Who had bled for her.
She raised her hand.
Drogon let out a deafening roar, and as one, the army knelt before their queen.
Daenerys stepped onto her flagship, the Wings of Fire, and turned to face the Narrow Sea.
Across the waters lay Westeros.
The Seven Kingdoms.
Her birthright.
She took a deep breath and spoke the words that would change history.
"Set sail. We go home."
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End of Chapter 37