Chapter 47: Management

—Speak —she ordered firmly.

Hizdahr bowed his head.

—My father... my father was not a cruel man, my queen. Yes, he was a master, but not a monster. He never abused his slaves or punished them without cause. His only purpose in life was to preserve the greatness of Meereen. He dedicated himself to restoring our monuments, to preserving our people's history. Your Grace, I beg you to let me take his body down from the cross and bury him with the dignity he deserves.

Daenerys kept her gaze on him, silent at first. Finally, with a calm voice, she replied:

—Anyone who deprives another of their freedom is a cruel man. A man who claims another life as property has already committed the greatest injustice.

Hizdahr held her gaze, unflinching.

—Perhaps... but if my father was guilty, then let his punishment end with his death, not in the dishonor of his corpse. I am not asking for forgiveness, only a proper burial.

Daenerys studied him for a moment, weighing his request. It was true that not all the masters had been sadistic killers, but all had benefited from a corrupt system. Still, in war, there were losers, and the defeated had to live under her rule or perish.

But in this case, mercy seemed the wiser course.

—Take him down. You may bury him.

Hizdahr bowed his head gratefully.

—Thank you for your clemency, Your Grace.

He paused, then drew a deep breath before speaking again.

—There is another matter I wish to discuss with you: the fighting pits.

Daenerys frowned.

—The pits?

—Yes, Your Grace. They are a long-standing tradition in Meereen. They are not merely spectacles of blood —they are history, culture. The people need them. They attract travelers, merchants, even blacksmiths and combat trainers. In times of change and chaos, it is the only entertainment that can bring them joy... and stability.

Daenerys pressed her lips together. She knew well what the pits meant. They were not just combats, but a brutal legacy of Meereen's slave society. Yet, she also understood something deeper: people craved blood. They delighted in violence, in war, in the death of others. Even Vlad had accepted this truth.

That was why she had already considered reopening them —after implementing reforms to ensure that every fighter was a free man.

—I consider it barbaric, —she replied at last—. But I know the people need something to distract them. The pits will open in twenty days. I might even consider bringing my dragons. It would surely be a sight to behold.

She smiled as she saw the nobleman pale. It would be a spectacle... and a warning.

Besides, though her dragons were obedient and protective, she could feel how much they preferred to fly free and hunt in the open rather than be fed. What mother wouldn't wish for her children's happiness?

Hizdahr's eyes lit up.

—Your Grace, your generosity knows no bounds. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Daenerys looked at him coldly.

—A queen hears the pleas of her people, whether she likes them or not.

Hizdahr said no more. He simply bowed.

Daenerys leaned back slightly in the uncomfortable throne of Meereen, letting her thoughts drift for a moment, when Ser Barristan cleared his throat discreetly.

—Your Grace.

Daenerys noticed the urgency in his tone.

—What is it, Ser Barristan?

The seasoned knight kept his eyes on her.

—A fleet bearing your banner is approaching the coast.

The hall fell silent.

Daenerys felt her heart quicken. She knew who it was

—Prepare to receive my husband.

---

The port of Meereen bustled with activity as the fleet docked, the sails waving Daenerys's emblem. Among the warships and transports stood the eight thousand Unsullied, formed in their unwavering discipline. On the deck, Missandei watched Vlad with a mix of surprise and fascination. It was the first time she had seen him so visibly excited.

The warrior, standing at the prow of the flagship, stared fixedly at Daenerys waiting on the dock. His golden eyes burned with feverish intensity, and without waiting for the gangplank to lower, he bent his knees and jumped, landing with a thunderous crash on the wooden pier. Without hesitation, he rushed toward his wife.

Daenerys barely had time to react before Vlad lifted her off the ground, spinning her in his arms. After a long, meaningful kiss, her bright laughter mingled with the clamor of the port as she wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling the complete safety of his embrace.

—You're finally here. You made me wait too long —she whispered, pressing her forehead to his.

Vlad looked at her with devotion, his deep voice full of warmth.

—I'm finally home, my love.

Ser Barristan took a step back as the towering figure of blond-haired muscle moved forward like a storm. The difference in size was absurd: Daenerys, petite and silver; Vlad, a titan nearing two meters, with shoulders like a bear. But when he held her, it was with the tenderness of a man cradling his most precious treasure.

Still holding Vlad's hand, Daenerys turned to him with a smile and introduced Ser Barristan. Vlad

inclined his head respectfully.

—Your reputation precedes you, Ser. An honor.

Barristan, a faint smile on his lips, returned the courtesy.

—And yours... eclipses even the rumors, my lord.

Before they could continue, Missandei and Grey Worm stepped off the ship. Vlad introduced them calmly.

—This is Missandei. And this is Grey Worm, commander of the Unsullied.

Daenerys nodded in acknowledgment, but any further words were cut off as a deafening roar filled the air.