Astapor (3)

The Great Pyramid's audience chamber reeked of incense and arrogance, its walls lined with gold-veined marble that had been paid for with centuries of human suffering. The Good Masters sat in their silk tokars like bloated spiders, their piggy eyes gleaming with greed as they discussed the sale of eight thousand human lives.

I entered the chamber flanked by twenty of my Gondorians—just enough to show strength without seeming threatening. The rest of my two thousand remained in the system inventory, ready to be summoned at a moment's notice. Boromir walked at my right hand, his face a mask of barely controlled disgust at the opulence built on slavery.

Kraznys mo Nakloz rose from his golden throne, arms spread wide in false welcome. "Ah, the dragonlord returns! Have you considered our generous offer?"

"I have," I replied, letting my gaze sweep across the assembled Masters. "Your terms are... acceptable."

The fat slaver's smile widened, revealing teeth capped in gold. "Excellent! Eight thousand Unsullied and six hundred boys in training, all for one dragon. Truly, this is a bargain that will be remembered for—"

"There's one more thing I want," I interrupted.

Kraznys raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what might that be?"

I pointed to a corner of the chamber where a young woman stood with a group of other translator slaves. She was perhaps sixteen, with dark skin and intelligent eyes that missed nothing. Even in her simple slave garb, there was something regal about the way she carried herself.

"That one. The translator. I want her as part of the deal."

The girl—Missandei, if I remembered correctly—looked up in surprise. Kraznys followed my gaze and shrugged dismissively.

"A minor addition. She speaks nineteen languages and is quite skilled with numbers. Consider her a gift to seal our bargain."

"How generous," I said dryly.

Within the hour, we had moved to the Plaza of Punishment, where the entire force of Astapor's Unsullied stood in perfect formation. Eight thousand bronze-skinned warriors in spiked caps and leather skirts, their faces expressionless as carved stone. At their head stood their commanders, eunuch soldiers who had earned their positions through blood and discipline.

The plaza was packed with spectators—Good Masters in their palanquins, free citizens eager for entertainment, and countless slaves pressed against the edges to witness the spectacle. High above, Aserion circled like a black omen, his wings casting shadows across the crowd.

Kraznys gestured grandly to the assembled army. "Behold, the finest soldiers in all the world! They know no fear, feel no pain, show no mercy. They are yours, dragonlord... for the price agreed upon."

He held out a many-tailed whip—the symbol of command over the Unsullied. I took it, feeling the weight of leather and metal in my enhanced grip.

"They will obey your every command," Kraznys continued, practically purring with satisfaction. "Kill, die, march into the sea—whatever you wish. Now, about my dragon..."

I smiled, and something in that expression made several of the Good Masters shift uncomfortably on their cushions.

"Kraznys mo Nakloz," I said in perfect High Valyrian, my voice carrying clearly across the plaza. "You have made a grave error."

His piggy eyes widened in shock. "You... you speak Valyrian?"

"I am Viserys of House Targaryen," I continued, still in the old tongue. "I am the blood of Old Valyria, and High Valyrian is my mother tongue. I have understood every word you've spoken, every insult you've whispered, every cruel jest you've made at my expense."

The color drained from his face. Around us, the other Good Masters began to murmur in alarm.

"You called me a fool," I said, my voice growing colder. "You said I was a green boy who knew nothing of war. You laughed about how you would chain my dragon and use it to conquer Westeros for yourself."

"Wait," Kraznys stammered, holding up his hands. "There has been a misunderstanding—"

My enhanced hand shot out and grasped his throat, lifting him off his feet with casual ease. His eyes bulged as my fingers tightened, crushing his windpipe like parchment.

"The only misunderstanding," I said, "was yours."

I twisted sharply, and Kraznys mo Nakloz's head came clean off his shoulders with a wet tearing sound. Blood sprayed across the marble steps as I held up the severed head for all to see.

The plaza erupted in screams and chaos.

"ASERION!" I roared, and my dragon dove from the sky like a falling star.

Black fire erupted from his maw, engulfing the remaining Good Masters in their palanquins. Their screams were lost in the roar of the flames as silk and flesh burned together. Some tried to run, but there was nowhere to go—my dragon was everywhere at once, a whirlwind of death and destruction.

The Good Masters' guards moved to attack, but Boromir and his Gondorians were ready. Steel rang against steel as my soldiers cut through the confused slavers' forces with disciplined precision. It was over in minutes—twenty men against two hundred, but training and superior equipment won the day.

As the last of the guards fell, I activated the system:

[Summon: Gondorian Legion]

From: Inventory

Effect: Deploy remaining 1,980 soldiers

Golden light flashed across the plaza as my hidden army materialized, their armor gleaming and weapons ready. The crowd gasped in terror and awe—two thousand soldiers appearing from thin air was the stuff of legends.

But I wasn't done yet.

I climbed the steps to the Great Harpy's platform, the bloodied whip still clutched in my hand. Eight thousand Unsullied turned as one to face me, their faces still expressionless despite the chaos around them.

"HEAR ME!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the pyramid walls. "I am Viserys Targaryen, last son of the Dragon! I am the fire that burns away your chains, the blood that washes clean your bondage!"

The plaza fell silent except for the crackling of flames and the distant cries of the dying.

"You were slaves!" I continued, my words ringing with power. "Born in chains, raised in chains, trained to die in chains! But I tell you now—NO MORE!"

I raised the whip high above my head and brought it down across my knee. The leather snapped with a sound like thunder, the pieces falling to the bloodstained marble.

"Your chains are BROKEN! Your masters are DEAD! You are FREE!"

A murmur ran through the crowd—slaves and Unsullied alike staring at me with something approaching reverence.

"I am not your master," I declared, spreading my arms wide as Aserion landed behind me, his obsidian wings stretched like the shadow of death itself. "I am your LIBERATOR! I am the god who walks among you, who has come to break every chain and burn every collar!"

The murmur grew louder, more desperate. Hope—a emotion long dead in this place—began to kindle in thousands of eyes.

"The Lord of Light sent me to you!" I roared, and this time my voice seemed to shake the very stones. "I am the Messiah, the chosen one who will lead you from bondage into the light! No longer will you kneel to masters who buy and sell your flesh! No longer will you suffer under the whip of those who see you as less than human!"

I pointed to the burning remains of the Good Masters. "LOOK! See how easily their power crumbles! See how their gold cannot save them from divine justice! They called themselves your betters, but they were only men—weak, corrupt, mortal men who have faced the judgment of god!"

The crowd was swaying now, caught up in the fervor of my words. I could see tears streaming down faces, could hear whispered prayers beginning to rise.

"I offer you a choice!" I declared. "Serve me willingly, and I will make you strong! Follow me, and I will give you purpose! Worship me, and I will ensure that never again will you or your children wear chains!"

The silence stretched for a heartbeat.

Then, like a dam bursting, eight thousand Unsullied dropped to their knees in perfect unison. The sound of their bodies hitting stone was like thunder.

"BLOOD AND FIRE!" they chanted, their voices shaking the plaza. "BLOOD AND FIRE!"

The slaves followed, falling to their knees and pressing their faces to the ground. Their voices joined the chant, growing louder and more desperate with each repetition.

"BLOOD AND FIRE! BLOOD AND FIRE! BLOOD AND FIRE!"

But then something even more beautiful happened. Individual voices began to break through the chant:

"THANK YOU, MY GOD!"

"BLESSED BE THE DRAGON!"

"PRAISE TO THE LIBERATOR!"

"YOU ARE OUR SALVATION!"

I stood above them all, arms raised to the sky, and felt the intoxicating rush of absolute power. This was what I had dreamed of—not just armies and gold, but worship. True, pure, desperate worship from those who saw me as their only hope.

I was their god. And they were mine.

---

The sack of Astapor was swift and brutal.

My Unsullied and Gondorians moved through the city like avenging angels, breaking down doors and dragging slavers from their hiding places. The great families that had ruled for centuries—the Nakloz, the Pahl, the Ghazeen—were put to the sword without mercy. Their golden pyramids were stormed, their treasures seized, their very names erased from history.

But it wasn't mindless slaughter. I had given strict orders: kill the Masters, free the slaves, preserve the wealth. The city's infrastructure was too valuable to destroy, and I would need every ship, every forge, every granary for what was to come.

The Great Harpy statue was the crown jewel of our plunder. It took fifty men and a system of pulleys to bring it down, but when it finally toppled, the crash could be heard throughout the city. The bronze alone was worth a king's ransom, but the symbolic value was even greater—the fall of the harpy meant the end of the old order.

By nightfall, Astapor was mine.

---

The Great Pyramid's highest chamber had been transformed into a war room. Maps covered every surface, marked with the positions of armies and fleets across the known world. Chests of gold and precious stones lined the walls—the accumulated wealth of generations of slavers, now mine to command.

I sat in what had once been Kraznys' throne, carved from black marble and inlaid with gold. Aserion perched right next to the throne, his eyes glowing like embers in the torchlight.

Three figures stood before me: Boromir in his gleaming armor, Grey Worm with his bronze cap and impassive face, and Missandei in a simple but clean dress. My new council, such as it was.

"The city is secured, my lord," Boromir reported. "All resistance has been crushed. We've lost three men—two Gondorians and one Unsullied. The enemy losses..." He shrugged. "Complete."

"Good. And the fleet?"

"Forty-seven ships of various sizes," Grey Worm answered in his emotionless voice. "War galleys, trading vessels, and transport ships. Enough to carry our entire force with room for supplies."

I nodded and turned to Missandei. "The slaves?"

"Freed, Your Grace," she said softly. "Nearly twenty thousand in total. Most have chosen to remain and serve you willingly. They... they see you as their savior."

As well they should. I had broken their chains, given them purpose, offered them a future. In return, they gave me their devotion—a fair trade.

"The question now," I said, leaning back in the throne, "is what comes next. I could return to Volantis with this force, reclaim my base there and consolidate my power. Or..." I gestured to the maps spread before us. "I could continue east. Yunkai, Meereen, the other slave cities. Free them all, add their strength to mine."

"What does my god command?" Grey Worm asked, and I had to suppress a smile at the title.

"I'm asking for your counsel," I replied. "All of you. Boromir?"

The Gondorian captain studied the maps for a long moment. "From a military standpoint, consolidation makes sense. Volantis is your base, your stronghold. Return there, secure your position, then launch a coordinated campaign."

"Grey Worm?"

"The Unsullied will follow wherever you lead," he said simply. "But the other slave cities are strong. Yunkai has sellsword companies, Meereen has the fighting pits. They will not fall as easily as Astapor."

I looked to Missandei. "And you?"

She hesitated, then spoke carefully. "Your Grace... the slaves in the other cities have heard what happened here. Word is already spreading. If you came to them as liberator, as you came to us..." She trailed off, but I understood.

A reputation for freeing slaves would make my path easier in some ways, harder in others. The slaves would welcome me, but their masters would be ready.

I stood and walked to the great window, looking out over my conquered city. Fires still burned in the distance where the last of the resistance was being crushed. In the harbor, my new fleet rode at anchor, ready to carry my army wherever I commanded.

"There's another consideration," I said finally. "Daenerys."

The name hung in the air like a blade.

My sister—the person I loved. The person I would be far away from if I took Meereen and Yunkai.

I knew she was safe. The Red Priests and the Fiery Hand were protecting her, along with two dragons at her side. But that wasn't why I wanted to return to Volantis.

Somewhere along this voyage, I had made up my mind. I was going to tell her. I would marry her.

I didn't care that she was my sister—at least, in this body.

Back in my world, people used to say, "Love is love." It was usually said in defense of gay relationships, but it applies here too, doesn't it?

When we met once again, I wanted to be strong enough to make the right impression.

"We continue east," I decided. "Yunkai first, then Meereen. By the time we're done, all of Slaver's Bay will kneel before the Dragon God."

"And after that?" Boromir asked.

I smiled, and in the torchlight, it looked like a predator baring its teeth.

"After that, we take volantis."