The clatter of bells and galloping hooves resounded in harmony. At the head of the procession, Drogo and Daenerys rode slowly, dragons circl
The clatter of bells and galloping hooves resounded in harmony. At the head of the procession, Drogo and Daenerys rode slowly, dragons circling above. Mounted warriors followed behind, the giant Roman holding the center, and the Unsullied infantry guarded the rear. Such a display of force was enough to swallow all enemies of Slaver's Bay.
On the road to Meereen, Drogo's expression turned grim as the desolation along the way unfolded before him. The cunning Great Masters had enacted a scorched-earth policy ahead of his advance, harvesting all usable crops and burning the rest. Charred fields and displaced refugees dotted the land.
Most infuriating were the mile markers lining the coastal road from Astapor—on each stood the sun-dried corpses of slave children, nailed in place. A clear message: "You can't save them all."
Daenerys, heartbroken that the children could not rest in peace, ordered their bodies to be taken down. But Drogo stopped her.
"We must look upon the pain these children endured—so we may return it tenfold to the Great Masters."
Before they even reached Meereen, Drogo saw the towering golden pyramid—easily more than 800 feet tall, dwarfing even the one in Astapor. At its peak stood a bronze idol of the Harpy, symbol of the city's cruel past.
Meereen sat upon the rocky Cape of Skahazadhan, where the brown Skahazadhan River flowed into Slaver's Bay, nourishing the heartless Ghiscari elite. Its northern wall bordered the river; the western wall faced the sea.
Unlike the more uniform colors of Astapor and Yunkai, Meereen was painted in vibrant hues and was larger than both cities combined. Its terrain, fortifications, and city defenses were the strongest in Slaver's Bay. Every corner held watchtowers, and its walls were lined with bastions.
But Drogo's army met no resistance—the remaining forces of the slavers had retreated to Qarth, and the rest fled by sea. Knowing they couldn't win, they had abandoned Meereen.
Many sailed for Qarth to rally the strength of the ancient empire and use it as a stronghold against Drogo's conquest. Others fled to one of the Nine Free Cities, hoping to bide their time and someday reclaim what they lost.
In the end, Drogo took a fortified city with little resistance. Thankfully, the fleeing slavers—aware of his ruthless reputation—left Meereen intact. The Sons of the Harpy, without their leader Hizdahr zo Loraq, dared not linger. They looted what valuables they could and left behind slaves they deemed unworthy.
This came as no surprise to Drogo. To him, those abandoned slaves were the greatest treasure.
Meereen was the central trade hub of Slaver's Bay. Merchants from across the world anchored here. Even if its coffers were empty, the wealth of Astapor and Yunkai could sustain the freedmen.
On the third day, Drogo dispatched the Unsullied to reopen the Khyzai Pass trade route. Because the Lhazareen were blood enemies of the Dothraki, he chose not to send his own riders.
With the giant Roman in heavy armor, impervious to blades and arrows, the eunuch legions quickly returned victorious after only a few skirmishes.
Soon, caravans of grain, livestock, and supplies—traded for gold, silver, and jewels—began flowing into the three cities. Drogo's greatest concern was resolved.
The freedmen were fed and clothed. They could now dream of building their own futures. To them, this life was a glimpse of paradise.
And so they adored Drogo. To them, he was a god—the one who shattered the wheel, the breaker of chains.
Without need of royal decree, the freedmen of Yunkai and Meereen tore down every Harpy statue, just as Astapor had. In their place rose monuments representing the spirit of dragon and horse—symbols of freedom.
For centuries, Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor had been the heart of the slave trade—a destination for Dothraki khals and Basilisk pirates to sell captives, and for foreign buyers to purchase them.
Though the Ghiscar Mountains held copper mines, the metal had lost its luster after the rise of bronze. Still, it was better than nothing.
Once, cedar trees lined the coast. But after Valyria's conquest of Old Ghis, the cedars were either felled or burned to ash by dragonfire.
Now, without slavery, Meereen's only exports were olive oil, perfumes, and copper.
By cutting off its primary economy, Drogo knew the slavers would be furious. But it was enough.
He sent scouts across the Basilisk Isles, the Summer Isles, Naath, the Dothraki Sea—all known slave-supplying regions. Their message: "From this day forward, Slaver's Bay will no longer deal in slaves."
Of course, closing off trade entirely would be disastrous. So he added: "We reject the slave trade—but welcome commerce in silks, spices, minerals, and all other goods."
Word of Drogo's victories had already spread across Essos, carried by mouths and carrier pigeons alike. His fearsome reputation—old and new—made many slave traders hesitate or seek other buyers.
Drogo took residence in Meereen's highest pyramid. The grand hall on the lower level was converted into a war council chamber.
Whenever he stood atop the cloud-crowned tower with Daenerys by his side, he felt like a god.
From there he could gaze over the whole city: the twisting alleys and wide stone avenues, the temples and palaces, gardens and fountains, and the spiral red-brick stands of the fighting pits. He could feel the joy of his people.
Beyond the city walls he saw the deep blue sea, the winding Skahazadhan, the dry brown hills, and even the burned fields where green shoots had begun to sprout.
But such tranquility was not for him—not yet. He had to cleanse his kingdom of all lingering threats if his vision for the land was to flourish.
The downfall of the three slaver cities ignited hope across the region. Slave uprisings broke out, rebellion spreading. The cry for freedom grew louder by the day.
It was time.
Drogo summoned his three bloodriders—his blood of his blood—and issued his command:
"Summon every noble and merchant of Slaver's Bay to Meereen, to face the Breaker of Chains. Any who refuse—those with minor crimes will become slaves. The rest—cut them down."
Since the fall of Astapor, the elites of Slaver's Bay had lived in dread, counting down the days. They knew this was coming.
Some had fled already, buying estates in other lands that still upheld slavery—hoping to preserve their pride and traditions.
When faced with Drogo's wrath, only a few dared defy him. Most came—some sincerely, others plotting in secret.
Drogo sat upon the throne, face cold as stone, staring down the Ghiscari delegation. Daenerys stood beside him in radiant beauty. The dragons and Snowball the white lion romped about the hall. The nobles had seen the great army on the road. Faced with such power and grandeur, they were utterly crushed in spirit.
But Drogo was no tyrant—he chose to hear them out.
They said:
"There are rich and poor in this world. Some are born to rule; others must serve. Even without force, the poor will sell themselves into slavery."
"What of the artist-slaves—dancers, singers, magicians? Should they toil in fields and build homes? They'll beg to return to chains."
"The outside world deals in slaves only with Slaver's Bay. Your ideals may be noble, but they take time—perhaps time we don't have. This land will fall into poverty."
Drogo had heard enough. Their pleas were all self-serving arguments to restore slavery. That would never happen.
He replied:
"Foreign trade is a top priority. But lowborn slaves are worth less than a flask of olive oil or a steel blade. Even highborn slaves—musicians, dancers, magicians, scholars—will not be left to starve. I'll give them roles of honor. They'll become teachers, prophets, mentors to my people.
No—I reject your words. Reform is hard. But life without struggle is empty. Even if some freedmen live ordinary lives, they will eat, they will be warm—and they'll never again live like soulless corpses."
He rose and shouted his purpose for calling the meeting:
"Any who reject the principles of freedom—let them die.
From this day forth—I declare Slaver's Bay... Free Bay!"
The king had spoken. His might was absolute. The trembling nobles, whether they believed it or not, all fell to their knees and cried out:
"We pledge ourselves to the Breaker of Chains and his ideal of freedom!"
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