[POV Harry Strickland]
Ser Harry Strickland, commander of the Golden Company, had been marching for days toward Meereen, one of the greatest cities in Essos. A few months ago, he would never have called Meereen one of the continent's great cities, but its spectacular rise in recent months had changed everything. And all the credit for that rise belonged to one man. Lord Aeos. The man had a lot of titles and Ser Harry was quite eager to meet him.
Now, he and his men were only a day's march away from Meereen's walls. This campaign, which included the complete destruction of Meereen, was the largest and most lucrative assignment the Golden Company had ever undertaken in its long and storied history.
The Magisters of the Free Cities had nearly emptied their vaults to hire them for this task. Not only that, but the Company had also been granted the right to claim any and all wealth they could plunder from Meereen for themselves.
Ser Harry had high hopes. Meereen was said to be an immensely prosperous city, and he intended to seize enough gold to make himself and the Golden Company richer than ever. He already had plans for the fortune he expected to earn.
It was night now, and they had set up camp for the day. The entire night would be spent resting before they resumed their march at dawn. By the following evening, they would reach the walls of Meereen, close enough to see their target, but far enough to remain out of range of the city's archers.
Ser Harry stood at the front of his tent, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the eastern side of the encampment. The camp itself was clearly divided into two distinct factions, and the difference between them was sharp and unmistakable.
On the western side were the companies of the sellswords. Counting the Golden Company, there were three companies in total. The Golden Company itself numbered around twenty thousand men, though the Magisters had only hired half that strength, ten thousand. Alongside them were two smaller companies, each roughly twenty five hundred strong, which the Magisters had hired for their specialization. Fifteen thousand men in total.
The first of these smaller companies specialized in siege warfare. They were experts at breaching walls and gates. The second was a pure cavalry unit, famed for their devastating lightning charges.
While Ser Harry acknowledged their skill, he did not for a moment believe they were superior to his own men. The Golden Company could do what they could.
Still, he had no real quarrel with them. He had been paid for ten thousand men, and he had brought ten thousand men. Working alongside other sellsword companies was nothing new to him, and this cooperation was going smoothly enough.
The mercenaries of the Golden Company and even of the other two companies were a disciplined, professional force, well trained and accustomed to order. Their tents were arranged with military precision, forming neat, symmetrical rows. Even a casual glance was enough to tell that this was a well organized and battle hardened host.
But the other half of the camp was the complete opposite. It belonged to the Dothraki. Twenty thousand men of pure savagery. Their camp was a scene of chaos and disorder. Tents were scattered without pattern, fires burned unevenly, and the air was filled with shouting, laughter, and the sound of horses. They had no organized battle plan, no sense of military discipline or structure.
Even in this campaign, their role was clear and limited. They would not take part until the gates of Meereen were breached or until the city's defenders marched out to meet them in open battle. Strategy, formation, and patience were foreign concepts to them. They believed in one thing and that was thirst for blood. Be it of the enemy or of their own.
Yet, despite all their shortcomings, Ser Harry could not deny one truth about the Dothraki. They were among the deadliest fighting forces in the world. Many in the Free Cities, and even some in Westeros, believed that a knight in full armor or a well armed mercenary was superior to a Dothraki rider. But that was a comforting myth.
True, the Dothraki did not adorn armours, and their curved arakhs offered a shorter reach than a sword or a spear but their sheer speed, ferocity, and skill more than compensated for it. They were born in the saddle, lived for battle, and viewed death as sport.
Just that morning, Ser Harry had witnessed one Dothraki slit another's throat over a trivial dispute while the rest of their kinsmen had cheered wildly, laughing at the spectacle.
He knew that once those horse lords entered the city, there would be no stopping them. They would leave nothing but carnage in their wake.
"Yoa are a bit early for the meeting, Ser Strickland," a man's voice called out, snapping Harry from his thoughts. "We still have an hour left."
The man approaching was short but broad shouldered, his frame compact and powerful. He was the commander of one of the smaller sellsword companies, the one specializing in siege warfare.
The meeting in question had been arranged earlier that evening. Just after they had made camp, a messenger from Meereen had arrived. The soldier claimed that Lord Aeos wished to meet them at night. Harry and the other commanders had agreed, as had the Dothraki khal, who seemed curious more than anything else.
"Not really," Harry said, shaking his head. "Just taking a look at the camps."
"You are early yourself," he remarked.
"I heard you were here," the man replied, stepping closer, "so I thought, why not have a quick chat?"
Harry gave a small nod.
"What do you think Lord Aeos will propose?" the man asked.
Harry shrugged. "Hard to say. With most of his army away, he is in a tight position and does not really have much options. He has no choice but to try and strike a deal or maybe stall for time."
"Maybe he has called some of his army back after realizing his mistake," Harry mused. "Or perhaps he has hired a few sellsword companies of his own."
"Or," the other man interjected with a sly grin, "maybe he will offer us more than the Magisters did. Lord Aeos surely does not lack gold."
"Maybe," Harry replied with another shrug but said nothing more.
He could tell what the man was doing. The thought had clearly crossed his mind. If Lord Aeos made a tempting offer, perhaps they could switch sides. But that was not something he could do alone. If he defected without the Golden Company's backing, Harry would crush his little band within no time.
And the man knew that. Everyone did. For there was one thing the Golden Company was famous for above all else. They never broke their contracts.
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