Three Days Later - Dawn Outside Meereen
Marcos stood before the assembled army—nine thousand strong now, with the additions from freed cities.
Behind him, three dragons waited. Syrax, Vaemon, and Morningstar had grown even larger. Syrax was now the size of a large building, her wingspan capable of casting shadows over entire blocks.
To his right, Daenerys stood in full armor. To his left, Garrett commanded the ground forces.
And in front of them, Meereen's walls loomed—massive, ancient, and full of people who had made a terrible mistake.
"Last night," Marcos called out, his voice carrying across the assembled forces, "Meereen's Great Masters sent us another message. They crucified fifty more of our people. Traders who were in the city when war began. They did this to frighten us. To make us hesitate."
He paused, letting the anger ripple through the ranks.
"They failed. We're not frightened. We're not hesitating. Today, we end slavery in Slaver's Bay. Today, we show the world what happens when you murder the innocent to prove a point."
"But hear me clearly: We are not butchers. We are liberators. Every slave who rises up will be freed and protected. Every soldier who surrenders will be spared. Every citizen who stays in their home will be left unharmed."
"But the masters—the Great Masters who ordered these atrocities—they have chosen fire. And fire they will receive."
The army roared approval.
Daenerys stepped forward, speaking in High Valyrian, then switching to Common Tongue so all could understand.
"I was sold. Like property. Like an object. I know what it means to be powerless in the hands of those who see you as less than human." Her voice was steel. "Today, that ends. For every slave in Meereen. For every person who has suffered under these masters."
She turned to the dragons.
"Sōvēs!" Fly!
All three dragons took to the air, circling above the army like harbingers of apocalypse.
And the assault on Meereen began.
The Walls of Meereen
The Great Masters had prepared as best they could. Slaves—forced into service—manned the walls with spears and arrows. Catapults were loaded. Braziers of oil heated, ready to be poured.
But you can't prepare for dragons.
Not really.
Syrax dove first, targeting the main gate. Her fire didn't just burn—it melted. The massive bronze gates, each weighing several tons, liquified under the heat.
The walls around the gate cracked and crumbled.
Vaemon and Morningstar took the eastern and western gates respectively.
Within minutes, all three main entrances were breached.
The slaves on the walls, seeing the dragons, began to drop their weapons.
Some ran. Some simply sat down and refused to fight. Some actively cheered.
"HOLD THE WALLS!" A master screamed from behind, whip in hand. "FIGHT OR I'LL—"
An arrow took him in the throat. One of the freed Unsullied, now fighting for Astoria, lowered his bow with grim satisfaction.
The resistance collapsed almost immediately.
Inside Meereen - The Slave Uprising
The word had spread. The agents Marcos had sent weeks ago had done their work well.
When the dragons breached the gates, when the army began to pour in, the slaves of Meereen rose as one.
In the fighting pits, the gladiators turned on their masters.
In the pyramids, house slaves locked their owners in their chambers.
In the streets, thousands upon thousands of slaves overwhelmed the city guard.
It wasn't a battle. It was a revolution.
And in the chaos, the Great Masters realized too late that they had made a fatal error.
They had slaves everywhere. In their homes. In their beds. Preparing their food. Standing guard.
And now, every single one was an enemy.
The Great Pyramid
Marcos and Daenerys, mounted on Morningstar and Syrax respectively, landed in the plaza before the Great Pyramid—the massive structure that dominated Meereen's skyline.
The ground forces had secured the surrounding area. Former slaves pointed out which masters had ordered the crucifixions.
163 men. Some old, some young. All wearing the tokar—the symbol of their power.
All terrified.
They were being held in the same plaza where they had ordered slaves punished for centuries.
Poetic justice.
The eldest master—the one who had ordered the crucifixions—was brought forward, forced to his knees.
"You murdered our people," Marcos said, his voice carrying across the plaza. Thousands had gathered to witness this. "213 innocent civilians. You crucified them as a message."
"I... I was defending my city!" the master protested. "You are invaders! Conquerors! We had the right—"
"You had no right." Daenerys's voice cut through his excuses. "You had power. And you mistook that for righteousness."
"Please," another master begged. "We have gold! Slaves! We can pay—"
"You have nothing we want," Marcos interrupted. "Except justice."
He turned to address the crowd—slaves, former slaves, his own soldiers, and the terrified citizens of Meereen.
"These men ordered the torture and murder of innocent people. They did it to send a message. They believed that cruelty was strength. That terror would make us hesitate."
"They were wrong."
Marcos looked at the 163 masters.
"By the laws of Astoria, you are guilty of mass murder. The sentence is death." He paused. "Daenerys?"
She dismounted from Syrax, walking toward the kneeling masters.
"I could have you burned," she said. "It would be appropriate. It would be just."
The masters looked hopeful for a moment.
"But fire is too quick. Too merciful." Daenerys turned to the former slaves. "You. The people they enslaved. The people they tortured. The people whose families they destroyed. You decide their fate."
The crowd erupted. Shouting, crying, demanding justice.
Marcos had known this moment would come. The temptation to let vengeance consume them. To let the freed slaves become executioners.
But Daenerys raised her hand for silence.
"Not like that," she said firmly. "We are not animals. We are not monsters. We will not become what they were."
She turned back to the masters.
"You will be executed. Publicly. Quickly. Without torture. Because we are better than you. Because justice is not the same as revenge."
"Line them up," she commanded the soldiers.
The masters were arranged in a line, still in the plaza.
Daenerys walked to the first one. The eldest. The one who had given the orders.
"For the murder of 213 innocent people," she said clearly, "I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, co-regent of the Empire of Astoria, sentence you to death."
She drew her sword—the Valyrian steel blade Marcos had forged for her.
The execution was swift. Clean. No speeches. No drama.
One by one, she and Marcos worked down the line. Some begged. Some cursed. Some accepted their fate with dignity.
It took two hours.
When it was done, 163 Great Masters lay dead.
One for each person they had murdered.
Exact. Measured. Justice, not vengeance.
The plaza was silent.
Then, someone began to clap. A former slave, old and scarred.
Others joined. The applause built, became cheering, became a roar of approval and relief.
But Marcos felt no triumph. Only exhaustion.
He had just executed 163 people. Some deserved it absolutely. Some probably did but had just followed orders. Some might have been less guilty than others.
But they had all participated in the system that led to those crucifixions.
And so they had all paid the price.
"Is it done?" Daenerys asked quietly, wiping blood from her blade.
"It's done." Marcos looked at the crowd, at the bodies, at the city they had just conquered. "Meereen is ours. Slaver's Bay is free."
"Then why don't I feel victorious?"
"Because we're not monsters," Marcos said. "And monsters don't feel guilt."
That Evening - The Great Pyramid
They had claimed the pyramid as a temporary headquarters. Ironic, to rule from the symbol of the old power.
The administration of Meereen was already underway. Garrett coordinated security. Mira organized food distribution. Elia set up medical stations for the injured.
The former masters had fled or been exiled. Their wealth was being redistributed to the freed slaves—reparations, compensation, and seed money for new lives.
Over 200,000 people were free.
Half a million people total, freed across all three cities.
It should have felt like the greatest victory of Marcos's life.
Instead, he stood on the pyramid's balcony, looking at the city, feeling nothing but tired.
Daenerys found him there, as she always did.
"Can't sleep?"
"Can't stop seeing their faces," Marcos admitted. "The masters. Some of them were old. Some were young. All of them died because of decisions made before today."
"They chose," Daenerys reminded him. "They could have surrendered like Yunkai. They chose defiance. They chose murder."
"I know. Logically, I know." Marcos rubbed his face. "But I still killed 82 people today. By hand. With a sword. Looking them in the eyes."
"I killed 81," Daenerys said. "We split the duty equally. We share the burden."
"Does it bother you?"
"Yes." She moved to stand beside him. "But less than seeing those crucified bodies did. Less than knowing if we'd shown mercy, they'd have done it again."
"We're changing," Marcos observed. "Both of us. Becoming harder."
"We're adapting," Daenerys corrected. "This world isn't kind to the soft. We tried mercy. We gave chances. And some people spat in our faces."
"And if we become like them? The tyrants?"
"Then we stop each other." Daenerys took his hand. "That's the deal, remember? When one of us goes too far, the other pulls them back."
"Did I go too far today?"
"No." Daenerys squeezed his hand. "You went exactly as far as justice demanded. No further. No less."
"And the freed slaves? What happens to them now?"
"They rebuild," Daenerys said. "With our help. We leave administrators, soldiers, resources. We teach them to govern themselves. And in a few years, Slaver's Bay becomes part of our empire not through conquest, but through choice."
"You've thought this through."
"One of us has to be the optimist." Daenerys smiled slightly. "You're too busy being the guilty conscience."
"Someone has to be."
They stood in silence, watching the city below as it began to transform from a place of slavery to something new.
"Marcos?" Daenerys said after a while.
"Yeah?"
"I'm sixteen in two months."
Marcos's heart skipped. "I know."
"And you said... when I was sixteen. When we'd had time. When things were stable." Daenerys looked at him. "Slaver's Bay is liberated. The empire is growing. We've built something real. So... when?"
"Dany—"
"I'm not asking for an answer now," she interrupted. "I'm just saying... I've waited. I've been patient. I've proven I'm not a child anymore." She gestured at the city. "I helped conquer three cities. I executed 81 slavers. I command dragons. I'm co-regent of an empire."
"You're all of that," Marcos agreed.
"Then when do I get to be yours? Really, fully yours?"
Marcos pulled her into a hug. "Soon. I promise. When we get back to Astoria. When the dust settles. When I can give you the attention and time you deserve, not stolen moments between battles."
"That's acceptable," Daenerys said into his chest. "But I'm holding you to it."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
Behind them, Morningstar and Syrax were curled up on the pyramid's roof, watching their riders with what could only be described as knowing amusement.
Dragons, it seemed, understood love better than humans gave them credit for.
One Week Later - Departure
They left Meereen with a stable government, supplied armies, and freed people who were already beginning to rebuild their lives.
The journey back to Astoria took two weeks.
When they finally saw their city on the horizon, when they saw the walls they'd built and the people they'd saved, Marcos felt something he hadn't felt in months.
Peace.
"Home," Daenerys said, smiling.
"Home," Marcos agreed.
They had freed half a million people. Built an empire. Conquered three cities. Brought back dragons.
And through it all, they had kept each other human.
That was the real victory.
Everything else was just details.
That Night - Astoria - Marcos's Quarters
There was a knock on his door.
"Come in," Marcos called.
Daenerys entered, wearing not armor or formal dress, but a simple nightgown.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," Marcos replied, his mouth suddenly dry.
"So, we're home. The dust has settled. And I turn sixteen in six weeks." Daenerys closed the door behind her. "I'm not asking for everything tonight. But... can we start?"
"Start what?"
"Start being a real couple. Not just partners in war. Not just co-regents. Real. With all that implies."
Marcos looked at her—at the woman she'd become. Strong, capable, beautiful, and utterly certain of what she wanted.
And he realized his reasons for waiting had run out.
"Yeah," he said. "We can start."
Daenerys smiled—radiant, genuine, full of hope and joy.
And for the first time since they'd met, Marcos kissed her. Really kissed her. Not a peck. Not a promise. But the real thing.
When they broke apart, both were breathless.
"That was..." Daenerys started.
"Long overdue," Marcos finished.
"Are you going to make me wait six more weeks for everything else?"
"Absolutely not." Marcos pulled her close again. "But we're taking this at our pace. Together. No rushing. No pressure."
"Together," Daenerys agreed. "Always together."
Outside, three dragons roared approval.
The Empire of Astoria had won its greatest victory.
But inside those walls, two people were just beginning their own journey.
And sometimes, the personal victories matter more than the political ones.
[END OF CHAPTER 25]