Daenerys watched the crowd's reaction in silence, her eyes gleaming with determination as the dragons, still circling her, roared with force. Then, she raised her hand, and silence immediately fell over the square.
—Those who conspired in the sewers —she said firmly, her voice rising above the murmurs—, those who joined the Sons of the Harpy to steal the freedom of the people, deserve neither mercy nor compassion. They, who chose cruelty, who used fear and oppression as tools of power, will die today.
With every word, the tension grew. The captured nobles trembled with fear.
—Today —she continued, her gaze cold as it swept over the nobles, a chilling contrast to the beauty of her face—, I shall take your lives, as I have done with so many others before you.
Some of the nobles, already on their knees, tried to plead, but Daenerys turned her back on them. Their fate had already been decided. They understood the significance of what was about to happen.
—My children —she murmured with a maternal softness as she stroked the scaled necks of Rhaegal and Drakul—. Dracarys.
A deafening roar burst from the dragons. Drakul, the largest of them all, was the first to spread his wings and unleash a cry, his shadow casting darkness over the plaza. At his side, the other three dragons followed, roaring and opening their jaws. The air quickly grew hot, and a burning breeze began to swirl around those present.
Vlad, standing beside her, watched the scene with a calm yet dangerous gaze. Fire was the fitting punishment—not just for these nobles, but for all who still believed they could defy the future he and Daenerys had worked so hard to build.
And then, the dragons unleashed their fire.
Pure, intense, voracious flames engulfed the nobles in a blinding explosion of heat and light. Screams were drowned out by the roar of fire, which consumed their bodies and turned their souls into smoke. The spectators, both terrified and mesmerized, could not look away. The spectacle was overwhelming.
When the fire finally faded, only ashes remained. The cruelties these men had wrought no longer had shape. Only a lesson that would be etched in the memory of all who witnessed it.
Daenerys slowly turned to the crowd, her face serene, but her eyes shone with intensity.
—This is the fate of those who choose to place chains upon others —she declared with a voice that echoed like a call for justice—. Those who seek oppression will find only fire and blood.
The response was immediate: the Unsullied struck the ground with their spears, the Dothraki let out war cries, the freedmen cheered, and the dragons roared into the sky.
Vlad, from his position beside the thrones, observed the woman who had emerged from the vulnerable girl he had rescued from her brother's clutches. And for the first time in a long while, he smiled with genuine pride.
---
In the days that followed the execution, Vlad immersed himself in preparations for his departure. Westeros was not his immediate destination, but rather the solution to a more pressing problem: ships.
The true obstacle to war wasn't numbers, his armies already boasted more than one hundred and fifty thousand men.
The problem was transporting them.
In theory, he had a fleet larger than those of Lannisport or the Iron Islands—a force to be reckoned with at sea.
But in practice, his ships, generously acquired in Slaver's Bay and Qarth, were insufficient. He had one hundred and fifty warships, designed to carry one hundred soldiers each, but they could barely transport eighty with all the necessary supplies.
His other fifteen merchant ships, capable of holding two hundred people, were also not enough. Even stretched to the limit, he could only move fifteen thousand men in a single trip, which was nearly laughable if he planned to conquer Westeros.
So, he would travel to Braavos—to negotiate, to buy, or to take whatever was necessary. Two hundred additional merchant vessels would suffice.
Meanwhile, Daenerys would go with a small diplomatic retinue to Dorne, to discover whether House Martell would support the last Targaryen in her claim for the Iron Throne. If the negotiations went as he hoped, the fleet of Dorne combined with that of Braavos would be enough to transport more than sixty thousand men in one or two voyages.
But before setting out, he needed to thoroughly inspect his entire army. First came the fleet. He gathered his best captains and personally oversaw the inspection of each of the one hundred warships and fifteen merchant vessels. Any loose plank, torn sail, or weakened anchor was replaced without delay.
The shipyards worked day and night, hammers and saws ringing like war drums.
The dragons flew over the harbor every sunset, practicing formation flight with their mother, determined to ensure they could not be struck by any arrow—as if the Valyrian steel protections Vlad had forged were not enough.
Vlad walked among the docks, inspecting stores of grain, water, wine, and oil, ensuring each container was sealed and each load properly secured. There would be no hunger or disease among his ranks.
Then came the organization of the army. The Dothraki riders were divided into smaller legions, each led by one of his bloodriders, ready to move swiftly once they reached land. The horses and men, now armored, had turned the Dothraki into the most fearsome and effective cavalry ever seen.
The Unsullied, disciplined as always, were arranged into companies designed to assault cities, streets, and narrow passages, using overlapping shield formations adapted for slow but highly effective movement. Their armor was also changed and improved: shields forged from the finest steel and leather breastplates crafted for durability and lightness. Vlad appointed commanders who spoke the Common Tongue—men loyal to him, many of them raised by his own hand since the fall of Astapor.
The freedmen and mercenaries were organized into mixed squads, reinforced by spearmen from Astapor and crossbowmen from Yunkai.