Chapter 153 — Panic in King's Landing
On one hand, she was eager to reach Westeros as quickly as possible. On the other, Pentos lay just ahead, and she intended to rest there briefly before making the final push across the Narrow Sea.
Not long after the fleet entered the bay, Drogon lifted off from Daenerys's shoulder and rose into the air. From above, he quickly spotted the distant outline of Pentos.
This place was familiar to him—intimately so. He had even snuck into the magister's manse more than once to steal food.
Knowing they were about to arrive, Daenerys Targaryen found it hard to steady her emotions.
This was where her brother Viserys Targaryen, together with Illyrio Mopatis, had handed her over to Khal Drogo.
Back then, she had been helpless… timid… utterly alone.
And now—three years later—she returned with one hundred thousand warriors, a thousand ships, and three dragons capable of burning cities to ash.
It was something she had never even dared to imagine when she first left Pentos.
Beyond this stop lay Westeros—the land she had dreamed of day and night.
How could she not feel stirred?
---
As the fleet advanced further, several small boats approached.
Two men came aboard.
One was Illyrio himself, a familiar figure.
The other was a man in his forties, with a neatly groomed, oil-slick beard much like Illyrio's.
"Your Grace, welcome to Pentos. I am Prince Ashborn Lelivar," the man introduced himself.
Daenerys gave him a slight nod. She knew the title of "Prince" in Pentos was largely ceremonial. True authority rested with the magisters. The prince was little more than a scapegoat—granted certain privileges, yet doomed to be sacrificed whenever famine or defeat demanded appeasing the gods.
"Congratulations, Your Grace, on your triumphant return," Illyrio said with a respectful bow.
Daenerys studied his eyes, searching for something deeper.
Back then—had he truly sold her off for profit?
Or had he been gambling on the restoration of House Targaryen?
But all she saw was satisfaction.
Nothing more.
"There's some credit for this… that belongs to you," she said meaningfully, recalling the fear and helplessness she had felt the day she was traded away.
Illyrio understood immediately.
"I had hoped Khal Drogo would help you reclaim the Iron Throne," he replied with a sigh. "I never foresaw… how events would unfold."
He was referring to Drogo's death.
And Daenerys knew he wasn't wrong.
That tragedy had exceeded everyone's expectations—and at its root lay her own misplaced mercy… and naivety.
She chose not to press the matter further.
Truthfully, she found it difficult to continue hating him.
After all, it was Illyrio who had gifted her those three dragon eggs.
Without them… there would be no Drogon, no Rhaegal, no Viserion—
And certainly no army, no fleet, no power.
---
Pentos, like the other cities before it, offered lavish gifts and invited her ashore to rest.
After making arrangements for the fleet, Daenerys disembarked with Illyrio and followed him to the residence prepared for her.
They would remain in Pentos for just one day before setting sail again.
She declined the banquet invitations from the prince and magisters, but accepted Illyrio's invitation to his private estate.
Once seated, Illyrio produced intelligence sent by Varys.
The news came swiftly—
Stannis Baratheon had burned the wildling king and absorbed the wildling forces into his army.
The Eyrie had refused to hand over Sansa and her sister.
Euron Greyjoy had arrived in King's Landing with over two hundred ships, pledging allegiance to Cersei Lannister—though his mental state seemed unstable, with reports of manic outbursts echoing through the Red Keep.
And finally—
Cersei had restored the Faith Militant, using them to arrest Margaery Tyrell and her brother Loras Tyrell, forcing Highgarden to march on the Vale.
Tyrion's first reaction upon hearing the news from King's Landing was simple—
Tyrion Lannister was convinced his sister had finally lost her mind.
Otherwise, why would Cersei Lannister restore the Faith Militant… and allow the power of the Faith—so painfully suppressed in the past—to rise again?
Drogon, meanwhile, wasn't surprised.
So she still found the High Sparrow after all…
The only question was—would she still end up walking naked through the streets?
As for Euron Greyjoy—he was alive, just as expected. But clearly not whole. Something in his mind had snapped; otherwise, he wouldn't be howling like a madman inside the Red Keep.
Daenerys herself didn't immediately grasp the consequences of restoring the Faith Militant. Only after Tyrion explained did she understand.
But to her, that hardly mattered.
The more chaotic Westeros became… the better.
Chaos meant opportunity.
---
King's Landing — Panic
Three days earlier, the moment news arrived that Daenerys Targaryen was marching on Westeros with one hundred thousand troops—
King's Landing fell into turmoil.
The sudden threat dragged Cersei back to a memory she had buried deep—
The day Stannis Baratheon nearly took the city…
The moment she held her son Tommen Baratheon…
And almost forced poison down his throat.
That same helplessness returned.
Now, an army of one hundred thousand—and three dragons—was closing in.
There was no time left for schemes in the Vale.
Cersei immediately ordered Highgarden's forces recalled to defend the capital.
Part of the Lannister army besieging Riverrun was withdrawn as well.
She began conscripting noble household guards throughout King's Landing.
If Ramsay Bolton hadn't been so far away in Winterfell, she might have summoned him too.
Fortunately, she still had Euron.
With more than thirty thousand sailors under his command, his alliance gave her a measure of reassurance—despite his increasingly unhinged behavior.
---
Daenerys's sudden rise caught everyone off guard—
Cersei, her council, and the nobles alike.
Some lords had already begun preparing to flee the city before her arrival.
After all, not long ago, she had been nothing more than a girl ruling a distant corner of Slaver's Bay with barely ten thousand troops.
And now?
A thousand ships.
One hundred thousand soldiers.
Three dragons.
It sounded absurd—almost unbelievable.
Even Cersei had to confirm it repeatedly through Varys before accepting the truth.
Part of her strength came from defeating Euron.
But the greater portion… came from the Dothraki.
And that was what baffled them most.
Why would the Dothraki—raiders who bowed only to strength—follow an eighteen-year-old girl across the sea?
Even if she had once been a khaleesi…
Why would they submit to her now?
No one could answer that.
The only small comfort they found—
Thirty thousand of her troops were inexperienced recruits.
A thin thread of hope… but hope nonetheless.
---
The Small Council
Inside the council chamber, Cersei presided over an emergency meeting.
"How do you think she'll land?" she asked, smiling faintly as she turned to her uncle.
Kevan Lannister had rushed back from the Riverlands upon hearing the news, setting aside his disputes with Cersei to stabilize the capital as Hand of the King.
Now, all eyes turned to him—
Because the next move…
Would decide the fate of the realm.