The march to Yunkai took four more days. Four days of dust and heat and the endless thunder of hooves. Four days of Rhaego running alongside the horses, laughing when the wind caught his wings, practicing small bursts of blue flame that made the khalassar whoop and stamp.
Four days of Daenerys watching from her silver mare, pride and fear warring behind her eyes.
On the morning of the fifth day the Yellow City appeared on the horizon walls of pale stone gleaming like bone under the sun, banners of black and gold snapping in the wind.
The khalassar slowed. The Unsullied formed ranks.
And Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, looked at the city that still kept men and women in chains… and felt the old fire stir once more.
Daenerys walked between Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan, barefoot on the warm stone of the cliff's edge. The wind tugged at her hair and the hem of her tokar. Behind, the khalasar spread across the plain like spilled ink horses, tents, cookfires, the glint of arakhs and spears. The Unsullied stood apart in perfect squares, silent and still.
Jorah stopped at the cliff's lip and pointed. "Yunkai," he said quietly. "The Yellow City."
Barristan nodded, eyes on the distant walls. "The Yunkai's train bed slaves, not soldiers. On the field, we can defeat them with ease."
Jorah glanced at him, then back to the city. "They will not meet us on the field. They have provisions, patience, and strong walls."
His voice was low, almost weary. "If they are wise, they will hide behind those walls and chip away at us man by man."
Daenerys said nothing at first. She gazed at Yunkai at the pale towers, the black-and-gold banners, the distant glitter of chains on the gates. She could almost hear them clinking.
"I do not want half my army killed before I have crossed the Narrow Sea," she said at last.
Jorah turned to her. "We do not need Yunkai, Khaleesi. Taking this city will not bring you any closer to Westeros or the Iron Throne."
A moment of quiet passed between them. The wind carried the faint scent of salt and dust.
Then Daenerys spoke again, voice low but certain. "How many slaves are there in Yunkai?"
Jorah answered without hesitation. "Two hundred thousand. If not more."
She turned her head slowly to look at him. "Then we have two hundred thousand reasons to take the city."
Jorah studied her face. The determination in her violet eyes was unmistakable, not the wild fire of a girl anymore, but the steady flame of a woman who had already burned one city and would burn another if it meant breaking chains.
He gave a small nod not agreement, exactly, but acceptance.
Daenerys turned to Grey Worm, who stood a pace behind them, spear planted, face impassive.
In High Valyrian she said, "Send a man to the city gates."
Grey Worm inclined his head.
"Tell the slavers I will receive them here, and accept their surrender." Her voice was calm, almost gentle. "Otherwise, Yunkai will suffer the same fate as Astapor."
Grey Worm nodded once, turned on his heel, and strode back toward the Unsullied lines to relay the order. Daenerys turned back to the horizon. The Yellow City lay silent under the sun, waiting.
Much time passing.
The drums were heard long before the palanquin was seen.
Across the sands, the Unsullied formed in perfect silence shields lifted, spears angled, a living corridor of bronze and discipline. Others stood upon the high rocks overlooking the camp, their red cloaks unmoving in the wind, watching every shifting shadow below.
Between those ranks came the procession from Yunkai.
Slaves bore a lacquered palanquin upon their shoulders, their backs bent beneath its weight. Behind them trudged more slaves, straining beneath two heavy chests bound in iron.
Within the palanquin reclined Razdal mo Eraz, perfumed, jeweled, and watchful.
His eyes flicked upward to the Unsullied upon the rocks.
Downward to the spears lining his path.
Forward to the vast khalassar beyond.
The drums beat slower as they neared the pale silk tent at the camp's heart. There, seated upon red cushions, was Daenerys Targaryen.
Her silver hair fell loose about her shoulders. Two of her knights stood behind her silent, vigilant. Missandei waited near the entrance, composed as still water.
Near Daenerys, three dragons lay coiled wings half-folded, eyes unblinking. And at her side stood a child who bore her coloring… yet whose small horns and scaled gleam marked him as something forged in fire.
The slaves lowered the palanquin. Razdal stepped down carefully, smoothing his silks.
Missandei's clear voice carried over the hush.
"Now comes Razdal mo Eraz," she announced in clear, carrying tones, "of the ancient and honorable house of that name, Master of Men and Speaker to Savages, come to offer terms of peace."
Razdal entered the shade. He stopped a respectful distance from the cushions, though his eyes kept darting to the black dragon that lifted its head and regarded him with slow, burning interest.
A low hiss vibrated in the air. Then a sudden, sharp screech split the silence. Razdal flinched despite himself, halting mid-step.
Missandei did not so much as blink.
"Noble lord," she said evenly, "you stand before Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons."
Silence followed. Razdal inclined his head stiffly, though unease lingered in his eyes.
Daenerys regarded him without hurry.
"You may approach," she said at last. "Sit."
A Dothraki handmaiden dragged forward a carved chair. Missandei stepped closer with a silver cup.
"Will the noble lord take refreshment?" she asked.
Razdal nodded quickly, though his gaze never left the queen. He accepted the wine and drank deep, perhaps to steady himself, then set the cup aside.
For a long moment, no one spoke. At last Razdal cleared his throat.
"Ancient and glorious is Yunkai," he began, voice rich with rehearsed pride. "Our empire was old before dragons stirred in old Valyria. Many an army has broken against our walls."
Daenerys' gaze drifted, almost lazily, to a platter of raw meat resting near her feet. Razdal continued, mistaking her silence for uncertainty.
"You shall find no easy conquest here, Khaleesi."
She did not answer. Instead, she took a strip of meat and flicked it high into the air. The dragons exploded into motion.
Wings snapped open. Claws tore through dust. A chorus of shrieks filled the tent as they leapt and fought midair for the offering.
Razdal stumbled back from his seat, nearly falling as one leathery wing swept past him. The snap of jaws rang inches from where he stood.
The meat vanished between fangs. The dragons settled again, though their eyes remained bright and alert.
Daenerys looked back at him calmly. "Good," she said. "My Unsullied need practice. I was told to blood them early."
Razdal forced a thin smile.
Razdal swallowed. "If blood is your desire, blood shall flow. But why?" He gestured toward the chests. "The Wise Masters of Yunkai are forgiving and generous people."
He clapped sharply.
The slaves carrying the heavy chests stepped forward and laid them before her, they opened the lids. Gold gleamed inside, bars stacked in careful rows, catching dragonlight and firelight alike.
"The Wise Masters of Yunkai send a gift to the Silver Queen," Razdal said smoothly.
Daenerys did not lean forward, she glanced briefly toward Ser Jorah. Then back to Razdal.
"There is far more than this awaiting you upon the decks of your ships," Razdal continued.
Daenerys lifted one pale brow. "My ship?" she asked.
Razdal smiled thin, practiced, proud. "Yes, Khaleesi." He leaned forward slightly. "As I said, we are generous people. You shall have as many ships as you require."
Dany regarded him for a long moment. "And what do you ask in return?"
"All we ask," Razdal said slowly, "is that you make use of these ships. Sail them back to Westeros, where you belong… and leave us to conduct our affairs in peace."
Silence followed.
Dany's gaze drifted past him to the slaves kneeling right beside him bodies low, iron collars gleaming dully at their necks, eyes fixed on the ground. The chains clinked faintly when one shifted.
She brought her eyes back to Razdal. "I have a gift for you as well."
"Your life." She said.
"My life?" he repeated, half-amused.
"And the lives of your Wise Masters," Dany finished. "But I want something in return."
Her voice was quiet, without hesitation, without reverence only certainty.
"You will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman, and child shall be given as much food, clothing, and property as they can carry, payment for their years of servitude."
Razdal's head tilted. The smile faltered, just slightly.
"Reject this gift," she said, "and I shall show you no mercy." The words hung between them like drawn steel.
Razdal stared at her at the woman who sat unmoving on red cushions, at the three dragons coiled in the shadows behind her, at the silver-haired boy who watched him with slitted violet eyes
Razdal leaned forward, brows furrowing, voice dropping to a hiss. "You are mad. We are not Astapor, nor Qarth. We are Yunkai, and we have powerful friends, friends who would take great pleasure in destroying you."
Then his lips curled. "Those who survive, we shall enslave once more. Perhaps we'll make a slave of you as well." He rose as he spoke the last words, voice rising.
From a wooden perch behind Daenerys, Drogon's head snapped up. A low, guttural screech tore from his throat not loud, but sharp enough to make the air shiver. The black dragon's crimson eyes fixed on Razdal
Razdal flinched. His eyes darted to the dragon, then back to Dany. "You swore me safe conduct," he said, the confidence fraying at the edges.
"I did," Daenerys answered calmly. "But my dragons made no promises. And you threatened their mother." The silence that followed was thick, heavy with heat and the faint metallic scent of fear-sweat.
Razdal's gaze flicked to the two chests of gold. "Take the gold," he snapped to his slaves.
Four slaves rose from their knees, eyes wide and flickering toward the dragons coiled beside the chests. They stepped forward slow, reluctant hands trembling as they reached for the lids.
Drogon moved first.
He launched from his perch in a single fluid motion, wings snapping open, black shadow sweeping across the gold. The slaves stumbled back, crying out, arms raised to shield their faces. The chests remained untouched.
Dany's voice cut through the sudden panic, low and even.
"My gold," she said. "You gave it to me. Remember? And I shall put it to good use." She leaned forward slightly. "You would be wise to do the same with my gift to you."
Razdal stared at her, fury and fear warring behind his eyes. His mouth opened, closed. Then he turned sharply, tokar swirling, and strode back toward his palanquin.
As he walked away he muttered in High Valyrian curses, bitter and low, the words lost beneath the rising wind.
The silk flap fell closed behind him.
Ser Barristan spoke from her right, voice low and steady. "The Yunkish are a proud people. They will not bend."
Daenerys did not answer at once. Her fingers moved gently through Rhaego's silver hair as he sat beside her, small hands tearing into a piece of fried meat with single-minded joy. Grease shone on his chin; his tail flicked contentedly against the cushions.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes still on the distant yellow walls. "And what happens to things that do not bend?"
Barristan's mouth curved, not quite a smile, more acknowledgement. "They break, Your Grace."
Jorah gave a small, quiet nod beside him. The wind stirred the silk canopy above them, carrying the faint salt scent of the bay and the smoke of distant cookfires.
Dany's hand stilled on Rhaego's head. She turned to Jorah. "He spoke of powerful friends. Who was he talking about?"
Jorah met her gaze. "I do not know, Khaleesi."
Her voice was soft, but the command beneath it was iron. "Then find out."
Jorah inclined his head once sharp, obedient and stepped away, cloak swirling as he moved toward the Unsullied lines.
Drogon stirred then, sliding from his perch behind her to settle at her side. The black scales gleamed like polished obsidian in the fading light. Dany reached out and ran her fingers along the ridge of his neck. A deep, rumbling purr rose from the dragon's chest, low and steady, vibrating through the cushions.
Rhaego looked up at her, mouth still glistening with oil, cheeks flushed from the heat and the excitement earlier.
"That was amazing, Mother!" His tail wagged once, thumping softly against the floor. "You made him scared."
Not gonna lie that was awesome, specially having special seat up close. He thought,
Daenerys smiled small, fond and reached for a damp cloth from the tray beside her.
"And you behaved well," she said, wiping the grease from his chin with gentle strokes, "sitting so quietly beside me, my flame."
Rhaego squirmed a little under her touch but leaned into it, violet-slitted eyes bright.
"I didn't get mad," he said proudly. "Even when he looked at me funny."
She laughed soft, brief and pressed a kiss to his forehead, right between the small black horns.
"You did very well. Now stay close. There is still work to do." He nodded solemnly, though his tail gave another happy flick.
Yunkai would learn soon enough. Things that do not bend… Break.