The Bombardment
---
WHOOOOSH—CRASH!
The second trebuchet stone struck the eastern wall section, sending cracks spiderwebbing through masonry that had stood for centuries. Dust billowed into the morning air, and the screams of defenders caught in the impact zone carried across the distance between armies.
WHOOOOSH—CRASH!
A third stone followed, this one aimed at a scorpion emplacement that had been preparing to fire on the approaching siege towers. The weapon and its crew vanished in an explosion of splinters and stone fragments.
Daenerys watched from atop Swiftclaw, the fire-colored D-Raptor shifting restlessly beneath her as the bombardment continued. Her bastard sword hung at her hip, her whip coiled at her other side, and her heavy crossbow was loaded and ready in her left hand. The spear/glaive secured to her saddle caught the morning light, and her dagger remained sheathed at her thigh—the full complement of weapons she'd grown accustomed to carrying.
"The eastern section is weakening faster than expected," Jorah observed, riding up beside her on his enhanced war horse. "Another hour of bombardment, and we'll have a breach large enough to send the infantry through."
"We could have a breach in minutes if Angelus revealed herself," Daenerys replied, her voice carrying a mixture of anticipation and strategic calculation. "But there's value in letting them think they're facing a conventional siege. When she appears, the psychological impact will be devastating—defenders who believe they're losing a winnable battle suddenly confronting an enemy they have absolutely no hope of defeating."
"You've learned to think like her." There was approval in Jorah's voice, and something that might have been pride. "A year ago, you would have wanted the quickest victory possible. Now you understand that how you win matters as much as winning itself."
"Angelus taught me that conquering a city is easy compared to ruling it afterward. If we crush Yunkai's spirit before we breach their walls, the occupation will be simpler and the integration faster." She glanced at him, "Besides, our forces need the experience. Real combat against real defenders, not just training exercises against each other."
WHOOOOSH—CRASH!
Another section of wall crumbled, and the defenders' return fire—bolts from scorpions, arrows from archers—fell woefully short of the Wyrmborne siege lines.
---
The Yunkai Perspective
---
Captain Grazdan mo Eraz had seen battles before. He'd fought in border skirmishes, suppressed slave rebellions, and once even participated in a proper siege when Yunkai had briefly warred with Astapor over territorial disputes. He'd thought he understood what war looked like.
He'd been wrong.
The creatures in the enemy army defied everything he knew about the world. The massive beasts at the rear—towering things that stood taller than their walls, with jaws that could swallow a man whole—had no name in any language he spoke. The flying monsters overhead circled like patience predators. And the soldiers themselves... scales covered their bodies like armor that had grown from their flesh, and their eyes held the slitted pupils of reptiles.
"Captain!" A young officer scrambled up to the wall, his face pale with terror. "The Second Sons are talking about surrender. Their captain says this isn't what they were paid for—they signed on to defend against a Dothraki horde, not... not whatever this is."
"Tell them their contract specifies defense of the city, not defense against specific enemies. If they abandon their posts, they forfeit their payment and face the Wise Masters' justice."
"Captain, with respect—" The officer's voice cracked. "—I don't think the Wise Masters' justice frightens them as much as those things out there. The Stormcrows are saying the same. Only the Long Lances are still committed, and that's because their commander is too stupid to recognize when he's outmatched."
WHOOOOSH—CRASH!
The impact threw both men off their feet. When Grazdan regained his footing, he saw that the section of wall thirty feet to his left had simply... ceased to exist. Where there had been solid stone, now there was rubble and the broken bodies of the men who had been standing there.
"How many trebuchets do they have?" he demanded.
"Twelve, Captain. Maybe more—it's hard to count with the dust and the... the monsters blocking our view."
Twelve trebuchets. Yunkai had four scorpions capable of reaching the enemy siege lines, and two of those had already been destroyed. The mathematics of this battle were becoming increasingly unfavorable.
"What about their dragons? The flying ones?"
"They haven't attacked yet, Captain. They're just... circling. Watching."
That was almost worse than if they'd been breathing fire. The waiting, the patient observation—it suggested intelligence and restraint. Beasts attacked when they saw prey. What circled overhead wasn't attacking because it didn't need to. They seemed like they're just waiting for the right moment.
"Send word to the Wise Masters," Grazdan said finally, his voice solemn. "Tell them we need to reconsider our options. Quickly."
---
The Champions' Assault
---
"The wall is breached," Drogo reported through the communication network that Angelus had established. "Eastern section, wide enough for siege towers to approach."
He sat astride Drakkarion, the massive black-and-red Drake radiating heat that made the air shimmer around them. Above him, Balerion circled overhead, showing that he's ready at any moment.
"Then it's time," Daenerys replied. "Drogo, lead the Drake cavalry through the breach. Jhogo, your D-Raptors take the flanks—I want scouts inside the city identifying pockets of resistance before our infantry arrives. Jorah, coordinate the siege tower deployment."
"What about the Z-Rexes?" Jhogo asked. The Champion sat astride Sho'keth, his unique teal-and-gold poison Drake shifting with barely contained eagerness. His custom armor fit perfectly, and his curved Valyrian steel blade—enhanced with corrosive runes—hung at his side alongside his secondary dagger and modified crossbow. "They've been getting restless. The handlers say they can smell blood and they want to hunt."
"Hold them in reserve for now. If the defenders rally or the sellswords decide to make a stand, we'll release them. But I'd prefer to take this city with minimal destruction to the infrastructure." Daenerys paused, her consciousness reaching out to touch Angelus's mind. "<
"<
"<
"<
"<
"<
---
The breach was chaos.
Drogo led the charge, Drakkarion's clawed feet finding purchase on rubble as they plunged through the gap in Yunkai's walls. The Drake's black-red fire erupted in controlled bursts, clearing defenders from their path without igniting the surrounding buildings.
FWOOOOSH!
A cluster of spearmen who had been preparing to receive the charge scattered as flames washed over their shields. Those who didn't move fast enough screamed and fell, their weapons clattering uselessly against the stone.
"WYRMBORNE!" The war cry erupted from Drogo's throat as he drove deeper into the city, Drakkarion moving with fluid grace. His arakh flashed, catching a defender who had been too slow to flee, and the man went down in a spray of blood that painted the Drake's crimson-marked scales.
SQUELCH.
Behind him, the Drake cavalry poured through the breach—fire variants with scales that gleamed like heated metal, frost variants whose breath crystallized the air around them, poison variants whose very presence made defenders choke and stumble. Three hundred riders on three hundred beasts, each one a weapon platform capable of devastating infantry formations.
CRASH! ROAR! SCREECH!
The Yunkai defenders tried to rally. A line of pikemen formed across a major intersection, their weapons angled to receive the charging Drakes. For a moment, it looked like they might hold—professional soldiers doing what they'd been trained to do.
Then Jhogo's D-Raptors hit them from the flank.
SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH!
The swift creatures bounded over rubble and through narrow alleys, their riders guiding them with the precision of long practice. Jhogo himself led the assault, Sho'keth's poisonous breath coating the pikemen's weapons with corrosive vapor that ate through the metal even as their claws tore through flesh.
HISSS—CRACK!
The pike line shattered. Those who survived the initial assault fled into side streets, only to find more D-Raptors waiting. The creatures were everywhere, their coordinated movements turning the city's streets into a killing ground.
"First district secured," Jhogo reported, his voice carrying satisfaction but not arrogance. "Minimal civilian casualties—most fled when they saw us coming. The defenders are falling back toward the central plaza."
"Good," Daenerys replied. "Press them, but don't overextend. I want them compressed, not scattered."
---
The Sellsword Surrender
---
Daario Naharis, captain of the Stormcrows, had made his fortune by knowing when to fight and when to negotiate. The scene unfolding before him suggested very strongly that this was a time for the latter.
The creatures storming through Yunkai's streets weren't natural. The scaled warriors with their inhuman reflexes, the drake-things that breathed fire and poison and frost, the swift predators that moved through alleys like shadows with teeth—none of it matched anything he'd encountered in twenty years of mercenary work across Essos.
And those were just the forces that had entered the city. The massive beasts waiting outside, the flying monsters circling overhead, the artillery that had reduced their walls to rubble in less than two hours—the Stormcrows had been hired to defend against a Dothraki horde. This wasn't a horde. This was an army that made the Dothraki look like children playing with wooden swords.
"Captain?" His second-in-command, a scarred woman named Elira, appeared at his side. "The Second Sons have already thrown down their arms. Their captain is negotiating terms with the scaled warriors. The Long Lances are making a stand in the merchant quarter, but..."
"Let me guess. They're dying."
She nods. "Messily."
Daario considered his options. The Wise Masters had paid well, but they were almost certainly going to be dead or enslaved by sunset. Fighting to the death for employers who wouldn't survive to appreciate the sacrifice seemed pointless. And there was something to be said for being on the winning side of a conquest this decisive.
"Get me a white flag," he said finally. "And find out who's in charge of these..." He gestures to one of the scaled warriors in the distance currently bisecting an enemy in half. "Whatever they are. I want to discuss terms. Hopefully they're amenable enough to listen to us before deciding to eat us later."
"If they do, I'll make sure to give them a terrible digestion." Elira joked.
Daario chuckled at the joke, despite the timing of their dire situation. "That, is one of the reasons I keep you around."
Elira raises an eyebrow. "And I'm sure me being a good fuck in a sack is one of the other?"
"You said it, not me." Daario replied, sending a smirk her way, making Elira scoff at the gesture.
---
The surrender negotiations were surprisingly civilized.
Jorah handled them, his black Draconian scales and slitted eyes making it clear that he was no ordinary human negotiator. The sellsword captains—Daario of the Stormcrows and a nervous man named Mero who led the Second Sons—sat across from him in what had been a wealthy merchant's courtyard, now serving as a temporary command post.
"The terms are simple," Jorah said, "Your men lay down their arms and submit to processing. Those who wish to leave Yunkai may do so freely once the city is secured. Those who wish to join the Wyrmborne will be given the opportunity—the pay is better than whatever the Wise Masters were offering, the equipment is superior, and you'd be fighting for a force that's actually going to win."
"And if we refuse?" Mero asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"Then you join the Long Lances in the merchant quarter. Our Z-Rexes—he gestures to the giant, bipedal monsters currently in the rear—have been getting restless—they haven't had a proper hunt in weeks, and we've been looking for an excuse to let them loose."
Daario had been studying Jorah throughout the conversation—the way he moved, the confidence in his bearing, the subtle power that radiated from his transformed form. "You were human once weren't you?" he observed. "Before the scales I mean."
"I was. A disgraced and exiled knight of Westeros. The Wyrmborne gave me a second chance—power, purpose, and a cause worth fighting for." Jorah's expression didn't change, but something in his voice suggested genuine conviction. "The same opportunity is available to any who prove themselves worthy."
"Scales and dragon-fire?" Daario asked, though his tone suggested he was probing for more than the obvious.
"The physical changes are the most visible part, but they're not the most significant." Jorah held up one black-scaled hand, examining it as if seeing it for the first time. "The enhanced strength, the elemental abilities, extended lifespan—those matter. But what matters more is belonging to a cause that's going to conquer and dominate this world. I spent years serving causes that were doomed from the start. This one isn't."
Daario exchanged a glance with Mero. The Second Sons' captain looked ready to agree to anything that would keep him alive; his company had already surrendered, and he was negotiating for terms rather than survival. The Stormcrows were in a slightly stronger position—they still had weapons and organization—but not strong enough to change the outcome.
"We accept," Daario said. "The Stormcrows will lay down arms and submit to processing. I personally would like to discuss the possibility of... advancement."
Jorah's expression might have held a hint of approval. "That can be arranged. For now, have your men gather in the eastern plaza. The processing teams will handle the rest."
---
The Dragon's Revelation
---
The Long Lances died hard.
They'd fortified the merchant quarter with the desperation of men who knew they were doomed but refused to accept it. Barricades blocked the main approaches, archers covered the killing grounds, and their commander—a grizzled veteran named Gorosh who had survived a dozen campaigns—had positioned his forces to make the Wyrmborne pay for every inch of ground.
It might have worked against a conventional army. Against Drakes and D-Raptors, it simply prolonged the inevitable. Against what came next, it was meaningless.
"They've refused three offers of surrender," Jhogo reported, frustration evident in his voice. "Gorosh keeps saying he'd rather die with honor than live as a slave to monsters. His men seem to agree with him—or at least, they're too afraid of him to disagree publicly."
Daenerys considered the situation. The merchant quarter was valuable; she'd wanted to take it intact. But every hour the Long Lances held out was an hour that the city remained unsecured, an hour that the Wise Masters might use to organize resistance or destroy resources rather than see them captured.
"<
"<
The sky darkened.
At first, the defenders thought it was a cloud passing over the sun. Then the cloud moved with purpose, descending from above with a speed that made their hearts stop. Wings that could span city blocks spread to catch the air, scales the color of fresh blood caught the light, and a tail that glowed with volcanic fire traced a path of heat through the morning sky.
GROOOOOOAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR!!!
The roar shook buildings. Windows shattered from the sonic force. Men who had stood firm against Drake cavalry and D-Raptor assaults dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, their minds simply unable to process what they were seeing. Some of them murmuring "This can't be happening, This can't be happening, This can't be happening..." or "It's all a dream. I'll wake up from this nightmare soon..."
One enemy soldier with his knees on the ground looks at the giant crimson wyvern in the sky with dread and mutter "How do we fight a monster that big?"
Angelus descended on the merchant quarter like divine judgment.
Her horns swept back from her skull in elegant curves that caught the light, marking her as something beyond mere beast. Her golden eyes blazed with myria-annum of accumulated power, and her magma-like tail pulsed with steady rhythm of a volcano preparing to erupt. She was larger than she had been a year ago—larger than any dragon the histories of Yunkai had ever recorded.
She landed on the main barricade, her weight crushing it to splinters, and faced the Long Lances with the patient contempt of a god addressing insects.
"<
Gorosh stood his ground, though his face had gone the color of old parchment. To his credit, he didn't run. He drew his sword—a decent blade, well-maintained—and faced the impossible with the dignity of a man who had made peace with death.
"I am Gorosh of the Long Lances," he said, his voice carrying despite its tremor. "We do not surrender to monsters." Then he gathers some courage and raises his voice. "I will not fear you!"
"Then you will die braver than most." Angelus's voice carried no anger, no satisfaction—merely statement of fact. "But your men need not share your fate. Any who lay down their weapons now will be spared. Any who continue fighting will burn. You have thirty seconds to decide."
The silence stretched for perhaps ten of those seconds before the first sword clattered to the ground. Then another, and another, until the sound of falling weapons created a cascade of surrender that swept through the Long Lances' formation like a wave.
Gorosh stood alone, surrounded by men who had followed him for years but who weren't willing to die for pride when a dragon offered them life.
"Your men have chosen wisdom," Angelus observed. "Will you join them?"
For a long moment, Gorosh didn't move. Then, slowly, he reversed his grip on his sword and drove it point-first into the ground.
"I yield," he said, the words seeming to cost him physically. "But I want you to know that I've never surrendered before. Not once in thirty years of fighting."
"Then you've learned something today." Angelus's voice held something that might have been respect. "Knowing when to yield is as important as knowing when to fight. A lesson I wish more of your employers had understood."
---
The Fall of the Wise Masters
---
The Wise Masters' palace was the last holdout.
They'd barricaded themselves inside with their household guards—perhaps two hundred men who had been paid too well or threatened too effectively to flee with the rest. The building itself was a fortress of sorts, with thick walls and reinforced gates designed to withstand exactly the kind of slave uprising that the Masters had always feared.
It was not designed to withstand dragons.
"We could burn it," Angelus offered, her massive form settled in the plaza outside the palace gates. "The structure is solid enough that most of it would survive. Just the Masters inside would die, along with their guards."
"No," Daenerys replied, dismounting from Swiftclaw and approaching the gates on foot. "I want them to surrender publicly. I want the slaves of Yunkai to see their masters brought low, to understand that the chains that held them are broken forever."
"Symbolic victories matter," Angelus agreed. "Very well. Shall I encourage them?"
"Please."
FWOOOOSH!
A controlled burst of dragonfire washed over the palace gates—not hot enough to melt the metal entirely, but hot enough to make it glow cherry-red and fill the air with the smell of superheated iron. The guards on the other side screamed and fell back, their defensive positions suddenly untenable.
"WISE MASTERS OF YUNKAI!" Daenerys's voice, enhanced by magic, carried through the palace walls as if they weren't there. "YOUR CITY HAS FALLEN. YOUR ARMIES SURRENDERED. YOUR SELLSWORDS HAVE ABANDONED YOU. YOU HAVE ONE CHANCE TO SURVIVE THIS DAY: OPEN THESE GATES, RELEASE YOUR SLAVES, AND SUBMIT TO MY AUTHORITY!"
Silence. Then the sound of argument from inside—raised voices, desperate pleas, the occasional crash of something breaking.
"IF THESE GATES DO NOT OPEN IN THE NEXT SIXTY SECONDS," Daenerys continued, "I WILL INSTRUCT MY DRAGON TO REMOVE THEM ALONG WITH EVERYTHING BEHIND THEM. THIS IS NOT A NEGOTIATION."
Forty seconds passed. Then the gates began to open.
The Wise Masters emerged in a shuffling procession, their fine robes dusty and their faces pale with terror. Behind them came their guards, weapons abandoned, and behind the guards came the slaves—hundreds of them, blinking in the sunlight as they stepped through gates that had been closed to them their entire lives.
Daenerys watched them approach, her white scales gleaming in the afternoon light, her slitted eyes holding the cold assessment of a predator.
"Kneel," she said.
They knelt.
"Yunkai is mine now. Your wealth, your properties, your slaves—all of it belongs to the Wyrmborne. You will be given the choice that all conquered peoples receive: integration or exile. Those who accept integration will be converted and become part of something greater than anything you've ever known. Those who refuse will be stripped of their possessions and expelled from the city to make their own way in the world."
She paused, letting the words sink in.
"But the slaves are freed, regardless of your choice. From this moment forward, there are no slaves in Yunkai—only citizens of the Wyrmborne, free to choose their own fates."
The cheering that erupted from the former slaves drowned out whatever the Wise Masters might have wanted to say.
---
The Aftermath
---
The sun set on a conquered city.
Daenerys stood on the balcony of the palace—her palace now—watching as her forces completed the occupation. The Dragonborn and Draconian troops moved through the streets, establishing order without resorting to excessive violence. The freed slaves were being processed—offered food, water, medical attention, and the choice between remaining as citizens or leaving with whatever they could carry.
Most chose to stay. The Wyrmborne offered something that Yunkai never had: the possibility of becoming something more than human, of gaining power and purpose and a place in something that was clearly going to reshape the world.
"Casualties?" she asked as Jorah approached.
"Minimal on our side—twelve Dragonborn wounded, none fatally. Thirty-seven Draconian injuries, mostly minor. No Drake or D-Raptor losses, though several sustained injuries that the healers are treating." He paused. "Enemy casualties are harder to count. Perhaps two thousand dead, mostly from the initial assault and the Long Lances' resistance. The sellsword companies surrendered with most of their strength intact—the Stormcrows and Second Sons are already asking about conversion."
"And the Z-Rexes?"
"Restless and frustrated. The handlers had to spend an hour calming the Fire Rex after the battle ended—she'd been expecting to hunt, and the anticlimax made her irritable." Jorah's voice held a note of dry humor. "Though I suspect she'll have opportunities soon enough."
Daenerys allowed herself a small smile. "Next time. Qarth will be harder—they have more resources, better walls, and they've had longer to prepare. The Z-Rexes will get their chance."
Angelus settled beside the balcony, her massive form somehow managing to find a position that didn't threaten to collapse the structure. "You did well today. The city fell with minimal destruction, the occupation is proceeding smoothly, and the symbolic victory was everything you hoped for."
"It felt... different than I expected. When I imagined conquering cities, I thought there would be more..." Daenerys searched for the right word. "...drama. Epic battles, desperate last stands, the clash of armies. Instead, it was mostly logistics and psychology."
"That's what real conquest looks like," Angelus replied. "The battles in stories are exciting because they're compressed—all the drama concentrated into a single moment. Real wars are won through preparation, positioning, and careful application of overwhelming force at the right time. The actual fighting is usually the shortest part."
"Is that how it was in your old world?"
"My old world was different. The enemies I faced didn't surrender—they couldn't surrender, because surrender required the kind of rational thought that the Watchers and their creatures lacked. Every battle was a fight to the death, every victory earned through absolute destruction of the enemy." Angelus's voice carried something that might have been weariness. "This is better. Enemies who can be reasoned with, battles that can be won without total annihilation, victories that leave something worth ruling afterward."
Daenerys reached out to touch her partner's scales, feeling the warmth that radiated from within. "I want to thank you again. For helping me break from my brother's chains, training me to become a stronger woman and ultimately for standing here besides me as my lover."
A long moment of comfortable silence passed through their bond. "You're welcome," Angelus said finally, and there was nothing flippant in her voice. "Though I should thank you as well. I came to this world broken, half-dead, with nothing left to fight for. You gave me something to protect again—someone worth protecting. That's not a small thing, after thousands of years of watching everything I cared about burn. I'm glad that you gave me a chance to change that cycle."
---
The New Order
---
The integration of Yunkai took three weeks.
The former slaves—those who chose to remain—were given the option of Draconian conversion. The survival rate was high, and by the end of the process, Yunkai's population had gained nearly three thousand new Draconians with partial scales and developing magical abilities. A handful showed aptitude for full Dragonborn conversion and were scheduled for the more intensive ritual.
The sellsword companies were processed according to their choices. The Second Sons, who had surrendered earliest, were offered preferential treatment—their captain, Mero, accepted Draconian conversion and was assigned to the city garrison. The Stormcrows' captain, Daario Naharis, requested and received full Dragonborn conversion, emerging from the transformation with bronze scales and a fire affinity that matched his aggressive personality.
The Wise Masters who chose integration underwent conversion as well, though Daenerys made a point of assigning them to positions that required them to serve the very people they had once enslaved. Those who refused were stripped of their wealth and expelled from the city, sent to make their way across Essos with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
The Long Lances' commander, Gorosh, surprised everyone by requesting Dragonborn conversion. When asked why, he simply said that he'd spent his entire life fighting for gold and survival, and the Wyrmborne offered something he'd never had before: a cause worth dying for.
"Yunkai is secure," Jhogo reported at the final council meeting before the army departed. "The garrison is established, the conversion programs are proceeding on schedule, and the freed slaves are integrating well. We've also begun reaching out to Yunkai's trading partners—several have expressed interest in establishing relations with the Wyrmborne rather than opposing us."
"What about Qarth?" Drogo asked, his deep voice carrying the anticipation of a warrior who had been idle too long. "The scouts report they're fortifying their positions, hiring mercenaries, reaching out to other cities for alliances."
"<
"When do we move?" Jorah asked.
"Soon. But first, we consolidate what we've gained. Yunkai's resources need to be properly integrated, our forces need to rest and refit, and our new converts need time to develop their abilities." Daenerys's eyes swept the assembled commanders. "We've proven that we can take a city. Now we need to prove that we can hold one while taking another. That's the real test of an empire."
"And after Qarth?" Jhogo pressed.
"Meereen. Astapor. Every slave city in the Bay until the entire region is ours." Daenerys's voice hardened with conviction. "And then... Valyria. The true prize. The home we're going to rebuild."
The council ended with that promise hanging in the air—a vision of the future that none of them had dared imagine a year ago, now seeming not just possible but inevitable.
---
End of Chapter Eleven