Vaes Zaldrizes - The Dragon's Flame
---
Two Months After Yunkai's Fall
The city that had once been called Yunkai now bore a new name: Vaes Zaldrizes—the City of Dragons' Flame. The golden pyramids that had symbolized the wealth of slavers now flew banners bearing the crimson dragon sigil of the Wyrmborne, and the streets that had once echoed with the cries of the enslaved now hummed with the organized activity of a society rebuilding itself.
The supply route between Vaes Zaldrizes and Vaes Zaldri had been established within the first month—a protected corridor patrolled by Drake riders and D-Raptor scouts, with way-stations every fifty miles where caravans could rest and resupply. Trade flowed in both directions: raw materials and new converts heading to the capital, finished goods and trained reinforcements moving to the conquered city.
The integration had proceeded faster than anyone expected. The freed slaves, given purpose and the opportunity for transformation, had embraced their new identities with an enthusiasm that surprised even Angelus. Nearly four thousand of them had undergone Draconian conversion, and another five hundred had proven suitable for full Dragonborn transformation. The garrison was strong, the administration functional, and the economy—redirected from slave trading to legitimate commerce—was beginning to stabilize.
Daenerys walked through the morning market with Jorah at her side, her white scales drawing respectful nods from citizens who had learned that their new ruler actually walked among them. Swiftclaw padded along behind, the fire-colored D-Raptor having become as much a symbol of Daenerys's approachability as her scales.
"The merchant guilds are reporting increased trade from the interior," Jorah said, his black Draconian features catching the morning light. "Apparently word has spread that Vaes Zaldrizes is a place where former slaves can become something more. We're seeing refugees from other slave cities—people who've heard about the conversions and want the same opportunity."
"How many?"
"Several hundred so far, with more arriving every week. The processing centers are keeping up, but we may need to expand capacity if the trend continues."
Daenerys paused at a fruit vendor's stall, accepting a sample of something sweet and purple that she didn't recognize. The vendor—a Draconian woman with green-tinged scales along her jawline—beamed with pride at having her wares sampled by the Khaleesi herself.
"Let them come," Daenerys said finally. "Every convert is another soldier, another worker, another citizen invested in what we're building. The slave cities think they can resist us through walls and mercenaries, but they're bleeding population to us every day. By the time we reach Meereen, half their workforce may have already joined our side."
---
King's Landing - The Red Keep
---
The Small Council chamber had become a place of barely concealed tension.
Tyrion Lannister sat in his customary position, a cup of wine in hand that he'd been nursing for the better part of an hour. Across from him, his father Tywin maintained the rigid posture of a man who refused to show weakness even in private. Cersei occupied the seat beside their father, her expression cycling between contempt and concern as the reports were read aloud.
"Yunkai has fallen," Varys said, his soft voice somehow carrying despite its lack of volume. "The city has been renamed and integrated into what the Targaryen girl calls 'the Wyrmborne.' Our sources report that the former slaves have been offered some form of... transformation. The same transformation that created those 'Dragonborns' that I've mentioned before. Those who accept the ritual become a non-human creature—scaled, enhanced, loyal to the dragon."
"Transformation," Cersei repeated, her tone dripping with skepticism. "You expect us to believe that old rumor? That the Targaryen girl is turning slaves into lizard-men? This sounds like tavern gossip, not intelligence."
"The reports are consistent across multiple sources, Your Grace. Whatever is happening in the east, it is producing soldiers who are demonstrably superior to normal humans—faster, stronger, more resistant to injury. And the dragons..."
"There are no dragons," Tywin interrupted, his voice carrying across the chamber. "The Targaryens rode dragons three centuries ago. Whatever creatures this girl has acquired, they are not the beasts of legend. More likely she's found some manner of trained reptiles and is using them to intimidate the easily impressed."
Tyrion took a long sip of his wine. "Father, with respect, the reports describe creatures that can breathe fire, fly, and are larger than any known animal. If they're not dragons, they're doing an excellent impression of them."
"Reports from frightened merchants and escaped slaves," Tywin countered. "Hardly reliable witnesses."
"Need I remind you all that The Faceless Men we sent were killed," Varys noted quietly. "Four of them. Three killed and one captured for interrogation by the same Targaryen girl you all dismissed in the last session. Whatever she has become, she is no longer the frightened child we once heard of."
Silence fell over the chamber.
"Does she intend to come for the Iron Throne?" Cersei asked finally, and for the first time, there was genuine concern beneath her contempt. "Is that what this... army-building is about?"
"Unknown, Your Grace. Our intelligence on her strategic intentions is limited—the spy we have in her organization provides only surface-level information, nothing about her actual plans or capabilities. Either he's being fed selective intelligence, or he's lost access to the inner circle."
Tyrion's eyes met Varys's across the table. Both men knew what the other was thinking: whatever Jorah Mormont was sending back, it wasn't the complete picture. Either he'd been compromised, or—more likely—he'd chosen a side and was now managing the information flow accordingly.
"Regardless of her intentions," Tywin said, his voice brooking no argument, "she is half a world away, occupied with conquering slave cities that have no strategic value to us. Let her exhaust her forces against Qarth and Meereen. By the time she's finished—if she finishes—we'll have dealt with the Starks and consolidated our position. The Targaryen girl can play at empire in Essos; Westeros is ours."
The meeting continued, but Tyrion couldn't shake the feeling that his father was making the same mistake that had destroyed countless generals throughout history: underestimating an enemy because acknowledging their strength was too uncomfortable.
---
Vaes Zaldri - The Crimson Council
---
The chamber had been redesigned to accommodate its unique participants.
A massive platform dominated one end, reinforced to support Angelus's weight when she chose to attend in her true form. Comfortable seating arrangements filled the rest of the space, positioned so that every member could see both the dragon and each other. Maps and intelligence reports covered the walls, and magical crystals provided illumination that could be adjusted to suit different eyes.
This was the meeting place of the Crimson Council—the inner circle that guided the Wyrmborne's expansion. Daenerys had suggested the name after realizing that their informal gatherings had become formal strategy sessions, and it had stuck.
Today, Angelus occupied her platform in Dragonborn form rather than her true shape—a fully draconic figure that stood over six feet tall, with a scaled snout, multiple horns sweeping back from her head, and a tail that ended in molten gold. Her crimson scales gleamed with a cream-gold underbelly, and her dark crimson mane flowed behind her like frozen flames. It was still unusual to see her this way, and the other council members hadn't quite adjusted to having conversations with their giant red wyvern who can interact with them in a more humanoid form.
"The stabilization reports are promising," Jorah began, consulting the documents before him. "Vaes Zaldrizes is producing converts at a sustainable rate, the supply lines are secure, and our economy is actually generating surplus rather than just sustaining itself. We're in a stronger position than we've ever been."
"And Qarth?" Drogo asked.
"Still preparing. They've hired six additional sellsword companies since Yunkai fell, and they're reaching out to Volantis and Pentos for military support. Their walls are being reinforced with what our scouts believe is some form of magical warding—nothing that will stop Angelus, but it might slow down conventional siege equipment."
"Timeline?" Daenerys asked.
"Three weeks, perhaps four. We want to give our new converts time to develop their abilities before we commit them to combat, and the Z-Rexes need additional training before they're reliable in an urban environment."
Angelus nodded, but something in her expression—or what passed for expression on her Dragonborn face—suggested distraction. Daenerys noticed immediately; after more than a year of their bond, she could read her partner's moods with uncanny accuracy.
"Something on your mind?"
"Several things, actually." Angelus straightened, her golden eyes sweeping the assembled council. "First, I've been sensing something... a threshold approaching. My power has been growing steadily since we arrived in this world, and I believe another evolution may be possible soon. But unlike my previous advancement, this one seems to require some form of catalyst—a challenge or consumption that will push me past the barrier."
"Like the Alpha Troll," Jhogo said.
"Similar, yes. I'll need to find something powerful enough to trigger the transformation, which may require a detour at some point. But that can wait until after Qarth."
"And the other things?"
Angelus's attention shifted to where Daario Naharis sat among the newer members of the council—his bronze Dragonborn scales marking him as a fire-element convert, his confident bearing suggesting someone already comfortable in his transformed skin.
"Daario. I've been meaning to ask—do you know anything about your background before you became a sellsword? Family history, that sort of thing?"
The former captain looked surprised by the question. "Not much, honestly. I was an orphan in Tyrosh, learned to fight in the fighting pits, worked my way up to mercenary captain through a combination of skill and luck. Why do you ask?"
"Because your name is familiar to me from... another context." Angelus paused, considering how much to reveal. "In the original timeline—the one I've mentioned before, where events unfolded without my interference—you played a significant role in Daenerys's story."
The room went quiet. References to the "original timeline" always commanded attention; Angelus's foreknowledge had proven accurate too many times to dismiss.
"What kind of role?" Daario asked, his expression shifting from curiosity to wariness.
"You became one of her most trusted commanders. When she left Slaver's Bay to pursue the Iron Throne, she placed you in charge of everything she'd built—the cities, the armies, the entire eastern empire. You were the regent she trusted to hold her conquests while she was gone."
Daario blinked, clearly not having expected that answer. "She trusted me with... all of it?"
"She did. You'd proven yourself loyal and capable, and she believed you would maintain what she'd created." Angelus's voice took on a note of dry amusement. "Though I should mention—the relationship wasn't purely professional. You were also her lover."
The silence that followed was profound.
Daenerys, who had been listening with growing interest, went very still. Her slitted eyes fixed on Angelus with an expression that mixed shock with something that might have been indignation.
"Her... lover?" Daenerys repeated slowly.
"For several years, yes. It was a passionate if somewhat complicated relationship, from what I understand. He was charming, dangerous, and devoted to her in his way. She cared for him, though not enough to bring him to Westeros when she finally made her move for the throne."
Daenerys stared at Angelus for a long moment, then turned to look at Daario—who was now actively trying to find somewhere else to direct his gaze—then back at Angelus.
"You're telling me," she said, her voice carefully controlled, "that in another version of events, I... had a romantic relationship with a sellsword I just conquered?"
"Technically, she recruited him before the conquest, but yes. That's essentially accurate."
Daenerys was quiet for several seconds. Then she pushed back from the table and walked around it to where Angelus sat, her white scales catching the light with each step.
"My alternate self," she said, stopping in front of her partner, "left her entire kingdom in the hands of a sellsword lover so she could chase an ugly chair halfway across the world. And then she got stabbed by a different lover because she went mad and burned a city. As if it wasn't bad enough what her fate was but she even left her empire to a random sellsword she barely knew, not even thinking of the repercussions of the act." She shakes her head like she's experiencing a headache.
"When you put it that way, it sounds particularly tragic." Angelus's voice carried genuine regret. "She had every reason to become a great ruler. The elements were there—the intelligence, the ambition, the genuine desire to help people. But she was surrounded by advisors who pushed her toward violence, isolated from anyone who truly understood her, and ultimately betrayed by the people she trusted most. The madness wasn't inevitable. It was the result of a hundred small failures, any one of which could have been prevented."
She met Daenerys's eyes. "That's why I've tried so hard to make sure you have different tools, different advisors, different options. You're not her, Daenerys. You never have to be."
Daenerys reached out and pulled Angelus into an embrace—an awkward motion given their different builds, but genuine nonetheless.
"Once again, Thank you," she said quietly, "for helping me avoid becoming that person. I may have questionable taste in what my alternate self chose for partners, but at least I ended up with someone who's actually worth the devotion."
She pulled back just enough to meet Angelus's golden eyes, then kissed her—a gesture that was becoming increasingly common in council meetings, much to the mingled discomfort and acceptance of the other members.
"Besides," Daenerys added when she finally broke the kiss, "a dragon is a much better match for a Valyrian than a sellsword could ever be."
"I'd like to think so," Angelus replied, something warm entering her voice.
Daario clears his throat. "Um, I'm right here you know?"
"We know." Both Angelus and Dany replied at the same time.
"Okay then..."
---
The Cannibal
---
After a brief pause to let the romantic moment pass, Angelus returned to business.
"There's one more thing I want to discuss before we adjourn. A potential threat—or opportunity—that I've been considering for some time."
"What kind of threat?" Jorah asked.
"An ancient wyvern. One that may still be alive, somewhere in the ruins of Old Valyria or the surrounding territories." Angelus's expression grew serious. "In the histories of Westeros, he was known as the Cannibal."
Daenerys straightened, recognition flickering in her eyes. Jorah's expression shifted to concern. But Drogo and Jhogo exchanged confused glances.
"The Cannibal?" Drogo asked. "I've never heard this name. What is this creature?"
"One of the wild dragons that lived on Dragonstone during the height of Targaryen power," Daenerys explained, her voice heavy with the weight of family history. "He was never tamed—every dragonrider who tried to claim him died in the attempt. He earned his name by eating other dragons' eggs and hatchlings. Some accounts say he killed and ate other dragons as well, not just the young ones."
"When the Dance of Dragons ended and most of the Targaryen dragons died," Angelus continued, "the Cannibal simply... disappeared. The histories assume he died eventually, but his body was never found. Given how long dragons can live under the right conditions, and given that this is a fused world with ambient magic far stronger than Westeros alone would have..."
"You think he's still alive," Jorah said.
"I think it's possible. And if he is, he's had centuries to grow, to hunt, to potentially absorb power from other magical sources in this merged reality. He could be significantly more dangerous than any historical account would suggest."
Drogo's eyes had narrowed with predatory interest. "This creature threatens our wyverns?"
"Potentially. Balerion, Mikhail, and Enoch are growing rapidly, but they're still young compared to what the Cannibal would be. If he decided to view them as prey rather than kin..." Angelus let the implication hang.
"What do you propose?" Daenerys asked.
"Eventually, I intend to travel to Old Valyria myself—solo, to minimize risk to anyone else. I'll search for signs of the Cannibal, assess his current state, and decide how to proceed based on what I find." She paused, her golden eyes distant with calculation. "If he's feral and irredeemable, I'll kill him. If there's a possibility of bringing him to our side... that would be a significant addition to our forces. A dragon of his age and experience, properly directed, could be invaluable."
"And if he's more powerful than you expect?" Jorah asked carefully.
"Then I'll retreat and we'll develop a different strategy. I'm confident in my abilities, but I'm not foolish enough to fight a battle I can't win just to satisfy my pride."
The council absorbed this information in silence.
"When would you make this journey?" Daenerys asked finally.
"After Qarth. Possibly after Meereen, depending on how the campaigns progress. It's not urgent—if the Cannibal has survived this long without making his presence known, he's unlikely to suddenly appear and attack us. But it's something we should address before we attempt to reclaim Valyria proper."
---
The Awakening
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Three Weeks Later
The morning began like any other in Vaes Zaldri.
Dragonborn warriors drilled in the training grounds, their scales catching the early light as they practiced formations that would serve them in the upcoming Qarth campaign. Draconian mages studied in the newly established academy, developing abilities that would eventually rival any sorcerer in the known world. Citizens went about their daily lives, the routines of a functioning society that had emerged from the chaos of conquest.
Daenerys was reviewing supply manifests in her quarters when she felt it—a ripple through the bond she shared with Angelus, followed by something else. Something new.
<
The word wasn't spoken aloud. It arrived directly in her consciousness, clear and distinct, carrying with it a sense of... Mikhail.
Daenerys froze, the manifests forgotten.
<
"<
"<>" Angelus's response carried satisfaction. "<
Before Daenerys could respond, another voice entered her mind—deeper, more resonant, carrying an undertone of barely restrained power.
<
And then a third, warm and eager:
<
The training grounds erupted into chaos.
Drogo, who had been overseeing morning drills, suddenly found Balerion's massive black form descending toward him, the wyvern's red eyes blazing with intelligence that had always been present but was now unmistakably conscious.
<
Drogo stared at his bonded wyvern, his usually stoic expression cracking into something like wonder. In all the months they'd fought together, hunted together, flown together—he'd known Balerion was intelligent, had felt the creature's emotions through their bond. But this was different. This was language.
"I hear you," Drogo said aloud, his deep voice rough with emotion. "I hear you, my friend."
<
---
The gathering that followed was unprecedented.
All three wyverns assembled in the main courtyard, their massive forms arranged so they could see the assembled Crimson Council and the crowds of curious citizens who had gathered to witness the miracle. Angelus stood among them in her Dragonborn form, her golden eyes studying her children with evident pride.
"When I enhanced their eggs before they hatched," she explained to the assembly. "I also purged the corruption that would have limited their potential, and introduced elements that would allow them to grow beyond what normal wyverns could achieve. Speech was always a possibility—I'd hoped for it, but wasn't certain it would manifest."
<
"You earned it through your own growth," Angelus replied. "I provided the foundation, but you three developed the capability yourselves."
<>, Enoch announced, his green-scaled form practically vibrating with excitement. <
"And we'll answer all of them as best we can." Daenerys said, approaching the young wyvern with a smile.
<
"You are the beginning of something new," Angelus replied. "True dragons—or as close to them as this world can produce. You have the potential to grow beyond anything your ancestors achieved, to develop abilities that they could never have imagined. In time, you may rival me."
The three wyverns absorbed this information with varying reactions. Balerion's response was measured pride—the acknowledgment of a warrior who had always known his own worth and was pleased to have it confirmed. Enoch's was eager anticipation—the enthusiasm of youth faced with limitless possibility. And Mikhail's...
<>, Mikhail said, her mental voice carrying a note that made Angelus pause. <>
The implications of that statement were not lost on anyone present.
Angelus regarded her daughter-figure with an expression that mixed surprise with something warmer. "We'll discuss that later," she said finally. "In private."
<>
---
The New Dynamic
---
Two Weeks Later
Life in Vaes Zaldri had adjusted to the new reality of speaking wyverns with remarkable speed.
Balerion had become Drogo's full partner in command, their strategic discussions now verbal rather than the imperfect emotional sharing they had before. The black wyvern proved to have a tactical mind that complemented his rider's warrior instincts, and their planning sessions had become a regular feature of military preparation.
Enoch had thrown himself into learning with the enthusiasm of a scholar discovering a library. He questioned everyone about everything—history, magic, strategy, culture, the nature of existence itself. Daenerys had taken on the role of his primary teacher, finding in his curiosity a reflection of her own intellectual hunger from years past.
And Mikhail...
Mikhail had become Angelus's shadow.
The white wyvern followed her mother-figure everywhere her size permitted, and when physical proximity was impossible, maintained constant mental contact. Her devotion had always been apparent, but speech had given it new dimensions—expressed admiration, stated affection, and increasingly bold suggestions about the nature of their relationship.
"She's in love with you," Daenerys observed one evening, the amusement in her voice poorly concealed. "Or whatever the wyvern equivalent of love is."
"I'm aware." Angelus, in her Dragonborn form, sat on a balcony overlooking the city. Mikhail had settled on a nearby rooftop, close enough to maintain visual contact, her golden eyes tracking every movement her mother-figure made.
"Does it bother you?"
"Not exactly. It's... unexpected. I raised her from an egg, watched her grow, guided her development. The maternal aspects of our relationship were always clear to me. But she's not a child anymore—she's a fully developed intelligence with her own desires and agency."
"And those desires include you."
"Apparently so." Angelus was quiet for a moment. "I haven't decided how to address it. Rejection seems cruel, given the depth of her feelings. But I'm not certain I can reciprocate in the way she wants."
Daenerys moved closer, settling beside her partner. "You could ask her what she actually wants. Communication goes both ways now."
"I intend to after Qarth. One complicated emotional situation at a time."
---
The March on Qarth
---
The army assembled at dawn, larger and more diverse than the force that had conquered Yunkai.
Drake cavalry formed the vanguard—over four hundred riders now, their mounts representing every elemental variant the Wyrmborne had developed. D-Raptor scouts ranged ahead, their swift forms disappearing into the morning mist as they sought intelligence on Qarth's defensive preparations. Dragonborn infantry marched in disciplined formations, their scales catching the light in a display of chromatic diversity that would have seemed like fantasy a few years ago.
And at the rear, finally being deployed in actual combat, the Z-Rexes waited.
The three massive creatures had reached full operational status during the past weeks, their handlers having finally established the necessary control protocols. The Fire Rex's purple-maroon scales radiated heat that made nearby soldiers give it wide berth. The Poison Rex's greenish hide vented occasional wisps of toxic vapor, its handlers wearing protective masks to avoid the worst effects. The Frost Rex stood apart from both, its crystalline formations glittering with cold light that dropped the temperature for yards in every direction.
"They're eager," Jhogo reported, studying the massive beasts with professional assessment. "The handlers say they've been getting restless since they missed the action at Yunkai. They want to hunt."
"They'll get their chance," Daenerys replied. "Qarth has walls that conventional siege equipment will struggle with—those magical wards the scouts reported. The Z-Rexes should be able to break through where trebuchets can't."
Overhead, the wyverns flew in formation—Balerion's black form leading, with Mikhail's white and Enoch's green flanking. Their new ability to communicate had transformed their aerial coordination; they could now discuss tactics in real-time, adjusting their approach based on what they observed rather than relying on predetermined patterns.
<
"How many more?" Drogo asked.
<
"Good," Drogo replied, his deep voice carrying satisfaction. "A proper challenge. Finally."
Angelus soared above them all, her crimson form enormous against the morning sky. Her horns caught the light, her magma tail pulsed with barely contained fire, and her presence cast a shadow that could swallow entire battalions.
"<
She paused, letting the anticipation build.
"<
---
The Battle Begins
---
Qarth's outer defenses were impressive—a combination of physical fortifications and magical barriers that shimmered faintly in the morning light. The wards that protected the main gates hummed with power, designed to resist dragonfire and siege weapons alike.
They were not designed to resist forty-foot carnivores with elemental breath weapons and an eagerness to destroy.
"Z-Rexes forward!" Daenerys commanded, her voice carrying across the battlefield.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The ground shook as the three massive creatures advanced, their handlers guiding them toward the warded gates with a combination of mental commands and carefully placed rewards. The Fire Rex led, its orange flames already licking from between teeth the size of swords.
ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRR!
The creature's challenge echoed across the battlefield, answered by screams of terror from the defenders on the walls. They'd heard reports about the siege beasts, but reports couldn't prepare them for the reality—creatures that should have been extinct for millions of years in another world, now revived and enhanced with draconic magic and directed with military precision.
"Break the gates!" Daenerys shouted.
FWOOOOOOOOSH!
The Fire Rex's breath erupted in a sustained torrent that washed over the warded gates like a tidal wave of destruction. The magical barriers held for perhaps ten seconds before the sustained heat began to overwhelm them.
CRACK. SHATTER. CRASH!
The gates exploded inward, their magical protections failing in a cascade of sparks and screaming metal. The Fire Rex shouldered through the breach, its massive form clearing a path for the forces behind it.
HISSSSS-ROOOAAARRR!
The Poison Rex followed, its toxic breath coating the courtyard beyond in corrosive vapor that sent defenders fleeing or choking. Those who tried to hold their positions found their weapons pitting and their armor corroding, the acidic properties of the beast's exhalation making conventional defense impossible.
GRRROOOOAAAAARRRR!
The Frost Rex came last, its freezing breath crystallizing the vapor left by its poison counterpart and flash-freezing any defenders who had survived the initial assault. The courtyard became a killing field, the three elemental breaths combining to create conditions that no army could withstand.
"Drake cavalry, through the breach!" Drogo bellowed.
SCREECH! ROAR! HISS!
Four hundred Drake riders poured through the shattered gates, their mounts' fire and frost and poison adding to the chaos. Drogo led them on Drakkarion, his arakh flashing as he cut down any defender foolish enough to stand in his path.
The wyverns descended next, targeting the defenders on the walls who were trying to organize a counterattack. Balerion's black-red fire washed over scorpion emplacements, destroying the siege weapons before they could be brought to bear. Mikhail's frostfire breath created barriers that channeled the enemy's movements, forcing them into kill zones where Enoch's fire could devastate them.
<
"Then we break them before they can use it," Drogo replied. "Daenerys, the D-Raptors?"
"Already moving. Jhogo, take the flanks!"
SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH!
The D-Raptors bounded through side streets, their riders guiding them around the forming defensive line. Jhogo led the assault, Sho'keth's poisonous breath clearing a path through the mercenaries who tried to stop them.
"They're trying to fall back to the inner city," Jorah reported, his black scales splattered with blood that wasn't his own. "If they reach the secondary walls—"
"They won't." Angelus descended from the sky like judgment itself, her massive form landing directly in the path of the retreating defenders.
GROOOOOOAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR!
The roar that erupted from her throat made the sound that had shattered Yunkai's windows seem like a whisper. Buildings trembled. The ground itself seemed to recoil. And the defenders—the trained soldiers, the hired mercenaries, the desperate civilians who had taken up arms—simply stopped.
"<
"<
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Then, one by one, weapons began to clatter to the ground.
---
End of Chapter Twelve