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Days of War and Peace

Chapter Text

Part 2

 

Daenerys III

 

None but her had ever seen the world like this. Rhaellion soared through the warm air above Volantis, his pitch-black scales almost completely hiding him from the thousands of eyes below.

 

Yet still, despite the dragon's good stealth, everyone would know she was coming. A booming sound, as loud as thunder resonated through the city each time the dragon's wings clapped. Daenerys did not doubt for a second, that it could be heard for leagues in every direction.

 

But it would not matter if they knew. She hoped sincerely, that the Dothraki would hear the clapping of wings above them. That they would search frantically for her in the night sky, but would only see her when the fire formed in Rhaellion's throat.

 

Still, for now, the largest of her children was just a distraction. It was Rhaegal and Viserion who had to do their part now.

 

And they did. Already now, Daenerys could see the jade-colored jets of scorching flames cut through the grasslands around Volantis. The flames gleamed in the night sky, as they burned with unmatched beauty.

 

In the distance, thunder was cracking.

 

Rhaegal and Viserion unleashed fire and chaos on the grasslands, torching them with jade and golden flames, that burned high in the dry grass.

 

All the gates out of the city were either closed securely or surrounded by roaring flames.

 

Few small khalasars had remained outside of the city, either resting or moving towards Volon Therys.

 

Foolish.

 

The dragons brought Fire and Blood upon them, the hot fires cutting through the flesh of both man and horse. The dragons charred bones and set the world aflame, leaving only a trail of corpses behind.

 

The roars of the green and cream-colored dragon were deafening, and for a moment, Daenerys was shocked by the fury she had unleashed.

 

But a moment afterward, it was gone once more. The blood of the dragon sang in her and her children alike, screaming for destruction. 

 

Again, Viserion dived downwards, burning through a group of Dothraki with a continuous stream of Dragonfire. Few got to scream before they were consumed by the golden flames.

 

That's at least forty men dead in the blink of an eye.

 

Where Rhaellion had once focussed the bronze gate leading into the city, Rhaegal now aimed for the arch holding it.

 

The green dragon swept over the molten gate, jade jets of flame bursting from his throat, bathing the structure in flames. 

 

The sounds of screams filled the air, as the giant arch twisted and melted, and glowed brightly. Giant drops of molten bronze and steel dripped from the twisting arch until it finally came crashing down. Molten bronze splashed through the streets below, burning men and horses severely, before turning them into living statues.

 

The winged brothers hunted down all who escaped in what seemed to be almost a game to them. Only a charred, desolate waste remained, as the fires burned massive streaks through the grassy ground, where it hit the hardest.

 

The flames spread and spread over the dry plains until they truly became a field of fire. 

 

Hundreds of unrecognizable corpses burned in the second Field of Fire. A ring of fire encircled Volantis, burning with such ferocity, that no one would come into the city, and no one would leave it.

 

You monster, a voice whispered in her ears, each word laced with venom. They were dark and treacherous, appalled by the destruction below. 

 

This is justice. They would have no mercy on me either, Daenerys told herself, but the voice remained in the back of her head. 

 

This is barbarity. How could you? How could you kill so many? What of the women and children, enslaved by the Dothraki, who were forced to be here?

 

There are always victims in wars, Daenerys assured herself once more. But as the fires raged below her, it did not feel like a victory. It did not give her the same satisfaction, as when the Masters of Slaver's Bay had died screaming.

 

It was justice, it was the right thing to do, but a bitter taste remained all the same.

 

"I've done my part, Aegon," Daenerys muttered to herself, as Rhaellion stretched his wings. She almost felt tired, both emotionally and physically. "Now prepare to do yours."

 

*

 

Aegon I

 

Thousands of footsteps thundered in unison over the marble floor of Old Volantis, as the Unsullied formed their ranks.

 

They displayed perfect discipline and unity. Never once did any of them step out of line, never once showed anyone the slightest sign of weakness.

 

They were the perfect warriors for the streets of Volantis. Their spears would be the perfect weapons against the mounted Dothraki in such tight space. They had proven it in the Century of Blood more than once.

 

Four hundred years ago, the destruction of Valyria left a power vacuum in Essos. Many tried to grasp the power of Valyria for themselves, like when the dragonlord Aurion proclaimed himself the first Emperor of Valyria. With his dragon and an army of thirty thousand men he marched to claim Valyria's remains, but none were ever seen again.

 

Meanwhile, the Dothraki rode out of the east, sacking and burning towns and cities in their way. Khal Mengo had united the sixty khalasars of his time under his own rule. They killed and raped and plundered for generations until they met a worthy foe in the Three Thousand of Qohor.

 

25.000 braided warriors of the Dothraki rode against 3000 Unsullied, yet their lines had held. Over and over the Khal and his horde would charge against the lines of spears and shields. And every time they would stand firm.

 

Finally, after four days of fighting and 17.000 Dothraki dead, including their Khal, his sons, and his bloodriders, the horselords surrendered, each of them cutting their braids and throwing them at the Unsullied's feet.

 

The Unsullied were the perfect weapon if only one knew how to use them.

 

Aegon watched in amazement, as the Black Dread reborn thundered overhead, each clap of his wings creating a tempest that could be felt even from far away.

 

The Dragonstorm, the so-called Good Masters had once called him, for a storm brew beneath him, every time his winges beat in the air.

 

Black and crimson flames filled the night sky. This is our signal.

 

"In unison, the Unsullied lifted their shields, stomping their spears on the ground thrice. It was a thunderous sound, resonating through the city.

 

"Dovaogedys!" A single Unsullied at the very front called out, donning his helmet. No more words were required, as they marched forwards as one.

 

Daenerys had almost 40.000 troops at her command, divided between Sellswords, Unsullied, Pit fighters, Freedmen, and the groups of former slaves, that had bonded together as personal war troops of their new-found Empress. 

 

The forces were divided into 20 legions of 2.000 troops each, which were once again split into 10 smaller battalions, with 200 men.

 

Eight of her legions, six made of Unsullied and one made of sellswords and one made of pit fighters, were now in Volantis.

 

The pit fighters seemed troublesome, each of them fighting with an exposed torso and cold, naked steel. Scars adorned their bare chests and littered their arms. But still, each of them had a glint in their eyes, lusting for blood and massacre. Yet each and every one of them would die for Daenerys, that much was certain.

 

"Battle formation!" the pit fighter known as 'The Red Smile' called out with a sore, harsh voice. A deep, bloody gash showed in his face, where an arakh had cut his face from mouth to ear, giving him his nickname. Salvia drooled through the open hole, as the man continued to speak.

 

"Create a phalanx and push through the city! Push and fight! We round up the Dothraki at the molten gate, 2 leagues west of here."

 

The Unsullied were already marching forwards, their spears raised and ready to thrust at a moment's notice. Their ranks were as tight as ever, leaving not even the slightest gap.

 

The fighters of the Golden Company followed shortly behind them, as the Unsullied split up at every intersection, cleansing out every corner of the city.

 

The pit fighters slowly pushed forwards, moving before the Golden Company. They were thirsty for glory, yet as they marched they fell silent. Their weapons were drawn, their eyes were narrowed and focussed.

 

The mysterious shadowbinder, that had once approached him on the walls of Volantis stood nearby. With her mask donned, Shiera Seastar looked like a completely different person once more. Her face was hidden behind her glimmering red mask, silently staring at the great elephants that marched with the Golden Company.

 

A long blast rang out from behind him, as they approached a large intersection, the bloody road splitting into three paths.

 

Few Unsullied remained with them, most of them having left the main column at some point, swarming in their smaller battalions through the city.

 

The last of the Unsullied broke away from the column at the intersection. With them splitting away, they left the Golden Company on the front. Even though the Golden Company and pit-fighters had yet to meet more than a handful of Dothraki, the screaming already grew louder and louder in the distance.

 

"And once again," Aegon muttered, donning his dragon-shaped helmet. The second Black Dread circled above, occasionally letting loose a blast of flame onto the streets below. The hellhound had not followed Daenerys onto the dragons, instead, moving through the shadows of the city like a deadly demon. The third Black Dread might have been an adequate name for the she-hellhound, whose fur was as dark as a midnight sea.

 

*

 

Jon Connington II

 

The Hand of the King watched closely, as the rows of disciplined men marched through the city. Aegon was leading the vanguard, yet when it came to battle Jon would make certain that he was well-protected. 

 

Too many stray arrows flew on every battlefield, too many unfortunate events. The power of archers could turn the tides of every battle, as Bloodraven had proven on the Battle of the Redgrass Field. A man who was still alive, according to Shiera Seastar.

 

And who had also seemed to have sent her east. Many myths rankled around Bloodraven, but if Jon Connington knew anything about him, then that it would be risky to trust him. Aenys Blackfyre had learned that the hard way.

 

What do you intend to do, Bloodraven? What do you want?

 

He was abruptly torn from his thoughts when the sound of hooves on marble stone could be heard.

 

They were passing down the main street, as a thousand Dothraki emerged before them, an uncountable number of bells ringing in their long hair.

 

Their screams and shouts reverberated in the dark, as the men of the Golden Company braced themselves, raising their shields and spears.

 

"Go. Send word to the king," Connington commanded. "See that he withdraws to the fourth line, and is protected from arrows. I want our best knights around him at all times. There are positions on his Kingsguard to be given away today."

 

The rather timid messenger nodded swiftly and left with a deep bow, shuffling through the lines of soldiers towards the front of the army.

 

"Move steadily forwards," Black Balaq commanded loudly, the Summer Islander's voice booming over the battlefield.

 

The Dothraki were spread out too wide, outnumbering their own cavalry by too much to charge straight into them. The Unsullied weren't with them, but with their own spears and shields, they would create a wall. A wall that only promised death to any who would charge against it.

 

Armor and spears were the greatest weapons against the Dothraki, and they would have to use them.

 

The Dothraki's horses ran in circles before them, rising to their hind legs, as their battle cries filled the air. They waved their arakhs and longbows in the air, readying themselves for a charge.

 

"Close the ranks! Close the ranks!" Caspor Hill shouted as the first Dothraki started to charge towards them, disregarding every danger.

 

They were strong warriors, bred for war and its battles. Worrying about death was simply not their way. It was said, that these savages were born and lived on their horses, loving their steads more than their family. 

 

They longed for battle and blood, fighting the men of the Free Cities and fighting each other for the right to lead. The Dothraki followed only the strong. Their hunger for blood was their greatest strength but also their greatest weakness. For every man had to know fear.

 

If only you had known fear on the Trident, Rhaegar. If only you had lived to fight another day. But you never feared any man or god.

 

Some of the Dothraki drew their longbows on horseback, raining arrows onto their foes as they charged in full gallop. 

 

A man with long, braided hair rode at the front, his destrier so huge that it could rival most of the Westerosi warhorses. His bloodriders fell in behind him, as the mounted warriors poured towards them, as a massive wave of flesh.

 

Their arakhs were shining in their hands like blades of razor grass, dancing, and cutting through the air around them.

 

"Fire & Blood!" both pit fighters and mercenaries cried in echo until the night rang to the sound of their voices.

 

*

 

Daenerys IV

 

The streets of the western side of Volantis would usually almost burst with life. When she had arrived at Volantis for the first time, she had been able to see teeming bazaars, not so different from those of Qarth or Meereen.

 

There had been immense grey elephants roaming through the city with all kinds of queer folk walking below. Warrior maids from Bayasabhad, Shamyriana, and Kayakayanaya, the city where Merana had been born. 

 

Yet now, only a few dozen desperate merchants and traders remained, making the streets of Volantis seem hushed and deserted. The streets were grey and white, mixed with occasional pools of blood.

 

She could feel Rhaellion's bloodlust flow through the dragon's veins, and she could feel the emotions of his brothers. They were exhausted from breathing constant streams of flame for minutes, yet they were also so very happy.

 

Hundreds upon hundreds of arrow shafts and even spears stuck in their huge bodies, but they barely felt them anymore. 

 

Wounded men moaned and prayed, as they soared overhead. Dying horses lifted their heads, their charred limbs not allowing them to stand.

 

The city of Volantis was afire, black plumes of smoke roiling and tumbling as they rose into the grim night sky. Giant firepots burned atop the Red Temple, providing the main source of light for her.

 

Below, she could see the ranks of the Golden Company crash with one of the many smaller khalasars trapped within the city. Viserion swooped down once, clawing a dozen men from their horses with his giant talons, before rising into the air once more.

 

All three dragons dived a few times, however as the battle became a giant melee duel, they could no longer interfere. The lines were too close, the dragons to large. Not rarely did they tear down towers and houses with their dives, crushing any who walked the streets below. Be they friend or foe.

 

The Unsullied swarmed through the city, clearing it out street by street, house by house. They were only small dark points in the vast maze of streets and houses from so far above.

 

Further west, on the huge Plaza of Grief and in front of the nearby Palace of Sighs, she could see a great number of Dothraki amass. It was a great, open area, no more than a league from the Bronze Gates.

 

There were only a few torches nearby, as many Dothraki feared the flames. Only the dim light of the moon and stars lit up the plaza. It was made entirely from white marble, that glimmered brightly as the dim light struck it.

 

Daenerys would have loved to fly the dragon straight into the mass of men, showing them the might of a dragon. A real, true dragon, not whatever Aegon called himself. But she couldn't. The plaza was tightly surrounded by buildings, many of them quite high. The dragons were smart and fast, but they often underestimated their own size and power. Their blasts would obliterate far more than just the Dothraki.

 

And Daenerys would not make the same mistake that Aegon had made when taking the city. A few towers had crumbled under the dragons so far, but those were only the rooftops, where people would be fools to hide in. 

 

The red faith had long been a friend of her, and with her not completely angering the population, the transition of power would be peaceful, yes, they would welcome it even.

 

She could see thousands of figures streaming through the streets, all headed westwards towards the great Plaza of Grief.

 

Oh, there will be even more grief there today.

 

3 legions of Unsullied were reforming to the south, as multiple battalions met again at the road of steel, that led from the Red Temple towards the Hissing Garden.

 

To the north, multiple groups of Unsullied were coming from the Dragon Road that ran along the river Rhoyne. More were passing over the Long Bridge and would soon regroup with the other half into another legion.

 

The group to the north would be able to attack the Dothraki from the right side, while the other half would take them from the left.

 

The Red Smile had his orders. He and the pit fighters would split up, leaving only a few hundred men with the Golden Company, as the others would move through the streets and further encircle them.

 

For now, they were fighting against a small khalasar, where victory was assured. But against the large khalasar under Khal Qotho they would not stand at the front lines. Aegon's Golden Company could do that.

 

For what had once occurred, when she had been a guest in this very city. For the insults given to her. In Westeros they said, that the North remembered, but so did Daenerys Stormborn.

 

Deep down she knew, that Aegon had never meant to truly push her away. But it did not matter to her anymore.

 

She looked downwards, and there Aegon was, fighting in his midnight black armor and the famous sword Blackfyre. Dread the day, you draw the ire of a Dragon, she thought to herself. 

 

*

 

Aegon II

 

The king swiftly raised Blackfyre in his left arm, cleaving through the face of a Dothraki. The sword that had once belonged to the Conqueror himself sung in the air. It cut through the night sky, opening his face from ear to ear. A nasty sound filled the air, as a fountain of blood erupted from the man's opened throat. He had leaped off his horse in a mad attempt to get behind their own lines.

 

"Careful, your Grace," Caspor Hill warned him, eyeing Aegon carefully. He and Lorimas Mudd had never once left his side, always ensuring that the least amount of foes possible would be able to approach him.

 

"You do not have to trail behind me, as if I were a baby," Aegon commented, as a huge war elephant charged past them, into the lines of the Dothraki. 

 

The Dothraki were great horsemen, but there was not a warhorse in all of Essos or Westeros that could stand against these great armored beasts.

 

"It's by the order of the Hand, your Grace. He would see you well-protected. As would we."

 

Again, with their fierce screams, the Dothraki charged towards their lines. They were killed one after another, but they did not know fear.

 

Aegon heard the whizzing of arrows, as they went down, many with arrows sticking from their chests and throats.

 

Above the dragons roared, exposing rows upon rows of teeth within, fury burning within their eyes.

 

The great fires outside of the city grew and grew, so large that they could be seen over the top of the city walls.

 

In the distance, a child's screams hollered through the streets.

 

Down the street of Volantis, Aegon could see a single Dothraki stare at him. He held an arakh in each hand, the curved blade dripping with blood. His eyes were firmly fixed on him, and within them, there was an endless fire burning without any fear.

 

A long oiled braid fell down his back, a long black beard almost reaching his naval. A dozen long scars cut across his chest, leaving only faint white trails.

 

The Khal. Let me end this battle.

 

*

 

Back and forth. Right leg, left leg.

 

The Dothraki Khal moved quickly, feinting with one arakh while striking with the other.

 

The men around Aegon were locked in combat as well, unable to help him as he dueled the Khal. He could see that a few men had nocked their arrows and aimed at the horselord, yet no one dared to shoot the arrows.

 

The pit fighter with the red smile moved towards him but was intercepted by another Dothraki.

 

As quick as a cat, the Khal drew backward. He raised his right arakh and swung it in a downwards arc. It whizzed through the air and would have perfectly cut through the gap between Aegon's armor, opening his neck.

 

In the last moment, he twisted away, leaving the arakh to crash into his shoulder plate, thankfully made of solid metal.

 

The arakh cut a deep rill into the black steel, making Aegon's shoulder twist and shudder. But as he tried to pull back the arakh to strike once more, it was stuck in the hard plate.

 

Stumbling backward as he was unable to pull the weapon lose, Aegon followed him, parrying the swings he delivered with his remaining arakh while dodging others.

 

"Back, your Grace!" Black Balaq screamed over the battle, the Summer Islanders white hair fluttering behind his skillfully interwoven armor. "Fall back, we can take him with the arrows!"

 

But Aegon ignored it.

 

The man was fast, his moves quicker than those of nearly any man he had faced. He twisted and lunged, the arakh occasionally blinding him when it reflected the burning flames of the surrounding torches into his eyes.

 

The fires flared around them, the Red Temple just a few hundred feet away, while men wielding torches and braziers stood nearby.

 

"Child ," the Khal said, raising his arakh in contempt. " I am Khal Cohollo and the new Khal of Khals. Run, before I put an end to you."

 

"I think not," Aegon replied, twisting Blackfyre in his hands so that the shimmering surface of the Valyrian Steel sword diverted the light of the roaring flames into the Khal's eyes. 

 

Momentarily, the man was blinded, giving Aegon enough time to leap forwards, piercing the tip of Blackfyre right through the other man's chest.

 

Blood quelled from the man's torso, as the blood freely seeped from the wound where the sword had pierced him.

 

Streams of red liquid trickled down his chest and down Blackfyre, still embedded in the Khal's chest.

 

Only when Aegon felt the blood slowly seep down his wrist did he remove the blade, staring at the man as the life left his dark eyes.

 

A second later Jon Connington was by him, anger flaring in his blue eyes. They looked like a summer storm forming above the open grasslands of the Dothraki Sea.

 

"That was foolish," Aegon's hand said through gritted teeth, looking at Aegon angrily, who merely shrugged.

 

"I won," Aegon simply stated, not averting his eyes from the corpse before him. He had seen blood and death in the streets of Volantis during the sack, yet he had never before killed a man in battle. Only Benerro had died by his hands, and he had not fought.

 

You shall touch the stars, see the glorious light of a thousand suns and stars laid out before you. You shall see all you could ever have, but you shall have none. Cursed shall you be, cursed by the cruel betrayal of the men you would have served . The priest's words echoed in his head, reminding him of the prophecy Benerro had given him before dying.

 

Many men would have never believed such words, but Benerro had believed them with all his soul. The way his face had twisted into a small smile, smirking at him. Knowing that he did, in the end, have the last word in their battle. Benerro had known what he had said, he had not spoken these words spontaneously. His voice had been firm and even, even when filled with pain. He had revised these words a dozen times before.

 

No, Aegon said, shaking his head slightly, ignoring Connington's gaze. You will not win, priest.

 

He could only thank the seven, that for now the smallfolk was scared by the dragons, and wouldn't join the battle with open combat. They hated the Dothraki even more than they hated Aegon, or else they would be surrounded by enemies.

 

"You did win, doesn't make it any less foolish," Connington answered before his gaze turned softer. "Is something wrong?"

 

"No," Aegon replied, forcing a smile on his lips.

 

"You said that before," the old griffin noted. "But as it turned out, you had been visited by a shadowbinder from Asshai a moment earlier."

 

"Yes, that I was," Aegon muttered. "But this time it is the truth."

 

Even to himself, the words rang hollow, as the Golden Company finished off the remainders of the Dothraki, the war elephants leading the column.

 

False Dragon, Benerro's voice lingered, impossible to be suppressed. May you never find peace, false dragon.

 

*

 

Daenerys V

 

The three dragons circled above the Plaza of Grief, as the troops closed in on the Dothraki from every side.

 

They were hopelessly encircled, the Unsullied spears on the flanks and war elephants at the center beating back every charge they delivered.

 

Over and over, the remainders of Khal Drogo's giant horde charged against them, only to be beaten back every time.

 

The corpses piled higher and higher, creating mountains of corpses. Bodies of both men and horses stacked higher than the buildings of Volantis, yet most had been brushed to the side of the roads. Or they had been trampled into an unrecognizable red mass by the elephants.

 

The streets were drowning in blood, filling the sewers to the top like after a heavy rain. But it was more of the blood of her enemies, than that of her allies.

 

The battle was won, everyone knew it, but the Dothraki kept fighting. 

 

Yet as the Unsullied and elephants moved steadily forwards as an unstoppable barrier, they broke the first rule of the Dothraki.

 

They fell back and retreated. Once forty thousand men had broken against 3000 Unsullied. Now they were less than thirty thousand, many of them injured, against legions of the eunuch warriors.

 

Until they met the molten bronze gates, the giant flames roaring outside of them. The ranks closed around them, Unsullied with their spears raised in a tight phalanx on each side of them, the Golden Company to their front. The city walls and a roaring fire behind them.

 

Fear and bloodlust lingered in the air. It was pure discipline that kept her and Aegon's men from blindly charging forwards.

 

Ser Barristan could be seen on the front of the eastern flank, whereas Pyat Pree stood with the left flank. A thousand pit fighters that had left the main column earlier spread through the few openings that remained, watching from dark alleys and from atop burning houses.

 

And for a moment, there was only silence, as the dragons landed around them, Rhaegal and Viserion directly atop the city walls behind them, and Rhaellion on the ground, directly before the Dothraki.

 

And slowly Daenerys dismounted, a thousand eyes resting on her. Everywhere she looked, she could see corpses, burned, and cut apart. Charred bones rested around them, smoke puffing out of their blackened skulls.

 

It had grown so silent, that she could hear the bells in the Dothraki's hair ringing, chiming softly with every movement of the wind.

 

"It is over, Dothraki," Daenerys proclaimed loudly, as one building nearby collapsed into itself, sparks of fire rising into the dark sky. "You have lost. Surrender now, pledge your allegiance and you might just survive."

 

Screams of anguish rose from their ranks, half a dozen riders attempting a charge towards her, before being burned by Rhaellion. The jet of black flame did not last for more than a second, yet by the end of it, all six men laid burning on the ground, their screams of anguish cutting through the sky.

 

At that, only more screams than before came from the crowd, but none of them dared to charge. They knew it meant a painful death, but no one would kneel either.

 

They did not fear death, but they would not enjoy being burned alive either.

 

For a second it seemed, as though they would attempt a last mad charge, until a woman's voice called out, firm and strong. Her voice even drowned out the screams of the other Dothraki, making them listen in silence.

 

She wore a painted leather vest, shiny with oil and sweat. Her face was old and wrinkled, she lacked an eye and many teeth, though it shone with knowledge.

 

"The stallion who mounts the world ," she spoke slowly. " Born to the Khal of Khals, he shall ride as swift as the wind. Behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name." The old woman spoke.

 

It was an old prophecy of the Dothraki, she knew.

 

"Today, only one has been proven worthy of being the Khal of Khals. Only one has defeated every Khal and can now unite all of the khalasars of the world. Only one can make the Dothraki whole again."

 

The old woman trembled, staring at her with both fear and awe in her old, dark brown eyes. "This beast before you is the stallion that will conquer the world, born to the Khal of Khals."

 

Daenerys could feel every eye resting on her, as the woman continued to speak.

 

"The leader that has displayed strength and power. Daenerys Targaryen is the Khal of Khals, the Khaleesi of Khaleesis." With these words, she finally dropped to her knees, bowing her head in submission.

 

A second later, a thousand men followed, each cutting their braids and throwing it at her feet.

 

And as finally, the last man dropped to his knees, the dragons roared across the sky.

 

Their flapping wings and ear-shattering roars, the cawing of ravens, and the cheers of her men mixed together, blending into one until the city of Volantis finally knew the music of dragons.

 

*

 

The Second Battle of Volantis

Date: 299 AC

Place: Volantis

Conflict: The Great War of the East

 

Combatants:

Defenders:

  Aegon Targaryen's/Blackfyre's forces:

  • ~7500 men of the Golden Company
  • 2800 Shield carriers
  • 1500 Spearmen
  • 1500 Knights
  • 1700 Archers
  • Three armored war-elephants

 

Commander: Aegon Targaryen/Aegon Blackfyre

   Co-Commanders:

  • Jon Connington, Hand of the King
  • Harry Strickland, captain-general,
  • Black Balaq, commander of the archers,
  • Lysono Maar, company spymaster,
  • Myles 'Blackheart' Toyne
  • {Lord Tristan Darry, formerly Rivers,}
  • Marq Mandrake, serjeant,
  • Pykewood Peake, serjeant
  • Torman Peake, serjeant
  • Old Yohn Mudd
  • Young Yohn Mudd
  • Brendel Byrne, serjeant,
  • Dick Cole, serjeant,
  • Will Cole, serjeant,
  • Caspor Hill, serjeant,
  • Lorimas Mudd, serjeant,
  • Ser Lymond Pease, serjeant,
  • {Duncan Strong, serjeant,}
  • Humfrey Stone, serjeant.

 

Daenerys Targaryen's forces:

 

 Human forces:

  • A total of 8 Legions, meaning 16.000 troops. They consist of:
  • 6. Unsullied Legions (12.000 troops)
  • 1. Sellsword Legion (2000 troops)
  • 1. pit-fighter Legion (2000 troops)

 

Non-human forces:

  • Rhaellion, Rhaegal, and Viserion
  • Shadow

 

Commander: Daenerys Targaryen

    Co-Commanders:

  • Ser Barristan Selmy, unofficial Hand of the Queen and Lord Commander of the Queensguard
  • Ser Jorah Mormont of the Queensguard
  • Strong Belwas of the fighting pits and the Queensguard
  • Ser Jorah of the Queensguard
  • Merana of Kayakayanaya and the Queensguard
  • Pyat Pree of the Warlocks
  • Grey Worm of the Unsullied
  • Marselen of the Unsullied
  • Mossador of the Unsullied
  • Daario Naharis of the Sellswords
  • The Red Smile of the fighting pits

 

Attackers:

 

Dothraki:

  • 40.000 capable fighters, around 60.000 elderly, women, or too young.
  • 30.000 horses

 

Commander: {Khal Drogo}

Co-commanders, later commanders in their own right:

  • Khal Qotho, (15.000 Men), 12000 men remain. Bend the knee to Empress Daenerys.
  • {Khal Haggo}, (6000 Men), 2000 men remain. Slain by Pyat Pree in the streets of Volantis.
  • {Khal Cohollo}, (4500 Men), 2000 men remain. Slain by Aegon Targaryen in the streets of Volantis.
  • Khal Jhaqo, (3000 Men), 2500 Men remain. Bend the knee to Empress Daenerys.
  • {Khal Moro}, (1500 Men), khalasar extinct. Entirely annihilated by Rhaegal and Viserion outside the walls of Volantis.
  • Khal Oro, (2500 Men), 1500 men remain. Bend the knee to Empress Daenerys.
  • {Khal Motho}, (2500 Men), 1800 Men remain. Slain in battle by an unknown Unsullied soldier.
  • Khal Pono, (5000 Men), left the battle with his khalasar after the death of Khal Drogo.

 

Volanteenes:

  • Circa 1.000.000 civilians in the city, many having fled Volantis within the last few weeks.
  • Mostly remain neutral, leaving only a few men who guard the gates actively intervene in the fight.

 

Casualties

  • 13.200 Dothraki
  • 1500 men of the Golden Company
  • 400 Unsullied
  • 400 pit fighters
  • 340 Sellswords
  • An unaccountable number of civilians within the city estimated to be at around 5.000 dead and double as many injured.
  • Many buildings destroyed by both dragons and men.



The Battle

  • Duel between Empress Daenerys Targaryen and Khal Drogo for her hand in marriage.
  • Victory of Empress Daenerys, though she spares Khal Drogo from death.
  • Execution of Khal Drogo at the hands of his former subjects.
  • Infighting between the Dothraki, as a struggle for leadership, breaks out.
  • Targaryen men, reinforced by a thousand men of the Golden Company are locked out of the city.
  • Dragons blast open the gates.
  • Both Targaryens and Dothraki enter the city once more.
  • Battle council, while the Dothraki are fended off.
  • Daenerys Targaryen's troops from Bloodstone and Meereen arrive. The entirety of the Unsullied leaves her other occupied areas.
  • Burning of the entire area surrounding Volantis, creating a second Field of Fire and leaving no way out of the city.
  • Reinforcements push Dothraki towards the blasted gate.
  • Dothraki are encircled.
  • Daenerys demands their surrender, is proclaimed Khal of Khals and Khaleesi of Khaleesis by the newly widowed Khaleesi, and now member of the Dosh Khaleen named Minha, the wife of Khal Haggo.
  • Dothraki surrender.

 

Aftermath

  • Leadership over Volantis is transferred to Daenerys Targaryen
  • The Empress's troops greatly outnumber those of Aegon Targaryen within the city.
  • Daenerys Targaryen gains leadership over the Dothraki
  • Further losses, most notably amongst the Golden Company, the Dothraki, and the smallfolk.
  • Moderate damages to Volantis.