Third Person POV
299 AC, Uruk – Midday
The Dothraki Sea's golden grasses rippled under a merciless sun, a deceptive calm masking the storm of hooves thundering toward Uruk's radiant walls. Viserys Targaryen sat astride his gaunt stallion, his silver hair matted with sweat, violet eyes ablaze with fevered ambition. His khalasar, once a mighty forty thousand, had withered to eight thousand loyal riders, the rest slipping away in the night, fleeing his spiraling madness. Loyalty was bought with blood—fifteen dissenters lay dead, their throats slit as a warning. Failure meant death. The dragons will know me, their true master, Viserys thought, a manic smile twisting his scarred lips. I'll seize this city, claim my sister, and crown myself king. Doreah, his trembling "gift," clung to him from behind, her hands massaging his thighs, her voice a desperate whisper. "My king, we'll reach the City of Death by midday. Your throne awaits soon."
"Yes, Doreah," Viserys purred, his voice thick with delusion. "The dragons will bow to me. That usurper will deliver Daenerys, and my dynasty will rise from her womb." Doreah pressed closer, her warmth stoking his fantasies. He had driven his men relentlessly, their horses near collapse, to reach Uruk. The deserters would burn when he commanded Dragonite and Charizard—mistaken for true dragons in his fractured mind. Spurring his horse, he surged toward the distant golden walls, his ragged army trailing like a dying storm.
High on Uruk's ramparts, Daenerys Targaryen stood resolute, Dark Sister sheathed at her hip, her riding leathers practical yet regal, silver hair glinting. Beside her, Missandei, in flowing sapphire silks, radiated quiet strength, her Emma Frost telepathy sensing the horde's chaotic intent. Aeron Sand, leather-clad with swords crossed at his back, leaned against the parapet, his weathered face grim. "Savages again," he muttered, squinting at the dust cloud. "They never learn."
"It's my brother," Daenerys said, her voice steady, recalling yesterday's scout report. "Viserys is desperate, but his madness makes him dangerous."
Missandei's lips tightened, her dark eyes narrowing. "We could end this now, Dany. A preemptive strike—burn them before they reach the gates. Show Essos that Uruk is untouchable."
Daenerys's violet eyes hardened, but she shook her head, a flicker of pain crossing her face. "No, Missandei. We offer peace first. He's my blood, my only kin for years. He gets one final chance to turn back."
Missandei sighed, unconvinced. "You know he won't take it, Dany. Viserys is too far gone—greed and rage rule him now."
"Enough," Dominic Augustus commanded, his 6'6" frame towering in black silk edged with gold, golden eyes sharp with authority. "We wait to see their purpose. If they seek war, we'll give them a lesson in fire. Aeron, when their leaders approach, you'll handle the parley. Make it crystal clear—Uruk bows to no one."
"Of course, my king," Aeron replied, his voice steady as he issued orders to the Unsullied below. Their bronze armor gleamed, spears aligned with lethal precision.
The Parley
Midday brought a blistering sun, dust swirling as three riders broke from the khalasar, approaching Uruk's outer wall. Aeron stood tall on the ramparts, his voice booming across the field. "Halt! You approach Uruk with an army. State your business, or face annihilation!"
Viserys's voice pierced the air, shrill and imperious, his golden armor glinting dully. "I am Viserys Targaryen, the Last Dragon, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms! Your false lord has stolen my birthright, broken our pact, and saddled me with a hollow army! I demand he surrender this city, its endless riches, and my sister! I demand the dragons, mine by blood and destiny!"
Daenerys stepped forward, Missandei at her side, her expression a mix of pity and steel. "Viserys!" she called, her voice carrying like a bell. "What madness brings you here? This city is my home, not your prize. Turn back before you destroy yourself!"
Viserys's scarred face contorted, his violet eyes wild with fury. "You dare speak to me, you traitorous whore?! You fled like a craven with that mongrel husband, defying your king, your brother! You stand there, mocking me, while I, the true Dragon, am denied my throne! You've conspired to steal my dragons, my crown, my legacy!"
"Leave, Viserys!" Daenerys pleaded, her voice steady despite his venom, her fear of him long burned away. "You have no claim here! I'm no longer your pawn, trembling under your fists. Uruk is my sanctuary, my family. Turn back, or you'll find only death!"
Viserys dismounted, his armor clanking, his laughter sharp and unhinged. "Five minutes, Daenerys! Return to my side, or I'll raze this city to ash! The price for your betrayal was never paid! I demand Uruk's gold, its rivers of wealth, its dragons—mine by right! I am the Last Dragon, and no one defies Viserys Targaryen!"
Aeron's voice dripped scorn, his hand resting on a sword hilt. "You threaten Uruk with your ragtag horde? You're a fool to challenge this city. Leave now, or your army will be reduced to cinders."
"I'll have it all!" Viserys screamed, spittle flying, his face red with rage. "This city will fall! My whore-sister will kneel at my side! The dragons are mine to command! You'll all bow, or I'll burn you to nothing!"
Aeron's eyes turned cold, his voice final. "Last chance. Go."
Viserys stood defiant, raising his sword, his men shifting uneasily behind him. Aeron turned to Daenerys, his voice low and urgent. "Do it, my queen."
The Fire of Dragons
Daenerys hesitated, her heart a battlefield. Viserys was her brother, the boy who'd carried her through exile, yet the man before her was a monster, twisted by greed and cruelty. She glanced at Missandei, whose nod was a silent anchor, and Aeron, whose steady gaze urged resolve. Dominic had left the ramparts, unwilling to entertain Viserys's pathetic spectacle, trusting her judgment. Viserys's voice shattered her thoughts, venomous across the quiet field. "Once I make that fool husband of yours beg for mercy, I'll have my men rip his every part! I'll enjoy his every scream! His head will be on a pike, proof no one defies the Last Dragon!" He turned to his khalasar, roaring, "Attack! Take the city for your khal!"
The Dothraki charged, their hooves a deafening quake, arakhs flashing, war cries splitting the air. Daenerys jumped from the ramparts. Mera Mera no Mi flared to life, flames coiling around her fists like living dragons. With a fierce cry, she unleashed a blazing torrent, a fiery arc that engulfed the front ranks. Horses screamed, rearing as riders burned, their braided bells melting, their flesh charring. The stench of smoke and death choked the field, the ground blackening under her relentless fire.
The horde wavered, but the rear pressed forward, driven by Viserys's terror. Daenerys raised her hands, flames spiraling into a towering wall that cleaved the khalasar in two. Riders at the edges veered, horses maddened, while those trapped in the blaze fell, their screams swallowed by the roar. She targeted the charge's heart, her fire precise, a dragon's wrath sparing no warrior who dared Uruk's walls. Below, Unsullied loosed spear volleys, their discipline unyielding, felling stragglers with mechanical precision.
Viserys, untouched at the rear, stared, his face a mix of awe and dread. Daenerys shifted her assault, sending a firestorm toward the back ranks, where loyalty faltered. The Dothraki there broke, horses bolting, riders fleeing into the grasslands, their bells jingling in panicked retreat. Thousands abandoned their khal, leaving him with a shrinking core of fanatics. Her flames devoured everything in their way.
The charge faltered, the ground littered with smoldering corpses and panicked steeds. Daenerys intensified her barrage, targeting a knot of riders still pressing forward. Her fire lashed like a whip, incinerating their courage, driving them back. Survivors scattered, their loyalty shattered by Uruk's fiery rebuke. Only a few hundred remained, huddled around Viserys, their faces ashen, their arakhs trembling.
She pivoted, her flames carving a final path through a cluster of diehards, their war cries choking into silence as they burned. The khalasar's remnants fled, leaving Viserys isolated, his army a memory. Daenerys lowered her hands, flames flickering out, her breath steady, her silver hair glowing like a beacon. The field was a graveyard of ash, Uruk's walls untouched, its power undeniable.
Viserys gaped, his voice reverent yet deranged, his sword limp in his hand. "Magnificent… truly magnificent, Daenerys! Such power! With your fire, we can seize the Iron Throne alone! No allies, no compromises—just fire and blood! Come with me, sister, and we'll burn Westeros to its knees, make every lord kneel before House Targaryen!"
Daenerys's gaze was ice, her voice dripping with disdain, each word a blade. "You're delusional, Viserys. You're no dragon, no king—just a broken man consumed by greed and cruelty. I'm not killing you, not because you deserve mercy, but because kinslaying is the vilest sin. Otherwise, you'd be ash like your army." She turned to Aeron, her tone unyielding. "Take him to the Unsullied quarters. Train him as they train—no privileges, no exceptions. If he throws tantrums, cut his rations. Let him learn what it means to be a man, not a tyrant."
Aeron nodded, his face grim as he signaled the Unsullied. "As you command, my queen." Soldiers seized Viserys, who thrashed wildly, his screams echoing across the field. "I am a king! You can't treat me as a commoner! I am the Last Dragon! Release me, you filth!" His armor dulled by dust, he was dragged into Uruk, his protests fading into the city's depths.
Aeron glanced at the remaining figures—Doreah, trembling in fear, and a knight kneeling in submission. "What of the girl and the knight, my queen?"
Daenerys eyed Doreah, her expression softening with pity. "Give her work in the market—something honest, like weaving or selling. Keep her far from Viserys; she's endured enough of his cruelty." She turned to the knight, her voice sharp as Dark Sister's edge. "Your name?"
The man knelt deeper, his grizzled face tense, his armor worn. "Ser Jorah Mormont, at your service, Your Grace."
Daenerys's lips curled, her voice cold. "Ser Jorah Mormont, Varys's spy." Jorah stiffened, his eyes dropping, guilt etched in his features. "I'll give you one chance," she continued, her tone unrelenting. "Serve me loyally, and you may earn redemption. Betray me, and I'll mount your head on a spike. Do you understand?"
Jorah bowed, his voice hoarse with gratitude and fear. "Yes, Your Grace. Thank you for sparing my life. I swear to serve you faithfully."
Daenerys nodded, leading Missandei and Aeron into Egalmah's blackstone halls, the weight of her decision settling like ash. Viserys's threat was broken, but her heart ached for the brother lost to madness. Uruk stood stronger, its fire unquenched, as the game of thrones burned brighter, its players converging on a world poised for upheaval.