Meereen, one day after the ambush.
The pit was silent.
Charred bones and melted gold still littered the sand, though most of the remains had been cleared by the Unsullied before dawn. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and blood. Crows circled above, cautious now, wary of the predators who had claimed this arena.
Vaedron perched on one of the higher terraces, silent as ever, tail draped across the stone ledge like a lazy shadow. The trio—Tiraxes, Nyxarys, and Sorynth—lounged nearby, their wings half-spread to catch the morning warmth. They hadn't strayed far since the attack.
Aelya watched them from the shade of a column, arms folded, her mind too sharp and restless to allow sleep. She hadn't closed her eyes all night.
Missandei approached quietly, a folded scroll in hand.
"Another list of names from the interrogations," she said.
Aelya took it without a word. Her eyes skimmed the parchment. "Three city guards. Two merchants. A scribe."
"They confessed under fear of dragons. The rest are being held."
Aelya crumpled the scroll in her fist. "We let them sit among us. Eat from our tables."
Missandei hesitated, then added, "Many say the dragons saved the city."
"They did."
She glanced at the trio, still lounging like content cats. Sorynth licked her claws idly. Nyxarys kept her head raised, ever alert. Tiraxes gave a satisfied huff, almost smug.
Vaedron remained distant, but not disinterested. His eyes never left Aelya.
In the Great Pyramid, Daenerys stood over a map of Meereen and the surrounding territories. She was pale, lips drawn thin.
Jorah and Grey Worm flanked her. Barristan Selmy stood at her right, newly returned and already immersed in Meereen's defense.
"They knew the routine," Grey Worm said. "They memorized the guards' shifts. The attack was planned down to the second."
"Meaning it came from within," Aelya said as she entered, tossing the crumpled scroll onto the map.
Daenerys met her gaze but didn't speak immediately.
"Do you regret it?" Aelya asked quietly.
"Killing them?" Daenerys's voice was calm, but something trembled underneath. "No. But I hate that it's what they'll remember."
"They'll remember that we survived. That the Harpies didn't win."
Jorah nodded. "There's a rumor that every assassin burned in that pit wore the same sigil inside their robes. Gold thread, stitched by hand."
"Highborn?" Barristan asked.
"Or bought by them."
Aelya stepped beside Daenerys, her tone cooling. "We can't trust anyone. Not now. We vet every official, every noble. No exceptions."
"And the pit?" Daenerys asked.
Aelya exhaled. "We keep it open. No more games. It's not a place for judgment anymore. It's a warning."
Daenerys frowned. "I won't turn it into a slaughterhouse."
"It already was. Let them see what betrayal brings."
That evening, the pit reopened.
Not for public executions this time—but for something worse.
The trio stalked the sand while Vaedron watched from the upper ledge. The air was tense, wordless. Aelya stood at the edge of the pit, reading names aloud as the crowd gathered again.
These were not victims. They were conspirators—those who had funded the Harpies or offered shelter.
Some wept. Some cursed. None denied.
The trio moved like a well-oiled machine. Tiraxes pinned. Nyxarys burned. Sorynth finished. The deaths were clean, final, public.
No cheering now. Only silence.
Aelya felt Daenerys's presence beside her.
"You think this will hold?" Dany asked.
"For now."
"And later?"
Aelya didn't answer.
Her hand brushed against Daenerys's briefly—then lingered.
Not everything could be answered in war.
Not everything could be solved with dragons.
But sometimes, it was the only language Meereen seemed to understand.
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