The air smelled of salt and spice in Pentos. Beyond the terracotta walls and tiled palaces, the sea whispered of freedom, but for Daenerys Targaryen, there was no escape. Not while Viserys watched her with those sharp, greedy eyes.
She stood in Illyrio Mopatis' garden, the silk of her dress heavy on her shoulders. Viserys was speaking, ranting again about "his" throne and the army he would soon command. She barely listened.
And then—
A ripple in the world.
She felt it before she saw it, like the shiver of a storm on calm waters. The guards stiffened. Even Viserys faltered mid-rant, his eyes narrowing.
A man walked through the archway.
He was not Dothraki, nor Pentoshi. Bronze and crimson armor gleamed in the fading sun, fitted as if forged for his very soul. A great round shield rested on his arm, a spear at his back. His presence was not loud, yet it pressed on everyone like the weight of mountains.
Daenerys' breath caught. He looked at her, not her brother.
"Who are you to enter unannounced?" Viserys snapped, puffing his chest like a rooster.
The stranger did not look at him. He knelt on one knee before Daenerys.
"My queen," he said, voice deep and steady. "I am Leonidas. A warrior beyond your lands. My oath, my shield, and my spear are yours—should you accept them."
Viserys exploded. "Your queen? Your queen?! She is mine to give, do you hear me? Mine! I am the dragon, she is—"
The man's gaze finally turned on Viserys, sharp as a drawn blade. For the first time, Daenerys saw her brother hesitate, his voice faltering.
Illyrio's guards moved to surround the intruder, but before they could advance, it happened.
The air shimmered behind him—light bending, sound deepening—and twelve men appeared as though they had marched from another world. Each bore the same bronze armor and crimson cloaks, shields locked, spears angled. They stood in perfect formation, unmoving, unbreathing, like statues brought to life.
One slammed his spear against his shield. The sound cracked like thunder.
"Who are these men?" Illyrio gasped, fat fingers twitching with fear and awe.
"They are Spartans," the stranger said without rising from his knee. "My brothers. My phalanx. We fight as one, live as one, die as one. And now, we will fight for her."
Daenerys stared. The heat of Viserys' glare burned on her, but for the first time, she felt something else: a hand reaching into the darkness, offering safety.
Viserys barked laughter, thin and brittle. "What good are a dozen armored men against a khalasar of forty thousand? You're mad! Mad!"
The stranger's lips curved in the faintest smile.
"One Spartan is worth more than a hundred men. And together…" His eyes flicked back to Daenerys, steady, unwavering. "Together we are unbreakable. No khal, no sellsword, no pretender shall touch you while I draw breath."
The Spartans struck their shields as one, the garden echoing with their chant.
"For Sparta! For our Queen!"
Daenerys trembled, not from fear—but from the first spark of something she had never known.
Hope.