The Breaking of Chains
The wedding day was chaos.
Pentos had never seen a gathering so vast. Drogo's khalasar thundered into the fields beyond the city walls, tens of thousands of horsemen feasting, fighting, and rutting in wild abandon. The air stank of horseflesh, smoke, and blood.
Illyrio's silken tent-palaces strained to contain the storm. Nobles drank nervously, merchants whispered in fear, and above it all, Viserys strutted like a king without a crown.
Leonidas stood at Daenerys' side, his bronze armor gleaming, his three hundred Spartans formed in silent ranks behind him. They were an island of order amid a sea of madness.
The gifts were presented — the silver horse, the dragon eggs — and then the wine flowed, darker than blood.
It should have been a feast. Instead, it became a spark.
Viserys, drunk and seething, stumbled into Drogo's bloodriders. "She is mine!" he hissed, shoving Daenerys forward. "She is mine to give! Do you hear me? I am your king! I am—"
The bloodrider struck him. A backhand like a hammer, sending the so-called dragon sprawling in the dirt.
The khalasar roared with laughter.
But Viserys rose screaming, face red, spittle flying. "Kill them!" he shrieked at the Spartans. "Kill them all! I am the dragon! Obey me!"
The System flared in Leonidas' mind:
> [Critical Event Triggered: Dragon or Shield?]
Choice: Obey the Usurper OR Protect the Queen.]
Leonidas did not hesitate.
He raised his spear. "Spartans!"
The three hundred slammed their shields as one, the sound shattering the drunken laughter.
"A-oo! A-oo! A-oo!"
Drogo rose from his seat, his arakh already in hand. His bloodriders drew steel, shouting for blood. The khalasar surged like a wave, tens of thousands howling for war.
Illyrio shrieked in terror, waddling for cover.
Viserys gaped, realizing too late that the command he had given had lit the fire he could not control.
And Daenerys — Daenerys clutched Leonidas' arm, her voice shaking but steady. "Do not let them take me."
Leonidas lowered his helmet over his brow. His voice thundered across the field.
"Form phalanx!"
Shields locked. Spears angled. Three hundred Spartans became an unbreakable wall of bronze and crimson.
The first wave of Dothraki charged, horses screaming, riders whooping.
The Spartans stood.
The ground shook. Hooves thundered. Arakhs flashed.
And then — impact.
The wall did not break. Spears struck upward, piercing horses mid-charge. Shields rammed into riders, sending them tumbling beneath their own stampede. Blood sprayed, screams tore the air.
The khalasar had met discipline. And discipline did not yield.
Drogo roared, spurring his stallion forward, arakh raised high. He would cut down this bronze wolf himself.
Leonidas braced, spear in hand. The System pulsed like a heartbeat:
> [Boss Battle: Khal Drogo – Phase II.]
Victory or Death.]
The battlefield burned. And the war for Daenerys had begun.
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