Whispers in the Free Cities
In Pentos, the magisters gathered in Illyrio Mopatis' marble hall. The fat merchant-lord dabbed sweat from his brow as his peers argued, their silks rustling, their voices sharp with fear.
"They have twenty thousand riders," one snapped. "Dothraki who march in ranks like soldiers! Such a thing has never been seen."
"And they have Spartans," another added darkly. "Three hundred devils from beyond the world. Did you not hear? They shattered Drogo's khalasar like glass. Drogo is dead."
The chamber erupted in murmurs. The Dothraki had always been predictable — wild raiders, strong but disorganized, easily bribed to turn their fury away from city walls. But this? An army of horse and shield, trained in order and discipline? That was something new. Something dangerous.
Illyrio forced a smile. "You speak as though it is a curse. I see opportunity. A queen reborn, with dragons yet unborn, a warlord at her side, and an army no city can withstand. Such allies could change the balance of Essos."
"Or destroy it," one magister muttered.
---
In Braavos, whispers spread through the canals. The Iron Bank took note, scribes tallying numbers, calculating risk and reward.
"Twenty thousand riders, disciplined," a banker murmured, tapping his ledger. "Backed by a Spartan core. And led by a Targaryen." He glanced to his peers. "Perhaps we should invest."
---
In Volantis, the Red Temple burned bright. High priests spoke of visions in the flames — a silver queen crowned by fire, standing beside a bronze warrior whose spear dripped with blood.
"The Lord of Light has chosen them," one priest proclaimed. "The Stallion is dead, but the Queen of Fire rises. We must watch."
---
And in Westeros, across the sea, rumors carried by ship and whisper reached the ears of lords and kings.
"A girl," Robert Baratheon spat upon his throne, wine sloshing down his beard. "A slip of a girl with horse-riders and some sellsword lord. Let her come. I'll kill her like the rest."
But Eddard Stark frowned, hearing of the name Leonidas spoken beside hers. "A warlord with discipline. That is no sellsword. That is something else entirely."
---
Back in the Dothraki camp, Daenerys sat beside Leonidas in a tent now ringed with bronze and crimson. She listened as reports came in — whispers of fear, curiosity, and opportunity spreading across Essos.
"We are noticed," she said quietly.
Leonidas smirked, sharpening his spear. "Good. Let them notice. Fear is the first step to conquest."
The System pulsed in his mind:
> [World Event Unlocked: The Free Cities Respond.]
Three Paths Available:
1. Ally with Pentos & Illyrio (wealth, ships, but strings attached).
2. Court the Red Temple of Volantis (faith and fire, but dangerous zeal).
3. Seek Braavosi support (gold, loans, but eternal debt).
Daenerys looked to Leonidas. "Which path do we take?"
He rose, cloak draped like blood, eyes burning with iron resolve.
"All of them will bow. The only question is who bends first."