The March of Fire and Bronze
POV: Daenerys
The morning air was sharp with dust and horse-sweat. From the crest of a hill, Daenerys looked down at the plain — twenty thousand riders assembled, not as a chaotic storm but as ordered ranks. The sight stole her breath.
Shields glinted like a sea of bronze. Spears rose in perfect lines. The crimson banners, stitched with the dragon of her House and the lambda of Leonidas' Spartans, snapped in the wind.
"This is not a khalasar," she whispered. "This is a nation."
Leonidas stood beside her, helm beneath his arm, his eyes narrowed upon the horizon. "A nation built for war."
Their target was the city of Norvos — a Free City swollen with trade and arrogance, unprepared for the disciplined fury now descending upon it.
Illyrio had urged caution. The magisters had begged them not to stir such wrath. But Daenerys had chosen conquest. And Leonidas had only smiled, as if this was always their destiny.
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POV: Leonidas
The Spartan king rode at the head of the horde, his bronze helm gleaming, his scarred face a mask of resolve.
"Phalanx forward!" he roared.
Three hundred Spartans moved as one, shields interlocking, spears leveled. Behind them, the Dothraki surged — not in chaos, but in formation. Companies of horse-archers flanked the shield wall, circling like wolves, while heavier cavalry massed for the killing blow.
This was no longer the Dothraki way. This was his way.
Leonidas raised his spear high. The Spartans bellowed their war cry, the ground trembling with their fury.
"A-OO! A-OO! A-OO!"
And the Crimson Horde moved as one.
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POV: A Spartan Captain
Astinos, veteran of Thermopylae, grinned beneath his helm as he marched in lockstep with his brothers. The Dothraki riders at their flanks had once mocked the phalanx, but now their respect was hard-earned.
He remembered how they had fallen during the drills, how they had cursed the weight of shields, how they had laughed at formation. But now they roared beside them, their braids flying, their voices joining the chant.
When the order came, the phalanx advanced with terrifying precision. Horsemen flowed around them like water around a spearhead.
Astinos knew the truth: this was more than an army. This was evolution.
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POV: A Dothraki Rider
Rakharo had once sneered at shields. A horse was freedom, a scream was war. Yet when he had seen Drogo fall beneath Leonidas' spear, when he had seen the phalanx stand unbroken against the khalasar's charge, something inside him had changed.
Now he bore a shield. Now he drilled until his muscles burned, until he hated the bronze in his hands — and then loved it.
For the first time, he understood discipline. He felt power not as a lone rider, but as part of a wall that could not be broken.
He looked at the silver-haired queen riding among them, fire in her eyes, and he believed. She was no fragile girl. She was Khaleesi.
And he would kill for her.
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POV: Daenerys (later that day)
By dusk, the Crimson Horde reached the walls of Norvos. The city's bells rang in alarm, the gates slamming shut. From the battlements, archers jeered, believing the wild riders could not breach stone.
But Daenerys smiled, her heart pounding. For she had seen Leonidas' plan.
Spartan engineers had marched with them, dragging timber, rope, and bronze. Siege towers rose, rough and brutal, but sturdy. Battering rams formed from felled trees, iron-capped.
The Dothraki watched in awe, for they had never taken a city by storm. They had only burned the fields beyond its walls.
But tonight, they would see something new.
Leonidas raised his spear. "No walls stand forever," he said, his voice carrying. "And no city can hide from fire and bronze."
Daenerys' silver hair streamed in the wind. Her voice cut across the host.
"I am Daenerys Stormborn, blood of the dragon. This city will not stand. It will kneel."
The army roared.
The march was over.
The conquest had begun.