Meanwhile, Baelon stood at the heart of Astapor, one hand raised as a wall of fire roared into existence before him.
The flames twisted and climbed upon themselves, forming a blazing curtain that cast the street in wavering shades of orange and gold.
This was the last treasury they were to loot, but by this time they had already attracted much too attention.
Beyond the fire, the people of Astapor gathered like carrion birds held at bay.
Their eyes gleamed, fixed upon the heaps of gold, silks, and jewelled chests being hauled away by Baelon's men.
Fingers twitched. Jaws clenched. Greed shone shamefully on their faces. Yet none dared cross the line of fire as heat rolled outward in suffocating waves, forcing the crowd back step by reluctant step.
Every so often, a tendril of flame broke free from the wall, spiralling upward before bursting into a sharp bloom of sparks.
The sparks were less a show of threat and more a signal. Still, each eruption sent the crowd recoiling with startled cries.
"Gods save us! Did you see that?"
"Witchcraft! He must be one of 'em Red Priests!"
"Don't look at it, don't look, it'll curse us all!"
A few fell to their knees, clutching charms or pressing trembling hands to their brows.
Others backed away entirely, terror finally overwhelming their greed.
"Lord Baelon!"
Silvo hurried to his side, boots scraping against stone as he dragged two heavy bags that clinked with every step.
His shoulders were hunched. "Our men are struggling to carry everything. Should we leave some behind?"
Baelon glanced toward the returning soldiers, their arms laden with the last of the treasury's wealth.
"Don't worry." He shook his head calmly. "Help will arrive soon. And even if it does get delayed…" His eyes flicked briefly toward the wall of fire. "It's not like anyone here can take it from us."
Silvo followed his gaze. The heat washed over his face, and he swallowed hard, a bead of sweat tracing a slow path down his temple.
"O-of course, my Lord." He offered a practised mercantile smile, though fear lingered in his eyes.
Baelon turned away, his attention drifting across the square. His gaze lingered too long on the streets beyond the fire. 'Where, oh where could she be? Did something happen to her?'
A faint knot of worry formed in his chest.
No.
He crushed the thought as swiftly as it arose. He trusted Helaena. He had to.
Then, faintly at first, came the sound of marching.
It began as a distant tremor. A heartbeat later, it grew clearer: they were footsteps.
Thousands of footsteps.
Their cadence echoed through the streets of Astapor, relentless in nature, swallowing the murmurs and fears of the crowd whole.
Baelon's eyes narrowed. He looked past the wavering wall of flames just in time to see the crowd break.
Greed gave way to panic as people scampered away, fleeing into twisting alleys and narrow streets, scattering like startled birds.
A smile slowly curved Baelon's lips.
From the newly cleared avenue stepped a silver-haired girl, her posture relaxed despite the legions moving behind her.
In her wake marched an orderly legion of Unsullied, ranks unbroken, spears upright, faces carved from stone.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Baelon dispersed the wall of flames. The fire collapsed inward, vanishing as though it had never been.
Helaena reached him moments later, eyes bright. "I did it! All of them were willing to join us!"
She clutched his arm, barely containing her excitement.
"Well done." Baelon rested a hand atop her head, ruffling her hair gently.
Pride warmed his chest.
He understood what she meant by all.
Every Unsullied present at the parade was won, not by fear or force, but by her words. It was a feat he knew he could never replicate.
Empathy and understanding were not his strengths. Had he stood in her place, he would have offered only a choice: obedience or exile.
Thankfully, he knew himself well enough to let others shine where he could not.
"Did you explain to them what they need to do?" He asked.
Helaena hummed in affirmation.
"On the way here." She gestured toward the Unsullied, some already lifting crates with mechanical precision, others fanning out to scout, the remainder forming a flawless rear guard.
Soon, with everything in order, the grand force began moving toward the harbour.
By the time Baelon arrived, the docks had descended into chaos.
Sailors shouted. Ropes snapped taut. Ships rocked violently as crews argued or were dragged from decks.
They soon met Rhevos near the pier, the old man hurrying forward, eyes widening as he took in the sea of Unsullied.
He inhaled sharply, then steadied himself with his long experience. "My Lord, my Lady." He bowed. "Thanks to your generosity, I have obtained twenty ships. Their sailors have either turned to our side… or been restrained by those who have."
"However…" He paused, glancing at the vast sea of Unsullied. "I did not think we would need so many vessels. It appears I was mistaken."
Baelon inclined his head. Even he had not expected this many to follow.
"Regardless," Rhevos continued, voice tightening, "we are in a predicament." He pointed toward the harbour mouth. "Some archer towers remain manned. If we draw closer, they will open fire. Worse still, merchant escort galleys block the exit, having fled the inner docks. They pose little threat, but together they'll turn us into sitting ducks."
Baelon ignored the fretting, his gaze lifting briefly to the sky before settling upon the harbour defences.
The archer towers loomed over them, silhouettes bristling with bowmen. Beyond them, massive galleys lay anchored broadside, hulls thick, decks crowded with confused sailors and mercenaries.
Baelon turned to the Unsullied commander at the forefront. "Sȳz iā sōvēssī urnēptre. Aōha gūrēn hen ziry iksos jorrāelza.Māzīlī rȳbāzma. Lo sȳndrȳ.Ānogar jēdar sȳrī sōvēssī lentrot."Secure more vessels. Another dozen will suffice. Do not kill indiscriminately. The rest of your men will load our cargo.
Grey Fist glanced at Helaena. She gave a small nod. He returned his attention to Baelon and inclined his head.
Baelon then turned to Silvo. "Send men with them. Control the crews. Tell the captains they may resist and die now, or obey and be paid their dues."
Helaena's expression tightened briefly, reluctance flickering across her face. Still, she remained silent. Mercy had already been stretched as far as it could go.
"M-my Lord," Rhevos cried, voice cracking, "what about the galleys and the towers?"
Grey Fist and Silvo shared the concern. None wished to see their men turned into pincushions.
"Worry not," Baelon replied, eyes fixed on the harbour mouth. "They will not be an issue for much longer."
The certainty in his voice silenced them all.
He did not bother to explain.
After all, his confidence was already atop them.
Vrrrroooaaaar—KRRAAAAAAAGH!
The sound tore through their ears as if the world itself had split.
Darkness swallowed the harbour, plunging it into something far deeper than dusk. It was as though the sun itself had been seized.
Panic erupted.
Men on the galleys froze mid-command. Archers atop the towers dropped their bows. The crowd near the docks choked on their screams as fear clawed its way up their throats.
Then, silence.
A deep, reverent stillness fell as every gaze lifted skyward. Mouths hung open in wordless terror, eyes wide enough to reflect the void above.
Baelon could not fault them.
Three immense winged silhouettes passed overhead. Wings stretched wide, blotting out what little light remained, each beat of their descent sending ripples through air and water alike.
Scales glimmered faintly through the gloom, bronze, silver, blue, before shadows claimed them again.
Dragons.
With an eager, exultant roar, Vermithor dove.
KRRAAA-VROOOOM!
The Bronze Fury plummeted toward one of the blockade galleys, jaws yawning wide. A screech tore from its throat, and then…came fire.
A flood of fire.
It engulfed the vessel in an instant, splitting its hull apart as if it were made of kindling.
Wood exploded outward, still burning as it rained across the blackened water.
Men screamed as they hurled themselves overboard, some vanishing beneath the waves, others never making it that far, caught mid-leap and reduced to writhing silhouettes before sloughing into molten ruin.
Unfortunately for Astapor, it did not end there.
Silverwing swept in next, elegant and merciless. Dreamfyre followed more languidly, her blue flames washing across towers and decks with noticeably less fervour.
Compared to arson, the open sky seemed to hold far greater fascination for her; she twisted and climbed even as she burned, as if dancing amidst the chaos, leaving Baelon speechless.
Still, her presence was deterrent enough.
Within moments, Archer Towers stood broken and empty. The galleys that once barred the harbour mouth drifted as flaming carcasses or sank outright.
"What are you waiting for?" Baelon snapped, irritation slicing through the stunned silence below. "Finish your tasks!"
The spell broke.
Rhevos barked orders. Silvo rushed to his duties. Grey Fist moved without hesitation, his Unsullied flowing into action like a single beast.
Satisfied, Baelon turned to Helaena.
She stood silently beside him, violet eyes reflecting the inferno raging across the harbour. Dragonfire painted her face in gold, whilst her expression was calm, too calm.
"I'm sorry about this…" Baelon murmured, his voice just loud enough to reach her through the din.
"No." Helaena shook her head. "This has nothing to do with you, brother."
She turned and faced him fully.
"You have protected me all these years," she said softly, but firmly. "Shielded me from choices that would have weighed too heavily on me then. You carried burdens so I wouldn't have to."
Her gaze did not waver.
"But I am not that girl anymore."
Baelon's eyes flicked briefly to Dreamfyre as she loosed another plume of flame before returning to Helaena.
"I will never take a life without reason. Without good cause," she continued. "That is a line I will not cross. Yet I understand now… that deaths will follow my commands. Today proves that."
Her hand clenched slightly at her side.
"I could have held Dreamfyre back," she admitted. "Saved hundreds, perhaps. But doing so would have doomed the thousands who matter to me." Her voice softened. "And worse… it would have harmed the one person who has always stood in front of me when the fire came."
She stepped closer.
"I don't want to stand behind you anymore. Not as something you protect. Not as a shadow." Her eyes searched his. "I want to walk beside you. As your equal."
"So please," she said quietly, "trust me. Even if it means I must set aside parts of myself…for us."
"You don't have to—"
Baelon never finished.
Helaena rose onto her toes, pressing her lips briefly against his.
The world stilled.
Roars dulled. Flames blurred. For a heartbeat, nothing existed beyond that fleeting warmth.
"That…?" Baelon muttered cautiously as she pulled away, cheeks flushed.
"Look!" Helaena said quickly, pretending not to notice his confusion as she grasped his hand. "They're almost finished."
Helplessly, Baelon allowed himself to be pulled toward one of the larger secured ships.
Maela was already there, coordinating the freed slaves with practised efficiency. By the time they arrived, the last group had boarded.
Trying to quell the rapid beating of his heart, Baelon tried to focus on the tasks at hand.
"Maela," Baelon asked, scanning the deck. "Are we missing anyone?"
"No, Lord Baelon." She shook her head. "Everyone is accounted for. This was the last batch."
Both he and Helaena exhaled in relief.
Baelon cast one final glance back at Astapor, watching black smoke coil lazily into the sky.
The docks stand empty. The Unsullied and men who had been busy seizing ships were gone, having successfully carried out their orders.
A horn then sounded, as one by one, the ships departed, hulking wooden beasts gliding past the flaming galleys that had once blocked them.
With a wave of his hand, the remaining flames hissed as they died.
As they drifted into open blue, he looked back once more.
Astapor. Chaos had erupted from within the city. By the docks archer towers remained aflame. In its waters, ashened ships lay broken, their remains bobbing with each undulation of the water beneath them.
Baelon closed his eyes for a moment as he ruminated on what he had gained during this year-long spell in Astapor.
Five thousand Unsullied.
Hundreds of skilled freedmen.
Nearly forty ships.
Baelon let loose a gentle exhale as he opened his eyes.
It was by no means enough to dominate Essos.
But it was more than enough for what came next.
***
Time passed, and soon the pair found themselves standing at the very rear of the ship, where no one else lingered.
The deck behind them was empty, the sounds of sailors and men fading toward the bow.
As they gazed upon the endless blue before them, wind tugged gently at cloaks and hair, carrying with it the scent of salt and freedom alike.
"Baelon?"
Helaena's voice broke his thoughts. She did not turn to him, her violet eyes fixed on the undulating waves before them.
"You said we would make a new home near Valyria," she continued quietly. "I thought everything there was destroyed in the Doom."
The lingering embarrassment from their experience at the dock vanished at once, replaced by a familiar spark of excitement. Baelon leaned against the railing beside her.
"You're right," he said with a smile. "The peninsula shattered when the Fourteen Flames erupted. Most of it is still uninhabitable. But not everything was lost."
Helaena finally glanced at him, curiosity alight.
"The Citadel records three cities that survived," he went on. "One is Mantarys. Alas, it is a grim place. Its people are… changed. Twisted customs and bodies twisted worse still. And far too eager to meddle in black magic." He shook his head. "I would never call that place home."
"Then what of the others?" she asked.
"Elyria and Tolos," Baelon replied. "They are far more normal, peaceful, even. But weak. They relied on the Ghiscari for protection following the Doom, which leaves them vulnerable now." His eyes gleamed faintly. "If we take them, we gain a true home. And from there, the ruins of Valyria will finally be within reach."
Helaena let out a soft laugh. "Dragons, an army, and a distant land ripe for conquest…" She tilted her head. "Are we not beginning to sound like Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives?"
"Baelon the Conqueror?" He offered lightly.
She smiled, then raised a brow. "But aren't the Unsullied loyal to me?"
He blinked. "Ah."
With exaggerated solemnity, he placed a hand over hers on the railing. "Then forgive me, Helaena the Conqueror. Might your brother humbly request permission to accompany you on this reckless campaign?"
She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. "You may. Titles can be sorted out later."
Her mirth softened, then slowed. She hesitated, eyes returning to the horizon.
"…Baelon," she said more quietly. "What of us?"
He turned fully toward her.
"When will we wed?"
The words struck harder than any blade. He had always known this conversation would come, but knowing did little to still his racing heart.
"Not yet," he said gently. "A few more years."
Her expression dimmed at once. "Do you not wish it?"
"No, never think that." He shook his head firmly, then lowered himself slightly so he was forced to meet her gaze. "But do you remember Queen Aemma?"
Helaena frowned faintly. "Father's first queen?"
"She was wed at eleven. Her marriage was consummated at thirteen." His voice softened. "She suffered for it. Miscarriages. Pain. The Citadel believes her body was pushed too far, too early."
He inhaled slowly. "We are stronger than most, yes. But there is no need to risk you. After all, I will not leave. So there is no need for you to be saddened—"
Before he could finish, Helaena hauled him upright with surprising force.
For a moment, he barely kept his footing as she crashed into him, arms wrapped tightly around his chest.
"Most men our age would have already taken lovers," she said, her voice muffled against him. "Those with your status would have left bastards scattered across half the Free Cities."
Her words trembled, dampening the fabric of his tunic.
"And yet you…" she continued softly, voice thick with emotion. "You held back..."
She pulled back just enough for him to see her face, eyes rimmed red but shining.
"How could I feel anything but happy?" She whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. "How could I not be grateful?"
Baelon did not answer her, merely drawing her closer, resting his forehead against her head.
Above them, three dragons circled the departing fleet, vast shadows against the open sky.
The years had gone by. Many things around them had changed, whether it be the people or the world around them.
But even when all else fell away, they still stood together.
Some bonds, even fate could not undo.