The delegation from Pentos approached with all the pageantry that wealth and political necessity could provide, but even from a distance it was clear that the morning's events had left them scrambling to adapt their carefully prepared diplomatic strategies to circumstances no one—not even their most paranoid advisors—had anticipated. At the head of the small procession rode a figure who could only be described as the physical embodiment of mercantile prosperity made manifest: short, round, draped in silk that probably cost more than most people saw in a lifetime, and wearing the sort of practiced smile that had been refined through decades of negotiations where sincerity was less important than profit margins and moral flexibility was considered a professional asset.
Behind him came a carefully selected escort that balanced military capability with diplomatic propriety—enough armed guards to demonstrate that Pentos took such meetings seriously, but not so many as to suggest they considered themselves in a position to make demands rather than requests. The banners they carried fluttered in the morning breeze with colors that proclaimed their peaceful intentions while simultaneously displaying the wealth and power of the city they represented, each fold of fabric worth more than a common soldier's annual wages.
Haerion Brightflame stood watching their approach with the sort of casual elegance that came from excellent breeding combined with supreme confidence in his own capabilities. His emerald eyes, flecked with violet like precious stones catching sunlight, tracked the delegation's progress with the analytical precision of someone who had learned to assess potential threats and opportunities with equal facility. There was something distinctly aristocratic about the way he carried himself—shoulders back, chin raised just enough to suggest noble birth without crossing into arrogance, every movement flowing with the sort of natural grace that couldn't be taught or imitated.
"*Magnificent presentation,*" Varro observed, his deep voice carrying that particular tone of professional assessment that came from years of evaluating potential opponents and their capabilities. The massive former khal stood like a mountain beside his new leader, arms crossed over his broad chest as he studied the approaching party with the sort of tactical evaluation that had kept him alive through countless battles. "*They understand the importance of appearance in negotiations. Wealthy enough to suggest valuable partnerships, armed enough to command respect, but not so ostentatous as to seem threatening or dismissive.*"
"*Indeed,*" Haerion agreed, his cultured accent carrying just a hint of that particular British dryness that could make even compliments sound faintly condescending. "*Though I do appreciate how they've managed to achieve that delicate balance between 'please don't destroy us' and 'we're still important enough to merit serious consideration.' It's quite the diplomatic tightrope they're walking.*" He brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his impeccably tailored sleeve with the sort of absent gesture that somehow managed to convey supreme self-assurance. "*I wonder if they realize the rope is on fire.*"
Varro's lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "*Classic merchant-prince diplomacy. Project strength without aggression, wealth without arrogance, openness without vulnerability. Though I suspect their carefully prepared negotiation strategies were designed for dealing with Dothraki tribute demands rather than... whatever it is they think they're facing now.*"
*They probably have no bloody idea what they're facing,* Aegerax observed through their mental link, his mental voice carrying that distinctive deep timbre that somehow managed to sound both amused and slightly menacing simultaneously. There was something distinctly sophisticated about the dragon's mental presence—the sort of urbane wit that came from centuries of observing mortal follies with detached interest. *Dragons returning to Essos, Dragonlords emerging from legend, traditional power structures being casually restructured by strangers with overwhelming capabilities and questionable respect for established protocols... it's the sort of morning that makes careful diplomatic planning rather irrelevant.*
*Oh, I do hope they try to negotiate,* Haerion replied mentally, his tone carrying the sort of anticipatory pleasure that suggested he was looking forward to a particularly entertaining performance. *I haven't had a proper opportunity to demonstrate superior wit through devastating verbal precision in weeks. It's been rather disappointing, actually.*
*Should make for interesting conversation,* Varro muttered aloud, his expression suggesting he was looking forward to discovering how creative the Pentoshi would prove to be when adapting to impossible circumstances. "*Though I suspect 'interesting' may prove to be something of an understatement.*"
As the delegation drew closer, details became clearer that spoke to both the considerable wealth of Pentos and the careful calculation that had gone into this particular diplomatic mission. The lead figure—clearly a magister of considerable importance based on the deference shown him by the others—wore robes of deep purple silk embroidered with golden threads in patterns so intricate they probably required a team of master artisans working for months. His mount was a magnificent destrier that would have impressed even the most critical Dothraki standards, and the ceremonial weapons carried by his escort were works of art as much as tools of war, each piece worth more than most people's homes.
"*Magister Paolys Heymyn,*" Varro identified with the sort of certain recognition that came from extensive familiarity with Free Cities politics and the sorts of people who shaped them. His tone carried that particular brand of neutral professionalism that suggested personal opinions were being carefully suppressed in favor of tactical assessment. "*One of the most powerful men in Pentos, with interests in everything from spice trading to... more controversial forms of commerce. Very wealthy, very well-connected, and very, very good at turning complex situations to his financial advantage.*"
Haerion's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched with the sort of elegant skepticism that could have been taught in finishing schools if they offered courses in aristocratic disdain. "*Controversial forms of commerce,*" he repeated, his cultured voice carrying just enough emphasis to make it clear he suspected he knew exactly what sort of euphemisms were being employed. "*I don't suppose you mean importing exotic foods or dealing in luxury fabrics? Something tells me the controversy involves rather more... ethically challenging enterprises.*"
"*Slaves,*" Varro confirmed with the sort of matter-of-fact directness that suggested such things were simply part of the economic landscape rather than moral considerations worth extensive discussion. "*Pentos is one of the major slave markets in the Free Cities. Much of their wealth—probably most of it, actually—comes from buying, selling, and transporting human chattels across the known world. It's the foundation of their entire economy.*"
The transformation in Haerion's expression was subtle but unmistakable—his emerald eyes took on a harder quality, like precious stones suddenly exposed to flame, and something in his posture shifted from casual elegance to predatory stillness. The change was so pronounced that even Varro, accustomed as he was to dangerous men in dangerous moods, found himself reassessing his new leader's capacity for violence.
"*Ah,*" Haerion said with that particular sort of clipped precision that suggested considerable effort was being invested in maintaining civilized discourse. "*Slavery. Of course it's slavery.*" His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "*Because apparently no matter what world I find myself in, there are always enterprising individuals who think owning other human beings is an acceptable way to make a living. How... traditional of them.*"
*I was wondering when we'd encounter this particular moral absolute,* Aegerax observed mentally, his tone carrying that peculiar combination of patient understanding and resigned anticipation that came from having observed his partner's moral compass in action before. *Though I suppose it was inevitable—slavery is rather foundational to the economy of this region. Most of the Free Cities depend on it to some degree.*
*Then most of the Free Cities are going to have to find new economic models,* Haerion replied through their bond, his mental voice carrying the sort of implacable determination that suggested certain subjects were not open to diplomatic compromise under any circumstances. *I have remarkably little patience for people who treat other human beings as property. It's one of my more inflexible character flaws.*
*Character flaw?* Aegerax's mental chuckle carried genuine amusement. *My dear partner, if having moral standards qualifies as a character flaw, then I suspect you're rather spectacularly flawed. How tragic for the world.*
When Magister Paolys drew close enough for formal conversation, he demonstrated the sort of cultural sophistication that successful merchants developed through necessity and extensive practice. He began his address in High Valyrian delivered with the fluent precision of someone who had invested considerable time and effort in mastering the ancient tongue for both practical and prestige purposes.
"*Greetings, noble Dragonlord,*" he said, his voice carrying the rich, practiced tones of someone accustomed to commanding attention through sheer presence and carefully modulated authority. The words flowed with the sort of theatrical dignity that suggested extensive preparation for this moment. "*I am Magister Paolys Heymyn, speaking for the Council of Magisters of Pentos. We come to offer our deepest gratitude for your intervention in this morning's... difficulties, and to discuss arrangements that might prove mutually beneficial to all parties involved in these dramatically changed circumstances.*"
The High Valyrian was genuinely excellent—not quite native-speaker quality, but close enough to demonstrate serious scholarly investment and genuine cultural sophistication. However, Haerion's response carried a diplomatic consideration that immediately shifted the linguistic landscape of their negotiation while simultaneously demonstrating something important about his approach to leadership.
"*Your command of the ancient tongue is genuinely admirable, Magister,*" Haerion replied in equally fluent High Valyrian, his accent carrying that distinctive aristocratic precision that suggested noble birth combined with the sort of classical education that was becoming increasingly rare in the modern world. "*However, I would prefer if we conducted this conversation in Dothraki, so that my esteemed advisor*"—he gestured toward Varro with the sort of respectful acknowledgment that made it clear the former khal's counsel was genuinely valued rather than merely tolerated—"*can participate fully in discussions that may affect his people as well as yours.*"
The request was perfectly reasonable, impeccably diplomatic, and utterly impossible to refuse without giving serious offense, but it also demonstrated something crucial about the new power dynamic at play. This wasn't a Dragonlord operating in splendid isolation, making decisions based solely on personal preference or ancient tradition. This was someone who considered his associates' participation important enough to modify established protocols to accommodate their inclusion.
Magister Paolys' professional smile never wavered, though there was a brief flicker in his dark eyes that suggested rapid recalculation of carefully prepared negotiation strategies. The shift to Dothraki would require him to operate in a language where he was demonstrably less fluent, while discussing concepts that didn't always translate cleanly between cultures with fundamentally different assumptions about commerce, law, and social organization.
"*Of course, noble Dragonlord,*" he replied in Dothraki that was competent if not precisely elegant, his accent carrying the sort of careful precision that came from extensive practice but necessarily limited native fluency. "*I am deeply honored to include the esteemed Khal Varro in our discussions. His reputation for wisdom and courage precedes him even into merchant circles, where such qualities are... particularly appreciated.*"
The compliment was smoothly delivered and diplomatically appropriate, though Varro's expression remained carefully neutral in a way that suggested he was evaluating the magister's words for sincerity versus calculated flattery designed to achieve specific negotiating advantages.
"*Magister Heymyn,*" Varro acknowledged with the sort of formal courtesy that managed to be perfectly respectful without suggesting any particular warmth or enthusiasm for the interaction. His deep voice carried undertones that hinted at considerable reservoirs of controlled power. "*Your reputation is also known among the people of the grass sea, though perhaps our perspectives on commerce and... human resources... differ somewhat from those commonly accepted in the Free Cities.*"
The euphemism hung in the morning air like a perfectly balanced blade—polite enough to maintain diplomatic propriety but pointed enough to make it absolutely clear that certain subjects were being approached with considerable moral reservation and potential for future disagreement.
"*Indeed,*" Paolys replied with the sort of smooth agreement that suggested extensive experience in navigating conversations where fundamental philosophical differences required extraordinarily careful diplomatic management. His smile remained perfectly calibrated, projecting warmth without commitment. "*Trade relationships often involve... complex considerations that require mutual understanding, careful accommodation, and recognition that different cultures may have developed different approaches to similar challenges.*"
His eyes moved between Haerion and Varro with the sort of careful assessment that came from trying to gauge exactly what sort of negotiating position he was facing and what specific concessions might be required to achieve outcomes that could be characterized as acceptable to his constituents.
Haerion's smile in response was absolutely radiant—the sort of expression that could have graced magazine covers or diplomatic receptions—and completely failed to reach his emerald eyes, which had acquired a quality rather reminiscent of winter mornings when the temperature dropped below freezing.
"*Oh, I do so appreciate cultural flexibility,*" he said with the sort of refined enthusiasm that somehow managed to sound like a threat delivered through aristocratic politeness. "*It's so refreshing to meet people who understand that traditional approaches to challenging issues may require... creative adaptation when circumstances change dramatically.*"
*He's enjoying this far too much,* Aegerax observed mentally, his tone carrying the sort of fond exasperation that came from watching a partner derive perhaps excessive entertainment from what should be serious diplomatic negotiations.
*I haven't had a proper opportunity to practice sophisticated verbal evisceration in weeks,* Haerion replied mentally, his inner voice bubbling with anticipatory pleasure. *Let me have my fun. Besides, if we're going to restructure the economic foundation of an entire civilization, we might as well enjoy the process.*
"*But let us begin with expressions of appropriate gratitude,*" Paolys continued, gesturing toward an ornate chest that was being carefully unloaded from one of the pack animals in his escort by guards who handled it with the sort of reverent care usually reserved for religious artifacts. "*The magisters of Pentos wish to express their sincere appreciation for your timely intervention in this morning's... difficulties. We had prepared tribute to satisfy the traditional arrangements with our Dothraki neighbors, and we would be deeply honored if you would accept these tokens of our esteem in recognition of your protection.*"
The chest, when opened with appropriate ceremony, revealed wealth that would have impressed even the most jaded observers—gold coins bearing the seals of various Free Cities arranged in precise patterns, jewelry crafted by master artisans whose skills had been refined over generations, precious stones that caught the morning light like captured stars, and silk fabrics in colors so rich and vibrant they seemed to glow with inner radiance. It was the sort of treasure that represented not just tremendous monetary value but genuine artistic achievement and sophisticated cultural development.
"*Generous,*" Varro observed with the sort of professional appreciation that came from understanding both the monetary and symbolic value of such offerings. His assessment carried the weight of someone who had received tribute from dozens of cities and could evaluate such gestures with expert precision. "*Considerably more than the traditional tribute arrangements would have required, which suggests they understand that circumstances have changed in ways that require... enhanced expressions of cooperation.*"
"*Genuinely generous,*" Haerion agreed, examining the contents with the sort of thoughtful consideration that suggested he was evaluating considerably more than just monetary value. His long fingers moved over several pieces with the practiced assessment of someone familiar with luxury goods and their relative worth. "*Though I suspect the good magisters understand that protection arrangements in the modern era may involve... rather different considerations than those common in previous centuries.*"
He looked up from the glittering display to meet Paolys' gaze directly, his emerald eyes carrying the sort of serious intent that made it absolutely clear they were moving beyond preliminary courtesies into substantive negotiation territory where real decisions would need to be made.
"*The tribute is certainly acceptable as an expression of goodwill,*" he said with perfect diplomatic formality, though his tone suggested that important qualifications were definitely forthcoming. "*However, the continued protection of Pentos will require rather more than monetary compensation, I'm afraid. There are certain... structural adjustments to your city's economic and social practices that will need to be addressed as part of any ongoing arrangement.*"
The words were delivered with impeccable courtesy and precisely the right diplomatic inflections, but they carried implications that made Paolys' professional smile become noticeably more fixed as he began to suspect that his carefully prepared negotiation strategies were about to encounter complications that no amount of prior planning could have anticipated.
"*Structural adjustments?*" he asked with the sort of carefully modulated curiosity that came from recognizing when conversations were about to move into territory where significant concessions might be required. His tone projected interested cooperation while carefully avoiding any premature commitments. "*Perhaps the noble Dragonlord could elaborate on what specific... modifications might be considered necessary for continued mutual cooperation?*"
Haerion was quiet for a moment, his gaze tracking Aegerax's circling form overhead with the sort of absent focus that suggested he was engaged in rapid mental consultation with his partner. When he spoke again, his voice had acquired a quality of absolute certainty that left no doubt whatsoever about the non-negotiable nature of what he was about to propose.
*Here we go,* Aegerax observed mentally, his tone carrying anticipatory amusement mixed with genuine curiosity about how the mortals would react to having their foundational economic assumptions challenged by someone with the power to enforce alternative arrangements.
"*Slavery,*" Haerion said with the sort of crystalline clarity that cut through diplomatic euphemism like a perfectly sharpened blade through silk. His emerald eyes had taken on that particularly intense quality that suggested personal moral boundaries were being approached with insufficient respect. "*Pentos will need to abandon the slave trade entirely. All current slaves within the city must be freed immediately, all slave markets must be closed permanently, and all participation in the broader slave commerce of the region must cease today. Not gradually. Not with careful transition periods. Today.*"
The silence that followed this statement was the sort that suggested several dozen people were simultaneously trying to process information that challenged every fundamental assumption they held about economic reality, social organization, and the basic structure of Free Cities commerce.
Magister Paolys' smile remained perfectly in place through what was clearly tremendous effort, though it had acquired the sort of strained quality that suggested his diplomatic training was being pushed well beyond its normal operational parameters.
"*Ah,*" he said finally, his voice carrying the sort of careful diplomacy that came from recognizing when conversations had moved into territory requiring extraordinary delicacy and potentially creative interpretation of impossible demands. "*The noble Dragonlord raises... profoundly complex questions about economic traditions that have been foundational to Free Cities commerce for many centuries. Perhaps he recalls that the great Valyrian Freehold itself was built upon the systematic utilization of... human resources acquired through conquest and legal purchase?*"
The reminder was delivered with absolute courtesy, but it carried the implicit suggestion that Haerion's objections to slavery were somehow philosophically inconsistent with his claimed heritage as the last legitimate heir of Old Valyria.
Haerion's laugh was genuinely delighted—the sort of rich, aristocratic sound that could have graced the finest social gatherings—and absolutely terrifying in the current context.
"*Oh, my dear Magister,*" he said with the sort of condescending affection usually reserved for particularly slow children, "*how delightfully traditional of you to assume that I feel bound by the moral failings of my ancestors.*" His smile was sharp enough to perform surgery. "*The Valyrian Freehold fell nearly two hundred years ago, largely because it was built on a foundation of systemic brutality that ultimately proved unsustainable. Whatever my predecessors might have been willing to tolerate in their pursuit of power and profit, I am not.*"
He took a single step forward, and somehow that simple movement managed to project more menace than most men could achieve with drawn swords.
"*The age of Dragonlords has indeed returned to Essos, Magister, but it will be built on rather different foundations than those that supported the previous iteration. I find I have remarkably little interest in repeating the mistakes of the past, particularly when those mistakes involve treating human beings as livestock.*"
*Beautifully delivered,* Aegerax observed with genuine admiration. *I particularly appreciated the bit about repeating historical mistakes. Very philosophical, very intimidating, perfectly calculated to make them wonder exactly what sort of power they're dealing with.*
*Years of classical education,* Haerion replied mentally with satisfaction. *Rhetoric was always one of my better subjects. Though I must admit, having a dragon for emphasis does make the whole process considerably more effective.*
"*But surely the noble Dragonlord understands,*" Paolys continued with the sort of diplomatic persistence that suggested he was accustomed to finding negotiated solutions to even the most challenging philosophical differences, "*that slave commerce forms the very cornerstone of Free Cities prosperity? The economic structures, the established trade relationships, the basic mechanisms of wealth generation that support our entire civilization... all of these depend absolutely upon maintaining current practices regarding human chattels. To abandon such arrangements would require restructuring our entire society in ways that might prove... catastrophically destabilizing to regional stability.*"
The argument was reasonable from a certain perspective—the sort of practical concern that acknowledged moral ideals while pointing out the potentially severe costs of rapid social transformation. It was also, Varro realized with growing fascination, precisely the wrong approach to take with someone whose moral convictions appeared to be completely immune to practical compromise.
Haerion's expression shifted to one of polite interest, as though Paolys had just made a genuinely fascinating point that deserved careful consideration.
"*Catastrophically destabilizing,*" he repeated thoughtfully, as though testing the phrase for proper weight and meaning. "*To regional stability.*" He nodded with apparent understanding. "*I see. So what you're telling me is that your entire civilization has built itself so completely around the systematic brutalization of human beings that abandoning such practices would cause economic collapse?*"
"*Well... yes,*" Paolys admitted, apparently failing to recognize the rhetorical trap that had just been laid with surgical precision. "*Essentially, that is correct. The interdependencies are simply too complex to...*"
"*How absolutely fascinating,*" Haerion interrupted with genuine enthusiasm, his emerald eyes lighting up with the sort of intellectual delight that suggested he'd just discovered something tremendously entertaining. "*So you've essentially admitted that your society is so morally bankrupt that it cannot survive without systematic oppression. What a compelling argument for preservation that is.*"
Varro had to suppress what would have been a genuinely appreciative chuckle. The massive former khal was beginning to understand why Aegerax seemed so consistently amused by his partner's verbal techniques.
"*Noble Dragonlord,*" Paolys began again, his voice taking on the sort of strained patience that suggested his diplomatic reserves were being rapidly depleted, "*perhaps we could discuss alternative arrangements? Gradual transitions, negotiated timelines for social adjustment, some reasonable accommodation for existing economic relationships that might allow for...*"
"*No,*" Haerion said with such casual finality that it took a moment for the word's implications to fully register. His tone was perfectly pleasant, as though he were declining an invitation to tea rather than rejecting what was probably the most important negotiation in Pentoshi history.
"*I beg your pardon?*" Paolys asked, clearly uncertain he'd heard correctly.
"*No,*" Haerion repeated with that same cheerful certainty. "*No gradual transitions. No negotiated timelines. No accommodations for existing relationships involving human ownership. You seem to be operating under the impression that this is a negotiation, Magister, when in fact it's simply me being polite enough to explain what's going to happen before it does.*"
He gestured casually toward Aegerax circling overhead, the movement so elegant it could have been part of a court dance.
"*You have until sunset today to choose between two alternatives. Either Pentos abolishes slavery completely—freeing every single person currently held in bondage, closing every slave market permanently, and ending all participation in human trafficking—or tomorrow morning Aegerax reduces your walls to rubble and Khal Varro's forces enter the city to personally arrest every slaver and magister for public execution by dragonfire.*"
The threat was delivered with such matter-of-fact pleasantness that it took several heartbeats for its full implications to register with the Pentoshi delegation. When they did, the effect was immediately and dramatically apparent—Paolys' face went several shades paler, and several of his guards actually took involuntary steps backward.
"*The innocent citizens of Pentos would naturally be protected during such an operation,*" Haerion continued with the sort of careful precision that made it clear he'd given serious thought to the practical details of what he was proposing. "*I have no quarrel with people who happen to live in a city built on slavery. But anyone who has actively participated in the buying, selling, or ownership of human beings will face appropriate consequences for their choices.*"
His smile was absolutely radiant.
"*Until sunset, Magister. Pentos can choose to be remembered as the first of the Free Cities to embrace actual freedom, or it can choose to serve as an educational example of what happens when moral progress encounters willful resistance. But the choice must be made quickly—I have several other cities to visit, and I do prefer to handle these matters with maximum efficiency.*"
*That was magnificently brutal,* Aegerax observed with genuine appreciation. *I particularly enjoyed the bit about educational examples. Very scholarly, very threatening. You've been practicing, haven't you?*
*Natural talent,* Haerion replied with mental satisfaction. *Though I must admit, having ultimate military superiority does make the whole process considerably more straightforward than traditional diplomacy.*"
Paolys opened his mouth as though to attempt further negotiation, then seemed to think better of it as he fully processed the implications of arguing with someone who commanded dragonfire and appeared to consider moral compromise a form of intellectual failure.
"*I... we will... the magisters will need to discuss...*" he stammered, his usual smooth eloquence apparently having deserted him entirely.
"*Of course they will,*" Haerion agreed with gracious understanding. "*Sunset, Magister. I do hope they discuss efficiently.*"
The delegation began their withdrawal with considerably less ceremony than had marked their arrival, Paolys' expression showing the sort of grim concentration that came from recognizing that his entire approach to the morning's negotiations had been rendered not just irrelevant but actively counterproductive by encountering someone whose moral convictions were apparently immune to practical compromise of any kind.
As they departed in what could charitably be described as controlled panic, Varro studied his new leader with the sort of careful assessment that came from recognizing that his understanding of what serving this man would entail was undergoing rapid and potentially dramatic revision.
"*You realize,*" he said finally, his deep voice carrying genuine curiosity rather than criticism, "*that what you've just demanded will require not just changes in Pentos, but across the entire network of Free Cities commerce? Slavery isn't just their business—it's the foundation of their entire regional economy. You're essentially asking them to restructure their civilization overnight.*"
"*I'm asking them to stop treating human beings as property,*" Haerion replied with the sort of simple certainty that made complex philosophical arguments seem unnecessarily complicated. He was examining his fingernails with the sort of casual attention usually reserved for minor grooming considerations. "*If that requires restructuring their civilization, then perhaps their civilization needed restructuring anyway. I tend to consider that a feature rather than a flaw in my reasoning.*"
"*And if they refuse?*" Varro asked, though he strongly suspected he already knew the answer.
Haerion looked up at Aegerax circling in the morning sky, then back at the retreating Pentoshi delegation, his emerald eyes carrying the sort of resolved determination that suggested certain moral lines were simply not open to negotiation under any circumstances imaginable.
"*Then tomorrow will be a very educational day for everyone involved,*" he said with the sort of quiet confidence that made it abundantly clear that threats and promises were functionally identical concepts in his worldview. His smile was sharp enough to cut diamond. "*One way or another, Varro, the age of slavery in the Free Cities is about to end. The only remaining question is whether it ends through wisdom or through fire.*"
*And if I'm being entirely honest,* he added mentally to Aegerax, *I'm not particularly concerned which option they choose. Both outcomes serve our long-term objectives equally well.*
*Though one would be considerably more entertaining than the other,* Aegerax replied with mental amusement. *I haven't had a proper opportunity to demonstrate why dragons were once considered forces of nature rather than mere participants in political arrangements. It might be... refreshing.*
As the morning sun climbed higher in the eastern sky, casting long shadows across the grassland that seemed to point like accusatory fingers toward the distant walls of Pentos, both the former khal and the newly emerged Dragonlord began making practical preparations for whatever responses their ultimatum might provoke. Overhead, Aegerax continued his patient circling, ready to demonstrate precisely why the return of dragons to Essos represented a fundamental shift in the balance of power between moral conviction and profitable convenience.
The age of legends had indeed returned to the world, and with it, the possibility that moral absolutes might once again have the power to reshape the destiny of nations—whether those nations particularly wanted to be reshaped or not.
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