Marcos woke up three days after the fight with Drogo and his first thought was, "Why does everything hurt?"
His second thought was: "Ah, right. I fought a Dothraki Khal ."
His third thought was, "Why is someone snoring in my room?"
She opened her eyes slowly. Sunlight streamed through the window, indicating it was mid-morning. She was in her bed, in her room, with bandages on her ribs and what appeared to be a cold compress on her forehead.
And in a chair next to her bed, asleep with her head resting on the mattress, was Daenerys .
Her silver hair was disheveled, she had dark circles under her eyes, and she slept with one hand clutching Marcos's.
" How long was I unconscious?" Marcos murmured.
Daenerys woke up immediately, as if she had been waiting to hear his voice.
" Marcos!" Her eyes lit up. "You're awake. Finally."
— Finally? How long has it been...?
"Three days." Daenerys rubbed her eyes. "Elia said your body needed time to regenerate. The potions healed the physical wounds, but the magical exhaustion... that took longer."
"Three days. Shit." Marcos tried to sit up and winced in pain. " Okay , my ribs still hurt a little."
"You shouldn't move yet." Daenerys gently pushed him back onto the bed. "Elia said you need at least one more day of rest."
—Did you stay here for all three days?
Daenerys blushed slightly.
"Someone had to make sure you didn't do something stupid when you woke up. Like trying to get up immediately."
—Which is exactly what I was trying to do.
"Exactly." Daenerys smiled at her. "Garrett came several times. Mero too. Elia practically lived here for the first two days. Everyone was worried."
—What happened after... you know , I collapsed dramatically?
"Massive celebration." Daenerys laughed. "The people were euphoric. You defeated mercenaries, convinced an entire company to join us, and then fought Khal Drogo and won. You're a hero."
—I don't feel like a hero. I feel like a punching bag that was used for boxing practice.
"Well, you look like a hero." Daenerys gently touched his cheek. "A badly beaten hero, but a hero nonetheless."
Marcos felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the wounds.
—Thank you. For staying.
"There's nothing to thank me for." Daenerys withdrew her hand, suddenly timid. "You've done so much more for me. This is the least I can do."
There was a knock at the door.
" Marcos?" It was Garrett's voice. "Are you awake?"
—Yes, come in .
Garrett walked in, and his expression went from concern to relief to amusement in three seconds.
"Boss, you're alive. Good. Because we have tons of problems that need your attention, and it would be very inconvenient if you died now."
—Your compassion is touching.
"I know. It's my best quality." Garrett sat down in another chair. "Are you ready for the situation report, or do you need more time to keep gazing at the princess?"
Both Marcos and Daenerys blushed.
Daenerys protested .
"Of course not." Garrett smiled. "Anyway, report: Astoria is fine. No one died in the fighting. Some minor injuries from the arrows the mercenaries fired before the negotiations, but everyone is recovering."
—And what about second children?
—They're camped outside. Mero is a man of his word. They're waiting for orders. Although they'll want to see you're alive before fully committing.
—That makes sense. Anything else?
"Yes. Refugees. Many." Garrett pulled out a piece of paper with numbers. "Forty more people arrived in the last three days. They all heard about what happened. About the settlement their people defended, about the leader who fought Khal Drogo and won. They want to be a part of it."
Marcos processed the information.
—That puts us at... what? One hundred and ten people?
"One hundred and twelve. And more are coming every day." Garrett leaned back. "Chief, you're no longer the leader of a small settlement. Now you're the leader of something bigger. Almost a small city."
"A small town with a mercenary army." Marcos rubbed his face. " Okay . I need to get up. There's a lot to do."
" No!" Daenerys pushed him back. "Elia said rest. And you're going to rest."
-But...
—REST. — Daenerys used her best authoritative voice.
Garrett laughed.
— Obey the princess, boss. She's right. One more day won't change anything. Besides, today is the official celebration.
— Official celebration?
"Yes. People want to celebrate. Victory, survival, all that. They were waiting for you to wake up." Garrett smiled. "So rest today, recover , and tomorrow you're back to saving the world or whatever it is you do."
Marcos sighed.
—Good. But tomorrow, I have work. A lot of work.
"Promised." Garrett stood up. "Oh, and Mero wants to talk to you when you're feeling better. He said something about 'additional contracts' and 'expansion opportunities.' I think he has some ideas."
—Mercenaries always have ideas. They usually involve violence and money.
—Those are the best ideas.
When Garrett left, Marcos looked at Daenerys .
—So, a celebration today?
"Yes. They're having a party in the square. Food, music, drinks." Daenerys hesitated. "They wanted you to give a speech, but I told them to wait until you were feeling better."
—Thank you for that. I don't know if I can give an inspirational speech with half-broken ribs.
" You can give your speech sitting down. No one will judge you." Daenerys smiled. "Everyone adores you now. You're the hero who saved them."
—I didn't save them alone. It was a group effort.
"But you were the one who fought Drogo. The one who risked his life." Daenerys looked at him seriously. "Why did you do that? You could have negotiated differently. You could have handed me over."
"I was never going to turn you in." Marcos said it with such conviction that Daenerys blinked. "I already told you: I had the power to change something bad, so I changed it. That's all there is to it."
"I think there's more to it than that." Daenerys studied his face. "But I'm not going to push it. Not for now."
They remained in comfortable silence for a moment.
Then Daenerys asked:
—In your world, the one you left behind... did you have anyone? Family? Friends? Someone special?
Marcos felt melancholy.
—Family. My parents, my sister. Friends from university. Work colleagues. —He paused—. Nobody "special" in the romantic sense. He was always too busy with work. Traveling to digs, writing papers , that kind of thing.
— Do you miss them ?
"Every day." Marcos looked at the ceiling. "But I can't go back. That life is over. Now I have this one."
— Do you regret it?
"To die and come here ? No." Marcos looked at her. "This life is more complicated, more dangerous, crazier. But it's also more... meaningful. In my old life I studied empires. Here I am building one. It's a big difference."
Daenerys nodded slowly.
"Sometimes I think about my brother. I wonder what he's doing. If he's looking for me. If he's furious." She paused. "I know I should feel guilty for abandoning him. But I don't."
—You don't have to feel guilty for choosing your own happiness over abuse.
" Was it abuse?" Daenerys asked gently. "Sometimes I get confused. Viserys was all I had. My only family. And he treated me horribly, but he was my brother."
"Abuse doesn't cease to be abuse just because it comes from a family." Marcos sat down carefully to look directly at her. "Your brother threatened you, insulted you, sold you like merchandise. That's abuse. Regardless of your relationship."
Daenerys ' eyes .
—I know. Logically I know that. But emotionally... it's complicated.
"And it's okay that it's complicated." Marcos took her hand. "You don't have to solve everything now. Take your time."
Daenerys squeezed his hand.
—Thank you. For understanding. For not judging.
-Always.
That afternoon:
Despite Daenerys's (and Elia's, and basically everyone's) protests, Marcos insisted on attending the celebration.
They took him to the square in a chair (because walking still hurt too much), which was humiliating but practical.
The central square of Astoria was transformed. There were long tables laden with food (courtesy of the abundance potions Marcos had been brewing). Torches illuminated everything. There was music (some refugees had brought instruments).
And there were people. More than a hundred people, all celebrating.
When Marcos appeared, there was an eruption of applause and shouts.
—MARCOS ! MARKS! MARKS!
It was overwhelming.
Garrett helped him sit on a raised platform where everyone could see him.
" People of Astoria!" Garrett shouted to silence everyone. "Our leader wants to say a few words!"
Silence fell immediately.
Marcos looked at all the faces looking at him with expectation, admiration, hope.
And she realized that this was real.
He was no longer a historian studying empires.
He was a leader building one.
"Hello everyone." His voice was hoarse but clear. "First, I want to thank you for your patience while I was... unconscious. Fighting Khal Drogo turned out to be more exhausting than I expected."
There was laughter.
"Two weeks ago, this place was an empty valley. Now it's a community. Now it's home." Marcos paused. "I know many of you came here fleeing. From debt, from war, from injustice. I'm fleeing too, in a way. From a past I can't change."
"But here in Astoria, we are not defined by our past. We are defined by what we build together." He gestured around. "I didn't build these walls alone. We didn't plan these defenses alone. We didn't win this victory alone. It was everyone's effort."
"And I want you to know something: this is just the beginning." Marcos stood up with effort, ignoring the pain. "Astoria isn't just going to be a settlement. It's going to be a city. It's going to be a power. It's going to be an example that you can build something just, strong, and lasting."
—It won't be easy. There will be more threats. More wars. More challenges. But if we stick together, if we uphold our values, there's nothing we can't achieve.
—So I raise a glass—he lifted his wine glass (which someone had given him ) —to Astoria. To us. To the future we're going to build. Together!
" TOGETHER!" they all shouted in unison, raising their own glasses.
The celebration exploded. Music, dancing, laughter, food.
Marcos slumped into his chair, exhausted.
Daenerys approached with a smile.
—Good speech.
—Thank you. I improvised half of it.
"It wasn't noticeable." She sat down next to him. "Were you serious? About making Astoria a powerhouse?"
"Absolutely." Marcos looked at her. "I have infinite resources, magic, knowledge of how empires work. It would be a waste not to use it. Besides, I've already angered Pentos . I might anger the rest of Essos too ."
Daenerys laughed.
— You're crazy.
—Probably. But it's purposeful madness.
Mero approached, carrying a huge glass of wine and with a cheerful expression.
—Chief ! Great speech! You almost made me cry! And mercenaries don't cry!
— Are you drunk, Mero?
—A little! But I want to talk business!
- Now?
" Now!" Mero sat down heavily. " Listen : we Second Sons are well paid here. But we're mercenaries. We need action. We need glory. We need..." He gestured dramatically, "CONQUEST."
—Are you suggesting I start conquering territory?
" Exactly!" Mero slammed his fist on the table. "There are small towns nearby. Settlements without real protection. We could... incorporate them. Peacefully, ideally. But if not, by force."
Marcos considered.
It wasn't a bad idea. It needed to expand eventually. And having a professional army made that feasible.
—Which cities are you thinking of?
—There's a village to the south. It's called Qelos . Maybe two hundred people. Ruled by a local tyrant. The people would probably welcome liberation.
—Liberation—Mark repeated. Not conquest.
" Semantics!" Mero waved his hand. "The point is: we can expand our influence. Grow. Turn Astoria from a settlement into a small kingdom."
—In a small empire—Marcos corrected.
" Even better!" Mero laughed. "So you'll consider it ?"
—I'm considering it. But first I need to fully recover. And I need to plan properly. We're not going to conquer like barbarians. We're going to do this strategically.
" I like it! Strategy!" Mero stood up. "We'll talk later then! Now I'm going to drink more!"
When he left, Daenerys looked at Marcos.
— Are you seriously going to start conquering?
—Eventually. But Mero is right about one thing: Astoria needs to grow. We can't remain static. We either grow or we stagnate. And to stagnate is to die.
—You sound like a conqueror.
"I prefer 'unifying.'" Marcos smiled. "But yes, I suppose technically it's conquest. Though I plan to do it in a way that people WANT to join. By offering a better life, better government, a better future."
—Benevolent imperialism.
—Exactly. —Marcos laughed, then grimaced—. Ouch , no, laughing still hurts.
"Then stop making jokes." Daenerys smiled at him. " Rest . Enjoy the party."
—Aren't you going to enjoy it?
—I'm not the heroine. You are.
" You're part of this too." Marcos gestured to the crowd. "They accepted you. They defended you. You're a citizen of Astoria just like everyone else."
Daenerys felt warmth in her chest.
For the first time in her life, she belonged to something.
Not because of his name. Not because of his blood.
But by mutual choice.
—Thank you —she whispered.
—You're welcome. Now go socialize. Make friends. Enjoy being a normal person for one night.
Daenerys nodded and mingled with the crowd.
Marcos watched her, smiling.
She was changing. Becoming more confident. More herself.
It was beautiful to see.
"You're looking at her again," Garrett remarked, appearing beside him.
-Be quiet.
"I'm just saying," Garrett smiled. "You care."
—I care about all the people here.
—But she especially.
Marcos did not respond.
Because it was true.
Daenerys had become more than just a refugee she had rescued.
She was a friend. She was an ally. She was...
Marcos didn't finish the thought.
It was too soon. Too complicated.
But something was growing between them.
And Marcos wasn't sure what to do about it.
Three days later:
Marcos had fully recovered.
The potions had worked their magic. The ribs were healed. The nose was straight again. No pain.
And he had a meeting with his extended council: Garrett, Elia, Mira, Lysor , Mero, and Daenerys .
" Okay , everyone. Expansion plan." Marcos unfolded a map. "Astoria has 112 citizens. The Second Sons give us 100 professional soldiers. We have strong defenses. We have endless resources thanks to my magic. It's time to grow."
" Conquest then?" Mira asked.
"Strategic incorporation." Marcos pointed to several spots on the map. "There are five smaller settlements within a hundred kilometers. They all have populations of one hundred to three hundred people. They are all under local rulers of questionable quality."
—I propose a reconnaissance mission first. We send ambassadors. We offer voluntary union: protection, resources, participation in the government of Astoria. If they accept, perfect. If they decline, we respect their decision and move on.
" What if they attack our ambassadors?" Garrett asked.
"Then we respond appropriately." Marcos said it coldly, causing several people at the table to straighten up. "I'm not looking for war. But I'm not going to tolerate aggression either."
"It's a reasonable plan," Mero opined. "Diplomacy first, force as a last resort. I respect that."
—Good. Garrett, I've chosen three trustworthy people for the embassy mission. Mero, send two of your men as escorts. Look, prepare formal proposal documents. Elia, make sure the ambassadors have emergency potions.
They all nodded.
"One more thing." Marcos looked at everyone. "We need an official name. We're not just Astoria the Settlement. We're... something bigger. I need suggestions."
" Kingdom of Astoria? " Lysor proposed .
—Very traditional. —Marcos shook his head.
" Republic of Astoria?" Mira suggested.
—More interesting. But it doesn't capture the scope of what I'm planning.
" Empire of Astoria?" Daenerys asked timidly.
Everyone looked at her.
Marcos smiled.
"Perfect. Simple. Direct. Ambitious." He looked at everyone. "From today, we are officially the Empire of Astoria. Small still. But growing."
" And you 're the Emperor?" Garrett asked with a smile.
"Technically, yes. Although I prefer just 'leader.'" Marcos shrugged. "Pompous titles come later. For now, we have work to do."
The meeting continued for two more hours, planning details.
When it was over, Daenerys stayed behind while the others left.
—Empire of Astoria—he said.—. Sounds good.
—It was your idea. You should be proud.
— Can I ask you something?
-Always.
" What about me?" Daenerys looked at him seriously. "I'm a Targaryen . Technically, I have a claim to Westeros. Does that cause a problem with your plans?"
Marcos carefully considered his answer.
—It depends. Do you want to claim Westeros?
"I don't know." Daenerys sat down. "All my life I was told that my purpose was to reclaim the Iron Throne. That it was my birthright. But now... I'm not sure if that's really what I want."
"Then don't claim it." Marcos sat down next to her. "Your life is yours. You don't have to fulfill the destiny that others planned for you."
—And what if I eventually decide that I do want to claim the throne?
"Then I'll help you," Marcos said without hesitation. "If that's what you really want , if it's your decision, then you have my support."
Daenerys looked at him in surprise.
- Oh really? Would you help invade Westeros?
"If it's right for you, then yes." Marcos smiled. "Besides, Westeros needs serious reform. Perhaps you could be a better leader than the idiots they have now."
Daenerys laughed.
—I don't know if I would be a good queen.
"I don't know if I'm a good emperor either. But here we are, trying." Marcos shrugged. "We're learning together."
Daenerys felt that warmth in her chest again.
This strange man who had completely changed his life.
That he had fought for her. That he believed in her. That he gave her choices instead of orders.
—Marcos... —he began, not knowing how to continue.
- Yeah?
"I..." Daenerys blushed. "Nothing. Thank you. For everything."
-Always.
They sat in comfortable silence.
And somewhere, in the vast world of Westeros and Essos , forces were beginning to stir.
Rumors of the Astoria Empire were spreading.
Of the maegi who built fortresses.
From the foreigner who defeated Khal Drogo.
From the place where justice and strength coexisted.
And many, many eyes turned east.
Some were curious.
Some were afraid.
Some with ambition.
The game was changing.
And Marcos Vidal Santacruz was writing new rules.
[END OF CHAPTER 13]