Game of thrones: A storm is coming

** Any troll review or hate comments will be removed. Feel free to bash me if you can form coherent opinions and logical criticism, I welcome it even. I'm trying to improve my skills after all.

I'll keep some of the funny ones though. Those actually made me happy that there are people even dumber than me! 😂😂

Anyway, enjoy this gift . **

After establishing his small but effective base in Volantis, Daeron turned his attention to Meereen, the city known for its immense wealth and powerful slaving operations. Daeron had heard of the city's legendary fighting pits and its obsession with bloodsport.

He also knew that it was a city in crisis—divided between the old masters who controlled the slaves and the rebellious freedmen who yearned for power. 

Meereen, the jewel of Slaver's Bay—or, as Daeron soon discovered, more like a rusty old trinket buried in the sand.

From a distance, the city looked magnificent, its great pyramid towering over the harbor, the Harpy statue glaring down at the world with all the arrogance of a cat that just knocked over a priceless vase. Up close, however, it reeked of desperation.

The streets were a tangled mess of slums and opulent estates, with every corner steeped in tension. The city's famed fighting pits were in full swing, offering blood and gore to distract the masses from the fact that Meereen was, quite literally, falling apart.

Slaves and masters glared at each other across invisible lines, the tension so thick you could cut it with a Valyrian steel dagger.

Daeron had chosen Meereen not because he enjoyed its charming ambiance (he didn't) but because the city was a key piece in his growing game of Essosi chess board.

Meereen was rich, strategically positioned, and utterly chaotic, a perfect storm for someone who thrived on turning chaos into opportunity.

The city was divided, and not just metaphorically. The old masters, known as the Great Families, still controlled much of the city's wealth and influence.

They clung to their luxurious lives like barnacles on a ship, believing that their lives were above everyone else .

On the other side were the freedmen, former slaves who wanted justice, revenge, or at least a decent meal. They were led by various factions, all of whom agreed on one thing: they hated the masters.

Unfortunately, they hated each other almost as much, which made organizing a united rebellion about as easy as herding cats—feral, bloodthirsty cats with grudges.

Into this mess of intrigues stepped Daeron, freshly arrived from Volantis with his dragon Acnologia, his growing reputation, and a burning desire to not die in the process.

Meereen would be a test.

Daeron couldn't just rely on his dragon's presence here; he needed to make alliances with the right people and get involved in the political chaos and intrigues of this ancient city.

Daeron's first step was to find someone who knew the lay of the land—someone with fire, grit, and enough intelligence to see the bigger picture. Enter Sareena of the Red Hand, a fiery blonde with a sharp tongue, a sharper blade, and an even sharper hatred for the masters.

Her skills with a blade were pretty good, so much so that every battle would end up with her weapon dripping with blood , which also splashed on her hand, earning her the nickname.

Daeron first met Sareena in a dimly lit tavern, where she was holding a meeting with her band of rebels. The rebels, a mismatched group of scarred fighters and ex-slaves, looked at Daeron with open suspicion.

Sareena, however, saw something different.

"The famed dragon lord, I presume ?" she had said, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. "Let me guess: you're here to save us all out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Not exactly," Daeron replied. "I'm here to offer a deal: you help me overthrow the masters, and I'll help you turn this city into something worth fighting for. Fair trade, no?"

Sareena narrowed her eyes. "And what's in it for you?"

Daeron grinned. "Let's just say I like to invest in people who know how to win."

The partnership was sealed soon after Daeron summoned Acnologia to roast a faction of wise masters who held Sareena's companions captive . Nothing builds trust and respect quite like a giagantic dragon casually incinerating your enemies.

Daeron understood that taking Meereen wouldn't just be a matter of storming the gates with Acnologia. The Wise Masters weren't fools; they were seasoned rulers who had weathered countless rebellions.

If he wanted to topple them and seize control of the city, he needed more than brute force. He needed a strategic plan . This is the city that almost broke Daenerys after all. She'd be toast without Drogon taking her away in that assassination.

The Wise Masters had three critical pillars of power:

The Sons of the Harpy – A shadowy group of assassins and enforcers loyal to the old regime. They were fearsome, skilled, and ruthless, often hiding among the populace to strike at will.

The Golden Garrison – The elite force of 6,000 soldiers tasked with defending the ruling class. Though highly disciplined, they were spread thin across the city.

The Pyramid Stronghold – The Great Pyramid, a fortress within the city, served as both their seat of power and their sanctuary in times of trouble. It was heavily fortified and practically impenetrable without significant losses.

Daeron's plan was as audacious as it was intricate. Instead of attacking the Wise Masters head-on, he would dismantle their pillars one by one, leaving them isolated and vulnerable.

Using Sareena's network of slaves, Daeron identified the leaders of the Sons of the Harpy—wealthy merchants and minor nobles who orchestrated the group's attacks.

He ordered a series of "silent" strikes. Sareena's rebels infiltrated the homes of these leaders, dispatching them silently in the dead of night. The assassinations were surgical and efficient, sowing fear and confusion among the them.

To further destabilize them, Daeron spread rumors of betrayal within their ranks. False letters were planted, accusing key members of collaborating with Sareena. Paranoia took hold, and the Sons of the Harpy turned on one another, weakening their organization from within.

The Golden Garrison was a formidable force, but its soldiers were only loyal because of gold. Daeron exploited this weakness by bribing key officers to desert their posts at critical moments.

Through Sareena's informants, Daeron discovered that the garrison's pay was stored in a vault beneath the Great Pyramid. He sent a team of rebels to infiltrate the vault, steal the gold, and scatter it among the freedmen. The soldiers, finding their wages gone, grew restless and demoralized.

To further weaken them, Daeron orchestrated a series of small-scale raids on their barracks, using Sareena's rebels as bait.

Acnologia would swoop in at the last moment, unleashing a fiery roar that sent the soldiers fleeing in terror. The once-proud garrison became little more than a collection of frightened, disorganized men.

Daeron knew the Wise Masters would attempt to flee once they realized the city was lost.

He stationed Acnologia at the harbor, blocking any ships from leaving.

At the same time, he had Sareena's forces barricade the city's main gates, ensuring no one could escape by land.

The masters were now trapped, their once-impenetrable fortress transformed into a gilded cage.

With the city's defenses in disarray, Daeron launched the final assault.

It began at dusk, with Acnologia soaring over the city, casting an enormous shadow that sent panic rippling through the streets. The dragon's roar echoed like thunder, a harbinger of the destruction to come.

Sareena's rebels stormed the noble district, overwhelming the few remaining soldiers who dared to stand their ground.

Meanwhile, Daeron personally led a small strike team into the Great Pyramid, using secret passages revealed by a turncoat servant.

Inside the pyramid, the Wise Masters huddled together in their grand hall, surrounded by what remained of their bodyguards. They had fortified the room, barricading the doors and setting up makeshift defenses.

Daeron approached with calculated precision. Acnologia landed outside the pyramid, shaking the ground with his massive weight.

The dragon unleashed a torrent of flame, melting the outer walls and sending the masters into a frenzy.

The final confrontation was swift and brutal. Daeron's strike team breached the hall, cutting down the bodyguards with ruthless efficiency. The Wise Masters begged for mercy, but Daeron was unmoved.

"You ruled through fear and blood," he told them. "Now you'll fall the same way."

"Dracarys."

 Acnologia incinerated the remaining masters in a blaze of dragonfire.

By dawn, Meereen was under Daeron's control. The city's freedmen celebrated in the streets, their oppressors finally overthrown.

Sareena was installed as the city's governor, a decision that earned Daeron both loyalty and gratitude from the rebels.

As for the Wise Masters, their ashes served as a grim reminder of Daeron's power, a warning to anyone who might think to challenge him in the future.

Though his ultimate goal lay far away in Westeros, Meereen was now a critical piece of his growing empire, a base of power that would serve him well in the battles to come.

Daeron didn't plan to linger in Meereen. He had no intention of ruling a city bogged down by political infighting and economic collapse. Sareena, however, was more than happy to take the reins.

As Daeron prepared to leave, Sareena came to see him off. The rebel leader, usually so brash and confident, looked almost shy as she approached him in front of a crowd.

"You're really leaving?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

"I've got other places to be," Daeron replied, glancing at the gathering crowd. "But you'll do fine. Just don't burn the city down. That's my job."

Before he could step away, Sareena leaned in and kissed him—a bold, unexpected gesture that left Daeron completely flustered. The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles, and Daeron felt his face turn redder than Sareena's .

As Sareena stepped back, she gave him a sheepish smile. "I know I'm not worthy of you, but... I'll always serve you with my all heart , my prince."

Daeron sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Thirsty women. Why is it always thirsty women?" he muttered under his breath as he mounted Acnologia.

As the dragon lifted off, Daeron couldn't help but shiver at the thought of future encounters. "Twelve-year-old and already being taken advantege of? I need a better plan for handling women in this world."

As he soared away on Acnologia, Daeron couldn't help but smirk. "Not bad for an honest day's work," he muttered, the city of Meereen fading into the horizon.

Daeron left Meereen with a new reputation: the saviour who topples tyrants. Below him, Meereen grew smaller, its people staring up in awe and fear. Daeron's name was already spreading—liberator, Savior Prince, and apparently, heartbreaker. It wasn't exactly the legacy he had planned, but it would do for now.

Daeron had intended to fly directly back to Pentos after the conquest of Meereen. However, Acnologia, as mighty and intimidating as he was, was not exactly equipped with a navigation system, and Daeron had never been particularly good at geography.

What should have been a straightforward flight turned into an unscheduled detour through the endless, monotonous expanse of the Dothraki Sea.

As Daeron scanned the rolling grasslands below, he muttered to himself, "This is why I need maps. Or maybe a herald who actually knows where we're going. I bet even the Dothraki horses have better sense of direction than I do."

Acnologia, unbothered by his rider's complaints, let out a low growl, likely his version of a shrug.

Just as Daeron was about to give up and land somewhere to reassess his bearings, a plume of dust caught his attention in the distance.

Squinting against the wind, he saw a group of riders encircling a smaller band of travelers. The larger group, unmistakably Dothraki, was attacking what looked like a ragtag party of desperate defenders.

"Well, that's not nice," Daeron muttered. He reached for FrostMourne at his side, its weight a familiar reassurance. "Alright, big guy," he said to Acnologia, "let's go make some new friends—or enemies. Probably both."

Acnologia roared in response and dove toward the fray, his shadow sweeping over the combatants like a harbinger of doom.

On the ground, A beautiful woman and her party were fighting valiantly but were hopelessly outnumbered.

Her sword flashed as she parried a Dothraki arakh, twisting with practiced precision to drive her blade into her opponent's chest. Her guard beside her also fought very skillfully. Despite their skills, it was clear her group wouldn't last much longer.

As she prepared for another strike, a sudden, deafening roar split the air. She looked up just in time to see an enormous dragon descending from the sky, its scales shimmering like obsidian in the sunlight.

The Dothraki paused, their confident smirks replaced by wide-eyed terror. Acnologia landed with a thunderous impact, scattering the grass and dirt. Before the Dothraki could react, Daeron leapt from his saddle, landing with FrostMourne drawn and a grin that screamed trouble.

"Hello, friends!" Daeron called out. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important. Oh, wait—you were attacking these people. That's a little awkward."

Acnologia let loose a roar and a stream of green fire that carved a flaming line between the Dothraki and their intended victims. The riders faltered, their bravado evaporating as the dragon bared its teeth.