(Time Skip) Years later a broken Daenerys conquers cities for her slave master.

The heat within her burned with an intensity that always surprised her, always thrilled her. She squeezed her thighs together on top of Drogon’s back. He was fire made flesh, and that fire radiated throughout her.

Daenerys Targaryen watched with wild eyes as Volantis burned. The western half of the ancient city lit aflame by dragon fire, lighting the night sky like a second son, but that destruction was but a mere distraction. Drogon now hovered above the eastern gate. The towering wall of iron and steel that had kept the city safe from its enemies for centuries now lay in ruin, reduced to nothing more than a rubble of broken steel and stone.

She could smell the fires, taste the burned stone and wood in her mouth. She could hear the screams of the men and women below as the Dothraki and Unsullied poured into the city and did what they did best.

She squeezed her legs tighter around Drogon’s neck, her eyes glassy, she swallowed hard, feeling his warmth join her own and spread through her. The battle was won, the war was over, another free city had fallen. She needed to return to her master and be rewarded.

The war camp was set up in the valley outside of the city, safely out of the range of the city's defenses.

Wood from the neighboring forests had been pillaged, fashioned into spikes to make a makeshift wall to surround the tents. Inside a thousand Unsullied stayed behind to protect the Good Masters who awaited her return.

She landed Drogon a few hundred feet from the camp and was greeted by her personal Unsullied guards and made her way to the camp.

Even at night the Essosi air felt hot, thick and humid. It blanketed her through her armor, making sweat pour down her already soaked skin, but it was little bother to her, she had always liked the heat. The leather collar around her neck, adorned with gold and silver dragons, felt tight against her throat. Her heart raced as she made way to the large lavish pavilion where Master Kraznys stayed.

He was waiting for her, a lopsided cocksure grin on his face as she entered the tent.

“Is it done?” He asked in Valyrian.

She bowed her head to him. “It is, just as you had planned, your Unsullied and the Dothraki sack the city as we speak.”

The slave master’s grin widened still. He stood.

“Good,” he paused, a slave girl handing him a cup of wine, ”good.”

Kraznys approached her. With a wave of his hand three young women were at her side. They reached for her armor undoing the leather straps that held her breastplate on. She stood tall, proud, back straight as the slave master approached.

She was covered in sweat, and soot, she smelled of ash and smoke. She could still hear the men and women and children screaming. She bit the inside of her cheek, exhaled tightly between clenched teeth. Her eyes watching his every step.

The straps on her shoulders went slack, the plate that covered her chest coming free. One of the young girls grabbed it before it fell to the floor. Next came the bracers. Delicate fingers began working on the ties there, lifting her arms. Then the buttons of the leather jerkin she wore under the plate. They were nearly halfway down, the cloth open just enough to give a hint of her bare breasts before the women stopped and pulled away.

Kraznys stood beside her now. “You did good, you fought well.” he said in the common tongue, his accent thick enough to be nearly indecipherable, “You should be rewarded.”