Just as Vlad had expected, despite all they claimed about honor and contracts, mercenaries did not fight lost battles. They didn't face armies twice their size. And they certainly didn't challenge men with the battle record and reputation of Vlad.
That's what smart mercenaries do.
But apparently, Mero, the Titan's Bastard, wasn't one of them. He saw Vlad as an easy prey; he seemed quite eager to kill him and take his place. So when Daario Naharis came to inform him that Mero and Prendahl na Ghezn were planning to assassinate him and his dragons during the night, Vlad could only feel disappointed. He hadn't expected them to be truly that stupid.
Even if Vlad weren't a vampire, sneaking into a khal's tent, killing his bloodriders, and then trying to slay two dragons already the size of horses was, to put it mildly, a stupid plan.
But well, Vlad wasn't going to complain about an easy victory.
So he simply decapitated the two fools as soon as they crept into his tent, and then had Daario swear loyalty to him. In return, he allowed him to lead the Second Sons and guaranteed that the mercenary company would be at his service indefinitely.
It goes without saying that the first chest of gold made the Second Sons forget any grudge they might have held against Vlad.
Without their mercenary army, Yunkai was doomed. In desperation, the Wise Masters shut the city gates, preparing for a long siege. But Vlad had no intention of waiting.
He entrusted Daario Naharis with the task of sneaking into the city with a small squad and opening the gates. The mercenary didn't seem bothered by such a difficult mission. In fact, he seemed to take it as a challenge.
A few hours later, Yunkai's gates were open.
Vlad decided to reward Daario; he liked the young man, and after such efficient service, he had earned it. With the path clear, his army—five times the size of Yunkai's forces—entered without opposition. The slave soldiers surrendered without a fight.
The Wise Masters weren't so lucky. Vlad ordered the execution of all of them, except his own progeny, who were left in charge of the city under new rules. He made them swear that slavery would be abolished and that any man wishing to leave would be given food and clothing for the journey.
Many of the newly freed men chose to follow him. It was a shame Vlad didn't have the same reputation as Daenerys; they didn't call him "Father"—they simply chose to follow the Breaker of Chains on his march to Meereen.
Those who stayed were guaranteed their freedom, and that, along with Vlad's growing reputation, was enough. And so, in less than two months, Yunkai fell to the Father of the Dragon.
[The Red Keep, months later]
If anyone hated King's Landing for more than just its stench, it was Tyrion Lannister.
Yes, he had saved the city from Stannis Baratheon's fleet with wildfire, then fought bravely at the Battle of the Blackwater, facing an army that outnumbered his and buying enough time for his father to arrive with the Tyrell host.
His reward for all that was the scorn of his sister and father, along with being made Master of Coin, handling the Crown's financial problems.
Truth be told, the position wasn't entirely terrible. At least it was better than being the King's Hand and enduring the whims of the little monster he had for a nephew.
But still, he hated it all.
He'd love to return to Lannisport, run away with Shae, live peacefully... without the constant threat that his sister, nephew, Littlefinger, or even his own father might try to kill him.
But there was nothing he could do.
His father insisted on keeping him in King's Landing. His sister too, despite her contempt for him.
Because if Tyrion left, he might find a sliver of happiness—and she would never allow that.
So here he was, attending yet another unpleasant meeting of the Small Council.
Although this time, the most irritating novelty was the little monster Joffrey standing, his face twisted with anger, stomping the floor like a spoiled child.
Tywin Lannister narrowed his eyes and exhaled heavily before speaking in his usual cold, calculated tone.
—We have a problem.
Joffrey, already in a foul mood, slammed his fist on the table like a brat.
—A problem? It's an insult! —he snapped, his voice rising. —A savage has killed Crown vassals. When I get my hands on him...
Tyrion, long used to his nephew's tantrums, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.
—And what exactly do you mean by that?
Before anyone could reply, Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat and placed a scroll in front of him, the parchment covered in carefully written, elegant script.
Tyrion frowned and took the letter between his fingers.
—This wasn't sent by raven? —he asked suspiciously as he began reading.
—No —Tywin replied seriously—. It appeared on my desk in a sealed envelope. No one in the Red Keep seems to know how it got there.
Joffrey, already impatient as usual, jumped to his feet and pointed furiously around the room.
—It must be spies! I want them all dead!
Varys, who had remained silent until then, allowed himself a faint smile somewhere between amusement and concern.
—Regrettably, even my little birds seem... mute on this matter —he said in his velvet tone.
Tyrion finished reading and let out a dry chuckle, though there was no humor in it.
—This is a joke, isn't it?
Tywin gave him a grim look.
—I wish it were.
Tyrion clicked his tongue and, with a touch of theatricality, read the letter aloud:
[To Lord Tywin:
I have received news of the recent events at the Twins, and I cannot help but acknowledge the effectiveness of your strategy. The execution was flawless: swift, discreet, and final. It is rare to see such a well-orchestrated operation, especially in times of war.
Unfortunately, the incident has directly interfered with certain plans I had for the North and its houses. I was left with no choice but to intervene in order to preserve the lives of the Stark family.
Believe me, watching such a masterstroke unravel was most unpleasant for me. As a strategist, I appreciate a good play as much as an artist values a masterpiece. But war, as you well know, demands personal sacrifices.
And in that spirit, I find myself with the unpleasant duty of informing you that, due to certain circumstances, strongly tied to Walder Frey's nature, his entire bloodline has, regrettably, been cut short.
I hope this situation will not pose a major obstacle to your future campaigns.
We shall speak in person soon.
Signed: Vlad Drakul Targaryen]
The silence that followed was thick and heavy.