The Dragon King
Daenerys?" he called out warily. A silhouette emerged before him, her eyes, as always shining brightly, even in the morning light above Volantis.
There she was, the famous mage herself. Aegon had heard lots about her foul magic, the shadowbinders she surrounded herself with or the dark arts she practiced. A woman of terrible strength, her lust for power unquenchable, and her empathy for the lives around her minimal.
She looked much different now than she had last night, dressed in proper garb that hugged her curvaceous figure rather nicely. And despite her glimmering eyes, when he looked at her, she seemed almost like a young, normal girl.
For a moment, Aegon couldn't help but give her an admittedly bold look-over, something he quickly regretted, when her eyes pierced into his, a scowl on her face.
Darker than mine
"Apologies, I... I didn't mean for-", he began to apologize, but Daenerys ignored him. She turned around and walked away from him, to where a small balcony was installed into the building.
"Silence," Daenerys spoke lowly, a pitch to that one simple word that spoke volumes to her annoyment. Still, Aegon could not trace anything in her voice, beyond this simple annoyment.
She must be used to it by now. I suppose I'm not the first person to look.
The Dragon Empress leaned over the balcony, as she observed the three dragons, swirling above the city.
They rose and fell in the air, performing spirals and playfully nibbling at each other.
The waters of the Rhoyne reflected the body of the largest dragon, as he sored closely above the water. He was huge, lean, his scales a midnight black mixed with veins of blood red, trailing down his body and wings.
The green dragon dived down towards the larger red one, blocking his path and challenging him to a duel.
Each one of the dragons was a vicious beast eager to prove its strength – a dance of dragons that took place in the bleeding sky of Volantis.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Daenerys asked, suddenly softly as he moved to stand next to her.
"Yes," Aegon couldn't help but reply. The two dragons dueled themselves viciously and with great power, but always with a certain playfulness.
A great burst of pitch-black, scorching flames exploded from the black dragon's jaw, the other dragon's green flames meeting them in the air.
A few men were screaming below the dragon's, but it was no more than the buzzing of insects compared to the dragons' roars and wings that clapped like thunder.
"Vicous, but not without beauty," Aegon added, as they looked onwards.
"Yes, quite vicious indeed if challenged... So..." Daenerys started, finally turning towards him once more to meet his eyes. "How did you conclude, that it was a good idea to promise me to a Dothraki Khal, directly challenge me and my dragons and quite possibly lead your men into battle against those... vicious beasts."
"I didn't."
"But you did it anyway. Doing something you know to be a bad idea is a not very desirable trait."
"It was... difficult," Aegon conceded, struggling to meet Daenerys's gaze. "We were negotiating with Khal Drogo, to get him to threaten the city so that they would hire us for protection. We needed Volantis and we needed it urgently."
"What for?" Daenerys asked, slightly intrigued. The coldness and venom annoyment from earlier had disappeared, as she once more continued watching the dragons dance in the skies.
"Ships for once," Aegon replied, moving to the balcony and pointing towards the great harbor of Volantis. "Probably the largest port in the known world, maybe second to the Port of Ibben, but-"
"Asshai."
When Aegon looked at her questioningly she continued. "The port of Asshai was monstrous, larger than this one. But go on."
With a slight shrug, Aegon complied. "The Volanteen fleet is quite impressive, probably an equal to the Redwyne fleet and more powerful than the royal fleet, since the fall of our families dynasty. We needed those ships so we will be able to get to Westeros. To our home."
"Your home. My home is on Bloodstone. I was born in Westeros, but my home, it is not."
For a moment, Aegon remained silent, pondering on her words. "Why do you hate Westeros so much, Daenerys?" he asked, for the first time consciously using her first name. "You are convinced that no one there would love you, that they would hate you and fear you, but I must disagree. A few people would still be loyal to the Usurper, yes it is true, but not many. You would only need to stake your claim and a thousand houses would rally to your side. You could be queen and you would not just be feared. Lords and ladies would be intimidated by you, but the common people would love you."
"Love... hate... fear... agony... ecstasy..." Daenerys muttered. "I've seen far too much of it. Some hate me, some fear me, others might love me. But here? Where I rule, everyone loves me."
"The Sons of the Harpy?"
"Are no more."
Daenerys paused for a moment and turned to look at him once more, her distinct valyrian features showing what Aegon thought to be belittlement.
He felt anger flare up in him before his aunt started speaking. "The realm is stable now. There are ambitious lords and upstarts, fighting for power and causing chaos, but that's how it's always been. How it always will be."
Her eyes trailed to the port below them, on the other side of the part of the city where the destruction had been the strongest.
"Ser Barristan will likely arrive here in a few hours," she told Aegon. "Ask him what battle is like. He has seen far more battles than the two of us combined have seen namedays. It's not glory or honorable combat. If you fight the Lannisters... In the end, you might defeat them, but it is not the Lannisters, who you face on the battlefield. If you fight them, it is the common people who live in the Westerlands who you slaughter. They aren't going to send their kin and friends into battle. Whenever war breaks out, it is the smallfolk who suffers the most. They are the soldiers clad in red and gold, the men whose flesh would burn if I join your fight."
"Ser Barristan is coming here?" Aegon asked in wonder before he regained his composure. "You are right about what you say. It is always the smallfolk who burn, rarely their leaders. But you don't need to burn anyone, Daenerys. The threat of it alone will suffice. No one will oppose us if you join me. No one ever will."
"Because of fear, never love."
"The Conqueror was feared as well. No one knelt to him because of awe and love. They knelt because they feared him, hated him even, but soon when he brought peace and prosperity, they grew to love him."
"And how many died for it? The Conqueror never truly brought peace. He changed the Game of Thrones, he didn't end it. Fire and blood were his tools, yes, and when he united the Kingdoms they prospered like never before, but then again... How many widows did he leave in his wake, burnt corpses, and blackened castles? History books tell us that the people danced on the streets when he was proclaimed as king, but in truth, they only prayed for the fires to stop."
Aegon remained silent, waiting for her to go on. "You're a well-read person. I hope this will affect your intellect in coming up with a suitable solution as well. You have two more hours. Use them."
The Bold Knight
The Sea Dragon cut through the waves of the Summer Sea with swift speed. The outer walls of Volantis rose high into the air beyond the harbor, the low waves smashing against the rock formations around the mouth of the Rhoyne.
The Targaryen sigil, the three-headed-dragon of House Targaryen, red on black rose above the city. Banners, larger than any others the old knight had ever seen were hanging from the city walls; others were hanging from long poles, mounted on the many buildings of the city.
But they were not the only dragons that took flight in the clear, light-blue sky above Volantis. The sky was clear, devoid of clouds and rain and wind, but when the true dragons passed above the citizens of Volantis, their houses and taverns, they could be led to believe the sun had disappeared. Such was the size of the giant winged reptiles.
Ser Barristan's ship bore the sigil of the Dragon Queen or Empress, the red dragon with purple eyes on a black background, its body veiled in dark mist and shadow. It was painted on the sails of the large warship, one of the fleet of ships, formerly belonging to the royal fleet.
Robert Baratheon had sent a dozen warships under Aurane Waters towards Bloodstone, but it had not been much of a battle when they entered the mist around the island.
The Unsullied were efficient craftsmen beyond their fighting skills, due to their ability to easily follow orders for hours without any visible exhaustion.
Therefore, when the warships met Daenerys's fleet at the coast of Bloodstone, they were hopelessly outnumbered. Almost a hundred and fifty ships she had taken from Meereen, though they were mostly merchant vessels and another 3 dozen warships that the Unsullied had crafted within barely less than a year.
A crushing defeat for the loyalists of the westerosi crown, that saw the death of Aurane Waters and the capture of the ships, long before the dragons even arrived.
As Ser Barristan walked off the ship and onto the docks, a hundred Unsullied following behind him. Pyat Pree and half a dozen warlock acolytes, her sworn sword, and a group of handmaidens were not far behind them as well, the warlocks always watchful. The old knight of Bear Island stood followed behind him, the two of them quickly looking at the city around them.
"The Queen must be inside the Black Walls," Ser Jorah stated gruffly, receiving only a curt nod from Barristan. The dragons were, where the queen was and currently the largest of them, Rhaellion, circled above the former residence of the Old Blood.
The Unsullied marched behind the two old knights, following them through the city and the destruction. At one point the reached a giant crater, where an explosion had torn down a part of the Black Walls.
The air around the place was still filled with an acid reek and the hiss of melting stone.
"Must have been a huge explosion," Jorah muttered as the Knights went towards the main entrance of the Black Walls. A huge passageway into the inner part of the walls, carved through the fused stone in the form of a giant arch, sealed with 3 giant grids that could be raised into the air to allow passage into the walls.
"It must have been indeed," Ser Barristan confirmed grimly, looking at the immense width of the walls. "These walls certainly did not fall easily."
The acrid smell of the air brought back foul memories of a king he had once served. A king fascinated with flames and their piercing strength. A king he had sworn to protect, sworn to himself to advise well, and forge into a great ruler, but he had failed. The young prince Aerys had the potential to become a great king, but Duskendale had ruined it all.
What if I had rescued him earlier? What if I had sat by as Lord Lannister stormed the city and the Darklyn's executed Aerys? What if I had unhorsed Rhaegar during the tourney at Harrenhal? Could I have averted the war? How many lives could I have saved?
Duskendale had been Ser Barristan's finest hour, his moment of glory, his moment of pride, yet still, the memory had become a bitter one. His many failures still haunted him at night.
Jaehaerys, Aerys, Robert. 3 Kings he had sworn to protect, 2 who died regardless and one he abandoned. Rhaegar could have been a better, finer king than any of them, yet still, he had watched on the Trident when Robert Baratheon's Warhammer found his chest.
Everyone was dead, Rhaenys with her kitten Balerion, her father Rhaegar, and their mother Elia. Dead, each and every one of them. Only he kept living, he who had sworn to protect and die for them. Or had Aegon survived as well? Had the little babe grown up to be a man?
I failed her mother, I failed her father, I failed her brother, I failed her niece and nephew, I failed her good-sister. I will not fail another monarch.
"Selmy," a man with a clean-shaven and leathery face greeted gruffly, as the two knights and the rows of Unsullied approached the gates of the thick walls. His hair was grey, while his beard still showed streaks of red in the otherwise colorless facial hair.
It took a moment until Ser Barristan recognized him. "Connington," he greeted back until he noticed the pin gracing his tunic above his heart. "Or is it 'Lord Hand' now?"
The old Lord of Griffin's Roost looked at him with unveiled anger for a moment. "Spare yourself your titles, traitor. You kneeled to the Usurper, you abandoned Rhaegar," he sneered, his blue eyes twinkling with anger.
"It is by the will of Aegon's future queen, that you are still alive, were it not for her I would have had you thrown into the dungeons as soon as you arrived."
Ser Barristan ignored the other man's angry words, keeping his expression neutral, save for the confusion that filled him. "Aegon's future queen? You already convinced the empress to consent to a betrothal?" he asked, empathizing Daenerys's title.
"Not yet. But she will. Aegon will present her his proposal within the next hours. She will agree to it?"
"And if not?"
"She will. It is an offer she cannot refuse."
"You don't seem to know her well, then," Ser Barristan smiled. "But I would be honored to join you in this... meeting."
The old griffin gave a curt nod to the guards behind him, and quickly the gates were raised, opening the way into the Black Walls.
"Aegon's Queen did request your presence," he told him. "But I'll be keeping an eye on you, trust me on that, Ser Barristan Selmy."
The Dragon King
They were back in the meeting chamber once more, but with more men present this time.
And a woman he added to himself. My future Queen.
She no longer wore the riding clothes from the previous night. Instead, she was now dressed in a pure-white gown, that seemed to shimmer in the light.
Her hair was made intricately, the hundreds of thin streaks of hair woven into each other until they formed a long braid that ran across one of her bare shoulders.
Still, she did not appear like a common princess, as far as they could be described as such. Her lips bore a faint, blue color and the sword Aegon had recognized as Dark Sister the day before was strapped to her hip.
The famous Targaryen sword that had once belonged to Queen Visenya only further enhanced her importance to his cause.
A warrior queen, he decided when he looked at her. Not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.
"So," Daenerys spoke, looking expectantly at Aegon. Ser Jorah and the famous Ser Barristan sat next to her, while the Unsullied guarded the door. The warlock with the dark blue lips trailed behind her as well, refusing to sit down. "Your proposal of a solution for this... mess?"
"Well," Aegon said, clearing his throat. "My-... Our suggestion is an alliance, forged by marriage. An expansion of power for both of us. You shall rule as queen consort in the west, and I shall rule as king consort in the east. Whereas I hold power in the west, you will continue to hold it in the east. This-"
"But isn't this the same as of yet? I do already hold power in the east, do I not?"
"You do," Aegon confirmed with a nod. "But we can help you secure this rule."
"The Mother of Dragon's rule is more than secure," Pyat Pree spoke up from behind his aunt. "Further means are not necessary."
"How do you know this?" Jon Connington interrupted. "For all you know, there could be assassins waiting to attack her or the remaining Free Cities plotting her demise. You will need troops. A few thousand Unsullied won't be enough. They will be stretched to thin over the continent."
"I have seen enemies of the empress rise and fall," Pree replied, his voice slimy and sinister. "When the Thirteen of Qarth and the Trueborn learned of her existence and her dragons, they wanted to kill her. Enslave the dragons and use them to fuel their magic, but it never came to pass."
He paused, creating a dramatic pause to gather their attention, before continuing.
"I went to the Hall of a Thousand Thrones and begged the Pureborn to stop their machinations. They wanted magic in the east, so I promised them, that should they stop their plots they could get more out of it. They did not need to wage war against her, they could ally themselves with her.
Half a dozen years later I returned to them and they all saw the success of my mission. Magic is blooming now and the Pureborn serve her."
Daenerys took over, continuing the story. "Greensight and prophetic dreams are their qualities. We will know about any threats, long before they arise."
"And they are reliable?"
"They have never failed me."
"Still, you could only profit from such an alliance. A friendship with the Iron Throne is profitable. Many treasures are to be found in the Seven Kingdoms and products of great use are produced there. The Lannister gold, Arbor gold, Dornish Red? The list goes on and on."
"If I want Arbor Gold I'll send the Redwynes a letter demanding it. They'll send it, trust me," Daenerys replied dryly, though a small smile crept on her face. "Same for the other products."
"Regardless, this is the way to go," Aegon insisted, willing himself to hold Daenerys's gaze. "Robert Baratheon will never accept you here. He will continue to search for ways to kill you, to kill your dragons. Help us conquer Westeros and you will only profit. Why allow Robert Baratheon to continue to sit on the Throne when it could be your nephew?"
"Why would I sacrifice good men and women who have sworn themselves to me, to seat you on the throne? A boy who has never even made his existence known in all those years."
"Is that, why you do not intend to support your nephew's claim?" Connington asked brusquely. "Because he was unable to find you in Asshai?"
"Your men did locate me. When I fled from Braavos eastwards, they approached me in Asshai, tried to kidnap me while claiming to work for you. Of course, that didn't quite work out, and when I told Shiera they paid the price in blood, but you never truly wanted to help me, did you?"
"I never knew about this?" Aegon said surprised, looking towards Connington and Lysono Maar who was seated a bit further away.
"Serjeants Melak and Juritht, two commanders of the company who were stationed in Volantis and disappeared a few moon turns after the tragedy in Braavos," the spymaster confirmed, his pale lilac eyes displaying sadness, through if it was real, nobody could tell.
The spymaster almost looked like a Targaryen with his purple eyes and silver hair. He had painted fingernails and gemstones sparkling in his ears.
"I never considered, that their disappearance might have had something to do with the princess."
"You should have," Aegon shot towards him. "I apologize for their treatment of you, Daenerys, but I was unaware of this."
"I'm sure you were," Daenerys replied flatly. "But those men were given orders. Orders, that only a few men would have the authority to give. Maybe Harry Strickland?" she said, turning to face the Captain-General.
"Or was it you, Lord Hand?" she asked Connington. "Regardless of that, they never intended to save me. All you wanted from me, were my dragons and my hand in marriage to be given away. All you want now, are my dragons... and my hand in marriage to be given away."
That's all she sees me as?
"That's why you refuse me, my aunt?" Aegon asked. "The betrothal to the Dothraki lord? Tell me how to break it and I will."
"Invite them into the city," Daenerys answered, her voice even and devoid of emotion. "And when they are here, slaughter their leaders. Without them, the entire horde will crumble."
Aegon was struck silent for a moment, looking at his aunt in shock. She's a monster. A beautiful, wonderful monster, but a monster all the same.
"This would be breaking guest right, a violation of all laws the seven hold sacred. Even in the far north, even beyond the wall, men and women hold to this sacred law."
For a moment, Aegon could see anger flash in her eyes. "The gods have never helped me, nephew. Better the butcher than the meat. If the former Slaver's Bay has taught me anything, then it is this. You have blood on your hands and blood on your heart, just as I do."
"This would make a monster out of me," Aegon refused. "I cannot do as you wish."
"You had your chance," Daenerys shrugged. "Then I'll do it. I'll take care of it my betrothed myself then. But I will remember this. I will remember this insult."
Take care of him?
"How?"
"You'll see."
The Dragon Empress
Pree and Merana trailed directly behind her, as she moved towards the Dothraki camp outside the city.
The horselord-nomads looked at her with unveiled curiosity and lust, mixed with bits and pieces of fear and scorn.
Her nephew had offered to send a young girl named Mina with her, a young translator in his service. Still, she had insisted on taking Missandei as her translator instead, not wanting to be spied on by her nephew's men.
Men and women, dressed in painted leather vests and horsehair leggings stood everywhere, their hair in long braids, oiled or greased with fat from the rendering pits. Some wore bells of silver or gold, braided into their hair.
As they walked further into the camp, 3 warriors emerged from the rest and walked rode towards them, each mounted on a great stallion.
Each had an arakh strapped to their hips, yet the curved weapons were not the only weapons they wielded. One had a bow strapped to his back. Another held a whip in his hand, while the third had a short sword with him.
"These must be Khal Drogo's bloodriders," Pyat Pree stated quietly from behind her. "They do certainly stand out from the rest."
Daenerys couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. While the differences were not too noticeable for a distracted observer, a closer look revealed more about the men.
Their weapons were polished more thoroughly than those of the common warriors, their horses were stronger and larger, their hair longer.
They cut their hair with each defeat they suffer Daenerys recalled. They haven't cut their hair in quite some time.
The men's hair reached beyond their waists, with half a dozen bells braided into them.
Missandei quickly explained their presence to the Dothraki bloodriders, the harsh and rogue tongue sounding off in combination with the young girl's soft voice.
The Bloodriders shouted a few commands to the surrounding men, before they were admitted into the Khal's tent, the bloodriders following directly after.
"These men follow the Khal everywhere, Magnificence," Pree stated. "A horselord's bloodriders are said to be his brothers, his shadows, his fiercest friends. "Blood of my blood," they are referred to by him, and so it is. They shared a single life, they share their food, their spoils of war..."
He paused for a moment, seemingly in unease.
"Their wives?" Daenerys finished for him.
"That they do."
Another reason why this won't come to pass.
"Khaleesi," came the Khal's gruff voice, when she finally got her first look on him. He was not quite as ugly as the usual Dothraki, his body lean and well-trained. His dark almond eyes were sharp and piercing, with a faint scar trailing below his left eye.
"Not a Khaleesi. A queen," she replied with a polite smile, while Missandei translated her words into Dothraki.
"Khaleesi," the Khal repeated again, his voice and demeanor unchanged by her correction. "Promised."
"This queen does not care about what you were promised," Daenerys replied simply, watching with hidden amusement as the Khal's face twisted into a mixture of confusion and anger.
"Promised. Dragon King," he once again replied gruffly, before looking at her intently. "Khaleesi."
"Never."
"No?"
"No."
This incited whispers from the men and women present, as well as anguish from the Bloodriders.
"She denies the great Khal," Missandei translated silently, as the Bloodrider with the whip talked furiously towards the Khal, whose expression remained unreadable.
"I will not marry this man," Daenerys declared loudly, for all the people to hear. "I will not suffer this humiliation. If my nephew promised me to this man as compensation for his aid, it does not matter to me. I am not beholden to his vows. You gave my nephew a gift and he will return one at a time of his choosing, that is how this works for you, isn't it?"
One of the Bloodriders stepped forwards, his sword at his arakh, yet a short command from Drogo stopped her.
"I want to hear what she has to say," Missandei translated.
"Strength is what you follow, so strength is what your Khal will have to show. You do not matter to me. You are no more than little men, who prey on the weak and defenseless. You raid little villages, rape, and loot, yet when have you ever seen true battle? When have you ever truly fought? Taken a city like Braavos, Myr, or Pentos?"
As Missandei continued to translate her words, Dany could feel the tension in the room, so strongly that she was certain she could grasp it. She made a dramatic pause, before staring the Khal straight into the eyes.
"Prove your strength," she declared, summoning Dark Sister into her hands, the Valyrian blade shimmering in the torchlight of the tent.
Whispers and gasps emerged when they saw the blade appear, as the men and women saw her magic.
"Fight," she declared. "Fight me and defeat me. Me against you. Win and I shall be your bride. Lose..." she said menacingly, raising the tip of her sword. "...and die."
Complete silence lingered over the tent for a moment, the tension unbearable, until the Khal slowly lifted himself from his chair, staring right back at her.
Finally, he spoke, his brogue and harsh voice carrying through the silent tent, as he spoke a single sentence in the common tongue.
"I accept the challenge."