Author's Note
I do not own Game of Thrones.
This is the sequel to We the Fallen. If you haven't read that, I would strongly advise reading it first, although you might be able to pick up here.
They emerged unscathed from the ashes of the inferno. The flames seemed not to have touched their pale skin and instead danced in their purple eyes. To their skin clung three dragons, creatures no one had seen living in over a hundred years, and their song lit up the night.
The Dothraki called them Dragonborn, children of the fire.
Only once were they called Maegi.
Once was enough to know they did not appreciate that.
It was not the first time a foreigner had become a Khal, but it was the first they had a Khalasar so large, just over twenty five thousand strong. Some had left during the inferno, breaking into their own Khalasars; yet others had been killed during the fighting, but just over half remained, and those that did were loyal.
They seemed to have wisdom beyond their years, a vast intelligence in their eyes, leading with a firm and harsh authority normally seen from those with decades of experience, not barely grown babes of barely seventeen.
They rode with their dragons, the little creatures perched on their shoulders or arms or clinging to their waists. None wanted to challenge one with a dragon for a bloodrider. The smaller Khalasar they came across agreed to peace and gave them two hundred slaves as a gift of goodwill. They would be sold, along with the other slaves of the Khalasar, in exchange for money, for food, for goods, for ships.
Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives were riding towards home.
