100 AC
Baelon Targaryen sat at the head of the small council table, his silver hair catching the dim light of the chamber. The Targaryen sigil above him cast a long shadow, a silent reminder of the weight of his lineage. Around him, the lords of the small council murmured their reports, the daily monotony of governance settling into a predictable rhythm.
But today, the air in the room felt charged—a storm brewing on the horizon.
Baelon leaned back with a sigh as he stared at the vacant seats in the small council.
'This chamber was once filled with the best the realm had to offer. I suppose this also my failure.' Baelon mused sardonically.
"My Prince, there is news from Essos. Prince Aegon has taken it upon himself to lead a campaign in the Velvet Hills. There is talk of a great battle in which he decimated a large Dothraki khalassar without his dragon." Grand Maester Allar wheezed out due to his poor health.
Baelon frowned at the news about his wayward son.
On one hand, he was relieved his son was out there making a name for himself far away from his sight. It was only his son's mismatched eyes so, like his lost love, that triggered an irrational part in his mind. Though Viserys and his own father blamed him for Aegon's and Gael's elopement, he was rather happy it happened. He had hoped they'd have gone to Pentos and lived a peaceful life away from any political entanglements.
But then his son took up the crusade against the Dothraki barbarians in Andalos and all other places. The time he spent on smoothing over the ruffled feathers of the upjumped merchants and courtiers of the Sealord was too exhausting. But he did so to assuage any fears of House Targaryen's interest in the region or their support of Pentoshi expansion. He had to summon representatives from the Pentoshi Prince to emphasise the danger involved in recklessly expanding their territory into Andalos.
He did all he could to keep the Braavosi from sending Faceless Men after his son and sister. If he had a better relationship with his son, he'd have sent word to direct his son's actions to much safer pursuits. But since that was impossible, thanks to his own actions, he had to do so in other ways. He was the one to send the help his son solely needed to survive in Essos. He did so in the form of ships, gold, men and weapons.
"I'm afraid the situation is somewhat delicate, my prince. The Braavosi have long held ambitions on the coasts of Andalos. Prince Aegon's actions, while noble, have attracted the ire of the Sealord." Lord Beesbury said with a cautious tone.
"Perhaps it's time we broker a pact between Pentos and Braavos about the status of Andalos. Pentos has been a valuable trade partner, and Braavos has aligned with House Targaryen's interests in the past despite some unfortunate events." Grand Maester Allar suggested.
"This could also be the time to reach out to Prince Aegon and Princess Gael. Surely, their actions in Andalos merit their immediate return. The people will welcome them with open arms and heap praises. Already, the smallfolk and the septons whisper their names in reverence." Ser Ryam Redwine said while the Grand Maester and Lord Beesbury nodded in agreement.
Baelon took some time to think it through before nodding thoughtfully.
"Fine. I shall ask his grace's permission before sending invites to the Sealord and the Prince of Pentos." Baelon agreed to the council's decision.
It was bound to be a difficult task. The Braavosi and Pentoshi were competitive and held a lot of bad blood between them. But, if anyone could bring those two to the table to reach a common goal, it was his father, the Conciliator. His father had done so in the past, and this time, the Faith was also involved. While the Faith was not as influential in Essos, they still had their voice in the Sealord's court. Considering Andalos remains a spiritually important area for Andals on both continents, Baelon hoped to sway their support to this peace treaty as well.
In his mind, this was a blessing in disguise. While his son's adventurism in Andalos had brought some difficulties in court, Baelon ultimately thought it was an opportunity to gain the upper hand. Lys, Myr and Tyrosh were getting too close to his liking, and he still hadn't forgiven the Myrish curs who slew his elder brother. So, his son's antics were now forcing Braavos and Pentos to settle their territorial disputes amicably. With that settled, Baelon hoped to direct a collective response against the other Free Cities trying to make a nuisance in the Stepstones.
Of course, he still had now way to pacify Corlys Velaryon and bring the Velaryons on board. Such hopes ended with Gael's elopement with Aegon.
'And to think I believed Aegon and Laena would strengthen the bonds between the two families.' Baelon thought with a disappointed frown.
Suddenly, there was a slight commotion outside the small council chambers before the doors were flung open by an out-of-breath acolyte of the Grand Maester.
"Emil! What is the meaning of this?" Grand Maester Allar wheezed with an affronted look at the interruption.
The acolyte bowed low before the council.
"My Prince, my lords, Grand Maester, forgive my impudence. I bring grave news. The Queen has passed away."
"What!" Baelon hissed.
Baelon stood up abruptly with his eyes wide and a weight settling in his heart.
"Forgive me, my prince. The servants found the Queen in her bed. Maester Elmac was the one to pronounce her grace's passing." the acolyte reported with bowed head.
Baelon merely waved almost mechanically as Grand Maester sought leave from the small council chambers to check on the Queen. It took a moment for the passing of his mother to set in, and when it did, Baelon fell unceremoniously into his seat in grief.
'I'm without a mother and the Seven Kingdoms without its Queen.' Baelon thought with his eyes closed, hiding the grief from the small council.
******
The late afternoon sun cast a warm golden glow over the tranquil waters of the Rhoyne. The soft sound of the river's flow intermingled with the rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze swept through the trees lining the banks. Aegon Targaryen stood barefoot at the edge of the river, his crimson cloak folded neatly on a nearby rock, the royal purple three-headed dragon embroidered upon it catching the light. His silver-gold hair glinted in the sun as he surveyed the scene before him.
Fiendfyre, the Cannibal, rested in the shallows of the river, his massive form dominating the landscape. The great dragon's ebony scales shimmered with a faint opalescence, each one a testament to his immense power. Steam rose faintly from the water around him, the heat of his body warming the cool river. His long tail trailed lazily through the gentle current of the river while his great head rested on the bank, golden eyes half-lidded in contentment.
Aegon approached his dragon with a mixture of admiration and affection. In the time since he claimed Fiendfyre, their bond had deepened in ways that words could scarcely describe. He reached out a hand, placing it gently on the dragon's massive snout. Fiendfyre rumbled a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the air and the ground beneath Aegon's feet.
"You've earned this, my friend," Aegon murmured, his voice low and soothing. "All the battles we've fought, the skies we've claimed, the hills we have conquered... You deserve a moment of peace."
With a practised hand, Aegon began to unseal a series of small clay jars the Dragonkeepers had prepared for him. They were filled with oils and herbs, their scents mingling to create a calming aroma. The oils had been prepared under the keen watch of the ancient order of Dragonkeepers after weeks of preparation, a blend meant to soothe and cleanse. Aegon dipped his fingers into one jar, coating them with the rich mixture before stepping closer to Fiendfyre. Gael had been the one to stay with the Dragonkeepers to watch and learn the process while he and Fiendfyre were away to purge the remnants of some khalassars terrorising the land.
The dragon's hide was warm beneath his touch, the texture both rough and smooth, like an ancient marble stone polished by time. Aegon worked methodically, massaging the oil into the scales along Fiendfyre's neck and shoulders. He moved with care and precision, mindful of the sensitive areas around the joints of the dragon's wings and the base of his horns. Fiendfyre's great body shifted slightly, a deep rumble escaping his throat as he relaxed under Aegon's ministrations.
"You like that, don't you?" Aegon said with a faint smile.
He reached for another jar, this one containing an oil infused with lavender and chamomile. The scent wafted upward as he applied it to Fiendfyre's massive forelegs, his hands moving in steady, circular motions.
Fiendfyre's tail flicked lazily, sending a small wave rippling through the river. Aegon chuckled softly, the sound carrying over the water. The fish, initially terrorised by the presence of Fiendfyre, now nipped at the scales of the dragon playfully. Fiendfyre seemed to not mind the attention.
"You're just a big lizard at heart, aren't you?" he teased, though his tone was filled with affection.
He started humming an old Valyrian song as he moved to the dragon's wings, spreading the oils carefully along the delicate membranes.
'O, mighty peaks, the Fourteen Flames arise,
Where fire's heart and earth's own fury meet.
In molten rivers, death and life contend,
Their glow ignites us Dragonlords' pride.'
'Your veins of flame, a forge for crimson might,
Unleashing wrath to bend both steel and blood.
In whispered chants beneath your searing light,
The blood of gods their destiny fulfills.'
The setting sun shone through the translucent skin, casting an otherworldly glow that reminded Aegon of the fires they had unleashed together in battle.
As the hours passed, the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson. Aegon continued his work, losing himself in the rhythm of his movements and the quiet companionship of his dragon. He spoke to Fiendfyre as he worked, recounting tales of their victories, the challenges they had overcome, and even some old Valyrian dragon songs. Though Fiendfyre could not answer in words, his occasional rumbles and the gentle shifts of his massive body spoke to him far deeper than any language.
Finally, as twilight descended, Aegon stepped back to admire his work. Fiendfyre's scales gleamed with a renewed brilliance, the oils enhancing their natural lustre. The great dragon lifted his head, regarding his rider with those piercing golden eyes. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, a king and his dragon, bound by fire and blood.
"Rest now, Fiendfyre," Aegon said softly. He reached out one last time, placing his hand against the dragon's warm flank. "We'll need our strength for what's to come."
Fiendfyre rumbled in response, a sound that seemed to echo with satisfaction. With a mighty stretch of his wings, he rose from the river, water cascading from his immense form. Aegon watched as the dragon settled onto the riverbank, curling his massive body into a resting position.
Aegon took a bath by the riverside, cleaning the oil and sweat clinging to his body before gathering his cloak. He stood for a moment longer, eyeing his peacefully sleeping dragon companion one last time.
As the first stars appeared in the darkening sky, Aegon Targaryen turned away from Fiendfyre's abode and began the walk back to the camp, leaving behind the quiet whispers of the river.
He was a bit perturbed to see Gael was absent throughout the day. Usually, Gael would've sought him out at some point. The cause behind her absence became apparent when he found his wife in the company of Samantha Reyne. The newly arrived niece of Ser Reginald was quick to catch his wife's attention, and they became fast friends, it'd seem. He found Gael combing the hair of the young lady of House Reyne while chatting away enthusiastically.
He watched this from the entrance of the tent. Gael and her friend had yet to notice his presence. He was happy Gael had found a friend in Samantha Reyne. While her current lady companions from Andalos were not lacking, he liked the fact that someone from one of the prominent Great Houses of Westeros was now Gael's companion. It was imperative to maintain close ties with Westeros, and he knew Gael communicated with the world through bonds of friendship.
He turned away from the tent to give the two some privacy.
"Shall I prepare another tent for refreshments, my prince?" Ser Reginald asked quietly while standing guard outside the tent.
"No, that won't be necessary." Aegon said, turning away from his tent to find the progress of the work he assigned to the stone masons and sculptors.
Despite the sun going down over the horizon, the men were hard at work to complete the pillars he commissioned. The Dragon Pillars were his idea to keep the Dothraki from crossing over the Rhoyne into Andalos. It was meant to intimidate the barbarian hordes. The pillars had dragon heads sculpted on the stone, while the skulls and bones of horses and Dothraki men were mixed with mortar at the base of the pillars.
"Make sure those skulls and their stupid bells are visible. I want those barbarians to see their comrades and tremble." Jon shouted to the workers.
Aegon walked quietly to the side of his friend, who was overseeing the construction of the pillars.
"The pillars seem to be coming up nicely." Aegon commented.
"They're wicked looking, aren't they?" Jon grinned. "Those barbarians will be in for a surprise."
"Indeed." Aegon hummed as he observed the few completed pillars.
They were tall and made of white stone that towered over even the tallest men with a dragon head carved on the side facing east. It looked like the dragon sculpture was standing over the bones of Dothraki men and their horses. The message the pillar conveyed was quite clear and to the point.
"However, it could've gone without the script." Jon commented.
"It is a written warning for those who dare to cross the Rhoyne into Andalos. Isn't that the point?" Aegon said with an arched eyebrow.
"Do you seriously think these barbarians know how to read or write? They only know to raid, rape and pillage."
"They might one day learn to read." Aegon said with a shrug.
"Seriously?" Jon looked at him incredulously.
"Who knows what the future holds, my friend?" Aegon snorted as he patted Jon's shoulder. "Maybe the Dothraki would see the benefits of being literate."
"Ha!" Jon roared in laughter, "Their horses will start drinking from the sea before that happens."
"Stranger things have happened in the past year alone." Aegon chuckled, watching the workers at work. "Who's to say Dothraki horses won't start drinking seawater."
"Better they learn to eat the desert sand in the Red Waste than to covet the sea of Andalos." said Jon.
"We shall see soon enough." Aegon hummed.
The following days were spent consolidating their position in the Velvet hills and ensuring the Dragon Pillars were erected along the shores of Rhoyne. Gathering more food from the villages and even the forests to sustain the army became a necessity once their supplies from Pentos started to dwindle due to heavy rain. The carts carrying their supplies were getting stuck in the muddy terrain thanks to heavy rain. The carts could only travel through Valyrian roads smoothly and those were hard to come by in Andalos.
So, it was a welcome gesture from the Braavosi to bring carts full of food and grains to their camp. They had the fortune of sending the consignment ahead of the rain, which made them reach the Velvet Hills far earlier than the Pentoshi supplies, which were still tied up in Ghoyan Drohe. But this generosity was not without its reason.
Aegon and Gael sat across from the Braavosi representatives inside their tent. His suspicion about their intent was proven true when they proposed an alliance against the Dothraki.
He eyed the two Braavosi representatives clad in sombre grey robes and Rickard Snow, a lean and battle-worn commander of the Company of the Rose. Aegon's silence hung heavy in the air as the Braavosi spoke first. The elder of the two, a man named Tycho Varrus, bowed his head slightly. His voice was smooth and calculated, like the lapping waves of the Narrow Sea.
"Your Grace," Tycho began, "we come not merely as envoys of Braavos but as voices of reason and prudence. The Dothraki menace grows unchecked in Andalos, their khalasars sweeping across the plains, burning villages, and desecrating temples. Even now, they edge closer to lands of greater consequence. It is in our shared interest to see this threat extinguished."
Aegon leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
"Braavos has stood apart from interfering with the raiding khalasars for centuries," he said, his tone sharp. "Why now does it seek to entangle itself in war with the Dothraki?"
The younger Braavosi, a wiry man named Maelos Arquin with keen brown eyes, leaned forward.
"Your action of purging the riding Dothraki khalasars has invited the ire of larger khalasars prowling the Great Grass Sea." Maelos said, schooling his face not to show any emotion, "This threatens the interests of Braavos in the region and the Sealord is concerned more Dothraki khalasars crossing the Rhoyne could inevitably threaten Braavosi coastlands."
"'Twas not our intention to bring the threat of war to the borders of Braavos." Gael said, her musical voice chiming with an innocent smile adorning her lips.
"Nonetheless, your very strength attracts challenge. Your good intentions notwithstanding, the Dothraki have now turned their sights on Andalos. Prior to your arrival, only small khalasars raided this region. But now…." Maelos said with a hint of accusation hiding in between the words.
"We understand Braavos seeks its strategic advantage in this region. Surely, this is not just about the possible increase in Dothraki raids in the region." Aegon said, staring intently at the Braavosi representatives.
Tycho and Maelos exchanged a look, engaging in a silent conversation before the came to a decision.
"Forgive me your grace. Your ties to the Pentoshi does worry the Sealord. One could not help but worry about what Pentos is planning with the help of two dragonlords." Melos said.
"Braavos seeks no territory, no crown, and no titles. We seek stability. The Iron Bank has interests in Andalos, as do many of our merchant houses. A Dothraki rampage destabilises trade routes, cripples economies, and endangers the fragile balance of power in the region." Tycho Varrus interjected, his tone measured.
"The way I see it, Braavos and Pentos have much to gain if the two could come to an understanding. It's in both city's interests to see the Dothraki stay east of Ghoyan Drohe." Aegon suggested, knowing full well that Braavos preferred the Dothraki in the region so long as they were hounding Pentos.
Braavos and Pentos were regional rivals, and they had two widely different ideological bases leading their way forward. Both were naval powers with trade interests in the Narrow Sea. It'd be a miracle to make the two cities cooperate.
Aegon was now in a unique position to make the two cities cooperate. It was in their mutual interest to see him leave Andalos instead of consolidating his position in the region. The presence of the Company of Rose with the Braavosi delegation made it clear what they wanted. They wanted him gone as soon as possible.
"Then let me offer you a solution. I'm sure I can arrange for representatives from Pentos, and together, we can come to an amicable solution that addresses all of our interests." Aegon offered.
"That'll be a most generous offer, your grace." Tycho immediately agreed with an eager look.
Aegon was happy to see some common ground between them. Now, all he had to do was play into the interests of Braavos and Pentos to extract the support he needed from the two cities. It was better said than done, but he believed he had a foolproof plan.
AN:
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