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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,537Kudos:6,020Bookmarks:1,659Hits:467,009
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 22: Good as Gold
Chapter Text
The city of Pentos looked far different upon dragonback; now Daenerys could see the great sprawling cityscape of tiled roofs and stone towers with huge manses and walled estates. An immense port grew out towards the sparkling blue Bay of Pentos, numerous ships sailing to and fro and colourful sails flapping in the brisk ocean wind. Not as large as Braavos and the plethora of ships there but still larger than the likes of Astapor or Yunkai. At such a height she could even see the crimson of the red temple belonging to the priests of R'hllor.
The last time Daenerys had been in the city she'd been a meek beaten child, sold to a Dothraki Khal and ridiculed by her brother. When she had been a fearful, furtive thing. Naught but a slip of a girl who held true to the idea she must not be heard. Now she was a Targaryen queen, arriving upon the golden back of a three headed dragon.
It was the closest she ever remembered being to Westeros. Pentos was close to Dragonstone, her ancestral home. She tried to imagine what it looked like as Ghidorah slowly descended, looking across the stretch of ocean. She couldn't see any landmasses across the blue field, even high upon Ghidorah's back. But she could smell the saltiness, the wind easily carrying it up to them. She had always loved that smell, the sharp salty crispness of an ocean breeze. It was a vastness only bound by the hollowness of the horizon. Had Aemon felt that way when he crossed the Narrow Sea from Castle Black? Even blind, had he still felt the dip and surge of the waves against the boat and smelled the salty spray?
Her grieving over Aemon was still raw and Ghidorah responded to his mother's grief with annoyance and anger. Not towards her, never towards her, but outwardly as he did not understand how to comfort her. There was no enemy for him to kill, no city to destroy, so when they left Braavos to answer the Golden Company's request he pushed his irritation into focusing on his flight. The sun had barely shifted when they reached their destination, with Pentos not even being a third of the distance Meereen was from Braavos.
Daenerys had insisted Ghidorah take a sedate pace and no storm chased them when they reached Pentos; once this was concluded with the Golden Company Daenerys would need to return to Meereen as fast as possible. Already it was inching towards a week of her absence and she did not want to brood on what may have happened while she was gone. Though she had faith in Missandei, Barristan and Grey Worm, she knew enough stories from Barristan of the horrors of siege. A dragon was the best breaker of one and her subjects needed her.
But she may need the Golden Company. They had been one of the supposed mercenary companies brought by the masters to strike at her in Meereen but the short letter sent claimed no such thing. In fact claimed outright refusing the generous hand of the masters to instead serve a Targaryen cause. Since Pentos was not far out of her range she chose the detour, both to access potential enemies but also to see if allies were to be had. The Golden Company laid claim to ten thousand armoured and well trained men and they would be a great asset if they chose to ally themselves with her.
At least Ghidorah's flying had allowed her to recollect her composure. The jar of Aemon's ashes were wrapped tightly and safely in her pack but still, Daenerys felt such grief in her chest like a dagger of ice had been plunged through her breast. Through it all Ghidorah had remained close, his mind clinging to hers. Grief was not a normal aspect of his emotions so he knew not how to comfort her beyond his presence. It was steady and grounding in her mind and she clung to it as the tears upon her cheeks dried as they flew through the sky. Aemon was gone and he had left with her by his side but with warnings of a much greater threat.
There were also the words of the Watch member, telling her of the Others just as Aemon told her. Of the pale shadows and the dead which lurked beyond the Wall. But flying over the hot lust lands of Essos it seemed simply a dream, a nightmare gnawing at the edge of her mind to mix with her grief.
She would mourn more cleanly and deeply at Meereen but as Pentos grew near she eased her grief down as Ghidorah glided upon the warm currents. Around her hips the maester chains clinked against one another as she shifted upon her child's scaled back. If the message was correct, her contact was waiting for her
The Golden Company, founded a century ago by Bittersteel, a bastard son of Aegon the Unworthy. When that craven king legitimized his bastards upon his deathbed generations of bloodshed was the result. The first being Daemon Blackfyre, and Bittersteel joined his half-brother in fighting for the Iron Throne. The first Blackfyre was slain on the Redgrass field while Bittersteel fled across the Narrow Sea with the followers of the Black Dragon joining him. Hundreds of landless lords and knights, and who Bittersteel created the Golden Company to bind the exiles together. Always following a black dragon until her own Queensguard, Ser Barristan, slew the last upon the Stepstones. They were exiles and sons of exiles but fighters all the same.
Aegon the Unworthy well and truly earned his title, his stupidity and lust causing five Blackfyre rebellions and tens of thousand deaths.
They glided over the city, Ghidorah's sharp vision helping him pick out their goal. Near the bay to the southern end of Pentos, a walled off manor held to a base for the Golden Company. For though they would travel Essos far and wide all armies needed a base, either for consolidation or simple resource gathering. A fort in its own right and connected to its own wharf but oddly lacking in ships bearing the golden banner. Daenerys and Ghidorah only spied several and those were small vessels. She had heard tell the Golden Company was upon a campaign but the note had denied being in contract to the masters.
Something furthered when she landed Ghidorah within the walled courtyard with any hostility from the soldiers or ballista, even if there was some screaming and running per usual from her child's splendor. The courtyard was largely emptied, even with the few creeping out of the stables and housing they were extremely few in number. The bulk of the host was gone. But where?
Ghidorah slid down onto his belly, letting Daenerys slip from his neck to the ground. The chain around her waist clattered and her boots still had Aemon's ashes clinging to them. A handful of curious and frightened faces peered out at her, all of them having gold of some sort clinging to their bodies, be it sashes and scarves or rings and necklaces.
Daenerys looked around the courtyard, noticing the golden banners and emblems hanging from the buildings, and many blacksmiths and stables which the majority being empty.
"It's the dragon queen!" a small group of women, who'd been in what looked like a leather shop with their tools still in hand, peered out through the doorway. Daenerys smiled at them and the women flushed red and tittered among themselves like a flock of doves.
"Lady Daenerys," a man crept towards her and she turned her attention towards him. He was small and mousey, looking as if he feared Ghidorah was to snap him up. "You...are here? Your ladyship."
"Yes," Daenerys stared at the man who shrank into himself. "I received an open invitation from the captain-commander of the Golden Company, Harry Strickland. I am here to answer it."
"You did? Oh. Uh..." sweat beaded his brow and his feet shuffled before the man seemed to gather his wits. "I'll inform Ser Strickland immediately!"
She watched him flee from her, sprinting into a small squat building. They would certainly be large enough, the walls housing near their own city of Golden Company. But still, the absolute lack of numbers was strange. It was like Astapor after it was sacked, with an odd silence. There were some left behind, mostly blacksmiths or leatherworkers or sailors with supplied, but it seemed the bulk of the army was gone. Only the barest animals also remained. Whenever her gaze landed upon the few still remaining behind they would bow low to her. They had more discipline than the people of Braavos, for while many stopped to stare at Ghidorah they would just as quickly continue with their tasks.
Even if one blacksmith dropped his hammer several times before he managed to regain his rhyme in hammering out a sword. Behind him were walls of shields and weaponry, his apprentice watching Daenerys distractedly with huge dark eyes as the girl carried a pail of water to the forge. Several other Golden Company members were flitting around, one shoeing one of the remaining horses in the massive empty stables and another stitching up a broken standard, with the leatherworkers retreating back into their abode but Daenerys could see a face peeking through the window. But from what she could see the majority of the host was gone.
Ghidorah yawned with all three of his heads, tucking his wings against his side. He wasn't tired just bored of so much talking and knew there was more to come. He'd much rather go to Meereen to begin massacring their enemies but Daenerys could not fend off a war from all sides. They were only two, after all, and Dorne and the Dance proved they could be killed and she wasn't about to act rashly. Not when potential allies were reaching out to her.
The mousey man skidded back into the courtyard, hovering nervously among the awnings and avoiding being too close to Ghidorah. The dragon ignored him, with one head resting on the stones while the other continued to watching the area. In the distance there were bells ringing in the city along with the caws of ravens but Daenerys paid them not mind as she walked to the man. The chains around her waist clinked against one another and Daenerys could still smell the smoke from the pyre, see Aemon's body being consumed by the flame.
Swallowing down the lump in her throat she allowed the man- who introduced himself to her as Squire Watkyn in a frantic stammer and more sweating -to the oddly simple building across from the port.
The Golden Company's meeting chambers was not as Daenerys expected. She had thought some hulking thing akin to the Great Pyramid or splendor like in Qarth or even the mansions scattered over Pentos but instead it was barely larger than her tent had been on the Great Grass Sea, completely plain where it was cramped between towering houses. Thick cut stone with sharp, uneven angles. Still, inside it was lavishly decorated with many relics of the Golden Company's history; numerous banners of old Houses, sloppy charcoal portraits of the past captain-commanders including Aegor Rivers and Maelys the Monstrous, broken shields and swords and spears upon racks which would have a meaning beyond Daenerys' knowledge. It was like the stalls in Vaes Dothrak, well stocked but also oddly lived in. The walls were all dark stone, a wet shimmer to the smoothness in the sunlight streaming through the high windows.
In the middle chamber was a plain wooden desk, stacked high musty books and bent quills and there was the current leader of the Golden Company.
The captain-commander of the Golden Company was not as Daenerys expected. She had thought someone like Ser Barristan, well versed in war and straight backed, still broad shouldered and well fit. Yet Harry Strickland looked little like a warrior. Portly, with a big round head, mild grey eyes, and thinning hair that was brushed sideways to conceal a shining bald spot. He was clad quite plainly, no armour to speak of, instead he wore fine golden silk with numerous precious rings and bangles for his arms and fingers. A jeweled sword was strapped to his thick waist but otherwise he looked more of a banker than a warrior. Much less a commander.
Daenerys kept her opinion to herself as the squire ushered her inside with a deep bow and Strickland smiled in delight when he saw Daenerys, his eyes lighting up like a child's. It made his wrinkled, spotted face far more welcoming as he spread his arms open to her in greeting.
"Ah, Lady Daenerys!" his voice was jovial. "I am so pleased we managed to contact you soon- it was with great haste I sent my message to Braavos when we heard of you, I scant believed you were so close. I am pleased you chose to come, honoured that you accepted our invitation. Here, sit. Watkyn, fetch some wine for the dragon queen."
"Only water, if you please," Daenerys said. She didn't think flying drunk on Ghidorah's back would help her in anyway, even if she was quite sure Ghidorah would catch her if she fell.
"As you prefer," he sat down opposite to her, folding his arms upon the table top. Daenerys sat on the chair provided, her bells and chain clinking with the movement. Strickland's eyes caught on the bells in her hair but if he knew their true meaning he said nothing.
"I must say, I was quite surprised to be told you landed in our courtyard. I had sent a missive quite fast, true, yet I did not expect you to personally answer."
"I felt no need to send for a reply when I could visit myself," Daenerys said, "As your letter read, it was for an invitation and I do not have much time to spare."
"Ah yes, the siege at Meereen. Which has began already, if my men speak true."
"Which the masters shall rue when I return. I granted them mercy and do not look favourably upon those who spurn a second chance."
"Of course not. The blood of dragons is quite well known, especially in our company," Strickland agreed with her easily. "It's one of the reasons why I refused the attempts of the Yunkai'i envoys to woo us over."
"I had heard the Golden Company was under contract with the masters," she said, watching him closely.
"Aye, Myr. But we chose to break such a thing."
"Odd, considering how proud your company is to not break contract."
Beneath the gold, the bitter steel. The words seem to beat in her head as if to a drum, Quaithe's words thick in her mind. Her words had been true with Aemon, Daenerys would be a fool to ignore the rest. Even if it was frustratingly cryptic Daenerys would take heed.
"The Yunkishmen offer much for an attempt to cull you," Strickland said in considering tones as his squire filled up his goblet with a thick dark wine. Her cup only held clear water but Daenerys made no attempt to drink as the squire retreated back outside as Strickland continued, "The envoy that they sent to woo Volantis has already dispatched three free companies to Slaver's Bay. The envoy sniffed around here, he wished for us to be the fourth and offered twice what Myr was paying us, plus a slave for every man in the company, ten for every officer, and a hundred choice maidens all for me."
"Slaves?" Daenerys all but spat out the word. "And where would the Yunkai magic up such a payment?"
"Why from Meereen of course. Which we refused," before Daenerys could speak.
"Due to the prospect of war?"
"All the more for the uncertainty. Their payment relied completely upon winning Meereen and considering how easily you crushed them before, there was not much hope they would pay. True, masters are rich beyond compare but they've grown lax without war. Most they get are the horselords and they simply ply them with gifts. Facing an enemy who cannot be bribed...That is a bit beyond them, I think."
"I thought that was a sellswords lot," Daenerys said, still not quite sure to Strickland's intention. Sellswords typically cared not for their employers morals provided they had the payment. "To totter upon either side of battle, swaying like the grass in the wind while waiting for a flip of a golden coin. So why refuse them?"
"Dragons, obviously. A dragon changes many things. We have heard so many rumours of you, Daenerys Targaryen," Strickland took a heavy swallow of his wine before saying, "So many wild stories until truth and false was mangled into something else altogether. But one thing stayed the same, that this young silver queen had hatched dragons. After centuries, after the Dance drove them extinct, they have returned to the world. And now this is true, you appear upon a dragon of gold with three heads just as the songs sing. Extraordinary. Illyrio Mopatis will be most pleased with his wager, I would say."
"I care nothing for Illyrio Mopatis," Daenerys said plainly. "I owe him nothing, least of all friendship or gratitude. He would be wise to not overstep that knowledge."
"Of course. A queen is not bound by such a thing. If he had thought those eggs of his would hatch, I would say he would've sat upon them himself. Or it could be because a Targaryen came to them when all else failed. The dragons only ever chose one of your blood."
"Every child knows its mother," Daenerys said. "I cannot speak of the nature of the bond for the dragonriders of the past, but mine is mother and child."
"Mother of dragons indeed. And who would dare step between a bond of mother and son? Queen Alicent caused the Dance through her desire to crown her own son, regardless of the peril which followed."
Daenerys just stared at Strickland and made no comment.
"But why should family fight?" the captain-general said as he settled back in his chair, tapping a finger on his lip. "They should be our greatest allies and trusted confidants.Those who we know will guard us and we them just as much as any Kingsguard. Much like myself and my own son, who marches in my stead. Harry Strickland, second of his name he is. I am more suited for hammering out contracts and forging allies than I am marching in the field. I am not well used to campaigns, my toes are prone to blisters you see, and the Golden Company deserved fresh and willing blood for this new turn of age. I trust my son as an extension of my own and know he will do me proud."
"Is that why you asked me here? To...compare experiences as parents?" Daenerys was skeptical and a growing annoyance and anger at the man dancing around his words. While she did not fault him for having pride in his son it would be odd that's all his intention to be.
Strickland shook his head, some of his hair dislodging and making his balding scalp gleam, "Of course not. It is just we waited for you, Lady Daenerys. You were in Meereen and we are here, awaiting in Pentos and the Free Cities. Even sent envoys to Volantis, to wait for when you marched west. We could not be too bare with our intentions, you must understand. We came to raise up a king and queen who would lead us home to Westeros, where we've yearned for generations, but as time grew we began to lament. This fierce Targaryen queen seems more intent on planting olive trees than in reclaiming her father's throne, choosing to sow the field rather than bringing fire and blood. Meanwhile, her foes gather like vultures. Yunkai, New Ghis, Tolos. Bloodbeard and the Tattered Prince will both be in the field against her...or so they say and even Old Voltanis spewed forth their legions to assault the dragon city. Fleets already heading for Slaver's Bay. So we had waited and waited until we could no more. An army that does not march starves, a sellsword company without contract earns no gold, I'm sure you understand."
"I do indeed," Daenerys said slowly. "But why not reach out to me while I ruled Meereen? I would have heard you there."
"Because it seems you wished to rule, as you just uttered. A queen of Essos, rather than Westeros as you belonged. We don't want Essos, we want Westeros and that is were we head. And that is why I was left behind as I felt that mayhaps I could encourage you west were we eagerly awaited you. It's why I kept my ear and eye out for eagerness of dragon wings and am gladdened I reached out to you when you visited Braavos."
Something began to nag at her mind, gnawing like a starving mouse in winter. The empty barracks, the timed missive, Strickland's oily smile like he was in on some little secret. She felt as if she was missing a jape and outside she felt Ghidorah stir and he caught her growing unease, a thick noise of scraping of scales and talons briefing sounding outside.
"Odd you offer such willingness to me," Daenerys allowed after a fairly long stare. "The Golden Company has not historically been friend to Targaryens."
Strickland nodded, "True. However black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. But I am not here to argue schematics with you, Lady Daenerys. Instead I wish to offer allegiance. You can give the exiles what Bittersteel and the Blackfyres never could. You can take us home."
Daenerys mulled it over even as Strickland continued to talk to her, "Did you know this building was just a hollow chunk of rock when Aegor Rivers arrived in Pentos?" Strickland gestured around. "Valyrian stone it is- or black stone -and he felt it fitting being dragonblooded. It's why we never changed its shape or made it grander after he made his command centre here. A rallying home for his fellow exiles. It reminds us of what we came from. How the Golden Company was nothing until Bittersteel came and how it kept us together over the generations. A dark stone, like the scales of the Blackfyres. He was once said to say that this room should only make its secrets known to dragonblood but then Maelys lost both of his heads on the Seasteps. Until recently. Until we found dragons and now we can go home."
"Ten thousand swords is quite a gift," Daenerys said slowly. "Yet I am not so foolish as to assume it is without strings. I assume you want land and lordships as rewards? I know of the discord that grips the Iron Throne, the old lion has died and his foolish daughter is ruling as queen. Already she has given offense to the Iron Bank."
"Aye, which only the stupid or those yearning to be overthrown would do such a slight. Though from what I know of the queen mother Cersei she is as beautiful as her head is empty and her king is barely more than a barely weaned child and not well versed in war. Cruelty will not get you far in a leadership. Even Maegor the Cruel knew his limits despite history wanting to claim otherwise, despite his weak willed brother making him a necessity."
Daenerys shifted, the chain around her waist rattling. Strickland's eyes slid to it but he made no comment upon the maester chains she possessed much like her bells. If the Golden Company was offering allegiance in exchange for her granting them a lordship and House when she took the Iron Throne then it was an even enough offer. The Golden Company was not one to scoff at despite their failed rebellions. Each time thousands perished when they trod upon Westerosi soil. And now there was an exiled Targaryen and a weakened throne awaiting. But who was this king Strickland mentioned? His own son, perhaps?
Strickland continued, either oblivious or ignoring her increasingly tense body language as he said, "The lion bitch will have the Kingslayer at her side, count on that, and they will have all the wealth of Casterly Rock behind them. Surely you want justice for what was done, the sword plunged into your father's back by a man who swore the most sacred of oaths? And Illyrio says this boy king is betrothed to the Tyrell girl, which means we must face the power of Highgarden as well. With you, your dragon and Unsullied we can stand against them and restore the Targaryen dynasty back to its glory."
"You speak as honeyed as any conman yet you have refused to even name this 'king' of yours," Daenerys said coldly, the embers in her belly glowing at the man's evasive words. "Is it some lost blood of a despoiled House? The first Golden Company men came from many different stock, yourself included."
"One from your own House, Your Grace," Strickland told her simply. "As I said, the Golden Company has ever been tied to dragons. Black or red, cloth or scale, now it is time to put those aside. To be friends and allies rather than enemies. Your House has nearly been destroyed by your enemies just as we have nearly been. Now we should forge a new future together."
"Again, you refuse to name your figurehead," Daenerys said, ignoring his words of shared blood. Her anger was rising, at this ridiculous and useless distraction. That, coupled with her still grieving over Aemon and Ghidorah's own irritation made her temper churn and blood to boil. I should have just flown to Meereen. The Golden Company laughed at my brother when he asked for aid, why did I expect any different?
"It was a plan that I confess that myself did not even know of until recently," the balding man's voice was almost lecturing, "Only an old dear friend of mine convinced me otherwise. He deemed it prudent he remain Young Griff until we had crossed the Narrow Sea. To help protect him, you must understand. You've been hunted enough by King Robert's assassins, did you not Your Grace? It is perilous to be Targaryen under a stag's rule and Tywin Lannister certainly did not offer hesitation to kill children either yet now the Iron Throne has lost much of its bite. In Westeros I told my son to let the boy wash his hair and let him don his armor, so all may know who he is."
Daenerys could feel the conversation spilling from her hands like fine sand, "What are you saying."
"My point is it is dangerous for a lone dragon," Strickland told her, as if it was news to her. "For all your power all the more want you dead. Hence why you were kept moving, why our Griff was kept hidden and unrevealed to even us until now with Westeros bleeding from so many wounds. Those of your blood were hunted down and killed, until it began to fade away. The Targaryens were gone, they would say, finally disappeared like their dragons. Isn't that what they say to you, Daenerys Stormborn? That House Targaryen is gone, that not a single person who shares your blood remains alive? You are the lone Targaryen, the last dragon which they even used to call your valiant brother Rhaegar."
"Do you have a purpose or are you here to tutor me in my own family history?" Daenerys snapped. Aemon was still a bleeding wound, the last of her blood so close yet stolen so quickly. And now Strickland's confusing words. Her hands curled into fists, she could still smell of smoke and salt of Aemon's pyre. The ashes on her boots, staining her fingernails.
He gave a considering noise, taking no offense to her aggressive tone, "Perhaps I am indeed too fanciful. I've had many say I'm more use as a clerk than a commander, my son included. The story of your family's fall is known. Rhaegar...beautiful prince Rhaegar who doomed his family for want of a woman not his wife. A tragedy which ended with his chest caved in, his frail wife raped and murdered, his little daughter Rhaenys stabbed near fifty times and his little son Aegon dashed against a wall."
"And Tywin Lannister is dead. May he burn in whatever hell there is along with Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark," Daenerys said. For a brief moment her senses flickered, feeling scales and wings before back to skin and hair. Her nails bit into the palms of her hands, hard enough they drew crescents of blood even if she did not notice. A part of her lamented not being the one who dragged them to hell, to have them die underneath her child's fangs.
Strickland wagged a finger at her like a scolding septa, the fine golden silk of his clothing shimmering with the movement, "Perhaps. But isn't Aegon something well known? Clegane is a House built upon dead children. Smashed so cruelly he was not even recognizable. A skull like a split melon with some hanks of hair remaining. That is all. Tywin Lannister said it was Aegon and all took his word for it. Even here in Essos."
An odd feeling slithered up her spine and Daenerys' violet eyes narrowed. She was no stranger to the crimes of the Usurper, the murder of Rhaegar and Elia's children being well known. But why was this sellsword captain bringing up such a thing? Did he truly think she did not know?
"And, Your Grace, since you are well versed in your family's history then surely you know who were the Hands to Targaryens and those who remained loyal during the Rebellion?" Despite his jovial voice Strickland's eyes were sharp and watching her close, "A plot, when it became known all was lost. When Tywin and his treachery came to King's Landing. A plot to save another babe, just as those loyal to the dragons saved you and your brother when Stannis sailed to Dragonstone to slaughter you both."
"You lie," she was more startled than anything.
"A plot that began when Rhaegar fell," Strickland continued, as easy as if discussing weather. "Robert Baratheon was always a spiteful man and with the last dragon slain and his wolf bitch dead all he had was vengeance. And Tywin Lannister hurried to gain favour; he lost the chance to wed his daughter to a prince but now if he removed Elia and Aerys he would have the chance to wed her to a king. The Kingslayer saw to Aerys and then it was Elia and her little children. So an interested party moved first, when the gates fell and Aerys took a Kingsguard sword through the back. A tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him, unremarkable and easy to replace. His father sold him to our ally for a single jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold and you know how drunkards love their brew. The infants were swapped and Gregor Clegane's brutality saw to the rest. To slip a babe across the Narrow Sea is easily enough and after the war there were still those who remained loyal to the dragons especially once Robert was done with them. Who better to raise Prince Rhaegar's infant son than Prince Rhaegar's dear friend Jon Connington, once Lord of Griffin's Roost and once Hand of the King?"
Daenerys stared at the smiling sellsword, a churning storm of emotions twisting within her gut. Her voice was more of a sibilant hiss through clenched teeth as she said, "You lie...This isn't- this cannot be true."
Strickland, still smiling, shook his head, "Oh I am not lying, Your Grace. I'm here to tell you this wondrous news that they now they seek west with the Golden Company and that's where you will find your nephew. Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of his Name, firstborn son of Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone, King of Andals the Rhoynar and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, waiting for his beloved aunt Daenerys Stormborn, of the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror, and her golden dragon of three heads...together, you two can take back Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne and your rightful home."
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