Aegon sat upright upon the throne, his expression serene yet edged with majesty, and demanded:
"Who gave you permission to lay hands upon the Targaryen Pureborn? Was it the command of those mortals at the House of Black and White, or the decree of the Many-Faced God?"
Quentyn of the Faceless Men replied with solemn gravity:
"It was our Lord."
Aegon closed his eyes and pondered for a moment before asking slowly:
"And why? Is it because I have seized Braavos, seat of the House of Black and White?"
Quentyn's expression remained calm, his eyes showing a detached acceptance of life and death.
"Not so. Our god delivered an oracle this year, declaring that the people of Westeros have been tainted by the power of the Outer God and must be cleansed and purified. House Targaryen is the root cause of it all. Therefore… I have come."
Aegon froze briefly, his fingers tapping the throne's armrest in a steady rhythm. He quickly grasped the deeper meaning behind the Many-Faced God's decree.
Today, nearly all Westerosi nobles were dragonborn, and the source of that power lay in the Life Seed he had once forged. The materials for the Life Seed had largely been drawn from the Outer God beneath the Valyrian Peninsula. By that reckoning, the nobles of Westeros were indeed tainted by the power of the Outer God.
"What form does this cleansing and purification, as spoken of by the Many-Faced God, truly take?" Aegon pressed.
Quentyn smiled faintly, making no effort to hide the truth.
"The Long Night is coming, Your Grace."
Aegon drew a sharp breath. He had never imagined that the leakage of the Life Seeds, compounded by the spread of the dragonborn, could drive the gods to such madness that they would unleash the Long Night to exterminate humanity. His fingers tightened against the armrest, the crisp tapping loud in the silent hall.
By now, dragonborn techniques had spread widely. Many commoners knew the crude method of transplanting the flesh and blood of awakened ones, though the success rate was pitifully low. To eradicate the dragonborn's influence had become, in truth, almost impossible. It seemed that only by letting the Long Night fall—erasing all life—could everything return to the beginning…
Once, in his final moments, Pan, an Elder of the Valyrian Freehold, had confided in him: over a hundred priests of the gods had threatened that unless he joined them to suppress and destroy the Outer God, they would bring on the Long Night and doom mankind. Now Aegon faced a similar predicament—only this time the warning came from a priest of a single god. And he was certain that if he let events run their course, more priests would come calling. Or perhaps, one day, the Long Night would indeed arrive as foretold, and the sun would never rise again.
Thoughts flashed through him like lightning. Aegon lifted his head and fixed the bold Faceless Man with a cold gaze.
"Regardless of when the Long Night arrives, you have violated the laws of the Targaryen dynasty. Not only you, but the entire Church of the Many-Faced God is henceforth an enemy of House Targaryen. Pray to your god—and prepare to face the wrath of men."
"O mortal lord, death may be our god's gift. Why refuse it?" Quentyn stared at Aegon with a strange smile.
Aegon waved impatiently, signaling his men to take him away. He ordered the Kingsguard, "Deliver this Faceless Man to the New Citadel. Let the maesters of the Dragon Tower study him and devise a way to identify the Faceless Men."
After Quentyn's arrest, the "plague" on Dragonstone halted as if paused; no further deaths occurred. Yet the matter did not end with the killer's capture.
Soon after, the New Citadel sent word: Faceless Men—those assassins—were in essence priests of the gods. Telling them apart was not difficult, for the divine power within a Faceless Man was incompatible with battle energy. Any warrior who touched a Faceless Man with battle energy would trigger a violent surge of divine power within the assassin, breaking their disguise at once.
The New Citadel was developing a vessel capable of storing battle energy. Placed near palaces or city gates, it would detect the approach of divine priests and enable their screening.
Learning that the Faceless Men's most vexing problem had been solved—and that the key lay in the battle energy possessed by dragonborn offspring—Aegon could not help reflecting that some true incompatibility existed between the power of the Outer God beyond the stars and that of the native deities.
With the greatest threat of the Faceless Men thus neutralized, Aegon ordered his forces to encircle the House of Black and White in Braavos. More than a hundred devotees of the Many-Faced God were executed on the spot.
He knew the cult of the Many-Faced God had adherents across the world and that he could never wipe out the Faceless Men entirely. But the battle-energy warning device soon to be developed by the New Citadel convinced him that no priest of any deity would ever again walk the lands of Westeros.
Aegon then issued a proclamation to the world. In the name of the Heavenly Father—the earthly saint among the Seven—he declared the Church of the Many-Faced God a heresy and called upon all nations to join in hunting down the Faceless Men.
In the long annals of the Targaryen dynasty, this year was shrouded in gloom. Death's shadow clung to all, rifts of discord split the heart, and storms of calamity raged unchecked. Maesters and smallfolk alike tacitly agreed to name it the Year of the Stranger. It was as though the Stranger—the god who rules death and the unknown—had turned a particular "favor" upon this land, lavishing it with suffering and hardship, leaving the realm to struggle in the depths of misery.
Quentyn, the Faceless Man priest of the Many-Faced God, having exhausted his value as a subject of study, met a swift end. He was led publicly to the block and died beneath the eyes of the crowd. His body was cast into the dragonpit and the act proclaimed across the realm as a chilling warning.
Yet the calamity of the Stranger's Year did not end with Quentyn's death.
Like a stone cast into a pond, sending ripples outward, the malice radiating from Quentyn the Faceless Man lingered long after his charred remains were devoured by the dragon. That malevolence continued to spread across the continent, infecting and twisting the living.
The first to feel its ripple was the emperor's Small Council.
Lord Rogar Baratheon announced his resignation from the crucial office of Hand of the Emperor. As mentioned earlier, his wife Lady Alyssa had died giving birth to their daughter. The blow struck like a hammer, nearly breaking the man's heart.
Upon hearing Rogar's decision, Aegon's first instinct was to seek a worthy successor among his chief advisers.
Albin Massey, Rego Delaz, and Septon Barth were all men of great talent, valued and favored by the emperor. Yet their backgrounds proved insurmountable obstacles.
Septon Barth was of humble birth, the son of a blacksmith—a lineage that made the great lords reluctant to accept him as the emperor's voice.
Rego Delaz, a godless man from Pentos, was a spice merchant who had risen from nothing; his origins, if examined closely, were even lower than Barth's.
As for Lord Albin, his twisted spine and crooked gait made him a figure of dread among the ignorant common folk, more unsettling than either of the others.
The count himself once confessed to the emperor:
"They look at me as if I were a traitor. Only in the shadows can I best serve you."
Turning his gaze beyond King's Landing, Aegon quickly dismissed other possibilities.
The former Hand of King Maegor could never be recalled.
Lord Rodrik Arryn, Duke of the Eyrie and Warden of the Vale, was but ten years old. He had inherited unexpectedly when his uncle, Lord Donnel, and his father, Ser Raymund, recklessly pursued wildling raiders into the Mountains of the Moon and perished—far too young to bear such a burden.
Aegon distrusted Donnel Hightower, just as he regarded Lyman Lannister with suspicion.
Bertrand Tyrell, steward of Highgarden, was notorious for his drunkenness. Were he to bring his wild, unruly bastards to court, it would disgrace the crown.
The former Warden of the North, Alaric Stark, was by all reports stubborn, harsh, ruthless, and rigid. His presence at the council would set all others on edge. The current Lord of the North was a boy not yet ten, equally unfit for governance.
As for the Ironborn, placing them in power at King's Landing was unthinkable.
Since none of the great lords were suitable, Aegon turned his eyes to lesser vassals.
In his view, the ideal Hand of the King would be a venerable elder, whose experience could balance his own youth. The council already had many learned scholars, so the new Hand should be a seasoned warrior—a commander of renown, whose very presence would cow the crown's enemies.
With these conditions in mind, more than a dozen names were put forward.
After careful consideration, the choice settled on Ser Myles Smallwood, Lord of Acorn Hall in the Riverlands. Not only was he a powerful dragonborn, but he had once served in the Order of Demon-Hunting Knights. In the days when Aegon was still the Dragon Prince, Myles had fought beside him at the Stone Bridge in the bloody battle against "The Woodcutter" Wat.
Lord Myles's valor was no empty boast. His face and body bore more than a dozen fearsome scars, each one telling of the savagery of battles past.
Ser William "the Wasp" of the Kingsguard, who had once served at Acorn Hall, swore that no lord in the Seven Kingdoms could match Myles for excellence, courage, and loyalty. His neighbors, Lord Prentys Tully and his formidable wife Lady Lucinda, also praised him highly.
Aegon approved the choice. A raven bearing his command flew to Acorn Hall, and less than two weeks later, Lord Myles set out for King's Landing.
At the same time, Aegon ordered the maesters of the New Citadel to dedicate themselves to studying the heavens. He shared with them the dreadful prophecy delivered by the Many-Faced God—"The Long Night is coming"—and commanded them to monitor the length of the days with utmost vigilance.
After a period of close observation, the maesters delivered their findings:
—Day and night continued in their usual cycle. No signs of the Long Night appeared.
This report eased Aegon's heart somewhat, but he did not relax his vigilance.
Though no clear danger loomed, foresight was the way of wisdom. He resolved privately that once the work of consolidating his rule was complete, he would at once begin preparations and devise comprehensive measures to withstand the Long Night, should it come.
...
Queen Alysanne did not take part in the selection of the new Hand. While the emperor and his council debated fervently, the queen mounted Silverwing and flew to Dragonstone, seeking to comfort her sister.
But Rhaena Targaryen was not easily consoled.
The sudden loss of so many close companions had left her sunk in melancholy. She did not welcome her sister's arrival, ignored her concern, and even shouted at her in front of half the castle to drive her away.
When the queen refused to leave, Rhaena retreated into her chamber and barred the door.
She only emerged during mealtimes, and even then her appearances grew increasingly rare.
With no one tending to affairs, Alysanne Targaryen resolved to restore order to Dragonstone herself. She summoned a new maester and ordered him to begin work immediately, then appointed a new captain of the guard to oversee the castle's defenses.
After settling all administrative matters, Alysanne once again sought audience at her sister's chamber door, only to find Rhaena still shut away within. Her repeated attempts met with constant refusal.
In the end, she returned to King's Landing in frustration—back to the warm embrace of Aegon, back to the joyful laughter of her daughter Princess Daenerys and her eldest son, young Jaehaerys.
...
As the Year of the Stranger drew to a close, the restoration of the Dragonpit was finally complete. A majestic open-air wall stood atop Rhaenys's Hill, its heavy bronze gates set firmly in place. The imposing structure dominated the summit, its scale and grandeur second only to the Hall of Conquest on Aegon's High Hill.
To commemorate the occasion and welcome the new Hand of the King, the Earl of Redwyne proposed holding a grand tournament, one whose magnificence would rival only the Golden Wedding.
"Let us cast sorrow aside and greet the new year with celebration and joy," Redwyne urged.
The autumn harvest was bountiful, Lord Rego's tax policies provided steady revenue, and trade continued to flourish. In short, funds were plentiful. Moreover, such a celebration would draw thousands of visitors to King's Landing, bringing great wealth to the city.
The lords of the council readily approved. Aegon himself believed the tournament would lift the people's spirits, "helping us forget our sorrows."
But just as preparations proceeded smoothly, Rhaena Targaryen suddenly left Dragonstone for King's Landing, throwing everything into disorder.
That day, Dreamfyre descended from the clouds like a raging storm. Ghidorah and Silverwing rose to meet her, roaring furiously. Those who witnessed the scene and heard the deafening clamor feared the dragons would unleash fire and fury, as terrible as when the Cannibal struck Quicksilver above the Gods Eye.
Fortunately, they did not come to blows. But even after Rhaena leapt from Dreamfyre, the dragons continued to snarl and scream at one another.
Rhaena, frantic, rushed into the Red Keep like a streak of fire, demanding to see her son and sister. It soon became clear why she raged—Balerion had flown away from Dragonstone.
"He left Dragonstone! That's no ordinary dragon. That's Balerion!" Rhaena shouted.
Septon Barth said to her,
"Dragons seem to sense and respond to their rider's emotions in some way."
Rhaena gasped.
"Heavens, you mean Balerion has gone to the Valyrian Peninsula to fetch Aerea, his rider?"
Her longing for her twin daughters overwhelmed her. At the mere hint that Aerea might return, her emotions surged wildly, reaching the peak of joy and anticipation.
Aegon, calm as ever, assured his mother, "You will see them soon, Mother."
So Rhaena remained in the Red Keep, waiting anxiously, needing sweet wine each night just to sleep.
Princess Daenerys and Prince Jaehaerys, however, were terrified of their aunt. The moment they saw her, they burst into tears and screams.
Seven days passed. Just as Rhaena began to think the emperor had broken his word, Balerion's thunderous roar rolled across the sky.
Then the Black Dread himself appeared, a colossal shadow nearly two hundred meters long. His massive wings thundered like a hurricane as he descended. The mightiest dragon of House Targaryen had returned from ancient Valyria.
And upon his back rode two maidens—Aerea and Rhaella, restored to human form.
They descended slowly into the Dragonpit of the Red Keep. The entire city erupted in cheers and celebration at the return of the two princesses.
As that cruel year finally drew to an end, House Targaryen at last received a glimmer of joyous news.