In the Watergardens of Dorne, Aegon embraces her once again. Frowning, she sat leaning against the wall of Aegon's private room, deliberately avoiding his gaze. A familiar silence would inevitably descend between them, creating a divide akin to the great wall that stands between the North and the perils on the other side.
"Do you really have to go?" She broke the silence with her melodious voice, while her frown created graceful curves on her beautiful face, framed by long, thick black hair that fell in ringlets to the middle of her back and large dark eyes.
Aegon was pleased that she had finally spoken to him and responded quickly. "Indeed, I need to set off for Essos on the morrow to meet with Jon Connington and the Golden Company somewhere in the disputed lands."
She sank into silence once more. She did not share Aegon's passion for war and politics. He kissed her forehead, speaking again, "Arianne, I understand you don't like it. However, a war is approaching soon, and preparations are essential. I must gather my army. Additionally, Arthur will accompany me to Essos. While Uncle Oberyn will gather Dorne's army."
Aegon pressed his lips against her skin, gentle and sweet, and soon they found themselves stripped naked as Arianne began to mirror his affection with her own touches. As Aegon began to explore her curves, he later found himself drawn to her round, ripe breasts. Moments later, Aegon began to sucking on her huge, dark nipples. Their passionate encounters were numerous, and the echoes of Aegon's chamber were filled with Arianne's moans that lingered through the darkness. He experienced a fleeting moment of pleasure every time he deposited his seed inside Arianne's flower. In his arms, she was a vision, her scent wrapping around him like a cloak, and her soft caress stirred every emotion buried deep within his soul. He embraced her fiercely, his robust frame radiating strength. At the same time, Arianne felt the tension of his muscles beneath her touch, her firm legs wrapped around him, binding them together, leaving Aegon inside of her in an intimate moment. They locked gazes, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air as they struggled to regain their bearings.
"It appears reasonable that you ought to say goodbye to Tyene as well. It would be unfair for her if you were to remain by my side throughout the night. You know she loves you as much as I do, and she will miss you keenly as well."
Aegon pushes open the heavy door to Tyene's chamber and steps inside, the air filled with a sense of pleasure. Aegon went up into Tyene's bed, her radiant golden locks cascading around her, striking blue eyes sparkling like the sky, and charming dimples gracing her cheeks, as a soft, melodic voice beckoned him closer. As she revealed herself, Aegon leaned in, drawn to the intimacy of the moment. As he approached her, Aegon found himself drawn to the intimate moment, leaning in closer to explore the depths of their intimacy. Tyene spread her legs open as Aegon placed his head between her legs.
Yet in an instant, Aegon found himself alone. The earth beneath him shifted unpredictably; suddenly, all was engulfed in darkness and icy cold. Aegon started to walk, but soon glanced down. He became aware that the ground was blanketed in a coating of ice and snow. Aegon became attentive when he heard the sound of ice shattering. As he surveyed his surroundings, his gaze fell upon a tall, gaunt figure, its skin a pale, grey-white, reminiscent of a mummified form. He possesses striking, deep blue eyes and long, wispy white hair, adorned with pointy horns on his head, resembling a crown of ice. The figure gestured towards Aegon, emitting a shriek that compelled him to cover his ears, feeling the warm trickle of blood begin to seep from them.
Yet, in a fleeting moment, he discovered himself alone once again, and this time around, he was within a wooden cabin of sorts. Aegon cast his gaze around the cabin, trying to find something. In the manner of all dreams, Aegon would come to the realization that he was imprisoned in a dream, and just as swiftly, he would awaken, opening his eyes slowly and blinking a couple of times. He realized he was lying on a hard and uncomfortable bed. He stood up from the bed and noticed the wooden floor beneath him was uneven, while the peculiar voices of men reverberated all around.
The dawn's light broke through the ship's cabin windows, heralding a new day filled with promise and peril. Every fiber of his being loathed the truth that lay before him; the vision of Arianne and Tyene remained vivid, as it had been in the dream, but in a heartbeat, it was overshadowed by the appearance of an icy monster.
"A weighty dream," Arthur murmured to him in a calming tone as Aegon emerged from his quarters, with Arthur stationed protectively by the entrance.
Aegon responded to him with a faint smile, still carrying a hint of sleepiness. "Indeed, I dreamt of the final day I spent in Dorne before our departure." Aegon hesitated to share the entirety of his dream with Arthur, particularly the parts involving blue eyes and darkness. Years had passed since he last dreamed of those eyes.
Aegon and Arthur make their way to the ship's deck to commence their morning sword training routine. From a young age, Aegon received guidance from numerous mentors. Arthur contemplated the art of wielding swords, while Prince Doran focused on the intricacies of politics. Prince Oberyn considered the strategic application of poisons and spears. Ashara, the closest figure he had to a mother, reflected on the Seven, often sharing tales of his mother and sister. But Aegon had chosen to follow the gods of old Valyria.
A sudden blow to the chest brought him back to reality, he lay on the floor and tried to catch his breath. "Kid, are you okay?" A voice came near where Aegon was. Duck looked at him confusedly, and a little worried. He looked up at Arthur who was just leaning on his training sword. Aegon then sat up and looked at Arthur. "Yes, I have to let you hit me sometimes," Aegon smiled at Arthur. This game is the only place where he is willing to do that.
A few hours later, a figure approached where Aegon lay resting after another defeat by Ser Arthur. "My lord, the hour has come for your lessons in the history of our realm to commence."
Aegon heard the familiar voice and turned to see Haldon the Halfmaester. "Is it that time of the day already, Haldon?"
"It is my prince, the time for your studies with me has begun."
Arthur beheld Aegon depart for the maester's quarters. He remained on his feet until his gaze fell upon Jon, who was hunched over a small table, poring over an array of intricate maps. The table was laden with detailed maps of the realm. Arthur approached the spot where Jon was seated, and for a brief moment, he paused his study of the maps, casting a lingering gaze upon Arthur.
"For one who commands the future King's forces, your peculiar obsession with maps is quite curious. Are they not etched in your memories by now?"
Jon remained undeterred, refocusing on the maps as he continued, "Some are newer, featuring more clearly marked roads and settlements. He had made a costly investment to ensure the novices could pilfer them from the Citadel."
Arthur had little interest in intrigue and schemes. "If you required those maps from the Citadel, you could have informed Aegon or me; we have a spy operating for us there."
Jon just stared at him, then went back to looking at his maps.
_________
Aegon had finished his study with Halfmaester Haldon and made his way back up to the ship deck, where he heard the clashing and heavy clang of unrefined blades resonating alongside the groaning of the slick planks. Arthur deftly evaded the strikes of his two adversaries, honing in on Thunderex, a formidable Summer Islander, whose assaults were not only stronger but also executed with greater precision and strategy. Ser Rolly, while less graceful and lacking in elaborate flair, remained a formidable opponent.
Aegon takes great pleasure in observing the clash of swords, especially when it comes to Arthur's skill in combat. By merely watching his actions, Aegon realizes that he, too, is gaining knowledge. Aegon was eager to engage in some training with Ser Rolly Duckfield, but his enthusiasm was abruptly interrupted when the ship's captain alerted everyone to an impending storm.
Days after the heavy Storm.
The moon loomed large in the darkness of the sky as the ships glided through the shadowy depths of the Bay of Crabs, steered by a dim glow from the far-off land. The violent winds of the storm in the evening battered the ships upon the restless sea. Crew members moved about all sides of the ships like hardworking ants, attempting to maintain the ships and avert disaster, whether from the other ships or the perilous embrace of jagged cliffs. Growing darkness shrouded all, cloaking the moonlight in an ominous veil that swallowed the moon's glow.
At long last, finally made it home, Aegon mused, gazing upon the indistinct shapes of the shoreline. This realm was his, yet he felt no special thrill, no surge of overwhelming anticipation. All he had known and witnessed of the kingdom was the desert plain of Dorne. Serving under his uncle Oberyn. In the land where he devoted half of his life, the other half was spent in Essos, journeying along a winding river, galloping through Disputed Lands, and unearthing forgotten riches amidst the remnants of a once-great civilization of old Valyria. Before him, again, could be the shores of Disputed Lands, a place he had set foot upon numerous times before. He pondered, did his famous ancestor, Aegon the First, experience a similar sentiment when he set foot on the far side of the peninsula, at the confluence of the Blackwater and the ocean? Yet Aegon the Conqueror, First of his name, possessed a dragon. This Aegon does not, he murmured.
The gusts of air tugged at the fabric of his cloak, revealing Aegon's face to the world. Aegon wore a unique armor he had found in the ruins of Valyria. The metal components of the armor were crafted from Valyrian steel, exhibiting a gold-orange hue, while the leather was a deep black. In contrast to the typical breastplates, which were generally crafted from a single piece of Valyrian steel, this chest plate consisted of multiple overlapping plates as well. The armor was complemented by a black cloak. Aegon had Blackfyre secured at his left hip.
"The hour has come," Jon declared from behind, "The boat awaits."
Numerous boats departed from the ships. On Aegon's goat, he found himself in the company of Jon Connington, Ser Rolly Duckfield, Ser Arthur, and several other soldiers from the Golden Company.
Aegon wore a faint smile as he listened to Duck's incessant complaints about the cold weather, comparing it with the warmth of the Reach. Jon was beginning to feel irritated.
Their boat glided effortlessly along the golden beach. Aegon remained perfectly still, not a hint of motion from him. Arthur observed and softly placed his hand on Aegon's shoulder, causing Aegon to react instinctively and leap out of the boat. Nothing extraordinary occurred, no divine intervention, the Champion did not descend from the heavens to guide them. Only the banished prince lingered on the coastline, the coastline of the realm that was rightfully his, or so his uncles had always told him.
The beach was busy with activity; officers barked orders and rushed to assemble their units and squads without delay. The sailors were returning boats to the waves. Ten thousand warriors had to step ashore. Massive vessels transported carts filled with provisions. The seasoned soldiers of the Golden Company swiftly unloaded the burdensome cargo, proving once again that their reputation was well-deserved. Everything was coming together perfectly as both the cargo and the people made their way to the shore, all in great shape.
Boots of countless warriors echoed through the coastal settlement. The emblem of House Targaryen, featuring a crimson three-headed dragon against a dark backdrop, decorated the spears. Homeless Harry felt uncertain about that: "Golden banners are a part of our legacy." If Myles were still around, he would have never permitted the alteration of the banners. If only Myles were still around, Aegon would feel a lot more assured about the campaign's success. Fortunately, Jon stepped into Harry's deputy role, and while Harry feigned some indignation, he didn't resist too much, claiming it should have been Black Balaq, the commander of archers, instead. As if Balaq even cared about the position in the slightest.
"Once we find sturdy terrain, we will set up our camp," Harry declared with a melodic tone, his pride swelling as he observed the soldiers in gold armor march forth.
Jon cast a dark glance in his direction. Aegon believed that every second spent with Harry was a source of annoyance for Jon. Well, at this point, who didn't irritate Jon?
Before long, four mysterious silhouettes made their way toward the hill where Aegon stood alongside Jon, Arthur, and Harry. Thunderex and Duck guided a pair of fishermen. They appeared anxious and fearful, their gazes fixed on the ground. "The one on the left claimed to be the chieftain of the village," Thunderex remarked.
With a slightly trembling voice, an elderly man with several missing teeth spoke to Jon, "Are you followers of Lord Stannis?" Out of the group, Jon seemed to embody the essence of a leader, Aegon mused.
A frustrated Jon shot back at the old man, "Did you even notice the banners we put up? That could possibly address your foolish question?"
The other fisherman appeared just as annoyed by his leader's questioning. "These are dragons," remarked the other man, his thin eyebrows arching as he glanced at Aegon, taking in his wavy silvery hair, Olive tan skin, and striking purple eyes.
"Dragons," the chieftain gasped, eyes wide as he beheld the advancing soldiers. The aged figure likely pondered whether he was lost in a nightmare.
Jon was on the verge of unleashing his fury at the old man again, but he halted as Aegon positioned himself between them. "I swear to you, those are indeed Dragons." But pray tell, why did you inquire if we were part of Stannis' forces?
"I ask since his vessels monitor the shoreline." "Not just sails with stags, but also pirates from Lys," said the Fishermen.
If the fishermen's claims hold any truth, Aegon realized, it merely signifies that Stannis too seeks the crown. With each fallen ruler, the path before him grows clearer. With a disciplined and skilled Golden Company army at his command, along with the fierce spears of the Dornish, he could vanquish any foe, one by one.