Chapter 5: The Faith's Folly and the Dragon's Reckoning
King's Landing, 23 AC – 33 AC (Fast-Forward Montage)
The Iron Throne sat heavy in the newly forged Red Keep, its twisted blades a testament to Aegon's vision. All Seven Kingdoms had knelt by 13 AC—Aenys's brilliance in Dorne sealing the last holdouts. Harrenhal's ruins became a Targaryen outpost; Sunspear's sands flew dragon banners. Peace reigned, fragile as dragonbone.
Ten years blurred in prosperity and shadow.
The twins—Vaella and Olena—grew from fierce toddlers into silver-haired vixens, trained in sword and saddle by Visenya herself. At eighteen they were mirrors of Targaryen glory: Vaella with her mother's sharp tongue and warrior grace, Olena softer but no less cunning, eyes like storm clouds. Aenys watched them bloom, the system's hidden tracking pinging [Bloodline Purity: 85% – Incest Union Optimal for Enhancement].
In 25 AC, under a blood moon, Aenys wed them both in the ancient Valyrian rite—dragons circling overhead, Aegon presiding with grim approval, Visenya's smile secret and satisfied. No septon spoke vows; only fire and blood bound them.
That night, in the royal bedchamber overlooking Blackwater Bay, Aenys claimed his brides.
Vaella first—bold, demanding. She shoved him onto the silk sheets, straddling his monstrous cock with a growl. "Fuck me like a conqueror, brother-husband." He obliged, hands gripping her hips as she sank down, gasping at the stretch. Eleven inches buried deep, girth splitting her wide. She rode him hard, breasts bouncing, nails drawing blood down his chest. The system boosted: [Fertility Surge: Active]. He flipped her, pounding from behind until she shattered around him, walls milking his release. Thick seed flooded her—copious, hot—ensuring the line.
Olena watched from the shadows, then joined. Softer but no less eager, she knelt and took him in her mouth first—lips straining around the head, tongue worshiping every vein. Aenys pulled her up, entering her slowly, letting her adjust to the beast. She whimpered, then moaned as he thrust deep, one hand on her throat, the other circling her clit with weapon-master precision. Vaella kissed her twin through it, fingers teasing Olena's breasts. Aenys came inside her too, the overflow dripping as she collapsed in bliss.
Nine moons later, Dragonstone echoed with births again. Vaella bore a boy—strong-lunged, violet-eyed, named Maegor after the ancient kings. Olena delivered a girl—delicate but fierce, silver curls framing her face, dubbed Alyssa. The system chimed: [Heirs Secured. Dynasty Level +2. Rebirth Paths: Expanded].
Aegon doted on his "grandchildren," unaware of the twisted blood. Visenya trained them young; Aenys whispered system secrets into their ears at night.
Then, in 30 AC, the storm broke.
The Faith Militant rose like a venomous serpent. Septons preached against "incestuous dragonspawn," riling smallfolk with tales of Valyrian sorcery. High Septon Harlan—fat, fanatical—declared holy war from Oldtown's Starry Sept. Assassins struck in the night: poisoned Arbor wine at a feast. Aegon convulsed, foaming at the mouth, dead before dawn. Visenya found the body; her scream shattered windows.
Aenys ascended the Iron Throne at thirty-one, crown heavy on his brow. Rage burned cold in his veins—the system amplifying [Wrath Mode: +30% Tactical Acumen]. "They dare touch my blood?" he snarled to the Small Council that dawn.
The council chamber was tense: Visenya as Hand, grizzled Lord Orys Baratheon for Master of Laws, sly Qhorin Velaryon whispering ships, maester Gawen advising caution. "The Faith has the ear of the pious," Gawen urged. "Riverlands and Reach lords already murmur support—Harlaw, Tully, Tyrell. Strike too hard, and the realm fractures."
Visenya slammed Dark Sister's hilt on the table. "Burn the septs. Show them dragonfire."
Orys shook his head. "The smallfolk love their gods. Win hearts first, swords second."
Aenys leaned forward, eyes gleaming. The system overlaid strategies: [Psychological Warfare Unlocked]. "We reveal the hidden army. And we turn the people."
The "hidden army" was Aenys's masterstroke—cultivated in secret over years. Fanatic loyalists: orphans raised in Targaryen cloisters, bastards with a drop of dragon blood, warriors sworn to the bloodline with oaths etched in fire. They called every Targaryen male "Father," every female "Mother"—even babes like Maegor and Alyssa. "Father Aenys commands!" they chanted, eyes feverish. Ten thousand strong, armed with system-forged steel (hidden quests yielding unbreakable blades), they hid in Crownland forests and Dragonstone vaults.
Aenys unleashed them.
First: propaganda war. Targaryen secret police—shadow agents trained in Braavosi stealth—fanned out. They whispered in taverns, posted broadsheets in markets: tales of Faith atrocities. "The Warrior's Sons raped villages in the name of purity!" "Poor septons hoard gold while orphans starve!" Evidence planted: forged ledgers, witness testimonies (system-generated illusions via minor magic unlocks). Common people, already taxed by tithes, stirred. "The dragons feed us; the septons bleed us!"
Riots sparked in Lannisport and Gulltown—smallfolk torching septs, chanting "Fire and Blood!" The Faith lost its base overnight.
The High Septon rallied lords: Riverlands houses like Blackwood and Bracken pledged swords; Reach lords—Hightower, Florent—marched under seven-pointed stars. "The incest king must fall!" Harlan thundered.
War erupted in 31 AC.
Battle of Harrenhal, Riverlands.
Aenys planned meticulously. Small Council advised: Visenya pushed for aerial annihilation; Orys suggested feigned retreats; Gawen warned of supply lines. Aenys synthesized: [Hybrid Tactics: Dragon-Ground Synergy].
Faith forces—20,000 strong, led by Ser Damon Tully—massed at Harrenhal's cursed towers, scorpions cranked, holy banners flapping. "The Seven will shield us!" they prayed.
Aenys arrived on Vhagar's Shadow, black wings blotting the sun. His hidden army—5,000 fanatics—hid in the Godswood, disguised as pilgrims. "Mother Visenya flies!" they whispered, eyes alight.
He signaled the bait: Velaryon infantry advanced openly, drawing scorpion fire. Bolts whistled; men fell screaming. But Aenys dove low—system-calculated trajectories dodging shots by inches. Black-crimson flame strafed the machines, melting iron to slag. "Father commands!" the fanatics roared, bursting from trees—swords flashing in coordinated strikes, cutting down archers like wheat.
Visenya on Vhagar hammered the flanks; Balerion (now Aenys's after Aegon's death) unleashed hellfire on the center. Tully charged desperately, but Aenys dismounted mid-battle—weapon-master skill turning him into a whirlwind. His blade sang: parry a lance, decapitate a knight, dodge an arrow, impale a septon. Blood sprayed; fanatic guards formed a shield wall around him, chanting "Father! Father!"
Tully knelt by dusk, 8,000 Faith dead, Harrenhal retaken. "The smallfolk cheered us from the walls," Orys reported later. "Your whispers worked."
Siege of Oldtown, Reach.
High Septon Harlan barricaded in the Starry Sept, 30,000 lords' men defending. Council debate raged: "Burn the city?" Visenya urged. "Too holy—risk more uprising," Gawen countered. Orys: "Starve them; let desertions bleed them."
Aenys chose precision: [Infiltration + Psychological Assault]. Secret police slipped in disguised as refugees, spreading tales of Faith child-sacrifices (fabricated but believable). Smallfolk unrest grew; gates cracked open from within.
Dragons circled high, avoiding direct burn to spare innocents. Aenys led a night raid—fanatics tunneling under walls, emerging in the sept's crypts. "Mother Olena watches!" they yelled, slaughtering guards in dark halls. Aenys dueled the Warrior's Sons commander—monstrous cock safely armored, but his sword a blur: feint left, thrust right, enemy gutted in seconds.
Harlan was captured praying; Aenys dragged him to the square. "See your 'gods' fail," he declared. Fanatics executed the leaders publicly—clean, ritualistic. The Reach lords surrendered; smallfolk hailed "King Aenys the Just!"
Battle of Stonebridge, Riverlands-Reach Border.
Final clash: remaining Faith allies—15,000 from Blackwood and Florent—ambushed Targaryen columns at the Mander ford. Traps: spiked pits, hidden archers.
Council pre-battle: "Scout with dragons," Visenya said. "Flank with ships," Qhorin advised. Gawen: "Bribe the wavering." Aenys nodded: [Multi-Vector Attack].
He flew reconnaissance, system mapping terrain: [Weak Point: Ford Shallows – 92% Breach]. Fanatics swam upstream undercover, sabotaging dams to flood enemy camps. Dawn broke with chaos—waters rising, archers drowned.
Aenys charged on horseback—blade reaping heads, fanatics forming phalanxes: "Father Maegor inspires!" They pushed across the bridge, dragons providing air cover. Visenya's strafes ignited oil slicks on the water; Balerion's roar shattered morale.
Florent broke first, fleeing; Blackwood died impaled on Aenys's sword. 10,000 Faith slain, remnants scattered.
By 33 AC, the war ended. Aenys decreed reforms: half the Riverlands (Harrenhal heartlands) and Reach (Highgarden environs) annexed to Crownlands—direct royal rule, fanatic garrisons ensuring loyalty. Septons stripped of arms; Faith Militant dissolved. Common people prospered under Targaryen grain dole, whispering "The dragons protect us."
Aenys sat the Throne, twins at his sides, children playing at his feet. Visenya murmured, "The line endures." The system pinged: [Realm Stabilized. Emperor Tier Unlocked. Next Challenge: Pending.]
Peace returned—stronger, forged in fire and fanatic blood.
(Word count: 1998)