Dothraki Adventures 20

Weeks had passed, and the Dothraki Sea had changed.

The once-endless grasslands, which had only known the sound of galloping hooves and the clash of arakhs, now trembled beneath the thunderous roars of three enormous dragons. Bahamut, Igneel, and Albion soared through the skies, their colossal wings casting shadows the size of castles over the endless plains.

Word of them had spread like wildfire.

It started as whispers among the wandering traders, then turned into wild tales in the Free Cities stories of a silver-haired Khal, a Targaryen reborn, riding at the head of the largest Dothraki horde in history. The rumors spoke of dragons the size of warships, creatures that had not been seen in centuries.

By the time the stories reached Westeros, they had become impossible to ignore.

The throne room of the Red Keep was tense. King Robert Baratheon sat on the Iron Throne, his face dark with irritation as the latest reports were read aloud. Around him, his Small Council stood in uneasy silence.

Varys, the Spider, was the one speaking. His soft, measured tone did nothing to ease the tension.

"My little birds bring troubling news," he said. "Across the Narrow Sea, in the heart of the Dothraki lands, a new power has risen. A Khal of silver hair and violet eyes, leading a horde of 35,000 riders… and three dragons."

The chamber fell into stunned silence.

Robert's fingers tightened around the pommel of his sword, grinding his teeth before letting out a harsh laugh. "Dragons? Ha! Another fool spinning old tales."

"This is no tale, Your Grace," Stannis Baratheon cut in, his expression grim. "There are too many reports to dismiss."

Littlefinger leaned forward, smirking. "And do we know for certain that he is a Targaryen? Or is this just another ambitious warlord with a good sense for theatrics?"

"The name he goes by," Varys said smoothly, "is Aegon."

The room froze.

Robert's laughter died instantly, his face contorting into a scowl. "Aegon?" His voice was barely above a growl. "You're telling me Rhaegar's whelp survived?"

Grand Maester Pycelle coughed into his fist, shaking his head. "It is… unlikely, Your Grace. The babe was dashed against the walls of the Red Keep. I saw his body myself."

"And yet," Varys mused, "a man claiming that name now rides at the head of the Dothraki."

Silence lingered before Jaime Lannister who had been standing by the throne, arms crossed finally spoke. "Even if he is a Targaryen… so what?" His golden hair gleamed in the torchlight as he leaned lazily against the throne's steps. "He's across the sea, surrounded by savages. Let him rot there."

Robert turned to Jon Arryn, his trusted Hand. "If this is true, what would you have me do?"

Jon's face was troubled. "If he truly commands dragons, then we may be facing something Westeros has not seen in centuries. We must be cautious."

"Bah!" Robert waved a hand. "If he ever dares set foot on Westerosi soil, I'll smash him myself."

Varys bowed slightly. "Then shall I continue gathering more information, Your Grace?"

Robert scowled but nodded. "Find out the truth of this Aegon. And if he is Rhaegar's son… I want to know everything about him."

(Winterfell)

In the Great Hall of Winterfell, the air was heavy with thought. Eddard Stark sat at the head of the table, listening to Maester Luwin read the latest ravens from the south.

"A silver-haired warlord, leading Dothraki and dragons," Luwin said, setting the parchment down. "They say his name is Aegon."

Ned's grip on his goblet tightened slightly, but his face remained unreadable. Across from him, Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, frowned.

"Do you think this is real?" Benjen asked.

Ned exhaled slowly. "If Varys is speaking of it, then it likely holds some truth."

Across the hall, Catelyn Stark shook her head. "If he is a Targaryen, then the realm will be in danger. We all remember what is said to have happened the last time dragons ruled the skies."

"Aye," Benjen agreed. "And if Robert sees this as a real threat, he will move against it."

But Ned's mind was elsewhere.

Aegon.

The name stirred something in him, something he had buried deep for years. He thought of the boy he had raised, the boy he had called his bastard son Jon Snow.

Jon, with his Targaryen features hidden beneath Northern blood. Jon, whose true name was not Jon at all.

Could it be possible?

Could this Aegon be his nephew?

No, it was too soon to assume. Too dangerous.

Still, the idea gnawed at him.

(Highgarden)

The Rose Garden of Highgarden was in full bloom, filling the air with the sweet scent of flowers. Within the estate's sun-drenched pavilion, Mace Tyrell, Lord of the Reach, sat at a long table with his mother, Lady Olenna Tyrell, and his heir, Willas Tyrell.

Mace, ever the pompous lord, grinned broadly. "Aegon Targaryen, leading Dothraki with dragons? Oh, this is quite the story!"

Willas, the eldest of his children, was more composed. "If he is truly the son of Rhaegar, then he could lay claim to the Iron Throne. That is not something to be taken lightly."

Across from them, the Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna, gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, spare me the theatrics. I don't give a damn whether he's a Targaryen or not. The real question is: is he useful to us?"

Willas folded his hands. "If he means to return to Westeros, he will need allies. The Tyrells have wealth, food, and ships. If we align with him early, we could ensure a place in whatever future he builds."

Mace puffed out his chest. "Bah! The boy is half a world away. Let's see if he can even cross the sea before we start handing out our daughters in marriage."

Olenna tapped her cane sharply against the floor. "You oaf. That's precisely why we should start considering this now. If he does cross the sea, we should be prepared. If he's a fool, we ignore him. If he's a real contender, we make our move before the Lannisters or the Martells do."

Mace huffed but nodded, realizing his mother's wisdom. "Then we shall watch him carefully."