Dothraki Adventures 30

The silence stretched between them, heavy with meaning. Daenerys's mind raced as she processed Aegon's words. He was not simply securing power he was crafting a legacy, a dynasty that would ensure Targaryen rule for generations to come.

Her violet eyes flickered to the child in his arms, Maegor. The boy was so small, so fragile, yet his mere existence already shaped the fate of kingdoms.

Aegon's heavy gaze remained fixed on her, unwavering, expectant. He had given her a choice, but it was clear this was not a negotiation. This was his will, and the world would bend to it.

Daenerys inhaled deeply, steadying herself.

"I accept."

Aegon's lips curved into something between satisfaction and approval. He did not rejoice there was no need. He had known her answer before she spoke it.

"Good. The wedding will be soon."

Daenerys tilted her head.

"You truly believe you can hatch the eggs?"

"Of course. In the morning, I will hatch the three eggs, and hopefully, one will choose you as its partner."

{Ding!! The price of hatching the eggs will remain the same, but as you wish, the system will not bond the hatchling to you; at your order, they can be bonded to Maegor Daenerys or left to pick a partner on their own.}

'Good'

His confidence was absolute. And as Daenerys looked upon him, the man who commanded dragons, who had slaughtered a Khal, who bent the Dothraki to his will, she knew, for the first time, that Viserys had been wrong.

The true Targaryen king did not need to beg for his throne.

He took it.

And so would she.

The night was deep and still as Aegon sat alone in his dimly lit tent. The soft glow of oil lamps threw long, dancing shadows across the walls, illuminating maps, parchments, and scattered notes, each a testament to his relentless ambition. Though the battles of recent years had been brutal, the conquest of the Dothraki and the mighty rise of his dragons had not quelled his hunger for greater power. Instead, they had sharpened his resolve.

His current power was like a drug that he couldn't shake. He wanted more, and his plan had already been formed.

Aegon spread out a large, weathered map of Essos before him. His eyes, now a deep, vibrant violet, scanned the intricate details of the Free Cities marked in bold and faded ink. Among them, one city in particular had caught his attention, Pentos.

A prosperous hub of trade and subtle politics, Pentos lay at the crossroads of commerce and culture, a prize that could serve as a gateway to Westeros.

He traced a line on the map with a gloved finger, outlining his planned route. His mind, honed by countless battles and the searing fire of transformation, began to calculate the costs and benefits of his next move. Capturing a Free City like Pentos would not only serve as a base of operations in Essos, but it would also send a clear message to the lords of Westeros: a Dragonlord with living dragons was on the rise.

He leaned back, absorbing every detail of his plan.

"I must secure a foothold in Essos first. A city, a harbor, a symbol of power that the world can't ignore. Only then can I temporarily put my sights on Westeros. There, I will personally rally lords who can stand beside me. They say hearing is believing, but seeing is power."

"There are many lords who would quickly come to my side, but I'll feel better meeting them in person. Flight by dragon shouldn't take too long, and I'll leave behind one to protect Pentos after I take it."

For too long, the rumors of dragons had floated like distant legends, their reality obscured by tales and whispers. Now, he intended to dispel those doubts by showing, with his own hands and the roar of his dragons overhead, that the world of fire and blood was returning.

But as it seemed like everything was going according to plan, he knew things were currently different than when he was in the Dothraki Sea.

He now had two weaknesses, Maegor and Daenerys.

His marriage to her would bind them, and even if he didn't love her now, he didn't intend to let anything happen to her.

And he was sure he would have to take one more wife before he sat on the iron throne.

He reached for a quill and began to jot down notes on a fresh parchment:

Objective One: Seize Pentos.

Objective Two: Return to Westeros and secure alliances with key lords.

Objective Three: Return to Essos and continue the Conquest there.

The objectives looked simple, but anyone could tell the amount of work it would take to accomplish them.

His pen moved quickly over the parchment, each stroke a promise of future conquest. In the silence of his tent, the only sounds were the scratch of the quill and the steady beat of his heart, a heart that still pounded with the residual adrenaline of battle and transformation.

He sighed, running his hand over the scar that marred his side, a reminder that even a Dragonlord was not immune to pain. Aegon traced a scar from battles in the Dothraki sea and knew he was not invincible.

Even though he was now way stronger than he was when he got that scar, he could still be killed.