Jon_Coat

In a realm torn apart by war and betrayal, Aerion Targaryen, the Starborn rises from the shadows, a child of fire and blood. Born of the Mad King Aerys and the mysterious sorceress Melisandre, his fate is bound to the flames of destiny. With ancient powers stirring and enemies on all sides, he must carve his path through a world that fears and hungers for dragons. As alliances shift and kingdoms burn, Aerion will either forge a new ers or be consumed by the storm.

This is a Fanfiction of A game of Thrones, the rights of everything except Aerion Targaryen belongs to George R.R. Martin and HBO.

A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 37 – The Riding Storm Arrives

The scouts spoke of a tide of hooves, an ocean of riders stretching across the horizon, kicking up a storm of dust that darkened the sky. The Dothraki horde—a hundred thousand strong—moved like a living thing, a city without walls, surging ever forward.

Aerion stood at the highest point of the ruins, watching the horizon, his blood calm but his mind sharpened.

His orders had been given. Every man knew his role. There was no room for error.

The spearmen stood in deep formations, shields locked, spears planted firm in the ground, a wall of death waiting to meet the charge.

The archers took their positions on the walls, arrows dipped in oil and fire, ready to turn the sky into a storm of burning death.

The cavalry waited on the flanks, hidden behind the ruins, their horses silent, their riders still.

Every trench was dug, every pit was set, every barricade was reinforced.

They had prepared for this moment—now, they had to survive it.

The Dothraki fought like beasts, wild and untamed, their strength in their speed, their chaos, their fury. They charged without fear, wielding their arakhs like extensions of their own rage, trusting in horse and steel to break all before them.

But Aerion's army did not fight like men.

They fought like dragons—precise, merciless, unrelenting.

This battle was more than blood and steel.

Victory would mean the road to Westeros lay open before him. It would mean he had the strength, the discipline, the will to carve his name into history.

And his family—the House of the Dragon—waited across the sea.

She was still in chains, still trapped in a life that was never meant for her.

She was his sister, his blood—and he would not leave her to be a savage's prize.

This battle would decide everything.

A distant sound at first, like the low rumble of a gathering storm.

The hooves of a hundred thousand horses.

The ground shook beneath them, the tremors rolling through the ruins, dust spilling from the shattered walls. The wind carried the distant war cries, the screams of a people who knew no fear, no mercy, no defeat.

The horns of the Dothraki screamed into the night.