ASOIAF: The True House of Dragons

Aegon climbed onto Balerion the Black Dread's forehead.

He raised his hand, removed the Valyrian crown studded with brilliant rubies from his head, and held it high.

Standing tall and proud, Aegon declared loudly, "The crown makes its wearer appear noble—it is a symbol of status! But its true meaning lies in this: when disaster strikes, I will rise and shield you from it all!"

In that moment, the wildlings of the North, the knights of the Vale, and the soldiers of the Riverlands all knelt as one. Even the slaves of Volantis fell to their knees in unison.

They were all overwhelmed by Aegon's presence, surrendering with unwavering loyalty to the Conqueror King.

Countless onlookers couldn't help but think: Aegon is so young, yet he already possesses such strength and command. Perhaps he truly can revive the glory of the Valyrian Freehold.

The Freehold had once ruled through dragons and sheer force—but Aegon might conquer the Known World through dragons and the hearts of men.

Without a doubt, this was a flawless performance.

With this victory, Aegon's grand conquest surged forward. The Dragonlord's rule began to take root across the vast expanse of Westeros.

House Targaryen was no longer seen as foreign or invasive. In the hearts of most in Westeros, Aegon had already become their true king.

After holding a ceremony of allegiance at Harrenhal—similar to the one once held at the Eyrie—the massive army stationed at Gods Eye began marching south like an unstoppable tide of steel.

At the same time, the joint forces of the Riverlands and the Kingdom of the Rock were steadily advancing toward King's Landing.

Aegon led his massive army—gathered from many regions—toward the oncoming coalition of the two kingdoms.

When the host passed through Stoney Sept, several thousand soldiers arrived in haste—direct vassals that Visenya had brought under control in Crackclaw Point.

With their arrival, the army grew rapidly, like a snowball gathering strength. Once merged, Targaryen's forces totaled more than 70,000.

The march continued, and after another half-month of hard campaigning, Lady Argella of the Stormlands led 10,000 warriors to join the allied army.

Orys arrived shortly after, bringing more than 4,000 warriors to reinforce the cause.

At this point, the Targaryen army reached its peak—over 90,000 strong—its momentum like a crashing wave, pressing down on the combined forces of the Riverlands and the Kingdom of the Rock.

Although the Kings of the Rock and the Reach had joined forces, and Mern of the Reach proudly called their alliance "our iron fist,"

their army only numbered 55,000, including 5,000 knights—barely half the size of Aegon's host.

The imbalance in numbers was stark.

And beyond that, the Targaryen army had three terrifying dragons—like mobile war fortresses—each a symbol of overwhelming might.

Almost every Targaryen noble believed this would be a battle without suspense. The dawn of victory was already visible.

...

While the Targaryen army continued its advance, Aegon received more secret letters from House Hightower and House Tyrell.

In these letters, both houses earnestly expressed their strong desire to remain neutral, making it clear they did not wish to engage in direct conflict with the Conqueror's army.

Because of this, neither house had dispatched troops to join the coalition of the Rock and the Reach. They chose to stay out of the fray in this fierce contest.

At that moment, a war council was underway in Aegon's royal tent.

Aegon raised his hand and tossed the secret letters into the roaring fire, shaking his head.

"They think being fence-sitters will earn them my forgiveness after the war? That's nothing but a fool's dream."

Lady Argella's lips curled into a knowing smile. "They're probably still hoping for a reward—or even dreaming of claiming lordship over the Reach."

"If lordships under the Targaryens could be obtained that easily," said Torrhen coolly, shaking his head, "then we lords would become a laughingstock."

Aegon remained calm, his tone steady. "We'll deal with them after the final battle."

Queen Visenya then spoke. "Maester Gawen wrote to say the Faith of the Seven is willing to crown you king—but they won't disband their armed forces. How do you plan to respond?"

Aegon sat upright in the main seat, his eyes sweeping the room as he asked all the gathered high lords,

"What are your thoughts on this matter?"

In truth, Aegon was not eager to be crowned again in the Great Sept of the Faith of the Seven.

With overwhelming power in his hands, he had more than enough strength to crush all resistance across the continent.

The Faith's offer of goodwill was not something he took very seriously.

Lord Torrhen suddenly stood and gave his opinion.

"I don't think we need to concern ourselves with the Faith of the Seven. They're no different from House Hightower and House Tyrell—fair-weather allies who shift with the wind. There's no reason to give them any respect."

The North had always followed the Old Gods, and Torrhen naturally held deep resentment toward the Faith of the Seven.

Lady Argella, having spent some time alongside Aegon, had keenly sensed his displeasure toward the Faith.

She parted her red lips and said with a soft laugh, "The Faith of the Seven still commands two significant armed factions—the famed Warrior's Sons and the Poor Fellows. If Your Grace intends to move against them, then with our forces already assembled, there may never be a better moment."

According to the Faith's moral doctrines, bastards were condemned as abominations—children born of sin. Should Lady Argella bear Aegon's Dragonseed, his status as a bastard would be easy leverage for the Faith to incite unrest. This would undoubtedly threaten the legitimacy of House Tully's future claim to rule.

Edmyn, head of House Tully, furrowed his brow and advised solemnly, "Your Grace, the Faith of the Seven is the dominant religion across Westeros. They are skilled at stirring the common folk into riots and should not be taken lightly.

One misstep could spark large-scale rebellion. Many Andal lords are devout followers of the Seven. We must tread carefully."

As everyone spoke, Aegon tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table, lost in thought.

After a moment, he looked up and addressed his council.

"We'll make a strategic adjustment. After we defeat the coalition of the King of the Rock and the King of the Reach, the army will immediately march on Oldtown—the headquarters of the Faith of the Seven.

The goal is to force the Faith to disband all its military orders. Their religious foundation will remain untouched for now, but they are never to raise a Faith Militant again."

At these words, the council clearly recognized Aegon's concern about the Faith—so much so that he was willing to alter an already determined conquest strategy.

Aegon slowly scanned the room. When he saw everyone nodding in agreement, he continued.

"Afterward, the army will return to King's Landing in Blackwater Bay, where we will hold a grand ceremony to mark the founding of the Targaryen Kingdom.

Autumn is coming to a close, and winter will soon blanket Westeros. Harsh conditions will make long marches difficult.

Besides, many young men from the North are serving in our army, and the North must begin its winter preparations.

As for the conquest of Dorne—that will be postponed until next spring."

As soon as Aegon finished speaking, Lord Torrhen of the North stood first. The Northern lords followed in unison, bowing respectfully and calling out, "Your Grace is merciful!"

Aegon nodded slightly, then lowered his hand, motioning for them to sit.

He resumed presiding over the war council, organizing a detailed strategy for the coming decisive battle to ensure everything would go flawlessly.

...

A month passed.

Two vast armies finally met on the open plains south of the Blackwater Rush, deep within the Reach.

When King Mern of House Gardener and King Loren of House Lannister received the scouting reports detailing the Targaryen army's numbers and deployment, their spirits sank instantly.

Despair took hold.

Their combined forces were dwarfed by the sheer size of the Targaryen host. They held only a marginal advantage in the number and quality of their knights.

The battlefield was wide and flat, an expanse of rolling grasslands and golden wheat—ideal terrain for a heavy cavalry charge.

But no amount of open ground could close the massive gap in troop numbers.

And worse still, Aegon had three terrifying dragons at his command, ready to strike at any moment.

Inside the command tent of the King of the Rock and the King of the Reach...

King Loren of the Rock was already wavering. He quietly leaned toward King Mern and muttered under his breath, "We're at an obvious disadvantage in this war. What are we supposed to do now?"

"Hmph!" King Mern's eyes burned with defiance as he declared, "We charge straight into their lines and strike down Aegon in one decisive blow. Once Aegon is dead, the Targaryen army will crumble on its own.

Without their master, the dragons won't take orders from anyone else."

"And what if Aegon is riding a dragon?" King Loren pressed, his brow furrowed, his voice full of worry. "How do we deal with that?"

"Ugh…" King Mern was momentarily speechless. He slapped his thigh in frustration and cursed, "It's that damned bitch from Dorne's fault! She refused to sell us those dragon-hunting crossbows!

Now I don't even know what the hell we're supposed to do!"

"Gentlemen, does anyone have a better plan?" King Loren slowly turned his gaze across the tent, addressing the gathered bannermen.

The dozens of lords from the Reach and the Westerlands looked at one another in silence. No one had a workable strategy. Only a few reckless fools shouted foolishly about shooting the dragons down with ordinary arrows.

The war council ground to a halt. The command tent fell into absolute silence.

By now, almost everyone had come to the grim realization—their carefully constructed alliance had collapsed. The only path that remained seemed to lead toward defeat and subjugation.

...

Time passed in the heavy, stifling quiet of the war tent.

At last, the head of House Tarly could no longer bear the self-deceiving, cowardly denial hanging in the air. He drew a deep breath, straightened his back, and shattered the suffocating silence, speaking the truth no one dared voice:

"Your Grace, my lords—we now have only one path left."

All eyes turned toward Lord Tarly.

His face was grave as he slowly swept his gaze across the room, then spoke in a low, steady voice.

"Submit to the Targaryen dynasty. We have no other choice."

"No!" King Mern exploded, his emotions surging. He shot to his feet, slamming his palm onto the table as he roared, "I will never end up like that coward Argilac of the Stormlands, handing my crown over to Aegon.

I will never let my daughter bear that man's bastards.

I would rather die like Harren—burned alive by dragonfire. That is the death a true king deserves!"

The lords fell silent again, but this time they looked upon King Mern with admiration.

King Loren stared at Mern's bold, unshakable figure and couldn't help but feel a twinge of shame. He resented himself for ever having entertained the cowardly thought of surrendering his crown to Aegon.

But once the wave of passion subsided and the bitter truth returned, one by one, the lords slowly shifted their gazes away from King Mern—including King Loren.

Their eyes were filled with fear.

Fear of the unstoppable Targaryen host, surging like a tidal wave.

Fear of the Valyrian Dragonlords' apocalyptic might.

And above all, fear of the death that stalked their every step like a shadow.