Jaehaerys Targaryen felt old and tired as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was old before, but today, he felt so weak that he suspected he had any strength left in his limbs to stand on his own.
But he was not someone to surrender so easily, even if it was to age and grief.
For the last decade and more, grief has been a constant companion. So many of his children had died before their time. Some fell to the Stranger's grasp from illness, some to stupidity, and some to war. Each death brought pain to his ageing heart. Though he acted heartlessly in the interests of his House often, he was keenly aware of the discomfort he brought upon his children and grandchildren. There was much he wished he could've done otherwise, given a second chance, but he was a pragmatist who knew he had to live with the choices he made.
'The greatest battles are with those close to your heart.' he thought with a sigh.
Maesters called him the Conciliator, and the smallfolk no doubt had names of their own to stroke his ego. But not once had he allowed to take such vane praises to heart. He knew his limitations, abilities and faults. While he was wholly a better king than the disastrous reign of Maegor the Cruel, there were times he wished he could've done better. In pursuit of his legacy and the stability of the realm, he had to engage in less honourable acts that cut deep into the bonds within his family. He was keenly aware of this fact, more so now than at any other time.
It was one of his greatest regrets to have been estranged from his wife during her last days in this world. The only relief he had was that his wife did not suffer during her passing. By all accounts, Alysanne was healthy until she fell with a small fever last night and passed away almost painlessly into the dark night.
His knees ached as he lowered himself into the chair before the hearth. Old age had crept upon him like a thief, stealing his strength, his vigour. But it was grief that truly bowed him, making him feel as frail as the dying embers in the fireplace. He reached for the goblet of wine at his side and drank deeply, though he knew no drink could dull the hollow ache in his chest.
His thoughts drifted to their youth. He saw her as she had been on their wedding day, clad in black and crimson, a crown of the finest Valyrian Steel resting upon her golden curls. The trials they endured during their uncle's horrible reign and the work they did to pull back the Targaryen dynasty from the brink of destruction. The sacrifices they made almost daily for the stability of the realm. The children they raised and the grievances they brought while administering the Seven Kingdoms. Together, they gave a reign of peace, a kingdom where their people would not live in fear, and a world where they could grow old together in the comfort of peace and full bellies.
They had accomplished so much. Together, they had ruled justly and weathered wars, rebellions, and betrayals. They had built roads and bridges and established the Queen's Law to protect women from the horrors of forced marriage. They had filled the halls of their home with the laughter of children. And now… now she was gone forever.
No longer would he see his wife's smile or look of disapproval. The finality of death was such a strange thing that made Jaehaerys numb in his limbs. For once in his life, he didn't have all the answers. His mind was utterly blank.
Suddenly, the door to his chamber was pushed open, attracting his attention.
"Father." Baelon stepped inside with a solemn look. "The ravens have been sent across the realm. Arrangements have been made to host the lords and knights arriving in the city. Should we delay the funeral for…"
"No. Alysanne's body must not be treated with such disrespect and turned into a curiosity for the lords of the realm. She deserves to be put to rest with the rest of our family as soon as possible." Jaehaerys said firmly.
"Vaegon is in Oldtown. Shouldn't we wait for his arrival? I can ask Daemon to fly to Oldtown and escort Vaegon to the city." Baelon asked, knowing that his brother would be cross with them all if the funeral were conducted in his absence.
Jaehaerys hesitated at the reminder of his wayward son serving as an Archmaester in the Citadel.
"There is also the matter of Aegon and Gael." Baelon reminded his father softly.
Jaehaerys let out a deep breath at that reminder. His grandson and youngest daughter were the closest to his wife. He knew this, but they were across the Narrow Sea, and even on dragonback, it'd take them too many days to arrive. He couldn't condone Alysanne's body remaining under the care of strangers for too long. He needed closure, and he wanted his wife's funeral to proceed without compromising her dignity.
"Send an emissary. I shall draft the message myself. I want them back by my side. In these trying times, I need my daughter by my side." Jaehaerys murmured.
"I shall send for a maester to draft the message, your grace. If necessary, I shall go to Essos on Vhagar and make amends with Aegon." Baelon promised.
"I'm heartened to see you've decided to correct your mistake even if it's late." Jaehaerys stared at his son, who squirmed under his gaze.
"Should we conduct the funeral in the Red Keep or…" Baelon trailed off, looking expectantly at his father.
"We're dragons. We rest beneath the smoke and fire… always. Burn her in Valyrian custom and intern her ashes with our family in Dragonstone."
"As you wish father" said Baelon while Jaehaerys just nodded.
A day later, all the preparations were made. All the major Crownland lords and knights closest to King's Landing were present. The courtyard was ablaze with torchlight when he emerged from the castle, leading all the way to the shores of the Blackwater. There was a small procession from the Red Keep towards the shore with his wife's body resting in a casket covered in oil prepared by maesters and applied by the silent sisters. The pyre had been built in the tradition of Old Valyria—tall and proud, woven with obsidian and laced with rich fabrics of red and black in the colours of House Targaryen. Around it stood his son, grandchildren, and the gathered court, all clad in sombre black. Even the dragons had come to witness the passing of one of their own, their eyes gleaming in the darkness.
Silverwing's mournful trills could be heard in the background as his wife's dragon circled the sky.
"Don't worry, my love. I'll soon follow." Jaehaerys muttered against her forehead before planting a kiss against her cold skin.
Vermithor, his own dragon, loomed above them. With a command spoken in the tongue of their ancestors, Jaehaerys bid his mount to do what must be done.
"Vermithor, Dracarys!"
The great bronze beast reared back, his maw opening wide. A rush of dragonfire engulfed the pyre, the flames swallowing Alysanne in a golden embrace. The heat was immense, forcing the gathered mourners to step back. Yet Jaehaerys stood firm, the bronze flames of his dragon reflected in his violet eyes as he watched his beloved reduced to smoke and embers.
He heard a sniffle coming from his side of the family, and he was not surprised to see it was Rhaenys. Alysanne was more of a mother to his grandchildren, and they all loved her back.
But he did not weep. He had shed his tears in private, in the quiet of their empty chambers. But his heart ached with every crackle of the flames, every gust of wind that carried away the last remnants of the woman he loved beyond anything else.
When the flames finally died, leaving nothing but ash and memory, Jaehaerys turned away, his steps slow, his shoulders heavy. The day was colder than ever, or maybe it was all in his head.
*****
Aegon stared at the map of Ghoyan Drohe, looking intently at the more detailed maps showing different terrains of the ruined Rhoynar city. He was in his tent devising plans for the coming battle with the Dothraki army.
"Three major Khalssars have decided to join together to destroy us, numbering more than a hundred thousand screamers. They're led by a man called Khal Vrozzo – a cruel Dothraki Khal who enjoys cutting off the hands of his enemies and taking their finger bones as souvenirs in his braids." Jon offered the bare minimum of details regarding the enemy they would face in battle.
Aegon absently nodded as it was the same thing his sources within Pentos were saying.
"It'll be a difficult battle to proceed. Scouts report that the Dothraki are camping in the ruins." Ser Reginald said from his side, staring at the map sprawled before them on the table.
"It looks like they're setting the battlefield this time. They've learned from their mistakes." Rickard Snow chimed in, looking lazily at the map, unbothered by the enemy's strength arrayed against them.
The captain of the Company of Rose was an unamusing man, and the name suggested Westerosi roots. But he didn't question the man on such things as they were wholly unimportant. But he made sure not to reveal too much of his plans and resources to the man. After all, the Company of Rose was formed by disgruntled Northmen who refused the reign of Aegon, the Conqueror's ascension as king of the Seven Kingdoms. Therefore, Aegon also kept a close eye on the sellsword company, which was made up of rebellious Northerners. It'd be remiss of him not to expect treachery from such elements formed out of dislike for his family's reign over the Seven Kingdoms.
"Or maybe they're taking the wrong lessons from our battles." Aegon said with a scoff.
No one sane would think it'd be a bright idea to fight against dragons from a fortified position. It left little mobility for the Dothraki to use, which was their greatest strength. The Dothraki army was not pioneers of a pitched battle. They were the largest cavalry force in Essos, no doubt. To abandon their greatest strength and try to fight him from a half-baked fortified position like Ghoyan Drohe would be the undoing of the Dothraki screamers, no matter their numbers.
In fact, Aegon welcomed their greater numbers. When the time came, he theorised that the greater numbers of the Dothraki khalassar would prove to be a detriment to the Dothraki cause in battle.
"What do you mean?" Rickard asked with a frown.
"Let's just say the Dothraki should've taken some history lessons about Harrenhall before they devised this strategy." Aegon said amusedly with a snort before placing a dragon figurine near Ghoyan Drohe on the map.
Jon snorted out a laugh while placing more figurines along Ghoyan Drohe.
"So, what strategy do you suggest, my prince?" Ser Reginald asked.
"I want the bulk of archers with foot support on the northern side of the Little Rhoyne while the bulk of our cavalry moves to cut off the dragon road to Pentos. I want this Khal Vrozzo to see several thousand colourful banners riding towards him from the west."
"A distraction?" Rickard looked with wide eyes at Aegon.
"A ruse." Aegon corrected. "The Dothraki live to fight a good fight. Let's give them an illusion of one."
"You hope to draw them out of the city?"
Aegon didn't reply to the sellsword captain's question. He merely placed more figurines representing the Unsullied and the Dragonshields on the dragon road leading to Ghoyan Drohe on the map.
"Hope?" Aegon scoffed, "I know they'll be forced to crawl out of the ruins in time. The Dothraki are not masters of sieges, and that's why these fools have dared to settle in a broken city where canals and roads are filled with weeds and mud. They'll find just how terrible their strategy is soon enough."
"They'll be soon battling diseases and starvation with such huge numbers settling in Ghoyan Drohe long before our army even reaches the ruins." Ser Reginald said with a satisfied look.
"That means sooner or later, Khal Vrozzo will be forced to send out raiding parties to gather supplies, or he might be forced to abandon Ghoyan Drohe." Jon commented with a smirk, looking eager for the next major conflict that could end up defining the boundaries of Essos.
"It also means the Khal might be tempted to march on Pentos and demand supplies from the city." Ser Reginald cautioned.
Aegon was also thinking along those lines. The presence of such a large khalassar in Ghoyan Drohe was anyway a threat to Pentoshi interests, considering the army was blocking the dragon road, which was one of the safest and fastest trade routes into eastern Essos.
"Then I suggest we move some of our troops to the dragon road and cut off any potential raids." said Jon.
"We'll have to inform Pentos what we're doing. Otherwise, they'll be alarmed at seeing an army moving too close to their city." said Aegon with a thoughtful frown, "Besides, we'll need the city to provide us with supplies as we move out of the Velvet Hills."
"Then that means Prince Taedor must be informed in person. Perhaps the city might send additional aid if you meet with the Pentoshi Prince in person." Ser Reginald suggested.
Aegon considered it for a moment while discreetly looking for any reaction from Rickard Snow. But the Captain of the Company of Rose was as unamusing and stoic since the beginning of the meeting. Obviously, the man was loyal to the Braavosi coin. He just wanted to see some reaction from the sellsword captain, but the man remained an impenetrable fortress. He supposed Rickard Snow was probably only charged with informing his benefactors about his plans and any information the man could gather from the war camp.
So, it was with some trepidation that he mounted Fiendfyre and flew to Pentos with Gale by his side on Dreamfyre. But in Pentos, the news that awaited them was far from the expected well-wishes in the battle to come or even the promises of more wealth by the wealthy Magisters and merchants of the free city. Instead, they were greeted by the news of Queen Alysanne's passing and a wave of condolences from almost everyone of some significance in Pentos.
The news of his grandmother's departure was shocking and a blow to both of them. Gael was immediately swept away by grief and spent the day mourning her mother. Aegon was also in a similar state, considering his grandmother had been the one to raise him after his mother's passing. He was also reminded of the oath he gave to his grandmother, telling him never to set foot on Westeros, even for her funeral.
He had considered it an easy enough vow to keep. But now, removed by distance and time from the incident that led to his banishment. Aegon found it hard to keep true to the promise. The urge to mount his dragon and cross the Narrow Sea was most prevalent in his mind. But he was anchored to reality by the responsibilities he adopted once he launched the campaign against Dothraki hordes. The fate of Andalos, Pentos and Braavosi coastlands was now tied to his campaign. If he pulled out now, there would be serious repercussions, and people would suffer needlessly as emboldened Dothraki hordes rampage unopposed.
It was a serious dilemma Aegon faced. But he didn't make a hasty decision. He stayed in Pentos for four days, properly grieving with Gael and observing Valyrian rituals every sunrise to pay respects to his grandmother's spirit.
If Aegon and Gael were assessing their next moves, Prince Taedor and his closest advisors worried about their city and the troubles they would face if Aegon and Gael returned to Westeros. After all, they had thrown their entire support into the campaign against the Dothraki, and they feared what it would mean for them if Aegon left for Westeros. The Braavosi had the option of hiding in their isles, while the city of Pentos was easily accessible to the Dothraki horde through the dragon road.
On the fifth day, after much consideration, Aegon and Gael came to a decision and it was one that brought much relief to Prince Taedor. By the week's end, Prince Taedor arranged for the supplies needed for the Dragonshields and the Unsullied to camp outside Pentos and for the journey ahead.
Once the troops arrived from the Velvet Hills, the preparations were made to march against Ghoyan Drohe.
*******
The vast expanse of the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe stretched beneath them, the once-proud Rhoynar city now little more than crumbling walls and shattered stone. That alone should've been warning enough for the Dopthraki not to commit this folly.
'I suppose the barbarians were too busy raiding and pillaging to learn history.' Aegon mused with a snort.
Aegon soared high on the back of his dragon, Fiendfyre, whose black scales sucked in all light. Beside him, Gael rode her sleek blue beast, Dreamfye, the dragon's wings slicing through the chilly morning air at the precipice of dawn. Below them, the Dothraki khalassar sprawled in their encampment, unaware of the folly of engaging in a pitched battle against dragonlords.
His Dragonshields hardened warriors from Andalos and the Free Cities had taken their positions along the outskirts of the ruins, waiting for the signal to strike. The Dothraki, unaccustomed to fortifications, had made camp in the open, their horses tethered carelessly as their fires smouldered near their tents. The last week had shown just how unaccustomed the Dothraki were to strategy and control a war from behind fortifications.
Under the watchful eyes of Rickard Snow, the Company of Rose had masterfully kept disrupting the Dothraki Khalassar's ability to keep their large army supplied. The sellsword company made of Northerners worked tirelessly until they pushed all raiding parties west of Ghoyan Drohe back to the ruins. Khal Vrozzo had no other choice but to depend on their only safe source of supply from the east, which was dwindling fast, thanks to the vast number of his army.
When the enraged Khal tried to push his luck by crossing Little Rhoyne and foraging from the valley of Velvet Hills, the Dothraki riders were met with a wall of arrows.
Aegon's decision to keep the bulk of his archers along the northern side of Little Rhoyne paid off, and Khal Vrozzo lost more troops trying to brave the waters of Little Rhoyne. The muddy waters of the Little Rhoyne proved to be a difficult terrain for the Dothraki horses to cross. It helped that Andalos was experiencing periodic heavy rains for a month, and all that water made the Rhoyne flow in full force. When the Khal tried to force the issue with greater numbers, Gael was there atop Dreamfyre to set the shores aflame with blue dragonfire.
Ever so slowly, Aegon had tightened the noose around Khal Vrozzo and his horde of barbarians. The time the Khal spent to keep his bulky army camped inside Ghoyan Drohe was a boon to Aegon and his allies. He used this time to build siege engines to compensate for his depleted archers, hastily providing some valuable protection to their camp along the dragon road.
But now, all of those tireless days of work were to bear fruit.
"Now," Aegon signalled with his hand while also shouting at the top of his lungs, his voice barely carrying over the wind.
Gael nodded, and together, they urged their dragons into a steep dive.
Fiendfyre roared a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver through the battlefield. Below, the Dothraki warriors turned their gazes skyward just in time to witness death descending upon them. A burst of dragonfire erupted from Fiendfyre's maw, sweeping through the encampment, reducing men, horses, and tents alike to charred remnants. The once-proud scourge of the Great Grass Sea screamed as dragonfire consumed them.
Gael followed suit, guiding her blue-scaled dragon into a tighter arc. Her dragon's fire was a torrent of blue-hot death, cutting through the heart of the encampment and setting the dry ruins ablaze. The Dothraki, unaccustomed to facing an enemy they could not outrun, fell into chaos. Their horses shrieked in terror, breaking loose and trampling their own riders in the madness. The few riders who managed to mount their horses in the chaos struggled to control them as dragon fire and smoke filled the ruins.
Dothraki archers set up in half-broken towers and partially tumbled buildings tried their best to rain arrows at Aegon and Gael. The nimble movement and great gales unleashed by the dragons as they swiftly sailed through the sky made it nearly impossible for any arrow to come even close to harming their riders.
"To that tower, Fiendfyre."
Aegon urged his dragon towards the broken towers where he could see Dothraki archers were posted, no doubt to bring him down. Fiendfyre let out a bone-chilling roar, banking swiftly as Aegon directed his dragon from the harness. The archers perched atop the tumbling towers and saw their lives flash before their eyes before being consumed by the dark purple flames of Fiendfyre. The lucky few died instantly under intense heat, while the less fortunate screamed as flames ate into their flesh and bones painfully. The stone tower collapsed under the intense heat of dragonfire, claiming more lives.
Similarly, Gael made a pass over another stone tower, taking care to smother the tower with Dreamfyre's blue hot flame. More deaths fell upon the Dothraki army as Aegon and Gael made turns to rain fire and blood upon Ghoyan Drohe. While the Dothraki were entirely focused on the dragons raining death upon them from above, they became distracted by the threat far too close to their camp.
From the ruins' west, the Dragonshields and the Company of Rose launched their attack, marching into the ruins almost unopposed, taking the dragon road. Steel clashed with curved arakhs as the mercenaries met the scattered remnants of the once-mighty khalassar. The Dothraki, their famed discipline shattered by the fiery onslaught, fought with desperation, but against the disciplined ranks of the seasoned warriors, they stood little chance.
Aegon circled back, scanning the battlefield. Smoke and flame choked the air. His gaze landed on a towering figure in the centre of the battlefield, a Khal clad in braids adorned with silver bells, roaring commands in defiance. A significant number of Dothraki warriors surrounded the Khal, possibly to regroup and attack. But Aegon felt that was a lost cause considering the chaos spreading amongst the massive war camp.
The size of the war camp and the absence of a dedicated ranking system capable of ensuring discipline among the ranks of soldiers left Khal Vrozzo crippled to properly respond to a surprise attack launched by a superior enemy.
"I'll take him," Aegon muttered, directing Fiendfyre lower.
The dragon obeyed, angling toward the ground in a swift descent where Aegon assumed Khal Vrozzo was gathering his warriors.
The Dothraki leader saw him coming and roared a challenge, spurring his horse forward with reckless defiance. Aegon grinned at that and hoped the man was truly Khal Vrozzo and not some no-name Dothraki moron.
"Dracarys." Aegon shouted when Fiendfyre spread out his wings and pulled into a glide straight over the gathered Dothraki screamers.
A torrent of dragonfire consumed the men below and turned the ground into a graveyard filled with charred corpses of men and horses. The terrible scream of burning men filled the air as dragonfire melted off the skin of Dothraki men. The smell of burnt flesh filled the battlefield, and the horror of seeing their comrades being reduced to ash was enough to break the fighting spirit of the Dothraki men. The relentless assault of Dragonshields and the Company of Rose broke the massive Dothraki horde, forcing them to run away, abandoning their Khal in a desperate bid to save themselves.
Aegon and Gael continued to rain fire down on the fleeing barbarians, unrelenting at the face of a broken host. They created a ring of fire around the ruins of the city with the help of their dragons, hoping to capture Khal Vrozzo and his bloodriders. The battle dwindled near noon when most of the Dothraki warriors saw the hopelessness of the situation. They threw down their weapons and surrendered, preferring to live rather than die a fiery death.
Aegon watched from beside Fiendfyre as his men bound the hands of prisoners in ropes before pushing them over to a corner in the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe. Gael was not far from him, humming something against Dreamfyre's scales in High Valyrian.
The sound of galloping horses reached his ears, and upon looking, he saw Ser Dwayne Redfort and Ser Vaemond Velaryon approaching him.
"There are a lot of injured, my prince. What should we do with them?" Ser Dwayne asked after he brought his horse to a halt at a safe distance from Fiendfyre.
"Have our men treated to the best of our ability here. Transfer those who have less life-threatening injuries to our camp further west." Aegon ordered.
"My prince, what about the injured amongst the Dothraki ranks?" Ser Vaemond asked hesitantly.
Aegon paused and thought for a bit before answering.
"Let the Stranger decide their fates." he eventually said.
"My prince?" Ser Dwayne looked hesitant about following such an order as an anointed knight.
"We'll have our hands full with managing the prisoners we took, Ser Dwayne." Aegon shook his head, "Now, tell me whether we have captured Khal Vrozzo and his bloodriders?"
"We have my prince." Ser Dwayne nodded, looking a bit squeamish. "But the Khal is suffering from several burn wounds."
Aegon smiled upon hearing the good news.
"Have the Khal treated for any wounds as well as his bloodriders. I'll need them alive in the days to come."
Aegon felt like the stars were aligning to bring him good fortune. He could feel it. Now, he just had to impress upon Khal Vrozzo and his bloodriders about the necessity of striking a binding pact that'd define the century.