ASOIAF: The True House of Dragons

The botanical garden stretched endlessly. Aegon wandered through it, gradually growing bored, though Rhaenys remained full of energy, clearly enjoying herself and not yet ready to leave.

Leading the way ahead, Harlan quickly noticed his sovereign's lack of interest and restlessness.

Sensing the moment, he summoned two noblewomen from House Tyrell and instructed them to accompany the two Queens through the plant maze for some rest and leisure. He also told them to gather a few Highgarden ladies to host a tea party for the Queens.

Aegon observed Harlan's arrangements without objection, silently thinking, Harlan's probably looking to send the Queens off so he can offer me something in private.

After leading Aegon out of the maze, Harlan bowed and said respectfully, "Your Grace, if you wish to experience the true spirit of Highgarden, there is a place you must see for yourself."

"Oh? Let's hear it—where is this place?" Aegon replied with a smile, already guessing what kind of place Harlan had in mind.

"Flower Street. The seven-hundred-meter one," Harlan said, smiling.

Aegon smirked, playing along. "What, a flower market set up by the Seven? Ha."

Harlan just smiled and bowed deeply without answering.

"Let's go," Aegon said with a wave of his hand.

This sort of place, naturally, was outside the white walls of Highgarden proper. It was located in a nearby area known as the "Natural Market," which housed most of Highgarden's population—said to number over one hundred thousand at its peak.

When Aegon and Orys reached the street, they found it bustling even in broad daylight.

Women wore short-sleeved silk tops, while those from poorer households wore linen. At the slightest sweat, their clothes clung to their skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Harlan led Aegon deeper down the street. Along the way, women cast flirtatious glances, and young girls stole shy peeks at the richly dressed dragonlord. Some tried to approach, but Orys stepped in coldly to block them.

Aegon didn't do anything foolish like asking Orys to let them through.

After all, Highgarden hadn't fully settled under his rule yet—especially not in a place teeming with all sorts. Caution was the wiser path.

"These women—whether cultivated or wild—are offering taxable services. Their trade is protected by Highgarden law and provides a portion of the city's tax revenue," Harlan explained.

"There are a thousand lords in Westeros with a thousand different laws. This chaos must end," Aegon said with a sigh. "A true kingdom should have one script, one system of roads, one tax code, and one body of law."

Harlan quickly chimed in with praise. "Your Grace possesses unmatched wisdom, a grand vision, and a noble ambition. Only under your guidance can the people of Westeros enjoy true prosperity."

Aegon smiled faintly. Though he enjoyed the flattery, he still scolded, "You're certainly smooth with words—but a little too rehearsed, too eager to please."

"With my clumsy tongue, I can never hope to capture Your Grace's greatness," Harlan replied with a sycophantic smile. He stopped walking and pointed to a three-story pavilion beside the street. "We've arrived, Your Grace. The dance hall is called Sweet Rose."

Aegon examined the building, its exterior adorned with climbing rose vines—though sadly, it was not the blooming season.

He turned to Harlan and asked, "This street stretches nearly a kilometer and holds hundreds of dance halls. Why bring me to this one in particular?"

Harlan's expression lit up as he explained, "Because the madam of this hall was once a lover of Mern the Ninth. The last blood of House Gardener is being carefully nurtured here. The girl—a bastard—has yet to marry.

She is a gift I've specially prepared for Your Grace. Her beauty and figure will not disappoint."

"Oh?" Aegon looked at Harlan with dawning understanding. "You certainly know how to curry favor, and you've got a sharp mind—clever enough to guess my tastes. If I were to grant the Reach to House Tyrell, perhaps your family might truly hold onto that seat."

Hearing Aegon mention a possible grant of the Reach, Harlan was thrilled, though he kept his composure and answered solemnly, "Everything I do is for Your Grace and for the Targaryen dynasty. All the wit and cunning of House Tyrell belongs to you and to the realm."

Aegon chuckled, shaking his head. "Very well—I'll count this as a small merit."

With that, he laughed softly and strode into the building. Guided by Harlan, he made his way straight to the rear garden.

A soft harp melody drifted through the air, faint and graceful, evoking a sense of peace and ease.

Roses were planted throughout the garden, tightly encircling a clear, still pool like a green silk scarf, lending a delicate beauty to the courtyard.

In a small pavilion by the water, a maiden sat gently plucking the harp strings.

Harlan knew better than to linger and quietly excused himself.

Aegon had Orys carefully inspect the area, checking for hidden weapons or potential threats. Only after receiving Orys's confirmation that all was safe did Aegon begin walking toward the girl in the pavilion.

In the soft glow of surrounding torches, her skin seemed to shimmer faintly, giving her a mysterious and alluring presence.

Aegon stepped closer, stopping beside her as he studied her carefully.

The girl had long, dark green hair and a graceful, well-proportioned figure—slim waist, full chest, the ideal form of youthful beauty. Her presence was pure, yet subtly alluring.

She seemed a little tense, her fingers stiff across the harp strings. The melody faltered, the rhythm disrupted by the presence of the unexpected guest.

She looks a bit like that Polaris girl who used to pop up online in my past life—same hair color. And what a face... brows like distant hills, eyes deep as autumn waters, a delicate nose, lips like cherries, Aegon thought privately.

"What may I call you, my lady?" Aegon asked gently.

The girl stood from her harp, gave a slight curtsey, and answered in a clear, sweet voice, "My name is Raedelle… Raedelle Flowers, Your Grace."

Aegon reached out to touch her hair. Raedelle instinctively flinched, but forced herself to stay still. She held her posture, subtly pushing her chest forward. The rise and fall of her breathing betrayed just how nervous she was.

Aegon gently twirled a strand of her hair between his fingers, speaking slowly. "You remind me of someone I once knew. She had green hair as well—though hers was more ash-toned, while yours leans darker, like black-green."

He activated the chip to assess Raedelle's innate ability.

[C-Rank – Greenhand Bloodline – Gardener: Nature Affinity +100%, Fertility +200%. You have a chance to form a spiritual contract with a compatible plant. Your vitality and spiritual energy will be shared with it. Watering, fertilizing, and pruning your plant partner will affect its growth traits and special effects. Spiritual Energy +10.]

Aegon was slightly surprised. He hadn't expected the bastard daughter of Mern IX to possess a C-rank talent.

Was the blood of the demigod's eldest son truly this potent?

He remembered Illya's talent had initially been [D-Rank – Greenhand Bloodline – Maiden], only later advancing to C-rank for reasons still unclear.

This [C-Rank – Greenhand Bloodline – Gardener] was somewhat akin to the Valyrian Dragonlords' contracts with their dragons, though with an even lower success rate. The world was filled with plants, yet for those with the Gardener bloodline, finding a truly compatible partner might be exceedingly rare.

Given Mern IX's arrogance, perhaps he had already succeeded in forming such a bond—but now that House Gardener had been wiped out, there was no way for Aegon to uncover the secrets of the Greenhand's eldest son.

Raedelle bit her lip, her delicate frame trembling as Aegon's touch grew bolder.

"That old friend of yours must have meant a great deal… enough for you to think of her even when you're with me," she said softly, summoning her courage. Her eyes locked with his as she gently wrapped her arms around his neck and offered a kiss of her own accord. "My king, don't think of anyone else tonight, please? I belong to you, and you—only to me."

Aegon nodded with a faint smile and raised his hand, giving a soft wave to signal Orys to withdraw and keep watch outside the courtyard.

...

The next day, Aegon quietly instructed Harlan to have Raedelle discreetly relocated to the Flower Courtyard within the royal palace of Highgarden. As for himself, he followed his usual routine, visiting the courtyard of his two queens to tend to Visenya and Rhaenys.

Though the sisters didn't mind his occasional indulgences, Aegon knew better than to neglect his wives for the sake of a mistress.

Another ten delightful days passed in Highgarden.

Harlan, ever the shrewd and obsequious advisor, proved especially skilled at catering to Aegon's tastes. He introduced him to everything Highgarden had to offer—whether it was proper or not.

If not for his unshakable ambition to conquer and rule, Aegon might well have lost himself in Highgarden's charms and never left.

By now, the full might of the Targaryen host had arrived—one hundred and twenty thousand strong—encamped on the plains near the Natural Market, a sight that left the people of the Reach utterly stunned. Arriving alongside them was House Hightower from Oldtown.

Yet what drew Aegon's attention most was the continued absence of the High Septon and the leading Septons of the Faith of the Seven.

His patience began to wear thin.

...

The Targaryens held a grand ceremony of allegiance at the Oak King's Hall, deep within the center of the plant maze. There, in Highgarden's most solemn and sacred place, all the Reach lords who had surrendered after the Battle of the Field of Fire, along with the Westerlands lords who had submitted in advance, would swear fealty to Aegon.

At the heart of the maze stood seven ancient oak trees.

Their bark was deeply furrowed, as if engraved by the passage of time. These seven oaks encircled a vast platform—the old council hall once built by House Gardener, firstborn line of the Greenhand, during the Age of Heroes.

Aegon and his advisors stepped onto the platform nestled among the trees. The green stone tiles beneath their feet remained firm and level despite their age.

"Ancient records tell us that during the Age of Heroes, the canopies of the seven millennia-old oaks once intertwined, forming a natural dome overhead. Countless branches stretched outward and upward, creating layered green walls. But with the ebbing of the world's magical tides, the oak-leaf dome is no longer as complete as it once was," Harlan explained respectfully from behind, recounting the hall's history.

Aegon gave a slight nod, intrigued by the fact that such a relic from the Age of Heroes still stood in Highgarden. After the ceremony, he resolved to touch the trees himself and use the chip to probe whether any secrets remained hidden in these ancient oaks.

He walked steadily to the platform's center, ascended the steps, and climbed onto the raised dais crafted from solid oak.

Whoosh—

With a sharp motion, Aegon flung his cloak behind him and sat firmly upon the throne, his gaze cold as he looked down on the gathered lords.

Hundreds of ministers bowed in perfect unison, their voices ringing out together:

"King Aegon, Your Grace!"

Today, Lady Raedelle served as the master of ceremonies. She stepped lightly from the side of the throne to the front of the platform and called out in a clear, resonant voice:

"Lords of the Westerlands, step forward to swear fealty to His Grace Aegon the First, supreme King of Westeros."

Loren advanced at the head of his vassals, his expression grave. They knelt reverently at the foot of the dais, placing their weapons before them as they began to chant their oaths of allegiance in unison.

Aegon rose slowly from his seat and paced to the front. Raedelle offered him a respectful curtsy, then quietly stepped behind him.

"In light of your decision to raise arms against the royal host—though your rebellion caused no serious harm to the realm—you must still face some measure of punishment. From this day forth, House Lefford of Golden Tooth shall fall under the jurisdiction of the Crownlands. Lord Loren, do you accept this judgment?" Aegon's voice was steady and firm as he stared directly at Loren.

The lords of the Reach, who had also surrendered, watched with thinly veiled glee as the Westerlands suffered their comeuppance. They, at least, had held out until their liege perished. In their minds, they were not like the dishonorable turncoats from the West.

Under pressure, Loren Lannister didn't hesitate. Once again, he lowered his noble head to Aegon and declared loudly, "Your Grace, I accept the punishment willingly. Thank you for your mercy and generosity."

But inside, Loren was bleeding.

Golden Tooth was home to a major gold mine. House Lefford had merely been overseeing the site on behalf of House Lannister. Now that the Lannisters had lost this vital source of wealth, both their power and influence had taken a major blow.

Aegon nodded, satisfied.

Golden Tooth wasn't just valuable for its resources—it was also a strategic fortress, the gateway into the Westerlands. Controlling it meant the Targaryen Crown could strike westward at any time, even lay siege to Casterly Rock if necessary.

Once he returned to King's Landing, Aegon planned to mint coinage—currency unique to House Targaryen: the golden dragon.

Owning a gold mine would make that all the more feasible.

He raised his hand slightly, signaling the Westerlands lords to rise, then turned and returned to his seat upon the oak throne.

Now came the real event—the allegiance and investiture of the Reach lords.

Aegon already had a grand plan in motion... all he needed now was for the lords of the Reach to take the bait.