Game of Thrones: Killing to the top

A few days had passed since Aegon learned of Daenerys' fate.

Since then, he had been preparing.

His warriors had seen his strength. They had witnessed his dragons, knelt before him, and fought for him. But now, he needed them to do more.

He needed them to march beyond the Dothraki Sea.

Aegon stood atop a raised platform made of stacked shields, his silver hair with a deep black strand catching the setting sun's light. Around him, the vast expanse of his Dothraki horde spread like a tide of warriors, their numbers stretching far beyond what the eye could see.

In the sky above, Bahamut, Igneel, and Albion circled like living gods, their massive wings casting shadows over the gathered warriors.

Silence fell as Aegon raised his hand.

Then, he spoke.

"Brothers! Warriors of the Great Grass Sea!"

His voice boomed, carried by the wind. The Dothraki leaned forward, listening intently.

"You have followed me! You have fought for me! And you have bled for me!"

A chorus of cheers erupted, the stomping of hooves and the clashing of weapons filling the air.

Aegon's violet eyes burned as he continued.

"But the Dothraki were never meant to be caged in this sea of grass! You ride as warriors, but tell me, what is there left to conquer here?!"

Murmurs spread. The strongest hordes had already fallen to Aegon's might. There were no worthy battles left.

Aegon raised his sword high, the blade glinting in the sunlight.

"It is time we ride beyond these lands! Beyond the endless grass! Beyond the Narrow Sea!"

A hush fell over the gathered warriors.

Aegon's voice dropped to a commanding growl.

"I ask you now are you willing to be the sword I wield? The fire that will burn down those who stand before us?"

For a moment, there was silence.

Then

A mighty cheer erupted from the horde.

"BLOOD OF MY BLOOD!"

"THE DRAGON RIDES!"

"WE WILL FOLLOW!"

From above, Bahamut roared, the sound splitting the sky. Igneel and Albion joined him, their voices a thunderous call to war.

Aegon grinned.

So it begins.

They rode.

Aegon led the thousands-strong horde, his black stallion galloping alongside his warriors. The grasslands trembled beneath the thunder of hooves, and above them, the dragons soared three great shadows in the sky.

Beside him, a Dothraki midwife rode with Maegor in her arms.

Aegon glanced at his son, a boy not yet a year old, but already the future of an empire.

"One day, you will ride a dragon of your own, little one."

The horde pressed forward, moving swiftly toward the place where Khal Drogo's wedding was to take place. Towards Daenerys. Towards Viserys.

The world would soon know the name Aegon Targaryen once more.

(Pentos)

Magister Illyrio Mopatis sat in his lavish chair, his fat fingers tapping against the polished wood of his desk. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool evening air.

Across from him, a nervous messenger stood, eyes darting around the room.

Illyrio exhaled, voice trembling slightly.

"Tell me again… what news do you bring?"

The messenger swallowed.

"The rumors are true, Magister. Aegon Targaryen… or at least a man claiming to be him… marches with a horde of thousands of Dothraki."

Illyrio felt his stomach twist.

"And the dragons?"

The messenger hesitated before nodding.

"They are real, Magister… and they are huge. The largest of them is said to be one hundred meters long."

Illyrio's face drained of color.

He had expected Viserys to one day return to Westeros with an army, but now, there was another Targaryen one with real power, one who had already conquered the Dothraki.

And now… he's coming.

Illyrio reached for his goblet and drank deeply, trying to ignore the growing dread in his chest.

(Many days Later)

The wedding of Khal Drogo and Daenerys Targaryen was a grand affair.

Thousands of Dothraki warriors had gathered in a massive circle, drinking, feasting, and watching bloodsport as men battled to the death for entertainment. The scent of roasted meat mixed with the thick aroma of sweat and horsehide.

Viserys Targaryen sat near Magister Illyrio Mopatis, his lilac eyes scanning the celebration with restless impatience. He barely looked at his sister, who sat stiffly beside Khal Drogo, her silver hair gleaming under the sunlight.

Soon, I will have my army, Viserys thought. Soon, I will take back my throne.

Then, the world changed.

A thunderous roar split the sky.

Then another.

And another.

The music stopped. The fighting ceased. The Dothraki, known for their fearlessness, turned their heads toward the horizon, their eyes widening in shock.

Three massive shadows loomed in the sky, their wingspans casting darkness over the plains. The beasts flew in formation, their colossal forms growing larger as they descended from the heavens.

Bahamut, Igneel, and Albion.

The black dragon, the red dragon, and the white dragon.

They soared through the sky like living gods, their scales glistening in the sunlight. Their roars echoed across the endless plains, shaking the very bones of those who heard them.

Daenerys felt her breath hitch.

Dragons… real dragons…

Khal Drogo stood from his seat, his dark eyes narrowing as he watched the approaching beasts. His hand rested on his arakh, though even he could not deny the raw power on display.

Viserys paled, gripping Illyrio's arm in panic.

"What is this?!" he hissed. "What's happening?!"

Illyrio's face was drained of color, his fat fingers trembling.

"Aegon Targaryen," he whispered.

Viserys turned to him sharply, shock flashing across his features.

"That's impossible," he spat. "I am the last dragon! That's a pretender!"

Illyrio didn't respond.

His eyes were fixed on the horizon.