Game of Thrones: Killing to the top

Then, the ground began to shake.

A distant rumbling echoed across the plains, growing louder with each passing second.

Viserys turned, his blood running cold as he saw it.

A wave of dust was rising from the horizon, spreading like a storm. At the center of that storm, thousands upon thousands of riders appeared, moving as one, their hooves thundering against the earth.

A massive horde had arrived.

Aegon's horde.

They rode in tight formation, their weapons gleaming under the sun's rays. Banners of black and red fluttered in the wind. Their horses were draped in armor, and at the very front, a group of elite warriors rode with unwavering discipline.

The Dothraki wedding guests murmured in astonishment.

Who were these warriors?

How had this horde grown so large?

As the army approached, the dragons descended lower, flying just above the warriors. Their massive wings kicked up gusts of wind. Every few moments, one of them let out a mighty roar, shaking the bones of those who heard it.

Then.

The horde stopped.

A heavy silence fell over the plains.

The dust began to settle, revealing Aegon Targaryen.

Aegon sat atop his black stallion, his silver hair flowing in the wind. His violet eyes burned with intensity, making his face unreadable. The sigil of the three-headed dragon was proudly displayed on his banners, which flew overhead.

At his side, his bloodriders sat tall, their expressions fierce. Behind him, thousands of warriors waited in absolute silence, their weapons in hand, their eyes fixed on Khal Drogo and his wedding guests.

Then, one of Aegon's bloodriders rode forward.

Baqo.

He halted in front of the wedding guests, his face like stone. He raised his weapon and spoke in a voice that carried across the plains.

"BEHOLD!" he shouted. "Khal Aegon! The Great Stallion Who Rides the Heavens!"

"The Dragonlord of the Dothraki!"

"The Conqueror of Hordes!"

"Master of Bahamut, Igneel, and Albion!"

"Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark!"

A wave of shock rippled through the wedding guests.

Daenerys' eyes widened.

Rhaegar?

Lyanna Stark?

Could it be true?

Khal Drogo remained still, his dark eyes fixed on Aegon.

Viserys, however, stood frozen, his face pale as a ghost.

He shook his head.

"Lies," he muttered. "Lies."

But his voice wavered.

Because before him, sitting atop his mighty warhorse, surrounded by thousands of warriors and three enormous dragons, was a man who looked every bit the conqueror that he had always imagined himself to be.

And for the first time, Viserys felt completely overcome with fear.

Aegon said nothing.

He simply watched.

His dragons circled above, their eyes gleaming with intelligence. His warriors sat ready, their hands resting on their weapons.

The fate of the Dothraki and perhaps the world hung in the balance.

And as the winds howled, one thing became clear.

The Age of Dragons had returned.

The silence was suffocating.

Not a single Dothraki warrior moved. The air was thick with anticipation, the weight of the moment pressing down on every soul present. The dragons circled overhead, their massive wings stirring the air, their golden eyes watching everything.

Jorah Mormont, standing among the wedding guests, felt a chill run down his spine.

Seven Hells…

He had spent years in Essos, years watching the world shift and change. He had seen many things, but this this was something else.

A Targaryen prince standing before them.

An army of Dothraki at his back.

And dragons not hatchlings, not rumors, but true dragons, as large as the beasts from the days of old.

Jorah swallowed hard.

Robert Baratheon will lose his mind when he hears of this.

Beside him, Magister Illyrio Mopatis wiped the sweat from his brow, his fat fingers trembling as he clutched his silk robes. His schemes had always revolved around the Targaryen exiles, but this was unexpected.

He had invested in Viserys, but now…

He turned his head, eyeing the silver-haired warrior astride his black stallion, his violet eyes cold as steel.

Aegon Targaryen… If he truly is Rhaegar's son, then the game has changed.

Illyrio had expected Viserys to be the key to restoring the Targaryens. But now?

Now, there was a dragon in the flesh.

Aegon studied the wedding guests, his expression unreadable. His eyes lingered on Khal Drogo, then shifted to Viserys.

A smirk pulled at his lips.

"So this is the great Khal Drogo," he mused, his voice carrying across the plains. "The Mighty Stallion, yes?"

His Dothraki warriors chuckled darkly, sensing their Khal's amusement.

"Tell me, Drogo," Aegon continued. "Do you truly believe a man can conquer the Seven Kingdoms when he cannot even protect his own wedding?"

A ripple of unease passed through Drogo's warriors.

Khal Drogo's expression darkened, but he did not speak.

Aegon turned his gaze to Viserys.

"And you," he said, his tone mocking. "You must be Viserys Targaryen the 'true dragon.' The rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"I understand you."

"No man wants to live his life under the rule of another, but there can only be one king at a time, and right now that king is me so all other men Targaryen included will kneel down and know their place. Or be judged by the flames of my dragons."

Viserys stiffened, his lilac eyes narrowing.

"I am," he snapped. "I am Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of My Name, rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. You will address me as—"

"As what?" Aegon cut in, tilting his head. "The Beggar King?"

Laughter erupted from Aegon's horde. The wedding guests exchanged glances, many of them smirking. Even some of Drogo's own warriors grinned at the insult.

Viserys' face turned red with fury.

"You dare."

"I dare." Aegon's voice turned cold. "I dare because I am Targaryen. Because I am the blood of Rhaegar. Because I have dragons and you do not."

His words cut like Valyrian steel.

Viserys looked as if he had been slapped. His mouth opened, but no words came.

The difference between them had never been clearer.

One was clothed in rags, his title hollow, his power nonexistent.

The other sat tall and unshaken, his army vast, his dragons flying above him like gods of old.

And in that moment, everyone knew the truth.

There was only one true Targaryen here.