"There have been... troubling reports from Essos." Visenya, his sister and spymaster, said as she walked into his chambers, carrying a stack of documents. Aegon roused from his stupor and nodded as he stood from his seat. He'd been reviewing a bunch of texts earlier, left behind by his great ancestor, which spoke of Valyrian traditions and customs, specifically related to the fostering and care of infant dragons. It'd been a wondrous joy and surprise when they found that Vhagar had given birth to almost a dozen eggs. Many of them would never hatch, Aegon lamented, but the few that would needed guidance. And his children would soon have need for dragons of their own. But that would have to wait. Other, greater matters weighed heavily on his mind and Aegon had a feeling he already knew what – or whom – his dear sister was going to talk about. There were very few things that truly troubled his older sister and only one of them ever came from Essos. Though, Aegon would readily admit, it troubled him greatly as well. "What is the trouble, sister?" Aegon asked, just for Visenya's sake. She liked talking and being dramatic whenever she reported things and, honestly, Aegon didn't want to take her moment away. Aegon stared at the map before him, whereupon their plans to conquer Westeros were laid in out great detail. His armies were ready to march and his dragons were eager to take flight. A week from now, Aegon mused, he would begin his conquest. He turned his gaze to his sister-wife once more. She was beautiful – of that there was no doubt, tall and powerfully built. He'd lain with her enough times to be familiar with every single inch of her . And yet... Aegon couldn't quite find it in himself to truly open his heart to his sister-wife – not in the same way he did with Rhaenys, at least. He loved her, of course. That could not be disputed. But Aegon wasn't entirely certain if the feelings he had for her were romantic or platonic. Though, he supposed, it didn't matter. "The Necromancer...." And there it was, the title of the only other man in the known world who seemed to command dragons of his own. Of course, it hadn't been that long since the Fall of Valyria and it wasn't impossible for other Dragonlords and their progeny to have survived. The only problem was that, in all the texts his ancestor, Aenar Targaryen, left behind, none of them ever mentioned of there being a House Lee among the smoking and vaunted towers of the ancient Dragonlords. And none of them certainly had the power to command the dead to rise and fight again. "Has conquered Myr. I suspect he and his legions will move to take Pentos next. He is unstoppable – him and his... dragon." By all reports and through the scant whispers that reached them, the Necromancer's dragon was... a living calamity – golden scales and three heads, larger than a mountain and said to breathe bolts of golden lightning. Its wings were said to be so large and so powerful that a single flap could summon hurricanes and reduce cities to dust and ashes. It'd already do so, after all. Because even this far away from Essos, in Dragonstone, word reached them of Vaes Dothrak's destruction, many moons ago, when the Necromancer was naught but a faint whisper in the wind. It was said that his golden, three-headed dragon descended upon the capital city of the Horse Lords and reduced their armies to little more than ashes. And now, the Dothraki, once feared across the breadth of Essos, were functionally extinct, rendered to almost nothing by the Necromancer and his titan of a dragon.
Aegon wasn't even entirely certain that it was a dragon at all. Or if the Necromancer had tamed himself a natural disaster and somehow forced it into the shape of a dragon.
"Do you believe he'll try to cross the narrow sea?" Aegon asked, gulping.
"T'is certainly possible," Visenya huffed, her purple eyes narrowing. "His followers grow in number by the day. They think him a God of Death... and a God of Dragons. If the stories are true... if this... Golden Dragon is indeed as powerful as my spies say it is, then we can't defeat it. If, indeed, the Necromancer is of Valyrian descent, then marriage might be a viable prospect. We have three, fully-grown dragons and a cache of dragon eggs, ready to hatch. The Necromancer seeks to conquer all of the Valyrian Freehold's former territories, perhaps even more. An alliance, perhaps, would be a wise proposition, but I doubt anyone of the Necromancer's standing would accept anything less than marriage and, truth be told, we've little to offer him in dowry."
Aegon raised a brow as he stared at a... peculiar letter he'd received from the Storm King, Lord Argilac Durrandon, in which a marriage was proposed between Aegon and the Princess Argella, with all the lands east of the Gods Eye from the Trident to the Blackwater Rush were offered as her dowry. The only problem was that none of these lands belonged to Argilac himself and, honestly, Aegon was not interested in a third wife; and he was also pretty sure that this was little more than a power-grab by Argilac, who was hoping to weaken Harren Hoare. Aegon penned a reply of course, in which he suggested that the Princess Argella be wed to his half-brother Orys Baratheon, to be delivered by his emissaries, but he'd not sent them out just yet. "I have no interest in offering that which I do not have. You are wiser than me, sister; what do you propose we do?"
"We send out the ravens early," Visenya said, eyes narrowed. "Declare your lordship over all of Westeros and begin the conquest. We cannot face the Necromancer with only Dragonstone to offer. No, we need to treat with him from a position of power – or, at least, a position that's higher than the one we have now. Proclaim yourself king and conquer Westeros as fast as possible."
"But who could we possibly offer the Necromancer? I doubt such a man would accept a mere cousin or relative of mine." Aegon frowned. And that was the part that he did not want to consider. Why would a powerful Dragonlord accept a marriage proposal with a mere relative of a king? No, it had to be one of his sisters. But, try as he might, the mere idea of anyone else marrying Rhaenys made his blood boil with fury. He couldn't. He just couldn't. Aegon would rather declare war on the Necromancer and his undead armies before he even considered the notion. He loved Rhaenys too much to give her up to anyone.
Visenya sighed and, when she spoke, she did so with a strained tone. And yet, her voice did not break. "I see that you are conflicted, brother. But, I see it in your eyes. You can't let her go and you won't. In that case, I... I will offer myself to the Necromancer. If a sufficient dowry is offered, then I don't think he'll refuse."
"You'd... offer yourself, dear sister?" Aegon asked, finding – to his shock – that he was not nearly as opposed to the idea as he should've been. "But, you and I are husband and wife."
Visenya shook her head and waved a hand. "Just as our hands were joined in matrimony, so too can they be separated – for the good of the realm."
Aegon sighed.
"For the good of the realm."
That night, Aegon found warm in this sister-wife's bosom one last time before they dissolved their marriage.
Aegon began his conquest the next day, before even the Velaryons could muster their forces.
And, a year and a half of fire and blood later, Aegon Targaryen became the King of Westeros – with only the Dornish resisting his conquest when Rhaenys nearly died in Hellholt when her dragon, Meraxes fell from the sky. In that time, the Necromancer King of Essos conquered the Free Cities of Pentos, Braavos, Lorath, Norvos, and Qohor, each one submitting to his rule without bloodshed or threats of violence. And so, the Necromancer King of Essos, Jason Lee, now controlled all the lands west of Slaver's bay and the Dothraki Sea – an Empire onto itself. By then, Visenya's spies reported that the Necromancer King and his Golden Dragon were moving to conquer the cities of Slaver's Bay, finally reuniting and reforging Valyria.
Aegon himself had finally united all the warring kingdoms and petty lords of Westeros into a single unified Kingdom, under the rule of House Targaryen.
"If the Necromancer King is, indeed, the man that I believe him to be, then he won't stop with Slaver's Bay," Visenya said, her eyes narrowing as she read through the reports of her spies in Essos. Standing across her, on the other side of the war table, Aegon nodded. "I predict three possibilities: the Necromancer King will march further eastward and conquer Yi Ti and all the lands to the East, south to Summer Islands... or he'll turn his army West, towards us."
Aegon nodded, his face grim but determined. All accounts of the Golden Dragon and the Army of the Dead were too consistent to be considered falsehoods, which meant they had to be true; the Necromancer King commanded a three-headed dragon so large it could flatten mountains and erase entire cities, and claimed lordship over all the corpses of the dead, who marched under his banner – millions strong. That was not the sort of man Aegon wished to make an enemy of. "We prepared for this. We're ready. What lands can we offer?"
They'd prepared for this as well, having conquered vast territories during his conquest. Entire Houses were rendered extinct, their lands purged and usurped. The thought of, Aegon found, left a lingering bitterness on his tongue. It hadn't been a proud moment, but it was necessary. For if the Necromancer King turned his gaze to Westeros, then Aegon feared that all of Westeros and all its lords and armies combined still wouldn't be enough to stop the Necromancer King's advance. Visenya breathed in and sighed. "All the lands north of Dragonstone, every city and village from Crackclaw Point all the way to the Red Fork in the Riverlands. If the Necromancer King accepts, he'll have lordship over the largest territory in Westeros. That said, he has declared Volantis as his capital; it is... far away and so it remains possible that he'll leave the lords alone to govern themselves and merely collect tributes annually."
"What will my subjects think of this, I wonder?" Aegon shook his head and sighed. "Will they see this as an act of cowardice? Will they think me weak and vulnerable?"
I stared at the letter on my table and frowned. "What the sh*t?" Written in High Valyrian, which I only barely spoke, was a message from the motherf*cking incest lizards themselves, the Targaryens, who – last I heard – had conquered Westeros or some sh*t, the biggest backwater on Planetos. The letter's contents was simple, actually; they wanted to send an envoy to meet with me on Volantis at my earliest convenience. For what reason, they failed to mention. It was signed, however, by the OG sister f*cker himself, Aegon the Conqueror. "Huh, well, I guess I could make time for them. Should be interesting to hear them out, at least." I shrugged and walked out of my personal office, where my servants and... interns greeted me as I passed through the open doorway. The sight of them made me pause, because; even after almost three years being in Essos, the idea of having servants still didn't seem quite right with me. So, I just referred to them as my unpaid interns. Of course, I also had my Dragonguard, who stood at attention and wore full-suits of armor, but that was besides the point, because they were also unpaid interns. Shrugging, I spoke to them in High Valyrian. "Clean up my room and tell the cooks to prepare some breakfast; I'm famished." Before official business began for the day, I made my way to the garden, which offered me a full view of the beautiful city of Volantis. And, sleeping just outside the city, shimmering like a golden mountain, was my "dragon", though Kaiju was the better word, King motherf*cking Ghidorah – the big scary one from the Monsterverse. Yeah, I'm just as confused as you are – trust me. Because the ROB who sent me here decided to drop a golden egg on my ass and didn't tell me what was going to hatch from it. In hindsight, a golden three headed dragon that breathes golden lightning should've been a pretty big clue, but kinda too late for that. Still, I was somewhat used to the sight of him, asleep, surrounded by brain-dead masses who thought of Ghidorah and myself as divine beings. So, it wasn't a rare sight to see thousands and thousands of people gathering around Ghidorah's golden form, their heads bowed low, touching the ground itself, in fervent prayer. Apparently, I was the Avatar of the God of Death itself, while Ghidorah was the Avatar of the Dragon God of Old Valyria. Whatever. I breathed in the crisp morning air and delighted in the scent of all the flowers I had planted in this place. A few servants silently approached, bringing with them the breakfast I'd asked for earlier – tea, grilled sausages, eggs, a bowl of lentil stew, and some buttered bread. Yum. After that, I made my way back to deal with the troubles of today. My Chancellor, Garaz Al-Duir, bowed and greeted me as I entered the War Room. And every single lord and lady in attendance fell to their knees. At this point, I stopped trying to convince them not to bow; apparently, it just didn't feel right to address me as an equal when I was apparently so far above them in stature and power. Fair enough. "Hail Emperor Jason Lee of Valyrian Empire!" Today, Slaver's Bay was going to fall.
AN: A bit of an Omake Chapter, requested by the Commissioner. Also, Chapter 26 is out on Patreon!
