Baelon Targaryen guided Vhagar through the thick clouds hanging over the sea, her massive wings carving through the cold air with practised ease. He had made this journey before, but never under such dire circumstances. His father, King Jaehaerys, was fading, his strength dwindling with each passing day. And yet, here he was, in flight to Pentos rather than at his father's bedside. Aegon had left Westeros, had been forced to abandon it even, and now Baelon had to bring him home. His father wished to see Gael by his side, and Baelon wanted that to happen more than anything else, no matter the cost.
The Free City of Pentos sprawled before him, its domes and spires reflecting the evening sun. The sight of it filled him with unease. His youngest son had defied the family, choosing the company of Gael over his duty to the Iron Throne. Baelon clenched his jaw as Vhagar circled the city before descending toward the private manse where Aegon and Gael resided.
His familiarity with the manse, which happened to be the former residence of Maegor the Cruel, made it easy to identify his son's residence. The sight of his son's dragon and Dreamfyre lounging on the manse's grounds made it all but certain it was the residence of Aegon and Gael. Baelon saw the banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen flapping in the breeze, but the colours were entirely different. Instead of the red dragon, it was a purple three-headed dragon on the banner.
Vhagar landed with a resounding thud, shaking the ground. Servants and guards hurried to greet him; their faces a mixture of awe and fear upon seeing the massive size of Vhagar landing on the palace ground.
Baelon did not waste time. He dismounted from his dragon with the ease of a lifelong rider and strode forward, his violet eyes sharp and unreadable.
The dragonkeepers rushed to safely guide Vhagar to a corner away from an aggravated Fiendfyre, growling and snapping its jaws at the older dragon. Vhagar was no better. The sight of the Cannibal was enough to make Vhagar roar out a challenge as its protective instincts, honed by centuries of conflict, reared up to defend itself from the perceived danger.
"Vhagar, calm."
Baelon shouted in High Valyrian while looking into the large green eyes of the behemoth of a dragon. Vhagar snorted a plume of smoke through her nostrils before settling down, but the largest she-dragon in the world pinned her eyes on Fiendfyre, watching the Cannibal's every move.
Baelon's eyes strayed to his son's ferocious dragon and found it curled up against Dreamfyre, which was a strange behaviour for a dragon with the reputation of hunting its own kind for food. Even amongst other normal dragons, this behaviour was rare. Dragons usually never show such affection outside their caves, with the sole exception of Vermithor and Silverwing.
"So much has changed in such a short time." Baelon muttered before turning away from the strange sight.
The heavy oak doors of the manse opened before Baelon could reach the white marble steps leading to the door. Aegon stood there, tall and poised, his silver hair loose over his shoulders. He wore fine silks, Pentoshi fashion, nothing like the boiled leather armour he had once donned as a Targaryen prince. His gaze was steady, but Baelon saw the flicker of tension beneath it and the tight grip his son had on the pommel of his sword.
Baelon climbed the steps with slow, measured movements until he was level with his son's amethyst eyes.
"Aegon." Baelon whispered, wondering what was going through his son's mind behind his eyes.
"Father." Aegon acknowledged curtly before moving to the side and making way for Baelon to enter.
The air between them was thick with unspoken words. Baelon stepped inside, his boots clicking against the polished marble floors. The scent of spiced wine and foreign incense filled the chamber. Gael stood nearby, her hands folded in front of her, her soft eyes darting between father and son. She had always been the gentle one, the sweet Targaryen princess who brought peace where fire threatened to rage.
Baelon supposed it was her presence that kept his son's temper in check, considering the last time they saw each other had not ended well for him.
"Brother, please sit. No doubt, you must be tired from the long journey." Gael said gently before calling servants to bring refreshments.
Baelon awkwardly sat on a cushion, eyeing his son, who refused to meet his gaze and instead stared intently at the carpet as if some great mystery was being unveiled before his eyes.
'I suppose indifference is better than a punch to the face.' Baelon mused before turning his sights on his little sister.
"How has your stay in Essos treated you, sister?" Baelon asked.
"Oh, it was much better than what I imagined. I got to see the bustling silk markets of Pentos, the inclined mansion of the Prince of Pentos, the pink pool of the Summer Goddess, and many other wonders." Gael said with a beaming smile, gushing with excitement as she iterated her favourite happenings since her self-exile.
"I'm heartened to hear it." Baelon said with a fond smile. "Tales of your exploits have reached Westeros. Not a day goes by where minstrels sing praises of your valiant efforts to rid the world of the Dothraki menace."
"I'm heartened to hear so, brother." Gael said happily, but a sombre expression soon took over.
"Did mother say anything before her passing?" Gael asked softly.
"I'm afraid not." Baelon shook his head and said softly, "She passed away peacefully in sleep. Her funeral was conducted the next day, and I stood vigil. Her ashes were interned in Dragonstone with the rest of the family."
"I… I see." Gael sniffled, tears flowing down her cheeks.
"Mother's passing has brought sorrow to us all, especially to our father. He has requested that both of you return home."
"Home? I don't think a place where I'm barely acknowledged by my own sire can be called as such." Aegon spoke for the first time, and his words were as sharp as valyrian steel.
"I acknowledge my mistakes and ask your forgiveness. But my father and your brothers have never treated you ill. That fault lies with me alone. Therefore, I implore you to return and give me a chance to make amends." Baelon said earnestly.
Silence stretched between them. Aegon turned away, pouring himself a cup of wine.
"I have made a life here. A good life. I have no wish to return and lose all that I have accomplished here." said Aegon.
Baelon's hand clenched into a fist, but he did not lose his temper.
"Jaehaerys, your king, your grandsire, is old, and his health deteriorates with each passing day. He wishes to spend the remainder of his days with all his children and grandchildren by his side." Baelon said, his voice sharp.
"It's not that simple. Grandmother made me promise never to return to Westeros."
"My mother – your grandmother is dead. Your family is grieving, and your grandfather teeters on the edge of oblivion. I think oaths made when tempers were high are no longer relevant, Aegon."
"I have found meaning here. I can do something, be something…"
"You are something." Baelon snapped. "You're Aegon Targaryen, son of Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen, grandson of the Conciliator. You are a dragon of House Targaryen, with the blood of Old Valyria coursing through your veins."
Baelon took a deep breath to calm down before continuing with a softer voice.
"What you're not is a sword for hire to fight the petty conflicts of the Free Cities. Leave the Essossi to their fates and return home. Your family needs you."
"I have achieved much in Essos —wealth, fame, and power. You would have us abandon it all for the vague notions of family. What guarantees will I have that you won't revert to your old habits of blaming me for things far outside my control?"
Baelon winced at the reminder of the root cause of all the problems – himself. His penchant for blaming his youngest son for the untimely passing of his wife led to all of this. He regretted driving his son away to another continent because of his actions. But the pain of losing his wife was too much to bear, and if Aegon were not the reason for Alyssa's death, then the blame would fall squarely on his shoulders. He didn't know how he could live with that knowledge.
His eyes fell on the mismatched eyes of his son, which were the mirror image of his Alyssa. Seeing those eyes again after nearly a year broke the dam he had built around his heart.
Baelon shot off from his seat and hugged his youngest son.
"I'm so sorry, son. I'm sorry for everything. It's an unforgivable sin that I did, blaming you for my mistakes…my grief… I…" Baelon lost his voice, overcome with grief.
He cleared his throat and managed to find his lost voice while his grip around Aegon tightened.
"I couldn't bear to look into your eyes and see her staring back at me all these years. It was my own weakness that prohibited me from doing so, and I found excuses to avoid facing the truth. My sins are mine to bear, but you don't have to suffer for it."
Baelon pulled back from the hug and looked straight into his son's eyes.
"Westeros is your home; you need not abandon it on my account. Your grievance is with me, and I shall do my utmost to make amends. The rest of our family needs you… both of you." Baelon looked earnestly at his son, waiting for an answer.
For the first time, Aegon faltered. A shadow passed over his face, the weight of his father's words settling upon him. He turned away, pacing toward the balcony. The sea stretched before him, endless and free. He'd always known that this moment would come, that he'd be asked to return to Westeros. He'd assumed it'd be an order from his grandfather, and he had expected his father to be the enforcer.
But his assumptions were wrong. Although his father was the one who sought him out, it was not to enforce King Jaehaerys' commands. It had been his fervent wish for his father to speak honestly with him and address him with authenticity all these years. And now, that wish was granted. Aegon found himself in a situation where he didn't know what to do.
On the one hand, he had plans to create his own fiefdom, and on the other, he knew Gael deserved better than living in a tent or in the flea-infested lands of the Stepstones with the constant threat of pirates.
Gael reached for his hand.
"Aegon…"
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he turned back to Baelon, something had shifted. His defiance had not vanished, but a decision had been made.
"I will come."
"Good." Baelon released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.
"On one condition." Aegon continued.
"Oh." Baelon became curious about what his son wanted.
"The sellsword company I created and the people who follow me need to be brought to Westeros."
Baelon stared at his son and then at his sister. Upon seeing Gael's earnest look, he relented despite knowing the complications this would give rise back home. At this point, he was thanking the Seven his son wasn't greeting him with steel.
"This can be arranged. I suppose Dragonstone could host anyone interested in your service. How many people are we talking about?"
The look Aegon and Gael exchanged gave the impression that he was not going to like the answer.
******
Aegon Targaryen sat astride his black-scaled dragon, his violet eyes fierce as he gazed down upon the assembled Dothraki hordes. To his right, Baelon Targaryen loomed atop Vhagar, the great she-dragon whose rumbling growl alone sent shudders through the assembled warriors. Gael sat atop her blue-scaled dragon, whose eyes never left the horses of the Dothraki. Ghoyan Drohe darkened with the shadows of the three dragons, their wings stretching vast against the horizon.
In front of them stood the Pentoshi and Braavosi delegations, ready to converse with all the known Khals plaguing the Great Grass Sea. Behind Aegon lay the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe, a living embodiment of the folly of fighting against the House of the Dragon. New dragon pillars were constructed along the banks of the Rhoyne on his orders, as he had more Dothraki bones to continue the construction. Already, word had spread of the decimation of the largest Dothraki khalassar far and wide. Songs were sung, and wild tales took root about the battle, embellishing the truth to such an extent that even Aegon wondered whether he was a participant in such a conflict.
Some rumours claimed the Rhoyne had dried up under the intense heat of dragonfire. Others claimed Ghoyan Drohe was swallowed by the Rhoyne to save it from dragonfire. Another set of rumours claimed that the dragons ate the entire Dothraki khalasar. More and more such fanciful rumours spread to all corners of Essos. Depending on the area, he and Gael were portrayed as saviours or butchers.
In Andalos, the sentiment was pretty much clear. They saw the dragons as gods and the dragonriders as divinely ordained by the Seven to bring retribution upon the Dothraki barbarians. On the Braavosi coastlands, the reactions were mixed. On the one hand, they were happy to be rid of the Dothraki threat; on the other, they were concerned by the spectre of Targaryen domination. In Pentos, the Magisters and the Prince of Pentos were overjoyed by the fact that the Dothraki Khals were willing to negotiate. As of now, most of Pentos worshipped Aegon and Gael, sans a few who were concerned with their growing popularity.
A gathering of the great Khals stood, their braids adorned with bells, their lean forms bristling with defiance. Khal Torgo, a warrior of considerable renown, stood at their forefront, his dark eyes burning with suspicion as he addressed Aegon and Baelon.
"You have offered terms. We will hear them."
"No khalasar shall henceforth cross the Rhoyne up to the borders of Pentos. You shall not raid Andalos or ask Pentos to pay your raiders for protection." Aegon proposed boldly, with Fiendfyre rumbling out a low growl.
"You ask for much in return for nothing."
"You see what happens when two dragons stand against you. Are you so eager to discover what remains of you when three dragons bring fire and blood upon your people's heads?" Aegon sneered, showing no hesitation to use threats to get what he wanted.
"You'll have your lives and your horses. I gather your lives and horses are more than nothing, Khal Torgo." Baelon said, glaring down at the barbarian from the largest of Targaryen dragons.
"You would challenge the Dothraki?" Khal Torgo sneered in his guttural tongue. "Even your dragons will not withstand the charge of all Dothraki khalasars."
"Your khalasars have burned, pillaged, and butchered their way through Essos for too long. That ends today. Andalos and Pentos are now beyond your reach." said Aegon, smiling coldly at the barbarians before him.
Baelon spoke next, his voice deep and unyielding.
"You will take your riders elsewhere, or we will burn your khalasars to ash."
Laughter rippled through the assembled Dothraki. They had fought many battles and broken countless armies. What was one more challenge?
But their mirth died in their throats as Aegon raised his hand.
"Dracarys."
With a single word in High Valyrian, he commanded his dragon, Fiendfyre, to unleash a torrent of fire upon the plain before them. The dry grass ignited instantly, flames roaring as they consumed the earth. The heat washed over the Dothraki like a wave, and they saw their own mortality reflected in the firelight for the first time.
Baelon did not wait. With a sharp command, Vhagar roared, the force of her voice alone making horses rear and men falter. Then, she breathed fire, and a path of searing destruction erupted across the land. The Dothraki recoiled, their horses panicking beneath them.
Khal Torgo clenched his jaw, his knuckles white on the hilt of his arakh while he struggled to control his terrified horse.
"You expect us to flee like whipped dogs?"
Aegon leaned forward, his expression pitiless.
"No. I expect you to listen and see the folly of challenging us. Know when you're beaten and take the terms we offered without further disrespect."
A murmur passed through the gathered Khals. The Dothraki respected strength, and the display before them was undeniable. No number of riders could stand against the fire that rained from the sky. Their tactics, sheer numbers, infamous cavalry charges—all useless against the might of dragons. So far, they had only faced two dragons, and now there was a third. The possibility of more dragons arriving was weighing heavily on their minds.
"Your people have fought valiantly even in the face of overwhelming defeat. Take heart in the courage of your fallen comrades, but do not be tempted to follow in their footsteps. Consider the Rhoyne to be poisoned water and leave these lands. We shall have quarrel no more." said Aegon.
A brief discussion ensued amongst the Dothraki Khals, after which they were amenable to a pact. Representatives from Pentos and Braavos participated in defining the boundaries of western Essos untouchable to the Dothraki hordes henceforth. Pentos promised to define their southern borders using the dragon pillars Aegon introduced. It was decided to use the pillars as a defining boundary for all Pentoshi lands. The final peace treaty was ratified after days of proper negotiation, which involved several concessions from the Dothraki regarding trade through the Valyrian roads. There were celebrations in the streets of Pentos upon the declaration of the peace treaty, with the looming danger of Dothraki raids now a distant memory. The Prince of Pentos was so grateful for Aegon's aid that he declared him the patron of the city of Pentos.
The following week, after the customary celebrations in Pentos, preparations were made for their transportation to Westeros. As promised by his father, ships were arranged to ferry the Dragonshields and anyone else who wanted to accompany him to Westeros. The Prince of Pentos and the Sealord also pitched in to help as promised, even though the previously agreed-upon destination had changed.
So, for Gael's and his family's sake, Aegon abandoned the conquest of the Stepstones… for now.
The decision of reconciliation between the estranged members of House Targaryen and the peace enforced by Aegon's brutal campaign against the Dothraki would usher in a short period of peace. The Citadel called it the Dragons' Peace and once again King Jaehaerys proved why he was called the Conciliator. But those well learned to traverse the halls of power knew nothing lasts forever. With great power and ambition lurking in the shadows, peace was like a fleeting whisper of wind.
AN:
To read ahead of the update schedule: patreon.com/Dragonspectre
For artworks: https://discord.gg/Nw2JH25fJf