The war room in Sunspear's Water Gardens had been transformed into the nerve center of an invasion. Maps covered every surface—detailed charts of Westeros showing troop movements, supply lines, and strategic chokepoints. Colored pins marked the positions of armies: gold for Lannister forces, blue for Northern troops, green for the Tyrells, black for Stannis, and crimson for my own Imperial legions.
Three hundred thousand soldiers. Three dragons. And a continent ripe for the taking.
I stood at the head of the great table, Blackfyre resting against my hip as I surveyed the assembled war council. Boromir and Grey Worm flanked me—the Supreme Commander and his second, their enhanced physiques evident even through their armor. Daenerys sat to my right, her silver hair catching the lamplight as she studied a report on Lannister troop deployments. Rhaenys occupied my left, her violet eyes sharp with tactical assessment as she traced possible invasion routes with one elegant finger.
The rest of the council filled the remaining seats: Prince Oberyn radiating coiled violence, Prince Doran's calculating gaze missing nothing, Ser Jorah's bear-marked armor gleaming dully in the brazier light, and High Inquisitor Thoros wearing the crimson robes of his office beneath a cloak bearing the three-headed dragon.
"The latest intelligence from King's Landing," Thoros said, sliding several sealed scrolls across the table. "Our agents report that Tywin Lannister has begun recalling his scattered forces. He's pulling troops from the Riverlands, consolidating around the capital."
"Let him," I said, cracking the seal on one scroll and scanning its contents. "Every soldier he recalls is one less threatening the North or harassing the Riverlands. The more he concentrates his forces, the easier our job becomes."
"There's more," Thoros continued, his voice taking on a darker tone. "Tywin has sent ravens to every major house—including the Starks and Stannis Baratheon. He's proposing a temporary alliance against what he calls the 'foreign invasion.'"
The room erupted in derisive laughter. Even Grey Worm, normally expressionless, allowed himself a slight smile.
"Foreign invasion?" Daenerys' voice dripped with contempt. "I was born in Dragonstone. My brother was born in King's Landing. We're more Westerosi than that Lannister bastard sitting on our throne."
"Tywin's desperate," Oberyn observed, spinning a dagger between his fingers with casual grace. "He knows he can't win, so he's trying to unite everyone against us. The question is: will it work?"
"It won't," Rhaenys said with absolute certainty. "Robb Stark would rather eat his own sword than ally with the people who murdered his father. Stannis considers the Lannisters usurpers and the Tyrells oath-breakers. And none of them have any reason to trust each other."
"Precisely," I agreed. "The War of Five Kings has created wounds too deep for any temporary alliance to heal. They'll continue tearing each other apart while we consolidate our position."
I placed my hands flat on the table, leaning forward to address the assembled commanders. "Here's what's going to happen. We have three strategic objectives, to be executed simultaneously."
I tapped the map at three different points—King's Landing, the Riverlands, and the Reach.
"First: King's Landing. This is our primary target, but we don't want to destroy it. The capital needs to remain intact if we're going to use it as our seat of power. Boromir, you'll lead the main assault force—one hundred thousand men, supported by Aserion. Your objective is to take the city with minimal damage to infrastructure and civilian casualties."
The Gondorian captain nodded, his Ned Stark face set in grim determination. "A siege, Your Grace?"
"Only if necessary. Preferably, we'll convince them to open the gates before we have to burn them down." I turned to Thoros. "How many Dragon Priests do we have in King's Landing?"
"Seventy-three confirmed converts," the High Inquisitor replied. "Mostly among the smallfolk and lower nobility. They're organized into cells, ready to rise when you give the signal."
"Good. When we arrive, they'll spread word that the Dragon God offers clemency to any who bend the knee. The Lannisters and their sworn swords are marked for death, but everyone else gets a choice: submit or burn."
I moved my attention to the second target. "The Riverlands. This region has suffered more than any other during the war—their fields burned, their people slaughtered, their lords scattered. Grey Worm, you'll take fifty thousand men and sweep through the Riverlands like a healing wind. Free the smallfolk, execute any Lannister loyalists you find, and make it clear that the Dragon God has come to end their suffering."
"It will be done," Grey Worm said in his flat, emotionless voice.
"Third: the Reach." I looked directly at Prince Doran. "The Tyrells are the wild card here. They've thrown in with the Lannisters, but only because they saw it as their path to power. If we can convince them that backing us is the better option…"
"They'll turn on the Lannisters faster than a whore turns tricks," Oberyn finished crudely. "The Tyrells have always been opportunists. Show them where the real power lies, and they'll bend the knee."
"Exactly. Which is why we're going to send them a gift." I smiled coldly. "Rhaenys, you and Rhaegal will visit Highgarden. No army, no threats—just a dragon and the Emperor's Second Wife. Remind them of what happened to Harrenhal when the last Targaryen king paid a visit with his dragon."
Rhaenys returned my smile with one of her own, all teeth and barely contained violence. "I'll be very persuasive."
"The timeline?" Boromir asked.
"We march in three days. That gives us time for final preparations and for the Dragon Priests to spread word of our coming. By the time we reach King's Landing, half the city will already worship us."
I straightened, letting my gaze sweep across the assembled commanders. "Make no mistake—this won't be easy. The Lannisters have gold, experienced soldiers, and the will to fight. Stannis has religious fanatics and a grudge. The North has wolves who won't surrender their independence easily. But we have something none of them possess."
On cue, the distant roar of dragons echoed across Sunspear. The sound was deep and primal, shaking the very stones of the palace.
"We have gods on our side," I said quietly. "And gods don't lose wars."
-----
That night found me on the palace's highest balcony, watching the three dragons circle overhead. They'd grown so large now—Aserion nearly sixty feet from nose to tail, his obsidian scales drinking in the moonlight. Viserion and Rhaegal were only slightly smaller, their cream-gold and emerald-green forms weaving intricate patterns through the night sky.
They were magnificent. Terrifying. Perfect instruments of divine will.
"You're thinking about tomorrow," Daenerys said, joining me at the rail. She'd changed from her council robes into a simple shift of Myrish silk, and the desert breeze molded it to her body in ways that made my enhanced blood run hot.
"I'm thinking about everything," I replied, pulling her close. "About how far we've come. About how close we are to finally taking what's ours."
"And about what comes after?" she asked, her violet eyes searching mine.
I considered that question, turning it over in my mind. What did come after? The Iron Throne was just the beginning—a symbol, a stepping stone. But my ambitions stretched far beyond one continent.
"After Westeros falls, we'll have an empire that spans from the Sunset Sea to Qarth," I said slowly. "The greatest civilization the world has ever known, united under our rule. Then…"
"Then?" she prompted.
"Then we look outward. The Summer Isles. The lands beyond Asshai. Maybe even across the Sunset Sea, to whatever lies beyond the maps." I pulled her even closer, feeling her warmth against me. "The world is ours, Dany. All of it. We just have to be strong enough to take it."
She was quiet for a long moment, her head resting against my chest. When she spoke again, her voice was soft but certain.
"Sometimes I wonder if we're doing the right thing. If conquering and killing and burning is really what the world needs."
I tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet my eyes. "You've seen what the world was like before us. Slavery, cruelty, petty tyrants grinding the weak beneath their heels. We're not destroying—we're transforming. Building something better on the ashes of the old."
"Fire and blood," she murmured.
"Fire and blood," I agreed. "But from fire comes rebirth. And from blood comes life."
She kissed me then—fierce and desperate, as if trying to pour all her doubts and hopes into that single contact. I responded with equal intensity, my enhanced strength allowing me to lift her effortlessly as our mouths locked together.
We made love there on the balcony, beneath the stars and the circling dragons, with all of Sunspear spread out below us like a conquered kingdom. It was raw and primal and utterly without shame—gods taking their pleasure above the realm of mortals.
Afterward, we lay tangled together on cushions someone had thoughtfully placed there, our skin slick with sweat despite the cool night air.
"I love you," Daenerys whispered. "Whatever comes, whatever we have to do—I love you."
"And I love you," I replied, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "You're my empress, my sister, my everything. Nothing will ever change that."
Even as I spoke the words, I felt Rhaenys approaching—I could sense her presence now, a side effect of our triple bond and the magic that flowed through Targaryen blood. She emerged from the shadows wearing her own silk shift, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.
"Starting without me?" she asked with false reproach, though her eyes gleamed with desire.
"Never," I said, reaching out to pull her down beside us. "We're just getting started."
What followed was hours of pleasure that blurred the line between worship and lust, between love and power. The three of us were bound now—not just politically or legally, but on some fundamental level that transcended mortal understanding. The blood of the dragon, divine and pure, flowing between us like liquid fire.
When dawn finally broke, painting the sky in shades of red and gold, we dressed in silence and returned to the war room. There was work to be done, an empire to build, a world to conquer.
The Dragon God's war had begun.
-----
**Three Days Later - The Imperial Camp Outside King's Landing**
The sight that greeted me as we crested the final hill was everything I'd dreamed of and more.
One hundred thousand soldiers stretched across the landscape like a living sea, their black and red banners snapping in the wind. The camp was organized with military precision—neat rows of tents, clearly marked supply depots, training grounds where soldiers drilled in formation. Cookfires sent columns of smoke into the morning sky, and the air filled with the sounds of an army preparing for war: the ring of steel on steel, shouted commands, the whinny of horses and the stomp of boots.
But it was King's Landing itself that held my attention.
The Red Keep rose from Aegon's High Hill like a bleeding wound, its red stone towers reaching toward the sky. From here, I could see the sept that had witnessed my father's madness, the throne room where Robert Baratheon had stolen what was rightfully mine, the very walls that had been built by my ancestors centuries ago.
Soon, it would all be mine again.
"The city's defensive positions are impressive," Boromir observed, studying the walls through a far-seeing glass. "Seven massive gates, each heavily fortified. The walls themselves are fifty feet high in places, manned by what our scouts estimate at ten thousand soldiers."
"Plus whatever forces Tywin has recalled," Jorah added. "Could be another twenty thousand inside the city proper."
"Thirty thousand men against one hundred thousand," I mused. "Plus three dragons. The mathematics aren't exactly in their favor."
"They'll be counting on the walls to even the odds," Boromir replied. "A well-defended city can hold out for months against a superior force."
I smiled coldly. "Then it's fortunate we won't be laying siege."
I urged my horse forward, Aserion following overhead like my shadow given form. The black dragon had grown even larger during our march from Dorne—now nearly seventy feet of muscle, scale, and barely contained destruction. When he roared, the sound echoed across the landscape and I could see figures on King's Landing's walls pointing in terror.
Good. Let them fear.
We rode to the main gate—the Dragon Gate, appropriately enough—and I dismounted within shouting distance of the walls. Above me, I could see gold cloaks lining the ramparts, their crossbows trained on my position. Behind me, my army waited in perfect formation, a sea of steel and purpose.
"I AM VISERYS OF HOUSE TARGARYEN!" my enhanced voice carried easily to the walls and beyond, likely audible in the city itself. "RIGHTFUL KING OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS AND GOD-EMPEROR OF MANKIND! I HAVE COME TO RECLAIM WHAT IS MINE!"
Silence answered me—the kind of heavy, pregnant silence that precedes storms.
"I OFFER YOU ONE CHANCE!" I continued. "OPEN YOUR GATES! BEND YOUR KNEES! ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR RIGHTFUL KING! DO THIS, AND YOU WILL BE SPARED! RESIST, AND YOU WILL BURN!"
More silence. Then, slowly, a figure appeared on the battlements. Even from this distance, I could recognize him: Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, standing perhaps four feet tall but somehow seeming larger through sheer force of presence.
"Bold words, Your Grace!" he called down, his voice carrying with surprising volume. "Though I notice you've brought quite the entourage! Three hundred thousand soldiers seems a touch excessive for a peaceful visit!"
Despite everything, I found myself smiling. The Imp had balls, I'd give him that.
"I BRING PEACE!" I replied. "THE PEACE OF THE DRAGON! THE PEACE THAT COMES WHEN TYRANTS FALL AND JUSTICE PREVAILS!"
"And yet somehow, I don't feel very peaceful!" Tyrion shouted back. "Perhaps it's all the soldiers! Or the dragons! The dragons are particularly unpeaceful, I must say!"
"WHERE IS YOUR KING?" I demanded, cutting through his humor. "LET THE BOY JOFFREY COME FORTH AND ANSWER FOR HIS CRIMES!"
"King Joffrey is indisposed at the moment!" Tyrion replied. "He sends his regrets! Also, he says you can go bugger yourself with a dragon cock! His exact words, I'm afraid—the boy lacks diplomatic refinement!"
The assembled soldiers behind me laughed at that. Even I had to admit, the Imp knew how to play to a crowd.
"THEN YOU ANSWER!" I called. "TYRION LANNISTER, SON OF TYWIN, ACTING HAND OF THE KING! WILL YOU SURRENDER THIS CITY TO ITS RIGHTFUL RULER?"
Tyrion was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its sardonic edge.
"I'll tell you what, Your Grace! You give me twenty-four hours to convince the various idiots inside these walls that resistance is futile! In return, you don't burn anything for one day! Is that reasonable?"
I considered this, weighing the tactical implications. Twenty-four hours would give Tywin more time to prepare defenses, but it would also allow panic and fear to spread through the city. The Dragon Priests could work their magic, sowing discord and doubt. By tomorrow, half the population would be ready to open the gates themselves.
"ONE DAY!" I agreed. "AND ONE NIGHT! BUT WHEN THE SUN RISES TOMORROW, I WANT MY ANSWER! WILL KING'S LANDING OPEN ITS GATES, OR WILL IT BURN?"
As if punctuating my words, Aserion descended from the sky and landed beside me with earth-shaking force. The black dragon spread his wings—a span of nearly one hundred feet—and opened his maw to release a jet of flame that scorched the air itself.
The message was clear: tomorrow, the dragons would feast.