Seeing the dazed and broken expression on his face, Prince Doran raised his hand slightly in a silent gesture. Areo Hotah stepped forward, supporting the young man, who could barely stand.
Prince Doran's voice was devoid of emotion.
"Take him down and ensure he's properly cared for."
Areo Hotah nodded silently and led the collapsed "Quentyn" away from the beautiful courtyard.
...
Meanwhile, Arianne Martell eagerly received a reply from her father, Prince Doran. She quickly tore open the letter, her face lighting up with excitement and a sense of triumph. Not only had her father agreed to send troops, but he had also included the condition that she would become Queen! This was a perfect fit for all of her dreams.
Without wasting any time, she took the letter straight to Young Aegon. He accepted the terms without hesitation, agreeing immediately. Having spent time with Arianne, he had already fallen deeply in love with this fiery Dornish princess, whose beauty and intelligence captivated him. Loving her seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
Marrying her would not only secure Dorne's full support but also allow him to share the Iron Throne with the woman he loved—what more could he ask for? As for clearing the Easterners from across the Narrow Sea, that had always been part of his plan.
Under years of influence from Magister Illyrio, Young Aegon had long been convinced that Lo Quen, the Eastern sorcerer, had stolen the dragons that rightly belonged to the Targaryens—and to him, Aegon! In his mind, once the true dragon appeared, those dragons would recognize their rightful master and abandon the vile thief. Reclaiming the dragons was the key to restoring the Targaryen dynasty's glory.
Jon Connington also voiced his full support for this. He was unwaveringly loyal to the Targaryen family and shared Aegon's belief that the dragons were essential to the family's resurgence. They had to be reclaimed. Both men held an almost naive confidence, dreaming of the day they would conquer the Easterners' realm.
Young Aegon immediately replied with fervor, solemnly accepting all of Dorne's terms. The Targaryen-Dorne alliance was sealed.
...
Soon after, Dorne's forces—led by the Sand Snakes and Daemon Sand—marched north from the Prince's Pass, their combined strength of fifteen thousand elite soldiers joining Young Aegon's army stationed in the Stormlands. The two armies merged into one colossal force, swelling their numbers to nearly eighty thousand. Banners flew high, spears and swords forming a solid wall, as they marched north with fire in their hearts, driven by a thirst for vengeance and the dream of restoring their kingdom.
When they crossed the Blackwater Rush and reached the ruins of King's Landing, the sight before them was chilling. More than six months had passed since the horrific wildfire had devastated the city, but King's Landing still lay in a silent, hellish ruin. The air was thick with the smell of ash and charred remains. Green smoke still seeped from the cracks and pits, as if the restless spirits of the dead had not yet found peace.
As far as the eye could see, there were piles of shattered bricks, twisted metal, and charred beams, forming eerie mounds across the city. Once-bustling streets were now completely buried, and the sudden loss of hundreds of thousands of lives gave the land a cursed, unsettling aura.
The army worked laboriously to clear a path into the heart of the city. Young Aegon, Jon Connington, the Dornish commanders, and several Stormlands lords who had pledged allegiance ascended the ruins of the Red Keep. What had once been the seat of the Iron Throne now lay in a grotesque expanse of rust-red wreckage.
Huge stones were scattered in broken heaps, scorched black by the flames, and there was not a trace of the Iron Throne to be found. Young Aegon stood on a large, relatively intact rock, surveying the solemn generals and nobles below him. His youthful face was a mix of grief and defiance.
"My lords!"
His voice rang out, clear and resonant, echoing across the still ruins. "King's Landing, founded by our Targaryen ancestors, the great legacy of House Targaryen! But the vile Lannisters, as their despicable reign came to an end, destroyed this great city in the most cowardly and brutal way—using wildfire—killing hundreds of thousands of innocent souls along with it. This blood debt must be repaid with the blood of the entire Lannister family. They must be buried with it!"
His words set the crowd ablaze with fury.
Jon Connington stepped forward at the perfect moment, his voice rising powerfully: "Your Grace, though King's Landing lies in ruins, it still stands as the symbol of the Iron Throne, the heart of power for the Seven Kingdoms. We ask you, in the sight of the Seven Gods, to be crowned here and now as King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men—the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms!"
An elderly Septon, brought from Storm's End, moved forward with trembling steps.
The crown he carried wasn't made of pure gold but had been hastily forged from captured gold and gemstones, simple in design.
In the midst of the ruins, surrounded by death, and under the watchful eyes of the army, the old Septon, his voice quivering, performed a brief coronation ceremony for young Aegon. He placed the crown on his head and, with equal reverence, set a small, delicate diadem upon Arianne's.
Young Aegon took Arianne's hand, his eyes filled with love and promise. "My Queen, forgive the simplicity of this moment. I swear to you, once we have crushed all our enemies, I will host the grandest ceremony in the history of the Seven Kingdoms for you, in a brand-new castle!"
Arianne responded with a grateful, radiant smile.
Just then, Ser Harry Strickland, the commander of the Golden Company, ordered two soldiers to bring forward a black iron chest that had been shipped from Pentos.
He opened the chest himself, revealing a deep crimson velvet lining. Resting upon it was a one-and-a-half-hand sword, its dark blade faintly shimmering with a rippling cold light.
Captain Harry Strickland raised the sword high, presenting it to young Aegon with both hands. His voice rang with excitement: "Your Grace, this is the sword used by Aegon the Conqueror to unite the Seven Kingdoms—Blackfyre! After over a century of misfortune and loss, it has finally returned to the Targaryens!"
Young Aegon's eyes lit up with astonishment.
He drew a deep breath and grasped the hilt of the legendary Valyrian steel blade.
The sword was light, yet icy to the touch, as though boundless power surged within it.
With a sharp "clang," he drew it halfway from its scabbard. In the dim light, the dark blade seemed to absorb the light, the famous ripples flowing across it like living creatures.
"Blackfyre!" he murmured, a smile of exhilaration and confidence spreading across his face. "It truly is Blackfyre! After the War of the Five Kings, it has finally returned to the hands of the rightful heir of House Targaryen. This marks the end of chaos and the beginning of a new age!"
A flicker of awkwardness crossed Harry Strickland's eyes, but he quickly regained his composure and called out at the perfect moment: "This means Your Grace will become the Second Aegon the Conqueror, restoring the glory of our ancestors!"
Cheers erupted from the commanders and soldiers, echoing through the ruins.
Young Aegon, his spirit soaring, raised the Blackfyre sword high, pointing it toward the north.
There, lay their enemies, and the path ahead was yet to be walked.
"Hear me, all men!" His young but commanding voice cut through the air. "Northward! For the Iron Throne! For the Targaryens!"
...
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