GAME OF THRONES: AEGON THE AVENGER

"If a dormant dragon egg is to wake, it must be led by blood and fueled by life."

He paused, his voice soft and slow, yet carrying a calmness that defied common sense.

"Traditional blood sacrifice always involves stripping away a large number of lives at once, awakening power through violent death."

"But I do not wish to do that."

Melisandre started slightly, a flicker of thought and doubt crossing her eyes. "What does Your Highness mean...?"

"There is no need for slaughter, no need to plunder a thousand lives at once, and no need for the most barbaric death to be the sole form of sacrifice." Aegon's voice was calm and steady, yet every word carried a subversive meaning.

"We can take another path... a steady flow, accumulating bit by bit. Through countless, minute contributions of blood, we can gather a trickling stream sufficient to nourish and awaken the dragon eggs."

"Without harming the essence of life or destroying the source of vitality, we can establish a stable, sustainable system of nourishment. Each blood donation is nearly harmless to the individual, but together, they form a majestic power capable of shaking an ancient silence."

As these words fell, Melisandre froze in place, her deep red pupils constricting in extreme shock.

She had studied magic and eastern mysteries for decades, traveled through the shadows of Asshai and many mysterious places in Essos, and heard countless tales of bloody and terrifying sacrifices, yet she had never heard of such an... incredible idea.

In her understanding, blood sacrifice had always been violent, resolute, and filled with the aesthetics of sacrifice and destruction.

It was the radiance of life erupting in extreme pain and devotion, a one-time, heavy price paid to the gods.

Only thus could the corresponding power be seized.

But the path Aegon spoke of... was gentle, controllable, precise, and even carried a chilling, coldly efficient "order."

It transformed blood sacrifice from a violent ritual into a quantifiable, manageable, and long-term supply system.

The thought itself made her soul tremble more than any bloody sacrificial scene, for it stripped away the sacred or terrifying cloak of "sacrifice" and completely instrumentalized it.

"This..." she murmured, her voice dry, "is a path I... never imagined. It almost... profanes the essence of obtaining power."

She said the last part very softly, more like a shock to her own inherent perceptions.

"There was no road in the world to begin with," Aegon said indifferently, his gaze returning to the dragon banners fluttering between the sea and sky in the distance. "When many people walk it, it becomes a road."

"And the path I intend to forge is never an old one, stumbling along the bloodstains of predecessors."

Melisandre fell silent, her body beneath the red robes tensing slightly.

Just then—

"Clack, clack, clack..."

Rapid and heavy footsteps came from the spiral stone steps below, breaking the silence and contemplation of the heights.

A Bloodsworn knight in a dark red cloak, looking solemn, stepped quickly onto the Sea Dragon Tower. He knelt on one knee a few paces before Aegon, his armor clanking crisply.

"Your Highness!"

The knight's voice carried a hint of suppressed tension:

"When our vanguard went to take over the defenses of High Tide and the Port on Driftmark, they were blocked! No conflict occurred, but the other side refused to hand over the defenses and closed the gates!"

Aegon's brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

The guard continued his rapid report: "Monstford Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark, joined by Lord Celtigar of Claw Isle and representatives of fourteen vassals from Dragonstone and its surrounding islands, have arrived at Dragonstone by ship."

"They... request an immediate audience with Your Highness!"

He paused and added, "Lord Velaryon claims there are urgent matters and wishes to present a joint petition to you on behalf of all the vassals of Dragonstone."

Blocked?

A petition?

Jointly?

The corner of Aegon's mouth curled into an almost imperceptible, extremely cold arc.

At this moment, when he had already effectively seized control of Blackwater Bay, swept through most of the Stormlands like a whirlwind, and the three-headed red dragon banners already flew across the entire territory of Dragonstone...

This Lord of the Tides actually dared to negotiate terms? And not alone, but bringing along almost every prominent family under Dragonstone's jurisdiction, coming as a collective.

It seemed the arrogance born of blood within the bones of these seafaring nobles, slumbering in their dreams, had not yet been completely chilled and shattered by the seawater and blood of reality.

They likely thought that by relying on their shared lineage and the old accounts of generations of loyalty, and through a joint petition to apply pressure...

...they could secure transcendent power and privileges for themselves and their families, preserving the precarious autonomy and status about to be swallowed by the waves of a new era.

They seemed to have forgotten whose families stood by during the usurper's War, participating without effort, and even allowing the last royal Fleet to struggle and sink in the storms of Dragonstone without sending even a single soldier.

And who, when the Targaryens needed support most, quietly turned to the Baratheons—though not heavily relied upon, they never resisted either.

The old dream should end.

The old era, along with its system of rights and responsibilities based on blood ties and ancient promises, had long since died with Rhaegar's blood, Rhaenys's cries, and the infant's head smashed against the walls of the Red Keep.

Aegon looked at his fluttering banners on the distant sea, a cold, tempered light flashing deep within his purple eyes.

"Let them all come up," he said, his voice calm yet carrying the coldness and unquestionable weight of the Stone Drum Tower itself, carrying clearly through the sea breeze.

"To the Throne Room."

He turned his head slightly, addressing the still-kneeling knight, as well as the bowing Melisandre beside him, and even more so the group of dreamers who had yet to wake, declaring:

"It just so happens that I have a new set of rules and a new order to announce personally in the presence of all the loyal subjects of Dragonstone."

...

The heavy doors were slowly pushed open, letting out a long, dull sound that broke the original silence of the Throne Room.

The vassals of Dragonstone filed in, their footsteps echoing through the vast, towering black stone hall, sounding exceptionally clear and even carrying a hint of imperceptible instability.

Most were dressed in dark attire representing their respective families and wearing their crests, but many were pale with sunken eyes, unable to hide their grief and alarm.

Their kin, nephews, the backbone of their family Fleets, and even the knights and captains who had served for generations had mostly perished with Stannis's army in the icy depths off Dragonstone, becoming part of that graveyard of wrecks.

Standing here now, before the throne of the returned true dragon of House Targaryen, besides the fear for their families' uncertain future, the cold blade of grief for their lost kin constantly cut at their hearts.

Only a few appeared relatively composed, their steps more steady.

Their families had deep foundations; they had either cleverly evaded Stannis's summons or sent only non-core forces to fulfill their duties. Their true heirs, experienced commanders, and precious elite warships were preserved, their strength intact.

At this moment, they were the leaders and backbone of this group of frightened birds.

Walking at the front, with the most composed demeanor, was Monstford Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.

He wore a magnificent deep blue robe, the seahorse sigil on his chest gleaming with a low-key yet noble luster under the torchlight of the hall.

His features were sharp, and though his hair was graying at the temples, he showed no sign of panic as he walked.

This composure stemmed from his remaining strength, and even more so from the certainty in his heart—a certainty in the unbreakable, complex, and centuries-long special bond between House Velaryon and House Targaryen.

Monford stopped ten paces from the black stone throne. Behind him, Lord Celtigar of Claw Isle and over a dozen other vassal representatives also halted, bowing their heads slightly.

Monford stepped forward two paces alone, his posture respectful but not humble. He knelt cleanly on one knee below the throne, his right hand over his heart, and his voice rang out steadily and clearly in the silent hall:

"Monstford Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark, pays his respects to Prince Aegon Targaryen. We welcome the return of the true dragon to the ancient stronghold of Dragonstone. This is a blessing for the Seven Kingdoms and what our families, who have served the Dragonlords for generations, have yearned for day and night."

He looked up, meeting Aegon's gaze on the throne, and began to state the words he had rehearsed countless times in his heart:

"Your Highness. My House Velaryon shares the great bloodline of Valyria with the Targaryen royalty, having followed the ancestor Aenar Targaryen in the crossing to the west."

"While the Targaryens chose Dragonstone as their foundation, my House chose Driftmark, and the Celtigars chose Claw Isle. Positioned to the left and right, we have guarded the main island like the Dragonlord's most loyal arms, unchanged for centuries."

His voice was unhurried, carrying the composure of one stating historical facts:

"Since Aegon I conquered the Seven Kingdoms and established the Targaryen Dynasty, House Velaryon has served as Master of Ships for generations, managing the seas for the iron throne, clearing sea lanes, training Fleets, and guarding the Narrow Sea."

"The royal family and ours are intermingled by blood. Generations of Targaryen kings often took wives from House Velaryon; queens and queen mothers from our house have filled your halls, ensuring our lineages remained closely linked."

"Targaryen princesses have also married into House Velaryon, such as The Queen Who Never Was, Rhaenys Targaryen, who was the wife of our house's head, Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake."

"Velaryon and Targaryen are the closest of kin, the indispensable maritime arm of the iron throne. This is an iron law of centuries, known to all in the Seven Kingdoms."

Monford bowed slightly, his tone becoming more earnest and firm, his eyes shining with a burning hope for the restoration of glory:

"Now, the true dragon has returned, and Dragonstone is back in Targaryen hands!"

"I, Monstford Velaryon, on behalf of House Velaryon of Driftmark, solemnly swear: we are willing to offer all our Fleets, Ports, wealth, and the loyalty of our descendants to serve Your Highness, even unto death!"

He took a deep breath and finally presented his core request, his voice rising slightly with excitement:

"Your Highness! House Velaryon was neglected and marginalized during the usurper's reign. The glory and authority of managing the Narrow Sea and training the navy fell away, and our house has gradually declined."

"This is Velaryon's pain, and the Targaryen royalty's loss! Now that the true dragon has returned to set things right, it is time to restore the old system and relive our glory!"

He bowed deeply, his posture humble, yet his words were filled with a sense of entitlement:

"I implore Your Highness to restore the ancestral system and appoint a Velaryon as Master of Ships once more!"

"I swear by the century-old foundation of Driftmark and the maritime wisdom and shipbuilding craftsmanship accumulated by generations of Velaryons, that I will rebuild for you an invincible Fleet, unmatched in the Narrow Sea, in the shortest possible time!"

"Let the red dragon on a black field shine upon every inch of the Seven Kingdoms' coast, deterring all riffraff! Let any force that dares challenge the true dragon's authority be reduced to ashes before your navy!"

"I guarantee that Velaryon will become the strongest and most reliable maritime Great Wall beneath your throne! We will stabilize the Narrow Sea for you, clear the waves, and safeguard the eternal legacy you are about to achieve, faithful unto death!"

As his words fell, a breathless silence filled the Throne Room.

All the accompanying vassals kept their heads down, but many felt their shoulders relax slightly, their eyes reflecting sparks of expectation and approval.

To them, this was only natural; it was the rule, the tradition.

Targaryen as King, Velaryon as Master of the Seas, and families like Celtigar assisting from the side, sharing the glory.

This was the operating law of the Dragonstone system for centuries, an order written in blood and promises.

With a new king ascending the throne and restoring the old system, wouldn't appointing the closest and most maritime-skilled Velaryon as Master of Ships be the most reasonable, secure, and reassuring choice?

Their coming together this time was less a petition and more a representation of the old order of Dragonstone, coming to remind the new lord and hoping to preserve their families' traditional status and interests in the new reign.

Aegon sat upon that throne carved from a single block of black stone, his silver hair flowing with a cold luster in the torchlight of the hall.

Since Monford began his statement, he had not looked away. His purple eyes calmly watched the Lord of the Tides speaking eloquently below, noting the confidence, calculation, and the deep-seated sense of entitlement in his eyes.

He did not answer immediately.

There was no anger, no sarcasm, not even a superfluous expression.

He just watched quietly.

Watching this kinsman, watching the ancient blueprint of shared governance he strove to depict, watching him attempt to use tradition and blood to weave a net to snare the dragon head of a new era and secure one last place for the old interest groups.

The sea breeze blew through the high arched windows, bringing the faint sound of distant waves and stirring a strand of silver hair on Aegon's forehead.

Silence spread, and with every passing second, the bowing vassals felt the invisible pressure mounting.

Monford remained bowed, his initial composure beginning to seep with a hint of imperceptible doubt in the silence.

Finally, Aegon moved slightly.

He shifted into a more comfortable sitting position, his elbows resting on the cold armrests of the throne, his fingertips lightly touching.

Then, he spoke.

His voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly to every corner of the hall:

"Lord Monstford Velaryon."

"Your Fleet, your Port, your wealth..."

He paused, each word falling like a bead of ice:

"When I annihilated Stannis at Blackwater Bay, when my forces swept through the Stormlands, and when I sat upon this black stone throne..."

"Are they not already mine?"

Dear Reader,

A special 60% discount offer available Don't miss this opportunity to enjoy your favorite stories at a greatly reduced price.

The offer is available for a limited time only — grab it before it ends!

Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898