GAME OF THRONES: AEGON THE AVENGER

In the empty Hall of a Hundred Hearths, there were no longer generals lined up on either side; only Aegon sat alone upon the high seat.

His fingertips lightly touched his chin, his violet eyes deep and brooding as he still reflected on that conversation with Brynden.

The framework of the old feudal system had long been etched into the very marrow of every Westerosi noble.

Family first, then kingdom; prioritizing private interests over oaths—it was never the fault of a single person, but rather that the order itself had rotted.

Since that was the case, he would tear it down completely, leaving no room for leniency.

As Aegon was immersed in thought, a striking figure slowly entered, interrupting his contemplation.

"Arianne Martell?" Aegon looked toward the lower end of the hall at the vivid figure who had just been announced by an attendant and granted permission to enter Harrenhal, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes.

Arianne's red lips were pressed tight.

She had long heard of Aegon's thunderous methods after landing in Westeros, and word had reached even the distant Water Gardens in Dorne.

Abolishing feudalism, stripping privileges, and purging all old nobles who dared to resist—his actions were cold and harsh, showing no mercy whatsoever.

When her father, Doran, learned the news, he was filled with misgivings and cowardice, immediately sending orders strictly commanding her to stay put and observe, forbidding her from rashly going to join Aegon.

He feared her recklessness would offend the true dragon, and even more, he feared Dorne would be dragged into the flames of war, ending up in a state beyond redemption.

But she refused.

From the bottom of her heart, she despised her father's indecisiveness; spending a lifetime being overcautious and staying in one corner, he was wasting a god-given opportunity to align with the true dragon.

Others feared Aegon's iron-blooded ruthlessness, but Arianne did not fear him in the slightest.

She was certain that Aegon's purges and executions were only for outsiders, traitors, and lords of other names with no blood ties to him.

Dorne was his mother's house; the Martell bloodline and his were of the same source. This kinship was innate, and as such, it should be an exception, deserving of the preferential treatment and leniency that others could only dream of.

He could crush all the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, but he would never strike at his mother's family.

This was her greatest confidence in traveling thousands of miles to take the initiative in negotiations.

Before heading to The Riverlands, she had seen that rose, Margaery Tyrell, in King's Landing, and she could see that the true dragon had not driven House Tyrell to total extinction.

"Your Highness is certainly at ease," she said, her voice clear and carrying the unique rhythm of a Dornish accent, though an irrepressible irritation was suppressed in her tone now.

"By order of Prince Doran, I traveled from Dorne across the Narrow Sea to find you. After coming up empty, I returned to Westeros and followed you all the way to King's Landing, only to hear that Your Highness had already led your army into The Riverlands."

She took two steps forward, her silk dress swaying gently with her gait.

"As a Princess of Dorne, I am dedicated to forging an alliance between our two houses, yet I must endure such displacement, chasing Your Highness's footsteps across both sides of the Narrow Sea." Her eyes, like spring water, gazed quietly at the man on the high seat. "When has a princess ever been treated with such neglect?"

Her features held a touch of grievance, and her tone was wrapped in complaint; every word and sentence hinted at her toil and dedication, hoping the other party would be grateful and hold her in high regard.

Aegon looked at her, his expression calm and devoid of emotion.

"I am aware," he said flatly. "Since you have come for an alliance, you may speak directly of the matter at hand."

Arianne's breath hitched.

This was not the reaction she had anticipated.

She had imagined countless scenarios along the way: Aegon might be moved by her journey of a thousand miles, he might appreciate her boldness and courage, or he might look at her differently because of her beauty and status as a princess.

She had even prepared several responses—whether to act coy and show weakness or to put on an air of pride—all were calculated.

Yet the man before her had a cold, business-like manner, merely urging her to state her business.

It was as if her long journey, her noble status, and her peerless beauty were all not worth mentioning.

Arianne took a deep breath, her full chest rising and falling slightly as she forced down the surging resentment in her heart.

Fine, then they would talk business.

She adjusted her posture slightly, tilting her chin higher, as the innate nobility and sense of entitlement of a Princess of Dorne once again covered her features.

"I represent Dorne, here to forge an alliance with the Targaryens."

She got straight to the point, her voice clear: "Your Highness's actions since landing have already offended more than half of the nobles in Westeros. The Westerlands, the Vale, The Riverlands, the North... undercurrents are surging everywhere."

"The Targaryens may seem powerful now, but in reality, you are surrounded by enemies on all sides, fighting a lonely war in the end."

"You need allies, allies strong enough. And Dorne, is the best choice."

She paused briefly, secretly observing Aegon's expression.

But on that peerlessly handsome face, there was still not a hint of emotion to be found.

Arianne had no choice but to continue, her speech slightly faster: "My father Doran is indecisive by nature, always looking over his shoulder, and to this day refuses to take a clear stance, let alone send a single soldier to help."

"But if Your Highness is willing to publicly support me as the legitimate heir to Dorne and its future ruling Princess... I have my ways to make all of Dorne stand on Your Highness's side."

Her voice lowered, taking on a somewhat ambiguous and melodious rhythm, her gaze fixed on Aegon, as if she wanted to deliver all the hints in her heart directly into his.

"As long as Your Highness helps me into power, not only will Your Highness receive the full support of Dorne's entire nation, but you will also..."

Her words stopped at just the right moment, her eyes sparkling, a layer of moisture rippling in her honey-colored eyes—it was the unique boldness, heat, and veiled invitation of a Dornish woman.

"...get what you desire. Both the beauty and Dorne, Your Highness can take them all."

This was her final card, and also the bargaining chip she considered to be the most significant.

Offering herself as the betrothal and Dorne as the gift.

Aegon was silent for a moment.

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was silent, save for the faint crackling of the burning torches.

"An alliance requires sincerity," he finally spoke, his voice calm, like a cold stone falling into still water.

Arianne's heart eased slightly, thinking there was a turn for the better; a spring-like warmth instantly rippled in her eyes: "As long as Your Highness is willing to help me, I can immediately give Your Highness the'sincerity' you want!"

Aegon shook his head slightly.

"The sincerity you speak of," his violet eyes were indifferent and cold as they landed on her, "is nothing more than trading Dorne for your own personal power."

The color instantly drained from Arianne's face.

"I never interfere in the internal affairs of any house," Aegon's tone remained flat, "let alone engage in such a trade of power and sex."

He looked up, his gaze sweeping over Arianne's suddenly stiff face.

"Go back and tell Prince Doran," his words were calm but carried an indisputable weight, "if Dorne is willing to submit sincerely, obey my laws, and join me in attacking the various rebels, it can remain as it was."

"If you insist on resisting to the end, you will meet the same fate as the other old nobles who refuse to submit."

There were no harsh threats or angry rebukes, just a cold, straightforward statement.

Yet it was precisely this indifference that treated the affection of her thousand-mile journey, her bargaining chip of self-offering, and her dignity as a princess as if they were nothing—it was more piercing and hurtful than any harsh rejection.

Arianne froze in place, her blood seemingly turning cold in an instant.

Humiliation, like boiling lava, swept through her entire body in a flash.

Following it was rage, disbelief, and a bone-chilling coldness from being completely disregarded.

She had lowered her status as a princess and traveled thousands of miles to show goodwill, not hesitating to set aside her modesty to offer herself in secret, only to receive such total disregard?

Her beauty, her status, and the alliance chips she brought were actually so cheap as to be not worth mentioning in the eyes of this true dragon?

He didn't even bother with a fake pretense, being blunt to the point of cruelty.

Never in her life had she suffered such humiliation.

The sun of Dorne, the flower of the Water Gardens—she had been surrounded by love since childhood and had never been so slighted, ignored as if brushing away a speck of dust.

This humiliation, born from Aegon's extreme indifference, fiercely stung the pride etched into her bones.

The bit of curiosity and expectation born from their blood kinship was instantly replaced by resentment.

She looked at the young face on the high seat, calm to the point of being cold, and her nails dug deep into her palms.

Aegon Targaryen.

She would remember this.

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