ASOIAF: The True House of Dragons

That night, a small yet ceremonious banquet was held at Dragonstone Castle, attended by the vassal families sworn to House Targaryen.

The hall was ablaze with candlelight, and the long tables were filled with all manner of exquisite dishes. The aroma of fine wine lingered in the air.

Lord Aerion, dressed in elegant black and red robes, sat at the seat of honor. His gaze swept across the hall as he slowly rose to his feet, holding in his hand the ancestral sword of House Targaryen—a symbol of glory and power—Blackfyre.

Under the watchful eyes of all present, Aerion passed Blackfyre to Aegon.

Aegon accepted the sword with both hands and slowly unsheathed it. The Valyrian steel blade shimmered coldly in the candlelight.

Blackfyre's blade was long and straight, like a stream of silver—smooth and gleaming. Its hilt was even more ornate, with a lifelike dragon-shaped crossguard coiled around it. Every scale was intricately carved, clearly visible, and the dragon's eyes bulged with a sharp gleam, as if ready to spring to life.

Aegon lifted the sword high, its tip pointed skyward.

At this sight, the major vassals broke into applause and cheers. The thunderous sound echoed through the hall, and everyone's face was lit with joy and excitement.

With the ancestral sword in hand, Aegon, though not yet formally named the new head of the house, was now able to act with that authority.

"Orys, step forward," Aegon called out, smiling, his voice steady and commanding.

Orys was momentarily stunned. Then his eyes widened in astonishment as he looked at Aegon. Encouraged by the approving looks and gentle prompting of the other vassals, he took a deep breath and cautiously stepped up before Aegon.

At that moment, Orys seemed to understand what was about to happen. He knelt on one knee before the steps of the throne.

Lowering his head, his eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. His hands trembled slightly.

Aegon, holding the family sword with solemn composure, declared, "Orys Baratheon is hereby named the third vassal of House Targaryen. Under the authority of the Targaryen sovereign, House Baratheon is formally established."

Upon hearing this, Orys was overwhelmed by emotion.

Baratheon had once been nothing more than a common surname belonging to a fishing family on Dragonstone. Though Orys was Aerion's bastard, he bore his mother's name and had never imagined that one day the name Baratheon would be elevated to nobility.

"Thank you, my lord… I will serve you with unwavering loyalty!" he said, his whole body trembling with emotion, his lips quivering as he spoke.

The banquet erupted in celebration for House Baratheon.

Though Orys had yet to be granted a fief, it did nothing to dampen the joy and congratulations from the others.

Flushed with excitement, Orys stood, trembling slightly, clutching his wine cup tightly. As he looked around at the warm and sincere smiles, his heart swelled with gratitude.

...

After the lively banquet, the core nobles of House Targaryen, as was their custom, gathered in the study for a council.

The study was filled with the faint fragrance of tea, and flickering candlelight danced across the faces of those present.

Crispian, the quartermaster, gave a slight bow and offered a suggestion to Aerion and Aegon.

"Lord Aerion, Your Highness, I believe we should send letters to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, inviting them to join our alliance.

Even if they won't send troops to assist us, having them send envoys would still be beneficial.

Let them witness the might of the Dragonlord firsthand. That way, when we begin our campaign to conquer Westeros, we might face less resistance from the ignorant."

Aerion and Aegon sat at the head of the table. Aerion nodded slightly, thoughtful, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface.

After a moment, Aerion gave his assent to Crispian's proposal.

At that, Daemon frowned, voicing his concern. "What if someone discovers a weakness in the Dragon?"

The question was too sensitive. For a moment, everyone turned to look at him.

Aerion, the head of the house, gently set down his teacup, the light clink echoing in the quiet room.

His gaze swept over them all, and he answered with a tone that allowed no doubt.

"Dragons have no weakness. It is the most perfect creation in the world—the most precious gift granted by the heavens to the Dragonlord bloodline.

We, House Targaryen, will use the power of Dragons to crush any enemy who dares challenge us.

Crispian's suggestion is timely and necessary. Conquering Westeros has long been the dream of our house. After the war with the Kingdom of Volantis, we will begin the Great Conquest of Westeros.

So during the war with the Kingdom of Volantis, we must seize as many resources as we can, to prepare for the campaign that follows."

Aerion rose to his feet, his gaze blazing.

"For House Targaryen, and for the Great Conquest, we must stand united and fight with all our strength!"

The vassals responded in unison, "For our house, for the Great Conquest, we will give our lives without hesitation!"

...

After two long months of waiting, the footsteps of the Alliance of the Six Kingdoms Summit drew ever closer.

The revelation that House Targaryen had been secretly conspiring with the six kingdoms to form an alliance against Volantis struck like a boulder dropped into still water, sending shockwaves through the city.

Volantis's ruling parties rushed to convene a meeting. The air inside the chamber was thick with tension, like the sky just before a storm.

Around the long table, Triarchs from all factions sat with grim expressions. They leaned in, murmuring to each other in hushed tones, brows furrowed in worry and anger.

"House Targaryen's scheme is clearly meant to push us into a dead end!" roared an elderly, white-haired Triarch as he suddenly slammed the table. His voice trembled with fury.

This was Jehettys Valentine, leader of the Dragon Party, head of House Valentine, and a dragon knight.

At present, Volantis was ruled by three dominant parties: the Dragon Party, the Tiger Party, and the Elephant Party.

"We must act at once. We can't just sit here and wait to die!" declared a burly Tiger Party Triarch, his fists clenched.

"But because we were the aggressors in the last war, none of the Free Cities in the Disputed Lands are willing to ally with us now," the Elephant Party Triarch sighed helplessly.

Jehettys let out a long breath. "Targaryen's move is ruthless. With so many kingdoms forming a coalition, they won't be satisfied with just a slice of land—they're aiming to wipe us out entirely."

"This is all your Valentine family's fault for picking a fight with the Targaryens and making them our enemy. Now they've got three dragons and a Dragonlord. If you ask me, we might as well surrender and be done with it," the Elephant Party Triarch said mockingly.

Jehettys slammed his fist onto the table again, eyes blazing as he stared down the Triarch from the Elephant Party.

"When we conquered Lys and Myr, when Valentine's silver dragons tore down their walls, everyone got their share of spoils—everyone feasted. But now that we're in danger, you want to sell out the Dragon Party? Are you trying to commit treason?"

"That was you Dragon Party folks eating the meat. We of the Elephant Party only got the soup," the Elephant Party Triarch muttered under his breath, not daring to meet Jehettys's gaze but refusing to back down entirely.

The Tiger Party Triarch slammed both hands on the table.

"Enough! This is not the time for infighting. We're in a crisis. What we need now is a solution."

After intense debate, they ultimately decided to withdraw their forces to within Volantis's borders and send envoys to the Dothraki Sea. Whether the Horselords would agree to support them, however, remained uncertain.

...

Dragonstone was shrouded in an unusual atmosphere.

Tension and anticipation wove through the air of Dragonstone Castle, coiling around the nerves of everyone present.

The reason was clear—a grand summit between six kingdoms was about to begin on the island, a gathering that would determine the future of the Disputed Lands. High-ranking envoys from the five Free Cities, along with emissaries from Westeros, were arriving one after another.

When word spread that King Argilac Durrandon of the Stormlands had personally come to Dragonstone, the other envoys were stunned. The five Free Cities had all sent senior advisors, but no ruler or Triarch had dared risk crossing into foreign territory themselves. Argilac Durrandon, the Storm King, was bold indeed.

Upon hearing the news, Aegon went to greet the king in person.

Argilac was clad in richly adorned, heavy armor. A thick beard hung from his chin, like the mane of a lion. Behind him, a contingent of elite guards followed closely, each one bearing a stern, imposing expression.

When Argilac realized that it was not Aerion, the head of House Targaryen, who had come to receive him, his expression darkened at once. Feeling slighted, the Storm King was just about to erupt in a furious tirade to vent his displeasure.

At that moment, a low, thunderous roar rumbled from above. Instinctively, everyone looked up.

Balerion's colossal form was descending from the sky like a dark cloud. Its immense body blotted out the sun as it flew low overhead, casting a vast shadow across the ground.

Under the shadow of the dragon, the gleam of the Storm King's ornate armor dulled instantly, losing all its brilliance.

Staring up at the massive beast—more than 150 meters long and flying just overhead—Argilac couldn't help but swallow hard. The curse on the tip of his tongue was forcefully swallowed back down.

His face turned from grim to jovial in an instant. Laughing heartily, he strode forward, threw a thick arm around Aegon's shoulders, and said in a booming voice, "House Targaryen knows how to make an impression!

Sending you to welcome me? The moment I saw you, I knew I liked you, haha!"

Aegon watched Argilac's rugged face shift expression faster than a changing mask, and couldn't help but feel speechless.

...

Once the six major factions had gathered on Dragonstone, the other kingdoms of Westeros arrived one by one—though much later. Most only sent a token number of envoys, attending more to observe the historic moment than to participate. Many were also eager to witness the Targaryen dragons in action firsthand.

Among them, it was the Winterfell Kingdom's move that surprised Aegon the most.

Winterfell had informed House Targaryen in advance that they would send their crown prince, Torrhen Stark, to personally take part in the campaign against Volantis, seeking a share of the spoils.

Curious about Torrhen, Aegon went out to meet him personally.

During the reception, he learned that Torrhen had departed from White Harbor and sailed for nearly half a month before reaching Dragonstone.

Notably, Torrhen brought with him a formidable force of one thousand elite Northern warriors.

The Winterfell crown prince left a strong impression on Aegon. Straightforward and honest, he even reminded Aegon a little of Gaemon.

While chatting casually, Torrhen laid out their intentions for bringing troops with surprising openness.

"You've already revealed your hand," Aegon said with a smile, speaking to him in a friendly tone, though he couldn't help sighing inwardly. "When it comes time to face those seasoned, scheming diplomats at the alliance talks, how will you hold your own? Planning to walk away empty-handed?"