ASOIAF: The True House of Dragons

Aegon led his vast fleet to the mouth of the Blackwater Rush.

For a moment, hundreds of large ships crowded together in the bay, their sails densely packed, covering the blue sea like a floating landmass formed entirely of ships.

Although Blackwater Bay lacked the depth of the port of Volantis, its unique location held unlimited potential. It was more than capable of supporting the development of a massive port—exactly the place House Targaryen had long planned to establish their capital.

He stepped steadily off the warship and looked carefully around the mouth of the river.

Beneath the three forest-covered hills on the northern bank of the Blackwater Rush sat only a small, unremarkable fishing village.

Countless soldiers stood neatly on the ships, eyes fixed on Aegon with hope and anticipation, silently waiting for the Dragonlord's command.

Aegon looked solemn as he slowly knelt on one knee and kissed the ground beneath him with reverence, murmuring,

"After a century of longing, Westeros, I have finally arrived."

Then he stood decisively and thrust his arm forward with commanding force.

Aethan, having received the signal, quickly blew the horn. A deep, resonant blast echoed across the bay.

The warriors on board were instantly filled with fiery determination. Led by their commanders, they surged toward the hills like a raging tide. Their first goal was to establish camp at the fishing village and construct temporary fortifications.

This time, Aegon commanded over twenty thousand soldiers, with more troops and slave warriors from The North arriving continuously. The military camp had already been mapped out in advance.

The builders, long prepared, sprang into action. As they disembarked, they immediately began surveying the land. Using Aegon's carefully divided city plans, they calculated each placement with precision, laying the foundation for the magnificent capital soon to rise.

...

Then Aegon began his first campaign against those who refused to submit.

Rosby Castle lay just a few kilometers north of the fishing village. Upon hearing of Aegon's landing, they delayed in pledging their loyalty.

Aegon acted decisively, sending Orys to lead a force, accompanied by Rhaenys riding her dragon, to subdue the castle.

At the same time, Visenya, mounted on her dragon, departed with Aethan's troops for Stokeworth, northeast of the village, to seize control of that stronghold.

By afternoon, Rhaenys returned on dragonback.

She reported to Aegon that House Rosby had surrendered without resistance.

This was an excellent start—undoubtedly a very favorable sign. If the other lords of Westeros were just as clear-sighted, Aegon's conquest would proceed far more smoothly.

By evening, Visenya also returned on her dragon.

She approached Aegon at a measured pace and gave a full report on the operation, which had encountered some turbulence.

A few crossbowmen from House Stokeworth had dared to shoot at Vhagar. The dragon, enraged, unleashed a torrent of flame, igniting the castle's roof. Only then did House Stokeworth finally surrender.

Aegon frowned and listened closely to Visenya's report.

"Are these feudal lords brainless? How dare they try to resist when they are so weak?"

After pondering for a moment, it suddenly dawned on him: in this era, information was far too limited. Even neighboring lords, who had lived beside one another for years, only knew that House Targaryen had a few dragons. As for just how powerful the Targaryens truly were—they had no clue.

Perhaps these decaying lords had never even stepped beyond their own tiny domains.

Aegon didn't rush to lead a wide-scale military assault. Instead, he had his army work hand-in-hand with the master builders to continue constructing the city.

Thanks to the steady stream of resources supplied by the Federation Council of the eastern continent of Essos, Aegon had everything he needed to carefully plan and build the capital from the ground up.

Three hills stood beside the fishing village. One of them, rich in geothermal resources, was without doubt an ideal site for constructing a dragon's nest. With its deep-water port, proximity to land routes, and natural terrain, this once-unremarkable fishing village seemed as if it had been tailor-made by the heavens for House Targaryen.

Aegon named the three hills after himself and his two sisters, bestowing upon them deep and lasting significance.

...

After half a month of hard work, massive trenches had been carved into the ground around the village—part of a sewer system carefully designed by Aegon himself. The goal was to prevent future flooding and to manage waste, ensuring that filth would not accumulate in the city over time.

From above, the outline of the town was already starting to emerge, with the shape of the future city faintly visible through the layout of the trenches. It was a glimpse of something grand in its earliest form.

This was only the inner city—destined to become the location of the royal palace.

Aegon had taken inspiration from the layout of London in his past life when drafting the design. With the inner city nestled against the three hills, it would be perfectly positioned for both riding and taming dragons.

The outer city would be planned and built separately. For now, Aegon needed only to lay the foundation of the inner city and put up temporary wooden houses for habitation. As more supplies arrived from the Federal Parliament and additional resources were secured through conquest, the city would gradually enter full-scale development.

At this stage, it was still just the beginning—only the foundation.

Atop Aegon's Hill, with his sisters at his sides, Aegon gave the hill a bold, resounding name:

King's Landing.

The port at Blackwater Bay had already begun operating. Each day, vast quantities of building materials arrived by sea, like streams feeding into an ocean, continuously fueling the construction of the city.

Aegon's design for King's Landing included one major difference from the cities of old: it had no surrounding walls.

Aegon declared proudly to his vassals,

"King's Landing needs no walls—because no one dares to challenge House Targaryen and our mighty dragons."

But this bold claim was soon met with a harsh reality.

Lord Darklyn of Duskendale and Lord Mooton of Maidenpool joined forces, merging their troops into a four-thousand-strong army. With great momentum, they marched south, intent on driving Aegon and his invading forces back into the sea.

A flash of anger crossed Aegon's usually calm face. He immediately ordered Orys Baratheon to lead the army in a direct confrontation while he mounted Balerion, the Black Dread, to strike from the sky.

It was a battle of overwhelming imbalance—completely one-sided.

The black flames Balerion unleashed were a force meant to destroy cities, not men. Against human flesh, it was simply too much. Bodies burned to ash in an instant, leaving nothing but pale, gray cinders.

The outcome was inevitable. Both lords died in the lopsided battle.

Darklyn's son and Mooton's younger brother, recognizing the hopelessness of resistance, surrendered their castles and swore allegiance to House Targaryen with due reverence.

At the time, Duskendale was a key port on Westeros's side of the Narrow Sea, enriched by thriving trade.

Visenya, well aware of the town's value, forbade her soldiers from looting it. Instead, she designated it as an important source of revenue to fund the ongoing conquest.

...

Afterward, Aegon summoned Maester Gawen. With a grave expression, he said,

"Go and proclaim my victories and strength to the lords of Westeros. I truly don't want to continue killing without cause. That will only give House Targaryen a name for brutality."

Maester Gawen responded with a wry smile.

"We may not have enough ravens. When we declared your kingship a few months ago, we were able to inform the continent's major powers because we had prepared in advance. But many ravens were killed by enraged lords—they never returned. Right now, we don't even have enough ravens to reach all the major forces."

Upon hearing this, Aegon slammed his fist down on the armrest of his chair, his voice filled with frustration and regret.

"I don't want to slaughter all the people who will one day be my subjects. That would only leave me branded a tyrant."

Seeing his lord so troubled, Maester Gawen said,

"Please allow me to return to the Citadel in Oldtown."

Aegon looked up, thoughtful.

Maester Gawen continued calmly,

"I am an archmaester of history at the Citadel and have the authority to use the Raven Tower. The Raven Tower is the largest raven roost on the entire continent, with more ravens than can be counted. It was originally meant to send seasonal updates across Westeros.

If we use the Raven Tower, we can notify all the continent's major and minor powers and spread word of your strength and renown."

Aegon gave a small nod, signaling his approval.

Maester Gawen didn't stop there. He continued,

"I've told you before—my father is the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven. I'll do my best to persuade the Faith to recognize your claim to the throne. I may even... see to it that they crown you king."

At those words, Aegon turned his head slightly in thought, avoiding Gawen's gaze.

In truth, he wasn't keen on involving the Faith of the Seven in his conquest. He had always viewed the Faith as a potential adversary—an entity best kept away from matters of royal authority. Blending divine power with royal rule would only plant the seeds of trouble for his future dynasty.

Maester Gawen waited patiently for Aegon's response to his second proposal.

Aegon furrowed his brow slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the tabletop—a habit he'd inherited from his father, Aerion. Whenever deep in thought, he would unconsciously fall into this pattern.

After a long silence, Maester Gawen couldn't help but speak again.

"The Faith of the Seven is deeply rooted in Westeros. If they endorse your rule, your claim to the throne will be much stronger. After all, House Targaryen migrated from Valyria. If you intend to rule Westeros in the long term, you must incorporate elements of the local culture.

Your Highness, I urge you to think carefully."

With that, Maester Gawen stood, intending to give Aegon space to reflect.

Aegon rapped his knuckles firmly on the table with a dull thud. Gawen, mid-step, stopped and turned back toward his liege.

"Send my regards to the High Septon," Aegon said with a trace of resignation in his expression but absolute firmness in his voice. "But my bottom line is this—the divine and the political must remain separate. The Faith of the Seven must never interfere in secular rule."

Maester Gawen gave a calm smile.

"The High Septon sent me to Dragonstone because he hopes your unified Targaryen dynasty will allow the Faith to spread freely in The North. The church has no ambitions for political control.

I've explained the Faith's position clearly. I hope that eases some of your concerns."

"I hope so," Aegon said, giving a small wave of his hand to dismiss him.

Maester Gawen bowed respectfully and slowly exited the wooden council hall.

...

Aegon sat alone in the hall, brows furrowed, weighing the pros and cons in silence.

After a while, he called to the attendants outside.

"Bring me Crispian, head of House Celtigar."

The attendant left to carry out the command.

Moments later, there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Come in," Aegon said steadily.

Crispian entered in haste and strode directly to Aegon. He bowed respectfully, then asked in a low voice,

"Your Highness, you summoned me. What would you have of me?"

Aegon's eyes landed on Crispian's forehead, glistening with fine beads of sweat. At this moment, Crispian was easily the most overworked and exhausted man in the Targaryen ranks.

He was currently in charge of managing the Targaryen army's logistics—tracking construction expenses and accounting for endless streams of funds and supplies. Each task was draining, yet he handled them all with remarkable order and efficiency, a testament to his capable administration.

Aegon gestured for him to come closer.

Crispian nodded in understanding and quickly moved beside Aegon's chair. He knelt partially, leaning in to listen.

Aegon lowered his voice.

"Here's the truth—our conquest of Westeros must be more than just military domination of land and bodies. In my eyes, the ideal conquest means reshaping the old order of the continent."

Crispian tilted his head slightly, clearly not fully understanding, blinking at Aegon with wide eyes.

Seeing this, Aegon continued patiently,

"I know it's a little hard to grasp. But think of it this way—Balerion, the mightiest Dragonlord, is ours. Overthrowing the Seven Kingdoms isn't difficult. But if all we do is crush the old world, how are we any different from the petty kings we mean to replace?"

Crispian gave a small nod, thoughtful.

"I think... I'm starting to understand."

Aegon saw the shift in his expression and pressed on.

"That's why we need a new order—an entirely new ideology to define our dynasty."

"The Citadel and the Faith of the Seven hold a monopoly on Westeros's knowledge and culture," Crispian said thoughtfully. "Are you planning to move against them?"

Aegon gave a small nod, his expression showing satisfaction at Crispian's insight.

"From now on, begin quietly sending intelligent young minds to join the Citadel and the Faith of the Seven. I want them to grow up inside these institutions—and when the time is right, bring them down from within."

"Your will is my command," Crispian said, bowing his head in respectful acknowledgment.