"I'll do as you say."
Laena smiled helplessly and walked over to the other woman. She clasped her arm tightly.
Aemon patted her arm to tell her not to worry.
He had been honest for a long time.
When facing war, his family had too many concerns.
He wasn't afraid. He was passionate about riding and using dragons.
He believed that even if Slaver's Bay was destroyed, his dear uncle would understand him.
King's Landing: A Sleepless Night
That night in King's Landing,
Viserys was bored in his chambers, playing with the stone figurines on the table; his heart was still in turmoil.
Why was that?
"Your Majesty, would you like to invite the queen or the young prince for a chat?"
Ser Harold asked, noticing the king's absent-mindedness.
"This..."
Viserys was more alert but hesitant.
Invite Alicent? In the past, even in the dead of night, he would have invited her to talk by candlelight.
He wondered if he had been too frugal in his youth.
With the birth of their son, Daeron, things had become overwhelming.
"Forget it. Don't bother them so late at night."
Viserys put on a helpless smile and looked concerned for his family.
"Hmmm,"
Ser Harold shrugged in a gesture of respect. "Your Majesty, you're the most important. We've been friends for decades. How could I not know you?"
Viserys felt a little awkward and coughed lightly. "Any news on Daemon lately?"
"He's been hanging out in the brothels on Silk Street, getting drunk all day."
Ser Harold said, curling his lips.
"Well, let him be."
Viserys waved his hand in disappointment.
He knew Daemon was just taunting him.
However, there was no reason to agree to Daemon and Lady Rhaena's request to dissolve their marriage.
Having a complete family brings endless benefits throughout one's life.
Even if his nephew's home wasn't particularly warm, at least he had both parents.
That alone was more than most.
If the marriage were dissolved, the family would be left rootless.
"I'm not sure if I should report something to you about Prince Daemon."
Ser Harold hesitated, his voice perplexed.
Viserys's heart skipped a beat, and he scowled. "Tell me about it."
He always had to report everything.
"Prince Daemon visits the dragon pits every few days when he's sober."
Ser Harold knew this wasn't unusual, but he was still concerned. "He seems quite interested in that young dragon, though, and he's repeatedly ventured into Dreamfyre's pit despite being stopped."
"Araxes?"
Viserys frowned.
"That newborn dragon with its slate-gray scales and red wings."
"Yes."
Ser Harold nodded, adding seriously, "He's suspicious."
At this point, the king understood his meaning.
Daemon had publicly announced that he had secretly married a Rhoynish lady from Lys who was pregnant with his child.
According to Targaryen custom, a dragon egg was placed in the cradle of a newborn.
Daemon observed the young dragon and trespassed in the lair of the mother dragon, Dreamfyre.
This was likely preparation for his unborn child.
Nothing else could have kept him in King's Landing and prevented him from returning to Lys.
"That bastard!"
Viserys gritted his teeth at the thought.
He was certain Daemon would do such a dastardly thing.
He had a history!
"Keep an eye on the dragon's lair. Order the dragon handlers to patrol more closely. No more thefts."
Viserys calmed down and gave a direct order.
A bastard son of a woman from Lys didn't deserve a dragon egg.
Damn Daemon! Don't even think about stealing an egg under his nose again.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Ser Harold nodded solemnly. He would send his Iron Guards to retrieve it.
"Well, I'll be alone for a while."
Viserys sighed softly. "You should go back and rest, too."
Mentioning the dragon eggs made him think of his daughter and nephew being away.
He didn't know if everything would go well.
He was so worried that he lost interest in playing with the stone figurines.
"You should rest early, too."
Ser Harold obediently replied.
Slaver's Bay: The Waiting Game
Slaver's Bay.
Aemon led the northern expeditionary force of Astapor and stationed them on the loess road from Meereen to Yunkai.
Normally, it would be impossible to insert an army into the heart of two hostile city-states.
But he had dragons!
Any raid, encounter, or ambush would be ineffective unless another dragon attacked the main tent.
Dragon flames would be spat out, rendering all the military manuals useless.
"What should we do next?"
Rhaenyra asked naïvely in the open-air tent.
It was her first time experiencing the rhythm of marching and deploying troops in battle, and all the rules and regulations made her dizzy.
"Wait."
Aemon was frugal with words.
Hearing this, Rhaenyra became even more confused.
She admitted that Aemon was slightly better than her.
His Royal Highness had disliked studying since childhood and specialized in martial arts and history.
Moreover, he had an enviable talent for war.
"Marching and fighting."
Like a lush tree, from its massive trunk to its delicate leaves, every detail must be considered.
For example, where is the safest place to set up camp?
Is there an adequate water source?
Is there a mountain to lean against to reduce the pressure on the defense?
She couldn't understand the details.
This includes things like where to locate the latrines and whether the soldiers should take turns using them on a regular schedule.
The baggage train must carry hay for the horses and mules pulling it and for the soldiers to sleep on.
These reasonable yet unfamiliar things were completely unheard of.
"Don't ask. We'll just do it."
Laena smiled helplessly, soothing Rhaenyra's frustration over her perceived lack of intelligence.
To be blunt, even Laena, a model lady with an aristocratic upbringing, couldn't understand these things.
Rhaenyra was even more confused.
Did she understand?
"You two should shut up,"
Aemon said, holding his forehead with one hand and rolling his eyes.
It's a sure win. Just follow along and gain experience. There's no point in asking so many questions and not understanding anything.
"Your Majesty!"
Suddenly, a Dothraki voice boomed from outside the tent.
Aemon glanced back and said a few words in his newly learned Dothraki: "Come in!"
The technique lay in the flicking of his tongue.
The low, deep sound created a natural, oppressive feeling.
A bloodrider entered.
His eyes were filled with surprise, and he stole glances at Aemon several times as he entered.
Did the Dragon Lord actually know Dothraki?
"Where are Khal Orm's men?"
Aemon locked eyes with him, putting pressure on him.
"The Khal has already led his troops out."
The bloodrider replied respectfully, bowing his head.
Aemon raised his chin, signaling him to withdraw, amused to himself.
The Bloodrider fled in disgrace.
As he left, Rhaenyra hurriedly asked, "Did you order Khal Orm to take his men out so early?"
"Of course,"
Aemon replied, in a good mood, stretching his waist.
He was waiting for Orm to attack.
After all, it was war.
Not for banditry nor to satisfy a ravenous appetite.
War for wealth, land, culture, and hearts.
Winning was simple.
They mounted their dragons and soared over Meereen, spewing dragonfire.
Meereen, unaware of the Dragon Lord's arrival in Slaver's Bay, was defenseless.
A wrath of dragons would follow, like the Dothraki after a raid.
The city would be shattered and reduced to ruins.
But what good would that do?
Aemon sought the eggs of the Sea of Smoke. He wanted to liberate Slaver's Bay and establish a small, semi-autonomous rear base there.
Therefore, he couldn't use force.
He had to be gentle.
He had to kill only the Great Lords and slave traders of Meereen, sparing the obedient commoners and oppressed slaves.
He had to spread the title of Breaker of Chains.
Like the people of Astapor and New Ghis, the people of Meereen would revere him as a guiding light, their voices and smiles haunting their hearts.
His Highness's kindness is unending!
"What on earth did you assign Orm to do?"
Rhaenyra asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"Open the city gate for me," Aemon said truthfully.
Aemon replied truthfully.
"Hmmm?"
Rhaenyra tilted her head.
"Wait."
Aemon smiled; he was in no hurry.
Meereen: The Gift
On the other side,
Khal Orm led the khalasar and ran to the towering, reddish-brown walls of Meereen.
Under the terrified gaze of the slave soldiers, he rode a black warhorse and patrolled in circles.
He fully demonstrated a set of Dothraki diplomatic methods.
After half a day,
The city gate slowly opened, and a group of men and women dressed in gorgeous clothes walked out.
Most of them were black-haired and dark-skinned Ghis (likely meant Ghiscaris), and there were also a few silver-haired, purple-eyed Valyrians.
As the largest city in Slaver's Bay, Meereen has a diverse population.
Orm's khal stood tall and looked down at the group of men on horseback.
Only the Great Lords who ruled the city could dress like this in Meereen.
"Respected Khal, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
A relatively young male Great Lord bowed in greeting as a representative.
He was of Ghis descent.
His black hair was braided, he was exceptionally handsome, and he wore a bright yellow robe. His neck, wrists, and fingers were adorned with luxurious gold ornaments.
"We have prepared a feast for you and will present you with generous gifts afterward,"
Barbarod Rians said with a generous smile as he straightened up.
Spending money to ward off disaster.
This was a decision made by the Great Lords after their joint deliberation and a long-standing custom.
"Enter the city!"
Khal Orm said expressionlessly, flicking his whip indifferently.
The black horse beneath him neighed and galloped toward the open gates of Meereen.
The Dothraki were brutal, pillaging and attacking cities everywhere and committing countless atrocities.
But war has no winners.
The defenders trembled in fear, and every defense came at a heavy cost.
Even the attacking Dothraki suffered heavy casualties.
Once their numbers were drastically reduced, the khalasar would become valuable commodities for other khals.
Therefore, capturing a city would be disastrous.
However, human ingenuity knows no bounds, and a win-win solution can always be found.
Thus, over the course of their long history, the Dothraki developed a unique custom for attacking cities.
Any targeted city, including the Free Cities, would pay a large sum of money. Once the Dothraki had amassed sufficient supplies, they would retreat contentedly.
However, the Dothraki openly disregarded such indemnity-based transactions.
Dothraki tradition disdained trade, considering it the act of the weak.
In their view, equals should only exchange gifts.
Therefore, when the Dothraki attacked a city, the Great Lords claimed to have prepared a large gift, masking the humiliating reality of the indemnity.
Orm rode into the city, followed by dozens of bloodriders and howling warriors from the khalasar. They filed into the city alongside the khal.
The Great Lords were accustomed to this.
The Dothraki were known for their uncouth manners and flaunting of their military might.
Fortunately, they knew how to abide by the rules.
After accepting the "gift," they wouldn't cause trouble in the city.
"Let's go too,"
Barbarod sighed in relief and summoned the other Great Lords back to the city.
He still had to entertain the ancestors.
Dragon Eggs Revealed
Inside the Great Pyramid, the lavishly decorated hall was filled with tables, chairs, and benches.
Orm sat on the floor before a low table laden with Dothraki delicacies.
There was raw beef, freshly ripped horse hearts, and a whole cobra grilled over charcoal. These were exquisite creations unseen by ordinary people.
"I didn't know your tastes, so I had the cook prepare a little of everything."
Barbarod puffed out his chest, proud of the spectacle of the banquet.
Orm picked up a slice of raw beef and examined it with disdain, noting that there wasn't even a streak of blood. He returned it to his plate.
Barbarod was stunned.
He had the cook meticulously cut, chill on ice, and serve it with chili sauce.
"You really don't know how to enjoy yourself."
He secretly shook his head.
Orm didn't care at all. His eyes were as still as a pool of water as he recalled the scene he had seen when he entered the city:
A dozen Tyroshi with colorful hair, their throats slit and nailed to crosses.
They were placed on both sides of the road at the city gate.
Their blood had dried, and swarming flies covered them in the sweltering heat.
The Lord Dragon's prediction had failed.
The Great Lords of Meereen had broken the rules by slaughtering the Tyroshi mercenaries who had sought their refuge and seizing their treasures without paying anything.
"Lord Khal, did you encounter any treacherous Tyroshi mercenaries on your way here?"
Barbarod suddenly asked.
Khal Orm glanced up at him coldly, then uttered a single word.
It literally meant "killed."
The old slave translator said: "They sought the khal's protection, slowed the khalasar's progress, and were slain and sacrificed to the Horse God."
"That's wonderful,"
Barbarod laughed.
He was worried that the remaining Tyroshi mercenaries would cause trouble and leak the news.
Death would be better—a clean death.
He stood up before the old translator and said excitedly, "Tell the Khal to wait a moment while I prepare a generous gift for him."
With that, he hurried off.
The old translator relayed this to Orm, who frowned slightly as he watched Barbarod leave.
There were more than a few people present.
Several great lords accompanied Barbarod, accustomed to his flamboyant personality.
He flaunted anything he found.
Soon, Barbarod returned.
"Look what I've prepared for you!"
Two slave servants carried a wooden box and placed it before Orm.
Orm remained calm, not moving a muscle.
The discerning Bloodrider beside him wiped his greasy mouth, rose, adjusted his belt, and began to open the box.
With a creak!
The box swung open, revealing its contents.
Orm took one look, his eyes fixed on the contents.
"What are these!?"
Three oval dragon eggs leaned against each other at the bottom of the box, which was piled high with hay.
Unable to sit still, Orm rose and knelt again, leaning over the box to examine the eggs more closely.
There were three dragon eggs in total.
Their shells were covered in scales and exuded an ancient, mysterious aura.
One was green, one was black, and one was yellow.
Even after the grayish-white stone skin had settled, the original bright colors could still be seen.
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