Chapter 12: The Dragon's Oath – Rhaegar I and the Templar Knights
Twenty years had woven peace into the fabric of the Dragon Dominion, but peace was never eternal—not in a world shadowed by whispers of winter and ancient foes. Daenerys Targaryen, now in her fifties with silver hair streaked like comet trails, had stepped back from the throne five years prior, passing the crown to her children. Rhaegar II and Visenya had ruled as co-monarchs at first, brother and sister wed in the old Valyrian way to keep the blood pure. But Visenya's fierce spirit had drawn her to the skies; she bonded deepest with Viserion, the cream-scaled dragon, and spent more time patrolling the borders than in council chambers. When she announced her intention to lead exploratory flights beyond the Shivering Sea, Rhaegar yielded the sole throne to her blessing.
Thus, Rhaegar II became Rhaegar I in the eyes of the realm—the first undisputed king of the Dragon God Church's dominion. He was forty now, tall and solemn, with his father's violet eyes and his mother's unyielding resolve. His hair fell in platinum waves to his shoulders, and he wore the red-and-black robes of the High Priest beneath his scaled armor. The Iron Throne—reclaimed in the final push across the Narrow Sea fifteen years ago—stood empty no more, but Rhaegar ruled from Meereen still, turning King's Landing into a western temple outpost.
The coronation was held in the Great Pyramid's Eternal Flame Chamber, where Viserys's tomb gleamed under dragonfire lanterns. Daenerys placed the ruby-encrusted crown on her son's head herself, her hands steady despite the years.
"You are the Messiah's blood," she said softly. "Rule with fire and mercy."
Rhaegar knelt before the tomb, touching the red silk that shrouded his father's remains. "I swear it, Mother. The eternal family endures."
But peace bred complacency, and Rhaegar saw threats where others saw calm. Whispers from Westeros spoke of unrest: wildlings stirring beyond the Wall, old gods clashing with the new faith, Baratheon loyalists hiding in the Stormlands. The Dragon God Church needed guardians—not just armies, but holy warriors sworn to flame and faith.
Thus, the Templar Knights were born.
The Formation of the Templar Knights
Rhaegar announced the order in a grand assembly on the pyramid's terrace, overlooking a sea of red banners and faithful faces. The dragons—now massive, with wings that blotted the sun—circled overhead, their roars punctuating his words.
"For twenty years, we have known peace," Rhaegar proclaimed, voice echoing like thunder. "But the Dragon God demands vigilance. Our enemies—slavers in hiding, usurpers in the west, shadows in the north—will not rest. So we form the Templar Knights: warriors of the flame, sworn to protect the church, the throne, and the eternal legacy."
The Templars were drawn from the finest: Unsullied who had found faith, Dothraki who traded horses for dragonsteel blades, Westerosi knights who had bent the knee after the crusade's end. They took vows in fire-gazing ceremonies, swearing oaths from The Flames of Eternity: to defend the weak, purge heretics, guard the holy sites. Their armor was black plate etched with three-headed dragons, capes red as blood, helms shaped like snarling wyrms. Each carried a sword blessed in dragonfire—Valyrian steel for the elite, common blades tempered in Drogon's breath for the rest.
Rhaegar himself knighted the first hundred in the plaza below. "You are the dragon's talons," he said, anointing their brows with ash. "Go forth and shield the faithful."
But the north called loudest. Scouts from the Wall—now a church outpost—reported growing threats: wildling raids, strange lights in the sky, rangers vanishing into the Haunted Forest. The old Night's Watch had crumbled under Baratheon neglect; the Dragon God Church would rebuild it stronger.
Thus, the Northern Templar Knights were formed—a specialized branch, hardy souls trained for ice and shadow. They numbered five hundred at first: volunteers from the Dominion's coldest fringes, clad in fur-lined black armor, their capes embroidered with white flames to symbolize fire against winter. Rhaegar blessed them personally before they marched north.
"Guard the Wall," he commanded their leader, a grizzled Dothraki named Khalor the Frostbound. "Not against men alone, but against the darkness that stirs. The Dragon God's light reaches even the ends of the world."
The Northern Templars set out with wagons of supplies, dragonsteel weapons, and copies of the bible bound in frost-resistant leather. They crossed the Narrow Sea on church ships, then marched through Westeros—passing King's Landing without pause, their red banners drawing stares and whispers from smallfolk who remembered the crusade's fires.
Lord Stark's Reaction
The Northern Templars reached Winterfell after a month's hard travel, the first snows dusting their capes like ash from a distant volcano. Eddard Stark—Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, now in his graying years—received word of their approach from scouts. The old wolf had bent the knee after the crusade's end, trading Baratheon loyalty for Targaryen peace. He had seen his share of changes: the Seven Kingdoms reforged under dragon rule, the old gods tolerated but overshadowed by the Dragon God's flame. But holy knights marching to the Wall? That was new.
Ned stood on Winterfell's battlements as the column approached, his cloak billowing in the chill wind. Beside him were his sons: Robb, tall and auburn-haired; Bran, wide-eyed and curious; and young Rickon, fidgeting with excitement. Sansa and Arya watched from the courtyard below, whispering about the "fire knights."
The Templars halted before the gates in perfect formation. Khalor dismounted, his black armor gleaming despite the frost. He knelt in the snow, helm under one arm, revealing a scarred face framed by a red braid.
"Lord Stark," Khalor said in a voice rough as gravel. "We come by order of King Rhaegar I. The Northern Templar Knights, sworn to guard the Wall and defend the realm from what lies beyond."
Ned's face remained stoic, but his gray eyes narrowed. He had heard tales of these Templars—fanatics, some called them, blending sword and scripture like the Faith Militant of old. But these were no beggars in robes; they were warriors, armed to the teeth, their banners snapping with three-headed dragons that seemed to breathe fire even in the cold.
"Rise," Ned said, descending the steps with measured grace. He approached Khalor, sizing up the man and his knights. Up close, the armor's etchings caught the light—dragons coiled around crosses, flames licking edges. Each knight bore a red strip tied to his arm, a vow visible even under furs.
Ned's jaw tightened. The North remembered—wildlings were foes, but the Wall was their charge, the Night's Watch their ancient duty. Now foreigners from sun-scorched lands came to "guard" it? He felt a flicker of resentment, like ice cracking underfoot.
Yet he saw the discipline in their ranks, the weariness of the march etched on faces not used to snow. And the weapons—dragonsteel blades that hummed with heat, supplies that could feed the Watch for months. The realm had peace under Targaryen rule; the North had prospered, with trade flowing from Essos and dragons deterring raiders.
"King Rhaegar sends aid to the Wall," Ned said finally, voice even. "That is welcome. The Night's Watch is thin these days. But remember: the North has its own gods, its own ways. Your flames may warm the body, but the old gods guard the soul."
Khalor met his gaze without flinching. "We come to serve, not convert, Lord Stark. The Dragon God's light shines on all who stand against the dark."
Ned nodded slowly, hiding his unease. He glanced at Robb, who looked impressed by the knights' array, and Bran, whose eyes sparkled with boyish awe. They see heroes, Ned thought. I see change—and change brings storms.
"Winterfell offers you shelter for the night," he said. "Rest. Eat. Then go to your duty."
As the Templars entered the gates, Ned watched them file past—black armor against gray stone, red capes like blood on snow. A shiver ran through him, not from the cold. The Dragon God's reach had come to the North, and with it, the winds of a new era.
In the Spiritual Space, Alex leaned forward, heart racing. Rhaegar's rule solidified; the Templars marched. But the North remembered, and Lord Stark's quiet wariness hinted at fractures to come.
The eternal family grew—but so did the shadows.
(Word count: 1498)