Chapter 73 - Conspiracies (I)

Chapter 73 - 73 - Conspiracies (I)"I'm going to turn into dragon dung." Tyrion Lannister thought, seeing the king's eyes staring at him with a cold gaze.

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Daenerys and Visenya were unaware of the alliances that were beginning to form. The two were chatting amusingly with Aenar about various subjects when the guests began to file in, bringing offerings of gold, jewels, armor and weapons.

The weapons and armor, although of excellent quality, were nowhere near the supremacy of Valyrian steel. Still, they were remarkable pieces that Aenar would give to his most valiant soldiers, those who had contributed decisively in the war against the Dothraki.

However, Aenar's attention was caught by one guest in particular: a tall man with amber skin, dark red hair and wearing a yellowish tunic. But what really piqued the king's interest was not the man's distinctive appearance, but the gift he brought.

Ten boxes crammed with gold and jewels. These were no ordinary boxes, but huge containers, each one meter in diameter. Aenar quickly calculated: the contents must have amounted to around thirty thousand gold coins, not counting the jewels. An impressive gift, especially considering that other guests offered an average of a thousand gold coins.


Sensing Aenar's attentive gaze, the man leaned in slightly and introduced himself in the Common Tongue. "I am Hizdahr zo Lora, descendant of Mazdhan the Magnificent, Hazrak the Beautiful and Zharaq the Liberator."

He continued, his voice marked by a tone of reverence: "It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace. I hope my gift was worthy of your appreciation."

Hizdahr turned his gaze to the throne, where Aenar stood imposingly. The crown of flames was burning on his head, but it didn't seem to cause him any pain; on the contrary, it gave him an air of divinity, as if he were blessed by the fire itself.

Aenar answered sincerely. "Thank you for the gifts, Hizdahr zo Lora."

Although his fortune had grown enormously after the sacking of the Old Blood behind the Black Walls, Aenar knew that money was never too much, especially when it came to building an army, especially a large army like his that needed lots of ships and food.



The purpose of Hizdahr's visit, however, was what interested Aenar most. According to information from the Emperor's Daughters, the three Slave Cities were uniting to besiege Volantis. The interruption in the flow of slaves to Slaver's Bay had enraged the elites of these cities, leaving them thirsting for retaliation.

"I would like you to answer my questions, Lord Hizdahr," said Aenar, his firm voice echoing through the hall and capturing everyone's attention. "Why are you in Volantis? As I understand it, the cities of Astapor, Meereen and Yunkai are, at this very moment, forming an alliance to besiege my beautiful city, bringing their fleet of ships and armies of slaves."

Everyone's eyes turned to Hizdahr, some filled with coldness, others with a deadly glare. Despite this, the amber-skinned man's face remained impassive, expressing no emotion or surprise at Aenar's doubts.

"I don't share the same resentment as them, Your Grace," replied Hizdahr, his voice calm and controlled. He spoke with cautious respect, avoiding any tone that might irritate the young king in front of him. "The blood feud between Valyria and Ghis ended a long time ago."

Aenar leaned back slightly in his throne, a smile forming on his lips. He remained silent for a moment, but internally he found those words absurd. The idea that the feud between Valyria and Ghis was over was laughable. It was no secret that Valyria had destroyed the Ghis Empire to its ashes. If there wasn't still deep hatred in Slaver's Bay today, Aenar would be the first to point out the lie.

He himself harbored a desire to destroy the last remnants of New Ghis - those who dreamed of restoring the old empire in the present day.

And Hizdahr? Aenar knew that this man, with his quiet demeanor and careful words, was much more than he seemed. He was one of the secret princes of New Ghis, linked to the powerful Iron Legions, a force inspired by the Lockstep Legions of Old Ghis.

"I would like to request a private conversation, Your Grace," Hizdahr spoke with a careful tone. The cold, hostile looks on his face intensified. Kinvara and Benerro, in particular, seemed ready to pounce. To them, that man was only in Volantis to buy time for Slaver's Bay.

However, no one dared to act. The decision was up to Aenar, not them.

"Very well, we will have a private meeting, Lord Hizdahr," replied Aenar, with an enigmatic smile as his eyes narrowed in thought. If Hizdahr wished to take part in the Game of Thrones, Aenar saw no problem in including one more player. The more pieces on the board, the greater the triumph at the end.

Deep down, Aenar was sure that by defeating all his opponents and rising as Emperor, his name would not only be legendary, but would become divine, as the ruler who controlled the entire planet.

Hizdahr, oblivious to the fate that awaited him, gave a relieved smile when he heard Aenar's agreement.

"Thank you, Your Grace," said Hizdahr, stepping back to make room for the other guests.

It was at this moment that Rhaella, who had been watching the visitors attentively, stood up abruptly at the sight of an elderly man walking towards Aenar with a dwarf by his side.

Ser Barristan!

How could she not recognize her husband and brother's former member of the Royal Guard? Although Aerys was a terrible king, his Royal Guard was legendary, made up of knights like Barristan the Bold; Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning; and Gerold Hightower, the White Bull.

When Barristan saw the former queen, healthy and in perfect condition, his countenance was filled with relief. There were two great regrets that tormented him: not having protected Rhaegar and not having acted when King Aerys abused his own wife.



Kneeling before the steps of the throne, Barristan raised his eyes to Aenar, who wore a crown of flames. The resemblance between father and son did not go unnoticed by him.

"I am Barristan Selmy, Your Grace, Lord Commander of your father's guard," Barristan declared firmly, without hesitation, in front of Aenar and the queens at the young king's side.

The moment he revealed his identity, Leda, who was standing in front of the steps, drew the sword Dawn from its scabbard and placed the blade against the knight's neck. Her gray eyes, cold as steel, stared mercilessly at the traitor.

"And Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon," Leda added, her words laden with contempt. If it hadn't been for the need to wait for Aenar's orders, Barristan's head would have been rolling on the floor by now.

Whispers rang through the hall at the old knight's words. The surprise was evident among the guests, who murmured amongst themselves, unable to hide their astonishment at the turn of events. Everyone there knew the history of House Targaryen, a basic knowledge for any visitor wishing to avoid death for saying something inappropriate in front of the king.

Daenerys and Visenya, overcome by the initial shock, exchanged deep glances, trying to process the scene before them. Even though they didn't want to, they couldn't help a feeling of anger welling up in their hearts.

Rhaenys was also perplexed, although her memories of the old knight were vague. She remembered being carried on his shoulders as they walked through the courtyard, one of the rare happy memories of her childhood.

"And why is the Lord Commander of my cousin's Royal Guard here, kneeling before me?" Aenar asked, even though he already knew the answer. He had no intention of killing Barristan. What fool would eliminate one of the most powerful knights in the world?

Aenar had bigger plans for him. Barristan in the Royal Guard would be an invaluable asset, and together with his vast combat experience after undergoing Physical Enhancement, he would become a veritable war machine,

"I ask the King to accept my service in the Royal Guard. My sword will be yours until the end of my days," Barristan replied without hesitation. His blue eyes locked onto Aenar's with determination. Dawn 's blade at his neck did not intimidate him; his expression remained unchanged.

Aenar watched him in silence, his violet eyes locked on the old knight's resolute gaze. The hall fell silent. No one dared to speak, awaiting the young king's judgment.

It was Oberyn who broke the silence. "My king, if I may speak, I advise you to accept Barristan Selmy. The weight of his name alone is worth a thousand men."

He paused before adding, "Accepting Barristan will send a powerful message to the Noble Houses of Westeros that the King is magnanimous."

Aenar knew Oberyn was right. Many Houses had sworn loyalty to Robert Baratheon and feared that Aenar would eliminate all those who had betrayed the Targaryens.

Accepting Barristan would be an excellent move to show that the Noble Houses that had betrayed him were allowed to continue to exist. It would make many Noble Houses still undecided come over to Aenar's side without much effort.

"Thank you for your advice, Prince Oberyn," said Aenar in a sincere tone, drawing a smile from the prince.

After long minutes of contemplation, Aenar finally spoke. "Put your sword away and step back, Leda."



Without hesitation, Leda returned Dawn to its scabbard, stepping back with a cutting glance at Barristan.

"I will allow you to serve me, but not in the Royal Guard. I still don't trust you," Aenar declared. Before he could continue, he noticed his grandmother, Rhaella, asking for permission to speak.

"My king, I would like Barristan to serve me as my guard," Rhaella said firmly. Her statement surprised Barristan, who stared at her with wide eyes. He had never imagined that the Dowager Queen would accept him, especially after everything that had happened.

Aenar looked at her grandmother and smiled. "All right, I'll allow it. He will serve you, Grandmother."

"Thank you, Your Grace. You won't regret it." Barristan said with a relieved look on his face. He would finally serve a worthy king.

Still kneeling, Barristan gestured to the side, drawing attention to another man next to him. "Your Grace, this next to me is Tyrion, of House Lannister."

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