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Standing before the great Wall, Nox glared at the closed gate that was before him, blocking his path through the Wall and into Castle Black. The moment he and the five thousand Free Folk that were marching with him cleared the tree line, he heard not one, but two horn blasts from the top of the Wall. Two blasts. Wildlings. Not a single blast for a returning ranger or Northman. Two. And now he was met with a closed gate blocking his path. And he had no doubt that the inner gates within the tunnel leading through the Wall were also closed. Standing beside him were Jon, Ygritte, Benjen and Tormund. The only one of their group missing was Leaf, who had disappeared the night before after stating she would not go south of the Wall yet, and that she would see her people to rights.
Turning his head partially, Nox stared at Benjen, who was staring at the Wall and the closed gate in confusion. "Something to say in defense of your sworn brothers, Ranger Benjen?"
Benjen let out a hiss of air through his teeth. "Odds are that the boy King or Tywin Lannister has ordered the Night's Watch to bar our passage south."
Jon came up beside them, the young man's eyes traveling over every inch of the Wall. "But the Night's Watch doesn't take part in affairs of the crown…do they?"
"Aye, we don't," Benjen nodded. "But there is enough hatred amongst my brothers that should orders come from the King or Hand that they are to ignore whatever edicts have been made by the Warden of the North and bar passage to any and all Wildlings and their allies…? Well, I can name off a fair number who would not hesitate to follow those commands."
"Eh, so the fuckin crows think they can stop us, eh?" Tormund spat, eyeing the Wall hatefully. "Lost more than a few against dat damn gate. Even more tryin to climb the Wall. Either way, we won't be gettin through easily, nor quickly."
"Time we do not have," Nox replied, walking forward and holding his hand out towards the Wall and the gate barring his path.
A low groaning of metal against metal echoed across the snow. The heavy gate shuttered only a single time before slowly rising off the ground, revealing the darkened tunnel under the Wall leading to Castle Black. "Jon," he called over his shoulder. "Hold the gate. I will take the lead."
The gate dropped slightly as Nox let go. His Apprentice was quick on the uptake, reaching out through the Force and holding the gate open before the heavy iron could fall barely a foot. "By the gods," Jon growled through clenched teeth. "I think this thing is heavier than the stones in your tower, Master."
"Well keep it up. Or you'll be holding those stones for a full day." Nox threatened before marching headlong towards the gate, leaving Benjen, Tormund and the five thousand Free Folk scrambling to follow him.
As he passed through the gate and underneath the Wall, he felt a wave of a Force barrier pass over him. 'Bran Stark…I know not what importance you held to the Jedi of old… But your skill was such that you would have given even the Emperor and Revan reason to pause.' He could feel multiple Force barriers as he passed underneath the Wall. 'Wards upon wards. Layered. Interacting with one another to strengthen or as backups should aspects fall. I could spend months in this tunnel, studying the intricate layout Bran devised and still only have half the puzzle of the Wall figured out. Even should the Wall be breached…the wards will still stand. Weakened considerably, but still there. Incredible.'
The sound of muffled yelling brought him out of his musing. Just as the telltale twang went through the air followed by a whistle. Holding up his hand, Nox caught the offending object, a crossbow bolt, just as it was but a few inches from striking his face. Glaring at the closed inner gate that was shrouded in darkness. Twirling the bolt in his hand, he threw the offending object back towards the gate. The bolt whistled back through the air; the strength of his throw aided with the force made the bolt speed through the air faster than it did from a crossbow. The bolt sailed through the lone murder hole in the gate, striking the offender who'd shot at him in the shoulder.
"Idiots," Nox grumbled as he heard the men who'd been stationed just on the other side of the iron gate scramble and yell as they backtracked through the tunnel.
"Wat'd ya expect, Sorcerer?" Tormund asked as Nox raised the first of the inner gates, several Free Folk moving forward with spears or whatever they had to brace the gate up. "They're fuckin crows. They be fuckin idiots the moment they put on that black cloak and swear off the warmth of a good cunt."
"Don't forget I'm a Brother of the Night's Watch as well, Giantsbane," Benjen grumbled from his place beside the two of them.
"Aye, and you're still a fookin idiot," Tormund repeated. "But ya be a Stark…so at least ya be a decent sort of idiot. Still don't know why you swore off the warmth of a good woman though. No better way of stayin warm when da snows hit."
There was no attempting to stop them beyond the closed inner gates the rest of the way through the tunnel. By the time they reached the last gate before the exit, Benjen commented on the lack of resistance, noting how strange it was. But Nox could tell that while these brothers of the Night's Watch might be fools for trying to bar his path, they were not complete idiots. Had they tried their luck against him in such enclosed quarters, Nox would've slaughtered them. No. He could sense that the Night's Watch had pulled their men and were waiting for them within the courtyard of Castle Black just beyond the tunnel's exit.
"When we breach the exit, keep your weapons lowered unless directly attacked," he ordered Tormund and the Free Folk following him. "As annoying as this delay is, destroying the defenders of the Wall will only harm us in the long run. So, I'd prefer to leave as many Brothers of the Watch alive as possible."
Tormund clearly wasn't pleased with the command, but he knew better than to question him. So, the large man turned his head and relayed the orders to those behind. Using much more colorful language of course. But Nox was realizing that that was just how the man was.
As they passed through the end of the tunnel, Nox's force vision once obscured by the strength of the Wall cleared. And before him he saw all of Castle Black and the Night's Watched standing before him. Men were on the walkways, bows and crossbows pointed towards him. A hundred more stood in the courtyard before him. Some had steel bared, and spears lowered. Yet even more, like Lord Commander Mormont, was merely standing before him. He felt…resigned, though to what Nox did not know.
"Hold ready!" Ser Alliser Thorne called out from his place beside the Lord Commander, his sword in hand and ready for blood.
Yet despite all the Night's Watch standing in his way, Nox did not break his stride. He continued forward, uncaring of the dozens of arrows and bolts pointed his away nor the men meaning to bar his path forward. "Archers!" Thorne yelled, holding his sword high. "Loose!"
Only the sound of softly falling snow responded to the command. No strings snapped. No arrow whistled through the air. No men yelled out in charge. There was nothing. Save the sound of boots walking slowly, purposefully, across the snow-covered yard of Castle Black.
Ser Thorne looked around, as did a few of the others who had blades drawn, confused as to why the men of the Night's Watch were not readily attacking their long-standing enemy. Not only were they not attacking them, but by the time Nox had crossed half the distance between them most of the Night's Watch had either sheathed their blades, if they were even drawn, or lowered their bows.
"Fucking cravens!" Thorne shouted, charging headfirst towards Nox.
Shouts broke out. The Lord Commander yelling for Thorne to stand down, other Night's Watch brothers finding their courage or yelling to cease. And the Free Folk behind him calling to arms. But Nox did naught but watch as Thorne charged, his stride never once faltering. Just as Thorne was about to bring his blade down, Nox raised his hand.
Thorne's entire body ceased as if encased in ice as Nox grabbed his entire body with the Force and picked him a foot off the ground. Several voices called out in alarm as two more left Mormont's side to charge him, but they ended up just like Thorne, wrapped in the Force and left floating in the air. Tilting his head, Nox regarded the disgraced knight dangling in the air before him. "I did not take you for a man that would so blindly follow the orders of a Baratheon King birthed by a Lannister mother, Ser Thorne. Especially not after what they did to the Targaryens you held your allegiance so vehemently to."
Thorne glared down angrily at him. "I am a sworn brother of the Night's Watch! I care not for which Baratheon or Lannister ass polishes the Iron Throne!"
"Yet you are the only 'brother' who attacked me and mine as we were merely passing by," Nox replied, turning his head towards the other Brothers of the Night's Watch, none of whom were making any moves towards Nox or the Free Folk, even as Tormund motioned for the Free Folk to continue walking past Nox and towards what remained of the gate of Castle Black. "Even now, with you dangling in the air, helpless, none come to your aid."
Even with him being held helpless in the air by the Force, Nox could not sense fear from Alliser Thorne. Only contempt. Hatred. Had he been blessed with the Force, he would've made for a great Sith Lord. "Fucking cravens! The lot of you!" Alliser shouted, struggling in the air as he fought against the invisible binds holding him.
"It takes more courage to sheath one's blade than it does to draw it, Thorne," Nox stated, before realizing what he'd said. "Fucking hells. Now you have me sounding like a Force-damned Jedi. I should tear you limb from limb just for that alone. Not to mention the slight aggravation you've caused me by trying to impede my way south to save my wife. But…you're not even worth the effort of flicking my wrist to snap your neck."
Opening his fingers, Nox released his hold on the Force, dropping all the men to the ground. Thorne scrambled quickly to his feet, his hand clutching at his retrieved sword. Even still, there was no fear in him. Only anger. Resentment. "Thorne," the Lord Commander called out, his voice hard as Valyrian steel. "Stand down. You have embarrassed the Watch enough with this display."
For just a moment, Nox was sure that Thorne was about to turn his blade on his Commander. But the moment passed within a split second before Thorne sheathed his sword and marched purposefully out of the yard. The few that charged with him staying close by his side as they left while the remainder of the Night's Watch, realizing that there would be no fighting, slowly started to disperse back into what warmth there was to find.
Approaching him, Lord Commander Mormont watched quietly as hundreds of Free Folk raiders walked past him and into the lands of the North. "The Watch plays no part in the game of thrones, Lord Nox," the Lord Commander said, his unease clear to see even without the Force and despite Nox's lack of sight. "I let you through the Wall today because of your status as a Lord of the Realm, who is merely passing through with an army of sellswords. But any ill that these…Free Folk bring upon the people of the North and the Gift, you will answer for."
Nox nodded. "I accept responsibility for their actions here in the Gift and the North. They will behave. At least until we are in the South and I remove their shackles in order to set them loose on those southern twits."
Jeor nodded before turning so that he was facing south. "As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, my place is here, to be the shield for the realms of men."
"And as a man of the North?" Nox asked. "As a man who holds to the old gods? As a brother and uncle?"
Jeor's hands tightened into fists. "Kill every one of those southern cunts, Lord Nox. That is all I can ask."
The cheers and wild chanting of the crowds that echoed through the streets was almost deafening. Streams of flower petals that were prominently red, white, and blue were being thrown from the rooftops, fluttering down upon the crowds of cheering people below. All along the main thoroughfare that stretched from the port to the outer walls of the city was a long and dense gathering of celebratory smallfolk and slaves. Waving in the air at irregular locations were banners, some hastily made by the ladies of the house with only marginal skill and others professionally woven. Though there were several banners on display, the most common and the one that received the most love and attention was that of the now famous sellsword company of the Storm Dragons.
The event that was taking place in the Free City of Myr was one that was very rarely held. In fact, throughout Myr's long and illustrious existence, the sight of a grand triumph that was wholly embraced and celebrated by all its citizens, whether magister, civilian, or slave, could've been easily counted on one hand with fingers to spare. As a city that was renowned for its fine arts like tapestries and carpets, lace and blankets, mirrors and glassmaking, the fact that Myr did not have a history of strong warriors or armies was quite well known. In fact, this general lack of any homegrown fighting force was one of the primary reasons why Myr invested so heavily into hiring sellsword companies and fleets of sellsails for its military defensive and offensive needs. That this rarity of a grand triumph being held in his charge's honor for a military conquest made the event even more grand and memorable for the old lord standing proudly within the leading chariot.
As was befitting for his own role in the war, the old mentor and former Stormlord was riding alongside his young charge who was leading the procession, dressed in his armor that'd been polished to a mirror shine. Fluttering in the air overhead them was the proud banner that Aegon had commissioned for their initial sellsword troupe. That of a red dragon's head on a field of white surrounded by bolts of blue lightning. Under his personal banner, Aegon rode atop a grand chariot, also dressed in polished armor, smiling, and waving proudly to the adoring crowds that were crowded upon the streets' edges. Thanks to the fact that he'd been forced to wash out the blue from his hair during the war, Griff couldn't help smiling in starstruck melancholy at his old love's son. In this moment of triumph, Aegon truly looked every bit like his father, Prince Rhaegar Targaryeon, had at that age. It was a sight that brought both joy and melancholy to Griff's old heart.
"I'm so proud of you, boy," Griff said lowly over to his charge so that only he could hear him, earning a quick glance from the young man. "Now, we just have to make them love you too."
Aegon shot him a knowing smile. "Considering that we managed to break the siege and send both Lys and Tyrosh back to their own lands, I don't think that'll be hard to do, Ser Connington."
"The war isn't over yet, my prince," Griff stated knowingly. "We managed to catch Lys and Tyrosh by surprise, but they will regroup and launch new offensives in the near future. They always do. The trick will be in subduing them before they can build up their strength too much."
"Oh, that won't be a problem, my lord," Aegon said, his smile unwavering as he turned back to waving at the crowd. "I already have plans for how to deal with them. But before we can do that, we need to consolidate things here."
Griff knew what Aegon was speaking of. They had discussed it privately during the war many times. As distasteful as he found it, Griff knew it was necessary to have happen. After all, if Aegon was to regain his inheritance, or for Griff himself to be able to venture home, they would need such a strong claim that refuting them would be akin to suicide on the parts of the Westerosi lords and nobles. And the easiest way to get that kind of power was with a much larger and fanatically loyal army than any of those lords could hope to overcome without grievous losses. Myr was to be but the first of those whom Aegon planned on claiming.
The chariot they were riding in came to a smooth halt in front of Myr's Grand Magisterium Hall, causing Griff to shake off his dark thoughts. Now was not the time. Together, the two stepped down from their chariot and moved up the steps of the grand building. In a rather strange way, Griff couldn't help but stare up at the domed building with a bit of amusement. Although the only similarity it had with the massive Dragonpit of King's Landing was its domed roof, that single comparison still told Griff quite a bit about the 'monsters' that inhabited this building. Just as the dragons of the old Targaryen kings had once inhabited the domed Dragonpit.
Reaching the top of the staircase, Griff and Aegon turned back to the still cheering crowds below and around them. Standing arrayed around them were the numerous magisters of Myr, the wealthiest and most influential men who controlled this city and the people therein. All of them were dressed in the finest silks, wearing large, gilded robes, jewels, and gems of such luster that they shone in the slightest of light. Some carried swords of clearly ornamental make and use. Others wore golden pauldrons or jeweled breastplates over their robes. It was a blatant and rather obnoxious display of their personal wealth, Griff knew, and a subtle attempt by the lot of them to try and intimidate the exiled lord and his charge. To remind them that although this triumph was being held in their honor, it was the magisters who still ruled this city. And it was by their whims that it was even being held to begin with.
Aegon Targaryen paid them no mind as he and Griff turned back to the crowd. Smiling, his young charge raised his hand, bringing about a silence to the crowd. And as he did, Griff couldn't help but beam in pride. He knew, now more than ever, that this truly was the son of his Silver Prince. For who else but a dragon could command a crowd so effortlessly?
"Magisters! Lords and ladies! Good people of the Free City of Myr!" Aegon cried out, pitching his voice that it could carry for as far as possible. "My name is Aegon, Captain of the Storm Dragons free company. I stand before you now to deliver upon you all my solemn vow. I had sworn to save your city. To send your enemies fleeing into the night back to the hovels they call home! To pursue them without rest! To end their threat to you and yours!" He paused for a moment, to catch his breath and to let his words sink in. "And now, here I stand. Victorious! The armies of Lys and Tyrosh a broken husk of what they once were! And the people of Myr safe!"
A loud cheer of agreement and approval swept through the crowds, many raising their hands in victory.
After several long moments to let them cheer, Aegon raised his hand for silence, which the crowd quickly acceded to. "Now, if you would have me, I and my men would be honored to remain here. To safeguard this city and its people, all of you, from all future threats that might arise. And should fortunes be good, help you once again begin to grow and expand your domain! With fire and blood, to make the Free City of Myr more than just another city. With fire and blood, to make this city into a grand empire! If you would have me…"
There was a long, tense moment. Well, tense for Griff as he glanced worriedly over at the young boy he'd helped to raise and protect. Although he and the boy had both discussed this, he hadn't expected the boy to act on the idea so soon. Perhaps this was the rashness of youth? Still, the boy had made his goals known and hinted towards his dream. Now, it would be up to the people to decide. A calculated risk, as Haldon the Halfmaester had said.
It started slowly. A few individuals scattered throughout the crowd started clapping. Clapping which soon spread throughout the crowd till it was a dull roar. Voices roared out, cheering for him. Chanting, 'Aegon! Aegon! Aegon!' It was a response that caused Griff to fight back a sigh of relief, whilst causing yet another swelling of pride within him for the young man who stood before him.
Aegon let the cheering and clapping continue for another few moments, letting the crowd work it out of their systems, as he remained where he stood, smiling serenely down at them. Finally, he raised his arm again and the crowds quieted down. "Thank you for your vote of confidence! I shall endeavor to make the most of this trust you place in me. Now, I fear we must speak with the magisters for the next phase of our campaigns against Tyrosh and Lys. But, in the meantime, feel free to help yourselves to food and drink at the Storm Dragons camp outside the walls! I do believe that most of them are still celebrating our victory and would welcome your attendance!"
This last remark earned him quite a few barks of laughter and affirmative responses. Nonetheless, the crowd slowly began to disperse as Griff and Aegon turned and followed the magisters inside the opulent building of governance. Once they'd passed through the entry doors, Aegon and Griff were directed to wait in a side chamber as the magisters continued onwards, seeking to find their seats within so that they could speak with the duo as a gathered collective in dignity. What should've been a simple matter to find one's seats in a matter of moments turned into a mind-numbing wait with Griff growing increasingly impatient. Yet another subtle political maneuver. He'd seen it before amongst the lords of Westeros. But he didn't mind the wait. In fact, the delay would play to his and Aegon's favor in this case.
"They're ready for you," one of the attending slaves spoke up from the doorway.
"Thank you," Aegon said politely to the man, nodding in gratitude.
Without another word, the duo followed the slave to the set of large double doors that stood nearby, with the slave opening and holding the door for them. On the other side of the doorway was another hall, covered in exquisite paintings and masterfully crafted statues set between a series of long windows that were filled with painted glass depicting grand scenes of Myr's long history. As they walked through this hallway towards the second set of double doors at the end, Griff found himself feeling somewhat nostalgic. The rather blatant display of wealth and arrogance around them reminded him very strongly of the many castles he'd visited back in his youth, most prominently being of course the Red Keep when he was the Hand of the King. Along with the nostalgia came amusement. 'Two different cultures separated by a sea and yet sharing similar views of wealth and what it means to be in power.'
Passing through the second set of double doors, again opened by a slave standing ready for them, Griff and Aegon finally entered the Magisterium's meeting hall. Though the function of the meeting hall was similar to the throne rooms of Westerosi keeps, the hall itself was nothing like what he was used to in Westeros. This hall was circular in shape and had a series of elevated rows with cushioned benches and tables for the magisters to be seated behind and use to take notes with. Standing at the front and center of the room was a singular gilded throne upon a slightly raised dais, no doubt where the lord of the keep would've sat had this building been in Westeros, in Griff's mind.
The duo of Westerosi exiles had apparently entered at a good time. They heard the closing statements of a magister, no doubt giving a welcoming speech for their arrival into the hall. Griff would've scoffed derisively at the sheer ridiculousness of that. All these magisters had quite literally stood with them upon the Magisterium's entrance as Aegon had made his declaration. They were all fully aware of who the two of them were, and yet they still felt the need to go through all this pomp and ceremony. Either these men were fools, or they were just amusing themselves, or perhaps both?
Without missing a beat, Aegon quietly made his way over to the throne in the center of the hall. Griff hung back slightly with his left hand resting nonchalantly upon his sword's pommel, standing behind and to the side of the young man as Aegon took his rightful seat.
"Thank you for the introduction, Magister Nahohr," Aegon said with a calm, friendly tone, nodding to the man who was making his way up the row of benches to take his seat. Getting no response from the man, Aegon turned his attention to the collected magisters around him. In total, there were close to thirty men seated, all watching him with mixed expressions. "And thank you, magisters, for granting me this audience. I understand that you are all busy men with many responsibilities to attend to, so I shall endeavor to keep this brief."
"Indeed, lad," one of the magisters replied. "After that show outside, I imagine that you have much to tell us."
"That is correct, Magister Anerolis," Aegon nodded. "But to summarize, I shall be blunt. Even with this victory, my Storm Dragons, and the other free companies that you have access to, you must all already see it. Myr is dying. Thanks in large to northern Westeros's rapid and quite impressive glass production surpassing and even now seizing the market, Myr's most lucrative export is no longer in demand. You have lost upwards of sixty percent of your previous income and thus can no longer purchase the services of nearly as many sellsword companies or sellsails to protect you. In five years, maybe less, Tyrosh, Lys, and Volantis will overrun and subjugate you."
"Yes, we are all keenly aware of Myr's dire straits, boy," Magister Ahraan said in a rather snide tone, no doubt annoyed with Aegon reminding them of those facts. "Is there a point to this?"
"My point is," Aegon continued, shooting the man a cold stare, just barely managing to keep his voice under control as his Targaryen temper flared slightly. As it did so, Griff couldn't help the slight chill that ran down his spine, causing him to shift uncomfortably away from Aegon. "That what you have been doing is clearly not working. Something needs to change."
"And what would you suggest?" Magister Ennolis asked patiently. He had a placid look about his old and heavily lined face. "Clearly, you have something in mind."
Aegon nodded. "For many centuries now, Myr has been run here, from this very room, by a council of magisters, you. And for many centuries, you have indeed prospered. But times have changed. Magic is returning. New players are coming onto the game board. Power is shifting as moves are being made. The lords of Westeros now squabble over the Iron Throne. Lys and Tyrosh stood ready to conquer you and finally claim the Disputed Lands. The Dothraki have been broken with the death of Khal Drogo and are now trying to build new khalasaars. The House of the Undying has gone silent. And my aunt, Princess Daenerys Targaryen, has brought forth a dragon and made known her wish to rebuild the Valyrian Empire. And yet, Myr has not changed. Why?"
He paused in his speech just long enough to let his question sink in and have the magisters start grumbling and shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Clearly, they were feeling as uncomfortable being in Aegon's presence as Griff did. But he didn't allow any of them to speak up before he continued.
"I believe it is because of this council," Aegon stated bluntly, his arm raising and sweeping slightly to encompass the room around them. "This council is indeed a good governing tool for leading and regulating this city. But with so many voices speaking, so many people trying to push through so many personal or trivial agendas, you get bogged down bureaucracy and thus nothing meaningful occurs. Not until a single large enough external threat forces you all to put aside your differences and plots to work together. Like when Tyrosh and Lys were about to batter down your walls and burn your fleet."
"Too many men trying to voice too many opinions to lead in too many directions," Aegon said, rising to his feet and striding a few steps forward until he was standing upon the edge of the dais. "What I am suggesting to you all is that while this council is good for governing the city, your armies require a single guiding hand to control it. A single voice to command where you are to attack. A single voice will be able to topple the likes of Lys and Tyrosh and finally claim the disputed lands for Myr. I propose to you Magisters here and now that you proclaim me to be Supreme Commander of the armies of Myr. Both Myr's own sons and any sellsword company that comes under your employ."
There was heavy silence that filled the hall at Aegon's bold declaration. Despite his relaxed posture, Griff couldn't help tensing his muscles as his hand tightened its grip upon his pommel. 'The moment of truth. There is no going back after this,' he smiled wanly at the thought. 'Finally.'
Aegon's proposal was met with silence for all of three, maybe four heartbeats before the Magisters of Myr broke out into a cacophony of noise that nearly made him wince. Some voiced support for the idea, though not for Aegon to hold such an important role. He was a foreigner. He was too young. He commanded sellswords, not Myr! But a few gave their support. Like how Aegon had won a significant and tactically brilliant battle against the combined forces of Lys and Tyrosh. Surely, if he were given full command, he could beat both rivals back. Maybe even force them to surrender so that the Disputed Lands would finally be united beneath Myr's banner. And amidst the noise, his charge stood tall, letting the words flow over him.
After listening to the same argument for the fifth time, Aegon finally had enough and raised his hand. The action, so simple in nature, quieted the Magisters in the hall almost immediately. 'He is truly his father's son!' Jon thought with pride. 'Oh, Rhaegar, if only you could see the man your son has become. He is a true king.'
"I understand my age is…concerning for some. But do not be fooled. The blood of Valyria runs strong through my veins. And while I have not said this openly before…I say it now. I am Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and descendant of Aegon the Conqueror. The blood of conquerors, the blood of the dragons, flows through my veins. And more besides."
Holding his hands out to his sides, Aegon turned so that his palms were facing up before slowly raising his hands. Shouts of alarms cried out as two of the more vocal Magisters that spoke out against Aegon's appointment were raised into the air till their feet could no longer touch the ground. Twisting his hands, both Magisters fell back to the ground and onto their asses. Not a single voice was raised as all eyes stared at Aegon in wonderment and fear.
Jon wouldn't lie. When their patrons had first brought them tutors in the form of a group of disgraced Red Priests and Priestess, along with a warlock from Qarth, he had been more than apprehensive about allowing the tutoring to commence. In his opinion, magic was akin to trying to wield a still white-hot blade without a hilt or guard. Yet both the tutors and their patron said that Aegon had the spark of magic. And with the recent resurgence in magic in the forms of the Sorcerer and his acolytes in Westeros, he was willing to let the tutoring commence. After all, word was that the Sorcerer had taken a liking to the Usurper's faithful attack dog and was even training the man's children in the art of magic. If Aegon was to truly reclaim that which was rightfully his, he needed every advantage he could get. And magic, as dangerous as it was, was such an advantage.
While the Magisters all stared in shock at Aegon, Jon only beheld the young man he had raised with pride. "Tell me, Magisters. How many wars have you won before I came?" Aegon asked, his voice low and commanding. "How many victories has Myr claimed on the soil of your enemies? I could have offered my services, and the services of the Storm Dragons, to Lys and Tyrosh. But I chose instead to come to Myr. Because I see the potential for greatness in this great city. I see the strength and beauty of the people of Myr. And I know that under the right leadership, that Myr will finally claim dominion over the Disputed Lands, as is your right."
Magister Ahraan was the first to recover, his snide façade falling slightly in the face of Aegon's power. "And say that we agree to this…proposal. That we appoint you Supreme Commander…Say you strike down Lys and Tyrosh…what then? Will you simply…leave?"
Aegon turned his purple eyes towards the Magister. "I will leave. My aspiration is to reclaim that which was lost. So, yes, when I defeat Lys and Tyrosh and affirm Myr's dominion over the Disputed Lands, I will leave. With new allies that I trust will remember what I helped them reclaim. And in return will help me reclaim that which I have lost."
The magisters all shared a look with one another. "You have given us much to speak of, young Aegon," Magister Ennolis stated. "Please. We must speak amongst ourselves to decide the correct path for Myr."
"I understand, Magister," Aegon nodded. "However, please remember that I cannot wait around for a long time. Should my offer be so unappealing, I will be leaving with my men once our contract is completed."
Bowing once more to the Magisters, Aegon turned on his heel and marched out of the Magister's Hall. Falling into step just behind and beside his charge, the duo made it back to their private chambers before it happened. The moment the door closed, Aegon nearly all but collapsed. Jon, having expected this, was right beside him, helping Aegon keep to his feet. "Thank you, Griff," Aegon huffed, his breath coming in short pants. "That…That was…taxing."
Keeping his arms around Aegon, Jon led the last remnants of his love to one of the luxurious couches within their private chambers. "Of course, Aegon," he said, helping him sit. "Are you—?"
"I'll be fine, Jon," Aegon cut in, taking a few ragged breaths to try and steady himself. "The Red Priest told me that magic is just like a muscle…one that needs to be exercised regularly. I – I'll need to increase my training with them if I am to have even a chance against the Sorcerer and his spawn of usurper dogs."
If it were up to Jon, he would make sure that Aegon spent as little time as possible with the Red Priests. He saw the danger of magic when his love became obsessed with prophecy to the point where he was easily seduced by that wolf bitch thanks to Elia's failure as a woman. But that was not the world that they were able to be in. The Usurper and his attack dog, not to mention the old lion, had magic, powerful magic at their command. The only way that they could retake Westeros and instill Aegon to his rightful place as King would be if they had powerful magic at their command as well.
Deciding to stay silent on the matter, Jon stood by his young charge as Aegon closed his eyes and went through a few meditation exercises that his mentors in the magical arts had taught him.
It was just as the sun was beginning to near the tallest tower that a knock came to their door, disrupting the moment of peace the two had. Opening his eyes, Aegon took a deep breath before nodding to Jon to answer the door. Walking over, Jon opened the door and was unsurprised to find a slave, prostrating herself on her knees with her forehead almost touching the floor. "Forgive the intrusion Masters." The slave's voice could barely be heard as her lips were nearly pressed to the floor. "The Magisters have called for you."
Jon was a true Westerosi Lord, so the very idea of slavery disgusted him. But he also could acknowledge that this was the way of the world. So instead of dismissing the slave or thanking her for delivering the message, he simply ignored the kneeling slave and turned back to Aegon. His charge took a moment to collect himself before nodding and marching out of their chambers with his head held high. He did notice that Aegon nearly walked over the slave as he walked, but the slave girl was experienced enough to quickly scurry out of his path to avoid him. He didn't know why, but that one act bothered him slightly. But he put that out of his mind. He would talk with Aegon later about proper etiquette towards his servants after he takes the crown, but now was not the time for such a conversation.
Marching back into the Magister's hall, Jon fought against his heart threatening to thumb out of his chest. Their patron had promised them a substantial army to retake Westeros. But Jon did not fully trust them. They needed an army of their own, free from the influence of their patron, if Aegon was ever to retake his rightful place as King of the Seven Kingdoms. The Magisters were the same as when they left them, however he did note that their demeanor was significantly different. There was an almost resigned look to most of them with a few showing open anger. A sure sign if he ever saw one. Though a sign to what he wasn't sure.
"We have come to a decision," Magister Ennolis said, his face betraying nothing as he stood in the middle of the audience hall.
Aegon nodded, standing tall and confident. Just like his father. "And your decision?"
The aged Magister kept his eyes on Aegon. "You will be named High Commander of the Myrish armies until our enemies are brought low. However, you shall be assigned a war council made of those whose loyalties are to Myr alone. You shall have complete control of your Storm Dragons, as they are your company. However, the Myr Commanders shall have the ability to retake command of the armies should you prove yourself inadequate."
"Understandable and acceptable," Aegon acknowledged, and Jon felt his spirits raise. They had done it. Now Aegon could truly make a name for himself. "And after I claim the Disputed Lands for Myr and seek to reclaim that which is rightfully mine?"
At this, Magister Ennolis did not necessarily look pleased. "Then you shall find an ally in Myr. However, we will expect proper compensation for our aid."
Jon wanted to scoff. They accepted Aegon's offer of bringing all the Disputed Lands under Myr's control. Yet when the time would come for them to return the favor by aiding Aegon in retaking his birthright, they had the nerve to demand compensation. But thankfully, he was not the one currently negotiating with the Magisters. "Understandable," Aegon nodded. "You are paying for not only my services, but also the services of the Storm Dragons. It makes sense that I would return the favor and provide comparable compensation for your aid in retaking my home. Name Myr's price, Magister Ennolis."
The Magister didn't hesitate. "The Northern glass trade will end. And the artisan glassmakers in the North will be gifted to Myr."
The demand was surprising and took Jon aback. He was expecting maybe a Magister to be placed on Aegon's council, or perhaps a daughter to be promised to Aegon. But the end of the Northern glass trade? That was not something he expected. Though when he thought about it, he shouldn't have been surprised. Since the time of the fall of the Valyrian Empire, Myr had stood at the pinnacle of the glass trade throughout all of Essos and Westeros. Until the North discovered the secret to making glass, and even improving upon its strength and beauty. And with that discovery Myr's wealth, and their strength, diminished rapidly. Leaving them easily the weakest they had ever been since the times of Valyria.
Myr's demand of the cessation of the Northern glass trade would bring their wealth back. But it in doing so it would also weaken one of the newest demanded exports that Westeros had. An export that brought in a fair amount of coin. Coin that would be needed for Aegon to aid in rebuilding Westeros. And if that wasn't enough, they were also demanding the craftsman to be gifted to them. And he was under no delusions that as soon as those craftsmen were handed over, they would immediately become slaves to the Magisters. 'Westeros abhors slavery of all forms,' Jon thought, almost surprised at the intensity of his own displeasure at the almost unreasonable demand. 'If one of Aegon's first acts as King is to destroy one of Westeros's main exporters in glass, and then to also throw craftsmen into slavery…? It will take a long time for him to regain the good will of the people and the nobility.'
"A steep price," Aegon replied evenly.
"As is asking for Myr's aid in reclaiming an entire kingdom the size of the Seven Kingdoms. A kingdom your family lost." The magister countered just as evenly.
Aegon hesitated just for a few heartbeats before giving the magisters a curt nod. "Very well then. We have an accord. I will lead Myr's army to victory over Lys and Tyrosh. In return for my ending the glass trade and bringing you the craftsmen from the North, Myr will aid me in reclaiming that which is rightfully mine."
Jon smiled slightly. Despite the steep price, the deal was made. Now all they needed to do was win a several centuries old war to bring fame to Aegon's name. After that, they would return home. With the Storm Dragons, the full strength of Myr, as well as whatever army their patron could muster. 'Then, my love, all those who betrayed you will pay. With fire and blood…they will pay for what they did to you.'