Game of Thrones: Killing to the top

The warm desert wind swept through the palace of Sunspear, rustling the silk curtains that shaded Prince Doran Martell from the harsh Dornish sun. He sat within the cool shadows of his personal chambers, his face impassive as he listened to the reports brought before him.

A silver-haired warrior. A Dothraki Khal with dragons. A man who claimed the name Aegon.

Seated across from him, Oberyn Martell leaned back with a goblet of Dornish red, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "I must say, brother, the world never ceases to surprise. All this time, we believed Aegon to be dead, and now, he has returned leading savages and beasts of fire."

Doran's face remained unreadable. "If he is truly Rhaegar's son, then he is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

"Does it matter?" Oberyn scoffed. "That throne is ruled by a fat drunkard and his Lannister whore. Aegon is across the sea, surrounded by Dothraki and dragons. Does he have a fleet? No. Does he have gold? No. Westeros will not fall to him simply because he was born with silver hair."

Doran took a slow sip of water, his eyes thoughtful. "Perhaps. But if he is real, if he truly is Aegon, then he is Rhaegar's blood. That changes everything."

Oberyn smirked. "You are thinking of Elia's children."

At the mention of his slaughtered sister, a rare flicker of emotion crossed Doran's face. He exhaled slowly, his hands tightening on the armrest of his chair. "Elia's son was murdered in his cradle. But if this Aegon is Rhaegar's son, then he carries the blood of my sister. The blood of Dorne."

Oberyn's smirk faded slightly. "And what do you intend to do?"

Doran looked out toward the shimmering waters of the Narrow Sea, his gaze far away. "For now, we wait. We watch. If this Aegon is wise, he will seek alliances. If he seeks us, then we will listen."

Oberyn raised his goblet. "Then let us drink to that."

(Kingslanding)

The darkened chambers of the Red Keep were silent save for the soft scratching of a quill on parchment. Varys, the Master of Whisperers, sat alone, writing delicate messages to his little birds across the world.

He had heard much in the last few weeks.

A silver-haired Khal with three dragons.

A growing Dothraki horde under his banner.

The name Aegon is spoken once more.

Varys leaned back, his fingers interlocking as he stared at the flickering candle before him. He had spent years working toward the return of the true Targaryen heir the child of Rhaegar. If this Aegon was truly the prince he had been waiting for, then he needed to know.

But there was one problem.

If this Aegon had been raised by the Dothraki, if he had lived as a Khal, then he was no delicate prince raised in Westeros. He was a warrior. A conqueror. A dragon, not a puppet.

Varys frowned. That complicated things.

His original plans had involved bringing back a malleable Targaryen, one that could be shaped into a wise and just ruler, controlled by the right advisors. But this Aegon was different.

He had won the loyalty of Dothraki savages. He had hatched three dragons. He had conquered through fire and blood.

Would he be willing to listen? Or was he another Maegor the Cruel, another dragonlord bent on war?

Varys drummed his fingers against the desk. This changed everything.

There was no doubt that Robert Baratheon would want him dead. The Lannisters would see him as a threat. The Martells and Tyrells were already considering their positions.

Varys closed his eyes and exhaled.

If Aegon was real, then Westeros would soon burn once more.

And when that time came, Varys would ensure that he was standing on the right side of history.

Across Westeros and beyond, the name Aegon Targaryen was on everyone's lips.

From the Red Keep to Winterfell, from Dorne to Highgarden, lords and rulers weighed their options, uncertain of what the rise of this new power would mean for the world.

Some saw him as a threat.

Some saw him as an opportunity.

But all of them knew one thing for certain:

The dragons had returned.