The pre-dawn darkness of the Valyrian ruins was broken by the soft glow emanating from Haerion's workshop as he made his final preparations for their departure. Six months of breathing filtered air through Hermione's modified Bubblehead Charm had become so routine that he barely noticed the gentle pressure of the magical barrier within his nostrils anymore—a small bubble of clean air that filtered out the toxic miasma that made the ruins uninhabitable for ordinary mortals.
"Right then," he said, securing the last of his equipment in the saddle's storage compartments with movements that spoke of months of practice and careful preparation. His voice carried that particular combination of cultured British confidence and barely restrained excitement—the sort of tone that had once made professors simultaneously impressed and deeply concerned about whatever impossible scheme was brewing behind those striking emerald eyes with their distinctive violet flecks. The way he moved spoke of someone who had transformed himself from a scarred teenager into something far more formidable—broad shoulders filling out his modified armor, powerful hands that had learned to channel forces beyond normal comprehension, and the sort of unconscious grace that came from months of intensive training with both magic and blade.
"I think we're as ready as we're ever going to be," he continued, running one hand through dark hair that had grown longer during their exile, now falling in waves that caught the workshop's golden light. "Time to see if all this preparation actually works when we're not safely contained within ancient magical wards. Though I have to say, if we've bollixed this up spectacularly, at least we'll make a rather impressive crater."
The saddle was indeed a masterwork that exceeded even his own ambitious projections—dragon bone and Valyrian steel flowing together in curves that followed Aegerax's anatomy with perfect precision, dragonhide surfaces that seemed to glow with their own inner warmth, and runic arrays so complex they appeared to shift and breathe in the workshop's golden light. The sensation-sharing networks hummed with barely contained potential, ready to link dragon and rider in ways that the original Dragonlords had never imagined.
"*The craftsmanship is extraordinary,*" Aegerax observed, his mental voice carrying the rich, resonant tones of someone accustomed to command—deep, cultured, with the sort of controlled power that suggested vast capability held in perfect check. There was something about the dragon's mental presence that felt like sitting across from a distinguished professor who happened to possess the ability to incinerate armies, someone who had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations but retained genuine curiosity about what came next. "*I can feel the magical resonance from here—it's not just equipment, it's an extension of the bond we've forged. Though I admit, I'm rather curious to discover how it performs under actual flight conditions rather than theoretical projections and workshop testing.*"
"*After all,*" the dragon continued with the sort of dry observation that suggested centuries of experience with ambitious human projects, "*the gap between theoretical magnificence and practical reality has been the downfall of many a brilliant inventor. Though I have to say, your track record with impossible projects does inspire a certain... cautious optimism.*"
"Cautious optimism?" Haerion replied with the sort of mock indignation that suggested he was genuinely offended by the implication that his engineering might be anything less than perfect. "I'll have you know that every single one of my projects has worked exactly as intended. The fact that some of them worked in ways that were slightly more dramatic than originally anticipated is simply evidence of my thoroughness in testing the outer limits of possibility."
"*Ah yes,*" Aegerax replied with the sort of fond amusement that suggested he'd grown accustomed to Haerion's unique relationship with conventional definitions of success. "*Like the portal project that was supposed to create a simple doorway between rooms and instead opened a stable gateway to another dimension entirely? Or the communication array that was designed for short-range messaging and ended up broadcasting your thoughts to every magical creature within fifty miles?*"
"Those were features, not bugs," Haerion protested with the sort of dignified dismissal that suggested he genuinely believed this explanation made perfect sense. "The portal works brilliantly—it just happens to work on a slightly grander scale than originally projected. And the communication array provides excellent opportunity for diplomatic outreach to previously unknown magical entities. Very forward-thinking, really."
"*'Forward-thinking,'*" Aegerax repeated with the tone of someone who was beginning to understand that his partner's definition of successful outcomes had some interesting flexibility built into it. "*I'm beginning to appreciate why your former world's authorities spent so much time worrying about your activities. Though I have to admit, there's something refreshing about working with someone whose response to the impossible is to attempt it immediately.*"
"Only one way to find out if something's truly impossible, isn't there?" Haerion replied with the sort of confident grin that had once convinced his friends to follow him into the Forbidden Forest in search of Acromantulas. As he approached Aegerax's magnificent form, his armor began its final transformation—flowing upward to encase his head in a helmet that was both protection and work of art. "After all, what's the worst that could happen? We discover our months of careful engineering were complete rubbish and plummet to our deaths in a spectacular display of overconfidence and inadequate magical theory?"
"*Your optimism is truly inspiring,*" Aegerax replied with the sort of resigned fondness that suggested he was growing accustomed to his partner's unique approach to risk assessment. "*I do so enjoy your ability to find the cheerful perspective in any potentially catastrophic situation. It's one of your more endearing qualities, even when it makes me question the wisdom of partnership with someone whose idea of 'careful planning' apparently involves phrases like 'spectacular display of overconfidence.'*"
The helmet that formed around his skull was unmistakably Spartan in inspiration but enhanced with draconic majesty that elevated it beyond mere human military equipment. Polished crimson metal formed the basic structure, flowing seamlessly from the armor's chest plates to create a dome that protected his head while maintaining perfect visibility through eye slits that seemed to glow with inner fire. Golden dragon wings swept back from the temples, not merely decorative but functional elements that helped channel airflow and magical energy in ways that enhanced both comfort and capability.
"*Magnificent,*" Aegerax breathed, his mental voice carrying genuine appreciation for superior craftsmanship. The dragon's tone held that quality of someone who understood artistic excellence and wasn't easily impressed—the sort of connoisseur who had witnessed the greatest works of fallen civilizations and could recognize true mastery when confronted with it. "*You look like what the ancient Dragonlords should have been—power and artistry united in a form that commands respect without demanding submission. Though I suppose we should determine whether the reality matches the appearance before we congratulate ourselves too extensively on our aesthetic achievements.*"
"Always the pragmatist," Haerion said with fond amusement as he checked the helmet's magical interfaces one final time. His voice, slightly muffled by the armor but carrying clearly through their mental link, held that quality of barely restrained excitement that suggested he was looking forward to testing their creation under actual conditions. "Can't simply appreciate the magnificence of our achievement without immediately questioning whether it'll actually work when we need it to. Very practical of you, though I have to say it does take some of the romance out of the moment."
"*Romance is considerably less important than survival when we're about to attempt aerial maneuvers that no one has attempted for centuries,*" Aegerax replied with the sort of dry practicality that suggested extensive experience with the gap between theoretical magnificence and practical reality. "*Though I admit, if we're going to plummet to our deaths in a spectacular display of overconfidence, at least we'll look absolutely magnificent while doing it.*"
"See? You do understand the importance of proper presentation," Haerion said with the sort of satisfied approval that suggested Aegerax had finally grasped an important principle. "If one is going to fail spectacularly, one should at least do it with style. Though I prefer to think of our chances in more optimistic terms—say, brilliant success achieved through superior preparation and innovative engineering."
"*Or, alternatively, improbable survival achieved through a combination of good luck and the universe's apparent fondness for protecting individuals with more courage than sense,*" Aegerax suggested with the sort of fond skepticism that had become characteristic of their partnership.
Mounting Aegerax was like settling into a second skin—the saddle's magical interfaces activated the moment Haerion made contact, creating connections between dragon and rider that went far beyond simple physical positioning. Through the sensation-sharing networks, he could feel Aegerax's massive heart beating like a forge bellows, could sense the coiled power in muscles that could propel them through the sky with hurricane force, could taste the eager anticipation that filled the dragon's consciousness like wine.
"Bloody hell," Haerion breathed as the full scope of their connection became apparent, his voice carrying wonder that went beyond mere surprise into something approaching awe. The sensation was like suddenly developing new senses that he'd never known he was missing—awareness of wind patterns and thermal currents, understanding of aerial dynamics that existed beyond conscious thought, intuitive knowledge of how to move with rather than against the forces that would govern their flight. "This is extraordinary. I can feel everything—your breathing, your muscle tension, even your... what would you call it? Your flying instincts? It's like having a conversation without words, understanding without explanation."
"*And I can sense your intentions before you've fully formed them,*" Aegerax replied with wonder that matched his rider's amazement, though his mental voice carried the sort of controlled excitement that suggested he was trying not to get carried away by the implications. "*This isn't just partnership—it's synthesis. We're not dragon and rider anymore, we're something new. Something that transcends the sum of our individual capabilities.*"
"*Though I do hope you're prepared for the reality that this level of connection means I'll be experiencing your rather unique approach to tactical decision-making in real time,*" the dragon continued with the sort of observation that suggested he was already anticipating interesting developments. "*Your thought processes are... remarkably direct. I'm not sure I was entirely prepared for the experience of consciousness that responds to complex situations with immediate certainty that whatever's happening, you can probably handle it through a combination of superior planning and creative improvisation.*"
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Haerion replied with the sort of cheerful confidence that had once made his professors simultaneously proud and deeply concerned about whatever impossible challenge he was preparing to face. "I prefer to think of it as providing you with front-row seats to watch a master at work. Educational opportunity, really."
"*A master of what, exactly?*" Aegerax asked with the sort of fond skepticism that suggested he was genuinely curious about how Haerion would justify this particular claim. "*Improvisation? Creative interpretation of safety protocols? The fine art of turning careful plans into spectacular chaos through the application of good intentions and questionable judgment?*"
"Adaptive tactical innovation in response to dynamic situational parameters," Haerion replied with the sort of dignified precision that suggested he'd given this considerable thought. "Though I suppose 'creative problem-solving under pressure' works as well. The point is, I have an excellent track record with impossible situations."
"*Define 'excellent,'*" Aegerax suggested with the tone of someone who suspected the definition might be more flexible than conventional usage would suggest.
"Well, I'm still alive, aren't I?" Haerion replied with the sort of unanswerable logic that suggested he considered this the most important metric of success. "And most of the people I was trying to help are also still alive, which I think demonstrates that my methods, while perhaps unconventional, produce the desired results."
The takeoff was a revelation that redefined Haerion's understanding of flight itself. Where broomstick flying had been about balance and control, this was about becoming part of something vast and powerful and utterly magnificent. Aegerax's wings caught the volcanic thermals with practiced ease, lifting them from the ruins with a grace that made their combined mass seem weightless, and through the saddle's magical interfaces, Haerion felt every subtle adjustment and correction as if he were making them himself.
"*Now this,*" Aegerax said with satisfaction that could be felt through their bond like warmth from a perfect fire, "*is how flight is supposed to feel. Not the mechanical precision of your magical brooms, but something organic, natural, part of the very fabric of existence itself. We're not fighting gravity—we're dancing with it.*"
"I never thought I'd say this," Haerion replied with genuine amazement, "but you've just made me understand why dragons have such a superiority complex. If I could do this naturally, I'd probably spend most of my time looking down on everyone else too. This is... gods, this is like nothing I've ever experienced."
"*Superiority complex?*" Aegerax repeated with the sort of mock indignation that suggested he was genuinely offended by the implication. "*I prefer to think of it as appropriate recognition of our natural advantages. We don't have a superiority complex—we're simply aware of our place in the natural hierarchy of magnificence.*"
"Right, of course," Haerion agreed with the sort of diplomatic tone that suggested he was choosing not to pursue that particular argument. "Completely different thing entirely. My mistake."
But it was when they cleared the volcanic peaks and left the poisonous atmosphere of the ruins behind that the true magnitude of the change became apparent. For the first time in six months, Haerion allowed the Bubblehead Charm to fade, drawing in a deep breath of clean, unfiltered air that tasted like freedom and possibility and all the things he'd forgotten during his exile among the cursed stones.
"Gods," he said, his voice carrying wonder that went beyond mere physical relief, "I'd forgotten what real air tasted like. Clean and fresh and... alive. It's like drinking spring water after months of stale wine, or stepping into sunlight after being trapped in a cave for half a year." The sensation was intoxicating in ways that went beyond simple oxygen—each breath seemed to clear away cobwebs from his mind that he hadn't even realized were there, restoring mental clarity that the toxic atmosphere had been slowly eroding despite his magical protections.
"*The ruins are magnificent for their history and their preserved knowledge,*" Aegerax agreed, his mental voice carrying relief that matched his rider's reaction, "*but they're not meant for the living. The Doom left traces of corruption that seep into everything—stone, air, even thoughts themselves. It's like trying to study in a library where every book whispers of death and failure. Valuable, perhaps, but ultimately poisonous to anyone who stays too long.*"
"Rather poetic for someone who spent the morning questioning my risk assessment capabilities," Haerion observed with the sort of dry amusement that suggested he appreciated the irony. "Though I suppose after centuries of solitude, even dragons develop a certain philosophical bent. Comes with the territory, I imagine—all that time to think about the nature of existence and one's place in the grand scheme of things."
"*Solitude provides excellent opportunity for reflection,*" Aegerax replied with the sort of dignified acknowledgment that suggested he wasn't entirely pleased with having his poetic tendencies pointed out. "*Though I notice you're avoiding the more relevant observation that six months of breathing toxic air while working with forbidden magical artifacts might have had some interesting effects on your already questionable decision-making processes.*"
"My decision-making processes are perfectly sound, thank you very much," Haerion protested with the sort of automatic indignation that suggested this was a sensitive topic. "They've gotten me this far, haven't they? Admittedly with a few detours through mortal peril and impossible circumstances, but the important thing is that I'm still here to argue about it."
"*'A few detours through mortal peril,'*" Aegerax repeated with the sort of amused disbelief that suggested he was beginning to appreciate the scale of understatement his partner was capable of. "*You do realize that most people would consider personally confronting Dark Lords and breaking into heavily fortified magical institutions to be rather more than 'detours,' don't you?*"
They soared through the pre-dawn darkness with a freedom that neither had experienced before, the perfect coordination of their bond allowing for maneuvers that would have been impossible with conventional dragon-riding techniques. Banking turns that should have required careful communication became seamless expressions of shared intent. Altitude changes flowed like breathing, natural and instinctive. Even complex aerial combinations felt as natural as walking, the sort of effortless cooperation that spoke of true partnership rather than mere rider and mount.
"This is bloody brilliant," Haerion said as they swept over the coastline, watching the sun begin to paint the eastern horizon with shades of gold and crimson that seemed to echo the colors of his armor. His voice carried the sort of pure joy that came from discovering that reality exceeded even the most optimistic projections. "We're not just flying—we're dancing with the wind itself. I can feel why you love this so much. It's like being part of something infinite and eternal and completely free. No wonder the ancient Dragonlords thought they were gods—if I could do this every day, I'd probably develop delusions of grandeur myself."
"*Now you understand why dragons were never meant to be mere mounts,*" Aegerax replied with satisfaction that could be felt through their bond like warmth from a perfect fire. The dragon's mental voice carried that quality of someone sharing something precious and fundamental about their nature. "*Flight isn't transportation for us—it's expression, art, the physical manifestation of everything that makes us what we are. To share that with someone who truly understands... it's a gift beyond measure.*"
"*Though I do hope this newfound appreciation doesn't encourage your already pronounced tendency toward dramatic gestures and impossible plans,*" the dragon continued with the sort of fond concern that suggested he was already anticipating interesting developments.
"I make no promises," Haerion replied with the sort of cheerful honesty that suggested he was already considering various ways to incorporate their new capabilities into future adventures. "Though I will say that having access to a dragon does open up some interesting tactical possibilities that I'm rather looking forward to exploring. Academic curiosity, you understand."
The sun was just beginning to touch the tops of the eastern mountains when they spotted the dust cloud rising from the grasslands south of Pentos—a brown smear against the green landscape that spoke of many horses moving at speed. At this distance, it could have been merchants or travelers, but something about the formation and movement patterns suggested a more martial purpose.
"Well, well," Haerion observed with the sort of interested assessment that suggested he found the development more intriguing than alarming. His enhanced vision—another benefit of their months of careful magical enhancement—could pick out details that would have been invisible to normal sight. "Looks like someone's having a busy morning. That's quite a lot of dust for a peaceful trading expedition, wouldn't you say?"
"*Dothraki,*" Aegerax identified with the certainty of someone who had observed such formations for centuries, his mental voice taking on a note of professional recognition. The dragon's tone carried that quality of someone who understood military formations and could read their intentions from movement patterns alone. "*A fairly large khalasar, perhaps three thousand horse. They appear to be moving toward Pentos with what could charitably be described as aggressive intent.*"
"*Though given the seasonal migration patterns and political tensions in this region,*" the dragon continued with the sort of analytical observation that suggested extensive familiarity with regional politics, "*I suppose we shouldn't be entirely surprised. The Dothraki have been particularly active this season—several khalasars have been pressuring the Free Cities for increased tribute.*"
"Wonderful," Haerion said, his tone suggesting he found the complication more interesting than alarming. "Just what we need to complicate our carefully planned debut. Nothing like a Dothraki raid to turn a peaceful morning flight into a tactical situation. Though I have to admit, it does provide an excellent opportunity to test our capabilities under actual combat conditions."
"*I was wondering when you'd reach that conclusion,*" Aegerax observed with the sort of weary amusement that suggested he'd been expecting this development from the moment they spotted the dust cloud. "*Your moral compass has always had an interesting relationship with your sense of adventure. The moment you see innocent people in danger, all thoughts of careful planning and measured responses seem to disappear in favor of immediate action and creative problem-solving.*"
"That's not entirely fair," Haerion protested with the sort of dignified indignation that suggested he was slightly offended by the implication that his moral reasoning might be influenced by his love of impossible challenges. "I'm perfectly capable of careful planning and measured responses. It's just that sometimes circumstances require immediate action, and I happen to be rather good at adapting to unexpected situations."
"*'Rather good at adapting,'*" Aegerax repeated with the sort of fond skepticism that suggested he had extensive experience with Haerion's unique approach to problem-solving. "*The man who decided to create interdimensional portals as his first major magical project claims he's good at adapting to unexpected situations. I'm beginning to understand why your former world's authorities spent so much time worrying about your activities.*"
They circled higher, taking advantage of their altitude to observe the developing situation without revealing their presence. Below them, the khalasar spread across the grasslands like a moving carpet of horses and riders, their formation loose but purposeful as they approached the walls of Pentos. The city itself showed signs of awareness—guards on the walls, gates being reinforced, the sort of frantic activity that suggested they knew what was coming and were preparing for the worst.
"*The eternal dance between the Free Cities and the Dothraki,*" Aegerax observed with the sort of weary familiarity that came from having witnessed such conflicts for generations. His mental voice carried that quality of someone who understood the political realities behind the military posturing. "*Tribute or pillage, negotiation or devastation. The cities pay because the alternative is worse, the Dothraki raid because it's profitable and culturally expected. A system that benefits no one except the people at the top of both power structures.*"
"And enslaves everyone else," Haerion added grimly, his voice carrying the sort of moral clarity that had once made him willing to face down Dark Lords in defense of principles that others found inconvenient. The irony wasn't lost on him—the "Free Cities" that built their wealth on slave labor, threatened by the Dothraki who enslaved their captives to sell in those same markets. "Gods, what a mess. The slavers threatened by the slavers, with ordinary people caught in the middle as always. It's like watching two different groups of pirates fight over who gets to rob the same merchant ship."
"*A rather apt comparison,*" Aegerax agreed with the sort of dry observation that suggested he appreciated the political analysis. "*Though I suspect the merchants in question would prefer not to be robbed by either group, given the choice. Unfortunately, they rarely get that option in these sorts of arrangements.*"
They watched as the khalasar deployed into what was clearly a demonstration of force rather than an immediate assault—close enough to the city walls to make their threat clear, organized enough to show their capability, but not yet committed to actual violence. It was the sort of calculated intimidation that spoke of leaders who understood that negotiation was often more profitable than conquest.
"*They're seeking tribute rather than conquest,*" Aegerax assessed with professional interest, his mental voice carrying the sort of analytical precision that came from centuries of observing military tactics. "*The Khal is probably hoping the magisters will be reasonable about paying for the privilege of not being sacked. Much less work than actual conquest, and considerably more profitable in the long term if the arrangement can be made sustainable.*"
"Profitable for everyone except the people who'll pay the price in blood and chains if the negotiations go badly," Haerion replied, his tone carrying the sort of grim determination that had once made him willing to walk into the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort alone. His emerald eyes, bright with violet fire behind the helmet's eye slits, fixed on the scene below with the intensity of someone making a crucial decision.
"You know," he continued thoughtfully, "we could just continue to Pentos as planned. Let them sort out their own political complications while we make our dramatic debut to whoever's left standing when the dust settles. Probably be simpler all around."
"*We could indeed,*" Aegerax agreed, though his mental voice carried the sort of careful neutrality that suggested he was waiting to see where his rider's moral compass would point them. The dragon's tone held that quality of someone who understood the implications of both action and inaction. "*It would certainly be simpler than involving ourselves in the complex political dynamics of forces we don't fully understand. Less risk of unintended consequences or diplomatic complications that could affect our longer-term objectives.*"
"But," Haerion continued, his voice taking on the tone of someone working through moral calculations that had clear but uncomfortable conclusions, "we're talking about thousands of innocent people—both free citizens and slaves—who'll suffer if this goes badly. Whatever we think about the political structures that created this situation, the people caught in the middle don't deserve to pay the price for other people's power games."
He was quiet for a moment, watching the deployment of forces below with the sort of tactical assessment that had served him well during the war against Voldemort. "Plus," he added with a grin that suggested he was finding additional justification for a course of action his conscience had already chosen, "I've been wanting to test Dragonbane under actual combat conditions. And I'm rather curious to see how our enhanced capabilities perform against conventional opposition."
"*Academic interest,*" Aegerax repeated with the sort of dry amusement that suggested he understood exactly how Haerion's mind worked when faced with impossible situations. The dragon's mental voice carried warm fondness beneath the mock skepticism. "*The same sort of academic interest that led you to personally confront a Dark Lord who had been terrorizing the wizarding world for decades, I suppose? Or the academic interest that convinced you to break into the most secure bank in magical Britain to steal a cup that happened to contain a piece of said Dark Lord's soul?*"
"Those were both perfectly reasonable decisions based on available information and tactical necessity," Haerion replied with the sort of patient explanation that suggested he'd had this conversation before with people who simply didn't appreciate proper strategic thinking. "The fact that they worked out well was simply the result of careful planning and appropriate application of available resources."
"*Careful planning,*" Aegerax mused with the sort of fond exasperation that suggested he was growing accustomed to his partner's unique relationship with risk assessment. "*Is that what we're calling 'charging headfirst into impossible situations with nothing but good intentions and questionable backup plans' these days? I'll have to remember that for future reference.*"
"Mock me all you like," Haerion said with the sort of cheerful acceptance that suggested he'd made his decision and was ready to act on it immediately, "but we both know you're looking forward to this as much as I am. When was the last time you had a proper opportunity to remind people why dragons are legendary? Centuries of hiding in ruins and avoiding human contact must have been rather limiting for someone of your obvious talents."
"*You're not wrong,*" Aegerax admitted with the sort of anticipatory pleasure that came from someone who had spent far too long without proper audience for his magnificence and was looking forward to remedying that oversight. The dragon's mental voice carried that quality of barely restrained enthusiasm that made it clear he was planning to make their debut as spectacular as possible.
"*I have been rather looking forward to reminding the world why dragons command respect,*" the dragon continued with the sort of satisfied anticipation that suggested he had specific plans in mind. "*Though I do hope you're prepared for the level of attention this sort of intervention is likely to generate. Word of a proper dragon supporting Pentoshi interests will travel faster than wildfire, and with considerably more dramatic embellishment than the events probably warrant.*"
"Looking forward to it," Haerion replied with the sort of confident anticipation that had once made his professors simultaneously proud and deeply concerned about whatever impossible challenge he was preparing to face. "After all, we want the Targaryens to hear about us quickly, and nothing spreads news faster than eyewitness accounts of something impossible happening to people who thought they understood how the world worked."
"*And by 'something impossible,' you mean a dramatic intervention that establishes our credentials as forces to be reckoned with while simultaneously demonstrating our commitment to protecting innocent people?*" Aegerax asked with the sort of clarifying question that suggested he wanted to make sure he understood the plan correctly.
"Exactly!" Haerion confirmed with the sort of delighted enthusiasm that suggested Aegerax had understood perfectly. "Plus, it'll give us an excellent opportunity to establish our reputation before we have to deal with more... complex political situations. Better to be known as mysterious but benevolent than mysterious and potentially threatening."
"*Benevolent,*" Aegerax repeated with the sort of amused consideration that suggested he was evaluating the tactical implications. "*I suppose there's something to be said for establishing a reputation for protecting the innocent. Though I do hope you have some ideas about what we're going to do after we've provided this demonstration to the Dothraki. They're not exactly known for retreating gracefully from challenges to their authority.*"
"Oh, I have a few ideas," Haerion replied with the sort of mysterious confidence that suggested he was already planning several moves ahead. "After all, the Dothraki respect strength above all else, don't they? And I can't think of a more effective way to demonstrate strength than showing up on the back of a dragon and offering their Khal single combat."
"*Single combat with a Dothraki Khal,*" Aegerax repeated with the sort of thoughtful consideration that suggested he was evaluating the tactical implications. "*That's actually rather clever. Respects their cultural traditions while demonstrating our capabilities, establishes precedent for future interventions, and provides excellent theater for anyone who wants to spread stories about mysterious Dragonlords appearing to protect the innocent.*"
"*I have to admit,*" the dragon continued with the sort of grudging approval that suggested he was impressed despite himself, "*for someone whose planning I regularly question, you do occasionally come up with genuinely brilliant ideas.*"
"Occasionally?" Haerion protested with mock indignation. "I'll have you know my ideas are consistently brilliant. It's just that some of them require a certain... flexibility in their execution to account for changing circumstances and unexpected complications."
They began their descent toward the khalasar, Aegerax's massive wings catching the morning thermals with practiced ease as they approached the scene of developing conflict with the sort of purposeful grace that suggested they were about to make history—whether through magnificent heroism or spectacular disaster remained to be seen.
---
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