Chapter 164: The Conqueror's Throne
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Morning light crept through the ornate windows of Sunspear, painting gold stripes across the carnage of pleasure that was my royal bedchamber. I stretched, feeling the delicious ache of muscles well-used, and surveyed my conquests with unhurried satisfaction.
Around me lay the utter defeat of House Martell, more complete than any battlefield victory could ever be.
Arianne's bronze skin glowed with sweat and other fluids, her body marked with my ownership – purple bruises blooming on her neck, her wrists, her inner thighs. Beside her, Mellario curled against the younger girl, her more mature curves rising and falling with exhausted breath. And at the foot of the bed, golden hair spilled across the sheets like liquid sunlight, Myrcella slept with her lips still swollen from my attention.
Generations of beauty, conquered not by fire or sword, but by pleasure and power. This was a victory Aegon himself might have envied.
I slid from the bed, careful not to wake them. Let them sleep. They had earned their rest in service to their king.
In the full-length mirror across the room, I studied the body the System had granted me. Seven feet of muscle and sinew, my silver-white hair falling past my shoulders, eyes with vertical pupils that caught the light like a predator's. I flexed my hand, feeling the power humming beneath my skin. Power that had unmade Braavos and brought the proudest family in Dorne to their knees.
What a fucking journey. From the pathetic "Beggar King" I'd been before my awakening – that weak, spoiled creature who had sold his own sister for the promise of power – to this. To standing here, having just broken a prince's spirit by claiming everything he loved.
"Power isn't just about who can burn the most cities," I murmured to my reflection. "It's about who owns the most souls."
And souls were far more valuable conquests than mere castles. Castles could be rebuilt. Armies replenished. But when you owned someone's very essence – when they looked at you with the mixture of fear and devotion I'd seen in Arianne's eyes last night – that was true immortality.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. I didn't bother covering myself as I called, "Enter."
A servant girl stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with fruits, bread, and wine. Her eyes fixed determinedly on the floor, terrified to meet my gaze. Smart girl.
"Your Grace," she whispered, setting the tray on a side table with trembling hands. "The Master of Ships sends word that your fleet is prepared for departure to King's Landing. The winds are favorable."
I plucked a grape from the tray, studying the servant's downcast face. "And my dragon?"
"Viserion hunts in the Red Mountains, Your Grace. The... the smallfolk say she took three cattle and a shepherd's dog at dawn."
I smiled, popping the grape into my mouth. Always the overachiever, my golden girl. "Good. Tell Ser Addam we sail with the afternoon tide. And have fresh clothing brought for my... guests."
The servant curtsied so deeply she nearly touched her forehead to the floor. "At once, Your Grace."
As she backed toward the door, I added, "And girl?"
She froze, terror flashing across her features. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"Have the Maester check on Prince Trystane. Make sure he's still breathing. It would be a shame if his... education... ended prematurely."
"Y-yes, Your Grace."
I wonder how long before Trystane asks for a stronger dose. After she fled, I turned back to the bed, where Arianne was beginning to stir. Her dark eyes fluttered open, widening slightly as she registered my naked form silhouetted against the morning light.
"...Already awake, my king?" she murmured, voice hoarse from her screams the night before.
I returned to the bed, running my fingers down her spine, relishing her involuntary shiver. "Dragons rise with the sun, Princess. And we have a kingdom to rule."
She winced as she sat up, the evidence of my thoroughness written across her body. "Was last night truly necessary? He's still my blood."
"A blood who tried to kill my dragon." I gripped her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Consider it mercy that he still breathes."
For a moment, defiance flickered in those silver eyes – the same fire that had first drawn me to her. Cold calculation that made her such a valuable asset. Then it faded into a gaze that knew better, that relaxed into the arms of the man she loved.
"Of course, my king," she said, leaning into my touch. "Forgiveness is indeed the mark of a great ruler."
I laughed, the sound waking the other women. "Forgiveness? No. This was instruction." I glanced at the still-bruised Myrcella, who blinked owlishly in the sunlight. "Some lessons require a more thorough demonstration than others."
****
King's Landing greeted us with a spectacle worthy of conquest. Three dragons circled the Red Keep's spires, their shadows sweeping across the city like moving prophecies. Below, smallfolk lined the streets, equal parts terrified and fascinated as our procession wound its way toward the castle.
I rode at the head, resplendent in black armor trimmed with crimson. Daenerys wasn't here, she'd flown to Dragonstone to rest. Behind me came my fine acquisitions. Arianne on a silver palfrey, her face a carefully composed mask of dignity. Mellario, whose exotic beauty drew whispers from the crowd. Lastly Myrcella, the golden lioness, returning to her former home but now as its mistress.
The throne room doors swung open to reveal the full court assembled.
My various queens and consorts stood arranged in careful hierarchy. It hadn't been long since I last saw them, but after the conquest in Braavos, it felt like years. Margaery Tyrell was closest to the throne, her political savvy evident in her gracious smile. Sansa Stark beside her, winter incarnate in blue silks. Yara Greyjoy lounged against a pillar with characteristic irreverence.
Brienne of Tarth stood guard in gleaming armor, lowering her head when our eyes met.
Their reactions as we entered told stories of their own. Margaery's smile never faltered, though her eyes catalogued every detail of our new arrivals with shrewd assessment. Sansa's face betrayed momentary concern as she noted Myrcella's subdued demeanor. Brienne remained impassive, though her hand tightened slightly on her sword hilt. And Yara... Yara merely smirked, a salacious appreciation dancing in her grey eyes.
I ascended the steps of the Iron Throne, feeling its barbs press against my armor as I sat. With a gesture, I bade my new acquisitions stand before me.
"Lords and ladies of the court," I began, my voice carrying effortlessly to the farthest corners of the hall. "Before you sits I, the living proof of our complete victory over both the Free Cities of Essos and Westeros."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as I detailed the destruction of the Iron Bank, the annihilation of the Faceless Men, and Tywin Lannister's final moments.
"Tywin Lannister. A man among men. The lion who thought himself king of the jungle. He learned what happens when he challenges dragons," I said, noting with satisfaction how Cersei flinched from her position among the servants. "And the Prince of Dorne, who foolishly attempted to poison my dragon, now contemplates his errors from a cell darker than his ambitions. Soon," my eyes flickered to Arianne, Mellario, and Myrcella. "You'll hear songs about the rest of the stuff he suffered. Merely rumors, of course."
I planned to order Ros to spread the songs, for bards to sing them. All of Westeros must know what happened to the women in Trystane's life. Despite my bold words, Arianne maintained her composure admirably, though I caught the slight tremble in her hands.
"Lady Myrcella Lannister will assume her rightful place as Lady of Casterly Rock," I announced, "managing her family's remaining assets for the good of the realm. Princess Arianne will continue to rule Dorne as my loyal vassal, with her mother, Lady Mellario, serving as her special advisor."
The political implications of these arrangements weren't lost on the court. I was literally placing former rivals into key positions, but under my absolute control.
"Then there's the Queen Selection. About a year ago during my marriage, I'd said I'll choose the Queen after testing them. After seeing their mental fortitude, their potential. I'll announce the results soon. Tonight, we feast to celebrate our victories," I said, rising from the throne. "And to welcome these newest members to our..." I paused, surveying my collection of women, "...family."
As the court dispersed, Margaery approached with courtly grace, bowing perfectly.
"Your Grace has been most successful in your campaigns," she said, her voice honey over steel. "Though I confess surprise at Lady Mellario's presence. I hadn't realized Norvos had so willingly joined your empire to send their Lady here."
Clever girl, probing for weakness. "Lady Mellario serves of her own free will," I replied smoothly. "Her talents are considerable, and I find value in diverse perspectives."
"Indeed." Margaery's smile could have cut glass. "We all serve in our own ways."
"Some more enthusiastically than others," Yara added, sauntering over with her characteristic swagger. "I like the Dornish girl. She has fire."
"Fire that now burns for our king alone," Margaery observed.
Sansa joined us, her blue eyes studying the new arrivals with quiet intensity. "Myrcella seems unwell," she said softly. "Perhaps she should rest before tonight's festivities."
"Always the compassionate one, Lady Stark," I said, noting how Sansa tensed at the formality. "You're right, she had quite the workout last night. Very well. See that Lady Myrcella is comfortable in the eastern tower."
As Sansa led Myrcella away, I caught her whispered reassurance. "You're safe now. No one will hurt you here."
Hmm? If only she knew how thoroughly I'd already claimed the little lioness. But Sansa's kindness was precisely why I kept her close. In a court of vipers, sometimes you needed a dove.
****
The Small Council chamber felt oppressively intimate with my transformation. I felt a little too large here. I'd need to commission custom chairs. My shoulders nearly brushed the walls as I paced before the great map table, listening to Ros deliver her intelligence reports.
"Your Grace, our network in Yi Ti confirms that Varys has indeed gained audience with the God-Emperor," she said, her red hair gleaming in the candlelight. "Though his exact purpose remains unclear."
"How did you manage spies in Yi Ti?" I asked, genuinely curious. "It's half a world away, and so much more secretive."
Ros smiled, a flash of her former occupation in the coy curve of her lips. "Yi Ti isn't as disconnected from the world as rumors suggest, you should know that, Your Grace. The Yi Ti trade delegation that visited last summer included several young men with... particular tastes. They found my establishments memorable enough to maintain correspondence."
"Pillow talk as intelligence gathering," I chuckled. "Effective, if unreliable."
"On the contrary, Your Grace. Men say more truth with their smallclothes around their ankles than they ever do at council tables." She glanced pointedly around the room. "Present company excepted, of course."
Yara barked a laugh. "She's got you there, Dragon King."
"Surely. What of the Wall?" I asked, steering the conversation back to business.
Ros consulted her notes. "Increased wildling activity, as we expected. Several ranging parties have gone missing. The Lord Commander requests additional men and supplies."
"And dragonglass," I added, remembering what awaited beyond the Wall. "Have the Dragonstone mines double their output."
"You believe these tales of White Walkers, then?" Yara asked, her usual mockery absent.
I ran my fingers over the map, tracing the Wall's length. "Haven't we had this conversation before? I believe in being prepared. Old legends often have teeth."
The council continued with matters of taxation and trade, but my mind kept returning to the North. To the Wall. To the ancient evil stirring beyond it.
From my knowledge of the show and books and reddit posts, half-remembered from the world I'd left behind, I recalled that dragons were reluctant to cross the Wall – something about the magic woven into its ice. Since that was the case, I was in no hurry to hunt them down myself. The White Walkers would have to cross the Wall themselves before becoming my immediate concern.
Besides, I had a more pressing matter to resolve. My gaze settled on the one kingdom not fully integrated into my empire. The North, still nominally independent under Robb Stark's rule.
Let the Young Wolf handle the immediate northern threats, I thought. Let him exhaust his resources against the wildlings while I consolidate my power here. When the time is right, I'll reclaim what Aegon himself never truly conquered.
North had submitted in name. But North, given its size and loyalty to the Starks, had never truly been fully integrated.
As the council adjourned, only I and Ros remained. I told her about the song she was to spread about Trystane, and she laughed like a little girl hearing the event. I moved to the balcony overlooking King's Landing. The city sprawled beneath me, teeming with life, all of it mine by right of conquest.
"Everything I see," I murmured to myself, "and so much more."
"Yes, Your Grace," Ros said, gently walking behind me. She hugged me from behind, resting her face on my back. "Reminds me of the first time you told me about your ambitions under the stars. When you showed me Viserion… Look how far we've come."
I turned to her, kissing her gently. In another life, I'd have made her my Queen. Sadly, she was a whore.
Speaking of Queens. The Queen Selection would come first – I needed to formalize my succession. Then I would turn my attention northward, bringing Robb Stark to heel. Then the White Walkers. And after that? After that lay eternity, stretched before me like an endless feast.
Dragons could live for centuries. With my system and newfound powers, who knew how long I might rule? Long enough to reshape the world entirely in my image. Long enough to be remembered not as king or conqueror, but as god.
I smiled as Viserion's distant roar echoed across the city, sending flocks of birds scattering from the rooftops.
"They say the Targaryens answer to neither gods nor men," I whispered to the wind. "But that's only because, in the end, we become both."
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