Jorah Mormont departed Myrosh Castle with a sense of purpose he hadn't known in years. His bearing, though still gruff, was lighter, fueled by the promise of redemption and the terrifying awe of serving a true Targaryen king with a living dragon. He was no longer a disgraced exile; he was a commander, tasked with raising an army. Maegor had not sent him off empty-handed.
"Take this, Jorah," Maegor had commanded, handing him a heavy leather pouch. "One thousand Gold Dragons. Use it to recruit your men. Pay them well, feed them, equip them. My coffers are deep, but efficiency is paramount. I expect results."
Jorah had bowed, a grim determination on his face. "As you command, my King. You will have your Northerners." He melted into the Myrosh crowds, already envisioning the taverns and mercenary halls of the Free Cities where he would begin his recruitment drive.
With Jorah dispatched, Maegor turned his full attention to the next critical phase: securing Myrosh's borders and bringing the surrounding villages and towns under his direct control. He summoned Khal Drogo, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Kaeto Targaryen to his solar, the large map of the Myrosh region spread across the table. Balerion, now often content to sun himself on the castle's highest battlements, was a silent, watchful presence.
"Gentlemen," Maegor began, his voice firm, "Myrosh is our heart, our stronghold. But a heart needs a body to survive. We must extend our dominion over the entire region. The intelligence report has given us a clear picture of every village, every hamlet, every minor lord who might stand in our way. Our objective is clear: bring all surrounding independent settlements under the Targaryen banner. Peacefully, if possible. Forcefully, if necessary."
He looked first at Khal Drogo. "Khal Drogo, your Khalasar is the iron fist. Your screamers will be the visible might, the undeniable threat. We will use them to encircle, to intimidate, to make it clear that resistance is futile. But they will not burn. Not unless I command it."
Drogo grunted, his eyes gleaming. "The villages will know the dragon's shadow, my King. They will bend."
"Ser Barristan," Maegor continued, turning to his Lord-Commander, "you will lead our Myrosh Castle Guards in these operations. Your discipline and presence will ensure order, prevent unnecessary plunder, and act as a professional occupying force. You will oversee the collection of tribute and the establishment of basic governance in each acquired settlement. The Valyrian Swordsmen will be your elite spearhead, deployed where precision and overwhelming force are needed."
Barristan nodded. "The Castle Guards are ready, my lord. Commander Vorian has drilled them well. They will not falter."
"Ser Kaeto," Maegor concluded, his gaze sharp, "your knowledge of local customs and dialects, your talent for negotiation, will be paramount. You will be my voice, my diplomat. You will present our terms: fealty to House Targaryen, regular tribute, and in return, peace, protection, and stability. Emphasize that we are not here to burn, but to build. But make it clear that refusal carries a very high cost."
Kaeto gave a grim smile. "I understand, my lord. The carrot and the stick."
"Precisely," Maegor affirmed. "We will begin with the smaller, more isolated villages to the west. Test their resolve. Gather their loyalty. Then, we will move systematically through the region, dealing with any lingering bandit threats as we encounter them." He paused, then added, "And I want a census of every settlement we take. How many fighting men, how many non-combatants, what resources they possess. We will know our new domain intimately."
As they began to draw lines on the map, plotting their conquest, Maegor turned his attention to another matter. His Valyrian Insight (Tier 3) had been a constant hum since discovering the ruins and the new dragon egg. He needed more. He needed to find every drop of Targaryen or Old Valyrian blood he could.
"Ser Kaeto," Maegor began, his voice dropping slightly, "your travels and contacts span across Essos. You have an ear to the ground that few possess. Tell me, are there any other whispers? Any rumors of Valyrian descent beyond my immediate family? Hidden dragonseeds, forgotten lines, particularly in Pentos or Myr? Any families with unusual features, or strange, old traditions? I want all information, no matter how faint."
Kaeto frowned slightly, recognizing the shift in focus. "My lord, the old blood is thin, and most who bear it hide it carefully. After the Doom, many fled, and those who survived sought anonymity. But… there are whispers. Stories. Mostly dismissed as foolishness, but they persist."
He paused, collecting his thoughts. "In Myr, there's a prominent merchant family, the Rhosarys. They are known for their striking silver-gold hair and violet eyes, though they claim descent from ancient Myrish nobility. They never marry outside Myr. Many consider it vanity, but the features are undeniable. They have powerful connections in the trade guilds, and a strong private guard. Rumors say they dabble in arcane lore, though discreetly."
"And in Pentos," Kaeto continued, "it's more subtle. There are some old, wealthy families, particularly those who made their fortunes in Lys and then moved to Pentos, who have a curious reverence for dragons, often expressed through art or hidden artifacts. One such family, the Vaeryon family, old Lyseni nobility, settled in Pentos generations ago. They are known for their keen intellect, their affinity for numbers and prophecies, and an occasional child born with unusually pale skin and eyes that are too big and too dark for their faces, almost like a dragon's. They are scholars, more than warriors."
"Finally," Kaeto concluded, "there's a more persistent, if vague, rumor. Of isolated communities, deep in the Disputed Lands, particularly near the ruins of Norvos and Qohor. Small, insular groups who keep to themselves, speak strange dialects, and are said to practice forgotten rituals. Some have unusual coloring, or an odd affinity for fire. But these are wild, dangerous lands, my lord. Hard to find, harder to trust."
Maegor listened, his mind absorbing every detail. Rhosarys of Myr, Vaeryon of Pentos, and the rumored communities in the Disputed Lands. Each a potential thread, a drop of the old blood, a resource to be cultivated, or a threat to be eliminated if they proved disloyal. His Valyrian Insight (Tier 3) pulsed faintly as Kaeto spoke, confirming the resonance of his words.
"Excellent, Ser Kaeto," Maegor said, a grim satisfaction on his face. "These threads will be followed. For now, our focus is Myrosh. But soon, the Dragon's shadow will extend further than these borders."