Chapter 34: The Blade of Destiny and the Forging of an Army
Blackfyre. The name resonated in Maegor's mind, a deep, resonant hum that seemed to echo from the very Valyrian steel itself. He held the legendary sword, its blade the color of deepest night, rippling with an ancient power that both thrilled and chilled him. No one could deny his claim to the throne now, not with this blade in his hand, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror, the very symbol of Targaryen kingship.
Yet, the pragmatic Maegor, honed by Aemon's wisdom and the cold realities of the Wall, knew better. He was not truly strong enough yet. The proud lords of Westeros, who had overthrown his family once, would not simply bend the knee to a silver-haired youth from Essos, even one with a dragon and Blackfyre. He needed more. More power, more men, more consolidated territory. His current forces, though growing, were still a fraction of what was needed to conquer a continent. The whispers of the ancient Maegor, however, urged him to action, to display, to dominate.
His first priority, after securing Blackfyre, was to continue forging his army. He immediately sought out Ser Barristan Selmy, finding the Lord-Commander of his Royal Guard overseeing drills in the castle courtyard.
"Ser Barristan," Maegor called, his voice clear. He held Blackfyre casually in one hand, its dark blade a stark contrast to the bright sunlight. Barristan's eyes, ever sharp, immediately fixed on the sword, widening imperceptibly. He recognized it. The legendary blade. A flicker of awe, and a deeper respect, entered his gaze.
"My King," Barristan replied, bowing.
"We have acquired 213 men-at-arms from the villages of the Myrosh Barony," Maegor stated, getting straight to business. "They are raw, but they are loyal. I have new orders for them. From these men, I want you to select one hundred. These hundred will form our Myrosh Light Cavalry. They will be trained in basic cavalry techniques, not like the Dothraki, but as true knights. They will learn to wield spear, sword, and shield while mounted. Equip them with light armor, sufficient for speed and maneuverability. They will be our swift response, our scouts, our flanking force."
Barristan nodded, his mind already calculating. "It will be done, my King. I will personally oversee their training. They will be worthy."
"As for the remaining 113 men," Maegor continued, turning to where Ser Kaeto was speaking with some of the Valyrian Swordsmen, "Ser Kaeto, you will take command of them. You will train them as Myrosh Light Infantry. They will be disciplined, capable foot soldiers, ready to hold a line or clear a village. Equip them with spear and shield, and light armor. They will be the backbone of our local garrisons."
Kaeto, hearing his name, approached. He too saw Blackfyre, and his Valyrian eyes widened, a profound reverence in their depths. He recognized the sword of his ancestors. "My King," Kaeto said, his voice husky with emotion, "it will be done. They will be formidable."
"We need to be ready," Maegor stated, his gaze sweeping over the burgeoning settlement outside the castle walls. "Magister Erando Drahar will notice our expansion. He will not allow us to simply absorb his county without a fight. His forces will come. We must be prepared to meet them, and to break them."
Later that day, Maegor found himself drawn to Lyra's bedchambers. The daily routine of planting his seed had become more than just a duty; it was a quiet intimacy, a shared purpose. He found her resting, her belly subtly rounded, a testament to the life growing within her.
"Lyra," Maegor murmured, sitting beside her. He reached out, gently touching her swollen belly. "How do you fare? Do you feel unwell?"
Lyra smiled, a soft, genuine smile that always seemed to calm the restless spirit of the ancient Maegor within him. "I am well, my lord. The herbalist says the babe is strong. I feel… full. And eager." Her hand rested over his on her belly. "It is a strange thing, this life growing inside me. A Velysarion."
Maegor leaned down and kissed her forehead. "A strong Velysarion. A loyal one. The first of many." He stayed with her for a time, a rare moment of quiet contentment amidst the storm of his ambitions.
Meanwhile, Balerion continued to grow at an astonishing rate. He was now truly immense, easily the size of a young elephant, his black scales gleaming, his roars echoing across the plains of Myrosh. He spent his days soaring, hunting, a terrifying, majestic presence that solidified Maegor's claim in the minds of the Dothraki and the local populace alike. Hiding him was impossible, and Maegor no longer cared to. Let them see. Let them fear. Let them know the Dragon was truly back.
A few days later, a raven arrived, bearing a familiar seal. It was a report from Jorah Mormont. Maegor opened it, his brow furrowed.
My King, the letter read, in Jorah's rough, practical hand. I write from Lys. The recruitment is proceeding, but slower than I had hoped. The men here are soft, more interested in pleasure houses than steel. Still, I have managed to gather 150 men so far. They are rough, but willing. I have begun their training, teaching them the Northern discipline you commanded. It is far from the 500 you requested, but I have hope, my King. I will not fail you. The coin you provided is being used efficiently. I will continue to scour the Free Cities for more suitable recruits.
Maegor reread the number. 150. It was indeed far from the 500 he had requested. A flicker of impatience, quickly suppressed. Jorah was doing his best, but the Free Cities were indeed soft. Still, 150 new men, trained in the Northern style, were a welcome addition. It would take time. He would send more gold if needed, but for now, Jorah needed to prove his resourcefulness.
He looked at Blackfyre, resting on his table. The sword hummed, a low, malevolent whisper. It was a blade of conquest, of absolute authority. The "prideful Westeros" might not bend their knee to a "weak" king, but they would bend to the power of Blackfyre, to the roar of a dragon, and to an army forged in fire and discipline. He was not weak. He was merely building. And the first test of that strength, the conquest of the County of Ergos, was about to begin.