Chapter 47: The Serpent's Return and the Call of Kin
Despite the grandeur of the Balerion Estate in Dilora, Maegor soon found himself yearning for the starker, more practical comforts of Myrosh Castle. It was his first true stronghold, the place where his power had truly begun to manifest, where his deepest secrets lay. After formally appointing Viserys as Governor of Dilora Barony and establishing the initial administrative framework, Maegor returned to Myrosh, Balerion soaring majestically beside him. The massive black dragon, now easily the size of a young elephant, his roars echoing across the countryside, no longer needed to hide.
Life at Myrosh Castle settled into a disciplined rhythm. The newly recruited Myrosh Light Cavalry and Infantry, as well as the Archery Corps, began their intensive training under the watchful eyes of Ser Gareth Blackwood and Commander Brundo. The castle guards maintained their unyielding vigilance. Ser Kaeto, meanwhile, spent hours in the vast outer courtyard, diligently working to bond with the magnificent Gryphon. The creature, whom Maegor had named Stormwing, was wary but intelligent, slowly allowing Kaeto to approach, to feed it, to feel its vast strength. It was a slow, deliberate dance, but Maegor knew Kaeto would master it.
One morning, as Maegor reviewed reports in his solar, a raven arrived, bearing the distinctive, plump seal of Magister Erando Drahar of Myr. Maegor broke the seal, his lip curling as he read the imperious message.
To the self-proclaimed 'Lord' of Myrosh, the letter began, its tone dripping with arrogant disdain. This audacity will not stand. While I may have temporarily overlooked your barbaric Dothraki's plundering in the northern wastes, the annexation of Dilora, a direct vassalage of Myr, is an act of blatant piracy and defiance. You will immediately relinquish control of Dilora, withdraw your forces, and pay a tribute for your transgressions. Fail to do so, and I shall send my army to Myrosh, to reclaim what is mine and to teach you the true meaning of sovereign rule.
Maegor reread the letter, a cold, humorless laugh escaping him. Erando Drahar. The man was a fool. He clearly had no conception of Maegor's true strength. He spoke of "barbaric Dothraki's plundering," hinting that he likely believed Maegor commanded only a fraction of Khal Drogo's actual numbers, perhaps judging by the relatively small contingent sent to Myrosh itself. He certainly knew nothing of Balerion's existence, or the divine might of the Blood Wyrms, nor did he likely credit the disciplined Myrosh forces. Maegor felt the whisper of the ancient Maegor within him, scoffing at such weakness. "A blind fool," the voice echoed, "ripe for the crushing." Maegor simply dismissed the letter, tossing it onto a pile of other minor correspondence. Erando Drahar would learn the truth soon enough, to his utter regret.
Later that same day, another raven arrived, this one from the west, bearing the familiar seal of Jorah Mormont. Maegor opened it, a flicker of genuine interest in his eyes.
My King, Jorah's rough hand had penned. I write from Tyrosh. The work is done. I have recruited five hundred men to your cause. They are not all Northerners by birth, but they are all willing to fight like Northerners, to be trained in the discipline and hardihood of the North. They are rough, but they are loyal to coin and the promise of glory under a true king. We are now traveling back to Myrosh. We should arrive within two weeks. They are ready to bleed for you, my King.
Maegor felt a surge of satisfaction. Five hundred. Jorah had delivered. A dedicated unit, trained in a different style, ready to integrate into his growing army. This was excellent news.
With the army growing, the administration solidifying, and the external threats preparing to make their foolish moves, Maegor turned to a more personal, yet equally strategic, agenda: the Dragonseed household in Drasaho. The System's notification had provided tantalizing details about Ser Aegon Duskryn, a direct descendant of Prince Duncan the Small, and his children. This was Kaeto's lost family, but also more Targaryen blood to secure.
He called for Ser Kaeto. "Ser Kaeto," Maegor began, his voice casual. "I have heard whispers of a prosperous trading family in Drasaho, the Duskryns. They are said to be shrewd, quiet, and well-connected. I wish to assess them, perhaps even offer them a place in our burgeoning trade network, or invite them to contribute to my court. I also want to discreetly scout the county of Drasaho itself."
Kaeto's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "The Duskryns? I know of them, my lord. Respected, but keep to themselves. It is an inland county, mostly agrarian, but with a few active trade hubs. It's under the direct vassalage of Magister Andrio Vallel, a minor Magister loyal to Erando Drahar."
"Indeed," Maegor replied, maintaining his guise. He chose not to reveal the true depth of his knowledge, nor the personal connection. Kaeto would learn soon enough, but the moment for full disclosure was not yet. "We will go there ourselves. Just the two of us, and one Royal Guard for discreet protection. I wish to see this family, and that county, with my own eyes. I will require discretion above all else. No banners, no great retinue. We will travel as merchants, or perhaps low-level nobility seeking opportunity."
He selected Miron, one of the former slave guards who had joined the Royal Guard. Miron was silent, utterly loyal, and had proven himself resourceful and observant. He was precisely the kind of man Maegor needed for such a sensitive, low-profile mission.
"Prepare for travel," Maegor commanded. "We depart tomorrow at first light. Ser Barristan will remain in command of Myrosh Castle and the Royal Guard here. Commander Maenyx and Khal Drogo will continue overseeing the Dothraki and their respective units. Inform no one of our exact destination, save for Barristan and Lyra, who will remain safe within the castle walls."
Kaeto bowed, a curious mix of understanding and suppressed questioning in his eyes. He knew Maegor had deeper motives, but his loyalty was absolute.
The next morning, under the shroud of pre-dawn darkness, Maegor, mounted on his Sand Steed, with Kaeto and Miron on horses, slipped out of Myrosh Castle. Maegor's silver hair was once more dyed black, his purple eyes hidden beneath a common hood. Balerion, though massive, was commanded to remain within the Myrosh Barony, circling over the castle, a constant, terrifying guardian visible to all who might observe. Their journey to Drasaho, south of Ergos, was not for conquest, but for consolidation of blood, for the subtle gathering of his scattered kin. The Dragon was hunting, quietly, for its lost family.