sailorharuka
Unlucky Member
AEGON I
The salt-tinged air of Dragonstone swept through the chamber, carrying with it the faint roars of dragons echoing from the distant peaks. Aegon Targaryen, the Conqueror, stood by the window of his stone-walled study, gazing out at the churning sea, seeing but not entirely intaking. Thus far, the conquest headed by he and his sister-wives had been grueling yet successful; Torrhen Stark, the King in the North, had mostly recently bent the knee, ensuring his people's survival and preventing a second Field of Fire. However, despite having no need for a third wife, had in fact rejected more than one father's offer of their daughter, Aegon was no fool and understood that oaths could be fragile, and he sought a bond that would be unbreakable.
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It had been a tense meeting, held in the heart of the Aegonfort, still under construction but already exuding an air of power. Torrhen Stark had entered the hall with a small retinue by his side. Aegon had addressed Torrhen with the authority of a conqueror who had worked hard to unify the kingdoms of Westeros under his rule. “Torrhen Stark,” he had said, “You have bent the knee and sworn loyalty to House Targaryen. Your pledge is noted and respected. But we both know that loyalty can waver over time, especially in a land as vast and harsh as yours. That is why I propose a marriage between our houses. Isolde Stark shall be my wife, and through this union, the North will be forever bound to the Iron Throne.”
The silence that followed had been thick with unspoken words. Torrhen’s face had remained impassive, his emotions hidden behind the stoic mask of a Northern lord. Aegon had watched carefully, noting the quiet strength Isolde exuded. It was clear that this request was not easy for the Starks, who so clearly and fiercely valued their independence. Yet, he was relieved to have Stark's acquiescence to the union. One could only stand the stench of burnt flesh for so long before becoming sickened by it — even if only slightly.
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Now, Aegon turned from the window and began preparing to meet Isolde. She had arrived at Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a few days prior. The castle, with its dark stone walls and dragon-carved halls, was undoubtedly a startling contrast to the white of the North she had left behind. Aegon knew this meeting would be crucial. The North needed to see that this union was not merely a political maneuver but also a genuine alliance. As he donned his black and red cloak, the colors of his house, he steeled himself for the conversation ahead (glad Visenya was elsewhere). Isolde Stark was to be more than simply a symbol of peace; she was to be a key to ensuring the lasting unity of his newly forged realm. With a sigh and straightening of his shoulders, Aegon made sure he had Blackfyre on his person before making his way out of his study, ready to finally meet Isolde for the first time.
