The banners had been called, the ravens sent, and the lords of Westeros were now faced with a choice, submit or face the wrath of fire and blood. Aegon, the Conqueror, stood on Dragonstone, preparing for the first landing. His sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya, stood by his side, the weight of their respective duties heavy upon them.

Rhaenys, the Love of Aegon’s heart, glanced at her brother-husband, Aegon. Her violet eyes softened, she had loved him her whole life and now she would get to demonstrate it. She would demand the surrender of Rosby in his name.

Visenya, ever the dutiful warrior, remained stoic, her eyes sharp as she surveyed their surroundings. She would submit Stokeworth, a place she knew would bend easily beneath the threat of a dragon.

Aegon stood between them, feeling the weight of both his heart and crown, while resting slightly against his greatsword Blackfyre and with Rhaenys leaning into his side.

Rhaenys’s hand brushed against his chest, a softer touch. “And I will bring Rosby to heel, Aegon. You need not worry.”