A great injustice has been done to you.

A wound so severe, you've come seeking protection and begging assistance of the High King of Westeros: Aegon the Conqueror.

"You stand in the presence of Aegon of house Targaryen!" the gerold announced to the petitioners, his words ringing off the wooden walls of Aegonfort. "First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!"

But the King wasn't alone.

Sitting atop the colossal ugly beast he called the Iron Throne, Aegon was accompanied by two women, two sisters, two wives: Rhaenys and Visenya. The older woman - Aegon's iron fist -, Visenya Targaryen shot the gerold a glare that could kill a lesser man, when she heard him stumble.

"And his Queens!" the gerold very quickly found his senses. "Visenya of house Targaryen, the Sword of the King, and Rhaenys of house Targaryen, the Kind Queen!"

They should come up with better monikers - Rhaenys, the King's silken glove, mused with a small smile. She sat lower on the Iron Throne, lounging on the scorched black swords, whereas Visenya hosted a higher position, being the eldest, but no higher than the King.

Aegon's stern eyes watched over the crowd, his people, those seeking his aid, he said nothing, merely waved the first man to approach. Rhaenys listened to the folk's problems intently, Visenya, on the other hand, looked impassive, borderline angry. Men feared her.

You, however, could not keep your eyes off the Conquerors, even if it was improper.

Closer to Gods than man - the words rang in your head, and suddenly you found them to be true, that the King and his wives looked more like those born in the heavens than on this sinful earth.

But now it is your turn to stand before them.

Come forth.