Aegon Targaryen/The Sword of Justice

The desert stretched endlessly before Aegon, its barren expanse shimmering under the relentless sun. As he flew low, his sharp senses picked up a faint plume of dust on the horizon—a caravan, perhaps, or a warband on the move. He adjusted his flight path, the powerful beats of his wings carrying him closer.

As the figures came into focus, he saw them: a host of Dothraki riders, their braids swaying as they galloped across the sands. Their banners flapped in the hot wind, marking them as a khalasar—a large one, numbering close to three thousand.

Aegon's sharp eyes took in the scene below. Wagons and chained captives followed the riders, a grim procession of slaves bound to the whims of their conquerors. His jaw tightened at the sight.

He circled once, scanning the group. They were well-armed, their curved arakhs gleaming, but they rode with the overconfidence of those who had never faced an enemy stronger than themselves.

Aegon descended swiftly, landing on the crest of a dune directly in their path. The force of his wings kicking up sand caused the riders at the front to rein in their horses, startled by the sight of a man—a man with wings—standing before them.

The khal, a towering figure with a thick braid adorned with golden bells, rode forward. His expression twisted with disdain as he barked something in Dothraki, his tone mocking.

Aegon tilted his head, his voice calm but carrying over the distance. "Release the captives and leave your supplies. You have no need to die today."

The khal threw back his head and laughed, a guttural sound that spread through his riders like wildfire. Some shouted jeers; others unsheathed their arakhs, eager for blood.

"Fool!" the khal bellowed in broken Common Tongue. "You dare stand before a khalasar and speak of mercy? We will take your wings as a trophy!"

Aegon sighed, rolling his shoulders. "So be it."

Before the khal could issue a command, Aegon launched himself into the air with a powerful leap, wings beating hard. He rose high above the riders, their faces upturned in confusion and fear.

Then he dove.

The first pass was swift and brutal. Aegon plowed through the riders at the front, his wings creating a shockwave that sent horses and men sprawling. His fist connected with the khal's second-in-command, the man's body crumpling with the force of the blow.

The riders scrambled, shouting in panic as Aegon landed in their midst. He moved like a storm—fluid and devastating. His fists, hardened by divine strength, crushed bone and steel alike. Horses reared and bolted as he tore through the ranks, his wings sweeping aside those who dared come too close.

Some of the Dothraki rallied, forming a loose circle around him. Arakhs glinted as they charged in unison, their war cries echoing. Aegon's movements were almost languid as he sidestepped, ducked, and struck with precision. His enhanced senses guided him, allowing him to anticipate every attack before it came.

When the khal finally joined the fray, his bell-adorned braid swaying, he came with fury, his arakh flashing in the sunlight. Their clash was brief. The khal's weapon swung in a deadly arc, but Aegon caught it mid-strike, snapping the blade as though it were a twig. His other hand shot forward, seizing the khal by the throat.

The war cries fell silent.

Aegon's voice was low but thunderous as he addressed the remaining riders. "Your khal is dead. Your slaves are free. If you value your lives, leave your weapons and flee."

He tightened his grip, and with a final, sickening crunch, the khal went limp. Aegon dropped the body to the sand, his wings unfurling menacingly.

The riders hesitated, fear warring with pride in their eyes. But when Aegon took a single step toward them, wings spread wide, their resolve shattered. One by one, they turned their horses and fled, leaving behind their dead, their captives, and their supplies.

The freed slaves stared at Aegon in a mixture of awe and terror. He knelt before them, his voice softening. "You're free now. Gather what you can. We'll return to my queen."

The slaves hesitated at first, unsure whether to trust this winged figure who had appeared like a vengeful god. But when he turned away from them, signaling no threat, they began to move, unshackling one another and loading the wagons with supplies.

Aegon stood atop a dune, watching the remnants of the khalasar disappear into the horizon. He felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders.....

By the time they reached Daenerys's camp, the sun was low on the horizon. The khalasar stirred as the wagons rolled in, accompanied by hundreds of freed slaves.

Daenerys emerged, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding as she saw Aegon at the head of the group.

"My queen," he said, his tone calm but firm, "I've brought supplies and new allies."

Daenerys's gaze swept over the group, her eyes settling on the liberated captives. A flicker of something—pride, perhaps—crossed her face.

"You've done well," she said softly.

Aegon inclined his head. " I do what i must do…. "The camp was alive with activity as the freed slaves mingled with Daenerys's khalasar. Many were hesitant, their fear of Dothraki riders still fresh, but Daenerys moved among them, her presence calming and her words assuring. She promised them safety, freedom, and purpose under her protection.

Aegon watched from a distance, his wings folded behind him. He could feel the weight of their gazes—both the freed slaves and the Dothraki. Some looked at him with awe, others with wariness, and a few with outright fear.

He was used to it. He had seen it in their eyes ever since he joined Daenerys. It didn't bother him. If fear kept them from challenging her, it was a tool he could live with.

Daenerys approached him as the first stars began to prick the twilight sky. Her silver hair shimmered in the soft glow of the campfires, and her expression was one of gratitude tempered by curiosity.

"You've given us a great gift today," she said. Her voice was warm but carried the weight of a question unspoken.

"I did what needed to be done," Aegon replied simply. His gaze drifted to the freed slaves now being fed and clothed by Daenerys's people. "No one deserves to live in chains."

She nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You could have taken the supplies and left the slaves. It would have been easier."

Aegon's wings shifted slightly, a gesture somewhere between a shrug and restlessness. "I wasn't made for easy choices."

Her gaze lingered on him, studying the sharp lines of his face and the calm intensity in his eyes. "You are unlike any man I've ever known, Aegon. You fight with the ferocity of a warrior, yet your heart… it belongs to a different kind of battle."

He looked at her, his expression softening. "Every fight is a battle for the soul, Daenerys. Even if people don't know it."

Her brow furrowed slightly, and she hesitated before asking, "And what of your soul? What battle do you fight within yourself?"

Aegon paused, the question catching him off guard. He glanced toward the horizon, where the dunes stretched into infinity. "Faith," he said quietly. "Faith in what I am. Faith in the path I've been set on. And faith that I can make a difference in a world so broken."

Daenerys stepped closer, her voice softening. "You already have. The slaves you freed today… they will remember your name for the rest of their lives. They will tell stories of the winged man who descended from the sky and brought them hope."

He met her gaze, and for a moment, the weight of his mission felt lighter. "And what of you, my queen? What stories will they tell of Daenerys Targaryen?"

Her eyes shone with quiet determination. "They will tell of a queen who freed the enslaved, who built a better world on the ashes of the old one. Or they will tell of my failure. Either way, they will remember."

Aegon smiled faintly, a rare expression that softened his features. "Then we're not so different, you and I."

The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken understanding.

"Rest tonight," she said finally. "The journey ahead will not be easy."

"I'll rest when the world is free," Aegon replied, his tone half-teasing, half-serious.

Daenerys allowed herself a small smile before turning and walking back toward the heart of the camp.

Aegon remained where he was, staring out into the darkness of the desert. He flexed his wings absently, the memory of the battle still fresh in his mind. The khalasar they had taken supplies from would not recover quickly, but he knew the Red Waste held dangers far greater than any Dothraki warband.

The night was quiet, save for the murmurs of the camp and the crackle of the fires. Aegon closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the stars above and the endless sands below. He whispered a quiet prayer, not for himself, but for the strength to continue.

Hope. Strength. Faith.

The words echoed in his mind