"I am many things, but I am not almighty remember that, even I have regrets."
Aegon Targaryen to his son Maegor Targaryen
She moved gracefully, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes sharp yet filled with curiosity and something else.
She knelt before him, a bowl of water in her hands.
"You are wounded," she said, her voice smooth, accented with the Dothraki tongue.
Aegon said nothing as she reached forward, pressing a wet cloth against his chest.
The sting of the wound made him exhale sharply, but he didn't flinch.
Her touch lingered, longer than necessary.
Her eyes flickered over his body, taking in his battle-worn skin, the scars, the blood.
"You fought like a god," she whispered, dipping the cloth back into the water, wringing it out before pressing it against his side wound. "Even after you were wounded, you did not stop."
Aegon watched her. He could see it in her eyes the admiration, the desire.
He knew what this was.
She wanted him.
Among the Dothraki, the strong took what they wanted. And strength attracted devotion.
Aegon let his gaze trail over her form, taking in the smoothness of her skin, the curve of her body beneath the thin fabric of her clothes.
He was injured.
He was exhausted.
But he was not dead.
As her hands moved lower, brushing over his stomach in a touch that was not necessary for tending to wounds, he finally reacted.
Aegon reached out, gripping her wrist.
The woman froze, her breath hitching.
For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.
Then, slowly, Aegon pulled her closer.
She did not resist.
In fact, she leaned into him, her body pressing against his as her breath warmed his skin.
"You are strong," she murmured, her lips dangerously close to his ear. "You are Khal now. It is only right that you take what you desire."
Aegon's grip tightened.
The fire in his veins had not fully cooled from battle.
And tonight, he would let it burn.
With a growl, he pulled her fully onto his lap, her small gasp quickly turning into something else as his lips captured hers.
The night was long, and Aegon found himself losing control once more.
But this time, he did not resist.
The morning sun rose slowly over the endless plains, casting long shadows over the Dothraki encampment. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of horses, sweat, and faint traces of last night's fire.
Inside his tent, Aegon stirred.
His body ached not just from the wounds of battle, but from the relentless passion of the night before. The Dothraki woman lay beside him, her dark hair spilling over the furs, her skin still warm against his own.
Aegon's purple eyes opened, sharp and alert even as his body demanded rest.
He did not indulge in such weakness.
Last night had been… necessary.
But now, the night was over.
The world awaited him.
Aegon sat up, ignoring the dull pain of his wounds. Although his body had already begun healing, he could feel the soreness deep in his bones.
As he reached for his tunic, the woman stirred beside him.
"You wake early," she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.
Aegon did not answer immediately. He pulled his tunic over his head, fastened his belt, and felt the weight of his sword against his hip.
"I am not one to linger," he said finally.
The woman sat up, watching him with unreadable eyes. In the dim morning light, she looked even more striking strong, yet undeniably feminine.
"You fight like a god," she said softly. "But even gods must rest."
Aegon glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "There are still many men still left to kill."
She smiled slightly as if his words amused her. "You have made them fear you," she said, shifting so that the furs slipped from her shoulders, revealing the smooth expanse of her skin. "That is good. The Dothraki follow strength, but they must also believe in the one they follow. You have given them fear… now you must give them more."
Aegon frowned slightly. "More?"
The woman leaned forward, trailing a finger along his chest, over the old scars and fresh wounds.
"They must see you as their Khal, not just as the man who killed the last one," she said. "You fight like a warrior, but a Khal is more than that. You must take what is yours. Claim it. Own it. Show them there is no one stronger."
Aegon considered her words.
Fear had won him the battle.
But fear alone would not keep thousands of warriors at his back.
The Dothraki respected one thing above all else: Power.
And they had to see that his power was unmatched.
His eyes flickered toward her. "What is your name?"
The woman smirked as if she had been waiting for the question. "Lyessa."
Aegon nodded. "Get dressed. I have work to do."
She tilted her head, watching him for a moment before obeying.
Aegon stepped out into the morning light, his presence drawing immediate attention.
Dothraki warriors paused in their tasks, turning to look at him. With respect, others with caution, but all with awareness.
Aegon was their Khal.
But they were still watching and still waiting.
Aegon ignored them. He had no intention of standing in the middle of the camp like a king waiting for his court.
Instead, he made his way toward his bloodrider.
He remembered that the system had alerted him that two people had reached the required level of loyalty.
Name: Aegon Targaryen
Age: 14
Free Points: 3655
Skills ( max skill level is 15/ normal people can only reach lv10 max in any skill): Swordsman (lv 10), dagger (lv 2) Archery (lv 10), Dothraki language (lv5)
Body: 120
Mind:90
Blood:410
Subordinates: Jacko, Baqo
Aegon looked at the new bar that appeared on the system screen and fell into deep thought, he already knew who Jacko was but he had to find Baqo.
The system had explained the people who are listed as subordinates had reached a very high level of loyalty and would be extremely hard for them to betray the host.