The Necromancer King (A Game Of Thrones)

A Good First Impression

"Don't you dare return to me with another scar." Arianne softly brushed her finger across the scar on his left eye.

Aerion smiled and looked into her dark eyes. The aura around him was confident and reassuring like no other, almost overflowing with charisma.

"No simple man can kill me, Arianne. Even if there was such a person, I wouldn't enable them to do so. I have many things to live for, after all. The realm, my mother, family... and you, of course." Aerion removed her hand and pressed his lips against hers, leading to a rather lengthy kiss.

Arianne softly took a step backwards and blushed slightly. "You've grown into quite the seducer, haven't you?"

"I learned from the best." Aerion chuckled. "Anyways, wounds such as scars can be easily healed with magic. Not that anyone is swift enough to cut me... that is."

Aerion turned to face the gate. "I'll be going now."

"Take care, Aerion."

'I will.'

"I won't be long."

Aerion's heavy, scaled, boots echoed across the main hall, stopping suddenly when he had reached the high doors. Then, after a simple push, the light of the sun shined upon him. He observed the walls of King's Landing and their surroundings for a quiet moment. Not much had changed from yesterday.

The sky had grown grey, shrouded in dark clouds of uncertainty. It looked like it was going to rain heavily with frequent strikes of lightning from the sky... as it had for the past two weeks or so. This weather had become ordinary once Robert Baratheon's army had camped a good distance away from King's Landing. With such unfavourable conditions, the army did not march and instead waited for a better day. That day had yet to come.

There was a day where Robert's patience had run short but it came at a loss of over two hundred men within a few seconds. After seeing so many men fall so suddenly, he retreated back to the camp. It was as if the sky itself was against Robert's army... and it certainly was, in a way.

However, it was not the will of nature nor the gods who had halted Robert from moving a single step forward.

It was the calamitous Dragon Emperor Aerion 'Stormcaller' of House Targaryen.

'It is easy for the prince to call the spears, but it was the children who would pay the price every time. For their sake, a ruler should not call war without a good cause and a strong chance of victory...'

Aerion recalled the words of his wise uncle, Prince Doran. The power of a Grandmaster was immense... god-like, even. If he so wished, Robert's entire army could be swept away within a very short time. But his quarrel was not with the good, honest men who had been forced to participate in the conflict and fight hard to protect the Realm from the Ironborn invaders. It was with the person who commanded them.

Quite a number of people had been waiting for Aerion at the entrance to the Red Keep. The Kingsguard, Helia, Oberyn Martell and Viserys.

"The loyalists have been awaiting your command for quite some time, Your Grace. Would you indulge them on this fine day?"

Aerion looked at Helia, who had made a swift bow. "Ser Arthur and Helia, I want you both to mobilise a decently-sized group of elite Soul Knights in preparation for a potential battle. You will move out towards Robert's camp once I give the order."

"Understood, Your Grace. We will be going now."

"Are you certain that the Usurper wants to fight you? Honestly, you haven't even given him a chance to state anything." Viserys inquired.