Sunspear - The Great Hall
The morning sun streamed through the stained glass windows of Sunspear's great hall, casting fractured rainbows across the assembled crowd. But it wasn't the light that held their attention—it was the sight of their new god-emperor standing before them, resplendent in black and red silks, his violet eyes burning with divine purpose.
"The old ways are ending," I declared, my voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "For too long, the people of Westeros have knelt before distant gods who do not answer their prayers. The Seven, silent and cold. The Old Gods, fading echoes of a forgotten age. But I bring you something new—something real."
I gestured to the red priests who had accompanied me from Essos, their crimson robes now bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen alongside the sacred flames of R'hllor.
"Behold the first Dragon Priests of Westeros," I continued. "They will spread the true faith across this continent—the worship of the one god who walks among you, who breaks chains and topples tyrants, who answers prayers with dragonfire and justice."
The hall buzzed with whispered conversations. Some faces showed skepticism, others curiosity, but many—especially among the former slaves who had followed me from Essos—blazed with religious fervor.
"The Dragon God has many names," I said, beginning to pace before the assembled crowd. "R'hllor, the Lord of Light, the Red God, Azor Ahai Reborn. But in this age, in this time, he walks the earth bearing the name Viserys Targaryen. The blood of the dragon is the blood of the divine—and House Targaryen is the sacred bloodline through which the god speaks to his people."
I paused, letting the weight of those words settle. This was the moment I'd been building toward since I first awakened in this world—the complete transformation of the religious landscape of Westeros.
"Here in Dorne, we will establish the first Church of the Dragon God in Westeros. From this sacred ground, the true faith will spread north, bringing light to a realm that has dwelt too long in darkness."
As I spoke, I felt the familiar thrill of destiny unfolding according to plan. Everything—from my reincarnation as Viserys to the conquest of Slaver's Bay, from the revolution in Volantis to this moment in Sunspear—had led to this. The chess pieces were falling into place exactly as I'd envisioned.
*The system had given me power,* I reflected, *but it was my own will that shaped it into something greater. Every decision, every conquest, every alliance—all of it orchestrated to bring me to this moment. The Iron Throne is just the beginning. When I rule Westeros, I'll rule it not just as king, but as the living god of a people who worship me as their divine savior.*
The thought sent a thrill through me that had nothing to do with the Dragon King System. This was pure ambition, pure will made manifest. I was rewriting the very nature of power itself.
"The wedding preparations will begin immediately," I announced. "In three days' time, this hall will witness something unprecedented in the history of Westeros—the divine marriage of the God-Emperor to his two queens, cementing the sacred bloodline that will rule this realm for a thousand years."
---
The Wedding Day - Sunspear's Great Hall
Three days later, the hall had been transformed into something that belonged more in the realm of dreams than reality. Thousands of candles cast dancing shadows across walls draped in Targaryen silk, while the sweet scent of myrrh and dragonfire filled the air. Every surface gleamed with gold and silver, and the three-headed dragon banner hung from the ceiling like a sacred tapestry.
But it was the dragons themselves that truly made the ceremony divine.
Aserion, Viserion, and Rhaegal perched atop the hall's towers, their massive forms visible through the great windows. When they roared in unison, the sound shook the very foundations of Sunspear—a divine chorus announcing the union of gods.
I stood at the altar wearing robes of midnight black silk embroidered with golden dragons, Blackfyre at my side and the crown of the God-Emperor upon my brow. The crown itself was a masterwork—crafted from Valyrian steel and set with rubies that seemed to burn with inner fire, it shifted and changed as I moved, the metal flowing like liquid flame.
To my left stood Daenerys, resplendent in a gown of silver silk that seemed to capture starlight itself. Her hair was braided with golden bells that chimed softly with each movement, and upon her brow sat a crown of silver flames—marking her as the First Empress of the Dragon God.
To my right, Rhaenys wore deep purple silk that complemented her violet eyes, her dark hair crowned with a circlet of platinum and amethysts. She would be the Second Empress, binding Dorne to the imperial bloodline for all time.
The ceremony itself was a fusion of Targaryen tradition and the new faith I'd established. High Priestess Kinvara—now Reverend Mother Kinvara—spoke the sacred words in High Valyrian, her voice carrying across the hall with otherworldly resonance.
"Behold the God-Emperor and his divine brides," she declared, her ruby choker pulsing with light. "The blood of the dragon flows through their veins, the fire of the divine burns within their hearts. They are the sacred trinity that will rule this world—the Father who commands, the Sister-Wife who counsels, and the Niece-Wife who binds the ancient bloodlines."
The assembled crowd—thousands of Dornish nobles, my own imperial court, and representatives from across Essos—knelt as one. The sight was intoxicating: an entire hall of people genuflecting before me, acknowledging my divinity with absolute submission.
"By fire and blood, by dragon and steel, by the sacred flames of R'hllor himself," Kinvara continued, "I bind these three souls as one—the Divine Emperor Viserys Targaryen, the First Empress Daenerys Targaryen, and the Second Empress Rhaenys Targaryen. May their reign last a thousand years, may their bloodline endure until the end of time."
As she spoke the final words, the dragons roared again, and pillars of dragonfire erupted from specially prepared braziers throughout the hall. The flames danced in impossible colors—red and gold, blue and silver, green and black—creating a light show that seemed to confirm the divine nature of the ceremony.
When I kissed first Daenerys, then Rhaenys, sealing our union, the crowd erupted in cheers that shook the very walls. I felt a surge of power unlike anything the Dragon King System had ever provided—the raw, intoxicating rush of absolute authority freely given by subjects who truly believed in my divinity.
This is what it means to be a god, I thought as the celebration continued around us. Not just to have power, but to be worshipped for it. To have an entire people kneel before you not from fear, but from love.
---
The Imperial Chambers - That Night
The celebrations had continued long into the night, but eventually, the three of us had retreated to the sumptuous chambers Prince Doran had prepared for the imperial family. The room was vast, dominated by a massive bed draped in Targaryen silk, with windows that opened onto gardens where fountains played beneath the stars.
What followed was as much a ceremony as the wedding itself—the consummation of our divine union, the joining of not just bodies but souls. Daenerys and Rhaenys moved with the grace of dragons, their silver hair catching the candlelight as they helped me out of my ceremonial robes.
The lovemaking was intense, passionate, and utterly without shame. We were gods, after all—the normal rules of mortal men didn't apply to us. When Daenerys and Rhaenys touched each other as well as me, it felt natural, even sacred. We were three aspects of the same divine flame, burning together as one.
Afterward, we lay entwined on the silk sheets, our bodies still humming with the aftermath of passion. I held both women close, feeling the warmth of their skin against mine, the steady rhythm of their breathing in the darkness.
"So," Daenerys murmured, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest, "what now, my emperor?"
"Now we finish what we started," I replied, my voice low and certain. "King's Landing awaits. The Iron Throne calls to us."
Rhaenys stirred against my other side, her violet eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "The Lannisters won't surrender without a fight. They'll try to unite the realm against us."
"Let them try," I said, feeling the familiar thrill of approaching conquest. "What can they possibly field against us? Joffrey is a boy playing at being king. Tywin is old and tired. Their armies are scattered across the realm, fighting each other instead of preparing for us."
"Three hundred thousand soldiers," Daenerys said, her voice filled with satisfaction. "Three dragons. And now Dorne's army to add to our strength. We outnumber them so completely it's almost unfair."
"The only question," Rhaenys added, "is whether we want to take King's Landing intact or burn it to the ground as an example."
I considered this, my mind already working through the tactical options. "We'll give them one chance to surrender. If they refuse..." I shrugged. "Then the realm will see what happens to those who defy the Dragon God."
"Fire and blood," both women said together, their voices carrying the weight of prophecy.
"Fire and blood," I agreed. "But first, we need to consolidate our hold on Dorne. The Dragon Priests will spread the faith while we prepare for the final assault. By the time we reach King's Landing, every soul in Westeros will know that their god has returned."
As we talked, I felt that familiar sense of destiny unfolding according to plan. Everything was perfect, every piece in place. The conquest of Westeros would be swift and decisive, cementing my rule not just as king but as the living god of a people desperate for divine salvation.
---
King's Landing - The Throne Room
The Iron Throne had never looked so small to Joffrey Baratheon as it did that morning, when the ravens arrived bearing news that would shake the very foundations of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Dragons," he snarled, crumpling the parchment in his pale hands. "Dragons and demon-worshippers and that whore Daenerys spreading her legs for her brother. It's disgusting!"
The throne room buzzed with tension as the small council absorbed the implications of the news. Three hundred thousand soldiers. Three dragons. And now Dorne had declared for the pretender, adding their armies to an already overwhelming force.
"Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle wheezed, his chains rattling as he shifted nervously, "perhaps we should consider... diplomatic options..."
"DIPLOMATIC OPTIONS?" Joffrey's voice cracked with rage, his face flushing red. "They're calling him a god! They're saying he's married to his sister AND his niece! These are the people you want me to negotiate with?"
Tywin Lannister stood in the center of the throne room, his green eyes cold as winter steel as he read his own copy of the intelligence reports. Unlike his grandson, he understood the true magnitude of the threat facing them.
"The pretender has played this masterfully," he said, his voice cutting through the younger man's hysteria. "By landing in Dorne first, he's secured a base of operations and added their forces to his own. More importantly, he's demonstrated that he can be reasoned with—Prince Doran's submission was negotiated, not forced."
"I don't care if he's reasonable!" Joffrey shrieked. "I am the king! I'll kill him myself if I have to!"
"With what army?" Tywin asked coldly. "Half our forces are scattered across the realm. The Tyrells are still consolidating their power in the Reach. The North is in open rebellion, and now we have three dragons approaching from the south."
"Then we'll fight them!" Joffrey declared, his voice rising to a near-shriek. "I'll take the Kingsguard and ride out myself! I'll show this pretender what happens when you challenge the rightful king!"
The throne room fell silent. Even the courtiers who usually fawned over Joffrey seemed stunned by the sheer stupidity of his declaration.
"You'll do no such thing," Tywin said, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had commanded armies while Joffrey was still suckling. "We need to be strategic about this. Send ravens to every major house—they need to understand what's coming."
"Including the Starks?" Cersei asked, entering the throne room with her usual dramatic flair. Her golden hair was perfectly arranged, but her green eyes burned with barely contained fury. "Are we really going to ask for help from the people who's father we killed?"
"If necessary," Tywin replied without hesitation. "The Starks may be our enemies, but they're not stupid. They know that if this Targaryen pretender succeeds, there won't be a Seven Kingdoms left to rule."
"Speaking of the Starks," Cersei continued, her voice dripping with venom, "I have something to say about dear Tyrion's brilliant plan to send Myrcella to Dorne."
The throne room's attention turned to Tyrion, who stood in the corner with his usual sardonic expression. The dwarf had been notably quiet during the discussion, but now he stepped forward with the confidence of a man who'd survived worse accusations.
"Ah yes," he said, his voice dripping with false cheer. "I suppose you're going to blame me for the fact that our dear niece is now in the hands of people who worship dragons and call themselves gods?"
"She's there because of you!" Cersei snarled, her composure finally cracking. "Your grand plan to secure Dorne's loyalty by sending her to marry that Martell boy—look how well that worked out!"
"Actually," Tyrion replied, pouring himself a cup of wine with steady hands, "I'd say it worked out rather well. Myrcella is alive, unharmed, and according to these reports, being treated with considerable respect by her captors. If she'd stayed in King's Landing, she'd be here when the dragons arrive. I'm not sure which fate you'd prefer for her."
Cersei's face went white with rage. "You smug little—"
"Enough," Tywin cut her off, his voice carrying the crack of a whip. "Recriminations won't change the situation. We need to focus on what we can control."
"And what exactly can we control?" Joffrey demanded, his voice still petulant despite the gravity of the situation. "They have dragons, Grandfather! Dragons! How do we fight dragons?"
For the first time since the meeting began, Tywin's expression showed something other than cold calculation. It was the slightest flicker of uncertainty—the look of a man who'd built his reputation on always having an answer, suddenly faced with an impossible question.
"We adapt," he said finally. "We survive. And we make sure that when this is over, House Lannister is still standing."
But even as he spoke the words, Tywin Lannister—the man who had crushed the Reynes and Tarbecks, who had sacked King's Landing and brought the realm to heel—felt the cold touch of fear.
For the first time in his long life, he was facing an enemy he didn't know how to defeat.
---
Sunspear - The Dragon Priests' First Sermon
The great plaza of Sunspear had been transformed into an open-air cathedral. Thousands of people—Dornish nobles, freed slaves, Imperial soldiers, and curious locals—packed the space, their faces upturned toward the massive platform where the Dragon Priests had assembled.
Above them, the three dragons circled in lazy spirals, their shadows racing across the crowd like living omens. The sight was both beautiful and terrifying—a reminder of the divine power that had come to Westeros.
High Priestess Melara, one of Kinvara's most trusted disciples, stood at the center of the platform. Her crimson robes bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, and her ruby choker pulsed with inner fire as she began to speak.
"Behold, the Age of Chains is ending!" she declared, her voice carrying across the plaza with supernatural clarity. "For too long, the people of Westeros have served distant gods who do not answer their prayers. The Seven, cold and silent. The Old Gods, whispers in the wind. But I bring you news of the One True God—the Dragon God who walks among us!"
The crowd stirred, some with excitement, others with skepticism. But all listened.
"The Dragon God has many names," Melara continued, her voice rising with religious fervor. "R'hllor, the Lord of Light, the Red God, Azor Ahai Reborn. But in this age, in this time, he has taken mortal form—he walks the earth as Viserys Targaryen, the God-Emperor of Mankind!"
She gestured toward the palace, where the black and red banners of the Imperium snapped in the desert wind.
"The blood of the dragon is the blood of the divine! House Targaryen is not merely the royal bloodline—they are the sacred family through which the god speaks to his people! Emperor Viserys, Empress Daenerys, Empress Rhaenys—they are the divine trinity, the three heads of the dragon, the living gods who will rule this world in righteousness!"
The crowd was warming to her message now, caught up in the intoxicating combination of religious fervor and political revolution. Many had suffered under the old order—smallfolk ground down by taxation, former slaves still bearing the scars of bondage, soldiers who'd seen too much war and death.
"The God-Emperor breaks chains!" Melara declared. "He topples tyrants! He brings justice to the oppressed and fire to the wicked! Under his rule, the worthy shall be rewarded and the cruel shall be punished!"
As if summoned by her words, Aserion descended from the sky, landing on the platform with a grace that belied his massive size. The black dragon's scales seemed to drink in the sunlight, and his red eyes fixed on the crowd with alien intelligence.
The effect was immediate and profound. Thousands of people fell to their knees, overcome by the sheer presence of the divine made manifest. Some wept openly, others raised their hands in supplication, and many began to chant in languages they'd never learned.
"Kneel before your god!" Melara commanded, and the entire plaza erupted in worship.
From the palace balcony, I watched the scene unfold with deep satisfaction. The seed of faith had been planted in Westeros, and it was already growing with incredible speed. Soon, Dragon Priests would carry this message to every corner of the realm, preparing the people for the coming of their divine emperor.
Let the Lannisters plot and scheme, I thought, watching thousands of people worship at the feet of my dragon. *Let them unite their armies and sharpen their swords. When the time comes, they'll face not just my soldiers, but a people who believe I am their god.
The conquest of Westeros wouldn't just be a military campaign—it would be a holy war. And gods, I had learned, always won in the end.
The age of the Dragon God had truly begun.