The Sea Serpent was straining at its moorings, sails already unfurled, eager to catch the morning breeze and spirit them away from Pentos. Maegor stood on deck, a grim satisfaction settling over him as he watched the last lines being prepared for casting off. Daenerys and Viserys, though still subdued, were safely aboard, sequestered with Lyra and the slave guards. Kaeto oversaw the final loading, while Captain Jorah barked orders to his crew.
Just as the gangplank was about to be pulled aboard, a commotion erupted on the dock. A man, tall and imposing even from a distance, with a shock of long, white hair flowing behind him like a banner, strode purposefully towards their cog. His build was strong, still formidable despite his age, and his eyes, even from afar, burned with a fierce, unwavering light.
"Hold! In the name of the true king, halt this vessel!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the morning bustle of the docks, radiating an authority that made even the hardened dockworkers pause. He reached the gangplank, a single man against the small company, and attempted to force his way aboard. "Release them! Release the Targaryen children!"
Maegor, alerted by the sudden shouts, emerged from his cabin. He stepped onto the deck, Balerion's silent, comforting weight a familiar pressure against his chest. His silver hair, still damp from its final washing away of the dye, shone like polished moonlight. He held his head high, allowing his purple eyes to be seen. He was no longer trying to hide.
The man on the dock paused, his eyes widening as they swept over Maegor's unmistakable features, then to the pale, silver-haired figures of Daenerys and Viserys now standing hesitantly behind Maegor. Recognition, stark and absolute, flashed in his eyes. He stopped trying to board, instead fixing his piercing gaze on Maegor.
"Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice hoarse with a mixture of shock and desperate hope. "Speak your name, man of the Dragon!"
Maegor met his gaze, unflinching. He recognized the man now, from Aemon's countless lessons and the histories he had devoured. This was no common knight. This was a legend. He knew the name, the deeds, the unwavering loyalty this man had shown, even to mad kings.
"Before you are cut down for your insolence, old man," Maegor commanded, his voice ringing with the undeniable authority of his blood and the pulsing power of Draconic Persuasion, "state your name and your purpose."
The man, perhaps sensing the true power emanating from Maegor, perhaps swayed by the sight of Targaryen features thought long dead, straightened his imposing frame. He placed a hand over his heart. "I am Ser Barristan Selmy, formerly Lord Commander of the Kingsguard under King Aerys II and King Robert Baratheon. I seek the true heirs, the last of the dragons. I seek to serve my rightful king!" His eyes were fixed solely on Maegor.
Maegor felt a thrill. Ser Barristan Selmy. The bold. One of the strongest knights in Westeros, a man whose honor was unblemished, whose skill with a sword was legendary. Aemon had spoken of him with reverence, lamenting the wasted loyalty of such a knight to a dying, mad House. This was an unexpected boon.
"Ser Barristan Selmy," Maegor acknowledged, his voice now devoid of harshness, filled instead with a calculated respect. "You speak of true kings. And yet, you knelt to a usurper for nearly two decades." He paused, letting the barb land. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Maegor Targaryen, son of Maester Aemon. My father, Aemon, renounced his rights to the Iron Throne in favor of King Jaehaerys II, and then to Aerys II, 'the Mad King,' as our family slid into folly and ruin. But with his dying wish, knowing the true chaos that would engulf Westeros, he commanded me to retake what was lost. To restore the dragons to their rightful place."
Maegor stepped to the edge of the deck, looking down at the legendary knight. His voice rose, carrying across the silent dock, a challenge thrown to the very foundations of the realm. "So, Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of Kingsguard! You speak of serving a true king! Now, look upon me. Who do you serve?"
Ser Barristan's gaze was unwavering. His eyes, though old, burned with a renewed fire. He had served the Mad King, and then the Usurper, searching for a path to honor. Now, before him stood a true Targaryen, bearing the marks of their House, speaking with an authority that echoed the Conqueror, and hinting at a dying Maester Aemon, whom Barristan had also respected greatly. This was no pretender. This was his chance to redeem his oath.
Slowly, deliberately, Ser Barristan Selmy, the Bold, sank to one knee on the grimy docks of Pentos. His head bowed in the ancient gesture of fealty. "My lord," he intoned, his voice clear and strong, "I have searched for true purpose. My oaths are to the Iron Throne, and to House Targaryen. You are the rightful heir. I serve you, Maegor Targaryen. My sword is yours, until my dying breath."
Maegor felt a profound surge of power. The System hummed with internal satisfaction. This was not merely another subordinate; this was a symbol, a legend, a testament to the legitimacy of his claim.
"Rise, Ser Barristan," Maegor commanded, extending a hand. "Welcome aboard. Your presence is a greater boon than any gold."
As Ser Barristan clambered aboard, Maegor led him towards his cabin, leaving Kaeto to oversee the final departure preparations. "Captain Jorah, cast off!" he ordered, and the Sea Serpent slowly, silently, began to pull away from the dock.
Inside the small cabin, Maegor gestured for Ser Barristan to sit. Balerion, sensing the tension and the change in atmosphere, remained hidden, a silent, unseen guardian.
"Tell me, Ser Barristan," Maegor began, his voice dropping to a confidential tone, "what news from Westeros? What chaos consumes the realm?" He listened intently as Barristan, his voice filled with a weary resignation, recounted the recent events: Robert's death, the false claim of Joffrey, the executions, the rising rebellion of Robb Stark, Stannis, and Renly. He spoke of the Lannister power, the cruelty of Cersei, the growing fragmentation of the Seven Kingdoms.
Maegor nodded, his grim predictions from Aemon confirmed. "The realm is indeed ripe for the taking. They have forgotten what true kingship means."
Then, Maegor shifted, his gaze thoughtful. "Ser Barristan, I have always pondered a contradiction regarding the Kingsguard, as my father often did. You are the finest knights, yet you forsake marriage, family, children. Your knowledge, your strength, your very blood… it dies with you. A great knight should pass his wisdom, his skill, his very gene to his own family, to cultivate a lineage of strength, not simply train others."
Barristan, surprised by the direct, unconventional line of questioning, seemed to ponder this, a faint frown on his face. "My lord, the Kingsguard oath is absolute. We are sworn to the king alone, with no familial ties to distract our loyalty. It is our sacrifice."
"A sacrifice," Maegor countered, "that weakens the very foundations it purports to protect. Imagine, Ser Barristan, if your blood, your training, your unique capabilities, had been passed through a direct line. A family of legendary knights, tied by blood loyalty, serving the throne across generations. Would that not be a greater bulwark than individual brilliance that withers with death?"
Barristan remained silent, considering. It was a radical thought, utterly against the Kingsguard ethos, yet Maegor's logic, steeped in the long-term vision of his ancient soul, was undeniably compelling. He had never considered it that way. The Kingsguard, for all their glory, were a dead end for their own lineage.
"Your insight is… profound, my lord," Barristan admitted, a flicker of something new in his eyes. "I had never thought of it in such a way."
"Then think on it now, Ser Barristan," Maegor urged, a subtle promise in his voice. "For in the new order I build, such strengths will not be squandered. Every asset, every drop of noble blood, will serve a greater purpose. You will have a new role to play, Ser Barristan. One that transcends mere guarding."
The Sea Serpent was now truly underway, leaving the bustling chaos of Pentos behind, carrying its impossible cargo towards a destiny forged in fire and blood.