Game Of Thrones: The God-Emperor of Planetos-Chapter 78 - - Conspiracies (VI)

"Seeing the future usually gives you a feeling of invincibility, but when you see millions of timelines showing different realities, you realize how changeable the future can be." Aenar I Targaryen, God-Emperor of Planetos.

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"What do you think?" Aenar asked, looking at Tyrion with a carefree smile.

Tyrion reflected for a moment before answering with his calm tone and a hint of curiosity. "Your Grace controlled the conversation the entire time. You showed no weakness at any time, which forced Lord Hizdahr to accept an extremely unfavorable deal."

The dwarf paused before expressing his doubts. "What I don't understand is why Your Grace agreed to take part in this theater. Even if money and soldiers are valuable resources, allowing Lord Hizdahr to establish a kingdom in Slaver's Bay seems...risky."

It was understandable that Tyrion had these doubts. Unlike Aenar, he didn't possess the gift of prescience to see into the future and plan ahead.

"First, there's the training of my troops, especially the elite troops, the Sardaukar. Secondly, unlike other cities, there are no Red Faith temples in Slaver's Bay.

This represents a perfect opportunity for us to infiltrate and start indoctrinating followers," replied Aenar, without revealing all the details, but sharing most of the plan with confidence.

"And why is Your Grace so interested in indoctrinating followers, especially in Slaver's Bay?" Tyrion asked, intrigued. He could understand the need to train troops, but wasting time on religion seemed an out-of-place move, especially when an imminent war was on the horizon.

"Tyrion," Aenar began with a patient tone, "The basis of a solid government is faith and determination. The more people who believe that I am an envoy of the gods, the more unshakable my government will be. An example of this is Volantis. The Triarchs, who ruled the city for centuries, were wiped off the map because they underestimated the power of faith and dared to anger the people by trying to kill their 'Messiah'."

Aenar smiled, amused, as he watched the shock grow in Tyrion's expression.

Tyrion finally understood what Aenar was trying to explain. Faith was not just a matter of belief; it was an instrument of power. An army could be defeated, but a fanatical people, driven by faith, were much harder to contain.

Even so, he found it hard to believe. What could commoners do in the face of a properly armed and trained army? And then something Aenar had mentioned earlier clicked in Tyrion's mind: there were no temples of the Red Faith in Slaver's Bay.

Connecting the dots, Tyrion came to an alarming conclusion. He stared at Aenar, completely shocked, as his brain processed the information.

Temples were not just places of religious indoctrination. They were fortresses of war, filled with weapons and armor.

"How many temples does the Red Faith have on the entire continent of Essos?" Tyrion asked, his voice laden with incredulity.

Aenar only smiled, without answering directly, but the gleam in his eyes suggested that the answer was far more terrifying than Tyrion could have imagined.

As Tyrion had said, the Temples of the Red Faith did indeed function as weapons depots. Although it wasn't possible to supply all the temples with large quantities of weaponry, there was always a significant amount stored, especially in the larger cities, such as the Eight Free Cities.

"And what happens when Your Grace decides that the people are ready to rise up against their slave masters?" Tyrion asked, curiosity evident in the tone of his voice. He knew that Aenar was not only preparing Westeros, but also laying the foundations for conquering all of Essos.

"Of course, after giving them hope of freedom, I'll give them the tools to conquer that freedom." Aenar replied as he ate the last grape from the tray, an amused smile curving his lips.

Tyrion couldn't help feeling a little sorry for Hizdahr. The man was risking everything to build a kingdom of his own, unaware that he was just one piece in a larger game, a conspiracy meticulously orchestrated by Aenar. A plan that would guarantee the conquest of Slaver's Bay without the need to mobilize a large army or provoke an unnecessary bloodbath.

This level of cunning and calculation was truly terrifying in Tyrion's eyes.

"Tomorrow we will hold an early meeting with all my advisors and family members. Be present and properly dressed for the occasion. The Hand of the King brooch will be delivered to your chambers in the morning." Aenar rose from his chair and cast one last glance at Tyrion, who still seemed absorbed in his thoughts.

"We will do great things together, Tyrion of House Lannister." He said with a smile. "Don't let me down."

As Aenar disappeared along with the members of his Kingsguard, Tyrion leaned back in his chair and muttered to himself: "Father, you'd be proud, wouldn't you? Your son has finally become Hand of the King, the most powerful position after the throne."

But even as he said it, Tyrion knew that Tywin would never be proud of him, no matter what he achieved. His hatred of his father ran deep, born of grief that he was the cause of his mother Joanna's death.

Tyrion laughed softly, abandoning any desire to win Tywin's respect or love. He would now focus only on himself. He would be Lord of Casterly Rock.

In the future, he would have a wife and probably a son or daughter, and to ensure a good future for his future family, he would serve Aenar with devotion and intelligence. After all, there would always be others lurking to take his place.

That same night, Aenar was in his quarters, watching the moon through the open window, when he felt a faint chaotic energy trying to connect with his mind. For a moment, he was cautious, but soon relaxed when he recognized the source of the energy.

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Brynden Rivers.

Unlike before, Aenar no longer needed to sleep to access his subconscious. After consuming the Water of Life, he had awakened to a level of consciousness that allowed him to fully explore his true capabilities. Capabilities that he himself was discovering over time.

"Great-uncle," greeted Aenar, as his mind connected with the astral projection of the old Blood Crow.

Brynden watched him, his eyes carrying something between awe and terror. To anyone else, Aenar still looked human, but Brynden could see beyond appearance. To him, Aenar was a monstrous mass of magical energy, pure, chaotic and completely inhuman. The body the young king inhabited was nothing more than a receptacle for this immeasurable force.

"What have you done, Aenar?" Brynden asked incredulously, his voice filled with a mixture of admiration and discomfort. The oppression emanating from Aenar's presence was overwhelming, even in his astral form.

Aenar, sensing his great-uncle's discomfort, made a simple gesture with his hand, shielding Brynden from the intensity of his mind. He knew better than anyone that the abyss that resided within him was something few could bear.

"Don't worry, just tell me what's going on." Aenar ignored the question and gave Brynden a serious look. His great-uncle would never contact him if it wasn't urgent. Manifesting one's conscience on another continent was no trivial matter, even for someone like Brynden.

Realizing that Aenar didn't intend to answer his question, Brynden pushed the disturbing thoughts aside and concentrated fully on the moment.

"The Night King is moving faster than we anticipated. The dead are increasing at an alarming rate, far beyond anything we've seen before. In less than a month, at least thirty thousand undead have been forced from their graves." His voice carried a grave tone, while his exhausted mind showed signs of collapsing at an astonishing speed.

Normally, he would have been able to maintain the connection for dozens of minutes, but at this rate, it wouldn't have lasted more than one.

Aenar couldn't help a trace of dissatisfaction appearing on his face. He knew that the Cold God was blessing the Night King with even more power, compromising his own plans and forcing him to adjust them hastily.

"Send Mance to the Wall immediately. Aemon and Jeor Mormont will open the gates when the Free People arrive. Mance must relinquish his kingly titles and hand over the Horn of Winter." Aenar's words came in a firm tone, without hesitation.

Hesitation led to chaos and chaos led to unnecessary deaths, he didn't want that, and Mance should be more anxious than he was. The man possessed a legendary artifact that could bring down the Wall, and that was a risk that Aenar wanted to get into his hands as soon as possible.

"I will see to it that all parties receive their orders, but have the Northern Lords accepted hundreds of thousands of Savages into the Northern Lands? Food to supply such a population is no simple matter." Brynden couldn't help but advise his grandnephew with concern.

Aenar sighed and remembered that people needed food to survive.

"I'll fly to the High Garden in a few days, I'll order House Tyrell to send enough food to last a few months. I'll also have Kinvara send a batch of food to White Harbor." Aenar spoke with a helpless tone. That was why he hated changing his plans.

Brynden nodded and quickly disconnected his mind from Aenar's. He had to be even faster than Aenar.

"I'm going to rip this Cold God's head off." Aenar muttered to himself, his voice containing a shocking murderous intent.

His entire subconscious changed drastically with his murderous thoughts, transforming into an apocalyptic scenario, clouds of black and red smoke made up the whole scene with lightning occasionally crossing the place.

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