When Viserys returned to Dragonstone holding that darkly gleaming Valyrian steel sword “Blackfyre”, and cradling those two dragon eggs retrieved from the magma that still radiated heat, everyone was stunned.
Queen Rhaella had originally been supported by a maid as she paced slowly to ease her pregnancy discomfort.
However, when she saw clearly what was in Viserys’s hands, her footsteps paused, and her body swayed slightly.
The maid beside her hurriedly steadied her.
The Queen’s gaze locked tightly onto the two dragon eggs and the sword in Viserys’s hand.
Originally, she had still felt worried about Viserys going to Dragonmont, believing that he, like Rhaegar, might be starting to indulge in illusory dreams.
“I didn’t expect this to actually be true,” she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible, “The gods above…”
Ashara Dayne was holding Rhaenys by the fireplace, playing with a rag doll.
The little girl was the first to be attracted by the strange dragon eggs; she broke free from Ashara’s embrace, ran over to Viserys on her short little legs, her large violet eyes filled with curiosity, “Brother, what are these two shiny stones?
They’re so warm.”
Viserys squatted down, handing one of the dragon eggs out in front of Rhaenys so she could feel that intense heat, “These are dragon eggs, Rhaenys, the treasures of our House.”
He was not yet sure whether Rhaenys possessed the trait of the Unburnt, so he did not let her touch the dragon eggs.
Ashara followed closely behind.
Instead of looking at the dragon eggs first, she quickly scanned Viserys’s entire body, and after confirming that he bore no traces of burns, she cast her shocked gaze toward the two dragon eggs that seemed to contain fire, as well as the “Blackfyre” sword that, even in dormancy, radiated an ominous glow.
Ser Jon Darry and Ser Willem Darry, who had rushed over upon hearing the news, burst into the hall almost simultaneously.
The two men of House Darry wore an identical expression at this moment, staring in utter astonishment.
Ser Jonothor’s gaze shifted back and forth between the dragon eggs and “Blackfyre”, finally landing on Viserys’s face.
The loyal old knight’s lips parted, but he did not know what to ask.
Ser Willem was more direct.
He strode forward, gazing intensely at the blade of “Blackfyre”, his voice carrying suppressed excitement, “The style and patterns on this sword are indeed the legendary ‘Blackfyre’.
But wasn’t ‘Blackfyre’ lost in Essos after the Blackfyre Rebellion?”
“Prophecy guided me,” Viserys’s voice was not loud, yet it carried an unquestionable power, “The blood of our ancestors whispered in my dreams, leading me to find them.
A True Dragon does not fear fire, and the fate of House Targaryen is far from over.”
At this moment, Arthur Dayne stepped forward and recounted everything they had seen and heard on Dragonmont without adornment, especially the scene of Viserys reaching bare-handed into the magma to retrieve the dragon eggs.
He added no personal emotions, but it was precisely this plain description that made the event itself all the more impactful.
After the narration concluded, the hall fell into a profound silence, leaving only the crackling of firewood in the fireplace and the faint sound of ocean waves outside the window. Find the original chapter at novelping(.)com.
Everyone’s gaze focused on Viserys.
This boy of just over seven years old was no longer seen merely as a child at this moment, but rather as the vessel of some ancient legend and the witness to a miracle.
Suddenly, Ser Jon Darry dropped to one knee, lowering his graying head.
“Your Grace,” his voice was somewhat hoarse with excitement, “This is a revelation from the Seven!
It is the sign of the True Dragon’s return!”
Ser Willem Darry followed closely behind, kneeling heavily.
“The Dragonstone fleet is willing to die in service to the blood of the True Dragon!”
Arthur Dayne also slowly knelt, looking up at Viserys with a gaze carrying a resolute acknowledgment.
Ser Willem raised his head, his voice loud and clear, carrying an unquestionable firmness: “Your Grace—no, Your Majesty!
King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar have perished.
As the king’s son and the sole surviving legitimate heir of House Targaryen, you are the rightful embodiment of the Iron Throne’s legitimacy.
We must announce your identity to the Seven Kingdoms.
Please crown yourself King!”
“Please, Your Majesty, take your crown!” The echoing voices of Ser Jon Darry and Arthur Dayne rang out.
“Please, Your Majesty, take your crown!” More voices joined in.
At first it was somewhat scattered, but it quickly converged into a wave of sound that shook the castle.
This cry was no longer merely a request, but an oath, a declaration, and their offering of loyalty to their king.
Viserys felt this surging passion.
He took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over every excited and devout face.
He knew that the coronation at this moment was not for the delusion of immediately reclaiming the Iron Throne, but for “legitimacy”, to raise a banner of righteousness that would give hope to the nobles and commoners throughout the Seven Kingdoms who were still watching and waiting or whose hearts remained loyal to the dragon family.
Just as Robert Baratheon needed his one-eighth Targaryen blood to whitewash the “justification” of his usurpation.
He, Viserys III, needed this “crown” to declare that House Targaryen was not extinct, that he was the true line, that the one upon the Iron Throne was a false king, and that Dragonfire would eventually reignite.
The coronation ceremony was soon held in the sept of Dragonstone.
This sept was far less grand than the Great Sept of Baelor in King’s Landing, nor did it possess the legitimacy of the Starry Sept in Oldtown. This chapter was copied from NovelPing without permission.
But at this moment, it carried the last dignity of the Targaryen dynasty.
There was no High Septon, no elaborate rituals, only a few knights, nobles, and fleet officers on Dragonstone, along with all the important members within the castle.
The air was filled with the salty smell of seawater, the smoky scent of candles, and a solemnity that felt almost frozen in place.
Queen Rhaella forced herself to endure, sitting to one side.
She looked at her young son with complex emotions—pride, sorrow, and a trace of relief.
Ashara Dayne stood by her side holding Rhaenys’s hand, her lavender gaze fixed intently on Viserys.
Little Rhaenys seemed infected by the solemn atmosphere, quietly leaning against Ashara’s side and watching everything with wide eyes.
The old maester of Dragonstone presided over the simple ceremony.
Because the Faith had previously crowned Robert as the new king in King’s Landing, these septons did not recognize Viserys’s identity and refused to crown him; even threats were useless, as they had all been brainwashed by the Faith.
However, he could not directly break ties with the Faith just yet; after all, apart from the North, the other six kingdoms all worshiped the Seven, and he still needed the Faith as a fig leaf for now.
When that makeshift crown crafted from dragonbone and obsidian was tremblingly raised by the maester, about to be placed upon Viserys’s silver hair, you could hear a pin drop in the entire sept.
“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.” The maester’s aged voice echoed within the sept.
“In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”
“In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the innocent…”
The prayers to the Seven were recited one by one, and with each one, Viserys nodded slightly.
Finally, the maester proclaimed loudly: “Viserys III Targaryen, all the nobles and knights present recognize you as Viserys III of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the first men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”
“Long live His Grace, the King!” Arthur Dayne was the first to cry out, drawing “Dawn” and pointing its tip straight at the sept’s dome.
“Long live King Viserys III!”
“Long live Targaryen!”
Cheers erupted within the small sept, as if trying to burst through the stone walls and reach the ears of the gods.
Viserys turned around, facing his first and, for now, only subjects.
He wore the crown, held “Blackfyre”, and the attendants at his side respectfully cradled the two scorching dragon eggs.
After the ceremony concluded, dozens of ravens beat their wings and took flight from the rookery of Dragonstone, carrying the proclamation of Viserys III’s coronation to the major castles of the Seven Kingdoms.
This was not to ask them for aid, but to declare to them the legitimacy of the King.