Chapter 199

King's Landing. Outside the Walls. 300 AC.

Viserys Targaryen.

The meeting took place right at the open gates. Viserys felt no fear of any sudden attempt on his life now: he stood surrounded by his knights, and the city's entire garrison had been herded together, disarmed, and set under guard until the king decided what to do about his unexpected allies.

"So it was you who surrendered the city?" These were his first words upon laying eyes on the delegation from within.

"Just so, Your Grace!" answered the head of the procession, a short man with a sharp beard. "We have always been your faithful servants, and waited only for your triumphant return." As he spoke, the man swept his eyes across the assembled lords of the Crownlands.

"Perhaps so, but what's in it for you, Lord..." Viserys did not know the man before him.

"Petyr Baelish, Your Grace," he supplied. "I am but a minor lord out of the Vale, and I have the honor of offering you my deepest respect, along with my oath of fealty to the true king of the Iron Throne."

"What is it you want?" Under ordinary circumstances Viserys would never have questioned a man so bluntly, but the adrenaline from a battle that never came was still hammering through his skull. "Power? Gold? Titles?"

"Peace, Your Grace," Baelish answered without a moment's hesitation. "These past years have shown that only the Targaryens can hold Westeros back from utter slaughter. Only a true dragon can bring every rebel to heel now and put an end to this war. And I ask only one thing of you: allow me to help you along this difficult road." At that, heedless of the wet earth and mud beneath him, the man dropped to his knees and waited in silence for the king's answer.

"You have given me King's Landing. I will not forget that." Loyal men were always needed. "Rise, Lord Baelish. There is still a great deal of work ahead of us, for the sake of this realm's stability."

"If I may object, Your Grace. King's Landing was no gift, but my duty to you." The words caught Viserys by surprise, though understanding followed soon after. "I ask that you come with me to the throne room. Unworthy rulers have sat the Iron Throne far too long. There you will find my true gift waiting."

The Iron Throne, the very symbol of Targaryen power, the thing he had dreamed of for years... Wasting no more words, the last dragon rushed to meet his destiny.

...

The Throne Room

An eternity had passed since Viserys had run through these halls laughing with joy, leaping into his beloved father's arms. An eternity since his exile, his years of bare survival, his return. And an eternity more, it seemed, as his feet carried him now through corridors both familiar and strange all at once. His men, along with the servants who had surrendered, were clearing away everything tied to the usurpers, hauling up from the cellars the ornaments and regalia of the true kings' house.

The throne room remained just as colossal as ever, long, with soaring ceilings. And there in the center of it stood the thing itself: the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms. Here was where kings of old had received their subjects and dispensed justice. The hall was vast enough to hold a thousand souls, yet at that moment it held only three hundred, the swiftest, and most important, servants of the House of the Dragon. Walking at an unhurried pace, his head held proud, Viserys moved toward the one goal of his entire life, while the herald did his work.

"Before you stands Viserys of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name. Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" Men of great power, men who could decide the fates of thousands, bowed their heads before the true king.

The moment Viserys sat upon the Iron Throne, nothing else in the world seemed to matter, and the iron colossus itself felt like the softest seat in all the world. His confusion faded, replaced at once by a sharp stab of pain: his palm had been cut open on one of the throne's jagged edges. It was thoroughly unpleasant, but the dragon found the strength not to let it show. The people of Westeros were a superstitious lot. There was an old saying about the Throne, that it rejected those unworthy of it. Viserys had no wish to begin his reign with so unfortunate an omen.