The bells of the Red Keep rang clear over King's Landing, silver and solemn. They called not for mourning, but for ascension.
Viserys Targaryen stood beneath the vaulted ceiling of the Dragonpit, cloaked in crimson and black. The scent of smoke, oil, and myrrh lingered in the air. All the lords of Westeros had gathered—some in honest fealty, others in calculating silence.Above them, the dragons stirred.
Vhagar, Caraxes, Syrax, and others clung to the high perches of the broken dome, their wings twitching, tails flicking. The Dragonpit had never held such presence—not since the old days of conquest.
When Viserys stepped forward to kneel before the High Septon, the silence broke—not with words, but with thunder.A single, unified roar.Every dragon present cried out, their voices a tempest of flame and fury. The crowd flinched. Some fell to knees. Others simply stared, awestruck.
The High Septon, shaken but unwavering, lifted the circlet of Valyrian steel. "Viserys of House Targaryen, First of His Name—do you swear to uphold the laws of gods and men?"
"I swear it," Viserys replied.
"With fire and blood, may you reign."
The crown touched his brow, and as it settled, the dragons roared again—less wild now, more like a herald.One by one, the great lords came forth. Lord Corlys Velaryon knelt with practiced grace. Otto Hightower followed, his eyes calm, but unreadable. The Lord Paramounts of the North, Vale, Stormlands, and Riverlands all pledged their swords.Then came the Kingsguard, in white and gold. Ser Harrold Westerling stepped forward, placing a gauntleted hand over his heart. "We serve and protect, now and always."
The small council bowed next—some loyal, some wary, all aware.Viserys saw it all.He smiled, not for joy, but with grim determination.
The crown was his.
The war had not yet begun.But already, he could hear the wings.