Game of Thrones: I Am The Heir For A Day

Chapter 496: Ascending the Throne – Reforging the Iron Throne

Chapter 496: Ascending the Throne – Reforging the Iron Throne

Time flies. It is now March.

King's Landing, Dragon Gate.

The road is teeming with traffic, the path repeatedly rammed and rolled over, turning it into a muddy mess.

A group of cavalrymen in fur coats led the way, escorting a convoy of rolling wheels. A tall carriage moved slowly through the ranks, flying an ancient banner with the head of a direwolf.

“Messenger from Winterfell!” The captain of the cavalry rode up to the city gates and announced the identity of the caravan's owner.

“Roar!”

A dragon’s roar echoed from above.

On the towering walls of the Dragon Gate, a magnificent golden dragon slumbered, looking down on the visitors with pride.

“Dragon!!”

The northern cavalry team was terrified, even the usually stoic captain rode back nervously.

On the city wall, two fearless officers exchanged glances and raised the flag to signal: “Let them pass!”

After a long pause, the caravan from the north slowly entered King's Landing. They had arrived with confidence but entered the city humbly.

The young Cregan rode a tall horse with a huge sword strapped to his back, blending in with the caravan. The streets of King's Landing were bustling with people, hurrying about and discussing various news.

“Look at these northerners. Their balls didn't freeze off in the winter, but they almost got scared off by that golden dragon.”

“Shh! That’s a nobleman.”

“What are you afraid of? The kingdom is holding a coronation ceremony, and there have been nobles all over the city for the past two weeks.”

Cregan listened carefully, analyzing the information he overheard.

“Let them through!”

Suddenly, another shout came from the top of the city wall. Cregan's face remained unchanged as he looked back at the procession behind the convoy.

On the muddy road, a team of well-equipped and luxurious cavalry advanced. As they approached, a blue banner with a curved-moon eagle was raised high.

“Arryn of the Vale,” Cregan muttered to himself, urging the caravan to speed up. They had all been invited to the coronation—or, as it was also known, the abdication of the old king.

Red Keep

“Hurry, hurry, hurry! The guests are about to fill the ballroom. Get those refreshments and drinks served!” Lyonel was flustered and red-faced, bustling about and giving orders to the servants.

The servants were scurrying around, carrying tables and chairs and clearing away plates. Every corridor in the Red Keep was bustling with activity.

“Lord Lyonel, the throne hall is ready.”

“That’s good. This is a task the Prince specifically asked for.” A thin line of sweat appeared on Lyonel’s forehead, which he quickly wiped away as he turned his head.

He was met by the sight of Tyland Lannister, panting heavily and slightly disheveled, his neatly combed blond hair askew from exertion.

Lyonel looked at him twice and gently reminded him, "Lord Tyland, you don't need to push yourself so hard... it's beneath you."

"Oh, is that so?" Tyland looked down at his clothes and smiled ironically. "The ceremony is important, so I must give it my all."

"You're too kind." Lyonel was speechless and patted him on the shoulder.

Tyland, moved by the gesture, turned and resumed his work with renewed determination.

Just a month ago, the construction of the Prince's Palace was finally completed. After three years of reconstruction, Tyland had returned to King's Landing to take over from the retired Sea Snake, reappointed as Master of Ships.

In order to make a grand impression, he had set off a wave of excitement throughout the palace.

Lyonel glanced at him, then shouted at a servant, “Hang the banner properly! We don’t want the noble ladies laughing at us.”

It was Noon.

Guests from all over the kingdom arrived one after another, entering the Red Keep to attend the succession ceremony. Hundreds of important nobles gathered together, setting aside their old prejudices and waiting solemnly for the ceremony to begin.

Erryk, the commander of the Kingsguard, personally led the group of dignitaries to the back garden of the castle. Those observant enough noticed that it was a bit out of the way.

Lord Jason of the Westerlands, a known busybody, counted the floors of the castle behind him with his hands clasped behind his back.

“One, two...” When he reached the third floor, he noticed a large hole in the wall, as if it had been bombed by a trebuchet. “This is the throne hall!”

Jason gasped, seeing the Iron Throne made of molten steel and swords through the gap. It was peculiar that the castle wall had such damage, and it was even stranger that the meeting was to be held in the throne hall.

The nobles looked on in amazement, whispering among themselves.

As everyone's curiosity reached its peak, the Hand of the King arrived, sweating and shuffling. “My lords, let us welcome His Grace and the Prince!”

The announcement drew everyone's attention. They all turned to stare at the back of the Hand of the King.

However, there was no one there.

“Lord Lyonel, where are His Grace and the Prince?” Lord Jason frowned, ready to complain about the absence of the main characters.

Just as he began to speak,

“Roar!”

A thunderous roar fell from the sky, resounding throughout most of King's Landing. The Red Keep, being the closest, felt the sound waves the fastest. Jason’s eardrums vibrated painfully, and his knees almost gave way.

“Roar!”

“Roar!”

The roars continued, each one like thunder on a clear day. Some people covered their ears and looked up.

What they saw was not just the blue sky but dragons—swarms of them! A black dragon circled overhead, contrasting sharply with the sky, which was now a mix of black and blue. Against this two-tone backdrop, dozens of dragons of various colors flew by, as if a painter had splashed dye across the sky.

“Cannibal, Dracarys!” a loud shout pierced the air, clear as a babbling brook.

Rhaegar, dressed in a black robe and holding Truefyre and the Dragon Whip, looked down.

“Roar!”

Cannibal plunged into the clouds, releasing dark green Dragonfire that painted the sky before diving downward at high speed.

"Roar!"

Behind the man and the dragon, a dozen dragon shadows flashed past.

Vermithor, with its bronze scales and huge, mountain-like body, Silverwing, with green scales and silver-white wing membranes. Meleys and Caraxes, with their scarlet scales and varied forms, Syrax and Sunfyre, glistening like gold.

And Dreamfyre, Sheepstealer, Tessarion, Grey Ghost, and many other dragons familiar to the continent.

In addition, some dragons had tiny children attached to their tails: the young dragons Stormcloud, Tyraxes, Iragaxys, and Moondancer.

A dozen dragons appeared together, following the flight path of the Cannibal and circling above the Red Keep, forming a magnificent display.

“Vermithor, land!”

Viserys, sitting on his dragon with his face flushed, panted as he gave his orders. Vermithor broke away from the group, circled the towering Maegor Holdfast, and slowly descended.

Boom.

The dragon's wings closed, sending a wave of heat. Viserys climbed off the dragon, waved away the advancing Kingsguard, and looked at the stunned nobles. He took two shaky steps and smiled brightly.

"Welcome, lords, to the ceremony. Thank you for coming to the Great Hall. You haven't missed the dragon event of the century."

"Roar!"

As soon as the words fell, the dragons in the sky roared. Viserys slowly closed his eyes, opened his arms, and embraced the glory of the dancing dragons.

Inspired by their king, the nobles looked up and saw the dragons soar. Some, superstitious, suspected that the royal family was trying to awaken the sleeping Fourteen Flames and restore the glory of the Freehold.

Rhaegar stood up straight in his saddle, his voice low as he looked out at the clouds and mist. "Cannibal, land!"

In the sunlight, the man and the dragon looked like gods incarnate. The dragons roared in unison, lowering themselves to the ground and choosing a suitable spot to land.

Hoo-hoo!

The Cannibal landed first, sending a wave of heat that blew up the skirts of the noblewomen. Rhaegar did not look away, jumping off the back of the dragon along its jet-black wings.

Syrax landed nearby. Rhaenyra, with her silver hair tied back and wearing a long black dress, hugged two swaddled babies.

"Princess!” Baela ran down from the back of Moondancer and took one of the babies in her arms. Rhaena and Daeron, riding Tessarion, arrived a moment later and took the other baby.

Meanwhile, the Targaryen riders dismounted their dragons one after the other. The elders, Rhaenys and Daemon, and the younger generation of Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. All the members of the Targaryen royal family were present, and eleven pairs of purple eyes swept the crowd.

Rhaegar and Rhaenyra walked over to Viserys and whispered, “Father.”

“Let's go.”

Viserys smiled, his eyes filled with indescribable joy, and he took his

eldest son's hand. Rhaegar, supporting his father, walked solemnly towards the group of princes and advisers. Rhaenyra held hands with her husband, looking unflinchingly into the eyes of every nobleman who gazed her way.

The nobles respectfully bowed their heads and voluntarily made way. Rhaenys, Daemon, and the other children followed as the father and son, brother and sister, walked forward step by step.

Lyonel announced from the side, “The ceremony of succession is officially held!”

When the royal family reached the front, Erryk and Arryk, the two brothers, stepped forward holding two crowns. They knelt and handed them over.

Viserys glanced sideways. The crowns were the Valyrian steel crown used by the conqueror and the gold crown he had inherited from the Old King. Without hesitation, he took the Valyrian crown, studded with rubies, and handed it to the High Septon, who was already waiting.

The High Septon, pale and trembling, took the crown and said in a quavering voice, "In the name of the Seven, I proclaim..."

He continued with a lengthy blessing, bidding farewell to King Viserys Targaryen I, who was abdicating, and welcoming Rhaegar Targaryen I, who would succeed him.

Rhaegar remained silent as the High Septon anointed him with holy oil. When the moment came to place the crown on his head, Rhaegar drew his sword and gently pushed the High Septon’s arm aside. In a calm voice, he said, “There's no need to trouble the Seven. I'll do it myself.”

With that, he took the conqueror’s crown in one hand. Ignoring the slightly angry looks from the gathered nobles, Rhaegar held the crown above his head. After a brief pause, he placed it on his head.

Silence. Complete silence, as if the air had frozen.

Erryk placed one hand on his chest, pounded it, and shouted, “Welcome, King Rhaegar I of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm! Take your place!”

In the next moment, a thunderous applause erupted from the nobles, their eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

“Long live Your Grace!”

“Long live Rhaegar the First!”

The cheers were loud and clear. Rhaegar remained calm, pointed his sword at the throne hall above his head, and spoke in High Valyrian: “Cannibal, Dracarys!”

Boom! Boom! The Cannibal’s wings touched the ground, and its enormous body towered over the other dragons. It crawled forward until its head blocked the sunlight from the nobles’ heads. Lowering its neck, the dragon aimed its snout at the Iron Throne.

“Roar!”

A jet of dark green Dragonfire shot out, and the Iron Throne began to melt. Before everyone’s eyes, the Iron Throne, which had ruled Westeros for over a hundred years, dripped and melted into a pool of molten iron.

Rhaegar looked up, the ruby in his hand releasing a brilliant light, and silently recited the Dragonstone spell.

Zilala...

The red-hot iron water gradually changed shape, cooling and solidifying into a throne with a long staircase. A group of smiths appeared in time, wielding hammers and reshaping the appearance of the Iron Throne.

Rhaegar took Viserys’s hand, looked into his complex purple eyes, and whispered, “A Throne is a Throne. Even an Iron Throne shouldn't make it difficult for the person sitting on it.”

Viserys was transfixed, his eyes gradually turning red, and he choked, “My child.”

“You are still the king. I am only ruling in your stead.” Rhaegar gave a confident smile and pointed Truefyre at Daemon and the others standing next to him.

Daemon glanced at his brother and stepped forward. He knelt between his brother and nephew, lowered his head, and said, “Your Grace!”

He didn’t know who he was addressing.

Rhaegar smiled down at him, Truefyre resting on his shoulder. He whispered, “Daemon Targaryen, in the name of Rhaegar the First, I name you Prince of Tyrosh and Magister of the Narrow Sea.”

Daemon looked down, then up at his nephew. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Rhaegar helped him to his feet and then proceeded to bestow titles on Aegon and Aemond: Prince of the Stepstones and Warden of the Narrow Sea, Lord of Stonehelm and Warden of the Sea of Dorne.

Finally, his gaze fell on Rhaenyra. Rhaegar took the golden crown from Arryk’s hands without a word. Rhaenyra looked back at him, her eyes rippling with emotion. Baela and Rhaena, each holding a swaddled infant, stood closest to the throne, witnessing the golden crown being placed on their foster mother’s head.

Rhaegar stepped back and, with each rising step, declared, “I, Rhaegar Targaryen the First, proclaim the coronation ceremony a complete success. House Targaryen is ushering in a new future!”

As soon as he finished speaking, the dragons stretched their necks and roared loudly in unison.