Thunderous cheers rose from within the city. Cries of "Victory to Your Highness!" swelled, wave after wave, washing over the walls and surging out beyond them.
Outside the city, however, deathly silence hung before the battle lines of the Holy Sword Knights.
Randyll Tarly stood at the front, watching the pale golden three-headed dragon land in the open ground between the city walls and his army.
The gale stirred up by his folding wings struck Randyll in the face, sending the banners behind him whipping wildly and throwing dust into the air.
The enormous creature was so vast that even with his wings folded, he stood before them like a wall stretching from earth to heaven.
Three hideous heads slowly turned, and six golden slit pupils looked down upon the army at his feet-an army that could perhaps only be called ants.
No one moved.
No one could make a sound.
Randyll Tarly heard teeth chattering behind him, the gulp of someone swallowing, and the dull thud of weapons slipping from trembling hands and striking the ground.
Some wanted to kneel, their knees already half bent, only to freeze midway.
Some wanted to flee, but their legs seemed filled with lead, rooted to the spot, unable to take a single step.
An army of a hundred thousand stood utterly silent.
Aegon slid down from the dragon's back.
He landed on the ground and surveyed the battlefield, now reduced to scorched earth.
King Ghidorah lowered his body, his three heads still held high as he scrutinized the densely packed insects gathered over there.
The gates of King's Landing opened.
Jon Connington strode out with William Crabb and a group of officers, crossing the blackened stretch of ground to stand before Aegon.
Jon stopped and saluted with a hand over his chest.