When Viserys returned to Dragonstone Castle carrying the darkly gleaming Valyrian steel sword Blackfyre and cradling the two Dragon Eggs he had retrieved from the magma, still radiating searing heat, everyone was stunned.
Queen Rhaella had been walking slowly with a maid's support to ease the discomfort of her pregnancy. But when she saw what Viserys was carrying, she stopped in her tracks and swayed slightly. The maid beside her hastily steadied her.
The queen stared fixedly at the two Dragon Eggs and the sword in Viserys's hand.
She had been worried about Viserys's trip to Dragonmont, fearing that, like Rhaegar, he had begun to lose himself in illusory dreams. "To think it was actually true," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Gods above..."
Ashara Dayne was holding Rhaenys beside the fireplace, playing with a rag doll. The little girl was the first to be drawn to the strange Dragon Eggs. She wriggled out of Ashara's arms and ran up to Viserys on her short little legs, her wide violet eyes full of curiosity. "Brother, what are those two shiny stones? They're so warm."
Viserys crouched and held one Dragon Egg out before Rhaenys so she could feel its intense heat. "This is a Dragon Egg, Rhaenys, a treasure of our house." He was not yet certain whether Rhaenys possessed the gift of the Unburnt, so he did not let her touch it.
Ashara followed close behind. Rather than looking at the Dragon Eggs first, she quickly inspected Viserys from head to toe. Only after confirming that he bore no burns did she turn her astonished gaze toward the two eggs, which seemed to hold fire within them, and Blackfyre, which gave off an ominous gleam even at rest.
Ser Jon Darry and Ser Willem Darry, who had hurried over upon hearing the news, burst into the hall almost simultaneously. The two men of House Darry wore remarkably identical expressions, both utterly dumbstruck.
Ser Jon's gaze moved back and forth between the Dragon Eggs and Blackfyre before finally settling on Viserys's face. The loyal old knight's lips moved, but he did not know what to ask.
Ser Willem was more direct. He strode forward, his eyes burning as he studied Blackfyre's blade, his voice trembling with restrained excitement. "The shape of this sword and the patterns on it are indeed those of the legendary Blackfyre. But wasn't Blackfyre lost in Essos after the Blackfyre Rebellion?"
"Prophecy guided me." Viserys's voice was quiet, yet carried an unquestionable force. "The blood of my ancestors whispered in my dreams and led me to them. A true dragon does not fear fire, and the fate of House Targaryen is far from over."
Then Arthur Dayne stepped forward and gave an unembellished account of what they had seen and heard on Dragonmont, particularly the moment when Viserys had reached into the magma with his bare hands to retrieve the Dragon Eggs. He added no personal emotion, but that very plainness made the events all the more powerful.
When he finished, a profound silence fell over the hall, broken only by the crackling firewood in the hearth and the faint sound of waves outside the windows. Every gaze rested on Viserys. In their eyes, this boy of barely seven was no longer merely a child. He seemed the embodiment of some ancient legend, a living testament to a miracle.
Suddenly, Ser Jon Darry dropped to one knee and bowed his graying head. "Your Highness," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion, "this is a revelation from the Seven! A sign that the true dragon has returned to his rightful place!"
Ser Willem Darry followed him, falling heavily to his knees. "The Dragonstone Fleet stands ready to die for the True Dragon Bloodline!"
Arthur Dayne slowly knelt as well. He looked up at Viserys with firm acceptance in his eyes.
Ser Willem raised his head, his voice ringing with unquestionable resolve. "Your Highness-no, Your Grace! King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar have fallen. As the king's son, you are House Targaryen's sole surviving lawful heir, the rightful claimant to the Iron Throne. We must proclaim your status to the Seven Kingdoms. Please accept your coronation as king!"
"Your Grace, accept the crown!" Jon Darry and Arthur Dayne echoed.
"Your Grace, accept the crown!" More voices joined in, scattered at first, but swiftly swelling into a roar that shook the castle. This was no longer merely a plea. It was an oath, a proclamation, their pledge of loyalty to their king.
Viserys felt the surge of their passion. He drew a deep breath, his gaze passing over every fervent, devoted face.
He knew that this coronation was not about the vain hope of immediately reclaiming the Iron Throne. It was about legitimacy, about raising a banner of rightful cause for the nobles and common folk still in the Seven Kingdoms who were waiting to see what happened, or who remained loyal to House Targaryen in their hearts.
Just as Robert Baratheon needed his one-eighth share of Targaryen blood to dress his usurpation in "legitimacy," he, Viserys III, needed this crown to proclaim that the Targaryen line had not ended. He was the rightful king; the man on the Iron Throne was a pretender, and dragonfire would burn again.
The coronation was soon held in Dragonstone's Septon's Sept. This sept was nowhere near as magnificent as the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, nor did it possess the legitimacy of the Starry Sept in Oldtown. Yet at this moment, it bore the last remaining dignity of the Targaryen Dynasty.
There was no High Septon, no elaborate ceremony, only the few knights, nobles, and fleet officers on Dragonstone, along with all the important members of the castle's household. The air carried the salt of the sea, the smoke of candles, and a solemnity so deep it seemed almost tangible.
Queen Rhaella forced her ailing body to endure as she sat to one side, watching her young son with a complicated look in her eyes: pride, sorrow, and a hint of relief.
Ashara Dayne stood beside her, holding Rhaenys's hand, but her pale violet eyes remained fixed on Viserys. Little Rhaenys seemed affected by the solemn atmosphere. She leaned quietly against Ashara, watching everything with wide eyes.
Dragonstone's old maester presided over the simple ceremony. Since the Faith had already crowned Robert the new king in King's Landing, the septons refused to recognize Viserys's claim or crown him. Even threats had proved useless. They had all been brainwashed by the Faith.
But he could not openly break with the Faith yet. After all, apart from the North, the other six kingdoms worshipped the Seven. For now, he still needed faith as a fig leaf.
As the maester shakily raised the crown, hastily fashioned from dragonbone and obsidian, and prepared to set it upon Viserys's silver hair, the sept grew so quiet that a pin could have been heard dropping.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." The maester's aged voice echoed through 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 Viserys inclined his head slightly at each name. Finally, the maester declared in a loud voice, "Viserys Targaryen III, all the nobles and knights present acknowledge 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 the king!" Arthur Dayne was the first to shout, drawing Dawn and pointing its tip toward the sept's vaulted ceiling.
"Long live King Viserys III!"
"Long live House Targaryen!"
Cheers erupted in the little sept, as though they would burst through its stone walls and reach the ears of the gods. Viserys turned to face his first subjects, who were also, for now, his only subjects. He wore the crown and held Blackfyre, while an attendant beside him reverently cradled the two scorching Dragon Eggs.
After the ceremony, dozens of ravens took flight from Dragonstone's Rookery, carrying the announcement of Viserys III's coronation to the great castles of the Seven Kingdoms. This was not an appeal for aid, but a proclamation of the king's rightful claim.
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