As Daemon's words faded, a deathly silence fell over the crowd, followed by thunderous applause and cheers.
Viserys froze for a moment, then burst into laughter. It was as though every grievance and doubt between the brothers had vanished in an instant.
Nothing won him over quite like this. Having caused his elder brother no end of trouble since childhood, Daemon naturally knew the routine better than anyone.
As Viserys watched his younger brother kneel on one knee and offer him the crown, the last trace of unease in his heart flew clean away.
He rose of his own accord and walked to the edge of the stands nearest the field.
Daemon seemed to have anticipated this. Before Viserys could come down, he immediately stood.
He continued forward until he was as close to the stands as possible, then drew Dark Sister from his hip and carefully balanced the crown on its tip.
At the sight, Viserys's smile broadened. He glanced back and gave a signal. Ser Steffon Darklyn, who was entrusted with his sword that day, immediately stepped forward and presented Blackfyre, the ancestral sword of House Targaryen, to Viserys with both hands.
Viserys drew Blackfyre and slowly extended it toward Dark Sister in Daemon's hand.
The two Valyrian steel swords passed down through House Targaryen touched gently beneath the setting sun, giving off a clear, ringing hum. Golden light spilled over their cold blades and the crown woven from flowers.
With a turn of his wrist, Daemon transferred the crown steadily from the tip of Dark Sister to the tip of Blackfyre. Then he sheathed his sword and bowed slightly to his elder brother Viserys, though his face still bore his signature rakish, carefree smile.
Viserys slowly drew Blackfyre back as well, took the crown, and handed the