Marriage?!

White waves battered the shore, and the fierce wind howled.

On the gloomy rocky beach, a huge funeral pyre was piled high.

A person wrapped in silk like a mummy lay motionless on the pyre.

Viserys felt the movement in his arms and reached out to pull the cloak around them, so that the sea wind would not blow into the swaddling clothes and harm the still weak Baelon.

The sea wind was biting, and the air was filled with a salty, fishy smell, as well as a heavy, pungent scent of spices drifting from Queen Aemma's corpse.

Holding his son, Viserys blankly gazed at his sleeping wife.

Beside him stood his grieving daughter, and behind him were nobles with various expressions.

The crowd stood in silent awe, showing their mourning for the queen.

The air was utterly dead, and the atmosphere was heavy.

After a moment, it was Daemon who broke the silence.

"It is time." He stepped forward, urging the young Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra forced back her grief and shouted aloud, "Syrax!"

The next second, a chaotic, fierce wind suddenly rose.

A giant dragon of entirely yellow hue descended from the clouds, and he whipped up a gale with his wings to push away the thick clouds.

In an instant, bright daylight poured down from the high sky, and a pillar of incandescent light slanted across the funeral pyre.

The giant dragon folded his wings and landed lightly, standing quietly beside Queen Aemma's pyre while waiting for Rhaenyra to give her command.

Baelon swept his gaze over the creature that had stepped out of a fantasy story.

Magnificent and powerful, the dragonfire he breathed could burn everything within sight.

He glanced twice, then withdrew his gaze and quietly looked at the funeral pyre.

Rhaenyra turned her head, swept her gaze over the swaddled, unperceiving blood brother, and then looked toward her father.

Viserys gazed blankly at his wife, hesitating and reluctant to give the order to burn his wife's corpse.

His eye sockets were red and his face was full of grief, completely lacking any decisiveness.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, and no matter how much reluctance she felt, her slightly tearful voice still rang out cleanly, "Dragonfire!"

Hearing the command, Syrax opened his huge mouth and spewed out bright dragonfire.

As soon as the dragonfire touched the pyre, it instantly spread across the entire Seven-Tiered Funeral Pyre, and the raging fire for cremation burned fiercely in the sea wind, lasting long without extinguishing.

In the end, Queen Aemma's soul entered the realm of the Stranger, while her body turned into a handful of black ashes and was buried at Dragonstone.

For several days after the funeral, Rhaenyra was immersed in the grief of losing her mother and hardly spoke to anyone.

Only Alicent Hightower, who had similarly experienced the pain of losing a mother, accompanied and comforted her.

Viserys could not indulge in grief; the queen's funeral was over, but the kingdom was still running.

He pulled himself together and impatiently summoned all the lords.

He had already lost Aemma, how could he lose his heir too?!

Baelon, his son!

His first son!

The natural continuation of his lawful authority!

Viserys did not wear his usual gold crown inlaid with seven different-colored gemstones, but instead changed into the ruby Valyrian steel crown belonging to Aegon the Conqueror.

He held Aegon the Conqueror's sword-Blackfyre, that symbol of Targaryen royal power.

Hundreds of lords from the Seven Kingdoms gathered in the hall.

Viserys placed Baelon on the Iron Throne, just as in his dream.

At this moment, Baelon was sweating profusely, with down, velvet, leather, and armor wrapping him tightly layer after layer, and even his hands and feet bound so tightly with leather that he could not move.

The whole person looked just like a round ball.

He lay quietly on the Iron Throne, motionless like a puppet.

The throne beneath him, forged from thousands of swords, had sharp blades and dazzling sword tips.

These blades had no eyes!

What if he got a blade of tetanus from them?!

If you asked him, Aegon the Conqueror should have made a decent throne when he made one; what kind of proper throne would stick out so many swords.

Viserys spoke in a resonant voice, declaring to everyone.

"This is Prince Baelon Targaryen, my heir, and today I officially invest him as the Prince of Dragonstone!"

"You must swear by your honor to pledge your loyal allegiance to him sincerely, and use your words and your hands to uphold his authority!"

The lords did not defy Viserys's order.

Infants receiving titles was a common occurrence in Westeros.

As Viserys's firstborn son, Baelon was naturally and rightfully the first heir to the Iron Throne.

As long as he grew up safely, the Iron Throne would be his for the taking.

So lords from every corner of the kingdom, great and small, those tall, strong adults, knelt one after another before the baby on the throne.

Baelon couldn't even turn his head this time. All he could do was stare wide-eyed at the ceiling and listen to the lords' voices one by one.

[Congratulations on obtaining the epic title-"Prince of Dragonstone," Charisma +4]

Baelon: ...

His damn charisma!

It would be even better if he could transfer it to strength and constitution.

Countless people bowing to him should have been a pleasing, even thrilling, experience-if it weren't happening in such a ridiculous situation.

Baelon couldn't muster any excitement or elation.

At least the lords kneeling to swear their loyalty were freer than he was.

At first, Baelon had tried to remember the names and voices of the lords, great and small.

It was the only thing he could do.

The one who left the deepest impression on him was Borros Baratheon of Storm's End.

His voice was extraordinarily loud. It filled the entire throne room, making Baelon's ears ring.

That kind of booming voice would surely be an advantage when giving orders on the battlefield.

Eddard Stark of Winterfell sounded calm and steady, utterly unremarkable.

Grafton Tully of House Tully in Riverrun, on the other hand, seemed listless and lacking in vigor.

Then the hall fell abruptly silent for a few seconds, and Baelon grew curious.

A few seconds later, the familiar voice of someone swearing loyalty to him rang out.

Daemon Targaryen, his uncle.

In the crowd, Daemon watched expressionlessly as Baelon was crowned Prince of Dragonstone, first in line to the Iron Throne.

Before Baelon was born, he had been the first heir to the Iron Throne. No matter how much the Small Council and Viserys hated him, they couldn't get rid of him!

Their blood tied him to Viserys!

But now he had been cast away from the Iron Throne!

All because of that foolish child, round as a ball and unable even to sit steadily on the Iron Throne!

Daemon stared at Viserys's haggard, drawn face.

But Viserys didn't look at him. His eyes were fixed on the swaddled baby, as though he were ready at any moment to shield him with his hands.

A few seconds later, Daemon was the first to step forward. He casually knelt on one knee.

Who could defy the king's command? Who would defy the king's command? "The king's command will be obeyed by all, without exception."

He looked up at Viserys and swore his loyalty to Prince Baelon.

After who knew how long, the oaths of allegiance were finally over. Baelon, the little tool-ball, was at last released and returned to his own cradle.

Meanwhile, Viserys let out a sigh of relief, as if he had finally settled a major matter. He didn't even wash his hair or change into his formal clothes, but stayed in his room, hand-carving a stone statuette of Balerion the Black Dread.

This was the dragon he had once owned, the oldest and largest dragon House Targaryen had possessed since its arrival on Dragonstone.

Although the Small Council wanted him to take a new queen as soon as possible, the matter had become unimportant.

After all, he now had a legitimate heir.

Baelon was healthy, and the Seven Kingdoms were at peace. What crisis could there be in Westeros?

The only pressing matter was ensuring Baelon grew up healthy. Perhaps mending relations with House Velaryon also counted as a major concern.

Lord of the Tides Corlys Velaryon and his wife, Rhaenys Targaryen, hoped to unite House Targaryen and House Velaryon, the two great families descended from Old Valyria.

House Targaryen ruled the skies with dragons, while House Velaryon commanded the seas with its fleet.

Once the two joined together, the royal power would grow ever stronger.

No one in the Seven Kingdoms would dare say "no" to a united House Targaryen and House Velaryon.

Moreover, Corlys Velaryon had no demands about the marriage or the date of conception. His terms were quite flexible.

Rhaenys's expression was calm. "Laena is only twelve this year. There's no need to rush the wedding."

Corlys shared his wife's view and proactively put Viserys's concerns to rest. "Laena won't bear children for the next few years."

"The age difference won't be a problem, either."

He gave a somewhat inappropriate example. "Maegor was ten years younger than his wife, Ceryse Hightower."

Viserys hesitated and decided to consult each member of the Small Council privately for their opinions.

As expected, all the councilors thought he should marry Laena.

"Marrying Laena Velaryon is an important way to heal the wounds," Grand Maester Mellos reasoned with him.

Only the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, shared his feelings. He was the only one who could understand him.

"Your Grace, I understand how you feel. I have also lost my wife."

In the end, he turned to the Master of Laws, Lyonel Strong.

As for his brother, Daemon Targaryen, the family member who should have been by his and Rhaenyra's side, he had recently taken up residence on Street of Silk, nowhere to be seen all day.

With a strange sense of forgiveness and pity, Viserys bore with him. Daemon was merely mourning his own failure; it was only to be expected.

He had an heir now. Daemon would never be able to sit on the Iron Throne.

Lyonel analyzed objectively. "Laena Velaryon is the eldest daughter of the richest family in the kingdom. She has both Velaryon and Targaryen blood."

Viserys confided his true feelings to the Master of Laws he had personally promoted. "Ever since I ascended the Iron Throne, Corlys Velaryon has been eyeing me covetously."

House Velaryon was far too powerful!

"Besides, she's only twelve." Viserys had not yet emerged from the sorrow of Aemma's death, and he could not bring himself to marry a wife about the same age as his daughter, Rhaenyra!

"I never said I would marry again. What if I refuse Corlys Velaryon?"

The kingdom might one day have a new queen, but not next year, at least, and certainly not the year after.

Remarrying in such haste would be an insult to Aemma.

Lyonel said calmly, "I'm afraid Lord Corlys would fly into a rage. Only a direct tie to the Iron Throne could satisfy him."

Then he changed tack. "But Your Grace, you have an heir now. You have the power to choose."

"If Prince Baelon marries Laena, the Targaryens and Velaryons can reconcile just the same."

Viserys's brows gradually relaxed. "Baelon?"

Yes, yes!

He had an heir now. If Laena married him, House Velaryon would gain only a queen.

But if she married Baelon, the first child she had with him would inherit the Iron Throne.

After thinking for a moment, he still asked hesitantly, "Would Corlys agree?"

Lyonel said, "Perhaps he would be glad to see this marriage take place."

Out of loyalty and goodwill, he offered his sincere advice. "In truth, the only thing you need to worry about is Prince Baelon's growth."

"I heard the prince was rather frail when he was born?"

All of King Viserys's plans and efforts to safeguard the Iron Throne and ensure the continuation of the Targaryen Dynasty depended on one thing.

The survival of his son, Prince Baelon.

In a sense, the prospect of Prince Baelon ruling the Seven Kingdoms was more important than his father, King Viserys, actually ruling them now.

Viserys smiled. "Baelon is very healthy. He kicks with real strength!"

"His fists are strong, too. He even grabbed a brooch off my shoulder!"