What a huge and hideous monster.
Standing at the tall and wide entrance of the throne room and looking inside, Daenerys first felt awe, followed by a sense of unreality, as if she were in a dream.
The victory had come too quickly, making everything feel unreal.
Half an hour ago, she had still been riding Drogon, weaving through the columns of smoke rising from the burning city, circling above the Red Keep outside the range of crossbow bolts. She had been preparing to support the ground assault and wondering whether they could take the Red Keep intact, and at what cost. Yet completely unexpectedly, the battle she had thought would be recorded in history ended with the enemy surrendering without firing a single arrow.
From the air, she clearly saw the Unsullied pass through the gates and enter the fortress unopposed. Moments after raising the red dragon banners on the battlements, they sounded the short horn that signaled safety, telling her she could land.
Dozens of Gold Cloaks, hundreds of fleeing women and children, and even more servants were lined up in the courtyard, being counted by the Unsullied. There were nobles, wealthy merchants, scholars, all kinds of people. Conspicuously absent, however, were Stannis's queen and daughter. Upon inquiry, she learned that at the very beginning of the general assault, the false king had taken his wife, daughter, and all the elite soldiers guarding the castle, lightly armed, and broken out of the city in an attempt to escape. It was precisely because they had lost their backbone and object of loyalty that the remaining Red Keep guards surrendered so readily.
What was Stannis thinking, choosing to break out instead of defending the strong and advantageous Red Keep?
It was true that half the nobles in the Stormlands still outwardly pledged allegiance to House Baratheon and could be rallied for a comeback. But how did he intend to cross the Blackwater River and escape pursuit by land and air to flee south?
The two dragons had bombed the city for half a day and were already exhausted. Once they landed and relaxed, they would not be able to take off again soon. Trusting that the siege forces could intercept the fleeing leader, Daenerys temporarily set aside her doubts and concerns.
After learning from Grey Worm that the entire Red Keep had been searched, she decided to first see the iron chair she had longed for over ten years.
...
Stepping into the towering throne room where the ceiling was nearly out of sight, she immediately realized it was not truly a chair at all.
After Aegon the Conqueror subdued the Six Kingdoms, he collected the swords of his defeated enemies, gathered them at the center of his camp on Aegon's High Hill, burned and warped them with the dragonflame of the Black Dread, and had smiths stack the twisted blades one upon another. After dozens of days, the Iron Throne was completed. In its original open air state, it resembled less a throne than a small iron watchtower erected atop Aegon's High Hill. Only later were the throne room and the entire Red Keep gradually built around it.
It was the castle that enclosed the Iron Throne, not the throne that was moved into the castle. For this reason, this legendary symbol of supreme authority in Westeros remained un-stolen despite countless upheavals.
Though this was her first time seeing it in person, Daenerys had heard countless stories of this mass of iron from her brother during their childhood exile. Before being forced to sell their mother's crown drove him to bitterness and rage, Viserys had been a proper brother. During the many nights they huddled together for warmth, he would softly tell her the legends of their ancestors, and the part about the throne was always the most detailed.
Perhaps because of his deep attachment and obsession with it, his final words before sleep were always a promise, that one day he would reclaim the stolen throne, sit upon it again, and rule the Seven Kingdoms.
Had Viserys ever imagined that the one to accomplish this would not be himself, but the sister who once shivered in his arms?
Her eyes grew slightly moist. Daenerys blinked, stepped over the threshold, and walked inside. She passed overturned tables and benches, stepped over the stag banners scattered on the floor, and approached the enormous metal structure standing at the very end of the hall's central axis, exactly where it had stood three hundred years ago.
Because it had never been smoothed or reshaped, as Aegon refused to allow, the entire throne was neither beautiful nor comfortable. It was merely a heap of twisted, deformed swords roughly welded together in the shape of a seat. Sunlight streaming in from the high windows struck its ugly and rusted surface, casting long shadows that made it appear majestic and sinister, as if a certain power truly emanated from it.
Daenerys raised her head. The seat alone stood more than two men high. The seat and its base were one piece, and climbing it required as many steps as ascending to a second floor. She suddenly understood why Aegon had forged it so tall. Those below could only look up in awe, bow in submission, or gaze at the warped swords and imagine the power of dragonflame and the cost of defiance. There was no fourth choice.
Was there any simpler way to display authority and proclaim military might?
After standing still for a moment to steady her emotions, Daenerys gestured for Grey Worm to remain below. Then she lifted her skirts and stepped onto the first stair.
She was about to do what was only natural, to experience what it felt like to sit upon the Iron Throne.
The steps were formed from swords laid horizontally, their tips bent downward and their flat sides turned upward for footing. To ensure stability, each step was made by stacking eight to ten swords in two layers. The songs claimed the throne was made from a thousand swords, but that number could never have been exact. Aegon had captured tens of thousands of weapons, yet not all would have been worthy to be melted into the throne. Ordinary iron blades carried by common soldiers were unfit. Only the finely forged swords of nobles and knights were granted that honor.
Strict selection and constant maintenance preserved the throne's structure, yet after three centuries of countless footsteps, each stair bore shallow indentations. There were no proper armrests, only blades jutting upward at angles. One could grasp them for balance, but at the cost of cut palms and blood. Perhaps this too was deliberate. Aegon may have intended these perilous steps as a reminder that a king must always tread carefully.
Creak, creak. With every step she took, the throne gave a faint metallic groan. Aegon, Aenys, Maegor, Jaehaerys. With each ascent, the name of an ancestor surfaced in her mind.
Perhaps it was coincidence, but she realized the number of steps matched closely the number of Targaryen kings before her. As she climbed the iron staircase, heavy with time and memory, she felt as though she were walking through a corridor of history. The rise and fall of House Targaryen flickered before her eyes like a fleeting dream. The climb of fewer than twenty steps took less than a minute, yet when her feet reached the final platform, she felt as though she had lived another lifetime.
She paused before the seat itself, drew two steady breaths, then turned and looked down over the entire hall.
...
Near the great doors, a man in black stepped inside. After a brief glance, Daenerys recognized him as the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Aegor West. His arrival was timely. Most likely, he had led his soldiers to assault the Red Keep, only to find it already surrendered. Leaving his men outside, he entered alone and walked calmly to stand beside Grey Worm. After exchanging a nod, the Unsullied commander and he stood shoulder to shoulder below the throne, looking up at her in silence.
Half the credit for reclaiming King's Landing so smoothly belonged to this Lord Commander. In the thrill of victory, she had momentarily forgotten the chief contributor at the moment of claiming the greatest prize. It was discourteous.
There was still a long road ahead before the Seven Kingdoms were truly secured. This was no time for childish excitement. Daenerys inclined her head slightly toward Aegor, composed herself, and set aside her earlier thrill. She straightened her posture to reflect royal dignity, smoothed her skirts, and carefully lowered herself onto the throne.
With a creak, the throne bore her weight. At once, she felt its uneven surface beneath her. In terms of comfort alone, the Iron Throne was likely the worst seat in the Seven Kingdoms. The seat itself was painful, and iron spikes rose behind it, making it impossible to lean back.
A king should not sit comfortably. Viserys had once said those were Aegon's words. She had heard that their father was often cut by the throne, and that Maegor I had died upon it. Was the spike that pierced his neck still there behind her?
The thought made her feel as if thorns pressed against her back. She shifted slightly, resisting the urge to turn around. Clearing her throat, she placed her hands upon the iron armrests and prepared to announce an important decree at this perfect moment.
Just as she parted her lips, before a sound could emerge, a sharp sting pierced her left hand, as if the iron had cut her skin.
(To be continued.)
◇◇◇
◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 200 Power Stones.
◇ You can read the ahead chapter on Pat if you're interested: p-atreon.c-om/Blownleaves (Just remove the hyphen to access normally.)