King's Landing had become a golden ocean.
Golden banners fluttered everywhere, while thousands of Golden Cloaks stood in formation throughout the city.
The viewing stands were divided according to region: the North, the Reach, the Stormlands, the Alliance of the Twin Cities—Myr and Tyrosh—the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, and Dorne.
The back rows were reserved for friendly foreign envoys from Braavos, Lys, Norvos, Qohor, and other regions.
Normally, mixed seating wouldn't have been a problem.
But Dorne and the Reach absolutely had to be kept apart.
When Gendry stepped forward, he officially became Gendry Targaryen Baratheon, Gendry I the Liberator—or simply Gendry I.
Gendry had once been a warrior, a commander, and a player in the game of power.
But from this day forward, his primary identity was that of a king.
The tall Gendry stood above everyone else.
His presence alone was enough to make the cheers pierce the heavens.
This...
Was the taste of power.
"Long live the Liberator!"
"Long live Gendry I!"
"Long live the Storm!"
"May the Gods bless King Gendry!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd.
People of countless backgrounds filled the square—Andals, First Men, and the various peoples of Dorne, including the salt men, stone men, and sand men.
The salt men were generally dark-skinned, with smooth olive complexions and long black hair that swayed in the wind.
There were also Tyroshi with brightly dyed hair, Myrmen who bore the features of the Rhoynar, and people from countless other lands.
Ten thousand arms.
Ten thousand eyes.
Ten thousand faces.
Ten thousand voices.
The crowd became a vast, excited ocean, its cheers and commotion spreading throughout the city.
Gendry raised his hand toward the crowd.
The cheers immediately grew even louder.
Gendry had spent years working toward this moment.
He had shed endless sweat in training grounds, fought on battlefields, studied old books, and struggled within the arena of power.
It was war and strategy.
Courage and luck.
Blood and fire.
All of these things had allowed him to reach the throne.
More glory. More victories.
Gendry was the victor.
Khal Jhezkahn, Khal Drogo, the Archons of the Twin Cities, Bloodbeard, Joffrey, and Marajo had all become stepping stones on his path to the crown.
The golden crown was magnificent and beautiful.
But it also represented an immense burden.
The nations of the world.
The coming Long Night.
Famine.
Who could protect the countless people under his rule?
Only the longsword in his hand.
Only the courage in his heart.
"I'm happy for you, child. From this moment forward, you are King."
Duke Stannis Baratheon spoke quietly.
For a man as rigid and stoic as Stannis, shedding a tear was an extremely rare sight.
The Baratheon family had won the crown.
But they had paid for it with years of conspiracy, conflict, and internal strife.
"You are my arm, my support, and my advisor, Uncle."
Gendry smiled warmly.
Stannis nodded slightly.
As one of the few senior members of the family, he had always been an important figure to Gendry.
In fact, the two had something else in common.
Both had originally stood on the fringes of their respective families.
"How is Stannis crying?"
"My gods..."
Duke Mace Tyrell, dressed in green velvet, whispered to those around him.
"That man has always been an ice statue. I thought he didn't even possess such emotions. Has anyone ever seen Stannis smile at his wife?"
"It's called happiness, Mace."
The Queen of Thorns couldn't help scolding her son.
A son who failed to live up to expectations was a concern for every family.
Mace imagined himself to be Ser Garlan the "Long Thorn," a warrior of unmatched martial prowess.
In reality, however, he was simply known as "Mace the Fat" and a "Pillow Knight."
Fortunately, his children were all quite capable.
"Will there be dragons again?"
Margaery asked hopefully.
"They will return."
Ser Garlan answered with absolute certainty.
The Queen of Thorns watched Gendry thoughtfully.
"Robert may be dead, but the Storm has already surpassed him."
Whether in political intrigue or warfare, this young man was truly extraordinary.
"After the coronation, will the wedding take place next?"
Catelyn Tully asked, a trace of regret in her voice.
Today's ceremony was centered around the Stag and the True Dragon.
Yet Robert had once spoken of uniting the Stag and the Direwolf through marriage.
Unfortunately, Robert had ruined everything.
If he had been a little more sensible, perhaps one of his children could have married her Sansa Stark.
"Yes."
Eddard Stark nodded.
He wore a gray-white wool coat, and his expression was complicated.
"Robert, you damned fool. You didn't even raise your children properly, and then you got yourself killed by a boar before you could see your own child's wedding."
Thinking about weddings, Eddard rubbed his forehead.
Damn it.
No one in his family was settled yet.
Bran was crippled.
Arya was the most troublesome little Direwolf imaginable.
And Sansa...
Sansa wasn't exactly easy to manage either.
Arya Stark noticed that her sister was staring at the man on the platform.
He truly shone brightly.
But he was already taken.
Arya wasn't particularly interested in Gendry's face.
What fascinated her was the Storm himself.
The most ferocious warrior.
An extremely dangerous killer.
Meanwhile, Sansa stared at the platform, her thoughts swirling.
Young, handsome, powerful...
"Has my dream of becoming queen really become nothing more than a fantasy?"
Sansa's reddish-brown hair had been styled into soft curls.
Her undergarments were made of silk, while her gown was woven from ivory brocade and silver thread and trimmed with silver satin.
Over it, she wore a long white velvet cloak decorated with countless pearls.
A fierce Direwolf had been embroidered onto it in silver thread.
"Their feelings are genuinely sincere."
Tyene Sand couldn't help commenting from Dorne's section.
"I always thought Stannis was made of ice."
"The Storm is as warlike as Robert, but unlike Robert, he isn't arrogant or self-absorbed."
Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, smiled.
"That's precisely why Robert's son can surpass Robert."
He looked toward Stannis.
"Everyone lives in the shadow of an elder brother, don't they, Stannis?"
"Even if you pretend to hate him, you still love him."
A flicker of vulnerability appeared on Stannis's usually rigid face.
"Perhaps men really are soft beneath their hard exteriors."
Arianne couldn't help feeling fortunate that she had witnessed this emotional side of Stannis, hidden beneath his usual rational demeanor.
Her father, Prince Doran, was similarly calm.
He rarely seemed to lose his composure.
People often said that Prince Doran had been cautious his entire life.
The only time his emotions had ever overcome his reason was when he married a foreign woman.
That marriage had ultimately ended in unhappiness.
Arianne's family was unusual as well.
Her mother had returned to Norvos.
One of her brothers had been sent to House Yronwood.
Another remained with their father.
Then came the presentation of the Valyrian steel greatsword, Rage.
Its scabbard was made from gilded cherrywood, wrapped in oiled black sharkskin, and decorated with a black stag's head.
Gendry drew the sword and raised it high above his head.
The entire square fell silent for a moment.
The blade shimmered with golden ripples beneath the morning sunlight.
"What an unparalleled divine weapon."
Count Matus Rowan couldn't help sighing in admiration.
Eddard Stark's expression became awkward.
His own greatsword, Ice, had been taken from House Stark.
Losing Ice was still a source of shame for him and his family.
Then came the wedding.
The wedding of the Stag and the True Dragon.
The wedding of Storm and Fire.
The High Septon wore a crown made of gold thread and crystal.
It was considerably smaller than the enormous crown once worn by the previous High Septon, which had been destroyed by rioters.
The High Septon had carefully considered something Gendry had told him.
During times of famine, a fat priest would only provoke the people's hatred.
The Sparrows had been merely the beginning.
Tall, gilded statues of the Father and the Mother stood upon a raised platform.
The thin High Septon personally presided over the ceremony.
He warmly congratulated the couple, praising them as though they were perfect creations blessed by the Seven Gods.
Gendry was tall and handsome.
His smiling eyes resembled a vast blue ocean, while his neatly trimmed dark hair framed his clean-shaven face.
Daenerys possessed an almost otherworldly beauty.
Her silver-gold hair shimmered beneath the sunlight, while her eyes were the color of purple wisteria.
"She really is beautiful."
Margaery and Sansa both looked at Daenerys and sighed inwardly.
They were beauties themselves.
But even among beautiful people, there were differences.
Just as there were countless handsome men in the world, Gendry currently stood at the very top.
Gendry had changed into a black coat and a golden velvet cloak decorated with a quartered emblem.
The crown resting upon his short, dark hair made him look even more handsome and imposing.
Daenerys wore a soft black velvet gown over silk undergarments decorated with Myrish lace.
Countless small pearls were arranged across the dress in the shapes of dragons.
Rubies adorned her throat.
Her flowing cloak was embroidered with House Targaryen's three-headed dragon.
The two held hands.
Below them, cheers erupted in wave after wave.
Everyone prayed for the same thing.
Peace.
A lasting peace.
Gendry and Daenerys exchanged their sevenfold vows, received the seven blessings, and made their seven promises.
The hymns began to echo through the hall.
No one stepped forward to challenge the marriage.
The moment for exchanging cloaks had arrived.
Mia Baratheon gently removed Daenerys's bridal cloak.
At the same time, Gendry received the groom's cloak from his brother, Edric.
And then—
The Fire-Wielder Ring on Gendry's finger suddenly became warm.
The main event had arrived.
Dragons.
At this crucial moment, the scent of sulfur and burning flames suddenly filled the air.
Black dragons.
Green dragons.
White dragons.
Everyone stared upward in frenzy.
Dark silhouettes appeared in the sky.
Massive leathery wings beat against the air as the dragons circled above Gendry and Daenerys.
They weren't riding the dragons.
But that didn't matter.
The return of the dragons was enough to send the entire world into ecstasy.
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