The shadow of a dragon that blotted out the sky once again covered King's Landing.
The city suddenly fell silent for a moment.
Immediately, suppressed gasps arose, followed by instinctive prostrations.
The remaining beggars on the streets, hurried merchants, and heavily armed patrols all involuntarily raised their heads to look at the terrifying existence that swept across the low sky, casting a massive shadow.
Fear and awe, like a cold tide, instantly submerged the city that had just experienced the flames of war and was still gasping in the ruins.
Ghidorah landed in front of the Red Keep.
Even though it deliberately reined in its strength, the gale stirred up by its landing still caused those waiting to welcome it in the square before the keep to stagger, their robes flapping wildly, barely able to stand.
Aegon slid down from the low-hanging left wing of Ghidorah.
His movements were fluid.
A dark red cloak billowed behind him.
He did not look at the giant beast slowly lowering its body behind him, but strode directly toward the open gates of the Red Keep.
Jon Connington was the first to step forward to greet him.
He steadied himself in the subsiding wind, his face filled with irrepressible excitement and reverence, and bowed deeply:
"Welcome, Your Grace, on your triumphant return!"
Behind him, the officials and generals who had stayed behind in King's Landing, as well as Margaery Tyrell and others who remained in King's Landing as envoys from The Reach, also bowed in salute and offered their congratulations in unison.
The voices echoed across the empty square, carrying a nearly devout fervor.
Since Aegon had landed: he had breached King's Landing and swept through The Riverlands in just a few months, without a single defeat.
There hadn't even been a single decent stalemate.
Now The Riverlands had submitted, Riverrun had changed its banners, and the Northern army had been annihilated...
Jon Connington seemed to see the dream of restoring the Targaryen Dynasty becoming a reality.
Margaery stood slightly behind the crowd, maintaining a posture of perfect etiquette.
But in those beautiful brown eyes, there was a complex mixture of emotions; shock, of course, as everyone felt it was unbelievable when the war reports from The Riverlands arrived; but more than that, there was a sense of solemn determination.
She had to return to Highgarden as soon as possible.
She had to personally convince her grandmother and father that The Reach could no longer hesitate or watch from the sidelines.
In the face of a true dragon, all calculations and delays could be fatal.
Aegon did not stop, merely nodding slightly to the crowd, his voice calm and rippleless:
"It is merely a local victory, hardly worth celebrating."
He walked through the bowing crowd and entered the shadowed gateway of the Red Keep.
Jon Connington and the others hurriedly followed.
Passing through the long and cold corridor, the group entered the empty Throne Room once again.
The twisted, hideous iron throne stood on the dais, gleaming with a cold and ominous, dull luster under the thin daylight filtering in from the high windows.
Aegon walked up to the dais, turned around, and sat down.
The sensation of the hard throne, forged from countless swords, came to him.
He raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.
He had sat on many thrones.
The gold-inlaid throne of the Magister of Lys, the ivory high chair of the Archon of Tyrosh, the massive black stone throne of Dragonstone, the rather comfortable ducal chair of House Tully at Riverrun...
But among them, this so-called iron throne had the worst feel.
Hard and cold.
If one wasn't careful with their movements, the edges of the swords, which hadn't been fully polished, could slice through robes or even cut skin.
Sitting on this, rather than enjoying power, was more like enduring a torture device, and one had to constantly guard against tetanus.
Every time he sat here formally, he was accustomed to wearing full armor.
Did you think he wore armor to display majesty?
No.
It was mainly to prevent being accidentally injured by this tetanus-inducing throne.
Aegon I... that founder of the Targaryen Dynasty, really did make things uncomfortable for his descendants.
Aegon muttered to himself internally.
A thought suddenly flashed through his mind: since that was the case, shouldn't he, as the restorer of the Targaryen Dynasty, also leave something for his descendants?
The thought flashed by, and pulling back his wandering mind, he asked:
"How have things been in King's Landing and The Crownlands while I was away?"
He spoke, his voice carrying clearly throughout the hall.
Jon Connington stepped forward and began his report.
His voice returned to its usual steady and capable tone:
"Your Grace, within The Crownlands, all remaining resistance has been cleared.
The newly issued policies have been initially implemented in various places, and the officials are becoming familiar with them; it only needs time to settle, and it will be stable."
"The garrison system for The Crownlands has been fully established, with King's Landing as the center, spreading to various key locations, and the defense system has been initially constructed."
Aegon nodded slightly.
Jon continued:
"As for the reconstruction of King's Landing itself... progress is in line with expectations, but the scale of the work is massive, and it cannot be achieved in the short term."
"Repairs to the city walls, clearing of the main roads, and restoration of important buildings are all underway.
However, the reconstruction of residential areas, the recovery of markets, and the resettlement of refugees still require a large amount of time and resources."
"Perfect."
Aegon interjected, his fingers tapping lightly on the cold armrest of the throne:
"While we are reconstructing, tear down that stinking sewage system in King's Landing that has been flowing for centuries and redo it completely for me."
"I have already had the maesters prepare the new planning blueprints.
I want a clean King's Landing... at least, it cannot be a King's Landing flowing with sewage."
Jon Connington replied immediately:
"Your Grace is wise.
The filth of the old capital is indeed a chronic ailment.
Taking this opportunity to rebuild the sewage and water systems is the right time.
I will personally supervise it."
After finishing the report on government affairs, Jon paused, a trace of hesitation appearing on his face.
But in the end, he spoke again, his voice lowered, carrying the tone of a remonstrance:
"Your Grace, now that we have won a great victory in The Riverlands, our army is at the peak of its power, and our might shakes the Seven Kingdoms.
Do you think... we could take advantage of this momentum to formally hold a coronation ceremony in King's Landing, announce the restoration of the Targaryen Dynasty, and ascend the throne as King of the Seven Kingdoms?"
"This move would surely greatly boost morale and deter those who refuse to submit."
Aegon glanced at him.
He shook his head slowly.
"There is no rush."
His voice was calm, yet carried a profound sense of unquestionability:
"Jon, what I want to do is not simply to sit back on this chair and inherit a title of King of the Seven Kingdoms."
"What I want... is to smash the old shackles and establish a new, unprecedented empire."
"A truly unified empire with strict laws."
"The coronation ceremony will naturally be held when it is time to do so.
But not now, and not here."
Jon Connington was stunned.
Then he suddenly realized.
Indeed, His Grace had lofty ambitions and was by no means merely restoring the previous dynasty.
Now that King's Landing was waiting to be rebuilt and was scarred, it was indeed not the ideal place to hold a grand coronation ceremony.
His Grace wanted to wait until the foundation was more stable and the new order began to take shape, and then announce the beginning of a truly new era with the most grand ceremony.
Thinking of this, the bit of urgency in his heart subsided, turning into deeper admiration.
"It is I who did not consider it thoroughly." Jon bowed.
"No matter."
Aegon waved his hand, as if remembering something:
"When I returned, I saw a newly arrived fleet at the Port.
Is it from the Narrow Sea Realm?"
"Indeed, Your Grace," Jon said hurriedly.
"A few days before you returned, the fleet had already arrived.
Lady Melisandre has completed the task you entrusted to her and returned with the fleet.
Additionally—"
His tone became slightly more serious:
"There is also a special visitor on this trip.
An envoy from the Iron Bank of Braavos arrived at the Narrow Sea Realm not long ago.
In accordance with the wishes of Triarch Luciana, they have come to King's Landing with Lady Melisandre, requesting an audience with Your Grace."
The Iron Bank.
Aegon raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.
They came quickly.
"Have them come to the Throne Room to see me."
He said calmly, leaning back.
"Now."
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