A standoff had formed on the tower, with Viserys holding his longsword on one side of the brazier, accompanied only by the lovesick woman from Lys, Della.
Daenerys, her Attendants, and Unsullied guards stood on the other side.
"Thump, thump, thump!" Several Unsullied, clad in black breastplates, holding shields and shortswords, slowly advanced, striking their shields with their shortswords.
The Unsullied also carried the latest five-shot crossbows; once fired, Viserys would be dead.
"No, don't shoot yet. He is my brother," Daenerys whispered to her guards.
"whore, you slut, you tricked me," Viserys cried and laughed, then pointed at Daenerys and cursed angrily.
Viserys wildly brandished the longsword in his hand, shouting into the air, "Just ten thousand men, I think that's enough. With these ten thousand elite warriors, I can sweep across the entire Seven Kingdoms. At that time, the Lords and noble families will surely rise to serve and follow their true King. Houses like Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, hate the 'usurper' as much as I do. The people of Dorne in the South have long been filled with rage, seeking revenge for Princess Elia and her Children. Not to mention the common people; they will let out a righteous roar and fight for their King."
"Brother, we will return one day," Daenerys pleaded, crying.
"I am King, and a King doesn't need pity. Do you take me for a Beggar King? Without you, I will reclaim the iron throne myself," Viserys roared.
"I will personally slay the usurper," Viserys made a grand vow, without considering that he had never killed anyone, "just as he killed my brother back then. I will also not spare the Kingslayer from House Lannister; I will avenge my father."
"You are King, you are King," Della, the woman from Lys, immediately urged, tears still streaming down her face.
Daenerys looked at her brother, who was entangled by too many terrible memories. Restoration, revenge, the iron throne, the grand words of the Seven Kingdoms had crushed him, driven him mad.
Daenerys used to think he was crazy, but now she felt pity for him.
"Put down your weapon, brother," Daenerys said, as the Unsullied raised their crossbows, their arrows gleaming with a cold light.
"Shut up, slut, you are no longer my sister. I gave you to that Bastard, but how do you repay a true dragon? You won't send a single soldier for me, and you even want to bear Children for that Bastard, bypassing my inheritance, isn't that right? I was left in Myr by you all, spending my days drinking and sleeping with women. I am King, and no one can take my crown," Viserys shouted.
"My sister is dead; you killed Rhaegar, you killed our mother, and now you want to kill me, is that it?"
"It's not like that, brother," Daenerys said, tears in her eyes. Viserys had always resented her birth. Now there was one more thing: Daenerys was Viserys's traitor, having found someone to rely on.
The first reason was Daenerys's late birth; she was born on Dragonstone nine months after their mother fled. Viserys said that because she was born too late, Rhaegar married a woman from Dorne he didn't love, leading to subsequent events.
The second reason was their mother's death. Daenerys was born during a summer storm that seemed to tear the castle apart. It was said that the storm was terrifying, destroying the Targaryen Royal Fleet anchored in the harbor, sending massive stones tumbling from the battlements into the raging Narrow Sea.
Her mother died in childbirth, and Viserys never forgave her for it.
"Slut, tell your Unsullied guards to get lost, I'm taking the dragon egg and leaving," Viserys roared.
"You betrayed the true dragon; the true dragon will not forgive you."
Daenerys looked at her brother, feeling that persuasion was futile.
"I am King." Viserys opened the lid of a cedarwood chest decorated with bronze. Three fossilized dragon eggs were beautiful and strange.
The three eggs had different appearances, their patterns so rich that one might think their surfaces were encrusted with jewels, and a girl would need two hands to hold one.
But Viserys quickly discovered a problem: the dragon eggs, which looked like they were made of fine ceramic, enamel, or glass, were unexpectedly much heavier, as if made of hard stone.
"I'm taking the dragon egg; each one is priceless, enough to buy my ships, my army…" Viserys then pointed at Daenerys's small crown, which was originally their mother's.
"This crown also belongs to me; you must give it to me."
"Stop, Your Majesty," Della cried, pleading, facing the gleaming sword blade and the mad King.
Daenerys looked at her brother, took off her crown, her eyes full of pity. She understood that behind Viserys's madness, much of it was pressure and delusion.
"Stop, how can I stop?" Viserys then saw Daenerys's chair and table, on which were letters home that Daenerys had written for the soldiers, but the crest on the envelopes was a quartered banner.
"Let me see what you've written? And using that Bastard's crest, presumptuously using the dragon banner," Viserys grew increasingly furious.
"You've become that Bastard's slave, you've forgotten your brother, forgotten to be loyal to the true dragon, haven't you?"
Viserys drew his sword and slashed at the letters and family correspondence on the table. Then the sword swept across the table, and the letters fluttered in the air like white butterflies.
"All of you get out, let me go!" Viserys poked the coals in the brazier with his sword, a hysterical expression on his face.
"Stop it, my King," Della suddenly rose and hugged Viserys, trying to restrain his movements. But she was a woman, and her strength was indeed inferior.
"Traitor, you are also a traitor!" Viserys cursed, then pushed Della back, stabbing her many times with the sword in his hand. Bright red blood flowed from the woman's abdomen.
"I told you not to think you were Queen just because I slept with you." Blood splattered on Viserys's face, his black velvet clothes, his red cloak, everything like a bloody performance.
"Your Majesty, Viserys, poor man…" Della lay nearby, groaning, her pale face slowly losing color, blood flowing from her abdomen, staining the ground.
Everyone was terrified by this scene. They had previously thought Viserys had elements of madness, but now it seemed he also had tyrannical tendencies.
"Whoosh!" A crossbow bolt accurately struck Viserys's sword-wielding arm. The longsword in Viserys's hand slipped to the ground, making a crisp clinking sound.
Daenerys felt some regret; if she had acted sooner, her brother would not have harmed Della. This woman truly loved him, but Viserys was always like this, having nothing, only able to hurt those around him.
"You, you dare to harm a true dragon? Slut," Viserys cursed. He had never seriously studied swordsmanship, nor did he have any other weapons on him.
Viserys saw the fiercely burning brazier very close to him; this might be his last weapon.
The brazier was scalding hot. Viserys didn't know when he had gained such strength; he endured the pain to pick up the brazier. Viserys was no longer afraid of the Unsullied's arrows.
"I am a true dragon descendant," Viserys said, "with raging flames burning in my blood."
Saying this, Viserys tried to throw the brazier at Daenerys, but he didn't have the strength or the heat resistance.
"No, Viserys."
"Ah." Viserys had just lifted the brazier halfway when he quickly felt the scorching heat and the weight of the brazier.
Viserys stumbled and fell to the ground, the brazier pressing on his upper body. All the coals from inside the brazier rolled out, first igniting Viserys's clothes and hair, then other flammable items on Viserys's body.
The floor on top of the tower was white marble, which was fire-resistant, but flames fiercely burned on Viserys's body.
"Daenerys, Della, and, and my crown…" At this moment, Viserys, like a coward facing death, began a high-pitched, inarticulate scream. He rolled repeatedly, whimpering like a dog, crying like a Child.
"Princess, please turn away," the maidservants and Unsullied couldn't help but remind her. The flames, like a demon, completely enveloped Viserys.
"Quick, save him."
"Quick, save him." The Unsullied moved forward, but it was always too late.
Amidst the screams, the raging flames burned fiercely until Viserys was charred black. Velvet and hair were the most flammable; the black velvet clothes and bright red cloak hissed with smoke, his hair burned, and Viserys's eyeballs bulged.
Viserys was not fireproof. Viserys wailed and rolled on the floor, ultimately unable to escape death.
Death took Viserys, the poor King.
The dying woman from Lys, Dylah, looked at Viserys's remains; the flames had taken away his anxiety, handsomeness, stubbornness, and bitterness, leaving nothing but a corpse in the fire.
"Princess, I thank you. Lord Gendry freed the slaves, and I am grateful for his kindness. I cannot, I cannot harm you. But, but I truly loved King Viserys," Dylah said to Daenerys.
"You are his Queen, and no one can replace you," Daenerys said, looking at Dylah. Viserys's death saddened her, but Dylah's death saddened her even more.
"Please, please bury me with the King. No, and, and our unborn Child. Thank you, thank you, Princess Daenerys," Dylah said, looking at Daenerys, using her last bit of strength.
The Unsullied carried Dylah's body and placed it next to Viserys's burnt corpse.
He is not a true dragon, Dany thought, her thoughts sad and peaceful. A true dragon is not afraid of fire.
Viserys once prided himself as King, but when he died, only a humble whore accompanied him.
The two bodies leaning together seemed like a cold answer about ambition, death, and love.
Daenerys took off the crown on her head, her mother's relic, and placed it on Viserys's head. This was her last thought of Westeros. "I have nothing to give you, brother, this is the crown you wanted."
"Let's go," Daenerys commanded. The Unsullied lifted the two bodies; embracing the flames was the last Targaryen ritual.
In the vast darkness of the night, torches were lit all around. The Attendants washed Viserys and Dylah's bodies, combed their hair, and anointed them with fragrant oil.
Daenerys looked at her brother's cheek, remembering the brother who had led her through long years of exile.
At that time, Viserys's hair, like Dany's, was pale silver, combed back and secured with a dragonbone hairpin. His overly solemn expression highlighted his stiff, gaunt face; he was always anxious.
They were always in exile, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and later to Qohor, Volantis, and Lys, drifting without a home, never settling down in one place. Her brother refused to settle, always saying that the assassins sent by the usurper were close behind, yet Dany never saw a single assassin.
"Brother, please forgive me. You needed a crown, but the price was too, too high..."
Daenerys placed Queen Rhaella's crown on Viserys's head again. It was a small golden crown with a beautiful Three Dragons, and rubies for the dragons' eyes. When the Beggar King died, he finally looked a bit like a King.
The servants brought Daenerys an unadorned golden crown, and Daenerys placed it on Dylah's head.
"Though no one crowned you, I consider you Viserys's wife," Daenerys said. "My sister-in-law, and my unseen nephew or niece."
"Bring the dragon egg," Daenerys commanded.
"Your Highness, King Viserys will not need a dragon egg in the night country," the servant whispered. "And besides, the Commander-in-Chief..."
dragon eggs are priceless treasures; selling one would be enough to buy a large ship. The wealth from selling three would be unimaginable. Of course, the servant was not concerned with money, but with the order from the true "King" of the Two Cities, and whether Commander Gendry was aware.
"I think Commander-in-Chief will agree to these dragon eggs. One dragon egg represents one Targaryen," Daenerys said. Daenerys walked into the funeral pyre and placed the three dragon eggs on top of the fire. Black, green, and cream-and-gold, these dragon eggs accompanied Viserys, the poor and ridiculous King.
The sound of hooves shattered the tranquility of the courtyard, and Gendry dismounted.
"This..." Gendry only saw Viserys's body, once consumed by flames, and Dylah, the infatuated woman from Lys.
"Gen..." Daenerys threw herself into his arms, as if he were the last comfort in the world.
"I already know," Gendry said softly, looking at Viserys and Dylah on the pyre.
"Is this your fate, Viserys?" Gendry sighed.
A pitiful man. Gendry had originally thought that wine and women would wear down Viserys's fighting spirit, and he had not intended to kill him.
But Gendry did not expect that Westeros was an obsession the "Beggar King" Viserys could not let go of, and he died not by an assassin's hand, but by his own.
"Your Highness, those dragon eggs..." Qyburn whispered. Even fossilized dragon eggs are priceless treasures; burning them like this was such a waste.
Gendry silenced Qyburn with a look.
A black banner with a red dragon was brought by Gendry and placed over Viserys and Dylah. In the future, there would be no Targaryen banner; it would be the era of the Four Banners.
In the low eastern sky, there was a red comet, the color of blood, the color of fire, trailing a dragon's tail.
Daenerys threw down her torch and took the torch from Gendry's hand. Then Gendry also threw his second torch.
The fragrant oil immediately caught fire, and the twigs and dry grass followed suit a heartbeat later. Small flames shot out from all over the pyre, like swift red rats, sliding over the oil, leaping from bark to branch, then onto leaves.
"Boom." A wave of heat rose from the fire, rushing towards Gendry and Daenerys, gentle yet abrupt, like a lover's breath, but after a few seconds, it became unbearably hot.
The flames spiraled and twisted, chasing each other, climbing higher and higher towards the top of the pyre. The air seemed to liquefy from the intense heat, shimmering in the twilight. Dany heard the wood crackle, and the raging fire engulfed Viserys and Dylah's bodies.
"Two people, no, actually three, including the Child in Dylah's womb." Gendry saw the flames surround Viserys and Dylah, their clothes catching fire. The flames consumed everything, flesh and bone; the two would be together forever.
Two Kings, one Viserys, one Drogo. One fetus, one woman Dylah. Gendry did not yet know of the witch's death.
Gendry smelled the scorching odor of human flesh. The pyre was like an awakened Three Dragons, spitting out long tongues of fire. Giant orange flames created an infernal gale, making the nearby banners flap loudly. The wood hissed and cracked, and glowing embers rose from the smoke, drifting into the boundless night, like thousands of newborn fireflies. The flames soared, waving huge, fiery red wings, forcing everyone to retreat.
Gendry looked at the flames before him; he had never seen such beautiful flames. Each cluster of fire was like a wizard in robes of red, orange, and yellow, with a long, smoky cloak billowing over his shoulders.
"Is this a prophecy of the future? A future war?" Gendry and Daenerys saw a fiery red lion, a golden giant snake, and a Unicorn made of pale blue flames. Gendry saw fish, foxes, and monsters, wolves, colorful birds, and trees in full bloom, each more beautiful than the last.
The wood, twigs, and dry grass all exploded, and with a pillar of towering flames and smoke thirty feet high, the pyre finally completely collapsed.
A sudden gust of wind arose, sweeping away the smoke and dust, destroying everything in the flames. The fire roared, the flames collapsed, and Gendry and Dany heard women's screams and the astonished shouts of the Unsullied.
"I am the Child of the storm, the blood of the storm." Gendry suddenly understood; the storm would conquer everything.
Only death can pay for life.
Crack, the sound was like Stubborn Stone cracking.
Something unknown rumbled and rolled, bouncing and landing at Daenerys's feet: it was a curved stone, cream-colored with golden veins, cracking and smoking.
When the flames finally died down, all that remained were charred charcoal and glowing embers, and the burnt bones of a man and a woman.
Three Dragons appeared. The cream-and-gold dragon rested on Daenerys's left shoulder, and the bronze-and-green one stood on her right shoulder.
The black-and-red dragon hung from Gendry's shoulder, its long, winding neck coiling around his chin. When it saw Qyburn, it raised its head and stared at him with bright, coal-red eyes.
"Dragons, Three Dragons." Qyburn couldn't help but kneel, and then everyone else knelt. The greatness of the Three Dragons was the greatness of magic.
Gendry looked at the crowd. His black dragon hissed, exhaling wisps of white smoke from its nostrils, while the other two stood on Daenerys's back simultaneously, joining its roar.
The Three Dragons spread their translucent wings, beating the air. And so, the unison roar of the dragons echoed through the night sky, for the first time in centuries.
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