King's Landing had become a sea of gold, from the golden banners to the gold-cloaked royal knights.
The viewing seats were divided by region: The North, The Reach, the Stormlands, the Twin Cities Alliance of Myr and Tyrosh, the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, and Dorne. The back rows were for friendly foreign envoys from Braavos, Saath, Norvos, Qohor, and others.
In truth, it would not have mattered if some sat together, but Dorne and The Reach absolutely had to be kept apart.
When Gendry rose to his feet, he had become Gendry Targaryen Baratheon the Breaker I, or simply Gendry I.
Gendry was a warrior, a commander, and a player in the game of power. But from this day forward, his first identity was king.
The tall Gendry stood above the crowd as cheers pierced the clouds. This was the taste of power.
"Long live the Breaker!"
"Long live Gendry I!"
"Long live the Storm!"
"Gods bless King Gendry!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd, from peoples of every kind across the world. Andals, First Men, Dornish salt men, stone men, and sand men. The salt men were soft and dark, with smooth olive skin and long black hair streaming in the wind.
There were also Tyroshi with brightly dyed hair, Myrishmen who resembled the Rhoynar, and many others.
Ten thousand arms, ten thousand eyes, ten thousand faces, ten thousand shouts. The crowd became an excited sea, spreading noise and movement in every direction.
Gendry acknowledged them, and the joy and applause grew even louder.
Gendry had spent long years pouring out sweat without end, fighting in training yards, on battlefields, among piles of old books, and in the halls of power. War and planning, courage and luck, blood and fire. Only through all of that had he been able to touch this crown.
"More glory. More victories."
Gendry was the victor, while Zekko and Khal Drogo, the Magisters of the Twin Cities, Bloodbeard, Joffrey, and Malaquo were the steps beneath his feet.
The golden crown was beautiful and splendid, but it also carried endless weight. The realms, the Long Night, and famine.
The countless people of the world, who could protect them? Only the longsword in his hand, only the courage and strategy in his heart.
"I am happy for your father, boy. From this moment on, you are king," Great Lord Stannis Baratheon said. For iron-hard Stannis, shedding even a single tear was no easy thing.
House Baratheon had won the crown at the price of plots and kin killing.
"You are my arm, my shield, and my counsel, Uncle," Gendry replied with a warm smile.
Great Lord Stannis gave a slight nod. He was one of the few direct elders left in the family.
In truth, the two of them shared more than a little common ground. Both had once stood on the edge of their families.
"Why is Stannis crying, gods above?" Great Lord Mace Tyrell, dressed in green velvet, whispered to those around him. "The man has always had a face like ice. I thought he lacked that nerve entirely. Has anyone ever seen Stannis smile at his wife?"
"It is joy, Mace," the Queen of Thorns said, unable to stop herself from scolding her son. A worthy heir was the most important matter for any house.
Mace imagined himself a peerless warrior like Longthorn Leo, but in truth, he was only foolish Mace and Puff Fish. Fortunately, Mace's children were all quite good.
"Will there be dragons again?" Margaery asked, full of expectation.
"They will appear again," Ser Garlan answered with certainty.
"Robert is dead, but the Storm has surpassed him," the Queen of Thorns thought. Whether in schemes or in war, this boy had already mastered his craft.
"After the coronation, the wedding comes next?" Catelyn Tully asked with a touch of regret. Today's focus belonged to the stag and the True Dragon, but Robert had once spoken to them of a marriage between stag and wolf.
Yet Robert had ruined everything. If his head had been a little clearer, he might have had a well-behaved child who could marry her Sansa Stark.
"Yes," Eddard said with a nod. He wore a gray-white woolen coat, and his eyes were complicated. "Robert, you damned fool. You fathered a child and did not raise him properly, then went and got yourself gored to death by a boar. You cannot even see your son's wedding."
At the mention of weddings, Eddard rubbed his brow. Damn it all. Not one child in this family had a settled arrangement. Bran was already crippled. Arya was the most troublesome little wolf, and Sansa was not easy to manage either.
Arya Stark saw her sister staring at the man on the stage. He truly shone like the sun, but he already belonged to someone.
Arya was not looking at Gendry's face. What interested her was that the Storm was the fiercest warrior, an extremely dangerous killer.
"Young, handsome, beautiful."
Sansa looked at the stage, a hundred thoughts turning through her heart.
"The dream I once had of becoming queen, was it no more than a dream?"
Sansa's auburn hair had been arranged into soft curls. Her underclothes were all silk, and her gown was woven from ivory brocade and silver thread, edged with silver satin. She also wore a long white velvet cloak decorated with countless pearls, with a fierce direwolf embroidered in silver thread upon it.
"Their affection truly is sincere. I used to think Stannis was a block of ice," Tyene Sand remarked from the Dornish seats.
"The Storm is as good at war as Robert, but he is not as willful or self-absorbed," Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, said. That was why Robert's son could surpass Robert.
"Everyone lives in the shadow of his elder brother, don't they, Stannis? Though you pretend to hate him, you still love him."
Oberyn watched that flash of vulnerability cross Stannis's face.
"Perhaps men are soft beneath their hard shells," Arianne thought, feeling lucky to have glimpsed the feeling behind Stannis's reason. Her father, Prince Doran, was just as calm. He seemed never to lose control.
People said Prince Doran had spent his life being cautious, and that the only time passion had overcome his judgment was when he married a foreign woman, which left him with an unhappy marriage.
Arianne's family was strange as well. Her mother had run back to Norvos, one brother had been sent to House Yronwood, and the other remained at her father's side.
Gendry then displayed the Valyrian steel greatsword Fury. Its scabbard was made of gilded cherrywood, wrapped in oiled black sharkskin and decorated with a black stag's head.
Gendry drew the sword and raised it over his head. For a brief instant, the entire square fell silent. Golden ripples ran along the blade, gleaming faintly in the morning light.
"Truly a divine weapon rarely seen in this world," Lord Mathis Rowan sighed.
Eddard Stark looked awkward. His own greatsword, Ice, had been taken as well. Having lost Ice, he felt he had become a sinner against House Stark.
Next came the wedding, the wedding of the stag and the True Dragon, the wedding of Storm and Fire.
The High Septon put on a crown made of gold thread and crystal. It was far smaller than the one worn by the fat man whose crown had been smashed by the mob.
The High Septon had thought deeply about what Gendry had told him. In times of hunger, fat clergymen only drew the hatred of the people. The Sparrows had merely been the first to arrive.
Tall gilded statues of the Father and the Mother had been placed upon the high platform, and the thin High Septon personally presided over the ceremony.
The High Septon warmly blessed the newlyweds, as though they were the Seven's perfect creations.
Gendry was tall and handsome, his smiling eyes like a blue sea. His neat, clean-cut black hair framed a freshly groomed face.
Daenerys had an inhuman beauty, with silver-gold hair and eyes like purple flowers.
"She truly is beautiful."
Margaery and Sansa both looked at Daenerys and could not help thinking it. They were beauties too, but there were differences even among beauties. Just as there were many handsome men, yet Gendry now stood firmly at the top.
Gendry changed into a black outer tunic and wore a golden velvet cloak embroidered with the quartered arms. The crown rested upon his short black hair, making him look handsome and powerful.
Daenerys wore a soft black velvet gown, layered with silk and Myrish lace. Countless tiny pearls formed the shapes of dragons across the dress, and a ruby adorned her throat. Her flowing cloak was embroidered with the three-headed fire dragon of House Targaryen.
The two held hands, and cheers rolled beneath them, for the peace everyone had long awaited, for a lasting peace.
Gendry and Daenerys swore the sevenfold wedding vows, received sevenfold blessings, and exchanged seven promises. Then the holy song rang out. When no one stepped forward to question or challenge the union, the moment to exchange cloaks arrived.
Mya Baratheon gently removed Daenerys's bridal cloak, while Gendry accepted the groom's cloak from his younger brother Edric.
At that moment, the Firekeeper's ring on Gendry's hand grew faintly warm.
The main event had arrived.
The dragons appeared.
At the crucial moment, the smell of sulfur and fire filled the air. The black dragon, the green dragon, and the white dragon.
Everyone watched as if gone mad. Dragon shadows appeared in the sky, leathery wings beating as they circled above Gendry and Daenerys.
Though no one rode them into the air, the dragons' reappearance still drove the world into a frenzy of joy.
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