Chapter 254 - Crowning the King
Drogo pulled his gaze from her face and looked back into the depths of the Throne Room.
He watched Daenerys Targaryen on the Iron Throne. Watched the silver-haired, bronze-skinned boy in her arms. Watched the six Kingsguard. Watched the subjects below the dais step forward one by one to speak their piece.
He thought about seeing this hall through a screen. Back then, the Iron Throne had seemed vast and cold and impossibly far away.
Now he stood less than thirty paces from it. The old smell of the hall was in his nostrils, candle wax, stone dust, and the faint rust of iron.
Three years.
From a tent on the Dothraki Sea, to the Painted Table Chamber on Dragonstone, to the Throne Room in King's Landing.
His gaze settled on Rhaego in Daenerys's arms. Two years old, silver hair and violet eyes, reaching with chubby fingers for his mother's collar.
He watched for a moment. All of it felt utterly real. All of it felt like a dream.
"The Great Sept of the Seven needs funding for reconstruction, Your Grace."
A voice pulled him back.
The High Sparrow stood before the dais, the hem of his grey robe covering a new pair of boots, a strip of bandage visible above his collar. He leaned on a wooden staff and spoke to Daenerys with a slight stoop.
Daenerys looked at him.
"Ser Barristan Selmy has already told me that the Sons of the Warrior and the Poor Fellows played a significant role in the siege. Your request is reasonable. I can allocate funds for the Sept's reconstruction."
The High Sparrow bowed. "Thank you, Your Grace."
"Wait."
Drogo stepped out from the crowd.
He crossed to the open space before the Iron Throne and stopped beside the High Sparrow.
"I believe the most important thing is to use our limited coin to rebuild homes for the common people first. Let them eat their fill."
The High Sparrow turned his head and looked at him.
"Spiritual nourishment matters just as much. The Great Sept is the pillar of the faithful. The people of this city need somewhere to pray for peace."
SLAP!
The blow came fast.
His palm cracked against the side of the High Sparrow's face with the force of a horsewhip swung through empty air.
The High Sparrow's feet left the ground. His body flew sideways, the wooden staff spinning from his hand, bouncing twice on the stone floor before rolling away.
Dark red blood was already trickling from the corner of his mouth. Half his face swelled at a visible rate.
He pressed one hand to the ground and tried to push himself up.
Across the hall, Melisandre leaned against a stone pillar. She watched the direction the High Sparrow had fallen, and the corner of her mouth twitched.
Margaery's expression was far more controlled than Melisandre's, but her mouth moved, just barely. She had been held by the Faith of the Seven. She bore the High Sparrow no goodwill.
Daenerys set Rhaego down on the Iron Throne. The little one grabbed the tip of one of the swords on the armrest. The cold metal stung his fingers. He pulled his hand back, then reached out and touched it again.
She gathered her skirts, descended the steps, came to the High Sparrow, and bent to take hold of his arms with both hands, helping him to his feet.
"My sun and stars." She turned toward Drogo, her voice steady. "The Seven is the faith of the Westerosi. A thousand thousand hearts beat for it. We must co-rule Westeros alongside the Faith. We must respect the High Septon."
Barristan Selmy looked at Drogo, his gaze calm and direct.
"Khal, the Faith Militant fought alongside us. They blew up the Alchemists' Guild ahead of time and held down the city's defenders. Without them, your army could not have entered the city so quickly."
"The one who defeated the Lannisters was me," Drogo said. "The Faith Militant? They launched a rebellion. Today they can turn against the Lannisters. Tomorrow they can turn against me."
He paused and looked at the High Sparrow.
"I want you to disband the Faith Militant. The Sons of the Warrior and the Poor Fellows dissolve on the spot. Their weapons are surrendered."
"Absolutely not." The High Sparrow wiped the blood from his mouth with his sleeve. The smear left a dark red stain on the grey cuff.
"You need the Faith's support. The people of the Seven Kingdoms believe in the Seven. Not in dragonfire."
"You need me to anoint you with holy oil and crown you king before the eyes of the masses. Without that, your throne is nothing but a chair made of iron — and whoever sits in it will feel nothing but cold beneath them."
"Now I give you one final chance to pledge yourself to the Seven. Kneel and receive the blessing."
"Holy oil?" Drogo smiled. "Rub some Indian god-oil on me, and maybe I'd actually be grateful."
A voice in the crowd.
"Heretic."
Drogo turned his head and looked toward it.
He walked to the man and drew the curved blade at his hip.
The blade left its sheath with a short rasp of metal. The edge dropped, cutting into the gap between shoulder blade and neck, severing windpipe and artery. Then it withdrew.
The man's body tilted. He dropped to his knees, then fell.
Blood welled from the wound at the side of his neck, spreading a dark red stain across the stone floor.
Another voice. "You kill before the face of the Seven! You'll go to hell for this!"
An old woman this time, in a rough grey robe.
Drogo walked over and swung again.
Her head rolled from her shoulders. Blood sprayed from the stump and splashed onto the two women standing beside her.
Another voice.
Then a fourth. A fifth.
Five people dead on the floor of the Throne Room.
No more shouting. Only silence, pressed down to nothing.
Someone started to open their mouth. A hand clamped over it from beside them.
The High Sparrow looked at the droplets of blood on Drogo's blade. "Do you mean to slaughter every believer?"
"Kill one of me and ten thousand more rise to take my place. Cut off today's heads and tomorrow there will be more standing where they stood."
"The Seven will not permit a heretic to sit upon the Iron Throne. Either you kneel and accept the anointing, or the faithful of the Seven Kingdoms will drive you out of here."
"Who do you think you are? A savage from the grasslands — can you withstand the wrath of the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Who am I?" Drogo said. "I am Khal Drogo. Those who prefer it may call me the Dragon King. Must I abide by your rules? I rule you. Not the other way around."
The High Sparrow's breathing came faster. "Rule? This is the domain of the Seven."
"You want to talk domain with me?" Drogo stepped forward. The toe of his boot nearly touched the High Sparrow's shoe. "I'll sweep two of your streets right now, plant my flag, and then we can talk."
Daenerys stepped between them.
"The High Septon is our friend. The Westerlands still stand against us. The Dornish have sworn undying vengeance. The Vale's position remains uncertain. Those are the enemies you actually need to face. The High Septon helped us."
She reached up and pressed her fingers to Drogo's cheek.
"Apologize to the High Septon, my sun and stars. You still need him to anoint you and place the crown on your head."
Drogo looked at her. A few breaths passed. Then he took her hand from his face.
"No need for any of that."
He turned and called toward Haggo, standing at the entrance to the hall. "Bring it."
Haggo turned and walked out through a side door. He came back a moment later.
In his hands he carried a robe. Bright yellow. Silk.
Three dragons were embroidered across it, one black, one green, one gold, their bodies coiling over the front and back panels of the fabric, their heads positioned at each shoulder.
The seamstresses of Dragonstone had spent a month on it.
Drogo sheathed his blade and raised both arms.
Haggo draped the robe across his shoulders. Drogo adjusted the collar and settled it into place.
The bright yellow silk caught a pale gold sheen in the shadow of the Iron Throne. The three dragons traced across the surface in pale gold thread rose and fell subtly with his breathing.
"My rules are the rules."
He walked to the throne, turned, and sat down.
He looked out at all of them. When he spoke, his voice rang through the hall like a struck bell.
"The dragon robe is upon me — I am your King!"
➤ Next: Volume III: The Burning Crusade