Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 432 Rhaegal I Targaryen

When the news of the king's death reached the dragon's lair, Ringol had just woken up from his coma, and his pale face looked particularly haggard under the flickering firelight. The old and frail prime minister had just lost his nephew, and now he had lost a grandchild. They were all called Beile.

There was a gleam of determination in the Prime Minister's eyes.

"Xingge." he called in a low voice.

The black dragon's response made almost all the dragons in the dragon cave, including Menghuo, retreat.

Xingge spread his wings, and the shadow enveloped the old man. Lingol ordered his men to help him up, and slowly dragged his frail body onto the dragon's back. His movements were slow but firm, as if he was fighting against aging and illness with every step.

"Bring me that crown." The old man stopped halfway up, panting.

A blacksmith who has been taking care of the Prime Minister - before he recovered, the Prime Minister personally fed him medicine, and after he recovered, he stayed by the Prime Minister's side.

The blacksmith held the Prime Minister tightly, not letting him leave the bed, but hesitated when the Prime Minister asked him to fetch the crown that was forged by the people who were isolated in the dragon's lair.

"As commanded."

Iron Paddle returned with a rough but heavy crown in his arms, which he had melted overnight using horseshoes, copper coins, silver bracelets from widows, and even toys from children. Every piece of metal carried the wishes of the people of King's Landing.

Xingge roared and took off. The dragon consciously controlled its strength and did not hurt anyone.

When Xingge landed in the middle of the street, dust flew up and the crowd retreated in fear. Ringol slid down the dragon's back with difficulty, his purple eyes burning with rare impulse and madness.

"Kneel! Down!"

His roar exploded like thunder, and the whole street fell silent in an instant.

Reg was stunned for only a moment, then he knelt on one knee without hesitation. His silver-gold hair was soaked with sweat, and the edge of the black fire sword he inherited from his brother flashed beside him, reflecting the determination in Ringol's eyes.

The Prime Minister held up the crown, which was shaped by dragon flames and was emitting green smoke, with trembling hands. The heat of the metal burned his palms, but did not affect the old man's movements.

"In the name of the true dragon!"

Star Song's dragon flame suddenly erupted, and the blazing flames swept across the sky, shrouding the entire ceremony in a fiery glow. Ringol's voice was distorted in the scorching air, but it was extremely clear:

"Arise, Rhaegal of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lord of the Iron Throne."

The crown fell and pressed on Reg's head. The hot metal singed his hair, but he did not move.

Cheers erupted like a tsunami, sweeping across the entire King's Landing. The common people were in tears, shouting the name of the new king. At the port, ships from the Arbor, Oldtown and Wineport were unloading bundles of herbs; on the King's Road, the Varese caravan under the banner of the Silver Dragon and Laurel Leaf brought in hundreds of carts of food.

Dragon's lair at night.

The remaining Targaryens have arrived.

"Uncle." Reg's voice was low.

Ringol raised his eyes, the madness in his purple eyes had faded, replaced by the sternness and concern unique to elders. "Every word you say now, every decision you make, will be recorded in history." He said slowly, "Don't let your brother die in vain. Targaryen needs an adult, strong king to maintain the status quo."

Reg took a deep breath and nodded.

"Maekar," he turned to his brother, his voice full of command, "I now order you to fly to Dragon's Nest immediately, taking your sheep thief with you."

Maekar grinned, "Go to hell, brother. It's useless now. My uncle is right. King's Landing needs us now. The more Targaryens stay here, the better for the Iron Throne." Ringol did not reprimand him. On the contrary, the Prime Minister's mouth slightly raised, revealing a rare trace of approval. He knew that Maekar was right. He was very pleased that after Rhaenyra, even Aegon III was just mediocre and impatient. The Targaryens seemed to have thrown the good side of the coin, with a few exceptions.

"Then don't die outside." Lingol finally said lightly, then closed his eyes and rested.

As night fell, countless candles were lit on the streets of King's Landing to mourn the death of Baelor I and celebrate the birth of the new king. On the high tower of the Red Keep, Rhaeg Targaryen stood quietly, the crude crown on his head still slightly hot.

He knew that the war was far from over, but at least at this moment, his people still believed in the real dragon.

And Ringol had paved the way for him in a way that was completely against etiquette.

Let people remember the name of Rhaegal Targaryen and remember that he was supported by the people.

The night wind, carrying the moisture of the Blackwater River, blew over the battlements of the Red Castle. Rhaeg Targaryen sat alone on the battlements. The newly cast crown glowed darkly in the moonlight, like an unhealed scar. His fingers unconsciously stroked the edge of the crown, where the rough marks of forging were still left. A true dragon is not afraid of high temperatures. On the contrary, the residual temperature at that time made Rhaeg sober up a lot.

The tapping sound of Meka's boots came from behind.

"Your Majesty." He deliberately dragged out his tone and threw the wine bag into Reg's arms, "This is a good wine in your wine cellar. You don't need a royal order for this."

Reg sneered, uncorked and took a sip, the sour red wine burning his throat. "Don't try that, or I'll have my uncle send someone to take you to Dragon's Nest."

Maekar grinned, unmindful of his brother's threat. He sat down beside Reg, and the two of them stood side by side, looking at the outline of the dragon's lair in the distance. The fire was circling in the night sky, and its twelve tentacle-like appendages stretched out in the moonlight, as if performing some ancient mourning ritual.

"Aegon has arrived at Dragon's Nest. I have nothing to worry about, brother. King's Landing needs us. The more Targaryens appear in front of the common people, the more they will love us. The king lives and dies with them. This will become the new throne of Targaryens and the new dragons after the plague is over."

"I know, everyone knows. Do you know what's the most ironic thing?" Reg said with some emotion, "Beile used his physical strength and fatigue to fight the plague. He always looked energetic, but it was his failing heart that took him away. He could have led us to defeat this plague." He turned the wine bag, and the wine reflected the distorted moonlight. His voice was full of sadness. "Father and mother always said that my uncle was cold, rigid and unkind, but today he crowned me with the crown that the dragon flame and the people forged for my brother."

Meka took the wine bag, tilted his head back and drank the wine, his Adam's apple rolling: "The common people love this drama. The stingy people in the Chamber of Commerce knelt down and swore to the golden robe that they would offer the crown to the Cathedral of Saint Jacaris in the future." He wiped his mouth, "and said that they would inlay it with colorful gems."

They fell silent. The night wind brought the sounds of the city: the poor in Flea Bottom lit candles to mourn Beile, and the faint flames formed a sea of ​​stars; the brothels on Silk Street hung the flags of the Kingdom and the Seven Gods for the first time, and the prostitutes were sewing herbs into the pockets of the clients; even the beggars by the Blackwater River were holding hot fish pies, which were specially baked by the cooks in the canteen using the fish brought by the grain transport ship.

"You know what?" Reg suddenly laughed, his silver-gold hair fluttering in the wind, "Today when my uncle put the crown on my head, I smelled the smell of my hair burning."

“And you held back your screams.” Maeka interrupted, a mischievous glint in his one eye. “What a fucking shame! I bet the whole city saw your tears.”

Rhaeg kicked him, but Maekar dodged with laughter. The brothers' laughter startled a flock of crows from the battlements, and their black wings swept across the pale moon.

The laughter diluted the sadness just now.

In between laughter, Reg looked in the direction of the dragon's lair, and Maekar also fell silent. They knew that Ringol was there. Even though he was in a coma for almost half of the day, the Prime Minister was still dealing with the plague affairs in the Rhaenys Hills and surrounding areas.

"He could have waited for the coronation," Reg said softly.

Maika's smile faded. "Wait? Wait until King's Landing is leaderless? Wait for the people to die in the chaos?" He shook his head. "My uncle never does things that would cause chaos."

Bells rang in the distance. It was the Silent Sisters tolling the death knell for Baelor I. In the sound of the bells, Maekar suddenly remembered the scene when Ringol taught him to protect his brothers riding dragons when they were young. His first flight was in his great uncle's arms. When he flew for the first time, Maekar was so excited that he almost stayed on Star Song's dragon saddle and refused to get off. It was Ringol who pulled him down.

The night wind picked up, carrying the chill of spring. Reg took off the rough crown and ran his fingers over the jagged metal, the king's head on the copper coins, the craftsman's mark on the horseshoes, the husband's name engraved on the silver bracelets donated by the widows. This crude crown was heavier than any finely crafted crown.

Because this represents the people's affirmation of the royal family.

Under the city walls, the lights of King's Landing gradually lit up like stars. This dying city was struggling to be reborn amid the scorching smell of the burning crown.

(End of this chapter)