Chapter 155: The Rose of Highgarden
"They're here!"
A sharp-eyed soldier spotted something in the moonlit sky, a shadow blocking the starlight.
"Where?"
"Where is it?"
"Southeast! I see it too!"
One person passed the message to ten, then ten to a hundred, until nobles and commoners alike turned their gazes southeast.
A massive shadow flapped its wings, flying straight toward King's Landing. Under the moonlight, its shape became faintly distinguishable—it was identical to the dragon statues in the city.
As the shadow neared the outskirts of King's Landing, its speed slowed, and its altitude rapidly decreased before it dove toward the Red Keep.
"Oh!"
"It's really a dragon!"
Odahviing was colossal. When it reached the skies above the Red Keep, its wings fully extended, gliding over King's Landing. Its nearly two-hundred-meter wingspan easily covered an entire street, casting the city into darkness as it blotted out the moon.
A dragon, vanished for over a hundred years, had once again descended upon the city built by the dragon kings.
The usual sounds of King's Landing—dogs barking, cats yowling—suddenly fell silent. As the dragon glided low over the city, the wind from its wings swept across the streets. Now, the only sound in King's Landing was the deep hum of its wings slicing through the air.
ANG~~~~~
The dragon turned its head toward Rhaenys's Hill and let out a thunderous roar, the ferocious sound echoing from King's Landing to the Blackwater Bay. Every person on the ground flinched, their instincts overwhelmed by the presence of a superior being. The faint of heart felt their legs turn to jelly, and some even collapsed in terror.
Odahviing had sensed the lingering remnants of dead dragonkin within the Red Keep. Seeing the throngs of people below, it roared to announce its presence and assert its dominance.
By the city's torchlight, the people could finally make out its form—blood-red scales covering its back and wings, with streaks of white on its underbelly and the membrane of its wings, softening its otherwise fearsome appearance. Yet its menacing horns, massive scales, and the spines running from its neck down to its tail made it clear: this was a beast born for battle.
There were six people on the dragon's back. The nobles, already informed in advance, recognized the man standing at the dragon's head as Wright. The three men gripping the spines along its neck had to be the king, Stannis, and Renly. The two women seated further back needed no introduction—they were Wright's wife and his lover.
Odahviing circled low over King's Landing a few times, surveying the city. It was far too large for a mere few laps to take long. With this flight, it had now claimed King's Landing as part of its own domain.
Fixing its sights on the open space in the center of Rhaenys's Hill, it adjusted its posture and prepared to land.
"Oh!"
"Long live the king!"
"Long live the dragon!"
After their initial shock, the people realized the dragon was not here to attack—it carried the king and his brothers.
Odahviing respected strength, and the strong who fed it earned its favor. However, the masses beneath it were mere insects in its eyes, and their presence irritated it. As it descended, it deliberately flapped its wings one last time, kicking up a storm of dust and sand before landing with a thunderous impact.
"Oh!"
The ground trembled beneath the impact, eliciting yet another wave of cheers from the crowd.
Several soldiers rushed forward, carrying specially made ladders to place against the dragon's wings. This had been the Hand's idea—after consulting the books left in the Red Keep, he had learned that the Targaryens' great dragons had always been dismounted in this way, so he had ordered craftsmen to construct the ladders in advance.
But the moment the ladders touched the dragon's wings, Odahviing shook them off.
"Mar~~~Tol!" (Mortals!)
The dragon's head suddenly turned toward the soldiers, and from its maw came a deep, wrathful voice. The men collapsed in terror.
The dragon could speak? Though they didn't understand the words, the rhythmic rise and fall of the syllables were unmistakably a language. The gathered crowd was once again—again—shocked beyond belief.
Wright spoke up: "Barristan! Take the ladders away—we'll get down ourselves."
Several Kingsguard rushed forward, removing the ladders and dragging away the petrified soldiers.
Going down was far more difficult than climbing up—especially with the entire city watching. To make their descent more dignified, Wright used transmutation magic to conjure a ladder-like structure, ensuring that Robert and the others could descend with an air of majesty.
When the six of them finally set foot on solid ground, Robert and Renly rested their hands on Wright's shoulders, while Stannis placed his hand on Renly's. The four brothers stood in a row, waving to the gathered nobles and commoners.
"Long live the King!"
"Long live House Baratheon!"
Another wave of cheers and applause erupted from the crowd.
In truth, this moment of ceremony hadn't been planned at all. Robert, Stannis, and Renly were simply freezing, starving, and exhausted from their first prolonged flight. Their legs had turned to jelly, and now all three of them were leaning entirely on Wright for support. Their knees were still trembling, but at least the darkness of night concealed their weakness.
The royal trumpets sounded, signaling the king's procession to return to the Red Keep. The nobles began to disperse. Wright, Nymeria, and Tyene made their way toward the long-abandoned magical academy near Rhaenys's Hill, while soldiers ushered away the lingering crowd. With dragons once more residing on the hill, it would be placed under strict lockdown from this night onward.
The academy remained just as it had been—one main building and one annex. Wright's quarters had been kept clean in his absence. After the long journey, he decided to rest for the night before concerning himself with anything else.
---
By dawn, King's Landing had returned to its usual raucous state.
Merchants bustled through the streets, Gold Cloaks patrolled their posts, taverns brimmed with patrons, and even the cutpurses of Flea Bottom had their hands full. Yet today, the talk of the city was singular—dragons.
Preparations were already underway for Renly's wedding and the celebratory tourney commemorating their victory at the Stepstones. The wedding was set to take place in three days, and the capital was filled with nobles from all corners of the realm. Banquets and feasts were happening almost incessantly.
Naturally, Wright, Nymeria, and Tyene were expected to attend the feast hosted by House Tyrell. With ample space in the Red Keep, Robert had arranged for Renly and his new in-laws to stay there temporarily.
Tonight's feast, hosted by the Tyrells, was attended by Robert in his capacity as king. Before Wright had even arrived, Robert had already immersed himself in drink alongside his usual companions.
As the groom, Renly was expected to keep a low profile for the evening—according to tradition, he would host his own feast tomorrow as the bridegroom. Tonight's gathering was reserved for the bride's family.
The banquet took place in the gardens of the Red Keep, and as expected of the bride's family, the gathering was predominantly attended by noble ladies.
Though Tyene was a knight, she wore an elegant green gown for the occasion. With her fair complexion and rosy lips, she looked every bit the proper lady rather than a Dornish warrior. She was utterly charming, and as soon as she entered, a group of noblewomen immediately pulled her aside for conversation.
"Wright!"
A group of young women stood nearby, and at their center was a striking beauty in a flowing white gown, her chestnut-brown hair cascading elegantly down her shoulders. She was waving at him with a radiant smile.
Wright approached slowly, hesitant.
"Margery?"
She had completely blossomed. Her figure was alluring, her features stunning, and she now stood nearly as tall as Wright's shoulder—about the same height as Nymeria.
Margery simply smiled, gazing at him without speaking, her posture poised as she subtly accentuated her charms.
A girl beside her giggled. "So it really is you. We were just placing bets on whether you were Renly or Wright."
"Hahaha."
The other girls laughed along.
Nymeria, now a lady, wore a fitted golden Dornish ensemble beneath a sheer embroidered cloak, standing out among the other noble ladies. She took Wright's hand and pulled him closer, leaning in to whisper against his ear, her lips brushing lightly:
"Wright! She's beautiful!"