Chapter 129: Khal Drogo's Banquet (2)
"The loyalty of House Darry needs no words, my lord," Ian said, lowering his head, his expression one of solemn respect. "My three uncles died at the Trident. They fought for Prince Rhaegar until the very end."
He paused, turning to look at Daenerys, who had stopped crying. She offered him a grateful smile. "My other uncle, Ser Willem, protected you and your sister," Ian continued, his voice steady, "all the way to Braavos."
"Not long ago, my father received word that you were raising an army to reclaim Westeros. He meant to summon his banners and join you." Ian's voice broke, his eyes welling with tears.
"But we were betrayed. Traitors in our midst leaked our plans. Two of my brothers died in the ensuing battle, and my youngest was murdered. The usurper executed my father for treason. Of my family, I am the only one left."
"Loyalty is etched into our very bones, Your Majesty." Ian drew his longsword and knelt, the steel ringing softly in the hall. "I, Ian Rivers, the last of the House Darry bloodline, offer you my fealty."
Ian's impassioned declaration drew a murmur of approval from the onlookers. For these highborn lords, regardless of their allegiance, loyalty was a virtue to be praised.
The story was a moving one—a tale of devotion that spanned more than a decade and two generations. Lord Darry had lost his brothers and all his sons in service to the Targaryen cause, and now his last remaining son knelt before the last Targaryen king, ready to follow his kin into death.
What lord would not desire such unyielding devotion from his own men?
Even someone as cold-hearted as Viserys found himself momentarily stunned. He couldn't help but wonder if the price of the Darry family's loyalty had been too great.
Then, as Viserys glanced at the watching crowd, a true sense of kingship washed over him.
When was the last time all eyes had been on him like this?
Never.
It had always been Rhaegar who commanded their attention. He had not even been worthy of standing in Rhaegar's shadow. The only other time, perhaps, was his coronation on Dragonstone, but only a handful of courtiers had been there to witness it.
"Your Majesty?" Ian prompted gently.
Viserys snapped back from his reverie. "Ian Rivers," he murmured, then the name seemed to register. "You are a bastard?"
Ian fought the urge to wince. He could hardly bear to watch Viserys's folly. As the first lord from Westeros to pledge him fealty, what did Viserys gain by pointing out his bastardy? To diminish a vassal was to diminish oneself, did he not understand that?
But Ian was not surprised. He had long known that Viserys possessed no political sense whatsoever.
"Your Majesty," Ian began, having already prepared for this, "in Westeros, a king's decree is required for a natural son to take his father's name. But our throne was shamefully usurped, and the true King of the Seven Kingdoms was far across the sea in Essos!"
His voice swelled with emotion. "My father wished for us to bear his name, but my brothers and I remained bastards. He had no choice! Would you have had him beg the usurper for such a decree?"
"Of course not!" Viserys roared. "I am the one true King of the Seven Kingdoms! None may steal from the dragon, for the dragon always remembers!"
"And so I have been forced to endure this shame," Ian said, pressing his advantage as he offered his sword hilt-first, "until the day Your Majesty could grant me this honor, allowing me to lawfully inherit the legacy of House Darry. My sword will fight for you, my rightful king, until my last breath."
"Good, good, good!" Viserys's fingers trembled with excitement. "You are the first to swear fealty to me. You shall be my most trusted friend."
Viserys drew a sharp breath, his mind scrambling to recall the words of the oath of fealty. He couldn't remember them. The last time he had heard them was at his own coronation on Dragonstone, when he was but a child.
Sensing Viserys's predicament, Ian broke with the formal etiquette of a vassal answering his king and began the oath himself.
"I, Ian Rivers, swear my fealty to you. I will serve you for all my days, offer you true counsel and unwavering obedience. I will defend your rights and your realm. No matter the danger, I will fight at your side, protect your people, and strike down your enemies. I swear this by the Seven."
"I, Viserys of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name," Viserys recited, his voice thick with emotion, growing louder with each title as if the words themselves could cement his claim, "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, do accept your oath. There will be a place for you in the Seven Kingdoms! Rise, Lord Ian of House Darry."
A chime sounded in his mind from the system, and Ian slowly rose to his feet, his gaze fixed on Viserys with an expression of near-fanatical devotion. "The day the true dragon returns to his throne."
Viserys nodded, dazed, and repeated the words. "The day the true dragon returns to his throne."
The onlookers erupted into applause.
Even Khal Drogo, who had drawn near, paused. He listened as Illyrio translated the exchange, and then gave Ian a nod of appreciation.
A strange and wonderful feeling washed over Viserys, something he had never before experienced. Since he was a boy, he had been told he was the last hope for the revival of the Targaryen dynasty, the greatest dynasty in history. From the age of seven, he had carried this crushing responsibility on his shoulders.
But not one of them—not one of his so-called friends and supporters—had ever made him feel what Ian gave him in that moment: true, unwavering devotion.
Next, Daeron Grafson and Jorah Mormont stepped forward, intending to swear their own oaths of fealty.
But Illyrio gave them no opportunity, guiding Drogo directly to Viserys. He dared not keep the Khal waiting. Waiting for one such ceremony was a novelty; waiting for three would be an annoyance.
Seeing Drogo approach, Viserys quickly turned from Ian. "Find me later. I wish to hear more tales of Westeros." He then turned and pulled his sister closer, hissing nervously, "Smile at him. Hold your head high."
Dany cast a fleeting glance back at Ian before schooling her features into a smile. She straightened her posture, lifting her chin, and followed her brother toward the Khal.
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