Chapter 216: Dragonrider!
As soon as Lance finished speaking, Viserys began trembling even more violently.
Even without releasing any aura, his sheer height alone was enough to frighten a five-year-old child—
—even if that child was king.
"You're scaring Viserys, Prince Regent!"
This silent pressure finally broke the stillness of Rhaella Targaryen, who had been sitting like a cold statue.
Her anger had been building, her beautiful face now tinged with sharp displeasure.
She reached out decisively and pulled her trembling son into her arms.
Her deep violet silk sleeves swept over him, wrapping around his small body.
Lance, however, had little interest in arguing with her. His gaze passed over her face before settling firmly back on Viserys.
"I'm asking him."
"This is not a discussion, Your Grace. It concerns the dignity of the crown. Everyone is watching."
Rhaella glared at him coldly, maternal anger burning in her eyes.
"I know."
"But he is your king—Aerys II's son—not one of your guards. You should not, and cannot, speak to him like this!"
"That too concerns the dignity of the crown."
Lance narrowed his eyes slightly, a trace of mockery in his voice.
"So now you remember he's the king."
Rhaella's chest rose sharply. She knew exactly what he was referring to.
Suppressing her anger, she ignored him and lowered her head toward her son, softening her expression with forced gentleness.
Her fingers ran through Viserys's hair—though with more force than comfort.
"Come, my king," she said softly.
"There's nothing to fear. Call your dragon."
"The Prince Regent and your subjects are all waiting. This is your moment—show them the majesty of House Targaryen."
Her embrace seemed gentle—
yet it pressed down on him so heavily he could barely breathe.
Buried against her chest, the young king continued trembling uncontrollably.
Her "comfort" did nothing to ease his fear—if anything, her urgency only made it worse.
With tearful eyes, he glanced back and forth between her and Lance.
At last, he spoke, haltingly:
"I… can't… call it out…"
"Why?"
Rhaella's brows tightened instantly.
"Do you not want to, Viserys?"
"I told you—don't be afraid. This is King's Landing. You are the king. When people see Rhaego, they will respect you."
She grasped his shoulders and gave him a slight shake, trying to stir what she believed was his royal duty.
Viserys's gaze drifted again toward Lance.
He shrank slightly, his voice barely audible:
"I… locked it away…"
Silence fell over the dais.
Fortunately, their voices were low—only a few nearby heard.
Tywin Lannister remained expressionless, as if he had already expected this, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.
Meanwhile, Mace Tyrell, who had just been basking in pride, stood stunned—mouth wide open like a goose being strangled.
His usually smug face was filled with disbelief.
Locking up a dragon?
To him, that was as absurd as burying a family Valyrian steel sword in the ground.
If he had a dragon, he would gild its scales, hang silk seats upon it, and parade it proudly before the world every single day.
Unfortunately—
House Tyrell had neither dragons nor Valyrian steel.
But unfortunately, whether dragons or Valyrian steel swords—House Tyrell possessed neither.
"Why?"
Lance voiced the question on Mace Tyrell's mind.
A trace of dissatisfaction flickered in his usually indifferent blue eyes.
He didn't erupt, but the air around him seemed to grow heavy, almost solid.
Lowering his voice so that only those closest on the dais could hear, he said:
"Look at me and answer."
"I…"
Viserys shuddered under the suppressed pressure.
But perhaps because the secret was already out—or because something within him finally took hold—
his voice, though still trembling, became slightly steadier.
"Because… because they…"
"Dragons are monsters born from evil magic!"
"They're born in death and blood. They bring misfortune. They'll destroy us all. The only safe way is to lock them away forever!"
His small hands waved excitedly, violet eyes filled with absolute, indoctrinated conviction.
He even added eagerly:
"Uncle Lance, you should lock yours up too!"
"Don't let them go around causing harm, then everyone will—"
"What will happen, Your Majesty?"
Lance cut him off, his voice frighteningly low.
His tall frame went rigid, fists clenched tight.
Those words had crossed his bottom line.
Evil? Misfortune?
For a brief instant, his mind flashed to the cave on Dragonstone—filled with blood and fire.
That dragon—
had been bought with lives.
Yet despite the anger, he did not lash out.
A five-year-old could not have come up with this alone.
The logic was too clear.
Too complete.
As if he were repeating something drilled into him.
Lance's eyes narrowed dangerously, piercing through the boy's flushed face.
"Who—"
Smack!
A sharp sound rang through the sept.
Lance froze.
So did Tywin Lannister, Mace Tyrell, and everyone else present.
Hundreds of nobles turned at once.
Viserys clutched his cheek.
A bright red handprint appeared instantly.
His violet eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the woman before him—
his mother.
"Shut up, you fool!"
Rhaella Targaryen grabbed his jaw, fingers digging into his lips and chin, forcing his mouth shut.
There was no tenderness in her eyes.
Only anger.
And disappointment.
"Do you even know what dragons are?"
"As a Targaryen, they are the very foundation of our rule—the power in our blood!"
Her voice trembled with suppressed fury.
"Because of dragons, our ancestor Aegon I Targaryen conquered the Seven Kingdoms!"
"He melted a thousand blades into the Iron Throne beneath you!"
"Because of dragons, House Targaryen ruled this land for centuries!"
"And because we lost them—"
Her voice began to choke.
"Look at what we've suffered since the last dragon died!"
"Betrayal!"
"Again and again!"
"The Blackfyre rebellions, the Ninepenny Kings, the contempt of bannermen—"
"Even your father… a king… imprisoned for half a year by a mere lord!"
Her grip trembled as her anger surged.
"These two dragons were bought with the lives of your father and your brother, Viserys!"
"Do you know how many people want to kill us just to take the throne you sit on?!"
"We finally… finally regained the power to awe the Seven Kingdoms!"
"This is the last spark of House Targaryen's future!"
"And you—locked it away?"
"Ha?!"
By the end, she was almost laughing in fury.
She leaned closer, so close the red veins in her eyes were visible.
The young king broke completely, bursting into tears.
He couldn't understand why his gentle mother had become like this.
It's just a dragon…
But even his crying was cut off—
as she clamped his mouth shut again.
Tears streamed down, falling onto her hand—yet failed to stir any softness.
"Enough."
The voice was calm, but instantly suppressed both the sobbing and her rising fury.
Lance placed one hand on her shoulder, the other gripping her wrist.
"The priority now is finding the dragon."
Rhaella looked at him.
In those calm blue eyes, there was no blame—
only steady reliability.
After a brief pause, she loosened her grip.
Viserys shrank back into his seat, covering his face, trembling uncontrollably, but not daring to cry out again.
Under the shared gaze of both adults, he lowered his head, shoulders shaking.
"I don't know… I really don't know…"
"I just gave Rhaego to a septon… told him to lock it away…"
"A septon?"
Lance swept his gaze across the sept, scanning every shadow and face.
Just as he expected.
Suppressing the killing intent rising in his chest, he asked coldly:
"His name?"
The boy shook his head desperately.
"I don't know… he said… he didn't have a name… didn't need one…"
"No name…"
Lance repeated, his tone growing colder.
That made things harder—
and time was running out.
"At the Dragonpit, Your Grace."
At that moment, Tywin Lannister stepped forward.
"I only received word this morning. Someone heard strange cries near the Dragonpit."
"So I believe… that is the king's green dragon."
Calm. Direct.
No explanation of sources.
Just a statement.
Lance studied him briefly.
Tywin met his gaze without flinching.
A silent exchange passed between them.
Then Lance nodded.
"I understand, Lord Hand."
He turned, ready to leave immediately—
but a loud, drunken voice rang out from the crowd:
"Where's the dragon? We're still waiting, Prince Regent!"
"Yeah! Let us see it already!"
"Or was this all a lie?"
"Or are your 'dragons' just those tiny deformed things from before?!"
"HAHAHAHA!"
Laughter erupted.
Louder and louder.
Mockery spread through the sept.
Lance didn't stop it.
Instead, he placed a hand on Viserys's head.
"Do you see?"
"They're like wild dogs, waiting to tear apart the corpse of a fallen dragon."
"When you lack strength, they won't hesitate to rip you to pieces."
Then he stepped forward.
At the top of the dais—
he stopped.
The noisy crowd fell silent instantly.
A chill gripped every heart.
He slowly turned, his gaze sweeping across the hall—
then locking precisely onto a young man bearing a blue falcon sigil.
The man's smug smile froze—
then faltered.
He lowered his head.
Lance's lips curved into a cold smile.
As if saying:
I remember you.
"You want to see a dragon?"
His voice echoed, cold and absolute.
His gaze swept over every noble who had laughed.
"Then watch—carefully."
CRACK!
A deafening explosion.
The stained-glass ceiling shattered.
Sunlight poured in as shards rained down.
Before the screams could fully rise—
a massive shadow descended.
A dragon.
A real dragon.
Ilyon.
It circled beneath the dome, gray-white scales gleaming like armor.
Golden eyes burned like molten fire, gazing down at the crowd.
"ROAR—!!!"
The roar shook the entire sept.
Heat and wind surged outward.
All laughter died instantly.
Every noble stood frozen in terror.
The earlier instigators now pale and trembling.
Some even collapsed.
After circling three times, Ilyon landed beside Lance.
"You've grown."
He gently patted its snout.
The dragon lowered its head, letting out a low, affectionate rumble.
After just one night, its body had already grown to nearly four meters.
Then—
before everyone's eyes—
Lance grasped a raised scale and mounted its back in one smooth motion.
A collective gasp swept through the hall.
A dragonrider.
After more than a century—
House Targaryen had one again.
A man riding a dragon.
Reality itself seemed shaken.
"ROAR!"
Ilyon spread its wings, eager and powerful.
Lance looked down like a king above all.
"The feast is suspended. No one leaves."
"If anyone leaves before I return—"
He paused.
Each word like a blade.
"I will hold all of you responsible."
No one dared doubt him.
With a roar, Ilyon leapt into the air—
bursting through the shattered dome—
and soared into the sky.
Sunlight flooded in.
And that image—
of a man riding a dragon—
etched itself into every soul present.