Viserys did not land immediately; instead, he had Ghidorah circle above the castle three times. He wanted everyone to witness the dragon's presence.
He spotted a crowd gathering on the balcony of the main keep, among whom was a panicked, plump, red-haired woman in a lavish gown. However, she was currently clutching a frail little boy to her chest, who was still nursing incessantly.
Seeing this cringeworthy scene, he knew this was Lysa Tully and her son Robert Arryn—the actual rulers of The Vale, at least in name.
"I am Viserys Targaryen." Viserys's voice, amplified by magic, resonated throughout the castle. "If you open the gates now and allow the allied forces at the foot of the mountain to garrison here, then hand over Lysa Tully and her son, I can guarantee the safety of everyone else. Those who resist will die."
However, the only reply he received was a few sparse arrows. The Vale, and The Eyrie in particular, would always have some die-hard loyalists. But these arrows could only bounce off the dragon's scales feebly.
Viserys sighed; he had originally hoped this process could be a bit simpler.
He gently stroked Ghidorah's neck. "Show them your power. Use that tower on the right." That was where the most arrows had just come from.
Ghidorah's middle head rose slightly, golden light surging in its throat, and then a brilliant Golden Ray erupted, accurately striking the tower Viserys had pointed to.
The tower, built of massive white stones, instantly had a hole blasted through it the moment the ray hit; the remaining half still providing support hadn't even reacted yet.
But soon, in the eyes of the people of The Eyrie, the remaining structure began to tilt and collapse, tumbling down the mountainside and falling into the Eagle's Mouth Ravine below. Naturally, the guards still stationed atop went down with it, leaving only desperate screams echoing through the mountains.
The entire process lasted only a few short breaths, yet it felt like a century had passed for them.
The castle immediately fell into a cacophony of noise, and some people were already casting unfriendly glances at Lysa and Little Robert standing there.
Under Viserys's command, Ghidorah began to descend. The fierce winds whipped up by her wings ravaged the castle, overturning tables and chairs on the terrace and flipping up the women's skirts.
Seeing the dragon approach, the guards instinctively raised their spears and bows, but not a single one dared to fire. Facing a behemoth like Ghidorah, their weapons seemed utterly ridiculous, and they had no desire to follow in the footsteps of that tower.
Ghidorah finally landed steadily on the walls of The Eyrie because the castle interior couldn't accommodate her, and her spread wings occupied almost the entire sky visible to those below.
Viserys stood on Ghidorah's back, looking down at the people on the terrace from a commanding height. His black and red armor was exceptionally striking, especially the three swords hanging at his waist.
His silver hair and purple eyes proclaimed his Targaryen bloodline, and his innate sense of majesty caused the restless crowd to gradually fall silent.
Viserys looked at the silenced crowd and was just about to speak when he was interrupted by Lysa.
Lysa Tully pushed aside the soldiers protecting her and took two steps forward while clutching her son, Little Robert. She seemed completely oblivious to how cringeworthy the sight of her nursing the child appeared to others, for at this moment, her eyes held only madness.
"Targaryen," her voice was shrill. "You have no right to be here; The Vale does not welcome you. Guards, seize this intruder!"
But the guards looked at each other, and no one dared to move. Their gazes swept back and forth between Lysa and the three-headed dragon, finally fixing on Ghidorah, whose middle head was slightly raised, golden light visible swirling in its throat.
At that moment, a middle-aged man in fine attire stepped quickly to Lysa's side and whispered something. His face was deathly pale, and he looked at Viserys apologetically, bowing repeatedly; clearly, he had some sense.
Finally, after Lysa nodded, the man tremblingly approached the dragon. He first gave a respectful salute to Viserys and then introduced himself. His name was Nestor Royce, but he was not of the Royce family of Runestone, but rather a cadet branch, currently the Steward of The Eyrie.
"Your Majesty Targaryen," Ser Nestor spoke while looking up. "The Eyrie is willing to negotiate your terms. I can act as the representative."
"Negotiate?" Viserys jumped down from the dragon's back. "What qualification do you have to negotiate?" Just a moment ago, he had thought this was a smart man, but it turned out he was another fool.
Nestor took a deep breath. "Your Majesty, The Eyrie has never been conquered, after all. Even if you have a dragon, fully occupying this place would take time and come at a cost. We hope to resolve this matter peacefully."
"A cost?" Viserys looked around. The guards held their weapons, but their hands were shaking. The noblewomen and maids were even more bloodless. "Do you think these people will give their lives for Lysa Tully?"
Nestor fell silent; he knew they wouldn't, of course.
In reality, the castle's interior had long since fractured. Some wanted to surrender, some wanted to resist, and others were waiting to see, still harboring the idea that if they married Lysa, they could become the Duke of the Vale.
He had originally intended to marry Lysa himself to control The Vale through her, but the appearance of the dragon had instantly thrown all his plans into chaos.
Viserys looked at Nestor, then at the nobles behind him who wore various expressions.
"You still want a peaceful resolution? I heard before that Lysa Tully poisoned her own husband and usurped the rule of The Vale; she is a true poisoner. And those honorable Vale lords are currently gathering outside the Bloody Gate, demanding the surrender of the murderer."
He paused and continued, "Furthermore, the Arryn family participated in the War of the Usurper and swore fealty to the false king. Do you think I should spare them?"
Many nobles lowered their heads and exchanged looks. They had already known of these accusations privately, but no one had ever dared to voice them publicly.
"Lies!"
Lysa shrieked, and Little Robert in her arms was strangled so hard he choked on his milk. "These are all lies! Jon died of illness; the Grand Maester can testify to it. Those people are traitors—the Royce family, the Grafton family—they just want to seize power. And you, you Targaryens are all madmen, here to destroy the Seven Kingdoms!"
Viserys ignored her shrieking and addressed Nestor and the other nobles instead. "Furthermore, the Arryn family participated in the War of the Usurper and swore fealty to the false king Baratheon. Do you think I should spare them?"
Hearing this, the crowd lowered their heads even further and gave no answer to the question.
"The Vale needs a clearer choice now. Will it continue to be ruled by this malicious woman who may have murdered her own husband, or will it return to the rule of the Targaryen dragons? The choice is in your hands."
Cold sweat broke out on Nestor's forehead, but his gaze finally landed on Ghidorah. The three-headed dragon's three pairs of eyes were coldly scanning the terrace, as if evaluating which humans posed a threat.
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