The Chronicles of the Dragon
As Written by Al-Husayn Ibn Nizamuddin, Chronicler of Shiraz
In the year 788 of the Hijri calendar (1387 of the Roman reckoning), a series of extraordinary events transpired in the distant lands of Europa, particularly in the principality of Wallachia, then trapped between the giants of Hungary, Poland, and the Usmaniya Sultanate, and ruled by the Voivode Mircea, a son of the House of Basarab. A prince of fierce repute. Yet his strength and cunning faltered before an adversary as otherworldly as the fabled Simurgh: Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, who brought fire and blood upon the lands of the Danube.
It was upon the plains of Ceruta, a fertile expanse twenty farsakhs south of Argeș, that the armies of Mircea and Daenerys Targaryen met in fateful combat. The Voivode had mustered what forces he could in haste—some six thousand men, comprised largely of levies and a scattering of seasoned warriors among the boyars' retainers. The Targaryen forces, on the other hand, were comprised mostly of Unsullied and Dothraki warriors, each one of terrifying repute. The Voivode had been taken off guard when head to march to fight the enemy without proper preparation but he was still confident, he knew the terrain, his enemy didn't. He was counting on the element of surprise to give him the upper hand in battle.
Yet no measure of valor or preparation could withstand what followed. The Unsullied advanced with their unyielding formations, spears gleaming like a thousand shards of sunlight. From the east came the Dothraki, their war cries piercing the heavens as they charged with the swiftness of the desert wind, and from the west came the heavy cavalry, the boyars, and the loyal retainers of the Dragon Queen. Above, her three dragons—still young yet terrifying—descended upon Mircea's lines, breathing flames that reduced men and horses alike to ash.
The Wallachian forces were shattered within hours. The plains of Ceruta were left stained with blood. Mircea himself, though valiant in battle, was captured amidst the chaos, his armor blackened and his sword broken.
Daenerys Targaryen, it is said, offered the captured Voivode no clemency. Though many among her advisors urged her to spare him for ransom or diplomacy, she declared that the prince who defied her would face the same fate as those who resisted her dragons. Upon the dawn of the following day, Mircea was brought forth, bound yet unbowed, and beheaded before the assembled forces of both sides. His head was displayed upon a pike, a grim warning to those who might oppose the Dragon Queen.
With Mircea's death, the boyars who had rallied to his banner were left leaderless and disheartened. They approached Daenerys Targaryen in supplication, their fine robes soiled with dust and their voices trembling in fear, seeking to save their lives and lands in the face of the Mother of Dragons' wrath.
From Ceruta, Daenerys Targaryen marched swiftly upon Argeș, the capital of Wallachia. The city's defenders, fearing her vengeance, sought to appease her by delivering unto her the family of Mircea—his wife, children, and kin. These innocents, though guiltless of any crime, were slain by their own people, an act of cowardice that ensured the gates of Argeș were opened without bloodshed.
With the fall of Argeș, the western parts of Wallachia capitulated swiftly. The boyars of the region, recognizing the futility of resistance, pledged their fealty to the Dragon Queen. Thus did Wallachia fall under the dominion of Daenerys Targaryen, a queen unlike any the lands of Christendom had known. Yet, her conquests, marked by fire and blood, were just beginning.
@@@@@@@@@@
The room was dimly lit, the flicker of the fire casting long shadows along the stone walls of the palace in Târgoviște, I am calling it a palace, but that's me being generous, it is nothing more than a large manor, though well fortified, something I would need to change soon. I sat at the head of the table, my hands resting on the cool surface, while Ser Barristan stood before me, his silver hair glinting faintly in the firelight, there were lines on his face, but I had never noticed them before, the man was old,had seen two terrible kings and now he probably just wanted to serve me and make up for his guilt. His expression was stern, his arms crossed over his chest, though the weight of his loyalty to me was evident in his eyes. There was a reason that he was my closest advisor.
"I have made a decision, Ser Barristan," I began, my voice steady because I knew that the old man would need that. "I will convert to the faith of these lands. To the God they call Christ."
His face darkened instantly. "Your Grace," he said, his tone firm, "you were born under the light of the Seven. Your house has followed their faith since Aegon's Conquest. To turn your back on that now—"
I held up a hand to silence him. "The Seven were not the gods of my forebears, Ser Barristan. The Targaryens worshipped the Fourteen Flames of Valyria before we came to Westeros. When Aegon crossed the Narrow Sea, he adopted the faith of the people he sought to rule. It was politics then, and it is politics now."
"But, Your Grace," he protested, stepping closer, his voice dropping as if the walls themselves might conspire against us, "you were born under the light of Seven, your mother was devout, turning your back on the faith is…. I don't have words to express myself."
I sighed, leaning back in my chair and studying his face. His concern was genuine, his devotion to me absolute, but his understanding of what it would take to survive and thrive in this foreign land was limited by his honor and tradition.
"Ser Barristan," I said softly, my voice laced with patience, "we are outsiders here. Foreigners, conquerors. If we are to rule, truly rule, then we must become part of this land. The boyars, the peasants, even the priests—they must see me not as a queen from the unknown, but as one of their own. And faith, more than swords or dragons, binds people together."
He looked away, his jaw tightening. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his knightly vows and his unwavering loyalty to my house warred with the practicality of my words.
"It feels like a betrayal," he murmured after a long pause.
"It felt like a betrayal to the Valyrians when Aegon knelt to the Seven," I countered. "And yet, it forged a dynasty that ruled for three centuries."
He said nothing, his shoulders slumping slightly as the truth of my argument settled upon him.
I stood then, moving closer to him. "You have always been my most loyal knight, my truest counsel. I need you now more than ever, Ser Barristan."
He looked up at me, his blue eyes glistening in the firelight. "What would you have of me, Your Grace?"
I smiled gently, placing a hand on his arm. "I would have you crown me."
His head jerked back, his expression one of shock. "Your Grace, I am your knight, your servant. I cannot—"
"You are the only elder I trust," I interrupted, my tone firm but warm. "These boyars, these priests—they would use this moment to assert their control, moreover they are not my people, not those who hold absolute loyalty to me. You, Ser Barristan, are unshakable in your loyalty to me. You would crown me not as a tool for your ambition, but because you believe in me."
His lips trembled slightly, and he shook his head. "It is not my place."
"It is your place," I insisted, stepping closer, my voice softening. "You have guided me, protected me, stood beside me when others faltered. You have earned this honor, Ser Barristan. Please."
He was silent for a long moment, his head bowed, his shoulders trembling slightly. When he finally looked up, tears glistened in his eyes, and he nodded.
"As you command, Your Grace," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
I smiled, placing a hand on his cheek in gratitude. "Thank you, Ser Barristan. You honor me more than words can express."
@@@@@@@@@@
The Baptism of the Dragon: A Triumph of Christendom
By Édouard de Clerval, History of Christianity: A Comprehensive Study
The annals of Christendom record few events as extraordinary as the conversion of Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons herself, to the Holy Orthodox Faith in the year of our Lord 1387. This moment stands as a profound victory for the light of Christ against the shadow of paganism. For if Daenerys had remained a heathen, her rule would have been infinitely more terrifying, her dragons a scourge untempered by the teachings of mercy and salvation. The significance of this event cannot be overstated. By accepting the Orthodox faith, Daenerys Targaryen forged a spiritual bond with her new subjects, bridging the divide between her foreign origins and the locals of Wallachia. It was a masterstroke of diplomacy, ensuring the loyalty of the boyars and the goodwill of the Church of Constantinople.
From a broader perspective, the baptism of Daenerys represented a triumph for Christendom, even if it was for the Eastern Church rather than Rome. The Dragon Empress, a figure of near-mythic power and ambition, had turned from the pagan gods of her ancestors to embrace the teachings of Christ. Had she remained a heathen, her reign would have posed an incalculable threat to the Christian world, her dragons instruments of untamed wrath rather than divine providence. Yet, it would be naive to view her conversion solely as an act of piety. Daenerys herself was pragmatic, if not skeptical, about the faith she now professed. Indeed, her baptism was as much a political act as a spiritual one. Through it, she secured the allegiance of her new subjects, legitimized her rule in the eyes of the Orthodox clergy, and established a foundation upon which to build her growing empire. For the people of Wallachia, however, it was a moment of profound hope—a sign that their new queen, though foreign and fearsome, sought to rule with justice and unity under the banner of their faith.
@@@@@@@@@@
The atmosphere was quite solemn, much more so the what was shown in the movies. The air was heavy with incense, its sweet and pungent aroma curling into the high arches of the hall of the Cathedral, pretty big for a town this small. A large number of candles illuminated the space. At the heart of this spectacle stood a basin of consecrated water, flanked by priests in rich robes of crimson and gold. At their center was Patriarch Andrew, holding a gilded staff in one hand and gesturing for silence with the other. The old man had gotten a new lease on life and walked with his chest puffed up as a peacock these days.
I stepped forward, barefoot, my silver-blonde hair flowing freely down my back, dressed in a simple white gown. It was strange, this new faith, having seen dozens of these videos back home I had never thought that I would be going through one of these myself, or convert for that matter. I had no attachment to it, no reverence for the symbols or words that held such power over these people. And yet, as I approached the basin, I reassured myself. This was not about faith. This was politics. And I had to make sure to pull this off brilliantly.
"Daenerys Targaryen," Patriarch Andrew intoned, his voice echoing through the hall, "do you renounce the false gods of your ancestors and pledge yourself to the true faith, the faith of Christ our Lord? Do you believe in "
I knelt before him, the cold stone pressing against my knees. "I do," I said, my voice clear and unwavering.
"Do you believe in the Holy Trinity, in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and accept the teachings of Christ as your guide in this life and the next?" The patriarch asked, his voice steady, almost like a chant.
"I do," I answered again.
"Do you vow to defend the faith of Christendom and protect His Church, to honor His commandments, and lead His people with humility and compassion?"
"Yes," I said.
He dipped his hand into the basin, scooping the holy water, and poured it gently over my head. The water was cool as it trickled down, mingling with my hair and gown. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," he said, making the sign of the cross over me. "You are now reborn in faith."
A murmur rippled through the hall, approval and success, just for a bunch of pageantry. I rose, the water dripping from my hair. Soon, with the baptizing ceremony over, I was led into another chamber where my servants awaited. Soon, a battle began to dress me up as fast as possible and as beautifully as could be done.
A few hours of labor later Patriarch Andrew gestured for me to follow him, and we moved toward the outside of the hall, where a raised platform awaited. Upon it rested a crown—it was beautiful, a Valyrian crown that had been discovered in the manor of one of the thirteen of Qarth. And I had chosen it as my own crown.
Standing at the platform was Ser Barristan Selmy, his face laden with emotion.
The patriarch ascended the platform first, his hands raised to quiet the crowd. "Behold, Daenerys Targaryen," he proclaimed, his voice resonating with authority. "Through faith, through fire, through blood, she has earned the right to rule."
I stepped onto the platform, and the crowd hushed into a reverent silence. Patriarch Andrew took the crown and held it high. "Daenerys Targaryen, do you swear to rule this land with justice and wisdom, to protect its people and uphold the faith?"
"I swear," I said, my voice carrying over the assembly.
The patriarch lowered the crown but did not place it upon my head. Instead, he turned to Ser Barristan, who held it, his hands trembling as he took the crown.
"Your Grace," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "it is an honor I do not deserve."
"You are my truest knight," I replied softly. "It is you who must crown me."
He nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. Slowly, with great care, he placed the crown upon my head. The weight of it was unfamiliar, both literal and symbolic. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound crashing like waves against me.
The ceremony ended with a blessing from Patriarch Andrew, who anointed me with oil and declared me Queen of Wallachia. I stood tall, looking out over the crowd of nobles, soldiers, and priests. They knelt as one, their voices echoing in unison:
"All hail Daenerys of House Targaryen, Queen of Wallachia!"
@@@@@@@@@@
"The Crowning of the Dragon" (1732)
Artist: Jacques-Étienne Delacroix
Jacques-Étienne Delacroix's 1732 masterpiece The Crowning of the Dragon captures a pivotal historical moment: the coronation of Daenerys Targaryen as the Queen of Wallachia. Rendered in watercolors, the painting is a stunning fusion of Baroque drama and Rococo elegance, embodying both the gravitas of the event and the ethereal beauty of its subject.
Composition and Style
Delacroix employs a classic Baroque structure in the composition. The scene is centered around Daenerys, her figure elevated on a dais, creating a pyramid of focus that draws the viewer's eyes directly to her. Her silver-blonde hair and lilac eyes are exquisitely highlighted, giving her an almost divine glow. Surrounding her are the kneeling nobles, Ser Barristan Selmy crowning her with trembling hands, and a crowd of advisors, soldiers, and priests, all captured in intricate detail.
The Rococo influence is evident in the softer color palette and delicate textures. While Baroque art often emphasizes stark contrasts and dark shadows, Delacroix's work bathes the scene in a diffuse golden light, symbolizing the union of fire and faith. The artist's brushstrokes are fluid and expressive, lending a sense of motion to the figures, as though the ceremony is unfolding before the viewer's eyes.
Color Palette
Delacroix uses a palette dominated by warm tones—golden yellows, rich reds, and soft creams—contrasted by cooler blues and silvers to emphasize Daenerys's Targaryen lineage. Her gown is rendered in a shimmering silver-white, reflecting her identity as the Mother of Dragons, while accents of deep crimson symbolize her house's association with fire and blood. The background is painted in muted earth tones, representing the ancient stone hall of Târgoviște. However, subtle strokes of green and gold thread through the composition, symbolizing the fertile land of Wallachia that Daenerys now rules.
Lighting and Atmosphere
The lighting in the painting is masterfully handled. Delacroix uses a technique reminiscent of chiaroscuro, though softer than in traditional Baroque works. A warm, golden light filters from an unseen source, perhaps a symbolic representation of divine favor or the radiance of Daenerys herself. Shadows pool gently at the edges, creating depth without overpowering the scene. The atmosphere is solemn yet triumphant. The kneeling figures are captured mid-motion, their reverence and awe palpable. Daenerys herself is painted with a serene expression, her gaze lifted slightly as though looking beyond her coronation to the destiny that awaits her.
Details and Symbolism
Daenerys: Her gown's intricate embroidery features faint patterns of dragons intertwined with roses, symbolizing her fiery lineage merging with the gentler customs of Wallachia. Her hair cascades down her back, shimmering with a metallic quality that reinforces her otherworldly presence.Ser Barristan Selmy: The knight's face is lined with emotion, his hands depicted in exquisite detail, trembling as they place the crown upon her head. His armor reflects the golden light, signifying his unwavering loyalty.The Crown: The crown itself is a blend of Valyrian and Wallachian designs, with dragon motifs intertwined with the traditional laurels of European royalty. Its gold and silver hues are highlighted with subtle strokes of emerald green, representing the union of Daenerys and the land she now rules.The Dragons: In the background, faint, ghostly outlines of her dragons can be seen, almost as if they are emerging from the shadows. This subtle detail reinforces her identity without dominating the scene.Techniques Used
Delacroix's watercolor technique is a marvel. Layers of translucent washes build depth and luminosity, while fine, precise brushwork captures the details of fabric, faces, and architecture. The use of sfumato—blurring edges to create a soft, hazy effect—enhances the dreamlike quality of the painting, drawing the viewer into the scene as if it exists in a realm between history and legend.
Impact and Legacy
The Crowning of the Dragon remains one of the most celebrated depictions of Daenerys Targaryen. It is praised for its technical mastery, emotional resonance, and the way it balances historical gravitas with the almost mythical allure of its subject. The painting has been housed in the Musée du Louvre since 1821, where it continues to captivate viewers from around the world, especially those from the Roman Empire.