The Realm of the Iron Throne
A thousand swords melted into a chair deliberately unpleasant to sit in, and the three centuries of argument about who gets to.
The fuller tale
Aegon had the blades of his beaten enemies heaped up and worked by dragonflame into a seat with no comfort in it anywhere, on the theory that a king should never be at ease. It is a poor chair and a superb piece of political theatre, and it has cut nearly everyone who has sat on it, which the smallfolk consider a form of judgement.
What it represents is newer than most of what it rules. Before 1 AC there had been seven or more kingdoms for thousands of years; the single realm is a three-hundred-year-old idea held together by dragons, then by roads and laws, then by habit, and then by nothing much at all. Every civil war in this chronicle is the realm briefly remembering that it used to be several countries.
It ends melted, by a dragon that appears to have understood the argument better than anyone in the room. What replaces it is a council of tired lords electing a king, and a North that walks away from the arrangement ÔÇö which is either a wheel broken or a wheel repaired with different spokes, depending on who is telling it.
The ground they held
What became of it ÔÇö if an ending is written, it is here. Spoilers.
The chronicle records no ending here ÔÇö or none the maesters have set down.