"The scorpions won't save them," Daenerys declared, her violet eyes sweeping across the gathered Northern lords and ladies in the war tent. Maps of Harrenhal and its surroundings were spread across the oak table, weighted down with daggers and cups of untouched wine. "I'll lead the attack myself. Cannibal will make short work of their defenses, and once the gate falls, your forces can storm the castle."
Lady Dacey Mormont stepped forward, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. "And what of King Jaehaerys? Shouldn't we wait for him and Rhaenix?"
A knowing smile played across Daenerys's lips. "My nephew will join us soon enough, but we don't need two dragons to deal with what remains of the lions and stags." She traced her finger across Harrenhal's outline on the map. "Aegon the Conqueror melted these very walls with Balerion alone. Cannibal is more than capable of doing the same."
Her gaze fell on Lord Eddard Stark, who stood silent at the edge of the table. His face was a mask of Northern stoicism, but the slight tremor in his hands as he gripped the table's edge betrayed his inner turmoil. The news of Lysa Arryn's confession – that she had poisoned Jon Arryn on Littlefinger's orders – had hit him hard. Jon Arryn had been like a father to him, and this betrayal cut deep.
"Lord Stark," Daenerys said softly, "are your men ready?"
Ned straightened, pushing aside his personal grief. "Twenty thousand Northerners and fifteen thousand from the Riverlands, all waiting for your signal, Your Grace."
"Good. At dawn, then."
---
The morning air felt warm as Daenerys soared above the clouds on Cannibal's back. Her dragon's black scales gleamed in the early light, his massive wings casting shifting shadows on the ground below. As they descended, Harrenhal's immense form emerged from the morning mist – a monster of melted stone and twisted towers.
The sight that greeted her drew a sharp intake of breath. The Golden Company's elephants stood in formations along the walls, their massive bodies covered in elaborate steel armor that must have cost a fortune. Scorpions lined the battlements, their deadly bolts aimed skyward. Soldiers scurried like ants below, their armor catching the morning light – gold cloaks, red cloaks, and the distinctive golden skulls of the Golden Company.
"Preparing for dragons, are you, Lord Tywin?" Daenerys muttered, a fierce grin spreading across her face. "Let's see how well that works."
She urged Cannibal into a steep dive, the wind whipping at her silver hair. The first volley of scorpion bolts sailed past them, black arrows against the pale sky. Daenerys shifted her weight, and Cannibal rolled sideways, avoiding the deadly projectiles with practiced ease.
"Shoot it down!" The desperate cries reached her even at this height. "Shoot the beast down!"
Daenerys leaned forward, her voice clear and strong. "Dracarys!"
Cannibal's answering roar shook the very stones of Harrenhal as green flame erupted from his maw. The nearest scorpions disappeared in a inferno, their crews barely having time to scream before they were reduced to ash. Wood splintered, metal melted, and men died as dragon fire swept across the battlements.
Banking hard to avoid another volley of bolts, Daenerys spotted the main gate below. It was massive, ancient oak reinforced with steel – formidable against any normal army, but nothing before a dragon's flame. Yet the remaining scorpions posed a threat she couldn't ignore. One lucky shot could end everything.
Cannibal wheeled around for another pass, his wings causing mighty gusts that sent soldiers stumbling. More scorpion bolts filled the air, but they were fewer now, less coordinated. Fear was taking hold of the defenders.
"Time to show them why they called you Cannibal," Daenerys whispered to her dragon. They dove again, faster this time, almost vertical. The world became a blur of stone and steel and screaming men. Dragon fire erupted once more, and another row of scorpions vanished in green flame.
Below, the armored elephants were beginning to panic, their trumpeting adding to the chaos. Some broke free of their handlers, charging blindly through the assembled troops. The carefully ordered formations were breaking down into chaos.
Daenerys allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Tywin's disciplined army was crumbling before her eyes. The scorpions that remained were scattered and isolated – no longer a serious threat. Now she could focus on their real objective.
She guided Cannibal toward the main gate, preparing for one final, devastating attack. The massive doors loomed before them, and behind them, she knew, waited the combined armies of the North and Riverlands, ready to claim victory for House Targaryen once more.
"Dracarys!"
Green flame engulfed the ancient gate, and the sound of splintering wood and melting metal filled the air. Through the flames, Daenerys could already hear the war horns of the Northern army, signaling their advance. Soon, Harrenhal would fall, just as it had fallen to Aegon three hundred years before.
And somewhere to the south, she knew, Jaehaerys was approaching with Rhaenix. But by the time her nephew arrived, she intended to have the castle's defenses in ruins. Let it never be said that Daenerys Targaryen needed anyone's help to conquer her enemies.
"For House Targaryen," Daenerys whispered, and urged Cannibal forward once more, toward fire and blood and victory.
The Lannister Army
The first elephant's trumpet of terror cut through the morning air like a knife, drowning out even the screams of burning men. Harry Strickland watched in horror as the massive beast reared up on its hind legs, the expensive armor plates clanking against each other as it thrashed wildly.
"Hold the line!" he shouted, but his voice was lost in the chaos as more elephants began to panic. The handlers, trained for years to control these beasts, might as well have been trying to hold back the tide.
A shadow passed overhead, followed by that terrible roar. Green flame erupted on the battlements above, and the acrid smell of burning flesh filled the air. The elephant nearest to Strickland finally broke free of its handlers, throwing them aside like rag dolls. Its enormous bulk crashed through the ranks of spearmen who had been positioned behind it, crushing dozens under its armored feet.
"Seven save us," a soldier whispered beside him, his face pale as milk. "We can't fight that thing."
Before Strickland could respond, another blast of dragonfire struck the walls. The heat was overwhelming, even from fifty yards away. Three more elephants broke formation, their terror complete and absolute. The expensive armor that had been meant to protect them now worked against them, the metal heating up from the nearby flames, causing them even more panic.
"Fall back!" someone screamed. "Fall back!"
The ordered lines of the Golden Company, disciplined sellswords who had never broken formation in their history, began to waver. Men who had faced a hundred battles were throwing down their weapons and running. The sight of their fellows burning alive, the heat of dragonfire, and now the rampaging elephants – it was too much.
Near the eastern wall, a particularly large elephant, its armor glowing red from the nearby flames, charged straight through a unit of Lannister spearmen. The beast's handlers hung from its sides, desperately trying to regain control, but they might as well have been trying to stop an avalanche. The elephant's trumpet of pain and fear echoed off Harrenhal's ancient walls as it careened into a group of archers, sending bodies flying.
"Get those fucking beasts under control!" Kevan Lannister's voice carried across the chaos, but it was a futile command. Another pass from the dragon sent more green flame cascading down the walls, and three more elephants broke free, charging in different directions through the packed ranks of soldiers.
The scene devolved into pure chaos. Soldiers who had stood firm against the dragon's first attack now found themselves caught between the terror from above and the panic on the ground. Men were being trampled by their own forces as they tried to escape the rampaging elephants, while others were crushed against the walls by the press of fleeing bodies.
"Stand and fight, you cowards!" A captain tried to rally his men, but his words ended in a scream as an elephant, its armor now fully ablaze, crashed through his position. The beast's handlers had long since abandoned their posts, leaving the creature to its blind panic.
Near the gate, Tywin Lannister watched with cold fury as his carefully planned defense crumbled. The elephants he had ordered armored – at enormous expense – were now doing more damage to his own forces than any enemy could. Fifteen of the twenty-five beasts were running wild, their armored bulk creating channels of destruction through his forces.
"My lord," a messenger ran up, his face streaked with soot, "the men are breaking! We can't hold—"
The dragon's roar cut him off. This time, the beast was diving straight for the main gate. Soldiers scattered in all directions, abandoning their posts in blind panic. Even the most hardened veterans broke and ran at the sight of the massive black dragon descending upon them, its green flame already visible in its maw.
"Hold the gate!" Tywin's command was drowned out by the sound of dragonfire striking the ancient wood and steel. The heat was incredible – men twenty yards from the gate fell to their knees, their armor becoming too hot to touch. The massive oak doors, reinforced over centuries, might as well have been made of parchment before the dragon's flame.
The gate didn't just burn – it melted. Steel ran like water down the blackening wood, and within moments, a hole large enough for ten men to ride through abreast appeared in the center. The dragon wheeled overhead, and another blast of flame widened the breach further.
Through the smoke and chaos, the sound of Northern war horns could be heard. The army waiting outside would soon pour through the ruined gate, but by then it hardly mattered. The carefully planned defense of Harrenhal had already collapsed into chaos.
An elephant, its armor plates now falling off its burning hide, crashed through the remaining defenders near the gate. The beast's terrible screams mixed with those of the men it trampled, creating a hellish chorus. Two more elephants followed, their handlers either dead or fled, adding to the destruction.
"Retreat to the inner bailey!" The order came too late. Men were already running in every direction, their training forgotten in the face of such terror. The sight of their fellows burning alive, the unstoppable dragon above, and the maddened elephants below had broken their will to fight.
Through the flames and smoke, Tywin Lannister stood like a statue, watching as years of careful planning and discipline evaporated in minutes. The dragon made another pass, this time completely destroying what remained of the gate. Green flame lit up the morning sky, reflected in the Old Lion's eyes as he watched his defense crumble.
Where the gate had stood, nothing remained but twisted metal and burning wood. Beyond it, through the smoke and flames, the first ranks of Northern cavalry were visible, their weapons drawn, ready to charge into the chaos.
The dragon's work was done. In less than half an hour, it had reduced Harrenhal's defenses to burning ruins, turned the mighty war elephants of the Golden Company into engines of destruction against their own forces, and opened the way for the ground assault. The beast wheeled overhead one final time, its roar a declaration of victory that echoed off the ancient stones of Harrenhal.
Ned Stark
Ned Stark watched the green dragonfire tear through Harrenhal's gate, his Ice unsheathed and gleaming in the morning light. Around him, twenty thousand Northerners and fifteen thousand Riverlanders waited, their breath visible in the cold morning air.
"The Targaryens have given us our opening," he called out, raising Ice. "For the North!"
"FOR THE NORTH!" The battlecry echoed across the ranks as Northern cavalry surged forward, led by the Greatjon Umber and his son. Behind them came the infantry, their boots thundering against the frozen ground.
The scene through the breached gate was chaos incarnate. Burning elephants careened through enemy ranks, their armored bulk crushing everything in their path. The acrid smell of burning flesh and smoke filled the air as Ned urged his horse forward with the vanguard.
The first clash was brutal. Northern cavalry smashed into a hastily formed line of Golden Company spearmen. Horses and men screamed as steel met steel. Ice sang as Ned brought it down, cleaving through a sellsword's helmet and skull in one clean stroke. Hot blood sprayed across his armor, steaming in the cold air.
Above them, Daenerys's dragon roared, and another wave of green flame swept through a formation of Baratheon soldiers. Men ran screaming, their armor melting into their flesh. The sound of their dying would haunt Ned's dreams for years to come.
"Hold the line!" Harry Strickland's voice carried over the chaos as the Golden Company attempted to reform their ranks. A burning elephant charged through their position before they could, sending men flying like broken dolls. The beast's armor glowed red-hot, and the screams of those it crushed mixed with its own agonized trumpeting.
Ned cut down another sellsword, then another. Years of warfare had taught him to fight efficiently, each stroke of Ice bringing death. Around him, Northern warriors pushed forward, using the chaos to their advantage. The Greatjon's massive sword rose and fell like a butcher's cleaver, sending heads and limbs flying.
"Stark! Traitor!!" The cry came from his left. A knight in Baratheon colors charged him, sword raised high. Ned parried the blow and countered, Ice's Valyrian steel cutting through plate armor and flesh with equal ease. The knight's torso slid from his horse, his legs still in the saddle.
Another shadow passed overhead, followed by more dragonfire. This time, the flames caught a group of retreating soldiers. Their screams were mercifully short as green flame consumed them, leaving nothing but ash and melted armor.
"My lord!" Dacey Mormont fought her way to his side, her mace covered in blood and brain matter. "They're trying to form a shield wall near the inner bailey!"
Ned saw it through the smoke – a desperate attempt by the remaining defenders to establish a defensive line. Before he could respond, Queen Daenerys dove again. Cannibal's flame swept across the forming shield wall, turning discipline into panic. Men threw down their shields and ran, only to be cut down by advancing Northerners.
The fighting grew more desperate as they pushed deeper into the castle. In one corner, Ned saw a Golden Company officer rally his men for a countercharge. They managed three steps before an armored elephant, mad with pain and fear, plowed through their formation. Bodies flew like leaves in a storm, blood painting the ancient stones of Harrenhal.
"For the Riverlands!" The cry went up as Blackfish led his men through another breach, catching a group of Lannister soldiers in a deadly pincer movement. Steel rang against steel, and men died cursing or crying for their mothers.
A spear glanced off Ned's armor, leaving a scratch but finding no purchase. He turned and brought Ice down on the spearman's shoulder, the Valyrian steel cutting through collar bone and ribs. The man fell, trying to hold his insides in with rapidly weakening hands.
The dragon's shadow passed again, and more screams filled the air. A group of sellswords broke and ran, only to be cut down by Karstark men. The smell of burning flesh was everywhere now, mixing with the copper tang of blood.
"My lord, look!" Someone pointed to the inner bailey. Through the smoke and chaos, Ned could see Tywin Lannister organizing a defense around the main keep. The Old Lion stood tall, his golden armor splashed with blood, shouting orders to what remained of his men.
Before they could advance, another elephant charged through the battlefield. This one had shed most of its armor, its hide covered in burning patches. It caught a group of Riverlanders, crushing five men before anyone could react. Ned watched in horror as one of his men was picked up by the beast's trunk and thrown against a wall with bone-shattering force.
"Push forward!" Ned's voice carried over the din of battle. "For the North! For King Jaehaerys!"
His men responded with a roar, surging forward through the carnage. The cobblestones were slick with blood and worse, making footing treacherous. Horses slipped and fell, throwing their riders into the chaos. Still, the Northern advance continued.
.
.
The clash of steel echoed across Harrenhal's courtyard as Brynden "Blackfish" Tully faced Harry Strickland, Captain-General of the Golden Company.
"You should have stayed across the Narrow Sea, sellsword," Blackfish called out, his blade weaving an intricate pattern as he circled his opponent. Overhead, the dragon's roar punctuated his words, followed by screams as more soldiers died in green flame.
Strickland, resplendent in his golden armor adorned with skulls, responded with a lightning-fast thrust. The Blackfish parried, the impact sending vibrations up his arm. Around them, the battle raged, but the two commanders had carved out their own private war amid the chaos.
"The Golden Company doesn't break contracts," Strickland replied, following his thrust with a sweeping cut that forced Blackfish to step back. "Though I'm starting to question the wisdom of this particular one."
Their swords met again, steel kissing steel in a deadly dance. Blackfish was the more agile of the two, his movements economic and precise. Strickland made up for any lack of grace with raw power and expertise, each blow threatening to overwhelm his opponent's guard.
A burning elephant thundered past their improvised arena, its armored bulk crushing several soldiers unfortunate enough to be in its path. Neither commander broke focus, though the heat from the beast's burning armor was intense enough to feel through their plate.
Strickland pressed forward with a combination of cuts, each one aimed at a different angle. Blackfish deflected the first two but was forced to dodge the third, the blade passing close enough to his helm that he heard it whistle. He countered with a quick thrust at Strickland's knee joint, but the sellsword commander shifted his weight just in time.
"You fight well, for a riverlord," Strickland grunted, bringing his sword down in an overhead strike that Blackfish caught on his crossguard. The impact drove both men to their knees.
"And you fight well, for a sellsword," Blackfish replied, disengaging and rolling to his feet in one smooth motion. His next strike caught Strickland's pauldron, leaving a deep scratch in the golden plate but finding no purchase.
The dragon passed overhead again, its shadow momentarily darkening their duel. Green flame washed over a nearby tower, and the screams of burning men provided a hellish backdrop to their combat. Both warriors were sweating heavily inside their armor now, as much from the nearby fires as from exertion.
Strickland launched another assault, his blade a blur of motion. Blackfish gave ground, letting his opponent waste energy on elaborate attacks while looking for an opening. The sellsword commander was good – very good – but there was a pattern to his movements that the veteran riverlord was beginning to read.
Their swords locked again, bringing them face to face. "Your company is breaking," Blackfish said through gritted teeth. "Look around you. The dragon burns your men, and the North takes your ground."
"The Golden Company has never broken," Strickland snarled, pushing hard enough to force Blackfish back a step. His next cut would have opened the riverlord from hip to shoulder if it had landed, but Blackfish had anticipated the move.
Stepping inside Strickland's guard, Blackfish slammed his armored shoulder into the sellsword's chest. Both men stumbled, their armor clanking as they fought for balance. Strickland recovered first, his blade cutting a shallow groove in Blackfish's shoulder plate, drawing first blood.
The pain only sharpened Blackfish's focus. He had fought through worse in dozens of battles. His counter-attack was perfectly timed – three quick strikes followed by a feint that drew Strickland's blade high, leaving his lower body exposed for a fraction of a second.
That fraction was all the Blackfish needed. His sword found the gap between cuisses and tasset, biting deep into Strickland's thigh. The sellsword commander grunted in pain but maintained his guard, though blood now flowed freely down his leg.
"Our name is our honor!" Strickland shouted, pressing forward despite his wound. His attacks became more desperate now, powerful but less controlled. Blackfish gave ground methodically, letting his opponent wear himself out.
Another pass from the dragon sent more soldiers fleeing past them, some trailing green flame. The heat was becoming unbearable, but neither commander could afford to show weakness now.
Strickland's injury was beginning to tell. His movements were slower, his footwork less sure on the blood-slicked cobblestones. Still, he fought on with the determination that had made the Golden Company legendary.
The end came suddenly. Strickland overextended on a thrust, his wounded leg betraying him at the crucial moment. Blackfish's blade found the gap under his arm, where the plate joined the mail. Steel parted rings and flesh alike, driving deep into the sellsword's chest.
"Our word is as good as gold," Strickland gasped, blood bubbling from his lips behind his visor. He tried to raise his sword one last time, but his strength was failing.
Before Blackfish could respond, a panicked elephant, its armor half-melted and smoking, charged through their battleground. Strickland, already dying, couldn't move fast enough. The massive beast caught him with its armored head, sending his body flying like a broken doll. He crashed into a wall twenty feet away, his golden armor crumpling with the impact.
"STRICKLAND!" The cry went up from nearby Golden Company soldiers who had witnessed their commander's fall. "The Captain-General is dead!"
The effect on the sellswords was immediate and devastating. Men who had fought with disciplined precision moments before began to waver. The death of their commander, combined with the dragon's relentless attacks, broke something in their collective spirit.
"Fall back!" someone shouted in panic. "The captain is dead! Fall back!"
Blackfish watched as the legendary discipline of the Golden Company finally cracked. Sellswords who had never broken contract or fled from battle began to retreat in disorder. The dragon's next attack sent them into full flight, golden armor glinting as they ran.
He pressed his hand to his wounded shoulder, feeling the warm blood seeping through the rent armor. A minor wound, all things considered – a small price to pay for breaking the Golden Company. Around him, the battle for Harrenhal continued, but with Strickland's death, its outcome was no longer in doubt.
.
.
The earth trembled as the surviving elephants of the Golden Company formed into a wedge formation, their armored bulk gleaming in the morning sun. Despite Strickland's death, his lieutenants had rallied their forces, recognizing that their massive beasts might yet turn the tide.
"Hold the line!" Robb Stark's voice carried over the chaos as a hundred war elephants, each bearing four archers in their towers and adorned in golden armor, began their advance. The ground shook with each step, and even veteran Northerners felt their hearts quail at the sight.
The first impact was devastating. An elephant crashed into the Riverland spearwall, its armored head sweeping aside men like toys. The beast's trunk seized a soldier, lifting him high before dashing him against the ground with bone-crushing force. Archers in the howdah above rained arrows down on the disrupted formations.
"Seven hells," Theon muttered from his elevated position, loosing arrow after arrow at the approaching behemoths. His shafts, like those of hundreds of other archers, seemed to bounce harmlessly off the elephants' armor.
The Golden Company pressed their advantage. More elephants breached the defensive lines, creating gaps that Baratheon infantry quickly exploited. A Mormont soldier tried to hamstring one of the beasts, only to be trampled underfoot, his armor crumpling like parchment beneath the massive weight.
"Reform the lines!" Ned Stark's voice cut through the chaos, Ice gleaming red with blood. "Spears front! Archers, target the handlers!"
But the elephants' momentum was unstoppable. One beast caught a Tully knight with its trunk, hurling him into his companions. Another used its armored bulk to pin several soldiers against a wall, crushing them with methodical force while arrows rained down from its howdah.
Blood and gore painted Harrenhal's stones as men died in dozens of horrific ways. A Karstark warrior's sword found an elephant's leg joint, drawing blood, only to be seized and torn apart by the enraged beast. The man's screams ended abruptly as his body split in two.
Theon watched in horror as the situation deteriorated. The Riverland forces were breaking, their courage failing before these monster-weapons of war. Even hardened Northern veterans backed away from the elephants' unstoppable advance.
Then he saw it – Robb and Lord Stark had been forced into a corner by two advancing elephants. The beasts' handlers directed them with precision as they closed in for the kill.
Without conscious thought, Theon nocked an arrow. Time seemed to slow as he drew back the string, his world narrowing to the lead elephant's eye – a tiny target at this distance. He released his breath slowly, remembering all his years of training.
The arrow flew true.
The elephant's scream of pain shattered the morning air as Theon's shaft buried itself deep in its eye. The massive beast reared up, throwing its handlers from their posts before crashing down dead, its brain pierced through the soft tissue behind the eye.
"The eye! Target their eyes!" The cry went up among the archers, but before they could capitalize on this discovery, a familiar shadow passed overhead.
Lord Stark and Robb, with a bunch of Stark soldiers, used that opportunity to gain some distance from the other elephant as Theon prepared another arrow, ready to kill the other elephant when a shadow passed over his head.
Daenerys had seen the elephants' devastating effect on her allies. Cannibal dropped from the clouds like a black thunderbolt, green flame erupting from his maw. The dragon's fire swept across the elephant formation, turning their advantage into apocalyptic chaos.
Armored elephants became moving infernos, their metal plating heating to unbearable temperatures. Handlers and archers alike screamed as they burned alive in their howdahs, unable to escape. The beasts themselves panicked, their training forgotten in the face of dragonfire's terror.
A burning elephant charged blindly through the Golden Company's own lines, crushing dozens of their own men. Another, mad with pain, slammed repeatedly into Harrenhal's walls until its skull cracked, spilling blood and brain matter across the stones.
"Stand fast!" A Golden Company officer tried to rally his men, only to disappear in a wash of green flame as Daenerys made another pass. The dragon's fire caught three more elephants, their armor becoming their funeral pyre.
The scene devolved into pure horror. Burning elephants crashed through friend and foe alike, their screams mixing with those of dying men. One beast, its armor glowing red-hot, trampled an entire unit of Baratheon spearmen before colliding with another elephant, both animals toppling into a thrashing, burning heap.
Theon watched as surviving elephants broke formation entirely, fleeing in blind panic. Some charged into walls, their skulls splitting open from the impact. Others ran through their own forces, crushing men beneath their massive feet as they tried to escape the dragon's flames.
The Golden Company's remaining officers tried to maintain order, but it was hopeless. The sight of their mighty war beasts burning and dying broke something in their ranks. Men who had never fled from battle threw down their weapons and ran as Daenerys made another pass.
A particularly large elephant, its armor partially melted to its hide, went berserk near the main gate. Its trunk seized a fleeing soldier and dashed him against the walls repeatedly, reducing him to a red smear before the beast itself succumbed to its burns and collapsed.
The carnage was beyond anything Theon had ever witnessed. Burning men leaped from howdahs only to be crushed under panicking elephants. The beasts themselves died horribly, their armored hides cooking them alive as they crashed blindly through the battlefield.
"The dragons!" someone screamed. "The dragons have won!"
Indeed, where moments before the Golden Company had seemed on the verge of victory, now their greatest assets had become agents of their destruction. Daenerys wheeled overhead, Cannibal's green flame finding clusters of enemies with deadly precision.
Above it all, Daenerys and Cannibal circled like dark angels of death, ready to rain more fire on any force that tried to reform.
.
.
Tywin Lannister stood in the great hall of Harrenhal, listening to the screams and chaos outside. His golden armor was spattered with blood, none of it his own. Through the high windows, he could see green dragonfire illuminating the sky at regular intervals, followed by fresh waves of screaming.
The last report had been clear enough – the outer defenses had completely collapsed. The elephants, his costly investment in anti-dragon warfare, had turned into instruments of destruction against his own forces. Half his army was dead or scattered, and the Northerners were pushing deeper into the castle with every passing minute.
"My lord," Kevan burst into the hall, his armor dented and bloody, "we've lost the eastern courtyard. The Riverlanders are—" A massive explosion rocked the castle, cutting him off. Dragon flame had struck somewhere close, and the ancient stones groaned in protest.
"How many men do we have left?" Tywin's voice remained steady, though his knuckles were white as he gripped his sword hilt.
"Perhaps four thousand still fighting. The Golden Company is breaking – Strickland is dead, crushed by one of his own fucking elephants." Kevan paused, wiping blood from his face. "Renly's men are deserting in droves, Renly is seriously injured and no one knows where Lord Loras Tyrell is."
Another explosion shook the castle. Through the windows, Tywin could see the massive black dragon banking for another attack run. Its rider, the last female Targaryen, had proved far more competent than he'd expected. His carefully laid plans, the scorpions, the armored elephants – all rendered useless in less than an hour.
"My lord," a messenger stumbled in, his armor smoking slightly, "the Northerners have taken the western gate. Umber's men are—" The rest of his words were drowned out by screams as dragonfire struck somewhere nearby. The heat was intense enough to feel through the castle walls.
Tywin's mind raced through options, each one worse than the last. He had underestimated the dragon, assumed it would be like the beasts of old – powerful but manageable. Instead, it had proved to be the doom of his army. The beast moved with impossible grace, dodging scorpion bolts while laying waste to his defenses.
"Lord Tywin!" Another soldier rushed in. "The Greatjon has broken through to the inner bailey. They're—" His words ended in a gurgle as an arrow found his throat through a window. Northern archers had reached the surrounding towers.
The sounds of fighting grew closer. Steel on steel, men screaming, the regular whoosh of dragonfire followed by fresh waves of panic. Tywin could hear his own men shouting in terror now, their discipline completely broken.
"Get the remaining men into defensive positions around the hall," he ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Kevan, take fifty men and hold the main corridor. We still have—"
The dragon's roar cut him off, closer than ever. The great windows of the hall exploded inward as the beast passed close by, showering the room with shards of colored glass. Outside, men screamed as they burned.
"My lord," Kevan's voice was urgent now, "we must withdraw. The Northerners are inside the keep. If we stay—"
"House Lannister does not run," Tywin's voice was ice, but even as he spoke, he knew it was futile. Through the broken windows, he could see his army disintegrating. Mounted Northerners cut down fleeing soldiers while the dragon above turned organized resistance into chaos with each pass.
A thunderous crash echoed through the castle – another section of wall collapsing under dragonfire. The sound of fighting was very close now. Tywin could hear Northern war cries mixing with the screams of his own men.
"Ser Kevan!" A bloodied captain staggered in. "The Mormonts have taken the eastern tower. They're moving through the upper levels, and—" Dragon flame lit up the sky again, and more screams filled the air.
Tywin's mind flashed to Casterly Rock, to his legacy, to everything he'd built. All of it crumbling because of one dragon and its rider. He thought of Tyrion's escape – his dwarf son had seen this coming, had fled rather than face certain death. Perhaps, for once, the imp had shown more wisdom than his father.
The double doors of the great hall burst open. A group of Golden Company sellswords rushed in, throwing down their weapons. "The dragon!" one screamed. "It's burning everything! The Northerners are—" An arrow took him in the back, and more Northerners appeared in the doorway.
"Defend the hall!" Tywin's command rang out as his remaining guards formed a line. Steel met steel as the Northerners charged in. The fighting was desperate now, men grappling and dying at close quarters in the grand hall where lords had once feasted.
Through the broken windows, Tywin could see the dragon circling back. Its black scales gleamed in the morning light, green flame visible in its maw. This was how it would end, he realized. Not with clever tactics or brilliant strategy, but with fire and blood, just as it had for Harren the Black.
Tywin Lannister, who had ruled the Westerlands with an iron fist for decades, watched as his last defense crumbled. His men were dying or surrendering, the dragon was methodically destroying the castle's defenses, and the Northerners were pushing deeper into his position with every passing minute.
Later
The aftermath of the battle turned Harrenhal's grounds into a grotesque tableau of war's brutality. The morning sun illuminated the devastation - dozens of elephant carcasses lay scattered across the courtyards, their golden armor melted and fused to burned flesh. Some had died charging into walls, their massive skulls split open, while others lay where dragonfire had caught them, their bodies still smoking.
The air was thick with the stench of burned flesh, blood, and death. Surviving soldiers from both sides moved through the carnage, separating the dead from the dying. The screams of wounded men mixed with the occasional agonized trumpet of a dying elephant that had somehow survived the initial onslaught.
Broken weapons, shattered shields, and torn banners littered the ground. The proud golden skulls of the Golden Company lay scattered and melted, their once-gleaming surface now blackened by dragonfire. Pools of blood had turned the castle's ancient stones dark, and everywhere lay the evidence of the dragon's terrible power - bones and armor fused together by the intense heat of its flame.
Daenerys Targaryen sat upon a makeshift throne in the great hall, now partially collapsed from the battle damage. Northern soldiers dragged Tywin Lannister before her, his once-pristine golden armor dented and blood-spattered, though he maintained his proud bearing despite the chains binding his wrists.
"Lord Tywin," Daenerys spoke, her voice carrying easily through the ruined hall. "I expected you to have fled when your defeat became certain. Like your children did."
Tywin's green-flecked eyes met hers with unwavering intensity. Despite his chains, he stood straight-backed and proud, every inch the lion of Casterly Rock. "I am no coward to run from defeat, girl. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. I played, and I lost."
"You lost the moment you chose to stand against dragons," Daenerys replied, her voice cold.
A bitter smile crossed Tywin's face. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I lost the moment your nephew was born. But mark my words, girl - it's only a matter of time before another Aerys emerges among your line. And this time, that madman will have dragons at his command."
The temperature in the hall seemed to drop at his words. Daenerys rose slowly from her seat, her violet eyes blazing with barely contained fury. "You speak of madness, Lord Tywin? Was it madness that made you order the murder of children? Was it madness that made you send the Mountain to rape and kill Princess Elia?"
"That was war," Tywin replied evenly. "Something you seem to understand well enough, given the charred corpses littering your victory ground. You may curse me, but this is the reality of war. There's no beauty in it. There's only winning and losing. I have lost. You have won."
"You are right. House Targaryen has won, and you will be happy to know that it was your son, Jaime Lannister who gave my nephew information on how your army and the King's army would attack The Snake's Pass. Chain him," Daenerys commanded, her voice sharp as dragonglass. "Let him contemplate the difference between war and murder in the dungeons."
As the guards dragged him away, Tywin's voice echoed through the hall one final time: "The day will come when Aerys will be born again, and this time, the entire Westeros will burn."
Outside, the work of dealing with the battle's aftermath continued. Survivors sorted through the dead, building pyres for their own fallen while piling enemy corpses in mass graves. The elephants posed a particular problem - their massive bodies couldn't be moved easily, and the stench of their burning flesh permeated everything.
Maesters and healers moved among the wounded, their white robes soon stained red with blood. The lucky ones would die quickly; the unlucky would linger for days, their flesh slowly rotting from burns or crushed limbs that couldn't be saved.
Northern soldiers worked to clear the debris from the castle's corridors and courtyards, while others secured the surviving prisoners. The proud Golden Company, now broken and scattered, had their weapons confiscated as they were led into improvised prison pens.
Above it all, Cannibal circled continuously, his massive shadow a reminder to all of why the battle had ended as it had. The dragon's presence kept the prisoners docile and discouraged any thoughts of resistance among the surviving enemy forces.
In one corner of the castle grounds, a group of soldiers worked to put down the few elephants that had survived but were too badly wounded to live. The beasts' dying screams echoed off the ancient walls.
As night fell, the pyres were lit, sending columns of smoke into the darkening sky. The flames cast dancing shadows across the ruins of Harrenhal, where dragons had once again proved their dominance over all other forms of military might.
And in the dungeons below, Tywin Lannister sat in darkness; he knew Jaime Lannister had betrayed his family. That much was clear to him. He had refused to accept it, but that was the clear truth. The Princess was not lying to him.
Tywin looked at the walls around him, and despite the darkness of this place, he allowed himself a small smile of triumph. He may die today, or maybe tomorrow, or this year, but in the end.
His son, Jaime Lannister, will continue the line of House Lannister.