On the third day of the feast, Jon Snow led the victorious army back to King's Landing. Along with them came two prisoner carts—one containing the crippled vampire Joffrey, the other holding a terrified Cersei.
At the request of the royal council and numerous nobles, King Renly agreed to have a platform built in the center of the ballroom, where each Lord would take turns executing the two abominations with their own swords, offering them as a sacrifice to honor the fallen heroes.
Cersei, who had survived until now as a vampire, possessed no magical talent whatsoever. Her tongue had been removed, and she was dressed in a rough linen robe with obsidian shackles binding her wrists. Her face had been scrubbed clean, and as she was led up to the platform, Ser Jaime, seated nearby as the designated overseer of the execution, suddenly stood up in agitation.
"Stay calm, Lord Jaime!"
Mace Tyrell, fearing that Jaime's rage might disrupt the proceedings, hurried forward to restrain him. He then turned to the royal seating area, addressing Renly and the other dignitaries.
"This monster slaughtered over a hundred members of House Lannister. I propose that we grant Lord Jaime the right to take revenge himself, allowing him to personally behead them both."
Jaime, who had been lost in a haze, suddenly snapped back to awareness. He now fully registered Mace's words.
Edmure Tully was the first to stand and shout, "Riverrun agrees! Lord Tywin should not have died so dishonorably!"
He then stepped up beside Jaime, clapping him on the shoulder. "These two vampires have killed many from the Riverlands. Your blade will also speak for me. Strike hard!"
Jaime stared at Edmure, dumbfounded.
Mace Tyrell mimicked Edmure's gesture, stepping in front of Jaime and patting his shoulder. "Highgarden agrees! The enmity between vampires and mankind can never be reconciled. Strike hard!"
Jaime looked at Mace, his once-golden hair now entirely white, his face deeply wrinkled. His eyes welled up with emotion.
Returning to his seat, Mace was followed by Denys Arryn, who took his turn stepping forward. "The Eyrie agrees! The warriors of the Westerlands fought bravely in battle. Lord Tywin must have been proud to see the lion's banner flying high."
Denys seemed to remember something just as he turned to leave. Taking a step back, he patted Jaime's shoulder before finally returning to his place.
Jaime looked at Joffrey and Cersei, kneeling in chains before him, and scalding tears streamed down his face.
Darkseid Baratheon stepped forward without hesitation. "Sunspear agrees!"
He didn't pat Jaime's shoulder—he was too short to reach. However, as he returned to his seat, his gaze lingered on Joffrey for several seconds, a hint of satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but the taste of his own salty tears mixed with his parched throat, and only a hoarse croak escaped him.
---
Robb Stark walked up to Jaime and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Winterfell agrees! A vampire's skin is extremely tough. At Joffrey's level, an ordinary blade won't be enough to cut through him. If you need it, I can lend you my sword—it won't take much effort to strike him down."
With that, Robb unsheathed Ice, his Valyrian steel sword, and offered it to Jaime.
Jaime's tears were now uncontrollable. Forgetting all decorum, he wiped his face with his sleeve and gently pushed Robb's hand away.
"Jaime! Jaime!"
Seeing Jaime moved to tears, the gathered nobles and commoners began chanting his name, their voices resounding through Dragon Square.
Sauron, dressed in noble black attire, and Quaithe, wrapped tightly in black robes with a red mask covering her face, walked forward hand in hand—a stark contrast in height.
"Ohhh~~~"
"Ai~~~"
"My dear Sauron~~~ ah~~~"
It was evident from her figure that Quaithe was a woman. By publicly bringing her forward without regard for courtly etiquette, Sauron had essentially confirmed her identity. Many noblewomen sighed in disappointment.
"Tyrosh agrees!"
Sauron declared formally, straightening his posture before gently squeezing Quaithe's hand. Understanding his cue, she raised her own hand and lightly patted Jaime's shoulder twice.
Jaime's shoulders trembled, his nose began to run, and he started sobbing uncontrollably.
"Dragonstone agrees!"
Stannis, ever stone-faced, spoke tersely and pressed the hilt of his Valyrian steel sword, Judgement, toward Jaime.
Pushing Stannis' sword away, Jaime, overcome with emotion, collapsed into a crouch, his sobs wracking his body.
---
As the heir to the kingdom, the prince held a unique status—both Lord of Storm's End and the rightful successor to the throne. Today, he sat behind Renly in his capacity as prince, refraining from stepping forward to speak with Jaime.
The Riverlands, the Reach, Dorne, the Vale, the North, Tyrell, and Dragonstone all agreed, with the Westerlands being represented by Jaime himself.
Originally, each Lord was to strike one sword, but to avenge the late Lord Tywin, they gave that chance to Jaime. The Stormlands and the Crownlands were united, and with King Renly's consent, it was all set.
Thus, Jaime alone would represent the Seven Kingdoms, the King, and the ten duchies in carrying out the execution. This was the first time such an event had occurred in the history of Westeros, and it might never happen again for hundreds of years. It would be a supreme honor recorded in the annals of history.
"Jaime!"
"Jaime!"
"Jaime!"
The crowd chanted rhythmically, their voices echoing throughout King's Landing.
Jaime, his trembling hand pressed to the ground, struggled to rise. He surveyed the crowd, feeling his name cut through his heart like a dagger, as if time had stretched for a hundred years.
At that moment, Renly took Jaime's arm and led him forward. He had no idea the shouting had stopped.
Renly waved his hand, and Jon Snow, carrying a pale blue longsword, walked up to the platform, holding the sword with both hands to his chest.
Renly took the sword and raised it high. "This Valyrian steel longsword is called Sun's Maiden, and it was the late Lord Tywin's sword. It has been retrieved from the vampire's hands by Ser Jon!"
"Jon!"
"Jon!"
"Jaime Lannister, Sun's Maiden is formally returned to House Lannister. Use this sword to carry out the execution."
Renly pried open Jaime's right hand and placed the hilt of the sword into his palm. After ensuring he wouldn't let go, Renly returned to his seat, leaving Jaime standing alone at the execution platform.
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
For the first time in years, Jaime's mind cleared completely. He lowered his gaze and saw that he had been led to the execution block. Kneeling before him, her neck secured by a collar, was his sister Cersei, twisting her body to look at him, her tears flowing uncontrollably.
Taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, the noise of the crowd disappeared, and the world grew silent.
The Westerlands were more than just the Lannisters. The Lannisters were more than just him. Jaime knew these two swords had to fall.
He knelt down and extended his left hand, gently brushing aside Cersei's golden hair to expose her neck. It was a preparation that had to be done before decapitation, and Jaime did it slowly and gently.
Cersei, now a vampire, had had her fangs removed and her tongue severed, but she remained as beautiful as before. Jaime caressed her neck with great tenderness. Whether she was beautiful or not didn't matter—before him, it was only Cersei.
"I will always love you."
"Ooh... ooh..." Cersei understood Jaime's silent words and kept nodding, crying loudly.
As Jaime stood up, Cersei's cries grew louder.
"Ooh..." After everything that had happened, only now did Cersei realize the absurdity of her past actions and how deep Jaime's love for her had been.
Swish!
Cersei's head flew off, and before it even hit the ground, both it and her chained body were consumed by flames, quickly burning into a pile of ash, leaving only a gray robe behind.
Jaime walked over to where the twin-headed monster, Joffrey, and Lancel lay. His feelings were complex as he gazed at them.
He closed his eyes, and after a brief pause, he raised the longsword, and the quiet plaza was filled with his hoarse laughter: "Ha... Ha... Ha..."
Swish! Swish!
The sharp Valyrian steel sword severed the two heads in one swing.
Boom!
A red fireball exploded in the air, scattering into countless sparks of flame. Another blue fireball followed, then green, orange—mages used their magic to celebrate along with the people.
The colorful magical fireworks lit up King's Landing, and everyone looked up to admire the rare spectacle.
Soon, the explosions were no longer just simple fireballs; birds, dragons, and snakes formed in the air from the flames. Lightning, summoning, and healing magic flew up as well. Mages showed their skills, each striving to be the brightest that day.
"Don't!"
The shouts from the observers on the high platform were drowned out by the deafening explosions of magic.
The splattering blood and the ashes of the vampires on the ground mixed together, and a human head rolled to the edge of the execution block, pressing down on the gray robe.
To prevent any mages from saving him, Jaime Lannister, in his despair, swung the sharp Valyrian steel sword twice before bringing it toward his own neck. The Lord of the Westerlands ended his life at the final feast of victory.