ARC 1: Birth of the Daemon and Daenerys
Chapter 3: The Lion's Justice
Year 283 AC
The dust had barely settled on the fields of the Trident when a new threat appeared on the horizon of King's Landing. Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, a man whose name carried the weight of gold and the sharpness of steel, arrived outside the city gates with an army exceeding ten thousand well-trained soldiers. The red lion of Lannister on a field of gold was a sight that brought a flicker of desperate hope to some within the Red Keep, and a chilling premonition of doom to others.
Tywin's message was delivered with an air of unwavering loyalty. His men, he declared, were there to defend the capital from the rebel forces, to stand as a bulwark against the stag and the wolf that threatened to tear down the ancient dynasty of the dragons. He requested that King Aerys II Targaryen open the gates, allowing his forces to enter and bolster the city's defenses.
Within the Red Keep, the King's council was a maelstrom of fear and conflicting advice. Grand Maester Pycelle, his face etched with worry, urged Aerys to heed Tywin's words. "My King," the old maester pleaded, his voice trembling slightly, "Lord Tywin has always been a friend to the Crown, a loyal servant to your father and to you. They arrive at the most opportune moment, sent by the gods themselves to save us from the rebels. Open the gates, Your Grace. Let them in." Pycelle, perhaps blinded by past associations or simply desperate for any sign of salvation, genuinely believed in Tywin's offered assistance. He recalled the years Tywin had served as Hand, the efficiency and ruthlessness with which he had maintained order. He chose to forget the growing rift between the King and his former Hand, clinging to a nostalgic image of a strong Lannister presence bolstering the Targaryen cause.
In stark contrast, Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers, his pale eyes darting nervously around the council chamber, offered a dire warning. "Your Grace," he hissed, his voice low and urgent, "keep the gates barred! Trust not the lion's smile. If Tywin Lannister enters this city with his army, it will not be as saviors, but as conquerors. His men will sack King's Landing, and the reign of House Targaryen will be finished. Hold your ground, Your Grace. The walls are strong, the guards are loyal. We can withstand a siege until Lord Tyrell and his forces arrive from the Stormlands." Varys, with his intricate network of spies and his keen understanding of the ambitions that drove the great lords of Westeros, saw Tywin's arrival for what it truly was: a move of pure opportunism, a chance for the Lannister lion to feast on the dying carcass of the dragon. He knew of Tywin's bitterness towards Aerys, the years of perceived slights and humiliations that festered beneath a veneer of courtly obedience.
King Aerys II Targaryen, his mind fractured by years of paranoia and descent into madness, stood at the center of this storm of conflicting counsel. He remembered the years when Tywin Lannister had served as his Hand, the man who had brought a semblance of order and prosperity to the realm. Yet, he also recalled the growing resentment he had felt towards his powerful Hand, the fear that Tywin's influence overshadowed his own royal authority. His friendship with Tywin had soured, poisoned by suspicion and the King's own increasingly erratic behavior.
Despite Varys's urgent warnings, Aerys's fractured mind, swayed by Pycelle's seemingly reassuring words and his own lingering, distorted memories of a past alliance, made a fateful decision. "Open the gates," the King declared, his voice raspy and uncertain. "Let Lord Tywin and his men enter the city. They are here to defend us."
In a twisted way, Aerys's decision, viewed through the lens of pure strategic desperation, held a sliver of grim logic. If Tywin was indeed true to his word, then the Targaryens still possessed a fighting chance. Lord Mace Tyrell's massive army was still besieging Robert Baratheon at Storm's End. Sooner or later, the castle would fall. Once the Stormlands were pacified, the combined might of the Lannisters, the Tyrells, and the remaining Dornish forces loyal to Elia could potentially crush the rebellion.
And if Tywin was lying? What then? The truth was, Aerys's position was already untenable. He likely could not have held King's Landing against Robert's advancing army, nor against a determined assault by Tywin's well-disciplined forces. Furthermore, in the depths of his madness, Aerys had made a terrifying contingency plan. He had ordered the placement of numerous caches of wildfire throughout the city, a suicidal decree born of his paranoia that the rebels would take his throne. "Let Robert be king over a graveyard of ash and bone," he had raved to a handful of terrified loyalists. In his twisted mind, opening the gates to Tywin could even be seen as a way to lure all his enemies – rebels and perceived betrayers alike – into one convenient location, ready for a fiery purification.
But Aerys was blind to the deep-seated hatred that festered in Tywin Lannister's heart. The years Tywin had served as Hand, bringing stability and wealth to the realm, had been met with increasing disrespect and humiliation from his King. The whispers of Aerys's inappropriate behavior towards Tywin's wife, Joanna, during their bedding ceremony, and the crude remarks about her physique that followed, had been a deep and lasting insult, a wound to Tywin's pride that never truly healed.
Tywin had also never forgiven Aerys for blaming him for Joanna's death during the birthing of their dwarf son, Tyrion. The tragedy, coupled with the perceived insult to Joanna's honor, had solidified Tywin's growing resentment into a cold, burning hatred.
Aerys's repeated refusals to consider Tywin's daughter, Cersei, as a bride for Prince Rhaegar, despite the strategic advantages of such an alliance and Tywin's years of loyal service, had been another bitter pill for the proud Lord of Casterly Rock to swallow. To be deemed unworthy of a royal marriage for his daughter was a public slight that Tywin never forgot.
Finally, Aerys's impulsive appointment of Tywin's heir, Jaime Lannister, to the Kingsguard, a position that forbade marriage and thus stripped Tywin of his primary successor to Casterly Rock, had been the final, unforgivable act of disrespect in Tywin's eyes. It was a clear message that Aerys valued Tywin's power but held little regard for his person or his family's future.
So, when the gates of King's Landing creaked open at Aerys's command, it was not into the arms of a defender that the city welcomed Tywin Lannister and his ten thousand soldiers. Instead, the golden lions, their eyes glinting with cold ambition and long-simmering resentment, surged into the capital like a flood, not to protect, but to devour.
The Sack of King's Landing began with terrifying speed and brutal efficiency. The Lannister soldiers, unleashed upon the unsuspecting city, showed no mercy. Their orders, unspoken but clearly understood, were not to defend, but to conquer and to plunder. The cries of the innocent soon filled the streets, a horrifying symphony of terror that echoed through the once-proud capital.
Rape, looting, and pillaging became the order of the day. Homes were broken into, valuables stolen, and the streets ran red with the blood of those who dared to resist. The gold cloaks, the city watch sworn to protect the King's peace, were overwhelmed, their numbers insufficient against the disciplined and battle-hardened Lannister host.
Within the Red Keep, the betrayal was swift and brutal. As the sounds of chaos and slaughter reached his ears, King Aerys, finally realizing the enormity of his mistake, his madness momentarily pierced by the stark reality of Tywin's treachery, issued a desperate command to Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard. "Jaime!" the King shrieked, his voice hoarse with terror and rage, "Burn them all! Burn the traitors! Wildfire! Do it now!"
Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, stood before his mad king, the weight of his vows and the horrifying reality of Aerys's final command colliding within him. For years, he had sworn to protect the King, but he had also witnessed firsthand the extent of Aerys's madness, the pyromania that threatened to consume the entire city. The order to unleash the wildfire, to immolate thousands of innocent lives, was the final breaking point. Whether it was a flicker of remaining loyalty to his family trapped within the city walls, a belated sense of duty to the realm, or simply the horror of becoming the instrument of such unimaginable destruction, something within Jaime snapped. Instead of obeying his King's final, insane command, Ser Jaime Lannister drew his golden sword and plunged it into the back of Aerys II Targaryen, ending the Mad King's reign and sealing the fate of the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros.
Meanwhile, within the Red Keep, Princess Elia Martell, hearing the growing sounds of violence and the terrified screams from the city below, knew that their time was running out. Her initial fear had solidified into a cold, desperate resolve to protect her children. Sensing the imminent danger, she made a heart-wrenching decision. Summoning two of her most trusted personal maids, women who had served her loyally since her arrival from Dorne, Elia entrusted each with one of her children.
To one maid, she gave her precious daughter, Rhaenys, her small hand clasped tightly in the woman's. "Take her," Elia whispered frantically, tears streaming down her face, "Take her and hide. Go through the secret passages. Go anywhere, just get her out of the Red Keep. Don't let them find her." The maid, her face pale with fear but her loyalty unwavering, nodded silently and slipped away with the little Princess, disappearing into the labyrinthine corridors of the ancient castle.
To the other maid, Elia entrusted her infant son, Aegon, the babe still too young to understand the terror that filled the air. "Protect him with your life," Elia pleaded, her voice choked with sobs. "Hide him, as well. Go in a different direction. Please, please, keep my children safe." The second maid, her eyes filled with compassion and determination, clutched the baby close and hurried away, hoping against hope to find a safe haven within the chaos.
But their desperate attempt at escape was not entirely successful. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, a monstrous figure of immense strength and terrifying brutality, loyal to Tywin Lannister, had been unleashed within the Red Keep. He and Ser Amory Lorch, another Lannister man known for his cruelty, were tasked with securing the royal family, with extreme prejudice.
The maid carrying young Aegon, less familiar with the secret passages and hampered by the infant in her arms, was intercepted by Ser Gregor. His massive form filled the corridor, his eyes glinting with a savage glee. The maid's terrified screams were quickly silenced by the Mountain's brutal strength. He seized the infant Aegon, the last male heir of Rhaegar Targaryen, and carried him, his tiny limbs flailing uselessly, before the horrified eyes of his mother, Princess Elia.
Elia, having heard the commotion and the maid's strangled cry, was cornered in her chambers by Ser Gregor, the monstrous knight holding her son like a discarded doll. Tears streamed down Elia's face as she pleaded for her child's life, her words choked with anguish. But Gregor Clegane was a man devoid of mercy. With a sickening, brutal finality, he smashed the infant Aegon against the stone wall, his tiny skull cracking like an eggshell. The brutal act, carried out before Elia's eyes, was a deliberate and horrifying display of Lannister power, a final, bloody end to Rhaegar's line.
The maid who had fled with Princess Rhaenys, however, managed to evade immediate capture. Familiar with the Red Keep's hidden ways, she moved swiftly and silently through the secret passages, the small, terrified Princess clutched tightly in her arms. They remained hidden within the vastness of the palace, their fate uncertain, but for now, they had escaped the immediate carnage unleashed by the Lannister sack. The Red Keep, once a symbol of Targaryen power, had become a slaughterhouse, its stones stained with the blood of innocents, a testament to the brutal "justice" of the lion. The dragon's fall was complete, and in its place, the golden shadow of House Lannister had begun to spread across the ravaged capital.