[120] The Lion’s Den
Chapter 120: The Lion's Den
—
The wind howled past my ears as Rhaegal cut through the clouds, his massive green wings beating powerfully against the air currents.
I ran my hand along the ridge of scales on his neck, feeling the heat radiating beneath my palm. The dragon had grown considerably since I'd claimed him in Pentos—not just in size, but in his connection to me. It was not a normal rate of growth.
Coming under the Dragon System must have caused his potential to bloom. He still looked like a Wyvern, though, unlike Viserion.
"Still not as smooth as Viserion," I muttered as Rhaegal banked sharply to avoid a particularly dense cloud formation.
The green dragon was responsive, but there remained a wildness to him, an unpredictability that Viserion had gradually shed under my guidance.
To my right, Drogon's massive black form sliced through the sky, his crimson wing membranes catching the afternoon light. Atop him sat Daenerys, her silver-gold hair whipping behind her like a battle standard.
Her new draconic features—the elegant horns curving from her temples, the iridescent scales scattered across her shoulders, the tail that now curved behind her—gave her an otherworldly beauty that was both terrifying and captivating.
She caught me looking and flashed a grin far more carefree than I'd ever seen from her before. The awakening of her blood had changed her, made her more... Targaryen. More fire than ice now.
"Enjoying the view, brother?" she called, her voice somehow carrying over the rushing wind. She shifted her position atop Drogon, her movements deliberately sensual, drawing attention to the curves of her body beneath her riding leathers.
"Keep your mind on the task ahead, sweet sister," I replied, though I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. This Daenerys was far more agreeable than the stern, self-righteous queen she'd become in the original timeline. This was all she needed.
For someone to take the steering wheel so that she could rest easy. With me here, and on top of that, the Draconic powers that I gifted her, finally gave her the confidence to let loose of the guard she kept.
Our departure from Dorne had been hurried but precise.
Arianne had stood on the highest tower of Sunspear, her silver eyes gleaming as she watched us prepare to leave. I'd left her with Viserion. The golden dragon would cement her rule more effectively than any army could. No one would dare challenge the woman who commanded a dragon.
Although nobody knows that she doesn’t actually control the dragon, I noted. I did tell Viserion to listen to her a little and not to cause too much trouble, but even I couldn’t be sure what that creature would do.
"Fly safe," Arianne had whispered as we'd parted. "Will you return to me when the lion's head adorns your wall?"
I adjusted my grip on Rhaegal's spines, mentally reviewing the orders I'd given before departure. Yara and the Iron Fleet would sail from Dorne back to the Iron Islands to regroup, then sweep south again to blockade Lannisport and every coastal holding loyal to House Lannister. It would take them days, perhaps a week, to complete the journey and establish the blockade.
Meanwhile, Daenerys and I would reach Casterly Rock within hours.
Such is the advantage of dragons, I thought with satisfaction. Even so, someone who’s lucky to have the Dragon System. What took Aegon the Conqueror years to accomplish, I can achieve in mere months.
Far below us, the landscape shifted from the red mountains of Dorne to the fertile fields of the Reach. Soon we would see the coastal plains of the Westerlands and then… Casterly Rock itself, the ancient stronghold of House Lannister.
"How long until we reach the Rock?" Daenerys called, bringing Drogon closer until our dragons flew nearly wing to wing.
"Another hour, perhaps less," I replied. "Depends on how Rhaegal holds up. He's not as used to long flights with a rider."
She nodded, her violet eyes gleaming with an inner fire that matched the one burning within me. "And when we arrive? What's your plan for Tywin Lannister?"
I considered the question carefully. The original timeline had given Tywin Lannister a humiliating but quick death—shot with a crossbow while sitting on a privy by his own son. A fitting end for a man who'd placed such importance on legacy, perhaps, but not enough justice for what he'd done to our family.
"Tywin Lannister and his army betrayed our Father’s and ended his reign. Although, to be fair, our Father deserved it. He was not a fitting ruler. But still. Tywin orchestrated the deaths of our brother's children," I said, my voice hardening. "He ordered the Mountain to crush Aegon's skull and rape Elia Martell with the baby's blood still on his hands. He deserves more than a quick death."
"All of this is considered he’s hiding in the rock," Daenerys said.
"That too," I agreed. "I’m not sure. He’s prideful enough not to abandon his House, but also wise enough to flee. I’m not sure what he could have chosen. Regardless of whether he is there or not, it makes little difference. I’ll make him understand that everything he built, everything he schemed for, is ashes. His legacy destroyed, his name forgotten."
In the original story, Tywin had died believing his family's power secure. His golden twins and their golden children would carry on the Lannister name, his grandson would sit on the Iron Throne, and his enemies would be destroyed one by one.
He'd never lived to see how thoroughly his plans would unravel—how Tommen would leap from a window, how Myrcella would be poisoned, how Jaime Lannister would die for Cersei, how his family's power would crumble.
This time would be different. This time, Tywin Lannister would know exactly how completely he had failed before the end. If he dared flee, his torment would only increase.
"We're almost there," Daenerys said, pointing ahead. The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape below. In the distance, the glittering waters of the Sunset Sea were visible, and rising from the coastline, the imposing silhouette of Casterly Rock.
Hewn from a great stone hill, the ancient fortress of House Lannister resembled a crouching lion, ready to pounce upon any who approached uninvited. Its massive walls, towers, and battlements had stood for thousands of years, never taken by force.
Until today.
A smile curved my lips as I urged Rhaegal forward. The green dragon responded eagerly, sensing my anticipation, my hunger for what was to come.
The Old Lion awaits, I thought to myself, humming a song. And unlike House Reyne, the dragons don’t bow.
"‘And who are you?’ The proud Lord said…”
****
Margaery Tyrell stood at the entrance of her command tent, a fortress of emerald silk erected on a strategic hillside overlooking the Tyrell encampment.
From here, she had an unobstructed view of Casterly Rock's imposing silhouette against the afternoon sky. The ancient fortress, carved from living stone, seemed to mock their presence with its impenetrable walls and towers that had withstood sieges for centuries.
Hundreds of green and gold banners rippled in the breeze, the golden rose of House Tyrell a stark contrast to the crimson and gold lion hanging limply from Casterly Rock's battlements. Soldiers moved through the camp like busy insects, finalizing preparations for what would undoubtedly be a costly assault.
"Your Grace," came her handmaiden's voice. "Would you prefer to wait inside? The sun is quite harsh."
"The men who may die today have no shelter," Margaery replied without turning. "I'll stand where I can see them."
Her attention fixed on a small party breaking away from the Tyrell lines. At its head rode Garlan, her beloved brother, his armor gleaming in the sunlight. A large white banner fluttered above him. The universal signal for parley.
Margaery's fingers tightened around her goblet of watered wine. "Roses may be delicate, but our thorns draw blood all the same," she murmured to herself, an old saying her grandmother had taught her.
She watched Garlan's party approach the massive gates.
Even from this distance, she could make out his upright posture, the confidence in his bearing that had always distinguished him from other knights. He halted perhaps fifty yards from the walls, well within earshot of the defenders but safely out of bowshot range.
"In the name of Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," Garlan's voice carried clearly across the still afternoon air, "I, Ser Garlan of House Tyrell, demand the immediate surrender of Casterly Rock!"
A long silence followed. Then, a figure appeared at the central rampart – a man in elaborate armor that caught the sunlight like molten gold.
"That is not Tywin," Margaery said softly, squinting to make out the figure better. "Perhaps his brother, Kevan?"
Or someone else. Tywin had a few brothers.
"House Lannister does not surrender to flowers!" the man shouted down, his voice edged with contempt. "Crawl back to your gardens, Tyrell. Tell your Dragon King that the Rock has never fallen, and never will!"
Scattered cheers erupted from the defenders manning the walls. Garlan remained still for several moments, then turned his horse and rode back toward the Tyrell lines, the banner of truce still fluttering above him.
Margaery set down her goblet and clasped her hands to stop their trembling. The Lannister defiance meant blood would flow today – Tyrell blood, the blood of her countrymen, perhaps even her brother's.
"Rose petals may bend," she whispered, "but we do not break."
She descended from her vantage point to meet Garlan as he returned to the command area. His face was grim as he dismounted.
"They've made their choice," he said simply, removing his helm. Sweat dampened his brown curls, making him look younger than his years.
"You gave them a fair chance," Margaery said, placing a hand on his armored forearm.
Garlan nodded to his captains. "Begin the assault preparations. Move the trebuchets into position. First wave will advance when the sun touches the western tower."
“Yes, my lord!” The commanders dispersed, shouting orders that rippled through the camp. Within moments, the ordered calm transformed into controlled chaos as siege engines creaked forward and men formed into assault units.
Margaery felt her heart constrict. "Be careful, brother. The Rock has never fallen to assault."
"There's always a first time," Garlan replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He squeezed her hand. "His Grace chose us for this task. We will not fail him. If we do this successfully… your chances of sitting on the throne beside him increase manifold."
She watched him stride away, barking orders and encouraging men. How many would not return? How many mothers would weep for sons who died breaking themselves against those ancient walls?
A horn blasted, signaling the first units to move into position. Margaery straightened her back, determined to show no fear before the men who would soon risk their lives.
Then – a sound unlike any other.
A roar that seemed to split the very sky, echoing across the valleys and hills surrounding Casterly Rock.
Every head turned upward as another roar answered the first.
Two massive shapes descended through the clouds – one green, one black with veins of crimson. The sun caught their scales, turning them to living jewels as they circled lower.
"Dragons," someone whispered nearby, voice thick with awe and relief.
Margaery's worry evaporated like morning dew under a summer sun. A smile, one that her grandmother might have recognized as predatory, spread across her face.
Atop the green dragon sat her husband, King Viserys, his silver-gold hair unmistakable even at this distance. The black dragon carried a smaller figure… and from the looks of it, it was Daenerys, the king's sister. That worried her a little, but she didn’t think much of it for now.
Her gaze lowered to look at Casterly Rock. "When you play the game of thrones," Margaery whispered, "you win or you die. Today, the lions lose."
The dragons banked sharply, diving toward Casterly Rock's main gate. Defenders scattered like ants, some firing arrows that fell harmlessly against dragon scales.
Twin streams of fire – one red tinged with green, one orange with black – erupted from the dragons' maws, slamming into the ancient gates with such force that Margaery felt the heat from where she stood.
The stone that had withstood centuries melted like candle wax.
The massive gates, reinforced with steel and iron, glowed red before collapsing inward, sending up a plume of steam and ash. The roar of the Tyrell army drowned out even the dragons' cries as Margaery raised her goblet in silent toast.
"The king has arrived."
**
**
**
Come find fellow fans on Discord and more chapters on !
: .com/Master4thWall
Discord: https://discord.gg/dQeu27jBvf