[161] Unmaking an Empire

Chapter 161: Unmaking an Empire

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I cancelled my transformation, returning to human height while the dragons descended like judgment given form.

Viserion's golden scales caught the morning light, her wounded wing already healing thanks to whatever impossible vitality we all shared now. Drogon landed with enough force to crack the plaza's stones, and even Rhaegal, who'd taken the most damage, managed to look majestic.

"Up," I commanded Dany, vaulting onto Viserion's back. My body still thrummed with power from the slaughter, notifications pinging in my peripheral vision like a slot machine hitting jackpot. "Time to collect some debts."

She mounted Drogon with that inhuman grace the ritual had given her, movements flowing like water over steel. "Littlefinger first?"

"The snake deserves priority. Although I don’t know who we’d find first," I guided Viserion skyward, feeling her joy at being airborne again despite the bolt wound. Dragons were hard to kill. Good thing, too, considering what we'd flown into.

Fucking Braavosi and their preparations. In the show, they were mysterious but manageable. Here? They'd turned their entire city into a dragon trap.

Unlike what the view suggested from the sky, the city was not empty. The people were simply hiding in their homes, having been warned about this war. Ideally, that meant Tywin Lannister and his group had a higher chance of survivability if they kept hidden.

However, thanks to my reputation for burning cities, fear must have crept into their hearts. So we found Littlefinger exactly where Ros's intelligence network predicted he'd be, fleeing like the rat he was through the Canal of Heroes. His gondola was painted black, trying to blend with the morning shadows. The two sellswords rowing looked ready to piss themselves as our shadows fell over them.

"Lord Baelish!" I called down, letting amusement color my voice. "Leaving so soon? But the party's just started!"

He looked up, and I savored the moment his clever little face went white. All those schemes, all those whispered lies and carefully placed daggers, and here he was. Just a man in a boat, staring up at dragons.

"Your Grace! I’m sure we have some misunderstanding between us. I’ve never done anything to harm you!" His voice cracked only slightly. Give him credit, he tried to maintain that oily composure. "I was merely—"

"Dany," I cut him off. "Would you do the honors? I feel like he's more your kill than mine."

She smiled, and it was beautiful and terrible. "With pleasure."

What happened next was poetry.

Drogon dove like a falcon, if falcons were the size of houses and breathed fire. His claws, each as long as a man's forearm, closed around Littlefinger's torso with delicate precision. The sellswords threw themselves into the canal rather than contest a dragon's claim.

"Wait!" Littlefinger screamed as Drogon lifted him. "I have information! Secrets! I know where—"

"Boring," Dany said.

Drogon climbed. A hundred feet. Five hundred. A thousand. The city shrank below us until even the Titan looked like a toy. At two thousand feet, she gave the command.

Drogon let go.

For a man who'd spent his life climbing, Petyr Baelish's descent was remarkably swift. He screamed the whole way down, right until he hit the water with a splash that wouldn't have been out of place in a bathhouse. There won’t be any secret revival though, because a fall at this height couldn’t differentiate between solid ground and water. I saw his body splatter in a mush of flesh, separating into parts.

"Anticlimactic," Dany observed.

"Sometimes the simple solutions are best." I turned Viserion toward the Iron Bank. "Now for the main course."

The Bank of Braavos rose from the city like a prayer to commerce, all marble columns and bronze doors that had never been breached. Until today.

"Burn the doors," I commanded. Viserion obliged, golden flames hot enough to melt stone turning those famous barriers into slag. We landed in the courtyard beyond, scattering guards who suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere.

Smart men. Stupid men die fighting dragons.

"My enhanced senses tell me that the Lannisters are on the seventh floor," I told Dany, dismounting with predatory grace. "Tywin's turned it into a fortress. Forty men, minimum."

"Only forty?" She flexed her claws. "Disappointing."

We entered through the molten remains of the door. The lobby was abandoned, with ledgers still open on desks and tea still steaming in cups. Now this was funny. These bastards must have been enjoying the ‘dragon hunt’ while enjoying tea. Who could have expected the dragons to win? The entire building had been evacuated in minutes.

Except for the seventh floor.

The stairs were made of marble, and our footsteps echoed like drumbeats. On the third floor, we found the first guards. Lannister men, red cloaks and lion helms, crossbows trained on the stairwell.

"H-halt in the name of—"

I moved. Level 115 meant my DEX stat was far above somewhere in the 'fuck your human reflexes' range. I crossed thirty feet before the guard could finish his sentence, caught his crossbow, and fed it to him sideways.

The others fired. Bolts sparked off my skin like rain off a roof. Another gift from the levels, my END stat made regular weapons about as dangerous as thrown pillows. I’d used Mana to coat myself earlier to shrug off Scorpion Bolts. For this? I didn’t have to waste that precious stat.

"My turn, brother," Dany said, flowing past me like smoke. Her sword – where did she keep getting swords? – painted the walls red. Guards fell in pieces, their fancy armor meaning nothing against fine steel moved by inhuman speed.

Fourth floor. More guards. These had wildfire bombs.

"Cute," I said, catching one mid-throw. The glass was warm, the green stuff inside swirling like toxic honey. "But we're dragons."

I drank it like a shot of whiskey. It burned going down, but in a pleasant way, like expensive liquor. The guards' expressions were almost worth the trip alone.

Fifth floor. Sixth floor. Bodies and blood and the occasional scream. By the time we reached the seventh, my count was at thirty-eight dead.

Two unaccounted for. Interesting.

The seventh floor was different. Instead of a hallway, the stairs opened into a vast chamber that took up the entire level. Tywin had redecorated. Maps covered every wall. Westeros, Essos, detailed plans of King's Landing. A war room for a shadow war.

At its heart stood the man himself.

Tywin Lannister looked exactly as I remembered from the show. Austere, commanding, with eyes like chips of frozen emerald. He stood behind a massive oak desk, hands clasped behind his back, looking like he was about to dress down a disappointing son rather than face two dragonlords.

Beside him, in golden armor that caught the light from the tall windows, stood Jaime.

The Kingslayer looked good for a man who'd been on the run for months previously. His hair was shorter, face gaunt, but his sword hand was steady. No golden prosthetic here, this Jaime was whole and dangerous.

"Viserys Targaryen," Tywin said, inclining his head precisely one degree. "Daenerys Targaryen. I'd offer wine, but I suspect this isn't a social call."

The sheer balls on this man. Here I stood, blood still dripping from my hands after massacring my way through his building, and he acted like we were in his solar at Casterly Rock.

"Lord Tywin," I replied, matching his tone. "Ser Jaime. Fancy meeting you here. Last I heard, you were guests of the Iron Bank. How's the interest rate on harboring fugitives?"

"Manageable." His lips might have twitched. Might have. "Though I suspect it's about to be renegotiated."

"Mmm." I stepped forward, noting how Jaime's hand drifted to his sword. "Here's my counter-offer. You die. Your son dies. Your legacy becomes a cautionary tale about what happens when you fuck with dragons."

"Eloquent." Tywin moved to the window, gazing out at the city. "Tell me, Targaryen, what did you think of our welcome? The Titan's modifications were expensive, but I felt they were necessary. Thankfully, I wasn’t the one who spent the money."

"Impressive," I admitted. "They actually hurt my dragons. That takes doing."

"And yet here you stand." He turned back, those cold eyes studying me. "Which means the modifications were insufficient. A lesson learned, though perhaps too late to apply. What kind of creature are you anyway?"

Jaime couldn't contain himself anymore. "Father, enough. Let me—"

"You'll do nothing," Tywin cut him off. "You've done quite enough already, haven't you? Getting captured by Stark women, forcing me to abandon Casterly Rock, reducing us to... this."

The disappointment in his voice could have curdled milk.

"Hey, Kingslayer," I called out, smiling at Jaime's flinch. "I can’t believe your father is insulting you and putting all the blame on you for this. How insulting. Tell you what, you have a good taste in women, at least. Cersei was delicious. Ah, and your daughter? They're both quite well, by the way. Cersei makes an excellent servant when properly motivated. And Myrcella... well, she's learning to appreciate a real king's attention."

I can’t lie, I loved Jamie Lannister when I watched the show. Well, I hated him at first, but he grew on me. The character development was immaculate, and it was perfect till Season 7. What a man he was. Unfortunately, in this world, he was my enemy, so I had to taunt him a little.

And the taunt worked just fine.

Jaime's sword cleared its sheath in one perfect motion, and he came at me like the knight he'd once been. All that famous speed, all that legendary skill, compressed into one killing stroke.

I caught the blade barehanded.

"Too slow." My other hand found his throat. "Want to know a secret, Kingslayer? I've been holding back. This whole time, through every fight, every conquest. I've been pulling my punches because part of me still thought like a human."

I squeezed. His eyes bulged.

"But you guys tried to kill my women. My dragons. So let me show you what the Dragon King can do when he stops pretending to be mortal."

My eyes grew bright, glowing with that terrible un-light. But instead of erasing him instantly, I shot it gently, trying to control the intensity, and let it caress his armor. The golden plate didn't melt, it simply ceased, leaving his chest bare.

"Viserys," Dany said quietly. A reminder, not a plea.

"Right. We're on a schedule." I shifted my grip, grabbed his head with both hands, and twisted. The crack echoed through the chamber. "There. Quick and clean. More than you deserved."

Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, slayer of the Mad King, fell like a puppet with cut strings. Even if he was a Hero, I admit, he’d killed my father. This was revenge.

I looked at Tywin. Throughout his son's death, he hadn't moved. Hadn't flinched. Those green eyes remained fixed on mine, calculating even now.

"No grief?" I asked. "Your golden son lies dead, and you just watch?"

"Grief is a luxury I've never been able to afford." His voice remained steady as stone. "Jaime knew the risks when he drew steel against a dragon. He chose his death."

"Cold. I respect that. But isn’t that the same choice you made? Don’t answer that." I stepped over Jaime's corpse, approaching the desk. "Any last words? Final schemes? Hidden wildfire caches set to explode?"

"No schemes." For the first time, something like emotion flickered across his face. Not fear. Resignation, perhaps. Or maybe just tiredness. "I played the game as well as any man could. But in the end, you changed the rules. Dragons were supposed to be gone. Magic was supposed to be dead. The old powers were supposed to stay buried. You lucked out. Luck. That’s why you won."

"Supposed to." I raised my hand, the annihilation gathering. "But here we are."

"Here we are," he agreed. Then, just before the end. "Do try not to bankrupt the realm. It's harder to manage than you'd think."

Classic Tywin. Condescending to the last.

The annihilation took him mid-breath. One moment, the most powerful man in Westeros stood before me. The next, only empty air and the lingering scent of ozone.

"That's it?" Dany sounded almost disappointed. "No begging? No final betrayal?"

"For all my anger and resentment toward the man, he was Tywin Lannister," I said, feeling an odd respect for the dead man. "He knew when the game was over."

We found the evidence on his desk. Letters, plans, and financial records. The conspiracy was laid out in Tywin's meticulous hand. But one detail made me curse.

"Varys left a week ago," Dany read. "Bound for Yi Ti on ‘business for the Iron Throne.’"

"Our Iron Throne." I crumpled the letter. "The Spider had been here in Braavos, too. He must be quite mad after Illyrio and the fake Aegon’s death. We have to be careful in the future."

"Then we burn him the next time we meet."

"If we can find him." I gathered the most important documents. "But first, we have a temple to drown."

The House of Black and White squatted on its small island like a cancer on the water. Black stone walls drunk in the morning light, giving nothing back. This was their seat of power, where death was worshipped and sold.

Time to foreclose.

"You sure about this?" Dany asked as we circled above. "Suddenly, I don’t have a good feeling standing before it. It’s a God’s Temple. Maybe destroying it will get us divine wrath. The magical backlash—"

"Is why we're using water instead of fire." I reached deep, feeling for that well of power the System called Mana. I had twenty-five points to work with now, having spent five earlier. Not much, but maybe enough. "Besides, I want them to suffer. Fire's too quick."

I'd never tried to command water before. Well, to be fair, I only learned to breathe fire today, but still. Fire was easy, it wanted to consume, to spread, to devour. Water was different. Heavier. More reluctant.

But I had 350 Authority now. And Authority, I was learning, was just another word for 'reality does what I tell it.' As long as I poured Mana along with it, of course. This was the strongest form of magic I knew of. Command Magic.

"RISE."

The canals shuddered. Gondolas rocked as waves appeared from nowhere. The water level began to climb, slowly at first, then faster.

"RISE!"

My Mana drained like someone had pulled a plug. 5 points. 15. The water responded, gathering itself into impossible geometries. A wave forty feet high formed in the narrow canal, physics be damned.

"Now!" I roared.

Three dragons breathed as one. Fire met water in a collision that shook the city. Steam exploded outward, but the water kept coming, boiling as it came. The wave hit the temple like the fist of an angry god.

Stone cracked. Mortar dissolved. The front wall, which had stood for four hundred years, crumbled like sand. Boiling water rushed through the breach, flooding corridors that had never known anything but shadow and incense.

I could hear screaming from inside. Acolytes caught in the tunnels. Assassins who'd thought stone walls meant safety. They learned otherwise as superheated water found every passage, every chamber, every secret hollow.

"The foundations," Dany pointed. "Hit the foundations!"

We dove, dragons breathing in concert. The water around the temple's base didn't just boil, it transformed into something beyond steam, a plasma that ate through stone like acid. The entire structure groaned.

Then, with a sound like the world's spine breaking, the House of Black and White collapsed.

Tons of ancient stone fell into the boiling canal. More screams, cut short. The temple that had trained the world's greatest killers, that had served death for millennia, died in minutes.

"Look," Dany murmured.

Where the temple had stood, a whirlpool formed. The boiling water spiraled down into whatever chambers lay beneath, carrying bodies and secrets into the dark. In moments, nothing remained but churning foam and the occasional desperate hand breaking the surface before being pulled under.

"Think any survived?" she asked.

"Don't care." I was exhausted, Mana spent, but satisfied. "Let them try to resurrect their order from that."

We landed on a nearby roof, dragons panting from the sustained fire. Below us, Braavos burned in a dozen places. The Iron Bank, various Faceless safe houses, anywhere that had sheltered our enemies.

"Brother," Dany said quietly. "I am having a hard time believing this. We… We won."

"We did. We’ve won this battle." I pulled out the letter about Varys again. "We should be happy, we should celebrate, but at the same time, never let our guards down. The Spider's still spinning webs out in the greater world. The Empire of Yi Ti, that is supposedly ruled by an immortal ruler. The God-Emperor of Gold. Scholars say the Emperor’s castle itself is larger than King’s Landing. Who knows what Varys is whispering in his ears?"

"Then we crush him too."

That was easier said than done. I didn’t want to pick a fight with the Empire yet, not before dealing with the White Walkers. The Emperor, if the rumors weren’t exaggerated, wasn’t weak. Plus, he wasn’t the only danger. The Emperor also had a hundred princes, as well as the brigands, priest-kings, sorcerers, warlords, and generals.

Not that it changed my answer. "We will." I looked west, toward home. "But first, let’s spew some fire. We let Braavos burn for a while, although no point in destroying it more than necessary. Let the other Free Cities see what defying dragons costs. Let them understand that the age of shadows and whispers is over."

We did just that. The Sealord of Braavos was the ruler of the Free City of Braavos, and it was his champion and protector who received the famous title of the “First Sword of Braavos.” He resided in a mansion called the Sealord's Palace.

I started the burn with his mansion.

Twenty minutes later, we stood over a mountain as Dany leaned against me, and I wrapped a wing around her. We sat there, two monsters wearing human shapes, watching a city learn the price of defiance in flames.

In the distance, the Titan still stood, scorpion bolts spent, eyes dark. But even it seemed to slump, knowing its city's protectors were ash and memory.

"Home?" Dany asked eventually.

"Home," I agreed. "Time to celebrate. Only now can we truly say our Dynasty has begun, now that Tywin Lannister is dead. We can ease down on burning everything starting from now on. For a while, anyway."

The dragons lifted us from the dying city, three shadows against the morning sky. Behind us, Braavos burned and drowned in equal measure.

Ahead lay King's Landing. It was unbelievable to say but… The game was over.

And the dragons had won.

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