[68] Bowing Before the Dragon

Chapter 68: Bowing Before the Dragon

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I led Kinvara and the Sand Snakes through the castle's back entrance, a hidden doorway Myranda showed me earlier.

The night air had a crisp edge, and torchlight flickered on the stone walls, making shadows dance across our faces.

Cersei walked stiffly between the Sand girls, who never took their eyes off her. I could practically feel the hatred coming off them—she’d ordered their imprisonment and torture, after all, and now she was their prisoner. Obara’s hand kept jerking toward her spear while Nymeria fingered a hidden knife.

“This way,” I whispered, nodding down a narrow corridor.

Myranda trembled next to me, her eyes flicking between our guests like she was a rabbit caught out in the open. “Ah, this…”

“Myranda, these are my associates. Ladies, this is Myranda. The castle's head maid. She’ll help us run things in this castle.” I introduced them to each other.

Kinvara looked at her, and her small smirk made Myranda shrink in on herself. “You have a bright future, girl. A pleasure,” the Red Priestess purred, though that hungry look in her eyes didn’t budge.

We slipped through the castle’s dark hallways, our footsteps echoing off the stones. The master’s bedroom wasn’t far, just up one flight of stairs, then along another corridor.

Inside, the master’s chamber was dimly lit, the heavy velvet drapes drawn shut, trapping the stale scent of rich perfumes and old wood. A grand four-poster bed stood in the center, its crimson sheets rumpled from disuse. A gilded mirror hung on the far wall, reflecting the flickering candlelight from a single candelabrum near the writing desk, where scattered parchments and an overturned goblet hinted at a hasty departure.

On the floor, Tyrek Lannister lay sprawled, wrists and ankles bound tightly with rope. His golden curls clung to his sweaty forehead, and a dark bruise was already swelling where I’d clocked him. The kid looked small, vulnerable—far from the noble heir meant to hold this castle.

He looked pretty pathetic for someone who was supposed to rule this place. One could use his age as an excuse, but it was more like his Lannister blood made him a pathetic loser.

Never mind, it's too much to hate on a kid. I told myself, shaking my head.

“This is… a Lannister.” Tyene Sand said. “What should we do with him?” she asked, giving the boy a nudge with her boot.

“He'll live,” I turned to Myranda. “You, get some guards you trust and have them haul him to the dungeons.”

She twisted her hands, eyes glued to the floor. “M’lord, I... I’m not sure about the guards. What if they talk? What if they tell people? News will spread, and Lannister forces will come…”

Fair point. I realized that bringing in more folks could cause issues. “Most soldiers are busy with war across the realm, but you’re right,” I said, tapping my fingers on my belt as I pondered. “Change of plan. No point in hiding, we'll take full siege. Gather all the guards in the courtyard.”

“N-now?”

“It’ll be morning soon, so do it then.”

“Alright...” She nodded, though she still looked uneasy.

With that settled, I turned to everyone else. “We’ll use this castle as our base until Stannis makes his move on King’s Landing. The boy here”—I motioned to Tyrek—“was meant to be the Lannister puppet in charge. We’ll keep him alive. He might be worth something as a hostage." Although I doubted that. "And since the castle’s very close to Kingsroad, it’s perfect for our plans.”

Kinvara sank into a plush chair like she owned the place, while the Sand girls looked around.

Tyene spoke up, “It makes sense, I guess. What about the staff who are still here?”

“They’d watch when I talk to the guards. I've got a plan,” I said, noticing how they all started catching on. “We’ll figure out who stays and who... doesn’t.”

The Sand Snakes looked at each other, and Cersei went even paler. Myranda just stared at the floor, probably trying not to think about what was going to happen when the sun came up.

****

The cold of the night faded as the first rays of dawn bathed the courtyard in gold and crimson. A thin mist still clung to the damp stone walls, curling lazily around the yard's edges before being burned away by the rising sun. The courtyard itself was a wide, open space with packed dirt and patches of frost lingering in the shaded corners

Several wooden training dummies were positioned near the barracks, their surfaces marred and chipped from years of sword practice. The castle’s outer wall towered high above, casting long shadows over the gathered men while the scent of cold steel and damp straw lingered in the air.

I stood on the steps, watching the castle guards shuffle in. Boots scuffed against the ground, and quiet murmurs filled the space, mingling with the distant cawing of crows perched atop the ramparts. Some men rubbed the sleep from their eyes, their breath visible in the crisp morning air, while others clutched their weapons as if they were expecting an ambush.

They looked confused, muttering to each other and clearly wondering why they had been dragged out so early.

About forty men were there—definitely not a huge garrison, but enough to hold a small castle. Their weapons glinted in the morning light, and their red-and-gold livery screamed “Lannister.” The fabric of their cloaks stirred in the light breeze, but there was a stiffness to their movements, the uneasy tension of men who could tell something wasn’t right.

They'd recently had an upgrade to their gears after Joffrey’s name day, an attempt from the Lannisters to make these guards loyal to them. Too bad.

Myranda was nearby with a bunch of other servants. Kinvara was next to me, her red robes catching the light like fresh blood. The Sand Snakes spread themselves around the courtyard while Cersei stayed inside, tied in a room.

“Good morning,” I called out, letting my voice roll across the yard. The soldiers turned to face me, confusion written all over their faces. They were probably asking themselves who the hell I was. “This must be all very surprising for you all, but you'd soon understand what is going on.”

I gave Kinvara a nod, and she stepped forward, her presence impossible to ignore. “Before you stands Viserys of House Targaryen, Third of His Name, rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Show your respect.”

The atmosphere immediately changed from confusion to tense. It felt like the air itself shook with her words, and a bunch of men actually stepped back, while some gripped their weapons tight. One could hear the whispers bouncing around as some reached for their weapons.

“Don’t bother,” I said, lifting my hand. A dark portal opened beside me, and Viserion came out, golden scales blazing under the rising sun.

She’d gotten huge, barely fitting in that courtyard as she landed with a heavy thud, letting out a roar that made the air explode.

Several soldiers staggered back, a few of them yelling in fear. Viserion’s head swung around, eyeing each one like a cat ready to pounce on mice.

“What you see is not an illusion, I'm sure you can feel that in your bones. So the choice in front of you is simple,” I went on, stepping down the stairs. “Forget about Joffrey, that false King. Pledge loyalty to me right now, and when I claim the Iron Throne, you’ll get rewards beyond anything you can imagine.”

I watched their expressions and added, “If you refuse...” I gestured at Viserion, who let out a little puff of smoke. “Well, you know what happens.”

“Damn…”

“Am I dreaming or what…?”

“Ah, and don’t think about running to the Lannisters,” I added, pacing back and forth in front of them. “They’ll just assume you were part of some scheme and kill you anyway. So use your heads.”

Most of them were already shaking like leaves, but one guy, a scarred-up sergeant, stepped out of line. “House Lannister has done a lot for us lately, we- we're loyal to them!” he snapped, hand on his sword. “Not some dragon-riding fraud!”

“Calling me a fraud hurts,” I let out a dramatic sigh, almost annoyed at how typical this was. “Viserion,” I ordered. “Dracarys.”

Golden flames roared over the sergeant. He managed a single scream before he was nothing but ash, his armor turning into molten gunk. The stink of burnt flesh rose in the air.

The rest of the soldiers hit their knees so fast I heard a few painful thumps. Near the castle wall, Myranda looked as white as a ghost, her hands clamped over her mouth to keep her from crying out. She must be feeling so happy for having chosen smart.

Kinvara’s grin grew as she watched the men swear loyalty one by one, their voices shaky with fear. And with Viserion looming there, it was clear whose power they now belonged to.

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