Game Of Thrones: The Dragon Targaryen

The screams had died within hours, but the fires burned for days.

The exact number of men and women who died during the Burning of Lannisport, already being called the Lighting of the Lions by the men, though Aelor personally hoped another, better name would be popularized, was unknown, though it had to have numbered in the tens of thousands. The city was still burning two days later and likely would be for several weeks to come.

The once beautiful city was being reduced to a pile of burned out houses and blackened stones, and Aelor didn't give a single damn about it.

The war council was already raging when he stepped into the large tent—his tent, where he had held many of these very councils in the last few months. The Dragon of Duskendale was no fool, and he was well aware that there would be political, economic and personal fallout from his decision to destroy the third largest city in Westeros. Odds were that that had been being discussed judging by the abrupt silence that enveloped the council as soon as he entered.

He waited by the flap of the tent, raising an eyebrow when not a soul moved at his unexpected entrance. Lord Lefford reacted first, knocking his chair over in his haste to jump to his feet. The other lords followed his lead, some hastening, others not, but as soon as they stood Aelor nodded his head and strode towards his place at the head of the table. Each man had wisely left it unoccupied in the Dragon Prince's absence, even Lord Tarly who held full command of the army, be they Northern or Dornish or anywhere in between.

"My lords," he said as he took his seat, voice calm and collected. "I apologize for my absence yesterday." He gave none of them a chance to reply, not-so-subtly informing them that he would garner no discussion of the matter, at least not with him. "How goes the siege of the Rock?"

The Lord of Horn Hill answered him, tone as even as always. "The Ironborn have shifted all of their strength to its siege, as well as patrolling to ensure no sellsail navies will take us unawares. The catapults are in position, though we have not been using wildfire until Your Grace informed us to do so."

Randyll Tarly was meeting the Prince's eyes as he always did, a fact Aelor respected considering many men would have trouble doing so after seeing the devastation of Lannisport firsthand. Planning the event was one thing, but the actual implementation was an entirely different matter, and already Aelor knew there were murmurs about his actions; fears that he was as mad as his father, as cruel as Maegor, as ruthless as Daemon consort of Rhaenyra.

He didn't care; they could call him a monster and a murderer and everything in between. Fear was a powerful weapon, one the Targaryen's had been using for decades, and Aelor was by no means above using it now. That being said, he knew he had to calm those fears, soothe and appease the nobles before the seeds of another rebellion were planted. Fear was a fantastic weapon it was true, and fear of another Lighting would likely keep most houses in line for years to come, but he had to remove the stigma that all Targaryen's were madmen.

Although it may well be true; I certainly am one, even if these men will never know truly how terrible.

"Excellent." Aelor shifted his eyes from man to man in the room, some meeting them, most not. "We will use them again come dusk, though not in the same manner. My goal is not the destruction of the Rock, my lords, even if it could be carried out. I want Tywin Lannister. I'll take him dead or I'll take him alive, but I'd prefer it be the latter."

"What is your plan, Prince Aelor?" Jon Arryn asked. He would be a hard one to placate, as would Ned Stark when he returned from Dorne, both being men of a higher honor than Aelor's own. While Aelor's decision to allow the smallfolk to evacuate would pacify them slightly, his open plan to burn the city whether they did or didn't would be a thorn in their honorable sides. Good men the both of them, but ill-suited to the game of thrones.

"We alternate catapult with wildfire and burning pitch. If one fires the burning barrel, the catapult beside it will fire wildfire. The jars will burst across the front of their battlements and ignite, burning even on the rock face. Only one volley will be fired, and then we allow the fires to burn. We do this at dawn and dusk each day, for as long as it takes."

"As long as it takes until what?" Oberyn asked, c.o.c.king an eye at the dragonlord. The Red Viper seemed totally unbothered by the destruction of Lannisport, leaning in his chair as he always did and changing his attitude towards Aelor not a bit.

Aelor smiled lightly at his friend. "Until they surrender."

A few scoffs sounded around the table, and Lord Lefford spoke. "Tywin Lannister will never surrender, my Prince, even after Lannisport."

Aelor nodded in agreement. "You're right, Tywin Lannister won't. But what about the lords trapped inside with him?" Aelor slowly stood, waving off the others as they made to do the same and casually strolling around the table as he spoke, the lords twisting in their seats to watch him. "Those men were already worried about their families, not knowing if the Ironborn had taken them captive or killed them or even been there at all. They saw an army over twice the size of their own descend upon them. That army and especially myself fell victim to their trap, it was true, but the fact remains that they saw sixty thousand warriors, all bloodied veterans, fill the fields before them."

Aelor glanced from one lord to another as he walked, slowly strolling as if he had not a care in the world. He stopped beside Leo Lefford and Tytos Blackwood, reaching between the two of them to snatch a pitcher of wine and a chalice. "Then," he continued, tone light as he poured himself a glass. "These same men see that army camp outside their walls, building siege weapons and stockpiling stones and pitch to hurl at them. They see tents and pavillons in such numbers that they seemed as an ocean, and each one held at least one man here to solely tear their throats from their bodies. All this while they don't know where their families are, how much food they have, or how long they'll be there."

Aelor made the turn of the table, starting back the other way. "For days they ask their liege lord what they are going to do, and for days he tells them to hold hope, that he was a plan, though even Tywin bloody Lannister doesn't have a plan by now. While they wait, wagons by the score arrive, bringing with them an endless line of supplies to the men waiting below, showing that while their own stores were limited, the stores of the men trying to kill them were not."

Aelor hardened his tone slightly, making sure to meet the eyes of lords he knew would not like to remember the events of a morning ago. "And then those very same men hear a song, a song meant to show how mighty and powerful their liege lord is. After that song, however, there is no miracle performed by their great leader to save them. Instead, they watch as most of their army and a city that was home to tens and tens of thousands go up in flames, wiped from existence. That song turns into screams, and they can only watch in horror as flames envelope not only the city but the men in it, her once great walls crumbling, her beauty reduced to a pile of flames."

"The army that surrounded them doubles in size as men from Lannisport join the siege of Casterly Rock. The same catapults that unleashed Seven Hells on their city are now staring at them, the man who ordered it all mere yards away and ready to do the same to them." Aelor stopped, gesturing with one hand as he spoke, voice sounding like he was telling a story to children not predicting the mental anguish he was putting men through. "Those catapults start covering their fortress in a fire they cannot put out, and while they themselves remain unharmed the first tendrils of thought join the abundant fear in their minds. 'If we stay here, will any of us live?' 'How long before that fire melts the rocks of our walls?' 'Is my family still alive?'"

"Yes, they fear their liege lord, fear him like the Stranger himself and rightfully so, but suddenly it dawns on them. Tywin Lannister destroyed two houses. Aelor Targaryen destroyed an entire city, and he is planning on doing the same to the fortress we are in. Tywin Lannister is going to die. If we stay here, we will die with him, as will any family we have left. We are many, Tywin Lannister is one, and the Rains of Castamere have ended."

Aelor took his seat again, having circled the table and all the lords seated there as he spoke. There wasn't a sound to be heard, complete silence hanging over the meeting. He leaned back, wine in one hand, face curious. "So tell me, my lords; what would you do? I am a Prince, and a warrior at that, and as such I am no craven, but I know what my action would be."

Aelor took another sip of wine. "The only true question that remains is just how many days it will take."

In the end, it took seven.

Each dawn and dusk, a single violin played a song of rain before dozens of catapults fired barrels of burning pitch and jars of deadly wildfire, turning the face of Casterly Rock into a wall of green flames. The man-made fortifications that had been built on the mountains face were systematically destroyed, burned and fallen under the heat of the unnatural flames. The defenders inside could only wait, noses filled with the smell of smoke and ears with the sound of flame, their view nothing but green fire.

It was an easy decision in the end, one Aelor was surprised it took so long for the defenders to come to.

When the mighty doors atop the steps of the Lion's Mouth swung open, wide enough for twenty riders to ascend as one, the siege lines sprang into action. Archers rushed to the ready, a shieldwall was quickly formed, and men prepared for a sally from the Rock's defenders. It would be suicide and unthinkable, but Aelor was taking no chances with Tywin Lannister.

The flags of truce the party carried with them however eased his apprehension, as did the slow, unthreatening pace. Silence slowly overcame the camp as the defenders moved towards them, each man wondering if this whole ordeal was finally over.

It seemed it was.

Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock, was thrown at Aelor Targaryen's feet, hands bound and face furious, by two of his own Lord Bannermen, Lords Westerling and Plumm. The great lion of the west held his silence, though the rage in his eyes could hold its own with Aelor's battlel.u.s.ts.

His son Jaime joined him, the white armor of the Kingsguard nowhere to be seen and instead replaced by sheer golden plate. Prudent of him, to not further insult the prestigious order he had once been a member of. This young cub's face held no anger or distress, merely calm acceptance.

The same couldn't be said for the young woman beside him, who just so happened to look identical to the disgraced young knight. Her blonde hair, emerald eyes and—even Aelor had to admit—utterly ravishing beauty named her as Cersei Lannister, the very girl King Aerys had refused to marry either of his a.d.u.l.t sons to out of sheer spite. Her eyes held no fear as she spat insults and curses befitting a sellsword at the men she labeled traitors.

The fourth figure dropped bound at his feet—not the last, but the various other Lannister's the defenders had bound held little interest to Aelor—was also the most interesting. Aelor had heard of the boy Tywin kept so well hidden, the malformed beast some called a demon. The Dragon of Duskendale had been expecting some sort of abomination from all the rumors, but all he saw was a tiny dwarf child, eyes mismatched and head covered in blonde curls. His face reminded Aelor of Jaime's, though not in any actual physical resemblance. Like his older brother's, it held no fear and no anger.

That intrigued Aelor. The dwarf was said to be no older than eleven, but his eyes—which held the Prince's violet ones evenly, much to his surprise—held an intelligence far beyond that of a child.

Aelor didn't think about it too long, however. He casually took a few steps forward, his rage returning though this time it carried none of the madness and was tempered with a calm purpose, coming to a stop in front of the Lord of West. The Great Lion glared up at him, eyes full of hate though he kept his silence.

Aelor couldn't help it; he smirked ever so slightly as he spoke. "Tywin Lannister. Words can't describe how happy I am to see you again."