Chapter 29: The Dragon's Shadow on the Red Keep
The fall of Casterly Rock and the death of Tywin Lannister echoed through the Seven Kingdoms like the crack of doom, each reverberation shattering another pillar of Robert Baratheon's Usurper regime. From the smoldering ruins of the Lion's den, Emperor Vaelyx Targaryen solidified his dominion over the Westerlands with chilling efficiency. Ser Kevan Lannister, captured in the final, desperate defense of the Rock's deepest vaults, was brought before Vaelyx in chains. A capable man, loyal to his brother and his house, Kevan expected death.
"Ser Kevan," Vaelyx said, his voice devoid of inflection as he sat upon a makeshift throne in Tywin's own solar, Heartsbane now leaning beside it, a grim trophy. Astra lay curled like a colossal, snow-white cat of death at the foot of the dais, her sapphire eyes fixed on the prisoner. "Your brother chose defiance and reaped oblivion. Your house is broken. Your King is a drunken fool cowering in his capital. What path do you choose?"
Kevan, though pale and weary, met Vaelyx's gaze. "I served my brother. I served my House. I have no other loyalties to offer you, pretender."
Vaelyx almost admired the man's stubbornness. "A pity. Your administrative skills would have been… useful." He paused. "However, your life may yet serve a purpose. You will remain my… guest. A living testament to Lannister folly, and a guarantee of the… cooperation… of your remaining kin." Kevan would be a valuable hostage, and perhaps, in time, a broken tool. For now, his defiance was a minor irrelevance.
Ser Damon Sand of the Golden Company was appointed Lord Governor of the Westerlands, his sellsword pragmatism and knowledge of Westerosi customs deemed suitable for pacifying the region and ensuring the steady flow of Lannister gold into Vaelyx's coffers. Malakai's agents, efficient as ever, swarmed through the Westerlands, cataloging assets, reopening mines under imperial decree, and redirecting trade. Lannister bannermen, their formidable overlord gone, their armies shattered, flocked to Vaelyx's banner, offering oaths of fealty with a speed that spoke more of terror than loyalty. Vaelyx accepted them all, taking their sons and daughters as "wards" to his ever-expanding court, now a mobile city of power and fear.
With the Westerlands pacified and its resources secured, Vaelyx turned his attention eastward, towards King's Landing. His army, a behemoth swollen by Reach and new Westerland levies, now numbered close to one hundred and fifty thousand, though many were green or of questionable loyalty beyond the fear his dragons inspired. His core remained the disciplined Essosi legions – the Aegis Guard, the Myrish Legions, the Serpent's Scale veterans, the Golden Company – and his Dothraki outriders, alongside the fiercely loyal Dornish contingent led by an ever-eager Oberyn Martell.
The march from the Westerlands, along the Gold Road and then towards the Kingsroad, was less a military advance and more a terrifying imperial progress. Towns and castles along their path – Wayfarer's Rest, the Stoney Sept, Acorn Hall – emptied before them, their lords either fleeing to King's Landing or sending desperate envoys to pledge fealty, offering supplies and passage in exchange for being spared the Dragon's wrath. Vaelyx, focused on the capital, largely granted these requests, his army consuming the resources of the Crownlands like a swarm of locusts.
His seven dragons were a constant, awe-inspiring presence. Vorlag, Ignis, and Tempest often flew ahead, their roars a herald of the doom approaching King's Landing. Astra and Aurumel circled high above the main army, regal and untouchable, while Argentus and Veridian scouted the flanks, ensuring no ambushes lay in wait.
Lyra's intelligence network, now with agents deep within King's Landing (some former Lysene spies, others terrified Crownland informants), provided Vaelyx with a clear picture of the Usurper's preparations. King Robert Baratheon, finally shaken from his wine-soaked belligerence by the catastrophic news from the Westerlands, had flown into a monumental rage. He had called all his remaining banners. Lord Eddard Stark, with his grim Northmen, and Lord Jon Arryn, with the knights of the Vale, were marching south with all speed, their forces converging with Robert's own Crownlanders and what remained of the Stormlanders. Lord Hoster Tully had also committed his Riverland levies. It was to be a grand alliance, the last stand of the Usurper King and his allies, numbering perhaps eighty thousand – a formidable force, but one that would have to face not only Vaelyx's larger army but also his seven apocalyptic beasts.
Robert, Lyra reported, was determined to meet Vaelyx in a decisive field battle, confident in his own martial prowess and the valor of his Westerosi knights. Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark, more pragmatic, were urging a retreat behind the strong walls of King's Landing, hoping to bleed Vaelyx's army in a prolonged siege while seeking aid from any remaining uncommitted lords or even, desperately, from across the Narrow Sea (though from whom, none could say).
Vaelyx's army arrived before King's Landing like a dark tide, spreading out across the plains before the city gates. The capital of the Seven Kingdoms, a sprawling metropolis of splendor and squalor, now lay under the shadow of his dragons. From the Red Keep, Robert Baratheon and his war council could see the endless lines of tents, the glint of Essosi steel, the barbaric splendor of the Dothraki, and, circling above it all, the seven living legends that had brought ruin to their allies.
The city itself was in a state of panicked readiness. The Gold Cloaks, under Janos Slynt, manned the walls, their numbers bolstered by Robert's army. Wildfire caches, a legacy of Aerys's madness, were reportedly being prepared by the Alchemists' Guild, a desperate, last-ditch defense.
Vaelyx sent forth his ultimatum, delivered by Oberyn Martell, whose presence alone would be a poisoned dart in the hearts of any Lannister sympathizers within the city. The terms were stark: Robert Baratheon was to surrender the Iron Throne and himself to Vaelyx's judgment. All lords who had supported the Usurpation were to lay down their arms and beg forgiveness. The city of King's Landing was to open its gates. Failure to comply within twenty-four hours would result in its utter annihilation. To underscore the message, Vaelyx had Ignis unleash a single, controlled blast of scarlet fire high into the sky above the Red Keep, a searing crimson comet that was visible for leagues, a promise of the inferno to come.
Inside the Red Keep, Robert Baratheon raged. "Single combat!" he bellowed, his face purple, his warhammer in hand. "I'll fight the Targaryen whelp myself! I killed Rhaegar, I'll kill this one too!"
Lord Jon Arryn, old and weary, shook his head. "Your Grace, he commands seven dragons. Single combat is meaningless against such power. We must defend the city, bleed his army, hope for a miracle."
Lord Eddard Stark, his face grim, agreed. "The walls are strong, Your Grace. Our men are brave. We fight for our homes, our king."
But even as they spoke, Varys, the Master of Whisperers, received chilling reports from his little birds. The mood in the city was black with terror. The smallfolk were rioting for food, convinced the end was nigh. Some Gold Cloaks were deserting their posts. And within the Red Keep itself, Queen Cersei Lannister, her father dead, her family's power shattered, her children's future uncertain, was reportedly in a state of cold, calculating despair, perhaps even seeking her own desperate means of survival. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, a member of Robert's Kingsguard, was a brooding, unpredictable presence.
Vaelyx had no intention of a prolonged siege. He knew the city was a powder keg, its populace terrified, its leadership divided. His plan was multifaceted, designed to break King's Landing swiftly and decisively.
As the twenty-four-hour deadline for his ultimatum approached, he gave his orders. Grand Admiral Orzono's Dragon Fleet, which had sailed up the Blackwater Rush, established a tight blockade, cutting off any escape by sea. Tempest and Argentus began a systematic destruction of any remaining vessels in the harbor and the makeshift chain boom the defenders had erected.
On land, Vaelyx arrayed his army. The Aegis Guard and Golden Company would lead any direct assault on the gates. The Myrish Legions and Reach levies would support them. The Dothraki, under Boros, would form a vast, mobile screen, preventing any breakout attempts or the arrival of unexpected relief forces.
But the true assault would come from within, and from above.
Lyra's agents, including some of Varys's own little birds now secretly turned, had been active. They had identified key Gold Cloak commanders susceptible to bribery or intimidation. They had located several of Aerys's forgotten wildfire caches beneath the city. And Veridian, his jade scales a perfect camouflage against the grimy city rooftops at night, had slipped into King's Landing multiple times. The empathic dragon had confirmed the locations of the wildfire, the growing panic amongst the defenders, and, most crucially, identified a network of ancient, forgotten tunnels leading from beneath the Red Keep towards the river – tunnels even Varys was only vaguely aware of.
Vaelyx's plan was audacious: a simultaneous assault from without, dragon fire from above, and an infiltration force emerging from beneath the Red Keep itself to seize Robert Baratheon and decapitate the Usurper's regime.
As the final hour of the ultimatum ticked away, and King's Landing remained defiantly sealed, Vaelyx Targaryen prepared to unleash hell upon the city of his ancestors. He stood before his command pavilion, his seven dragons arrayed behind him like a council of gods of destruction.
"Robert Baratheon has chosen defiance," Vaelyx announced to his assembled commanders, his voice carrying an edge of chilling anticipation. "He has chosen to sacrifice his city and his people on the altar of his illegitimate pride. So be it."
He turned to Lyra. "Is the infiltration team in position?"
Lyra nodded. "They await your signal, my Emperor. Veridian leads them. They will emerge into the Red Keep's lower levels." This team comprised her deadliest Serpent's Scale assassins and a hundred Qohorik Unsullied, silent and lethal.
Vaelyx looked to the skies, where Vorlag and Ignis circled impatiently. "Then let the symphony begin."
He raised his hand, and as it fell, Vorlag and Ignis unleashed their fire upon the main gates of King's Landing – the Gate of the Gods, the Lion Gate, the Dragon Gate – their combined inferno turning stone to slag and timber to ash. Simultaneously, Astra and Aurumel ascended, Astra preparing to neutralize the Red Keep's specific defenses, Aurumel to weave illusions of attacking forces at multiple points along the walls, sowing confusion amongst the Gold Cloaks.
The final battle for the Iron Throne was about to commence, not as a glorious field engagement as Robert Baratheon might have wished, but as a terrifying, multi-pronged assault designed to break the city's body and its spirit in a single, overwhelming storm of fire, steel, and shadow.