Your comments, reviews, and votes really help me out so much and they make me super motivated to keep working on this story! Thank you! Pat*eon : CaveLeather
Euron's patience had long since run dry. Varys's lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to use his glib tongue to negotiate or perhaps throw out a secret as a bargaining chip.
But Euron gave him no chance to speak. He didn't bother listening to words that might sway the heart. With lightning speed, he delivered a precise chop to the back of Varys's neck. The light that had just appeared in the Spider's eyes extinguished instantly, and his body went limp.
Euron deftly bound him with the rope he had prepared, then hoisted him onto his shoulder like a sack of cargo and turned to leave. Shortly after, the dark cellar of the inn near the Red Keep gained another important "guest." Varys was tossed casually into the corner to keep company with the six captured pyromancers, all sinking together into the darkness of unconsciousness.
Elana, who had played a crucial role in this operation, remained quietly in the cellar. She didn't ask to leave, and Euron had no intention of letting her return to the bloody hell outside just yet.
King's Landing, especially the Red Keep at the center of power, had become a gladiator's arena of slaughter. Lannister soldiers were looting everywhere; the slightest excuse could lead to death. Euron would not let his excellent spy, whom he had carefully groomed and who had just proven her immense value, die a worthless death in the chaos.
She was one of the pieces he had buried in the Red Keep. Her future use would be far greater than today.
---
In the distance, the soaring flames of King's Landing tore the night apart. Seeing this, Eddard Stark immediately sent a rider to Euron's camp to report the situation.
The reply he received was that Lord Euron had already led a portion of his Ironborn ahead to King's Landing. Ned didn't dwell on this slightly abrupt action. The situation was urgent, so he immediately ordered the main coalition force to march at full speed, diving straight for the capital.
When the coalition vanguard reached the walls of King's Landing, the sound of chaotic hoofbeats and killing shouts echoed from within the heavy gates. Ned assumed it was Euron's Ironborn fighting hard inside. He didn't know that Euron Greyjoy had already slipped into the Red Keep like a ghost.
The coalition had arrived, and the Lion banners flew in the streets, but what Euron wanted to see most at this moment was the final end of the once-arrogant Mad King—Aerys Targaryen.
---
Inside the Throne Room, when the news of Tywin's betrayal finally arrived, Aerys II did not fly into a rage. Instead, he let out a hair-raising shriek of laughter. His withered, claw-like fingers tightly clutched a jar of emerald wildfire to his chest, demonic light dancing in his pupils.
"Excellent!" he hissed, his voice like rusting chains grinding together. "Wait until the Usurper and his rebel dogs step into the plaza... then light it all! What he gets won't be King's Landing, won't be the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, but charred bones and roasted meat!"
The mad king spun around violently, his bony fingers gripping the pure white cloak of Jaime Lannister standing beside him. "You! Go bring me your traitor father's head!"
Jaime's sword trembled almost inaudibly in its scabbard.
He didn't move, but scenes flashed through his mind: the suppressed sobbing in Queen Rhaella's chambers, the bruises on her neck she couldn't hide when she fled to Dragonstone; the dull crack of throat cartilage as Brandon Stark was strangled by the Tyroshi device; Rickard Stark burning alive in his armor; and the horrific death of Lord Qarlton Chelsted...
Just then, a pyromancer who had received the order raised a torch and rushed toward the entrance of the wildfire tunnels.
In a split second, Jaime moved. He caught up to the pyromancer in a few strides. His blade flashed like cold lightning, piercing the man precisely through the back of the heart. The pyromancer didn't even have time to scream before collapsing limply. The torch rolled across the floor, illuminating Jaime's expressionless face.
Moments later, Jaime's figure reappeared at the entrance of the Throne Room. He walked back to Aerys step by step. The longsword in his hand was stained with warm, sticky blood, dripping onto the cold stone floor, blooming into dark red flowers.
Aerys II huddled in the massive shadow cast by the Iron Throne like a frightened viper. He stared dead at the dripping blood, a look of sickly hope actually appearing on his haggard face. His voice was dry and trembling: "Is... is that Tywin's blood?"
"No," Jaime's voice was terrifyingly calm as he continued to approach. "It is the pyromancer's blood." Every step sounded like a death knell. "The wildfire plot ends here, Your Grace."
After a brief dead silence, Aerys erupted with a roar of despair: "I still have Rossart!!" He leaped from the throne like a demon, his withered claws seeming to grasp for some void authority as he lunged toward the steps.
In that instant, sword light flashed like a sudden cold storm.
A scarlet arc bloomed across Aerys's throat. Blood gushed out, flowing down the twisted, black steel blades of the Iron Throne, like tears of blood wept by a dying dragon. Before Aerys's body could fall, Jaime's second strike pierced precisely from the back, penetrating the heart and pinning the Mad King's broken body firmly to the steps leading to the Iron Throne.
"Fire... should not devour the innocent."
Jaime looked at Aerys II's wide eyes and twisted face, the expression forever frozen between madness and shock. He slowly cradled his sword in his hands and used a corner of his white cloak to silently wipe the hot blood from the blade.
The bloodstained cloth seemed like the wreckage of his vows.
"I am a Kingsguard," he whispered, his voice so light only he could hear. "But also an oathbreaker. From this day forth, the name 'Kingslayer' will stain my soul forever, just like this blood."
He looked up, his gaze passing over the Mad King's corpse to the Iron Throne standing tall above.
It was high, cold, and hideous, gleaming with an ominous luster in the dim firelight.
Outside the window, King's Landing had fallen into chaos, with cries and fighting rising and falling. Yet, in this core of power, a strange silence permeated. A sudden, uncontrollable impulse surged in Jaime's heart—he wanted to sit on it.
He wanted to know what kind of magic this twisted chair possessed that could make fathers and sons kill each other, brothers turn against one another, and drive countless heroes and villains mad, willing to bet everything—including honor and life—for it.
Once the thought was born, it spread like wildfire. He took a step, treading through the sticky pool of blood, and walked step by step toward the Iron Throne, the symbol of supreme power in the Seven Kingdoms.