I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
_________________________________________
Chapter 64: The End of a Lion
The morning air was crisp and cold, but the sun was beginning to rise over the ruined towers of Harrenhal. The light painted the sky in hues of red and gold, as if the very heavens knew what was coming.
Tywin Lannister was going to die today.
Daeron stood at the edge of the execution site, his hands clasped behind his back. Beside him stood his family—his blood.
Uncle Ned. His second father, the man who had raised him. His face was unreadable, but when Daeron had spoken about his decision regarding the fate of Tywin Lannister, Ned had nodded. The North understood justice.
Rhaella. His grandmother. The Queen who was exiled. She was dressed in black, her silver hair glistening in the morning light. Her expression was calm, but there was a fire in her violet eyes.
Daenerys. His aunt, his kin. She was still young, but there was steel in her now, in the way she held herself, in the way she watched.
Viserys. His uncle. He looked nervous, his hands twitching slightly. For all his talk of dragons, he is still uncomfortable with fire because of his father's madness.
Prince Oberyn. The Red Viper of Dorne stood with them as well, his golden robes swaying slightly in the breeze. His dark eyes were alive with cruel amusement, as if he had been waiting for this day for years. And in a way, he had.
Beyond them, lords and knights of the Northern host had gathered to bear witness. Stark men. Manderlys. Umbers. Karstarks. Their faces were grim, their expressions unreadable. They had come to see the Lion of Lannister fall.
Then, at last, Tywin was brought forth.
The Great Lion of the Rock did not look so great anymore.
His once-golden hair was matted with sweat, his face drawn and sickly pale. The strong, commanding figure that had once ruled the West with an iron grip was gone. What stood before them now was a man on the edge of death.
Oberyn's poisons had done their work.
Tywin's emerald eyes flickered over them all, taking them in one by one. His gaze lingered on Daeron, and for a brief moment, Daeron thought he saw something there.
Fear.
It was well hidden, buried beneath years of pride and discipline, but it was there. And why wouldn't it be?
No sane man would not be afraid of death.
And death by fire was a horrible way to go.
Tywin was dragged forward and tied to the log. The executioners worked quickly, securing him in place. The great Lord of Casterly Rock was now little more than a prisoner awaiting his fate.
Prince Oberyn stepped forward.
"You don't have to do this yourself, Your Grace," he said, a smirk playing at his lips. "I'd be happy to step in and do it for you."
Daeron did not turn to look at him.
"Ours is the old way."
Uncle Ned nodded.
Oberyn sighed but did not argue.
Daeron took a step forward, coming face to face with Tywin Lannister.
The once-mighty lion looked half-dead already.
Oberyn had not chosen his poisons to be merciful. The work had been slow, painful.
A punishment for Rhaenys. For Aegon. For Elia.
Tywin stared at him with unreadable eyes.
Daeron met his gaze without blinking.
Then, softly, he spoke.
"Don't worry."
Tywin's brow furrowed slightly.
"Lyrax's flames burn hot."
A pause.
"It will be quick."
For a moment, something in Tywin's posture changed. His shoulders loosened slightly, his expression eased, as if in some ways he had already accepted his death.
A small mercy.
And far more than he deserved.
Daeron's voice grew cold.
"When you burn in the Seven Hells, I hope your screams give comfort to Aegon and Rhaenys."
The world seemed to go silent.
A shadow passed over them as Lyrax made her presence known.
The great black dragon lowered her head, her golden eyes locking onto the man tied to the log. The gathered men and women held their breath, their gazes fixed on the beast that had returned dragons to Westeros.
Tywin stared at her, but this time there was no hiding the fear.
Daeron took a step back.
And then, in a voice strong and steady, he spoke the word of House Targaryen.
"Dracarys."
For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
Then—
Fire.
A torrent of dragonflame erupted from Lyrax's maw, engulfing Tywin Lannister completely. The heat was immense, a roaring inferno that swallowed the log whole.
The flames burned bright, blindingly so.
And when the torrent finally died down, there was no life left.
Only a blackened corpse and smoldering remains tied to a burning log.
Tywin Lannister was dead.
Daeron exhaled slowly.
He closed his eyes.
He thought of Aegon. Of Rhaenys. Of the his siblings Tywin had ordered slain.
Their deaths had not been quick.
But his had.
It was done.
Without another word, Daeron turned and walked back into Harrenhal.