Game of Thrones: Reign of the Dragonking

Chapter 121: Echoes in the Rock

—

The world shrank to a single point of incandescent focus as twin streams of dragonfire slammed into Casterly Rock's legendary gates.

I felt Rhaegal vibrate beneath me, the muscles of his long neck tensing as he poured liquid destruction upon centuries of Lannister pride. It wasn’t as powerful as my Viserion, but it was a sight to behold regardless. 

Beside us, Drogon's black flames mixed with Rhaegal's green-tinged inferno, creating a hellish vortex that devoured stone, metal, and flesh alike. Soldiers around us gasped.

The ancient gate—supposedly impregnable, certainly never before breached—glowed white-hot before collapsing inward with a thunderous groan. A massive cloud of steam and ash erupted skyward, momentarily obscuring the breach we'd created. 

“YAHHH!” Below, the Tyrell army roared in triumph. They were like a sea of green and gold surging forward like a tide about to sweep through the opening.

I couldn’t help a laugh. How many would-be conquerors had broken themselves against these walls throughout the centuries? Yet it had taken me mere seconds to shatter what generations of Lannisters had believed unbreakable.

This…

This was power.

"Rhaegal, higher!" I commanded, pulling on his spine to direct him upward. The green dragon responded immediately, banking sharply to gain altitude.

From this vantage point, I could see the full scope of our assault. 

“I haven’t seen a war like this up so close before,” Dany said as she guided Drogon to fly to my left. I looked at her from the corner of my eye. My sister's silver-gold hair streamed behind her like a war banner. Her new draconic features—subtle horns, iridescent scales, and that tail—made her look like some ancient goddess of war descended upon the world of men.

“You’ll see a lot more of this; better get used to it,” I said, focusing on the war.

The Tyrell forces were organizing below, their disciplined ranks preparing to pour through the gap we'd created. I spotted Garlan Tyrell's distinctive armor at their head as he barked orders to his captains. A messenger approached him, gesturing frantically toward where I hovered above.

I guided Rhaegal lower, close enough that the downdraft from his wings sent cloaks and banners flapping wildly. Men scrambled backward, making room as the dragon settled onto a bare patch of hillside just outside the breach.

“Move, move!” Garlan broke away from his commanders and quickly approached with a combination of respect and wariness. The fear of dragons was still embedded in the blood of every Westerosi, no matter how loyal they claimed to be.

"Your Grace," he called up to me, his voice carrying over Rhaegal's rumbling breath. "We stand ready to secure the fortress at your command."

"Is the slave with you?" I asked, scanning the officers behind him.

Garlan's expression showed momentary confusion before clearing. "Ah, yes," he confirmed with a nod. "As you ordered, Your Grace. My dear sister is here too."

"Good. Keep my dear wife away from this for now, things can get dangerous," I nodded, satisfied. "The Tyrells are my own people. The goal here is to minimize deaths on our part. Our dragons will lead the attack—you follow with your army."

Garlan’s eyes lit up at the words, but I didn't wait for his acknowledgement. With a light pressure of my knees, Rhaegal launched skyward again, his massive wings creating a windstorm that forced the nearest soldiers to shield their eyes.

Daenerys brought Drogon alongside as we gained altitude.

"Take the western towers," I called to her, pointing toward a series of defensive positions where Lannister archers were already nocking arrows. "Clear the battlements for our men below. Some of those artworks might fetch a good price back in King's Landing."

Daenerys rolled her eyes, and I noticed a slight twitch of her new tail. "Are we conquering or redecorating, brother? But sure thing,” she agreed, her violet eyes alight with the thrill of battle, and directed Drogon toward the indicated targets. The black dragon's roar echoed off the stone walls as he banked sharply, heading straight for the archers.

I turned my attention to the soldiers attempting to form a shield wall inside the breach. They stood in neat rows, spears bristling outward like steel-tipped porcupines, ready to impale the first wave of Tyrell attackers.

In another timeline, those poor bastards would have died uselessly defending Tywin Lannister's pride, I thought. They might still. But at least I'm offering them a chance.

"Dracarys," I commanded.

Rhaegal knew my intent. He released a precisely controlled burst of flame, not directly at the shield wall but at the archway above them. Masonry cracked and tumbled down, forcing the formation to break apart in panic as they scattered to avoid being crushed.

In that moment of confusion, the first Tyrell soldiers swarmed through the breach.

I guided Rhaegal in a wide circle over the fortress, assessing its layout from above. Casterly Rock was even more impressive from this perspective—a massive, natural stone formation shaped by generations of Lannisters into an impregnable stronghold. Or rather, what they had thought was impregnable.

In the face of dragons, all fortresses were merely fancy tombs for those foolish enough to hide inside them.

The Tyrell forces were progressing well, pouring through the gap and spreading into the lower courtyards. Lannister resistance was sporadic and uncoordinated. It was nothing like the disciplined defense I'd expected from soldiers commanded by the great Tywin Lannister.

Rhaegal released another stream of fire, incinerating a group of archers who'd taken position on a balcony overlooking the main courtyard. Their arrows had been harmlessly bouncing off the dragon's scales, but I found it annoying nonetheless. Unlike Viserion, Rhaegal's scales weren't quite as developed or tough.

When another volley came flying toward us, one arrow managed to penetrate slightly into Rhaegal's hide. Not deep enough to cause serious damage, but enough to make him roar in anger.

"Fucking archers," I muttered, my irritation spiking.

The next volley came, but this time I was ready. My hand shot out with inhuman speed, plucking three arrows from the air before they could strike. With a savage grin, I hurled them back with every ounce of my enhanced strength. The projectiles struck with lethal precision, dropping three archers from their positions.

The others fled in terror, abandoning their posts. Word would spread quickly. That not only could the Dragon King command fire from the sky, but he could catch arrows and return them with deadly accuracy.

Daenerys had completed her circuit of the western towers. Drogon's black flame had left nothing but charred stone in their wake. She guided him back toward me, her face flushed with excitement.

"Must you show off now?" she flew closer and gave me a raised eyebrow.

I returned the look. "Just returning lost property, dear sister. Besides, it keeps them entertained. Less likely to shoot at you."

She gasped, “I’ll be perfectly fine, thank you very much. I think I am stronger than you.”

“We can test that out later,” I said. “In Tywin Lannister’s master bedroom.”

She laughed. "We’ll see… Anyway! The outer defenses are broken," she said, her voice carrying a note of triumph and glee. "Shall we press deeper, brother?"

“Umm…” I looked at her for a moment. She was not like this before the awakening. I nodded a moment later, gesturing toward the heart of the fortress. "Yes, follow me. We'll clear the path for Garlan's men."

Together, we drove our dragons forward, releasing coordinated blasts of flame that cleared battlements and forced defenders to abandon exposed positions. 

Below us, the Tyrell army advanced with impressive discipline, securing each section before pushing onward. I watched them with a mixture of approval and detachment. 

They were… useful tools in this conquest, but ultimately expendable compared to the power I wielded on dragonback. If necessary, I could have razed the entire fortress with Rhaegal and Drogon alone, burning every living soul inside.

But that would have been wasteful. 

Ultimately, I didn’t want to be a ruthless tyrant King. These Lannister soldiers weren't my enemies, they were simply men trying to feed their families, caught in a war caused by Lords, by powers far beyond their control. It was Tywin Lannister I wanted, not the corpses of peasants who happened to wear his colors.

"The inner keep is still holding," Daenerys observed, pointing toward a massive stone structure rising from the highest point of the Rock.

"Not for long," I replied. "Let's give them something to remember."

I directed Rhaegal toward one of the many ventilation shafts that dotted the upper reaches of the fortress. These openings, designed to provide fresh air to the lower levels, would serve a different purpose today.

"Dracarys!" I commanded, and Rhaegal released a concentrated stream of flame directly into the shaft.

Moments later, smoke began billowing from various openings throughout the structure, followed by the distant sounds of panicked shouting. The psychological impact would be devastating, as nowhere inside the fortress would feel safe from dragonfire.

Daenerys watched smoke pour from the vents. "Smoking them out? Rather clever. Though I imagine the smell down there is dreadful now."

"Better than the smell of burning flesh, wouldn't you say?"

Daenerys understood my strategy and directed Drogon to another shaft. Soon, smoke poured from dozens of openings, creating the impression that the very heart of the Rock was burning.

From below, I could hear the changing tenor of the battle. 

Shouts of defiance gave way to cries of surrender. Weapons clattered to the ground as Lannister soldiers realized the futility of their resistance.

"They're not being paid enough for this," I remarked to Daenerys as we circled the inner keep. "No amount of Lannister gold is worth facing dragons."

"The smart ones are surrendering," she observed, her eyes scanning the courtyards below where knots of red-cloaked soldiers were laying down their arms.

As the battle transformed into a rout, I couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. Where was the masterful defense I'd expected? Where were the cunning traps and desperate last stands that had made Tywin Lannister's name feared throughout the Seven Kingdoms?

Perhaps age had finally caught up with the Old Lion. Or perhaps...

My thoughts were interrupted by a messenger waving frantically from a cleared section of the upper bailey. I guided Rhaegal down, landing with a heavy thud that sent nearby soldiers scrambling for balance.

Garlan Tyrell approached, his armor spattered with blood but his bearing as proud as ever.

"Your Grace," he called up. "The outer fortress is secured. Only the inner keep remains. Our men report minimal resistance—they're surrendering in droves."

I dismounted, jumping from Rhaegal's shoulder with inhuman grace to land lightly before Garlan. "Good. Prepare your men to secure the inner keep. I want prisoners treated fairly—no unnecessary bloodshed. These men were following orders, nothing more."

"As you command, Your Grace," Garlan replied with a bow.

Daenerys landed nearby, smoothly sliding from Drogon's back to join us. Her draconic features drew startled looks from the Tyrell soldiers, many of whom averted their eyes out of some mixture of awe and fear.

Garlan himself seemed momentarily taken aback, his eyes widening at the sight of her horns and the scales that shimmered along her exposed skin. He recovered quickly, however, giving her a respectful nod.

"Princess Daenerys," he recognized. "Your... assistance was invaluable today."

"Thank you, Ser Garlan," she replied with a slight smile that revealed teeth just a touch sharper than they should have been. "Though it seems your men hardly needed our help once we breached the gates."

"You're too modest, Princess," Garlan responded, his eyes lingering on her changed features before returning to me. "Your Grace, shall we proceed to the inner keep? If Lord– uh, Tywin Lannister is anywhere, he'll be there, perhaps making his final stand."

I shook my head slightly. "I don't think so. Something feels wrong about this whole situation. The defense has been too disorganized, too... leaderless."

Nevertheless, we pressed forward. With our dragons temporarily left behind since the inner corridors of Casterly Rock were too confined for their massive bodies, we advanced with a contingent of Tyrell guards. Loras Tyrell joined us, his white armor gleaming even in the dim light of the torch-lit passageways.

Half an hour later, after fighting the last few soldiers scattered around and navigating a labyrinth of corridors, we reached the heart of Casterly Rock—a vast hall dominated by a massive chair carved from a single block of pale stone. This was the seat from which House Lannister had ruled the Westerlands for centuries.

It sat empty.

The hall itself contained only a handful of minor lords and officials, along with some frightened-looking servants. 

No Tywin Lannister. No final, desperate stand led by the Old Lion.

A small man with Lannister features—perhaps a cousin or lesser relative—stepped forward, visibly trembling despite his effort to maintain dignity.

"Where is Tywin Lannister?" I demanded, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

The man sneered despite his fear, drawing himself up as much as his stature allowed. "He's busy," he spat. "Busy digging your grave!"

I couldn't help but smile at his defiance, misplaced though it was. "Is he? How kind and industrious. Pity he won't be attending my coronation in it." This man was not a mere soldier following orders. "Garlan, ensure this one has ample time to reflect on his lord's absence... in the deepest, darkest cell you can find. Perhaps near the drains." I added calmly, "Torture him for a week, and then I'll feed him to my dragons."

Garlan nodded, gesturing to his soldiers who moved forward to seize the man. The few Lannister guards present raised their weapons instinctively, stepping between us and their lord.

"Drop your weapons," I said, not unkindly. "I harbor no hatred for poor men fighting the fight of their runaway lord, risking their lives to feed their families. Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

After a moment's hesitation, the guards lowered their swords, letting them clatter to the stone floor in final surrender.

I approached the empty throne of House Lannister, running my fingers along its smooth, pale arm before settling into it with a sigh of satisfaction. From this seat, Tywin Lannister had plotted the downfall of my family. From here, he had orchestrated the deaths of Elia Martell and her children.

And now, it was mine.

I took a deep breath, savoring the moment despite Tywin's absence. Casterly Rock, the impregnable fortress, the seat of Lannister power, the symbol of their wealth and might, had fallen in less than a day.

Tywin might have escaped for now, but his greatest legacy lay broken at my feet. His home was conquered, his soldiers defeated, his power shattered.

And I was going to enjoy the hospitality of his house while I planned my next move.

**

**

**