Half a month later.
King's Landing, Red Keep.
Aerys huddled in his bedchamber, eyes darting nervously toward the windows and doors. He muttered under his breath, over and over: "Tywin… I'm stripping you of the office of Hand…"
Outside the royal apartments.
Ser Gerold Hightower and Jaime Lannister stood guard on either side of the door.
Jaime leaned in, voice tight with frustration. "Ser, the king's safety is under threat and we're just supposed to stand here doing nothing?"
"We are protecting him," Ser Gerold replied, stone-faced. His hand tightened around the hilt of his distinctive sword.
Jaime's hot temper flared. He strode to the corridor window.
A full Lannister host was pouring through the Dragon Gate—gold and crimson banners snapping in the wind, the roaring lion sigil flooding the streets like a tide. The smallfolk of King's Landing watched in open terror.
The heirs of the Eagle and the Wolf were already in chains. War was no longer a rumor.
With both princes missing, Tywin had seized the moment. He'd openly insulted the king, then marched his army straight into the city.
"That's just the vanguard—two thousand men at least," Jaime said, stalking back. "If my father wanted the throne right now, he could storm the Red Keep and take it."
Ser Gerold said nothing.
He liked the boy. He genuinely hoped they could fill the Kingsguard vacancy soon.
But the way the king had named the Hand's son to the white cloak still left him speechless.
Even worse, the king and the Hand had nearly come to blows over it in council. Tywin had finally used the king's "injuries" as an excuse to lock him away in his own chambers.
Healing, my ass. It was house arrest.
"We should act," Jaime pressed. "Protect the king, convene the Small Council, and order the Lannister troops out of the city—make them camp ten miles away."
It was a sound plan. The kid had political and military instincts.
He'd just missed one crucial detail.
Ser Gerold glanced into the bedchamber at the muttering, half-mad king and sighed. "Listen, Ser Jaime. All we can do is protect His Grace. Nothing more."
He used the formal title on purpose—hoping to cool the boy's fire.
Jaime blinked, studying the massive "White Bull." Suddenly the white cloak looked a lot heavier.
Even the Kingsguard had to compromise?
Lannister troops in the city, and Ser Gerold just stood there calling it "protection." If things turned ugly, how many armored spearmen could the two of them actually stop?
Jaime's mind raced. He was no fool.
"We split up," he said quickly. "You stay with the king. I'll go to Queen Rhaella, use the king's name to summon the council. Let the queen command the lords."
If they could buy even a few hours and get the Lannisters out of the city, the moment the two princes returned, Tywin would be forced to clean up his own mess.
Ser Gerold looked tempted… but then shook his head. Two men against an army? They'd only drag the king and queen into the slaughter.
Jaime's shoulders slumped. He leaned against the door in silence.
Across the Red Keep, Tywin Lannister was having a much better day.
"Hah. Lannister troops in the city at last. No more buzzing insects."
He stood by the window, pouring himself a cup of wine.
After years of wading through the same stagnant swamp, he was finally done playing nice.
He held the heirs of two Great Houses. He'd shut the mad king's mouth. He had men inside the city walls. Safety was assured.
Let the Targaryens and the lords of the realm bleed each other dry. When the dust settled, House Lannister would pick up the pieces.
Tywin drained the cup, savoring the moment. "A Lannister always stands on the winning side of the scales."
Knock-knock-knock.
The door opened. Two loyal Lannister dogs stepped in: Amory Lorch and Ilyn Payne.
"How goes it?" Tywin asked.
Ilyn, tongue-less thanks to the king's order, let Amory speak.
"The army's inside the walls, but the Gold Cloaks are being stubborn. They won't hand over a single gate."
"That bastard Alliser Thorne even threatened to chop my head off."
Tywin's brow furrowed. "The gods gave you the wits of a turnip, Lorch. You were supposed to sweet-talk them, not start a brawl with the City Watch at a time like this."
Amory lowered his head. "The man's got a mouth worse than the cheapest whore in Lannisport."
Tywin waved it away. "Cersei returned from the prince's lands days ago. Have Princess Elia and Princess Shaena come back yet?"
"No," Amory answered at once. "A company of Dragon Guards holds the far bank of the Blackwater. I sent men to ask—lost one on the spot."
"Lost one?" Tywin caught the wording.
"Some Velaryon bastard with a hammer the size of a man. Smashed my fellow's head like a rotten tomato."
Tywin's lip curled in disgust. "Get out, Lorch."
The two men bowed and left.
Alone again, Tywin stared out the window toward the opposite shore.
"The boy's fief. Can't just march in."
His original plan had been to control Princess Elia and use Dorne's loyalty as leverage once the war started.
"Cersei should never have come back so soon."
Thinking of his two children made his vision blur with rage.
Jaime had thrown away Casterly Rock for a white cloak. Cersei had raced home to celebrate.
A pair of perfect idiots.
Cersei, however, felt brilliant.
Jaime in the Kingsguard meant he'd stay in King's Landing with her forever.
She'd marry the prince and become queen.
Jaime would protect the prince and back her up.
Perfect!
Eyes bright with ambition, Cersei knocked on Queen Rhaella's door.
"Enter."
She pushed the door open with a bright smile.
New strategy: if the prince was hard to win, start with the future mother-in-law.
With her father now running the city, even the queen would have to show her respect.
Meanwhile, far to the south, Daeron was already on his way back.
Gulltown.
Daeron had stopped to rest when a raven arrived from King's Landing.
The message was short and brutal.
Father under house arrest. Hand controls the court. Return at once. Need you to restore order.
Sender: Lord Owen—somehow the man already knew Daeron was in Gulltown.
"Teacher finally bared his teeth," Daeron murmured, folding the letter. He saw the entire board clearly.
First Jaime's surprise appointment to the Kingsguard—costing Tywin his best heir. Then the Eagle and Wolf heirs walked right into the trap, handing Tywin the spark for the Usurper's War.
Instead of resigning, Tywin had marched his army into the capital.
He wasn't sitting on the sidelines like in the old timeline. He was all-in, playing for maximum Lannister gain.
"Prince, the three lords are waiting," Davos said, stepping into the room.
In the hall, Lord Grafton wasn't alone. Lucerys Velaryon and an older man with silver-streaked gray hair and piercing blue eyes stood with him.
Adrian Celtigar, Lord of Claw Isle—known as "Red Crab."
Three of the Narrow Sea's richest seafaring houses, all here for one reason.
They wanted to form the "Gullet Guardians Alliance"—Gulltown, Claw Isle, and Driftmark united to stop the Triarchy from choking their trade.
After seeing what dragons could do, Lucerys had brought the other two into the fold. They were betting everything on Daeron.
"Prince, the royal fleet sits idle," Lucerys said, dark circles under his eyes. "If we don't act, our entire shipping business will collapse."
Lord Celtigar added, "The royal fleet answers to your brother, but Prince Rhaegar vanished over a month ago. He doesn't give a damn what happens to us."
Lord Grafton nodded eagerly. "And frankly, we trust you far more than we trust him."
He slid a letter across the table—intelligence from the Eyrie. Jon Arryn was quietly mustering banners but deliberately skipping some lords.
Gulltown's spies had bought the list.
Daeron scanned it. Jon Arryn was still terrified of dragons. He wouldn't stick his neck out until the last possible second.
Perfect. That bought Daeron time.
"My lords, I understand your position and I grieve for what your houses have suffered."
He couldn't refuse an alliance handed to him on a silver platter—but he set the terms plainly.
Sitting on the lord's chair, one hand resting on the plain sword at his side, Daeron spoke clearly:
"But the situation in King's Landing is unclear. I must return first and stabilize the capital before I can help you guard the Gullet."
The three lords exchanged glances, then nodded in understanding.
The Triarchy's pirates were raiding the lower Narrow Sea. Only their hit-and-run tactics had let them slip into the middle stretch and harass the three ports.
A united "Gullet Guardians Alliance" would let them draw a naval line across the strait and push the enemy back south.
They were also buying insurance.
Everyone had seen what dragons could do at sea.
Daeron accepted their oaths of loyalty without fanfare.
Several days later.
King's Landing.
Tywin stood stone-faced outside the king's bedchamber, demanding an audience.
"My lord, His Grace does not wish to see you," Prince Lewyn Martell said calmly, stepping into his path.
Lewyn's presence in the Red Keep was thanks to the king and Hand's little power struggle.
Tywin had tried to force Elia's return to use Dorne as leverage. Aerys—out of pure spite—had refused and secretly sent Jaime with orders for Lewyn to bring Dornish troops back to protect the king.
Tywin's eyes were ice. "Prince Lewyn, I have urgent business with His Grace!"
Behind him, Lannister soldiers drew steel. Amory Lorch leveled his sword at the Dornish prince.
Drawing blades before the king's door. Open coercion.
Lewyn never flinched. He swept his gaze across the men and said quietly, "If you think this rabble can take me, you're welcome to try."
One hand rested on his sword hilt. No blade drawn—yet the cold killing intent that rolled off him made every man feel as if he'd stepped into a frozen grave.
Tywin, closest of all, felt a sharp prickling between his eyes.
Swords half-drawn, tension crackling like lightning.
"Skreee—!"
A long, piercing shriek split the sky above King's Landing.
Tywin's head snapped toward the window.
Caraxes's massive crimson wings snapped open like twin banners of fire. The dragon streaked past the Great Sept of Baelor like a blazing red thunderbolt. The wind of his passage set the tower bells ringing wildly.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
Every smallfolk in the city looked up.
High above the rooftops, the scarlet dragon wheeled through the clouds—announcing his return to the entire realm in the loudest, most arrogant way possible.