Lord Tywin Lannister stood atop a ridge overlooking the ruined battlefield.
His green eyes studied the devastation in silence.
Around him, Lannister soldiers waited uneasily; they didn't dare speak, and none dared to interrupt his thoughts. For perhaps the first time in decades, Tywin Lannister found himself genuinely unsettled.
Not by the destruction; war was destruction, he had ordered entire houses exterminated before, he had watched people burn, had seen thousands die. These things didn't trouble him. What truly troubled him was Damon.
His gaze drifted toward the young Targaryen. Damon sat astride his horse near the city gates, speaking quietly with several captains. His posture was relaxed. Calm.
There was no madness to be seen in him currently, no wild laughter, no ecstatic joy at the destruction and death he caused, no bloodlust; he was in control. All that could be seen was cold certainty.
That frightened Tywin more than anything.
Aerys had been dangerous because he was insane, but after a while the unpredictable Insanity became predictable.
It was able to be manipulated, contained, and eventually it would destroy itself.
Damon was something else entirely.
The prince had looked upon the destruction of an entire army and remained composed.
Not because he enjoyed it, not because he hated it. Because he had decided it was necessary.
Tywin had spent his entire life studying power.
And what he saw now chilled him. A madman with dragons was a catastrophe; a rational man with dragons was an could build a lasting empire.
For a brief moment Tywin remembered standing in the throne room years ago while Aerys screamed about wildfire.
The Mad King had wanted to burn cities because the voices in his head demanded it.
Damon had burned an army because it stood in his way to victory.
The distinction was terrifying.
One was madness.
The other was logic.
Tywin realized, with absolute certainty, that the boy sitting outside the gates was far more dangerous than his father had ever been.
And the worst part?
He was probably going to be a far better king.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
The game had changed.
He had never really intended to be truly loyal to Damon, afterall he had his pride and ambition. Bowing his head for a few years was nothing in the grand scheme of things; he expected Damon to be just like his father, spilling in to maddness, but if the boy had the same problems, it would have shown; his shout would have accomplished nothing. The whole rebel army would be dead.
"It seems things have changed; a true Targaryen has appeared once more, but as always the dragons need the lion's gold." Tywin whispered, and as such, the lions would survive.
They always survived.
But from this day forward, House Lannister would not be the power behind the throne.
The throne itself now possessed power beyond anything Westeros had seen in nearly a century.
Tywin looked toward the sky.
Two dragons rested beyond the walls.
And somehow he doubted those were all Damon possessed.
"No," Tywin murmured quietly.
One of his knights glanced toward him.
"My lord?"
Tywin's expression remained unreadable.
"Nothing."
But his thoughts continued.
Cersei must come to King's Landing.
Immediately.
Because if House Lannister intended to remain relevant in the world that was coming, they needed to be tied to Damon Targaryen.
By blood.
The surviving rebel soldiers offered little resistance.
There was no point.
Entire formations surrendered the moment Lannister patrols approached.
Men dropped swords.
Knights removed their armor.
Veterans who had marched through years of war sat in the dirt and stared into nothing.
The terror lingered.
Every shadow passing overhead made them flinch.
Every distant roar sent panic through the camps.
Fear had become its own weapon.
Robert Baratheon sat in chains. The would-be future king of Westeros, the demon of the Trident.
Now he sat against the wall of a wagon with iron around his wrists.
His armor had been removed, his hammer taken. His face was blackened by smoke.
Across from him sat Eddard Stark; beside them sat Jon Arryn. None spoke for a long time.
Eventually Robert laughed.
The sound was broken. Humorless.
Halfway to madness.
"Dragons."
Neither man answered.
Robert shook his head.
"All this time."
His voice sounded tired.
"We fought a war against dragons."
Ned looked down at the ground.
Not even dragons occupied his thoughts.
Jon was sure to be okay, as he left him with some soldiers loyal to the Starks in the command tent they had set up.
Lyanna was dead.
Winterfell.
Everything suddenly seemed very far away.
"We never had a chance," Robert whispered.
Jon Arryn finally looked up.
The oldest of the three seemed to have aged ten years in a single day.
"No."
The word carried enormous weight.
"We didn't."
Silence followed.
Then Robert laughed again.
"I killed Rhaegar."
No one responded.
"I won the Trident."
Still silence.
"And it didn't matter."
This time nobody could deny it.
Because it was true.
The victory that should have won the war had become meaningless.
Rhaegar was dead.
Aerys was dead.
Yet somehow House Targaryen stood stronger than ever.
(Hours Later)
Inside the Red Keep, the mood was complicated.
Victory had come.
But not peace.
Queen Rhaella stood upon a balcony overlooking the city.
Far below, the people celebrated.
Church bells rang.
Crowds gathered in the streets.
Songs had already begun.
The Dragon King.
The Dragon Prince.
The Return of Fire.
The names changed with every hour.
Beside her stood Elia Martell.
Neither woman spoke immediately.
Eventually Rhaella broke the silence.
"When he was young..."
Her voice was soft.
"I worried about him."
Elia looked toward her.
Rhaella smiled faintly.
"Damon was always different."
The queen's gaze drifted toward the horizon.
"Rhaegar dreamed his dreams and connected with everyone."
A sad smile touched her lips.
"Viserys is outspoken and demanding."
She sighed.
"But Damon watches, alone and quiet."
Elia remained silent.
Because she understood.
The realization had struck her during the battle.
She had watched Damon ride through the gates earlier. A man filled with confidence, and clearly always two or more moves ahead.
That was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"I fear him," Elia admitted quietly.
The words surprised even her.
Rhaella closed her eyes.
"So do I."
The confession lingered between them.
Not because Damon was cruel.
Not because he was unstable.
But because power had settled around him naturally, and they realised they knew little to nothing about the real Damon.