The Iron Throne, towering in the great hall, was twisted and grotesque.
At this moment, Aerys sat high upon it.
Gathered around him were a group of fire mages clad in gray robes. Their hoods were pulled low, adding an eerie, sinister air to the already gloomy hall.
The death of Varys and the betrayal of Pycelle had made Aerys even more reliant on these fire mages.
They had come to control almost all matters, great and small, within King's Landing.
In the throne room, a man claiming to be an envoy from the Lannisters stood requesting that Aerys open the city gates and join forces to defend against the rebels.
"Your Grace, Lord Tywin himself leads the royalist army. He should arrive before sunset," the envoy said.
The armor he wore was marked with the image of a scorpion.
His name was Amory Lorch. Short, fat, and thoroughly unimpressive, he had a pale, bloated face like a pig's, and his dull, lifeless eyes made him appear even more foolish.
Aerys peered at the envoy through the curtain of his own hair and spoke in a chilling voice.
"Good. I will send word to Tywin that a feast has been prepared in his honor."
Hearing this, Amory's fat lips almost curled into an uncontrollable grin, "Wonderful, Your Grace. I shall return at once and inform Lord Tywin," he said.
"There's no need. You will stay," Aerys replied.
"Stay... stay?"
Amory's brain, aged by decades of use, might have dulled, but his instincts remained sharp.
Just as he had once known in another timeline that brutally butchering little Rhaenys would please Tywin, now he sensed that something was very wrong with the Mad King.
Suddenly, a group of knights approached, chains in hand.
"You! What are you doing! What do you want!" Amory shouted as he struggled.
He was tightly bound, and a jug of wildfire was poured over his head.
"Your Grace! Mercy, Your Grace! It's Tywin! Tywin wants to trick you, Your Grace! Tywin wants to open the gates and kill you!"
Terrified, Amory spilled everything he knew, hoping for mercy.
But Aerys had already lost interest.
One of the fire mages lifted a sleeve, and Amory's body was instantly engulfed in flames.
Green fire wriggled like rats into the gaps of his armor, crawling up his body to his head, soon engulfing his grotesque features.
Watching Amory scream within the flames, Aerys thought he looked much better now than he had before.
In this timeline, Amory would never again have the chance to stab little Rhaenys fifty times and enjoy more than a decade of wealth and prestige.
.....
From the west came a great host flying banners of a golden lion on a red field.
The army stretched out like a long, winding serpent, steadily approaching its prey.
Tywin Lannister was less than five miles from King's Landing. Though approaching fifty years of age and lacking the youthful beauty of his son Jaime, Tywin's presence and aura were unmatched.
A few fire mages, hoods drawn low, approached him cautiously, feeling an invisible pressure, as though they faced a true lion ready to devour them.
Tywin, wearing a red cloak, sat astride his horse. The golden sunset bathed his face and beard in a brilliant glow.
His golden beard now gleamed even brighter under the sun. He wore no helmet, and his exposed bald head only added to his stern, ferocious image.
The leader of the fire mages, bowing deeply, greeted him respectfully.
"Lord Tywin, His Grace King Aerys has prepared a feast to welcome you. We have also readied a carriage for you. Please, come with us ahead to King's Landing."
Faced with their request, Tywin neither accepted nor refused. Instead, he asked calmly:
"And where is Ser Amory, whom I sent?"
"He is with His Grace, eagerly awaiting your arrival," answered the fire mage, bowing even lower.
Tywin cast a cold, disdainful glance toward the ornate carriages bearing the black dragon and golden lion banners.
It was a look as though he had been insulted.
Suspicion stirred in his heart.
"There is no reason for an armored man to ride in a carriage," he said coldly. "An armored man should be in the saddle. King's Landing is close enough. You shall ride with me."
Hearing this, the fire mages looked visibly flustered.
"Lord Tywin, we must return at once to report. We dare not keep His Grace waiting for lowly servants like us," one of them said hurriedly.
"Very well. Go," Tywin said.
The fire mages, as if pardoned from death, hastily bowed and fled.
They had been tasked with luring Tywin into a trap and dared not linger any longer. After they departed, a nobleman, whose features somewhat resembled Tywin's, approached.
"Brother, it seems Amory has persuaded the Mad King," he said.
It was Stafford Lannister, Tywin's cousin.
"Amory is most likely dead," Tywin said flatly.
"What?" Stafford gasped.
Tywin stared coldly toward King's Landing.
"And Jaime..." Stafford trailed off, unable to say more. A terrible thought had crossed his mind.
Tywin remained silent, his expression as hard and unyielding as stone. It was as if Jaime were someone else's son.
In truth, Tywin had prepared himself for this possibility before setting out.
Those who joined the Kingsguard gave up all claims to inheritance, swearing not to marry or father children, dedicating their lives solely to the king.
When Jaime and his twin sister Cersei were born, they had been hailed as the "Golden Twins."
Jaime was the son Tywin had pinned his hopes on.
He had known, too, that Aerys had brought Jaime into the Kingsguard not only to humiliate him but to hold a hostage.
Even so, Tywin had prepared himself for the worst.
When Tywin's host finally arrived before the gates of King's Landing, they found the gates shut tight. Torches burned brightly atop the walls, illuminating the battlements and the figures upon them.
Aerys appeared on the ramparts, surrounded by fire mages and guards.
With him was Jaime, stripped of his armor, looking utterly wretched.
His right sleeve was soaked and stained a deep red with blood. His face was deathly pale, lips drained of all color.
"Tywin! Long time no see! You wouldn't come to my feast, so I had to prepare a little gift for you!" Aerys shouted, his face twisted in a mad grin.
As he spoke, he hurled down a severed hand, still warm and bloody.
Tywin recognized the battered youth as his own son.
When a retainer retrieved the severed hand and presented it to him, Tywin's face darkened, becoming like frozen iron.
"Tywin, let's make a trade," Aerys called down, still smiling maniacally. "Bring me the heads of Baratheon and Stark, and you can have your son's head in return. What do you say?"
_______________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor