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Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Realm Trembles
The Small Council of King Joffrey Baratheon – The Red Keep, King's Landing
The air in the small council chamber was thick with tension.
Cersei Lannister sat at the head of the table, her green eyes burning with barely contained rage.
The news was worse than she could have imagined.
Her brother, Jaime, defeated and captured at Riverrun.
Her father, Tywin, routed and humiliated at the Green Fork.
And worst of all—
The bastard of Winterfell had a dragon.
A dragon.
Cersei's hands clenched into fists.
How?
How could this happen?
She had fought so hard to keep the Iron Throne secure for Joffrey, had maneuvered, plotted, and killed to ensure her blood remained in power—
And now this… this abomination threatened to tear it all apart.
The small council chamber was dead silent, save for the drumming of Lord Varys's fingers against the polished wood table.
Littlefinger was smirking, looking entirely too amused.
Grand Maester Pycelle looked as if he had swallowed his own tongue.
And Joffrey—
The boy-king sat slouched on his chair, his pale face contorted in fury, lips curling in that ugly sneer that Cersei had come to know so well.
"I WANT THEM DEAD!"
His voice cracked with petulant rage as he slammed his goblet against the armrest.
"The Starks, the Tullys, the Targaryens, ALL OF THEM!"
Silence.
Then, Petyr Baelish chuckled.
"If only it were that simple, Your Grace."
Joffrey's eyes narrowed dangerously, but before he could lash out, Cersei spoke.
"Speak plainly, Lord Baelish."
Littlefinger steepled his fingers.
"The North was already a problem, but a Targaryen with a dragon? That changes everything."
He leaned forward.
"The realm has not seen a true dragon in over a century, my queen. Fear is a powerful weapon, but so is faith. Do you think the people will rally behind Joffrey, or the king who wields fire and blood?"
Cersei's nails dug into her palms.
Littlefinger was right.
Daeron Targaryen—Jon Snow—wasn't just another claimant.
He was the conqueror come again in the making.
And that made him far more dangerous than Stannis or Renly.
Varys, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke.
"This changes the game entirely. There are already whispers in the streets, my queen. Some call him the Dragon. Others call him the True Heir. But one thing is certain…"
His dark eyes gleamed in the dim candlelight.
"The realm is watching."
And that, more than anything, made Cersei's blood run cold.
The Camp of King Renly Baratheon
Renly Baratheon sat in his lavish command tent, his massive host of eighty thousand strong camped across the fertile lands of the Reach.
Loras Tyrell sat at his side, polishing his sword with a scowl.
Beside them, Randyll Tarly, the finest general of the Reach, was reading the report aloud.
"Jaime Lannister, defeated and captured. Tywin Lannister, routed at the Green Fork."
He paused.
"And King Daeron Targaryen… has a dragon."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
For the first time since declaring himself king, Renly's confidence wavered.
The game had changed.
A dragon.
The very word sent a chill down his spine.
If Daeron truly controlled a dragon, that meant—
"We should march to King's Landing immediately."
Randyll Tarly's voice was calm but unyielding.
"We have the numbers. If we move now, we can take the city before Daeron Targaryen reaches it."
Loras Tyrell frowned.
"And what then? Even if we take the city, we'd still have to deal with Daeron Targaryen and his dragon."
Renly exhaled.
The Tyrells had backed him because he was young, charming, charismatic—but even all of that meant nothing against a dragon.
"A single dragon is not invincible."
All eyes turned to Randyll Tarly.
"We have tens of thousands of men. A dragon can be killed. It has been done before."
Renly nodded slowly, regaining his composure.
"Then we will need to learn how."
He turned to Mace Tyrell.
"Summon your maesters. I want everything there is to know about dragons."
And though he did not say it aloud, the implication was clear.
How to kill one.
The War Council of King Stannis Baratheon – Dragonstone
The chamber of the Painted Table was lit with candlelight, shadows flickering over the ancient map of Westeros.
Stannis Baratheon stood at the head, his jaw tight as he listened to the news.
Davos Seaworth, his most trusted man, was the one to deliver it.
"Tywin Lannister has been routed at the Green Fork."
"Jaime Lannister is captured at Riverrun."
"And… Daeron Targaryen has a dragon."
Silence.
Then, Melisandre of Asshai smiled.
"It is as I have foreseen."
Stannis turned to her, his blue eyes like cold steel.
"You foresaw a dragon?"
Melisandre's gaze was unshaken.
"I foresaw a fire reborn. A king of ice and fire, forged in the crucible of war."
Davos shifted uncomfortably.
"And what does this mean for us?"
Stannis exhaled sharply.
"It means that this war is no longer between Baratheons."
He looked down at the Painted Table, his fingers tracing over King's Landing.
"If Daeron Targaryen truly controls a dragon… then he is the only real threat to the throne."
Melisandre stepped forward, her red robes flowing like liquid fire.
"The Lord of Light has chosen a champion, my king. But you must decide—will you stand against him? Or will you kneel?"
Stannis's face was carved from stone.
"The Baratheons no longer kneel to Targaryens. "
His fingers tightened into a fist.
But even as he spoke, the words felt hollow.
Because in his heart—
He knew.
A dragon changes everything.