For a split second, in the midst of everything, Margaery Tyrell had wondered very briefly whether or not the dragon had come because she’d helped to poison the man she’d just married in the Sept. It was merely a fleeting thought of course. Not only did the Seven not have control over dragons, if it had been a punishment, Margaery imagined the dragon would have killed her grandmother or her father as it landed, not Tywin Lannister.
 
… Margaery had always wanted to be a Queen. But she hadn’t wanted to be a Queen to a King like Joffrey Baratheon, and when her grandmother had made clear her intentions to remove Joffrey so that Margaery could move onto Tommen… sweet, young, malleable Tommen… well, how was Margaery to say no? And so the plan was hatched, and the poison procured.
 
She hadn’t been entirely happy about implicating Sansa with the necklace of course, but in the end, sacrifices had to be made. The whole byplay between Joffrey and the Imp had been intensely uncomfortable to be sure, the most awkward of excesses from a King who she’d already known was as monstrous as they came. If only Renly had lived… but alas that road was closed.
 
Regardless, the tiff between the King and his short uncle had been the perfect cover by which to get ahold of Joffrey’s filled wine cup (filled by Tyrion no less, the husband to their framed poisoner!) and leave it close to her grandmother for the tainting. Then she’d handed the cup back to Joffrey and he’d taken his first sip after cutting the Pigeon pie. He’d been about to take a bite of the pie too, when the dragon had arrived.
 
The young woman could only assume that her ‘beloved’ was dead now. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Still, her current situation was not the best one. Could be worse though. When the dragon’s claw had initially curled around her waist, Margaery had expected death. She’d just watched Tywin Lannister get burned and swallowed in one smooth gulp after all.
 
So she’d screamed… and she’d kept on screaming as the dragon lifted her up into the air and flew away. The height and the speed at which the massive black-scaled drake flew, combined with her screaming, had not helped. She’d passed out from lack of air. When she’d woken up a little while later and saw nothing but water passing by beneath her, she’d begun to scream yet again… and subsequently fainted once more.
 
The next time she’d woken up, Margaery had been more in control of herself. She’d hung in the dragon’s grip, transferred to his back claws and carried like a fresh kill in her slightly torn wedding dress, as they flew along to… where ever they were going. Dragonstone, the Tyrell girl rightly assumed. Still, it was dreadfully boring, once she got past the fear of imminent death. She didn’t dare squirm… but she could at least speak.
 
Of course, Margaery had been playing the game of thrones for so long that having a beast to rant at was far better than having to put on a pretty smile and a docile façade to all the idiots in King’s Landing.
 
“YOU IDIOT BEAST! I WAS THIS CLOSE! THIS CLOSE TO BEING QUEEN OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS WITHOUT HAVING TO PUT UP WITH THAT FUCKING TWAT OF A BOY! AND WHAT DO YOU DO?! YOU STEAL ME AWAY FROM MY OWN FUCKING WEDDING!”
 
It felt good to get that off her chest, but eventually she had to stop, as she felt herself becoming short of breath once more. And then her entire body stiffens as the dragon actually RESPONDS. Oh, not in words, not so much as that… but the amusement that pushes against her mind from all sides, causing her to shudder at the creature’s massive mental presence, is certainly coming from him.
 
“… You can understand me?”
 
A certain sensation of agreement is pushed onto her and Margaery shudders once more, though this time in a faint bit of horror combined with just a tinge of curiosity. Her entire attitude changes immediately.
 
“I did not know you were so intelligent great dragon. I apologize for referring to you in such a derogatory manner.”
 
The amusement she gets back again tells Margaery that the dragon isn’t buying her abrupt one eighty, but the forgiveness that comes right after tells her he isn’t holding a grudge regardless. Letting out a long, shuddering breath, Margaery squeezes her eyes shut as the wind whips at her face.
 
“May I… May I know where it is we’re going?”
 
There’s no emotion this time, instead there’s an actual image that appears in her mind’s eye. Dragonstone. Of course, as she’d thought… still, not ideal. The Targaryen Queen will be there with two more dragons just like this. Margaery isn’t sure what Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen wants with her specifically, but it can’t be anything good.
 
“… I don’t suppose there’s a chance I could convince you to go somewhere else?”
 
That actually gets a snort from the dragon, one that Margaery thinks is a bit derisive in tone. She’s not really surprised when he sends back emotions that essentially boil down to ‘No’ in response. Letting out another sigh, Margaery just sort of slumps in the dragon’s grasp. She has to conserve her strength. Whatever happens next, she will face Daenerys Targaryen as a Queen, no less.
 
-x-X-x-
 
“… Who are you?”
 
Having been dumped unceremoniously onto her ass right in front of the Mother of Dragons, Margaery couldn’t help but wonder if the dragon could read minds and had done that on purpose. Looking up into the beautiful purple eyes of the Targaryen woman, she can’t help but be a little intimidated. Daenerys is looking at her like she’s a bug… and yet, the Dragon Queen doesn’t know who she is?
 
Margaery is a teensy bit insulted. Not enough to let it bleed through of course. Bowing her head low, she doesn’t dare get up off her knees so long as the massive black-scaled dragon is still circling them and watching. His desire in this regard has been made VERY clear.
 
“I am Margaery your grace. Margaery Tyrell.”
 
“Ah, of Highgarden, yes? The Tyrells fought for my father until the end didn’t they? Only bending the knee after his assassination and the fall of King’s Landing.”
 
There’s actually a note of happiness in the Targaryen woman’s voice and Margaery can’t help but look up at her with a bit of incredulity in her eyes, though its covered up quite well but a nice smile and a batting of her eye lashes.
 
“… Yes your grace.”
 
Daenerys is all smiles as well and for a moment Margaery is actually grateful that her crown fell off her head at some point while she was passed out and being carried her by the dragon.
 
And then, further lending credence to the idea that he might be reading her thoughts, the massive dragon stops his movements and lifts up his tail. It brushes against her hair and Margaery freezes up as she feels a familiar weight atop her head. Daenerys’ smile disappears and her face becomes stony.
 
“… Why has my Drogon placed a crown atop your head, Margaery Tyrell?”
 
Just as it is obvious that the dragon (Drogon, apparently) wants her to kneel, it is equally obvious he’s not going to let her lie there.
 
“… Your dragon happened to snatch me away on my wedding day, your grace. I had just been married to King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name in the Sept of Baelor.”
 
And there it is. Daenerys’ jaw sets and her beautiful violet eyes flash with anger.
 
“The Usurper’s get…”
 
She hisses the words and Margaery finds herself blurting out a secret she’d planned to tell nobody, ever.
 
“If it helps your grace, the King more than likely died shortly after Drogon stole me away!”
 
That actually does seem to help as Daenerys forgets her anger for a moment to be surprised, lifting her eyebrows and looking to her dragon.
 
“Drogon, did you go and kill the King of Westeros for me, before bringing his bride back to Dragonstone?”
 
Drogon chuffles in response, doing what Margaery assumes is the draconic version of a snicker. He shakes his massive scaled head back and forth and when Daenerys turns her eyes back to her, Margaery is quick to elaborate, seeing an in with the Targaryen woman… honestly, she’d never wanted to be Queen anyways, really.
 
“N-No your grace, you misunderstand me! While your dragon did kill two members of the Kingsguard, as well as Lord Tywin Lannister, i-it was I and my grandmother who plotted to poison Joffrey’s wine! I saw him drink the wine with mine own eyes before Drogon took me. Given the poison was the Strangler, there is no possible way that they managed to save his life. It is… very fast acting.”
 
There’s a moment of silence as Daenerys processes and ponders this.
 
“Why would you poison your husband on your wedding day?”
 
The obvious question finally arrives. Despite knowing it won’t fly, the lie slips from Margaery’s lips before she can fully stop herself… it still sounds unbelievably weak even to her ears.
 
“… Because the Tyrells remain your loyal servants my Queen?”
 
Daenerys just stares at her and eventually Margaery, feeling uncharacteristically chastised by a girl far closer to her own age than her grandmother, ducks her head.
 
“Because Joffrey Baratheon was a monster and we thought Tommen would be a far more pliable alternative, your grace.”
 
Nothing quite like a massive dragon to drag truth from lips that it hadn’t passed through in quite some time. Margaery couldn’t help the wry thought, though she kept the accompanying smile off her face as she awaited the Dragon Queen’s judgment. Eventually Daenerys just sighs.
 
“I’m not sure what you think is happening here Lady Tyrell. If you haven’t figured it out by now, I did not send Drogon to King’s Landing to ruin your wedding and kidnap you. My most ornery son does as he pleases. You belong to him now.”
 
Margaery can’t help but stare as the silver haired beauty turns to walk away.
 
“W-Wait! What do you mean, I belong to him?! I-I am a daughter of House Tyrell!”
 
Daenerys pauses and turns back slightly, not a single ounce of mercy or pity on her face.
 
“You will do quite well in Drogon’s collection Lady Tyrell. I’m sure of it. We’ll talk soon I imagine.”
 
And then the other woman is gone and as Drogon presses in on her, both physically and mentally, Margaery can’t help but be afraid. Nothing makes sense anymore, and nothing her grandmother taught her details how exactly one is supposed to deal with a massive dragon.
 
Staring into big, unblinking amber eyes, Margaery Tyrell swallows thickly.
 
… She’d only wanted to be Queen.
 
-x-X-x-
 
His father was dead and so was his son. His daughter was more than likely lost to him as well, and if the Dornish were telling the truth, it was the same scaled bastard who’d eaten his father.
 
And yet, Jaime Lannister really couldn’t bring himself to feel anything more than a strange emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He was probably supposed to mourn the death of yet another King, this one his own flesh and blood through and through. He was probably supposed to mourn the death of his father as well, the man who’d hounded him to ‘do better’ all his life.
 
His off-hand clenches into a fist, while what once had been his sword hand remains open. He cannot clench what is not truly there and the golden replica given to him by Cersei is ultimately a worthless replacement. Hm, there was a bit of anger at least. But at who? Who was Jaime Lannister angry with? Was it the dragon that had potentially absconded with his daughter, and then burnt and ate his father?
 
The same father that had in fact recently told Jaime he no longer considered him a Lannister, after he’d in turn told Tywin he had no plans to resign from the Kingsguard? Perhaps it was his father he was angry at. Or perhaps he was angry with himself for failing to save his son. Only… the boy was monstrous. In this strange empty state Jaime finds himself in, he can admit that Joffrey was neither a good king or even slightly a good man. He’d seen all the evil of the Mad King he’d once slew to save a city in his own flesh and blood… yet without the slow descent into insanity.
 
Joffrey hadn’t gone mad. He’d been born wrong, and he’d stayed wrong up until the day he died. Jaime could admit that, at least in the privacy of his own head. And yet, surely he was still expected to hate his brother for murdering his son? Yes, Tyrion was certainly a potential target for his anger. Him and that Stark wife of his. Sansa… Jaime hadn’t thought the girl capable of such things, but the evidence was there.
 
Even still, his anger, if it was even there, was nothing next to his sister’s rage. Cersei was-
 
“Bring out the prisoners!”
 
Ah, right. They were in the middle of an execution. Jaime supposed he probably shouldn’t be quietly contemplating his own feelings at a time like this. Standing off to the side, the white-cloaked Kingsguard watches as his sister stands atop the execution stage. He is placed next to his last remaining child. Tommen Baratheon is to be King of the Seven Kingdoms now. With massive dragons flying about, Jaime doesn’t know how much value such a thing has.
 
But for the time being, he’s happy to stand at his son’s side and guard the boy. Probably just as happy as Tommen was to pass all this off to his mother, once the evidence was produced. It was still hard to believe it, but Jaime couldn’t exactly refute what was right before his eyes, now could he? Ah, and there they were now.
 
Tyrion and Sansa are led out in chains, looking quite the worse for wear. Tyrion has been tortured from the looks of things, while Sansa has at the very least been beaten. But they’re still both intact enough for what’s about to happen. Ser Ilyn Payne stands off to the side with an executioner’s axe in hand. The chopping block is already set up and Jaime sees the way his brother’s eyes drift to it. Sansa’s do not however. In fact, the crimson haired girl is rather emotionless altogether. Her eyes hold no life to them, no fear or worry. She is dead inside, this one. It reminds him of all his family has done to her and hers… and makes it a little easier to believe she played a part in his son’s death.
 
Cersei has a savage smile on her face that doesn’t reach her eyes as she looks upon their brother and his wife. Unlike Jaime, there is no doubt in the Queen’s mind that Tyrion and Sansa are guilty of this crime. But then, Cersei has always hated their brother. Stepping forward, the Queen spreads her arms wide to the smallfolk gathered below.
 
They’d started up with their usual jabbering as soon as Tyrion and Sansa had been brought out, but now they fall silent to hear what she has to say.
 
“People of King’s Landing! Your King lies murdered, poison in his cup! These are the two who committed this most heinous crime!”
 
A dull roar. The smallfolk might not have loved Joffrey, though in recent days Margaery’s efforts had turned their opinion on the boy around, but they did absolutely love to see highborn brought low. Tyrion and Sansa might have already been about as low as one could get… but the thought of an execution always got the blood roiling for the peasants of King’s Landing. It made Jaime a little sick, if he was being honest.
 
Cersei steps back and Grand Maester Pycelle steps forward, speaking loudly and clearly.
 
“Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark stand accused of poisoning King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. The poison was procured by the Lady Sansa and hung around her neck in a specially crafted necklace, and the deed itself was done by Lord Tyrion, during his short tenure as the King’s cupbearer. This is the truth of their deeds. May they confess their crimes now before the eyes of god and men, and beg for mercy, though they may not deserve it.”
 
It’ll be Tyrion’s turn to speak now. Jaime can’t help but lean forward a little bit. What defense will the man have for his actions? His brother has always had a way with words, wielding them like Jaime would a sword, before losing his hand.
 
The half-man steps up and stands as tall as he can, even as the smallfolk hurl insults at him.
 
“POISONER! MURDERER! KINSLAYER!”
 
He would be all of these and more, if it was true. Jaime still found himself wondering, despite the evidence against Tyrion. It seems that his brother is prepared to wait the smallfolk out, and once they realize this, they quiet down in order to hear what the Imp might say in his defense. Only as it falls quiet, does he begin to speak.
 
“People of King’s Landing. The crimes I am accused of cannot be laid at my feet. I did not poison my dear nephew. In the chaos of a wedding gone wrong, where my father is dead and the new Queen is stolen, both at the hands of a dragon, would I not have chosen to escape during the confusion, rather than stand around waiting for the King to die?! My lady wife and I have been FRAMED! The necklace that has been used as evidence against us was given to Lady Sansa by one Ser Dontos Hollard! He claimed it was an heirloom of his family, but that was obviously a lie! Find him and you will be one step closer to discovering the one who gave HIM the necklace!”
 
Jaime is a little surprised. His brother is usually better with words than this, and better at reading a crowd to. Perhaps Tyrion has lost too much blood to be fully cognizant? Or he’s taken one too many knocks upside the head to realize his heartfelt plea of innocence changes absolutely no one’s mind.
 
The crowd begins to shout again, pelting the half-man with both words and rocks as he hides his face. They do not believe him and Jaime isn’t quite sure he believes his brother either, no matter how convincing Tyrion sounds. In the end, it doesn’t truly matter. Cersei will not be swayed from her current course and there is absolutely no one here to stop her from going through with the execution. Their father might have, but then he’s dead.
 
The Queen steps forward and the crowd falls quiet once more as she sneers at their brother.
 
“A quaint little story to be sure, poisoner. But it will not be enough to save you from your fate. For the murder of my son, for the murder of the King, I sentence you to death by beheading!”
 
And there it is. Ser Ilyn Payne looks giddy with excitement and even takes a step forward before being called. Only, it seems Tyrion has one last trick up his sleeve.
 
“I would let the gods decide my fate! I demand a Trial by Combat!”
 
A gasp leaves the crowd as Cersei stands there for a moment, frozen in place with a vicious smirk across her face. Yet, now that the words have left their brother’s lips, Jaime is more surprised that none of them saw it coming, than anything else. Perhaps it was Tyrion’s stature that made them believe he would go quietly to his death, rather than risk a humiliating end in a Trial by Combat. And it would be humiliating, Jaime knew his sister well enough to be sure of that.
 
“… Very well. You will have your Trial by Combat. Here, now, with Ser Payne. You may begin.”
 
The sheer vindictiveness in Cersei’s voice does not surprise Jaime, even as the tongue-less executioner grins a macabre grin and hefts his axe, walking towards Tyrion with purpose in his step. Their brother’s eyes widen and he begins to back up, though the execution stage does not allow for much maneuverability and Tyrion’s stature does not help him keep ahead for Payne for long.
 
“If I am to be denied a Champion, I should surely get at least a weapon!”
 
Tyrion’s panic is of increasing amusement to the smallfolk. What Cersei does next makes them laugh even harder though. Belatedly, Jaime realizes that his sister DID in fact expect this last demand from Tyrion. Why else would she have the poison necklace to pull from seemingly nowhere and toss his way. To his credit, Tyrion catches it even as he tries to evade Payne and Cersei answers him in a mocking tone.
 
“But of course! And what better weapon for a poisoner, than his poison! Go on then, prove your innocence before the gods!”
 
Tommen is tense beside him, and off to the other side of the stage Jaime can see the Tyrells (the remaining ones anyways) watching the exchange with stony faces as Tyrion does his absolute best to continue evading Ser Payne. Jaime lifts his hand to Tommen’s shoulder and squeezes it even as the chase rapidly comes to a close and his brother ends up flat on his back.
 
With that same grin on his face, the bald execution lifts his axe high overhead, clearly preparing to split Tyrion’s small form in two with one swing, right down the middle. Jaime forces himself to look ahead, even as Tommen averts his gaze. And that’s when the ground shakes and a familiar roar fills the air. Payne is knocked from his feet by the landing of the massive black-scaled dragon as it returns once more and immediately demolishes half of the execution stage in its wake.
 
The smallfolk run screaming, even as Jaime reacts instinctively by grabbing Tommen and hurling his last remaining child free of the dragon’s rapidly swinging tail. The two fall from the stage to the ground below together, and Jaime covers his son with his own body, hoping to keep at least this small triumph of his alive where all else has died.
 
The sounds of violence and terror and dragon fire fill the air for a few moments, and then it’s all over and Jaime hears the dragon beating its wings as a familiar feminine voice screams his name. Eyes wide, he looks up from his position on the ground to see the dragon already disappearing into the distance. The voice disappears with it.
 
Slowly, Jaime stands and pulls Tommen to his feet. The next to be King is not injured from the fall it seems, and together the two of them climb back up on the wrecked stage to find a sight that Jaime can’t quite decipher. His sister is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Mace Tyrell. Olenna and Loras Tyrell are knocked down but still alive. The old woman is even still conscious, surprisingly enough. Sansa Stark is sitting on the stage with wide eyes and her mouth agape, as if she simply can’t believe what just happened… and Tyrion, his half-brother Tyrion, is kneeling at the side of Ser Ilyn Payne’s body, stabbing a knife taken from the executioner’s boot into the dead man’s eyes over and over again.
 
“What… what happened?”
 
It’s Tyrion who answers him, amusingly enough. His brother slowly stops his repetitive motion and pulls the bloody knife from Payne’s eye one last time, standing up with it in one as if he thinks he will have to use it again shortly.
 
“The dragon did, of course. It burned and ate Mace Tyrell and took Cersei. And I suppose in the meantime, I won my Trial by Combat. My lady wife and I are innocent before the eyes of gods and men.”
 
There are no smallfolk left to sway one way or the other. At this point, there’s no one around for hundreds of yards. A dragon was certainly a quick way to clear an area. Cersei would undoubtedly try to gainsay Tyrion, if she were here. She would probably even order Jaime to carry out the executions himself. At the very least, their sister would declare Sansa still guilty and have him execute the Stark girl.
 
Cersei isn’t here anymore. And Jaime finds he has no stomach for killing today. With no objections forthcoming from either Olenna or Loras, Jaime slowly nods his head, knowing his words will no doubt influence Tommen to go along with it.
 
“… I suppose you are then.”
 
And that’s that. Until the next time the bloody fucking dragon comes calling.

-x-X-x-

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