Chapter 202: A Dying Woman's Thoughts
When Daenerys first arrived in Westeros, Olenna Tyrell had wanted to march out of King's Landing and openly pledge her allegiance to her.
Unfortunately, Cersei had kept a close watch on her, leaving no opportunity to act.
Later, when rumors spread that Daenerys and her black dragon had angered the gods and would soon face divine judgment, with mortal armies acting on behalf of the heavens, Olenna began to waver.
When Cersei ordered all Reach troops stationed in King's Landing to join the High Sparrow's campaign against Daenerys, Olenna only kept back two thousand men as a precautionary measure.
Everything she had done had been observed by Varys.
And Varys, she knew, would ensure that every detail eventually reached Daenerys.
All Olenna could do now was hope that this last-minute attempt to correct her mistake would preserve House Tyrell's hold on Highgarden.
Once again, she regretted her decision.
Outside King's Landing, Drogon soared above the city walls.
Looking down at the newly repaired East Gate, he immediately descended and unleashed another blast of scorching black dragonfire.
Seconds later, the gatehouse collapsed once more.
After destroying the tower, he did not continue attacking the walls.
Instead, he turned his attention to the scorpions firing at him.
Rhaegal and Viserion were flying close behind.
He had no intention of allowing his younger siblings to face a storm of bolts.
Circling the walls once, Drogon reduced more than a dozen scorpions to molten wreckage before returning to Daenerys's flagship.
The rest of the siege could be left to the two younger dragons and the army.
The moment the defenders saw all three dragons, many began considering escape.
They had witnessed the black dragon shrug off scorpion bolts as if they were nothing and knew that most of King's Landing's army had already been sent away.
How could anyone find the courage to stand and fight when facing creatures like that?
After Drogon destroyed the scorpions, soldiers began abandoning their posts in increasing numbers.
Only a handful remained behind to fire at Rhaegal and Viserion.
But after several shots missed their targets and the dragons continued burning siege weapons one after another, even those few defenders lost faith.
More men fled.
Soon, panic spread across the walls.
When flaming boulders launched from Daenerys's fleet began smashing into the fortifications, the remaining defenders were thrown from the battlements.
They could no longer mount any meaningful resistance.
As the fleet approached the city, Daenerys's soldiers—who had prepared themselves for a fierce siege—were stunned to discover that after a few scattered arrows at the beginning, hardly anyone remained on the walls at all.
It felt like punching into a cushion rather than striking an enemy.
The vanguard quickly secured the East Gate at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush.
After confirming that no ambush awaited within the city, they finally escorted Daenerys ashore.
Standing before King's Landing's towering walls, Daenerys found it hard to believe she had entered the capital of the Seven Kingdoms so quickly.
More than three hundred years ago, her ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, had landed upon Westeros and begun his war of conquest.
Now she was following in his footsteps.
The city itself had descended into chaos.
Nobles and commoners alike flooded the streets, running in every direction.
Watching the frightened inhabitants, Drogon understood their fears.
They expected looting.
Murder.
Violence.
The horrors that often accompanied a city's fall.
But where could they even run?
All four gates had already been sealed.
Moreover, Daenerys had repeatedly issued strict orders forbidding looting, murder, rape, or any abuse of civilians.
The penalties were severe.
The Dothraki were still stationed near Harrenhal and probably did not even know King's Landing had fallen.
Without them setting a dangerous example, the Dragonstone soldiers were likely to remain disciplined.
Stepping onto the city's broad avenues, Daenerys advanced toward the Red Keep.
Tyrion and her other advisors followed behind her.
Unsullied soldiers marched ahead, clearing the way.
High above the city, atop the Red Keep, Cersei watched the procession approach.
She had always known this day might come.
Yet she had never imagined it would arrive so soon.
There had been moments when she convinced herself it never would.
Moments when she believed she would sit upon her throne forever.
But reality had proven otherwise.
Once, she had ruled the greatest city in the world.
The majority of Westeros's lords had sworn loyalty to her.
She had commanded hundreds of thousands of soldiers.
Never, not even once, had she imagined losing it all.
And now everything had been taken away.
By the woman marching toward her from beyond the sea.
No...
Not by the woman.
By him.
Her gaze shifted to the small black dragon perched upon Daenerys's shoulder, casually surveying the city.
The emptiness in Cersei's eyes vanished.
In its place burned naked hatred.
To her, Daenerys was merely the figurehead.
The true architect of her downfall...
Was Drogon.
If not for him, how could she possibly have lost to a young girl barely older than her son, Joffrey?
Why did creatures like dragons even exist?
They should never have existed in this world.
They had vanished for more than a century—so why had they returned now, at the very moment she stood on the brink of victory?
Staring at Drogon, Cersei's heart overflowed with bitterness and resentment.
Meanwhile, Drogon, who had been observing the chaos throughout King's Landing, suddenly sensed a surge of hostility directed toward him.
Looking up, he spotted Cersei standing atop the Red Keep, her eyes filled with naked hatred.
He couldn't help feeling slightly amused.
Even with death approaching, she was still glaring at him.
Really, all he'd done was burn down the East Gate tower twice.
After meeting her murderous gaze, Drogon lost interest and turned away.
There was far more to see in the city below.
After all, opportunities to witness King's Landing like this would be rare in the future.
"Your Grace..."
Unable to bear it any longer, Qyburn tried once again to persuade her.
"Maester Qyburn, leave me."
Cersei never turned around.
"I want some time alone."
"Your Grace..."
Qyburn hesitated.
"Go."
Her tone left no room for argument.
After a long pause, he finally bowed his head and departed.
The door closed behind him.
Cersei shut her eyes.
Drawing a deep breath, she seemed to be trying to imprint the scent of the Red Keep into her memory forever.
When she opened them again, Daenerys's procession had drawn even closer.
Slowly, Cersei reached into her robes and withdrew a small, exquisitely crafted vial.
It contained manticore venom.
Once, she had nearly used it on her son, Tommen.
At the time, Tywin Lannister's intervention had rendered it unnecessary.
Who could have imagined that the poison she had saved all those years ago would ultimately be reserved for herself?
The thought of her father stirred a rare feeling of regret.
Had Tywin still been alive, perhaps King's Landing would never have fallen so far.
Yet even as the thought crossed her mind, her eyes drifted back toward Drogon.
With that monster alive...
Even Tywin Lannister might have been powerless.
This time, the hatred in her gaze was accompanied by something new.
Defeat.
Helplessness.
As Daenerys and her entourage disappeared beneath the walls of the Red Keep, Cersei pulled the stopper from the vial.
Without hesitation, she tilted her head back and drank every drop.
The poison caused little pain.
But its effect was swift.
Dark blood soon trickled from the corner of her mouth.
As she felt life slipping away, an unexpected emotion surfaced.
Reluctance.
"Jaime..."
"Myrcella..."
"Tommen..."
At last, she understood what she couldn't let go of.
The names escaped her lips like a whisper from a dream.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Jaime didn't even know she was already...
Crash!
The empty vial slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor.
The chamber doors burst open.
Qyburn rushed inside, anguish etched across his face.
Seeing her pale, blue-tinged skin and the black blood staining her lips, he let out a cry.
"Your Grace!"
Dropping to his knees before her, he stared helplessly at the woman he had served so faithfully.
Several minutes later, Daenerys and her companions arrived at the top of the Red Keep.
By then, Qyburn had already risen to his feet.
He cast a cold glance toward the newcomers before carefully wiping the blood from Cersei's lips.
Cersei Lannister sat motionless in her chair.
The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was dead.
Looking upon her lifeless body, much of the anger Daenerys had carried toward her gradually faded away.
She offered no interruption.
Silently, she allowed Qyburn to tend to his queen one final time.
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