Cersei stood in a circle of dim light, her blonde hair dirtied from the destruction of the building.
She looked far younger than Daenerys was expecting, an essence of foolish youth about the way she wrung her hands.
"You have murdered, pillaged, defiled and deceived in both cold and hot blood. Your crimes committed have been of the bitterest kind, and for that, I , queen of the iron throne, sentence you to die."
Tyrion steered uncomfortable in his chair, looking over the crowd of townspeople that both feared and envied the mother - her eyes now dancing with wildfire.
Cercei did not look at the dragon queen once, prefering to stare wordlessly at the stone walkway.
He mourned his family for a reason he did not understand, and hated them for a reason better left unspoken. The monster growing to love the pitchforks that longed to burn him.
Seeing his sister - his wickedly evil, deeply troubled sister - made him swallow the bile rising in his throat, looking away and instead, towards Khaleesi.
Alas, Daenerys looked to the horizon, seated on her rightful throne, the council of her advisors listening to the testimony of her truth.
Seven days had it been since they discovered the traitorous body of Cersei's unlawful escape - and seven days had it been since Daenerys overthrew the democracy of the Lannister reign.
Her first point of call was this trial, an event she invited all the lords and ladies of Westeros to attend - granting them safe passage beyond the dragon-scaled gates of gold and iron.
Sansa had made the trip especially, sitting beside Jon with an unwavering, cool gaze, her wild, crimson hair framing her face. She listened without revealing much of what she felt on the inside, though it was clear that hatred ached deep in the walls of her muscles, and the marrow of her bones.
In all, there was around fifty people in the grand room - all debating the verdict given by the next queen. A small group were attending just to see the most formidable of all Lannister's die.
"Your grace," said Edmund Tully then, standing from his chamber beside his younger nephew, "is endless imprisonment not a more suitable punishment? For death seems a little…"
His words died in his throat, the silver haired sphynx's impassive, dead stare falling upon the nothing man.
"May I remind you," she said, in a voice as soft as sugar, yet equally as strong as that of her great father - the mad king, "that this woman ordered for your family to be massacred during your marriage to the Frey girl. And may I also remind you," her voice growing louder, "that this shrivel of a human being nearly destroyed half of the seven kingdoms in order to rule Westeros - which, I add, she did repugnantly and unjust!"
The audience hollered in agreement.
Daenerys went quiet, her chin raised proudly though the words eating at her on the inside. They were as thick as horse heat, causing her to swallow loud - a 'glug' hitting the air. Daenerys hadn't unfortunately forgotten her moment of weakness in the violent clouds, her reign of fire nearly having ended all she had worked for.
As if sensing her discomfort, Drogo once more released a howl of anger from the brisk heat of beyond the castle.
Cercei flinched, her cusp of blonde hair messing into her face.
"Death," Sansa spoke in this moment, "is what she deserves." Agreeing with the queen - strange, given their constant struggle of power-play.
Daenerys turned her head, nodding once in agreement to the brightest wolf of the pack - saving JOn.
"With fire? From the beast outside?" Asked a lady from the east, capturing another of Daenerys' pointed glares. This time, it was Jon who spoke, his body bare of that usual fur coat of midnight black. Sporting instead a leather vest and dark, cotton shirt. His beard had been groomed through his hair still shaggy.
"As your queen has already said, death by whatever means is already decided. And I thought a lady as such as yourself would remember your place in a world of dragons, Esmera."
Daenerys silently thanked him with a softer look, knowing his strengths when it came to a true ruller's path. Beyond the great and narrow sea, Daenerys had her own pledge of devotion. Yet here, Jon had his.
He knew the names of those in Westeros, given the friendship his father - Eddard Stark - had with the original Baratheon pig-king.
Alas, they made a great duo of fire and ice.
Both the girl from the east and Edmund from house Tully sat, looking rather sheepish.
Jon spoke out to the rest of Westeros now, his northern accent a stranger to these parts of the world.
"Does anyone else have objections as to why this woman shouldn't die? After all she has put us through."
The room as silent, full of wandering eyes and shrinking shoulders. After quiet deliberation, however, Sansa spoke, catching the eyes of Daenerys Targaryen.
"She shouldn't die from fire."
Cersei's slumped head rose, her eyes watering and hot with betrayal and hatred.
"She should be executed like my father was. By decapitation."
Jon's head lulled, and the room fell into a bottomless pit of silence… except for Cercei.
"Geoffrey was to blame for that."
"I beg your pardon." Snarled Sansa, all the colours of her dire-wolf coming through.
"I plead for your father's life." Cercei said tiresomely, as if she had recited the tale a thousand times. "I didn't want him to die."
Tyrion looked hopefully to Sansa now, as if this would make all the difference.
It did not. "Just because you didn't strike the match that started the fire, doesn't make you innocent. You watched without care, not once bothering to pick up a barrel of water. You created the monster that reigned destruction, and I will see to it that the mother is killed."
Cercei smiled, her lips pulling into a snakeish line. "Then let's make it quick, can we? I'm getting awfully tired."
Daenerys sat in her bubble of impassive, unwavering behaviour, not looking though still addressing Sansa. "Decapitation it is… in chains, just as Missandei was."
In the corner of the room, she saw Greyworm bow his head quickly, his jaw tensing with the muscles of clenched, irritated teeth.
With a nod of appreciation from Sansa, she lifted her hand and bid Brienne of Tarth closer. As discussed from prior conviction, Brienne now served the seven kingdoms as lord commander, and her first port of call was to right the wrongs of Westeros by the hand of the Targaryen fleet.
The brute woman held Jamie's sword, and lifted it high above the ground, it's blade reaching the roof.
"Here?!" Cercei exclaimed. "There are no executions in the throne room! It's a dishonour to Westeros."
"The wheel has been broken." Daenerys said softly, all the explanation needed.
Cercei panicked and began weeping as a soldier from the guard forced her low and to her knees.
"You never deserved Jamie." Brienne said, her lips jutting out in a quiver to withhold the emotion that threatened to spill. Cersei's gaze enraged with fear, though not before the blade came down and sawed her head clean off.
The sound was loud enough to satisfy the seven kingdoms.