"Congratulations, Petyr. My former wife is everything you could desire in your Lady."
"Young love will brook no delay, Tyrion. I count myself the most fortunate of men." Tyrion knew that he and Sansa had wed, two days previously, in a small Sept on the Kingsroad.
"Allow me to add to the congratulations, my lord" commented Zengi , Grey Worm's successor as Prefect of the Unsullied. A man from the Far East, he had reverted to his given name, on being set free. Daenery's forces and the Vale army had converged on Rodborough, a small town, just five miles from the capital. Over forty thousand men were camped in the vicinity. They were in the garden of the manse of the town's lord. Missandei, newly arrived from Dragonstone, joined them. Inwardly, Tyrion winced to see the scars she still bore from the fire. "My lords, you are summoned to a council of war by the Queen's Grace."
"Of course" he replied, and the men entered the building, and made for the dining room. Already present were Daario, Rakharo, the commander of the Dothraki, Varys, Sansa, Arya, Lady Tyene, as well as several lords of the Crownlands. Daenerys entered last, saying "I apologise for keeping you all waiting."
"A monarch is never late" commented Baelish. "We merely anticipated your Grace's arrival." Tyrion smiled at the sycophancy. Yes, indeed, the Lord of Sheepshit had come a very long way. Arguably, the most powerful person in the Seven Kingdoms, after the Queen, if she won her war.
"To business" remarked the Queen. "I have made my will, and copies will be provided to each of you. I shan't bother you with details of bequests, but the main point is clear. I shall not appoint a successor, at this stage, as monarch. Many lords have the blood of my ancestors running through their veins, but none is more than a very distant cousin. When I die, House Targaryen becomes legally extinct. If I fall, it shall be for a Great Council to choose a successor. However, my choice as Protector of the Seven kingdoms is clear. The King in the North, Jon Snow, will take my place. The Princess Sansa has agreed to this, on his behalf." Tyrion looked around, seeing variously surprise, approval, anger, on the part of those present; and a very smug look of satisfaction on the part of Lord Baelish.
"And your Eastern realms?" asked Varys.
"It will be for the new monarch either to rule them, or to grant them their independence. I suspect he or she will opt for the latter."
"What if the lords elected a monarch from a house that opposed you?" queried the eunuch.
"Then that is their choice. They can choose Joanna Baratheon, should they wish." Tyene Martell rolled her eyes with exasperation.
"A lady whose father will be sent to the Wall, and whose mother will be executed?" he remarked sceptically.
"She will be a ward of the Crown, until she is old enough to inherit the rule of the Stormlands. She can be taught to be loyal, and she will be betrothed to a man of my choosing" replied Daenerys, with an air of finality. "Now, let us turn to the siege of the city."
"Your Grace, is a siege truly necessary? remarked Littlefinger. "With your dragons, you can end the war in an afternoon. Yes, I know innocents will die, but such is the way of war. If you place the city under siege, innocents will die as the food runs out. Believe me, the Tyrells will ensure that that they and their soldiers are fed, even if the people starve".
"There are caches of wildfire in the city, your Grace" remarked Tyrion. "I discovered that when I stood siege, years ago. Kings Landing might become an inferno, if you resort to dragon fire."
"Give them twenty four hours to surrender, or you set the city ablaze, your Grace" remarked Zengi. "If they fail to take that chance, their fate is on their heads". The arguments continued for some time, most of those present agreeing with the Unsullied commander.
"I am grateful for your advice" remarked Daenerys. "Before deciding, do we know how many soldiers defend the city?"
"My best estimate is slightly more than thirty thousands. I should add that people of the capital are staunch for Tommen and Margaery" replied the eunuch.
"Not that far short of our own numbers, but they dare not face us in the field, because of my dragons. Good, we control the sea. Neither food nor men may reach the city by that means. We shall erect siegeworks to bottle up the enemy. We shall keep scouts and outriders in the Kingswood and on Blackwater Rush and the Kingsroad, to alert us of any reinforcements that may approach. My dragons will make short work of them. As you know, I have dispersed several detachments, and few will now want to run the gauntlet of flame. Lord Ronnett keeps the bulk of his army South, to oppose Princess Ellaria. I propose that we sap the city walls, and take the place by storm when we are ready. I can summon more soldiers from our garrisons, for that purpose. I am prepared to unleash dragon fire on the city if I must, but it will be a last resort. I have no desire to rule over ashes."
"We must give them the option to surrender, at least" remarked Tyrion. "I think it unlikely that the Tyrells will wish to submit to the judgement of your Grace, but we must show that we tried. That is at least decent."
"Agreed" remarked the Queen. The discussion focused on the details of the siege, before the noon meal was served to them.
So, three days later, Tyrion a stood a couple of hundred yards away from the Lion Gate, guts churning. He was surrounded by a small party of knights, carrying white flags and green branches, as a sign of parley. The gate opened, and a party of Septons and Septas, walked towards him, led by a stern, bearded man wearing an elaborate crown. The new High Septon it must be. They halted a few yards apart. The man glared down at him, before speaking:
"At last you come, returning to the city you polluted with your depravities, like a dog returning to its own vomit. Imp, traitor, fornicator. A man whose twisted appearance reveals the darkness of his foul soul."
"I have come to parley" he replied, keeping his temper with difficulty.
"Surrender unconditionally. That is the only offer I shall make you. You, the whore you serve, the Spider, the Wolf Bitch, her husband, your false High Septon, and the harlot of Dorne, will stand trial for all of your crimes against gods and men. The rest of you shall be pardoned. These are our terms. You may take them or leave them."
"I had hoped you would be willing to spare your flock the horrors of a siege, ser. I can see that I have been wasting my time." He turned to go.
"Begone, foul imp" cried his High Holiness. "Heathen cobbold. Whoremonger, parricide, monster. Remember that the same judgement awaits you as your vile sister."
"Burn this foul city to the ground, Daenerys" he thought as he walked away, his reserves of mercy quite used up