A/N: Chap 21 review responses are in my forums. Thanks of reading.

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Terrible Thing To Waste

Tyrion hurt. It was, to his mind, the worst kind of pain. It was a pain of the soul, and no redress could fix it. The grinding exhaustion did little to appease the pain. He wanted very much to sleep, or to drink. Alas, there was no respite. To the contrary—his present company sought to make it worse.

"The man killed my betrothed," Margaery Tyrell said loudly. "Why is he not still in the Keep?"

"Because the Commander of the Kingsguard and I freed him," Brienne of Tarth snapped from where she rode next to the cart. "Ser Jaime believed that Lord Tyrion was innocent. And so he is here."

Tyrion appreciated the thought. He rode in the back of a wagon filled with looted gold from the Red Keep. He hadn't even Bronn for company, since his sellsword had accepted the marriage of Lollys Stokeworth to gain a name for his children. Somehow, Tyrion suspected Lollys older sister and their mother would die soon enough, leaving Bronn as the Lord of Stokeworth.

That left Tyrion in the company of the Tyrell women, who all found his condition fresh from the Black Cells to be offensive at best. His list of critics included, but were not limited to, Margaery's three cousins Alla, Elinor and Megga, Lady Alysanne Bulwer, the young Lady of Blackcrown, her fellow Lady Alyce Graceford, and of course their Septa Nysterica. All of them were beauties, of course, save for the pock-marked Septa, who seemed to smile at everyone around her except for Tyrion, regardless of her truly unfortunate features.

Oddly, the only person in the wagon who did not seem to mind his company was the grand dame of them all.

"Leave the man alone, girls," Lady Olenna said. "You especially, dear," she added to her granddaughter. "I would think, the both of you having just lost your father, you would be more charitable. We all know Lord Tyrion did not murder his nephew."

"Yes, Grandmother," Margaery said. She turned to regard Tyrion. "I do beg your pardon, Lord Tyrion," she said with such sweetness a hummingbird might choke on it. "I am distraught that my betrothed King Tommen isn't here."

"As am I, m'lady," Tyrion said. He hurt too badly to spar with her, or her little cronies.

He looked back behind them as the sun rose, throwing the city of King's Landing into the unsparing light of day. He'd hoped and prayed through the small hours of the night that Jaime would come riding up with Tommen in his arms. He never came, though.

Which meant, at the end, Jaime decided to stay with Cersei and Tommen.

The gods surely had a sense of irony, for it was among the most beautiful of days. With winter coming, the day lacked the biting heat they had grown accustomed to and instead provided a gentle, cool air. The sky overhead featured a few delicate puffs of cloud against the cobalt dome. Birds were singing in the trees of the hills they had been steadily climbing up for the past few hours.

And far down below, the city of King's Landing dominated the river plain where the Blackwater flowed into its namesake Bay. He could see every part of it, as if he were a bird. He thought he might fly to Chattaya's, or the Street of Steel. He could see the Sept of Baelor rising almost as splendid as the Red Keep itself. All in minutiae, shimmering in the distance.

And in tight formation along the King's Gate, he saw an army that had come to tear it all down. Tyrian, sitting at the low spot behind the wagon driver, happened to be facing the city directly when he saw a great, terrible plume of black smoke rising into the air over the King's Gate. Many seconds later, he heard the dull, reverberating thump of what had to be a spectacular, impossible explosion.

"Whatever was that?" Olenna said, looking up from her knitting.

"That was King's Landing falling," Tyrion said in a heavy voice.

"What did you say?" She looked up and saw the plume. At that very moment as they watched, even from such a distance, they could see three impossible shapes fly at the gate billowing streams of fire down on those below.

"By the gods," one of the three Tyrell cousins whispered. Tyrion couldn't tell them apart anyway.

Please survive, Jaime. Please save Tommen.

Another plume erupted, rising almost like a sprouting mushroom, from the Red Keep itself. More followed, and seconds later came the now hated report of the explosions, one after the other, six in quick succession. Margaery actually covered her mouth and cried out in alarm as if she were actually there, and not watching it from the safety of distance.

"Tommen!" the would-be queen called out.

What she meant to say, Tyrion was sure, was "My crown!" She no more loved the boy than she did Joffrey, or Renly before her. If Tommen were preferred, it was only because he was less likely to murder her for casual pleasure than his brother Joffrey.

More plumes of smoke erupted, followed by those hateful thumps. Tyrion watched, fascinated, as the Tower of the Hand collapsed within the walls of the Red Keep. Was father still in the tower? Did they even move his body?

The explosions came with near surgical precision. A tactical fortification between the keep and the wall shattered. He saw it collapse, destroyed by whatever sorcery the Pretender used. Whatever resistance the Gold Cloaks and the remnants of their garrison put up must have been overwhelmed quickly, because even from this distance Tyrion could see the Pretender's soldiers pouring through breaches in the wall.

The defenders, wary of feints, would have been spread thin throughout the city's fortifications. Now they would collapse down onto the enemy. Only, the enemy came in such numbers the defensive tactic would surely fail. And with the dragons flying overhead, casting either flame or that explosive sorcery on any grouping of defenders, it was only a matter of time before...

They heard the sound of bells ringing. First one, then the others, until finally the great bells of the Sept of Baelor began to ring as well. Though it felt like only seconds had passed, Tyrion realized they had been watching the battle for almost an hour, if the sun's position was any proof.

One hour. It took only one hour for the Pretender to conquer King's Landing.

He felt confused over the fact that he was relieved the battle was over. He could see terrible damage, but nothing like what he would have expected with such a conflict. His own family's sacking of the city after the Mad King died caused far more damage.

The Pretender's strikes were precise and effective. Perhaps even merciful, in a way. Much of the city had survived the battle.

"Well, the city is lost," Tyrion said. "Thank the gods."

All the Tyrells turned on him. "You're happy we lost?" one of the cousins demanded.

"Be silent," Olenna Tyrell snapped. "Lord Tyrion speaks truly. Our forces couldn't hope to hold the city. By surrendering quickly, the city is saved from burning. The point of us leaving was to return and take the city back. We cannot do that if the city is lost to fire!"

The sufficiently cowed girls settled back down to their knitting, all but Margaery. "Grandmother, if the Pretender has the King, how are we to retake the city?"

"What you should be asking is what you will retake the city with?" Tyrion asked. "Highgarden has not just been sacked, it has been conquered wholesale, if I heard right from your retainers. By Dorne, no less. It seems that Prince Doran Martell would know his own niece. Has it not occurred to any of you that this girl might, in fact, be Rhaenys Targaryen?"

"It hardly matters if she is or isn't," Olenna said waspishly. "Not while she has three dragons. Dragons can be killed, though, and queens die as easily as kings, me thinks."

A rider came charging up to their wagon. He didn't ride for Olenna. Oddly enough, he rode for Brienne. "My lady! Enemy riders ahead."

Tyrion spun around, smiling. Podrick!

"How many?" Brienne asked sharply.

"Five hundred," the squire said. "They ride with the Targaryen banner, but have no banners of their own."

"Sell swords, then," Brienne said. "Five hundred we can take." She spun her horse around. "To arms! To arms! Lannisters, Tyrells, set your lines! Prepare for battle!"

More surprising was that Tyrion's men—after all, he was technically the Lord of Casterly Rock, now—responded. The infantry men left their marching positions and ran forward to form ranks between the enemy and the supply van and civilians. And of those, there were many. The Tyrells did not travel light. For every soldier there was a servant to cook, clean or otherwise work. There were pages and camp followers. Two thousand soldiers had easily two hundred civilians in the train, not including the Tyrell women, and one Lannister dwarf.

Tyrion stood and scrambled down from the wagon until he had a clear, unimpaired view of the soldiers. Surprisingly, Brienne kept Podrick and herself back with the other knights, of which there were only a dozen, and another dozen squires a horse but with only light mail armor. The knights would serve as a reserve, but also would be in a position to counter-charge.

The five hundred men awaiting them atop the hill did not appear to be a particularly dangerous threat, other than the fact they were blocking the Gold Road. The men made to charge and rushed down the hill.

The Tyrell and Lannister officer barked orders for the soldiers to prepare to receive the charge with spears out, only for the charge to abruptly pull up.

Tyrion saw only a blur of motion from the corner of his eyes, and then all was lost in fire.

The three dragons of Rhaenys Targaryen swept through the assembled formation of soldiers as if lawn bowling. In fact, the angle of attack was so perfect that Tyrion couldn't help but think the three dragons had, between them, managed to saturate every single man in dragon fire.

In the wagons, Margaery and her cousins were screaming, and this time Tyrion had no doubt they were not feigning the cries. Brienne shouted out some half-articulated cry, but had no actual words to say. The attack was a moment—a few seconds—and in those seconds two thousand Lannister and Tyrell levies were burned almost to ash. They didn't even have time to scream.

The fire struck so swiftly, and with such overwhelming power, that none of the surrounding trees ignited. The soil was blackened into glass.

The heat of it sent the watchers scrambling for cover. Even old Lady Olenna screamed as she fell from the wagon. Margaery dove down amidst her cousins. The wall of heat was so intense it struck Tyrion like a hammer that sent him, too, stumbling painfully under the wagon. The screams came from those watching, who broke and ran wildly in terror.

He was just picking himself up when he noticed that the five hundred sellswords were now almost on top of them. They didn't charge. They came on with calm patience as the fire that killed the last levies of Lannister and Tyrell men died out. It burned so hot when the fuel was gone it died. Tyrion could hear the crunching of glass as the horses crossed it.

Nearby, he spotted Brienne struggling back to her knees. She'd been even closer than Tyrion, and the heat that struck her and her fellow knights must have been horrific.

"If you're still wanting a fight, we'll oblige you," the Sellsword leader said. He was fright of a man, with one whole side of his face covered in tattoos. "But your king's dead. Not much to be gained from fighting, me thinks."

Whatever Brienne might have said was cut off by a massive gust of wind and a painfully loud, screeching roar.

Tyrion could only stare. He could not think; he could not speak or move. He could only stare as the most incredible creature he'd ever seen landed on the ground before him. The beast was not nearly as large as Balerion the Black Dread, whose skull he saw in the Red Keep, but he also knew it was young. Even still, it was large enough it could have bitten a man clean in half. It's scales were black, thinning to a red color along the edges of its massive, bat-like wings. Gold eyes peered at them with a stark, humbling intelligence.

A figure climbed off the dragon's neck, resplendent in gold-etched chest plate. Instead of armor along the lower half of her body, she wore a heavy kilt that hung down to greaves over her knees, and the oddest black boots he'd ever seen. Her head was covered in a perfectly smooth, alien helmet of pitch black.

She pulled it off, revealing shoulder-length black hair, a surprisingly ordinary face, and striking eyes the same exact color as her dragon's. Those handful of knights that had survived the blast quickly moved to face this new threat with their swords bared.

And why not? Somehow, for some reason, the Pretender herself walked toward them. She didn't have a sword or spear, but then again her dragon reared up behind them, as if waiting for something to attack her.

It was no surprise that one of the Lannister knights did just that. The man barreled forward, screaming, "For Westeros!"

The Pretender dropped her helmet, pulled two odd cylinders from a black leather belt about her waist, and with flicks of her thumb ignited two blades of silver fire with a chilling snap-hiss sound. The blades whirled expertly in her hand.

Margaery screamed when the attacking knight quickly-and quite literally-fell to pieces before them. The queen doused her flaming blades and looked at the rest. "Anyone else feeling particularly stupid today?"

No one spoke. The Pretender...no, if Tommen is dead, she is queen... turned to the hideously tattooed man on horseback. "Wylis, please have your men gather up the stolen loot and our guests and escort them back to King's Landing. I made sure not to blow up the cells under the Red Keep just so they'd have a place to stay."

Realizing he had only a split second to act, Tyrion stepped forward and hesitantly cleared his throat. "Your grace, if I may?"

Golden eyes stared at him. "Tyrion Lannister. The man who refused to rape Sansa Stark."

Tyrion opened his mouth to go into what he planned to say, only for his brain to stumble. "You know of me?"

"You're the only Lannister Sansa might piss on if you were on fire," the Queen said. "Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor resources to give special treatment. I will say that my prisoners will be fed and treated humanely until their final disposition is determined. I have no need to torture anyone, but I do need you secured."

"I...just got out." Even to his own ears, he sounded whiny.

"Then I'm sure you've made your cell nice and comfortable," the pretender queen said.

"My grandmother...she's hurt," Margaery said. Somehow she's gone from viper to terrified, doe-eyed little girl.

"If you cannot get her into the wagon, then I'll give you a knife to end her suffering," the queen said, her tone going suddenly cold as she stared at the Tyrells. "Unless you want Temeraire to eat her?"

"You'd murder a lady?" Margaery sounded horrified.

"Only if you can't get her back in that wagon." The queen started to return to her dragon, only to pause. She turned around, blinked, and then walked right up to Brienne. Tyrion couldn't help but note that Brienne had to look up at the queen, who stood taller than most men.

Golden eyes stared from the speechless Brienne to Tyrion. "I didn't know you let your women run around in armor."

"Your grace, this is Brienne of Tarth," Tyrion said. "I assure you, having seen her fight and kill Ser Gregor Clegane in single combat, she is a warrior most accomplished. I owe her my life."

The queen nodded as she studied Brienne. "And who do you owe your allegiance to, Brienne of Tarth?"

"I have sworn myself to Lady Catelyn Stark to see her daughters returned to her," Brienne declared.

"Hmmm."

The sellsword captain rode his horse right up to them. "Yer Grace, you remember what Ser Barristan told you. You know, about thinking too hard?"

What?

Rather than be offended as any monarch should, the queen laughed. "Toyne, you wouldn't know thinking if it kicked you in the crotch. Go ahead and get this train back to the Red Keep."

Gold eyes flicked to Margaery, who was working with her cousins to lift the obviously injured Lady Olenna into the wagon.

"I don't enjoy cruelty, but I have little pity for the cruel." She straightened, and suddenly smiled at Brienne. "I like you, Lady Brienne. It takes a person of great strength and beauty of spirit to fight against the expectations of others, and incredible dedication to do so well. I give you leave to return to the city under your own recognizance. Since Lord Tyrion already owes you his life, you might as well continue to guard it. Take him with you, and report to the Red Keep. I'll ensure you are treated with respect, as one woman warrior to another."

Brienne nodded. "Thank you, your grace. I'll do as you ask."

The queen stepped over the diced knight. "Lord Tyrion, it appears a mount has recently become available. See you back in the city."

With that, the dragon leaned down its head and neck to let her mount, and seconds later she was airborne.

"I would give my left nut for a night with that woman," the tattooed sellsword said.

One of his companions laughed. "Didn't you already after the last time she thrashed you at sparring?"

"You speak surprisingly free of your queen," Brienne said stiffly.

"Aye, and if she takes offense she'll kick my arse," the scarred man said. "She doesn't talk like a queen, she talks like a soldier. And the fact she just took your city in one fucking hour should tell you she's smarter than you. Now let's get going, we don't want the lady with the nice fire-breathing dragons to have to wait, now, do we?"

Tyrion looked at the blackened field that scarred the hillside. However she presented herself, the new queen was more than capable of killing her enemies.

~~Quintessence~~

~~Quintessence~~

The Lion's Gate stood open, surprisingly undamaged from the attack. Soldiers were there to meet them when they returned hours later-men in armor and horseback with banners Tyrion did not recognize. They formed columns on either side of the wagons and marched them back into the city.

The lack of damage astonished Tyrion. The homes and shops that lined the Gold Road stood intact and unscarred from fighting. Glancing behind him, he did see melted stone on the top of the walls, likely from the dragon's attack, but that was all.

It wasn't until they reached the base of Visenya's Hill, upon which rested the Sept of Baelor, that he saw evidence of fighting. Bodies still littered piles of rubble that used to be one of the bell towers that was also designed as a defensive placement within the city itself. The shattered bell lay among the rubble.

Cobbler's Square, when they reached it, had Lannister, Tyrell and gold cloak bodies piled in one corner, most burned. Two of the buildings surrounding the square had been flattened, and there was still blood on the pave stones.

When they reached the Red Keep, Tyrion's heart thudded painfully in his chest. The outer walls of the keep were shattered, as if a giant fist had struck them down. The Tower of the Hand was a pile of rubble, and he saw damage within Maegar's Holdfast itself. More importantly, he saw the bodies of Lannister men-those men Jaime undoubtedly held back to protect the Keep and his family. This was where the fighting appeared to have been most fierce, as he saw bodies in armor that did not come from his family or their supporters. Bodies in boiled leather lay among Lannisters, with knights.

"An elephant," Brienne whispered, awestruck.

The racket made Tyrion look down a street toward Flea Bottom, where a huge, lumbering beast walked down the street. It had a small wooden castle on its back, in which several archers rode.

The bailey of the old keep was filled with returning wagons. A striking young woman with a Summer Islander complexion stood amidst a small grouping of soldiers in more of that boiled leather armor, directing a long line of castle staff on the return of the looted treasure.

The woman spotted Brienne and Tyrion on their mounts, then motioned toward one of their escorting sellswords.

"That's Missandei, the Queen's Secretary," the sellsword said. "She'll get you situated."

"Thank you," Tyrion said.

They rode toward the beautiful young woman, conscious of the dark-eyed soldiers that surrounded her. She wore a beautifully tailored brocade of earthen browns and shimmering cloth of gold in dragon patterns. It was actually an overcoat, he saw, splitting at the waist where she wore a matching skirt.

Tyrion dismounted with some effort, being rather short. Brienne had a better time of it. She presented herself to the woman, hands at her side. "I am Brienne of Tarth, sworn knight to Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell. I present myself at your queen's command. With me is Lord Tyrion Lannister."

"You are expected," the young woman said in exquisitely pronounced Common. Not even Tyrion's father could have taken issue with the girl's enunciation. "Her grace has said you may keep your weapon. If you follow me?"

They followed her. It felt odd to enter the Red Keep as an outsider. The place bustled with new faces. Men and women Tyrion could not identify, though there were a few familiar faces as well. Castle staff he remembered from his own time.

They did not go to the throne room. Instead, they were led to the Small Council chambers where Tyrion himself once held council. More of the soldiers opened the door, and Missendai led them into what should have been a familiar room. "Your Grace, Lady Brienne of Tarth and Lord Tyrion Lannister."

The queen sat at a table going through stacks of parchment. Star-shaped gold and black eyes glanced up. "Thank you, Missandei. How goes the recovery?"

"Well, Your Grace."

"Good. I'll see you at supper tonight."

Missandei bowed and left them.

The queen regarded her guests. "You might as well come sit, Tyrion. Brienne, you as well."

They walked hesitantly to the table. An older man stood as they came, and Tyrion almost smiled despite his circumstances. "Ser Barristan."

"Lord Tyrion." The older man then smiled at Brienne. "And Lord Selywn's girl. I'm pleased to see you well, Lady Brienne."

"The woman who killed Ser Gregor Clegane," Tyrion added.

"A feat worthy of legend," the old knight agreed. "Sit. I've heard a rumor food is coming eventually."

Tyrion sat, confused by the odd tableau. The Shadowbinder he'd heard so much about sat next to the queen, her face hidden behind a mask of six-sided bronze scales. Next to her sat another Westerosi man of middle age, thinning blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. They both watched Tyrion and Brienne, but said nothing. All the while, the queen read her parchments until she took up a quill and signed her name before applying a wax seal. She handed it to one of her soldiers standing at her shoulder.

"Have this copied and read aloud in every street corner of the city, and posted on the walls of the Keep."

"Yes, Aeksiae," the soldier said in stilted Common. He bowed and then ran out of the room.

Only then did the queen look at Tyrion. "Ser Jorah, do we have any wine around here?"

Without a word, the Westerosi man beside the Shadowbinder stood and walked to a buffet that was too heavy for the Lannisters to bother stealing, though Tyrion did notice scratches on it made just out of spite. Still, it appeared to hold some skins of wine. Rather than bring it to the queen, Ser Jorah brought a goblet to Tyrion.

He left the wine.

"That bad, then?"

"Yes," the queen said simply. "Cersei killed Tommen with poison when we blew the Keep Walls. From what one of her maids said, she waited until Ser Jaime was there to watch before she drank the rest of the poison herself."

The words were delivered calmly, deliberately, without cruelty or mercy. Facts that had to be said and understood. "My brother?"

"He jumped from the window. I have no doubt he loved you."

"I...have a niece.."

"Myrcella, yes. My uncle Prince Doran has promised that she will be well treated. Since she was a bastard born out of wedlock by incest, she's asked if she can be named Myrcella Waters. Prince Doran has chosen to honor the request and has accepted her as his ward. I understand a cadet of House Uller in Hellholt has shown her some interest. It would be best, I think, if she were married to a minor cadet branch of a Dornish house."

"Not...returned to Casterly Rock?"

The queen did not flinch, he noted. Her face was calm. Not cruel, but determined.

"There is no more Casterly Rock, Lord Tyrion. Not once Prince Doran has secured it. Representatives of the Iron Bank of Braavos were almost in the Keep before I was. I've committed the crown to repaying those debts incurred by Robert Baratheon, as he was the king by conquest. I have refused to pay any debt incurred by Lannister bastards without legal claim to the throne. Instead, that debt is owed by House Lannister. Casterly Rock and all assets therein will be liquidated until the debts incurred are paid in full."

She might as well have slapped him; it would have been kinder. "For what good it will do," he said. "My father admitted to me our gold mines are dry."

"I might have heard that," the queen said. "I'm not sure the Iron bank did, but they still seemed pleased by the transaction."

Tyrion stared for a long moment as his mind processed that. The queen, even before conquering her kingdom, had managed to negate almost half the kingdom's debt with overpriced, empty mines. She's completely swindled the Iron Bank using their own rules.

He laughed. He had tears in his eyes, and yet somehow he laughed. "We never had a chance, did we?"

"No, lad, you didn't," Ser Barristan said, though not unkindly.

"A mind is a terrible thing to waste, Lord Tyrion," the queen said. "I've been hearing many interesting things about your mind in particular. You are the one who defeated Lord Stannis, as much as the men you led. You served as an able master of coin. But most important of all to me, Tyrion Lannister, is that you were ordered by your father and by custom in general to rape a teenage girl who was your wife, and you refused. That is why you're here, now, at this table. And that's why despite all your losses you are going to accept a post in my government. I don't know what post, yet, but you will be fairly paid, and that mind of yours will be put to good use."

Castle staff arrived with food. "After lunch, of course," the queen added.

Tyrion drained his goblet as his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten in days. "Yes, your grace."