At King's Landing…
Far across the capital city of King's Landing, bells began to ring.
The hour of reckoning had come. Ever since the trial by seven reached its conclusion at the Dragonpit, it wasn't long for word to spread throughout the capital city like wildfire. Ever since Lord Protector Petyr Baelish and Queen Mother Cersei Lannister lost the trial and were ultimately sentenced to death by King Daveth I Baratheon, the security was tight. The Dragon Gate, the Lion Gate and the Old Gate were closed and barred. The Mud Gate and the Gate of the Gods were open, but only to those who wanted to enter the city; the City Watch guardsmen let no one out. Those who were allowed to leave left by the King's Gate or the Iron Gate, but Baratheon men-at-arms in orange cloaks and antler-crested helms manned the guard posts there. Wagons and carriages were searched thoroughly, riders were forced to open their saddlebags and anyone who tried to pass on foot was quickly apprehended by the gold cloaks.
Gathering with his advisors, Daveth quietly brushed a palm over his cheek—his fingers tracing over the bruise left by the Mountain's backhanded strike. Today's sentencing was probably without a doubt the hardest thing he's ever had to do; the Young Stag had longed to rid himself of Littlefinger, but… his own mother, Cersei, his own flesh and blood… would be condemned as a traitor as well. His grandfather and Hand, Lord Tywin, had refused to gather at the courtyard.
"Whatever mother was or has done, grandfather, she's still your daughter," Daveth told him.
"Her actions have disgraced the Lannister name for far too long. She is no daughter of mine," Tywin coldly retorted, a hint of anger and humiliation flashed beneath his pale green eyes before leaving the Tower of the Hand's study.
Daveth sharply shook his head. His breathing short, shallow and hurried, his right hand clenched into a fist and shook. The Young Stag's anxiety and stress levels were rapidly building until the day of the sentencing had finally arrived. Daveth worked to quickly gather his thoughts and steady himself as the Master of Ships Lord Randyll Tarly entered the room.
"It's time, Your Grace," he said gruffly.
The Young Stag looked over his shoulder. "Everyone is gathered in the courtyard?"
Randyll maintained a serious posture. "All, but two: the King's Hand… and the Master of Laws."
"Prince Oberyn is not joining us?" he asked.
Varys, the Master of Whisperers, slid into the room. "It seems that not long after the trial by seven ended, the Red Viper and his paramour left the city under cover of night. My little birds searched his quarters… and Littlefinger's brothel, but we only found his resignation letter and the Mountain's corpse without a head. If anything, I would assume the only place he'd go to is Dorne."
'Oberyn just left…? And he didn't do me the courtesy of informing me?' he thought incredulously. Daveth shook his head. "What news have you heard of that disgraced ex-maester of mother's? Qyburn? They've been pretty close the past year."
"My little birds are scouring every inch of the city and beyond if possible," the eunuch murmured, "yet so far nothing yet."
'He can't run and hide forever. The old man's bound so show up again sooner or later at some point,' Daveth suspected. "We'll make an inquiry later. For now, let's go."
"At once, Your Grace."
"Tell my brother Prince Tommen that he's coming as well."
That raised a few eyebrows among his advisors, especially from his uncle Tyrion Lannister. "Ah, Your Grace," the Imp politely protested, "are you sure that's appropriate of you? I mean… dragging the boy to witness his own mother's execution—"
Daveth shook his head. "Tommen is 14, but he won't be a boy forever. And if he is to ever succeed me then he needs to learn what it means to rule, not remain coddled or sheltered."
Grand Maester Pycelle's chain clinked. "Euh, ah… in that case, s-shall I bring Queen Sansa with us, Your Grace?" he asked.
The Young Stag delved into deep thought. His wife, Sansa Stark, had recently entered into her 8-month pregnancy and remained bedridden due to general discomfort in her back and feet, shortness of breath, fatigue and had a difficult time sleeping among other symptoms. Her mistress and Tyrion's lover, Shae, privately told Daveth that it would be unwise to have Sansa move around so much in her condition.
"Perhaps you aren't aware of this, but I've seen this a few times at brothels where I'm from," Shae told him, her voice thick in her Lorathi accent. "She can't move around too much and must be taken care of regularly until the baby comes. No exceptions!"
Daveth looked at Pycelle. "No. Go now. We've lingered about long enough."
The Grand Maester lowered his head as the Small Council advisors left the room. Daveth looked in the mirror, rubbing his eyes as he took another breath.
"Damn you, mother… for forcing me to do this," he said to himself quietly.
Despite the growing antagonism that had manifested between them these last six years, Daveth still loved his mother even if Cersei no longer felt the same way. Once he composed himself and dressed himself, the Young Stag readied himself. When he stepped into the hallway, Daveth noticed young Tommen standing—meekly twiddling his thumbs as he looked up at his eldest brother uncomfortably.
"Brother…" he spoke softly.
"Come, Tommen."
The air was tense, heavy even. Tommen didn't want their own mother be put to death, but the laws of gods and men were clear. Either by court trial or a trial by combat, Cersei lost and was declared guilty of treasonous crimes. Petyr Baelish was stripped of all titles, including Lord Protector of the Vale and Lord of Harrenhal. Accompanying them down the road of Aegon's High Hill was Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone, head of the Vale delegation.
"Who would've thought that I'd be here to see the day where that grubby little man finally answer for the crimes committed against House Arryn," Yohn mentioned Petyr.
"'Always keep your foes confused. If they can't figure out who you are or what you want, they can't know what you plan to do next.' Littlefinger told me that once. As cunning and conniving as he was, Littlefinger's actions were bound to catch up to him eventually," Daveth brushed it off. "Beaten at his own game. Huh! He failed to understand that intrigue and deception only work for so long if there's no purpose beneath the surface besides selfishness and lust for power. If you stand for nothing besides yourself, sooner or later you'll end in disgrace."
Varys listened, keeping his arms beneath his sleeves. 'Clever boy,' he mused to himself.
"And how long did you suspect this man?" Yohn asked.
"From the very beginning, Lord Royce."
"Yet why couldn't you let us apprehend Littlefinger the moment Lady Arryn bent the knee?"
"Because one, I needed cold, hard evidence. All I had at the time were theories; and secondly, make a wrong move and your position will be exposed. King's Landing can be a nest of vipers to the uninitiated. No offense, Lord Royce."
Yohn was blunt. "None taken, Your Grace."
Daveth sighed wearily. The group had taken a slight turn at a 45 degree angle past the central plaza as they made their way south nearing Visenya's Hill. The Young Stag reached into his pocket and unveiled an old trinket—the front of the medallion was blue and bore the sigil of a white falcon on a crescent moon. Yohn noticed the subtle arm movement out of the corner of his eye.
"That's…"
Daveth nodded. "Jon Arryn gave me this on my tenth nameday. He told me that 'Family is not always about blood ties or noble houses, but rather it is a bond between those around you. The ones who want you in their life just as much as you want them in yours. It is that bond no one can ever take away.' His teachings, his approach to life… he'll always be a part of me."
Yohn smiled. "I'm sure Lord Arryn would be proud of you, Your Grace."
"Sometimes I wonder about that," he shook his head, uncertain. "Not everything I've done in my life is something to be proud of."
Varys chimed in. "You give yourself far too little credit. The people know that without you, the realm be quickly reduced to a land where the powerful prey on the powerless."
"How can you be so sure? I'm about to put my own mother to death in a matter of moments—"
"You know which of your friends are not your friends," the eunuch interrupted. "It is a terrible thing, I'll admit; a vile thing. And sometimes we must do vile things for the good of the realm. But do you want to know what I believe? My loyalties don't lie with any King or Queen, but with the people. The people who suffer under despots and prosper under just rule. The people whose hearts you've already won. I was spymaster under your father before you and the Mad King before him, but in the end I choose you because I know the people have no better chance than you to deliver results."
Daveth felt taken aback and felt his feet stop moving. He hadn't seen or heard Varys speak with such heat before. He looked over his shoulder. "If you think I'm failing or straying too far from the path, Varys, I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me how exactly I'm failing."
"You learn from your mistakes through pain," Varys admitted. "That alone helps in the long run."
'Sometimes I can never understand you. What makes you you,' the Young Stag thought.
Tommen nudged his brother. "But… why, brother? Why go through with this? I mean, our mother—"
"Some crimes are far too great to ignore, Tommen. Can't be too lenient or strict when it comes to punishing traitors. If you're too lenient, then you'll be accused of being weak and ineffective. If you're too strict, then you risk facing another civil war like Aerys Targaryen did."
"But she's our mother!"
"I know that!" Daveth snapped. "Look, I hate this just as much as you do and it makes me sick to my stomach, but this is treason. A capital offense. You can't just walk away from that. Our mother has done things you would not believe. You didn't see what she's been doing all this time."
"But why?" Tommen asked.
Daveth pinched the bridge of his nose as he made his way past the gathering crowd into the courtyard. He had chosen a spot located further away from the Great Sept of Baelor as the High Septon and Faith of the Seven considers any shedding of blood either in or around the Sept is regarded as blasphemy against the gods and is a forbidden act. So the execution site was located elsewhere.
"You'll see for yourself soon enough, little cub," he told him. "You might not like it, but sooner or later you'll understand that everything I do is for your own good."
Once going past the King's Gate, the Small Council advisors spotted the growing crowds gathering around a wooden makeshift gallows. Randyll Tarly noticed the King's Justice, Ser Ilyn Payne wrapping rope around Cersei Lannister's and Petyr Baelish's feet. Above them were two loops of rope with knots tightened together into a noose which Ser Ilyn brought down to wrap around their necks.
"You plan on hanging them?" he asked gruffly. "Your Grace, nobles guilty of serious crimes are often executed by beheading. Hanging is more meted out to lowborn criminals."
Daveth stared at the gallows. "Does it matter?" he retorted. "They shouldn't have made it personal the way they did. Let's just get this over with."
When the bell ceased to toll, a long line of gold-cloaked spearmen held back the crowd and made room for the King to approach the gallows. The smallfolk and regional lords gathered at the courtyard near the tourney grounds. Petyr felt the noose around his neck tighten as he watched Daveth ascend the steps; Cersei, meanwhile, frowned deeply and let out a quiet scowl—her eyes trained on her firstborn. The High Septon quietly prayed, reading passages from The Seven-Pointed Star.
"The Father reached his hand into the heavens and pulled down seven stars," he recited, "and one by one set them on the brow of Hugor of the Hill to make a glowing crown. The Maid brought him forth a girl as supple as a willow with eyes like deep blue pools, and Hugor declared that he would have her for his bride. So the Mother made her fertile, and the Crone foretold that she would bear the King 44 mighty sons. [...] The Warrior gave strength to their arms, whilst the Smith wrought for each a suit of iron plates… [...] Do not presume to know the damned. The foulest murderer may repent and seek the Mother's mercy before the end. The honest Septon may pray every night and still be found wanting. The Seven Hells brim with the souls of saintly men. They scream in agony and their shame is so great. They do not feel the flames, for now they see if not for a single sin they concealed, they were saved."
Standing beside Petyr Baelish, Daveth raised his hand up to silence the crowd. "If you have any last words, now is the time."
"You'll be fighting more battles in the months and years to come, both in mind and body," declared Petyr. "By the day's end, Your Grace, know that the joys of life will eventually turn to ashes in your mouth when you least suspect it."
Daveth turned his head to meet Littlefinger's eyes. "When that day comes, I'll be ready," he said as the Young Stag moved to his mother, meeting her eyes.
Cersei's scowl ran deeper. "I carried you into this world," she hissed venomously. "I fed you, raised you… But I should have known sooner that you would betray me."
"I'm not the one who killed father."
"When you play the Game of Thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground," Cersei looked to the crowd before sinking her eyes towards Daveth again. "I raised you to forward our family's interest."
"You mean your interests. Pity; for you're a Lannister no longer."
A rotten onion came sailing out of the crowd. Daveth stepped back as he saw it hit his mother. Cersei exclaimed in cold fury as the spoiled vegetable splattered upon impact, its juices slid down her cheek. More rotten vegetables and dung followed. One struck the gold cloak to Randyll's left. Another went clanging off the breastplate of another gold cloak.
"ENOUGH!" Randyll bellowed.
As protestors were removed, Tommen watched on in horror and heartache. "Mother…" he spoke meekly.
Cersei observed her youngest son, her emerald green eyes pierced the young cub and he scuttled backwards beside Daveth lowering his head in shame and guilt.
"See what you've done?" she spat. "You did this. You are no son of mine…!"
For a moment, Daveth slightly flinched and felt a pang in his chest. He couldn't lie; that barb still stung. Even Tyrion himself frowned with disappointment at Cersei's statement; as opposed to Tommen whose frown was much sadder. As Cersei huffed and puffed, glaring at Daveth, her face twisted in spiteful indignation seething with hate. The Young Stag swallowed the lump in his throat before quickly recomposing himself.
"Wrong again," he whispered quietly enough for Cersei to hear him. "I am your son. And despite everything you've done, every harm you've inflicted, every lie you've told… I will always be your son."
With nothing more left to be said, Daveth backed off and stared at the crowd.
"As we sin, so do we suffer," the High Septon intoned, in a deep swelling voice much louder than the slurs. "This man and this woman have been condemned in the sights of Gods and men. The Gods are just, but Baelor the Blessed taught us they can also be merciful. What is to be done, Your Grace?"
A thousand voices were screaming, but Tommen covered his ears and shut his eyes closed. He didn't want to hear or see any of this, but felt a tug on his shoulder.
"Don't think about looking away, my Prince," Randyll scolded him. "Your brother will know if you do."
Tommen slowly yet reluctantly re-opened his eyes and turned his head to face Daveth and Cersei. His own flesh and blood still locked, his family being torn apart from the inside… The Young Cub felt utterly helpless at wanting to do anything to keep his family intact and away from each other's throats. But he knew it couldn't happen. Not in this life. Daveth felt his hands shaking and twitching, clenching his fists into a tight ball to steady them as he shook his head again.
'Seven hells, this… this is much harder than I thought,' he told himself. "The Father judges us all and punishes those who believe themselves beyond the reach of justice. The Mother shows mercy to those who beg her forgiveness and repent for their crimes," Daveth spoke and looked straight at Cersei and Petyr. "But Petyr Baelish and Cersei Lannister have turned away from the Crone and chose instead to walk the path of the Stranger. The crimes each of them inflicted are far too great and cannot be ignored. May the Seven turn its gaze upon them," he turned to the King's Justice.
'Do you really have it in you?' Randyll observed.
Daveth shaking inhaled and exhaled. He stared at the gallow's lever. "Ser Ilyn," he called out. "Do it."
The mute King's Justice growled lightly as he gripped the lever and pulled it back, triggering the mechanisms below Petyr's and Cersei's feet. Within moments, the hinged trap door was sprung—causing both Cersei and Petyr to fall through, snapping their necks as they choked on their final breaths. The crowd jeered, gasped and exclaimed; the more so from the lords watching the execution take place before their eyes. Nobles guilty of treason were often executed by beheading – which is considered to be more quick and humane than a comparatively slow death by hanging or crucifixion, which is normally meted out to lowborn criminals. Regardless, the nobles cringed as it is humiliating for one of their own to be hanged.
Tommen felt his lip trembling and bit, trying to hide his emotions—to no avail. He was hurting inside; Daveth, meanwhile, looked blankly at the sight of Petyr and his mother gasping on their final breaths after more than a minute of flailing—his fists curled into a ball as their faces turned blue before they finally went limp. Tyrion, who watched alongside his nephews, felt a sense of regret at the sight of his sister swinging under the noose.
'I'm sorry, my dear sweet sister,' the Imp thought mournfully. 'Go join mother.'
Daveth let out an exhale. 'Goodbye mother,' he wanted to say. Once Ser Ilyn determined that there were no signs of life, he gave a curt nod and a growl. "Cut her down," he ordered.
Ser Ilyn unsheathed a sword and cut the rope hanging Cersei Lannister, her body dropped to the ground with a loud thud. Daveth walked down the steps of the gallows with Tommen in tow behind him and knelt down to cradle Cersei's body. Her eyes were still open and wide, her face blue and her face pale… the Young Stag lowered his head and shook mournfully, raising his hand up over his fallen mother's face to bring her eyelids to close them properly.
"Mother…" Tommen whined. He looked like he wanted to cry.
Varys, Tyrion, Randyll and Pycelle made their way to the King who remained cradling his mother's corpse.
"We are deeply sorry that you've had to go through this, Your Grace," the eunuch lowered his head.
Daveth did not look at them. "I know," he said quietly, not making eye contact. "Just… never thought it would hurt this much."
Tyrion walked over and placed a hand on his eldest nephew. "I know this might not mean much, but… Remember Cersei. Remember her as the mother she used to be, not the woman she gradually became."
"I know. You're right," the Young Stag sighed in resignation. "Mother… she wasn't always like this. She used to be… warm, kind. Nurturing; at least in private. I'll always remember her as the mother she was fondly." He looked at Tyrion before looking back at Cersei. "Clean her up and have her body sent back to Casterly Rock," he requested. "Bury her in the crypts. She belonged with our grandmother Joanna Lannister."
Tyrion nodded slowly. Yohn Royce, on the other hand, stepped forward. "And what about him?" he pointed to Petyr, whose body still swung.
Daveth shifted his attention from Cersei to Petyr, his face turning into a deep, cold and hard scowl. "Leave him, burn him, throw his corpse into the sea, I don't care," he spat. "That piece of shit murdered Jon Arryn. I will never forgive him for that."
"Leave his body hanging above the city gates," Randyll suggested. "Use it as a warning to others foolish enough to consider such treason."
"Fine."
Daveth stood up, still cradling Cersei's body as a wagon approached. He walked over and gently placed his mother's body on the pile of straw, taking a moment to properly fold her arms over her chest. The Young Stag took one final moment to look at his mother before finally turning away.
"I… I need to go. Come."
Daveth turned to march back to the Red Keep, with Tommen and the other Small Council advisors moving to catch up to him. As the crowd began to disperse, a small child was seen rushing over to the Master of Whisperers. The child whispered something inaudible into Varys's ear before dashing away. The eunuch's face scrunched and made his way to the King.
"It appears my little birds have found the missing Qyburn," he whispered.
Daveth looked back. "Where is he?"
Varys pulled Daveth aside and whispered into his ear. The Young Stag's eyes narrowed before widening in astonishment.
"Assemble the City Watch!" he began shouting orders. "Tell Ser Bronn and his men to converge at the Tower of the Hand immediately!"
Tyrion was taken aback at his nephew's startling announcement. Something in the pit of his gut told him there was bound to be trouble… and Lord Tywin was about to be caught right in the middle of it.
At the Tower of the Hand…
Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and Hand of the King, shuffled documents as his face retained a cold, angry frown. The Old Lion was still fuming about the actions of his daughter Cersei who he now just disinherited. The actions she's done not only brought disgrace upon House Lannister, but practically tarnished the legacy Tywin worked so hard to build for 41 years. Tywin had not permitted anyone entry into the Tower of the Hand unless he sent for them personally.
Light footsteps heralded the arrival of an uninvited guest, however. The door behind him creaked open before closing with the sound of the lock's mechanisms clicking breaking the silence.
Tywin stood up. "Who are you?" he frowned. "I did not send for anyone."
Stepping out from the shadows, Qyburn approached the Hand of the King. "Forgive me if you can, my lord Hand. I bear you no ill will. This was not done out of spite or malice."
Tywin became suspicious as Cersei's handmaiden Bernadette stepped out from behind Qyburn with a knife in her hand. The Old Lion heard shuffling come from behind him as he saw more unknown strangers coming into his study from the windows and more brandished knives. Judging by the bruises and scrapes on their fingertips, Tywin deduced they had been climbing the Tower of the Hand and laid in wait.
"What is the meaning of this?" he angrily demanded. "There are hundreds of Lannister guardsmen in this city."
A gust of wind blew into the room, scattering paper off the desk and across the floor.
"But none in this room, I'm afraid. It pains me, my lord Hand," the disgraced ex-maester lamented. "Whatever your faults and flaws, you do not deserve to die alone in such a lonely place. But sometimes, before we can user in the new, the old must be put to rest. It will no doubt unnerve the Oathkeeper himself and eat away at him, to be sure. Lord Baelish and Her Grace send their regards from beyond the grave."
Tywin now felt a sense a danger as the assailants surrounded him in all directions. Despite his old age, the 64-year-old Lannister staged a desperate self-defense; smacking three of them aside, Tywin opened his mouth to summon his guards but is stabbed in the belly by one of Qyburn's assailants. Bernadette, overwhelmed with grief by the loss of her mistress, shoved her knife into Tywin's back as more yanked the Old Lion to his knees and repeatedly stabbed him over and over again.
Qyburn watched the events unfolding before him, blood dripping from Tywin's multiple stab wounds and mouth. The ringing of bells throughout the city snapped his concentration.
"Surround the tower!" Qyburn heard the gold cloaks below.
The ex-maester decided it was time to vacate the facility; his purpose and course of action was clear. Using a secret passage to avoid detection, Qyburn watched from cracks of the escape hatch and listened as gold cloaks and Lannister soldiers storm the Tower of the Hand.
"Lord Tywin!" they yelled. "Seize them! Seize them all!"
A struggle took place as Qyburn made his getaway. No doubt the assailants would be either killed on sight or arrested and executed for assassinating the King's Hand.
'They did their purpose,' he told himself wickedly. 'One by one, the rest will follow.'
Chapter End
Author's Note: A bitter taste, a bitter end… and a stunning revelation of Qyburn's whereabouts. Two fall, but so does another. Imagine how hard it was for Daveth to really have to go through with executing his own mother, but think about how hard it was for Tommen to actually be there to witness it firsthand. Despite the overwhelming antagonism, Daveth still saw Cersei as his own mother – even if the feeling was no longer mutual. And remember how I mentioned a few chapters ago that Littlefinger had something up his sleeve? Could the assassination of Tywin Lannister be mentioned as a possibility? Or do you think there's more going on than meets the eye? How will the Young Stag and the rest of House Lannister react to such transgressions? Thoughts? Let me know.
xx. az. xx: I know that she's a bad person and all, but Cersei is actually one of my favourite characters, so it's a bit saddening to see her go (even though she deserved it)
Morgan: I didn't see that ending coming
As for the chapter I felt emotional with Cersei's death, mainly from Daveth and Tommen's point of view. Daveth for having to give the order to execute his own mother and Tommen to bear witness to it. It was tough to read.
―It was very hard for Daveth to do. And emotionally painful for Tommen to actually witness it. Now matter what Cersei's done, she's still their mother.
Kat Morgan: Things are taking quite a dark turn in this universe. Thank you for sharing.
―Game of Thrones can be quite dark at times, but you're welcome.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.
C.E.W: So Baelish and Cersei die after all. I doubt Joffrey will take the news of his mother's death well. However, hearing Baelish's last words mean he might've left a bomb somewhere. Then Tywin Lannister is assassinated by Qyburn for reasons unknown, but it is clear that it was to damage Daveth as Tywin's death weakens him. Granted, Tyrion is just as political smart and knows people like Tywin, but he doesn't have Tywin's reputation that keeps enemies of the crown in line. Such as the Sparrows for instance. I think Qyburn doesn't give a crap about Daveth's rule or Tywin unless he is told to.
Possible suspects responsible for ordering the hit -
Baelish - Baelish may want to weaken Daveth enough for Daenerys Targaryen to arrive to finish him. May not seem like Baelish to want that, but what he really wanted was power and since he can have that, he wants to bring his biggest enemy down with him, Daveth Baratheon and he knows with Dragons, Daenerys is the only one capable of doing it.
Cersei - In a last act of revenge against Daveth for sentencing her to death, and Tywin for abandoning her. Have Qyburn to stage a coup to have Daveth and Sansa killed to make way for Tommen to rule, so that way Cersei would have a child by her beloved Jaime on the throne.
I had thought it might be Oberyn taking revenge on Tywin for Elia and her children. He left King's Landing with no warning and not too long afterwards Tywin ends up dead, little odd for a coincidence. But Daveth risked much to give Oberyn revenge on the Mountain, which is more justice then Robert ever did. Not so sure it is in Oberyn's nature to betray such kindness in that particular manner.
12345678910: I love it so much hope you update again soon
mpowers045: The death of Cersei and the punishment on Littlefinger is the reason that my birthday is the best day ever and although I do not like Tywin much still he doesn't deserve to have such fate
―He didn't. The next chapter I'll write will hopefully contain details as to why Qyburn did what he did.
Hear My Fury: Huzzah! Cersei and Baelish are dead! Did not expect Tywin to die, but it doesn't make sense. With Tywin dead in canon, it allowed Cersei to spread her power and cause chaos so that when Daenerys came the whole kingdoms would be against her. Here, Daveth clearly has everything under control and is a respected and more than capable leader. And with Tywin dead, Daveth will just choose Tyrion as his Hand a decision that's actually perfect. Tyrion knows the politics of the game and Daveth understands both that and the military strategy. It's a match made in heaven. Also, Qyburn. What the hell is his endgame? I never considered him to be like Baelish and sow chaos. He's always picking the winning side, or at least what he perceives to be the winning side. With Cersei and Baelish guilty he should have surrendered himself. In fact I would have preferred it be Varys kills him instead of Qyburn killing Tywin. Sort of like how Kevan Lannister died at the end of Dance with Dragons. Varys could have said to Qyburn that he couldn't have him bring chaos when the realm is stable under Daveth and then his little birds killed him. I don't know talk to me again for an explanation but I don't think this was well planned. Cersei and Baelish dying, great. Tywin dying and Qyburn basically taking over Baelish's role, not as much. Still I look forward to where you bring this story.
―Stay tuned for more!
10868letsgo: You know for all the flaws Tywin Lannister was. He was someone that the world needed, but he was missing his heart to have. True, you needed to be cruel, but you also, needed to show that of your mercy and love. I do know that Joanna will bring him to her side in paradise.
Magi Tail Welkin: Got to admit, I didn't see that one coming. Even on the slim chance Tywin survives I doubt he'll be in any state to govern. Who then is going to be the new Lord of Casterly Rock? Presumably Tyrion. Daveth is going to need both a new Hand and a new Master of Law.
For all his faults I hope Tywin will find his beloved Joanna in the hereafter. And I had a feeling Baelish would be strung up as an example. In centuries to come they'll presumably be a blue plaque or something similar in place of his hanging corpse.