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Chapter 4: Burn Them All

The Red Keep, 283 AC

Jaime Lannister stood rigidly at the foot of the Iron Throne, the cold, twisted metal claws looming menacingly above him. Aerys II Targaryen, the Mad King, lounged upon the throne, a sneer twisting his gaunt features. The once-grand throne room had become a chamber of horrors. Once filled with the glittering nobility of the Seven Kingdoms, it was now almost empty, the courtiers having fled in fear of Aerys's capricious cruelty.

The floor bore the blackened, charred marks of wildfire, a grim testament to the king's sadistic tendencies. Jaime's eyes traced the scorched spots, his mind unwillingly recalling the screams of Aerys's victims. He remembered the agonizing cries of Lord Rickard Stark, the smell of burning flesh filling the room as the Stark patriarch was consumed by flames. He could still see Rickard's face, contorted in a mix of pain and defiance, even as the fire consumed him. Jaime's stomach churned at the memory of Brandon Stark's desperate struggle, his face turning blue as he strangled himself in a futile attempt to save his father. The young Stark had clawed at the air, his eyes bulging, until life had finally left him. Aerys had watched it all with glee, his laughter echoing through the hall as he reveled in their pain. Jaime had stood helpless, his duty as a Kingsguard binding him to inaction.

And afterward, the Mad King's monstrous appetites would turn to his sister-wife, Queen Rhaella. Jaime's heart ached with guilt and rage every time he thought of her. Rhaella, who had once been a symbol of regal grace, was now a broken woman, her spirit crushed by years of abuse. He remembered the bruises that marred her once-flawless skin, the haunted look in her eyes after Aerys had taken his pleasure. Jaime felt a knot of shame and rage in his stomach, a deep, unrelenting guilt for his inability to protect her.

He had been so young when he took his vows, dreaming of glory and honor. The reality had been a waking nightmare. He could never forget Rhaella's silent pleas, the way she would clutch his hand in passing, her eyes begging for a rescue that Jaime was powerless to provide. The weight of his armor felt like a prison, trapping him in a role that demanded he defend a monster.

News of Rhaegar's victory at the Trident had reached the Red Keep, the message sparking a furious tempest within Aerys. The king's rage was a sight to behold, his paranoia flaring as he ranted about his son's betrayal. The irony was bitter; Jaime had hoped that Rhaegar's return might end the reign of terror, but Aerys's madness only seemed to deepen. The king had ordered his new Hand, Rossart, to increase the production of wildfire, intending to place the volatile substance throughout the city, an insurance policy against a perceived coup.

Jaime's thoughts were interrupted by a fresh scream from Aerys, the king clutching at a new cut from the Iron Throne. Varys, the ever-present spymaster, stood by his side, murmuring soothing words to calm the monarch. A boy, barely out of his teens, entered the throne room, carrying a sealed letter. He knelt, presenting the parchment to Varys before scurrying away like a frightened mouse, the king's ire barely registering his presence.

Varys broke the seal and read the letter aloud, his voice clear and precise. Tywin Lannister's host had arrived outside King's Landing, along with Rhaegar's army. They requested entry to the city, seeking an audience with the king.

Aerys's reaction was uncharacteristically muted. Varys suggested caution, warning that Rhaegar intended to dethrone him. Grand Maester Pycelle, always the Lannister loyalist, urged the king to open the gates, arguing that Tywin was loyal to House Targaryen.

Pycelle, you sycophantic old fool, Jaime thought bitterly. My father's dog, nothing more. The irony wasn't lost on him that Pycelle likely fed his father every scrap of information he could glean from the court, yet the wildfire plot remained a closely guarded secret. None knew of it

except me, Jaime thought.

Aerys's silence stretched, the tension in the room becoming almost palpable. Finally, he ordered the gates opened for Rhaegar and Tywin's forces, his decision shocking both Varys and Jaime. Pycelle's smug satisfaction was plain for all to see, the Grand Maester bowing deeply before shuffling off to inform the city of the king's decree.

Jaime's suspicion only grew. Why would he allow them inside after all his paranoia and raving? Aerys was unpredictable, his mind a labyrinth of madness that even his closest advisors couldn't navigate.

As the court began to disperse, Aerys ordered everyone to leave, retaining only Rossart by his side. Jaime lingered, his instincts screaming at him to stay close. Aerys leaned towards Rossart, his voice a sibilant whisper, yet the words carried to Jaime's ears with chilling clarity.

"Are the wildfire pots ready?"

Rossart nodded, a sinister smile curling his lips. "They are, Your Grace."

Jaime's heart pounded in his chest. No. He can't mean to… The realization hit him like a physical blow. Aerys intended to burn the city to the ground, to unleash the wildfire upon King's Landing, killing everyone within its walls—Rhaegar, Tywin, the innocent citizens, all would perish in a cataclysm of green fire.

Surely, he wouldn't do it, Jaime thought desperately, clinging to a faint hope. Surely, even he wouldn't…

But the gleam in Aerys's eyes told him otherwise. The king's madness had reached its zenith. Jaime knew he had to act, but the enormity of the situation weighed heavily on him. How could he stop a mad king bent on destroying everything?

Jaime remained at his post, his mind racing. He had always aspired to be a knight of honor, a protector of the realm. Now, he stood on the precipice of a decision that could define his legacy forever. As he watched the Mad King cackle on his throne, the stakes became clear: to save King's Landing, Jaime might have to forsake everything he once believed in.

--

Rhaegar Targaryen

Rhaegar Targaryen stood in his tent, illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle. The weight of the coming day bore down on his shoulders, and he could feel the eyes of his war council upon him. They were a collection of the most powerful lords in Westeros, each one representing a different facet of the Seven Kingdoms. Their collective surprise was palpable when word came that his father, the Mad King Aerys, had acquiesced to his request to be let into the city.

Why would he let me inside? Rhaegar wondered, his mind racing. By now, even he must have realized that I am going to dethrone him. But why?

He couldn't understand. The Mad King had always been unpredictable, but this move seemed beyond reason.

Maybe it's a trap.

He dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came. There couldn't be more than 2,000 Gold Cloaks in the city, a few hundred household guards, and perhaps even fewer sellswords. Those mercenaries only fought for coin, and they would flee from cowardice in the face of Rhaegar's unified army of six kingdoms. Aerys had no substantial force to oppose him, no chance of holding the city against such overwhelming odds.

But why? he sighed inwardly, feeling the familiar frustration of trying to fathom his father's twisted mind. I could never understand what goes on inside my mad father's mind.

The next day, as dawn's first light crept over the horizon, Rhaegar donned his armor. The black and red plate gleamed, reflecting the heritage of House Targaryen. He adjusted the clasps and smoothed the sigil of the three-headed dragon emblazoned on his chest. This armor was more than protection; it was a symbol of his birthright and his destiny.

As he stepped out of his tent, he was flanked by two of his most loyal Kingsguard: Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and Ser Barristan Selmy, the Bold. Their presence was a reminder of the honor and duty that guided his actions. Outside his tent awaited the high lords of Westeros. Among them stood Lord Eddard Stark, his face etched with the burden of lordship in his young age, dressed in Stark regalia with a running direwolf on his breastplate and his grey-white cloak. Standing alongside him was old Lord Jon Arryn in his shiny plate armor and falcon helm, both looking grim and weary from this godforsaken war.

This ends today, Rhaegar vowed to himself. No more pointless deaths.

He turned his gaze to another figure, the old lion, Lord Tywin Lannister, clad in gold and red ornate plate armor.

Not a scratch on it, Rhaegar thought with mild humor. Hiding under that damned golden rock and slaughtering lesser lords is all that hateful man can do.

Rhaegar addressed his lords regarding his father's decision to let him inside the city. This news was primarily for the benefit of the lesser lords who had not been present at the previous night's meeting. His voice was steady, filled with the authority and resolve necessary to lead them through what lay ahead.

After his address, they mounted their steeds and began their march towards the gates of King's Landing. Rhaegar led the column, with the high lords and their banners following in a grand procession. The Targaryen banner, a three headed red dragon on a field of black, was held highest among them all.

As they approached the city, the atmosphere grew tense. The gates loomed large, and a group of mounted Gold Cloaks awaited them. The battlements were lined with bowmen, their arrows nocked and ready to fire.

Why are they so uptight? Why are they so cautious? Rhaegar thought suspiciously. Something's wrong. But I can't figure out what.

The Gold Cloaks greeted them without kneeling, only bowing out of respect for his princely status, not recognizing him as their king. They shouted up to the battlements to open the gates.

The creaking of the gates echoed in the silence, a stark contrast to the usual bustle of the capital. As they marched in, the eerie silence of the city streets became more pronounced. The empty streets, the closed doors and windows, and the absence of any sign of life made Rhaegar uneasy.

Where is everyone? he wondered.

Rhaegar's eyes scanned the surroundings. The familiar sprawl of the capital looked ghostly in its emptiness. The smells of the city – the scent of fresh bread from the bakeries, the tang of salt from the nearby sea, and the earthy aroma of the marketplaces – were absent. Instead, there was only the scent of fear and foreboding.

The silence was uncomfortable, broken only by the rhythmic clopping of horses' hooves and the marching feet of soldiers. The streets, normally filled with vendors, townsfolk, and the sounds of daily life, were deserted. The air felt heavy, laden with a tension that made Rhaegar's skin prickle.

He glanced at the lords beside him and saw the same concern mirrored in their eyes. Eddard Stark's face was set in a grim line, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. Lord Jon Arryn rode with a steely determination, his eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. Even the normally unflappable Tywin Lannister seemed on edge, his sharp gaze cutting through the shadows.

Then, out of nowhere, a crossbow bolt came flying, striking one of his men.

Chaos erupted.

Arrows rained down on them from all sides. The ambush was sudden and vicious. Swords were drawn, and the cries of men filled the air as Gold Cloaks emerged from their hiding places to attack Rhaegar's forces.

The guards surrounding the high lords sprang into action, raising their shields to protect their charges. The narrow streets of King's Landing became a battlefield, with soldiers fighting desperately to survive.

Rhaegar's initial shock turned into a blur of action. He saw men falling to the ground, blood pouring from wounds inflicted by unseen attackers. The air was filled with the clashing of steel, the screams of the wounded, and the commands of officers trying to regain control of the situation.

Rhaegar raised his sword, the light catching the shiny steel blade, and charged into the fray. His Kingsguard were at his side, their white cloaks quickly becoming stained with blood as they cut down Gold Cloaks and sellswords alike. The narrow streets of King's Landing became a battlefield, with soldiers fighting desperately to survive.

All this bloodshed, Rhaegar thought as he parried a blow and countered with a swift, deadly strike. Why? What does my father hope to gain from this?

The melee was fierce, with men dying on both sides. Rhaegar fought with a grim determination, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and survival. He could see the high lords fighting valiantly, their personal guards forming a protective circle around them.

In the midst of the chaos, a large explosion suddenly rocked the city. The ground shook beneath their feet, and a green light spewed towards the sky from the direction of Rhaenys's Hill. Rhaegar's heart sank as he realized what it was.

Wildfire.

"No," he whispered, his voice lost in the din of battle. He looked up to see the Dragonpit engulfed in the sickly green flames of wildfire. The sight was horrifying, and for a moment, he was frozen in place, unable to process the magnitude of what was happening.

Arthur Dayne, ever the vigilant protector, shook Rhaegar from his stupor. "We must reach the Red Keep, my prince!" he shouted, urgency in his voice.

Rhaegar nodded, snapping back to reality. He remounted his horse, signaling his men to follow. They fought their way through the streets, cutting down any Gold Cloak that stood in their path. The chaos of the ambush seemed to fuel their resolve, and they pressed forward with renewed vigor.

The archers provided covering fire, allowing the bulk of Rhaegar's forces to push through the remaining Gold Cloaks near the Red Keep. They burst through the gates, killing anyone who tried to stop them.

As they finally reached the Red Keep, Rhaegar felt a strange mix of anticipation and dread. The grand entrance of the Red Keep loomed before him, its massive doors guarded by a handful of Gold Cloaks who quickly surrendered at the sight of the approaching army. The imposing structure of the Red Keep, with its crimson banners and towering walls, was a stark reminder of the power that had once resided within.

Rhaegar dismounted and ascended the steps, his heart pounding in his chest. His Kingsguard flanked him, their expressions grim and determined. The high lords followed, their armor clinking softly in the eerie silence.

The path to the throne room was littered with the bodies of men in the robes of the Alchemist's Guild, a grim testament to the madness that had consumed the city.

As they entered the Great Hall, the scene that greeted them was one of devastation. The hall was strewn with corpses, the aftermath of a brutal struggle. Blood pooled on the stone floor, and the air was thick with the metallic scent of death. The grand chandeliers that normally cast a warm glow over the hall were shattered, their remnants scattered among the fallen.

At the far end of the hall, the Iron Throne sat ominously. Its jagged edges and twisted metal seemed to mock the carnage that had unfolded around it. At the foot of the throne lay Aerys Targaryen, bound and incapacitated, his face a mask of rage and madness. His once regal appearance was now a grotesque parody, his robes tattered and stained with blood.

"BURN THEM ALL! BURN THEM ALL! BURN THEM ALL! I AM THE DRAGON! BURN THEM ALL!" Aerys screamed, his voice echoing off the walls of the throne room. His eyes were wild, and spittle flew from his lips as he ranted, completely oblivious to the presence of his son and the high lords.

Rhaegar's eyes scanned the room quickly, taking in the scene. Near one of the pillars stood Princess Elia, holding a crying Aegon in her arms. Little Rhaenys clung to her mother's skirts, her eyes wide with fear, trying to hold back her tears.

The sight broke Rhaegar's heart. He approached them, and Rhaenys ran to him, crying. He picked her up, holding her close, whispering soothing words. "Kepa is here. I will protect you."

He embraced Elia and Aegon, the weight of the day's events settling heavily upon him. The relief of seeing his family safe was almost overwhelming.

Ser Jaime Lannister sat on the Iron Throne, his head in his hands, sobbing and grieving. The sight was shocking, a stark contrast to the chaos that had preceded it. Blood smeared his Kingsguard armor, and his golden hair was matted with it. He looked up as Rhaegar approached, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted.

Jaime stood up, unsteady on his feet. "Your Grace," he began, his voice shaking. "I tried to stop him. He... he ordered the city to be burned with wildfire. I incapacitated him to save everyone. I... I had no choice."

Rhaegar looked at Jaime, seeing the truth in his eyes. The young knight had committed an act of rebellion, but it was an act of mercy, a desperate attempt to save the city and its people from utter destruction.

"You did what you had to, Jaime," Rhaegar said softly, placing a hand on the knight's shoulder. "You saved countless lives today."

Jaime nodded, relief flooding his features, though the weight of his actions would clearly haunt him for a long time to come. "But there's more," he continued. "I killed Rossart and his subordinates who were preparing to ignite the wildfire. But one escaped. I couldn't stop them all in time. I disobeyed my king, committed treason... but I couldn't let him destroy everything."

Rhaegar's expression hardened as he absorbed Jaime's words. "You did not commit treason, Jaime. You saved the city. You acted with honor when your King had none."

The lords around them began to murmur, their shock giving way to a mix of relief and confusion. Tywin Lannister stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

"What now, Your Grace?" Tywin asked, his voice cold and calculating.

Rhaegar turned to face the gathered lords. "Now, we rebuild. We bring peace and stability to the realm. The madness of my father's reign is over. It's time for a new beginning."

Then as Rhaegar ascended the steps to the Iron Throne, the haunting screams of his father, the Mad King, echoed through the grand hall. Aerys's voice was a cacophony of madness, filling the air with a chilling resonance that sent shivers down the spines of everyone present.

"BURN THEM ALL! BURN THEM ALL! BURN THEM ALL!" Aerys shrieked, his voice growing hoarser with each repetition. The king, bound and incapacitated at the foot of the throne, thrashed against his restraints, his eyes wild and filled with an unearthly fire. Spittle flew from his cracked lips as he ranted, his once regal visage now a grotesque mask of insanity.

Rhaegar paused on the steps, turning to face the man who had once been his father, the man whose madness had brought the realm to the brink of ruin. The sight was both heartbreaking and horrifying. Aerys's white hair was matted and tangled, his royal robes stained with sweat and grime. His eyes, once sharp and intelligent, now glowed with a fevered intensity that spoke of a mind utterly consumed by madness.

"I AM THE DRAGON! BURN THEM ALL!" Aerys continued, his voice breaking into a high-pitched wail. The words, once a declaration of power, were now a desperate, delusional chant.

The lords and knights in the hall watched in stunned silence, their faces reflecting a mixture of pity, fear, and revulsion. The Mad King's screams were a grim reminder of the tyranny they had suffered, the terror that had permeated their lives. Rhaegar's heart ached with the weight of their shared history, the pain and suffering that his father's madness had inflicted on the realm.

Rhaegar took a deep breath, the cold metal of the Iron Throne looming behind him. He steeled himself against the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. This is the end of his madness, he thought, and the beginning of something new.

As he reached the top step, Rhaegar turned his gaze away from Aerys and towards the assembled lords. Their eyes were fixed on him, filled with a mix of hope and expectation. He could see the toll the war had taken on them—the lines of worry etched into their faces, the weariness in their eyes. They were looking to him for leadership, for a future free from the shadow of madness and tyranny.

With a final, determined step, Rhaegar seated himself on the Iron Throne. The cold, unforgiving metal pressed against his back, a stark reminder of the burdens of kingship. He felt the weight of the crown settle upon him, not just a symbol of power, but of responsibility.

Aerys's screams continued to echo, but they seemed distant now, a fading echo of a dark chapter that was finally coming to a close.

One by one, the lords pledged their support. The room resonated with their vows of loyalty. The rebel lords, those who had fought against him, stepped forward with measured, solemn words. The sight of them, former enemies now bending the knee, filled Rhaegar with a mix of relief and determination.

Then, it was Eddard Stark's turn. He hesitated, his eyes flickering with a storm of emotions. Rhaegar watched him, understanding the depth of his feelings. Ned's face was a mask of rigid control, but his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. He glanced at Jon Arryn, who had already bent the knee and stood in silent support of the new king.

With a heavy sigh, Ned finally bent his knee, his movements slow and deliberate. He avoided meeting anyone's gaze, turning his head slightly to hide the hatred that simmered beneath the surface. The sight pained Rhaegar, knowing the depth of loss and betrayal Ned felt.

The rest of the lords knelt, their voices merging into a single, resounding proclamation of fealty. The room echoed with the sound of their united pledge.

Tywin Lannister's gaze met Rhaegar's, cold and calculating, but there was a hint of something else—perhaps respect, or at least acknowledgment of Rhaegar's new position.

As the lords rose, one by one, and pledged their support, Rhaegar felt a profound sense of resolve. He looked out over the hall, meeting the eyes of each of his loyal subjects united in their desire for a better future.

"I will rule justly," Rhaegar began, his voice steady and clear, rising above the dying screams of his father. "With honor and wisdom. Together, we will heal this land and create a future where our children can thrive in peace."

The words hung in the air, a promise and a vow. The reign of the Mad King was over. The reign of King Rhaegar Targaryen had begun. As Aerys's voice finally faded into a whisper, the last echoes of madness dissipating into the vast hall, a new era dawned in the Seven Kingdoms.