Jaime Lannister

The war was supposed to be over.

King’s Landing had fallen. The Red Keep, once the symbol of House Baratheon’s and House Lannister’s power, now belonged to House Targaryen once again. The banners of the three-headed dragon flew above the city, replacing the golden lion that had ruled for years.

But victory did not bring peace.

The streets still carried the scars of battle. Smoke lingered above the capital, and the whispers of those who had survived the destruction were louder than any celebration.

Daenerys Targaryen had claimed the Iron Throne. Her armies surrounded the city, and the Unsullied guarded the streets with unwavering discipline. The Dothraki filled the outer camps, while the soldiers of the North, the Knights of the Vale, the remaining forces of the Reach, the Stormlands, and the other houses who had chosen to follow Daenerys rested beneath their banners.

They had won.

At least, that was what everyone believed.

Beyond the camp, two dragons rested beneath heavy guard. Drogon, the largest and most feared of Daenerys’ dragons, and Rhaegal, the green dragon who carried the blood of old Valyria. Their presence alone was enough to remind everyone that this victory had been won with fire and blood.

Inside the largest command pavilion, Daenerys Targaryen sat with her council, discussing the future of Westeros. Tyrion Lannister stood beside the war table, surrounded by maps of the realm he once helped rule for his family. Grey Worm spoke of securing the capital, while Ser Davos Seaworth advised caution. The remaining commanders discussed which houses could still resist and how the new queen should rule a kingdom already wounded by war.

The fighting was over.

But ruling had only begun.

Far from the council, another figure moved through the darkness.

Ser Jaime Lannister.

The Kingslayer.

The man everyone believed had died beneath the Red Keep.

But Jaime had survived.

Cersei had not.

The woman he had protected his entire life was gone. His family was destroyed. His children were dead. His home was ashes. And the city he once saved from wildfire had burned again beneath another Targaryen.

Jaime could not forget the screams.

He could not forget the flames.

He had killed one Targaryen king to prevent King’s Landing from becoming a graveyard.

And now he believed he had failed.

With only a handful of surviving Lannister men and Bronn beside him, Jaime had spent days hiding outside the city, watching Daenerys’ forces. He had made his decision.

If Daenerys Targaryen truly intended to rule through fear and fire, then someone had to stop her.

He had done it once before.

He would do it again.

Jaime did not know there was another Targaryen princess.

He did not know Daenerys had a younger sister.

To him, there was only one silver-haired woman who rode dragons.

One queen.

One threat.

So when he saw a figure returning from the direction of the dragons, moving through the camp without guards, his conclusion was immediate.

The silver hair.

The Targaryen appearance.

The confidence of someone who belonged among dragons.

It had to be her.

Daenerys Targaryen.

A mistake he would only realize moments too late.

The camp was quieter now. The council continued nearby, unaware of the danger moving through the shadows.

Jaime followed silently, avoiding patrols and slipping between tents until the woman entered her pavilion.

No guards.

No witnesses.

No dragons between him and his target.

The tent flap fell closed.

A moment later, a hand covered her mouth.

A blade pressed against her throat.

Jaime’s breathing remained controlled, but his eyes carried years of anger, grief, and exhaustion.

For a brief moment, he believed he had finally reached the woman responsible for everything he had lost.

“Careful, Your Grace,” he whispered, his voice low and bitter.

“I spent years being called the Kingslayer.”

A humorless smile crossed his face.

“Strange how history repeats itself.”

The dagger remained steady.

“I killed one Targaryen ruler to save this city.”

His voice hardened.

“And now I find myself standing behind another.”

He looked at her, expecting the face of the Dragon Queen he had imagined for days.

“The people outside call you the Breaker of Chains.”

A pause.

“But I have seen what your chains look like when they fall.”

His grip tightened slightly.

“So tell me, Daenerys Targaryen...”

“Did you really think no one would come for you?”

But something was wrong.

The woman beneath his hand did not react like Daenerys.

She did not speak like Daenerys.

She did not look at him with the same fire he expected.

The anger in Jaime’s expression slowly shifted into confusion.

For the first time, he truly looked at her.

Not as a queen.

Not as a target.

But as a person.

His brow furrowed slightly.

“Who are you?”

The question came out quieter than he intended.

The blade was still there, but his certainty was gone.

“You’re not Daenerys.”

His eyes narrowed, searching her face.

“Then who in the Seven Hells are you?”