The acrid stench of wildfire hung heavy in the air, a sickening reminder of the madness that had consumed King Aerys II Targaryen. Ser Jaime Lannister stood before the Iron Throne, his white cloak stained with the blood of Rossart, the king''s pyromancer. The throne room echoed with distant screams and the clash of steel, the sounds of a city tearing itself apart.


    Jaime''s emerald eyes fixed upon the hunched figure of the man he had sworn to protect. King Aerys, with his matted silver hair and overgrown yellowed nails, muttered incessantly to himself, "Burn them all. Burn them all." The words slithered from his lips like poison, each repetition a hammer blow to Jaime''s resolve.


    The young knight''s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, his mind racing. He could still see the wildfire caches hidden throughout the city, green death waiting to be unleashed. He could hear Lord Rossart''s final words before the blade silenced him, confirming the king''s mad plan to reduce King''s Landing to ash and cinder.


    "Your Grace," Jaime called out, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "The battle is lost. Your loyalists are defeated. Lord Tywin''s forces have breached the city walls."


    Aerys''s head snapped up, his violet eyes wide with a mixture of fear and manic glee. "Tywin Lannister? Your father?" A cackle escaped his cracked lips. "The traitor comes at last. Let him come. Let them all come! They''ll burn with the rest. I''ll give them the king''s justice... fire and blood!"


    The king''s words sent a chill down Jaime''s spine. He took a step forward, the weight of the realm pressing down upon his shoulders. "Your Grace, please. The city can still be saved. Order the gates opened. Surrender, and—"


    "Surrender?" Aerys spat, rising from the throne with surprising agility. "I am the dragon! I will not surrender to sheep! Burn them all! Burn them in their homes! Burn them in their beds!"


    As the king ranted, Jaime''s mind drifted to his father''s lessons at Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin''s voice, cold and unyielding, echoed in his memory: "A Lannister always pays his debts." What debt did he owe now? To his king? To the realm? To the innocents of King''s Landing?


    The screams from outside grew louder, and Jaime could almost see the streets running red with blood. How many more would die if the king had his way? How many children would burn, their flesh melting from their bones?


    "Your Grace," Jaime tried once more, his voice barely above a whisper. "Think of Queen Rhaella, of Prince Viserys. Think of your grandchild. Surely you wouldn''t—"


    "Traitor!" Aerys shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth. "You''re all traitors! Rossart! Where''s Rossart? Bring me his head! I''ll have no more betrayals. Burn them all! Burn them all!"


    In that moment, time seemed to slow. Jaime saw not a king before him, but a monster wearing a crown. He saw not the man he had sworn to protect, but the threat to everything he had ever known. The weight of his white cloak, once a source of pride, now felt like chains binding him to madness.


    His sword was in his hand before he realized he had drawn it. The blade gleamed in the torchlight, reflecting the fear and desperation in Aerys''s eyes as understanding dawned.


    "Burn them all," the king whispered one last time.


    Jaime moved with the grace of a lion, his sword finding its mark with terrible precision. Blood sprayed across the steps of the Iron Throne as Aerys fell, his final command dying on his lips.


    The throne room fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of the young knight. Jaime stared at the body of the king, his mind struggling to comprehend what he had done. He had killed the man he was sworn to protect, broken the most sacred oath of the Kingsguard.


    Yet, as he looked at his bloodied sword, he felt no remorse. Only a hollow emptiness, and the faintest flicker of relief. The city would not burn. Thousands would live because of his choice.


    Jaime turned to face the great doors of the throne room, knowing that soon they would burst open. Robert Baratheon''s forces or his father''s would pour in, and they would find him standing over the body of the king. What would they see? A hero? A traitor? A kingslayer?


    He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Here he stood, the youngest member of the Kingsguard, having committed the most dishonorable act imaginable to prevent an even greater atrocity. Would anyone understand? Would anyone even care to listen?


    As he waited for the inevitable, Jaime''s thoughts turned to his family. To Cersei, his other half, the only person who truly knew him. To Tyrion, the little brother he had always sought to protect. To his father, Lord Tywin, whose approval he had craved all his life. What would they think of him now?


    The distant roar of battle began to fade, replaced by the sound of approaching footsteps. Jaime Lannister, son of Casterly Rock, knight of the Kingsguard, slayer of kings, stood tall and waited. He had made his choice. Now he would face the consequences.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    As the doors began to open, Jaime allowed himself one final thought: "The things we do for... honor."


    The heavy doors of the throne room groaned open, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling like the roar of some great beast. Jaime Lannister stood his ground, his blood-stained sword still in hand, the body of King Aerys II Targaryen sprawled at his feet. The young knight''s golden hair was matted with sweat and grime, his white cloak spattered with the crimson evidence of his deeds.


    As the first figures pushed through the entrance, Jaime''s emerald eyes narrowed, trying to discern friend from foe in the smoky haze that had settled over the chamber. His muscles tensed, ready for whatever judgment was about to befall him.


    "Seven hells," a gruff voice exclaimed. Through the thinning smoke, Jaime recognized the battle-worn face of Ser Elys Westerling, one of his father''s bannermen. Behind him, a small contingent of Lannister soldiers poured into the room, their red cloaks a stark contrast to the Targaryen tapestries that still adorned the walls.


    Ser Elys''s eyes darted from Jaime to the fallen king and back again, his expression a mixture of shock and something that might have been awe. "Ser Jaime," he said, his voice low and cautious, "what... what has happened here?"


    Jaime felt a humorless smile tug at the corner of his lips. "What does it look like, Ser Elys? I''ve killed the king." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications.


    A murmur ran through the gathered soldiers. Some looked at Jaime with open hostility, others with confusion, and a few with what seemed like grudging respect. Jaime could almost hear the thoughts racing through their minds – was this an act of treason or salvation?


    Ser Elys took a tentative step forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his own sword. "The king is dead," he said, as if saying it aloud might make the reality of the situation clearer. "By your hand. You, a knight of the Kingsguard."


    "Yes," Jaime replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. "By my hand. The hand that saved this city from burning."


    Confusion flickered across Ser Elys''s face. "Burning? What do you mean?"


    Jaime gestured to the fallen king with his sword. "Ask him about the wildfire caches hidden throughout King''s Landing. Ask him about his plans to ''burn them all.'' Oh wait, you can''t. Because I chose the lives of the innocent over the ravings of a madman."


    The tension in the room was palpable. Jaime could see the soldiers exchanging glances, uncertainty written across their faces. He knew that his words alone wouldn''t be enough to convince them all, but it was a start.


    Ser Elys opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could, another voice boomed from the entrance. "What''s the meaning of this?"


    The soldiers parted like a red sea, revealing the imposing figure of Tywin Lannister. The Lord of Casterly Rock strode into the throne room, his cold gaze taking in the scene before him. Jaime felt a familiar tightness in his chest at the sight of his father, a mixture of respect, fear, and a desperate need for approval that he had never quite outgrown.


    "Father," Jaime said, lowering his sword but not sheathing it. "The war is over. King Aerys is dead."


    Tywin''s eyes narrowed as they fell upon the body of the Mad King. For a moment, Jaime thought he saw a flicker of something – pride? satisfaction? – in his father''s expression. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the stern mask that Lord Tywin always wore.


    "I can see that," Tywin said, his voice as sharp as Valyrian steel. "What I want to know is why my son, a sworn member of the Kingsguard, is standing over the body of the very king he was meant to protect."


    Jaime felt the weight of every eye in the room upon him. This was the moment that would define him, he realized. Whatever he said next would shape how the world saw him for years to come. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.


    "I did what I had to do," he said, meeting his father''s gaze. "Aerys was going to burn the city. He had wildfire placed throughout King''s Landing. He meant to ignite it all rather than let Robert take the throne. I stopped him. I saved the city."


    A heavy silence fell over the throne room. Jaime could see the disbelief on some faces, the dawning horror on others. His father''s expression remained unreadable, a skill Lord Tywin had perfected over years of political maneuvering.


    "Wildfire?" Tywin repeated, his tone measured. "That''s a serious claim, Jaime. Do you have proof?"


    Jaime gestured towards the door. "The pyromancer, Rossart. His body lies just outside. He was carrying out the king''s final orders when I intercepted him. And there are others – Belis and Garigus. They know of the plan. Find them, and you''ll have your proof."


    Tywin''s eyes narrowed, considering his son''s words. After what felt like an eternity, he turned to Ser Elys. "Take some men and find these pyromancers. If what my son says is true, we need to locate and secure these wildfire caches immediately."


    As Ser Elys hurried to carry out the order, Tywin turned back to Jaime. "You''ve started something here, Jaime. Something that won''t be easily finished. The realm will not look kindly on a Kingsguard who slays his king, no matter the reason."


    Jaime felt a chill run down his spine at his father''s words, but he stood his ground. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I''d do it again if I had to."


    Tywin studied his son for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Finally, he spoke, his voice low enough that only Jaime could hear. "Then we''ll need to make sure the realm sees things our way. The lion does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep, but he must sometimes guide their thoughts nonetheless."


    With that, Lord Tywin turned to address the gathered soldiers, his commanding presence filling the throne room. As his father began to issue orders, Jaime found his gaze drawn back to the Iron Throne. The monstrous chair loomed over them all, its twisted blades seeming to reach out hungrily.


    In that moment, standing amidst the chaos he had wrought, Jaime Lannister realized that his life would never be the same. He had saved King''s Landing, but at what cost? The white cloak on his shoulders, once a symbol of honor, now felt like a shroud.


    As the activity in the throne room swirled around him, Jaime remained still, a golden statue amidst a sea of red. The Kingslayer, they would call him. He could already hear the whispers beginning. But they didn''t know. They couldn''t understand.


    "The things we do for love," Jaime murmured to himself, his words lost in the commotion. But it wasn''t love that had guided his hand today. It was something else, something he was only beginning to understand. Something that felt suspiciously like honor.