I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
_________________________________________
Chapter 62: The Lion Brought Low
Harrenhal loomed around them, its ruined towers black against the gray sky, as cold and lifeless as Tywin Lannister's mood. He sat at the war table, his once-golden army now reduced to a mere five thousand men, surrounded by the remnants of his command. A few lords, battle-worn and weary, stood around him—lords whose faith in House Lannister had been shaken by the crushing defeats at Riverrun and the Green Fork.
Before them stood Ser Cleos Frey, son of Tywin's sister, Genna, looking nervous as he presented the peace terms of Daeron Targaryen.
Tywin listened in silence, his green eyes narrowing with each word. The terms were straightforward but humiliating.
Tywin Lannister must disband his army and swear fealty to King Daeron Targaryen.
House Lannister would relinquish all claims to the Iron Throne.
Casterly Rock would remain in Lannister hands, but its power would be greatly diminished.
Cersei and Joffrey were to be removed from King's Landing and placed under Daeron's "protection."
The air in the chamber was heavy as Tywin studied the faces of his remaining commanders. Some, like Lord Brax and Ser Forley Prester, looked uneasy, their expressions betraying their thoughts. They wanted to surrender.
Tywin felt rage coil inside him like a viper.
"These are generous terms," Ser Cleos said hesitantly, shifting from foot to foot. "King Daeron is willing to show mercy, my lord. He—"
Tywin raised a hand, silencing him.
"Get out," he said flatly.
Cleos blinked. "Uncle, I—"
"I said get out."
Ser Cleos bowed quickly and scurried from the chamber. The commanders hesitated, but when Tywin's gaze swept over them, they too made their way out, leaving the great Lord of Casterly Rock alone in the chamber.
Tywin exhaled slowly and turned his gaze to the map of Westeros spread before him. His hand clenched around the hilt of his sword as he considered his options.
The Lannister army was broken. He could no longer take the fight to Daeron Targaryen—not with his men demoralized, not with his enemies closing in. He could march to King's Landing, but that would be foolish. Renly Baratheon and his army from the Reach were pressing northward. Stannis was on Dragonstone, a threat that could not be ignored. And Daeron…
Tywin closed his eyes.
From the grave, Aerys Targaryen was laughing at him.
Tywin could almost hear the mad king's cackling in his ears. After all his years of careful maneuvering, after decades of ruling Westeros from the shadows, he was now the one fleeing the battlefield with his tail between his legs.
No.
He would not surrender to Aerys's grandson.
But he was no fool either. Tywin Lannister would live to fight another day. And that meant retreating to the West.
At Casterly Rock, he could regroup. He could call upon what remained of his bannermen and prepare for war once more. Even as Daeron Targaryen marched south, Tywin had already sent orders to Lannisport after the battle at the Green Fork—orders to begin constructing Scorpions, weapons meant to bring dragons down from the sky.
The Rock was the only fortress in Westeros that could withstand the might of a dragon.
And if he could find a way to kill Daeron's dragon, he could break the boy's power.
His pride be damned. This was war.
His decision made, Tywin called his commanders back in and gave the order.
The Lannister army would march west.
They rode at dawn.
The five thousand Lannister men departed Harrenhal under the banners of the golden lion, moving quickly towards the Golden Tooth. They would regroup in the West, solidify their defenses, and prepare for the coming war.
Tywin sat astride his great destrier, his golden armor dulled by dust and dried blood, his mind already planning the next moves in the game.
Then the dragon came.
A terrible roar shattered the morning calm.
Tywin's head snapped up just in time to see the dragon — a shadow in the sky, its black wings blotting out the sun.
Panic spread through the ranks like wildfire.
The dragon dove.
Before the dragon could even breathe fire, chaos erupted.
Men screamed, horses reared, and the army broke apart instantly.
Some fled westward toward the Golden Tooth. Others scattered into the forests. The proud Lannister army was no longer an army—just a mass of terrified men running for their lives.
Tywin turned his horse, his personal retainers close behind him. They could still reach the West. They could still make it—
Hoofbeats.
A force of two hundred riders burst from the trees, banners of House Stark flying high.
Tywin barely had time to react before the riders crashed into his escort. Steel met steel, men screamed, and blood sprayed across the ground.
Tywin's retainers fought fiercely, but they were outnumbered and already shaken by the dragon's arrival.
Tywin cut down one northman with his sword, but it wasn't enough.
Through the chaos, he saw him.
Daeron Targaryen.
The boy king was clad in Valyrian steel armor, his red and black cloak billowing as he fought with a massive battle-axe—not the weapon of a regal prince, but of a warrior.
Tywin's men fell before him like wheat before the scythe.
One by one, his retainers died.
Until Tywin stood alone.
He could still fight. He could still die with a sword in his hand.
But as he raised his weapon, the great white direwolf emerged, its bloody maw bared in a silent snarl.
Tywin exhaled slowly.
His hand loosened on his sword.
It was over.
The Lion of Lannister had been caged.
Heavy chains were wrapped around his wrists as he was forced to his knees before Daeron Targaryen.
For the first time in his life, Tywin Lannister was a prisoner.
He did not speak as the boy king regarded him with cold grey eyes.
But in the silence, he heard it again.
Aerys's mad laughter.
Tywin clenched his jaw.
This was not the end.
Not yet.