Tyrion also felt that heatwave; he knew his life was coming to an end.
But at the final moment, what filled his mind wasn't fear, but a single thought. It turned out that in this short and contradictory life of mine, I still couldn't escape the shackles brought by the label of "dwarf" after all.
From that birth in Casterly Rock regarded as a disgrace by my "father," to the endless hatred from my sister Cersei, and now, to ending my life in such a tragic manner.
I once thought wisdom could compensate for physical defects, once thought loyalty could earn trust, and once thought I could find my own ladder within this chaos to assist a true king and build a different world.
But in the end, I am nothing more than another pawn crushed by the game of thrones, a wretch who cannot even choose a dignified death.
The flames drew closer, the burning sensation stinging his skin, yet a faint, bitter smile seemed to curl at the corners of his mouth. Perhaps this was the end I, Tyrion Lannister, deserved.
To turn to ash in Dragonfire, as if I had never truly existed in this world.
"If there is an afterlife, I don't want to be a dwarf again; I want to be a dragon." These were the last words left to the world by Tyrion Lannister—or rather, Tyrion Waters.
In the next instant, the dazzling Dragonfire swallowed that small figure.
The light of the flames illuminated the night sky of the camp, as well as Viserys's expressionless face.
He stood there quietly, watching Tyrion gradually turn to ash within the flames, as if watching the curtain fall on a long-rehearsed play.
Ghidorah and Blackfyre saw Meraxes breathing Dragonfire and merely spared a lazy glance before lowering their heads again, utterly indifferent to the passing of this insignificant life.
Only a few other dragons still gazed curiously at the blazing fire and the dust drifting within it, carrying a faint scent of scorched earth.
The wind blew through the camp, swirling the ashes and carrying them into the distance, as if to completely scatter the "The Imp's" short and complex life into the night of Westeros.
Viserys looked at the pile of ash and remained silent for a long time.
Then he turned and said to Rhaenys, who had just hurried over to take him back to rest, "Rhaenys, it's getting late. Let's head back."
Rhaenys nodded without speaking. She had been watching from the side, seeing the dwarf swallowed by Dragonfire. She didn't know who the dwarf was or why Viserys had killed him, but she believed her brother must have his reasons.
In truth, Viserys couldn't quite say why himself. Killing Tyrion might have been because of his deliberate stalling, perhaps because of his schemes against him, or perhaps simply because he feared losing control over the future.
He was just an ordinary person, after all. Perhaps for now, he could still rely on his knowledge of the original story to arrange everything in advance, or directly rely on the power of the dragons to crush any conspiracies.
But what about the future? If he left these ambitious "clever people" alive, would he be schemed against by them in the shadows? He did not know.
But regardless, the current Tyrion Lannister was dead. Dead under Dragonfire, with no chance of resurrection. Perhaps, for him, this was also a kind of release.
"Collect the ashes in a moment," he said to the two Unsullied who had brought Tyrion earlier. "Then find an opportunity to take them to Dragonstone and bury them."
Just then, Lord Connington walked over quickly. He glanced at the pile of ash, asked no questions, and reported directly, "Your Majesty, news has just come from Varys that the rumors in the city have begun to spread."
"Very good," Viserys nodded and said. "We will storm the city first thing tomorrow morning."
Meanwhile, inside King's Landing. Because of Viserys's soul-stirring dragon entrance today, many people couldn't sleep at all, deeply worried they wouldn't survive the next day.
Varys stood in the secret passage, listening to the clamor coming from Red Keep above, a slight smile playing on his lips.
Just now, his "little birds" had begun spreading news in the city that Tyrion Lannister had fled with the gold dragons, abandoning King's Landing, and that the Lannisters were giving up on the city. The story was told with such vivid detail that even the specifics of Tyrion's escape were fabricated.
The rumors spread like wildfire. In the taverns of Flea Bottom, on the walls of the Mud Gate, and even in Red Keep above him, it was being whispered everywhere.
"Have you heard? The Imp has fled."
"Is it true?"
"It's absolutely true; someone saw him sneaking out of the city in the middle of the night."
"What do we do then? If the Lannisters are running, are we staying here to wait for death?"
Panic began to spread. The conscripted militia already had low morale and had been terrified by Viserys once. Hearing this news now, they were in a state of utter anxiety.
The Gold Cloaks also began to whisper among themselves; some even secretly took off their uniforms and disappeared into the crowd. The night in King's Landing had never been as oppressive as tonight.
Deep within Red Keep, Cersei Lannister stood by the window, her hands gripping the sill tightly, her knuckles turning white from the strain. She could hear the clamor of the city outside, but it wasn't the bustle of days past; it was a commotion laced with fear and unease.
"Did Tyrion really run away?" Cersei's voice was hoarse, tinged with disbelief.
She had just heard the news from a panicked handmaid. At first, she thought it was nonsense; how could that dwarf Tyrion flee at a time like this? Hadn't he just told her he would protect her and stand or fall with King's Landing?
"Yes, Queen Mother." The one reporting now was a young Assistant Maester, someone Cersei had won over from Pycelle's side using her body.
He kept his head down, speaking cautiously, "The word outside is that Lord Tyrion has fled the city with the gold dragons from the treasury. We have also searched for him, and he has indeed disappeared."
"Bastard," Cersei turned around abruptly, her eyes flashing with manic rage as she shouted, "How dare that dwarf? Is he not afraid that I will flay him alive?"
She had never trusted Tyrion before, and she didn't trust him now. She always felt this "brother" of hers would stab her in the back, and now, this "prophecy" seemed to have truly come true.
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