Cersei slowly raised her head, staring at the man towering atop the dragon's back, and the flock of young, flawlessly beautiful girls surrounding him.
Lyanna, Sansa, Margaery...
Every single one of them was younger than her. Purer than her.
She genuinely believed she had already been permanently discarded.
She thought that, in his eyes, she was absolutely nothing more than a convenient tool to vent his lust—a plaything he could demand whenever he pleased, and she would be forced to submit.
Nothing but a Lannister war trophy...
She had entirely, heavily prepared herself for the end.
Once Lynn evacuated, once Stannis's apocalyptic army breached the gates of King's Landing, she was going to dress in her absolute most exquisite silk, drink the most venomous poison in her possession, and die with her final shred of royal dignity.
But he...
He actually called for her?
Right at the absolute final second of departure, he actually remembered her?
An indescribable, highly acidic wave of profound emotion violently surged from the very bottom of Cersei's heart, instantaneously, completely shattering every single psychological defense she had left.
She wasn't some iron-hearted, untouchable Queen.
She was just a woman.
A woman who was deeply, desperately starved for love, and aggressively craved being valued.
Heavy, uncontainable tears violently spilled from her emerald eyes.
She aggressively clamped a hand over her own mouth, desperately trying to physically choke back her sobs.
But the heavy, suffocating whimpers still violently leaked through her fingers.
Up on the dragon's back, the other girls stared down at her with highly complex, loaded gazes.
Lynn frowned heavily.
What the actual fuck?
It was literally just a single sentence. Why the hell was she suddenly sobbing like a broken child?
He absolutely hadn't called Cersei up out of some pathetic, romantic affection.
He purely found the alternative highly inconvenient.
If he left Cersei here, that unhinged lunatic Stannis would actively, undeniably torture her to death using the most apocalyptic, psychotic methods imaginable once he breached the city.
When that heavily publicized intelligence inevitably spread across the realm, how exactly would that make Lynn look?
Even though Cersei wasn't technically his official woman, they had actively shared a bed multiple times.
Casually letting her be violently butchered would be a massive, completely unacceptable blow to his absolute reputation.
"Stop actively wasting time."
Lynn's voice carried a heavy trace of cold impatience.
He aggressively extended his hand straight toward Cersei.
Cersei stared dead at that outstretched hand. She violently wiped her tears away, entirely abandoning any final shred of hesitation.
She aggressively hiked up her heavy skirts and sprinted toward the colossal dragon using absolutely every ounce of physical strength she possessed.
With Lynn's heavy pull, she awkwardly, frantically scrambled up the massive scales.
She immediately found a secluded spot near the back, clamping her hands in a death grip onto the freezing, iron-hard scales, keeping her head aggressively bowed in dead silence.
"We leave."
Lynn heavily patted Winter's massive neck.
The colossal dragon let out an apocalyptic roar, violently snapping its massive wings downward!
BOOM!
A massive, devastating shockwave of kinetic air violently detonated outward from the center of the courtyard!
Every single banner in the Red Keep was aggressively whipped into a frenzy!
The absolute next fraction of a second.
The colossal, pitch-black leviathan violently shot straight into the heavens, entirely disappearing into the heavy cloud cover in the blink of an eye.
---
High above the earth, the freezing, violent wind aggressively shrieked in their ears.
Lyanna was entirely paralyzed by absolute terror, her arms locked in a death grip around Lynn's waist, burying her face completely into his back, absolutely terrified to even open her eyes.
Margaery and Brienne were equally drained of color, their massive frames completely rigid.
Only Cersei moved.
She slowly, methodically raised her head, staring dead at the rapidly shrinking, massive sprawl of King's Landing far below her boots.
She clearly saw the Red Keep. She saw the towering Great Sept of Baelor. She saw the filthy, rotting streets of Flea Bottom.
This heavily entrenched city—the absolute center of her entire life, saturated with every single drop of her love, hatred, and psychotic ambition—was currently being completely, permanently left behind.
She didn't feel a single, fractional ounce of nostalgia.
Because she was actively, violently heading toward an entirely new domain to begin an absolute new existence.
King's Landing?
House Lannister?
Go to fucking hell!
I absolutely do not give a single flying fuck anymore!
Winter's speed was apocalyptic.
In mere moments, the massive coastline violently came into view.
Out on the churning sea, an unfathomable, heavily dense armada of massive ships with full sails was aggressively cutting through the waves, sailing in a massive, unified formation straight toward White Harbor in the North.
That was the absolute entirety of King's Landing's final wealth and remaining military might.
Lynn stared down at the massive, heavily armed fleet, giving a slow, highly satisfied nod.
Excellent.
Right now, King's Landing was absolutely nothing but an entirely undefended, dead husk.
A massive, heavily meticulously prepared stage exclusively for Stannis!
He was highly anticipating Stannis's apocalyptic performance.
---
King's Landing.
The absolute second the final ship of the royal fleet permanently vanished over the horizon...
This city—once the absolute most prosperous, massive metropolis in all of Westeros—violently, permanently plunged into a suffocating, dead silence.
The King had fled.
The Hand was gone.
The entire Gold Cloak garrison had aggressively vanished.
Those deeply arrogant, corrupt nobles who spent their days actively bleeding the city dry had run away faster than anyone else.
The absolute entirety of the city's soul had been violently, instantaneously extracted.
All that remained were the pathetic, heavily terrified smallfolk who physically couldn't afford to run.
They wandered the empty, dead streets in sheer, paralyzed confusion, entirely blind to whatever apocalyptic horror the future held.
Absolute panic, crushing despair, and heavy, venomous rage violently mutated and rapidly infected the massive crowds.
Right at that exact second.
An elderly man, heavily emaciated and completely barefoot, draped in a filthy, coarse spun-hemp tunic, slowly stepped directly into the massive plaza in front of the Great Sept of Baelor.
He was the man known strictly as the "High Sparrow."
Marching aggressively behind him were hundreds of equally filthy, heavily armed zealots, their eyes violently burning with unhinged, psychotic fanaticism.
These were the "Sparrows."
A massive flock of heavily militant, ascetic monks entirely abandoned by the corrupt Faith, yet who rigidly, aggressively clung to their absolute fanaticism.
"Brothers and sisters!"
The High Sparrow stepped aggressively onto the elevated stone dais.
"Look at it!"
He violently thrust his bony, withered finger straight toward the completely empty, towering Red Keep.
"Joffrey, that pathetic, brain-dead King, has completely abandoned us!"
"Those heavily corrupt, filthy noble lords have entirely abandoned us!"
"Even those hypocritical, rotting Septons—the exact men who spent their days violently preaching about the Gods' absolute love—have aggressively loaded the Faith's gold onto ships and fled like the cowardly dogs they are!"
His highly toxic, heavily calculated words instantaneously, violently detonated the apocalyptic rage of the massive crowd!
"He's right! Every single one of them fucking ran!"
"Those goddamn, rotting cowards!"
"They absolutely never gave a single fuck if we lived or died!"
The massive tidal wave of deafening, bloodshot fury violently escalated with every passing second.
The High Sparrow stared down at the heavily incited, psychotic mob, a highly calculated, lethally sharp gleam briefly flashing in his cloudy eyes.
He slowly raised his hands, demanding absolute, dead silence.
"They have violently abandoned us. But the Seven absolutely have not!"
His voice was heavily saturated with apocalyptic power.
"The Seven are absolutely, permanently with us!"
"We are the absolute, most devout, true children of the Gods!"
"And right now, those heavily corrupt traitors who actively stole the divine wealth of the Gods are still hiding directly inside that Sept!"
He aggressively spun around, pointing a rigid finger directly at the massive, towering bronze doors of the Great Sept of Baelor.
"We march! We violently take back exactly what absolutely belongs to us!"
"We march! We execute absolute, divine judgment upon the rotting sinners who betrayed the Faith!"
"FIGHT FOR THE GODS!"
"FIGHT FOR THE GODS!"
"FIGHT FOR THE GODS!"
The thousands of highly volatile, entirely brainwashed smallfolk completely lost their fucking minds.
Screaming apocalyptic, fanatical battle cries, they violently surged forward like a massive, unstoppable tidal wave, aggressively swarming the Great Sept of Baelor!
The massive, heavy wooden doors were violently, effortlessly smashed inward.
The few dozen pathetic, heavily terrified Septons left behind to guard the Sept were absolutely, physically incapable of slowing down this massive, apocalyptic flood of bloodthirsty fanaticism.
They were violently, instantaneously swallowed and trampled by the roaring mob.
The High Sparrow actively led his massive flock of Sparrows, aggressively marching straight through the cavernous halls, violently kicking open the heavy doors to the High Septon's private prayer chambers.
Inside.
The massively obese, heavily rotting High Septon was frantically, desperately shoving massive, heavy sacks of pure golden dragons directly into a hidden, subterranean tunnel.
The absolute second he saw the High Sparrow violently breach the room with his zealots, every drop of blood drained from his fat face.
"What... exactly the fuck are you doing?!"
"This is the absolute, sacred sanctuary of the Gods! This is apocalyptic heresy!"
The High Sparrow completely ignored his pathetic, desperate screeching.
He simply stared at the obese man with those cloudy, lethally sharp eyes, his expression utterly, terrifyingly dead.
"Tell me."
"In your heavily rotting eyes... what exactly is God?"
The High Septon completely froze, entirely thrown off by the question.
"God... the Gods are absolutely, undeniably supreme..."
"Are they?"
The High Sparrow lethally cut him off.
He slowly walked over to the hidden trapdoor, staring down at the massive, towering mountain of gold and heavy jewels actively being hoarded inside.
"It highly appears that, in your absolute eyes, these shiny, yellow trinkets are your true Gods."
"You!"
The High Septon violently shook with pure, terrified rage.
"You filthy, rotting peasant! You actually dare—"
He didn't get to finish that sentence.
An unhinged, heavily fanatic Sparrow aggressively lunged forward from the shadows, violently swinging a massive, heavy wooden club dead into the back of the High Septon's skull!
CRACK!
A heavy, sickening thud.
The High Septon didn't even have a fraction of a second to let out a shriek. His massive, obese body went completely rigid and violently slammed straight into the freezing stone floor.
Thick, dark blood aggressively pooled from his nose and mouth, heavily staining the marble.
He was completely, undeniably finished.
A suffocating, dead silence violently crashed down over the opulent prayer room.
Every single fanatic stared dead at the bleeding, massive corpse on the floor, their eyes violently saturated with a highly toxic, psychotic euphoria.
The High Sparrow slowly, methodically stepped forward.
He bent down and picked up the towering, massive crystal crown—the absolute, supreme symbol of the High Septon's divine authority. He casually, carefully wiped the thick blood off the crystal.
Then, under the completely dead-silent, heavily psychotic, worshipful gaze of hundreds of fanatics...
He slowly, flawlessly lowered the crystal crown directly onto his own head.
He turned around, facing the massive crowd of zealots, and heavily threw his arms wide open in absolute triumph.
"From this exact second forward."
"The absolute Faith of the Seven shall be heavily, permanently guarded by me."
---