Got Thor Travelling Ch 76: New King And Tywin's Arrival (Patreon)

The bells of King’s Landing tolled across the city, echoing through every street and alley. From the poorest commoner to the highborn lords, all turned their eyes toward the Great Sept of Baelor. The boy king, Tommen Baratheon, was to be crowned.

This was the first time King’s Landing had witnessed two coronations in just one week.

The Sept was filled with nobles dressed in their finest silks and jewels. The scent of incense floated through the air, and the light from hundreds of candles danced across the marble floor. At the center stood Cersei Lannister, her face calm but her eyes hollow. She wore a golden gown, her hair arranged neatly, yet grief clung to her like a shadow.

It wasn’t enough time for her to mourn her lost son, but the Seven Kingdoms needed a king.

She did not want anything more than to find her son’s true killer. Yet, her other son—the living one—needed her now.

Her husband was dead. Well, that was her doing, so no grief there.

But Joffrey lay in the tombs below. And now her youngest was to wear the crown. That was too much. Tommen was too young.

Tommen stood before the High Septon, dressed in a red and gold tunic. He looked small and uncertain beneath the heavy crown resting on a velvet cushion before him. Cersei stepped closer, her gaze softening for a moment. She placed her hands on his shoulders and whispered quietly.

"You are the king now, my sweet boy," she said gently. "Be strong. All of this kingdom looks to you."

Tommen nodded, though his lips trembled slightly.

The High Septon lifted the golden crown and spoke solemnly, "By the grace of the Seven, I crown you Tommen of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

He placed the crown upon Tommen’s head. The sound of trumpets filled the Sept. The crowd rose to their feet and cheered, "Long live the king! Long live King Tommen!"

Cersei looked upon her son with a faint smile. To everyone watching, she seemed proud—a mother filled with hope. But deep inside, she was already planning, already weaving her next move.

She knew her boy was kind and gentle—too gentle for the throne. And so, she would guide him. Soon, her father would come to King’s Landing. The position of Hand of the King was already promised to him.

There was no other more suitable at this point. She would no longer be the queen but the king’s mother.

Something inside her felt like it was slipping.

...

[Riverlands – Harrenhal]

When Tywin Lannister rode into Harrenhal, he had wished to travel to King’s Landing himself to see Tommen’s coronation and mold the boy into the king his house desired—something impossible with that fool Joffrey. Yet, he could not.

He had to manage this war. He had to ensure that their enemies were dead before they could strike.

So, he sent Tyrion to King’s Landing for the time being, to keep an eye on his foolish daughter. At least the siblings would butt heads enough to prevent anything catastrophic.

One could only hope.

With that hope, Tywin arrived at Harrenhal to oversee the northern revolt, which, by now, was inevitable.

He expected to see order restored, reports of victory awaiting him. After all, he had moved immediately upon hearing what happened in King’s Landing, sending men to take control of Harrenhal.

Harrenhal was mostly barren and strategically useless in peacetime, but its location was key. From there, one could monitor both the North and the Stormlands, should Stannis decide to act.

However, instead of order, what met his eyes left even the proud Lord of Casterly Rock silent.

The air was thick with smoke and dust. The once-mighty towers of Harrenhal now lay in heaps of blackened stone. One of the great towers had completely collapsed, its remains scattered like a fallen mountain. The stench of death and burnt earth hung heavy. Lannister banners lay trampled in the mud, and the bodies of soldiers littered the ground. Horses screamed in the distance, some trapped beneath fallen debris.

Tywin’s horse halted, its hooves splashing in a pool of blood and rainwater. His men exchanged uneasy glances. For once, even his most hardened knights looked shaken.

"What… happened here?" Tywin said quietly, his eyes scanning the destruction.

For a moment, he considered an enemy attack. But his years of experience told him the truth: no army could cause this level of devastation.

Killing on a mass scale, burning areas, breaking walls and doors—yes, that was possible. But this? This was something else entirely.

Perhaps only a dragon could…

He stopped his mind from wandering. He was old, very old, and had never seen a dragon. Neither had his father or grandfather. Dragons had been extinct for nearly a century. It was impossible.

A half-burned soldier limped forward, armor cracked and blackened. He dropped to one knee before his lord. "M-My lord… it was… it was not men who did this."

Tywin’s gaze hardened. "Speak clearly."

The man trembled. "A storm came… not from the skies but from the ground. Lightning struck the castle again and again. The earth broke apart… and from it, a man emerged. A man… or a god."

A murmur ran through the gathered soldiers. Tywin’s jaw tightened. "A god? Have you lost your wits?"

"I swear it, my lord!" the soldier cried. "He came with thunder. He tore through our men like they were children. His hammer smashed stone, shattered steel, and those who faced him were sent flying like leaves in a storm. We could not stop him. None could."

Tywin looked around again. The pattern of destruction was unnatural—massive craters in the ground, walls struck by lightning so intense they had melted stone. It was eerily similar to what had happened hundreds of years ago to this very castle by Balerion the Black. It was neither a siege nor wildfire, nor any weapon he knew.

His expression remained calm, but his mind raced. "A man," he repeated quietly. "A man did all this?"

The soldier nodded, trembling. "He came for the captives, my lord. The Stark girls… he took them and vanished."

Tywin’s eyes widened slightly. The Stark girls were here?

He looked at the ruins, the faint echo of thunder still rumbling in the distance.

For the first time in years, Tywin Lannister felt the cold touch of unease.