Regret is a useless currency.

                                    

                                          
The realm was eerily silent, as though it had endured a furious storm and come out the other side. King Joffrey's body was charred beyond recognition, leaving even the most seasoned maesters at a loss for how to alleviate his suffering. Those who had survived the destruction of the Citadel, set ablaze by Daemon, tried in vain to offer their assistance. Yet, their efforts were futile against the all-consuming pain that ravaged Joffrey's form.
Some speculated that this gruesome fate was Daenerys's doing—a brutal form of justice for Queen Mother Cersei, a reckoning for the torment she had imposed upon Daenerys in a past life. As Cersei helplessly watched her cherished son's excruciating demise, Daenerys found a twisted satisfaction in the queen's powerlessness, savoring the bittersweet taste of revenge.
The small council was rife with unease as the illusion of their triumph over House Targaryen crumbled. The remnants of the once-powerful house had not only endured but had also acquired fully grown dragons as their allies, a force that could not be easily defeated. Those who had previously considered allying themselves with the Lannisters now grappled with uncertainty, questioning their decisions in light of the Targaryens' resurgence.
The name "Targaryen" once again echoed through the corridors of power, a potent symbol of strength and retribution. This shift in the balance of power forced many to reassess their loyalties and alliances, as they could not help but wonder how the return of this formidable house would reshape the political landscape of the Seven Kingdoms.
Among those tormented by doubt was Lord Varys, a former key player in the downfall of House Targaryen. His intricate plans to install Young Griff on the Iron Throne now seemed to hang in the balance as the landscape shifted with the revelation of the Targaryens' survival. The heated debates within the council chambers only added to the weight upon his conscience, each word a reminder of the ancient house that now loomed over them like a ghost.
Lord Petyr Baelish, also known as Littlefinger, was equally troubled. A man who thrived on chaos, using it to manipulate and indebt others to him, he could not have foreseen this turn of events. Though he had been preoccupied with smuggling Sansa out of King's Landing during the attack, he had witnessed the destruction and chaos wrought by the dragons. His sources had briefed him on the events that transpired at the young king's wedding, and now, he was forced to reassess his carefully crafted plans. The frustration was palpable, as the unexpected return of House Targaryen had thrown yet another wrench into his schemes, further complicating his life that had already been filled with challenges since his late wife's "accidental" demise through the Moon Door—a tragedy that he had blamed on her fragile mental state.
Back in kinglanding.
Within the castle's silent halls, King Joffrey's anguished cries reverberated like a macabre symphony, echoing Cersei's desperate pleas for the maesters to intervene. But their efforts proved futile, their skills inadequate to provide more than a semblance of relief from his suffering.
In another chamber, Tywin Lannister, the patriarch of the Lannister lineage, lay immobile and broken. The force of the dragon's tail had left him shattered from neck to toe, his once-proud form now a monument to pain and suffering.
Tyrion, the youngest son, entered the scene, a palpable aura of resentment surrounding him. Years of bitterness had fueled a burning hatred for his father, and now, as the maesters delivered their grim prognosis, a hint of perverse delight danced in Tyrion's eyes.
Tywin's face contorted into a mask of fury and despair, his voice raspy and venomous as he commanded, "I care not for gold or the lives you extinguish! Spare no expense, unleash any force, but obliterate that wretched woman!" His rage thundered through the air, a storm of impotence and vengeance, as though the very walls trembled in fear of his wrath.