Forsaken Bloodlines {HP x GOT}

Chapter 6.1: The Queen's Council

A/N: As I'm sure, not everyone loves Tyrion's character, but since I do, I want to bring him back in this fanfic. Some of ya'll just gotta bear with me.

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The grand hall of the Red Keep was packed with lords, ladies, and dignitaries from all across Westeros. The Iron Throne, once the seat of ultimate power, had long been destroyed. In its place stood a golden throne, temporary and unworthy of its predecessor. On the raised dais before it, King Bran the Broken sat for what would be his final moments as ruler.

He lifted his hand, and silence fell over the room. His voice, steady yet distant, echoed through the chamber.

"Westeros has endured much turmoil in the past decades. We have seen kings rise and fall, cities burn, and kingdoms fracture. But today, we turn a new page. I have ruled as best as I could, guiding the realm with what wisdom I possess. But the future belongs not to me, nor to those who wish to preserve the past, but to the one who has shaped it with fire and steel. And so, I name Lyanna Targaryen—Lyanna of House Targaryen, Queen of the North, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Ruler of the East, Stormbearer of Old Valyria, Mistress of the Shadowflame, and the Herald of the New Dawn—as the rightful Queen of Westeros."

The moment the words left his lips, a wave of murmurs spread through the hall like wildfire. Gasps of shock, whispered protests and a few scattered cheers filled the space. There were many who had known this moment was coming, yet the finality of it struck deep. Some looked upon Lyanna with admiration, others with sheer horror. The wounds left by Daenerys Targaryen's conquest had not yet healed, and now, another dragon queen sat poised to take the throne.

Lyanna, dressed in deep black adorned with a three-headed dragon emblem of red and gold, stepped forward. She climbed the steps toward the golden throne, her violet eyes sweeping over the gathered faces. Fear, resentment, hope—so many emotions swirled in their expressions, yet none of them mattered. What mattered was the crown she was about to claim.

Bran watched her with his ever-calm expression. "Do you accept this responsibility? The fate of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond will rest upon your shoulders."

Lyanna chuckled, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Who else could bear such a burden but me? No one."

With slow, deliberate steps, she approached the throne and placed a hand upon its cold surface. For a brief moment, she felt the weight of its history—her ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, had forged his throne in fire, and her mother had nearly reduced it to ash. Now, she would rebuild it.

As she turned to face the crowd, the doors to the Throne Room suddenly shook from the uproar outside. The distant sound of chants and jeers filled the halls. The people of King's Landing had gathered in protest, their voices raised in anger and fear.

"No more dragons!"

"Not another Mad Queen!"

"She will burn us like the last one!"

The commotion was growing louder. Outside the Red Keep, thousands had assembled, mostly common folk and smaller, unrecognized houses that still bore deep wounds from the past wars. Their cries echoed through the streets, filled with pain and fury at the idea of another Targaryen ruler.

Tyrion Lannister, who stood among the council members, let out a slow sigh. "Well, I'd say the people have spoken. You're not exactly their beloved savior."