The commotion along the waterfront was impossible to ignore.
Tyrion Lannister kept a wary eye on the gathering crowds. The people of King's Landing had always been unpredictable. History had proven that when driven by desperation, they were capable of anything. After all, these were the same people who had once helped bring down dragons.
Compared to dragons, what was one dwarf?
The commoners hated him for the hunger that plagued the city. They hated him for forcing them to work on defenses while their families starved. In their eyes, Tyrion represented everything that had gone wrong.
"I don't have a choice," he thought grimly.
The food shortages could only be endured. There was no miracle solution, no hidden supply of grain waiting to save them. All he could do was suppress the unrest and continue preparing for the war that was surely coming.
Once Princess Myrcella departed safely, he intended to return to the Red Keep as quickly as possible.
At the docks waited the vessel chosen to carry the princess across the Narrow Sea. It was a sleek ship with enormous sails and a narrow hull, faster than any warship currently serving the Crown. Looking at it gave Tyrion a small measure of comfort.
Then his thoughts drifted to a far more troubling matter.
Stannis Baratheon.
If Stannis learned that part of King's Landing's fleet was occupied escorting Myrcella, what better moment could there be to launch an attack?
Storm was a capable commander, but Stannis was legendary when it came to naval warfare.
Tyrion turned and gazed toward the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, where the river emptied into Blackwater Bay. A thin green line stretched across the horizon.
No sails.
No approaching fleet.
Only then did he breathe a little easier.
According to the latest reports, Gendry was advancing from the Stormlands with an army of his own. Meanwhile, Stannis was not concentrating his entire fleet on King's Landing. He also intended to pressure Casterly Rock, forcing the Lannisters to divide their attention.
That decision had bought Tyrion precious time.
"My chain towers are nearly complete," Tyrion thought.
"Just a little longer."
Whether the enemy came carrying the stag banner of his uncle or his nephew, he intended to be ready.
Nearby, laborers struggled to haul massive stones into position. Tyrion had no doubt they cursed his name with every lift and every strained breath. Few appreciated being forced to work during a festival while food remained scarce.
At the center of the dock stood Princess Myrcella.
The young princess knelt before the High Septon while sunlight danced across her golden hair. The crystal coronet resting upon her head refracted the light into brilliant colors, creating a rainbow around her face.
The High Septon raised his hands dramatically.
"May the Seven bless your journey. May your voyage be safe, and may your path lead peacefully to Braavos."
The blessing continued for what felt like an eternity.
Tyrion's attention drifted elsewhere.
Behind Myrcella stood Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard, his white cloak billowing in the sea breeze. Looking at him only reminded Tyrion how pitiful the Kingsguard had become.
Jaime was gone.
Barristan Selmy served another king.
The remaining White Cloaks inspired little confidence.
Many possessed neither the skill nor the honor traditionally associated with the order. They could intimidate servants and bully frightened citizens, but few inspired respect on the battlefield.
Even Sandor Clegane had changed.
Ever since Gregor Clegane's fall and Sansa Stark's disappearance, the Hound seemed lost. He drank heavily and carried himself like a man without purpose.
Eventually, the High Septon finished his lengthy sermon.
Tyrion approached the captain of King Robert's Hammer.
"Deliver my niece safely to Braavos," he said. "Do that, and I will see you knighted."
The captain bowed deeply.
Tyrion then made his way down the gangplank.
As he walked through the crowd, he felt the weight of countless hostile stares. Surprisingly, most of them did not come from the nobles.
The hatred belonged to the poor.
The starving.
The forgotten.
Bronn quickly pushed through the crowd and escorted Tyrion toward Cersei and her children.
Cersei ignored him completely.
Instead, she exchanged meaningful glances with Ser Lancel.
Tyrion almost laughed.
His sister believed Lancel was entirely loyal to her. She had no idea that Lancel also supplied information to him.
Meanwhile, Cersei continued recruiting sellswords through the Kettleblack brothers, building her own power base within the city.
"Tommen will need to leave soon as well," Tyrion thought.
One royal heir was enough for a city under siege.
A series of horns echoed across the harbor.
The fleet was departing.
One ship after another slipped away from the docks.
The Lionstar and Lady Lyanna led the formation, moving downriver toward the bay. The Gale followed close behind Myrcella's vessel, while King Robert's Hammer guarded the rear.
Standing upon the deck, Myrcella waved enthusiastically.
"Goodbye!"
Tommen burst into tears.
Joffrey remained expressionless.
Tyrion forced himself to smile despite his growing anxiety.
The ships caught the wind and accelerated toward the open sea. White sails billowed overhead. Unlike the crimson banners of House Lannister, the neutral colors attracted far less attention.
Every captain in the escort fleet had been personally selected by Tyrion and carefully vetted by Varys.
That realization brought another uncomfortable thought.
He relied heavily upon the Spider.
Too heavily.
Could Varys truly be trusted?
Tyrion wasn't certain.
For now, he had little choice. Both Varys and Tyrion feared the ambitions of Storm and Stannis, creating a temporary alliance of necessity.
Still, Tyrion knew he needed independent sources of information.
His thoughts briefly turned toward Petyr Baelish.
Littlefinger had been a dangerous man, but he had also been useful. Had he still been alive, negotiations with Highgarden might have progressed more smoothly.
For now, House Tyrell continued to wait and watch.
The Tyrells were patient.
They would not commit until they knew which side was likely to win.
Tyrion couldn't even blame them. Under the circumstances, it was the smartest strategy available.
The horns sounded one final time.
The fleet disappeared beyond the horizon.
Only then did Cersei order the royal procession to return to the Red Keep.
Bronn helped Tyrion mount his horse.
As they entered the city streets, Tyrion immediately felt his earlier unease return.
Gold Cloaks lined both sides of the road, holding back crowds of citizens with drawn swords.
The people looked terrible.
Their clothes hung in tatters.
Their faces were pale and hollow.
Many appeared barely capable of standing.
Hunger had transformed them into something dangerous.
Soon there would be no grain.
No vegetables.
Perhaps not even fish.
"I hate this," Tyrion thought.
He had already ordered Bronn to place mercenaries among the crowds to watch for trouble.
But twenty men could not stop a city from exploding.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)