"A storm, a damned storm. Let the Others take him."
Tyrion Lannister cursed under his breath as he looked out over the chaos consuming King's Landing. Everything had begun with hunger.
The Riverlands had been devastated by war. Grain shipments from the Reach had stopped. Castles throughout the Crownlands, including Rosby, had fallen victim to the Crabfeeder's forces. Food supplies dwindled with each passing day, and the city was paying the price.
For the first time, Tyrion found himself regretting a decision. Perhaps all these starving mouths should have been sent north to join the Night's Watch. The black brothers had been far too conservative in accepting recruits.
"How many riots has this been now?" he muttered.
He counted silently.
Three.
The first two had been little more than armed petitions directed at the Red Keep. This third one was far worse—a full-scale uprising fueled by anger and desperation.
If a fourth riot erupted...
Tyrion didn't even want to imagine the consequences.
"Cursing won't help, my lord," Bronn remarked lazily.
The sellsword leaned against a wall, seemingly unconcerned by the turmoil around them.
"But your opponent is clever. More cunning than Robert ever was and far more popular than Stannis."
Tyrion frowned.
Could that really be the plan?
To starve King's Landing into submission?
A shiver ran down his spine.
The people had already roasted a baker alive over accusations of hoarding bread. If hunger continued, roasting a king—or a Hand of the King—wouldn't seem unreasonable.
At that moment, Lady Tanda approached them.
The elderly noblewoman looked exhausted and terrified.
"Have you seen my daughter?" she asked desperately. "She's the only child I have left."
Her family's lands had been ravaged. Ser Gyles's heir had been captured, their castle plundered, and now her daughter had vanished amid the chaos.
"Haven't seen her."
Sandor Clegane frowned as he scanned the courtyard.
"More importantly, where's my horse? If something happened to that horse, someone is going to pay."
"My daughter..." Lady Tanda sobbed. "Please, my lords."
Tyrion sighed.
"She was with us for a while, but I don't know where she went afterward."
Before anyone could continue the conversation, shouting erupted from the walls.
"Fire!"
A soldier ran toward them.
"My lords! Flea Bottom is burning!"
Tyrion closed his eyes briefly.
More bad news.
Always more bad news.
Still, giving up had never been his style.
"Bronn. Hound. Take men and put out the fire."
The two immediately departed.
Tyrion's mind raced through a dozen possibilities.
The waterwheels had to be protected.
If necessary, Flea Bottom itself could be abandoned.
But the flames could never be allowed to reach the Alchemists' Guild.
One spark near the wildfire stores could destroy half the city.
Turning, Tyrion pointed toward three members of the Kingsguard.
"Ser Meryn. Ser Boros. Ser Mandon."
The white-cloaked knights exchanged uneasy glances.
"Take the heralds and declare martial law. Everyone goes home immediately. Once the last evening bell rings, anyone found on the streets will be executed."
The three knights hesitated.
The sight of thousands of enraged commoners still haunted them.
Their white cloaks made them obvious targets.
Finally, Ser Meryn spoke.
"Our duty is to protect the king."
Before Tyrion could reply, Cersei's voice cut through the courtyard.
"You useless cowards!"
Her insults continued until the Kingsguard reluctantly obeyed.
Only after they departed did Tyrion remember something even more important.
Shae.
The city might burn.
Riots might spread.
But he couldn't allow anything to happen to her.
He quickly made his way back to the Tower of the Hand, where his mountain clansmen stood guard.
"Wake Shagga."
A runner hurried away.
Moments later, the giant clansman arrived.
"I've hidden Shae in a large house near the Iron Gate," Tyrion said.
"I want you to go there immediately."
Shagga listened silently.
"No matter what happens, protect her."
The clansman grinned fiercely.
"No one will touch her."
As darkness settled over King's Landing, the chaos continued.
Hours later, Bronn returned.
"The fire's out," he reported.
"Most of the rioters have been dispersed."
Tyrion nodded.
He should have felt relieved.
Instead, he felt exhausted.
More than anything, he wanted to be with Shae.
He wanted comfort.
Acceptance.
Someone who valued him.
Jaime had always treated him as a brother rather than a monster, and Tyrion would forever be grateful for that.
Shae's affection—whether genuine or purchased—offered a similar comfort.
At least when he was with her, he could pretend he mattered.
---
On the opposite side of the city stood the Street of Steel.
Most of King's Landing's smithies were located there.
Beginning near the River Gate, the road climbed steadily up Visenya's Hill. The farther one traveled, the wealthier the workshops became.
Gendry himself had once trained among these smiths before fleeing the city.
One of the largest workshops belonged to Master Sharolion.
Though it could not rival Tobho Mott's famous forge, it was still impressive.
The master smith stood atop a balcony overlooking the city.
A fox-fur cloak hung from his shoulders.
In one hand, he held a Myrish lens.
Through it, he could clearly see the fires burning in Flea Bottom.
The screams.
The smoke.
The chaos.
King's Landing was slowly tearing itself apart.
Gathered around him were merchants and craftsmen.
Blacksmiths.
Cloth traders.
Grain dealers.
And others who quietly supported House Baratheon.
Behind them hung a small golden banner.
A crowned stag stood proudly upon its field.
The sigil of Baratheon.
Sharolion gazed at it reverently.
"Gentlemen," he said quietly, "let us not forget why the Antler Men were formed."
His eyes hardened.
"To overthrow the false Lannister king and restore King's Landing to House Baratheon."
"Long live Baratheon."
"Long live Baratheon!"
The others echoed him.
Sharolion continued.
"The Father, the Warrior, and the Smith once guided King Robert."
His voice grew stronger.
"And now they guide his heir."
"Storm."
"We all know the truth."
"Joffrey is no king."
"He is the bastard child of the Kingslayer and his sister."
"He is not Robert's son."
"He will never possess Robert's heart."
The gathered men nodded solemnly.
Many had lived through the reigns of Aerys and Robert alike.
They remembered the madness.
The rebellion.
The glory that followed.
"We are only merchants and craftsmen," Sharolion said.
"But we remember."
"We remember Aerys's tyranny."
"We remember Tywin Lannister's sack of the city."
"And we remember King Robert's golden age."
The old smith smiled sadly.
"There was peace."
"There were tournaments."
"There was prosperity."
"Robert was brave. Generous. Larger than life."
His expression darkened.
"And now?"
He gestured toward the burning city.
"King's Landing has become hell."
A murmur of agreement spread through the crowd.
"The throne belongs to Storm."
"The throne belongs to Baratheon."
The grain merchant stepped forward.
"And if Storm takes the city, perhaps our debts to the Crown disappear as well."
Several merchants laughed quietly.
Sharolion flexed his scarred hands.
"The city burns, but there is still light in the sky."
"The future belongs to Storm."
"The future belongs to Baratheon."
Everyone nodded.
Fear slowly transformed into determination.
Their numbers were small.
That much was true.
But they possessed weapons.
Armor.
Supplies.
And faith.
"In my cellar," Sharolion announced, "I have swords, shields, and armor ready for battle."
"I can provide oil," one merchant added.
Sharolion nodded.
"The Gold Cloaks outnumber us greatly."
"But they are spread throughout the city."
"Once war begins, we will strike only once."
"One decisive attack."
"One gate."
"One opening."
"And then we welcome Prince Gendry."
A wine merchant suddenly raised his hand.
"I have another idea."
Sharolion gestured for him to continue.
"The prophets."
Several men exchanged glances.
"The people already hate the Lannisters."
"They're hungry."
"They're angry."
"The prophets are spreading rumors that if Gendry sits the Iron Throne, prosperity will return."
A smile appeared on Sharolion's face.
"Interesting."
"If those rumors spread further, another riot may erupt."
"Exactly."
"But we must remain careful," Sharolion warned.
"The Spider's informants are everywhere."
The room fell silent.
Varys remained their greatest threat inside the city.
Eventually someone asked:
"Where is Prince Gendry now?"
The answer came quickly.
"Marching through the Kingswood."
The room immediately brightened.
"Once he arrives, the traitors will lose heart."
"May the gods guide him."
"May Baratheon triumph."
One by one, they offered prayers.
Sharolion closed his eyes.
For a brief moment, he saw Robert Baratheon again.
Young.
Strong.
Laughing.
A stag-helmed warrior wielding a warhammer.
A king worthy of loyalty.
Perhaps this would be his final battle.
If so, he would gladly fight it.
For Robert.
For Baratheon.
And for the future they hoped Gendry would bring.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)