Smoke filled the skies south of King's Landing.
War was always accompanied by blood and fire.
Towering black pillars of smoke rose from the riverside districts, fueled by burning homes, warehouses, docks, and brothels. Everything outside the city walls had been deliberately put to the torch.
Additional plumes of smoke drifted upward from fires raging through the forests along the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush.
Beneath the scent of ash and burning timber came another sound—the constant ringing of hammers.
Large groups of carpenters worked tirelessly around the Mud Gate, reinforcing the battlements with fresh wooden planks.
As the coming storm drew closer, the city's defenses had to be strengthened at all costs.
The carpenters cursed while they worked, though they also thanked the Imp for his generosity.
Like the blacksmiths, they had seen their workload—and their earnings—increase dramatically because of the war.
"A strong city allows one man to stand against ten."
Tyrion Lannister remembered the lesson his father, Tywin, had taught him.
Now he was putting that wisdom into practice.
Standing atop the city walls, Tyrion gazed at the burning riverside.
The acrid smoke stung his eyes.
"Are they cursing me?" he asked.
Bronn, the black-haired sellsword standing beside him, grinned.
"What do you think?"
"The property owners are furious. Warehouse owners, tavern keepers, merchants, brothel owners—they're all cursing your name."
"But the loudest complaints come from the beggars and the fishwives."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow.
"The beggars?"
Bronn nodded.
"You burned down the places where they slept and prayed."
"And the fishwives?"
"They're making more money than ever. Fish prices are ten times higher than before the war."
Bronn smirked.
"Congratulations. Your reputation in King's Landing is completely ruined."
Tyrion laughed bitterly.
"Let them curse. It gives them another reason to mock the deformed little monkey."
"That's true enough," Bronn agreed.
"King Joffrey and Queen Regent Cersei never meet with the common folk."
"You're the one managing everything, so naturally you're the one they blame."
His expression became more serious.
"The good news is that the war is almost here."
"Otherwise, if this famine continues much longer, those hungry people might tear you apart."
"You haven't seen the children down at the docks."
"They fight over scraps of rotten fish."
"Their bellies are swollen from starvation."
Tyrion sighed.
"Have your men caused any problems?"
"Not many."
"You told them to tear down houses and burn buildings—not kill people."
Bronn shrugged.
"But they're sellswords, not monks."
"Every now and then one of them decides he wants a woman."
"Keep them under control."
Tyrion's voice hardened.
"I don't want these refugees becoming allies of the Stormlands army."
"Pay the workers, the refugees, and the mercenaries properly."
Bronn shook his head.
"Coin isn't enough anymore."
"The real problem is food."
"These days even a rat costs a fortune."
Tyrion glanced back toward the burning waterfront.
"Do they at least curse Baratheon?"
"Or the blacksmiths?"
"Not often."
Bronn's expression darkened.
"But you should watch the prophets."
"They're preaching that all of this suffering is your fault."
"They say the bleeding star foretells victory for the Storm, not King Joffrey."
Tyrion grimaced.
He could easily imagine the rest of those sermons.
"It seems Cersei wasn't entirely wrong about arresting rumor-mongers."
"Keep an eye on the loudest prophets and charlatans."
"Varys is already compiling a list."
Bronn nodded.
"As you command."
Tyrion's gaze shifted toward the distant Kingswood.
"What worries me more is Shagga and his clansmen."
"The fires in the Kingswood are far smaller than I expected."
"Your pets are clever," Bronn replied.
"They're excellent at looting and guerrilla warfare."
"But they haven't fought Gendry yet."
Tyrion folded his arms.
"That's what concerns me."
"The Storm is both strong and cunning."
For all their ferocity, the mountain clans were better suited for raids and ambushes than direct confrontation.
He could only hope they managed to cause trouble behind enemy lines.
Bronn studied him for a moment.
"Are you afraid?"
"Of Robert's bastard?"
"Or of Stannis?"
Tyrion snorted.
"One is a bastard."
"The other is a second son."
"They're all the same to me."
Then his smile faded.
"If they enter King's Landing, my head won't stay attached to my shoulders for long."
"Has Lord Tywin left Harrenhal yet?" Bronn asked.
"Yes."
"My father has left Harrenhal."
"And the Storm has already departed Storm's End."
"Unfortunately, they're moving in opposite directions."
Tyrion looked toward the horizon.
Harrenhal had fallen.
Only King's Landing remained.
If he could, he would double the height of the city walls and triple their thickness.
But even that might not be enough.
Storm's End had fallen.
Harrenhal had fallen.
Walls alone could not guarantee victory.
"Still," Tyrion said quietly, "we have allies."
"Balon Greyjoy has crowned himself king again."
"His fleet is harassing the North."
"And Lys and Volantis have joined together against Myr and Tyrosh."
Bronn shrugged.
"The Ironborn might annoy the wolves."
"But there aren't enough of them to change the war."
"And those slave cities across the Narrow Sea won't conquer anyone quickly."
"Perhaps."
Tyrion nodded.
"But every distraction helps."
"The fighting in the North and across the Narrow Sea doesn't matter right now."
"What matters is how long we can hold King's Landing."
His eyes drifted toward the three massive trebuchets positioned near the Mud Gate.
The enormous siege engines towered above the battlements like giant birds watching the battlefield.
The battle was coming.
And when it arrived, the fate of King's Landing would be decided on the banks of the Blackwater.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)