"The sacred fire shows the truth, and my interpretation has deviations, but it doesn't matter; I am also flesh and blood. I once saw that person was the Duke of Dragonstone. As long as Stannis dedicates his power, everything will be fine. Let him take the crown, let him offer his blood and fire." The Red Priestess slowly regained her confidence. "Power comes from faith, and also from bloodline; the bloodline of the storm inherently contains some power. If Dragonstone can burn all idols and sacrifice to the red god, my power will be even greater."
...In King's Landing, Tyrion began to pay attention to various blacksmiths. King's Landing's warships were very weak; most of the Royal Fleet was now at Dragonstone, and the Duke of Dragonstone also controlled too many merchant ships. King's Landing's few small boats could now only lure enemies into the river.
Tyrion had already instructed all the blacksmiths. He required all blacksmiths on the Street of Steel to hasten the forging of a type of iron chain, then string them together: three thick steel links, twisted together. Tyrion was not concerned with flashy armor and sharp swords; what was most needed now were iron chains.
Tyrion not only needed to work on keeping King's Landing from starving but also to consider how to protect King's Landing; fleeing with the heir was the worst option.
"They want to eat you," Bronn said quietly after leaving The Red Keep, leading a group of mounted Black Ears tribe wildlings behind The Imp's palanquin. The hateful gaze of the starving people was unforgettable. When people starved, they hated everything in the city.
Bronn had to admire The Imp's courage, but The Imp was willing to take risks to find his daughter, which seemed to indicate deep feelings for the woman. Bronn thought for a moment but still didn't speak; offending a powerful Hand was of no benefit, and he was just a Mercenary.
"I have done my best to feed them, but now..." Tyrion replied. Feeding the huge city of King's Landing was indeed too difficult.
Tyrion had done everything he could. Tyrion moved hundreds of carpenters who were building catapults to construct fishing boats, and also opened The Kingswood, allowing hunters who dared to cross the river to hunt. Tyrion also sent City Watch soldiers to the west and south to collect grain, but all yielded little. Only Rosby and a few other small castles sent grain; half of King's Landing's grain came from Rosby and Stokeworth. Tyrion had to hide inside the palanquin so he would see fewer of those accusing and angry eyes.
"Now the most crucial thing is grain. Even gold cannot replace grain. The Three Rivers have been ruined. And in the outer circle, Storms End's army is in the south, Dragonstone's navy is in the east, and The Boy Blacksmith's army is in the north. As for the Claw Peninsula, I'll thank the gods if they don't attack our rear," Tyrion said worriedly.
"Perhaps you can look for wealthy residents in King's Landing and see if anyone is willing to be kind," Bronn asked with a grin.
"Wealthy residents, please. Those people are as stingy as they come," Tyrion grumbled.
"The wealthiest ones, you might still remember," Bronn replied.
"You mean the High Septon and Littlefinger?" Tyrion quickly reacted. "The High Septon's bargaining skills are comparable to a merchant's; if you ask him to fund some poor wretches, he will absolutely refuse. As for Littlefinger, I have a bigger task for him, and now is not the time to offend him. Besides, even if there was money and grain, it can't be brought in now..."
"The fat man is in such a state, and he still won't shed a drop of blood?" Bronn asked. "He is the will and embodiment of the Seven on earth; does he have no such sacrifice?"
The current High Septon was a fat, large man, corrupt in thought, gluttonous by nature, and always chattering. The King had once borrowed money from the High Septon, and of course, after the King was gone, that money would be difficult to reclaim.
"The Seven are always merciful, but our High Septon is not," The Imp snorted, looking worriedly at the pitiful commoners, their weak bodies, their resentful eyes.
They believed in the Seven, but the gods did not offer help. But Tyrion still hoped the fat High Septon would be wiser, otherwise, for the hungry people, a priest too fat to move was the best target.
"You're right, I still need to go see the High Septon after I meet with the woman," Tyrion said. "Perhaps the High Septon's prayers are not very effective for the faithful, but they will always help me defend the city."
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