The world shrank that morning.
In a small tower room at Deepwood Keep a young man named Petyr (not Baelish just a local boy good with numbers) sat wearing headphones made of leather and tin.
He was listening to the static of the universe.
Suddenly a rhythmic tapping cut through the noise.
Click. Click. Clack. Click.
Petyr grabbed his pencil. He wrote down the letters as they came across the wire that stretched hundreds of miles through the frozen Wolfswood down the Kingsroad and all the way to the forward command post at Seagard.
O-R-D-E-R.
P-R-I-O-R-I-T-Y.
A-L-F-R-E-D.
Petyr stopped writing. His hand shook. He knew what "Alfred" meant. It was the code name for the most dangerous substance in the Stark arsenal.
He ran to the factory floor.
"Master Mott!" Petyr shouted. "The Minister calls for Alfred! Five hundred pounds! Delivered to Seagard by the Dreadwolf!"
Mott looked up from his anvil. His face went pale.
"Five hundred pounds?" Mott whispered. "Does he want to blow up the moon?"
The Chemical Shed
The mixing room was located a mile away from the main fortress. It was surrounded by thick earthen berms designed to direct an explosion upward rather than outward.
Inside the air smelled of almonds and death.
Mott moved with the care of a surgeon. He wore thick gloves.
In front of him was a vat of oily liquid. Nitroglycerin.
It was a terrifying substance. If he dropped a hammer the room would vanish. If the temperature changed too fast the room would vanish. If he looked at it wrong it might vanish.
"Careful," Mott told his assistant. "Pour it into the clay."
Andar had taught them the secret. The oil was too unstable to transport. But if you mixed it with diatomaceous earth (a soft chalky powder found in the riverbeds) it became a stable paste.
It became Dynamite.
The assistant poured the deadly oil into the red clay dust. He kneaded it like dough.
They packed the clay into wax paper tubes. They looked like red candles.
"Five hundred pounds," Mott wiped sweat from his forehead. "Enough to crack the world."
They loaded the crates onto a wagon padded with wool and straw. They drove it to the docks at a walking pace. Every bump in the road made Mott hold his breath.
At the pier the Dreadwolf was waiting.
The iron ship was now fully operational. Its hull was painted a dark sea camouflage. Its crew was drilled.
"Load it in the forward magazine," the Captain ordered. "And for the love of the Gods do not drop it."
The Dreadwolf blew its steam whistle. It pushed off from the dock. It turned its iron prow South toward the Sunset Sea.
Seagard
A week later.
Robb Stark stood on the battlements of Seagard watching the ocean.
"It is impossible," Lord Jason Mallister said. "To sail from Deepwood to here in a week? Against the current?"
"He does not care about currents," Robb said pointing.
A plume of black smoke appeared on the horizon.
The Dreadwolf chugged into the harbor of Seagard. It looked alien among the wooden fishing boats and war galleys of the Mallister fleet. The sailors on the galleys stared at the turret and the smokestack with open mouths.
Andar walked down the gangplank. He looked fresh despite the journey.
"The package is secure Your Grace," Andar reported.
"Show me," Robb said.
They walked to the wagon where the red sticks were being unloaded.
"What is it?" The Greatjon asked picking up a stick. "A candle? Does it smell good?"
"Put it down Lord Umber," Andar said sharply. "Unless you want to lose your hand your arm and your head."
The Greatjon froze. He carefully placed the stick back in the crate.
"This is blasting gelatin," Andar lied (it was easier to explain). "We call it Dynamite."
He took a map of the Westerlands.
"The Golden Tooth," Andar pointed to the fortress that guarded the entrance to the West. "It blocks the mountain pass. It has high walls. It is considered impregnable."
"We tried to storm it once," Edmure Tully said. "We lost a thousand men."
"We are not going to storm it," Andar said. "We are going to delete the gate."
The Golden Tooth
The march was swift.
The Northern army now hardened by victory moved through the mountain passes. They dragged the artillery and the strange wagons marked "DANGER".
The fortress of the Golden Tooth loomed ahead. It sat atop a steep hill commanding the road. Its walls were yellow sandstone looking like gold in the sunset.
The Lannister commander Ser Forley Prester looked down from the walls.
"They have no ladders," Prester noted. "They have no siege towers. They just have those... wagons."
He saw a single man run toward the main gate.
It was night. The man was dressed in black. He carried a bundle.
"Archer!" Prester shouted. "Shoot him!"
An arrow hissed through the dark. But the runner was fast. He reached the massive ironwood gates. He placed the bundle at the hinge. He lit a short fuse.
He ran back.
"What was that?" Prester frowned. "Did he try to burn down an iron gate with a candle?"
Down in the valley Andar covered his ears.
"Open your mouths," Andar ordered Robb and the Lords. "To equalize the pressure."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
Robb opened his mouth.
KRA KOOOM.
The sound was not like a cannon. It was a sharp cracking tearing noise that was felt in the bones.
A flash of blinding yellow light lit up the valley.
The massive gates of the Golden Tooth did not just break. They ceased to exist.
The explosion shredded the ironwood. It pulverized the stone archway holding the gate. A shockwave of dust and debris blasted inward killing the guards in the courtyard instantly.
The walls shook as if an earthquake had hit.
Ser Forley Prester was knocked off his feet on the battlements. His ears were ringing. He looked down.
Where the gate had been there was now a gaping hole filled with smoke.
"Charge!"
The cry came from the darkness.
The Northern cavalry led by the Greatjon surged forward. They did not need rams. They rode straight through the smoking hole into the fortress.
The garrison was too stunned to fight. They surrendered in minutes.
Robb Stark rode through the shattered archway. He looked at the twisted metal hinges that were all that remained of the gate.
"Dynamite," Robb whispered. "It is terrifying."
"It is efficient," Andar said riding beside him.
He looked past the burning fortress.
Below them lay the rich green valleys of the Westerlands. The home of House Lannister.
It was untouched by war. The villages were fat. The mines were open.
"Tywin burned the Riverlands," Andar said cold and hard. "He thought his home was safe behind his mountains."
Andar signaled the column to advance.
"Let us show him that walls are just suggestions."
[Quest Complete: The Golden Tooth]
[Barrier Breached: Access to Westerlands Unlocked]
[Weapon Used: Dynamite]
[Fear Factor: Maximum]
The Northern Army poured into the West like a grey flood.
The raid on the Rock had begun.
.….
Author Note
Hi guys! Thank you for reading my fanfiction.
I wanted to let you know that I'm releasing bonus chapters for Power Stones. Here are the goals:
25 Power Stones: 1 Bonus Chapters
50 Power Stones: 1 Bonus Chapters
75 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
100 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
Thanks for the support!