A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 50 – Fire and Fury

Tyrion Lannister – The Imp's War

The walls of King's Landing trembled under the weight of war. The city was tense, its people frightened, but in the Red Keep, King Joffrey Baratheon seemed utterly unfazed.

"Let Stannis come," Joffrey sneered, pacing in his golden armor, his lion-crested helm tucked under his arm. "I will kill him myself and send his head to my uncle Renly's grave. My crossbow will make short work of the usurper!"

Tyrion Lannister sighed, rubbing his temple. His nephew's bravado was exhausting, but worse, it was dangerous. The boy had no sense of war, only stories of heroes and kings who never lost.

The King's Guard stood behind Joffrey, their white cloaks pristine despite the dirt and blood soon to come. Ser Osmund Kettleblack, newly raised to the guard, smirked at the king's words, while Ser Balon Swann kept his expression unreadable.

Nearby, Bronn, the commander of the City Watch, adjusted his sword belt. "Bold words from a boy who's never seen battle."

Joffrey whirled toward him, face red. "You will address me as 'Your Grace,' sellsword!"

Bronn simply grinned. "Of course, Your Grace."

Tyrion held up a hand before Joffrey's temper boiled over. "Enough. We have more pressing matters than indulging fantasies of heroism."

From the walls, reports were coming in. Lord Randyll Tarly and his Reachmen had launched an attack by land, attempting to breach the Gate of the Gods. Lord Penrose, one of Stannis' loyal bannermen, had joined the assault.

The enemy was pressing hard, but Stannis himself had not been seen. That meant only one thing—the true strike would come by sea.

Tyrion turned to Ser Balon Swann. "Double the men at the Mud Gate. If the fleet lands, that's where the first wave will come."

Swann nodded and departed. Joffrey, however, scoffed. "We have nothing to fear! My uncle's ships will burn. I want to be on the walls to watch."

Tyrion gritted his teeth. "You will stay in the Red Keep."

Joffrey's face darkened, but a single sharp look from Cersei, standing by the window, silenced him. For once.

Still, Tyrion had a feeling that the worst had yet to come.

---

Stannis Baratheon – The Sea is Mine

The Fury surged forward, its sails full as it led the Baratheon fleet through the narrow waters of Blackwater Bay. Dragonstone was far behind now, its black towers fading into the distance.

Stannis Baratheon stood upon the deck, his gaze fixed ahead, expression unreadable.

Beside him, Ser Davos Seaworth, ever loyal, adjusted his gloves. "We should be within sight of King's Landing soon."

"Good," Stannis muttered. "Tarly and Penrose will draw them in by land. When they are engaged, we land."

Also on deck stood Ser Gilbert Farring, a loyal Florent knight, and Ser Andrew Estermont, a relative of Stannis through his mother's blood. Both listened attentively as Stannis laid out the plan.

"The Lannisters will be stretched thin. If they weaken their walls to reinforce the gates, we take the city. If they hold, we burn their ships and starve them."

Davos nodded but hesitated. "And if the Lannisters have tricks waiting?"

Stannis gave him a sharp look. "Then we meet them with fire and steel. I will not be denied my throne."

Then, a call rang from the crow's nest. "Sails! Sails to the east!"

Stannis turned sharply, eyes narrowing. He expected Lannister ships, but when he saw the banners flapping in the wind, his blood ran cold.

A fleet of black sails. A sigil he had not seen in years.

The Three-Headed Dragon of House Targaryen.

Memories of war, of Robert's Rebellion, flooded his mind. For years, he had seen this sigil only in nightmares.

For years, he had believed the dragons dead.

Now, the Red Dragon had returned.

And Westeros would burn.