Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

The golden hues of the setting sun bathed Blackwater Bay in a warm glow.

Tyrion Lannister rested his hands on the ship's rail, staring absentmindedly at the port that was drawing closer with every passing moment.

"My lord, we've arrived at King's Landing."

"Hmm." Tyrion snapped out of his wandering thoughts, stretched his stiff limbs, and prepared to disembark.

There was no welcoming party waiting for him at the dock.

This was no surprise to Tyrion.

He was returning as a freed captive, not a victorious hero, and he hadn't expected cheering crowds.

Then again, the last time he had been here, when he defeated Stannis Baratheon's fleet and secured a crucial victory for House Lannister, there hadn't been any cheers for him either.

Who would cheer for a dwarf?

Tyrion smirked bitterly at his own thoughts and awkwardly made his way down the ship's gangplank on his short legs.

Navigating the noisy, bustling port, he took a familiar route to Mud Gate.

The Goldcloak guards stationed there immediately recognized the unmistakable figure of the Westerlands' most infamous second son. They dispatched an escort to accompany him into the city.

King's Landing was as crowded, filthy, and bleak as ever—perhaps even worse than when he had last seen it.

Haggard men and women with sunken eyes lined the streets. Gaunt children sat slumped against walls, some silent and vacant, others begging loudly, and a few lying prone, awaiting the sweet release of death.

The Reach had stopped sending grain to King's Landing. The Riverlands, ravaged by war, were still recovering and struggling to meet their own needs, especially with winter approaching.

And a greater war loomed on the horizon.

The sight before him darkened Tyrion's mood further.

The last time the city had faced such a dire food shortage, his uncle Kevan Lannister had drafted 50,000 men from among the city's young and able-bodied and sent them to die in the Stormlands. But what could be done now?

Draft another group to their deaths? Would the people fall for such a scheme again?

Tyrion knew the resentment King's Landing harbored toward the Lannisters had only deepened since then. The forced conscription had been a temporary solution that left behind a lasting bitterness.

Today, any member of House Lannister walking the streets of King's Landing had to be heavily guarded, or they would risk being torn apart by the very people they ruled.

Tyrion felt the truth of this acutely. If not for the squad of Goldcloaks flanking him, he had no doubt the starving masses would have ripped him to shreds and devoured him.

The stares of the desperate and hungry burned into his back, filled with rage and despair.

We cannot let Caesar's army surround King's Landing, he thought grimly.

If Caesar laid siege to the city, it wouldn't take an attack to bring it down. King's Landing would devour itself from within.

The realization made him understand why his father had chosen to move troops across the Blackwater to engage the enemy further afield.

The farther the battlefield was from King's Landing, the better.

Lost in thought, Tyrion arrived at the Red Keep.

"Has my father returned?" he asked.

"Lord Tywin has returned, my lord. He's currently in a meeting with the Small Council."

"Very well."

Without even changing out of his travel clothes, Tyrion made his way straight to the Tower of the Hand.

"Well, I see no one bothered to invite me to this meeting," Tyrion announced as he entered. "Or have I been replaced as Master of Coin?"

"We assumed you were dead in Dorne," Queen Cersei said with disdain, barely looking at her brother. "I didn't expect Caesar to let you go."

"Sorry to disappoint you, dear sister." Tyrion grinned as he climbed into his seat.

"You're a disappointment, all right," said Tywin Lannister, his tone cold and cutting. "I sent you to Sunspear to win the Martells to our side. Instead, what happened?"

Tyrion shrugged. "With Doran dead, the Martells have no leader capable of holding them together. Especially not Arianne, who squandered her house's armies and reputation. What could I possibly do?

"Surely, you didn't expect me to singlehandedly conquer Dorne, did you, Father? If so, you've greatly overestimated me."

"Stop making excuses for your failure, Tyrion. Caesar was also alone in Dorne, and his army is now encamped outside the gates of Bronzegate."

"But he has a dragon."

"And I gave you the Golden Company, the most formidable sellsword company in Essos. Are you saying they're no match for a single dragon?"

"Single dragon?" Tyrion scoffed dramatically. "Father, you should have seen Caesar's dragon with your own eyes. That beast could swallow three of me whole in one bite!"

Cersei sneered. "A three-year-old dragon? Tyrion, if you're going to make excuses for your failure, at least make them believable."

Tyrion sighed and leaned back. "Believe whatever you like. Soon enough, Caesar's dragon will be soaring over King's Landing, and then you can see for yourselves."

At this, Varys, the Master of Whisperers, spoke in his soft voice.

"From what I've learned, the growth rate of Caesar's white dragon is indeed unusually rapid, far surpassing that of other dragons."

"How large is it?" Tywin asked.

Varys answered, "Roughly the size of Sunfyre, the dragon of King Aegon II during the Dance of the Dragons."

The room fell into silence.

Though none present had witnessed the Dance of the Dragons, they all understood the terrifying power of a dragon like Sunfyre, second in size only to Vhagar during that bloody civil war.

Finally, Tywin broke the silence.

"Dragons are not invincible."

"Exactly!" Cersei immediately chimed in. "The Dornish killed Meraxes, and that was an even larger dragon. We need not fear Caesar's white dragon."

"Caesar has more than one dragon," Tyrion reminded them. "Princess Daenerys brought two more with her. Oh, and let's not forget—Euron Greyjoy stole a dragon as well. He hates Caesar. Perhaps we could persuade him to ally with us. Then at least we'd have one dragon on our side."

At the mention of Euron, another tense silence fell over the room.

"What?" Tyrion asked. "Did I say something wrong?"

Varys sighed. "You've been away, Lord Tyrion, so you wouldn't know. Lord Tywin did attempt to ally with Euron by arranging a marriage between him and the eldest daughter of House Redwyne. But during the wedding…"

He hesitated before continuing.

"Euron killed the Redwynes and seized the Arbor."

"In the middle of the wedding?" Tyrion was stunned. "What about guest right?"

"Guest right means nothing to pirates," Cersei said with disdain.

"Euron Greyjoy is a madman," Tywin concluded. "We cannot rely on him or his Iron Fleet. Still, his madness may serve us yet. His next target will likely be the Reach. Let him harass Caesar's rear while we focus on the real war."

"If Euron were sane, his next target might be the Reach. But he's a lunatic," Tyrion pointed out. "Father, don't get your hopes up."

Tywin ignored him and moved the discussion to their battle plans.

Tyrion quickly lost interest, especially since he had missed previous meetings and couldn't fully follow the conversation.

When Tywin finally adjourned the meeting, Tyrion followed him out.

"What do you want?" Tywin asked impatiently.

"Has Jaime returned?"

Tywin's face hardened.

"No."

"No?" Tyrion's eyes widened. "The Night's Watch wouldn't release him, even for you?"

"Your brother refused to return," Tywin growled through clenched teeth. "He claimed his vows bound him and would not break them."

Tyrion blinked. "Strange. He didn't seem to care much about his vows when he stabbed the Mad King."

"I've sent men to the Wall to fetch him," Tywin added, his tone icy. "If need be, they will drag him back in chains."

"Ah, that's more your style," Tyrion quipped with a smirk.

"Is that all you wanted?"

Tyrion hesitated. He had wanted to ask about Tysha, but his father's stony expression made him think better of it.

"No, nothing else."

"Then get to work. You'll be overseeing logistics for the upcoming war. Don't embarrass me again."

With that, Tywin strode off, leaving Tyrion standing alone.

Watching his father's retreating figure, Tyrion chuckled bitterly to himself.

"I live to embarrass you, don't I, Father?"

(End of Chapter)