TYRION

Tyrion looked to the battle between the fleets below. I was almost time now, and the chain was lifted from the water, trapping both fleets in place. They were still battling each other. He knew that he would be killing many of his own men as well, but far more of the enemy's. And it wasn't like the fleet had much in the way of other uses than this for him, while Stannis' fleet was his way to attack the allowed himself to smile. And then the fires started. First on one ship, and quickly spreading to the others, leaping from ship to ship. It would not destroy everything, but most of it was good enough for Tyrion. He watched unflinchingly. This was a true horror, the closest he would ever come to seeing dragonfire. He hears the goldcloaks start shouting in celebration.

But then something changed. The flames started moving, aside, and a ship went through the hole in the fire, followed by more and more ships. The sounds of celebration stopped. He cursed: "Fuck! This is not how it was meant to happen. How could this even happen? It is wildfire, fire. It doesn't just move aside when you ask nicely. And wildfire is supposed to be more than just fire, and, as is clearly in the name, it is supposed to be wild. Not controlled!"

Next to him the little shit turned to look at him: "Was this your plan, uncle? To set fire to my fleet and to let my enemies through?"

"Oh no your grace. I had planned on setting their fleet on fire, and perhaps a little of our fleet as well. But for some reason the enemy has not obliged us by catching fire. And whatever happens, Wildfire is not supposed to just part for a ship."

He decided to try to ignore the king for now, he had a battle to oversee. Adding his nephew to it was a punishment almost too cruel for words. His sister must be behind it, he was certain of it. Looking for an excuse to let the boy order his execution. "Ser Arneld, turn the three whores thirty degrees to the west, and destroy as many of those ships as you can."

"Yes, my lord."

And again the little shit felt the need to interrupt him while he was trying to save him. It almost was as though he wanted to die: "But uncle, mother promised me that I could command the trebuchets!"

It was a good interruption however. With some luck it would keep him out of his hair for some time. "Yes, go ahead and play with your trebuchets, your grace."

The king happily departs, accompanied by several of his kingsguard, who have received careful instructions from Tyrion. He has to be kept safe, but can't be allowed to retreat. If he would do that, the whole battle would be lost.

Tyrion hopes that he won't do anything stupid, those whores are one of the few ways in which they can now hope to stop Stannis' crossing. He looks back to the flames, many ships have still burned, but far too many have survived, sailing past the city. For a brief moment he thinks that he glimpses a red figure standing on the leading ship, the one for which the flames parted.

He curses himself, this ploy should have seriously damaged their fleet, not just his own one. Those men might still have been useful. But there is no helping it now. He calls for his horse. He has to go to the western part of the city, to command the defense. In normal times it would sound like a joke, a dwarf commanding the defense of the greatest city in the realm. But now it was real, and far from something to laugh at.

As he rode there he was met by a messenger, who told him that thousands of men were forming up on the Tourney Grounds. He gave his horse the spurs. A major assault would be coming up, and he would have to be there to stop it.

At the King's Gate he could see that the messenger hadn't lied. More and more men came from those unburned ships, and rams were prepared along with ladders. He had expected most of the fighting to take place here, and this was where he had sent most of the men. Several thousand goldcloaks, and as many other men as could be mustered. It would have to be enough.