Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Nearly there guys, just a couple more chapters. I always feel so sad at this point in a story. 🙁 (To my ASoV readers, I've still got writer's block on it, but I'm not abandoning it, I promise!) And thanks to everyone whose been so kind and understanding about my exams. It's as sorted as it can be at the moment (continuous assessment based on our school work instead of exams), but I won't know my grades until mid-August, which sucks. Everyone wish me luck (thank God my teachers all like me)!

Chapter Twenty-One

Visions of Fire

King's Landing: 22nd October, 303 AC

Cersei:

Cersei couldn't believe it, even now. Jaime had abandoned her in her hour of need, left her behind and run away like a coward, abandoning his oaths as a Kingsguard and those as a brother and lover to protect her. Not only that, but he had stolen away her children as well.

It made her blood burn with rage to recall his treason, but she forced herself not to think of it. Their last stand was what she had to be focused on. Most of the rabble had fled in the week between Jaime abandoning her and the arrival of the barbarians' army, the fearful, insignificant ants scurrying away in fear of the Winterlands' legendary wrath. However, the Gates had all been shut when a scout had warned that the army was on their doorstep. King's Landing was so full of citizens, and with the port blocked for so long, there were still the best part of three million people within, though most of that number was made up of the smallfolk.

Cersei was unconcerned with the peasants, of course. She wasn't Elia, with the weak woman's soft heart. She had always scorned her husband's first wife and how she showered charity on the smallfolk. If it had been to gain support for her son, Cersei could have understood it more, though she still sneered at the thought of needing support from peasants. But no, Elia gave out alms because she truly cared for the sheep. It made Cersei scoff in contempt at the older woman's weakness. Things like that were why men thought so little of their gender.

The commons existed solely to serve their betters, or die for them in wars such as this one. And Cersei hardly cared at all for the fate of the treasonous nobility either, at this point. In fact, she and Aenar had been forced to throw many a noble into the dungeons or have them executed, when they had dared to suggest surrendering to the heathens, or even go so far as to whisper that her son's actions resembled those of his paternal grandfather.

How dare anyone compare her son, born of the dragons and lions, the greatest Houses in the world, to Aerys the Mad? The mere thought enraged her.

Unless they took drastic measures, their cause was hopeless, Cersei knew it as well as everyone else. Despite what her gender caused people to assume, she was an intelligent woman, a shrewd ruler, never mind what her father said. He'd been ailing from his illness already, else he'd have supported her actions. His illness had affected his mind, she knew it. She'd made the right decisions, he had just been too sick to see the truth of that.

Had archaic laws not prevented it, Cersei would have ruled the Rock better than Jaime, and certainly better than the Imp could ever have managed. But she'd been a girl, and so relegated to birthing heirs with Lannister blood instead. Not that she would ever be able to regret any of her golden children, but she still raged at the injustice of it all.

At least they would be able to bring her blasted stepson and his army of heathens down with them. Cersei felt her rouge-painted lips curve into a dark smirk at the thought.

"Lord Hallyne," she greeted the newly-arrived Grand Master of the Alchemists' Guild. The pallid man greeted her with a jerky bow, accepting her delicate hand into his own sweaty one to press his dry and chapped lips against her smooth skin. She hid her irritation, bolstering herself with the reminder of the benefits of dealing with the man.

"Your Grace," Hallyne murmured respectfully. "Thank you for responding so promptly to my note."

She waved him off gracefully. "His Grace my son and I take a keen interest in the Guild," she promised him. "And its work most of all. Is the project we assigned you prepared?"

"It is, Your Grace," Hallyn confirmed, his thin lips curving into a smile. "The caches are ready, and our most trusted acolytes and servants have placed them all."

"Nobody will say anything?" Cersei demanded sharply. She had ordered the preparations be made in utmost secrecy, so that the tree worshipping heretics would be unable to come up with a way to avoid the flames that would engulf the city on Cersei's order. The Red Keep would be safe, however. She had been firm when ordering that. Everything would be placed at a distance from the Red Keep, between the Gates and the three hills.

She and her son would watch in glee as the attackers burned to death in wildfire in the midst of their would-be triumph. Then, once they had defeated the enemy invaders, they would deal with her blasted stepdaughter, hiding away in the Eyrie. A Faceless Man would probably be the best solution to the problem of eliminating Rhaenys and her spawn. Then they would be able to find Jaime and her younger children, Valaena would birth Aenar's heir, and everything would be as it should be. She would, of course, aid her inexperienced son in ruling, and claim the Rock from the Imp, with Aelyx taking up the Lannister name and becoming heir to the Westerlands.

Everything would be perfect.

Cersei listened to Hallyn swear to the Seven Above that all of those charged with placing the caches were unaware of the truth of their missions and were sworn to secrecy on what they did know, and she smiled.

Outskirts of King's Landing: 22nd October, 303 AC

Alivia Greengood:

Alivia Greengood was a strong greenseer. She was a crannogwoman and the greensight ran strongly in her family, on both sides. She was the distant granddaughter of High Greenseer Greengood, the greenseer who had served Torrhen the Defiant, and also of Greenseer Blackmyre, who had been the High Greenseer during King Beron's reign, and they were not the only ones of her ancestors who had held that exalted position. It was likely that she would one day hold it herself too. Because of her strong sight and control, she had received the honour of being assigned as the leader of the greenseers who had come south with Princess Lysara for the war, of which there were five.

To the Andals, the most sacred number was seven, to represent their Seven-Who-Are-One. For the First Men, the most sacred number was five. It had taken five days for the world to be formed by the Gods, there were five aspects of the spirit, and so on, so forth. It took five greenseers to form a Seeing Circle, which was what the group was currently doing, so as to See the possible outcomes of the siege, and determine the way to victory with the least amount of death.

A Seeing Circle was, as previously mentioned, made up of five Greenseers melding their powers so that the leader of the circle would be able to See as strongly as possible, and direct the vision to a point. Some were even able to interact with their visions to a certain extent.

"Is everyone ready?" Alivia inquired, glancing at her four companions. There were two men and, counting her, three women. Like her, they were all crannogmen.

The two males of the group were Greenseers Jojen Reed, heir to the High Greenseer and Dorren Fenn. Jojen was seven-and-ten, a close friend to Prince Brandon and his goodbrother-to-be, while Dorren was a grizzled man of five-and-forty, but as spry as ever. He had the honour of being one in a thousand greenseers who was also a skinchanger. His warg familiar, a hawk he called Opal, was perched on his shoulder.

Her female companions were Jessa of House Peat, a girl Princess Arya's age with curly yellow hair and deep red eyes that shocked the southrons whenever they saw them. Several fools had even whispered she was a demon of some sort. In fact, Jessa was a descendant of Brynden the Bloodraven and Shiera the Star of the Sea's granddaughter, and her red eyes and greenseeing abilities were from that line.

Lastly, there was Ariella Ravenstar, Jessa's cousin and the heiress of House Ravenstar. Her widowed father was the head. She was the one holding the weirwood paste they needed for the ceremony.

"Yes," they all agreed.

"Then we shall begin," Alivia declared, everyone kneeling in the dirt and Ariella putting the bowl of paste in the centre. It would have been better if they were in a godswood, but there were none in the south beyond the Riverwall. They'd all been converted into perfumed gardens, their hearttrees cut down and weirwoods burned down. It made Alivia shudder in horror to think of such a terrible sin being committed, though of course what else could be expected from Andals?.

The Crownless' promise to have a godswood planted in King's Landing was a small comfort. She prayed the southrons would follow their king's lead. They did not have to give up their own Seven, but planting weirwoods would spread the True Faith, and that was something every pious First Man desired.

While her companions chanted the required intonation in the Old Tongue, Alivia reached out and scooped up some weirwood paste with her fingers, bringing it to her mouth and swallowing quickly, forcing herself not to gag in disgust at the foul taste. As she ingested the mixture, she prayed mentally to the Gods.

'Oh Great Gods of the Forest, River, and Stone, I do beseech You all,' she thought. 'Show me what we must do to conquer King's Landing, sparing as many lives as can be.'

A second later, she was slumping to the ground, unconscious, as she succumbed to the visions the Gods sent to her.

There were a thousand different time streams, many showing their victory. But there were many others, too. Horrific scenes of green fire engulfing the capital, spreading out of control regardless of desperate attempts to quell the flames and killing anyone, defender, attacker or innocent, in its path. No matter what fate met the army, the Winterlands fought back and subdued the lions, yet the damage incurred by the deaths of thousands of Winterlander and southron soldiers, including the Crown Princess of the North, the King of the South and a Prince of Dorne, had grave consequences for both kingdoms. In most of those futures, their fragile new alliance crumbled due to the distrust between the two peoples, and the grief over the losses.

Alivia cried out, horrified, as she watched the terrible sights, particularly the one that she Saw in its entirety, the path most likely to occur.

The fire shone brightly in the night. Screams and yells could be heard, as could sobs and coughs. Nobody could tell the difference between defender or attacker, for both sides were united in their horror at the inferno destroying the three-hundred-year-old city. It seemed that the defenders had not been warned of their king's terrible plot.

A figure staggered across the street. The person's gender and their origin couldn't be discovered, for they were engulfed in wildfire. A blazing trail followed in their wake. They sobbed, collapsing to their knees and seizing in agony. One brave archer fired at the poor soul, the arrow going straight through their chest and ending their suffering, though the flames continued to spread.

"What is this?" Princess Lysara demanded of the panicked King Aegon, her grey eyes wide as she, Prince Oberyn, Aegon and his guard, Ser Barristan, crouched near to the ground, attempting to avoid breathing in any smoke. The princess' guard, Ygritte of the Free Folk, was dead already, pushing her princess out of the way of a section of wall that had collapsed from the flames. She was one of many lost Winterlander soldiers. The princess had tears in her eyes that were only partially from the smoke, and a small portion at that. "What have those lunatics done?!"

"It's wildfire!" Aegon cried back, his eyes wide. "By the Gods, they are truly mad! Do they not understand what they have done?"

"How do we put it out?" The Princess cried, ducking a jet of green fire that flew disconcertingly close to her head. "The water will not affect it!"

"We can't!" Prince Oberyn exclaimed. "Wildfire is created by the Alchemists' Guild, through some form of magic! It burns everything it touches, only time will end it! Any attempts to smother the blaze will only feed it!"

"We must fall back, Your Graces!" Ser Barristan urged. "The city is lost, we must go!"

"These are my people!" Aegon argued back. "I cannot abandon them all to die!"

"They're dead already!" His uncle snapped back, looking around. "We must retreat, or all of us and our forces are lost too!"

The princess settled the matter. "Retreat!" She yelled, coughing as she inhaled some smoke. "Retreat!" She pounded her hip-drum, signalling the order to fall back, not that many hadn't already started to fall back already.

But both the city and the army were in chaos as everyone tried to flee, people being trampled carelessly, or shoved aside into the flames as people sacrificed strangers to try and save themselves and their loved ones.

The group of royals fell back as best they could, only to end up pinned in a street, wildfire surrounding them.

"We are lost," the princess declared grimly. Her shoulders slumped and she made a triquetra with her finger, whispering a prayer. "Gods guide us to the next world," Lysara sighed resignedly. She unsheathed her dagger and braced the tip of the weapon against her throat.

"Sara, no-" Prince Oberyn began to object. She silenced him with a kiss.

"I am glad this happened, that I might have been given more time with you, my love," she murmured. "We are lost, you know it as well as I do. Better a quick, painless death than a slow, agonizing one, no?"

He closed his eyes tightly shut and pulled her into his arms, putting his own dagger to his neck. King Aegon and Ser Barristan too prepared to copy the lovers' actions.

Still locked in a kiss, the Princess and Prince slit their own throats together, as the southron King too took his own life, his faithful guard copying the act not a full second later. Moments later, the green fire finally reached them, engulfing their bodies in flame and creating a ball of fire that took out the entire section of wall the group had ended up pinned against.

'No' Alivia wept as she watched the terrible scene shift to show the Starks receiving word of the massacre, the southron queens both collapsing in grief and little Magnara Mariah crying for her mother and father as King Eddard vowed vengeance for his eldest daughter and nephew's deaths. 'No! This cannot be! This must not be! Help me, guide me, please Gods! Let me stop it! How can I stop this horror? Please!'

More visions flashed across her vision, and when her eyes snapped open, Alivia understood what had to be done to win the war.

"Well?" Dorren asked gruffly. "What did you see?"

"You are panting, catch your breath my friend," Jessa urged.

"What's wrong, what happened?" Ariella pressed, brow wrinkled in concern. Alivia trembled. Her face was clammy, and her breath came in gasps. It felt as if she had been burning with her princess and people. She could smell the awful stench of flesh burning, feel the fire licking at her skin and the smoke filling her lungs. She shuddered, trying to regain her sense of self and reality. That was the problem with Circle visions. They were so realistic, it was as if you were actually living out the scenes you dreamt.

"Alivia?" Jojen asked concernedly. "What did you see?"

"Unless I speak to Her Highness immediately, catastrophe," Alivia stated, tone grim, having finally regained her senses, though a strong sense of urgency burned within her. She scrambled to her feet, her braid beating against the small of her back as she raced towards the command tent, her companions on her heels.