Zengi still lived. The man clapped Arslan on the back, as he roared with laughter. "Well, well, what's it like to be a kingslayer?"

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"You've just slain Tommen the usurper. " Arslan looked down, appalled. "My lord, if I had known..."

"There's no need to apologise. You'll get another promotion for this. Take his body to the Queen" he commanded a pair of his men, who dragged the corpse away with him. "Now, back to the fight!" Arslan identified the survivors of his file, and led them up the Street of Silk, towards Rhaenys' Hill. But before long, he and the others made an unpleasant discovery. The enemy were not breaking, and worse still, the inhabitants were joining in the fight. A howling septon swung a cleaver at him, which he parried easily before Brown Flea drove his spear through the man's belly. A tile smashed on the ground, to his right, one of the shards flying up to gash his cheek. Tiles were raining down in earnest, now, hurled by civilians from rooftops. A Dothraki screamed as a falling chimney pot stove in his head. "Turtle" screamed a centurion, and the Unsullied bunched close together, holding their shields above their heads, as the tiles rained down on them. A quick glance showed that other soldiers were following their example. "If civilians want to start a fight, we'll finish it" said the centurion grimly. "Follow me. " The man kicked down the door of building, Arslan and several others following. A woman lunged at him with a long skewer, which the centurion dodged, before opening her throat with his own sword. In the kitchen, he found what he was looking for; two bottles of oil. He emptied the oil over wooden furniture, and then struck a tinder. The furniture went up in flames with a whoosh! "We do this to every building where there's resistance" said the man. As they ran back into the street, the ground floor was already ablaze, and the people on the roof were screaming in dismay. Working methodically, they set half a dozen buildings ablaze, and now sparks and flames leapt from house to house, as people shrieked in horror. Yet, still the fighting went on through the morning. They could kill half a dozen civilians for every man they lost, and still get the worst of it. By noon, they had only reached the foot of Rhaenys' hill. Darts and arrows from the enemy, barricaded there, whined and skipped among them.

"We are losing too many good men", Daario stated baldly to Daenerys. "The enemy are barricaded on Rhaenys' Hill. The people of the city are joining in the fight against us. " He had returned from the fray to report to her in person. She could see that for herself. Standing a couple of hundred yards outside the city, with Drogon by her side, she watched as a steady flow of wounded soldiers streamed back out of the ruins of the Old Gate. Some of them collapsed before reaching her; she saw one poor man crying at the loss of his eyes, as a less-wounded comrade supported him. "Your Grace, I don't think we have the numbers to fight the Tyrell soldiers, and the entire population as well. We could lose this fight. Fucker!" He aimed a savage kick at Tommen's corpse, which had been brought to the Queen.

Her stomach clenched. She realised that she had underestimated the Tyrells yet again. They would fight her in the streets and slums of the city, and to the seven hells with the civilian population. They knew of her reluctance to unleash dragonfire on the population. So, they and her soldiers had taken refuge among that population. Worse, they and the High Septon had whipped them up in a frenzy of hatred for her. Doubt gnawed at Daenerys. Lose today, and there was every chance of losing the war. Many lords would switch sides against her. "Your Grace" she looked up to see one of the Ironborn, addressing her. "Queen Yara. She's trapped with her men on Fishmongers' Square. I think they could be destroyed."

"Daario, pull the soldiers back from Rhaenys' Hill. " She felt sick, knowing what she was about to do. "You have no choice" murmured Arya sadly, standing next to her. "You've tried everything you can to avoid this. " After giving time for Daario to return to the city, she mounted Drogon, fastening the chains that would secure her to the great beast, and then took flight. She flew fast over the city walls, and then on towards Rhaenys' Hill. A stray arrow bounced off her shoulder, lacking any force, as she dived. She saw hundreds scattering below her, hearing their terrified screams as she swept towards her target, a row of wooden warehouses, in which Tyrell soldiers had barricaded themselves. "Dracarys" she cried, and fire leapt from the dragon's jaws, engulfing the warehouses in flames. Systematically, she criss-crossed the streets of the Hill, burning houses, shops, stores, septs, and workshops. Most of the buildings were wooden, and went up like torches. She felt, before she heard, a dreadful explosion below her, and watched in awe as a warehouse was engulfed in green flame. Damn! Tyrion had been right. There was wildfire within the city. The flames raced out in all directions, consuming every building in their path.. She shut her ears to the screams and cries of the people below, as the district died. A few arrows flew in her direction, but they were no threat. As easy to stop the Blackwater in full flow as to escape the Dragon's justice. Leaving Rhaenys' Hill ablaze behind her, she burned a swathe across the city, as she headed for Fishmongers Square, to rescue Yara and her Ironborn.

"Is this what hell looks like"? thought Sansa, as she stared up at Rhaenys' Hill. She wore plate, designed for a woman, accompanying her husband, and a detachment of Vale knights. The city had resembled a butcher's shambles, as they walked its wynds and lanes. Bodies, and parts of bodies littered the blood-stained streets, and buildings were smouldering all around her. For once, even Lord Baelish looked shocked, as they encountered a group of badly wounded Vale soldiers. "My dear, please see what you can do for them" he asked. She examined the soldiers, guarded by a group of knights, offering what comfort she could to them, but really it was hopeless. They were too badly injured to survive. She stood, and looked up again at Rhaenys' Hill. The district was engulfed in green and orange flames, reaching hundreds of feet into the sky. Smoke roiled across her sight, and ashes drifted down, remnants of burnt wood and human flesh. She coughed and choked on the reek, eyes smarting. Even from this distance, she could feel the intense heat of the firestorm. A great wind was building, as the fire sucked in air, driving the flames ever higher. Yohn Royce's son, Lord Andar, approached her. "With all due respect your Highness, this is no place for a lady. You should leave." She ignored him, feeling dazed as a wild keening came from the burning buildings ahead of them, as soldiers and civilians alike died in the fires . But, bad as things were, they were about to get a great deal worse. Thousands of people fled down the lower slopes of the hill towards them, trying to outrun the flames. Sansa stared at them, shocked. But, she no longer saw men, women, children. In her mind's eye, she saw a mob, cheering and jeering at her father, pelting him with filth, before his head was hacked off; she saw a rabble laughing as a young girl had her dress torn off by men intent on raping and killing her. She saw Mother, and Robb and Robb's wife, butchered like cattle. All her people, Jeyne Poole, Jory Cassel, Septa Mordane, the others, all slain. She saw the waiting ranks of the Valemen, awaiting orders. She wept, and she laughed, and in a voice she hardly recognised as her own, she screamed aloud "Kill them all. The Gods can take care of their own!"

And, so the slaughter began.

Notes:

1. The Turtle is essentially, the Roman testudo (tortoise) formation.

2. Sansa's life has basically been a trauma conga line. This is where she has a complete psychological breakdown. "Kill them All. God will take care of his own" was the order allegedly given by Amalric, when the Catholic crusaders stormed Beziers