Chapter 58 - The 31st day of January, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
The dawn found Melisandre of Asshai standing atop the battlements of the Red Keep.
All the night the fires had swelled in strength, as had her mood. She could feel the power radiating through her. Oh, how many souls had been purified tonight!
She had watched from afar as the first towers of green flame had erupted on Rhaeny's Hill. It was always satisfying, to see with her own eyes what the lord had already shown her in her flames. Her faith was strengthened in such moments. It was a curious exercise, seeing the same event again, but from a new vantage point. She could seldom resist the urge to look most closely, trying to discern some difference, however tiny, between the vision and whatever eventuated. A slight difference in the way the flames danced perhaps, or an individual wearing just slightly different garments or speaking a different combination of words to what was foretold, but her doubts were ever unfounded. What the lord showed her was always pure, unvarnished truth. It only fell to her to interpret it correctly.
Melisandre smiled as she thought of the poor souls over on the other hills. There would be pain for the unbelievers, to be sure, but it would not last long, and those who burned always had the quickest path into the lord's grace. In was their own foolish attempts to win the day, truly, that had sealed their own fate. The weather had remained clear the last few days. No rain since the last big storm, and only a gentle whisper of wind coming off the Blackwater. The direction was correct however, and she watched with satisfaction as the flames crept closer and closer over to Visenya's High Hill.
There had been some panic in the Red Keep as the flames had been spotted on the neighboring hill. A crowd of smallfolk had quickly appeared, seeking refuge, but Ser Perkin had seen them off. The king was indisposed. Melisandre had watched as Robert had trotted back through the gates with the kingsguard. He had just about fallen, rather than dismounted, off his horse. Ser Barristan and Ser Godry had dragged him off to the Tower of the Hand. The maesters had been sent for, not Pycelle of course, but there were four other maesters and a dozen acolyptes at the Red Keep below him.
Her lord was on the far side of the city, dealing with the Lannister attack. Ser Jacelyn Bywater was the same. The City Watch would be trying their best to fight the blaze, she knew, but their efforts would be meagre with all the distractions of the day. The Dragonpit was as far from the Blackwater as almost anywhere in the city. Bringing water up in any great amounts would be impractical, and there was too little time to make proper firebreaks.
Yes, she thought with satisfaction, things were proceeding well.
Several times overnight she had heard the dull drone of the flying machines, slowly growing in frequency. Only in the pre-dawn light could she see them for herself. Even her eyes could not see in the dark. She saw one now flying in from the north, then another, and another…A whole flock of them it seemed, flying in a long line that stretched off to the north as far as she could see. Close to dawn, she watched as one swooped low over the mass of green and gold that had already crawled half a mile from Rhaeny's Hill. Dimly, she saw as it dropped some substance over the leading edge of the firefront. An ejaculation that lasted several long seconds, before rising up over the city and back north again.
The next flying machine repeated the procedure, then another…Soon they were swopping in every couple of minutes, targeting the advancing western edge of the blaze.
For the first time that night, Melisandre frowned. She had caught glimpses of the machines in her fires but had not quite understand their purpose. What substance were they dropping? Was it some sort of attack? Watching in the dawn light, it took her some time to understand. The substance glinted as the sun's rays hit it. Water she thought, though some of it appeared to shine a deep red that was not entirely a result of the dawn. This confused her. Surely red was the color of flame? Of the Lord of Light himself?
Melisandre pondered on all this for a while. Gradually the conclusion dawned on her. Could she be witnessing a benevolent act? Had they flown all the way from their own world, through the Lord's Ring, to try and fight the fire? We are your neighbors now they'd said. Could they have been as naïve as they'd sounded? The idea seemed oddly foreign to her. In Essos, a city burning down only sent invitation to its neighbors to take advantage. Slavers and corsairs or even the dreaded horse lords would come in and scoop up whatever terrified refugees they could, until order could be restored. Masters needed their servants and mages needed their sacrifices, after all.
She felt a touch of astonishment at this act, but her old heart was long past sentimentality. Instead, for the first time that night she frowned. She could respect such benevolence, her lord could make use of it in time, but right now she had a task to see through and dared not allow any interference.
She closed her eyes and began murmuring under her breath. She had long since memorized the spells, recited them countless times, though never quite on this scale. The ancient tongue of Asshai drifted up from her lips, heard by almost no one. Stannis had assigned her a score of Dragonstone guards, all true believers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a few edge closer, straining to hear her voice as it sung, not that they would understand a word of it. They kept their distance however, none came closer to her than a hundred feet. She focused on the fires burning opposite, of the hundreds of souls that were now winking out of existence.
Melisandre of Asshai's ruby began growing red, deeper than the rising sun as around her, the wind started to pick up…
######
September 10th 2019
Major Harvey watched, keeping his face neutral, as the lines of tanks, armored personal carriers, Humvees, fire trucks and hundreds of other miscellaneous vehicles began massing before the Ring.
Events were moving fast now, uncomfortably so. They had been working on contingency plans for some sort of intervention through the Ring for months. How then, had things become so rushed together at the last minute?
The lead elements of the 82nd airborne had been flying into Avalon airport overnight. Division headquarters and the first of the three infantry brigade combat teams had already arrived. The rest would be forming up over the next couple of days. The 'Devil Brigade' were collecting their vehicles, prepositioned in local depots the Americans had been quietly stocking up for months. Helicopters buzzed to and fro, AH-64 Apache gunships as well as the troop-carrying Black Hawks.
Bivouac areas were being allocated to each unit in the fields surrounding the Ring, the local farmers either having left by now, or turned into gracious hosts as a thousand or so infantrymen arrived to camp in their backyard. Still, they had planned for deployments of this size before. ICV Stryker and LAV-25 armored reconnaissance vehicles as well as the sturdier M2 Bradleys were parked in rows, their crews shooing off any cows that hadn't already been startled away. Opposite, the Australian's own Bushmasters and M113s were parked, their crews making final checks. Harvey looked over all this quite impassively. The military side of things didn't quite worry him. The civilian side was another matter.
More than a hundred firetrucks had already arrived, and thrice that number were on their way. The crews were mostly Victorian, but volunteers had rushed in from all over the country, with a smattering from overseas. Rosters were quickly being drawn up, with each platoon assigned two or three fire engines to escort. He could have wished for more time for the soldiers and fire crews to train together and familiarize themselves with each other and their procedures, but they could little afford that luxury. They had started waterbombing the city before local dawn, but the fires were still burning out of control. Meanwhile, they had spotted Lannister soldiers pouring through the Dragon Gate, while fighting was ongoing down by the riverbank. But are we even picking a side? Harvey wondered again. The ambiguity in their orders disturbed him. Put out the fires yes, clear a path for the firefighters and watch their backs, but then what?
His 2IC came up to him and informed him that their own batch of fire crews were arriving. Harvey walked over to have a look. The bulk of the Australian 1st Brigade would be preceding the Americans through the Ring. His own three platoons had been assigned six trucks to escort. Four were from the Country Fire Authority in Victoria. The other two had driven down overnight from New South Wales. They were now parked along the road about a K and a half from the Ring. The doors opened at their approach and several of the firecrew came over to meet them. Introductions were made, hands were shaken. The NSW crews came over. Harvey turned to them and gave a start.
"Mr Abbott?"
"G'day, nice to meet you" replied the former Prime Minister of Australia. He had twenty years on Harvey, but looked every bit as fit, not an ounce of fat on him anywhere. He was smiling at the ADF officers as they did a collective double take.
"Good to have you here sir" Harvey said, composing himself.
"Well they asked for volunteers. Drove down all night" Tony Abbott replied. "Good to have you with us when we go through. Tomorrow at midday yes?"
"Yes sir, we'll be among the first through, right behind the 1st Armored regiment."
"Good, good. Get a good night's sleep tonight Major. Don't know how much we're gonna get in the next few days, especially with the Ring lag."
"Yes sir, absolutely."
An hour later and Harvey was back in the command post, where company commanders and up were being briefed on the situation through the Ring. General Campbell himself had turned up to issue them with last minute instructions. General Donahue, the 82nd Division's commander, was present as well. The timing of the day-night cycle on both worlds was complicating things further. At the moment, the Planetosi dawn was about eight hours behind theirs, so they would be going through tomorrow at midday Australian time. Confusing things further, it would be 9pm US eastern time. Everyone was anticipating a few bad nights of sleep. At the briefing's end, General Campbell asked for questions. After a moment, an American major put up his hand to voice out loud what they were all thinking.
"I would like to clear on what our position is regarding the uh…Westerosi civil war?" he asked. "The focus here is on putting out the fires. We are not then to take sides in the subsequent fighting?"
"As stated, once we are satisfied the fires are out, we are to withdraw to this area" General Campbell replied, indicating on the map a square marked out about ten kilometers north of the city. "Our hope is to not interfere further. Once a clear victor emerges, we can move back in to resume humanitarian aid and diplomatic relations."
There were murmurs of discontent at this. "I understand gentleman, there may be frustrating restrictions on our freedom of action here" Campbell went on. "Our overarching goal at this point is to put out this fire. Consider it, there are maybe half a million people in this city. If a significant portion of it burns down, we could see thousands killed and maybe hundreds of thousands displaced. Where are they going to go? The Ring is only two or three days walk away. We don't want to see a hundred thousand-odd refugees pouring into Melbourne, so I do not think standing by and doing nothing is an option. That's obvious, but at the same time, its up to the Westerosi who they choose as king. So for now we get in, get the job done, then pull out and wait and see."
######
Tyrion Lannister clutched at the seat straps for dear life, as the 'Black Hawk' rocked back and forth. Outside the window, he could just see the great pall of black smoke rushing off to the east from Rhaeny's Hill. It seemed the fires had spread greatly overnight, engulfing a good square mile of King's Landing.
Tyrion watched in fascination as another one of the Australian's 'waterbombers' came in. A load of what looked like pinkish water erupted from its belly over the firefront. The wind seemed to immediately whip it away however, some of the substance falling as much as a hundred yards off target.
Opposite in the cramped cabin sat ambassador Fifield, along with a few green men and two members of something called the 'Metropolitan Fire Brigade'. He could hear their shouted conversation over the roar of the craft.
"It's no good, we need the ground crews" one was saying. "We need to make firebreaks, or this is just gonna keep spreading, and that's if the wind doesn't pick up anymore."
Fifield was nodding, looking unhappy. "Where has it come from? There's nothing out in the Bay is there?"
"No sir, not that we can see."
After a few moment's contemplation, Fifield looked over at Tyrion. "How are you feeling?" he shouted, leaning as far forward in his seat as he was able.
"Oh I'm fine my lord" Tyrion replied, practically giggling. "I'm riding a dragon!"
Fifield nodded at him. They circled the fire twice more, then headed for its eastern edge. They passed over the central square, where Tyrion could just spy Lord's Renly's banners through the pall. The Black Hawk kept going until they had swept over the city walls. Below, he saw Stormlands banners, nightingale, griffin, swan, stag…beyond there was still a sea of red and gold.
They spotted his father quick enough, resplendent in his crimson armor. He sat atop a horse near the Lannister camp, about a mile from the Gate of the Gods. The Black Hawk circled lower, two other machines orbiting with it. Fifield ordered the pilot to land. They came down by the Kingsroad, only fifty yards from the nearest tents. Men backed away as the machine descended. Some had spears or bows raised, but none were foolish enough to challenge them. Tywin remained where he was. A score of other riders were rallying to his side, his uncle Kevan among them As the Black Hawk touched down, Fifield waved at Tyrion and the dwarf exited first.
He felt unsteady back on solid ground, or it might have been last night's Smirnoff, or the strange black tea they had given him that morning to sober him up. For a moment he thought he might vomit again, but the moment passed. He managed to straighten up and strode over to his kin.
"Father."
"Tyrion." Tywin's eye were flicking between his son and the Australians, slowly emerging from their flying machine. "You are well?"
"Yes father. I have spent several most interesting days on the far side of the Ring."
"And what did you find there?"
Tyrion glanced back at the Australians. "Much of what we've heard appears to be true. There is a great city beyond it, Melbourne-through-the-Ring. It is vast and wondrous beyond measuring. It is filled with flying machines, horseless carriages, strange talking mirrors and towers of steel and glass that dwarf the Hightower. Yet from what I hear, it is just one city among many. Beyond it there is a whole world, as large as our own, filled with more people than you can imagine."
Tywin frowned at this report. Several of his bannermen looked uneasy, looking between the father and the son, but none spoke up in front of their lord.
"Where do you think this Ring came from?"
"They claim they did not make it. That it must have been made by some higher power that surpasses either of us."
There was muttering by the bannermen. By the Gods…someone whispered. Tywin ignored them. Tyrion found himself wondering at this point what his father truly believed. He had been skeptical about gods for some years now. He could not say he had ever seen direct evidence of their power, though many others would claim they did…But what did he think now? Had the Stranger truly summoned this doorway between two worlds? Or one or more of the other Seven? Was it something else entirely?
Fifield and half a dozen green men were slowly walking over to them now. Tyrion turned to his uncle. "Ser Kevan" he said formally. "I should inform you. Willem is alive and well. I saw him just some hours ago."
His uncle's eyes widened in surprise. "You saw him where?"
"Our friends in Australia paid a ransom to Robb Stark. He is now in their custody, along with Tion and Cleos Frey."
Eyes turned to Fifield, pausing beside Tyrion. "Ambassador" Tywin said stiffly.
"Lord Tywin."
"You have taken my nephews."
"Yes, they are now in our custody."
"That does not seem like a friendly act, ambassador" Tywin said, the anger in his voice tinged only with caution.
"On the contrary my lord, I believe we have done you a favor" Fifield replied, sounding almost amicable. "Your nephews are quite safe with us. We have no intention of handing them over to Robert. They are quite beyond his reach."
Tywin's lip curled. "They are your hostages" he said bluntly.
"Call them what you will. No one is going to execute them, and they will be caught up in no battles in Melbourne."
"Is that why you are here then? To demand we turn for home in exchange for their return?"
Fifield shook his head. "No, I know you would not agree to such a thing. We are sheltering your nephews as a gesture of goodwill. To built trust, so you will believe what I have to say next."
"And what is that?"
"The American President has grown weary of the ongoing fighting in Westeros. He is threatening intervention."
"What intervention?"
"The immediate concern are the fires burning in the city" Fifield glanced up. The thick column of black smoke lay a couple of miles south of them, drifting rapidly over the Blackwater. "If half of King's Landing burns down, where will the population go? The Ring is just a few days walk away. We would be dealing with a huge flow of refugees."
Tywin was looking over at the city now. Tyrion followed his gaze. As they watched, another waterbomber dropped its load over Rhaeny's Hill. "Your flying machines, over the city…they have been attempting to put out the fires?"
"Yes."
"But they are unable?"
"We can slow it down, but we need crews on the ground, to clear proper firebreaks, to stop it."
Tywin seemed to be doing some serious thinking. After a moment Fifield spoke again. "Our firefighters will be coming tomorrow, probably through the Iron Gate. They will appear in large red vehicles, and will be dressed in yellow. We would urge you, strongly, to order your men not to try and attack them. They will be escorted by soldiers in vehicles, they will be dressed in green. If anyone tries to attack us, they will respond accordingly. We will move into the city. When we are satisfied the fires are under control, we will withdraw back towards the Ring. I have already spoken with Lord Renly, and he has agreed that his men, of the Stormlands and the Reach, will not attack us. They are willing to stand down, if you can do the same."
Another pause. Tywin finally spoke, slowly, as if it was unpleasant forcing the words out. "We have no quarrel with the flying men at present. I can order our armies not to attack you. It would seem to be a most foolish course of action."
"That is good, my lord" Fifield said, just as cautiously.
"But we are already inside the city. In another day or two we may take it, and we have not yet found my grandson or granddaughter."
"Yes I understand that."
"How can I order our attack to cease, when we are so close? We have marched a thousand leagues from Casterly Rock…it would make it all for nothing."
"I understand that as well. Nevertheless, I urge you to keep your troops clear of ours while we put out these fires. The Americans are sending over one of their elite divisions. Ten thousand-strong, to escort our firefighters. They are renowned for their skill in battle, not for their restraint. Please do not give the Americans a reason to become hostile to House Lannister…"
"That sounds like a threat, ambassador" Tywin interrupted. "Did you not say your people were unwilling to pay the iron price?"
"This is not an invasion, it is a mission of mercy."
"Yet you are sending an army into our land, uninvited."
Fifield frowned. "My lord, if we were plotting a true invasion, I would not be standing here speaking with you" the ambassador pointed out. "I simply come to advise you of this. I know the Americans. I know the history of our world, which you do not. I only come to say this, there is no possible course of action more unwise for a man to take, in your world or ours, then attempting to wage war against the United States of America. Do not give them an excuse to make you their enemy. Do not make them angry. They will hunt you to the ends of the Earth if you do, and there is nowhere you will be able to hide."
Tywin was silent again. The men beside him looked distinctly uneasy. Tyrion found himself speaking up at this point. "You should listen to him father. The Baratheons, the Tyrells…they are one thing, but we cannot fight these flying men…nor should we."
Tywin's lips seemed to flicker, an involuntary motion, as if a small crack had appeared in a previously solid dam of defiance. "Very well then" he said finally. "I shall ensure that no such provocation takes place…but we must still find my grandson and granddaughter, and we must fight any man who attempts to stop us."
"That I understand, my lord."
