[See bottom of chapter for A/N]

Flames roared from the dragon's mouth, licking the thousand swords surrendered to Aegon the Conqueror over three centuries ago. The blades glowed a dull red. Their tips twisted and curled under the immense heat. Small pots of wildfire exploded, spilling their contents onto the writhing iron, upon the very seat from which the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms once ruled a united Westeros. Most said nineteen such monarchs had ruled, from Aegon the Conqueror to Joffrey the Lannister. Some said twenty, arguing that Rhaenyra should be counted.

Nineteen or twenty, there would never be a twenty-first Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. A trickle of small droplets soon started to fall from the tortured blades. The trickle turned into a sizzling torrent, followed by a flood of burning steel. Sword after sword broke free from the throne and crashed onto the molten steel pooling on the marble dais below.

Forged by fire and blood, it was only fitting that the Iron Throne would be unmade by the same, Rick mused. The two pale red pillars behind the failing throne were still dotted by bullet holes two months after the Grey Wedding. At one point he nearly ordered them to be covered up, but then he thought better of it. Let the lords and ladies remember the consequences of mistreating their own people. The more they remembered, the easier he could lead.

"More fire, Coral," he ordered in his distinctive Southern drawl.

Once again the boy stepped in front of the large bronze contraption that stood in the middle of the throne room. Carl pulled on the pump handle, then pushed with all his might, his arms straining against the handle at the end of a long tube, connected to a box by two shorter tubes. Another jet of wildfire roared out the dragon-head on the other end, and slammed into the much reduced remains of the Iron Throne.

More steel flaked off. Rick could no longer make out any of the individual swords on what was barely even the shape of a throne.

Rick's eyes swept over the assemblage gathered at the Throne Room - no, it was just the Great Hall now that there would soon be no throne. Most of the Alexandrians seemed indifferent, except Eugene who grinning from ear to ear. Not at the destruction of the throne, but at the giant piles of steel that would soon be turned into lathes and steam engines and the various machines Alexandria's genius had already devised on paper. The blacksmiths from the Street of Steel were also practically salivating at the prospect of good steel flowing into their many forges. It would take time to ship Alexandria's steel to King's Landing, The molten Iron Throne would provide a small head start.

Reachmen and Westermen conversed with each other in hushed whispers, worry etched on their faces. A few crownlanders too. Not least among them was Varys, who stared at the throne's destruction as if he were losing his balls a second time.

Not all the Westerosi were unhappy however. The Dornish delegation barely bothered to conceal their glee. The Red Viper smiled even more widely than Eugene, and his three daughters were plainly pleased as well. The girls had arrived in the city last week, three young ladies hiding steel behind silk. Obara, Nymeria, Tyrene.

There was probably some history there, but Rick didn't have time to dig further. He had barely been introduced to the girls, or any of the more recent arrivals. Preparing for the great northern expedition to depart in two weeks' time had kept him too busy.

"That should be enough, my lords," Wisdom Hallyne finally shouted when Carl sprayed wildfire onto the Iron Throne for the third time.

Carl staggered away from the flamethrower that he had helped build. Ever since Rick and the Alexandrians arrived and took over much of the city's overlordship, the boy had spent much of his newfound free time roaming around the city, and much of that with the alchemists and blacksmiths. Many a night went by when Carl dragged himself through the Red Keep's gates, his tank top slick with sweat and grease after working with Hallyne on a 'fucking awesome' build. It seemed that boys were drawn to fire-works just as moths were drawn to flames.

The Alchemists wheeled in several more machines, identical to the flamethrower in all respects save for its trout-shaped nozzle. "Spitfires they may be, but we can swap the dragon mouth for a trout, fill the beast's belly with water instead of wildfire, and Lord Carl has his fire-engines for his fire-men" Hallyne had explained when Rick visited the Alchemist's guildhall. "The Lord Protector may not have been here when we battled the Westermen, but doubtlessly he would have seen the charred remains of houses that were burnt down when they tried putting the city to the torch. And it will not take another battle for more of the city to burn down either. A spilled bowl of brown in Flea Bottom, an accident with the Goldcloaks' new matchlocks…" Rick had not the time to stay for the alchemists' demonstration of their fire-engine, for there were more places to see, more visits to be made around the city.

Today he finally got the chance to see the devices in action. Jets of water arced through the air before falling into the inferno. A thick draft of steam leapt from the flames, spreading into a cloud as it rose towards the vaulted roof. The fires roared one last time then cackled against the deluge. Where the throne once stood was a giant puddle of molten steel.

The Iron Throne was no more.

"I've heard many of you praise my son in the past few weeks. For 'starving with the people' when this city didn't have enough food. For building the many ferries that will soon make travelling much easier for nobles and smallfolk alike. And I'm sure some of you will praise him for the fire service that will make sure fires don't burn down this city's buildings and houses again. Carl, c'mere." Rick wrapped his son in a tight hug to the crowd's cheering.

They did not cheer his next words however. "But there are a few things I do not understand. I had also received too many reports of huge feasts where expensive dishes were served. And some of those feasts were attended, even hosted, by those who had praised Carl in the first place! If you guys know what my son did was right, why do I still see so many fat people with full purses when beggars still roam the streets?" Some people naturally held onto their weight even in leaner times, Rick could tell that much from Eugene and a few other Alexandrians. Not that it mattered after he had read Varys the eunuch's reports. "Why are your castles and gardens so beautifully built, but the Kingsroad is even shittier than the roads my people built in Alexandria a few months ago? You guys had a three hundred year head start!" He felt his cheeks heating up. Even Carl was recoiling from his embrace with a frightened look on the boy's face.

"And the fires. Oh, the fires. Fires in King's Landing, fires in the Riverlands. So many fires and so many people dead, just to see who sits on that fucking sword throne? Maybe it's best that nobody gets to sit on it after all." Truth be told Rick was going to melt the Iron Throne anyway. It would be a clean break from centuries of tyrant-kings, and let all the world know that the Seven Kingdoms were gone and would never return. Besides, a simpler chair would suffice.

Dwight brought in a wooden chair and handed it to Rick. It was of a plain design, with four sturdy legs and a well-built back, one that could be easily made by any Kingslander carpenter though it was brought all the way from Alexandria itself.

"This will do." Rick plopped the chair in front of the dais, where the Iron Throne's remains still smouldered, and then sat on it.

"Many of you here hold lands and noble titles, lords of this and that. Those you call 'smallfolk' don't have any choice but to follow you, just because of who your fathers and grandfathers were. As you might have heard we Alexandrians do things a bit differently. People look up to me not because I'm rich or my father is anyone great, but because of what I've done and more importantly what I continue to do. And if they choose to follow Carl one day, it will be for what he does. They will not follow him just because he is my son."

But Westeros was not Alexandria. However much Rick disliked the very existence of the nobility, they were among the few Westerosi who could read and write. Even fewer could help rule the lands that were recently pacified. So for once he had to compromise.

"If you think that you are better rulers than the smallfolk just because of who your fathers were, then prove it like myself and my Alexandrians do. Show me that you could actually rule. Show everyone that you deserve to keep your titles and lands. Play nice with your followers, and I will play nice with you." Or else, Rick was about to say, but the last few wisps of smoke did it for him. "Have I made myself clear?"

Silence.

"Good. I'm glad you guys understand. Maggie, Carl, grab two more chairs and sit by my side."

The next hour they focused on more mundane matters. Trade in Blackwater Bay had nearly returned to levels before the War of the Five Kings, spurred on by the return of peace. "Manderly and his men had landed at Dragonstone, and set up camp before the castle's walls," Admiral Waters said. "Our fleets now control Blackwater Bay. Stannis' ships are nowhere to be seen."

"Does Stannis want to talk?" Rick asked. Stannis would have to negotiate sooner or later, with no hope of relief it would be only a matter of time before Dragonstone fell to hunger. And the later Stannis surrendered, the harsher the terms would be.

Waters shook his head. "Stannis didn't even come to parley. Only his castellan, a stubborn man who declined to yield. Lord Manderly thinks the castle is lightly defended. He wants to starve them out a bit more first, but he intends to at least storm the outer walls-"

"Maybe they are hiding from the Northmen's musketry," the Red Viper suggested. "Or maybe Stannis has a few tricks up his sleeve."

"As do we." Waters pointed towards the flamethrower. "A few spitfires should drive the defenders all the way back to the Stone Drum."

"Stone Drum?" Rick asked.

"The main keep of Dragonstone castle. It won't be easy to take, but we will be able to make use of the rest of the castle and give our men more comfortable lodgings. A man well rested is less likely to be bested," Waters said.

"Good. Tell Stannis or whoever is holding the castle that they can keep Dragonstone as long as they make peace with us, and drop all their claims beyond that island. If they say no, take as much of the castle as you can without losing or killing too many men, and then continue the siege. They'll talk when they're hungry, before that happens they can rot on the vine for all I care."

"Speaking of vines, Lord Protector-" Gyles Rosby started.

"Mister Grimes will do, or even Rick. Have I not told you guys enough times already? There's no point in formality behind closed doors. Are you about to talk about food?"

"Yes… Mister Grimes. Thanks to the efforts… cough... Of Admiral Waters and Lord Carl - I mean Carl - cough - the city is no longer in fear of starvation- cough cough-" Gyles coughed and spluttered until one of his servants came forward with a cup of honeyed water. Rick frowned. Lord Rosby's cough had improved under Harlan Carson's care, but not as much as the Alexandrian doctor had hoped. He gave Rick a list of possible causes. Some of which the Alexandrians could treat. Lung cancer was not one of them.

Cancer or not, Gyles didn't cough nearly as much when he delivered the rest of his report. "The Crownlands were spared most of the fighting, Mister Grimes, my lords. And food from the Free Cities find themselves in the markets of King's Landing, Duskendale and Driftmark by the shipload. But with so many refugees there is scarce enough to go around. Pray the Seven that we can get another harvest in before the white ravens fly."

"Can the Reach sell us more food?" Rick asked the Tyrells.

"Not when the Ironborn are breathing down our necks," Loras answered. "The Shield Islands taken. Oldtown practically under siege. For every longship the Redwynes destroy, two more take its place. Let me return to Highgarden, Lord Grimes-"

"Mister Grimes," Rick again corrected.

"Lord or Mister, you're still the Lord Protector of the Realm. Let me return to Highgarden with as many of your guns as you can spare, so that I can drive the krakens back into the sea." Loras' voice grew louder as he spoke. "Then we will not need as much food, food that could be used to feed the Alexandrians and Crownlanders."

"You know very well why I can't agree to either right now," Rick sighed. It was not the first time he had this conversation with Loras. He didn't think it would be the last either, as stubborn as the young man was. "When we've dealt with what's happening at the Wall and Doctor Carson says you have recovered, we'll head down to the Reach and kick out the Ironborn."

Loras made to speak again, until he received a quick nudge from his sister. "I will write grandmother to see if we have any food to spare. Food to the Crownlands, and more food to the starving Riverlands, if the Northmen are so kind to forgive some of the reparations they are making us pay," Margaery offered.

"I will ask the Blackfish," Rick replied carefully. With a mind nearly as sharp as the Queen of Thornes', Rick had learned not to underestimate the young lady long ago.

"How about greenhouses? We can grow winter crops too." Maggie began counting on her hand. "Spinach, broccoli, potatoes…"

"Broccoli?" Margaery had a blank expression on her face. "Is it an Alexandrian fruit?"

Maggie shook her head. "A vegetable. And don't tell me you haven't seen potatoes before either."

"I was about to ask," the Red Viper added. "I was hoping you Alexandrians had crops for Dornish climes as well."

"You guys actually don't have any potatoes?" Maggie's eyes seemed to light up. "Excuse me for a moment." She pulled Rick closer to her and whispered intensely. "Potatoes, Rick! They don't have fucking potatoes!"

"What's so important about them?"

"About Potatoes? Are you kidding me? They grow cheap, you can grow them anywhere, they have tons of calories and nutrients, you can store them forever, and… look. Claudia probably knows more than I do about this, but Europe's population exploded when potatoes were first introduced from the Americas, then the same thing happened to Asia too. If we start now and check carefully for blight, the food shortages will be over much sooner than I thought."

Rick almost asked how she knew all this random history, but he stopped himself. Maggie was a farmer's daughter, of course she would know a thing or two about crops. Plus, now that he thought of it, she had been a college student back in the day. It had not been much relevant before but things were different now, and knowledge like this was useful again.

"...slice'em up to make chips, or cut them into sticks to make fries." Carl chattered excitedly, his hands mimicking the shape of potato based foods. "Aurane, can we get more fishermen? It will be nice to have fish burgers to go with the fries."

"Fishing is hard work," Admiral Waters said gently. "Risky work too. Fishermen could be caught out in storms, the Seven bless their souls if their ship flounders. And if there are too many fishermen some will struggle to sell their produce. The Fishmarket is already crowded enough as it is."

"More ships can be saved if their captains know about the weather earlier. I think we should set up a weather forecast system-"

"Tell me later. Or tell Carl, he'll like to hear about that sort of stuff," Rick brusquely cut off the former high school teacher. Even the Alexandrians themselves often found it hard to understand Eugene's wacky schemes. The Westerosi would not understand at all.

Nevertheless some of Eugene's ideas had merit. "You told me you wanted to build a railway from King's Landing to Harrenhal," Rick recalled.

"Not anytime soon. Some of the simpler steam trains are doable, but the tracks are another matter altogether. It's nearly a hundred miles from the Ruby Ford to Harrenhal, another three hundred from Harrenhal to King's Landing. Alexandria has a lot of steel rails and we have steel to make more, but it will take a lot of manpower to lay those, and what's the point of doing that if the tracks are gonna be stolen anyway? Steel's cheap for us, and should soon be for the Kingslanders too, but for random villagers in bumfuck nowhere where the railroad will be passing through? Better roads will make more sense for now."

"Steamboats or steam trains, have you guys started building stuff in the Dragonpit yet?" Maggie asked. After a careful survey, Eugene had proposed that the Dragonpit be used as a giant factory, where parts for vehicles and armaments could be produced. As large as a stadium, the pit was more than enough for the machinery they needed, while raw materials and finished products could be stored in the many undervaults that circled the main pit itself. The collapsed dome could be restored by the Kingslanders who lived in Flea Bottom down the hill, who would then become the Dragonpit's factory workers. Flea Bottom's ramshackle buildings would be razed to the ground, replaced by neat rows of townhouses along straight streets, with broad slopes and stairs cut into the side of Rhaenys' Hill so that the Flea Bottomers could easily go to work. Michonne had already found several Alexandrians who were city planners before.

Eugene shook his head. "We've mostly cleared it out, even starting to host girders back onto the collapsed dome. But-."

"But what?" Rick asked.

"Go see for yourself, Rick." Eugene sighed. "Go see for yourself."

Rick thought he had already gotten used to the odours of King's Landing, but the air of Flea Bottom was beyond foul altogether. The unmistakable stench of shit hung heavy in the air, chicken shit from the coops, horse shit from the stables, pig shit from the pens.

There was bullshit too. The Alexandrians had offered every household in Flea Bottom a lot of money to move, far more than what their shops and homes were worth in the first place, and be resettled in other parts of the city or Duskendale or Driftmark at least until the new houses were done. Enough money that half of Flea Bottom took up the offer in the first week. More accepted in the week that followed, when the offer was doubled, and then tripled and even quintupled. Yet there were still holdouts.

A crowd of Flea Bottomers gathered behind the Alexandrian column as it weaved its way through the twisting alleys. Two by two the horsemen rode, a thin line of embroidery and cloth amidst dirty buildings and mud-splattered rags. Rick and the Alexandrians were dressed far more austerely than their Westerosi counterparts. But the Flea Bottomers' clothes were even worse than those worn by the hordes of walkers that Rick and his people fought in their world not too long ago.

"What the fuck are they wearing?" He furiously whispered to Carl who was riding by his side. "This shit is barely clothing at all!"

"I know Dad," Carl whispered back. "Believe it or not, it was shittier when I first got here."

There were more than enough clothes in Alexandria to properly clothe all of this lot, Rick decided. Better wear than the nobles' fancy dresses and doublets too.

When Rick deemed the crowd to be large enough, he raised his hand at a crossroads and the column came to a halt. He grabbed the megaphone Carl offered him, and sat tall so all the Flea Bottomers could see him on his horse.

"Flea Bottomers, lend me your ears! Most of you have taken up my offer. Some of you have not. I'm sure you have your reasons, but at least hear me out, 'kay? For many years you have lived in squalor, huddling in these rickety wooden… sheds. Maybe your fathers, and their fathers too. But it doesn't have to be that way! We will build beautiful houses for you to live in, your sons and daughters too, and your grandchildren after them." Rick quickly scanned the crowd. Some of the Flea Bottomers were smiling back at him. But there were also those who stared daggers at the Alexandrians with wide scowls on their faces. "There's more too. The day will soon come when Flea Bottom becomes the beating heart of this city. I see factories majestically rising above these gentle slopes, roads so wide that one could ride two carts past each other. I see a blooming civilization rising from these three hills-"

"Balls to your civilization!" An accusation, as sharp as the butcher's knives in the stalls nearby.

"You lords come up with excuse after excuse on your high chairs, but all you want is to take away our homes!"

"Why don't you open up the Red Keep and let us live there instead?" An egg soared through the air, flying just over Rick's head before crashing into Maggie's horse behind. More eggs, followed by threadbare shoes and pats of mud.

Sam Fairbanks spurred her horse to Rick's side just as the first rocks were thrown. "We gotta get the fuck out now!" The young woman cried. Most of the Flea Bottomers were fleeing, yet others rushed Rick's group, sweeping past the goldcloaks and blocking the way out. An Alexandrian raised her shotgun and pointed it at the crowd. "Paula, stop!" Rick's hand grabbed at her arm, but it was too late. Clickbang clickbang clickbang clickbang clickbang. Five Flea Bottomers were knocked down by Eugene's cork bullets. Two more pump-action shotguns were leveled against the mob as Paula began reloading.

The rioters melted back into the houses nearby. Maggie and Sam dismounted and began helping up the five, until Sam was rewarded for her charity by a fist to the face, and a well-timed leg sent Maggie sprawling over the muddy ground.

Rick grabbed his megaphone again and flipped it as loud as he could. "EVERYONE JUST FUCKING STOP!" he yelled into the megaphone, pulling at Carl's collar when the boy attempted to get off his horse as well. The crowd stopped just long enough for Maggie to clamber onto Sam's horse, and Sam onto Maggie's. "OUT!" The column began moving again, fleeing Flea Bottom much faster than when they had first entered.

"How should I deal with that lot?" Rick asked his wife that night, back in the safety and comfort of their bed. "We're already giving them so much money to move out!"

Andrea gently laid her hand over Rick's arm. "It's not so simple, Rick. We've had to move from place to place over the past years, but many of these people had lived in Flea Bottom their whole life. Hell, some of them haven't left the city once. Will we move out of Alexandria if the Westerosi pay us tons and tons of gold to do so?"

"Probably not. But Alexandria isn't a dump. And there's Arlington, Mount Vernon-"

Andrea smiled. "Guess you've answered your own question. The Flea Bottomers' buildings may be less impressive than ours, but they care about it no less than we care about ours. And it isn't as if our new houses in Alexandria are much better."

Rick slapped his hand against his forehead. "Fine. But they still need to move out before we can start rebuilding factories and better houses. Maggie already told me she won't touch that clusterfuck with a ten-foot pole, she's literally gotten into enough shit today. Michonne would try to convince them again but she says she'll need more time, but Eugene wants all the land secured before we leave for Braavos."

"Haven't most of the Flea Bottomers taken the deal? There's more than enough work for Michonne to do anyway. As for the holdouts, why don't we let Carl try to deal with them first?" Andrea suggested.

"Carl?" Rick asked.

"At least it won't hurt. It will massively boost Carl's reputation if he succeeds, but also yours for wisely choosing him to deal with this headache. If he fails... Carl's still a kid. Him fucking up from time to time is what everyone including the Westerosi expect. Surely he can't do worse than Joffrey! They won't blame you either since you won't be dealing with the matter yourself, and for them it's all too normal for a son to learn the trade of his father."

Rick absentmindedly rubbed his short-cropped hair. Dealing with the chaos at Flea Bottom would be good practice for Carl. If the boy could solve it, all the better, and if not perhaps Rick or someone else could find another way to convince the Flea Bottomers. This troublesome matter had sapped far too much of Rick's own time, time that could have been better spent dealing with the other Westerosi realms or organising the northern expedition.

"Fine. I'll talk to him first thing tomorrow morning," Rick said softly, but his wife was already asleep. "Good night, Andrea." Rick pulled the covers over them both and blew out the candles.

Dear Jon,

Far away though you are, you must have heard that King's Landing had fallen into the hands of a strange people. Some rumors even claim they came from another world, one that is centuries more advanced than ours in the machines of both war and peace. These rumors are true as far as I can tell.

Led by a man named Rick Grimes, the people who call themselves Alexandrians now hold the Crownlands, and those parts of the Riverlands that are south of the Trident. The Reach and Dorne are now their vassals, as is what remains of the Westerlands after House Lannister was overthrown and attainted. Save for the Vale and those parts still occupied by the Ironborn, the lands north of the Trident are now held by the Northmen and Rivermen who have declared their independence. Rickard has been declared Lord Protector of the Realm. He does not style himself as king, and even melted the Iron Throne yesterday.

Lord Rickard is a man of average stature, and has lost a hand in an earlier war. He often uses a cane, claiming that his leg was broken and not fixed properly by their maesters, though I have also seen him walk without it. He is a very strong-willed man who yearns to rebuild the 'civilization' that the Alexandrians once enjoyed, and will stop at no length to bring it over the shores of the God's Eye for us Westerosi. Fortunately for us, he has also banned all executions. From what I had heard, he did so even against the will of his own court, though the Alexandrians had grudgingly accepted his decision out of love and admiration for him.

Rick has two children, both from his first wife who now rests in the Stranger's halls. The younger girl is Judith, a child of four. The elder boy is Carl, a one-eyed child who will celebrate his thirteenth nameday in a few month's time, and whom the Kingslanders and Crownlanders now see as their new lord.

Carl was the Alexandrian commander in the Grey Wedding. He and his band of women and children destroyed the Lannisters using weapons that loose many steel darts down long barrels. The darts punch through armor and tear through flesh with contemptuous ease.

King's Landing is under no threat of starvation. Though it is largely at peace, a riot broke out two months ago when Carl first took the city, fortunately the little lordling was able to gain our trust that time round. Alexandrian rule over King's Landing is now as strong as it was under the Iron Throne before Joffrey.

Another riot broke out yesterday and the Alexandrians let loose with their weapons, luckily nobody was slain. Let us hope that no more riots will occur in the future. The Alexandrians bring much good to Westeros, and it would be a shame to see them driven back to their island.

Despite grumbling from time to time, we trust and adore the lordling. Many of us will even lay down our lives to defend him should the need ever arise, and avenge him should any harm ever come to him. Brave, clever and courteous, Carl reminds me of your son. He has done well under Lord Rickard's overlordship, and I'm sure he will make a good prince one day.

Do visit when you have time. I can head down to Storm's End if King's Landing is too inconvenient for you. Keep your sword close by your side though, bandits run amok since Alexandrian peace has yet to reach the Stormlands. It's been years since we last saw each other, and I greatly miss your company.

Signed,

A friend

A/N:

With the most recent chapter posted on June 30, it has been nearly two months since I've updated this fic, representing the longest break (so far) by a significant margin. This abnormally long delay is chiefly due to the following reasons:

Firstly, the previous chapter concluded Act 1.0. I've been spending time planning for the next story arc.

Secondly, I had been revising/taking an exam involving a professional certification that took place in late July.

Thirdly, I've recently completed my undergraduate studies. I received a better result than expected and coupled with other RL factors, I had revised some of my IRL plans.

Fourthly, Chapter 24 had proven more difficult to write than anticipated, and I have stricter expectations for its quality given that it opens a new story arc.

Fifthly, I had been extremely busy this summer due to several other RL reasons.

Furthermore, I have considered various comments that were made on this site and others, and am currently in the process of reworking some of the earlier chapters so that the story would be more enjoyable for new readers or current readers who wish to re-read at some point. Most of those changes will be focused on either 'streamlining' the story or fleshing out character interactions/motivations etc. There will be no changes to the overall plot, nor is there any need to re-read the revamped chapters to continue the story.