The Kraken and the Lion

Chapter 09

by Technomad

Asha Greyjoy

A few days after the riot, a call came down from the highest tower in the Red Keep. "Sails on the horizon! Black sails on the horizon!"

Asha came running up the stairs, nearly elbowing the watchman aside in her eagerness to see. She peered across the bright water, and smiled. Sure enough, it was the fleet from the Iron Islands, hopefully loaded with enough food to at least end the starvation in the city! She could see the House designs on the sails, including the scythe of her nuncle Rodrik the Reader. That one was in the lead.

She and Tyrion had long since worked out how to deal with this situation, and she watched as their plans unfolded. Signal flags fluttered as the longships communicated with the shore, and the Iron Islands fleet entered the harbor in single-file, under the gaze of the catapults and wildfire throwers on the city walls. While Asha didn't think that her countrymen would be likely to try pulling a fast one, she was aware that the Crow's Eye was at large, and she wouldn't have put it past him, at least, to slip on in with the Iron Islands fleet to be able to get into Kings Landing without being challenged. Asha approved of the precautions being taken.

Most of the garrison were double-timing down to the quays, in full war gear. This had been rehearsed several times. She could see Tyrion down there, conspicuously directing things, along with the new High Septon. The High Septon wasn't wearing his crystal crown, which had been a casualty of the riots on the day that Princess Myrcella had sailed for Dorne. A new one was in the process of creation, but until then, the High Septon would have to go crownless, no matter how the Most Devout muttered among themselves at this scandalous situation.

Asha sneered to herself: If the last High Septon had been less conspicuously fat in a city full of starving people, he might still be here, and still wearing his crown! Her cousin the Damphair, back on the Islands, was humorless and fanatical, but nobody in the Islands would have doubted his honesty or sincerity. Asha, herself, would have entrusted him with any valuables she had without a second's thought, even if they weren't kin. Aeron Damphair feared nothing but the Drowned God, and would have snapped his fingers at the Lord of the Iron Isles, had her father been fool enough to try to order him to do something he thought was just plain wrong.

When the ironborn longships were tied to the quays, gangplanks were lowered, and the soldiers moved into position to protect the precious shipment. As sacks of grain were carried off the ships, they were picked up on the quay by low-ranking septons, who carried them to the Great Sept of Baelor.

Tyrion and Asha had discussed just how to deal with the shipments of food. For better or worse, taking them to the Red Keep would be seen as yet another example of the royals and nobles hogging all the food. The Great Sept had struck Tyrion as an obvious second choice; while the mob had admittedly killed the last High Septon, that didn't mean that they didn't respect the Faith as a whole.

Tyrion Lannister

Down on the docks, Tyrion was busily supervising the unloading of the food ships. A curious crowd had gathered, and were clearly delighted to see that food was being brought into the city. The fact that the Faith was taking charge of much of the distribution also seemed to please people; Tyrion was well aware of how much goodwill had been lost by his nephew's shenanigans, even though people were willing to make allowances for his youth.

As the food was loaded into wains, guarded by squads of royal soldiers, Tyrion heard something he hadn't expected. People were cheering. "Long live Joffrey! Long live Joffrey!" As he had calculated, the King was getting a lot of the credit for the re-victualling of the city. And then he heard something he never thought he'd hear in a thousand years: "Long live Tyrion! Long live the Halfman!"

This was unexpected, to say the very least. Tyrion had long since resigned himself to the fact that he would never be popular, no matter what. No matter what he did, people generally couldn't see past his deformed body, and to most folk, a twisted body meant a twisted mind and soul. Having people cheer his name to the echo was something he'd never have believed would happen, but he found that he liked it. He raised his hands, bathing in the approval of the crowd, as the food was moved up to the Great Sept, where it would be prepared and distributed in rations to all who needed food.

Bronn, never far away, leaned down and muttered: "They love you, my lord. At least today, they do."

Tyrion nodded, smiling. Then the smile left his face when he remembered who else was likely to be listening to the cheering, and what her reaction would be.

Sure enough, when the last of the food was unloaded and safely stored under guard at the Great Sept, Tyrion waddled back on up to the Red Keep, his mountain clansmen and Bronn around him as always. Instead of the usual scowls, he was greeted with smiles on all sides, and he noticed that when he got to the Keep, the servants' obedience to his commands was much quicker and more willing than he'd ever seen from them before. I should re-victual the city more often, he thought. I like this!

Cersei swept into the room, a procession of one. "Well," she sneered. "I watched that little show from one of the balconies. I see you're currying popularity with the mob. Planning to make yourself King, dear brother?"

Tyrion held on to his temper with an effort. Dear, dear Cersei, always taking things the wrong way! "No, sweet sister," he ground out, gripping his wine glass tightly and imagining it was her throat, "I am not currying favor with the mob. I am seeing that the city has at least sufficient food to keep people from starving to death, until we've won this war, or won it enough to be able to resupply by land."

"Why would you do that?" Cersei sounded honestly curious. Tyrion looked at her carefully. He had always thought that his sister was, at least, of average intelligence. To have her saying something that stupid shocked him, and he mentally began composing a message to their lord father. Much as his lord father detested him, Tywin had no time or use for fools of any sort and either sex. Tyrion knew that he'd come down on Cersei like a thunderbolt if he'd heard what she already said.

"Sweet, sweet sister," Tyrion purred, his voice dripping honeyed venom, "what I am doing may, among other things, prevent our having our throats cut in our sleep by our servants! The people who serve us, who wait on us hand and foot, all come from Kings Landing, and have relatives and friends in the city. Even if our servants are eating well, they hear about how things are going. Don't you remember the riot? If things had gone a little worse, we could all be dead! Kings have lost their thrones because their capitals weren't fed and happy!"

Cersei looked at him like the class idiot called upon to decipher a particularly difficult Old Valyrian quotation. Looking at her, Tyrion wondered what Jaime, or anybody else, ever saw in her. The eyes are open, the mouth moves, but the brain is not functioning, he thought to himself. Sighing, he set himself to explain a few of the facts of life to his ignorant sibling.

"Look, Cersei, I know you look down on the smallfolk, but they outnumber us hundreds to one, and if they decided en masse that Stannis or Robb was who they wanted on the Iron Throne, there wouldn't be much we could do. Many of our soldiers come from Kings Landing, and even the ones we brought in from the Lannister lands have formed attachments here. They walk the same streets, scoop up their bowls of brown in the same eateries, and see themselves surrounded by people very like their own families. Seven hells, sister! All it would take would be for our soldiers to desert, and all our heads would be on spikes in less than a day! Or do you think for one minute you could charm Stannis Baratheon or Robb Stark into sparing your life?"

Cersei turned pale. "My children-"

"Your children would be lucky to live. At least Tommen and Myrcella would stand a chance, if they fell into the hands of Robb Stark. But neither Robb nor Stannis would spare Joffrey! Robb owes Joffrey for his father, and I wouldn't be surprised if he knows about how your son treats his sister, Sansa! And Stannis would kill all three of them just for being who they were, and because of who their real father is!" Cersei turned red, then white, then leaned forward to try to hit Tyrion. "Hit me if you want, but Stannis knows the truth! How he figured it out is neither here nor there! Our only safety is in victory, and if we lose the smallfolk, particularly here in Kings Landing, we will not win!"

Cersei looked sick. For a second, Tyrion felt regret. Then he hardened his heart. "Look, all I do I do for us. For Joffrey, if you want it that way. Personally, I'd almost rather have the Mad King back than have him on the Iron Throne. You and that oaf you married did a fine job of ruining him. What were you thinking? Or didn't you hear about how he behaved?"

"He always was a strong-willed child," Cersei whispered, her voice going stronger as she continued to speak. "Robert never paid him much attention, except to reprove him when he did wrong. I think that all he really ever wanted was a father, but he never had one."

Lucky Joffrey, thought Tyrion; his own experience with a father had not been pleasant at all. "You should have spoken with Robert. Charmed him. You can charm people; I've seen you do it many a time. But with people you don't think you have to charm, frankly, sweet sister, you're one of the most poisonous people I know. I don't blame you for resenting Robert's whoring, but I could always see that you were cold as ice to him. Let me tell you a little secret, dear sister, about men." Tyrion leaned forward. "Men want willing sex. The kind of man that wants unwilling sex is a rapist, and at least outside of the madness of war, most men despise rapists. Robert was many things, and many of them I have no respect for at all - but he was no Gregor Clegane."

At the mention of the monstrous Gregor Clegane, Cersei turned slightly green. She was ignorant, and arrogant, but she was not such a fool as to imagine that she'd have lasted any time at all married to the man-monster. Clegane had a very sinister reputation. Robert had hit her a few times, but one punch from Gregor Clegane might have ruined her looks for life, if not killed her. And Clegane feared nothing at all, if only because he was too brutish and stupid to understand fear.

"If you'd had the wit to seduce Robert, and keep him exhausted in bed, he probably wouldn't have whored, or at least not so much. But that's water under the bridge." Tyrion sighed. "The food should be ready to distribute tomorrow, or so the High Septon informs me. And I think it would be a good idea for us to be very visibly out there, handing out loaves to the people. That means you, me, and the King himself."

"Joffrey? Joffrey would never-"

"Joffrey had better. Or Joffrey's reign might just be as short as I am." Tyrion's voice was flat. "Stunts like firing his crossbow into that crowd haven't made us any friends. Oh, I'll have the Kingsguard, the goldcloaks and my mountain clansmen around him, and I'll also see how many ironmen I can borrow from my fiancee and the Iron Islands fleet, but Joffrey needs to be seen to care for his people, no matter how big an act it is."

"Very well," Cersei sighed. "Maybe we should all wear the sort of robes that penitents wear who're on a pilgrimage to the Great Sept? To show how 'sorry we are' that the smallfolk have suffered so?"

Tyrion stared at his sister. "Cersei, that's the best idea I've heard from you in years! That would go over splendidly!"

END Chapter 09